“They made a song of it,” observed Fritz. “How does it go? Ta-tum-ta-ra …”
“Well,” interrupted Otto, who had no great anxiety to hear the song, “the Prince is young; he may yet mend.”
“Not so young, by your leave,” cried Fritz. “A man of forty.”
“Thirty-six,” corrected Mr. Gottesheim.
“Oh,” cried Ottilia, in obvious disillusion, “a man of middle age! And they said he was so handsome when he was young!”
“And bald, too,” added Fritz.
Otto passed his hand among his locks. At that moment he was far from happy, and even the tedious evenings at Mittwalden Palace began to smile upon him by comparison.
“Oh, six-and-thirty!” he protested. “A man is not yet old at six-and-thirty. I am that age myself.”
“I should have taken you for more, sir,” piped the old farmer. “But if that be so, you are of an age with Master Ottekin, as people call him; and, I would wager a crown, have done more service in your time. Though it seems young by comparison with men of a great age like me, yet it’s some way through life for all that; and the mere fools and fiddlers are beginning to grow weary and to look old. Yes, sir, by six-and-thirty, if a man be a follower of God’s laws, he should have made himself a home and a good name to live by; he should have got a wife and a blessing on his marriage; and his works, as the Word says, should begin to follow him.”
“Ah, well, the Prince is married,” cried Fritz, with a coarse burst of laughter.
“That seems to entertain you, sir,” said Otto.
“Ay,” said the young boor. “Did you not know that? I thought all Europe knew it!” And he added a pantomime of a nature to explain his accusation to the dullest.
“Ah, sir,” said Mr. Gottesheim, “it is very plain that you are not from hereabouts! But the truth is, that the whole princely family and Court are rips and rascals, not one to mend another. They live, sir, in idleness and—what most commonly follows it—corruption. The Princess has a lover—a Baron, as he calls himself, from East Prussia; and the Prince is so little of a man, sir, that he holds the candle. Nor is that the worst of it, for this foreigner and his paramour are suffered to transact the State affairs, while the Prince takes the salary and leaves all things to go to wrack. There will follow upon this some manifest judgment which, though I am old, I may survive to see.”
“Good man, you are in the wrong about Gondremark,” said Fritz, showing a greatly increased animation; “but for all the rest, you speak the God’s truth like a good patriot. As for the Prince, if he would take and strangle his wife, I would forgive him yet.”
“Nay, Fritz,” said the old man, “that would be to add iniquity to evil. For you perceive, sir,” he continued, once more addressing himself to the unfortunate Prince, “this Otto has himself to thank for these disorders. He has his young wife and his principality, and he has sworn to cherish both.”
“Sworn at the altar!” echoed Fritz. “But put your faith in princes!”
“Well, sir, he leaves them both to an adventurer from East Prussia,” pursued the farmer: “leaves the girl to be seduced and to go on from bad to worse, till her name’s become a taproom byword, and she not yet twenty; leaves the country to be overtaxed, and bullied with armaments, and jockied into war—”
“War!” cried Otto.
“So they say, sir; those that watch their ongoings, say to war,” asseverated Killian. “Well, sir, that is very sad; it is a sad thing for this poor, wicked girl to go down to hell with people’s curses; it’s a sad thing for a tight little happy country to be misconducted; but whoever may complain, I humbly conceive, sir, that this Otto cannot. What he has worked for, that he has got; and may God have pity on his soul, for a great and a silly sinner’s!”
“He has broken his oath; then he is a perjurer. He takes the money and leaves the work; why, then plainly he’s a thief. A cuckold he was before, and a fool by birth. Better me that!” cried Fritz, and snapped his fingers.
“And now, sir, you will see a little,” continued the farmer, “why we think so poorly of this Prince Otto. There’s such a thing as a man being pious and honest in the private way; and there is such a thing, sir, as a public virtue; but when a man has neither, the Lord lighten him! Even this Gondremark, that Fritz here thinks so much of—”
“Ay,” interrupted Fritz, “Gondremark’s the man for me. I would we had his like in Gerolstein.”
“He is a bad man,” said the old farmer, shaking his head; “and there was never good begun by the breach of God’s commandments. But so far I will go with you; he is a man that works for what he has.”
“I tell you he’s the hope of Grünewald,” cried Fritz. “He doesn’t suit some of your high-and-dry, old, ancient ideas; but he’s a downright modern man—a man of the new lights and the progress of the age. He does some things wrong; so they all do; but he has the people’s interests next his heart; and you mark me—you, sir, who are a Liberal, and the enemy of all their governments, you please to mark my words—the day will come in Grünewald, when they take out that yellow-headed skulk of a Prince and that dough-faced Messalina of a Princess, march ’em back foremost over the borders, and proclaim the Baron Gondremark first President. I’ve heard them say it in a speech. I was at a meeting once at Brandenau, and the Mittwalden delegates spoke up for fifteen
