Secret Memoirs: The Story of Louise, Crown Princess Part 35

The evening papers devoted columns to the little incident and Prince George had the great sorrow to hear the King say: "A dare-devil, that Louise, but she did the right thing. By pretending confidence in the loyalty of the people, she successfully gulled them. The riot's back was broken when she showed a bold front."

CHAPTER XLIV

THE NEW LOVER, AND "I PLAY THE HUSSY FOR FAIR"

Who is that most exquisite _Vortanzer_?--A lovely boy--"Blush, good white paper"--I long for Henry--My eyes reflect love--"I must see you tonight. Arrange with Lucretia"--Sorry I ever loved a man before Henry--Poetry even--I try to get him an office at court--Afraid women will steal him.

PILLNITZ, _September 5, 1900_.

Dance at the royal summer residence. Concentrated _ennui_ as a rule, but a complete success this time.

I have seen Him,--capital "H." He is the one man for me.

I am happy; I am myself again. All sorrows are forgotten. I am ten years younger.

Love at first sight. I the aggressor. I must be getting very clever since I managed to hide it from hundreds of searching eyes, even from my entourage.

"Lucretia," I whispered breathlessly to my confidante, "find out the name of the _Vortanzer_, quick."

The _Vortanzer_, at royal courts, is a sort of official master of the dance, who sets the pace for the company, combining the duties of master of ceremonies and of dancing master.

The more I looked at the _Vortanzer_, the more he enchanted me. Taller than any other man present, elegant, blonde, clean-shaven. Not an ounce of superfluous flesh, I judged. Might be the reincarnation of the _Duc_ de Richelieu, who seduced my three cousins d'Orleans.

His face is livid with white and carmine tints; his eyes glow with an irresistible charm. That figure of his! The elegance of the palm tree, both straight and flexible. And the infinity of grace as he waltzed that little Baroness around.

"Baron Bergen, of the Guards," breathed Lucretia into my ear.

"My Master of Ceremony will command Baron Bergen at the end of this dance."

When he stood before me, bowing and smiling, the idea that he was Richelieu reincarnated became almost a certainty with me.

Like Richelieu, his face has the refinement that we admire in women (I forgot to say that I became infatuated with him merely from seeing a back view of the man. When he turned around, I was lost).

While he chanted the usual compliments, my eyes hung upon his cherry lips, reveled in his white, strong teeth. The man I want. I say it without shame, without care.

Blush, good, white paper! I am giving an account of my feelings, and if they be impure, there's something wrong with nature.

Even as I write, I tremble with longing, with desire for Henry.

Ten days since we first met. It might have been this morning, so lively and overwhelming is the recollection. I am impatient for his kisses, for his blonde loveliness, for his whole self,--just as if we hadn't loved and kissed scarce an hour ago.

"My horse, Lucretia. We'll go for a canter. I must have air and plenty of it."

PILLNITZ, _September 10, 1900_.

I must give some additional account of our first meeting at the court ball. Ah, I was the hussy for fair! He couldn't help seeing the impression he made upon me. My eyes must have reflected it in letters of flame. I wish he were as bold as the _Duc_, who slept on a pillow stuffed with the hair of his mistresses, past and present.

I never made such advances to any man. I was gone clean off my head.

When he reddened and when his left hand, resting on the hilt of his sword, trembled, I became intoxicated.

And I danced with him, and I was angry with myself for lacking the courage to say: "Feel my heart beat." My great-great-aunt and namesake, Marie Antoinette, did and won the love of her life,--Fersen.

But we _fin de siecle_ women are cowards. All I said to him was: "I must see you tonight. Arrange with Lucretia."

DRESDEN, _September 30, 1900_.

Summer heat continues, but no country-seat for me! The town is a much safer place for lovers, and old Countess Baranello keeps open house for us all the year round. We meet daily. I persuaded Henry's colonel that the lieutenant would never be a courtier unless he saw more of court life and was relieved, to a certain extent, of duties on the drill ground.

We see each other mornings or afternoons at the Countess's. The evenings we spend at the theatre together, I in the box, he in the _fauteuil_ once sacred to Romano. Every Sat.u.r.day afternoon we concoct the repertoire for the week following, and he goes at once to secure tickets for the various entertainments I intend to visit for his sake.

DRESDEN, _October 1, 1900_.

I wish I had never loved any man before Henry. I wish he had known me as an innocent girl. I wish I wasn't royal. Then I could get a divorce and marry him, but now, if I got ten divorces, he would always be the insignificant Baron, I the Princess of the Blood.

And I couldn't see my love humiliated!

As a talisman he wears on his chest a golden locket with my miniature.

In exchange he gave me a _Portebonheur_ with his picture and a few sweet words.

So help me, G.o.d, I am in love with this man,--love him to the verge of poetry. Indeed, I am writing silly verse in his honor, and later haven't the courage to show it to him. _Par example_:

I want you most, dear, when the sunset bright Makes of the hills a glorious funeral pyre, So die the love-light in your eyes, if die it must, And leave the wondrous, throbbing silence of the night.

Henry isn't very intellectual, I am afraid, but he is the finest horseman in the world.

If I were Queen, I would barter a regiment to have him appointed my Chief Master of Horse. Augustus of the three-hundred and fifty-two sold one for his first night with Cosel.

I am racking my brains for a pretense to have him appointed to court duty,--anything to give him the _entree_ to my apartments. But he is far too beautiful. The sanctimonious cats that envy me my happiness, that look upon love as a crime, would at once combine to destroy him.

Well, we'll have to bear with the difficulties of the situation forced upon us by these moral busy-bodies. As for me, I'll be thrice careful, for if He was taken away from me, all the joy would go out of my life.

CHAPTER XLV

LOVE AND THE HAPPINESS IT CONVEYS