Call this fatalism if you will; but these were not the acts
of a coward. I told this story to a friend who was well
'posted' in the club gossip of the day. He laughed.
'Don't you know the meaning of Kinglake's spite against the
Emperor?' said he. 'CHERCHEZ LA FEMME. Both of them were in
love with Mrs. - '
This is the way we write our histories.
Wishing to explore the grounds about the palace before anyone
was astir, I went out one morning about half-past eight.
Seeing what I took to be a mausoleum, I walked up to it,
found the door opened, and peeped in. It turned out to be a
museum of Roman antiquities, and the Emperor was inside,
arranging them. I immediately withdrew, but he called to me
to come in.
He was at this time busy with his Life of Caesar; and, in his
enthusiasm, seemed pleased to have a listener to his
instructive explanations; he even encouraged the curiosity
which the valuable collection and his own remarks could not
fail to awaken.
Not long ago, I saw some correspondence in the Times' and
other papers about what Heine calls 'Das kleine
welthistorische Hutchen,' which the whole of Europe knew so
well, to its cost. Some six or seven of the Buonaparte hats,
so it appears, are still in existence. But I noticed, that
though all were located, no mention was made of the one in
the Luxembourg.
When we left Compiegne for Paris we were magnificently
furnished with orders for royal boxes at theatres, and for
admission to places of interest not open to the public. Thus
provided, we had access to many objects of historical
interest and of art - amongst the former, the relics of the
great conqueror. In one glass case, under lock and key, was
the 'world-historical little hat.' The official who
accompanied us, having stated that we were the Emperor's
guests, requested the keeper to take it out and show it to
us. I hope no Frenchman will know it, but, I put the hat
upon my head. In one sense it was a 'little' hat - that is
to say, it fitted a man with a moderate sized skull - but the
flaps were much larger than pictures would lead one to think,
and such was the weight that I am sure it would give any
ordinary man accustomed to our head-gear a still neck to wear
it for an hour. What has become of this hat if it is not
still in the Luxembourg?
CHAPTER XLV
SOME few years later, while travelling with my family in
Switzerland, we happened to be staying at Baveno on Lago
Maggiore at the same time, and in the same hotel, as the
Crown Prince and Princess of Germany. Their Imperial
Highnesses occupied a suite of apartments on the first floor.
Our rooms were immediately above them. As my wife was known
to the Princess, occasional greetings passed from balcony to
balcony.
One evening while watching two lads rowing from the shore in
the direction of Isola Bella, I was aroused from my
contemplation of a gathering storm by angry vociferations
beneath me. These were addressed to the youths in the boat.
The anxious father had noted the coming tempest; and, with
hands to his mouth, was shouting orders to the young
gentlemen to return. Loud and angry as cracked the thunder,
the imperial voice o'ertopped it. Commands succeeded
admonitions, and as the only effect on the rowers was obvious
recalcitrancy, oaths succeeded both: all in those throat-
clearing tones to which the German language so consonantly
lends itself. In a few minutes the boat was immersed in the
down-pour which concealed it.
The elder of the two oarsmen was no other than the future
firebrand peacemaker, Miching Mallecho, our fierce little
Tartarin de Berlin. One wondered how he, who would not be
ruled, would come in turn to rule? That question is a
burning one; and may yet set the world in flames to solve it.
A comic little incident happened here to my own children.
There was but one bathing-machine. This, the two - a
schoolboy and his sister - used in the early morning. Being
rather late one day, they found it engaged; and growing
impatient the boy banged at the door of the machine, with a
shout in schoolboy's vernacular: 'Come, hurry up; we want to
dip.' Much to the surprise of the guilty pair, an answer,
also in the best of English, came from the inside: 'Go away,
you naughty boy.' The occupant was the Imperial Princess.
Needless to say the children bolted with a mingled sense of
mischief and alarm.
About this time I joined a society for the relief of
distress, of which Bromley Davenport was the nominal leader.
The 'managing director,' so to speak, was Dr. Gilbert, father
of Mr. W. S. Gilbert. To him I went for instructions. I
told him I wanted to see the worst. He accordingly sent me
to Bethnal Green. For two winters and part of a third I
visited this district twice a week regularly. What I saw in
the course of those two years was matter for a thoughtful -
ay, or a thoughtless - man to think of for the rest of his
days.
My system was to call first upon the clergyman of the parish,
and obtain from him a guide to the severest cases of
destitution. The guide would be a Scripture reader, and, as
far as I remember, always a woman. I do not know whether the
labours of these good creatures were gratuitous - they
themselves were certainly poor, yet singularly earnest and
sympathetic. The society supplied tickets for coal,
blankets, and food. Needless to say, had these supplies been
a thousand-fold as great, they would have done as little
permanent good as those at my command.
