Brother Weiser, I regret to say, did not possess himself of the same spirit; but on the contrary always resented every insult, and it is still current among us that shortly after he left the Kloster in later years to accept a justice's commission offered him by Governor Thomas, our Brother Weiser, while riding the road to Reading, met the Reformed pastor of the Cocalico, on his nag. Brother Weiser, foolishly forgetting the spirit of humility of the Kloster, cried out to the pastor that he surely must think himself above his Lord whom he professed to serve. Asked for an explanation, Brother Weiser replied that where an ass was good enough for the Saviour it should be good enough for his followers, to which came the quick rejoinder that this was perfectly true, but as Governor Thomas had appointed all the asses as justices, people were forced to ride upon horses.
Within two days after our baptism, and in order that we might cut ourselves entirely loose from our former mode of life and thought, we determined that all books which were now considered libri heretici, such as the Heidelberg Catechism, Luther's Catechism, the Psalter, and Arndt's "Paradies Gärtlein," should be utterly consumed by fire. In short, all devotional literature of the old faith not in accord with our new departure, we gathered from the various families that had been converted, and not a few from mine own little library, and upon the appointed day Brother Weiser and the converts and myself assembled at the little cabin of Brother Fiedler, and there solemnly condemned the pernicious volumes to be burned.
The "Paradies Gärtlein," however, had a peculiar sanctity attached to it by the German settlers; for it was firmly believed that it was protected by Divine interposition from both fire and flood. I had heard, even in my boyhood days, many a story of the miraculous preservation of this book. Some present objected to its being included, for surely the Lord would save it. Others, as ardent in their new faith as they had been in the old, no more honored the book as sacred, but were now firmly convinced that as its immunity hitherto had been from the Evil One, the greater the reason it must be destroyed with the others.
The brush heap was accordingly prepared in front of Brother Fiedler's cabin. Each of the participants gathered up an armful of the doomed volumes, and at the word filed out of the little doorway headed by myself, followed by the schoolmaster. Arriving at the brush heap it was soon set afire, and the various books were solemnly consigned to the flames by Brother Weiser and the schoolmaster and others, with the solemn invocation "Thus perish all priestcraft!" Afterward the ashes were scattered to the four winds, and we departed feeling that we had thus cut ourselves off from the faith of our forefathers and had this day taken a step pregnant with glorious promise for the future.
It was said the next day, and I firmly believe this was an invention of our enemies, that one of Brother Fiedler's family found among the now cold ashes the little "Paradies Gärtlein," a trifle charred on the edges, the leather cover shriveled and blackened, the clasps almost burned to a crisp, but the leaves still holding together, and not a page of the print in the slightest impaired. Its preservation soon became noised abroad, and was greatly used as an argument against us by those who opposed our step. As for me, despite the many foolish and malicious charges that have been made against my soundness of mind for taking part in this thing (which I defend on the ground of necessity and possibly due somewhat to youthful zeal) I never believed that the book had been saved but for the reason that when it was thrown into the pyre it was tightly clasped and by chance fell to one side of the flames, and as I have often noted paper tightly pressed together yields but grudgingly to the flames. Many good people, however, believed the miracle story and feared extreme punishment for condemning such a sacred volume to destruction, and the demand became so great for the book that an edition was later printed by Christopher Sauer, of Germantown; but strange to say not one of his great output was able to withstand either fire or flood when it came into contact with these elements.
CHAPTER II
"PETER THE HERMIT"
Where I may sit and rightly spell
Of every star that heaven doth shew,
And every herb that sips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To something like poetic strain.
These pleasures, Melancholy, give:
And I with thee will choose to live.
—Il Penseroso.