Tales from the German. Volume II.

by C. F. van der Velde

CHAPTER VIII.

Some days later, Katharine was sitting with her children at the close of day and exerting herself to read by the fading twilight a letter of consolation which her imprisoned husband had thrown to little Ulrich. The door was cautiously opened and a soldier in the Lichtenstein uniform hesitatingly entered.

'Do not be alarmed,' whispered he, as they shrunk from his approach. 'I am Dorn, and have smuggled myself into the house in this disguise, that I might bring you consolation and see for myself how you were situated. Your mother and sister are in health and safety, and send kind greetings to you. Nor need you be anxious on your husband's account. I am certain that it is better for him to be in confinement than to be free and expose himself to the outrages to which every hour gives birth, and do things in moments of passion and excitement which would only make matters worse. Should his situation become more critical, I shall always be near him.'

'In God's name, master Dorn, what is to be the end of all this?' anxiously asked Katharine.

'A city full of catholics,' answered Dorn with a bitter smile. 'The count of Dohna has arrived to-day. That is a sufficient reason for fearing the worst. From a renegade, who expects to win the principality of Breslau by his tyrannical fury, nothing is to be hoped.'

'Then God help us!' sobbed Katharine, wringing her hands.

'By means of our arms, if it cannot be otherwise,' said Dorn, with energy. 'I have carefully avoided encountering your worthy guest, because I well know that one of us must in that case remain dead upon the spot, and that would little help you in any event; but, if it becomes necessary, I will strike the devil to the earth and free you from him.'

'No,' anxiously entreated Katharine; 'no murder on our account.'

'That is man's work, dear lady,' said Dorn. 'No woman can reason upon the subject. Every one must act according to his conscience. It will be well for me and him if the necessity does not occur.'

A gentle and afterwards a more decided knock was heard at the door. A voice asked, 'are you alone, madam Fessel?' and directly the pale and bleeding face of parson Beer peered into the room.

'How pale you look! what has happened to you?' cried the frightened Katharine.

'My face bears the marks of the converting zeal of the imperial apostles,' answered the parson with suppressed anger. 'Most terribly do these Lichtensteins deal with the servants of the word. I have escaped with less injury than some of my brethren. Me they only misused and smote with their side arms, because I preached the truth to them with the sharp fire of the spirit which had come upon me. I heed it not, and even consider myself honored by the blows I received; one of which came near making me a martyr. My worthy associate, Bartsch, was much more shamefully treated, and my blood boils and foams when I think of it. That they hustled, abused and plundered him, might be passed over; but the hellish crew, adding to these outrages the most shameful scorn and mockery, compelled that man of God to dance before them; himself, his wife, and children to dance, like the infatuated Israelites before the golden calf. For which the reprobates will one day be compelled to dance to the howlings of damned spirits in the everlasting fire prepared for the devil and his angels!'

'How goes it with the poor citizens?' asked Dorn, for the purpose of diverting the attention of the zealot from the occurrences which had so excited his anger.

'As might be supposed, very badly,' answered the parson. 'The counter reformation may be said to have dated its commencement from the arrival of the terrible Dohna. The soldiers are quartered only upon the protestants, to whom they say, 'the moment you go and confess to the Dominican or Franciscan priests, and bring a certificate of the fact, that moment we will leave you and go elsewhere.' When the poor people have been thus oppressed until they can bear it no longer, they become frantic and repair to the priests for the certificate of confession. The tormenting fiends then leave them and are distributed among such of their neighbors as yet hold to the true faith, and treat them in the same manner, until they, overcome by the weight of the burthen, also go, like Peter, and deny their lord and master in the churches of their adversaries. In this way we clergymen have each sixty men quartered upon us, and the aldermen the same number. Burgomaster Yunge has already over a hundred men to provide for, and if the apostacy extends much further, the last true believing christian of Schweidnitz will have the whole seven squadrons of converters collected in his own house.'

'Why do not the wretched people flee and abandon house and home, property and sustenance?' asked the excited Dorn.

'So they would have done, by thousands,' answered the parson; 'but the converters will not let them go. The citizens are kept prisoners in their city, and every householder is confined to his house. The gates are closed, and each family is guarded by those who are quartered upon it. In vain have some of our wealthiest citizens offered to give up all their property with the promise never to ask for it again; in vain have others sought death rather than a continuance of their sufferings. That is not the object of our oppressors, whose only answer to all our prayers is, 'you must embrace our faith.'

'I have heard enough,' cried Dorn, with bursting rage. 'Say no more, or, unable to restrain my wrath, I shall strike some of the hounds to the earth and thereby bring my life to a sudden end. Farewell, Frau Katharine,--I return to my hiding place; but shall not be far off, and most joyfully will I lay down my life, if need be, in defence of you and yours.'

He strode forth,--the parson stepped to the window, through which the bright moon was pouring its silver light, and, while watching Dorn's retreating steps, convulsively pressed his hands across his breast and gave frightful utterance to the following imprecation: 'Thy hand shall find all thine enemies, Thy right hand shall find them that hate thee. Thou wilt melt them as in a furnace when thou lookest upon them; the Lord will consume them in his anger, fire shall devour them. Their seed wilt thou destroy from the face of the earth, and their names from among the children of men.'

'God preserve us, reverend sir,' interposed Katharine. 'How can you offer up such a horrible prayer? Rather should you remember and imitate the forgiving spirit of our Savior when he prayed; 'Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do!'

'Father forgive them, for they know not what they do,' he tremblingly repeated after her, his anger rebuked by the divine sentiment, and submissively raised his eyes toward the exhaustless source of love and mercy.