When one reflects that the "royal
caste," in Europe alone, numbers some eight hundred people, and
that the East is beginning to send out its more enterprising
crowned heads to get a taste of the fun, that beyond drawing their
salaries, these good people have absolutely nothing to do, except
to amuse themselves, it is no wonder that this happy land is
crowded with royal pleasure-seekers.
After a try at Florence and Aix, "the Queen" has been faithful to
Cimiez, a charming site back of Nice. That gay city is always EN
FETE the day she arrives, as her carriages pass surrounded by
French cavalry, one can catch a glimpse of her big face, and dowdy
little figure, which nevertheless she can make so dignified when
occasion requires. The stay here is, indeed, a holiday for this
record-breaking sovereign, who potters about her private grounds of
a morning in a donkey-chair, sunning herself and watching her
Battenberg grandchildren at play. In the afternoon, she drives a
couple of hours - in an open carriage - one outrider in black
livery alone distinguishing her turnout from the others.
The Prince of Wales makes his headquarters at Cannes where he has
poor luck in sailing the Brittania, for which he consoles himself
with jolly dinners at Monte Carlo. You can see him almost any
evening in the RESTAURANT DE PARIS, surrounded by his own
particular set, - the Duchess of Devonshire (who started a
penniless German officer's daughter, and became twice a duchess);
Lady de Grey and Lady Wolverton, both showing near six feet of
slender English beauty; at their side, and lovelier than either,
the Countess of Essex.
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