The fate of a small town in one of these provinces, the only one which was restored at a later period to the spiritual life of Germany, is here given, not on account of the monotony of misery, but because other characteristic points of the old burgher life are displayed.
Where the Riesengebirge descend into the Silesian plain, in a fruitful valley on the shores of the Bober, lies the old town of Löwenberg, one of the first places in Silesia which was brought under the regulations of the German law; it had already in the middle ages become a powerful community, and numbered in 1617, in the city and suburbs, 738 houses and at least 6500 inhabitants.[[37]] It rose stately, with its strong walls, moats, and gate-towers, amidst woods and meadows; it had in its centre, like almost all the German cities in Silesia, a large market-place, called the 'Ring,' which included the council-house and fourteen privileged inns and licensed houses of traffic; the houses within the town were of stone, high gables projected over the streets, and they were from four to five stories high. Originally the under story had been built with trellised porches; these covered passages, however, had been removed sixty years before; on the under floor the houses had a large hall, and a strong vault, behind these a spacious room, in which was the baking oven, and over this a wooden gallery which occupied the back portion of the room, a staircase led up to it; the forepart of the room was the sleeping-room of the family, and the gallery was the eating-room. On the floor above was a good apartment wainscoted with wood work, all the rest were chambers and lofts for wares, superabundant furniture, corn and wool. For Löwenberg was a celebrated cloth-manufacturing town; in the year 1617, three hundred cloth factories fabricated 13,702 pieces of cloth, and traders carried their strong work far into Bohemia and the Empire, but especially into Poland. The city seal, a lion in the town gate, was of pure gold.
In 1629, the town had already suffered much from the war. The citizens, demoralized and tortured, had lost the greater portion of their old spirit. Lichtenstein's dragoon regiment--Imperialists--were quartered in the neighbouring city, and supported the proselytizing Jesuits by sword and pistol. The burgesses of the town of Löwenberg, dreading their arrival, were obliged to dismiss their old pastors; they separated from them with tears, the populace followed them weeping to their dwellings, bearing with them their last parting gifts as an expiation. The Jesuits succeeded them; the night before they came, a horned owl took up its abode in the church tower, to the terror of the citizens, and alarmed the town all night long by its hootings. The Jesuits preached after their fashion daily, promising freedom from all contributions, and from the infliction of billeting, and special favour and privileges from the Emperor; but to the refractory temporal destruction. They went so far, that the intimidated burgesses were driven to the determination of accepting confirmation; most of the men of the community took the Lord's Supper according to the Roman Catholic custom, unblessed by the cup. The more steadfast of the citizens, however, were compelled to go away in misery. Hardly had the Jesuits left the town, when the people fell back again, the citizens rushed to the neighbouring villages, where there were still evangelical pastors, and were there married and baptized; their churches standing empty under a Roman Catholic priest. There were new threatenings, and new deeds of violence. The upright burgomaster Schubert was carried off to severe imprisonment, but the Council now declared boldly that they would die for the Augsburg Confession; the burgesses pressed round the governor of the province in wild tumult. The executioners of the Emperor, "the beatifiers" rode through the gates; great part of the citizens flew with their wives and children out of the town; all the villages were full of exiles, who were brought back with violence by the soldiers and apostate citizens, and put into prison till they could produce certificates of confession; those who fled further, were driven into Saxony. A new Council was now established--as was the custom in those times--of unworthy and disreputable men. The houses abandoned by the citizens were plundered; many waggons heavily laden with furniture were bought of Roman Catholic neighbours, by the soldiers, and carried off. The new Council lived in a shameless manner. The King's judge--an apostate Löwenberger advocate--and the Senators, ill treated the secret Protestants, and endeavoured to enrich themselves from the town property. Two hundred and fifty citizens lived in exile with their families; one side of the market-place was entirely uninhabited, long grass grew there, and cattle pastured upon it. In the winter, hunger and cold drove the women and children at last back to the ruined houses. The leading spirit of the new Council was one Julius, who had been a Franciscan, a desperate fellow, not at all like a monk, who wore under his capoche golden bracelets. Then a Roman Catholic priest, Exelmann, son of an evangelical preacher, was established there. But however crushed and dispersed the citizens were, the offices of the priest and the new town council were not undisputed. All the authorities of the town were not yet under constraint. How the opposition resisted, will be learned from the narration of a cotemporary, which was printed by the industrious Sutorius in his history of Löwenberg, 1782.
"On the ninth of April, 1631, early in the morning, the following gentlemen met at the council-house: first, the priest, secondly, the King's judge, who was Elias Seiler, an advocate; thirdly, George Mümer, a woollen wiseacre and cloth factor; fourthly, Schwob Franze, also a cloth factor; fifthly, Dr. Melchior Hübner, who had been a miller's man, and a broken down baker; sixthly, Master Daniel Seiler, a joiner; seventhly, Peter Beyer, the town clerk; all these took possession of the councillors' chairs. The worshipful burgomaster was ill of the gout. Then the priest who had the upper-hand in the council made a proposal in the following words: 'My beloved children in the Church, hearing that you intend sending an embassage to the court of his Kingly[[38]] Majesty at Vienna, I and the worthy King's judge have, on mature consideration, come to the conclusion, that before you break up it would be well for you to compel all the women to adopt our religion. You would thereby obtain for yourselves great favour at court. Also I will not fail to give you letters of recommendation, to my highly esteemed honourable cousin Herr Pater Lemmermann, now confessor to his Kingly Majesty, who certainly has much influence in all secret deliberations, representing to him how indefatigable and zealous you have been, and have brought the women into the right way, so that all you who are now here together may receive a special gratulation. Therefore proceed zealously; if they are not willing, you have towers and prisons enough to compel them.'
"On this proposition votes were taken all round, and first the King's judge spoke: 'Yea, gentlemen, as I am willing to undertake such a journey for the advantage of the town, it seems good to me that this project should be carried out with zeal and earnestness. If they are not willing, let the most distinguished of them be put in confinement. I wager that the others will soon give in. They will come and beg that they may be let out. Many will be glad that their wives run away and they be quit of them. If we have been able to bring the men into the right path, why should we not be able to deal with these little brutes?'
"Herr Mümer, 'the woollen wiseacre,' said: 'I have been a widower six weeks; I can well tell what cross a man must bear when his conscience is moved on account of his wife day and night. It would truly be good if man and wife had one faith and one paternoster; as concerns the Ten Commandments, it is not so pressing. It would also be good that the women should do like us, as they enjoy our income, and become councillors' wives. Only I fear it will be difficult to manage. I would almost rather consult with the honourable captain-general of the province hereupon, how he would deal with his own wife. One should be able to act with better effect when one has a decided command thereunto. I could never have succeeded with my wife!'
"Now Schwob Franze said: 'Gentlemen, my wife, as you know, died a few days ago, so that I am now free and a widower; I have also somewhat to say on this matter, as I have been plagued by my bad wife concerning the Papacy. Nevertheless I know not how to handle this business rightly. There are many beautiful women and widows among the Lutheran heretics. Would it be well, and could one make up one's mind to confine, or drive them all away at once? Gentlemen, you may do it if it seems good to you. I am of the same opinion as my honourable colleague, Mümer. If I marry to-day or to-morrow, my wife must have the like faith with me, or hold her tongue upon the same.'
"Hereupon Dr. Melchior began: 'Gentlemen, God's sacrament, im-m-imprison them all together till they assent; le-le-let none out, though they should all rot alike in prison. I yesterday thrashed my domestic plague concerning this. The de-e-vil ta-a-ta-ake me, she must do it or I will drive her entirely away.'
"Master Daniel Seiler said: 'My high and most gracious gentlemen, you can proceed in such a good work with force alone. The captain-general of the province can give us no commands herein; let him see to himself how he can bring his heretical wife into the right way, who is no small vexation to him, and a mirror to our wives. Therefore I beg of you proceed with speed against the women.'
"The honourable town clerk Peter Beyer's vote, was as follows: 'Gentlemen, I know not what to say in this matter. I have a notable shrew, who snaps about her like the devil. I cannot trust myself to be able to restrain her. If you can do it, try. But I advise, that we should begin to speak kindly with the women. Let benches be placed in the council-room, desire them to sit them down, and see whether it be possible to convert them by good words, or afterwards by threats. Perhaps they will take it into consideration.'