Chapter 4

Four or five men in State liveries bow profoundly as I enter, one of whom conducts me to an ante-room, and, after a short interval, through some long corridors, up some stairs and into the presence of one of Her Majesty's Gentlemen of the Household. A courteous interview with him, and I am asked to wait for Her Majesty's Private Secretary, who, out at present, will see me on his return.

Of course I make the best use of the interval and see all I can of the Palace. A fine-looking and imposing building it is, standing back in a large quadrangle, the latter being gay with flowers. The outer rails are literally on the edge of the wood, and no more secluded spot can be imagined than this--the favourite residence of their Majesties. His Majesty the late King also preferred this residence to those more immediately near or in towns, and it was here he breathed his last.

What I see of the interior is superbly grand, but it is more to the purpose that I have the honour of seeing their Majesties during the day, and the opportunity of some observation. The youthful Queen seems a most pleasing and intelligent-looking child, and is eminently child-like and unaffected in her manner and movements. Readers may be interested in knowing that, in addition to masters provided for Her Majesty's training, she has an English governess, under whose charge she is more immediately placed.

The Queen-Regent, as I have already said, much resembles her sister; not so tall, rather stouter, but with much the same gentle and rather sad expression of countenance. Strange that these two sisters should both become widows at an early age. One comfort they have, there is no very great distance between them; and though, of course, the Queen-Regent cannot leave her country much, there is nothing to prevent the Duchess of Albany going there; so a suite of apartments is kept for her at each Palace.

My interview with Her Majesty's Private Secretary is of the most pleasant, and I cannot but record my grateful appreciation of this gentleman's kindness and courtesy extended towards me throughout my stay in Holland; such courteous attention much facilitating my work.

Back again to Amsterdam; and the next day off in quite an opposite direction to Den Haag, one of the cleanest and most picturesque places I have ever seen.

Here the Palace was built by William II. It is in the Grecian style, and stands on the site of a former hunting-lodge, dating back to the 9th century. Facing the principal entrance is an equestrian statue of William II., at the back of which you note the church attended by the family. The entrance hall and staircase are lined with marble, the stairs themselves being of the same. Before proceeding up them, however, we go through to the pretty and well-kept garden and take a view from the lawn. In the right wing of the building as it faces you, the Queen's private apartments are situated, the left wing containing the rooms occupied by the Duchess of Albany when at The Hague.

Now we pass up the grand staircase, where I pause to note the Ionic columns, the ormolu and porcelain candelabra, a Siberian vase from the Emperor Nicholas, five immense vases from the Emperor of China, a painting of William IV., and one of Maria of Stockholm and family.

Leaving here, the first room I enter is the King's reception-room. This is a very bright looking and expensively fitted apartment, furnished in electric blue and gold, massive gold-framed panels, and a ceiling decorated in relief with arms and mottoes in gold and white. The chimney-piece is purest marble, the frescoes showing crowns, arms, etc. The candelabra are over-burnished brass and Dresden china, some being Japanese.

The next room is most interesting, for it is a small ball-room, the ball-room in fact of Her Majesty the Queen. It has a beautiful inlaid floor, a white ceiling worked in relief, crimson and gold curtains, and furniture of the First Empire, some of it upholstered in gold silk, with a variety of colours intermixed. Here are shown some priceless Sèvres china, and a present of vases from the Emperor Napoleon. Also I note a fine marble vase from the King's Palace in Luxemburg. On the wall are some handsome gold-framed mirrors, and from the ceiling costly chandeliers with two hundred and twenty lights. The mantel is exquisitely carved marble, with an ormolu frieze. On one side you will note a small piano; it is a French one, of very clear and fine tone, and beautifully finished in every respect. In this room Her Majesty the Queen may be imagined enjoying the balls given to the youthful aristocracy, something different to the State dances in the larger room; and, doubtless, by a long way, much more enjoyable. By the time the Queen can command the State balls, she will have commenced to feel the cares of her position; and will look back with real regret to the assemblies here, when she had merely to enjoy herself, a devoted mother observing the graver duties, her own greatest trouble, perhaps, being the acquirement of the tasks assigned by the governess and masters.

The large dining-room has some fine family portraits on its walls. The first you will notice is that of William II., on horseback, leading an attack; the artist (Keirzer) has produced a first-rate work of both man and horse. Underneath this picture stands the favourite horse of William II., one which carried him through numerous engagements, and earned from his Royal master a gratitude and affection that caused him to wish for his preservation in a position where he would constantly be reminded of him.

The ceiling of this room shows some beautiful relief carving of fruit and flowers, also some fine fresco work; the chandeliers here are massive, as is the furniture and other appointments. The room is long and of not much width, but lofty and well-lighted.

The buffet adjoining the dining-room has some very costly and, at the same time, some very interesting contents. The Empire furniture is draped in rich crimson silk, the walls being covered with silk brocade of the same colour. The chimney-piece of sculptured marble, with an ormolu frieze, holds some choice antique porcelain vases and a valuable Roman timepiece. A massive chandelier hangs from the centre of a ceiling wrought with the arms of the house--this chandelier being solid silver. It was presented by the inhabitants of Amsterdam, while two silver lustres at the sides of the fireplace were presented by Rotterdam. Two exquisite statues stand in front of the windows, one of Venus, the other Diana, midway between which is an immense porcelain vase on a pedestal. This you will note in the view given of the room. It has special interest just now, as it was given by Marshal MacMahon, whose death recently occurred, and whose funeral--a State military one--I had the opportunity of witnessing a few weeks ago in Paris.

The windows are of very fine stained glass, the different panes giving portraits of Kings and Princes, under each being depicted battles they had fought. Note this rare Florentine mosaic table with pedestal of ormolu; then we will pass on to the crystal room, an ante-room to the ball-room. Some immense candelabra of purest crystal at once attracted my attention; not only were they of the largest I had ever seen, but they were absolutely unique in composition: the pedestals in support were ormolu and marble.

The appointments here are again in the First Empire style. The view here shown is looking into the small dining-room, the private dining-room of their Majesties. In it there is to be seen a costly collection of miniatures, nearly a hundred and twenty in number, every one of them from the hand of Dutch masters. They are all beautifully framed in groups. In the photograph you will observe a finely carved side-board with some of these miniatures showing on either side. Also in this room you will find several specimens of engraving on brass and some Russian productions in malachite.

Now to the State ball-room--a nobly proportioned room, but of somewhat severe aspect Some good relief carving is shown and a splendid parquetry floor; also some costly furniture, over-burnished and upholstered in crimson with floral devices. No doubt it has a very imposing and gay appearance when lighted up and filled with guests. Nearly seven hundred lights are displayed, which would naturally cause a most brilliant effect. Somehow ball-rooms are never satisfactory when viewed in the day-time, unless you have an eye for proportions only; in that case this one could not fail to please, as it cannot be less than 90ft. long and is of magnificent height, added to by a glass concave roof.

The Queen's reception-room is prettily hung in crimson with designs depicting art and music; the furniture bright and handsome in crimson and cream. On either side of the fireplace stand some crimson velvet screens in burnished frames, the crown and arms worked on the velvet in characters of gold. In the accompanying view you will observe a large album on a stand; this was given to the Queen-Regent by the ladies of Holland. It is of leather, with ormolu mounts, on the covers being painted panels and flowers worked in silk, these flowers being surrounded with rubies and pearls; and at either corner is a large sapphire. The interior shows pages of vellum, with names of subscribers beautifully inscribed.

This room will, of course, be the one where the young Queen will receive when she commences to reign.

From here I went to view a suite of apartments, formerly the property of Queen Sophia, the first Consort of the late King. These rooms are still in the same condition as when Her Majesty died; they are very fine rooms, and contain a vast number of curios of every description. They are lined entirely from floor to ceiling with mahogany; the furniture, which is massive, antique, and beautifully carved, being also of mahogany and tulip wood. I find one of Erard's grand pianos standing in the boudoir, and am told that it was a favourite instrument of the late Queen. There are some fine specimens of vases: one an "Adam and Eve," some of Swiss make, and others of Dresden. Also I note an exquisite model of a ship, an inlaid Empire mirror, and other treasures too numerous to particularize.

The tea-room is another that I must make brief mention of. It contains some valuable souvenirs in the form of vases, some from the Emperor Napoleon (these are jewelled), some from William IV. of Germany, and some from the Emperor Frederick. Then there are others from Berlin and Potsdam, and still others of Sèvres. On the marble mantel is a very intricate French timepiece, and over it an exquisite silver-framed mirror. An inlaid mosaic table is a feature here. The worth of it must be fabulous; the design is marvellously executed. Pope Pius IX. was the donor. This room is really the tea-room for the Royal ladies when in residence. Music is again to the fore, and here Steinway is the favourite, one of his grand pianos occupying the place of honour.

Now I go downstairs for a brief survey of the private apartments of the late King. I shall not attempt to describe them in detail, but content myself with mention of one or two things I specially noticed. I started with the billiard-room, a good-sized room and well fitted; but obscured by the covers denoting non-usage. One curious article I must note. It is a clock and musical-box combined, giving out a variety of twenty-seven tunes. The visible part of it is a pure alabaster representation of the tomb of our Henry II, supported by lions couchant. Rather a strange model for a musical-box containing lively airs, is it not?

Then I pass on through the King's dining-room, a stately and richly-appointed apartment. On through the Ministers' room, and so into His Majesty's private sitting-room. Here I cannot but linger, there are so many treasures rich and rare, the chief of which consists in the elaborate cabinets and other furniture, all of tortoiseshell and silver, quite the best I have seen of its kind. Some of it looks as though crammed with secret drawers, and I stand before it wondering whether Queen Wilhelmina will be as anxious to discover and overhaul them as _I_ should be.

I could tell you a deal more of what I saw at this Palace at Den Haag, but, doubtless, have said enough to show you something of its wealth of appointments and costly treasures. One cannot help thinking what a sum all this has cost, and what it must take to keep up so many places; but the Royal Family of the Netherlands have well-lined coffers, as it is not only their own country that owns their supremacy, but they have also many dependencies in the Indies, bringing in enormous revenues.

I have mentioned three Palaces; I know of five; but will close with just a few words respecting a fourth, and a view of the same, which is charmingly pretty. This Palace is called "T'Huis in't Bosch," and is just a nice carriage drive from the town of Den Haag. It stands right in the midst of a beautiful park, with herds of deer and hundreds of gay-plumaged birds--a park that far and away surpasses even our vaunted Richmond Park--magnificent timber, dense undergrowth, wild flowers in profusion, and now and again winding lakes and streams, crossed by rustic bridges, and such views over hill and dale as would delight either an artist or an admirer of Nature. The above view of the house will give a good idea of its outside appearance. I have no time for interiors, or should be tempted to prolong this indefinitely. We have had a peep at the Palaces of Holland, and many of us will know more of the country and its reigning family for the visit.

Holland, with its youthful Queen, has a future we cannot wot of, but we all hope it is a prosperous and bright one, and we all agree in thanking Her Majesty the Queen-Regent for the opportunity of gaining this information, and wish for her daughter all the happiness and wisdom that she--the Royal mother--could desire for her.

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[_The Illustrated Interviews will be continued as usual next month_.]

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_Zig-Zags at the Zoo._

XIX. ZIG-ZAG BATRACHIAN.

The frog and the toad suffer, in this world of injustice, from a deprival of the respect and esteem that is certainly their due. In the case of the frog this may be due largely to the animal's headlong and harlequin-like character, but the toad is a steady personage, whose solemnity of deportment, not to speak of his stoutness, entitles him to high consideration in a world where grave dulness and personal circumference always attract reverence. The opening lines of a certain famous poem have without a doubt done much to damage the dignity of the frog. "The frog he would a-wooing go" is not, perhaps, disrespectful, although flippant; but "whether his mother would let him or no" is a gross insult. Of course, it is a matter upon which no self-respecting frog ever consults his mother; but the absurd jingle is immortal, and the frog's dignity suffers by it. Then there is a certain pot-bellied smugness of appearance about the frog that provokes a smile in the irreverent. Still, the frog has received some consideration in his time. The great Homer himself did not disdain to sing the mighty battle of the frogs and mice; and Aristophanes gave the frogs a most important chorus in one of his comedies; moreover, calling the whole comedy "The Frogs," although he had his choice of title-names among many very notable characters--Æschylus, Euripides, Bacchus, Pluto, Proserpine, and other leaders of society. Still, in every way the frog and the toad are underesteemed--as though such a thing as a worthy family frog or an honourable toad of business were in Nature impossible. It is not as though they were useless. The frog's hind legs make an excellent dish for those who like it, as well as a joke for those who don't. Powdered toad held in the palm is a fine thing to stop the nose bleeding--or, at any rate, it was a couple of hundred years ago, according to a dear old almanac I have. On the same unimpeachable authority I may fearlessly affirm a smashed frog--smashed on the proper saint's day--in conjunction with hair taken from a ram's forehead and a nail stolen from a piebald mare's shoe, to be a certain remedy for ague, worn in a little leather bag. If it fails it will be because the moon was in the wrong quarter, or the mare was not sufficiently piebald, or the nail was not stolen with sufficient dishonesty, or some mistake of that sort.

Personally, I am rather fond of frogs and toads. This, of course, in a strictly platonic sense, and entirely apart from dinner. A toad I admire even more than a frog, because of his gentlemanly calm. He never rushes at his food ravenously, as do so many other creatures. Place a worm near him and you will see. He inspects the worm casually, first with one eye and then with the other, as who would say: "Luncheon? Certainly. Delighted, I'm sure." Then he sits placidly awhile, as though thinking of something else altogether. Presently he rises slightly on his feet and looks a little--very little--more attentively at the worm. "Oh, yes," he is saying--"luncheon, of course. Whenever you like, you know." And he becomes placid again, as though interested in the general conversation. After a little he suddenly straightens his hind legs and bends down over the worm, like a man saying, "Ah, and what have we got here now? Oh, worm--_ver au naturel_--capital, capital!" After this there is nothing to do but to eat, and this the toad does without the smallest delay. For leisurely indifference, followed by a business-like grab, nothing can beat a toad. Almost before the cover is lifted, figuratively speaking, the worm's head and tail are wriggling, like a lively moustache, out of the sides of the toad's mouth. The head and tail he gently pats in with his hands, and there is no longer any worm; after which the toad smiles affably and comfortably, possibly meditating a liqueur. I have an especial regard for the giant toad in one of the cases against the inner wall of the reptile-house lobby. There is a pimpliness of countenance and a comfortable capaciousness of waistcoat about him that always make me wonder what he has done with his churchwarden and pewter. He has a serene, confidential, well-old-pal-how-are-you way of regarding Tyrrell, his keeper. Of late (for some few months, that is) the giant toad has been turning something over in his mind, as one may perceive from his cogitative demeanour. He is thinking, I am convinced, of the new Goliath Beetle. The Goliath Beetle, he is thinking, would make rather a fit supper for the Giant Toad. This because he has never seen the beetle. His mind might be set at rest by an introduction to Goliath, but the acquaintanceship would do no good to the beetle's morals. At present Goliath is a most exemplary vegetarian and tea-drinker, but evil communications with that pimply, dissipated toad would wreck his principles.

Why one should speak of the Adorned Ceratophrys when the thing might just as well be called the Barking Frog, I don't know. Let us compromise and call him the Adorned C., in the manner of Mr. Wemmick. I respect the Adorned C. almost as much as if he were a toad instead of a frog, but chiefly I admire his mouth. A crocodile has a very respectable mouth--when it separates its jaws it opens its head. But when the Adorned C. smiles he opens out his entire anatomical bag of tricks-- comes as near bisecting himself indeed as may be; opens, in short, like a Gladstone bag. From a fat person, of course, you expect a broad, genial smile; but you are doubly gratified when you find it extending all round him. That, you feel, is indeed no end of a smile--and that is the smile of the Adorned C.

But, notwithstanding this smile, the Adorned C. is short of temper. Indeed, you may only make him bark by practising upon this fact. Tyrrell's private performance with the Adorned C. is one that irresistibly reminds the spectator of Lieutenant Cole's with his figures, and would scarcely be improved by ventriloquism itself. The Adorned C. prefers biting to barking, and his bite is worse than his bark--bites always are, except in the proverb. This is why Tyrrell holds the Adorned C. pretty tight whenever he touches him. The one aspiration of the Adorned C. is for a quiet life, and he defends his aspiration with bites and barks. Tyrrell touches him gently, cautiously, and repeatedly on the back until the annoyance is no longer to be tolerated, and then the Adorned C. duly barks like a terrier. Now, the most interesting thing about the Adorned C., after his mouth, is his bark, and why he should be reluctant to exhibit it except under pressure of irritation--why he should hide his light under a bushel of ill-temper--I can't conceive. It is as though Patti wouldn't sing till her manager threw an egg at her, or as though Sir Frederick Leighton would only paint a picture after Mr. Whistler had broken his studio windows with a brick. Even the whistling oyster of London tradition would perform without requiring a preliminary insult or personal assault. But let us account everything good if possible; perhaps the Adorned C. only suffers from a modest dislike for vain display; although this is scarcely consistent with the internal exhibition afforded by his smile.