east. From this point he was to go northwards. He found a path that led
from the bank of the river, through the woods, across the mountain chain.
The dew still hung on the grass, and above in the oaks and beeches, it
seemed as if all the birds were holding high festival, there was such a
fluttering, and calling, and chirping, and trilling, and singing, while
the woodpecker beat time. The sunshine played among the branches, and
fell through onto the flowery earth, where it lay among the shadows of
the leaves like so many round pieces of gold. Although George was
climbing the mountain, his breath came freely, and all at once, without
any reason, he burst into song. He sang a song at the top of his voice,
there in the woods, that he had learned from the gardeners. At noon he
thought he had reached the top of the mountain, but behind again a yet
higher peak arose, and so, after he had eaten the bread and butter which
the blacksmith's wife had given him, he continued his way and, as the sun
was setting, attained the summit of the second mountain, which was the
highest far and near.
Once more he beheld the river which, sparkling and bright, wound through
the green plain like a silver snake. Smaller hills covered with forests
fell away on all sides and the tops of the trees caught the radiance of
the sinking sun. Over the snow-fields of the further mountain-ranges, a
rosy shimmer spread that made him think of the peach blossoms at home; a
purple mist obscured the rocky peaks behind him and there, far away to
the south, was a tiny speck of blue. That might be his own dear lake,
which he was never to see again. It was all so wonderfully beautiful and
his heart filled to overflowing with memories and hopes. Neither to the
right nor to the left, whither he turned his eyes, were there any
boundaries to be seen. How wide, how immeasurably wide was the world
which, in the future, was to be his home, in the place of the small
walled garden of the castle. Two eagles were floating round in circles
under the softly-glowing fleecy clouds, and George said to himself that
he was as free and untrammelled on the earth as they were in the air;
suddenly a feeling of delight in his liberty overcame him, he snatched
his cap from his head and, waving it aloft, tore down the mountain, as if
he were running for a wager. That night he found hospitable housing in
the cell of a hermit.
After this he derived much pleasure from his wanderings. He was a child
born to bad luck--no denial could change that--nevertheless a child
destined to good fortune could hardly have been more contented than he.
On the thirtieth day of his journeying he met with a travelling companion
in the lower countries, which he had reached some time before. This was
a stone-mason's son, who was much older than George, but who accepted the
gay young vagabond as his comrade. The youth was returning home after
his wanderings as a journeyman and, as he soon discovered that George was
a clever, trustworthy boy with all his wits about him, he persuaded him
to offer himself as apprentice to the stone-mason, who was an excellent
master in his business. His name was Kraft, and he gladly received his
son's companion as apprentice, George having spent his last groschen that
very day, and thus the little prince was turned into a stone-mason's
apprentice.
In the castle of the Greylocks, meanwhile, there was sorrow and
lamentation. The boy who had ventured onto the lake with George, managed
to save his life and returned home the following morning, and to repeated
questionings he had only the one answer to make--that he had seen the
prince drown before his very eyes. With this information the Court had
to content itself; but not the duchess, for a king will give up his
throne sooner than a mother the hope of seeing her child again. She
possessed indeed one means by which she could know beyond doubt whether
her darling were alive or dead, namely the magic mirror which the fairy
had given to the first Wendelin, and in which, ever since, the Greylocks
had been able to see what they held most dear. In this glass she had
seen her husband fall from his horse and die. Once again she took it out
of the ivory casket in which it was kept; but so long as George sat
imprisoned in the cave of the evil spirit, nothing was to be seen on its
smooth surface. That was ominous, yet she ceased not to hope, and
thought: "If he were dead, I should see his corpse." She sat the whole
night staring in the mirror. In the morning a messenger from the army of
the Greylocks arrived, bringing word that the enemy was pressing upon
them and that a battle would have to be fought before the fresh troops,
which Moustache, the field-marshal, had asked for, could arrive.
The issue was doubtful, and the duchess would better have everything
ready for her flight and that of the princes, and, in case of the worst,
to carry with her the crown jewels, the royal seal and a store of gold.
The chancellor ordered all of these things to be packed in chests and
warned the servants not to forget to add his dressing-gown. Then he
begged the noble widow to look into the glass and to let him know as soon
as there was any reflection of the battle.
Presently she saw the two armies fall upon each other, but her longing to
see her son overcame her immediately, and behold, there in the glass he
appeared, seated by the side of an old ragged shepherd and eating bread
and cheese, his clothes were soaked and there was no possibility of his
changing them. This worried her and she at once pictured him with a cold
or lying helpless in the open air, stricken down by fever or inflammation
of the lungs. Henceforth she thought no more about the decisive battle,
and forgot all else during the hours that she sat and followed George's
movements. Then she sent for huntsmen, for messengers and for all the
professors who studied geography, botany, or geology, and bade them look
into the mirror, and asked them if they knew where those mountains were,
of which they saw the reflection. The smooth surface showed only the
immediate surroundings of the boy, and no one could tell what the
district was where George wandered. Thereupon she sent messengers
towards all points of the compass to seek him.
Thus half the day passed, and when the chancellor came again in the
afternoon to inquire after the fortunes of the battle, the duchess was
frightened, for she had entirely forgotten the conflict.
She therefore commanded the mirror to show her again the army and
Moustache, the field-marshal, who was a cousin of her late husband. She
beheld with dismay that the ranks of her soldiers were wavering. The
chancellor saw it, too; he put his hand to his narrow forehead and cried:
"Everything is lost! My office, your Highness, and the land! I must to
the treasury, to the stables! The enemy--flight--our brave soldiers--I
pray your Highness to keep a watch over the battle! More important
duties. . . ."
He withdrew, and when half an hour later he returned, very red in the
face from all the orders that he had given, and looked over the duchess'
shoulder, unperceived into the mirror, he started back and cried out
angrily, as no true courtier ought ever to allow himself to do in the
presence of his sovereign: "By the blood of my ancestors! A boy climbing
a mountain. And there is such dire need to know . . ."
The duchess sighed and called the battle once more into view. During the
time that she had been watching her son, things had taken a better turn.
This pleased her greatly, and the chancellor exclaimed: "Did I not
prophesy this to your Highness. The circumstances were such that the
victory was bound to be ours. Brave Moustache! I had such confidence in
him that I saw the caravans bearing the treasure depart, without a pang
of uneasiness. Will your Highness be good enough to have them recalled."
After this the duchess had no further opportunity to see the reflection
of her boy until the battle was decided and the victory theirs beyond a
doubt; then she could use the mirror to gratify the desire of her heart.
When George walked along dejectedly, she thought: "Is that my heedless
boy?" and when he looked about him gaily once more to see what mischief
he could get into, she rejoiced, yet it troubled her, too, to have him
appear so free from all grief, she feared that he might have entirely
forgotten her.
All the expeditions that she sent in search of him were fruitless; but
she knew from the glass that he had become apprentice to a stone-mason
and had hard work to do. This made her very sad. He was indeed a child
born to misfortune, and when she saw him eat out of the same bowl with
his companions, food so coarse, that her very dogs would have despised
it, she felt that the misery into which he had fallen was too deep, too
awful. Yet, strange to relate, he always seemed gay, despite these ills,
whereas Wendelin, the heir to the throne, grew more peevish every day.
The duchy of this fortunate youth had been enlarged by the late
successful war, and the assembly of the states of the empire was debating
whether it should not be made a kingdom. He possessed everything that it
was in the power of man to desire, and yet, with each new month, he
seemed to become more unhappy and dejected.
When the heir to the throne drove out in his gilt coach and the duchess
heard of the enthusiasm exhibited by the people, or saw him sitting at a
feast of pheasants, smacking his lips and drawing the asparagus between
his teeth, she reflected on his brother's hard lot and could not help
feeling angry with her fortunate son for possessing all the gifts that
Destiny refused to her poor outcast George.
Once when the duchess looked in the mirror, she saw George who had
carefully taken a clock to pieces, trying to put it together again.
A moment later the chancellor and the master of ceremonies came up behind
her in order to look into the glass also. No sooner had they done so
than they set up a loud outcry, and behaved as if the enemy had invaded
the land again.
"The poor, miserable, pitiable, ill-starred princeling!" one of them
exclaimed. "A Greylock, it is unheard of, abominable, sacrilegious," the
other moaned. They had indeed beheld a dreadful sight, for they had seen
the son of Wendelin XV. beaten over the back by a common workman with a
stick. The duchess had to witness many similar outrages later when she
saw George in the school to which the stone-mason sent his promising
apprentice. Alas! how long the poor child had to bend over his drawing-
board and his slate doing dreadful sums, whereas Wendelin only studied
two hours a day under a considerate tutor who gently coaxed him along the
paths of learning. Everything that seemed difficult was carefully
removed from his way, and everything that was unpalatable was coated with
sugar before being presented to him. Thus even in school the fortunate
child trod a path strewn with roses without thorns, and if he yawned now
and then in his tutor's face, the latter could flatter himself that the
young prince yawned much more frequently over what other people
considered pleasures and amusements.
When he attained his sixteenth birthday, he was declared to be of age,
for princes mature earlier than other men. Soon afterwards he was
crowned, not duke, but king, and it was remarked that he held his lace
handkerchief oftener than ever to his mouth.
The state prospered under his government; for his mother and councillors
knew how to choose men who understood their work and did it well. These
men acted as privy council to the king. One of them was put in charge of
the army, a second of the Executive, a third of the customs and taxes, a
fourth of the schools, a fifth exercised the king's right of pardon, a
sixth, who bore the title the Chancellor of the Council, was obliged to
do the king's thinking. To this experienced man was also confided the
responsibility of choosing a wife for the young king. He acquitted
himself wonderfully well of this duty, for the princess whom Wendelin
XVI. espoused on his twentieth birthday, was the daughter of a powerful
king, and so beautiful that it seemed as if the good God must have made a
new mould in which to form her. No more regular features were to be seen
in any collection of wax figures; the princess also possessed the art of
keeping her face perfectly unmoved. If anything comic occurred, she
smiled slightly, and where others would have wept, and thus distorted
their features, she only let her eyelids fall. She was moreover very
virtuous and, though but seventeen, was already called "learned." She
never said anything silly, and also, no doubt out of modesty, refrained
from expressing her wise thoughts. Wendelin approved of her silence, for
he did not like to talk; but his mother resented it. She would have
liked to pour her heart out to her daughter-in-law, and to make her son's
wife her friend and confidante. But such a relationship was impossible;
for, when she tried to share with her daughter the emotions which crowded
upon her, they rolled off the queen like water off the breast of a swan.
The people adored the royal pair. They were both so beautiful, and
looked so noble and princely as they leaned back in the corners of their
gilt coach during their drives and gazed into vacancy, as if their
interests were above those of ordinary mortals.
Years passed, and the choice of the Chancellor of the Council did not
turn out to be so fortunate as had at first appeared, for the queen gave
her husband no heir, and the house of Greylock was threatened with the
danger of dying out with Wendelin XVI. This troubled the duchess indeed,
but not so much as one would have supposed, for she knew that yet another
Greylock lived, and the mother's heart ceased not to hope that he would
return one day, and hand down the name of her husband.
She therefore persisted in sending messengers to those lands where, to
judge by the costume of the people, the appearance of the country and
buildings, as shown in the magic mirror, George was most likely to be
found.
Once she allowed her daughter-in-law to look into the smooth glass with
her; but never again, for it happened that the queen chanced upon a time
when George, poorly dressed, and with great beads of perspiration on his
forehead, sat hard at work over his drawing in a miserable room under the
roof; her delicate nostrils sniffed the air disdainfully, as if afraid
that they might be insulted by any odour of poverty, and she said coldly:
"And you wish me to believe that person is a brother of my highbred
husband? Impossible!"
After this the duchess permitted no one save old Nonna to look into the
glass; she, however, spent many hours each clay in following the
miserable experiences of her unfortunate child. Sometimes indeed it
seemed to her as if a little happiness were mixed with the misery of his
existence, and it also struck her that her little imp of a George was
gradually growing to be a tall, distinguished-looking man with a noble
forehead and flashing eyes, whereas Wendelin, despite his beauty and his
grey lock, had become fat and red in the face, and looked like a common
farmer.
Great was her solicitude for him, and her heart bled when she saw him
suffer, which was not seldom; but then, on the other hand, she often had
to laugh with him and be merry, when he gave himself up to the strange
illusion of being happy. And had she ever seen a face so beaming as his
was when one day, in a splendid hall, a stately grey-haired man in a long
gown embraced him and laid a laurel wreath on the design for a building,
at which she had seen George work. And then he seemed to have gone to
another country, and to be living in the midst of the direst poverty,
yet somehow the world must have been turned upside down, for he was as
lighthearted and gay as if Dame Fortune had poured the entire contents of
her cornucopia over him.
He lived in a little white-washed room, which was not even floored, but
only paved with common tiles. In the evening he ate nothing save a piece
of bread, with some goat-cheese and figs, and quenched his thirst with a
draught of muddy wine which he diluted with water. A squalid old woman
brought him this wretched supper, and it cut the duchess to the heart to
see him hunt about for coppers enough to pay for it. One day he seemed
to have exhausted his store, for he turned his purse upside down and
shook it, but not the smallest coin fell out.
This grieved her sorely, and she wept bitterly, thinking of the ease of
her other son, and resenting the injustice with which blind and cruel
Fortune had bestowed her gifts.
When she had dried her eyes sufficiently to be able to see the picture in
the mirror once more, she beheld a long low house by the side of which
there was a large space roofed over with lattice work. This was covered
by a luxuriant growth of fig-branches and grape-vine. The moon shed its
silver radiance over the leaves and stems, while beneath it a fire cast
its golden and purple lights on the house, the trellis roof, and the gay
folk supping under it.
Young men in strange garb sat at the small tables. Their faces were
wonderfully animated and gay. Before each one stood a long-necked bottle
wound with straw, cups were filled, emptied, waved aloft or clinked.
With every moment the eyes of the drinkers grew brighter, their gestures
freer and more lively; finally one of them sprang up on a table, he was
the handsomest of them all,--her own George, and he looked as if he were
in Paradise instead of on this earth, and had been blessed by a sight of
God and his Heavenly host. He spoke and spoke, while the others listened
without moving until he raised a large goblet and took such a long
draught that the duchess was frightened. Then what a wild shout the
others sent up! They jumped to their feet, as if possessed, and one of
them tossed his cup through the lattice work and vines overhead.
When George got down again, young and old surrounded him, a few of them
embraced him, and then the whole gay company began to sing. Later the
duchess saw her son whirling madly in the dance with a girl dressed in
many colours, who, though beautiful, was undoubtedly only the daughter of
a swineherd, for she was barefoot, and kiss her red lips--which indeed no
Greylock ought to have done, yet his mother did not begrudge him the
amusement.
It looked as if that were happiness, but true happiness it could not be,
for such was not granted to a child born to misfortune. Yet what else
could it be? At any rate, he had the appearance of being the most
blessed of mortals.
He was in Italy; of that she became more and more assured, and yet none
of her messengers could find him. A year later, however, her son began
to busy himself with matters that would certainly give some clue to her
more recent envoys.
George had left his poverty-stricken room and dwelt now in a handsome
vaulted chamber. Each day dressed in a fine robe and with a roll of
parchment in his hand, he superintended a great number of builders.
Often she saw him standing on such high scaffolding that he seemed to be
perched between heaven and earth, and she would be overcome by giddiness,
though he seemed proof against it.
Once in a while a tall princely-looking man, with a beautiful young woman
and a train of courtiers and servants, came to inspect the building.
George would be sent for to show the gentleman and the young woman,
who seemed to be his daughter, the plans, and they had long conversations
together. At these interviews George was not at all servile; and his
gestures were so manly and graceful, his eyes shone so frankly, yet so
sweetly and modestly, that his mother yearned to draw him to her heart
and kiss him; but that, alas! could not be, and little by little it
dawned upon her that he longed for other lips than hers, for the glances
that he bestowed upon the maiden bespoke his admiration, which, the
duchess noticed, did not seem to displease her.
Once, during an interview with George, she dropped a rose, and when he
picked it up, she must have allowed him to keep it, for she gave no sign
of disapproval when he kissed it and hid it inside the breast of his
doublet. The large architectural drawing had screened this little comedy
from curious eyes.
One evening, in the moonlight, the duchess saw him climb a garden wall,
with a lute in his hand, then the sky became overcast, and she could
distinguish him no more; she could only see a lighted window where a
beautiful girl was standing. The maiden charmed her beyond measure, and
she grew hot and cold with the pleasurable anticipation that George might
win her for his wife some day and bring her home. But then she reflected
that he was a child born to ill-luck, and as such would never be blessed
with the love of so exquisite a creature.
What she saw in the next few weeks confirmed this opinion. His manner
was usually decisive, abrupt and self-reliant, but now he seemed to her
like a clock that points to one hour while it strikes another. At the
works he gave his orders as firmly and decidedly as ever; but as soon as
he was alone, he looked like a criminal sentenced to death, and either
sat bowed down and miserable or else paced up and down the floor
restlessly, gesticulating wildly. Often when he beat his forehead with
the palm of his hand or struck his breast with his fist, his mother was
frightened.
Once, after a garden party, where he had been fortunate enough to walk
alone for a full hour under a shady pergola with the daughter of the
gentleman who owned the building in progress, and to kiss her hand many
times, he burst into tears as soon as he was in his own room, and behaved
so wildly that his mother feared for his reason and wept bitterly also.
just at this time she ought to have felt nothing but joy, joy, heart-felt
and unadulterated, for it appeared that the chief of the councillors had
in truth been more far-sighted, than other people and had not made a
mistake in his choice of a queen, for she had just borne a son, and,
moreover, one that was a true Greylock. His grey lock was indeed
somewhat thin and lacked the firm curl of the former ones; but every one
who was not colour-blind must acknowledge that it was grey.
The duchess would have liked to rejoice sincerely in her grandchild, but
her affections were divided, and even when she held it in her arms, she
yearned for the magic glass and a sight of her unlucky son.
Wendelin XVI., who had long been satiated with the pleasures which his
position offered him, finding them all flat and insipid, experienced for
the first time in twelve years a sensation of delight, like any one else,
when he heard the faint cry of the infant and learned the good news that
his child was a son. Hitherto his greatest satisfaction had been to hear
the clock strike five when he had imagined that it was only four.
The child, however, was something entirely new, and his heart, which
usually beat as slowly as a clock that is running down, quickened its
pulsations whenever he thought of his son. During the first weeks of its
life he sat for hours at a time beside the gilt cradle, staring
thoughtfully through his eye-glass at the future Wendelin XVII. Soon
this occupation ceased to interest him, and he drifted along once more on
the sluggish waves of his former existence, from minute to minute, from
hour to hour.
The queen, his companion on this placid journey, had grown to be like
him in many ways. The two yawned as other people breathe. They knew no
desires, for as everything they possessed was always the best that could
be had, to-morrow could give them nothing better than to-day. Their life
was like a long poplar alley through which they wandered lazily side by
side.
Pepe, the major-domo, after Wendelin came to the throne, was made body-
servant to the king; he, above all others, was inclined to regard his
master, born under a lucky star and possessing everything that one could
desire, as a person favoured by Fortune; yet, after he had listened to
his sighs and murmurs through many a quiet night, he reflected: "I am
better off in my own shoes."
Pepe kept his own counsel and confided to no one save old Nonna what he
knew. She, too, had learned to be discreet and consequently did not
repeat his confidences even to the duchess, who had enough to bear
without that additional burden.