3.
King George, who, like most reigning sovereigns, is an indefatigable walker, used to start out every day in the late afternoon and come back just before dinner-time. He nearly always took a member of his suite with him; one of my inspectors would follow him. All the peasants round Aix knew the King by sight and raised their caps as he passed. He is very young in mind—in this respect, he has remained the midshipman of his boyhood—and he sometimes amused himself by playing a trick on the companion of his walk. For instance, as soon as he saw that his equerry, after covering a reasonable number of miles, was beginning, if I may so express myself, to hang out signals of distress, the King suggested that they should turn into a roadside public-house for a drink.
"They keep a certain small wine of the country here," he said, "which has a flavour all of its own; but you must drink it down at a draught."
The other, whether he was thirsty or not, dared not refuse. They therefore entered the inn and the King had a tumbler filled with the famous nectar and handed it to his equerry, taking good care not to drink any himself. It was, in point of fact, a piquette, or sour wine, with a taste "all of its own" and resembling nothing so much as vinegar; and the King's guest, when he had emptied his glass, could not help pulling a frightful face. He dared not, however, be so disrespectful as to complain; and when the King, who had enjoyed the scene enormously, asked, in a very serious voice:
"Delicious, isn't it?"
"Oh, delicious!" the equerry replied, with an air of conviction.
You must not, however, think that the King's practical jokes were always cruel. Most often, they bore witness, under a superficial appearance of mischief, to his discriminating kindness of heart.
I remember, in this connexion, once going to meet him at the frontier-station of Culoz, through which he was passing on his way from Geneva to Aix. The members of his suite and I had left him alone, for a few moments, while we went to buy some books and newspapers which he had asked for. As he was walking up and down the platform, he saw a good woman at the door of a third-class railway-carriage, a plump, red-faced sort of peasant-woman, who was making vain efforts to open the door and fuming with anger and impatience. Suddenly catching sight of the King, who stood looking at her:
"Hi, there, Mr. Porter!" she cried. "Come and help me, can't you?"
The King ran up, opened the carriage-door and received the fat person in his arms. Next, she said:
"Fetch me out my basket of vegetables and my bundle."
The King obediently executed her commands. At that moment we appeared upon the platform, and to our amazement saw King George carrying the basket under one arm and the bundle under the other. He made a sign to me not to move. He carried the luggage to the waiting-room, took a ticket for the fair traveller, who was changing her train, and refused to accept payment for it, in spite of her insistence. What a pleasant recollection she must have of the porters at Culoz Station!
Here is another adventure, which happened at Aix. The King had the habit, on leaving the Casino in the evening, to go back with me in the hotel-omnibus, which was reserved for his use: he found this easier than taking a cab. One evening, just as we were about to step in, a visitor staying at the hotel, a foreign lady, not knowing that the omnibus was reserved exclusively for the King, went in before us, sat down and waited for the 'bus to start. As I was about to ask her to get out:
"Let her be," said the King. "She's not in our way."
We got inside in our turn; I sat down opposite the King; the omnibus started; the lady did not move. Suddenly, the King broke silence and spoke to me; I replied, using, of course, the customary forms of "Sire" and "Your Majesty."
Thereupon the lady looked at us in dismay, flung herself against the window, tapped at it, called out:
"What have I done? Heavens, what have I done?" she cried. "I am in the King's omnibus! Stop! Stop!"
And turning to the King, with a theatrical gesture:
"Pardon, Sire."
The King was seized with a fit of laughing, in the midst of which he did his best to reassure her:
"I entreat you, Madam, calm yourself! You have nothing to fear: a King is not an epidemic disease!"
The good lady quieted down; but we reached the hotel without being able to extract a word from her paralysed throat.
In this respect, she did not resemble the majority of her sisters of the fair sex, before whose imperious and charming despotism we have bowed since the days of our father Adam. As a matter of fact, no sovereign that I know of ever aroused more affectionate curiosity in the female circles than King George. The glamour of his rank had something to say to the matter, no doubt; but I have reason to believe that the elegance of his person, the affability of his manners and the conquering air of his moustache were not wholly unconnected with it. Whether leaving his hotel, or entering the restaurant or one of the rooms of the Casino, or appearing in the paddock at the races, which he attended regularly, he became the cynosure of every pair of bright eyes and the object of cunning manœuvres on the part of their pretty owners, who were anxious to approach him and to find out what a king is made of when you see him close. No man is quite insensible to such advances. At the same time, George I was too clever to be taken in; he was amused at the homage paid him and accepted it in his usual spirit of bantering, but polite coyness, although the ladies' persistence often became both indiscreet and troublesome.
For the rest, he led a very quiet, very methodical and rather monotonous life, both at Aix and in Paris; for to the character of this sovereign, as to that of most others, there is a "middle-class" side that displays itself in harmless eccentricities. For instance, King George, when he travels abroad, always goes to the same hotel, occupies the same rooms and is so averse to change that he likes every piece of furniture to be in exactly the same place where he last left it. I shall never forget my astonishment when, entering the King's bed-room a few moments after his arrival at the Hôtel Bristol in Paris, I caught him bodily moving a heavy Louis-XV chest of drawers, which he carried across the room with the help of his physician.
"You see," he said, "it used to stand by the fireplace and they have shifted it to the window, so I am putting it back."
Certainly, he had the most wonderful memory for places that I ever observed.