CHAPTER XIX
ATTEMPTED VIOLENCE DEFEATED BY FIRMNESS
Frederick Augustus seeks to carry out his father's brutal threats – Orders and threats before servants – I positively refuse to be ordered about – Frederick Augustus plays Mrs. Lot – Enjoying myself at the theatre.
Dresden, June 17, 1894.
The chance came later and with it the conviction that His Royal Highness, Prince George, didn't quite believe me when I told him that I wouldn't stand for violence, for tonight Frederick Augustus attempted something of the sort.
I had ordered my carriage for seven o'clock to drive to the theatre, and had just finished dressing when he stormed into my boudoir and demanded to know if I had taken leave of my senses.
"Not that I am aware of."
"But I hear you intend to go to the theatre – a princess in disgrace going to the theatre!"
"Aren't you coming along, Frederick Augustus?" I asked naïvely.
"I have no desire to lose my regiment."
"And I have no desire to sit at home and talk nothingnesses with the fools His Majesty appoints for my service."
"Take a care," cried Frederick Augustus.
"Don't be a noodle and a coward," I answered hotly.
"Louise, remember that I am an army officer."
"What has that to do with my going to the theatre?"
"It's the height of audacity to defy the King."
"It would be the depth of cowardice to stay at home."
"Take back that word, or – "
"I wish Your Royal Highness a very pleasant evening," I said, indulging in a low genuflexion.
Frederick Augustus got blue with rage. I saw him clench his fists as I swept out of the room, making as much noise with my train as I could manage.
"An out-rider," I commanded the Master of Horse who stood in the ante-chamber awaiting me.
"At your Imperial Highness' commands," bowed the Baron with the most astonished face in the world. We use out-riders, that is grooms in livery, to ride ahead of the royal carriage, only on state occasions in Dresden. But, of course, my orders would be obeyed even if I had demanded twelve grooms to attend me.
I was just going out, preceded by my Chamberlain and followed by my ladies, Baroness Tisch and Fräulein von Schoenberg; there were two lackeys at the door and in the corridor stood the groom-in-waiting, holding several lap-robes for me to decide which to take, when the Prince caught up with me.
"I forbid you to go to the theatre," he bawled in the presence of my titled entourage and three servants.
I realized at once that this was the supreme moment of my life at the court of Saxony. Either bend or break. If I allowed myself to be roared at and ordered about like a servant-wench – goodbye the Imperial Highness! Enter the Jenny-Sneak German housewife, greedy for her master's smile and willing to accept an occasional kick. The Prince had begun this family brawl in public. I would finish.
"I won't take orders," I held forth. "No commands, understand, princely, royal or otherwise. And be advised, now and for all time, that I will answer any attempt to brutalize me by immediate departure, or by seeking refuge with the Austrian Ambassador."
If Frederick Augustus had suddenly become Mrs. Lot he wouldn't have been more conspicuous for utter petrification and silence. He stared at me with wide-open, bleary eyes and if I had taken him by the neck and feet and dropped him out of the window, as his ancestor Augustus of the three-hundred and fifty-two took the "spook" sent into his bedroom by Joseph the First, he wouldn't have offered the ghost of resistance, I dare say.
"Your arm, Mr. Chamberlain, since His Royal Highness doesn't wish to accompany us." And I swept out of the ante-chamber and through the corridor, triumphant.
"Gipsy Baron" was the bill of the play. I knew only a few of its waltzes and I drank in the comedy and the pretty music like one desperately athirst. Kyril's girl, the Dolores, was very chic and looked ravishingly pretty, and brother-in-law Max isn't the dunce I took him for.
His Theresa is a droll dog, fair to look upon, dark and fat. It will take a lot of holy water to save her from purgatory.
Girardi made me screech with laughter. He is as funny as my father-in-law is mournful – a higher compliment to his art I cannot pay. Of course, actor-like, he appreciated an Imperial Highness' applause and looked up to my box every little while. I wish, though, he hadn't acknowledged my plaudits by bowing to me. It attracted general attention and soon the whole house was staring and smiling. The people seemed to be glad that their Crown Princess was enjoying herself.
CHAPTER XX
TITLED SERVANTS LOW AND CUNNING
George tries to rob me of my confidante – Enter the King's spy, Baroness Tisch in her true character – Punishment of one royal spy.
Dresden, August 1, 1894.
Prince George is planning a devilish revenge. He threatens to separate me from my Secretary and confidante, little Baranello, whom I brought with me from Salzburg. She is an Italian, and, unlike most of them, as faithful as a dog. A connection of the Ruffo family, princes and dukes that gave the world more than one pope, the small fry Saxon nobility hate her, and George knows that he can't corrupt Lucretia by his paltry presents and ridiculous condescension.
They would send her back to Salzburg, if they dared, – anyhow, Baroness von Tisch is to be both Chief Mistress and confidential secretary. If she died of the first confidence I make her, she wouldn't live five minutes.
The King's House Marshal, Baron von Carlowitz, came to announce the change to me, but I knew, of course, that it was George's doings.
"Tell Prince George," I said icily, "that I appreciate the fact of being deprived of the services of an honest woman in favor of a spy."
I will "show" this Tisch woman, as my American friends say. Some three years ago Emperor Francis Joseph appointed a spy as attendant to my brother Leopold. Schoenstein, Baron or Count, was his name, I think. Schoenstein would rather bear evil tales of his young master to his old master than eat, and nothing would please him better than to meddle with Leopold's correspondence.
He stole as many letters as he could lay his hands on. Fished them even from slop-pails, or pieced together such as Leopold tore up and dropped in the cuspidors. When brother observed this, he used to tear up bills and the most innocent writings of his own and other people into little bits and planted them in Schoenstein's hunting-grounds. Appropriate work for a lick-spittle to pull them out. But Leopold got tired of playing with this vermin, and it tickled him to make an example of the scamp. Hence, he allowed it to be observed by Schoenstein when he, Leopold, locked a parcel of letters from his girl in the cash-box.
The toad-eating Schoenstein burned with desire to copy these letters and send the transcript on to Emperor Francis Joseph. They would have made interesting reading to my old uncle who has given up cracking nuts since his teeth fell out. There is Kati Schratt, you say. Pshaw, Kati is as old, or nearly as old, as his Majesty and she isn't a Ninon de l'Enclos by any means.
To cut a long story short, Schoenstein could see but one way for getting those compromising letters: steal the keys and borrow the parcel for a short while. That's what Leopold was waiting for. Not half an hour after the keys had been abstracted, he raised the alarm. He had been "robbed." The archducal safe had been rifled. And he managed to catch Schoenstein red-handed.
"Send for the police," thundered my brother, "and meanwhile watch the thief well." Schoenstein was given no chance to explain and deemed himself lucky to escape arrest. My brother suspended him from service and made him go to a hotel while he telegraphed the story of the attempted theft to Vienna, asking the Count's immediate dismissal.
Of course, Vienna disavowed the dunderhead – royalty has no use for persons that allow themselves to be compromised – and he has been in disgrace ever since. Nor can he get another courtly office, for Leopold threatened the moment he sees him with a Highness to warn everybody: "Look to your watch and purse, we have a thief with us."
I jotted this down to remind me that Prince George's spy deserves no better than the Emperor's.
CHAPTER XXI
BANISHMENT
I am ordered to repair to a country house with the hated spy as my Grand Mistress – My first impulse to go home, but afraid parents won't have me.
Dresden, August 10, 1894.
Order from the King that myself and children spend the rest of the summer at Villa Loschwitz, to remain until I get royal permission to return to Dresden, – the Tisch to act as chief of my household.
Banished! I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Smile, because I escaped the ennui of attending court at the summer residence of Pillnitz; weep, because my absence from court would be interpreted as a disciplinary measure.
I know Pillnitz is about as gay as a Trappist feast of carrion and ant's milk, but this princess doesn't want to be disciplined.
I shall tell them that I want to go home, but will they have me in Salzburg? Papa, of course, but if mother hears of my acquaintance with Heine, "who doesn't love Jesus," – her own words, – she will undoubtedly side with Prince George against her daughter. It was Heine who wrote of one of her ancestors, King Louis of Bavaria: "As soon as the monkeys and kangaroos are converted to Christianity, they'll make King Louis their guardian saint, in proof of their perfect sanity." And you don't suppose for a moment that mamma forgets a thing like that. As to Nietzsche, he will give her no conscientious qualms, for I'm sure she never heard of the gentleman, but my going to the Gipsy Baron "where two princely mistresses are gyrating" – horrible!
I hear her say: "I think Prince George is most considerate sending our daughter to Loschwitz. She deserved to be put in a nunnery and made to kneel on unboiled peas three times a day." And when it comes to an éclat, even papa may have to abandon me. Emperor Francis Joseph holds the purse-strings; and papa always lives beyond his means and Francis Joseph, King Albert and Prince George are fast friends. If papa quarrelled with the two latter gentlemen, they would immediately denounce him to the Emperor. The rest can easily be guessed.
Sorry, but papa is no hero in his daughter's eyes.
CHAPTER XXII
"POOR RELATIONS" IN ROYAL HOUSES
Myself and Frederick Augustus quarrel and pound table – The Countess Cosel's golden vessel – Off to Brighton – Threat of a beating – I provoke shadows of divorce – King threatens force – More defiance on my part – I humble the King and am allowed to invite my brother Leopold.
Villa Loschwitz, September 1, 1894.
Father had to give in. He is the poor relation, and a poor relation in royal circles doesn't amount to more than one among well-to-do merchants and farmers. He has no rights that others need respect and if he shows backbone he is given to understand that the head of the family has other uses for the palace or hunting grounds lent him.
"I would love to have you with me in Salzburg," he wrote, "but, dear child, it's for your best to learn to obey. Do it for your old father's sake."
Still I wouldn't give in at once. "I won't go to Loschwitz," I declared. And gave a dozen reasons besides the paramount one that I wouldn't go, because Prince George wanted me.
"I'm no trunk to be shipped hither and thither at someone's behest," I said.
Frederick Augustus took umbrage at the "someone," which he pronounced lèse majesté, and to emphasise the fact hit the table with a bang, whereupon I pounded the table twice: bang-bang!
It hurt my hand, and didn't do Frederick Augustus any good. Nor was the discussion advanced thereby. For the rest: an exchange of names and epithets that smacked of the kitchen rather than the salon.
"Too bad you exhaust all your energy with me," I said among other things, "while in the royal presence you act the docile lamb's tail."
He began prating about his character as an army officer again, and I reminded him that I wasn't the Countess Cosel.
"Who's that?" asked the big ignoramus.
"Never heard of the lady that refused to accompany Augustus to the Camp of Mühlberg unless he brought her a certain intimate golden vessel costing five thousand Thalers?"
"A loving cup?" asked my husband.
"If you like to call it so."
"But why did you say you are no Cosel?"
"I meant to imply that I am not a prisoner of state and don't want to be treated like one. Hence, since a visit to my parents would greatly embarrass them, I decided to go to Brighton for the season."
"Brighton," he repeated, "and where will you get the spondulicks?"
"I saved up quite a bit of money. Guess I can manage the expense alright."
"Lip-music," cried Frederick Augustus in his polite way. "You have no idea what such a trip costs."
I assured him that I had made every inquiry and was able to meet all expenses. "We will go incog.," I added, "the babies and nurse and Lucretia. The Tisch woman shall have a furlough even before she asks for it."
"Is that so?" Frederick Augustus laughed brutally. "You seem to forget that you are subject to our house laws."
"And you seem to forget that I have a will of my own," I almost shouted.
Frederick Augustus jumped up. "Not another word on the subject," he commanded. "The incident is closed."
It suddenly occurred to me that Prince George had been talking once more to Frederick Augustus about the pugilistic performances of my mother. Perhaps he was trying to pluck up courage to beat me, a diversion not altogether unknown in the House of Saxony, according to the Memoirs of the famous Baron Schweinichen, Court Marshal and Chroniqueur.
His diaries, covering a number of years, have many such entries as this: "His Royal Highness hit the Princess a good one on the 'snout' by way of silencing her tongue." Doubtless George would be delighted to have me "shut up" by some such process, but Frederick Augustus lacks the sand.
When he was gone, I indicted a letter to the King, advising him in oily, malicious, yet eminently respectful language that, not wishing to figure as a prisoner of state, I had decided to spend the rest of the summer abroad with my children. At the same time I intimated that I was well aware of being in disgrace and being regarded with ill favor by the several members of the royal family.
"If it pleases your Majesty," I added, "I will relieve a most unhappy situation by giving back his liberty to Frederick Augustus. I'll promise not to oppose divorce, or allow my family to interfere."
This letter I sent to the King, sealing it with my personal arms, of which there is no duplicate at court. After that I sent three telegrams. One to papa, announcing that I was going to Brighton; another to the Palace Hotel in Brighton; a third to the Minister of Railways, commanding that my saloon carriage be coupled to the Continental express night after next. I knew, of course, that the King would be informed of these messages in a twinkling.
I waited an hour for the Powers to move; as a rule it takes them a week or ten days. Exactly sixty-five minutes after sending my letter to the King, Frederick Augustus rode into the courtyard like a madman. He had been hurriedly summoned from the drill-grounds, I heard afterwards. He dismounted at the stairs leading to the King's apartments. Half an hour later, he slunk into my room, as serious as a corpse. There wasn't a trace of brutality in his voice as he said:
"A fine row you kicked up."
I didn't favor him by questions, but kept looking out of the window. He walked up and down for five or six minutes, boring his eyes into the corners of the room. Suddenly, at a safe distance, he delivered himself of the following:
"His Majesty interdicts your plans in toto. You will be conducted to Loschwitz tonight. Don't put yourself to the humiliation of trying to disobey. You are being watched."
"His Majesty's own words?"
"He refused to see me," answered Frederick Augustus, dejectedly. He acted as if pronouncing his own death warrant. "Baumann told me." (This is the King's Secretary.)
I almost pitied the poor fellow, but I had to hold my own.
"My dear Frederick Augustus," I said, "you can tell Baumann from me that I won't go to Loschwitz tonight; that for the present I intend to stay here and that, if they force me, they'll need plenty of rope, for I will holler and kick and do all I can to attract attention."
Maybe Frederick Augustus wanted to say something in reply, but open his mouth was all he could manage. Seeing him so bamboozled, I continued: "It is decided, then, that I stay, but I give you fair warning that I will skip to England sooner or later. I don't want you to get into trouble, Frederick Augustus, therefore inform Baumann without delay."
Frederick Augustus got blue in the face. He seemed ready to jump on me, crush me between his cuirassier fists. I held up my hand.
"Did Baumann tell you that I offered to accept divorce if it pleases the King?"
Frederick Augustus changed color. White as a ghost, he fixed his eyes upon mine, momentarily, and murmured: "Have we got to that point?"
He ran out of the room and a minute later was tearing up the stairs leading to the King's apartments. Lucretia says he returned within a quarter of an hour and tried my door. But I had locked myself in and refused to open. We didn't meet until dinner. Neither of us ate a bite, or said a word. Baumann was announced with the ice. He was all smiles, all devotion.
"His Majesty will be pleased to see your Imperial Highness in a quarter of an hour," he said sweetly.
Frederick Augustus was a painted sepulchre when I coolly replied: "Pray inform His Majesty that I am not well and about to retire for the night."
At this Baumann looked like a whipped dog. He probably thought it impossible for anyone to refuse to answer the summons of His Majesty. With the most downcast mien in the world, he seemed singularly anxious to render himself ridiculous. "Maybe the Crown Prince will do in my stead," I suggested maliciously.
Baumann grabbed at the straw and withdrew. A little while later a lackey came, summoning Frederick Augustus to Prince George. When he came back, he was all undone.
"Father treated me very well," he said. "He says the King regrets that your uncontrollable temper causes so many misunderstandings, and both His Majesty and father have no objection to your staying in Dresden if you like. Loschwitz was suggested because you and the children seem to need country air.
"As to your proposed visit to England, the King begs you to consider that such a journey at this time is liable to provoke a scandal which would reflect not only on you, on us, but on your poor parents."
The old story of the penurious relations, I thought bitterly, but on the whole I was well pleased. I had beaten and out-generaled them all.
"If Loschwitz isn't meant for punishment, I accept with pleasure," I said. "It's a very pretty place." Poor Frederick Augustus' face lit up. "But there must be an end to the talk about I being in disgrace. If the King is as friendly to me as he makes out, let him come and see me and the babies. As to summonses by Baumann or others, I won't accept them."
"Very well," said Frederick Augustus, and I saw that I had risen mile-high in his estimation, "when will it be your pleasure to leave for Loschwitz?"
"Tonight, if I have permission to invite Leopold for a week or so."
"Are you stark, staring mad?" shouted my husband, – "Impose conditions after the King moderated?"
"Go and tell Baumann I'll have Leopold or all is off," I said.
Next morning: Ceremonial visit from the Queen. The tip of her nose was redder than ever and she seemed prepared to weep at the flicking of an eye-lash. She gave me a list of her troubles, mental, physical, political, matrimonial and otherwise, since the day she was born, but said: "Obedience to my father, the King, and obedience to my husband, the King, has enabled me to weather all storms. You, too, must learn obedience, Louise. It's women's only salvation and especially a princess's."
I answered that I fully recognized my obligations to the King. "I only object to being buffeted around like a piece of furniture."
"I know, I know," said the Queen, "and hope all is arranged satisfactorily. The King will be glad if you invite your parents to Loschwitz."
"I asked permission to invite Leopold."
"But, no doubt, your parents would take more interest in the children than your brother."
"I don't dispute that, Your Majesty. But if my parents joined me at the present time, people might think they came to condole with me or else to scold me. I want Leopold."
The Queen said she wouldn't dare mention Leopold to His Majesty.
"Well, then," I concluded, "I shall stay in Dresden, regarding Baumann's fine promises as mere talk."
The Queen went away with the air of a martyr, but three days later Baumann came and said His Imperial Highness was welcome.
A triumph all along the line. I left Dresden without seeing the King.
Frederick Augustus is at the manœuvres.
The Baroness is acting as my Grand Mistress.
I expect Leopold in a fortnight.