The King, and Queen of Italy.

New Zealand Graphic, Volume XLV, Issue 21, 23 November 1910, Page 46

The King, and Queen of Italy.

In her girlhood the Queen was a great hunt: ess and one of the finest shots in Europe. She never shoots uow, except at ''lay pigeons, for she has an uncmqueraile aversion, to killing anything. The King still shoots, but the diversion he likes most is caßecuUtf rare coins.

By

XAVIER PAOLI.

I IIAVE always harboured a vagrant spirit under my official frock-coat, and find my pleasure and rest in travelling. Therefore I took advantage of the few weeks’ leave of absence allowed me> after the departure of the Russian sovereigns from France, to pay a visit to Italy. A few days after my arrival at Milan, while strolling, one afternoon, on the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele, that favourite Milanese and cosmopolitan resort, 1 passed a glove shop, and remembered that 1 had left my gloves in the railway carriage, 1 thought I might as well buy a new pair, and entered the shop. A customer had gone in before me, a lady, young, tall, and slender, quietly but elegantly dressed in a plain dark travelling-frock. Through the long blue motor-veil that closely shrouded her face 1 could dimly see her large dark eyes and masses of black hair. The face appeared to be relined and pretty. She was leaning over the counter and trying on gloves which a young shop assistant handed to her. “They are too large,” she said shyly. “’That is because the signora has so email a hand,” replied the young assistant gallantly. She smiled and did not answer. An elderly lady who was with her gave the youth an indignant and scandalised glance. After patiently allowing the sneasure to be taken of her hand, open and closed it was indeed a very Gmail one -she found two pairs of gloves that suited, paid for them, and turned to go. .lust then the owner of the shop returned. lie looked at the lady, gave a bewildered start, bowed very low, and, as soon as she was gone, shouted to his assistant: “Have you the least idea whom you have been serving?” “A very pretty woman—l know that!” “Idiot! It was the Queen!” The Queen! It was my turn to feel bewildered. The Quorn alone, unprotected, in that arcade full of people! I was on the point of fallowing her, from professional habit, forget.ing that I was not at Milan as an official, but as a private tourist. But it was too late; she had already disappeared in the crowd. 'l'he next evening, I was dining at a friend’s house, where the guests belonged, for the most part, to the official and political world. When I related my adventure and expressed mv astomshDjcirt at having met the sovereign shop-

ping in town, accompanied only by a stern . lady-in-waiting—- “ Did that really surprise you?” I was asked. "It docs not surprise us at all. One of our haughty princesses of the House of Savoy.:said sarcastically that •we had gone Lack to the times "when king's mated with shepherdesses. This was merely a disrespectful sally. The truth is that both our King and Queen have very simple tastes, and they like to live as ordinary people in so far as their obligations permit them. Let me give you aii instance. "Whenever they come to Milan —and they never stay for more than two or three days—they go to the royal palace; but, instead of living in the State apartments and bringing a large number of servants, they occupy only a few rooms, have their meals sent in from the Ristorante Cova, and order all the dishes brought up at the same time and; placed on a sideboard. Then they dismiss the servants, shut the doors, and wait upon themselves.” 'l'he King’s economy in his personal expenditure is notorious throughout the kingdom. The giving of alms is one pleasure in which he never stints himself, and it is actually a fact that he moderates his personal expenses in order to give largely to charities. Even his table is affected by his economies, and certain of the Italian nobleman do not scruple to say that they hold against Victor Emmanuel 111. the poor quality of his wine cellar. He does not hesitate to serve the ordinary Italian vintages at his dinners, declaring that they are good enough for him and good enough for his guests. I am a Corsican, ant wo of the sunny countries love pomp and ceremony; therefore I understand the touch of bitterness and regret in the manner in which my friends spoke of their Sovereign’s simple habits. Remarks that came to my ears later led me to conclude that the aristocracy, if not the people, disapproved of these democratic tendencies, which were so in contrast with the ways of the old court, pf which Queen Margherita had been the soul. Queen Helena, on the other hand, is a simple woman, and conies of a simple people. She is a Montenegrin, and grew up in that rugged and austere country. The simplicity of the Montenegrins is proverbial, as well as their good looks (the Montenegrin's are generally admitted to be the handsomest race of men in Europe). At the age of twelve the Princess* Helena was sent by her

father, Prince Nicholas, to St. Petersburg to pursue her studies. There, in a convent for girls of gentle birth, she was instructed in the melancholy beauties of Slavic literature. When she returned to her own country the Princess Helena enjoyed the independent out-of-door life of Montenegrin women, wholly undisturbed by the demands of etiquette. She divided her time between water-colour drawing, in which she excelled, and hunting, in which she showed herself utterly fearless. The Queen is one of the finest shots in Kurope, not only in comparison with her own sex, but as against all comers. In her girlhood she was a great huntress, ■but she no longer hunts; she now has an unconquerable aversion to killing anything, and though she still shoots, it is only at clay pigeons or some such imark. It evidences 'the sympathetic bread'jh of her nature that this personal distaste for slaughter does not make her intolerant of other people’s triumphant "bags.” Hunting is one of the King’s favourite diversions, and the Queen is proud of his successes. The Quoen saw Italy for the first time in 1895, when her father took her to Venice on the occasion of an exhibition, ami it will readily be conceived that she was flurried and a little dazzled by the gaiety of the scene, and by the admiration and attention of the Prince of Naples, whom she mot for the first time. When, in the following year, she bid farewell -to the craggy mountains and to the proud highlanders, the companions of iter chil'lhood, and saw the gay and enthusiastic nation of Italy hastening to welcome 'her, the twenity-yea.r-old bride, it will be understood that she at first experienced a sense of confusion and shvness.

The shyness, I am told, has never completely worn off. On the other hand, in the absence of more brilliant outward qualities, Queen Helena has displayed admirable domestic virtues; she has been a queen in all that the word implies, in her devotion and goodness to the poor and lowly; and, better than that, she has realised her engrossing duties as wife and mother in a manner that leaves nothing to be desired. Were this not so, the King, who is quick to take offence, and who is even jealous in his fondness, would have suffered cruelly. A man of domestic habits, who has always avoided- 'society, he wanted a home that in its inner sanctities was as little of a court as possible, lie had been brought up in all the stately formalities of the House of Savoy, and it is said that he wearied of them. When, for love, and against the obvious counsels of worldly wisdom, he insisted on marrying a Montenegrin princess, he made a queen of an essentially home-making woman who has nursed her own children, and who has been known to keep royal functions waiting because the hairy must have her attention at the given moment. The King possesses none of the physical qualities that attract the crowd. He is unimaginative, but remarkably wellinformc 1. hi hlv intelligent, and deeply interest .1 in social problems and the

exact sciences, and none was readMft than he to enjoy the charm of a peaceful home which he had not known during his youth. Touching though the at* taehment between Qu4en Margherita* and her son was, they nevertheless remained separated by the differences id their character, temperament, and ideas. Whereas Queen Margherita kept all her enthusiasm for art and literature, the Prince of Naples displayed a complete indifference to such matters. When he was only ten years of age, he remarked to his piano teacher, Signora Cerasoli, who vainly struggled to instil the first principles of music into his mind: “Don’t you think that twenty trumpets are more effective than that piano of yours?” From his earliest youth he showed tv marked predilection for military science. He had the soul of a soldier, and submitted without a murmur to the strict discipline imposed upon him by his tutor; Colonel Osio. He is still fond of relating, as one of the pleasantest memories of his life, his impressions when King Humbert first intrusted to him the command of a company of foot, at the annual review of the Roman garrison. “The excitement interfered so greatly with my power of sight,” he says, “that the only people I recognised in the cheering crowd were my dentist and my professor of mathematics.” I have tried to give a picture of the two sovereigns, from the Impressions that 1 picked up in the course of my ■trip to Italy. Their visit to Paris was destined to confirm its accuracy and to complete its details. I little thought, on tint afternoon when 1 caught a glimpse of Queen Helena! in a Milan glove shop, that, two years later, I should have the honour of attending both Her Majesty and the King during their journey to France. It was their first state visit to Paris, and our government attached considerable importance to this event, which accentuated the friendly relations between the two nations. Prince von Bulow, at that time Chancellor of the German Empire, spoke of the situation, none too good-humouredly, as Italy’s “ little waltz” with France. Tiie letter of appointment, which I received in the beginning of October, 1903, directed me to go at once to await our guests at . the Italian frontier and bring them safely to Paris. It was a cold, wet night when the royal train steamed out of the Mont Cents tuniiel and pulled up at the platform of the frontier station of Modane, where I had been pacing up and lown for over am hour. My 'curiosity was stimulated by the recollection of thi episode in the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele at Milan. Amused by the chance that was about to bring me face to face with “ the lady of the 'gloves.” I longed to know whether my first impressions were correct, and whether the features, which 1 had conjectured rather than perceived behind the blue veil, were really those of the Queen. The blinds of the eight royal railway; carriages were lowered; not a sign be-

Tiie eldest child of the Royal Family, whoso resemblance to the Queeu is said to be remarkable. From a snapshot taken by her m other.

trayed the presence of living beings in the silent train. 'After a long moment a carriage door opened, and a giant in a long pale-gray cavalry coat and a blue forage-cap braided with scarlet piping and adorned with a gold tassel, stepped out softly, and making straight for me, said: “ Hush! They are asleep.” It was two o’clock in the morning. The first official reception had been arranged Ito take place at Dijon, where we were flue to arrive at nine o’clock. I took my seat in the train, and we started. Not everybody was asleep. In the last carriage, which was reserved for the servants, a number of maids, wrapped in those beautiful red shawls that one sees on the quays at Naples, were chattering in Italian with the greatest animation. Tile musical and expressive language called up in my old Corsican heart memories of my childhood. It was broad daylight, and we were nearing Dijon, when Count Guicciardini, ■the King’s Master of the Horse, came to take me to the sovereigns to be presented. Grave black eyes, proud and gentle; a forehead framed in a wealth of dark hair; beautiful and delicate features; a smile that brought little dimples on either side of the mouth; a tall slight figure—l at once recognised the lady of Milan in the charming sovereign, stately find shy, who came toward me. It was the same little white hand that had tried on the gloves that she extended to me. Should I recall the incident of the gloves? T had it on my lips to do so—J was afraid of appearing ridiculous. Pf course, she did not remember. I paid nothing. ‘'Delighted, M. Paoli, delighted to know yog!” exclaimed the King, fixing me with Ills piercing eyes and shaking my h ind vigorously. . “But, stay. Paoli is an Italian name!” “ Very nearly, sir. I am a Corsican.” “A fellow countryman of Napoleon’s, then? I congratulate you!” Our conversation, that morning, was limited to these few words. From Dijon onward the journey assumed an official character, and I lost sight of tfie King and Queen in the crowd of glittering uniforms. However, a few minutes before our arrival at Paris I saw them both standing by a window —the Queen in an exquisite costume of pale-gray velvet and silk, the King in the uniform of an Italian general, with the broad ribbon of the ■Legion of Honour across his chest. While watching the landscape they se.nud to be talking affectionately. --Meanwhile, a sedate footman entered, and placed upon a table, behind the sovereigns, an extraordinary object that attracted my attention. It looked like an enormous bird buried in.its feathers. 1 ■went closer, arid then saw that it was a licluict, covered with feathers of fabu-

to a little girl who had thrust herself close to the carriage. The King, on another occasion, walked straight to the colours of the battalion of Zouaves who were presenting arms in the courtyard of the foreign office, and raised to his lips the folds of the standard, on which were inscribed two names dear to Italian hearts and French memories alike: Magenta and Solferino. The Foreign Office was turned into a “royal palace” for the occasion of this visit. The Government had the apirtments on the first floor, which the King and Queen of Italy were to occupy, decorated in the most sumptuous style, and Mme. Deleasse, the wife of the Foreign Minister, did her best to relieve the somewhat cold and solemn appearance of the rooms. With this object she procured photographs of the little Princesses Yoland and Mafalda, and placed them in handsome frames on the Queen's dressing table. The Queen was greatly touched by the delicate attention. On entering the room she uttered an exclamation that betrayed all a mother's fondness: “Oh, the children! How delightful!” “The children!” how often those words returned to her lips during her stay in Paris! She spoke of them incessantly to everybody—to Mme. l.oubet, to Mme. Deleasse, to the Italian ambassadress, even to the two French waitingmaids attached to her service. “ Yolanda, the elder, with her black hair and black eyes, is like me,” she would explain. “Mafalda, on the other hand, is the image of her father. They have both such good little hearts!” Her maternal anxiety was also manifested by the impatience with which she used to wait for news of the princesses. Every evening, when she returned to the Foreign Office after a day of drives and visits in different parts of Paris, her first words were: “My telegram!” And, a little nervously, she would open the telegram that was despatched to her daily from San Rossare, where “ the children ” were, and greedily read the bulletin of reassuring news that it contained. The authorities, conforming to royal usage, had considered it the proper thing to prepare two distinct suites of rooms, one for the King and one for the Queen, separated by an enormous drawing-room. Great was our surprise when, on the following morning, the rumour ran through the Foreign Office that the King's bedroom had remained untenanted. Had he found it uncomfortable? Did he not like the room? Everyone began to be anxious, and it was felt that the mystery must be cleared up. I therefore went to one of the officers of the royal suite, took him aside, and, while talking of “other things,” tried to question h m as to the King’s impressions. “ Is His Majesty pleased with h.s apartments?”

The Queen, who Is a devoted mother, has a telegram reporting the chHdreiTs health sent to her eveVy <lny when she is travelling.

lous dimensions. I was not the only one to be astonished at the imposing proportions of this head-dress. Whenever the King donned it while in Paris, it met With a huge success: it towered above ibhe crowds, the livery servants' cockades, the soldiers’ bayonets; it became the target of every kodak. From the first day, they showed themselves full of pretty thoughts and generous impulses. At one time, the Queen took a rose from the bouquet of roses de France that she was carrying, and gave it

“ Delighted.” “Has there anything wrong with the heating arrangements? Or perhaps the King does not care for the bed provided for His Majesty’s use?” “On the contrary,* I believe His Majesty thought everything perfect.” Alas! 1 felt that my hints were misunderstood. I must needs speak more directly. Without further circumlocution 1 said: “The fact is, it appears that the Ivng did not deign to occupy his apartments.”

The officer looked at me, and smiled. “But the King never leaves the Queen!” he exclaimed. “With us, married couples seldom have separate rooms, unless they are on bad terms. And that is not the ease here!” They were never parted, in fact, except at early breakfast. The King was accustomed to take cafe au luit, the Qurien chocolate. The first w.i« served in the small sitting-room, where the King, already dressed in his general's uniform, vicvt through his letters; the second in

paid our guests during their brief stay in Paris, one surprise prepared for them was, if 1 am not mistaken, more acceptable to them, especially to the Queen, than anv other. This consisted in the recital Is'fore their Majesties, by our great actress, Mme. Bartet. of the Comedie Francilise. of an unpublished poem from the pen of the Queen herself. Helena of Monb negro, in her leisure hours, in fact, iiad been a poet. When she was engaged to be married, she wrote a poem in Russian, whieli she sent. a> a

It is said of this Royal couple that they represent the perfect type of a middle-class household that found its way by accident into a king's palace They often dismiss the servants and wait upon themselves at meai'tinies.

the boudoir, where the Queen, in a pink surah dressing-gown trimmed with lace, devoted two hours every morning to her correspondence, or to the very feminine pleasure of trying on frocks and hats. The King, as I have said, takes a keen interest in military matters. He displayed it on the occasion of the review of the Paris garrison. Even as he had appeared bored at the concert at the Elysee Palace on the previous evening, .so now he seemed to enjoy the impre.-divc spectacle that we were able to offer him on the drill-ground at Vincennes. He wished to ride along the front of the troops on 'horseback, and for this purpose had brought with him from Italy his own saddle, a very handsome, richly caparisoned military saddle. The Governor of Paris lent him a mount, and the King proved himself a first-rate horseman; for the animal, unnerved at having to carry a harness heavier than that to which it was accustomed, displayed ill temper, regardless of the august rank of its rider. It was the worst day’s work that horse ever did in its life, and it was forced to recognise that it had found a master. After making a thorough inspection of the troops, the King expressed a desire to examine the outfit of one of the soldiers, and a private was ordered to fall out of the ranks. Victor Emmanuel took the soluier'rt knapsack, handled it, looked through it, and made a move as if to buckle it on the mutt's shoulders himself, whereat the worthy little pion pion, quite seared and red with dismay, cried: “Oh, non, merci, mon—mon ’ But the poor fellow, Who had never even spoken to a general, hail no notion how to address a king! Thereupon the King, greatly amused, made a charming reply: “Call me what your forebears, the French soldiers in 1859, called my grandfather on the night of the battle of Palestro; call me mon caporal!” Vjctor Emmanuel is too practical and matter-of-fact to be what is known as a man of sentiment. Nevertheless, I saw him betray real emotion when ho was taken to visit the tomb of Napoleon I. The tomb was surrounded by six. old pensioners carrying lighted torches. There iwere few people there. The fitful flames of the torches cast, their fantastic gleams upon the imperial sarcophagus, and the invisible presence of a Great Conqueror hovered over us. It seemed as if he would suddenly rise bodily out of that coffin of marble, dressed in his grey overcoat and his immemorial hat. During a long silence, the King stood and dreamed, with bowed head. When we left the chapel, he was still dreaming. Among the many attentions that we

St. Petersburg magazine under the pseudonym of “Blue Butterfly,” and the magazine printed it without knowing who the author was. It was written in rhythmical prose; and I was so fortunate as to procure a copy of the translation. “VISION: ‘‘The mother said to her daughter: Would*! know how the world ig made? Open thine eyes.’ “And the little inaid opened her eyes. She saw lordly and towering mountains, she saw valleys full of delight, she saw the sun which shines upon and gilds all things, she stw twinkling stars and the deep billow ~ of the sea, she saw torrents with foaming waters and flower® with varied perfumes, she saw lightwinged birds and the golden sheaves of the harvest. Then she closed her eyes. ‘ And then she saw. she saw the fairest thing upon this earth: the image of the beloved who filled her heart, the image of the beloved who shone within her soul, the image of the beloved who gave his love in return for the. love that wa® hers.” This charming fragment had been recovered by a collector of royal poetry some time before the visit of the Italian sovereigns. At. Aml re Ki voire, one of our finest poets, transposed it into French verse, and Al. Loubet caused it to Im? recited to our hosts in the course of a reception given in their honour at the Elysee Palace. At the risk of disappointing the reader, J am bound to confess that no tragic or. ’even unpleasant incident occurred to spoil the pleasure of the sovereigns or their peace of mind. It appeared that •the anarchist gentry were allowing themselves a little holiday. In the absence of the traditional plot, we had, it is true, the inevitable shower of anonymous letters, and even some that were signed. The Queen, alas’ had done much to encourage epistolary mendicants by announcing her wish that replies should be sent to all letters asking for assistance, and that in every possible case satisfaction should Im* given to the writers. The result was that poverty-stricken Italians, with whom Paris teems, gave themselves free scope; and the usual fraternity of French lagging letter writers—those who had so artlessly striven 'to excite the compassion of the Shah of Persia —also tried what they could do. But what reply was it po»>iblc to send to such letters (*1 have kept a few specimens) as the following? To Her Majesty the Queen of Italy, Madam.—We are a young married couple, honest but poor. We were unable to have a honeymoon, for luck of

money. It would be our dream to go to Italy, which is said to be the land of lovers. We thought that Your Majesty, loving your husband as you do, and therefore knowing what love means, might consent to help us to make this little journey. We should want five hundred francs; we entreat Your Majesty to lend it to us. When my husband has a better situation—he is at present an assistant in a curiosity shop -—he will not fail to repay Your Majesty the money. Pray accept the thanks. Madam, of Your Majesty’s respectful and grateful servant, . MARIE G . To His Majesty the King of Italy, ' Sir. —I am a young painter, full of ambition, and said to’ be not devoid of talent. I am very anxious to see Rome and to study its artistic masterpieces. Not possessing the necessary means, I am writing to ask if you would not give me an employment of any kind, even in the service of the royal motor-ears

(for I know how to drive a motor), so that I may be enabled, in my spare time, to visit the monuments and picturegalleries and to perfect invself in mv art. LOUIS S-^—. Pray accept, etc.. Here is a letter of another description : To Her Majesty Queen Helena. Madam, —You are the mother of two pretty babies. For this reason, I have the honour of sending you herewith two boxes of lacteal farinaceous food, of my own invention. for infants of tender years. It is a wonderful strengthening and tonie diet, and I feel that 1 am doing Your Majesty a service in sending you these samples. You are sure to order more. In the ho;>e of receiving these orders, I am, Your Majesty's respectful servant, Dr. F. J. . These few specimens will suflice to give an idea of the harmless and sometimes comical epistles that found their way every morning into the royal letterbag. But I must not omit to mention, among the humorous incidents, that marked the sovereigns' journey, an amusing mistake that occurred on the day of their arrival in Paris. It was about half-past six in the evening. Our Royal guests had at that moment left the Foreigu Office to pay

their first official visit to the President, of the Republic, when a eab stopped outside the strictly guarded gate. An old gentleman, very tall, with a long white beard, and very simply dressed, alighted and was about to walk in with a confident step. Three policemen rushed to prevent him. ■ _ “Stop!” they cried. “No one is allowed in here.” “ph!’ said the stranger. "But I want to see the King of Italy.” “And Who may you be?” "The King of the Belgians.” They refused to believe him. Whew he persisted, liowever, they went in search of an official, who came, and at once proffered the most abject apologies. Picture the faces of the policemen! The King and Queen of Italy stayed only three days in Paris. "We shall come back again,” the Queen promised, as, radiant at the reception which she had been given, she sts j ped into the train. Tl-ey have not returned. True, they p.v s?d through France the following year, on their way to England. I made tlie journey with them. But, as on their first arrival at Modane, the blinds of their carriage were lowered. They remained down throughout the journey. Were the royal pair asleep? I neve£ learned. .