“He might have given us a mark each,” complained the Princess.
It was always notable how many gardeners there were out on the paths, sweeping invisible leaves away on Christmas Eve; but His Majesty’s selection of a route was always unexpected, so that there was little to be gained by any attempt to guess the probable course of his wanderings.
The Bescherung to the servants took place about two o’clock in the Schilder-Saal or Hall of Shields. Long tables were laid down the centre of the room, on which were arranged in due order everybody’s gifts. Two or three large Christmas trees were lighted, and in the corner stood the piano which was to reinforce our efforts at carol-singing. In poured a crowd of white-capped housemaids, green-clad Jägers, footmen, and Kammer-diener (butlers). All the ladies were assembled in décolletée evening dress, and those who had undertaken to help in singing carols were beginning to tremble, especially when the leading soprano whispered that she had a slight sore throat and couldn’t sing a note.
Then the Empress, also in evening dress, arrived with the Princess and the princes in full uniform, including, until his marriage, the Crown Prince; and the choir timidly sang the first carol, which always sounded a little thin and chirpy in that large room. It was listened to with the greatest respect, if not pleasure, and then another was sung at the request of the Empress, while everybody stood patiently waiting till it was finished. Her Majesty then walked round and showed everybody their presents, which consisted of dress-pieces, counterpanes, curtains, clocks, etc. She began with the housekeeper, and as year after year the tables were arranged in the same order, the whole ceremony, if it could be called ceremony where everything was so simple and kindly, was soon at an end, and they all trooped away with their cutlery, silver, pictures and photographs—leaving nothing behind but the bare tables with their white cloths and the Christmas trees.
Then, after a short pause, a general move was made to the apartment of the Empress, where carols were to be sung for the delectation of His Majesty. There was the last almost acrimonious dispute as to whether they should be sung with or without accompaniment, ending, as was confidently expected, in favour of the moral support afforded by the piano. One lady is warned about her E, which is inclined to be a little flat, and the question hurriedly discussed as to whether somebody who has been singing seconds had not better join the trebles weakened by incipient colds. Nothing is settled when the door from the next room opens and His Majesty steps in, bows, and stands in an attitude of attention not unmixed with boredom which makes everybody’s blood run cold.
The Hof-Prediger’s face wears a look of concentrated anxiety and apprehension as he counts the first bar and plunges into the accompaniment. The top E is safely passed—not perhaps quite exact as to pitch, but not so very bad—the adjutants are booming their tenor and bass with praiseworthy conscientiousness if little skill, and we settle down to verses two and three with renewed confidence. The second high E is on the down grade, and the third one almost painful, but as soon as the last note has died away the Princess and Prince Joachim both together begin feverishly to recite the Weihnachts-Geschichte, which it is customary for every Prussian prince and princess to repeat yearly from the age of six until Confirmation.
When they have got half-way through, “Stille Nacht” is sung, and then they finish the Christmas story to the end, and a third carol is performed; all hoping that it didn’t really sound as bad as it seemed to do.
Sometimes His Majesty takes hold of a hymn-book and sings with the rest; while, since their marriage, the Crown Prince and Princess are accustomed to join in the music, and everyone feels that this attempted harmony is “sehr nett” if not particularly brilliant.
Then all file in to dinner at the impossible hour of four o’clock. It is given thus early so that the numerous guests may still be in time for their own private festivities at home. All the Emperor’s old adjutants and court officials are invited, and assemble in the big salons near the Jasper Gallery, in which dinner is served at a series of small round or oval tables. Monster carp are brought round boiled in ale, looking plethoric and porpoise-like, and the meal winds up with English plum-pudding and mince-pies served with flaming brandy sauce. The German gentlemen are not at all fond of plum-pudding—they think it horrible stuff; but they like the mince-pies, especially the brandy-sauce part.
As soon as dinner is finished, the Emperor gives a signal, the doors into the Muschel-Saal are thrown open, and all walk through into the Christmas brilliancy. The whole row of lighted trees ranged the length of the immense hall shed that clear yet soft subdued light of multitudinous wax tapers which is more beautiful than any other. Electricity has been installed in the Muschel-Saal within the last few years, and much of the old glamour of the scene has departed—the candles burn palely, they have lost some of the old warmth and glow, the green of the foliage has become faded.