Transcriber's Note:
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. Inconsistent
spelling, hyphenation, and capitalization (e.g. his grace/Grace) in
the original document have been preserved.
Italic text is denoted by _underscores_ and bold text by =equal
signs=.
WAVERLEY NOVELS
FORTY-EIGHT VOLUMES
VOLUME XLIV.
BORDER EDITION
The Introductory Essays and Notes by ANDREW LANG to this
Edition of the Waverley Novels are Copyright
[Illustration: KING RENÉ.
Drawn and Etched by R. de Los Rios.]
ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN
BY
SIR WALTER SCOTT, BART.
WITH INTRODUCTORY ESSAY AND NOTES
BY ANDREW LANG
TEN ETCHINGS
VOLUME II.
LONDON
JOHN C. NIMMO
14, KING WILLIAM STREET, STRAND
MDCCCXCIV
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO.
At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
LIST OF ETCHINGS.
PRINTED BY F. GOULDING, LONDON.
VOLUME THE SECOND.
KING RENÉ. Drawn and Etched by R. de Los Rios
(p. 213) Frontispiece
THE SECRET TRIBUNAL. Drawn and Etched by R. de
Los Rios To face page 32
ARTHUR BEFORE THE QUEEN. Drawn and Etched by
R. de Los Rios 112
THE DEFIANCE. Drawn and Etched by R. de Los
Rios 182
THE FUNERAL OF THE QUEEN. Drawn and Etched by
R. de Los Rios 288
ANNE OF GEIERSTEIN;
OR,
THE MAIDEN OF THE MIST.
What! will the aspiring blood of Lancaster
Sink in the ground?
SHAKSPEARE.
CHAPTER I.
_1st Carrier._ What, ostler!--a plague on thee, hast never
an eye in thy head? Canst thou not hear? An 'twere not as
good a deed as drink to break the pate of thee, I am a
very villain--Come, and be hanged--Hast thou no faith in
thee?
_Gadshill._ I pray thee, lend me thy lantern, to see my
gelding in the stable.
_2d Carrier._ Nay, soft, I pray you--I know a trick worth
two of that.
_Gadshill._ I prithee lend me thine.
_3d Carrier._ Ay, when? Canst tell?--Lend thee my lantern,
quotha? Marry, I'll see thee hanged first.
_Henry IV._
The social spirit peculiar to the French nation had already introduced
into the inns of that country the gay and cheerful character of
welcome upon which Erasmus, at a later period, dwells with strong
emphasis, as a contrast to the saturnine and sullen reception which
strangers were apt to meet with at a German caravansera. Philipson
was, therefore, in expectation of being received by the busy, civil,
and talkative host--by the hostess and her daughter, all softness,
coquetry, and glee--the smiling and supple waiter--the officious and
dimpled chambermaid. The better inns in France boast also separate
rooms, where strangers could change or put in order their dress, where
they might sleep without company in their bedroom, and where they
could deposit their baggage in privacy and safety. But all these
luxuries were as yet unknown in Germany; and in Alsace, where the
scene now lies, as well as in the other dependencies of the Empire,
they regarded as effeminacy everything beyond such provisions as were
absolutely necessary for the supply of the wants of travellers; and
even these were coarse and indifferent, and, excepting in the article
of wine, sparingly ministered.
The Englishman, finding that no one appeared at the gate, began to
make his presence known by calling aloud, and finally by alighting,
and smiting with all his might on the doors of the hostelry for a long
time, without attracting the least attention. At length the head of a
grizzled servitor was thrust out at a small window, who, in a voice
which sounded like that of one displeased at the interruption, rather
than hopeful of advantage from the arrival of a guest, demanded what
he wanted.
"Is this an inn?" replied Philipson.
"Yes," bluntly replied the domestic, and was about to withdraw from
the window, when the traveller added,--
"And if it be, can I have lodgings?"
"You may come in," was the short and dry answer.
"Send some one to take the horses," replied Philipson.
"No one is at leisure," replied this most repulsive of waiters; "you
must litter down your horses yourself, in the way that likes you
best."
"Where is the stable?" said the merchant, whose prudence and temper
were scarce proof against this Dutch phlegm.
The fellow, who seemed as sparing of his words as if, like the
Princess in the fairy tale, he had dropped ducats with each of them,
only pointed to a door in an outer building, more resembling that of a
cellar than of a stable, and, as if weary of the conference, drew in
his head, and shut the window sharply against the guest, as he would
against an importunate beggar.
Cursing the spirit of independence which left a traveller to his own
resources and exertions, Philipson, making a virtue of necessity, led
the two nags towards the door pointed out as that of the stable, and
was rejoiced at heart to see light glimmering through its chinks. He
entered with his charge into a place very like the dungeon vault of an
ancient castle, rudely fitted up with some racks and mangers. It was
of considerable extent in point of length, and at the lower end two or
three persons were engaged in tying up their horses, dressing them,
and dispensing them their provender.
This last article was delivered by the ostler, a very old lame man,
who neither put his hand to wisp or curry-comb, but sat weighing forth
hay by the pound, and counting out corn, as it seemed, by the grain,
so anxiously did he bend over his task, by the aid of a blinking light
enclosed within a horn lantern. He did not even turn his head at the
noise which the Englishman made on entering the place with two
additional horses, far less did he seem disposed to give himself the
least trouble, or the stranger the smallest assistance.
In respect of cleanliness, the stable of Augeas bore no small
resemblance to that of this Alsatian _dorf_, and it would have been an
exploit worthy of Hercules to have restored it to such a state of
cleanliness as would have made it barely decent in the eyes, and
tolerable to the nostrils, of the punctilious Englishman. But this was
a matter which disgusted Philipson himself much more than those of his
party which were principally concerned. They, _videlicet_ the two
horses, seeming perfectly to understand that the rule of the place was
"first come first served," hastened to occupy the empty stalls which
happened to be nearest to them. In this one of them at least was
disappointed, being received by a groom with a blow across the face
with a switch.
"Take that," said the fellow, "for forcing thyself into the place
taken up for the horses of the Baron of Randelsheim."
Never in the course of his life had the English merchant more pain to
retain possession of his temper than at that moment. Reflecting,
however, on the discredit of quarrelling with such a man in such a
cause, he contented himself with placing the animal, thus repulsed
from the stall he had chosen, into one next to that of his companion,
to which no one seemed to lay claim.
The merchant then proceeded, notwithstanding the fatigue of the day,
to pay all that attention to the mute companions of his journey which
they deserve from every traveller who has any share of prudence, to
say nothing of humanity. The unusual degree of trouble which Philipson
took to arrange his horses, although his dress, and much more his
demeanour, seemed to place him above this species of servile labour,
appeared to make an impression even upon the iron insensibility of the
old ostler himself. He showed some alacrity in furnishing the
traveller, who knew the business of a groom so well, with corn, straw,
and hay, though in small quantity, and at exorbitant rates, which were
instantly to be paid; nay, he even went as far as the door of the
stable, that he might point across the court to the well, from which
Philipson was obliged to fetch water with his own hands. The duties of
the stable being finished, the merchant concluded that he had gained
such an interest with the grim master of the horse, as to learn of him
whether he might leave his bales safely in the stable.
"You may leave them if you will," said the ostler; "but touching their
safety, you will do much more wisely if you take them with you, and
give no temptation to any one by suffering them to pass from under
your own eyes."
So saying, the man of oats closed his oracular jaws, nor could he be
prevailed upon to unlock them again by any inquiry which his customer
could devise.
In the course of this cold and comfortless reception, Philipson
recollected the necessity of supporting the character of a prudent and
wary trader, which he had forgotten once before in the course of the
day; and, imitating what he saw the others do, who had been, like
himself, engaged in taking charge of their horses, he took up his
baggage, and removed himself and his property to the inn. Here he was
suffered to enter, rather than admitted, into the general or public
_stube_, or room of entertainment, which, like the ark of the
patriarch, received all ranks without distinction, whether clean or
unclean.
The _stube_, or stove, of a German inn, derived its name from the
great hypocaust, which is always strongly heated to secure the warmth
of the apartment in which it is placed. There travellers of every age
and description assembled--there their upper garments were
indiscriminately hung up around the stove to dry or to air--and the
guests themselves were seen employed in various acts of ablution or
personal arrangement, which are generally, in modern times, referred
to the privacy of the dressing-room.
The more refined feelings of the Englishman were disgusted with this
scene, and he was reluctant to mingle in it. For this reason he
inquired for the private retreat of the landlord himself, trusting
that, by some of the arguments powerful among his tribe, he might
obtain separate quarters from the crowd, and a morsel of food, to be
eaten in private. A grey-haired Ganymede, to whom he put the question
where the landlord was, indicated a recess behind the huge stove,
where, veiling his glory in a very dark and extremely hot corner, it
pleased the great man to obscure himself from vulgar gaze. There was
something remarkable about this person. Short, stout, bandylegged, and
consequential, he was in these respects like many brethren of the
profession in all countries. But the countenance of the man, and still
more his manners, differed more from the merry host of France or
England than even the experienced Philipson was prepared to expect. He
knew German customs too well to expect the suppliant and serviceable
qualities of the master of a French inn, or even the more blunt and
frank manners of an English landlord. But such German innkeepers as he
had yet seen, though indeed arbitrary and peremptory in their country
fashions, yet, being humoured in these, they, like tyrants in their
hours of relaxation, dealt kindly with the guests over whom their sway
extended, and mitigated, by jest and jollity, the harshness of their
absolute power. But this man's brow was like a tragic volume, in which
you were as unlikely to find anything of jest or amusement, as in a
hermit's breviary. His answers were short, sudden, and repulsive, and
the air and manner with which they were delivered was as surly as
their tenor; which will appear from the following dialogue betwixt him
and his guest:--
"Good host," said Philipson, in the mildest tone he could assume, "I
am fatigued, and far from well--May I request to have a separate
apartment, a cup of wine, and a morsel of food, in my private
chamber?"
"You may," answered the landlord; but with a look strangely at
variance with the apparent acquiescence which his words naturally
implied.
"Let me have such accommodation, then, with your earliest
convenience."
"Soft!" replied the innkeeper. "I have said that you may request these
things, but not that I would grant them. If you would insist on being
served differently from others, it must be at another inn than mine."
"Well, then," said the traveller, "I will shift without supper for a
night--nay, more, I will be content to pay for a supper which I do
not eat, if you will cause me to be accommodated with a private
apartment."
"Seignor traveller," said the innkeeper, "every one here must be
accommodated as well as you, since all pay alike. Whoso comes to this
house of entertainment must eat as others eat, drink as others drink,
sit at table with the rest of my guests, and go to bed when the
company have done drinking."
"All this," said Philipson, humbling himself where anger would have
been ridiculous, "is highly reasonable; and I do not oppose myself to
your laws or customs. But," added he, taking his purse from his
girdle, "sickness craves some privilege; and when the patient is
willing to pay for it, methinks the rigour of your laws may admit of
some mitigation?"
"I keep an inn, Seignor, and not a hospital. If you remain here, you
shall be served with the same attention as others,--if you are not
willing to do as others do, leave my house and seek another inn."
On receiving this decisive rebuff, Philipson gave up the contest, and
retired from the _sanctum sanctorum_ of his ungracious host, to await
the arrival of supper, penned up like a bullock in a pound, amongst
the crowded inhabitants of the _stube_. Some of these, exhausted by
fatigue, snored away the interval between their own arrival and that
of the expected repast; others conversed together on the news of the
country, and others again played at dice, or such games as might serve
to consume the time. The company were of various ranks, from those who
were apparently wealthy and well appointed, to some whose garments
and manners indicated that they were but just beyond the grasp of
poverty.
A begging friar, a man apparently of a gay and pleasant temper,
approached Philipson, and engaged him in conversation. The Englishman
was well enough acquainted with the world to be aware, that whatever
of his character and purpose it was desirable to conceal would be best
hidden under a sociable and open demeanour. He, therefore, received
the friar's approaches graciously, and conversed with him upon the
state of Lorraine, and the interest which the Duke of Burgundy's
attempt to seize that fief into his own hands was likely to create
both in France and Germany. On these subjects, satisfied with hearing
his fellow-traveller's sentiments, Philipson expressed no opinion of
his own, but, after receiving such intelligence as the friar chose to
communicate, preferred rather to talk upon the geography of the
country, the facilities afforded to commerce, and the rules which
obstructed or favoured trade.
While he was thus engaged in the conversation which seemed most to
belong to his profession, the landlord suddenly entered the room, and,
mounting on the head of an old barrel, glanced his eye slowly and
steadily round the crowded apartment, and when he had completed his
survey, pronounced, in a decisive tone, the double command,--"Shut the
gates! Spread the table!"
"The Baron St. Antonio be praised!" said the friar. "Our landlord has
given up hope of any more guests to-night, until which blessed time we
might have starved for want of food before he had relieved us. Ay,
here comes the cloth. The old gates of the courtyard are now bolted
fast enough; and when Johann Mengs has once said, 'Shut the gates,'
the stranger may knock on the outside as he will, but we may rest
assured that it shall not be opened to him."
"Meinherr Mengs maintains strict discipline in his house," said the
Englishman.
"As absolute as the Duke of Burgundy," answered the friar. "After ten
o'clock, no admittance--the 'seek another inn,' which is before that a
conditional hint, becomes, after the clock has struck, and the
watchmen have begun their rounds, an absolute order of exclusion. He
that is without remains without, and he that is within must, in like
manner, continue there until the gates open at break of day. Till then
the house is almost like a beleaguered citadel, John Mengs its
seneschal"--
"And we its captives, good father," said Philipson. "Well, content am
I. A wise traveller must submit to the control of the leaders of the
people when he travels; and I hope a goodly fat potentate, like John
Mengs, will be as clement as his station and dignity admit of."
While they were talking in this manner, the aged waiter, with many a
weary sigh and many a groan, had drawn out certain boards, by which a
table that stood in the midst of the _stube_ had the capacity of being
extended, so as to contain the company present, and covered it with a
cloth, which was neither distinguished by extreme cleanliness nor
fineness of texture. On this table, when it had been accommodated to
receive the necessary number of guests, a wooden trencher and spoon,
together with a glass drinking-cup, were placed before each, he being
expected to serve himself with his own knife for the other purposes
of the table. As for forks, they were unknown until a much later
period, all the Europeans of that day making the same use of the
fingers to select their morsels and transport them to the mouth which
the Asiatics now practise.
The board was no sooner arranged than the hungry guests hastened to
occupy their seats around it; for which purpose the sleepers were
awakened, the dicers resigned their game, and the idlers and
politicians broke off their sage debates, in order to secure their
station at the supper-table, and be ready to perform their part in the
interesting solemnity which seemed about to take place. But there is
much between the cup and the lip, and not less sometimes between the
covering of a table and the placing food upon it. The guests sat in
order, each with his knife drawn, already menacing the victuals which
were still subject to the operations of the cook. They had waited,
with various degrees of patience, for full half an hour, when at
length the old attendant before mentioned entered with a pitcher of
thin Moselle wine, so light and so sharp-tasted that Philipson put
down his cup with every tooth in his head set on edge by the slender
portion which he had swallowed. The landlord, John Mengs, who had
assumed a seat somewhat elevated at the head of the table, did not
omit to observe this mark of insubordination, and to animadvert upon
it.
"The wine likes you not, I think, my master?" said he to the English
merchant.
"For wine, no," answered Philipson; "but could I see anything
requiring such sauce, I have seldom seen better vinegar."
This jest, though uttered in the most calm and composed manner, seemed
to drive the innkeeper to fury.
"Who are you," he exclaimed, "for a foreign pedlar, that ventures to
quarrel with my wine, which has been approved of by so many princes,
dukes, reigning dukes, graves, rhinegraves, counts, barons, and
knights of the Empire, whose shoes you are altogether unworthy even to
clean? Was it not of this wine that the Count Palatine of Nimmersatt
drank six quarts before he ever rose from the blessed chair in which I
now sit?"
"I doubt it not, mine host," said Philipson; "nor should I think of
scandalising the sobriety of your honourable guest, even if he had
drunken twice the quantity."
"Silence, thou malicious railer!" said the host; "and let instant
apology be made to me, and the wine which you have calumniated, or I
will instantly command the supper to be postponed till midnight."
Here there was a general alarm among the guests, all abjuring any part
in the censures of Philipson, and most of them proposing that John
Mengs should avenge himself on the actual culprit by turning him
instantly out of doors, rather than involve so many innocent and
famished persons in the consequences of his guilt. The wine they
pronounced excellent; some two or three even drank their glass out, to
make their words good; and they all offered, if not with lives and
fortunes, at least with hands and feet, to support the ban of the
house against the contumacious Englishman. While petition and
remonstrance were assailing John Mengs on every side, the friar, like
a wise counsellor and a trusty friend, endeavoured to end the feud by
advising Philipson to submit to the host's sovereignty.
"Humble thyself, my son," he said; "bend the stubbornness of thy heart
before the great lord of the spigot and butt. I speak for the sake of
others as well as my own; for Heaven alone knows how much longer they
or I can endure this extenuating fast!"
"Worthy guests," said Philipson, "I am grieved to have offended our
respected host, and am so far from objecting to the wine that I will
pay for a double flagon of it, to be served all round to this
honourable company--so, only, they do not ask me to share of it."
These last words were spoken aside; but the Englishman could not fail
to perceive, from the wry mouths of some of the party who were
possessed of a nicer palate, that they were as much afraid as himself
of a repetition of the acid potation.
The friar next addressed the company with a proposal that the foreign
merchant, instead of being amerced in a measure of the liquor which he
had scandalised, should be mulcted in an equal quantity of the more
generous wines which were usually produced after the repast had been
concluded. In this mine host, as well as the guests, found their
advantage; and, as Philipson made no objection, the proposal was
unanimously adopted, and John Mengs gave, from his seat of dignity,
the signal for supper to be served.
The long-expected meal appeared, and there was twice as much time
employed in consuming as there had been in expecting it. The articles
of which the supper consisted, as well as the mode of serving them
up, were as much calculated to try the patience of the company as the
delay which had preceded its appearance. Messes of broth and
vegetables followed in succession, with platters of meat sodden and
roasted, of which each in its turn took a formal course around the
ample table, and was specially subjected to every one in rotation.
Black-puddings, hung beef, dried fish, also made the circuit, with
various condiments, called botargo, caviare, and similar names,
composed of the roes of fish mixed with spices, and the like
preparations, calculated to awaken thirst and encourage deep drinking.
Flagons of wine accompanied these stimulating dainties. The liquor was
so superior in flavour and strength to the ordinary wine which had
awakened so much controversy, that it might be objected to on the
opposite account, being so heady, fiery, and strong, that, in spite of
the rebuffs which his criticism had already procured, Philipson
ventured to ask for some cold water to allay it.
"You are too difficult to please, sir guest," replied the landlord,
again bending upon the Englishman a stern and offended brow; "if you
find the wine too strong in my house, the secret to allay its strength
is to drink the less. It is indifferent to us whether you drink or
not, so you pay the reckoning of those good fellows who do." And he
laughed a gruff laugh.
Philipson was about to reply, but the friar, retaining his character
of mediator, plucked him by the cloak, and entreated him to forbear.
"You do not understand the ways of the place," said he; "it is not
here as in the hostelries of England and France, where each guest
calls for what he desires for his own use, and where he pays for what
he has required, and for no more. Here we proceed on a broad principle
of equality and fraternity. No one asks for anything in particular;
but such provisions as the host thinks sufficient are set down before
all indiscriminately; and as with the feast, so is it with the
reckoning. All pay their proportions alike, without reference to the
quantity of wine which one may have swallowed more than another; and
thus the sick and infirm, nay, the female and the child, pay the same
as the hungry peasant and strolling _lanzknecht_."
"It seems an unequal custom," said Philipson; "but travellers are not
to judge. So that when a reckoning is called, every one, I am to
understand, pays alike?"
"Such is the rule," said the friar,--"excepting, perhaps, some poor
brother of our own order, whom Our Lady and St. Francis send into such
a scene as this, that good Christians may bestow their alms upon him,
and so make a step on their road to Heaven."
The first words of this speech were spoken in the open and independent
tone in which the friar had begun the conversation; the last sentence
died away into the professional whine of mendicity proper to the
convent, and at once apprised Philipson at what price he was to pay
for the friar's counsel and mediation. Having thus explained the
custom of the country, good Father Gratian turned to illustrate it by
his example, and, having no objection to the new service of wine on
account of its strength, he seemed well disposed to signalise himself
amongst some stout topers, who, by drinking deeply, appeared
determined to have full pennyworths for their share of the reckoning.
The good wine gradually did its office, and even the host relaxed his
sullen and grim features, and smiled to see the kindling flame of
hilarity catch from one to another, and at length embrace almost all
the numerous guests at the table d'hôte, except a few who were too
temperate to partake deeply of the wine, or too fastidious to enter
into the discussions to which it gave rise. On these the host cast,
from time to time, a sullen and displeased eye.
Philipson, who was reserved and silent, both in consequence of his
abstinence from the wine-pot and his unwillingness to mix in
conversation with strangers, was looked upon by the landlord as a
defaulter in both particulars; and as he aroused his own sluggish
nature with the fiery wine, Mengs began to throw out obscure hints
about kill-joy, mar-company, spoil-sport, and such like epithets,
which were plainly directed against the Englishman. Philipson replied,
with the utmost equanimity, that he was perfectly sensible that his
spirits did not at this moment render him an agreeable member of a
merry company, and that with the leave of those present he would
withdraw to his sleeping-apartment, and wish them all a good evening,
and continuance to their mirth.
But this very reasonable proposal, as it might have elsewhere seemed,
contained in it treason against the laws of German compotation.
"Who are you," said John Mengs, "who presume to leave the table before
the reckoning is called and settled? Sapperment der teufel! we are
not men upon whom such an offence is to be put with impunity! You may
exhibit your polite pranks in Rams-Alley if you will, or in Eastcheap,
or in Smithfield; but it shall not be in John Mengs's Golden Fleece,
nor will I suffer one guest to go to bed to blink out of the
reckoning, and so cheat me and all the rest of my company."
Philipson looked round, to gather the sentiments of the company, but
saw no encouragement to appeal to their judgment. Indeed, many of them
had little judgment left to appeal to, and those who paid any
attention to the matter at all were some quiet old soakers, who were
already beginning to think of the reckoning, and were disposed to
agree with the host in considering the English merchant as a flincher,
who was determined to evade payment of what might be drunk after he
left the room; so that John Mengs received the applause of the whole
company, when he concluded his triumphant denunciation against
Philipson.
"Yes, sir, you may withdraw if you please; but, poz element! it shall
not be for this time to seek for another inn, but to the courtyard
shall you go, and no farther, there to make your bed upon the stable
litter; and good enough for the man that will needs be the first to
break up good company."
"It is well said, my jovial host," said a rich trader from Ratisbon;
"and here are some six of us--more or less--who will stand by you to
maintain the good old customs of Germany; and the--umph--laudable
and--and praiseworthy rules of the Golden Fleece."
"Nay, be not angry, sir," said Philipson; "yourself and your three
companions, whom the good wine has multiplied into six, shall have
your own way of ordering the matter; and since you will not permit me
to go to bed, I trust that you will take no offence if I fall asleep
in my chair."
"How say you? what think you, mine host?" said the citizen from
Ratisbon; "may the gentleman, being drunk, as you see he is, since he
cannot tell that three and one make six--I say, may he, being drunk,
sleep in the elbow-chair?"
This question introduced a contradiction on the part of the host, who
contended that three and one made four, not six; and this again
produced a retort from the Ratisbon trader. Other clamours rose at the
same time, and were at length with difficulty silenced by the stanzas
of a chorus song of mirth and good fellowship, which the friar, now
become somewhat oblivious of the rule of St. Francis, thundered forth
with better good-will than he ever sang a canticle of King David.
Under cover of this tumult, Philipson drew himself a little aside, and
though he felt it impossible to sleep, as he had proposed, was yet
enabled to escape the reproachful glances with which John Mengs
distinguished all those who did not call for wine loudly, and drink it
lustily. His thoughts roamed far from the _stube_ of the Golden
Fleece, and upon matter very different from that which was discussed
around him, when his attention was suddenly recalled by a loud and
continued knocking on the door of the hostelry.
"What have we here?" said John Mengs, his nose reddening with very
indignation; "who the foul fiend presses on the Golden Fleece at such
an hour, as if he thundered at the door of a bordel? To the turret
window some one--Geoffrey, knave ostler, or thou, old Timothy, tell
the rash man there is no admittance into the Golden Fleece save at
timeous hours."
The men went as they were directed, and might be heard in the _stube_
vying with each other in the positive denial which they gave to the
ill-fated guest who was pressing for admission. They returned,
however, to inform their master, that they were unable to overcome the
obstinacy of the stranger, who refused positively to depart until he
had an interview with Mengs himself.
Wroth was the master of the Golden Fleece at this ill-omened
pertinacity, and his indignation extended, like a fiery exhalation,
from his nose, all over the adjacent regions of his cheeks and brow.
He started from his chair, grasped in his hand a stout stick, which
seemed his ordinary sceptre or leading staff of command, and muttering
something concerning cudgels for the shoulders of fools, and pitchers
of fair or foul water for the drenching of their ears, he marched off
to the window which looked into the court, and left his guests
nodding, winking, and whispering to each other, in full expectation of
hearing the active demonstrations of his wrath. It happened otherwise,
however; for, after the exchange of a few indistinct words, they were
astonished when they heard the noise of the unbolting and unbarring of
the gates of the inn, and presently after the footsteps of men upon
the stairs; and the landlord entering, with an appearance of clumsy
courtesy, prayed those assembled to make room for an honoured guest,
who came, though late, to add to their numbers. A tall dark form
followed, muffled in a travelling-cloak; on laying aside which,
Philipson at once recognised his late fellow-traveller, the Black
Priest of St. Paul's.
There was in the circumstance itself nothing at all surprising, since
it was natural that a landlord, however coarse and insolent to
ordinary guests, might yet show deference to an ecclesiastic, whether
from his rank in the Church or from his reputation for sanctity. But
what did appear surprising to Philipson was the effect produced by the
entrance of this unexpected guest. He seated himself, without
hesitation, at the highest place of the board, from which John Mengs
had dethroned the aforesaid trader from Ratisbon, notwithstanding his
zeal for ancient German customs, his steady adherence and loyalty to
the Golden Fleece, and his propensity to brimming goblets. The priest
took instant and unscrupulous possession of his seat of honour, after
some negligent reply to the host's unwonted courtesy; when it seemed
that the effect of his long black vestments, in place of the slashed
and flounced coat of his predecessor, as well as of the cold grey eye
with which he slowly reviewed the company, in some degree resembled
that of the fabulous Gorgon, and if it did not literally convert those
who looked upon it into stone, there was yet something petrifying in
the steady unmoved glance with which he seemed to survey them, looking
as if desirous of reading their very inmost souls, and passing from
one to another, as if each upon whom he looked in succession was
unworthy of longer consideration.
Philipson felt, in his turn, that momentary examination, in which,
however, there mingled nothing that seemed to convey recognition. All
the courage and composure of the Englishman could not prevent an
unpleasant feeling while under this mysterious man's eye, so that he
felt a relief when it passed from him and rested upon another of the
company, who seemed in turn to acknowledge the chilling effects of
that freezing glance. The noise of intoxicated mirth and drunken
disputation, the clamorous argument, and the still more boisterous
laugh, which had been suspended on the priest's entering the
eating-apartment, now, after one or two vain attempts to resume them,
died away, as if the feast had been changed to a funeral, and the
jovial guests had been at once converted into the lugubrious mutes who
attend on such solemnities. One little rosy-faced man, who afterwards
proved to be a tailor from Augsburg, ambitious, perhaps, of showing a
degree of courage not usually supposed consistent with his effeminate
trade, made a bold effort; and yet it was with a timid and restrained
voice that he called on the jovial friar to renew his song. But
whether it was that he did not dare to venture on an uncanonical
pastime in presence of a brother in orders, or whether he had some
other reason for declining the invitation, the merry churchman hung
his head, and shook it with such an expressive air of melancholy, that
the tailor drew back as if he had been detected in cabbaging from a
cardinal's robes, or cribbing the lace of some cope or altar gown. In
short, the revel was hushed into deep silence, and so attentive were
the company to what should arrive next, that the bells of the village
church, striking the first hour after midnight, made the guests start
as if they heard them rung backwards, to announce an assault or
conflagration. The Black Priest, who had taken some slight and hasty
repast, which the host had made no kind of objection to supplying him
with, seemed to think the bells, which announced the service of lauds,
being the first after midnight, a proper signal for breaking up the
party.
"We have eaten," he said, "that we may support life, let us pray that
we may be fit to meet death; which waits upon life as surely as night
upon day, or the shadow upon the sunbeam, though we know not when or
from whence it is to come upon us."
The company, as if mechanically, bent their uncovered heads, while the
priest said, with his deep and solemn voice, a Latin prayer,
expressing thanks to God for protection throughout the day, and
entreating for its continuance during the witching hours which were to
pass ere the day again commenced. The hearers bowed their heads in
token of acquiescence in the holy petition; and, when they raised
them, the Black Priest of St. Paul's had followed the host out of the
apartment, probably to that which was destined for his repose. His
absence was no sooner perceived than signs, and nods, and even
whispers were exchanged between the guests; but no one spoke above his
breath, or in such connected manner, as that Philipson could
understand anything distinctly from them. He himself ventured to ask
the friar, who sat near him, observing at the same time the under-tone
which seemed to be fashionable for the moment, whether the worthy
ecclesiastic who had left them was not the Priest of St. Paul's, on
the frontier town of La Ferette.
"And if you know it is he," said the friar, with a countenance and a
tone from which all signs of intoxication were suddenly banished,
"why do you ask of me?"
"Because," said the merchant, "I would willingly learn the spell which
so suddenly converted so many merry tipplers into men of sober
manners, and a jovial company into a convent of Carthusian friars?"
"Friend," said the friar, "thy discourse savoureth mightily of asking
after what thou knowest right well. But I am no such silly duck as to
be taken by a decoy. If thou knowest the Black Priest, thou canst not
be ignorant of the terrors which attend his presence, and that it were
safer to pass a broad jest in the holy House of Loretto than where he
shows himself."
So saying, and as if desirous of avoiding further discourse, he
withdrew to a distance from Philipson.
At the same moment the landlord again appeared, and, with more of the
usual manners of a publican than he had hitherto exhibited, commanded
his waiter, Geoffrey, to hand round to the company a sleeping-drink,
or pillow-cup of distilled water, mingled with spices, which was
indeed as good as Philipson himself had ever tasted. John Mengs, in
the meanwhile, with somewhat of more deference, expressed to his
guests a hope that his entertainment had given satisfaction; but this
was in so careless a manner, and he seemed so conscious of deserving
the affirmative which was expressed on all hands, that it became
obvious there was very little humility in proposing the question. The
old man, Timothy, was in the meantime mustering the guests, and
marking with chalk on the bottom of a trencher the reckoning, the
particulars of which were indicated by certain conventional
hieroglyphics, while he showed on another the division of the sum
total among the company, and proceeded to collect an equal share of it
from each. When the fatal trencher, in which each man paid down his
money, approached the jolly friar, his countenance seemed to be
somewhat changed. He cast a piteous look towards Philipson, as the
person from whom he had the most hope of relief; and our merchant,
though displeased with the manner in which he had held back from his
confidence, yet not unwilling in a strange country to incur a little
expense, in the hope of making a useful acquaintance, discharged the
mendicant's score as well as his own. The poor friar paid his thanks
in many a blessing in good German and bad Latin, but the host cut them
short; for, approaching Philipson with a candle in his hand, he
offered his own services to show him where he might sleep, and even
had the condescension to carry his mail, or portmanteau, with his own
landlordly hands.
"You take too much trouble, mine host," said the merchant, somewhat
surprised at the change in the manner of John Mengs, who had hitherto
contradicted him at every word.
"I cannot take too much pains for a guest," was the reply, "whom my
venerable friend, the Priest of St. Paul's, hath especially
recommended to my charge."
He then opened the door of a small bedroom, prepared for the
occupation of a guest, and said to Philipson,--"Here you may rest till
to-morrow at what hour you will, and for as many days more as you
incline. The key will secure your wares against theft or pillage of
any kind. I do not this for every one; for, if my guests were every
one to have a bed to himself, the next thing they would demand might
be a separate table; and then there would be an end of the good old
German customs, and we should be as foppish and frivolous as our
neighbours."
He placed the portmanteau on the floor, and seemed about to leave the
apartment, when, turning about, he began a sort of apology for the
rudeness of his former behaviour.
"I trust there is no misunderstanding between us, my worthy guest. You
might as well expect to see one of our bears come aloft and do tricks
like a jackanapes, as one of us stubborn old Germans play the feats of
a French or an Italian host. Yet I pray you to note, that if our
behaviour is rude our charges are honest, and our articles what they
profess to be. We do not expect to make Moselle pass for Rhenish, by
dint of a bow and a grin, nor will we sauce your mess with poison,
like the wily Italian, and call you all the time Illustrissimo and
Magnifico."
He seemed in these words to have exhausted his rhetoric, for, when
they were spoken, he turned abruptly and left the apartment.
Philipson was thus deprived of another opportunity to inquire who or
what this ecclesiastic could be, that had exercised such influence on
all who approached him. He felt, indeed, no desire to prolong a
conference with John Mengs, though he had laid aside in such a
considerable degree his rude and repulsive manners; yet he longed to
know who this man could be, who had power with a word to turn aside
the daggers of Alsatian banditti, habituated as they were, like most
borderers, to robbery and pillage, and to change into civility the
proverbial rudeness of a German innkeeper. Such were the reflections
of Philipson, as he doffed his clothes to take his much-needed repose,
after a day of fatigue, danger, and difficulty, on the pallet afforded
by the hospitality of the Golden Fleece, in the Rhein-Thal.