Considering the state of the imperial
city of Frankfort, one would not expect to find such
a gathering as was assembled in the Kaiser cellar of
the Rheingold drinking tavern. Outside in the
streets all was turbulence and disorder; a frenzy
on the part of the populace taxing to the utmost the
efforts of the city authorities to keep it within bounds,
and prevent the development of a riot that might result
in the partial destruction at least of this once prosperous
city. And indeed, the inhabitants of Frankfort
could plead some excuse for their boisterousness.
Temporarily, at any rate, all business was at a standstill.
The skillful mechanics of the town had long been out
of work, and now to the ranks of the unemployed were
added, from time to time, clerks and such-like clerical
people, expert accountants, persuasive salesmen, and
small shopkeepers, for no one now possessed the money
to buy more than the bare necessities of life.
Yet the warehouses of Frankfort were full to overflowing,
with every kind of store that might have supplied
the needs of the people, and to the unlearned man it
seemed unjust that he and his family should starve
while granaries were packed with the agricultural
produce of the South, and huge warehouses were glutted
with enough cloth from Frankfort and the surrounding
districts to clothe ten times the number of tatterdemalions
who clamored through the streets.
The wrath of the people was concentrated
against one man, and he the highest in the land; to
blame, of course, in a secondary degree, but not the
one primarily at fault for this deplorable state of
things. The Emperor, always indolent from the
time he came to the throne, had grown old and crabbed
and fat, caring for nothing but his flagon of wine
that stood continually at his elbow. Laxity of
rule in the beginning allowed his nobles to get the
upper hand, and now it would require a civil war to
bring them into subjection again. They, sitting
snug in their strongholds, with plenty of wine in
their cellars and corn in their bins, cared nothing
for the troubles of the city. Indeed, those who
inhabited either bank of the Rhine, watching from their
elevated castles the main avenue of traffic between
Frankfort and Cologne, her chief market, had throughout
that long reign severely taxed the merchants conveying
goods downstream. During the last five years,
their exactions became so piratical that finally they
killed the goose that laid the golden eggs, so now
the Rhine was without a boat, and Frankfort without
a buyer.
For too long Frankfort had looked
to the Emperor, whose business it was to keep order
in his domain, and when at last the merchants, combining
to help themselves, made an effort towards freedom,
it was too late. The result of their combination
was a flotilla of nearly a hundred boats, which, gathering
at Frankfort and Mayence, proceeded together down the
river, convoyed by a fleet containing armed men, and
thus they thought to win through to Cologne, and so
dispose of their goods. But the robber Barons
combined also, hung chains across the river at the
Lorely rocks, its narrowest part, and realizing that
this fleet could defeat any single one of them, they
for once acted in concert, falling upon the boats
when their running against the chains threw them into
confusion.
The nobles and their brigands were
seasoned fighters all, while the armed men secured
by the merchants were mere hirelings, who fled in
panic; and those not cut to pieces by their savage
adversaries became themselves marauders on a small
scale, scattered throughout the land, for there was
little use of tramping back to the capital, where already
a large portion of the population suffered the direst
straits.
Not a single bale of goods reached
Cologne, for the robbers divided everything amongst
themselves, with some pretty quarrels, and then they
sank the boats in the deepest part of the river as
a warning, lest the merchants of Frankfort and Mayence
should imagine the Rhine belonged to them. Meantime,
all petitions to the Emperor being in vain, the merchants
gave up the fight. They were a commercial, not
a warlike people. They discharged their servants
and underlings, and starvation slowly settled down
upon the distressed city.
After the maritime disaster on the
Rhine, some of the merchants made a futile attempt
to amend matters, for which their leaders paid dearly.
They appealed to the seven Electors, finding their
petitions to the Emperor were in vain, asking these
seven noblemen, including the three warlike Archbishops
of Cologne, Treves, and Mayence, to depose the Emperor,
which they had power to do, and elect his son in his
stead. But they overlooked the fact that a majority
of the Electors themselves, and probably the Archbishops
also, benefited directly or indirectly by the piracies
on the Rhine. The answer to this request was the
prompt hanging of three leading merchants, the imprisonment
of a score of others, and a warning to the rest that
the shoemaker should stick to his last, leaving high
politics to those born to rule. This misguided
effort caused the three Archbishops to arrest Prince
Roland, the Emperor’s only son, and incarcerate
him in Ehrenfels, a strong castle on the Rhine belonging
to the Archbishop of Mayence, who was thus made custodian
of the young man, and responsible to his brother prelates
of Cologne and Treves for the safe-keeping of the
Prince. The Archbishops, as has been said, were
too well satisfied with the weak administration then
established at Frankfort to wish a change, so the
lad was removed from the capital, that the citizens
of Frankfort might be under no temptation to place
him at their head, and endeavor to overturn the existing
order of things.
This being the state of affairs in
Frankfort, with every one gloomy, and a majority starving,
it was little wonder that the main cellar of the Rheingold
tavern should be empty, although when times were good
it was difficult to find a seat there after the sun
went down. But in the smaller Kaiser cellar,
along each side of the single long table, sat young
men numbering a score, who ate black bread and drank
Rhine wine, to the roaring of song and the telling
of story. They formed a close coterie, admitting
no stranger to their circle if one dissenting voice
was raised against his acceptance, yet in spite of
this exclusiveness there was not a drop of noble blood
in the company. They belonged, however, to the
aristocracy of craftsmen; metal-workers for the most
part, ingenious artificers in iron, beaters of copper,
fashioners of gold and silver. Glorious blacksmiths,
they called themselves; but now, like every one else,
with nothing to do. In spite of their city up-bringing
all were stalwart, well-set-up young men; and, indeed,
the swinging of hammers is good exercise for the muscles
of the arm, and in those turbulent days a youth who
could not take care of himself with his stick or his
fists was like to fare ill if he ventured forth after
nightfall.
This, indeed, had been the chief reason
for the forming of their guild, and if one of their
number was set upon, the secret call of the organization
shouted aloud brought instant help were any of the
members within hearing. Belonging neither to
the military nor the aristocracy, they were not allowed
to wear swords, and to obtain this privilege was one
of the objects of their organization. Indeed,
each member of the guild secretly possessed a weapon
of the best, although he risked his neck if ever he
carried it abroad with him. Among their number
were three of the most expert sword makers in all
Germany.
These three sword makers had been
instrumental in introducing to their order the man
who was now its leader. This youth came to one
of them with ideas concerning the proper construction
of a sword, and the balancing of it, so that it hung
easily in the hand as though part of the fore-arm.
Usually, the expert has small patience with the theories
of an amateur; but this young fellow, whose ambition
it was to invent a sword, possessed such intimate
knowledge of the weapon as it was used, not only in
Germany, but also in France and Italy, that the sword
maker introduced him to fellow-craftsmen at other
shops, and they taught him how to construct a sword.
These instructors, learning that although, as Roland
laughingly said, he was not allowed to wear a sword,
he could wield it with a precision little short of
marvelous, the guild gave permission for this stranger
to be a guest at one of their weekly meetings at the
Kaiser cellar, where he exhibited his wonderful skill.
Not one of them, nor, indeed, all
of them together, stood any chance when confronting
him. They clamored to be taught, offering good
money for the lessons, believing that if they acquired
but a tithe of his excellence with the blade they
might venture to wear it at night, and let their skill
save them from capture. But the young fellow refused
their money, and somewhat haughtily declined the rôle
of fencing-master, whereupon they unanimously elected
him a member of the coterie, waiving for this one
occasion the rule which forbade the choice of any but
a metal-worker. When the stranger accepted the
election, he was informed that it was the duty of
each member to come to the aid of his brethren when
required, and they therefore requested him to teach
them swordsmanship. Roland, laughing, seeing
how he had been trapped, as it were, with his own
consent, acceded to the universal wish, and before
a year had passed his twenty comrades were probably
the leading swordsmen in the city of Frankfort.
Shortly after the disaster to the
merchants’ fleet at the Lorely, Roland disappeared
without a word of farewell to those who had come to
think so much of him. He had been extremely reticent
regarding his profession, if he had one, and no one
knew where he lodged. It was feared that the
authorities had arrested him with the sword in his
possession, for he grew more reckless than any of
the others in carrying the weapon. One night,
however, he reappeared, and took his seat at the head
of the table as if nothing had happened. Evidently
he had traveled far and on foot, for his clothes were
dusty and the worse for wear. He refused to give
any account of himself, but admitted that he was hungry,
thirsty, and in need of money.
His hunger and thirst were speedily
satisfied, but the money scarcity was not so easily
remedied. All the score were out of employment,
with the exception of the three sword makers, whose
trade the uncertainty of the times augmented rather
than diminished. To cheer up Roland, who was
a young fellow of unquenchable geniality, they elected
him to the empty honor of being their leader, Kurzbold’s
term of office having ended.
The guild met every night now, instead
of once a week, and it may be shrewdly suspected that
the collation of black bread and sausage formed the
sole meal of the day for many of them. Nevertheless,
their hilarity was undiminished, and the rafters rang
with song and laugh, and echoed also malédictions
upon a supine Government, and on the rapacious Rhine
lords. But the bestowal of even black bread and
the least expensive of wine could not continue indefinitely.
They owed a bill to the landlord upon which that worthy,
patient as he had proved himself, always hoping for
better times, wished for at least something on account.
All his other customers had deserted him, and if they
drank at all, chose some place where the wine was
thin and cheap. The landlord held out bravely
for three months after Roland was elected president,
then, bemoaning his fate, informed the guild that
he would be compelled to close the Rheingold tavern.
“Give me a week!” cried
Roland, rising in his place at the head of the table,
“and I will make an effort to get enough gold
to settle the bill at least, with perhaps something
over for each of our pockets.”
This promise brought forth applause
and a rattle of flagons on the table, so palpably
empty that the ever-hopeful landlord proceeded forthwith
to fill them.
“There is one proviso,”
said Roland, as they drank his health in the wine
his offer produced. “To get this money I
must do something in return. I have a plan in
mind which it would be premature to disclose.
If it succeeds, none of us will ever need to bend back
over a workman’s bench again, or hammer metal
except for our own pleasure. But acting alone
I am powerless, so I must receive your promise that
you will stand by any pledge I make on your behalf,
and follow me into whatever danger I choose to lead
you.”
There was a great uproar at this,
and a boisterous consent.
“This day week, then,”
said Roland, as he strapped sword to side, threw cloak
over shoulders, so that it completely concealed the
forbidden weapon, waved a hand to his cheering comrades,
and went out into the night.
Once ascended the cellar steps, the
young man stood in the narrow street as though hesitating
what to do. Faintly there came to him the sound
of singing from the cellar he had quitted, and he
smiled slightly as he listened to the rousing chorus
he knew so well. From the direction of the Palace
a more sinister echo floated on the night air; the
unmistakable howl of anger, pain, and terror; the noise
that a pursued and stricken mob makes when driven
by soldiers. The populace had evidently been
engaged in its futile and dangerous task of demonstrating,
and proclaiming its hunger, and the authorities were
scattering it; keeping it ever on the move.
It was still early; not yet ten o’clock,
and a full moon shone over the city, unlighted otherwise.
Drawing his cloak closer about him, Roland walked
rapidly in an opposite direction to that from which
the tumult of the rabble came, until he arrived at
the wide Fahrgasse, a street running north and south,
its southern end terminating at the old bridge.
Along this thoroughfare lived the wealthiest merchants
of Frankfort.
Roland turned, and proceeded slowly
towards the river, critically examining the tall,
picturesque buildings on either hand, cogitating the
question which of them would best answer his purpose.
They all seemed uninviting enough, for their windows
were dark, most of them tightly shuttered; and, indeed,
the thoroughfare looked like a street of the dead,
the deserted appearance enhanced, rather than relieved,
by the white moonlight lying on its cobble-stones.
Nearing the bridge, he discovered
one stout door ajar, and behind it shone the yellow
glow of a lamp. He paused, and examined critically
the façade of the house, which, with its quiet, dignified
architectural beauty, seemed the abode of wealth.
Although the shutters were closed, his intent inspection
showed him thin shafts of light from the chinks, and
he surmised that an assemblage of some sort was in
progress, probably a secret convention, the members
of which entered unannounced, and left the door ajar
ready for the next comer.
For a moment he thought of venturing
in, but remembering his mission required the convincing
of one man rather than the persuasion of a group,
he forbore, but noted in his mind the position and
designation of the house, resolving to select this
building as the theater of his first effort, and return
to it next morning. It would serve his purpose
as well as another.
Roland’s attention was then
suddenly directed to his own position, standing in
the bright moonlight, for there swung round from the
river road, into the Fahrgasse, a small and silent
company, who marched as one man. The moon was
shining almost directly up the street, but the houses
to the west stood in its radiance, while those in the
east were still in shadow. Roland pressed himself
back against the darkened wall to his left, near the
partially opened door; between it and the river.
The silent procession advanced to the door ajar, and
there paused, forming their ranks into two lines,
thus making a passage for a tall, fine-looking, bearded
man, who walked to the threshold, then turned and
raised his bonnet in salute.
“My friends,” he said,
“this is kind of you, and although I have been
silent, I ask you to believe that deeply I appreciate
your welcome escort. And now, enter with me,
and we will drink a stoup of wine together, to the
somber toast, ‘God save our stricken city!’”
“No, no, Herr Goebel. To-night
is sacred. We have seen you safely to your waiting
family, and at that reunion there should be no intruders.
But to-morrow night, if you will have us, we will drink
to the city, and to your own good health, Herr Goebel.”
This sentiment was applauded by all,
and the merchant, seeing that they would not accept
his present invitation, bowed in acquiescence, and
bade them good-by. When the door closed the delegation
separated into units, and each went his own way.
Roland, stepping out of the shadow, accosted the rearmost
man.
“Pardon me, mein Herr,”
he said, “but may I ask what ceremony is this
in which you have been taking part?”
The person accosted looked with some
alarm at his questioner, but the moonlight revealed
a face singularly gentle and winning; a face that in
spite of its youth inspired instinctive confidence.
The tone, too, was very persuasive, and seemed devoid
even of the offense of curiosity.
“’Tis no ceremony,”
said the delegate, “but merely the return home
of our friend, Herr Goebel.”
“Has he, then, been on a journey?”
“Sir, you are very young, and probably unacquainted
with Frankfort.”
“I have lived here all my life,”
said Roland. “I am a native of Frankfort.”
“In that case,” replied
the other, “you show yourself amazingly ignorant
of its concerns; otherwise you would know that Herr
Goebel is one of the leading merchants of the city,
a man honorable, enlightened, and energetic an
example to us all, and one esteemed alike by noble
or peasant. We honor ourselves in honoring him.”
“Herr Goebel should be proud
of such commendation, mein Herr, coming I judge,
from one to whom the words you use might also be applied.”
The merchant bowed gravely at this
compliment, but made no remark upon it.
“Pardon my further curiosity,”
continued the young man, “but from whence does
Herr Goebel return?”
“He comes from prison,”
said the other. “He made the mistake of
thinking that our young Prince would prove a better
ruler than his father, our Emperor, and but that the
Archbishops feared a riot if they went to extremes,
Herr Goebel ran great danger of losing his life rather
than his liberty.”
“What you say, mein Herr,
interests me very much, and I thank you for your courtesy.
My excuse for questioning you is this. I am moved
by a desire to enter the employ of such a man as Herr
Goebel, and I purpose calling upon him to-morrow,
if you think he would be good enough to receive me.”
“He will doubtless receive you,”
replied the other, “but I am quite certain your
mission will fail. At the present moment none
of us are engaging clerks, however competent.
Ignorant though you are of civic affairs, you must
be aware that all business is at a standstill in Frankfort.
Although Herr Goebel has said nothing about it, I learn
from an unquestionable source that he himself is keeping
from starvation all his former employees, so I am
sure he would not take on, for a stranger, any further
obligation.”
“Sir, I am well acquainted with
the position of affairs, and it is to suggest a remedy
that I desire speech with Herr Goebel. I do not
possess the privilege of acquaintance with any merchant
in this city, so one object of my accosting you was
to learn, if possible, how I might secure some note
of introduction to the merchant that would ensure his
receiving me, and obtain for me a hearing when once
I had been admitted to his house.”
If Roland expected the stranger to
volunteer such a note, he quite underestimated the
caution of a Frankfort merchant.
“As I said before, you will
meet with no difficulty so far as entrance to the
house is concerned. May I take it that you yourself
understand the art of writing?”
“Oh yes,” replied Roland.
“Then indite your own letter
of introduction. Say that you have evolved a
plan for the redemption of Frankfort, and Herr Goebel
will receive you without demur. He will listen
patiently, and give a definite decision regarding
the feasibility of your project. And now, good
sir, my way lies to the left. I wish you success,
and bid you good-night.”
The stranger left Roland standing
at the intersection of two streets, one of which led
to the Saalhof. They had been approaching the
Romerberg, or market-place, the center of Frankfort,
when the merchant so suddenly ended the conversation
and turned aside. Roland remembered that no Jew
was allowed to set foot in the Romerberg, and now surmised
the nationality of his late companion. The youth
proceeded alone through the Romerberg, and down directly
to the river, reaching the spot where the huge Saalhof
faced its flood. Roland saw that triple guards
surrounded the Emperor’s Palace. The mob
had been cleared away, but no one was allowed to linger
in its precincts, and the youth was gruffly ordered
to take himself elsewhere, which he promptly did, walking
up the Saalgasse, and past the Cathedral, until he
came once more into the Fahrgasse, down which he proceeded,
pausing for another glance at Goebel’s house,
until he came to the bridge, where he stood with arms
resting on the parapet, thoughtfully shaping in his
mind what he would say to Herr Goebel in the morning.
Along the opposite side of the river
lay a compact mass of barges; ugly, somber, black
in the moonlight, silent witnesses to the ruin of
Frankfort. The young man gazed at this melancholy
accumulation of useless floating stock, and breathed
the deeper when he reflected that whoever could set
these boats in motion again would prove himself, temporarily
at least, the savior of the city.
When the bells began to toll eleven,
Roland roused himself, walked across the bridge to
Sachsenhausen, and so to his squalid lodging,
consoling himself with the remembrance that the great
King Charlemagne had made this his own place of residence.
Here, before retiring to bed, he wrote the letter
which he was to send in next day to Herr Goebel, composing
it with some care, so that it aroused curiosity without
satisfying it.
It was half-past ten next morning
when Roland presented himself at the door of the leading
merchant in the Fahrgasse, and sent in to that worthy
his judiciously worded epistle. He was kept waiting
in the hall longer than he expected, but at last the
venerable porter appeared, and said Herr Goebel would
be pleased to receive him. He was conducted up
the stair to the first floor, and into a front room
which seemed to be partly library and partly business
office. Here seated at a stout table, he recognized
the grave burgher whose home-coming he had witnessed
the night before.
The keen eyes of the merchant seemed
to penetrate to his inmost thought, and it struck
Roland that there came into them an expression of
disappointment, for he probably did not expect so youthful
a visitor.
“Will you be seated, mein
Herr,” said his host; and Roland, with an inclination
of the head, accepted the invitation. “My
time is very completely occupied to-day,” continued
the elder man, “for although there is little
business afoot in Frankfort, my own affairs have been
rather neglected of late, and I am endeavoring to overtake
the arrears.”
“I know that,” said Roland.
“I stood by your doorcheek last night when you
returned home.”
“Did you so? May I ask why?”
“There was no particular reason.
It happened that I walked down the Fahrgasse, endeavoring
to make up my mind upon whom I should call to-day.”
“And why have I received the preference?”
“Perhaps, sir, it would be more
accurate to say your house received the preference,
if it is such. I was struck by its appearance
of solidity and wealth, and, differing from all others
in the door being ajar, I lingered before it last
night with some inclination to enter. Then the
procession which accompanied you came along. I
heard your address to your friends, and wondered what
the formality was about. After the door was closed
I accosted one of those who escorted you, and learned
your name, business, and reputation.”
“You must be a stranger in Frankfort
when you needed to make such inquiry.”
“Those are almost the same words
that my acquaintance of last night used, and he seemed
astonished when I replied that I was born in Frankfort,
and had lived here all my life.”
“Ah, I suppose no man is so
well known as he thinks he is, but I venture to assert
that you are not engaged in business here.”
“Sir, you are in the right.
I fear I have hitherto led a somewhat useless existence.”
“On money earned by some one else, perhaps.”
“Again you hit the nail on the
head, Herr Goebel. I lodge on the other side
of the river, and coming to and fro each day, the sight
of all those useless barges depresses me, and I have
formulated a plan for putting them in motion again.”
“I fear, sir, that wiser heads
than yours have been meditating upon that project
without avail.”
“I should have been more gratified,
Herr Goebel, if you had said ’older heads.’”
The suspicion of a smile hovered for
a brief instant round the shrewd, firm lips of the
merchant.
“Young sir, your gentle reproof
is deserved. I know nothing of your wisdom, and
so should have referred to the age, and not to the
equipment of your head. It occurs to me, as I
study you more closely, that I have met you before.
Your face seems familiar.”
“’Tis but a chance resemblance,
I suspect. Until very recently I have been absorbed
in my studies, and rarely left my father’s house.”
“I am doubtless mistaken.
But to return to our theme. As you are ignorant
of my name and standing in this city, you are probably
unaware of the efforts already made to remove the
deadlock on the Rhine.”
“In that, Herr Goebel, you are
at fault. I know an expedition of folly was promoted
at enormous expense, and that the empty barges, numbering
something like fivescore, now rest in the deepest part
of the Rhine.”
“Why do you call it an expedition of folly?”
“Surely the result shows it to be such.”
“A plan may meet with disaster,
even where every precaution has been taken. We
did the best we could, and if the men we had paid for
the protection of the flotilla had not, with base
cowardice, deserted their posts, these barges would
have reached Cologne.”
“Never! The defenders you
chose were riff-raff, picked up in the gutters of
Frankfort, and you actually supposed such cattle, undisciplined
and untrained, would stand up against the fearless
fighters of the Barons, swashbucklers, hardened to
the use of sword and pike. What else was to be
expected? The goods were not theirs, but yours.
They had received their pay, and so speedily took
themselves out of danger.”
“You forget, sir, or you do
not know, that several hundred of them were cut to
pieces.”
“I know that, also, but the
knowledge does not in the least nullify my contention.
I am merely endeavoring to show you that the heads
you spoke of a moment ago were only older, but not
necessarily wiser than mine. It would be impossible
for me to devise an expedition so preposterous.”
“What should we have done?”
“For one thing, you should have
gone yourselves, and defended your own bales.”
The merchant showed visible signs
of a slowly rising anger, and had the young man’s
head contained the wisdom he appeared to claim for
it, he would have known that his remarks were entirely
lacking in tact, and that he was making no progress,
but rather the reverse. “You speak like
a heedless, untutored youth. How could we defend
our bales, when no merchant is allowed to wear a sword?”
Roland rose and put his hands to the throat of his
cloak.
“I am not allowed to wear a
sword;” and saying this, he dramatically flung
wide his cloak, displaying the prohibited weapon hanging
from his belt. The merchant sat back in his chair,
visibly impressed.
“You seem to repose great confidence
in me,” he said. “What if I were to
inform the authorities?”
The youth smiled.
“You forget, Herr Goebel, that
I learned much about you from your friend last night.
I feel quite safe in your house.”
He flung his cloak once more over
the weapon, and sat down again.
“What is your occupation, sir?” asked
the merchant.
“I am a teacher of swordsmanship.
I practice the art of a fencing-master.”
“Your clients are aristocrats, then?”
“Not so. The class with
which I am now engaged contains twenty skilled artisans
of about my own age.”
“If they do not belong to the
aristocracy, your instruction must be surreptitious,
because it is against the law.”
“It is both surreptitious and
against the law, but in spite of these disadvantages,
my twenty pupils are the best swordsmen in Frankfort,
and I would willingly pit them against any twenty
nobles with whom I am acquainted.”
“So!” cried the merchant.
“You are acquainted with twenty nobles, are
you?”
“Well, you see,” explained
the young man, flushing slightly, “these metal-workers
whom I drill, being out of employment, cannot afford
to pay for their lessons, and naturally, as you indicated,
a fencing-master must look to the nobles for his bread.
I used the word acquaintance hastily. I am acquainted
with the nobles in the same way that a clerk in the
woolen trade might say he was acquainted with a score
of merchants, to none of whom he had ever spoken.”
“I see. Am I to take it
that your project for opening the Rhine depends for
its success on those twenty metal-workers, who quite
lawlessly know how to handle their swords?”
“Yes.”
“Tell me what your plan is.”
“I do not care to disclose my plan, even to
you.”
“I thought you came here hoping
I should further your project, and perhaps finance
it. Am I wrong in such a surmise?”
“Sir, you are not. The
very first proviso is that you pay to me across this
table a thousand thalers in gold.”
The smile came again to the lips of the merchant.
“Anything else?” he asked.
“Yes. You will select one
of your largest barges, and fill it with whatever
class of goods you deal in.”
“Don’t you know what class of goods I
deal in?”
“No! I do not.”
Goebel’s smile broadened.
That a youth so ignorant of everything pertaining
to the commerce of Frankfort, should come in thus boldly
and demand a thousand thalers in gold from a
man whose occupation he did not know, seemed to the
merchant one of the greatest pieces of impudence he
had encountered in his long experience of men.
“After all, my merchandise,”
he said, “matters little one way or another
when I am engaged with such a customer as you.
What next?”
“You will next place a price
upon the shipload; a price such as you would accept
if the boat reached Cologne intact. I agree to
pay you that money, together with the thousand thalers,
when I return to Frankfort.”
“And when will that be, young sir?”
“You are better able to estimate
the length of time than I. I do not know, for instance,
how long it takes a barge to voyage from Frankfort
to Cologne.”
“Given fair weather, which we
may expect in July, and premising that there are no
interruptions, let us say a week.”
“Would a man journeying on horseback
from Cologne to Frankfort reach here sooner than the
boat?”
“The barge having to make headway
against a strong current, I should say the horseman
would accomplish the trip in a third of the time.”
“Very well. To allow for
all contingencies, I promise to pay the money one
month from the day we leave the wharf at Frankfort.”
“That would be eminently satisfactory.”
“I forgot to mention that I
expect you, knowing more about navigation than I,
to supply a trustworthy captain and an efficient crew
for the manning of the barge. I should like men
who understand the currents of the river, and who,
if questioned by the Barons, would not be likely to
tell more than they were asked.”
“I can easily provide such a set of sailors.”
“Very well, Herr Goebel.
Those are my requirements. Will you agree to
supply them?”
“With great pleasure, my young
and enthusiastic friend, provided that you comply
with one of the most common of our commercial rules.”
“And what is that, mein Herr?”
“Before you depart you will
leave with me ample security that if I never see you
again, the value of the goods, plus the thousand thalers,
will be repaid to me when the month is past.”
“Ah,” said the young man,
“you impose an impossible condition.”
“Give me a bond, then, signed
by three responsible merchants.”
“Sir, as I am acquainted with
no merchant in this city except yourself, how could
I hope to obtain the signature of even one responsible
man?”
“How, then, do you expect to
obtain my consent to a project which I know cannot
succeed, while I bear all the risk?”
“Pardon me, Herr Goebel.
I and my comrades risk our lives. You risk merely
your money and your goods.”
“You intend, then, to fight your way down the
Rhine?”
“Surely. How else?”
“Supported by only twenty followers?”
“Yes.”
“And you hope to succeed where a thousand of
our men failed?”
“Yes; they were hirelings, as
I told you. With my twenty I could put them all
to flight. Aside from this, I should like to point
out to you that the merchants of Frankfort formed
their combination at public meetings, called together
by the burgomaster. There was no secrecy about
their deliberations. Every robber Baron along
the Rhine knew what you were going to attempt, and
was prepared for your coming. I intend that your
barge shall leave Frankfort at midnight. My company
will proceed across country, and join her at some
agreed spot, probably below Bingen.”
“I see. Well, my young
friend, you have placed before me a very interesting
proposal, but I am a business man, and not an adventurer.
Unless you can furnish me with security, I decline
to advance a single thaler, not to mention a thousand.”
The young man rose to his feet, and
the merchant, with a sigh, seemed glad that the conference
was ended.
“Herr Goebel, you deeply disappoint me.”
“I am sorry for that, and regret
the forfeiting of your good opinion, but despite that
disadvantage I must persist in my obstinacy.”
“I do not wonder that this fair
city lies desolate if her prosperity depends upon
her merchants, and if you are chief among them; yet
I cannot forget that you risked life and liberty on
my behalf, though now you will not venture a miserable
thousand thalers on my word of honor.”
“On your behalf? What do you mean?”
“I mean, Herr Goebel, that I
am Prince Roland, only son of the Emperor, and that
you placed your neck in jeopardy to elevate me to the
throne.”