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 Nuremberg held its solemn annual meeting, according to use and wont. A short time previously one of its " Vorsteher," or " Candlemasters" as they were called, 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 anyone understand as he did the keeping of wine in cellar; for which reason he had the grandest lords and gentry for his customers, and lived in the utmost comfort; nay, in absolute wealth, so that the worthy town councillor, Jacobus Paumgartner (who was presiding at the meeting), said at the Guild meeting, "You have done right well, my worthy friends, to choose Master Martin for your presidency, 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.
"And, a thousand times welcome as our president. 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 slowly and heavily, as his well-nourished "corporation" caused him to do; after which, with equal deliberateness he walked into Paumgartner's hearty embrace, which he scarcely returned.
"Well, Master Martin," said Paumgartner, a little annoyed, "is there anything not quite to your liking in having been elected Candlemaster ? "
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! Why should it not be 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 sirs,"—here he turned to the masters—"it has struck you at last, has it, that I—I have to be president of our Honourable Guild? What are the qualifications you expect in your president? Ought he to be the best hand at his work?—Go and look at my two-fudder vat, hooped without firing, my fine masterpiece there, and then come and tell me if one of you can boast of a piece of work its equal in strength and beauty. Should your president 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 and lords all round our good town of Nuremberg; 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, 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. Well! 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, master cooper in this town'; so I return you all my hearty thanks that you have paid off an old debt by electing me your Candlemaster. 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.
"My worthy fellow craftsmen, 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 best for our common advantage. Once more, consider yourselves all cordially invited."
The faces of the Honourable Society, which had darkened considerably at Martin's first 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. Everyone promised to appear on Sunday, and gave his hand to the newly elected president, 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.
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 together they 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 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 finished those additions to your house which have made it the ornament of our famous Imperial town; of the interior arrangements I say nothing, for I am aware that of them no patrician need be ashamed."
Old Paumgartner was right; for when the brightly waxed and polished door studded with rich brasswork was opened, the spacious entrance hall with its beautifully laid floor, fine pictures on the walls, rich carpets, and elegant cabinets and chairs, was seen to be like a fine drawing-room; so that everyone willingly obeyed the instructions which, according to an old custom, were inscribed on a tablet hung up close to the door:
If you would climb this stair,
Take heed to wear clean shoon;
Or better, leave them there,
Then reproach there can be none.
A proper man would know
How his duty he should show.
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 furnished like a kitchen and adorned—not for use, but solely for display—with all manner of costly household implements. 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 mind as vividly as you can the masterpieces of our grand Albrecht Durer. Let those beautiful maidens whom he has portrayed, instinct with grace and charm, sweetness, gentleness, pious meekness, rise before you. Think of their noble, tender figures; 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 of the silky hair, carefully gathered and knotted. Think of all the heavenly beauty of those forms, and you will see the lovely Rosa. He who relates this tale cannot hope otherwise to portray her.
Let me, however, remind you of another great young painter into whose soul a quickening ray from those ancient days has penetrated: I mean our German Master Cornelius, in Rome. Just as he has made Margaret (in his illustrations to Goethe's mighty Faust) appear, when she says—
I'm not a lady of rank; 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 childlike 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 before it sinks into night, so did the fire of youth long-passed 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 men 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 festival in the common, they drive the other girls to despair by all running after your daughter, following exclusively her with their sighs, love-looks, and honeyed speeches? Well, Master Martin, you are aware you may pick and choose among the best patrician blood in the countryside for your son-in-law, or wherever else 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, 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 a patrician son-in-law, that cannot be."
"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 richly carved great table to the center 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. A horseman seemed to be drawing bridle; a voice was heard ringing loudly in the hall. Rosa hastened to the door, and came back to say that the old Junker Heinrich von 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 fast as he could, to greet his welcome guest.
The Hochheimer sparkled in the beautiful, cut goblets, and opened the hearts and loosened the tongues of the three old fellows. 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 up thoroughly 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 appetizing dishes and begged the gentlemen, with sweetest smiles, not to disdain what had been made 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 leaned 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 you good, precious angel!—you sweet, kind, charming girl!" 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.
"Yes!" began Spangenberg when she had left the room; "Yes, 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—of any rank whatever— wouldn't be delighted 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 patrician's bride, with the rich pearls in her lovely fair hair!"
" My dear 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 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 this much is certain—that neither a patrician nor any other man shall have my daughter's hand, 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 rise 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 noble 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 would it be 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 would 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 slender peaks 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 onto 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—noble wine, that so it may ripen and penetrate us with its strength and sweetness, a glowing spirit of life. Then there is the construction 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 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 the work, perfect; and I may well look round me with a dash of pride when I take my marking-iron and brand it with my own trademark on the head of the cask—my own mark, known and respected by all genuine wine masters in the land. You spoke of master builders, dear sir. Very good; a grand, stately house is a fine work beyond doubt. But if I were a master builder 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 shame at the bottom of my heart; I would long to tear down that work of mine 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—good 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 a patrician 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 from 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 as you are—'"
"Listen further," interrupted 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 wife ? "
"Hey! hey!" cried Master Martin more impetuously than before; "I would run as fast as I could and bolt and bar the door. Then I would 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'll take the girl into the bargain. On your way!'"
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 v/elcome to me as a son-in-law. 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 questions of the son-in-law and Rosa's marriage aside. 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 noble son's health."
Spangenberg touched glasses with them, and then said with a forced smile, "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, would be a raving lunatic to come here begging for your daughter and so far to disregard his rank and birth as to sue for her. But you could have answered me in a more friendly way."
"Ah, my dear sir," answered Martin, "even if it were a joke 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 countryside; that all that can be known as to wine, I know; 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 the three men tried to say would harmonize 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.
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. It was hardly right in you to set yourself above all the other masters at the meeting today 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 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 help hurting the worthy gentleman sorely to hear you attribute any young noble's wooing of your daughter to mere greed for your money. 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 never could 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, 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 nonsense, 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 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 an overhigh 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 confidential insistence, 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 and very old (if one can call it being alive, to be stone deaf, blind, scarcely able to speak, paralyzed in every limb, and completely bedridden). My Rosa had been baptized, and the nurse was sitting with her in the room where my 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 hohe frohliche Lobweis of Herr Hans Bechler, of the Holy Ghost in Strasbourg:
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 my 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 expression of her face showed that she was praying. Then she sank back with her head on the pillow, and as the nurse lifted the child my old grandmother gave a deep sigh—she was gone."
"A wonderful story," said Paumgartner. "Still I don't see how this prophetic song of your 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 splashes; 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. And that it shall be! "
"Good Master Martin," said Paumgartner, "you interpret the old lady's words after your own manner; I cannot 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 impatiently, "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 almost beginning 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."
As they stepped into the hall, 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 Martin and Paumgartner, crying, "Ah! Heavens! Valentine has just died. Here are his wife and children." "What? Valentine dead? " cried Master Martin, much shocked. "Oh, because of that accident, that accident! My dear sir, Valentine was the best of all my workmen; a hard-working, 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 do you think of me?" asked Master Martin. "Your husband came by his death at my service, and do you suppose I am going to abandon you in your need ? God forbid! You all belong to my house henceforth. Tomorrow, or when you choose, we will bury your husband, poor fellow, and then you and your boys go to my farm before the Gate of Our Lady, 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 nowadays, 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 older 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.
Said old Paumgartner, smiling, with tears in his eyes, " One can't be vexed with you, Master Martin," and he betook himself to his dwelling.
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 a rosy glow flooded the horizon. The famous imperial town of Nuremberg could be distinctly seen in the distance, broadening out in the valley, its proud towers stretching up into the evening red which shone brightly on their pinnacles. The young artisan 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 clear, very pleasant 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 skillful 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 young man who had been standing behind him for a considerable time, eagerly watching 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 is only to pass a little 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 sang so charmingly (in the Zarte Buchstabenweis of Martin Haescher), went to my heart; and now I have to admire your masterly skill in modelling. Where are you bound today ? "
"The goal of my journey," answered Friedrich, "lies there before our eyes. I am bound for my home there, the renowned imperial town of Nuremberg. Since 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 Nuremberg by noon."
"Ah, how well that falls in," cried the other; "I am bound for Nuremberg, 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 while."
The young man, whose name was Reinhold, threw himself down on the grass beside Friedrich, and went on as follows:
"If I am not mistaken, you are a splendid foundryman. I see that by your style of moulding. Or do you work in gold and silver?"
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 learned the craft of a cooper, and I wish to go and work with a well-known master of that craft in Nuremberg. You will despise me because I do not model and cast glorious images, figures, and groups, but just make 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, beret, with long drooping feather, seemed more appropriate to a well-to-do merchant; and yet there was a certain strange something in his face and whole bearing 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 daresay 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 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 Nuremberg, confide in me." Reinhold put an arm about Friedrich, and looked him kindly in the eyes.
"The more I look at you," Friedrich said, "the more I am drawn to you. I distinctly hear a voice within me 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 casting and working in silver, like 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, was able to give me instruction. To Herr Holzschuer's house Herr Tobias Martin, the master cooper, occasionally came 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 on the only path which did lead to her. Master Martin will give his daughter to no man except 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 to one side, I learned the cooper's craft, and I am going to Nuremberg 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 faint for hesitation, anxiety, dread. I see now how foolishly I have acted. 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 Nuremberg, Rosa was more a child than a woman. She certainly did not dislike me. She used to smile at 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 unpleasant way that Friedrich cried, in real anxiety:
"What has come over you so suddenly?"
As he spoke he stepped backward, knocking against Reinhold's bundle with his foot. A sound of strings rang forth, 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!" he said in the same gentle tone as before. "I have here a fine remedy against the evil spirits which stand in our way, and may oppose me particularly."
"Why should evil spirits stand in our way, brother?" asked Friedrich. "Your playing is beautiful. Please go on with it."
The golden 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 more loudly; the dark trees of the forest were rustling all around 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 tears upon his cheek; they came from Reinhold's eyes.
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 unknown to him, had left him and taken another road. When he went out, however, he saw Reinhold with his lute under his arm, and his knapsack, but dressed quite differently from 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 worn.
"Now, brother," he cried, with a merry laugh, " 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 exhausted, when they had all but arrived at the gates of Nuremberg. 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 among the trees, all sorts 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 overdifficult to treat, was duly announced. Two young painters, who were close friends, 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 older of the two, who had more experience than the other in drawing and composition, 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 a master of colour, was able to give the elder many suggestions, which he skillfully used; 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 winner 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 Nuremberg ' masterpiece'—the two-fudder cask, without firing—each on his own account. But heaven forbid 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 blemishes—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" 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; you are a dreamer. Come along, let us get to the town."
Friedrich rose, and walked along, perplexed. 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, 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 sadly; "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, you have come home again! That is well; and you have taken up the noblest of trades, cooper craft, too! Herr Holzschuer makes terrible faces when your name is mentioned, and says a really great artist is spoilt in you, and that you could 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; you have done the proper thing in turning to what is right; many thousand welcomes." 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 boldly asked Master Martin to take him on, 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 plenty of work, and I'm greatly in need of men. You are both heartily welcome. Put down your bundles and come in; dinner is nearly over, 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 nobler wine was sparkling 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. But when Master Martin, with Friedrich and Reinhold in either hand, announced that 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 pleasant satisfaction. Reinhold glanced around him with his clear eyes, almost proudly; but Friedrich cast his down, and toyed with his beret. Master Martin gave the two men 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 cloud 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 manner, 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 muttered, as the glowing scarlet mantled in his cheeks; "I cannot express it; never have I felt so happy before."
Rosa—to whom those words might, perhaps, convey another sense —smiled on him with marvellous sweetness, and he, freed 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 I 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 nice 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 you 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 wanted to sink 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.
Just then, 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 sang such a beautiful song in Hans Vogelsang's Giildne Tonweis 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 SUsser Ton, the Krummzinkenweis, the Geblumte Paradiesweis, the Frischepomeranzenweis, 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, 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.
This song pleased everyone beyond measure, but none so much as Master Martin, whose eyes beamed with pleasure and delight. Without attending to Herr Vollrad—who spoke more than was necessary concerning Herr Miiller's Stumpfe Schossweis, which the journeyman had "hit off by no means badly"—Master Martin rose and, lifting his challenge glass on high, cried: "Come here— proper cooper and fine master-singer—come here and drain this glass with me."
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 sang 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 began 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 Nuremberg'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 Nuremberg'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.
After Friedrich and Reinhold had worked with Master Martin for a week or two, he observed that in measurements, rule and compass work, calculations, and correctness of eye, Reinhold was probably without a rival. But it was different with work at the bench with the adze or the mallet. At this 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 to fall 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, 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 open workshop outside the town gate, where work was carried on in the summertime. Friedrich and Reinhold were just setting up a small cask. Master Martin placed himself before them with folded arms, and said:
" I really cannot tell you 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 fertilizes the earth with its wonderful rays, that the earth will give forth all the heat which breeds the noble metals in its deepest depths, which heat will so stream and exhale up into the thirsting vines, that they will yield crop upon crop 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; there will be a great deal 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 look out for another journeyman hand—a good one. All the same, I don't want to bring the first comer out of the street among 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, "Hi, there! Is this Master Martin's?"
"Yes," said Master Martin, stepping up to the young man, "it is; but there's no occasion to shout so damnably loud. 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—fat belly, imposing double chin, flashing eyes, and 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 eyes 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 sort of fellow that I want." And he asked him for his certificates.
" I don't have 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 thereupon, without waiting for Master Martin's leave, he strode into the workshop, threw down his beret and his bundle, tied on his apron, and said, " Now then, Master Martin, tell me what to do."
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 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, and so on, "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 use only 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, "wouldn't you like to kick around that two-fudder cask, or knock the workshop apart? 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 strong men. But perhaps I was a little hasty in showing off 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 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 memory 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 began a pretty song, in the Stieglitzweis of Adam Puschmann. At this Conrad (such was the newcomer'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 among 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 workshop 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 other workmen, and cried, "Stop 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 noblewoman and you a love-stricken Junker."
"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 she would honor the most noble Junker by letting him be her champion!"
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 "Good! very good! my dear young sir. Take my little girl Rosa for a noblewoman if you will, but 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 Meistersinger 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. In free-singing, I either added notes, or dropped notes, or lost track of the form, or made incorrect ornaments, or even sang false melodies. 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 principal singing a free-singing will be held, open to strangers, at which you may try your skill. Now, 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."
Things turned out as Master Martin had expected. Reinhold mounted the singing stool and sang songs in various "manners," which delighted all the Meistersinger, but they were of opinion that, though the singer committed no actual errors, a certain "outlandish" or foreign style, which they could not quite define themselves, somewhat detracted from their merit. Soon after this, Friedrich seated himself on the singing stool, took off his beret, 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 a glorious song, in the Zarter Ton of Heinrich Frauenlob. All the masters declared unanimously that none of them could surpass this youngjourneyman.
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. 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 Meistersinger, 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 instead to Reinhold, who, in his usual way, 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!—the strong man!" When Master Martin had pressed his way through the crowd, he found that all this shouting and acclamation were for 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 applause for 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 faraway 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. 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 lady; so take my flowers, although they are beginning to wither a little." Conrad kissed them, and placed them in his beret; but Master Martin rose up crying, "Stupid nonsense! Let's go 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 journey men; fine folks, these, I call them!"
Young girls usually live over again all the enjoyments of a festal day, in detail on the subsequent morning, and this secondary feast then seems almost more delicious to them than the original itself. Thus the fair Rosa on the subsequent morning sat pondering alone in her chamber, with her hands folded in her lap, and her head hung down in reverie, letting spindle and needlework 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, "You want my flowers?" 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. 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 any wooers."
"Come, come," answered Martha, "don't pretend that you don't know what's going on. Anybody who has eyes, and is not as blind as a mole, sees well enough that all the three, Reinhold, Friedrich, and Conrad, are head over heels 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; "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 men paying attention to you. Whether you will ever choose one 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 from 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 me to 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, straightforward 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, 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 wouldn't dare to touch them. He talks, and tells tales, and it all sounds like beautiful music, and carries you 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 you so proudly, and seem such a gentleman, that you feel frightened. It is not that he ever swaggers, as plenty of the young gentlefolk 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 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 straightforward and honourable, that one can't be vexed with him. In fact I must say that, in spite of his wildness, / like him better than Reinhold, almost; for though he does often speak roughly, yet you always understand 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 Reinhold. It is quite true that he is of quite a different sort from the others. When he talks, it seems as if some beautiful garden opened upon you, 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 dreamed 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 lively in Master Martin's workshop. 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 hollo wing-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 entrance 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, 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, Herr Holzschuer, you will have to do without 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 crop off our hands, I will turn you out a tidy simple little cask, such as will be suitable for your cellar."
Old Holzschuer, annoyed with Master Martin's haughtiness, 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—stop banging that cask like a madman! Do you want to break it?"
"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, and 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, and with a loud roar of" Damned dog!" 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, "You hit me!" 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 pulled 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 onto the ground. All the rest now threw themselves around Conrad, who was raging, and brandishing 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. 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—"God in 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 also dragged over in his fall, was pulled out from amid 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 casting, and that the sooner the better.
When the world was wrapped 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 recognized to be Conrad; and they started back, alarmed. "Ah! don't be afraid of me, my friends!" 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 had to kill him. I really should go along with you and do it now, if possible—but no!—no, no! The whole thing is over! you won't see me any more. Give my deepest homage to 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 on me when I—but perhaps she may hear of me again. Goodbye! goodbye! dear old friends and comrades!" With which he ran off across the fields without a stop.
"There's something very strange about him." Reinhold said. "We can't judge what he does by everyday standards. Perhaps the future may unravel this mystery."
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, incomprehensible 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 sufficient proof, now that Reinhold was unable to come to the workshop, that 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 onto 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 has 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 find tears and words, dissolves into a mild melancholy, so that perhaps even a gentle shimmer of hope begins to beam faintly through the heart. And so 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, before then, have seen and loved the fair Rosa. Nothing but this love had taken him to Master Martin's house in Nuremberg, 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 you I will turn without reserve. You yourself shall 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, on an easel before him, stood a full-length portrait of Rosa, in all the pride of her beauty, lighted up by the rays of the rising sun. The maulstick 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 what 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 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 go into the wide world, wherever my 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 Diirer and your Cranach. 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 Nuremberg 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 straightforwardly announcing myself as one of her wooers, but then I heard of Master Martin's determination to give her to nobody but a real 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 sees. 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 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 at length came and Friedrich was going back to town, near the city gate he saw a man on horseback, 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!" 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 goodbye to 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 love for me in that ice-cold heart of hers. Ha, ha! I should have been a celebrated cooper! Shaving hoops on weekdays with my apprentices, and taking 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 ridicule 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 spoiled child when I feel annoyed. You will understand that I told Rosa of my love for her, and of her father's goodwill. 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 must 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 forever be resplendent in the master-works which my soul shall engender; in eternal youth, delightsome-ness, 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 your 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.
The next day Master Martin was labouring away at the Bishop of Bamberg's cask, in moody silence; and Friedrich too, who was only now 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 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 good 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 in a long while, 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 masterpiece and win Rosa's good-will, my son-in-law you shall be. After that you can join the noble guild of the Meistersinger, 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 journeymen 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 Rein-hold 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.
Master Martin was now all insistence that Friedrich should set to work on his "Masterpiece." He had himself chosen, in his workshop, the finest, cleanest, most flawless timber, which had been stored there for over five years, and had not a vein or a streak in it; and nobody was to give Friedrich the slightest hand in the job except old Valentine.
More and more intensely disgusted with the whole thing as Friedrich now was, on account of those brutes of journeymen, the thought that all his future life hung upon this piece of work almost stifled him. The strange sense of dread and anxiety which had developed in him when Master Martin had lauded his faithful devotion to the craft, took shape now, more and more clearly. He felt convinced that he would come to the most utter and shameful failure in an occupation completely repugnant to his whole nature, filled as it was with the love of his own art. Reinhold, and Rosa's portrait he could not drive out of his mind; at the same time, his own branch of art shone upon him in the brightest splendour. Often, when the terrible sense of the full wretchedness of the trade he was engaged in seemed likely to overpower him as he was working at it, he would pretend to be unwell, and hurry off to the church of St. Sebald, where he would gaze for hours at Peter Fischer's marvellous monument, and then cry out, like one enchanted, "Oh, Father of Heaven! —to conceive, to execute such a work as that—could there be anything on earth more glorious!" and then when he had to go back to his staves and hoops, and remember that by means of them only, Rosa was to be won, the very devil's glowing talons seemed to touch his heart, and he felt as if he must perish in the terrible misery of it all. Reinhold often appeared to him in dreams, bringing to him lovely designs, in which Rosa was worked in, and displayed now as a flower, now as a beautifully winged angel. But there was always a something wanting. Reinhold had forgotten to put a heart in Rosa's image; and that he added himself. Then all the flowers and leaves of the design seemed to begin moving and singing, and breathing out the most delicious odours; and the noble metals reflected Rosa's form as in a gleaming mirror, seeming to stretch her longing arms to her lover—but the image would vanish in dim vapour, and the beautiful Rosa herself seemed to be clasping him to her loving heart, all blissful desire. His feelings towards the miserable coopering work grew more and more terribly unendurable, and he went for aid and consolation (as well as for advice) to his old master, Johannes Holzschuer. This master allowed Friedrich to set about a little piece of work, for which an idea had occurred to him and for the carrying out of which, with the necessary gold and silver, he had saved up the wages which Master Martin gave him for many a day.
Thus it came about that Friedrich, who was so very pale that there was but too much reason to believe (as he gave out) that he was suffering from strongly marked consumptive symptoms, scarcely ever went to Master Martin's workshop, and that months elapsed without his having made the very slightest progress with his masterpiece, the great two-fudder cask. Master Martin pressed him to work at least as much as his strength would permit him, and Friedrich was at length compelled to go once more to the hateful cutting-block, and take the broad-axe in hand again. As he was working, Master Martin came up and looked at the staves he had been finishing. He grew red in the face and cried out:
"Why, Friedrich! what do you call this? A nice job and a half! Are those staves turned out by a journeyman trying to pass as master, or by an apprentice boy who has been only a day or two in the shop! Bethink yourself, man; what demon has entered itself into you? My beautiful oak timber! The great masterpiece indeed! Clumsy, careless goose!"
Overcome by all the hellish torments which were burning in his heart, Friedrich could contain himself no longer. He sent the broad-axe flying with all his force, and cried, "Master, it's all over! If it costs me my life—if I perish in misery unnamed, I cannot go on labouring at this wretched handicraft another minute. I am drawn to my own glorious art with a power which I cannot withstand. Alas! I love your Rosa unutterably—as no other on earth can love her. It is for her sake alone that I have gone through with this abominable work in this place. I know I have lost her now. I shall soon die of grief for her. But I cannot help it. I must go back to my own glorious art, to my own dear master, Johannes Holzschuer, whom I deserted so shamefully."
Master Martin's eyes shone like flaming tapers. Scarce able to articulate for anger, he stammered out:
"What! you too! lies and cheatery! impose on me—talk of a ' miserable handicraft!' Out of my sight, you shameless scoundrel —get out from here!" with which he took Friedrich by the shoulders and chucked him out of the workshop.
The derisive laughter of the other journeymen and the apprentices followed him. But old Valentine folded his hands, looked thoughtfully at the ground, and said, " I always saw that good fellow had something very different in his head from casks."
Frau Martha cried a great deal, and her children lamented over Friedrich, who used to play with them, and bring them many a nice piece of sweet stuff.
Notwithstanding Master Martin's anger with Reinhold and Friedrich, he could not but admit that with them all happiness and joy had fled from the workshop. His new journeymen caused him nothing but vexation and annoyance every day. He had to give himself trouble over every trifling detail of the work, and had difficulty in getting the very smallest matter done as he wished it. Wholly worn out with the worries of the day, he would often sigh, "Ah, Reinhold! ah, Friedrich! how I wish you had not deceived me so shamefully! Oh that you had only gone on being coopers, and not turned out to be something else!" This went so far, that he often thought of giving up business altogether.
He was sitting one evening in a gloomy frame of mind of this description, when Herr Jacobus Paumgartner, and with him Master Johannes Holzschuer, came in unexpectedly. He felt sure their visit related to Friedrich, and in fact Paumgartner soon led the conversation to him, and Master Holzschuer began to extol him in every possible way, stating his opinion that with Friedrich's talents and diligence he would not only become a first-class goldsmith, but actually tread in Peter Fischer's footsteps as an eminent sculptor. Then Herr Paumgartner set to work to inveigh vehemently against the undeserved treatment that the poor fellow had received from Master Martin, and they both of them urged the latter that, if Friedrich should turn out a fine goldsmith and modeller, he should give him Rosa to wife, provided she was really fond of him.
Master Martin allowed them both to finish what they had to say; then he took off his cap and answered with a smile, "Worthy sirs, you speak strongly in favour of the lad, who has—all the same— deceived me in a shameful manner. I forgive him that, however, but you must not expect me to alter my firm decision on his account. It is not the slightest use asking me to give him my Rosa—completely out of the question."
Just then, Rosa came in, pale as death, with eyes red from crying, and in silence placed glasses and wine on the table.
"Very well!" said Holzschuer; "then I suppose I shall be obliged to let Friedrich have his way, and leave this place altogether. He has just finished a beautiful piece of workmanship at my atelier, which—if you will allow him, Master Martin—he wishes to offer to Rosa as a keepsake. I have it with me; look at it."
He produced a small silver goblet, beautifully and artistically ornamented all over, and handed it to Master Martin who was a great admirer and "amateur" of such things. He took it and looked at it on all sides with great admiration; in fact it would have been difficult to meet a more beautiful piece of silverwork than this little vessel where lovely vine branches, with tendrils interwoven with roses were twining in all directions, while from among the grapes and the roses beautiful angels were peeping, and others, embracing, were graven inside it, on its gilt sides and bottom; so that when wine was poured into it, those angels seemed to hover up and down, in charming play.
"A very pretty thing indeed!" Master Martin said. "Beautiful work about it! I shall be glad to take it, if Friedrich will allow me to give him twice its worth in good gold pieces."
So saying, Master Martin filled the cup with wine, and set it to his lips.
Here the door opened gently, and Friedrich, with the deadly pain of parting forever from her he loved best on earth in his white face, came in. As soon as Rosa saw him, she gave a bitter cry of " Oh, my own dearest Friedrich!" and threw herself half-fainting on his breast.
Master Martin set the cup down, and when he saw Rosa in Friedrich's arms, he opened wide eyes, as if he were seeing ghosts. Then he took up the cup again without a word, and looked down into it. "Rosa," he cried in a loud voice, rising from his chair, "do you really love Friedrich?"
"Ah!" said Rosa in a whisper, "I-cannot hide it any longer—I love him as my life! My heart was broken when you sent him away."
"Take your wife to your heart then, Friedrich. Yes, yes, I say it —-your wife," Master Martin cried out.
Paumgartner and Holzschuer looked at each other, lost in amazement; but Master Martin, holding the cup in his hands, went on, and said, "Oh Father of Heaven! has not everything turned out exactly as the old lady prophesied it should? 'A House resplendent and gleaming he shall to thy dwelling bring; streams of sweet savour flowing therein; beauteous angels sing full sweetly; he whom thy heart goeth forth to—needless to ask of thy father, this is thy Bridegroom beloved!' Oh fool that I have been! this is the bright little house! here are the angels, the bridegroom! Aha! gentlemen, my friends and patrons—my son-in-law is found!"
Anyone who has at any time been under the spell of an evil dream, and thought he was lying in the deep, black darkness of the grave, and then has suddenly awakened in the bright springtime, all perfume, sunshine and song, and she who is dearest to him on earth has come and put her arms about him, while he looked into the heaven of her beautiful face—that person will understand how Friedrich felt—will comprehend the exuberance of his happiness. Unable to utter a word, he held Rosa fast in his arms as if he would never let her go, till she gently extricated herself from his embrace and led him to her father. He then found words, and cried:
" Oh, dear master, is this really true, then ? Do you give me Rosa for my wife, and may I go back to my own art?"
"Yes, yes, believe it!" answered Master Martin. "What else is there that I can do? You have fulfilled my grandmother's prophecy, and your masterpiece need not be finished."
Friedrich smiled, transfigured with happiness, and said: "No, dear master, you will allow me to finish my masterpiece, and then I will go back to my smelting furnace. For I should enjoy finishing my cask, as my last piece of coopering work."
" So let it be then, my dear, good son," cried Master Martin, with eyes sparkling with joy. "Finish your masterpiece, and then for the wedding!"
Friedrich kept his word. He duly finished his two-fudder cask, and all the masters averred that it would be hard to meet with a prettier piece of work; at which Master Martin was highly delighted, and thought that, all things considered, heaven could scarcely have awarded him a better son-in-law.
The wedding day had come at last. Friedrich's cask masterpiece, full of noble wine and garlanded with flowers, stood on the house floor. The masters of the craft, headed by Herr Paumgartner, duly arrived, with their wives, followed by the master goldsmiths. The procession was just setting out for St. Sebald's church, where the wedding was to be, when a blast of trumpets sounded in the streets, and horses were neighing and stamping in front of Master Martin's house. He hastened to the balcony window, and there he saw Herr von Spangenberg drawing up, in front of the house in festal array. A few yards behind him rode a young cavalier, a grand-looking young gentleman on a spirited charger, with a sword at his side and tall plumes waving in his beret which sparkled with jewels. At the cavalier's side Master Martin saw a most beautiful lady, also splendidly attired, and riding a palfrey as white as new-fallen snow. Pages and servants in fine liveries formed a circle about them. The trumpets ceased to sound, and old Baron von Spangenberg cried out, "Ha, ha! Master Martin. I am not come here on account of your cellar or your gold-ingots, but because it is Rosa's wedding day. Will you let me come in, dear Master Martin?"
Master Martin, remembering what he had said that night so long ago, was somewhat embarrassed, but hastened down to welcome the party. The old Baron dismounted, and came in, with courteous greetings. Pages hurried up, offering their arms to help the young lady to dismount; her cavalier gave her his hand, and followed the old Baron. But as soon as Master Martin looked upon the young cavalier, he started back three paces, clapped his hands and cried, "Good heavens! 'tis Conrad!"
The cavalier smiled, and said, "Yes, yes, Master Martin, I am your journeyman Conrad. You must pardon me for having given you that nasty wound. By rights, dear master, I ought to have sent you to kingdom come; you must see that yourself—however, things have all turned out differently."
Master Martin, in some confusion, answered that he "thought it was just as well that he had not been sent to ' kingdom come,'" and that he hadn't much minded the little bit of a cut with the broad-axe.
As Master Martin and his new guests now entered the chamber where the bridal pair were, with the others, everybody acclaimed the beauty of the lady, for she was so exactly like the bride that she might have been her twin sister. The cavalier went up to the bride courteously, saying, "Beautiful Rosa, I hope you will permit Conrad to be present at your wedding. You are no longer vexed with the wild thoughtless fellow who so nearly cost you a great sorrow ? "
As the bride, the bridegroom, and Master Martin looked from one to another in utter perplexity, the old Baron cried out, "Well, well! suppose I must help you out of your dream. This is my son, Conrad, and there is his beautiful wife, whose name is Rosa, the same as the bride's. Remember, Master Martin, our conversation, when I asked you if you would refuse to give me your Rosa even to my son. It had a special purpose. The boy was head over heels in love with your Rosa. He persuaded me to throw all consideration to the winds, and agree to act as his mediator—his go-between. But when I told him how you had shown me the door, he went and sneaked into your service in the most foolish way, as a cooper, to gain Rosa's heart, with the view, I suppose, of carrying her off from you. Well! you cured him with that swinging blow you gave him on the back, and thanks to you for that, inasmuch as he has found a noble lady, who may perhaps be really the Rosa he had in his heart from the beginning."
Meanwhile the lady had saluted the bride with the gentlest courtesy, and placed round her neck a rich pearl necklace, as a wedding gift.
"Look, dear Rosa," she said, taking some withered flowers from among the fresh ones she wore on her breast, "these are the flowers which you gave to my Conrad as a prize of victory. He kept them faithfully till he saw me. But then he was false to you, and let me have them. Don't be angry."
Rosa, blushing deeply, and casting her eyes modestly down, answered, "Ah! my lady, how can you speak so? He never could have cared for me, certainly. You were his love alone; and because I happen to be called Rosa, too, and am—as these gentlemen say—a little like you, he made love to me, thinking all the time of you."
The procession was about to start for the second time, when a young gentleman came in, dressed in the Italian fashion, all in slashed black velvet, with a fine gold chain and a collar of rich lace.
"Oh, my Reinhold," cried Friedrich, and fell upon his neck; and the bride and Master Martin, too, rejoiced, and cried out, "Here is our beloved Reinhold!"
"Did I not say, my dearest friend," said Reinhold, cordially returning the embraces, "that everything would turn out gloriously for you after all? Let me celebrate your wedding day with you. I have come a long distance to do so. And as an everlasting memorial, hang up in your house the picture which I painted for you, and which I have brought with me." He called outside, and two servants came in carrying a large painting in a magnificent gold frame, representing Master Martin in his workshop with his journeymen Reinhold, Friedrich, and Conrad at work on the great cask, with Rosa just come in at the door. Everybody was amazed at the truthfulness and splendid colouring of this work of art.
"Ah," said Friedrich, "that is your cooper's masterpiece. Mine is downstairs. But I shall turn out another."
"I know," said Reinhold, "and you are a fortunate man; stick to your own art; very probably it is better suited to domesticity and the like than mine."
At the wedding dinner Friedrich sat between the two Rosas, with Master Martin opposite to him, between Reinhold and Conrad. Paumgartner filled Friedrich's goblet to the brim with noble wine, and drank to the health of Master Martin and his grand journeymen. The goblet went round, and first Baron von Spangenberg, and after him all the worthy masters, drained it to the same toast.