The guests responded to this appeal, and the noise of the _vivat_ had scarcely subsided when a great disturbance was heard on the stairs adjoining the banquet-room, and a confusion of voices and footsteps, which seemed to indicate a quarrel. The host was about to rise and go in person to the spot from whence the noise proceeded, to call the disputants to order, when the door was suddenly thrown open. On the threshold appeared two workmen, dragging a third individual by his arms, and who, to judge from his age and appearance, was only an apprentice; “Look, master,” said the eldest of the men, “here is a fellow who dares to disturb your festival by coming even into your house to abuse your art, and your noble trade.” “Yes, it is true,” continued the second workman, “but it shall not be permitted, were I never again to touch a type, or the cheek of a pretty maiden!”
“It is the Strasburger who lies!” exclaimed the young boy, making vigorous efforts to free himself from the gripe of his accusers. “I said not a word against you or your art; it is they, on the contrary, who slandered your son-in-law, and even your daughter dame Christine; and you see, master, that was more than I could bear, so my French blood rebelled.” “Let peace be in this house,” replied Fust, in a commanding tone; “and you Strasburger, who are the eldest, you speak first, and let go your hold of the Parisian!”
“Master, we were down below there, sitting drinking our beer, as your worshipful company, saving your presence, is now seated drinking your wine; we sang, we drank, we laughed, not a soul among us thought of quarrelling; suddenly, I had just delivered myself of a little _bon-mot_, such as is not unusual at our German weddings--”
“Strasburger, what was that _bon-mot_? Come, out with it frankly!”
“I said,” replied the workman, hesitating, “I said--”
Here the Parisian, with the vivacity of a Frenchman, interrupted the other, and repeated the _bon-mot_ in question--a witticism so strongly seasoned, that, although it might be allowable at a country wedding, it could not be repeated here without a breach of good manners.
This unexpected communication was received with a violent burst of laughter from the male part of the company, including even the worthy Burgomaster Jacob Fust, the bridegroom alone felt his anger rising, and, having some difficulty in restraining himself, he bounded from his seat, while the cheeks of his gentle better-half, Christine, became of a deeper hue than the velvet of the dress she wore.