Such a girl often starts on her enterprise poorly supplied with means to pay for her board, lodging, clothes, recreation, and instruction; she changes from the dearer sort of pension to the cheaper, finding her company and surroundings at each remove more doubtful and more dangerous; she grows disappointed and disheartened, perhaps physically ill; comes under bad influences, male or female; until finally the curtain falls on a sufferer rescued at the last moment by relatives or friends, or on a young life blasted. Such tragic cases, it should be said, are far from common, but they occur, and the possibility of their occurrence ought to be taken into account at the outset by the intending music or art student.

Happily there is another and brighter side to the picture, and the intending student with money and friends will enjoy and gain advantage from a few years of continental life, even though exceptional strength and genuine talent be wanting. Perhaps this is the experience of the great majority of art students in Germany. Freedom from the restraints and conventions of life at home compensates for the inconveniences arising from narrow means. Novelty of scenery and surroundings has a charm that is constantly recurring. The kindness and helpfulness of fellow-countrymen and countrywomen make the wheels of daily life roll smoothly. The freemasonry of art, its optimism and hope, and the pleasure and interest of its practice, investigation, and discussion wing the hours and spur to effort.

But to return to the Emperor. As a lad at Cassel he was fond of playing charades, and is reported to have had a knack of quickly sketching the scenario and dramatis personæ of a play which he and his young companions would then and there proceed to act. One of these plays had Charlemagne for its subject, with a Saxon feudatory, whose lovely daughter, Brunhilde, scorns her father for his submission. A banquet, ending in a massacre of Charlemagne's followers, is one of the scenes, and as Brunhilde is in love with Charlemagne's son she helps him to escape from the massacre. The Play ends with the suicide of Brunhilde. As he grew up the Emperor's interest in the theatre increased, and, as has been seen, when he succeeded to the throne he resolved to make use of it for educating and elevating the public mind. As patriotism consists largely in knowing and properly appreciating history he has always encouraged dramatists who could portray historic scenes and events, particularly those with which the Hohenzollerns were connected. Hence his support of Josef Lauff, Ernst von Wildenbruch and Detlev von Liliencron. Not long ago he arranged a series of performances at Kroll's Theatre intended for workmen only. The performances were chiefly of the stirring historical kind—Schiller's "Wilhelm Tell," Goethe's "Götz von Berlichingen," Kleist's "Prince von Hornburg," and others that require huge processions and a crowded stage. The general public were not supposed to attend the performances, but tickets were sent to the factories and workshops for sale at a low price.

In 1898 the Emperor publicly stated his views about the theatre. "When
I mounted the throne ten years ago," he said,

"I was, owing to my paternal education, the most fervent of idealists. Convinced that the first duty of the royal theatres was to maintain in the nation the cultivation of the idealism to which, God be thanked, our people are still faithful, and of which the sources are not yet nearly exhausted, I determined to myself to make my royal theatres an instrument comparable to the school or the university whose mission it is to form the rising generation and to inculcate in them respect for the highest moral traditions of our dear German land. For the theatre ought to contribute to the culture of the soul and of the character, and to the elevation of morals. Yes, the theatre is also one of my weapons…. It is the duty of a monarch to occupy himself with the theatre, because it may become in his hands an incalculable force."

If the Emperor has any special gift it is an eye for theatrical effect in real life as well as on the stage. He had a good share of the actor's temperament in his younger years, and until recently showed it in the conduct of imperial and royal business of all kinds. He still gives it play occasionally in the royal opera houses and theatres. The Englishman, whose ruler is a civilian, is not much impressed by pageantry and pomp, except as reminding him of superannuated, though still revered, historical traditions and events that are landmarks in a great military and maritime past. He would not care to see his King always, or even frequently, in uniform, as he would be apt to find in the fact an undue preference for one class of citizens to another. His idea is that the monarch ought to treat all classes of his subjects with equal kingly favour. In Germany it is otherwise. The monarchy relies on military force for its dynastic security, as much, one might perhaps say, as for the defence of the country or the keeping of the public peace, and consequently favours the military. Moreover, the peoples that compose the Empire have been harassed throughout the long course of their history by wars; a large percentage of their youth are serving in the standing army or in the reserves, the Landwehr and the Landsturm; finally the Germans, though not, as it appears to the foreigner, an artistic people, save in regard to music, enjoy the spectacular and the theatrical.

Accordingly we find the Emperor artistically arranging everything and succeeding particularly well in anything of an historical and especially of a military nature. The spring and autumn parades of the Berlin garrison on the Tempelhofer Field—an area large enough, it is said, to hold the massed armies of Europe—with their gatherings of from 30,000 to 60,000 troops of all arms, serve at once to excite the Berliner's martial enthusiasm, while at the same time it obscurely reminds him that if he treats the dynasty disrespectfully he will have a formidable repressive force to reckon with. Hence at manoeuvres the Emperor is accompanied by an enormous suite; whenever he motors down Unter den Linden it is at a quick pace, which impresses the crowd while it lessens the chances of the bomb-thrower or the assassin. The scene of the reception of Prince Chun at the New Palace was a great success as an artistic performance, and the pageants at the restoration of the Hohkönigsburg and at the Saalburg festival were of the same artistic order.

The Emperor's theatrical interest and attention when in Berlin are concentrated on the Berlin Royal Opera and the Berlin Royal Theatre (Schauspielhaus), and when in Wiesbaden on the Royal Festspielhaus at that resort. When in his capital he goes very rarely to any other place of theatrical entertainment. His interest in the royal opera and theatre both in Berlin and Wiesbaden is personal and untiring, and he has done almost as much or more for the adequate representation of grand opera in his capital as the now aged Duke of Saxe-Meiningen did, through his famous Meiningen players, for the proper presentation of drama in Germany generally. The revivals of "Aida" and "Les Huguenots" under the Emperor's own supervision are accepted as faultless examples of historical accuracy in every detail and of good taste and harmony in setting.

In a well-informed article in the Contemporary Review Mr. G.
Valentine Williams writes:

"Once the rehearsals of a play in which the Emperor is interested are under way he loses no time in going to the theatre to see whether the instructions he has appended to the stage directions in the MS. are being properly carried out. Some morning, when the vast stage of the opera is humming with activity, the well-known primrose-coloured automobile will drive up to the entrance and the Emperor, accompanied only by a single adjutant, will emerge. In three minutes William II will be seated at a big, business-like table placed in the stalls, before him a pile of paper and an array of pencils. When he is in the house there is no doubt whatever in anyone's mind as to who is conducting the rehearsal. His intendant stands at his side in the darkened auditorium and conveys his Majesty's instructions to the stage, for the Emperor never interrupts the actors himself. He makes a sign to the intendant, scribbles a note on a sheet of paper, while the intendant, who is a pattern of unruffled serenity, just raises his hand and the performance abruptly ceases. There is a confabulation, the Emperor, with the wealth of gesture for which he is known, explaining his views as to the positions of the principals, the dresses, the uniforms, using anything, pencil, penholder, or even his sword to illustrate his meaning. Again and again up to a dozen times the actors will be put through their paces until the imperial Regisseur is entirely satisfied that the right dramatic effect has been obtained.