Esoteric Tittle Tattle With Bradford Colt De Wolfe! Societal Misadventures A Tête-à-Tête!

Bradford Colt De Wolfe, The Esoteric Curiosa’s residence gossip columnist who keeps close tabs on the pulse beat of scandal and gossip, both present and past; showcases through his column a mix of factual material on arrests, divorces, marriages and pregnancies, illegitimate or otherwise, obtained from printed official records, laced with more speculative gossip stories, rumors, and innuendo about romantic relationships, affairs, and purported personal problems. Bradford is well placed for his 'birds' eye' approach and his ability to not miss a thing is legendary, although short on 'ducats' he is long on his antecedents and perfectly suited for his role.

Culling from the newspapers of the past, Bradford provides us with 'a ring side' approach to sharing the ‘goings on’ of the famous, infamous, scandalous and notorious from today, yesterday and a century or two removed.

Settle in, sip your tea and enjoy Bradford's savory tittle tattle, whether fact or fiction, some well known, some not at all and no doubt forgotten by most, nothing escapes his well trained quizzical; monocled eye and no doubt our fellow esoteric will find his selections oh so tantalizing to rack over once again!  

 TROUBLES IN HIGH LIFE

King Milan’s Affairs & The Duchess d’Alençon

The Queen of Servia & Her Probable Future

The Campos Case

A Duchess Not Insane

The New York Times

July 7, 1887

PARIS, July 5. – If distance does not always lend enchantment it very often and very certainly gives a coloring to events entirely different to what they assume with those who see them when they happen.  Take the two recent abduction cases; that of Baron Raymond Seillière and that of Miss Martinez Campos; the Baron is represented as a much-put-upon martyr of parental greed for gold, whereas he is simply a lunatic, who ought to have been shut up any time these five years, and who is, very properly, sequestrated by his family to save then remains of his once splendid fortune from the sharks and sharper’s into whose clutches he had fallen; the Spanish spinster was the half consenting, half unwilling victim of a blackguard Chevalier d’Industrie.  The fortune of Señorita Mercedes, instead of amounting to $7,500,000, does not quite reach the sum of 5,000,000f.; instead of any one ‘ascertaining’ that her ravisher is the ‘Vicomte de Latour Garboeuf,’ everyone, from the outset of the abduction, knows that the creatures’ name was Mielvacque; that his father is a retired bailiff in the South of France; that he himself, until dismissed from office for outside debts, was a copying clerk at the Chamber of Deputies, and that his name of Lacour – not Latour – and Garboeuf were, like his title of Vicomte, self bestowed.  It has been a dirty business all through, managed by a band of kidnappers, not one of whom has a right to the patronymic which he puts upon his cards, vulgar plagiarists of Balzac’s Trieze, by whom heiresses are to be kidnapped into matrimony, and to whom a financial compensation is to be made from the dowries of the abducted ones. It was a joint stock company, Mielvacque and company, of which the members contributed according to their means – anything, from 2f to 200f, was accepted – and if you doubt the nature of the business please read the following letter of its Chairman, furnished by a quondam ‘pal’ who has turned State’s evidence:

‘My Dear Friend, I am sadly in want of clothes, for I am expected next week at the Countess X’s. Besides that affair I have another excellent one in view. The fortune teller Mme. Ludovic has helped me to the acquaintance of a widow living at Fontainebleau, and who has a least 600,000f. a year. She is an excellent lady, and who insists strongly upon by going there.  Two hundred francs would be welcome, for the journey to Fontainebleau costs 7f. 50c., and as much to come back, and then there are gloves and other things.’

This letter is signed by Mielvacque and can be produced by a lawyer who holds it, but it seems that the Fontainebleau excursion was a failure, so the members of the tontine went for credulous Mercedes, also a widow, but with a living husband.  Happy Mielvacque! Lucky de Lacour! Enviable Garboeuf!  I wonder whether Mme. Ludovic was the promoter of that affair also? There is nothing like high-toned acquaintances to assure success in Paris, and you have no idea of the number of marriages that are negotiated by fortune tellers and corn doctors.  The times are past since the priests were Hymen’s intermedians, and, as you see from the incident, the Cartomancians have inherited the influence lost by the clergy.

Queen Nathalie Of Servia

But the adventures of the Spanish girl, being ten days old, have ceased to attract attention and, just now, it is the Queen of Servia and her odyssey in the Crimea which give copy to chroniclers.  You know how King Milan, aspiring to play at Henry VIII in miniature, wants to repudiate the beautiful and impeccable lady whose enormous fortune he has squandered.  The Queen, by whom he has one son, refusing to submit to the caprice of her spouse, went to the Crimea, there to seek aid and protection from the Russian Court, where, given the admirable unity of the Czar with his Empress, her cause was gained before she had presented the recital of her wrongs.  How she was received the telegraph has told you, and possibly some telegraphists may have added, as I do now, that on her return to Belgrade in the course of a fortnight, the wretched puppet Obrenović will be bidden to choose between a reconciliation and an abdication.  Evidently he will keep his wife so as to keep his crown, but it is easy to foresee the ephemeral character of this ‘make up’ and to predict that the Royal House of Servia is not near the end of those lamentable scenes and miserable intrigues of which it has for some months been the theatre.

Milan has to do with a very determined woman, for Queen Nathalie has all the indomitable energy of her late father, Col. Keshko, who left the Russian service after a duel with Martinoff, by whom was killed the Russian novelist Lermontoff. Col. Keshko, one of the handsomest men of his generation, inherited a colossal fortune from his father, a very wealthy boyar of Bessarabia.  He was highly educated, of very polished manners, and a favorite in the highest social circles of every capital in Europe, where his adventures and duels were as sensational as any ever recorded in romance.  One of these last was with Prince Dolgorouky, the man who was so notorious for his quarrels with the Russian government and his libels upon the Moronzoff family.  The Prince gave a revolutionary toast at a dinner table, Keshko took it up, and Queen Nathalie’s father severely wounded his adversary, just as he had previously done with Count G. at Vienna.  Keshko finally married the Princess Pulcheria Sturdza from Moldavia, and from that moment his romance was confined to his fireside.  He was a devoted husband and father, and of his four children, three girls and a boy, the eldest is she about whom the continental Chancelleries are now so exercised.  Mme. Keshko died soon after the Colonel, leaving the orphans to the care of her sister, Princess Constantin Mouronzi, with whom as co-guardians were Messrs. Krista and Manonckbey, rich Bessarabian landowners, who so admirably administered their wards’ fortune that it reached an enormous figure, when was proposed to the lovely heiress the alliance of Milan Obrenović, a Prince in name, but really only a vassal of the Osmanli.

Great were the rejoicings at Belgrade over this alliance promoted by Russia, in which the Servians saw an earnest of future support in their projected war for independence.  But it was never a happy union; as far back as 1876, when I was in Belgrade, discord was rife in the princely household, where everyone admitted that the beautiful lady who received so courteously at the Konak was ever so much too good for the man whom she had wedded.  Her qualities and no one has ever credited her with a defect, were constant, living reproaches to the lazy, unenergetic brute who only inherited the low coarseness and cunning of his grandfather the swineherd, but lacked the bravery which made the original Obrenović a rival of Kara George’s in the first war of Servia’s freedom in 1828.  The predecessors of Milan were truculent ruffians, but they were brave.  Milan himself is a coward, and on every occasion when he was wanted he was not there, or if he did happen to get upon the scene of danger it was because he could not help himself.  On the other hand, in 1876, in 1877 and again in the Servo-Bulgarian War, Queen Nathalie was always in the front, setting the example of a courage and a devotion which have endeared her to her subjects, who language, highly metaphorical as it is, falls short in the expression of all the contempt felt, popularly, for this tool of Austria, who, were he a native of our sunny South, would surely be designated by some old colored lady as a ‘wuffless yaller boy.’ And so do not be astonished if you read ere long how the Servian crown has passed from the head, so little fit to wear it, of Milan Obrenović to that of his son Aleksandr, the Czar’s godson, with Nathalie Keshko as Queen Regent, and M. Ristich as chief counselor.  The example of Maria Christina of Spain is thus to show that the head of a woman can govern a nation and safeguard a dynasty.

And while the Queen of Servia is struggling to protect her rights against a debauched spouse two other ladies of royal blood are struggling against insanity; if not inmates of a madhouse the Duchesses of Cumberland and Alençon are hopelessly bereft of reason, or, at least, are so reputed, although for the Alençon Duchess reserves may be made, if gossip can be believed, and gossip is backed up by pretty good circumstantial evidence.  But nothing save sincere pity can be felt for the Princess Thyra, for whom the only hope of eventual recovery is the birth of her fifth child.  

Duchess of Cumberland

The Duchess of Cumberland, third daughter of the King of Denmark, sister of the Czarina, of the Princess of Wales, and of the King of Greece, was ‘getting on’ into the thirties or thereabout when she accepted the hand of the son of the late King of Hanover, of whom the Princess de Metternich use to say; ‘He is the best and most bred Prince in Europe’ – ‘Le Prince de mieux et le plus élève de l’Europe’ – in other words, he is a giant with perfect manners, and the only fit mate for the lady of his choice, who remained so many years an old maid chiefly because of her own Brobdingnaggian proportions. Their union was very happy; the Duke, at his magnificent domain of Gmünden, devoted himself to field sports and the Duchess took to hunting and shooting with passion.  But her nerves gave way, or rather became overexcited. She resorted to the use of morphine and – she is now under the care of a mad doctor at Vienna.

Duchess d’Alençon

I have said that there are doubts about the lunacy of Mme. d’Alençon, and that gossip, backed by circumstantial evidence, alleges another motive for her sequestration. Two months ago the story was whispered in the coulisses of society; even a Parisian newspaper gave it currency, but the d’ Orléans family and its belongings are so utterly insignificant, the acts and sayings of its members are so absolutely uninteresting to the mass of French people, and even of consistent French royalists, that it attracts little notice.  But now the Gazetta del Popolo, of Turin, on the faith of a letter from its Berlin correspondent, takes up the cry, and it has become permissible to repeat what scandal saith: The Duchess is not crazy, or rather is merely a monomaniac. She suffers from an eczema on the face – this everybody knows.  She was attended by a young doctor of Munich and the Duke haggling, after the manner of his race, over the bill, the Duchess was too grateful, all of which was discovered by the doctor’s who forced open his desk and seized a bunch of letters which can leave no doubt of the situation when the divorce case now pending against Esculapius comes into court, as the injured wife means that it shall, in spite of the intercession of the Duchess’s three sisters – the Empress of Austria, the ex-Queen of Naples, and the Countess di Trani.  This is not Mme. d’Alençon’s first escapade; when affianced to Ludwig II of Bavaria that match was broken off in consequence of her intrigue with an officer of the Royal Guard, and as you will understand the present line of defense is to be temporary aberration of intellect, all of which is edifying.

EX-KING MILAN’S ANCESTRY

He Has Less Royal Blood

Than Any Other Prince In Europe

An Illustration Of The Laws Of Heredity

The New York Times

September 3, 1899

ST. PETERSBURG, Aug. 8 – ‘No one is more useful to the cause of the Karađorđević than ex-King Milan himself,’ said Prince Karađorđević when interviewed the other day in Geneva on the subject of the present crisis in Servia.  There is little doubt that Milan is the worst enemy of the Obrenović dynasty, and that the course he is pursuing means the ruin not only of the dynasty, but of Servia as well.’

If the laws of heredity be taken into consideration, the career of King Milan is about what was to be expected from his ancestry.  The ex-King has about as little royal blood in his veins as any Prince of Europe or Asia.  The Bonaparte’s of the present generation, though generally looked upon as parvenus, are of aristocratic lineage when compared to the Obrenović family. One may, by taking a glance back two or three generations, easily find an explanation of the causes which have made Milan what he is.

At the beginning of the present century the Servian people were made up of ignorant peasants, who could neither read nor write, and whose principal wealth, besides their cornfields, consisted of herds of swine in the forests of oaks.  The Mussulman soldiers in the country formed a kind of aristocracy, the leading Servians being dealers of hogs.  The Christian Servians took advantage of a civil war between their Mussulman masters to rebel against Turkish rule, and in 1805, after a long siege, they became possessed of Belgrade and pillaged the town.  The rebel chief, George – nicknamed ‘Kara’ (the Black) by the Turks – was a retired dealer of hogs, who had become a non-commissioned officer in the Austrian Army.  It is from him that are descended the Karađorđević, whose present representative, mentioned above is the son-in-law of the Prince of Montenegro, and resides in Geneva.

During the Turko-Russian War of 1806-1812, the Servians continued their struggle for independence, but when peace was concluded between the Sultan and the Czar, in 1812, the Servian rebel forces, under Karađorđević, were annihilated by the Turks, who once more established their tyrannical rule.  During the next few years the Servians lived under a reign of terror, men, women, and children being butchered. It was then that a local Chief, Miloš Obrenović, an enemy of the Karađorđević, but, like him, a dealer in hogs, took up arms for his country’s independence.

When in 1818, Karađorđević returned to Servia he was assassinated by order of the Obrenović.  Two years later, having made his peace with the Sultan, Miloš Obrenović was granted the monopoly of the trade in hogs and the title of ‘Prince of the Servians in the ‘pachalik’ of Belgrade.’ Later on, to reward him for his neutrality during the Turko-Greek war, the Sultan made his title of Prince, hereditary.  From that time on Miloš took up his residence at Kragujevac and ruled the country as an absolute sovereign, taxing the people according to his will. Whoever was imprudent enough to complain of his tyrannical rule was murdered, and the report was given out that his death was due to Turkish brigands.  King Milan is a great-grandson of this Miloš

In 1839, Miloš was compelled to abdicate in favor of his son, Milan, who died when a mere youth, leaving the throne to Mihailo a boy of sixteen, his brother. Mihailo was dethroned in 1842 and replaced on the throne by a son of ‘Kara’ George, Alexander Karađorđević.  He, in turn, was dethroned in 1858 by the Skouptchina, which recalled old Miloš and restored him to the throne.  In 1860 Mihailo succeeded Miloš, but was assassinated in 1868 by the Karađorđević following, who thus revenged themselves for the death of their ancestor.

As Mihailo left no children, the Skouptchina appointed as his successor his grandnephew Milan, then a boy of fourteen. The country was then governed by regency until 1872.  This regency made an attempt to introduce a Constitution and manners of government modeled on the Constitutional regimes of Western Europe. Milan attained his majority in 1873, and in 1882 h e was recognized as King by the powers, a title which he has since proceeded to drag in the mud.

Such, in brief, is the story of ex-King Milan’s ancestry. As for the recent events in his own career, they are too well known to be repeated. His abdication, exile, divorce, and return to Servia having all been discussed at length.  What the life of the exiled monarch in Paris has been is also well known.  Under the title of Count of Takovo, that being the nom de guerre which he has made so illustrious, the ex-King has for many years been a familiar figure on the Paris boulevards, on the race courses, at Auteuil, Longchamps, and Saint-Ouen, where his noisy quarrels with the bookmakers have become celebrated in the annals of the turf.

It is this man, in whose veins flows the blood of a murderer, and himself educated among low and vicious surroundings, who practically rules Servia today.  This being the case, it may well be asked what hopes the Servians have for peace and good government so long as Miloš’ descendant presides over their destinies.

THE DUTCH ROYAL SCANDAL

 QUEEN WILHEMINA’S QUARRELSOME CONSORT

Evening Post

January 4, 1902

The unhappy developments of the Dutch Royal marriage were the subject of a cablegram recently published.  The following additional details, albeit they come through an American channel, will be of interest: -

AMSTERDAM, 29^th November

After less than a year of marriage, it is understood that Wilhelmina, the beautiful young Queen of Holland, will apply for a divorce.  Such is the gossip of the circle at Het Loo, where the Queen, deserted by her Prince, is slowly fighting back to health.

Violence, cruelty, and improper behavior will be the grounds upon which she will seek to have the bond between her and Prince Henry, son of the Grand Duchess of Mecklenburg-Schwerin, dissolved, according to a letter from one of the best informed correspondents in the Netherlands.  The Dutch already hate Henry, though the young Queen herself chose  him for her consort; what will they do when it becomes known the he not only neglected and quarreled with her, but actually struck her, and is responsible for the loss of their heir to the throne, even the gossips at the Hague dare not guess.

The Queen is still very ill, and the Prince has not come near her.  He is still, ostensibly, on a hunting trip, but the Court knows that he is actually in Germany, where he has been summoned by the Kaiser, who he still regards as ‘Oberster Kriegsmer,’ to explain his behavior that has brought scandal to royalty.

The departure of Henry from his Queen’s side followed a duel which Major Van Tets, Adjutant of the Royal Household, was wounded unto death.  There has been a royal quarrel at the palace over Her Majesty’s persistent refusal to pay the debts of her consort, some of which were incurred in a manner that aroused Queen Wilhelmina’s every feeling as a Queen and a wife.  Then it was that Prince Henry actually struck her.  Major Van Tets had the courage to interfere, and he is now lying at death’s door with a wound in the stomach.  The duel is the least condemnatory of the stories that account for the household adjutant’s wound.  Another widely circulated story is that Prince Henry, infuriated at the Major’s interference, assailed him there and then, and that the gallant solider, who had not hesitated to protect his Queen, could not bring himself to defend his life against his sovereign’s consort’s attack.

All these things are matters of gossip wherever the condition of the unfortunate little Queen is discussed.

That there have been many disagreements between Wilhelmina and Prince Henry had been known almost since, the wedding bells ceased ringing.  Their quarrels have on several occasions occurred in the presence of the ladies and gentlemen of honor at the Court.  There are many causes for the discord that has reigned at The Hague and at Het Loo, even without the perpetual firebrand of the Prince’s debts.  Two people more utterly unlike the Queen and her husband could not be found.  He is sullen and sulky, while she is a merry girl.  He is passionately fond of music, and is proud of a tenor voice.

He was head over ears in debt when she chose him for a husband.  Bills of all kinds harassed him, and he pledged the syndicate that held the claims against him to pay one-third within a month after he wed the Queen of Holland.  When he demanded that she give him the money to redeem this promise she flatly refused, and told him he would have to discharge his own obligations out of the allowance of 150,000 dollars a year which she made for him.  Her own income is 1,500,000 dollars a year.  Prince Henry does not get a cent from the Dutch Civil List.

The Dowager Queen Emma kept peace between them for awhile, and urged Wilhelmina to pay the debts.  ‘Love has nothing to do with business,’ was the young Queen’s reply.  Her sharpness of tongue is as famous as the stubbornness that is her greatest heritage from the House of Orange.

AMSTERDAM, 5^th December

With the view of allaying public indignation and excitement, semi-official intimations have been circulated to the effect that Queen Wilhelmina has forgiven her husband, Prince Henry of the Netherlands, the suggestion being that the public ought to follow suit.

Since Prince Henry returned to Het Loo the Queen and he have been dining together, and gradually resuming normal relations.  Yesterday they walked together, and afterwards drove in the castle park.  The relations between Prince Henry and the members of the Court are, however, very strained.  The former cordiality has been replaced by an attitude of frigid politeness on the part of the Prince Consort, and, apparently, the gentlemen of the Court are equally indisposed to gloss over recent occurrences.

The Dutch Government, and the Dutch Court are again strenuously denying the stories of matrimonial quarrels between Queen Wilhelmina and the Prince Consort but the scandal has become too public for any hope of hushing it up to remain.

According to some reports, a reconciliation between the Queen and Prince Henry was effected largely through the influence of the Emperor William and the Queen’s mother, who, in order to preserve an appearance of concord, even paid the Prince Consort’s debts.

The Dutch Ministers at foreign Courts continue to aver that the couple live in ‘an ideal happy union,’ and ‘are devotedly attached to each other,’ etc.

A MAD KING

RULES SPAIN

IT IS FEARED

Young Alfonso Is Conducting Himself

In A Manner That Indicates The

Presence of Insanity

ACTS BRUTAL TO THE QUEEN MOTHER

The Pittsburgh Press

July 12, 1902

Madrid, July 12. – The eccentric behavior of Alfonso XIII is causing the Royal household considerable anxiety for the future of the young King, who seems to combine the depraved tastes of his notorious grandmother with the irresponsibility of his half-imbecile father. After angering the military authorities and antagonizing the ministers, he is now on strained terms with the Queen Mother, whom he has repeatedly insulted grossly, and has estranged the sympathy of the family and of his Court b y the fondness he has developed for low associates.

The household has made desperate efforts to conceal these facts, and prevent a public scandal, but a portion of the truth has nevertheless leaked out in social circles here.  The King’s attitude toward the Queen Mother is the most severely criticized part of his conduct, for he seems to have lost all sense of respect due to her, he curses  her in the language of a coal heaver, even though servants and others may be present.  The King will have it clearly understood that his word is supreme, and at the most trifling opposition to his whims he becomes grossly abusive. He has frequently spat in the faces of servants who have neglected his orders.

The most recent of these scenes very nearly resulted in an open rupture between the King and the Queen Mother.  One evening, shortly after dinner, the King, disguised as a laborer, had slipped away from the palace unrecognized by the guards, and had proceeded alone to the slum quarters of Madrid, where he had made up his mind to attend a workingman’s ball.  He passed the night dancing, drinking and playing, and returned to the palace at dawn in a half intoxicated condition.

The Queen Mother, acquainted of his mysterious disappearance from the palace, had spent the night in agony, fancying him the victim of a plot.  When she heard the cause of his absence, she felt compelled to remonstrate against conduct so unworthy of a King.  The King, losing his temper, told her to mind her own business and respect his authority like the rest of his subjects.  The Queen replied that in the eyes of God the son owed submission to his mother. The King, in a passion, showered upon his mother all the oaths acquired from his low caste associates, and finally ordered her out of the Royal Palace.  The Queen remained impassive, the King cried violently: ‘I shall call my guards to throw you into the streets of Madrid!’

Topics Of The Times

 TROUBLES IN A PALACE

The New York Times

May 14, 1907

There is, of course, a certain naïveté very amusing, when one stops to think about it, in the assumption or supposition that royalty is somehow different from common human nature, and in the consequent surprise which we lesser folk invariably feel when something happens which shows that Kings and Queens and Princes’ and Princess’ are men and women, after all, getting pleasure and pain, joy and sorrow, out of just the same actions and reactions that give those emotions to the rest of us. Naïve or not, even the most fiercely democratic of us do instinctively take the difference for granted as long as we can, and are just a little shocked when the chance lifting of the accustomed veils shows us that royalty, except on ceremonial occasions, behaves – and misbehaves – in a most familiar and disillusioning manner.

The text or cause of these reflections is the special cable dispatch, prince in THE TIMES on Sunday, which told how the King of Italy has been having trouble with his wife’s relations exactly as do, alas! So many other men, young and old, all the way down the social scale, from palaces to tenement houses. It seems, according to Roman gossips, that the King is not as fond of is beautiful Queen’s family as he is of her – that her brother and sisters come visiting rather too often and stay rather too long to please him, and that he especially objects when they go out shopping and send the bills to him without any previous consultation to discover whether he wants to pay them or not.

The last straw, apparently, was the purchase of a ten-thousand-dollar automobile by Prince Danilo, the Queen’s brother, for immediately thereafter there was an exodus of there was an exodus of the too dear in-laws and something very much like a public scandal, for the Prince, owing to the undeveloped state of transportation facilities in rugged Montenegro, had to remain all alone for three days in a hotel where no preparations for his reception had been made.  As royal scandals go, this was a mild one, but many worse episodes would have done less to destroy the laboriously manufactured and maintained delusion that the occupants of thrones and of the steps thereof have no money troubles, and that even their domestic woes have a certain greatness and romance about them.  Sad to say, almost anybody might have had a row of this particular kind.

It is also rumored that the King of Italy has been manifesting a jealous disposition which the Queen finds trying to her temper, and that, since her relatives were driven away by unkind criticism of their bills and unkind refusal to pay any more of them, she has been inclined to sulk! One hates to speak, or even to think, of a sulky Queen, but the King should have remembered that Montenegro is not a country famous for the gentle and submissive nature of its inhabitants.   

 OUTRAGE THE SENSIBILITIES OF A BLUE BLOODED LADY

CAVALIERI AS GUEST

SHOCKS ARISTOCRAT

Princess Di Teano, Born Colonna

Left Duchess Of Sutherland’s

House In Utter Dismay

WRITES LETTER ABOUT IT

Donna Vittoria, Whose Family Has

Furnished Five Popes, Was Not

Accustomed To Meet ‘Such Persons’

Special Cable To The New York Times

The New York Times

August 23, 1908

ROME, Aug. 22 – Princess Vittoria de Teano has written from London to a friend here a most interesting letter of which I am sorry not to be allowed to give the text.  Princess di Teano is a Colonna of Rome, (Colonna di Paliano) that is to say she belongs to a family much older than many reigning houses, its nobility dating back over twelve centuries – a family which has given to the Church five Popes. Donna Vittoria married seven years ago the eldest son of Prince Caetani di Sermoneta, who enjoys the title of Prince di Teano, and whose mother was a Wilbraham of England. Caetani is also of a most noble family, which has had two Popes.

The Princess is tall and dark with perfect features, and were she dressed like her ancestors would be the perfect type of a Roman Empress.  She is a lady-in-waiting to Queen Elena, while her father is Prince Assistant to the Papal throne, a position which now obliges him to ignore the Royal Family of Savoy, although he was at one time gentleman-in-waiting to Queen Margherita.  With this blood in her veins, the Princess possesses proper pride.

In the letter to which I referred she wrote to her friend that the latter could easily imagine her horror when on going to a reception given by the Duchess of Sutherland she was told that the honored guest of the evening was Lina Cavalieri, the singer.  Now all Rome knows that ‘La Cavalieri’ began her career by selling flowers at the doors of the theatres and concert halls in Rome. Donna Vittoria described how embarrassed she was; but she soon recovered her presence of mind and immediately left the house, remarking that she was not accustomed to meeting such persons. She afterward understood that King Edward, having heard of the incident, had said that she was perfectly right.

New Yorkers will, of course, remember the Venetian festa which was given in honor of the Duchess of Sutherland by Mrs. Benjamin Guinness (nee Buckeley) during the opera season of last Winter at her house, 8 Washington Square, and at which Lina Cavalieri was the stellar attraction.  It was currently reported that the Duchess had imparted to Mrs. Guinness her desire to meet some of the shining lights in New York’s upper musical Bohemia and the Marchese di Bosco was asked to arrange matters.  There were also certain of Mrs. Guinness’ friends, who, despairing of meeting a Duchess in their own circle, obtained invitations to the Washington Square house on the night of the Venetian festa.

The rooms were decorated in Venetian style, and there was music and dancing, in which both the Marchese and Mlle. Cavalieri gave, in native costume, an exhibition of Roman dances.  Thus both British aristocracy and New York society rubbed shoulders with musical Bohemia and with each other, and all were satisfied.

VICTORIAN SCANDALS

TOLD BY COUNTESS

Lady Cardigan’s Book Startles

England Because Of Her

Frankly Told Stories

A PROPOSAL BY DISRAELI

But She Could Not Accept Him

Criticizes Queen For Objecting To

Marriages Of Widows

Special Cable To The New York Times

The New York Times

October 3, 1909

LONDON.  Sept. 25 – Decidedly the ‘book of the week’ has been ‘My Recollections,’ by the Countess of Cardigan.  A large edition was printed, but it was exhausted in a single day, and extensive search among the booksellers of London has failed to bring to light a single unsold copy.

Scandal is what has sold the book.  Lady Cardigan, who is now long past the threescore and ten years of the prophet, has had probably a unique experience of Victorian society. She still rejoices in a remarkable memory, and as she was a diligent gossip in her younger days she has served up to for her readers an amount of tittle-tattle which has possibly not been published within the covers of a book since Brantôine wrote his famous ‘Vie des Dames Galantes.’ There are few of the ladies in the Countess of Cardigan’s ‘Recollections’ who, according to her account of them, might, not have figured in the French Chevalier’s.  All her men, too, are gallant to a degree, and Lady Cardigan, if all that is said is true, is a pretty good judge of men.

All the reviews published on the morning ‘My Recollections’ was sent out to the booksellers contained explanations that many of the stories told by the authoress were not of a nature to bear reproduction in the pages of respectable journals.  Others have the air of being adaptations of certain familiar smoking room stories.  To some of these the authoress has not hesitated to affix names.

Lady Cardigan declares that the Court of King Edward is ‘broader-minded’ now than it has been for years, and ‘the King does not exhibit those sometimes rather unkind and inconsistent peculiarities which were shown by his mother.’ She thinks that Her Majesty’s dislike of widows marrying again was very remarkable, ‘considering that she was the offspring of a happy second marriage.’ She goes on to say:

‘The late Queen was most kind to me when I was young, but I fear the way in which I defied convention, before I married Lord Cardigan, did not prepossess her favorably to me, and my second marriage (with a Portuguese, Don Antonio Manuelo, Count de Lancastre, cousin of the Marquis de Soveral) greatly displeased her as by it I took the title of Lancastre, which she was so fond of using when she traveled incognito.’

Various other causes for Lady Cardigan’s unpopularity with Queen Victoria have been assigned. She possessed that fascination for the other sex which is some women’s chief ambition.  She had a goody list of suitors, including a Russian prince and two dukes.  Curiously enough nearly all of them were widowers.  Her most distinguished suitor was the Count de Montemolin, eldest son of the first Don Carlos, who was willing to renounce his chances of a throne to marry her.  The writers say she refused him, but gossip says not unkindly.  She declares that Disraeli proposed to her, and that she rejected his advances because his breath was bad.  Her account of this suit is as follows:

‘My hunting recollections would not be complete without including among them the occasion, in ’73, when I went to a meet at Belvoir and met His Majesty King Edward VII, then Prince of Wales, who was staying at the castle.’

‘I was riding my famous horse Dandy, who won the Billesdon Coplow Stakes at Croxton Park, and that morning I was much exercised in my mind, about a proposal of marriage I had just received from Disraeli.’

‘He had one drawback as far as I was concerned, and that was his breath – the ill-odor of politics perhaps!  In ancient Rome a wife could divorce her husband if his breath was unpleasant, and had Dizzy lived in those days his wife would have been able to divorce him without any difficulty.’

‘I was wondering whether I could possibly put up with this unfortunate attribute in a great man when I met the King, who was graciously pleased to ride with me.  In the course of our conversation I told her about Disraeli’s proposal and asked him whether he would advise me to accept it, but the King said he did not think the marriage would be a happy one for me.’

‘I lunched with the Royal party at Belvoir Castle, and as I rode home afterward I felt well pleased that I had decided not to become the wife of a politician.’

A grim story is told of the death of Lady Ward, who, as Constance de Burgh, had been a famous beauty:

‘On the evening of the day before her burial Lord Colville came to see Lord Ward.  They talked for some time, and then the widower suddenly turned to his friend.

‘Colville, you admired my wife?’

‘Yes,’ replied Lord Colville, ‘I did.’

‘Well, come and look your last on her,’ said Lord Ward, and lighting a candle he led the way upstairs.

Lord Ward

The room was full of shadows, and the flickering light fell on the lovely face of the dead woman. Silently Lord Colville stood by her, and his head ached when he thought of her fate.  Ward was watching him attentively. 

‘Still admiring my wife?’ Well, she was a pretty woman – but – you’d never credit she had such bad teeth.’ He put down the candle on a table as he spoke and raised his wife’s head from the pillow.

With cold deliberation he wrenched the jaws apart.  ‘I always told you she had bad teeth,’ he repeated.  ‘Look here, man.’ But Lord Colville had hurriedly left the room.

He told me afterward it was the most ghastly sight he had ever seen.

In a lighter vein is a story of the grandfather of the present Duke of Westminster, who, notwithstanding his great wealth, had the reputation of being rather mean: 

‘A story was told about his once looking at a pair of trousers his valet was wearing and saying:  ‘These are very good trousers.  Did I give them to you?’ ‘Yes, my lord.’ ‘Well, here’s a shilling for you,’ said the stingy nobleman.  ‘I’ll have them back again.’

Lady Cardigan tells a delightful anecdote of her uncle, Admiral Rous, the famous racing man:

‘Mrs. Rous was very dictatorial, and I remember one day after her death calling to inquire how my uncle was.  ‘Indeed, my lady,’ said the servant, ‘I may say the Admiral is a deal better since Mrs. Rous’ death.’ I believe the same answer was given to all callers.

Lord de Ros was a great gambler, who lived for a long time under the suspicion of cheating at cards, and was found out eventually.  Society cut him, and when he died soon afterward the following epitaph was suggested:

Here lies

Lord de Ros

Waiting for

The last trump

Among the points in the book which have been most roundly denounced by the reviewers is the suggestion that the royal paternity of George IV was doubtful.

THE STRANGE STORY OF A SOCIETY CLAIRVOYANT

One Who Teased Spirits Out Of The Unknown To Edify Royalty

Tells What His Clients Said And Did

The New York Times

February 12, 1911

One does not need to be a believer in clairvoyance to enjoy the ‘Recollections Of A Society Clairvoyant,’ just published in London by Eveleigh Nash of Fanside House and soon to be brought out here by the John Lane Company.

The clairvoyant is supposed to be a Frenchman, Frederick S., whose grandmother was named Elizabeth Poulyne, a confidant of the great Napoleon and called him ‘ma petite sorciere.’

In his ‘Recollections’ the author tells us that he was endowed with a sufficient income to live respectably and at the same time to study his chosen profession as a fine art.  It is a curious world he lives in and from which, with an absolutely feminine touch, he lifts the veil and reveals the curious crowd of credulous people who yearn to penetrate the future.

They appear from every rank of society from the beggar in the street to the monarch on the throne, or off it – there are who seek revenge for wrongs done them for forgiveness on account of wrongs done others by themselves, there are murderers, robbers and blackmailers, men and women who live by their wits, and men and women in love.  All come to him to know the truth before the truth, by the natural process of the world, can be known.  There is no doubt that, among a large number of persons who mentality has been developed along mystic, sentimental and hysterical lines, the clairvoyant is as seemingly necessary to them as the physician or lawyer is of practical necessity to others.  The vagaries of the human mind are infinite.  That they should reach out toward the supernatural is not to be wondered at.

Those creatures of destiny that imagine they occupy thrones by a right superior to the will of their subjects are peculiarly sensitive to the demonstrations of a person versed in the occult.  M. S. – states that he has been interviewed by several royalties or by their intimates, who brought him personal belongings for him to ‘sense.’ The Czarina of Russia, he says, firmly believes in dreams and omens, and he tells the story of a dream she had on the eve of the coronation at Moscow, sixteen years ago:

An old moujik covered with blood had appeared to her and exclaimed:

‘I have come to all the way from Siberia to see your day of honor, and now your Cossacks have killed me!’

‘The dream was so vivid that the Empress sent to know if any misfortune had occurred that day, but the Czar laughed at her apprehensions and, to ease her mind, he telephoned to the Minister of the Household and asked how the open-air banquet was progressing.  From him came news of the terrible disaster, which resulted in the loss of over two thousand lives, the catastrophe being aggravated by the attempts of the mounted Cossacks to restore order by riding into the crowd and using their whips and swords against the terrified moujiks.’

The Czar alone, it is said, will not be convinced of the value of clairvoyance. Possibly owing to his experience with the late John of Kronstadt, he has not faith in the abnormal, and he invariably says when asked his views on psychic subjects, ‘I put my faith in God alone.’

The German Emperor, M. S. – declares, like his uncle, the late King Edward VII, is very apprehensive of the number thirteen – but so are the tenants of New York skyscrapers, who decline to occupy a floor so designated – in connection with any entertainment, and more than once a subaltern on duty at the palace has been commanded at a moment’s notice to join the Imperial party to avoid thirteen being at the table.

‘The Kaiser is firmly convinced that he will die by the hand of an assassin.  This has been predicted to him several times, twice as a young man by Hungarian gypsies when he was visiting his friend the late Crown Prince of Austria at Galicia, and it is said that this conviction forms a constant topic of conversation between the Emperor and his friends.  Both the Emperor and Emperor Francis Joseph of Austria attach much importance to dreams, and insist that dreams have furnished them with premonitions of various misfortunes which have overtaken them, and they both regard Friday as a most unlucky day.’

‘The Emperor of Austria has peculiar forebodings of imminent disaster, and for some months before the assassination of the Empress Elizabeth he was a victim of ominous presentiments and frequently exclaimed, ‘Oh, if this year were but at an end!’

Empress Elizabeth 

This of course brings us to recall the late Empress Elizabeth, who M. S. – met at San Remo a few years before her assassination.  There he was asked to call on a certain Duchess and found himself in the presence of another lady, whose lovely pale face, air of distinction, beautiful dark-blue eyes, and mourning garb peculiarly impressed him.’

‘Oh, M. S.,’ exclaimed the Duchess, ‘I am glad to see you. Let me introduce you to a great a friend of mine who is interested in clairvoyance.’ And, adds M. S. – ‘The lady in black smiled graciously and we were soon discussing occult things.’ He told them the story of the White Lady of the Hohenzollerns which appears at the old palace at Berlin whenever a death is about to overtake a member of the reigning house, and how the late Emperor Frederick, who was interested in the subject, collected all the evidence he could about the White Lady for the purpose of placing it in the family archives.

‘Who is the White Lady supposed to be?’ inquired the Duchess.

‘She is supposed to be the spirit of the Gräfin Agnes von Orlamünde,’ I answered, ‘she murdered her first husband and her two children, as they constituted an obstacle to her marriage with one of the ancestors of the Kaiser.’

‘The legend comes back to me now,’ said the lady in black.  ‘I wonder, M. S. – if you can foretell my future.  It has been predicted that I and my two sisters will all meet with violent deaths.  I personally do not dread a sudden death, far better than to live and sorrow unceasingly.  I am a fatalist,’ she said, musingly, ‘what is to be – will be.’

‘Ah, Madame, yours has been no ordinary life,’ I cried, for I felt she had been predestined to trouble.  ‘Sadness has encompassed you for a long time, and grief unutterable has been your companion.  This I tell you, but I cannot tell you more.’

‘You will not,’ she said, with touching sweetness, ‘I know that you can see evil in store for me, but I respect your solicitude, and I will not ask you to disclose what you can see.’

‘Well, M. S.’ – interposed the Duchess, ‘you and my friend have had a gloomy conversation, and now I will tell you to whom you have been talking.’

I stared at her, and she continued. ‘This,’ curtsying profoundly, ‘is the Empress of Austria.’

It will be recalled that one sister of the Empress, the Duchess d’Alençon, met a tragic death at the charity bazaar fire in Paris, although her other sister, the ex-Queen Sofia of Naples, still lives and still anticipates a violent death.

One morning M. S. – was talking a walk at Sorrento when his hat blew off.  It blew in the direction of two gentlemen, the elder of who actually chased it a few paces, caught it, and restored it to its owner.  They fell into conversation and talked about Italy and the Italians.  A few weeks later, in Florence, M. S. – heard someone say: ‘Your hat is quite safe today.  I don’t suppose you know who ran after it that morning at Sorrento?’ His questioner was the gentleman who had accompanied the hat-chaser.

‘I haven’t the least idea.’ M. S. – replied. 

‘It was the King of Italy, King Umberto.  His Majesty made inquiries about you, and was greatly interested when he ascertained that you were M. S. – the clairvoyant.  He is staying here and I am sure he will command you to come and see him.’

And the King commanded, and M. S. – came and warned him against impending perils.  But the King laughed at his warnings and told M. S. – he would wait and see. In the following week occurred the tragedy at Monza.

The late King Leopold of the Belgians was another monarch who consulted M. S. - .  This was at Ostend.  ‘I cannot profess any respect for the memory of Leopold the Licentious.’ Writes M. S. – ‘He was the embodiment of all the vices of the vicious Coburgs, with very few of their virtues, and he was a crafty, unscrupulous old man, with money-making capacities.’

‘I psychemetized a letter for him, and he seemed very satisfied, but he backed out of having his crystal read and he really was most apprehensive about his future.  He was ‘drawn’ to common people, and he put me in mind of an elderly satyr; in fact, he was one pure and simple and he was always in his element in the coulisses of the opera where, true to his satyr like propensities he always surrounded himself with the Bacchantes of the Ballet.’

M. S. – was also consulted by Queen Nathalie.  He also met Mme. Draga, who was to become the wife of King Alexander of Servia, and King Alexander himself.  Once, at Biarritz, a Servian gentleman called on him with a letter to ‘sense’ –

‘The writer of this letter,’ said I ‘is a young man – a great person in his own country, but he is surrounded by treachery; plots are being woven round him, there is terrible disaster in store through a woman, and within a year he and she will be delivered into the hands of their enemies.’

The gentleman turned pale.  ‘Do not say such dreadful things,’ he cried. ‘I am Chedomile Mijatovich, the Servian Representative, and the letter I brought you to sense is one written by King Alexander.’

“Well, I answered, ‘I have only told you what I foresee.  Warn the King, and then perhaps he will escape this impending catastrophe.’

A few weeks before the murder of King Alexander and Queen Draga a lady came with a letter for me to sense and I had a plain vision of swift and sanguinary murder.  The letter in this case was also written by King Alexander.  She afterwards made an appointment for a gentleman, who came to consult me about his immediate prospects.

‘You wish to get a throne,’ I told him, ‘but although death will shortly remove the present occupant, he will be succeeded by another dynasty, and your claim will not be recognized.’

I heard afterward that my visitor was a direct descendant of the Obrenović, and according to his ‘rights’ should have been King of Servia.

In 1900 a lady brought him a glove belonging to King Edward to ‘sense.’ He told the visitor that the owner of the glove was very ill, but would live about ten years.  The episode is also related of another royalty, who may or may not have been Princess Ena of Battenberg, who was about to marry Alfonso XIII of Spain –

‘A few years ago I was consulted by a pretty, fair-haired girl who was accompanied by an elderly lady, and the latter told me that she must remain in the room whilst I read her friend’s crystal.  I said that it was not my rule to have any one present except the ‘sitter; and myself, but my client insisted that it was impossible for her to be left alone.’

‘I humored her, and when I read her crystal I could see a brilliant marriage in store for her, but I could also see that her wedding day would be a day of sudden death for others. I told her this, and also that her home would be far away from England among strangers in race and religion.  You will have six children, five boys and one girl’, I concluded.

‘My pretty client was quite delighted and she went away in high spirits.  I was talking about her to a lady who is persona grata at Court, and she remarked enigmatically that the Princess Ena had always been a little unconventional, but,’ she added, ‘I don’t say that your client was the Queen of Spain.’

If we are to believe M. S., the late Lady Westmorland, the late Lady Tweedmouth, M. Paul Blouet (‘Max O’Rell’), and Mrs. Sam Lewis were also his clients. 

‘Two of my clients who once afforded me much amusement live near Portman Square, London.  They are a well off childless couple, who profess great interest in the occult.  They used to travel a great deal, but one of their visits to Paris resulted in Mr. B. falling in love with a somewhat notorious chanteuse at the Ambassadors.  His wife was furious and I think she made a terrible scene with B., who refused to give up seeing his divinity.  However, life became so impossible that he had, willy-nilly, to return home.  His one idea when he got back to town was to try to entrap his wife in an intrigue.  Why he suspected her, goodness knows, as she was very much in love with him, but he spent his time going from one clairvoyant to another to try to find out something compromising about his wife.  Strangely enough, she had the same idea, and used to waster hours trying to discover his movements, and, unknown to each other, they used to consult me.  Mrs. B. has the money, so at last B., who’s crystal-gazing had only resulted in finding his wife above suspicion, made up his differences with her.  I believe they are quite happy now and, at any rate outwardly, they are a model couple.’

M. S. states that he has visited New  York, Philadelphia, Washington, and San Francisco.  In the last=mentioned city he found the psychic circle particularly well developed, and there he succeeded in preventing the home of a devoted young couple from being broken up by an intriguing woman.  One evening, when he was dining at the Waldorf-Astoria in New York, his host drew him aside and asked him what he thought of one of the guests.

‘Is he a great friend of yours?’ I replied.  ‘As, if so, I would rather not express an opinion.’

‘Well no he’s merely a business acquaintance.’

‘Then’, said I, ‘my opinion is that he is absolutely frothy, and nothing more or less than a brilliant swindler.’

‘Why do you think so?’

‘I cannot exactly say why, but I am sure that if you continue to know him you’ll regret it.’

‘H’m,’ said my friend thoughtfully, and he produced a folded paper which he gave me.  ‘Will you hold this and tell me what you get?’

I held the paper, and instinctively sensed that fraud and knavery permeated it.

‘Don’t have anything to do with the matter dealt in it.’

‘The paper relates to a valuable patent which the man you saw wants to sell me.’

‘It is not his to sell, he’ stolen it,’ I interrupted, ‘Wait, three days and you will see if I am not right.’

Two days later my friend came to me in a state of great excitement; he had received a letter warning him not to buy this very patent, as it had been stolen, and was being offered for sale under the real owner’s name. So I was quite right, and had the satisfaction of feeling that I had prevented an honorable man from being ‘done.’

It was in New York also that he met a man who believed that he was the reincarnation of Pizzaro. He had formerly been very wealthy, but had lost all his money.  ‘As he believed that the money had gone to pay debts owed by Pizzaro he was quite unconcerned.’  There was another lady who believed that she was the reincarnation of Mrs. Fitzherbert and this lady told Pizzaro of her belief. ‘I go to England every year on purpose to walk outside her old house in Tilney Street, Park Lane, because I once lived there. Say – what do you think of me? Ain’t I just extraordinary? Don’t you see the likeness?’

‘I gather,’ said Pizzaro with great deliberation, ‘that you conclude you are Mrs. Fitzherbert, but you can be assured that you are not.’

“But I am,’ pleaded the heiress.  ‘I’m just her height; I’ve her face and figure, and I’m always attracted to men called George.’

‘Well, I guess you can think it,’ drawled Pizzaro, ‘but let me tell you that if Mrs. Fitzherbert had actually been like you, George would have made tracks right away the moment he saw her.’

Another society girl caused a temporary split in the circle by her injudicious behavior.  Like, ‘Mrs. Fitzherbert,’ she was greatly interested in Pizzaro, who had conceived a sudden and terrible dislike for her.  We all ‘felt’ his attitude toward the visitor and tried to divert her attention from him. She was an insistent person, however, and rushed blindly to her doom.

‘Now,’ she giggled, ‘what do you think of me?’

There was an awful pause.

‘Well,’ said Pizzaro in a voice as cold as a blizzard, ‘you’ve mighty ideas, but you’ll hang to none, and don’t so click in writing to your friends. I’m through,’ and he walked away, leaving his interrogator in a furious passion.  She had a bitter tongue, and did her best to ridicule our meetings everywhere she went, I afterward heard that Pizzaro’s remark about her letter writing had gone home, for she used to write all the scandal she could possibly rake up, never troubling to ascertain whether it was true.  She married well, and is a prominent member of the Four Hundred, but she has few real friends, and is not much liked.

Without questioning M. S. – power or even his personal belief in it, the mere experience derived from having so many life secrets unfolded to him from such a varied assortment of mentalities must have enriched his knowledge of life and sharpened his keenness of observation to a wonderful degree.  His peculiar sensitiveness was instantly moved when he entered the museum of mummies at Cairo.  ‘The air was charged with conflicting influences of horror and peace, and countless dragging hands seemed trying to grasp me.  At one time I felt that the oppression would stifle me, and that the dead, torn from their violated tombs, were calling for vengeance on those who had desecrated their resting places.’ He also explains, ‘the terrible feelings that seize me when I am consulted by anyone who is about to die by violence.  It is perfectly true that in such cases I feel the symptoms of the nature of the impending death on my own body.’

There are other natures that make no impression upon M. S. colorless characters, which have come to him through curiosity.

‘But there are others whose coming rouses dislike repulsion, and antagonism in me.  Bestial creatures wrapped in mantles of worldliness and rapacity, gross natures, existing solely, for the world, steeped in the delights of the sense, whose better shelves have long since ceased to exist.  These men and women belong to the part of this London of ours which calls itself ‘smart.’ They consult me chiefly about their intrigues, their debts, and the thousand trifles which constitute life as they interpret it.  Their usual remarks are; ‘I say, don’t tell me I’m going to lose a relation just when the season begins,’ or else, ‘Look here, Mr. S., I hope you’ll see I’m going to have a rippin time with Mrs. ___, now that ass of a husband of hers is off big-game shootin.’ And yet, these people, corrupt in mind and body, are outwardly good to look at. The women are often beautiful: the men, well set up and well groomed, but under the fair exterior evil masquerades, and with them my crystal becomes a devil’s picture-book.

M. S. – does not believe in platonic love. ‘It is usually,’ he says, ‘the prologue to divorce and disillusion.’

‘There is a certain type of man who spends money on a woman he is temporarily infatuated with, and at first asks for nothing in return except gratitude.  His crafty idea is that gratitude will beget surrender in the long run, but 10 to 1 this sort of man is invariably thrown over before he has achieved his purpose.  He is usually a philanderer who talks a great deal about the low, side of human nature, which demands quid pro quo, and he pretends that his shocks his ideals of life. Everything he gives the lady he adores is plastered with platitudes, and nothing sickens a woman more.  She becomes at first suspicious, and then resentful, and gratitude flies out of the window and the platonic friend goes out of the door.  The lady is well rid of him, for it is much better for a man to avow himself a roué than to enact Don Juan in the guise of a friend.

M. S. – devotes an entire chapter to the adventuress, not the adventuress of the stage who sits on tables, smokes cigarettes, and tries to win the hero from the heroine; not, indeed, the female swindlers who impose on landladies, hotel-keepers, and church members; but ‘women who have held good positions in society and lost them through their own fault.’

The greatest sin, obviously that a smart woman can commit in her ‘set’ is to be found out and in consequence, rent to pieces by the halfpenny press.

And so, in conclusion, we are finally forced to belief that, whatever else he is, M. S. – is a gentleman of keen observation and with a gift of nothing the frailties of the flesh as well as the exaltations of the spirit and turning them to account – usually to his own, although it must be confessed that his persistent naïveté is only surpassed by his frankness.

NR

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