Loe raamatut: «Secret Memoirs: The Story of Louise, Crown Princess», lehekülg 16
CHAPTER LXV
FISTICUFFS DON'T SAVE MY CROWN
The attempted theft of my Diary – Grand Mistress discovered after breaking open my desk – Reading Diary like mad – Personal encounter between me and Grand Mistress – I am the stronger, and carry off the manuscript, but have to leave all my love letters, which go to the King – I discover that they had stolen the key to my Diary from my neck.
Dresden, November 27, 1902.
I am undone.
They tried to obtain a picture of Louise in the nude– Louise as she paints Herself– this Diary, in fact – and, though I foiled them, the King now has in his hands my entire correspondence – every letter from every man that ever approached or possessed me.
And be sure he won't use them for curl papers as did the Duke of Richelieu with the remnants of his ladyloves' billets doux that escaped confiscation.
"My collection is incomplete. I have to begin another," he said.
Alas, my collection was only too complete!
This is how it came about:
As I was in the act of retiring last night, a clairvoyant's vision seized me. "Somebody meddling with your papers!" "They are breaking into your secrétaire," the voices said.
I slipped on a pair of bath sandals and stealthily opened the door of my boudoir.
My writing desk was open, all the drawers ajar and in disorder; the Baroness bending over this, my Diary. She was reading like mad, her eyes danced with lust of revenge.
With one bound I was at her side and she was so frightened at first, I thought she would drop. Her chest seemed to draw inward; she swayed to and fro. But only for a second or two. Then, recovering her self-possession, her fighting harness was in place again.
"Go to your room, Royal Highness," she said in a tone of command. "These papers are confiscated in the name of the King."
I was beside myself with rage. "My Diary," I cried; "instantly return it to me."
More I couldn't say, for I had neither breath nor voice. My right hand was on the book when she attempted to seize it.
I struck her hand with Richard's ring – I wish it was bigger, I wish it had a good diamond point – but she wouldn't let go. Then, before one could count one, two, three, I had hold of her – Heaven, how I enjoyed it; the satisfaction I had in giving rein to my passion, for all was up now, anyhow.
With the left hand I caught her by the throat, while my good right boxed her ears after the homely manner mamma had taught me. Good, sound cuffs, I assure you, each liable to dislocate a tooth.
"Canaille," I cried, "miserable canaille." I pushed her into a corner and recovered the Diary, folding it up quickly. I was holding the book close to my bosom when I crossed the room to regain my bedchamber.
The Tisch after me, trying to snatch it back. I caught her on the chest and sent her flying. Then, with the manuscript, I made good my escape, leaving for the contemptible bird of prey all my love letters, reams of them, the oldest fifteen or more years old, the latest bearing yesterday's date.
Once in my room, I recollected and made a grab at my throat. The key to my Diary was gone. They stole it, chain and all, while I was asleep, no doubt.
Dresden, November 28, 1902.
Awakening, I find myself seated at the little table near the window. Both my hands are ink-spotted. So is my night-dress.
I see, I have written an account of the battle. I must have done so some time after I returned from the field. It's well, for at the moment, I don't remember a thing.
The palace clock strikes seven.
The day of my doom.
CHAPTER LXVI
ABANDONED
My titled servants withdraw from me – An old footman my sole support – Queen takes the children – Old Andrew plays spy for me.
Afternoon.
No one has come to see me. My household, my adjutants, marshal, chamberlains, equerries, the ladies of my entourage are on duty, but since I ordered my meals brought to the room, they pretend to assume that I'm too ill to see anyone. There may be no truth in the saying that rats leave the ship destined to sink, but the titled vermin royalty surrounds itself with certainly knows when to avoid dangerous craft.
I rang for Andrew. The good, old man wouldn't put me to the humiliation of asking questions.
"Your Imperial Highness's children are with Her Majesty," he said; and, coming a step nearer, he added in an undertone: "Baroness Tisch has been with His Majesty since nine in the morning."
"You are a kind and brave man." I held out my hand.
"If Your Imperial Highness has no immediate orders for me," continued the good soul, "I beg to be allowed to visit my friend, Hans, the King's body-servant."
I thanked Andrew for his good intentions. "Wait in the ante-chamber until I am dressed."
I donned a forty-mark costume that I keep on hand for the purpose; it didn't take me more than six or seven minutes.
"I will have to leave by the secret staircase, Andrew."
He understood and cleared the way for me.
CHAPTER LXVII
FAMILY COUNCIL AT CASTLE
Rendezvous at studio – State takes my children from me – Madhouse or flight – I brought fifty-two trunks to the palace – Depart with small satchel – If I attempt to see my children I'll be seized as "mad woman" – Varying emotions of the last ten minutes – Threatening shadows thrown on a curtain decide me – Ready for flight – Diary the last thing to go into the satchel.
At Night. Eleven O'clock.
They went into family council at six tonight and are still deliberating, Andrew reports. The Tisch, he says, acts as secretary; His Majesty, of course, presides.
Present are the Dowager Queen, Mathilde and Isabelle. Then Frederick Augustus, Johann George, Max and Bernhardt. Baron George von Metzsch, a high government and court functionary and my enemy, attends as legal adviser to the King.
It's in the nature of things that the Baron will do his worst to destroy me, but Bernhardt! Bernhardt, who held me in his arms, now one of my judges! He will have to be especially severe with his quondam mistress lest the King suspect.
While the sweet family bent over those love letters – I bet the Tisch withheld Henry's – I sat in Richard's studio, advising with him.
"There are only two things to be considered: the madhouse or instant flight."
"You dare advise me to leave my children?"
"There are no nurseries in madhouses. Your children are lost to you, anyhow. If you remain, as an alleged insane person, you 'can't be trusted,' they'll argue, for you are helpless, legally, morally and physically.
"If you run away to Switzerland, on the other hand, you are a free woman, under the protection of a republican government.
"Switzerland, I needn't tell you, will not go to war to wrest your children from the royal family, but will afford you personally every advantage, legal and otherwise.
"Decide quickly: are you going to make King George a present of yourself as well as of the five children you bore for the benefit of the Wettiners?"
"Never."
My mind is made up. My few belongings are packed. I, who came to Dresden with fifty-two trunks, leave the palace with a satchel, easy to carry. I take nothing but my personal jewels, the little money I own and some changes of linen.
If I could only see my children for a moment or two, but the Queen has them in her keeping, and I might be seized as a "mad woman" if I dared leave my apartments and cross to those occupied by Her Majesty.
And Frederick Augustus! He will miss me in his way.
Ten more minutes. I hear the distant clatter of a carriage. Richard driving to our rendezvous, two streets north of the palace gate.
Will my limbs carry me to him and liberty? I pace the room to test their strength.
"Louise," says the voice within, – "your last chance. Your good-natured husband, your darling children, your old parents, pomp and state and circumstance, indeed, a crown, you are going to abandon for – what?"
A man whose carnal side only you know, a poor man, an artist without fame, a professional without future.
Sadly perturbed in mind, I walk to the window. Those of His Majesty's cabinet, where the family council is in progress, are directly opposite.
Shadows of men and women, rising from a sitting position, are thrown on the curtains.
One of the shades slowly ascends.
I see the Tisch pointing a bony finger to the windows of my boudoir. Von Metzsch stands by her side. They grin.
You triumph, wretch and Jezebel?
But when your sbirri, in an hour from now, or tomorrow morning early, invade my rooms, instructed to carry me away – bound hand and foot to a sofa, or in a straight jacket, perhaps – they will find the Crown Princess gone – her and her Diary.
Both will be safe on foreign soil ere you can make arrangements for organized pursuit, for Richard and I will travel by carriage to a distant suburb, there mount the fast express and keep to our state room, engaged under an assumed name, until without the sphere of Saxon or German influence.
A discreet knock. Andrew, my liberator! In his hand a tallow dip to light this Imperial Highness down back stairs to the new life of her choice.
"One moment, old man, this book goes into the valise.
"Hand me the blotter, please. Tears won't do.
"And a couple more handkerchiefs from the top of the chiffonier, please."
