The crowd was especially large, on account of the many majesties and highnesses who had gathered about the tyrant.
Among the number was the Prince of Caramania, who had especial claims upon the sympathy of the people, so all the newspapers said. One of his ancestors had been a captain in the service of the state and had, therefore, spilt his blood for the freedom of the Netherlands.
This blood, and perhaps the freedom as well, was newspaper arabesque. It was certain, however, that the prince wore a green coat with gold frogs; and upon his head he had a big plume. It was, therefore, quite proper for the crowd to cry occasionally “Long live the Prince of Caramania!”
Among the eminent gentlemen was a certain duke, who, by reason of his virtues, had got himself banished from his country. The man was thrifty and economical, though without neglecting himself. Nevertheless, the rabble had dethroned him and sent him across the border with a bushel of diamonds. Of these diamonds he was now to display a few dozen in the shape of coat-buttons and the like. The newspapers gave the crowd their cue accordingly. They were to cry: “Long live the Duke with his diamonds!”
Princess Erika was the niece of the king, and was to marry the crown-prince of a great empire, which was indebted to the Netherlands for its prominence. The newspapers gave the assurance that this empire would pay off the national debt of the Netherlands if the people would only put enough enthusiasm into a “Long live Princess Erika!”
The old Countess-palatine of Aetolia was descended directly from a certain knight who treated his hostlers like princes. In this case it was not inappropriate for a republican populace to ask for a prolongation of her ladyship’s life. The cry was: “Long live the Countess-palatine of Aetolia!”
The Grand-duke of Ysland was the handsome grandson of a shopman. His merits would fill three columns of fine print. The man was a master of the type-case himself, and by exerting himself could even set up his own name. The newspapers said that having safely passed an ocean of pitfalls, he had now perfected himself as the brother-in-law of a demi-god. Therefore, whoever had the interest of his country at heart could not afford to fail to bellow at the top of his voice: “Long live the Grand-duke of Ysland!”
There were still more potentates and ladies of quality who had honored Amsterdam with a visit. They had heard that the city was la Vénise du Nord, that it was tres interessant, tres interessant! etc.
And the Holland herrings! Délicieux! Unfortunately the Netherlanders didn’t know how to cook them; they must be baked.
And the Holland school of painting! Rambrànn—magnifique!