Chapter Seven.
The woodcutter’s astonishment at hearing who had rescued him, and where he was to find shelter, was very great. He had always entertained a great dread of the count, who, from common report, was looked upon as a cruel tyrant. The count’s first care on reaching the castle was to send a servant with a livery in which the groom might return home, directing him in the same package to bring back the old woodcutter’s clothes. He gave him also another message: it was to visit the cottage on his return, and to give little Meta and Karl the joyous information that their grandfather was out of prison and in safe keeping.
“And now, my friend, I will have a few words with you in my private room,” said the count, as the old man stood, cap in hand, gazing at him with astonishment. “I know you better than you suppose,” he said, as Moretz entered the room; and he told him of the interview he had had with his grandchildren. “I rejoice to see the way in which you are bringing them up. How is it you have taught them so to love the Bible? Do you know about it yourself?”
Moretz seeing no cause for concealment, told the count of the visit of Gottlieb Spena, the book-hawker.
“That is strange indeed,” said the count. “From the same Gottlieb Spena I also, my friend, have learned the same glorious truths. You have, I doubt not, always heard me spoken of as a bad, cruel man. So I was, but I have been changed. God has found me out, and in His love and mercy has showed me the way by which I may escape the punishment most justly due to my misdeeds; and not only that, but due also to me had I never committed one-tenth part of the crimes of which I have been guilty.”
It was strange to hear the once proud count thus speaking to the humble woodcutter, as to a brother or a friend.
For many weeks the old man was sheltered safely within the walls of the castle. Not only had the count, but all his house, abandoned the faith of Rome, many of them having truly accepted the offers of salvation. At length, so widely had spread the doctrines of the Reformation, that the authorities at Hornberg no longer ventured to persecute those who professed it, and Moretz did not, therefore, require the count’s protection. Meta and Karl had remained at the cottage, notwithstanding the threats of Herr Herder. Every day, however, they had been expecting to receive another order to quit their home.
One morning, as they were seated at breakfast, before Karl went out to his work, a knock was heard at the door. Karl ran to it, wondering who it could be at that early hour. A shriek of joy escaped Meta’s lips as, the door opening, she saw her grandfather, and the next instant she and Karl were pressed in his arms.
Great changes had of late taken place in Germany, and the authorities who had imprisoned Moretz no longer ventured to proceed as they had before done. The peasants, oppressed for centuries by the owners of the soil, and treated like slaves, had long been groaning for the blessings of civil liberty. On several occasions they had revolted against their lords, but their rebellions had always been put down with bloodshed and fearful cruelties. Once more the same desire to emancipate themselves had sprung up in all parts of the country. This desire did not arise in consequence of the progress of the Reformation. It had existed before, and Luther and the other reformers who had been aware of it had used every means to induce the people to bear their burdens, and to wait till, in God’s good time, a better heart should be put into their rulers, and they should be induced to grant them that liberty which was theirs by right. Unhappily, however, men are too fond of attempting to right themselves rather than trust to God. While, as has been said, this desire for civil liberty was extending, so also was the Reformation making great progress. Many abandoned popery without embracing the gospel, and these were the people especially who desired to right themselves by the sword. Scarcely had old Moretz returned to his hut, than he was visited by several of the peasants, small farmers and others, who came to urge him to join the band they were forming in the neighbourhood. His imprisonment and its cause had become known, as had also the way he had escaped. Among others, greatly to his surprise, his old enemy, Johann Herder, rode up to his door.
“We were foes once, but I wish to be your foe no longer, and I have come to invite you to join our noble cause.”
“I am thankful to see you, Master Herder,” said Moretz, “but I cannot promise to join any cause without knowing its objects.”
“They are very simple,” answered his guest. “We consider that all men are equal. We wish to right ourselves, and to deprive our tyrants of their power.”
“But if they refuse to agree to your demands, how then will you proceed?” asked Moretz.
“We will burn their castles and their towns, and put them to death,” was the answer.
“That surely is not the way to induce people to act rightly,” answered Moretz. “The Bible nowhere says that we should not be soldiers, but the gospel does say very clearly that we should do violence to no man—that we should love our enemies and do good to them that persecute us. Burning houses and putting people to death is not in accordance with the will of God: of that I am sure.”
“But the gospel gives us freedom, and we have accepted the gospel, and therefore have a right to liberty,” answered Herder.
“The liberty of which the gospel speaks is very different from that which you desire, my friend,” said Moretz. “The freedom which that gives us is freedom from superstition, from the tyranny of Satan, from the fear of man, from the dread of the misfortunes and sufferings to which people are liable. No, friend Herder, I cannot join you.”
Much more was said on both sides. Moretz remained firm; and Herder went away, indignant that one to whom he had offered to be reconciled—very much against his own feelings—should have refused to join what, in his smaller knowledge of the gospel plan, he considered right and justifiable. Herder had become a Protestant, and knew enough about the truth to be aware that Christians are bound to forgive their enemies. He also was convinced that the saints cannot hear prayer, that purgatory is a fiction, and that confession should be made to God and not to man. But he had no grace in his heart. He prided himself greatly on having visited old Moretz and expressed himself ready to become his friend. Moretz, on the other hand, had accepted not only the letter but the spirit of the gospel. He knew himself by nature to be a sinner. He had given his heart to God. He desired to please Him by imitating the example of His blessed Son, and he trusted for salvation alone to the complete and perfect sacrifice made on the cross.
Moretz soon found that the proposed rebellion had commenced in various districts, and that already several peasant bands had proceeded to acts of violence. Immediately he thought that the castle of the Count of Furstenburg might be attacked, and he accordingly set out to warn him of the danger. Had he been able to write he would have sent Karl, but he was sure that his warning would more likely be attended to if he went himself. He was aware that he ran a great danger if he were to encounter any of the peasants, who would look upon him, should they discover his object, as a traitor to their cause. He therefore made his way across the country, avoiding all public paths, and keeping as much as possible out of sight of anybody he met. He at length reached the castle in safety. The count could at first scarcely believe the information he gave him. It was impossible that the peasants should dare attack the castles of the nobles. Moretz convinced him, however, at last. He sat for some time without speaking, while he rested his head on his hands, bending over the table. His lips were moving in prayer.
“I will not oppose these poor people,” he said, at length. “I will rather reason with them, and bring them to a knowledge of their error. If I were to defend the castle I might kill a good many, and perhaps succeed in driving them away. If I cannot persuade them to give up their enterprise, I may perhaps come and pay you a visit. I would rather abandon my castle than slay my fellow-creatures. I am grateful to you, my friend, for bringing me the warning, as it will give me time for consideration how to act.”