Secret Memoirs: The Story of Louise, Crown Princess Part 31

DRESDEN, _April 1, 1899_.

My parents came to see the children and make merry because I am basking in the sun of royal grace. Mother has a new maid of honor, as ugly as the Tisch, and when we are _entre nous_ every second word is: "when Louise is Queen." They know to a penny what our inheritance from the King, the Queen and Prince George will amount to and are forever making plans and specifications how to spend the money for the glory of Saxony and of our own family.[6]

Mother's scare-crow of a maid of honor had at least sense enough to tell Lucretia of a few scandals that happened at home, which mother never intended for my ears.

It seems that papa, some few months ago, suddenly became possessed of the ambition to become an astronomer. Nothing would do, but he must buy a heap of instruments and set them up in a distant tower of Salzburg Castle. And there he spent all his evenings--star-gazing, he gave out.

He seldom reached the nuptial couch before one or two in the morning,--utterly exhausted by the night's work.

Well, mamma thought he labored too hard, and one forenoon when he had gone hunting, climbed up many stairs to investigate. Imagine her surprise when she found, in the astrolatry, a young lady in the act of getting out of bed, a girl, by the way, whom I used to know.

Mamma had the _mauvais genre_ to report the case to Emperor Francis Joseph, while papa sought another climate, remaining away until mother begged him on her bended knees, so to speak, to come home. Nor did she get satisfaction from Vienna. That great moral teacher, the Emperor, told her not to make a scare-crow of herself, but on the contrary make herself pretty and agreeable for, and to, her lord and master. I understand now why mamma says: "All men stick together like gypsies."

As a matter of fact father's limited resources are considerably affected by the various alimonies he has to pay to his own mistresses and those of my brothers. The third born of our boys, only a week ago, made too free with the _fiancee_ of the pastry-cook, who threatened to kill him.

It cost father several thousand florins to appease the ruffian and Heinrich Ferdinand renewed acquaintance with mother's boxing proclivities.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 6: The fortune of the present King of Saxony (Louise's ex-husband) amounts to 25 million marks ($6,225,000)--no more than many an American parent paid for his daughter's seedy coronet. It will be remembered that Gladys Vanderbilt and Anna Gould brought to their husbands fifteen million dollars each, and the Castellanes and Szechenys are only n.o.bles of the second cla.s.s, their ancestors never having possessed ever so small a territory as sovereign lords. The bigger half of the Saxon King's fortune comes from the Brunswick inheritance already mentioned.]

CHAPTER XL

A PLEBEIAN LOVER

In need of a friend--My physician offers his friends.h.i.+p--I discover that he loves me, but he will never confess--I give him encouragement--We manage to persuade the King to further our intrigue--Not a bit repentant of my peccadilloes--Very submissive--Introduced to my lover's wife.

DRESDEN, _in May, 1899_.

Privy Councillor von Barthels, my body physician, is a very agreeable man. I have no use for his services, _professional_ services at present, yet insist upon receiving him daily. Still I love him not. Only esteem him as a friend, I need a friend. Physicians can keep secrets, and I have many of them. I look upon Barthels as my Father-confessor.

The tears came into his eyes when I told him, and he said: "Imperial Highness, this is the most beautiful hour of my life."

He spoke with enthusiasm; there was fire in his eyes and in his voice, yet a moment later he was again the most reserved of men and conversation lagged.

It happened three days ago. He has paid me four visits since and I notice with astonishment, with curiosity and with alarm, that this man is in love with me.

How long has he loved me?

His love is like a warm mantle 'round my shoulders on a chilly night. It exudes warmth, strength, beat.i.tude, yet there is none of the animal.

He is a good talker on a thousand and one subjects, a thinker and psychologist. Psychology is his strong point. He argues brilliantly on the subject, yet I need only look at him to upset his _thesis_, to make him stammer and redden.

He's no Count Bielsk and will never tell me of his own accord that he loves me. Is his admiration greater than his love? Perhaps so. It gives me a feeling of security.

Lucretia knows, but in the presence of the Tisch, he plays the servant, deeming himself thrice honored by being allowed to breathe the same air as her Imperial Highness.

DRESDEN, _June 15, 1899_.

I frequently drive to the _Bois_ nowadays with the children, the _Bois_, where I was so happy with Him.

Romano was right, a thousand times right, that he abandoned me when our love was at its zenith.

_At Midnight._

It's done.

Barthels came tonight. He was so feverish, so pa.s.sionate, there was so much humble solicitation in his looks and manners, I was moved to pity.

This man is too over-awed by my rank to ever permit himself to express his feelings by word of mouth. He talked of everything but love and was in the midst of a learned dissertation when I sunk my eyes in his and said:

"Why do you try to hide things from me? Don't I know what's in your heart?"

Like a little criminal--as my oldest boy does occasionally--he turned red, then white, then red again. He buried his face in his hands. He trembled. He seemed to be crying. I arose, and lightly laid my hand upon his blonde head.

He's got the finest, silkiest hair in the world, s.h.i.+mmering like beaten gold.

And then he lay at my feet, covering them with kisses. And instantly all his force, his courage, his eloquence returned.

He went away like a man a-dreaming.

I long for him; I confess I long for him. Whether I love him or not I don't know. But that I know, I _will_ love him.

And if I cannot, what matters it? I don't have to love to be happy. To _be_ loved is enough. I want to be his Queen, his life.

DRESDEN, _July 1, 1899_.

Privy Councillor von Barthels told the King that my delicate condition needs constant watching. I go to his clinic every second day, while he visits me once or twice daily at the palace.

Like Melita I am never a bit repentant of my peccadilloes.

If I don't want to do a thing, neither Kaiser, King, George, Frederick Augustus, my parents, the Pope, nor the whole world, can make me. But if I resolve to follow my sweet inclinations, rueing and pining are out of question.

Ferdinand is the most devoted of lovers. He has unlimited tendernesses--a new experience for me.

The lover of my girlhood days overwhelmed me by audacity. The Shah used me like a show-girl. Romano was imperious, super-mannish. For him I was only the female of the species.