"What of them?" said the guide. "The summer-houses are crumbling, the garden is a wilderness and the fountains play no more."
"Weird talk from a beggar," thought Norman. "But who built them?" he inquired aloud. "They are quite beautiful."
"They were built by King Basilandron: he was quite beautiful, too."
"I have never heard of him, though my landlady, who is a wise woman, has told me much of the history of your charming country."
"Ah, we do not talk much of him in Alsander. Here is his name, cut in the wood."
He showed Norman an inscription on the side of a little summer-house with wooden tracery and a faded blue paint, which ran: [Greek text].
"But why is it in Greek letters?" inquired Norman.
"He would have everything in Greek. He it was who called the river Ianthe. It was known as Vorka before."
"You know the history of Alsander well," said Norman, more and more astonished at the language and erudition of his guide.
"I love Alsander," said the old man. "I know all the stones of this castle and all the stories of Alsander's past."
"Then tell me the story of King Basilandron," said Norman, "for I have never heard it. And after that I shall ask you to tell me the story of your life: for rags do not make you a beggar."
"Neither does my erudition prove me to be a prince in disguise," said the old fellow with a smile. "But I would rather even tell you the story of my life, tragic as it is, than tell you the story of King Basilandron, which is the tragedy of a nation, and one that those who love Alsander do not care to tell.
"Tell me first the story of Basilandron and then the story of your life."
"It is little we poor citizens of Alsander can refuse to the inquiring tourist," said the old man with acerbity. "And may the devil torment you for a member of a great nation that can look after itself. We, you know, are supposed to be incapable of self-government, especially since we went bankrupt a year or two ago, and actually dared to ruin some French bondholders. Since that day the Great Powers have been terrifying us with an international commission. If ever there is a free fight in a café here, or a dog-fight in the square, some foreigner writes to a European newspaper about the anarchy in Alsander. American missionaries, who believe in Noah's Ark and the historical existence of Methusalem, revile the degraded superstitions of our peasants who still hold to their immemorial festivals in honour of the water that bursts from the rock or the grape that grows dark on the vine. And now we are threatened with inspectors, all of varying nationalities, to avoid all appearance of intrigue or possibility of jealousy. You see our strategic importance is the only importance left to us--otherwise we should long ago have disappeared. So we are to have a Spanish Financial Inspector and a Swiss Sanitary Board. Our gendarmerie will be organized by a virtuous Dane. Our agriculture will be modernized by an energetic Dutchman. Our public conveniences will doubtless be improved by one of your own compatriots."
