"All is done as you ordered, worshipful Mr. Burgomaster. Your son and von Tausdorf have been solemnly interred, with the attendance of the whole college, the preachers, and a considerable train of mourners, and I caused the bodies to be laid in ONE grave, according to your order, and in the family burial-place. I have also had the town gates re-opened."
"You have done well," replied the burgomaster, with a hollow voice, and made him a sign with his hand to depart.
"Moreover," continued the marshal, "all the noble inquilines[4] of the city wait without, and request admittance to the honourable council."
"Be it granted, then," said the burgomaster with a heavy heart, and the city-marshal left the room.
In a short time he returned, conducting a train of sable figures. First came the gouty old Schindel, leaning on Rasselwitz and Netz; Althea, holding her child by the hand, followed next. Many old nobles, male and female, who had settled at Schweidnitz, brought up the procession. All were in deep mourning, the women veiled in long black veils. When they had reached the council-table, Netz fetched a chair from the wall, and respectfully placed it before von Schindel. The latter, with difficulty, seated himself, and then, looking up to Netz and Rasselwitz, said, "You remember your promise, knights? You leave me alone to speak, is it not so?"
"Have no fear, uncle," replied Netz, grinding his teeth. "The affair, besides, cannot be ended with words. We will be silent as the grave, that swallowed up our Tausdorf."
"Gentlemen," began the old man, with a trembling voice, "you have done that which is not right before God. The innocent blood has flowed; to save and repair is no longer possible. I will, therefore, spare you and myself the sorrow of explaining how much you have erred, and on what grounds. I do not come to find fault or dispute with you; I come only to take leave of you for this life, and, at the same time, to bid you farewell in the name of all those nobles who have hitherto lived in peace under the shelter of your walls. You must yourselves find it natural, that none of them deem their life safe in a town that could let so noble a head fall under the sword of the executioner! Fear, indeed, has no longer any influence with me; I am too old for that, although I openly avow that I myself should not like to die here now, as I would not have my grave amongst you. A higher purpose compels me hence. My poor niece, whom you have made a widow, intends going, with her orphaned child, to Bohemia, to the old father of her betrothed, that she may console him for the loss of his only son, and wait there in patience till death shall free her from her sufferings, and re-unite her with the beloved of her heart. I go with her, and remain with her, for she needs a paternal friend in that foreign land. There will we sit alone together in our sorrow, and weep and comfort each other; and on my knightly word, we will never curse you. Heaven bless you! Heaven bring you to the consciousness of that which you have done, and awake in you a forgiving heart through holy penitence, that henceforth no more innocent victims may be sacrificed to the discord that is between you and us. If this wish should be fulfilled, if the blood shed in yonder grave should ripen into the fruit of peace, hail! thrice hail to the dust of the martyr!"
The speaker was silent; his companions wept aloud, and those of the council turned away to dry their eyes unmarked. Only the old Erasmus stared before him, tearless, gloomy, and full of thought.
"I am ready," said Schindel, looking up to his two guides, who took him by the arms, and helped him to rise. Supported by them, he bowed to the council, and was led away.
The mourning procession followed him; the door closed behind them, while the council looked in silence at each other, and then gloomily at the old burgomaster, who, surprised by this measure, was not master of his speech.