CHAPTER VI.

1910-1914.

The next four years saw the Twins together in England—Francis with his regiment at various stations, and Rivy immersed in City business, yet not so immersed that he could not spare time for partnership in many sports. It was a happy period, for neither had ever been quite at ease out of the other’s sight. They had now passed their thirtieth year, and, so far as Providence would permit, had grown up. This maturity was not marked by any decline of the high spirits of youth, but by a growth in placidity and a modest contentment with life. Rivy, in especial, was now less of an anxious pilgrim, less habitually tormented by a desire for the moon. He seemed to be on the road to great business prosperity, for in January 1910 he joined his brother Arthur’s firm, then at the height of its success; his reputation in sport was solidly established, and he was inclined to acquiesce in that shrinking of horizons which is the tragedy of the transition from youth. Francis, in whom ambition woke more spasmodically, had his hands full with his Staff College and regimental work, and his mind preoccupied with the endless interests of the returned traveller. Merely to be at home again was to him a perpetual wonder and delight.

I had known the Twins off and on for some years, but at this period we became intimate friends. London is a place of many casual acquaintances, much blurred in the memory, but I think that no one who was brought into contact with Francis and Rivy was likely to forget them. They had that complete detachment from the atmosphere which we call distinction. If it was not always easy to tell one from the other, it was impossible to confuse them with anybody else. Just over six feet in height, beautifully proportioned, and always in hard training, they were most satisfactory to behold. Once Rivy, hastening away from a ball, asked what he took to be the butler to call him a hansom. “Indeed, I call you handsome, my boy,” said the “butler,” who was Mr. Choate. Their clear, pale complexions, derived from a Spanish strain, their dark hair and eyes, and something soft and gracious in their manner gave them a slightly foreign air; but their deep explosive voices were very English. Both had a trick of finishing a sentence with a kind of gust of deep-breathed emphasis. The predominant impression, I think, that they made on the world was of a great gentleness and an inexhaustible vitality. Neither could be angry for long, and neither was capable of harshness or rancour. Their endearing grace of manner made a pleasant warmth in any society which they entered; and since this gentleness was joined to a perpetual glow of enthusiasm the effect was triumphant. One’s recollection was of something lithe, alert, eager, like a finely-bred greyhound. Most people are apt to be two-dimensional in the remembrance even of their friends, like the flat figures in a tapestry; but Francis and Rivy stood out with a startling vividness. Even death has not made them sink into the background of memory. When I think of either it is as of youth incarnate, with all the colour and speed of life, like some Greek runner straining at the start of a race.

Francis arrived in January 1910, and was at once laid hold of by politics. The Twins hunted in couples through that unsavoury Budget election when the spirit of Limehouse was abroad, and spoke at many meetings, chiefly of railwaymen and workmen. It is not recorded what Francis said, though he can have known as much about English politics as about the Ptolemaic system; but he was reputed an effective canvasser, and it is on record that on one occasion he looked after a labourer’s baby while the father went to vote, and afterwards had supper with the family. He went to the depot at Woolwich for some weeks, and then joined his regiment at Canterbury. He took great pains with his lectures to his men, and such specimens as I have read are admirable, both for their clear statement and for the enthusiasm with which he managed to invest his treatment. He was a slow worker, and took a long time to understand a thing, but once he had grasped it he could impart it vigorously to others. He laboured always to inspire in his hearers a passion for the 9th Lancers, dwelling on the great episodes of their past, and usually at the end compelling his audience to stand up and cheer for the regiment.

That summer was devoted to polo, and for the moment Francis’s steeplechasing ambitions seem to have been at rest. The Old Etonian team in which the Twins played carried everything before it, and was invited by the Hurlingham Committee to go to America to try for the cup. They decided to be entirely independent of the America Cup Recovery Fund, which was to remain intact and provide the sinews of war for the great effort of the following year. That summer, I think, may be taken as the height of the Twins’ fame in the polo world. It may not be out of place to quote some notes written by Lieutenant-Colonel E. D. Miller after their death.

“The polo world mourns many fine players and good sportsmen killed in the war, but for none is more sorrow and regret expressed than for the gallant Twins. I knew Rivy intimately for a considerable time before I met Francis. I think it was in 1902 that his older brother Cecil asked me to take him to Spring Hill and teach him the rudiments of polo. He came and spent a happy month, working like a stable lad and putting his whole heart and soul into his work.

“My first meeting with Francis was at Tattersall’s a year or two later, when, mistaking him for Rivy, I warned him not to buy a good-looking pony that he was inspecting. It was typical of the Twins’ liking to be mistaken for one another that he merely thanked me for my information, and did not divulge the fact that he was not Rivy, although he spent some time in my company looking at other ponies in the yard. Rivy was undoubtedly the better and stronger player of the pair, but when they were playing together it was extraordinarily difficult to tell them apart, their horsemanship and style being very similar. They were both brilliant players, and were much better when playing together than separately. They studied every detail of the game and took the most enormous trouble in the purchase and training of their ponies. They were great advocates for speed, and were the only players I knew who kept a trial pony and raced him against anything they were likely to purchase. They were as hard as iron, and always kept themselves very fit, and were (especially Rivy) very fine horsemen. Rivy used to ride the stronger and more difficult ponies. His pluck was phenomenal.

“Rivy played No. 1 with Francis No. 2, and their combination and tactics were more perfect and highly developed than any pair in England. Had they been spared they would probably now be chosen to represent their country in the next International match. They modelled their play on that of the Waterbury brothers, and though they were not quite as brilliant performers as the Americans, their tactics and understanding were just as perfect. The Twins, as at everything else in life, played polo with one mind. Francis held a record in that he played in the winning team of the Champion Cup in England, India, Africa, and America. No one else has done this.

“Good players and fine sportsmen as they were in first-class polo, where they will be most missed will be on the social side, for they were always the life and soul of country-house polo tournaments. As a polo manager no one knew better than I did what a wonderful help they were in making a success of the kind of tournament that used to take place at Eaton and Madrid. They would always pull out and play on any side with any one, in order to make a success of the entertainment from the host’s point of view, and neither of them cared two farthings if they won or lost so long as they could help the show and make every one happy.... The Twins have left behind them a reputation quite unsurpassed for pluck, clean living, unselfishness, and charm.”

The Old Etonian team as originally fixed was made up of Francis and Rivy, Lord Rocksavage and Lord Wodehouse. Lord Wodehouse found himself unable to go, so on 6th August Francis and Rivy started with Lord Hugh Grosvenor—Lord Rocksavage and Mr. F. A. Gill being already in America. The Twins took for their reading the following odd assortment: _A Constitutional History of the United States_, _Life of Stonewall Jackson_, _Vanity Fair_, _Jorrocks_, _Pickwick Papers_, _Les Misérables_, a primer of geography, _The Life of Nelson_, and _The Confessions of a Princess_. Francis had a bad arm when they left, and when they reached America it was found that he could not play. The side accordingly called itself Ranelagh, and was made up of Rivy, Mr. F. A. Gill, Lord Rocksavage, and Lord Hugh Grosvenor. Later Francis resumed his place, and they became once again the Old Etonians. The team had a brilliant career at Narragansett and in Canada, winning nearly every match they played, though, as they were not official challengers, they could not compete for the cup. It was essentially a trial trip, and the players learned a vast deal which was of value to later challengers. I find a paper of Rivy’s in which he summarized the result of his experience, expounding in the most minute detail what he had learned in America on the transport and training of ponies. He went into everything, including the price of oats, but the most valuable lesson is contained in this passage:—

“In America the game, owing to the better grounds and the ‘no off-side’ rule, is very much faster than it is in England, and the pony requires to have his lungs quite clear. The player gets away much more often than at home. The game is not nearly such a rough-and-tumble one, and so players do not require such staying power as in England. What they require is to be able to go with these tremendous bursts. A pony should be trained to play its utmost speed. A point that we learned, which improved our play enormously in this somewhat scrambling game, was that instead of stopping a pony on its hocks after a run, it is far quicker to turn it on a circle. This does not tire the pony nearly so much, nor the rider, and by being able to pass the ball forward the player can often, even if unable to hold his pony properly, do a lot of work. At Newport my grey pony, owing to its being wrongly bitted, was quite out of hand; but by turning it on a circle and the others passing the ball to me, I played very well, and no one noticed that I did not have proper control.”[13]

While Rivy was busy with polo Francis thought that he might employ his leisure in visiting the battlefields of Virginia. He went first to Bull Run and Manassas Junction. At Winchester he met Dr. Graham, a Presbyterian minister who had known Stonewall Jackson, and who told Francis many details of his hero. He then visited Kernstown, and at Richmond met Dr. Jeremy Smith, who had been Jackson’s A.D.C. after Second Manassas, from whom he picked up much information about his singular kinsman, Colonel St. Leger Grenfell, who had served on the Confederate side in the war. He spent much time studying the field of Gaines Mill, and met the eponymous Mr. Gaines, who had been absent through a fever from the fight. He returned to Newport with a Confederate flag as a relic, and a new appreciation of the great campaign and the great leader, who for years had filled the first place in his affections.

[Illustration: FRANCIS ON “MICHAEL” AND RIVY ON “CINDERELLA.”]

There is little to record for the rest of 1910. At Christmas the Twins went with a tutor to Brussels and made an elaborate study of the field of Waterloo. Throughout the early months of 1911 Francis was busy with his work for the Staff College, and embarked on authorship with a letter in the _Times_ on the Sydney Street affair, in which he stoutly defended Mr. Churchill’s action in employing soldiers and machine guns.

In April, on the invitation of King Alfonso, the two brothers went to Madrid to play polo. On their way they paid a visit to their favourite statue, that of Hercules and the Wild Boar in the Louvre, which Rivy had had copied as a memento of his Kadir Cup victory. They arrived at Madrid on 9th April, and stayed with the Duke of Alba, where Francis was so much impressed with the pictures and tapestry that his diary reads like an auction catalogue. Next day they left for Moratalla, the Marquis of Viana’s house, where the polo party was assembled, which included the King, the Duke and Duchess of Santonia, the Marquis Villarieja, and the two Millers. That fortnight in Spain was one of the best holidays in the Twins’ experience. Francis records at length his conversations with the King, which covered every subject from polo to high politics. “He told me that one of the ambitions of his life was to play with his regiment, the 16th Lancers, in the Inter-Regimental. He would undertake to provide them with the best ponies. He understood they were going to India for eight years. By that time he would be thirty-two and at his prime, and hoped by then to be good enough. He had great difficulty in playing polo in England, as King Edward said it was too dangerous; so he thought it best to ask nobody’s advice, and just went and played at Rugby. He could not understand why a king should be brought up like a hothouse plant. The only occasions on which he had been nearly killed were (1) when he was driving in a carriage where the horses were led by men on foot, and (2) when driving very slowly in Paris. X. remarked that he had had a letter from the Crown Prince of Germany to say he wanted to play polo when he came over this summer. ‘Good,’ said the King; ‘then that will make it easier for me when I go over.’ We suggested a match against the Crown Prince; at which he said, ‘Ah yes, I think I will win. The Germans are very slow.’”

The polo consisted of matches between the King’s side and Alba’s side, Rivy playing with the first and Francis with the second. The weather was abominable, and the Twins seem to have had more walking about in wet gardens than polo. On 13th April the party returned to Madrid, where Francis and Rivy stayed again with Alba, and found there the Duchess of Westminster and Lady Helen Grosvenor. That day being Maundy Thursday, they went to the Palace to see the function of the Lavatorio, when the King and Queen wash the feet of twelve beggars. Francis’s diary contains a spirited description of this curious function, and pages and pages about the pictures in the Prado Museum, which impressed him more than anything else in Spain. In Madrid they played polo on the King’s private ground, but the weather was unpropitious and the games poor. The King gave instructions that Francis should be shown all over the cavalry and infantry barracks, and when he expressed a desire to see the tapestries, ordered every one in the Palace to be specially hung up for him. Various bull fights and a short visit to Seville, where they saw part of the Easter Feria, brought to an end a trip which both regarded as one of the most crowded and delightful experiences of their lives.

In June Rivy attended the Coronation with his uncle’s children, who were much excited to see the Field-Marshal in the procession. He wrote an account of it to Lady Grenfell, and, knowing her dislike of horrors, wickedly described at some length an hour he passed in the Scotland Yard Museum. “I wish you had been with us. I am sure you would have loved seeing the finger of a burglar that was pulled off as he tried to get over a gate and was caught up. It is preserved in spirits of wine.” In July the King of Spain came to England and lunched at their brother Arthur’s house at Roehampton, going with the Twins afterwards to a polo match.

That summer saw the Agadir crisis, and Francis naturally decided to be present at the French manœuvres. It does not appear that he ever received the permission of the French Staff, but a small thing of that kind was not likely to stop him. He attended the manœuvres of the VI. Corps in the Verdun area during September, living with the 6th Cuirassiers, and sent an excellent report to the War Office. He was much struck by the horses of the cavalry. “They are bought from three and a half years old and sent to the Remounts until four and a half. They are then sent to a regiment and trained for two years before being put into the ranks. This system of teaching the horse to carry the man is a great improvement on ours of teaching the man to ride a partly-trained horse.” He thought that the cavalry did not realize the value of the rifle and had no notion of mounted infantry work. This was not unnatural in the case of the Cuirassiers, who, owing to their cuirasses, could not, of course, aim with a carbine. “I put on a cuirass myself and made certain of this,” adds Francis. He was not greatly impressed by the system of reconnaissance. “The men returning from patrols deliver their messages very clearly, but invariably get the names of the villages mixed up, and it seems to me that by far the best, simplest, and quickest method of sending in reports is for each man to have a map and to mark on it all he sees.” The French horsemastership he thought poor. “The saddles, weighing when loaded up about eight or nine stone, are never taken off. They are put on sometimes an hour before starting, and often left on an hour or so after the troops have got in. One night the cavalry division I was with marched at 10 p.m., halted from 2 a.m. to 6.30 a.m., during which time the horses were not fed or the girths even loosened, and the horses received no food or water until 3 o’clock the following afternoon.” He thought, however, highly of the French infantry, and loved their habit of singing on the march. He was impressed by the mechanical-transport arrangements, and most profoundly by the use of airplanes. He went up—his first attempt of the kind—in a Farman biplane, and became a whole-hearted convert to the value of air reconnaissance. Most of the officers he thought too old for their jobs. “Regimental commanders vary from fifty-five to sixty, squadron leaders from forty to fifty, and brigadiers from sixty onward.”

These are quotations from his official report. His diary contains more interesting matter. He found that the French Army expected war, and awaited it with calm and confidence. Even if it did not come that year, they considered that it was certain to come within three years. He gives amusing descriptions of cavalry charging cavalry and pulling up facing each other. “Imagine two divisions charging in England, stopping head to head and no accident.” He declares that he never saw a single horse out of hand. On the other hand, the cavalry seemed to him to have a passion for charging and little else—to know nothing about reconnaissance or dismounted action. “I spoke to a Staff officer, who said that the French would lose heavily in war. He gave as an instance a cavalry division passing in front of an infantry battalion in column of route, when it ought to have dismounted two squadrons and made a detour.” Francis’s general comments are, as usual, very shrewd. He saw that the danger of the French Army was its passion for persistent and often unconsidered offensives, and that it had no adequate training in defensive warfare. An almost mystical belief in the attack at all times and in all circumstances was being preached in the schools of war and practised on manœuvres. For the rest, he received great kindness and made many friends. Among these was General Joffre, and on one occasion, being stranded far from his quarters, he cadged a lift in a car from a gentleman who turned out to be M. Humbert.

In October we hear of Rivy staying at Glamis Castle, where he laboured earnestly to discover the celebrated mystery. “Old Beardy has so far eluded us, but we are on his track. I found that my room was next door to the Hangman’s room, where no one has slept for fifty years. Last night when all was quiet, with the assistance of my next-door neighbour, I moved my mattress and blankets into the Hangman’s, and slept there happily on the floor till 6 a.m., when I woke up and found my door ajar, though it was shut last night. We may not have banged it enough, so we are going to experiment again to-night. It is great fun here; all the ladies and some of the men are in a blue funk.” This is not quite the whole of that story. Rivy woke at midnight to find the door open, and to his consternation it refused to close. He prepared his soul for horrors, when he discovered that the reason of the door’s refractoriness was the presence of one of his slippers. After that he fell asleep, and awoke, as he says, at 6 a.m. to find the door again open.

Some time that year he became interested in the Invalid Children’s Aid Association, and the following year became Treasurer and Chairman. He enabled Islington, St. Pancras, and Holloway to become a separate branch by guaranteeing expenses. Early in the morning before going to the City, or after a long day full of engagements, he would go and see some of the “cases” in their homes. Both the Twins kept up this interest to the end; the Islington branch now bears their name; and it is in aid of a memorial fund to carry on their work that this little memoir has been written.

After returning from the French manœuvres Francis went through a musketry course at Hythe, and presently took up racing on a modest scale. A bad fall in November in a steeplechase at Sandown gave him concussion, the effects of which lasted for nearly six months. At Christmas he was in bed, and early in the New Year he went to Dr. Crouch’s open-air cure. Meantime, at the end of January, Rivy departed for Mexico on business. The great event of his trip was that he got mixed up in a battle about sixty miles from Mexico City, where the Zapatistas were giving trouble. It was a small affair, but it was his first experience under fire, and he wrote a lengthy account to Francis. The Twins liked to have all their experiences in common, and it had always been a regret to Rivy that Francis had been in action and he had not. “Everybody in this country appears to have a predisposition to let the enemy know their exact movements. The operations of the following day were discussed all Sunday in Cuernavaca, and I suppose the Zapatistas were told exactly what our general proposed to do—with the result that we went to the battle and the Zapatistas didn’t.”

Francis was far from well all summer, still suffering from the effects of his accident; so he went to Berlin in June, partly for the change and partly to learn the German language, without which he could not hope to qualify for the Staff College. He stayed with a retired German officer called Hamann, a friend of Mr. Austen Chamberlain, and a godson of Professor Max-Muller, who had married a Grenfell cousin. His first letter to Rivy is worthy of full quotation, for it shows the eagerness with which he plunged into a new life.

“I have fallen on my feet better than any cat, however low you dropped him. I went to stay with the Plesses, who are most kind. Princess Daisy has gone to London to Sunderland House, and you must go and see her. I said you would go and see her and help in anything she wanted. She is full of foreign politics, Anglo-German feeling, etc., and she is going to entertain and help Baron Marschall. She is a sort of Mrs. Astor over here, and makes me roar the way she gingers up the Deutschers. I stayed several days at Fürstenstein, a fine schloss with few valuable things in it, but an enormous place with lovely scenery. They are very rich, and everything is done in great style—outriders, postillions, etc. They have fifty carriage horses, sixty riding horses, forty mares, three stallions, a lot of yearlings at Fürstenstein, and another stud at Pless.

“Unfortunately I did not see very much of Princess Daisy, as some Germans were there—the Governor of Silesia, a future Chancellor, they say. He talked French to me, and neither his French nor his looks impressed me very much. Then we all came back to Berlin to the Esplanade Hotel, where I have become a great swell through being of the Pless party. Here I have met two or three princes, the Foreign Minister under Bethmann-Hollweg, and many others.

“Pless, who ranks here as a sort of Duke of Devonshire, put me up at this Club [the Union], which is the best in Berlin. It is exactly like the Turf, except that every one talks to you, and at dinner every one dines at one table and there is a general conversation, all in German. To-night I sat next to Count von Bülow, the general in command of the Guard Cuirassiers. He asked me to go and see his cavalry brigade, and said he would show me everything. ‘Such a pity I did not meet you yesterday, as my brigade was inspected, and you would have seen a good show.’ The servants, food, and customs are the same as at the Turf, except that all the English papers are on the table, though I am the only Englishman here.

“From the above you will think I am living only in high life, but I am not. I found that the best university in Germany is here, so, though it was not allowed, I plunged into it. I do everything by myself, and have some amusing experiences through going to the wrong place at the wrong time. I found there were lectures on every subject in the world, and determined to attend. There are 5,000 undergraduates. First I attended a lecture on the Saxon Invasion of England. I heard a lot of German, but did not understand anything. I then thought to myself, ‘Well, as I do not understand a word, it doesn’t much matter what the subject is; so, instead of taking much trouble to find certain lecture rooms, I will go into the first I come to.’ I then followed about fifty students into a room. The lecturer seemed to talk a bit different, and on looking over the notes of the fellow next to me I found he was talking Modern Greek! To-day I went to a geography lecture, arrived very late, plunged in and found a dead silence and every one drawing. A professor came and spoke to me, but neither could understand a word the other said. I went to another lecture, but could not find out what it was about from any source. In one hour I only caught the meaning of one word, ‘Pope Innocent.’ Yesterday I stopped a student in the passage and asked him to lunch with me, and begged him to spout German, which he did. I said, ‘I would like to lunch where you usually go.’ I found he was a vegetarian, and we could only get carrots, etc. My bill, which I am going to frame, was:—

Soup 1d. Carrots and green peas 3d. Sour Bulgarian milk 2d. Soda water ½d. ---- 6½d.

I could not eat half the amount of carrots I was offered for 3d. Students don’t look half as smart as Porter [his servant], so I now take him with me to the lectures....

“Unfortunately I fall a little between two stools here, as (1) if I am to learn the language, I must talk German; if I talk German, I can neither make myself understood nor understand anything the people say. (2) I can learn a good deal about Germany and go everywhere by talking English, as every one speaks English, and the few that don’t, speak French. I cannot, therefore, learn the language and learn about Germany at the same time, so I am going to work hard at the language (I have every incentive to, as it is maddening not to understand a single word) and then go out again and mix in society, of which I am beginning to know the ropes. Every one has been extraordinarily kind and nice. The students, to whom I am an absolute stranger, go out of their way to show me what to do and where to go, and they do not even know my name.”

From later letters I take some comments on German life and character.

“The opinion one gets of the Germans in England is a very wrong one. I expected to see a nation of magnificent physique, the Army superbly turned out, big soldiers and mighty clever men. The opposite is the case. These people are very ordinary, very much like us in character, with a great many good qualities and a large proportion of bad. The Guards I see are neither as smart nor as well turned out, nor to be compared physically with our Guards. Forty-five per cent. of the nation are rejected as soldiers through being too narrow or too blind. The shops give no credit to any one. They are unmethodically run, and are open for six and a half days without doing as much business as we do in five. The upper classes are narrow-minded and despotic; the lower inclined to be boorish. They are by nature a rather suspicious people, but awful rot is talked about them in England. You travel just as easily as you do at home, and can see anything except inside a fort. They seem to be exactly opposed to the French, who appear excited but act coolly. These people appear very stolid, but get desperately excited the moment anything occurs. A row in the street and ten police will yell without any leadership; a row in a train and every one starts screaming....

“I am living fairly comfortably here, but getting rather sick of cold pork and sausage. The table-cloth, too, is becoming a very intimate friend—it turns up so often....

“I am not going to form any opinion until October, when I will have had time for reflection. The Germans certainly beat us, even our private soldiers, at drinking beer. I sat next to a gentleman yesterday who drank five pints before I drank one glass of water. He would have had a sixth, but when the sixth was brought his wife took the glass and downed it before him. The result is that a great many men and most women are as fat as cattle....

“I am enjoying every minute, as I rarely waste one. I talk with tramcar drivers and conductors, taxi men, officers, tennis pros, students, demi-mondaines, Berlitz teachers and professors. Of course I lose a lot of what is said, but I have picked up a good deal, and have as yet never received anything but the utmost courtesy and hospitality. I find I get most out of taxi-drivers. They are either old soldiers, sailors, invalids, or Socialists. I met one who had been in the German South-West African war. He told me 400 men died in his regiment, and the loss in the army was terrific through bad water arrangements. Another was in the navy. He told me many of the men are not half trained; they bring men from Würtemberg as conscripts who have never heard of or seen the sea, and have in three years to be taught everything. I personally cannot see how three years’ service can make soldiers or sailors....

“These people are very methodical but terribly slow. They take ten hours to do what we do in six. I have not yet seen much of the wonderful education of which we hear, and have met a good many thick heads. Several officers have told me they have not read a book for ten years. Germany, to my mind, is not half what we think it is in England. Some things are done very well, but I have seen a great many done far better, and I am not half as impressed as I was with America. Nevertheless, I like these people. The women—Heaven save us from ever copying them! They are not beautiful....

“Berlin is one mass of demi-mondaines, cafés, restaurants—one mass. The great entertainment place is the Palais de Dance. It is most luxurious, and you might, if you did not look at the women, think you were at a London ball. The women are most respectable-looking, but you can see that if you want to dance you will get plenty of exercise, as once round any of the dancers is equal to about twice round Liverpool.”

Germany revived Francis’s interest in politics and soldiering. In July he wrote a long letter to Mr. Churchill congratulating him on a speech he had made.

“All the people I have seen appreciated very much its straightforwardness. The German character seems both to understand and prefer plain speech to diplomacy. They are a very suspicious people. They openly say that though they understand that you spoke earnestly, they think you are unfriendly. They want to be very friendly, but on equal and not on inferior terms as at present. They openly talk of going to war in the near future with France, partly from arrogance and partly from a craze so to weaken France that they can diminish their military forces and increase their naval. It does not look as if they would take on both France and England together, and therein lies the hope of peace. They want to crush France on land and to be strong enough on the sea to detain or delay a British army from landing on the Continent, so as to discourage British participation in a war between France and Germany. My opinion of the Germans has greatly declined since I came out here. They are not as good in quantity or quality as they represent themselves. Their character is to shake hands warmly and openly, but to keep the other fist doubled in their pocket.... I am as certain that the Germans are riding for a fall as I am that you are riding to win.”

In September came the Imperial manœuvres, that year held in Saxony, and Francis was determined to be present. The English representatives had already been appointed, so he was unable to go officially. Accordingly he hired a motor car and went as a spectator, giving a lift to a journalistic friend. When he arrived at the Bellevue Hotel in Dresden, he had a bad sick headache and went straight to bed; so his friend filled up the police paper in which Francis’s name was entered without his military rank. Unaware of this Francis sent a note to the cavalry barracks, saying he had a car and asking if any officer would like to go with him. This discovered to the police the fact that he was an English officer, and they promptly decided that he was a spy. The result was that a few days later, when he came back from watching the manœuvres, he found a police inspector in his room, who presented him with a letter saying that he must leave Dresden in twelve hours and Saxony in twenty-four. Francis was in a sad quandary, and, as was his practice on such occasions, he appealed straight to Cæsar. He remembered that he and Rivy the year before in London had shown some kindness to a son of the Saxon Chancellor, Baron Metzsch. Off went Francis to the Chancellor’s house. The great man was not at home, but the Baroness received him warmly and asked him to breakfast the next morning. The matter was immediately straightened out. The police authorities laughed and shook hands, and Francis roamed throughout the rest of the manœuvres at his own sweet will.

In October he returned to England and put the result of his German experiences into a little pamphlet, which he printed privately and circulated to a number of friends. He returned to Germany for a short visit in December, and realized that his pamphlet, if it got about, might do him serious harm. On Mr. Churchill’s advice he accordingly recalled all the copies. Its contents were simply an elaboration of what he had written in his letters. As it turned out, he had rightly diagnosed the trend of German feeling. “They are conscious of having attained such a position in the world that they resent being second to any, and they feel that the English block their way; consequently they are not only jealous at heart, but can scarcely conceal their jealousy. No amount of pacific and philanthropic talk either in England or in Germany will prevent the latter from trying to get stronger and stronger, with a hope of some day being the foremost Power of the world. Even the Socialists would favour a war against France, because once France is crushed there is a chance of military service being less rigorous in Germany.... Careful observations convince me that if we wish to preserve peace it is necessary for us to be so strong that it will be impossible for the Germans to make war, as they would jump at any opportunity should they find us weak and isolated.”

While Francis was in Berlin Rivy had been deep in polo, and had got badly bitten with ballooning. The year before he had made an airplane reconnaissance with Loraine during his yeomanry training, and in June Captain Maitland[14] took him up at Hurlingham in one of the new military balloons. They passed over Middlesex, Hertfordshire, Huntingdon, and Lincolnshire, and made an exciting landing six miles from Hull at 11.35 that night. A little later I find him writing to Francis suggesting that they should enter with Maitland for the long-distance ballooning record, at that moment held by the French. The year before Maitland had travelled 1,118 miles into the middle of Russia, and he now wanted to break the French record of 1,200 miles, starting in November when the westerly gales began. Nothing came of the scheme. Business took Rivy to Canada with his brother Arthur on 16th August. They travelled in a large party, and made a stately progress through the Dominion. I can only find one letter from Rivy during the tour, describing Sir Arthur Lawley’s speech. “Joe Lawley made a speech on the responsibilities of Canada at Ottawa which brought tears to people’s eyes, and made a very great impression. I will bring back a copy of it. It was by far the best speech that any of us had ever heard in our lives. I never realized he could do such a thing, and it made us very proud to think that we had an Englishman who could make such a speech, especially after Sir Wilfrid Laurier’s very moderate effort.”

In December of 1912 Arthur Grenfell had a bad horse accident, and Rivy found himself in consequence more closely tied to his office. In January 1913 the 9th Lancers went to Tidworth on Salisbury Plain, and in order that the brothers might spend their week-ends together, Rivy took the Red House in the neighbourhood, where he marked out a training ground for his polo ponies. In September 1912 Francis had been gazetted captain, and a little later was appointed adjutant. In the summer of 1913 he was working for the Staff College examination, and finally entered for it in great pain from a sprained ankle, which, taken in conjunction with the variety of his recent pursuits, made his success in qualifying the more remarkable. I find Francis writing to the King of Spain in January begging him to visit the 9th Lancers at Tidworth, and in any case to let his Military Attaché come and stay with them. “I can always give him horses or ponies to ride and introduce him to other officers of the garrison, including general officers, of which there are almost as many here as private soldiers.... Should you manage to come over to England for Cowes, my regiment is stationed only about forty miles from Southampton, and we could give you a good game of polo every day. You could motor over quietly and privately, and no one need know anything about it. Please keep this in mind, as a match between the 16th Lancers, with your Majesty playing, and the 9th Lancers, would make a fine combat. We have read with great interest about the reforms you have introduced in Spain, and the courage you have shown. It might well be said of Spain what Frederick the Great once said of England about Pitt, ‘England, at any rate, has now a man at the head of affairs.’ I am afraid it will not be possible for me to come over to Spain in the spring and enjoy the good sport we had two years ago. I am now adjutant, and find it hard to get away. We are very busy in case of a war, which we are quite ready for and looking forward to. If we go to war, as many Spanish officers as want to see it should join the 9th Lancers, for our one hope is to be in the advanced guard.”

The year 1913 was passed pleasantly by both Twins in London and Tidworth, with such breaks as a trip to Paris with the Duke of Westminster at Christmas. Their real home was at Roehampton with their brother Arthur, for whom they had a deep affection. There among his children they seemed to be children themselves again. It was a period of that close companionship which for both was the main secret of happiness. I have never seen anything like their fidelity to each other. They had their own secret whistles and calls, and if either heard the other’s summons it was his duty at once to leave whatever he was doing and obey it. In ordinary company they were just like two dogs. Francis would rise and leave the room, and Rivy would be apparently unconscious for some minutes of his departure. Then he would grow restless, and presently get up and saunter out to find his twin.

At this time they were most conspicuous figures in English society. They knew every one and went everywhere; and I fear that Rivy’s devotion to letters must have declined, for with his quicksilver brother at home he had small opportunity for the studious life. But he did a remarkable thing, which I think must be almost unprecedented. To help Francis in his Staff College work he took many of his classes with him, read the same text-books, and went through the same coaching. This must have been a real effort, since at the time he was deeply engaged in his brother Arthur’s business and carrying many new responsibilities. For the rest, both led the varied and comfortable life which used to be the perquisite of well-credentialled, reasonably rich, and socially agreeable young men in England. Each had the gift of oxygenating the atmosphere in which he moved and waking a sense of life in the flattest place. This was partly due, I think, to the curious charm of their appearance: they seemed always to be moving, or poised for movement; the ardour in their eyes was an antidote for _ennui_; they gave the impression of never in their lives having been bored or idle. Partly it sprang from their real ingenuousness. They were acutely interested in everything in the world, and refused to hide their interest after the conventional English fashion. Often the results were comic. They had vast stores of ignorance, and would ask questions of an unbelievable _naïveté_. But comic or not it was a most endearing trait, for it was perfectly natural, without pose or premeditation. It was this habit that especially attracted older men. Francis and Rivy were at their best with their seniors. Always respectful, they yet managed to treat an elder as if he were only a much wiser contemporary—one in whom the fires of youth were by no means dead. Their attitude was deferential in that it recognized superior wisdom, familiar since it assumed a comradeship in everything else. Also they revelled in “shop,” and welcomed anybody who would tell them anything new. I have seen Rivy, with bright eyes, hanging on the words of an aged general, or banker, or professor, or quondam master of hounds, cross-examining him in an earnest quest for knowledge; and the flattered face of the examinee showed how he relished the compliment.

To most of us the dividing line between the old and the new world was drawn in the first week of August 1914. But for the Twins it came earlier. Three months before the cataclysm of the nations they felt their own foundations crumbling.... Their brother Arthur’s firm, in which Rivy was a partner, had had a career of meteoric brilliance, and had naturally aroused much jealousy among others who had entered for the same stakes. From 1912 onward it had been riding high speculative tides, where the hand of a skilled helmsman was badly needed. But Arthur’s accident in the winter of that year kept him away from business for a considerable time, and when he returned it seemed to many of his friends that he was not the man he had been. Rivy had to deal on his own initiative with intricate matters which he probably never understood, for his business training had always been sketchy and inadequate. The affairs of the firm grew more and more involved, with the result that in the early months of 1914 a crash was imminent. In May the blow fell. The downfall of their brother’s business involved every penny of the Twins’ fortune.

This was the true tragedy of their lives, for the war brought no such bitterness. It meant that Rivy was a broken man in his profession, and that Francis must give up most of his ambitions. It made one’s heart ache to see them, stunned, puzzled, yet struggling to keep a brave front, and clamouring to take other people’s loads on their backs. Uncomplainingly they played what they decided was their last game of polo, and sold their ponies. Rivy was like one in a dream, trying to make out landmarks in an unfamiliar universe. Some terrible thing had happened, and by his fault—for his quixotic loyalty made him ready to shoulder all the blame—but he could not understand how or why. He was full of schemes to restore their fortunes, and I have rarely known anything so tragic as to listen to his schemes and endeavour to explain their bottomless futility.... It was a time when a man’s friends are tested, and nobly most of their friends stood the trial. But there were others who, in the noonday of prosperity, had been ready to lick their boots, and who now invented slanders and gloated over the downfall. In my haste I considered that a public thrashing would have best met such cases; but the brothers seemed to be incapable of anger. It was their gentleness that was so difficult to watch unmoved. They neither broke nor bent under calamity, but simply stood still and wondered. All that for fourteen years they had planned together had gone by the board, but they grieved about everybody’s loss more than their own. It was the same with both: in that bad time they spoke and felt and thought with one spirit.

In the late summer of 1914 those of us who were trying against heavy odds to reach a settlement of the brothers’ affairs were aware of a mysterious current moving throughout the world’s finance, which thwarted all our efforts. Though we did not know it at the time, it was the first muttering of the great storm. By the middle of July it was clear that nothing could be done, and then suddenly that happened which submerged all personal disasters in a universal downfall. On Tuesday, 4th August, Britain sent an ultimatum to Germany, and at midnight entered upon war. What to most people was like the drawing in of a dark curtain was to the Twins an opening of barred doors into the daylight. For Francis the career which seemed at an end was to be resumed upon an august stage, and for Rivy the chance had come to redeem private failure in public service.