BY C. F. VAN DER VELDE.
CHAPTER I.
It was on a fine morning in February of the year 1534, that the journeyman armorer, Alf Kippenbrock, proceeded from Coesfeld toward the free imperial city of Munster. Already had he left Baumberg and Stestendorp behind--Saint Lambert's tower stretched high its gigantic head at the edge of the distant horizon,--and the fruitful plain, in which venerable old Munster is situated, gradually spread itself out before the wanderer with its other towers and churches peeping from the broad level,--while the bright silver of the distant and beautiful river Aa glistened in the rays of the morning sun.
Alf stopped at a stone cross which stood by the road side,--and while a deeper red suffused his blooming cheeks, and his pious eyes sparkled with enthusiasm at the sight of the ancient episcopal seat, he took off his hat and swung it toward the city for joy.
'God bless thee, dear native city!' he rapturously exclaimed; 'it is long since we parted--and I now look in vain for my good old parents, who, seven years ago, accompanied me as far as this cross. Nevertheless thou appearest kind and friendly, and ready to offer me a hearty welcome. Ah, nothing is dearer to man than his native home; thank God I have again found mine, and in it that true and genuine faith in which I hope to live, and, one day, happily die.'
He then replaced his hat and walked briskly in the direction of St. Lambert's tower. At that moment the morning breeze brought suddenly the sound of the many voiced bells to the youth's ear, while an immense cloud of vapor rolled up in the well known region of St. Mauritius's cloisters. 'Holy God! some terrible misfortune has happened!' exclaimed Alf, redoubling his pace. At the same time he saw an immense multitude of people running toward him from the city. The nearer they approached the more distinctly he discerned the motly combination of the crowd that came gushing forth on foot, on horseback and in carriages. It had the appearance of a formal national migration. Judges and clergymen, patricians and plebeians, the old and the infirm, women and children, indiscriminately mingled with various kinds of property apparently collected in the haste incidental to a sudden conflagration, packed up and borne along with them, successively and rapidly passed the wanderer. The men in a state of great excitement conversing eagerly with each other, the women weeping, and the children crying, they moved on in a seemingly endless procession.
Alf, transfixed with surprise and astonishment, and resting on his walking staff with his heavy knapsack on his hack, stood gazing upon the passing multitude. All had finally passed except one old burgher who toiled singly on after the crowd, panting for breath. Alf stopped him in the way and said, 'by your leave father, what means this general flight? Is Munster beset by hostile armies?'
'Alas, worse than that,' answered the graybeard, wiping his eyes, 'the anabaptists have become masters of the city this fearful night, and are driving before them all who do not belong to their sect, sword in hand.'
'God be praised!' cried Alf with wild enthusiasm, 'the true faith is triumphant!'
The burgher cast upon the youngster an angry and scornful look. 'Folly may be forgiven to rash, inexperienced and imprudent youth,' said he, 'yet you may nevertheless be compelled to answer to the Lord for this horrible praise of his name.'