the first of September: 'I sleep so sound, d'ye see, since they've new
paved the churchyard, that I'm getting to hear rather badly. But here's
only six of you yet, and where's my Lady Rose?' 'Just you put on the
bottles, old chap, and then you may go across and rattle your dry bones
against their casks, and tell them it's time to get up,' cried one of
them; but the words were hardly spoken when a great noise and laughter was
heard. 'Rosa, Rose, Lady Rose, hurrah, hurrah for Bacchus, hurrah for
Rosa!' The ghostly companions within shouted with delight to the same
effect, and clinked their glasses to the health of the Rose. Balthasar
threw his cap up to the ceiling in his joy. In they came: Bacchus, my old
friend who had bestrid the cask, had got down off it--not a rag of clothing
on him--yet in he came, leading his blushing Rose, an ancient matron of
stately mien and considerable stoutness of figure: splendidly dressed, too,
she was like a true old Rhineland lady. Time might have written a few
wrinkles on her brow and mouth, the fresh colour of youth might be a trifle
wanting on her cheeks, but two hundred years had but added dignity to her
contour. What though her eyebrows had grown grey, and there were--hush, yes
there were really--a few ugly grey hairs on her chin, her locks above were
nut-brown, with but very slight tinge of silver here and there. Her head
was covered with a black velvet cap, fitting close to her temples: her
jacket was of the finest cloth, and the red velvet bodice that peeped from
beneath it was laced with silver hooks and chains. Necklace, a string of
garnets and gold coins. Her skirt was of thickly pleated brown cloth,
and she wore a sort of toy white apron, with a huge leather pocket at
one side and a bunch of huge keys at the other. In short, she was the
very picture of a worthy matron of Mainz or Coblentz, of the years
immediately preceding the Thirty Years War. Six jolly companions
followed her, dressed in the same fashion as my friends who were
already seated, and all with their wigs somewhat awry. How politely
Bacchus led his lady-love to the table! how politely she bowed to the
company as she sat down! As for her fat little sweetheart, Balthasar
had to put a great pillow under him, or he would not have been able to
get his nose above the table. When all were seated I realised that they
were indeed the spirits of those mighty Rhinewines that I had tasted an
hour before; the twelve Apostle-casks, Bacchus and the old Rose.
'Well, well, it's a long while since 1700, Mistress Rose,' said one of
them, 'but we seem to be all in pretty good condition, and I vow you
are as young and handsome as ever. Here's good luck and long life to
your sweetheart and yourself, my dear.' 'Rosa, Frau Rosa, the Rose,
long life and health to her!' shouted all, and Bacchus tossed off two
quarts at a gulp, which had the visible effect of making him look more
like an inflated bladder than ever.
'Thank you, most honoured apostles and cousins,' said she, bowing
graciously; 'but when you refer to my sweetheart I don't know whom you
mean; you confuse a modest maiden.' The modest maiden sought refuge in
a mighty draught of wine. 'Sweetheart,' said Bacchus, looking tenderly
at her and pressing her hand, 'be not coy, sweetheart; you know well
whose heart has been yours any time these 200 vintages; and I don't
mind proving it to you by this chaste salute'--and he bent forward to
kiss her. 'If all these young people were not here,' she murmured--but
amid shouts of laughter from the young people she allowed him to take
his due by force and with interest. Then he tossed off a bowl or two
and began to sing in a rich mellow voice:
There's not a palace in the land
So fair as this of Bremen,
Its spacious floors, its halls so grand
A king would feel no shame in:
And sure 'tis decked with everything
To take the fancy of a king;
But the thing that best would win it
Is the Lady fair within it.
Her eyes like sparkling Rhenish shine,
Her cheeks are bright as roses,
Her heavy draperies rich and fine
Are decked with fragrant posies:
Of heart-of-oak her farthingale,
Her girdle of the birchwood pale,
And her bodice trim she faces
With iron clasps and laces.
But ah, her bedroom too is barred
With locks and bolts of iron,
She slumbers soft nor dreams how hard
The threshold 'tis to lie on.
I knock in vain from twelve to four,
Arise, my love, and ope the door
That bars thy chamber cosy,
Come forth, my lovely Rosie!
So pass I every midnight hour
Before her lonely dwelling,
Once, only once, and never more,
The fairy lass was willing.
And since I drew that honeyed kiss
My heart's been drunken all with bliss--
Ah, just once more, my treasure,
Fill me a brimming measure!
'That's enough of such indelicate allusions, now, Mr. Bacchus,' says
she; 'you know very well that their High Mightinesses keep me strictly
locked up, and don't allow me to admit anyone at all.' 'Not even me,
dear Rosie,' said he; 'ah, I think they would wink at it if you let me
in now and then for a taste at your lips.' 'You're a rogue,' she
answered, 'and little better than a Turk. I should like to know how
many sweethearts you want. I know of your goings on with those
frivolous French girls, Miss Champagne, (who has no more colour in her
face than a dried pea,) and Fraeulein von Bordeaux, the sickly minx. Ah,
you have not the true Rhinelander's heart, nor understand the
Rhinelander's love.' 'Pooh, my dear,' says he, 'I have visited these
ladies occasionally, and amused myself with their wit, but nothing
else; rest assured, my dearest, my heart is thine alone.' 'And then I
fancy,' she went on, 'that I have heard some stories from Spain. Of
poor Lady Xeres I will say nothing, (that's too well-known a story for
you to deny); but how about the Senorina Dentilla di Rosa, Senorina San
Lucar, and Senora Ximenes--a married lady too?' 'You carry your
jealousy too far,' said he, with some asperity. 'I don't see why one
should give up one's old connexions. As for the Senora Ximenes, I
merely visit her out of kindness to you as being your relation.' 'Our
relation?' muttered Rosa and the others, 'how's that?' 'Don't you
know,' he continued, 'that she is originally from the Rhine? The most
excellent hidalgo, Don Ximenes, took her from thence to his home in
Spain when she was a very tender maid, and there she settled, and
naturally took his family name. But she preserves with the Spanish
sweetness much of the true German character, especially in colour and
scent.' 'Long life to her, then,' cried they all, 'if she really is
Rosie's cousin.' Rosa did not seem quite satisfied with her
sweetheart's cunning mode of extricating himself from the scrape, so
she changed the subject by turning round to the others and rallying
them each in turn on the way in which the years had treated or spared
them. One looked pale, she said, another was but half awake, a third
had grown fat, almost too lazy to drink, a fourth was as ready for a
joke as ever, and so on--'but hallo, why there are thirteen of you.
Who's that in the strange clothing over there? who brought him in?'
_Was I frightened or not?_ None of them looked pleased at my presence:
but I said, 'I present my compliments to this worthy assemblage; I am
really nothing but a man, who has taken a degree of Ph.D., and at
present my residence is at the Frankfurt hotel in this city.'
'But, oh man who hast taken a degree, how camest thou here, man?'
'Apostle,' I answered--it was Peter whose eyes flashed fire on me as he
spoke--'I'll trouble you not to call me man till we're better
acquainted. And as for this society into which you say I have come, you
are quite in error; it came to me, not I to it, for I had been sitting
in this very room nearly an hour past' (I don't know whence I got the
courage to say this--probably from the 'Special '22'). 'But what were
you doing in the cellar at this time of night, sir?' said Bacchus
rather more gently; 'you ought to be asleep.' 'Your Honour,' says I, 'I
had excellent reasons for being here. I am a particular friend of the
noble drink that is stored here, and, by favour of the not less noble
Senate, I received permission to pay you all a visit--time and place
not specified.'
'So you like to drink Rhine wine,' said Bacchus; 'that's a good liking
to have in these days, when most men have grown so cold towards the
golden spring,' 'Yes,' growled out the man in the red coat, 'no one
will drink us now except here and there a travelling doctor, like this
fellow, or a schoolmaster out for a holiday; and most of them water it
first.' 'I beg most respectfully to contradict you, Mr. Jude,' said I.
'I have already tried you all round, and had but recently sat down to a
few modest bottles of a more contemporaneous vintage, and that I have
paid for myself.' 'Don't get hot, doctor,' said my Lady Rose, 'he
didn't mean to hurt your feelings; he only reflected upon the low
manners and bad taste of the present day.' 'Bad taste, low manners, I
should think so,' said another. 'The generation that concocts a
detestable mixture of brandy and half a dozen kinds of syrups, and
calls it Chateau Margaux or Sillery, must indeed feel itself unworthy
of a noble drink. And then people wonder why they get red rings round
their mouths and a splitting headache the next day. Cochineal and
brandy, nothing else!'
'What a life it was too when we were young, even as late as '26; yes,
even as late as '50. Every evening, were it bright sunshiny spring, or
deep wintry snow, the little rooms here were alive with joyous guests.
The Senators of Bremen sat with majestic wigs on their heads, their
weapons at their sides, and their glasses before them. That's what I
call honour and dignity. Here, here, not _upon_ the earth was their
council chamber; here the true hall of the senate; here was settled
over the cool wine the affairs of the nation and of most other nations
besides. If they didn't agree they never quarrelled, but just drank
each other's healths till they did; and if they ever failed it was
because they didn't go on drinking long enough--but this rarely
happened. Equal friends of the noble wine, how could they but be
friends of each other? And on the next day their word pledged overnight
was held sacred, and the resolves taken overnight were executed coolly
enough in the morning.'
'Ah, the good old times,' said another Apostle, 'and it is still, you
know, a custom that every Councillor keeps a little wine-book or
drinking account, reckoned up and discharged at the end of the year.
When a man sat here every night of his life, he didn't care to be
always putting his hands in his pockets, so it was worked on the tally
system, and I hear there are still a few brave old fellows left who use
the same plan.'
'Yes, yes, children,' said the old Rose, 'it was another world a couple
of centuries, or even one, or even half a century ago. They used to
bring their wives and daughters into the cellar with them, and the fair
Bremen maids, who were famed far and wide for bright eyes and rosy
cheeks and voluptuous lips, drank nothing but good Rhine wine. Now
forsooth, they must have tea and stuff like that, wretched foreign
stuff, which girls in my time would only take if they had a little
cough or sore throat, as a drug. And will you believe me, people
actually put sweet Spanish stuff into true Rhine wines because they say
we are sour.'
The Apostles roared with laughter at this last idea, and I couldn't
help joining. As for Bacchus, he had to be patted on the back by
Balthasar to recover him. 'Yes, the g-g-g-good old times,' sputtered he
as he got breath again, 'every burgher drank his honest half gallon and
went home as sober as a judge: now a glass upsets them, they're so out
of practice.'
'There was a fine story to that effect a couple of centuries ago,' said
my Lady, and smiled to herself at the recollection of it. 'Please tell
it us, Frau Rose. Yes! the story! the story!' they all began to cry.
She emptied her bowl to clear her voice, and began.
'You must know that in 1620 or 30 there was a great rumpus in Germany
about a very small matter--the Form of Religion. Each side wanted its
own form shoved down the throat of the other, and instead of sitting
down to talk it over sensibly over a pipe of wine, they proceeded to
knock each other on the head. Albrecht von Wallenstein, the Kaiser's
field-marshal in particular, made sad havoc of the Protestant
countries, until the King of Sweden, called Gustavus Adolphus, took
pity on them, and crossed the Baltic with a large army, and went at it
hammer and tongs in defence of the Protestant religion. Well, they
fought a lot of battles, and chased each other about from the Rhine to
the Danube, and from the Danube to the Rhine with mighty little result.
At that time Bremen and the other Hanse towns were neutral, and did not
wish to quarrel with either party; but as Gustavus wanted a passage
through their territories, he determined to send an embassy to them. It
was well known, however, that everything like state business in Bremen
was transacted in this cellar, and that the Bremeners were good hands
at stowing away liquor: so the king was in some perplexity lest his
ambassadors should be drunk under the table, and then made to sign an
unfavourable treaty. Now, there was by chance in the Swedish camp a
captain of the Yellow Regiment who was a notable drinker. Two or three
quarts for breakfast were a trifle to him, and in the evening he would
half empty a four-gallon cask and sleep well after it. The chancellor
Oxenstiern brought this man to the king's notice. Captain Tosspot he
was called. The king was much pleased when he observed his nose, which
was of the right copper hue, and asked him how much he _could_ drink if
it was a case of life and death. "O king," he answered,
"I am but a poor captain, and wine is very dear. I never tried
seriously. I can't afford to exceed my seven quarts a day; but if your
majesty would stand treat I would undertake to finish twelve at least.
But my squire who is called Balthasar the Bottomless, is a much harder
drinker than I am." Balthasar was called, a thin, ashy-pale little
fellow with lank straight hair, and the king sent them into a tent by
themselves, with some fine old casks of Hochheimer and Nierstein, and
told them to get drunk. They began at 11 a.m., and by 4 p.m. they had
finished eight gallons of Hochheimer and twelve of Nierstein. When the
king went to see them they were quite sober, but Captain Tosspot said
he thought he should soon have to loosen his sword-belt, and Balthasar
had undone three buttons of his collar. Then said the king, "What
better ambassadors can I find to talk the fair city of Bremen into its
senses?" So Tosspot was made ambassador and Balthasar the Bottomless
his secretary, and they were properly rigged out, and their
instructions were made out; and the first of these was that they were
to drink nothing but water on the way to Bremen, that the battle in the
cellar might be more glorious afterwards; another was that Tosspot was
to rub his nose with a white ointment, that no one might see what a
practised mouth he was. They arrived safely at Bremen, but both of them
naturally quite ill through drinking water: the Senators of Bremen
thought they would have an easy victory over two such milksops, and so
the burgomaster said he would look after the ambassador, and Dr.
Redpepper should settle the secretary. So in the evening they were
solemnly led into the cellar with a lot of senators who were invited to
assist in the negotiations. They sat down in this room and had a little
spiced meat and ham and red herrings; but when Mr. Ambassador Tosspot
wanted to begin the negotiation in an honourable manner, and Mr.
Secretary Balthasar took parchment and ink-horn from his pocket, "Not
so, noble gentlemen," said the burgomaster; "it is not the custom in
Bremen that we should settle weighty matters with a dry throat, we will
first drink to one another, as our ancestors in like cases have always
done." "I am but a poor drinker," said the captain, "but if it so
pleases your High-Mightiness I will take a drop." So they began to
drink and treat at the same time; and to encourage their guests, the
senators and the doctor and the burgomaster went a little further than
usual with the Ruedesheimer. At each new bottle the strangers excused
themselves, assuring the burgomaster that it was beginning to get into
their heads; which of course delighted him immensely: and at last said
the burgomaster, "now for bishnesh." But as the "bishnesh" went on, the
burgomaster went to sleep while he was defining the word neutrality,
and Doctor Redpepper lay already under the table: then the other
senators came and went on with the negotiations and the drinking; but
the captain, who kept five men running backwards and forwards filling
his glass for him, drank them all under the table.
'All--but one. Mr. Senator Walther was a man of whom ugly tales would
infallibly have been told, if he had not been Mr. Senator. He was a man
who had raised himself from a humble position in his craft-guild to be
an alderman, and then to his present place. He was a very tall bony
man. He alone now held out with the two guests, and put away twice as
much as both of them. Moreover, he seemed as sensible as ever, whereas
Tosspot was beginning to feel as if a wheel were going round in his
head. But the curious thing was this, that when Walther drank a glass
Balthasar fancied that he saw a thin blue mist rise and exude from his
black hair. These two, however, drank bravely on till Tosspot dropped
peacefully to sleep with his head pillowed against the burgomaster's
arm.
'Then said the Senator to the Secretary, "My dear fellow, you drink
wonderfully well, but I fancy you are more familiar with the bridle
than the pen." Balthasar attempted some bluster about his Majesty's
Embassy, but the other replied with a terrible laugh, "Ho, ho? and do
secretaries in your country always wear such clothes and carry such
pens?" Then the groom looked at his dress and saw with alarm that he
had on his ordinary stable coat and had a curry comb in his hand. Bluer
than ever looked the mist about Walther's head as he tossed off another
quart. "Heaven forbid, sir," said poor Balthasar, "that I should drink
with you any longer. I see you are a magician."
"True," said the man, "but we needn't go into that, most honourable
horse-combing secretary; the point of the thing as far as you are
concerned is, that it is no use your trying to drink me under the
table, for I have a little tap screwed into my brain through which the
fumes of the wine can evaporate." It was indeed true, and he inclined
his head towards Balthasar to show him the process. The groom clapped
his hands with delight: "That's a most excellent device, sir; couldn't
you screw such a thing as that into my head? I will give you everything
I possess for such an article." "No, that can't be done," said the
other thoughtfully; "you are not learned either in magic or anything
else; but as I have taken a great liking to you I will serve you with
all my power. Listen: The post of cellarmaster is vacant here at
present. Leave, oh Bottomless one, the Swedish service, where there is
more water than wine, and come into the service of the most noble the
Council of this City. Even if we do lose a few dozen casks of wine per
annum, which you drink in secret, that won't matter, we have been long
looking out for a fit person for the place. I will make you
cellarmaster to-morrow if you like: whereas if you don't like, all the
town shall know to-morrow that the Swede has sent us a groom as a
secretary." This proposal tasted to Balthasar like a draught of good
wine, he cast a glance into the immeasurable realm of drink that was
already prospectively his, and accepted the offer at once. After this
there remained several little points to be settled; as for instance,
what was to be done with Balthasar's soul when he ceased to be
cellarmaster in the course of nature: all these were satisfactorily
determined, and Captain Tosspot went back to the Swedish camp without
his secretary, without his treaty, and with a bad headache. And when
the Imperialists afterwards came to Bremen and occupied it, the
burgomaster was right glad that he had not allied himself too closely
with Gustavus.'