Spangenberg resumed:
"Suppose the young fellow said, 'I cannot show you a small-scale piece of work such as you speak of; but come with me to the market-place, and look at that stately building, reaching its pinnacles proudly up to the skies. That is my masterpiece.'"
"Ah, my good sir!" Martin interrupted impatiently; "what is the good of your taking all this trouble to alter my determination. My son-in-law shall belong to my own craft, and to no other; for I look upon my craft as being the most glorious that exists on earth. Do you suppose that all that is necessary to make a cask hold together is to fit the hoops on to the staves? Ah! ha! The glory and the beauty of our craft is that it presupposes a knowledge of the preservation and the nursing of that most precious of heaven's gifts--the noble wine, that so it may ripen, and penetrate us with its strength and sweetness, a glowing spirit of life. Then there is the build of the cask itself. If the build is to be successful, we have to measure and calculate all the curves, and the other dimensions, with rule and compass with the utmost accuracy. Geometers and arithmeticians we must be, that we may compute the proportions and the capacities of our casks. Ah, good sir, I can tell you my very heart laughs within my body when I see a fair, well-proportioned cask laid on to the end-stool, the staves all beautifully finished off with the riving knife and the broad-axe, and the men set to with the mallets, and 'clipp, clapp' ring; the strokes of the driver. Ha! ha! that is merry music. There stands then the work, perfect; and well may I look round me with a dash of pride when I take my marking-iron and mark it with my own trade-mark on the head of the cask--my own mark, known and respected by all genuine vineyard-masters in the land. You spoke of architects, dear sir. Very good; a grand, stately house is a fine work beyond doubt. But if I were an architect, and passed by one of my works, and saw some dirty-minded creature, some good-for-nothing, despicable wretch who had happened to become the owner of that house, looking down at me from one of the balconies, I should feel a shame at the bottom of my heart; I should long to dash that work of mine to pieces from sheer annoyance and disgust. Nothing of that sort can ever happen to me, for in my works dwells ever the very purest thing on earth--the noble wine. God's blessing on my craft!"
"Your encomium," said Spangenberg, "was admirable, and heartily felt on your part. It is to your honour that you hold your craft in high esteem. But please be patient with me if I do not leave you in peace even now. Suppose one of the nobility did actually come and ask you for your daughter. Sometimes, when a matter really comes very close to one, much in it begins to assume a different appearance to what one thought."
"Ah," cried Martin a little warmly, "what could I say, except with a polite bow, 'Honoured sir, if you were but a clever cooper; but, being as you are----'"
"Listen further," said Spangenberg. "If some fine morning a handsome noble were to come on a splendid charger, with a brilliant following all in grand clothes, and rein up at your door and ask for Rosa for his helpmate?"
"Hey! hey!" cried Master Martin more impetuously than before; "I should run as fast as I could and bolt and bar the door. Then I should cry and shout, 'Ride on your road, your lordship. Roses such as mine do not bloom for you. I dare say my cellar and my cash-box please you well, and you think you may have the girl into the bargain. Ride on your road.'"
Old Spangenberg rose up, his face red as fire. He leaned both hands on the table and looked down before him. "Well," he began, after a short silence, "this is my last question, Master Martin. If the young noble at your door were my own son, if I myself were at your door with him, would you bar the door? Would you think we had come only for the sake of your cellar and your cash-box?"
"Most certainly not," answered Master Martin. "My honoured and dear sir, I should open the door politely to you; everything in my house should be at your and your son's command. But as regards Rosa, I should say, 'Had it pleased Heaven that your noble son had been a clever cooper, no one on earth would have been more welcome to me as a son-in-law than himself. As it is, however----' But why should you plague me with all those extraordinary questions, honoured sir? Our delightful conversation has come to an end, and our glasses are standing full. Let us leave the questions of the son-in-law and Rosa's marriage on one side. I drink your son's good health. People say he is a fine handsome gentleman."
Master Martin took up his goblet, and Paumgartner followed his example, saying "A truce to captious conversation; here's to your son's health."