“As an amusing specimen of a somewhat peculiar ‘branch’ of the sport in question (the shooting of driven birds), I remember well King Edward accepting an invitation from the Abbot of Tepl to a partridge-drive on the Tepl estates, which surround the famous old Monastery of that name. For those who have never ‘made a cure’ at Marienbad, I must explain that the Religious Order in question owns not only the Springs and Baths of Marienbad, but also a vast tract of agricultural land, which is farmed by the monks and their tenants. The Abbot himself is a great dignitary of the Roman Catholic Church; he has a seat in the Austrian House of Lords, and his principal duty is to administer the vast properties belonging to the Monastery, which has existed without intermission from the thirteenth century to our own time.
“Bohemia in general, and the Böhmischer Wald,—above which Marienbad is situated,—in particular, is famous for its partridges; but driving them was a new form of sport as far as the monks themselves were concerned. It had been their practice from time immemorial to have them shot by any obliging man who happened to own a gun, for the purpose of supplying their table. However, for so distinguished a guest as King Edward an exception had to be made, so the Abbot, with the assistance of a travelling Englishman, arranged a partridge-drive on the most approved pattern. The performance began with a Gargantuan luncheon in the refectory of the Monastery, at which repast the whole of the King’s party, which included several ladies, was present. So long was the bill of fare, and, it may be added, so excellent were its items, that it was well past two in the afternoon before the guns were posted. On arriving at the butts, which had been beautifully constructed for the occasion, it was evident that the services of the whole population of the neighbourhood for miles round had been called into requisition. Those employed as drivers and flankers were under the immediate command of some of the more venerable members of the fraternity; those who came as spectators, unfortunately for the bag, wandered about at their own sweet will. The Abbot himself, in a very short shooting-coat over his white cassock, a most rakish wide-awake hat on his head, and an enormous cigar in his mouth, took up a commanding position in the King’s butt, various horns sounded, and the fun began. Partridges there were in plenty; but, unfortunately, the monks had felt inspired to fly two gigantic kites, with the laudable desire of concentrating the birds and driving them over the King’s butt. The desired result of concentration was undoubtedly obtained, but the general effect of the kites was to cause the birds to run down the furrows instead of flying over the guns, and this, combined with the intense caution and self-restraint that had to be exercised by the shooters, in order to avoid hitting either a flanker, or one of the numerous spectators before alluded to, resulted in a remarkably small bag. However, it was all excellent fun, and no one was more amused at the incongruity of the whole chasse, than the King himself.
“Shortly afterwards King Edward had a very different experience in the same neighbourhood, when partridge-driving with Count Trautmansdorff. In a short day’s shooting the party bagged 500 brace of partridge, the King himself accounting for 100 brace to his own gun. Though it hardly comes under the province of sport, perhaps I may be permitted to mention that the following winter Count Trautmansdorff was one of the guests at Sandringham during the best shooting week there, and also that not long afterwards the Abbot of Tepl was invited to Windsor, and found himself being taken round the Castle and shown its treasures by the King himself.”
Another distraction at Marienbad was the comparative proximity of Karlsbad. Karlsbad was by way of being far gayer, and more fashionable, than its humbler neighbour, and certainly the hotels and shops were on a more luxurious scale. The King generally went over there for the day, once or twice in the season. One of the constant Cure guests there in those days, used to be Monsieur Clemenceau, and, as a general rule, the late Grand Duke Alexis, and several other members of the Imperial Family, were to be found at Karlsbad. Indeed, it was greatly patronised by Russians in general.
On looking back on those seasons at Marienbad, it is curious to remember what a kaleidoscope of people of all countries, and some of considerable distinction, are associated with the place. To begin with, in early times there were Sir Henry Campbell-Bannerman, Mr. Henry Labouchere, and Miss Maxine Elliott—I was going to write, then at the height of her beauty, but she is always beautiful—her sister, Lady Forbes Robertson, in those days, if I may dare use the expression, a flapper. Another marvellously beautiful woman, Princess Mirko of Montenegro, was there for a season with her husband, who was one of the numerous progeny of the old Prince Nicholas of that curious little principality. Prince Mirko died (so I heard) in Vienna, having disowned his country, during the War. The lady in question was, I believe, the daughter of some Serbian General, and was certainly one of the most lovely women I have ever met in my life. Another constant visitor was that remarkably astute, and still more remarkably antipathetic personage, who was then Prince Ferdinand of Bulgaria. The late Prince Kinsky, Slatin Pasha, and Count Tassito Festitics, with his wife and daughter, were occasional visitors; Count Szapary was another Hungarian who occasionally indulged in a cure, and on one occasion he arrived at Marienbad with his own Tzigane band, so one night, after dining at a restaurant, he gave us a regular concert, conducting his band himself on the cymballen. Amongst the more regular visitors were a host of friends of mine, such as Sir Charles Mathews, Mr. Charles Gill, and Mr. Charles Hawtrey, the latter, mimicking his doctor, the celebrated Dr. Ott, to his (perfectly unconscious) face, was as good as he ever was, on any stage.
Other friends who were apt to do a Marienbad Season were, the late General Sir Lawrence Oliphant, one of the most amusing and quick-witted of men, Mr. Henry Chaplin, Colonel Mark Lockwood, and Sir John Fisher—now known respectively as Lords Chaplin, Lambourne, and Fisher; then amongst well-known Parisians I may quote Princesse Murat, the Marquise de Ganay, Comtesse de Chevigné, M. and Madame Jean de Reszke, Count Boni de Castellane, and Count Joseph de Gontaut-Biron, and I must not forget the British Ambassadors at Vienna, Sir Edward Goschen and Sir Fairfax Cartwright, who invariably settled down at Marienbad during the King’s stay there, accompanied by one or two Secretaries of their Embassy.
In the course of his earlier visits, the King generally went over once or twice in the Season to the seat of the late Count Metternich. Metternichs of sorts used to, and I suppose still, swarm in both Germany and Austria; but this particular Metternich was the direct descendant of the great man of that name who flourished during the Napoleonic era. Amongst his other properties was the celebrated Johannisberg Vineyard on the Rhine, and I must say, that a glass or two of real Johannisberg Cabinet of one of the great vintage years, at luncheon made a man take a very roseate view of life, even of that dullest of so-called sports,—a deer-drive in the woods, which generally used to follow the Metternich luncheon parties.
An annual fête that was regularly celebrated at Marienbad during King Edward’s sojourn there, was the birthday of the late Emperor Franz Josef of Austria. The King made a practice of entertaining the various officials of the neighbourhood, in honour of the occasion. The guests consisted mainly of the officers commanding the troops of the district, any hoch geboren Austrians who might happen to be there, the principal municipal authorities, and last, but by no means least, our friend the Abbot of Tepl.
Almost the pleasantest memory of Marienbad that remains to me, is that, of our breakfasts under the trees at one of the outdoor cafés, where a number of us met after the morning drink. Sir Edward Goschen, Colonel Mark Lockwood, Mr. Charles Gill, Mr. Charles Hawtrey, and generally about the same number of ladies, used to assemble round, what was really a very festive board, and consume coffee and eggs with the appetite that follows a two-hours’ walk in keen mountain air, and the good spirits engendered by the consciousness, that the greater part of the water-drinking business was over for the day.
As I have already mentioned, I was generally in attendance on the late King during, anyhow, a portion of his yearly stay at Biarritz, and, being very fond of the little place, I have also frequented it a good deal when not on duty. Biarritz was eminently social, as not only were there a good many charming villas in the neighbourhood, owned by French residents, but in what was called the English Season, English visitors abounded. A great deal of entertaining was done first and last, principally by my previously mentioned friend, Consuelo Duchess of Manchester, who often took a villa there, and also by an extraordinarily hospitable American lady, who, I regret to say, died not long ago, Mrs. Moore by name. She had practically lived in France all her life, and her apartment in Paris had always a lighted candle, for she loved entertaining, and was an excellent hostess. She talked the most impossible French, with a strong American accent, and mixed her metaphors to such an extent that she became a sort of Mrs. Malaprop, to the huge delight of her French friends. I never quite believed in the authenticity of the numerous malapropisms for which she was made responsible; I verily believe that she could speak French extremely well, and that she really was only amusing herself, when she spoke in the extraordinary jargon that she affected. Anyhow, her parties were the greatest fun, and not only all Biarritz, but all Paris went to them.
The King was very fond of making excursions by motor-car after he had finished off his morning business, and lovely drives could be taken to St. Sebastian, Fuentarabia, and in the Pyrenees. On one occasion he motored over, with a large party of friends, to Pau, to see what was then the greatest wonder of the age, namely, Mr. Wilbur Wright and his brother actually flying in the air.
But as far as I was personally concerned when not on duty there, my greatest amusement was to play golf on that sporting little course, part of which lies on top of the cliffs, and part at their feet, close to the sea. There was also a pack of fox-hounds, but if anybody was keen about hunting, and could not manage to hunt in England, Pau was, on the whole, infinitely preferable to Biarritz, as there was much less woodland, and in some parts quite a fine grass country. For the fortunate people who always winter away from England, and are fond of creature comforts and easy journeys, there is nothing like the South of France; the difficulty was to choose between the two French Departments, the Alpes-Maritimes and the Basses-Pyrénées. I have listened to endless arguments as to their respective merits, and, as usual, there is a great deal to be said on both sides.