‘The mistress, Victoria, was a tempestuous beauty. She had flashing eyes, raven-black hair and sculpted scarlet lips. Her complexion exuded a rose-and-amber glow. She wore a scarlet dress that day. Very tight in the waist. Elbow-length gloves but bare legs. She sported a diamond necklace that had once belonged to Princess Clementine, Prince Cyril’s Bourbon grandmother.
‘Someone – the wife of the Austrian charge d’affaires, I think – drew a parallel between Victoria and Sylvia Varescu, the heroine of The Czardas Queen. The Kalman operetta, you know. It’s on the joint subject of misalliance and true love. It was enjoying a tremendous success at the local musical theatre at the time. It was, as they say, all the rage.
‘Victoria was the proud owner of a bed that had once belonged to Napoleon’s mistress Josephine, complete with fragrant linen and pillows of unparalleled softness. I liked to sit on that bed when she was not around – but that was later, when I became their nanny. Sorry – mustn’t jump the gun!
‘Prince Cyril strutted about in a white mess jacket. He wore the Grand Cross Collar and Badge that went with the Order of the Bath. The decoration had been awarded to his late father, King Ferdinand, by Edward VII. My mother took rather a shine to his well-trimmed moustache, much to my father’s annoyance. My mother thought Cyril looked like a character out of The Chocolate Soldier. In my father’s opinion he looked like a bounder.
‘The presence of the badling – poor little Clemmie – was causing particular tension. The Queen, puritanical, Catholic, Italian-born Giovanna, had been driven to distraction by her brother-in-law’s indiscretions. She cared an awful lot what Sofia high society might be saying. Rather suburban of her to mind, I remember my mother saying. Well, Sofia high society, like most enclosed high societies, had more than its fair share of busybodies, gossips and intriguers. I imagine little else was being discussed that day but the mistress and the badling.
‘Giovanna sported a sort of redingote of pale moth-coloured chiffon with a pelisse covered in solid sequins, a big pearl and diamond necklace and tiara. She only needed a wand to fly to the top of a Christmas tree! But her expression was sour – oh so sour – not fairy-like at all! She was said to be controlling and manipulative and to demand absolute conformity to her narrow views.
‘Hundred of photos were taken that day and they later appeared in various illustrated Continental magazines. I cut them all out and pasted them in my scrapbook. All gone now, alas, vanished without a trace!
‘What was King Boris’ reaction to the badling’s presence? Well, in characteristic style he pretended he hadn’t noticed anything amiss. He went on walking about rather stiffly, smiling, shaking hands, making small talk.
‘The King was a thin, mild-mannered man with a high balding forehead, and, like his younger brother, he sported a well-trimmed dark moustache. He was a decent chap, but scarcely an entertaining one. His two much-publicized passions were for steam trains and Bavarian cream, but he was best known for never telling people what he really thought.
‘The King was dressed in a white general’s uniform and had white gloves on. He was covered in glittering decorations and had a sheathed sabre at his right thigh. Good thing too – otherwise he might have been mistaken for a bank manager taking it easy at some Continental spa!
‘The palace was adorned with flags of all sizes. Brightly coloured tapestries hung from the windows and the balconies. There were flowers everywhere – white freesias, lilies of the valley, parrot tulips, pansies, morning glory and roses. A hussar band played a pot-pourri of Viennese waltzes and polkas. Trays of chilled champagne were carried round by footmen in splendidly frogged silk coats and silver-buckled shoes.
‘The food was scrumptious. I remember something called norde pole – extra-special vanilla ice-cream on a pedestal of clear ice – and an “architectural” cake with ramparts fashioned after the bastions of the palace of Darius! I remember the great glazed slabs jewelled with scarlet cherries glistening on fine porcelain plates…
‘The next day the Sofia papers were to describe the event in the most gushing of terms. “A scene of profuse hospitality and festivity… a most elegant repast… a brilliant display of loveliness, beauty and style”.
‘I believe it was the kind of saccharine prose that was churned out on every grand occasion of the time.’
11
Smiles of a Summer Day
‘It was a sweltering hot kind of day. The thermometer had climbed to eighty-six degrees! I don’t think anyone was really surprised when Fraulein Guldenhove groaned, clutched at her bosom and pitched forward in a dead faint, like some felled oak. There was a commotion. People rushed towards her. I think someone pushed the pram, causing Clemmie to start crying.
‘It was no ordinary crying, Tancred. You’ve never heard anything like it. The badling was bawling – screaming his tiny head off. The badling was notoriously sensitive – might have been a baby oyster, was how the Austrian military attache put it – I believe he suffered from colic – I mean the badling, not the Austrian military attache. Various flunkeys and ladies-in-waiting tried ineffectually to calm him down, but they only managed to make matters worse.
‘I was standing nearby, sucking iced lemonade through a straw. I saw Clemmie’s face turn the colour of a Seychelles sunset as he was passed round like a parcel from one pair of arms to another. No one seemed to know what to do with him. They put him back into the pram, but then he started making a noise as though he were breathing his last – gasping, gurgling, coughing, spluttering. Really, it was most alarming.
‘The band had been playing the Merry Widow waltz. They hadn’t stopped when Fraulein Guldenhove prostrated herself on the beautifully mown lawn, but now all the musicians leapt to their feet.
‘Victoria had disappeared a couple of minutes previously. She was seen storming out of the garden and stomping towards the lodge where she and Clemmie lived, following some acerbic remark made to her by Giovanna. I can’t say what remark exactly. The Queen always spoke in a low, flat voice, thinned by resentment.
‘Poor Clemmie’s face started turning a German-plum kind of blue. King Boris stood by, glumly contemplating the scene, tugging at his moustache, looking indecisive. (He frequently looked indecisive.) I surprised an expression of pure schadenfreude on Giovanna’s face. Giovanna would have rejoiced if the badling had swallowed his tongue and choked to death!
‘Prince Cyril’s eyes were terribly bloodshot. He flew into a rage and started swearing in German. His moustache bristled. He cut a fearsome figure.
‘It was at that point that I stepped forward. I stood beside the pram and picked Clemmie up. It was something I felt I had to do. What happened next was quite extraordinary. You have heard about horse whisperers, of course? Somebody told me afterwards I must have the same kind of “touch” where babies were concerned!
‘Clemmie stopped crying at once.
‘In a few seconds he was his normal colour once more. A smiling semicircle formed round me. Then the clapping started. Really, it was most embarrassing. I hate fuss. Fraulein Guldenhove was still lying on the ground, moaning, wretched woman, but I fear she remained unheeded. In later years she was to write a colourful account of life at the palace. I believe it became quite a bestseller in Liechtenstein.
‘What did I do next? Well, I took out my handkerchief and wiped Clemmie’s face with it. Clemmie smiled back at me. He then began to coo. He waved his hands in the air and laughed! His fingers brushed my chin.
‘That poor badling.
‘Sorry, Tancred – this always makes me a little emotional – no, I’ll be all right. Let me blow my nose ‘Prince Cyril marched up to me. (He must have been wearing stays because he creaked.) He shook my hand and patted my cheek with a gloved forefinger. He told me I was a gift from a kindly Providence. I had saved his son’s life and words could not express his gratitude. He then said that I should consider myself employed as his son’s nanny. I was to take over from Fraulein Guldenhove without a second’s delay. All boring formalities would be taken care of by his aide-de-camp, so I needn’t worry about anything.