an't you see, papa? I will tell you. Is Berengar not more of a monarch
than I am? Is that not why he's your favourite? And ought I to deprive
him of his natural rights for the sake of my traditional rights? I want
to abdicate in his favour, papa. I want to abdicate everything, all my
rights."

"The boy's mad," muttered Oscar.

"All my rights," repeated Othomar, dreamily, as though he foresaw the
future: his little brother crowned.

"Othomar, are you raving?" asked the emperor.

"Papa, I am not raving. What I am now telling you I have thought over
for days, perhaps weeks; I don't know: time passes so quickly.... What I
am telling you I have discussed with mamma: it made her cry, but she did
not oppose me. She looks at it as I do.... And what I tell you holds
good; I have made up my mind and nothing can make me change it.... I am
fond of Berengar; I am glad to give up everything to him; and I shall
pray that he may become happy through my gift. I am convinced--and so
are you--that Berengar will make a better emperor than I. What talent do
I possess for ruling?..."

He shrugged his shoulders in helplessness, with a nervous shudder that
jolted them:

"None," he answered himself. "I have no talent, I can do nothing. I do
not know how to decide--as now--nor how to act; I shall always be a
dreamer. Why then should I be emperor and he nothing more than the
commander-in-chief of my army or my fleet? Surely that can't be right;
that can't have been what nature intended.... Papa, I give it him, my
birthright, and I ... I shall know how to live, if I must...."

The emperor had listened to him with his elbows on the table and his
hands under his chin and now sat staring at him with his small, pinched
eyes:

"Do you mean all this?" he asked.

"Yes, papa."

"You're not delirious?"

"No, papa, I'm not delirious."

"Then you're mad."

The emperor rose:

"Then you're mad, I tell you. Othomar, realize that you're mad and
return to your senses; don't become quite insane."

"Why do you call me insane, papa? _Can't_ you agree with me that
Berengar would be better than I?"

His father's cruel glances stabbed Othomar through and through:

"No, you're not insane in that; you're right there...."

"And why, then, am I insane because I wish, for that reason, to abdicate
in his favour?"

"Because it's impossible, Othomar."

"What law prevents me?"

"My will, Othomar."

The prince drew himself up proudly:

"Your will