Anarchistbanjo's World

The Rebirth of Melchior Dronte by Paul Busson and translated by Joe E Bandel

“And now attention!”
He opened his mouth wide, put his lower lip tightly to the
glass and let the wine gurgle down his throat with a loud belch.
“Hell, plague, and whore child!” cursed Finch. “He does
it, by the devil’s ear-washes – he does it!”
Only a residue was left in the glass, not worth
mentioning. But still too much.
For before it ran down, Montanus opened his eyes wide,
as if in a sudden fright, so that one saw the blood veins swell in
the white eyes, and his face became dark blue. Then the boot
fell and broke into pieces. The hands let go of it and reached
into the air. A gurgling came from the open mouth. And then fat
Montanus fell like a sack to the floor, so that the chair, which
he was dragging along, crumbled under the weight of his body.
Haymon, who had studied medicine for many years and
understood some of it, knelt down by him, let his hand rest on
the chest of the fallen man for a while, then stood up and
groaned, “Died! Apoplexia! Has already gone to Hell, our fat
goose-eater. Fiducit!”
Sweat stood on his brow. I felt nauseous.
But Hercules bent down nimbly, reached into the pockets
of the dead man, found the purse and shook a few coins and a
Marien ducat onto the table.
“There you have your winnings, Nebuchadnezzar”, said
Haymon and immediately pushed Finch the silver watch with
the chain and the stone. Then he tossed me the pennies and
nodded:
“Take it! He will never need it!”
Then he weighed a ducat in the flat of his hand and said
to the suffocated:
“Heart brother! This gold fox will be drunk to your
memory!”
But the dead man gave no answer, and so Haymon shook
him a little, so that we heard the wine rumbling in his stomach.
“He doesn’t say no!”
“And now someone call Venus,” ordered Haymon.
“It would be a pity if we left the money for the
Manichaeans in the bag. The Jew shall see for himself how he
comes to his own, and thus the bear remains firmly tied. – Do
not stand there, Mahomet, like a stuck calf, but call Venus to
fetch some wine and bring poor Montanus on to some straw in
a quiet chamber!”
Then I went out into the dark corridor and called out to
Venus in a trembling voice.

On the evening of the day when the Jew Lewi told me
that my father was no longer going to send any money and that
after so many pranks he was now leaving me to my fate, I
drank myself crazy and full.
Later, the Portuguese came and told us that Phoebus
Merentheim had arrived a few days ago and had been
employed as a parlor boy by the tall Count Heilsbronn on the
Gerbersteig.
I left immediately and the entire corona with me. We put
a cracked night tile on the head of the stone Roland at City Hall,
and on the wall of the beautiful and virtuous Demoiselle
Pfisterin, who always had her back turned as we walked
languidly by, on the wall just below her window Hercules drew
with red chalk a delicate buttocks and wrote with big black
letters under it:
All the kisses I sent you, connected, you are quite charming!
Then we went with many hussahs and hellos over to the
city fountain and drove wooden wedges in its four copper
dragon tubes, so that the water above, beneath the feet of St.
Florian began to bubble. But we courted the mayor on the top
five steps of the staircase and stuck a goose tail feather in each
pile, because it was said that the Mayoress was dissatisfied
with him in puncto puncti.
Soon, however, I remembered Phoebus again with his
snooty rice soup face, and I urged on to the Gerbersteig.
“Shit, Mahomet – take it easy, he won’t run away from
you now!” Haymon held me back. “You shall drink his blood
today!”
For they still had something to do at the pillory. When we
arrived at the goose market, the Portuguese had already
prepared a paper, a hammer and nails, and while we were
keeping watch, he struck the paper against the pillory so that in
the morning light everyone could read it and our tormentors
and enemies could be recognized:
“Shmule Levi, a Jew and a bloodsucker,
Abraham Isaac’s son, likewise,
Liborius Schmalebank, calls himself a
Christian,
Gotthelf Titzke, goes to church service every Sunday,
Simche from Speyer takes a hundred percent.”
We moved on again, and in the dark we shouted at the
top of our voices:
“Mordio! Firerio! So help us!” until all the windows
were lit up and the sleepy city soldiers came trampling down.
In the meantime, we were already on our way to the
Gerbersteig.
“It is as I tell you,” murmured the Portuguese,
“Merentheim lives in the same room as the Count of
Heilsbronn and is with the Ansbach Student Union.”
“Didn’t the Count of Heilsbronn steal the red haired Jule
from you, Portugieser?” teased Galenus.
“Shut up, or I’ll let out all my water against you, so you’ll
drown miserably”, growled the Portuguese angrily. “I have
already wiped fifteen of you off my club with two fingers.”
“Give peace!” admonished Finch. “Otherwise take your
blasphemous speeches before the Committee. – You’d better
watch out how little Phoebus will shit his bed linen with fear!”
So I stepped forward, just in front of the window, which
the Portugieser had pointed out to me, pulled out the little saber
and began to wet my feet on the pavement.
I shouted at the top of my lungs:
“Merentheim! Dog fart! Come out and present yourself!
Pereat!”
Then the window opened, and a stark naked guy looked
out.
“Pereat!” I shouted. “Pereat Phoebus Merentheim!”
“Camel!” echoed down from above. “What in thunder do
I care about your Merentheim who today at two o’clock went to
his kin over there?”
“I hope you don’t choke on your stinking lie!” I shouted
against him.
The man above laughed:
“You shall have your share, brothers! You just have to be
patient, Hans Unknown, until I’ve donned my shirt and have a
sword in my hand!”
And he slammed the window shut so that the glass shards
rained down.
But then we saw a little light wandering in the room until
it was dark again. We heard footsteps in the corridor; a key
turned in the lock, and in the doorway appeared the tall Count
Heilsbronn, dressed in shirt, pants and a long sword under his
arm and his hat with the scarlet and white feathered cap of the
Ansbachers on his head. The moon was just coming out from
behind the clouds, and it was light enough to see the wild,
scarred face of the old braggart.
“All by the rules, Herr Brother!” interposed the Bavarian
Haymon as we wanted to quickly draw our blades. “You,
Portuguese, serve as second for the Ansbacher Herr and me for
Mahomet! Get ready! Go!”
I pushed nimbly, but didn’t hit him. He parried as fast as
lightning and was at home with all feints. I hit a wrong quarte,
because he drove under me and sliced, burning my upper arm. I
quickly fell back and struck hard, slid off and stabbed him deep
in the chest. The sword fell rattling from his hand.
“Stop there!” immediately roared the Portuguese and
held his blade in front of me.
“That sits,” gurgled Heilsbronner. “A lung foxer.”
His pitted face looked green in the moonlight.
“Take me – to bed, Herr Brother – to”
He fell into Haymon’s arms, spat out quite a bit of bloody
foam and rolled his eyes. There was a dark stain in his shirt that
spread like spilled ink on a bad piece of paper.
“By all the sacraments, help me hold the man,” gasped
the Bavarian Haymon. “He makes himself heavy as if -“
We jumped over and took hold.
“When I fall asleep, it’s over for me”, whispered the
Ansbach man and blew blood again.”The rosary above my bed
is moving back and forth by itself. If only I had had my heavy
intoxication, you might have long stood there and shouted
pereat -“
And shrilly:
“It crushes – me – my – heart -“
We lowered him to the ground. I broke out in a sweat.
“He’s gone,” shouted the Portuguese. “You take to your
heels. The windows are already opening.”
From above they shouted.
“Damned boys and ragamuffins! Won’t you be quiet
down there?”
“I want to salt their hams with rabbit shot,” one shouted
rudely.
We heard many feet pattering, coming closer. The guard
ran up.
“One of them never moves. – Guard! Guard! Mordio!”
clamored a woman.
We ran as fast as we could, a jumping stick flew between
my feet, so that I would have fallen. Haymon stayed beside me,
the other was off. We had heard screaming. He had jumped
over a fence and sank deep into a buried cesspool. They had
him all ready.
“Brother!” The Bavarian Haymon breathed in quickly
from the long race and leaned against an old wall. “Your stay
here is no more.