5.
The unpretending affability of the royal couple was bound to win the affections of the French people. The daily more enthusiastic cheers that greeted them in their drives through Paris proved that they had conquered all hearts.
"It is astonishing," said an Italian official to me, "but they are even more popular here than at home!"
"That must be because they show themselves more," I replied.
At the risk of disappointing the reader, I am bound to confess that no tragic or even unpleasant incident came to spoil their pleasure or their peace of mind. It appeared that the anarchist gentry were allowing themselves a little holiday.
In the absence of the traditional plot, we had, it is true, the inevitable shower of anonymous letters and even some that were signed. The Queen, alas, had done much to encourage epistolary mendicants by announcing her wish that replies should be sent to all letters asking for assistance and that, in every possible case, satisfaction should be given to the writers. The result was that all the poverty-stricken Italians with whom Paris teems gave themselves free scope to their hearts' delight; and the usual fraternity of French begging-letter-writers—those who had formerly so artlessly striven to excite the compassion of the Shah of Persia—also tried what they could do.
But what reply was it possible to send to such letters as the following (I have kept a few specimens)?
"To Her Majesty the Queen of Italy.
"Madame,—
"We are a young married couple, honest, but poor. We were unable to have a honeymoon, for lack of money. It would be our dream to go to Italy, which is said to be the land of lovers. We thought that Your Majesty, loving your husband as you do and, therefore, knowing what love means, might consent to help us to make this little journey. We should want 500 francs; we entreat Your Majesty to lend it to us. When my husband has a better situation—he is at present an assistant in a curiosity-shop—he will not fail to repay Your Majesty the money.
"Pray accept the thanks, Madame, of
"Your Majesty's respectful and grateful servant,
"Marie G—,
"Poste Restante 370,
"Paris."
"To His Majesty the King of Italy.
"Sir,—
"I am a young painter full of ambition and said to be not devoid of talent. I am very anxious to see Rome and to study its artistic masterpieces. Not possessing the necessary means, I am writing to ask if you would not give me an employment of any kind, even in the service of the royal motor-cars (for I know how to drive a motor), so that I may be enabled in my spare time, to visit the monuments and picture-galleries and to perfect myself in my art.
"Pray accept, etc.
"Louis S—,
"At the Café du Capitole,
"Toulouse."
Here is a letter of another description:
"To Her Majesty Queen Helena.
"Madame,—
"You are the mother of two pretty babies: for this reason, I have the honour of sending you herewith two boxes of lacteal farinaceous food, of my own invention, for infants of tender years. It is a wonderful strengthening and tonic diet and I feel that I am doing Your Majesty a service in sending you these samples. You are sure to order more.
"In the hope of receiving these orders, I am,
"Your Majesty's respectful servant,
"Dr. F. J.,
"Rue de la Liberté,
"Nîmes."
These few specimens of correspondence will suffice to give an idea of the harmless and sometimes comical literature that found its way every morning into the royal letter-bag. I must not, however, omit to mention, among the humorous incidents that marked the sovereign's journey, an amusing mistake which occurred on the day of their arrival in Paris.
It was about half-past six in the evening. Our royal guests had that moment left the Foreign Office, to pay their first official visit to the President of the Republic, when a cab stopped outside the strictly-guarded gate. An old gentleman, very tall, with a long white beard and very simply dressed, alighted and was about to walk in with a confident step.
Three policemen rushed to prevent him:
"Stop!" they cried. "No one is allowed in here."
"Oh," said the stranger, "but I want to see the King of Italy!"
"And who may you be?"
"The King of the Belgians."
They refused to believe him. When he persisted, however, they went in search of an official, who at once came and proffered the most abject apologies. Picture the faces of the policemen!
The King and Queen of Italy stayed only three days in Paris, as I have said.
"We will come back again," the Queen promised, when she stepped into the train, radiant at the reception which had been given her.
They have not returned hitherto. True, they passed through France, in the following year, on their way to England. I made the journey with them; but, as on their first arrival at Modane, the blinds of their carriage were lowered. They remained down throughout the journey. Were the royal pair asleep? I never heard.