That republican populace was to get to see the countenance and coat-tails not only of their tyrant, but also the countenances and coat-tails of many other tyrants, not to mention female tyrants.
The old doughnut women on the "Dam," which the city rented to them as a market-place, were threatening to bring suit against the city. They felt that it was hard to have to pay rent for the fresh air, day after day, with the prospect of selling a few doughnuts to the youth of the street, and now be run out because his majesty wanted to exhibit himself to the people from the balcony of the old City Hall.
Why shouldn't the old women be seen at their accustomed places? Must the doughnut industry be carried on secretly? Was it for fear of imitations and unprincely competition? Or was it to keep the old women from seeing the king?
At any rate, the whole kit of them had to leave. At most, they could only mix with the crowd incognito, and afterwards might join in the prearranged "Long live the King!" or somebody else, as the case might be.
It is really remarkable that princes die. Seemingly the "vivats" are of no avail.
The crowd was especially large, on account of the many majesties and highnesses who had gathered about the tyrant.
Among the number was the Prince of Caramania, who had especial claims upon the sympathy of the people, so all the newspapers said. One of his ancestors had been a captain in the service of the state and had, therefore, spilt his blood for the freedom of the Netherlands.
This blood, and perhaps the freedom as well, was newspaper arabesque. It was certain, however, that the prince wore a green coat with gold frogs; and upon his head he had a big plume. It was, therefore, quite proper for the crowd to cry occasionally "Long live the Prince of Caramania!"
Among the eminent gentlemen was a certain duke, who, by reason of his virtues, had got himself banished from his country. The man was thrifty and economical, though without neglecting himself. Nevertheless, the rabble had dethroned him and sent him across the border with a bushel of diamonds. Of these diamonds he was now to display a few dozen in the shape of coat-buttons and the like. The newspapers gave the crowd their cue accordingly. They were to cry: "Long live the Duke with his diamonds!"