THE ROMANCE OF THE LEOPOLDS.

Otago Witness, Issue 2630, 10 August 1904, Page 70

THE ROMANCE OF THE LEOPOLDS.

King Leopold, who, it is said, never wears gloves, is inordinately proud of his hands, which are finely shaped and perfectly kept. Those hands and the royal beard, which is a triumph of nature and art, absorb a large share of attention and take up a great deal of time. His Majesty's father, as Prince Leopold of Saxe-Coburg, -nas considered the handsomest Prince in Europe. At the Congress of Vienna, where he flourished along with most of the crowned heads and potentates of Europe, he was voted the only possible living presentation of Apollo, whom they wished to appear in a sort of tableau-vivant of tho#gods of OlympuSj got up for the entertainment of the Emperor Alexander of Russia and his lovely sister, the Duchess of Oldenburg.

Failing him, there was a certain Polish Hussar whose perfect features qualified him for the part, if he would only sacrifice a twirled moustache, which was the pride

of hi« heart. But the Hussar officer declared he would rather lose his head than his moustache, and Prince Leopold goodnaturedly avowed himself willing to take his stand among the deities, which he did to the admiration of "all Europe," as the Vienna Congress loved to style itself. There were fine doings during those gay months in Vienna. Two Emperors and Empresses, Kings, Queens, and lesser lights by the score ; and each one tried to outvie his neighbour in the giving of fetes and balls, banquets and entertainments. Emperm 1 Francis had a fete on the ice in compliment to his Russian brother, and brought sledges, horses, and servants from the Neva so that all should be in keeping. Emperor Alexander returned the civility by a scene from Austrian history, where Austrian heroes in Austrian dresses chanted Austrian patriotic songs. Lord Castlereagh, ihe British representative, gave a dinner which cost £25,000, at which his wife wore his Riband of the Garter in her hair, and the King of Wurteniberg had a table cut out into° a semi-circle so that his enormous figure might" sit at ease through the interminable courses.

At every fete, in every company, Prince Leopold undoubtedly owned the handsomest fact and stateliest carriage there. And it was said that Lord Stuart, our English Ambassador's first attache, there and then suggested that his Highness should come to England and wir the heart of England's heiress, Princess Charlotte. But the gay day* came to a tragic end. One morning it was bruited abroad that Napoleon Bonaparte had escaped from Elba and landed on French ground. Emperors and Kings laughed aloud. Prince Talleyrand declared th French would hang him on the nearest tree. But the short man in the grey great-coat lauded at Frejus, and stamped his booted foot with the quiet remark, " The Congress is dissolved."

In spite of their seeming gaiety the grand company at Vienna melted away like snow in June. Kings and Queens hurried home to snatch what~they could from their tottering fortunes. There was a re-arrangement of ideas and f boundaries. But a year afterwards came Waterloo. Bonaparte was sent to a further isle than Elba, and there was anothei Congress — one where there was less talking and dancing, and more business.

But Prince Leopold remembered the hint he had received about the heiress of England. To London he came, and wooed and won the girl to whose girdle three crowns were hung. She died, as all know, after one short year of wedded life. But the man who had been her husband was lifted for ever out of the ruck of petty German princedoms. Prince Leopold's second bride was the daughter of the King of the French, aaid his children were born after he himself had been elected Kins of the Belgians. The present King is his eldest son. His only daughter bears his first wife's name, Charlotte. But her fate has been far more sad. She, too, mairied in her first youth. But although her husband became an Emperor, through him she suffered sorrow severe enough to overthrow hei reason. Charlotte, once impress of Mexico — Leopold I's only daughter, first cousin once removed of our own King — vet lives a hopeless luuatic ; very gentle, they say, and not really unhappy. She is always, in imagination, going lo plead .her husband's cause — at the Tuileries, at Rome, in London — anywhere where help may be found to rescue Maximilian. She forgets that help is of no use now — that Maximilian lies in the Capuchin Church by the tomb of his ancestress, Maria Theresa, — shot through the heart by the Mexicans whom he vainly tried to rule.