Tales from the German. Volume II.

by C. F. van der Velde

CHAPTER X.

When she awoke she was sitting in a chair with her slumbering babe in her arms, and before her stood, with weeping eyes, an old Franciscan monk belonging to the city convent, upon whom she stared with wondering and uncertain glances.

'Calm yourself, dear lady,' said the old man in a friendly tone. 'The cowl I wear may be doubly hateful to you in this heavy hour; but it covers a heart that feels kindly and truly for you. I have heard of your sufferings and have come to bring you succor. I have not forgotten the kind attention and care I received in your house when, six years ago, I came here from Breslau as a mendicant lay brother, and fell fainting before your door. There were indeed hard-hearted Lutherans who chid you for your charity and said you ought not to trouble yourself about the beggarly papist priest,--but you answered that it was your christian duty to succor a fellow christian. That was a noble sentiment, and has ever since remained engraved upon my heart, and I have daily offered up my prayers that God would bless you for it through time and eternity. It is true that by some of my brethren this prayer for a heretic has been considered sinful; but I have answered them, 'Solum de salute Diaboli desperandum,' and that it may please the Lord in his mercy to bring this good woman one day, if even upon her death bed, into the embrace of the only saving church.'

'May God reward your love, my good father,' said Katharine with a feeble utterance. 'A kindly human heart is always deserving of respect and esteem, even though it wander in error.'

'I came not,' answered the monk, 'to hold a controversial discussion with you. My only wish is to warn you of what must necessarily and absolutely be done, if you would save your mortal body, to say nothing of your immortal soul. You must know that it is the irrevocable determination of the emperor that all the protestants in his hereditary dominions shall return to the true faith, and for that sole purpose has he sent his troops to this city. It is true that these soldiers conduct themselves here in a manner which no true catholic can justify, and should one of these so called converters stray into my confessional, he would have a hard time of it. But so it is, and I, a poor feeble monk, have no power to avert the evil. The Jesuits, who hold the emperor's heart in their hands, might and should have prevented it; but they have kindled the fire and poured oil thereon. Wherefore I say, yield to the times, for they are dangerous. Without a certificate of confession your tormentor will not leave you--he dares not, even if he would. I bring you the necessary certificate. The urgency of the moment will not permit a formal confession, and you therefore need only subscribe to these articles. You can send your certificate to count Dohna, and receive in exchange for it one from him, which will relieve you from the presence of these soldiers.'

'Excuse me!' cried Katharine. 'In the faith in which I have lived, will I also die. I cannot subscribe.'

'How now, so good and yet so stubborn!' exclaimed the reverend father. 'At least read what you are required to subscribe, before you refuse. After reading it, you can subscribe or not, according to the dictates of your own judgment. These sacred truths must, I should think, be capable of striking the pure springs of true knowledge from the hardest heart.'

Katharine ran her eyes rapidly over the articles. As she came towards the close, she read aloud. 'I swear, that through the intercession of the saints I have now become converted to the catholic religion.'

'Place your hand upon your heart, reverend father,' cried she, springing up, incensed, 'and then say upon your sacred sacerdotal oath, shall I not be guilty of perjury, if I swear that what I do out of fear of an earthly power, is done through the spiritual effect of the intercession of the saints?'

The monk silently folded up the paper.

'You see there can be no help for me,' said Katharine with humble resignation. 'Leave me, therefore, to my fate, and take with you my heartfelt thanks for your good intentions.'

'You are a very obstinate woman!' said the monk, with evident and deep sympathy. The longer his eyes rested upon her pale, pious and suffering face, the more his sympathy increased, until at length, amid a flood of gushing tears, he cried, 'I know that I commit a deadly sin, but I cannot do otherwise. Take the certificate, which alone can put an end to your sufferings.'

'How! without confession or signature?' asked Katharine with astonishment.

'I have given to my God the offering of a long life,' cried the old man with vehemence, 'full of heavy privations and hard struggles. He will now, therefore, be a merciful judge to me, and after long and severe penance will pardon me for once lending the aid of my holy office for the purpose of deception. Yet, should I even incur his everlasting anger, I cannot do otherwise. I cannot leave my benefactress to be persecuted to death, even though I may one day be compelled to enter the dark valley of the shadow of death, without absolution. Take the certificate.'

'God forbid!' said Katharine, tearing it in pieces, 'that I should rob you of your soul's peace and disturb the tranquillity of your dying hour. Nor would my own conscience permit me to accept your offer. Every use which I should make of this paper would be an act of apostacy from my own faith; if a hypocritical use, so much the worse. 'Be not deceived, God is not mocked.''

'Woman, thou art more righteous than we!' cried the monk, with deep emotion; and, covering his head with his cowl, he departed, weeping audibly.