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.
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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.
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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.