summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/75853-h/75853-h.htm
blob: 2ba818fb46f907c6e96b1bab1f9dc1c46b4c2c39 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
11615
11616
11617
11618
11619
11620
11621
11622
11623
11624
11625
11626
11627
11628
11629
11630
11631
11632
11633
11634
11635
11636
11637
11638
11639
11640
11641
11642
11643
11644
11645
11646
11647
11648
11649
11650
11651
11652
11653
11654
11655
11656
11657
11658
11659
11660
11661
11662
11663
11664
11665
11666
11667
11668
11669
11670
11671
11672
11673
11674
11675
11676
11677
11678
11679
11680
11681
11682
11683
11684
11685
11686
11687
11688
11689
11690
11691
11692
11693
11694
11695
11696
11697
11698
11699
11700
11701
11702
11703
11704
11705
11706
11707
11708
11709
11710
11711
11712
11713
11714
11715
11716
11717
11718
11719
11720
11721
11722
11723
11724
11725
11726
11727
11728
11729
11730
11731
11732
11733
11734
11735
11736
11737
11738
11739
11740
11741
11742
11743
11744
11745
11746
11747
11748
11749
11750
11751
11752
11753
11754
11755
11756
11757
11758
11759
11760
11761
11762
11763
11764
11765
11766
11767
11768
11769
11770
11771
11772
11773
11774
11775
11776
11777
11778
11779
11780
11781
11782
11783
11784
11785
11786
11787
11788
11789
11790
11791
11792
11793
11794
11795
11796
11797
11798
11799
11800
11801
11802
11803
11804
11805
11806
11807
11808
11809
11810
11811
11812
11813
11814
11815
11816
11817
11818
11819
11820
11821
11822
11823
11824
11825
11826
11827
11828
11829
11830
11831
11832
11833
11834
11835
11836
11837
11838
11839
11840
11841
11842
11843
11844
11845
11846
11847
11848
11849
11850
11851
11852
11853
11854
11855
11856
11857
11858
11859
11860
11861
11862
11863
11864
11865
11866
11867
11868
11869
11870
11871
11872
11873
11874
11875
11876
11877
11878
11879
11880
11881
11882
11883
11884
11885
11886
11887
11888
11889
11890
11891
11892
11893
11894
11895
11896
11897
11898
11899
11900
11901
11902
11903
11904
11905
11906
11907
11908
11909
11910
11911
11912
11913
11914
11915
11916
11917
11918
11919
11920
11921
11922
11923
11924
11925
11926
11927
11928
11929
11930
11931
11932
11933
11934
11935
11936
11937
11938
11939
11940
11941
11942
11943
11944
11945
11946
11947
11948
11949
11950
11951
11952
11953
11954
11955
11956
11957
11958
11959
11960
11961
11962
11963
11964
11965
11966
11967
11968
11969
11970
11971
11972
11973
11974
11975
11976
11977
11978
11979
11980
11981
11982
11983
11984
11985
11986
11987
11988
11989
11990
11991
11992
11993
11994
11995
11996
11997
11998
11999
12000
12001
12002
12003
12004
12005
12006
12007
12008
12009
12010
12011
12012
12013
12014
12015
12016
12017
12018
12019
12020
12021
12022
12023
12024
12025
12026
12027
12028
12029
12030
12031
12032
12033
12034
12035
12036
12037
12038
12039
12040
12041
12042
12043
12044
12045
12046
12047
12048
12049
12050
12051
12052
12053
12054
12055
12056
12057
12058
12059
12060
12061
12062
12063
12064
12065
12066
12067
12068
12069
12070
12071
12072
12073
12074
12075
12076
12077
12078
12079
12080
12081
12082
12083
12084
12085
12086
12087
12088
12089
12090
12091
12092
12093
12094
12095
12096
12097
12098
12099
12100
12101
12102
12103
12104
12105
12106
12107
12108
12109
12110
12111
12112
12113
12114
12115
12116
12117
12118
12119
12120
12121
12122
12123
12124
12125
12126
12127
12128
12129
12130
12131
12132
12133
12134
12135
12136
12137
12138
12139
12140
12141
12142
12143
12144
12145
12146
12147
12148
12149
12150
12151
12152
12153
12154
12155
12156
12157
12158
12159
12160
12161
12162
12163
12164
12165
12166
12167
12168
12169
12170
12171
12172
12173
12174
12175
12176
12177
12178
12179
12180
12181
12182
12183
12184
12185
12186
12187
12188
12189
12190
12191
12192
12193
12194
12195
12196
12197
12198
12199
12200
12201
12202
12203
12204
12205
12206
12207
12208
12209
12210
12211
12212
12213
12214
12215
12216
12217
12218
12219
12220
12221
12222
12223
12224
12225
12226
12227
12228
12229
12230
12231
12232
12233
12234
12235
12236
12237
12238
12239
12240
12241
12242
12243
12244
12245
12246
12247
12248
12249
12250
12251
12252
12253
12254
12255
12256
12257
12258
12259
12260
12261
12262
12263
12264
12265
12266
12267
12268
12269
12270
12271
12272
12273
12274
12275
12276
12277
12278
12279
12280
12281
12282
12283
12284
12285
12286
12287
12288
12289
12290
12291
12292
12293
12294
12295
12296
12297
12298
12299
12300
12301
12302
12303
12304
12305
12306
12307
12308
12309
12310
12311
12312
12313
12314
12315
12316
12317
12318
12319
12320
12321
12322
12323
12324
12325
12326
12327
12328
12329
12330
12331
12332
12333
12334
12335
12336
12337
12338
12339
12340
12341
12342
12343
12344
12345
12346
12347
12348
12349
12350
12351
12352
12353
12354
12355
12356
12357
12358
12359
12360
12361
12362
12363
12364
12365
12366
12367
12368
12369
12370
12371
12372
12373
12374
12375
12376
12377
12378
12379
12380
12381
12382
12383
12384
12385
12386
12387
12388
12389
12390
12391
12392
12393
12394
12395
12396
12397
12398
12399
12400
12401
12402
12403
12404
12405
12406
12407
12408
12409
12410
12411
12412
12413
12414
12415
12416
12417
12418
12419
12420
12421
12422
12423
12424
12425
12426
12427
12428
12429
12430
12431
12432
12433
12434
12435
12436
12437
12438
12439
12440
12441
12442
12443
12444
12445
12446
12447
12448
12449
12450
12451
12452
12453
12454
12455
12456
12457
12458
12459
12460
12461
12462
12463
12464
12465
12466
12467
12468
12469
12470
12471
12472
12473
12474
12475
12476
12477
12478
12479
12480
12481
12482
12483
12484
12485
12486
12487
12488
12489
12490
12491
12492
12493
12494
12495
12496
12497
12498
12499
12500
12501
12502
12503
12504
12505
12506
12507
12508
12509
12510
12511
12512
12513
12514
12515
12516
12517
12518
12519
12520
12521
12522
12523
12524
12525
12526
12527
12528
12529
12530
12531
12532
12533
12534
12535
12536
12537
12538
12539
12540
12541
12542
12543
12544
12545
12546
12547
12548
12549
12550
12551
12552
12553
12554
12555
12556
12557
12558
12559
12560
12561
12562
12563
12564
12565
12566
12567
12568
12569
12570
12571
12572
12573
12574
12575
12576
12577
12578
12579
12580
12581
12582
12583
12584
12585
12586
12587
12588
12589
12590
12591
12592
12593
12594
12595
12596
12597
12598
12599
12600
12601
12602
12603
12604
12605
12606
12607
12608
12609
12610
12611
12612
12613
12614
12615
12616
12617
12618
12619
12620
12621
12622
12623
12624
12625
12626
12627
12628
12629
12630
12631
12632
12633
12634
12635
12636
12637
12638
12639
12640
12641
12642
12643
12644
12645
12646
12647
12648
12649
12650
12651
12652
12653
12654
12655
12656
12657
12658
12659
12660
12661
12662
12663
12664
12665
12666
12667
12668
12669
12670
12671
12672
12673
12674
12675
12676
12677
12678
12679
12680
12681
12682
12683
12684
12685
12686
12687
12688
12689
12690
12691
12692
12693
12694
12695
12696
12697
12698
12699
12700
12701
12702
12703
12704
12705
12706
12707
12708
12709
12710
12711
12712
12713
12714
12715
12716
12717
12718
12719
12720
12721
12722
12723
12724
12725
12726
12727
12728
12729
12730
12731
12732
12733
12734
12735
12736
12737
12738
12739
12740
12741
12742
12743
12744
12745
12746
12747
12748
12749
12750
12751
12752
12753
12754
12755
12756
12757
12758
12759
12760
12761
12762
12763
12764
12765
12766
12767
12768
12769
12770
12771
12772
12773
12774
12775
12776
12777
12778
12779
12780
12781
12782
12783
12784
12785
12786
12787
12788
12789
12790
12791
12792
12793
12794
12795
12796
12797
12798
12799
12800
12801
12802
12803
12804
12805
12806
12807
12808
12809
12810
12811
12812
12813
12814
12815
12816
12817
12818
12819
12820
12821
12822
12823
12824
12825
12826
12827
12828
12829
12830
12831
12832
12833
12834
12835
12836
12837
12838
12839
12840
12841
12842
12843
12844
12845
12846
12847
12848
12849
12850
12851
12852
12853
12854
12855
12856
12857
12858
12859
12860
12861
12862
12863
12864
12865
12866
12867
12868
12869
12870
12871
12872
12873
12874
12875
12876
12877
12878
12879
12880
12881
12882
12883
12884
12885
12886
12887
12888
12889
12890
12891
12892
12893
12894
12895
12896
12897
12898
12899
12900
12901
12902
12903
12904
12905
12906
12907
12908
12909
12910
12911
12912
12913
12914
12915
12916
12917
12918
12919
12920
12921
12922
12923
12924
12925
12926
12927
12928
12929
12930
12931
12932
12933
12934
12935
12936
12937
12938
12939
12940
12941
12942
12943
12944
12945
12946
12947
12948
12949
12950
12951
12952
12953
12954
12955
12956
12957
12958
12959
12960
12961
12962
12963
12964
12965
12966
12967
12968
12969
12970
12971
12972
12973
12974
12975
12976
12977
12978
12979
12980
12981
12982
12983
12984
12985
12986
12987
12988
12989
12990
12991
12992
12993
12994
12995
12996
12997
12998
12999
13000
13001
13002
13003
13004
13005
13006
13007
13008
13009
13010
13011
13012
13013
13014
13015
13016
13017
13018
13019
13020
13021
13022
13023
13024
13025
13026
13027
13028
13029
13030
13031
13032
13033
13034
13035
13036
13037
13038
13039
13040
13041
13042
13043
13044
13045
13046
13047
13048
13049
13050
13051
13052
13053
13054
13055
13056
13057
13058
13059
13060
13061
13062
13063
13064
13065
13066
13067
13068
13069
13070
13071
13072
13073
13074
13075
13076
13077
13078
13079
13080
13081
13082
13083
13084
13085
13086
13087
13088
13089
13090
13091
13092
13093
13094
13095
13096
13097
13098
13099
13100
13101
13102
13103
13104
13105
13106
13107
13108
13109
13110
13111
13112
13113
13114
13115
13116
13117
13118
13119
13120
13121
13122
13123
13124

<!DOCTYPE html>
<html lang="en">
<head>
    <meta charset="UTF-8">
    <title>
      Memories of an Old Etonian 1860-1912 | Project Gutenberg
    </title>
    <link rel="icon" href="images/cover.jpg" type="image/x-cover">
    <style>

a {
    text-decoration: none;
}

body {
    margin-left: 10%;
    margin-right: 10%;
}

h1,h2 {
    text-align: center;
    clear: both;
}

h2.nobreak {
    page-break-before: avoid;
}

hr {
    margin-top: 2em;
    margin-bottom: 2em;
    clear: both;
}

hr.tb {
    width: 45%;
    margin-left: 27.5%;
    margin-right: 27.5%;
}

hr.chap {
    width: 65%;
    margin-left: 17.5%;
    margin-right: 17.5%;
}

img.w100 {
    width: 100%;
}

div.chapter {
    page-break-before: always;
}

ul {
    list-style-type: none;
}

li.indx {
    margin-top: .5em;
    padding-left: 2em;
    text-indent: -2em;
}

li.ifrst {
    margin-top: 2em;
    padding-left: 2em;
    text-indent: -2em;
}

p {
    margin-top: 0.5em;
    text-align: justify;
    margin-bottom: 0.5em;
    text-indent: 1em;
}

table {
    margin: 1em auto 1em auto;
    max-width: 35em;
    border-collapse: collapse;
}

td {
    padding-left: 2.25em;
    padding-right: 0.25em;
    vertical-align: top;
    text-indent: -2em;
    text-align: justify;
}

.contents .tdc {
    padding-left: 0.25em;
    text-indent: 0;
    text-align: center;
    padding-top: 0.75em;
}

.tdc {
    vertical-align: bottom;
    text-align: center;
}

.contents .tdpg {
    text-align: right;
    padding-top: 0.75em;
}

.tdpg {
    vertical-align: bottom;
    text-align: right;
}

.blockquote {
    margin: 1.5em 10%;
}

.caption p {
    text-align: center;
    font-size: 90%;
    text-indent: 0em;
}

.caption p.caption-r {
    text-align: right;
    margin-bottom: 1em;
    font-size: 80%;
    text-indent: 0em;
}

.center {
    text-align: center;
    text-indent: 0em;
}

.figcenter {
    margin: auto;
    text-align: center;
}

.footnotes {
    margin-top: 1em;
    border: dashed 1px;
}

.footnote {
    margin-left: 10%;
    margin-right: 10%;
    font-size: 0.9em;
}

.footnote .label {
    position: absolute;
    right: 84%;
    text-align: right;
}

.fnanchor {
    vertical-align: super;
    font-size: .8em;
    text-decoration: none;
}

.hanging {
    padding-left: 2em;
    text-indent: -2em;
}

.larger {
    font-size: 150%;
}

.pagenum {
    position: absolute;
    right: 4%;
    font-size: smaller;
    text-align: right;
    font-style: normal;
}

.poetry-container {
    text-align: center;
}

.poetry {
    display: inline-block;
    text-align: left;
}

.poetry .stanza {
    margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;
}

.poetry .verse {
    padding-left: 3em;
}

.poetry .indent0 {
    text-indent: -3em;
}

.smaller {
    font-size: 80%;
}

.smcap {
    font-variant: small-caps;
    font-style: normal;
}

.tb {
    margin-top: 2em;
}

.titlepage {
    text-align: center;
    margin-top: 3em;
    text-indent: 0em;
}

.x-ebookmaker img {
    max-width: 100%;
    width: auto;
    height: auto;
}

.x-ebookmaker .poetry {
    display: block;
    margin-left: 1.5em;
}

.x-ebookmaker .blockquote {
    margin: 1.5em 5%;
}

/* Illustration classes */
.illowp100 {width: 100%;}
.illowp45 {width: 45%;}
.x-ebookmaker .illowp45 {width: 100%;}
.illowp48 {width: 48%;}
.x-ebookmaker .illowp48 {width: 100%;}
.illowp50 {width: 50%;}
.x-ebookmaker .illowp50 {width: 100%;}
.illowp53 {width: 53%;}
.x-ebookmaker .illowp53 {width: 100%;}
.illowp56 {width: 56%;}
.x-ebookmaker .illowp56 {width: 100%;}

    </style>
  </head>
<body>
<div style='text-align:center'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75853 ***</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_i"></a>[i]</span></p>

<h1><i>Memories of an Old Etonian<br>
1860-1912</i></h1>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ii"></a>[ii]</span></p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iii"></a>[iii]</span></p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp53" id="illus01" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus01.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Rev. D. Hornby, Provost of Eton.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>Frontispiece.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_iv"></a>[iv]</span></p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_v"></a>[v]</span></p>

<div style="border-bottom: double black; margin: auto; width: 25em;">

<p class="titlepage larger"><i><span class="smcap">Memories of an Old<br>
Etonian</span> :: 1860-1912</i></p>

<p class="center"><i>By George Greville <span class="smaller">:: Author of “Society Recollections<br>
in Paris and Vienna” and “More Society Recollections.”</span></i></p>

</div>

<figure class="figcenter titlepage illowp50" id="tp-deco" style="max-width: 6.25em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/tp-deco.jpg" alt="">
</figure>

<p class="titlepage"><i>WITH 22 ILLUSTRATIONS<br>
ON ART PAPER</i></p>

<p class="titlepage"><i>LONDON: HUTCHINSON &amp; CO.</i><br>
<i>:: :: PATERNOSTER ROW :: ::</i></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vi"></a>[vi]</span></p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_vii"></a>[vii]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CONTENTS">CONTENTS</h2>

</div>

<table class="contents">
  <tr>
    <td></td>
    <td class="tdpg smaller">PAGE</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER I.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_I">1</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Early Recollections—Thackeray—The Princess Liegnitz—The
    Austrian Bandmaster—Society at Homburg—Frankfurt—Goethe
    and Beethoven—A Racing Coincidence</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER II.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_II">18</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>An Adventure in the Oden Wald—The Coiners of the Black
    Forest—Kirchhofer’s School</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER III.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_III">27</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Brussels—Ostend—General Sir John Douglas—Spa—“Captain
    Arthy”—Boulogne</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER IV.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">40</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>A Painting by Romney—Hunter’s School at Kineton—Corporal
    Punishment—A Sporting Parson—My Schoolfellows at Kineton—The
    Warre-Malets—Lord Charleville</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER V.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_V">54</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>My Mother’s Recollections—The Cercle des Patineurs—Patti—Our
    <i>Appartement</i> in the Rue d’Albe</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER VI.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">63</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_viii"></a>[viii]</span></td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER VII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">80</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>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</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER VIII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">94</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Athletic Sports at Eton—A “Scrap”—Lord Newlands—An
    Old Boy on Eton of To-day</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER IX.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">103</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Lady Grace Stopford—Tipperary in 1870—Robbed at Punchestown
    Races—I get my own back</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER X.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_X">110</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Dieppe under Prussian Rule—A Toilette by Worth—A Confirmed
    Gambler</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XI.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">116</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Princess von Metternich—The Lady of the Luxembourg
    Gardens</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">123</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Bonn—An Anecdote of Beethoven—The King’s Hussars—The
    Howard Vyses—A German Professor on England—Domesticated
    Habits of German Girls—Professor Delbrück</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XIII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">136</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>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</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XIV.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">155</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Captain Howard Vyse—An Anecdote of Paganini—New Hats
    for Old Ones—Albert Bingham—Baron Alphonse de Rothschild—Madame
    Alice Kernave—Gambetta</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XV.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">168</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>My First Night at Mess—Life at Shorncliffe—The Charltons<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_ix"></a>[ix]</span></td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XVI.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">175</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>An N.C.O. of the Old School—Major Blewett—Captain Byron—Sandhurst</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XVII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">183</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>I sail for India—Kandy—Dangerous Playmates—I arrive at
    Murree</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XVIII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">190</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>My Brother-Officers—“The Oyster”—In High Society—Our
    Menagerie</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XIX.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">198</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>A Subalterns’ Court-Martial—A Terrible Experience—High
    Mess-bills</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XX.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">205</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Sialkote—Amateur Theatricals—An Ingenious Thief—Death
    of Albert Phipps—Agra—Voyage to England</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XXI.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">217</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Baroness James Édouard de Rothschild—At Carlsbad—Transferred
    to the 3rd Battalion</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XXII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">222</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>My Brother-Officers—A <i>Mésalliance</i>—Christy Minstrels and
    Tobogganing</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XXIII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">229</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Sarah Bernhardt in <i>Phèdre</i>—Vienna and Buda-Pesth</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XXIV.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">233</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Percy Hope-Johnstone—A “Special” to Aldershot—A Costume-Ball
    at Folkestone</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XXV.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">238</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Oppenheims—St. James’s and Winchester—The Colonel and
    Beauclerk</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XXVI.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">244</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Paris Again—Eccentricities of Captain “Rabelais”—A Fire in
    Barracks—A Trying Inspection<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_x"></a>[x]</span></td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XXVII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">252</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Madrid and Cordova—Seville—General von Goeben and the Bull-fight—A
    View from the Alhambra—I rejoin my Regiment</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc">CHAPTER XXVIII.</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">262</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>I meet Byron Again—I endeavour to Exchange—Basil Montgomery—My
    Illness—Why I was not Placed on Half-pay</td>
    <td class="tdpg"></td>
  </tr>
</table>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_xi"></a>[xi]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="LIST_OF_ILLUSTRATIONS">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</h2>

</div>

<table>
  <tr>
    <td></td>
    <td class="tdpg smaller" colspan="2">PAGE</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Rev. D. Hornby, Provost of Eton</td>
    <td class="tdpg" colspan="2"><a href="#illus01"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Mrs. Ronalds</td>
    <td><i>Facing&nbsp;p.</i></td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus02">2</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Mrs. R. C. Kemys-Tynte, of Halswell (now Mrs. Rawlins, mother of Lord Wharton)</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus03">3</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Author’s Father</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus04">6</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Author’s Mother</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus05">12</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Author’s Daughter</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus06">20</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Author’s Mother</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus07">40</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>C. D. Williamson, at Eton with the Author</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus08">50</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Miss Mabel Warre-Malet</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus09">51</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Author</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus10">62</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Charles Balfour, at Eton with the Author</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus11">80</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Miss Minnie Balfour, sister of Hilda, Lady de Clifford</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus12">81</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>W. H. Onslow, aged 13, afterwards Lord Onslow</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus13">82</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Hon. Emily Cathcart, Maid of Honour to Queen Victoria</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus14">83</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Henry Hooker Walker, at Eton with the Author</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus15">90</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Hon. J. W. Lowther, present Speaker of the House of Commons</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus16">91</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Duke of Rutland</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus17">98</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The Author’s Father</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus18">144</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Madame Alice Kernave</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus19">164</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>The late Earl of Berkeley</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus20">165</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Miss Augusta Charlton</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus21">172</a></td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>Miss Ida Charlton</td>
    <td class="tdc">”</td>
    <td class="tdpg"><a href="#illus22">173</a></td>
  </tr>
</table>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p>

<h1>MEMORIES OF AN OLD ETONIAN,<br>
1860-1912</h1>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I</h2>

<p class="hanging">Early Recollections—Thackeray—The Princess Liegnitz—The Austrian Bandmaster—Society
at Homburg—Frankfurt—Goethe and Beethoven—A
Racing Coincidence</p>

</div>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span>
impression, making me feel almost as though I were present
at a funeral. It was, however, merely done to create a
more imposing effect.</p>

<p>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 <i>en masse</i> from the room and began to descend the
staircase, talking loudly as they passed.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus02" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus02.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>Mrs. Ronalds.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 2.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<figure class="figcenter illowp56" id="illus03" style="max-width: 23.4375em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus03.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>Mrs. R. C. Kemys-Tynte, of Halswell (now Mrs.
Rawlins, mother of Lord Wharton).</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 3.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span>
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—<i>châtain
foncé</i>—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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>amandes vertes</i>. I can
remember how kind this gentleman always was to me,
taking me constantly for walks in the garden of the Kurhaus,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span>
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.<a id="FNanchor_1" href="#Footnote_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p>

<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_2" href="#Footnote_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> I used at that time to be dressed like<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span>
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!”</p>

<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_3" href="#Footnote_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span>
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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp48" id="illus04" style="max-width: 28.125em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus04.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Author’s Father.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 6.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>When the Princess Liegnitz left Homburg, great preparations
were made at the villa for the Duc de Morny,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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,<a id="FNanchor_4" href="#Footnote_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a>
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.</p>

<p>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 <i>table d’hôte</i>, 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:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span></p>

<p>“Look at the Austrian bandmaster: he has two such
pretty wives!”</p>

<p>“You silly boy, why do you talk such nonsense?”
answered my nurse.</p>

<p>“But he is making love to both, and so they are to him,”
I persisted.</p>

<p>“You should not look at people you don’t know; they
may be his sisters.”</p>

<p>“I am sure they are not, for look at papa and his sisters.”</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>“Couldn’t they both be his wives?”</p>

<p>“No; such a thing would not be allowed.”</p>

<p>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 “<i>Du</i>,” 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.”</p>

<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span>
This, indeed, he could well afford to do, in view of the
immense profits he derived from the gaming-tables.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“<i>Gott, wirklich ich dachte Sie hätten meine Uhr weggenommen!</i>”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span>
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 <i>en grand luxe</i>.</p>

<p>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 <i>parvenus</i> 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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“I will ask your friend up out of the rain,” said Mrs.
Hudson to the Duke.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span>
to get ready for active service. His answer was that he
was ready to go anywhere at twenty-four hours’ notice.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp50" id="illus05" style="max-width: 29.6875em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus05.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Author’s Mother.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 12.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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 <i>la Reine
Margot</i> and <i>le Chevalier de Maison Rouge</i>, by Alexandre
Dumas <i>père</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>I went to the Jewish quarter, where the old tumbledown
house in which the Rothschilds had once lived<a id="FNanchor_5" href="#Footnote_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span>
why such men as Goldschmid at Homburg were allowed to
carry on their villainous trade with Christians.</p>

<p>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.”</p>

<p>Speaking of Goethe, the celebrated Austrian poet Grillparzer
says:—</p>

<p>“<i>Schiller geht nach oben, Goethe kommt von oben.</i>
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 <i>Tasso</i>
and <i>Iphigenia</i>, 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 <i>Wanderjahre</i> is no work, the second part of <i>Faust</i>
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 <i>Wahlverwandtschaften</i> 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.”</p>

<p>Frederick the Great said of Goethe: “His early works<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span>
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: “<i>Unsere Unsterblichkeit ist, den
Menschen Wohlthaten zu erweisen</i>.” (“Our immortality
consists in performing good deeds to mankind.”)</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“You are quite right, but with regard to the men sitting
at that table, I should not be surprised if they were millionaires.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“They are four millionaires.”</p>

<p>I may mention that I had never seen these men before
in my life, and was only staying at Frankfurt two days.</p>

<p>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 <i>Con Amore</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span>
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:—</p>

<table>
  <tr>
    <td class="tdc" colspan="3">Saturday, 25th June, 1904. Kurhaus, 4 p.m.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>1.</td>
    <td>Wiedermann Marsch</td>
    <td>Oelschlegel.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>2.</td>
    <td>Ouverture, Oberon</td>
    <td>Weber.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>3.</td>
    <td>Ballerinen Walzer</td>
    <td>Weinberger.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>4.</td>
    <td>Potpourri aus Obersteiger</td>
    <td>Zeller.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>5.</td>
    <td>Con Amore Polka</td>
    <td>Ed. Strauss.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>6.</td>
    <td>Ouverture, Belagerung von Corinth</td>
    <td>Rossini.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>7.</td>
    <td>Am Spinnrad</td>
    <td>Eilenberg.</td>
  </tr>
  <tr>
    <td>8.</td>
    <td>Frisch heran Galop</td>
    <td>Johann Strauss.</td>
  </tr>
</table>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II</h2>

<p class="center">An Adventure in the Oden Wald—The Coiners of the Black
Forest—Kirchhofer’s School</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span>
much afraid our master would leave me with him. I begged
him not to do so, and was greatly relieved when he said:</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“I have a loaded revolver with me.”</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

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

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

<p>“No, I have just told you so,” was the reply.</p>

<p>Herr Wolf was visibly alarmed, but Close whispered to
him:—</p>

<p>“I have a box of matches.”</p>

<p>“<i>Gott sei dank!</i>” exclaimed the other.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp50" id="illus06" style="max-width: 29.6875em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus06.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Author’s Daughter.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 20.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>While I lay in bed, I heard some noisy women passing the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“<i>Du bist famos geschlafen, George.</i>”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>During the time of the great Napoleon,<a id="FNanchor_6" href="#Footnote_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> the Emperor<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p>

<p>Herr Wolf saw me in after days at Frankfurt, when he
kissed me in German fashion, saying: “<i>Kannst Du Dich erinnern
von damals im Oden Walde, George?</i>” 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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, <i>malgré moi</i>, to submit
to my parents’ wishes.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span>
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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III</h2>

<p class="center">Brussels—Ostend—General Sir John Douglas—Spa—“Captain
Arthy”—Boulogne</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span>
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.”</p>

<p>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 <i>fiancée</i> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_7" href="#Footnote_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span>
completely spoiled by the water. I was well scolded by my
mother for being the cause of this misfortune.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

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

<p>“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.” (“<i>Vous y verrez ma tête, puisque vous avez voulu vous
la payer.</i>”)</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span></p>

<p>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.”</p>

<p>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 <i>monde élégant</i> 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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>Once I was staying with my father at Desseins Hôtel,
at Calais,<a id="FNanchor_8" href="#Footnote_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span>
his fingers. He was perpetually smiling, displaying a set
of very fine teeth when he did so.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>Times</i> 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:—</p>

<p>“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:—</p>

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

<p>“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.</p>

<p>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 <i>difficile</i>, 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:—</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_36"></a>[36]</span></p>

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

<p>She looked pleased, and replied, smiling:—</p>

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

<p>“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.</p>

<p>“He doesn’t half admire you,” said my father, laughing.</p>

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

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

<p>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 <i>Alabama</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_37"></a>[37]</span>
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.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>George Lawrence, the author of “Guy Livingstone,” son<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_38"></a>[38]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_39"></a>[39]</span>
often went to see him. He was a good talker and always
very entertaining.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_40"></a>[40]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV</h2>

<p class="hanging">A Painting by Romney—Hunter’s School at Kineton—Corporal Punishment—A
Sporting Parson—My Schoolfellows at Kineton—The Warre-Malets—Lord
Charleville.</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>peignoir</i> of a pale yellow
colour, like the colour of the sea just before a storm. The
<i>peignoir</i> 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 <i>peignoir</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_41"></a>[41]</span>
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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus07" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus07.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Author’s Mother.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 40.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>“No, I have not,” the Earl answered.</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_42"></a>[42]</span>
“Queen’s.” He remembered Lady Caroline Murray, and
remarked that she was one of those ladies of the old nobility
who were scarce nowadays.</p>

<p>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,<a id="FNanchor_9" href="#Footnote_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_43"></a>[43]</span></p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Tell the lady to what church you go with your mother.”</p>

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

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_44"></a>[44]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_45"></a>[45]</span>
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.</p>

<p>Our French master, who was obliged to accompany us,
used sometimes to unfold the Paris <i>Figaro</i> 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 <i>Figaro</i>, 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.</p>

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

<p>“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.</p>

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

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_46"></a>[46]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_10" href="#Footnote_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a></p>

<p>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.<a id="FNanchor_11" href="#Footnote_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a>
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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_47"></a>[47]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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 <i>Bell’s Life</i> 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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_48"></a>[48]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_49"></a>[49]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_50"></a>[50]</span>
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.</p>

<p>Once, on the anniversary of Shakespeare’s birth,<a id="FNanchor_12" href="#Footnote_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_51"></a>[51]</span>
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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus08" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus08.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>C. D. Williamson, at Eton with the Author.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 50.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus09" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus09.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>Miss Mabel Warre-Malet.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 51.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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. “<i>Si jeunesse savait, si vieillesse pouvait.</i>”
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:</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_52"></a>[52]</span></p>

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

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Good gracious! my petticoat is coming down!”</p>

<p>And she burst out laughing.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

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

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

<p>Which I did right gladly, as you may suppose.</p>

<p>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; <i>mais mon cœur balançait entre
les deux</i>, 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.</p>

<p>Lord Charleville was a tall, good-looking youth, with<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_53"></a>[53]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_54"></a>[54]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V</h2>

<p class="center">My Mother’s Recollections—The Cercle des Patineurs—Patti—Our
<i>Appartement</i> in the Rue d’Albe</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>patio</i> 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.</p>

<p>I remember being taken to a box at the Théâtre
des Italiens to hear Adelina Patti, in <i>La Gazza ladra</i>, 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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>My mother always had her own box at Her Majesty’s in<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_55"></a>[55]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_56"></a>[56]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>It was about this time, when my parents were living in
the Avenue d’Antin, that I first saw Hortense Schneider
in <i>les Voyages de Gulliver</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>Fioretti was then the <i>première danseuse</i> at the Grand
Opéra. Her dancing always gave me greater pleasure
than anything else there. She was, besides, very beautiful,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_57"></a>[57]</span>
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.</p>

<p>I went also to the Palais-Royal, and saw <i>le Train de
Minuit</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_58"></a>[58]</span>
the Tuileries. The Princess Metternich, the Austrian
Ambassadress, was also an <i>habituée</i>; in fact, the place was
patronized by all the <i>beau monde</i> of those days.</p>

<p>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 <i>Ständchen</i>, 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.</p>

<p>Hofrath Hanslick, the late celebrated critic of the Austrian
<i>Neue Freie Presse</i>, said of Patti:—</p>

<p>“She appears to me to be most perfect in rôles like
Zerlina, in <i>Don Juan</i>, Norina, in <i>Don Pasquale</i>, Rosina,
in the <i>Barbiere di Seviglia</i>. 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 <i>Don Juan</i>. 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
<i>Barbiere</i>, and as Norina in Donizetti’s graceful opera, <i>Don
Pasquale</i>. In the <i>Barbiere</i> one can judge best, perhaps, of
her marvellous art in singing. Of her later rôles, in Leonora,
in Verdi’s <i>Trovatore</i>, she attained almost the highest pitch.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_59"></a>[59]</span>
The <i>Traviata</i>, which is decidedly a far better opera, shows
Patti to more advantage dramatically. I always disliked
<i>Dinorah</i>, almost as much as I did formerly the <i>Traviata</i>,
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 <i>Huguenots</i>, and Gretchen,
in the <i>Faust</i> 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.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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:—</p>

<p>“<i>Mon cher ami, c’est défendu de mendier, mais voici un
franc; ne le faites plus.</i>”</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

<p>He asked how long she intended resting, when she replied:</p>

<p>“Six months.”</p>

<p>My father was so astonished at this reply that he was quite<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_60"></a>[60]</span>
unable to refrain from laughing, which rather annoyed the
lady. On our leaving the hôtel soon afterwards, he said to
me:</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>I frequently went to the galleries of the Louvre and the
Luxembourg, and always had a great liking for Greuze’s
paintings, particularly the <i>Cruche Cassée</i> and <i>l’Accordée
du Village</i>. 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 <i>quelque chose à désirer</i> in the copies, and even
in the photographs from the picture itself; it is something
in the expression, and not alone in the colouring.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_61"></a>[61]</span></p>

<p>In the following summer, my parents left the Avenue
d’Antin and lived for a time in the Avenue Joséphine, until
an <i>appartement</i> 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.</p>

<p>As I was about to go to Eton, my mother was anxious that<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_62"></a>[62]</span>
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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp100" id="illus10" style="max-width: 62.5em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus10.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Author.</p>
  <p>Aged 9. Aged 14. Aged 16.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 62.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_63"></a>[63]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI</h2>

<p class="hanging">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</p>

</div>

<p>There was a certain <i>cachet</i> 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 <i>cachet</i> of good manners, which is
indispensable for every woman who has lived in aristocratic
circles. There are certainly exceptions, but they are very
rare.”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_64"></a>[64]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>I had not long to wait before some of the boys arrived, and
presently came into the housekeeper’s room. But I do not<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_65"></a>[65]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

<p>Suddenly some other boys came in.</p>

<p>“Here are some new fellows,” said Gaskell.</p>

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

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

<p>“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?”</p>

<p>“From London,” replied Temple, colouring slightly.</p>

<p>“From what school?”</p>

<p>“I was educated at home by a tutor.”</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_66"></a>[66]</span></p>

<p>“You look like the devil,” said Locke, laughing.</p>

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

<p>“I say, Satan, what an ugly mug you have!”</p>

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

<p>“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.”</p>

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

<p>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 <i>Monarch</i>; 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_67"></a>[67]</span>
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.</p>

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

<p>“You are the son of a tailor, I believe, are you not?”</p>

<p>“Yes,” was the reply, “and I will take your measure.”</p>

<p>The tailor’s son never rested until he had ruined the other.</p>

<p>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
<i>épée</i> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_68"></a>[68]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>“I do, sir,” answered Craven.</p>

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

<p>All the boys began to titter, and Craven laughed and
said:—</p>

<p>“I suppose I don’t, sir.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_69"></a>[69]</span></p>

<p>“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.”</p>

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

<p>“I will make you all write out a book of the <i>Iliad</i> if
you don’t stop giggling at once.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Yes, even the boys are laughing at you both.”</p>

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

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

<p>Craven and Ady nearly split their sides with laughing,
as well as the others.</p>

<p>“I see I can do nothing with you to-day,” remarked<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_70"></a>[70]</span>
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.”</p>

<p>At last the merriment subsided, but presently some of
the boys began laughing again.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

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

<p>“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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_71"></a>[71]</span>
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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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 <i>Victory</i> and the dark blue of the <i>Monarch</i> to the
cerise of the <i>Prince of Wales</i> and the blue of the <i>Britannia</i>.
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.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_72"></a>[72]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“I told you what to say.”</p>

<p>“Please, sir, I could not hear exactly.”</p>

<p>“Are you deaf?”</p>

<p>“No, sir, but I did not hear exactly.”</p>

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

<p>“Yes, sir.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_73"></a>[73]</span>
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:—</p>

<p>“Why did you not stand up when I told you to do so?”</p>

<p>“Because you never told me, sir.”</p>

<p>“I did; your name is Samson, isn’t it?”</p>

<p>“No, sir; it’s Somerset.”</p>

<p>“Well, anyhow, you knew that I meant you.”</p>

<p>Somerset made no reply, and the master said:—</p>

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

<p>“Very well, sir.”</p>

<p>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 <i>sobriquet</i>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>The most popular master was the Rev. Edmund Warre,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_74"></a>[74]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>There was another master, Mr. St. John Thackeray, who
had no authority whatever over the boys up to him in school,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_75"></a>[75]</span>
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:—</p>

<p>“You are half an hour late this morning!”</p>

<p>“Please, sir, I overslept myself.”</p>

<p>“But you always oversleep yourself.”</p>

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

<p>“What made you so tired...?”</p>

<p>Here the other boys began to laugh, and someone said
aloud:—</p>

<p>“He’s always so slack.”</p>

<p>“Which boy spoke?” asked Mr. Thackeray angrily. A
dead silence ensued.</p>

<p>“I <i>will</i> 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:—</p>

<p>“It was I, sir.”</p>

<p>“Which of you was it?” asked Mr. Thackeray.</p>

<p>“I, sir,” sounded from different parts of the room.</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

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

<p>“It was I,” said one boy.</p>

<p>Then, a moment afterwards, another voice said:—</p>

<p>“It was I, sir.”</p>

<p>“But it could not have been both of you. Which of you
was it?”</p>

<p>“Me, sir,” said the first boy who had spoken.</p>

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

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_76"></a>[76]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>His name reminds me of a good story that I once heard at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_77"></a>[77]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_78"></a>[78]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

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

<p>“Well, I will try.”</p>

<p>With which, Williamson’s aunt went off in search of Mr.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_79"></a>[79]</span>
Johnson, and presently returned, looking very pleased, and
said:—</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Do you mind giving Billy Portman a lift?”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_80"></a>[80]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII</h2>

<p class="hanging">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</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>Monarch</i>, 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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus11" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus11.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>Charles Balfour, at Eton with the Author.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 80.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus12" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus12.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>Miss Minnie Balfour, sister of Hilda, Lady de Clifford.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 81.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_81"></a>[81]</span></p>

<p>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 <i>Odyssey</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_82"></a>[82]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>Victory</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_83"></a>[83]</span>
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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus13" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus13.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>W. H. Onslow, aged 13, afterwards Lord Onslow.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 82.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus14" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus14.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Hon. Emily Cathcart, Maid of Honour to Queen Victoria.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 83.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Give me what you have ready, nothing else.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_84"></a>[84]</span></p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>Queen Victoria liked to be read to by her maids-of-honour,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_85"></a>[85]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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 <i>plat</i>, which was one of a simple but
unusual kind, purposely, as she appeared to be amused at
the consternation her request had aroused.</p>

<p>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 <i>très
grande dame</i>. 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.</p>

<p>In winter, if we happened to have a frost hard enough to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_86"></a>[86]</span>
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:—</p>

<p>“It’s lucky for you I did not catch you there.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_87"></a>[87]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_88"></a>[88]</span>
he and his contemporaries had done in days of yore, he
added regretfully:—</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_89"></a>[89]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_90"></a>[90]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“That joke you made I think I could improve upon, sir.”</p>

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

<p>“Charles, you know you meant it for a joke,” exclaimed
Mrs. Bower.</p>

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

<p>“Because there is generally more point in them, sir,”
remarked Walker.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>“It’s quite a habit of yours, Charles, to make these<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_91"></a>[91]</span>
jokes,” said Mrs. Bower; “I confess I don’t care for them
at any time.”</p>

<p>“Ladies never do,” retorted Mr. James.</p>

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

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus15" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus15.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>Henry Hooker Walker, at Eton with
the Author.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 90.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus16" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus16.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Hon. J. W. Lowther, present
Speaker of the House of Commons.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 91.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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 <i>Victory</i>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_92"></a>[92]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>Die Leiden des jungen
Werthers</i> and Auerbach’s <i>Das Landhaus am Rhein</i>. 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 <i>le Bourgeois Gentilhomme</i>,
which was acted by the boys and himself. Molière is said
to have portrayed himself in <i>le Misanthrope</i>. 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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_93"></a>[93]</span></p>

<p>Gridley’s younger brother, Reginald Gridley, after I had
left Eton, rowed in the <i>Victory</i> 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 <i>Thetis</i>), 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_94"></a>[94]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII</h2>

<p class="center">Athletic Sports at Eton—A “Scrap”—Lord Newlands—An
Old Boy on Eton of To-day</p>

</div>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>To which request the young gentleman gave the answer
which might be expected.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_95"></a>[95]</span>
in those days Eton used to win year after year in succession.<a id="FNanchor_13" href="#Footnote_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a>
The light blue of Eton was worn by the boys and by the
pretty girls who accompanied them.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Well done, Black-eyed Susan!” <i>Black-eyed Susan</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_96"></a>[96]</span>
asked me why I had done so, but the only reason I could give
was that I was so short-sighted.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_97"></a>[97]</span>
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:—</p>

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

<p>In the old days this was not so. Lord’s has certainly not
improved since.<a id="FNanchor_14" href="#Footnote_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_98"></a>[98]</span></p>

<p>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:—</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p class="center">“<i>Fire kept in for two hundred years.</i></p>

<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_99"></a>[99]</span>
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.”</p>

</div>

<figure class="figcenter illowp53" id="illus17" style="max-width: 31.25em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus17.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Duke of Rutland</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 98.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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, <i>faute de
mieux à faire</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_100"></a>[100]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>par excellence</i>
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 <i>Monarch</i>, and his brother Cecil rowed
in the <i>Victory</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_101"></a>[101]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_102"></a>[102]</span>
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.”</p>

</div>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>The next day Socrates would relate:—</p>

<p>“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....”</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_103"></a>[103]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX</h2>

<p class="center">Lady Grace Stopford—Tipperary in 1870—Robbed at Punchestown
Races—I get my own back</p>

</div>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“I wanted to show my friend the fairest young lady in
the county.”</p>

<p>At which compliment she blushed and replied:—</p>

<p>“I am afraid he will be much disappointed.”</p>

<p>“On the contrary,” I observed, “I am agreeably surprised.”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_104"></a>[104]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_105"></a>[105]</span>
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 “<i>gemüthlichkeit</i>,”
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.</p>

<p>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,<a id="FNanchor_15" href="#Footnote_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> had a pretty daughter,
a very amiable and clever girl, who is now the wife of Sir
Shirley Salt.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_106"></a>[106]</span>
woman. At dinner one evening she told me the following
rather interesting story:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>Speaking of London, Lady Fanny said:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>Lady Fanny also said:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>I was invited with Jim Doyne to stay at the Shelbourne
Hotel, as the guest of Earl Fitzwilliam, for the Punchestown<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_107"></a>[107]</span>
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:—</p>

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

<p>The girl blushed, and the man, looking very much annoyed,
answered:—</p>

<p>“She knows I am telling her the truth.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“I don’t take English notes, only Irish ones.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

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

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

<p>“But I don’t wish to bet,” I replied.</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>In the evening, when I returned to the Shelbourne Hotel,
Lord Fitzwilliam’s sons, Thomas<a id="FNanchor_16" href="#Footnote_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> and Charles Fitzwilliam,
Lord Aberdour, Jim and myself dined together in a private<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_108"></a>[108]</span>
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.”</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

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

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

<p>“You must prosecute the man for the good of the public.”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_109"></a>[109]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.”</p>

<p>And the man of law, overhearing the remark, took
himself off without more ado.</p>

<p>I stayed some weeks longer with Jim Doyne,<a id="FNanchor_17" href="#Footnote_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> when I
went to London for my “exam.” for the Army.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_110"></a>[110]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</h2>

<p class="center">Dieppe under Prussian Rule—A Toilette by Worth—A Confirmed
Gambler</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_111"></a>[111]</span>
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.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_112"></a>[112]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>I inquired whether Worth charged very high prices for
his confections.</p>

<p>“It is according to what you consider high,” she replied.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_113"></a>[113]</span>
“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.”</p>

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

<p>“Yes, he is,” she said, “but Worth I consider still
better.”</p>

<p>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 <i>passementerie</i> on it, and very
pretty buttons in enamel, a white petticoat with flounces
of lace, stockings <i>à jour</i>, and shoes with Louis Quinze
heels. Her hat matched her dress, and the <i>ensemble</i> would
have been a dream, had not her gloves, which were brown,
spoiled—as she herself admitted—an otherwise perfect
toilette.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“I say, Fred,” inquired Dorrien one day of my father,
“how about your infallible system? What was it? Let
me see: one louis <i>à cheval</i> 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?”</p>

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

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_114"></a>[114]</span></p>

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

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

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

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

<p>“You would only lose again,” said Berkeley.</p>

<p>“I am sorry that I ever played there at all,” said
Dorrien.</p>

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

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

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>“But I won afterwards—three hundred louis.”</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>“Can’t I?” said my father, laughing.</p>

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

<p>“I agree with you entirely,” observed Berkeley.</p>

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

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

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

<p>“Yes, at baccarat and the Stock Exchange.”</p>

<p>“That is as bad,” remarked my father.</p>

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

<p>“Quite as bad,” exclaimed Berkeley, “but I do the
same thing.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_115"></a>[115]</span></p>

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

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

<p>“If you do,” remarked Berkeley, “<i>vous y perdrez vos pas,
mon cher ami</i>.”</p>

<p>And then they talked about other things.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_116"></a>[116]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI</h2>

<p class="center">The Princess von Metternich—The Lady of the Luxembourg
Gardens</p>

</div>

<p>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 <i>appartement</i> being on the <i>entresol</i>,
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.</p>

<p>The last time I met Lord Dillon was on the pier at
Brighton, when I happened to be on leave from Aldershot,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_117"></a>[117]</span>
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.</p>

<p>I happened to meet Whitehead, a correspondent of the
<i>Daily Telegraph</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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
<i>esprit</i>, 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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_118"></a>[118]</span></p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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 <i>appartement</i> for me, and to give me three louis a day<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_119"></a>[119]</span>
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.<a id="FNanchor_18" href="#Footnote_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_120"></a>[120]</span>
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!”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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:—</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“‘<i>Ma chérie,—Je suis forcé de partir immédiatement pour
la Mexique; je n’ai pas même le temps de venir te dire àdieu.</i>’<a id="FNanchor_19" href="#Footnote_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a></p>

</div>

<p>“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 <i>appartement</i>
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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_121"></a>[121]</span>
is continually reproaching me, and treats me much worse
than she did before. I cannot stand it any longer....”</p>

<p>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 <i>maîtresse attitrée</i>, 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:—</p>

<p>“<i>Vous avez beaucoup de cœur</i>; 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 <i>le bon Dieu me le pardonnera</i>.”</p>

<p>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 <i>Die Leiden des jungen
Werthers</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_122"></a>[122]</span>
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 <i>coup de tête</i> of mine.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_123"></a>[123]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII</h2>

<p class="hanging">Bonn—An Anecdote of Beethoven—The King’s Hussars—The Howard
Vyses—A German Professor on England—Domesticated Habits of German
Girls—Professor Delbrück</p>

</div>

<p>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
<i>table d’hôte</i> 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 <i>Kuchen</i>,
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_124"></a>[124]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_125"></a>[125]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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: “<i>Nemo
propheta in patria</i>.” 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_126"></a>[126]</span>
memory was erected there, near the garden of the Hof Burg,
on the Ringstrasse.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_127"></a>[127]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>la haute école</i>, 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 <i>Borussen</i>—wore<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_128"></a>[128]</span>
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 <i>Schläger</i>,
and got cut about the face, but the more they were disfigured,
the more pleased they appeared to be. Some of the <i>Borussen</i>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>I used to go to the “Kneipe,” where the corps students<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_129"></a>[129]</span>
assembled, with a young American named Howard Vyse and
his younger brother.<a id="FNanchor_20" href="#Footnote_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> 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:—</p>

<p>“<i>Alles ist erlaubt, nichts ist verboten.</i>”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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, <i>Das Landhaus am Rhein</i>. One day, Andrä<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_130"></a>[130]</span>
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 <i>Auf
der Höhe</i>, by Auerbach, he asked me to lend it him, and,
after reading it, said</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>Excellenz von Dechen, Minister of the Rhine Provinces,
told me that Andrä might have occupied Bismarck’s position,<a id="FNanchor_21" href="#Footnote_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a>
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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_131"></a>[131]</span>
had lectured upon Darwin’s theory,<a id="FNanchor_22" href="#Footnote_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> in which he was a firm
believer, long before he had ever heard of him.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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 “<i>welcher
schweigt in sieben Sprachen</i>,” 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_132"></a>[132]</span>
most of the officers of the King’s Hussars. Of Field-Marshal
Freiherr von der Goltz it was said:—</p>

<div class="poetry-container">
<div class="poetry">
  <div class="stanza">
    <div class="verse indent0">“Freiherr von der Goltz,</div>
    <div class="verse indent0">Von seiner Dummheit ist er stoltz.”<a id="FNanchor_23" href="#Footnote_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a></div>
  </div>
</div>
</div>

<p>I often would ask Andrä what books I ought to read, and
one of the first he recommended was Hauff’s <i>Lichtenstein</i>,
a charming romance in the style of Sir Walter Scott. Heine
was a great favourite with Andrä, and he could repeat his
<i>Lieder</i> off by heart.<a id="FNanchor_24" href="#Footnote_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a> Goethe he ranked far above Schiller,
and considered the first part of <i>Faust</i> 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 <i>Die Vagabunden</i>, 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 <i>la Vie de Bohème</i>, 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 <i>Gil Blas</i> 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_133"></a>[133]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_134"></a>[134]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_135"></a>[135]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>Daily
Mail</i>, when he gave his opinion about the possibility of a
war between Great Britain and Germany.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_136"></a>[136]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII</h2>

<p class="hanging">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</p>

</div>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_137"></a>[137]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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, <i>née</i> 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_138"></a>[138]</span>
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.<a id="FNanchor_25" href="#Footnote_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a>
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_139"></a>[139]</span>
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.”</p>

<p>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: “<i>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.’</i>”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_140"></a>[140]</span>
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.</p>

<p>In Paris I always attended the “<i>jours</i>” 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
<i>Sur la peine de mort</i>, 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, “<i>la fille du régiment</i>,” and this
nickname still clung to him. I met him there frequently,
and he still considered himself quite irresistible <i>auprès des
dames</i>.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_141"></a>[141]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_142"></a>[142]</span>
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 <i>appartement</i> for her, to which I
sometimes went with Mlle. de Laval.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“<i>Qu’est-ce que c’est que cela?</i>” she asked.</p>

<p>To which he replied in trembling tones:—</p>

<p>“<i>Oh, Madame, ce n’est qu’une petite fleur, rien qu’une petite
fleur ... que je viens vous offrir.</i>”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“<i>Sortez, Monsieur, à l’instant de chez moi; je ne veux
ni de vous ni de votre petite fleur non plus.</i>”</p>

<p>The Duke entreated her to listen to him, but she only
added:—</p>

<p>“<i>Entendez-vous, je veux que vous sortiez d’ici.</i>”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_143"></a>[143]</span></p>

<p>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 <i>appartement</i> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>The Duchesse de Caracciolo, an American by birth, who
was remarkably good-looking and very “<i>spirituelle</i>,” 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.</p>

<p>Mrs. Goldsmid, a Roman Catholic and the daughter of
a baronet, who lived with her son in the Avenue des Champs-Elysées,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_144"></a>[144]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

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

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“I don’t think you know my friend....”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_145"></a>[145]</span></p>

<p>When the gentleman addressed promptly replied in a loud
voice:—</p>

<p>“No, and I have no wish to know him either.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus18" style="max-width: 26.5625em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus18.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The Author’s Father.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 144.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>My father then realized what he had done, apologized and
said:—</p>

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

<p>In later years, while in India, I made the acquaintance<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_146"></a>[146]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

<p>The Baroness, however, knew him of old, and exclaimed:—</p>

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

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_147"></a>[147]</span>
to get the ticket she wanted from some other member of the
club.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>Once, when Berkeley was away from Paris, he said to me:</p>

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

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_148"></a>[148]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_149"></a>[149]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>“Another letter from —— ——!” mentioning the name
of a celebrated actress.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_150"></a>[150]</span></p>

<p>Lord Anglesey occupied a very fine <i>appartement</i> 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:—</p>

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

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

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>The windows of Lord Anglesey’s <i>appartement</i> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_151"></a>[151]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>I used occasionally to visit the daughters of the Minister
for Venezuela, who lived in a very fine <i>appartement</i> 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 <i>appartement</i>, 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 <i>fiancé</i>. 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_152"></a>[152]</span></p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>About this time, I made the acquaintance of Madame
Saba, who lived in the same <i>appartement</i> 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 <i>appartement</i> 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.</p>

<p>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 <i>décolletée</i>
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:—</p>

<p>“<i>On aime à voir ces choses, mais on n’aime pas qu’on
vous les fasse voir.</i>” 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_153"></a>[153]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“<i>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.</i>”</p>

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

<p>“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 <i>penchant</i> for pretty
faces.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>The Times</i>. 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:—</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_154"></a>[154]</span></p>

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

<p>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, “<i>au septième ciel</i>.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_155"></a>[155]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV</h2>

<p class="hanging">Captain Howard Vyse—An Anecdote of Paganini—New Hats for Old Ones—Albert
Bingham—Baron Alphonse de Rothschild—Madame Alice
Kernave—Gambetta</p>

</div>

<p>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 <i>le Réveillon</i>,
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:—</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_156"></a>[156]</span></p>

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

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

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

<p>“I am perfectly well aware of it.”</p>

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

<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_157"></a>[157]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“<i>Pardon, Monsieur, mais j’ai besoin de causer avec une
dame.</i>”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“<i>Si ce ri est pas vrai, c’est très bien trouvé</i>,” 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_158"></a>[158]</span>
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.</p>

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

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“<i>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.</i>”</p>

</div>

<p>And she added:</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“<i>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>”</p>

</div>

<p>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 <i>vestiaire</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_159"></a>[159]</span>
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.</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“<i>Je regrette</i>,” he wrote, “<i>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; <span class="smcap">mon</span>
chapeau étant entre mes mains.... Ayez donc la bonté de le
faire reprendre chez mon concierge, numéro 11, rue des Saints-Pères,
etc., etc.</i>”</p>

</div>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>amour-propre</i>
was wounded by this request, immediately afterwards
struck up the “Dead March in Saul,” and since then no<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_160"></a>[160]</span>
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 <i>tempo.</i></p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_161"></a>[161]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>When Captain Hubert de Burgh, formerly of the 11th
Hussars, who was an Old Etonian and a nephew of the<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_162"></a>[162]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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
<i>objets d’art</i> and paintings which adorned the walls, and
told us that the house contained <i>objets d’art</i> to the value of
nearly one hundred million francs. Baron Alphonse was
the wealthiest of all the Rothschilds, and all the most
remarkable <i>objets d’art</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_163"></a>[163]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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 <i>déjeuner</i> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>nuance</i>—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_164"></a>[164]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>“Austrian ten-florin note, Number 178150.”</p>

<p>I never was able to discover how this was done.</p>

<p>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 <i>séance</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_165"></a>[165]</span>
the <i>séances</i> 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 <i>la haute comédie</i>, 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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp56" id="illus19" style="max-width: 23.4375em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus19.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>Madame Alice Kernave.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 164.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus20" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus20.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>The late Earl of Berkeley.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 165.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_166"></a>[166]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_167"></a>[167]</span>
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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_168"></a>[168]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV</h2>

<p class="center">My First Night at Mess—Life at Shorncliffe—The Charltons</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_169"></a>[169]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_170"></a>[170]</span>
always <i>tiré à quatre épingles</i>. 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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

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

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_171"></a>[171]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_172"></a>[172]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus21" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus21.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>Miss Augusta Charlton.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 172.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<figure class="figcenter illowp45" id="illus22" style="max-width: 18.75em;">
  <img class="w100" src="images/illus22.jpg" alt="">
  <figcaption class="caption"><p>Miss Ida Charlton.</p>
  <p class="caption-r">[<i>To face p. 173.</i></p></figcaption>
</figure>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_173"></a>[173]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>After the ball, which was a great success, and at which<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_174"></a>[174]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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, <i>à propos</i> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_175"></a>[175]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI</h2>

<p class="center">An N.C.O. of the Old School—Major Blewett—Captain Byron—Sandhurst</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_176"></a>[176]</span>
recruits were always drilled by the same sergeant, none of
them daring to complain, from fear lest worse things should
befall them.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_177"></a>[177]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_178"></a>[178]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“<i>Je suis un âne ici.</i>” (“I am an ass here.”)</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_179"></a>[179]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>While at Gravesend, I went up to town to see Aimée
Desclée act in <i>Diane de Lys</i>, by Alexandre Dumas <i>fils</i>. 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_180"></a>[180]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_181"></a>[181]</span>
by General Ponsonby, on the Prince of Wales’s private list,
upon which he smiled and said:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_182"></a>[182]</span>
ready to sail for India, but that he thought the War Office
would allow me a month to procure my outfit.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>fils</i>,
and was delighted with his acting. He was the best <i>jeune
premier</i> 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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_183"></a>[183]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII</h2>

<p class="center">I sail for India—Kandy—Dangerous Playmates—I arrive at
Murree</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_184"></a>[184]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_185"></a>[185]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_186"></a>[186]</span>
when informed that she was unlikely to receive any news
of her property for six weeks at least.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_187"></a>[187]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

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

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_188"></a>[188]</span></p>

<p>“My little girl is not the least afraid.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>jampan</i> (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 <i>jampan</i>, and promising to send my
luggage after me. I thanked him and accepted his offer,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_189"></a>[189]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_190"></a>[190]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII</h2>

<p class="center">My Brother-Officers—“The Oyster”—In High Society—Our
Menagerie</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_191"></a>[191]</span></p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_192"></a>[192]</span>
right man in the right place, and how rarely this happens
in the Service few people would imagine.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>comme il faut</i>. 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_193"></a>[193]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:</p>

<p>“Who is on duty to-day: Lovett or Wilson?”</p>

<p>“Neither,” was the answer, “it’s ‘The Oyster.’”</p>

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

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

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_194"></a>[194]</span></p>

<p>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 <i>shikarri</i> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_195"></a>[195]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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 <i>tête-à-tête</i> dinner, which I should not like to miss, I
would go in a <i>jampan</i>, 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.</p>

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

<p>“I saw last night that <i>Sahib</i> liked this wine the best,”<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_196"></a>[196]</span>
he replied, “so I brought half a dozen bottles of it away
from the dinner-party for <i>Sahib</i>!”</p>

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

<p><i>À propos</i> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_197"></a>[197]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_198"></a>[198]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX</h2>

<p class="center">A Subalterns’ Court-Martial—A Terrible Experience—High Mess-bills</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>épris</i> 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_199"></a>[199]</span>
that it was best to do so and inquire why she had not
answered my letter.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>I then explained everything to her, when she exclaimed:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_200"></a>[200]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_201"></a>[201]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_202"></a>[202]</span>
exquisite beauty of Switzerland or the Salzkammergut, in
Austria.</p>

<p>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 <i>mésalliance</i>, 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.</p>

<p>When the General inspected us, our Colonel ordered the
band to play <i>Die Wacht am Rhein</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_203"></a>[203]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>punkahs</i> 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.</p>

<p>We spent the next day in bathing and fishing in
the river Jhelum, and, after dining at the bungalow at<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_204"></a>[204]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_205"></a>[205]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX</h2>

<p class="center">Sialkote—Amateur Theatricals—An Ingenious Thief—Death
of Albert Phipps—Agra—Voyage to England</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_206"></a>[206]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>nautch</i> 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_207"></a>[207]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_208"></a>[208]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_209"></a>[209]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_210"></a>[210]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“I asked your <i>khitmagar</i> 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.”</p>

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

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_211"></a>[211]</span>
native languages fluently. Lloyd was a particular friend
of mine, and corresponded with me regularly for years
afterwards.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Oh, sir, it’s good enough to bury me in!”</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>After I had quite recovered from jaundice, I returned to
Sialkote, which I did with regret, as I would have much<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_212"></a>[212]</span>
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.”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“You have lamed “Chang!”</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_213"></a>[213]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>nautch</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_214"></a>[214]</span>
almost imagine ourselves living in the days of the Khalif
Haroun Alraschid.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

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

<p>“No,” I replied; “I am only a sub-lieutenant.”</p>

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

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>I was very glad to leave Bombay in 1875, though, as I
disliked the sea very much, I was not looking forward to<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_215"></a>[215]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>During the voyage I was a good deal with Crompton, and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_216"></a>[216]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_217"></a>[217]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI</h2>

<p class="center">Baroness James Édouard de Rothschild—At Carlsbad—Transferred
to the 3rd Battalion</p>

</div>

<p>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 <i>en route</i> 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.</p>

<p>I got out at Carlsbad and drove to the Hôtel Goldenes<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_218"></a>[218]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_219"></a>[219]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>douceurs</i>
to the waitresses.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_220"></a>[220]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_221"></a>[221]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_222"></a>[222]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII</h2>

<p class="center">My Brother-Officers—A <i>Mésalliance</i>—Christy Minstrels and Tobogganing</p>

</div>

<p>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:</p>

<p>“How is it that I was not consulted?”</p>

<p>“I really cannot tell you,” I answered.</p>

<p>“H’m!” said he, transfixing me with his monocle.</p>

<p>A few minutes afterwards, when he had left the room,
another officer came up to me, and said:—</p>

<p>“Do you know who that is?”</p>

<p>“No.”</p>

<p>“That is our chief, Lieutenant-Colonel W. Leigh-Pemberton.”</p>

<p>“Is it really?” said I. “I should never have thought
it, for he looks too young for a colonel.”</p>

<p>“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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_223"></a>[223]</span>
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.</p>

<p>Allfrey was a particular friend of Cotton, and I soon discovered
that these two officers were the <i>bêtes-noires</i> 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.</p>

<p>Holled-Smith was a fine-looking man, clever and entertaining,
but with a somewhat brusque manner. He had<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_224"></a>[224]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_225"></a>[225]</span>
with the men, and liked by the officers, but he had no
influence at all.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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
“<i>fané</i>.” 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.</p>

<p>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 <i>mésalliance</i>. 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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_226"></a>[226]</span></p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“No,” he replied, “he has only two years more, thank
God!”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_227"></a>[227]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>ensemble</i> was excellent for that style
of entertainment; quite as good as any professional troupe,
and the singing was above the average.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_228"></a>[228]</span>
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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_229"></a>[229]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</h2>

<p class="center">Sarah Bernhardt in <i>Phèdre</i>—Vienna and Buda-Pesth</p>

</div>

<p>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 <i>Phèdre</i>. 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_230"></a>[230]</span>
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
<i>Romeo and Juliet</i>, 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 <i>Jungfrau von Orléans</i>,
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 <i>Richard III.</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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 <i>Nibelungen Ring</i>, of Wagner, equally
well, but their chief success was with light music, in which
they were unrivalled.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_231"></a>[231]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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, <i>Tannhäuser</i> and
<i>Lohengrin</i>, 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
<i>première danseuse</i>, Bertha Linda, delighted everyone with
her graceful dancing, while the <i>corps de ballet</i> was excellent.
Bertha Linda married the celebrated artist Makart, at
that time the greatest painter in Austria.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_232"></a>[232]</span></p>

<p>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 <i>Manfred</i>, <i>Don Juan</i>
and <i>Figaro’s Hochzeit</i>, and then, after calling on Herr Neuss
and his family, bade farewell to this most charming of capitals.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_233"></a>[233]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV</h2>

<p class="center">Percy Hope-Johnstone—A “Special” to Aldershot—A Costume-Ball
at Folkestone</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Supposing neither of you had any money at all. What
would you do to learn a living?”</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“I know what I should do. I am a very fine fellow, well-built,
rather imposing in appearance. Therefore, I should<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_234"></a>[234]</span>
be a footman, which is a devilish easy life, nothing to do
and plenty to eat and drink.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_235"></a>[235]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Cotton, you are always late; I am sure you will be late
for your own funeral!”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_236"></a>[236]</span>
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 <i>jeu de mots</i>.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>Foley, who was a nephew of Lord Foley, was a very nice<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_237"></a>[237]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Two or three hundred! The lace on my dress is worth
nearer three thousand. It is of Charles II.’s time.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_238"></a>[238]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV</h2>

<p class="center">The Oppenheims—St. James’s and Winchester—The Colonel and
Beauclerk</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_239"></a>[239]</span></p>

<p>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, <i>arrosé</i> 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.</p>

<p>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: “<i>Ach, du lieber Gott!</i>”
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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_240"></a>[240]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_241"></a>[241]</span>
in command of our detachment, would not allow me this
luxury, and I had to go on foot.</p>

<p>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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_242"></a>[242]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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 <i>embonpoint</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_243"></a>[243]</span>
and destroyed the illusion which music produces
on the senses.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_244"></a>[244]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI</h2>

<p class="center">Paris Again—Eccentricities of Captain “Rabelais”—A Fire in
Barracks—A Trying Inspection</p>

</div>

<p>My next winter leave I spent in Paris with my parents,
who now occupied an <i>appartement</i> 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 <i>bal-masqué</i> 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 <i>La Sonnambula</i>. I was
delighted with Albani’s voice and also with her acting.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_245"></a>[245]</span></p>

<p>Another evening, I went to see Salvini in <i>La Morte civile</i>,
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 <i>Il Gladiatore</i>, 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
<i>Othello</i>, 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 <i>Othello</i>; she was only twenty-two, and her death
caused a great sensation in Paris.</p>

<p>Amongst other plays which I saw were Madame de Girardin’s
<i>la Joie fait Peur</i>, Alfred de Musset’s <i>Il ne faut jurer
de rien</i>, and Augier’s <i>Philiberte</i>, at the Théâtre-Français,
in all of which the acting was admirable, and a very amusing
piece called <i>la Boule</i>, by Meilhac and Halévy, at the Théâtre-du
Palais-Royal.</p>

<p>One Sunday afternoon I went to Pasdeloup’s concert,
where they played the <i>Septuor</i> 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.</p>

<p>At the Grand Opéra I heard <i>l’Africaine</i>, 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 <i>Robert le Diable</i>—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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_246"></a>[246]</span>
for some time. Tom Hohler was now married to Henrietta,
Duchess of Newcastle, and they lived in the Avenue d’Antin.</p>

<p>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 <i>les Cloches
de Cornéville</i>, 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.</p>

<p class="tb">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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Indeed, sir!”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_247"></a>[247]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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
<i>mésalliance</i>. 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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“Confound that Robinson! What can I do with such
a creature? He is a disgrace to my battalion!”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_248"></a>[248]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_249"></a>[249]</span>
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.</p>

<p class="tb">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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_250"></a>[250]</span>
at seeing again Savile Lumley, afterwards Lord Savile, who
had been at Eton with me.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>The day the troops were inspected by the Duke of Cambridge
rain fell in torrents. The troops had to assemble<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_251"></a>[251]</span>
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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_252"></a>[252]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII</h2>

<p class="hanging">Madrid and Cordova—Seville—General von Goeben and the Bull-fight—A
View from the Alhambra—I rejoin my Regiment</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_253"></a>[253]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>casa de huespedes</i> (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 “<i>azahár</i>,” was so overpowering that one felt
almost intoxicated.</p>

<p>The <i>casa de huespedes</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_254"></a>[254]</span>
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.</p>

<p>Life at this <i>casa de huespedes</i> 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.</p>

<p>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 <i>bandhurria</i> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>During the winter the <i>patio</i>, 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_255"></a>[255]</span>
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 <i>élan</i>. This
is very much the custom, even in aristocratic houses, the
looker-on applauding and exclaiming: “<i>Ollé, graziosa, muy
bien, ollé, ollé!</i>” when one of the girls attempts some
unusual feat.</p>

<p>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 “<i>torrero y la Malagueña</i>.” In which dance
she displayed all the marvellous art of a <i>première danseuse</i>,
dancing on her points and executing the most difficult <i>entrechats</i>,
<i>battements</i> and <i>pas de chat</i>, 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 <i>danseuse</i>
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.</p>

<p>During Holy Week and the “Feria,” which followed
it, Seville was crowded with visitors, and the prices at
the hôtels and <i>casas de huespedes</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_256"></a>[256]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_257"></a>[257]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“Besides,” added she, “racing is cruel on the horses,
some people say.”</p>

<p>After that I saw that it was useless to pursue the argument
further.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_258"></a>[258]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 “<i>tout ensemble</i>” almost impossible to describe.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_259"></a>[259]</span>
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
<i>nuance</i> the Souvenir à la Malmaison or Blanche Laffitte.
This was the effect of the after-glow.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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 <i>casa de huespedes</i> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_260"></a>[260]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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
<i>l’Africaine</i> for the second time, and also went to the Théâtre
de la Renaissance to see <i>le Petit Duc</i>, in which Mlle. Granier
and Emil Meyer sang, and to the “Français,” where I saw
Got, Coquelin and Mlles. Reichemberg, Agar and Croizette
in <i>les Fourchambault</i>. I attended a race-meeting at Longchamps
with my father, where we met the Hon. Albert Bingham<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_261"></a>[261]</span>
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.</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_262"></a>[262]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII</h2>

<p class="hanging">I meet Byron Again—I endeavour to Exchange—Basil Montgomery—My
Illness—Why I was not Placed on Half-pay</p>

</div>

<p>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.</p>

<p><i>À propos</i> 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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_263"></a>[263]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>I was in town a good deal during the season, and went
several times to the Opera, where I heard Patti in <i>Il Barbiere
de Seviglia</i>, <i>Don Giovanni</i>, <i>Aïda</i> and <i>Semiramide</i>, Albani
in <i>Atala</i>, the Spanish tenor Gayarré in <i>Lucrezia Borgia</i> and<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_264"></a>[264]</span>
Jean de Reszke in <i>les Huguenots</i>. 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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“I can find no fault with this officer; he knows his work
better than some of the others.”</p>

<p>“I don’t know how it is, Sir,” replied the Chief, with
difficulty concealing his annoyance, “but to-day he seems
smarter than usual.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_265"></a>[265]</span>
having satisfied himself to the contrary, he had decided to
investigate my case further.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_266"></a>[266]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>“I find that he does not pay sufficient attention to his
duty,” answered my Chief.</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>The General then dismissed us, and I returned to my
quarters, very relieved at the result of the interview.</p>

<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_267"></a>[267]</span>
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:—</p>

<p>“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.”</p>

<p>The other officers told me the same, and declared that it
would show great weakness on my part if I left the battalion.</p>

<p>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,”
<i>bon gré, mal gré</i>, 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_268"></a>[268]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“I have lost the use of my right hand and foot!”</p>

<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_269"></a>[269]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>So soon as I was well enough to stand the journey, I went
up to London, accompanied by my father and my soldier-servant,<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_270"></a>[270]</span>
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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“<i>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.</i>”</p>

</div>

<p>A further letter, also written for me by Lord Berkeley,
was sent to my Colonel:—</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“<i>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.</i>”</p>

</div>

<p>General Sir John Douglas, then commanding the Forces
in Scotland, wrote to me:</p>

<div class="blockquote">

<p>“<i>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.</i>”</p>

</div>

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_271"></a>[271]</span></p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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:—</p>

<p>“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!”</p>

<p>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,<a id="FNanchor_26" href="#Footnote_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a> 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<span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_272"></a>[272]</span>
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.”</p>

<p>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 <i>Gil Blas</i>.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p class="titlepage">THE END</p>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="footnotes">

<div class="chapter">

<h2 class="nobreak" id="FOOTNOTES">FOOTNOTES</h2>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_1" href="#FNanchor_1" class="label">[1]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_2" href="#FNanchor_2" class="label">[2]</a> 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.”</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_3" href="#FNanchor_3" class="label">[3]</a> 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 <i>manque de tact</i>, 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
<i>casa de huespedes</i> with him for some weeks, <i>à propos</i> 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 (<i>Wäscherin</i>) at the
head of your War Office. She might perhaps even be more useful.”</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_4" href="#FNanchor_4" class="label">[4]</a> 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” (<i>die Kleine
Gräfin</i>), as her father was a Polish count, and she was still second <i>danseuse</i>
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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_5" href="#FNanchor_5" class="label">[5]</a> 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.”</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_6" href="#FNanchor_6" class="label">[6]</a> <i>À propos</i> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_7" href="#FNanchor_7" class="label">[7]</a> 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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_8" href="#FNanchor_8" class="label">[8]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_9" href="#FNanchor_9" class="label">[9]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_10" href="#FNanchor_10" class="label">[10]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_11" href="#FNanchor_11" class="label">[11]</a> I heard from Lord Willoughby de Broke, the son of the one mentioned
here, some years ago. He was then <i>en route</i> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_12" href="#FNanchor_12" class="label">[12]</a> 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 <i>Los tres diamantes</i>,
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
<i>Los ferias de Madrid</i>. As for <i>Los pleitos de Inglaterra</i>, 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 <i>esprit</i> than in the far too gigantic Shakespeare.
Perhaps “Macbeth” is Shakespeare’s greatest work; it is without
doubt the most realistic.”</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_13" href="#FNanchor_13" class="label">[13]</a> During the four years I was at Eton, we won the “Ladies’” at Henley
every time. The winning crews were composed as follows:—</p>

<p>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).</p>

<p>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).</p>

<p>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).</p>

<p>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).</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_14" href="#FNanchor_14" class="label">[14]</a> The Eton Eleven, during the four years I was there, was composed as
follows:</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

<p>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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_15" href="#FNanchor_15" class="label">[15]</a> <i>À propos</i> 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.”</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_16" href="#FNanchor_16" class="label">[16]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_17" href="#FNanchor_17" class="label">[17]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_18" href="#FNanchor_18" class="label">[18]</a> 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, <i>les Vous et le Tu</i>, in which
also Mlle. Livy is referred to, are two of his most beautiful poems. Of
Rousseau, Grillparzer says: “I read <i>les Confessions</i> 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, <i>Feodora</i>. In Grillparzer’s
opinion, Racine was as great a poet as ever lived.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_19" href="#FNanchor_19" class="label">[19]</a> “My darling,—I am obliged to start immediately for Mexico; I have
not even time to come to bid thee good-bye.”</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_20" href="#FNanchor_20" class="label">[20]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_21" href="#FNanchor_21" class="label">[21]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_22" href="#FNanchor_22" class="label">[22]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_23" href="#FNanchor_23" class="label">[23]</a> Baron von der Goltz is proud of his stupidity.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_24" href="#FNanchor_24" class="label">[24]</a> Grillparzer says of Heine that his first verses in the <i>Reise Bilder</i> and
some of his last poems are of great merit, while those of the intermediate
period must be considered decidedly bad.</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_25" href="#FNanchor_25" class="label">[25]</a> 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:
“<i>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</i>.”</p>

</div>

<div class="footnote">

<p><a id="Footnote_26" href="#FNanchor_26" class="label">[26]</a> 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.</p>

</div>

</div>

<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop">

<div class="chapter">

<p><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_273"></a>[273]</span></p>

<h2 class="nobreak" id="INDEX">INDEX</h2>

</div>

<ul>

<li class="ifrst">Aberdour, Lord, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Adair, Mrs. William, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Adelaide, Queen, <a href="#Footnote_2">5 (<i>note</i>)</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Adelsdorfer, Baroness, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Adelsdorfer, Madame, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Airey, Lord, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Albani, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Aldershot, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Allfrey, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Algar, Major, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Alhambra, The, Granada, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Alexander, C. R., <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Alison, General Sir A., <a href="#Page_181">181</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Allen, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Anderson, Brigadier-General, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Andrä, Professor Dr., <a href="#Page_124">124</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Andrews, Mrs., <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Anglesey, Marquis of, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Annesley, Lieutenant-Colonel, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Armytage, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Arnold, Dr., <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Arthy, Captain, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ashburnham, Major, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Astor, Lord, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Auerbach, Berthold, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Aylmer, Percy, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Babington, Sub-Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bagot, Colonel Sir Josceline, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bagot, Adjutant A. G., <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Baird, George, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Baldock, Colonel, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Balfour, Charles, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Balfour, Miss Hilda, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Baring, Viscount, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Barnard, Lord, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Batchelor, Veterinary-Surgeon, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bean, Capt. and Mrs., <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Beauclerk, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Beauclerk, Miss, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Beaumont, Sub-Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Beck, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Belgrave, Viscount, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li>

<li class="indx"><i>Bell’s Life</i> substitute for Bible, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bennett, Viscount, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bentheim, The Princes, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Benyon, Captain, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Berkeley, Earl of, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Berkeley, Lord, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Berkeley, Captain Lennox, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>,
    <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bernhardt, Sarah, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bernstorff, Count, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bethell, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bingham, Hon. Albert, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_260">260</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Binz, Professor Dr., <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Black Forest Adventures, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Blane, M., <a href="#Page_9">9</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Blewitt, Major, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Blocqueville, Marquise de, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Blount, Edward, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li>

<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_274"></a>[274]</span>Bois-Hébert, Marquis de, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Boland, Major, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bonn, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Boulogne, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bozzo, Mademoiselle Checchi, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Bromley, Capt., <a href="#Page_33">33</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Brown-Séquard, Dr., <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Browning, Oscar, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Brownrigg, Capt., <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Burgh, Capt. Hubert de, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Byron, Capt. John, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Cambridge, Duke of, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Campden, Viscount, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Campobello, Signor, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Candle, The diminishing, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Cantelupe, Lord, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Caracciolo, Duchesse de, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Card playing, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Carpenter, Captain, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Cartwright, General, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Cathcart, Lady Georgina, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Cathcart, Hon. Emily, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Cavendish-Bentinck, Arthur, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Cercle des Patineurs, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Chantilly, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Charcot, Professor, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Charleville, Lord, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Charltons, The, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Chatham Barracks, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Childe-Pemberton, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">“Christopher Inn,” <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Christy Minstrels at Chatham, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Churchill, Lady, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Churchill, Lord Randolph, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Clanmorris, Lord, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Clarke, Sydenham, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Clarke, Surgeon-Major, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Cockshot, Mr., <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Collins, Major, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Combermere, Viscount, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Comerford, Surgeon, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Cotton, Lieutenant C. S., <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Cramer, Captain, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Craven, Fulwar J. C., <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Crawford, Colonel, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Crichton, Hon. Mrs., <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Crofton, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_235">235</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Crompton, Captain, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_215">215</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Czartoryski, Princess, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Czerwinska, Countess, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">d’Abrantès, Duchesse, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Dalton, Rev. W., <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Dannecker’s statue, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Daram, Mademoiselle, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Darwin’s theory disproved, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">d’Assailly, Vicomte Arthur, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">d’Attainville, M. de Lesquier, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">D’Aubigny, Comte, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Daudet, Alphonse, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">d’Aumale, Duc, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Deane, Lieutenant-Colonel, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">de Houghton, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Delaunay, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Delbrück, Hans, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Desart, Countess of, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Desclée, Aimée, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Dickenson, Lieutenant Fiennes, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Dillon, Lord, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Dillon, Sub-Lieutenant A., <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Disraeli, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Dorrien, Captain Frederick, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Douglas, General Sir John, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Douglas, Captain Niel, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Douglas, Charles, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Doyne, Lady Frances, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Doyne, James, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>,
    <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>,
    <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Doyne, Mrs., <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Doyne, Mr. Mervyn, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Drexel Brothers, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">“Dry bobs,” <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Duff, Folliot, <a href="#Page_150">150</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Dunn, Captain, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Durnford, Rev., <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li>

<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_275"></a>[275]</span>Dusauty, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Earning a living, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Edwards-Moss, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Egerton, Hon. Alfred, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ehnn, Fräulein, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Elwes, Captain, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Erroll, Countess of, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Eschenheimer Thor, The, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Eton, Happy days at, <a href="#Page_65">65 <i>et seq.</i></a></li>

<li class="indx">Etonian <i>cachet</i>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Eugene, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Falmouth, Lord, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Faverney, Comtesse de, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Featherstone, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ferrières, Château de, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Finch, Hon. Charles, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Finch-Hatton, Rev. William, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Finch-Hatton, Greville, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Finis, Miss, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Fire burning for two hundred years, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Firing the eighty-ton gun, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">FitzWilliam, Earl, <a href="#Page_106">106</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">FitzWilliam, Charles, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">FitzWilliam, Hon. John, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">FitzWilliam, Hon. Thomas, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Foley, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Football “colours,” <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Four millionaires, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Francisco-Martin, M. de, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Franco-German War, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Frankfurt-on-the-Main, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Frederick, Lady, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">French girls and English girls, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Gambetta, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Gayarré, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Geary, General Sir H., <a href="#Page_271">271</a></li>

<li class="indx">German Crown Prince, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">German girls, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Gilbert, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Girard, Juliette, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Glen, Archibald, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Godfrey, Dan, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Goeben, General von, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Goethe, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Goldschmid, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_15">15</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Goldsmid, Mrs., <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Goltz, von der, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Gordon, Miss, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Græme, Colonel, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Grammont, Duchesse de, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Grandmaison, Marquis de, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Grant, General, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Graves, Hon. Mrs., <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Greenock, Viscount, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Grenfell, Lord, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Greuze’s paintings, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Gridley, Harry, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Gridley, Reginald, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Griebel, Herr, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Grosvenor, Earl, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Guilbert, Marquise Brian de Bois, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Gull, Sir William, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Gunning, Sub-Lieutenant Robert, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Hale, Mr., <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Harris, Lord, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hart, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hartopp, Sir Charles E. C., <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Havre, Baron van, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hawtrey, Mr. Stephen, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Headley, Lord, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Healy, Mrs., <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Heaviside, Mr., <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hélène de España, Señorita, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Henley Regatta, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Herbert, Hon. Sidney, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hobart, Captain, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hochberg, Dr. Ritter von, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hodgson, Charles Rice, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hohler, Tom, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Holled-Smith, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Homburg, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Home-Purves, Colonel, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hope, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hope-Johnstone, Lieutenant P., <a href="#Page_233">233</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hornby, Dr., <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li>

<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_276"></a>[276]</span>Horrocks, Capt., <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Horrocks, Miss Edith, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Houghton, de, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Howard, Lieut. F., <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hozier, J. H. C., <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hudson, Major, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hudson, Mrs., <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hungerford, Mrs., <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hunter, Captain, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hunter’s, Mr., school, <a href="#Page_42">42 <i>et seq.</i></a></li>

<li class="indx">Hutchinson, Sir Edward, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Hutchinson, General Coote, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Ind, Mrs., <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Innes-Ker, Lord Mark, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Isabella, ex-Queen of Spain, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Isabelle, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">James, Rev. C. C., <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Jenner, Sir William, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Joynes, Rev., <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Kennedy, Lord Alexander, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Keogh, Mrs., <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Kernave, Madame Alice, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Killarney, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Kilmaine, Vicomte Frédéric de, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Kineton School, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">King (Leopold) of Belgians, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">King William I. of Prussia, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Kinglake, William, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Kinglake, Sophia, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Kinloch, Captain A., <a href="#Page_187">187-8</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Kinloch, Mrs., <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Kirchhofer’s, Herr, School, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Kisilieff, Madame, <a href="#Page_11">11</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Klenck, Freiherr von, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Knightley, Rev. Henry, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Knox, Lieutenant-Colonel, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Krauss, Madame, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Labitzky, Auguste, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Labouchere, Henry, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lamoury (violinist), <a href="#Page_110">110</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lane, General Ronald, <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lassalle, Ferdinand, and German women, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Laval, Mademoiselle de, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lavaile, Eugénie de, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lawn tennis, Origin of, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lawrence, George, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Leigh, Austin, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Leigh-Pemberton, Lieutenant-Colonel W., <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Leinster, Duke of, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Leleu, Madame, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Leopold II. and his hairdresser, <a href="#Page_32">32</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lesseps, M. de, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lewinsky, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Leyton’s at Windsor, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Liegnitz, Princess, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Linda, Bertha, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lister-Kaye, Cecil, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lister-Kaye, John, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Little, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lloyd, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lockwood, Sir Frank, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lonsdale, Earl of, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">“Lord’s,” <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lovell, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_170">170-172</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lovett, Hubert, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>,
    <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lowther, Captain Francis, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lumley, Savile, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Luxmoore, Mr., <a href="#Page_67">67</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Lyons, Lord, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">McCall, Colonel, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">McClintock-Bunbury, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">McCormack, Surgeon-Major, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">MacDonnell, Dr., <a href="#Page_105">105</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Macnamara, Surgeon-Major, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Magruder, Willing Lee, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Makart, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Malet, Sir Edward, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Malortie, Baron de, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Maltby, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Mandeville, Lord, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Manners, Henry F. B., <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li>

<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_277"></a>[277]</span>Marsham, Sub-Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Masini, Mademoiselle, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Massey, Lieutenant-Colonel, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Materna, Frau, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ménier, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Metternich, Princess von, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Meux, Lady Louisa, <a href="#Page_156">156</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Milbanke, Frederick, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Misa, Señor, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Mitchell, R. A. H., <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Moltke, Count von, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Montgomery, Colonel H. P., <a href="#Page_190">190</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Montgomery, Basil, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Moore, Colonel Montgomery, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_202">202</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Morny, Duc de, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Münchhausen, Baron von, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Murray, Lady Caroline, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Murray, Lieutenant-General Hon. George, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Murree and Ischl compared, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Musard’s concerts, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Nares, Sir George, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Naylor-Leylands, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Neii, Baron von, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Neuss, Herr, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">New hats for old, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Newcastle, Duke of, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Newcastle, Duchess of, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Newenham, Mr. (“Sporting Parson”), <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Newlands, Lord, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Northey, Major, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Oden Wald, The, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Olga, Grand Duchess, and Ludwig II., <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Onslow, Earl of, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Oppenheim, Frau, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Orloff, Princess, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Orton, Surgeon-Major, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ostend, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Oyster, The, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Paganini, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Paget, Lord Henry, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Paradhenia, Garden of, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Paris, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Parnell, Hon. V. A., <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Parnell, Miss Fanny, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Parry, Sir Hubert, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Paschinger, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Patti, Adelina, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_263">263</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Pauli, Captain, <a href="#Page_191">191</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Peabody Georges, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Pembroke and Montgomery, Earl of, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Peñafiel, Marchioness de, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">“Penny Readings,” <a href="#Page_172">172</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Perponcher, Count, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Peterborough’s, Bishop of, “tip,” <a href="#Page_107">107</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Phipps, Hon. Harriet, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Phipps, Lieutenant Albert, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_211">211</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Piétri, Madame, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Piétris, The, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Plater, Countess Broel, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Plessen, Baron von, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Portman, Hon. E. W. B., <a href="#Page_79">79</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Prince Consort and Duchess of Sutherland, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Prussia, King of, <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Queñones de Léon, Doña, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Radziwill, Prince Jean, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ralli, Augustus, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Rampa, Marquis de, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Rathdonnell, Lord, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ranyard, Mr. (astronomer), <a href="#Page_123">123</a></li>

<li class="indx">Reeves, Sims, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Reid, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_216">216</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Reszke, Jean de, <a href="#Page_264">264</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Reuss, Prince, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Rey, Marquis de, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Reynardson, Aubrey Birch, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></li>

<li class="indx">Ricardo, Horace, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Riddell, Captain, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ridley, C. N., <a href="#Page_96">96</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ridley, H. M., <a href="#Page_95">95</a>.</li>

<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_278"></a>[278]</span>Riggs, Mrs. Joe, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ritter, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Robartes (11th Hussars), <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Robeck, Captain de, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Robinson, Captain, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ronalds, Mrs., <a href="#Page_3">3</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Rossmore, Lord, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Rothschild, Baron F. de, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Rothschild, Baroness I. E. de, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Rothschild, Alphonse de, <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Rueff, Mr., <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Ruspoli, Princess, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Russell, Sub-Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Russell-Reynolds, Dr., <a href="#Page_270">270</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Russian Court secrets, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Rutland, Duke of, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Saba, Madame, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">St. James’s Palace, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Saint Hilaire, Madame, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Salis Schwabe, Miss, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Salud, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Salvini, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">San Carlos, Marquis de, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Sanford, Sub-Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Savile, Captain, <a href="#Page_236">236</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Seville, Archbishop of, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Saxe-Weimar, Prince Edward of, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Schiller, <a href="#Page_14">14</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Schneider, Hortense, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Schultz, Herr, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Schwender’s Dancing Hall, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Shorncliffe, Quarters at, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Sighicelli, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Simon, Jules, <a href="#Page_111">111</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Sivori, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Slade, Cecil, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Slade, Harry, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Smythe, General, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">“Sock”-shops, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Somerset, Lord Edward, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Southey, Lieutenant Richard, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Spa, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Stafford, Lady Grace, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Stafford, Marquis of, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Stormont, Viscountess, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Strauss, Johann, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Sully, Mounet, <a href="#Page_229">229</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Sunstroke, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Taaffe, Sub-Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Taffanel, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Taille des Essarts, Comtesse de la, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Taintegnies, Baron de, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Tarver, Mr. Henry, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Taylor, Charles, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Temple (“Mug”), <a href="#Page_66">66</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Tercin, Gabrielle, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Thackeray, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Thackeray, St. John, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">The Alhambra, Granada, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">The diminishing candle, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">“The Oyster,” <a href="#Page_193">193</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Thorne, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Thornton, C. I., <a href="#Page_89">89</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Thurlow, Lieutenant E. Hovell, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Torphichen, Lord, <a href="#Page_256">256</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Trafalgar, Lord, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Trianon, le Petit, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Tufnell, Captain, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Tufton, Captain, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Tugwell, Mr., <a href="#Page_162">162</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Vane, Henry de Vere, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Vane-Tempest, Hon. Henry, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Vaughan, Arthur Powys, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Vay, Baron de, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Versailles, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Victoria, Queen, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Vyse, Howard, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Wagner, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Walden, Lord Howard de, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Walden, Lady Howard de, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Waldteufel (composer), <a href="#Page_159">159</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Walker, H. B., <a href="#Page_90">90</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Warre, Rev. Edmund, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Warre-Malet, Sir A., <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li>

<li class="indx"><span class="pagenum"><a id="Page_279"></a>[279]</span>Warre-Malet, Miss Mabel, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Warre-Malet, Mrs., <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Warren, Miss Minnie, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Waterlot, Mademoiselle, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Wayte, Mr., <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Wellesley, Colonel, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Westminster, Duke of, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Wilkinson, Lieutenant E. O. H., <a href="#Page_223">223</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Williamson, C. D. Robertson, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Willing, Misses Lee, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Wilma, Tournay, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Winchester, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Windsor Fair, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Winkelmann, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Winsloe, Mrs., <a href="#Page_35">35</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Wolter, Charlotte, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Wombwell, Sir George, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Wood, Sub-Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Woodforde, Mrs. Charles, <a href="#Page_112">112</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Würtemberg, King and Queen of, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Wylie, Lieutenant, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">York, Duke of, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Yorke, Hon. Mrs., <a href="#Page_237">237</a>.</li>

<li class="ifrst">Zauerthal, Ritter von, <a href="#Page_238">238</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Zither, The, Lessons on, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>.</li>

<li class="indx">Zither performances, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>.</li>

</ul>

<p class="titlepage">PRINTED AT<br>
THE CHAPEL RIVER PRESS,<br>
KINGSTON, SURREY.</p>

<div style='text-align:center'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75853 ***</div>
</body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-01-31 00:25:09 +0000