Looking Back

by Sir Seymour John Fortescue

Monsieur Clemenceau, who had recently arrived at Karlsbad, having just succeeded in obtaining his freedom by successfully wrecking his own Ministry, came over for the day and lunched with King Edward, the only other guests being Sir Fairfax Cartwright, our Ambassador at Vienna, and Monsieur Crozier, whom I had met when French Minister at Copenhagen. Monsieur Clemenceau was in tremendous form. I fancy that he was really rather glad to be out of office for a time, and to do his Karlsbad cure in peace. Although in Paris there were the usual number of versions of the real reason for the breaking up of his Ministry, none of them, I am sure, was as amusing as his own account of his fall from power, on which topic he held forth for some time. But brilliant and clever as his conversation was, there were, to my mind, some very immortal truths shining out of it, as might the moon amongst a shower of fireworks. It is pitiful having to try and render his beautiful French into my halting English, but one or two remarks of his made such an impression on me, that I have never forgotten them. One in particular referred to a fact, or rather a quality, which we, in these days, when the object seems to be to reduce every one and everything to a dull level, may be apt to lose. Monsieur Clemenceau’s contention was, that the great fault of the French was their hopeless love of logic. His countrymen had achieved a more or less successful Revolution nominally in support of a perfectly logical idea, namely that France should be governed on principles ensuring Liberty, Equality, Fraternity for all its citizens. However successful the Revolution may have been in a general sense, it certainly failed to establish its main object. Liberty, he pointed out, is only a dream; the freest people in the world, the English, spend their lives in inventing new yokes to place on their own shoulders. Fraternity, may simply be said to be non-existent, owing to the fact that man naturally and instinctively preys on his fellow-man. The doctrine of Equality has no doubt been fulfilled to a certain extent, for, as he somewhat cynically pointed out, every one has an equal right to vilify his neighbour.

So much for the logic of the Latin races. According to Monsieur Clemenceau, the great strength and mainstay of the men of the British race is that, not possessing logical minds, they are not to be frightened out of cherishing useful anomalies. One of the greatest of its anomalies was the continual existence of an Hereditary Second Chamber, which, in his opinion, fonctionnait extrêmement bien. And then, turning round with a bow to his host, he finished up by saying that as another instance the English, the most democratic nation in the world, remained faithful to the Monarchical system, and could still love and honour their King.

The conversation turned later on the inevitable war of the future, that has now become the war of the past. It had always been understood that England’s main contribution, in the event of a war of aggression, was to be her Navy, but that was not enough for Monsieur Clemenceau, and his parting words on taking leave of King Edward were prophetic: “Surtout, Sire, soignez votre Armée.” And if it be true, as is averred, that the war was virtually won by the Navy, it is surely equally true, that it was that eminently soigné article, the British Army of the first days of the war, that saved the situation and gave time for the power of the Navy to assert itself, and enable reinforcements, as soon as they could be raised and trained, to be sent literally from all parts of the world, to the battle-fronts where they were most needed, almost without let or hindrance.

The visit to Marienbad having been concluded, I was a free man again and could do my usual Scotch round of visits, and subsequently spend a month in mid-winter in the south of France. In February I was in attendance at Buckingham Palace, and, little as I realised it at the time, it was fated to be my last month of waiting on King Edward. As usual, London was full of influenza, and once more the King was persuaded to go to Brighton for a few days. On this occasion he was the guest of Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Sassoon at King’s Gardens, Hove, who had so often entertained him at Tulchan Lodge, Spey Side, which had also been, as I have mentioned before, one of the very happiest, of my own happy hunting-grounds.

After a week at Brighton the King was back at Buckingham Palace again, where Prince and Princess Henry of Prussia had arrived on a ten days’ visit, and on the 21st of the month, accompanied by Queen Alexandra, he opened his last Parliament.

During Prince Henry’s stay at Buckingham Palace, he succeeded in giving me a curious example of that extraordinary mentality that is apparently a German peculiarity. He had been frequently employed as a sort of bagman by his brother, noticeably on his two visits, the first to the Far East, to exhibit the mailed fist, and secondly to the United States, in an effort that was made to win over the great heart of the American public. Like his brother, he had, when he liked, a considerable charm of manner, which could be produced when necessary, like the pulling out of a certain stop of an organ. And, like his brother, and indeed like most Prussians, he was a perfect specimen of le faux bonhomme. But judging from my own experience, I rather doubt his success as a political bagman, as I think he was inclined to believe that every Englishman he met, was sure to be overcome by his cordiality and condescension, and would consequently be prepared to accept, and subsequently retail, his invaluable confidences. For instance, at Buckingham Palace he kept me up until two in the morning once, tête à tête, apparently for the sole purpose of impressing on me that his brother was grossly ill-judged and misrepresented in England; that he really loved our country, and that the preparations that were being constantly made to perfect the German Army were solely in view of the impending danger that the Emperor, (who was the greatest genius and most far-seeing man in the world), was preparing against, and that was the Yellow Peril! His Imperial Majesty, so Prince Henry solemnly told me, was convinced that the yellow races in their countless millions would eventually invade Europe, and the German Army would prove to be its only saviour. I confess that I was not much impressed by this harangue, and, besides disliked the fact that I was evidently classed as “the village idiot.” Poetic justice would have attended the invasion of Eastern Europe by the Chinese, more especially if they got as far as Berlin, and recovered some of the priceless treasures looted from them by the German Expeditionary Force, at the time of the Boxer troubles.

After a stay of some ten days the Prince and Princess left the Palace, and my last month in waiting on King Edward came to an end.

Most of what remained of the year 1910 turned out to be one of the saddest times of my life. With the rest of my fellow-subjects I mourned the loss of a great King, but I had also lost the kindest master that ever man served, and one, moreover, who was not only a good master to his servants, but was also their best friend. My grief at the King’s death was, if possible, more poignant owing to the circumstance that I had been obliged to change my month of waiting, and had consequently done duty in February instead of being with him at Biarritz in April as usual, in which case I should have had the melancholy satisfaction of always remembering that I had been with him until almost the last. The climate of Biarritz suited King Edward wonderfully well; though shortly after his arrival there he had been taken seriously ill, by the middle of April he was really better, revived by the strong air that blows home there from the Atlantic. So far as we all knew, he was well, when he returned to England, but a few days later, after his visit to Sandringham, the news began to leak out that all was not well with the King, so I hurried down to the Palace to inquire. Though it never occurred to those of us who had been long with him that any illness could possibly be fatal, so accustomed were we all to his wonderful vitality and powers of recuperation, yet on the morning of the 10th May there was no doubt but that he was very dangerously ill, and for the first time I felt really anxious. After mid-day, from what I could gather from those members of the Staff that I saw at Buckingham Palace, it looked as if he had begun to rally, so once again I was full of hope for the best. I went again after dinner, and then at last realised that, though he was still alive, his case was almost hopeless, and there I remained in the Equerries’ room, with several others of my brother Equerries, until the end came. When I left the Palace shortly after midnight, there was still that quiet and patient crowd of watchers outside the Palace gate waiting for the next bulletin. Alas! when it came it was to tell them that Edward VII had passed away. Many of the crowd had noticed that I had come out of the Palace, and I was waylaid by questioners. The demand was always the same—“Was it true?”—and when I was obliged to answer that it was, the almost invariable response was that it was impossible! The fact was that the man in the street loved him, and for that reason was for the moment quite unable to realise that any like ill could befall him; such a sudden end to that busy life appeared to be impossible. At the time I quite understood this attitude; to me, also, it seemed as if those long hours of suspense, waiting in the Equerries’ room before the fatal news reached us, could only be an evil dream, that would be dispelled on the morrow.

For that mournful ceremonial the King’s funeral I was attached to the Mission sent to represent the French Republic, the chief of which was M. Pichon, then Minister for Foreign Affairs. Practically all the civilised countries in the world were represented; the other great Republic, the United States of America, by a special Envoy in the person of Mr. Roosevelt, the Ex-President. The chief mourners besides the Royal Family were the German Emperor, the King’s son-in-law, King Haakon of Norway, and his two brothers-in-law, the Kings of Denmark and of the Hellenes. The Kings of Spain, Portugal, Belgium, and Bulgaria were also present, and the heirs to the thrones of Austria, Turkey, Roumania, Serbia, and Montenegro. Other representatives were the Grand Duke Michael Alexandrovitch of Russia, the Duke d’Aosta and the Prince Consort of the Netherlands. One evening, by the kind invitation of Queen Alexandra, I was present at a small service held after nightfall in the Throne-room of Buckingham Palace, where the mortal remains of King Edward lay in state prior to the removal to Westminster Hall. Perhaps the most moving part of that very beautiful and simple service was the relieving of the Guard that happened to take place immediately after the conclusion of the office. During the whole of the lying-in-state at Buckingham Palace and Westminster Hall the coffin was guarded by the officers and men of the King’s Company of the Grenadier Guards, four sentries standing at the four corners of the catafalque by night and by day. These motionless figures standing on one of the steps of the catafalque, resting on their reversed arms and wearing their bearskins, looked gigantic in the interior of the room. The changing of the Guard (they were relieved every hour) was a wonderfully moving spectacle. The Officer of the Guard led the relief into the room, preceded by a small Drummer-boy carrying a lantern, exactly as the Sentries are relieved throughout the night outside the Royal Palaces. This tiny procession of armed men marching noiselessly through the Throne-room to take up the duty of guarding the mortal remains of their deceased Sovereign and Colonel-in-Chief was extraordinarily impressive. On the 16th the coffin was removed to Westminster Hall, where the lying-in-state lasted for four days, during which time I believe upwards of 400,000 persons passed through the Hall to take a silent farewell of their late King.

The interment took place in the St. George’s Chapel, Windsor, and this was the last occasion that his Equerries were called upon to be in attendance on him. We marched by the side of the gun-carriage that was used as a bier, and lined up in the same position in the Choir of the Chapel, where, after the funeral service, the coffin was finally lowered into the family vault beneath it. A team of Horse Artillery was used as far as Paddington Station, but from Windsor Station to the Castle, passing through a portion of the town and up the commencement of the Long Walk to the Chapel, the gun-carriage was pulled by a party of Bluejackets from H.M.S. Excellent. The procession through the streets of London, with the immense crowd that lined the streets and literally swarmed the parks, was a marvellous sight, but the passage of the cortège up the Long Walk at Windsor to the entrance to the Castle was really beautiful, and never did Windsor Castle look more magnificent than on the 20th of May, when all that was mortal of King Edward VII was laid to rest.