# Popular Tales and Romances of the Northern Nations/Volume 2/The Spectre Barber

Translation of "Stumme Liebe" from Volksmährchen der Deutschen volume 4 (1786).
THE
SPECTRE BARBER.
MANY years ago there lived in the good town of Bremen, a rich merchant, named Melchior, who was wont to stroke his chin and smile scornfully whenever he heard the parson read in the gospel of the rich man, whom, in comparison with himself, he regarded as a mere pedlar. In those rude times there prevailed a species of luxury as well as at present, though the people then looked more than their descendants to things of solid worth, and Melchior was so wealthy, that he had the floor of his banquetting room paved with dollars. Although the fellow citizens and friends of our merchant were much displeased at this piece of ambitious display, as they called it, yet it was, in reality, meant more as a mercantile speculation, than a ​mere boast. The cunning citizen was well aware, that those who envied and censured his apparent vanity would serve to spread reports of his wealth, and, by that means, add to his credit. His aim was completely attained; the idle capital of old dollars, wisely exposed to view in the hall, brought a large interest, by means of the silent bond for payment which it gave in all the merchant’s undertakings. It became, however, at last a rock on which the welfare of the house was wrecked.
Old Melchior died suddenly, from swallowing too much or too hastily, of some renovating cordial at a city feast, without being able to settle his affairs, and left all his property to his only son, in the full bloom of youth, who had just attained the age fixed by law for entering into possession of his inheritance. Francis was a noble fellow, endowed by nature with excellent qualities. He was well made, strong and robust, with a jovial, happy disposition, as if old French wine and hung beef had largely contributed to call him into existence.
Health glowed on his cheeks, and content and youthful cheerfulness shone in his dark eyes. ​He was like a vigorous plant, which needs only water and a poor soil to thrive well, but which, in rich land, shoots into wasteful luxuriance without bearing fruit. The father’s wealth became, as often happens, the ruin of the son. He had scarcely begun to taste the pleasure of being the sole possessor and master of a princely fortune, when he did all in his power to get rid of it, as if it were a heavy burthen. He imitated the rich man in the scriptures, to a tittle, “and fared sumptuously every day.”
The feasts of the bishop were far surpassed in splendour and luxuries by those he gave; and, as long as the town of Bremen stands, it will never again see such a feast as he was accustomed to give yearly. Every citizen received a large joint of roast beef, and a flask of Spanish wine; all the people drank the health of old Melchior’s son, and Francis was the hero of the day.
In this continual intoxication of pleasure, he never thought of balancing his accounts, which, in those good old times, was the very vade mecum of merchants, but which, in the present ​day, has got much out of fashion; and hence the mercantile scale often tends, as if attracted by the loadstone, towards bankruptcy and ruin. Old Melchior had, however, left his strong box so well filled, that, for some years, our spendthrift felt no diminution in his yearly income. The number of his voracious table companions, the army of good fellows, gamesters and idlers, in short, all those who profited by the heedlessness of this prodigal son, took great care never to allow him time for reflection, They led him from pleasure to pleasure, and kept him in an eternal round of dissipation, for fear he might, in a single sober moment, awake to reason and the booty escape from their eager grasp.
But, on a sudden, the fountain of wealth ceased to flow. The hidden stores of his father’s strong box were every one of them exhausted. Frank one day commanded a large sum to be paid, his cashier was not in a condition to meet the demand, and returned the bill unpaid. This was a severe blow to the young prodigal, yet his chief feelings were those of displeasure and anger towards the cashier, ​to whom alone, and not to his own extravagance, he ascribed the disorder in his finances. He gave himself no further trouble to find out the cause; but, after having had recourse to the common folly of libertines, and swore a few dozen of oaths, he gave his man, who stood near him, shrugging up his shoulders, the laconic command, to “get money.”
The money-lending jews and usurers were immediately applied to. In a short time large sums, taken up at exorbitant interest, again filled the empty purse. A room paved with dollars was at that period in the eyes of creditors, a better security for repayment than a draft on the bank of England at the present day. For a short time this palliative was of great use, but a report soon got abroad, nobody knew how that the silver pavement had been taken up in secresy, and its place supplied with stone. On the demand of the creditors, Justice examined into the matter, and the report was found to be true. It was not indeed to be denied, that a pavement of variegated marble like mosaic, was more suitable in a banquetting ​room, than one of old and worn down dollars; but the creditors had so little respect for the improved taste of the owner, that they demanded immediate payment of their money. As this could not be made, a commission of bankruptcy was immediately taken out, and the parental house, with the magazines, gardens, ground, and furniture was put up to auction, and their possessor, who had fortified himself as well as he could by the help of the law, saw himself deprived of them all.
It was now too late to philosophise over his thoughtlessness, as the most judicious reflections and the wisest resolutions could not undo the mischief which had been done. According to the mode of thinking in this civilized age, our hero might now have made his exit from the scene of life with dignity—he might, as he could no longer live in his native city with honour, have deserted it for ever, or have put an end to his existence in any one of the many fashionable modes of shooting, hanging or drowning. Frank, however, did neither one nor the other. The “what will the world say?” ​which our gallic neighbours seem to have invented to bridle some kinds of folly, and spur men on to other kinds, had never once occurred to the thoughtless wight in his prosperity, and his feelings were not sufficiently delicate to make him ashamed of the consequences of his extravagance. At first he was like a drunkard, just awoke from intoxication, nearly unconscious of what had happened to him; and afterwards, like most unfortunate spendthrifts, he lived on and felt neither grief nor shame. He had luckily saved a few relics of his mother’s jewels from the general wreck of his fortune; and they kept him for a time from absolute want.
He took lodgings in one of the most obscure parts of the town, in a narrow street, into which the beams of the sun rarely penetrated, but on the very longest days, when they glanced for a short time over the high roofs. Here he found all he wanted in his present circumscribed situation. The frugal table of his landlord satiated his hunger; at the fire-side he was protected from the cold; and the roof and walls sheltered him from rain and wind. ​From one enemy, however, ennui, neither the roof nor the walls, neither the fire-side, nor the temperate enjoyments of the table, could always protect him. The crowd of worthless parasites had disappeared with his wealth, and his former friends knew him no longer. Reading was not, at that time, a general amusement, nor did the people understand how to kill their hours with those brain-sick creations of the fancy, which are usually spun from the shallowest heads. There were neither sentimental, pedagogical, psychological, nor comical romances, neither popular, moral, nor entertaining tales, neither family nor monastic histories, no Robinsons either new or old, and the whole tribe of tiresome, dreaming novel inditers had not then begun to spoil good paper, and impose on printers, the ungrateful task of labouring for the grocers and tobacconists. Noble knights, indeed, even then broke their lances, and jousted in tournaments, Dietrich of Berne, Hildebrand, and Siegfried the Horny, Rumbold the Strong, went in search of dragons and other monsters, and slew giants and dwarfs, each of whom was ​equal in strength to twelve ordinary men. The venerable Theuerdauk, was at that time, the great model of German art and skill, and his work was the latest production of our country’s intellect but he was only admired by the beaux esprits, poets and philosophers of the age. Frank belonged to neither of these classes, and had, therefore, no other occupation but to strum on his lute, or to look out of the window, and make observations on the weather; which led, however, to no more just conclusions, than the numerous theories of the airy meteorologists of the present day. Fortunately, he soon found a more attractive object for his observations, which filled at once the empty space in his head and heart.
Opposite his windows, in the same narrow street, lived a respectable widow, who, in expectation of better times, gained a scanty livelihood, by means of her spinning-wheel, on which, with the assistance of an exquisitely beautiful maiden, her only daughter, she produced every day such a quantity of yarn, that it would have reached round the whole city of Bremen, ditch, walls, suburbs and all. ​These two females were born for a better fate than the spinning-wheel, they came of a good family, and had lived, at one time, in opulence and prosperity. The husband of mother Brigitta, and the father of young Mela, had been the owner of a merchant-vessel, which he freighted himself, and in which he made every year a voyage to Antwerp. But while Mela was yet a child, a dreadful storm, buried him and his ship, with the crew and a rich cargo in the waves.
Her mother, a sensible well-principled woman, bore the loss of her husband and of her whole property with wise composure. Notwithstanding her poverty, she refused, with a noble pride, all the offers of assistance, which the compassion or benevolence of her friends and relations prompted them to make; deeming it dishonourable to receive alms, as long as she could hope to obtain the means of subsistance by the labour of her hands. She resigned her large house and its costly furniture, to the hard-hearted creditors of her late husband, took her present humble dwelling, and spun from morning till night. At first, this ​occupation appeared very irksome; and she often moistened the thread with her tears. By her industry, however, she was enabled to preserve herself independent, and to save herself from incurring unpleasant obligations; she accustomed her daughter to the same mode of life, and lived so sparingly, that she even saved a small sum, which she laid out in buying lint, and, from that time, carried on a trade in that article on a small scale.
This excellent woman was, however, far from thinking she should spend her life in this humble state; on the contrary, she strengthened her courage, by looking forward to better times; and she hoped, one day, to be restored to that prosperity she had been deprived of, and to enjoy, in the autumn of her life, some of that sunshine which had gladdened its spring. Nor was this hope altogether an empty dream; it sprung from rational observation. She saw her daughter’s charms unfold as she grew up, like a blooming rose, but not like it, to fade and fall as soon as it is ripened into beauty. She knew her to be modest and virtuous, and gifted ​with such excellent qualities, that she already found, in her society, consolation and happiness. She therefore denied herself, sometimes, the common necessaries of life, to give her daughter the advantages of a respectable education; being convinced that, if a maiden only answered the description which Solomon, the royal friend of women, has given of a good wife, such a costly pearl would be sought after, and selected as the brightest ornament an honest man could possess.
Virtue, united with beauty, were then quite as valuable in the eyes of young men, as powerful relations and a large fortune are at present. There were likewise a far greater number of competitors for a maiden’s hand, a wife being then considered as the most essential, and not, as (according to the present refined economical theory), the most unnecessary part of the household. The beauteous Mela, it is true, bloomed more like a rare costly plant in a green-house than a healthy shrub in the free air. She lived quietly and in retirement, under the maternal care and protection; visited neither the public ​walks nor assembly rooms, and scarcely once in a twelvemonth went outside of her native city, contrary to all the present principles of marrying policy. Mother’s, now a-days know better, they look upon their daughters as on a capital, which must circulate to produce interest; in those times, the poor girls were kept under lock and key, like hoarded treasure; but bankers knew where it was hidden, and how to obtain it. Mother Brigitta hoped she should, one day, find a rich son-in-law to release her from her long Babylonian captivity in the narrow street, and take her and her daughter back to the land of milk and honey.
Mela seemed to her to be endowed with so many charms, only to make her worthy of a high station; and she therefore did all in her power, by the great care she took of her education and manners, to fulfil what she thought the decree of nature.
One day, as Frank was at the window, observing the weather, he saw the charming Mela returning from church, where she regularly accompanied her mother to hear mass. In ​his days of prosperity, he had paid little or no attention to the other sex; the chords of his finer feelings had never yet been struck, his senses having been blunted and bewildered by the incessant intoxication of pleasure, in which his companions had kept him.
Now, however, the stormy waves of youthful turbulence were still, and the slightest breeze ruffled the mirror-like surface of his soul. He was enchanted at the sight of the most lovely woman he had ever seen, and immediately gave up his dry meteoreological studies, for a more interesting occupation. He began by questioning his landlord concerning his fair neighbour and her mother, and from him learnt the greater part of what the reader already knows.
He now first felt vexed with himself for his wasteful extravagance, as it had deprived him of the means to provide handsomely for the lovely Mela, which his growing inclination would have prompted him to do. His miserable lodgings now appeared a palace to him, and he would not have exchanged them for the best house in Bremen. He passed all his time ​at the window watching for his beloved; and, when she appeared he felt a keener sensation of pleasure than the astronomer experienced, who first saw Venus pass over the sun’s-disk. Unfortunately for him the careful mother was vigilant in her observations, and soon discovered the cause of his constant presence at the window. As he was none of her favourites, on account of his former behaviour, she was so much offended at his continual watching and staring, that she kept her window curtains close drawn, and desired Mela never to appear at the window. When she took her to church, she put a thick veil over her face, and hurried round the corner as fast as she could to screen her treasure from the unhallowed gaze of our hero.
Poor Frank was not famous for his penetration; but love awakens all our faculties. He perceived that he had given offence by his intruding looks, and immediately retreated from the window with a resolution not to look out at it, even though the host were to be carried through the street. He now employed all his invention to find out ​the means of continuing his observations unseen, in which he succeeded without much trouble. He hired the largest looking-glass he could get, and hung it up in his room in such a manner that it reflected every thing which passed in the opposite room of his fair neighbours.—For many days he never shewed himself, till at length the curtains were drawn back by degrees, and the mirror sometimes received and reflected the beautiful form of the maiden to the great delight of its possessor. As love rooted itself deeper in his heart, his wishes, to make his passion known to Mela, grew stronger, and he resolved, if possible, to learn the state of her feelings towards him.
It was, indeed, much more difficult in those modest times for youths to get introduced to the daughters of a family than at present; and Frank’s forlorn condition added to those difficulties. Morning visits were not then in fashion; confidential tête à tête’s were followed by the loss of a young woman’s reputation; walks, masquerades, balls, routs, soupés, and all the thousand modern inventions to promote ​the meeting of the sexes, were not then in existence. It was only in the secrecy of the marriage chamber that the meeting of the two sexes could take place with propriety to explain their mutual feelings. Notwithstanding these restrictions, things took their course as well then as now. Christenings, weddings and burials, especially in a city like Bremen, were the privileged occasions for negociating love affairs; as the old proverb says, No marriage is consummated but another is planned. An impoverished spendthrift, however, being not a desirable son or brother-in-law, our hero was invited neither to weddings, christenings nor burials. The bye-way of influencing the lady’s maid, waiting woman, or some other subordidinate personage was in Frank’s case likewise blocked up, for mother Brigitta kept neither one nor the other; she carried on her little trade in lint and yarn herself, and was nearly as inseparable from her daughter as her shadow.
Under such circumstances, it was impossible for Frank to open his heart to his beloved, either by speaking or writing; but he soon ​invented a language which seems expressly intended for the idiom of lovers. The honour of being the first inventor does not indeed, belong to our hero; long before his time the sentimental Celadons of Italy and Spain were in the habit of chaunting forth the feelings of their hearts, under the balconies of their donnas. Their melodious pathos, more powerful than the eloquence of Cicero or Demosthenes, rarely failed in its aim, and not only expressed the lover’s feelings, but was usually successful in exciting, in the object of his flame, similar warm and tender feelings. Of this circumstance, however, our illiterate youth had never either heard or read; the employment, therefore, of music, to express his feelings, and thus to convey them to the ears of his beloved Mela, was entirely his own invention.
In a melancholy hour he took his lute, and, far surpassing his usual strumming, he soon called forth sweet melodies from its harmonious chords, and, in less than a month, love had converted our hero into a second Amphion. His first attempts were little noticed, but, in a ​short time, his performance attracted the attention of all the neighbourhood; whenever he touched his lute, mothers silenced their crying babes, the noisy boys were sent away from the doors, and, in a short time, he had the satisfaction to observe, by means of his looking-glass, that Mela’s white hand opened the window when he began to prelude. When he succeeded thus far, when he gained her ear, his joy broke forth in triumphant strains, or danced in light cheerful melodies; but, if the presence of her mother, or some necessary occupation kept her from being seen, nothing but melancholy tones sighed from his lute, and he gave vent to those feelings of agony with which disappointed love filled his heart.
Mela was a docile pupil, and soon understood this expressive language. She repeatedly made the experiment, to ascertain whether she had correctly interpreted or not, and found that she could govern the tones of the invisible musician according to her own fancy. Quiet, modest maidens are more accurate observers, and have a much quicker perception than those ​light thoughtless things, who, like the butterfly, hurry from object to object without ever fixing their attention on any one. Mela’s vanity was flattered by finding it lay in her power, as if by enchantment, to entice from her neighbour’s lute either the most joyous strains, or the most melancholy lays.
Mother Brigitta, intent on her trade, paid no attention to the musician, and her daughter was by no means anxious to impart her late discovery: on the contrary, either from a desire to show her penetration, or from a secret inclination towards her musical neighbour, she considered how she might reply to his harmonious addresses in some other symbolical language. She requested permission of her mother, to place a few flower-pots before the window, and as the old lady, from no longer seeing her once prying neighbour, no longer dreaded him, she saw no harm in indulging Mela in this innocent amusement, and readily granted her request.
To cultivate these flowers, to water them and bind them to the sticks, as likewise to observe ​them growing and putting forth leaves and buds, now gave Mela a frequent opportunity of being at the window. With inexpressible delight did the happy lover explain these hieroglyphics to his advantage, and the eloquent lute did not fail to waft his joyful feelings across the narrow lane to the attentive ears of the fair gardener. This had a powerful effect on her tender virgin heart. She began to feel offended, when her mother, in the long discourse with which she sometimes entertained her after dinner, took the melodious neighbour for the theme of her harangue, and called him a spendthrift, a worthless fellow, and an idler; and compared him to the prodigal son. Mela even ventured, though with great caution, to take his part on such occasions; she attributed his folly to youthful imprudence, and the seductions of others, and only accused him of not having remembered in time, the proverb, which says: Spare to day, it may rain to-morrow.
While mother Brigitta, in her own house, thus censured the young spendthrift, he felt kindly disposed towards her, and thought with great earnestness how he might, as far as his own ​own poverty permitted, improve her circumstances, without allowing her to know that she owed him any obligation. He meant, indeed, by his gifts, to assist the daughter more than the mother. He had received secret intelligence that Mela desired very much to have a new dress which her mother had refused her, under the pretext of bad times. He was greatly afraid that the present of a gown piece, from an unknown hand, would not be received, and that all his hopes would be ruined were he to name himself as the giver. Chance unexpectedly procured him an opportunity of arranging every thing according to his wishes.
Mother Brigitta complained to a neighbour that the crop of lint having entirely failed, it cost more than her customers liked to pay for it, and this branch of trade, was therefore, at present, quite unprofitable. Frank did not wait for this to be repeated, before he hurried to a goldsmith, sold a pair of his mother’s gold earrings, bought a quantity of lint and sent a woman, whom he bribed for that purpose, to offer it to his neighbour, at a very moderate price. The bargain was soon concluded, and ​proved so favourable, that the fair Mela shone on All-Saints-day in an elegant new dress.
In this state, she charmed her watchful neighbour to such a degree, that, if he had had permission to chose a sweetheart from among the eleven thousand virgins, he would have rejected them all for his beloved Mela.
But, at the very moment that he prided himself in the success of this innocent stratagem, his secret was betrayed. Mother Brigitta, wishing to show a kindness to the woman who had, through the sale of the lint, done her so great a service, invited her to a feast, very common in those days, before tea or coffee were introduced into use, of rice milk, nicely sweetened with sugar, and spiced, and a bottle of spanish wine. These dainties not only set the toothless gums of the old lady in motion, but also loosened her tongue. She promised to bring more lint at the same price, provided her merchant should be willing, which, as she said, for very good reasons she could not doubt. One word brought on the other; mother Brigitta and and her daughter inquired with the inherent ​curiosity of their sex, till the brittle seal of female discretion was demolished. Mela grew pale with terror at this discovery, which would have delighted her if her mother had not been a party to it. But she knew her strict notions of decency and decorum, and consequently was in dread for her new frock. The severe matron was equally astonished and displeased at this unexpected intelligence; and heartily wished that she alone might have been informed of it, fearing their neighbour’s generosity might make an impression on her daughter’s heart, and thus prove fatal to her plans. She prudently resolved to take the most decisive measures at once to destroy every seed of love which might be hidden in the virgin heart of Mela. The new frock, in spite of the tears and intreaties of the lovely possessor, was sent on the following day to be sold, and the price of it, with the money she had gained by the sale of the lint, was packed up, and, under the name of an old debt with the assistance of the Hamburg mercantile messenger returned to Frank, who received the sum as an unexpected blessing, ​and wished that all the debtors of his father might prove as punctual in their payments as this honest Unknown. The real state of the case never once occurred to him, and his gossipping assistant took care not to disclose her treachery; simply telling him that mother Brigitta had left off her lint trade.
His looking-glass soon told him, however, that a great change had taken place opposite during one night. The flower-pots had all vanished and the curtains were again close drawn before the window. Mela was rarely visible, and, when she appeared like the silvery moon breaking from behind the dark clouds of a stormy night, her looks were mournful, and he even thought he saw her wipe away a tear. This filled his heart with sorrow; and his lute, in soft lydian tones, expressed his sympathetic grief. He teazed himself to discover the cause of his sweetheart’s melancholy, but without success. A few days afterwards, he observed that his looking-glass was quite useless, as it no longer reflected the fair form of Mela. On going to examine the cause, he discovered that ​all the curtains had been taken away, and that the rooms were uninhabited; his fair neighbours had left their quarters the evening before in perfect silence.
He was now indeed free to enjoy the fresh air and the view into the narrow street, without offending any body, but this was to him no compensation, for having lost the occasional sight of the dear object of his affections.
When he had a little recovered himself from the first painful shock, this circumstance led him to make many useful reflections. He suspected that he had been the cause of the ladies’ flight. The money he had received, the breaking up of the trade in lint, and now the emigration, all rushed on his mind, and seemed to explain one another. He concluded that mother Brigitta had found out his secret, and that he was far from being her favourite, which did not serve to revive his hopes. The symbolic answers however, which the fair Mela had given, by means of the flowers, to his melodious offers of his heart; her subsequent melancholy, and the tears he had seen her shed shortly before she ​went away, inspired him with confidence and courage. His first care was to discover mother Brigitta’s new abode, that he might be enabled, by some means or other, to continue his secret communication with her lovely daughter. This cost him only a little trouble, but he was too discreet to follow them, by likewise changing his residence; he contented himself with ascertaining the church where they went to mass, that he might have the satisfaction of daily seeing his beloved. He never forgot to lie in wait for them on their way home; sometimes in one place, sometimes in another, and then he always greeted Mela kindly, which was equal to a billet-doux.
if Mela had not been brought up like a nun, and if mother Brigitta had not watched her as carefully as the miser does his treasure, Frank’s secret wooing would have made little or no impression on her heart. But she was exactly at that critical period of life, when nature, and a careful mother, usually teach very different lessons. The former creates a series of new and warm feelings which she teaches the maiden, to regard as the very panacea of ​life; the latter carefully warns her charge against the surprizes of a nameless passion, which she describes, as more dangerous and destructive than the most baneful disease; the former enlivens her heart in the spring of life with that genial warmth which is proper to the season; the latter would have her remain always as cold and cheerless as an ice-cave. These opposite systems of two equally kind mothers, caused the flexible heart of the maiden to be never strictly obedient to either, and influenced by both these opposing means, she took a path that was dictated by neither. Mela prized the virtue and decency her education had taught her to respect, but her heart grew susceptible of the most tender impressions. Frank was the first youth who had awakened nature’s dormant feelings, and she had a secret inclination towards him, which she scarcely avowed to herself, but which every less inexperienced maiden would have called love; and leaving his neighbourhood, therefore, grieved her very much. It had at first filled her beautiful eyes with tears; and now made her kindly ​return Frank’s salutation with sweet blushes, as he met her and her mother on their way from church. The two lovers had never yet exchanged one word; but he understood her and she him, so well, that words could not have made them understand each other more distinctly, even if by themselves; and both parties vowed in their hearts, to preserve the greatest secrecy, and be eternally faithful.
In the quarter where mother Brigitta now resided, there were not wanting persons who made it their business to hunt out the most beautiful maidens and by them the charms of the fair Mela did not long remain unnoticed.
Directly opposite to their humble lodgings, lived an opulent brewer, whom the witlings of the day chose to call the king of hops, on account of his great wealth. He was a spruce young widower, whose time of mourning was just drawing to a close, and who, without offending the laws of decorum, might now look out for a second help-mate. Immediately after the decease of his late wife, he had, in the greatest secrecy made a pact with his patron St. Christo​pher, and promised to present him with a wax candle as large as a hop-pole, if he would grant him, in a second wife, the happiness he had hoped, in vain, to find with the first.
Scarcely had he seen the fair Mela, when hedreamt that St. Christopher looked into his bed-room window on the second floor, and reminded him of his promise. This appeared to the lusty widower, an indication from his patron saint, that great happiness would be his lot, and he resolved immediately to try his fortune.
Early the next morning he commanded a large quantity of well-bleached wax; he then made himself as smart as possible, and sallied forth on his marriage business. He had no taste for music, and was ignorant of all the secret symbols and expressions of love; but his brewery was extensive; he had, besides, a large capital lent out at interest; a ship in the Weser, and a farm near the town, With such recommendations, he might have looked for success, even without the help of St. Christopher, especially with a maiden who had no marriage portion.
​According to the old custom, he went immediately to mother Brigitta, and, like a kind and affectionate neighbour, declared to her the honest intentions he had, in respect to her virtuous and modest daughter. The appearance of a saint or an angel, could not have delighted the good old lady, more than this joyful piece of news. She now saw her well-laid plans about to be accomplished, and her long deferred hopes gratified. She saw herself already rescued from her poverty, and again surrounded by opulence. She blessed the circumstances that induced her to leave her former habitation; and, in the first spring of joy, looking on Frank as partly the cause of this, she thought with kindness even of him. Though he had never been a favourite with her, still she promised herself to make him, by some means or other, a sharer in her prosperity.
In her heart, she regarded the marriage articles, as already signed, but decency required her to take some time for deliberation in so weighty an affair; she therefore thanked the honourable suitor for his good intentions; promised ​to consult with her daughter, on his proposal; and to give him, as she hoped, a favourable answer at the end of eight days. With this, he seemed very well pleased, and politely took his leave.
He had scarcely turned his back, when the spinning-wheel, the reel and heckel, in spite of their faithful services, were banished as useless articles to the lumber room. When Mela returned from church, she was astonished at observing this sudden alteration in their parlour, where every thing had been put in order, as if it were one of the three high festivals of the church. But she was still more astonished at observing her mother, who was usually industrious, sitting idle on a week-day, and smiling in such a way as to shew she had not met with any disaster. Before she could ask her, howver, about this change in the house, the latter gave an explanation of the miracle. Conviction was in her own heart, and a stream of female eloquence flowed from her lips, as she described, in the most glowing colours she could find in the range of her imagi​nation, the happiness which awaited them. She expected from her daughter, the gentle blush of virgin modesty, the forerunner of love, and then, a complete resignation to her will. For, in those times, daughters were exactly in the same situation as to marriage, as princesses at present. Their inclinations were never consulted, and they had nothing further to say in the choice of their husbands, than to give their assent at the altar.
Mother Brigitta, however, was much mistaken in her expectations; the fair Mela, far from blushing like a rose at this unexpected piece of news, grew pale as death, and fell fainting into her mother’s arms. After she had been recalled to life and consciousness by the application of cold water, her eyes were suffused with tears, as if a great misfortune had befallen her. The experienced matron was soon convinced that the offer of the rich brewer was not received with a willing heart by her daughter, of which she was much astonished, and spared neither prayers nor advice in her endeavours to persuade Mela not to neglect this opportunity of acquiring a rich husband. But Mela ​was not to be persuaded that her happiness depended upon a match, to which her heart denied its assent. Their debates on this subject continued for several days, both early and late; the time for giving an answer approached; the gigantic candle intended for St. Christopher, of which, the king of Basan might have been proud, had it been used at his wedding, was ready, and beautifully painted with many coloured flowers, although the saint had so completely neglected the affairs of his client, that the heart of the fair Mela remained shut up and barred against him.
Her mother’s wishes and persuasions in the meantime affected her so powerfully, that she became almost blind from continually weeping, and faded away like a blighted flower. Grief gnawed at her heart, and for three days she had tasted no food, nor wetted her parched lips even with a drop of water. Sleep came not to quiet and to sooth her; she fell dangerously ill, and demanded the priest to confess her, and give her the sacrament. The tender mother thus saw the pillar of her hope give ​way; she reflected that she might lose her daughter, and with her the possibility of success, and resolved, after a mature consideration, that it would be wiser to resign the present flattering prospect than run the risk of hurrying her daughter to an early grave; she kindly, therefore, gave up her own wishes to gratify those of her daughter. It cost her many a severe pang to decline such an advantageous alliance; but she at length submitted, like a good mother, to the superior authority of the dear child, and even gave up reproaching her. When the ready widower appeared on the appointed day firmly believing that his heavenly mediator had settled every thing in his favour, to his astonishment he met with a refusal, sweetened however, with so much politeness, that it was like wormwood covered with sugar. He soon resigned himself to his fate, and was no more affected than if a bargain for malt had been broken off. Indeed, he had no reason to despair; his native city has never experienced any want of amiable maidens, answering to Solomon’s description, and well qualified to make ​excellent wives; in spite also of this failure, he relied with great confidence on the assistance of his patron saint, who, indeed, served him so well, that, before the end of the month, he placed with great pomp the promised gift on the altar of St. Christopher.
Mother Brigitta was now obliged to bring back the exiled spinning-wheel, and again to put it into activity. Every thing soon returned into its usual course. Mela recovered her health, her bloom and her cheerfulness; she was active at her work, and went regularly to mass. But her mother would not conceal her grief for the destruction of her favourite plan, and the loss of her best hope. She became peevish, discontented and melancholy. On the day on which the king of hops celebrated his wedding, she was particularly bad, and suffered great pain and uneasiness. When the festive train moved on towards the church, accompanied by all the pipers and trumpeters of the city, she sighed and groaned, as at the hour when she first heard that the raging waves had swallowed her husband and all his fortune. Mela ​saw the bridal festivities with great composure; even the beautiful jewels, the precious stones in the bridal crown, and the nine rows of large pearls round the neck of the bride, could not disturb her quiet, which is rather astonishing, as a new bonnet from Paris, or some other fashionable trifle is sufficient, at times, to disturb the domestic peace of whole families. Nothing diminished her happiness, but the grief of her kind mother which made her extremely uneasy.
She tried, by a thousand little attentions and caresses, to coax her into a better humour; and she succeeded so far, that her poor mother became at least communicative.
Towards the evening, when the dance began, she said: “Oh my daughter, you might at this moment be leading this dance! What happiness would it be for me, if you rewarded me in this manner for all my care and trouble. But you have turned away from fortune when she smiled on you, and now I shall not live to accompany you to the altar.”
“Confide in heaven, my dear mother,” ans​wered Mela, “as I must, if it is there ordained that I shall go to the altar, you will live to adorn me with the bridal garment, and, when the right suitor comes, my heart will soon assent.”
“Child, child,” replied the prudent mother, portionless maidens are not much sought after; they must accept those who will have them. Young men are, in our days, more selfish than otherwise; they only marry when it suits themselves, and never think of the bashfulness of others. The heavens are not favourable to you, the planets have been consulted, and they are seldom auspicious to those born as you were in April. Let us see what says the almanack? ‘Maidens born in this month bear kindly pleasant countenances, and are of a slender form, but they are changeable in their inclinations, like the weather, and must guard well the virgin mood. When a smiling suitor comes let them not regret his offer.’ See how well that answers! The suitor has come, and none will come hereafter, for you have rejected his offer.”
​“Oh mother! mother! do not mind what the planet says, my heart tells me that I ought to love and honour the man who takes me for his wife, and if I find no such man, or am sought after by none such, I will remain single all my life, and maintain myself by the work of my hands; will keep a joyful heart, and as sist and nurse you in your old age, as becomes a pious daughter. But, if the man of my choice should come, then, oh mother! bless him and me, that your child may be happy: and do not ask whether he be great, honoured, and rich, but whether he loves me and is beloved.”
“Love, my daughter, has but a scanty larder, and is not sufficient to live on.”
“But where it exists, mother, peace and content dwell, and convert into luxuries the meanest food.”
This inexhaustible subject kept the two females awake as long as the fiddles at the marriage feast were heard, and Mother Brigitta could not help suspecting that Mela’s equanimity, which, in the pride of youth and beauty, made her indifferent for riches, was supported ​by some secret inclination of her virgin heart. And she even guessed right as to the object, though hitherto she had never suspected the lint merchant from the narrow street to occupy a place in her daughter’s heart. She had looked on him merely as a wild youth, wooing every maiden that came within his view. This discovery, therefore, gave her no pleasure, but she held her peace. According to her strict notions of morality, she thought a maiden who allowed love to enter her heart before marriage, was like a cankered apple, the maggot is within, though it may still look well outside, and serve to adorn a mantle-piece, yet it has lost its value and hastens to destruction. The old lady now despaired of once more regaining her old station in her native city, she resigned herself to her fate, and bore in silence what she thought could not be mended.
The report of Mela’s having refused the rich brewer, soon got abroad, and even reached the ears of Frank, who was overjoyed, for it took away all his fears, that at some time or other a rich suitor might supplant him in Mela’s heart. ​He now knew what he had to hope, and could easily solve the problem which remained inexplicable to the wise inhabitants of Bremen. Love had converted the profligate youth into a clever musician, but unluckily, that character was not a very powerful recommendation for a suitor in those times, it being neither so much honoured, nor so well paid as at present. The fine arts were not then the handmaids of affluence and prosperity, but confined their votaries to poverty and want. No other travelling musicians were then known, but Bohemian students, whose noisy shrill symphonies solicited alms at the doors of the opulent. A serenade was all Frank had to give, and the beloved maiden had made too great a sacrifice, for him to be rewarded by it only. At this time the thought of his former behaviour became a thorn in his bosom. Many a monologue he began, with execrations against his own madness. Oh Mela, Mela! he sighed, why did I not know you before, you would have been my protecting angel, and might have saved me from ruin.
Could I recall my lost years, could I be once ​more what I was, when I began my mad career, the world would be an Eden to me, and I would make it an Eden to you. Noble maiden! you sacrifice yourself for a wretch, a beggar, who has no other patrimony, but a heart filled with love and despair, because he cannot offer you a fate worthy of your virtues! A thousand times he struck his forehead during these fits of phrensied discontent, calling himself a thoughtless wretch! a fool! too late comes thy repentance!
Despair was not however, the only fruit of his reflections. The powers of his mind were roused; a warm desire arose to alter his present condition, by exertion and activity, and he was induced to try what he could effect. Among the many means he thought of as likely to mend his fortune, the one which promised most success, and which appeared most rational, was to look over all his late father’s accounts, and find out what debts were still due to him. With these fragments of a once princely fortune; should he be fortunate enough to collect them, he hoped to lay the foundation of another; if not ​as large as that he had lost, yet sufficient for all the purposes of life. His project was to employ whatever sum he could collect, in business, which he expected would increase by degrees, till his imagination flattered him, his ships should visit every part of the world. Many of these debts he found were unfortunately due from correspondents at distant places, and he was soon convinced that he should have a much greater chance of success, if he were to go in person to claim his own. He accordingly sold his father’s gold watch, the only remains of his inheritance to enable him to buy a horse which was to carry him into the world under the title of a Bremen merchant.
The only regret he felt, was occasioned by the separation from his beloved Mela. “What will she think of my sudden disappearance?” he said to himself, “I shall meet her no longer on her way home from church: will she not think me faithless, and banish me from her heart?” This idea made him very uneasy, and, for some time, he could discover no means to inform her of his intentions. Inventive love, however, soon ​inspired him with the happy thought of communicating the cause of his absence to her, by having prayers put up for his success, in that church where Mela and her mother generally attended. For this purpose he gave the priest a small sum of money to offer up a daily prayer for a young man obliged to travel abroad, and for success in his undertaking. This prayer was to be continued till his return, when he was to purchase a thanksgiving.
The last time he met Mela he was dressed for his journey; he passed quite close by her and his salutation more open and marked than usual, was as full of meaning as he could make it. She blushed, and mother Brigitta scolded, making many unpleasant remarks, and plainly expressed her vexation at the impudence of the young fellow who meant to ruin her danghter’s reputation, which theme she animadverted on the whole day. Frank however, was not seen any longer in Bremen, and was often sought after by the most lovely eyes in his native city.
Mela heard the prayer read very often, that ​was in fact directed more for her ears, than for the gates of heaven, but she paid no attention to it, so much was she grieved at the disappearance of her lover. The words which might have explained it, fell an empty sound on her ear, and she knew not what to think. At the expiration of a month or two, when her grief had become milder and his absence less tormenting, she one day had been thinking of him during the sermon, and for the first time connecting the prayer with him and his absence, and all the accompanying circumstances, she suddenly divined its meaning, wondered at her own stupidity in not before discovering it, and in her heart admired and praised the ingenious device. It is true that these prayers have no very high reputation for efficacy, and are but a weak support for those pious persons who rely upon them. The warmth of devotion is generally nea ly exhausted at the end of the sermon, but in Mela it only then began; the prayers at the end of the service gave new ardour to her piety, and she never omitted to recommend the young traveller very particularly to both his and her patron saint.
​Under the guidance of these invisible protectors, and accompanied by the fervent wishes of his darling Mela, Frank in the mean time pursued his way towards Antwerp, where the principal debtors of his father resided, and where he hoped to recover several not inconsiderable sums. A journey from Bremen to Antwerp was, in those times, more dangerous than a journey from Bremen to Kamschatka at present. The general peace which the emperor Maximilian had proclaimed throughout the empire, was then very little observed, and the highways were infested in every part with nobles and knights, who waylaid and despoiled those travellers who did not purchase from them a permission to travel in safety, and who not unfrequently condemned the victims of their rapacity to a lingering death, in the subterraneous dungeons of their castles. Our solitary rider succeeded however in spite of all these dangers in reaching the end of his journey, without meeting any, save the following adventure.
While travelling over the sandy and thinly peopled plains of Westphalia, he was overtaken by night before he could reach any ​inn or place of rest. The day had been unusually sultry, and darkness was accompanied by a thunderstorm and a shower of rain, which soon drenched him to the skin. This was extremely inconvenient to the spoiled youth, who had never been accustomed even to the changes of the weather, and he thought, with actual horror, that he should perhaps be compelled to pass the night in this forlorn situation. When the storm had blown over, he discovered, to his great consolation, a light at some little distance, and on riding towards it he soon reached a miserable hut, which promised him little comfort. It was more like a cattle stall than the habitation of men, and the inhospitable owner even refused him entrance; being just about to share the straw with his oxen, he was too sleepy to light his fire again for the sake of a stranger. Frank first lamented piteously, and seeing he made no impression, he began to curse the Westphalian desarts, and their inhabitants, but with no better success, the peasant extinguished his lamp with the great​est composure, without taking any further notice of the stranger, so completely ignorant was he of the laws of hospitality. But, as our hero continued to threaten and thunder at the door, the boor was obliged to get rid of him to enjoy his own night’s rest, and therefore broke his silence: “If you wish to get a good supper, friend, and a soft bed, you would be sadly disappointed in my hut, but ride through the little wood on your left hand, and you will come to the castle of Sir Egbert of Bronkhurst, who welcomes every traveller as a knight hospitaller does the pilgrims from the Holy Land. Sometimes, indeed, he is seized with a fit of madness, and then he never parts with his guests without giving them first a sound drubbing. If you will venture on that risk, you will find in other respects a kind reception.
Frank was for a while uncertain how to act, but at length he resolved to run the risk of the beating rather than remain the whole night in his wet clothes. There was little to choose, he thought, even if he should get into the hut, be​tween spending the night on a wooden bench without supper, and a few stripes in the morning after a good supper and bed. “Perhaps,” said he, “the castigation may drive away the fever which I am sure to catch, and which will torment me sadly, if I remain in this condition. He spurred his horse on, and reached, in a few minutes, the gates of a gothic castle, at which he knocked pretty audibly, and was answered by as loud a “Who is there?” from within. He replied, and asked impatiently for admission, but was obliged to wait till the porter went to inquire whether Sir Egbert was disposed to barter a night’s lodging, for the privilege of thumping his guest on the morrow.
Sir Egbert, a brave knight, had entered in very early youth the army of the emperor, and had served under the celebrated George of Frondsberg, and, at a later period, commanded a company against the Venetians. He then retired from service, and settled on his estate, there to repent of the sins of his youth; he opened his castle-gates to the hungry, the thirsty, or the houseless traveller; and, after ​treating him like a prince, he horsewhipped him out of his house like a vagrant or a thief. He was a rough soldier who could not divest himself of the manners of a camp, though he had now for many years lived in peace and retirement. Frank had not waited many minutes before the bars of the gate were withdrawn, and it opened with a melancholy noise, as if to give warning to the approaching stranger. Our traveller felt a cold shivering come over him as he entered the yard. He was, however, very well received, several domestics came to assist him in dismounting; one took his baggage into the house, another took his horse to the stables, and a third ushered him into a well lighted hall where he found Sir Egbert.
The warlike appearance of the athletic knight, apparently still in the vigour of life, full of fire and strength, who rose to meet his guest, and shook him by the hand till he almost screamed with pain, filled Frank with fear and awe; he could not conceal his terror, but trembled from head to foot.
“What ails you, young man,” asked the ​knight, in a voice of thunder, “that you tremble and grow pale, as if in the clutches of death?” Frank felt that it was now too late to retract, and, being convinced that he was likely to pay dear for his fare, he summed up all his courage, and assumed even an impudent air to conceal his cowardice.
“Sir knight,” he boldly replied, “the rain has drenched me as if I had swam through the Weser; I want, therefore, to change my wet clothes, and to get a good warm posset to banish these shiverings, which seem like the commencement of an ague, but a warm draught is most likely to cure me.”
“Well said,” replied the knight; “make yourself at home, and ask for what you want.”
Frank made the servants wait on him, as if he had been the grand Turk, and, having only blows to expect, he did not care if he deserved them. He therefore teazed the servants about him in every possible way.
“This doublet,” said he, “is made for a big bellied abbot, bring me one that fits me. These slippers hurt my corns, bring me a softer and ​larger pair. This collar is as stiff as a board, and almost throttles me, bring me one that is not so much starched.” The master of the house, so far from shewing any displeasure at these bremish liberties, even drove his servants to fulfil Frank’s commands, and called them blockheads, who knew not how to wait on his guest. When the posset was ready, both landlord and guest, partook heartily of it. Soon afterwards the former said:
“Will you take some supper, young sir?”
“Let them put on table,” answered Frank, “what the cook has at hand, that I may see whether your larder is well supplied.”
Orders were accordingly given, and the servants soon afterwards served up an excellent supper, fit for a prince. Frank sat down to it, and waited not till he was pressed, to eat voraciously. After having satisfied his hunger, he said: “Your larder is indifferently well supplied if your cellar be the same, I shall have to praise your house-keeping.”
The knight made a sign to the butler, to fill a goblet with common table wine, which he did, ​and offered it to his master, who emptied it to the health of his guest. Frank did not fail to pledge him, and after he had also emptied the goblet, the knight asked: “What do you think of this wine?”
“It’s poor stuff,” replied Frank, “if it is your best, but tolerably good, if it is only your table drink.”
“You are a connoisseur,” answered Sir Egbert, and bid the butler bring some of the best.
When Frank had tasted this, he said: “That is a noble beverage, let us keep to this.”
The goblets were filled accordingly, and the knight and his guest drank together, till both became merry and pleased with each other. Sir Egbert began to talk of his campaigns, and told his guest how he had fought against the Venetians, broke through their encampments, and had killed them like so many sheep. This subject awakened the enthusiasm of the old soldier; he threw down bottles and glasses, brandished the carving-knife like a sword, and pressed so close on his companion, that the latter began to fear for his nose and ears.
​The knight seemed quite in his element, when talking of his campaigns against the Venetians, and, though it grew late, he seemed to have no disposition to sleep. His description became more lively at every goblet he emptied; and Frank became apprehensive, lest this might be the prologue to the principal action, in which he was to perform the most conspicuous, though the least agreeable part. He wished to learn at once, where he was to pass the night; and, therefore, asked for the parting cup, expecting that the knight would now begin to press him to drink, and, if he did not, would make his refusal the ground for a quarrel, and send him away with his usual quantum of blows, according to the custom of the house. Contrary to his expectation, however, his request was immediately complied with. The knight broke off his story, saying: “Every thing in proper time, more to morrow.”
“Pardon me, sir knight,” replied Frank, “to-morrow, I shall be far from here. I have a long journey before me to Brabant, and must depart early. I shall therefore bid you fare​well, to-night, that my departure may not disturb your rest in the morning.”
“Do as you choose,” said the knight, “but you shall not leave my house till I am up, and have seen you refreshed by a morning’s repast; and then I will accompany you to the gates, and part with you according to the custom of my house.”
Frank needed no commentary to explain these words. He would willingly have dispensed with the last civilities of his landlord, but he did not seem disposed to depart from the usual ceremonies. He ordered the servants to shew the stranger into the bed chamber, and soon Frank was safely deposited in an excellent bed of down. Before he fell asleep, he could not help confessing to himself, that such a lordly entertainment was not too dearly bought, by a moderate beating. Pleasant dreams took possession of his imagination. He saw his beloved Mela, walking about among roses with her mother, gathering the beautiful flowers, and he quickly concealed himself behind a thick hedge, not to be seen ​by the severe old lady. Again, he was transported into his old lodgings, and saw the snow-white hand of the maiden, busy among the flowers. Then he sat beside her in the grass, and wished to talk of love, but was so bashful, he could find no words for it. He might have dreamt thus till mid-day, if the loud voice and the trampling of the knight, who was already booted and spurred, had not awakened him at day-break. Frank heard the butler and cook ordered to prepare a good breakfast, and the other servants to be ready, to wait on and dress him at his rising.
The happy dreamer parted very reluctantly from his safe and hospitable bed: but the loud voice of his landlord deprived him of all desire to sleep; he knew he must get up, and therefore did; a dozen hands were immediately busy about him; and, when he was dressed, the knight himself came and led him into the hall, where he found a small but well covered table As the scene drew towards a close, however, our traveller had little appetite. His landlord encouraged him to eat, or at least to take something to ​tect himself against the coolness of the morning.
“Sir knight,” said Frank, “your supper was too good to allow me to relish my breakfast; but, with your leave, I will fill my pockets to be provided against hunger when it comes.” He accordingly took the best and richest that was on the table, and crammed his pockets well. When his horse, well cleaned, bridled and saddled, was brought to the door, he drank in a glass of cordial to the health and welfare of his host, expecting that would be the signal for his being seized on and soundly beat.
But, to his great astonishment, the knight shook him as kindly by the hand as when he first met him, wished him a good journey, and the servants opened the gates. He mounted his horse, spurred him rapidly on, and was in a few minutes outside of the gate, without a hair on his head being injured.
A heavy load fell from his heart when he saw himself at liberty, without having received the expected beating. He could not conceive why his host should have spared him contrary ​to his general custom, and was now first grateful for the hospitable knight’s kindness; he felt a great curiosity to know whether there was any foundation in the report he had heard, and, therefore, turned his horse’s head and rode back. The knight was still standing at the gate, making observations on the shape and breed of Frank’s horse, breeding horses being his own favourite pursuit. He thought his guest had missed some part of his baggage, and looked with displeasure on his servants. “What do you want, young man?” he called out to Frank, as he approached, “why do you return when you intended to pursue your journey?”
“To have one word with you, sir knight,” said the rider. “A malicious report to the ruin of your good name and reputation, says, that you receive all strangers well, but that you beat them soundly before you allow them to depart. Relying on this report, I have done all I could to deserve the parting salutation, and you have allowed me to depart in peace, without making me pay the customary reckoning. This astonishes me. Tell me, therefore, ​is there any foundation for this report, or shall I give the foul defamers the lie?”
To this the knight replied: “Report has, in this instance, told the truth; and there is no such saying among the people quite destitute of foundation. I shall explain to you, however, the real circumstances of this affair. I receive every stranger who comes to my gates, and share my food and my goblet with him. But I am a simple German of the old school, who speaks as he thinks, and I expect that my guests should be also cheerful and confident, and enjoy with me what I have, and freely ask for what they want. But there are some people who teaze me with all sorts of follies, and make a fool of me, with their bowing and scraping, who never speak openly, and use many words without sense or meaning; they want to flatter me with their smooth tongues, and behave at meals like foolish women. If I say eat! they take with great apparent reluctance a miserable bone which I should not offer to my dog: if I say drink! they scarcely wet their lips with the good wine, as if they despised the bounties ​of God. They carry their follies to so great a length, that I scarcely know what to do in my own house. They put me at last into a passion, I seize them by the collar, cudgel them soundly, and turn them out of my doors. This is my plan, and I treat every guest thus, whom I find troublesome. But a man like you is always welcome to my house. You spoke your mind openly and freely, as the good people of Bremen always do. Let me see you again, therefore, on your return, and now farewell.” After these words Frank departed, and continued his journey towards Antwerp with renewed strength and courage, sincerely wishing he might every where meet with as kind a reception as at the castle of Sir Egbert of Brockhost. At his first entrance into that city, the queen of the cities of Brabant, his hopes were raised to a high pitch. Opulence and luxury were every where visible, and it seemed as if want and poverty were banished from this seat of industry. “My father’s debtors,” he said to himself, “must most likely be sharing in this general wealth; and have again improved their ​circumstances, and will be ready to pay me if I produce my documents to prove my demands are just.” After he had recovered from the fatigues of his journey, he made some enquiries concerning the circumstances of some of his debtors, before he went to call on them. “How is it with Peter Martens?” he asked his companions at table, “is he still living, and does he thrive?”
“Peter Martens is a wealthy man,” replied one of the company, “and drives a flourishing trade.”
“Is Fabian of Plurs in good circumstances?”
“Oh, he scarcely knows how to employ his immense capital; he is one of the council, and his woollen manfactures give him ample profits.”
“Is Jonathan Prishkur also in a thriving way?”
“He would be now worth a plum, if the emperor Maximilian had not allowed the French to steal his bride. Jonathan had orders to furnish the lace for her marriage clothes, but the emperor has broke his bargain ​with the merchant, as the bride broke her’s with him. If you have a sweetheart, to whom you wish to make a present of some fine lace, I dare say,” continued the speaker, “he will let you have what he intended for the princess at half price.”
“Has the house of the Bute Kant failed, or does it still carry on business?”
“Some years ago it was tottering, but the Spanish Caravelles have helped to prop it up so that it seems now likely to stand.”
Frank inquired after several other houses or persons, on whom he had demands, he learned that the most of them, who had in his father’s time stopped payment, were now floursihing, which confirmed his opinion, that a seasonable bankruptcy was a sure foundation for after prosperity. This news served to cheer up his spirits; he arranged his papers, and presented the old bills at their proper places. But he experienced from the people of Antwerp, the same treatment which his travelling fellow-​citizens of the present day experience from the shop-keepers in the provincial towns of Germany: every body treats them politely, except when they come to receive money: some would know nothing of their old debts, or said they had all been settled at the time of their bankruptcy, and it was the fault of the creditor if he had not accepted payment. Others did not remember Melchior of Bremen, they opened their infallible books, and found nothing posted under that name. Some brought forth a large charge against Frank’s father; and, before the expiration of three days, he was safely shut up in prison to answer for them, and was not to be released till he had paid the last farthing.
These were not pleasant prospects for a young man, who confiding in the honesty of the people of Antwerp, had placed his hopes on them as the patrons of his fortune, and who now saw at once the fair bubble vanish into nothing. He felt in his narrow lodging all the torments of a soul in purgatory. He saw his vessel wrecked in the very harbour, where he deemed himself safe from the storms; every ​thought of Mela was a dagger to his heart; for he saw no longer, even the shadow of a possibility, to rise once more from the whirlpool, in which he had sunk. Indeed, had he succeeded to get his head once more above water, he knew, that she was on her side, perfectly unable to assist him farther.
A silent despair took possession of his heart; he had no other wish but to die, and thus to end his torments. He did, in fact, make an attempt to starve himself to death, but that is not in every body’s power; a healthy young stomach does not so easily submit to the decrees of the head or the heart. After having abstained for two days from all food, such a violent hunger seized him, that it was impossible to withstand its dictates; and his resolution was conquered by the sight of a crust of bread.
It was not, however, the intention of the hard-hearted citizens of Antwerp, to get money from their pretended debtor, but only to make him give up his claims on their money, as they could not deny the justice of his demands. Either the prayers from the pulpit at Bremen ​reached the porch of heaven, or his supposed creditors were not desirous of keeping a troublesome boarder for any length of time; but, at the end of three months, Frank was liberated from prison, upon condition that he would leave the city within four and twenty hours, and never return to it. He received, at the same time, a small sum of money, to pay the expences of his journey home. Justice had seized on his horse and on his baggage, to pay for the law proceedings and for his board.
With a heavy heart, and no other friend than a walking-stick, poor Frank departed very humbly out of the proud city which he had entered, but a short time ago, with such high flown hopes. Spiritless, thoughtless, and irresolute, he wandered on, without being aware where the road led he had taken. He saluted nobody, asked no questions, and paid no attention to any thing, till hunger and excess of fatigue, obliged him to look out for some place where he might get his wants supplied. He wandered on, without aim or object for many days, ignorant that some instinct had lead him imper​ceptibly to take the straight road home, when, on a sudden, he seemed to awake as from an unpleasant dream, and became aware of the direction he had taken.
He immediately stopt to consider whether he should go on, or return. Shame and confusion overwhelmed him, when he reflected that he should live like a beggar in his native city, be branded with contempt, and should have to depend upon the benevolence of his fellow-citizens, whom he once surpassed in wealth and ostentation. And how could he think of appearing before Mela in this miserable condition? she would die with shame, and he would be sure to lose her for ever. He did not allow his imagination to finish this melancholy picture; but turned about, and hurried away as if he had already reached the gates of Bremen, and saw the mob ready to greet him with scorn and mockery.
Instantly, he resolved he would try to reach one of the Dutch sea-ports, would enter on board a Spanish ship as a sailor, go to the new world, and not return to his own country, till ​he had gained in Peru, where riches abounded, that wealth he had thoughtlessly wasted before he was aware of its value. In this plan, Mela was placed so far at a distance, that she appeared like a shadow he was destined never to catch; but Frank felt a ray of happiness that she was once more entered as a feature in the picture of his future life, and he walked forward with long strides, as if he thought to reach her the sooner for his haste.
He had regained the frontiers of the Netherlands, when he arrived one evening at sun-set, at a small town, called Rummelsburg, which was afterwards entirely destroyed, during the thirty years war. A number of carriers already occupied the tavern, so that there was no place for him; and the landlord bade him go to the next village: in truth, he took him, on account of his present miserable appearance, for the spy of a gang of thieves, who, he supposed, might be on the watch for the goods of the carriers. Frank was therefore obliged, in spite of his great weariness, to prepare for a farther journey and to resume his bundle.
​On departing, he uttered bitter complaints and execrations against the hard hearted landlord, who seemed at length, to pity the poor weary stranger, and called after him:
“One word, young fellow: if you wish so very much to stop here for the night, I can provide for you. In the castle yonder, there are plenty of rooms, to which I have the keys; but as it is not inhabited, it may be too solitary for you.”
Frank readily accepted this proposal, thanked the landlord for his offer, and only asked for supper and shelter for the night, be it in a palace or a hut. But the host was a wag, who had been offended at Frank’s complaints, and meant to revenge himself, by exposing Frank to be tormented by a troublesome ghost, who had haunted the old castle for many years, and frightened away all its inhabitants.
The castle was built on a steep rock, just outside the town immediately opposite the inn, being separated from it only by the high road and a small brook. On account of its pleasant situation, it was still kept in good repair; was well ​furnished, and served its present possessor, as a hunting seat. He often spent the day there in great splendour; but, whenever the stars appeared, he left it with all his followers, being terrified by the ghost, who roared and rattled through it all night, but was never seen or heard during the day. However unpleasant a guest this spectre might be to the lord of the castle, in other respects, he was, at least, a perfect protection against thieves or robbers, of whom none would venture near his abode.
It was quite dark when Frank, carrying a lanthern, and accompanied by his host, with a basket, arrived at the gates of the castle. The latter had provided a good supper and a bottle of wine, which he said he would not put in the bill, he had with him likewise two candlesticks and a pair of wax candles; for, in the whole castle, there was neither candlestick nor candles to be found, because nobody ever stopped there after twilight. As they were walking on, Frank, who had observed the heavy basket and the candles, which he thought ​would be quite useless to him, and for which he should, nevertheless, be obliged to pay. “The bit of candle in the lanthern is sufficient for me,” said he, “till I go to bed, and I hope not to awake before broad day-light, for I am very sleepy and wish to have a long rest.”
“I will not conceal from you,” said the landlord, “that report says, the castle is haunted by a spectre who walks about at night. But you need not be afraid, we shall be quite near you, should any thing happen, you may easily call out to us, and you will find somebody immediately ready to assist you; with us, people are stirring all night, and there is always somebody at hand. I have lived here now these thirty years, and have never seen any thing. The noise which is sometimes heard at night, is caused, in my opinion, by the cats and other animals, which have taken possession of the garrets.”
The landlord spoke the truth, when he said, he had never seen the spectre; for he took good care never to go near the castle at night, ​and, during the day, the ghost was invisible; even now, the rogue did not venture to cross the threshold. He opened the door, gave our traveller the basket with the provisions, told him where to go, and wished him good night. Frank entered the hall, without fear or awe, treating the story of the ghost as an idle gossip, or the tradition of some real event, which fancy had converted to something unnatural. He remembered the report concerning Sir Egbert, whose heavy arm he had so needlessly feared and who had treated him with so much kindness. He made it a general rule, always to believe the very contrary of such reports, and quite forgot, as the knight stated, that all reports had their foundation in truth.
Following the direction of his host, he ascended a winding stone stair-case, and came to a door, the key of which the landlord had given him. Here he entered a long dark passage, where his steps resounded from the walls, he passed thence into a large saloon, and afterwards into a row of smaller rooms, well supplied with every thing necessary both for ​ornament and comfort. He choose the most cheerful looking one amongst them for his sleeping room; here he found a soft couch, the windows were towards the yard of the tavern, and he could hear every loud word that was spoken there. He lighted the candles, brought out his supper, and eat with as much comfort and ease, as if he had been in his old lodgings at Bremen. A big bellied bottle protected him from thirst. As long as his teeth were employed he found no time to think of the spectre. If he heard a noise at a distance, and fear called out, “Listen! there comes the ghost!” “Courage,” answered nonsense! “the cats are fighting!” But after supper when the feelings of hunger and thirst no longer occupied his attention, he listened to every noise, and fear whispered three anxious thoughts into his ears, before courage could find one answer. To secure him from any sudden attack, he locked and bolted the door, sat down on a stone bench at the window, opened it and looked out, to divert his mind, on the starry heavens, and at the silvery moon. The street below him grew ​more and more silent, and, contrary to the assertion of the landlord, that his people were up all night, Frank saw one door closed after another, the lights extinguished, and every part of the inn became as quiet as the grave. The watchman, however, went his round, called out the hour, and the state of the weather, and, to the great consolation of Frank, began to sing an evening hymn directly under the open window, and, had he not been afraid that the man would run away frightened, should he hear himself addressed from the haunted castle, he would fain have began a conversation with him.
In the midst of a populous town, when a man is harassed by silly people, it may appear a pleasant relief to retire to some solitary spot, and philosophize on the charms of solitude. He then represents it as most soothing to the mind, he multiplies its advantages and sighs for its enjoyment. But where such solitude is, as in the island of Juan Fernandez, where one poor shipwrecked sailor lived many years quite alone, in a thick forest at midnight, or in an old uninhabited castle, where damp walls ​and unexplored vaults create apprehension and horror, and where nothing gives signs o life, but the mournful ruin-loving owl, theref solitude is hateful, and companions pleasant, especially if the solitary person, like Frank, should expect every moment to see some horrid spectre. In such a situation, a conversation from the window, even with the watchman, may appear more entertaining than the most interesting book, were it even a dissertation on solitude. Had Zimmermann been in Frank’s place in the castle of Rummelsburg on the frontiers of Westphalia, he would then probably have planned as interesting a work on the pleasures of society, as troublesome people provoked him to write on solitude.
The midnight hour is said to be the time when the spiritual world begins to live and act, while the more coarse animal kingdom, enjoys repose. For this reason, Frank wished to go to sleep before the critical hour arrived; he shut the window therefore, surveyed once more every corner of his room, and quickly threw himself on the soft couch, greatly to the ​delight of his wearied limbs. Sleep, however, came not so soon as he wished. A palpitation which he ascribed to the wine he had drank, kept him awake for some time; during which, he repeated his prayers more fervently than he had done for many years; at length, he fell soundly asleep. After a short time, he awoke with a sudden start, when, on remembering where he was, he heard the town clock strike twelve; which news, the watchman soon afterwards loudly proclaimed. No other noise was, however, heard. Frank listened for some time, and, turning round, was again relapsing into the arms of sleep, when at some distance he heard a door opened, and immediately afterwards shut with a loud crash.
“Woe! woe to me!” whispered fear, “here comes the ghost!” “It is the wind, nothing but the wind,” replied courage. But the noise approached nearer and nearer, like the heavy steps of a man, rattling his chains as he moved, or like the chamberlain of some old castle, wandering about his domain changing his bunch of keys. This could not be the wind—​courage vanished, fear drove all the blood to Frank’s heart—till it beat, as if too full, and were trying to burst from its confinement.
As the noise approached, the matter appeared quite serious to Frank, and he could not even collect resolution enough, to rise and call from the window, on the people of the inn. He took refuge under his coverlet, which he drew quite over him, as the ostrich is said to hide his head in the grass, when he can no longer escape the enemy. Doors were opened and shut with a terrible noise; and at last, an attempt was made on the door of Frank’s retreat. Several keys were tried, and at length, the right one found, still the bars held the door, when at length, a loud crash, like a clap of thunder, burst them asunder and the door flew open. A tall thin man entered, he had a very black beard, was clothed in an old fashioned dress, and had a gloomy expression in his countenance, overhanging brows gave him the appearance of deep thought. A scarlet mantle was thrown over his left shoulder, and his hat was high and pointed. He walked silently through the ​room with the same slow and heavy step with which he had approached, looked at the consecrated candles, and even snuffed them. Then he threw off his mantle, opened a bag which he carried under his arm, took out instruments for shaving, and began to sharpen a shining razor on a broad leather strap, which he wore on his belt.
Frank perspired under his downy covering with fear and dread; recommended himself to the protection of the Holy Virgin, and looked forward with great anxiety for the end of this manœuvre, not knowing whether it was meant for his beard or for his throat. To his consolation, the spectre poured water from a silver flagon into a basin of the same material, and with his bony hand beat the soap up into foaming suds; placed a chair, and then, with great earnestness, beckoned the terrified Frank from his retreat. It was no more possible to resist this meaning sign, than it generally is to resist the mute who has orders from the grand Turk to bring him the head of some exiled visier. It is the most sensible plan, in such a case, to ​make a virtue of necessity, and patiently allow oneself to be throttled. Frank obeyed the order, threw off the mattress, rose from his couch, and took the assigned place on the chair.
The spectre barber put the napkin round the neck of his trembling customer, seized his scissars, and cut off Frank’s hair and beard. Then he proceeded to cover his chin, and even his head, with soap lather, and, when this was done, he shaved him smoothly, so completely so that not a hair was left above his shoulders. When the spectre had completed this operation, he washed Frank very clean, dried him carefully, bowed, packed up his implements, resumed his scarlet cloak, and turned to depart. The consecrated candles burned perfectly bright during the whole of the proceeding, and, by the light, Frank saw in the mirror opposite him that the barber had made him like a Chinese pagod. He was vexed at losing his beautiful brown curls, but he breathed freely, being aware that he should escape otherwise unhurt, and that the spectre had no longer any power over him.
​The man in the red cloak walked in silence as he had come towards the door, without saying a single word, and seemed quite the reverse of his gossipping brethren; scarcely had he retired three steps, however, when he stood still, looked round with a mournful mien at his well-served customer, and touched his own black beard with his hand. He repeated this ceremony three times, and the third time, when he had his hand on the door. Frank began to think that the ghost wished him to do something for him, and, perhaps, expected from him the same service which he had rendered him.
The barber spectre, in spite of his mournful looks, seemed more disposed to jest than earnest, and as he had played Frank a trick rather than tormented him, the latter had lost all his fear. He therefore beckoned the spectre to take the place in the chair, which he had just left. The ghost obeyed with great alacrity, threw down his cloak, laid the bag on the table, and sat down in the position of a person who is to be shaved. Frank was careful to imitate ​the manner in which the ghost had proceeded, cut off the beard and hair with the scissars, and soaped his whole head, while his strange companion sat as still as a statue. The awkward youth had never before had a razor in his hand, knew not how to handle it, and shaved the patient ghost so much against the grain, that the sufferer displayed the oddest grimaces. The ignorant bungler began to be afraid; he remembered the wise precept, “Do not meddle with another man’s business,” but still be proceeded, he did as well as he could, and shaved the spectre as clean and as bald as he was himself.
Suddenly the ghost found its tongue; “Kindly I thank thee for the great services thou hast rendered me; by thy means I have been released from long captivity, which, for three hundred years bound me within these walls, where my departed spirit was condemned to dwell, till a mortal man should retaliate on me, and treat me as I did others when I was alive.
“Know that, in times of yore, there dwelt a ​shameless infidel within this castle, who mocked both at priests and laymen. Count Hartman no body’s friend: he acknowledged neither divine nor human laws, and violated the sacred rules of hospitality. The stranger who sought refuge under his roof, the beggar who asked alms of him, was always seized and tormented. I was his barber, flattered his passions, and lived as I chose. Many a pious pilgrim, passing the gates, was invited into the castle; a bath was prepared for him, and, when he meant to enjoy himself, I took hold of him according to orders, shaved him quite bald, and then turned him out of the castle, with scorn and mockery. In such cases Count Hartman used to look out at the window, and to enjoy the sport, particularly if a number of malicious boys collected round the insulted pilgrim, and laughed and mocked at him, calling out after him: “Bald head, bald head!” as the virulent boys of old called after the prophet.
“Once a holy pilgrim came from abroad; like a penitent he carried a heavy cross on his ​shoulders, and had the mark of two nails through his hands, two in his feet, and one in his side; his hair was platted like a crown of thorns. He entered and asked for water to wash his feet, and a crust of bread. According to my custom I took him into the bath, and, without respecting his sanctified appearance, I shaved him also quite clean. But the pious pilgrim pronounced a heavy curse on me; “After death, reprobate! heaven and hell, and the iron gates of purgatory, shall be equally inaccessible to thy soul. It shall dwell, as a spectre, within these walls, till a wanderer unasked shall retaliate on thee thy own evil deeds!”
“I grew sick at hearing the curse; the marrow of my bones dried up, and I decayed away gradually, till I became like a shadow; my soul at length separated from its mortal dwelling, but remained within this place, as the holy man had ordered. In vain I expected deliverance from the dreadful chains that bound me to the earth. The repose which the soul languishes for when it is separated from ​the body was denied to me, and made every year which I was obliged to pass here an age of woe. I was obliged also, as a further punishment, to continue the business which I had carried on during my life time. But, alas! my appearance soon made this house be deserted, it was very rarely that a pilgrim came to pass the night here, and, though I shaved every one who came as I did you, no one would understand me, and perform for me that service which was to deliver my soul from captivity. Henceforth I shall not haunt this castle. I now go to my long desired repose. Once more I give thee my thanks, young stranger. If I had any hidden treasure at my command, they should all be thine, but I never possessed wealth; in this castle there is no treasure hidden. But listen to my advice. Tarry here till your chin and head are again covered with hair, then return to your native city, and wait on the bridge over the Weser at the time of the autumnal equinox for a friend, who will there meet and tell you what you must do to thrive on earth. When you enjoy affluence, re​member me, and order three masses to be said for the repose of my soul on every anniversary of this day. Farewell; I now depart hence, never to return.”
With these words the spectre vanished, having sufficiently justified, by his talkativeness, his assumption of the character of barber of the castle of Rummelsburg, and left his deliverer full of astonishment at this strange adventure. For a long while he stood motionless, doubting whether the event had really happened, or whether he had been dreaming, but his bald head soon convinced him of the reality of the fact. After wasting some time in reflection, he returned to bed and slept till mid-day.
The waggish landlord had watched from the earliest dawn for the appearance of his guest; he was ready, anticipating the bald head, to receive him with apparent astonishment, but secret laughter, at his nightly adventure. But, when mid-day came, and Frank did not appear, he began to be uneasy and afraid that the ghost might have treated his new guest somewhat roughly, might perhaps have throt​tled him, or frightened him to death, and it by no means had been his intention to carry his revenge thus far. He went, therefore, accompanied by his servants, in the greatest anxiety to the castle, and hastening, to the door of the room in which he had seen light on the preceding evening, he found a strange key in the door, but it was bolted inside, a precaution Frank had taken after the disappearance of the ghost. He knocked with great violence, and Frank was at last roused by the noise. At first, he thought the ghost intended to pay him a second visit. But, when he heard the voice of the landlord, begging him to give some sign of life, he rose and opened the door.
“By G—d, and all the saints!” said the landlord, lifting up his hands, with apparent horror: “old Red Cloak has been here, and the tradition is no invention! How did he look? What did he do, or say?”
Frank, who understood the cunning of the host, answered: “The ghost looked like a man in a red cloak; what he did, I cannot conceal from you, and I shall always remember his words:”
​“Stranger,” said he, “never trust the landlord—the man opposite, knew very well what awaited you here. But for this, I will punish him. I shall now leave this castle; and henceforth, I will plague, torment, pinch, and harrass him to the end of his life, at least, if he does not receive you in his house, and supply all your wants, till your head be again covered with hair.”
The landlord trembled from head to foot at hearing this threat, crossed himself, and vowed by the Holy Virgin, to keep Frank in his house as long as he chose to stop, immediately conducted him home, and waited on him himself.
Frank acquired a reputation as an exorcist, by the spectre being no longer seen in the castle. He repeatedly slept there, and a young man of the town, who had the courage to keep him company, did not get his head shorn. When the owner of the castle learnt that the terrible spectre no longer haunted his property, he was highly pleased, and sent orders to take great care of the stranger who had freed his castle from such an unpleasant guest.
​As autumn approached, and Frank’s dark curls again began to cluster about his brows, he became anxious to depart, for his thoughts were all directed towards the friend he was to meet on the bridge over the Weser, and who was to make his fortune. When he was ready to go away, the landlord delivered to him a fine horse, and a well filled purse, which were presents from the owner of the castle, who begged of Frank to accept them, as proofs of his gratitude, for the signal service he had rendered him. Frank returned, therefore, to his native city on horseback, and in as good a condition as he had left it a twelvemonth before. He returned to his old quarters in the narrow street, and remained there very quiet and retired; merely inquiring secretly concerning the fair Mela, he learnt that she was stiil unmarried, aud enjoyed good health, which, for the present, was sufficient for him, as he would not venture to appear before her till his fate was decided, nor even to let her know his arrival.
With the greatest anxiety he looked forward ​to the time of the equinox, and his impatience made every day seem like a year. At last the long desired term arrived. The night preceding it, he could not sleep for anxious expectation, his heart beat high, and his blood was ready to burst his veins, as in the castle of Rummelsburg, when the spectre was approaching. Not to make his unknown friend wait, he rose before day-break and immediately went to the bridge which was yet quite deserted. He walked backwards and forwards several times enjoying in his present hopes of fortune the highest degree of earthly happiness; the confidence of seeing our wishes fulfilled, gives to the human mind the full measure of keen delight. Frank imagined several plans of presenting himself to his beloved Mela; when he had obtained possession of his expected wealth, but he could not decide whether it would be more advisable at once to appear before her in all his splendour, or to make her only by degrees aware of the lucky change in his affairs. Curiosity likewise asked a thousand questions. Who may be the friend ​that is to meet me here? Will it be one of my old acquaintance, who seem all to have forgotten me since my misfortunes? How will it be in his power to make me happy? Will it be an easy or a difficult affair? But he could solve none of these questions in a satisfactory manner, in spite of all his meditations.
By degrees the bridge became thronged with people, horses, carts, coaches, and foot passengers, who went backward and forward, and a number of beggars of all descriptions came one after another, to take possession of their usual places at this spot so favourable to their trade, and began to work upon the compassion or benevolence of the passengers. The first of the ragged army who asked our hero for alms, was an old soldier, bearing a military mark of honour, a wooden leg, who had lost his limb in the service of his country, and, as the reward of his valour, had received permission to beg wherever he chose. He was a clever physiognomist, and carried on the study of the human heart through the lines of the face with so much success, that he rarely asked alms in ​vain. In the present instance he was not mistaken, for Frank, in the joy of his heart, threw a silver coin, about the value of sixpence, in the old man’s hat.
During the first hours of the morning, when the lower classes only have begun their labour, and the lazy and opulent citizens are enjoying their morning sleep, Frank did not expect to see his promised benefactor; he imagined it was most likely he should find him among the upper classes of society, and therefore took little notice of the passengers, till the time arrived for the opening the courts of justice, and for the lawyers and magistrates of Bremen to proceed in their stately dresses to the council, and for the wealthy merchants to go to the exchange; at that time he became all attention, and scrutinized closely every person of respectable appearance who passed near him. Hour after hour elapsed, however, dinner time produced a pause in business; the crowd became less, but still the expected friend did not appear. Frank walked backwards and forwards on the bridge, which was again ​deserted, nobody remaining except himself and the beggars, who opened their knapsacks and dined on their cold provisions, without quitting their places. Frank had no objection to imitate them, and, as he had no provisions with him, he bought some fruit, and dined as he walked about. All the members of the club who dined on the bridge had taken notice of him from the length of time he had remained on the bridge without accosting any body, and without transacting any business. They took him to be some idle youth, and though all of them had, more or less experienced his benevolence, yet he did not escape their contemptuous observations. They nick named him the bridge surveyor; but the old soldier observed that his countenance no longer bore that expression of cheerfulness which it had in the morning, that he seemed deeply to reflect on some serious business, with his hat drawn over his face, that his steps were slow and deliberate, and, that for a long time he gnawed the remains of an apple, without seeming to be aware of it himself.
​This observation our physiognomist meant to turn to some advantage. He therefore set both his wooden and his natural leg in motion, went to the other side of the bridge, and waited there for the meditating youth, to request his alms as if he were a new comer; his stratagem succeeded to admiration. The thoughtful philosopher paid no other attention to the beggar than to put his hand in his pocket, and throw a piece of money into his hat to get rid of him.
A thousand new faces appeared after dinner, but no person spoke to Frank; he grew impatient at the delay, yet hope still directed his attention to every passenger; some one he thought would address him, but every one passed by him without taking notice, and only a few returned his polite greeting. Towards sun-set, the bridge became less and less frequented, and the beggars left it one after another, to return to their respective homes—a deep melancholy took possession of our youth; his hopes were deceived, and the delightful prospect that smiled on him in the morning, ​had vanished with the sun. In a fit of despair he was going to throw himself from the bridge into the river; but he thought of Mela, and resolved to postpone this design till he had seen her once more; he therefore formed a plan to look out for her on the following day when she was going to mass, to gaze on her once more with delight, and then to cool his warm affection for ever in the cold waves of the Weser.
As he was going to leave the bridge, he met the old invalid with the wooden leg who had, in the meantime, endeavoured to guess at the motive with which the young man had watched the whole day on the bridge. He expected that Frank would go away, and he waited for his departure longer than he was accustomed to remain there. But at length his patience was exhausted, and curiosity prompted him to go and ask him the reason of his making the bridge his dwelling-place. “Pray sir,” he said, “will you permit me to ask?”
Frank, who was not in a gossipping humour, and now heard the address which he had so ​impatiently waited for, from the mouth of an old beggar, answered somewhat roughly: “What is the matter? speak old grey-beard!”
“You and I,” the other proceeded, “were to-day the first to come to this bridge, and now we are likewise the last to leave it. As to myself, and those like me, our calling keeps us here; but you do not belong to our corporation, and yet you have spent your whole day here. Pray tell me, if it is no secret, what was your reason for it, what is it that weighs on your heart, which it seems youmean to get rid of here?”
“What would it serve thee, old man,” said Frank, “to know what ails me, or know what lies heavy on my heart? It can be of no consequence to thee.”
“Sir, I take an interest in you; you have twice given me alms to-day, for which God reward you; but your face is not now so happy like as it was in the morning, and that grieves me.”
This good-natured sympathy of the old soldier pleased our misanthrop, and he gave him a ​kind answer. “Since you are so anxious to learn,” he said, “why I have waited here so patiently the whole day; I must tell you that a friend promised to meet me here, who has, however, made me wait in vain.”
“With your permission,” said the cripple, “your friend, whoever he be, is a scoundrel, thus to make a fool of you. If he had treated me so, whenever I met him I would make him feel the weight of my crutch. If he were prevented from coming, he should have let you know, and not have treated you like a school boy.”
“I must not condemn him,” said Frank, “he did not exactly promise. It was only in a dream that bade me wait for him.” It was too tedious just then for him to tell the story of the ghost, he therefore changed it into a dream.
“That is another thing;” said the old man, “if you believe in dreams, I dont wonder that you should be disappointed. I have had many mad dreams in my life, but I never was fool enough to take notice of them. If I had all the money that has been promised me in my ​dreams, I might buy the whole town of Bremen with it, if it were for sale. But I have never believed in dreams, nor even stirred to try their veracity, because I knew it would be lost trouble. Well, I must laugh in your face, that you should waste a whole summer’s day for the sake of an empty dream, while you might have been happy all the time with your friends.”
“Experience shows that thou art right, old man, and that dreams are often fallacious; I dreamt so distinctly and circumstantially, however, more than three months ago, that I was to meet on this spot a friend to-day, who had things of the utmost importance to communicate to me, that I thought it was worth while to try whether the dream would be fulfilled.”
“Nobody,” said the cripple, “dreams more clearly than I do. One dream I shall never forget. How many years ago it was I do not remember, but I dreamt that my guardian angel, in the shape of a beautiful youth, with yellow curled hair, and two wings on his ​shoulders, stood at my bed-side, and said to me: “Berthold, listen to my words, and lose none if thou desirest happiness. Thou art destined to possess a large treasure, and to enjoy it for the rest of thy life. To-morrow, after sun-set, take a spade and shovel, and go from thy dwelling across the river to thy right hand; pass all the houses, and the monastery of St. John, till thou reachest a garden into which four steps lead from the road. Wait there concealed, till the moon lends thee her light; then press with all thy strength against the door, and it will spring open. Enter the garden without fear and turn towards the walk, on the left hand, which is overhung by vines. Behind them stands a large apple-tree; step up to the stem of it, with thy face turned to the moon. In this same direction, about two yards distance, thou wilt see two rose-bushes; begin to dig close to them, till thou comest to a stone plate, under it thou wilt find an iron box full of gold and other valuables. Though it be heavy and unwieldy, do not fear the trouble of lifting it out of the hole, and thy ​pains will be well rewarded, if thou findest the key which is concealed below the box.”
Frank grew dumb with astonishment as he listened to the old man, and would not have been able to conceal his agitation, had not the darkness of the evening prevented his companion from seeing his face; he discovered, from the description and the peculiarities mentioned, that the soldier’s dream related to a garden which had once been his own, and which he disliked, because it had been his father’s hobby.
Old Melchior had laid out the garden quite in his own taste, very stiff and very formal, but he had hidden in it a great part of his treasure, for what reason must for ever remain unknown, and Frank had sold this tempee soon after his father’s death for a mere trifle.
The old cripple became instantly interesting to Frank, who now comprehended that he was the very friend to whom the spectre had directed him. He would fain have embraced him, and, in his first delight, have called him father and friend, but prudence suggested ​greater caution. He therefore merely said, “That was indeed a distinct dream! But, what did you do the next morning, friend? Did you follow the advice of your guardian angel?” “Not I indeed!” answered the invalid. “Why it was only a dream. I have had many sleepless nights in the course of my life, when my guardian angel might have found me waking; but he never troubled himself much about me, or I should not, in my old age, be obliged to go a-begging. Frank took the last silver coin out of his pocket; “Take this,” he said, “old father, go and drink my health in a pint of rhenish; thy conversation has banished my ill temper. Do not forget to visit this bridge every day; I hope we shall meet again.” The lame old man had not, for many days, received so much as on this day, he blessed his benefactor, therefore, and limped into a tavern to enjoy himself; while Frank, filled with new hopes, hurried home to his lodgings in the narrow street.
On the next day he prepared every thing necessary for digging. He had not the materials usually employed by searchers after ​treasure; such as, a conjuration form an osier twig, an enchanted girdle, hieroglyphics and the like; neither are they necessary, if the three principal things viz., a pick-axe, spade, and above all, the subterraneous treasures are at hand. Soon after sun-set Frank carried the digging implements near to the spot, and hid them in a hedge; as to the treasure he had the firmest reliance on the honour of the ghost, and felt confident he would not deceive him. He waited for the appearance of the moon with great impatience, and, as soon as her silvery horns were seen through the bushes, he began his labour, observing in its progress, to pay attention to every thing the old soldier had said, and at length actually found and got out the treasure without any accident nor opposition, either from a black mastiff or a scowling wolf, and without having the light of a blue flame to guide him.
He took up, with unspeakable joy, some of the different gold coins which the iron chest had faithfully guarded. After the first delight had somewhat subsided, he began to consider ​how he might transport the treasure safely and unperceived to his lodgings. It was too heavy for him to carry it without assistance, and he experienced therefore, immediately, some of the anxiety which is inseparably united to the possession of wealth. Our new Crœsus could discover no other way but to place his riches in a hollow tree which stood in a meadow behind the garden; he then put the empty chest back into the hole, covered it with earth and made the ground as level as he could. At the end of three days he had carried all the money bags from the hollow tree safely to his own humble dwelling. Thinking himself now authorized to throw off his incognito, he dressed himself richly, desired the prayers at church to be discontinued, and a thanksgiving to be offered in its place, for a traveller on his safe return to his native city, after having successfully concluded his business. He hid himself in a corner of the church, where he might, unobserved, see his beloved Mela; his eyes were fixed on her, and he now felt that ecstacy, the hope of which had prevented him, a few days ago, from des​perately ending his life in the waves. When the thanksgiving was pronounced, her cheeks glowed with joy, and she could scarcely conceal her raptures, their meeting afterwards in the church was so expressive, that nobody who had seen it could have misinterpreted it.
From this time forward, Frank again appeared at change, and entered into business. He extended his transactions greatly in a few weeks, and, as his opulence became every day more apparent, his envious fellow-citizens observed, according to the old proverb, that he must have had more luck than sense to get rich in collecting old debts. He took a large house opposite the statue of Sir Roland, in the principal square; engaged clerks and servants, and applied himself with great earnestness to his business. Those miserable races of parasites and toad-eaters, again flocked to his door, and hoped once more to be the partakers of his wealth. But, grown wise by experience, he returned only polite speeches for politeness, and allowed them to depart with an empty stomach, which he found to be a sove​reign remedy, and it freed him at once from all farther trouble from them.
In Bremen, Frank became the talk of the day; the fortune he had made abroad, in such an unaccountable manner, occupied the attention of every body, and formed the subject of conversation at feasts and funerals, in courts of law and on change. But, in proportion as his wealth and prosperity increased, and became the subject of general conversation, so Mela’s happiness and peace of mind diminished. Her silent friend, she thought was now in a condition to declare himself; but he remained silent, except now and then meeting her in the street; and even this kind of attention became less frequent; such behaviour betokened a cold lover; and the Harpy jealousy continually whispered unpleasant suspicions in her ear: “Banish the sweet hope of fixing such an inconstant swain, like a weather-cock, he is blown about by the slightest breeze. It is true, he loved thee and was faithful as long as his condition and thine were equal. But now a happy change in his circum​stances, raises the wandering youth far above thee; and now he despises the purest affection, on account of thy poverty. Surrounded by splendour, wealth and pomp, who knows but he adores some prouder beauty, who abandoned him, when humbled in the dust, and, now with the voice of a syren, calls him back. Perhaps, the tones of adulation have turned his heart from thee. His new friends will tell him that he may choose among the richest and the best in his native city; that many fathers will be ready to give him their daughters, and that no maiden will reject him; they will teach him to look for power and importance, and to connect himself with some weighty family; and to forget poor Mela.”
Such thoughts, inspired by jealousy, disturbed and tormented her incessantly. The first news of the change in her silent lover’s circumstances had filled her with delight; not that she wished on her own account to share so large a fortune; but to gratify her mother, who had given up every idea of worldly happiness, since she refused the rich brewer. Now Mela wished that ​the prayers for his success, in which she had always so fervently joined, had not been heard, that the business of the traveller had not succeeded so well, for then he would probably have remained faithful.
Mother Brigitta was soon aware of her daughter’s melancholy, and it did not require much acuteness to discover the cause. The report of the improvement in the condition of her late lint merchant, had reached her as well as her daughter; she knew of Mela’s inclination towards him, and as he was now a successful, active merchant, and a very model in point of order, she thought there was no longer any reason why he should delay his declaration, if he had any serious design on her daughter’s hand. To spare her, however, she never mentioned any thing concerning him; but Mela was, at length, unable to bear her grief in silence and, therefore, made her mother her confidant. The prudent matron learnt, by this confession, little more than she already knew; still it gave her an opportunity of telling her opinion on the subject. She took care not ​to make any reproaches to her daughter, thinking it was wisest to make the best of what could not be altered. On the contrary, she employed every possible means to raise and console her humbled child, and to enable her to bear her blighted hopes with courage and firmness.
“My dear child,” said she mildly, “as you have brewed so you must drink, you rejected fortune when it was offered, and you must now submit to lose it. Experience has taught me that the hope we regard as most certain is often delusive; follow my example, give no longer ear to its voice, that continual disappointment may not destroy thy peace. Do not expect a favourable change in thy fate, and thou wilt be contented. Let us honour the spinning-wheel, which procures us the means of subsistence, and care not for riches and greatness, since we can do without them. These philosophical observations came from the heart of the worthy matron. After the failure of her last hopes, she had so completely simplified her plan of life, that it was scarcely possible for ​fate to derange it. But Mela was still very far from this philosophical composure, and her mother’s advice had therefore a very different effect from what she intended. The conscience stricken maiden looked upon herself as the destroyer of a mother’s sweetest hope, and reproached herself most bitterly. Though she had never agreed with her mother on the subject of marriage, and had thought bread and salt when seasoned by love, would be sufficient for happiness: yet, since she had heard of the wealth and trade of her sweetheart, she had indulged in more luxurious domestic arrangements, and was often delighted to think she might still be enabled to realize her mother’s former dreams, and restore her to opulence without sacrificing her own heart and inclinations.
This charming delusion vanished however by degrees, as time flowed on, and Frank came not near them. A report also was spread, that he was preparing his house with all possible despatch for the reception of his bride, a rich lady from Antwerp, who was already on the road.
​This gave the death blow to her hopes, and completely destroyed her affected composure. She vowed from that moment to banish the faithless lover entirely from her heart, and to dry her tears which however, never ceased to flow.
In one of those many hours in which she forgot her vow, and against her will, thought of him whom she deemed unworthy of remembrance, a gentle rap was heard at the door: Mother Brigitta opened it, and who should this be, but neighbour Frank from the narrow street. He was richly dressed, and his well arranged curls perfumed the room. This stately appearance, augured certainly some more important business than to sell lint. Mother Brigitta started, she tryed to speak, but the words died on her lips. Mela rose from her seat, blushing and growing pale alternately, but preserved silence like her mother. Frank, however, was perfectly composed; he adapted words to the tender melody, which he had so often played on his lute, and in plain terms he now declared his hitherto silent love. He then ​turned to the mother, and solemnly asked her consent to his marriage with her daughter. He explained every doubtful circumstance, by saying that the bride, for whom preparations were making in his house, was no other than the fair Mela.
The formal matron, after having recovered from the joyful surprise, resolved to take, according to custom, at least eight days for deliberation, though the tears of joy fell fast down her cheeks, and eloquently spoke the most ready consent. But Frank became so pressing in his solicitations, that she chose a middle course between the old custom and the eager wishes of the suitor, and empowered her daughter to give him an answer according to her own mind. In Mela’s virgin heart a great revolution had taken place since his entrance into the room. His visit was the strongest proof of his innocence, and he explained that, during his apparent indifference, he had been all activity and eagerness to arrange his mercantile business, and to prepare for their marriage; she had no reason, therefore, to withold ​her consent. She pronounced the decisive monosyllable, which confirms the hopes of love, with such sweetness, that the happy lover could not help catching it in a glowing kiss.
The tender couple had now sufficient time and opportunity to explain and translate into common language the hieroglyphics of their secret correspondence, and they soon found they had always understood, and rightly interpreted each others sentiments. This furnished them such a delightful subject of conversation, that Frank, after a long stay, parted with great reluctance from his charming bride; but he had business to transact, and therefore took his leave.
He went to find out the soldier with the wooden leg, whom he had constantly remembered, though he had hitherto seemingly neglected him. The old man had closely examined all the passengers since his meeting with the generous lounger, but had never again seen him, as from Frank’s promise he expected. He still remembered him, however, and as soon as he saw him approach, he limped to meet ​him, and welcomed him with great glee. Frank kindly returned the old man’s greeting, and said: “What think you friend, could you go with me to the new town, on business? I would reward you well for your trouble.”
“Why not?” replied the old soldier, “though I have a wooden leg, it never gets tired, and I can still walk pretty briskly. But wait a little, till the little gray man is passed, who never fails to cross the bridge towards evening.”
“And why wait for the gray man?” asked Frank, “what have you to do with him?”
“The grey man brings me every night a silver groat, from whom I know not, nor care to ask. Sometimes I think that it is perhaps the evil one, who means me to barter my soul for the money. But be he who he may, that is nothing to me. I have not closed any such bargain and therefore need not keep it.”
“I think not;” replied Frank, smiling, “but the gray man may be a cheat; and if you will now follow me, the silver groat shall not be wanting.”
The cripple accordingly followed his con​ductor, who took him through many streets, to a remote part of the town, near the rampart; here he stopt before a small house, lately built, and knocked at the door. On its being opened, they both entered, and Frank said to the old soldier: “Friend, thou hast once obtained me a pleasant evening, and it is proper that I should cheer the evening of thy life. This house, with all its contents, and the garden belonging to it is henceforth thy property: it is well filled, a man is here to take care of thee, and thou wilt find the silver groat every day on thy dining table; nor dost need to fear the evil one on account of the groats thou hast already received, for the man in the gray coat was my servant, whom I sent to bring thee the means of subsistence, till I could get this thy dwelling ready. As thy guardian angel did not please thee, I have undertaken to supply his place.”
He then shewed the old man his dwelling, and he found the table covered, and every thing necessary for his comfort; he was so surprised with this unexpected good fortune, that ​he could scarcely believe it real, but for some time took the whole for a dream, so inconceivable did it appear to him, that a rich man should thus remember the poor. Frank, however, soon put an end to all his doubts, and brought tears of gratitude to his eyes. This was a sufficient reward for his benefactor, who, to carry through the part of an angel which he had undertaken, vanished from his sight and left him to explain the whole as he best could.
On the next morning the dwelling of the lovely bride looked like a fair; Frank sent so many haberdashers, jewellers, milliners, lace-merchants, tailors, shoe-makers and sempstresses, to offer their services or their different wares for her choice. She spent the whole day in selecting and arranging the various articles which, in those days, made up a bridal dress, and in giving orders to the tailor and milliner. The bride-groom went, in the mean time, to procure the banns to be published; for, in those days, the wealthy and high-born were not ashamed to tell the whole world, they meant to contract the solemn engagement of marriage; and, before ​the expiration of a month, he led his long-loved Mela to the altar, with so much pomp and solemnity, as very far to outshine, even the splendid wedding of the rich brewer.
Mother Brigitta had the satisfaction to see her daughter united to a wealthy and deserving young man; and to enjoy, in the evening of her life, that opulence she had so long wished for; and Mother Brigitta deserved her good fortune, for she turned out the least troublesome mother-in-law that ever existed.
* ↑ Ann of Bretagne.
* ↑ The name of the Spanish ships, which traded in those times to America.
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