Is this an accident, or do you begin reforming?”
“It is about time, I fancy,” answered the Prince.
“I cannot imagine,” said the Doctor. “I am too sceptical to be an ethical adviser; and as for good resolutions, I believed in them when I was young. They are the colours of hope’s rainbow.”
“If you come to think of it,” said Otto, “I am not a popular sovereign.” And with a look he changed his statement to a question.
“Popular? Well, there I would distinguish,” answered Gotthold, leaning back and joining the tips of his fingers. “There are various kinds of popularity: the bookish, which is perfectly impersonal, as unreal as the nightmare; the politician’s, a mixed variety; and yours, which is the most personal of all. Women take to you; footmen adore you; it is as natural to like you as to pat a dog; and were you a saw-miller you would be the most popular citizen in Grünewald. As a prince – well, you are in the wrong trade. It is perhaps philosophical to recognise it as you do.”
“Perhaps philosophical?” repeated Otto.
“Yes, perhaps. I would not be dogmatic,” answered Gotthold.
“Perhaps philosophical, and certainly not virtuous,” Otto resumed.
“Not of a Roman virtue,” chuckled the recluse.
Otto drew his chair nearer to the table, leaned upon it with his elbow, and looked his cousin squarely in the face. “In short,” he asked, “not manly?”
“Well,” Gotthold hesitated, “not manly, if you will.” And then, with a laugh, “I did not know that you gave yourself out to be manly,” he added. “It was one of the points that I inclined to like about you; inclined, I believe, to admire. The names of virtues exercise a charm on most of us; we must lay claim to all of them, however incompatible; we must all be both daring and prudent; we must all vaunt our pride and go to the stake for our humility. Not so you. Without compromise you were yourself: a pretty sight. I have always said it: none so void of all pretence as Otto.”
“Pretence and effort both!” cried Otto. “A dead dog in a canal is more alive. And the question, Gotthold, the question that I have to face is this: Can I not, with effort and self-denial, can I not become a tolerable sovereign?”
“Never,” replied Gotthold. “Dismiss the notion. And besides, dear child, you would not try.”
“Nay, Gotthold, I am not to be put by,” said Otto. “If I am constitutionally unfit to be a sovereign, what am I doing with this money, with this palace, with these guards? And I – a thief – am I to execute the law on others?”
“I admit the difficulty,” said Gotthold.
“Well, can I not try?” continued Otto. “Am I not bound to try? And with the advice and help of such a man as you – ”
“Me!” cried the librarian. “Now, God forbid!”
Otto, though he was in no very smiling humour, could not forbear to smile. “Yet I was told last night,” he laughed, “that with a man like me to impersonate, and a man like you to touch the springs, a very possible government could be composed.”
“Now I wonder in what diseased imagination,” Gotthold said, “that preposterous monster saw the light of day?”
“It was one of your own trade – a writer: one Roederer,” said Otto.
“Roederer! an ignorant puppy!” cried the librarian.
“You are ungrateful,” said Otto. “He is one of your professed admirers.”
“Is he?” cried Gotthold, obviously impressed. “Come, that is a good account of the young man. I must read his stuff again. It is the rather to his credit, as our views are opposite. The east and west are not more opposite. Can I have converted him? But no; the incident belongs to Fairyland.”
“You are not then,” asked the Prince, “an authoritarian?”
“I? God bless me, no!” said Gotthold. “I am a red, dear child.”
“That brings me then to my next point, and by a natural transition. If I am so clearly unfitted for my post,” the Prince asked: “if my friends admit it, if my subjects clamour for my downfall, if revolution is preparing at this hour, must I not go forth to meet the inevitable? should I not save these horrors and be done with these absurdities? in a word, should I not abdicate? O, believe me, I feel the ridicule, the vast abuse of language,” he added, wincing, “but even a principulus like me cannot resign; he must make a great gesture, and come buskined forth, and abdicate.”
“Ay,” said Gotthold, “or else stay where he is. What gnat has bitten you to-day? Do you not know that you are touching, with lay hands, the very holiest inwards of philosophy, where madness dwells? Ay, Otto, madness; for in the serene temples of the wise, the inmost shrine, which we carefully keep locked, is full of spiders’ webs. All men, all, are fundamentally useless; nature tolerates, she does not need, she does not use them: sterile flowers! All – down to the fellow swinking in a byre, whom fools point out for the exception – all are useless; all weave ropes of sand; or, like a child that has breathed on a window, write and obliterate, write and obliterate, idle words! Talk of it no more. That way, I tell you, madness lies.” The speaker rose from his chair and then sat down again. He laughed a little laugh, and then, changing his tone, resumed: “Yes, dear child, we are not here to do battle with giants; we are here to be happy like the flowers, if we can be. It is because you could, that I have always secretly admired you. Cling to that trade; believe me, it is the right one. Be happy, be idle, be airy. To the devil with all casuistry! and leave the state to Gondremark, as heretofore. He does it well enough, they say; and his vanity enjoys the situation.”
“Gotthold,” cried Otto, “what is this to me? Useless is not the question; I cannot rest at uselessness; I must be useful or I must be noxious – one or other. I grant you the whole thing, prince and principality alike, is pure absurdity, a stroke of satire; and that a banker or the man who keeps an inn has graver duties. But now, when I have washed my hands of it three years, and left all – labour, responsibility, and honour and enjoyment too, if there be any – to Gondremark and to – Seraphina – ” He hesitated at the name, and Gotthold glanced aside. “Well,” the Prince continued, “what has come of it? Taxes, army, cannon – why, it’s like a box of lead soldiers! And the people sick at the folly of it, and fired with the injustice! And war, too – I hear of war – war in this teapot! What a complication of absurdity and disgrace! And when the inevitable end arrives – the revolution – who will be to blame in the sight of God, who will be gibbeted in public opinion? I! Prince Puppet!”
“I thought you had despised public opinion,” said Gotthold.
“I did,” said Otto sombrely, “but now I do not. I am growing old. And then, Gotthold, there is Seraphina. She is loathed in this country that I brought her to and suffered her to spoil. Yes, I gave it her as a plaything, and she has broken it: a fine Prince, an admirable Princess! Even her life – I ask you, Gotthold, is her life safe?”
“It is safe enough to-day,” replied the librarian: “but since you ask me seriously, I would not answer for to-morrow. She is ill-advised.”
“And by whom? By this Gondremark, to whom you counsel me to leave my country,” cried the Prince. “Rare advice! The course that I have been following all these years, to come at last to this. O, ill-advised! if that were all! See now, there is no sense in beating about the bush between two men: you know
