We have been having in Stuttgart what an intensely loyal newspaper-pen calls “Kaiser days.” That is, days in which the city has been glorified by the imperial presence. We have been having, too, “Kaiser weather,” for they say the hale old man whenever he comes brings with him sunshine and clear skies. Before his arrival all was flutter and expectation. Festoons and wreaths and inscriptions, waving banners, bright ribbons and flowers, were everywhere displayed, giving the whole place a happy, welcoming air. The decorations were extremely effective and graceful. KÖnigstrasse, the chief business street, looked like a bower. Lovely great arches were thrown across it, and every building was gay with garlands, flowers, and flags. The variety of the designs was as noticeable as their beauty. Sometimes the colors of the Empire and those of WÜrtemberg—the black, white, and red, and black and red—floated together. Sometimes to these was added the Stuttgart city colors, black and yellow. Many buildings displayed, with these three, the Prussian black and white, while other great blocks had large flags of Prussia and WÜrtemberg and the Empire as a centre ornament, and myriads of little ones, representing all the German States, fluttering from every window. One saw often the yellow and red of Baden, the green and white of Saxony, the white and red of Hesse-Darmstadt, and the pretty, light-blue and white of Bavaria, that always looks so innocent and girlish, amid so much warlike red and bold yellow, as if it were meant for dainty neckties and ribbons, and not for the colors of a nation. Many good souls mourn that even now, after its consolidation, the German Fatherland is so very much divided into little sections. Let them take comfort where it may be found. Were not the rainbow hues of banners and ribbons a goodly sight in the pleasant September sunshine? Ribbons, too, have their uses, and these, of many colors, were a thousand times more effective than any one flag duplicated again and again, even the stars and stripes. Pretty and joyous were they, floating on the breeze: they told tales of the different lands they represented, and it was no light task at first to understand their languages, there were so very many of them, such multitudes of brave little banners of brilliant hues, and all to welcome the Kaiser.

“Hail to our Kaiser!” said one inscription,—“Welcome to Suabia!” Poems, too, in golden letters fitly framed, were here and there waiting to meet him and do him honor. But the prettiest greeting was the simplest: “To the German Kaiser a SchwÄbisch GrÜss Gott,” which was over an evergreen arch in the KÖnigstrasse, and looked so very sturdy and honest in the midst of all the pomp and the grand inscriptions that called him Barbablanca, Imperator, and Triumphator. The house of General von Schwarzkoppen, commander of the WÜrtemberg troops, and the house of the Minister of War also, displayed, with the national colors, stacks of arms of every description, from those of ancient times down to the present day, at regular intervals between the windows, under long green festoons. At the American Consul's the flags of Germany hung with the stars and stripes. Ears of corn and cornflowers, which are the Kaiser's Lieblingsblumen, were woven into the wreaths on one house. Everywhere were evidences of busy fingers and happy ideas. At 4 P. M. of the 22d, while a salute was thundering from the Schutzenhaus, the imperial extra train entered the city. Even the locomotive looked conscious of sustaining unwonted honors, proudly wearing a garland of oak-leaves round the smokestack, and a circle of little fluttering flags.

At the moment the train came into the station the band accompanying the guard of honor gave a brilliant greeting, to which was added the “Hoch” of welcome. His imperial majesty the Kaiser descended from the car and embraced his majesty the king, who was waiting on the platform to receive him. While the crown prince, the grand dukes of Baden and MecklenbÜrg-Schwerin, Prince Karl of Prussia, Prince August of WÜrtemberg, and other distinguished persons were coming out of the train, the Kaiser stepped in front of the soldiers and greeted the generals, ministers, and all the gentlemen of the court who were there, cordially.

Then the OberbÜrgermeister, with committees in black coats and white rosettes behind him, in behalf of the city, made his little speech, which I will not quote because we all know what mayors have to say on such occasions, and this was quite the proper thing, as mayors' addresses always are. Indeed, if I only venture to give the first half-dozen words, I fear that people who are not used to the German form of expression will be alarmed, and will say gently, “Not any more at present, thank you.”

“Allerdurchlauchtigster grossnÄdigster Kaiser and Konig allerguÄdigster Herr!” This is the glorious way it began. Isn't it fine? Can any one look at that “allerdurchlauchtigster” without involuntarily making an obeisance? Aren't these words entirely appropriate to head a huge procession of aldermen, and other pompous municipal boards, and do credit to a great city? And wouldn't you or I be a little intimidated if any one should say them to us?

The Kaiser is, however, accustomed to having such epithets hurled at him. He was therefore not dismayed, and replied somewhat as follows:—

“This is the first time since the glorious war of the German nation that I have visited your city. I accept with pleasure the friendly reception which you have prepared for me, and heartily unite with you in the good wishes for our German Fatherland which you in your greeting have expressed. Until now we have only sowed, but the seed will spring up. In this I rely upon your king, who has ever loyally stood by my side. [Here he turned and extended his hand to the king. This as a dramatic ‘point’ was very good indeed.] Assure the city that I rejoice to be within its walls.”

After which were more and more “Hochs,” and then the illustrissimi seated themselves in the carriages which were waiting to convey them slowly through the crowded streets. Along the whole route where the procession passed were fire-companies with glittering helmets, different clubs and vereins, school-children,—the girls in white, with wreaths of flowers to cast before the emperor,—and soldiers, all stationed in two long lines. Through the alley so formed the carriages passed, and, behind, the dense crowd reached to the houses.

The people seemed very eager to see the Kaiser, but their curiosity was more strongly manifested than their enthusiasm, this first day of his visit, at least so it appeared to us. The loyal Tagblatt, however, says that the cries of the multitude rose to the skies in a deafening clamor, or something equally strong. But our eyes and ears told us that while the people continuously cheered, they were very temperate in their demonstrations. There was more warmth and volume in the voices when they greeted the crown prince. But Moltke alone kindled the real fire of enthusiasm. They cheered him in a perfect abandonment of delight. Hundreds of his old soldiers gave the great field-marshal far more homage than they accorded the Kaiser. As soon as he came in sight there was instantly something in the voices that one had missed before.

In the procession, first, were some of the city authorities, police and city guard, mounted, preceding the carriage in which the Kaiser and king rode. This was drawn by six white horses, with outriders in scarlet-and-gold livery. The two sovereigns chatted together, and the Kaiser looked in a friendly way upon the people, often acknowledging their greetings by a military salute.

Next came the crown prince,—“the stately, thoroughly German hero, with his dark-blond full beard,” says the German reporter,—and with him were the grand duke of Baden and Adjutant Baldinger. Many carriages followed, full of celebrities. Prince Karl of Prussia was there, Prince August von WÜrtemberg, Prince of Hohenzollern, Princes Wilhelm and Hermann of Saxe-Weimar. In the sixth carriage sat the great, silent Moltke, with his calm face, received with storms of cheering, and he would put up his hand with a deprecating gesture, as if to appease the tumult his presence created. There were, besides, magnates and dignitaries of all descriptions in the long train. Generals and majors and hofraths, counts and dukes, men with well-known names, men recognized as brave and brilliant soldiers; but it is scarcely expedient to tell who they all are. My pen has so accustomed itself to-day to writing the names of sovereigns, and to linger lovingly over the beautiful six-syllable words that cluster round a throne, it has imbibed from these august sources a lofty exclusiveness. It says it really can't be expected to waste many strokes on mere dukes. “Everybody of course cannot be born in the purple,” it admits,—this it writes slowly with long, liberal sweeps,—“no doubt counts and dukes are often very estimable people, but really, you know, my dear, one must draw the line somewhere”; and it does not deny that it feels “a certain antipathy towards discussing persons lower than princes,”—which impressive word it makes very black and strong,—“except in the mass.” And then it waves its aristocratic gold point in a way that completely settles the matter. I am very sorry if anybody would like to know the names, but it is such a tyrant I never know what it will do next; and I really don't dare say anything more about those poor dukes, except to mention briefly that there were seventeen carriages full of manly grace and chivalry, uniforms and decorations, scarlet, and blue, and crimson, and gold, and white, blond mustaches, plumes, swords, and titles.

When the line of carriages had passed over the appointed route, and all the people had gazed and gazed to their heart's content, the procession approached the Residenz where Queen Olga received her imperial relative and guest. He gave her his arm, and they vanished from the eyes of the ignobile vulgus. This was an impressive and elevating moment; but it is not curious to remember that after all, if the truth be told, allerdurchlauchtigster though he be, he is only her—Uncle William.

In the evening was a brilliant and large torch-light procession, and all the world was out in merry mood. The illuminated fountains, the statues and flowers in the pretty Schloss Platz, shone out in the gleam of Bengal lights, which also revealed the sea of heads in the square in front of the palace. A stalwart young workman stood near us with his little fair-haired daughter perched on his shoulder. They did not know how statuesque they looked in the rosy light, but we did. Much music, many Hochs, and the edifying spectacle of all their majesties and royal highnesses in a distinguished row on the balcony, for the delectation of the masses, completed the joys of the evening.

If any one imagines for an instant that all this very valuable information was obtained without much effort, and heroic endurance of many evils, he is entirely mistaken. At such times, if you wish to see anything, you must either be in and of the multitude, or you must look from a window, which affords you only one point of view and curbs your freedom, and doesn't allow you to run from place to place in time to see everything there is to be seen. At these dramas enacted by high-born artists for the purpose of touching the hearts and awakening the zeal of the lowly, there are no private boxes and reserved seats. We scorned the trammelling window, and chose to mingle with our fellow-men, with our fellow-butcher-and-baker boys, as well as with little knots of intrepid, amused women, like ourselves. Upon the whole, we enjoyed it. We made studies of human nature, and of policeman nature, which is often not by any means human, but, as Sam Weller says, “on the contrary quite the reverse.”

Policemen everywhere are glorious, awe-inspiring creatures. German policemen are particularly magnificent. They wear such gay coats, and are often such imposing, big blond men, it is impossible to look at them without admiration. The way they thrust and push when they want to keep a crowd within certain bounds is as ruthless as if they were huge automata, with great far-reaching limbs that strike out and hew down when the machinery is wound up. Practically they are successful; the only trouble is, it is the innocent ones in front, pushed by the pressure of the crowd behind, who are thrust back savagely, with a stern “ZurÜck!” by the mighty men, and who are treated like dumb, driven cattle. A friend who is always dauntless and always humorous, feeling the weight of a heavy hand on her shoulder, and hearing a tempestuous ejaculation in her ear, calmly looked the autocrat in the face, and with gentle gravity said, “Don't be so cross!” at which the great being actually smiled.

After that we thought perhaps these petty officials dressed in a little brief authority only put on their crossness with their uniforms. Perhaps at home with their wives and blue-eyed babies they may be quite docile. They may even, here and there,—delicious idea!—be henpecked!

This was the sentiment expressed by a loyal German at the close of the day: “Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace, for I have seen my Kaiser.”

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