The château is a small house of one story, standing in a public park. A plot of ground has been railed off round the house, so that the King and Queen may have a garden in which they can enjoy privacy. Not that they are annoyed, like most kings and queens, with demonstrative manifestations of loyalty. The Norwegians contrive to make life agreeable for the Royal Family by allowing them to go about the countryside or through the streets of the capital as freely as ordinary citizens. Queen Maud revels in her new liberty.
“I find it so nice to be able to go out shopping without any fuss,” she said, and told me that she could go into a shop in Christiania without anybody taking any notice of her, buy what she wanted, and leave with her parcels tucked under her arm to walk back to the palace.
I could understand her delight better than most people, for in Madrid I have experienced the misery of knowing that I can not get in or out of a carriage without attracting a small crowd. To find oneself perpetually a public show is beyond words exasperating.
Queen Maud’s Court consists of two ladies-in-waiting and a Grand Mistress, a suite which is no larger than that of the least important of the numerous Austrian archduchesses. And, moreover, these ladies do not make deferential curtsies to Her Majesty. The Queen shakes hands with them when she meets them, and treats them, not as glorified servants, but as friends. The point may appear trivial, but it is worth mentioning, for it shows with what tact a princess, accustomed to the etiquette and the splendour of the English Court, has adapted herself to the spirit of a democratic people.
“You were perfectly right,” she said to me, “in what you used to tell me about the happiness of simplicity.”
“Of course I was right,” I said, “and I do not believe you would care to go back to the old Court life.”
“I am much happier in this life,” she said, and then it was that she told me how glad she was to be Queen of a country in which everybody loves simplicity.
It was obvious to me that both the King and Queen adore the fascinating little Olaf; but I noticed that he has been very well brought up and is very obedient. He is being educated with Norwegian boys of his own age and leads a healthy out-of-door life.
“I want you to see Olaf driving the motor-car his grandmother has sent him,” said the Queen; and Queen Alexandra’s present, the tiniest and most dainty little car imaginable, was brought round to the door of the château. The little prince made a splendid chauffeur, and evidently thoroughly enjoyed rushing round the park in his car.
I left the château feeling that I had had a glimpse of ideal family life, and thoroughly convinced that the democratic Norwegian Court is the nicest in Europe.