I remained discreetly in the background in the kitchen, concentrating my mind on frying. The tea was good because it was just freshly made, and the pancakes for the same reason, hot from the fire and spared the usual long journey down the tunnel from the Palace kitchens, were, in spite of the inadequate doll’s plates on which they had perforce to be served, crisp and toothsome.
The Emperor ate with the greatest appetite and appreciation, praising his daughter’s cooking, and obviously believing, in the usual facile masculine way, that she had suddenly acquired this difficult art. I heard her holding forth on the necessity of beating the eggs severely for ten minutes at least (she did not mention those which had escaped from the basin to the ground) and talking at large with the air of a person who had plumbed all the depths of culinary difficulties.
“Yes, of course they stick to the pan if you don’t put lots of butter—lots and lots.” We had indeed used several pounds.
I think His Majesty accounted for four pancakes and then concentrated on chocolate cake and bread-and-butter, after which the Empress noticed my absence, and I was compelled reluctantly to appear—very red-faced and greasy—and modestly accept the Imperial congratulations on my successful efforts. Room was made for me to sit down with the rest, and the chocolate cake was warmly recommended to my attention.
“Fancy an Englishwoman knowing how to cook!” said the Emperor, laughing.
I respectfully but firmly pointed out that not a single German lady inhabiting the palace confessed to any culinary knowledge whatever. They had all been approached on the subject, and their ideas were found hazy and vague in the extreme. Not one had been in a position to help in that strenuous afternoon’s work. (His Majesty is subject to the illusion that all German women are extremely domesticated.) The Emperor’s blue eyes twinkled.
“Ah, ah!” he laughed, “the British ‘Dreadnought’ again to the fore.”
That was his favourite name for me. It had been bestowed on the birthday of the Princess—the only one of those anniversaries on which the Emperor was present, for he was usually away at the autumn manœuvres on that date (September 13), but this one year he happened to be at home. Although as a rule only one of the three ladies of the Princess, German, French, or English, accompanied her to the Frühstücks-tafel, on this occasion in honour of the day all were invited, and as we followed her into the dining-room an adjutant remarked in the Emperor’s hearing upon Prinzessin’s Geschwader (Princess’s Squadron), referring to ourselves.
This epithet as applied to the trio amused His Majesty greatly, and he tried during the meal to fit us all three with appropriate nautical names, one—the German Ober-Gouvernante—being called the “tug,” Mademoiselle the “torpedo-boat,” while amid the hilarity of the assembled company he decided that “Dreadnought” was the term which best applied to me; and although the two other ladies escaped any further reference to their supposed prototypes, I was not so fortunate, for the name “Dreadnought” stuck to me thenceforth. When I appeared in a new hat or dress His Majesty would whimsically remark, “Here comes the Dreadnought in a new coat of paint,” or some equally embarrassing observation. Perhaps I was considered to be uncompromisingly British, or representative of my nation, but when the Princess curled her arm round my neck and murmured, “Good old Dreadnought!” I did not mind the epithet so much, and grew in time to like it.
It was at the same Frühstücks-tafel that we three ladies for the first and only time in our lives had the privilege of “taking wine” with His Majesty. Usually on birthdays and anniversaries of various kinds it is a custom at court to stand up and clink glasses together before drinking, but this is not often done when the Emperor is present. He sometimes “drinks wine” with any particular gentleman whom he wishes to honour, who stands up, takes his full glass in his hand, bows to the Emperor, and empties it at a draught before sitting down again. I had never seen a lady invited to “take wine” with His Majesty, and believed it to be a privilege reserved for the sterner sex; but while I was chatting to an officer at table, the one on the other side, he who had called us a Geschwader, touched my arm and whispered “His Majesty wishes to drink wine with you. Aufgestanden und Ausgetrunken! (standing, and no heel-taps!)”