"He is mad," said one.
"No, no," I replied, "I am not mad. It is you that are mad. It is the wretched people who are mad--mad with suffering and misery, as you with pride and hardness of heart. You are all men. Hear their demands. Yield a little of your superfluous blessings; and touch their hearts--with kindness, and love will spring up like flowers in the track of the harrow. For the sake of Christ Jesus, who died on the cross for all men, I appeal to you. Be just, be generous, be merciful. Are they not your brethren? Have they not souls like yourselves? Speak, speak, and I will toil as long as I can breathe. I will wear the flesh from off my bones, if I can reconcile the castes of this wretched society, and save civilization."
The Prince had recoiled with terror at my first entrance. He had now rallied his faculties.
"How did you come here?" he asked.
Fortunately the repulsive coldness with which the Council had met my earnest appeals, which I had fairly shrieked at them, had restored to some extent the balance of my reason. The thought flashed over me that I must not betray Rudolph.
"Through yonder open window," I replied.
"How did you reach it?" asked the Prince.
"I climbed up the ivy vine to it."
"What did you come here for?" he asked.
"To appeal to you, in the name of God, to prevent the coming of this dreadful outbreak."