es speak like
children who have suddenly learnt to talk and to judge; and then
sometimes they suddenly speak clearly; and then very primitive thoughts
arise in me: if God exists, why is there any injustice and misery; and
our authority: on what right is that founded? O God, mamma, what right
have we to reign over others, over millions? Tell me--but argue from the
beginning: don't argue backwards; don't begin with us: begin with our
first rulers, our usurpers--what right had they? And does ours merely
spring from theirs? Oh, these problems, these simple problems: who can
solve them, my God, who can solve them?..."

Elizabeth suddenly turned pale. She stared at him as though he had gone
mad:

"Who gives you these books?" she asked, harshly, hoarsely, anxiously.

"Dutri, Leoni; Andro has also fetched me some."

"They're mad!" exclaimed the empress, rising. "Why do you ask for them?"

"I want to know, mamma...."

"Othomar," she cried, "will you do what I ask?"

"Yes, mamma," he replied, gently, "but sit down again and ... and don't
be angry. And ... and don't say 'Othomar.' And ... and go and change
your dress: oh, I can't see you in that dress; you are so far from me;
your voice doesn't reach me and I daren't kiss you: you are not my
mother, you are the empress! Mamma, O mamma!..."

His voice appealed to her. A powerful emotion awoke in her.

"O my boy!" she cried, with a half-sob breaking in her throat.

"Yes, yes, call me that.... Mamma, let's be quick and find each other
again, let us not lose each other. What is your request?"

"Give me all those books."

"I will give them to you; they make me no happier, when all is said!"

"But then why are you unhappy, my boy, my boy?"

"Mamma, look at the world, look at our people, see how they suffer, see
how they are oppressed! What shall I ever be able to do for them! I
shall always be powerless, in spite of all our power! Oh, it grows so
dark in front of me, I can see nothing more, I have no hope; only
Utopians have any hope left, but I ... I no longer hope, for I can do
nothing, nothing!... O my God, mamma, the whole country is falling upon
me and crushing me and I can do nothing, nothing!... I shall have to
reign and I shall not be able to, mamma. What am I? A poor sickly boy:
how can I become emperor? I don't know why it is, mamma, nor what it
comes from, but I don't feel like a future emperor, I feel like a feeble
child! I feel like your child, your boy, and