the
history of Liparia, in the cruel times of their early middle-ages, that
terrible drama--they still showed at St. Ladislas the chamber where it
had been enacted--that second son stabbing his elder brother in his lust
for the crown and hurling the corpse from an oriel window into the
Zanthos, which flowed beneath the fortress. What had the boy inherited
of this rivalry? And, though this rivalry had been wholly refined into
less salient feelings, would not an immense happiness enter Berengar's
small princely soul if he were to learn that he might be crown-prince
now and that one day he would be ... emperor? But what would the boy
think of him, Othomar, for giving away all this magnificence of his own
free will? Would he despise him, while yet feeling grateful to him, or
would he cherish mistrust, suspecting a lurking mystery behind all this
greatness, which Othomar cast from him?...

At such times Othomar would draw the little fellow to him with silent
compassion, but would take pleasure in feeling the firm muscles of his
sturdy little arms and listening to his short, crisp little speeches.
Then Berengar rode away and Djalo was allowed to run with him through
the park: in an hour he would bring the dog back to Othomar and talk
with great importance of his lessons, which were just beginning.

And, when Berengar had gone, Othomar lay thinking about him in his long
hours of reverie, already looked upon his brother as actually
crown-prince, erased his own name from the list of future sovereigns,
thought of what he would do when he was cured and had shaken off the
last remnant of his purple, remembered his uncle Xaverius, who was the
abbot of a monastery, and pictured himself studying, compiling works on
history and sociology....

5

These were autumn days. The sunny blue of the sky was often clouded with
grey; in the morning the winds blew from the north, blew over the sea
till it became the colour of steel; then the sun broke through and shone
very warmly for a couple of hours, with an occasional cold blast,
suddenly and treacherously rushing round the corners of the streets;
then, at four or half-past four o'clock, the sun was extinguished and
the pale sky was left exhaling its icy chillness on the open harbour,
between the white palaces, in the streets and squares.

It was a treacherous time of year: the empress and Berengar had caught
cold driving in an open carriage; they both kept their rooms and Othomar
i