s for the sake of
others, you need not grudge us few our self-chosen path.' That is where
they make the fatal mistake. Each man should carve out his life, as a
whole, as though the lives of all were perfect, not as if it were a
broken fragment of a fine statue; each should be a perfect Apollo of
the Belvedere Gardens, not a mere torso; not a strong arm only that can
strike, not a finger only that can beckon--even though it be to God.
Because all cannot enjoy them, does that make assorted colour, and sweet
sound, and delicate pottery less perfect, less worthy to be sought? He
should aim at the complete life--should love, and feel, and enjoy."

The great tower rose higher and higher above the Prince as he thought
these last words aloud; the screaming kites and daws wheeled above his
head; the great eagle loomed larger and larger in the evening light.
They passed over the wide glacis, threaded the drawbridges and barriers,
and entered the tortuous narrow streets. A golden haze lighted the
crowded thoroughfares and beautified the carving and gables of the
lofty houses. A motley crowd of people, from east and west alike, in
strange variety of costume, thronged the causeways, and hardly escaped
the carriage-wheels in their reckless course. The sight roused the
Prince from his melancholy, and he gazed with an amused and even
delighted air from his carriage-windows. His nature, pleasure-loving and
imaginative, found this moving life a source of never-tiring interest
and suggestiveness. The fate, the interests, the aims, and sorrows of
every human figure that passed across his vision, even for a second,
formed itself in some infinitely slight, yet perfectly real and
tangible, degree in his mind; and he conceived the stir and tremor of a
great city's life with a perfect grasp of all the little details that
make up the dramatic, the graphic whole.

The carriage swept through the Place St. Michael, past the Imperial
Palace, and, pursuing its course through the winding streets to the
imminent peril of the populace of Croats, Servians, Germans, and a mixed
people of no nation under heaven, reached the _Hotel_ which had been
selected for the Prince in the Tein quarter.

Though this quiet quarter is in close neighbourhood to the most busy and
noisy parts of the city, the contrast was striking. The Prince saw
nothing here but quaint palaces crowded together within a space of a few
hundred yards. Here were the palaces of the Lichtenste