Part 21 (1/2)

That's good--that's good. By the way, Master Norbert, we're going to put you through your paces. How about this so-called ”Ordeal,” eh? Do you own up to it?

Norbert.

I'm proud to, Uncle. At least, no--not so very proud; for I've found out lately that it's all been said before, a thousand times better than I've said it.

Brachtmann.

And also by a member of the Conservative party?

Norbert.

Well--no--not exactly.

Brachtmann.

Ah--but that's the point.

Norbert.

I beg your pardon, Herr von Brachtmann, I thought truth was truth, no matter who uttered it.

Prince.

What is truth? said Pilate.

Norbert.

And washed his hands. We also wash our hands of many things, your Highness. I have even heard it said that the use of soap and water is the only thing that distinguishes us from the ma.s.ses. But no matter how much was.h.i.+ng we do, we can't wash off the blood we have shed in the abuse of our cla.s.s-privileges.

Prince (_to_ Richard).

Very neatly parried. He has a good wrist.

Richard.

My dear Norbert, will you give your venerable parent a hearing? We have left far behind us many of what you call our ”cla.s.s-privileges”; but their traditional spirit still survives. And that spirit, whether the modern world condemns it, or the middle-cla.s.ses make it ridiculous by aping it--that spirit is the safeguard of our order. Believe me, Norbert, we must stand or fall by it.

Norbert.

Then we must fall, father.

Richard.

Possibly--even probably. But meanwhile the one distinction we have left is the right to dispose of our lives. When a n.o.bleman of the Italian Renaissance, or a young blade of the court of Louis XIII., crossed the threshold of his house, he was never sure of re-entering it alive. That was what gave him his audacity, his splendid indifference to danger.

Today we no longer stake our lives so lightly; but the fact that they are ours to stake still gives its keenest edge to living.

The Others.

Hear! Hear!