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, Fräulein Dolores of the Municipal 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 pronounced 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.
"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, classed 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 circumstances," whimpered my husband.
"You big booby," 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 nobles 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 Mshinskaya 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, Mshinskaya, was acting under the Grand-duke's orders. Done. 'By His Imperial Highness's leave,' shouted the Maître d'Hôtel from the top of the stairs, as Mademoiselle descended in her birthday suit. And the Mshinskaya made the tour of the restaurant as unconcernedly and as little subject to protests, or remarks, as if she had been muffled 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 space they occupy with the present store-room treasures, old time portraits of August the Physical Strong's favorites, Aurora von Königsmark, Countess Cosel, Princess Lubomirska, Fatime, the Circassian, 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-scène 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 "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 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.
"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 are not going 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 I shall go. 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.
CHAPTER XVII
THE ROYAL PRINCE, WHO BEHAVES LIKE A DRUNKEN BRICKLAYER
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 fé ordered.
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. The Kammerherr knocked 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 small volume 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's Atta Troll."
"Atta Troll," cried George, and opening the book at random he read half to himself:
"This bear-leader six Madonnas
Wears upon his pointed hat,
To protect his head from bullets
Or 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.
CHAPTER XVIII
I DEFY THEM
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 to live 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 rather tell 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 my ménage."
"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 and princesses 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.