by Georg Ebers
CHAPTER XVI.
Between twelve and one o'clock on the 26th of May, Ascension-Day,the ringing of bells announced the opening of the great fair. The oldcircuit of the boundaries of the fields had long since given place toa church festival, but the name of "Ommegang" remained interwoven withthat of the fair, and even after the new religion had obtained themastery, all sorts of processions took place at the commencement of thefair.
In the days of Catholic rule the cross had been borne through thestreets in a soleum procession, in which all Leyden took part, now thebanners of the city and standards bearing the colors of the House ofOrange headed the train, followed by the nobles on horseback, the citymagistrates in festal array, the clergy in black robes, the volunteersin magnificent uniforms, the guilds with their emblems, and long joyousranks of school-children. Even the poorest people bought some thing newfor their little ones on this day. Never did mothers braid their youngdaughters' hair more carefully, than for the procession at the openingof the fair. Spite of the hard times, many a stiver was taken fromslender purses for fresh ribbons and new shoes, becoming caps andbright-hued stockings. The spring sunshine could be reflected from thelittle girls' shining, smoothly-combed hair, and the big boys and littlechildren looked even gayer than the flowers in Herr Van Montfort'sgarden, by which the procession was obliged to pass. Each wore a sprigof green leaves in his cap beside the plume, and the smaller the boy,the larger the branch. There was no lack of loud talk and merry shouts,for every child that passed its home called to its mother, grandparents,and the servants, and when one raised its voice many others instantlyfollowed. The grown people too were not silent, and as the processionapproached the town-hall, head-quarters of military companies,guild-halls or residences of popular men, loud cheers arose, mingledwith the ringing of bells, the shouts of the sailors on both arms of theRhine and on the canals, the playing of the city musicians at the streetcorners, and the rattle of guns and roar of cannon fired by the gunnersand their assistants from the citadel. It was a joyous tumult in jocundspring! These merry mortals seemed to lull themselves carelessly in thesecure enjoyment of peace and prosperity, and how blue the sky was, howwarmly and brightly the sun shone! The only grave, anxious faces wereamong the magistrates; but the guilds and the children behind did notsee them, so the rejoicings continued without interruption until thechurches received the procession, and words so earnest and full ofwarning echoed from the pulpits, that many grew thoughtful.
All three phases of time belong to man, the past to the graybeard, thefuture to youth, and the present to childhood. What cared the littleboys and girls of Leyden, released from school during the fair, forthe peril close at hand? Whoever, on the first day and during the greatlinen-fair on Friday and the following days, received spending moneyfrom parents or godparents, or whoever had eyes to see, ears to hear,and a nose to smell, passed through the rows of booths with his or hercompanions, stopped before the camels and dancing-bears, gazed intothe open taverns, where not only lads and lasses, but merry oldpeople whirled in the dance to the music of bagpipes, clarionets andviolins--examined gingerbread and other dainties with the attentionof an expert, or obeyed the blasts of the trumpet, by which the quackdoctor's negro summoned the crowd.
Adrian, the burgomaster's son, also strolled day after day, alone orwith his companions, through the splendors of the fair, often graspingwith the secure sense of wealth the leather purse that hung at hisbelt, for it contained several stivers, which had flowed in from varioussources; his father, his mother, Barbara and his godmother. Captain VanDuivenvoorde, his particular friend, on whose noble horse he had oftenridden, had taken him three times into a wafer booth, where he eat tillhe was satisfied, and thus, even on the Tuesday after Ascension-Day, hislittle fortune was but slightly diminished. He intended to buy somethingvery big and sensible: a knight's sword or a cross-bow; perhapseven--but this thought seemed like an evil temptation--the ginger-cakecovered with almonds, which was exhibited in the booth of a Delftconfectioner. He and Bessie could surely nibble for weeks upon thisgiant cake, if they were economical, and economy is an admirable virtue.Something must at any rate be spared for "little brothers,"--[A kindof griddle or pancake.]--the nice spiced cakes which were baked in manybooths before the eyes of the passers-by.
On Tuesday afternoon his way led him past the famous Rotterdamcake-shop. Before the door of the building, made of boards lightlyjoined together and decked with mirrors and gay pictures, a stout,pretty woman, in the bloom of youth, sat in a high arm-chair, pouringrapidly, with remarkable skill, liquid dough into the hot iron plate,provided with numerous indentations, that stood just on a level with hercomfortably outspread lap. Her assistant hastily turned with a forkthe little cakes, browning rapidly in the hollows of the iron, and whenbaked, laid them neatly on small plates. The waiter prepared them forpurchasers by putting a large piece of yellow butter on the smokingpile. A tempting odor, that only too vividly recalled former enjoyment,rose from the fireplace, and Adrian's fingers were already examining thecontents of his purse, when the negro's trumpet sounded and the quackdoctor's cart stopped directly in front of the booth.
The famous Doctor Morpurgo was a fine-looking man, dressed in brightscarlet, who had a thin, coalblack beard hanging over his breast. Hismovements were measured and haughty, the bows and gestures with which hesaluted the assembled crowd, patronizing and affable. After a sufficientnumber of curious persons had gathered around his cart, which wasstocked with boxes and vials, he began to address them in broken Dutch,spiced with numerous foreign words.
He praised the goodness of the Providence which had created the marvelof human organism. Everything, he said, was arranged and formed wiselyand in the best possible manner, but in one respect nature fared badlyin the presence of adepts.
"Do you know where the error is, ladies and gentlemen?" he asked.
"In the purse," cried a merry barber's clerk, "it grows prematurely thinevery day."
"Right, my son," answered the quack graciously. "But nature alsoprovides it with the great door from which your answer has come. Yourteeth are a bungling piece of workmanship. They appear with pain,decay with time, and so long as they last torture those who do notindustriously attend to them. But art will correct nature. See thisbox--" and he now began to praise the tooth-powder and cure fortoothache he had invented. Next he passed to the head, and described invivid colors, its various pains. But they too were to be cured, peopleneed only buy his arcanum. It was to be had for a trifle, and whoeverbought it could sweep away every headache, even the worst, as with abroom.
Adrian listened to the famous doctor with mouth wide open. Speciallysweet odors floated over to him from the hot surface of the stove beforethe booth, and he would have gladly allowed himself a plate of freshcakes. The baker's stout wife even beckoned to him with a spoon, but heclosed his hand around the purse and again turned his eyes towards thequack, whose cart was now surrounded by men and women buying tincturesand medicines.
Henrica lay ill in his father's house. He had been taken into her roomtwice, and the beautiful pale face, with its large dark eyes, had filledhis heart with pity. The clear, deep voice in which she addressed a fewwords to him, also seemed wonderful and penetrated the inmost depthsof his soul: He was told one morning that she was there, and since thattime his mother rarely appeared and the house was far more quiet thanusual; for everybody walked lightly, spoke in subdued tones, rappedcautiously at a window instead of using the knocker, and whenever Bessieor he laughed aloud or ran up or down-stairs, Barbara, his mother, orTrautchen appeared and whispered: "Gently, children, the young lady hasa headache."
There were many bottles in the cart which were warranted to cure theailment, and the famous Morpurgo seemed to be a very sensible man,no buffoon like the other mountebanks. The wife of the baker, WilhelmPeterssohn, who stood beside him, a woman he knew well, said to hercompanion that the doctor's remedies were good, they had quickly curedher godmother of a bad attack of erysipelas.
The words matu
red the boy's resolution. Fleeting visions of the sword,the cross-bow, the gingerbread and the nice little brothers once morerose before his mind, but with a powerful effort of the will he thrustthem aside, held his breath that he might not smell the alluring odor ofthe cakes, and hastily approached the cart. Here he unfastened his pursefrom his belt, poured its contents into his hand, showed the coins tothe doctor, who had fixed his black eyes kindly on the odd customer, andasked: "Will this be enough?"
"For what?"
"For the medicine to cure headache."
The quack separated the little coins in Adrian's hand with hisforefinger, and answered gravely: "No, my son, but I am always glad toadvance the cause of knowledge. There is still a great deal for you tolearn at school, and the headache will prevent it. Here are the dropsand, as it's you, I'll give this prescription for another arcanum intothe bargain."
Adrian hastily wrapped the little vial the quack handed him in the pieceof printed paper, received his dearly-bought treasure, and ran home. Onthe way he was stopped by Captain Allertssohn, who came towards him withthe musician Wilhelm.
"Have you seen my Andreas, Master Good-for-nothing?" he asked.
"He was standing listening to the musicians," replied Adrian, releasedhimself from the captain's grasp, and vanished among the crowd.
"A nimble lad," said the fencing-master. "My boy is standing with themusicians again. He has nothing but your art in his mind. He wouldrather blow on a comb than comb his hair with it, he's always tootingon every leaf and pipe, makes triangles of broken sword-blades, and noteven a kitchen pot is safe from his drumming; in short there's nothingbut singsong in the good-for-nothing fellow's head; he wants to be amusician or something of the sort."
"Right, right!" replied Wilhelm eagerly; "he has a fine ear and the bestvoice in the choir."
"The matter must be duly considered," replied the captain, "and you, ifanybody, are the person to tell us what he can accomplish in your art.If you have time this evening, Herr Wilhelm, come to me at the watchhouse, I should like to speak to you. To be sure, you'll hardly find mebefore ten o'clock. I have a stricture in my throat again, and on suchdays--Roland, my fore man!"
The captain cleared his throat loudly and vehemently. "I am at yourservice," said Wilhelm, "for the night is long, but I won't let you gonow until I know what you mean by your fore man Roland."
"Very well, it's not much of a story, and perhaps you won't understand.Come in here; I can tell it better over a mug of beer, and the legsrebel if they're deprived of rest four nights in succession."
When the two men were seated opposite to each other in the tap-room, thefencing-master pushed his moustache away from his lips, and began: "Howlong ago is it-? We'll say fifteen years, since I was riding to Haarlemwith the innkeeper Aquarius, who as you know, is a learned man and hasall sorts of old stuff and Latin manuscripts. He talks well, and whenthe conversation turned upon our meeting with many things in lifethat we fancy we have already seen, remarked that this could be easilyexplained, for the human soul was an indestructible thing, a bird thatnever dies. So long as we live it remains with us, and when we die fliesaway and is rewarded or punished according to its deserts; but aftercenturies, which are no more to the Lord than the minutes in which Iempty this fresh mug--one more, bar-maid--the merciful Father releasesit again, and it nestles in some new born child. This made me laugh;but he was not at all disturbed and told the story of an old Pagan, awonderfully wise chap, who knew positively that his soul had formerlylodged in the body of a mighty hero. This same hero also rememberedexactly where, during his former life, he had hung his shield, and toldhis associates. They searched and found the piece of armor, withthe initials of the Christian and surname which had belonged to thephilosopher in his life as a soldier, centuries before. This puzzled me,for you see--now don't laugh--something had formerly happened to me verymuch like the Pagan's experience. I don't care much for books, andfrom a child have always read the same one. I inherited it from my deadfather and the work is not printed, but written. I'll show it to yousome time--it contains the history of the brave Roland. Often, whenabsorbed in these beautiful and true stories, my cheeks have grownas red as fire, and I'll confess to you, as I did to mytravelling-companion: If I'm not mistaken, I've sat with King Charlesat the board, or I've worn Roland's chain armor in battle and in thetourney. I believe I have seen the Moorish king, Marsilia, and oncewhen reading how the dying Roland wound his horn in the valley of theRoncesvalles, I felt such a pain in my throat, that it seemed as if itwould burst, and fancied I had felt the same pain before. When I franklyacknowledged all this, my companion exclaimed that there was no doubtmy soul had once inhabited Roland's body, or in other words, that in aformer life I had been the Knight Roland."
The musician looked at the fencing-master in amazement and asked: "Couldyou really believe that, Captain?"
"Why not," replied the other. "Nothing is impossible to the Highest. Atfirst I laughed in the man's face, but his words followed me; and when Iread the old stories--I needn't strain my eyes much, for at every line Iknow beforehand what the next will be--I couldn't help asking myself--Inshort, sir, my soul probably once inhabited Roland's body, and that'swhy I call him my 'fore man.' In the course of years, it has become ahabit to swear by him. Folly, you will think, but I know what I know,and now I must go. We will have another talk this evening, but aboutother matters. Yes, everybody in this world is a little crackbrained,but at least I don't bore other people. I only show my craze to intimatefriends, and strangers who ask me once about the fore man Roland rarelydo so a second time. The score, bar-maid--There it is again. We must seewhether the towers are properly garrisoned, and charge the sentinelsto keep their eyes open. If you come prepared for battle, you may saveyourself a walk, I'll answer for nothing to-day. You will probably passthe new Rhine. Just step into my house, and tell my wife she needn'twait supper for me. Or, no, I'll attend to that myself; there'ssomething in the air, you'll see it, for I have the Roncesvalles throatagain."