The wedding of the Emperor’s second son, Prince Fritz, to the Duchess Sophie Charlotte of Oldenburg took place in February, on the same day as the celebration of the Silver Wedding of Their Majesties, who on this occasion walked hand in hand in the bridal procession, the Empress wearing a wreath of silver myrtle as well as a beautiful diamond tiara given to her by her husband.
This Silver Wedding was, of course, the occasion of many spontaneous tributes of affection towards Their Majesties; and the Court Chaplain—he who attempted to guide our Christmas carols—being an indefatigable man, had determined that this notable day ought to be ushered in by an aubade, an early-morning song, to be performed by the Court ladies and gentlemen outside the bedroom door of the Emperor and Empress. It was to be sacred in character; but, instead of taking some old-established favourite, he was moved to ask a musical friend to write something special to fit the occasion. Like most “specially-written” melodies, it was rather uninspired, but by dint of constant practice at most inconvenient times we got a more or less hazy idea of it, and hoped that it would make a deep impression.
I think we were all a little resentful at having to rise so early on what we knew would be a long, fatiguing day. The poor Court Chaplain, who had to come over from Potsdam, must have started in the chilly darkness of the winter morning. I myself, unaccustomed to rising quite so early, fell asleep again after being awakened, and had to dress in feverish haste and rush downstairs without any breakfast. We were gathered, a group of rather sleepy, not conspicuously good-tempered people, at the entrance to the narrow corridor leading to the private apartments, where we waited an unconscionable time, growing every moment more nervous, and studying the little ill-written scraps of music-paper on which we had jotted down, somewhat undecipherably, our several parts. Everybody inquired of his neighbour what we were waiting for, but no one seemed to know, excepting the leading soprano, who frowned angrily when we whispered and put her finger reprovingly on her lips.
We were obviously much in the way of certain Jägers and footmen, who were passing up and down with garments and boots; and at last some of us grew restive and threatened to depart.
At that moment a Jäger, who had cast disapproving glances at us as he passed to and fro, came and told us that His Majesty had left his room and was not likely to return, whereupon we felt much disappointment, but subsequently congratulated ourselves on the happy chance that had led the Emperor away—for our attempt at harmony turned out a most dismal failure, owing to the chief soprano getting nervous and starting on an absolutely false note. No less than three beginnings were necessary before we got really “off,” and the suppressed titterings of the bridegroom, Prince Fritz, who had joined his mother, were plainly audible. Happily we finished better than we began—which is not saying much—and the Empress thanked us in her usual pleasant, kindly manner, and then hurried off after the Emperor to breakfast. It was rather hard on the poor Court Chaplain, who had risen early and taken so much trouble to reap so little satisfaction; and when I found on return to my own room that my breakfast (which I had not touched) had been taken away and eaten by the woman who waited on me, I felt that the day had not begun as auspiciously as might have been wished.
The Crown Prince and Princess after their marriage lived at the Marmor Palais, and here all their children were born. The arrival of their first little boy, Prince Wilhelm, was an exciting day for the whole of Germany. The great event happened about eight o’clock one morning, and by eleven picture-postcards were on sale in which the Crown Princess, naïvely represented in evening dress, was depicted holding in her arms one of those dreadful abominations called a Steck-Kissen, a sort of flat pillow much used in the Fatherland, on which was fastened with blue ribbons, something in the manner habitual among Indian squaws, a solid-looking infant purporting to be the newly-born Prince.
This same child on the same blue-ribboned Steck-Kissen was also represented on another postcard lying on the knees of the Emperor, who was smiling into the middle-distance. It bore the inscription “The First Grandchild”; but as His Majesty was at the time cruising off Kiel in the Hohenzollern, he never saw his first grandchild until six weeks after it was born. But manufacturers are not disturbed by minor details of this nature, and the cards, however unveracious, doubtless supplied a popular demand.
Later on the Emperor mentioned at table that, owing to the forgetfulness of the young officer charged with the forwarding on board of his mails, the telegrams informing him of the happy event did not reach him for a good many hours after they arrived in Kiel; and it was from a congratulatory message handed on board from the Sultan of Turkey that His Majesty first heard that he was a grandfather.
The fact that the Empress was a grandmother and she herself an aunt made the Princess very thoughtful for a time. She indulged for some time in long fits of silence, pondering this new development. A few days after her nephew came into the world, as we were driving in the Wildpark together, she remarked with a certain wistful wonder, “This time last week I was not yet an aunt, and Mamma was not a grandmother. Poor Mamma!”
The christening was of great interest to her, because the youngest Hohenzollern Princess is always chosen to carry the infant to the font. She practised this ceremony a few times with a cushion, to which was pinned a long table-cloth to present the white satin train which babes of the Hohenzollern race wear at the ceremony. This train is embroidered with the name of every prince or princess who has worn it; and a new strip has to be added for every christening, so that the imagination refuses to consider the length to which it must inevitably extend in the course of ages. It is carried by four ladies of noble birth, and is actually fastened, not to the infant itself, but to the white satin cushion on which the child is laid.