Dutch fiction -- Translations into English; Kings and rulers -- Fiction; Princes -- Fiction
Then the following carriages: the imperial chancellor, Count Myxila; the
ministers: seven of them forming part of the twelve who wished to
resign, the others chosen from among the most authoritative of the old
nobility in the house of peers itself!
Cheer away, shout hurrah!
Behind the coaches of the higher court-officials, the Xara cuirassiers,
the crown-prince's own regiment; behind them, a regiment of colonials:
Africans, black as polished ebony, with eyes like beads, their thick
mouths thrust forwards, clad in the muslin-like snow of their burnouses;
behind them, two regiments of hussars on heavy horses, in their long,
green, gold-frogged coats and their tall busbies.
Was ever parliament opened thus before, with such a display of military
force? And outside the town, on the high parade-grounds, do not the
people know that there are troops drawn together from every province,
camping there for the manoeuvres, the date of which has been
accelerated? And the increased garrisons of the forts, the squadron in
the harbour? Do the people themselves feel that they can do nothing else
than cheer and is that why they are cheering now, happy once more in
their cheering, with Roman docility and southern submission, enamoured
of the emperor because of the weight of his crushing fist, loving the
crown-prince for the attractive charm of his attitude in the north, or
perhaps because they think him interesting after an unsuccessful attempt
on his life?
And they seem not to feel that, through the grenadiers presenting arms,
they see neither the emperor nor the crown-prince saluting; they cheer
away, loving them in spite, perhaps because, of their indifference; they
cheer away like madmen....
Slowly the procession wends its way along the interminable main streets.
The whole city, despite its marble, trembles with the clatter of the
horses' hoofs upon the flagged pavement. Between the front escort and
the endless escort in the rear, the state-carriages, with their
glittering throne-guards, shimmer like a kind of jewel, small, rare,
carefully guarded. The cavalry are at this moment the soul of Lipara,
their echoing step its heart-beat; and between the grenadiers and the
tall houses the massed and cheering populace seems to have hardly room
to breathe.
The procession approaches the Imperial. Along the immense marble
fore-court the lancers and cuirassiers range themselves on three sides,
before the wings and along the front. Outside them the guards are drawn
up in line. The Africans close off the courtyard....
The carriages pull up; and the emperor alights. With the crown-prince by
his side, he goes through the vestibule up the stairs. The corridors of
the palace swarm with gold-laced uniforms; a packed suite crowds up
behind Oscar and Othomar. The master of the robes, with twelve grooms of
the bed-chamber, comes towards the emperor, who takes off his crown, as
does the crown-prince; their robes are unfastened for them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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