Chapter 3

Two men stood there, making fantastic compliment of yielding the _pas_ to each other. One was tall and haggard, with a long black wig, a dark red coat made by some old French tailor, and covered with gold tassels and gilt buttons. His immensely long thin legs were clad in tight trousers of black velvet, with gold knee-buckles; he had stuck his sword with its porcelain handle through his breeches pocket; when he bowed he flourished a three-cornered hat, and the curls of his peruke rustled down his shoulders like a waterfall. He had a pale face, sunken eyes, and a fiery red nose. The little fellow to whom he wished to yield precedence was quite different. His hair was plastered down with white of egg and then twisted into two long rolls like pistol holsters at the sides--and a plait about a yard long hung down his back. He wore a little steel-grey coat faced with red, and, beneath that, great riding boots, and a richly embroidered waistcoat which covered his plump figure to the knee, and a huge sword was fastened to his side. There was something good-tempered in his face, especially the eyes. He too performed wondrous evolutions with a huge beaver hat. I recovered a little from my terror while their courtesy proceeded to the verge of absurdity: at last they settled it by opening the other half of the door and marching in arm-in-arm. They hung their hats on the wall, unfastened their swords, and sat down silently without noticing me: I think I disliked their silence even more than anything else. Before however I had mustered courage to break it, more steps were heard, and four other gentlemen entered, dressed in somewhat similar fashion: one of them for the chase apparently. 'Greeting, gentlemen of the Rhine! it's long since we met,' said the pale-faced man with the red nose. 'Greeting, greeting, Mr. James, Mr. Matthew, greeting Mr. Judas. But what's this? where are the glasses and the pipes, where's the tobacco? Has that old fool not waked out of his sinful snoring yet? I suppose he is still in Our Lady's churchyard; but stay, I'll ring him up'--and he seized a great bell that stood on the table and rang it till the halls re-echoed. The three new comers took their seats at the table, and sat silent after the first greeting, especially one whom they called Andrew, who sat between the huntsman and the red-nosed man; he was evidently a person nice of his manners and appearance, his features were still youthful, and a gentle smile played upon his lips. There were varieties in the dress and expression of all, but not such as to have particularly fastened themselves upon my remembrance. As it usually is with old drinkers, conversation flagged for want of liquor; until, in answer to the summons of the bell, a new figure appeared at the door--a piteous-looking old man with trembling legs and grey hair, with a sort of death's-head face. With much exertion he dragged forward a great basket, and greeted the guests humbly.

'Hurrah,' they cried, 'here's Balthasar, slip along old fellow, on with your glasses and pipes; what a time you have been!'

The old man gave a rude yawn, and declared that he had almost overslept the first of September: 'I sleep so sound, d'ye see, since they've new paved the churchyard, that I'm getting to hear rather badly. But here's only six of you yet, and where's my Lady Rose?' 'Just you put on the bottles, old chap, and then you may go across and rattle your dry bones against their casks, and tell them it's time to get up,' cried one of them; but the words were hardly spoken when a great noise and laughter was heard. 'Rosa, Rose, Lady Rose, hurrah, hurrah for Bacchus, hurrah for Rosa!' The ghostly companions within shouted with delight to the same effect, and clinked their glasses to the health of the Rose. Balthasar threw his cap up to the ceiling in his joy. In they came: Bacchus, my old friend who had bestrid the cask, had got down off it--not a rag of clothing on him--yet in he came, leading his blushing Rose, an ancient matron of stately mien and considerable stoutness of figure: splendidly dressed, too, she was like a true old Rhineland lady. Time might have written a few wrinkles on her brow and mouth, the fresh colour of youth might be a trifle wanting on her cheeks, but two hundred years had but added dignity to her contour. What though her eyebrows had grown grey, and there were--hush, yes there were really--a few ugly grey hairs on her chin, her locks above were nut-brown, with but very slight tinge of silver here and there. Her head was covered with a black velvet cap, fitting close to her temples: her jacket was of the finest cloth, and the red velvet bodice that peeped from beneath it was laced with silver hooks and chains. Necklace, a string of garnets and gold coins. Her skirt was of thickly pleated brown cloth, and she wore a sort of toy white apron, with a huge leather pocket at one side and a bunch of huge keys at the other. In short, she was the very picture of a worthy matron of Mainz or Coblentz, of the years immediately preceding the Thirty Years War. Six jolly companions followed her, dressed in the same fashion as my friends who were already seated, and all with their wigs somewhat awry. How politely Bacchus led his lady-love to the table! how politely she bowed to the company as she sat down! As for her fat little sweetheart, Balthasar had to put a great pillow under him, or he would not have been able to get his nose above the table. When all were seated I realised that they were indeed the spirits of those mighty Rhinewines that I had tasted an hour before; the twelve Apostle-casks, Bacchus and the old Rose.

'Well, well, it's a long while since 1700, Mistress Rose,' said one of them, 'but we seem to be all in pretty good condition, and I vow you are as young and handsome as ever. Here's good luck and long life to your sweetheart and yourself, my dear.' 'Rosa, Frau Rosa, the Rose, long life and health to her!' shouted all, and Bacchus tossed off two quarts at a gulp, which had the visible effect of making him look more like an inflated bladder than ever.

'Thank you, most honoured apostles and cousins,' said she, bowing graciously; 'but when you refer to my sweetheart I don't know whom you mean; you confuse a modest maiden.' The modest maiden sought refuge in a mighty draught of wine. 'Sweetheart,' said Bacchus, looking tenderly at her and pressing her hand, 'be not coy, sweetheart; you know well whose heart has been yours any time these 200 vintages; and I don't mind proving it to you by this chaste salute'--and he bent forward to kiss her. 'If all these young people were not here,' she murmured--but amid shouts of laughter from the young people she allowed him to take his due by force and with interest. Then he tossed off a bowl or two and began to sing in a rich mellow voice:

There's not a palace in the land So fair as this of Bremen, Its spacious floors, its halls so grand A king would feel no shame in: And sure 'tis decked with everything To take the fancy of a king; But the thing that best would win it Is the Lady fair within it.

Her eyes like sparkling Rhenish shine, Her cheeks are bright as roses, Her heavy draperies rich and fine Are decked with fragrant posies: Of heart-of-oak her farthingale, Her girdle of the birchwood pale, And her bodice trim she faces With iron clasps and laces.

But ah, her bedroom too is barred With locks and bolts of iron, She slumbers soft nor dreams how hard The threshold 'tis to lie on. I knock in vain from twelve to four, Arise, my love, and ope the door That bars thy chamber cosy, Come forth, my lovely Rosie!

So pass I every midnight hour Before her lonely dwelling, Once, only once, and never more, The fairy lass was willing. And since I drew that honeyed kiss My heart's been drunken all with bliss-- Ah, just once more, my treasure, Fill me a brimming measure!

'That's enough of such indelicate allusions, now, Mr. Bacchus,' says she; 'you know very well that their High Mightinesses keep me strictly locked up, and don't allow me to admit anyone at all.' 'Not even me, dear Rosie,' said he; 'ah, I think they would wink at it if you let me in now and then for a taste at your lips.' 'You're a rogue,' she answered, 'and little better than a Turk. I should like to know how many sweethearts you want. I know of your goings on with those frivolous French girls, Miss Champagne, (who has no more colour in her face than a dried pea,) and Fräulein von Bordeaux, the sickly minx. Ah, you have not the true Rhinelander's heart, nor understand the Rhinelander's love.' 'Pooh, my dear,' says he, 'I have visited these ladies occasionally, and amused myself with their wit, but nothing else; rest assured, my dearest, my heart is thine alone.' 'And then I fancy,' she went on, 'that I have heard some stories from Spain. Of poor Lady Xeres I will say nothing, (that's too well-known a story for you to deny); but how about the Señorina Dentilla di Rosa, Señorina San Lucar, and Señora Ximenes--a married lady too?' 'You carry your jealousy too far,' said he, with some asperity. 'I don't see why one should give up one's old connexions. As for the Señora Ximenes, I merely visit her out of kindness to you as being your relation.' 'Our relation?' muttered Rosa and the others, 'how's that?' 'Don't you know,' he continued, 'that she is originally from the Rhine? The most excellent hidalgo, Don Ximenes, took her from thence to his home in Spain when she was a very tender maid, and there she settled, and naturally took his family name. But she preserves with the Spanish sweetness much of the true German character, especially in colour and scent.' 'Long life to her, then,' cried they all, 'if she really is Rosie's cousin.' Rosa did not seem quite satisfied with her sweetheart's cunning mode of extricating himself from the scrape, so she changed the subject by turning round to the others and rallying them each in turn on the way in which the years had treated or spared them. One looked pale, she said, another was but half awake, a third had grown fat, almost too lazy to drink, a fourth was as ready for a joke as ever, and so on--'but hallo, why there are thirteen of you. Who's that in the strange clothing over there? who brought him in?'

_Was I frightened or not?_ None of them looked pleased at my presence: but I said, 'I present my compliments to this worthy assemblage; I am really nothing but a man, who has taken a degree of Ph.D., and at present my residence is at the Frankfurt hotel in this city.'

'But, oh man who hast taken a degree, how camest thou here, man?' 'Apostle,' I answered--it was Peter whose eyes flashed fire on me as he spoke--'I'll trouble you not to call me man till we're better acquainted. And as for this society into which you say I have come, you are quite in error; it came to me, not I to it, for I had been sitting in this very room nearly an hour past' (I don't know whence I got the courage to say this--probably from the 'Special '22'). 'But what were you doing in the cellar at this time of night, sir?' said Bacchus rather more gently; 'you ought to be asleep.' 'Your Honour,' says I, 'I had excellent reasons for being here. I am a particular friend of the noble drink that is stored here, and, by favour of the not less noble Senate, I received permission to pay you all a visit--time and place not specified.'

'So you like to drink Rhine wine,' said Bacchus; 'that's a good liking to have in these days, when most men have grown so cold towards the golden spring,' 'Yes,' growled out the man in the red coat, 'no one will drink us now except here and there a travelling doctor, like this fellow, or a schoolmaster out for a holiday; and most of them water it first.' 'I beg most respectfully to contradict you, Mr. Jude,' said I. 'I have already tried you all round, and had but recently sat down to a few modest bottles of a more contemporaneous vintage, and that I have paid for myself.' 'Don't get hot, doctor,' said my Lady Rose, 'he didn't mean to hurt your feelings; he only reflected upon the low manners and bad taste of the present day.' 'Bad taste, low manners, I should think so,' said another. 'The generation that concocts a detestable mixture of brandy and half a dozen kinds of syrups, and calls it Château Margaux or Sillery, must indeed feel itself unworthy of a noble drink. And then people wonder why they get red rings round their mouths and a splitting headache the next day. Cochineal and brandy, nothing else!'

'What a life it was too when we were young, even as late as '26; yes, even as late as '50. Every evening, were it bright sunshiny spring, or deep wintry snow, the little rooms here were alive with joyous guests. The Senators of Bremen sat with majestic wigs on their heads, their weapons at their sides, and their glasses before them. That's what I call honour and dignity. Here, here, not _upon_ the earth was their council chamber; here the true hall of the senate; here was settled over the cool wine the affairs of the nation and of most other nations besides. If they didn't agree they never quarrelled, but just drank each other's healths till they did; and if they ever failed it was because they didn't go on drinking long enough--but this rarely happened. Equal friends of the noble wine, how could they but be friends of each other? And on the next day their word pledged overnight was held sacred, and the resolves taken overnight were executed coolly enough in the morning.'

'Ah, the good old times,' said another Apostle, 'and it is still, you know, a custom that every Councillor keeps a little wine-book or drinking account, reckoned up and discharged at the end of the year. When a man sat here every night of his life, he didn't care to be always putting his hands in his pockets, so it was worked on the tally system, and I hear there are still a few brave old fellows left who use the same plan.'

'Yes, yes, children,' said the old Rose, 'it was another world a couple of centuries, or even one, or even half a century ago. They used to bring their wives and daughters into the cellar with them, and the fair Bremen maids, who were famed far and wide for bright eyes and rosy cheeks and voluptuous lips, drank nothing but good Rhine wine. Now forsooth, they must have tea and stuff like that, wretched foreign stuff, which girls in my time would only take if they had a little cough or sore throat, as a drug. And will you believe me, people actually put sweet Spanish stuff into true Rhine wines because they say we are sour.'

The Apostles roared with laughter at this last idea, and I couldn't help joining. As for Bacchus, he had to be patted on the back by Balthasar to recover him. 'Yes, the g-g-g-good old times,' sputtered he as he got breath again, 'every burgher drank his honest half gallon and went home as sober as a judge: now a glass upsets them, they're so out of practice.'

'There was a fine story to that effect a couple of centuries ago,' said my Lady, and smiled to herself at the recollection of it. 'Please tell it us, Frau Rose. Yes! the story! the story!' they all began to cry. She emptied her bowl to clear her voice, and began.

'You must know that in 1620 or 30 there was a great rumpus in Germany about a very small matter--the Form of Religion. Each side wanted its own form shoved down the throat of the other, and instead of sitting down to talk it over sensibly over a pipe of wine, they proceeded to knock each other on the head. Albrecht von Wallenstein, the Kaiser's field-marshal in particular, made sad havoc of the Protestant countries, until the King of Sweden, called Gustavus Adolphus, took pity on them, and crossed the Baltic with a large army, and went at it hammer and tongs in defence of the Protestant religion. Well, they fought a lot of battles, and chased each other about from the Rhine to the Danube, and from the Danube to the Rhine with mighty little result. At that time Bremen and the other Hanse towns were neutral, and did not wish to quarrel with either party; but as Gustavus wanted a passage through their territories, he determined to send an embassy to them. It was well known, however, that everything like state business in Bremen was transacted in this cellar, and that the Bremeners were good hands at stowing away liquor: so the king was in some perplexity lest his ambassadors should be drunk under the table, and then made to sign an unfavourable treaty. Now, there was by chance in the Swedish camp a captain of the Yellow Regiment who was a notable drinker. Two or three quarts for breakfast were a trifle to him, and in the evening he would half empty a four-gallon cask and sleep well after it. The chancellor Oxenstiern brought this man to the king's notice. Captain Tosspot he was called. The king was much pleased when he observed his nose, which was of the right copper hue, and asked him how much he _could_ drink if it was a case of life and death. "O king," he answered,

"I am but a poor captain, and wine is very dear. I never tried seriously. I can't afford to exceed my seven quarts a day; but if your majesty would stand treat I would undertake to finish twelve at least. But my squire who is called Balthasar the Bottomless, is a much harder drinker than I am." Balthasar was called, a thin, ashy-pale little fellow with lank straight hair, and the king sent them into a tent by themselves, with some fine old casks of Hochheimer and Nierstein, and told them to get drunk. They began at 11 a.m., and by 4 p.m. they had finished eight gallons of Hochheimer and twelve of Nierstein. When the king went to see them they were quite sober, but Captain Tosspot said he thought he should soon have to loosen his sword-belt, and Balthasar had undone three buttons of his collar. Then said the king, "What better ambassadors can I find to talk the fair city of Bremen into its senses?" So Tosspot was made ambassador and Balthasar the Bottomless his secretary, and they were properly rigged out, and their instructions were made out; and the first of these was that they were to drink nothing but water on the way to Bremen, that the battle in the cellar might be more glorious afterwards; another was that Tosspot was to rub his nose with a white ointment, that no one might see what a practised mouth he was. They arrived safely at Bremen, but both of them naturally quite ill through drinking water: the Senators of Bremen thought they would have an easy victory over two such milksops, and so the burgomaster said he would look after the ambassador, and Dr. Redpepper should settle the secretary. So in the evening they were solemnly led into the cellar with a lot of senators who were invited to assist in the negotiations. They sat down in this room and had a little spiced meat and ham and red herrings; but when Mr. Ambassador Tosspot wanted to begin the negotiation in an honourable manner, and Mr. Secretary Balthasar took parchment and ink-horn from his pocket, "Not so, noble gentlemen," said the burgomaster; "it is not the custom in Bremen that we should settle weighty matters with a dry throat, we will first drink to one another, as our ancestors in like cases have always done." "I am but a poor drinker," said the captain, "but if it so pleases your High-Mightiness I will take a drop." So they began to drink and treat at the same time; and to encourage their guests, the senators and the doctor and the burgomaster went a little further than usual with the Rüdesheimer. At each new bottle the strangers excused themselves, assuring the burgomaster that it was beginning to get into their heads; which of course delighted him immensely: and at last said the burgomaster, "now for bishnesh." But as the "bishnesh" went on, the burgomaster went to sleep while he was defining the word neutrality, and Doctor Redpepper lay already under the table: then the other senators came and went on with the negotiations and the drinking; but the captain, who kept five men running backwards and forwards filling his glass for him, drank them all under the table.

'All--but one. Mr. Senator Walther was a man of whom ugly tales would infallibly have been told, if he had not been Mr. Senator. He was a man who had raised himself from a humble position in his craft-guild to be an alderman, and then to his present place. He was a very tall bony man. He alone now held out with the two guests, and put away twice as much as both of them. Moreover, he seemed as sensible as ever, whereas Tosspot was beginning to feel as if a wheel were going round in his head. But the curious thing was this, that when Walther drank a glass Balthasar fancied that he saw a thin blue mist rise and exude from his black hair. These two, however, drank bravely on till Tosspot dropped peacefully to sleep with his head pillowed against the burgomaster's arm.

'Then said the Senator to the Secretary, "My dear fellow, you drink wonderfully well, but I fancy you are more familiar with the bridle than the pen." Balthasar attempted some bluster about his Majesty's Embassy, but the other replied with a terrible laugh, "Ho, ho? and do secretaries in your country always wear such clothes and carry such pens?" Then the groom looked at his dress and saw with alarm that he had on his ordinary stable coat and had a curry comb in his hand. Bluer than ever looked the mist about Walther's head as he tossed off another quart. "Heaven forbid, sir," said poor Balthasar, "that I should drink with you any longer. I see you are a magician."

"True," said the man, "but we needn't go into that, most honourable horse-combing secretary; the point of the thing as far as you are concerned is, that it is no use your trying to drink me under the table, for I have a little tap screwed into my brain through which the fumes of the wine can evaporate." It was indeed true, and he inclined his head towards Balthasar to show him the process. The groom clapped his hands with delight: "That's a most excellent device, sir; couldn't you screw such a thing as that into my head? I will give you everything I possess for such an article." "No, that can't be done," said the other thoughtfully; "you are not learned either in magic or anything else; but as I have taken a great liking to you I will serve you with all my power. Listen: The post of cellarmaster is vacant here at present. Leave, oh Bottomless one, the Swedish service, where there is more water than wine, and come into the service of the most noble the Council of this City. Even if we do lose a few dozen casks of wine per annum, which you drink in secret, that won't matter, we have been long looking out for a fit person for the place. I will make you cellarmaster to-morrow if you like: whereas if you don't like, all the town shall know to-morrow that the Swede has sent us a groom as a secretary." This proposal tasted to Balthasar like a draught of good wine, he cast a glance into the immeasurable realm of drink that was already prospectively his, and accepted the offer at once. After this there remained several little points to be settled; as for instance, what was to be done with Balthasar's soul when he ceased to be cellarmaster in the course of nature: all these were satisfactorily determined, and Captain Tosspot went back to the Swedish camp without his secretary, without his treaty, and with a bad headache. And when the Imperialists afterwards came to Bremen and occupied it, the burgomaster was right glad that he had not allied himself too closely with Gustavus.'