Dresden, July 3, 1900.
Behold Louise, a political personage!
I was driving with my little ones in the Bois yesterday afternoon. We occupied an open court carriage, conspicuous for livery and magnificent horse-flesh, for I love display and the children enjoy it. We were driving along leisurely enough when there was hasty clatter of hoofs and wheels behind. Presently a royal coupé dashed up alongside.
The Tisch stuck her head out:
"Imperial Highness—the town's in revolt.—Socialist riot. They are marching upon the palace.—For the love of God, return at once. Your Imperial Highness must take a seat in this inconspicuous carriage. We will change to the first Droschke we meet, going through side-streets."
"My dear Baroness," I answered, "it's not in my nature to shirk peril. If I were to be hanged and quartered and could avoid that unpleasantness by changing from my carriage to a cab—I would be hanged and quartered. Take the children and return to the palace any way you like.
"As for me, I'll go back as Her Imperial Highness, the Crown Princess of Saxony, and my coachman will drive slowly."
I kissed the children, and the coupé rolled away at a sharp clip.
Calling the coachman by name, I commanded him: "You heard what my Grand Mistress said. Riot or no riot, I am solely responsible for my own safety. You will take orders from no one but me, neither from the mob nor the police."
The coachman lifted his hat respectfully and bowed a submissive "At Your Imperial Highness's orders." The groom, a young, good-looking fellow, struck the broadsword at his side.