PRINCE GEORGE SHOWN THE DOOR BY GRAND-DUCHESS MELITA
A royal lady who walks her garden attired in a single diaphanous
garment--Won't stand for any meddling--Called impertinent--My
virtuous indignation assumed--A flirtation at a distance--An
audacious lover--The Grand Mistress hoodwinked--Matrimonial horns
for Kaiser--The banished Duke dies--Princes scolded like
school-boys.
DRESDEN, _February 5, 1896_.
At last Prince George got his deserts, and got 'em good and heavy. There
had been rumors for some time that Grand-duke Ernest Ludwig and his
bride, Victoria Melita of Saxe-Coburg, the English branch, didn't get
along together. Ernest Ludwig is a serious-minded, modest and
intelligent man, but a good deal of a sissy. Victoria Melita is a
spit-fire, very good-looking and anxious to let people know about it.
She rides horseback and fences to show off her figure, and someone
called her a Centaur.
"Be in the palace gardens tomorrow at eleven," answered Melita, "and you
will be convinced that I am not half-horse, even if my husband is a
ninny."
She kept the _rendezvous_, attired in a single garment of diaphanous
texture.
When Prince George heard that she had a lover, he went to Darmstadt to
"correct her," as he expressed himself with much self-satisfaction.
But Victoria Melita proved to him that English princesses are made of
sterner stuff than the German variety.
"I will have none of your meddling," said the bride of two years.
"I came here to make peace between you people."
"Play the dove to your daughter-in-law," quoth the Grand-duchess. "I
hear you are fighting like Kilkenny cats."
"You are impertinent, Madame," cried George furiously.
"You will oblige me by showing this man the door," demanded Victoria
Melita, addressing her husband.
"Not until I have explained the situation," answered Ernest Ludwig
quietly. "Listen, then, cousin! While I am by principle opposed to
divorce, I won't force my wife to live with me."
"And now be so kind as to withdraw," said Victoria Melita, opening the
door for Prince George. Poor as I am, I would have given five thousand
marks to have seen the meddling pest exit in that fashion, and I love
Victoria Melita for the spirit she displayed, even if I don't approve of
her _liaisons_.
* * * * *
DRESDEN, _February 10, 1896_.
A mighty virtuous remark escaped me on the last page, and I almost feel
like asking the Grand-duchess's pardon, for, whatever I am, I'm no
hypocrite. Melita is said to have a lover; I have an admirer. Up to now
I don't care a rap for him, but who knows?
It's Count Bielsk of the Roumanian Embassy. I can't remember whether he
was ever introduced to me. Most probably he was, but I forgot.
An elegant fellow--always looks as if he stepped out of a tailor's shop
in Piccadilly.
Every single night I go to the theatre the Count occupies an orchestra
chair that affords the best possible view of the royal box. It happened
too often and too persistently to be accidental. Moreover, I observe
that he pays no attention to the play. He has eyes for me only.
Impertinence? Decidedly, but I can't be angry with the fellow. On the
contrary, I am flattered, and the kind face and the fine eyes he's got!
Poor stupid Tisch doesn't approve of the theatre, of course, and usually
begs to be excused on the plea of religious duties. "What a sinner you
must be," I sometimes say, "when you are obliged to forever bother God
with prayers."
The Schoenberg I send into the next box, for she is no spy and never
watches me. But if I must take Tisch, I always command her to sit
behind me. Etiquette forbids her the front of the box and from the rear
she can see only the stage.
What fun to carry on a flirtation right under the nose of that
acrid-hearted, snivelling bigot, who would mortgage part of the eternal
bliss she promises herself for a chance to catch me at it!
Am I flirting, then?
To spite the Tisch I would plant horns on the very Kaiser.
* * * * *
_April 1, 1896._
The Duke of Saxony is dead--the man who at one time offered violence to
His Majesty. Bernhardt was mistaken; he left a wife and three children.
Of course, no recognized wife. Just the woman he married. Unless you are
of the blood-royal, you won't see the difference, but that is no concern
of mine.
Novels and story books have a good deal to say on the subject of
inheritance-fights among the lowly. Greed, hard-heartedness,
close-fistedness, treachery, cheating all around! See what will happen
to the Duke's widow and her little ones.
According to the house laws, a regular pirate's code, his late
Highness's fortune reverts to the family treasury. Prince Johann George
will derive the revenues from the real estate the Duke owned privately.
He is already rich,--sufficient reason for his wanting more. I shudder
when I think what they will do to the woman the Duke married.
The most notable thing about the funeral was the "calling down" Prince
Bernhardt got.
"You will go to my valet and ask him to lend you one of my helmets.
Yours is not the regulation form, I see," said the King to him in the
voice of a drill-sergeant. And Bernhardt had to take to his heels like a
school-boy caught stealing apples.
I had to laugh when I observed the meeting between my erstwhile admirer,
the Prince of Bulgaria, and His Majesty.
Ferdinand's broad chest was ablaze with orders and decorations, but his
valet had forgotten to pin onto him the Cross of the _Rautenkrone_, the
Royal Saxe House decoration. There were plenty of others, but the King
had eyes only for the one not dangling from a green ribbon.
Consequently, Ferdinand, though a sovereign Prince, got only one "_How
art thou?_" If we were living in the eighteenth, instead of the
nineteenth, century, his valet's neglect would constitute a prime cause
for war between the two countries.