With these words Paumgartner rose to his feet and took a few steps forward, with open arms, expecting that Martin would come to meet him. The latter immediately placed both his hands upon the arms of his chair and raised himself as expeditiously as his portly person would permit him to rise, — which was only slowly and heavily. Then just as slowly he strode into Paumgartner’s hearty embrace, which, however, he scarcely returned. “Well,” said Paumgartner, somewhat nettled at this, “well, Master Martin, are you not altogether well pleased that we have elected you to be our ‘Candle-master’?” Master Martin, as was his wont, threw his head back into his neck, played with his fingers upon his capacious belly, and, opening his eyes wide and thrusting forward his under-lip with an air of superior astuteness, let his eyes sweep round the assembly. Then, turning to Paumgartner, he began, “Marry, my good and worthy sir, why should I not be altogether well pleased, seeing that I receive what is my due? Who refuses to take the reward of his honest labour? Who turns away from his threshold the defaulting debtor when at length he comes to pay his long standing debt? What! my good sirs,” and Martin turned to the masters who sat around, “what! my good sirs, has it then occurred to you at last that I — I must be president of our honourable guild? What do you look for in your president? That he be the most skilful in workmanship? Go look at my two-tun cask made without fire,9 my brave masterpiece, and then come and tell me if there’s one amongst you dare boast that, so far as concerns thoroughness and finish, he has ever turned out anything like it. Do you desire that your president possess money and goods? Come to my house and I will throw open chests and drawers, and you shall feast your eyes on the glitter of the sparkling gold and silver. Will you have a president who is respected by noble and base-born alike? Only ask our honoured gentlemen of the Council, ask the princes and noblemen around our good town of Nuremberg, ask his Lordship, the Bishop of Bamberg, ask what they all think of Master Martin? Oh! I — I don’t think you’ll hear much said against him.” At the same time Master Martin struck his big fat belly with the greatest self-satisfaction, smiling with his eyes half-closed. Then, as all remained silent, nothing being heard except a dubious clearing of the throat here and there, he continued, “Ay! ay! I see. I ought, I know very well, to thank you all handsomely that in this election the good Lord above has at last seen fit to enlighten your minds. Well, when I receive the price of my labour, when my debtor repays me the borrowed money, I write at the bottom of the bill or of the receipt my ‘Paid with thanks, Thomas10 Martin, Master-cooper here.’ Let me then thank you all from my heart, since in electing me to be your president and ‘Candle-master’ you have wiped out an old debt. As for the rest, I pledge you that I will discharge the duties of my office with all fidelity and uprightness. In the hour of need I will stand by the guild and by each of you to the very best of my abilities with word and deed. I will exert the utmost diligence to uphold the honour and fame of our celebrated handicraft, without bating one jot of its present credit. My honoured syndic, and all you, my good friends and masters, I invite to come and partake of good cheer with me on the coming Sunday. Then, with blithesome hearts and minds, let us deliberate over a glass of good Hochheimer11] or Johannisberger,12 or any other choice wine in my cellar that your palates may crave, what can be done for the furtherance of our common weal. Once again, I say you shall be all heartily welcome.”

  The honest masters’ countenances, which had perceptibly clouded on hearing Master Martin’s proud words, now recovered their serenity, whilst the previous dead silence was followed by the cheerful buzz of conversation, in which a good deal was said about Master Martin’s great deserts, and also about his choice cellar. All promised to be present on the Sunday, and offered their hands to the newly-elected “Candle- master,” who took them and shook them warmly, also drawing a few of the masters a little towards him, as if desirous of embracing them. The company separated in blithe good-humour.

  What afterwards took place in Master Martin’s house.

  Now it happened that Councillor Jacobus Paumgartner had to pass by Master Martin’s in order to reach his own home; and as they both stood outside Master Martin’s door, and Paumgartner was about to proceed on his way, his friend, doffing his low bonnet, and bowing respectfully and as low as he was able, said to him, “I should be very glad, my good and worthy sir, if you would not disdain to step in and spend an hour or so in my humble house. Be pleased to suffer me to derive both profit and entertainment from your wise conversation.” “Ay, ay! Master Martin, my friend,” replied Paumgartner smiling, “gladly enough will I stay a while with you; but why do you call your house a humble house? I know very well that there’s none of the richest of our citizens who can excel you in jewels and valuable furniture. Did you not a short time ago complete a handsome building which makes your house one of the ornaments of our renowned Imperial Town?13 In respect of its interior fittings I say nothing, for no patrician even need be ashamed of it.”

  Old Paumgartner was right; for on opening the door, which was brightly polished and richly ornamented with brass-work, they stepped into a spacious entrance hall almost resembling a state-room; the floor was tastefully inlaid, fine pictures hung on the walls, and the cupboards and chairs were all artistically carved. And all who came in willingly obeyed the direction inscribed in verses, according to olden custom, on a tablet which hung near the door: —

  Let him who will the stairs ascend

  See that his shoes be rubbed well clean.

  Or taken off were better, I ween;

  He thus avoids what might offend.

  A thoughtful man is well aware

  How he indoors himself should bear.

  It had been a hot day, and now as the hour of twilight was approached it began to be close and stuffy in the rooms, so Master Martin led his eminent guest into the cool and spacious parlour-kitchen. For this was the name applied at that time to a place in the houses of the rich citizens which, although furnished as a kitchen, was never used as such — all kinds of valuable utensils and other necessaries of housekeeping being there set out on show. Hardly had they got inside the door when Master Martin shouted in a loud voice, “Rose, Rose!” Then the door was immediately opened, and Rose, Master Martin’s only daughter, came in.

  I should like you, dear reader, to awaken at this moment a vivid recollection of our great Albrecht Dürer’s masterpieces; I would wish that the glorious maidens whom we find in them, with all their noble grace, their sweet gentleness and piety, should recur to your mind, endowed with living form. Recall the noble and delicate figure, the beautifully arched, lily-white forehead, the carnation flitting like a breath of roses across the cheek, the full sweet cherry-red lips, — recall the eyes full of pious aspirations, half-veiled by their dark lashes, like moonlight seen through dusky foliage, — recall the silky hair, artfully gathered into graceful plaits, — recall the divine beauty of these maidens, and you will see lovely Rose. How else than in this way could the narrator sketch the dear, darling child? And yet permit me to remind you here of an admirable young artist into whose heart a quickening ray has fallen from these beautiful old times. I mean the German painter Cornelius,14 in Rome. Just as Margaret looks in Cornelius’s drawings to Goethe’s mighty Faust when she utters the words, “Bin weder Fräulein noch schön”15 (I am neither a lady of rank, nor yet beautiful), so also may Rose have looked when in the shyness of her pure chaste heart she felt compelled to shun addresses that smacked somewhat too much of freedom.

  Rose bowed low with child-like respect before Paumgartner, and taking his hand, pressed it to her lips. The crimson colour rushed into the old gentleman’s pale cheeks, as the sun when setting shoots up a dying flash, suddenly converting the dark foliage into gold, so the fire of a youth now left far behind gleamed once more in his eyes. “Ay! ay!” he cried in a blithesome voice, “marry, my good friend Master Martin, you are a rich and a prosperous man, but the best of all the blessings which the good Lord has given you is your lovely daughter Rose. If the hearts of old gentlemen like us who sit in the Town Council are so stirred that we cannot turn away our purblind eyes from the dear child, who can find fault with the young folks if they stop and stand like blocks of wood, or as if spell-bound, when they meet your daughter in the street, or see her at church, though we have a word of blame for our clerical gentry, because on the Allerwiese,16 or wherever else a festival is held, they all crowd round your daughter, with their sighs, and loving glances, and honied words, to the vexation of all other girls? Well, well, Master Martin, you can choose you your son-in-law amongst any of our young patricians, or wherever else you may list.”

  A dark frown settled on Master Martin’s face; he bade his daughter fetch some good old wine; and after she had left the room, the hot blushes mantling thick and fast upon her cheeks, and her eyes bent upon the floor, he turned to old Paumgartner, “Of a verity, my good sir, Heaven has dowered my daughter with exceptional beauty, and herein too I have been made rich; but how can you speak of it in the girl’s presence? And as for a patrician son-in-law, there’ll never be anything of that sort.” “Enough, Master Martin, say no more,” replied Paumgartner, laughing. “Out of the fulness of the heart the mouth must speak. Don’t you believe, then, that when I set eyes on Rose the sluggish blood begins to leap in my old heart also? And if I do honestly speak out what she herself must very well know, surely there’s no very great mischief done.”

  Rose brought the wine and two beautiful drinking-glasses. Then Martin pushed the heavy table, which was ornamented with some remarkable carving, into the middle of the kitchen. Scarcely, however, had the old gentlemen taken their places and Master Martin had filled the glasses when a trampling of horses was heard in front of the house. It seemed as if a horseman had pulled up, and as if his voice was heard in the entrance-passage below. Rose hastened down and soon came back with the intelligence that old Junker17 Heinrich von Spangenberg was there and wished to speak to Master Martin. “Marry!” cried Martin, “now this is what I call a fine lucky evening, which brings me my best and oldest customer. New orders of course, I see I shall have to ‘cask’ out again” — Therewith he hastened down as fast as he was able to meet his welcome guest.

  How Master Martin extols his trade above all others.

  The Hochheimer sparkled in the beautiful cut drinking-glasses, and loosened the tongues and opened the hearts of the three old gentlemen. Old Spangenberg especially, who, though advanced in years, was yet brimming with freshness and vivacity, had many a jolly prank out of his merry youth to relate, so that Master Martin’s belly wabbled famously, and again and again he had to brush the tears out of his eyes, caused by his loud and hearty laughing. Herr Paumgartner, too, forgot more than was customary with him the dignity of the Councillor, and enjoyed right well the noble liquor and the merry conversation. But when Rose again made her appearance with the neat housekeeper’s basket under her arm, out of which she took a tablecloth as dazzling white as fresh- fallen snow, — when she tripped backwards and forwards busy with household matters, laying the cloth, and placing a plentiful supply of appetising dishes on the table, — when, with a winning smile she invited the gentlemen not to despise what had been hurriedly prepared, but to turn to and eat — during all this time their conversation and laughter ceased. Neither Paumgartner nor Spangenberg averted their sparkling eyes from the fascinating maiden, whilst Master Martin too, leaning back in his chair, and folding his hands, watched her busy movements with a gratified smile. Rose was withdrawing, but old Spangenberg was on his feet in a moment, quick as a youth; he took the girl by both shoulders and cried, again and again, as the bright tears trickled from his eyes, “Oh you good, you sweet little angel! What a dear darling girl you are!” then he kissed her twice — three times on the forehead, and returned to his seat, apparently in deep thought.

  Paumgartner proposed the toast of Rose’s health. “Yes,” began Spangenberg, after she had gone out of the room, “yes, Master Martin, Providence has given you a precious jewel in your daughter, whom you cannot well over-estimate. She will yet bring you to great honour. Who is there, let him be of what rank in life he may, who would not willingly be your son-in-law?” “There you are,” interposed Paumgartner; “there you see, Master Martin, the noble Herr von Spangenberg is exactly of my opinion. I already see our dear Rose a patrician’s bride with the rich jewellery of pearls18 in her beautiful flaxen hair.” “My dear sirs,” began Martin, quite testily, “why do you, my dear sirs, keep harping upon this matter — a matter to which I have not as yet directed my thoughts? My Rose has only just reached her eighteenth year; it’s not time for such a young thing to be looking out for a lover. How things may turn out afterwards — well, that I leave entirely to the will of the Lord; but this I do at any rate know, that none shall touch my daughter’s hand, be he patrician or who he may, except the cooper who approves himself the cleverest and skilfullest master in his trade — presuming, of course, that my daughter will have him, for never will I constrain my dear child to do anything in the world, least of all to make a marriage that she does not like.” Spangenberg and Paumgartner looked at each other, perfectly astonished at this extraordinary decision of the Master’s.19 At length, after some clearing of his throat, Spangenberg began, “So, then, your daughter is not to wed out of her own station?” “God forbid she should,” rejoined Martin. “But,” continued Spangenberg, “if now a skilled master of a higher trade, say a goldsmith, or even a brave young artist, were to sue for your Rose and succeeded in winning her favour more than all other young journeymen, what then?” “I should say,” replied Master Martin, throwing his head back into his neck, “show me, my excellent young friend, the fine two-tun cask which you have made as your masterpiece; and if he could not do so, I should kindly open the door for him and very politely request him to try his luck elsewhere.” “Ah! but,” went on Spangenberg again, “if the young journeyman should reply, ‘A little structure of that kind I cannot show you, but come with me to the market-place and look at yon beautiful house which is sending up its slender gable into the free open air — that’s my masterpiece.’” “Ah! my good sir, my good sir,” broke in Master Martin impatiently, “why do you give yourself all this trouble to try and make me alter my conviction? Once and for all, my son-in-law must be of my trade; for my trade I hold to be the finest trade there is in the world. Do you think we’ve nothing to do but to fix the staves into the trestles (hoops), so that the cask may hold together? Marry, it’s a fine thing and an admirable thing that our handiwork requires a previous knowledge of the way in which that noble blessing of Heaven, good wine, must be kept and managed, that it may acquire strength and flavour so as to go through all our veins and warm our blood like the true spirit of life! And then as for the construction of the casks — if we are to turn out a successful piece of work, must we not first draw out our plans with compass and rule? We must be arithmeticians and geometricians of no mean attainments, how else can we adapt the proportion and size of the cask to the measure of its contents? Ay, sir, my heart laughs in my body when we’ve bravely laboured at the staves with jointer and adze and have gotten a brave cask in the vice; and then when my journeymen swing their mallets and down it comes on the drivers clipp! clapp! clipp! clapp! — that’s merry music for you; and there stands your well- made cask. And of a verity I may look a little proudly about me when I take my marking-tool in my hand and mark the sign of my handiwork, that is known and honoured of all respectable wine-masters, on the bottom of the cask. You spoke of house-building, my good sir. Well, a beautiful house is in truth a glorious piece of work, but if I were a house- builder and went past a house I had built, and saw a dirty fellow or good-for-nothing rascal who had got possession of it looking down upon me from the bay-window, I should feel thoroughly ashamed, — I should feel, purely out of vexation and annoyance, as if I should like to pull down and destroy my own work. But nothing like that can happen with the structures I build. Within them there comes and lives once for all nothing but the purest spirit on earth — good wine. God prosper my handiwork!”

  “That’s a fine eulogy,” said Spangenberg, “and honestly and well meant. It does you honour to think so highly of your craft; but — do not get impatient if I keep harping upon the same string — now if a patrician really came and sued for your daughter? When a thing is brought right home to a man it often looks very different from what he thought it would.” “Why, i’ faith,” cried Master Martin somewhat vehemently, “why, what else could I do but make a polite bow and say, ‘My dear sir, if you were a brave cooper, but as it is’” — — “Stop a bit,” broke in Spangenberg again; “but if now some fine day a handsome Junker on a gallant horse, with a brilliant retinue dressed in magnificent silks and satins, were to pull up before your door and ask you for Rose to wife?” “Marry, by my faith,” cried Master Martin still more vehemently than before, “why, marry, I should run down as fast as I could and lock and bolt the door, and I should shout ‘Ride on farther! Ride on farther! my worshipful Herr Junker; roses like mine don’t blossom for you. My wine-cellar and my money-bags would, I dare say, suit you passing well — and you would take the girl in with the bargain; but ride on! ride on farther.’” Old Spangenberg rose to his feet, his face hot and red all over; then, leaning both hands on the table, he stood looking on the floor before him. “Well,” he began after a pause, “and now the last question, Master Martin. If the Junker before your door were my own son, if I myself stopped at your door, would you shut it then, should you believe then that we were only come for your wine- cellar and your money-bags?” “Not at all, not at all, my good and honoured sir,” replied Master Martin. “I would gladly throw open my door, and everything in my house should be at your and your son’s service; but as for my Rose, I should say to you, ‘If it had only pleased Providence to make your gallant son a brave cooper, there would be no more welcome son-in-law on earth than he; but now’ —— But, my dear good sir, why do you tease and worry me with such curious questions? See you, our merry talk has come abruptly to an end, and look! our glasses are all standing full. Let’s put all sons-in-law and Rose’s marriage aside; here, I pledge you to the health of your son, who is, I hear, a handsome young knight.” Master Martin seized his glass; Paumgartner followed his example, saying, “A truce to all captious conversation, and here’s a health to your gallant son.” Spangenberg touched glasses with them, and said with a forced smile, “Of course you know I was only speaking in jest; for nothing but wild head-strong passion could ever lead my son, who may choose him a wife from amongst the noblest families in the land, so far to disregard his rank and birth as to sue for your daughter. But methinks you might have answered me in a somewhat more friendly way.” “Well, but, my good sir,” replied Master Martin, “even in jest I could only speak as I should act if the wonderful things you are pleased to imagine were really to happen. But you must let me have my pride; for you cannot but allow that I am the skilfullest cooper far and near, that I understand the management of wine, that I observe strictly and truly the admirable wine-regulations of our departed Emperor Maximilian20 (may he rest in peace!), that as beseems a pious man I abhor all godlessness, that I never burn more than one small half-ounce of pure sulphur21 in one of my two-tun casks, which is necessary to preserve it — the which, my good and honoured sirs, you will have abundantly remarked from the flavour of my wine.” Spangenberg resumed his seat, and tried to put on a cheerful countenance, whilst Paumgartner introduced other topics of conversation. But, as it so often happens, when once the strings of an instrument have got out of tune, they are always getting more or less warped, so that the player in vain tries to entice from them again the full-toned chords which they gave at first, thus it was with the three old gentlemen; no remark, no word, found a sympathetic response. Spangenberg called for his grooms, and left Master Martin’s house quite in an ill-humour after he had entered it in gay good spirits.