It is true that, having a cold, he had partaken of the toffee (which turned out rather soft) with much appreciation, but we were eager to prove ourselves capable of higher achievements.
All the dolls’ crockery-ware, saucepans and frying-pans were taken over to the Haus, which was built in one of the side gardens a little distance from the Palace.
The first time we indulged there in an orgie of cooking, the Princess, wishing to play the part properly, donned an embroidered peasant’s dress which had been presented to her by the good Bauern-Volk who came to Donau-Eschingen. We met the guard on our way to the garden. They were dreadfully nonplussed when they first caught sight of her in this costume, not being sure if it really was the Princess or not, but finally decided to render the customary honours. The wearer of the dress had thrown herself so entirely into the part of Bauern-frau that this obvious anachronism annoyed her extremely. She found the costume, moreover, rather tight and hot, and not very practical for beating eggs in, and therefore decided not to wear it again when she really wanted to work.
As I was the only lady in the Palace having the faintest theoretical or practical idea of the art of cooking, I was chosen to guide the children in their first attempts. Two footmen preceded us, carrying firewood, matches and coal, with which they were to start the little tiled stove, while half a dozen children followed with flour, eggs, butter, milk, and other materials, all of which had been commandeered from the royal kitchens.
The stoutest heart might have quailed, the best cook in the world might have trembled, at the enterprise I had undertaken. To cook, or rather to teach a lot of riotous, screaming children to cook—on a stove whose capacities were not yet known, in a kitchen supplied chiefly with inadequate and doll-like utensils—a sort of combined tea and supper to which an Emperor and Empress and goodness knew how many more people had been hospitably, but I could not but feel recklessly, invited!
It was very hot. Mosquitoes swarmed everywhere. The chimney smoked relentlessly till one of the footmen discovered a damper. The wood was wet. There was no water, no knives and forks, and we had forgotten the salt; but the affair had to be a success, and we set out perseveringly to carry it through.
The Princess had decided that we would have pancakes for tea—the usual English kind made with eggs and milk—and the six children were accordingly sent outside on to the veranda to beat eggs, while I tried to review my forces and collect a few ideas—a dreadful business with a swarm of children, asking questions in the rather loud-voiced German way, running up to show their eggs, or spilling them on the floor, while not a single cup or saucer was as yet in its place.
By some miraculous means we managed to ice a cake with chocolate—a sheer tour-de-force of inventive genius, for I had never done such a thing before in my life. We cut quantities of very thin bread and butter, at which one of the footmen displayed unsuspected dexterity. The much-beaten eggs duly mixed with flour and milk made excellent pancakes. Each child had “tasted” of them liberally, pronouncing them “Grossartig! Prachtvoll!”
All too soon the Emperor and Empress were seen wending their way in our direction, accompanied, to the Princess’s great indignation, by two adjutants.
“I never invited the gentlemen,” she said in tones of annoyance; “there won’t be half enough pancakes to go round.”