So far Otto read, with waxing indignation; and here his fury overflowed.
He tossed the roll upon the table and stood up. ‘This man,’ he said, ‘is
a devil. A filthy imagination, an ear greedy of evil, a ponderous
malignity of thought and language: I grow like him by the reading!
Chancellor, where is this fellow lodged?’
‘He was committed to the Flag Tower,’ replied Greisengesang, ‘in the
Gamiani apartment.’
‘Lead me to him,’ said the Prince; and then, a thought striking him, ‘Was
it for that,’ he asked, ‘that I found so many sentries in the garden?’
‘Your Highness, I am unaware,’ answered Greisengesang, true to his
policy. ‘The disposition of the guards is a matter distinct from my
functions.’
Otto turned upon the old man fiercely, but ere he had time to speak,
Gotthold touched him on the arm. He swallowed his wrath with a great
effort. ‘It is well,’ he said, taking the roll. ‘Follow me to the Flag
Tower.’
The Chancellor gathered himself together, and the two set forward. It
was a long and complicated voyage; for the library was in the wing of the
new buildings, and the tower which carried the flag was in the old
schloss upon the garden. By a great variety of stairs and corridors,
they came out at last upon a patch of gravelled court; the garden peeped
through a high grating with a flash of green; tall, old gabled buildings
mounted on every side; the Flag Tower climbed, stage after stage, into
the blue; and high over all, among the building daws, the yellow flag
wavered in the wind. A sentinel at the foot of the tower stairs
presented arms; another paced the first landing; and a third was
stationed before the door of the extemporised prison.
‘We guard this mud-bag like a jewel,’ Otto sneered.
The Gamiani apartment was so called from an Italian doctor who had
imposed on the credulity of a former prince. The rooms were large, airy,
pleasant, and looked upon the garden; but the walls were of great
thickness (for the tower was old), and the windows were heavily barred.
The Prince, followed by the Chancellor, still trotting to keep up with
him, brushed swiftly through the little library and the long saloon, and
burst like a thunderbolt into the bedroom at the farther end. Sir John
was finishing his toilet; a man of fifty, hard, uncompromising, able,
with the eye and teeth of physical courage. He was unmoved by the
irruption, and bowed with a sort of sneering ease.
‘To what am I to attribute the honour of this visit?’ he asked.
‘You have eaten my bread,’ replied Otto, ‘you have taken my hand, you
have been received under my roof. When did I fail you in courtesy? What
have you asked that was not granted as to an honoured guest? And here,
sir,’ tapping fiercely on the manuscript, ‘here is your return.’
‘Your Highness has read my papers?’ said the Baronet. ‘I am honoured
indeed. But the sketch is most imperfect. I shall now have much to add.
I can say that the Prince, whom I had accused of idleness, is zealous in
the department of police, taking upon himself those duties that are most
distasteful. I shall be able to relate the burlesque incident of my
arrest, and the singular interview with which you honour me at present.
For the rest, I have already communicated with my Ambassador at Vienna;
and unless you propose to murder me, I shall be at liberty, whether you
please or not, within the week. For I hardly fancy the future empire of
Grünewald is yet ripe to go to war with England. I conceive I am a
little more than quits. I owe you no explanation; yours has been the
wrong. You, if you have studied my writing with intelligence, owe me a
large debt of gratitude. And to conclude, as I have not yet finished my
toilet, I imagine the courtesy of a turnkey to a prisoner would induce
you to withdraw.’
There was some paper on the table, and Otto, sitting down, wrote a
passport in the name of Sir John Crabtree.
‘Affix the seal, Herr Cancellarius,’ he said, in his most princely
manner, as he rose.
Greisengesang produced a red portfolio, and affixed the seal in the
unpoetic guise of an adhesive stamp; nor did his perturbed and clumsy
movements at all lessen the comedy of the performance. Sir John looked
on with a malign enjoyment; and Otto chafed, regretting, when too late,
the unnecessary royalty of his command and gesture. But at length the
Chancellor had finished his piece of prestidigitation, and, without
waiting for an order, had countersigned the passport. Thus regularised,
he returned it to Otto with a bow.
‘You will now,’ said the Prince, ‘order one of my own carriages to be
prepared; see it, with your own eyes, charged with Sir John’s effects,
and have it waiting within the hour behind the Pheasant House. Sir John
departs this morning for Vienna.’
The Chancellor took his elaborate departure.
‘Here, sir, is your passport,’ said Otto, turning to the Baronet. ‘I
regret it from my heart that you have met inhospitable usage.’
‘Well, there will be no English war,’ returned Sir John.
‘Nay, sir,’ said Otto, ‘you surely owe me your civility. Matters are now
changed, and we stand again upon the footing of two gentlemen. It was
not I who ordered your arrest; I returned late last night from hunting;
and as you cannot blame me for your imprisonment, you may even thank me
for your freedom.’
‘And yet you read my papers,’ said the traveller shrewdly.
‘There, sir, I was wrong,’ returned Otto; ‘and for that I ask your
pardon. You can scarce refuse it, for your own dignity, to one who is a
plexus of weaknesses. Nor was the fault entirely mine. Had the papers
been innocent, it would have been at most an indiscretion. Your own
guilt is the sting of my offence.’
Sir John regarded Otto with an approving twinkle; then he bowed, but
still in silence.
‘Well, sir, as you are now at your entire disposal, I have a favour to
beg of your indulgence,’ continued the Prince. ‘I have to request that
you will walk with me alone into the garden so soon as your convenience
permits.’
‘From the moment that I am a free man,’ Sir John replied, this time with
perfect courtesy, ‘I am wholly at your Highness’s command; and if you
will excuse a rather summary toilet, I will even follow you, as I am.’
‘I thank you, sir,’ said Otto.
So without more delay, the Prince leading, the pair proceeded down
through the echoing stairway of the tower, and out through the grating,
into the ample air and sunshine of the morning, and among the terraces
and flower-beds of the garden. They crossed the fish-pond, where the
carp were leaping as thick as bees; they mounted, one after another, the
various flights of stairs, snowed upon, as they went, with April
blossoms, and marching in time to the great orchestra of birds. Nor did
Otto pause till they had reached the highest terrace of the garden. Here
was a gate into the park, and hard by, under a tuft of laurel, a marble
garden seat. Hence they looked down on the green tops of many elm-trees,
where the rooks were busy; and, beyond that, upon the palace roof, and
the yellow banner flying in the blue. I pray you to be seated, sir,’
said Otto.
Sir John complied without a word; and for some seconds Otto walked to and
fro before him, plunged in angry thought. The birds were all singing for
a wager.
‘Sir,’ said the Prince at length, turning towards the Englishman, ‘you
are to me, except by the conventions of society, a perfect stranger. Of
your character and wishes I am ignorant. I have never wittingly
disobliged you. There is a difference in station, which I desire to
waive. I would, if you still think me entitled to so much
consideration—I would be regarded simply as a gentleman. Now, sir, I did
wrong to glance at these papers, which I here return to you; but if
curiosity be undignified, as I am free to own, falsehood is both cowardly
and cruel. I opened your roll; and what did I find—what did I find about
my wife; Lies!’ he broke out. ‘They are lies! There are not, so help me
God! four words of truth in your intolerable libel! You are a man; you
are old, and might be the girl’s father; you are a gentleman; you are a
scholar, and have learned refinement; and you rake together all this
vulgar scandal, and propose to print it in a public book! Such is your
chivalry! But, thank God, sir, she has still a husband. You say, sir,
in that paper in your hand, that I am a bad fencer; I have to request
from you a lesson in the art. The park is close behind; yonder is the
Pheasant House, where you will find your carriage; should I fall, you
know, sir—you have written it in your paper—how little my movements are
regarded; I am in the custom of disappearing; it will be one more
disappearance; and long before it has awakened a remark, you may be safe
across the border.’
‘You will observe,’ said Sir John, ‘that what you ask is impossible.’
‘And if I struck you?’ cried the Prince, with a sudden menacing flash.
‘It would be a cowardly blow,’ returned the Baronet, unmoved, ‘for it
would make no change. I cannot draw upon a reigning sovereign.’
‘And it is this man, to whom you dare not offer satisfaction, that you
choose to insult!’ cried Otto.
‘Pardon me,’ said the traveller, ‘you are unjust. It is because you are
a reigning sovereign that I cannot fight with you; and it is for the same
reason that I have a right to criticise your action and your wife. You
are in everything a public creature; you belong to the public, body and
bone. You have with you the law, the muskets of the army, and the eyes
of spies. We, on our side, have but one weapon—truth.’
‘Truth!’ echoed the Prince, with a gesture.
There was another silence.
‘Your Highness,’ said Sir John at last, ‘you must not expect grapes from
a thistle. I am old and a cynic. Nobody cares a rush for me; and on the
whole, after the present interview, I scarce know anybody that I like
better than yourself. You see, I have changed my mind, and have the
uncommon virtue to avow the change. I tear up this stuff before you,
here in your own garden; I ask your pardon, I ask the pardon of the
Princess; and I give you my word of honour as a gentleman and an old man,
that when my book of travels shall appear it shall not contain so much as
the name of Grünewald. And yet it was a racy chapter! But had your
Highness only read about the other courts! I am a carrion crow; but it
is not my fault, after all, that the world is such a nauseous kennel.’
‘Sir,’ said Otto, ‘is the eye not jaundiced?’
‘Nay,’ cried the traveller, ‘very likely. I am one who goes sniffing; I
am no poet. I believe in a better future for the world; or, at all
accounts, I do most potently disbelieve in the present. Rotten eggs is
the burthen of my song. But indeed, your Highness, when I meet with any
merit, I do not think that I am slow to recognise it. This is a day that
I shall still recall with gratitude, for I have found a sovereign with
some manly virtues; and for once—old courtier and old radical as I am—it
is from the heart and quite sincerely that I can request the honour of
kissing your Highness’s hand?’
‘Nay, sir,’ said Otto, ‘to my heart!’
And the Englishman, taken at unawares, was clasped for a moment in the
Prince’s arms.
‘And now, sir,’ added Otto, ‘there is the Pheasant House; close behind it
you will find my carriage, which I pray you to accept. God speed you to
Vienna!’
‘In the impetuosity of youth,’ replied Sir John, ‘your Highness has
overlooked one circumstance. I am still fasting.’
‘Well, sir,’ said Otto, smiling, ‘you are your own master; you may go or
stay. But I warn you, your friend may prove less powerful than your
enemies. The Prince, indeed, is thoroughly on your side; he has all the
will to help; but to whom do I speak?—you know better than I do, he is
not alone in Grünewald.’
‘There is a deal in position,’ returned the traveller, gravely nodding.
‘Gondremark loves to temporise; his policy is below ground, and he fears
all open courses; and now that I have seen you act with so much spirit, I
will cheerfully risk myself on your protection. Who knows? You may be
yet the better man.’
‘Do you indeed believe so?’ cried the Prince. ‘You put life into my
heart!’
‘I will give up sketching portraits,’ said the Baronet. ‘I am a blind
owl; I had misread you strangely. And yet remember this; a sprint is one
thing, and to run all day another. For I still mistrust your
constitution; the short nose, the hair and eyes of several complexions;
no, they are diagnostic; and I must end, I see, as I began.’
‘I am still a singing chambermaid?’ said Otto.
‘Nay, your Highness, I pray you to forget what I had written,’ said Sir
John; ‘I am not like Pilate; and the chapter is no more. Bury it, if you
love me.’