footsteps of the younger prince. How constantly he was in disgrace with
the duchess! And the accidents that had already happened in the eleven
years of his life were too numerous to count. While bathing he had
ventured too far out into the lake and had been nearly drowned; once,
while riding in the ring, he had been thrown over the barriers by an
unmanageable horse; indeed the Court-physician was certain to be called
from his night's rest at least once a month, to bind up bloody wounds in
the young prince's bead, or bruises on his body.

No one, save the Seneschal of the Royal Household, and the Master of
Ceremonies bore the unruly boy any malice, but every one pitied him as an
ill-starred child. With what relentlessness his evil destiny pursued him
was first made clear when a stone house, which he, together with some
other boys, had built, fell down on top of him. When they drew him out
from under the blocks and stones he was unconscious, and the Major-domo,
who had been attracted by the cries of George's companions, carried him
into the prince's room, laid him on the bed, and watched by him until the
physician was called.

The old nurse, Nonna, aided the Majordomo, and these two faithful souls
confided their anxiety to one another. They recalled the unlucky signs
that had accompanied his entrance into the world, and Pepe expressed his
fear that the unfortunate child would not come to life again.

"'Tis very sad," he continued, "but I doubt not it would be better for
the ducal family if Heaven were now to remove him, for an early death is,
after all, preferable to a long life of vexation and misery."

The boy heard this conversation word for word, for, although he could
move neither hand nor foot, and kept his eyes closed, his hearing and
understanding were wide awake.

Old Nonna had shed many tears during good Pepe's speech, and he was
trying to comfort her when George suddenly sat up, rubbed his eyes with
the back of his hands, stretched himself, and then, agile as a brook
trout, sprang out of bed.

The two old people screamed in their astonishment, then laughed louder in
their joy; but the Court physician, who was just entering the room,
looked very much disgusted and disappointed, for he saw the beautiful
prospect of saving the life of one of the royal children dissolve before
his very eyes.

At the time of this accident the Duchess was away from home. On her
return she forced herself to reprove George for his recklessness before
she yielded fully to her motherly affection. When George threw his arms
around her neck and asked her if it were really true that he was an
ill-starred child, and would never have anything but bad luck as long as
he lived, she nearly burst into tears. But she restrained herself, called
Pepe and Nouna a couple of old geese, and the "signs," which they had
talked about, stupid nonsense. Then she left the room hurriedly and
George thought that he heard her crying outside. He had gathered from her
tone that she was not convinced of what she was saying, and was only
trying to quiet his fears, and from that hour he, too, regarded himself
as a child destined to adversity. This was indeed unfortunate, yet it had
its compensation, for each morning he anticipated an unhappy day, and
when in the evening he looked back on nothing but pleasure and sunshine,
he went to bed with a heart full of gratitude for the good which he had
enjoyed but which did not rightfully belong to him. From this time his
mother had him more carefully guarded than before, she herself even
followed him about anxiously, like a hen who has hatched a duckling, and
forbade him to build any more stone-houses.

The noble Duchess was just then weighed down with other cares. One of her
neighbors, a king, who had often been defeated in battle by her husband
and her husband's father, thought it an excellent opportunity, while the
duchy of the Greylocks was ruled only by a woman and her Councillors, to
invade the land, and win back some of the provinces which he had formerly
lost. Moustache, her Field-marshal, had led forth the army, and a battle
was now imminent, which like all other battles, must end either in
victory or defeat.

One day a messenger came from the camp, bringing a letter from the brave
marshal, who demanded more troops, saying that the enemy far out-numbered
him. Then the Prime Minister called the Great Council together, from
which, of course, the Duchess could not be absent, and during the time
that she presided over the Councillors' meeting, she lost sight of George
for the first time for many weeks.

The naughty boy was delighted. He slipped out of the castle, whence his
older brother would not move, on account of the bad weather, went down to
the shore of the lake, and finding that it was unusually rough, he,
together with the son of the head-gondolier, sprang into a small boat,
and drove it with powerful strokes out among the waves. The wind lifted
the brown curls of the boy, and whenever a large wave bore the skiff
aloft on its crest, he shouted with joy. Hitherto he had only been
allowed to go on the lake in a well manned, safe boat, and then the
sailors were under orders to keep to the southern half of the lake.
Consequently an excursion on the water had seemed but a mild amusement;
but to be his own master, and to fight thus untrammelled against the
winds and waves was pleasure such as he had never before experienced.

He had never yet visited the northern part of the lake, there where it
was so dark, and mysterious, and where--as old Nonna used to relate--evil
spirits dwelt, and a giant covered with pumice-stone was compelled by a
curse to live. Perhaps, if he could only get to the other shore, he might
see a ghost! That was a tempting prospect! So he turned the bow of the
boat towards the north, and bidding his companion to row hard, did the
same himself.

As they got further north, the waves increased in size, a storm arose and
blew fiercely in their faces; but the rougher the lake became, the gayer
and more boisterous grew George's mood.

His companion began to be afraid, and begged that they might return, but
George, though it was not his custom, made his princely authority felt,
and sternly commanded the boy to do as he was bid.

All at once it became dark around them, and it seemed as if a powerful
sea-horse must have got under the skiff and lifted it with his back, for
George was hurled into the air. Then he felt himself caught by a rushing
whirlpool which sucked him in its circles to the bottom. He lost breath
and consciousness. When he came to himself again, he found himself in a
closed cave, amidst strange forms of grey-brown, dripping stalactites.
Above the arches of the roof he heard a loud, grunting laugh, and a
voice, that sounded like the hoarse howl of a dog, cried several times:
"Here we have the Wendelin brood! At last I have the Greylock!"

Then George remembered all that he had overheard Pepe and Nonna relate,
and all that he had coaxed out of them by his questions. He had fallen
into the hands of the evil spirit, Misdral, and now the real misfortune,
which had threatened him ever since his birth, was to begin. He was
freezing cold, and very hungry, and as he thought of the beautiful
gardens at home, of the well-spread table in his father's castle, at
which he used to sit so comfortably in his high-backed chair, and of the
well-fed lackeys, he felt quite faint.

He also realized what terrible anxiety his absence would cause his
mother. He could see her running about, weeping, with her hair in
disorder, seeking him every where.

When he was smaller she had often taken him into her bed and played
"Little Red Riding Hood" with him, and he said to himself that for that
and many succeeding nights she would find no rest on her silken cushions,
but would wet them with her tears. These recollections brought him to the
verge of weeping, but the next instant he stamped his foot angrily, in
rage against his weakness.

He was only thirteen years old, but he was a true Greylock, and fear and
cowardice were as unknown to him as to his ancestor, Wendelin I. So when
he heard the voice of the wicked Misdral again, and listened to the
curses which it heaped upon his family, George's anger grew so hot that
he picked up a stone, as the first Wendelin had done five hundred years
before, to hurl it in the monster's wrinkled face. But Misdral did not
show himself, and George had to give up the expectation of seeing him,
for he gathered from the conversation between the two spirits that, owing
to an oath which he had given to the fairy, Misdral dared not lay hands
on a Wendelin, and that, therefore, he had planned to starve him (George)
to death. This prospect seemed all the more dreadful to the boy because
of his hunger at that moment.

The cave was lighted by a hole in the roof of rocks, and as George could
cry no more, and had raged enough against himself and the wicked Misdral,
there was nothing further for him to do but to look about his prison, and
examine the stalactites which surrounded him on all sides. One of them
looked like a pulpit, a second like a camel, a third made him laugh, for
it had a face with a bottle-nose, like that of the chief wine cooper at
the castle. On one of the columns he thought he discerned the figure of a
weeping woman, and this made his eyes fill with tears again. But he did
not mean to cry any more, so he turned his attention to the ceiling. Some
of the stalactites that hung from it looked like great icicles, and some
of them looked like damp, grey clothes hung out to dry. This recalled the
appearance of the wash hanging in the garden behind the palace--a long
stocking, or an unusually large shirt descending below the rest of the
clothes--and he remembered how, in the fall, after the harvest, the
clothes-lines used to be tied to the plum-trees, and the ends decorated
with branches still bearing the blue, juicy fruit, and then his hunger
became so ravenous that he buckled his belt tighter round his waist and
groaned aloud.

Night fell. The cave grew dark, and he tried to sleep, but could not,
although the drops of water splashed soothingly, and monotonously from
the roof into the pools below.

The later it grew, the more he was tormented by his hunger, and the
flapping of the bats, which he could not see in the dark. He longed for
it to be morning, and more than once, in his great need, he lifted his
hands and prayed for deliverance, and yet more passionately for a piece
of bread, and the coming of day. Then he sat lost in thought, and bit his
nails, for the sake of having something to chew. He was aroused by a
splash in one of the puddles on the Hoor. It must be a fish! He sat up to
listen, and it seemed as if some one called to him gently. He pricked up
his ears sharply, and then!--no, he had not deceived himself, for the
friendly words came distinctly from below: "George, my poor boy, are you
awake?"

How they comforted him, and how quickly he sprang up in answer to the
question! At last he was saved. That was as certain to him as that twice
two makes four, although it might have been otherwise.

Over the pool, from which the small voice had sounded, appeared now a dim
light, a beautiful goldfish lifted its head out of the water, opened its
round mouth, and said, in a scarcely audible tone,--for a real fish finds
it difficult to speak, because it has no lungs,--that George's godmother,
the fairy Clementine, had sent it. Its mistress was by no means pleased
with George's disobedience; but, as he was otherwise a good boy, and she
was pledged to aid the Greylocks, she would help him out of his
difficulty this time.

The boy cried: "Take me home take me home, take me to my mother!"

"That would indeed be the simplest thing to do," replied the fish, "and
it lies in our power to fulfil your wish; but, if my mistress frees you
from the power of the wicked Misdral, she must promise him in exchange
that another ill shall befall your house. Your army is in the field, and
if you return to your family, then will the giant help your enemies; they
will defeat you, will capture your capital, and possibly something evil
might befall your mother."

George sprang up and waved his hand in negation. Then his curly head
fell, and he said sadly, but decisively: "I will stay here and starve."

The fish in his delight slapped the water with his tail until it splashed
high, and continued, although his first speech had already made him
hoarse:

"No, no; it need not be so bad as that. If you are willing to go into the
world as a poor boy, and never to tell any one that you are a prince, nor
what your name is, nor whence you come, then no enemy will be able to do
your army or the lady duchess any harm."

"And shall I never see my mother and Wendelin again?" George asked, and
the tears poured down over his cheeks like the water over the
stalactites.

"Oh yes!" the fish replied, "if you are courageous, and do something good
and great, then you may return to your home."

"Something good and great," George repeated, "that will be very
difficult; and, if I should succeed in doing something that I thought
good and great, how could I know whether the fairy considered it so?"
"Whenever the grey lock grows on your head, you may declare yourself to
be the son of a duke and go home;" the fish whispered. "Follow me. I will
light the way for you. It is lucky that you have run about so much and
are so thin, otherwise you might stick fast on the way. Now pay
attention. This pool drains itself, through a passage under the mountain,
into the lake. I shall swim in front of you until we come to the big
basin into which the springs of these mountains empty their waters. After
that I must keep to the right, in order to get back into the lake, but
you must take the left passage, and let the current carry you along for
an hour, when it will join the head of the great Vitale river, and flow
out into the open air. Continue with the stream until it turns towards
the east, then you must climb over the mountains, and keep ever
northwards. Hold your hand under my mouth that I may give you money for
your journey."

George did as he was bid, and the fish poured forty shining groschen into
his hand. Each one of them would pay for a day's nourishment and a
night's lodging.

The fish then dived under, George plunged after it into the pool, and
followed the shimmering light that emanated from his scaly guide.
Sometimes the rocky passages, through which he crawled on his stomach in
shallow water, became so small that he bumped his head, and had to press
his shoulders together in order to pass, and often he thought that he
would stick fast among the rocks, like a hatchet in a block of wood. He
always managed to free himself, however, and finally reached the big
basin, where a crowd of maidens with green hair and scaly tails were
sporting, and they invited him to come and play tag with them. But the
fish advised him not to stop with the idle hussies, and then parted from
him.

George was alone once more, and he let himself be borne along on the
rushing subterranean stream. At length it poured out into the open air,
as the Vitale river, and the boy fell with it over a wall of rock into a
large pool surrounded by thick greenery. There was a great splash, the
trout were frightened to death, a dog began to bark, and a shepherd, who
was sitting on the bank, sprang up, for the coloured bundle that had just
shot over the falls, now arose from the water and bore the form of a
pretty boy of thirteen years.

This apparition soon stood before him, puffing, and dripping, and
regarding, with greedy eyes, the bread and cheese which the old man was
eating. The shepherd was very, very old, and deaf, but he understood the
language of the boy's eyes, and as he had just milked the goats, he held
out a cup of the milk to him with a friendly gesture, and broke off a
piece of bread for him. Then he invited George to sit down beside him in
the sun, which had been up for an hour.

The prince had never before eaten such a meal, but as he sat there in the
sun, munching the bread, and drinking goats' milk, he would have thought
any one a fool who called him an ill-fated child.

After he had satisfied his hunger, he thanked the shepherd, and offered
him one of the groschen which the fish had given him, but the old man
refused it.

George insisted, for it hurt his pride to take anything as a gift from a
man clad in rags, but the shepherd still declined, and added, after he
had noticed the fine clothes of the little prince, which the water had
not entirely spoiled: "What the poor man gives gladly, no gold can repay.
Keep your groschen."

George blushed scarlet, put his money in his pocket, and replied: "Then
may God reward you." The words sprang naturally and easily to his lips,
and yet they were the very ones that the beggars in the duchy of the
Greylocks always used.

He ran along by the side of the stream quite fast, in order to dry his
clothes, until it was noon, and many thoughts passed through his mind,
but so rapidly that he could hardly remember whether they were gay or
sad. When at last he sat down to rest under a flowering elder bush, he
thought of his mother, and of the great sorrow that he was causing her,
of his brother, and Norma, and old Pepe, and his heart failed him, and he
wept. He might never see them again, for how could he ever accomplish
anything that was good and great, and yet the fish had demanded it of
him! For three days he continued to be very dejected, and whenever he
passed boys at play, or boys and maidens dancing and singing under the
trees, he would say to himself: "You are happy, for you were not born
under an evil star as I was."

The first night he slept in a mill, the second in an inn, the third in a
smithy. Just as he was leaving in the early morning a horseman rode
rapidly past, and called out to the smith, who was standing in front of
the shop: "The battle is lost. The King is flying. The Greylocks are
marching on the capital."

George laughed aloud, and the messenger hearing him, made a cut at him
with his riding-whip, but missed him, and the boy ran away. George felt
as if some one had removed the burden that had been weighing him down
during his wanderings, and he reflected that, if he had remained a
prince, and had been at that moment comfortably at home, instead of
wandering until he was footsore along the highways, Moustache, the
Field-marshal, would have lost the battle.

It was still early when he reached the spot where the river turned to the
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.