Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson (Illustrated) (63 page)

But Ottilia was much braver.  ‘There now!’ she cried in triumph.  ‘What did I tell you?  I told you I was fighting your battles.  Now you see!  Think shame of your suspicious temper!  You should go down upon your bended knees both to that gentleman and me.’

CHAPTER IV — IN WHICH THE PRINCE COLLECTS OPINIONS BY THE WAY

A little before noon Otto, by a triumph of manoeuvring, effected his escape.  He was quit in this way of the ponderous gratitude of Mr. Killian, and of the confidential gratitude of poor Ottilia; but of Fritz he was not quit so readily.  That young politician, brimming with mysterious glances, offered to lend his convoy as far as to the high-road; and Otto, in fear of some residuary jealousy and for the girl’s sake, had not the courage to gainsay him; but he regarded his companion with uneasy glances, and devoutly wished the business at an end.  For some time Fritz walked by the mare in silence; and they had already traversed more than half the proposed distance when, with something of a blush, he looked up and opened fire.

‘Are you not,’ he asked, ‘what they call a socialist?’

‘Why, no,’ returned Otto, ‘not precisely what they call so.  Why do you ask?’

‘I will tell you why,’ said the young man.  ‘I saw from the first that you were a red progressional, and nothing but the fear of old Killian kept you back.  And there, sir, you were right: old men are always cowards.  But nowadays, you see, there are so many groups: you can never tell how far the likeliest kind of man may be prepared to go; and I was never sure you were one of the strong thinkers, till you hinted about women and free love.’

‘Indeed,’ cried Otto, ‘I never said a word of such a thing.’

‘Not you!’ cried Fritz.  ‘Never a word to compromise!  You was sowing seed: ground-bait, our president calls it.  But it’s hard to deceive me, for I know all the agitators and their ways, and all the doctrines; and between you and me,’ lowering his voice, ‘I am myself affiliated.  O yes, I am a secret society man, and here is my medal.’  And drawing out a green ribbon that he wore about his neck, he held up, for Otto’s inspection, a pewter medal bearing the imprint of a Phoenix and the legend
Libertas
.  ‘And so now you see you may trust me,’ added Fritz, ‘I am none of your alehouse talkers; I am a convinced revolutionary.’  And he looked meltingly upon Otto.

‘I see,’ replied the Prince; ‘that is very gratifying.  Well, sir, the great thing for the good of one’s country is, first of all, to be a good man.  All springs from there.  For my part, although you are right in thinking that I have to do with politics, I am unfit by intellect and temper for a leading rôle.  I was intended, I fear, for a subaltern.  Yet we have all something to command, Mr. Fritz, if it be only our own temper; and a man about to marry must look closely to himself.  The husband’s, like the prince’s, is a very artificial standing; and it is hard to be kind in either.  Do you follow that?’

‘O yes, I follow that,’ replied the young man, sadly chop-fallen over the nature of the information he had elicited; and then brightening up: ‘Is it,’ he ventured, ‘is it for an arsenal that you have bought the farm?’

‘We’ll see about that,’ the Prince answered, laughing.  ‘You must not be too zealous.  And in the meantime, if I were you, I would say nothing on the subject.’

‘O, trust me, sir, for that,’ cried Fritz, as he pocketed a crown.  ‘And you’ve let nothing out; for I suspected — I might say I knew it — from the first.  And mind you, when a guide is required,’ he added, ‘I know all the forest paths.’

Otto rode away, chuckling.  This talk with Fritz had vastly entertained him; nor was he altogether discontented with his bearing at the farm; men, he was able to tell himself, had behaved worse under smaller provocation.  And, to harmonise all, the road and the April air were both delightful to his soul.

Up and down, and to and fro, ever mounting through the wooded foothills, the broad white high-road wound onward into Grünewald.  On either hand the pines stood coolly rooted — green moss prospering, springs welling forth between their knuckled spurs; and though some were broad and stalwart, and others spiry and slender, yet all stood firm in the same attitude and with the same expression, like a silent army presenting arms.

The road lay all the way apart from towns and villages, which it left on either hand.  Here and there, indeed, in the bottom of green glens, the Prince could spy a few congregated roofs, or perhaps above him, on a shoulder, the solitary cabin of a woodman.  But the highway was an international undertaking and with its face set for distant cities, scorned the little life of Grünewald.  Hence it was exceeding solitary.  Near the frontier Otto met a detachment of his own troops marching in the hot dust; and he was recognised and somewhat feebly cheered as he rode by.  But from that time forth and for a long while he was alone with the great woods.

Gradually the spell of pleasure relaxed; his own thoughts returned, like stinging insects, in a cloud; and the talk of the night before, like a shower of buffets, fell upon his memory.  He looked east and west for any comforter; and presently he was aware of a cross-road coming steeply down hill, and a horseman cautiously descending.  A human voice or presence, like a spring in the desert, was now welcome in itself, and Otto drew bridle to await the coming of this stranger.  He proved to be a very red-faced, thick-lipped countryman, with a pair of fat saddle-bags and a stone bottle at his waist; who, as soon as the Prince hailed him, jovially, if somewhat thickly, answered.  At the same time he gave a beery yaw in the saddle.  It was clear his bottle was no longer full.

‘Do you ride towards Mittwalden?’ asked the Prince.

‘As far as the cross-road to Tannenbrunn,’ the man replied.  ‘Will you bear company?’

‘With pleasure.  I have even waited for you on the chance,’ answered Otto.

By this time they were close alongside; and the man, with the countryfolk instinct, turned his cloudy vision first of all on his companion’s mount.  ‘The devil!’ he cried.  ‘You ride a bonny mare, friend!’  And then, his curiosity being satisfied about the essential, he turned his attention to that merely secondary matter, his companion’s face.  He started.  ‘The Prince!’ he cried, saluting, with another yaw that came near dismounting him.  ‘I beg your pardon, your Highness, not to have recognised you at once.’

The Prince was vexed out of his self-possession.  ‘Since you know me,’ he said, ‘it is unnecessary we should ride together.  I will precede you, if you please.’  And he was about to set spur to the grey mare, when the half-drunken fellow, reaching over, laid his hand upon the rein.

‘Hark you,’ he said, ‘prince or no prince, that is not how one man should conduct himself with another.  What!  You’ll ride with me incog. and set me talking!  But if I know you, you’ll preshede me, if you please!  Spy!’  And the fellow, crimson with drink and injured vanity, almost spat the word into the Prince’s face.

A horrid confusion came over Otto.  He perceived that he had acted rudely, grossly presuming on his station.  And perhaps a little shiver of physical alarm mingled with his remorse, for the fellow was very powerful and not more than half in the possession of his senses.  ‘Take your hand from my rein,’ he said, with a sufficient assumption of command; and when the man, rather to his wonder, had obeyed: ‘You should understand, sir,’ he added, ‘that while I might be glad to ride with you as one person of sagacity with another, and so receive your true opinions, it would amuse me very little to hear the empty compliments you would address to me as Prince.’

‘You think I would lie, do you?’ cried the man with the bottle, purpling deeper.

‘I know you would,’ returned Otto, entering entirely into his self-possession.  ‘You would not even show me the medal you wear about your neck.’  For he had caught a glimpse of a green ribbon at the fellow’s throat.

The change was instantaneous: the red face became mottled with yellow: a thick-fingered, tottering hand made a clutch at the tell-tale ribbon.  ‘Medal!’ the man cried, wonderfully sobered.  ‘I have no medal.’

‘Pardon me,’ said the Prince.  ‘I will even tell you what that medal bears: a Phoenix burning, with the word
Libertas
.’  The medallist remaining speechless, ‘You are a pretty fellow,’ continued Otto, smiling, ‘to complain of incivility from the man whom you conspire to murder.’

‘Murder!’ protested the man.  ‘Nay, never that; nothing criminal for me!’

‘You are strangely misinformed,’ said Otto.  ‘Conspiracy itself is criminal, and ensures the pain of death.  Nay, sir, death it is; I will guarantee my accuracy.  Not that you need be so deplorably affected, for I am no officer.  But those who mingle with politics should look at both sides of the medal.’

‘Your Highness . . . ‘ began the knight of the bottle.

‘Nonsense! you are a Republican,’ cried Otto; ‘what have you to do with highnesses?  But let us continue to ride forward.  Since you so much desire it, I cannot find it in my heart to deprive you of my company.  And for that matter, I have a question to address to you.  Why, being so great a body of men — for you are a great body — fifteen thousand, I have heard, but that will be understated; am I right?’

The man gurgled in his throat.

‘Why, then, being so considerable a party,’ resumed Otto, ‘do you not come before me boldly with your wants? — what do I say? with your commands?  Have I the name of being passionately devoted to my throne?  I can scarce suppose it.  Come, then; show me your majority, and I will instantly resign.  Tell this to your friends; assure them from me of my docility; assure them that, however they conceive of my deficiencies, they cannot suppose me more unfit to be a ruler than I do myself.  I am one of the worst princes in Europe; will they improve on that?’

‘Far be it from me . . .’ the man began.

‘See, now, if you will not defend my government!’ cried Otto.  ‘If I were you, I would leave conspiracies.  You are as little fit to be a conspirator as I to be a king.’

‘One thing I will say out,’ said the man.  ‘It is not so much you that we complain of, it’s your lady.’

‘Not a word, sir’ said the Prince; and then after a moment’s pause, and in tones of some anger and contempt: ‘I once more advise you to have done with politics,’ he added; ‘and when next I see you, let me see you sober.  A morning drunkard is the last man to sit in judgment even upon the worst of princes.’

‘I have had a drop, but I had not been drinking,’ the man replied, triumphing in a sound distinction.  ‘And if I had, what then?  Nobody hangs by me.  But my mill is standing idle, and I blame it on your wife.  Am I alone in that?  Go round and ask.  Where are the mills?  Where are the young men that should be working?  Where is the currency?  All paralysed.  No, sir, it is not equal; for I suffer for your faults — I pay for them, by George, out of a poor man’s pocket.  And what have you to do with mine?  Drunk or sober, I can see my country going to hell, and I can see whose fault it is.  And so now, I’ve said my say, and you may drag me to a stinking dungeon; what care I?  I’ve spoke the truth, and so I’ll hold hard, and not intrude upon your Highness’s society.’

And the miller reined up and, clumsily enough, saluted.

‘You will observe, I have not asked your name,’ said Otto.  ‘I wish you a good ride,’ and he rode on hard.  But let him ride as he pleased, this interview with the miller was a chokepear, which he could not swallow.  He had begun by receiving a reproof in manners, and ended by sustaining a defeat in logic, both from a man whom he despised.  All his old thoughts returned with fresher venom.  And by three in the afternoon, coming to the cross-roads for Beckstein, Otto decided to turn aside and dine there leisurely.  Nothing at least could be worse than to go on as he was going.

In the inn at Beckstein he remarked, immediately upon his entrance, an intelligent young gentleman dining, with a book in front of him.  He had his own place laid close to the reader, and with a proper apology, broke ground by asking what he read.

‘I am perusing,’ answered the young gentleman, ‘the last work of the Herr Doctor Hohenstockwitz, cousin and librarian of your Prince here in Grünewald — a man of great erudition and some lambencies of wit.’

‘I am acquainted,’ said Otto, ‘with the Herr Doctor, though not yet with his work.’

‘Two privileges that I must envy you,’ replied the young man politely: ‘an honour in hand, a pleasure in the bush.’

‘The Herr Doctor is a man much respected, I believe, for his attainments?’ asked the Prince.

‘He is, sir, a remarkable instance of the force of intellect,’ replied the reader.  ‘Who of our young men know anything of his cousin, all reigning Prince although he be?  Who but has heard of Doctor Gotthold?  But intellectual merit, alone of all distinctions, has its base in nature.’

‘I have the gratification of addressing a student — perhaps an author?’ Otto suggested.

The young man somewhat flushed.  ‘I have some claim to both distinctions, sir, as you suppose,’ said he; ‘there is my card.  I am the licentiate Roederer, author of several works on the theory and practice of politics.’

‘You immensely interest me,’ said the Prince; ‘the more so as I gather that here in Grünewald we are on the brink of revolution.  Pray, since these have been your special studies, would you augur hopefully of such a movement?’

‘I perceive,’ said the young author, with a certain vinegary twitch, ‘that you are unacquainted with my opuscula.  I am a convinced authoritarian.  I share none of those illusory, Utopian fancies with which empirics blind themselves and exasperate the ignorant.  The day of these ideas is, believe me, past, or at least passing.’

‘When I look about me — ’ began Otto.

‘When you look about you,’ interrupted the licentiate, ‘you behold the ignorant.  But in the laboratory of opinion, beside the studious lamp, we begin already to discard these figments.  We begin to return to nature’s order, to what I might call, if I were to borrow from the language of therapeutics, the expectant treatment of abuses.  You will not misunderstand me,’ he continued: ‘a country in the condition in which we find Grünewald, a prince such as your Prince Otto, we must explicitly condemn; they are behind the age.  But I would look for a remedy not to brute convulsions, but to the natural supervenience of a more able sovereign.  I should amuse you, perhaps,’ added the licentiate, with a smile, ‘I think I should amuse you if I were to explain my notion of a prince.  We who have studied in the closet, no longer, in this age, propose ourselves for active service.  The paths, we have perceived, are incompatible.  I would not have a student on the throne, though I would have one near by for an adviser.  I would set forward as prince a man of a good, medium understanding, lively rather than deep; a man of courtly manner, possessed of the double art to ingratiate and to command; receptive, accommodating, seductive.  I have been observing you since your first entrance.  Well, sir, were I a subject of Grünewald I should pray heaven to set upon the seat of government just such another as yourself.’