In The Blue Pike | Page 7

deserved the name of hall had it not been

too low.
The heated room, filled with buzzing flies, was crowded with travellers.
The wife and daughter of a feather-curler, who were on their way with
the husband and father to the Reichstag, where many an aristocratic
gentleman would need plumes for his own head and his wife's, had just
dropped the comb with which they were arranging each other's hair.
The shoemaker and his dame from Nuremberg paused in the sensible
lecture they were alternately addressing to their apprentices. The
Frankfort messenger put down the needle with which he was mending
the badgerskin in his knapsack. The travelling musicians who, to save a
few pennies, had begun to eat bread, cheese, and radishes, instead of
the warm meals provided for the others, let their knives drop and set
down the wine-jugs. The traders, who were hotly arguing over Italian
politics and the future war with Turkey, were silent. The four monks,
who had leaned their heads against the cornice of the wide, closed
fireplace and, in spite of the flies which buzzed around them, had fallen
asleep, awoke. The vender of indulgences in the black cowl interrupted
the impressive speech which he was delivering to the people who
surrounded his coffer. This group also --soldiers, travelling artisans,
peasants, and tradesfolk with their wives, who, like most of those
present, were waiting for the vessel which was to sail down the Main
early the next morning--gazed toward the door. Only the students and
Bacchantes,--[Travelling scholars]--who were fairly hanging on the lips
of a short, slender scholar, with keen, intellectual features, noticed
neither the draught of air caused by the entrance of the distinguished
arrivals and their followers, nor the general stir aroused by their
appearance, until Dr. Eberbach, the insignificant, vivacious speaker,
recognised in one of the group the famous Nuremberg humanist,
Wilibald Pirckheimer.

CHAPTER II.
At first Dietel, the old waiter, whose bullet-shaped head was covered
with thick gray hair, also failed to notice them. Without heeding their
entrance, he continued,--aided by two assistants who were scarcely

beyond boyhood,--to set the large and small pine tables which he had
placed wherever he could find room.
The patched tablecloths which he spread over the tops were coarse and
much worn; the dishes carried after him by the two assistants, whose
knees bent under the burden, were made of tin, and marred by many a
dent. He swung his stout body to and fro with jerks like a grasshopper,
and in doing so his shirt rose above his belt, but the white napkin under
his arm did not move a finger's width. In small things, as well as great
ones, Dietel was very methodical. So he continued his occupation
undisturbed till an inexperienced merchant's clerk from Ulm, who
wanted to ride farther speedily, accosted him and asked for some
special dish. Dietel drew his belt farther down and promptly snubbed
the young man with the angry retort; "Everybody must wait for his
meal. We make no exceptions here."
Interrupted in his work, he also saw the newcomers, and then cast a
peevish glance at one corner of the room, where stood a table covered
with fine linen and set with silver dishes, among them a platter on
which early pears and juicy plums were spread invitingly. The landlady
of The Pike had arranged them daintily upon fresh vine leaves an hour
before with her own plump but nimble hands. Of course they were
intended for the gentlemen from Nuremberg and their guests. Dietel,
too, now knew them, and saw that the party numbered a person no less
distinguished than the far-famed and highly learned Doctor and
Imperial Councillor, Conrad Peutinger. They were riding to Cologne
together under the same escort. The citizens of Nuremberg were
distinguished men, as well as their guest, but Dietel had served
distinguished personages by the dozen at The Blue Pike for many
years--among them even crowned heads--and they had wanted for
nothing. His skill, however, was not sufficient for these city demigods;
for the landlord of The Pike intended to look after their table himself.
Tomfoolery! There was more than enough for him to do that day over
yonder in the room occupied by the lansquenets and the city soldiers,
where he usually directed affairs in person. It roused Dietel's ire. The
cooking of The Blue Pike, which the landlady superintended, could vie
with any in the Frank country, on the Rhine, or in Swabia, yet, forsooth,

it wasn't good enough for the Nuremberg guests. The Council cook, a
fat, pompous fellow, accompanied them, and had already begun to
bustle about the hearth beside the hostess. They really would have
required no service at all, for they brought their own attendants. It
certainly was not Dietel's usual custom to