did had turned out to be right; why should he not assume the initiative in politics? Not only did he leave the Kaiser uninvited, but he paid a visit to Paris-a state visit-and so pleased the great body of English Liberal opinion, which naturally preferred democratic France to imperial Germany.
Then in 1905 he invited the French fleet to Cowes and gave the French admiral and his officers a great banquet at the Royal Yacht Squadron Club when the Entente Cordiale was confirmed.
The great banquet that followed in the Guildhall only ratified the agreement, and when Admiral Caillard, driving through London, took off his hat to the statue of Nelson in Trafalgar Square, amid a cheering crowd, everyone felt that at length the two peoples were united in heart and in purpose.
In 1906 French officers from the General Staff came across to London and in consultation with the British military authorities fixed on the place in the north of France where the British army was to assemble if the Germans invaded France. From that time on there was a complete military understanding between the two peoples.
One little incident, as yet unrecorded, did a good deal to change King Edward's dislike of the Kaiser into contempt. It was rumored in London that the Kaiser had fallen in love with a lovely Italian: soon the report became clear and detailed; the lady was a fair, if not a super-subtle, Venetian, the Countess M… Whenever the Kaiser went to Italy he met her and spent some time with her. The scandal delighted King Edward. Eagerly he asked anyone who might know:
'Is it true? Do you know her? Is she really lovely? Are they devoted to each other?'
Question on question.
'Well, Sir,' came the reply, 'it is true at least that the Kaiser visits her whenever he can, spends every moment of free time with her: it is true that countless photographs of him all autographed are all over her rooms; and… '
'Tell me,' cried King Edward, 'is he taken in uniform or in mufti?'
'In both, Sir,' was the reply.
'Then he loves her,' was the King's comment. 'It is true. Oh, those moralists; they are always the worst…' and he laughed delightedly.
This discovery increased his self-assurance in the most extraordinary degree; he began to speak of himself as a diplomat, and French nobles, like the Marquis de Breteuil, and French politicians of all kinds flattered and praised him to the top of his bent.
Many streams added volume to the great current: the King's personal preference for the French over the Germans was the most obvious force; then came the influence of liberal England; but the main river was the individual rivalry of Germany, now challenging England in the most vital way.
Early in King Edward's reign people began to notice that the production of German steel was exceeding that of English steel; that German industries were competing on an even footing in neutral markets with English industries-beginning, indeed, to oust the English products from one market after another.
Experts went to visit Germany and came back praising German methods and German education; bodies of workingmen returned to eulogize German state socialism. Statesmanship, as understood in England, could not follow the rising tide of rivalry with approval. The Entente Cordiale with France was confirmed in form, and hardly had British politicians arrived at an understanding with Delcasse when the possibility of war with Germany was mooted.
Each year saw the bonds uniting England to France strengthened. The German Kaiser's visit to Morocco fanned the embers of suspicion, dislike and trade-jealousy to a flame. What had the Germans to do in Morocco? Why did the French stand it? The English press began asking: 'Isn't it about time that we taught the Germans their place?'
The storm clouds blew over, but a year or two later came the visit of the German cruiser Panther to Agadir, and everyone saw that events were ripening to a catastrophe. The Prune Minister of France, Monsieur Caillaux, told Sir Edward Grey that he would break off negotiations with Germany without ceremony if Sir Edward Grey would assure him of British support in case of war. Sir Edward Grey recommended him to wait, declared that England would support France in case France was attacked, but begged him to let the occasion be a German aggression. 'We must carry the opinion of neutral nations with us,' he said again and again, and finally, 'Wait; the time is not yet ripe.'
When Monsieur Caillaux consulted his Russian allies, they answered still more plainly that Russia was not ready-had not yet recovered from the war with Japan. But all the while the storm clouds grew heavier-the ill feeling between the peoples more pronounced.
King Edward never saw the storm break that he had done so much to conjure up, but after his death forces he had set in motion went on acting, and when Russia was ready the storm burst.
CHAPTER XV
I have omitted one or two incidents in the chapter on Prince Edward which I think I must relate now. When I was giving up my position on the Damien Fund Committee, which had become the Leprosy Fund, the Prince said, 'I find you too serious, Harris. What I really want are some more of your naughty stories; why not come up and dine tomorrow night and tell me some?'
Of course I went and told him a round dozen of humorous stories which he had never heard before and which amused him infinitely, whether they were old or new: I only remember one or two in particular. I told him the old chestnut about the first time the Prince de Joinville met the famous actress Rachel: he passed her his card after writing on it: 'Quand? Ou? Combien?' (When? Where? How much?) Rachel replied: 'Ce soir; Chez moi; Rien.' (This evening; my house; nothing.) To my astonishment, Prince Edward liked it so much that he tried to memorize it.
The second was better. There is a story told in New York of the friendship between an Englishman and an American who were out together one day on Long Island: they came upon a pretty girl fishing in a very, very shallow little brook.
'What are you fishing for there?' exclaimed the Englishman, 'There are no fish in that shallow brook; what can you hope to catch?'
She swung round on the rock she was sitting on and said cheekily: 'Perhaps a man.'
'In that case,' laughed the American, 'you shouldn't sit on the bait.'
The girl tossed her head, evidently not appreciating the freedom; and the pair went away. Half an hour later the Englishman burst out laughing. 'I didn't see your joke at first,' he said.
'Joke?' said the American; 'it was pretty plain.'
'I didn't think so,' said the Englishman. 'How could you know she had worms?'
I remember telling the Prince of the gormandizing habits of the English city folk and of the smells made at the Lord Mayor's banquet, corrupting the whole atmosphere of the great hall. He laughed but said it was a pity to tell anything against one's own country; he would rather forget it. And the story of Fowler, the famous Lord Mayor who made it impossible for Lady Marriott, at her own table, to sit out the dinner, seemed to him appalling. He hoped I would never mention it. 'We should forget what's unpleasant in life,' was his guiding rule.
'But sir,' I said, 'there are similar instances in France, though they are treated more lightly.'
'Really?' he asked in some excitement. 'Tell me one.'
'There is a story told,' I said, 'of Monseigneur Dupanloup, Bishop of Orleans, who was supposed to be one of the wittiest men of his time. He was at dinner once with a lady who made a peculiar little noise and then proceeded to shuffle with her feet on the parquet so as to cover the indiscretion with similar sounds.
''Oh, Madame,' said the witty Bishop, 'please don't trouble to find a rhyme; it is not important.' '
The Prince laughed but did not prize the witty word at its real worth.
There are two stories about the Prince himself which are really funnier and which should find a place here.
For several years in London he was really in love with a lady who had a title and who was extremely pretty and on his own level in love of life and humor.
