Lucretia went to see him. He received her coldly, hardly vouchsafed a word. From a secret drawer of his desk he took a letter, ready written, dated and gave it to Lucretia. "It explains," he said curtly, as he opened the door for her.
He has abandoned me. Because I loved my children better than him, because I am a mother first, Lais second, he throws away his Imperial fille de joie like a lemon sucked dry and prates of tendernesses and heavenly fancies that he alone feels, that are outside the pale of my understanding.
He even refuses to thank me, this proud wooer of the royal bed. He "has given me the best that is in man to give to a woman," etc., etc.
Be it so! God desired to punish me and, because I loved much, he meted out to me mild chastisement.
He stole my lover, but I have my children.
Dresden, January 15, 1899.
The King, Prince George, my brothers-in-law, my cousins and aunts are trying to make a hero of me. Because I followed the inclinations of my heart and helped to save my children, there's no end of their praise and admiration. Did they take me for a raven? I am disgusted with so much unctuousness.
Nevertheless I changed my mind about the Duke's widow. When I felt friendly towards her and quarrelled with Johann George for taking her money and with the King for embezzling the testament and offering accommodation at the poor-house for his kin's children, I thought it a family affair, but now that the Socialist papers meddle with the case, which concerns the royal house and the royal house alone, it's time for the Crown Princess to stand by her colors.
Those Jews have actually the audacity to reprimand the King and the royal princes, to impute ignoble motives to us all! They talk of us as if we were Messieurs and Mesdames Jones or Browns, trying to enrich ourselves at the expense of a corpse!