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.

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[Illustration: Mrs. R. C. Kemys-Tynte, of Halswell (now Mrs. Rawlins, mother of Lord Wharton).

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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.

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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.

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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.