2.
Queen Wilhelmina was very expansive in her manner and yet very thoughtful. Brought up in the strictest principles by a watchful and inflexible mother, she had learnt from childhood to shirk neither work nor fatigue, to brave the inclemencies of the weather, to distinguish herself alike in bodily and in mental exercises, in short, to prepare herself in the most serious fashion for her duties as Queen and to realise all the hopes that were centred on her young head.
I often had occasion, during my stay at the Corbières, to notice the thoroughness of her education. She already spoke four languages, in addition to her mother-tongue, fluently: French, Russian, English and German. She interested herself in agricultural matters and was not unacquainted with social questions: for instance, she often made me talk to her about the condition of the workmen in France and the organisation of our administrative systems; nay, more, she was beginning to study both judicial and constitutional law. I would not, however, go so far as to say that this study aroused her enthusiasm: she preferred I believe, to read historical books; she took a great interest in the Napoleonic idyll and, knowing me to be a fellow-countryman of Bonaparte:
"You must feel very sorry," she said to me, one day, "that you came too late to have seen him!"
She also liked to talk to me about her ponies:
"I have four," she told me, "and I drive them four-in-hand."
I was often invited to share the meals of the miniature court and to take my seat at the table of the chamberlains and ladies-in-waiting, which was presided over, with charming courtesy and geniality, by my excellent friend Count Du Monceau, who, although a Dutch general, was of French origin, as his name shows.[5]
At one of these dinners, I met with a little mishap which gave a great shock to both my patriotism and to my natural greediness. The cook of the villa, M. Perreard, was a native of Marseilles and owned an hotel at Cannes, where I had made his acquaintance. In his twofold capacity as a Marseillese and a cook, he was a great hand at making bouillabaisse, the national dish of the people of the south. Now, as he knew that I was very fond of this dainty, he said to me one day, with a great air of mystery:
"M. Paoli, I have a pleasant surprise in store for you at lunch this morning. I have sent to Marseilles for fish and shell-fish so as to give you a bouillabaisse cooked in the way you know of. Not another word! But they'll have a good time up there, I can tell you, those people from the north who have never tasted it!"
As soon as we had sat down, I saw with delight the great soup-tureen, whence escaped a delicious fragrance of bouillabaisse. The members of the royal suite cast inquisitive glances at this dish unknown to them and prepared to do honour to it with a good grace. Before tasting it myself, I watched the expression of their faces. Alas, a grievous disappointment awaited me! Hardly had they touched their spoons with their lips, when they gave vent to their disgust in different ways. Baroness van Ittersum made a significant grimace, while Jonkheer van Pabst pushed away his plate and Baroness Rengers suppressed a gesture of repugnance.
However, out of consideration for my feelings, they were silent: so was I. They waited in all kindness for me to enjoy my treat; but one act of politeness deserves another; there was nothing for me to do, in my turn, but to forego my share, all the more so as I did not feel inclined to present the ridiculous spectacle of a man eating by himself a thing which all his neighbours loathe and detest.
The bouillabaisse, therefore, disappeared straightway, untouched and still steaming, beating, as it were, a silent retreat. But I will not attempt to describe the rage which M. Perreard subsequently poured into my ear....