To English notions, it seemed very strange to
see a nobleman of the highest rank, in the
proudest state of Europe, seated at a dinner–
table open to all comers, at a fraction less than
one shilling a head, and where some of the
government officials of the place daily came.

It was not without a certain sense of shame
that I found myself in the long low chamber, in
which about twenty officers were assembled,
whose uniforms were all glittering with stars,
medals, and crosses; in fact, to a weak–minded
civilian like myself, they gave the impression of
a group of heroes fresh come from all the
triumphant glories of a campaign. Between
the staff which occupied one end of the long
table and the few townsfolk who sat at the
other, there intervened a sort of frontier territory
uninhabited, and it was here that the
waiter located me—an object of observation and
remark to each. Resolving to learn how I was
treated by my critics, I addressed the waiter in
the very worst French, and protested my utter
ignorance of German. I had promised myself
much amusement from this expedient, but was
doomed to a severe disappointment—the officers
coolly setting me down for a servant, while
the townspeople pronounced me a pedlar; and
when these judgments had been recorded,
instead of entering upon a psychological
examination of my nature, temperament, and
individuality, they never noticed me any more. I
felt hurt at this, more indeed for their sakes
than my own, since I bethought me of the false
impression that is current of this people
throughout Europe, where they have the
reputation of philosophers deeply engaged in
researches into character, minute anatomists of
human thought and man's affections; "and
yet," muttered I, "they can sit at table with
one of the most remarkable of men, and be as
ignorant of all about him, as the husbandman
who toils at his daily labour is of the mineral
treasures that lie buried down, beneath him.

"I will read them a lesson," thought I.
"They shall see that in the humble guise of
foot–traveller it may be the pleasure of men of
rank and station to journey." The townsfolk,
when the dessert made its appearance, rose to
take their departure, each before he left the
room making a profound obeisance to the general,
and then another but less lowly act of
homage to the staff, showing by this that
strangers were expected to withdraw, while the
military guests sat over their wine. Indeed, a
very significant look from the last person who
left the room conveyed to me the etiquette of
the place. I was delighted at this—it was the
very opportunity I longed for—and so, with a
clink of my knife against my wine–glass, the
substitute for a bell in use amongst humble
hostels, I summoned the waiter, and asked for
his list of wines. I saw that my act had created
some astonishment amongst the others, but it
excited nothing more, and now they had all
lighted their pipes, and sat smoking away quite
regardless of my presence. I had ordered a flask
of Steinberger at four florins, and given most
special directions that my glass should have a
"roped rim," and be of a tender green tint,
but not too deep to spoil the colour of the
wine.

My admonitions were given aloud, and in a
tone of command, but I perceived that they
failed to create any impression upon my
moustached neighbours. I might have ordered
nectar or hypocras for all that they seemed to
care about me. I raked up in memory all the
impertinent and insolent things Henri Heine
had ever said of Austria; I bethought me how
they tyrannised in the various provinces of their
scattered empire, and how they were hated by
Hun, Sclavac, and Italian; I revelled in those
slashing leading articles that used to show up
the great but bankrupt bully, and I only wished
I was "own correspondent" to something at
home to give my impressions of "Austria and
her military system."

Little as you think of that pale sad–looking
stranger, who sits sipping his wine in solitude at
the foot of the table, that he is about to transmit
yourselves and your country to a remote
posterity. "Ay!" muttered I, "to be remembered
when the Danube will be a choked up rivulet,
and the park of Schönbrunn a prairie for the
buffalo." I am not exactly aware how or why
these changes were to have occurred, but Lord
Macaulay's New Zealander might have originated
them.

While I thus mused and brooded, the tramp
of four horses came clattering down the street,
and soon after swept into the arched doorway
of the inn with a rolling and thunderous
sound.

"Here he comes—here he is at last!" said a
young officer, who had rushed in haste to the
window, and at the announcement a very palpable
sentiment of satisfaction seemed to spread itself
through the company, even to the grim old field–
marshal, who took his pipe from his mouth to
say:

"He is in time—he saves 'arrest!'"

As he spoke, a tall man in uniform entered
the room, and walking with military step till he
came in front of the general, said, in a loud but
respectful voice,

"I have the honour to report myself as
returned to duty."

The general replied something I could not
catch, and then shook him warmly by the hand,
making room for him to sit down next him.

"How far did your royal highness go? Not
to Coire?" said the general.

"Far beyond it, sir," said the other. "I went
the whole way to the Splugen, and if it were not
for the terror of your displeasure, I'd have
crossed the mountain and gone on to
Chiavenna."

The fact that I was listening to the narrative
of a royal personage was not the only bond of
fascination to me, for somehow the tone of the
speaker's voice sounded familiarly to my ears,
and I could have sworn I had heard it before.
As he was at the same side of the table with
myself, I could not see him, but while he