“Schoolmaster, what is this?” exclaimed the governor furiously.
“Pardon, your honor!” implored the trembling teacher. “A wicked boy threw his inkstand at the picture.”
“And you, miserable wretch that you are, left it thus disfigured upon the wall! Follow me!”
The governor, with his guests and the teacher, left the room, and entered an office where the mayor held his sessions.
“Schoolmaster!” began the governor, “you deserve to be sent to Siberia, for you Roman Catholics are only fit for the mines. You refuse blind obedience, and deny the right of the emperor to command in church affairs; you are constantly rebelling against the empire, and all of you should, therefore, be sent into exile. For your insolence, however, in leaving the portrait of our holy emperor in this neglected state, you will receive ten blows with the pleti.”
He stepped forward to the window, and summoned the Cossack who carried the instrument of torture.
“Corporal, give ten heavy strokes with the pleti on this teacher’s back!”
The Cossack seized a bench, and motioned the teacher to stretch himself upon it.
Von Sempach and Beck, finding it impossible to conceal their indignation, left the room. In going down-stairs, they heard the whizzing sound of the lash and the screams of the poor teacher.