SOME few years later, while travelling with my family in
Switzerland, we happened to be staying at Baveno on Lago
Maggiore at the same time, and in the same hotel, as the
Crown Prince and Princess of Germany. Their Imperial
Highnesses occupied a suite of apartments on the first floor.
Our rooms were immediately above them. As my wife was known
to the Princess, occasional greetings passed from balcony to
balcony.
One evening while watching two lads rowing from the shore in
the direction of Isola Bella, I was aroused from my
contemplation of a gathering storm by angry vociferations
beneath me. These were addressed to the youths in the boat.
The anxious father had noted the coming tempest; and, with
hands to his mouth, was shouting orders to the young
gentlemen to return. Loud and angry as cracked the thunder,
the imperial voice o'ertopped it. Commands succeeded
admonitions, and as the only effect on the rowers was obvious
recalcitrancy, oaths succeeded both: all in those throat-
clearing tones to which the German language so consonantly
lends itself. In a few minutes the boat was immersed in the
down-pour which concealed it.
The elder of the two oarsmen was no other than the future
firebrand peacemaker, Miching Mallecho, our fierce little
Tartarin de Berlin. One wondered how he, who would not be
ruled, would come in turn to rule? That question is a
burning one; and may yet set the world in flames to solve it.
