My passion for sincerity has brought me unity of thought. I am a woman faithful to one vow which my heart admits freely.
I have known and loved few individuals well enough to allow myself to approach them and know them thoroughly, but when once my confidence and liking have been given and found to be justified, I have become deeply attached to those on whom they were bestowed.
Many people would have liked to have seen me deprived of happiness, but I possess at least this one jewel—faithfulness, and I have known the sweetness thereof; not only the banal and material fidelity—always more or less a passing phase as one generally understands it—but the pure and noble fidelity which accompanies a vigilant and chivalrous mind; the ideal of noble hearts, which is revolted by injustice and attracted by misfortune. Diverse fidelities, although sisters, are marvellous treasures in which one must be rich oneself to be enabled further to enrich the future with precious gifts.
Firm in upholding my rights, and true to my convictions when I believe them to be in accordance with honour and truth—which spring from a divine essence—and are not inspired by hypocritical conventions, I am afraid of nothing, and nothing can convince me against my will.
I have inherited these traits from my father and my mother; from my mother I get the spiritual side, and from my father I get the material side of my character. It is useless, therefore, to believe that I should ever act against the dictates of my conscience.
If I am compelled to give way for a moment, I do so as one would yield at the point of the bayonet.
Wickedness and compulsion do not create equity, they only create its reservations, and redress to justice is from God alone and not from man.
This strength of resistance against evil and contempt of etiquette are, so to speak, the salient characteristics of my life.
But in spite of my decided opinions I show marked nervousness in the presence of strangers. When they are introduced to me I can hardly speak to them, even though their personality appeals to me.
My beloved compatriots in Brussels, the friends who are always present in my thoughts, used to say, "Princess Louise is proud!" What a mistake! On the contrary, I should have much liked to respond to the affection they offered me, and to have entered those Belgian homes that I knew to be so hospitable. Ah! what happiness not to have been born a king's daughter! One could then speak freely to fellow-creatures who merited sympathy; but a princess cannot do as she pleases.