Part 16 (1/2)

”This has to stop,” he said with a fine effort at imitating authority.

”On Sunday, when we drove home from High Ma.s.s, you got an ovation while the King's carriage pa.s.sed almost unnoticed. And now this affront to the Queen.”

”Bother the old girl,” I replied, stamping my foot.

Frederick Augustus got as white as a sheet. ”That's the language of a--a--” He knew enough not to finish.

”It's the t.i.tle by which Queen Victoria is known to many of her subjects.”

”Who told you that?”

”I often run across it in the English newspapers.”

”Jew-sheets!” roared Frederick Augustus.

”Since you don't understand a word of English, you couldn't distinguish the London Times from the Hebrew At Work.” After this sally, I added maliciously: ”I'm going to the Opera Comique tonight. Come along?”

”You are _not_ going to the Opera Comique,” shouted Frederick Augustus.

”You don't want me to go, papa don't want me to go, uncle and aunt and cousins don't? So many reasons more why I _shall_ go. I announced my coming and I will go, if I have to tear the ropes, by which you might bind me hand and foot, with my teeth.”

I rang the bell and ordered dinner served half an hour earlier than usual. Then I went to my dressing room to inspect the new gown that I intended to wear at the theatre.

Girardi night! Girardi, the famous Vienna comedian! I never saw him. His humor will act as a tonic. Just what I need. I will die if I breathe none other but the air of this palace, that reeks with cheap pretensions, Jesuitical puritanism, envy and hatred, where every second person is a spy of either the King or George.

I must escape the polluted atmosphere for a few hours, at least, and laugh, laugh, LAUGH.

11:30 P.M.

I have seen Girardi. I have laughed. I saw the Dolores. And I don't blame Kyril a bit.

CHAPTER XVII

THE ROYAL PRINCE, WHO BEHAVES LIKE A DRUNKEN BRICKLAYER

I face the music, but my husband runs away--Prince George can't look me in the eye--He roars and bellows--Advocates wife-beating--I defy him--German cla.s.sics--”Jew literature” _Auto da fe_ ordered.

DRESDEN, _April 2, 1894_.

Chamberlain Baron Haugk, of the service of Prince George, called at nine A.M. and insisted upon seeing me. I sent out my Grand-Mistress, Baroness von Tisch, to tell him that ”Her Imperial Highness would graciously permit him to wait upon her at half past ten.”

”But my all-highest master commands.”

I was listening in my boudoir and I went out to him only half-dressed, a powder-mantle over my shoulders.

”Her Imperial Highness will not have her commands questioned by servants,” I said in my most haughty style. The _Kammerherr_ knocked his heels together, bowed to the ground and retired. That's my way of dealing with royal flunkeys, no matter what their t.i.tle of courtesy.

He was back at the stroke of the clock to announce his ”sublime master”