at was a long time ago," continued King Edward. "I was stopping
then with the King and the Queen of Denmark at Wiesbaden. I remember
it all so well. Poor Hatzfeldt. You know what Bismarck said about
him?"

"Was it not something about his being the best horse in his stable?"

"That is it," the King answered. "You have a good memory, too. How is
Countess Raben?"

"You mean 'the daughter'?"

The King laughed. "Yes, I mean 'the daughter.'"

We did not stay long after the dinner, as evidently their Majesties
were fatigued after their journey. The King coughed incessantly, and
the Queen looked very tired. I think that she is beginning to look
very like her mother, the dear old Queen.

The next day hundreds of court carriages were flying about Berlin; I
wish you could see the packages of cards that were sent to us. In the
evening was the gala opera. The Opera House is always decorated in the
same way, and there is always the same audience.

"Sardanapal" was the play chosen by the Emperor for this performance.
I thought it very interesting to look at, but impossible to
understand. It was a combination of orchestral music, choruses, and
pantomime. A dreadful-looking Nubian came out before the curtain
between acts and told us in German poetry what was going to happen.
The Emperor had taken a great interest in the play, and had indicated
all the costumes himself. Every dress was a study and entirely
correct, you may be sure, if the Kaiser had anything to do with it.
The ornaments which the actors wore were copied from specimens in the
museums. The scenery was very fine, and when Sardanapal was burned up,
with his wives and collection of gold and silver things, the whole
stage seemed to be on fire. This almost created a panic, and would
have done so if the audience had not seen that their Majesties sat
calmly in their seats. It was very realistic. The Emperor told me
afterward in the foyer that the flames were nothing but chiffon,
lighted with electric lights, and blown up with a fan from beneath.
When the fire had done its work there was nothing left upon the stage
but red-hot coals and smoldering _debris_. It was all very well, if we
only had been spared the lugubrious man with the beard made of tight
black curls, who did the talking.

The next day the luncheon in honor of their English Majesties at the
English Ambassador's, Sir Edward Goschen, was full of emotion. King
Edward wore the uniform belonging to his German re