Unwelcome as his presence doubtless was to his table companions, as sympathizers with Reuchlin and other innovators, well as he doubtless remembered their scornful attacks upon his Latin—­he was a man to maintain his place.  So, with boastful self-conceit, allowing no one else an opportunity to speak, he at once began to complain of the fatigues of the journey and to mention, with tiresome detail, the eminent persons whom he had met and who had treated him like a valued friend.  The vein on the little doctor’s high forehead swelled with wrath as he listened to this boastful chatter, which did not cease until the first dish was served.  To brave him, Eberbach turned the conversation to humanism, its redeeming power over minds, and its despicable foes.  His scornful jests buzzed around his enemy like a swarm of gnats; but Arnold von Tungern pretended not to hear them.  Only now and then a tremor of the mouth, as he slowly chewed his food, or a slight raising of the eye-brows, betrayed that one shaft or another had not wholly missed its mark.

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: