Secret Memoirs: The Story of Louise, Crown Princess Part 15

"I must know, before dinner, who gave the Dolores woman the new jewelry she is displaying; likewise whether His Royal Highness is sweet on that hussy. No half-truths, if you please. I want to know the worst if there be any."

The Schoenberg has a cousin who is a Councillor in the office of the police president, and the police president keeps a detailed record of the love affairs of all the actresses and singers employed in Dresden,--a relic of the time when stage folks, in European capitals, cla.s.sed as "the King's servants."

The Councillor came himself to report and, after listening to what he said, I raised the boycott on Frederick Augustus without further ado, inviting him to my bed and board once more.

"So you went slumming with Kyril," I said after we had retired for the night.

"Who told you?" stammered the big fellow, reddening to the roots of his hair.

"Never mind. I know all! About the Dolores woman, her brand new diamonds, the pirouettes she did on the table and the many lace petticoats she wore."

"My word, I didn't count them," vowed his Royal Highness.

"Neither would I advise you to do so," I warned sternly, though as a matter of fact I was near exploding with laughter. "Now make a clean breast of it."

"I swear I was only the elephant. The King himself would excuse me under the circ.u.mstances," whimpered my husband.

"You big b.o.o.by," I interposed, "can't you see that I'm not angry? I blab about you to the King? What do you take me for? I am your pal, now and always, in affairs liable to prove inartistic to the King's, or Prince George's, stomach. To begin with, what has an elephant to do with supping with a dancing girl?"

Frederick Augustus explained that the name of the pachyderm applies to a third party, who attends a couple out for a lark until he proves a crowd. Our cousin, Grand-duke Kyril of Russia, visiting Dresden incognito, had prevailed on Frederick Augustus's good nature to serve him and the Dolores.

"The Dolores is prettier than I?" I inquired.

"Not at all. She has a black mole under her left bosom."

"You saw that?"

"How could I help it? Russian Grand-dukes never allow a girl to wear corsets at supper. Kyril says it interferes with digestion."

How considerate of His Russian Imperial Highness!

Well, they had a good time and I guess the Dolores earned her diamonds.

A fair exchange is no robbery. "But in St. Petersburg," said Frederick Augustus, "they do these things better." And he gave an elaborate description of a famous restaurant there, where the princes of the imperial family hold high carnival occasionally.

"The upper tier of dining rooms is reserved at night for any Grand-duke who promises his visit," quoted my husband, "and the broad marble stairs leading to them must not be used by others. Well, one fine evening Grand-duke Vladimir and a crowd of n.o.bles and officers supped at the '_Ermitaj_' and when they were all good and drunk, one of Vladimir's guests, Prince Galitzin, bet the host the price of the supper and a champagne bath for all, that he could induce the famous _danseuse_ Ms.h.i.+nskaya to descend the stairs stark naked and walk among the tables below without anyone offering her insult.

"The bet was accepted and the girl sent for. She was found in a near-by theatre and rushed to the '_Ermitaj_'. Of course, seeing that His Imperial Highness wished it, she consented to pull off the trick and--her clothes, but she made a condition."

"She demanded tights," I suggested.

"Pshaw, she is a sport, says Kyril." This in a tone of disgust from Frederick Augustus. He continued: "She merely begged his Imperial Highness to have it announced that she, Ms.h.i.+nskaya, was acting under the Grand-duke's orders. Done. 'By His Imperial Highness's leave,' shouted the _Maitre d'Hotel_ from the top of the stairs, as _Mademoiselle_ descended in her birthday suit. And the Ms.h.i.+nskaya made the tour of the restaurant as unconcernedly and as little subject to protests, or remarks, as if she had been m.u.f.fled up to her ears.

"That's what I call freedom--discipline," concluded Frederick Augustus.

"Think of doing anything like that in a Dresden restaurant."

"I would gladly give a year's allowance to the poor if you could manage it here while Prince George was masticating a Hamburg steak at a table opposite the grand staircase," said I.

CHAPTER XV

ROYALTY NOT PRETTY, AND WHY

Fecundity royal women's greatest charm--How to have beautiful children.

DRESDEN, _February 25, 1894_.

Behold the mother of two boys in a twelve-month! Frederick came just in the nick of time, Sylvester Eve (December 31, 1893), to gain me a little brief renown, for royalty likes its women to be rabbits and, in the reigning houses at least, we are esteemed in proportion to our fecundity.

"January 15--December 31," not half bad! Even Prince George had to admit that. And the Kaiser remarked: "Louise, if she keeps it up, bids fair to break de Villeneuve's record. Let me see, Sophie's first child was born January 9--a girl" (with a sneer); "her next, the Hereditary Count, on December 28th of the same year."

The "de Villeneuve" is Sophie, Countess of Schlitz. Wilhelm made her celebrated by his gallantries and Lenbach by the great portrait he painted of her wondrous loveliness. If I ever have a daughter, I will have a copy of the Lenbach canvas placed in baby's room. Come to think of it, I will have one made right away to hang in my own boudoir.

As stated, I believe in prenatal influence, and am more than convinced that the portraits of Saxon and Prussian princesses frowning from the walls of our palaces are calculated neither to promote beauty nor gentleness.

If I had my way, I would send the whole lot to the store-room and fill the s.p.a.ce they occupy with the present store-room treasures, old time portraits of August the Physical Strong's favorites, Aurora von Konigsmark, Countess Cosel, Princess Lubomirska, Fatime, the Circa.s.sian, the Orselska and--who can remember their names?

As a rule, queens and princesses are conspicuous for lack of beauty, while kings and princes cut most ordinary figures in _mufti_. Only their uniforms, the ribands and decorations, the _mise-en-scene_ render them tolerable imitations of the average military man.

Why?

Because their mothers and fathers, their sisters, cousins and aunts see nothing but painted and photographed and sculptured frights and grotesques. So much ugliness of the past must needs cause ugliness of the present and future.

In a century the thrones of Europe have known but two beauties, both plebeians, the Empress Josephine and the Empress Eugenie. My aunt, the Empress Elizabeth, is only good-looking, the German Empress was just an ordinary German _Frau_ even in her salad-days.

Well, my little girls, if I have any, shall profit by the lessons of the past. As expectant mothers in ancient Greece were wont to walk in the temple of _Athene Parthenos_, filled with the greatest sculptures the world has ever seen (ruins of them I admired in the British Museum), so I intend to have a gallery of my own for beauty's sake, even if every female figure be a harlot's likeness.

CHAPTER XVI

MORE JEALOUSIES OF THE GREAT

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 "d.a.m.ned 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 the _Grosser 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 "Our Louise," 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, by _her_, 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.