AN ATROCIOUS ROYAL SCANDAL
A royal couple that shall be nameless--The voluptuous Duchess--Her
husband the worst of degenerates--"What monsters these royalties
be"--Nameless outrages--A Duchess forced to have lovers--Ferdinand
and I live like married folk--Duchess feared for her life--Her
husband murdered her--I scold and humiliate my overbearing Grand
Mistress--The medical report too horrible to contemplate.
----R, _July 15, 1899_.
I am afraid to date this entry. Another terrible indictment of royalty.
And, as usual, things criminal are at the bottom of the abuse of
sovereign power.
The Duchess had a baby and asked me to be godmother to the little girl.
The King, eager to oblige his rich cousin, favored the journey. I
insisted that Ferdinand accompany me. "Marie," I said, "hates Tisch, and
she must, under no circumstances, be commanded to attend me." Lucretia
would do. It would be cheaper.
The King first wouldn't hear of Dr. von Barthels going. People might
think I had some chronic disease. But he finally gave in for the sake of
the child I expect. "We need a few princes more from you," said His
Majesty benignly. "When you got about a dozen boys, you can rest."
Pleasant job, that of a Crown Princess.
* * * * *
----R, _July 16, 1899_.
The Duchess is a pretty woman, her face a lovely oval. She has small
eyes, the color of amethysts. Her complexion is as white and harmonious
as if she washed in sow's milk, like the late Ninon.
Her mouth is sweet, but certain lines indicate that it can bite as well
as smile. She has abundant hair, the color of Ferdinand's.
This dainty, albeit voluptuous, little person, is mated to a bull-necked
He, pompous, broad and full of the conceit of the _duodez_ satrap.
Marie was forced to marry him; their honeymoon scarcely lasted a
fortnight and he treated her shamefully after that. Of course, babies
she must bear like any other "royal cow."
Gradually, very gradually, she got over her disappointment and shyness,
developing into a cunning, world-wise woman. Then came the man she was
bound to love, even as the violet is bound to be kissed by the sun. She
had no scruples about accepting him, thinking herself entitled to
compensation for the sorrows of her married life. And revenge is sweet.
The Duke found them out in the first month of their young love, walked
into her boudoir one fine afternoon and remarked casually that none of
his hats would fit him,--"on account of the horns you kindly planted on
my forehead."
Marie was more dead than alive when he asked her for the key of her
writing desk. She lied and lied; to no purpose.
He kicked open the writing desk, and with his iron fists broke the
shelves and pigeon holes, laying bare a secret drawer and stacks of love
letters it shielded. These he confiscated. Then locked himself into his
room to enjoy his disgrace. This monster is a _Masochist_ and Sadist
combined. He loves both to inflict suffering upon himself and upon
others.
What monsters royalties be!
In the meanwhile Marie experienced all the tortures of purgatory; she
thought of flight, of suicide. Before she could indulge in either her
husband was back: Othello in the last act.
Marie was frightened stiff, her brain a whirl, her limbs inert. Rape
most foul this crowned satyr committed. "He fell upon me as a pack of
hounds overwhelm a hunted, wounded she-stag," she said.
Afterwards he commanded her to describe minutely every detail of her
relations with the other. He was primed with the letter-accounts; he
made her dot her amorous I's and cross her bawdry T's. And every attempt
at omission he punished with kicks and cuffs; no drayman or brick-layer
could give a more expert exhibition of woman-beating! And he violated
her again.
This was the beginning of a series of outrages of the same gross
character. Marie suffered for years and years that His Royal Highness
may gratify his unclean fancies: he the pander; she the Cyprian.
"If I ceased having lovers, I think he would kill me," says Marie.
Alas, such is the stuff "God's Anointed" are made of! In the face of
such, we pronounce a hypocritical _j'accuse_ upon the Louis's and
Pompadours, upon Marie Antoinette even.
The Duchess, who knows, gave Ferdinand an apartment near my own. We are
living here like man and wife. He sometimes calls me "_Frau Professor_."
* * * * *
LOSCHWITZ, _July 19, 1899_.
Marie is dead. "Died suddenly," said the telegram. I understand now why
she begged me, with tears in her eyes, to remain at least two weeks. She
was afraid that, though ill and suffering after the confinement, he
would treat her as he did when he first found her unfaithful.
"Don't go," she cried. "It will be my death." And when I showed her the
King's letter commanding me to return at once, she made her confidential
tire-woman swear on the Bible that she wouldn't leave her for a minute,
day or night, until she herself released her from the promise.
Private advices from ----r say His Highness brutally kicked the faithful
maid out of his wife's bedroom and outraged his sick wife while the
servant kept thundering at the door, denouncing her master a murderer.
Ferdinand says the great majority of crowned heads are sexual
voluptuaries, deserving of the penitentiary or the straight-jacket.
* * * * *
LOSCHWITZ, _August 1, 1899_.
I caught the Tisch stealing one of my letters. Happily there was nothing
incriminating in it, though addressed to Ferdinand,--just the letter the
Crown Princess would write to a Privy Councillor. But the petty theft
indicates that she suspects. Prince George, I am told, receives a report
from her every few days.
Well, I had my revenge. The Queen called today to see the children, and
when Her Majesty and myself withdrew into my closet, the Tisch, who had
been spying, didn't retire as promptly as she might.
"Can't you see that you are _de trop_," I said sharply to her. "Please
close the door from outside." The Baroness gave a cry of dismay and the
Queen was scandalized.
"Louise," she said, "that is no way to treat servants. You should always
try to be kind and considerate with them."
"I am, thanks, Your Majesty," I replied. "All the officials and servants
love me, but I have very good reasons for treating the Tisch as I do."
Of course, George will hear of this, and the Tisch will be reprimanded
by him as well. Spies that compromise themselves, compromise their
masters.
The same evening I said to the Tisch in the presence of the nurses:
"My dear Baroness, I wish you would display a little more tact. Listen
at my doors as much as you like, but whatever you do, don't spy on Her
Majesty in my house." She exuded a flood of tears and I sent her to her
room. "Don't come back until you can show a pleasant face. I want to see
none other around me."
* * * * *
LOSCHWITZ, _August 2, 1899_.
Ferdinand received a medical report from ----r. My first private advices
regarding Marie's death were correct, but the additional details given
are too horrible to contemplate.
The poor Duchess was brutally murdered. She died cursing her crowned
murderer.
The manner in which she was put to death can only be likened to that of
the lover in Heinrich von Kleist's poetically sublime, but morally
atrocious, tragedy, _Penthesilcia_, except that, in poor Marie's case,
the _woman_ suffered from the awful frenzy of the male, in whom the
"gentlest passion" degenerated in Saturnalia of revolting cruelty. The
Duke killed Marie because _doing so gave him the most damnable
pleasure,--her the most excruciating pain_.
Yet the King's will is the highest law and criminals on thrones laugh at
the criminal code.