e scribbler, the
man of mere letters and jargon, half-clothed in untanned hides, his only
weapon an inkhorn at his belt, his pennon the feather of a goosequill!
How they laughed at him, calling him an atom or a flea, good for nothing!
'He does nothing, he cannot even collect our taxes, or look after our
estates, whilst we bold riders, armed to the teeth, sword in hand and
lance on thigh, we fight, and we are the finest fellows in the land!' So
they said when they saw the poor devil dragging himself on foot after
their horses' heels, shivering in winter and sweating in summer, rusting
and decaying in old age. Well, what has happened? That flea, that vermin,
has kept them in the memory of men longer than their castles stood, long
after their arms and their armour had rusted in the ground. I love those
old parchments. I respect and revere them. Like ivy, they clothe the
ruins and keep the ancient walls from crumbling into dust and perishing
in oblivion!"

Having thus delivered himself, a solemn expression stole over his
features, and his own eloquence made the tears of moved affection to
steal down his furrowed cheeks.

The poor hunchback evidently loved those who had borne with and protected
his unwarlike but clever ancestors. And after all he spoke truly, and
there was profound good sense in his words.

I was surprised, and said, "Monsieur Knapwurst, do you know Latin?"

"Yes, sir," he answered, but without conceit, "both Latin and Greek. I
taught myself. Old grammars were quite enough; there were some old books
of the count's, thrown by as rubbish; they fell into my hands, and I
devoured them. A little while after the count, hearing me drop a Latin
quotation, was quite astonished, and said, 'When did you learn Latin,
Knapwurst?' 'I taught myself, monseigneur.' He asked me a few questions,
to which I gave pretty good answers. '_Parbleu!_' he cried, 'Knapwurst
knows more than I do; he shall keep my records.' So he gave me the keys
of the archives; that was thirty years ago. Since that time I have read
every word. Sometimes, when the count sees me mounted upon my ladder, he
says, 'What are you doing now, Knapwurst?' 'I am reading the family
archives, monseigneur.' 'Aha! is that what you enjoy?' 'Yes, very much.'
'Come, come, I am glad to hear it, Knapwurst; but for you, who would
know anything about the glory of the house of Nideck?' And off he goes
laughing. I do just as I please."

"So he is a very good master, is h