Faustus related the story with warmth and feeling; none of those present, however, paid any attention to him, and the Bishop continued eating. Faustus then said: “I think I am speaking to a Bishop, a shepherd of his flock, and am standing among teachers and preachers of religion and Christian charity? My lord, am I right or not?”
The Bishop eyed him scornfully; then calling for the clerk-of-the-kitchen, he said: “What hubbub
is this about a peasant who has been fool enough to cut his throat?”
The clerk-of-the-kitchen laughed, told the story as Faustus had done, and added: “I took away his calf because it would grace your lordship’s table, and was too good for the Frankfort burghers, to whom he wished to sell it. The steward distrained his goods because he had always been a bad tenant, and for three years had not paid his rent. Thus, my lord, does the case stand; and truly no peasant shall drive any thing good out of your demesne with my consent.”
Bishop. Go; you are quite right. (To Faustus) What have you now to say? you see that he did his duty in taking the calf; or do you think that the Frankfort citizens ought to eat the fat calves of my land, and I the lean?
Faustus was about to speak.
Bishop. Listen! eat, drink, and be silent. You are the first person that has ever spoken of peasants and such rabble at my table. Verily, if your dress did not declare you to be a gentleman, I should be inclined to think that you were
sprung from beggars, since you speak so warmly in their favour. Learn that the peasant who does not pay his rent does just as well in cutting his throat, as certain people would do in holding their tongues instead of spoiling my appetite with useless speeches. Clerk-of-the-kitchen, that is a noble calf’s-head.
Clerk-of-the-kitchen. It is the head of Hans Ruprecht’s calf.
Bishop. So, so! Send it me here, and reach me the pepper. I will cut myself a slice. And you, Mr. What’s-your-name, may as well take a piece with me.