path: root/75853-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75853 ***





_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.




CHAPTER II

    An Adventure in the Oden Wald—The Coiners of the Black
    Forest—Kirchhofer’s School


When I was seven years old, my parents left me at a school in Frankfurt,
kept by Herr Kirchhofer, a good-looking, fair-haired man of thirty-five.
He was married and had an only son named August, who in later years
entered the Austrian Army, and got terribly into debt when a lieutenant.
His father paid his debts, but after he married he got into further
trouble, and ended by shooting himself, while still quite young.
During my stay at this school I spoke nothing but German all day, with
the exception of a little French occasionally, and, in consequence,
completely forgot the English language for the time being.

One day, Herr Kirchhofer told one of the assistant masters, Herr Wolf, a
young man of five-and-twenty, that he might take six of the boys, of whom
I was one, for a three days’ excursion in the Oden Wald. We started at
five o’clock in the morning and walked for some hours, when I became so
tired that I could go no farther. So Close, an English boy of eighteen,
who was going into the Austrian Army, and another boy, a German, carried
me on a kind of camp-stool a long way.

When we got to the Oden Wald, we wandered about collecting plants, which
Herr Wolf required for his lessons in botany. Then, after dining at an
inn, we started again, with the intention of reaching a village which
the master knew by name. On the way we passed a small village, where a
man offered to take charge of me, and I was very much afraid our master
would leave me with him. I begged him not to do so, and was greatly
relieved when he said:

“You don’t think I should be so foolish? Why, the man might run off with
you.”

Some time afterwards, it began to grow quite dark, and Herr Wolf became
much alarmed, as we had completely lost our way in the forest. However,
we saw some lights in the distance, and walked on until we came to a
small village, where there was a house which purported to be an inn,
though all its windows were broken and mended with pieces of newspaper.

Herr Wolf entered this uninviting hostelry and inquired if we could
have one large room to sleep in, as he told Close and another big boy,
a German, that he was afraid that we might possibly be murdered in the
night, if we were separated. I may here mention that, in those days, some
parts of the Oden Wald were infested by gangs of robbers, and instances
were known of people being given beds which revolved in the night and
precipitated their unfortunate occupants into pits beneath the floor.

The inn-keeper, a sinister-looking personage, with his face almost
entirely covered with hair, said that he had not a room large enough to
accommodate our whole party, but that we could have two rooms. Herr Wolf
asked if they were near each other, to which the man replied that one was
upstairs, but the other on the ground floor. The master, looking much
annoyed, asked to see the rooms, and, after inspecting them, inquired
if Close had a revolver with him. The latter said he had not, though he
had brought a sword-stick. But another boy, an American, called Sydney
Chapin, exclaimed:—

“I have a loaded revolver with me.”

“That’s famous!” replied Herr Wolf. “Then you must give it me, for I will
occupy the room on the ground floor with George, and you others must
sleep upstairs.”

The master then took the revolver, and told Close that he must take
charge of the other boys in the room upstairs.

When this had been arranged, we all entered the so-called dining-room,
a large room, with whitewashed walls. Its windows, like all the rest in
the house, were broken and patched with newspapers; the ceiling was so
low that you could almost touch it with your hands, and crossed by large
beams. In one part of this room, four rough-looking men were playing
cards and drinking beer out of mugs. They were in their shirt sleeves,
with sleeves tucked up to the elbow, displaying very muscular arms, while
their shirts, open at the neck, showed their naked chests covered with
hair. Although it was summer and excessively hot, all of them wore fur
caps.

They were playing by the glimmer of a solitary tallow candle, which was
the only light in the room, and when we took our seats with our master
at another table, we found ourselves almost in the dark. Presently, our
supper was brought us, consisting of cold meat and mugs of beer, and Herr
Wolf asked for a candle. The inn-keeper muttered sullenly that he had
none.

“What! Have you no light of any description?” asked the master.

“No, I have just told you so,” was the reply.

Herr Wolf was visibly alarmed, but Close whispered to him:—

“I have a box of matches.”

“_Gott sei dank!_” exclaimed the other.

After some whispered instructions to Close, the master rose from the
table, when I observed the card-players casting surreptitious glances in
our direction, although they pretended to be absorbed in their game. Herr
Wolf then took me through the darkness into the bedroom on the ground
floor, the gloom of which was partially relieved by a slight glimmer from
the moon, which penetrated through the broken window. He struck a match,
and, having shown me my bed, which stood near the window, told me to
undress and go to bed. I did as he told me, and he then said that he was
going upstairs to see after the other boys.

[Illustration: The Author’s Daughter.

[_To face p. 20._]

While I lay in bed, I heard some noisy women passing the window. One
of them put her head through one of the broken panes, and, on seeing me
in bed, burst out laughing. Afterwards there was a dead silence, only
interrupted occasionally by the loud oaths of the men playing cards in
the dining-room, who appeared to be disputing about some money which had
changed hands. The noise they made was becoming louder and louder, when I
heard the door open, and Herr Wolf entered and inquired if I were asleep.
He then went out again, saying that he would return later. The noise made
by the gamblers then appeared to cease, and my weariness overcoming my
fears, I suddenly dropped off to sleep.

Early in the morning I awoke, and saw Herr Wolf dressing himself. I
hardly knew where I was, when, on seeing that I was awake, he said:—

“_Du bist famos geschlafen, George._”

After I had dressed, he told me to come with him into the dining-room,
where all the others were gathered, and, after taking some coffee and
black bread, we left the inn. Soon afterwards, Herr Wolf told the boys
that he had never been so alarmed in his life, and that he was quite
positive that if the men at the inn had not known that some of the boys
were armed, we should most probably have been murdered for the sake of
our clothes and the money we had about us. He added that he had not
slept a wink all night, as he knew what sort of men he had to deal with,
and that they were of the very lowest type imaginable and capable of
committing any crime to obtain a few groschen.

At the time of which I am speaking, there were so many murders
perpetrated near Homburg, owing to the gambling which went on there, that
the police never knew whether they had really to deal with a suicide or
a murder. The Oden Wald had then quite as bad a reputation as the Black
Forest, which was infested by whole gangs of robbers and murderers. Herr
Wolf told us a story of a man who, having lost his way in the Oden Wald,
put up for the night at a small inn near a village, where they gave
him some coffee before he went to bed. He could not sleep, and in the
middle of the night he got up, lighted a candle and began examining a
picture opposite his bed, which represented a man wearing a Rembrandt
hat with a long feather. Gradually, it seemed to him that the feather
was becoming shorter; soon he could see only a part of the hat, and
then merely the face. The man, thinking that there must be something
wrong with him, jumped out of bed and approached the picture, which he
found was exactly as when he had first seen it. But, on looking at his
bed, he perceived that the baldachin over the four-poster was suspended
by a chain from above the ceiling, and was gradually working its way
downwards. An examination of the moving baldachin revealed the fact that
it was made of massive iron, beneath which he would infallibly have been
crushed to death. Dressing in all haste, and holding a pistol which he
had about him ready to fire in case of need, the destined victim left the
room and stealthily descended the stairs. By good fortune he met no one,
and letting himself out of the house, made his way to Homburg, where he
informed the police of the murderous trap which had been laid for him.
It was evident that the coffee which he had drank overnight had been
drugged; but, most providentially for him, the drug had had the contrary
effect to that intended, and had kept him awake, instead of sending him
to sleep.

Herr Wolf told us other stories of the Black Forest, in which there were
inns with revolving beds, which upset the persons who occupied them into
pits beneath the floor, where the heavy fall generally killed them at
once; and Baron Vogelsang, a good-looking Bavarian boy, with blue eyes
and curly brown hair, related the following anecdote:

During the time of the great Napoleon,[6] the Emperor sent on one of
his aides-de-camp to Germany with important despatches. This A.D.C. had
to traverse the Black Forest, and on arriving as evening was falling
at a certain country house, asked if he could be accommodated for the
night. A room was given him, but, at the same time, he was warned that
the house was haunted, and, sure enough, in the middle of the night a
ghost duly put in an appearance. The Frenchman, who had no belief in
the supernatural, promptly snatched up a pistol and levelled it at the
spectre, who thereupon vanished. The A.D.C. then hurried to the spot
where the ghost had first appeared, when the floor suddenly gave way
beneath him, and he fell what seemed a great distance. For the moment he
was stunned by the fall, and, on recovering his senses, found himself
surrounded by a number of men, who were debating whether they should kill
him. He, however, explained who he was, and showed them the despatches
from Napoleon of which he was the bearer; and the men, fearing the
vengeance of the Emperor, should the crime they were meditating ever be
discovered, agreed to set him at liberty, on condition that he would
take an oath to say nothing of what had happened to him in that house.
They then told him that they were coiners, and that they killed everyone
who slept at the house, but that they usually frightened so many away
by tales that very few people cared to stop there. The Frenchman took
the oath demanded of him, and was set at liberty so soon as day came.
Years afterwards, he received a magnificent pistol, set with brilliants
and rubies, with the following inscription engraved upon it: “From those
whose secret you have so generously kept.” The gift was accompanied by a
letter, informing him that the coiners, having now succeeded in amassing
an immense fortune, had retired from business.

The day after our adventure at the inn was passed by our party in walking
leisurely through the forest homewards, through a most glorious country
and in most lovely weather. When we reached Frankfurt, Herr Kirchhofer
congratulated Herr Wolf on our escape, and told him that it was very
lucky that we had returned at all.

Herr Wolf saw me in after days at Frankfurt, when he kissed me in German
fashion, saying: “_Kannst Du Dich erinnern von damals im Oden Walde,
George?_” I thought it was our last day upon earth, and that we were
going to be murdered there, like many others have been there before and
even since those days. But I pretended not to be alarmed at the time, and
made the best of it.

The time—rather more than a year and a half—I spent at this school at
Frankfurt was one of the happiest periods of my life; indeed, when my
parents wanted me to stay at the Hôtel de Russie, I cried and begged not
to be taken away from the school. Herr Kirchhofer was a very pleasant,
kind and good-hearted man, and a fine orator, one of the best I have ever
heard; and the lectures which he used to give on ancient Greek history
were always extremely interesting. His lectures were always extempore, as
his excellent memory made it unnecessary for him to refer to a book, and
the way he declaimed was a pleasure to listen to, so well did he raise or
lower his voice to suit the occasion. At times he became very dramatic,
putting you in mind of some celebrated actor on the stage, as he walked
up and down the room, reciting from the classics and quite carrying away
his audience. The only punishment inflicted on boys at this school was to
shake them and smack their faces, which Herr Kirchhofer did himself, as
well as the other masters, of whom there were eight or nine, although the
school consisted only of ten boarders and fifty day-boarders.

German and Austrian boys find more pleasure in taking long walks in
the woods, making excursions, and running about than they do in games
like football and cricket, for which few, if any, have any taste. In
fact, I never knew any boys in Germany who cared much for any outdoor
games at all. However, I have not the slightest doubt they enjoy their
school-days quite as much as English boys, if not more; and there is
much more friendship between master and boys in Germany than there ever
can be in England. In the former country, the master devotes more time
to ascertaining the tastes of individual boys, and addresses them
more like a friend than a master. When, afterwards, I was sent to an
English school, I noticed the difference almost at once. At the school
at Frankfurt I was most interested in the history of ancient Greece; I
was also fond of German history. Latin was not taught there, for which
I was by no means sorry. I had no great fancy for botany, though I
tried to like it; but natural science rather piqued my curiosity. As
for arithmetic, I hated it, and never knew the value of money; in fact,
I don’t remember ever having any at that time, nor ever asking for
any, as I had everything I required bought for me. I had a fancy for
collecting stamps, and, in those days, there was a regular stamp market
at Frankfurt, where they were sold in the street. I went there on one
occasion, but was not very favourably impressed by the Jew dealers who
hawked them about.

I was passionately fond of tin soldiers, and used to play with them with
a boy named Louis Krebs, who had a fine collection of both Austrian and
Prussian ones. He had a pretty little sister called Klara, who always
wore pink coral earrings and would often play with us.

One day, Herr Kirchhofer told me that my parents were going to England
and that they had arranged to take me with them. At first, I was quite
unable to realize it, but when I learned that the news was true I was
greatly distressed, and nearly cried my eyes out at having to leave
Frankfurt and the school. I tried to prevail upon my parents to leave me
behind, but my father would not hear of it, saying that I should have to
go to a preparatory school for Eton, and that he had one in view, which
my aunt, Lady Caroline Murray, had recommended. So I was forced, _malgré
moi_, to submit to my parents’ wishes.

In recent years I met Krebs, the boy of whom I have just spoken, at
Frankfurt, when he gave me a great deal of information about those who
had been at school with us. He himself had become a millionaire; but he
was the only one who had made money. Most of the others had been far from
successful in life, and one of the wealthiest, Baron Vogelsang, had
lost almost the whole of his immense fortune. Many had died quite young.
Herr Kirchhofer had only lived a few months after the suicide of his son
August, and Herr Wolf had also died while still quite a young man.




CHAPTER III

    Brussels—Ostend—General Sir John Douglas—Spa—“Captain
    Arthy”—Boulogne


On leaving Frankfurt, we went to Brussels, where we lived in a large
house on the Boulevard de Waterloo, which looked out on to a very fine
avenue of trees. Captain Dorrien came with us on a visit to my parents
and stayed for some months. Captain Dorrien, in after years, lost his
whole fortune, when the late Earl of Sheffield, who had been at Eton with
him, insisted on his going to live at his fine house in Portland Place,
where he was given full authority over all the servants, lived free of
all cost to himself, and received a cheque for £500, while the Earl
went for a six months’ cruise in his yacht. This was told me by Captain
Dorrien himself, at a time when he was in far better circumstances.

Lord Howard de Walden was then the English Minister at Brussels, and my
parents were on very friendly terms with him and his family. Two of the
sons came often to our house; one was in the Royal Navy, and the other in
the 60th Rifles. The eldest son, who afterwards succeeded to the title,
was then in the 4th Hussars, but I never met him. Many years afterwards,
I met Lady Howard de Walden, then a widow, in India, at Murree, in the
Himalayas, where she dined at our mess with her daughter, Miss Ellis.
The two ladies were about to start on a journey to Kashmir, on ponies,
as Lady Howard de Walden said that it was her intention to see as much
of the world as she could before she died. She was then seventy. She
added that it was a singular coincidence that the two regiments in which
her sons had served—the 4th Hussars and the 60th Rifles—both of which
she visited, should be quartered quite near Kashmir, the Hussars at
Rawal Pindi, and the 2nd Battalion, 60th Rifles, at Murree. Lady Howard
de Walden accomplished the difficult journey to Kashmir and returned in
safety.

We were on friendly terms with the Baron de Taintegnies, who was in
attendance on Leopold II., King of the Belgians, and also with his
three lovely daughters, who, with their cousins, the daughters of Baron
Danetan, were considered the most beautiful girls in Brussels society at
that time. One of the former married, in later years, Captain Stewart
Muirhead, of the Blues, a friend of my father and of Captain Dorrien.

Frederick Milbanke, of the Blues, an old Etonian, who was a great friend
of my father, was at that time a good deal in Brussels, and married
a Belgian actress there. Milbanke was heir to some of the Duke of
Cleveland’s estates, but he died before coming into this property. The
last time I saw him was at the Alexandra Hôtel, in London, where he and
his wife had a very fine suite of rooms, when my father took me there to
pay them a visit. Milbanke was a very handsome, fair man, and his wife
a great beauty. I met the latter in after years at the Grosvenor Hôtel,
where she was staying with her son, a nice-looking boy, who had come back
from Eton for the holidays.

The winter at Brussels was rather a severe one, and there was plenty of
good skating to be had. I remember learning to skate in the Bois de la
Cambre, to which I went with my father. One day I was knocked down by
some lady skaters, and had great difficulty in extricating myself from
their petticoats. I fell very softly, but I was well-nigh smothered. I
was glad when my parents left Brussels, as I had no companions there at
all.

There was then at Ostend a Mrs. Clifton, who had an exceedingly pretty
daughter. Mrs. Clifton was a widow, and afterwards contracted a second
marriage with a brother of Sir Walter Carew. When I was at school at
Kineton, in Warwickshire, the mother and daughter paid me a visit, as
they had an estate not far from the school.

One day, on the Digue at Ostend, I suddenly caught sight of my little
friend, Baron Vogelsang, who, leaving his father and mother, who were
with him, ran up to me at once and kissed me on both cheeks. I saw a good
deal of Vogelsang while I was at Ostend, going often on to the sands with
him, and meeting him in the evening at the children’s dance at the Casino.

The Baron de Taintegnies’s daughter used to attend those dances, to
which the Duc de Sequeira, a young boy I knew, generally went. Marie,
the Baron’s eldest daughter, who was a lovely girl, afterwards became
the Baronne Le Clément de Taintegnies. She lives at Minehead, where she
has a fine estate and hunts with the Devon and Somerset Staghounds.
I heard from her quite recently. Her sister Isa, who married Captain
Stewart Muirhead, is now a widow, her husband having died in Paris in
1906. She also hunts with the staghounds in Devonshire, and both sisters
are well-known horsewomen. Aline, the youngest sister, who was called
“Bébé,” and whom I admired very much when a child at Brussels and Ostend,
married, in 1871, Baron de Hérissem, and, after his death, went to Italy,
where she married again and lived for several years. She died at Ancona
in March, 1906.

There was a racing man at Ostend, named Captain Riddell, who won all
the principal steeplechases that were run there. Mrs. Ind, the wife of
the well-known brewer, was his sister. Riddell met with a very serious
accident in a steeplechase at Ostend, injuring his spine. The horse
which he was riding on that occasion was once ridden by my father on
the sands, and he told me that he was a perfect devil to hold. When a
young man, my father once rode a hundred miles in twelve hours on the
same horse for a bet at Taunton, in Somerset, and won his wager easily,
with plenty of time to spare. He and Charles Kinglake, a brother of the
author of “Eöthen,” were the only persons who were willing to go up in a
balloon at Taunton, when the first one came there, which was considered
rather venturesome at the time. This reminds me that one of the oldest
inhabitants of Bristol told me lately that he remembered when the first
iron ship was launched at that port, and how all the residents declared:
“The idea of iron floating is too absurd to entertain for one instant;
the ship is bound to sink, for iron can never be made to keep above
water.”

The King and Queen of Würtemberg were both then at Ostend. Queen Olga,
who was a Russian Grand Duchess by birth, was said to be the handsomest
woman in Europe. She had very regular features, but was at that time
excessively pale and thin. Her niece, the Grand Duchess Olga, was the
first proposed _fiancée_ of Ludwig II., King of Bavaria. His Majesty,
however, refused to marry her. This is not generally known. The Grand
Duchess Olga afterwards married the late King George of Greece.

King Leopold II. and Queen Henriette were at Ostend at that time with
their children, who used to drive on the sands in a small carriage drawn
by four cream-coloured ponies. Baron de Taintegnies was usually on the
Digue of an afternoon with the King, sitting down or walking about.

Among my father’s friends at Ostend were Lord Orford and Lord Brownlow
Cecil. The latter was very fond of music, and married a lady there who
was a magnificent pianist. One day I can remember my father sitting in
the Casino with Henry Labouchere, an old Etonian, who had formerly been
in the Diplomatic Service. Labouchere was smoking a big cigar, and he
and my father had a long conversation. What it was about, I cannot say,
though they were continually laughing; and my father told me afterwards
that Labouchere was very amusing, and, though sarcastic, witty, and that
he rather liked him.[7]

General Sir John Douglas, K.C.B., Commander of the Forces in Scotland,
and his wife, Lady Elizabeth Douglas, daughter of Earl Cathcart, were a
good deal with my parents at Ostend. The General used to take long walks
with my father, and he put my name down for his old regiment, the 79th
Highlanders, and for the Scots Guards. Sir John Douglas was extremely
kind to me in after years, and invited me to stay with him at Edinburgh;
but I could not get leave from my colonel at the time, and consequently
was obliged, to my great regret, to decline his kind invitation.

My parents used very often to spend the summer months at Ostend, and
one year they occupied the apartments at the Hôtel de Prusse which
the Russian Ambassador, Prince Orloff, had just vacated. One day,
after washing my hands in my bedroom, I emptied the water out of the
window, for some unaccountable reason. Later in the day, the Princess
de Caraman-Chimay sent up her lady’s maid to say that a dress which the
Princess had intended wearing the following evening at a Court ball at
Brussels had been completely spoiled by the water. I was well scolded by
my mother for being the cause of this misfortune.

The English clergyman at Ostend was a Mr. Jukes. He had a very
good-looking son, a boy about my own age. He told me that he was in the
habit of walking in his sleep, and showed me his bedroom window, which
had a padlock on it. When I asked him where the key of it was, he said
that they would not tell him, in case he might get up in the night,
unlock it, and walk on the roof of the house, which, he said, he had done
before. His father once met me with mine in the street, and when told
that I was going into the British Army, said that he entirely disapproved
of soldiers, and thought that the time was near at hand when there would
be no more wars and every dispute would be settled by arbitration. I
fancied at that time that Mr. Jukes’s prophecy might come true, but, as
subsequent events proved, we were very far indeed from its realisation.

Both the King and Queen of the Belgians were very popular with the
inhabitants of Ostend. They used to walk on the Digue quite unattended,
and seemed in no way inconvenienced by the crowd, who always treated them
with the greatest respect. The King wore plain clothes, usually a dark
suit with a tall white hat, and never appeared there in uniform. A very
good story is told of Leopold II., who, some years ago, during the summer
months, was at Luchon, in the Pyrenees. The day after he arrived there,
the King sent for a hairdresser, and directed him to trim his silvery
beard. When the operation was over, His Majesty inquired what he had to
pay.

“It will be twenty francs, Your Majesty,” replied the hairdresser without
hesitation.

The King pulled out a two-franc piece, which he handed to this too
facetious Figaro.

“I am accustomed,” said he, “to pay very well. Here is a two-franc piece.
It is a new Belgian coin, and you will see my head on it, as you wished
to pay yourself for it.” (“_Vous y verrez ma tête, puisque vous avez
voulu vous la payer._”)

It is said that the hairdresser left without asking for the rest of the
money, and that, since this adventure, he placed over his shop a fine
board, inscribed: “Furnisher of H.M. the King of the Belgians.”

My mother spent a summer at Spa, where she took a house with a garden
attached to it. I liked the place very much, and often went for rides on
a pony in the woods with the late Captain Lennox Berkeley, who afterwards
became Earl of Berkeley. The country round Spa is mountainous and very
charming. Spa itself is an exceedingly pretty place, situated in a valley
entirely surrounded by hills and woods, and the Ardennes are not far off.
But in the summer months the heat is intense, and, when the sun once gets
into the valley, there is often not a breath of air. The promenade, where
the band plays morning and evening, is charming, and it is very pleasant
to sit beneath the shady trees and listen to the excellent orchestra. I
often used to go there with my mother, particularly of a morning, when
all the _monde élégant_ used to forgather to listen to the music. The
gambling-rooms were then open for roulette and trente-et-quarante, and
Captain Berkeley used often to try his luck at them, but, unfortunately,
he was not successful. I can remember his giving me “Japhet in Search of
a Father,” by Captain Marryat, and recommending me to read it. I did so,
and it amused me very much.

Another of my father’s friends, the late Captain Bromley, an old Etonian,
and a son of Sir Thomas Bromley, was at Spa at the same time. One day,
when I happened to tell him that I was going into the Army, he smiled,
and said that he never could hit off with his colonel. The latter
complained that he was always late for parade, and asked him if he did
not hear the bugles sound. He answered:—

“Yes, sir—I hear the bugles, but there must be something wrong with
them, for they don’t sound the right note.” The Colonel soon found him
incorrigible, and he himself that he was never made for a soldier.

Bromley told me that, when a boy, he was accustomed to dine off gold
plates and that everything he used at table was of gold. Suddenly, his
father died, and his elder brother inherited the title and estates, while
he was obliged to live on a few hundreds a year. This, he said, was the
fault of our law of primogeniture, which ought only to take effect in the
case of ducal houses, where the bearer of the title should be made to pay
an “appanage” to the other members of the family, as is the rule on the
Continent.

It has often been asserted by authors of great authority that women are
much meaner than men; but I have known some instances to the contrary.
Once, during our stay at Spa, a gentleman called on my mother, and told
her that he had lost all he possessed, and asked her to lend him £50,
as he was anxious to rejoin his wife. My mother, who had known him for
years, said that she would give him all she had in the house—nearly
£40—for which he was very grateful, both at the time and when we met him
and his wife in later years.

Once I was staying with my father at Desseins Hôtel, at Calais,[8] when
he told me that he had made the acquaintance of an Englishman, a certain
Captain Arthy, who was rather a singular character, indeed, highly
eccentric. It appeared that he had just lost his wife, and that he was so
distressed at her death that he wore all the trinkets which had belonged
to her on his watch-chain, to show his affection for her. He had not,
however, gone into mourning, and always affected a red tie, saying that
he wore the mourning in his heart, upon which he used to lay his hand as
he spoke. I was introduced to Captain Arthy, who was a bald-headed man,
with black side-whiskers and rather a red face, dressed in a light suit
of clothes. The quantity of charms on his watch-chain would have almost
filled the window of a jeweller’s shop, while numerous rings adorned his
fingers. He was perpetually smiling, displaying a set of very fine teeth
when he did so.

He invited my father and me to see his rooms, which were full of gold and
silver cups, which he told us, had belonged to his late wife. The late
Mrs. Winsloe, whose husband was a friend of my father, was staying at
this hôtel. Mr. Winsloe was a well-known man in Somersetshire, but he had
recently gone out of his mind. His wife had been a great beauty, but she
was then terribly made up, with fair dyed hair.

Mrs. Winsloe, who lived in very luxurious fashion, and occupied a very
fine set of rooms at Desseins Hôtel, said that Arthy was a cousin of her
husband, and showed us a cutting from the _Times_ about the death of Mrs.
Arthy, which had occurred in rather a tragic manner. One evening, when my
father and I were in her salon, she said to Arthy:—

“I wish you would give one of your lockets to that little boy, as a
keepsake from me.” Arthy thereupon took off his watch-chain, and, after
hunting amongst his innumerable lockets, at length chose one, which he
unfastened, saying:—

“Here is a nice gold locket that will do. Will you give him your photo to
put inside it?”

“I haven’t got one,” replied Mrs. Winsloe. “Give him one of yours
instead.” So he cut round one of his photos and, inserting it in the
locket, handed it to me. “Now kiss Mrs. Winsloe,” said he, “for it is her
present to you.” I kissed the paint off her face, and she kissed me, and
I felt sure that she left a coloured impression on my face. But I was so
pleased with the locket, which I attached to my chain, that I did not
care in the least.

Arthy drank champagne with Mrs. Winsloe, and the latter seemed rather
infatuated with him, which was not surprising, as he was a fine-looking
man, though his baldness detracted from his good looks. However, the lady
could not afford to be very _difficile_, being only an artificial beauty,
whose youth was but a memory. Formerly, she had had beautiful hair,
and it still reached to her waist. My father complimented her upon it,
observing:—

“I never saw such lovely hair in my life, or such a perfect colour.”

She looked pleased, and replied, smiling:—

“Yes, I don’t think there are many women who have such fine hair.”

“No, I am sure there are not,” remarked Arthy, who appeared to be
thinking of the gold locket which he had given away, for he looked at his
chain as he spoke.

“He doesn’t half admire you,” said my father, laughing.

“I am sure I do; I think my cousin the loveliest woman possible,” replied
the other, who appeared annoyed at my father’s remark.

Mrs. Winsloe looked at Arthy and smiled, being evidently under the
impression that he was jealous, as he appeared angry with my father.

The fact was that Arthy was anxious to ingratiate himself with Mrs.
Winsloe, as she was very wealthy. Accordingly, he pretended to admire
her, though it needed only half a glance to see that in reality he
considered her very far from beautiful. Mrs. Winsloe not only paid for
her own rooms at the hôtel, but all the expensive dinners which she and
Arthy had together were entered to her account. The latter had a great
partiality for naval officers, and as an American warship, the _Alabama_,
of the Confederate Navy, happened to be lying at Calais at this time,
he invited some of the officers to dine with him and Mrs. Winsloe. They
accepted, and were most sumptuously entertained, champagne flowing like
water.

After staying six weeks with his cousin, Arthy left for England. Soon
afterwards, the officers of a British warship at Portsmouth received an
invitation from the Duke of St. Albans to dine with him at an hôtel. The
captain of the ship happened to be away, and, on his return, the other
officers told him what a good dinner he had missed and loudly praised the
ducal hospitality.

“The Duke of St. Albans!” exclaimed the captain, in astonishment. “How
can you possibly have dined with him that evening? Why, the very same day
I was shooting quite near the duke’s property, and I happened to see
him! I will go to the hôtel and find out who it can be.”

The captain lost no time in instituting inquiries, with the result that
the supposed duke was laid by the heels just as he was preparing to leave
Portsmouth, and turned out to be none other than the man who had passed
as Captain Arthy at Calais. It was subsequently ascertained that he was a
certain Comte d’Aubigny, a member of a very old and noble French family,
and that he had deceived several people in the same way. My father, on
hearing of this, remarked:—

“It is the first time that I have been taken in by a man, but I am glad I
am not the only one he deceived.”

The enterprising gentleman was afterwards brought to trial and sentenced
to seven years’ penal servitude.

My parents sometimes spent the summer months at Boulogne, one year taking
a large house at some little distance from the sea, overlooking a public
garden. The late Captain Elwes, a nephew of the Duchess of Wellington,
who was Vice-Consul at Boulogne, was a friend of my parents. He was
devoted to painting, and, many years later, painted a miniature of an
American lady for his cousin, the Marquis of Anglesey. It was beautifully
painted, but, unfortunately, when it was finished, the Marquis had fallen
in love with another Transatlantic belle, so he did not appreciate the
miniature quite as much as he might have done, if his affections had not
been diverted from the original. Elwes hoped to be appointed Consul at
Boulogne, but whether he ever obtained that post, I cannot say. The last
time I met him was in Paris, many years later, at a dinner given by the
Marquis of Anglesey, at the Hôtel d’Albe, in the Champs Elysées.

Lord Henry Paget, afterwards Marquis of Anglesey, was very fond of
Boulogne, and lived there with his first wife. The latter died at
Boulogne, quite suddenly, but the Marquis continued to visit the place,
and my father saw a good deal of him.

George Lawrence, the author of “Guy Livingstone,” son of Lady Emily
Lawrence, was frequently at Boulogne, and often with my parents. I can
remember my father relating how one day he went with him to see one of
the lovely daughters of the Baron de Taintegnies off to Paris, and how
Lawrence was so infatuated with the young lady, that he jumped into the
train, without any luggage, merely to have the pleasure of travelling
with her all the way to Paris, a journey of about five hours. On reaching
Paris, he saw Mlle. de Taintegnies safely to her destination, and then
took the train back to Boulogne.

My parents were particularly fond of Lawrence, who was good-humoured,
clever, and very amusing. I heard that he had a quarrel with Tom Hohler,
who married the Duchess of Newcastle, on account of having introduced
him into one of his novels, called “Breaking a Butterfly.” Hohler was
very friendly with my father in later years in Paris. We had a white
Pomeranian dog, and Tom Hohler asked my father to show it to the Duke of
Newcastle, who was then a child, living with his mother in the Avenue
d’Antin. The dog took such a fancy to the young Duke that it forsook
us for him entirely. I heard recently from the Duke of Newcastle, who
was kind enough to be interested in this book, that he remembered this
Pomeranian dog quite well, and told me its name—“Loulou”—which I had
entirely forgotten. The name recalled many things to my recollection. It
is strange how at times we forget a name, and then, when it is mentioned,
associations and incidents connected with it are suddenly recalled to our
memory and flash before us as in a dream.

Tom Hohler sang for a time at Her Majesty’s Theatre. I never heard him
sing in operas, but I have been told that he had a very pleasing voice,
though it was not a very powerful one. It was said that when he sang in
private houses, he was paid £40 for every song.

Harry Slade, a son of Sir Frederick Slade, stayed for a time at Boulogne
with his mother, of whom we saw a good deal; and, after Lady Slade’s
death, her son stayed for a long time at the Hôtel du Nord, where my
father and I often went to see him. He was a good talker and always very
entertaining.

Mrs. Joe Riggs, an American lady, who afterwards became Princess Ruspoli,
was extremely fond of Boulogne, and generally spent the summer at the
Hôtel Impérial; but this was in later years.




CHAPTER IV

    A Painting by Romney—Hunter’s School at Kineton—Corporal
    Punishment—A Sporting Parson—My Schoolfellows at Kineton—The
    Warre-Malets—Lord Charleville.


Before going to school in England, I was taken to Richmond to see my
mother’s aunt, Lady Caroline Murray, who was now an old lady and lived in
a house near the Thames, for, as the Duchess of Gloucester, to whom she
had been lady-in-waiting, had been dead some years, she was no longer at
Court. In her younger days, Lady Caroline had been a good horsewoman and
had ridden very well to hounds. But, at this time, she was leading a very
quiet life, receiving only her relatives and friends.

I can remember that in Lady Caroline’s drawing-room at Richmond there was
a most beautiful picture of her mother, Viscountess Stormont, British
Ambassadress to France and Austria, painted by Romney. It represented
the Countess in her own right, as she afterwards became, sitting beneath
a large tree and wearing a kind of loose _peignoir_ of a pale yellow
colour, like the colour of the sea just before a storm. The _peignoir_
was fastened at the shoulder by a brooch, in which was a large yellow
stone. Her hair was dressed high above the head, in the style of Marie
Antoinette, in whose days her husband was Ambassador in France, and over
it she had a Scottish plaid of the clan to which she belonged. One leg
was crossed over the other, and her arms were folded. She was painted in
profile; her _peignoir_, open at the front, displaying a perfect bosom
and a beautiful, swan-like neck. Her hair possessed that glorious auburn
tint with shades of gold in it, which made it appear as though the sun
were shedding its full rays upon the gold tresses, one of which had
escaped from the rest and hung loose. Her face was of a tender oval, with
expressive eyes of a peculiar shade of green, like that of the sea when
the sun falls upon it, or as it is in Böcklin’s pictures. Her nose was
straight and delicate, with nostrils like those of a Greek statue. Her
mouth was unusually small, with a tiny upper lip, slightly curved; her
chin short and classical. The expression on the face was of pride, of
audacity, of childish innocence, of sentimentality, and it possessed a
marvellous charm and attraction.

[Illustration: The Author’s Mother.

[_To face p. 40._]

This beautiful portrait, which Lady Caroline bequeathed to Earl Cathcart,
as he was the head of her mother’s family, was once seen by a wealthy
American, who said to the Earl, into whose possession it had then come:—

“Have you ever seen such a lovely woman as this in all your life?”

“No, I have not,” the Earl answered.

“Well, I guess you haven’t,” rejoined the other, “and I don’t think there
ever was such a lovely woman on earth.”

And he offered Lord Cathcart £20,000 down for the picture, which the
latter, though not a rich man, refused. The American then promised the
Earl’s son, Viscount Greenock, £500, if he could persuade his father to
accept the offer; but it was all of no avail.

I showed Mr. Noseda, the well-known print-seller in the Strand, the
engraving of this picture by J. R. Smith, which had belonged to my
grandfather, when Mr. Noseda told me that he very much preferred the
engraving to the painting, as the latter had been so much touched up,
whereas the former was so beautifully executed in every detail that he
considered it finer than Romney’s portrait. This was after I had told him
about the offer of £20,000 which the American had made for the original
painting.

Viscountess Stormont had been Ranger of Richmond Park, and was allotted,
as her official residence, the house which is now the Queen’s Hôtel.
An old gentleman whom I met at Richmond in later years told me that
he thought the hôtel ought to have been named after the Countess of
Mansfield, as Lady Stormont became later, instead of being called the
“Queen’s.” He remembered Lady Caroline Murray, and remarked that she was
one of those ladies of the old nobility who were scarce nowadays.

Viscount Greenock afterwards became Earl Cathcart, and died in London
in 1911. He was at Eton with me, and afterwards joined the 23rd Welsh
Fusiliers, from which he was transferred to the Scots Guards. When at
Eton, he often came to my tutor’s house to see his cousin, Charles
Douglas, whose father had placed him there to be with me. The Hon.
Reginald Cathcart, a younger brother of Lord Cathcart, was in the 60th
Rifles, and I recollect giving him a letter to his colonel, Godfrey
Astell, in India,[9] when he first joined the regiment. Reginald
Cathcart, who was a very nice young man, tall, dark, and handsome, was
one of those unhappily killed in the Boer War.

The school to which I was sent was at Kineton, near Warwick. It had been
recommended to my father by Lady Caroline Murray, who had heard of it
from the Duke of Buccleuch, and a cousin of mine, Greville Finch-Hatton,
was being educated there. When my father and I arrived, we were shown
into a sitting-room, looking out on to a garden, where we were received
by Mrs. Hunter, the headmaster’s wife. Mrs. Hunter was an old lady, whose
age, I afterwards ascertained, was about seventy. To guess it would have
been a difficult task, so terribly made up was she. Everything about her
was false: false teeth, false hair, and a false bust, giving her somewhat
the appearance of a wax figure at Madame Tussaud’s. She had, however,
very pretty white hands, with pointed fingers. She was dressed in black
satin, with a large gold brooch at her throat, and a long gold chain
round her neck, a costume which she always wore.

“This, I presume, is your little son, whom you are leaving with us?”
said Mrs. Hunter to my father. “Will you tell me whether you belong to
the High or Low Church, as it is my province to look after the boys’
religious instruction, and I am always interested to know.”

The question was rather a poser for my father, who, I do not think, had
entered a church since he left England. So he turned to me and said:—

“Tell the lady to what church you go with your mother.”

I said that at Ostend I always went to the English Protestant Church.
Upon which Mrs. Hunter observed:—

“I see, you have been living on the Continent, and foreigners have very
little religion. However, I will take care that your son has the proper
religious instruction.”

Suddenly, the door opened, and an immensely stout man, of about
sixty-five, with mutton-chop whiskers and spectacles, entered the room,
and introduced himself as Mr. Hunter, the headmaster.

In his youth Mr. Hunter had probably been an exceedingly handsome man,
and was still, apart from his corpulence, decidedly good-looking, with
a fine forehead, a small mouth with thin lips and very good teeth, and
regular features.

After showing us over the school, Mr. Hunter sent for Greville
Finch-Hatton, telling my father that I should occupy a dormitory with my
cousin and two other boys. At eight o’clock, supper was served in a large
dining-room, where the presence of a new boy provoked a good deal of
talking amongst the other boys. Mrs. Hunter sat at one end of the table,
her husband at the other; and the meal was a cold one, carved on the
table, and consisting of cold meat, followed by bread and cheese, washed
down by draught beer.

As soon as supper was over, we were sent to our dormitories, where I had
not been long in bed when my cousin leant over from his and asked if I
were asleep. On finding that I was awake, he told me that we must talk in
a very low voice, as talking was forbidden, and Mrs. Hunter occasionally
paid us a visit to see whether this regulation was being observed. The
two other boys in the room also began talking in low tones. Later on,
when they considered themselves pretty safe from detection, they talked
louder and carried on a long conversation about cricket, discussing who
were the best bowlers in the school and whether fast bowling was more
effective than slow.

I could not sleep, and, for some unaccountable reason, felt very
miserable. At last I began to cry, at first quietly, but soon I was
unable to restrain my sobs. My cousin, hearing me, tried to console me,
saying that he, too, had found it hard to leave his parents at first. I
felt inclined to tell him that it was not that which made me cry, but I
thought better of it. Soon afterwards I fell asleep, and dreamed that I
was at Kirchhofer’s school at Frankfurt, and that Vogelsang was talking
to me. I even fancied that he kissed me, when I awoke suddenly, in
despair at finding where I was.

Mr. Hunter was a very pleasant man, when he cared to be, which was by
no means always the case. He was most severe with everyone, and had no
particular favourites. Some boys he disliked, particularly those who
did not learn quickly, and those who were inclined to be noisy. He was
full of fun when he played football with us; making jokes and chaffing
different boys in turn. He was, however, quite a different kind of man in
school from what he was in the playground.

On Sundays, we, of course, attended church. The clergyman who preached,
a Mr. Miller, had two voices: a very squeaky voice and a very gruff
one. When he preached in his squeaky voice, most of us would fall
asleep in the high pews, which screened us from the observation of the
headmaster; but when Mr. Miller altered his tone, and his deep, gruff
voice was suddenly heard, coming, as it were, out of a vault, we would
be disagreeably startled from our slumbers. The sermons, I am inclined
to believe, were bought ones, for Mr. Miller used sometimes to lose his
place in the midst of his discourse and come to a stop, and when he
continued, it was on quite a different subject. But it mattered little,
so far as we were concerned, for most of the boys were usually asleep,
and those who tried to listen could not follow the squeaky voice of the
preacher—which had all the disagreeable sounds of a clarionet played
badly—even by straining their ears, which few of them were disposed to do.

Our French master, who was obliged to accompany us, used sometimes to
unfold the Paris _Figaro_ at full length and read it during the sermon.
Mr. Hunter, owing to the height of the pews, could not, of course, see
him, or he would most certainly have taken very strong exception to such
an irregular proceeding. One Sunday, when Monsieur happened to have
forgotten his _Figaro_, he passed the time of the sermon in an animated
conversation with Rush, the captain of the Eleven. Unfortunately for
the latter, Mr. Hunter happened to detect them; and, after church, he
sent for Rush, and, refusing to listen to his appeals, took him to the
schoolroom and, making him bend down, gave him a severe caning.

When I first came to the school, I was chaffed about my pronunciation,
and Rush said:—

“If you pronounce Themistocles like you do, I wouldn’t be in your shoes.”
Then he used to ask me questions about my German school, which at first
he laughed at. Soon, however, he took a great interest in it, making me
tell him about the boys there, what they were like and what they did.

“It must be very much jollier than here,” said he, “and none of that
beastly caning and flogging, as there is at Kineton.”

Mr. Hunter was certainly a devout believer in the precept: “Spare
the rod, and spoil the child;” indeed, he seemed to have a perfect
passion for caning the boys, and at times performed this operation with
astonishing zest. Sometimes, of an evening, in my dormitory, we would
play at being Mr. Hunter, each of us taking it in turns to personate the
master and beat the other boys with a hairbrush, in place of a cane. One
night, one of us happened to remark:—

“I think it is a pleasure that would grow upon one, as it evidently does
upon old Hunter.”

Scarcely had he said this, when, to our consternation, the door suddenly
opened, and the master appeared. The boys bolted into bed as fast as they
could, but it was too late, and we were told to come to Mr. Hunter’s
study after prayers the following morning. There, after we had been duly
admonished, we were all severely caned.

Rush and other boys used to put hairs in the canes to split them; but Mr.
Hunter found this out, for one day, he broke six canes one after another.
He then rang for his whalebone whip, and we received a fearful thrashing,
with no time to prepare for it by padding our clothes with books.

One day, the Duchess of Marlborough, who was a friend of Lady Caroline
Murray, called, and asked to see my cousin and myself. She was
accompanied by her son, Lord Randolph Churchill, and her visit to the
school was due to the fact that she thought of placing him there. But
Lord Randolph became too ill to go to school just then, and had a private
tutor at home instead, until he was old enough to be sent to Eton.[10]

We often went for picnics to the charming woods of Compton Verney,
belonging to Lady Willoughby de Broke. That lady, who was always very
pleasant and full of fun, would sometimes come and talk to us and to Mr.
Hunter. The latter had formerly been private tutor to her eldest son,
and the school was on Lord Willoughby de Broke’s property.[11] The late
Hon. Rainald Verney, Lord Willoughby’s younger brother, was at school at
Hunter’s, before going to Eton, and often came to the school when I was
there, before he joined the 52nd Light Infantry.

Mr. Hunter had a young and rather pretty niece, a girl of eighteen, with
black hair, who stayed for a time with him. She used to go into the boys’
dormitories at night, when she would give them bonbons and generally kiss
them. But her stay at Kineton was so short that her presence there was
more like an angel’s visit than anything else.

One day, the Rev. William and Mrs. Finch-Hatton called to see their son
and also asked to see me. Mrs. Finch-Hatton, who was at that time known
as the “Rose of Kent,” was a lovely woman, with very black hair and
regular features. She was a sister of Sir Percy Oxenden. She told me that
both she and her husband were struck by my great resemblance to their
son Greville; and Mr. Finch-Hatton very kindly gave me half a sovereign,
which I never forgot, as I rarely received any money from anyone. Mr.
Newenham, who had married a daughter of the Earl of Mount Cashell, and
was a clergyman in Ireland, also came to see his son. He played football
with us, and afterwards told us the following story:—

“I was once asked to see an old woman in Cork who was dying. She asked
me to read the Bible to her, but as I was unprepared to find her so ill,
I had not brought one with me, nor had she one in the house. So I pulled
out a copy of _Bell’s Life_ which I happened to have in my pocket, and
read her an article from it, which, as she happened to be deaf, had
precisely the same effect upon her as the Bible would have had.”

Mr. Newenham was a regular sporting parson, with, however, a good deal
more of the sportsman than the parson about him, but full of fun and very
agreeable.

There was a boy named Charles Taylor at the school, who afterwards went
to Eton. His father, who had himself been at Eton, was a famous cricketer
and had played in the All-England Eleven. He was, however, somewhat
eccentric, having the most intense dislike of being asked his age; in
fact, when one put this question to him, he invariably answered that he
neither knew it nor wished to know it. He had also a strong objection to
anything of a violet colour, and if a person called to see him wearing
a tie or a dress of that colour, he always picked a quarrel with his
unfortunate visitor.

Another boy at Kineton, whom I shall call L——, had the misfortune to be
afflicted with kleptomania, and would take everything he could lay his
hands on. Mr. Hunter used to break so many canes upon his back that he
said to him one day:—

“I shall send the bill for all the canes I have broken in trying to
correct you to your mother, for you get worse and worse every day.”

The school colours were scarlet and white, but they were only worn by the
cricket Eleven. As I was in the Eleven, I had this coveted privilege.
My cousin did not much care for cricket, and was fonder of riding and
shooting, at both of which he excelled. Mr. Hunter kept a pony for the
boys to ride. When he drove to Warwick, Leamington or Banbury, he would
take two of us with him, one boy riding the pony, while the other sat in
the pony-trap with the master. I can remember once riding to Warwick and
then to Stratford-on-Avon on the pony, which Finch-Hatton rode back to
Kineton. Most of the boys could ride well, and those who could not were
never taken by Mr. Hunter, save on one occasion, when I recollect that
the boy he took with him reminded me of certain Frenchmen whom one sees
riding in the Bois de Boulogne, who are afraid to let their horses go
beyond a walk. As my father used to say in Paris:—

“They praise the Lord on their knees every time they come home safely and
are out of the saddle.”

Greville Finch-Hatton was rather delicate, and, after making a voyage to
Australia, died quite young.

Aubrey Birch Reynardson, who also slept in my dormitory, had a gift for
story-telling. One night he related to us the story of “Eric, or Little
by Little,” with which, I can remember, we were delighted.

Mr. Hunter always wore spectacles. At times, by gaslight, when the gas
fell upon them, it looked as if his eyes were two flames, and that he
was an ogre ready to devour one of us, particularly when he took up his
cane, and glared at the culprit, through his spectacles, with fiery eyes.
But, taken on the whole, Mr. Hunter was a very good fellow, who would
never have done anyone an injury, apart from perhaps giving him a dose of
the cane.

Among the boys who were at Hunter’s with me was Charles Home-Purves, who
was the head of the school. He afterwards went to Eton and took Lower
School instead of Fourth Form, at which Mr. Hunter was much disappointed.
His father, Colonel Home-Purves, was in attendance on the Duchess of
Cambridge, and was accidentally killed by the overturning of a carriage
in which he was driving with Her Royal Highness. He was so terribly
cut about the face by the glass of the carriage-window that he died
almost immediately. His son was offered a commission in the Guards, but
preferred entering the Rifle Brigade. However, he left the regiment
shortly afterwards, and died when very young.

The late Earl of Lonsdale, before he succeeded his uncle in the title,
was also at Kineton with me. On one occasion, he ordered a lot of toys
from Cremer’s toy-shop, but when they arrived, Mr. Hunter was so startled
at the bill, which amounted to a considerable sum, that he had them at
once sent back to where they came from, telling Lowther, as he was then,
that he must make a better use of his money. He found life at Hunter’s
too restricted and not lively enough for him, so he only remained one
half, and then asked to leave the school. I met him at Eton with his
brother, the present Earl of Lonsdale. The latter was attached to the
Rifle Brigade, and was a very keen sportsman, I remember, when we were
both stationed at Winchester.

One day, at Kineton, I was playing with Newenham, who happened to have
a pocket-knife open in his hand, and, by accident, I got a very ugly
stab in the back. Indeed, the doctor declared that, if the wound had
been one-eighth of an inch deeper, it would have been fatal. Newenham
was once mistaken for me by an uncle of mine at the Great Western Hotel,
Paddington, which amused both of them very much, particularly as I was
then at the same school as Newenham. He retired from the Army with the
rank of Major, and lives in County Kerry, for which he is a magistrate.

Once, on the anniversary of Shakespeare’s birth,[12] Mr. Hunter took
us to Stratford-on-Avon, to show us the house where the poet was born
and to visit the theatre. Mr. Hunter was a good amateur actor, and
would sometimes get up plays for us to act. On one occasion, we played
“A Midsummer Night’s Dream.” Lady Willoughby de Broke, Lord and Lady
North, Sir Charles Mordaunt, and all the neighbouring county families
were invited to the performance, which went off fairly well. “Making up”
afforded us great amusement. One of the boys had learned this art from
his sister, and proved himself quite an adept at darkening the others’
eyebrows and rouging their cheeks and lips.

I happened to meet recently the Rev. Henry Knightley, brother of Sir
Charles Knightley. He had been at Kineton with me, but it was forty
years since we had met. From him I learned that Mr. Hunter had died at
Leamington after giving up his school, and that Rush had died quite early
in life, as well as several others who were there with us. It was quite a
pleasure for me, and, I think, also for him, to recall our school-days,
and even the canings I looked back upon with some regret, feeling that I
would willingly submit to them again, could I but return to those times.
We both agreed that we had not learned much at Kineton, but that, on the
whole, our life there with our schoolfellows had been a pleasant one. I
found that Knightley was under the impression that Greville Finch-Hatton
had inherited the title of Winchilsea, but I told him that my cousin was
dead, and that the present Earl of Winchilsea and Nottingham had been at
Eton with me, and was kind enough to interest himself in my book about
our school life.

[Illustration: C. D. Williamson, at Eton with the Author.

[_To face p. 50._]

[Illustration: Miss Mabel Warre-Malet.

[_To face p. 51._]

The chief prize I got at this school was a copy of Longfellow’s poems,
beautifully bound and illustrated. I was very pleased at receiving it,
as Longfellow was at that time my favourite lyrical poet in the English
language.

Most of the boys remained at Kineton until they were fourteen, when they
left for Harrow, Eton, Winchester, or some other public school. Greville
Finch-Hatton went to Wellington, Rush to Cheltenham, and Knightley to
Marlborough.

During my holidays, I sometimes went to Taunton, to stay with an aunt
of mine, whose husband, a very kind man, was extremely fond of me. His
daughter’s chief friends were some children of the name of Warre-Malet,
nieces of the Ambassador, Sir Alexander Warre-Malet. The eldest girl,
Mabel, who was about thirteen, the same age as myself, was very pretty,
with brown hair, a lovely complexion and eyes of a deep blue. One
Christmas Eve, Mrs. Warre-Malet had a large Christmas tree, with numerous
presents attached to its branches, and we were invited to her house.
Every one of the children received a beautiful present from the tree,
which was illuminated by a great number of candles. Afterwards we played
at forfeits, and I was told to kiss Mabel Warre-Malet as a forfeit, an
act which I felt very shy about performing. “_Si jeunesse savait, si
vieillesse pouvait._” Another friend of ours was a girl whose name was
Amy; who was also about thirteen. She, too, was a very attractive little
lady, with long brown hair, hazel eyes with black lashes, an oval face,
and a small mouth with pearly white teeth. She had a cousin, the Earl of
Charleville, some years older than herself, who was staying at that time
with her people. One day she came with him to see my cousins, and said to
me:

“Charleville can tell you all about Eton, if you want to know anything,
as he went to school there.”

Lord Charleville had to go away before his companion, who remained to
tea. Afterwards, one of my cousins and I accompanied her part of the way
home, and, while we were crossing some fields, she suddenly exclaimed:—

“Good gracious! my petticoat is coming down!”

And she burst out laughing.

My cousin Florence, a girl of thirteen, told me to walk on, while she
pinned up Amy’s petticoat. But this proved a more difficult task than she
had bargained for, as a string fastening had been broken, and it ended in
Amy being obliged to take her petticoat off and carry it as a parcel. The
two girls laughed consumedly at this mishap and its victim said to me:—

“Don’t you tell anyone that you saw me take my petticoat off, or I will
never forgive you.”

I assured her that on no consideration would I breathe so much as a
syllable, and, on leaving us, she said:—

“As you are going away, you may give me a kiss, if you like.”

Which I did right gladly, as you may suppose.

A few days later, I met Charleville at an evening party in Taunton, at
which he paid marked attention to the daughter of the house, a very
pretty girl. I recollect meeting at this party two of the daughters of
the vicar of Taunton, Elsie and Audrey Clark, the elder of whom was
thirteen, while her sister was three years younger, and was much struck
by their beauty, which was quite out of the common. One of them had the
most lovely hair, of the same exquisite colour as that which one sees
in Titian’s paintings; the other’s hair was also very beautiful, but of
a more auburn shade; and both sisters had the most charming complexion.
I danced repeatedly with one of them; _mais mon cœur balançait entre
les deux_, so far as their attractions were concerned. The girl with
the Titian hair afterwards married the fourteenth Lord Petre, while her
sister married his uncle.

Lord Charleville was a tall, good-looking youth, with wavy brown hair
and regular features, but he was very delicate, being consumptive. After
serving for a year in the Rifle Brigade, his health obliged him to resign
his commission. He then went for a voyage in his yacht, but derived
little benefit from it, and died before reaching his majority.

The late Mrs. O. Warre-Malet told me that, when she was quite a young
girl, she and her sister went to Ascot races on foot and disguised as
boys for a joke, and that they got a good deal of money from people
who were driving to the course. Her sister married the Hon. Humble
Dudley-Ward, and after her husband’s death, the late Duke of Richmond
made her an offer of marriage. This she refused, but accepted Mr. Gerard
Leigh, who was an immensely wealthy man. After his death she became the
wife of Monsieur de Falbe, and died some years ago.




CHAPTER V

    My Mother’s Recollections—The Cercle des Patineurs—Patti—Our
    _Appartement_ in the Rue d’Albe


My parents were at this time living in Paris, in a small hôtel in the
Avenue d’Antin, which was so shut in by the houses that surrounded it,
that the rooms were very dark, and, as it was winter, this made the house
seem more gloomy than it would have done at another season of the year.

I was quite enchanted with Paris; everything about it delighted me, so
different was it from any city I had ever seen. The only thing that
displeased me was the hôtel in which we lived. Not only was it gloomy,
but nothing could be seen from the windows, except a kind of courtyard,
resembling a _patio_ in Spain. This courtyard was filled with flowers,
very prettily arranged; nevertheless, it was depressing to be unable to
see anything else when you looked out of the window.

I remember being taken to a box at the Théâtre des Italiens to hear
Adelina Patti, in _La Gazza ladra_, by Rossini. It was the first time
that I had heard her sing, and I was, of course, delighted with her
voice; but my mother was disappointed, and I recall what she said at the
time:—

“After having heard Grisi, Malibran, and even Jenny Lind, I do not
think Patti is to be compared with them, neither so far as her voice is
concerned, nor as an actress. She reminds me at times of Jenny Lind, yet
I prefer the latter infinitely.”

My mother always had her own box at Her Majesty’s in the days when
Grisi, Lablache, Malibran, and the dancers Taglioni, Fanny Elssler and
Cerrito were enchanting the audience. One evening, during the visit of
the Tsar Nicholas I. of Russia to England, my mother was invited by the
Duke of Sussex and Mlle. d’Este to a box at the Opera facing that which
the Tsar and Queen Victoria occupied. The Duke of Sussex paid £500 for
this box.

My mother told me that the two finest sights she ever beheld in her
life were the Coronation of Queen Victoria, when the peeresses all put
on their coronets, sparkling with diamonds, emeralds and rubies, at the
moment Her Majesty was crowned in Westminster Abbey; and at the Queen’s
accession, when hundreds of schoolchildren, dressed in white and light
blue, knelt down and recited the Lord’s Prayer by St. Paul’s, after which
the Benediction was pronounced by the Archbishop of Canterbury.

My mother often met Disraeli in London society; and she told me that,
in his youth, he always wore several diamond rings over his white kid
gloves, and that she thought him a most affected and conceited young
man. The two Greek countesses described in “Lothair” were the Countesses
Zancarol. One married Colonel Lemesurier, of the Royal Horse Artillery;
the other Major Geary, R.A. The latter married couple often dined with us
in Paris, where Mrs. Geary was considered a great beauty. Major Geary and
his brother, Sir Henry Le Quay Geary, K.C.B., were lifelong friends of my
parents.

My maternal grandfather, Lieut.-General the Hon. George Murray, to whom
George III. and his Queen were godfather and godmother, commanded the 2nd
Life Guards. For ten years he refused to accept his pay, on account of a
quarrel which he had with the Duke of York. So far as I can recollect,
the cause of the quarrel was as follows:—

During the Peninsular War, an outward-bound troopship, having some troops
on board commanded by my grandfather, and a great quantity of heavy
luggage belonging to the Duke of York, encountered very bad weather, and
was in danger of foundering. In order to lighten the vessel, the captain
wanted to throw all the horses overboard. But this my grandfather would
not allow, and proposed that the Duke’s luggage should be sacrificed
instead, which was accordingly done, to the intense indignation of His
Royal Highness, when he heard of it afterwards.

The statue to the Duke of York, erected in London, was reported to
have been built so high in order to place him beyond the reach of his
creditors, whose name was legion.

My grandfather used to say that he never could understand how the Duchess
of Sutherland, with her £365,000 a year, could bring herself to stand
the whole evening at the Opera behind the Prince Consort, who was only
an insignificant German prince, with a tiny principality. His opinion of
George IV. was that it would puzzle anyone who knew him to discover a
good quality that he possessed.

It was about this time, when my parents were living in the Avenue
d’Antin, that I first saw Hortense Schneider in _les Voyages de
Gulliver_, at the Châtelet Théâtre, which all Paris rushed to see. The
play was a charming one, and the children were particularly delighted
when the Liliputians, represented by tiny little wooden figures, moved
about the stage. Hortense Schneider, of course, represented Gulliver, and
sang some very pretty songs in the course of the play.

The late Arthur Post, a young American living with his family in Paris,
fell desperately in love at this time with Hortense Schneider, though
she was very much older than himself. He drove about the Bois with
her, accompanied her to theatres, and, in fact, was always with her.
His infatuation greatly distressed his parents, and was the subject of
universal comment. However, he did not marry her, though that was not his
fault, as Hortense Schneider had several royal and other princes ready
to lay their fortunes at her feet; and it was not until several years
afterwards that she chose a very wealthy banker for her husband.

Fioretti was then the _première danseuse_ at the Grand Opéra. Her
dancing always gave me greater pleasure than anything else there. She
was, besides, very beautiful, and King Ludwig II. of Bavaria was so
captivated by her graceful dancing and personal attraction, that he
induced her to leave Paris for Munich, to dance there instead.

I went also to the Palais-Royal, and saw _le Train de Minuit_, a play
in which a railway-carriage is by accident left behind in the middle
of the night at a station, and the people awake and find themselves
at some miserable little village, instead of in Paris, as they had
expected. They, of course, cannot obtain what they require in the way of
refreshments, and are nearly perishing with cold, as it is the depth of
winter, and the carriage is no longer heated; and the complications that
ensue are very amusing.

One day, I went with my parents to Saint-Germain, to visit Captain
and Mrs. Lennox Berkeley, who were living there. Their son, Hastings,
a good-looking boy, told us that his father was learning to play the
zither, which Captain Berkeley showed us, though he could not be
persuaded to let us hear him play it. Saint-Germain, with its charming
woods and pretty walks, is delightful in summer, the country all around
being lovely. When we returned to Paris, I did not give my father any
peace until he had bought a zither for me. It was not easy to obtain
one, and I remember that we wandered about half Paris, until at length
we discovered what we wanted in the Rue de Rivoli. I had also great
difficulty in finding a master, until finally I discovered a German who
played the instrument very well.

In the winter months, I went several times with my father to the Cercle
des Patineurs. This was a very exclusive and very expensive resort,
where, to secure admittance for yourself and family, you had to be a
member of the Jockey Club, while each person had to pay twenty francs in
the afternoon and forty francs in the morning and evening. There were
some Americans who skated marvellously, amongst them being Mrs. Ronalds,
who was a very fine skater. I was told that Napoleon III. and the Empress
Eugénie admired her graceful skating so much that they complimented
her on several occasions at the Cercle des Patineurs, and she became a
frequent guest at the Tuileries. The Princess Metternich, the Austrian
Ambassadress, was also an _habituée_; in fact, the place was patronized
by all the _beau monde_ of those days.

I frequently went at that time to Musards’ concerts, which on fine
summer evenings were given out of doors, in a garden, and always enjoyed
them immensely. Sometimes I went with my mother to meet friends there;
but when I went alone, I usually sat with the Piétris, near relatives
of the Préfet de Police, who was so much attached to the Emperor and
Empress. Their daughter, Julie, was a lovely girl of thirteen, and
when I had learned to play the zither better, we often performed duets
together, as she was a most accomplished pianist. I can remember we
often played Schubert’s _Ständchen_, which sounded very well, as it
is rather melancholy. Sad airs, in my opinion, are best suited to the
zither, particularly when it is accompanied by the piano. When the German
who was teaching me the zither left Paris, I took lessons from a Mlle.
Reichemberg, who, at that time, was also teaching Adelina Patti, and
learned a Polish romance which the latter was very fond of playing. Patti
became extremely fond of the zither, which she played a good deal in her
leisure hours, though she never sang to it, I was told.

Hofrath Hanslick, the late celebrated critic of the Austrian _Neue Freie
Presse_, said of Patti:—

“She appears to me to be most perfect in rôles like Zerlina, in _Don
Juan_, Norina, in _Don Pasquale_, Rosina, in the _Barbiere di Seviglia_.
What a fresh, youthful voice, which in its range from the tenor C to
F in alt, moves about with such wonderful ease! The most perfect and
delightful, though, were the lively rôles of Patti, principally the one
of Zerlina, in _Don Juan_. She gave us the true ideal of Zerlina. With
these advantages, and especially, too, in the development of dazzling
virtuosity, Patti shines as Rosina in Rossini’s _Barbiere_, and as
Norina in Donizetti’s graceful opera, _Don Pasquale_. In the _Barbiere_
one can judge best, perhaps, of her marvellous art in singing. Of her
later rôles, in Leonora, in Verdi’s _Trovatore_, she attained almost the
highest pitch. The _Traviata_, which is decidedly a far better opera,
shows Patti to more advantage dramatically. I always disliked _Dinorah_,
almost as much as I did formerly the _Traviata_, which I saw the first
time badly performed. Two rôles of Patti which I cannot praise as much as
the two before-mentioned are Valentine, in the _Huguenots_, and Gretchen,
in the _Faust_ of Gounod. In the valse of Venzano, she sings a roulade
of seventeen bars in one breath, smiling, as if it were child’s play.
There is no doubt that the Valentine of Pauline Lucca and the Marguerite
of Christine Nilsson surpass the performance of Patti in these rôles.
A clever writer once called Italy the conservatoire of God. In this
conservatoire Adelina Patti has without doubt taken away the first prize.”

One Sunday evening, I went with Captain Berkeley to see some fine
illuminations in the Champs-Elysées. I recollect telling him how much I
disliked a crowd, to which he replied:—

“It is the only day on which the poor people can enjoy themselves, and
they have as much right to do so as the rich. I am always so delighted to
see the poor creatures happy.” One day, a beggar came up to him and asked
for some coppers, upon which he said to him:—

“_Mon cher ami, c’est défendu de mendier, mais voici un franc; ne le
faites plus._”

I called one day with my father at an hôtel in the Champs-Elysées. As
the lady we had come to see happened to be out, we were asked to wait in
a salon, where an English lady sat, reading. My father made some casual
remark about its being fine weather to be out of doors, to which the lady
answered that she had only just arrived in Paris and intended to have a
rest. My father then said that he supposed she would go out the next day.

“No,” was the answer. “I told you, I have come here for a rest.”

He asked how long she intended resting, when she replied:

“Six months.”

My father was so astonished at this reply that he was quite unable to
refrain from laughing, which rather annoyed the lady. On our leaving the
hôtel soon afterwards, he said to me:

“That old woman is mad with her rest, and to come to Paris, of all
places, to have it. She must be out of her mind.”

I frequently went to the galleries of the Louvre and the Luxembourg,
and always had a great liking for Greuze’s paintings, particularly the
_Cruche Cassée_ and _l’Accordée du Village_. The former I have often seen
in engravings by Masard and other engravers, but no reproduction has ever
come up to the beautiful face of the original. There is always _quelque
chose à désirer_ in the copies, and even in the photographs from the
picture itself; it is something in the expression, and not alone in the
colouring.

At the time of which I am speaking, there was a Spaniard in Paris, a
friend of some acquaintances of ours, who built a large hôtel and a
theatre for himself attached to it. The former was heated to a certain
temperature, and his doctor called upon him every day, receiving a
napoleon for each visit, and on certain fête days a hundred francs. The
doctor used merely to feel his patient’s pulse, when he was not ill. This
Spaniard had two lady friends, a brunette and a blonde, each of whom
was in the habit of spending certain fixed days in the week with him.
Notwithstanding the very regular life he led, he did not attain the age
of forty, but died of fever almost suddenly. He was an immensely wealthy
man, but of a very nervous temperament. During the winter he never went
out of doors, from fear of taking cold.

Lord Lyons, who was then British Ambassador in Paris, was celebrated for
two things particularly, apart from his diplomatic capabilities: his
horses and the excellent dinners he gave. An old Englishman, of over
seventy, with whom we were well acquainted, used to look forward to
dining at the British Embassy for weeks in advance. But his wife said she
positively dreaded his going there, as he was invariably laid up for a
fortnight after partaking of one of these too-appetizing banquets.

In the following summer, my parents left the Avenue d’Antin and lived
for a time in the Avenue Joséphine, until an _appartement_ which my
mother had taken unfurnished in the Rue d’Albe, in the Champs-Elysées,
had been got ready for us. I recollect she ordered the furniture from
the celebrated Maison Krieger, in the Faubourg Saint-Antoine. The salon
was furnished in Louis Quinze style, with some tiny chairs with gilt
backs and the seats in satin with designs of various birds of gorgeous
plumage in different colours, all worked in silk by hand. The sides
of the fauteuils were of gilt, while the backs and the seats were all
in Aubusson tapestry, representing roses on a white foundation. The
sofa was in Aubusson to match the fauteuils, the curtains as well. The
carpet, which covered the middle of the room only, as the floor was a
parquet, was a lovely design with a white foundation, the edges of which
and the centre represented clusters of red and pink roses. The carpet
was in Aubusson tapestry, and rather a small one, though my mother had
paid 7,500 francs for it. Dr. Bishop, brother-in-law of the late Lord
Iddesleigh, declared that the carpet was so lovely that he was really
afraid to walk on it. He was a very tall, stout man, and he always sat
on the delicate chairs in preference to the others. This made my mother
feel very uneasy, less because she feared that the chair might get
broken than because she was afraid that he might have a severe fall.
The tables in the salon were Louis Quinze style, in marqueterie, all
inlaid with tortoiseshell and mother-of-pearl in Boule style, and on the
chimney-piece stood a clock and various figures and lamps in old Sèvres
porcelain. The walls were white, with gold decorations, and were adorned
with numerous mirrors. I asked my mother to have my bedroom furnished in
yellow and black satin, which she had done. I was extremely fond of the
Austrian national colours, and, besides, they were the same as those of a
room which I had occupied some little time before when on a visit to Mrs.
Reynolds, formerly Miss Lethbridge, at Poundsford Park, near Taunton.

As I was about to go to Eton, my mother was anxious that I should have
the correct Eton collar. No one in Paris knew what it was like, so Lady
Caroline Murray sent her the pattern of a collar worn by one of the twin
brothers Lambton, who were both then at Eton. The elder is now Earl of
Durham. The Eton jacket was also a bit of a puzzle, and, though I had it
made as near the correct thing as possible, I found, when I got to Eton,
that, to be quite in the mode, I must get my jackets made by Manley, of
Windsor. This I did all the time I was at Eton, as well as other clothes
I wore there.

[Illustration: The Author.

Aged 9. Aged 14. Aged 16.

[_To face p. 62._]




CHAPTER VI

    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


There was a certain _cachet_ attached to an Etonian in those days which I
have not found with boys of any other school, assuredly not in England.
I may almost say not in Europe, except, perhaps, with those of the
Theresianum, in Vienna. I might almost repeat what the well-known German
Socialist, Ferdinand Lassalle, wrote to a Russian lady, in comparing the
German women of the middle class with those of the aristocracy, which
latter class might stand for Etonians of those days in comparison with
boys of other schools: “The women have not that aroma of amiability, that
_cachet_ of good manners, which is indispensable for every woman who has
lived in aristocratic circles. There are certainly exceptions, but they
are very rare.”

In the autumn of 1866 my father took me to Windsor, where we put up
at the White Hart Hotel. Then we walked to Eton and entered the first
master’s house we came to, that of the Rev. C. C. James. It stood near
the wall of a cemetery, which some of the rooms overlooked. My father
informed the master that he had come to place me at the school, but
really did not know one house from another, and that, if Mr. James would
care to take me into his house, he would be very glad to leave me in
his charge. Mr. James replied that it was unusual for him to take a boy
of whom he knew nothing, without having his name entered beforehand, or
without some recommendation. But whether it was that my father contrived
to talk him over, or that he thought he would run the risk of my turning
out a bad bargain, after Mr. James had asked my age and where I had been
to school, it was decided that I should stay at his house. My father, I
think, was the most pleased, for, from what Mr. James had said, he had
been anticipating some difficulty in finding a house for me at all, as at
certain masters’ houses a boy’s name had to be entered years beforehand.
But my father generally trusted to chance in everything, and what seemed
impossible to most people was for him often an easy matter.

Mr. James showed us over the boys’ rooms, and, though I should have
much preferred having one looking out on Windsor, with a fine view of
the Castle, I had to be content with the end room in the front of the
house, which had a view of the college chapel, and was quite close to
the cemetery. My father told him that he did not think I was afraid of
ghosts, when Mr. James told him that the cemetery was of very ancient
date, and no longer used for burial purposes. He then showed us the beds,
which were closed up in the daytime, in such a way as to present the
appearance of cupboards, and said that he would get me a bureau similar
to that which every boy had there.

My father soon took his departure and went back to the “White Hart,”
upon which I was handed over to the housekeeper, who invited me to sit
in her room, and gave me some tea. I remained there until the evening,
when some of the boys began to arrive. As might be expected, I was far
from being at ease, and felt like someone entering on a new existence,
in a completely different world from the one in which he had lived. The
housekeeper inquired whether I did not know some of the boys at James’s,
and told me their names. To which I replied that I did not know even one
of them, though I knew some boys at other houses. At what houses they
were, however, I could not say. She said that the boys I mentioned were
higher in the school than I was likely to be placed, and that they would
not condescend to speak to so humble a person as myself, and that I must
make acquaintances of my own age, which I would soon do.

I had not long to wait before some of the boys arrived, and presently
came into the housekeeper’s room. But I do not recollect one of them
speaking to me then, and shortly afterwards I set out for Windsor, as my
father had got permission for me to dine with him at the “White Hart,”
before he left for London, on his way back to Paris.

When I returned to James’s alone, I went into the housekeeper’s room,
in which I found several boys, who regarded me with a curiosity which
I found decidedly embarrassing. The first who spoke to me was a very
nice-looking boy of sixteen, named Gaskell, who was in the Remove. He
asked me my name, and whether I thought I should pass into the Fourth
Form. I replied that I did not feel at all sure of doing so. At that
moment another new boy, named Temple, with fair hair and a very plain
face, entered the room, to whom Gaskell put the same questions as he had
to me. Temple did not appear over-burdened by modesty, and had no doubt
whatever about passing into the Fourth Form.

“Of course I shall,” he declared confidently, putting his hands in his
trousers pockets and looking very important.

Suddenly some other boys came in.

“Here are some new fellows,” said Gaskell.

“What are they like?” asked the others. “Let’s have a look at them.”

“This chap here—Temple his name is—seems devilish confident about
himself; expects to get into the Fourth Form at once.”

“I say,” exclaimed a fair, good-looking boy, who was bigger than Gaskell
and taller, and whose name was John H. Locke, “so you expect to pass
easily? Where do you come from?”

“From London,” replied Temple, colouring slightly.

“From what school?”

“I was educated at home by a tutor.”

“Indeed! Well, you give yourself airs of importance that won’t do here, I
can tell you. We’ll soon knock them out of you.”

Temple put his hands in his trousers pockets and shrugged his shoulders,
while his not very prepossessing countenance assumed an expression that
was almost diabolical.

“You look like the devil,” said Locke, laughing.

“So he does,” exclaimed some of the others; and one boy added:—

“I say, Satan, what an ugly mug you have!”

Temple darted a glance of withering scorn at the speaker, but could not
trust himself to reply.

“That’s a good name for him,” remarked Locke. “Mug, I say, Mug, mind you
pass your exam. well, and don’t look so fiendish when one speaks to you,
for it won’t pay.”

Saying which he took his departure, leaving Temple to digest the advice
he had given.

The exam. came off in due course, when Temple failed to qualify for the
Fourth Form, and was put into the Lower School; while I passed into the
Lower Fourth, which was more than I expected to do. All the boys at
James’s were pleased, for they had taken a great dislike to Temple. The
latter, however, was not in the least disheartened at not taking the
Fourth Form, but put his hands in his pockets, shrugged his shoulders,
and looked at the other boys as contemptuously as before. He was at once
given to Alexander, the Captain of the Oppidans, as a fag, while I was
allotted to Locke. Alexander never spoke to Lower boys, except to fag
them, so Temple had merely to do what he was told. I had a very easy time
of it with Locke, who had other fags besides. Sometimes Locke would ask
me to sit down in his room and talk to him, when he would often give me
fruit and bonbons. He was about eighteen, in the Sixth Form, and rowed in
the _Monarch_; but C. R. Alexander was Captain of the House and Head of
the School, or what is termed Captain of the Oppidans, to distinguish him
from the Captain of the Collegers, nicknamed Tugs, who are boys on the
foundation and obliged always to wear a gown.

A boy named James Doyne, who became a great friend of mine, messed with
me, that is to say, we took our breakfast and tea together in his room,
as it was larger than mine. I often did his French lessons for him out
of school, and helped him with others, as he was in the Lower School.
Sometimes, he bought beefsteaks for breakfast, and I would cook them
downstairs while he was in school, as he was often kept behind by his
master. So occasionally, when I happened to be very hungry, I would not
only eat my own steak, but a part of his as well, which used to make him
very angry.

Doyne told me once that his father knew a gentleman who, on being
introduced to another, said:—

“You are the son of a tailor, I believe, are you not?”

“Yes,” was the reply, “and I will take your measure.”

The tailor’s son never rested until he had ruined the other.

It seems a great pity that duelling is not allowed in England, as it
would oblige some men in this country to mend their manners, even if the
duel were restricted to the use of the _épée_ alone, and were to cease at
the first sign of blood. Anyway, it would be better than the senseless
actions for libel, which cost a great deal of money, and are quite
unknown in other civilized countries.

I had very little to do with my tutor, Mr. James, being up to another
master in school. He was a Mr. Luxmoore, a young, rather good-looking
and very pleasant man. My tutor only took the Fifth Form pupils of his
own division, but at times he would see how the boys in his house were
progressing in their studies. Mr. James was a rather tall and thin man,
about thirty-seven, with a long, fair, almost reddish beard and no
moustache. His eyes were blue, and he had a habit of looking away from
people while he talked, and when he became nervous he used to stammer,
but not very perceptibly. Although he could not be called handsome,
he was by no means bad-looking, having a very pleasant expression and
beautiful teeth.

We had to be in school at 7 a.m. in the summer, and 7.30 a.m. in the
winter, and the lesson lasted an hour. Then we went back to our rooms for
breakfast, or, rather, had to go to our fagmaster and cook his breakfast
first. But Locke hardly ever required this service of me, as he generally
made another of his fags do it for him. At 9.15 we all had to attend
Chapel, which lasted half an hour. Then school again till 10.30, and from
11.15 till 12. The two hours after this were called, “after twelve,”
which one usually spent in one’s tutor’s pupil-room. Dinner was at 2
p.m., then school again from 2.45 till 3.30, and then from 5 to 6. After
this the boys were free till the time for “lock-up,” which changes with
the time of year. In the summer it was at 8.45. A half-holiday was just
the same until dinner, but in the afternoon “absence” was called at 3
p.m. in the winter and at 6 p.m. in the summer. “Absence” is a call-over
of the names, which takes place in the school yard. Its object was to
prevent boys from going too far away, and ensuring that they should be
back in time for “lock-up.” When a master did not come for “absence,” it
was termed a “call”; and the boys only waited five or six minutes for him.

In addition to the work done in school and pupil-room, we had work to do
in our own rooms, especially on a Sunday, when we had Sunday Questions to
write out. The half-holidays were on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays,
and on Sundays, besides attending Chapel, we had the Sunday Questions to
answer. This usually occupied us several hours.

There was a boy at James’s who was then in the Remove, called Craven, a
tall, dark, good-looking fellow, who dressed well and had an umbrella
with a death’s-head handle carved in ivory, which he never opened, even
when it poured with rain, from fear that he would not be able to fold it
again so neatly as it was then done up. He always wore the most expensive
silk hats he could buy, and habitually scented himself with patchouli.
One rainy day, when all James’s Lower boys were in his pupil-room, in the
house, Mr. James called up Craven, and said to him:—

“Craven, why don’t you sign your name in full: Fulwar John Colquilt
Craven?”

“I do, sir,” answered Craven.

“But you don’t—merely Fulwar Craven. Don’t you own the John Colquilt?”

All the boys began to titter, and Craven laughed and said:—

“I suppose I don’t, sir.”

“Why do you stupid boys giggle?” exclaimed Mr. James. “There is nothing
to laugh at because Craven won’t own his name, John Colquilt, which is a
very nice one.”

The boys went on laughing all the more, at which the master was furious,
and cried:

“I will make you all write out a book of the _Iliad_ if you don’t stop
giggling at once.”

This threat had the desired effect, and gravity was restored; but it did
not last very long. A good-looking boy named Ady, who was at Miss Evans’s
Dame’s house, but was a pupil of my tutor, and who wore a lot of gold
charms on his watch-chain, came up to Mr. James to ask some questions,
when the latter said:—

“Ady, I wonder you don’t wear bracelets with all those jingling things;
you are more like a girl.”

Thereupon all the boys began to titter again, while Ady blushed, but did
not make any reply. On returning to his seat, however, he put out his
tongue at Mr. James, who happened to be looking in another direction, and
then smiled, when the boys began to laugh with a vengeance.

“Stop that laughter,” screamed the exasperated master, his eyes sparkling
with wrath, “or I’ll have all of you swished in turn. I won’t stand this
nonsense any longer. First of all with Craven, who is scented like a fast
lady, and then with Ady, who is covered with jewellery like another; I
might just as well keep a girls’ school.”

The giggling now became downright laughter, which the boys were quite
unable to restrain. At last, Mr. James began to see that he had made a
joke, which flattered his vanity, so he smiled, and said:—

“Yes, even the boys are laughing at you both.”

This was too much for his audience, who roared with laughter, until,
after a while, the master said:—

“Now, I think, we have laughed enough; I hope it will be a lesson to them
both.”

Craven and Ady nearly split their sides with laughing, as well as the
others.

“I see I can do nothing with you to-day,” remarked Mr. James, “these
laughing moods are very distressing; it upsets the whole of the lessons.
I must be more serious with you, and not permit myself even a joke. I see
it plainly more and more every time.”

At last the merriment subsided, but presently some of the boys began
laughing again.

“What is the joke now?” exclaimed the master. “Tell me, for I should like
to know. I can see nothing whatever to laugh at now.”

“Please, sir,” answered Craven, “you make a joke, and you won’t even
allow us to laugh at it.”

“Oh, well! if it is that that you are laughing at, I suppose it is all
right,” said Mr. James, who was gradually regaining his good-humour, and
presently the boys were dismissed. Afterwards there was great fun made at
his expense, Craven and Ady being highly amused.

Mr. James was nicknamed “Stiggins” by the boys who had been with him
at Eton, and, although unpopular out of his house, he was not so in
it. There were much more disagreeable tutors at Eton at the time of
which I am speaking, some of them perfect horrors. Mr. James was a
good-hearted man, and was very kind at times, though he was very brusque
in his manner, and in the habit of speaking his mind without the least
reservation. He had no particular favourites, but, on the other hand,
he did not take any violent dislikes, and was just enough, apart from
occasional sallies against certain boys. These he indulged in under
the impression that he was being witty, and not infrequently the jokes
he made were at his own expense. He had a good memory and could recite
innumerable verses from Greek and Latin poets, but he was a poor orator.
He was a good chess-player, and often played with the boys, giving them a
queen and sometimes a rook as well, and generally beating them. Sometimes
he played with another master, Mr. Wayte, a middle-aged man, with a
grey beard, who could play twenty-five games of chess at the same time
blindfolded, and win most of them. Mr. James once beat Mr. Wayte, after
which he would never play with him again, wishing to be able to say that
the last time he played with him he had succeeded in gaining the victory.
I often played chess with my tutor, on which occasions he usually gave
me a queen. Sometimes I managed to beat him, and once when I had been
successful, he said to me:—

“You have beaten me, and I have beaten Wayte, who is one of the finest
players in Europe. So, in winning the game to-day, you have something to
be proud of.”

We always tried to make our rooms at James’s as comfortable as possible.
I had a fancy at that time for pictures of horses, and bought a set
of steeplechase ones, by Alken, printed in colours and published by
Ackermann. I had also a picture of Hermit, the Derby winner of 1865, by
Harry Hall, which was also printed in colours. In the summer, like the
other boys, I had geraniums and other flowers in a large green wooden
box, which was made to cover the length of my window-sill. I spent,
however, more of my time in Doyne’s room, which was nearer the road, and
farther away from the cemetery. It was a more cheerful room, containing
several arm-chairs. Besides, we always messed together and took our meals
there, and so I looked on the room almost as being my own. Alexander and
Locke had two rooms each. The latter had quite a collection of silver
cups, which he had won at Eton, and his sitting-room was decorated with
numerous trophies of the Boats, arranged against the wall, from the light
blue of the _Victory_ and the dark blue of the _Monarch_ to the cerise
of the _Prince of Wales_ and the blue of the _Britannia_. I can only
remember entering Alexander’s room once. It was also adorned with the
colours of the Eleven and silver cups won at cricket and racquets, as he
was Captain of the Eleven and President of “Pop.” “Pop” is the name given
to the Eton Society, to which only boys in the Sixth Form and the Upper
Fifth can belong.

The occasion on which I entered Alexander’s room was on a Sunday. He
opened his door, and called: “Lower boy!” and, as I happened to be on
the landing, he said that he must send me to make a copy of his Sunday
Questions, which were always written up outside St. George’s Chapel at
Windsor. It was a dreary walk, for, as it was Sunday afternoon, all the
shops were, of course, closed. I made a copy of the Questions in pencil,
and, on my return, left them in Alexander’s room. At eleven o’clock that
night, he came and woke me up, to ask if I could read some word I had
copied, which I had to confess I could not. He went away, but returned to
my room an hour later, and, waking me up again, said he thought he could
make a guess at the word we had been unable to make out, and asked me if
it were not correct. I then suddenly remembered that it was the right
word, when he laughed and went out. This was the only time I was ever
sent to copy out Sunday Questions, as Alexander always, as a rule, sent
his own fags to do this, and Locke, whose fag I was, hardly ever gave
me anything to do. I was, in consequence, very sorry when he left Eton,
which he did very shortly afterwards for Trinity College, Cambridge.
Alexander went up to King’s.

One half I was up to a master called Austin Leigh, who was in the habit
of speaking so softly that we could scarcely hear a word he said in
school. So when he spoke, I always had to guess what he said. One day
he asked me to construe a passage, which I did, when he corrected me,
saying:—

“I told you what to say.”

“Please, sir, I could not hear exactly.”

“Are you deaf?”

“No, sir, but I did not hear exactly.”

“Then, for not listening, you will please write out the lesson as a
punishment. Do you hear now?”

“Yes, sir.”

I hated being up to Austin Leigh, for I never could hear, as he always
spoke in a whisper somewhat like the hissing of a serpent.

There was another master, who thought himself rather good-looking, as
he had regular features; but he had yellowish hair, was inclined to
baldness, and his figure was lanky and awkward. This master was fond of
making very tame jokes in school. If we laughed at them, it was all
right, but the boys who ignored his jokes he punished. He insisted on
calling Lord Edward Somerset by the name of Samson, but once when he
called upon “Samson” to stand up, no one rose. He then turned to Lord
Edward Somerset, and said:—

“Why did you not stand up when I told you to do so?”

“Because you never told me, sir.”

“I did; your name is Samson, isn’t it?”

“No, sir; it’s Somerset.”

“Well, anyhow, you knew that I meant you.”

Somerset made no reply, and the master said:—

“For disobedience you will write me out this chapter of ‘Xenophon!’”

“Very well, sir.”

Among the numerous masters at Eton with whom I had little or nothing to
do, those whom I remember best are: Mr. Stephen Hawtrey, who was a very
agreeable man; Mr. Hale, a mathematical master, nicknamed, on account of
his whitish hair, “the Badger,” who was also very pleasant; the Rev. W.
Dalton, another mathematical master, who had very full lips and a reddish
face, and went by the _sobriquet_ of “Piggy”; the Rev. Joynes, who had
somewhat the appearance of a weasel, and had great difficulty in keeping
his division in order; Mr. Cornish, a fair-haired man, who was rather
disagreeable at times; and Mr. Cockshot, also a mathematical master, who
was bright and pleasant. The Rev. Durnford, nicknamed “Judy,” I only knew
by sight, and the same was the case with Mr. Arthur James, my tutor’s
brother, who was an exceptionally pleasant man.

All the masters had some peculiarity, and it took some time to get used
to their ways, as they were all so different from one another. Just,
however, as a boy was beginning to understand a master the half came to
an end, and, after the holidays, he would probably be sent up to quite a
different kind of man. For each master took a separate division, and was
promoted like the boys from one division to another.

The most popular master was the Rev. Edmund Warre, afterwards Head
Master and Provost of Eton. He was a good-looking, fair man, who wore
spectacles, and, besides being one of the cleverest of the masters, was
a very fine oar, and always superintended the coaching of the Eight. He
used to try to interest the boys up to him in school in a subject, as
Herr Kirchhofer did at Frankfurt. I remember once, during a lesson in
geography, he said that Austria-Hungary was a nation which would one day
break up, since it consisted of too many nationalities, the link between
which was not sufficiently strong to be permanent. Upon another occasion,
he recommended us to read “The Last of the Barons,” by Lord Lytton,
which he said was one of the best historical novels ever written, and I
remember that some of us followed his advice.

There was a good deal of jealousy amongst certain masters, who did
not pull together. Mr. Oscar Browning was unpopular with some of his
colleagues, though he was very much liked by the boys at his house and
those up to him in school. There can be little doubt that the dislike
entertained by certain masters for Mr. Browning was due to jealousy, as
he was cleverer than the majority of them, and he was certainly very
witty, and at times rather sarcastic. I was up to him in school one half,
and I think, on the whole, he was the pleasantest master I was ever up
to, since he used to enliven the tedium of school hours by his witty
remarks, occasionally making fun of some of us, but in such a nice,
pleasant way, that we all enjoyed the joke, even those who were the cause
of the merriment. It was almost impossible to be late for school with
Mr. Browning, as he generally arrived late on the scene himself. Now and
again, however, he reversed the usual order of things, and then those who
had counted on his late arrival were caught and punished.

Mr. R. A. H. Mitchell, the famous cricketer, was a master of the Lower
School. My friend Jim Doyne was up to him, and said that he was very
popular with the boys.

There was another master, Mr. St. John Thackeray, who had no authority
whatever over the boys up to him in school, who invariably made fun
of him, and jeered at him all the time. I was up to him one half, when
I found it quite impossible to learn anything, owing to the constant
disturbance, which was quite overpowering. I used to come in late
continually when up to Mr. Thackeray, as I knew it did not much matter.
One day, however, he said to me:—

“You are half an hour late this morning!”

“Please, sir, I overslept myself.”

“But you always oversleep yourself.”

“Please, sir, I couldn’t help it; I was so tired.”

“What made you so tired...?”

Here the other boys began to laugh, and someone said aloud:—

“He’s always so slack.”

“Which boy spoke?” asked Mr. Thackeray angrily. A dead silence ensued.

“I _will_ know which boy spoke just now. If the boy doesn’t come forward
at once, I shall punish all the division.” Upon this two or three boys
said:—

“It was I, sir.”

“Which of you was it?” asked Mr. Thackeray.

“I, sir,” sounded from different parts of the room.

“It’s really too bad; the whole division shall be punished then,” said
the master.

While he was occupied in making a note of this, a book was hurled across
the room, at which there was great laughter. Mr. Thackeray was furious.

“I shall have to report the whole division for bad conduct if I don’t
know at once who threw that book,” he cried.

“It was I,” said one boy.

Then, a moment afterwards, another voice said:—

“It was I, sir.”

“But it could not have been both of you. Which of you was it?”

“Me, sir,” said the first boy who had spoken.

“Then you will please write out the chapter we are reading”—then,
correcting himself—“or, rather, which we ought to be reading.”

For a few minutes the lesson proceeded quietly, though on the least
pretext there would be shouts of laughter. Mr. Thackeray entirely forgot
to punish the other boy and myself; only the one who had hurled the
book was punished. Every day with Mr. Thackeray was similar to this
one, sometimes more amusing, sometimes less so, but always very noisy
indeed. He spoilt the boys for other masters, as, being accustomed to do
as they liked with him, they would come late into school when they were
up to others, who would send them up to be swished on a repetition of
the offence. I was never swished at Eton during all the four years I was
there.

The late Earl Grosvenor, who, when Viscount Belgrave, was at Eton with
me, was a very good-looking boy, with fair hair, but he wore jackets that
were sometimes too short for him, and it was the same with his trousers,
as he had grown out of them. One day, when he sat in school on a form in
front of me, during a lesson by Mr. Henry Tarver, the French master, a
boy sitting next me, seeing Belgrave’s shirt, which was plainly visible
between his jacket and trousers, pulled it right out altogether. Belgrave
turned round angrily, thinking at first that it was I who had taken this
liberty with his shirt, when he saw that the culprit was a boy whom he
knew well. Nevertheless, he was very confused and had great trouble in
adjusting his protruding garment, as it was necessary to do it in such a
way as not to attract the attention of Mr. Tarver, who would certainly
have inquired into the matter and meted out condign punishment to the
offender.

There is a French saying that small events often interest great minds. I
hope that this may be so, in which event there will be some excuse for
my mentioning this incident, which struck me at the time as being rather
ludicrous, though I cannot say whether others may be of the same opinion.
Lord Grosvenor, after he left Eton, was fond of driving an engine, and
I am told that he often drove the train between London and Holyhead for
pleasure.

His name reminds me of a good story that I once heard at Eton about his
grandfather, the Duke of Westminster. The latter, one day, was told by
his groom of the chamber that the dress-coat that he wore was getting
very shabby. The Duke asked to see it, and then told the man that he
might order a new one for himself. “But,” added the thrifty nobleman,
“you may let me have this old coat; it will do quite well for me to
wear.” The Duke of Atholl, who was a first cousin of my grandfather, had
also rather a contempt for dress, and my mother was told by the latter
that, when an old man, he was often mistaken in the street for a beggar,
and had pence offered him.

There was a boy named Lacaita at Eton, who, when he first came, wore a
most extraordinary hat. The lower part was much broader than the upper,
so that the hat was not unlike a loaf of sugar. I think he must have
imported it from Italy. However, if I remember rightly, it was very
speedily battered out of any shape at all, for it was an innovation which
pleased none of the boys, who were only too ready to make a football of
it, as they generally did of anything they happened to take a dislike to,
and particularly a silk hat.

Doyne used frequently to invite boys from other houses to tea with us
in his room. They were mostly those whom he knew “at home,” that is to
say, away from Eton, and who were friends of his people. The Hon. John
FitzWilliam, who was in the same division as myself, often came, as he
was a relative of his, as well as Lord Trafalgar, who was in the Lower
School, and Lord Mandeville, who afterwards became Duke of Manchester.
The last-named was a very good-looking boy, with very dark, curly hair;
he was full of fun, and I liked him very much, though I only met him
when he came to tea with us, as he was lower down in the school and at a
different tutor’s house from myself.

A boy named Charles Rice Hodgson, in the same division as I was, was my
greatest friend at first. He was at Vidal’s, a Dame’s house. He was a
very handsome boy, with rather fair hair and blue eyes, nearly perfect
features, and a beautiful complexion. He used to dress very well and
always wore a button-hole—a rose or a carnation in summer—and usually
scented himself. He was very clever and had a good deal of swagger, and
was a favourite with the bigger boys at Vidal’s, who often used to walk
with him, which was strongly disapproved of by some of the masters. I
often helped him out of a difficulty; and sometimes, when he had not
learned his lesson over night, I would prompt him in a low voice to
construe it, as I always sat next to him in school. He left Eton very
suddenly, at which I was quite distressed, as he had always been so much
with me, and I liked him more than any other boy, and had been in his
company the day before he left. A more charming boy than Hodgson I have
never known; but he was conceited about his looks, for he was one of the
best-looking boys, if not the best-looking, at Eton in those days.

Another boy at the same Dame’s house as Hodgson was Charles D. Robertson
Williamson, who was considered to be the best-looking boy then at Eton.
He was higher up in the school than I was, and, though his tutor, Mr.
Johnson (Cory, the author of “Ionica”), liked him very much, some of the
other masters did not approve of his putting on so much side and being
so often with bigger boys. At Lord’s, during the Eton and Harrow match,
I happened quite accidentally to make the acquaintance of Williamson’s
aunt. She was only eighteen, and bore a most extraordinary resemblance
to her nephew, with the same beautiful face, the same short upper lip,
the same large, round, hazel eyes, the same beautifully shaped mouth, the
same delicate nose, slightly, in fact almost imperceptibly, tilted, and
the same brown hair; and she was of the same height as he was. She spoke
to me without knowing me at all, saying:—

“I want to keep my nephew with me a day or two longer. Do you think I can
do so?”

“You must ask his tutor; no doubt he will allow you to do so,” I
answered, thinking that he could not possibly refuse her.

“Well, I will try.”

With which, Williamson’s aunt went off in search of Mr. Johnson, and
presently returned, looking very pleased, and said:—

“Mr. Johnson has given the permission I wanted. I am so happy!” And she
clapped her hands together with delight.

I did not know Williamson to speak to before then, not being so high in
the school as he was, and I met him for the first time when he came later
in the day to meet his aunt in the Grand Stand at Lord’s.

Once, when Doyne and I were driving in a hansom from Lord’s after the
Eton and Harrow match, he caught sight of the Hon. E. W. B. Portman, and
said to me:—

“Do you mind giving Billy Portman a lift?”

We made room for him between us, which was an easy enough matter in those
days, though in years to come it would have been quite impossible, for
he grew so stout that he weighed seventeen stone, and I rather fancy Jim
Doyne was even heavier.




CHAPTER VII

    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


Boys at Eton rarely made friends outside their respective houses.
Therefore, when Hodgson left, I spent most of my spare time with Doyne,
who even then was very stout, and, though older than I, below me in the
school. When he left Eton, my chief companion was a boy named Harry
Gridley, with whom I messed for a short time, and with whom I often went
for walks on a Sunday along the playing-fields by the river.

Gridley, who was in the Fifth Form, was a dark-haired boy, very kind and
good-natured. He was in the Boats, and a capital oar, and rowed later
in the _Monarch_, the ten-oared Upper boat. Sometimes I would go to
Windsor with him to play billiards, notwithstanding that this was against
the rules. One day, whilst we were playing, I, by way of a joke, began
ordering him about and calling him “Peter,” and then, to tease him, told
him that some man who was in the room thought he was my fag. He flew into
a rage, and, when the man had left the room, rushed at me and caught me
by the throat, as though he would strangle me. However, we soon made
friends again, but, strange to say, this nickname of “Peter,” which I
had given him for the first time in the billiard-room at Windsor, always
stuck to him, even in the 5th Lancers, which he joined later. He was
very fond of reading, and one day took up “Adam Bede,” by George Eliot;
but he told me that he could not finish it, as the hero was a very ugly,
red-haired man, and he disliked reading about ugly people. He quite set
me against the book, for I never read it after he said this.

[Illustration: Charles Balfour, at Eton with the Author.

[_To face p. 80._]

[Illustration: Miss Minnie Balfour, sister of Hilda, Lady de Clifford.

[_To face p. 81._]

Alexander, the Captain of the Oppidans, was a very good-looking boy
of eighteen; dark, with black, curly hair. His memory was quite
extraordinary, and he could repeat the whole of the _Odyssey_, in the
original Greek. Once he had read a book and mastered its contents, he
never forgot it. Even Mr. James was astounded at Alexander’s marvellous
gift for remembering things. Locke was also clever, but in a different
way from Alexander.

Some time after I went to Eton, my tutor got his cousin, Mrs. Bower, to
look after the boys instead of the housekeeper, which was a pleasant
change for us. She was about thirty-five and a very nice woman, and,
having taken rather a fancy to me, used often to invite me to her room at
five o’clock and give me tea and cake.

One day some friends of Doyne—a baronet and his three daughters—came
from London to see him. As it was a Sunday, I did not get up until late,
when I ran into Doyne’s room, clad only in my night-shirt, and with my
water-jug in my hand, to get some water to wash with. To my horror, I
suddenly found myself confronted by three ladies, who, on catching sight
of me, uttered a scream, and then, as I turned round and incontinently
fled, burst into fits of laughter. Doyne told me afterwards that his
friends were highly amused at this incident, and declared that they
should never forget their visit to Eton.

A boy named Charles Balfour was my fag when I was in the Fifth Form.
Doyne, who was still in the Lower School, found my having a fag very
convenient, as the latter had to cook the steaks and chops for our
breakfast. Balfour was a good-looking boy, and I liked him very much;
but he could not bear doing anything for Doyne, as the latter was lower
down in the school than he was. I met the late Charles Balfour, with his
father and family, at Wiesbaden in after years. His sister Hilda, a very
pretty girl, subsequently married Lord de Clifford.

With Balfour I met another old schoolfellow, Baldock, who was with his
sister at Wiesbaden. He was twelfth man for the Eton Eleven one year,
when I was there and Keeper of “Sixpenny,” and was a general favourite
with the lower boys. Later on, in town, I recollect going to a ball at
his house in Grosvenor Place. He was made a C.B. by King Edward VII.,
having served thirty-six years in the Yeomanry and reached the rank of
colonel.

The present Lord Harris, G.C.S.I., the well-known cricketer, was in the
Eton Eleven in my time and afterwards Captain of it. I can recollect
him perfectly—a tall, fair-haired and remarkably handsome boy, with
merry blue eyes, who always looked the picture of health. Amongst those
who made their mark at cricket and football, and, at the same time,
distinguished themselves in school, were the late Earl of Pembroke and
Montgomery, then the Hon. Sidney Herbert, who was a good-looking boy,
with blue eyes and black hair, and the late Earl of Onslow. The latter
was at one time in the same division as myself.

Sir Hubert Parry, so famous as a composer, was at Eton with me, but much
higher up in the school than I was. He was at Vidal’s, and a boy in his
house told me that he played the violin beautifully. I can remember that
he was a good football player, and that I thought him a very fine-looking
fellow, but I only knew him by sight.

Craven, when in the Fifth Form, kept his fags dancing attendance on him
all their spare time, and used to send them on long errands to Windsor.
“Mug” was his fag for one half, and had a very lively time of it at
first; but afterwards Craven treated him very much better. I was John
Lister-Kaye’s fag at one time, and found him more exacting than Locke,
with whom I had had a very easy time; but he became a friend of mine
when I was higher up in the school. “Mug” was his fag at the same time,
and liked fagging for him very much, as he treated him very kindly. His
younger brother, Cecil Lister-Kaye, was a friend of mine from the very
first. Both brothers were very good-looking boys, with fair hair. The
elder, afterwards Sir John Lister-Kaye, who rowed in the _Victory_ at
Eton, subsequently entered the “Blues.” On one occasion, the Lister-Kayes
and myself were invited to dine at Upton Park, with Mrs. Adair, a very
lovely woman, who, I recollect, was dressed in black velvet, which set
off her superb figure and dazzling skin to great advantage. She was a
grand-daughter of the Duchess of Roxburghe and a great friend of my
cousin, the Hon. Emily Cathcart, maid-of-honour to Queen Victoria.

[Illustration: W. H. Onslow, aged 13, afterwards Lord Onslow.

[_To face p. 82._]

[Illustration: The Hon. Emily Cathcart, Maid of Honour to Queen Victoria.

[_To face p. 83._]

One day, the Hon. Charles Finch, afterwards Earl of Aylesford, who was in
the same division as myself, told me that he had stopped my cousin while
she was walking with a lady in Eton, and that a few days later, when he
happened to meet her again, she said to him:—

“I have a bone to pick with you. Do you know whom you kept waiting when
you spoke to me the other day? It was the Princess Louise (afterwards
Duchess of Argyll)!” The Earl of Aylesford, like myself, was a cousin of
Emily Cathcart.

While at Eton, I used occasionally to spend the day with my great-aunt,
Lady Georgiana Cathcart. She lived near Ascot, and once when I was
driving with her and her daughter we called on the Ladies Murray, who had
a fine house in the neighbourhood, and Lady Caroline told us that if we
had come some minutes earlier, we should have met Queen Victoria, who had
lunched with them in quite an informal way, saying:—

“Give me what you have ready, nothing else.”

Lady Caroline told me that, owing to bearing the same name, she had
frequently been mistaken for my mother’s aunt at Richmond, who had
recently died. She showed me an oak-tree which her brother, the Earl of
Mansfield, had planted in his garden the last time he had come to see
her. In her younger days, she had been lady-in-waiting to the Duchess of
Kent, at which time she was considered a great beauty.

One day, when I was dining at Ascot, I met my cousin Emily, who was
wearing a lovely dress of violet velvet, trimmed with white lace, and
said:—

“Her Majesty said I was not to wear this dress at Court, and I have only
worn it once before, although it cost me a good deal of money.”

Queen Victoria, it seems, would often take a dislike to some dress worn
by one of her maids-of-honour.

I frequently went to Windsor Castle to see my cousin. On one occasion,
I mistook the room, and had to wait for some time in a drawing-room.
Presently, a lady came in, who was very charming in her manner towards
me, and had some tea and muffins brought to me by a man-servant in the
scarlet livery of the Palace. This lady I afterwards learned was the
Countess of Erroll. Once, when I called at the Castle I was received by
the Hon. Harriet Phipps, who told me that my cousin had left Windsor and
that she had taken her place in waiting. She invited me to have some tea,
which was brought in in a solid silver teapot, and served in very fine
porcelain cups, on both of which was the Royal crown, and was very kind
and amiable.

One day, my cousin Emily asked me to bring the late Lord Alexander
Kennedy, son of the Marquis of Ailsa, who was in my division at Eton, to
the Castle to tea, which I did. He and I smoked cigarettes in her room,
and, when we heard her coming, threw them out of the window. However, she
smelt the smoke and said:—

“I hope you have not thrown the cigarettes out of the window, for ‘H.M.’
is coming this way, and I shall get into trouble if she sees them.”

We tried to calm her, but she appeared to be rather annoyed at the time.

Emily Cathcart was very good-looking, with dark eyes and black hair and
a fine figure. In her general appearance, she always reminded me very
much of the late Empress of Austria. Her manner was charming, and she was
always very amiable, and had so pleasant a smile that it seemed as though
it would be impossible for her to be angry with anyone. I remember her
telling me once that at Windsor she rarely ever spoke English, having
to receive so many foreign guests for Her Majesty. On the occasion that
Kennedy and I went there, we saw the Duc d’Aumale walking away from the
Castle as we arrived.

Queen Victoria liked to be read to by her maids-of-honour, which was
sometimes a very trying experience for them, particularly by night. A boy
at Eton was one of her pages-of-honour, and, as he was late in coming out
of school one day that his services were required, he did not stop to
wash his hands, but hurried off to the Castle, in order to be in time for
some ceremony. Afterwards, the train which he had to hold was found to
have dirty spots on it, so he was immediately dismissed from his office
by Her Majesty. This story was told me by Mr. James.

My mother told me that Queen Victoria was once lunching at the house of
the Duke of Sussex, and, on being asked if the mutton cutlets were to her
liking, replied carelessly:—

“Oh! the chops are not bad.” She also related that once, in her younger
days, the Queen was visiting the country-seat of a certain nobleman,
where everything imaginable in and out of season had been procured for
Her Majesty’s delectation, no matter at what cost. However, on the
Queen being asked what she would be pleased to take, to the horror and
amazement of her host, she named the only thing which was not in the
house, and which there was no possibility of procuring. It was whispered
that the Queen had asked for this particular _plat_, which was one of a
simple but unusual kind, purposely, as she appeared to be amused at the
consternation her request had aroused.

Just after I left Eton, Emily invited me to the Haymarket Theatre,
telling me to inquire for the Queen’s box. I arrived, and was duly
ushered into the Royal box, which, however, was untenanted. So I sat
there in solitary state, to the no small curiosity of the audience,
who perhaps imagined that I must be some quite important person,
until presently my cousin arrived, accompanied by a very handsome and
exquisitely dressed woman, who, I learned, was Lady Churchill. The
latter, who was lady-in-waiting to the Queen, was most fascinating, and
had all the distinction of a _très grande dame_. She was most kind and
gracious to me, even going out of her way to draw me out, so that I was
soon quite at my ease in her company.

In winter, if we happened to have a frost hard enough to make Virginia
Water safe for skaters, we used to be taken there by Mr. James to skate
and play hockey on the ice, a game in which my tutor always took part
himself. Windsor Steeplechases were an event always looked forward to by
the boys, for, though we were forbidden to go to them, we went all the
same. Sometimes we would be attacked by roughs, who tried to prevent us
crossing certain ditches to get to the race-course, and on one occasion
a man tried to stop me. But I pushed him aside, managed to jump a ditch,
and got safely to the course. Windsor Fair was at one time forbidden to
the boys, but this did not prevent them all going there. I went once with
Craven and saw a circus without paying anything, the man at the entrance
having overlooked us as we rushed in. Afterwards, Mr. James happened
to mention the Fair, when we all laughed and began to talk about the
different shows we had seen. The master took it in good part, merely
remarking:—

“It’s lucky for you I did not catch you there.”

The Christopher Inn at Eton was also out of bounds, but at times some of
the big boys would invite the smaller ones there. If, however, one of the
masters happened to catch sight of them coming out, there would be the
devil to pay. I don’t remember ever going to the “Christopher,” though I
did most things that were forbidden.

The elder son of General Sir John Douglas, Captain Niel Douglas, who
was an Old Etonian and an officer in the Scots Guards, then stationed
at Windsor, invited me to lunch at the barracks, where I was introduced
to Lord Mark Innes-Ker, who used to ride his own horses in the Windsor
Steeplechases. I enjoyed my lunch very much, as it was quite a novelty
for me. Eton boys were often invited to the barracks to lunch with
officers of the Household Brigade whom they knew, as so many Old Etonians
went into the Guards. I remember Blane, who was a pupil of my tutor, once
coming down to Eton just after he had left the school, and telling me
that he was about to join the Scots Guards, who were then stationed at
Windsor. Lord Rossmore, whom I knew very well at Eton, entered the 1st
Life Guards, and was killed riding in a steeplechase over the Windsor
course in 1874. By a singular coincidence he had fallen at the same jump,
while riding the same horse, the previous year. Rossmore, who was in
the same division with me, was very popular at Eton. He was perpetually
playing practical jokes, and I can recollect that on one occasion he made
a bet that he would drive a trap through Eton. He won it, too, by driving
through the town on a cart, disguised as a waterman, so that the masters
did not recognize him. If one of them had happened to penetrate his
disguise, he would perhaps have been expelled.

Gridley and I once went for a bicycle ride in the country, and, happening
to be seen, were sent up to the Head Master, Dr. Hornby, who said:—

“It is too grave an offence for me to swish you, so each of you must
write out a book of the _Iliad_, with accents, stops and breathings.”

Fortunately for us, Mrs. Bower made Mr. James persuade the Head Master to
let us off when we had done a quarter of the work.

When I first went to Eton, the Head Master was Dr. Balston, a very
handsome, stately and severe-looking man, whom the masters and boys
liked—at a distance. When Dr. Hornby succeeded him, it was feared that
he would introduce a great many reforms, which the masters dreaded as
much as the boys; but these apprehensions proved to be groundless. While
I was at Eton, Dr. Hornby was very much liked by the boys; but I cannot
say that his popularity extended to his colleagues, some of whom, I know,
regarded him with far from friendly feelings.

There was a “sock”-shop, called Brown’s, near James’s house in those
days, where excellent buttered buns were sold. An Old Etonian, Theobald,
Viscount Dillon, told me that, on his return to Eton when past sixty, he
tried the buns again, and exclaimed:—

“Goodness! how these buns have altered; they aren’t half as good as they
used to be!” Then, looking round at the boys, who seemed to be enjoying
them just as much as he and his contemporaries had done in days of yore,
he added regretfully:—

“After all, it isn’t the buns that have altered. It is simply that I have
lost my taste for them.”

I used often to go to Brown’s, generally of a morning, to eat a buttered
bun, which I enjoyed immensely. There was another “sock”-shop, called
Webber’s, where in summer we used to indulge in strawberry messes.
Marmalade was in favour with most of us for breakfast, and I recollect
how Craven used always to send for eighteenpenny pots at a time, saying
that the others were too small for his appetite.

One Fourth of June my father came down to Eton, and asked at my tutor’s
for Charles Douglas, the younger son of General Sir John Douglas, and
William Kinglake, who was in a different house and whom I did not then
know. We all walked down to the river to see the boats. It was a very
pretty sight, and prettier still in the evening, when the fireworks
began. I saw several lovely young girls, beautifully dressed, drinking
champagne with their brothers, and envied the latter having such pretty
sisters. William Kinglake was a nephew of the author of “Eöthen,” who was
a first cousin of my father. He was in the Boats the following year, but
died soon after he left Eton. Charles Douglas, after leaving Eton, joined
his father’s old regiment, the 79th Highlanders, but soon retired from
the Service, while still a lieutenant.

I passed my “exam.” in swimming before Mr. Warre at my first try, and
often went on the river. But I was a “dry bob,” and generally preferred
playing cricket in “Sixpenny,” some of the fields by the river, which in
winter were used for football matches. Doyne never went on the river,
since, as he was not allowed to bathe, he could not pass the necessary
“exam.,” and so was forcibly a “dry bob.” At James’s, only Alexander
and one or two others were “dry bobs,” and, as the house was a small
one, we had no cricket eleven, like other houses. James’s football
colours were a combination of reds of different shades with violet and
black, which were not by any means pretty colours. Yonge’s were red and
black; Day’s, black and white; Evans’s, scarlet with a black skull and
cross-bones; Warre’s, a combination of red, yellow and other colours;
and Vidal’s, yellow and black. The well-known cricketer, C. I. Thornton,
was at Vidal’s, and was a great friend of Williamson, while the latter
was there. Thornton was a tremendously hard hitter at cricket, and I can
remember many of his wonderful hits beyond the ropes when he was playing
for Eton against Harrow at Lord’s. The colours of the Second Eleven or
Twenty-two at cricket were blue and black; the Eton Eleven, of course,
wore light blue, as did the Eton Eight.

On St. Andrew’s Day a football match—the game at the Wall—was played
between Oppidans and Collegers, in which the latter were generally
successful, so far as I can recollect. This match always drew a large
crowd, but, for a spectator, I cannot imagine anything more tedious to
watch, unless he be interested in the final result, and even then he must
be gifted with an uncommon stock of patience to be able to watch it from
start to finish. For those engaged in it it is, of course, different, as
some players prefer the wall to the field game, and I have heard that it
affords them more excitement, besides being a far greater strain on the
nerves and muscles. A lady who would enjoy watching the game at the Wall
would in all probability find pleasure in a Spanish bull-fight, though
both would be distasteful to a really nervous, sensitive girl. A young
Spanish lady once told me at Seville that to look at a girl performing
on the trapeze made her feel faint, whereas she never failed to attend
a bull-fight on a Sunday, in which she took a keener pleasure than in
any other form of amusement. This shows how strangely one’s nerves are
constituted, and that this kind of thing is, after all, merely a matter
of habit.

In the summer, Mr. James would often take us with Mrs. Bower on the
river, when we would bring our dinner with us, and would often go as far
as Monkey Island, or even to Maidenhead, returning at night by moonlight.
We all rowed in turn and had dinner in the beautiful woods of Cliveden,
which was at that time the property of the Duke of Sutherland, but now
belongs to Lord Astor, whose father subsequently bought the estate. The
late Duke of Sutherland, who was then the Marquis of Stafford, was with
me at Eton, but higher up in the school, and I can remember him very
well. He was a good-looking boy with fair hair.

Lord Astor (formerly Mr. Waldorf Astor), the present owner of Cliveden,
was at Eton also, though very many years after my time, where he was
Captain of the Boats, and gained the Prince Consort’s Prize for French
one year. His father belonged to one of the best families in the United
States, and the son became a naturalized Englishman.

These river excursions were most enjoyable, and, when coming home, we
sang songs in chorus, which sounded well in the stillness of the summer
night. I was nearly always taken by Mr. James, as I was one of Mrs.
Bower’s favourites, and she insisted on my being invited. A boy named H.
B. Walker, who was then high up in the school, was also generally one of
the party. Walker was very amusing, and used to chaff me to annoy Mrs.
Bower, but all in jest, as we were very good friends. Mr. James was very
pleasant during these outings, and would sometimes indulge his propensity
for making jokes, which at times the boys would appreciate, though at
others they found the wit a trifle strained. One day, Walker said:—

“That joke you made I think I could improve upon, sir.”

“I did not mean it for one; you always see a joke where I cannot see
anything,” replied Mr. James.

“Charles, you know you meant it for a joke,” exclaimed Mrs. Bower.

“Well, if I did, I apologize,” said her cousin, laughing; “but you boys
always appreciate my jokes better in school hours.”

“Because there is generally more point in them, sir,” remarked Walker.

“But the best of it is I never can see any joke in some of the things
I say which provoke fits of laughter, and that always annoys me
considerably.”

“It’s quite a habit of yours, Charles, to make these jokes,” said Mrs.
Bower; “I confess I don’t care for them at any time.”

“Ladies never do,” retorted Mr. James.

And he laughed and looked very pleased at his remark, to which Mrs. Bower
vouchsafed no reply.

[Illustration: Henry Hooker Walker, at Eton with the Author.

[_To face p. 90._]

[Illustration: The Hon. J. W. Lowther, present Speaker of the House of
Commons.

[_To face p. 91._]

Another boy who often went on these river excursions was a nephew of
Mrs. Bower, named Holdsworth. He was a fine-looking fellow, older than
I was and much higher up in the school. He was a very good oar, rowing
in the _Victory_ and also in the Eight; but he over-exerted himself in
the latter and died shortly after leaving Eton. His father was a wealthy
man, and his mother was called at one time the “Pocket Venus.” He had a
sister, a pretty, fair-haired girl, who in after years married the late
Sir James Dimsdale, Lord Mayor of London, who was also an Etonian.

Walker also died shortly after leaving school, when he was barely
eighteen. He died of a brain disease at his mother’s house in Palmeira
Square, Brighton. I happened to be at Brighton a few weeks before, and he
came to see me.

One First of April, at Eton, I delivered a message to Walker, which
was supposed to have come from Lord Rossmore, asking him to lunch at
the “Christopher” at one o’clock. Rossmore, who had been very friendly
with Walker at school, had lately joined the 1st Life Guards, who were
stationed at Windsor Barracks, and often invited Walker there. And so
the latter, suspecting nothing, went to the “Christopher,” and waited
there for some time for Rossmore, with the result that he was not only
disappointed of his expected lunch, but missed his dinner at James’s. He
was very angry with me at the time, but he often laughed afterwards at
this practical joke.

I also wrote a note to a boy named Lewin C. Cholmeley, purporting to
come from a person living in a street at the farther end of Windsor,
where I had never been, to say that if he called there he would hear of
something to his advantage. He, too, fell into the trap, went to the
street mentioned, and hunted a long time for the house, but was unable to
find it, as there was no such number there. When he got back to James’s
he found that dinner was over, and I don’t think he ever quite forgave
me for the joke I had played upon him; certainly he never forgot it.
Cholmeley was lower in school than I was at that time. When in the Fifth
Form, he was in the Boats. I heard that, after I left Eton, he fell out
with my tutor one Fourth of June, and was one of those who nearly drowned
him in Chalvey. This affair might have entailed serious consequences for
Cholmeley, had not Mr. James forgiven him and interceded in his favour
with the Head Master. Cholmeley is now a wealthy solicitor in London.

When I had nothing better to do of an evening, I often used to go to
Leyton’s, at Windsor, which was famous for its pastry, and where a good
many Eton boys were always to be found. My companion on these occasions
was usually Lord Edward Somerset, who was in my division. On leaving
Eton, Lord Edward Somerset entered the 23rd Welsh Fusiliers, from which
he subsequently exchanged into the “Blues.” He died soon after his
marriage, while still quite young.

The German master at Eton was Herr Griebel, from whom I took private
lessons at the same time as Count Bentinck. We read together Goethe’s
_Die Leiden des jungen Werthers_ and Auerbach’s _Das Landhaus am Rhein_.
Herr Griebel told me that after he had been in England some time he
forgot German entirely. Then he went back to Germany, and entirely forgot
English. “But now,” he added, “I shall never forget either language, as
I am far too old.” I was in the select one year for the Prince Consort’s
German Prize, and the year following next in marks to the boy who won it.
For the French Prize I was also rather high up in marks. Mr. Frank Tarver
and his brother were the French masters at Eton then. One half the former
got up a performance of Molière’s _le Bourgeois Gentilhomme_, which was
acted by the boys and himself. Molière is said to have portrayed himself
in _le Misanthrope_. It is well known that he used to read his comedies,
first of all, to his old housekeeper, and when she smiled at certain
passages, he felt sure that they would amuse the public also.

Gridley’s younger brother, Reginald Gridley, after I had left Eton, rowed
in the _Victory_ and the Eight, and was a well-known oar at Cambridge,
where he rowed for the University Eight against Oxford. Gridley himself,
after holding a commission in the 5th Lancers and subsequently in the
78th Highlanders, was called to the Bar, but died soon afterwards.
George Baird, who rowed in the Eight in 1873, was also at James’s, and
was my fag for a short time. When he was in the Fifth Form, Arthur
Cavendish-Bentinck, now Duke of Portland, fagged for him. George Baird,
after leaving Eton, joined the 16th Lancers, and is now a colonel. I
saw a good deal of him at my tutor’s, but all I remember about him is
that he was a very nice fellow and that he messed with Blagrove. He had
a cousin, Douglas Baird, who was also at James’s. Craven, on leaving
Eton, entered the Grenadier Guards, from which he retired as captain. He
married soon afterwards, and died at twenty-two. Holdsworth messed with
Thomas Wood, who was also in the Boats (the _Thetis_), and distinguished
himself in school. I met him in after years at Aldershot, where he was in
the Grenadier Guards, and I remember that he behaved very generously to
Temple—“Mug,” as we used to call him at Eton—when he was in bad health
and poor circumstances, assisting him and seeing that he had the best
medical advice in his illness, of which, however, he died when he was
barely twenty years old.

Two other boys who were with me at James’s were Percy Aylmer and Augustus
Ralli. Aylmer, who was a very good-looking and exceedingly nice fellow,
travelled with Colvin in after years, and now resides on his property
in Durham. Ralli was a bright-looking boy, with very dark eyes, and was
very popular in the house. Unhappily, he died of rheumatic fever at Eton
in March 1872. There were, of course, many other boys at James’s besides
those whom I have mentioned, but I cannot now recall anything about them
worth recording here. Doyne left Eton long before I did, and died of
influenza some years ago in Ireland.




CHAPTER VIII

    Athletic Sports at Eton—A “Scrap”—Lord Newlands—An Old Boy on
    Eton of To-day


Henley Regatta was an event which was always eagerly looked forward to
by us boys. I used to go there with Mr. James and Mrs. Bower and some
of the boys in our house. Sometimes we went by river all the way; at
others by rail. One year, while sitting in the Grand Stand, I overheard a
conversation between a boy named Kirklinton-Saul and his mother. Said the
latter:—

“I don’t always expect to hear from you, my dear, but when you want
money, be sure and write, won’t you?”

To which request the young gentleman gave the answer which might be
expected.

I could not help thinking at the time: “What a nice mamma! I wonder
if there are many such mammas about?” The dinner at Henley used to
consist of duck and green peas with beer, which the boys used to enjoy
greatly; but there was such a crowd at the regatta, that there was always
a tremendous scramble to get to the tables. Mr. James did not take
dinner with him when we went to Henley, as it was so far from Eton. The
toilettes of the ladies were very elaborate, though hardly equal to those
one saw at the Eton and Harrow match at Lord’s. Nevertheless, there were
some very pretty dresses, and—what was still more important—some very
pretty faces. For many young girls came with their mothers to see their
friends and relatives compete for the Ladies’ Plate, which in those days
Eton used to win year after year in succession.[13] The light blue of
Eton was worn by the boys and by the pretty girls who accompanied them.

The Athletic Sports at Eton were always interesting to watch. The
steeplechase course was a most severe one, some very big natural jumps
having to be negotiated, ending with the brook, which was the biggest
jump of all. H. M. Ridley was the fastest runner at Eton in my time.

I recollect one day having a try at the brook in the “field,” which I
succeeded in jumping. The late Lord Lonsdale and his brother, the present
Earl, were standing some way off, and must have thought I could not do
it, for the former shouted out when I landed safely on the further bank:—

“Well done, Black-eyed Susan!” _Black-eyed Susan_, I may mention, was
the name of a popular burlesque, by Douglas Jerrold, which had a great
run at that time at the Strand Theatre. One morning, before breakfast, I
ran John Lister-Kaye one hundred yards for a bet of five shillings, he
giving me five yards start, and managed to win, though he had felt very
confident about beating me. I ran one year in the Hundred Yards for boys
under sixteen at the Sports, and Holdsworth, who was acting as umpire,
told me afterwards that I might have won it, had I not stopped a yard
short, through mistaking the boundary line. He often asked me why I had
done so, but the only reason I could give was that I was so short-sighted.

We had a play-room at James’s, where we used to practise the high jump,
and there were some boys who could clear a jump higher than themselves.
In this room stood a large blackboard, upon which all the names of the
boys who had been at James’s were carved, with the year they came and the
year they left.

The cricket match between Eton and Winchester was played in alternate
years at either school. When the match took place at Eton, the band of
the Life Guards or the “Blues” would play on the ground, where there
was always a large attendance of visitors, including a great number of
ladies. But it was never so fine a sight as the Eton and Harrow match
at Lord’s. At one Winchester match I remember seeing Miss Evans (George
Eliot), who had come as the guest of one of the masters, and whose
presence created quite a sensation.

Once at Lord’s, during the Eton and Harrow match, I was invited on to
the drag of a friend of mine named C. N. Ridley, who was in my own
division, where I had an excellent lunch, washed down by champagne.
Ridley was a good-looking boy, with fair, curly hair and blue eyes, and
his two sisters, who were exquisitely dressed on this occasion in light
blue satin dresses with white lace, were considered remarkable beauties
in London. They were quite young and very fair, like their brother,
with the most lovely blue eyes of the shade of the myosotis. They might
often be seen in the season riding in the Park, and were greatly admired
by the Prince of Wales, afterwards King Edward VII., who invited them
to Marlborough House. Unhappily, both these beautiful girls and their
brother were consumptive, and I heard that they all three died of
consumption not very long afterwards.

In those days, the Eton and Harrow match at Lord’s was a far more
pleasant function than it has since become. Only people interested in
Eton or Harrow were there, and a good view of the game could easily be
obtained. Nowadays people go who do not know one school from the other,
and the whole space is reserved for the M.C.C., so that if you do not
happen to be a member, you cannot see the game at all. One constantly
hears people say at Lord’s now:—

“I don’t know anything about cricket and care less, but I have come to
see the ladies’ toilettes.”

In the old days this was not so. Lord’s has certainly not improved
since.[14]

The boys at James’s used often to go into the pantry, where William, the
butler, would give them a glass of claret, and water Mr. James’s wine
well for him afterwards. Often the butler would exclaim: “Ha! spider up
there!” and while we were looking for it, he watered the claret. It was
in the butler’s pantry that I had the only fight I ever had at Eton, the
day before I left for good. My opponent was the Hon., afterwards Lord,
Henry Vane-Tempest, a son of the Marquis of Londonderry, who was a little
lower down in the school than I was. I don’t think either of us really
wanted to fight, but we were egged on by others whose respective parts we
had taken in a quarrel, and after a very short “scrap,” which I got the
best of, we shook hands and made friends. When I went down to Eton again,
I met Vane-Tempest at my tutor’s, and he told me that he was then leaving
to enter the “Blues.” He has since joined the majority, quite young in
life.

Of the boys at James’s, I may mention that Sir John Lister-Kaye married
Miss Yznaga, an American lady, one of two sisters celebrated for their
beauty and toilettes in Paris, where I often met them in society. Sir
John was a gentleman in attendance on the late King Edward VII. Lord
Mandeville, who was in the Grenadier Guards, and afterwards became Duke
of Manchester, married the other sister. Cecil Lister-Kaye married
the sister of the Duke of Newcastle, who was himself at Eton. Cecil
Lister-Kaye told me recently that his son was at Eton, and that he often
went down to see him. He, no doubt, on these occasions, thinks with some
regret of the happy days of his youth at James’s. I have come across
some of those who were with me at Eton in quite unexpected places. For
instance, I met the present Earl of Northbrook in Bombay. He was on his
way to visit his uncle, then Viceroy of India, and had come to Bombay, he
told me, to buy Arab horses. He was in the same division with me at Eton,
and afterwards served in the Rifle Brigade and Grenadier Guards. Although
I may have forgotten many of my schoolfellows at Eton, I can never forget
those who were in my division. Among them was Henry de Vere Vane, then a
very clever, fair-haired boy, whom I remember envying because he learned
everything so quickly. He was the late Lord Barnard, and inherited the
Cleveland estates on succeeding to this title. I had been told that in
the hall of Raby Castle, his country-seat, a fire had been lighted two
hundred years ago and had never been extinguished since. But Lord Barnard
informed me that this is a legend, and sent me an account of a similar
one:—

    “_Fire kept in for two hundred years._

    “One of the loneliest spots in England, where there are
    only four cottages in an area of thirty thousand acres,
    was described at Brampton (Cumberland) Revision Court. The
    Conservative agent, Mr. Mawson, said he had visited the farm,
    which was situated on a remote fell between Bewcastle and
    Haltwhistle, on the border of Northumberland. Members of the
    farmer’s family had lived in this particular cottage for six
    hundred years, and there was a tradition that the kitchen fire
    had never been out for two hundred years. The claimant slept in
    a bedroom eight feet square. There was a child there that had
    not seen another child for two years.”

[Illustration: The Duke of Rutland

[_To face p. 98._]

Another who was in my division was the Hon. V. A. Parnell, a good-looking
boy, with black hair with a blueish reflection in it, and fine eyes. He
was a good cricketer and clever in school. At times, when we were up
to Mr. Thackeray, Parnell, as he reminded me recently, would, _faute
de mieux à faire_, be engaged in shinning matches with a boy who sat
next to him called Dobson. The latter was a very good-humoured fellow,
who retaliated without losing his temper, though at times he could with
difficulty refrain from betraying the pain which he endured so stoically
with a smiling face.

The present Duke of Rutland, then Henry F. B. Manners, was at Eton with
me, but higher up in the school, and if my memory does not deceive me,
was in the Boats when in the Fifth Form.

The present Lord Newlands, then known as J. H. C. Hozier, was very high
up in the school, and I can remember when he was in my tutor’s division,
as the latter used to say how clever he was, and he frequently came to
the pupil-room at James’s. Mr. James would often tell us about those who
were up to him, but it was rarely that he bestowed praise on any boy.

When Doyne left Eton, I had his room, which commanded a view of the
fine lime-trees, which in the summer looked very charming. On the wall
hard by the boys used to stand or sit to criticize all the people who
passed along the road running through Eton. This must have been a rather
trying ordeal for some of the latter, for I remember that I used to
find it a very trying experience when I happened to be late for chapel,
particularly when I first came to Eton, to be obliged to run the gauntlet
of a double row of boys, who never failed to pass remarks on everyone.
The choir at Eton, which was the same as that of St. George’s Chapel at
Windsor, was a very good one, and one of the boys who sang in it, named
Hancock, was paid, I was told, one hundred and fifty pounds a year.
Hancock sang occasionally the solo part in Mendelssohn’s anthem, “O,
for the wings of a dove,” in a marvellous manner, his high notes being
wonderfully clear; but his voice lacked expression, and, as boys and
girls generally regard certain things purely from an æsthetic point of
view, the impression it made upon us was one rather of surprise than of
admiration. Some of us used to go on Sundays to St. George’s, Windsor,
and sit in the organ loft, where Dr. Elvey, who was a remarkably fine
organist, played most beautifully.

After Dr. Hornby became Head Master, the custom of giving leaving books
was abolished. Personally, I regretted this innovation, not because I did
not receive any, but because I liked to make presents to my friends who
were leaving Eton; and the expense was a small one, to which, I am sure,
none of our parents objected.

Most of us look back upon our school days as the happiest part of our
lives, for, to the schoolboy, the cares and anxieties which weigh upon
us as we grow older are unknown, and, given good health, an Eton boy’s
life ought to be _par excellence_ the very sum of earthly happiness.
Lord Rathdonnell, late of the Scots Greys, who, when at Eton, as
McClintock-Bunbury, stroked the Eight at Henley, and excelled at football
and at most games, besides being very high up in the school and very
popular, wrote to me some years ago, saying that the years he spent at
Eton were by far the happiest of his life, and that he always looked back
to them with intense pleasure. The Captain of the Boats at that time
was Edwards-Moss, now a baronet. Horace Ricardo (now Colonel Ricardo,
C.V.O.), whom I remember quite well, was then in the _Monarch_, and his
brother Cecil rowed in the _Victory_ and was Captain of the Boats in
1871. After leaving Eton, both brothers entered the Grenadier Guards, and
each of them commanded a battalion before retiring from the Service. I
remember that Doyne, who was never high up in the school and for whom
Latin and Greek were somewhat of a torture, telling me years afterwards
that he looked back with regret to the happy days he had spent at Eton,
which, all things considered, were perhaps the happiest of his life. Yet
Doyne was not one of those who had any trouble in after life; on the
contrary, he had everything which a man could possibly desire, besides
enjoying good health. But the joyous, irresponsible days of school life
were gone for ever, and, as he confessed to me, he would only too gladly
have returned to them and lived them over again.

In regard to Eton at the present day, I heard not long ago from an old
schoolfellow, the late Colonel Sir Josceline Bagot, a distinguished
officer of the Guards and author, who had had a boy there, and who wrote
as follows:—

    “It all seems much the same, though, to my mind, not improved
    in some ways. They have got more room certainly, but, for such
    a big place as it has become, I think the traditional freedom
    of the boys is overdone altogether. Much too much importance
    is given to boys in ‘Pop,’ and allowing them and Captains of
    Houses to smack boys with canes for certain offences more or
    less officially is, to my mind, a great mistake, and starts
    the rotten system of many public schools of ‘monitors,’
    ‘prefects,’ etc. No boys should have that power, and it is much
    worse for them to have it than for the boys who get smacked.
    It all comes from the masters thinking themselves too grand
    to swish boys as in the old days; and the Head Master smacks
    them on rare occasions with a stick, whereupon they put on two
    pairs of trousers, etc., and merely laugh at it and him, and
    they barely touch their hats at all to the masters. They all
    smoke now to a great extent, far more than we ever did, and,
    though the Head Master is wild about it, he is powerless to do
    anything sensible to stop it; and some of these rich Jew boys
    and foreigners have far too much money and spoil things. If I
    were Head Master, I wouldn’t have them at the school at all. I
    was next to Lyttelton in school for a year or so, and like him,
    but he has no respect and control at all for such a position.
    Still, if drawbacks have crept in, it is still the best school
    in the world.”

As time goes on, one hears everywhere, and always in a louder whisper,
the serious, dangerous word, “decadence.” But let us allow the evil
question whether our culture is really going to ground to rest, and
rather attempt a very naïve example: Suppose a true son of classical
Greece—Socrates, for instance—were conducted in a dream into the midst of
our modern culture. He would look with amazement at the marvellous means
of locomotion, the production of the factories, the luxurious comfort of
private houses, the magnificence of our theatres and so forth; but the
question whether we ought to be proud and happy he would answer in his
usual way:—

“In my country I knew Pericles and heard the dramas of Sophocles. I knew
Alcibiades and saw Phidias at work, and my pupil was Plato. Now show me
your living masters.”

The next day Socrates would relate:—

“I dreamt this night I was in Persia. Everything is greater there
than you can imagine. Immensely great are the treasures, the armies
and navies, the towns and houses, the machinery employed. In short,
everything is inconceivably great; only the people are very small....”




CHAPTER IX

    Lady Grace Stopford—Tipperary in 1870—Robbed at Punchestown
    Races—I get my own back


Just after I left Eton, in 1870, I went over to Ireland to stay with my
friend Doyne, who lived in County Wexford, and had a fine estate near
the sea, about half an hour’s walk from the beach. His mother and sister
lived with him, and he and I rode about his property and amused ourselves
very well, though he had no near neighbours, except the Earl of Courtown
and his family. The eldest son, Viscount Stopford, who had been with us
at Eton, was away at the time, though his sister, Lady Grace Stopford,
was there. One day we called, and were received by Lady Grace, who was
the only one of the family at home. After shaking hands with her, Doyne
said:—

“I wanted to show my friend the fairest young lady in the county.”

At which compliment she blushed and replied:—

“I am afraid he will be much disappointed.”

“On the contrary,” I observed, “I am agreeably surprised.”

She then inquired if I knew her brother, and I told her that we were at
Eton together. Lady Grace was a girl of about sixteen, with a lovely
complexion, blue eyes and regular features. Her hair was of a reddish
tint, similar to that which one sees in certain pictures by Correggio,
and particularly in one in the Liechtenstein Gallery in Vienna, the face
of which also bore a resemblance to hers. In her manner she appeared
somewhat stiff, and more like the English than the Irish, who are
generally so free and easy. But then Lady Grace always spent the season
in London, and lived most of her time in England. Her brother, Lord
Stopford, now Earl of Courtown, was in the Grenadier Guards, and had
lately joined his regiment.

Mrs. Doyne was a charming old lady, and her daughters had delightful
manners and were exceedingly pleasant in every way. While I was with
them, Mrs. Doyne told me that she and her family had received an
invitation to Killarney, and asked me to go with them, which I did with
great pleasure. The house we stayed at was a fine one, very prettily
situated near the Lake of Killarney, and the weather being beautiful and
very hot, it was very pleasant to go on the lake and visit the different
sights in the neighbourhood. I was delighted with the scenery of the
lake and the various waterfalls in the woods, some of the views being
exquisitely lovely. One day, when Doyne and I were riding on donkeys on
the rugged hills near the lake, a bare-footed Irish girl came up and
spoke to us in Irish, showing her beautiful teeth. She had very black
eyes and black hair falling loosely over her shoulders, and her legs,
like her feet, were bare. She could not speak a word of English, but
Doyne made her understand him somehow by means of gestures.

Killarney gave me the impression that I was in Italy. There were so many
bare-legged boys and girls walking about, and the scenery was more like
that of the south of Europe than the British Isles; while the almost
tropical heat we were experiencing just then completed the illusion. One
day it rained very heavily, so Doyne and I went to the Hôtel Victoria,
where an American, who was playing billiards, said to us:—

“I guess I shall have to say that I have seen the Lake of Killarney from
this billiard-room window, as I am leaving early to-morrow morning.”

The tutor of a young fellow staying at the hôtel told me that I must
have Scottish blood in my veins, because I walked so carefully, as if
calculating every step I took, while an Irishman walked without the
least hesitation. I noticed that the good looks of the Irish people
were found more in the lower classes than in those above them. Some
of the bare-legged girls whom I saw were quite pretty, with something
of the Spanish type of beauty about them. Their hands and feet were
usually small, whereas those of some of the women of the upper classes
were of very generous proportions. Everywhere I went I met with a
“_gemüthlichkeit_,” which is not to be found in England, go where one
may; the Irish are so friendly and jolly, even if one does not know them.

On leaving Killarney, we went to Tipperary, and stayed at Cashel,
with the Dean, Dr. MacDonnell, who told me that there were sixteen
roads leading to the town, on each of which a murder had recently been
committed. These crimes had, however, been committed for political
reasons, for if a man did not meddle with politics, he might travel along
these same roads at night with his pockets bulging with gold in perfect
safety. The Dean, who afterwards became a Canon of Peterborough,[15] had
a pretty daughter, a very amiable and clever girl, who is now the wife of
Sir Shirley Salt.

I also stayed at Wells, an estate belonging to Mr. Mervyn Doyne, my
friend’s elder brother, who had married Lady Frances Fitzwilliam, the
eldest daughter of Earl Fitzwilliam. The house was a very imposing one,
built in the Elizabethan style and standing in the midst of extensive
grounds. Lady Francis Doyne was a nice-looking and extremely pleasant
woman. At dinner one evening she told me the following rather interesting
story:—

“I happened to dream one night in town, just before we were leaving for
Ireland, that I had lost my dressing-case. Therefore, before starting, I
told my maid to take particular care of it during the journey. However,
when we arrived in Dublin, I left her in charge of the dressing-case for
two or three minutes at the station, and somehow she must have put it
down for an instant, since, on my returning to her, she exclaimed: ‘Oh,
my lady, the dressing-case is gone!’ My husband had all the cars which
were leaving the station stopped, but my dressing-case was nowhere to be
found. He telegraphed to Scotland Yard, in London, but with no success
whatever, and I have never recovered it to this day. I had at the time
eight thousand pounds’ worth of jewellery in it, besides valuable stones
belonging to my ancestors, which can never be replaced.”

Speaking of London, Lady Fanny said:—

“We had a house in Mount Street for the season, and one evening, when we
were giving a dinner-party, a band began playing outside our house. It
played rather well, so I sent my footman out to the conductor to ask him
to continue playing all the time we were at dinner, and to give him a
sovereign if he would do so. But the footman brought back the sovereign,
and told me that the conductor refused to play under five pounds.”

Lady Fanny also said:—

“People soon forget one in London. As a young girl, I lived with my
father in Grosvenor Square, but after my marriage I was not in London for
two years. When I returned to town, I found that everyone had forgotten
me entirely.”

Earl Fitzwilliam, Lady Fanny’s father, used to give two big dinners in
town to his tenants, to each of which fifty guests were invited. At
one of these dinners the service was entirely of silver; at the other
entirely of gold.

I was invited with Jim Doyne to stay at the Shelbourne Hotel, as the
guest of Earl Fitzwilliam, for the Punchestown Races. The first day of
the races it poured with rain, and Jim and I went to the course on an
Irish car. On the way he chaffed a man and a girl on our car whom he had
never seen before, who were engaged in a flirtation, and said to the girl
aloud:—

“Don’t listen to the tales he is telling you; they are all lies.”

The girl blushed, and the man, looking very much annoyed, answered:—

“She knows I am telling her the truth.”

There was a great rush to get into the stand, and Jim and I got
separated. I tendered an English five-pound note for admission, but the
man issuing the tickets said:—

“I don’t take English notes, only Irish ones.”

I told him I had a ticket for the Marquis of Drogheda’s private stand,
but he said that I must first pay the sovereign entrance to the other.
Suddenly, a man came forward and said:—

“I will change your note, if you will give it me or come with me.”

I followed him through the pouring rain to a tent, where he showed me
three cards, which he threw on a table, saying:—

“I’ll bet you a fiver you don’t name the court card.”

“But I don’t wish to bet,” I replied.

“You must play,” rejoined he, “or I’ll keep your money.”

I looked round for a policeman, but there was not one anywhere near, and,
while my eyes were off him, the man disappeared. I tried to find him all
day, but without success.

In the evening, when I returned to the Shelbourne Hotel, Lord
Fitzwilliam’s sons, Thomas[16] and Charles Fitzwilliam, Lord Aberdour,
Jim and myself dined together in a private room. Lord Aberdour, who is
now Earl of Morton, said:—“I was making a bet with a man when someone
nearly knocked me down and took away my watch and chain, and in the
confusion of the moment I could not discover who it was.”

“I did not come off any better,” remarked Charles Fitzwilliam, who had
been at Eton and was now in the “Blues,” “for I was paid a bet with half
a five-pound and half a ten-pound note pinned together.”

The next day, when it rained again, I went to the races, and walked
about, keeping a sharp look-out for the man who had stolen my “fiver.”
Presently I caught sight of him, and going up to a constable, inquired
if he could arrest a man on suspicion, which he said he could. The
fellow was performing the three-card trick at the time, and was promptly
arrested. He, of course, loudly protested his innocence, saying:—

“It was not me, but the Scotsman who did it, and he ain’t here to-day. I
don’t know the young gentleman at all.”

The constable asked me if I were quite sure that this was the man, to
which I replied in the affirmative. He was then marched off, and a
head constable came and took down my affirmation, which I signed. The
three-card gentleman called out to me:—

“I’ll give you twenty pounds if you’ll let me off,” and the constable,
overhearing this, said:—

“Now he has confessed to taking the note; I see it’s all right.”

During dinner at the “Shelbourne” that night I told my friends of my
adventure, when they all said:—

“You must prosecute the man for the good of the public.”

I decided to follow their advice, and, about a month later, I went with
Jim to Naas, where the fellow was to be tried, and where, as Jim happened
to know the county court judge, Baron de Robeck, we were given seats on
the Bench. When the prisoner was brought in, he at once pleaded guilty,
upon which the judge sentenced him to repay the five pounds, which he
did, and to three months’ hard labour. He was also ordered to pay the
costs of the prosecution, which came to as much as five pounds, but these
I refused to accept.

At Naas we lunched with the Duke of Leinster, who had been at Eton with
us, and was then with his militia regiment. He was much interested in my
adventure, and glad to hear of the result. At the station a man came up
to me, and telling me he was the prisoner’s solicitor, asked me to give
him some money for persuading his client to plead guilty. But when I
spoke to Jim about it, he answered:—“Tell him to go to the devil.”

And the man of law, overhearing the remark, took himself off without more
ado.

I stayed some weeks longer with Jim Doyne,[17] when I went to London for
my “exam.” for the Army.




CHAPTER X

    Dieppe under Prussian Rule—A Toilette by Worth—A Confirmed
    Gambler


During the Franco-German War, while I was at Eton, my parents remained
in Paris, and though my father left the city during the Commune, my
mother stayed until the very last, when she was persuaded to follow him.
Towards the end of the war I joined my parents at Dieppe, and saw the
Prussians enter the town, when eighteen soldiers were billeted on the
owner of the house we lived in. Madame Gaillard, an American lady, the
young wife of General Gaillard, who was afterwards appointed to look
after Maréchal Bazaine when a prisoner, was with us at Dieppe. She was a
very pretty woman, and she and the Baronne van Havre usually went with
my mother to the afternoon concerts. I took lessons on the violin from
the chief violinist, whose name was Lamoury. His brother was one of the
first violoncello players in France, and played in the orchestra at the
Conservatoire in Paris. Lamoury told me that he had begun to learn the
violin too late in life to be a virtuoso on that instrument, as he had
not begun to play it until he was fourteen, whereas you ought to start
playing at the age of seven in order to be anything remarkable as a
violinist.

The English Consul at Dieppe was a Mr. Chapman, and there were several
English residents. Among them were Edward Blount, a friend of my father,
who had been at school with Gambetta and spoke French almost better than
he did English, and a Major Boland, from Bath, who had married a French
lady, the sister of Jules Simon, one of the Ministers then in power in
Paris. Boland was in the habit of depreciating the French Army and
praising the Prussians in every way. Owing to his having lived in the
same house as his brother-in-law for many years before the war, he had
had, although an Englishman, opportunities for ascertaining the real
condition of the French Army.

“I knew from the first,” he would observe, “that the French would be
defeated, and that Bazaine was a traitor, who was playing into the hands
of the Prussians all along.”

Jules Simon seemed to share his opinion of the state to which the Empire
had reduced France by embarking in this disastrous war, for which she was
unprepared, whereas Prussia had been preparing for it for many years.

Dieppe is a very charming seaside resort in the summer months, and it was
very pleasant to go to the Casino, where the band played of an afternoon,
and listen to the orchestra, which in those days was excellent, as most
of the performers came from Paris. The Casino was near the sea, and to
sit there and watch the sea sparkling under the rays of the sun and the
snow-white sails in the distance, bathed, as evening approached, in a
rosy light, was to me a never-failing source of pleasure. At such an
hour as this Time and Space seem to be eliminated. The incoming tide
approaches with a gentle murmur. It encircles first one spot on the
sands, then another; rests for a moment, and then continues its advance.
The sea is a symbol for us of Eternity and of our passing away.

When the Uhlans entered Dieppe, followed by the Prussian infantry, the
town was in a ferment, since no one knew what was going to follow. All
kinds of rumours were afloat, and some people believed that a warship
would bombard the town, if the invaders met with any resistance. The
Germans requisitioned many things, with which the inhabitants were
very reluctant to supply them, and ordered that all lights should be
extinguished at 8 p.m., and that after 10 p.m. no one should leave his
house. This condition of affairs naturally did not suit my father, and
he determined to leave Dieppe at once. But this was a difficult matter,
as to go by rail was nearly impossible, and by sea altogether out of
the question. Finally we decided to hire a carriage and to start before
daybreak, although we were very much afraid lest we should be stopped by
the Prussians. We succeeded, however, in escaping detection and reached
Dunkerque, where we took the train for Calais, and thence made our way to
Boulogne. Here we stayed for some days at the Hôtel des Bains, and then
embarked for Folkestone, from which we proceeded to Brighton.

At Brighton, where my parents took a house facing the sea, and not far
from the Old Pier, we found Captain and Mrs. Berkeley, who had taken
a house for the season in Regency Square; Mrs. Charles Woodforde, an
aunt of my father, who was staying there with her daughter, and Sophia
Kinglake, a sister of the author of “Eöthen,” whom Thackeray once
described as the cleverest woman he had ever met in his life. One day, I
remember calling with my mother upon her, when she told us that she was
knitting a scarf for John Ardagh, who afterwards became General Sir John
Ardagh, and died some years ago. Shortly after we arrived, a very pretty,
graceful and beautifully-dressed girl entered the room. She was a Miss
Gordon, daughter of a General Gordon, and, in the course of conversation,
said to me:—

“I always get my dresses from Worth, and sometimes I go and stay with his
family at their country-place in France. I generally stop with them from
three weeks to a month, and return to England with a fine lot of dresses.
Worth would be horrified were he to see me to-day, because I am wearing
gloves which do not match my dress. Once I put on grey gloves with a
costume of an unusual colour, upon which he told me that if I ever did
so again, he would make for me no more. So, you see, I have to study his
taste in the matter of toilettes most carefully.”

I inquired whether Worth charged very high prices for his confections.

“It is according to what you consider high,” she replied. “He charges
from forty pounds for a dress, and will not make one under that price;
but it is always perfectly finished and lined with silk. For ball-dresses
he charges more. I get both my morning-gowns and ball-toilettes from him,
for I consider that he is the only man who can make dresses which are
worth wearing.”

I asked if Laferrière were not very good, as I had heard so much about
him in Paris.

“Yes, he is,” she said, “but Worth I consider still better.”

Miss Gordon was a girl of about eighteen, with a wonderfully clear
complexion, brown hair, blue eyes, and rather good features. She had also
a beautiful figure, for which reason it must have been quite a pleasure
for a dressmaker to make for her. She was wearing on this occasion a
blue costume, with a good deal of _passementerie_ on it, and very pretty
buttons in enamel, a white petticoat with flounces of lace, stockings _à
jour_, and shoes with Louis Quinze heels. Her hat matched her dress, and
the _ensemble_ would have been a dream, had not her gloves, which were
brown, spoiled—as she herself admitted—an otherwise perfect toilette.

While at Brighton, I used frequently to go on the Pier with my mother to
listen to the band, which, however, played very badly. Captain and Mrs.
Berkeley often came there too, and would sit with us until my father came
to fetch us to lunch. Captain Dorrien was also at Brighton at this time,
and occasionally some of the old society of Homburg would meet on the
Pier, and talk over their experiences at roulette and trente-et-quarante.

“I say, Fred,” inquired Dorrien one day of my father, “how about your
infallible system? What was it? Let me see: one louis _à cheval_ between
zero and two, one between twelve and fifteen, one between twenty-six and
twenty-nine, and one between thirty-two and thirty-five. Isn’t that it?”

“Yes, my dear fellow,” answered my father, “and you double the amount if
you lose.”

“Oh!” exclaimed Berkeley, “that game is a martingale, and it nearly broke
me.”

“Then, old fellow,” said my father, “you didn’t play it the right way.”

“Oh, yes, I did, and in very much the right way, for I lost all I had....”

“I wish I were at Homburg to try it again,” continued my father.

“You would only lose again,” said Berkeley.

“I am sorry that I ever played there at all,” said Dorrien.

“So am I,” exclaimed Berkeley, “but there is an attraction there that
somehow one cannot resist.”

“I feel I should win if I played at Monte Carlo,” said my father.

“You always felt like that at Homburg,” remarked Dorrien. “You said,
if you remember, one evening, that you felt like winning, and you lost
heavily.”

“But I won afterwards—three hundred louis.”

“My dear fellow, you forget how much you lost. You can talk like that
to people who know nothing about the game, but as for me, who have lost
thirty thousand pounds at it, you cannot make me believe that white is
black.”

“Can’t I?” said my father, laughing.

“No, you can’t, and you are foolish to try to make yourself believe that
you can ever win at that game.”

“I agree with you entirely,” observed Berkeley.

“I always hope to win back what I have lost,” said my father.

“That you will never do at roulette and trente-et-quarante,” said Dorrien.

“Don’t you play at all now then?” asked my father.

“Yes, at baccarat and the Stock Exchange.”

“That is as bad,” remarked my father.

“I am not sure it isn’t worse,” said Dorrien, laughing.

“Quite as bad,” exclaimed Berkeley, “but I do the same thing.”

“I shall have a try this winter at Monte Carlo,” said my father.

“You have had one lesson; why do you want to burn your fingers again?”
asked Dorrien.

“If you do,” remarked Berkeley, “_vous y perdrez vos pas, mon cher ami_.”

And then they talked about other things.




CHAPTER XI

    The Princess von Metternich—The Lady of the Luxembourg Gardens


Paris was very dull in the way of entertainments and parties after the
Commune, and people spoke of hardly anything but the siege. Mrs. Healy,
an aunt of Viscount Dillon, who lived in the same house as my parents in
the Rue d’Albe, her _appartement_ being on the _entresol_, had remained
there throughout the siege and the Commune, and told us that she had
always contrived to get everything she wanted in the way of eatables,
though she had had to pay an enormously high price for them; twenty
francs a pound, for instance, for butter, which she obtained as well as
eggs and meat, and consequently was never obliged to dine off a mouse
or any delicacy of that description, like most of the people in Paris.
Theobald, Lord Dillon, often came to see his aunt, and one day he related
to us how he had become acquainted with Sims Reeves, and how he had been
the means of the latter continuing his studies at Milan as a singer. It
was entirely through Lord Dillon’s generosity that Sims Reeves became so
well known, as he had advanced him a large sum of money. Albani was also
first brought into notice in England by Lord Dillon, who was so enchanted
with her beautiful voice that he soon made known to everybody the
“star” he had discovered. Albani was a frequent guest at his beautiful
country-seat, Ditchley Park, for he and Lady Dillon not only admired her
most exquisite voice, but her very charming personality as well.

The last time I met Lord Dillon was on the pier at Brighton, when I
happened to be on leave from Aldershot, where my regiment was then
stationed; and, I remember, I introduced Lord Headley to him, at the
former’s request. The two noblemen discussed politics, upon which subject
they did not agree. Later the same day, I introduced two young officers
to Lord Dillon, as he told me he was very fond of young men, he himself
being then an old man. The officers in question were both Old Etonians
and attached to my regiment. One was Richard Sutton, a son of Sir Richard
Sutton, who died before his father; the other, the present Sir Charles E.
C. Hartopp, a nephew of the Duke of Norfolk, who had just been staying at
Arundel with his uncle.

I happened to meet Whitehead, a correspondent of the _Daily Telegraph_,
who had remained in Paris during the siege. I asked him whether he was
not at all alarmed at the time, to which he replied that he did not know
what fear meant, and had never been afraid of anything in his life.

I was still at Eton, but came to Paris for my holidays, and one evening
went to a ball, at which I recollect the Princess von Metternich, wife of
the Austrian Ambassador, was present, and that she left after remaining
only half an hour. Sir Edward Malet, who was then First Secretary at the
British Embassy, led the cotillion. It was a terribly dull affair, and I
was quite glad to get away. Evidently, the Princess von Metternich saw at
a glance what it was like, and only waited until her carriage returned,
or no doubt she would have left even sooner. The Princess spoke English
just like an Englishwoman, and when she spoke in German interlarded every
sentence with French words, as all the Austrian nobility do. She had
plenty of _esprit_, and when I saw her in recent years in Vienna, she
always used to make use of the late Baron Nathan de Rothschild to assist
her in collecting money for the poor of the city, and—some people were
malicious enough to say—for herself as well. She had such a way of asking
for charitable contributions that she scarcely ever met with a refusal,
and never indeed from “her little Jew,” as she was accustomed to call
Baron Nathan.

After I left Eton, I returned to Paris, and, as it was summer, I often
walked in the Luxembourg Gardens, where it was very pleasant to sit
beneath the trees and read a book. One day, I happened to be sitting near
a fountain which contained some gold fish. On the same seat sat a young
girl with fair hair, who appeared entirely absorbed in a book which she
was reading, and from which she did not raise her eyes for a moment. I
asked her what was the name of the novel in which she was so interested.
She answered that it was not a novel at all, but a serious modern French
work on philosophy. And she handed it to me. I was not a little curious
to know why she read such books, and questioned her on the matter, when
she replied that they were the only ones capable of distracting her
thoughts, and that, as her own life had been like a novel, she avoided
such stories, for they usually reminded her of her own experiences, and
made her sadder than ever. I inquired if she would mind letting me know
her own history, and, at the same time, studied her more attentively than
before. She was a fair girl, with blue eyes with long black eyelashes,
a very clear complexion and long wavy hair. Her features were small and
rather regular, and she had very fine teeth and a beautiful figure.
She was dressed in deep mourning, and her petticoat was trimmed with
Valenciennes lace, of which I could just catch a glimpse when she raised
her tiny foot occasionally. She acceded to my request, and related to me
the following story:—

“I was living with my parents in the country, when an aunt of mine asked
me to come to Paris, saying that she would have me taught dressmaking. On
my arrival in Paris, I went to live with my aunt and became an apprentice
at a dressmaker’s shop, which had a number of customers among the ladies
of the Faubourg Saint-Germain. One morning, when I was on my way to
business, I noticed that a gentleman was following me, but it was not
until some days later that I made his acquaintance, when he told me that
he had fallen in love with me, and offered to furnish an _appartement_
for me, and to give me three louis a day to spend as I pleased. Soon
afterwards I left my aunt, and not only did this gentleman carry out his
promise, but gave me my own servants and carriage and horses. As I had
not received very much education, I had various masters, one to teach
me to speak and write French correctly, another for the piano, a third
for singing. As for reading, I never had any taste for the rubbish which
most girls affect, but studied the works of Racine, Corneille, Rousseau
and Voltaire.[18] I gradually developed a passion for philosophy, and
can say that I have read most of the works of the great philosophers,
both ancient and modern, in French. I enjoyed my life thoroughly, and,
as I was only sixteen and quite without experience of the world, I was
foolish enough to believe that my good fortune would continue; and it
is needless to say that I took no thought for the future, but lived
only for the present. My friend was a very wealthy Mexican and quite
young; perhaps a little older than you are, but not very much. He seemed
perfectly devoted to me, satisfying all my caprices and spending a great
deal of money on me, quite apart from what he gave me for myself. I was
very fond of going to the Théâtre-Français, where he would always take
a box and accompany me. We also went very often to the Grand Opéra,
and occasionally to the smaller theatres, for the latter of which,
however, I had but little taste. On Sundays, generally after I had been
to Mass—for, notwithstanding my predilection for philosophy, I still
retained a remnant of faith in the Catholic religion—I drove in the
Bois de Boulogne, sometimes alone, at others accompanied by my friend.
In every respect, my life was most enjoyable, and I had no cares of any
kind. This state of affairs lasted for a year, during which my friend
was most devoted to me, and we never had an angry word with each other.
He was kindness itself in every conceivable way, while I was perfectly
devoted to him. Suddenly, one day, when I had been out alone shopping, I
saw on my return home a note addressed to me lying on the table in the
salon. Recognizing my friend’s handwriting, I tore it open immediately.
It contained only a few lines, which, however, I shall never forget so
long as I live. Indeed, so engraven on my mind are they, that, were I to
forget everything else, I should never forget them!”

On saying this, she suddenly burst into tears, and sobbed so violently
that it was not for some little time that she was able to continue. Then
she said:—

“You will forgive me, for my grief is almost too great for me to endure.
Imagine my astonishment and dismay when I read this note, which had been
hurriedly written:—

    “‘_Ma chérie,—Je suis forcé de partir immédiatement pour la
    Mexique; je n’ai pas même le temps de venir te dire àdieu._’[19]

“I could scarcely believe my own eyes, and read those lines again and
again, sobbing all the while, and incapable of realizing what had
happened. I had only a few hundred francs left, all the rest having been
spent; and, to make a long story short, I had very soon to leave my
_appartement_ and return to my aunt. I have been with her now a week, and
I need not tell you how very hard I find it to return to work, for which
I feel I am no longer fit. Besides, my aunt is continually reproaching
me, and treats me much worse than she did before. I cannot stand it any
longer....”

At this point, she stopped and was silent for a while. Then she suddenly
asked me if I could assist her as her friend had done, adding that she
was not one of those girls who could love several men. I told her how I
was situated, and she said she would come to a restaurant in the Quartier
Latin with me and take some refreshment. We went, I remember, to some
restaurant near the Luxembourg Gardens, and, when we were alone, she told
me that it was a pity that I could not afford to make her my _maîtresse
attitrée_, as she thought I might perhaps succeed in making her forget
her Mexican. Although I did not aspire to have such warm blood in my
veins, yet perhaps she liked the contrast. She wept bitterly, and when
she left me, said:—

“_Vous avez beaucoup de cœur_; and, if I meet you again, it will be in
three days’ time in the Luxembourg Gardens. If I do not come, you will
know that I have done as I told you before I should do—put an end to my
existence. There is nothing else for me to do, and _le bon Dieu me le
pardonnera_.”

I went to the Luxembourg Gardens three days later, and sat on the same
seat, but, though I waited until it grew dark, there was no sign of her.
I returned to the Gardens every day for weeks and weeks afterwards, more
out of habit than for any other reason, and thought of her and wondered
what had become of her all the time I was there. I did not even know her
Christian name, but I rather fancied it was Mariette. The consequence was
that I was seized with a sudden fit of melancholy, which I was imprudent
enough to give way to, and was continually reading Goethe’s _Die Leiden
des jungen Werthers_, until I felt convinced that I should end my life
in the same way as she had done. For, though I never heard anything more
about her, I made quite sure that she had acted as she had threatened she
would.

Shortly after this, I decided to go to Bonn on the Rhine, to study at the
University; and Miss Kathleen O’Meara, the author of “The Salon of Madame
Mohl,” who was a young girl at that time, gave me a letter to the wife of
Professor Dr. Binz, a sister of General Salis-Schwabe. I was then very
anxious to enter the Austrian Army, and tried very hard to do so. Through
the kindness of Mr. Somerset Beaumont, of the Foreign Office, my request
was put before Prince Richard von Metternich and Baron von Hübner; and
the latter, who was at that time Ambassador in Paris, informed me, when I
saw him at the Embassy, that I should have to become an Austrian subject.
This was easy enough; but the examination was not, as since the War of
1866 it had been made much more severe. It was in pursuance of this
intention to enter the Austrian Army that I made up my mind to study at
the University at Bonn. My father was very much against my doing so, but
I eventually prevailed upon him to let me go, though he warned me that I
must put up with any evil consequences that might result from this _coup
de tête_ of mine.




CHAPTER XII

    Bonn—An Anecdote of Beethoven—The King’s Hussars—The Howard
    Vyses—A German Professor on England—Domesticated Habits of
    German Girls—Professor Delbrück


On my arrival at Bonn, I stayed at the Hôtel Rheineck, which commanded
a splendid view of the distant mountains. Here I made the acquaintance
of the late Mr. Ranyard, the celebrated astronomer, who told me that
the well-known author “A. L. O. E.” was his aunt. Mr. Ranyard was also
stopping at the “Rheineck,” and at the midday _table d’hôte_ sat next
to a Frau Phillip, a German lady from Frankfurt, who was rather stout,
but good-looking. He made love to her, and, though he spoke German very
badly, she appeared to understand him. At four o’clock we used to sit out
on the verandah of the hôtel, which overlooked the Rhine, and take our
coffee there, with an excellent _Kuchen_, for which Germany is famous.
Some days after my arrival at Bonn, Ranyard, who was flirting with Frau
Phillip, quite forgot that he had to catch the boat to Cologne, and
missed it. He was quite in despair at this, as he had not enough money
with him to stay any longer at Bonn. However, the proprietor of the hotel
said he would lend him some, which he could repay him when he arrived
in England. Ranyard accordingly arranged to stay on a day or two longer
at Bonn, as the hotel-keeper was confiding enough to advance him £5. I
mention this incident to show how kind Germans are at times, though, of
course, there are exceptions everywhere.

I called on Professor Dr. Binz and his wife, who lived in a pretty villa
with a delightful garden attached to it. The latter’s sister, Miss
Salis-Schwabe, and her brother, who was an officer in the 7th Dragoon
Guards, were staying with her on a visit, and I went for several
rides with them. Miss Salis-Schwabe was a nice-looking girl, with a
considerable fortune of her own, and lived chiefly in England. She
afterwards married the late Sir Frank Lockwood, the well-known Q.C.; and
I was told by the Hon. Mrs. Henry Orde-Powlett, who knew her, that she
was always very disappointed if her husband did not come home every day
with fifty guineas as “refreshers” in his pocket.

Frau Professor Binz told me that she knew of a Professor Dr. Andrä, who
had a pretty daughter, so that his house would be just the very one for
me to live at; and I accordingly made arrangements to take rooms there,
with board.

Fräulein Margarethe Andrä was a rather pretty girl, a blonde, with blue
eyes, but she was, I thought, somewhat insipid, and very strait-laced.
She was well read and a free-thinker, like her father, who never went
to any church. Professor Dr. Andrä was very clever, and, indeed, some
people said he was the cleverest of the professors at Bonn University. I
remember him telling me about his wife, whom he had recently lost. She
knew, according to him, exactly what he was going to say before he opened
his mouth, and had also foretold many events before there was a chance of
their happening, in a marvellous manner. I asked Andrä if he would not
like to see his wife again.

“No,” he replied. “I loved her very much, but I have no desire to live
again, and, what is more, I am sure that after this existence there is no
other. And it is much better so.”

He lectured on Anthropology and Mineralogy, two sciences in which I took
no interest. I attended the lectures of Geheimrath von Sybel, the famous
historian, who, Dr. Andrä said, was a Republican at heart, but pretended
not to be, in order to keep in with Bismarck, who since 1870 had been all
powerful in Germany. Von Sybel was one of the finest lecturers I ever
heard. He contrived to make his subject most interesting, however dry it
might otherwise have appeared; and his lectures were always crowded with
students, whereas those of some of the other professors were attended by
very few, as it was entirely optional which lectures the students at the
University attended.

Bonn is the birthplace of Beethoven, a fine statue of whom was erected
in 1845 on the Poppelsdorfer Allee. Grillparzer writes in his diary for
1843:—

“The windows of my grandmother’s house faced the courtyard of the
dwelling of a peasant called Flehberger, who bore a bad name. This
Flehberger had a very pretty daughter, called Lisa, whose reputation was
also not of the best. Beethoven appeared to be much interested in the
girl, and I can see him as he came up the little street, dragging his
white handkerchief after him, until he came to a stop at Flehberger’s
house, where the frivolous beauty was standing on a wagon filled with
hay, working with a pitchfork, and laughing the while. Beethoven stood
silent and looked at her, until the girl, whose taste lay more in the
direction of peasant boys, made him angry by rude words or by obstinately
ignoring his presence. Then he walked away, but did not fail, the next
time he passed that way, to stop and look into the courtyard. Indeed,
his interest in the girl went so far that, when her father was arrested
and put in prison for being concerned in a drunken brawl in the village,
Beethoven endeavoured to rescue him, and narrowly escaped having to share
the captivity of the man whom he had so unwisely protected.”

It is said that Beethoven wept when his “Overture to Leonora” was first
played at Vienna, where it met with no success. He only passed his youth
at Bonn, and then went to Vienna, where the Archduke Rudolf, Prince
Kinsky and Prince Lobkowitz gave him an annuity of 4,000 florins (nearly
£350) for life, in order that he might devote his time entirely to music,
free from all financial cares. The fact that the same provision was never
made for Mozart, who was an Austrian by birth, makes one think of the
proverb: “_Nemo propheta in patria_.” Grillparzer, Austria’s greatest
poet, wrote the funeral speech read at Beethoven’s tomb in Vienna on
March 27th, 1827, and on May 1st, 1880, a statue to his memory was
erected there, near the garden of the Hof Burg, on the Ringstrasse.

Captain Horrocks, whom my father knew very well, was then living at Bonn
with his family. His brother held an appointment at the Court of the
Grand Duke of Hesse. Captain Horrocks once wrote a three-volume novel,
which my mother tried to read, but said that she never could get beyond
the first volume. She lent the first volume of the book to several of her
friends, but not one of them ever asked for the second and third. When I
mentioned Captain Horrocks’s name to my mother, she said:—

“When I think of him, I cannot imagine how he could have written such a
dull book. I have never yet come across any one who has had the courage
to read the whole of his novel.”

Horrocks was, nevertheless, an amusing man, who had a great deal of
dry wit. He had several very pretty daughters, the eldest one being
considered the belle of Bonn at that time. I remember his remarking to me
once that a poor man could never dress well, as he always bought cheap
clothes, and they never lasted any time. “Depend upon it, whatever is
cheap is bad,” he always used to say.

The regiment stationed at Bonn was the King’s Hussars. It was commanded
by Prince Reuss, and there were seven princes amongst its officers. I
knew the two Princes Bentheim, and Counts von der Goltz, Metternich,
Moltke and Bernstorff. The last-named was a gay young officer, who spoke
English like an Englishman. I saw a good deal of him. His father had
been Prussian Ambassador in England, and he had a brother serving in
the Garde Kürassier Regiment in Berlin. Prince Reuss was very severe
with his officers, and insisted that, when they attended a ball, they
should wear their swords the whole time, except when actually dancing.
On one occasion, an officer, who had omitted to replace his sword after
a dance, was put under arrest for a week and confined to his quarters.
Bernstorff, so he told me, once entered a tavern of bad reputation in
Cologne in plain clothes, as he did not like to go to such a place in
uniform, and on his return to Bonn was placed under arrest for a week.
Notwithstanding the severity of the punishment meted out for minor
offences against discipline, very little, if any, notice was taken when
officers in uniform became intoxicated at balls. I can remember attending
a ball at the Royal Hôtel at Bonn, at which several officers of the
King’s Hussars were present wearing their dark blue uniform with gold
lace, as they were never allowed to attend dances in plain clothes. One
of them insisted on dancing, though he was so intoxicated that he could
scarcely stand, and the others were highly amused at his efforts to dance
with a lady, who must have been in entire ignorance of the state her
partner was in.

When the King’s Hussars gave a ball at Bonn, which they did once every
winter, they only invited the officers of the 7th Kürassiers from
Cologne, and not a single infantry officer from the Line regiments at
either place. Some of the English at Bonn were invited to this ball,
but I cannot say that it came up to one’s expectations. In the first
place, it was a terribly stiff affair. The officers stood in one part of
the ball-room; the ladies, mostly seated, occupied the other part, and
at the end of a dance, an officer generally conducted his partner back
to her seat and left her with her lady friends. The supper was not at
all a bad one, and there was plenty of champagne, but the guests had to
pay for what they ate and drank. However, it was considered so great an
honour to be invited to this ball that no one grumbled; in fact, they
appeared to think it quite natural that they should have to pay for their
refreshments.

The King’s Hussars was regarded as one of the crack Prussian regiments,
and undoubtedly some of its officers were of very high social standing.
But by no means all of these officers were wealthy, and I was told that
the Princes Bentheim had only £150 a year each, besides their pay. The
officers generally rode in the Poppelsdorfer Allee of a morning, making
their horses perform _la haute école_, as though they were at a circus.
Only one corps of students mixed at all with the officers. This was the
well-known Borussia Corps, the members of which—the _Borussen_—wore a
white cap somewhat similar in shape to that worn by French officers. This
corps was composed entirely of members of the Prussian nobility, most
of them being counts and barons, and they did not associate at all with
any of the other student corps. They fought duels with the _Schläger_,
and got cut about the face, but the more they were disfigured, the more
pleased they appeared to be. Some of the _Borussen_ joined the King’s
Hussars afterwards, but what became of their scars I do not know, for,
strange to say, I have never seen any officers with these ugly marks on
their faces. Perhaps, after a time, the scars disappear; I can think of
no other explanation, for all the corps students are forced to fight
duels.

I can remember Dr. Andrä once showing me a tiny shop at Bonn, above which
the royal arms of a certain country were displayed, and when I inquired
the reason of this, he told me the following story, which I give in his
own words:—

“When the heir to a certain principality was a student at Bonn, he
happened to enter this shop, in which there was a very pretty girl
serving. The latter, who pretended ignorance of his identity, invited
the Prince to come and see her one evening. The Prince went, and a
violent flirtation was in progress, when the door opened, and the owner
of the shop entered. This person affected the utmost astonishment and
indignation, and, informing the Prince that the girl was his wife,
threatened that, unless the would-be destroyer of his domestic happiness
were prepared to write him out there and then a cheque for several
thousand thalers, he would make the affair public. The Prince, anxious
to avoid a scandal, complied with his demand, and, moreover, gave him
permission to display the arms of his country over his shop-front as
supplying His Highness with goods. After the Prince had left Bonn, the
cunning rascal sent the girl, who was not his wife at all, back to
Cologne, from which she had come, it was said, for the express purpose of
assisting the shopkeeper to entrap the Prince.”

I used to go to the “Kneipe,” where the corps students assembled, with
a young American named Howard Vyse and his younger brother.[20] We
always went of an evening, when songs, principally “Studenten Lieder,”
were sung, and there was heavy drinking. On one occasion, the younger
Vyse, on coming out into the night air, after attending one of these
entertainments, told me that he felt so queer that he could not find his
way home, and asked if I could put him up for the night. I took him to
Dr. Andrä’s house, and he slept in my sitting-room. Next morning, the
professor inquired why I had brought Vyse home with me, and I told him
the reason, quoting, at the same time, the words of Nietzsche:—

“_Alles ist erlaubt, nichts ist verboten._”

To which he replied that such were not his views; that he considered
that everyone ought to lead a very moral life; that it was wrong to get
intoxicated, and that, although he never entered a church, he lived as
moral a life as many religious people, who often professed to be better
than they really were.

Professor Andrä was an intimate friend of the famous author, Berthold
Auerbach, and once, when he was staying with Auerbach, the latter was
engaged in writing his celebrated novel, _Das Landhaus am Rhein_. One
day, Andrä asked him to walk to Poppelsdorf, where the professor was
going to lecture. But he declined, saying that to do so would put some
of his ideas for his novel out of his head, as it was essential for him
to keep constantly in mind what he intended to write about. Andrä showed
me the house on the Rhine which Auerbach had described in his novel, and
one day took me there to visit a retired merchant, who, after making a
fortune in America, had bought this beautiful villa in the Koblentzer
Strasse, which had a very fine garden leading down to the Rhine. Andrä
told me that he detested novels; nevertheless, one day, when I happened
to be reading _Auf der Höhe_, by Auerbach, he asked me to lend it him,
and, after reading it, said

“After all, it is very well written, and I am pleased with it; some of
the ideas are uncommonly good, and the plot is ingenious.”

Excellenz von Dechen, Minister of the Rhine Provinces, told me that
Andrä might have occupied Bismarck’s position,[21] but that he was too
honest a man to change his opinions. Andrä told me that Germany was far
more fitted than France for a republican form of government, and that,
if the War of 1870 had had a different issue, Germany would have been a
republic, as France is now. He entertained a poor opinion of England and
the English, whom he considered the most selfish and self-opinionated
nation in Europe, and years behind Germany in intelligence. He held that
Darwin, whose works he had read, had merely been the first to publish the
ideas of a well-known German professor; and he himself had lectured upon
Darwin’s theory,[22] in which he was a firm believer, long before he had
ever heard of him.

Andrä told me that at all the dinners which he attended, as a professor
of the University, he took precedence of all the officers of the
King’s Hussars and of any titled person who had not some higher State
appointment than he held. When I told him that this would not have been
the case in England, he smiled and said:—

“In your country, with your antiquated laws, how can you expect so much
civilization as in Germany? The English have a great deal to learn, and
it will be a very long while before their barbarous customs are knocked
on the head. So far as civilization is concerned, England is in a worse
condition than France, and, Heaven knows, France has yet a good deal to
learn.”

In his opinion, Bismarck was a man of great intellect, but without any
conscience whatever. Moltke, he told me, was quite positive that Germany
would defeat France before the war had begun, and he was a man “_welcher
schweigt in sieben Sprachen_,” as he rarely ever spoke. Moltke’s son,
afterwards Field-Marshal Count von Moltke, was then in the King’s Hussars
at Bonn, and I knew him very well, but, save for indulging in some
amorous escapades and getting very much into debt, he did not distinguish
himself, though I have no doubt he deserved the Iron Cross which he
obtained in the War of 1870, with most of the officers of the King’s
Hussars. Of Field-Marshal Freiherr von der Goltz it was said:—

    “Freiherr von der Goltz,
    Von seiner Dummheit ist er stoltz.”[23]

I often would ask Andrä what books I ought to read, and one of the first
he recommended was Hauff’s _Lichtenstein_, a charming romance in the
style of Sir Walter Scott. Heine was a great favourite with Andrä, and he
could repeat his _Lieder_ off by heart.[24] Goethe he ranked far above
Schiller, and considered the first part of _Faust_ vastly superior to
the second. He had a very high opinion of Lessing’s works in general.
Of modern authors, he recommended Karl von Holtei’s _Die Vagabunden_,
which was, he told me, quite a classic, and I have read it again and
again with pleasure. It is somewhat in the style of _la Vie de Bohème_,
by Mürger, but I prefer it to the French work. In comparing Lesage with
Scott, Victor Hugo seems to think more highly of the latter; but Andrä
considered that _Gil Blas_ would outlive all Scott’s novels, which was
also the opinion of Grillparzer. It was through Andrä that I became a
supporting member of the “Verein zur Verbreitung naturwissenschaftlicher
Kenntnisse in Wien,” which I have been for many years. The ill-fated
Crown Prince Rudolf was formerly the Protector of this society, a
position which was held recently by the late Archduke Franz Ferdinand,
the heir to the Austrian throne.

Andrä had held a post in Siebenbürgen, in Hungary, under the Archduke
Johann, for some years before his appointment to be a professor at Bonn.
He was very fond of the Hungarians and told me that he and some friends
were one evening at a restaurant in a village in Hungary, where three or
four musicians played so delightfully that his party kept giving them
money to continue, and that he was sure that they went on playing until
about five o’clock the following morning. He was passionately fond of
music, and I would often ask him to play me some Austrian marches and
waltzes on the piano, which he did with the true Austrian spirit. His
daughter never played the piano, telling me that unless you can play
exceptionally well, it is better to leave it alone. I wish all English
girls were of her opinion.

German girls are as a rule very clever, and have a good deal to say
for themselves. They are highly sentimental, far more so than English
girls, and can generally read French and English books easily enough,
though I found that they could speak very little of these languages, as
they had very little practice and few occasions to do so. Every girl in
Germany can do the most difficult needlework, embroidery and knitting
wonderfully well, in addition to which she thoroughly understands how to
cook a good dinner. Fräulein Andrä generally cooked the dinner herself,
though she had servants, one of whom was a sort of cook. I remember that,
in more recent years, at the Hôtel Neckar at Heidelberg, I caught sight
of a pretty, graceful young girl wearing an apron going into the hôtel
kitchen, and, on my asking who she was, I was told that she was the
daughter of a count, and engaged to be married to a young count of high
family, but before her marriage she was required to learn cooking for six
months at this hôtel.

There were at this time several English families whom I knew residing at
Bonn, among them being Captain and Mrs. Bean, who were living there to
educate their children, and to whose house I was often invited to tea. I
recollect once Mrs. Bean telling me and some other friends of hers that
she intended going to a masked ball dressed as a gipsy fortune-teller,
with packs of cards and bells sewn over her costume. On my arrival at the
ball, I had no difficulty in recognizing this dress, but the voice of the
wearer seemed very different from that of Mrs. Bean, and it transpired
that the fortune-teller was Captain Bean, who, as his wife found herself
unable to go to the ball, owing to a severe cold, had assumed her costume
and come instead. He intrigued a great many people who were there,
telling them their fortunes and more about themselves than they cared to
know, and got a good deal of amusement out of his impersonation, no one
but myself having the least idea who he was the whole time.

There were also two sons of Peabody, the millionaire, at Bonn. The name
they were known by was George, and one of them was married and had two
very pretty daughters. The Georges were quite unaware who their father
was until after Peabody’s death, when they were angry at only being left
two thousand pounds a year each, the bulk of Peabody’s enormous fortune
having been bequeathed to charities.

The Carnival was very amusing for young people, as everyone had to be
disguised and masked during the three days it lasted, and this custom
afforded a good deal of fun. Besides, every house was thrown open, and
we entered the houses of different people whom we knew with our masks
on, and partook of tea and cakes without being recognized. The students,
and, indeed, most young men, wore a blue blouse and white kid gloves, and
a mask, over which a blue cap with a red tassel was worn. Some of the
English girls at Bonn asked me to get up a ball, but only the bachelors
would have anything to do with it. I arranged with the proprietor of the
Rheineck Hotel that the ball should be given there, and he prepared his
large dining-room for the dancing and a room adjoining it for the supper.
The supper was to be provided at so much a head, wine being extra, as is
the general custom in Germany. The members of the committee wore red,
white and blue rosettes in their buttonholes. About sixty or seventy
people came to this ball, including the officers of the King’s Hussars,
who, of course, were present in uniform, and it went off very well, as it
was conducted on English lines, and was a much more free and easy affair
than the average German ball. The supper was a very passable one, and
a great deal of wine was consumed, particularly sparkling Moselle and
champagne, so the company was pretty merry. Miss Edith Horrocks was the
belle of the ball. She danced chiefly with a young Baron von Plessen, an
officer in the King’s Hussars, whom she afterwards married, though, as
there was not much money on either side, the young officer’s father, who
was a general of cavalry, at first made some difficulties. It was five
o’clock in the morning before the last guests had taken their departure.

During the winter several small dances were given by different English
families, and these I generally attended. I also went to some German
balls, but, as there were no English present except myself, and they were
conducted in a very stiff and formal manner, I cannot say that I derived
much pleasure from them, apart from the dancing itself, of which I was
then very fond.

At Von Sybel’s lectures I made the acquaintance of a young man named
Hans Delbrück, whom I liked very much indeed. He afterwards became a
university professor, and was imprisoned some years ago for having
expressed certain political views which were not in accordance with those
of the “All Highest.” He is now Professor of History at the University
of Berlin. Some little time before the War he was interviewed by the
correspondent of the _Daily Mail_, when he gave his opinion about the
possibility of a war between Great Britain and Germany.

During the spring and summer there was very little going on at Bonn,
with the exception of steam-boat excursions up and down the Rhine. For
the residents, the winter is the season, but the climate at that time
of year is no better than in England; indeed, it is perhaps even worse
than in some English towns, as in the morning there are often thick fogs
rising from the river. Living at Bonn is cheap—cheaper than at Wiesbaden
or Frankfurt, to say nothing of Homburg, which is far more expensive and
much more pleasant in summer. But there are many worse places than Bonn
in the winter, so far as amusements are concerned.




CHAPTER XIII

    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


After finishing my studies at Bonn, I returned to Paris and rejoined my
parents. I was very happy in Paris, of which I have always been very
fond; but what I missed there chiefly at that time was the companionship
of young fellows of my own age. This reminds me of what Jim Doyne once
said to me when he came to visit me there:—

“I should like Paris better than London, if I could only fill the place
with my English friends, and send some of these Frenchmen to London
instead.”

I often experienced this very same feeling in Paris. It was very rarely
that I met a Frenchman of my own age that I cared for, as I did for some
English and Americans. Once at the Opéra Comique I happened to sit in
the stalls next a young Frenchman, who was very pleasant, and whom I got
to know well afterwards. This was the Vicomte Frédéric de Kilmaine, who,
though of Irish extraction, could not speak a single word of English. A
few days after I had made the Vicomte’s acquaintance I went for a drive
with him in his pretty victoria to the Bois de Boulogne, where we had
some refreshments at one of the cafés there before returning to Paris.
He often afterwards came to take me for a drive, and we became very good
friends. The Vicomte de Kilmaine, however, was an exception so far as
young Frenchmen were concerned, for I never became very intimate with any
of them. M. de Lesquier d’Attainville, grandson of the Prince de Rivoli,
Duc de Masséna, was a very nice fellow, and I liked him exceedingly; but
he was older than myself, and I did not see him very often except at the
different houses which I visited of an afternoon or evening. I also liked
Prince Jean Radziwill, who was a Pole, but I saw even less of him than I
did of M. de Lesquier d’Attainville, and, besides, he was much older than
I was, and a few years make a world of difference when one is very young.

In after years, at Franzensbad, in Bohemia, I made the acquaintance of
the Countess Broel Plater and her son and daughter-in-law. The Countess,
by her first marriage, was the Princess Lubomirska, and Prince Jean
Radziwill was her son-in-law. The Countess was delighted to hear that I
had known Prince Jean so well in former years, and told me many things
about him. I often used to meet the Prince at Baroness Adelsdorfer’s
hôtel in Paris, and also at the Countess Czerwinska’s, _née_ Countess
Czajkowska, and I remember him telling me that he was best man at the
last-named lady’s marriage. It was a marriage of affection, and a son
was born a year or so later; but subsequently the pair had a quarrel
and refused to live together any more. The husband was afterwards quite
willing to make it up, but the Countess absolutely declined to do so,
though Prince Radziwill said he did everything he could to persuade
her to be reconciled. The Countess had the right to keep her little
son Stanislaus, who was a boy seven years old. At the time I knew her
in Paris, according to Russian law, in the event of a separation or a
divorce, the mother has always the custody of the sons, and the father
that of the daughters. This ought to be the rule in England, but, as we
are an eccentric nation, our laws quite naturally differ from those of
all others.

The Countess Czerwinska was a very good-looking, fair young woman, of
about four-and-twenty. She was extremely well read and very intellectual,
and appeared perfectly to idolize her son. She was very fond of the poet
Mickiewicz, whose poems she often recited to me in Polish, afterwards
giving me her own translation of them in French. It was said that
she was employed by the Russian Government to find out political
secrets, and the salon at her hôtel in the Rue Chaillot was always
filled with men from the Ministère des Affaires Etrangères, like M. de
Lesquier d’Attainville, and also with representatives of the various
embassies.[25] She asked me once to procure her an invitation to a
private masked ball given by the millionaire Ménier, who had made his
fortune with the famous chocolate of that name, which I did, and escorted
her also to the Concours Hippique at the Palais de l’Industrie.

The Countess Broel Plater was an old lady, who in her younger days had
been, she told me, lady-in-waiting to the Empress of Russia, consort of
Nicholas I. She also informed me that she had been brought up in the
Palace at St. Petersburg, and that she was really a daughter of the
Tsar, as everyone at the Court knew. One day, when we were taking coffee
and listening to the band in the Kur Park at Franzensbad, she piqued my
curiosity not a little by telling me that there were so many secrets
at the Russian Court, that to reveal them would make one’s blood run
cold, and that, to her knowledge, three cold-blooded murders had been
perpetrated at the Palace at Petersburg during the time she was living
there. She mentioned all the details of these crimes, which had been
committed at the instigation of those in power at that time, and even
the names of the victims, observing that at the time of their occurrence
she was pledged to secrecy, failing which, she would have been poisoned
herself. “No one,” she concluded, “can possibly realize, unless they have
lived, as I have, at the Russian Court, what fearful things have happened
there, simply in order to satisfy the caprice of a sovereign. Whether it
was the destruction of a girl, man or woman, it mattered not, so long
as the removal of the person served to conceal something which the Tsar
desired should not be made public.”

While relating these events, the Countess became quite excited, and her
recital of them was so dramatic that one could almost imagine that she
had actually taken part in them. She gave me, in fact, quite a creepy
feeling, so that I was really relieved when she came to an end of her
accounts of these tragic episodes. She afterwards told me that she was
going to Nice with her son, whom I frequently met at Franzensbad with his
lovely young wife, and I used to sit in the Kur and talk to them. The
Countess Broel Plater had a charming villa, in which she had an aviary
containing all kinds of rare birds, and it was her delight to sit near
this aviary, admiring the gorgeous plumage of her beautiful birds and
listening to them sing, while she thought how fortunate she was to have
finished with the Russian Court and its dark tragedies. She told me that
she knew the family of Count Branicki at Nice, and also the Countess
Zamoyska, a very lovely woman, who had only very recently married, and
was at that time the greatest heiress in Poland. Liszt says of Polish
women: “_Ce qu’elles veulent, c’est l’attachement; ce qu’elles espèrent,
c’est le dévouement; ce qu’elles exigent, c’est l’honneur, le regret et
l’amour de la patrie, ce qui faisait dire à l’Empereur Nicholas I.: ‘Je
pourrais en finir des Polonais, si je venais à bout des Polonaises.’_”

The Countess invited me to stay with her at Nice in the winter, if I
were able to go there, but, for some reason, I was prevented from doing
so. She took a great fancy to my little girl, Xenia, who was with me at
the time and was then seven years old, saying that she reminded her of a
near relative of her own, who also bore the Russian name of Xenia, which
increased not a little the Countess’s interest in my daughter.

In Paris I always attended the “_jours_” of the Countess Dzialyńska,
sister of Prince Czartoryski. Her daughter, Countess Hélène Dzialyńska,
spoke English fluently, and told me she could learn any language in a
fortnight. She wrote a book in French against capital punishment, called
_Sur la peine de mort_, which had a large circulation. The Princess
Czartoryska was a royal princess, a Bourbon, and lived at the Maison
Lambert. Among their friends was a Swedish officer attached to the
Embassy, who was a frequent guest at their soirées. He was no longer
young, but always wore a corset and lavender kid gloves, and never took
his gloves off even to eat his supper. In his younger days he had been
dubbed, “_la fille du régiment_,” and this nickname still clung to
him. I met him there frequently, and he still considered himself quite
irresistible _auprès des dames_.

I used to go about a good deal in Paris at this time with Cecil Slade, a
boy of fourteen, the son of a friend of my father, General Sir William
Slade. He usually called for me of an afternoon, and we took long walks
on the Boulevards. A girl friend whom I made was Mlle. Julie Piétri,
who was about fourteen. I often called at her father’s house in the
Champs-Elysées, and one day I said to Madame Piétri, before her daughter,
that I wondered why French girls were not allowed the same liberty with
boys which English girls enjoyed. Madame Piétri answered that it might
be all right with English girls, but if French ones were allowed to be
alone with gentlemen, the consequences might be disastrous, as French
girls could not control their feelings. I thought this a strange thing
to say before her daughter, and I observed that Mlle. Julie looked
rather confused at her mother’s remark and blushed, but she did not say
anything in reply. About this time, I made the acquaintance of a young
girl called Isabelle, about whom I have already written in “Society
Recollections in Paris and Vienna.” Isabelle was allowed more freedom
than Mlle. Piétri, and was not always with her mother, and I found out
that Madame Piétri may have been right in her conjectures. Nevertheless,
I cannot help thinking that French girls are treated rather too severely
in this respect, and that if they were permitted a little more liberty,
they would not suffer so much as their mothers suppose.

In Paris, at this time, I had many friends among girls, but few among
young fellows of my own age. I cannot say that I was in love with any of
the former; indeed, I felt quite indifferent towards them. I certainly
admired Isabelle very much at first, but only for a time, and was almost
glad when our flirtation came to an end. Such, however, is the perversity
of human nature, that no sooner had I lost her than I began to regret
her. After some weeks had passed I saw her again, when I believed that
she had deceived me with an American, and was not worthy of my regret.
She informed me that this American had made her certain proposals, which
she had refused; but I had a strong suspicion that this was not the case,
and that her admirer had afterwards left Paris. I never met her again.
She suddenly disappeared, and, though I was very curious to learn what
had become of her, I was never able to find out. She vanished like some
fantastic apparition, leaving no trace whatever behind, or like a pebble
cast into the water, which leaves only a momentary impression on the
surface to indicate the spot where it has disappeared.

Some time afterwards I made the acquaintance of a Mlle. de Laval, who was
poor, but of a very noble family. Her ancestors had been Ducs de Laval,
and she was related to some of the old noblesse of the time of Louis XVI.
They had almost all been guillotined, and but few members of her family
remained. She frequently told me stories about her ancestors, some of
whom had been reduced to poverty. Mlle. de Laval was an intimate friend
of a Mlle. Gabrielle de Tercin, a very pretty actress, who played at the
Porte Saint-Martin Theatre. I was a good deal in the company of these
girls, and used often to sup with them after the theatre. Mlle. de Tercin
had a friend who was very wealthy, and had furnished a fine _appartement_
for her, to which I sometimes went with Mlle. de Laval.

Another acquaintance of mine was a certain baroness, the widow of an
attaché in Paris. She was at one time considered a very lovely woman, and
certainly possessed very fine auburn hair and a very good complexion. She
had a pretty hôtel in the Rue Lord Byron, where she received a great many
visitors in the evening, chiefly of the sterner sex. She told me once
that the old Duc de Persigny had called upon her when she was alone and
handed her an envelope.

“_Qu’est-ce que c’est que cela?_” she asked.

To which he replied in trembling tones:—

“_Oh, Madame, ce n’est qu’une petite fleur, rien qu’une petite fleur ...
que je viens vous offrir._”

She opened the envelope and found that it contained fourteen thousand
francs in banknotes. She at once threw the notes in the ducal donor’s
face, saying:—

“_Sortez, Monsieur, à l’instant de chez moi; je ne veux ni de vous ni de
votre petite fleur non plus._”

The Duke entreated her to listen to him, but she only added:—

“_Entendez-vous, je veux que vous sortiez d’ici._”

Whereupon he withdrew, and she never set eyes on him again, so she told
me. I met her years afterwards in Vienna, when she was not so rich, and,
though nearly sixty, was dressed more like sixteen and painted up to her
eyes. She told me that Austrians were not so generous as Frenchmen, but
that she preferred Englishmen to all others. She was now inclined to
regret her treatment of the Duc de Persigny, though she laughed at the
recollection of it still. Prince Rudolf von Liechtenstein called upon her
in Vienna and sent her some beautiful flowers, when she remarked to me:—

“To think that I have to content myself in Vienna with flowers! But the
Austrians are all so terribly mean.”

Amongst my mother’s friends in Paris society at this time was Madame
Leleu, whom she saw very frequently. Madame Leleu was a widow, and lived
in a large _appartement_ close to the Madeleine. When her husband was
alive, she was very fond of dining with him at different restaurants,
but since his death she had lived very quietly, and merely invited a
few friends like ourselves to tea with her at five o’clock. Before her
marriage she had been a Miss Beauclerk, and the Duke of St. Albans was
her grandfather. She had at one time been engaged to Lord Cantelupe, but
on her wedding day, while she was actually waiting in her bridal dress at
the altar, she was informed that Lord Cantelupe had died quite suddenly.
She told me about this sad event herself one day when she was visiting
her aunt, Mrs. Healey, in the Rue d’Albe, but I don’t remember what was
the cause of Lord Cantelupe’s death.

My mother also saw a good deal of the Duchesse de Grammont, who was a
daughter of The MacKinnon of MacKinnon. She was very clever, though
somewhat stiff in her manner, and while her husband was living gave some
very smart dinner-parties. The Duchess had a fine house at Folkestone, a
place of which she was very fond; but after her husband’s death she would
sometimes let this house for the season at forty guineas a week. Her
son, the present Duc de Grammont, married a daughter of Baron James de
Rothschild, one of the Paris family of that name. The Hon. Mrs. Graves,
a first cousin of the Duchess, who always stayed with her when in Paris,
was a very great friend of my mother, and often dined with us in the Rue
d’Albe.

The Duchesse de Caracciolo, an American by birth, who was remarkably
good-looking and very “_spirituelle_,” was a great deal in Paris at this
time, and frequently came to see my mother, who was very fond of her. My
mother always told me that the Duchess was just the kind of lady I should
have admired; but, as Fate would have it, I was not fortunate enough to
meet her in Paris.

Mrs. Goldsmid, a Roman Catholic and the daughter of a baronet, who lived
with her son in the Avenue des Champs-Elysées, was also a friend of
my parents, and she was very intimate with the Duchesse de Grammont,
whom, with her sons, the Duc de Guiche and the Comte de Grammont, I met
sometimes of an evening at her house. I met them more frequently after
Mrs. Goldsmid’s son married a very beautiful English girl, when the
Duchess frequently dined there. After dinner we used to play cards, of
which Goldsmid was very fond. He was at one time a great friend of my
father, and they used to attend races together near Paris. He and his
mother knew all the best people in the Faubourg Saint-Germain, as well as
in the American colony. The son, before his marriage, which ended most
disastrously for the wife, chiefly frequented the society of Americans,
while his mother, who was a most intelligent woman, was fonder of the
French. The conversation at their house, when guests happened to be
present, was always carried on in French, as both mother and son spoke
the language perfectly.

One day, when we were walking in the Champs-Elysées, my father pointed
a man out to me whom, he said, he would not care to know at any price.
He was a tall, well-built, fine-looking man, with a long fair beard. His
name was Baron de Malortie, and he was a first cousin of Bismarck. I
asked my father why he would not care to know him, to which he replied:—

“Because he is always fighting duels; he has fought about thirty in
Paris, and has always killed or wounded his adversary.”

Some months later, I happened to be again in the Champs-Elysées, when
I saw my father in the distance, walking arm-in-arm with a man whom I
thought resembled Malortie. In the evening I asked him with whom he was
walking in so friendly a fashion in the Champs-Elysées that afternoon.

“It was Malortie,” he answered. “He is such a nice fellow; I don’t know
anyone I like better!”

On one occasion my father was walking with two friends of his in Paris,
when he turned to one of them, a Mr. Segrave, and said:—

“I don’t think you know my friend....”

When the gentleman addressed promptly replied in a loud voice:—

“No, and I have no wish to know him either.”

My father told me that ever since then he had avoided introducing men to
each other, as one never knew whether they had not had some quarrel, as
was the case in this instance.

[Illustration: The Author’s Father.

[_To face p. 144._]

My father was subject to frequent fits of absent-mindedness, and I
recollect once in Paris telling him a long story, and asking his opinion
from time to time. He answered merely in monosyllables, and when I came
to the end, and inquired what conclusion he had arrived at about the
whole affair, he observed:—

“I was not listening to what you said, and have not the faintest idea
what you were telling me about.”

Once, in Paris, he invited some people to dine at our house, but forgot
to tell my mother about it, so that when the guests arrived, there was
no dinner prepared for them, and everything had to be sent for from a
restaurant, which, of course, entailed great delay. On another occasion,
there were seven or eight people dining with us, amongst whom was General
Sir John Douglas, Lady Elizabeth Douglas, Captain and Mrs. Berkeley, the
Marquise Brian de Bois-Guilbert and Mrs. Joe Riggs. When the soup, which
my father was supposed to serve, was put on the table, he was so engaged
in conversation with Lady Elizabeth Douglas, that he unconsciously helped
himself to it, and began calmly to eat, talking all the while. My mother,
having drawn Captain Berkeley’s attention to what the host was doing, the
latter said, laughing:—

“I say, old fellow, I hope you are enjoying the soup, but all this time
you are keeping us waiting, and we should like to enjoy it as well.”

My father then realized what he had done, apologized and said:—

“Upon my word, I am so absent-minded that I did not know what I was
doing.”

In later years, while in India, I made the acquaintance of the Vicomte
Arthur d’Assailly, and, meeting him afterwards in Paris, was invited to
call upon him at his hôtel in the Rue Las Cases. I happened to mention
this to my father, when he told me that I should be careful about the
people whom I called on, as there were so many adventurers in Paris. Some
months later, I went with my father to a club, where someone slapped
him on the back, and, to my great surprise, it was none other than
d’Assailly. My father then told me that he had known him for years, and
that he was an excellent fellow, but that he must have been thinking of
something else when I asked whether I should call on him, and so did
not catch the name I had mentioned, and thought I had come across some
adventurer or other.

The Baroness Adelsdorfer gave my father one day, when he happened to
call upon her, a very important letter to post, which he promised to put
into the letter-box as he was going out. She told him that she wanted
an immediate answer to this letter, so that he was to post it at once.
He carried this letter about with him for a whole week, when, in my
presence, he suddenly discovered it in his pocket. On his returning to
the Baroness, she asked him about this letter, to which she was still
awaiting a reply.

“Oh! I posted it all right, depend upon it,” he replied, laughing. “There
has been some delay somewhere.”

The Baroness, however, knew him of old, and exclaimed:—

“I know you must have forgotten to post it; I should not be surprised if
you still have it in your pocket.”

I met the Baroness Adelsdorfer once at Longchamps, near the entrance
to the Grand Stand, just before the races began, when, stepping out of
her carriage—a very fine turn-out—she came up to me very excitedly, and
exclaimed:—

“It is really too bad of your father. I have been waiting here for him
for half an hour, as he promised to get me a ticket for the Jockey Club
Stand, and I don’t see the least sign of him.”

My father, as a matter of fact, had forgotten all about the poor
Baroness, and did not put in an appearance at Longchamps that day.
However, the lady fortunately managed to get the ticket she wanted from
some other member of the club.

At this time, my father used to be always with Captain Lennox Berkeley
(afterwards Earl of Berkeley), and I recollect his saying to me on
several occasions:—

“Whenever I have a difficult business letter to write, I always ask
Berkeley’s advice. I never met anyone who could write such a good
business letter as he can.”

Once, when Berkeley was away from Paris, he said to me:

“I wish Berkeley were here; I have such a bothering letter to write and
he could do it so well for me.”

I offered to try my hand at this letter, and composed one which he said
would answer the purpose. But I discovered afterwards that he had torn it
up, and, later, he admitted having done so, saying:—

“You cannot write like Berkeley; I don’t know anybody else who can.”

While on the subject of letter-writing, I may mention that my mother
frequently expressed regret that she had not kept the letters written to
her by her aunt, Lady Caroline Murray, observing that they were so well
written and so beautifully expressed that they were quite equal in every
respect to those of Madame de Sévigné.

I took lessons in fencing at this time from Dusauty, who had been in
the “Cent Gardes” during the Empire, though Sir Edward Cunninghame, a
well-known duellist in Paris, had advised my learning from Pons, who had
been his instructor. I liked the way Dusauty taught me very much. He was
one of the finest fencers whom I had ever seen, and taught some of the
most redoubtable duellists, who often came to fence with him just before
a duel. I fenced with some of them when Dusauty happened to be engaged
in giving another lesson, which was a great pleasure to me. Dusauty was
quite young, only seven-and-twenty, a very fine-looking, dark man, six
feet, two inches in height. Unhappily, he died not long afterwards. His
death, it was said, was attributable to the constant shouting and the
amount of dust which he was obliged to inhale while engaged in giving
his fencing lessons, which caused him to contract the lung disease which
proved fatal. I learned to fence with both hands, and preferred fencing
with my left hand to my right. In after years, I lost the use of my right
arm, and Colonel Crawley, an Old Etonian, who was then in my regiment,
though he afterwards exchanged into the Coldstream Guards, and with whom
I often used to fence, remarked that it seemed as though I had foreseen
that I should one day lose the use of that arm.

When Captain Berkeley went to live at Fontainebleau with his wife and
family, my father was mostly with Lord Henry Paget, who afterwards
became Marquis of Anglesey. Lord Henry’s only son, who, when his father
succeeded to the marquisate, became Earl of Uxbridge, was a charming
little boy, with very pleasing manners, who was generally dressed as a
British sailor. He lived at this time almost entirely with the Boyds,
and his aunt, Mrs. Yorke, had charge of him until he went to Eton. My
father and I used frequently to meet him in the Champs-Elysées with his
governess, when he would always run up to us to have a chat. His father,
the Marquis of Anglesey, was very fond of horses, as was my father, and
their tastes were pretty much the same. They were both greatly attached
to Paris, though neither of them could really speak French, their
knowledge of which was confined to a few words. Lord Anglesey, indeed,
never even tried to speak the language, and avoided French people who
could not talk English. My father, on the other hand, rather liked to
meet them, and contrived somehow to make himself understood. The racing
in the neighbourhood of Paris was a great attraction to both Lord
Anglesey and my father, but I do not think the former ever made a bet. I
cannot say the same for the latter, who sometimes betted rather heavily.
Lord Anglesey was particularly fond of dining at restaurants, where he
and my father in later years often dined together, sometimes inviting
other friends. After dinner, as they both detested theatres, they played
billiards, of which they were very fond, as they both played a very good
game. Neither of them cared for balls and parties, and they both, as a
rule, hated all kinds of ceremony. After dinner they liked to smoke a
pipe, though they were at times fond of a good Havana cigar. This was
somewhat difficult to procure in Paris, but M. de Francisco-Martin, of
the Guatemala Legation, would often make my father a present of a box
of cigars, which he received direct from Havana free of any duty, as he
belonged to the Corps Diplomatique. The society which they preferred
was that which attached little importance to matters of etiquette and
ceremonial, except on certain occasions, as, for instance, when Lord
Lyons, the British Ambassador, dined with Lord Anglesey. Then everything
was carried to the other extreme, the Marquis priding himself on making
a very great display in the way of silver plate and beautiful flowers,
while the very best dinner which Madame Chevet, of the Palais-Royal,
could supply, together with the choicest wines and liqueurs, was
provided. An American lady, whom the Marquis admired very much, was
usually invited to preside and entertain the Ambassador.

There was an Englishman in Paris whose name was Field, and at one time
Lord Anglesey was on rather friendly terms with him; but one day the
Marquis told my father that he gave himself airs, so that he intended
to drop his acquaintance. Field was a very short, dark, clean-shaven
man, more like an American than an Englishman. He used to receive every
afternoon, when he was with the Marquis, my father and myself, various
lavender-coloured notes, highly perfumed, on receiving which he would
exclaim:

“Another letter from —— ——!” mentioning the name of a celebrated actress.

I asked him once, when he had given me the note to read, if she often
wrote to him in that style, to which he replied that sometimes he
received such notes from her every hour in the day. After Lord Anglesey
had quarrelled with him I never met him again in Paris. I think he must
have gone away, or perhaps he used to avoid the spot in the Champs
Elysées where the Marquis and my father generally sat from five to six in
the afternoon, to watch the carriages go by.

Lord Anglesey occupied a very fine _appartement_ in the Avenue Kléber,
which he rented when he was still Lord Henry Paget. I recollect my father
and I meeting him in the Champs-Elysées just after his half-brother’s
death, when the former congratulated him on having succeeded to the
title, and the new Marquis said:—

“I shall only have about £80,000 a year at present, I think, but perhaps
more later, as my brother was heavily insured.”

Some days afterwards, my father asked him whether he intended to put his
servants into powder, when he replied:—

“I am afraid I can’t afford that yet, as I should have to keep at least
twelve footmen, six in powder, and the other six to relieve them; but
later on I may be able to manage it; at least, I hope so.”

The windows of Lord Anglesey’s _appartement_ facing the street were
furnished with very conspicuous pink-coloured blinds, adorned on the
outside with very large coronets, which caused a good deal of comment.
I remember asking Lord Conyers, who was a friend of the Marquis, why
the latter was so fond of displaying these large coronets on almost
everything he used, and that Lord Conyers answered that Lord Anglesey
had inherited this taste, which was a purely French one, from the French
Kings, Louis XIV. and Louis XV., to whom his ancestors were related, but
that in other respects his habits and ways were entirely English.

Folliot Duff and his wife and daughters were then living in Paris. He
was a brother of Billy Duff, whose widow also resided there. Folliot
Duff was a good boxer, and in Paris he conceived a great passion for
fencing. I often called on the Duffs, when he invariably used to turn the
conversation to his favourite hobby. He was a very agreeable man, but I
never remember seeing him without his giving me a lecture on fencing, or
occasionally, by way of a change, on boxing. Mrs. Folliot Duff was a very
great friend of my mother, and, after her husband’s death, she used often
to come and dine with us.

M. de Francisco-Martin, son of the Minister for Guatemala, and
brother-in-law of the Marquis de San Carlos, formerly Spanish Ambassador
in Paris, was also a great friend of the Duffs. He lived in a very fine
hôtel in the Rue Fortin, which he sold to the Marquis of Anglesey for
£40,000. The latter, however, only lived there a month with his last
wife. Francisco-Martin often used to pay us a visit of an evening, when
his conversation ran mainly on horses and racing, for which he shared my
father’s partiality.

I used occasionally to visit the daughters of the Minister for Venezuela,
who lived in a very fine _appartement_ on the Avenue d’Iéna. One of them,
who was then about sixteen, was an exceedingly pretty girl, with blue
eyes, jet black hair, small but beautiful features, and very white teeth,
and the way in which she spoke Spanish was charming to listen to, so soft
did it sound. I often went to her _appartement_, when she would invite
me to take tea, and sometimes I found her alone, as her sister, who was
engaged to be married, was generally with her _fiancé_. The younger
sister, whose name was Mercèdes, made me speak Spanish to her at times;
at others we spoke French, and the time I spent with her seemed to pass
very quickly—too quickly, indeed, to please me.

I recollect calling one day on Madame de Passy and meeting there the
Marchioness de Peñafiel, whose husband afterwards succeeded the Count de
San Miguel as Portuguese Minister in Paris. The Marchioness was wearing
that day a very pretty hat covered with white flowers, for which, she
told Madame de Passy, she had just given 300 francs. As she was on the
point of leaving, it began to rain, and although the Marchioness’s
gorgeous equipage was waiting at the door for her, she was so fearful
lest her mew hat should be spoiled, that, with Madame de Passy’s help,
she covered it entirely over with a lace handkerchief, and then advanced
bravely to her carriage, escorted by a footman, holding an umbrella over
her head. The Marchioness de Peñafiel was a great friend of the Minister
for Venezuela and his lovely daughters, of whom I have just spoken.

One day, when I happened to be visiting the Shards, who lived in the
same house as Madame de Passy, I was telling the second daughter, Sophie
Shard, a good-looking young girl, what trouble I had to get a good valet,
when she said:—

“Why don’t you take a pretty girl and dress her in a page’s costume? I
am sure she would suit you much better than a boy. I should do this if
I were you, and I know you will be grateful to me for the advice I have
given you, if you only follow it.”

I thought her idea, which reminded me of Goethe’s Wilhelm Meister,
excellent, but, as I was not my own master, I could not quite see my way
to carry it out.

About this time, I made the acquaintance of Madame Saba, who lived in
the same _appartement_ as Mlle. Daram, of the Grand Opéra. The latter
was a very pretty girl, with an exquisite figure, who possessed a fine
contralto voice. She made it a rule to get up at seven o’clock every
morning to practice her singing, and never broke it. She always played
page’s parts, for which she was paid 18,000 francs a year, and, though
she had a friend, a French marquis, who had about £16,000 a year, and
wanted her to give up the stage, she refused to do so, saying that she
wished to be quite independent. The _appartement_ in which these two
ladies lived was furnished with every comfort and convenience one could
possibly wish for, including a good library; and one day when they
happened to be out when I called, I was given Labiche’s plays to read to
amuse me until their return.

There was an Irish lady residing in Paris, who used to give a dance
once a fortnight during the winter. I recollect that amongst her guests
on one occasion was a French countess, who wore a gown which was very
_décolletée_ indeed, so much so that several English ladies commented
upon it. The lady of the house mentioned this to a young French count,
who observed:—

“_On aime à voir ces choses, mais on n’aime pas qu’on vous les fasse
voir._” Saying which, he borrowed a shawl from his hostess, and, stepping
up to the countess, put it over her shoulders, telling her that all the
ladies were so much afraid lest she should take cold. The countess, who
was watching a game of whist at the time, thanked him for the attention
without taking her eyes off the cards, and then pulled the shawl tighter
round her shoulders.

Miss Fanny Parnell, who was half Irish and half American, was then one of
the loveliest girls in Paris. She was also one of the best dressed and
most attractive in every way. She was a severe critic of her own sex,
and her opinion of English girls was not a high one. On one occasion she
wrote to me:—

“_I think, as you do, that English girls are, many of them, very fast.
They seem to be so anxious to get rid of their reputation for being dull
and stiff that they set no bounds to their liveliness._”

On another occasion, when I told her that I was going to Folkestone, she
observed:

“The girls in Kent, what I saw of them, were each one uglier than the
other. So your fate is, I fear, not to be envied, knowing as I do your
strong _penchant_ for pretty faces.”

Miss Fanny Parnell died very young, quite in the flower of her youth, in
the United States; but the report I read in a newspaper to the effect
that Mrs. Parnell died there afterwards in poverty was, I am pleased to
say, incorrect, for her daughter, Mrs. Paget, informed me some years ago
that when Mrs. Parnell died she was with her in Ireland, and that she was
surrounded by every possible luxury.

Miss Minnie Warren, an American from Boston, who afterwards married a
Vanderbilt, was one of the loveliest young girls I ever met. She was
then living with her parents in an hôtel on the Boulevard Haussmann,
and I used frequently to meet her at parties and balls given by wealthy
Americans. One afternoon I went to tea at her house, as I always did
by invitation two or three times a week, and found her father sitting
down reading _The Times_. He never so much as looked at me, but went on
reading, while I sat silent and feeling far from comfortable, until Mrs.
Warren came in and said:—

“I suppose you have come to see my daughters; they will be home soon.”

I felt very much relieved when, a few minutes after, I was shown into the
charming daughters’ salon, where I felt, as I always did, “_au septième
ciel_.”

Another remarkably pretty girl whom I knew was Mlle. Waterlot, whose
acquaintance I made through the Marquise Brian de Bois Guilbert. I
introduced her to Miss Parnell, as she wanted to go to some American
balls. She found, however, her inability to speak English a great
drawback at these functions, as American young men did not care to talk
French, which entailed too much mental exertion to please them. Mlle.
Waterlot married some time afterwards the Comte de Lesseps, a son of the
famous engineer of the Suez Canal.




CHAPTER XIV

    Captain Howard Vyse—An Anecdote of Paganini—New Hats for Old
    Ones—Albert Bingham—Baron Alphonse de Rothschild—Madame Alice
    Kernave—Gambetta


During the winter months, I was very fond of going on Sundays to
Pasdeloup’s concerts, which were held in the Cirque d’Hiver. One Sunday,
I met the Vicomte d’Assailly there, who told me that he preferred these
concerts to those at the Conservatoire, as at the latter people did not
cease to talk the whole time, which was very trying for those who, like
himself, really cared for music. He was passionately fond of it. On
one occasion, I went to Pasdeloup’s concert with Captain Howard Vyse,
formerly of the “Blues,” an Old Etonian, and a friend of my father, who
was nicknamed “Punch.” He was placed in a seat near the kettledrums,
while I sat some little distance away, as there were very few vacant
seats. After the concert I asked Vyse how he had enjoyed it, when he told
me that he had never slept better in his life, and had not once heard
the kettledrums. He could speak very little French, but he thoroughly
enjoyed going to the Palais-Royal Theatre, and would often tell me of a
play there which was worth seeing, such as _le Réveillon_, by Meilhac and
Halévy, of which he related to me the plot. He was always very lively,
and sometimes rather amusing, and at times he would invite himself to
dine with us, where he was always very welcome. Once, for some reason or
other, my mother did not want him to stay to dinner, and told him that
she was afraid she had nothing to give him. However, he asked her what
there was, and, on being told, said:—

“If I had ordered the dinner myself, I could not have anything I like
better.”

So he remained and dined with us, notwithstanding the excuses my mother
had made for the dinner. My father introduced him to the late Lady Louisa
Meux, sister of the Marquis of Ailesbury, who lived in quite a palace in
the Bois de Boulogne, and had very smart “turn-outs.” She used to give
very good dinners and once invited Howard Vyse to dine with her. Whenever
afterwards my father wanted to annoy him, he would say that he was sure
that Lady Louisa Meux would be pleased to see him at dinner. To which
Vyse would answer angrily:—

“However badly I might want a dinner, I would not go there for anything.”

The explanation of this was a secret between my father and Howard Vyse,
and evidently an amusing one, since they always laughed heartily over it.

Lady Louisa Meux was very rich and highly eccentric. Her husband was in a
lunatic asylum, and she herself was very queer at times. I never knew her
myself, but my father said she occasionally reminded him of a sister of
his, whom he also considered rather eccentric.

Signor Campobello, whose real name was Campbell, used to sing at a house
to which I was sometimes invited of an afternoon. One day, when he had
just sung a song, the lady of the house went up to him and asked him, in
my hearing, to sing again. He replied:

“You are aware of my charges—five hundred francs each song.” To which she
rejoined:—

“I am perfectly well aware of it.”

Campobello’s wife was Madame Sinico, who was also an operatic singer and
often sang at Covent Garden.

The Marquise Brian de Bois-Guilbert, a very pretty and
distinguished-looking woman, when dining with us one evening, happened
to remark how badly professional singers were treated by some people,
and related a story of a man and his wife who were invited to dinner by
some rich people in Paris on purpose to avoid paying them for singing
afterwards. However, after these two singers had had their dinner, they
put a louis each on their plates in payment for it, and immediately
afterwards left the house, much to the disgust and disappointment of
their host and hostess, who had invited them expressly to sing to the
other guests. The Marquise herself sang most beautifully and quite like a
professional, having learned of the celebrated Professor Duprez (formerly
of the Grand Opéra), one of whose very best pupils she was; and when she
did so, always insisted that there should be no talking in the room,
otherwise she would leave off singing at once. This was no idle threat,
as I once saw her carry it out myself.

Captain Berkeley, who was very fond of hearing her sing, would often
remark that English people, as a rule, always begin to talk when anyone
sings or plays, and he once told a story, which, though I have no doubt
it is a very old one, I may as well repeat, for the benefit of those
unacquainted with it:

On one occasion, when Paganini was playing a violin solo, and had reached
the most pathetic part, he was suddenly interrupted by a certain English
peer, who touched his arm and said:—

“_Pardon, Monsieur, mais j’ai besoin de causer avec une dame._”

It appeared that, in order to reach the lady in question, the Englishman
had to pass Paganini, and the bow of the violin happened to be in his way.

“_Si ce ri est pas vrai, c’est très bien trouvé_,” as Captain Berkeley
observed at the time he told me the story. Let us hope that the lady was
worthy of the interruption. Possibly she was a Venus, in which case there
may have been some excuse for this infatuated peer, whoever he may have
been.

The Marquise de Brian de Bois-Guilbert used to pay frequent visits to
the Duchesse d’Abrantès at her fine Château de Bailleul, where the
latter’s sister-in-law, the Comtesse de Faverney, painted a portrait of
the Marquise, which she showed me. It was a very fine one, and, unlike
most amateur productions, really resembled the original. The Duchesse
d’Abrantès was then a lovely young blonde, and one of the best portraits
that I ever saw of her was one which she gave to the Marquise. She was
taken in her garden, standing by a favourite horse, with her arm round
the animal’s neck.

In reference to the Duchesse d’Abrantès, the Marquise once observed, in
the course of a letter to me:—

    “_Her whole family is greatly respected at Versailles, not only
    because it is illustrious, but because it is very pious and
    very charitable. What kindness of heart, perfect courtesy, and
    exquisite and truly Christian benevolence do we find in these
    illustrious families! I repeat: nothing is comparable to the
    courtesy and perfect breeding of the French nobility, which is
    doubly kind when one happens to have fallen into misfortune.
    Its soul is as lofty as its rank is elevated; its heart is
    excellent. The greatest nobility resides at Versailles, for it
    is in greater security there than anywhere else._”

And she added:

    “_On m’a surnommée ici la rose blanche, puis la blanche
    apparition, et j’ai de grand succès de beauté, distinction,
    chose rare parmi les femmes; pour mon talent, on est en
    extase._”

I went, in later years, to a very smart ball given by the Marquise de
Blocqueville, at which I met the Comtesse de la Taille des Essarts and
her daughter Gabrielle. The latter, with whom I danced, was a fair girl,
who afterwards married the Marquis de Gabriac. I took the Comtesse, who
was an English lady and a friend of my mother’s, in to supper. When I
left the ball, I looked for my opera-hat, which was quite new, and found
a very old one in its place. They told me at the _vestiaire_ that they
thought the Marquis de Rey had taken mine. I accordingly sent him the hat
with a note, asking the return of mine, and received an answer, saying
that he was not the person who had left this old hat, as his was quite
new, and he would have no particular desire to exchange it.

    “_Je regrette_,” he wrote, “_d’avoir à vous annoncer que le
    chapeau que vous m’avez fait remettre hier n’est pas à moi;
    l’échange que vous supposez n’est pas de mon fait; MON chapeau
    étant entre mes mains.... Ayez donc la bonté de le faire
    reprendre chez mon concierge, numéro 11, rue des Saints-Pères,
    etc., etc._”

At the same time, the Marquis expressed the hope that I should find my
own hat, but this I never did.

The above incident reminds me of a story I heard about General Ronald
Lane, of the Rifle Brigade, who was at one time Equerry to the Duke of
Connaught. The gallant officer in question went, many years ago, to a
ball in London, wearing a perfectly new hat, and, on leaving, found, as I
had done, an old one in its place. He must evidently have determined to
pay someone out for the loss of his hat, for the next time he went to a
ball, which he did soon afterwards, he took this old hat with him, and,
leaving the house early, had time to select the newest of the hats in the
cloak-room and one that fitted him perfectly.

“You can see for yourself,” said he to the attendant, “that this old hat
can’t possibly belong to me. I must look for it, and I shall soon find
it.”

In this way, he secured an almost better hat than the one he had lost,
and, of course, he left the old hat in its place.

At a ball given by an American in Paris, the celebrated composer
Waldteufel was conducting one of his own very delightful waltzes, which
he used at times to play in rather slow time, putting always a great deal
of expression into them, when the master of the house came up to him and
asked if he would mind playing the waltz a trifle faster, since it would
suit the dancers better. Waldteufel, whose _amour-propre_ was wounded by
this request, immediately afterwards struck up the “Dead March in Saul,”
and since then no one dared to interfere with him when he was conducting
his orchestra, which he did at all the principal balls, though his fee
was £150 for the night. It was very interesting to watch him conduct his
orchestra, which was excellent, though by no means numerous. At times, he
played the violin and led the orchestra somewhat in the manner of Edward
Strauss, though he went through more peculiar movements with his arms
and legs than even the latter does. Edward Strauss always seems to dance
himself when he conducts his orchestra and plays waltzes and polkas,
and looks pleasant; but Waldteufel always looked furious. I remember at
balls, when I was dancing a cotillion or a waltz, I used to be rather
afraid of him, as one never knew at any time what eccentricity he might
not be prompted to indulge in. Sometimes, he would stop his orchestra
in the middle of a dance; at others, he would play an overture when you
were expecting a waltz. In fact, with him one had to be prepared for
anything. But the Americans in Paris were such beautiful dancers that
these eccentricities rather pleased them, and, besides, they could dance
to almost any _tempo._

The Marquis de Grandmaison used often to dine with us in the Rue d’Albe.
He was a very strongly-built, clean-shaven man, and wore his hair very
short; so much so, indeed, that one day, when he had given a photograph
of himself to my father, the latter said:—

“You look, my dear fellow, as if you had undergone ten years’ penal
servitude!”

Grandmaison laughed, as he always enjoyed a joke, even when it was at his
own expense. Generally, he would retaliate, and my father and he used to
make fun of one another. The Marquis, who belonged to one of the noblest
families in France, and was a very wealthy man, owned a beautiful hôtel
in Paris. He had lived in the United States and spoke English like an
American. He was very fond of practical jokes, and would make us all
laugh at the tricks he had played on various people. My mother rather
liked him, but at times he was almost too noisy; in fact, very like a
schoolboy, as he was up to all kinds of fun. He belonged to the Jockey
Club, and generally drove a fine four-in-hand to the races at Longchamps,
and he was very fond of racing.

The Marquis de Bois-Hébert, the husband of the well-known author, used
also to drive a very fine four-in-hand in Paris at this time. I knew him
very well and have mentioned him in my book, “Society Recollections in
Paris and Vienna.”

The late Hon. Albert Bingham, brother of Lord Clanmorris, who drew the
pictures in Lady Brassey’s well-known book, used often to dine with
us in the Rue d’Albe, and sometimes brought with him a little pug-dog
called Félice, who was a great favourite, particularly with the ladies.
Bingham was a very pleasant man, with plenty of conversation, and was
most popular in Paris. He was very nice-looking and a good draughtsman,
besides being clever in other ways. I remember him getting me an
invitation to dine with the Naylor-Leylands, who had a fine hôtel in the
Avenue d’Antin, in which the kitchen was at the top of the house. The
Naylor-Leylands had as their secretary a man who had formerly been a
captain in the Rifle Brigade. I was at Eton with Albert Bingham’s nephew,
Lord Clanmorris, who entered the Rifle Brigade. I met him afterwards in
town and also in Paris. He married soon after the last time I saw him. He
has recently died.

The Piétris sometimes came to see us in the Rue d’Albe, and, on the
marriage of the eldest daughter, Marie, I was invited to the wedding,
at which the two younger sisters acted as bridesmaids, and also to the
ball given just before the married couple started on their honeymoon.
About two hundred people were present at this ball, and the supper was
an excellent one, with champagne. I danced with Mlle. Julie Piétri, who
was a beautiful dancer, and looked very pretty that evening in a dress of
pink tulle, with pearls as ornaments.

When Captain Hubert de Burgh, formerly of the 11th Hussars, who was an
Old Etonian and a nephew of the Earl of Cardigan, dined with us, as he
often did, my mother always said that she felt sure that he would break
a wine-glass; and he invariably did so. This was previous to his being
attacked by the sad spinal complaint from which he died. One day, in
the Champs-Elysées, he fell in love at sight with a German lady whom my
father knew, and she told him that she had also fallen in love with de
Burgh. My father introduced them to each other, and de Burgh afterwards
left the lady his entire fortune. At one time my father always went with
him to the different race-meetings round Paris.

In later years, Mr. Tugwell, a banker from Bath, who was on a visit to
Paris, was very anxious to see Ferrières, the magnificent country-seat
of the late Baron Alphonse de Rothschild. Accordingly, having obtained
permission from the Baron himself, who happened to be in Paris at the
time, we went there by train.

Ferrières is one of the most beautiful properties in the world, and
enjoys quite a European reputation for its magnificence. We went all over
the château itself, entering nearly every room. On our arrival at the top
of the house, I recollect seeing some very elaborate coffins, covered
with gold, standing up against the outside walls of certain rooms. The
servant who showed us over the house explained to us about these coffins,
and said whose they were; but I was only too pleased to go down the
staircase again and see them no more. The servant showed us some of the
beautiful _objets d’art_ and paintings which adorned the walls, and told
us that the house contained _objets d’art_ to the value of nearly one
hundred million francs. Baron Alphonse was the wealthiest of all the
Rothschilds, and all the most remarkable _objets d’art_ which had been
amassed by the family in years gone by had been collected and placed in
the Château de Ferrières. We were told that Rothschild rarely ever gave
permission for visitors to see the inside of the château, as he did not
wish journalists and others to describe the interior of this splendid
house and the wealth it contained, which, we were assured, exceeded
that of any other in Europe. Tugwell, who could not speak French, was
delighted to find that one of the gardeners had lived as head gardener
on his estate near Bath, and had also been a gardener in the service of
the Prince of Wales, afterwards King Edward VII. This man showed us over
the greenhouses, and told us that he was one of twenty-seven gardeners
employed at Ferrières, and that the collection of orchids was the finest
in Europe; and Tugwell, who had a very fine collection himself, admitted,
after seeing them, that such must be the case.

Baron Alphonse de Rothschild was a fair man with a long beard. He used,
at one time, to ride a very fine chestnut horse, and to go every morning,
accompanied by his daughter, also on horseback, to the Bois de Boulogne,
returning to his hôtel in time for _déjeuner_ at twelve o’clock. Mlle. de
Rothschild died quite young, and the Baron, who never seemed to get over
her death, died himself not long afterwards.

On one occasion, I went to the Chantilly and to le Vésinet races, and was
shown over the splendid estate of the Duc d’Aumale. Colonel McCall, a
friend of my father, was Equerry to the Duke, and his son, who was an Old
Etonian, served in my regiment, which he commanded in later years. The
Duc d’Aumale bequeathed this splendid property to the French nation. Le
Vésinet races were not of much account, and were only kept going by the
support of the royal owner of Chantilly.

I went, of course, to Versailles to see the magnificent château and
the beautiful gardens, which are laid out in the most charming manner
imaginable, and, though often imitated, have never been equalled. Le
Petit Trianon, with its splendid collection of roses of every possible
_nuance_—the “Souvenir à la Malmaison,” “Prince Noir,” “La France,”
“Niphetos,” “Boule de Neige,” and so forth—greatly enhance the charm
of that part of the gardens; and when the great fountains are playing,
the view from the terrace is quite fairy-like in its wonderful beauty,
and the château looks like one of those magic palaces described in the
“Arabian Nights.” When there is a display of fireworks and the fountains
are lit up by various coloured lights, you may almost imagine yourself
in fairyland or living in the days of the Caliph Haroun Alrashid,
particularly if one happens to be in the company of a fair lady, as I was
in that of Mlle. Renée Leclerc.

I went once to Enghien with my mother and the Marquise Brian de
Bois-Guilbert, where we listened to a fine Prussian military band, which
played, as the Marquise observed, better than most French military bands.
It was, however, depressing to reflect that the Prussians were then
in occupation and so near Paris. Enghien is a nice little place, with
an artificial lake and some fine houses, and the public garden, where
the band plays of an afternoon, is a very pretty one. The Marquise de
Bois-Guilbert stayed there during the War, and for some time afterwards,
before returning to Paris, where she usually lived.

I once visited the Fair of Saint-Germain with some friends. In one of
the shows a woman conjuror singled me out, and asked me to hold a gold
coin in my hand. Then, telling me to keep my hand tightly closed, she
went away to a considerable distance, counted up to three and fired off
a pistol. Afterwards, she asked me to open my hand and to count aloud in
French the pieces it contained, which I found numbered over thirty. How
the trick was performed I have never had the slightest idea to this day.

I was once at the Cirque d’Hiver, in Paris, when a woman was blindfolded
on the stage; after which her husband came up to me and asked if I had a
foreign bank-note about me. I gave him an Austrian one, which he held in
his hand, and the woman immediately cried out:

“Austrian ten-florin note, Number 178150.”

I never was able to discover how this was done.

I went once with Madame Saint-Hilaire, who wrote some interesting novels,
published by Dentu, of the Palais Royal, and her pretty daughter, Madame
Alice Kernave, who had been an actress in St. Petersburg, to a _séance_
of spirit-rapping and table-turning, in which they both firmly believed.
But, to tell the truth, I did not think much of it, though the _séances_
were always very well attended. I did not mind being kept in the dark
when I sat near Madame Alice Kernave, but when I went there alone with
her mother on one occasion I felt rather nervous. I never went again, but
frequently visited the daughter, whom I admired at that time. She had
received, while in St. Petersburg, very handsome presents from a Russian
gentleman, who, she told me, had recently died. She was looking for a
good engagement in _la haute comédie_, in which she was very clever.
I met her some years afterwards at Nice, where she was acting at the
theatre, when she told me that she had lived in great luxury while her
Russian friend was alive, but since then had been obliged to live more
economically in Paris.

[Illustration: Madame Alice Kernave.

[_To face p. 164._]

[Illustration: The late Earl of Berkeley.

[_To face p. 165._]

I remember that once the Baron de Vay, a Russian, who lived during the
summer at a villa he owned at Vévey, in Switzerland, called on my mother,
in the Rue d’Albe, with his daughter, a pretty little girl of fourteen.
In the course of conversation, the Baron mentioned that he made a rule
of never knowing certain people for more than a fortnight, after which
he always dropped their acquaintance, if he possibly could, for, as he
explained, in that space of time he learned all their good qualities and
none of their faults. I could not help thinking at the time, and I am
still of the same opinion, that he was a most fortunate man to be able to
do so. The Baron only spoke French and Russian, and did not know a word
of English.

In later years, when the Earl of Berkeley was living with his
wife and his sister-in-law, the Baronne van Havre, in the Rue de
Saint-Pétersbourg, he took a fancy to the streich melodion (or viola
zither), which is somewhat like the streich zither, and Sighicelli,
the famous violinist of the Grand Opéra, came every evening to give us
lessons, when we all three played together. The streich melodion is a
favourite instrument in Vienna, where thirty or forty of them are at
times played together by young girls in society at the Musik Vereins
Saal, and the effect is quite charming. Some evenings, Taffanel, the
flute-player of the Grand Opéra, brought his silver flute, and really
enchanted all whom Berkeley invited to his house. I remember that, one
evening, Captain Francis Lowther, the father of Miss Toupie Lowther, the
well-known lawn-tennis player, came there. He was a son of the Earl of
Lonsdale and a friend of my father. He told Berkeley how well he spoke
foreign languages, particularly French, when the latter replied that
there was very little merit in his being able to do so, as he had spoken
them all his life.

At the house of some American friends of ours I had the privilege
of meeting the same evening two of the greatest men of their time:
General Grant and Gambetta. General Grant appeared to me to be a short,
stoutly-built and rather stern-looking man. On being presented to him, I
happened to remark that the day had been a fine one, to which he replied:—

“I beg to differ from you, sir; the wind was a bitterly cold one from the
North.”

I afterwards spoke in praise of Paris, and said how much I preferred it
to London, so far as its theatres and other amusements were concerned.
The General replied that he was much pleased with what he had seen of
Paris, but that London and the English interested him far more. He then
asked me several questions about England and the British Army, which I
answered to the best of my ability. My answers seemed to please him,
since he asked me to give him my address, and called on me with his
son the very next day; but I happened most unfortunately to be out. My
impression of Grant was that he was a very kind-hearted man, but that he
did not carry his heart on his sleeve.

Gambetta shook hands with me like the General, but, instead of letting
go of my hand, kept it in his, the while he made a very long speech
in French, which was so florid that I was quite carried away by his
eloquence, and forgot almost where I was. He did not seem to expect
a reply; anyway, he contented himself with one or two monosyllables
from me, and praised England, the English, and the English Army in the
most high-flown language. My impression of Gambetta was that he was a
passionate, warm-hearted son of the Midi, who certainly wore his heart on
his sleeve. His appearance was not in his favour, as he was excessively
stout and had a bad figure, but his attractive, captivating manner more
than atoned for his physical defects.




CHAPTER XV

    My First Night at Mess—Life at Shorncliffe—The Charltons


It was not until two years after I had passed my examination for the
Army, in 1872, that I obtained my commission, when I was gazetted
as a sub-lieutenant to the 2nd Battalion of the 10th (Lincolnshire)
Regiment. My regiment was at that time serving in India, but, since it
was under orders to return home, I was posted to the regimental depôt at
Shorncliffe, which was attached temporarily to the 2nd Battalion of the
9th (Norfolk) Regiment.

On my arrival at Shorncliffe, I reported to Lieutenant Richard Southey,
the officer temporarily commanding the depôt, the senior officer, Captain
Byron, being then on leave. He was a tall, good-looking man, with very
pleasant manners, and I felt at once at my ease with him. He showed me
the hut which was to serve as my quarters, and offered to do anything
for me that he could, even placing his soldier servant at my disposal,
until I had time to choose one from the depôt. My hut, which was similar
to those occupied by other officers, contained two small rooms leading
into one another; while the furniture, which I had had sent down from
London, was of the kind usually found in barracks, consisting of a bed
which could be easily taken to pieces, a chest of drawers separated into
two parts, but which could be put together for use, a green and black
Brussels carpet, and curtains to match. I also had an oak bureau, forming
a chest of drawers and writing-table, which I had had all the time I was
at Eton. The furniture supplied to officers by the War Office consisted
merely of a table and two or three ordinary chairs; but, with my own
arm-chair, tablecloth, various knick-knacks and a number of pictures
which I had had at Eton, I managed to make the rooms look habitable, if
nothing else.

At half-past six a bugle sounded for the officers to dress for mess,
which was at seven o’clock. I confess that I felt not a little nervous on
entering the ante-room in my new uniform, which was scarlet with yellow
facings; but Southey was already there and introduced me to most of the
officers, who greeted me very cordially.

The president at dinner was a captain named Dunn, who sat at the head
of the table; the vice-president was a lieutenant. The president and
vice-president hold office for a week, and are then replaced by other
officers of the same rank. The conversation at table was very animated,
mainly on general topics; indeed, military matters seemed to be more
or less tabooed. The string band of the regiment played during dinner,
and, I thought, tolerably well, though, as I had just come from Paris,
where I was accustomed to hear some of the best military bands, I was
perhaps rather difficult to please. After the band had played “God save
the Queen,” and Her Majesty’s health had been proposed by the president,
all the officers standing to drink it, we left the table, the president
and the vice-president being the last to leave. Most of the officers
then adjourned to the ante-room, where I got into conversation with a
lieutenant named Bethell, who had just joined the 9th (Norfolk) Regiment,
and whom I had known as a boy in Somersetshire. Bethell was a very clever
fellow, and in his examination for the Army had passed first out of three
hundred. He was an excellent rifle-shot and a good all-round sportsman.
Some years later he succeeded to the title of Lord Westbury, when he was
transferred to the Guards.

In the course of the evening the adjutant, Lieutenant Maltby, came up to
me and told me that I must put in an appearance next morning at early
drill. Maltby was an exceedingly nice fellow, and a thorough soldier.
He was very particular about his dress, and even in mufti was always
_tiré à quatre épingles_. The following morning I found him on the
parade ground, when he handed me over to a corporal for instruction in
the goose step. After I had been practising this engaging exercise for
about an hour, the adjutant came up, watch in hand, and told the corporal
that that would do for the day, and asked me to accompany him to the
mess-room, where we ordered breakfast. With the exception of the orderly
officer, who was obliged to attend early parade with the adjutant and who
came in shortly afterwards, we had the room to ourselves, as the other
officers did not as a rule breakfast until nine o’clock or later.

After breakfast, Maltby took me to the orderly room, to introduce me to
the colonel, telling me that I must always address him and the majors
as “Sir,” but that this was only customary with other superior officers
when on parade. The colonel, Lieut.-Colonel Knox, who came in shortly
afterwards, was a tall, well-built man of about sixty, with grey hair and
moustache and whiskers almost white, which gave him the appearance of
being older than he was. He was very pleasant to me, and said:—

“I am very pleased to have you in my regiment, and am only sorry that you
do not belong to it, as you are an Etonian, and I am very fond of Eton
boys.”

He then said I must come to his house, when he would present me to his
wife and daughter.

At lunch, which was at half-past one, I was introduced to a lieutenant
named Lovell, a good-looking fellow about five-and-twenty, with fair
hair and moustache, whom I had not seen the previous evening, and with
whom I became very friendly. He asked me to come with him for a walk to
Folkestone, which was quite near, to which I readily consented. We had a
pleasant walk along the cliffs, and I was quite charmed with Folkestone,
with its green lawns facing the sea and its fine houses, standing for
the most part in the midst of trim, little gardens, gay with summer
flowers. During our walk Lovell explained to me many things about the
Service, and told me many curious incidents which had happened while
the regiment was at Yokohama, where it had been stationed for several
years, before being sent to Shorncliffe. He said that the regiment was
very sorry to leave Japan, and that it was never likely to have such a
charming station again. After a short time in England, it would probably
be ordered to India, and that, in that case, he should exchange into
a cavalry regiment, which he subsequently did. He was, however, very
devoted to his present regiment, and said that the chief was an excellent
man, and everything that one could wish for in a colonel, and that it was
a rare thing to find all the officers pull so well together as they did.
Unfortunately, the colonel would have to retire soon, though Daunt, the
senior major, who would probably succeed to the command, would not make a
bad chief.

A day or two later, I called at the colonel’s house, where I was
introduced to his wife and daughter. The latter was a tall, dark girl, in
the early twenties, with very charming manners. The colonel asked me a
number of questions about Eton and also about Paris, of which city he was
very fond, though he had not been there for some years; and when I left,
walked part of the way back to camp with me.

I found my life very easy with the 9th Regiment. I had to attend parade
from seven till eight, and again from eleven till half-past twelve; but
of an afternoon I was generally free to do as I pleased, as it was only
occasionally that I had to attend afternoon parade, which, however,
was over by four o’clock. After my duties for the day were over and I
had changed my clothes, I usually went into Folkestone, returning in
time for mess. At first the only people I knew in Folkestone were a
retired colonel and his wife, who were friends of my parents; but Lovell
introduced me to several of his friends. Among them was a certain Miss
Burnett, who was very much in love with a lieutenant of the 9th Regiment,
named Seaton, and at no pains to conceal the fact, which occasioned
me no little amusement. Unfortunately, Seaton did not reciprocate the
attachment with which he had inspired her. More to my taste than this
lovelorn damsel was a lively young lady of some fifteen summers, who was
known to her intimates as “Vic.” She was a general favourite with the
subalterns of the regiment, as she was very fond of horses and dogs, and
rather amusing in her conversation, in which she used slang expressions
with considerable freedom. Miss “Vic” used to drive a very smart turn-out
about Folkestone, and was quite an accomplished whip.

The 9th Regiment used to give “Penny Readings” once a fortnight, at
which a good many people from Folkestone and Sandgate were generally
present. At the first of these entertainments which I attended Lovell
read some of “Artemus Ward,” and in such an amusing manner that everyone
was delighted. As I had the reputation of being a good performer on the
zither, I was asked to play something on that instrument, which was quite
a novelty. It was very well received, and next day I received a note from
a lady unknown to me, who, I was told, was the mother of an officer in
the “Blues,” inviting me to dinner and asking me to bring my zither with
me. I showed the letter to Maltby, who advised me not to accept it, as it
would, in his opinion, be making myself too cheap. So I declined, with
many thanks.

A subaltern of the 10th Regiment, named Richard Southey, went on leave
about this time and left me his black servant. I found the fellow very
attentive, but I soon began to miss things. Among them was a pearl stud,
for finding which I promised him a shilling. As, however, it was not
forthcoming, I offered him half-a-crown, and the next day he produced
it, to my great satisfaction. But, as I soon found that this system of
offering rewards for “lost” articles was a trifle too expensive, and I
could not get rid of him till Southey returned, I was forced to protect
myself by putting everything of value under lock and key. Nevertheless,
he generally succeeded in discovering some means of relieving me of
anything to which he happened to take a fancy.

[Illustration: Miss Augusta Charlton.

[_To face p. 172._]

[Illustration: Miss Ida Charlton.

[_To face p. 173._]

Captain John Byron, a grandson of Lord Byron, who commanded the depôt
of my regiment, returned about this time from leave. He was a rather
handsome and very distinguished-looking man of forty, but inclined
to be very arrogant in his manner towards those whom he did not like.
Fortunately, he condescended to take a great fancy to me from the first,
and made quite a friend of me, notwithstanding that I was so much younger
than he was.

Soon after this, another sub-lieutenant, named Arthur Dillon, joined my
regiment, so that I now had a companion at morning drill. Dillon was the
son of an Irish baronet, who was also a Count of the Holy Roman Empire,
though no one would have imagined that he hailed from the Emerald Isle,
as he spoke without the faintest trace of an Irish accent, and was a very
nice young fellow indeed.

One day I took Dillon over to Dover to call upon some people named
Charlton, whose acquaintance I had made when a boy at Ostend, and who
were now living in Victoria Park. Mr. Charlton had formerly served in the
Queen’s Bays, though he had sold out of the Service while still a cornet;
his wife was a very handsome woman, and they had six children, five
girls and a boy, the two elder girls, Augusta and Ida, being remarkably
pretty. Mrs. Charlton invited us to stay to supper, an invitation which
we readily accepted, the more so that we were both at a susceptible age
and the charms of our hostess’s daughters had not been without their
effect upon us. During supper Mrs. Charlton told us that a very smart
ball was to be given shortly at Dover, to which they were going, and
suggested that we should join them and bring two or three other young
officers, saying that she could manage to put us all up for the night.
Needless to say, we gladly accepted her kind offer, and on the day of
the ball went over to Dover, with Bethell and another subaltern of the
9th named Townsend. As the ball was a military one, we all had to appear
in uniform, and at the entrance to the ball-room were asked our names
and regiments. Townsend gave his own and my name, and when they asked my
rank, coolly replied: “Colonel, 10th Regiment.” Next day, in the local
newspaper, in the list of those present at the ball, I duly appeared as
such.

After the ball, which was a great success, and at which the Misses
Charlton, who had recently returned from a visit to the Continent and
wore dresses of the very latest Paris fashion, were immensely admired, we
drove back to Victoria Park, where we spent what little remained of the
night, and after an early breakfast returned to Shorncliffe.

Dillon and I found our life at Shorncliffe very monotonous when winter
came on, for Folkestone was almost empty, and had it not been for the
kindness of our friends at Dover, at whose house we were always assured
of a warm welcome, we should have had a precious dull time of it. The
only event of interest was the arrival from India of the 3rd Battalion
of the 60th Rifles, all the officers of which were made honorary members
of the 9th Regiment’s mess, until their own mess was in order. I made
the acquaintance of several of the new-comers, who seemed very nice
fellows indeed. One of them, Captain Bingham, told me, _à propos_ of
the ball to which I had been at Dover, that once the 1st Rifle Brigade,
when stationed there, had been invited to a ball given by the Buffs,
but that when the “Green Jackets,” in their turn, gave a ball, they did
not condescend to invite any of the officers of the Buffs, nor any of
the Dover ladies, all the guests coming down from London, which greatly
disgusted everybody at Dover, and created a very bad feeling between the
two regiments.

Not long after this, Captain Byron received news that our regiment was
shortly expected from India, and would be stationed at Chatham. This, of
course, necessitated the immediate removal of the depôt to Chatham, to
the great regret of both Dillon and myself, for, on the whole, we had
been very happy at Shorncliffe, and feared that we might not enjoy nearly
so much liberty as we had had with the 9th Regiment.




CHAPTER XVI

    An N.C.O. of the Old School—Major Blewett—Captain
    Byron—Sandhurst


On our arrival at Chatham Barracks, I was allotted a single room in the
officers’ quarters, which was much smaller and less comfortable than
either of the two rooms which I had occupied at Shorncliffe. Dillon was
given a similar one, but Byron, being a captain, had better accommodation.

Dillon and I found our life at Chatham very different from that at
Shorncliffe, and not nearly so pleasant. We had to attend early drill
with the recruits under a sergeant, who was very severe, and made us
drill exactly the same as the men. Some mornings it was so cold that our
hands became quite numbed, and we could scarcely hold our rifles. But
this martinet of a sergeant had no pity, and made us “carry on” until we
were ready to drop with fatigue and cold. The recruits he bullied most
unmercifully. One morning, a recruit arrived late for parade, whereupon
the sergeant gave him several kicks on his shins, and pulled him by the
ears, until the poor fellow almost yelled with the pain. His tormentor,
however, soon silenced him.

“I won’t have any of your blubbering,” cried he. “If you don’t stop at
once, I’ll give you three days’ extra drill.” This sort of thing he
could do with impunity, as the adjutant was rarely on the parade-ground
during early morning drill. He appeared at afternoon parade, but paid
very little attention to the recruits, occupying himself mainly with
company drill. So matters continued until our regiment arrived, and even
then there was not much improvement, for, so long as we remained in
Chatham Barracks, the luckless recruits were always drilled by the same
sergeant, none of them daring to complain, from fear lest worse things
should befall them.

The 2nd Battalion of the 10th Regiment was at that time commanded by
Lieut.-Colonel Annesley, an amiable old gentleman, with a wife and
family, who appeared to engross a good deal more of his attention than
did his regiment. For of much that was going on he seemed quite ignorant,
and it was purposely kept from him. In fact, the battalion was really
commanded by the senior major, Major Blewitt, the colonel seldom putting
in an appearance except on field days. Major Blewitt was a very smart
officer, and though at times inclined to severity, exceedingly just.
He was very particular about etiquette, and scarcely ever spoke to a
subaltern, except to give him advice or to reprimand him, even in the
ante-room. I recollect about the only occasion on which he condescended
to address me.

There was a sub-lieutenant of a West India Regiment, whom I will call
H——, attached at that time to the 10th. This young gentleman was very
fond of écarté, and often induced me to play with him after mess. We
played for half-a-crown a game, and I found that I generally lost, as
H—— had a perfectly wonderful way of turning up the king almost every
time he dealt. One evening, we were playing in the ante-room, where Major
Blewitt was sitting, reading a newspaper. Presently, the major looked
over the top of his paper, and observed that it was a pity that we could
not find some better way of passing the time than playing cards; adding
that, if he thought we were playing for money, he would stop us at once.
Soon afterwards, we finished our rubber, and H—— left the room, upon
which Major Blewitt called me to him and told me that he did not like to
see me playing cards. On one occasion, he said, he was present when two
young officers were playing écarté. One of them lost persistently the
whole evening, but since they both assured him that they were playing for
love, he did not interfere, though the way the luck continued to run in
one direction was extremely suspicious. Subsequently, he discovered that
they had actually been playing for five hundred pounds a game, and that
the loser had been completely ruined. The major added that, from what he
had seen of H——’s play, he should be very sorry to sit down to cards with
him, and to play with him for anything like high stakes would be simply
madness. The warning he gave me on this occasion was certainly well
justified, for a lieutenant of the Lincoln’s, named Glass, afterwards
lost considerable sums to H—— at écarté.

The captains of the regiment did not like Major Blewitt, who treated
them off parade with a certain haughtiness, as though he were showing
them condescension in speaking to them at all; while the N.C.O.’s, and
particularly the sergeants, were all afraid of him, as he seemed to be
aware of everything that was going on, and was very severe upon them if
they did not treat the men properly.

One day on parade, when Major Blewitt was in command, he gave some
extraordinary orders, which it was quite impossible for the regiment to
carry out, and later, in the ante-room, he behaved in a very strange
manner. It was then ascertained that his mind was affected, the result of
a sunstroke which he had had in India. He went away on sick leave, but
six months later had to retire from the Service, as it was found that he
was never likely to recover.

The next officer in seniority was Major Hudson, who told me that he
had served under my uncle and godfather, General the Hon. Sir George
Cathcart, when the latter was Governor of the Cape. The major was a very
pleasant man, but he had certain eccentricities, one of which was a
partiality for white kid gloves and patent-leather boots, which he wore
on parade, even in winter. He had little control over the captains, who
did very much as they liked. One of them was almost perpetually drunk,
and led his wife, a rather pretty woman and very well off, a miserable
life, even going so far as to beat her, it was said. Some of the
subalterns also drank a great deal more than was good for them, and there
was one who was drunk on parade on at least one occasion.

Little, the senior lieutenant and adjutant, was, however, a very nice
fellow, as well as a good soldier, and the same could be said for two
other subalterns, Archibald Glen and De Houghton. The former was six feet
seven in height, and reputed to be the tallest man in the Army. I liked
him exceedingly, but, unfortunately, he soon left the regiment for the
Staff College. De Houghton, who afterwards became a baronet, had received
the Gold Medal of the Royal Humane Society for saving life at sea.

There was a subaltern in the 10th who prided himself on his knowledge
of French. Once, when the regiment was stationed at Malta, a French
warship happened to call there, and the officers were invited by the 10th
to dinner. This lieutenant, being the best French scholar, was placed
between the captain of the warship and another French officer. Presently,
the captain asked him in French how long he had been at Malta, to which
he replied, without hesitation, while everybody pricked up their ears to
listen:—

“_Je suis un âne ici._” (“I am an ass here.”)

The French captain tried to look serious, but the other French officers
burst into fits of laughter. One of them spoke a little English and
explained to the company what the joke was, when they all joined in the
merriment. Needless to say, this misadventure remained ever afterwards a
standing joke against the unfortunate lieutenant.

Life at Chatham was very monotonous. Of society there was practically
none, and, as the married ladies of the regiment were not on good terms
with one another, there was little or no entertaining among the 10th.
There was no theatre and only a couple of low-class music-halls. I went
once to one of them, where there was a box reserved for the officers of
the garrison, but did not feel inclined to repeat the visit.

While I was at Chatham, a big ball was given in the officers’ mess-room
at the barracks by the regiments forming the garrison. A good many people
came down from London, and were conveyed back by a special train after
the ball was over. I invited my friends from Dover, and the two elder
girls, Augusta and Ida, were, as usual, much admired. The affair was a
great success, and the supper was on the most lavish scale, with plovers’
eggs and every imaginable delicacy and champagne flowing like water.

In due course, Dillon and I were put to company drill. On one occasion
I got my company into a hopeless position, up against a wall, and not
knowing what to do, told them calmly “to stand at ease,” to the great
amusement of everyone, including the adjutant, who told the story against
me at mess that night, observing that I must evidently be a person of
resource, as anyone else would have been at a loss how to act.

A good many field-days took place at Chatham, of which the escalading of
some high walls was a feature. I had sometimes to carry the colours in
escalading these walls, a task which I did not much relish, as it was by
no means an easy one.

I was growing so tired of Chatham that I was quite glad when I was sent
with the rest of my company to Gravesend, to go through a six weeks’
musketry course. I was constantly with Captain Byron, whom I very much
liked, indeed, I preferred him to anyone else in the regiment, even
to Dillon. Byron used to tell me that I was very foolish to leave the
regiment, for one day he would, he thought, be in command, and then I
should have a very good time of it. But my relatives were anxious for me
to serve in one of the regiments for which my name had been put down on
the Prince of Wales’s private list, so I thought I was bound to accept
the transfer when the offer came, which I was sure would be very soon.

While at Gravesend, I went up to town to see Aimée Desclée act in _Diane
de Lys_, by Alexandre Dumas _fils_. I thought her the finest actress
I had ever seen, with the exception, perhaps, of Sarah Bernhardt. She
played the part with so much delicacy and refinement, her voice was so
pleasing and her attitudes so graceful, that I was altogether charmed
with her. Poor woman! She died very soon afterwards from a chest
complaint, while quite young. I was much pleased with an American actor,
J. K. Emmett, at the St. James’s Theatre, who played with a little child,
singing a song in which the refrain was: “Schneider, how you vas.” I also
paid more than one visit to the Opera at Covent Garden, where Adelina
Patti and Scalchi and the tenor Gayarré were delighting the audience.

On my return to Chatham I found the work very hard. The most trying part
of it was being on guard at the barracks, where I was obliged to be on
duty once a week for the whole twenty-four hours. The guard used to be
turned out two or three times during the day, and also in the middle of
the night, by the field-officer of the week, who sometimes made his round
at one or two o’clock in the morning, when the subaltern on duty had to
turn out the guard, besides having to go his round of the sentries. The
officer on guard was not allowed to go to bed or take his clothes off,
even after the field-officer had made his round of inspection, or he
might get into the most serious trouble. There were other guards at some
distance from Chatham, to look after the convicts, but this was during
the day, and not nearly so trying as to be on guard at the barracks.

Not long after my return to Chatham, Dillon and I were sent to Sandhurst,
for a six months’ course of instruction. But before going, at my
relatives’ suggestion, I went up to town to see the Military Secretary of
the War Office, who was then General Cartwright, to inquire what chance I
had of being transferred to the Rifle Brigade. He asked me what influence
I had, when I mentioned the Adjutant-General, Lord Airey, who had already
presented me at a levée to the Prince of Wales, while I was stationed
at Shorncliffe. General Cartwright then inquired if I had not any other
interest, remarking that the Scots Guards were more easy to enter than
either the Rifle Brigade or the 60th Rifles, and that, unless I had
someone else behind me, he feared my chance would be but a poor one. I
then told him that my cousin, the Hon. Emily Cathcart, maid of honour to
Queen Victoria, had had my name put down for both the Rifle regiments,
by General Ponsonby, on the Prince of Wales’s private list, upon which he
smiled and said:—

“She could get you into either of these; in fact, she could get you into
anything she pleased. If you had mentioned her name before, I could have
told you so at once.”

I found life at Sandhurst very much like being at school again, with more
restrictions than there were at Eton. There was a great deal of “ragging”
going on, and some fellows had their furniture and everything in their
rooms broken. I was fortunate in being, for some unaccountable reason,
rather popular with the ringleaders—not that I assisted them in any way,
for this sort of horse-play did not appeal to me—and so escaped being one
of their victims. Dillon was not so lucky, as at first he showed fight,
but he soon recognized that the wisest course was to assume indifference.
There were several sub-lieutenants of the Guards and cavalry regiments at
Sandhurst, one or two of whom had been at Eton with me, and I made many
friendships, one with a young fellow in the 78th Highlanders, with whom
I often took long walks into the pretty country around Sandhurst. Apart
from the instruction, I rather enjoyed my time at the college, as I got
on well with nearly everyone. I had to go through the riding-school and
ride horses over jumps without stirrups, which rather amused me, although
there were some officers who disliked this part of the curriculum very
much.

After I had been about a month at Sandhurst, the Military Governor of
the College, General Sir A. Alison, sent for me and told me that I had
been transferred to the 2nd Battalion of the 60th Rifles, stationed in
India. I must confess that I was at first rather disappointed, as it was
not the regiment I had asked for, and I did not much like the idea of
going to India. I asked General Alison what I had better do, when he said
that he would telegraph to the War Office, and that I ought to finish my
course of instruction at Sandhurst. I anxiously awaited the reply; and
the following day he sent for me again, and told me that I must leave at
once and get ready to sail for India, but that he thought the War Office
would allow me a month to procure my outfit.

Next day I left Sandhurst for London, and, having obtained a month’s
leave, proceeded to Paris to visit my parents in the Rue d’Albe,
Champs-Elysées. They, and my father in particular, told me that I had
better accept the transfer, as I might have to wait a long time for
the Rifle Brigade, and the Military Secretary had told me that I was
appointed to the first vacancy that had occurred, as there was no vacancy
in the Rifle Brigade then.

During my stay in Paris, I often rode in the Bois with my father on a
fiery thoroughbred chestnut, whom I found a very different kind of mount
from the horses at Sandhurst, as he started at the least touch of my
heel, whereas the others had required both whip and spur. I made the most
of my time, going often to the Théâtre-Français, where I saw Delaunay in
plays by Alfred de Musset and Alexandre Dumas _fils_, and was delighted
with his acting. He was the best _jeune premier_ whom I ever saw, and
always excellent in the art of stage love-making. I went to several balls
and indulged in some flirtations with both French and American damsels,
and was sorry when the day arrived that I had to take my departure for
London to purchase my outfit for India. My mother was distressed at my
having to go to India, particularly as the battalion had to stay out
there for some years, and she was in very delicate health at that time.




CHAPTER XVII

    I sail for India—Kandy—Dangerous Playmates—I arrive at Murree


My father accompanied me to Portsmouth in the winter of 1873, where the
troopship in which I was to sail for India was lying. We had first to
touch at Queenstown, to embark a line regiment which had been ordered
to Ceylon, and had a very unpleasant crossing, nearly everyone on board
being ill. I had to share a cabin with two other sub-lieutenants, who
joined the ship at Queenstown. One of them, named Basil Montgomery, was
in my own regiment, having recently been transferred from the Highland
Light Infantry. He was very tall, for which reason he was nicknamed
“Longfellow” on board. The name of the other sub-lieutenant, who belonged
to the 16th Lancers, was Babington, which, owing to his somewhat youthful
appearance, was promptly abbreviated to “Baby.” I myself duly received
the sobriquet of “Julie,” as Montgomery declared I was in the habit of
murmuring this name in my dreams. It was that of a young lady whom I have
mentioned in my book, “Society Recollections in Paris and Vienna,” and
whom I had lately met frequently in society in Paris.

The cabin we occupied was very small, and contained only one wash-basin,
so we had to dress and wash one at a time; but we soon got used to this
inconvenience.

Montgomery and Babington were both excellent fellows, and I was soon on
very friendly terms with them, as I was also with another sub-lieutenant
of the 16th Lancers, named Taaffe. Taaffe was very musical, having a
good voice and playing the concertina capitally. The daughter of the
colonel of the line regiment we had on board, an extremely pretty and
very impressionable damsel of seventeen, fell very much in love with him,
and they used to sing duets together, to the accompaniment of Taaffe’s
concertina.

We had fine weather in the Bay of Biscay, where it is usually so rough,
for which we were thankful. At Gibraltar we merely stopped for an hour
to coal, but at Malta we stayed long enough for everyone to go on shore.
Many of us dined at the Club and went to the Opera afterwards, which I
thought very fair. The climate of Malta seemed delightful, but the town
did not strike me as pretty.

Not long after leaving Malta, bad weather and a dense fog came on, and
something went wrong with the machinery, so that the captain did not know
where we were. He was so alarmed that he ordered the chaplain to read the
prayers for those in peril at sea, as at any moment he thought the ship
might run on a rock. Happily, the machinery was repaired, and at the end
of three days the weather improved, and the danger was over.

At Port Said most of the officers went ashore, and some of them visited
a gambling-house which bore a very evil reputation, an officer belonging
to the 16th Lancers having been stabbed there the year before. Taaffe
and I were among those who went, though Taaffe confessed to me that he
felt rather nervous, fearing that some of the natives might recognize his
uniform as that of the unfortunate officer’s regiment.

At Ismailia we caught sight of M. de Lesseps, who sent an invitation to
the ship, inviting six of us to visit him. Many of the officers thought
that I ought to go, as I was the only one who could speak French; but
this suggestion was overruled, and it was decided that the six must
be chosen by seniority. As not one of them could speak French, and M.
de Lesseps did not understand English, the interview must have proved
a somewhat comic affair; at any rate, the six maintained a suspicious
silence about it on their return.

Soon after we had passed through the Red Sea, which did not prove nearly
so hot as we had expected, I fell ill with scurvy, and the doctor who
attended me advised me to sleep in the passage near the ladies’ saloon,
as the air was purer. However, an old dame objected to my sleeping so
near the ladies, so the doctor got me a cabin to myself. On our arrival
at Colombo, where the line regiment was disembarked, he obtained leave
for me to go to Kandy and remain there until the ship sailed for Bombay.

While at Kandy, I went with Taaffe, who had joined me there, and two
ladies to see the beautiful garden of Paradhenia, which is said to be
the original garden of Paradise. We were all amazed at its beauty; the
tropical plants and the vegetation being indescribably lovely. While
walking in the high grass, one of the ladies was bitten by leeches, which
crawled up her legs and frightened her terribly. She was fortunate,
however, not to have been bitten by something much more objectionable,
as we afterwards learned that it was very dangerous to walk in the high
grass, as it was infested by snakes, some of which were most venomous.

The grandeur of the scenery at Kandy and the wonderful vegetation
enchanted us, as we had never seen anything to compare with it; it was
indeed quite a paradise upon earth. The climate was also delicious, and
even in the middle of the day the heat could not be called oppressive,
while the mornings and evenings were truly delightful. The residents,
however, told us that it was very trying to the health, as it never
varied in the least, summer or winter. The scenery between Colombo and
Kandy was in parts most exquisite, and the brilliant colouring of the
flowers, which were of every imaginable hue, made one almost believe
oneself in fairyland.

Having embarked the infantry battalion which had been relieved by the one
we had brought from England, we sailed from Colombo, but after proceeding
some little way along the coast, the troopship stopped for half an hour,
to enable an officer who had to join his regiment to embark in a launch
which came out to fetch him. This officer took with him by mistake a
lady’s trunk containing her dresses and underclothing, instead of his
own, packed with his kit, which he left for the lady. The latter was in
despair, particularly when informed that she was unlikely to receive any
news of her property for six weeks at least.

After a voyage of six weeks, we reached Bombay, and, after a little
trouble at the Custom House over some Turkish cigarettes which I had
brought with me, and upon which, to my surprise, I was obliged to
pay duty, proceeded, with some other officers, to Watson’s Hotel. At
“Watson’s,” which I found very expensive indeed, I met Viscount Baring,
of the Rifle Brigade, who had been at Eton with me. He told me that he
was now on the Viceroy’s Staff, and had come to Bombay to purchase some
Arab horses for Lord Northbrook. Although it was winter, the heat was
very great in Bombay, which I found very uninteresting, and, after a
stay of two or three days, I set out for Murree, in the hills in the
North-West Provinces, where my regiment was stationed.

I had as a travelling companion for the first part of the journey a
Staff-officer named Parker, who, on our arrival at Mean Meer, invited
me to accompany him to the house of his brother-in-law, a judge, where
I was most hospitably entertained, and tasted for the first time a real
Indian curry, which I thought delicious. From Mean Meer I took the train
to Rawal Pindi, in the Punjab. On my arrival, I went to the dâk bungalow,
where soon afterwards I received a visit from a lieutenant in my regiment
named Beauclerk, a son of Lord Amelius Beauclerk. He was an exceedingly
good-looking young man, with fair hair and moustache and a very pleasant
manner, and was most kind, offering me a room which he had at his
disposal and inviting me to dine with him in the evening. After dinner I
was rather astonished at seeing his syce walking in front of his master’s
pony with a long stick, having at the end of it several bells, which he
moved about in the grass. I asked the reason of this, when I was told
that it was to frighten away the snakes, of which there were a great many
poisonous ones hereabouts. Beauclerk told me that, a few nights earlier,
he was dining with a Mrs. Kinloch, the wife of a captain in our regiment,
when he saw a cobra quite close to her. She was playing the piano at the
time, and the snake was evidently quite fascinated by the music. Fearing
lest, if she moved, the snake might bite her, he told her to continue
playing, and then, picking up a stick which happened to be near him,
hit the cobra on the head and killed it. He said that there was another
very dangerous snake called a kerite, which, though very small, was most
venomous, and that Mrs. Kinloch had found one quite recently in her bed.
Happily, she discovered it before it had a chance to bite her.

Beauclerk told me that I ought to call upon Captain Kinloch, who,
having passed through the Staff College, was at that time Acting Deputy
Assistant Adjutant-General at Rawal Pindi. I did so, and was informed
that Mrs. Kinloch only was at home. On being shown into the drawing-room,
I was somewhat astonished to find a little girl there, playing with two
panther-cubs, who snarled and showed their teeth at me. I asked the child
whether she were not afraid of them, to which she answered:—

“Oh, no, not at all!” and, opening the mouth of one of the cubs, thrust
her hand into it.

I began to feel quite alarmed for her safety, and was not a little
relieved when her mother made her appearance upon the scene.

Mrs. Kinloch was a very pretty young woman, with auburn hair and eyes
of a greyish-blue colour. She told me that the panther-cubs had been
captured by her husband a few days before, after he had shot the mother.

“Are they not lovely?” she exclaimed enthusiastically. “So beautifully
marked in reddish-yellow and black, with such fascinating yellow and
brown eyes. It is delightful to watch them.”

I replied that they were certainly very handsome and graceful animals,
but that, nevertheless, I could not understand her allowing her daughter
to have such dangerous playmates.

To this she rejoined that she did not consider there was the slightest
danger, so long as you were not afraid of them, adding:—

“My little girl is not the least afraid.”

The little girl was caressing the cubs at the time, while the animals
were snarling and showing their long, pointed teeth, though whether in
play or not I could not say, as I was not sufficiently acquainted with
their ways.

Captain Alexander Kinloch, who was a nephew of Sir Alexander Kinloch,
was, I may here remark, the most famous sportsman in India at that time,
and had written a celebrated book on big game shooting in India and
Tibet, which was considered to be the standard work on the subject. When
I met him afterwards, he told me many interesting things about Tibet,
from which he had brought a fine collection of sporting trophies. Amongst
them were several specimens of the ibex, which is found on the summits
of the highest mountains, and to “bag” one of which is considered the
greatest feat a sportsman can accomplish in India, since to approach
within rifle-shot of it often entails the greatest risk to life.

During the few days I remained at Rawal Pindi, I made the acquaintance of
Colonel Montgomery-Moore, then commanding the 4th Hussars, and his wife,
the Hon. Mrs. Montgomery-Moore, a daughter of Lord Seaton, to whom I had
brought an introduction from my cousin, Emily Cathcart. They invited me
to dinner, when they were most anxious to hear all the latest news from
England, as they had been in India for some time. They were most kind and
agreeable, and the colonel gave me some valuable information about Murree.

There was no railway to Murree, and travellers generally made the first
part of the journey from Rawal Pindi by carriage, and the rest in a
_jampan_ (a kind of sedan-chair) as the road through the mountains was
far too narrow and precipitate to admit of wheel traffic. I accordingly
hired a carriage, and set off, but at a dâk bungalow, where I stopped
to dine, I met a man, who, on hearing that I was on my way to Murree,
offered to lend me a grey Arab which he was riding, observing that it
would be a more pleasant way of making the journey than by _jampan_, and
promising to send my luggage after me. I thanked him and accepted his
offer, though, as he was a complete stranger to me, I could not help
feeling some misgivings as to his intentions, for, if he had a mind to
make off with my luggage, there was nothing to prevent him.

The road which I had to traverse was very steep and in places almost
impassable, but the Arab appeared well accustomed to the country and
as sure-footed as a goat. I had, however, a few decidedly unpleasant
moments, when, at a very narrow part of the road, where there was a
precipice on one side, we met some buffaloes, as I thought they might
take into their heads to charge us. But they happened to be quite
peaceably disposed, and we got safely past them. It was late in the
evening when I reached Murree, which I found covered with snow, as it
stands 7,500 feet above sea level, and no greater contrast with the
plains and Rawal Pindi, where the weather had been quite like summer,
could be conceived. I made my way to the officers’ quarters, where I was
given a room, and my horse well looked after. I had received instructions
from the Arab’s owner to send him back to the dâk bungalow. This I did
the following day, in the course of which my luggage arrived quite
safely, not a little, I must frankly admit, to my relief.




CHAPTER XVIII

    My Brother-Officers—“The Oyster”—In High Society—Our Menagerie


Murree is a very charming town. The houses, which bear some resemblance
to those of Switzerland, but are mostly constructed of wood and have
rarely more than two storeys, are built on the summit and sides of a
ridge, and command magnificent views over forests, cultivated fields,
hills and deep valleys, with the snow-capped peaks of the Himalayas in
the distance. There was a fairly good club at Murree, containing a number
of bedrooms for the convenience of the members when they happened to
require them.

In the summer months my battalion was not actually stationed at Murree,
but two miles off in the country, at Kooldunah. The officers lived in
houses and villas very like Swiss cottages, and the men’s quarters
were at the top of a very steep hill, about ten minutes’ walk from the
mess. The battalion was at this time commanded by Lieut.-Colonel H. P.
Montgomery, who had a brother in the Rifle Brigade. Colonel Montgomery,
who was a fine-looking man of about fifty-five and wore a pointed beard
which was beginning to turn grey, was universally popular, as he was
a thorough soldier and devoted to his profession. He did everything
possible to make his battalion as efficient as any in the Service, and
prided himself upon its smart appearance and perfect discipline. He
had the eye of a hawk for mistakes on parade, but would correct those
responsible for them in a good-humoured, kindly manner, very different
from some less experienced C.O.’s, who would often lose their tempers and
swear when anything happened to go wrong.

The senior major, Major Ashburnham, the son of a baronet, was of somewhat
striking appearance, having red hair and a red beard. Like his chief, he
was a first-rate soldier and a thorough gentleman both on and off parade,
and held in high esteem by the officers and men under him. He was known
to his intimates by the nickname of “Brittles,” about which he used to
relate an amusing story:—

Once, when returning to India after being on leave in England, he
happened to meet on board the P. and O., a man whose acquaintance he
had made on the voyage home, when he had been accompanied by some
brother-officers, who had, of course, always addressed him as “Brittles.”
This man, who was bringing his wife out with him, asked permission to
present Ashburnham to the lady, and gravely introduced him as “Major
Brittles,” under the impression that such was really his name.

The junior major, whose name was Algar, was a very plain man, rather
badly marked with the small-pox, and was by no means so popular as
Ashburnham. He was a very keen sportsman, and when off duty was seldom
to be seen without a rifle in his hand. One day I met him near Murree,
when he told me that he had just seen a tiger, but that it had made off,
adding that a tiger would nearly always run away from a man, unless he
first attacked it.

The captains were nearly all very nice fellows. Captain Pauli, into whose
company I was put, was a tall and very muscular man, with a pointed
beard, which gave him a somewhat foreign appearance. He was a great
sportsman, but kept very much to himself, and, except at mess, the other
officers saw little of him.

The adjutant, Sydenham-Clarke, was a very good-looking fellow and always
so beautifully turned out, whether in uniform or plain clothes, that he
looked as if he had just come out of a band-box. He was very kind to the
young officers at their drill and took the greatest pains with them.
He was also much liked by the men, and did not bully them or allow the
sergeants to do so, as was unfortunately the case in so many regiments at
that time. In a word, he was the right man in the right place, and how
rarely this happens in the Service few people would imagine.

When I first came to Murree, I occupied a room in the officers’ quarters.
There was a large room on the ground floor which was unoccupied, and, as
it was so intensely cold, the subalterns amused themselves by playing
a game of battledore and shuttle-cock across a net. Hubert Lovett,
a sub-lieutenant who joined the battalion a week after I did, and
myself were the first to think of this game, which somewhat resembled
lawn-tennis in the way we served. It was taken up afterwards by many
officers who dined at our mess, and is said to have given the idea of
lawn-tennis to the inventor.

Soon after my arrival at Murree, I fell ill with dysentery, owing, the
doctor who attended me told me, to the sudden change of climate. I was
laid up for some time, but when it began to grow warmer I gradually
recovered.

The winter was a very severe one at Murree, and those who were fond
of skating had excellent opportunities for indulging in this pastime.
Fiennes-Dickenson, a lieutenant who had been transferred from the first
battalion of the regiment, which was then stationed in Canada, was a
most accomplished performer on the ice, cutting figures and the letters
of the alphabet as well, and MacCall, a captain, who had also come from
the first battalion, was but little inferior to him. Dickenson told me
that life at Quebec and Montreal was uncommonly pleasant, and that they
scarcely felt the intense cold there at all, as the climate was so dry,
and there was so little wind. He said that it was the custom there for
every officer to have a girl “chum,” who went tobogganing and skating
with him and shared all his amusements. But he never married this young
lady, who always ended by marrying someone else. This “chum” was a girl
usually belonging to society, and was invited to all the balls and
parties given by the regiment and considered quite _comme il faut_.
Dickenson added that he much preferred the life out in Canada to the life
in India, though Murree was the very best station, which was generally
only given to a crack regiment. Dickenson was a lieutenant of some
years’ standing and very well off, having succeeded to a fine property
of his uncle, Lord Saye and Sele, called Syston Court, near Bristol,
although his father, with whom he was not on the best of terms, had the
right of residing there during his lifetime. He was a great talker and
his conversation was often very amusing.

When summer came, the battalion moved to Kooldunah, where I occupied
rooms in a small villa with a garden attached, in which Lovett and
another sub-lieutenant named Sanford also had their quarters. Later on,
we were joined by a young officer named Wilson, who had been transferred
from a line regiment. We got on pretty well together, particularly Lovett
and myself, who soon became great friends, and were constantly together.
Lovett was a strongly-built young fellow, with black, curly hair, very
white teeth, and a good-humoured expression. He was clean-shaven, which
was rare at that time for a soldier. He had a very loud voice, and when
he laughed he did it so heartily that everyone in the room used to turn
round. He was quite colour-blind and never could distinguish one colour
from another. Once he had to paint a river for a plan which he was
required to draw, and would have painted it red instead of blue, if I had
not been helping him.

Sanford was quite a boy, without any hair on his face, tall and fair,
with rather a large mouth, for which reason he was called “The Oyster.”
One day, when he happened to be on duty, a rifleman was overheard by
Lovett to say to another:

“Who is on duty to-day: Lovett or Wilson?”

“Neither,” was the answer, “it’s ‘The Oyster.’”

Much to Sanford’s annoyance, Lovett, roaring, as usual, with laughter,
told the story at mess that night, and remarked:—

“Why, even all the riflemen call him ‘The Oyster’ now!”

Sanford did not like me at all, because he suspected that it was I who
had been the first to bestow this nickname upon him, and it is quite
possible that his suspicions may have been correct, though I cannot be
certain.

Wilson, the remaining occupant of our villa, was a rather good-looking
and very smart young fellow, who spoke Hindustani very fluently. But he
was very conceited, and imagined himself a much greater sportsman than he
was. Once, when he had been on leave to Kashmir, he returned with such
a wonderful collection of big game trophies that none of us could bring
himself to believe that they had all fallen to his own rifle, and MacCall
said to him at mess:—“Wilson, I tell you what it is—you have bought all
that big game from some _shikarri_ in Kashmir!” At this remark Wilson
became furious, and next morning, in the orderly-room, reported the
incident to the Colonel, when MacCall was put under arrest until he had
apologized to his aggrieved brother-officer. This, however, did not cause
him to change his opinion on the subject.

MacCall, whose father was Equerry to the Duc d’Aumale, spoke French
perfectly, wore an imperial with his moustache, and might easily have
been mistaken for a Frenchman. He shared a villa with a sub-lieutenant
named Arthur Powys Vaughan, an exceedingly nice fellow, who had been at
Harrow and had taken his degree at Oxford before entering the Service.

With the exception of our medico, Surgeon-Major Macnamara, the
quartermaster, Fitzherbert, and the junior major, whose wife was in
England, all the officers were bachelors. Consequently, we were very
badly off in the matter of ladies’ society, so far as the battalion was
concerned. Mrs. Macnamara, who was a sister of Sir Howard Elphinstone,
Equerry to the Duke of Edinburgh, was a very charming elderly lady, and
I often used to go and take tea with her and her husband. She was partly
Russian by birth and extremely musical, and took a great interest in the
regimental band, in regard to which she was frequently consulted. I was
put on the band committee and often attended the rehearsals of a morning.

Lovett and I used to pay visits to ladies whom we thought we would care
to know, as is the custom in India. One day, we called on two ladies who
had a charming villa, beautifully furnished, and whom we rather admired,
though we knew nothing whatever about them. They received us very coldly,
at which we were surprised, until Mrs. Macnamara told us that they were
two very fast ladies, who were protected by some well-known officers in
Murree, holding very high positions on the Staff.

When I was alone one day, I noticed a very pretty woman, upon whom
I left my card. A few days later, I received a very friendly note
from her, asking me to dine with her on a certain evening. However,
in the meantime, I sprained my ankle, and was put on the sick list,
and therefore not allowed to go out. But, I thought that, as it would
probably be a _tête-à-tête_ dinner, which I should not like to miss, I
would go in a _jampan_, carried by two men, and no one would be any the
wiser. I hesitated whether to go in plain clothes or in mess uniform,
but finally decided for the latter. I had not made any special effort
to be punctual, and, in point of fact, arrived half an hour late. On
entering the drawing-room, I found quite a number of people impatiently
awaiting the advent of the belated guest, amongst whom I recognized, to
my consternation, the General commanding the troops in the Punjab; and
I was still more taken aback when I learned that I was dining with the
Secretary of State for India, and that my hostess was his wife! However,
these great people were very nice to me, and the General, who did not
seem at all to resent my having kept him waiting for his dinner, asked me
several questions about my colonel and regiment, as, though there were
several other officers present, I was the only “Greenjacket.” For this I
was duly thankful, since if one of the senior officers of my battalion
had happened to be there, I should have got into trouble for going out to
dine when I was on the sick list.

It was the custom to take your _khitmagar_ with you when you dined out,
and I did so on this occasion. The next evening at mess, I noticed my
_khitmagar_ opening a bottle of Château-Laffitte for me, and asked him
where he got it from.

“I saw last night that _Sahib_ liked this wine the best,” he replied,
“so I brought half a dozen bottles of it away from the dinner-party for
_Sahib_!”

I burst out laughing, thinking to myself that I could not well scold my
servant for looking after me so attentively.

_À propos_ of native servants, when I first joined the battalion, I
had a Christian “bearer,” whom I had brought from Bombay, and who
spoke English. But at the end of my first month at Murree, when I saw
my mess-bill, I discovered that a quantity of brandies and sodas were
charged for which I had never had. When I called my “bearer’s” attention
to this, he incontinently bolted from Murree, taking some of my property
with him. However, he was eventually laid by the heels, and I had to ask
for leave off parade to go down to the Law Courts at Murree to prosecute
him. This taught me that it is better not to engage “bearers” who talk
English and call themselves Christians.

Among the senior lieutenants in the battalion was Albert Phipps, a
brother of the Hon. Harriet Phipps, maid of honour to Queen Victoria,
with whom, as I have mentioned elsewhere, I once took tea at Windsor
Castle in my Eton days. Phipps, who was fair and rather stout and always
wore an eyeglass, was a godson of the Prince Consort, the only one who
was still alive. He once told me that Queen Victoria had written a letter
in her own hand, recommending him for an appointment with the Viceroy,
but that the officer who was specially charged with its delivery had the
misfortune to lose it. Rather than permit this officer to be punished
for his negligence, as he undoubtedly would have been, Phipps refused to
allow his sister to mention the matter to Her Majesty, and suffered in
silence the loss of an appointment which was not only a very agreeable
one, but would have meant a great increase of pay. How many men would
have acted as nobly as he did? Very few, I am afraid.

One night, while riding home after mess, along a very dark road, Phipps’s
horse fell with him. He was not hurt, but his eyeglass was broken in two,
and as he could not get another one in India, he wore half an eyeglass
for about three months, until a fresh supply was sent from England.

At the villa where I lived in the summer months we kept several animals,
including a wild cat, which was very savage and nearly as big as a
wolf, a bear, which we tried to tame, a hyena and a monkey. These
animals belonged to Wilson, who one day let the bear loose, and we had
considerable trouble in recapturing it.




CHAPTER XIX

    A Subalterns’ Court-Martial—A Terrible Experience—High
    Mess-bills


Amongst our amusements at Murree were balls, which were given
periodically at the Club by the officers of the battalion. Although
the majority of the fair guests were married women, there was always a
sprinkling of unmarried ones amongst them, most of whom had come out to
India in the hope of finding husbands. The band of the regiment furnished
the music, and there was always a very good supper, with an abundance
of champagne and other wines, so that they were very enjoyable affairs
indeed. After one of these balls a most unpleasant incident occurred.

It happened that I had danced with a Miss W——, a very pretty and
attractive girl, whom, later in the evening, I saw dancing with a young
officer whom I will call Eugene, and who, I noticed, appeared very much
_épris_ with the damsel. Next day, to my profound astonishment, I was
placed under arrest, and told that I must appear before the Colonel. When
I did so, he informed me that Eugene had told him that this Miss W——
had complained to him that I had insulted her. I indignantly protested
my innocence, but the Colonel told me that, though he did not doubt my
word, I must, nevertheless, write a letter to the young lady, asking her
pardon, if I had unintentionally given offence. I wrote the letter and
sent it to Miss W——, but received no reply.

At a garden-party given by the battalion a few days later, I saw the lady
whom I was supposed to have insulted. I hesitated whether to speak to her
or not, but finally decided that it was best to do so and inquire why
she had not answered my letter.

“I don’t know why you wrote to me,” said she, “and, to tell you the
truth, I don’t in the least understand what you meant in your letter.”

I then explained everything to her, when she exclaimed:—

“I am extremely angry with Eugene. He must have invented what he told
your Colonel, and so soon as I go home, I shall write to Colonel
Montgomery, and tell him that the whole matter is a mere fabrication of
Eugene. I am sorry that you should have suffered through the abominable
untruths of a silly boy.”

Miss W—— was as good as her word, and the Colonel read her letter to
Eugene and myself, in the presence of all the other officers. He said
that Eugene had acted in a most ungentlemanly manner, and deserved to be
severely punished for spreading about false reports calculated to injure
a brother-officer. He concluded by hinting that the subalterns would best
know how to deal with him.

The hint, needless to say, was not lost upon these young gentlemen,
and after mess Eugene was informed that he must appear before a
court-martial that evening, in the villa where I lived. The president of
the court-martial was a sub-lieutenant named Basil Montgomery, who was no
relation of the Colonel, but the son of a Scottish baronet. Wilson acted
as prosecutor, while Lovett defended the prisoner.

Eugene was brought in between two subalterns, and the charges against
him were read to the Court. The principal charge was: “Conduct not
befitting an officer and a gentleman, in having accused a brother-officer
wrongfully, thus subjecting him to arrest and further possible
inconvenience”; but there were several others. The Court found the
prisoner “Guilty,” with no extenuating circumstances, and sentenced
him to receive ten strokes with a cane on his bare back from each
sub-lieutenant, to be sent to Coventry for one month, and not to be
allowed to attend any balls or garden-parties during that period. Eugene
took his punishment very well. The corporal part of it was probably less
hard to endure than the deprivation of all social amusements and the
ostracism to which he was subjected. It had, however, a very beneficial
effect upon him, and he showed afterwards a very noticeable improvement
in every respect. Eugene, I may mention, was a very good horseman, and
rode in steeplechases, both in England and in India.

Montgomery, who was the president of the court-martial upon Eugene, had
come out to India by the same troopship as myself, but he did not join
the battalion until much later, as he was taken ill at Bombay, where he
had to remain for some weeks. He suffered a good deal, as I had done,
from the change of climate when he first came to Murree. He was a very
fine young fellow, about 6 feet 2 inches in height, and a most perfect
gentleman, though perhaps he put on a little too much “side” at times. A
good many years later, he succeeded to the baronetcy, his brother, who
was in the Guards, having met with an accident which proved fatal.

After a ball at the Murree Club one night, just as I was preparing to
ride back to my quarters, a tremendous thunderstorm came on. I waited
for some little time, but, as there seemed no immediate prospect of the
storm abating, I decided to face it, but told my syce, who was waiting
for me with my pony, that I would take a short cut home, instead of going
by the usual road. The syce walked in front of me, carrying a lantern to
light up the way, as it was a very dangerous path, with a most fearsome
abyss on one side, and in places so narrow that there was only just room
for a pony to walk along it. Suddenly, the lantern which the syce carried
went out, and, as neither of us had any matches with which to relight
it, we were plunged into total darkness, only relieved from time to time
by flashes of lightning. The pony all of a sudden stood stock still and
refused to go on, and, on dismounting, I saw through a flash of lightning
a tree lying right across the path. I therefore thought it safer to
proceed on foot, leading the pony, while my syce went in front; and we
continued thus for nearly a mile, not knowing whether the next step
would not plunge us into Eternity. But providentially at intervals came
flashes of lightning, which made it easier for us to advance. At last
we reached the end of the path, and made our way to the villa, drenched
to the skin, but heartily thankful to find ourselves in safety. We had,
indeed, had a terrible experience, and when I told Lovett that I had come
home by the short cut, he would hardly believe it possible, as the night
was so dark and the path so narrow.

During the rainy season Murree was anything but a pleasant spot, for it
rained without intermission for days and nights together, until the place
resembled a wide river. All parades were suspended during the rains,
but the officers had to go out to perform their duties and to mess and
back; and, though we were protected by india-rubber coats and goloshes,
it was very disagreeable. The men’s quarters were, as I have mentioned,
situated at the top of a very steep hill, and although, since Colonel H.
P. Montgomery had been in command of our battalion, he had a zigzag road
constructed, so that the ascent might be made gradually, it was always
rather an undertaking for the orderly officer to ascend the hill after
mess to turn out the guard, and in wet weather it was simply detestable.
The descent, too, was very dangerous, as the road was terribly slippery,
and several accidents happened to both men and officers.

The officers’ mess was at the foot of this hill, and on a clear day the
view from it was one of the grandest one can possibly imagine, for the
air is so rarefied that it enables one to see further than one could
otherwise. The towering peaks of the Himalayas, plainly visible, despite
the immense distance, the dazzling whiteness of the snow, and the deep
blue of the heavens, made a wonderful picture. But grand as the view is,
I almost prefer that from the Kurhaus, at Ischl, though it is on a much
smaller scale. It is almost like comparing the beauty of an orchid to a
rose, which, though less sublime in its appearance, captivates the senses
far more. There is something foreign in this Oriental scenery, which
appeals less to an Englishman than the exquisite beauty of Switzerland
or the Salzkammergut, in Austria.

The General at that time commanding the troops in the Punjab was an
extremely popular general and a friend of Royalty, but he had made a
_mésalliance_, having married the divorced wife of a doctor. It was
for this reason that he had been given a command in India, instead of
in England. Lieut.-Colonel Montgomery-Moore, who commanded the 4th
Hussars at Rawal Pindi, and who spent the summer months with his wife at
Murree, did not call on the General’s wife, nor did most of the officers
of that regiment, and, as I had been introduced by my cousin to the
Montgomery-Moores, I felt that I could not well visit the General’s wife.
Several of the officers of my battalion also did not call, though others
were frequent visitors at her house.

When the General inspected us, our Colonel ordered the band to play _Die
Wacht am Rhein_, which they played the whole time out of deference to the
Colonel, who was a great admirer of all things German. Not that he cared
for the air, for as he himself once said, he could only distinguish two
tunes. One was “God save the Queen,” and the other was any other air, as
he had no ear for music at all.

At this inspection all the officers were called upon singly to show their
ability in taking command, some of the entire battalion, others of a
company. They nearly all acquitted themselves well, and the General, who
was himself an old Rifleman, complimented the Colonel on the efficiency
and smartness of his battalion, and praised all the officers, N.C.O.’s
and men.

Our Colonel, as I have said, was a most excellent commanding officer. At
times he would take command of half of the battalion, while the senior
major commanded the other, and imitate the tactics employed in war, in
order to teach the officers and men how they should conduct themselves
in actual warfare. On several of these occasions, I acted as his A.D.C.,
and, mounted on my pony, carried his orders to the junior major and
captains, which I much enjoyed.

The mess-bills of the officers of the battalion were so high during
the year that the War Office complained that they were higher than any
cavalry regiment, averaging £20 to £30 a month. The Colonel therefore
requested the officers to see that they were reduced in future, as it
was not pleasant for him to be accused of encouraging extravagance.
The officers afterwards paid for what they required, and asked that
no champagne should be put down on their mess-bills. A great deal of
champagne was usually drunk at dinner, particularly by the subalterns,
and it cost from fifteen shillings to a sovereign a bottle. Spirits
were very little drunk, and, taken on the whole, the officers were very
temperate, rarely taking more than was good for them. Among the men there
was very little drunkenness compared with other regiments, and not a
single case of desertion; in fact, there were scarcely any prisoners at
all.

Lovett and I, who were both anxious to see something of Kashmir, obtained
three days’ leave and set off on horseback. The country through which we
rode was very pretty, the fields being beautifully green and besprinkled
with scarlet poppies, while the hedges were covered with white roses. We
passed the first night at a dâk bungalow, and starting at four o’clock
the following morning, in order to avoid the heat of the sun, rode until
midday, and then rested at another dâk bungalow until evening. Resuming
our journey, we presently entered a lovely valley, with a river flowing
through it. This river, the Jhelum, separated British India from Kashmir,
and the view from the dâk bungalow at Kohala, on the Indian side, to
which we made our way, after refreshing ourselves by a swim in the cool
water, was very beautiful. The heat in the bungalow was intense, though
they employed _punkahs_ to relieve the discomfort we suffered, and
towards midnight a terrific storm burst, the crashes of thunder being the
loudest I had ever heard, while the lightning was so vivid that it lit up
the whole of the surrounding country.

We spent the next day in bathing and fishing in the river Jhelum, and,
after dining at the bungalow at Kohala, walked across the bridge which
spanned the river. On the Kashmir side we found two sentries posted,
who had been placed there by the Maharajah of Kashmir to prevent anyone
unprovided with a pass entering his dominions. These sentries raised
all sorts of difficulties to our entering Kashmir, but we crossed over
all the same, and took a long walk in the country, which was very hilly
and rugged, with very narrow paths. When night came on, we returned to
the bungalow, but, having observed that the two sentries had their beds
placed on the bridge, we determined to get even with them for the trouble
they had given us. Accordingly, we returned to the bridge, carrying two
big buckets full of water, and, finding both the sentries wrapped in
peaceful slumber, dashed the water over them, and then, having thrown
the buckets into the river, ran for our lives. The luckless sentries,
startled out of their sleep, snatched up their rifles and pursued us.
But they failed to overtake us, and we reached the bungalow in safety.
We were somewhat uneasy lest inquiries should be made about us at the
bungalow, but nothing happened during the rest of the night, and in the
early morning we set off on our journey back to Murree.

On our return to Murree, we decided to say nothing of our escapade in
Kashmir, as if the Colonel got to know of it he would have us placed
under arrest. Phipps, whom I told about it sometime afterwards, remarked
that it might possibly end in officers’ leave to Kashmir being stopped,
but, fortunately, as no one knew who had played the trick upon the
sentries, his fears were not realized.




CHAPTER XX

    Sialkote—Amateur Theatricals—An Ingenious Thief—Death of Albert
    Phipps—Agra—Voyage to England


In the autumn of 1874 the other sub-lieutenants and myself had to go
through a course of instruction at Sialkote, in order to qualify as
lieutenants. At Rawal Pindi I called on Mrs. Kinloch, my acquaintance
with whom had been renewed at Murree, where she had been staying. Not
long afterwards, I was shocked to hear that she had gone out of her mind.
She died without recovering her reason.

Sialkote is by no means a pretty place, being very flat, with few trees
to temper the rays of the sun. Its ugliness was, however, relieved to
some extent by a view of the distant mountains. Although it was autumn,
the heat was intense, and in the daytime almost intolerable.

Lovett, Montgomery and myself occupied a house, which, though it had
one storey, was very large. We were attached during our stay to the
Royal Horse Artillery (“A” Battery, “A” Brigade) and messed with them.
Our instruction took place in the mornings under Lieutenant Hart, of
the R.E., who put us through a course of surveying, fortification
and tactics. Most of the instruction took place out of doors. Of an
afternoon we generally prepared our work for the following day, and in
the evening we dined at the R.H.A. mess, which was about ten minutes’
walk from our house. The officers of “A” Battery were very nice fellows,
particularly Captain Hobart, who commanded it, Lieutenant Armytage, and
Veterinary-Surgeon Batchelor, and did all they could to make things
pleasant for us. The evenings at mess, however, were rather dull, as
so few members dined there, though at times they were enlivened by the
presence of guests, generally officers from the 5th Lancers, who, with
two infantry battalions and a regiment of Bengal cavalry, were also
stationed at Sialkote.

The 5th Lancers were a very lively lot, and their mess was very amusing.
On one occasion, after mess, they dragged a lieutenant over the billiard
table, with the result that the cloth was cut all to pieces by his spurs,
and, not content with this, smashed all the crockery and glass in the
mess-room. One morning, on parade, another lieutenant, who rode very
badly, fell off his horse, whereupon his brother subalterns “ragged” his
room and broke everything they could lay their hands on. The unfortunate
owner, who had not the sweetest of tempers, took their behaviour in very
ill part, and shortly afterwards exchanged into a Highland regiment
stationed at Gibraltar.

Some of the 5th Lancers were, however, very nice fellows, particularly
two sub-lieutenants named Russell and Beaumont, who were very friendly
with Montgomery and myself, and we often dined all together.

One evening the sub-lieutenants of my battalion invited Beaumont and
Russell to dine at the R.H.A. mess, and afterwards we all proceeded
to our house, where we had prepared a _nautch_ for them, having sent
to the bazaar for a number of dancing women. These women danced most
fantastic dances, and wound up the entertainment by dancing with some
of the subalterns, who were wearing their white Indian mess uniforms.
The officers of my battalion, I may mention, had adopted a pink silk
sash round the waist, which we wore instead of a waistcoat, owing to the
intense heat.

The colonel of the 5th Lancers, Lieut.-Colonel Massey, was popular with
all ranks, and one of the captains, Benyon by name, was a most charming
man. C——, another captain, a very ugly, red-haired man, was most clever
and amusing, but much disliked both by his brother-officers and the men
of the regiment. He often dined at the R.H.A. mess, where he entertained
everyone with his stories after dinner. One story which he told was of
a young fellow who was staying at a nobleman’s country house, where a
lady, with whom he was in love, gave him an assignation, and agreed to
put a flower in the keyhole of her door when she retired for the night.
Someone, with a predilection for practical jokes, catching sight of the
flower, removed it and placed it in the keyhole of another door, with the
result that the luckless young fellow invaded the privacy of a judge and
his wife. There was a terrible scandal the next day, and the victim of
this misadventure had to leave the house at once.

C—— was very fond of botany, and I remember that once, when I happened to
meet him, he showed me a mimosa, which was so sensitive to the touch that
the moment one handled it it drew in its leaves. He came to a tragic end
in South Africa, where he was shot by one of the men of his troop, not,
it was generally believed, accidentally.

Armytage, the lieutenant in the R.H.A. whom I have already mentioned,
was the son of a baronet and a very pleasant fellow. He had a pet dog
which he used always to bring into the mess-room, and which would perform
tricks. He related how once, when he had been ordered on foreign service,
the captain of the troopship, hearing that he had a dog, objected to his
bringing it on board, as he had made a rule against it. When, however,
Armytage showed him the little dog and made it perform its tricks, the
captain was so amused by them that he said he would make an exception
in this case. Armytage was a good actor, and used to organize amateur
theatricals. One evening, he got up a play, in which he took the leading
part, and acted very well in the comic style. The other parts were taken
by men of “A” Battery, and the performance, to which a good many people
came, was a distinct success. Afterwards, a dance was given in the
mess-room, but, as there were about twenty officers to each lady, it was
more pleasant for the ladies than for us. The sub-lieutenants, indeed,
went away as soon as they could, not being at all attracted by our fair
guests, who were mostly past their first youth, while the few girls
present were very plain.

There was an excellent polo-ground at Sialkote, and many of the officers
played of an afternoon. There was also a croquet and lawn-tennis ground,
and these games were played a good deal by ladies in very old-fashioned
dresses, as ladies in India, as a rule, dress very badly and quite out of
date.

The officers rode home from mess of an evening; and I used sometimes to
make my pony “Chang” mount the steps of our house, and enter my room,
after which he would go off alone to the stables. Once at Murree, for a
bet, I rode “Chang” up a long flight of steps to a church and down again,
and he never put a foot wrong. Batchelor, the “vet” of the R.H.A., had a
horse which sometimes, on his reaching the mess-room, he would tell to go
home, when the horse would find its way back to the stables, which were
some distance away.

Two new sub-lieutenants came to Sialkote to go through the course. One,
named Marsham, an Old Etonian and a very nice fellow, was in my regiment;
the other, whose name was Wood, belonged to the 4th Hussars. He was
nicknamed “Lakri” (“wood”), as he was of rather swarthy complexion. Wood
had a very nice chestnut pony, which he often lent me, and one day Lovett
remarked that I never looked so well as on this pony, which seemed to be
made for me. He had another pony, a smaller one, and this he sold to me.
But it had a very nasty temper, and would sometimes turn its head and try
and bite my feet; while it was continually rearing and kicking, and, in
short, was a regular devil. One evening, when I went to dine at the mess
of a Line regiment, I tied it up to a tree, but it managed to get rid of
its bridle and bolted. It was only with difficulty caught, when I rode it
home again.

“Eugene,” who had behaved so badly to me over the affair of Miss W——,
was not at Sialkote, having been sent to another station for his course.
While at Murree, he had fallen desperately in love with a Miss B——, and
had proposed to, and been accepted by, her. But, as he was so very young,
and the lady was not considered a desirable match, the Colonel took
the matter up, and the affair was broken off. At the station he went to
he fell in love with another lady, but this did not come to anything
either; and he nearly broke, not his heart, but his neck, there in riding
a steeplechase. However, eventually he recovered from his “smash” and
rejoined the battalion.

I became very unwell at Sialkote, from what the doctor said was a liver
complaint. However, it did not much interfere with my studies, though I
was confined to the house for some time. During this period a curious
incident occurred.

One morning, I noticed that a candle, which I had placed by my bedside
and blown out just before I fell asleep, was much shorter than when I had
extinguished it. The following night I carefully noted the length of the
candle before I blew it out, and next morning it was again much shorter.
I could find no explanation of this, as I had locked my bedroom door
before going to bed, until I remembered that there was a small opening at
the bottom of the door, just large enough to permit a person to wriggle
through. But this did not account for the thief having been able to pass
through my sitting-room, which led to the bedroom, and the door of which
I had also locked. I talked the matter over with Lovett, who offered to
lend me his dog, which he said was a very good watch-dog and could sleep
on my bed. I accepted his offer, but the animal had so many fleas that
I was kept awake all night, and decided to dispense with its company in
future. The following night I determined to watch myself, and presently
heard someone crawling through the opening of the door. I at once struck
a light, upon which the intruder promptly crawled back again. Then
everything appeared clear to me. The thief was none other than my bearer,
who had a key to my sitting-room, which he opened, and then, crawling
through the opening in the bedroom-door, made for my candle, which he
abstracted and replaced by a much smaller piece. The natives are great
pilferers, who will not stop at robbing one even of a piece of candle.

One day, as I was sitting in my room, reading a book by Jean Paul, it
seemed to me that suddenly the room began to swing to and fro. It proved
to be an earthquake, which, however, did no damage to the town, though it
gave everyone a bad fright.

Soon after I was able to get about again there was an interval of three
weeks in our course at Sialkote, and all the sub-lieutenants went away
on leave. Montgomery went to Murree, while Lovett and Marsham started
off on a shooting-expedition. The battalion, which was taking part in
the autumn manœuvres, was under canvas near Rawal Pindi, and I accepted
an invitation to stay with Surgeon-Major Macnamara and his wife in their
tent. The first evening I dined with them I noticed that I was served
with precisely the dishes I liked, whilst those I did not care for were
not handed to me at all. I inquired of Mrs. Macnamara the reason of this,
when she replied:—

“I asked your _khitmagar_ when you arrived what you liked for dinner, and
what you did not like. Therefore, you see, I know now exactly what your
taste is.”

Indeed, nothing could exceed the Macnamaras’ kindness to me during the
whole time I was with them.

A couple of days later, Phipps invited me to go for a drive with him,
during which he told me that he was returning to England on leave, when
he would get his promotion, and he doubted whether he would ever come out
to India again. That evening, after dining at mess, I was taken ill, when
Surgeon-Major Macnamara, who attended me, said that I was suffering from
jaundice, and should have to stay in bed some time. During my illness I
received visits from one of the senior lieutenants named Hope, a grandson
of Lord Hopetoun, who brought me several books to read, amongst them
being “Cranford,” by Mrs. Gaskell, which he particularly recommended to
me, and with which I was delighted. Lloyd, another senior lieutenant,
with the local rank of captain, often came to see me. He was a very
dark, wiry fellow, of about thirty, and was a great sportsman. He was
going into the Indian Staff Corps, as he spoke several native languages
fluently. Lloyd was a particular friend of mine, and corresponded with me
regularly for years afterwards.

One morning, I had a visit from Macnamara, who told me that Phipps
had been taken seriously ill with congestion of the lungs, the result
apparently of a chill which he had caught on the day I went for a drive
with him. A few days later, I learned from Lloyd that Phipps had died
during the night. When I next saw Macnamara, he remarked:—

“Phipps was so stout; I knew I could not save him. He died from
suffocation, as he had such a short neck.”

When I was well enough to dine at mess again, I heard from the Colonel
that, shortly before Phipps was taken ill, he had been told by the chief
that his tunic was looking rather shabby, to which he had replied:—

“Oh, sir, it’s good enough to bury me in!”

He had laughed as he said this, which was a habit of his when he made any
remark which was at all strange.

A cable was sent to Queen Victoria, as well as to Phipps’s sister,
announcing his death. Her Majesty cabled at once to the Colonel, asking
for all particulars about the sad event, at which she appears to have
been genuinely grieved.

I was much cut up by Phipps’s death, and I felt it all the more keenly,
as I had been with him so recently. I remember how on that occasion he
had kept talking of his approaching return to England, and had observed:—

“I should have liked it very much in years gone by, but now I do not look
forward to it with half the pleasure I did then; it may be because I have
all my friends out here. I am so used to living out here with all the
fellows, and they are all so nice, that I don’t think I should go home
now if I had not to do so.”

Poor Phipps was buried in his old tunic, as he had foretold in a jesting
way to the Colonel. He was barely thirty years of age.

After I had quite recovered from jaundice, I returned to Sialkote,
which I did with regret, as I would have much preferred remaining with
my regiment. At Sialkote things went on very much as before, the only
incident worth recording being an accident to my pony “Chang.”

This pony, which I had bought soon after coming to Murree from Sydenham
Clarke, the adjutant of our battalion, had the reputation of being the
best polo-pony in India, and one day Lovett begged me to lend him to him
for a match in which he was to play. I replied that “Chang” was not up to
his weight, and that he would probably lame him; but, eventually, on his
promising most solemnly to ride him carefully, I consented, though with
many misgivings. Some hours later Lovett came into my room, looking very
crestfallen. I knew at once what had happened, and exclaimed:—

“You have lamed “Chang!”

“Yes,” he answered; “I am frightfully sorry; I could not help it.”

I ran out of the room to see the pony, who was so lame that there was no
chance of his being of much service afterwards. However, it was no use
blaming Lovett, since it was my own fault for being so weak as to allow a
valuable animal to be ridden by a man too heavy for him.

After this mishap, I was obliged to ride my little devil of a pony when I
required a mount at Sialkote, though at times Lovett lent me his horse,
while at others Wood lent me his good-looking chestnut pony. I made Wood
an offer for this pony, but he declined to part with it at any price.

I continued to suffer from liver complaint, and was attended by
Surgeon-Major Clarke, of the R.H.A., who advised me to try and get sent
to England. I subsequently saw the senior medical officer at Sialkote,
who said that I ought to obtain leave either to the hills or to England.
I appeared before a medical board, who certified in writing that my
illness was caused in and by the Service.

The Chief Resident at Sialkote offered me the Maharajah of Kashmir’s
shooting, which was usually reserved for royal personages, and which the
Prince of Wales had when in India; but Montgomery urged me strongly
to go to England, and I followed his advice. I had afterwards, as the
ensuing pages will show, good cause to regret my decision.

Before leaving Sialkote, I made arrangements to sell the things I did
not want; but, on showing the list I had made out to Batchelor, of
the R.H.A., he told me that I ought to have described them far more
elaborately, so as to enhance their apparent value. I asked if he would
describe them for me, which he did, and, greatly to my amusement, made
everything appear infinitely better than it really was. However, he said
that they would make much better prices that way, which I found to be the
case when the sale took place. My pony “Chang” I sold to Montgomery, as
he had partially recovered from his lameness.

On leaving Sialkote, I went by rail to Delhi, where I visited the Palace,
which I thought very beautiful. At Delhi I called on the officers of a
Line regiment stationed there, and was invited to make use of their mess
during my stay in the city, where great preparations were being made for
an approaching Durbar. I left a few days later for Cawnpore, and visited
the places by the river where the British were massacred during the
Mutiny. On my way from Cawnpore to Agra, I made the acquaintance of a
French cavalry officer, the Vicomte Arthur d’Assailly, of the Chasseurs
à Cheval, a very smart-looking fellow, more like an Englishman than a
Frenchman, who spoke English perfectly. The Vicomte told me that at
Cawnpore he had paid several hundred rupees for a _nautch_ in his room,
which he had strewn with rose-leaves. On reaching Agra, we drove to our
hotel through the Bazaar, and in the evening went to visit the Taj, with
which we were quite enchanted. It was the most magnificent building I
had ever seen. The marble of which it was constructed was of the purest
white, and seen by moonlight, which enhanced the whiteness of the marble,
it was indescribably beautiful; while the deep blue of the starlit
heavens formed a delightful contrast. It was, in fact, just like a palace
of “The Arabian Nights”; and while strolling about the charming gardens
we could almost imagine ourselves living in the days of the Khalif
Haroun Alraschid.

In the train going to Bombay I met an officer of the Rifle Brigade, named
Captain Crompton, a man of about thirty-five, with grey hair, who was
going home on sick leave. But as, he told me, he was rather doubtful
about being able to pass the medical board at Bombay, he intended to
appear before them just as he was, without going to his hôtel to change
and wash, considering that he would look more like an invalid in that
travel-stained condition.

He was as good as his word, and obtained six months’ sick leave without
any trouble. As for myself, I went to Watson’s Hotel, where I was glad
to have a bath and change my clothes, as the journey had been a most
unpleasant one, and I was begrimed with dirt. On appearing before the
board, the senior medical officer asked me various questions, to which
I must have answered too laconically to please him, for presently he
inquired sarcastically:—

“And what may your rank be; I suppose general or colonel at the least?”

“No,” I replied; “I am only a sub-lieutenant.”

“Oh, indeed! I thought from your manner that you were at least in command
of a regiment.”

However, after a brief examination, I was informed that I could go, and
that I had been granted six months’ leave to England, as my illness was
caused in and by the Service.

At Watson’s Hotel I met d’Assailly again, who told me a good deal about
himself. It appeared that he was a rich man, having an income of some
£6,000 a year, and was amusing himself by travelling round the world.
He had already visited Japan, Ceylon and Java, the last of which he
considered by far the most beautiful of the three countries, and, as
regards vegetation, truly marvellous. He admitted that Ceylon was lovely,
but, in his opinion, it could not compare with Java, the natives of which
he also preferred to the Cingalese.

I was very glad to leave Bombay in 1875, though, as I disliked the sea
very much, I was not looking forward to the voyage to England with any
pleasurable anticipations. Among the passengers on board the troopship
were Captain Crompton, a Lieutenant Howard, who belonged to the Rifle
Brigade, and Viscount Campden, of the 10th Hussars, whose younger
brother, the Hon. H. Noel, was in the same battalion of the Rifle Brigade
as Crompton and Howard. Lord Campden, who was an amiable young man, with
a slight figure and reddish hair, occupied himself during the voyage by
reading Darwin’s “Natural Selection,” which was seldom out of his hand,
and did not talk much with anyone, with the exception of Crompton.

There was a battalion of infantry on board, under the command of a
Lieutenant-Colonel Rose, who had his wife and daughter with him. The
latter, who was a charming little girl of thirteen, with golden hair and
blue eyes, took such a violent fancy to Howard that the other officers
used to chaff him and inquire whether he intended to wait until she grew
up to marry her. Howard was a tall, good-looking fellow, with a fair
moustache, and he seemed rather pleased than otherwise by the little
lady’s infatuation.

The captain of the ship complained of Crompton dining in evening clothes,
and requested him to appear in uniform in future. Crompton answered
that he had no uniform on board, as he had come out to India to work as
a civil engineer. But the captain would take no excuse, and insisted
on his wearing uniform at dinner and also on deck. Crompton thereupon
asked me if I could lend him part of my uniform, as it only differed
in the facings, the facings of one regiment’s mess-jacket being black
velvet, and those of the other scarlet, braided with black lace, like the
Hussars. The uniform of both regiments was the same, supposed to be a
dark green, but really black. I therefore lent him part of my uniform, as
I had more than I required on board; but when he appeared in it at mess
and on deck, the captain at first believed that it was his own, and that
he had purposely avoided wearing it, and he had to explain that he had
been obliged to borrow from me.

During the voyage I was a good deal with Crompton, and had many
interesting talks with him on all kinds of topics. He told me that
his mother, who was dead, had published a translation of the poems of
Heinrich Heine, which was considered to be the best that had appeared
up to that time. She had held that this life was but a preparation for
the one to come, and that whatever we cultivated in this existence, we
should excel in in the next, and said that he was firmly convinced of the
truth of this. He was a very clever man and had invented an automobile
for the conveyance of troops, which he had sold to the Russian Government
for £4,000, as the War Office would not pay him the price he asked. His
knowledge, too, was astonishingly varied. Thus, when we touched at Malta,
some of the ladies on board showed him the lace they had bought and told
him the price they had paid for it, upon which he said that they had been
imposed upon. For it appeared that he knew more about lace and how to
make it than any lady on the ship, and I saw him showing them stitches
which were quite new to them.

There were, of course, a number of invalids on board, some of whom were
very ill indeed. I occupied a cabin with a lieutenant of the 11th Hussars
named Reid, who was in rapid consumption. He was a good-looking young
fellow, with, dark-brown curly hair, and very much liked by everyone. He
survived the voyage, as did a sergeant-major of the R.H.A., whom no one
had expected to live until we reached England; but several other persons
died, and were buried at sea.




CHAPTER XXI

    Baroness James Édouard de Rothschild—At Carlsbad—Transferred to
    the 3rd Battalion


At Portsmouth, I was met by my father and Ernest Berkeley, a son of Lord
Berkeley, who some time afterwards obtained a commission in my regiment,
and with them I travelled to Paris and stayed for a few days with my
parents in the Champs-Elysées. I then started for Carlsbad, where I had
been recommended to take the waters for my complaint. On leaving Paris,
I found myself in the same carriage with an elderly English lady, a
Mrs. Michell, and her daughter, whose acquaintance I made. They were on
their way to Marienbad, as the mother was abnormally stout and anxious
to reduce her weight, life, she told me, being a torment to her. At
Nüremberg, a rather nice-looking woman entered our carriage, with a very
smart footman in attendance, who carried an immense bouquet of flowers,
which he deposited beside his mistress. This lady, it transpired, was the
Baroness James Édouard de Rothschild, who had been spending the night at
Nüremberg, and was also _en route_ for Marienbad. The Baroness entered
into conversation with us, and was very pleasant. She spoke English
almost perfectly, having spent nearly half her life in England, though
she was now living with her family in Paris. She had, she told us, been
ordered to take the waters at Marienbad, as she was inclined to be very
stout, and had sent on fourteen servants from Paris to get everything
ready for her.

I got out at Carlsbad and drove to the Hôtel Goldenes Schild, which was
in those days the principal hôtel. Next morning I consulted Dr. Ritter
von Hochberg, the doctor of the German Emperor, who was a very nice old
man, and who told me to drink two full glasses of the Schloss Brunn
waters and then walk for half an hour in the country every morning before
breakfast. I followed his instructions and, after drinking the waters,
walked out to the Posthof, where I breakfasted in the open air at a
very good restaurant, being served by a pretty young Austrian girl, who
was very tastefully dressed, with her hair arranged in quite the latest
fashion. The walk back to my hôtel, along the banks of a river, which
flowed through a delightfully picturesque valley, I enjoyed immensely.

While dining one evening at the Hôtel König von Hannover, I made the
acquaintance of a Mrs. Andrews, an elderly American lady, who was very
rich and lived in an apartment in the English quarter of Carlsbad. She
asked me to come and see her at her rooms, which were very comfortable,
and where she gave me a cup of English tea. Mrs. Andrews was very fond of
taking drives into the country, and often invited me to accompany her.
One day she introduced me to Freiherr von Klenck, the son of Baron von
Klenck, who had been a great favourite of the late King of Hanover and
always with him. Klenck, who was in a Hanoverian cavalry regiment, was a
man of about thirty, with a fair moustache. He detested Prussians, and
once, when I asked him if he would care to meet an officer in a Prussian
Line regiment whose acquaintance I had made, he replied:—

“It is all very well for you to know him, as you are not a German. But I
could not be seen with him. First of all, he is a Prussian, and then he
is in a Line regiment, so that I could not go about with him, since I am
in a cavalry regiment, as you know.”

I usually met Mrs. Andrews and Klenck at the Hôtel König von Hannover,
where we would engage a small table and dine together, going after to
Sans-Souci or the Posthof to hear the military concert, which was very
fine indeed. The band which played there was that of the 35th Regiment
König von Hannover, an Austrian military band, which had won the first
prize at Brussels in the competition for military bands of all nations.
It was composed of fifty men, and played the most difficult music of
Wagner in the most brilliant manner, besides playing lighter music in a
way which quite delighted me. In fact, it put all the military bands,
English, French and German, that I had ever heard completely in the
shade. A principal feature was that there were two men who played the
cymbals, and that the big drum was an insignificant item, the side-drum
being far more used. Sometimes, the band would play at Pupp’s Café of an
afternoon, while the people were taking their coffee at little tables. On
these occasions, a fee of fifty kreuzers was charged for admission, and
there was always great difficulty in securing seats.

The Kurkapelle, or string band, which played on most days of the week,
under the direction of the famous bandmaster, Auguste Labitzky, was one
of the finest string bands in Europe. Every Friday afternoon Labitzky
organized a classical concert at Posthof, for which an admission fee of
fifty kreuzers was charged. One day was consecrated to Wagner, another
to Mozart, a third to Beethoven, and on a fourth a programme of mixed
classical music was performed.

The places where afternoon coffee was taken were all in the country,
people sitting at little tables under the trees. At Pupp’s Café the
waitresses had their Christian names, Mizzi, Fanni, Resi, and so forth,
pinned on to their dresses. These girls were for the most part very
pretty and pleasant-mannered. One gentleman, after having finished his
cure at Carlsbad, received about twenty bouquets of beautiful flowers,
which were all placed on his breakfast-table at Pupp’s by the girls
serving there. People said that it must have cost him at least a hundred
florins in _douceurs_ to the waitresses.

When I asked my doctor how much I was in his debt, he told me that he
left the matter entirely to me. So I put forty florins in an envelope,
which the doctor declined even to open in my presence, saying that he
felt sure that I had remunerated his services sufficiently.

After a cure of three weeks, I left Carlsbad for Franzensbad, for the
after-cure, which my doctor had advised my taking. Here I secured very
comfortable rooms in a villa with a beautiful garden behind it, agreeing
to pay a fixed price per week for board and lodging. Shortly afterwards,
the proprietress informed me that, had she but known that I was an
Englishman, she would have asked me very much more than she had. She
appeared very much annoyed, and, I am afraid, never forgave me for not
having acquainted her with my nationality at our first interview.

I thought Franzensbad a very charming place, with its pretty villas with
gardens attached to them; but the walks could not compare with those
around Carlsbad. I was so tired after taking the waters at Carlsbad that
I rested the whole time I was at Franzensbad, merely taking iron baths,
which I found perfectly delightful. It was like bathing in champagne,
as the water sparkled and gave one a tickling kind of sensation. The
visitors at Franzensbad were chiefly ladies, but I made the acquaintance
of a young Bavarian officer, Freiherr von Rüdt, who was very musical and
played the violin beautifully, and used to meet him nearly every day at
the concert in the Kurpark. The Kurkapelle used to play at one or other
of the hôtels during supper, and I often went to these concerts. The
bandmaster, Tomaschek, was a very good conductor and a great favourite
with the ladies, who often sent him presents.

During my stay at Franzensbad I paid a visit to Marienbad, where I
renewed my acquaintance with Mrs. Michell and her daughter. I thought
Marienbad even more beautiful than Carlsbad, surrounded as it was by
woods and hills. The walks around it were really exquisite, and nothing
could be more pleasant than to take a walk in the woods on a summer’s day
and have coffee and listen to the band at one of the cafés.

On my return to Franzensbad I took a few more baths, and then left for
Paris, where I received a letter from the War Office, informing me that
I had been transferred to the 3rd Battalion of my regiment, which was
stationed at Chatham.




CHAPTER XXII

    My Brother-Officers—A _Mésalliance_—Christy Minstrels and
    Tobogganing


It was through the influence of the Adjutant-General, Lord Airey, that I
had been transferred to the 3rd Battalion of the 60th Rifles, in June,
1875. On joining, I went into the officers’ ante-room, where a short,
stout officer, wearing an eyeglass, addressed me, and inquired how I had
managed to get transferred. I told him that it was through the A.-G.,
when he remarked:

“How is it that I was not consulted?”

“I really cannot tell you,” I answered.

“H’m!” said he, transfixing me with his monocle.

A few minutes afterwards, when he had left the room, another officer came
up to me, and said:—

“Do you know who that is?”

“No.”

“That is our chief, Lieutenant-Colonel W. Leigh-Pemberton.”

“Is it really?” said I. “I should never have thought it, for he looks too
young for a colonel.”

“You have put your foot into it, evidently,” replied the officer, who
appeared highly amused at what had happened. His name, he told me, was
Corbet Stapleton-Cotton, and he was a lieutenant of some years’ service.

I had a room in barracks close to Cotton’s, and, after my things had
been unpacked, I dressed for mess. During mess I again exchanged a few
words with the Colonel, who evidently looked upon me as an intruder,
since he addressed me in a very distant manner. I was introduced to the
acting adjutant, E. O. H. Wilkinson (the adjutant, Lieutenant Bagot,
had been suspended from that post by the Colonel), whom I had known at
Eton, but had never cared for much. Wilkinson, who was a tall, dark man,
with a slight squint, a long body and very short legs, imparted to me
the pleasing information that I should have to begin my drill all over
again from the commencement, at seven o’clock the following morning,
so that I was likely to be kept well employed for some little time to
come. I also made the acquaintance of my captain, Cramer, who was a
middle-aged man with grey hair. He had little to say for himself, and was
not remarkable for his amiability, but was very musical, and played the
piano wonderfully well, though entirely by ear. Amongst other officers
with whom I spoke that evening were a sub-lieutenant named Robert Gunning
and a lieutenant called Allfrey. Gunning, who, like Cramer, in whose
company he was, had been at Eton with me, though I had only known him
very slightly there, was a rather good-looking little fellow, and a great
favourite of the Colonel, who called him “Cupid,” and often invited him
to his quarters. Allfrey was a tall, burly man, with dark curly hair, who
was very loud in both his dress and conversation, which was usually about
horses. He was a great admirer of Thackeray’s works, and declared that
“Vanity Fair” was the best novel in the English language, and that he had
read it over and over again without growing tired of it.

Allfrey was a particular friend of Cotton, and I soon discovered that
these two officers were the _bêtes-noires_ of the Colonel, who, it was
said, could not even endure the sound of their voices, and would give
anything in the world to get rid of them both. Our chief’s dislike,
however, was by no means confined to Cotton and Allfrey. Two senior
lieutenants, named Holled-Smith and Allen, and a captain called Robinson,
had also the misfortune to be objects of his antipathy, a fact which he
was never at any pains to disguise.

Holled-Smith was a fine-looking man, clever and entertaining, but with
a somewhat brusque manner. He had a very good baritone voice, which he
cultivated by taking singing lessons, and he sang some songs very well.
Allen and Robinson were both singular characters. The former, who was
expecting his company, was a queer-looking fellow, with a partially-bald
head and a peculiarly vacant expression. He was always highly perfumed,
so that you knew when he happened to be near you, before you saw him.
His dress was very eccentric, and his manner too. He was perpetually
muttering to himself, and would gesticulate in the most weird fashion
when no one was talking to him. Robinson, who was nicknamed “Rabelais,”
as he was always reading that author’s works, was a kind of Hercules,
and was the eldest son of a baronet and the grandson of an Irish earl.
He was very eccentric, and would suddenly—for no apparent reason—throw
himself into the most violent passions, and indulge in language at which
even a private soldier would be horrified. Strangely enough, he appeared
to have little or no idea of the effect of these outbursts upon those who
had the misfortune to be present: probably, he hardly knew what he was
saying. It was related that, upon one occasion, he used this terrible
language before a lady, who incontinently took to flight. “Rabelais”
inquired afterwards why the lady had left so abruptly, and, on being
told, remarked that she must have been uncommonly prudish.

These two strange creatures disliked each other even more than the
Colonel did them. One evening at mess, soon after I joined the battalion,
I noticed that, though they were sitting next each other, they never
exchanged a word the whole evening. I remarked upon this to one of the
other officers, when I was told that they had not spoken to one another
for years.

The senior major, Northey, was a very tall, dark man, who was an
excellent soldier and understood his work thoroughly; but, unfortunately,
his hands were tied by the Colonel, who seldom condescended to approve
of anything he did. He was married to the daughter of a Polish nobleman,
a refugee, whom he had met when the battalion was stationed in Canada.
Major Northey was popular with the men, and liked by the officers, but
he had no influence at all.

The junior major, Collins, who was stout and wore an eyeglass, was also a
married man. His wife was a sister of a bishop, and it was she who held
the ribbons. Collins would have made a much better bishop than he did
a field-officer, for he was a bad rider, who always felt uncomfortable
on horseback, and, what is more, looked so. He seldom ventured on any
observation concerning military matters before the Colonel, as when he
did so, he generally got snubbed. The major took a great fancy to me, and
often invited me to his house, where I sometimes met the bishop, who was
delighted with my zither and paid me many compliments on my playing.

Tufnell, the senior captain, was a gentleman who entertained a
superlatively high opinion of himself. He must have been very handsome
when young, but was now somewhat “_fané_.” He was very much in love with
a girl named Miss Finis, the daughter of a butcher in Chatham, who,
some years before, had been in love with my friend, Arthur Dillon. Poor
Dillon, alas! was no more, having been thrown out of a Ralli car and
killed while stationed at Colchester. “He was such a good fellow, and a
very promising officer,” said Captain Byron, in the letter he wrote to me
in India, to inform me of the sad event.

Tufnell was so infatuated with Miss Finis that it was generally believed
that he would end by marrying her. Nor was he the only officer in the
battalion who was contemplating a _mésalliance_. There was another
captain, called Carpenter, who was desperately in love with a pretty
little shop-girl, who was only about sixteen. At first, the Colonel
objected to Carpenter going about with this damsel, but when he learned
that he was determined to marry her, he said nothing more, as Carpenter
was a great friend of his. Carpenter retired some months afterwards, and
married his little girl, who, I was told, made him a very good wife. His
retirement was much regretted, as he was very popular with both officers
and men.

The nicest captain in the battalion was de Robeck, who had been on the
Staff of the Earl of Mayo, when Viceroy of India. He was a brother of
Baron de Robeck, whom I already knew. De Robeck was a rather shy man,
and dreadfully afraid of offending the Colonel. As time seemed only to
accentuate the bad impression which I had been so unfortunate as to make
upon our chief at our first meeting, partly owing to the fact that I was
obliged to be a good deal in the company of Cotton and Holled-Smith,
whose quarters adjoined my own, I told de Robeck that I thought it would
be best for me to exchange into another battalion. He, however, advised
me not to do so, observing:—

“The Colonel cannot stay with us very much longer, and in the 1st
Battalion, into which you wish to exchange, they have a Colonel, Colonel
Gordon, who, I am told, is much worse than ours. I hear that he has been
the cause of no less than ten officers leaving the battalion, and the
cases of desertion among the riflemen can hardly be counted.”

I told him that the Colonel of the 1st was soon retiring, while our chief
would remain with us for another three years, which had to be taken into
consideration.

“No,” he replied, “he has only two years more, thank God!”

I was always much influenced by what de Robeck told me, and generally
followed his advice. I did so in this instance, but had I acted
otherwise, it would have been much better for me.

Among the senior lieutenants was one named Wylie, an absurdly pompous
individual, who was disliked by both officers and men. One day, when
I happened to be orderly officer, I had just come off parade and was
standing by the officers’ mess, when Wylie passed by. I wished him
good-morning, but, because I did not salute him at the same time,
though it was off the parade-ground, he reported me to the Colonel, who
reprimanded me. Wylie was married to the sister of a recently-created
peer, who, on the strength of this relationship, gave herself ridiculous
airs, and was almost as pompous as her husband.

Arthur Greville Bagot, an old Etonian, who was adjutant of the battalion
by appointment, though, as I mentioned, suspended, was a very different
kind of officer from Wylie. He was highly connected, being the cousin of
a duke and the nephew of a peer, and was a thorough gentleman in every
way. He was a very good-looking man, and when not in uniform, always
dressed very smartly in the latest fashion. An excellent soldier, he kept
the men in first-rate order, which Wilkinson never could do, and, as he
was rather a friend of mine, he invariably took my part with the Colonel,
with whom he was on pretty good terms.

As there was very little going on at Chatham at any time in the way
of amusement, Bagot organized from the battalion a troupe of Christy
Minstrels, he himself taking the part of “Bones.” I was asked to do my
share, to which I willingly consented. We gave a performance in Chatham,
which turned out a great success, a number of people having to be refused
admission. The officers and men blackened their faces, and when I wished
to re-enter Chatham Barracks, the sentry refused to let me pass, until
I told him who I was. We gave a second performance at Chatham, which
was so well attended that we agreed to engage the theatre at Gravesend
and give an entertainment there. The result exceeded our most sanguine
expectations, the theatre being crammed, while over four hundred people
were turned away from the doors. Bagot made most amusing jokes, and sang
several very good comic songs; Carpenter gave a solo on the concertina,
besides singing in the chorus, and my performance on the zither was
warmly applauded, and I got an encore. The _ensemble_ was excellent for
that style of entertainment; quite as good as any professional troupe,
and the singing was above the average.

During the winter we had a heavy fall of snow, and, as most of the
officers of the battalion had served in Canada, and had done a great
deal of tobogganing there, this amusement was indulged in down the hill
close to the mess. The toboggans were made to contain two persons, one
sitting behind, and the other between his legs in front; and many of the
officers would place a lady in front of them on their toboggans, and come
down the hill at a terrific pace, the ladies sometimes giving vent to
piercing shrieks, from fear of getting a spill. Now and again a toboggan
would upset, and send its occupants flying; but, as they usually fell
into the snow banked up on either side of the track, it was very rarely
that they were in the least hurt.




CHAPTER XXIII

    Sarah Bernhardt in _Phèdre_—Vienna and Buda-Pesth


When I got my winter’s leave, I started for Paris, to see my parents;
intending afterwards to visit Vienna and Buda-Pesth. On the last evening
of my stay in Paris, I went to the Théâtre-Français, to see Sarah
Bernhardt and Mounet Sully in _Phèdre_. The latter’s acting was very
fine, but Sarah Bernhardt was simply magnificent. The way in which she
recited Racine’s lines in her charming, musical voice, with its pretty
timbre, was a real pleasure to listen to; while in the last scene she
rose to the supreme heights of tragedy. I do not think I was ever more
delighted in my life with a theatrical performance than I was with the
splendid acting that night at the Théâtre-Français, as it surpassed all
my expectations.

On my journey to Vienna next day, I had as a travelling companion an
Austrian gentleman called Herr Neuss, who, on my happening to mention my
visit to the Théâtre-Français the previous evening, observed that, in his
opinion, the Burg Theatre, in Vienna, was the first theatre in Europe,
and invited me to accompany him one evening to see a play of Shakespeare
acted there. Herr Neuss told me that, from the way I spoke German, he
had at first taken me for a German student, and that he was surprised to
learn that I was an officer of the British Army.

On my arrival in Vienna, which was enveloped in a white mantle of snow,
I went to the Hôtel Matschakerhof, which had been recommended to me,
and which I found very comfortable. I lost no time in calling on Herr
Neuss, who presented me to his wife and their three young and pretty
daughters, who were quite charming. I was invited to return to supper,
and afterwards two of the girls played on two grand pianos which stood in
the drawing-room. They both played beautifully, and had evidently been
most admirably taught. An evening or two later, I went with Herr Neuss
to the Burg Theatre, to witness a performance of _Romeo and Juliet_,
which was wonderfully well staged. The part of Juliet was played by
Fräulein Frank, a very good-looking brunette, who acted well, though in
the very tragic scenes she occasionally showed too much emotion. Another
evening I saw Fräulein Frank in the _Jungfrau von Orléans_, a part which
suited her infinitely better than that of Juliet; and in which she was
truly marvellous. I also saw the celebrated Charlotte Wolter in _Richard
III._, in which play Lewinsky took the part of the King. I was very
much impressed by the latter’s acting, but I was decidedly disappointed
with Charlotte Wolter, whom I considered inferior to Fräulein Frank,
though the public thought otherwise. Wolter, indeed, in the opinion of
the Viennese, was an ideal actress, and, in certain plays, they even
preferred her to Sarah Bernhardt.

I was charmed with the military concerts at Vienna. Of an afternoon I
several times went to the Volksgarten, where the people sat at little
tables sipping coffee and smoking cigarettes. The military band, the Hoch
and Deutschmeister, which played, was a string band, and the solo players
were all very good. I was quite delighted with the way the band played
a march, so differently from the sleepy fashion in which our English
military bands played one. As is always the practice with an Austrian
military band, when playing marches, a great deal of use was made of
the cymbals in forte parts. They also played waltzes delightfully, and
polkas with the proper rhythm, which so seldom happens. The Hoch and
Deutschmeister played the most difficult music from the _Nibelungen
Ring_, of Wagner, equally well, but their chief success was with light
music, in which they were unrivalled.

On Sundays Johann Strauss’s band played in the Musikverein’s Saal, under
its accomplished conductor, who always charmed the audience with its
beautiful waltzes and inspiriting polkas. Yet everyone said that his
band was very inferior to the string bands of the regiments stationed in
Vienna. I heard Johann Strauss’s band play more than once, and though I
was pleased with it, the military band had far more attraction for me.

I paid a visit one evening to Schwender’s, a dancing-hall, where, to the
strains of a military band, people danced till the small hours of the
morning, and was struck with the orderly manner in which those present
conducted themselves. It was a great contrast to the scenes witnessed at
similar resorts in England in those days, where drunkenness amongst both
sexes was a common feature.

The Opera House, whose orchestra was quite the finest in Europe, had, of
course, a great fascination for me. Wagner was then directing his operas,
_Tannhäuser_ and _Lohengrin_, and they were admirably rendered. Fräulein
Ehnn and Frau Materna created the chief women’s rôles, and Winkelmann
and Ritter were the leading tenors. A great feature at the Opera was
the ballet, in which the _première danseuse_, Bertha Linda, delighted
everyone with her graceful dancing, while the _corps de ballet_ was
excellent. Bertha Linda married the celebrated artist Makart, at that
time the greatest painter in Austria.

From Vienna I went to Buda-Pesth, where I stayed at the Hôtel Königin
von England. On the evening of my arrival, a gipsy band began playing
during dinner, and continued until long past midnight. They played in a
really wonderful manner, and collected a great deal of money. I visited
the “Nepsinház” and other theatres in Pesth, and one evening went to a
dancing-hall, where I saw the Csárdas danced most beautifully, and made
the acquaintance of a young girl of fourteen or fifteen, named Tournay
Wilma, a pupil at the theatre, who had a lovely contralto voice. She
accompanied me back to my hôtel, and sang to me until the small hours of
the morning.

I thought Buda-Pesth beautifully situated, with the Emperor’s castle at
Buda, and the Danube flowing between the two towns, but I would have
infinitely preferred to live in Vienna, which is a far finer city. On my
return there, I went several times to the Opera to hear _Manfred_, _Don
Juan_ and _Figaro’s Hochzeit_, and then, after calling on Herr Neuss and
his family, bade farewell to this most charming of capitals.

I may mention that, during my stay in Vienna, I took lessons on the
zither from the celebrated Paschinger, who was quite a brilliant
performer on that instrument, besides being a good violinist, and played
the violin and occasionally the zither at one of the principal theatres,
where he was first violinist. I also invested in a zither-table, which I
purchased at Kiendl’s, who made the best zithers in Europe.

While in Vienna and Buda-Pesth, I was much impressed by the appearance
of the troops I saw. Among the cavalry, which was then considered the
finest in Europe, the Hussars struck me as being remarkably well mounted,
while the officers’ uniform was very smart. The Dragoons, whose officers
were mostly of the nobility, as were those of the Lancers, were also well
mounted; while the Arciren Guards, who corresponded to our Life Guards,
were a fine body of men, in green uniforms with red facings. There were
at this time, in the Austrian Army, sixteen regiments of Hussars, the
same number of Lancer regiments, and twelve regiments of Dragoons. The
Hussars were all Hungarians, the Dragoons Austrians, and the Lancers
Bohemians and Poles. The infantry was also very fine, and the uniform of
the officers, though they wore no gold lace at all, very smart.




CHAPTER XXIV

    Percy Hope-Johnstone—A “Special” to Aldershot—A Costume-Ball at
    Folkestone


Soon after my return to Chatham, my company had to go to Gravesend
for a course of musketry. The officers who went were Cramer, Gunning
and myself. We had to superintend the shooting of the men, though the
musketry instructor, a lieutenant named Hope-Johnstone, was also present.
Percy Hope-Johnstone, who was very popular with everyone, was a fine,
powerfully-built man, and a very good shot, both with gun and rifle.
He took great interest in the men’s shooting, and was a most capable
instructor. He was the heir to a baronetcy, and in later years laid claim
to the peerage of Annandale, but his claim was not successful.

One day, Hope-Johnstone lent me his horse on the range, and the animal,
not being accustomed to so light a weight, bolted with me, and set off
at a furious gallop through the town. Fortunately, however, he soon ran
himself out, and stopped of his own accord.

Hope-Johnstone often went with Gunning and myself for walks in the
country around Gravesend. On one occasion, when we were sitting by the
Thames, he said to us:—

“Supposing neither of you had any money at all. What would you do to
learn a living?”

Gunning replied that he should become an actor; and they both said that
they were sure that I could play the zither at concerts, and make a good
deal of money by this. Then Hope-Johnstone remarked:—

“I know what I should do. I am a very fine fellow, well-built, rather
imposing in appearance. Therefore, I should be a footman, which is a
devilish easy life, nothing to do and plenty to eat and drink.”

Hope-Johnstone told me that he had a younger brother in the Guards, who
had told him that he was not allowed to recognize in London officers of
other regiments whom he had met in the country, unless he were introduced
to them in town, and the same rule applied to civilians whom an officer
of the Guards had met in the country. Hope-Johnstone said he much
preferred life in a Rifle regiment, as he was far more free to do as he
liked, and could obtain more leave than a subaltern in the Guards. He
intended retiring from the Service so soon as he got his company, as he
was very well off.

Allen, whose eccentricities I have mentioned elsewhere, came to Gravesend
with his company, and used to walk about the town with his pockets full
of sweets, which he would give to any pretty children whom he happened to
meet. He brought with him a rather smart dog-cart and some fine horses,
and sometimes took me for a drive, during which he used to entertain me
with an account of the charms of a young flower-girl at Folkestone, whom
he had known since she was quite a child, and whom he intended to marry,
although she was only sixteen and he was forty. He did marry her, in
fact, not long afterwards, when the Colonel insisted on his exchanging
into another battalion, stationed in India. The officers’ wives called
upon her, out of compassion, it would seem, for the miserable life which
she led. For Allen was so fearfully jealous that he even went to the
length of locking the poor girl up in the house whenever he went out. He
was subsequently transferred to another regiment, but his jealousy of his
wife continued down to the time of his death, which occurred soon after
he had been promoted major.

When the musketry-course was over, I returned with my company to Chatham.
One day, I went with Cotton to Southend, and we missed the last train
back. Cotton said that he must get back that night, as he was on duty
next morning, and asked the station-master if he could have a special
train, when that official said that, if we would keep quiet, he would put
us in a luggage-train, which was just on the point of starting. We were
put into a van, which was half-filled with coal, and had anything but a
pleasant journey, as there was nothing but the floor—and the coal—to sit
upon. However, we reached our destination in the early morning, in time
for Cotton to assume his duties as orderly officer.

Cotton told me that once, when stationed at Aldershot, he went up to town
for the day, and missed the last train back. A lieutenant in the Rifle
Brigade, named Crofton, who was in a like predicament, asked Cotton if he
would come with him in a “special,” which he had just ordered, and the
latter, of course, gladly consented. When they were nearing Aldershot,
Crofton said:—

“I will send you your half of the bill for the ‘special’ as soon as I get
it. It will be a matter of forty pounds.”

Cotton, however, did not see the force of this, as he had quite
understood that Crofton, who was a very rich man, had invited him to come
with him. Consequently, he refused to pay any part of the bill.

It was no wonder that Cotton occasionally missed trains, for he was
constantly late for parade, for mess, and, indeed, for everything. One
day, the Colonel, between whom and Cotton there was little love lost,
remarked:—

“Cotton, you are always late; I am sure you will be late for your own
funeral!”

Cotton, who was a grandson of Viscount Combermere, and whose father, the
Hon. Sir C. Stapleton-Cotton, was a general of cavalry, died after the
Zulu War of fever.

Cotton and I often dined together at a small hôtel at Rochester, which,
if I am not mistaken, was the one where Mr. Pickwick stayed on the
night of the ball at Rochester, described by Dickens. Occasionally we
would converse in French, which Cotton spoke well, though, singularly
enough, he had never been in France. At this hôtel, we occasionally met
two officers of the Rifle Brigade, Viscount Bennet, son of the Earl of
Tankerville, and Lord Torphichen, the last-named officer an old Etonian,
who would join us at dinner. Lord Bennet’s mother was a French lady, and
he used to make very clever jokes in French, which, however, lost by
being repeated in English, on account of the _jeu de mots_.

Not long after my return from Gravesend, I was sent with Gunning to
Dover, to go through a final course of instruction there, before sitting
for my lieutenant’s examination, and attached to the 104th Regiment
at the Shaft Barracks. I was allotted a very comfortable room in the
barracks, and Colonel Græme, who was then commanding the 104th, was very
pleasant to me, as was a captain named Hunter, with whom I soon became
very friendly. Our instruction, which was conducted by a Captain Savile,
of the Staff College, occupied most of the morning and part of the
afternoon, but by four o’clock we were generally free. My friends, the
Charltons, were still living in Victoria Park, and naturally I lost no
time in calling upon them. They were very pleased to see me again, and
talked a great deal about poor Dillon, to whom, it appeared, Augusta, the
eldest daughter, had become engaged to be married just before he met with
his fatal accident. Ida, the second girl, who seemed even prettier than
when I had last seen her, told me that she was engaged to a lieutenant in
the 12th Lancers named Beck, a very nice young fellow, who had been with
me at Sandhurst, and whom I had liked very much there.

Mrs. Charlton, as hospitable as ever, told me that I must come to supper
the following Sunday, and bring a friend with me, as I used to do when
poor Dillon was alive. I gladly accepted her invitation, and asked
Gunning to come with me. But he excused himself, explaining that he was
related to the Charltons, but that, owing to some family quarrel, his
parents were not on good terms with them. I then asked a lieutenant of
the 7th Fusiliers, named Foley, who was only too pleased to go. He fell
in love with Augusta at first sight, and he and I used to go every Sunday
evening to supper in Victoria Park.

Foley, who was a nephew of Lord Foley, was a very nice fellow indeed
and a great friend of mine. He was very witty and amusing, and not
infrequently exercised his wit at the expense of Gunning, who, though
he rather fancied himself at repartee, and could more than hold his own
against most people, invariably got the worst of it when he crossed
swords with Foley.

While I was at Dover, a big fancy-dress ball took place at Folkestone,
to which Robartes, of the 11th Hussars, and I went with the Charltons.
It was a very smart affair indeed, a number of people coming down from
London for it, and some of the costumes were very fine. One lady, the
Hon. Mrs. Yorke, whose husband was an officer in the Guards, wore a
Greek peasant girl’s costume, which was much admired. Mrs. Yorke had, I
think, the smallest feet for an Englishwoman that I have ever seen, which
the white trousers she wore enabled her to display to advantage. Mrs.
Charlton wore some magnificent lace, which a lady with whom I danced told
me must be worth at least two or three hundred pounds. When I happened
later in the evening to mention this to Mrs. Charlton, she exclaimed:—

“Two or three hundred! The lace on my dress is worth nearer three
thousand. It is of Charles II.’s time.”

It was nearly four o’clock in the morning before we left the ball-room,
having all enjoyed ourselves thoroughly. Robartes and I were photographed
with the girls a few days later at Dover, they in the fancy dresses they
had worn at the ball, and we in our uniform.

When our examination for the rank of lieutenant took place, Foley and
myself passed very well in the first class and had our commissions
ante-dated two years; Robartes, of the 11th Hussars, and Gunning only
succeeded in getting a “second.” The examination was a very stiff one,
and a major of the 104th remarked that it ought almost to have qualified
us for generals instead of lieutenants.




CHAPTER XXV

    The Oppenheims—St. James’s and Winchester—The Colonel and
    Beauclerk


Shortly after I had passed my lieutenant’s examination, I was sent to
Woolwich, where a detachment of my battalion was to do duty for the
Horse Artillery. The room I was given, which belonged to an officer of
the R.H.A., was a much better one than I had had in other barracks,
and was furnished with some attempt at luxury. In the evening, I dined
at the Royal Artillery mess, where their very fine string band played
an excellent selection of music, under the direction of its Austrian
bandmaster, Ritter von Zauerthal. I was often on guard at Woolwich, which
I found very tiresome, as the guard was turned out at night as well as by
day, and, as my turn to be on guard came round three times a week, it was
pretty stiff work.

While I was at Woolwich, a very smart ball was given at the barracks,
which was highly successful, the great variety of uniforms and the
toilettes of the ladies combining to make an unusually pretty scene, and
an excellent supper being provided. To this ball I invited my old Eton
friend, Jim Doyne, who, seeing all the men in uniform, mistook an officer
who had come in evening dress for a waiter, and asked him to fetch an ice
for a lady. The officer, however, took the mistake in very good part, and
did as he was asked, remarking as he handed the ice to the lady, whom he
happened to know:—

“I am very pleased to make myself useful, and, as I have come in evening
clothes instead of in uniform, I can quite understand your partner taking
me for a waiter.”

During my visit to Vienna, Herr Neuss had given me a letter of
introduction to Frau Oppenheim, the wife of a wealthy wine-merchant in
London, who, before her marriage, when she was known as Louise Epstein,
had been an actress at the Burg Theatre, and had been considered the most
beautiful woman in the Austrian capital. I called upon her and found
her very charming, though few traces of the beauty which had captivated
so many hearts, including, it was said, that of a British Ambassador,
now remained. Her husband, an immensely stout man, invited me to dinner
and gave me a most excellent one, _arrosé_ with his choicest wines.
In return, I invited the Oppenheims to lunch with me at Woolwich, and
asked a lieutenant of my battalion named Featherstone to meet them.
Featherstone, I am afraid, was somewhat disappointed with Madame’s looks,
as he had been expecting to see a much younger woman.

After lunch, which was served in a private room at the mess, Herr
Oppenheim expressed a wish to see the 80-ton gun fired for the first
time, but I told him that it was impossible, as he was a foreigner.
However, he protested that he had lived so many years in England that
he had almost come to look upon himself as an Englishman, and at length
he persuaded me to take him. When the great gun was fired, the worthy
wine-merchant was so alarmed that he staggered backwards, exclaiming:
“_Ach, du lieber Gott!_” And had it not been for a man standing by, who
supported him in his arms, and whom his weight nearly upset, he would
have fallen down.

When I invited a friend to dine with me at the Artillery mess, as I
frequently did, I was obliged to be there to receive him; otherwise, he
would not be admitted. On my inquiring the reason for this rule, I was
told that one evening a man presented himself at the mess, saying that
he had been asked to dine by a certain officer, whose name he gave. The
officer in question did not put in an appearance, and when dinner was
announced, his supposed friend was invited to sit down to table, which he
did. Presently, the attention of one of the mess-waiters was attracted by
the singular behaviour of this individual, who was calmly pocketing as
many spoons and forks as he could lay his hands on, whenever he fancied
that he was unobserved. The mess-waiter reported these proceedings to
the mess-president, and the man was at once given in charge, when it was
discovered that he was a well-known thief. The Artillery mess was a very
large one, from two hundred to three hundred officers sitting down to
table, many of whom brought guests with them. Consequently, they had to
be very careful, as there was always so much silver lying about.

As it was summer, I frequently went up to London by steam-boat, which
was a very pleasant way of making the journey. My companion on these
river-trips was a lieutenant of my battalion, named Ernest Hovell
Thurlow, an exceedingly nice fellow, who wore an eyeglass and appeared to
take life in a very philosophical manner, as he never allowed himself to
be put out by anything. He was a grandson of Lord Thurlow, and his mother
had been a Miss Lethbridge. He was married, but his wife, a very pretty
woman with wavy, golden hair, was staying in town for the season.

After we had been some months at Woolwich, our detachment received orders
to relieve the Grenadier Guards at St. James’s Palace. We detrained at
Waterloo Station and marched to the Palace, in front of which the band
of the Grenadiers was playing while the guard was being mounted. Our
Colonel, who had come up to town expressly for this ceremony, and was
in plain clothes, sent me to tell the Grenadiers’ band to stop playing,
at which the bandmaster, Dan Godfrey, appeared to be rather surprised.
However, he obeyed the order, when the band of our battalion played in
its turn, after which the guard was relieved.

I had a very comfortable room in St. James’s Palace, where I slept while
I was on guard there, and, with the other officers, was made an honorary
member of the Guards’ Club. I found the duties rather fatiguing, as the
sentries to be visited were so far apart. The officers of the Guards
always visited them in hansom-cabs, but Captain Tufton, who was in
command of our detachment, would not allow me this luxury, and I had to
go on foot.

I invited Jim Doyne to dine with me one evening at the Palace. The dinner
was excellent, and was provided free of cost to the officers, though
they had to pay 15s. for each guest. The champagne was very good and
the liqueurs as well, and a bottle of brandy was opened which was of
the year of the Battle of Waterloo. Amongst the guests was a Lieutenant
Childe-Pemberton, who was formerly in our regiment, but was then in the
“Blues.”

After I had been a short time at St. James’s Palace, my battalion was
ordered to the Tower. But the Colonel, who had a good deal of influence
at the War Office, persuaded them to countermand this order and send it
to Winchester instead, where the detachment from St. James’s joined it.

I had very comfortable quarters at Winchester, and life there was very
pleasant, as the country round was very pretty, and we were invited
to all the best houses in the neighbourhood. One of the most pleasant
houses to which I went was that of Lady Frederick. It was a charming old
residence, standing in the midst of beautiful grounds, and Lady Frederick
and her son were most kind and hospitable.

The depôt of the Rifle Brigade was also at Winchester, and the officers,
some of whom were very nice fellows indeed, frequently dined at our mess.
Amongst them was a Lieutenant F. Howard, whose acquaintance I had made on
the troopship returning from India, and whom I was very pleased to meet
again. He told me that he was now married and invited me to dine with
him and his wife. I did so, and had a most pleasant evening, as both the
Howards were very musical, Mrs. Howard having a very good voice, while
her husband was quite an accomplished pianist.

Sir George Nares, the Arctic explorer, was living at Winchester at
the time with his wife and daughters. I made their acquaintance at a
dance, and was often invited to tea at their house, after which I used
to play tennis or croquet with the two girls, both of whom were very
good-looking, or go with them for a country-walk. Sometimes when I
called Sir George Nares would ask me to have a glass of madeira, from one
of the remaining bottles of a case of that wine which had made the voyage
with him. He did not show any traces of the privations which he had
endured in the Arctic; but he was a very quiet man, who did not talk much
and kept a good deal to himself. Not long after I came to Winchester, the
family removed to a house near Surbiton, where they invited me to visit
them. While I was there, the elder daughter met with a very sad accident.
She was running downstairs, when the heel of her shoe caught in a
stair-rod and she fell on her back, injuring her spine so badly that she
died six months later. She was only eighteen. Her younger sister married
a missionary some years later, and went out to South Africa.

Several officers from the 2nd Battalion, with which I had served in
India, were at the depôt, including Surgeon-Major Macnamara, Beauclerk,
Lovett, and a captain named Brownrigg. Brownrigg was a fine-looking man,
though with a tendency to _embonpoint_, and a very nice fellow as well,
but he had an unfortunate weakness for liqueurs. He used to mix two or
three together, and whenever anyone came to see him would invite them to
have “a two-bottle trick” or “a three-bottle trick” with him. Brownrigg
married not long afterwards and left the Service, but died suddenly, six
months later. Probably, the two and three bottle tricks in which he was
so fond of indulging had undermined his health.

It was rarely that the officers went up to town from Winchester, as the
journey was rather too long, and there was plenty of amusement to be
found in and around Winchester. The music at the cathedral had a great
attraction for me, and I was never tired of listening to the magnificent
playing of the organist, Dr. Arnold. I took lessons in composition from
Dr. Arnold, which interested me very much, although Howard declared
that he could not understand anyone wishing to be initiated into the
mysteries of harmony and counterpoint; which, he said, was a kind of
higher mathematics and destroyed the illusion which music produces on
the senses.

The Colonel was his own absolute master at Winchester, as there was no
general there to look after him, and gave himself and his battalion a
rest, the parades being few and far between and the guards easy. Except
for pottering about the mess-room and his work at the orderly-room of
a morning our chief had little to do, and, from want of some better
occupation, made himself more than usually objectionable to such of the
officers as he did not happen to like. Beauclerk, who had been at the
depôt for some time, was transferred to our battalion, at which I was
very pleased, as he was a very nice fellow and a perfect gentleman,
though a little inclined to be conceited. Unfortunately, the Colonel at
once took a dislike to Beauclerk, owing to some jesting remark which the
latter let fall while playing billiards with him, which he considered was
wanting in respect, though any ordinary person would have seen nothing
offensive in it. Next day, the chief appointed him to Robinson’s company,
well knowing that Beauclerk would never tolerate the manner in which
that eccentric personage was in the habit of treating his subalterns,
whom he seldom condescended to address except to find fault with them,
which he did in not the politest of language. Sure enough, one fine day,
Beauclerk complained to the Colonel of the language which “Rabelais” had
used towards him, and when the Colonel refused to listen to him, sent in
his papers, which was, of course, just what our amiable chief wanted him
to do. He was a great loss to the regiment, and his retirement was much
regretted.




CHAPTER XXVI

    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.




CHAPTER XXVII

    Madrid and Cordova—Seville—General von Goeben and the
    Bull-fight—A View from the Alhambra—I rejoin my Regiment


I spent my winter leave in Paris, where I suffered more or less all the
time from rheumatism of the heart, for which I took a good many Turkish
baths, without, however, obtaining much relief. My doctor told me that it
would be unwise to return to Aldershot when my leave was up, and advised
me to spend the rest of the winter in Spain. Accordingly, I went before
a medical board in London, one of the members of which was Surgeon-Major
Clarke, of the Royal Horse Artillery, whom I had known in India, and was
granted three months’ sick leave. I returned to Paris with my father, who
had accompanied me to London, and Lord Henry Paget (afterwards Marquis
of Anglesey), and on the following evening left the Gare d’Orléans for
Madrid.

After two nights and a day in the train, I reached Madrid, which, as it
was carnival time, was very gay. I took a room at the Hôtel de Paris,
and after breakfast called on Doña Queñones de Léon, who lived in a huge
house like a palace, and who received me in a drawing-room, in the centre
of which a small fountain was playing. In the evening, I visited the
Opera, but was not very favourably impressed by, the performance. The
following day, through the good offices of the Marquis de San Carlos, I
was able to visit the Royal Stables and the Armeria, with which I was
quite delighted. Afterwards I walked in the Prado, which was crowded with
carriages, all the occupants of which were masked. Some of the carriages
were drawn by mules, and a few by donkeys. In the evening, I dined with
the Marquis de San Carlos, when I met Doña Queñones de Léon and two
daughters of Queen Christina and a daughter of the Marquis. The next day
I visited the Museum, and then went again to the Prado, where I saw the
King and princesses in an open carriage. The crush was so great that
one could hardly move. After dinner, I visited Señora Queñones de Léon,
with whom I found the Marquis de San Carlos and his sons, and, at their
request, played some airs on the zither.

From Madrid I went to Cordova, where I stayed at the Hôtel Suiza.
Cordova is an interesting town, containing, as it does, so much Moorish
architecture. Some of the streets are so narrow that there is barely room
for two people to walk abreast, and it is infested by hordes of beggars,
mostly children in an almost nude condition. The smallness of their hands
and feet betray their Moorish origin.

After spending a couple of days at Cordova and visiting the Cathedral,
with its pillars of porphyry, I took the train for Seville, where I put
up at the Hôtel des Quatre Nations. At dinner that evening I sat next
to a young man who, I afterwards learned, was a son of the President of
Brazil. As I intended to remain for some time at Seville, I looked out
for a _casa de huespedes_ (boarding-house), which I found in the Plaza
Nueva. The Plaza Nueva is the finest square in Seville, and contains a
great number of orange-trees, which at night and early morning throw out
the most delicious fragrance imaginable. My rooms overlooked the Plaza,
and at times the perfume of the orange-blossoms, which the Spaniards call
“_azahár_,” was so overpowering that one felt almost intoxicated.

The _casa de huespedes_ was kept by three young girls—sisters—of the
name of De Larriva, who told me that they would teach me Spanish.
The youngest, who was called Manuela, was a very pretty brunette of
seventeen, with jet-black hair, beautiful white teeth, and those peculiar
black eyes which are rarely seen except in the South. She it was who
gave me the most instruction, for, though her two sisters spoke French
fairly well, while Manuela spoke no language but her own, she was by far
the prettiest of the trio, and I not unnaturally preferred being taught
by her. She began by telling me the names of the parts of the face, and
gradually taught me to pay all kinds of compliments. By her advice, I
took some lessons, besides, from a professional teacher of the language.

Life at this _casa de huespedes_ was very pleasant, apart from the food,
which, to an English palate, was detestable, for every dish was prepared
with olive-oil, and even the poached eggs tasted of it. The butter was
imported from Holland and the milk condensed. I lived chiefly on oranges,
for I found nearly everything else unpleasant to the taste. We used to
sit down twenty-five to dinner, as a number of Artillery officers from
the garrison were in the habit of dining there.

Among my fellow-guests was an Englishman of seventy, a Mr. Heaviside,
who had come to Seville on purpose to learn to read “Don Quixote” in
the original old Spanish. Manuela used to tease him, by encouraging him
to speak Spanish, of which he knew very little. I often went with him
to a café of an evening to hear the _bandhurria_ played with the piano,
and occasionally I went for a walk with the sisters De Larriva in the
fine gardens of the Paseo, where there were many tropical plants growing
out in the open air, and lemon and orange trees perfumed the atmosphere
deliciously.

An officer whom I knew, Surgeon-Major Orton, happened to be spending
his leave at Seville, and with him I went to visit the Museum, with
its lovely pictures by Murillo, and the Alcazar, with which we were
delighted, the walls being covered with beautiful designs in the style
of the Alhambra. I also visited the Giralda, the view from which is
very fine, the Carridad, where there were many pictures by Murillo and
exquisite wood-carvings by Rollas, and the cathedral, which is one of the
largest in the world.

During the winter the _patio_, or courtyard, of the houses in Seville
is but little used, but when spring comes, people spend a great part of
their time there. When Spaniards get together they invariably dance
with castanet accompaniments. Sometimes they dance the Seguidillas, the
Sevillana, or the Fandango, which is very pretty to watch, as both men
and women dance with so much _élan_. This is very much the custom, even
in aristocratic houses, the looker-on applauding and exclaiming: “_Ollé,
graziosa, muy bien, ollé, ollé!_” when one of the girls attempts some
unusual feat.

One evening I went with some of the people at the boarding-house to the
Calle Trajano to see the dancing there. An exceedingly pretty little
girl, of ten or eleven, though she appeared much older, with black hair,
dressed like a Spanish woman, with a number of curls round the face,
danced with a man dancer the “_torrero y la Malagueña_.” In which dance
she displayed all the marvellous art of a _première danseuse_, dancing on
her points and executing the most difficult _entrechats_, _battements_
and _pas de chat_, which would have done credit to a dancer double her
age. Then, suddenly, she darted across the room, with her handkerchief
in her hand, and before I had time to realize what had happened she had
thrown the handkerchief into my lap and rushed away again. Somewhat
embarrassed, I inquired of those sitting near me what I was supposed to
do, and was told that I was expected to put some money into it, and that
the little _danseuse_ would come and fetch it. After the performance, I
spoke to the little girl, who told me that her name was Salud, and asked
me to come and see her. I went the following day, when she danced for me
and gave me her photograph. Afterwards, I often went to the Calle Trajano
of an evening, where I sometimes danced with the Spanish girls, and on
one occasion danced a polka-mazurka with Salud.

During Holy Week and the “Feria,” which followed it, Seville was crowded
with visitors, and the prices at the hôtels and _casas de huespedes_
were all increased. Among the visitors who came to my boarding-house
was General von Goeben, who commanded a division of the German Army in
the Franco-German War of 1870, and after whom the notorious battleship
of Dardanelles fame was named, and the Marquis de Rampa, an immensely
wealthy Spanish nobleman, and his daughter. I sat next to the daughter,
who was quite a young girl, at table, and was obliged to make what play I
could with my Spanish, as she spoke no other language.

The processions which took place day and night during Holy Week were very
imposing. Images of the Virgin Mary figured in all of them. The trains of
the dresses, which were of immense length and generally of blue or violet
velvet, must have cost thousands of pounds, as they were most exquisitely
embroidered with gold and silver lace, diamonds, rubies, emeralds and
pearls. They were carried by young girls. On Palm Sunday, the people
who took part in the procession were dressed in black, with their faces
covered, and palm-branches in their hands. On Holy Thursday, I went to
the Cathedral to see the Archbishop of Seville wash the feet of the poor.
There was a tremendous crush, and Baron von Münchhausen, a Bavarian
nobleman, who was with me, had his gold watch stolen.

The “Feria” was a very pretty sight. All the principal families in
Seville took part in it, each having a separate tent, in which they
entertained their friends and sold various objects, somewhat after the
fashion of our charity bazaars. In some of these tents the saleswomen
were young girls, gorgeously dressed in red and yellow satin embroidered
with white lace and wearing white lace mantillas. To most of the tents
you had to receive an invitation before you were allowed to enter, when
you were offered chocolate or coffee, and, in those belonging to rich
families, champagne and other wines, the buffets being laid out with a
great display of silver plate and flowers. In the evening, the different
families visited each other’s tents, and the dancing of Fandangos,
Boleros and Seguidillas was kept up until past midnight.

The Carrerras de Caballos (Horse Show) was held in another part of the
grounds. Here I met Lord Torphichen, of the Rifle Brigade, who had come
from Gibraltar, where his battalion was stationed. He was very surprised
to see me, as few British officers ever visited Seville.

One of the chief attractions of the “Feria” was the bull-fight, to
which all the ladies of Seville went, wearing white mantillas and their
choicest jewels. I went with Baron von Münchhausen and General von
Goeben. But the latter took his departure very early, observing that,
though he had seen a great deal of bloodshed during the Franco-German
War, he felt quite faint and could not possibly stand any more of such
a disgusting spectacle. On my return to the boarding-house, Manuela
inquired if I had not been delighted with the bull-fight, saying that
it was the grandest sight in Spain and that nothing gave her so much
pleasure. I told her that I thought it very cruel to the unfortunate
horses, when she rejoined that, “they were old screws and no longer of
any use.” I remarked that that did not prevent them suffering, upon which
she said that hunting was equally cruel, and that it was a matter of
prejudice and nothing else.

“Besides,” added she, “racing is cruel on the horses, some people say.”

After that I saw that it was useless to pursue the argument further.

During the “Feria,” the ladies of Seville dressed in colours, but at
other times most women and girls wore black. There were some very pretty
women in Seville, but the beauties were generally to be found among the
lower classes, most of whom have Moorish blood in their veins, which
gives them a darker complexion, but also smaller features and very tiny
hands and feet. Théophile Gautier observes that there is nothing more
charming than the foot of an Andalusian woman, which makes even that of a
Frenchwoman appear large.

During my stay at Seville, I paid a visit to Cadiz. The approach to
Cadiz is perfectly lovely and has often been compared to the approach to
Constantinople. Seen from a distance, the town appears to be built of the
most exquisitely white marble; while the sea, which seems to surround
it, is of a beautiful sapphire, which rivals in loveliness the heavens
above, though, as it was early morning, the colour of the sky was more
like that of the turquoise. This illusion is destroyed, however, when one
enters Cadiz, as many of the houses are very far from being of the snowy
whiteness which distance had lent to them.

At Cadiz, where I put up at the Hôtel des Quatre Nations, I came across
a Mr. Rueff, whom I had met at Cordova, and in his company explored
the town and visited several of the churches, where Mr. Rueff was
much interested in the wood-carving, some of which was of exquisite
workmanship. The day before returning to Seville, I went with Mr. Rueff
by rail to Jerez, where we visited the wine cellars of Señor Misa, who
supplied my own and most of the best regiments in England with wine.
Señor Misa invited us to taste some of his best wines, including one
which was bottled in the year of the Battle of Waterloo. He told us that
it was sold at £3 the bottle, but it never left the country.

Mr. Rueff accompanied me back to Seville, and together we visited the
Fondacion, where the cannons are made, and the Casa de Pilatus, the
supposed house of Pontius Pilate. A few days later, I paid a visit to
Granada, where the red hills and grey rocks and the elm trees with
their massive foliage formed an agreeable contrast to the flat and
barren country around Seville. On entering the Alhambra, I was fortunate
enough to make the acquaintance of two English ladies, one of whom was
married to a Portuguese nobleman and lived in the Alhambra. These ladies
very kindly volunteered to show me all over the Alhambra and explain
everything to me, an offer which I gladly accepted. The Alhambra reminded
me to some extent of the Alcazar at Seville, as it is built in the same
style of Moorish architecture, though on a much larger and grander scale.
The Court of Lions and the adjacent rooms are exquisitely constructed,
and the marvellous decoration of the walls, with their blending of
colours and intricate designs, impart a magnificence to the “_tout
ensemble_” almost impossible to describe.

One of the most exquisite views I can remember, I had when the sun was
setting from one of the windows of the Alhambra, from which I could see
the mountains of the Sierra Nevada, with their summits covered in snow.
The colours which the sun’s declining rays imparted to the clouds were of
all the various shades of the opal, making some of the tiny clouds appear
like roses in the heavens, and the heavens themselves as though on fire.
Then gradually the colours became more subdued, and every shade melted
away, from the deepest red to the most delicate violet, leaving here
and there a bunch of roses, which resembled in their pale _nuance_ the
Souvenir à la Malmaison or Blanche Laffitte. This was the effect of the
after-glow.

The next day, the two ladies took me to see the Cartuja and the
Cathedral, and on the following afternoon I went with them for a drive
into the country, during which I had a splendid view of the Sierra
Nevada. After dinner, I went again to the Alhambra to take leave of my
kind friends, and heard the nightingales sing as I had never heard before
or since in my life.

Early next morning I left Granada for Seville. At a lonely spot beyond
Antequeria the train came to a stop, owing to the line being blocked by
a broken-down engine, and we were told that it might be some time before
we should be able to proceed. Many of the passengers appeared greatly
alarmed, and, on inquiring the reason, I was informed that this part of
the country was infested by brigands, who might at any moment come down
upon us. However, we saw nothing of these gentry, and at the end of a
couple of hours the engine which barred our way was got off the rails,
and we continued our journey.

Towards the end of April, the weather became intolerably hot at
Seville, and I reluctantly decided to bring my stay there to a close. I
accordingly bade farewell to Manuela and my other friends at the _casa
de huespedes_ and took the train for Madrid, where I again put up at the
Hôtel de Paris. I stayed for some days at Madrid, visited two or three of
the principal theatres and dined with Doña Queñones de Léon, the Marquis
de San Carlos, and other people whom I knew. I also went several times to
the Museum, where I made the acquaintance of a Señorita Hélène de España,
a wonderfully pretty girl of seventeen, who was engaged in copying a
painting by Van Dyck. This Señorita Hélène de España was a blonde with
blue eyes and fair hair, a type of beauty not often met with in Spain,
but it appeared that she was of English descent on her mother’s side,
though she could not speak English. She seemed to be a young lady of a
rather romantic temperament, for, after a very short acquaintance, she
told me that I might serenade her by night beneath her window. But I did
not avail myself of this permission, which I often regretted since not
having done.

Before leaving Madrid, I spent a day at Toledo, where, under the wing of
a guide, I visited the Cathedral of San Juan de los Reyes, the Jewish
synagogue, and the royal manufactory of steel weapons. This manufactory
is one of the best in Europe, and the way in which the upper part of
the blades of the swords and daggers made here is inlaid in gold and
silver gives them a very costly as well as a very charming appearance.
Some of the weapons were for sale, and I purchased a very fine dagger,
beautifully inlaid with gold arabesque designs. These daggers are of so
fine a steel that they will easily pierce a silver coin without breaking.
Toledo is one of the oldest towns in Spain, and the last place in which
the Jews were allowed to reside before they were banished from Spain.
This accounts for its inhabitants having a Jewish cast of countenance.

I arrived in Paris on my birthday, May 5th. The Exhibition had now begun,
and I visited it on several occasions with my father and other friends. I
was much interested in the prize zithers sent by Anton Kiendl of Vienna,
which were truly beautiful instruments, and very delighted with the
playing of a Hungarian gipsy band in the Austro-Hungarian section of the
Exhibition. At the Grand Opéra I heard _l’Africaine_ for the second time,
and also went to the Théâtre de la Renaissance to see _le Petit Duc_, in
which Mlle. Granier and Emil Meyer sang, and to the “Français,” where
I saw Got, Coquelin and Mlles. Reichemberg, Agar and Croizette in _les
Fourchambault_. I attended a race-meeting at Longchamps with my father,
where we met the Hon. Albert Bingham and Howard Vyse, who returned with
us to Paris, and in the evening we went to Musard’s Concert, at which the
Prince of Wales was present. Altogether, I had a very pleasant time, but
my three months’ sick leave was now on the point of expiring, and I was
obliged to return to England to rejoin my regiment.




CHAPTER XXVIII

    I meet Byron Again—I endeavour to Exchange—Basil Montgomery—My
    Illness—Why I was not Placed on Half-pay


My Colonel appeared anything but pleased at my return. He had, it seems,
been hopeful that my application for sick leave was but a preliminary
step to my resigning my commission, when he had intended to replace me
by a friend of his from the 4th Battalion; and was, therefore, naturally
disappointed at my reappearance upon the scene.

_À propos_ of colonels and the way in which they treated officers to whom
they happened to have taken a dislike, there was, just about this time, a
great scandal in another battalion of my regiment.

Among the subalterns of this battalion was a certain Lieutenant Gilbert,
who was very popular with his brother-officers; but his Colonel, who was
a terrible martinet, persecuted him to a shameful degree and lost no
opportunity of making his life a burden to him. One day, during a parade
in which this officer was right guide of his company, the Colonel bullied
him in a way which disgusted everyone. Suddenly, after being sworn at
in the most disgraceful manner, the poor young fellow, his powers of
self-control exhausted, threw down his sword. The Colonel at once ordered
the Adjutant to place him under arrest, and he was subsequently tried by
court-martial, found guilty of insubordination on parade and cashiered.
At the same time, the Colonel was told that he must retire from the
Service at once. It was said that, had Gilbert not thrown down his
sword, matters would have turned out very differently, for the Colonel
had behaved so outrageously that he would have been cashiered himself,
that is to say, if anyone had had the courage to bring his conduct to
the notice of his superiors; and, as the battalion was on the point of
mutiny, this would probably have been done.

The 2nd Battalion, 10th Regiment, to the command of which my friend
Byron had recently succeeded, had just arrived at Aldershot, and I was
naturally delighted to see him again. He invited me to dine at the 10th’s
mess, where I spent a most pleasant evening. During dinner, Byron said:—

“You were very foolish to leave us. If you had stayed, as you may
remember I advised you to do, you would have had me for your C.O., and
would have had a very easy time of it, and have been able to do as you
pleased.”

He added that, in his opinion, there was no comparison between the two
Rifle regiments, so far as the social position of officers serving in
them was concerned, and that, from what he had heard, as his brother was
a major in my regiment, but in a different battalion (He later commanded
the 2nd Battalion), I was not only in the inferior regiment, but in its
worst battalion, commanded by a chief about whom few people seemed to
have a good word to say.

All this was only too true, and I could only reply that, had I been able
to see a little into the future, I would certainly have remained with the
10th Regiment. It was unfortunate, too, my not being able to remain with
the 2nd Battalion of the Rifles in India, as I liked them all very much.

In May, the German Crown Prince, who was on a visit to England, came down
to Aldershot to inspect the troops. We could well have dispensed with
the honour he did us, as it was a pouring wet day and bitterly cold,
and by the time we got back to camp we were drenched to the skin. This
experience, as may be supposed, did not do me any good, although I felt
no ill effects at the time.

I was in town a good deal during the season, and went several times
to the Opera, where I heard Patti in _Il Barbiere de Seviglia_, _Don
Giovanni_, _Aïda_ and _Semiramide_, Albani in _Atala_, the Spanish tenor
Gayarré in _Lucrezia Borgia_ and Jean de Reszke in _les Huguenots_.
Early in July, my father came over to England, and I went with him to the
Eton and Harrow match at Lord’s, where we lunched on Tom Hohler’s drag.
Jim Doyne was in town, and I saw a good deal of him, and we often lunched
and dined together. In fact, on my visits to London I generally contrived
to have a very good time; but at Aldershot things were not so pleasant,
and matters came to a head on the day my battalion was inspected by
Brigadier-General Anderson.

The inspection passed off pretty satisfactorily. Each officer in
succession was called up by the Brigadier and told to put his men through
certain movements. The Brigadier found fault with two of the officers,
and complained about them to the Colonel, who, however, assured him that
on ordinary occasions their work was quite satisfactory. I was now in
command of Allen’s company, and when my turn came, I had no difficulty
in performing all the requisite movements, and was complimented by the
Brigadier, who then turned to the Colonel and remarked:—

“I can find no fault with this officer; he knows his work better than
some of the others.”

“I don’t know how it is, Sir,” replied the Chief, with difficulty
concealing his annoyance, “but to-day he seems smarter than usual.”

The Colonel, it appeared, had made a very bad report on me to the
General, which would have been sent to the War Office if the latter had
confirmed it; but this the Brigadier told him he was quite unable to do.
The Colonel then said that it was in looking after my company that I
was deficient, to which his superior replied that he would see into the
matter and send for us both in a day or two.

I had written to General Sir John Douglas, K.C.B., who commanded the
Forces in Scotland, and had married a daughter of Earl Cathcart,
complaining of my Chief’s treatment of me; and Sir John had written to
Brigadier-General Anderson about me. It was owing to this that the latter
watched me so carefully, in order to see if I were really so ignorant of
my work as my Chief had represented, and, having satisfied himself to
the contrary, he had decided to investigate my case further.

However, the Colonel, having got rid of Beauclerk and Allen, had now made
up his mind to get rid of me also. Accordingly, he sent Major Northey to
advise me to exchange into another battalion, as he was determined that
I should not remain in his. The Major said that it was no good my trying
to resist so obstinate a man as the Chief, and named an officer whom
the Colonel was anxious to have in his battalion, who would probably be
willing to exchange with me.

“You know what he is when he has once taken a dislike to anyone,” he
added. “Remember Beauclerk’s case. If you will take my advice, you will
communicate with the officer I have mentioned at once.”

I said that I would do as Major Northey advised, and wrote to the officer
in question, who replied that, as he was short of money, he would only
exchange in consideration of my paying him the sum of £300. He pointed
out that his battalion was remaining in England, while mine would shortly
be going on foreign service, and perhaps even on active service.

I may mention that some time before this I had been told by my cousin,
Emily Cathcart, that I had a very good chance of being chosen as private
secretary to the Duke of Argyll, who was then Governor of Canada; but
eventually a relative of his was offered the post.

The Colonel, in the belief that I was about to exchange, now became quite
amiable towards me. At times he would send Wilkinson, the Adjutant, to
ascertain how matters were progressing, and I was not a little amused by
the way in which Wilkinson, who did not wish me to suspect the object of
his visit, would lead up to the subject.

The eccentricities of our Chief at this time caused the whole battalion
great annoyance. It was an unusually hot summer, and he used to inspect
us of a morning wearing mufti and holding a huge white umbrella over
his head, a precaution which he explained by saying that he had had
a touch of sun whilst serving in India. If this were really the
case, it probably accounted for his constant outbursts of temper. At
these inspections, he was accustomed to display the most exasperating
solicitude about the men’s uniform, inspecting each man separately, and
fingering every button to ascertain whether it were loose or not. This
sort of thing, which could, of course, have been very well undertaken by
the company commanders in barracks, instead of by the C.O. on parade,
under a broiling sun, used sometimes to occupy hours, and was naturally
very trying indeed to everyone.

One morning, towards the end of July, I was playing at single-stick with
Holled-Smith, when I received rather a severe hit on the side, which made
me feel so ill that I went to bed and sent for our surgeon, who told me
that my liver, from which I had suffered so much in India, was affected.
He made me remain in bed for several days, at the end of which I was well
enough to return to duty.

A day or two later, I was told by the Adjutant that I had to go with him
to Brigadier-General Anderson, and that the Colonel would be there. The
General asked me several questions on military matters, all of which I
answered correctly, and then requested the Colonel to tell him in what he
found fault with me.

“I find that he does not pay sufficient attention to his duty,” answered
my Chief.

“But,” observed the General, “you said first of all that he does not know
his work, which I find not to be the case. Now you say that he does not
pay sufficient attention to his duty; but I have inspected his company,
and I do not find it in any way less well looked after than the other
companies in your battalion. I really cannot agree with you in your
opinion, and must make notes upon the report you have forwarded to me.”

The General then dismissed us, and I returned to my quarters, very
relieved at the result of the interview.

The other officers were naturally very anxious to know what had happened,
and, when I told them, all advised me to remain in the battalion, and
not to exchange, saying that the Chief had shown himself to be in the
wrong, and that the General, who was a first-rate officer, must have seen
at once that it was nothing but spite on his part, for which he would no
doubt severely reprimand him. Captain de Robeck, whose advice was nearly
always worth following, said to me:—

“If you exchange, it will cost you £300, and I don’t think it is worth
it. I should brave it out, were I in your place.”

The other officers told me the same, and declared that it would show
great weakness on my part if I left the battalion.

As events turned out, I had no option in the matter, since my father,
to whom I had written asking for the £300 I required to purchase my
exchange, could not see his way just then to let me have the money, as
he had been so robbed by a lawyer, a trustee. And so I had to “brave it
out,” _bon gré, mal gré_, and to derive what consolation I might from
the reflection that, after what had happened, I should probably have an
easier time of it, and should no longer have to endure all the extra
parades which the Chief had been in the habit of inflicting upon me.

Vain illusion! So far from being allowed a rest, I found that I had, if
possible, more to do than ever, the Adjutant having apparently received
orders from the Chief to give me all the extra work he could possibly
find for me to do. And, even without these extra parades, the work in the
hottest weeks of an exceptionally hot summer would have been quite heavy
enough. Thorne, an old Etonian, an excellent young man, one of the nicest
lieutenants in the regiment, advised me to ask for a Court of Inquiry,
which he felt sure the General would approve of, and would very likely
ask for himself, without my applying for one.

One night, Basil Montgomery, who had been in the 2nd Battalion with me in
India, dined at our mess. He told me that he was on the point of going
out to India again, as private secretary to his brother-in-law, the Duke
of Buckingham, who was Governor of Madras. He added that he disliked
India, and would prefer to be a crossing-sweeper in England than a
prince out there, but that he was obliged to accept the post that had
been offered him. However, he only remained about six months in India,
as he did not hit it off with the Duke, who was a very difficult person
indeed to get on with.

Towards the end of the season (through my cousin, Miss Anne Cathcart),
I was asked by Herr Schultz, from whom the Princess of Wales was then
taking lessons on the zither, to play at a concert which was to be given
shortly at Marlborough House. I willingly consented and went up to town
several times to practise for the concert, which, unhappily, I was to be
prevented from taking part in.

For some time I had again been suffering from rheumatism, which affected
my heart. I consulted Sir William Jenner, who warned me not to exert
myself too much. But this advice I was unable to follow, as though the
regimental surgeon made an application to the Chief for me to be excused
some of the parades, it was at once refused.

One intensely hot day, we were kept on parade for a long while with
nothing but our forage-caps to protect us from the scorching sun.
Suddenly, I experienced the most excruciating pains in the head, and felt
as if everything about me was turning round. This giddiness soon passed,
but on coming off parade I felt very unwell. However, as I was orderly
officer of the day, I performed everything that was required of me.

That evening at mess, where I was acting as vice-president, I suddenly
turned to the officer on my left, one of the senior lieutenants, Thorne,
and said:—

“I have lost the use of my right hand and foot!”

Thorne poured me out some brandy and told me to drink it off, but on
trying afterwards to rise from my seat, I fell down. Thorne and another
officer assisted me to my quarters, where, remembering that I had to turn
out the guard, I tried to buckle on my sword, only to fall again. They
then put me to bed, and sent for Surgeon Comerford, who at once declared
that I was suffering from sunstroke. My father was telegraphed for, and,
on his arrival, asked Surgeon-Major McCormack to visit me. The latter
took so serious a view of the case, saying that I had but a few hours to
live, that my father lost no time in calling in a London specialist, who
said that my heart was in a bad way and that I must have had a sunstroke
on parade. When I grew a little better, my father wished to take me to
Paris, but the London doctor advised my not being moved for several weeks.

The Colonel, who was perhaps experiencing some twinges of remorse for the
manner in which he had treated me, came to visit me and was very kind,
sending me fruit and game. He had, however, previously dispatched Gunning
to ascertain if I intended to resign my commission, as, in the event of
my being placed on half-pay, the Colonel said the battalion might have a
year or two to wait for my place to be filled up, and we were very short
of officers. Besides this, Gunning was anxious himself to obtain my step
in promotion, though he did not say so on this occasion.

I had several visitors while I was confined to my quarters, apart from
my brother-officers. One day, Mrs. William Adair and her daughter came
to see me, and were very surprised at finding me so ill, as only a few
days before I had walked over from Aldershot to spend the day at their
house at Whiteways End, a distance of six miles. Mrs. Adair, who was a
grand-daughter of the Duke of Roxburghe, was considered one of the most
beautiful women in England. Her daughter, who was then sixteen, was also
extremely pretty, though of a very different type of beauty from her
mother, being very fair. Mrs. Wellesley sent her little son “Cissy” to
cheer me up several times, in which task he was very successful, as he
was always most pleasant company.

It was some weeks before I was able to leave Aldershot, as I had almost
entirely lost the use of my right arm and leg. The Colonel wanted me
to be examined there by a Medical Board, consisting of Surgeon-Major
McCormack and Surgeon Comerford, and, though several officers in my
regiment advised me to have the Board held in London, he got his way in
the matter. No one was supposed to know the result of the Board until it
had been approved of by the War Office.

So soon as I was well enough to stand the journey, I went up to London,
accompanied by my father and my soldier-servant, Spearing. On the advice
of Dr. Russell-Reynolds, my father took me to Paris to consult Professor
Charcot and Dr. Brown-Séquard, who at first held out some hopes of my
recovery. The War Office had granted me three months’ leave, and, when
it expired, as I had not recovered the use of my limbs, they refused to
place me on half-pay, and on the 1st of January 1879, I was obliged to
resign my commission. The reason they gave was that the Medical Board at
Aldershot had stated that my illness was not caused in and by the Service.

The Earl of Berkeley, who wrote my letter of resignation from Paris for
me, as I was unable to do so myself, said in this:—

    “_In conformity with the instructions I received from the
    War Office, I have forwarded my resignation to the officer
    in command of my battalion. I had ventured to hope that a
    certificate I forwarded to the Colonel of the regiment from one
    of the most eminent consulting physicians in Paris, stating
    that my illness was the result of sunstroke, might have pleaded
    my cause with H.R.H. the Commander-in-Chief. I have another
    certificate which I have not under the circumstances taken the
    liberty of forwarding to you, but I would gladly do so, if I
    thought my case might be pleaded with H.R.H._”

A further letter, also written for me by Lord Berkeley, was sent to my
Colonel:—

    “_Although I have the opinion of the most eminent physicians
    that my unfortunate illness was the result of sunstroke
    sustained when on duty, I yield to the decision of the
    Field-Marshal Commander-in-Chief, and hereby tender my
    resignation of H.M. Service._”

General Sir John Douglas, then commanding the Forces in Scotland, wrote
to me:

    “_I have found out, through General Taylor (79th Highlanders),
    at the War Office, that it is through your Colonel’s influence
    that they have refused to place you on half-pay, and it is
    quite impossible to overcome this influence._”

A year or two afterwards, I happened to meet Surgeon Comerford in
London, when I reproached him for not mentioning my sunstroke at the
Medical Board at Aldershot. He assured me that he was prepared to swear
on the Bible that he had done so, adding that my Colonel could not have
forwarded his report correctly to the War Office, or else I should have
been placed on half-pay. He had fully expected that I should have been,
and was surprised that such was not the case.

I may here mention that there were only two medical officers on the
Board: Surgeon-Major McCormack and Surgeon Comerford. The former had only
seen me once before in his life, so I presume the report must have been
written by Surgeon Comerford; but, as I have never seen the report, I
cannot be quite certain.

Captain Howard Vyse, late of the “Blues,” said to me in Paris, when I
showed him a letter which I had received from the War Office:—

“Thank God! such a thing could not happen with the Household troops. The
officers would not allow it either. To lose one’s health in the Service,
and then to receive no compensation whatever! I never heard of such a
case; it is simply disgraceful!”

In recent years—in 1909—several officers who had served with me,
including my Colonel, the late General Sir W. Leigh-Pemberton, forwarded
letters to the War Office, stating that they remembered my sunstroke at
Aldershot as being the cause of my paralysis,[26] and I forwarded medical
certificates to prove that my paralysis was the result of sunstroke while
on duty there. The reply received by General Sir H. Geary, K.C.B., was
that the Army Council had made an inquiry, and that “no evidence can be
traced to show that he sustained a sunstroke while on duty at Aldershot
in August, 1878. In any case, it would seem practically impossible to
prove that his present disability was the outcome of illness contracted
in and by the Service more than thirty years ago. Not only the absence
of confirmatory records, but the whole procedure at the time is out of
keeping with the theory that his resignation was due to illness caused by
military duty.”

Sir William Gull, under whose treatment I was for some years, in the
early eighties, told me that my paralysis was caused by embolism, owing
to the sunstroke at Aldershot in 1878, adding that he had a very bad
opinion of Army doctors in general, who were constantly making dreadful
mistakes, and indeed, were no better than the doctors mentioned by Lesage
in _Gil Blas_.

In 1918, Field-Marshal Lord Grenfell, who was formerly in the 1st
Battalion of my old regiment, had great hopes of obtaining a pension or
retired pay for me from the War Office, but so far his most kind efforts
on my behalf have been fruitless. It would appear that philosophy is not
at all studied at the War Office, for they persist in maintaining that it
is possible for the same thing to be and not to be, which is contrary to
the ideas of the most abstruse philosophers. With regard to the Ministry
of Pensions (whose Secretary is Sir Matthew Nathan), above its portals
ought to be written “Lasciate ogni Speranza.” It is to be hoped that with
Mr. Winston Churchill, the author of “Savrola,” as Secretary of State for
War, some ideas of justice may be imparted to both of them. I hope so,
not only for my own sake, but for that of the whole Army.


THE END




FOOTNOTES


[1] I heard from the late Lady Ritchie, Thackeray’s daughter, some little
time before her death. She was kind enough to be interested in this book,
but told me that she was a young girl when her father was at Homburg
and had scarcely any recollection of those days. My father used often
to observe that Thackeray was one of the most charming and amusing men
he ever knew, and seemed surprised when I told him that I remembered so
little of him at Homburg, saying that he was nearly always with us at the
Kursaal or in the grounds of the Kurhaus and was exceedingly fond of me.

[2] Henry Greville writes in his diary, under date October 12th, 1846:
“Came to Worsley with Slade, found here party assembled to meet the
Duchess of Gloucester. Lady Caroline Murray was in attendance on the
Duchess, who is the most amiable and least troublesome Princess it is
possible to see.”

One day a very nervous lady called on the Duchess of Gloucester, a
daughter of George III., and remained a long time, being under the
impression that Her Royal Highness would give the signal when she wished
her to withdraw, and fearing to commit a breach of etiquette if she rose
before the duchess. However, after a very long time, Her Royal Highness
rose and left the room, upon which the lady retired. The latter was in
great distress when she was subsequently told of the mistake she had
made. This incident was related to me by my mother, who was acquainted
with the lady at the time.

I may perhaps mention here an incident about Queen Adelaide, wife
of William IV., who had a very slight acquaintance with the English
language. One of the first sentences she learned by heart was: “How are
you off for soap?” Her Majesty was so pleased at being able to speak
a little English that she asked this question of every lady whom she
happened to address, smiling amiably the while. Some of them were rather
astounded, but there was a certain fascination in this phrase which took
Her Majesty’s fancy, and it may be that the look of surprise on the faces
of some of the old dowagers added to her delight and made her repeat it
all the more. This anecdote was told me by a lady who had known Queen
Adelaide personally and was often with her.

[3] In after years, at Aldershot, I knew the late General Lord C——,
son of the above mentioned Lady C——, very well. Once, at a concert, I
played a piece of music on the zither, for which I received an encore,
but a string of the instrument having broken, had to be replaced before
I could take it. Lord C—— was kind enough to make a short speech for me
and explain to the large audience what had happened, as I did not feel
equal to doing so myself. He was a most kind and affable man and a good
general, though the War Office, with their usual _manque de tact_, blamed
him in the Zulu War for the faults of others as well, whose errors they
wished to conceal. But, as General von Goeben, the celebrated Prussian
general of division in the Franco-German War of 1870, said to me at
Seville, where I lived in the same _casa de huespedes_ with him for some
weeks, _à propos_ of an affair of another kind: “What can you expect from
a Secretary of State for War, who is a civilian. You might just as well
have an old washerwoman (_Wäscherin_) at the head of your War Office. She
might perhaps even be more useful.”

[4] Count Perponcher always selected the ballet dancers for the Opera in
Berlin. Many years ago I made the acquaintance at Milan of a lovely, fair
Polish girl, Marie Urbanska by name, who was studying dancing there, and
danced occasionally in the ballet at La Scala. She was then sixteen, and
during her stay at Milan, all her expenses were paid by Count Perponcher.
The Emperor William always called her “the little Countess” (_die Kleine
Gräfin_), as her father was a Polish count, and she was still second
_danseuse_ at the Berlin Opera twelve years ago. One night, as she was
ascending the stairs at the Villa Manzoni, where I too was staying, she
was seized and gagged and conveyed to the house of a gentleman, who told
her that he was in love with her. But she insisted on leaving the house,
which he allowed her to do. The man in question, who was a German, was
obliged to leave Milan, in consequence of this affair, which, however,
was hushed up, as he came of a well-known family in Germany.

[5] The late Baron Ferdinand de Rothschild told a young English girl of
sixteen whom I knew that, if he could by some means regain his youth,
like Faust in Goethe’s play, and be the same age as she was, he would
willingly give up his entire fortune. He was then about fifty-four years
of age. When the young lady in question repeated this to a late member
of the Turf Club in my presence, the latter observed: “Ferdy must have
set a high value on his youth, for I asked him to let me have £200 lately
for a common friend who was at school with us and is now ruined, which he
refused to do. Consequently, I have quarrelled with him for ever.”

[6] _À propos_ of Napoleon, it is strange how great was his fondness for
music. A person whose voice flattered his ear rarely displeased him.
But, if a name had a harsh sound, he muttered it between his teeth, and
never uttered it aloud. Grillparzer says of Napoleon: “Er war zu gross,
weil seine Zeit zu klein.” (“He was too great, because the age in which
he lived was too little.”) Napoleon imagined that he would have made
Corneille a prince if he had lived in his time, but it is more likely
that he would have imprisoned him for life.

[7] The late Henry Labouchere’s grandfather was, as a young man, a clerk
in a bank in Somersetshire, and in receipt of a salary of about £80 a
year, when he fell in love with Sir Francis Baring’s daughter. As, in
ordinary circumstances, he had not the smallest chance of obtaining the
consent of the lady’s father, he conceived the following ingenious plan
of overcoming the difficulty.

Presenting himself before the senior partner of the bank in which he was
employed, he inquired whether it would be possible for him to become
a partner forthwith. The banker burst out laughing. “What, you!” he
exclaimed. “Why, you are only a junior clerk. How can you ever think of
such a thing? The idea is simply ridiculous.” “But supposing,” rejoined
Labouchere, with perfect aplomb, “that I had already received the consent
of Sir Francis Baring to marry his daughter?” “Oh, that alters the case
entirely. If what you say is true, then you could, of course, easily
become a partner.” Labouchere then approached Sir Francis Baring and
asked him for his daughter’s hand. That important personage was even
more indignant at the young man’s presumption than the banker had been,
and told him what he thought of it very plainly. “But supposing,” said
Labouchere, not a whit disconcerted, “that I am not what you think I
am, but a partner of the bank.” The baronet’s manner changed. “If,” he
answered, “you are a partner of the bank, as you tell me, I will talk
the matter over with my daughter.” In the result, Labouchere married
Sir Francis Baring’s daughter and became, at the same time, a partner
in the Somersetshire bank. His son was created Lord Taunton, and Henry
Labouchere would have been heir to the title, but, as it was only a life
peerage, it did not descend to him. This anecdote was related to me by an
uncle of mine by marriage, who was Clerk of the Peace for the county of
Somerset. I have heard it also related by others.

[8] Desseins Hôtel has been demolished in recent years. It was a most
luxurious hôtel, and is mentioned in the works of Sterne, Thackeray and
Dickens.

[9] Godfrey Astell told me a rather amusing story about himself when I
was in the regiment with him. He had been invited to shoot over a large
estate in Scotland, and one of the gamekeepers looked particularly well
after him all day, pointing out where the best beats and coverts were,
and exclaiming every time a pheasant rose: “Godfrey, now’s your chance!”
It subsequently transpired that the man, on hearing Astell called Godfrey
by his friends, was under the impression that this was some high title he
possessed, having no idea that it was only his Christian name.

[10] I had a letter before the war from Mr. Winston Churchill, Lord
Randolph’s son, in answer to one in which I had told him that, in certain
respects, he reminded me of Mirabeau, and that I was convinced that he
would become Prime Minister before very long.

[11] I heard from Lord Willoughby de Broke, the son of the one mentioned
here, some years ago. He was then _en route_ for the Caucasus, and he
told me that he had read my book on Paris and Vienna with pleasure and
interest, though he was not aware at the time by whom it was written. He
is one of the most energetic members of the House of Lords, and it is to
be hoped that he will do everything in his power to recover for it its
lost prestige.

[12] Grillparzer says that it has often struck him that Shakespeare took
some of his ideas from Lope de Vega’s plays. Shakespeare’s Miranda, he
says, could be compared with the character it resembles in _Los tres
diamantes_, and the love-scenes in the latter are quite on a par with
those in “Romeo and Juliet.” The plot of “The Merry Wives of Windsor”
is similar to that of _Los ferias de Madrid_. As for _Los pleitos de
Inglaterra_, he regards this play as incomparable, and the love-scenes
in “Romeo and Juliet” appear almost to pale in comparison. “I wish,” he
continues, “Lessing had known Calderon and Lope de Vega. He would perhaps
have found that there was more connection with the German _esprit_ than
in the far too gigantic Shakespeare. Perhaps “Macbeth” is Shakespeare’s
greatest work; it is without doubt the most realistic.”

[13] During the four years I was at Eton, we won the “Ladies’” at Henley
every time. The winning crews were composed as follows:—

1867: W. D. Benson (captain), A. G. P. Lewis (stroke), T.
McClintock-Bunbury, W. G. Calvert, J. H. Ridley, R. W. Morehouse, G. H.
Woodhouse, J. E. Edwards-Moss, F. H. Elliot (cox).

1868: T. McClintock-Bunbury (captain and stroke), W. C. Calvert, J.
E. Edwards-Moss, F. A. Currey, J. Goldie (K.S.), F. Johnstone, J. W.
McClintock-Bunbury, W. Farrer, F. E. Elliot (cox).

1869: J. E. Edwards-Moss (captain), F. A. Currey, F. Johnstone, J. W.
McClintock-Bunbury (stroke), F. C. Ricardo, J. S. Follett, F. E. H.
Elliot, M. G. Farrer, W. C. Cartwright (cox).

1870: F. A. Currey (captain), J. W. McClintock-Bunbury (stroke), F. C
Ricardo, J. S. Follett, A. W. Mulholland, C. W. Benson, R. E. Naylor, A.
C. Yarborough, W. C. Cartwright (cox).

[14] The Eton Eleven, during the four years I was there, was composed as
follows:

1867: C. R. Alexander (captain), C. I. Thornton, W. H. Walrond, H. M.
Walter, W. C. Higgins, C. J. Ottaway, W. F. Tritton, M. Horner, W. H.
Hay, E. Wormald, P. Currey. Match drawn.

1868: C. I. Thornton (captain), H. M. Walter, W. C. Higgins, C. J.
Ottaway, W. F. Tritton, W. H. Hay, P. Currey, Hon. G. Harris, J. Maude,
S. E. Butler, G. H. Longman. Harrow beat Eton by seven wickets.

1869: W. C. Higgins (captain), G. H. Longman, A. S. Tabor, F. W. Rhodes,
F. Pickering, J. P. Rodger, Lord Clifton, C. J. Ottaway, M. Maude, Hon.
G. Harris, E. Butler. Eton won by an innings and nineteen runs.

1870: Hon. G. Harris (captain), G. H. Longman, A. S. Tabor, F. W.
Rhodes, F. Pickering, J. P. Rodger, Lord Clifton, G. H. Cammell, M. A.
Tollemache, A. F. Ridley, Hon. A. Lyttelton. Eton won by twenty-one runs.

[15] _À propos_ of Peterborough, I once heard a good story about a Bishop
of Peterborough—Dr. Magee, I think—which was told me by my tutor at Eton.
Some people, who had never seen him, were very anxious to hear him preach
and therefore went early in the morning to the cathedral to secure good
seats. A man showed them over the cathedral, where they retained the
best seats they could find, and, on leaving, one of the party gave their
cicerone, whom they took for the verger, five shillings. The latter put
the money in his pocket, and then to their astonishment said: “I am not
the verger, but the Bishop of Peterborough himself. However, I shall keep
the five shillings all the same, for I have found you a good pew, and
what I have received I shall give to the poor.”

[16] The Hon. Thomas Fitzwilliam, who was then in the 10th Hussars,
married Elgiva Kinglake, whose brother was at Eton with me. She was very
pretty and a remarkably good rider, but she died quite early in life, and
her husband did not long survive her. She was a great friend of Mary,
Duchess of Hamilton, and I remember once, at a meet of the Devon and
Somerset Staghounds on the Exmoor hills, being much struck by the beauty
of the Duchess, who was present with Elgiva Fitzwilliam, for they always
hunted with these hounds in those days.

[17] Jim Doyne, in later years, bore some resemblance to the late King
Edward VII., then Prince of Wales, and at Pratt’s, one evening, the late
Duke of Beaufort walked up to him, and, holding out his hand, said: “I
wish you good evening, sir.” Doyne felt very flattered at the mistake,
which, however, the Duke at once discovered. Nevertheless, when meeting
my friend afterwards, he would always address him as “Sir” for amusement,
and Doyne, who had a gift for repartee, would give an appropriate reply.

[18] Voltaire believed sincerely in God, but no one nowadays even thinks
of reading his correspondence, which shows us all his faults, his
kindheartedness, his charity, and his other good qualities. One of the
strongest features in Voltaire’s character was his sense of friendship.
Génonville, who took away his mistress, Mlle. Livy, from him, remained
his friend, and Voltaire laments his death in a poem of marvellous
beauty, with all the warmth of truth. This poem and the one which follows
it, _les Vous et le Tu_, in which also Mlle. Livy is referred to, are two
of his most beautiful poems. Of Rousseau, Grillparzer says: “I read _les
Confessions_ and am terrified to recognize myself in them.” How Rousseau
would have been surprised if someone had called him the most perfect
egoist. He lived with the woman who was so devoted to him and never
married her, although it would have been a great happiness to her to bear
his name. Corneille, according to Grillparzer, was an excellent poet, and
his first works were admirable, but his later ones show a steady decline
from his early standard, which is difficult to explain, except perhaps
after reading his tragedy, _Feodora_. In Grillparzer’s opinion, Racine
was as great a poet as ever lived.

[19] “My darling,—I am obliged to start immediately for Mexico; I have
not even time to come to bid thee good-bye.”

[20] Mr. Howard Vyse, the father of these young men, came to see me
in Paris after I had left Bonn. He dined with us, I recollect, and
we afterwards went to a theatre, and from there to various places of
amusement, so that it was nearly daybreak before we reached the Hôtel
Bristol, in the Place Vendôme, where he was staying, and where he
insisted on my passing what remained of the night. As he offered me an
exceedingly comfortable bedroom, I did not refuse. I dined a few days
later with him and his wife at the “Bristol,” where they had a suite of
apartments usually reserved for royal personages, which the late King
Edward VII. had occupied just previously. While we were at dinner a
courier came into the room to inquire if everything were satisfactory.
This man’s services, it appeared, had been exclusively engaged by Mr.
Howard Vyse, and he was accustomed to order dinner and settle the
accounts. Mr. Howard Vyse told me that he was obliged to remain three
months at the Hôtel Bristol owing to his wife’s state of health, as the
doctor would not allow her to travel to Nice, where he intended spending
the winter. He was a very wealthy banker from New York, and the two sons
who were at Bonn with me were his only children.

[21] The sister of Sir Howard Elphinstone, at one time Equerry to the
late Duke of Edinburgh, related to me that, when she was in Germany with
her brother, they went one day to secure places for some ceremony in
which a good many royal persons were interested. When they entered the
room, a man showed Sir Howard Elphinstone the places reserved for him and
his family, and as this person wore a kind of dress coat with gold lace,
Sir Howard took him for a man-servant, and, on going away, slipped a
thaler into his hand, which he accepted without making any remark. Later
in the evening, Sir Howard and his sister discovered that the man whom
they had tipped was Bismarck, who at that time, of course, was not so
celebrated as he subsequently became.

[22] Darwin’s theory has of recent years been disproved by men of
science, such as Professor Dr. von Wettstein, Warning, Henslow, and
others. Only in certain instances can Darwin’s theory be accepted; but
it has been discovered recently that the new formation of species among
plants and animals is possible in different ways, and not only in the
manner Darwin implies. His theory of descent, which was firmly believed
in by men of science in the sixties and seventies of the last century,
is now pronounced to be a theory altogether out of date, and has been
superseded by those of Moriz Wagner, Karl von Nägeli, Henslow, A. von
Kerner and Professor A. Weissmann. “The Origin of Plant Structures by
Self-Adaptation to the Environment,” by Henslow, published in 1895, and
Warning’s “Geography of Plants,” published in the following year, are
well-known English books on this subject which may be recommended to
those interested in it.

[23] Baron von der Goltz is proud of his stupidity.

[24] Grillparzer says of Heine that his first verses in the _Reise
Bilder_ and some of his last poems are of great merit, while those of the
intermediate period must be considered decidedly bad.

[25] Another lady employed by the Russian Government to worm out State
secrets was the Countess Stadnicka, whose acquaintance I made in recent
years in Vienna, and she would often ask me the most difficult questions,
which I never attempted to answer. She told me that for information of a
certain nature she was often paid very large sums. The Countess Stadnicka
had very lovely blue eyes, which were universally admired, and a fine
figure, but she was no longer in her first youth. She was the mother of
Graf von Metternich, who was the owner of vast estates and a minor, and
the Countess had a lawsuit in Vienna to obtain control over her son’s
property during his minority. She was a wonderful linguist, speaking
English, French, German, Italian and Russian fluently, and could tell one
more about the Austrian nobility than anyone else I ever met in Vienna,
as she was a Viennese by birth, and her father, who was one of the old
nobility himself, had occupied a high position. She seemed to know
everyone, but though a woman of wonderful intelligence, she had a rather
spiteful tongue, and was therefore feared by some people. She always
spoke to me in French and often said: “_Vous êtes drôle, vous, car vous
n’aimez que le fruit pas mûr, ce qui est d’abord très fade et n’a point
de goût_.”

[26] The names of these officers were: The late Lieut.-General Sir
W. Leigh-Pemberton, K.C.B.; Major-General Sir Charles Holled-Smith,
K.C.M.G.; Colonel Ernest Hovell Thurlow; Major C. H. B. Thorne, J.P.;
Lieut. Horace Neville; Colonel Alfred Clarke, M.D., and Major C. de
Robeck.




INDEX


  Aberdour, Lord, 108.

  Adair, Mrs. William, 269.

  Adelaide, Queen, 5 (_note_).

  Adelsdorfer, Baroness, 146.

  Adelsdorfer, Madame, 244.

  Airey, Lord, 222.

  Albani, 116, 244, 263.

  Aldershot, 246.

  Allfrey, Lieutenant, 223.

  Algar, Major, 191.

  Alhambra, The, Granada, 258.

  Alexander, C. R., 66, 81.

  Alison, General Sir A., 181.

  Allen, Lieutenant, 223, 234, 247.

  Anderson, Brigadier-General, 264, 266.

  Andrä, Professor Dr., 124, 128.

  Andrews, Mrs., 218.

  Anglesey, Marquis of, 148.

  Annesley, Lieutenant-Colonel, 176.

  Armytage, Lieutenant, 205, 207.

  Arnold, Dr., 242.

  Arthy, Captain, 34.

  Ashburnham, Major, 191.

  Astor, Lord, 90.

  Auerbach, Berthold, 129.

  Aylmer, Percy, 93.


  Babington, Sub-Lieutenant, 183.

  Bagot, Colonel Sir Josceline, 101.

  Bagot, Adjutant A. G., 227, 247.

  Baird, George, 93.

  Baldock, Colonel, 82.

  Balfour, Charles, 81.

  Balfour, Miss Hilda, 81.

  Baring, Viscount, 182, 242.

  Barnard, Lord, 98.

  Batchelor, Veterinary-Surgeon, 205, 208, 213.

  Bean, Capt. and Mrs., 133.

  Beauclerk, Lieutenant, 186.

  Beauclerk, Miss, 143.

  Beaumont, Sub-Lieutenant, 206.

  Beck, Lieutenant, 236.

  Belgrave, Viscount, 76.

  _Bell’s Life_ substitute for Bible, 47.

  Bennett, Viscount, 235.

  Bentheim, The Princes, 127.

  Benyon, Captain, 206.

  Berkeley, Earl of, 165.

  Berkeley, Lord, 245.

  Berkeley, Captain Lennox, 57, 59, 112, 113, 147, 157.

  Bernhardt, Sarah, 229.

  Bernstorff, Count, 126.

  Bethell, Lieutenant, 169.

  Bingham, Hon. Albert, 161, 260.

  Binz, Professor Dr., 123.

  Black Forest Adventures, 22.

  Blane, M., 9.

  Blewitt, Major, 176.

  Blocqueville, Marquise de, 158.

  Blount, Edward, 110.

  Bois-Hébert, Marquis de, 161, 164.

  Boland, Major, 110.

  Bonn, 123.

  Boulogne, 37.

  Bozzo, Mademoiselle Checchi, 245.

  Bromley, Capt., 33.

  Brown-Séquard, Dr., 270.

  Browning, Oscar, 74.

  Brownrigg, Capt., 242.

  Burgh, Capt. Hubert de, 161.

  Byron, Capt. John, 172, 179, 263.


  Cambridge, Duke of, 250.

  Campden, Viscount, 215.

  Campobello, Signor, 156.

  Candle, The diminishing, 209.

  Cantelupe, Lord, 143.

  Caracciolo, Duchesse de, 143.

  Card playing, 176.

  Carpenter, Captain, 225.

  Cartwright, General, 180.

  Cathcart, Lady Georgina, 83.

  Cathcart, Hon. Emily, 83, 84, 265.

  Cavendish-Bentinck, Arthur, 93.

  Cercle des Patineurs, 57.

  Chantilly, 163.

  Charcot, Professor, 270.

  Charleville, Lord, 51.

  Charltons, The, 173, 179, 236.

  Chatham Barracks, 175.

  Childe-Pemberton, Lieutenant, 241.

  “Christopher Inn,” 86.

  Christy Minstrels at Chatham, 227.

  Churchill, Lady, 85.

  Churchill, Lord Randolph, 46.

  Clanmorris, Lord, 161.

  Clarke, Sydenham, 191, 212.

  Clarke, Surgeon-Major, 250.

  Cockshot, Mr., 73.

  Collins, Major, 225.

  Combermere, Viscount, 235.

  Comerford, Surgeon, 268.

  Cotton, Lieutenant C. S., 222, 234, 249.

  Cramer, Captain, 223.

  Craven, Fulwar J. C., 68, 82, 93.

  Crawford, Colonel, 148.

  Crichton, Hon. Mrs., 249.

  Crofton, Lieutenant, 235.

  Crompton, Captain, 214, 215.

  Czartoryski, Princess, 140.

  Czerwinska, Countess, 137.


  d’Abrantès, Duchesse, 157.

  Dalton, Rev. W., 73.

  Dannecker’s statue, 14.

  Daram, Mademoiselle, 152.

  Darwin’s theory disproved, 131.

  d’Assailly, Vicomte Arthur, 146, 213, 246.

  d’Attainville, M. de Lesquier, 137.

  D’Aubigny, Comte, 37.

  Daudet, Alphonse, 245.

  d’Aumale, Duc, 163.

  Deane, Lieutenant-Colonel, 250.

  de Houghton, 178.

  Delaunay, 182.

  Delbrück, Hans, 135.

  Desart, Countess of, 6.

  Desclée, Aimée, 179.

  Dickenson, Lieutenant Fiennes, 192.

  Dillon, Lord, 116.

  Dillon, Sub-Lieutenant A., 173, 179, 181, 225.

  Disraeli, 55.

  Dorrien, Captain Frederick, 4, 27, 113.

  Douglas, General Sir John, 31, 264.

  Douglas, Captain Niel, 86, 264.

  Douglas, Charles, 88.

  Doyne, Lady Frances, 105.

  Doyne, James, 66, 74, 77, 79, 80, 81, 88, 93, 101, 103, 109, 136,
        238, 241.

  Doyne, Mrs., 104.

  Doyne, Mr. Mervyn, 105.

  Drexel Brothers, 17.

  “Dry bobs,” 88.

  Duff, Folliot, 150.

  Dunn, Captain, 169.

  Durnford, Rev., 73.

  Dusauty, 147.


  Earning a living, 233.

  Edwards-Moss, 100.

  Egerton, Hon. Alfred, 250.

  Ehnn, Fräulein, 231.

  Elwes, Captain, 37.

  Erroll, Countess of, 84.

  Eschenheimer Thor, The, 13.

  Eton, Happy days at, 65 _et seq._

  Etonian _cachet_, 63.

  Eugene, 199, 208.


  Falmouth, Lord, 250.

  Faverney, Comtesse de, 157.

  Featherstone, Lieutenant, 239.

  Ferrières, Château de, 162.

  Finch, Hon. Charles, 83.

  Finch-Hatton, Rev. William, 47.

  Finch-Hatton, Greville, 42, 48.

  Finis, Miss, 225.

  Fire burning for two hundred years, 98.

  Firing the eighty-ton gun, 239.

  FitzWilliam, Earl, 106.

  FitzWilliam, Charles, 107.

  FitzWilliam, Hon. John, 77.

  FitzWilliam, Hon. Thomas, 107.

  Foley, Lieutenant, 236.

  Football “colours,” 88.

  Four millionaires, 16.

  Francisco-Martin, M. de, 151.

  Franco-German War, 110.

  Frankfurt-on-the-Main, 1, 12.

  Frederick, Lady, 241.

  French girls and English girls, 140.


  Gambetta, 166.

  Gayarré, 263.

  Geary, General Sir H., 271

  German Crown Prince, 263.

  German girls, 133.

  Gilbert, Lieutenant, 262.

  Girard, Juliette, 246.

  Glen, Archibald, 178.

  Godfrey, Dan, 240.

  Goeben, General von, 255.

  Goethe, 15.

  Goldschmid, 10, 15.

  Goldsmid, Mrs., 143.

  Goltz, von der, 132.

  Gordon, Miss, 112.

  Græme, Colonel, 236.

  Grammont, Duchesse de, 143.

  Grandmaison, Marquis de, 160.

  Grant, General, 166.

  Graves, Hon. Mrs., 143.

  Greenock, Viscount, 42.

  Grenfell, Lord, 272.

  Greuze’s paintings, 60.

  Gridley, Harry, 80, 87.

  Gridley, Reginald, 93.

  Griebel, Herr, 92.

  Grosvenor, Earl, 76.

  Guilbert, Marquise Brian de Bois, 156, 157.

  Gull, Sir William, 272.

  Gunning, Sub-Lieutenant Robert, 223, 237.


  Hale, Mr., 73.

  Harris, Lord, 82.

  Hart, Lieutenant, 205.

  Hartopp, Sir Charles E. C., 117.

  Havre, Baron van, 165.

  Hawtrey, Mr. Stephen, 73.

  Headley, Lord, 117.

  Healy, Mrs., 116.

  Heaviside, Mr., 254.

  Hélène de España, Señorita, 259.

  Henley Regatta, 94.

  Herbert, Hon. Sidney, 82.

  Hobart, Captain, 205.

  Hochberg, Dr. Ritter von, 218.

  Hodgson, Charles Rice, 77.

  Hohler, Tom, 38, 245.

  Holled-Smith, Lieutenant, 223.

  Homburg, 4.

  Home-Purves, Colonel, 49.

  Hope, Lieutenant, 210.

  Hope-Johnstone, Lieutenant P., 233.

  Hornby, Dr., 87, 100.

  Horrocks, Capt., 126.

  Horrocks, Miss Edith, 134.

  Houghton, de, 178.

  Howard, Lieut. F., 241.

  Hozier, J. H. C., 99.

  Hudson, Major, 177.

  Hudson, Mrs., 11.

  Hungerford, Mrs., 244.

  Hunter, Captain, 236.

  Hunter’s, Mr., school, 42 _et seq._

  Hutchinson, Sir Edward, 7.

  Hutchinson, General Coote, 7.


  Ind, Mrs., 29.

  Innes-Ker, Lord Mark, 86.

  Isabella, ex-Queen of Spain, 244.

  Isabelle, 141.


  James, Rev. C. C., 63.

  Jenner, Sir William, 269.

  Joynes, Rev., 73.


  Kennedy, Lord Alexander, 84.

  Keogh, Mrs., 244.

  Kernave, Madame Alice, 164.

  Killarney, 104.

  Kilmaine, Vicomte Frédéric de, 136.

  Kineton School, 28, 42.

  King (Leopold) of Belgians, 32.

  King William I. of Prussia, 1, 3, 7.

  Kinglake, William, 88.

  Kinglake, Sophia, 112.

  Kinloch, Captain A., 187-8.

  Kinloch, Mrs., 187, 205.

  Kirchhofer’s, Herr, School, 18.

  Kisilieff, Madame, 11.

  Klenck, Freiherr von, 218.

  Knightley, Rev. Henry, 50.

  Knox, Lieutenant-Colonel, 170.

  Krauss, Madame, 245.


  Labitzky, Auguste, 219.

  Labouchere, Henry, 30.

  Lamoury (violinist), 110.

  Lane, General Ronald, 159.

  Lassalle, Ferdinand, and German women, 63.

  Laval, Mademoiselle de, 141.

  Lavaile, Eugénie de, 246.

  Lawn tennis, Origin of, 192.

  Lawrence, George, 37.

  Leigh, Austin, 72.

  Leigh-Pemberton, Lieutenant-Colonel W., 222, 271.

  Leinster, Duke of, 109.

  Leleu, Madame, 143.

  Leopold II. and his hairdresser, 32.

  Lesseps, M. de, 184.

  Lewinsky, 230.

  Leyton’s at Windsor, 92.

  Liegnitz, Princess, 7.

  Linda, Bertha, 231.

  Lister-Kaye, Cecil, 82, 98.

  Lister-Kaye, John, 82, 95, 98.

  Little, Lieutenant, 210.

  Lloyd, Lieutenant, 178.

  Lockwood, Sir Frank, 124.

  Lonsdale, Earl of, 49.

  “Lord’s,” 96.

  Lovell, Lieutenant, 170-172.

  Lovett, Hubert, 192, 194, 199, 203, 210, 212, 242.

  Lowther, Captain Francis, 166.

  Lumley, Savile, 250.

  Luxmoore, Mr., 67.

  Lyons, Lord, 60.


  McCall, Colonel, 163.

  McClintock-Bunbury, 100.

  McCormack, Surgeon-Major, 268.

  MacDonnell, Dr., 105.

  Macnamara, Surgeon-Major, 194, 210, 242.

  Magruder, Willing Lee, 12.

  Makart, 231.

  Malet, Sir Edward, 117.

  Malortie, Baron de, 144.

  Maltby, Lieutenant, 169.

  Mandeville, Lord, 77, 98.

  Manners, Henry F. B., 99.

  Marsham, Sub-Lieutenant, 208.

  Masini, Mademoiselle, 245.

  Massey, Lieutenant-Colonel, 206.

  Materna, Frau, 231.

  Ménier, 138.

  Metternich, Princess von, 117.

  Meux, Lady Louisa, 156.

  Milbanke, Frederick, 28.

  Misa, Señor, 258.

  Mitchell, R. A. H., 74.

  Moltke, Count von, 131.

  Montgomery, Colonel H. P., 190.

  Montgomery, Basil, 183, 267.

  Moore, Colonel Montgomery, 188, 202.

  Morny, Duc de, 7.

  Münchhausen, Baron von, 256.

  Murray, Lady Caroline, 5, 40.

  Murray, Lieutenant-General Hon. George, 55.

  Murree and Ischl compared, 201.

  Musard’s concerts, 58.


  Nares, Sir George, 241.

  Naylor-Leylands, 161.

  Neii, Baron von, 12.

  Neuss, Herr, 229, 230.

  New hats for old, 158.

  Newcastle, Duke of, 38.

  Newcastle, Duchess of, 246.

  Newenham, Mr. (“Sporting Parson”), 47, 49.

  Newlands, Lord, 99.

  Northey, Major, 224, 265.


  Oden Wald, The, 18.

  Olga, Grand Duchess, and Ludwig II., 30.

  Onslow, Earl of, 82.

  Oppenheim, Frau, 239.

  Orloff, Princess, 31.

  Orton, Surgeon-Major, 254.

  Ostend, 28, 31.

  Oyster, The, 193.


  Paganini, 157.

  Paget, Lord Henry, 37, 148, 252.

  Paradhenia, Garden of, 185.

  Paris, 116.

  Parnell, Hon. V. A., 99.

  Parnell, Miss Fanny, 153.

  Parry, Sir Hubert, 82.

  Paschinger, 232.

  Patti, Adelina, 54, 58, 263.

  Pauli, Captain, 191.

  Peabody Georges, 134.

  Pembroke and Montgomery, Earl of, 82.

  Peñafiel, Marchioness de, 151.

  “Penny Readings,” 172.

  Perponcher, Count, 8.

  Peterborough’s, Bishop of, “tip,” 107.

  Phipps, Hon. Harriet, 84.

  Phipps, Lieutenant Albert, 196, 210, 211.

  Piétri, Madame, 140.

  Piétris, The, 161.

  Plater, Countess Broel, 138.

  Plessen, Baron von, 135.

  Portman, Hon. E. W. B., 79.

  Prince Consort and Duchess of Sutherland, 56.

  Prussia, King of, 1, 3, 7, 17.


  Queñones de Léon, Doña, 250.


  Radziwill, Prince Jean, 137.

  Ralli, Augustus, 93.

  Rampa, Marquis de, 256.

  Rathdonnell, Lord, 100.

  Ranyard, Mr. (astronomer), 123

  Reeves, Sims, 116.

  Reid, Lieutenant, 216.

  Reszke, Jean de, 264.

  Reuss, Prince, 126.

  Rey, Marquis de, 158.

  Reynardson, Aubrey Birch, 48

  Ricardo, Horace, 100.

  Riddell, Captain, 29.

  Ridley, C. N., 96.

  Ridley, H. M., 95.

  Riggs, Mrs. Joe, 39.

  Ritter, 231.

  Robartes (11th Hussars), 237.

  Robeck, Captain de, 226.

  Robinson, Captain, 223, 243, 247.

  Ronalds, Mrs., 3, 17.

  Rossmore, Lord, 86.

  Rothschild, Baron F. de, 14.

  Rothschild, Baroness I. E. de, 217.

  Rothschild, Alphonse de, 162.

  Rueff, Mr., 258.

  Ruspoli, Princess, 39.

  Russell, Sub-Lieutenant, 206.

  Russell-Reynolds, Dr., 270.

  Russian Court secrets, 138.

  Rutland, Duke of, 99.


  Saba, Madame, 152.

  St. James’s Palace, 240.

  Saint Hilaire, Madame, 164.

  Salis Schwabe, Miss, 123.

  Salud, 255.

  Salvini, 244.

  San Carlos, Marquis de, 252.

  Sanford, Sub-Lieutenant, 193.

  Savile, Captain, 236.

  Seville, Archbishop of, 256.

  Saxe-Weimar, Prince Edward of, 250.

  Schiller, 14.

  Schneider, Hortense, 56.

  Schultz, Herr, 268.

  Schwender’s Dancing Hall, 231.

  Shorncliffe, Quarters at, 168.

  Sighicelli, 165.

  Simon, Jules, 111.

  Sivori, 245.

  Slade, Cecil, 140.

  Slade, Harry, 38.

  Smythe, General, 248.

  “Sock”-shops, 87, 88.

  Somerset, Lord Edward, 73, 92, 250.

  Southey, Lieutenant Richard, 168.

  Spa, 33.

  Stafford, Lady Grace, 103.

  Stafford, Marquis of, 90.

  Stormont, Viscountess, 40.

  Strauss, Johann, 231.

  Sully, Mounet, 229.

  Sunstroke, 268.


  Taaffe, Sub-Lieutenant, 183, 250.

  Taffanel, 165.

  Taille des Essarts, Comtesse de la, 158.

  Taintegnies, Baron de, 28, 30.

  Tarver, Mr. Henry, 76.

  Taylor, Charles, 47.

  Temple (“Mug”), 66.

  Tercin, Gabrielle, 246.

  Thackeray, 5.

  Thackeray, St. John, 74.

  The Alhambra, Granada, 258.

  The diminishing candle, 209.

  “The Oyster,” 193.

  Thorne, Lieutenant, 267.

  Thornton, C. I., 89.

  Thurlow, Lieutenant E. Hovell, 240.

  Torphichen, Lord, 256.

  Trafalgar, Lord, 77.

  Trianon, le Petit, 163.

  Tufnell, Captain, 225.

  Tufton, Captain, 240.

  Tugwell, Mr., 162.


  Vane, Henry de Vere, 98.

  Vane-Tempest, Hon. Henry, 97.

  Vaughan, Arthur Powys, 194.

  Vay, Baron de, 165.

  Versailles, 163.

  Victoria, Queen, 83, 85.

  Vyse, Howard, 129, 155, 261, 271.


  Wagner, 231.

  Walden, Lord Howard de, 27.

  Walden, Lady Howard de, 27.

  Waldteufel (composer), 159.

  Walker, H. B., 90.

  Warre, Rev. Edmund, 73.

  Warre-Malet, Sir A., 51.

  Warre-Malet, Miss Mabel, 51.

  Warre-Malet, Mrs., 51, 53.

  Warren, Miss Minnie, 153.

  Waterlot, Mademoiselle, 154.

  Wayte, Mr., 70, 71.

  Wellesley, Colonel, 248.

  Westminster, Duke of, 77.

  Wilkinson, Lieutenant E. O. H., 223.

  Williamson, C. D. Robertson, 78.

  Willing, Misses Lee, 12.

  Wilma, Tournay, 231.

  Winchester, 241.

  Windsor Fair, 86.

  Winkelmann, 231.

  Winsloe, Mrs., 35.

  Wolter, Charlotte, 230.

  Wombwell, Sir George, 249.

  Wood, Sub-Lieutenant, 208.

  Woodforde, Mrs. Charles, 112.

  Würtemberg, King and Queen of, 30.

  Wylie, Lieutenant, 226.


  York, Duke of, 56.

  Yorke, Hon. Mrs., 237.


  Zauerthal, Ritter von, 238.

  Zither, The, Lessons on, 165.

  Zither performances, 172, 227.

                                PRINTED AT
                         THE CHAPEL RIVER PRESS,
                            KINGSTON, SURREY.




*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75853 ***