Some days later, a messenger from the Emperor's court arrived at the
château: "May it please my lord Minister," he began--

"I am no Minister," replied Durer, impatiently; "but have patience, sir,
have patience; I may be Minister one day." Then he began to walk up and
down hastily in the gallery of the château, perpetually saying, "I might
have been a Minister by this time, sir, if your great ones did not leave
men of strong intellect, and ability, and purpose, in the jaws of a
misery which eats away the very brain as rust eats away the steel.
Why--why, I ask, debar these men from high offices--these men who have
nothing--merely out of a prejudice, which is as fatal to the individual
as it is deadly to the state?" Then turning sharply on the Emperor's
emissary, "Go, and tell your master, sir," said he, "that yesterday I
was--I was--I was"--pressing his hand, as he spoke, above his forehead,
as though he was trying to find a coronet which had belonged to it. Then
rushing away distractedly--"Minister!" cried he, "I am--I was--No, no--I
was not--but I soon will be!--Leave me, sir! leave me! leave me!"

Another day, his wretched family, who watched him with terror, overheard
him talking to his gardener: "What a magnificent piece of work you are
laying out, my good boy," said Durer; "a garden admirably designed, if
there ever was such a thing." Then casting a disturbed glance toward the
château, "'Tis a grand place, this," said he; "rich and elegant, and
capitally situated--to whom does it belong, Joseph?"

"My lord baron knows right well that park, gardens, and château, belong
to his noble self," said the gardener, leaning on his spade, and raising
his cap.

Durer began to laugh to himself--but it was a piteous laugh--"Belong to