A sentiment seemed to underlie everything they did. The Emperor
meant so much to them, and they adored the Empress. A personal
feeling, an affection, such as I had never heard of in a
republic, caused me to stop and wonder if an empire were not the
best, after all. And one day, when the Emperor, passing through
Hanover en route, drove down the Georgen-strasse in an open
barouche and raised his hat as he glanced at the sidewalk where I
happened to be standing, my heart seemed to stop beating, and I
was overcome by a most wonderful feeling--a feeling that in a man
would have meant chivalry and loyalty unto death.

In this beautiful old city, life could not be taken any other
than leisurely. Theatres with early hours, the maid coming for me
with a lantern at nine o'clock, the frequent Kaffee-klatsch, the
delightful afternoon coffee at the Georgen-garten, the visits to
the Zoological gardens, where we always took our fresh rolls
along with our knitting-work in a basket, and then sat at a
little table in the open, and were served with coffee, sweet
cream, and butter, by a strapping Hessian peasant woman--all so
simple, yet so elegant, so peaceful.

We heard the best music at the theatre, which was managed with
the same precision, and maintained by the Government with the
same generosity, as in the days of King George. No one was
allowed to enter after the overture had begun, and an absolute
hush prevailed.

The orchestra consisted of sixty or more pieces, and the audience
was critical. The parquet was filled with officers in the gayest
uniforms; there were few ladies amongst them; the latter sat