"And Johann George—a shameless inheritance-chaser, despoiler of pupillary funds, gambler at the bourse, who whines like a whipped dog when he loses.
"The royal Bernhardt, companion of street-walkers!
"Prince Max, who talks theology, but keeps his eye on Therese.
"Your Queen, a victim of religious madness, your King and his system—organized selfishness. Chicanery for those dependent upon him, ruin for all more gifted than the average Wettiner.
"While living here I have learned to look upon my father's discrowning as a stroke of good luck for, since kings can no longer indulge their brutalities against their subjects, they turned tyrants at home.
"If your father did to the humblest of his subjects what he did to me, he would be chased from home and country. The people, the parliament, his own creatures would rise against him and blot his name from the royal roster.
"In the palace, in boudoirs, in the nurseries, he plays the prince—extortioner—executioner. To the public he is the benign lord, whining for paltry huzzas."
Frederick Augustus was so dumfounded, he could only grind his teeth.
I continued: "You prate of respect due the Majesty. There's nothing to induce feelings of that sort. Round me there is naught but weakness, hypocrisy, pettiness. I see shame and thievery stalking side by side in these gilded halls—gilded for show, but pregnant with woe.
"Fie on you, Prince Royal, who allows his wife to be dogged by spies. Thieves, paid by your father, steal my souvenirs; a burglar's kit hidden in their clothes, they besiege my writing table. Jailers stand between me and my children.