http://theesotericcuriosa.blogspot.ie/2009/12/peers-actresses-madame-tragedy-scandal.html
Peers, Actresses And A Madame Equals Family Tragedy & Scandal: The 25th & 26th Baron’s de Clifford & The Ladies de Clifford
Jack Southwell Russell, 25th Baron de Clifford
2.VII.1884 – 1.IX.1909
There is romance enough in the records of the de Clifford’s to furnish material for the most picturesque story that imagination can conceive.
Their history is linked with the history of England for more than eight hundred years, going back to the earliest days after its conquest by William of Normandy. Every chapter you turn to is glowing in color, thrilling with action; every page is studded with names familiar in legend and poetry and romance.
The Clifford’s of Chudleigh come of the same stock and a common ancestor was the father of Fair Rosamond. The Barony was created in 1299 and the first holder of the title fell at Bannockburn in 1314.
Eight years later the second lord was executed at York. The seventh married a daughter of Harry Hotspur, and their son, the eight baron, fell at the battle of St. Albans in 1455.
The ninth baron was also slain, having previously forfeited his title; in order to save their young son from persecution and death, his wife concealed the boy’s identity and brought him up as a shepherd; eventually he was reinstated and almost created a precedent in the family by dying a natural death.
“From battle and murder, and from sudden death, Good Lord, deliver us,” might well be the traditional prayer of the women of this noble house.
The whole story is steeped in the atmosphere of romance, and deals with a long sequence of fair women and brave men.
Jack Southwell Russell, the twenty-fifth baron, only son of Edward Southwell Russell, 24th Baron de Clifford, and Hilda Balfour, was brave and fearless as any of his forebears, and like so many of them he met a sudden death, and few of the women who came before her could have been more beautiful than the Lady de Clifford.
Evelyn Victoria Anne Chandler was born in 1888, and began her theatrical career at the early age of ten, when she appeared at the Vaudeville Theater in “Alice in Wonderland.” Her father, Walter Robert Chandler, was a man of independent means and was interested in the theatrical profession in various ways, though the family was in no sense a theatrical one. Eva Carrington – to give her the name she was known by to the public – received a sound musical education, and even as a child frequently sang or took leading parts at charity concerts or theatrical performances. It was in Mr. Payne Seddon’s company that she made her first professional appearance as mentioned above, and she then joined Mr. Seymour Hicks in “Bluebell in Fairyland,” when it was first produced at the Vaudeville, afterwards going on tour with that piece. Recalled from that tour she took the part of the chambermaid in “The Cherry Girl,” and when “The Catch of the Season” was produced by Mr. Hicks in 1904, she was one of the “Gibson Girls.” Eva was also a model for the artist James Whistler between 1898 and 1902. She posed for a number of Whistler’s paintings and drawings, “A Dancing Woman In A Pink Robe, Seen From The Back” , “The Tambourine”, “Eva and Gladys Carrington Seated On A Sofa” and “The Bead Stringers”.
It was during the provincial tour of this play that Miss Eva Carrington and Lord de Clifford then just of age, first met. The company were playing at the Gaiety Theater, Dublin, and Lord de Clifford, whose home was in Ireland, chanced to be in a box one night, and was much impressed by the tall and beautiful girl who was distinguished chiefly in her graceful carriage and air of breeding. An introduction was effected, and thereafter Lord de Clifford and Miss Carrington met on many occasions in Dublin.
After this Lord de Clifford returned to Cairo where he was in command of a detachment of the Egyptian army, and Miss Carrington returned to London to take her place in the rehearsals for the Christmas production of “Bluebell in Fairyland” at the new Aldwych Theater, where she remained until a few days before her marriage.
For the meantime these two young people had begun to realize how much their companionship meant to each of them. Letters were exchanged occasionally, and then Lord de Clifford suddenly left Cairo and arrived in London quite unexpectedly, on Monday, February 12, 1906. Miss Carrington’s appearance at the Aldwych Theater that night was her last professional one.
Immediately he arrived in town, Lord de Clifford sought her out, proposed, and was accepted. Next morning Miss Carrington informed Mr. Hicks that she could not go on with her rehearsals for “The Beauty of Bath,” in which she had been cast for a good part, because she was going to be married at once.
That evening she witnessed “Bluebell in Fairyland” from a box, with her future husband beside her, and on the Friday of the same week, February 16, 1906 she was married to Lord de Clifford by special license at the Holborn Town Hall before the Superintendent-Registrar for the district.
The marriage evoked an unusual amount of sympathetic and very kindly interest. Miss Carrington was “one of the most delightful girls we ever had,” according to Mr. Seymour Hicks, and her popularity with the other members of the Aldwych Theater company was great. Her sweet disposition, and her kindness and generosity to poorer members of the profession, had made her generally loved. To the larger world outside the marriage appealed as a genuine romance of youth.
The bridegroom was twenty-two, he had succeeded to the barony on the death of his father on April 6,1894, the bride only eighteen; he was tall and handsome, very strong and active, filled with a love of sport and the spirit of adventure, and a good soldier; she was very tall – her height was six feet one – perfectly graceful, and exceptionally beautiful; no hero or heroine of romance could have looked the part better and they radiated happiness all around them.
Lord de Clifford had intended to be married a second time with the rites of the Church at St. Margaret’s, Westminster, but being assured that this was superfluous, he abandoned the idea, and four days after the civil ceremony set out with his wife for a six month’s sporting expedition in Central Africa.
Meanwhile the family seat in Ireland, Dalgan Park, Shrule, Tuam, County Galway, was being prepared for occupation, and it was there that Lord and Lady de Clifford settled down upon their return.
The couple had many common interests, sport being foremost among them; Lord de Clifford had long been the youngest Master of Foxhounds in the United Kingdom, hunting a pack of his own in County Galway, and his wife joined him with enthusiasm in the hunting field; she was as keen on motoring as he was, and her interest in sport induced her also to become a racehorse owner on her own account.
Interestingly, the de Clifford Barony descends in the female as well as in the male line. More than once in the family history the title has been borne by a daughter of the house, a former Baroness de Clifford, for instance, having married that Lord William Russell whose murder by his valet, in 1840, furnished another tragic incident to the records that already were already quite dramatic enough.
At the time of his marriage, Lord de Clifford’s aunts, the Hon. Maud Clara Russell and the Hon. Katherine Corbet, were his co-heiresses, but they were removed further from the succession by the birth of a son and heir on January 30, 1907, followed two years later, on February 28, 1909, by the birth of a daughter, the Hon. Diana Katherine Russell.
Lord de Clifford took his seat in the House of Lords that year, and there was every reasonable expectation that a long career, as a useful and honorable as it was happy already, lay before him, when death came upon him as suddenly as, and more unexpectedly than, it had come upon so many of his ancestors. He was staying with his wife and family at East Ridge, his place at Cowfold, near Brighton.
On the morning of September 1, 1909, he motored to Brighton, accompanied by his chauffeur, promising to return in time for luncheon. He was on his way home, and had got as far as the foot of Small Dole Hill, which is near Steyning and about six miles from East Ridge, when the disaster occurred. The road there was very narrow and winding. Tall hedges screened the curves, so that it was impossible to see far ahead, but it was a lonely part, and Lord de Clifford, hurrying a little in order not to keep his wife waiting, took the curves at a good pace. As he rounded a curve two market carts suddenly confronted him. There was no room to pass or turn aside, even if there had been time to do so. Anxious to save the horses at any cost and regardless of danger to himself, Lord de Clifford applied the brakes with all his power. The horses were untouched; the front one, backing in its fright, caused one of the drivers to be thrown, but the man was hardly hurt at all. But the motor car, pulled up dead by the powerful brakes, turned a complete somersault. The chauffeur was flung clear from his seat, and landed, shaken but uninjured on the roadside. When he had collected his senses he found his master, quite still, lying pinned beneath the wreckage. The chauffeur worked frantically to free him, but even with the assistance that was at hand this was impossible. Other help had to be obtained, and when at last the unconscious body was dragged out, Lord de Clifford was dead.
Death had been instantaneous, for terrible injuries had been inflicted on his head by the lamp bracket, which struck him as he fell and crushed his skull with all the weight of the car. Of tragedy so sudden, so complete and so overwhelming, there simply was nothing to say.
On the death of his father, Edward Southwell Russell, Lady de Clifford’s infant son, then two years old, became 26th Baron de Clifford. At the time of his birth an old Irish woman is said to have declared that with him a new and more fortunate star had arisen in the de Clifford family. Unfortunately, her prophecy was to be unfulfilled!
Following her husband’s death, Lady de Clifford married Captain Arthur Roy Stock of Glenapp Castle, Ayrshire on April 7, 1913, who also died young during the war on December 12, 1915. On September 22, 1922 Eva married George Vernon Tate, grandson of the founder of the Tate Gallery. As Mrs. George Vernon Tate, Evelyn led a quiet life until her death in 1979.
Lord de Clifford Bears One Of The
Oldest Of English Titles
The New York Times
February 17, 1906
London, Feb. 16 – Lord de Clifford and Miss Eva Carrington, who has been playing a small part in “Bluebell in Fairyland” at the Aldwych Theatre in this city, were married today under a special license at the St. Pancras Registry Office. The religious ceremony will take place at St. Margaret’s Church, Westminster, on Monday.
The honeymoon will be spent in Paris and in Abyssinia, where the couple will travel for six months.
The bride, who is 21 years old, beautiful and over six feet in height, was formerly one of the “Gibson Girls” in “The Catch Of The Season.” The acquaintance between the couple began last September in Dublin. Lord de Clifford later went to Cairo, whence he returned to London on Feb. 5. He proposed and was accepted six days later.
There are few older titles in the United Kingdom than that of Lord de Clifford.
The Barony was created by writ in the year 1299, and the holder of it is fourth in the list of all the English Barons.
The peerage has had a romantic history. Even before the title was conferred by writh, four barons are known to have held it by tenure, so that the present peer is in reality twenty-ninth in the line, instead of twenty-fifth, according to the peeages. The ninth Baron was slain in the civil wars and his honors were forfeited under attainder, but they were restored to his son, whose existence had been kept concealed, his mother bringing him up as a shepherd.
The present Baron, Jack Southwell Russell, was born in 1884 and succeeded his father in the peerage when 10 years old. He was formerly a lieutenant in the Shropshire Imperial Yeomanry.
Lord de Clifford owns about 13,000 acres in County Mayo, Ireland.
Lord de Clifford Killed
His Auto Turns Turtle In A Collision
With Another Vehicle
The New York Times
September 2, 1909
London, Sept. 1 – Jack Southwell Russell, Lord de Clifford, was killed in an automobile accident today at Bamber, near Brighton. His car collided with another vehicle and turned turtle. Lord de Clifford was killed instantly.
Lord de Clifford was born in 1884. In February 1906, he was married to Eva Carrington, who was at one time on the stage as one of the “Gibson Girls” in “The Catch of the Season.”
The title which was held by Lord de Clifford is one of the three oldest in the United Kingdom. Lord de Clifford was the twenty-fifth baron of his line. The barony was created in 1299. The late baron succeeded to the title when he was 10 years old. He was once a lieutenant in the Shropshire Imperial Yeomanry.
Lord de Clifford met Eva Carrington an American girl, while she was playing with an American theatrical company in Dublin, Ireland, in September 1905. After the run of the play in which Lord de Clifford saw her, Miss Carrington was engaged for a small part in “Bluebell in Fairyland” which was presented at the Aldwych Theatre in London.
After an absence of a year in Egypt, Lord de Clifford returned to London, where Miss Carrington was still playing. He proposed to her and they married at a registrar’s office in February 1906. After an extensive trip through Egypt, where they spent their honeymoon, the couple returned to the large estate of Lord de Clifford in Ireland.
The estate to which Lord de Clifford fell heir with the title consists of 13,000 acres in County Mayo, Ireland. He was an enthusiastic automobilist, but was always considered a careful driver.
His son who will succeed to the title, was born on January 30, 1907.
Lieutenant-Colonel Edward Southwell Russell,
26th Baron de Clifford OBE TD
30.I.1907 – 3.I.1982
Was the only son of Jack Southwell Russell, 25th Baron de Clifford, and Evelyn Chandler, otherwise know as “Gaiety Girl” Eva Carrington.
Ironically, he was the last peer to be tried for a crime in the House of Lords in 1935 resulting from charges involving vehicular manslaughter.
Lord de Clifford had inherited his title aged two when his father was killed in a road accident.
Educated at Eton College he studied engineering at Imperial College London. In 1926 he was commissioned into the 21st (Royal Gloucestershire Hussars) Armoured Car Company of the Territorial Army; and was promoted Lieutenant in 1929 and Captain in 1938. Following in his father’s footsteps, his favorite hobby was racing cars, and he was a young supporter of fascist Oswald Mosley and his British Union of Fascists.
On March 11, 1926 he married Dorothy Evelyn Meyrick. Dolly Meyrick was the daughter of well known London figure, Kate Meyrick. Kate “Ma” Meyrick was a famous night club owner and reputed madame.
Since he was only nineteen, the law at the time required him to have his mother’s consent to the marriage, which he knew he could not obtain. He therefore lied about his age, for which he was fined £250 plus court costs by the Lord Mayor of London in the magistrates’ court.
In 1928 he made his maiden speech in the House of Lords, on the subject of road safety, in which he proposed introducing mandatory driving tests for anyone applying for a driving licence. During his career in the House he also argued for speed limits to be imposed.
On 15 August 1935 Russell killed a man, Douglas George Hopkins, in a head-on collision while driving his sports car on the wrong side of the road. When a jury in the coroner’s court unanimously held Russell responsible, the police charged him with a felony. At first he was indicted and committed for trial at the Old Bailey, until it dawned on the courts that as he was a peer of the realm, only the House of Lords could try him for a felony. Since this had not occurred since 1901, when the 2nd Earl Russell was convicted of bigamy, the House set up a select committee to investigate the precedents and rules for such a proceeding.
The trial commenced on 12 December, with the Lord Chancellor, Lord Hailsham, presiding, in the capacity of Lord High Steward appointed by the Crown for the occasion. The Attorney General prosecuted the case. Admission to the public was by ticket only. This was to be the last ever trial in the House of Lords, since the right of peers to be tried by their peers for felonies was abolished in 1948. (The House still has the power to try impeachments, but impeachment is today obsolete.)
Russell’s defence was that Hopkins’s vehicle had been travelling at excessive speed and that Russell had been compelled to switch lanes at the last moment to avoid a collision, only for the other vehicle to do the same. This defence was successful and he was acquitted.
Russell still faced another charge of dangerous driving, which was not a felony and therefore could not be tried in the House. He was due to be tried in the Old Bailey in January. However in view of his acquittal the prosecution abandoned their case and a verdict of not guilty was entered.
This incident brought an end to his campaign for speed limits and driving tests, and he made no more speeches in the House of Lords for nearly forty years (by which time both measures had been introduced).
These were not the last judicial proceedings in which Russell was involved. In 1936 he sued The Spectator for libel, settling out of court. He was also named as a co-respondent (alleged adulterer) in a divorce case. However his own marriage survived.
Following his trial in the House of Lords, Russell gave up racing cars. He transferred to the Royal Army Ordnance Corps in 1942 and the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers in 1943. In 1946, having reached the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel, he joined the regular army. He was appointed Officer of the Order of the British Empire (OBE) in the 1955 New Year Honours.
Having divorced in 1973, having separated from his wife after the War, and married Mina Margaret in 1974.
Lord de Clifford died in 1982 and was survived by his second wife and two sons by his first wife. He was succeeded as Baron de Clifford by his elder son.
Baron And His Wife Arrested
Cheerful Despite Titled Frowns
By: Charles M. Mcann
The Evening Standard
August 13, 1926
London, Aug. 13 _ Society people who predicted trouble for 19-year old Baron de Clifford when he married Dolly Meyrick, daughter of Kate Meyrick, “Queen of the nightclubs,” and a princess of the night clubs herself, were both right and wrong. The trouble has come, but not in the way they expected.
Baron de Clifford and his lady, smiling arm in arm, appeared together at the Mansion House police court where de Clifford, prosecuted for falsely swearing his age to be 22 when he obtained the marriage license, was fined $250, with $50 costs in addition.
“Can he have two weeks in which to pay?” asked his attorney. “No; he has plenty of money,” retorted the Lord Mayor. No he hasn’t.” rejoined the attorney. “Not yet at any rate. He has to earn his own living, and he receives merely a voluntary allowance from trustees of his estate.”
“All right then; we’ll allow him two weeks to pay,” conceded the Lord Mayor.
The tall young nobleman and his short, demure looking lady, walked out of court.
Staid matrons, some of whom saw in him the 26th holder of a title that dates back to 1299, a possible son-in-law, were shocked when the marriage of young de Clifford and Dolly Meyrick was announced.
She was helping her mother to manage one of the toughest night clubs in London, and had managed another of her mother’s many ventures in Paris. But despite her job, Dolly or Dorothy Evelyn, as her name appeared properly on the license – was brought up to be able to take her place with any girl.
Mrs. Merick, while running a succession of tough clubs and paying fines aggregating thousands of dollars when the police regularly raided them – once she served a jail term – was bringing up a large family as if there were no such places as night clubs.
Dolly was educated first at a society girl’s school near Brighton and finally at exclusive Girton College, English equivalent of Vassar.
Lord de Clifford’s mother was Eva Carrington, beautiful “Gibson girl” of a generation ago.
Kate Meyrick
“Queen Of The Night Clubs”
Kate Evelyn Meyrick nee Nason was born into a middle class Irish doctor’s family in Dublin in 1878.
Before becoming a prominent nightclub owner she was the wife of a Brighton doctor named Dr. Ferdinand Richard Holmes Meyrick. Husband and wife had eight children, several of which were daughters, before the erstwhile doctor abandoned his wife and family.
Kate apparently came to London just after the First World War to run nightclubs; presumably she was living with her husband before then, and was separated at some point during or before the War. She ran several night clubs including the 43 Club at 43 Gerrard Street, Soho, London successfully until 1929, when she became a co-defendant in the George Goddard Case being accused of bribing policemen. The trial in which she was successfully prosecuted did not damage her businesses, to which she returned. She went to prison on five occasions.
Kate always claimed to be running her nightclubs to pay for her daughters’ education; certainly three or four of them married very well into the British peerage. Before her death in 1933, Kate penned a book titled “Secrets of the 43”. Although it was probably quite innocuous by today’s standards, no doubt it could have shown some prominent people in a poor light, however, it was suppressed at the time.
Additional Kate Meyrick
Dialogue
Malcolm Redfellow
A Naice Dublin Protestant Gel
Kate Evelyn Nason was born in Kingstown (now Dún Laoghaire) in 1875. Within a year, her father (a doctor) was dead. Her mother re-married a Lancastrian cleric. At the age of seven, Kate was an orphan, living with her grand-mother. She briefly attended Alaexandra College, that academy for the best of protestant Dublin’s rising misses. In the true Alex tradition, she found herself a respectable professional, another medic, to wed. The surname (Merrick) became gentrified to Meyrick, and he set up practice, first in Southsea, then in Basingstoke.
By 1909 Mrs Meyrick was ten years married, the mother of six (three of each) and bored, bored, bored. Briefly, she upped with the kids and left. Reconciled to the good nerve-doctor, she took lessons in hypno-therapy and (thanks to trench warfare) soon had plenty of neurasthenic subjects on which to practise. At the end of the War, the marriage had finally collapsed (Dr Meyrick was a spend-thrift).
The Clubland Entrepreneur
The Mrs Meyrick, though, was enterprising. She promptly moved to London, took a share in and managed Dalton’s Club in Leicester Square. The law said closing time was ten o’clock: Mrs Meyrick took no heed of such niceties. The club was raided and shut down, Mrs Meyrick was guilty of running “disorderly premises” and fined £25. Two premises later, Ma Meyrick (as London society knew her) had her own club at 43 Gerrard Street in Soho. There then began a repetitive cycle of police raids, in which the newly-appointed Tory Home Secretary, Joynson-Hicks, generally known as “Jix”, took a personal interest, as part of his self-ordainedl morality campaign.
It was now clear that it was Ma Meyrick versus the blue-noses. In November 1924 she came up before the Bow Street magistrate, Sir Chartres Biron, who sent her down for six months. There is at least a hint of regret in his comment:
She was a lady, of good appearance and charming manners, and conducted her various clubs with more decorum than many, but with also a fine contempt for the law.
Note that “her various clubs”, for Ma Meyrick now had the Manhattan in Denman Street, the Silver Slipper in Regent Street, and a substantial slice of the action at the Folies Bergères in Newman Street.
Into The Peerage
Ma Meyrick came out of Holloway to general public acclaim. She was soon back in the celebrity gossip columns when her daughter, Dorothy Evelyn, married the nineteen-year-old Edward Southwell Russell (he falsified his age), 26th Baron de Clifford. As an aside, de Clifford (who frequently spoke in the Lords, urging that driving laws be tightened) was the last peer to be tried in the Lords — for manslaughter caused by his driving on the wrong side of the road. He was also a Mosleyite. Two years later, another Meyrick daughter, Mary Ethel Isobel, was hitched to George Harley Hay-Drummond, 14th Earl of Kinnoull in the Scottish peerage.
Crime Does Not Pay?
The police raids continued, and in 1928 Ma Meyrick did another six months in Holloway. Her compensation was to build herself a substantial fortune: the clubs were each making up to £1,000 a week (of which perhaps half was profit). Her investments were guided by Alfred Loewenstein — who provides yet another story (to be dealt with as an annex) — until Ma Meyrick was worth something in the region of half-a-million. In 1928 money.
Ma Meyrick’s nemesis was Sergeant George Goddard of the Metropolitan Police. He had led the first raid on the 43 in February 1922. In November 1928 Goddard was found to have accrued over £12,000: an impossible sum on an honest copper’s wage. Goddard had been taking £100 a week from Ma Meyrick in protection money, with other nice little earners on the side. This time Ma Meyrick was hit with fifteen months, with hard labour, for bribery and corruption. She was back inside for six months in late 1930 and again in mid-1931. By then her health was destroyed: she died of pneumonia at her Regent’s Park home, aged 57.
Her funeral was at fashionable St Martins-in-the-Fields.
Ma Meyrick Had An After-Life
Evelyn Waugh recreated her in Brideshead Revisited, and the “43” became the “Old Hundredth”.
Try Chapter five:
Mulcaster said, “I say, let’s slip away from this ghastly dance and go to Ma Mayfield’s.”
“Who is Ma Mayfield?”
“You know Ma Mayfield. Everyone knows Ma Mayfield of the Old Hundredth. I’ve got a regular there – a sweet little thing called Effie. There’d be the devil to pay if Effie heard I’d been to London and hadn’t been in to see her. Come and meet Effie at Ma Mayfield’s.”
“All right,” said Sebastian, “let’s meet Effie at Ma Mayfield’s” …
“D’you know where this place is??”
“Of course I do. A hundred Sink Street.”
NR
© 2009 The Esoteric Curiosa. All Rights Reserved
Posted 9th December 2009 by Esoteric Curiosa
Labels: Shaking The Family Tree
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“Pathetic Princess,” The Likes Of Which Even The “Artistic” Tag Teaming Of Dumas & Langtry, Failed To Produce A Perfect Performance!
Finding One’s Identity, Embarrassing Ancestral Connections; Whilst Offsetting Antiquated Views & Telling It Like It Is In The Luxe Surroudings Of The Savoy!
A Future Duke Of Marlborough Start’s Out In Life With Gilt Edged Godfathers; One An American Multimillionaire, The Other A Future King~Emperor!
Revolving Thrones; Ruminating Romanov Heirs, Sinister Doings – Traditional Aspects Of Succeeding To The Imperial Russian Throne!
When The Inclement Weather Of The North Atlantic Impacted The Simplicity Of Being Al Fresco Aboard Cunard’s Legendary Liner, RMS Mauretania!
Esoterica: An Esoteric ‘Just Because I Thought It Interesting!’ “The Week Of ‘’Entre Nous’ September 1st – 7th
Esoterica: An Esoteric ‘Just Because I Thought It Interesting!’ “The Week Of ‘Vignettes By Marie!’”October 20th – October 26th, 2014
ESOTERICA
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An Esoteric ‘Just Because I Thought It Interesting!’ October 20, 2014
“The Week Of ‘Vignettes By Marie;’ A Practical Joke On Nando!”
Frivolously inclined as we were during that giddy period, purposely exaggerating our affectations, we began tormenting Nando to allow us to drive out with his chasseur. A great stickler for etiquette and prerogatives, and strongly imbued with a solid Teuton belief of man’s superiority over woman, Nando indignantly repudiated these demands, declaring it was only the male members of the royal family who had the right to a chasseur.
“But it looks so much smarter,” we insisted. “Why should your carriage be smarter than ours? It is quite dowdy to have a mere footman.”
“You have your fine clothes,” retorted my irate husband, “and leave unto Caesar—” But this was just exactly what we did not intend to do, and thereby hangs a tale so absurd that it would be a pity not to relate it.
Uncle also had a chasseur; he was smaller and less good-looking than Nando’s beplumed swell, but he was a chasseur for all that. He may even, being a king’s chasseur, have worn more silver braid than the prince’s, but I do not clearly remember if this was so or not; but though rarely, even uncle occasionally took a turn on the Chaussée.
Amongst our special friends and dévoués was a young officer up to any fun, fearless, amusing and enterprising. Although it was a grievous violation of military rules, with the danger of impending punishment, we naughty sisters persuaded the rash young fellow to take off his uniform and don the livery of uncle’s chasseur, which, somehow, we had managed to get hold of. Ernie was in the plot and it fell to his share to get Nando to start out on their drive before we left the house, so that they should already be coming back up the Chaussée when we drove down. Our whole effect depended upon our meeting each other face to face. Our friend and uncle’s chasseur happened to be the same size, and though their faces were not alike, with the strap under his chin, the crowning glory of feathers waving about his head, his countenance was not of great importance; besides, Ducky and I had dressed as showily as possible, so as to attract all attention away from the box to ourselves.
It was not without an uncomfortable sensation of guilt, however, that we started off, smiles glued to our faces, our Empress Eugenie hats doing their duty to the utmost, and thus, right through the Calea Victoriei, past Capsa, past the palace, to the Chaussée we sailed, the plume of our chasseur offensively conspicuous.
With our hearts in our mouths, we finally perceived the rival chasseur coming towards us, his gay feathers fluttering above the crowd like wind-swept wings. Then came the excruciatingly exciting moment when our carriages met. Nando raised his hand to salute the king; he had a very special salute, reserved only for the sovereign of the land; there was a particular chic about it, the old Potsdam chic, with a certain stiff turn of the neck, because who else but the king could be sitting behind that privileged livery?
As long as I live I shall never forget the expression of disgust, nor the frustrated gesture with which Nando lowered his hand when it suddenly dawned upon him that it was not uncle he was saluting, and to what a shocking degree those two irrepressible sisters had transgressed against the rules of the family, annexing a privilege to which they had no right. Ernie had, I believe, a pretty bad time calming his irate brother-in-law, but he slyly persuaded him that nothing could better punish the delinquents than to ignore completely their crime. Nando heroically adhered to this attitude till we went to bed; it can easily be imagined what a scolding I was then given, but I have forgotten the scolding, and the trick was worth the risk.
An Esoteric ‘Just Because I Thought It Interesting!’ October 21, 2014
“The Week Of ‘Vignettes By Marie;’ Fun at Archangelski!”
Our hostess was still young and an exceedingly attractive woman. Her gray eyes were luminously clear and intense, her smile enchanting; her hair, smoothly drawn back, left her forehead bare, which was unusual in those days of fringes and frizzled coiffures. An attractive woman, full of kindness, eager to spread joy around her. Her husband was somewhat heavy, but he too, was kind and his hospitality knew no limit. The Sumarokow Yussupoff belonged to the richest families of Russia.
Nando and I were continually driving over to Ilinsky, followed by a troop of the Archangelski guests. Amusement followed amusement; it was a period of buoyant, almost mad gayety, a giddy whirl of enjoyment, few of us except Nando ever pausing to think. Nando was somewhat appalled by the pace we were going and kept remembering how little uncle would approve of this sort of life. I am sorry to say, for the time being I had absolutely shaken off King Carol’s shadow and did not wish to remember that all this glorious folly was transient and would soon have, to come to an end.
Amongst the guests at Archangelski was a certain Prince Wittgenstein, officer in the Cossacks of the Imperial Guard. This young man was one of the gayest of the gay. Although not specially good-looking, he had a magnificent figure, with a waist as slim as a woman’s. The long Cossack caftan suited him to perfection. When not on service, the officers had permission to wear this caftan in whatever color they preferred. Young Wittgenstein affected a dull, dark plum, which seemed to have been chosen with special cunning; being a color which both attracted and satisfied the eye. His heelless, high, soft, leather boots gave a feline quality to his tread. To complete the picture, we may add a tall fur cap set at a rakish angle, a gorgeous dagger stuck into his silver belt, and he stands before us a figure worthy of Elinor Glyn’s most dashing romances, a personage well suited to sow disquiet in feminine hearts.
I never had much to do with young Wittgenstein, but being a keen rider, he appreciated my horsemanship. He discovered that, when in the saddle, nothing could daunt me; that on horseback I was fearless and inclined to recklessness; in this we saw eye to eye.
Wittgenstein was the possessor of a wild, unkempt, fierce-looking Cossack horse. Dark brown, with flowing tail and mane, he had iron sinews and an anxious eye. Untrained and fidgety, he was reputed to be a difficult mount, and was, in fact, exactly the sort of horse which you would expect young Wittgenstein to ride. Inevitably, the hoped-for moment came when he proposed that I should try this exciting animal, which, he declared, could beat at a trot any other horse at full gallop. Nando protested, endeavoring to put in a veto, to use his authority; but in vain.
I was just then, alas, not inclined to docility, and the thought of riding this wild horse was my supremest ambition.
That ride remains one of the most glorious memories of my youth; there was a thrill about it which I have never been able to forget. The moment I was on his back, that untamed horse and I understood each other absolutely and I was ready to accept any wager. I was given a few hundred yards’ start, and then off flew all the other riders in wild pursuit. What a race that was! A glorious morning, the sky full of the song of larks, the dew still on the ground. Straight as an arrow ran my horse, steady as a torpedo on its course. The pace we went brought tears to my eyes, but never once did that astonishing animal break from a trot to a gallop.
Having reached the point set as our goal, I remember turning my horse to face the onrush of my pursuers, who came pounding up the small hillock on which I stood awaiting them. Cheers and exclamations! I had won my bet, and bending down I threw my arms round my horse’s neck and kissed him in exultant gratitude. Oh, how I longed to carry off that priceless trotter, to take him back with me to Rumania! But this supreme joy was not granted me.
An Esoteric ‘Just Because I Thought It Interesting!’ October 22, 2014
“The Week Of ‘Vignettes By Marie;’ A Passion for Gems!”
An ardent lover of beauty, Uncle Ferdinand was well aware that his nose was too prominent a feature, so he was forever mentioning this unfortunate appendage, which he called “die Dulderin”—the sufferer—and once, showing me a group photograph of which he formed the center, he said to me in his somewhat nasal voice: “Avec ces tout petits yeux et ce nez comme une trompe, ne suis-je pas tout à fait comme un éléphant? Mais, ma chère nièce, j’ai aussi toute la sagacité de ce si vénérable quadrupède.” And then he could laugh a little in the way of poor Aunt Philippa, his eyes completely disappearing, drawing in the air in a quite special way through that offending nose.
Ferdinand of Bulgaria had a strange passion for precious stones; he would fondle them as though their touch gave him almost physical ecstasy. Considering me a worthy audience, he would bring out his different little stories for my benefit, knowing that I appreciated his subtleties, and thus he once drew a picture of himself which I have never forgotten, a picture where he is seated all by himself in a dimly lighted chamber, draped in a long black-velvet dressing gown, fingering his priceless gems.
Uncle Ferdinand had beautifully kept, very white hands and wore his nails overlong, and looking at those pale fingers, ever afterward it seemed to me that I saw the many-colored gems slipping through them one by one.
In everyday life these pale fingers were covered with beautiful rings; his gestures were slow, had about them something of a priest officiating in church.
I loved talking to him about flowers and animals; it was like turning over the pages of a superbly written book; he had traveled through many countries and could tell me with the minutest details where the rarest flowers grew, describing the soil in which they thrived, their habits, color, perfume, and his language was so descriptive that picture upon picture passed before my eyes.
King Ferdinand had the disconcerting talent of being able to keep up two conversations at a time. He often indulged in this whilst talking with King Carol, whose wit was less chameleonlike. His serious pompous discourse was for the king, his amusing asides for the younger generation, but these were so smoothly woven into his speech that, before uncle could notice any byplay, he was back again in the middle of his political dissertation, as though there had never been any deviation from the central subject.
Once, at a big dinner at Bukharest, I was sitting on his left. It was just after he had declared himself king, and he was on his way back from Russia. He had been officially received with every honor, for Uncle Ferdinand was a great stickler as to etiquette; outwardly he was on his best behavior, exceedingly ceremonious, covered with decorations, honey dripping from his lips. Speeches befitting the occasion were pronounced on both sides. He had just sat down again after having delivered himself of his most amiable discourse, glasses had been raised, healths drunk; then, leaning over toward me, his wee eyes sparkling with mischief, he whispered into my ear: “Et, très chère nièce, il faut savoir qu’au fond nous nous détestons!” But I was given to understand that, having Coburg blood in my veins, I was not included in this detestation.
An Esoteric ‘Just Because I Thought It Interesting!’ October 23, 2014
“The Week Of ‘Vignettes By Marie;’ The ‘Peacock Prince!’”
Charles, who was Ferdinand’s youngest brother, had no lack of good looks. He had a beautifully slim figure of which he was inordinately proud. In fact, he was inclined to be too pleased with himself and stalked about with something of a peacock’s strut. He considered himself as clever as he was handsome, and I was often astounded at the way he managed to lord it over Ferdinand, who was not only his elder but his superior in every way.
A year or two later, Charles, whom the family called Carlo, married his first cousin, Josephine, Princess of Belgium—sister of Albert, the King of the Belgians. Accustomed to admire him as a child, she continued to do so all through their married life; though she, too, was by far his superior. She may have had moments when she realized this, but she never showed it, so his vanity increased with the years in a way most provoking to his family.
A greater contrast than the two brothers, Ferdinand and Charles, can hardly be imagined. Ferdinand was almost painfully modest and unassuming, whilst his milk-fair, wasp-waisted brother was just the contrary, and, into the bargain, Ferdinand was inexplicably humble before his brother’s assumed perfections.
But at that first meeting I looked upon them all with uncriticizing eyes, ready to take each man at his own valuation.
As I mentioned before, my father-in-law, Fürst Leopold, was one of the most charming princes of his day. Clever, cultivated, good-looking, he had something of Ferdinand’s modesty, though he was much less shy and the most perfect homme du monde. I have never met a more unselfish man. He lived entirely for others, spending his life and energies rushing backward and forward between the different members of his family, wearing himself to pieces over the care he took of his delicate wife and of his adorable, old and very deaf mother, whom he dearly loved.
Antonia, or Antoinette, had been one of the great beauties of her time; one of those old-fashioned, classic-featured beauties whom one associates with the crinoline. Her profile was Grecian, her shoulders sloping, her hands long and delicate, her feet very small and useless. But her figure somehow could not fit in with the clothes of the day; there was a disproportion between the bust and the legs. The crinoline was missing. Superbly aristocratic, she moved slowly, with a curious swinging of the hips. She loved fine clothes and jewels, and though leading almost an invalid’s life, was always very smartly dressed.
For several years already her health had quite broken down, and I never knew her except as an invalid who mixed only at certain hours with the other members of the family.
Our reception at the station was extremely official. Although small, the Sigmaringen court was wonderfully well run and even slightly pompous, with a good deal of ceremony. The carriages were perfectly turned out, the horses big and uniformly dark black-brown, the liveries were smart, but with all that there was a Gemütlichkeit about Sigmaringen which was very charming and which quite delighted mama, who loved all things German.
Mama adored my father-in-law; they got on beautifully together, he was so exceedingly amiable and thoughtful and had such perfect manners; besides, he was highly cultivated, well read and a very expert art connoisseur. All these qualities my mother appreciated to the full. Altogether mama was enchanted with everything, and this aristocratic and yet kindly German family was entirely to her taste.
Everybody at Sigmaringen was simple and friendly; the only one who had any stiffness was Fürstin Antonia, the invalid.
Quite the most fascinating member of the family besides Fürst Leopold was his charming old mother, a born Princess of Baden. Small and frail, she had exquisite features framed in veils and laces which heightened their delicacy. Her gowns and cloaks were just as they should be. She always wore gloves much too long in the fingers, which she had not had the strength to pull on properly. Being stone-deaf she had expressive little gestures indicating when she had understood your pantomimic conversation; she liked a good joke and had a sweet way of lifting her hand and covering her mouth when amused or pleasantly shocked. Dear old Grand-mama Josephine had the most lovely nose I have ever seen; it was one of God’s perfections.
An Esoteric ‘Just Because I Thought It Interesting!’ October 24, 2014
“The Week Of ‘Vignettes By Marie;’ The Poet Queen’s Brother!”
The Prince of Wied was an almost startling replica of his sister, but less dramatic. Unlike the poet queen, he assumed a jovial attitude toward life, but one in which, curiously enough, one could also divine a certain degree of pose. He seemed to laugh more than he was amused. Like his sister, he had magnificent teeth, a high forehead under masses of gray-white hair, and the same pince-nez pinched his rather fleshy nose. Even the gestures of his finely shaped hands were the same. There was even the same affectation about the way he laid them before him whilst talking, as though himself fascinated by their shapeliness. I cannot say that I liked him. His joviality seemed partly assumed. But there was nothing of pose about his very ugly but exceedingly refined wife; a born Princess of Orange who had brought a large fortune and magnificent jewels into the somewhat impoverished but very ancient and blue-blooded family of the Wieds. This lady met with my mother’s unstinted approval; she was très grande dame without the slightest touch of eccentricity. They had two daughters and three sons, but I cannot remember how many of them we met during that first visit. The house was sympathetic, old-fashioned and full of family pictures.
Queen Elizabeth loved her brother. Only once, many years later, did I see them together, and I must confess that the combined type was rather overwhelming; something within me was instinctively hostile. I could not help feeling that they were playing up to each other and that their laugh, in spite of an enviable show of white teeth, did not ring quite true. All through life I have had a curious faculty of sensing the undercurrent of other people’s emotions, even when they were playing a quite different part to the gallery. This is sometimes very isolating. But in these early days I am describing, though I felt when there was insincerity, I could not yet reason it out. Sister Ducky, the most veridical soul I have ever met, has also this faculty.
At last the day came for leaving the old home and we started all together, a large party.
An Esoteric ‘Just Because I Thought It Interesting!’ October 25, 2014
“The Week Of ‘Vignettes By Marie;’ The Ogre Of Castle Callenberg!”
Ernest, Duke of Saxe-Coburg-Gotha, was a type of sovereign that has quite disappeared from our modern world. If ever his kind reappears, it will be amongst nouveaux riches or financial potentates, but not amongst princes, I trow. He was even in those easier days a curio not often met with, and it is just as well that he should be rare of his kind.
Uncle Ernest was a tyrant, ruthless and indifferent to the feelings of others; he might almost, had I been writing a fairy tale, have been an ogre, if you can stretch your imagination to conceive an ogre buttoned up into a correct, if old-fashioned, frock coat; for it was always in a frock coat that he appeared twice a year to pay our mother his official visit.
Try and picture to yourself an elderly man, over life-size, heavy, ponderous, but at the same time an old beau, squeezed into a frock coat too tight for his bulk and uncomfortably pinched in at the waist. A sallow face marred by liver spots, a lean, waxed mustache curving down over the corners of his mouth, the ends turning up again. The jaw of a bulldog, the lower teeth protruding far beyond the upper, and with a pair of bloodshot eyes alive with uncanny, almost brutal intelligence.
A formidable old gentleman, ceremonious, emphatic and deliberately jovial, admirably counterfeiting a sort of burly geniality. He would appear, top hat in hand, with lemon-colored gloves squeezed into its rim and a rosebud in his buttonhole. This rosebud was never missing. We children, who were always sent for to assist our mother on these festive occasions, had been trained to bring forward the most solid chair in the room, as his abnormal weight would have been detrimental to any lighter form of furniture.
He would sit down, after having laid his top hat on a table, his knees widely apart, snort, look about him with a roving eye, accepting our timid politeness with loud but absent-minded expressions of approval, chucking us, to our dismay, under the chin, and inevitably exclaiming: “Ach, die herrlichen, die lieben, die süssen Kinder!”
These periodical invasions of mama’s drawing-room by the local potentate were looked forward to with a certain fearful enjoyment in which both dread and excitement had their place.
The truth about Uncle Ernest was not known to me in those days, when all risqué conversation was strictly kept from our ears, and to us he was simply a rather terrible, but amiable, bulldoglike uncle, who inspired us with both fear and enjoyment; but later all his peculiarities. were related to me, and they are worth recounting.
For state reasons he had married a certain Princess Alexandrina of Baden, sister of the then-reigning Grand Duke. She was a mild lady, perfectly virtuous, perfectly colorless, and resembling her sister-in-law, Queen Victoria, only by her unlimited and, in her case, inexplicable adoration of her lord and master.
He treated her with abominable, insulting indifference, and was known all over Germany for his never-ending and often none too dignified amorous adventures.
Because of these peculiarities, his court was hardly respectable. It was composed of adventurers who were useful in all sorts of ways perhaps best not too closely inquired into. These rather doubtful gentlemen were married to second-rate actresses of compromised reputation and all sorts of semicultured, semirespectable persons of nondescript types. Occasionally there were a few intellectuals and artists of real talent, for Duke Ernest was a man of great learning; but these better elements diminished more and more as he advanced in age.
Because of this state of affairs, my parents avoided any court festivities, and there were, I believe, uncomfortable wrangles about this; but all that was so much before my time that only rumors of it reached me long after old uncle’s days had passed.
Once a year, however, the old tyrant gave a family dinner at his Castle Callenberg, a residence somewhat after the style of the Rosenau, but more pretentious and palatial. The Callenberg was also situated on a hill and has been mentioned once before in connection with a cake. The Callenberg cake, however, never appeared on Duke Ernest’s table.
For some reason, we children were always invited to these yearly repasts. I believe our innocent presence kept the dissolute old gentleman within bounds. Before starting out we were well coached as to our behavior and severely enjoined not to have laughing fits, or to give way to any signs of discourteous hilarity, however amused we might be.
Uncle Ernest, owing to his bulk, would sit throned far above all his guests, a terrible figure we could not keep our eyes off. Whatever his real feelings may have been, he played to perfection the genial host and would look, with a “haw-haw,” round the table like an ogre counting the morsels he would later gobble up, but that he had set out to charm first. Also on these memorable occasions we were loudly proclaimed “süsse, herrliche Kinder,” whereupon we would stuff our handkerchiefs into our mouths to keep from guffawing.
I believe that his conversation could be most colored and interesting, if not always strictly proper, but we were too young then to enjoy it.
An Esoteric ‘Just Because I Thought It Interesting!’ October 26, 2014
“The Week Of ‘Vignettes By Marie;’ A Cheerful Note in Exile!”
I adored Bully and Bully adored me, but he also loved Louise Andrews, one of my maids, and his third love was an old servant who had come with us from Sigmaringen. We three received the homage of his songs; he sensed our coming from afar and he would greet us with his cheerful Freut Euch des Lebens even before he saw us. Everybody else was scolded and screeched at.
Bully became the supreme, nay, almost the only consolation of my loneliness. Nando was away all the morning at his barracks: I was allowed to see no one, hardly even my old lady-in-waiting. I was not yet accustomed to be sufficient unto myself, and felt too ill to read more than a few hours a daily. So much did old Louise and I play with Bully that he became quite tame, and when the window was shut, we always allowed him to fly quite freely about the room.
At the first feeling of spring in the air, our winged companion became importantly active, picking up off the floor all sorts of odds and ends for the building of a more than problematical nest- He would follow old Louise or me about from room to room, sometimes flying, sometimes running across the floor with comic little hops- It was difficult to say who loved the bird most, Louise or I; Bully had indeed become the central joy of our lives.
But this is a sad world, joys are not eternal—mostly, indeed, they are all too short—and the joy over Bully was destined to be too short.
One day I was feeling particularly miserable and lay curled on my “couch of refuge,” as I called the sofa in my ugly little dressing room, which was papered a dull-patterned gray, the color of fog and defeat. So wretched was I that I could hardly lift my head. Old Louise was standing beside me, discoursing upon some homely subject in her prim, precise, monotonous way. Her talk was punctuated by occasional little curtsies in keeping with the respect in which she held my poor little person. Precious Bully was hopping about the floor, busy as always gathering together material for that nest which was destined never to be built.
Having come to the end of her dragging explanations, old Louise made a step backwards, ready to drop one of her inevitable curtsies. Only one step. You will hardly be able to bear hearing it, but that one step backwards was the end of our Bully and of his brave little song, and also of his small hopes of building a nest. With that single step backwards, old Louise crushed the one joy of our lonely, homesick days, Louise trod on Bully. For “each man kills the thing he loves—”
Never more did the cheerful Freut Euch des Lebens sound through the drab apartment. It had only needed that one step backwards, and Bully, with his song and his nesting ambitions, and with him all the joy he had been to us, was over forever. Bully was wiped out as though he had never been.
I leave to the imagination of each to realize what the death of Bully meant to decorous old Louise and to her lonely little mistress.
Madame Grecianu, my lady-in-waiting, who had three grown-up daughters of her own, understood that the regime I was being submitted to was not the very best for a young woman who was to give an heir to the expectant country. So she plucked up her courage and went to the king.
“Our princess is moping,” declared the old lady. “In her state of health, this is not a good thing. Young people need company. Such absolute isolation is a mistake. She ought to be amused, to see people. It is not right that she should be exclusively left to her homesickness and to the company of her maids.”
Uncle, who, in spite of his political austerity, really loved me, was impressed by this voice out of the desert. The case must be looked into, it was serious; an heir was the country’s most-cherished hope, nothing must endanger it. So the wise men of the realm put their heads together; Ioan Kalinderu being chief counselor, and the prime minister also having his say. This was a state affair, for was not H. R. H. bearing the future crown prince?
“La princcsae s’ennuie.” This was indeed perplexing. What form of amusement could be safely offered her which, while being sufficiently agreeable, would not give her undue illusions about freedom? What entertainments were in keeping with the program elaborated for the education of one so young and unprepared, and in whom the seeds of frivolity and independence might be lying dormant? Weighty problem! No false move must be made, no wrong door must be opened, no dangerous key must be put into her hand.
After much pondering und weighing the matter, those “stern men with empires in their brains,” every one of them beyond the age of dreams and illusions, hit upon the bright idea that tea parties must be organized for “the poor child.”
But in Rumania, according to King Carol’s orderly conception of things, nothing must be undertaken à la légère, the pros and the cons must be duly examined, no one’s susceptibilities must be ignored, no one must be slighted or offended, and as everyone was claiming the honor of coming into contact with the country’s latest importation, the social ladder must be strictly taken into consideration.
One would have to begin at the beginning: The wives of ministers, generals, judges, professors, and so on, were the first on the list. Later, when all the important, weighty people had been waded through, a few younger ones might, perhaps, be included: “Aber dies muss man noch reiflich überlegen.” This was one of uncle’s favorite formulas.
So tea parties were organized in a deadly dull room with pompeian-red walls and ugly overgilded chairs. As principal decoration, a series of war pictures representing King Carol—uncle under fire, uncle on the ramparts, uncle passing the Danube on a bridge of boats, uncle on a prancing horse, uncle in a snowstorm, uncle receiving Osman Pasha’s sword.
And beneath these patriotic pictures sat the sad little exile and received lean ladies and fat ladies, kind ladies and supercilious ladies, smart ladies and shabby ladies, ladies that were wrinkled and ladies that were painted, ladies who talked volubly and ladies who were almost as shy as the little stranger herself: but of the last-named group there were few, for Rumanians in general have a great flow of words at their disposal.
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