The Wine-ghosts of Bremen

'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 landSo fair as this of Bremen,Its spacious floors, its halls so grandA king would feel no shame in:And sure 'tis decked with everythingTo take the fancy of a king;But the thing that best would win itIs the Lady fair within it.Her eyes like sparkling Rhenish shine,Her cheeks are bright as roses,Her heavy draperies rich and fineAre decked with fragrant posies:Of heart-of-oak her farthingale,Her girdle of the birchwood pale,And her bodice trim she facesWith iron clasps and laces.But ah, her bedroom too is barredWith locks and bolts of iron,She slumbers soft nor dreams how hardThe threshold 'tis to lie on.I knock in vain from twelve to four,Arise, my love, and ope the doorThat bars thy chamber cosy,Come forth, my lovely Rosie!So pass I every midnight hourBefore her lonely dwelling,Once, only once, and never more,The fairy lass was willing.And since I drew that honeyed kissMy 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.'

Thus the Rose, amid much laughter and thanks for her story; but one of us asked, 'And what became of Balthasar the Bottomless, did he remain in his new situation long?' Frau Rosa turned round laughing and pointed to a corner of the room, and said, 'There he sits still as the bold drinker sat 200 years ago!' There he sat sobbing between every draught of Rhenish that he drank, poor shrunken pallid fellow: it was the very same man who had come up so sleepily when the big bell was rung for him a while before. All were anxious to hear the conditions which had been wrung from him by Senator Walther respecting his soul. 'Oh sir,' he replied, in a voice which sounded as if Eternal Death was accompanying him on the bassoon, 'don't require me to tell you.' 'Out with it! what did he want? Out with it!' cried all. 'My soul.' 'What for?' 'For wine.' 'Speak plainly, old fellow, what did he do with your soul?' He was silent for a long time, and at last said, 'Why should I tell this, gentlemen? It is a dreadful thing, and you don't know what it is to lose a soul as none of you ever had one.' 'All the more reason why you shouldn't be afraid of hurting our feelings,' said another. 'But there is a mortal here, I may not say it before him.' 'Go on,' said I, trembling all over, 'I'm not easily shocked; after all, I suppose it was only the Devil who came for you, and he does that every night on the stage.' 'Well then,' said the old man, 'it was the man with the tap who had begun by selling his soul to the Devil, but on condition that he should redeem it if he could find a substitute. He had tried many but all had escaped him; so he made sure of me. I had grown up a wild youth with no teaching, and the wars had left me no time for thinking of my own soul, or Heaven, or Hell, and my only idea was to have a good time during my life. And my idea of a good time was plenty to drink and all day to drink it in. Walther perceived this, and says he, "To live and swill in this Vinous Paradise for two or three decades that would be a life, hey Balthasar? Wouldn't it?" "Ah!" said I, "I should think it would, but how could I attain such felicity?" "Which would you think most of, living here and drinking to your heart's content as long as you do live, or of the stories about what will happen afterwards?" I swore a dreadful oath, "My bones will go where so many of my comrades' bones are lying. When a man is dead he neither feels nor thinks. I have seen that plainly enough in the case of many a poor fellow whose skull has been smashed by a bullet; and therefore I will choose to live and be merry." "Very well," said he. "Then you renounce and forswear the hereafter, do you? then I can easily manage to make you cellarmaster here; only write your name in this book, and swear a binding oath at the same time." I swore again that the Devil or whoever else liked might have all that remained of me after death. When I had said this I was aware that we were no longer two, but a third sat by me and gave me the book to sign.' 'Who was it?' cried all the company. 'It was the Devil.' Weird words: even the spirits of the Vines looked gravely into their glasses, and Bacchus and Frau Rosa were pale and silent, and we heard only the old man's teeth chattering in his skull. 'Well! I could write,' he went on, 'and I wrote now just what was asked of me: and from that time my life went on in riot and merriment, and there was none so gay in Bremen as Balthasar the Bottomless. I drank up all that was oldest and most precious in the cellar. I never went to church, but when the bells rang I came down here and sat down by the best cask and let the tap run into my goblet. As I became old a creepy feeling would now and then come over me, but I drowned all thoughts of death in wine. I had no wife to lament and no children to comfort me: and so on and so on for long years till from very weakness I longed to rest in the grave. Then one day I felt as if I were awake and yet couldn't get up, my eyes wouldn't open, my fingers were stiff, my legs were like logs of wood, and I heard the people come to my bed side, and they felt me all over and said, "Old Balthasar is gone at last." This really frightened me. Dead and not asleep? Dead and still thinking? Though my heart had ceased to beat, something within me beat loudly enough.' 'Your soul, poor fellow,' they whispered. Balthasar nodded and went on. 'Then they measured my length and my breadth to make the six boards ready, and put me in with a hard cushion of shavings under my head and nailed up the coffin, and carried me out into our Lady's churchyard. I heard the bell tolling in the Cathedral, though no eye wept for me; and my soul was ever more frightened because I couldn't sleep. They had dug my grave. I can still hear the whistle of the rope which they drew up as I lay down below. Then they threw stones and earth on me, and it was silent all around me. But my soul grew more and more terrified as it drew towards evening. I knew a little prayer from old times, but my lips wouldn't move. I heard ten–eleven–strike, and at last TWELVE,–when a fearful blow resounded on my coffin'.... A blow that made the hall re-echo now burst open the door of the room, and a great white figure appeared on the threshold. By the wine and the horrors of the night, I had been so ecstasised as to be taken out of myself. I did not scream or jump up, but stared quietly at this new apparition of terror, and simply said, 'Well, I suppose this is the Devil.'

Have you realised the fearful moment in Don Giovanni, when heavy steps ring nearer and nearer, and Leporello comes back screaming and the statue of the governor stalks in to supper, as he was bidden? So this figure: gigantic, with measured echoing tread, a huge sword in hand, in full armour, but unhelmeted, it stalked into the room. It was of stone, yet the stony lips moved, and said, 'Greeting, dear vine-spirits from my beloved river: greeting to you on your birthday, fair child of my neighbour; greeting, My Lady Rose, may I take a seat in your assembly?'

All looked in amazement at the figure. But Rosa clapped her hands with joy, and cried, 'Why, it's Roland! the great stone Roland that has stood in the square at Bremen for ever so many years! This will indeed be a memorable night when you do us so much honour, sir. Put your shield and sword away, and make yourself comfortable. Will you take a seat by my side? Oh, how glad I am!'

The wooden Bacchus, who had been growing fatter and fatter all this time, cast discontented looks now at Roland and now at the Lady of his heart, who had expressed her pleasure so loudly and unrestrainedly. He murmured something about 'uninvited guests being a bore,' and stamped his legs impatiently. But my Lady appeased him with sweet looks and pressed his hand under the table. Room was made for Roland on her other side, and the latter laid down his spear and shield in a comer, and sat down rather awkwardly on a chair. But, alas! the chair was made for the cushioned forms of the burghers of Bremen town, not for a stone giant, and it at once cracked and fell in pieces under him, leaving him sprawling. 'Vile race of weaklings,' he cried, as he rose, 'that puts together such furniture as this, whereon in my time a tender lady could not have sat in safety!' But Balthasar rolled a huge cask up to the table, and persuaded the knight to try it; a couple of staves cracked, but the cask held firm. It was the same with his wine. The glass that Balthasar offered him he shivered to fragments as he grasped it. 'Well,' said the latter rather angrily, 'you might have taken off your stone gauntlets.' A silver goblet of the tumbler-shape holding about a quart escaped with a few unimportant dents, and the knight tossed off its contents.