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ARISTOCRATIC ANECDOTES
OR LITTLE STORIES OF GREAT PEOPLE
ОглавлениеBY STEPHEN LEACOCK
Author of “Nonsense Novels,” “Literary Lapses,” etc.
I have lately been much struck by the many excellent little anecdotes of celebrated people that have appeared in recent memoirs and found their way thence into the columns of the daily press. There is something about them so deliciously pointed, their humor is so exquisite, that I think we ought to have more of them. To this end I am trying to circulate on my own account a few anecdotes which somehow seem to have been overlooked.
Here, for example, is an excellent thing from the vivacious memoirs of Lady Ranelagh de Chit Chat.
STORY OF THE DUKE OF STRATHYTHAN
Lady Ranelagh writes: “The Duke of Strathythan (I am writing of course of the seventeenth duke, not of his present Grace) was, as everybody knows, famous for his hospitality. It was not perhaps generally known that the duke was as witty as he was hospitable. I recall a most amusing incident that happened the last time but two that I was staying at Strathythan Towers. As we sat down to lunch (we were a very small and intimate party, there being only forty-three of us), the duke, who was at the head of the table, looked up from the roast of beef that he was carving, and, running his eye about the guests, murmured, ‘I’m afraid there isn’t enough beef to go round.’
“There was nothing to do, of course, but to roar with laughter, and the incident passed off with perfect savoir-faire.”
Here is another story that I think has not had all the publicity that it ought to have, I found it in the book “Shot, Shell, and Shrapnel; or, Sixty Years as a War Correspondent,” recently written by Mr. Maxim Gatling, whose exploits are familiar to all readers.
ANECDOTE OF LORD KITCHENER
“I was standing,” writes Mr. Gatling, “immediately between Lord Kitchener and Lord Wolseley, with Lord Roberts a little to the rear of us, and we were laughing and chatting as we always did when the enemy were about to open fire on us. Suddenly we found ourselves the object of the most terrific hail of bullets. For a few moments the air was black with them. As they went past, I could not refrain from exchanging a quiet smile with Lord Kitchener and another with Lord Wolseley. Indeed, I have never, except perhaps on twenty or thirty occasions, found myself exposed to such an awful fusillade.
“Kitchener, who habitually uses an eyeglass (among his friends), watched the bullets go singing by, and then, with that inimitable sang-froid which he reserves for his intimates, said:
“ ‘I’m afraid, if we stay here, we may get hit.’ We moved away laughing heartily.
“Lord Roberts’s aide-de-camp was shot in the pit of the stomach as we went.”
Drawing by Birch
“ ‘LORD ROBERTS’S AIDE WAS SHOT IN THE PIT OF THE STOMACH’ ”
The next anecdote that I reproduce may be already too well known to my readers. The career of Baron Snorch filled so large a page in the history of European diplomacy that the publication of his recent memoirs was awaited with profound interest by half the chancelleries of Europe. Even the other half were half excited over them. The tangled skein in which the politics of Europe are enveloped was perhaps never better illustrated than in this fascinating volume. Even at the risk of repeating what is already familiar, I offer the following for what it is worth, or even less.
NEW LIGHT ON THE LIFE OF CAVOUR
“I have always regarded Count Cavour,” writes the baron, “as one of the most impenetrable diplomatists it has been my lot to meet. I distinctly recall an incident in connection with the famous Congress of Paris of 1856 that rises before my mind as vividly as if it were yesterday. I was seated in one of the large salons of the Elysée Palace (I often used to sit there) playing vingt-et-un with Count Cavour, the Duc de Magenta, the Marchesi 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, with well-feigned éloignement, to the players, who replied with such dégagement as they could.
“While the play was at its height a servant appeared with a telegram on a 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 into his pocket. We stared at him in amazement for a moment, and then the duke, with the wonderful ease of a trained diplomat, quietly resumed his play.
Drawing by Birch
COUNT CAVOUR AND THE TELEGRAM
“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 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.”
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 Weary 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.’ ”
Drawing by Birch
“ ‘THE GOODNESS OF HER HEART BROKE FORTH’ ”
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.