To return to Marienbad: on the 31st of August, his cure having been completed, the King paid a visit to the Emperor Franz Josef at Vienna, and was lodged with his suite at the Hofburg. I have written so much about official visits in the last two chapters, that I do not think it the least necessary to enlarge on the Vienna visit. There was a Court representation at the Opera one evening and a dinner at the Palace of SchÖnbrunn, followed by a Court performance at the Burg Theatre. The Emperor himself was an interesting personage, in a sense, and though I believe not in the least remarkable for brains or intelligence, he will be remembered in history as having succeeded in keeping together the heterogeneous bevy ofNationalities, that was known as the Austro-Hungarian Empire, during a very long reign. He was often described as a sort of Royal Martyr, owing to the succession of tragedies that occurred in his family; but those who knew him best, always said that these tragedies that shocked the world, left him perfectly unmoved, so completely selfish and self-centred was he. Great capital was made out of his industry, and the fact that he rose at five in the morning, but in reality there was nothing particularly remarkable about this early rising (except for the appalling inconvenience it was to his suite and servants), for he dined at five in the afternoon and went to bed at eight. Eight hours cannot be looked upon as a very short night’s rest. Latterly, I believe, he lived almost entirely at SchÖnbrunn, and in his old age used to breakfast daily with an aged actress who had been a friend of his in old days, and was established in a villa close to the palace. There was, naturally, at their age, no concealment about what had become a very harmless liaison, and the whole Viennese public were perfectly aware of it.

I was not enormously impressed with SchÖnbrunn. The most noticeable feature there, to my mind, was the mounting of two guards of honour outside the Emperor’s apartments, when the King and his suite arrived to dine there. On one side of the corridor the guard was Austrian, and opposite were posted a similar number of Hungarian troops, both guards looking as if nothing would please them so much as to fly at each other’s throats. I had visited Vienna before on my way home from Galatz, and knew the town pretty well, but was not then made an Honorary Member of the Jockey Club, as we all were in 1903. It was a most agreeable Club, and admirably managed. Amongst other details, the Club had a large permanent box at the Opera, which any member could use at his discretion.

The visit lasted the usual three or four days, and so the King and his suite were back in England in excellent time for the Doncaster races.

In October I was again on duty, spending most of the time between London and Newmarket, and was in attendance on the 9th of that month when the change of Government took place. There is an immemorial custom on those occasions that the outgoing and incoming Ministers do not meet; they are carefully shepherded into separate apartments. I remember, even to this day, my delight and amusement in watching the performance of one of the noted political wire-pullers of that period. I never quite grasped why he should have been at the palace at all on that occasion, but there he was, and, characteristically, going constantly in and out of both rooms!

The year 1904 was a busy year, as far as my duties were concerned, for I was in attendance when the King and Queen and Princess Victoria paid a three weeks’ visit to Copenhagen. The Royal Yacht conveyed the whole party as far as Flushing, the rest of the journey being done by the train, which was put bodily on board the ferry between Nyborg and Korson, the distance across being about equal to our Channel route between Dover and Calais.

The first two or three days of the visit were decidedly official, but after the usual ceremonial in the shape of gala dinners, etc., had been got through, the Royal Family were living very simply with their relations, Queen Alexandra, of course, being delighted to revisit her old home in her comparatively new capacity as Queen. It was a fairly full family circle, as Prince and Princess Charles, now King and Queen of Norway, were living in their apartment close to the Amalienborg Palace, in two different portions of which the two monarchs were lodged.

The Amalienborg Palace certainly deserves more attention than it generally receives; the proportions of the “Plads” that are formed by the four uniform buildings that enclose the “Plads” and are the Palace, make up, altogether, one of the most perfect architectural sites that I know in Europe. I have often heard it compared to the Place VendÔme, but, to my mind, though smaller, it is even handsomer, with its four mid-eighteenth century buildings at the four corners of the octagon, and the equestrian monument of Frederick V, of the same date, in its centre.

The Society in Copenhagen is naturally limited, as it is a comparatively small capital; but in those days, when it was constantly visited by the numerous and extremely influential relations of the then King Christian, to be Minister there was looked upon by representatives of the great Continental Powers, as a sure stepping-stone towards the highest diplomatic posts. In my time there I can remember such men as the late Count Benckendorff, M. Isvolsky, M. Crozier, as respectively Russian and French Ministers at Copenhagen. In 1904 that very charming house, the British Legation, was tenanted by two great friends of mine, Sir Alan and Lady Johnstone. They were both immensely popular in Copenhagen Society, and entertained most hospitably and gave the pleasantest of dinners. The Opera, too, was a great distraction, some of the performances being very well given, the ballets, in particular, being quite first-rate. Altogether, the time there passed very agreeably.

By the middle of April the King and Queen were back at Buckingham Palace, but for a short time, for, before the end of the month, they had crossed from Holyhead to Kingstown, on a short visit to Ireland. Two or three days were spent at the Viceregal Lodge, Dublin, as the guests of Lord and Lady Dudley, the then Viceroy and Vicereine, during which the King laid the foundation-stone of the Royal College of Science in Dublin, with the usual formalities, and saw some good racing at Punchestown and in the Phoenix Park. In the course of the short tour that had been arranged, their Majesties visited Kilkenny, where they stayed for a couple of nights as the guests of the late Marquis of Ormonde and Lady Ormonde, and also paid a similar visit to the late Duke and Duchess of Devonshire at Lismore.

Lismore is very beautiful. The Castle itself is not a very genuine specimen of a castle, but it is so perfectly situated on some high ground on the banks of the Blackwater, that it looks most imposing, and the view from the windows, looking up and down the river, is quite lovely. During the stay of the Royal party, great dinners were given at the Castle, to which numbers of the gentry of the neighbourhood were invited. There is a fine dining-hall at the Castle, so the dinners were veritably banquets. By way of thoroughly carrying out the banquet scheme, the host and hostess—neither of whom cared in the least for music—had engaged the services of the band of the local Militia Regiment, which was very correctly stationed in the gallery. Never have I heard such appalling sounds as proceeded from that gallery; but, none the less, the Bandmaster was thoroughly enjoying himself, and conducted, much to his own satisfaction, a lengthy programme of the noisiest and most discordant music (?) from which I have ever suffered.

Talking of being at Lismore reminds me of the many times, and the many different places, in which I have been a guest of those two most hospitable people, the late Duke and Duchess of Devonshire. Probably no two people ever entertained to the extent that they did. At Chatsworth, in the winter, there were almost incessant large parties for the Derby November Race Meeting, which they always attended, and where the Duke always ran some horses; until past the New Year. They were at Lismore, generally, for three weeks in the spring, during which time, besides having friends to stay with them, the whole countryside was entertained at dinner. Then, at that charming place just outside Eastbourne, Compton Place, all through the summer they had a constant flow of visitors staying there for Sundays. At Newmarket, their little house in the High Street was always full for the Race Meetings, and, finally, what perhaps the Duke enjoyed most of all, there were the weeks spent at Bolton Abbey, from which, he and his guests daily cantered away on their ponies to shoot grouse on those famous moors. All of these houses were delightful to stay in, but I think, on the whole, I preferred my visits to Chatsworth, which was a veritable museum of beautiful things. The greater part of the wonderful collection there was formed by the sixth Duke, who was known in his time as the “Magnifico.” In reality, as regards art, he was less of a Patron and more of a Collector than the Medicean Potentate with whom he shared the appellation. The result, as seen at Chatsworth, eminently justified what must have been a combination of connoisseurship, good advice, and great wealth. Besides the family pictures, amongst which is that lovely Sir Joshua of the beautiful Duchess playing “hot codlins” with her baby daughter, there is a gallery of collected pictures amongst which there are some real treasures, such as the famous Van Eyck triptych. There is also a sculpture gallery containing some of the best work of Canova and Thorwalsden. Personally I do not greatly care for the work of either of these masters, but none the less the examples at Chatsworth were very good of their kind. Then the library was wonderful, containing as it did endless treasures, such as volumes of Van Dyck’s original drawings, the unique Liber Veritatis of Claude Lorraine, and, in addition, some beautiful illuminated missals and fine bindings. Finally, what appealed to me most of all, was the collection of drawings of the great Italian masters which, simply framed, were hung in a long well-lighted gallery where they could really be seen and studied in comfort.

So much—or, more correctly, so little—about the interior of Chatsworth, except a passing mention of the number of pleasant people of all sorts that made up the parties there. Outside the house, the gardens and shrubberies were on a magnificent scale: in the midst of the latter stood the miniature Crystal Palace, used as a palm and fern house, erected by Sir Joseph Paxton. The best of covert shooting, (for nowhere can high pheasants be better shown than on the steep-wooded hillsides of Derbyshire,) an excellent grouse moor on the high ground above the house, and an eighteen-hole golf-course in the park, combined to make up a really magnificent English home of the sort that is so rapidly disappearing, and that probably in another generation will have ceased to exist.

It used to be rather the fashion in those days to talk as if the Duke was only busily engaged in politics because greatness in that line had been thrust upon him, and because, from a keen sense of duty, he felt obliged to play his part as a constant Minister of the Crown. To my mind, this was an absolutely false conception of the man. I believe that, fond as he was of sport, and also of being surrounded by younger people, nevertheless, the constant love of his life was politics.

Talking of his liking for younger people, there was a famous story about him years ago at Newmarket. One of his guests had heard him returning to the house in the small hours, and at breakfast next morning asked him what had kept him up so late. He replied that he had been playing whist at the Jockey Club Rooms with some young men whose names he did not know. “They called each other,” he said, “‘Putty,’ ‘Tops,’ and the ‘Shaver,’ and had it not been that the ‘Shaver’ had to attend a prize fight at six in the morning, I probably should have been playing whist there still.”

But to return to the Duke as a politician. Though I have heard him groan at having to prepare a speech when he might otherwise have been out shooting with his guests, and probably be rather bored when he had to deliver it; yet, none the less, I think that he enjoyed the satisfaction of knowing that his closely-reasoned utterances would be read in the Press next morning by thousands of his countrymen, who, on any important subject, were always glad to study the opinion of one of the wisest, and most perfectly honest of Englishmen. In his last years his position in this country was very remarkable. The public, in spite of the attractions of those who might possibly be described as “Headline Politicians,” have a great respect and belief in a man whom they know instinctively, as well as by reputation, to be honest, truthful, and absolutely disinterested. The cynical might remark that it is easy for a man with the late Duke’s position and possessions, to be the reverse of self-seeking, but I think those who knew him best will agree with me, that whatever had been his position, his character would have been the same.

In November 1904 I was in attendance on King Carlos of Portugal, when His Majesty and Queen Amelie arrived in England to return the King’s visit to Lisbon of the previous year.

At the conclusion of the official visit King Carlos remained for some weeks in England, which he spent principally in paying a series of visits to various country houses for shooting, about which sport he was extremely keen. He was a very fine shot, and for that reason alone would have been a welcome guest at any shooting party. He visited in succession Didlington Hall, then in the possession of the late Lord Amherst of Hackney; Elveden Hall, Lord Iveagh’s wonderful shooting manor, once tenanted by another great shot, the late Maharajah Duleep Singh; Bowood, Lord Lansdowne’s beautiful seat in Wiltshire, and finally Chatsworth. It was a bitterly cold winter, and both at Elveden and Chatsworth there was deep snow on the ground. I have never met a man so completely impervious to cold as was the late King of Portugal. He would stand outside a cover in a bitter wind with nothing on but the thinnest of shooting coats, as he found that thick clothes hampered his quickness with the gun, which was really very remarkable; he was not only very accurate as a shot, but quick,—phenomenally quick,—in getting on to his bird.

During the whole of this tour, the Marquis de Soveral, Lord Suffield and I were in attendance. It was an extremely pleasant round of visits, and the shooting at all of them was very good,—at Elveden, of course, particularly so. Queen Amelie had, meanwhile, been paying some visits on her own account; but she accompanied the King to Chatsworth, which was the last private visit he paid before returning to the Continent. King Carlos was the personification of good nature and kindness, and was also an extremely accomplished man, which made his brutal murder in the streets of Lisbon on February 2nd, 1908, seem to any of those who had the honour of knowing him personally, to be not only one of the foulest, but also one of the most meaningless murders in history.

Before the year 1904 ended, I was to take part in yet one more official visit, having been detailed to be in attendance on H.R.H. Prince Arthur of Connaught, when representing the King at the christening of the infant son and heir of the King and Queen of Italy. Prince Arthur and his suite, consisting of Field-Marshal Lord Grenfell, Captain Windham, then one of the Duke of Connaught’s Equerries, and myself, duly arrived in Rome during the first days of December. The actual christening took place in one of the drawing-rooms of the Quirinal Palace. It really was rather a pretty sight. A temporary altar had been set up, there was a procession of the Royal Families and their Representatives, headed by a bevy of priests, with a band in the gallery playing suitable music.

When the ceremony was over there was an enormous luncheon, followed in the evening by a gala dinner. In a letter which I wrote home at the time, it is evident that I was much impressed with the beauty of the jewels worn by some of the ladies at the banquet! “Some of the women certainly had on the most marvellous jewels; there was one opposite me, whose name I cannot remember, who wore such diamonds as I doubt if I ever saw before, even on Royalties. Donna Franca Florio (one of the most beautiful women of her time) was beautifully dressed, and had on a long row of splendid pearls that reached to her knees. She looked very handsome, as also did Princess Teano. But the beauty of the jewels that were worn impressed me greatly. Some of them looked as if they must have been heirlooms dating from the Renaissance.”

During all these years, some events of which I have been endeavouring to describe, notwithstanding a good deal of duty, much of which entailed being out of the country, I was by no means neglecting racing—a sport to which, in those days, I was very devoted. To go racing meant being amongst almost the pleasantest of one’s friends, and amidst the cheeriest of surroundings, and, in addition, it became more interesting to me owing to the large increase in the size of the Sandringham Stud. The bloodstock in the paddocks there had been largely augmented in the way of brood mares by the purchase, amongst others, of such fine animals as Laodamia and Nonsuch, the natural result being that every year there were more foals and yearlings to inspect, and prophesy about. But racing is a curiously fluctuating business, and, unfortunately, beautiful as these young things were to look at, from 1901 onwards they turned out, with hardly an exception, to be singularly worthless. After Diamond Jubilee’s great year of 1900, for a long spell, Richard Marsh was hardly able to win a race for his leading patron. For the entire racing season of 1901, during which time the King was in mourning for Queen Victoria, the race-horses were leased to the Duke of Devonshire (another of Marsh’s patrons) and ran in his colours. Great things were expected of them. To begin with, Diamond Jubilee seemed to have the three races, open to four-year-olds, at his mercy, but he was a queer-tempered animal and declined altogether to exert himself any further, and though he ran in succession in the Princess of Wales, the Eclipse, and Jockey Club Stakes, the St. Leger of 1900 was his last victory. Lean year followed lean year, and it was not until 1908, when the Sandringham Stud could only send up one colt seemingly worthy of training, that the luck began to turn. To make up for this shortage of colts, the King leased half a dozen two-year-old colts from Colonel Hall Walker (who has lately become Lord Wavertree) and partly thanks to Minoru, one of the leased animals, but mainly to the home-bred Princesse de Galles, who won five nice races, there was at last a respectable winning balance in the way of stakes.

But 1908 was easily eclipsed by the season of 1909, when the King was placed at the head of the winning list of owners. This was mainly owing to the success of Minoru, who won five good races in succession, including the two classics,—namely the Two Thousand and the Derby. The King’s Derby victory was acclaimed with wonderful enthusiasm by the immense crowd at Epsom; His Majesty followed the tradition of leading in his horse, but how he managed to get on to the course, inundated as it was with a surging crowd of enthusiasts, and, having got there, how he ever got inside the neighbouring enclosure again, is almost past the wit of man to understand. However, supported by Lord Marcus Beresford, Marsh, and an Equerry or two, to say nothing of the still more efficient aid of two or three men of the Metropolitan Police, the impossible was duly performed, and Minoru was led in. I was not at Epsom when Diamond Jubilee won the Derby, but I saw Persimmon win, so knew something of the cheering of which an Epsom crowd is capable, but even then it was nothing to the delight displayed by the crowd, when the Derby was won by their own reigning Sovereign.

One other occasion I remember at Epsom, when the crowd was wonderfully pleased and enthusiastic, and that was when Signorinetta had won the Oaks for the Cavaliere Ginistrelli, having scored the double event by winning the Derby two days before. The King and Queen Alexandra were present in the Royal box, and I happened to be in waiting at the time. As soon as the mare’s number had gone up I was dispatched to find the Cavaliere, and inform him that the King wished to congratulate him personally on his dual victory. With great difficulty I succeeded in getting him to accompany me to the Royal box, (so shy and confused was he at the sudden honour that was to be thrust on him), but I eventually succeeded. On his arrival in the Royal box, the King placed him in the front of it between the Queen and himself, so that he could bow his acknowledgments to the cheering crowd. The crowd was delighted, for he was a very popular man in the racing world, especially at Newmarket, where he lived, and though the crowd on Oaks day is very much smaller than it is on the day of the Derby, the cheering was, nevertheless, terrific in its intensity.

But my racing recollections are getting far in advance of their time, and I must revert to a few years earlier and get on with my story.