“‘Little maiden, with cheeks of roses,

  Rosa, hear The decree.

  Never yield thee to dread or doubting,

  Set God fast in thy heart.

  Let not vain longings deride thee.

  He prepares thee a brightsome dwelling,

  Streams, of sweet savour, flowing therein,

  Beauteous angels, singing full sweetly.

  Pious of soul,

  List to the truest of wooing,

  Loveliest promise of love.

  A House, resplendent and gleaming,

  He whom thy heart goeth forth to

  Shall to thy dwelling bring.

  Needless to ask of thy father.

  This is thy destined lord.

  For this House, into thy dwelling

  Bringeth good fortune and bliss.

  Keep thine eyes open, then, maiden;

  Watchful thine ears for the true word to come.

  God’s truest blessing be on thee,

  Walking thy flowery way.’”

  “And when the old grandmother had sung this song, she put the child gently and carefully down on the bedcover, and laying her withered, trembling hands upon its forehead, whispered words which were wholly unintelligible, though the inspired and sublime expression of her face showed that she was praying. Then she sunk back with her head on the pillow, and as the nurse lifted the child she gave a deep sigh — she was gone.”

  “A wonderful story,” said Paumgartner. “Still I don’t see how this prophetic song of the old grandmother has any connection with your obstinate determination to give Rosa to nobody but a master cooper.”

  “What can be clearer,” said Master Martin, “than that the old lady, specially enlightened by the Lord during the last moments of her life, declared in prophecy how matters are to go with Rosa, if she is to be happy and fortunate? The wooer who is to bring wealth, luck and happiness into her dwelling with a beautiful House; who can that be but a clever cooper, who shall finish his masterpiece, the beautiful House of his building, in my workshop? In what other house do streams of sweet savour flow up and down but in a wine-cask? And when the wine is working it rustles, and hums, and plashes; and that is the singing of the angels as they float on the tiny ripples. Ay, ay! no other bridegroom did the old grandmother mean but the master cooper. To that I pin my faith.”

  “Good Master Martin,” said Paumgartner, “you interpret the old lady’s words after your own manner; but I cannot altogether agree with your interpretation, and I still maintain that you ought to leave the whole matter in the hands of God, and in your daughter’s heart: for the true meaning and the proper deciding of it most certainly lie hidden there.”

  “And I, as far as I am concerned,” said Master Martin, “stick to my own opinion, that my son-in-law shall be none but a clever cooper. This I hold to, for once and for all.”

  Paumgartner was beginning almost to lose his temper over Martin’s obstinacy. But he controlled himself, and rose from his chair, saying:

  “It is getting late, Master Martin; I think we have had as much wine and as much conversation as are good for us.”

  And, as they were making for the door, there appeared a young woman with five boys, of whom the eldest might have been scarcely eight, and the youngest scarcely half a year old. The woman was weeping and sobbing. Rosa hastened to meet them, crying, “Ah! Heavens! Valentine must be dead. Here are his wife and children.” “What? Valentine dead?” cried Master Martin, much shocked, “Oh, what a misfortune! What a misfortune! My dear sir, Valentine was the best of all my workmen; a hardworking, good, honest fellow. A short time ago he hurt himself dangerously with an adze, during the building of a big cask. His wound got worse and worse; he fell into a violent fever, and now he has had to die in the prime of his years.” Master Martin went up to the disconsolate woman, who was bathed in tears, lamenting that she must perish in misery and distress.

  “What think you of me?” asked Master Martin. “Your husband came by his death in my service, and do you suppose I am going to abandon you in your need? God forbid! You all belong to my house henceforth. To-morrow, or when you choose, we will bury your husband, poor fellow, and then you and your boys go to my farm before the Lady-gate, where my great workshop is, and be there with my men. You can look after the housekeeping; I will bring up those fine young boys of yours as though they were my own. More than that, your old father shall come and live here too. He was a grand journeyman cooper while he had strength in his arms for the work. If he can’t wield the mallet now-a-days, or the notching-tool, or the hooping-iron, or take his stroke at the grooving-bench, why he can manage to turn out hoops with the rounding-knife. Whether or not, into my house he comes with the rest of you.”

  Had not Master Martin held the woman up, she would have fallen at his feet overwhelmed with emotion. The elder boys hung upon his doublet, and the two youngest, whom Rosa had taken in her arms, held out their little hands to him, as if they understood what he said.

  Quoth old Paumgartner, smiling, with tears in his eyes, “One can’t be vexed with you, Master Martin,” and he betook himself to his dwelling.

  HOW THE TWO YOUNG JOURNEYMEN, FRIEDRICH AND REINHOLD, MADE EACH OTHER’S ACQUAINTANCE.

  The evening was falling as a young journeyman, very handsome and distinguished-looking, Friedrich by name, was lying on a little grassy hillock, shaded by leafy trees. The sun had set, and rosy flames were shooting up from the deep abyss of the western sky. The famous town of Nürnberg could be distinctly seen in the distance, broadening out in the valley, its proud towers stretching up into the evening red, which darted bright rays, streaming on to their summits. The young mechanic had his arm propped upon his bundle, or travelling knapsack, and was gazing down into the valley with longing eyes. He plucked a flower or two from the grass, and cast them into the air towards the sunset sky; then once more he gazed mournfully before him, and the hot tears came to his eyes. At length he lifted his head, stretched out his arms, as if he were embracing some beloved form, and sang the following song, in a rich, tuneful voice:

  “Again, again I see thee, my own beloved home,

  My faithful heart has never lost

  The faintest trace of thee.

  Rise on my sight, oh roseate sheen;

  Fain would I see nought else but roses.

  Love’s own blossoms, glow on my heart,

  Gladden my bosom, cheer my soul.

  Ah, swelling heart, and must thou break?

  Beat firm through pain and sweetest joy.

  And thou, thou golden evening sky,

  Be thou to me a faithful herald;

  Bear down to her my sighs and tears

  And tell her, should I die, my heart

  Dissolved in love unchanging.”

  When Friedrich had finished this song, he took some wax from his bundle, warmed it in his breast, and began to model a beautiful rose, with its hundreds of delicate petals, in the most skilful and artistic manner. As he worked at it, he kept singing detached phrases of his song; and, thus absorbed, he did not notice a handsome lad who had been standing behind him for a considerable time, eagerly watching him as he worked.

  “My friend,” said this young fellow, “that is an exquisite piece of work you are doing.”

  Friedrich looked round, startled. But when he saw the stranger’s kindly dark eyes, he felt as if he had known him long. So he answered, with a smile, “Ah, my dear sir, how can you care to look at this trifle, which serves to pass a little of my time on my journey?”

  The stranger answered, “If you call that flower, so accurately studied and copied from nature, and so tenderly executed, a ‘trifle,’ a plaything, you must be a remarkably finished and accomplished artist in that line. You delight me in a double sense. First, your song, which you sung so charmingly (in the tender ‘Letter-Mode’ of Martin Haescher), went quite to my heart; and now I have to admire your masterly skill in modelling. Whither are you bound to-day?”

  “The goal of my journey,” answered Friedrich, “lies there before our eyes. I am bound for my home there, the renowned town of Nürnberg. As the sun is far beneath the horizon, I shall pass the night down in the village there; but I shall push on as early as I can in the morning, and be in Nürnberg by noon.”

  “Ah, how well that falls in,” cried the lad; “I am bound for Nürnberg too. I shall pass the night along with you in the village, and we can go on together in the morning. So let us talk together a little.”

  The lad, whose name was Reinhold, threw himself down on the grass beside Friedrich, and went on as follows:

  “If I do not mistake, you are a splendid metal-worker. I see that by your style of moulding. You work in gold and silver, do you not?”

  Friedrich looked sadly down, and began, quite dejectedly:

  “Ah, my dear sir, you take me for something much higher and better than I really am. I must tell you candidly that I learnt the craft of a cooper, and I wish to go and work with a well-known master of that craft in Nürnberg. You will despise me that I do not model and cast glorious images, figures, groups, and only shape hoops for casks and barrels.”

  “This is delightful,” cried Reinhold, laughing aloud. “The idea of my despising you for being a cooper, when I am nothing else myself!”

  Friedrich looked at him fixedly; he did not know what to think. Reinhold’s dress was like anything rather than that of a journeyman cooper on his travels. The doublet of fine black cloth trimmed with velvet, the delicate lace cravat, short sword, barret cap, with long drooping feather, seemed more appropriate to a well-to-do merchant; and yet there was a certain wonderful something in the face and whole bearing of the lad which excluded the idea of a merchant. Reinhold saw Friedrich’s doubts; he opened his knapsack, and brought out his cooper’s leather apron and case of tools, crying, “Look there, friend; have you any doubt now as to my being your comrade? I dare say my clothes may strike you a little; but I come from Strassburg, where the coopers dress like gentry. Certainly, like yourself, I once had ideas of something different; but now I think the cooper’s craft the finest in the world, and I have based many of my fairest life-hopes on it. Is not this your case, too, comrade? But it almost seems to me as if some dark cloud-shadow had come over the happiness of your life, preventing you from looking around you with any gladness. Your song was all love-longing and sorrow; but there were tones in it which seemed to come shining out of my own breast, and I feel as though I knew everything which is imprisoned within you. That is all the more reason why you should tell me all about it. As we are going to be intimate friends and companions in Nürnberg, confide in me.” Reinhold put an arm about Friedrich, and looked him kindly in the eyes.

  “The more I look at you, you charming fellow,” Friedrich said, “the more I am drawn to you. I distinctly hear a wondrous voice within me echoing a monition of my soul, which tells me you are my true friend. So I must tell you everything. Not that a poor fellow such as I has anything really important to confide to you, but merely because the breast of a true friend has room for a man’s sorrows; and, from the first moment of our acquaintance, I felt that you are the truest friend I possess. I am a cooper now, and I may say I know my craft well. But all my devotion was given to another — perhaps a better — art. From my childhood my desire was to be a silversmith, a great Master in the art of modelling and working in silver, such as Peter Fischer, or the Italian, Benvenuto Cellini. I worked at this with fervent zeal, under Master Johannes Holzschuer, the famous silversmith in my native town, who, although he did not himself cast images of the kind I refer to, had it in his power to give me instruction in that direction and province. Into Herr Holzschuer’s house came, not seldom, Herr Tobias Martin, the master cooper, with his daughter, the beautiful charming Rosa. I fell in love with her, without quite being aware of it myself. I left home, and went to Augsburg, to learn image-casting properly, and it was not till then that the love-flames blazed up in my heart. I saw and heard only Rosa. I loathed every effort, every endeavour that did not lead to her; so I started off upon the only path which did lead to her. Master Martin will give his daughter to no man save the cooper who, in his house, shall make the most perfect masterpiece which a cooper can produce, and whom at the same time his daughter shall look upon favourably into the bargain. I cast my own art on one side, I learned the cooper’s craft, and I am going to Nürnberg to work in Master Martin’s workshop. That is my object and intention. But now that my home lies before me, and Rosa’s image glows vividly before my eyes, I could swoon for hesitation, anxiety, dread. I see now the folly of my undertaking clearly. Can I tell whether Rosa loves me, or ever will love me?”

  Reinhold had listened with even closer attention. He now rested his head on his arm, and, placing his hand over his eyes, asked, in a hollow, gloomy voice:

  “Has Rosa ever given you any sign that she cares for you?”

  “Ah,” said Friedrich, “when I left Nürnberg, Rosa was more a child than a girl. She certainly did not dislike me. She used to smile charmingly on me when I never wearied of gathering flowers and making wreaths in Herr Holzschuer’s garden. But — —”

  “Well, there is some hope in that case,” Reinhold cried out suddenly, so violently, and in such an unpleasant, yelling tone, that Friedrich felt almost frightened. Reinhold started to his feet, the sword at his side rattled, and as he stood drawn up to his full height, the evening shadows fell on his pale face, and distorted his gentle features in such an ill-favoured sort that Friedrich cried, in real anxiety:

  “What has come to you so suddenly?”

  As he spoke he stepped backward, touching Reinhold’s bundle with his foot. A sound of strings rang forth of it, and Reinhold cried, angrily:

  “Don’t smash my lute, you villain!”

  He took the instrument from his bundle and struck its strings stormily, as if he would tear them in pieces. But soon his touch upon them grew soft and tuneful.

  “Let us go on down to the village, brother! I have here a fine remedy against the Evil Spirits which stand in our way, and are in opposition principally to me.”

  “Why should Evil Spirits stand in our way, dear brother?” asked Friedrich. “But oh! your playing is beautiful, Please to go on with it.”

  The gold stars had come forth in the dark azure of the heavens; the night-wind was breathing in soft whispers over the perfumed meadows; the streams were murmuring louder; the dark trees of the forest were rustling all round in the distance. Reinhold and Friedrich went down into the valley, playing and singing; and clear and bright, as on shining pinions, their songs of Love and Longing floated on the breeze.

  When they reached their night-quarters, Reinhold threw his lute and his knapsack down, and pressed Friedrich stormily to his heart. Friedrich felt burning tears upon his cheek; they came from Reinhold’s eyes.

  HOW THE TWO YOUNG JOURNEYMEN, REINHOLD AND FRIEDRICH, WERE RECEIVED INTO MASTER MARTIN’S HOUSE.

  When Friedrich awoke the next morning, he missed his new friend, who had thrown himself down by his side on the straw bed; and as he saw neither the lute nor the bundle, he thought Reinhold, for reasons to him unknown, had left him and taken another road. When he went out, however, he saw Reinhold with his lute under his arm, and his knapsack, bat dressed quite differently to what he had been the day before. He had taken the feather from his cap, was not wearing his sword, and had on a homely citizen’s doublet, of sober hue, instead of the velvet slashed one he had previously.

  “Now, brother,” he cried, with a kindly smile, “I am sure you see that I really am your comrade and fellow-journeyman. However, I must say you slept wonderfully well for a man in love. Look how high the sun is. Let’s be off at once.”

  Friedrich was silent and thoughtful; he scarcely answered Reinhold, or paid any attention to his jests, for he darted about hither and thither in the highest spirits, shouting aloud, and throwing his cap into the air; but even he became quieter as they approached the town, quieter and quieter.

  “I cannot go any further, I am so anxious, so uncertain, so filled with delicious unrest,” said Friedrich, throwing himself down as one exhausted, when they had all but arrived at the gates of Nürnberg. Reinhold sat down beside him, and after a time said: —

  “Last night I must have seemed to you to be a very strange creature, good brother, but when you told me of your love, and were so disconsolate, all manner of absurd nonsense came into my head, making me feel confused. I think I should have gone crazy at last, had not your singing and my lute driven the evil spirits away. This morning, when the first rays of the sun awoke me, all my sense of enjoyment in life had come back to me. I went out, and as I strolled up and down amongst the trees, all manner of glorious thoughts came into my mind; the way in which I had met you — how my whole heart had so turned to you. I remembered a pretty tale of a matter which happened some time ago in Italy when I chanced to be there. I should like to tell it to you, as it shows very vividly what true friendship can accomplish. It so happened that a certain noble prince, a zealous friend and protector of the Arts, offered a valuable prize for a picture, the subject of which, very interesting, and not over-difficult to treat, was duly announced. Two young painters, who were united in bonds of the closest friendship, determined to compete for this prize. They were in the habit of working together; they told each other their respective ideas on the subject, showed each other their sketches for it, and talked much together as to the difficulties to be overcome. The elder of the two, who had more experience than the other in drawing and grouping, had soon grasped the idea of his picture, had sketched it, and was helping the younger with all his power; for the latter was so discouraged at the very threshold of his sketch for the picture, that he would have given up all idea of going on had not the elder unceasingly encouraged him, and given him advice and suggestions. Now when they began to paint their pictures, the younger, who was quite a master of colour, was able to give the elder many suggestions, which he skilfully adopted and availed himself of; thus, the elder had never coloured a picture so well, and the younger had never drawn one so well. When the pictures were finished, the masters embraced each other, each of them inwardly delighted with the work of the other, and each convinced that the well-earned prize belonged of right to the other. The younger, however, was the gainer of the prize; upon which he cried out, thoroughly ashamed: ‘Why should I have it? What is my merit compared to my friend’s? I could not have accomplished anything worthy of praise but for his help.’ But the elder said: ‘And did you not help me with valuable counsel and advice? No doubt my picture is by no means bad; but you have got the prize, as was proper. To strive towards the same goal, bravely and openly, that is real friendship. Then the laurel which the victor gains honours the vanquished too. I like you all the more for your having laboured so doughtily, and brought me, too, honour and renown by your victory.’ Now, Friedrich, that painter was right, was he not? Would it not rather truly and intimately unite than separate true friends to strive for the same prize, honestly, openly, genuinely, to the utmost of their power? Can petty envy or hatred find place in noble minds?”