"You speak like a man without faith," said I. "Have you no belief in an after life? Have you no hope of meeting him in Heaven?"
"That is the only hope I have left, sir," said my father, "but in the meantime——"
"Ah!" said I, "you cannot make up your mind to be consoled for his loss for the few short years that you have to remain upon earth."
"Well, sir, it's very hard to bear," said my father.
"Have you ever prayed?" I asked.
"Yes, sir," said he, "I say my prayers regularly."
"But do you say them earnestly?" said I. "Do you believe that if you ask a thing that you will receivewhat you ask for? For instance, if you were to pray for your son to be restored to life, do you believe that he reallywouldbe restored to life?"
My father stared in surprise.
"Well, to tell you the truth, sir, no," he said; "for we all know that when a man has been buried three weeks that he rarely returns. Even Lazarus was but four days under the earth. In fact, the thought of praying for his return after his spirit had once been yielded up never occurred to me. When David was bereaved of his child by Uriah's wife, he humbled himself whilst the child was yet alive with sackcloth and ashes, but when he heard that the child was dead, he rose and ate bread. What instance is there on record of one returning to life after being buried three weeks?"
"Pray, nevertheless," said I; "the mercy of God is boundless. Who knows but that——"
"Oh, sir, sir," said my father, shaking his head, "you but mock me; it cannot be."
"It is impious of you to say it cannot be. Nothing is impossible with God," said I.
My father smiled faintly. I saw that he regarded me as a kind of well meaning madman, and after lighting my candle, he showed me the way to my room and shut me in for the night.
My room was some few doors off from my father's. I undressed and went to bed. I had not been in bed more than an hour when I heard my father's footstepson the stairs. He, too, was going to bed. There was no other guest in the inn then, and all was quiet.
I allowed my father a quarter of an hour to get into bed. Then I opened my chamber door, and listened to hear if he was praying, for he always prayed aloud. I was satisfied that he was praying; what the precise words were I could not quite distinguish, but I fancied I heard my name mentioned once or twice. I returned to my chamber and closed the door. I allowed my father another hour to go to sleep. When the time had expired, I stepped on tip-toe across the passage and turned the handle of his bedroom door noiselessly. I peeped in. All was silent, or rather he was snoring loudly. Leaving the door ajar, I went back cautiously to my chamber to fetch the candle, and then softly and noiselessly I entered the room where my father lay asleep. I had provided myself with a pinch of salt, which I sprinkled in the flame, so as to give a look of ghostly pallor to my face. Then, tapping my father lightly on the shoulder, he started up in bed.
"Good heavens!" he cried, with every hair erect on his head—
"Jack! is it you?"
He spoke huskily, and his teeth chattered.
"Hush!" said I, in a sepulchral voice; "listen to me. Because you have prayed fervently, I have risen from my grave to comfort you. Grieve not for me, father, for I am happy. I have returned to thank you for having given your consent to my marriage.Molly is now mine in spirit, and I shall henceforth rest peacefully in my tomb. Farewell."
I strode towards the door, with long, silent, majestic strides, and closed it carefully after me, leaving my father staring after me into space and speechless with terror.
I was a very young man then, and a reckless devil-may-care sort of fellow, otherwise I should not have attempted such a dangerous practical joke. The consequences might have been fatal; as it was, my father's nerves were terribly shaken, and I spoilt all his night's rest. When he brought up my breakfast the next morning in the parlour he looked pale and haggard.
"What is the matter, good man?" said I, patronisingly, in my usual feigned voice.
"Oh, sir!" said my father, excitedly, "I saw him last night!"
"Saw him!" I exclaimed. "Saw whom?"
"My son, Jack, sir. Oh, who would have believed it?"
"What! and has he returned to life, or was it his spirit?"
"Yes, sir, his ghost," said my father, with a look of awe, and then he began relating to me the whole particulars of his son's spiritual apparition.
"Then you followed my advice, and have been praying?"
"That I did, sir, with all my heart and soul," said my father.
"You told me last evening," said I, "that if your son should come to life again you would give your consent to his marriage. If you really repent having withheld your consent during his lifetime let me see that your repentance is true by writing me the following words and affixing your signature."
"What words, sir, must I write?" he asked.
"Write," said I, "'If my son is restored to me I will give my consent to his marriage, with the girl of his choice,' that is what you have to write."
"But—but—" began my father.
"Write what I tell you, and affix your signature," said I, gruffly.
"As you like, sir," said he, complying with my request. I blotted the sheet of paper, and placed it in my pocket.
"Now, sir," said I to my father, "I have a secret to tell you. Do not faint, but be prepared for a shock."
My father looked at me in astonishment.
"Your son lives," said I.
"What do I hear?—my son—my son lives?" he exclaimed, staggering backwards. Then recovering somewhat his composure, he asked, "But how? I myself saw him laid in the ground; besides, I tell you I saw his ghost last night."
"That was nothing but a distempered dream brought on by our conversation before you retired to rest," said I. "I tell you your son lives—he is in my care. Listen; but what I am about to tell you, youmust keep to yourself, otherwise it will damage my reputation. Hearing that your son had been buried, I, being a doctor and in want of a subject for dissection, employed resurrectioners or body-snatchers to procure me your son's body. They stole it from his grave and brought it to my house. When I began to dissect I found that he was not yet dead. He has been at my house ever since, still very weak from his recent illness. He has related to me his love affair, and knows of the deception that you practised upon him. He begged me to procure for him his father's consent to his marriage, otherwise, he said he might die in real earnest."
"Oh, doctor, doctor!" cried my father, "can it be true? Oh, say that you are not jesting with me. Do not trifle with the feelings of a poor man!"
"I never trifle," I replied, with dignity.
"Then it is true, doctor, really true! O God be praised," and he clasped his hands convulsively, whilst the tears ran down his cheeks.
Suddenly his ecstasy abated, and he grew serious.
"What is the matter?" I asked.
"Oh, but, doctor, if—if after all what I saw last night were not a dream—if whilst during your absence from home, my son really has died, and appeared to me last night to let me know. What proof have you that the vision of my son last nightwasa dream?" he asked.
"What proof?" I exclaimed. "Thisproof," I cried,throwing off my disguise and speaking in my own natural voice again. "Behold me, father, risen from the dead!"
My father's surprise, consternation and joy was beyond all description.
"What!" he cried, "and are you really Jack risen from the grave? Come, let me touch you to be sure you are no ghost.
"Ha! ha! Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed, hysterically. "What! Jack, my boy, I see it all. Ha! ha! ha! ha!" and he wept upon my shoulder till I thought he'd go off in a fit.
"Hush! father," I cried, "and calm yourself. My resurrection must be a secret between us two, for motives of policy. Do you understand?"
"Why a secret?" he asked.
"Never mind now; that is part of my plan. If you tell a single soul you'll spoil all, and I am a ruined man," I said.
"I understand nothing of all this, Jack," said my father, "but you may count upon my secrecy; but I say, Jack, how long must I keep the secret, for I am burning to tell everyone in the village?"
"For Heaven's sake, hold your tongue," said I, "until I give you permission to let it out, or I am ruined for life."
"Well, well, Jack, mum's the word," said my father.
I then resumed my disguise and prepared to leave the inn.
"Why, what the devil are you going to be up to now?"
"Mum's the word," said I. "You shall know all when I return. Good-bye, father," and off I started.
I busied myself a good deal about getting everything in order for the wedding, and returned to H——, where without further bother I was married at the village church.
Fearful that if I threw off my disguise before the wedding that something or other, I could not tell what or from what quarter, would mar all and prevent the marriage just at the last moment, after having been so successful up to this time, this feeling, or presentiment of harm, vague as it was, induced me to keep on my disguise all through the ceremony, but when it came to signing my name in the register, I signed my real name—"John Hearty."
This created some sensation.
The aunt wanted me to explain myself. However, we hurried back to the aunt's house, where we at once threw off my disguise, explained all, and craved pardon for the deception I had practised upon her.
At first the aunt seemed a little cold. She was hurt at the deception being carried on so long.
There was no necessity for such tricks, she said, if she had been told all at the beginning; nothing would have been known to anyone else.
"Do you think I would trust a woman's tongue?" I said. "Come, now, aunt," I said, "though I am nota doctor, I did you quite as much good as a court physician could have done you. Yes, although the medicine was only liquorice water mixed up with other harmless filth."
"In that, too, I've been imposed upon, then," murmured the aunt.
"Nevertheless, I cured you," retorted I; "you yourself admitted it, and what is more, I took no fee."
Soon, however, Molly's aunt recovered her good humour, and all passed off with a hearty laugh.
The only difficulty now was to reconcile ourselves with Molly's father. The comedy was nearly at an end. I donned my disguise once more, and we started off together after the wedding breakfast to our native village, and driving up to old Sykes' house, we knocked at the door.
We entered, and I introduced myself as his son-in-law. He received us well, and wished us both health and prosperity. I did not know exactly how to break the ice, so I reflected a moment.
"Mr. Sykes," said I, still in my feigned voice, "I shall expect you this evening to dine with me at six o'clock at the 'Headless Lady.' Come, I will take no refusal. If we are to be friends together, I shall expect you, if not——"
He began to make an excuse about his gouty leg, saying that he never left the house.
"Oh, nonsense," said I, "that is just the reason you never get well. Going out now and then will doyou good. I am a doctor, you know, and I advise you for your good. If you do not like to walk, make use of our coach."
He still hesitated, and at length said, "Well, the fact is, I never go to that house. The landlord and I are not friends. We have had some differences together of long standing, and——"
"Nonsense," said I, "that is no excuse at all. All men have differences now and then, but we must learn to forget and forgive."
"No," said Sykes; "he was very much in the wrong."
"Well, I've no doubt that he thinks you are in the wrong," said I. "Dine with me this evening there, and I'll undertake to make matters straight for you both. Hearty is a good and honest man, and is one of my best friends. I have known him these nineteen years. If you refuse to come, it will be an offence to me, mind that."
After a time I succeeded in softening him down a little, till I at length drew from him a reluctant consent, and, according to his word, he appeared that evening at our inn.
A grand dinner was prepared, before partaking of which I succeeded in joining the hands of the two bitter enemies.
Seeing that the hour had arrived for the divulging of the secret I explained all in a few words, threw off my disguise and craved his blessing.
Old Sykes was a crusty sort of a cove, and Iexpected that there would have been a scare, but we had got him into a good humour previously, and he was so much amused, in spite of himself, at the whole scheme that he wrung my hand heartily and laughed much over my odd adventures.
Dinner passed off gaily, and I secretly put the doctor in possession of his old clothes again. I paid him the money I owed him, and for ever kept secret the name of the doctor who had brought me to life again so cleverly.
"Why, Jack," said Mr. Oldstone, at the conclusion of our host's recital, "you can tell a story like the best of us."
"Ay, that he can indeed," chimed in Mr. Crucible and Mr. Hardcase.
"There is a great deal of poetry in Jack's story," remarked Mr. Parnassus.
Mr. Blackdeed said that it ought to be adapted to the stage.
"And was it ever discovered who unearthed you, Jack?" inquired Dr. Bleedem, who had a fellow feeling for the Dr. Slasher of Jack's narrative, as he could imagine what his own feelings would have been had he fallen a victim to the infuriated villagers.
"No, sir," replied our host, "I never let out the truth, although I was pestered with questions all day long by every one in the village. At length, however, an old doctor in these parts died from the epidemic,and after his death, I gave out to the villagers that he was the man who had dug me up."
"Ah!" said Dr. Bleedem, "there was no harm in that."
"And the two body-snatchers, did you ever seethemagain?" asked Professor Cyanite.
"Ha! ha!" laughed our host, "and thatwasa joke, surely. One evening, shortly after my resurrection, leastways before everyone knew that I had come to life again, I was strolling through the cemetery alone where I had been buried, and sitting down upon my own grave, I began meditating upon my miraculous escape from death, when who should pass by but my two friends, Tom and Bill. I looked up as they passed. You should have seen how they took to their heels. My eyes! I shall never forget it."
"That was a rare joke, indeed," said our artist, "and that other young fellow, young Rashly, did you see any more of him?"
"Ay, sir," replied our host, "and that was another good joke. The Sunday after our marriage I appeared in the village church with Molly. How the people did stare, to be sure! I recognised young Rashly in the Squire's pew with his father. He could not see me, as I was behind a pillar, and he had not yet heard of my coming to life again. Seeing that he was without a hymn book, I stepped out suddenly from my pew, and crossing the aisle, offered him mine. I never shall forget his face. He turned as pale as a ghost, and wasobliged to support himself against the back of the pew. He was nigh fainting, and his father was obliged to lead him out of church."
"Your resurrection must have made quite a sensation in the village then," said McGuilp.
"My word, it did, sir, and no mistake," answered the landlord. "Everybody in the village and for miles round it wanted to shake me by the hand and welcome me back to life. People used to come from long distances to hear me recount my adventures, till I grew quite sick of it, and shut myself up and wouldn't see nobody."
"Ay, ay, tedious work I've no doubt, telling the same story over and over again to every new comer," said Mr. Oldstone. "But tell us, Jack, did young Rashly ever discover who it was that gave him the thrashing?"
"Yes, sir, that, too, came out in time," said our host, "and devilish sheepish he looked, so they said, when he heard it was his old rival in disguise. He would have liked to have had me up about it before the assizes, but he didn't like the idea of exposing himself, and so the matter dropped. After a time, however, finding that all the boys in the village laughed at him whenever he walked abroad, he went to London, and I have never heard anything more of him."
At this moment someone knocked at the door.
"Come in!" called out several voices at once.
The door opened ajar, and the head of our hostess timidly appeared at the aperture.
"Beg pardon, gentlemen," said that worthy dame, "but could Helen be spared a little just to help me a bit?"
"Oh! how very annoying!" cried our artist, "just as the weather is clearing up and I was making up my mind for a long sitting."
"I am afraid I can't do without her, sir, just now," said our hostess, "but if you wouldn't mind waiting an hour or so, she will be at liberty."
"An hour without Helen!" exclaimed several members at once. "Oh, impossible! and then to be snatched from us again so soon!"
"I'll tell you what it is, Mr. McGuilp, and you, too, Dame Hearty," said Mr. Oldstone, "you are to blame, both of you. Such conduct can't be suffered to go unpunished; therefore, in the name of the club I condemn you both to contribute to the common entertainment by telling a story, each of you, when next called upon."
"Hear, hear!" cried several voices.
"Yes, a story from Dame Hearty, and a still longer one from Mr. McGuilp for having robbed us of Helen—a most just sentence!"
"Oh, gentlemen!" said our hostess modestly. "You wouldn't care to hear any of my stories; besides, I've forgotten them all long ago."
"Come now, Dame Hearty, there is no backing out," said Mr. Oldstone. "A sentence is a sentence."
"Well, sir, if it must be so, I'll try and think of one whenever the gentlemen of this respectable club chooseto command my services. Come, Helen!" And our hostess led away her fair daughter by the hand amidst the groans of her ardent admirers.
"Now, Mr. McGuilp," said Mr. Oldstone as the door closed after Helen and her mother, "we have a full hour before us. I call upon you to fill up that period to the satisfaction of the club."
"Yes, yes!" shouted a chorus of voices; "out with it; no mercy on him. Let justice be done."
"Well, gentlemen, if you will allow me a moment to compose myself, I'll endeavour to satisfy you," said our artist. Then resting his head on his hand as if to call up from the depths of his memory some long-forgotten tale or legend, he said, "Gentlemen, I recollect a story in our family, handed down to me from some remote ancestor. I used to be frightened with it in my childhood. It is long ago now since I heard it related, but I will endeavour to give it you as perfectly as possible after the lapse of so many years."
"Well, we're all attention," said one of the members.
Then our artist, after stretching himself, folded his arms and commenced the following tale—
A respectable ancestor of mine, far back in the middle ages, went to study at a German university. I cannot call to mind the name of it, but that is of no consequence. I think he studied medicine, but I will not be sure even of that. I know that he belonged to a "chor," or company of students who pride themselves on their liberty, who have their own laws and customs, who fight duels with rival chors, and who settle disputes among themselves by outvying each other in the drinking of beer, who revel in street brawls and other such respectable amusements, playing practical jokes upon the peaceful citizens; in fact, making night hideous.
I know not whether my ancestor was any better or any worse than his fellow students, but he seems to have entered with pleasure into all their amusements, and never to have held himself aloof when any mischief was going on. He was consequently looked up to rather than otherwise by his companions.
It was the custom then, and still is among Germans, especially among German students, to travel long distances on foot, going together often in large numbers and putting up at night, if they could, at some inn; if not, in some cottage, stables, or loft, with nothing but straw to sleep upon.
But German students are not pampered mortals, and can put up with very homely accommodation. If after a fatiguing day's march a student can find at his quarters sufficient beer, black bread, sausage, raw ham, or a little strong cheese, he is perfectly satisfied. Should he be so fortunate as to light upon a dish of "sauer kraut," he would fancy himself in the seventh heaven.
The German is hardy, yet studious, highly sensitive, and keenly susceptible to the beauties of nature. Though somewhat penurious, he is fond of good fellowship, and is a staunch friend.
The foot tour in Germany is a thing common to all classes, from the nobility down to the "handwerksbursch," or journeying mechanic, which latter class is often unmercifully persecuted by the university student. From time immemorial there seems to have been a feeling of animosity between the two classes, as nearer home we find existing between the "town and gown."
The German student of the middle ages, as in our times, was fond of swagger, delighted in wearing high boots, enormous spurs, an exaggerated sword, a preposterous hat, was provoked to a duel on the slightest occasion, boasted of the number of "schoppen" or"seidel" of beer that he could stow away beneath his doublet, and ran up long bills without a thought of how they were to be paid.
In those days every student had his guitar or other musical instrument wherewith to serenade his "Liebchen" or lady-love, for that latter article was indispensable to the life of a student, and though much grossness and barbarity has been attributed to him, he is, nevertheless, at times capable of being elevated by a pure and refined passion, for he has much poetry in his nature, and is both sentimental and romantic in the extreme.
In all ages students have meddled much in politics, and princes have been known to tremble before their audacity and resolution.
But enough of this digression, gentlemen. My present tale demands only that you should call up in your minds the German student on his foot tour in the long vacation, with his keen relish of the beautiful, his lusty and well-trained frame that laughs at fatigue, his love of good-fellowship, his tender thoughts of home with the image of his lady-love.
"Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,Entering with every step it took through many a scene."—Byron.[2]
"Which pined although it spoke not, and grew keen,Entering with every step it took through many a scene."
—Byron.[2]
I must now return to my ancestor, who at the time this story commences was on one of these pedestrianrambles, accompanied by some twenty of his fellow students, all stout, hearty youths who could eat, drink, and fight with any in the university, and flirt, too, I've no doubt, when occasion tempted them.
These attributes, you will say, are not strictly necessary to the student preparing for honours, yet, nevertheless, somehow German students manage to find time for other amusements besides dry study. Theycanplay, but when theydostudy, they study hard.
My ancestor at the time I speak of was a young man of about twenty, and had already been two years at the university. We may presume, therefore, that he spoke German tolerably well, if not well.
I believe it was in the Harz mountains, the Thüringer Wald, and about those parts that he was travelling on foot with his friends.
They rose at daybreak and walked hard, with their knapsacks on their backs, singing or conversing as they went, reposing at noon in some shady spot to avoid the heat of the day. When the sun began to abate a little they would resume their journey till night overshadowed them, when they would encamp, as hungry as hunters, in some rude quarters, where they would make merry together over a simple but plentiful supper, and talk over the fatigues of the day.
They had been following this sort of life for some time, when one evening as they were hastening towards their quarters in groups of twos, threes, and fours, myancestor asked of his friend, "What is the name of the township where we are to sleep to-night, Hans?"
"——dorf," answered his friend; "but we shall have to hasten in order to reach it before nightfall. Look, how the mist is rising!"
"Ah! so it is," replied my relative, whose name was Frederick, but who was never called otherwise than "Fritz" by his companions.
Our Fritz had remained behind to enjoy the last dying glow of a gorgeous sunset, and was wrapt in meditation, while his friend Hans hurried on.
"Now then, Fritz!" cried one, Max, "don't lag behind so; or are your English legs not strong enough for our German mountains?"
Our Englishman was stung at this taunt, implying, as it did a disparagement of himself and countrymen, however undeserved it was, for the Germans knew that he could outwalk the best of them when he chose. Yet it had the effect of making him hasten his steps a little.
The dusky hue of night fast overshadowed our students, and the mist now rose at their feet in thick clouds, so that it was with the utmost difficulty that they could find their way.
My ancestor was still a long distance behind the rest, but he was gaining fast on them, when in the darkness, he stumbled over a clump of rock and sprained his ankle. All hope of catching up his companions was now gone. The most he could do was tohobble on slowly with the help of his staff, now losing his way, now finding it, whenever the moon peeped out to light up his path, then losing it again when the moon hid itself behind a cloud, till he began to despair of ever finding anything in the shape of a roof to shelter him from the night air during sleep, and he more than half made up his mind to encamp on the spot, but just then he felt a large drop of rain on his face, then another, and another.
It had been a broiling hot day, and the air was still sultry. Presently a flash of vivid forked lightning danced before his eyes, followed by a clap of thunder so terrific that it bid fair to burst the drum of his ear.
The storm was now overhead; the flashes grew more frequent and more vivid, and the thunder growled more fiercely than ever. In a few minutes the rain poured down in torrents, and the English student was drenched to the skin.
"Here is a nice situation for a man on a pleasure trip!" muttered my ancestor to himself. "Lost, in the dead of night, in the midst of a thunderstorm, in an open plain without shelter, drenched like a drowned rat, as hungry as a wolf, and hardly able to crawl, from a sprained ankle!"
His reflections were anything but of a pleasing sort, as you may imagine, yet he hobbled on as best he could, endeavouring to comfort himself with the vague hope of finding some sort of shelter for the night as soon as the storm should pass off.
After dragging on his limbs with exemplary patience for another half-mile, it being then about midnight, he perceived a light from a cottage window not very far distant. His courage began to revive, and with halting gait he made for the door of the cottage.
He knocked loudly, but no one answered. Thinking that he had not been heard for the rumbling of the thunder, he knocked again and again. Still no one came to the door.
"I mean to lodge here for the night," said the Englishman to himself, "if I have to break the door open to effect an entrance." And he kept up a furious knocking for about three-quarters-of-an-hour. At length he heard a harsh, grating voice within break out in a string of choice Teutonic oaths, and the word "schweinhund" (pig-dog) pronounced once or twice.
Footsteps were then heard descending the stairs, and the next moment a quaint-looking personage appeared at the door in dressing-gown and slippers, with night-cap on head and candle in hand, and demanded in a surly tone what the "teufel" he wanted at that hour of night.
My ancestor apologised with much courtesy for having roused up so worthy an individual at such an unearthly hour, but pleaded that he was a poor benighted traveller, hungry and soaked to the skin.
"Then you should have moved further on," was the curt reply.
"But whither?" asked my relative.
"To the township. This house is not a 'wirtshaus.'"
"How far distant is it?"
"A mile."
By this he meant a German mile—equal to four English miles.
"A mile!" exclaimed the Englishman. "I could not walk a mile to save my life. I've sprained my ankle and can't move a step further. I'm sorry to put you to such inconvenience, my good fellow, but I really must put up here."
"But there is no accommodation," growled the inmate.
"No matter. I dare say you have a little straw; if not, the bare ground will do."
The inmate sulkily suffered the traveller to enter, and showing him into a parlour on the ground-floor, was about to leave him to himself.
"Stop a bit, my good host," said the student. "I must beg to remind you that I am as hungry as a wolf, and as cold as an icicle. If you could find me something in your larder to keep soul and body together, and light me a nice little fire to dry my clothes, you will make me your friend for life."
"Food! Fire! at this time of night!" exclaimed the host, with a look that seemed to say, "Is the man mad?"
"My dear friend," said the Englishman, putting his hand in his pocket and passing a Reichsgulden into thehand of his host, "I do not want you to do anything for me gratis. Make me as comfortable as you can for that—on my departure I'll give you more."
"Oh, mein Herr!" said our host, softening at the touch of the bright metal, "that alters the case entirely. You shall have everything you want. I am sorry I haven't another bed, but you can have some straw, and a fire to dry your clothes. I'll go and see directly what there is in the house by way of refreshment, for you must be hungry indeed!"
Our host left the apartment, and returned shortly with some firewood and a heap of straw.
To light a fire and arrange the straw for the traveller in a corner of the room was the work of a moment. He then hurried off to get supper ready, and returned soon afterwards with a dish of sausage, some black bread, some strong cheese and a bottle of "schnaps."
"Our fare is homely, you see, sir," said the host, apologetically; "but it is all we have in the house. We are poor people, and not accustomed to entertain travellers."
"Never mind that, mine host," said the student, "as long as there is plenty of it, we'll excuse the quality."
So saying, he began to strip himself and to hang his clothes before the fire. Then taking from his knapsack a clean shirt and another pair of hose, he donned his slippers and drew his chair close to the table.
The host, after trimming a lamp and lighting it, placed it in the centre of the table, and was just aboutto return to his bed, when the student called out with his mouth full of sausage, "What! mine host, will you not honour me with your company whilst I discuss my supper? Company helps digestion, you know, and I'm sure you wouldn't like to have my undigested supper on your conscience."
The host returned with a grunt, saying that he couldn't stop long, as he had to rise early on the morrow.
"Oh, so have I, good mine host," said my ancestor, "so we are equal. Come, sit down here, and let me see you toss off a glass or two of this most excellent schnaps. It will keep out the cold and give you pleasant dreams, besides adding a still richer tint to that glorious nose of yours."
"Humph!" replied the host, little pleased at this personal allusion; but he drew a chair to the table and made an effort at being sociable.
My ancestor until now had hardly had time to give more than a cursory glance at the features of his host, but finding himself now at table opposite him, he took a minute survey of his countenance in all its details.
The exterior of our host was striking, to say the least. He was a man of about five-and-forty, of middle height, broad rather than tall. His neck and chest might have served as a model for the Farnese Hercules. His hair and beard, which were matted and unkempt, were of a flaming red, and he was just beginning to turn bald. His brow was low, knotted, and streaked withred. His eyebrows, which were of the same tint as his hair, were enormous, and overhung a pair of small, deep-set brown eyes that moved furtively from right to left with the rapidity of lightning, giving to his countenance a remarkably sinister expression.
His complexion was florid, and the nose, which was large and bottle-shaped, was of so bright a red that it made the eyes water to look upon it, and spoke little for its owner's temperance. His ears, large and red, stood out at the sides of his head like those of an animal, and their orifices were carefully protected by fierce tufts of red hair. The back part of his head was excessively developed, and the jaw was large and massive. His arms were very muscular, and hairy as an ape's, with strongly-defined purple veins, and his hands, the fingers of which were short and stunted, were the colour of raw meat. The legs were somewhat short for the body, and slightly bowed.
My ancestor, as he scanned the grim features of his host, could not help imagining himself a prince in a fairy-tale who had been lured by the evil genius of the storm into the castle of some ogre, who would sooner or later devour him unless rescued by the good fairies. The ogre was not a communicative person. He had not opened his mouth once since he had taken his seat at the table, save to toss down a glass of schnaps.
At length the Englishman, curious to know something of the life and habits of this mysterious individual, was the first to break silence.
"You live in a very isolated spot, mine host," said he.
"Ja," was the laconic reply.
"Have you no nearer neighbours than those of the township?" demanded his guest.
"Nein," grunted the ogre.
"And do you enjoy this solitary existence?" pursued the traveller.
"Ja!" was the inevitable monosyllabic response.
"I shall not get much out of him," said my ancestor to himself, and again there was silence for the space of five minutes.
As if searching for some topic wherewith to renew the conversation, the student cast his eyes round the apartment, taking in at a glance the minutest article of furniture or other commodity that the room contained.
It was a homely, undecorated apartment, built after the fashion of the period, and differed little from most other apartments of the sort. If it was remarkable for anything, it was for its extreme simplicity, not to say nakedness, but there was one object hanging on the wall that at once attracted the traveller's eye. It was a two-handed sword of peculiar shape, and appeared bright and sharp as if ready for use.
"Aha!" exclaimed the Englishman, fixing his eye on the object, "you have been a soldier, I see."
"Not I," said the host.
"No? Ah! I see that your sword is not of the same form as those used in battle. It is probably antique—an heirloom, perhaps."
The man answered with a nod of the head.
"I thought so," said the stranger; "and yet it seems bright and well cared for. It has evidently been sharpened lately. Do you always keep it well sharpened?"
"On great occasions, yes," was the reply, and our host gave a peculiar wink, accompanying it with a significant gesture with both hands, in imitation of wielding the two-handed instrument over his head, then slapping his own neck he uttered a low whistle and a sort of chuckle thus: "Wh—ew!—click!" being his mode of expressing the action of cutting off a head.
"Ho! ho!" exclaimed the Englishman, "is that in your line?"
The ogre answered by a savage laugh.
At this moment the crying of a child was heard overhead, together with the harsher tones of its mother scolding it.
"Then you do not live perfectly solitary, as I thought," said the student; "you have also wife and children?"
"One boy only," replied the man.
"Ah! An only son—a great pet, I'll warrant," said his guest, finishing his last morsel of supper. "What age may he be?"
"Ten years old—fine boy—just like me—bringing him up like his father," said the strange individual.
"If he turns out like his father, he'll be a beauty," thought my ancestor. Then he asked aloud of his host:
"And what profession may that be that you wish to apprentice him to?"
"Like his father," was the curt reply; but it was followed by the same sort of expressive gesture that I have just described.
"What!" exclaimed the student, "to cut off people's heads?"
"Yes," replied the ruffian; "I am a Scharfrichter."
"A what?" inquired my ancestor, who though he could make himself generally understood in German, had never yet come across the word "Scharfrichter" in his vocabulary.
"A Scharfrichter," repeated the man, raising his voice. "Don't you know what that means? Why, one who cuts off heads."
"An executioner!" muttered the foreigner, half-aloud. "Have I been constrained to crave the hospitality of an executioner?"
These words were inaudible to his host, but the ruffian evidently observed a change in his guest's countenance when he informed him of the nature of his profession, for he hastened to reply.
"One sees at once that you are a foreigner, and unused to the customs of this country. You shudder at meeting an executioner, and sicken at the thought of cutting off a head. No matter, it is always so at first. In fact, the pleasure derived from seeing executions is an acquired taste; but I'll show you some sport to-morrow. There is to be some rare fun down at thetownship at daybreak," and the wretch gave another wink and a chuckle. "I'll show you how to cut off a head. One blow—click!—cuts like cheese."
"Horrible being!" muttered my ancestor to himself in his native tongue. "Is it possible that anything human can actually revel in such brutality?" and he shuddered in spite of himself. Then he said aloud to his host—
"What was it that first gave you a taste for so horrible a profession?"
"Hm! I hardly know. I had a natural genius for it, I suppose. My father was a butcher, and I was brought up from infancy to see cattle slaughtered. At a very early age I took to slaughtering the animals myself. I seemed to take a liking to it from the very beginning. I happened to have an uncle at that time who was a Scharfrichter, and my greatest delight was to see him cut off the heads of the criminals. I began to long to do the same.
"I was a very young man when this uncle died, and as he had no male issue to take his place, and no one else seemed to come forward, I thought I would offer my services, and they were accepted. I have been headsman of the town these thirty years, and when I die my son will step into my shoes."
"But if he doesn't take to it?"
"Hemusttake to it—he'llhaveto take to it."
"Why, are there not many other noble professions just as inviting as that of chopping off the heads of one's fellow-mortals?"
"Not for the son of a headsman. I see you are ignorant of the laws of this country. Here in Germany the son of a headsman is bound by law to adopt the profession of his father, and should the executioner have a daughter instead of a son, in that case, the man who marries his daughter is bound to be headsman. Then the Scharfrichter is obliged to build his house a mile away from other men, for he is a being hated and shunned by everyone."
"This then is the reason of your solitude?"
"It is; and so far is this superstitious fear of contamination carried in this country, that your citizen considers himself defiled if by chance he has eaten out of the same plate that a headsman has once used. Accordingly all vendors of crockery have orders to knock a chip out of every earthen vessel that they sell to the headsman."
"Dear me!" exclaimed my ancestor, "what a peculiar custom! I never heard that before. I certainly did remark that your crockery was in a most dilapidated state, but I didn't consider the remark worth making, although more than once in the course of the evening I felt inclined to ask you how on earth you contrived to knock out chips of such a peculiar shape by mere accident."
"Ah!" sighed the headsman, "what between the crockery-seller and——"
Here he put his finger to his lip and looked round the room suspiciously.
"What is the matter?" asked the student.
"Hush!" said the headsman, "it isn't always safe to talk of mischievous people—they are apt to appear. You know the saying, 'Talk of the devil.'"
"Well," said my ancestor, "but what has that to do with your broken crockery?"
"Hush!" answered his host, looking round him half-timidly; then whispered, "I have a certain mischievous lodger that does my crockery more harm than either the crockery-seller or my boy upstairs when he's fractious."
"Ah!" exclaimed the traveller in surprise, "you have a lodger in your house?"
"Ay!—a lodger who never pays his rent, and who drives me to my wit's end by shying my crockery at my head. Look here, what a cut he gave my wrist once in one of his pranks. I shall bear this mark to my grave." So saying, he bared his wrist and displayed a deep, livid wound, long since healed, but which left behind a scar which nothing could efface.
"An ugly cut, to be sure," remarked the Englishman. "But why on earth do you not get rid of so playful a lodger?"
"Get rid of him! I only wish the devil I could. He comes here uninvited and—— But let us not talk of him, or he may pay us another of his pleasant visits, when you will be able to make his acquaintance. He never stands upon ceremony, but comes just whenever he likes. He may be in the room now, for what I know. I shall be off to bed."
My ancestor gazed round the room, vainly endeavouring to discover in some hidden nook the object of his host's terror, when, marvellous to relate! a dish on the top shelf was pitched, as if by some invisible hand, from its post, and shattered into pieces against the opposite wall, nearly hitting him on the head as it passed.
The traveller stared first at the shelf, then at his host, and turned pale.
"Good Heavens!" he cried. "What was that?"
"What was it? Ay! You may well ask what it is," answered his host, peevishly. "What in the devil's name should it be but that pest of a 'Poltergeist' again. I told you you would make his acquaintance ere long."
"A what?—a 'Poltergeist'?"
"Ay, Poltergeist—a malignant spirit, whose chief delight seems to be to strike terror into the house of a poor honest headsman, and smash all his crockery that he has to pay for out of his hard-earned wages."
"Holy Virgin!" ejaculated my ancestor, crossing himself (for he was a good Catholic). "A malignant spirit! Saints protect us!"
But the words were hardly out of his mouth when crash! went another plate upon the floor, just grazing his host's auburn head as it passed.
"Oh! come now, my fine fellow," said our host, in a tone of mild remonstrance; "a little of that goes a long way."
Then turning to his guest, he remarked:
"I wonder why he honours me especially with his visits, and not other people. I shouldn't wonder if he is someone that I have had the honour of decapitating, and he comes to pay me an occasional visit in order to impress upon me that he hasn't forgotten the little service I did him."
A large pointed knife that lay peacefully on the table was then suddenly and powerfully thrown from the traveller's side, and remained with the point sticking in the panel of the door opposite.
"Ho! ho!" cried the headsman; "this is getting warm work. Now, my good friend, do let me entreat you to be more moderate in your manifestations, and if you are quiet, to-morrow I will send you a companion."
This promise, so far from quieting our spiritual guest, seemed to infuriate him more than ever, for the bottle of schnaps, more than half full, was now raised in the air and dashed to pieces on the table, the candle being overturned at the same time, and falling flame downwards on to the spirit spilt on the table, it ignited, and in a moment everything was in a blaze.
"Fire! Fire!" cried the headsman, in a voice that roused up his wife and child, who came tumbling downstairs in no time, to learn what was the matter.
There is no knowing what mischief might not have taken place had not my ancestor, with great presence of mind, snatched up his damp clothes from before the fire, and succeeded in extinguishing the flame.
"Whatisthe matter, Franz?" exclaimed our host'sbetter half, appearing at the door just as matters were being set to rights again.
"Oh, nothing," said her fond spouse, "only that d——d Poltergeist again, who seems bent upon burning us all in our beds before he has done with us."
"Hush!" said his wife, "don't swear, or he may do as you say in real earnest. Come to bed now, or to-morrow you won't be able to get up in time. Remember——"
"Ah, true; I must have my night's rest, as it would not do for my hand to tremble to-morrow when I mount the scaffold.Gute nacht, mein Herr."
And our worthy host followed his partner out of the room, leaving my ancestor to his reflections.
"Well," soliloquised my relative, "of all the strange adventures that ever occurred to me, this beats all. Oh! there is not the slightest doubt that what I have just witnessed is the work of the infernal powers—some diabolical agency.
"When I see a knife jump up from the table by itself without anyone near and deliberately fix itself in the panel of the door before my very eyes; when I see a bottle of spirit overturned and broken in pieces, and then a candle after that knocked over as if on purpose to ignite the spirit, and withal no way of accounting for such a phenomenon; moreover, when I see plates and dishes hurled from one end of the room to the other, and apparently aimed at people's heads, and yet the perpetrator of such pranks has the power of makinghimself invisible to the naked eye, then, I say, this is not through human agency, but something superhuman, and as it is not exactly an angelic mode of proceeding, it must be the reverse."
My ancestor shuddered, and crossed himself. The manifestations, however, had ceased for the night, and in five minutes our weary traveller was fast asleep.
His dreams that night were not of the pleasantest. He imagined that he mounted the scaffold with a crowd of eager eyes gazing at him, amongst whom were his friends and travelling companions. His host, the Scharfrichter, stood brandishing his terrible two-handed sword, and in another moment his head would have been off, but at the critical time the dream changed, and he was being pelted with crockery in the midst of a cemetery at night by innumerable sheeted "poltergeister."
These and such-like visions were flitting before his brain, when a loud thump at the door brought him back to earth again. There was the Scharfrichter before him, not in dressing gown and slippers, as on the previous evening, but attired in doublet and hose of a blood red, a blackbarellowith scarlet cock's feather.
"Now then, mein Herr," said the headsman, taking down his fearful instrument from the wall, "time's up."
My ancestor, only just awake, rubbed his eyes and imagined that he was really and truly called away to execution, and that his last hour had come.
The executioner, seeing that he hesitated, added: "If you want to witness the cunning of my hand, now's your time."
My relation gave a sigh of relief when he began to recollect that his own head was quite safe, and that he was only called to witness the execution of another man.
"But I can't go; I have sprained my ankle," pleaded the Englishman.
"Oh, I don't intend to walk myself," replied the executioner. "I have my horse and cart ready, and can give you a lift."
"Oh, if that's the case," said the student, "I shall be glad to go, as I wish to meet my friends in the township."
"Come on, then," and the headsman assisted the Englishman into the cart.
As they were about starting, a little red-haired ruffian of about ten, stout and well-built, and bearing a striking likeness to our host, appeared on the threshold.
"Papa, you'll bring me home a football, won't you?" said the youth.
"Ay, my boy, that will I, a good sized one," answered his father.
"That's your son?" asked the student of his host. "Ah, a fine little fellow. Here, my little man," said he to the child, and slipping a small coin into his little fat fist, he patted him on the cheek and stepped into the cart.
"Ah, he's a fine boy," said our host with a paternal pride, as he whipped on his horse. "There is nothing of the milksop about him.He'snot afraid of the devil himself."
"You do well to be proud of him. I'll warrant you buy him many a pretty toy," observed the Englishman.
"Buy him toys!" exclaimed the headsman, laughing. "As long as I bring him home a football now and then, he is quite content." And he laughed again.
"Well, that is a toy, isn't it?" said the student, not as yet comprehending the headsman's meaning.
"Yes, a toy that costs me nothing, and gives him no end of amusement. You should see how he kicks the heads about that I bring him home. It's quite a pleasure to see the youngster enjoy himself in his innocent way."
"You do not mean to say," said the Englishman, in horror, "that the football you promised him is to bea human head!"
"Aye, to be sure," replied the Scharfrichter. "What else should it be? What kicks he'll give it to be sure! Ha! ha! ha! that's the way to bring up boys; makes them hardy.He'snot afraid of a little blood. Talk of his not taking a liking to my business! Why he's always saying to me, 'Papa, when I am big enough to wield your sword, you'll let me cut off heads, won't you?'
"'Yes, my boy, that you shall,' say I, for I like to give him encouragement. That's what I call bringingup boys well. I wouldn't give a fig for one of your milksops that scream or faint at the sight of blood, not I."
"Humph," muttered my ancestor, and he remained silent for some minutes, absorbed in meditation.
The headsman whipped on his horse in silence; at length he said to his guest: "Here we are at last. Look at yon crowd waiting to receive us."
My relative lifted his head, and sure enough there was the mound of earth erected for the criminal already surrounded by soldiers, close to which thronged the crowd. All the inhabitants of ——dorf were astir, and in the crowd our Englishman now recognised his fellow students. A cry of "Der Henker! der Henker!"[3]arose on all sides. Room was at once made for the headsman and his companion, and Fritz's fellow students, seeing their friend arrive in a Henker's cart, pushed their way through the crowd to ask him all sorts of questions.
Fritz descended with difficulty after paying his host for his board and lodging, and joined his companions. In a few minutes more the criminal's cart arrived with the "armer Sünder," or poor sinner, accompanied by two priests. Loud execrations broke from the mob, amidst which the wretched being descended from the cart and mounted the scaffold. A dead silence reigned around. One of the priests whispered somethingearnestly in the ear of the condemned, who was as pale as death, and he took his seat on the chair prepared for him, while an expression of savage delight appeared on the countenance of the headsman.
He felt all eyes were upon him. The terrible two-handed weapon was raised aloft, and brandished over the Henker's head. One blow and the head of the unhappy wretch was severed from his body. Loud cheering rent the air as the Scharfrichter, holding the head of the criminal by the hair, presented it to the public gaze. But at this moment a most unexpected and revolting scene ensued.
Several persons from among the crowd rushed forward toward the scaffold with mugs, which they filled at the fresh fountain of blood spurting up from the severed neck of the criminal and drank off at a draught.
My ancestor sickened at so disgusting a spectacle, and demanded the reason of some bystander. He was informed that those persons believed human blood fresh from the neck of a beheaded criminal to be an infallible remedy for epileptic fits. The superstition exists to this day. Violent exercise after the draught, he was informed, was considered necessary, in order to effect a cure.
The crowd began to disperse, and my ancestor, leaning on the arm of a friend, also retired from the scene, disgusted with himself at having been present at such a spectacle. Before leaving the spot he had time to notice his host of the previous night start off in his cart towards home with the promised football.
Our English student was laid up for some little time with his sprained ankle, and some of his companions remained behind to keep him company, while others moved onward.
The ankle being cured, my relative continued his foot tour with his friends, and afterwards returned to the university, where he studied hard till the time came round for an examination, which he passed, and shortly afterwards returned to England.
We hear nothing more of my ancestor until ten or twelve years afterwards, when we again find him in Germany, whither he had been suddenly called to visit some relative, then in a dying state.
He arrived just in time to close his relative's eyes, after which he saw him quietly interred in his last home.
This sad office over, he was thinking of returning to England, when, in turning over the articles of his travelling trunk, he suddenly came across a German book belonging to a college friend of his, one Ludwig Engstein, that had been lent him when at the university, and which he had forgotten to return before leaving college. His friend used to live, he remembered, in Weimar, and not being far distant, he resolved to visit that town and to find out his friend's house.
Many changes take place in twelve years, and my ancestor only half expected to meet his fellow-student again. He might have changed his residence—he might be dead. Who could tell what might not have happened to him after so long a lapse of time?
Nevertheless, the Englishman, finding himself on German soil once more, resolved to enquire after the friend of his youth, and should he succeed in discovering him, to put him in possession of his book again, and chat with him over their student days.
Accordingly, he set off for the town of Weimar, and having arrived there, proceeded with the said book under his arm to the house of his friend. He had been once on a visit of a fortnight at his friend's house when a student, and had known his mother and sisters intimately, therefore he had no difficulty in finding the house again.
The town of Weimar had changed but little during these ten or twelve years, and once more he found himself on the old familiar doorstep.
"Ist der Herr Advocat Engstein zu Hause?" he demanded of an old woman who answered the door.
"Ja, mein Herr," replied the crone. "What name shall I give?"
"Oh, never mind announcing me," said the Englishman; "I'll announce myself."
So saying, he pushed past the old woman, and knocked at his friend's study.
"Herein!" called out a voice from within, which my ancestor had no difficulty in recognising as his friend's, and the Englishman entered.
Ludwig Engstein was seated at a table strewed with papers and documents, and was busily writing. He was still young looking, but his friend Fritz noticed thathis face had assumed a more thoughtful expression than when at the university. He was now a lawyer in good practice, and the moment his friend entered he was so busy that he did not even raise his head.
"I am sorry to disturb you, Herr Advocat," said Fritz, suddenly, "but I've come to return a book you lent me some time back."
And placing the book on the table, he marched straight out of the room, shutting the door after him. He then peeped through the key-hole and listened awhile to note the effect of his abrupt departure on his friend.
The young lawyer's ear caught his friend's English accent, and at once lifted his head, though not in time to catch a glimpse of his retreating figure.
I have said that Engstein recognised Fritz's accent as English, but little did he suspect that it was his old college friend who had called upon him and left so suddenly.
He looked surprised, took up the book upon the table to look at the title, and muttered to himself, "Who can it have been? I do not recollect now who it was I lent it to, but it must have been a long while ago."
He was about to ring the bell, and rose for that purpose when he noticed a face peeping at him through the opening of the door, which was now ajar.
"Who's that? Come in!" cried the lawyer.
"You are busy, Herr Advocat—another time.Ich empfähle mich Ihnen," said my relative, closing the door slowly after him.
But this time Ludwig had a better view of the Englishman's face.
"Potztausend!" exclaimed the lawyer; "I shall know that face.Ach! lieber freund Fritz.Can it be really you?Nein was für ein angenehme Ueberaschung!" he cried, rushing forward and throwing the door wide open while he kissed his friend forcibly on both cheeks.
"Sit down here and tell me to what for a fortuitous and never-to-be-expected train of circumstances I am indebted for this friendly and to me most agreeable and blissful-past-days-recalling visit."
Fritz then went on to relate the circumstances of his relative's death, and how he had been called from home to attend him in his last moments.
"I am sorry for the death of your relation," said Ludwig, "but I cannot sufficiently express my extreme joy at seeing my old friend Fritz again after so many years! Ha! ha! ha!" he laughed, partly from delight at meeting his friend, and partly at his friend's mode of introducing himself.
"What for an eccentric and of you and your strange countryman-characteristic way of saluting your old friend after so long!"
And the German again laughed again heartily.
"And what for a busy and for-ever-with-documents-and-papers-occupied German business man, not evento notice his swiftly entering, and though long departed from German soil, speedily-vanishing and almost-forgotten English friend!" retorted Fritz, mimicking the high-flown, wordy phraseology of the German.
"No, on my honour, Fritz," replied his friend; "not forgotten, I assure you. Do you know that I had a dream of you only last night. It never struck me till now. It is strange that I should have dreamed of you just the night before your unexpected and to me most grateful arrival. How strange it is that our dreams often prognosticate coming events! It is as if the mind, partly freed from its material covering during sleep, received the power of peering with greater accuracy into that to-us-in-our-waking-state-obscure and unfathomable future which——"
"Precisely; I understand you," answered my relative, cutting short his friend's philosophic remark; "but let us talk a little over old times; that is if you are at leisure."
"Yes, to be sure," answered the lawyer; "what I am doing now has no need of hurry. Oh, by the way, Fritz, talking of old times, do you remember the night you spent at the house of old Franz Wenzel the Scharfrichter?"
"If I remember? Shall I ever forget it? ask, rather," answered my ancestor. "It seems to me only yesterday that I witnessed that execution; and then that Poltergeist—it seems as if I had witnessed his pranks only last night. I canremember the minutest incident that happened on that unhallowed evening."
"Well," resumed the lawyer, "poor old Franz is no more."
"What—dead, eh?"
"Ay, murdered. Horrible to relate, his body was discovered minus the head, which has been carried off or hidden somewhere, for it hasn't been found yet, but his son recognised the body by the clothes, besides Franz has never returned home since, so it must be he. There appears to be a mystery about it, however. The murderer has not as yet been discovered, neither can people guess at what prompted the murderer to take the life of a man who was never over-burdened with money. Then the head being cut off without care being taken to bury the body, and all, too, within a few steps of the Henker's own house. What could have been the murderer's object in carrying off the head?"
"A mere act of spite, I suppose," replied the Englishman.
"Well, it may be so," replied his friend, "for it seems that his life had been often threatened by the friends or relations of those he had beheaded. It may be as you say, out of spite. The murderer may, by way of wreaking his vengeance have cut off the head of the man who had put some friend or relation to death as a trophy, but why just at this moment? Why not before, as there has been no execution in the town lately? Ibelieve there has been none since that execution we two witnessed together. If the avenger had made up his mind to avenge his friend, why did he not do so at once, instead of waiting these twelve years?"
"It may be some other private quarrel," replied Fritz. "Are you mixed up in it?"
"Yes, I shall be at the trial."
"It happened recently it would seem."
"Only two days ago."
"Then the body is still fresh—of course it has been exposed and examined?"
"Yes, but it was recognised at once by the family. I dare say it is buried by this time. I am going there to-morrow. If you have time, my friend, I should be most glad of your company."
"Well, I don't mind giving you a day or so, as I am taking a holiday."
"Agreed, then; we start to-morrow."
The two friends then discoursed until dinner-time, when Ludwig invited Fritz to share his meal.