The older gentlemen had sometimes interrupted the Thuringian, to try to change the conversation, but always in vain, and the guest from Cologne vouchsafed them only curt, dry answers.

Not until a pause occurred between two courses did von Tungern alter his manner.  Then, like an inquisitor who has succeeded in convicting the person accused, he leaned back in his chair with a satisfied, long-drawn “So-o,” wiped his moist chin, and began: 

“You have showed me your state of mind plainly enough, my young Herr Doctor.  Your name is Eberbach, if I am not mistaken.  We will remember it at a fitting opportunity.  But, pugnaciously as your loud voice summons to the strife, it will never destroy the sacred and venerable things which are worthy to endure.  Thanks to the foundation of rock which supports them, and the watchfulness of their defenders, they will stand firmer than the walls of Jericho, whose fate you doubtless wish to bestow upon them.  But you, my valued friends”—­here he turned to the envoys—­“who stand at the head of communities whose greatness is founded upon their ancient order and system, beware of opening your ears and your gates to the siren song and fierce outcries of the innovators and agitators.”

“Thanks for the counsel,” replied Wilibald Pirckheimer, with repellent coldness; but Arnold von Tungern pretended to consider the humanist’s reply an assent, and, nodding approvingly, continued: 

“How could you help exclaiming, with us and the pagan Ovid, ’We praise the ancients!’ And this is merely saying that what time has tested and made venerable is the best.”—­[Ovid.  Fast., 1, 225.]

Here Doctor Peutinger tried to interrupt him, but the other cut him short with an arrogant wave of the hand, and in an instructive tone began again: 

“The honourable Council of Nuremberg—­so I am informed—­set a praiseworthy example several years ago.  There was a youthful member of one of your patrician families—­an Ebner, I believe, or a Stromer or Tucher.  He had imbibed in Padua mistaken ideas which, unhappily, are held in high esteem by many from whom we should expect more discernment.  So it chanced that when he returned home he ventured to contract a formal betrothal with an honourable maiden of noble lineage, against the explicit desire of her distinguished parents.  The rebellious youth was therefore summoned before a court of justice, and, on account of his reckless offence and wanton violation of custom and law, banished from the city and sentenced to pay a fine——­”

“A punishment which I endured calmly, Herr Professor,” interrupted Lienhard Groland, “for I myself was that ‘rebellious youth.’  Besides, it was by no means the teachings of humanism which led me to an act that you, learned sir, doubtless regard with sterner eyes than the Christian charity which your clerical garb made me expect would permit.”

These words fell, with the winning earnestness peculiar to him, from the lips of the young man who, at a time when he cared for no other woman than his new-made bride, had seen in the poor, endangered rope-dancer a human being worthy of aid.  Only his fiery dark eyes met the professor’s sternly enough.