King Albert of Belgium
and try to leave each individual with the impression that he has been personally distinguished by their notice. They are not only playing a part, but they believe that they are really the part they play; so that any true conversation with them is largely impossible. Their minds, like their faces, are always making a public appearance and considering effect.
When they are alone with their own kind, they are free to talk of the matters that really interest them, and it is a conversation as typical as the little gossip of a group of nuns. They have no opinions to express on the problems of government; “it is a duty that they owe the crown” to express none, and consequently they rarely acquire any. They know little of the world around them, and say less. To arrive at any speaking acquaintance with matters of literature and music and art, one must make a mental effort in study, to which the Court life of busy empty-mindedness is not conducive. They converse, therefore, about royalty only—the latest marriage, the most recent engagement, the death of this prince, the illness of that, a birth in Spain, an archduke’s affair with a mistress in Austria—family happenings considered only in their family aspect, as idle as gossip, largely innocent, wholly uninteresting.
I can understand the respect paid to power; and royalty with power is far from ridiculous, even when it is unintelligent; but royalty without power is as great a bore as an aristocracy without the estate to support its pride. We are no longer in the feudal ages. Money has now the rule that used to belong to rank. And the chief use of the lesser royalties seems to be to dignify wealth by associating with it. Hence the court that the rich pay to them—the eagerness to entertain them, to take them on private yachts, to amuse them with automobile trips, to promote their fortunes on the Stock Exchange, and even to give them money if they will take it. They are usually too proud, of course; and the money is made by canny aristocrats who charge wealthy “climbers” for introductions to Court circles. The unfortunate royalties stifle in stuffy drawing-rooms, smiling on the compliments of aspiring riches, without even receiving a little “tip” for their complacency. Life in Court was little to my taste; I had found it no place for any one with an instinct for independence. But the accepted life of royalty outside of Court seemed to me worse. It was a life for gulls.
When my father was on his death-bed, at the age of eighty, my mother asked him, as she was leaving the sick-room: “When do you want me to come back to see you?” He replied: “No more. No one. Let me, at last, have my desire for solitude. Let me die alone.” And he did.
Before these years of travel were over, I had come to the same conclusion about myself. Since there was no life that I thought worth living in Courts, and no social life for royalty outside the Courts, I would have solitude. But it is easier to find solitude to die in than solitude to live in. By this time I had two sons growing up, whose careers had to be considered; I could not cut them off from the opportunities of advancement that would come from powerful friends and Court influence. I was very happy with them, in a companionship that had none of the lack of intimate parental affection so often denied to royalty; and I began to live for them, contentedly, as mothers do.
After all, that is the real life—the natural life—and the best of life while it lasts.