"Still," urged Cyprian, "that point of view is, in my opinion, a wrong

one altogether, capable of leading to desecration of the highest

things. Let me explain my views about church music, and you will see

that I am, at all events, clear on the subject in my own mind.

What I think is, that no art proceeds so thoroughly out of the

spiritualization of mankind, and demands such pure and spiritual modes

and means of expression, as music. The sense of the existence of what

is highest and holiest, of that spiritual power which kindles the life

of all nature, utters itself audibly in music, which--(at all events

vocal music)--is the expression of the highest fulness of existence,

_i.e._, the praise of the Creator. Wherefore, as regards its special

inner life, music is an act of religious service, and its fountain-head

is to be sought, and to be found, only in religion in the Church.

Passing thence onwards into life, ever richer and mightier, music

poured forth its inexhaustible treasures over mankind, so that even the

secular (or, as it is sometimes styled, the 'profane') might, in

childlike delight, adorn itself in that splendour wherewith music

illuminated life, through and through, even in all its little, petty,

mundane relations. But, when thus adorned, even the secular appeared to

be longing for the heavenly, higher realm, and striving to enter in

amidst its phenomena. Just by reason of this, its special peculiarity

of nature, music could not be the property of the antique world, where

everything proceeded from corporalization manifest to the senses; it

had to be reserved for more modern times. The two opposite artistic

poles of Heathenism and Christianity are Sculpture and Music.

Christianity destroyed the former and created the latter (along with

painting, which is nearest akin to it). In painting, the ancients knew

neither perspective nor colouring; in music, neither melody nor harmony

(I use the word 'melody' here in its highest sense, to express an

uttering of inward feeling, without reference to words and their

rhythmic relationships). But beyond this particular imperfection, which

may perhaps indicate only the narrower footing upon which music and

painting at that time stood, the germs of those arts could not develop

themselves in that unfruitful soil; not until the advent of

Christianity could they grow gloriously, and bring forth flowers and

fruit in luxurious profusion. Both music and painting maintained their

place only in appearance in the antique world; they were kept down by

the power of sculpture, or rather they could take no adequate form amid

the mighty masses of sculpture. Both those arts were not in the least

what we now call 'music' and 'painting.' Just so sculpture disappeared

from bodily life by means of the Christian tendency which strives

against all corporeal embodiment to the senses, volatilising this into

what is spiritual. But the very earliest germ of the music of the

present day (in which was enclosed a holy mystery, solveable only by

the Christian world), could serve the ancients only according to its

essential characteristic specialty, namely, as religious cult. For

nothing else were, in those earliest times, their dramas, which

were festal representations of the joys and sorrows of a god.

The declamation of those dramas was supported by instrumental

accompaniments, and even this fact proves that the music of the

ancients was purely rhythmic, were it not otherwise demonstrable that

(as I have said already) melody and harmony, the two pivots on which

our modern music moves, were quite unknown to them. Therefore, though

Ambrosius, and afterwards Gregory, based Christian hymns, about the

year 1591, on ancient hymns, and that we come upon the traces of that

purely rhythmic music in what are called the 'Canto Fermo' and the

'Antiphones,' this is nothing but that they made use of germs which had

been handed down to them. And it is certain that a deeper study of that

ancient music can interest only the curious antiquary. Whereas, for the

practical musician, the most sacred depths of his glorious, truly

Christian art were laid open only when Christianity was shining in its

brightest splendour in Italy, and the mighty masters, in the

consecration of the highest inspiration, proclaimed the holiest

mysteries of religion, in tones before unheard. It is noticeable that,

not long afterwards, when Guido D'Arezzo had penetrated deeper into the

mysteries of the musical art, that art was misunderstood by the

uncomprehending, and thought to be a subject for mathematical

speculation, so that its true essence was utterly misapprehended, just

as it was barely commencing to unfold itself. The marvellous tones of

this spiritual language were awakened, and went sounding forth over the

world. The means of seizing them and holding them fast were discovered.

The 'hieroglyphics' of music (consisting as it does of an intertwining

of melody and harmony) were invented; I mean, the mode of writing down

music in notes. But soon this mode of indication passed cm rent for the

tiling indicated; the masters sunk themselves in harmonic subtleties,

and in this manner music, distorted into a speculative science, would

have ceased to be music when those subtleties should have attained

their highest development. Worship was desecrated by that which was

upon it under the name if music, although, to the heart penetrated by

that holy art, music itself was alone the true 'worship.' So that there

could be but a brief contest, which ended by the glorious victory of an

eternal verity over the untrue. Just when Pope Marcellus the Second was

on the point of expelling all music from the Church, and so depriving

divine worship of its most glorious adornment, the great Master

Palestrina revealed to him the sacred mystery and wonder of the

tone-art in its most individual and specially characteristic qualities.

And from that time music became the most specific feature of the 'Cultus'

of the Catholic Church. Thus it was that at that time the most profound

comprehension of the true inward life of music dawned and brightened in

the masters' pious hearts, and their inimitable, immortal compositions

streamed from their souls in holy inspiration. You, Theodore, well know

that the Mass for six voices, which Palestrina at that time--I think it

was in 1555--composed, in order that the angry Pontiff might hear real

music, became widely known by the title of 'Missa Papae Marcelli.' With

Palestrina commenced, indisputably, the most glorious era of ancient

ecclesiastical music, and, consequently, of all music. This lasted for

nearly two hundred years, maintaining its pristine pious dignity and

forcibility, although it cannot be denied that, even in the first

century after Palestrina, that lofty, inimitable simplicity and dignity

lost itself to some extent in a certain 'elegance' which the composers

began to aim at. What a master is Palestrina! Without the smallest

ornament, without anything approaching melodic sweep, his works consist

mainly of chords of the simplest kind, succeeding each other in perfect

concords of chords of the triad, by the forcibility and the boldness of

which consonances the mind is grasped with indescribable might, and

lifted up to the very highest love: _i.e._, the attunement and

consonance of the spiritual with nature (as promised to the Christian),

speaks itself out in the _chord_, which, consequently, came first into

existence under the Christian 'dispensation.' So that the chord, and

harmony (in contradistinction to mere melody), are the images and

expressions of spiritual union, and _communion_ of union, and

incorporation with the eternal, the ideal, which thrones above us, and

yet encompasses and surrounds us. Therefore the holiest, purest, most

ecclesiastical music must be that which flows from the soul as the

uncontaminated expression of the love in question, disregarding, nay

despising, all that is mundane. And such are Palestrina's simple,

majestic compositions, which, conceived in the highest fervour of piety

and love, proclaim the godlike with might and glory. To his music truly

applies what the Italians apply to the writings of many composers who

are shallow and miserable compared to him; it is, of a truth, 'music of

another world'--_musica dell' altro mondo_. Successions of consonant

perfect chords of the triad have nowadays become so strange and

unfamiliar to us, in our effeminacy, that many an one whose soul is

wholly closed to the holy sees nothing in them but helpless

unskilfulness of technical construction. But, looking away from those

higher considerations, and adverting merely to what we are used to call

'effect,' it is clear as day (as you said already, Theodore), that, in

a church, in a great resonant building, everything in the nature of the

blending of chord with chord by means of 'transition notes,' weakens

the power of the music. In Palestrina's music each chord strikes upon

the listener with all its force; the most elaborate modulations could

never affect the mind as do those bold, weighty chords, which burst

upon us like dazzling beams of light. Palestrina is simple, true,

childlike in piety; as strong and mighty, as genuinely Christian in his

works as are, in painting, Pietro of Cortona and Albrecht Duerer. For

him composition was an act of religion. But I do not forget the great

masters Caldara, Barnabei, Scarlatti, Marcello, Lotti, Porpora,

Bernardo, Leo, Valotti, and others, who all kept themselves simple,

dignified, and forcible. Vividly, at this moment, awakes in me the

remembrance of that Mass of Alessandro Scarlatti's for seven voices,

'Alla Capella,' which you, Theodore, once had sung by your own good

pupils under your own conductorship. It is a model specimen of the

true, grand, and powerful ecclesiastical style, although it has a

commencement of the melodic 'swing' which music had acquired by the

time it was written, 1705."

"And the mighty Haendel," said Theodore, "the inimitable Hasse, the

profound and thoughtful Sebastian Bach; have you not a thought for

them?"

"Certainly," answered Cyprian; "I reckon them among the sacred bands

whose hearts were strengthened by the power of faith and love. It was

this power which brought to them that inspiration by virtue of which

they entered into communion with the Highest, and were fired to those

works which serve not worldly aims, but are, of necessity, nothing but

praise of, and honour to, the loftiest things. This is why those works

of theirs bear the impress of veracious truth, and why no anxious

striving after 'effect,' no laboured apings of other things, defile and

desecrate that of the Heavenly which has revealed itself to them, pure,

and clear, and undefiled. This is why there is, in their writings, none

of those so-called 'striking' modulations, varied 'figurations,' or

effeminate 'melodies,'--none of those powerless, confusing rushes of

instrumentation, the object of which is to benumb the intelligence of

the listeners so that they may not detect the emptiness of this music.

Hence it is that only the works of the masters just mentioned (and of

the few in more recent times, who, like them, have remained true

servants of that faithful 'Church' which exists no more here below),

truly elevate and edify pious souls. Let me here mention the glorious

master Fasch, who belongs to the old pious times, and whose profound

and reverent writings have found so little favour with the frivolous

crowd that his Mass for sixteen voices could not be published for want

of due support. You would do me much injustice, Theodore, if you

supposed that my mind is shut up with reference to the more modern

music. Haydn, Mozart, and Beethoven have, in very truth, unfolded a new

art, whose germ, perhaps, began to show itself in the middle of the

eighteenth century. It was not the fault of those masters that

frivolity and lack of comprehension prized the treasures already in

existence so lightly that coiners of false money tried to give to their

base metal the semblance of true currency. It is true that nearly in

the same degree in which instrumental music gained in importance, vocal

music became neglected, and that the complete disappearance of the

true old choral music (which the result of sundry ecclesiastical

changes--dissolution of the monasteries, and so forth), kept pace

therewith. Of course it is quite clear that, now, it is not possible to

go back to Palestrina's simplicity and grandeur, but it is still a

question how far our new gains and progress can be brought into use in

churches. The spirit which rules this world drives onward and onward

continually; and although the forms which are lost and gone can never

come back just as they were when they moved in our life-atmosphere,

what is true is everlasting, imperishable, immortal; and a wondrous

spiritual communion gently binds a mysterious band around the past, the

present, and the future. The sublime old masters are still alive, in

the spirit. 'They being dead, yet speak.' Their music has not died away

into silence, although in the roaring, tumultuous strife of the

ungovernable which has broken in upon us, it is difficult to hear it.

May the time of the fulfilling of our hopes be not far off! May a life

of piety, peace, and joy begin, when Music, plying her Seraph-pinions

freely and joyously once more, may enter upon her flight to the life

beyond this, to that world which is her home, and whence comfort and

salvation beam down into the unresting hearts of men."

Cyprian spoke those words with an unction which showed that they came

truly from his heart of hearts. The friends, deeply moved by them, kept

silence for some moments.

Then Sylvester said, "Although I am not a musician as Theodore and

Cyprian are, I can assure you that I have thoroughly followed all you

have said about Beethoven's Mass, and Church music in general. But,

just as Cyprian complains that it may almost be said that there is no

such person in existence at the present moment as a genuine

ecclesiastical composer, I think I might assert that it would be hard

to find a poet able to write worthy words for a Church composition."

"Quite true," said Theodore; "and the German words published with this

very Mass of Beethoven's are but too clear a proof of it."[4]

"But now," said Vincenz, rising from his chair, "like a second irate

Pope Marcellus, I banish all further talk about music from the chapel

of the Holy Saint Serapion. Both Theodore and Cyprian have spoken very

finely, but let me move 'the previous question'--let us return to the

strict rule of the Order, for which I, being a novice, am a great

stickler."

"Vincenz is right," said Theodore. "Our dissertations have not been

very interesting to the unskilled in music, wherefore it is well to

bring them to a conclusion. Let Sylvester read us the tale he has

brought with him."

This was agreed to, and Sylvester began, without further prelude, as

follows:--

MASTER MARTIN, THE COOPER, AND HIS MEN.

Dear reader, doubtless you, like others, feel your heart swell with

emotion when you wander about some spot where the glorious monuments of

old German art bear witness, in eloquent language, to the brightness,

the pious, diligent industry, the truthfulness of beautiful days which

are no more. Does not it seem as though you were entering some old,

deserted dwelling? The pious book which the good house-father had been

reading is still lying open on the table; the mother's needlework is

still in the place where she left it; cherished presents, given on

birthdays, and other festivals, stand about in carefully-kept

cupboards. You feel as though some members of the household would come

in presently and greet you with cordial hospitality. But you wait for

them in vain. The ever-rolling wheel of time has carried them away. You

may give yourself up to the sweet dream which brings the old masters

back to you, so that you hear them talking to you with a pious energy

which goes to the very marrow of your bones. And it is then that you

begin to understand the deep meaning of their labours; for you are

living in their days, and you understand the period which produced them

and their works. But alas! what happens is, that just as you would

clasp this beautiful dream-image to your heart with loving arms, it

flies away coyly on the light clouds of the morning, scared at

the noise and uproar of the day, and you gaze at its vanishing

after-shimmer with eyes filled with burning tears. Hard beset by the

surges of the life around you, you wake suddenly from the beautiful

dream, and all that remains to you is the deep, endless longing which

penetrates your heart with thrills of sweet emotion. Feelings such

as those, dear reader, have at all times filled the breast of him

who writes those pages for you, when his way has led him to the

world-renowned town of Nuernberg. Delaying before the wondrous fabric

of the fountain in the market-place, or contemplating the monument in

St. Sebald, or the Pyx in St. Laurenz, or Albert Duerer's works of deep

meaning in the Rathhaus, he has yielded himself wholly to the sweet

dreams which took him back into the midst of the glories of the old

Imperial free-town; and many a picture of the doughty burgher-life of

those old days, when art and handicraft held out hands of help and

friendship to each other in eager emulation, has risen up in clearness,

and impressed itself on his mind with a peculiar pleasure and serenity

of cheerfulness. Let it please you, dear reader, to have one of those

pictures displayed to you. Perhaps you may look upon it with a sense of

pleasure and satisfaction, or even with genial smiles; perhaps you may

feel at home in Master Martin's house, and linger gladly amongst his

vats and barrels. At all events, may that come to pass which the writer

from the depths of his heart most cordially desires.

HOW MASTER MARTIN WAS ELECTED ONE OF THE CHIEFS

OF HIS GUILD, AND DULY RETURNED THANKS FOR THAT HONOUR.

On the first of May of the year one thousand five hundred and eighty,

the Honourable Guild of Coopers in the free Imperial town of Nuernberg

held its solemn annual meeting, according to use and wont. A short time

previously one of its "Vorsteher," or presidents, had been carried to

his grave; so that it was necessary to appoint his successor. The

choice fell upon Master Martin, and, in truth, no one could equal him

in strong and elegant building of vats; nor did any one understand as

he did the keeping of wine in cellar; for which reason he had the

grandest lords and gentry for his patrons, and lived in the utmost

comfort; nay, in absolute wealth, so that the worthy town councillor,

Jacobus Paumgartner (who was president of the Guild), said, "You have

done right well, my worthy friends, to pitch upon Master Martin for

this appointment, which could not be in better hands. Master Martin is

highly esteemed by all who have the pleasure of his acquaintance, for

his great ability, and his profound experience in the art of storing

and caring for the noble wine. His ceaseless, honest industry, his life

of piety, in spite of the wealth which he has amassed, are an example

to you all."

"So I offer you a thousand congratulations on your election, my dear

Master Martin."

Thus saying, Paumgartner rose from his chair, and stepped forward a

pace or two with extended arms, expecting that Master Martin would

advance towards him in reciprocation. Upon which Master Martin pressed

his arms on the elbows of his chair, and raised himself as slowly and

heavily as his well-nourished "corporation" admitted of his doing;

after which, with equal deliberateness, he walked into Paumgartner's

hearty embrace, which he scarcely returned.

"Well, Master Martin," said Paumgartner, a little astonished, "is there

anything not quite to your liking in having been elected Syndic?"

Master Martin, as was his habit, threw his head well back, fingered his

paunch with both hands, and looked around the assemblage with his eyes

opened very wide, and his nether lip protruded; then, turning to

Paumgartner, he said: "My dear and worthy sir! how should it be

otherwise than to my liking that I receive what is my just due? Who

despises the reward of his hard work? Who sends from his door a bad

debtor who comes at last to pay the money he has owed so long? My good

friends"--here he turned to the Masters--"it has struck you at last,

has it, that _I_ ought to be elected Syndic of our Honourable Guild?

What, think you, are the qualifications you expect in your Syndic?

Ought he to be the best hand at his work?--Go and look at my two-fudder

vat, hooped without firing, my great masterpiece there, and then come

and tell me if e'er a one of you can boast of a piece of work its equal

in strength and beauty. Should your Syndic be a man of money and

property?--Call at my house, and I will open my chests and my coffers,

and you shall gladden your eyes with the sight of the glittering gold

and silver. Should he be honoured and esteemed by high and low, great

and small?--Ask our honourable gentlemen of the Council; ask Princes

und Lords all round our good town of Nuernberg; ask the Right Rev.

Bishop of Bamberg; ask them all what they think of Master Martin--and I

don't think you will hear much to his disadvantage."

With which Master Martin patted his fat corporation with much

complacent contentment, twinkled his half-closed eyes, and, as all were

silent, and only a half-suppressed throat-clearing, of a somewhat

dubious character, was audible here and there, he continued as follows:

"However, I perceive--in fact I am well aware--that I ought now to

return thanks, to the best of my ability, that it has pleased the Lord

at last to enlighten your minds to make this election. Certainly, when

I am paid for my work, or when my debtor returns me the sum he

borrowed, I always write at the bottom of the receipt, 'With thanks.

Tobias Martin, cooper in this town;' so I return you all my hearty

thanks that you have paid off an old debt by electing me your Syndic.

For the rest, I promise that I will perform the duties of my office

with all truth and faithfulness; that I shall ever be ready to stand by

the Guild, or any of its members, in word and deed, in time of need, to

the utmost of my power. It will be my heart's earnest desire to

maintain our Honourable Company in all the honour and dignity which it

possesses at present; and, dear friends and Masters, I invite you, one

and all, to dinner on Sunday next, when, over a good glass of

Hochheimer, Johannisberger, or whatever other good wine out of my

cellar you may prefer, we may consider and discuss what further may be

expedient for our common advantage. Once more, consider yourselves all

cordially invited."

The faces of the Honourable Society, which had darkened considerably at

Martin's arrogant words, now brightened again, and the gloomy silence

was succeeded by lively conversation, in which much was said concerning

the eminent merits of Master Martin, and of his celebrated cellar.

Every one promised to appear on the Sunday, and gave his hand to the

newly-elected Syndic, who shook them all cordially,--and he even

pressed one or two of the Masters just the least little bit against his

waistcoat, as if he half thought of embracing them.

The meeting dispersed in the best of humour, and the highest spirits.

WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THAT, IN MASTER MARTIN'S HOUSE.

It so chanced that Master Jacobus Paumgartner, on his way to his own

dwelling, had to pass the door of Master Martin's house; and when they,

together, had reached the said door, and Paumgartner was about to

proceed on his way, Master Martin, taking off his little cap and bowing

as low as he could, said to the Councillor: "Ah! if you would not think

it beneath you, my dear and honoured sir, to step into this poor house

of mine for a brief hour; if you would but be so very kind as to grant

me the opportunity of profiting by, and delighting in, your wise

conversation."

"I am sure, Master Martin," said the Councillor with a smile, "I shall

only be too happy to accept your invitation to come in; though how you

can call your house a poor one I cannot imagine. I know well that the

wealthiest of our citizens do not surpass you in the costliness of your

furniture and appointments. It is only the other day that you have

finished those additions to your house which have made it one of the

finest specimens of street architecture in all this famous town, of

which it is one of the ornaments; of the interior arrangements I say

nothing, for I am aware that of them no nobleman in the land need be

ashamed."

Old Paumgartner was right; for when the brightly-waxed and polished

door, all over rich brass-work, was opened, the spacious entrance-hall,

with its beautifully-inlaid floor, fine pictures on the walls, rich

carpets, and elegant cabinets and chairs, was seen to be like some fine

drawing-room; so that everyone willingly obeyed the instructions which,

according to an old-world custom, were inscribed on a tablet hung up

close to the door, in verse, as follows:

"Those who, in entering, these steps ascend

Should see that their shoon shall not sully the floor;

Or then let them elsewhere their footsteps wend,

That so there shall be no distress on their score

A person of judgment doth know--without this--

What, in such matter, his duty is."

It was warm weather, and the air in the rooms, now that the evening

twilight was falling, was heavy and steamy; for which reason Master

Martin took his guest into the cool, spacious "best kitchen;" such at

that time was named the apartment which, in the houses of wealthy

merchants, was indeed furnished like a kitchen, but, at the same time,

adorned not for use, but solely for display--with all manner of costly

implements of household necessity. As soon as they came in, Master

Martin cried loudly, "Rosa! Rosa!" The door presently opened, and Rosa,

Master Martin's only daughter, entered.

Gracious reader! I must here ask you to call to remembrance, as vividly

as you can, the masterpieces of our grand Albrecht Duerer. Let those

beautiful virgin forms which he has pourtrayed, instinct with grace and

suavity, sweetness, gentleness, pious meekness, rise before you. Think

of the noble, tender shapes; the pure, rounded foreheads white as snow;

the rose-tint suffusing the cheeks; the delicate lips, red as cherries;

the eyes, looking far away, in dreamy longing, half shadowed by the

dark lashes, as moonlight is by thick leafage. Think on the silky hair,

carefully gathered and knotted. Think on all the heavenly beauty of

those virgin forms, and you will see the lovely Rosa. He who relates

this tale cannot hope otherwise to pourtray her. Let me, however,

remind you of another grand painter into whose soul a ray from those

ancient days has penetrated: I mean our German Master, Cornelius. Just

as he has made Margaret (in his illustrations to Goethe's mighty

'Faust') appear, as she says--

"I'm not a lady; nor am I fair,"

such was Rosa, when she felt constrained, bashfully and modestly, to

evade the ardent advances of some admirer.

She now bent low before Paumgartner, in child-like deference, took his

hand, and pressed it to her lips. The old gentleman's pale cheeks

glowed. As the radiance of the evening sky fading away into darkness,

brightens up suddenly for a last moment, gilding the dark foliage ere

it sinks into night, so did the fire of youth long-perished flash up in

his eyes. "Ah, Master Martin!" he cried, "you are a wealthy, prosperous

man, but by far the most precious gift that Heaven has bestowed on you

is your charming Rosa. The sight of her makes the hearts of us old

fellows beat, as we sit at the Council Board: and if _we_ can't turn

our eyes away from her, who can blame the young gallants if they stand

staring like stone images when they meet her in the street; or see only

_her_ in church, and not the parson? What marvel that, when there is a

_fete_ in the common meadow, they drive the other girls to despair, by

all running after _your_ daughter, following _her_ exclusively with

their sighs, love-looks, honeyed speeches? Master Martin, you are well

aware you may pick and choose among the best patrician blood in the

country-side for your son-in-law, whenever you have a mind."

Master Martin's face crumpled up into sombre folds. He told his

daughter to go and bring some fine old wine; and when she, blushing

over and over as to her cheeks, and with eyes fixed on the ground, had

hurried away for it, he said to old Paumgartner:--

"Ay, honourable sir! it is no doubt the truth that my daughter is

gifted with exceptional beauty, and that Heaven has made me rich in

that respect as well as in others; but how could you speak of it in the

girl's presence?--and as to an aristocratic son-in-law, that's all

moonshine."

"Nay, nay, Master Martin," answered Paumgartner; "out of the abundance

of the heart, the tongue speaketh,' you know. _My_ old sluggish blood

begins to dance in my veins when I look at Rosa; and there can't be

much harm in my saying what she must know well enough to be true."

Rosa brought the wine, and two magnificent goblets. Martin drew the

great table, richly carved, to the centre of the room; but just as the

old fellows had taken their places, and Martin was filling the goblets,

a tramping of horses was heard in front of the house. Some cavalier

seemed to be drawing bridle; his voice was heard ringing loud in the

hall. Rosa hastened to the door, and came back to say that the old Lord

Heinrich, of Spangenberg, was there and wished to speak with Master

Martin.

"Well!" said Martin, "this is really a wondrous lucky evening, since my

good friend--my oldest patron and customer--has come to pay me a call.

New orders, no doubt; something fresh to lay down in the cellar." With

which he made off as glibly as he could, to greet the new visitor.

HOW MASTER MARTIN EXTOLLED HIS CALLING ABOVE ALL OTHERS.

The wine of Hochheimer glittered like pearls in the beautiful, cut

goblets, and opened the hearts, and loosened the tongues of the three

old fellows; and old Spangenberg, advanced in years, but still glowing

with life and vigour, served up many a quaint tale and adventure of his

younger days; so that Master Martin's paunch waggled heartily, and he

had, times without end, to wipe tears of irrepressible laughter from

his eyes, Paumgartner, too, forgot his senatorial gravity more than

usual, and gave himself thoroughly up to the enjoyment of the noble

liquor and the entertaining talk; then Rosa came in with a pretty

basket, whence she brought out table-linen, dazzling as snow. She

tripped here and there with housewifely eagerness; laid the table, and

covered it with all sorts of well-flavoured dishes, appetizing of

odour, and begged the gentlemen, with sweetest smiles, not to disdain

what had been got ready in haste. The laughter and the flow of

conversation ceased. Paumgartner and Spangenberg could neither of them

move his eyes away from the beautiful girl, and even Master Martin

watched her housewifely activities with a smile of satisfaction, as he

leant back in his chair with folded hands. When Rosa would have left

them, old Spangenberg jumped up as briskly as a youth, took her by both

shoulders, and cried over and over again, with tears in his eyes, "Oh

thou good, precious angel!--thou sweet, kind, charming creature!" Then

he kissed her three times on the forehead, and went back to his chair

in deep reflection. Paumgartner drank a toast to her health.

"Ay!" began Spangenberg, when she had left the room; "ay, Master

Martin! Heaven has, in that daughter of yours, bestowed on you a jewel

which you cannot prize too highly. She will bring you to great honour

one day. Who--be he of whatsoever condition he may--would be otherwise

than only too happy to be your son-in-law?"

"You see," said Paumgartner; "you see, Master Martin, the noble Herr

von Spangenberg thinks exactly as I do. Already I see my darling Rosa a

nobleman's bride, with the rich pearls in her lovely fair hair!"

"Dear, dear! good gentlemen!" cried Master Martin, looking quite out of

temper, "why should you persist in talking about a matter which has not

even begun to enter my thoughts? My daughter Rosa is only just

eighteen; she is too young to be thinking of a husband; and how

matters may come to pass hereafter, I leave wholly in God's hands.

But thus much is certain that neither a noble nor any other man shall

have my daughter's hand, save and except that cooper who proves

himself, to my satisfaction, to be the most utterly perfect master of

his craft--always supposing that my daughter loves him; for I am not

going to constrain my darling daughter to anything whatever in the

world, least of all to a marriage that does not please her."

Spangenberg and Paumgartner looked each other in the face, much

astonished at this remarkable statement of the Master's. Presently,

after clearing his throat a good deal, Spangenberg began:

"Then your daughter is not to marry out of her own class, is she?"

"God forbid that she should," answered Martin.

"But," continued Spangenberg, "suppose some doughty young Master

belonging to some other craft--say, a goldsmith, or perhaps a talented

young painter--were to come wooing your daughter, and pleased her very

specially, much more than any of her other wooers, how were it then?"

Master Martin answered, drawing himself up, and throwing back his head:

"'Show me,' I should say, 'show me, my good young sir, the two-fudder

cask that you have built as your masterpiece.' And if he couldn't do

that I should open the door politely, and beg him, as civilly as I

could, to try his luck elsewhere."

Spangenberg resumed:

"Suppose the young fellow said, 'I cannot show you a small-scale piece

of work such as you speak of; but come with me to the market-place, and

look at that stately building, reaching its pinnacles proudly up to the

skies. That is my masterpiece.'"

"Ah, my good sir!" Martin interrupted impatiently; "what is the good of

your taking all this trouble to alter my determination. My son-in-law

shall belong to my own craft, and to no other; for I look upon my craft

as being the most glorious that exists on earth. Do you suppose that

all that is necessary to make a cask hold together is to fit the hoops

on to the staves? Ah! ha! The glory and the beauty of our craft is that

it presupposes a knowledge of the preservation and the nursing of that

most precious of heaven's gifts--the noble wine, that so it may ripen,

and penetrate us with its strength and sweetness, a glowing spirit of

life. Then there is the build of the cask itself. If the build is to be

successful, we have to measure and calculate all the curves, and the

other dimensions, with rule and compass with the utmost accuracy.

Geometers and arithmeticians we must be, that we may compute the

proportions and the capacities of our casks. Ah, good sir, I can

tell you my very heart laughs within my body when I see a fair,

well-proportioned cask laid on to the end-stool, the staves all

beautifully finished off with the riving knife and the broad-axe, and

the men set to with the mallets, and 'clipp, clapp' ring; the strokes

of the driver. Ha! ha! that is merry music. There stands then the work,

perfect; and well may I look round me with a dash of pride when I take

my marking-iron and mark it with my own trade-mark on the head of the

cask--my own mark, known and respected by all genuine vineyard-masters

in the land. You spoke of architects, dear sir. Very good; a grand,

stately house is a fine work beyond doubt. But if I were an architect,

and passed by one of my works, and saw some dirty-minded creature, some

good-for-nothing, despicable wretch who had happened to become the

owner of that house, looking down at me from one of the balconies, I

should feel a shame at the bottom of my heart; I should long to dash

that work of mine to pieces from sheer annoyance and disgust. Nothing

of that sort can ever happen to me, for in my works dwells ever the

very purest thing on earth--the noble wine. God's blessing on my

craft!"

"Your encomium," said Spangenberg, "was admirable, and heartily felt on

your part. It is to your honour that you hold your craft in high

esteem. But please be patient with me if I do not leave you in peace

even now. Suppose one of the nobility did actually come and ask you for

your daughter. Sometimes, when a matter really comes very close to one,

much in it begins to assume a different appearance to what one

thought."

"Ah," cried Martin a little warmly, "what could I say, except with a

polite bow, 'Honoured sir, if you were but a clever cooper; but, being

as you are----'"

"Listen further," said Spangenberg. "If some fine morning a handsome

noble were to come on a splendid charger, with a brilliant following

all in grand clothes, and rein up at your door and ask for Rosa for his

helpmate?"

"Hey! hey!" cried Master Martin more impetuously than before; "I should

run as fast as I could and bolt and bar the door. Then I should cry and

shout, 'Ride on your road, your lordship. Roses such as mine do not

bloom for you. I dare say my cellar and my cash-box please you well,

and you think you may have the girl into the bargain. Ride on your

road.'"

Old Spangenberg rose up, his face red as fire. He leaned both hands on

the table and looked down before him. "Well," he began, after a short

silence, "this is my last question, Master Martin. If the young noble

at your door were my own son, if I myself were at your door with him,

would you bar the door? Would you think we had come only for the sake

of your cellar and your cash-box?"

"Most certainly not," answered Master Martin. "My honoured and dear

sir, I should open the door politely to you; everything in my house

should be at your and your son's command. But as regards Rosa, I should

say, 'Had it pleased Heaven that your noble son had been a clever

cooper, no one on earth would have been more welcome to me as a

son-in-law than himself. As it is, however----' But why should you

plague me with all those extraordinary questions, honoured sir? Our

delightful conversation has come to an end, and our glasses are

standing full. Let us leave the questions of the son-in-law and Rosa's

marriage on one side. I drink your son's good health. People say he is

a fine handsome gentleman."

Master Martin took up his goblet, and Paumgartner followed his example,

saying "A truce to captious conversation; here's to your son's health."

Spangenberg touched glasses with them, and then said, with a forced

laugh, "You saw, of course, that I was only speaking in jest. My son,

who has only to ask and have amongst the best and noblest in the land,

were a raving lunatic to come here begging for your daughter."

"Ah, my dear sir," answered Martin, "even were it jest I could answer

it in no other manner, without loss of my proper self-respect. For you

must confess, yourselves, that you are aware that I am justified in

holding myself to be the best cooper in all the country-side; that all

that can be known as to wine, I know it; that I hold faithfully by the

wine-laws framed in the days of our departed Emperor Maximilian; that,

as a pious man, I hate and despise all godlessness; that I never burn

beyond an ounce of sulphur in a two-fudder cask, which is needful for

the preservation thereof. All this, dear and honoured sirs, you can

sufficiently trace the savour of, in my wine here."

Spangenberg, resuming his seat, strove to assume a happier expression

of countenance again, and Paumgartner led the conversation to other

topics. But as the strings of an instrument, when once they have gone

out of tune, stretch and warp more and more, and the master cannot

evoke from it the well sounding chords which he could produce before,

nothing that those old fellows tried to say would harmonise any longer.

Spangenberg called his servants and went away depressed and out of

temper from Martin's house, which he had come to in such a jovial mood.

THE OLD GRANDMOTHER'S PROPHECY.

Master Martin was somewhat concerned at his old friend and patron's

having gone away annoyed. He said to Paumgartner, who had finished his

last goblet and was leaving too:

"I really cannot make out what the old gentleman was driving at with

all those odd questions; and why should he be so vexed when he went

away?"

"Dear Master Martin," answered Paumgartner, "you are a fine, grand,

noble, upright fellow, and you are right to set a value on what, by the

help of God, you have brought to such a prosperous issue and carried on

so well, and what has been a source of wealth and fortune to you at the

same time. Still, this should not lead you to ostentation and pride,

which are contrary to all Christian feeling. In the first place, it was

hardly right in you to set yourself above all the other masters at the

meeting to-day as you did. Very likely you do know more of your craft

than all the rest of them put together; but to go and cast this

straight in their teeth could only give rise to anger and annoyance.

And then your conduct of this evening; you surely could not have been

so blind as not to see that what Spangenberg was driving at was to find

out how far your headstrong pride would really carry you. It could not

but have hurt the worthy gentleman sorely to hear you attribute any

young noble's wooing of your daughter to mere greed for your money. And

it would have all been well enough if you had got back into the right

road when he began to talk about his own son. If you had said, 'Ah, my

good and honoured sir, if you were to come with your son to ask for my

daughter (an honour on which, certainly, I could never have reckoned),

I should waver in the firmness of my determination.' If you had said

that, what would have been the consequence, but that old Spangenberg,

quite forgetting his previous wrongs, would have smiled, and got back

into the fine temper he was in before."

"Scold me well," said Master Martin; "I deserve it, I know. But when

the old gentleman spoke such non sense, I really could not bring myself

to give him any other answer."

"Then," Paumgartner continued, "this silly notion of yours that you

won't give your daughter to anybody but a cooper. Was ever such

nonsense heard of? You say your daughter's destiny shall be left in

God's hands, and yet you go and wrest it out of God's hands yourself,

by deciding that you will choose your son-in-law out of one limited

circle. This may be the very destruction of both her and you. Leave off

such unchristian, childish folly, Master Martin. Commit the matter to

the Almighty. He will place the right decision in your daughter's pious

heart."

"Ah, my dear sir," said Master Martin quite dejectedly, "I see now, for

the first time, how wrong I was not to make a clean breast of the whole

business at once. You, of course, suppose that it is merely my high

opinion of the cooper's craft which makes me resolve never to give Rosa

to anybody but a master cooper. But that is by no means the case; there

is another reason. I can't let you go away until I have told you all

this. You shall not pass a single night, even, with a bad opinion of me

in your mind. Sit down again; I beg it as a favour. See, here is still

another bottle of my oldest wine; Spangenberg was too much offended to

taste it. Sit, and stay but a few minutes longer."

Paumgartner was surprised at Master Martin's friendly insistance, which

was not in his usual nature. It seemed as if something lay heavy on his

mind which he felt eager to be clear of. When Paumgartner had resumed

his seat, and taken some of the wine, Master Martin commenced as

follows:

"You are aware, dear sir, that my beloved wife died soon after Rosa's

birth from the effects of a difficult confinement. My own grandmother

was still alive at a great age (if one can call it being 'alive,' to be

stone deaf, quite blind, scarcely able to speak, paralysed in every

limb, and completely bedridden). My Rosa had been baptized, and the

nurse was sitting with her in the room where the old grandmother lay. I

was so sorrowful, and (when I looked at the child) so wonderfully

happy, and yet so sad--I was so deeply touched that I found it

impossible to do any work, and I was standing, sunk in my thoughts,

beside my grandmother's bed, envying her, and thinking how well for her

it was that she had done with earthly pain. And as I was so looking

into her pale face, all at once she began to smile in the strangest

way; her wrinkled features seemed to smooth out, her pale cheeks took

on a colour; she sat up in her bed and stretched her powerless arms as

she had not been able to do for a long time, and, as if suddenly

inspired by some miraculous power, she called out distinctly, in a

soft, sweet voice, 'Rosa! darling Rosa!' The nurse gave her the child.

She took it and dandled it in her arms. But now, my dear sir, picture

my amazement, nay, my terror, when the old lady began, in a strong,

clear voice, a song, in the lofty, joyful 'manner' of Herr Hans

Berchler,[5] host at the sign of the Spirit, in Strasbourg, to the

following effect:--

"'Little maiden, with cheeks of roses,

Rosa, hear The decree.

Never yield thee to dread or doubting,

Set God fast in thy heart.

Let not vain longings deride thee.

He prepares thee a brightsome dwelling,

Streams, of sweet savour, flowing therein,

Beauteous angels, singing full sweetly.

Pious of soul,

List to the truest of wooing,

Loveliest promise of love.

A House, resplendent and gleaming,

He whom thy heart goeth forth to

Shall to thy dwelling bring.

Needless to ask of thy father.

This is thy destined lord.

For this House, into thy dwelling

Bringeth good fortune and bliss.

Keep thine eyes open, then, maiden;

Watchful thine ears for the true word to come.

God's truest blessing be on thee,

Walking thy flowery way.'"

"And when the old grandmother had sung this song, she put the child

gently and carefully down on the bedcover, and laying her withered,

trembling hands upon its forehead, whispered words which were wholly

unintelligible, though the inspired and sublime expression of her face

showed that she was praying. Then she sunk back with her head on the

pillow, and as the nurse lifted the child she gave a deep sigh--she was

gone."

"A wonderful story," said Paumgartner. "Still I don't see how this

prophetic song of the old grandmother has any connection with your

obstinate determination to give Rosa to nobody but a master cooper."

"What can be clearer," said Master Martin, "than that the old lady,

specially enlightened by the Lord during the last moments of her life,

declared in prophecy how matters are to go with Rosa, if she is to be

happy and fortunate? The wooer who is to bring wealth, luck and

happiness into her dwelling with a beautiful House; who can that be but

a clever cooper, who shall finish his masterpiece, the beautiful House

of his building, in my workshop? In what other house do streams of

sweet savour flow up and down but in a wine-cask? And when the wine is

working it rustles, and hums, and plashes; and that is the singing of

the angels as they float on the tiny ripples. Ay, ay! no other

bridegroom did the old grandmother mean but the master cooper. To that

I pin my faith."

"Good Master Martin," said Paumgartner, "you interpret the old lady's

words after your own manner; but I cannot altogether agree with your

interpretation, and I still maintain that you ought to leave the whole

matter in the hands of God, and in your daughter's heart: for the true

meaning and the proper deciding of it most certainly lie hidden there."

"And I, as far as I am concerned," said Master Martin, "stick to my own

opinion, that my son-in-law shall be none but a clever cooper. This I

hold to, for once and for all."

Paumgartner was beginning almost to lose his temper over Martin's

obstinacy. But he controlled himself, and rose from his chair, saying:

"It is getting late, Master Martin; I think we have had as much wine

and as much conversation as are good for us."

And, as they were making for the door, there appeared a young woman

with five boys, of whom the eldest might have been scarcely eight, and

the youngest scarcely half a year old. The woman was weeping and

sobbing. Rosa hastened to meet them, crying, "Ah! Heavens! Valentine

must be dead. Here are his wife and children." "What? Valentine dead?"

cried Master Martin, much shocked, "Oh, what a misfortune! What a

misfortune! My dear sir, Valentine was the best of all my workmen; a

hardworking, good, honest fellow. A short time ago he hurt himself

dangerously with an adze, during the building of a big cask. His wound

got worse and worse; he fell into a violent fever, and now he has had

to die in the prime of his years." Master Martin went up to the

disconsolate woman, who was bathed in tears, lamenting that she must

perish in misery and distress.

"What think you of _me_?" asked Master Martin. "Your husband came by

his death in my service, and do you suppose I am going to abandon

you in your need? God forbid! You all belong to my house henceforth.

To-morrow, or when you choose, we will bury your husband, poor fellow,

and then you and your boys go to my farm before the Lady-gate, where my

great workshop is, and be there with my men. You can look after the

housekeeping; I will bring up those fine young boys of yours as though

they were my own. More than that, your old father shall come and live

here too. He was a grand journeyman cooper while he had strength in

his arms for the work. If he can't wield the mallet now-a-days,

or the notching-tool, or the hooping-iron, or take his stroke at

the grooving-bench, why he can manage to turn out hoops with the

rounding-knife. Whether or not, into my house he comes with the rest of

you."

Had not Master Martin held the woman up, she would have fallen at his

feet overwhelmed with emotion. The elder boys hung upon his doublet,

and the two youngest, whom Rosa had taken in her arms, held out their

little hands to him, as if they understood what he said.

Quoth old Paumgartner, smiling, with tears in his eyes, "One can't be

vexed with you, Master Martin," and he betook himself to his dwelling.

HOW THE TWO YOUNG JOURNEYMEN, FRIEDRICH AND

REINHOLD, MADE EACH OTHER'S ACQUAINTANCE.

The evening was falling as a young journeyman, very handsome and

distinguished-looking, Friedrich by name, was lying on a little grassy

hillock, shaded by leafy trees. The sun had set, and rosy flames were

shooting up from the deep abyss of the western sky. The famous town of

Nuernberg could be distinctly seen in the distance, broadening out in

the valley, its proud towers stretching up into the evening red, which

darted bright rays, streaming on to their summits. The young mechanic

had his arm propped upon his bundle, or travelling knapsack, and was

gazing down into the valley with longing eyes. He plucked a flower or

two from the grass, and cast them into the air towards the sunset sky;

then once more he gazed mournfully before him, and the hot tears came

to his eyes. At length he lifted his head, stretched out his arms, as

if he were embracing some beloved form, and sang the following song, in

a rich, tuneful voice:

"Again, again I see thee, my own beloved home,

My faithful heart has never lost

The faintest trace of thee.

Rise on my sight, oh roseate sheen;

Fain would I see nought else but roses.

Love's own blossoms, glow on my heart,

Gladden my bosom, cheer my soul.

Ah, swelling heart, and must thou break?

Beat firm through pain and sweetest joy.

And thou, thou golden evening sky,

Be thou to me a faithful herald;

Bear down to her my sighs and tears

And tell her, should I die, my heart

Dissolved in love unchanging."

When Friedrich had finished this song, he took some wax from his

bundle, warmed it in his breast, and began to model a beautiful rose,

with its hundreds of delicate petals, in the most skilful and artistic

manner. As he worked at it, he kept singing detached phrases of his

song; and, thus absorbed, he did not notice a handsome lad who had been

standing behind him for a considerable time, eagerly watching him as he

worked.

"My friend," said this young fellow, "that is an exquisite piece of

work you are doing."

Friedrich looked round, startled. But when he saw the stranger's kindly

dark eyes, he felt as if he had known him long. So he answered, with a

smile, "Ah, my dear sir, how can you care to look at this trifle, which

serves to pass a little of my time on my journey?"

The stranger answered, "If you call that flower, so accurately studied

and copied from nature, and so tenderly executed, a 'trifle,' a

plaything, you must be a remarkably finished and accomplished artist in

that line. You delight me in a double sense. First, your song, which

you sung so charmingly (in the tender 'Letter-Mode' of Martin

Haescher), went quite to my heart; and now I have to admire your

masterly skill in modelling. Whither are you bound to-day?"

"The goal of my journey," answered Friedrich, "lies there before our

eyes. I am bound for my home there, the renowned town of Nuernberg. As

the sun is far beneath the horizon, I shall pass the night down in the

village there; but I shall push on as early as I can in the morning,

and be in Nuernberg by noon."

"Ah, how well that falls in," cried the lad; "I am bound for Nuernberg

too. I shall pass the night along with you in the village, and we can

go on together in the morning. So let us talk together a little."

The lad, whose name was Reinhold, threw himself down on the grass

beside Friedrich, and went on as follows:

"If I do not mistake, you are a splendid metal-worker. I see that by

your style of moulding. You work in gold and silver, do you not?"

Friedrich looked sadly down, and began, quite dejectedly:

"Ah, my dear sir, you take me for something much higher and better than

I really am. I must tell you candidly that I learnt the craft of a

cooper, and I wish to go and work with a well-known master of that

craft in Nuernberg. You will despise me that I do not model and cast

glorious images, figures, groups, and only shape hoops for casks and

barrels."

"This is delightful," cried Reinhold, laughing aloud. "The idea of _my_

despising you for being a cooper, when I am nothing else myself!"

Friedrich looked at him fixedly; he did not know what to think.

Reinhold's dress was like anything rather than that of a journeyman

cooper on his travels. The doublet of fine black cloth trimmed with

velvet, the delicate lace cravat, short sword, barret cap, with long

drooping feather, seemed more appropriate to a well-to-do merchant; and

yet there was a certain wonderful something in the face and whole

bearing of the lad which excluded the idea of a merchant. Reinhold saw

Friedrich's doubts; he opened his knapsack, and brought out his

cooper's leather apron and case of tools, crying, "Look _there_,

friend; have you any doubt now as to my being your comrade? I dare say

my clothes may strike you a little; but I come from Strassburg, where

the coopers dress like gentry. Certainly, like yourself, I once had

ideas of something different; but now I think the cooper's craft the

finest in the world, and I have based many of my fairest life-hopes on

it. Is not this _your_ case, too, comrade? But it almost seems to me as

if some dark cloud-shadow had come over the happiness of your life,

preventing you from looking around you with any gladness. Your song was

all love-longing and sorrow; but there were tones in it which seemed to

come shining out of my own breast, and I feel as though I knew

everything which is imprisoned within you. That is all the more reason

why you should tell me all about it. As we are going to be intimate

friends and companions in Nuernberg, confide in me." Reinhold put an arm

about Friedrich, and looked him kindly in the eyes.

"The more I look at you, you charming fellow," Friedrich said, "the

more I am drawn to you. I distinctly hear a wondrous voice within me

echoing a monition of my soul, which tells me you are my true friend.

So I _must_ tell you everything. Not that a poor fellow such as I has

anything really important to confide to you, but merely because the

breast of a true friend has room for a man's sorrows; and, from the

first moment of our acquaintance, I felt that you are the truest friend

I possess. I am a cooper now, and I may say I know my craft well. But

all my devotion was given to another--perhaps a better--art. From my

childhood my desire was to be a silversmith, a great Master in the art

of modelling and working in silver, such as Peter Fischer, or the

Italian, Benvenuto Cellini. I worked at this with fervent zeal, under

Master Johannes Holzschuer, the famous silversmith in my native town,

who, although he did not himself cast images of the kind I refer to,

had it in his power to give me instruction in that direction and

province. Into Herr Holzschuer's house came, not seldom, Herr Tobias

Martin, the master cooper, with his daughter, the beautiful charming

Rosa. I fell in love with her, without quite being aware of it myself.

I left home, and went to Augsburg, to learn image-casting properly, and

it was not till then that the love-flames blazed up in my heart. I saw

and heard only Rosa. I loathed every effort, every endeavour that did

not lead to _her_; so I started off upon the only path which _did_ lead

to her. Master Martin will give his daughter to no man save the cooper

who, in his house, shall make the most perfect masterpiece which a

cooper can produce, and whom at the same time his daughter shall look

upon favourably into the bargain. I cast my own art on one side, I

learned the cooper's craft, and I am going to Nuernberg to work in

Master Martin's workshop. That is my object and intention. But now that

my home lies before me, and Rosa's image glows vividly before my eyes,

I could swoon for hesitation, anxiety, dread. I see _now_ the folly of

my undertaking clearly. Can I tell whether Rosa loves me, or ever will

love me?"

Reinhold had listened with even closer attention. He now rested his

head on his arm, and, placing his hand over his eyes, asked, in a

hollow, gloomy voice:

"Has Rosa ever given you any sign that she cares for you?"

"Ah," said Friedrich, "when I left Nuernberg, Rosa was more a child than

a girl. She certainly did not dislike me. She used to smile charmingly

on me when I never wearied of gathering flowers and making wreaths in

Herr Holzschuer's garden. But----"

"Well, there is some hope in that case," Reinhold cried out suddenly,

so violently, and in such an unpleasant, yelling tone, that Friedrich

felt almost frightened. Reinhold started to his feet, the sword at his

side rattled, and as he stood drawn up to his full height, the evening

shadows fell on his pale face, and distorted his gentle features in

such an ill-favoured sort that Friedrich cried, in real anxiety:

"What has come to you so suddenly?"

As he spoke he stepped backward, touching Reinhold's bundle with his

foot. A sound of strings rang forth of it, and Reinhold cried, angrily:

"Don't smash my lute, you villain!"

He took the instrument from his bundle and struck its strings stormily,

as if he would tear them in pieces. But soon his touch upon them grew

soft and tuneful.

"Let us go on down to the village, brother! I have here a fine remedy

against the Evil Spirits which stand in our way, and are in opposition

principally to _me_."

"Why should Evil Spirits stand in our way, dear brother?" asked

Friedrich. "But oh! your playing is beautiful, Please to go on with

it."

The gold stars had come forth in the dark azure of the heavens; the

night-wind was breathing in soft whispers over the perfumed meadows;

the streams were murmuring louder; the dark trees of the forest were

rustling all round in the distance. Reinhold and Friedrich went down

into the valley, playing and singing; and clear and bright, as on

shining pinions, their songs of Love and Longing floated on the breeze.

When they reached their night-quarters, Reinhold threw his lute and his

knapsack down, and pressed Friedrich stormily to his heart. Friedrich

felt burning tears upon his cheek; they came from Reinhold's eyes.

HOW THE TWO YOUNG JOURNEYMEN, REINHOLD AND FRIEDRICH,

WERE RECEIVED INTO MASTER MARTIN'S HOUSE.

When Friedrich awoke the next morning, he missed his new friend, who

had thrown himself down by his side on the straw bed; and as he saw

neither the lute nor the bundle, he thought Reinhold, for reasons to

him unknown, had left him and taken another road. When he went out,

however, he saw Reinhold with his lute under his arm, and his knapsack,

bat dressed quite differently to what he had been the day before. He

had taken the feather from his cap, was not wearing his sword, and had

on a homely citizen's doublet, of sober hue, instead of the velvet

slashed one he had previously.

"_Now_, brother," he cried, with a kindly smile, "I am sure you see

that I really am your comrade and fellow-journeyman. However, I must

say you slept wonderfully well for a man in love. Look how high the sun

is. Let's be off at once."

Friedrich was silent and thoughtful; he scarcely answered Reinhold, or

paid any attention to his jests, for he darted about hither and thither

in the highest spirits, shouting aloud, and throwing his cap into the

air; but even he became quieter as they approached the town, quieter

and quieter.

"I cannot go any further, I am so anxious, so uncertain, so filled with

delicious unrest," said Friedrich, throwing himself down as one

exhausted, when they had all but arrived at the gates of Nuernberg.

Reinhold sat down beside him, and after a time said:--

"Last night I must have seemed to you to be a very strange creature,

good brother, but when you told me of your love, and were so

disconsolate, all manner of absurd nonsense came into my head, making

me feel confused. I think I should have gone crazy at last, had not

your singing and my lute driven the evil spirits away. This morning,

when the first rays of the sun awoke me, all my sense of enjoyment in

life had come back to me. I went out, and as I strolled up and down

amongst the trees, all manner of glorious thoughts came into my mind;

the way in which I had met you--how my whole heart had so turned to

you. I remembered a pretty tale of a matter which happened some time

ago in Italy when I chanced to be there. I should like to tell it to

you, as it shows very vividly what true friendship can accomplish. It

so happened that a certain noble prince, a zealous friend and protector

of the Arts, offered a valuable prize for a picture, the subject of

which, very interesting, and not over-difficult to treat, was duly

announced. Two young painters, who were united in bonds of the closest

friendship, determined to compete for this prize. They were in the

habit of working together; they told each other their respective ideas

on the subject, showed each other their sketches for it, and talked

much together as to the difficulties to be overcome. The elder of the

two, who had more experience than the other in drawing and grouping,

had soon grasped the idea of his picture, had sketched it, and was

helping the younger with all his power; for the latter was so

discouraged at the very threshold of his sketch for the picture, that

he would have given up all idea of going on had not the elder

unceasingly encouraged him, and given him advice and suggestions. Now

when they began to paint their pictures, the younger, who was quite a

master of colour, was able to give the elder many suggestions, which he

skilfully adopted and availed himself of; thus, the elder had never

coloured a picture so well, and the younger had never drawn one so

well. When the pictures were finished, the masters embraced each other,

each of them inwardly delighted with the work of the other, and each

convinced that the well-earned prize belonged of right to the other.

The younger, however, was the gainer of the prize; upon which he cried

out, thoroughly ashamed: 'Why should I have it? What is my merit

compared to my friend's? I could not have accomplished anything worthy

of praise but for his help.' But the elder said: 'And did you not help

me with valuable counsel and advice? No doubt my picture is by no means

bad; but you have got the prize, as was proper. To strive towards the

same goal, bravely and openly, that is real friendship. Then the laurel

which the victor gains honours the vanquished too. I like you all the

more for your having laboured so doughtily, and brought me, too, honour

and renown by your victory.' Now, Friedrich, that painter was right,

was he not? Would it not rather truly and intimately unite than

separate true friends to strive for the same prize, honestly, openly,

genuinely, to the utmost of their power? Can petty envy or hatred find

place in noble minds?"

"Never!" answered Friedrich; "assuredly never! We are now loving

brethren; very likely we shall both ere long set to work to turn out

the great Nuernberg 'masterpiece'--the two-fudder cask, without

firing--each on his own account. But heaven forfend that I should be

able to trace in myself the faintest tinge of envy, if yours, dear

brother Reinhold, should be a better one than mine."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed Reinhold. "What does your 'masterpiece' signify?

You will soon make _that_, I have no doubt, to the admiration of all

competent coopers; and let me tell you that, as far as concerns the

measurements, the proportions, curves, etc., you have found in me your

man; moreover, you can trust me as to the choice of the timber, staves

of red oak, felled in the winter, free from worm-holes, red or white

stripes, or blaze-marks--that is what we will seek out. You can trust

my eye; I will give you the best possible advice about everything, and

my own 'masterpiece' will be none the worse for that."

"But, heaven help us," cried Friedrich, "why should we talk about

'masterpieces,' and which of us is going to succeed there? Is that what

we are going to contend for? The real 'masterpiece' is winning Rosa;

how are we to set about that? My head reels at it."

"Well, brother," cried Reinhold, still laughing; "really we were not

saying anything about Rosa at that moment; you are a dreamer. Come

along, let us get to the town, at all events."

Friedrich rose, and walked along, perplexed in mind. As they were

washing and brushing themselves in the inn, Reinhold said:

"For my part, I don't know in the least what master I am going to work

with. I don't know a creature in the place, so I was thinking that

perhaps you would take me with you to Master Martin's, dear brother;

perhaps he would give me work."

"You take a weight from my heart," answered Friedrich; "for if you are

with me I shall find it easier to overcome my anxiety and my

uneasiness."

So they set out together stoutly for the house of the renowned cooper,

Master Martin.

It happened to be the very Sunday on which Master Martin was giving his

great official dinner in honour of his appointment, and it was exactly

dinner-time. Thus, when Reinhold and Friedrich crossed Master Martin's

threshold, they became aware of a ringing of wine-glasses, and the

confused buzz of a merry dinner-company.

"Ah!" said Friedrich, despondingly; "I fear we have come at an

unfortunate time."

"I think just the contrary," said Reinhold; "for Master Martin will be

in a fine temper, after all that good cheer, and disposed to grant our

requests."

And presently Master Martin--to whom they had caused their coming to be

announced--came out to them, in festal attire, and with no small amount

of rubicundity of nose and cheeks. As soon as he saw Friedrich, he

cried out, "Aha, Friedrich, good lad, thou art home again! That is

well; and thou hast betaken thyself to the noble cooper-craft, too! No

doubt Herr Holzschuer makes terrible faces when thy name is mentioned,

and says a really great artist is spoilt in thee, and that thou couldst

very likely have cast all sorts of little niminy-piminy figures, like

those in St. Sebald's--that, and trellis-work, such as there is in

Fugger's house in Augsburg. Stupid stuff and nonsense; thou hast done

the proper thing in turning to what is right; many thousand welcomes to

thee." With which Master Martin took him by the shoulders and embraced

him, according to his wont when highly pleased. Friedrich completely

revived at Master Martin's kind reception of him. All his bashfulness

abandoned him: he not only laid his own desires before Master Martin,

fully and unhesitatingly, but begged him to take Reinhold into his

service too.

"Well," said Master Martin, "you could not possibly have come at a

better time; there is heaps of work, and I'm greatly in need of men.

You are both heartily welcome. Take off your bundles and come in;

dinner is nearly done, but there is room at the table, and Rosa will

take every care of you." And Master Martin went in with the two

journeymen.

The worthy and honourable masters were all seated there, Herr

Paumgartner in the place of honour. Their faces were all aglow;

dessert was just served, and a noble wine was pearling in the great

drinking-glasses. Matters had arrived at a point when each of the

masters was talking, very loud, about something different from all the

others, yet they all thought they quite followed and understood; and

now one, and now another, laughed loud, without quite knowing why or

wherefore. But when Master Martin, with Friedrich and Reinhold in

either hand, announced that those two fine young journeymen, with good

certificates, the sort of fellows after his own heart, had come

offering to work for him, all grew silent, and everybody looked at the

handsome lads with a pleasant satisfaction. Reinhold glanced round him

with his clear eyes, almost proudly; but Friedrich cast his down, and

toyed with his barret-cap. Master Martin gave the two lads places at

the bottom of the table. But they were the most glorious places of all,

for presently Rosa came and sat down beside them, carefully helping and

serving them with exquisite dishes and delicious wines. All this made a

delightful picture to behold. The beautiful Rosa, the handsome lads,

the bearded masters, one could not but think of some shining morning

cloudlet rising up alone on a dark background of sky; or, perhaps, of

pretty spring flowers, raising their heads from melancholy, colourless

grass. Friedrich could hardly breathe for rapture and delight; only by

stealth did he now and then glance at her who was filling all his soul.

He stared down at his plate; how was it possible for him to swallow a

morsel? Reinhold, on the other hand, never moved his eyes (from which

sparkling lightnings flashed) from the girl. He began to talk of his

far travels in such a marvellous style, that she had never heard

anything like it before. All that he spoke of seemed to rise before her

eyes in thousands of ever-changing images; she was all eye, all ear.

She did not know where she was, or what was happening to her when

Reinhold, in the fire of his discourse, grasped her hand and pressed it

to his heart. "Friedrich," he cried, "why are you sitting mum and sad?

Have you lost your tongue? Come, let's clink our glasses to the health

of this young lady, who is taking such care of us here." Friedrich

took, with trembling hand, the tall goblet which Reinhold had filled to

the brim, and which, as Reinhold did not draw breath, he had to empty

to the last drop. "Here's to our brave master!" Reinhold cried again,

filling the glasses; and once more Friedrich had to empty his bumper.

Then the fire-spirit of the wine permeated him, and set his halting

blood a-moving, till it coursed, seething and dancing, through all his

veins. "What a blissful feeling," he whispered, as the glowing scarlet

mantled in his cheeks; "I cannot express how delightful; never did I

feel so happy in all my life before."

Rosa--to whom those words might, perhaps, convey another sense smiled

on him with marvellous sweetness, and he, befreed from all his

bashfulness, said: "Dear Rosa, I suppose you don't remember me at all,

do you?"

"Now, Friedrich," answered Rosa, with downcast eyes; "how could it be

possible that I should forget you so soon? At old Herr Holzschuer's I

was only a child, certainly, but you did not think it beneath you to

play with me; and you always talked of such charming things. And that

beautiful little basket of silver wire which you gave me one Christmas,

I still have, and shall always prize it as a precious keepsake." Tears

stood in the lad's eyes, in the intoxication of his happiness. He tried

to speak; but only the words, "Ah, Rosa! Dear Rosa!" came out of his

heart like a deep sigh. Rosa went on to say: "I have always wished most

heartily that I might see you again, but that you should take to the

cooper's craft, I never could have imagined. Ah! when I think of the

beautiful things you used to make at Herr Holzschuer's, it is really a

shame that you do not keep to your own art."

"Ah, Rosa," said Friedrich, "it was all for your sake that I was

faithless to my own beloved art." Scarcely were the words spoken than

he would fain have sunk into the ground with shame and alarm. The most

unintentional of avowals had come from his lips. Rosa, as if she saw it

all, turned her face away from him. He strove in vain for words.

However, Herr Paumgartner rapped on the table loudly with a knife, and

announced to the company that Herr Vollrad, a worthy master-singer,

would favour them with a song. So Herr Vollrad stood up, cleared his

throat, and sung such a beautiful song in Hans Vogelsang's "golden

tone," that all hearts throbbed for joy, and even Friedrich recovered

from his serious embarrassment. After Herr Vollrad had sung other

beautiful songs, in various other "tones" or "manners,"--such as the

"sweet" tone, the "crooked horn" manner, the "flowery paradise" manner,

the "fresh orange" manner, etc.,--he said that, should there be

any at the table who knew anything of the gracious craft of the

master-singers, he should now be so good as to sing a song. At this

Reinhold rose, and said that, if he might be permitted to accompany

himself on the lute, after the Italian manner, he too would be happy to

sing a song, keeping, however, in it wholly to the German "modes." No

one saying anything to the contrary, he got out his lute, and after

preluding a little in the loveliest way, went on with the following

song:--

"Where is the little fount,

Where springs the flavourous wine?

Deep in the ground.

There found,

All men may see with joy its golden glory shine.

Who found it, thought it out,

With doughty might and thews,

With craft and careful skill?

Who but the cooper!

None but he can build

The precious fount and source."

(With a little more to the same effect.) This song pleased everyone

beyond measure, but none so much as Master Martin, whose eyes beamed

with joy and delight. Without attending to Herr Vollrad--who spake more

than was necessary concerning that "manner" of "Herr Mueller's" which

the journeyman had "hit off by no means badly"--Master Martin rose,

and, lifting his glass on high, cried: "Come here--thou--proper cooper

and fine master-singer--come here! with me--with thy master--shalt thou

empty this glass!"

Reinhold had to do as he was told. As he came back to his seat he

whispered to the thoughtful Friedrich, "_You_ must sing now, what you

snug last night."

"You are mad," Friedrich cried, in anger. But Reinhold spoke out to the

company, in a loud voice, saying:--

"Honourable gentlemen and masters, my dear brother Friedrich here knows

much more beautiful songs and has a far finer voice than I. But the

dust of the journey has got into his throat, so that he will sing to

you in all 'manners' on another occasion."

Then they all begun praising and applauding Friedrich as if he had

actually sung, and some of the masters even thought his voice was finer

than Reinhold's. Herr Vollrad (after another glass) thought, and said,

that Friedrich caught the beautiful German "modes" even better than

Reinhold, who had just a little too much of the Italian school about

him. But Master Martin threw his head back, smote his breast with his

fist till it resounded again, and cried--

"Those are _my_ men--mine, I say! Master Tobias Martin, the Cooper of

Nuernberg's men."

And all the masters nodded their heads, and said, as they savoured the

last drops out of their tall drinking-glasses--

"Aye, aye, it is so! All right! Master Martin's, the Cooper of

Nuernberg's fine, clever men."

At last they all went home to bed; and Master Martin gave each of his

new journeymen a nice bright chamber in his house.

HOW A THIRD JOURNEYMAN CAME TO MASTER MARTIN'S

AND WHAT HAPPENED THEREUPON.

After Friedrich and Reinhold had worked with Master Martin for a week

or two, he observed that, as regarded measurements, rule and compass

work, calculations, and correctness of eye, Reinhold was probably

without a rival. But it was otherwise as concerned work at the bench

with the adze or the mallet. At those Reinhold soon wearied, and the

work would not progress, let him exert himself as he would. Friedrich,

on the other hand, hammered and planed away sturdily, and did not get

very tired of it. What they both had in common, however, was a

refinement of manner, to which there joined themselves, chiefly at

Reinhold's instigation, much innocent merriment and witty fun. Moreover

(especially when Rosa was by) they did not spare their throats, but

sang many a beautiful song, often together, when their voices went

delightfully. And when Friedrich, turning his eyes to Rosa, would tend

towards falling into a melancholy and sentimental strain, Reinhold

would immediately strike in with a comic ditty of his own devising,

which began--

"The vat is not the zither--the zither not the vat,"

so that old Martin had often to drop the tool which he had in his hand

raised in act to strike, and hold his sides for inward laughter. On the

whole both the journeymen, but especially Reinhold, stood high in

Master Martin's favour; and one might almost fancy that Rosa too

sometimes found a pretext for lingering oftener and longer in the

workshop than perhaps she otherwise would have done.

One day Master Martin went thoughtfully to his workshop outside the

town gate, where work was carried on in the summer-time. Friedrich and

Reinhold were just beginning a small cask. Master Martin placed himself

before them with folded arms, and said:--

"I really cannot tell you, you two dear lads, how thoroughly I am

satisfied with you. But I find myself in a considerable predicament.

People write to me from the Rhine country that as regards crop this

present year is going to be more blessed than any that has gone before

it. A certain wise man has said that this comet which has appeared in

the sky so fertilises the earth with its wonderful rays, that it will

give forth all the heat which genders the noble metals out of its

deepest depths, which will so stream and exhale up into the thirsting

vines, that they will yield crops upon crops brimful of the liquid fire

which has heated them. It seems there has not been such a lucky

'constellation' for well on to three hundred years. Very good; hence

will spring great abundance of work. And, moreover, the Bishop of

Bamberg has written to order a large vat. We shall not be able to

finish it, so that I shall have to be looking out for another

journeyman hand--a good one. All the same, I don't want to bring the

first comer out of the street amongst us. And yet what's to be done? I

see no choice. If you happen to know of a good hand anywhere whom you

would have no objection to work with, say the word, and I'll send and

get him though it should cost me no small sum."

Scarce had Master Martin said this, when a young man of tall, powerful

figure cried in at the door, in a loud voice, "I say, is this Master

Martin's?"

"Yea," said Master Martin, stepping up to the young man, "verily it is;

but there's no occasion to shout in that murdering sort of style. That

is not the way to come at people."

"Ha, ha, ha!" laughed the young man. "I see you are Master Martin

yourself. You answer exactly to the description of him given to me--the

fat corporation, the imposing double chin, the flashing eyes, and the

red nose. My best respects to you, Master Martin."

"Well, sir," said Master Martin, greatly irritated, "and what may your

business with Master Martin be?"

"I am a journeyman cooper," the young man answered, "and all I want is

to know if you can give me a job of work here."

Master Martin took a step or two backward in sheer amazement at the

notion that, just when he had made up his mind to look out for another

hand, one should appear and offer himself; and he scanned the young man

closely from head to foot. The latter met his gaze with which flashed.

Now, as Master Martin observed the broad chest, athletic build, and

powerful hands of the young man, he thought to himself, "This is just

the stout, strong-built sort of fellow that I want." And he asked him

for his certificates.

"I have not got them with me," the young man said, "but I will soon get

them. In the meantime, I give you my word that I will do your work

faithfully and honourably. That must suffice for the time." And

therewith, without waiting for Master Martin's leave, he strode into

the workshop, threw down his barret and his bundle, tied on his apron,

and said, "Now then, Master Martin, tell me what to set about."

Master Martin, puzzled by this cool manner of setting about matters,

had to take thought with himself for a moment. "Well," he said, "my

lad, to show us that you are a trained cooper, set to with the notcher

upon that cask there at the end stool."

The stranger journeyman accomplished the task told off to him with

remarkable force, skill, and rapidity. And then, loudly laughing, he

cried, "Now, master, have you any doubt that I am a trained cooper?

But," he continued, as he strolled up and down the shop examining the

tools, timber, &c., "you seem to have a good deal of queer stuff about

here. Now here's a funny little bit of a mallet. I suppose your

children amuse themselves with that. And the broad-axe yonder, that's

for your apprentice boys, I presume; isn't it?" With that he whirled

the great heavy mallet--which Reinhold could not wield, and which

Friedrich could only use with difficulty--up to the rooftree, did the

like with the ponderous broad-axe which Master Martin worked with, and

then rolled great casks about as if they had been bowls; and, seizing a

thick unshaped stave, he cried, "Master, this seems good sort of

oak-heart. I reckon it will fly like glass!" and banged it against the

grindstone, so that it broke right across into two pieces with a loud

report.

"My good sir," Master Martin cried, "all I beg of you is, don't smash

up that two-fudder cask there, or bring the whole workshop down about

our ears. You might make a mallet of one of the rafters; and, by way of

a broad-axe to your liking, I'll send to the Town Hall for Roland's

sword, three ells long."

"That would do for me nicely," said the young man, with sparkling eyes.

But presently he cast them down, and spoke in a gentler tone:

"All I was thinking, dear Master Martin, was that your work needed men

of thews and sinews. But perhaps I was a little hasty in swaggering as

to my strength. Take me into your employ all the same. I will do what

work you give me in first-rate style, you will see."

Master Martin looked him in the face, and had to own to himself that he

had probably never seen nobler or more thoroughly honest features.

Indeed he felt somehow that the young man's face stirred up a dim

remembrance of someone whom he had known and esteemed for a very long

time. But this would not become clear, although, for this cause, he at

once agreed to employ the young man, merely stipulating that he should

produce proper certificates to prove that he belonged to the craft.

Reinhold and Friedrich meanwhile had finished setting up the cask at

which they were working, and were putting on the first hoops. At such

times they were in the habit of singing, and they now begun a pretty

song, in the "goldfinch manner" of Adam Puschmann. At this Conrad (such

was the new-comer's name) shouted out from the planing bench where

Master Martin had set him to work, "Ugh! what a cheeping and chirping.

Sounds as though the mice were squeaking about the shop. If you're

going to sing, sing something that will cheer a fellow up and put some

heart into him to go on with his work. I sometimes sing a thing of that

sort myself." With which he commenced a rough, wild hunting song, full

of "Hulloh!" and "Hussah!" And he imitated the cry of the hounds and

the shouts of the people in such a thundering, all-penetrating voice,

that the workshop shook and resounded. Master Martin stopped both his

ears with his hands, and the boys of Frau Martha (Valentine's widow),

who were playing in the workshop, hid themselves in terror amongst the

timber. Just then Rosa came in astonished, nay terrified, at the

prodigious shouting, for "singing" it could not be called. Conrad was

silent the moment he saw Rosa. He rose and went up to her in the most

courteous manner, saying, in a soft voice, and with gleaming fire in

his bright brown eyes: "Beautiful lady, how this old working cabin

beamed with roseate splendour as soon as you entered it. Ah! had I but

seen you a little sooner I should not have offended your ears with my

rough hunting song." He turned to Master Martin and the workmen, and

cried, "Hold that abominable noise, every one of you! Whenever this

beautiful lady deigns to show herself here, hammers and mallets must

stop. We will hear only her sweet voice, and listen with bowed heads to

such commands as she may deign to issue to us--her humblest servants."

Reinhold and Friedrich gazed at each other in amazement; but Master

Martin shouted with laughter, and said, "Well, Conrad, I must say you

are the very drollest rascal that ever put on an apron. You come here,

and seem to be going to set to work to smash the whole place to atoms,

like some great lumbering giant. Next you bellow till we're all obliged

to hold our ears; and, by way of a worthy _finale_, you treat my little

daughter here as if she were a lady of quality, and you her page, in

love with her."

"I know your lovely daughter quite well, Master Martin," answered

Conrad unconcernedly; "and I tell you she is the most glorious lady

that walks the earth, and would to heaven that she would permit her

most devoted servitor to be her Paladin!"

Master Martin held his sides. He nearly suffocated himself before he

made way for his laughter by dint of wheezing and coughing. He then

managed to get out a "Good! very good! my dear young sir. Take my

little girl Rosa for a lady of quality, if you will, but just get back

to your work at the bench there."

Conrad stood rooted to the spot with eyes fixed on the ground; rubbed

his forehead, and said softly, "So I must." He did as he was ordered.

Rosa sat down on a small barrel, as she usually did when she came to

the workshop. Reinhold and Friedrich brought this barrel forward for

her as they were wont to do; and then they sang together (as Master

Martin bade them) the pretty song in which Conrad had interrupted them.

The latter went on with his task, silent and thoughtful. When the song

was ended Master Martin said, "Heaven has endowed you two dear lads

with a precious gift. You have no idea how much I honour the glorious

Art of Song. In fact I once wanted to be a Master-singer myself. But it

wouldn't do. I could make nothing of it, try as hard as I might. With

all my endeavours I earned nothing but derision and jesting, when I

tried my hand at the master-singing. I always made wrong 'annexations'

or too many syllables, In fact there was always something askew

with it. Well, well! you will make a better job of it. What the

master couldn't manage, his men will. Next Sunday there will be a

master-singing at the usual time, after noonday service, at Saint

Catherine's Church; and there you two, Reinhold and Friedrich, may gain

praise and honour by means of your beautiful art. For before the

head-singing, a free-singing will be holden, open to strangers, at

which you may try your skill. Now, Herr Conrad" (Master Martin called

over to the planing bench), "mightn't you mount the singing stool too,

and treat them to that beautiful hunting song of yours?"

"Don't jest, good master," answered Conrad, without looking up;

"there's a place and time for everything: while you are edifying

yourself at the Master-singing, I shall go in search of my own

pleasure, to the Common Meadow."

Things turned out as Master Martin had expected. Reinhold mounted

the singing stool and sang songs, which could not be classified as

being any special "tones" or "manners," but which delighted all the

Master-singers, albeit they were of opinion that, though the singer

committed no actual errors, yet a certain "outlandish," or foreign style,

which they could not quite define themselves, somewhat detracted from

their merit. Soon after, Friedrich seated himself on the singing stool,

took off his barret, and, after looking before him for a second or two,

cast a glance at the assembly (which darted through Rosa's heart like a

glowing arrow, so that she could not help sighing deeply), then began

such a glorious song, in the tender "tone" of Heinrich Frauenlob, that

all the masters declared unanimously that none of them could surpass

this young journeyman.

When evening came, and the singing was over, Master Martin, by way of

thoroughly completing the enjoyment of the day, betook himself with

Rosa to the Common Meadow. Reinhold and Friedrich were allowed to go

with them. Rosa walked between the two. Friedrich, in a state of great

glorification by reason of the praise of the Master-singers, ventured,

in the intoxication of his blissfulness, on many a daring word, which

Rosa, drooping her eyes modestly, did not seem to wish to hear. She

turned the rather to Reinhold, who, after his wont, chattered and made

many a lively jest and sally, not hesitating to sling his arm round one

of hers. When they came where the young men were engaged in divers

athletic sports (some of them of knightly sort), they heard the people

crying, over and over again, "He has won again!--nobody can stand

before him! There! he wins again!--that strong one!" When Master Martin

had pressed his way through the crowd, he found that all this shouting

and acclamation were to the address of none other than his own

journeyman, Conrad, who had excelled everybody at running, boxing, and

throwing the javelin. Just as Master Martin came on the scene, Conrad

was challenging all-comers to a bout of fencing with blunted rapiers,

and several young patrician "bloods," skilled at this exercise,

accepted; but he very soon conquered them all, with little difficulty,

so that there was no end to the laudation of his strength and skill.

The sun had set; the evening sky was glowing red, and the twilight

rapidly falling. Master Martin, Rosa, and the two journeymen had seated

themselves beside a plashing fountain. Reinhold told many delightful

things concerning far-away Italy; but Friedrich gazed, silent and

happy, into Rosa's beautiful eyes. Then Conrad approached, with slow

and hesitating steps, as if he had not quite made up his mind whether

to join the others or not. So Master Martin called out: "Come along,

come along, Conrad! You have held your own bravely; just as I like my

journeymen to do. Don't be bashful, my lad; you have my full

permission." Conrad flashed a penetrating glance at the master, who was

nodding to him condescendingly, and said, in a hollow tone: "So far, I

have not asked your permission whether I might join you or not. On the

whole, it was not to _you_ that I was thinking whether I should come,

or otherwise. I have laid all my opponents prostrate in the dust in

knightly play, and what I wanted to do was to ask this beautiful lady

if she would not mind giving me, as my guerdon, those flowers which she

wears in her breast." With which Conrad knelt on one knee before Rosa,

looked her honestly in the face with his clear brown eyes, and

petitioned, "Give me the flowers, if you will be so kind, fair Rosa;

you can hardly refuse me." Rosa at once took the flowers from her

breast, and gave them to him, saying, with a smile, "I am sure such a

doughty knight deserves a prize of honour from a woman; so take my

flowers, although they are beginning to wither a little." Conrad kissed

them, and placed them in his barret cap; but Master Martin rose up

crying, "Stupid stuff and nonsense! Let's get away home; it'll soon be

dark." Martin walked first; Conrad, in a courtier-like fashion, gave

Rosa his arm, and Reinhold and Friedrich brought up the rear, not in

the best of temper. The people who met them stopped and looked after

them, saying:

"Ey! look there!--that is Master Martin, the rich cooper, with his

pretty daughter and his fine journeymen; happy folks, these, I can tell

you!"

HOW FRAU MARTHA CONVERSED WITH ROSA ABOUT THE THREE JOURNEYMEN.

CONRAD'S QUARREL WITH MASTER MARTIN.

Young girls are wont to live over again all the enjoyments of a festal

day, in detail, on the subsequent morning, and this secondary feast

seems then almost more delicious to them than the original itself. Thus

did the fair Rosa sit pondering on the subsequent morning alone in her

chamber, with her hands folded in her lap, and her head hung down in

reverie, letting spindle and needle-work rest. Probably she was

mentally listening again to Reinhold and Friedrich's singing, and again

watching the athletic Conrad vanquishing his adversaries, and receiving

from her the victor's prize. Now and then she would hum a line or two

of some song; then she would say, "My flowers, do you want?" and then a

deeper crimson mantled in her cheeks; flashes darted through her

half-closed eyelids, faint sighs stole forth from her innermost breast.

Frau Martha came in, and Rosa was delighted to have the opportunity of

giving her a circumstantial account of all that had happened in Saint

Catherine's Church, and afterwards in the Common Meadow. When she had

finished, Martha said, smiling, "Well, Rosa dear, you will soon have to

make up your mind which of those three brave wooers you are going to

choose."

"What are you talking about, Frau Martha?" Rosa cried; "I haven't got

any wooers."

"Come, come," answered Martha, "don't pretend that you don't know

what's going on. Anybody who has got eyes, and is not as blind as a

mole, sees well enough that all the three, Reinhold, Friedrich, and

Conrad, are over head and ears in love with you."

"What an idea!" cried Rosa, hiding her eyes with her hand.

"Come, come," said Martha, sitting down beside her and putting an arm

about her; "you bonny bashful child, take your hand away; look me

straight in the face, and then deny, if you can, that you have known

for many a day that all the three of them are devoted to you, heart and

soul! You see that you _can't_ deny it. It would be a miracle if a

woman's eye should not see a thing of that sort in an instant. When you

come into the workshop, all their eyes turn away from their work, to

you, and everything goes on in a different way, three times as

swimmingly. Reinhold and Friedrich begin singing their prettiest songs;

even that wild fellow Conrad turns quiet and kindly. They all try to

get beside you; and fire flashes out of the face of whichever of them

has a kind glance or a friendly word from you. Aha! little daughter!

you are a very fortunate girl to have three such charming fellows

paying attention to you. Whether you will ever choose either of

them--and, if so, which--of course I cannot tell, for you are good and

nice to them all; though I--but silence as to that! If you were to come

to me, and say, 'Frau Martha, give me your advice,' I should freely

answer, 'Doesn't your own heart speak out quite clearly and distinctly?

Then _he_ is the one. Of course, they're all pretty much alike, to

_me_. I like Reinhold, and I like Friedrich too; and Conrad as well,

for the matter of that; and still I have some objections to every one

of them. Aye! the fact is, dear Rosa, when I look at those three young

fellows at their work, I always think of my dear husband. And I must

say, as far as the work which he did went, everything which he did was

done in a different style to theirs. There was a swing and a _go_ about

it: you saw that his heart was in it; that he wasn't thinking of

anything else. But _they_ always seem to unto be doing it for the

doing's sake, as if they all had something else at the bottom of their

minds all the time; as if the work was a sort of task which they had

taken up of their own accords, and were sticking to as well as they

could, against the grain. I get on best with Friedrich. He is a nice,

straight-forward fellow. He seems more like _us_, somehow. One

understands whatever he says. And what I like about him is, that he

loves you in such a silent sort of way, with all the bashfulness of a

good child; that he hardly dares to look at you, and blushes whenever

you say a word to him."

A tear came to Rosa's eye. She rose, turned to the window, and said:

"Yes, I am very fond of Friedrich too; but you mustn't think too little

of Reinhold, either."

"How should I?" said Martha; "he's the nicest-looking of them all, by

far and away. When he looks one through and through, with his eyes like

lightning, one can hardly bear it. Still, there is a something about

him so strange and wonderful, that I feel a little inclined to draw

back from him in a sort of awe. I think the master must feel, when he

is at work in the workshop, as I should if somebody brought a lot of

pots and pans all sparkling with gold and jewels into my kitchen, and I

had to set to work with them as if they were so many ordinary pots and

pans. I shouldn't dare to touch them. He talks, and tells tales, and it

all sounds like beautiful music, and carries one away. But when I think

seriously about what he has been saying after he has done, I haven't

understood a word of it, really. And then, when he will sometimes joke

and jest just like one of ourselves, and I think he is only one of us

after all, all of a sudden he will look up at one so proudly, and seem

such a gentleman, that one feels frightened. It is not that he ever

swaggers, as plenty of the young gentlefolks do; it's something quite

different. In one word, it strikes me--God forgive me for saying

it!--that he must have dealing with higher powers; as if he really

belonged to another world altogether, Conrad is a rough, overbearing

sort of fellow, but he has something cursedly aristocratic about him,

too, which doesn't go a bit well with the cooper's apron; and he goes

on as if it were his place to give orders, which everybody else had to

obey. In the little time that he has been here, you see he has got so

far that even Master Martin himself has to obey him, when he roars at

him with that thundering voice of his. But then, at the same time,

Conrad is so good-humoured, and so thoroughly straight-forward and

honourable, that one can't be vexed with him. In fact I must say that,

in spite of his wildness, _I_ like him better than Reinhold, almost;

for though he _does_ often speak roughly, yet one always understands

what he is saying. I would wager he has once been a soldier, however he

may pretend to disguise himself now. That's why he knows so well about

weapons, and the knightly exercises, which become him so well. Now tell

me, truly and sincerely, Rosa dear, which of them do you like the

best?"

"Don't be so crafty with me, Frau Martha," Rosa replied. "One thing is

certain--that I don't feel at all as you do about Friedrich. It is

quite true that he is of quite a different sort to the others. When he

talks, it seems as if some beautiful garden opened upon one, full of

lovely flowers, blossoms, and fruit, the like of which are not to be

found on earth; but it delights me to look into this garden. And many

things strike me quite differently since Reinhold has been here. Many

things which were dim and formless in my mind have grown so distinct

and clear, that I can see them and understand them perfectly."

Frau Martha got up, and, as she departed, she threatened Rosa with

uplifted finger, saying, "Well, Rosa! I suppose Reinhold is to be the

one: I never should have dreamt he would have been."

"I beg and pray you, Martha dear, neither dream, nor anticipate

anything. Leave it all to the future. What the future brings will be

the will of Heaven, and to that we must all submit with resignation."

Meanwhile things were very stirring in Master Martin's workshop. To

enable him to execute all his commissions he had taken on fresh hands

and a few apprentices, and there was such a banging and hammering going

on that it was audible far and wide. Reinhold had made out all the

measurements for the Bishop of Bamberg's great vat, and set it up so

cleverly that Master Martin's heart laughed in his body, and he cried

out, over and over again, "_that_ I _do_ call a piece of work! that's

going to be a cask such as I never turned out before--always excepting

my _own_ masterpiece." The three journeymen, hooping the cask, were

hammering till the whole place rang. Old Valentine was shaving away

busily with the hollowing-cramp. Frau Martha, with her two youngest

children in her lap, was sitting just behind Conrad, while the others

were playing and chasing each other about with the hoops. It was such a

merry, boisterous affair altogether, that nobody noticed the incoming

of old Master Johannes Holzschuer. However, Master Martin went up to

him, and asked him courteously what might be his will.

"Well," said Master Holzschuer, "I wanted to see my dear Friedrich

again, who is working away so hard there. But, besides that, Master

Martin, I want a fine cask for my cellar, and I was going to ask you to

turn me one out. See! _there_ is just the sort of cask I want--that one

your men have in hand there, let me have that one. You have but to tell

me the price."

Reinhold, who, being a little tired, was resting, said on his way on to

the scaffold again, "Ah, dear Herr Holzschuer, you will have to forego

your fancy for this cask; we are making it for the Bishop of Bamberg."

Master Martin, folding his arms behind his back, advancing his left

foot, and lifting his head proudly, blinked at the cask with his eyes,

and said somewhat boastfully, "My dear master, you might know by the

choiceness of the timber, and the superiority of the workmanship, that

a masterpiece such as this is a thing for a Prince-Bishop's cellar

alone. My journeyman Reinhold has said well. But when we have got the

vintage off our hands, I will turn you out a tidy little cask, such as

will be suitable for your cellar."

Old Holzschuer, annoyed with Master Martin's conceit, thought, for his

part, that his money was just as good as the Bishop of Bamberg's, and

that he would probably get as good value for it elsewhere; and he said

so. Master Martin, overwhelmed with anger, contained himself with

difficulty. He scarcely dared to offend old Holzschuer, friend of the

Council as he was, highly esteemed by all the town. But just at that

moment, Conrad was making such a tremendous hammering with his mallet

on the cask that the whole place was ringing and resounding; and Master

Martin's boiling wrath ran over, so that he spluttered out, with a

shout, "Conrad--dunderhead that you are--don't whack away in that

blind, furious style, man! You'll ruin that cask on our hands

altogether."

"Ho! ho! you funny little master," Conrad cried, looking round with an

angry face, "why shouldn't I?" and set to work again, hammering at the

cask with such violence that the largest of the hoops burst with a

"clirr," knocking Reinhold off the narrow board of the scaffold,

whilst, from the hollow sound which followed, it was evident that one

of the staves must have sprung as well. Overcome with rage and fury,

Master Martin seized the stave which Valentine was shaving at, and,

with a loud roar of, "Cursed hound!" dealt Conrad a heavy blow with it

across the back.

When Conrad felt the blow, he turned quickly round, and stood for a

moment as if unconscious, and then his eyes flamed with wild anger; he

gnashed his teeth, howled out, "Struck!" got down, with one spring,

from the scaffold, seized the broad-axe which was on the ground, and

aimed with it a tremendous stroke at the master, which would have split

his skull, had not Friedrich drawn him aside, so that it missed his

head; but it fell on his arm, whence the blood at once streamed out.

Martin, stout and unwieldy, lost his balance and stumbled over the

bench, at which an apprentice was working, and on to the ground. All

the rest now threw themselves around Conrad, who was raging, and

wielding the bloody broad-axe in the air, yelling, in a terrible voice.

"To Hell with him!--to Hell with him!"

Exerting all his gigantic strength, he sent them flying from him in all

directions, and was raising his weapon for a second stroke, which would

certainly have given Master Martin his quietus as he lay coughing and

groaning on the ground, but Rosa, pale as death, appeared at the door;

and the moment Conrad saw her, he paused like a stone image, with the

uplifted weapon in his hand. Then he threw it away far from him, struck

his hands together in front of his breast, cried--in a voice which went

to every one's heart--"Gracious God of Heaven! what have I done?" and

darted out of the building. Nobody thought of following him.

Master Martin was now set on his legs again, by dint of some effort,

and it was found that the blade of the broad-axe had struck the fleshy

part of his arm without doing very much mischief. Old Master

Holzschuer, whom Martin had dragged over also in his fall, was got out

from amongst the timber; and Frau Martha's children, who were

frightened and crying, were pacified. Master Martin was much

confounded; but on the whole thought that if that devil of a wicked

fellow had only not damaged the beautiful _cask_, he himself was not

much the worse. Carrying chairs were brought for the old gentlemen, for

Herr Holzschuer was more or less the worse for his tumble, too, and

expressed a very mean opinion of a calling which was carried on where

there were so many lethal weapons at hand, advising Friedrich to return

to the beautiful metals, and the modelling, and that the sooner the

better.

When the world was wrapt in twilight, Friedrich, and with him Reinhold,

who had been hard hit by the hoop, and felt sore in every bone of his

body, crept, very unhappy, back to town. At the back of a hedge they

heard a low sobbing and sighing. They stopped: and presently a tall

figure rose from the earth, which they at once recognised to be Conrad;

and they started back, alarmed. "Ah! don't fear me, you dear fellows!"

Conrad cried. "You think I am a diabolical, murdering dog; but I really

am nothing of the kind. Only I couldn't help myself. I was _obliged_ to

dash the life out of that fat old master--shiver all the bones in his

body--settle the hash of him; oh! come along back with me now, and let

me do it properly! Ah! no!--no, no! The whole thing is over! you won't

see me any more. Give my deepest homage to the beautiful Rosa, whom I

love so dearly, so dearly. Tell her I will wear her flowers on my heart

as long as I live, and that they shall be upon me when I--but perhaps

she may hear of me again yet. Good-bye! good-bye! dear old friends and

comrades!" With which he ran off across the fields without a stop.

"There's something very strange about that young fellow," Reinhold

said. "We can't judge what he does by every-day standards. Perhaps the

future may unravel this mystery which so weighs on us now."

REINHOLD LEAVES MASTER MARTIN'S HOUSE.

Master Martin's workshop was now as melancholy a place as it had once

been merry. Reinhold, unable to work, remained in his room. Master

Martin, with his arm in a sling, railed and rated unceasingly on the

subject of his late evil, unintelligible journeyman. Rosa and Frau

Martha with her children avoided the scene of the mad attempt, so that

Friedrich's hammer on the wood sounded mournful and hollow, as he went

on, finishing the job by himself.

Soon his heart was filled with the deepest sorrow. For he fancied he

now saw very clearly that what he had long dreaded was the truth. He

was _sure_ that Rosa loved Reinhold. It was not only that all her real

friendliness, besides many a sweet word, had all along been given to

him; but it was proof sufficient that, now that Reinhold was unable to

come to the workshop, she never thought of leaving the house, either,

doubtless, to nurse and take care of her lover. On Sunday, when

everybody went out to make holiday, and Master Martin--now nearly

well--asked him to go with Rosa and him to the meadow, he declined, and

went off alone to the village on the height, overpowered with grief and

love-anxiety. There, where he had first met Reinhold, he laid himself

down on the flowery turf, and, as he thought how the beautiful Star of

Hope, which had shone before him on all his journey home, had now--at

the goal--vanished suddenly into the deepest night--how all his

undertaking was now like the vain effort of a dreamer who stretches his

longing arms to embrace empty images of air--the tears came to his eyes

and rolled down his cheeks on to the grass, and the flowers, which hung

their little heads as if in sorrow for his bitter fortune. He scarce

knew how it came that the sighs which heaved his distracted breast took

the form of words and music. But he sang the following song:--

"My star of hope! ah! whither hast thou fled?

Alas! for me, slid down beneath the marge,

To rise, in splendour, upon happier hearts.

Thou trembling night-wind! smite upon this breast,

And waken there the bliss which bringeth death,

That so my heart, surcharged with tears of blood,

May break, in longing ne'er to be assuaged.

Dark trees! oh, tell me what mysterious words

Ye whisper thus, in loving confidence.

And ye, gold hems of heaven's wide-spread robe,

Why shine ye down on me benignantly?

Show me my grave! there is my hope's fair haven!

There, and there only shall I rest in peace."

It sometimes happens that the deepest sorrow, if it can but find tears

and words, dissolves into a mild, painfulness of melancholy, so that

perhaps even a gentle shimmer of hope begins then to beam faintly

through the heart. And thus it was that Friedrich felt wondrously

consoled and strengthened after he had sung this song. The evening

wind, and the dark trees which he had invoked, rustled and whispered as

if with voices of comfort. Golden streaks appeared in the dark sky like

sweet dreams of coming glory, and happiness still afar off. He rose,

and walked down to the village. There he felt as if Reinhold was

walking by his side as he had been when he first met him. All that

Reinhold had said came back upon his mind. When he remembered

Reinhold's story of the two painters who had tried for the prize,

scales seemed to fall from his eyes. It was quite clear that Reinhold

must, ere then, have seen, and loved, the fair Rosa. Nothing but this

love had taken him to Master Martin's house in Nuernberg, and, by the

painter's contest, he had meant nothing but his own and Friedrich's

rivalry as regarded Rosa. Friedrich listened once more to what Reinhold

had then said; that "to strive towards the same goal, bravely and

openly, was true friendship, and must truly, in the depths of their

hearts, rather unite than separate real friends; for nobleness or

littleness never can find place in hearts which are true."

"Yes, friend of my heart!" Friedrich cried aloud, "to thee will I turn

without reserve. Thou thyself shalt tell me if all hope is over for

me."

It was broad day when Friedrich knocked at Reinhold's door. As all was

silent within, he opened it--it was not fastened, as it generally

was--and entered. When he did so, he stood transfixed like a statue;

for there stood, on an easel before him, a full-length portrait of

Rosa, in all the pride of her beauty, lighted up by the rays of the

rising sun. The mahl-stick on the table, where it had been thrown

down--the colours still wet--showed that the portrait had just been

worked upon.

"Rosa! Rosa! oh, Father of Heaven!" Friedrich cried. Reinhold tapped

him on the shoulder, and asked him, with a smile, what he thought of

the picture. Friedrich pressed him to his heart saying:

"Ah, glorious fellow! mighty artist!--it is all clear to me now. You

have gained the prize for which I--wretch that I am! was bold enough to

try. What am I, compared to you; what is _my_ art, to _yours_? Alas! I

had great ideas in my mind, too! Don't laugh me altogether to scorn,

dear Reinhold. I thought w hat a glorious thing it would be to make a

mould model of Rosa's beautiful form in the finest silver. But that, of

course, would be mere child's play. But as for _you_!--how she smiles

on one, in all the pride of her loveliness!--Ah, Reinhold! happiest of

men! what you said long ago has now come true. We have striven for the

prize. You have won it. You could not _but_ win. But I am still yours,

with all my soul! I must get away; I could not bear to stay here. I

should die if I saw Rosa again. Forgive me this, my dear, dear,

glorious friend! This very day--this very moment--I must away into the

wide world, whithersoever my love-sorrow--my inconsolable misery--may

drive me." With which he would have left the room; but Reinhold held

him fast, saying gently:

"You shall not go, because things may possibly turn out far otherwise

than you suppose. It is time, now, that I should tell you what I have

kept silence about hitherto. That I am not a cooper at all, but a

painter, you probably now have gathered; and I hope the portrait has

proved to you that I am not one of the worst. When I was very young, I

went to Italy, the land of art; and there it chanced that some great

masters took an interest in me, and fanned the sparks which smouldered

within me into living fire. Thus I soon rose to some eminence, and my

pictures became celebrated all over Italy. The Grand Duke of Florence

took me to his Court. At that time I did not care to know anything of

the German School of Art, and, without having seen any German pictures,

I talked largely of the woodenness, the bad drawing, and the hardness

of your Duerer and your Cranache. However, one day, a dealer brought a

small Madonna of old Albrecht's into the Duke's gallery, which went to

my heart in a wonderful manner; so that I completely turned away from

the luxury of the Italian school, and at that hour determined to see

for myself, in my native Germany, those masterpieces on which my

thoughts were now bent. I came to Nuernberg here; and when I saw Rosa,

it seemed to me as though that Madonna which beamed so brightly in my

heart were walking the earth. In my case, just as in yours, dear

Friedrich, all my being flamed up in a blaze of affection. I saw and

thought of nothing but Rosa. Even art was only precious in my sight

because I could go on drawing and painting Rosa hundreds of times, over

and over again. In the unceremonious Italian fashion, I thought I

should have no difficulty in approaching her, but all my efforts in

this direction were vain. There was no way of getting introduced, in

honour, to Master Martin's house. At last I thought of going and

straight-forwardly announcing myself as one of her wooers, when I heard

of Master Martin's determination to give her to nobody but a real,

doughty, Master-Cooper. On this, I came to the, rather Quixotic,

resolve that I would go and learn coopering at Strassburg, and then

betake myself to Master Martin's workshop. The rest I left to Heaven's

will. How I carried out my resolution, you know; but you have still

to learn that, a few days ago, Master Martin told me I should make

a first-rate cooper, and should be very acceptable to him as a

son-in-law; for he saw well enough that I was trying to gain Rosa's

favour, and that she liked me."

"How could it be otherwise?" Friedrich cried. "Yes, yes; she will be

yours. How could I, most wretched of creatures, ever hope for such

bliss!"

"My brother!" said Reinhold, "you forget that Rosa has by no means yet

confirmed what wily Master Martin fancies he has seen. It is true she

has always been very charming and kindly with me; but that is not

exactly how a loving heart displays itself. Promise me, my brother, to

keep yourself quiet for three days more, and work in the shop as usual.

I might go back again there now, too; but since I have been busy at

this picture, that miserable handicraft sickens me inexpressibly. I

_cannot_ take a hammer in my hand again, come what will! On the third

day I will tell you distinctly how matters stand between me and Rosa.

If I should really be the fortunate man to whom she has given her

heart, you may depart; and you will learn that time heals the very

deepest wounds."

Friedrich promised to abide his destiny.

On the third day (Friedrich had carefully shunned the sight of Rosa)

his heart trembled with fear and anxious expectation. He crept about

the workshop like one in a dream, and his awkwardness was such as to

give Master Martin occasion to scold angrily, in a way unusual with

him. Taking things all round, something seemed to have come to the

master which had taken away all satisfaction from him. He talked much

of wicked artfulness and ingratitude, without further explaining what

he was driving at. When evening came at length, and Friedrich was going

back to town, near the city-gate he saw a man on horseback meeting him,

whom he at once knew to be Reinhold. As soon as this latter caught

sight of him he cried out: "Ha, ha! here you are!--just as I wished!"

He got off his horse, threw the reins on his arm, and took his friend

by the hand: "Let us stroll along together for a while," he said; "I

can tell you now how my love-affair has turned out."

Friedrich noticed that Reinhold was dressed as he had been when they

first met, and that the horse had a valise on him. Reinhold was looking

rather pale and troubled. "Good-luck to you, brother-heart!" he cried,

somewhat wildly. "You can go on hammering lustily away at your casks,

for I am clearing out of your way. I have just said good-bye to the

lovely Rosa, and worthy old Martin."

"What!" cried Friedrich, who felt a kind of electric shock go through

him. "You are going away! when Master Martin wants you for a

son-in-law, and when Rosa loves you?"

"Dear brother," answered Reinhold, "that is what your jealousy has led

you to imagine. It has turned out that Rosa would have married me, from

mere filial obedience, but that there is not a single spark of

affection for me in that ice-cold heart of hers. Ha, ha! I should have

been a celebrated cooper! Shaven hoops on week-days with my

apprentices, and taken my worthy housekeeper-wife on Sundays to St.

Catherine's or St. Sebald's to service, and then to the meadow in the

evening, one year after another, all my life long."

"Well, you needn't jest over the simple, innocent life of the good

townspeople," cried Friedrich, interrupting Reinhold in his laughter.

"It's not Rosa's fault if she does not really love you. You are so

angry--so wild!"

"You are right," said Reinhold; "it is only my stupid way of behaving

like a spoilt child when I feel annoyed. You will understand that I

told Rosa of my love for her, and of her father's good-will. The tears

streamed from her eyes; her hand trembled in mine; she turned away her

face, and said, 'Of course I must do as my father wishes.' That was

enough. This strange vexation of mine cannot but have enabled you to

read my inmost heart. You see that my efforts to gain Rosa were the

result of a deception, which my mistaken feeling had prepared for

itself. As soon as I had finished her portrait, my heart was at rest;

and I often felt, in an inexplicable manner, as though Rosa had really

been the picture, and the picture the real Rosa. The mean, wretched,

mechanical handicraft grew detestable to me; the common style of life,

and the whole business of having to get myself made a Master-Cooper,

and marry, depressed me so that I felt as if I were going to be immured

in a prison and chained to a block. How could that heavenly child whom

I have worn in my heart--_as_ I have worn her in my heart--ever become

my wife? Ah, no! she must for ever be resplendent in the master-works

which my soul shall engender; in eternal youth, delightsomeness, and

beauty. Oh, how I long to be working at them! How could I ever sever

myself from my heavenly calling! Soon shall I bathe once more in thy

fervid vapours, glorious land! home of all the arts!"

The friends had reached the point where the road which Reinhold meant

to follow turned sharp off to the left. "Here we part!" he cried. He

pressed Friedrich warmly to his heart, sprang into the saddle, and

galloped away.

Friedrich gazed after him, in silence, and then crept home, filled with

the strangest thoughts.

HOW FRIEDRICH WAS DRIVEN OUT FROM MASTER MARTIN'S WORKSHOP.

The next day Master Martin was labouring away at the Bishop of

Bamberg's cask, in moody silence; and Friedrich too, who was now only

feeling fully what he had lost in Reinhold, was not capable of a word,

far less of a song. At last Martin threw down his hammer, folded his

arms, and said in a low voice:

"So Reinhold has gone too! He was a great, celebrated painter, and

merely making a fool of me with his coopering. If I had but had the

slightest inkling of that when he came to my house with you, and seemed

so handy and clever, shouldn't I just have shown him the door! Such an

open, honest-looking face! and yet all deceit and falsehood! Well! he

is gone; but _you_ are going to stick to me and the craft with truth

and honour. When you get to be a doughty Master-Cooper--and if Rosa

takes a fancy to you--well! you know what I mean, and can try if you

can gain her liking." With which he took up his hammer, and went busily

on with his work. Friedrich could not quite explain to himself why it

was that Master Martin's words pained his heart--why some strange,

anxious dread arose in him, darkening every shimmer of hope. Rosa came

to the workshop, for the first time for long, but she was deeply

thoughtful, and (as Friedrich remarked to his sorrow) her eyes were red

from weeping. "She has been crying about _him_; she loves him;" a voice

in his heart said; and he did not dare to raise his glance to her whom

he loved so unutterably.

The cask was finished; and then, and only then, Master Martin, as he

contemplated that highly successful piece of work, grew cheerful and

light-hearted once more. "Ay, my lad," he said, slapping Friedrich on

the shoulder, "it is a settled matter that, if you can turn out a right

good master-piece, and win Rosa's good will, my son-in-law you shall

be. After that you can join the Coopers' Guild, and gain much renown."

At this time Master Martin's commissions so accumulated that he had to

hire two new journeymen, capital workmen, but rough fellows, who had

picked up many evil habits during their long years of travel, as

journey-men away from home. In place of the old merry talk, the jokes,

and the pretty singing which used to go on in the workshop, nothing was

to be heard there now but obscene ditties. Rosa avoided the place, so

that Friedrich only saw her at long intervals, and when he then looked

at her with melancholy longing, and sighed out, "Ah! dearest Rosa! if I

could but talk with you again! if you would only be kindly with me as

you used to be when Reinhold was here!" she would cast her eyes

bashfully down, and murmur, "Have you anything to say to me, dear

Friedrich?" But he would stand transfixed and speechless. The lucky

moment would pass, as quick as lightning which flashes in the evening

sky, and has vanished ere one has noticed it almost.