now until I know what you mean by your fore man Roland."

"Very well, it's not much of a story, and perhaps you won't understand.
Come in here; I can tell it better over a mug of beer, and the legs rebel
if they're deprived of rest four nights in succession."

When the two men were seated opposite to each other in the tap-room, the
fencing-master pushed his moustache away from his lips, and began: "How
long ago is it-? We'll say fifteen years, since I was riding to Haarlem
with the innkeeper Aquarius, who as you know, is a learned man and has
all sorts of old stuff and Latin manuscripts. He talks well, and when
the conversation turned upon our meeting with many things in life that we
fancy we have already seen, remarked that this could be easily explained,
for the human soul was an indestructible thing, a bird that never dies.
So long as we live it remains with us, and when we die flies away and is
rewarded or punished according to its deserts; but after centuries, which
are no more to the Lord than the minutes in which I empty this fresh mug
--one more, bar-maid--the merciful Father releases it again, and it
nestles in some new born child. This made me laugh; but he was not at
all disturbed and told the story of an old Pagan, a wonderfully wise
chap, who knew positively that his soul had formerly lodged in the body
of a mighty hero. This same hero also remembered exactly where, during
his former life, he had hung his shield, and told his associates. They
searched and found the piece of armor, with the initials of the Christian
and surname which had belonged to the philosopher in his life as a
soldier, centuries before. This puzzled me, for you see--now don't
laugh--something had formerly happened to me very much like the Pagan's
experience. I don't care much for books, and from a child have always
read the same one. I inherited it from my dead father and the work is
not printed, but written. I'll show it to you some time--it contains the