NEW LIGHT ON THE LIFE OF CAVOUR
“I have always regarded Count Cavour,” writes the Baron,
“as one of the most impenetrable diplomatists whom it
has been my lot to meet. I distinctly recall an incident
in connection with the famous Congress of Paris of 1856
which rises before my mind as vividly as if it were
yesterday. I was seated in one of the large salons of
the Elysee Palace (I often used to sit there) playing
vingt-et-un together with Count Cavour, the Duc de Magenta,
the Marquese di Casa Mombasa, the Conte di Piccolo Pochito
and others whose names I do not recollect. The stakes
had been, as usual, very high, and there was a large pile
of gold on the table. No one of us, however, paid any
attention to it, so absorbed were we all in the thought
of the momentous crises that were impending. At intervals
the Emperor Napoleon III passed in and out of the room,
and paused to say a word or two, with well-feigned
eloignement, to the players, who replied with such
degagement as they could.
“While the play was at its height a servant appeared with
a telegram on a silver tray. He handed it to Count Cavour.
The Count paused in his play, opened the telegram, read
it and then with the most inconceivable nonchalance, put
it in his pocket. We stared at him in amazement for a
moment, and then the Duc, with the infinite ease of a
trained diplomat, quietly resumed his play.
“Two days afterward, meeting Count Cavour at a reception
of the Empress Eugenie, I was able, unobserved, to whisper
in his ear, ‘What was in the telegram?’ ‘Nothing of any
consequence,’ he answered. From that day to this I have
never known what it contained. My readers,” concludes
Baron Snorch, “may believe this or not as they like, but
I give them my word that it is true.
“Probably they will not believe it.”
I cannot resist appending to these anecdotes a charming little story from that well-known book, “Sorrows of a Queen”. The writer, Lady de Weary, was an English gentlewoman who was for many years Mistress of the Robes at one of the best known German courts. Her affection for her royal mistress is evident on every page of her memoirs.
TENDERNESS OF A QUEEN
Lady de W. writes:
“My dear mistress, the late Queen of Saxe-Covia-Slitz-
in-Mein, was of a most tender and sympathetic disposition.
The goodness of her heart broke forth on all occasions.
I well remember how one day, on seeing a cabman in the
Poodel Platz kicking his horse in the stomach, she stopped
in her walk and said, ‘Oh, poor horse! if he goes on
kicking it like that he’ll hurt it.’”
I may say in conclusion that I think if people would only take a little more pains to resuscitate anecdotes of this sort, there might be a lot more of them found.