Men and women caress me with their eyes—Some disrespectful sayings and doings of mine—First decided quarrel with Frederick Augustus—I go to the theatre in spite of him.
Men and women caress me with their eyes—Some disrespectful sayings and doings of mine—First decided quarrel with Frederick Augustus—I go to the theatre in spite of him.
Dresden,April 1, 1894.
I am afraid I wrote down some wicked things—wicked from the standpoint of the Saxon court—and though Queen Carola and father-in-law George know naught of my scribblings, punishment was meted out to me in full measure.
Of course, it's my "damned popularity," as the King calls it, that got me into trouble again. My carriage happened to follow one occupied by the Queen at a distance of some hundred or more paces along the avenues of theGrosser Garten. I had no idea that Her Majesty was out at the time, and certainly was dressed to please the eye. I can't help it. It's a habit with me.
Well, the optics of a good many of my future subjects grew long and cozening, like gipsies', when they beheld their queen-to-be; there was many a "flatteringly protracted, but never a wiltingly disapproving gaze," and those who liked me—and they all seemed to—shouted "OurLouise," and Hurrah. They shouted so loud that poor Queen Carola got plenty of auricular evidence of how her successor-to-be was loved by the people, byher, Carola's, people. And the poor old girl got so "peeved," she ordered her coachman to turn back and proceed to the palace by the shortest route, through the least frequented streets.
Frederick Augustus knew all about it before I reached home and was in a terribly dejected state.
"This has to stop," he said with a fine effort at imitating authority. "On Sunday, when we drove home from High Mass, you got an ovation while the King's carriage passed almost unnoticed. And now this affront to the Queen."
"Bother the old girl," I replied, stamping my foot.
Frederick Augustus got as white as a sheet. "That's the language of a—a—" He knew enough not to finish.
"It's the title by which Queen Victoria is known to many of her subjects."
"Who told you that?"
"I often run across it in the English newspapers."
"Jew-sheets!" roared Frederick Augustus.
"Since you don't understand a word of English, you couldn't distinguish the London Times from the Hebrew At Work." After this sally, I added maliciously: "I'm going to the Opéra Comique tonight. Come along?"
"You arenotgoing to the Opéra Comique," shouted Frederick Augustus.
"You don't want me to go, papa don't want me to go, uncle and aunt and cousins don't? So many reasons more why Ishallgo. I announced my coming and I will go, if I have to tear the ropes, by which you might bind me hand and foot, with my teeth."
I rang the bell and ordered dinner served half an hour earlier than usual. Then I went to my dressing room to inspect the new gown that I intended to wear at the theatre.
Girardi night! Girardi, the famous Vienna comedian! I never saw him. His humor will act as a tonic. Just what I need. I will die if I breathe none other but the air of this palace, that reeks with cheap pretensions, Jesuitical puritanism, envy and hatred, where every second person is a spy of either the King or George.
I must escape the polluted atmosphere for a few hours, at least, and laugh, laugh, LAUGH.
11:30 P.M.
I have seen Girardi. I have laughed. I saw the Dolores. And I don't blame Kyril a bit.
I face the music, but my husband runs away—Prince George can't look me in the eye—He roars and bellows—Advocates wife-beating—I defy him—German classics—"Jew literature"Auto da féordered.
I face the music, but my husband runs away—Prince George can't look me in the eye—He roars and bellows—Advocates wife-beating—I defy him—German classics—"Jew literature"Auto da féordered.
Dresden,April 2, 1894.
Chamberlain Baron Haugk, of the service of Prince George, called at nine A.M. and insisted upon seeing me. I sent out my Grand-Mistress, Baroness von Tisch, to tell him that "Her Imperial Highness would graciously permit him to wait upon her at half past ten."
"But my all-highest master commands."
I was listening in my boudoir and I went out to him only half-dressed, a powder-mantle over my shoulders.
"Her Imperial Highness will not have her commands questioned by servants," I said in my most haughty style. TheKammerherrknocked his heels together, bowed to the ground and retired. That's my way of dealing with royal flunkeys, no matter what their title of courtesy.
He was back at the stroke of the clock to announce his "sublime master" for one in the afternoon.
"I will be ready to receive his Royal Highness. My household shall be instructed," I answered coldly, though I dread that old man.
"You are not wanted," I told Frederick Augustus. "Better make yourself scarce." He didn't need to be told twice. "Undress-uniform," he shouted to his valet. "And send somebody for a cab."
"Why a cab?" I inquired.
He looked at me in a pitying way. "Women are such geese," he made answer. "Don't you see, if I left the palace in one of our own carriages, the King, or father, might notice and call me back."
"Oh, very well. And don't 'celebrate' too much while you are out."
I had the lackeys line the staircase and corridors. My military household stood in the first ante-chamber, my courtiers in the second, my ladies in the third when Prince George walked into my parlor. At first he acted in no unfriendly manner. He kissed me on the forehead and asked after the babies, and if he hadn't riveted his eyes all the time into some corner of the room—his stratagem when in an ugly mood—I might have persuaded myself that he wasn't on mischief bent.
But he soon began pouring out his bile. With a face like a wooden martyr he announced that he was not pleased with me.
"You are too much of a light-weight, too vivacious, too attractive to the mob," he said in his bitterest tones. "You are forever seeking the public eye like—an actress."
"I beg your Royal Highness to take notice that Imperial Princesses of Austria"—I put some emphasis on the Imperial—"while popular, never descend to jugglery," I answered politely, but firmly.
"No offence to your Imperial Highness," said George, "but you must understand once and for all that Saxon princes and princesses are bound by our house laws to the strictest observance of precedence. The love of the people naturally goes out to the King and Queen. Junior members of the Royal House must not seek to divert to themselves the popularity that is the King's own."
"I have always been taught to respond to popular greetings offered me. My aunt, the Empress Elizabeth, in particular instructed me to that effect," I submitted with great deference.
"Her Majesty didn't instruct you to make a show of yourself every hour of the day," hissed George, his eyes devouring the stove.
"I drive out twice, in the morning to go shopping, in the afternoon to air my babies."
George, unable to dispute me, abandoned pretensions of politeness or manners. He fairly roared at me: "You are travelling the streets all the time. It has to stop."
Whereupon I said in as sharp a voice as I could manage: "And Your Royal Highness has to stop bellowing at me. I'm not used to it. In Salzburg and Vienna gentlemen don't use that tone of voice and that sort of language to gentlewomen."
"Salzburg," cried George, "in Salzburg you got your ears boxed, but it didn't do much good to all appearances."
"Your Royal Highness," I answered, "my mother has her faults, but it's no one's business outside of her immediate family. And no one at this court has a mother's authority over me."
I saw that George was beside himself with rage. "If your husband," he snarled, "was as free with his hand as your mother, there would be an end to your frivolities."
"Your Royal Highness forgets what you admitted yourself, namely, that the indignities offered me while I was a child were bereft of beneficial results. And please take notice," I added, raising my voice, "I won't stand violence from anyone, neither from my husband—as you kindly suggest—nor from you, or the King."
George was too surprised to even attempt a reply. He evidently didn't know what to say or do. To avoid my eyes that were seeking his, he turned his back on me and stepped up to a little table laden with books. He studied the titles for a while, then, turning suddenly, held a smallvolume towards me. His arm was out-stretched as if he feared to contaminate his uniform.
"What have we got here?" he cried.
It was my turn to be astonished. "Why, according to the binding, it must be Heine'sAtta Troll."
"Atta Troll," cried George, and opening the book at random he read half to himself:
"This bear-leader six MadonnasWears upon his pointed hat,To protect his head from bulletsOr from lice, perchance, it may be."
He fired the volume on the floor and grabbed another. "What's this?"
"As the title will indicate to your Royal Highness, Nietzsche's Zarathustra." For the life of me I couldn't see any harm in this portion of my library.
George continued to rummage among the books. He acted like a madman. "What's this, what's this?" he kept on saying, turning them over and over. I thought it beneath my dignity to answer. I just stared at the fanatic.
After he finished his hurried examination, he took one book after the other and tossed it violently at my feet.
"Heine, the Jew-scribbler," he cried, aiming a kick at Atta Troll.
"Don't you dare," I said, "that book was given me by Her Majesty, the Empress of Austria."
"I can't believe it," shouted George, "that Jew-scribbler, the reviler of kinship."
"He never lampooned the kings of Saxony," I calmly remarked, picking up the volume. "Here is Her Majesty's dedication to me."
"Everybody knows the eccentricities of Her Majesty of Austria," shouted George. "Anyhow, who gave you permission to read such rotten stuff as this at our court?"
"Prince George," I answered, taking two steps towards him, "Duke of Saxony, the Archduchess of Austria takes pleasure to inform you that in her house she asks no one's permission what to read or do."
At this he turned drill-ground bully. "You are in the King's house," rang out his voice in cutting tones, "and at this moment I represent the King. And in the King's name I forbid you to read these obscenities, and in the King's name I hereby command that these books be destroyed at once."
Well, since he talked in the King's name I had no leg to stand on. I merely bowed acquiescence and he strutted out, turning his back on me as he went without salutation of any sort. I ran into my room, locked the door and had a good cry.
Laughter and pleasant faces for me—Frederick Augustus refuses to back me, but I don't care—We quarrel about my reading—He professes to gross ignorance.
Laughter and pleasant faces for me—Frederick Augustus refuses to back me, but I don't care—We quarrel about my reading—He professes to gross ignorance.
Dresden,May 1, 1894.
What's the use keeping a diary that is nothing but a record of quarrels and humiliations? After I finished the entry about my scene with Prince George, I felt considerably relieved. I had held my own, anyhow. But fighting is one thing and writing another. I am always ready for a fight, but "war-reporting" comes less easy.
The unpleasantness with George brought in its wake, as a natural consequence so to speak, a whole lot of other squabbles and altercations, family jars and general rumpuses, which I cared not to embalm in these pages at the time. However, as they are part and parcel of my narrative, incomplete as it may be, I will insert them by and by according to their sequence.
After George was gone I made up my mind that, his commands and threats notwithstanding, I must continue tolive as I always did: joyful, free within certain limits and careless of puritan standards. If the rest of the royal ladies, and the women of the service, want to mope and look sour, that's their affair. Let them wear out their lives between confessional, knitting socks for orphan children,Kaffe-klatsches,spying and tale-bearing and prayer-meetings,—it isn't my style. I'm young, I'm pretty, I'm full of red blood, life means something to me. I want to live it my own way.
I want to laugh; I have opinions of my own; I want to read books that open and improve the mind. I want to promote my education by attending lectures, by going to the theatre—in short, I don't want to become a dunce and a bell-jingling fool like the others.
If that spells royal disgrace—be it so. Louise won't purchase two "How art thou's?" at the price their Majesties and Royal Highnesses ask.
Of course, it would come easier with Frederick Augustus's help and support, but since he chooses to be bully-ragged and sat upon and, moreover, finds pleasure in licking the hand that strikes at his and his wife's dignity, I will go it alone.
I defy them.
Dresden,June 16, 1894.
I had another tiff with Frederick Augustus, but the cause is too insignificant to deserve record. I will rathertell about our grand quarrel following Prince George's visit. We dined alone that day, as he was eager to hear the news. The preliminaries didn't excite him much, but when I mentioned the book episode, he bristled up.
"You won't allow the King, or Prince George, to dictate what I shall read or not read?" I demanded. "My house is my castle and I won't brook interference in myménage."
"Do you really suppose," replied Frederick Augustus, "that I'll court royal displeasure for the sake of those Jew-scribblers? I never read a book since I left school and can't make out what interest books can have to you or anyone else. Where did you get them, anyhow?"
I told him that Leopold supplied my book wants. "My brother is a very intelligent man," I said, "and the books he gives me are all classics in their way."
"Go to with your book-talk!" he mocked in his most contemptuous voice. "I asked the director of the royal library and was told that each of the books, to which father objects, was written by a Jew. Let Jews read them. It isn't decent for a royal princess to do so."
"My brother isn't a Jew."
"But in utter disgrace in Vienna. No one at court speaks to him. He is head over heels in debt and the next we know he will be borrowing from us. As to those books, don't bring any more into the house. Royal princes andprincesses have better things to do than waste time on Jew-scribblers."
With that he violently pushed back his chair and left me, a very much enraged woman. He didn't give me the chance to have the last word.
Frederick Augustus seeks to carry out his father's brutal threats—Orders and threats before servants—I positively refuse to be ordered about—Frederick Augustus plays Mrs. Lot—Enjoying myself at the theatre.
Frederick Augustus seeks to carry out his father's brutal threats—Orders and threats before servants—I positively refuse to be ordered about—Frederick Augustus plays Mrs. Lot—Enjoying myself at the theatre.
Dresden,June 17, 1894.
The chance came later and with it the conviction that His Royal Highness, Prince George, didn't quite believe me when I told him that I wouldn't stand for violence, for tonight Frederick Augustus attempted something of the sort.
I had ordered my carriage for seven o'clock to drive to the theatre, and had just finished dressing when he stormed into my boudoir and demanded to know if I had taken leave of my senses.
"Not that I am aware of."
"But I hear you intend to go to the theatre—a princess in disgrace going to the theatre!"
"Aren't you coming along, Frederick Augustus?" I asked naïvely.
"I have no desire to lose my regiment."
"And I have no desire to sit at home and talk nothingnesses with the fools His Majesty appoints for my service."
"Take a care," cried Frederick Augustus.
"Don't be a noodle and a coward," I answered hotly.
"Louise, remember that I am an army officer."
"What has that to do with my going to the theatre?"
"It's the height of audacity to defy the King."
"It would be the depth of cowardice to stay at home."
"Take back that word, or——"
"I wish Your Royal Highness a very pleasant evening," I said, indulging in a low genuflexion.
Frederick Augustus got blue with rage. I saw him clench his fists as I swept out of the room, making as much noise with my train as I could manage.
"An out-rider," I commanded the Master of Horse who stood in the ante-chamber awaiting me.
"At your Imperial Highness' commands," bowed the Baron with the most astonished face in the world. We use out-riders, that is grooms in livery, to ride ahead of the royal carriage, only on state occasions in Dresden. But, of course, my orders would be obeyed even if I had demanded twelve grooms to attend me.
I was just going out, preceded by my Chamberlain and followed by my ladies, Baroness Tisch andFräuleinvon Schoenberg; there were two lackeys at the door and inthe corridor stood the groom-in-waiting, holding several lap-robes for me to decide which to take, when the Prince caught up with me.
"I forbid you to go to the theatre," he bawled in the presence of my titled entourage and three servants.
I realized at once that this was the supreme moment of my life at the court of Saxony. Either bend or break. If I allowed myself to be roared at and ordered about like a servant-wench—goodbye the Imperial Highness! Enter the Jenny-Sneak German housewife, greedy for her master's smile and willing to accept an occasional kick. The Prince had begun this family brawl in public. I would finish.
"I won't take orders," I held forth. "No commands, understand, princely, royal or otherwise. And be advised, now and for all time, that I will answer any attempt to brutalize me by immediate departure, or by seeking refuge with the Austrian Ambassador."
If Frederick Augustus had suddenly become Mrs. Lot he wouldn't have been more conspicuous for utter petrification and silence. He stared at me with wide-open, bleary eyes and if I had taken him by the neck and feet and dropped him out of the window, as his ancestor Augustus of the three-hundred and fifty-two took the "spook" sent into his bedroom by Joseph the First, he wouldn't have offered the ghost of resistance, I dare say.
"Your arm, Mr. Chamberlain, since His Royal Highness doesn't wish to accompany us." And I swept out of the ante-chamber and through the corridor, triumphant.
"Gipsy Baron" was the bill of the play. I knew only a few of its waltzes and I drank in the comedy and the pretty music like one desperately athirst. Kyril's girl, the Dolores, was very chic and looked ravishingly pretty, and brother-in-law Max isn't the dunce I took him for.
His Theresa is a droll dog, fair to look upon, dark and fat. It will take a lot of holy water to save her from purgatory.
Girardi made me screech with laughter. He is as funny as my father-in-law is mournful—a higher compliment to his art I cannot pay. Of course, actor-like, he appreciated an Imperial Highness' applause and looked up to my box every little while. I wish, though, he hadn't acknowledged my plaudits by bowing to me. It attracted general attention and soon the whole house was staring and smiling. The people seemed to be glad that their Crown Princess was enjoying herself.
George tries to rob me of my confidante—Enter the King's spy, Baroness Tisch in her true character—Punishment of one royal spy.
George tries to rob me of my confidante—Enter the King's spy, Baroness Tisch in her true character—Punishment of one royal spy.
Dresden,August 1, 1894.
Prince George is planning a devilish revenge. He threatens to separate me from my Secretary and confidante, little Baranello, whom I brought with me from Salzburg. She is an Italian, and, unlike most of them, as faithful as a dog. A connection of the Ruffo family, princes and dukes that gave the world more than one pope, the small fry Saxon nobility hate her, and George knows that he can't corrupt Lucretia by his paltry presents and ridiculous condescension.
They would send her back to Salzburg, if they dared,—anyhow, Baroness von Tisch is to be both Chief Mistress and confidential secretary. If she died of the first confidence I make her, she wouldn't live five minutes.
The King's House Marshal, Baron von Carlowitz, came to announce the change to me, but I knew, of course, that it was George's doings.
"Tell Prince George," I said icily, "that I appreciate the fact of being deprived of the services of an honest woman in favor of a spy."
I will "show" this Tisch woman, as my American friends say. Some three years ago Emperor Francis Joseph appointed a spy as attendant to my brother Leopold. Schoenstein, Baron or Count, was his name, I think. Schoenstein would rather bear evil tales of his young master to his old master than eat, and nothing would please him better than to meddle with Leopold's correspondence.
He stole as many letters as he could lay his hands on. Fished them even from slop-pails, or pieced together such as Leopold tore up and dropped in the cuspidors. When brother observed this, he used to tear up bills and the most innocent writings of his own and other people into little bits and planted them in Schoenstein's hunting-grounds. Appropriate work for alick-spittleto pull them out. But Leopold got tired of playing with this vermin, and it tickled him to make an example of the scamp. Hence, he allowed it to be observed by Schoenstein when he, Leopold, locked a parcel of letters from his girl in the cash-box.
The toad-eating Schoenstein burned with desire to copy these letters and send the transcript on to Emperor Francis Joseph. They would have made interesting reading to my old uncle who has given up cracking nuts since his teeth fell out. There is Kati Schratt, you say. Pshaw, Kati isas old, or nearly as old, as his Majesty and she isn't a Ninon de l'Enclos by any means.
To cut a long story short, Schoenstein could see but one way for getting those compromising letters: steal the keys and borrow the parcel for a short while. That's what Leopold was waiting for. Not half an hour after the keys had been abstracted, he raised the alarm. He had been "robbed." The archducal safe had been rifled. And he managed to catch Schoenstein red-handed.
"Send for the police," thundered my brother, "and meanwhile watch the thief well." Schoenstein was given no chance to explain and deemed himself lucky to escape arrest. My brother suspended him from service and made him go to a hotel while he telegraphed the story of the attempted theft to Vienna, asking the Count's immediate dismissal.
Of course, Vienna disavowed the dunderhead—royalty has no use for persons that allow themselves to be compromised—and he has been in disgrace ever since. Nor can he get another courtly office, for Leopold threatened the moment he sees him with a Highness to warn everybody: "Look to your watch and purse, we have a thief with us."
I jotted this down to remind me that Prince George's spy deserves no better than the Emperor's.
I am ordered to repair to a country house with the hated spy as my Grand Mistress—My first impulse to go home, but afraid parents won't have me.
I am ordered to repair to a country house with the hated spy as my Grand Mistress—My first impulse to go home, but afraid parents won't have me.
Dresden,August 10, 1894.
Order from the King that myself and children spend the rest of the summer at Villa Loschwitz, to remain until I get royal permission to return to Dresden,—the Tisch to act as chief of my household.
Banished! I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Smile, because I escaped theennuiof attending court at the summer residence of Pillnitz; weep, because my absence from court would be interpreted as a disciplinary measure.
I know Pillnitz is about as gay as a Trappist feast of carrion and ant's milk, but this princess doesn't want to be disciplined.
I shall tell them that I want to go home, but will they have me in Salzburg? Papa, of course, but if mother hears of my acquaintance with Heine, "who doesn't love Jesus,"—her own words,—she will undoubtedly side with Prince George against her daughter. It was Heine who wrote ofone of her ancestors, King Louis of Bavaria: "As soon as the monkeys and kangaroos are converted to Christianity, they'll make King Louis their guardian saint, in proof of their perfect sanity." And you don't suppose for a moment that mamma forgets a thing like that. As to Nietzsche, he will give her no conscientious qualms, for I'm sure she never heard of the gentleman, but my going to the Gipsy Baron "where two princely mistresses are gyrating"—horrible!
I hear her say: "I think Prince George is most considerate sending our daughter to Loschwitz. She deserved to be put in a nunnery and made to kneel on unboiled peas three times a day." And when it comes to anéclat, even papa may have to abandon me. Emperor Francis Joseph holds the purse-strings; and papa always lives beyond his means and Francis Joseph, King Albert and Prince George are fast friends. If papa quarrelled with the two latter gentlemen, they would immediately denounce him to the Emperor. The rest can easily be guessed.
Sorry, but papa is no hero in his daughter's eyes.
Myself and Frederick Augustus quarrel and pound table—The Countess Cosel's golden vessel—Off to Brighton—Threat of a beating—I provoke shadows of divorce—King threatens force—More defiance on my part—I humble the King and am allowed to invite my brother Leopold.
Myself and Frederick Augustus quarrel and pound table—The Countess Cosel's golden vessel—Off to Brighton—Threat of a beating—I provoke shadows of divorce—King threatens force—More defiance on my part—I humble the King and am allowed to invite my brother Leopold.
Villa Loschwitz,September 1, 1894.
Father had to give in. He is the poor relation, and a poor relation in royal circles doesn't amount to more than one among well-to-do merchants and farmers. He has no rights that others need respect and if he shows backbone he is given to understand that the head of the family has other uses for the palace or hunting grounds lent him.
"I would love to have you with me in Salzburg," he wrote, "but, dear child, it's for your best to learn to obey. Do it for your old father's sake."
Still I wouldn't give in at once. "I won't go to Loschwitz," I declared. And gave a dozen reasons besides the paramount one that I wouldn't go, because Prince George wanted me.
"I'm no trunk to be shipped hither and thither at someone's behest," I said.
Frederick Augustus took umbrage at the "someone," which he pronouncedlèse majesté, and to emphasise the fact hit the table with a bang, whereupon I pounded the table twice: bang-bang!
It hurt my hand, and didn't do Frederick Augustus any good. Nor was the discussion advanced thereby. For the rest: an exchange of names and epithets that smacked of the kitchen rather than thesalon.
"Too bad you exhaust all your energy with me," I said among other things, "while in the royal presence you act the docile lamb's tail."
He began prating about his character as an army officer again, and I reminded him that I wasn't the Countess Cosel.
"Who's that?" asked the big ignoramus.
"Never heard of the lady that refused to accompany Augustus to the Camp of Mühlberg unless he brought her a certain intimate golden vessel costing five thousandThalers?"
"A loving cup?" asked my husband.
"If you like to call it so."
"But why did you say you are no Cosel?"
"I meant to imply that I am not a prisoner of state and don't want to be treated like one. Hence, since a visit to my parents would greatly embarrass them, I decided to go to Brighton for the season."
"Brighton," he repeated, "and where will you get the spondulicks?"
"I saved up quite a bit of money. Guess I can manage the expense alright."
"Lip-music," cried Frederick Augustus in his polite way. "You have no idea what such a trip costs."
I assured him that I had made every inquiry and was able to meet all expenses. "We will go incog.," I added, "the babies and nurse and Lucretia. The Tisch woman shall have a furlough even before she asks for it."
"Is that so?" Frederick Augustus laughed brutally. "You seem to forget that you are subject to our house laws."
"And you seem to forget that I have a will of my own," I almost shouted.
Frederick Augustus jumped up. "Not another word on the subject," he commanded. "The incident is closed."
It suddenly occurred to me that Prince George had been talking once more to Frederick Augustus about the pugilistic performances of my mother. Perhaps he was trying to pluck up courage to beat me, a diversion not altogether unknown in the House of Saxony, according to the Memoirs of the famous Baron Schweinichen, Court Marshal andChroniqueur.
His diaries, covering a number of years, have many such entries as this: "His Royal Highness hit the Princess a good one on the 'snout' by way of silencing her tongue." Doubtless George would be delighted to have me "shut up" by some such process, but Frederick Augustus lacks the sand.
When he was gone, I indicted a letter to the King, advising him in oily, malicious, yet eminently respectful language that, not wishing to figure as a prisoner of state, I had decided to spend the rest of the summer abroad with my children. At the same time I intimated that I was well aware of being in disgrace and being regarded with ill favor by the several members of the royal family.
"If it pleases your Majesty," I added, "I will relieve a most unhappy situation by giving back his liberty to Frederick Augustus. I'll promise not to oppose divorce, or allow my family to interfere."
This letter I sent to the King, sealing it with my personal arms, of which there is no duplicate at court. After that I sent three telegrams. One to papa, announcing that I was going to Brighton; another to the Palace Hotel in Brighton; a third to the Minister of Railways, commanding that my saloon carriage be coupled to the Continental express night after next. I knew, of course, that the King would be informed of these messages in a twinkling.
I waited an hour for the Powers to move; as a rule it takes them a week or ten days. Exactly sixty-five minutes after sending my letter to the King, Frederick Augustus rode into the courtyard like a madman. He had been hurriedly summoned from the drill-grounds, I heard afterwards. He dismounted at the stairs leading to the King's apartments. Half an hour later, he slunk into my room, as serious as a corpse. There wasn't a trace of brutality in his voice as he said:
"A fine row you kicked up."
I didn't favor him by questions, but kept looking out of the window. He walked up and down for five or six minutes, boring his eyes into the corners of the room. Suddenly, at a safe distance, he delivered himself of the following:
"His Majesty interdicts your plansin toto. You will be conducted to Loschwitz tonight. Don't put yourself to the humiliation of trying to disobey. You are being watched."
"His Majesty's own words?"
"He refused to see me," answered Frederick Augustus, dejectedly. He acted as if pronouncing his own death warrant. "Baumann told me." (This is the King's Secretary.)
I almost pitied the poor fellow, but I had to hold my own.
"My dear Frederick Augustus," I said, "you can tell Baumann from me that I won't go to Loschwitz tonight; that for the present I intend to stay here and that, if theyforce me, they'll need plenty of rope, for I will holler and kick and do all I can to attract attention."
Maybe Frederick Augustus wanted to say something in reply, but open his mouth was all he could manage. Seeing him so bamboozled, I continued: "It is decided, then, that I stay, but I give you fair warning that I will skip to England sooner or later. I don't want you to get into trouble, Frederick Augustus, therefore inform Baumann without delay."
Frederick Augustus got blue in the face. He seemed ready to jump on me, crush me between his cuirassier fists. I held up my hand.
"Did Baumann tell you that I offered to accept divorce if it pleases the King?"
Frederick Augustus changed color. White as a ghost, he fixed his eyes upon mine, momentarily, and murmured: "Have we got to that point?"
He ran out of the room and a minute later was tearing up the stairs leading to the King's apartments. Lucretia says he returned within a quarter of an hour and tried my door. But I had locked myself in and refused to open. We didn't meet until dinner. Neither of us ate a bite, or said a word. Baumann was announced with the ice. He was all smiles, all devotion.
"His Majesty will be pleased to see your Imperial Highness in a quarter of an hour," he said sweetly.
Frederick Augustus was a painted sepulchre when I coolly replied: "Pray inform His Majesty that I am not well and about to retire for the night."
At this Baumann looked like a whipped dog. He probably thought it impossible for anyone to refuse to answer the summons of His Majesty. With the most downcast mien in the world, he seemed singularly anxious to render himself ridiculous. "Maybe the Crown Prince will do in my stead," I suggested maliciously.
Baumann grabbed at the straw and withdrew. A little while later a lackey came, summoning Frederick Augustus to Prince George. When he came back, he was all undone.
"Father treated me very well," he said. "He says the King regrets that your uncontrollable temper causes so many misunderstandings, and both His Majesty and father have no objection to your staying in Dresden if you like. Loschwitz was suggested because you and the children seem to need country air.
"As to your proposed visit to England, the King begs you to consider that such a journey at this time is liable to provoke a scandal which would reflect not only on you, on us, but on your poor parents."
The old story of the penurious relations, I thought bitterly, but on the whole I was well pleased. I had beaten and out-generaled them all.
"If Loschwitz isn't meant for punishment, I accept with pleasure," I said. "It's a very pretty place." Poor Frederick Augustus' face lit up. "But there must be an end to the talk about I being in disgrace. If the King is as friendly to me as he makes out, let him come and see me and the babies. As to summonses by Baumann or others, I won't accept them."
"Very well," said Frederick Augustus, and I saw that I had risen mile-high in his estimation, "when will it be your pleasure to leave for Loschwitz?"
"Tonight, if I have permission to invite Leopold for a week or so."
"Are you stark, staring mad?" shouted my husband,—"Impose conditions after the King moderated?"
"Go and tell Baumann I'll have Leopold or all is off," I said.
Next morning: Ceremonial visit from the Queen. The tip of her nose was redder than ever and she seemed prepared to weep at the flicking of an eye-lash. She gave me a list of her troubles, mental, physical, political, matrimonial and otherwise, since the day she was born, but said: "Obedience to my father, the King, and obedience to my husband, the King, has enabled me to weather all storms. You, too, must learn obedience, Louise. It's women's only salvation and especially a princess's."
I answered that I fully recognized my obligations tothe King. "I only object to being buffeted around like a piece of furniture."
"I know, I know," said the Queen, "and hope all is arranged satisfactorily. The King will be glad if you invite your parents to Loschwitz."
"I asked permission to invite Leopold."
"But, no doubt, your parents would take more interest in the children than your brother."
"I don't dispute that, Your Majesty. But if my parents joined me at the present time, people might think they came to condole with me or else to scold me. I want Leopold."
The Queen said she wouldn't dare mention Leopold to His Majesty.
"Well, then," I concluded, "I shall stay in Dresden, regarding Baumann's fine promises as mere talk."
The Queen went away with the air of a martyr, but three days later Baumann came and said His Imperial Highness was welcome.
A triumph all along the line. I left Dresden without seeing the King.
Frederick Augustus is at the manœuvres.
The Baroness is acting as my Grand Mistress.
I expect Leopold in a fortnight.
My correspondence is not safe from the malicious woman appointed Grand Mistress—Lovers at a distance and by correspondence—Fell in love with a leg.
My correspondence is not safe from the malicious woman appointed Grand Mistress—Lovers at a distance and by correspondence—Fell in love with a leg.
Loschwitz,September 8, 1894.
Baroness Tisch, now that she attained the height of her ambition, is beginning to show her claws. She is an infernal cat. Her skinniness makes her repulsive to me and her face gives everyone the impression that she just sucked an enormous lemon. She lisps and that makes me nervous. I feel like aping her when she isn't around.
She's after me like the devil chasing a poor soul and as I never address her except to command or reprimand, she tries to find out any secret doings, or thinkings, I may be guilty of by way of letters I write or receive.
According to the laws of most countries private correspondence is sacred, legally and morally. The late Field-Marshal, Count Blumenthal, wrote to his wife of the Crown Prince, afterwards Emperor Frederick, that he was a "d—— fool," but "as communications between husband and wife are privileged," no official cognizance was taken.
Otherwise in this petty kingdom and, as already told, in Austria, whose monarch, in family matters at least, holds to the "L'Etat c'est moi" maxim.
The King's spy, the Tisch, constituted herself post-office of Villa Loschwitz—a duty appertaining to her rank—and I wager she works the "Black Cabinet" to perfection. Of course, I am now careful in all I write and advise my friends to be, but I sometimes get letters from Unknowns, people that sympathize with me or have fallen in love with me. All women in high station have lovers among the lowly. I recall the Cardinal Dubois' yarn about Salvatico, envoy of the Prince of Modena, my kinsman of yore. The Italian was sent to Paris to conduct home his master's lovely intended,Mademoisellede Valois, daughter of the Regent. It happened that the emissary was introduced toMademoiselle'sroom an hour before the time set, when she was lying on a lounge "with one leg, almost naked, hanging down." Salvatico fell in love with the leg and exhausted himself in so many "Ah, ah's" of admiration and other love-sick stunts that the Duke of Richelieu, having older rights, said to him: "Rogue, if you had your deserts I would cut off your two ears!"
No man, except my husband, has seen my legs, which is a pity, perhaps, but the extremedécolletédemanded at certain court functions, especially in Berlin, gained memany epistolary lovers, whose homage I accept gracefully, but in silence, of course.
Still, a malicious thing like the Tisch, if one gives her enough rope, might arrange, on paper at least, to get me with child by a Lothario a hundred miles off, even as the children of Madame de Montespan and Louis XIV were credited to the Marquis, her husband, residing a hundred leagues away, at Guienne. Let me find her red-handed and she will fare even worse than Schoenstein.