I DEFY THEM
Laughter and pleasant faces for me—Frederick Augustus refuses to back me, but I don't care—We quarrel about my reading—He professes to gross ignorance.
Dresden, May 1, 1894.
What's the use keeping a diary that is nothing but a record of quarrels and humiliations? After I finished the entry about my scene with Prince George, I felt considerably relieved. I had held my own, anyhow. But fighting is one thing and writing another. I am always ready for a fight, but "war-reporting" comes less easy.
The unpleasantness with George brought in its wake, as a natural consequence so to speak, a whole lot of other squabbles and altercations, family jars and general rumpuses, which I cared not to embalm in these pages at the time. However, as they are part and parcel of my narrative, incomplete as it may be, I will insert them by and by according to their sequence.
After George was gone I made up my mind that, his commands and threats notwithstanding, I must continue to live as I always did: joyful, free within certain limits and careless of puritan standards. If the rest of the royal ladies, and the women of the service, want to mope and look sour, that's their affair. Let them wear out their lives between confessional, knitting socks for orphan children, Kaffe-klatsches, spying and tale-bearing and prayer-meetings,—it isn't my style. I'm young, I'm pretty, I'm full of red blood, life means something to me. I want to live it my own way.
I want to laugh; I have opinions of my own; I want to read books that open and improve the mind. I want to promote my education by attending lectures, by going to the theatre—in short, I don't want to become a dunce and a bell-jingling fool like the others.
If that spells royal disgrace—be it so. Louise won't purchase two "How art thou's?" at the price their Majesties and Royal Highnesses ask.
Of course, it would come easier with Frederick Augustus's help and support, but since he chooses to be bully-ragged and sat upon and, moreover, finds pleasure in licking the hand that strikes at his and his wife's dignity, I will go it alone.
I defy them.
Dresden, June 16, 1894.
I had another tiff with Frederick Augustus, but the cause is too insignificant to deserve record. I will rather tell about our grand quarrel following Prince George's visit. We dined alone that day, as he was eager to hear the news. The preliminaries didn't excite him much, but when I mentioned the book episode, he bristled up.
"You won't allow the King, or Prince George, to dictate what I shall read or not read?" I demanded. "My house is my castle and I won't brook interference in my ménage."
"Do you really suppose," replied Frederick Augustus, "that I'll court royal displeasure for the sake of those Jew-scribblers? I never read a book since I left school and can't make out what interest books can have to you or anyone else. Where did you get them, anyhow?"
I told him that Leopold supplied my book wants. "My brother is a very intelligent man," I said, "and the books he gives me are all classics in their way."
"Go to with your book-talk!" he mocked in his most contemptuous voice. "I asked the director of the royal library and was told that each of the books, to which father objects, was written by a Jew. Let Jews read them. It isn't decent for a royal princess to do so."
"My brother isn't a Jew."
"But in utter disgrace in Vienna. No one at court speaks to him. He is head over heels in debt and the next we know he will be borrowing from us. As to those books, don't bring any more into the house. Royal princes and princesses have better things to do than waste time on Jew-scribblers."
With that he violently pushed back his chair and left me, a very much enraged woman. He didn't give me the chance to have the last word.