truth aloud, and to call injustice by its right name.
Owing to his accusations there was a thorough investigation of the
affair, a new judge was appointed who awarded the first prize at once to
Johannes Ueberhell, the said prize consisting of a magnificent
commission. Having thus achieved an opportunity of proving his worth, he
rose quickly to eminence in his profession, and came to be a famous
master while he was still a young man.

In later life also he owed nothing but good to the elixir, for his soul
was as pure as crystal, and his thoughts of others were so kindly that he
could safely speak out everything that was in his mind.

His eyes perceived only the beautiful in the universe; and the beautiful
and the true were one with him; so that he made others see and hear
nothing save what was lovely and ennobling. Whenever any debasing or evil
influence approached him he would trample upon it with all the fierceness
of a true Ueberhell; but such conflicts seldom occurred, for his nature
was so exalted that it carried him unconscious through the depravity and
pollution of this world.

Yes, my father was a happy man, and I cannot deny that the elixir had
much to do with his good fortune, for it forced him to reveal his
innermost thoughts and to show people frankly what was passing in his
mind, thus opening up to them a sunny, pure, and beautiful world which
their dull eyes would never have discovered for themselves.

Therefore the best sought him out and made friends with him, and the more
he prospered the wiser and better he grew.

One would imagine that the man to whom the elixir had been so beneficial
would set a greater value upon it than others, and would be more careful
to preserve it for his children and grandchildren. Not so.

After I had finished my studies at the High School and matriculated at
the medical schools of the Leipsic University, my father sent for me to
come during my vacation to Rome, where he still lived, and a few weeks
before my twenty-fifth birthday I rode through the Porta del Popolo.

The evening before that anniversary my father took out the phial, showed
it to me, and asked me what I thought of the verses that he had written
on a label and attached to the bottle.

I read them, and they ran as follows:

In hearts alone where modesty resides
Is found the priceless treasure of Pure Truth.
If pride within you secretly abides
That, forced by the elixir's charm, The Sooth
You needs must speak--be wholly pure in thought,
Despising not the teachings wise, of old;
When Truth with equal earnestness was sought
If speech be silver, silence then is gold!

The scales seemed to fall from my eyes, and I realised why the Ueberhells
had borne such an evil and dreaded name among their fellow-citizens.

The day after I, too, was to use the elixir and I asked my father: "What
shall I do if the power of the essence forces me to speak out everything
that is true, simply because it is true, even when it is against my wish
and will tend to my own annoyance and distress, as well as to that of
others?"

And he replied solemnly: "The truth? Has any one yet found the right
answer to the old question: 'What is Truth?' Can you be sure that the
noble and mighty Goddess corresponds to your puny and individual
conception of her?"

This very idea had disturbed me during my ride over the Alps, and I
exclaimed: "Therein lies the dangerous power of the elixir! It kindles in
our minds the confidence that we know the truth by means of a charm,
whereas we can only possess the desire to seek for it. Our certainty also
misleads us to constrain others to think as we think, and to despise them
and persecute them when they differ from us. The elixir made you happy,
my father, because you are good and pure, and because the beautiful, to
the pursuit of which you have dedicated your life, ennobles everyone and
makes every thing harmonious that comes from you.

"But many generations had to pass before you appeared to do honour to the
powers of the elixir. I myself have been cast in a less heroic mould, and
who can prophesy what my children, if I ever have any, will be like. In
this world where every thing is deceitful, and no one is outspoken, the
man who alone is under the necessity of proclaiming what he considers the
truth, is like a warrior who opposes himself without shield or harness to
a fully armed foe. Therefore, my dear father, I am very reluctant to make
use of the elixir to-morrow."

The old gentleman smiled and replied: "Inhale it in peace, my Ernst, for
I will confide to you that I have poured the elixir into the Tiber, on
whose banks the battle for the Truth has been so often joined, and where
so many factions have imagined that they possessed the elixir of Truth. I
have filled the phial with water and a drop of aromatic myrrh. The water
I took from the fountain of Trevi, which, you know, is supposed to
possess the power of inspiring longing--only for the Eternal City, I
believe--but perhaps in our phial it may awaken a desire for the Eternal
Truth. Let us leave the little bottle to our successors. It will not hurt
them to use it while they are young, and they can commit to memory, at
the same time, the maxim which is attached to it. Then if the harmless
liquid which it contains, together with the adage and the example of
their parents, arouse a craving for truth within them we shall have cared
better for them than Doctor Melchior did for our ancestors."

"I think so, too," I answered gratefully. "But," I added, "when you
poured the elixir into the river did you not sacrifice a valuable aid to
yourself in remaining loyal to the Truth in your creations?"

"The old gentleman shook his head. Let the essence flow away!" he
answered. "The verity of the Ueberhells, that is what each one thought to
be true, was a thing of naught, and, if you consider it closely, a
dangerous thing. Only the mind which is capable of comprehending the laws
of Nature can escape the danger of mistaking the fortuitous, and ever
changing reality, for the eternal and unchangeable truth. Therefore I do
not regret what I have done. If one of my grandsons should wish to become
a painter I have obviated the risk of his falling into the error of
believing that he has succeeded when he has only slavishly imitated all
the imperfections in the objects he sees around him. Nature reflected in
a mirror, would be what his pictures under the influence of our elixir,
would have been like, and for a true work of art, in the highest
acceptation of the term, something further is needed."

These words of my father removed my last regret for the loss of the
elixir, and my sons and grandsons who are now grown men have, with God's
help, brought it to pass that the burghers of Leipsic are willing once
again to associate with the Ueberhells.

I have only one thing more to say before I close this story.

I have already mentioned the fact that I am a physician. When recently
from England came the news of the discovery of vaccination and I saw how
a small drop could penetrate through a man's entire system, then I
regretted that my father had thrown away the elixir. If I still possessed
it I would, despite my advanced age, try the experiment of inoculating
myself with it. The exhalation of the elixir acted only on the tongue,
and hence its fatal effect, if, however, it had been possible to
infiltrate a desire for truth into the whole man, then, ah then! it might
have been possible for a man really to know himself, which is the
beginning of his salvation. One thought occurs to me for my consolation:

A race that has felt itself forced, generation after generation, to serve
the truth must finally have acquired an instinct to do so, like the races
of pearl-divers who by inheritance can hold their breath a phenomenally
long time.




POSTSCRIPT.

At this point my granddaughter Bianca came in to see me. Three days
before she had been betrothed to young Karl Winckler, a descendant of the
notary Anselmus.

As I had fallen asleep over my writing she read through undisturbed the
book that had fallen from my hands onto the floor.

And so the secret was betrayed, for of course she told the story to her
lover.

She expressed her thankfulness that the elixir was out of the world, but
asserted impertinently, that if a drop of blood had been drawn from Frau
Bianca--whose features as well as name she had inherited--instead of from
the little Zeno, or if the women of the Ueberhell family had been allowed
to inhale the elixir the consequences might have been entirely different.

"Woman," she said, "is ruler in the kingdom of the affections, and in
Leipsic as well as elsewhere, the austere Goddess of Truth will find
devoted and loving worshippers, as well as dutiful subjects, only when
she exhibits goodness of heart combined with grace of manner as does my
grandfather."

Perhaps she is not altogether wrong, though women. . . .

And yet both Greeks and Romans represented Truth under the guise of a
woman.


FINIS.



ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Caress or a spank from you--each at the proper time
Clothes the ugly truth as with a pleasing garment
Couple seemed to get on so perfectly well without them
Death itself sometimes floats 'twixt cup and lip'
Exceptional people are destined to be unhappy in this world
If speech be silver, silence then is gold!




THE GREYLOCK

By Georg Ebers

A FAIRY TALE.

Once upon a time there was a country, more beautiful than all other lands
and the castle of the Duke, its ruler, lay beside a lake that was bluer
than the deepest indigo. A long time ago the Knight Wendelin and his
squire George chanced upon this lake, but they found nothing save waste
fields and bleak rocks around it, yet the shores must formerly have borne
a different aspect, for there were shattered columns and broken-nosed
statues lying on the ground. Against the hillside there were remains of
ancient walls that once, undoubtedly, had supported terraces of vines,
but the rains had long washed the soil from the rocks, and among the
caves and crannies of the fallen stonework, and ruined cellars, foxes,
bats, and other animals had found a home.

The knight was no antiquary, but as he looked about him his curiosity was
excited: "What can have happened here?" he said, and his squire wondered
also, and followed his master. The latter led his horse to the edge of
the water to let him drink, for though he had seen many watercourses in
the land, he had found nothing in them save stones, and boulders, and
sand.

"What if this lake should be salt, like the Dead Sea in the Holy Land?"
the knight asked, and the squire answered:

"Ugh, that would be a thousand pities!" As the former raised his hand to
his mouth to taste the water, wishing indeed that it were wine, he
suddenly heard a strange noise. It was mournful and complaining, but very
soft and sweet. It seemed to be the voice of an unhappy woman, and this
pleased the knight, for he had ridden forth in search of adventures. He
had already been successful in several encounters, and from George's
saddle hung the tail-tips of seven dragons which his master had killed.
But a woman with a musical, appealing voice, in great danger, offered a
rare opportunity to a knight. Wendelin had not yet had any such
experience. The squire saw his master's eyes sparkle with pleasure, and
scratched his head thinking: "Distress brings tears to most peoples'
eyes, but there is no knowing what will delight a knight like him!"

The waters of the lake proved to be not salt, but wonderfully sweet.

When Wendelin reached the grotto from which the complaining notes came,
he found a beautiful young woman, more lovely than any one the
grey-haired George had ever seen. She was pale, but her lips shone moist
and red like the pulp of strawberries, her eyes were as clear and blue as
the sky over the Holy Land, and her hair glistened as if it had been spun
of the sunbeams. The knight's heart beat fast at the sight of her
loveliness; he could not speak, but he noticed that her hands and feet
were bound with chains, and that her beautiful hair was entwined about a
circle of emeralds that hung by a chain from the ceiling. She marked
neither the knight nor the squire, who stood shading his eyes with his
hand in order to see her the better.

Hot rage took possession of the heart of Wendelin when he saw the tears
rain down from the lady's large eyes onto her gown, which was already as
wet as if she had just been drawn from the lake.

When the knight noticed this, an overwhelming pity chased the anger from
his heart, and George, who was a soft-hearted man, sobbed aloud at her
pitiful appearance. The voice of the knight, too, was unsteady as he
called to the fair prisoner that he was a German, Wendelin by name, and
that he had set out on a knightly quest to kill dragons, and to draw his
sword for all who were oppressed. He had already conquered in many
combats, and nothing would please him better than to fight for her.

At this she ceased to weep, but she shook her head gently--her hair being
chained impeded her motion,--and answered sadly. "My enemy is too
powerful. You are young and beautiful, and the darling, perhaps, of a
loving mother at home, I cannot bear that you should suffer the same fate
as the others. Behold that nut-tree over there! What seem to be white
gourds hanging on its naked branches are their skulls! Go your way
quickly, for the evil spirit that keeps me prisoner, and will not release
me until I have sworn an oath to become his wife, will soon return. His
name is Misdral, he is very fierce and mighty, and lives among the waste
rocks over there on the north shore of the lake. You have my thanks for
your good intention, and now proceed on your journey." The knight,
however, did not follow her advice, but approached the beautiful woman
without more words, and caught hold of her hair to unbind it from the
ring. No sooner had he touched the emeralds than two brown snakes came
hissing towards him.

"Oho!" exclaimed Sir Wendelin. With one hand he caught their two necks
together in his powerful grip, with the other he grasped their tails,
tore them in two, and threw them out onto the cliffs above the lake.

When the imprisoned lady saw this, she heaved a deep sigh of relief and
spoke: "Now I believe that you will be able to liberate me. Draw this
ring from my finger!"

The knight obeyed and as he touched the lady's fingers, which were
slender and pointed, he felt his heart warm within him, and he would
gladly have kissed her. But he only withdrew the ring. As he forced it
onto the end of his own little finger the lady said to him: "Whenever you
turn it round you will be changed to a falcon; for you must know. . . .
But woe to us! There, where the water is lashed into foam, is the monster
swimming towards us!"

She had hardly finished before a hideous creature drew itself out of the
lake. It looked as if it were covered with mouldering pumice-stone. Two
toads peeped from the cavities of the eyes, brown eel-grass hung dripping
and disordered over its neck and forehead, and in place of teeth there
were long iron spikes in its jaws which protruded and crossed one another
over its lips.

"A fine wooer, indeed!" thought the squire. "If the stone-clad fellow
should not possess a vulnerable spot somewhere on his body I shall
certainly lose my position!"

Similar thoughts passed through the knight's mind, and consequently he
did not attack it with his sword, but lifting a huge piece of granite
from the ground he hurled it at the monster's head. The creature only
sneezed, and passed its hand over its eyes as if to brush away a fly.
Then it looked round and, perceiving the knight, bellowed aloud, and
changed itself into a dragon spouting fire. Herr Wendelin rejoiced at
this, for his favourite pastime was to kill that sort of beast. He had no
sooner, however, plunged his good sword into a soft part of the monster,
and seen the blood flow from the wound, than his opponent changed itself
into a griffin, and raising itself from the ground swooped upon him. His
defence now became more difficult, as the evil spirit continued to attack
him in ever changing forms, but Sir Wendelin was no coward, and knew well
how to use his arm and sword. At length, however, the knight began to
feel that his strength was deserting him; his sword seemed to grow
heavier and heavier in his hand, and his legs felt as if an hundredweight
had been attached to them. His squire, noting his fatigue, grew faint,
and began to think the best thing for him would be to ride off, for the
fight was likely to end badly for his master. The knight's knees were
trembling under him, and as the monster, in the form of a unicorn,
charged against his shield he fell to the ground.

The creature shrank suddenly together and in the guise of a black, agile
rat shot towards him.

Sir Wendelin felt that he was losing consciousness, he heard faintly a
voice from the grotto where the lady was imprisoned calling to him: "The
ring, remember the ring!"

He was just able to turn with his thumb the ring on his little finger.
Immediately he felt himself lighter and freer than he had ever felt
before, and his heart seemed to harden to a steel spring, while a gay and
reckless mood came over him. A wild desire to fly took possession of him
at the same time, and it seemed as if he were only fourteen years old
once more. Some strange force impelled him aloft into the air, to which
he yielded, spreading the two large wings, that he suddenly found himself
in possession of, as naturally as if he had used them all his life. He
soon felt the feathers on his back stroked by the clouds, and yet he saw
everything below him on the earth more distinctly than ever before. Even
the smallest things appeared perfectly clear to his sharpened eyes, and
yet he seemed to see them as if reflected in a brilliant mirror. He could
distinguish even the hairs on the rat and suddenly another impulse came
over him--the impulse to stoop down and catch the long-tailed vermin in
his beak and claws. Wendelin had been changed into a falcon, and the rat
struggled in vain to escape his powerful attack.

The prisoner had followed the combat first with anxiety, then with joy.
While the falcon held the rat in his claws and struck him with his beak
again and again, she called the squire to her, and bade him free her from
her chains. This was no distasteful task for George, indeed it gave him
so much pleasure that he was in no hurry to finish.

When at last all her bonds were loosened, she stood very erect, and
lifted her arms, and each moment seemed to make her more lovely and more
beautiful. Then she grasped the circle of emeralds, about which the
enchanter had wound her golden hair, and waving it high in the air,
cried: "Falcon, return to the shape you were before. Misdral, hear thy
sentence!"

Wendelin assumed immediately his knightly guise, which seemed very clumsy
to him after having been a falcon. The rat lengthened itself and expanded
until it was once more the giant covered with pumicestone; it walked no
longer erect, however, but crawled along the ground at the feet of the
beautiful woman, whimpering and howling like a whipped cur. She then said
to it: "At last I possess the emerald circlet, in which resides your
power over me. I can destroy you, but my name is Clementine and so I will
grant you mercy. I will only banish you to your rocks. There you shall
remain until the last hour of the last day. Papaluka, Papaluka,--Emerald,
perform thy duty!"

The giant of pumice-stone immediately glowed like molten iron. Once he
raised his clenched fist towards Wendelin, and then plunged into the lake
where the hissing and foaming waters closed over him. The lady and the
knight were left alone together. When she asked him what reward he
desired, he could only answer that he wished to have her for his wife,
and to take her to his home in Germany; but she blushed and answered
sadly: "I may not leave this country, and it is not permitted to me to
become the wife of any mortal man. But I know how heroes should be
rewarded, and I offer you my lips to kiss."

He knelt down before her and she took his head between her slim hands and
pressed her mouth against his.

George, the squire, saw this, sighed deeply, and wondered: "Why was my
father only a miller? What favours are granted to a knight like that! But
I hope the kiss won't be the end of it all; for, unless she is a miserly
fairy, there ought to be much more substantial pay for his services in
store for him."

But Clementine bestowed even a richer reward than he had expected upon
her rescuer. When she discovered that a lock of the brown hair on
Wendelin's left temple had turned grey during the conflict with the evil
monster, she said to him: 'All this land shall belong to you henceforth,
and because you have grown grey in your courageous fight with evil, you
shall be known from this time forward as Duke Greylock. Every prince,
yea, even the Emperor himself, will recognize the title which I confer
upon you as my saviour, and when the race, of which you are to be the
progenitor, is blessed with offspring, I will stand godmother to every
first-born. All the sons of your house from first to last, whether they
be dark or fair, or brown, shall bear the grey lock. It will be a sign
unto your posterity that much good fortune awaits them. My authority,
however, is limited, and if at any time a higher power should hinder me
from exerting my influence in behalf of one of your grandsons, then will
the grey lock be missing from his head, and it will depend altogether on
himself how his life unfolds itself. One thing more. Give me back my ring
and take instead this mirror, which will always show to you and yours
whatever you hold most dear, even when you are far away from it."

"Then it will ever be granted to me to bring your face before my eyes,
oh! lovely lady!" the knight exclaimed.

The fairy laughed and answered: "No, Duke Greylock--the mirror can only
reflect the forms of mortals. I know a wife awaiting you, whom you will
rather see than any picture in the glass, even were it that of a fairy.
Receive my thanks once more! you are duke, enter now into your dukedom!"

With these words she disappeared. A gentle rustling and tinkling was
heard through the air, the waste ground covered itself with fresh green,
the dry river beds filled with clear running water, and on their banks
appeared blooming meadows, shady groves and forests. The broken walls
against the hillsides fitted themselves together, rose higher and
supported once more the terraces covered with vine stocks and
fruit-trees. Villages and cities grew into form and lay cradled in the
landscape. Beautiful gardens bloomed forth, full of gay flowers,
olive-trees, orange-trees, citron, and fig, and pomegranate-trees, each
covered with its golden fruit of many-seeded apples. In the neighbourhood
of the grotto in which the fairy had been imprisoned a park of
incomparable beauty grew into view, where brooks whispered and fountains
played, and shady pergolas appeared, formed of gold and silver trellises,
over which a thousand luxuriant creepers clambered, holding by their
little tendril hands.

The fallen columns stood up again, the mutilated marble statues found new
noses and arms, and in the background of all this growing magnificence
the young duke perceived-at first dimly, as if obscured by mists, then
more distinctly-the outline of a palace with loggia, balconies, columned
halls, and statues in bronze and marble around the cornice of its flat
roof.

George, the squire, gazed in openmouthed wonder, and his mouth remained
open until he entered the fore-court of the palace. Then he only closed
it to give his jaws a little rest before their future labours began, for
such a good smell from the kitchen greeted him that he ordered the
willing cook to satisfy immediately the demands of his appetite, as his
hunger was greater than his curiosity.

Sir Wendelin continued his way through the passages, chambers, halls, and
courts. Everywhere servants, guards, and heyducks swarmed, and from the
stables he heard the stamping of many horses, and the jingle of their
halter chains as they rattled them against their well-filled mangers.
Choruses of trumpeters played inspiriting fanfares, and from the
assembled people in the forecourt a thousand voices shouted again and
again: "Hail to his Grace Duke Greylock, Wendelin the First! Long may he
live!"

The knight bowed graciously to his good people, and when the Chancellor
stepped forward, and after a deep reverence set forth in a carefully
prepared speech the great services which the duke had rendered to the
country, Wendelin listened with polite attention, though he himself was
quite ignorant of what the old man was talking about.

Sir Wendelin had lived through so many adventures that it pleased him now
to sit peacefully on his throne, and he did his best to be worthy of the
honours which the fairy had conferred upon him. After he had learned the
duties of a ruler from A to Z, he returned to Germany to woo his cousin
Walpurga. He led her back to his palace, and for many years they governed
the beautiful land together. All of the five sons which his wife bore to
him, came into the world with the grey lock. They all grew to be brave
men and loyal subjects of their father, whom they served faithfully in
war, holding fraternally together and greatly enlarging the boundaries of
his dukedom by their prowess.

A long time passed and generation after generation of the descendants of
the worthy Sir Wendelin followed one another. The first-born son always
bore the name of the progenitor of the family, and the fairy Clementine
always appeared at the baptism. No one ever saw her; but a gentle
tinkling through the palace betrayed her presence, and when that ceased,
the grey lock on the infant's temple was always found to have twisted
itself into a curl.

At the end of five hundred years, Wendelin XV. was carried to his grave.
No Greylock had ever possessed a more luxuriant grey curl than his, and
yet he had died young. The wise men of the land said that even to the
most favoured only a fixed measure of happiness and good luck was
granted, and that Wendelin XV. had enjoyed his full share in the space of
thirty years.

Certain it is that from childhood everything had prospered with this
duke. His people had expected great things of him when he was only crown
prince, and he did not disappoint them when he came to the throne. Every
one had loved him. Under his leadership the army had marched from one
victory to another. While he held the sceptre one abundant harvest
followed another, and he had married the most beautiful and most virtuous
daughter of the mightiest prince in the kingdom.

In the midst of a hot conflict, and at the moment that his own army sent
up a shout of victory, he met his death. Everything that the heart of man
could desire had been accorded to him, except the one joy of possessing a
son and heir. But he had left the world in the hope that that wish, too,
would be fulfilled.

Black banners floated from the battlements of the castle, the columns at
its entrance were wreathed in crape, the gold state-coaches were painted
black, and the manes and tails of the duke's horses bound with ribbons of
the same sombre hue. The master of the hunt had the gaily-colored birds
in the park dyed, the schoolmaster had the copy-books of the boys covered
with black, the merry minstrels in the land sang only sad strains, and
every subject wore mourning. When the ruby-red nose of the guardian of
the Court cellar gradually changed to a bluish tint during this time, the
Court marshal thought it only natural. Even the babies were swaddled in
black bands. And besides all this outward show, the hearts too were sad,
and saddest of all was that of the young widowed duchess. She also had
laid aside all bright colours, and went about in deepest mourning, only
her eyes, despite the Court orders in regard to sombre hues, were bright
red from weeping.

She would have wished to die that she might not be separated from her
husband, save for a sweet, all-powerful hope which held her to this
world; and the prospect of holy duties, like faint rays of sunshine,
threw their light over her future, which would otherwise have seemed as
dark as the habits of the Court about her.

Thus five long months passed. On the first morning of the sixth month
cannon thundered from the citadel of the capital. One salvo followed
another, making the air tremble, but the firing did not waken the
citizens, for not one of them had closed an eye the foregoing night,
which, according to the oldest inhabitants, had been unprecedented. From
the rocky district on the north shore of the lake, where Misdral lived, a
fearful thunder-storm had arisen, and spread over the city and ducal
palace. There was a rolling and rumbling of thunder and howling of wind,
such as might have heralded the Day of judgment. The lightning had not,
as usual, rent the darkness with long, jagged flashes, but had fallen to
the ground as great fiery balls which, however, had set nothing aflame.
The watchmen on the towers asserted that above the black clouds a
silver-white mist had floated, like a stream of milk over dark wool, and
that in the midst of the rumbling and crashing of the thunder they had
heard the sweet tones of harps. Many of the burghers said that they too
had heard it, and the ducal Maker of Musical Instruments declared that
the notes sounded as if they had come from a fine harpsichord--though not
from one of the best--which some one had played between heaven and earth.

As soon as the firing of cannon began, all the people ran into the
streets, and the street-cleaners, who were sweeping up the tiles and
broken bits of slate that the storm had torn from the roofs, leaned on
their brooms and listened. The Constable was using a great deal of
powder; the time seemed long to the men and women who were counting the
number of reports, and there seemed no end to the noise. Sixty guns meant
a princess, one hundred and one meant a prince. When the sixty-first was
heard, there was great rejoicing, for then they knew that the duchess had
borne a son; when, however, another shot followed the one hundred and
first, a clever advocate suggested that perhaps there were two
princesses. When one hundred and sixty-one guns had been fired, they said
it might be a boy and a girl; when the one hundred and eightieth came,
the schoolmaster, whose wife had presented him with seven daughters,
exclaimed: "Perhaps there are triplets, 'feminini generis!" But this
supposition was confuted by the next shot. When the firing ceased after
the two hundred and second gun, the people knew that their beloved
duchess was the mother of twin boys.

The city went crazy with joy. Flags bearing the national colours were
hoisted in place of the mourning banners. In the show-windows of the
drapers' shops red, blue, and yellow stuffs were exhibited once more, and
the courtiers smoothed the wrinkles out of their brows, and practised
their smiles again.

Every one was delighted, with the exception of the Astrologer, and a few
old women and wise men, who drew long faces, and said that children born
in such a night had undoubtedly come into the world under inauspicious
signs. In the ducal palace itself the joy was not unclouded, and it was
precisely the most faithful and devoted of the servants who seemed most
depressed, and who held long conferences together.

Both of the boys were well formed and healthy, but the second-born lacked
the grey curl which heretofore had never failed to mark each new-born
Greylock.

Pepe, the Major-domo, who was a direct descendant of George, the squire,
and who knew the history of the ducal family better than any one else,
for he had learned it from his grandfather, was so dejected that one
would have imagined a great misfortune had befallen him, and in the
evenings, when he sat over his wine in company with the Keeper of the
Cellar, the Keeper of the Plate and the Decker of the Table, he could not
resist giving expression to his presentiments. His conviction that Bad
Luck had knocked at the door of the hitherto fortunate Greylocks was
finally shared by his companions.

That an unhappy future awaited the second boy was the firm belief, not
only of the servants, but of the whole Court. The unlucky horoscope cast
by the Astrologer was known to all, the wise men of the land confirmed it
by their predictions, and soon it was proved that even the fairy
Clementine was powerless to avert the misfortune that threatened the
youngest prince. On the day of the baptism, neither the gentle tinkling
sound, nor the sweet perfume, which had heretofore announced her
presence, were perceptible. That she had not deserted the ducal house
altogether was shown by the fact that the lock on the temple of the
first-born twined itself into a perfect curl. The lock on the left temple
of the second son remained brown, and not a sign of grey could be
discovered even with a magnifying glass. The heart of the young mother
was filled with alarm, and she called the old nurse who had taken care of
her dead husband when he was a baby, to ask her what had happened at his
baptism, and the old woman burst into tears, and ended by betraying the
gloomy forecasts of the Astrologer and wise men. That a Greylock should
go through life without the white curl was unheard of, was awful! And the
old nurse called the poor little creature, "an ill-starred child, a dear
pitiable princeling."

Then the mother recalled her last dream, in which she had seen a dragon
attack her youngest boy. A great fear possessed her heart, and she bade
them bring the child to her. When they laid him naked before her, she
stroked the little round body, the straight back, and well-shaped legs
with her weak hands, and felt comforted. He was a beautifully-formed,
well-developed child, her child, her very own, and nothing was lacking
save the grey lock. She never wearied of looking at him; at last she
leaned over him and whispered: "You sweet little darling, you are just as
good, and just as much of a Greylock as your brother. He will be duke,
but that is no great piece of luck, and we will not begrudge it to him.
His subjects will some day give him enough anxiety. He must grow to be a
mighty man for their sakes, and I doubt not that his nurse gives him
better nourishment to that end than I could who am only a weak woman. But
you, you poor, dear, little ill-omened mite, I shall nourish you myself,
and if your life is unhappy it shall not be because I have not done my
best."

When the Chief Priest came to her, to ask her what name she had chosen
for the second boy--the first, of course, was to be Wendelin XVI--she
remembered her dream, and answered quickly: "Let him be named George, for
it was he who killed the dragon."

The old man understood her meaning, and answered earnestly: "That is a
good name for him."

Time passed, and both of the princes flourished. George was nourished by
his own mother, Wendelin by a hired nurse. They learned to babble and
coo, then to walk and talk, for in this respect the sons of dukes with
grey locks are just like other boys. And yet no two children are alike,
and if any schoolmaster tried to write an exhaustive treatise on the
subject of education, it would have to contain as many chapters as there
are boys and girls in the world, and it would not be one of the thinnest
books ever published.

The ducal twins from the beginning exhibited great differences.
Wendelin's hair was straight and, save for the grey lock, which hung over
his left temple like a mark of interrogation, jet black; George, on the
contrary, had curly brown hair. Their size remained equal until their
seventh year, when the younger brother began to outstrip the older. They
loved one another very fondly, but the amusements that pleased one failed
to attract the other; even their eyes seemed to have been made on
different patterns, for many things that seemed white to George appeared
black to his brother.

Both received equal care and were never left alone. The older brother
found this but natural, and he liked to lie still, and be fanned, or have
the flies brushed away from him, and to have some one read fairy stories,
which he loved, aloud to him until he dozed off to sleep. It was
astonishing how long and how soundly he could sleep. The courtiers said
that he was laying up a store of strength, to meet the demands that would
be made upon him when he came to the throne.

Even before he could speak plainly, he had learned to let others wait
upon him, and would never lift his little finger to do anything for
himself. His passive face and large melancholy eyes were wonderfully
beautiful, and inspired even his mother with a feeling of awe and
respect. She never had cause to feel anxious about him, for there was no
better, nor more obedient child in the whole land.

The ill-omened boy, George, was the exact opposite of his brother. He, on
the contrary, had to be watched and tended, for his veins seemed to run
quicksilver. One would have been justified in saying that he went out to
meet the misfortune which was so surely awaiting him. Whenever it was
possible he gave his nurses and attendants the slip. He planned dangerous
games, and incited the children of the castle servants and gardeners to
carry out the mischief which he had contrived.

But his favorite pastime was building. Sometimes he would erect houses of
red stone, often he would dig great caves of many chambers and halls in
the sand. At this work he was much more energetic than his humbler
playfellows, and he would be dirty and dripping with perspiration when he
returned to the castle. The courtiers would shake their heads over him in
disapprobation, and then look approvingly at Wendelin, who was a true
royal child and never got his white hands dirty.

There was no doubt but that George was cast in a less aristocratic mould
than his brother. When Wendelin complained of the heat, George would
spring into the lake for a swim, and when Wendelin was freezing, George
would praise the fresh bracing air. The duchess often sighed for a
thousand eyes that she might the better look after him, and she
constantly had to scold and reprove him, whereas her other son never
heard anything but soft words from her. But then George would fly into
her arms in a most unprincely manner, and she would kiss him and hug him,
as if she never wanted to let him go, while her caresses of her elder son
were restricted to a kiss on his forehead, or to stroking his hair.
George was by no means so beautiful as his brother; he had only a fresh
boyish face, but his eyes were exceptionally deep and truthful, and his
mother always found in them a perfect reflection of what was in her own
heart.

The two boys were as happy as is every child who grows up in the sunshine
of its mother's love, but the lords and ladies about the Court, and the
castle-servants felt that misfortune had already begun to dog the