"Don't complain that you were put to shame," he said, "because even if I had made you a dogcatcher, a religious dogcatcher is better than you, knight!"
And the encouraged fool commenced to shout: "Bring the currycomb, comb the bear, and he in turn will comb your shags with his paws."
At that, laughter was heard here and there, and a voice exclaimed from behind the religious brethren: "You will cut reeds on the lake in the summer!"
"And catch crabs with your carcass!" exclaimed another.
A third added: "And now begin to drive away the crows from the hanging thief! There will always be plenty of work for you."
Thus they made fun of the once terrible Jurand. The assembly gradually became joyous. Some, leaving the table, began to approach the prisoner and look at him closely, saying: "This is the wild boar of Spychow, whose tusks our count has knocked out; his snout is surely foaming; he would gladly tear somebody, but he cannot!"
Danveld and others of the religious brethren, who at first had wished to give the hearing the solemn appearance of a court, seeing that the affair had turned out differently, also arose from their benches and mingled with those who approached Jurand.
The old Zygfried of Insburk was dissatisfied at that, but the count himself said: "Be cheerful, there will be a greater joy yet!"
And they also commenced to look at Jurand, for this was a rare opportunity, because when any of the knights or servants had seen him before from so near, they had usually closed their eyes forever. Some of them also remarked: "He is broad shouldered, although he has a fur beneath his sack; he could be wrapped up with pease straw, and exhibited in country fairs."
Others again commenced to ask for beer in order to make the day a still pleasanter one.
And so in a few moments flowing pitchers began to clink and the dark hall became covered with the foam escaping from under the covers. The good-humored count said: "That is just right, let him not think that his disgrace is of great importance!"
So they again approached him, and touching his chin with their pewters, said: "You would like to drink, Mazovian snout!" and others, pouring the beer into their palms, cast it into his eyes, while he stood among them stunned and abused, until at last he moved toward the old Zygfried, and apparently feeling that he could not stand it any longer, he began to cry so loudly as to deafen the noise in the hall: "By the torture of the Saviour and the salvation of the soul, restore to me my child, as you promised!"