GEORGE I, KING OF THE HELLENES
1.
In one of the drawers of my desk lies a bundle of letters which I preserve carefully, adding to it, from time to time, when a fresh letter arrives. They are written in a neat and dainty hand, almost a woman's hand; the paper is of a very ordinary quality and bears no crown nor monogram; and the emblem stamped on the red wax with which the envelopes are sealed looks as though it had been selected on purpose to baffle indiscreet curiosity: it represents a head of Minerva wearing her helmet.
And yet this correspondence is very interesting; and I believe that an historian would attach great value to it, not only because it would supply him with nice particulars concerning certain events of our own time, but also because it reveals the exquisite feeling of one of the most attractive of sovereigns, the youthfulness of his mind and the reasons why a royal crown may sometimes seem heavy even under the radiant skies of Greece.
It is nearly twenty years since I first met the writer of those letters, the King of the Hellenes; and, since then, I have watched over his safety on the occasion of most of his visits to France. This long acquaintance enabled me to win his gracious kindness, while he has gained my affectionate devotion. I often take the liberty of writing to him, when he is in his own dominions; he never fails to reply with regularity; and our correspondence forms, as it were, a sequel to our familiar talks, full of good-humour and charm, begun at Aix-les-Bains, in Paris, or in the train.
It would be puerile to state that King George loves France; the frequency of his visits makes the fact too obvious. He does more than evince a warm admiration for our country: this Danish prince, who has worn the Greek crown for more than forty-six years, is, with his brother-in-law, King Edward VII, the most Parisian of our foreign guests. His Parisianism shows itself not only in the elegant ease with which he speaks our language: it is seen in his turn of mind, which is essentially that of the man about town, and in his figure, which is slender and strong, tall and graceful, like that of one of our cavalry-officers. The quick shrewdness that lurks behind his fair, military moustache is also peculiarly French; and the touch of fun which is emphasised by a constant twitching of the eyes and lips and which finds an outlet in felicitous phrases and unexpected sallies is just of the sort that makes people say of us that we are the most satirical people on the face of the earth.
King George's "fun," at any rate, is never cruel; and, if his chaff sometimes becomes a little caustic, at least it is always, if I may say so, to the point.
For instance, at the commencement of his reign, when he found himself grappling with the first internal difficulties, one of the leaders of the parliamentary opposition, which was very anxious for the fall of the ministry so that it might itself take office, came to him and said, with false and deceitful melancholy:
"Ah, Sir, if you only had a minister!"