As Berry and I Were Saying

by Dornford Yates

  13

  “Tell us some more,” said Daphne, “of Madame la Comtesse de B—.”

  “Yes,” said Berry. “She’s ‘Off-the-Record’ history, if anyone ever was. I only saw her once, but I’ve never forgotten her. She was long past her prime, but her mighty personality hit you between the eyes.”

  “She was a throw-back,” said I, “to another age. Her ancestors were English, and sailed for Virginia when Cromwell killed the King. She married young and spent most of her life in Europe. She was immensely rich in her own right: so was the man she married: and when he died, he left her everything. So when I knew her, money had ceased to count. She had an apartment in Paris, a mansion in Dresden, two lovely châteaux in France and a castle in Austria. Of the châteaux in France, one was modern and one was very old. The latter was sixteenth century, quite unspoiled: there were fireplaces there into which a car could have passed: much of its plenishing was the lovely English furniture which her forefathers had taken to Virginia in the seventeenth century. She seldom used that house, but she moved between her other residences, as she felt inclined. All were luxurious beyond belief. The servants were trained to a hair: and the table she always kept was such as I never sat to anywhere else. Her castle in Austria was more than forty miles from the nearest town, but her meals were the meals you’d hope for in Grosvenor Square: at breakfast four kinds of new bread were always served. Don’t ask me how it was done, for I’ve not the faintest idea. But that was the way she lived.”

  “That castle,” said Jill, “was Wagensburg in Blind Corner.”

  “Yes. The description is very close. But there was no great well, nor, so far as I know, an oubliette. But it wasn’t called Wagensburg. That was the name of a castle not very far away.

  “Madame de B— loved a house-party – not a large one, you know. Six or eight. And she always desired her guests to do as they pleased. But they had to be present at meals and—”

  “I feel,” said Berry, “that that order was cheerfully obeyed.”

  “–on one thing she insisted: that was that every night, before we went to bed, we should come to her private salon, to bid her good night. You see, when she left the table, she took the women with her and went upstairs. And, when the men left the table, they went to the smoking-room. (You could smoke there, or in your bedroom: but nowhere else.) After a while, she sent the women to bed: and when the men came up, she was quite alone.”

  “An autocrat,” said my sister. “I shouldn’t think the women enjoyed their stay.”

  “Not altogether, perhaps. If you remember, I told you she had no use for her sex. However, when we appeared, she was always alone. And then she’d make us sit down and she would begin to talk. Very soon we were conversing, and her contribution was so brilliant that it improved our own. You’ve seen a great actor or actress lift up a play, so that the rest of the company never acted so well. Well, it was just like that. I’ve sat there till two in the morning… All she said was so striking and her wit was so quick and so rare, that, however tired you might be, your weariness fell away, and soon you were talking and laughing as if it was eight, instead of eleven o’clock.

  “You could hardly name some eminent figure of her day whom she had not met: she could take you behind the scenes of Court after Court: and her personal magnetism held you as, I quite believe, it had held any number of far bigger men.

  “She had an astonishing drive: the consummation she desired, she almost always achieved. She was a most curious mixture of good and ill. She could be quite merciless: withstand her, and she would show you no pity. I’ve mentioned the play-boy before. He’d been her familiar friend: but he’d given her great offence, and she meant to send him down. Yet, she could show a kindness, very rarely encountered in this rough world.

  “I remember one summer evening in Austria. I was sitting on the terrace with her about seven o’clock. And far away on the opposite side of the Save which ran below, we saw a cottage on fire. We could do nothing about it, for, though it wasn’t much more than a mile from where we stood, that was as the crow flies: you had to drive several miles before you came to a bridge. But Madame de B— was very greatly distressed. Then she called a servant and sent for her maid and a car. ‘Poor people,’ she said, ‘poor people. They’re so very poor, the peasants: their home is all they’ve got. I must make them a present at once.’ I begged her to let me go, for she hated driving by night, and to get to the scene of the fire would take a long time. ‘No,’ she said firmly, ‘they’ll think much more of it, if I take it myself.’ ‘Tomorrow morning, Madame.’ ‘Boy,’ she said, ‘use your brain. I wish to spare those peasants a sleepless night.’ And go she did. I don’t know what she gave them – probably more than enough to build a new home. Dinner was very late, for it was fully two hours before she got back. But that night her eyes were shining.

  “I remember I said to her once, ‘Madame, you have a strange heart. One half of it is of butter: the other half is of steel.’ She laughed. ‘You’re perfectly right,’ she said. ‘Don’t come up against the steel.’”

  “I trust you didn’t,” said Daphne.

  “I tried my best not to,” said I. “But one of her relatives did, whilst I was there. He was about my age – say twenty-eight. He resented something she’d said or something she’d done – and he had a mean mind. He knew that she slept very sound: and he knew that every night sandwiches were set by her side, in case she should wake in the night and wish for some food.”

  “Splendid,” said Berry. “That’s the way to live. I wish she’d asked me to stay. And a decanter of port?”

  “No. She was most abstemious. The next morning, when her maid called her, remnants of one of the sandwiches lay on the floor. It had been partially eaten. She told me about it, and I suggested a rat. At once she sent for her maid. When the maid came, she told her to take me to her bedroom. When I came back, ‘Still think it’s a rat?’ she said. ‘No, Madame, I don’t.’ Her bedroom lay in the tower. No rat could ever have gained it, except from within. The floors and the ceiling were sound, and the door was of oak. ‘Frederick did it,’ she said. ‘Perhaps he’ll do it again. But he won’t do it thrice.’ I dared say nothing, but there was doom in her voice.

  “The following morning, at breakfast, she turned to me. I was on her right and Frederick on her left. ‘Boy,’ she said, ‘a very strange thing happened two nights ago. One of my sandwiches was eaten… A rat, no doubt. But I am a heavy sleeper, and I never heard a thing. But it left an unpleasant impression. I don’t like vermin about me, while I’m asleep. I thought he might come last night. But he didn’t. If he had, he wouldn’t have gone away.’

  “‘You were ready for him, Madame?’

  “‘No. But the sandwiches were. I put enough strychnine in each to kill a bull.’”

  “My God,” said Daphne. “And Frederick?”

  “I thought he was going to faint. He turned the most dreadful green that I have ever seen. Then he begged to be excused and left the room. Madame de B— looked at me. ‘Well, what about it?’ she said. ‘Madame,’ I said, ‘words fail me. Supposing…supposing he’d come last night…’ The Countess shrugged her shoulders. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘he would have been buried on Thursday. But the world would have been no poorer. He’s got a small mind.’ She looked at me very hard with those keen, grey eyes. ‘You think I’m bluffing, Boy. Have you finished? Then come with me.’ She led the way to her salon. There she unlocked a bureau. There was a small plate of sandwiches. She lifted one and opened it. The crystals were there all right. I swallowed. ‘You believe in rough justice, Madame.’ She nodded. ‘Yes. To do as he did was great presumption. It was also impertinent. Those are failings, Boy, which I have always deplored.’ And if Frederick had broken a leg that same afternoon, she’d have summoned a surgeon from Salzburg and nursed him herself.

  “Well, there you are. She showed me once again that it takes all sorts to make a world. But she was a notable woman – born out of date. She coul
d discuss any subject with high intelligence. She always spoke much bettet enough strychnine in each to kill a bull.’”

  “My God,” said Daphne. “And Frederick?”

  “I thought he was going to faint. He turned the most dreadful green that I have ever seen. Then he begged to be excused and left the room. Madame de B— looked at me. ‘Well, what about it?’ she said. ‘Madame,’ I said, ‘words fail me. Supposing…supposing he’d come last night…’ The Countess shrugged her shoulders. ‘In that case,’ she said, ‘he would have been buried on Thursday. But the world would have been no poorer. He’s got a small mind.’ She looked at me very hard with those keen, grey eyes. ‘You think I’m bluffing, Boy. Have you finished? Then come with me.’ She led the way to her salon. There she unlocked a bureau. There was a small plate of sandwiches. She lifted one and opened it. The crystals were there all right. I swallowed. ‘You believe in rough justice, Madame.’ She nodded. ‘Yes. To do as he did was great presumption. It was also impertinent. Those are failings, Boy, which I have always deplored.’ And if Frederick had broken a leg that same afternoon, she’d have summoned a surgeon from Salzburg and nursed him herself.

  “Well, there you are. She showed me once again that it takes all sorts to make a world. But she was a notable woman – born out of date. She could discuss any subject with high intelligence. She always spoke much better than I can write; and her sense of humour was outstanding. I’ve seen her laugh till the tears ran down her cheeks.”

  “I do hope,” said Berry, “ that Frederick saw the humour of that episode.”

  “I’m afraid he didn’t,” said I. “For two or three days after that, sandwiches were served at half-past eleven o’clock – and handed round. You should have seen Frederick’s face. I didn’t take any, either: but I wanted to burst with laughter, when they appeared.”

  “Had she any Borgia blood?”

  “Say, rather, Medici. She had an eye to a jewel.”

  “I can still see her pearls,” said Berry. “They were the very biggest I ever saw. They weren’t a rope, like Jill’s; but every one was the size of Jill’s centre pearl.”

  I nodded.

  “They were more astounding than lovely. They were strung twice a month. Two attempts had been made to steal them: after the second, she wore them day and night. And Borgia isn’t fair. She never had that outlook. And she was strictly moral – almost strait-laced. She would neither countenance nor relate a tale which was so much as tinged with impropriety. Only once did I ever hear her break that rule, and then she was relating an historical fact.”

  “Let’s have it,” said Berry. “Let’s have it. ‘A great lady’s lapse.’”

  “She was speaking of a lady who was in the direct succession to one of the greatest thrones. Of that particular Court, the etiquette was almost inconveniently rigid. She certainly found it so. From being frowned upon, her conduct began to give rise to grave anxiety. At last she was summoned before what I will call a Privy Council. She came gaily. The Monarch himself addressed her. ‘Madame,’ he said, ‘I conjure you to tell this Council the truth. Who is the father of your coming child?’ The lady smiled. ‘Sir,’ she said, ‘I haven’t the faintest idea.’”

  “What ever happened?” said Jill.

  “If you’ll forgive me, my darling, I’ll leave it there. Madame de B— was very illuminating on the Kaiser’s mentality. ‘He has always had the outlook of a vain-glorious and ignorant child. No one can tell him anything, because he always knows. And he must always be right. Let a man prove him wrong, and that man is doomed; for out of his own mouth, he stands convicted of lèse-majesté. The Kaiser has come to believe that he is indeed the All-Highest, who can say and do no wrong. His entourage regards him with supreme contempt. But no one stands up to him, for no one has any desire to cut his own throat. His everyday behaviour is incredibly puerile. His idea of humour is painful – and very often vulgar – to a degree. Let me give you two trifling examples…

  “‘Well-born children were sometimes invited to the palace, to play with his sons. They liked the Kaiserin. She has no brain, but she is motherly. Then the Kaiser would appear. He would stride to some hapless boy, take him by the shoulders and shake him. “What do you mean,” he would cry, “by having such a big back-side?” Then he would look round for the laughter, which, of course, always came.’”

  “If,” said Berry, “we had a vomitorium, I should repair there forthwith.”

  “Be quiet,” said Daphne. “It’s quite revolting enough.”

  “Her second example was this. ‘It is well-known,’ she said, ‘that, if he commands a force at the Army Manoeuvres, that force must always win. What is not so well known is that the Kaiser always breakfasts with the enormous Staff. Everyone has to be standing by his place, when the Kaiser comes in. Then he will take his seat, and breakfast is served. His breakfast always consists of two sponge-cakes and a glass of milk. One sponge-cake he will eat – and wash it down with the milk. Whilst he is doing this, he will cut the other sponge-cake into ten or twelve cubes. Then he will rise to his feet, and everyone does the same. Then he will call the name of a general or colonel at random and pitch a cube in his direction. This, the man will endeavour to catch in his helmet. If he succeeds, the Kaiser applauds his skill: if he fails, as, of course, he usually does, the Kaiser loads him with ridicule, calling him “Butterfingers” and the like. And so on, till the cubes are all gone. Then the Kaiser puts on his own helmet: and that, of course, is the signal to leave the Mess. A sponge-cake and a glass of milk do not take long to consume, and nine out of ten of his staff get next to no breakfast at all. But that does not concern him. Consideration is not among his failings. And it probably does them no harm, for most are too fat.’”

  “And that imitation mountebank,” said Berry, “who would have been rejected by the meanest circus, was the Emperor of Germany. I saw him only three times – always, of course, on parade. He was, first and last, an actor: but the rottenest actor on earth could never have failed in the part he had to play. The last time I saw him, he was driving through Regent’s Park. I was in a car, which had stopped, to see him go by. He was in a victoria and pair – a royal carriage, of course – with the Kaiserin by his side, looking exactly like a cheerful, old fashioned cook, and their daughter, with her back to the horses on the occasional seat. He was perfectly dressed – of course, by Savile Row: a grey frock-coat suit, and, I think, a grey top hat. He had an excellent figure and looked very well. That was in 1911, just three years before the war. And now go on, please.”

  “There isn’t much more to tell. She had so many tales which I have forgotten now. I can’t say she wasn’t wilful, because at times she was. Go her own way, she would: but she’d never force her opinion on any man. And she would always learn. Once I made bold to correct her upon some point of law: she accepted the correction at once and expressed her gratitude. No argument at all. And I was no expert. She knew a lot about horses, but nothing of cars: so she liked to be told. She was very quick in the uptake – could seize a point in an instant. And she was most punctilious: the slightest service must be acknowledged at once. But, as I have shown, she had this merciless streak… A very remarkable woman, and that’s a fact. And, if I may add a footnote, Madame de B— was kindness itself to me. The last time I ever saw her, she set her hands on my shoulders and gave me her cheek to kiss. I shall always value that honour, for that is what it was.

  “One more reminiscence. I was staying with her in Dresden in 1913, when a very big man came to tea. He was commanding one of the crack regiments – I can’t remember which. He came in uniform, for they never wore plain clothes. And his wife, with him. She was ‘the Colonel’s lady’ – no doubt about that. She was wearing a flannel blouse—”

  “I don’t believe you,” said Daphne.

  “My sweet, it’s God’s truth. That’s why The Caravaners rings – to me, at least – so terribly true. A beige-coloured flannel blouse and a tweed skirt, bagged at the knee. And white, cot
ton gloves, and boots: I think they were button boots, but I can’t be sure. They may have been elastic-sided, with buttons sewn on – or even painted on.”

  “That’s right,” said Berry. “I’ve seen them. Buttons painted on. That was the fashion just then. I wish I’d bought a pair. Banana-coloured boots, with elongated toes; elastic-sided, with buttons painted on. I can see them now.”

  “Her husband was point-device and perfectly groomed. His dark-blue uniform – frock-coat – was a beautiful fit. He was dark, which was rare, and handsome: tall and broad, but not fat. I think he’s the only German I ever liked. But he didn’t seem to be German, except for his wife. He spoke most excellent English and had a sense of humour – another rare thing.

  “After tea, we strolled in the garden, he and I. ‘Are you in the Army?’ he said. ‘I haven’t that honour, sir.’ ‘But you will be, when the day comes?’ ‘My yeomanry will be mobilized, sir.’ ‘Of course. Well now, look here. You may take it from me that war is a very strange thing. And you and I may very easily meet – in some place other than this.’ ‘I’ll take your word for it, sir.’ ‘Well, we may. And if we do, you and I, we’ll remember this afternoon… and I won’t kill you, and you won’t kill me.’ I laughed. ‘Yes,’ I said, ‘that’s a bargain.’ He smiled and put out his hand. I never saw him again.”

  “As certain as that?” said Jill.

  “As certain as that. He’d been in England, of course, and spoke so nicely of us. He didn’t flatter: I think his liking was real. I was, of course, a civilian. If I’d been a German civilian, he would have treated me like dirt. But I was an Englishman. So he treated me as an equal, though I was much younger than he. You couldn’t help liking the man – I wish I could remember his name.”

  “And his wife like that?”

  “Exactly. I haven’t overdrawn her at all. She was dressed for poor-district shopping before the first war. Not afternoon shopping – morning. Getting the cheese and matches and a pound or two of potatoes and Brussels sprouts. She only wanted a string-bag. And those were the best clothes she had: for tea with Madame de B— was a great occasion. If it hadn’t been, her husband wouldn’t have come.”