FISTICUFFS DON'T SAVE MY CROWN
The attempted theft of my Diary--Grand Mistress discovered after
breaking open my desk--Reading Diary like mad--Personal encounter
between me and Grand Mistress--I am the stronger, and carry off the
manuscript, but have to leave all my love letters, which go to the
King--I discover that they had stolen the key to my Diary from my
neck.
DRESDEN, _November 27, 1902_.
I am undone.
They tried to obtain a picture of Louise _in the nude_--Louise as she
paints _Herself_--this Diary, in fact--and, though I foiled them, the
King now has in his hands my entire correspondence--every letter from
every man that ever approached or possessed me.
And be sure he won't use them for curl papers as did the Duke of
Richelieu with the remnants of his ladyloves' _billets doux_ that
escaped confiscation.
"My collection is incomplete. I have to begin another," he said.
Alas, my collection was only _too_ complete!
This is how it came about:
As I was in the act of retiring last night, a clairvoyant's vision
seized me. "Somebody meddling with your papers!" "They are breaking into
your _secretaire_," the voices said.
I slipped on a pair of bath sandals and stealthily opened the door of my
boudoir.
My writing desk was open, all the drawers ajar and in disorder; the
Baroness bending over this, my Diary. She was reading like mad, her eyes
danced with lust of revenge.
With one bound I was at her side and she was so frightened at first, I
thought she would drop. Her chest seemed to draw inward; she swayed to
and fro. But only for a second or two. Then, recovering her
self-possession, her fighting harness was in place again.
"Go to your room, Royal Highness," she said in a tone of command. "These
papers are confiscated in the name of the King."
I was beside myself with rage. "My Diary," I cried; "instantly return it
to me."
More I couldn't say, for I had neither breath nor voice. My right hand
was on the book when she attempted to seize it.
I struck her hand with Richard's ring--I wish it was bigger, I wish it
had a good diamond point--but she wouldn't let go. Then, before one
could count one, two, three, I had hold of her--Heaven, how I enjoyed
it; the satisfaction I had in giving rein to my passion, for all was up
now, anyhow.
With the left hand I caught her by the throat, while my good right boxed
her ears after the homely manner mamma had taught me. Good, sound cuffs,
I assure you, each liable to dislocate a tooth.
"_Canaille_," I cried, "_miserable canaille_." I pushed her into a
corner and recovered the Diary, folding it up quickly. I was holding the
book close to my bosom when I crossed the room to regain my bedchamber.
The Tisch after me, trying to snatch it back. I caught her on the chest
and sent her flying. Then, with the manuscript, I made good my escape,
leaving for the contemptible bird of prey all my love letters, reams of
them, the oldest fifteen or more years old, the latest bearing
yesterday's date.
Once in my room, I recollected and made a grab at my throat. The key to
my Diary was gone. They stole it, chain and all, while I was asleep, no
doubt.
* * * * *
DRESDEN, _November 28, 1902_.
Awakening, I find myself seated at the little table near the window.
Both my hands are ink-spotted. So is my night-dress.
I see, I have written an account of the battle. I must have done so
some time after I returned from the field. It's well, for at the moment,
I don't remember a thing.
The palace clock strikes seven.
The day of my doom.