Iwain and Jawain,' which deals with King Arthur and his Knights of the
Round Table. The king has been known to jest with his lords about it.”
“Well,” said the Councilor, “one can't keep up with all the new books. I
suppose it has just been published by Heiberg.”
“No,” the man said, “not by Heiberg, but by Gotfred von Ghemen.”
“Indeed! What a fine old name for a literary man. Why Gotfred von
Ghemen was the first printer in Denmark.”
“Yes,” the man agreed, “he is our first and foremost printer.”
Thus far, their conversation had flowed quite smoothly. Now one of the
townsmen began to talk about the pestilence which had raged some years
back, meaning the plague of 1484. The Councilor understood him to mean
the last epidemic of cholera, so they agreed well enough.
The freebooter's War of 1490 was so recent that it could not be passed
over. The English raiders had taken ships from our harbor, they said, and
the Councilor of Justice, who was well posted on the affair of 1801,
manfully helped them to abuse the English.
After that, however, the talk floundered from one contradiction to
another. The worthy bachelor was so completely unenlightened that the
Councilor's most commonplace remarks struck him as being too daring and
too fantastic. They stared at each other, and when they reached an impasse
the bachelor broke into Latin, in the hope that he would be better
understood, but that didn't help.
The landlady plucked at the Councilor's sleeve and asked him, “How do
you feel now?” This forcibly recalled to him all of those things which he
had happily forgotten in the heat of his conversation.
“Merciful heaven, where am I?” he wondered, and the thought made him
dizzy.
“We will drink claret wine, and mead, and Bremen beer,” one of the
guests cried out, “and you shall drink with us.”
