"Not a heller, not a heller; my father was hangman of Lucerne, and
when he died, his body was seized to pay his debts."
"Then doubtless," said I, "you intend to ply your trade of soap-
boiling at Lucerne; you are quite right, my friend, I know of no
occupation more honourable or useful."
"I have no thoughts of plying my trade at Lucerne," replied Bennet;
"and now, as I see you are a German man, Lieber Herr, and as I like
your countenance and your manner of speaking, I will tell you in
confidence that I know very little of my trade, and have already
been turned out of several fabriques as an evil workman; the two
wash-balls that I carry in my pocket are not of my own making. In
kurtzen, I know little more of soap-boiling than I do of tailoring,
horse-farriery, or shoe-making, all of which I have practised."
"Then I know not how you can hope to live like a hertzog in your
native canton, unless you expect that the men of Lucerne, in
consideration of your services to the Pope and to the king of
Spain, will maintain you in splendour at the public expense."
"Lieber Herr," said Benedict, "the men of Lucerne are by no means
fond of maintaining the soldiers of the Pope and the king of Spain
at their own expense; many of the guard who have returned thither
beg their bread in the streets, but when I go, it shall be in a
coach drawn by six mules, with a treasure, a mighty schatz which
lies in the church of Saint James of Compostella, in Galicia."
"I hope you do not intend to rob the church," said I; "if you do,
however, I believe you will be disappointed. Mendizabal and the
liberals have been beforehand with you. I am informed that at
present no other treasure is to be found in the cathedrals of Spain
than a few paltry ornaments and plated utensils."
"My good German Herr," said Benedict, "it is no church schatz, and
no person living, save myself, knows of its existence: nearly
thirty years ago, amongst the sick soldiers who were brought to
Madrid, was one of my comrades of the Walloon Guard, who had
accompanied the French to Portugal; he was very sick and shortly
died. Before, however, he breathed his last, he sent for me, and
upon his deathbed told me that himself and two other soldiers, both
of whom had since been killed, had buried in a certain church at
Compostella a great booty which they had made in Portugal: it
consisted of gold moidores and of a packet of huge diamonds from
the Brazils; the whole was contained in a large copper kettle.
