“I painted them one day when I was feeling very blue,” she said. “We all have such days, do we not?”
“Yes, your Highness, but you ought not to have them.”
“Well, let me tell you, there is no one alive who has no cause for sadness. I am certainly not exempt.”
Then, changing the topic of conversation, she said:
“See these chairs. Do you like them?”
The chairs were exquisite. The princess had painted them. The upholstery and the woodwork were both adorned with flowers she had painted. By the fireplace the princess had arranged a little corner with divans and low seats covered with Liberty silk. The room was huge, with windows along one side. This row of windows was parallel to a sort of colonnade, which had been there before the room was transformed by the princess, and made a kind of corridor. One might have wished it removed to enlarge the room, but the princess had it now, and, from a decorative standpoint, she had made the best of it. The ceiling was inlaid with golden panels. I am not sufficiently versed in architecture to state to what style this room would be said to belong; but nothing that I had ever seen before was just like it. It seemed to me to have originated in the brain of some one who had quite new ideas, for the arrangement was absolutely original. The room was panelled in blue faiënce and heavy oriental tapestries.
I write this from memory, five years after my visit, but I am certain that I have not forgotten a single detail.
Then we spoke of dancing.
“Have you ever danced before my grandmother?” asked the princess.
“No, never. At Nice once I was to have the honour of appearing before Her Majesty Queen Victoria, when my manager suddenly obliged me to leave for America. I have always regretted it, for a second opportunity never offered itself.”