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 Opera Comique tonight. Come along?"
"You are _not_ going to the Opera 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.