Our Family Affairs, 1867-1896Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
General
Our Family Affairs, 1867-1896
Benson, E. F. (Edward Frederic)
Benson family
He was democratic also towards foreigners. A tourist staying in one of
the respectable hotels round Constitution Square, for instance, was
quite at liberty to intimate to the Minister of his country that an
audience with the King would be agreeable, and in due course some
footman from the palace, in gorgeous well-worn livery, would bear a
missive with a tremendous crown on the envelope which informed him that
King George would give him an audience next day. Or, if you did not
express your loyal desire, it would perhaps be intimated that it would
be quite in order if you did so, and thereupon, on the appointed morning
you would put on your evening dress-clothes (rather green in the
sunlight), and a white tie, and a straw hat, and present yourself at the
palace door. On seeing this apparition the bugler stationed there has
been known to give one throaty blast, thinking that anyone so
ridiculously attired must be a royal personage, then, catching the
affrighted eye of the visitor, he recognized his mistake, and with an
engaging smile, saluted instead. You took off your straw hat (or if it
was winter your top-coat and bowler) and were ushered with a series of
obeisances into a small bare room, furnished with a carafe of water.
Then a door was thrown open, and, as in a dream, you advanced into a
small apartment with a purple paper and gold stars upon it, and found
the King. He always stood during these amazing interviews, and kept
rising on tiptoe with his feet close together, till the instinct of
unconscious mimicry made it impossible not to do the same, and he and
you seesawed up and down, and talked for ten minutes about his friends
in England. He had a long neck, and shoulders like a hock-bottle, and
when he dipped them it was a sign that he had sufficiently enjoyed your
society. He was very bald, and so also was the Crown Prince, who married
the German Emperor’s sister. Both father and son (though this will
hardly be credited) wrote testimonials in praise of some fluid which,
when rubbed on the head, produces or preserves a fine crop of hair. And
if the hair-grease did them no good, as it apparently didn’t, I hope
there was some sort of palm-grease that made their testimonial worth
their while.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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