Secret Memoirs: The Story of Louise, Crown Princess

The King was standing by, impatiently waiting to conduct his grand-ducal guest before the guard of honor had drawn up. "Later, later," whispered papa, patting me on the cheek.

Dresden, June 22, 1902.

I had an hour's talk with father. I bared my heart to him. I reported my own faults along with those of the others.

Papa understands me. He sympathizes with me, but help me he cannot.

"These are only passing shadows," he said. "Look boldly into the future. You will soon be Queen."

And he told me of his financial difficulties and of the misfortune of being a sovereign lord without either land or money.

"The Emperor ordered me to scold you hard," he continued, "and mamma wants me to be very severe. As to King George, he said he would thank God if I succeeded in breaking your rebellious spirit. 'If you don't, I will,' added his Majesty."

Then father kissed me more lovingly than ever and asked, half apologetically: "Is it true, Louise, that you had a lover?"

"I thought I had one, but he was unworthy of me," I replied without shame.

My confession seemed to frighten him.

"It's sad, sad," he said. "Royal blood is dangerous juice. It brought Mary of Scots to the scaffold; it caused your great-aunt Marie Antoinette to lose her head, only to save the old monarchies a few years later, when we inveigled the enemy of legitimate kingship into a marriage with another of your relatives. But for Marie, Louise, the descendants of the Corsican might still sit on a dozen thrones."

Father forgot his daughter's disgrace when he mounted this historic hobby-horse and, needless to say, I did not recall the original text.

Only when, three days later, he took leave of me, holding my head long between his two trembling hands and kissing me again and again, I felt that the poor, old man's heart was oppressed with shame and torn by fears.

CHAPTER LVIII

MONSIEUR GIRON – RICHARD, THE ARTIST

The King asks me to superintend lessons by M. Giron – A most fascinating man – His Grecian eyes – He is a painter as well as a teacher – In love – Careless whether I am caught in my lover's arms – "Richard" talks anarchy to me – Why I don't believe in woman suffrage – Characters and doings of women in power.

Dresden, July 1, 1902.

King George is determined I shall stay in Dresden to end the newspaper talk about trouble in the bosom of the royal family.

He engaged a new head-tutor for my little brood. Monsieur Giron, a Belgian of good family.

"I would be pleased if you attended the children's lessons and reported to me on the method of the new man," he said. "You are so intellectual, Louise, you will find out quickly if M. Giron is not what he is represented to be."

I promised, for, after all, I owed so much to the King and my children.

Alas, it was fate!

Dresden, July 1, After Midnight.

He is tall, well made, and his wild, Grecian eyes fascinate me. He is conscious of self, but modest. His voice is sweet and sonorous, his eyes are bright with intellect. Speaking eyes!

I asked him to visit my apartments at the conclusion of school hours. He told me he was a painter as well as a teacher of languages.

"Would you like to paint me?"

"I am dying for a chance to reproduce your loveliness as far as my poor art permits."

He told me he had a studio in town, where he is known under his artist's pseudonyme, Richard.

"How romantic! I'd like to see it," I said impulsively.

"Several ladies and gentlemen of society sat for portraits at my studio here and at home."

In short we arranged that he paint my picture and that I should go to his studio, where the light is excellent.

Dresden, July 15, 1902.

I am happy once more. Those hours at Richard's studio are the sweetest of my life.

Lucretia acts the protecting angel as usual. Richard calls her Justice because she is "blind." When she is along, I drive boldly up to the door in one of the court carriages. Sometimes, when I can sneak out of the palace for a little while unobserved, I go alone in a cab.

How long this sort of thing can go on without discovery, I know not. As to what will happen afterwards, I care not.

If I was told that tomorrow I would be caught in my lover's arms and banished to a lone island for life, I would go to his studio just the same.

Dresden, August 1, 1902.

Richard is moulding my character. I, once so proud of rank and station, I, who upheld the Wettiners' robbery of a poor, defenseless woman, the Duke's wife, because Socialistic papers spoke in her favor, – Louise now allows anarchistic tendencies to be poured in her ears. She almost applauds them.

This easy change from one extreme to the other at a lover's behest is one of the things that make woman's rule – or co-rule – as the male's political equal – impossible. It's a sort of Phallus worship that always was and always will be.

"Though women have not unfrequently been the holders of temporary and precarious power, there are not many instances where they have held secure and absolute dominion," says Dr. William W. Ireland in his famous "Blot upon the Brain."

Because they were swayed by the male of the species, of course!

Though the characters of the world's female sovereigns differed as to blood, race, education, environment and personal traits, neither showed any inclination to resist the allurements of irregular amours.

Think of Semiramis, of Mary of Scots, of Elizabeth, Catherine I, of the Tsaritzas Elizabeth and the second Catherine – under the temptations of Power, they recruited paramours for themselves in all ranks of society.

Agrippina was more licentious than Caligula; Messalina's infamy surpassed Nero's, and the furthest reaching, the one irresistible Power swaying them all was MAN.

Augustus of the three hundred and fifty-four emphasized this in the negative and, in his own uncouth way, by "postering" the Countess Cosel's chief charm on penny coins.

"She cost Saxony twenty millions in gold – behold the penny's worth she gave in return."

When the beauty who had brought the richest German kingdom to the verge of state bankruptcy died February 2, 1765, four hundred of Augustus's infamous medals were found hidden in her favorite armchair. She paid three or four times their weight in gold for each.

CHAPTER LIX

THE PEOPLE THINK ME A WANTON

Credit me with innumerable lovers, but don't disapprove – Glad the King feels scandalized – Picture of the "she-monster" – Everybody eager for love – I delight in Richard's jealousy – Husband's indelicate announcement at table – I rush from the royal opera to see my lover – A threatening dream – Richard not mercenary like my noble lovers.

Dresden, August 10, 1902.

This is the kind of speech Richard holds with me and – I enjoy:

"Every working-girl, every poor woman who suckles her own children and helps her husband in the fight for existence, stands mountain high above royal ladies like you.

"None of you royal ladies are their moral equals.

"In no distant time," he says, "they will chase you from your thrones, even as your relatives had to evacuate France by tumbril, post-chaise or train."

Richard's ethical and intellectual valuation of royal princes coincides with my own. He has rare insight into our family life.

However, these disclosures both amazed and alarmed me when I first heard them pronounced. I never dreamt that opinions of that kind prevailed among the masses.

"But why am I acclaimed whenever I show myself?"

"Because you are pretty, because you impersonate the one thing all are desirous to embrace: affluence, kindness, youth and beauty. Because you are a treat to the senses and because sensuality is the paramount thing in life, whether we admit it or not."

"Who's 'we'?"

"Kings and anarchists, princesses of the Blood and laundresses, royal princes and cab drivers, empresses, street-walkers, society ladies, big-wigs and sabretasches. The draggled Menads and the helpful Lafayette, the Jacobins, Charlotte Corday and the man she killed – all were, and are, on similar pleasure bent."

And he added quickly: "As to the Dresdeners, they are tickled because, every time they applaud you, the King is scandalized."

"How do they know that I am not on good terms with the King?"

"The very children in arms understand."

All Dresden, says Richard, is talking about me. Everybody assumes to know the number and qualities of my lovers. "Louise," they argue, "knows how to enjoy herself, but, though it serves the King right, we wouldn't have her for a daughter-in-law, either."

According to the masses, I visit the Vogelwiese at night, ride on the flying horses and solicit men and boys that please my fancy. Like a gigantic she-monster, I drag them to my lair – "some to vanish forever." (No doubt, I eat them.)

"Unwashed soldiers and clerks reeking with cheap perfume, actors and students, draymen and generals, it's all the same to the Crown Princess.

"Sometimes, when the spirit moves her, the Crown Princess issues from her gilded apartments in the palace and seizes the sentinel patrolling the corridors. Or she visits the guard-room en déshabille and selects the youngest and best looking officer for her prey.

"Generous, too. She thinks nothing of handing a pension of ten thousand marks per year to a chap that pleased her once."

"Is that all they say about me?"

"Not one-half. Poor devils that can't afford ten marks per year for their fun, Cit's wives that know only their ill-kempt husbands, factory girls that sell their virtue for a supper or a glass of beer – though afterwards they claim it was champagne – all take delight in contemplating that you, or any other good looking royal woman, are Frankenstein's succuba or worse. Didn't they accuse your grand-aunt, Marie Antoinette, of incest with her son and gave him to the cobbler to thrash the immorality out of him?"

"And they give names?"

"Strings of them" – among them several I never heard mentioned before.

Dresden, August 15, 1902.

Richard is jealous – jealous of the men I did love and the regiments that public opinion give me credit for. He must needs think I have loins of steel.

He tells me he suffers agonies by what I confessed, and still more by what I hide. To see him thus unhappy gives me intense pleasure, for it shows that the boy loves me to distraction.

Midnight.

M. Giron was very cold and distant during the afternoon's lessons.

I had previously lunched with him at his studio and we were very gay then. I teased him unmercifully about "his royal demi-mondaine," as the masses painted me.

Frederick Augustus was very gallant at dinner and told me, before a table full of people, that he would take pleasure in sleeping with me tonight. I have too bad a conscience to deny myself to him. But I ran over to the opera for half an hour and ordered M. Giron to my box.

"I got over my vexation," he said, – "got over it because I reflected that you are the Princess Royal and that I would be a fool to take your love seriously. Henceforth I will regard it a passing adventure and let it go at that, for if I thought it the great passion of my life, I would despair, indeed."

"Find a closed cab," I whispered, my heart in my mouth; "I must see you alone. I will be at the northern side-exit in five minutes."

Cabby was ordered to drive slowly along unfrequented side streets. We lowered the curtains.

"So you don't love me?" I wailed. Burying my face on Richard's chest I cried as if my heart would break.

"Not love you?" he breathed. "If I loved you not, I would die, Louise."

"Then why those cruel words?"

"Good heavens," he cried, "haven't I the right to be jealous? I said what I said to hear you say that you love me."

"And you will always love me?"

"Always, dearest," and he covered my face and neck with burning kisses.

Ten minutes later I was again seated at the opera.

I hear Frederick Augustus in the corridor.

Dresden, August 16, 1902.

A horrible night. Lucky that Frederick Augustus was more than half drunk when he sought "His Imperial Pleasure-trove," as he likes to call me, for I often talk in my sleep and – I dreamt of Richard. I dreamt of my enemies, too.

They stole him from me. He was of the past like Henry, Romano and the rest.

In a second dream he jilted me – cast me off like a garment, old or out of fashion.

Lucretia, who sleeps in the next room, heard me cry out in terror, heard me denounce the King, Tisch – everybody.

And Frederick Augustus snored.

Dresden, October 1, 1902.

Princes and noblemen have ever sought their own advantage of me. To them I was always the milch-cow, or Phryne, outright.

Richard is poor. I offered him a considerable sum for one of his paintings.

"Never again mention the matter," he said curtly.

"But it would give me much pleasure to be of assistance to you."

"Louise, we must separate if you don't stop that line of talk," he replied.

And he means it.

A day or two later I let fall, casually, that Frederick Augustus might buy the portrait of myself that was nearing completion under his skillful brush.

"His Royal Highness won't have the chance," he cried fiercely. "I will tell him it isn't finished, or doesn't come up to my artistic standard, or something of the sort."

CHAPTER LX

THE DAY OF JUDGMENT LOOMS UP

My Grand Mistress shows her colors – Richard advises flight – I hesitate on account of my children – My Grand Mistress steals a letter from Richard to me – I opine that an adulteress's word is as good as a thief's – I humble my Grand Mistress, but it won't do me much good – Pleasant hours at his studio.

Dresden, October 15, 1902.

That dreadful dream is becoming a heart-breaking reality.

The Tisch entered my boudoir last night in her mantilla, emblem of her office as Grand Mistress.

Some dirty business on hand, I surmised at once.

"Imperial Highness," she said, genuflexing ceremoniously, "I submit that your artist takes too long about the portrait. Your Imperial Highness's visits to the studio must cease."

"Since when do you give orders here, Baroness?"

"His Majesty empowered me," answered the Grand Dame.

"In that case, do as you like, but don't bother me," I cried bravely enough, but trembling in every limb. The Tisch, no doubt, is preparing to deal me another blow.

When I told Richard that henceforth we would have to exercise extra care, he was beside himself with rage.

"Why stand such tyranny?" he cried. "No self-respecting woman, other than royal, would submit for a single week to be bullied and intrigued against and threatened and browbeaten as you are, and they have ill-used you for eleven years. If you were a simple Cit's daughter, instead of the descendant of a decrepit, bloodless family, yclept royal, you would make an end now, leave them to their shabby kingship and be a free woman – free and happy."

My lover forgets the children, but the picture of the free life he draws is most attractive.

"And would you go with me to the end of the earth, as the story books put it?" I asked tremblingly.

"Louise," he answered, "if you are brave enough and strong enough to throw away a crown, I will be your slave for life."

Dresden, October 20, 1902.

"Your Imperial Highness was pleased to call me a thief once," said the Tisch early this morning as she entered my boudoir, triumph written all over her yellow countenance. "You repeated that calumny to the Prince Royal and doubtless to many other persons. Today came the opportunity to live up to my reputation. I stole a letter addressed to you by your present lover, and as Your Imperial Highness is pleased to doubt my authority, immediately sent it to His Majesty. It makes highly interesting reading."

The blow made my knees tremble, but pain and rage came to my assistance, effacing the momentary weakness.

"Don't think for a moment to frighten me," I cried. "I say to your face that I have a lover – a gentleman, not an unspeakable, like your nephew. And now listen: I will tell the King and the press of Europe, if it must be, that it was you, my Grand Mistress, who 'pandered' me to Henry – for – revenue. I will have him whipped out of the army – "

"You don't suppose for a moment that the word of an adulteress would prove acceptable either to His Majesty or anyone else?" hissed the insolent creature.

"My word will be accepted all around," I shouted back, "for I have the proofs, proofs that you smuggled this unspeakable into my household, proofs that you lied to the King in order not to disrupt your nephew's career.

"And I will cry from the house-tops that you discovered my relations with Henry only after I had paid his debts, after I had financed his excursions to gambling-houses and to usurers' dens. Ah, I paid his tailors and glove-makers, his board and lodging, his laundry bills. I paid the alimony due his strumpets, and after all was done, after his lieutenantship had again a clean bill of health, financially speaking, then, and not a moment before, did you step in and make an end of the farce, wherein I played the part of 'angel,' or pay-master."

The Tisch got visibly smaller under my lash. The air of triumph she bore when entering the room gave way to an expression of despair. If she hadn't sent the letter to the King, I believe she would have given it up after I was half through with her.

Once more I hold the whip hand, but what good will it do me since I am condemned to lose the man I love?

At Midnight.

Richard approved of all I said and did. We were unspeakably happy this afternoon, despite the storm threatening us.

I fear neither the King nor Frederick Augustus now, but the fear of Sonnenstein I can't shake off.

If the King takes it upon himself to say that I'm mad, there will be plenty of medical authorities to bear him out, none to oppose him.

Of course, they will separate me from my children and will do their utmost to drive me mad between now and the time when I should be proclaimed Queen.

CHAPTER LXI

A MAD HOUSE FOR LOUISE – PROBABLY

My confidential maid, Lucretia, is banished – The new King has got the incriminating letter, but Frederick Augustus says nothing – On the eve of judgment the King falls ill.

Dresden, October 21, 1902.

This morning, at six, Lucretia rushed into my room. She was in her night-gown. Her hair was loose. No color in her face.

And between sobs and curses she told me that she had orders to leave by ten sharp. "If you dare stay over the appointed time, you will be transported to the frontier on foot, between gendarmes."

"Von Baumann shall come."

I threw a loose wrapper over my night-gown and received him at once.

"My marriage contract provides that no one but I have the right of dismissal with respect to Countess Baranello," I said sharply.

"As long as the lady keeps within the law," replied Baumann with just a trace of insolence in his voice.

I looked at him in astonishment.

"The Countess is guilty of a crime, of a succession of crimes," continued Baumann, "but His Majesty, not wishing to be harsh, decided to treat her merely as an obnoxious foreigner. She has forfeited her right to live in Saxony, and will do well to obey."

I helped poor Lucretia pack. I gave her a handful of jewels, I paid her a year's salary in advance and ordered the treasury to procure first-class passage for her to Rome.

I sent her to the station in my own carriage, and wired to our Rome representative to show her every courtesy.

Afternoon.

Frederick Augustus hasn't said a word to me about the affair with Richard. We have our meals together and his attitude in no wise differs from that usually maintained. Yet I am convinced he knows.

The last service rendered me by Lucretia, gave me great relief. She found out that neither the Tisch, nor Frederick Augustus, nor the King know who "Richard" is. Fortunately his letter was typewritten, signature and all.

Six o'clock.

The King announced his visit for eight o'clock.

Nine o'clock.

The King had a fall in his apartments shortly after he sent me notice of his coming. He was unconscious for two hours.

Safe for the time being!

CHAPTER LXII

KING'S ILLNESS A BOON TO LOVERS

Prayers mixed with joy – Espionage disorganized, and I can do as I please – Love-making in the school-room – Buying a ring for Richard – "Wishing it on" – "Our marriage" – King's life despaired of – My tormentors obsequious – Smile at my peccadilloes – Husband proud of me – My popularity a great asset – Frederick Augustus delighted when he hears that King can't last long – The joyous luncheon at Richard's studio – Making fun of majesties – I expect to be Queen presently.

Dresden, October 22, 1902.

He is dangerously ill. It may be weeks and months before the King recovers – if he recovers at all.

I feel like praying, crying, shouting with joy.

When Richard folded his arms about me this afternoon, I said to myself: "God doesn't begrudge me a lover as kind and good as Richard."

The King's illness has disorganized the espionage, my coming and going are no longer controlled. The body-groom brings in my letters as delivered at the gate.

In the school room, while the children are writing or studying, Richard and I find time to exchange kind words and even an occasional caress. When I "command" the tutor to my apartments, we need fear no surprise.

The utmost quiet prevails in the palace. The courtyard is sanded foot high and strewn with straw to deaden the sound of wheels and horses' hoofs. No more mounting of the guard with fife and drum.

I suggested that the children be sent to the Grosser Garten to play. The Tisch agreed with enthusiasm. This yields us – Richard and myself – two hours of love-making.

Dresden, October 25, 1902.

The King continues ill.

I went into a cheap jeweler's this afternoon and bought an inexpensive ring with a ruby no larger than a pin head. When I gave it to Richard, he grew red with joy.

Strange, he bought a similar ring for me. I shall never wear another ring in my life but Richard's. I pulled my rings off one after the other and threw them on the bed.

I kissed the larger ring and "wished" it on Richard's finger. He did the same with the ring intended for me. And we said, as with a common breath, "Our wedding."

Dresden, November 1, 1902.

A bulletin, by the King's physicians, holds out scant hopes for George's life.

I am watching the palace yard. The Archbishop of Dresden, attended by two court chaplains and a host of other clerics, is just mounting the stairs to administer the last rites of the Church. The next minute may see me Queen of Saxony. I may even be Queen now. I wish I had the effrontery to promise the lackey or official, announcing my enthronization, a handful of gold, as George did, when King Albert was dying.

Even so, I have risen immeasurably in everybody's esteem. The sweet family knows me again. Johann George, Mathilde, Isabelle and Max are kotowing to me. Bernhardt sent me a telegram of condolence – condolence! He is a humorist, that boy.

Minister of the Royal House, Baron Seydwitz, called twice. The Royal Adjutant, General von Carlowitz, spoke of the possibility of giving Bernhardt a command in Dresden. Von Baumann says it was the President of the Police who insisted upon Lucretia's hasty departure. If he, Baumann, had his way, my maid of honor would have got off with a warning.

And you should see the Tisch. She must have spent a month's salary on flowers for me, which I promptly sent to the nearest pauper hospital. She smiles, she nearly breaks her back genuflexing. Her every second word is "most submissive," "will the Imperial Highness deign to do this," that, or the other thing.

The terror got into her old bones and she trembles for her pension, for, of course, she knows that instant dismissal will be her portion.