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The Inn In The Spessart
by
“And yet,” interposed the young gentleman, “I should not like to brush aside so lightly what he said. Don’t you remember the reports about those people who suddenly disappeared in this forest and left no trace behind them? Several of them had previously announced their intention of passing the night at this inn; and as two or three weeks passed by without their being heard from, they were searched for, and inquiries made at this inn, when they were assured that the missing men had never been here. It looks suspicious, to say the least.”
“God knows,” cried the compass-maker, “we should do a much more sensible thing if we were to camp out under the next best tree we came to, than to remain within these four walls, where there is no chance of running away when they are once at the door, for the windows are grated.”
All grew very thoughtful over these speeches. It did not seem so very improbable, after all, that these tavern people in the forest, be it under compulsion or of their free accord, were in league with the robbers. The nighttime seemed particularly dangerous to them, for they had all heard many stories of travellers who had been attacked and murdered in their sleep; and even if their lives were not endangered, yet most of the guests of the inn were possessed of such moderate means that the robbery of even a part of their property would have: been a very serious loss to them. They looked dolefully into their glasses. The young gentleman wished himself on the back of his horse, trotting through a safe open valley. The compass-maker wished for twelve of his sturdy comrades, armed with clubs, for a body-guard. Felix, the goldsmith, was more anxious for the safety of the ornament designed for his benefactress, than for his own life. But the wagoner, who had been blowing clouds of smoke before him, said softly: “Gentlemen, at least they shall not surprise us asleep. I, for my part, will remain awake the whole night, if one other will keep watch with me.”
“I will”–“I too,” cried the three others. “And I could not go to sleep,” added the young gentleman.
“Well we had better contrive some means of keeping awake,” said the wagoner. “I think while we number just four people, we might play cards, that would keep us awake and while away the time.”
“I never play cards,” said the young gentleman, “therefore you would have to count me out.”
“Nor do I know any thing about cards,” added Felix.
“What can we do, then, if we don’t play cards,” asked the compass-maker. “Sing? That wouldn’t do, for it would only attract the attention of the robbers. Give one another riddles to guess? That would not last very long. How would it do if we were to tell stories? Humorous or pathetic, true or imaginative, they would keep us awake and pass away the time as well as cards.”
“I am agreed, if you will begin,” said the young gentleman, smiling. “You gentlemen of trades visit all countries, and have something to tell; for every town has its own legends and tales.”
“Yes, certainly, one hears a great deal,” replied the compass-maker. “But, on the other hand, gentlemen like you study diligently in books, where really wonderful things are written; therefore, you would know how to tell a wiser and more entertaining story than a plain journeyman, such as one of us, could pretend to–for unless I am much mistaken you are a student, a scholar.”
“A scholar, no,” laughed the young gentleman; “but certainly a student, and am now on my way home for the vacation. But what one reads in books does not answer for the purpose of a story nearly as well as what one hears. Therefore begin, if the other gentlemen are inclined to listen.”
“Still more than with cards,” responded the wagoner, “am I pleased when I hear a good story told. I often keep my team down to a miserably slow pace, that I may listen to one who walks near by, and has a fine story to tell; and I have taken many a person into my wagon, in bad weather, with the understanding that he should tell me a story; and one of my comrades I love very dearly, for the reason that he knows stories that last for seven hours and even longer.”
“That is also my case,” added the young goldsmith. “I love stories as I do my life; and my master in Wuerzburg had to forbid me books lest I should neglect my work. So tell us something fine, compass-maker; I know that you could tell stories from now until day-break before your stock gave out.”
The compass-maker complied by emptying his glass and beginning his story. (See story 8)