George laughed aloud, and the messenger hearing him, made a cut at him with his riding-whip, but missed him, and the boy ran away.  George felt as if some one had removed the burden that had been weighing him down during his wanderings, and he reflected that, if he had remained a prince, and had been at that moment comfortably at home, instead of wandering until he was footsore along the highways, Moustache, the Field-marshal, would have lost the battle.

It was still early when he reached the spot where the river turned to the east.  From this point he was to go northwards.  He found a path that led from the bank of the river, through the woods, across the mountain chain.  The dew still hung on the grass, and above in the oaks and beeches, it seemed as if all the birds were holding high festival, there was such a fluttering, and calling, and chirping, and trilling, and singing, while the woodpecker beat time.  The sunshine played among the branches, and fell through onto the flowery earth, where it lay among the shadows of the leaves like so many round pieces of gold.  Although George was climbing the mountain, his breath came freely, and all at once, without any reason, he burst into song.  He sang a song at the top of his voice, there in the woods, that he had learned from the gardeners.  At noon he thought he had reached the top of the mountain, but behind again a yet higher peak arose, and so, after he had eaten the bread and butter which the blacksmith’s wife had given him, he continued his way and, as the sun was setting, attained the summit of the second mountain, which was the highest far and near.

Once more he beheld the river which, sparkling and bright, wound through the green plain like a silver snake.  Smaller hills covered with forests fell away on all sides and the tops of the trees caught the radiance of the sinking sun.  Over the snow-fields of the further mountain-ranges, a rosy shimmer spread that made him think of the peach blossoms at home; a purple mist obscured the rocky peaks behind him and there, far away to the south, was a tiny speck of blue.  That might be his own dear lake, which he was never to see again.  It was all so wonderfully beautiful and his heart filled to overflowing with memories and hopes.  Neither to the right nor to the left, whither he turned his eyes, were there any boundaries to be seen.  How wide, how immeasurably wide was the world which, in the future, was to be his home, in the place of the small walled garden of the castle.  Two eagles were floating round in circles under the softly-glowing fleecy clouds, and George said to himself that he was as free and untrammelled on the earth as they were in the air; suddenly a feeling of delight in his liberty overcame him, he snatched his cap from his head and, waving it aloft, tore down the mountain, as if he were running for a wager.  That night he found hospitable housing in the cell of a hermit.