Riva Maria - Marlene Dietrich

Marlene Dietrich

The Life

Maria Riva

PEGASUS BOOKS

NEW YORK LONDON

TO ALL WHO VERIFIED MY MEMORY, AMENDED IT, JOGGED IT, CHALLENGED IT, REFINED IT, MY DEEPEST GRATITUDE.

TO ALL WHO LIVED WITH THE RESULTS OF IT AND LOVED ME STILL, MY ETERNAL DEVOTION.

THIS BOOK IS FOR THE RIVAS, BIG AND SMALL AND YET TO BE

AND

TAMI

SCHNEBERG

He must have been gorgeous! Ramrod straight, the deep blue of his perfectly tailored cavalry uniform taut across the muscles of his fencers back, elegant face, its high cheekbones emphasizing eyes glinting clear blue behind hooded lids. Bedroom eyes had not been invented yet, but it would have suited Louis Otto Dietrich perfectly. He looked exactly what he was; a Prussian officer, born to class and privilege. He had removed his spiked helmet, his red-blond hairthe world would one day report its color as being Titian when describing his daughterscaught the glint of the afternoon sun as it filtered through the Victorian lace curtains of his fathers library. An acknowledged rake, Louis Dietrich was used to tongue-lashings from his long-suffering parent.

Once and for all, if you dont stop with these whores of yours, you will be sent across the sea to be scalped by Indians!

Louis had been threatened with banishment to far-off America and its Indian hordes so often, he remained silent, at attention in front of his fathers desk, waiting for the usual lecture to run its course. It was a well-known threat that neither man took seriously. As only the second son of an aristocratic family, Louis knew he had little to look forward to, even less to lose. An automatic military commission assured him the elegance of a suitable uniform and a steady supply of drinking and gambling companions. Courtesans belonged to this life as much as the shiny dueling sword at his slender hip. Having recently distinguished himself in all regimental protocols required, he felt his military credentials were henceforth ones that the Fatherland could be justly proud of; his duty done, he now deserved to resume his favorite sport. Louis loved the game of love; the hunt, the chase, the capture, the inevitable surrender. Like a blue-eyed falcon, he swooped, and girls swooned in anticipation.

God damn it, Louis! Dont you have anything to say? Calmly, as though reciting his catechism, the son promised his father once again, he would mend his wild ways, protect the noble name of Dietrich from the slightest hint of scandal, strive diligently to present the family with what it seemed to want so fervently, a son they could be justly proud of. Louis could charm the larks off the linden trees. This monthly ritual of making Louis see the error of his ways always ended with a formal handshake, a deferential clicking of heels by the son, a gallant toast to the Kaiser in the excellent champagne his fathers cellar was known for. Unrepentant, Louis kept right on making German maidenhood happy.

But when he brought his talents into the ancestral home, seducing one of the parlor maids, his outraged mother took chargeno lengthy discussions, certainly no champagne! She announced to one and all: Louis is getting married!

The Dietrichs were summoned to a family council. The brothers, sisters, uncles, aunts, cousins, the whole imposing clan. They arrived in sumptuous landaus, on prancing horseback, some in their Daimler Strength Wagons that frightened the sleek harness horses. Amidst much shaking of bonneted heads, stroking of mustaches, clinking of Meissen china and Bavarian crystal, the eligibility and availability of Berlins virgins were discussed, scrutinized as precisely as a military objective. The campaign to find a suitable bride to keep Louis in line had begun. It soon floundered. It seemed the Golden Falcons reputation had filtered into an amazing number of the best homes. Proud Prussian mamas closed ranks, refusing to allow their innocent daughters even be considered likely candidates for marriage to such a shocking bounder. While the family searched, Louis rode his horses and his amours with equal gusto.

The list of available brides dwindled. There was that rather quiet, nearly pretty, jewelers daughter. The one whose father made those beautiful timepieces, perfect craftsmanship, really works of art. Her dowry would be substantial, the family honored to have their daughter marry above her station.

Wilhelmina Elisabeth Josephine Felsing was a good girl. She obeyed her mother, respected her father, asked nothing more of life than to do her duty, properly. Not really pretty, she looked capable and trustworthy. Her dark brown eyes could hold a hint of mischief, but rarely did she permit herself such frivolity of inner spirit. It wasnt that she lacked warmth or a sense of emotion. Actually, she would later discover that she was capable of tumultuous passion, but even then, if confronted by choice, duty always took preference over anything else. Being German, this suited her. Being a Victorian female, her future was known to her, which also suited her. Being of marriageable age, her father would soon transfer his responsibility for her existence to a suitable husband. She knew her place in Berlin society, that of a successful tradesmans daughter. Josephine, as she was called, had been schooled well. She knew the duties of a good wife: to oversee the servants, personally inspect the folding of linen, the weekly polishing of silver, beating of carpets, seasonal exchange of draperies, itemizing of the larder, selecting daily menus with the cook, stitching her husbands monograms on his personal linen, bearing him heirs.

She was just twenty-one when Louis Dietrich, resigned to his fate, came to her parents house to pay his respects. Properly chaperoned by her proud mother, Josephine watched him as he approached. His male beauty shocked her so, instead of lowering her eyes as she curtsied to him, her startled gaze remained fixed on his face.

Frulein Felsing, he murmured softly, brushing his mouth across the back of her cool hand, and, for this sensible, lackluster girl, time stood still. She loved him! A timeless passion, unquestioned, unexplained, sometimes unwanted, through betrayal, carnage of war, even beyond death, till the end of her days.

She wore white lace, a matching capelet of cashmere against the winter cold. The traditional band of myrtle holding her bridal veil, its circle securely closed, denoting her virginity; a Victorian girl in new Edwardian finery. Louis, having resigned his military officers elegance for the equally dashing uniform of a lieutenant in the elite imperial police, towered beside her in deep plum and opulent gold braid. They said their vows in an Anglican ceremony. It was December of 1898; she was twenty-two, he, thirty.

They moved into their new home in Schneberg, a fashionable town near Berlin where Louis was stationed. Schneberg was aptly named. It was indeed a pretty place, full of tall poplar trees, flowered gardens, intimate squares, careful architecture. The gracefully curved streetlamps were newly electrified; dark green trolley cars, with their small exterior platforms, no longer needed horses to pull them along their tracksnow boasted tall electric antennae with which to join the new century. Josephine ran her small establishment with an efficiency far beyond her years. Everything shone, sparkled, functioned properly. Louis was enchanted by this so-serious young bride wanting only to please. Being married might prove a pleasing diversion after all.

When the midwife announced the birth of his daughter, Louis acknowledged the news with a shrug of his beautifully tailored shoulders and ordered his horse, his duty done. His father would be disappointed that it was not a son, but as no child of his could inherit, be it male or female, it really made very little difference. He felt he needed a change of scene. His latest mistress was becoming tiresome, and now that Josephine would be suckling the child, he resolved to lock the connecting door between their bedrooms; while breeding women discomforted him, there was something about making love to a mother that he found somehow distasteful.