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.
VI
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 wormholes, 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 Güldne 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 Süsser Ton, the Krummzinkenweis, the Geblümte 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 Müller’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.
VII
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 no
t 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.”
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