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.

Frederick Augustus talks of having some more princes and--acts accordingly. Perish the thought that his Louise is an adulteress, that she ever had a lover, has one now!

He is haunting my room, running from door to window, from window to door. Every little while he opens the _portieres_ to see if no one's coming to address him "Your Majesty."

"Your popularity with the public is a great a.s.set," he says over and over again. "Lucky devil I, to have a wife as smart as you."

DRESDEN, _November 2, 1902_.

Frederick Augustus came running into my room and gave me a bear-hug.

"The doctors say the King is lost. Impossible to keep him alive any longer."

He rushed out.

I am Queen.

_After Lunch._

Just back from Richard's studio. We had lunch together. We laughed, we danced, we sang. We bombarded one another with pillows.

We acted the jubilant heirs. I recalled Sybillenort at the time King Albert died. In Saxony, when man or woman shuffles off this mortal coil, there's always a good "feed" at the corpse's expense. At the late King's castle a "mourning breakfast" was served upon the royal family's arrival from Dresden--a most magnificent repast in the matter of plate and victuals offered, but each had to serve himself or herself, as servants were dispensed with.

This by the new King's special orders--that he might hear himself addressed "Your Majesty" by his kith and kin, a formality usually neglected in the family circle except when two or more of the big-wigs are warring against each other.

"Will Your Majesty have one or two lumps of sugar?"

"May it please Your Majesty--some steak?"

"I hope Your Majesty will allow me to peel an orange for Your Majesty."

Thus at Sybillenort. And at Richard's:

"Will Your Greatness (Majesty) deign to take Your Greatness's feather out of my eye?"

Or: "May it never please Your Transparency (_Durchlaucht_, German for Highness) to let _His_ Greatness see through you."

I am several times a Countess besides a Princess, d.u.c.h.ess, etc., and Richard continued with his paraphrasing of t.i.tles:

"Your Illuminatedness[8] makes lights quite unnecessary," and he switched them off in a room already darkened by blinds and shades and curtains.

FOOTNOTES:

[Footnote 8: "Illuminated" is the proper t.i.tle for German counts of the higher cla.s.s.]

CHAPTER LXIII

WHAT I WILL DO WHEN I AM QUEEN

A foretaste: t.i.tled servants put me _en route_ for lover--The bargain I will propose to Frederick Augustus--Frederick Augustus will be a complaisant King--To revive _Pet.i.t Trianon_--I am addressed as Queen.

DRESDEN, _November 3, 1902_.

Though still styled Crown Princess, I am already revelling in the delights and perquisites of queenship: I do as I please, go where I please, I would think aloud, as I please, if anyone dared me.

For all my enemies of a week ago turned flatterers and flunkeys, bowing, grovelling, fawning, contemptible in their self-abas.e.m.e.nt, but quite useful to my purposes.

Like most royal palaces, ours at Dresden has a secret staircase and exit for emergencies. It is never used by ladies; only the princes have recourse to it, occasionally, to drop out of sight in _mufti_, for, of course, royal incognito is more or less legitimate.

"In the evening, after our card party was over, Catherine was seen to dismiss her court and retire to her private apartments with the new favorite," say the Secret Memoirs of the Court of St.

Petersburg.

Less publicly, perhaps, but even more illegitimately, I walk the secret staircase _en route_ for my lover whenever I please nowadays.

I go veiled and--make the Grand Mistress open the door for me. She knows that I am on sweet pleasure bent and--smiles.