“Then thou canst not enter.”
“But I am no common man. I am great, and famous, and much feared.”
“That matters not. Thou hast no pass. I may not let thee enter.”
“But hark you! I am Czar of all the Russias.”
“Whatever or whoever thou art, thou hast no pass; therefore our King knows thee not; I may not let thee enter. Answer me no more.”
And Rudolph, the Czar, complaining bitterly, crawls a little way off and casts himself down among the rocks. While he lies there, peering wistfully into the beautiful valley, wondering at the blueness of the heavens and the softness of the light, listening to the gurgling of waters, and catching glimpses of cataracts flashing down the distant hills, under overhanging branches—while he lies there, one, haughty, and bearing himself like a prince, draws near, and Rudolph remembers to have met him in a spacious, oak-paneled library, long ago, when he, the Czar, was a boy.
No sooner does this one reach the entrance to the valley, than the sentinel appears as before, and demands his pass. The other hands him a paper, which he examines, and pronounces to be worthless. “It bears not our King’s signature, but that of his worst enemy. Begone, impostor!”
“But I am a millionaire! I own ships upon the sea, laden with merchandise, and mines in the earth rich with ore, and acres of land more than I can count!”
“Away! Answer me no more.”
And the rich man turns away in wrath and confusion.