Round the Saal, tables are arranged as at a bazaar, and each lady has one to herself loaded with presents. The Emperor sometimes walks round and shows his own gift, usually a very beautiful fur, where it lies on each person’s table; but one of the great charms of His Majesty is that he has no stereotyped line of conduct—if he doesn’t feel like walking round and making himself agreeable he doesn’t do it. He is no slave to precedent. So then we find his present on our tables by ourselves, and go up and curtsey and thank him as opportunity offers. The Empress has always given one principal present, the nature of which each recipient has herself chosen; and in addition scatters with liberal hand small additional trifles such as work-bags, pincushions, books, small articles of jewellery. All the adjutants and generals receive something handsome and substantial: one has a Turkey rug, another a bronze bust of the Emperor, a third a pair of silver candelabra. But whatever else they get, a large plate of nuts, cakes and chocolates accompanies each table—and those gentlemen who have to return to Berlin early may presently be seen, aided by footmen, pouring their nuts and gingerbread into large brown-paper bags, which they carry away under one arm, for all the world like children from a Sunday-school treat. This procession of grey-haired generals and officers in uniform going off like schoolboys with their booty seems to afford the Emperor much pleasure.
The tables of the Empress and Emperor are covered with offerings from their relatives in England and elsewhere; but the chief interest is in the presents to the Princess. When she reached her twelfth year, on her Christmas table appeared the plans of a tiny Bauern-Haus, the gift of her father. It was built the following spring in the children’s garden—a real peasant’s wooden kitchen, with a real stove and saucepans where cooking and washing may be done. It had bottle-glass windows and half-doors with bottle-glass in the upper portions. There was a larder with a buttery-hatch, and it speedily became the scene of fearsome cookery experiments involving lavish outlay in eggs and milk. Here was dispensed much hospitality to all classes of visitors.
Another Christmas she received from the Emperor a pony-cart, to replace the blue-lined Turkish victoria of the Sultan, which was now deemed too childish and theatrical in appearance. The ponies were promoted to a workmanlike little vehicle of light-coloured ash, capable of holding, at a pinch, six persons; and it remained the chief medium of transport until after the Emperor’s visit to Highcliffe, near Bournemouth, when he brought back with him a beautiful little New Forest pony and “tub,” which completely eclipsed Ali and Aladdin, who were given away to a friend in the country. Perhaps, however, the most charming of all the Christmas presents which the Emperor gave his daughter was a most beautiful little Arab mare called “Irene.” She was brought from the stables at the time of the Bescherung and led up the terrace steps into the big hall in front of the Muschel-Saal, where she stood gazing round in her well-bred gentle manner at all the ladies in their evening finery and the brilliant uniforms that crowded round her. She looked at them out of her beautiful eyes with a fearless, rather disdainful, air, and the lights of the many candles shone on the satin of her bright strawberry coat—for she was a wonderfully-coloured red-roan of an unusual tone. She had all the marvellous dignity of poise and light springy footsteps of her race, and had been highly trained and schooled in the “Spanish trot,” “passaging,” and other riding-school attainments, while her action across country was, as the Princess said when someone called it poetry, “almost a love-song in sixteen verses.”
Unfortunately a year or two after her entrance into the stables she was seized with influenza, and died in spite of all efforts to save her.
Towards six o’clock the household, one by one, slips away, and leaves the Imperial Family alone to spend the rest of the evening in each other’s society. Every year from Christmas to New Year’s Day the Muschel-Saal, especially in the evenings, is the family rendezvous. As soon as it is dark the Christmas trees are lighted and tea and supper are taken under the shadow of their branches. The Emperor sits at a table writing his New Year cards or reading, sometimes aloud, sometimes to himself; everybody is busy examining and comparing presents or writing letters of thanks.
Christmas Day itself is passed very quietly, the luncheon strictly en famille, with none even of the suite present. As many as can be spared of the married servants are sent home, to be at least a part of the day with their families. Every possible consideration is shown, so that not the humblest worker is deprived of a share of leisure and opportunity to visit his friends.
One Christmas the Emperor was in a very “anecdotal” mood, and chatted for some time to his suite, telling many amusing traits of the late Duke of Cambridge—“Uncle George” as he called him.
His Majesty mentioned the well-known fact that “Uncle George” was one of the hard-swearing military type, now—it is said—practically extinct, and scattered volleys of oaths abroad at the slightest excuse; but somebody having once drawn attention to the great prevalence of “language” in the army, he, quite unconscious of his own shortcomings, set himself to reform the great organization of which at that time he was Commander-in-Chief. After a long harangue to the assembled officers, plentifully belarded with oaths, he concluded by saying: “I’m damned if I’ll allow this habit of swearing to go on: who the devil ever heard me swear?”
Once he had planned to show to the German Emperor and the King of Greece, who were together in England, some pet improvements in drill which he had recently introduced, and of which he was extremely proud. After they had been feasted “right royally” at the officers’ mess, where plenty of champagne was consumed, the Royalties all mounted their horses and proceeded to Woolwich Common for the purpose of beholding the proposed exercises. But unfortunately the Duke had forgotten to take into account the fact that the day was Bank Holiday, and to his disgust and astonishment found his beloved common black with “trippers” (“fifty thousand of ’em,” sniggered the Emperor). The Duke was nearly suffocated with rage and disgust, and ordered the escort (eighteen mounted Hussars) to charge and disperse the people. The impossibility of this being, however, demonstrated, he himself proceeded on his great raw-boned charger to harangue the multitude, damning their bodies and souls with the greatest impartiality, and vainly trying to inspire them with a sense of the enormity of choosing this particular day for their sportive gambols on the Common.
When he at last stopped, as the Emperor put it “for want of wind,” a dead silence fell for a moment on the astonished crowd, who were expected to melt sadly away; but suddenly a British workman standing near, equal—as British workmen generally are—to the occasion, took off his cap and waving it in the air cried out “Three cheers for ’is R’yl ‘Ighness the Dook o’ Cambridge,” which three cheers were immediately given with the greatest spontaneity and goodwill, the crowd seeming to enjoy being abused by Royalty. But, as the Duke himself afterwards sadly observed, “They didn’t budge an inch, Sire, not an inch. They stopped there all the same.” So the proposed military evolutions did not take place that day and had to be postponed to a more convenient season.