“If it would interest the ladies and gentlemen,” I replied.
“Go ahead,” cried Roland, and the others joining him, I began—
“As regards German literature——”
“Hold on, manum de tabula!” cried Paul. “What do we care about your miserable scribbling, about your puerile, disgusting quarrels, about your poetasters and false prophets and——”
I was dumfounded. If our wonderful, magnificent literature had no interest for these people, what could I tell them? I thought a while, and then continued: “It is evident that Joco, so far as the theatre is concerned——”
“Theatre? Go away with you!” interrupted Andrew. “Why should we hear about your puppet-shows and other follies? Do you suppose it is aught to us if one of your comedy-writers is hissed? Have you nothing interesting—no great historical facts to tell us about?”
“Alack-a-day,” I cried, “we are quite out of historical facts; in that line there is nothing but the Bundestag at Frankfurt.”
The dance the two were performing was according to the mode of two or three centuries ago. Dame Rose had seized her petticoats in both hands, and spread them out so that she looked like an immense cask. She walked trippingly back and forth, bobbing up and down in a succession of curtseys. Much greater vivacity did her partner display, who whirled about her like a top, leaping boldly, snapping his fingers, and shouting ho! and hallo! Odd enough did he look, what with the dainty apron of Mistress Rose, which Balthasar had tied around him, fluttering about in the air; how his little legs jerked, and his round face smiled for heartfelt pleasure and delight!
At last he was tired; he beckoned to Judas and Paul and whispered something to them. They untied his apron, took it by both ends, and pulled and pulled, until suddenly it grew as large as a sheet. “Ah,” thought I, “now they will most likely play a joke on old Balthasar. If only the vault were not so low as it is; I fear me he’ll break his skull.” Then came Judas and Bartholomew and caught hold of me; Balthasar smiled maliciously; I trembled, I resisted, all to no purpose. My senses threatened to leave me as with shouting and laughter they laid me upon the cloth. “Not too high, my honoured patrons,” I cried in great trepidation; but they laughed and shouted the louder. Now they began to rock the sheet, Balthasar blowing a tune on a tunnel. Now it began to go up and down, first 3, 4, or 5 feet, then suddenly they gave a jerk, I flew up, and the ceiling opened like a cloud; up, up higher I flew through the roof of the rathhaus, higher than the steeple of the church. “Well,” I thought, “it’s up with me now! When I fall, I shall break my neck. Farewell, my life and my love!”
I had now reached the highest point of my ascent, and I fell as rapidly. Crash! Right through the roof of the rathhaus, down through the ceiling of the cellar; but I did not fall upon the sheet once more. I lighted on a chair with which I fell over backward upon the floor.