Secret Memoirs: The Story of Louise, Crown Princess Part 14

"Well, then, this is what he told House Minister von Seydowitz a couple of weeks ago: 'When I see one of these intending destroyers of the state and social order staring at me, hat on head and cigar in face, I doubly regret the good old times when kings and princes were at liberty to yank a scoundrel of that ilk to jail and immure him for life, giving him twenty-five stripes daily to teach him the desirableness of rendering unto Caesar that which is Caesar's.'"

Frederick Augustus was holding his hands to his ears when I finished. He ran out and slammed the door behind him.

CHAPTER XIII

UNSPEAKABLE LITTLENESSES OF PETTY COURTS

Another quarrel with my husband--Personal attendant to a corpse--Killing by pin p.r.i.c.ks--The mythical three "_How art thou's?_"--Unwanted sympathy from my inferiors--Pride of the decapitated Queen of France is in me--Lovers not impossible--Court to blame for them--My husband acts cowardly--Brutalizes my household--I lock myself in.

DRESDEN, _December 1, 1893_.

I saved myself the trouble to record events for two or three months. I expect my child by the end of the year and, believing in prenatal influence, it would be a shame, I think, to poison the unborn baby's mind by dwelling on the unspeakable littlenesses that make up and burden life at this petty court.

But I may die in the attempt of presenting Saxony with another candidate for appanages and honors, and this threat, hanging over every expectant mother, makes me take up my pen again. If I perish, let there be a record of my sufferings and also of my defiance.

It turned out that the Queen's and George's apparent acquiescence to my sinful popularity marked the deceitful calm before the storm. Frederick Augustus has not succeeded in gaining the King's and his father's forgiveness even now. As a military officer he is shunted from pillar to post, and the generals and high officials of the court treat him like a recruit in disgrace. Of course he blames me, shouting that I wrecked his career.

As if a future king need care a rap whether, as prince, he got a regiment a few months earlier or later.

"When you are King," I sometimes say to him, "you may nominate yourself Field-Marshal-General and Great-Admiral above and below the sea--what do you care?"

"It isn't the same," he moans. "I would like to have my patents signed by uncle or father."

"Antedate your papers," I advised, "who dare dispute the king? Didn't the Kaiser nominate himself Adjutant-General to his grand-dad long after William I lay mouldering in Charlottenburg?"

But Frederick Augustus takes colonel-s.h.i.+ps and his petty kings.h.i.+p of the future too seriously to see even the humor of appointing oneself personal attendant to a corpse.

As for me, if I weren't _enceinte_, they would send me to some lost-in-the-woods country house to die of _ennui_. But respect for public opinion forbidding drastic measures, George relies on a Russian expedient to humble my proud self and force me to submit to his meddling.

In the Czar's country, when a village resolves on the death of some obnoxious individual, they take him, or her, and bind the body naked to a tree. Then several papers of pins are distributed among the inhabitants, and each man, woman and child is asked to put a pin in the lady or gentleman, whom they must approach blindfolded. They stick the pin wherever they touch the body and if the thing leaks out are able to swear by all the saints that they don't know where it struck. The pin p.r.i.c.king is continued until the obnoxious one expires amid awful tortures and, while all contributed to the murder, none can be hanged for it.

In like manner George and his minions are trying to reduce me to the position of social and political corpse.

Court festivities and public acts, attended by the court, seem to be specially arranged to pillorize me and husband. We are invited, of course. We are next in importance to Prince George. Our entourage is more numerous and more richly costumed than that of the other princes.

Four horse coaches for us; Ministers of State waiting on us. I have train-bearers, pages, what-not.

But the King and Prince George cut me and Frederick Augustus in sight of the whole court, of the public in fact!

I don't mean to say that the "All-highest Lords," as they call themselves, treat us as air, or offer insult plain to the ear and eye--they couldn't afford to--nevertheless the stigma of royal disfavor is stamped on us. This is the mode of proceedings: Ceremony obliges the King to address each member of the royal family with the words: "How do you do?", in the German fas.h.i.+on, "_How art thou?_"

To princes and princesses that are in disgrace, this momentous question is put only once. Those in good standing are asked three times.

Ever since that September day when all Dresden did me honor, the King and Prince George have said "_How art thou's?_" to me and mine but once, whenever and wherever we met, and be sure there were always listeners to report the double omission.

At first it amused me; then enraged me; I don't care a fig now. But Frederick Augustus! Poor imbecile, he is eating his heart out about those two missing "_How art thou's?_" and though he looks splendid in gala uniform he acts in the royal, but ungracious, presence like a green recruit expecting to be kicked and cuffed by his noncommissioned officer on getting back to the barracks.

As to my entourage, it surrenders to royal disfavor even as Frederick Augustus: depressed faces, pitying glances. I could box their ears for their sympathy.

Am I not the great-granddaughter of that mighty Maria Theresa that ruled Austria and Hungary with an iron hand, lined with velvet. "_Moriamur pro rege nostro_" (We will die for our King), cried the Hungarians, when she appealed to their chivalry, her new-born babe at her breast. "_Rege_,"

not "_Regina_." They called her King. They forgot the woman in the monarch, yet I am treated like an insipid female always, never as the Crown Princess!

Let them beware. My full name is Louise Marie Antoinette. I was named after the Marie Antoinette of history--another ancestor of mine--and the pride of the decapitated Queen of France is in me! My namesake was satisfied when she read the Saint-Antoine placard of June 25, 1791: "Whosoever insults Marie Antoinette shall be caned, whosoever applauds her shall be hanged." Some day I will dismiss the cattle that now grudge me the people's applause and punish those that insult me.

Come to think of it, Marie Antoinette had not only pride and defiance, she had lovers too. Well, some day this Marie Antoinette may have lovers, and if it's wrong, let the recording angel debit my sins to the Saxon court.

Thank G.o.d, I am blessed with that truly royal attribute, ability to dissimulate. "_Qui nescit dissimulare nescit regnare_" was all the Latin Charles VIII knew, yet he made a pretty successful king for one who died at the age of twenty-seven.

I always act as if the King, and father-in-law George, had asked me not once, or three times, but a dozen times "_How art thou?_" I don't know anything about being in disgrace, I don't antic.i.p.ate being snubbed and when I am snubbed I don't see it.

The "all-highest Lord" looks daggers at me--I curtsy and smile!

Father-in-law Prince George exhibits the visage of a poisoned pole-cat at my table--I congratulate him on his good digestion!

Majesty pays no more attention to my presence than if I was a pillar, or a lackey; I greet him with my most devoted genuflections, rise from the carpet smiling all over the face and begin a frivolous conversation with the nearest man at hand, who in his fright acts as if he had taken an overdose of physic.

If Frederick Augustus only had an inch of backbone, a pinch of ginger in his const.i.tution! But he always stands around with a red face and the mien of a penitent. No dog, accustomed to daily beatings, follows his master's movements with more anxious looks than the Crown Prince of this realm bestows upon the goings and sayings of the King and Prince George.

Then, as recompense for his royal feast of toads, he plays the tyrant at home. Jellyfish in the state apartments, a brute in our own and--on the drill grounds, I am told! He is always finding fault with the servants, and cares not whether he calls his Court Marshal, or a groom, "_Lausbub_." Poor Chamberlain von Tumpling earned that scurvy epithet the other day and he prides himself on being a n.o.bleman and an army officer! Only this morning the prince roared and bellowed at one of my ladies, I thought she would have a stroke from righteous anger and vexation.

When he attempted to address me in the same fas.h.i.+on, I simply turned my back on him, went into my boudoir and locked the door. I will keep him "guessing" for two days, sending for the court physician every little while.

When he has to eat his meals alone and sleep alone for twice twenty-four hours, it will occur even to him that Louise is not made of the stuff that stands for being bullied.

CHAPTER XIV

IMPERIAL RUSSIAN ETHICS TRANSFERRED TO DRESDEN

My husband's reported escapade--Did he give diamonds to a dancing girl?--His foolish excuses--"I am your pal"--A restaurant scene in St. Petersburg--The birthday suit.

DRESDEN, _December 3, 1893_.

After all, Frederick Augustus has more spirit than I gave him credit for. Isabelle just told me that he has a new love, and a very appetizing piece of femininity she is, _Fraulein_ Dolores of the Munic.i.p.al Theatre.

"She's as well made as you, Louise, and rather more graceful," she said, "only her expression is somewhat inert. She lacks animation. Of course, she hasn't your attractive bust."

That devilish Isabelle _sowed_ her poisonous information rather than p.r.o.nounced it. "She has been seen with a new diamond-studded _bandeau_,"

she added.

At that moment the Schoenberg came to say that baby wants me. Isabelle went along to the nursery, but I managed to take the Schoenberg aside.