The Old Bachelor's Nightcap

								
There is a street in Copenhagen with a very strange name. It is
called "Hysken" street. Where the name came from, and what it means is
very uncertain. It is said to be German, but that is unjust to the
Germans, for it would then be called "Hauschen," not "Hysken."
"Hauschen," means a little house; and for many years it consisted only
of a few small houses, which were scarcely larger than the wooden
booths we see in the market-places at fair time. They were perhaps a
little higher, and had windows; but the panes consisted of horn or
bladder-skins, for glass was then too dear to have glazed windows in
every house. This was a long time ago, so long indeed that our
grandfathers, and even great-grandfathers, would speak of those days
as "olden times;" indeed, many centuries have passed since then.

The rich merchants in Bremen and Lubeck, who carried on trade in
Copenhagen, did not reside in the town themselves, but sent their
clerks, who dwelt in the wooden booths in the Hauschen street, and
sold beer and spices. The German beer was very good, and there were
many sorts--from Bremen, Prussia, and Brunswick--and quantities of all
sorts of spices, saffron, aniseed, ginger, and especially pepper;
indeed, pepper was almost the chief article sold here; so it
happened at last that the German clerks in Denmark got their
nickname of "pepper gentry." It had been made a condition with these
clerks that they should not marry; so that those who lived to be old
had to take care of themselves, to attend to their own comforts, and
even to light their own fires, when they had any to light. Many of
them were very aged; lonely old boys, with strange thoughts and
eccentric habits. From this, all unmarried men, who have attained a
certain age, are called, in Denmark, "pepper gentry;" and this must be
remembered by all those who wish to understand the story. These
"pepper gentlemen," or, as they are called in England, "old
bachelors," are often made a butt of ridicule; they are told to put on
their nightcaps, draw them over their eyes, and go to sleep. The
boys in Denmark make a song of it, thus:--

  "Poor old bachelor, cut your wood,
    Such a nightcap was never seen;
    Who would think it was ever clean?
  Go to sleep, it will do you good."


So they sing about the "pepper gentleman;" so do they make sport
of the poor old bachelor and his nightcap, and all because they really
know nothing of either. It is a cap that no one need wish for, or
laugh at. And why not? Well, we shall hear in the story.

In olden times, Hauschen Street was not paved, and passengers
would stumble out of one hole into another, as they generally do in
unfrequented highways; and the street was so narrow, and the booths
leaning against each other were so close together, that in the
summer time a sail would be stretched across the street from one booth
to another opposite. At these times the odor of the pepper, saffron,
and ginger became more powerful than ever. Behind the counter, as a
rule, there were no young men. The clerks were almost all old boys;
but they did not dress as we are accustomed to see old men
represented, wearing wigs, nightcaps, and knee-breeches, and with coat
and waistcoat buttoned up to the chin. We have seen the portraits of
our great-grandfathers dressed in this way; but the "pepper gentlemen"
had no money to spare to have their portraits taken, though one of
them would have made a very interesting picture for us now, if taken
as he appeared standing behind his counter, or going to church, or
on holidays. On these occasions, they wore high-crowned, broad-brimmed
hats, and sometimes a younger clerk would stick a feather in his.
The woollen shirt was concealed by a broad, linen collar; the close
jacket was buttoned up to the chin, and the cloak hung loosely over
it; the trousers were tucked into the broad, tipped shoes, for the
clerks wore no stockings. They generally stuck a table-knife and spoon
in their girdles, as well as a larger knife, as a protection to
themselves; and such a weapon was often very necessary.

After this fashion was Anthony dressed on holidays and
festivals, excepting that, instead of a high-crowned hat, he wore a
kind of bonnet, and under it a knitted cap, a regular nightcap, to
which he was so accustomed that it was always on his head; he had two,
nightcaps I mean, not heads. Anthony was one of the oldest of the
clerks, and just the subject for a painter. He was as thin as a
lath, wrinkled round the mouth and eyes, had long, bony fingers,
bushy, gray eyebrows, and over his left eye hung a thick tuft of hair,
which did not look handsome, but made his appearance very
remarkable. People knew that he came from Bremen; it was not exactly
his home, although his master resided there. His ancestors were from
Thuringia, and had lived in the town of Eisenach, close by Wartburg.
Old Anthony seldom spoke of this place, but he thought of it all the
more.

The old clerks of Hauschen Street very seldom met together; each
one remained in his own booth, which was closed early enough in the
evening, and then it looked dark and dismal out in the street. Only
a faint glimmer of light struggled through the horn panes in the
little window on the roof, while within sat the old clerk, generally
on his bed, singing his evening hymn in a low voice; or he would be
moving about in his booth till late in the night, busily employed in
many things. It certainly was not a very lively existence. To be a
stranger in a strange land is a bitter lot; no one notices you
unless you happen to stand in their way. Often, when it was dark night
outside, with rain or snow falling, the place looked quite deserted
and gloomy. There were no lamps in the street, excepting a very
small one, which hung at one end of the street, before a picture of
the Virgin, which had been painted on the wall. The dashing of the
water against the bulwarks of a neighboring castle could plainly be
heard. Such evenings are long and dreary, unless people can find

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