"I can't believe it," shouted George, "that Jew-scribbler, the reviler
of kinship."

"He never lampooned the kings of Saxony," I calmly remarked, picking up
the volume. "Here is Her Majesty's dedication to me."

"Everybody knows the eccentricities of Her Majesty of Austria," shouted
George. "Anyhow, who gave you permission to read such rotten stuff as
this at our court?"

"Prince George," I answered, taking two steps towards him, "Duke of
Saxony, the Archduchess of Austria takes pleasure to inform you that in
her house she asks no one's permission what to read or do."

At this he turned drill-ground bully. "You are in the King's house,"
rang out his voice in cutting tones, "and at this moment I represent the
King. And in the King's name I forbid you to read these obscenities, and
in the King's name I hereby command that these books be destroyed at
once."

Well, since he talked in the King's name I had no leg to stand on. I
merely bowed acquiescence and he strutted out, turning his back on me as
he went without salutation of any sort. I ran into my room, locked the
door and had a good cry.

CHAPTER XVIII

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-klatsch