In March 1909, I once more found myself en route to Biarritz in attendance on King Edward. Only a very short stay was made in Paris, just time for a luncheon with the President at the Élysée, as the King was anxious to get to the South. They were pleasant weeks, those five or six that were spent there, for Biarritz was very full and gay, and I came in for some agreeable and interesting motor trips. Amongst others, was an excursion to Pau to see the Wilbur Wright flying-machine. Mr. Wilbur Wright had, I fancy, chosen Pau for his experimental flights because not only is there a nice flat tract of country just outside the town, but Pau possesses, and also thoroughly deserves, the reputation of being one of the most windless places in Europe. When flying-machines were in their extreme infancy, a very moderate breeze was enough to prevent an aviator from making an ascent. On this occasion the elements were kind, and Mr. Wright made two or three ascents, on one occasion taking his sister up with him. In those earlier days of flying, the great difficulty was to get the machine off the ground, and it was met by a combination of about a hundred yards of light railway to take the wheels of the machine, and the erection of a shears with a dropping weight to give the plane the necessary cant-up in the air. Another interesting motor excursion was made to San Sebastian. It is a lovely drive across the Spanish frontier, and full of interest to Englishmen, with its historic memories of Wellington’s advance into France. Besides being a pleasant excursion it gave the King an opportunity of paying an informal visit to King Alfonso, who was then in residence at the Royal Villa at San Sebastian.
By the middle of April, what was to be my last visit to Biarritz in attendance came to an end, and I returned to England, the King having met Queen Alexandra and Princess Victoria at the station of le Bourget, just outside Paris, where now, I hear, is placed the main Aerodrome in the vicinity of that capital. The Royal party changed trains and went on to Genoa for a short cruise in the Royal Yacht.
I was again on duty for the Cowes season, and an interesting season it was, commencing, as it did, with a review of the Home and Atlantic Fleets at Spithead, followed immediately afterwards by the arrival of the Emperor and Empress of Russia and their children in the Imperial Yacht Standardt. The Imperial Family began the official portion of their visit by coming on board the Victoria and Albert, from which vessel the Emperor reviewed the Fleet, which was still at Spithead. The usual State dinners took place on board the two Royal Yachts, but beyond that there were no further functions. The members of the Russian Imperial Family were evidently delighted to be out of their own country, even on a four days’ visit, and it was pathetic to witness the delight of the children at being able to run about the crowded little town of Cowes and look at the shop windows at their own sweet will, after being for so long accustomed to living in a comparative state of siege, where their lives were never safe for a moment. The Emperor and Empress landed one day at the steps of the Cadet College at Osborne, the Empress being desirous of revisiting those surroundings where she had spent so much of her girlhood in Queen Victoria’s time. For the Emperor to make even such a limited excursion as a visit to Osborne and its dependencies, gave great anxiety to Scotland Yard, and every sort of precaution was taken to ensure his safety. A swarm of detectives were posted all round Osborne, and though, as usual, their work was so well done that no one, except “those in the know” even suspected their existence, the fact remains that an unusually large number had to be employed at Cowes and its neighbourhood.
After the visit to Osborne House and its grounds, the Cadet College, then a comparatively new institution, was visited, and the mention of Osborne College makes it almost incumbent on any one who is interested in the Navy to point out that of all the hopeless examples of bad work done in a hurry, there is no more glaring instance than this establishment. (This criticism does not apply to its educational side, which I believe to be thoroughly well looked after.) I had an opportunity of visiting it shortly after it was opened, have seen it several times since, and, moreover, on the strength of having once been in the Navy, I have been pestered by fond mothers on the subject of its most unhealthy condition, ever since. Osborne itself was an undeniably good choice as regards locality, embraced, as the property is, by the sea on two sides, and being within easy reach of the great Naval Establishment at Portsmouth. Unfortunately, owing to the vanity that impels men in authority to get a new thing going without delay, it was built on the lines of a temporary structure, with next to nothing in the way of foundations, and very possibly on tainted ground, the actual site selected being perilously near that of the old stables of Osborne House. The apparent consequences have been that the wretched children, (for the Cadets who go there are little more) are never really well, and there have been constant epidemics of a serious nature. I have been credibly informed that, amongst these epidemics was one of “pink eye” some years ago, a disease that, until the Osborne College was started, was supposed to be peculiar to horses.
But enough of these unsavoury medical details, which only serve to remind me of my own “double event” in the Britannia, and of the remark I once heard made almost under his breath by a famous London surgeon, when he and I were visiting a celebrated Service Hospital not so very far from Osborne: “Oh dear, oh dear, this is pre-Crimean!” But I have wandered from my subject, and must return to the Russian visitors.
Amongst the Emperor’s entourage on this occasion were many of the gentlemen I had met during the Reval visit, such as Count Orloff and General Count Benckendorff, and in addition, Monsieur Isvolsky, the Foreign Minister, and subsequently Russian Ambassador in Paris. Monsieur Isvolsky was accompanied by a very old friend of mine as his Private Secretary, in the person of that extremely agreeable man who, with his charming wife, were both so well known in London Society as Prince and Princess Demidoff. It amused me greatly to notice that, when attached to the suite of the Emperor, he was known as Monsieur Demidoff. The Princedom which London Society, or the snobs amongst them (and they are numerous), had conferred on him came simply from the fact that one of his forbears had bought the property of San Donato, which lies in the environs of Florence, and gives the title of Prince of San Donato to any owner who likes to use it. The truth is that English people, as a rule, do not realise that so-called Princes swarm in Central Europe, especially in Italy and Roumania. I know both countries pretty well, and to use the colloquial expression, in Bucharest you cannot throw a stone without hitting a Prince!
After the termination of their four days’ visit,—a visit which I veritably believe they enjoyed,—the members of the Russian Imperial Family sailed away in the Standardt on their return journey to their own country, and a very few days afterwards I found myself in King Edward’s special train in attendance and en route to Marienbad.
The Marienbad season of 1909 was more animated than ever; besides the regular Marienbaders there were many new faces to be seen there, noticeably the King of the Hellenes, the Duke of Teck, Princess Stephanie and Count Longay, Prince and Princess Dolgorouki, Princess Hélène Bariatinsky, Slatin Pasha, and such well-known Parisians as the Vicomtesse Vigier, Comte and Comtesse de Waru, and my old friends, Monsieur and Madame Jean de Reszke. I hardly can recollect a more agreeable season there, and some of the details of conversation at one particular luncheon given by King Edward during his stay are indelibly stamped on my memory.