brought about a wholesome fermentation in his spirit, a desire to put
in use his powers and activity, to try if he might struggle up from his
present nothingness: it now incited him to the attempt of executing
these good purposes. Among many speculations he had entertained for the
recruiting of his wrecked finances, the most rational and promising was
this: To run over his father's ledgers, and there note down any small
escheats which had been marked as lost, with a view of going through the
land, and gleaning, if so were that a lock of wheat might still be
gathered from these neglected ears. With the produce of this enterprise,
he would then commence some little traffic, which his fancy soon
extended over all the quarters of the world. Already, in his mind's eye,
he had vessels on the sea, which were freighted with his property. He
proceeded rapidly to execute his purpose; changed the last golden
fragment of his heritage, his father's hour-egg,[5] into money, and
bought with it a riding nag, which was to bear him as a Bremen merchant
out into the wide world.
[5] The oldest watches, from the shape they had, were named
hour-eggs.
Yet the parting with his fair Meta went sore against his heart. "What
will she think," said he to himself, "of this sudden disappearance, when
thou shalt no more meet her in the church-way? Will she not regard thee
as faithless, and banish thee from her heart?" This thought afflicted
him exceedingly; and for a great while he could think of no expedient
for explaining to her his intention. But at last inventive Love
suggested the idea of signifying to her from the pulpit itself his
absence and its purpose. With this view, in the church, which had
already favoured the secret understanding of the lovers, he bought a
Prayer "for a young Traveller, and the happy arrangement of his
affairs;" which was to last, till he should come again and pay his
groschen for the Thanksgiving.
At the last meeting, he had dressed himself as for the road; he passed
quite near his sweetheart; saluted her expressively, and with less
reserve than before; so that she blushed deeply; and Mother Brigitta
found opportunity for various marginal notes, which indicated her
displeasure at the boldness of this ill-bred fop, in attempting to get
speech of her daughter, and with which she entertained the latter not in
the most pleasant style the livelong day. From that morning Franz was no
more seen in Bremen, and the finest pair of eyes within its circuit
sought for him in vain. Meta often heard the Prayer read, but she did
not heed it, for her heart was troubled because her lover had become
invisible. This disappearance was inexplicable to her; she knew not what
to think of it. After the lapse of some months, when time had a little
softened her secret care, and she was suffering his absence with a
calmer mind, it happened once, as the last appearance of her love was
hovering upon her fancy, that this same Prayer struck her as a strange
matter. She coupled one thing with another, she guessed the true
connexion of the business, and the meaning of that notice. And although
church litanies and special prayers have not the reputation of extreme
potency, and for the worthy souls that lean on them are but a supple
staff, inasmuch as the fire of devotion in the Christian flock is wont
to die out at the end of the sermon; yet in the pious Meta's case, the
reading of the last Prayer was the very thing which fanned that fire
into a flame; and she never neglected, with her whole heart, to
recommend the young traveller to his guardian angel.
Under this invisible guidance, Franz was journeying towards Brabant, to
call in some considerable sums that were due him at Antwerp. A journey
from Bremen to Antwerp, in the time when road-blockades were still in
fashion, and every landlord thought himself entitled to plunder any
traveller who had purchased no safe-conduct, and to leave him pining in
the ward-room of his tower, was an undertaking of more peril and
difficulty, than in our days would attend a journey from Bremen to
Kamtschatka: for the _Land-fried_ (or Act for suppressing Private Wars),
which the Emperor Maximilian had proclaimed, was in force through the
Empire, rather as a law than an observance. Nevertheless our solitary
traveller succeeded in arriving at the goal of his pilgrimage, without
encountering more than a single adventure.
Far in the wastes of Westphalia, he rode one sultry day till nightfall,
without reaching any inn. Towards evening stormy clouds towered up at
the horizon, and a heavy rain wetted him to the skin. To the fondling,
who from his youth had been accustomed to all possible conveniences,
this was a heavy matter, and he felt himself in great embarrassment how
in this condition he should pass the night. To his comfort, when the
tempest had moved away, he saw a light in the distance; and soon after,
reached a mean peasant hovel, which afforded him but little consolation.
The house was more like a cattle-stall than a human habitation; and the
unfriendly landlord refused him fire and water, as if he had been an
outlaw. For the man was just about to stretch himself upon the straw
among his steers; and too tired to relight the fire on his hearth, for
the sake of a stranger. Franz in his despondency uplifted a mournful
_miserere_, and cursed the Westphalian steppes with strong maledictions:
but the peasant took it all in good part; and blew out his light with
great composure, troubling himself no farther about the stranger; for in
the laws of hospitality he was altogether uninstructed. But as the
wayfarer, standing at the door, would not cease to annoy him with his
lamentations, he endeavoured in a civil way to get rid of him, consented
to answer, and said: "Master, if you want good entertainment, and would
treat yourself handsomely, you could not find what you are seeking here.
But ride there to the left hand, through the bushes; a little way
behind, lies the Castle of the valiant Eberhard Bronkhorst, a knight who
lodges every traveller, as a Hospitaller does the pilgrims from the Holy
Sepulchre. He has just one maggot in his head, which sometimes twitches
and vexes him; he lets no traveller depart from him unbasted. If you do
not lose your way, though he may dust your jacket, you will like your
cheer prodigiously."
To buy a mess of pottage, and a stoup of wine, by surrendering one's
ribs to the bastinado, is in truth no job for every man, though your
spungers and plate-lickers let themselves be tweaked and snubbed, and
from rich artists willingly endure all kinds of tar-and-feathering, so
their palates be but tickled for the service. Franz considered for a
while, and was undetermined what to do; at last he resolved on fronting
the adventure. "What is it to me," said he, "whether my back be broken
here on miserable straw, or by the Ritter Bronkhorst? The friction will
expel the fever which is coming on, and shake me tightly if I cannot dry
my clothes." He put spurs to his nag, and soon arrived before a
castle-gate of old Gothic architecture; knocked pretty plainly on the
iron door, and an equally distinct "Who's there?" resounded from within.
To the freezing passenger, the long entrance ceremonial of this
door-keeper precognition was as inconvenient, as are similar delays to
travellers who, at barriers and gates of towns, bewail or execrate the
despotism of guards and tollmen. Nevertheless he must submit to use and
wont, and patiently wait to see whether the philanthropist in the Castle
was disposed that night for cudgelling a guest, or would choose rather
to assign him a couch under the open canopy.
The possessor of this ancient tower had served, in his youth, as a stout
soldier in the Emperor's army, under the bold Georg von Fronsberg, and
led a troop of foot against the Venetians; had afterwards retired to
repose, and was now living on his property; where, to expiate the sins
of his campaigns, he employed himself in doing good works; in feeding
the hungry, giving drink to the thirsty, lodging pilgrims, and
cudgelling his lodgers out of doors. For he was a rude wild son of war;
and could not lay aside his martial tone, though he had lived for many
years in silent peace. The traveller, who had now determined for good
quarters to submit to the custom of the house, had not waited long till
the bolts and locks began rattling within, and the creaking gate-leaves
moved asunder, moaning in doleful notes, as if to warn or to deplore the
entering stranger. Franz felt one cold shudder after the other running
down his back, as he passed in; nevertheless he was handsomely received;
some servants hastened to assist him in dismounting; speedily unbuckled
his luggage, took his steed to the stable, and its rider to a large
well-lighted chamber, where their master was in waiting.
The warlike aspect of this athletic gentleman,--who advanced to meet his
guest, and shook him by the hand so heartily, that he was like to shout
with pain, and bade him welcome with a Stentor's voice, as if the
stranger had been deaf, and seemed withal to be a person still in the
vigour of life, full of fire and strength,--put the timorous wanderer
into such a terror, that he could not hide his apprehensions, and began
to tremble over all his body.
"What ails you, my young master," asked the Ritter, with a voice of
thunder, "that you quiver like an aspen-leaf, and look as pale as if
Death had you by the throat?"
Franz plucked up a spirit; and considering that his shoulders had at all
events the score to pay, his poltroonery passed into a species of
audacity.
"Sir," replied he, "you perceive that the rain has soaked me, as if I
had swum across the Weser. Let me have my clothes dried or changed; and
get me, by way of luncheon, a well-spiced aleberry, to drive away the
ague-fit that is quaking through my nerves; then I shall come to heart,
in some degree."
"Good!" replied the Knight; "demand what you want; you are at home
here."
Franz made himself be served like a bashaw; and having nothing else but
currying to expect, he determined to deserve it; he bantered and
bullied, in his most imperious style, the servants that were waiting on
him; it comes all to one, thought he, in the long-run. "This waistcoat,"
said he, "would go round a tun; bring me one that fits a little better:
this slipper burns like a coal against my corns; pitch it over the
lists: this ruff is stiff as a plank, and throttles me like a halter;
bring one that is easier, and is not plastered with starch."
At this Bremish frankness, the landlord, far from showing any anger,
kept inciting his servants to go briskly through with their commands,
and calling them a pack of blockheads, who were fit to serve no
stranger. The table being furnished, the Ritter and his guest sat down
to it, and both heartily enjoyed their aleberry. The Ritter asked:
"Would you have aught farther, by way of supper?"
"Bring us what you have," said Franz, "that I may see how your kitchen
is provided."
Immediately appeared the Cook, and placed upon the table a repast with
which a duke might have been satisfied. Franz diligently fell to,
without waiting to be pressed. When he had satisfied himself: "Your
kitchen," said he, "is not ill-furnished, I perceive; if your cellar
corresponds to it, I shall almost praise your housekeeping."
Bronkhorst nodded to his Butler, who directly filled the cup of welcome
with common table wine, tasted, and presented it to his master, and the
latter cleared it at a draught to the health of his guest. Franz pledged
him honestly, and Bronkhorst asked: "Now, fair sir, what say you to the
wine?"
"I say," answered Franz, "that it is bad, if it is the best sort in your
catacombs; and good, if it is your meanest number."
"You are a judge," replied the Ritter: "Here, Butler, bring us of the
mother-cask."
The Butler put a stoup upon the table, as a sample, and Franz having
tasted it, said, "Ay, this is genuine last year's growth; we will stick
by this."
The Ritter made a vast pitcher of it be brought in; soon drank himself
into hilarity and glee beside his guest; began to talk of his campaigns,
how he had been encamped against the Venetians, had broken through their
barricado, and butchered the Italian squadrons, like a flock of sheep.
In this narrative he rose into such a warlike enthusiasm, that he hewed
down bottles and glasses, brandishing the carving-knife like a lance,
and in the fire of action came so near his messmate with it, that the
latter was in fright for his nose and ears.
It grew late, but no sleep came into the eyes of the Ritter; he seemed
to be in his proper element, when he got to speak of his Venetian
campaigns. The vivacity of his narration increased with every cup he
emptied; and Franz was afraid that this would prove the prologue to the
melodrama, in which he himself was to play the most interesting part. To
learn whether it was meant that he should lodge within the Castle, or
without, he demanded a bumper by way of good-night. Now, he thought, his
host would first force him to drink more wine, and if he refused, would,
under pretext of a drinking quarrel, send him forth, according to the
custom of the house, with the usual _viaticum_. Contrary to his
expectation, the request was granted without remonstrance; the Ritter
instantly cut asunder the thread of his narrative, and said: "Time will
wait on no one; more of it tomorrow!"
"Pardon me, Herr Ritter," answered Franz, "tomorrow by sunrise I must
over hill and dale; I am travelling a far journey to Brabant, and must
not linger here. So let me take leave of you tonight, that my departure
may not disturb you in the morning."
"Do your pleasure," said the Ritter; "but depart from this you shall
not, till I am out of the feathers, to refresh you with a bit of bread,
and a toothful of Dantzig, then attend you to the door, and dismiss you
according to the fashion of the house."
Franz needed no interpretation of these words. Willingly as he would
have excused his host this last civility, attendance to the door, the
latter seemed determined to abate no whit of the established ritual. He
ordered his servants to undress the stranger, and put him in the
guest's-bed; where Franz, once settled on elastic swan's down, felt
himself extremely snug, and enjoyed delicious rest; so that ere he fell
asleep, he owned to himself that, for such royal treatment, a moderate
bastinado was not too dear a price. Soon pleasant dreams came hovering
round his fancy. He found his charming Meta in a rosy grove, where she
was walking with her mother, plucking flowers. Instantly he hid himself
behind a thick-leaved hedge, that the rigorous duenna might not see him.
Again his imagination placed him in the alley, and by his looking-glass
he saw the snow-white hand of the maiden busied with her flowers; soon
he was sitting with her on the grass, and longing to declare his
heartfelt love to her, and the bashful shepherd found no words to do it
in. He would have dreamed till broad mid-day, had he not been roused by
the sonorous voice and clanking spurs of the Ritter, who, with the
earliest dawn, was holding a review of kitchen and cellar, ordering a
sufficient breakfast to be readied, and placing every servant at his
post, to be at hand when the guest should awake, to dress him, and wait
upon him.
It cost the happy dreamer no small struggling to forsake his safe and
hospitable bed. He rolled to this side and to that; but the pealing
voice of the worshipful Knight came heavy on his heart; and dally as he
might, the sour apple must at last be bit. So he rose from his down; and
immediately a dozen hands were busy dressing him. The Ritter led him
into the parlour, where a small well-furnished table waited them; but
now, when the hour of reckoning had arrived, the traveller's appetite
was gone. The host endeavoured to encourage him. "Why do you not get to?
Come, take somewhat for the raw foggy morning."
"Herr Ritter," answered Franz, "my stomach is still too full of your
supper; but my pockets are empty; these I may fill for the hunger that
is to come."
With this he began stoutly cramming, and stowed himself with the
daintiest and best that was transportable, till all his pockets were
bursting. Then, observing that his horse, well curried and equipt, was
led past, he took a dram of Dantzig for good-b'ye, in the thought that
this would be the watch-word for his host to catch him by the neck, and
exercise his household privileges.
But, to his astonishment, the Ritter shook him kindly by the hand, as at
his first entrance, wished him luck by the way, and the bolted door was
thrown open. He loitered not in putting spurs to his nag; and, tip! tap!
he was without the gate, and no hair of him harmed.
A heavy stone was lifted from his heart as he found himself in safety,
and saw that he had got away with a whole skin. He could not understand
how the landlord had trusted him the shot, which, as he imagined, must
have run pretty high on the chalk; and he embraced with warm love the
hospitable man, whose club-law arm he had so much dreaded; and he felt a
strong desire to search out, at the fountain-head, the reason or
unreason of the ill report which had affrighted him. Accordingly he
turned his horse, and cantered back. The Knight was still standing in
the gate, and descanting with his servants, for the forwarding of the
science of horse-flesh, on the breed, shape and character of the nag,
and his hard pace: he supposed the stranger must have missed something
in his travelling gear, and he already looked askance at his servants
for such negligence.
"What is it, young master," cried he, "that makes you turn again, when
you were for proceeding?"
"Ah! yet a word, valiant Knight," cried the traveller. "An ill report
has gone abroad, that injures your name and breeding. It is said that
you treat every stranger that calls upon you with your best; and then,
when he leaves you, let him feel the weight of your strong fists. This
story I have credited, and spared nothing to deserve my due from you. I
thought within myself, His worship will abate me nothing; I will abate
him as little. But now you let me go, without strife or peril; and that
is what surprises me. Pray tell me, is there any shadow of foundation
for the thing; or shall I call the foolish chatter lies next time I hear
it?"
The Ritter answered: "Report has nowise told you lies; there is no
saying that circulates among the people but contains in it some grain of
truth. Let me tell you accurately how the matter stands. I lodge every
stranger that comes beneath my roof, and divide my morsel with him, for
the love of God. But I am a plain German man, of the old cut and
fashion; speak as it lies about my heart, and require that my guest also
should be hearty and confiding; should enjoy with me what I have, and
tell frankly what he wants. Now, there is a sort of people that vex me
with all manner of grimaces; that banter me with smirkings, and bows,
and crouchings; put all their words to the torture; make a deal of talk
without sense or salt; think they will cozen me with smooth speeches;
behave at dinner as women at a christening. If I say, Help yourself! out
of reverence, they pick you a fraction from the plate which I would not
offer to my dog: if I say, Your health! they scarcely wet their lips
from the full cup, as if they set God's gifts at naught. Now, when the
sorry rabble carry things too far with me, and I cannot, for the soul of
me, know what they would be at, I get into a rage at last, and use my
household privilege; catch the noodle by the spall, thrash him
sufficiently, and pack him out of doors. This is the use and wont with
me, and I do so with every guest that plagues me with these freaks. But
a man of your stamp is always welcome: you told me plump out in plain
German what you thought, as is the fashion with the Bremers. Call on me
boldly again, if your road lead you hither. And so, God be with you."
Franz now moved on, with a joyful humour, towards Antwerp; and he wished
that he might everywhere find such a reception as he had met with from
the Ritter Eberhard Bronkhorst. On approaching the ancient queen of the
Flemish cities, the sail of his hope was swelled by a propitious breeze.
Riches and superfluity met him in every street; and it seemed as if
scarcity and want had been exiled from the busy town. In all
probability, thought he, there must be many of my father's debtors who
have risen again, and will gladly make me full payment whenever I
substantiate my claims. After resting for a while from his fatigues, he
set about obtaining, in the inn where he was quartered, some preliminary
knowledge of the situation of his debtors.
"How stands it with Peter Martens?" inquired he one day of his
companions at table; "is he still living, and doing much business?"
"Peter Martens is a warm man," answered one of the party; "has a brisk
commission trade, and draws good profit from it."
"Is Fabian van Plurs still in good circumstances?"
"O! there is no end to Fabian's wealth. He is a Councillor; his woollen
manufactories are thriving incredibly."
"Has Jonathan Frischkier good custom in his trade?"
"Ah! Jonathan were now a brisk fellow, had not Kaiser Max let the French
chouse him out of his Princess.[6] Jonathan had got the furnishing of
the lace for the bride's dress; but the Kaiser has left poor Frischkier
in the lurch, as the bride has left himself. If you have a fair one,
whom you would remember with a bit of lace, he will give it you at
half-price."
[6] Anne of Brittany.
"Is the firm Op de Buetekant still standing, or has it sunk?"
"There was a crack in the beams there some years ago; but the Spanish
caravelles have put a new prop to it, and it now holds fast."
Franz inquired about several other merchants who were on his list; found
that most of them, though in his father's time they had "failed," were
now standing firmly on their legs; and inferred from this, that a
judicious bankruptcy has, from of old, been the mine of future gains.
This intelligence refreshed him mightily: he hastened to put his
documents in order, and submit them to the proper parties. But with the
Antwerpers, he fared as his itinerating countrymen do with shopkeepers
in the German towns: they find everywhere a friendly welcome at their
first appearance, but are looked upon with cheerfulness nowhere when
they come collecting debts. Some would have nothing to do with these
former sins; and were of opinion, that by the tender of the legal
five-per-cent composition they had been entirely abolished: it was the
creditor's fault if he had not accepted payment in time. Others could
not recollect any Melchior of Bremen; opened their Infallible Books;
found no debtor-entry marked for this unknown name. Others, again,
brought out a strong counter-reckoning; and three days had not passed
till Franz was sitting in the Debtors' Ward, to answer for his father's
credit, not to depart till he had paid the uttermost farthing.