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(skillnad)
(historik)
dashing blades we once were. Well, no matter for that!
But where in the name of everything drinkable—can any
one say? huh? can you?—who can?—can any one tell
me what’s become of the plump landladies with laughing
mouths and bright eyes and dainty feet, and the landladies’
daughters with yellow, yellow hair and eyes so blue—what’s
become of them? huh? Or is ’t a lie that one could
go to any tavern or wayside inn or ordinary and find them
there? Oh, misery of miseries and wretchedness! Look at
the hunchbacked jades the tavern people keep in these days—with
pig’s eyes and broad in the beam! Look at the
toothless, bald-pated hags that get the king’s license to
scare the life out of hungry and thirsty folks with their sore
eyes and grubby hands! Faugh, I’m as scared of an inn
as of the devil himself, for I know full well the tapster is
married to the living image of the plague from Lübeck,
and when a man ’s as old as I am, there’s something about
memento mori that he’d rather forget than remember.”
Near the centre of the long table sat a man of strong
build with a face rather full and yellow as wax, bushy
eyebrows, and clear, searching eyes. He looked not exactly
ill, but as if he had suffered great bodily pain, and when he
smiled there was an expression about his mouth as though
he were swallowing something bitter. He spoke in a soft,
low, rather husky voice. “The brown Euphemia of the
Burtenbacher stock was statelier than any queen I ever saw.
She could wear the stiffest cloth of gold as if it were the
easiest house-dress. Golden chains and precious stones hung
round her neck and waist and rested on her bosom and hair
as lightly as berries the children deck themselves with when
they play in the forest. There was none like her. The other
young maidens would look like reliquaries weighed down
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