“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 Dr. Gotthold? But intellectual merit, alone of all distinctions, has its base in nature.”