CHAPTER I.

Produced by Charles Bowen, from page scans provide by the Web Archive

Transcriber's Notes:

1. Page scan source:

http://www.archive.org/details/talesfromgerman01greegoog

2. This volume includes these stories: The Lichtensteins: A

Tale of the Times of the Thirty Years War; The Sorceress;

and The Anabaptist: A Tale of the First Half of the Sixteenth

Century.

TALES

FROM THE GERMAN

TRANSLATED

BY NATHANIEL GREENE.

VOLUME II.

BOSTON:

AMERICAN STATIONERS' COMPANY,

JOHN B. RUSSELL.

1837.

BOSTON:

Samuel N. Dickinson, Printer,

52, Washington Street.

THE LICHTENSTEINS.

A TALE OF THE TIMES OF THE THIRTY YEARS WAR.

BY C. F. VAN DER VELDE.

CHAPTER I.

On christmas-eve, in the year 1628, Katharine, the wife of the merchant

Fessel, of Schweidnitz, was standing in her large back parlor, with her

infant upon her arm, arranging with feminine taste, upon a long table

covered with a snow-white cloth, the Christmas gifts destined for her

husband, her children, and the other members of her family.

At a table in the corner, sat the book-keeper, Oswald Dorn, giving the

finishing touch to a miniature manger, which he had ingeniously

constructed for the children of his employer. He now placed a

beautifully painted angel, cut out of isinglass, in the side of the

manger in which the infant Savior lay, for the purpose of indicating

the celestial mission of the heavenly messenger by its transparent

brilliancy. He gave yet another satisfied look at the well executed

work, and then approached Katharine, who had, meanwhile, spread out an

infinite variety of useful and agreeable presents, articles of dress,

pieces of coin, books, toys, &c. She was now distributing to each one

his portion of cakes, sweet biscuits, sugar animals, gingerbread,

apples and nuts, with just impartiality. In deep thought, the

book-keeper took from the table two figures formed of Schweidnitz

gingerbread. They represented two of Dr. Martin Luther's enemies,

Tetzel and Eck, in their official robes, disfigured with the heads of

animals. The names inscribed on them left no doubt whom they were

intended to represent. Dorn examined the caricatures with an ominous

shake of the head. 'Do not give these ill-shaped things to the

children,' said he. 'Believe me, it is not well for them to be so early

taught to make war upon opinions which they do not understand. Mockery

and derision are bad aids to the holy cause, and the hand, which grasps

filth to throw at an adversary, is itself the first soiled. The

bitterness, with which the struggle for truth and spiritual freedom has

been carried on, has already spread enough of suffering and misery over

Europe. Let not the demon of sectarian zeal intrude itself into the

nursery.'

'You take every thing in the same earnest and serious way,' jestingly

answered the friendly Katharine, laying the caricature figures aside.

'Who that heard you would suppose you had bravely drawn your sword for

the new faith yourself? The red scar upon your forehead contradicts

your words.'

'You are right,' cried Dorn with emotion. 'I have wielded the sword for

the new faith. A bold captain of daring robbers, I have achieved many a

deed of arms under this pretext; but daily do I pray to God to pardon

me for it!'

He hastened away. The reverend Johannes Beer, who had entered the room

unnoticed at the commencement of this conversation, looked after him

with astonishment, and then asked the hostess: 'that young man talks

very strangely--may he not be a papist in disguise, sent into this

house as a spy for our destruction?'

'By no means!' cried Katharine with zeal. 'You know, my worthy sir,

that he was wounded fighting for the Augsburg confession, and during

the two years he has dwelt under our roof, he has constantly evinced so

true an attachment for us, and such a noble zeal against the tyranny of

the pope, that I would answer for his honesty with my life.'

'You judge of others according to the goodness of your own heart!'

cried the parson. 'Believe me, in the iron times in which we live one

cannot be too cautious. One Judas was found even among the apostles.

Many a one who was a Paul for the pure evangelical doctrines has fallen

from the faith, and now rages an angry Saul against his former

brethren. The devil has once more become wholly devilish, and the

anti-christ again goes about like a roaring lion seeking whom he may

devour. The emperor, incited by the monks, has determined to effect a

counter reformation in Silesia; and already in Glogau, the

Lichtensteins,[1] those terrible men of blood, who convert by fire and

sword, are raging in a furious and shocking manner.'

'Ah, reverend sir,' complained Katharine, 'we have invited you to share

our joys and partake with us of the festival of our Lord; but by

repeating such dreadful news you will embitter all our enjoyments, and

convert our christmas supper into a mourning feast.'

'It is the duty of a faithful pastor,' said the clergyman, 'to frighten

away the sleep of safety into which we are rocked by ease and

selfishness. Our good Schweidnitz will also have to suffer in its turn.

Have they not already taken from us the honorably purchased church of

the cross, and the church of our dear lady of the woods? Have they not

already forbidden us the service of God in the church of the Holy

Ghost? They will surely take the earliest opportunity to do the same

with St. Stanislaus and St. Wenceslaus. Various suspicious signs and

tokens have lately been seen. As I was observing the stars last night,

with my colleague Glogero, the constellations were very ominous; and

about midnight a fearful sign arose in the heavens from the north. A

large red ball of fire described a flaming arch from the edge of the

horizon to the zenith of the parish church, where it burst with a

powerful explosion. It indicates the near proximity of great danger to

our religious liberties.'

During this speech so prophetic of evil, Katharine, with a happy

feminine tact, contrived to forget the threatened troubles amid the

little cares of the moment, and proceeded to ignite the innumerable

lights of the christmas-trees, and those placed in the little manger

for the purpose of illuminating its interior. The brightness of day was

diffused through the large room, which awaked the child upon her bosom,

and it smilingly stretched out its little hands toward the joyous

light.

'See how my little Johannes is delighted,' said the mother to the

gloomy man. 'Careless of the threatening future, he enjoys the present.

Does not our holy bible say, 'unless you become like little children

you shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven!' Therefore leave the

portentous future to the wise guidance of God, and be happy with us

to-night, for once, like this harmless child. Above all, be silent in

my husband's presence, respecting your bad news. He has been very

anxious and dejected for some days, and I shall be much grieved if

anything occur to render us unhappy this evening, to which christians

of all denominations look with general joy as the anniversary of their

common origin.'

One of Fessel's apprentices now opened the door. 'My master directs me

to say to you,' cried he, 'that you may immediately commence the

distribution of the presents, before it is too late. He has yet much to

do in the counting-room. Two important letters have arrived. He will

come to you at the earliest moment possible.'

'That is not at all pleasant!' sighed Katharine, as the messenger

disappeared. 'There can be no true family festival where the master of

the house is missing. Nevertheless, my husband is right! If I delay

much longer, the supper will be spoiled and everything will be in

disorder.' She rang a bell which stood upon the table. A distant shout

of children answered the noisy summons. She rang a second time, when

the shouts came nearer, and a joyous tumult arose at the door of the

room. She now put down the bell, and looked pleasedly toward the door,

before which the whispering, laughing and tramping band awaited the

third call.

'They must wait a little,' said Katharine, smiling, to the clergyman.

'It seasons the pleasure, and is a wholesome lesson for youth, when

early taught.' The holy man nodded assent to the pedagogical artifice;

but meanwhile the mother's heart began to yield, and impelled

Katharine's hand toward the bell.

The third call now sounded, when the door burst open as if at the

explosion of a petard, and the four children of Fessel, two vigorous

boys and two lovely girls, stormed into the room, surrounding and

dragging their favorite, the book-keeper, along with them. After them

followed the clerks, apprentices, servants and maidens, who modestly

arranged themselves in a row near the door until their places were

pointed out to them.

The children precipitated themselves toward the richly laden table like

a rushing stream, recognizing the portion destined for each with a

searching and rapid glance. 'I will draw this against Wallenstein!'

screamed the wild Martin, brandishing a little sword that he found

among his presents. 'A bible and a bunch of quills,' cried the

intellectual Ulrich, holding them up: 'now I will write against the

papists like the noble Hutten, whose name I bear. 'Alas, the poor

maidens who can never be married!' cried both of the girls, bringing

two waxen nuns to their mother.

'Beloved children!' said the clergyman, pressing them all to his heart.

They tore themselves from his arms and broke out in a simultaneous

shout of astonishment and joy upon observing the miniature manger. Then

as if beside themselves they ran, tumbling over each other, to their

mother, the clergyman and Dorn, thankfully showing and praising their

several presents.

'Will you not look at your christmas present, master Dorn?' asked

Katharine of the book-keeper, who kept himself apart in serious

silence.

He turned toward the designated place with a melancholy smile, and as

he cast his eyes upon the rich present, a complete and splendid

dress-suit with a full complement of the finest linen, he turned again

with deep emotion to Katharine, who was pointing out their places to

the rest of the household.

'This is too much, madam Katharine,' he cried. 'How may you thus favor

the stranger beyond the children of your house?'

'The stranger?' asked Katharine resentfully. 'In our hearts it has been

a long time since you were so, and we should much regret to have you

consider yourself one. Believe me, we are sensible what a faithful

companion and assistant my husband has acquired in you, and that every

thing we can do for you is but honestly discharging our obligations.'

'Ah, see, master Dorn, you also have got a sword!' cried Martin,

holding up this essential part of the dress of a burgher in those

times, which lay by Dorn's present.

Dorn suddenly approached the boy and taking the magnificent sword from

his hands gazed upon it with secret pleasure. At length he could no

longer resist the desire to draw and try the temper of the blade.

'You are not angry,' asked Katharine, 'that a lady should presume to

arm you? Really your old sword with its hacked hilt and notched and

rusty blade, would not have become your new suit.'

'You have done well, worthy lady,' said Dorn, proving the blade by

pressing its point against the floor and bending it in every direction.

'The old sword had indeed become dear to me, like an old friend who had

always remained true in times of necessity and danger; but I never

reflect upon the deeds I have performed with it without shuddering. It

seems to me that it is possessed by an evil spirit which impels my hand

to deeds of blood against my will, and I therefore do not like to touch

it. This has as yet drank no blood, and, so help me God, I will

preserve it unstained unless I am compelled to draw it in defence of

the hearth where I, a friendless stranger, have been so hospitably

received.'

'Or in defence of religion,' added the parson.

'The true religion, most worthy sir,' answered Dorn, 'needs not the aid

of the sword!'

The reverend man had already opened his mouth to refute this bold

proposition, when the master of the house entered with a clouded

countenance, holding two open letters in his hand. He briefly greeted

the parson, gently put aside the children who gathered about him in

their noisy joy, and handed one of the letters to his wife.

'From your mother, at Sagan,' said he; and while she proceeded to read

it with visible terror, he drew the book-keeper to a window.

'I have a sudden and disagreeable business for you,' said he to Dorn.

'The terrible Wallenstein conducts himself in his new dukedom with a

tyranny almost unheard of among christians. He has determined to send

all the orphan sons of burghers of Sagan to the school he has recently

established at Gitschin. Those whom he has found in the place, have

been forcibly sent to Bohemia. Their property and relatives are held

answerable for the absent. As you already know, my mother-in-law's

nephew, young Engelmann, is at present studying at the gymnasium in

this city; and the tyrant has thrown his uncle and guardian into prison

until the pupil shall be forthcoming. No other course remains, but to

send the poor boy home as soon as possible; and, that he may, in these

dangerous times, reach Sagan with safety, it is my wish that you would

accompany him. When there, you may also be able to assist me in another

affair. I have loaned a thousand gilders upon the two houses of the

joiner Eckebrect. My debtor now informs me that the houses are among

those the duke has caused to be demolished for the purpose of opening a

better view for his palace. Nothing has yet been said respecting

indemnification. I therefore wish you, while on the spot, to obtain all

the information you can upon the subject.'

'I am very willingly at your service,' modestly answered Dorn. 'When

shall I set out?'

'Did I not fear the sin of keeping you from church on christmas night,'

said Fessel, 'I would beg of you to start this very evening. Sagan is

distant, and old Engelmann is a very worthy man, whose release from

prison I should be glad to effect as soon as possible.'

'The performance of duty is God's service!' cried Dorn. 'I will go

immediately and prepare for the journey.' He left the room, followed by

the boys, who lamented the loss of their best christmas enjoyment in

his departure.

'Your book-keeper is indeed no papist,' said the parson to Katharine

after a long pause; 'but there may also be some doubt of his

Lutheranism; for he appears to sustain the doctrine of good works. He

may be tinctured with Calvinism.

'If he were, he would still be our protestant co-laborer and brother in

Christ,' answered Fessel in the name of his consort, who was busily

reading.

'Calvin, Zuinglius, and the pope--all are heretics alike!' grumbled the

parson.

The weeping Katharine now folded the letter, handed it to her husband,

and in a soft, submissive voice asked him: 'What have you decided upon,

Tobias?'

'I wished to advise with you upon the matter first, my Kitty,' he

answered, in a friendly manner. 'They are your nearest relatives who

now seek a refuge with us, and I would not willingly leave them in the

claws of those fiends; but at all events their coming would increase

your domestic cares, and I know not whether you would like to have your

mother and sister reside in the family.'

'As I know my beloved ones,' she joyfully answered, 'I have only

relief, consolation and joy, to expect from them; and, if my opinion is

to decide the matter, I beg you with all my heart to have them brought

here.'

Dorn now entered the room in his traveling dress, with his rusty sword

by his side. He was followed by Martin and Ulrich, and the young

Engelmann with his traveling bag in his hand, much grieved at being

compelled to leave his dear Schweidnitz for a strange school where he

was unknowing and unknown.

'The carriage is ready,' said the book-keeper. 'I come to take my

leave, and ask if you have any further commands for me.'

'I have yet one more request, my dear friend,' answered the merchant.

'A captain of Wallenstein's body guards is quartered in the house of my

mother-in-law at Sagan, who plays the duke of Friedland on a small

scale in the quiet residence of the widow; and, what is still more

unfortunate, woos the favor of my sister-in-law after the fashion of a

wild Tartar. She very naturally rejects the monster, who has already

served under four different masters, has four times changed his

religion, and is now, by accident, a catholic; but the refusal has

brought her no relief, and he only, who knows how much a bad man may

afflict a family upon whom he is quartered, can imagine what the poor

women must suffer. On this account they wish to leave all behind them

and flee to me at Schweidnitz; and after having delivered up your

scholar, you can bring them with you on your return. This writing may

serve as your credential.'

'I beg of you to be especially careful that you suffer no injury on the

way from the marauding soldiers, who render the public roads unsafe,'

said Katharine with anxious solicitude.

'I take with me my faithful old battle-companion,' said Dorn, striking

the hilt of his sword with a glance in which all his former military

spirit shone forth. 'Do not be concerned for me, madam Katharine. We

have a hard frost--I shall let the horses travel at a round pace--and

with God's blessing, I will be here to partake of the christmas supper,

which I should have eaten now, with you and your dear relatives on new

year's eve.'

He raised the sorrowing children, whom even the ingeniously constructed

manger could not console for his departure, one after the other to his

lips, bowed to the others, disappeared with his protege, and the wheels

of his carriage were soon heard rattling over the hard-frozen ground.

CHAPTER II.

It was the evening of the third christmas holiday. The snow-flakes were

merrily whirling about out of doors; and in a well warmed room at Sagan

sat the merchant's widow, Prudentia Rosen, with her daughter, the

lovely Faith. Both of them were industriously winding the fine spun

thread upon the twirling spindles. The impudent captain of the guards

had planted himself in the matron's armchair, at the table, and was

afflicting the poor women by a recital of his terrible warlike deeds,

while he emptied the silver goblet standing before him, and directed

love-glances, which made him look even more disagreeable, at poor

Faith, who, sighingly and reluctantly replenished it from time to time.

The servant announced a stranger who wished to speak with madam Rosen

alone.

The widow rose to go out in obedience to the summons; but the captain

sneeringly observed that as she could have no motive for a secret

interview with the stranger, she could give the required audience in

his presence.

The widow nodded to the servant, with a slight shrug of the shoulders

at this new exhibition of insolence. The latter immediately ushered in

a young man, who greeted the ladies with modest friendliness, and the

captain with cold courtesy.

'I am the book-keeper of your son-in-law,' said he. 'I have the honor

to hand you this letter as my credential, and to inform you, that, if

agreeable, yourself and daughter can accompany me to Schweidnitz

to-morrow morning.'

'How? You wish to leave Sagan now, madam Rosen?' asked the captain,

angrily stroking his red beard.

'Family affairs render this journey unavoidable,' answered the widow,

with quiet firmness.

'You must arrange the matter otherwise,' blustered the ruffian. 'Your

most imperative duty is to remain here and provide for the comfort of

those who are quartered in your house.'

'Do not be anxious on that score, captain,' answered the widow. 'Every

thing will be furnished that you need in my absence.'

'Then go, in the devil's name, where you please,' cried the captain;

'but, that my comfort may not be disturbed, your daughter remains

behind to discharge the duties of hostess.'

'Give yourself no uneasiness, madam Rosen,' said Dorn, consolingly, to

the terrified woman. 'If you are not by the duke of Friedland's command

a prisoner in your own house, the captain will let you go without

requiring a hostage.'

'How is that?' cried the irritated captain, viewing the young man from

head to foot. The latter quietly returned his measuring glance, whilst

the beauteous Faith timidly raised her eyes from her spindle, inwardly

delighted with the fearlessness of the interesting stranger.

'You are a fine fellow,' said the captain with a malicious smile;

'well-grown and strong; and your bold behavior is very becoming. You

would make a good trooper. Come, do me justice to the health of our

most gracious emperor.'

'We must become better acquainted with each other, captain, before we

drink together,' answered Dorn, politely declining the goblet.

'Do you slight my proffered courtesy,' growled the captain; 'or do you

belong to the rebels, that you refuse to drink the emperor's health?'

'Drink!' imploringly begged the timid Faith, and, vanquished by the

glance which accompanied the request, the youth seized the goblet and

cried, 'May God enlighten the emperor and teach him the true way to

promote the welfare of his subjects!'

'Bravo, comrade!' cried the captain, as the goblet was drained. 'You

will never regret having entered the emperor's service. I pledge you my

word that you will be a corporal in a month.'

'What mean you by that?' asked Dorn with surprise. 'The idea of

entering the emperor's service never once came into my head.'

'You jest!' cried the miscreant. You have drank to the emperor with a

captain in the imperial service, and by that act have become a

soldier.'

'Is it possible!' cried Dorn. 'Can you so prostitute the emperor's name

as to use it for so low an artifice?'

'Not a word of opposition, fellow!' said the captain menacingly. 'You

have consented to take service under the standard of his imperial

majesty, and must abide thereby.'

'I am a free burgher of Schweidnitz,' said Dorn; 'what right have you

to hold me?'

'What right! what right! blustered the captain, striking the floor with

his sword. 'Here is my right, which is valid through all Europe.'

'I warn you, captain,' cried Dorn, 'to be cautious how you take a step

which may disgrace you without accomplishing your purpose.'

'That we shall see!' said the captain; and, going to the door, he threw

it open and cried, 'Orderly!'

A gigantic guardsman came clattering up the steps, stooped to enter the

room, and then, straitening himself up like a tall pine, thundered,

'Here!'

'Take this recruit to the guard-room,' commanded the captain, 'and

deliver him over, on my account, to the officer of the day. He may as

well be put in uniform and sworn to his colors this evening as

tomorrow.'

The colossus stepped up to Dorn, pointed to the door, and in a very

insolent tone commanded, 'March!'

Dorn hurled him back with great force, and drew from his pocket a

sealed document which he held up to the view of the captain. 'My

commission as captain in the royal Danish service,' said he, 'protects

me against the honor of serving under you. The duke of Friedland shall

satisfy himself of its authenticity to-morrow. To me you must make

reparation, upon the spot, for this personal outrage. Have the goodness

to follow me to the door.'

The captain, who, like many a bragadocio, hid the ears of the ass under

the skin of the lion, stood utterly confused before the angry youth, in

whom he had very unexpectedly found his match. At length he motioned

his orderly to retire. 'It is not possible for me to accept your

invitation to-night; but early in the morning we will speak further

upon this matter,' said he with constrained courtesy to Dorn, and

immediately left the room.

'We shall not be able to start before noon, in this way,' said Dorn,

with some little vexation. 'Meanwhile, have the goodness, madam Rosen,

to pack the best and most necessary articles which you may wish to take

with you, to-night.'

'Ah, that would prove a fruitless trouble, my dear sir!' exclaimed the

widow. 'The captain is now highly incensed, and I believe he would

strike the horses dead before the carriage, sooner than let us go.'

'I trust some one higher than he can be found here,' said Dorn. 'When

matters come to the worst, I can speak to the duke himself.'

'God preserve you from that!' cried the widow. 'He is indeed a

passionate, tyrannical man, who will not tolerate even the sparrows

upon his roof. He directly hangs every one who makes the least

opposition to him. He strung up a poor apothecary's apprentice for

making too much noise in his neighborhood with his pestle and mortar,

and a poor child because it cried in its mother's arms.'

'I nevertheless doubt not he will suffer me to live,' said Dorn, with a

smile. 'I have seen the white of his eye at Dessau, and was not

frightened. Therefore dismiss your fears and pack up as quick as you

can. I shall start at one in the afternoon to-morrow. I have promised

your daughter to be in Schweidnitz on new-year's eve, and will keep my

word.'

He was about to take his leave; but the widow held him fast by both his

hands.

'No,' cried she, anxiously, 'I will not let you go. I thank God for

sending a manly protector to my house in these evil times, and should

die with fear if compelled to sleep alone under the same roof with that

monster, now that he is irritated. No, you remain with us. My daughter

shall prepare the little guest-chamber for you, and I will mix your

evening draught.'

'I would not be troublesome to you,' said Dorn, 'at a time when your

house is already occupied by other guests.'

'It is, indeed, and by those who are uninvited and unwelcome,' sighed

the widow. 'But for that very reason I would add a welcome guest to the

number, that I may know whether I am yet mistress of my own house.'

In obedience to a nod from her mother. Faith, with blushing cheeks and

downcast eyes, took a light to show the guest to his chamber. He

followed her through the Gothic building, up one flight of steps and

down another, through crooked passages, until they reached a small, but

neatly furnished chamber, in which was a snow white bed. While Faith

removed the flowered damask covering, filled the shining pewter ewer

with fresh water, and hung a towel near it, he was occupied in

observing the beautiful form of the lovely blonde, whose graceful

motions, employed for the promotion of his comfort, were for that

reason rendered doubly charming.

'Perhaps I render you an unwelcome service in taking you from this

place, fair maiden?' said he, by way of beginning conversation.

'How can you think so, sir?' quickly replied Faith. 'I thank my God and

yourself for my release.'

'Well, one cannot always know,' said Dorn, jestingly. 'The heart may

often have attachments in a place otherwise particularly disagreeable.'

'If I thought you alluded to the captain,' said Faith, with some

asperity, 'I could become angry with you, in the first hour of our

acquaintance.'

'He is not, indeed, a very fascinating suitor,' continued Dorn; 'but

there nevertheless may be in the city of Sagan, some slender rosy

youth, who has eyes for so beauteous a maiden.'

'I know none here for whom I could have eyes,' answered the maiden,

quickly, and immediately became somewhat alarmed at the traitorous

emphasis she had laid upon the word _here_.

'Not here, but elsewhere?' asked Dorn, seizing her delicate white hand.

'These bold questions come from the evil customs of your hateful

military profession,' said Faith, endeavoring to withdraw her hand. He

suffered her to regain it only by slow degrees, letting but one rosy

finger out of his hand at a time, while his pulse was becoming greatly

accelerated by the soft, caressing touch. His eyes sought and met hers,

which looked kindly upon him, not with the sun's consuming fire, but

with the mild chaste light of the friendly moon.

'So you have not yet loved, charming Faith?' he earnestly asked,

holding fast the last little finger of the imprisoned hand.

'What a question,' whispered she, turning away from him. 'I am scarcely

sixteen years old.'

'Then the first silver-tone is yet to be drawn from this untried 'harp

of a thousand strings;' O, how happy,' cried the youth, 'will be that

artist who shall one day succeed in awakening its thrilling music!'

Faith suddenly exclaimed, 'Good night, captain!' The farewell bow

released the yet imprisoned finger, and the delightful vision

disappeared.

CHAPTER III.

When Dorn opened his eyes the next morning, a corporal and six

halbardiers were standing before his bed.

'Dress yourself quickly,' commanded the corporal. 'I am ordered to

bring you before the duke.'

Having soon become satisfied that no opposition was, in this case, to

be thought of, Dorn obeyed. As he and his guards were passing through

the streets, he saw many things which went to prove the arbitrary power

of the man before whom his own emperor and all Europe were then

trembling. Notwithstanding the misery and suffering produced by the

war, he saw whole rows of houses which had been repaired, newly

painted, and splendidly furnished, that the city in which the

Friedlander dwelt and governed might present an agreeable appearance to

the eye. The beautiful flocks and herds of the city, driven by weeping

burghers, were making their way toward the gates, having been expelled

because their continuance in the city was inconsistent with the dignity

of a capital. The work of demolition was yet going on in the vicinity

of the palace, and more than fifty houses were lying in ruins. To all

of Dorn's questions, however, the corporal had but one answer:--'the

duke wills it.' They had now reached the castle. The corporal conducted

Dorn through the crowd of halbardiers, footmen and pages, to the

ante-chamber of the audience-room, where fifty of the body guards were

on duty. Two Silesian noblemen, ambassadors to the duke from Leignitz

and Oels-Bernstadt, were here waiting in patient humility to learn if

the dictator would please to grant them an audience.

At length one of the duke's counsellors came out of the audience-room,

and with insolent hauteur beckoned the Leignitz ambassador, who

reverentially approached the proud knight.

'What you have delivered to my lord in behalf of your province,' said

the counsellor, with contemptuous disrespect, 'he will take into

consideration and communicate his pleasure to your duke at the next

assembly of the princes. Your complaints against the troops are not

deserving of consideration. The soldier must have something for his

trouble and toil. In that respect, my lord has far heavier and more

just complaints against your duke. The latter has put a man to death

who wished to take service in our army.'

'The culprit was a subject of our duke, and a wilful murderer,'

answered the ambassador. 'He was executed in accordance with the right

and in pursuance of the judgment of the court of Aldermen of Leignitz.'

'No court of justice,' continued the counsellor, 'may presume to punish

any one who claims the Friedlander's protection. My lord directs you to

say to your duke, that he must send him two hundred infantry from his

own troops as an indemnification, or the heads of a dozen of the

Leignitz nobility shall be answerable for the neglect.'

The Leignitz ambassador retired with a deadly paleness, and the

messenger from Oels-Bernstadt was beckoned to approach.

'Duke Wenzel,' said the counsellor, in a cutting tone, 'has ventured to

hang same soldiers of count Terzky's regiment.'

'As robbers taken in the act,' interposed the messenger; 'in obedience

to the orders of the generalissimo himself, to keep the high roads

safe, and punish all convicted criminals.'

'Terzky has written to him,' continued the counsellor, without noticing

the interruption, 'that he has ordered the same number of the prince's

counsellors to be hanged, and that he has already set a price upon

their heads. Thereupon lord Wenzel immediately complained to the

emperor, and the complaint, as was proper, has been transmitted to my

master, who has decided upon the affair. He directs it to be announced

to your master that he approves and will sustain the acts of count

Terzky, and to give an example to the Silesian princes generally, the

principalities and baronies of your master will be confiscated and

divided among those soldiers who have merited them by their services.

With this message you are at liberty to depart.' He turned his back

upon him and with a haughty step returned to the audience-room. The

messengers departed in speechless sorrow, and at that moment a corporal

conducted two well dressed ladies into the ante-chamber. They were

closely veiled and weeping bitterly. Another corporal led a bound

Wallensteiner, with wild, staring eyes, blue lips and bristling' hair,

through the ante-chamber into the audience-room. The ladies now looked

up, and, perceiving Dorn, quickly removed their veils. He instantly

recognized his hospitable hostess and her lovely daughter.

'My dear Faith!' cried he with tender compassion; but the corporal

rapped him upon the shoulder, and whispered to him, 'silence, if you

have any regard for your neck. Without the duke's permission no word

must be uttered here.'

A deep and awful silence now prevailed in the ante-chamber, broken only

by some plaintive tone which occasionally reached them through the

double doors which separated the two rooms. An angry voice suddenly

cried within, 'let the brute be hanged!'--'That was the duke,'

whispered one of the soldiers to another. The doors opened, and the

delinquent was again led through the ante-chamber by his companion.

'God be merciful to me!' stammered he, as he staggered onward and

disappeared.

Again a deep silence, again the doors of the audience-room opened, and

the counsellor cried out, 'the Dane, with the two gentlewomen!'

'Forward!' commanded each of the corporals, and with a firm step Dorn

walked into the hall, supporting the almost fainting females.

A tall haggard man, with a dreadful sternness in his yellow face and

small twinkling eyes, frightfully expressive of anxiety, a magnificent

plumed hat upon his short red head, a black velvet Spanish jacket

decked with the stars and chains of various orders, an ermine-trimmed,

dark violet-colored velvet mantle upon his shoulders, was standing by

his gilded armchair before a table, at which three counsellors and a

Jesuit were seated. Six barons and the same number of knights, stood in

files by the wall in respectful silence, that the behests of the

all-powerful noble might be followed by instant execution, as the deed

follows the will, or thunder the lightning. Behind the arm-chair stood

the well known captain of the life guards, who met the entering group

with a smile of Satanic triumph.

With the majesty of a prince of the lower world, the duke advanced to

Dorn, looked at him with his little piercing eyes as though he would

interrogate his soul, and in a gruff repulsive tone asked him, 'Danish

captain?'

'By virtue of this commission,' quietly answered Dorn, handing the

document to him.

The duke glanced through it, gave it back to him, and said, 'a prisoner

of war, then!'

'When count Mannsfeld was driven through Silesia by you,' answered

Dorn, 'I was left in Oels severely wounded. I there found a charitable

merchant who had my wounds healed and afterwards took me with him to

Schweidnitz. Tired of the trade of war, I have remained there for

the last two years, and served my benefactor in the capacity of

book-keeper. Under these circumstances, I leave it for your sense of

justice to decide whether I can be considered a prisoner of war.'

'Or spy?' asked the duke.

'My free passport remains with the commandant of the city,' answered

Dorn.

'What was your object in coming to head quarters?' asked the duke.

'To bring a scholar from Schweidnitz,' answered Dorn, for your

school at Gitschin, and to take back to Schweidnitz my employer's

mother-in-law and her daughter.'

'Prove it!' cried the examiner.

'Send to the merchant Engelmann,' said Dorn; 'who must have left his

prison last evening; and Madam Rosen must yet have the letter which she

wrote to Schweidnitz and which I brought back to her as my credential.'

'Here is the unlucky letter,' sobbed the trembling widow, handing it to

the duke on bended knee.

He took it, read, and turned towards the captain.

'We have your portrait here,' said he; 'not flattered, but well drawn.

Did you know the object of his coming here?'

The captain replied only by stammering some unintelligible words.

'He wished to prevent their departure,' said Dorn.

'To know and keep silence, is called lying!' observed the duke, with

anger. Then to Dorn, 'you have, however, abused the emperor!'

'That is not true!' cried the latter with vehemence. 'He drank the

emperor's health with the captain!' cried the trembling Faith,

encouraged by her anxiety for the youth. 'I and my mother are

witnesses, and because he drank the emperor's health, the captain

pretended that he had enlisted for a soldier.'

'Shame upon you!' thundered the duke. 'Has a lord who has all Europe

for a recruiting ground, need of such miserable devices?'

'Here is a heretic conspiracy,' cried the captain, 'planned for my

destruction. This woman is secretly a Lutheran, together with her

daughter. Already have I twice watched their stolen attendance upon the

preacher of Eckensdorf. For that reason they have called the

Mannsfelder here, that he may take them to heretical Schweidnitz, where

they can practise their idolatry undisturbedly; and because, out of

zeal for the true faith, I wished to prevent their heathenish

abominations, I am calumniated by the apostate women and their

accomplice.'

'Heap not new insults upon us,' cried Dorn, forgetting in whose

presence he stood. 'You know that you yet owe me satisfaction for those

of last evening. You promised indeed to meet me this morning; but you

preferred to rob me of my liberty and the ability to punish you for the

outrage you committed, by false charges.'

'Mannsfelder! Mannsfelder!' exclaimed the duke, secretly delighted with

the boldness of the warrior; 'We also are yet here!' and turning to the

captain, he asked; 'What have you to say to this accusation?'

'Challenged and not appear!' cried he, as the captain stood mute, with

frightfully flashing eyes. 'A Friedlandish captain! Announce yourself

to the officer of the day as under arrest, and immediately afterwards

seek for your discharge. You can no longer serve under Wallenstein!'

'Yet the captain's information with regard to the secret church-going

of these women may well deserve some consideration,' remarked the

Jesuit, rising.

'A soldier should be no priestly spy,' angrily answered the duke. 'I am

the emperor's generalissimo; but not his inquisitor. What care I about

the catechisms of his subjects. They may believe what they like,

provided they but give what they should. I adhere to my decision.'

With a devout sigh the Jesuit again seated himself; and, in despair at

the rebound of his last arrow, the captain left the hall.

With a kindness which strangely suited his stony face, the duke now

stepped directly to Dorn and slapped him upon the shoulder. 'You are

laconic and resolute,' said he, 'I like that; and moreover I must have

seen this face somewhere.'

'Perhaps on the Elbe near Dessau,' answered Dorn.

'Right!' cried the duke. 'You are the officer who held the last

entrenchment with such obstinacy. I liked you, even then. Will you

become a major in my regiment of life-guards? I shall conclude a peace

with Denmark at the earliest opportunity, and so your Danish commission

need be no hindrance.'

'To the true hero the truth may be fearlessly spoken,' said Dorn. 'I

cannot fight against my conscience.'

'I regret that any obstacle deprives me of your services,' said the

duke. 'I would very willingly do something to oblige you. Ask some

favor of me!'

'I have only to ask you,' said Dorn, 'to permit me to depart

immediately for Schweidnitz with these ladies, and also your permission

to take back with me the poor boy whom I tore from his friends in

obedience to your commands.'

'Well, take the whole baggage, comrade,' said the duke beneficently:

'and a prosperous journey to you! I will cause the necessary papers to

be given you.'

The duke kindly nodded permission to retire, and Dorn led the ladies

from the hall.

'A happy escape from the lion's den!' sighed the matron with a lighter

heart, as she turned her back upon the palace.

What may not one accomplish who is a man in the fullest sense of the

word!' cried the enthusiastic Faith, pressing Dorn's hand to her heart.

'I know not,' said Dorn pensively, 'whether I shall have especial

reason to rejoice at the turn the affair has taken or not. It just now

occurs to me that the dismission of your persecutor from his quarters

in your house, removes the evil which impelled you to leave Sagan, and

that you may not now wish to accompany me to Schweidnitz.'

'O! we have on many accounts long desired to visit our Katharine,' said

Faith with great earnestness. 'Our house can never remain long free

from this detestable quartering, and who knows how the next may conduct

himself! Besides, I fear the captain now as much as I did before. He

has lost the power of tormenting us, and his bread into the bargain. He

will soon be released from the guard-house, and a bad man, however

insignificant may be his situation, has the power to injure with the

will!'

'My daughter's zeal,' smilingly interposed the matron, 'saves me the

trouble of explaining my reasons for wishing to go with you. Let it

suffice, that we ride with you to Schweidnitz.'

CHAPTER IV.

At Schweidnitz, on new year's eve, the Fessel family were gathered

around the well lighted and richly covered table; but no one had an

inclination to eat; for Dorn, the idol of the house, was still absent,

and anxiety for her beloved relatives saddened the countenance of the

affectionate Katharine.

'I thought master Dorn would have kept his word better,' cried the

impatient Martin, striking the empty seat which had been placed near

him for the expected traveler. 'The supper will soon be over and still

he is not here.'

'He will yet be sure to come,' said the confiding Ulrich. 'God grant

it,' sighed Katharine. 'A carriage! a carriage!' cried the listening

daughters, running to the window. 'It is father's horses!' they

shouted. Out ran the two boys, overthrowing their seats with a

tremendous racket; and, as if there had been a wager among the four

children, which should first break their necks, they all rushed out of

the door and down the steep stairs.

'Welcome to Schweidnitz, my dear mother!' joyfully cried the master of

the house from the window, to which he also had hastened.

'Has my sister come with you?' asked the anxious Katharine, running to

the door. The children had already let down the steps of the carriage,

and madam Rosen with her daughter hastened to meet their expectant

friends. The cloaks and wrappers soon fell off, and mother and

daughters were clasped in a mutual embrace.

'Happily redeemed from the prison of the hateful Holofernes?' asked

Fessel, affectionately greeting his mother-in-law.

'After great trouble and anxiety,' answered the widow, drawing a long

breath, whilst the attentive Katharine was busily relieving her of her

superfluous traveling garments.

'Had you not sent us so bold a knight,' said Faith playfully; 'to

rescue us from the terrible giant, we should have been at this moment

sitting in Sagan, listening to the insupportable boastings of the

monster.'

'Where is the valiant knight, that I may thank him for his good

service?' asked Katharine.

At that moment Dorn entered the room, leading the young Engelmann by

the hand, and surrounded by the four children of the house.

'How! Do you bring the boy, also?' asked the astonished master, warmly

embracing his book-keeper.

'He has permission to remain and pursue his studies here,' answered

Dorn. 'Here is the Duke's consent in his own hand-writing.'

'You must understand the black art,' cried the overjoyed Fessel. 'I

should sooner have expected to remove the everlasting hills from their

foundations than to move the Friedlander from his purpose.'

'I could not, however, save your property,' said Dorn. 'The houses

already lay in ruins, and all applications for indemnification are

rejected by the ducal court.'

'I am sorry to lose the capital,' said Fessel; for I had already built

a fine speculation upon it; but you have saved my dear friends, and so

in God's name let the guilders go. Now seat yourselves and relate to me

circumstantially how this eighth wonder of the world has been

accomplished.'

They placed themselves at table. Dorn obtained a seat near the charming

Faith; and, as among a swarm of bees, narrations and corrections,

questions and answers, praise and astonishment, fear, anger and

laughter, so buzzed about the table that the business of eating was

scarcely thought of.

'Thank God we are finally here!' remarked madam Rosen, reaching her

goblet of Hungary wine to the book-keeper, for the purpose of touching

his glass. 'My best thanks,' said she with emotion, and at the same

time gave an intimation to Faith to follow her example.

'Thank me not so much, dear madam,' said the youth with a pensive air,

while touching glasses with the blushing maiden; 'else I shall have my

whole reward in thanks.'

'And in consequence lose the courage to ask for a dearer one,' jested

Katharine, who had noticed the glance he gave her sister.

'We are so merry to-night!' cried Fessel's youngest daughter, the

little Hedwig, 'cannot you let us have the play of the light boats now,

dear mother? You promised it to us on Christmas eve; which, by the by,

was passed sadly enough.'

'Yes, yes, the light boats!' shouted the other children, clapping their

hands.

'Well, bring the large soup-dish,' said the mother, who could refuse

nothing to her youngest daughter; 'but be careful not to spill the

water.'

'Glorious, excellent!' cried the children in chorus. Hedwig flew out of

the room; the other children produced wax candles of various colors,

and began cutting them into innumerable small pieces; while Faith,

Dorn, and young Engelmann, were instructed to divide the walnuts, of

which the table famished an abundant supply, in halves, and neatly to

extricate the kernels without injuring the shells.

'I know not if you are acquainted with this play of the Silesian

children,' said Fessel, laughing, to Dorn. 'It was omitted by us last

year, in consequence of my wife's illness. It is a solemn oracle upon

matters of love, marriage, and death. The children, however, do not

trouble themselves about the serious signification; but only take

pleasure in the movements of the boats and in splashing the water.'

The door now opened, and little Hedwig stepped into the room, with the

large dish full of water in her hands, with a solemn and consequential

air, and deposited her burden upon the centre of the table.

'Now put the lights in the boats,' commanded Martin; 'we have prepared

enough of them.' A small wax taper was placed in each shell, projecting

like the mast of a boat.

'Who shall swim first?' asked Elizabeth, lighting the tapers in two of

the boats.

'Mother and father!' cried the others, and the shells were placed in

the platter near each other, when they moved forth upon the clear

liquid surface with a regular motion, and burning with a steady light,

until they reached the opposite side where they quietly remained.

'We are already anchored in a safe haven,' said Fessel to his beloved

wife; 'and in the quiet enjoyment of domestic happiness, we can have no

wish to be restlessly driving about upon the open seas.'

'Ah, may God grant that the troubles of the times reach us not in our

safe haven and rend our bark from its fast anchorage,' cried the

true-hearted Katharine with timid foreboding.

At this moment the light in one of the boats began to hiss and sputter,

and after flashing for an instant was extinguished, amid exclamations

of sad surprise from the children.

'What does that forbode?--to whom does that boat belong?' asked

Katharine, smilingly.

'That is not decided,' eagerly cried Ulrich; 'and the whole oracle is

invalid.'

'Elizabeth filled the boat with water by her awkwardness, when she

started it,' announced Martin, who had been investigating the causes of

the accident.

'Every event in life must have had its cause,' said Fessel with more

earnestness than the trifling accident merited. 'If this portends the

extinguishment of the light of life in either of us, I pray God in

mercy to grant that mine may be the first to expire.'

'Say not so,' tenderly replied Katharine. 'Our children would lose in

you their only stay. Their mother would be more lightly missed, and the

strong man would better bear the sad bereavement than weak and helpless

woman.'

'Why this earnest and deep-meaning conversation on new year's evening?'

said madam Rosen, half angry. 'Come, children; go on more briskly with

your play and give us something pleasanter to think about.'

'Who comes next?' asked Elizabeth.

'Honor to whom honor is due,' laughed Hedwig. 'Cousin Faith must swim

now.'

'But she must herself decide with whom,' said Fessel. 'I have not been

at Sagan for some years, and know not who has made himself most

agreeable to her.'

'Indeed, I know not whom to name to you,' said the maiden with a low

tone and hesitating manner, blushing deeply for the untruth which thus

escaped her lips.

'Then we will take master Dorn for the occasion,' cried the

obstreperous Martin, whose natural boldness was increased by the wine

he had tasted; 'he is constantly giving Faith such friendly glances!'

'It shall be so,' shouted Ulrich; 'and they shall have the handsomest

tapers. Choose your own colors; here are red, and green, and white, and

variegated.'

'Red for Faith and green for me,' quickly cried Dorn, silencing the

maiden by a gentle pressure of her hand under the table, as she was

about to make some objections.

'They must not, however, start together from the shore,' said Ulrich.

'Well, do you set the red ship on that side and I will place the green

one here,' answered Martin; 'and then they may seek each other if they

wish to come together.'

Brightly burning, the little barks swam towards each other for a

moment; then, both floated to the edge of the platter and remained

motionless, at some little distance apart.

'Master Dorn is too indolent!' cried Martin, throwing a nut-kernel at

the green skiff to urge it towards the red; but it only reeled to and

fro, without removing from its place.

'Insufferable!' cried Dorn. At that moment the water became slightly

agitated, and both skiffs left their stations at the side for the open

sea.

'Faith has jostled the table!' cried the falcon-eyed Hedwig.

'I--no--I wish to hinder their meeting,' stammered the confused Faith.

'Did you really jostle the table, dearest maiden?' asked Dorn, his hand

again seeking hers.

'Ah, ah, my daughter!' reprovingly exclaimed madam Rosen, and amid the

exclamations of the children the two skiffs met in mid ocean, while a

gentle pressure from Faith's hand gave an affirmative answer to the

bold question of the youth.

The joy of the children, which the grandmother's remonstrances only

increased, was every moment becoming more bold and noisy. Without aim

or object a crowd of lights were now set afloat in the mimic ocean, and

apple cuttings and bread bullets flew like bombs among them, causing

immense damage and innumerable shipwrecks. 'It is enough!' cried

Fessel, the disturbance becoming excessive, and moved his chair from

the table. A respectful silence succeeded the wild tumult. The children

dutifully arose, folded their hands with a serious air, and Martin said

grace with decent solemnity.

The mistress of the house now invited her beloved guests to retire to

rest; that they might sleep away the fatigues of the day; but the

children, who had again become as noisy as ever, and had not the least

inclination to sleep, strongly opposed the movement.

'It would be fine indeed,' cried Martin, 'if we should have no writing

of notes.'

'Pray, pray, dear mother!' entreated the flattering and constant

petitioner, Hedwig. 'You well know that you promised me, if I filled a

writing book without blotting, that I should be indulged with writing

notes, on new year's evening. My last writing book is without a spot,

and you must now keep your word.'

'Children are the most inexorable creditors,' said Fessel, directing

little Ulrich to bring the writing materials from the counting-room,

while the table was being cleared.

'This is a strange remnant of the old heathen times,' explained Fessel

to the book-keeper, who looked inquiringly at him. 'It is a form of new

year's congratulation, and an oracle at the same time. You write three

several wishes upon three slips of paper, which you fold and give to

the person who would try his fate. These wishes may be, honors, offices

and success in business, to the men,--chains, bracelets, and new

dresses, to the women,--agreeable suitors to maidens. All place the

notes they have received under their pillows, and the wish contained in

the one which is first opened on new year's morning shall be fulfilled

in the course of the current year.'

'I always take great pleasure in this sport,' said Katharine to her

mother; 'my husband is always so anxious to fulfil his oracle and to

present me what is wished me in the note I open.'

'There comes Ulrich!' screamed the children, as he entered, heavily

laden, and deposited his burden upon the table. The notes were

prepared, and the whole family were soon seated around the table,

moving their pens as assiduously as if an instrument was to be drawn

for securing religious liberty. Amidst the scratching of the pens,

which were very awkwardly handled by the younger children, and

therefore made the more noise, arose the admonitions of the father to

sit erect, and of the mother not to bespatter themselves with ink;

which admonitions were obeyed just so long as they were heard.

Meanwhile Dorn was sharply watching the paper upon which Faith was

writing; who, as soon as she became aware of it, covered the writing

with her little hand and whispered to him: 'If you watch me, you will

get no packet from me to-night.' He discreetly drew back and began

writing his notes.

Fessel now strewed sand upon his last note, enclosed it with the others

and gave the packet with a kiss to his Katharine. The children snapped

their pens to the infinite damage of the well scoured white floor, for

which their grandmother very properly scolded them. Dorn handed his

packet to the beauteous Faith, who hid hers in her bosom, strenuously

asserting that she could think of nothing to write.

The clock now struck the midnight hour, and a peal of bells from the

tower of the city hall greeted the new year.

'A happy new year! a happy new year!' shouted the children, springing

from their seats; and the impetuous Hedwig proposed to open the notes

directly, as the new year had already commenced; but Fessel interposed

his decided negative and commanded them to defer it until the actual

rising of the new year sun.

Amid the noise and confusion of the thousand new year congratulations,

Dorn once more approached the lovely Faith.

'Must I enter upon the new year without one kind wish from you?' he

pensively asked. She looked at him with embarrassment and irresolution.

At that moment she was called by her mother who was already standing in

the door. The startling call helped her to come to a decision, and,

suddenly drawing the packet from her bosom and smilingly placing it in

Dorn's hand, she hastened after her mother.

Long did the youth hold the much coveted packet pressed to his lips.

'How much earthly happiness,' said he to himself with deep emotion,

'have I destroyed in my military career. Do I indeed deserve that love

should crown me with its freshest wreaths in a land I have helped to

lay waste?'

Dorn, who had retired late and awoke betimes with the interesting

little packet under his pillow, found himself at an early hour leaning

against a window in the family parlor, and engaged in examining a

delicate little note. While thus occupied, Faith, impelled by a similar

restlessness, entered the room. As she perceived him whose image had

embellished her dreams, an enchanting blush overspread her delicate

face, and her beautiful blue eyes beamed with love and joy; but when

Dorn, enraptured at the encounter, affectionately tendered her the

congratulations appropriate to the new year's morning, changing her

mood she turned away from him with feigned displeasure and exclaimed:

'Pshaw, captain! I am angry with you. You have wished me two horrible

suitors.'

'Before I undertake to exculpate myself,' said Dorn, 'only tell me

which you drew from the packet.'

'The duke of Friedland,' stammered the embarrassed maiden with downcast

eyes.

'Look me directly in the eye!' cried Dorn, seizing the hand of the

unpractised dissembler. 'Did you really draw no other name?'

'Ah, let me go,' she murmured, her confusion and maidenly timidity

rendering her still more charming.

'You do not once ask what wish I have drawn!' said Dorn, holding up his

note.

'Who knows whether you would tell me the truth,' answered Faith.

'Have a care,' cried Dorn. 'The suspicion can only spring from a

consciousness that you have deceived me, and that is not fair. I will

set you an example of ingenuousness. You wished a poor mortal to choose

among three daughters of heaven. Love, Hope, and Faith, were inscribed

upon your three notes. My good genius helped me to the best choice.

Love I already had deep in my heart from the moment I first saw you;

Hope visited me last evening; and I only lacked Faith in the certainty

of my good fortune. I drew it with this note.'

'A gallant officer well knows how to convert trifles into matters of

importance,' said the maiden, repelling the persevering youth. 'I wrote

the three names for you, merely in jest, Faith, Hope, and Charity,

because they follow each other in the calendar.'

'Only for that reason?' asked Dorn in a tender tone, throwing his arms

around her slender waist. Endeavoring to push him gently back with her

right hand, she dropped a note which Dorn caught up and read before she

could hinder him.

'Victoria!' shouted he. 'You have drawn my name, as I have drawn yours.

Who can doubt now that we are destined for each other? Obey the

friendly oracle, dear maiden, and become mine, as I am yours, in life

and death.'

He embraced the lovely creature more ardently, while she, no longer

able to withstand the solicitations of the youth and the pleadings of

her own heart, sank on his bosom, and exclaimed in low accents: 'Thine,

forever.'

CHAPTER V.

'Well, really, master Dorn, you begin the portentous new year upon

which we are entering in a very worldly manner,' cried a reproving

voice behind them. Faith shrieked with terror that those blessed

moments should have had a witness, and fled from the room. At the same

time Dorn, displeased at the awkward interruption, turned suddenly

round and stood facing the parson, who viewed him with severe and

reproachful looks. 'Is it well,' at length said the angry preacher, 'to

seduce the inconsiderate sister-in-law of your brother and benefactor

into an amorous intrigue?'

'You are right, reverend sir,' answered Dorn; 'that would be to do him

foul wrong; but to seek the honorable love of a maiden whom I hope one

day to lead to the altar as my beloved wife, appears to me to be well,

and is not forbidden in the holy scriptures.'

'You wish to espouse the maiden, then?' said the parson; 'that is quite

a different thing, and I take back my censure. In that case my office

imposes upon me another sacred duty. The maiden is how under my

spiritual care, and I must be answerable to heaven for her religious

principles, which might be perverted by an unbelieving husband. I have

become doubtful of you, from your own conversations, and therefore, as

a called and ordained servant of the word, I ask you, are you an

orthodox Lutheran christian?'

'You would find it very difficult to justify that question before the

great author of your reformation,' answered Dorn, moodily. 'Know you

not how peremptorily he forbade the professors of his doctrines to

designate themselves by his name?'

'You wish to evade my question!' cried the parson, feeling the sting,

but endeavoring to conceal the smart.

'That is not my custom,' said Dorn. 'I will never deny that I adhere to

the doctrines which were first promulgated in Switzerland, and have

thence spread throughout the German empire.'

'As I feared!' cried the parson. 'A Calvinist, or perhaps even a

Zuinglian! and you wish to take a wife of the Augsburg faith?'

'Why not?' asked Dorn. 'That God who has disposed my heart toward the

maiden, will not be angry that I choose her as my companion for life.'

'I much doubt whether you can have and keep a true heart for one who is

of a different faith,' said the parson, shaking his head.

'God, who is eternal love, pardon you for the doubt, reverend sir,'

said Dorn with emotion. 'It is a sad consideration, that contentions

about unimportant dogmas and forms so frequently divide christians who

should stand united against the common enemy. It would be dreadful if

the feeble chains by which you are yet fettered, after throwing off

those of popery, should bar the way between two innocent individuals,

whose souls have become united by the bonds of holy love.'

'Unimportant dogmas and forms?' repeated the parson.

'I consider them so,' answered Dorn. 'Adhering to the words of Christ,

we celebrate, in the Lord's supper, only a holy remembrance of the

Savior; while you, by virtue of the same words, find therein a

mysterious presence of his body and his blood. You ornament your

churches with pictures, of which practice we disapprove. Are such

differences really sufficient grounds for the quarrels and contentions

which the followers of both confessions continue to wage against each

other with such reprehensible bitterness?'

'You wilfully overlook a principal point,' said the parson; 'the almost

insurmountable partition wall which your Calvin has raised between you

and us. I mean your monstrous doctrine of election. _Aliis vita aeterna,

aliis damnatio aeterna praeordinatur!_ How can you reconcile this

declaration with infinite love and eternal justice?'

'I willingly give up these doctrines to your disposal,' answered Dorn;

'for they have never formed a part of my creed. Even Calvin himself

stated, that he had some scruples whether predestination could be

reconciled with God's wisdom, the rock upon which this doctrine has

always foundered.'

'I take this concession for all it is worth,' said the parson; 'but I

cannot pass over your assertion, that our difference upon the subject

of the Lord's supper is a contest _de lana caprina_. Because your

presumptuous reason cannot comprehend the declaration of our Savior,

'this is my body,' you wish to strike it out of the bible; but this we

cannot permit; because we cannot give up one tittle of God's word, and

because the communion solemnity falls to the ground when the mystery

becomes robbed of the wings which bear it up to heaven. If, however,

you take away from the holy scriptures all that is not clear to you,

nothing will remain but a good sensible book, but with no high

revelation which can only be received by pious faith. If you can see

nothing in the sacrament of the Lord's supper but a remembrance of its

founder, you need not partake of the bread and wine. Without this

_medium_ it would be impossible for us to forget our Lord and Master.'

'Sensual man,' answered Dorn, 'needs sensible signs as symbols of

spiritual things. To be reminded of the author of our religion is to be

reminded of his doctrines; and as he established this solemnity and

consecrated it to the remembrance of himself on the evening before the

death with which he sealed his doctrines, so must it, according to

_our_ creed, be deemed sacred--must soften and purify our hearts, and

inspire us with devout and holy resolutions, which is the important

point in question for you as well as us. We consider the _mystery_

unnecessary, and we have the voices of the earliest churches with us,

as the transubstantiation doctrine of Paschasius Radbertus, from which

yours but very little differs, was first heard of in the ninth

century.'

'For a book-keeper and ci-devant military officer you are deeply

learned,' remarked the somewhat excited preacher.

'My early religious education,' answered Dorn, 'was superintended by a

well informed, clear headed Bernardine monk, who afterwards, like

myself, went over to Zuinglius's belief. I may thank him that I at

least know what the point in dispute is,--a knowledge which, alas, is

needed by many thousands of our brethren in the faith.'

'I supposed something like that,' said the parson. 'But I interrupted

you. Proceed with your pretended refutation of my arguments.'

'Excuse me from answering further,' modestly replied Dorn.

'Because you cannot answer them!' exclaimed the parson in imaginary

triumph.

'These controversial battles,' calmly continued Dorn, 'have been too

often fought in vain for me to hope that we can be brought to agree. I

have not endeavored to defend my doctrines; but only to show that a

difference in creeds need not divide hearts. I abide by my tenets; but

I believe that you also may attain salvation with yours. Believe you

the same of mine, as I doubt not you do, and we can readily co-operate

for the advancement of the good cause. The remaining topics of

difference are not essential. Here it only concerns us, setting aside

the creeds of men, to hold the doctrines of Christ as the true

teachings of God's holy word, and by them so to govern our minds and

actions that we may win the approbation of a good conscience, a serene

dying hour, and a merciful judgment. That, in my opinion, is the true,

living, christian faith; and whoever has it is our brother in Christ,

whether he calls himself Lutheran, Calvinist, Zuinglian, or even

catholic.'

'My God! you are then not even a Zuinglian!' angrily exclaimed the

parson. 'This despicable toleration of all opinions is godless

indifference, behind which naturalism and deism conceal themselves.

Were you an intelligent and confirmed heretic, the argument might be

continued; but you are nothing but an _eclecticus_, who seeks in

christianity just so much as suits his purpose, and throws the rest

aside!'

'Paul said, 'prove all things and hold fast that which is good,''

interposed Dorn.

'I am well satisfied that you do not desire to know any thing of the

true faith,' continued the parson; 'and yet it is the only foundation

of our religion. Know you not that Christ himself has said, 'he that

believeth not shall be damned?''

'If you could convince me,' angrily remarked Dorn, 'that Christ

intended those words to mean what intolerance would construe them, I

would become a heathen from this moment, and joyfully take my portion

in that hell in which the noble Socrates and just Aristides are

burning.'

The parson started back with a shudder. Dorn checked himself and

continued in a subdued tone; 'Be not alarmed, reverend sir, at my

audacious words. My belief is not so bad as you fear. Would to God all

christians had it, and then much less of tears and blood would be made

to flow. Now repeat to me, quickly and peacefully to end our strife,

that which Christ pronounced to be the chief commandment of God.'

'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and thy neighbor

as thyself,' said the parson.

'Even thine enemy!' added Dorn. 'How much more then those who only

differ from us in opinion! Here you have my profession of faith, and I

trust in God that I shall be able to stand before him at the last day

with it.'

'You confound ideas,' cried the vexed parson. 'You speak of christian

ethics, and I am reasoning only of the articles of faith.'

'Devised by men!' said Dorn. 'I hold the chief point to be the

observance of the system of morals taught by Christ. Do not you also?'

'No!' emphatically exclaimed the parson after a short pause.

'No?' asked Dorn with some surprise. 'The divine doctrine that we must

live devoutly to die happily, not the substance of our religion! Ah, my

dear sir, it was your cloth, and not your head or heart, which dictated

that negative. You are too good and too intelligent not to be of my

opinion.'

'Ah, do not press me with such _argumenta ad hominem_,' said the parson

with excited but not unfriendly feelings. 'In point of fact there can

be no disputing about matters of faith. It must come from within, and

cannot be derived from without. Nevertheless I do not for that reason

give you up. A time will come when you will be no longer satisfied with

cold syllogisms, and you will then seek a refuge in the open maternal

arms of the true faith, in which only you can find peace. Until when,

only let your conduct be as fair as your speech, and I shall at all

events hope that the maiden will not have made a bad choice. One thing,

however, you must promise me with hand and word. Urge not upon your

future wife your unbelief, or half belief, or whatever else you may

choose to call it. Cause her not to waver in her own, which she

has imbibed with her mother's milk. Yet more than the strong and

self-relying man does weak, delicate and suffering woman need a

steadfast faith. You would rob her of a belief, which is capable of

sustaining her in the hour of sorrow and trial, and give her nothing in

return but cheerless and disconsolate doubt; which would be an exchange

unworthy of the magnanimity of a man.'

'In this case you are for once wholly right, my worthy friend,' said

Dorn: 'and I promise you _with this handgrip_, by God and my honor, to

do as you require. Now let a lasting peace be concluded between us.

When we hereafter meet above, as I firmly believe we shall, when the

scales shall fall from our eyes, when we shall clearly see what we

perceive but dimly here below, then shall we as surely be one in

knowledge as we now are in feeling, and side by side before the throne

of the father of all men shall we unite with full hearts in the song of

praise to the one true God.'

'So may it be!' cried the parson, pressing the youth's hand and leaving

the room with visible emotion.

CHAPTER VI.

In the forenoon of the 20th January, 1629, a joyful bustle prevailed in

Fessel's house. The floors and steps were carefully swept, strewed with

a beautiful yellow sand, and adorned with evergreens. A large fire was

crackling in the kitchen, before which the spit was turning, and pots

and stew-pans were steaming. The diligent housewife, notwithstanding

the ready assistance of her mother, had her hands full of business; her

two daughters, who insisted on being employed, hindered more than they

aided her; and the sons who, with their cousin Engelmann, had just

returned from school, raced about the house like wild animals,

practically illustrating the '_Dulce est desipere in loco_,' which they

had that day construed in their class. In short, it was the betrothing

day of the beauteous Faith and Fessel's new partner in business, master

Dorn.

The interesting pair had just returned from the church, where, in

pursuance of a good old custom, they had made their mutual engagements

in the presence of their God, and commended themselves to his

protection by pious prayer. In the house-door they encountered their

brother-in-law, who was returning from the city council-room, where his

attendance had a short time before been required. He was, however,

unusually pale, returned but brief thanks for the joyous greeting of

the lovers, and silently mounted the stairs with a slow and dull

motion, as if he had been troubled with asthma.

'In God's name, my brother, what has happened to you?' cried Dorn,

returning from the kitchen, where he had left his fair companion.

'Dark clouds are beginning to overshadow our horizon,' answered Fessel,

with anxious concern. 'Colonel von Goes has arrived, and demands

permission to march through the city with seven squadrons of the

Lichtensteins.'

'Goes!' exclaimed Dorn, becoming paler than his brother-in-law, and

covering his face with his hands.

'What is the matter with you?' asked the astonished Fessel. 'Do you

know so much evil of the man?'

'From the knowledge I obtained of him during my military service,'

answered Dorn, making an effort to command himself, 'I may pronounce

him a good soldier, and a man of honor; but he adheres to the catholic

faith with ferocious zeal.'

'We are under no obligation,' continued Fessel, 'to admit troops

within our walls, except upon the especial command of his imperial

majesty....'

'You will not do so on this occasion!' exclaimed Dorn with fearful

vehemence. 'You will render the people of your city miserable if you

open your gates to these dreadful protectors. They have given a

specimen of the manner in which they treat protestants, at Glogau.'

'What can we do?' said Fessel, shrugging his shoulders. 'The honorable

council have a great inclination to admit them, and for that purpose

hastily called some of the most respectable burghers to the town-house,

to give their opinions as to what answer should be returned to the

request. We honestly stated to the gentlemen what we expected of them.

The colonel then remarked, that he hoped we would not show such

disrespect to the imperial troops, as to compel them to take a wide

circuit round the city in the present cold state of the weather. He

then proceeded solemnly to swear and protest, that he only desired a

passage through the city, and a brief rest for the refreshment and

recovery of the frozen. Indeed, he said he would have no part in God's

kingdom, if any citizen were injured in consequence of the granting of

his request.'

'For God's sake, trust not to that oath,' begged Dorn.

'If the colonel be a man of honor, as you say, wherefore not?' asked

Fessel with surprise.

'Have you forgotten that horrible saying, _haereticis non est servanda

fides_?' cried Dorn. 'No time is to be lost in averting the evil. The

council is still in session. I will accompany you to the town-house,

and ask leave to address them upon this matter. Schweidnitz must not

open her gates to these hordes. They certainly can show no mandate from

the emperor, and if the worst come, we have walls and ditches, and

strong burgher hands accustomed to the use of arms, to defend our

dearest treasure, religious freedom.'

During this conversation, he had with eager impetuosity drawn his

brother-in-law towards the door. There they heard the distant notes of

a march from trumpets, clarions and kettle-drums, and the confused

murmurs of a crowd reached them from the great public square.

'We are too late,' sighed Fessel. 'The music comes from the direction

of the Striegauer-gate. The Lichtensteins are already in the city.'

'Then may God by some miracle give the lie to my fears, and Goes keep

his word!' cried Dorn. 'I anticipate dreadful scenes.'

Fessel opened the window and listened to the music, which at first

appeared to approach, but afterwards sounded fainter and fainter as if

receding. 'Do you hear?' said he to his distrusting brother-in-law,

'you owe an apology to the worthy colonel for your suspicions. The

troops are already passing out by the Nieder-gate.'

'God grant it may be so,' sighed Dorn, placing himself by Fessel's side

at the window. 'I am not yet satisfied of the fact, however.' Both

continued listening to the last dying tones of the march.

'How the ear can deceive one!' said Fessel. 'It now seems to me as if

the music were again approaching.'

'I fear it does not deceive you this time,' answered Dorn

significantly. At that moment a cry of fear and anguish arose along the

main street, and the worthy serjeant-at-arms of the city council was

seen breathlessly running toward the town-house.

'Whither with such haste?' cried Fessel to him from the window.

'God be merciful to us!' cried the serjeant. 'The soldiers have made a

halt at the Nieder-gate, have relieved and dismissed the burgher guard

there, and, turning to the left about, are now marching up the main

street.

'That indeed does not look much like passing through the city,' sighed

Fessel, closing the window. 'It rather indicates an intention to take

up permanent quarters here.'

'For the purpose of proselytism!' cried Dorn, despondingly. 'Now God be

merciful to me! For if these villains insult our women, I shall die no

natural death.'

He hastened forth, while Fessel remained standing at the window

awaiting the event in silent sadness.

The music of the Lichtensteins sounded nearer and nearer, and soon

their banners, muskets and halberds came waving and glistening up the

street, and in serried ranks the troops came marching into the public

square. 'Halt! order arms!' was now echoed by the commanders. The

muskets and halberds rattled upon the stone pavement with a dull crash,

the music ceased, and the silent and motionless soldiers remained

standing by their arms. Only a malicious smile, which played upon their

dark faces, and the restless and inquisitive movements of their

twinkling eyes, gave them any appearance of being aught but lifeless

statues.

Katharine and Faith, pale as ghosts, followed by their mother, now

burst into the room. The children, naturally excited by these unusual

occurrences, crowded in after them, to get a better view of what was

going forward.

'Have the Lichtensteins turned back?' simultaneously asked or rather

shrieked the three women, as Fessel directed their attention to the

human masses in the public square. 'My end has come,' groaned the

matron, sinking down upon a seat. The children hastened to the window,

and in their innocent ignorance right heartily enjoyed the view of the

brilliant uniforms, splendid standards and glistening arms of the

soldiers.

'Children,' said Fessel calmly, 'lamentations and complainings cannot

help us. Let us not, in the present emergency, lose our presence of

mind, which in times of misfortune is the greatest misfortune. I will

go to the compting-room, and as far as possible during the short time

that remains to us, place my property in safety. My Katharine will

hastily collect the most valuable of our things, and conceal them in

the under cellar. I will afterwards see what course is required for our

personal safety. My mother and sister-in-law must meanwhile prepare for

the quartering of the soldiers. As a well conditioned merchant, and a

warden of the evangelical church, I may expect that a full share of

them will be assigned to my house.'

'It is fortunate that we have a repast already provided for them,'

sighed Katharine, seeking, among a bunch hanging at her girdle, for the

key of the plate closet.

'Provided for the betrothal-feast of our good sister!' said Fessel,

compassionately caressing the cold cheek of the maiden. 'Poor child!

they will leave you little enjoyment of it to-day.'

'Only see!' cried little Hedwig at the window, 'the officers are all

crowding around a tall stately chief, and our alderman Newmann is

standing near him with uncovered head and a great number of slips of

paper in both hands.'

'The tall officer is the colonel,' said Fessel to them by way of

explanation, 'They are drawing tickets for their quarters.'

'My God!' suddenly shrieked Faith, who had stepped to the window, and

flew back to the remotest corner of the room.

'What is the matter with thee, sister?' asked the sympathizing

Katharine, hastening to her side.

'It is all over with us,' sighed Faith, pressing her little hands upon

her beating heart. 'One of the officers suddenly stared wildly up

towards the house. I saw his face but for an instant, and it was partly

shaded by his plume; but I recognised it so certainly and with so much

alarm that I could not help screaming. It was childish, I know. Pardon

me that I frightened you so needlessly. How could this man come here at

the present time? and what a fool I was instantly to fear the worst!'

'Of whom do you speak, my daughter?' asked the anxious widow; and, as

Faith was about to explain, Dorn rushed into the room.

'Save yourself!' he cried. 'Your persecutor, the broken captain of

dragoons, now commands a company of the Lichtensteins, and is

endeavoring to get your brother-in-law's house for his quarters. His

hellish object is obvious, and he may be expected here every moment.'

'Then are we all lost,' groaned the mother.

'Not yet,' said Katharine, with calm self-possession. 'Listen to my

proposal. These soldiers cannot stay here forever. While they remain,

mother and sister can conceal themselves in the dry vault back of the

cellar, whose opening in the garden is concealed by the thick grove of

yew-trees. We can pile up boxes and casks before the door, and every

evening convey to them provisions and consolation.

'The captain shall be told,' interposed Dorn, 'that you fled from

Schweidnitz the moment you heard of the approach of the Lichtensteins.

God reward you, Katharine, for the lucky thought.'

'You will accompany us in our hiding place, beloved sister will you

not?' asked Faith.

'Shall I take my husband and children into your circumscribed retreat?'

smilingly asked Katharine; 'or could you really and in earnest ask me

to desert the dearest objects on earth to me? Nor is there any reason

why I should. You have a sufficient cause for concealing yourself,

having offended a bad man who would probably improve the first

opportunity to avenge himself. I am only threatened with the same

misfortunes every family in the city must expect, and with God's help I

must endeavor to bear them.'

'She is entirely right,' decided the mother.

'My noble wife!' cried Fessel, embracing his courageous and confiding

spouse. At the same instant Hedwig, who was still at the window, cried:

'There comes a hateful red-bearded officer directly towards the house,

with a whole troop of soldiers behind him.'

'Then indeed there is no time to be lost,' said Dorn, hurrying the

mother and daughter from the room. 'Farewell!' cried the women to each

other. 'God's angels protect you!' said Fessel, proceeding to the door,

at which the Lichtensteins were loudly knocking.

CHAPTER VII.

At the head of the table, which had been beautifully adorned for the

betrothal-feast, the red-bearded captain had seated himself in terrible

majesty. Desiring, for the present, to appear unusually gracious, he

had invited the heads of the family and their children to take places

at the table. The hospitality so kindly extended to them in their own

house by a stranger, imparted no especial pleasure to those invited.

The children had formed the heroic resolution of not eating a morsel,

merely to show their dislike to the detestable red-beard. Fessel looked

with a gloomy brow directly before him; while the faithful Katharine

forced herself to introduce and sustain the conversation, that a want

of occupation might not give the fiend leisure for evil thoughts. Four

arquebusiers guarded the doors, and in every part of the house arose

the boisterous songs of the converters, who were revelling with

Fessel's choicest wines.

'We are satisfied,' said the captain; and, emptying his goblet, he took

off his military cap, murmured some words in a low voice, crossed

himself, again put on his cap, and then, with feigned affability asked:

'So, your mother-in-law left you last night, Herr Fessel?' and as the

latter answered affirmatively, he further asked: 'And her daughter,

little Faith,--did the good woman take her with her?'

'Certainly!' stammered Fessel, who was not altogether prepared for this

close examination.

'Strange!' said the captain, extending his goblet to the lady of the

house to be replenished. 'How a man's eyes may deceive him! As I was

standing with the other officers before the house three hours since, I

would have sworn that I saw the little Faith standing at that very

window.'

'It was probably me whom you saw, captain,' interposed Katharine. 'You

must have observed that I resemble my sister very nearly.'

'Possibly!' observed the captain with a still more hateful smile. 'You

had, indeed, at that time, a rose-colored band in your blond hair, and

now you have brown locks and a black plaited cap. However, that is

not so very strange. Women's toilets often produce much greater

transformations.'

At this moment a violent outcry was heard from without. Fessel hastened

from the room, and soon returned with his eldest apprentice, who was

profusely bleeding from a wound on the head.

'What is the matter?' asked the captain, addressing himself to the

wounded man. 'How dare you thus disturb me while at table?'

'By your leave, captain!' said the apprentice, with confidence; 'your

sergeant has robbed me of all the money I had about me, and then beat

me over the head with his sword because I had no more to give him. It

was proper that I should complain to you in order that you might take

measures to punish the outrage.'

'You did not know how to behave yourself properly, my son,' said the

captain. 'My people are always kind and harmless as children to all who

are complaisant towards them, and give them every thing they desire. Go

and have your wound dressed, and be more careful another time.'

'Is that all the satisfaction I am to get for my injuries?' asked the

apprentice, irritated by the pain of his wound, and still more by the

captain's contemptuous answer.

The captain's eyes flashed like two baneful meteors.

'Satisfaction!--injuries! How dare you, a damned heretic, use such

words in my presence? vociferated he, starting from his seat. You ought

to thank God that my sergeant did not cleave your head asunder. Pack

yourself hence, if you do not wish that I should complete the work he

began.'

He grasped his sword, the young man sprang beyond his reach, and

Katharine, in soft and soothing tones, besought the savage to be

pacified; but the last link of the chain, by which his natural

brutality had hitherto been restrained, was now broken; the wild beast

in human form was let loose, and yielded only to the most savage

impulses.

'Do you suppose, vagabonds,' roared the fiend, 'that we have come here

to keep strict discipline and to wait quietly for what you may please

to dispense to us? We are come to chastise you for your heresy, which

is a revolt alike against God and the emperor. We are come to convert

you to the true faith; and if your stubbornness will not suffer our

object to be accomplished by fair means, you are given over to us as a

prize, with your property and lives, bodies and souls, to be tormented

by us to our heart's content, until you are brought to repentance and

an abandonment of your abominable opinions, or sink in despair.'

'No, captain,' cried Fessel, with manly firmness; 'that is not the will

of our emperor, and I should consider it treasonable to believe your

scandalous assertions. Nor was that the condition upon which we

admitted you within our walls. From your colonel's own mouth have I

heard quite a different speech, and I shall go and ask him if he is

about to give the lie to his own words.'

'First go to your own chamber as an arrested prisoner,' said the

captain, with a smile of contempt; 'until I have had you tried for your

rebellious speech. Lead him forth!' commanded he to the guards. 'Lock

him up, watch him sharply, and if he attempts to escape shoot him

down.'

'Eternal justice, judge and avenge!' cried Fessel, as the soldiers

dragged him away.

'Mercy!' implored his faithful wife, clasping the captain's knees; but

the latter disengaged himself from her, put the children, who pressed

around her, out of the room, drew Katharine to a window, and in a low

voice said to her, 'you see that I can be either good or bad as you

would have me. Upon you alone it depends how I shall further proceed.

Therefore answer me honestly and truly, where is your sister?'

'She fled last night,' answered Katharine, with calm firmness; 'to

escape the horrors which threaten us. Whither, I do not consider it my

duty to inform you.'

'This is fine!' exclaimed the captain, grinning like a Bengal tiger

when his keeper compels him to show his teeth. 'I like to know how

people feel towards me. I now go to my colonel, and you shall soon hear

from me again.'

He departed, and the children, again rushing in, embraced their mother

with loud lamentation. Katharine sank upon her knees, and her children

with her, and, raising their eyes and hands towards heaven, with a

bleeding heart but nevertheless with confidence, the pious woman prayed

in the words of the royal psalmist: 'Why art thou cast down, O my soul?

and why art thou disquieted in me? Hope thou in God; for I shall yet

praise him for his countenance who is my help and my God.'

The boisterous sorrow of the children subsided into gentle weeping, and

from every lip was heard the loud, believing, joyful, amen!'

CHAPTER VIII.

Some days later, Katharine was sitting with her children at the close

of day and exerting herself to read by the fading twilight a letter of

consolation which her imprisoned husband had thrown to little Ulrich.

The door was cautiously opened and a soldier in the Lichtenstein

uniform hesitatingly entered.

'Do not be alarmed,' whispered he, as they shrunk from his approach. 'I

am Dorn, and have smuggled myself into the house in this disguise, that

I might bring you consolation and see for myself how you were situated.

Your mother and sister are in health and safety, and send kind

greetings to you. Nor need you be anxious on your husband's account. I

am certain that it is better for him to be in confinement than to be

free and expose himself to the outrages to which every hour gives

birth, and do things in moments of passion and excitement which would

only make matters worse. Should his situation become more critical, I

shall always be near him.'

'In God's name, master Dorn, what is to be the end of all this?'

anxiously asked Katharine.

'A city full of catholics,' answered Dorn with a bitter smile. 'The

count of Dohna has arrived to-day. That is a sufficient reason for

fearing the worst. From a renegade, who expects to win the principality

of Breslau by his tyrannical fury, nothing is to be hoped.'

'Then God help us!' sobbed Katharine, wringing her hands.

'By means of our arms, if it cannot be otherwise,' said Dorn, with

energy. 'I have carefully avoided encountering your worthy guest,

because I well know that one of us must in that case remain dead upon

the spot, and that would little help you in any event; but, if it

becomes necessary, I will strike the devil to the earth and free you

from him.'

'No,' anxiously entreated Katharine; 'no murder on our account.'

'That is man's work, dear lady,' said Dorn. 'No woman can reason upon

the subject. Every one must act according to his conscience. It will be

well for me and him if the necessity does not occur.'

A gentle and afterwards a more decided knock was heard at the door. A

voice asked, 'are you alone, madam Fessel?' and directly the pale and

bleeding face of parson Beer peered into the room.

'How pale you look! what has happened to you?' cried the frightened

Katharine.

'My face bears the marks of the converting zeal of the imperial

apostles,' answered the parson with suppressed anger. 'Most terribly do

these Lichtensteins deal with the servants of the word. I have escaped

with less injury than some of my brethren. Me they only misused and

smote with their side arms, because I preached the truth to them with

the sharp fire of the spirit which had come upon me. I heed it not, and

even consider myself honored by the blows I received; one of which came

near making me a martyr. My worthy associate, Bartsch, was much more

shamefully treated, and my blood boils and foams when I think of it.

That they hustled, abused and plundered him, might be passed over; but

the hellish crew, adding to these outrages the most shameful scorn and

mockery, compelled that man of God to dance before them; himself, his

wife, and children to dance, like the infatuated Israelites before the

golden calf. For which the reprobates will one day be compelled to

dance to the howlings of damned spirits in the everlasting fire

prepared for the devil and his angels!'

'How goes it with the poor citizens?' asked Dorn, for the purpose of

diverting the attention of the zealot from the occurrences which had so

excited his anger.

'As might be supposed, very badly,' answered the parson. 'The counter

reformation may be said to have dated its commencement from the arrival

of the terrible Dohna. The soldiers are quartered only upon the

protestants, to whom they say, 'the moment you go and confess to the

Dominican or Franciscan priests, and bring a certificate of the fact,

that moment we will leave you and go elsewhere.' When the poor people

have been thus oppressed until they can bear it no longer, they become

frantic and repair to the priests for the certificate of confession.

The tormenting fiends then leave them and are distributed among such of

their neighbors as yet hold to the true faith, and treat them in the

same manner, until they, overcome by the weight of the burthen, also

go, like Peter, and deny their lord and master in the churches of their

adversaries. In this way we clergymen have each sixty men quartered

upon us, and the aldermen the same number. Burgomaster Yunge has

already over a hundred men to provide for, and if the apostacy extends

much further, the last true believing christian of Schweidnitz will

have the whole seven squadrons of converters collected in his own

house.'

'Why do not the wretched people flee and abandon house and home,

property and sustenance?' asked the excited Dorn.

'So they would have done, by thousands,' answered the parson; 'but the

converters will not let them go. The citizens are kept prisoners in

their city, and every householder is confined to his house. The gates

are closed, and each family is guarded by those who are quartered upon

it. In vain have some of our wealthiest citizens offered to give up all

their property with the promise never to ask for it again; in vain have

others sought death rather than a continuance of their sufferings. That

is not the object of our oppressors, whose only answer to all our

prayers is, 'you must embrace our faith.'

'I have heard enough,' cried Dorn, with bursting rage. 'Say no more,

or, unable to restrain my wrath, I shall strike some of the hounds to

the earth and thereby bring my life to a sudden end. Farewell, Frau

Katharine,--I return to my hiding place; but shall not be far off, and

most joyfully will I lay down my life, if need be, in defence of you

and yours.'

He strode forth,--the parson stepped to the window, through which the

bright moon was pouring its silver light, and, while watching Dorn's

retreating steps, convulsively pressed his hands across his breast and

gave frightful utterance to the following imprecation: 'Thy hand shall

find all thine enemies, Thy right hand shall find them that hate thee.

Thou wilt melt them as in a furnace when thou lookest upon them; the

Lord will consume them in his anger, fire shall devour them. Their seed

wilt thou destroy from the face of the earth, and their names from

among the children of men.'

'God preserve us, reverend sir,' interposed Katharine. 'How can you

offer up such a horrible prayer? Rather should you remember and imitate

the forgiving spirit of our Savior when he prayed; 'Father, forgive

them, for they know not what they do!'

'Father forgive them, for they know not what they do,' he tremblingly

repeated after her, his anger rebuked by the divine sentiment, and

submissively raised his eyes toward the exhaustless source of love and

mercy.

CHAPTER IX.

The next morning Katharine was sitting in her closet, with her infant

at her breast. Over its rosy cheeks rolled the mother's tears in quick

succession. Her other children were pressing around her, like chickens

who seek to hide themselves under the mother's sheltering wings, and

all were tremblingly and silently listening to the cries of lamentation

which occasionally arose from the neighboring dwellings, evincing the

activity of the tormentors.

The clattering of spurs was heard at the door, which was immediately

thrown open, and the captain entered the room, accompanied by a file of

soldiers.

'I am now satisfied!' cried he. 'I have subjected your cook to a sharp

examination. You have more food prepared daily than is necessary for

the family. Dishes are secretly conveyed away full and returned empty.

I am therefore satisfied that your relatives have not departed; but are

yet in the city, perhaps in this very house, and my duty requires me to

insist on their immediate appearance, that they may become participants

in the reformation which we bring to this deluded city.'

'I have nothing more to answer upon that subject,' said Katharine with

firmness.

'No?' asked the captain, grating his teeth. 'Will you bring me a

certificate of confession?'

'Not to all is given such greatness of mind as to enable them to change

their faith according to the emergencies of the moment,' said

Katharine, with a bitterness which the unworthiness of the tempter

forced from her naturally mild heart.

'Still scornful!' growled the captain. 'The cup now runs over. To the

cellar with this brood of young heretics!' thundered he to his

soldiers, who immediately forced the children from the room. 'My

children!' shrieked Katharine, making an effort to rush after them; but

the captain dragged the unhappy mother back.

'The sands of mercy have run out,' he exclaimed; 'and the hour of

vengeance approaches. It is now no longer question of the runaway girl.

I have torn from my heart my sinful passion for the heretic, and have

to do only with you and your heterodoxy. I give you an hour to consider

whether you will return to the bosom of the mother church. If you then

obstinately choose to adhere to your erroneous belief, I will probe

your breast yet deeper, and by all the saints I swear to you that I

will find your heart.'

He left the room. 'Preserve me from desperation, O God!' cried

Katharine, pressing her infant to her bosom and sinking powerless to

the earth.

CHAPTER X.

When she awoke she was sitting in a chair with her slumbering babe in

her arms, and before her stood, with weeping eyes, an old Franciscan

monk belonging to the city convent, upon whom she stared with wondering

and uncertain glances.

'Calm yourself, dear lady,' said the old man in a friendly tone. 'The

cowl I wear may be doubly hateful to you in this heavy hour; but it

covers a heart that feels kindly and truly for you. I have heard of

your sufferings and have come to bring you succor. I have not forgotten

the kind attention and care I received in your house when, six years

ago, I came here from Breslau as a mendicant lay brother, and fell

fainting before your door. There were indeed hard-hearted Lutherans who

chid you for your charity and said you ought not to trouble yourself

about the beggarly papist priest,--but you answered that it was your

christian duty to succor a fellow christian. That was a noble

sentiment, and has ever since remained engraved upon my heart, and I

have daily offered up my prayers that God would bless you for it

through time and eternity. It is true that by some of my brethren this

prayer for a heretic has been considered sinful; but I have answered

them, '_Solum de salute Diaboli desperandum_,' and that it may please

the Lord in his mercy to bring this good woman one day, if even upon

her death bed, into the embrace of the only saving church.'

'May God reward your love, my good father,' said Katharine with a

feeble utterance. 'A kindly human heart is always deserving of respect

and esteem, even though it wander in error.'

'I came not,' answered the monk, 'to hold a controversial discussion

with you. My only wish is to warn you of what must necessarily and

absolutely be done, if you would save your mortal body, to say nothing

of your immortal soul. You must know that it is the irrevocable

determination of the emperor that all the protestants in his hereditary

dominions shall return to the true faith, and for that sole purpose has

he sent his troops to this city. It is true that these soldiers conduct

themselves here in a manner which no true catholic can justify, and

should one of these so called _converters_ stray into my confessional,

he would have a hard time of it. But so it is, and I, a poor feeble

monk, have no power to avert the evil. The Jesuits, who hold the

emperor's heart in their hands, might and should have prevented it; but

they have kindled the fire and poured oil thereon. Wherefore I say,

yield to the times, for they are dangerous. Without a certificate of

confession your tormentor will not leave you--he dares not, even if he

would. I bring you the necessary certificate. The urgency of the moment

will not permit a formal confession, and you therefore need only

subscribe to these articles. You can send your certificate to count

Dohna, and receive in exchange for it one from him, which will relieve

you from the presence of these soldiers.'

'Excuse me!' cried Katharine. 'In the faith in which I have lived, will

I also die. I cannot subscribe.'

'How now, so good and yet so stubborn!' exclaimed the reverend father.

'At least read what you are required to subscribe, before you refuse.

After reading it, you can subscribe or not, according to the dictates

of your own judgment. These sacred truths must, I should think, be

capable of striking the pure springs of true knowledge from the hardest

heart.'

Katharine ran her eyes rapidly over the articles. As she came towards

the close, she read aloud. 'I swear, that through the intercession of

the saints I have now become converted to the catholic religion.'

'Place your hand upon your heart, reverend father,' cried she,

springing up, incensed, 'and then say upon your sacred sacerdotal oath,

shall I not be guilty of perjury, if I swear that what I do out of fear

of an earthly power, is done through the spiritual effect of the

intercession of the saints?'

The monk silently folded up the paper.

'You see there can be no help for me,' said Katharine with humble

resignation. 'Leave me, therefore, to my fate, and take with you my

heartfelt thanks for your good intentions.'

'You are a very obstinate woman!' said the monk, with evident and deep

sympathy. The longer his eyes rested upon her pale, pious and suffering

face, the more his sympathy increased, until at length, amid a flood of

gushing tears, he cried, 'I know that I commit a deadly sin, but I

cannot do otherwise. Take the certificate, which alone can put an end

to your sufferings.'

'How! without confession or signature?' asked Katharine with

astonishment.

'I have given to my God the offering of a long life,' cried the old man

with vehemence, 'full of heavy privations and hard struggles. He will

now, therefore, be a merciful judge to me, and after long and severe

penance will pardon me for once lending the aid of my holy office for

the purpose of deception. Yet, should I even incur his everlasting

anger, I cannot do otherwise. I cannot leave my benefactress to be

persecuted to death, even though I may one day be compelled to enter

the dark valley of the shadow of death, without absolution. Take the

certificate.'

'God forbid!' said Katharine, tearing it in pieces, 'that I should rob

you of your soul's peace and disturb the tranquillity of your dying

hour. Nor would my own conscience permit me to accept your offer. Every

use which I should make of this paper would be an act of apostacy from

my own faith; if a hypocritical use, so much the worse. 'Be not

deceived, God is not mocked.''

'Woman, thou art more righteous than we!' cried the monk, with deep

emotion; and, covering his head with his cowl, he departed, weeping

audibly.

CHAPTER XI.

The infant was still slumbering upon Katharine's bosom. The door was

again thrown open and the captain entered, this time without

attendants, bolting the door after him.

'The hour is past,' said he with a demoniac smile. 'Have you a

certificate?'

'No,' answered she, and at that moment the child in her arms awoke and

cried for its nourishment. 'Poor thing,' said she, bearing it towards

an alcove.

'Where are you going?' asked the captain, seizing her arm as though he

would crush it in his ferocious grasp.

'To nurse my child,' answered Katharine. 'You cannot wish that I should

do it in the presence of a stranger!'

'You shall not nurse your child!' cried the captain, forcing it from

her arms. 'It shall not imbibe heresy with its mother's milk.'

'What would you with my child, horrible man?' shrieked Katharine,

rushing upon him.

'There it shall lie,' said he, putting it upon the floor.

The poor infant uttered the most lamentable shrieks.

'For God's sake, let me go to my child!' exclaimed Katharine. 'It is

dying.'

'In that case I shall have saved a soul to heaven,' answered the

captain.

'You cannot be a man!' cried the miserable mother. 'You must be satan

disguised in the human form.' Convulsive spasms seized her. Her eyes

closed, her lips became blue, and her senses fled.

Some one knocked loudly at the door. 'Are you here, Frau Katharine?'

asked a voice which the captain recognized with terror.

'Back!' cried the sentinel without. 'The captain is with the lady.'

'The captain! and she answers not, and the child is screaming!'

exclaimed the same voice, with wild alarm,--and powerful blows

thundered upon the door.

'Back!' again cried the sentinel, and immediately afterwards, with the

exclamation, 'Jesus Maria!' a heavy fall was heard near the door, which

now flew in fragments. Dorn rushed into the room over the body of the

wounded sentinel, who lay groaning upon the floor, with a drawn sword

in his hand. The captain sprang to meet the intruder, but shrunk back,

pale and trembling, the moment he recognized him.

'Cut him down from behind!' cried he to his soldiers who now came

rushing into the room.

'Down to hell!' thundered Dorn, thrusting the captain through the body.

With a frightful death-cry he fell to the earth, and Dorn threw down

his bloody weapon, 'I am your prisoner,' said he, with imposing

dignity, to the soldiers, and took the child from the floor. 'Call the

maidens to take care of the mother and infant, and then lead me to your

colonel, to whom I have something of importance to say.'

Hardly knowing what they were about, the astonished and confounded

soldiers obeyed the bold youth. With loud cries the maidens rushed in

to assist their adored mistress and quiet the screaming infant. Dorn

impressed a last kiss upon the hand of the insensible Katharine, and

then in a commanding tone he cried to the soldiers, 'now forward!'

leading them off with a step as proud and as confident as if he were

marching to battle and victory.

CHAPTER XII.

The generalissimo of the converters, count Karl Hannibal von Dohna,

with the governor, baron von Bibran, the Jesuit, Lamormaine, and some

field officers, were sitting at a table, in the quarters of colonel von

Goes. A large pile of ready prepared tickets, for quarters, were lying

upon the table, among flasks and goblets, and the gloves and swords of

the officers. A crucifix, kept upon the table for momentary use, seemed

to look sorrowfully upon the horrors which were here perpetrated under

its sanction. At the door stood colonel von Goes, to whom a deputation

of the inhabitants of the suburbs were complaining with trembling

humility, that his quarter-master had exempted each householder among

them, for the sum of two dollars each, from having troops quartered in

their houses, and now he had compelled them to receive two squadrons,

who were allowed to oppress them with every species of cruelty.

'If the quarter-master has deceived you,' answered the colonel, 'he

will not escape due punishment; but you must submit to the quartering

until you return to the only true church; for on no other condition can

you be relieved.'

The poor denizens departed with heavy hearts. 'Inquire into this

villany,' said the colonel to a subaltern officer, 'and if you detect a

rogue, let him be arrested and reported.'

The officer went in obedience to the command. The colonel seated

himself with the others, drained a goblet, and striking his fist upon

the table, exclaimed, 'a curse upon this whole expedition!'

'Jesus Maria!' cried Bibran and Lamormaine, crossing themselves, while

Dohna earnestly inquired why he uttered such an imprecation.

'Because so much baseness, sir count,' fiercely answered Goes, 'mingles

with the performance of our great and holy duty. Our people plainly

show, that they are more anxious about the gold than the souls of the

heretics. Every thief in the regiment will become a rich man in

Schweidnitz. In the end it will become a disgrace to be called a

Lichtensteiner, and I have a hundred times regretted, that in my pious

zeal I opened a path for the entrance of these vagabonds into the poor

city.'

'It could be wished,' interposed father Lamormaine, in a conciliatory

manner, 'that the business had been undertaken in a less public and

violent manner, and I have heretofore expressed the same opinion to the

count. This open and public assault upon these heretics will serve as a

warning to the others, and enable them to rally in their own defence.

By rallying their forces they will learn their strength; their courage

and obstinacy will increase, all who suffer for their erroneous belief

will be considered martyrs, and in the end they will make many

converts. We should have operated cautiously and quietly; commencing

with them softly, we should have increased the pressure by slow

degrees, and should have thus avoided every open scandal. A constant

dropping will wear a stone, and I am confident that we could easily and

quietly have converted all Silesia in the course of a year.'

'Yes, that is the way with you gentlemen with shaven crowns,' cried the

count with a savage laugh. 'You step very softly by nature, but when

you have an object to attain, you also bind _felt_ upon the soles of

your shoes. Not so with me. My motto is, 'bend or break,--and so far I

have found it a very good one. I can boast of having accomplished more

than the apostle Peter. He indeed, upon one occasion, converted three

thousand souls by preaching a sermon: but I have many times converted a

greater number in a day, and that too without preaching. One year for

Silesia! Give me soldiers enough, and I will convert all Europe for you

in a year, by my method.'

'What sort of a conversion would it be?' asked Lamormaine, shrugging

his shoulders. At that moment Dohna's adjutant entered the room.

'The rich Heinze,' whispered he to his chief, 'will make a present to

you of that costly writing table, if you will allow him the quiet

enjoyment of his faith. You know the splendid article, the one for

which the duke of Leignitz offered him four thousand dollars. It is

below.

'I will be with him directly,' cried Dohna, and taking a blank license

from the table, he hastened out.

Meantime a tumult out of doors had attracted the whole company to the

windows. 'Do you know the cause of this disturbance?' asked Goes of the

adjutant.

'A merchant's clerk has killed captain Hurka in his quarters,' answered

the latter. 'The guard are bringing him here.'

'That Hurka must have learnt the art of tormenting from satan himself,'

growled the colonel. 'What was the provocation?'

'They say,' answered the adjutant, 'that, in order to compel his

hostess to procure a certificate of confession, the captain tore her

infant from her breast, and threw it upon the floor.'

This announcement caused a universal and simultaneous shudder among

those present, despite the triple mail of pride and intolerance which

encased their hearts, and Lamormaine discontentedly remarked, 'that is

the way to _make_ heretics, not to convert them.'

'This is a case in which mercy, rather than severe justice, should

prevail,' remarked the strong-believing Bibran. 'The captain's conduct

was too horribly severe, and must lead to greater evils.'

'Let the murderer be led hither,' said Goes. 'I will examine him.'

The adjutant retired, and soon returned with Dorn in chains and

surrounded by guards.

As Goes glanced towards him, he started back with fright, exclaiming,

'my God, what a terrible resemblance!'

Calm and collected, the young man stood there, with his eyes stedfastly

fixed upon the colonel.

With, much effort the latter recovered his equanimity, and now asked,

'know you what sentence the laws pronounce upon the assassin of one of

the emperor's officers?'

'I have committed no murder,' resolutely replied Dorn. 'I have only

punished, in the presence of his soldiers, a villain who abused his

power, and trod under foot the holiest laws of nature.'

'That voice, too!' said the colonel to himself, then turning to Dorn,

'self-avenging is not to be justified. Your act is treasonable, and no

evasion can save your forfeited life.'

'Well, then, pronounce sentence upon your son!' cried Dorn, with a

sorrow which he could no longer control.

'Son!' exclaimed all present with the utmost astonishment, and the

horror-stricken Goes fell back into a chair, sighing, 'it is, indeed,

my son!'

The son beheld his father with deep emotion, and his tears freely

flowed at the sight of the old man's grief. At length, falling upon his

knee, he stretched forth his hands and said, 'I am sensible that

according to your laws my life is forfeited; therefore give me your

blessing, and then quickly pronounce the sentence that shall bring

peace to this troubled heart.'

'Oswald, Oswald!' cried Goes, 'what a terrible meeting, after ten years

of separation! Wretched youth! why did you flee from your father's

house?'

'The conflicting opinions which now lacerate Germany,' answered the

youth, 'placed a dreadful gulf between you and me. The idea of

constraining the consciences of men by means of the sword was revolting

to me, and, unable to approve or participate in your acts, and

shuddering at your sectarian zeal, I left you, that no unnatural

contest might arise between father and son.'

'Where have you been until now?' asked the colonel with an anxiety

which indicated that he feared to hear the worst.

'In the military service of Denmark,' answered Oswald, 'until two years

ago I found here in Schweidnitz, in the seclusion of humble life, the

peace and quiet which I sought.'

'In the Danish service!' murmured the colonel; 'fighting for heresy

against the mother church!'

His grief overpowered him. At length he roused himself by a powerful

effort from the whirlpool of conflicting feelings into which he had

sunk. 'What could prompt you,' he asked his son in a tone of firmness

and severity, 'to the senseless deed of murdering an imperial officer

in a city under the control of his brethren in arms?'

'Eternal ignomy to the man,' cried Oswald, 'who would see an honorable

woman, a tender mother, a fellow believer, outraged and insulted by a

brutal villain, on account of her faith, and not strike down the

monster, reckless of consequences, as did Peter when his Lord was

assailed!'

'A fellow believer?' cried Goes with terror. 'Hast thou then become a

heretic?'

'I hesitate not,' said the youth with modest resolution, 'to avow

myself a believer in the pure faith of Zuinglius.'

'He cuts me to the heart,' groaned the colonel. Then, summoning

resolution, he turned to Dorn and said, 'I hope you have now perceived

and are ready to recant your errors. That is the only way to save your

life.'

'Would you have me deny what I believe to be true, through a

pusillanimous fear of death? Is it possible you can have so poor an

opinion of your son?'

The rage of the proselyting chief, which had been hitherto with

difficulty restrained, now broke through all bounds. He caught the

crucifix from the table, unsheathed his sword, and holding them both

before his son, exclaimed, 'better to be childless than have a heretic

for a son! Choose instantly. Abjure your false belief, or die by my

hands!'

'You gave me life, my father,' said Oswald; and you can also take it

from me. I remain stedfast in the truth. Therefore end quickly with me,

in God's name.'

'God of Abraham strengthen me! cried the father, looking wildly towards

heaven and raising his weapon; but Bibran and Lamormaine caught his

arm.

'God does not require a father to sacrifice his son,' said the

governor.

'Would you give the heretics cause to curse our holy faith through your

senseless fury?' cried the Jesuit to him, in a tone of reprehension.

'Take him to prison!' commanded Dohna, who had returned to the room.

'He may there consider until morning, whether he will or will not

abjure his heresy.' Should he continue obstinate, I will then permit

justice to take its course upon the murderer of my officer.'

'God grant thee his light and peace, my poor father! Then shall we

again meet above!' cried Oswald with filial tenderness to the colonel,

who, exhausted by excess of anger, stared wildly about him as if bereft

of consciousness, and finally rushed from the room without speaking.

CHAPTER XIII.

Overcome by sorrow for his father's anger, and racked with anxiety for

the fate of his beloved Faith, whom he could protect no longer, Oswald

sat in the criminal's apartment of the guard-house, looking listlessly

through his grated window upon the snow-covered market-place. It was a

cold still night, and the stars shone through the clear atmosphere with

unusual brilliancy. The persecutors and the afflicted were finally at

peace, and had forgotten their insolence and their sufferings in the

embraces of sleep. The clocks of the church towers struck the midnight

hour. The guard was aroused for the purpose of relieving the sentinels

on post, and the rattling of arms resounded through the guard-house.

The noise, however, soon subsiding, quiet again prevailed, and Oswald,

to whom the confused and restless working of his mind had become almost

insupportable, laid his weary head upon the table and tried to sleep.

Just then the bolts were drawn and his door was softly opened. A

corporal of the Lichtensteins, with a dark lantern, and accompanied by

two soldiers, entered the prison. Releasing the prisoner from his

chains, he commanded him, 'follow me to the count!'

'Am I already sentenced?' asked Oswald, with bitterness. 'Am I to be

executed secretly, under the veil of night? It is a sad confession that

your deeds will not bear the light of day!'

'Silence!' said the corporal, motioning him to follow.

'God help me!' cried Oswald, throwing his mantle over his shoulders and

advancing.

The whole guard were snoring upon their benches, the officer was in his

well warmed little room slumbering amidst his wine flasks, and even the

sentinel without, leaned nodding upon his halberd. He was roused,

however, by the approaching foot-steps, and presenting his halberd to

the corporal he cried, 'who goes there?'

'A good friend!' boldly answered the corporal, whispering the

countersign. 'We are commanded to bring the prisoner to the general.'

'Pass!' said the sentinel, shouldering his arms.

CHAPTER XIV.

The four hastened forth together. A sharp wind whistled over the

market, while a raven, scared by the wanderers, arose with loud

croakings from its snowy bed and with its heavy flapping wings slowly

moved away. The shivering youth wrapped his mantle more closely about

him and followed the corporal without troubling himself respecting the

soldiers; these last soon fell into the rear, and, dexterously turning

into another street, disappeared.

'Here we are,' said the corporal, suddenly turning to Oswald. The

latter, startled from his death-dream, looked wildly about him. He was

standing among the graves in a parish churchyard.

'Is this indeed to be my last resting place?' he asked, throwing off

his mantle. 'Only direct me where to kneel, and be sure you take good

aim.'

'Kneel, indeed, you must, my worthy youngster,' cried the corporal,

with joyful emotion, and thank God for your rescue, as soon as you are

in safety; but with the death shot we have now nothing to do. You are

free.'

'Free!' cried Oswald, now for the first time missing the two soldiers.

'Have you really forgotten your old friend Florian?' asked the

corporal, throwing the light of the lantern upon his face, of which

Oswald soon recognized the well known lineaments.

'Thou true friend!' cried Oswald, embracing the good old man with

grateful affection. 'Thou, who once so carefully guarded the boy

against the trifling dangers of youth, wouldst thou now save the life

of the man! I dare not accept the freedom you offer me,' he

thoughtfully added. 'According to martial law you forfeit your life by

this act. Rather than expose you to such consequences, I would prefer

to resume my chains.'

'Do not trouble yourself,' answered the corporal. 'The two soldiers who

accompanied me are secretly Lutherans, and had previously determined to

desert this night. Your father supposes I am already gone. I have my

discharge in my pocket. Although I am a good catholic christian, I

cannot bring myself to approve of his method of making people blessed,

and prefer quitting the service before I have wholly unlearned to be a

man. As soon as the gates open in the morning I shall leave this

wretched city for my peaceful home. If you are willing to accompany me,

I will provide you with other clothes and pass you off as my son.'

'No, my old friend,' said Oswald. 'I am bound to these walls by strong

ties. They enclose what is dearest to me on earth; and I must remain

here to watch over and protect, until I succeed in rescuing her, or

fall in the attempt.'

'Of course you will act your pleasure,' said the corporal. 'Besides,

they will not seek for you very earnestly, for captain Hurka is by no

means dead.'

'How, Hurka living?' asked Oswald with mingled regret and joy.

'It is harder to root out weeds than wholesome plants,' said the old

man. 'Your blow was right well intended, but did not penetrate very

deeply, and the long swoon which they mistook for death was only

stupefaction.'

'Ha, how furiously will the fiend rage again!' cried Oswald with

anxiety and indignation.

'Make yourself easy upon that score!' said the old man consolingly. 'He

is now disabled by his wound, and your father has caused a lecture to

be read to him, that may well satisfy him for the present. Besides, the

merchant Fessel has been released from his imprisonment, together with

his children.'

'How stands it with his wife?' asked Oswald.

'Indeed, she is to be buried the day after tomorrow,' slowly answered

the old man.

'Eternal God!' shrieked Oswald in the wildest sorrow. 'Vice saved and

virtue in the grave, and shall we yet believe in thy providence?'

'Yes, my son, we must!' said the old man, reprovingly. 'We must believe

in the Father's guiding hand, not merely in the sunshine before the

gathered sheaves, but also in the tempest which scatters the harvest.

Else have we not the true faith. Treasure up this sentiment, even

though it comes from the lips of an unlettered catholic. It has been a

friendly light to me upon life's weary road, and will continue to cheer

me onward to the grave. Now farewell. The morning wind already blows

across the graves, and I have yet many preparations to make for my

journey. Farewell, and remember me kindly. Should I never see you again

upon earth, God grant that we may hereafter meet where the true

Shepherd shall gather all his lambs, even those who have here strayed

from the flock, into one fold.'

He once more shook the youth most cordially by the hand, and then with

hasty and vigorous strides left the church-yard.

CHAPTER XV.

The day appointed for madam Fessel's interment was drawing to a close.

A crowd of people had assembled in the parish church-yard, with weeping

eyes and pallid faces, awaiting in gloomy silence the arrival of the

funeral procession. Two grave-diggers stood leaning upon their spades

beside the open grave.

The procession came. 'Now for God's sake summon resolution,' said a

young Franciscan monk, whose face was almost wholly covered by his

cowl, to an elderly rustic woman and a beautiful young peasant boy,

whose eyes were almost blinded by their tears, pressing forward with

them to a grassy hillock in the vicinity of the grave. A Lichtensteiner

who had found himself in the crowd, surprised at the exclamation,

placed himself near them and continued to watch their movements

narrowly.

The mournful hymn of the choristers was now heard approaching. High

waved the crucifix upon the church yard gate, shining silvery bright

through the evening twilight, and the choristers in double ranks drew

slowly toward the grave. After them came the Lutheran preachers, with

their heads cast down. Next came the black coffin upon the shoulders of

the bearers; upon its appearance the whole assembly broke into loud

sobs, and notwithstanding all the efforts of the monk to restrain them,

the peasant woman and young man upon the hillock wrung their hands with

irrepressible sorrow. After the coffin, came the weeping clerks,

apprentices, and household servants. Then followed the bereaved

husband, pale and tearless. With each hand he led one of his little

daughters, who again each led a brother. To them succeeded, a nursery

maid, bearing the little Johannes with his blooming angel face, who

smiled upon the crowd and by his happy unconsciousness stirred the

hearts of the people even more than the sight of the father and

sisters, who followed their best beloved to the grave with a full

knowledge of their irreparable loss.

An immeasurable line of neighbors and friends closed the procession,

whose tears and sighs, an ample testimony of the worth of the deceased,

solemnized the burial instead of tolling bells and funereal music,

which the rigor of the new church government denied to heretics.

The corpse had now reached the grave. The bearers sat it down and

removed the lid of the coffin, and a loud lament filled the air at the

sight of the martyr. The kiss of the angel of death had removed all

traces of her late sufferings from her countenance. With softly closed

eyes, and a heavenly smile upon her lips, she lay, as if awaiting that

blessed morning whose aurora seemed already dawning upon her spiritual

vision.

With outward composure the widower approached the coffin, clasped the

folded hands of the pale corpse, murmured, 'Farewell, thou true one;

soon shall we meet again,'--and silently retired.

The weeping children now rushed forward, but the clergyman, Beer,

directed the servants to lead them back. He then stepped to the coffin,

requested the audience to be silent, and with a loud voice addressed

them as follows:

''Father forgive them, for they know not what they do!' These words of

Christ, with which he prayed for his persecutors, were the last words I

heard from the blessed being whose earthly remains we are now about to

consign to the grave. My anger was inflamed by the atrocities which

were daily committed in our city under the mantle of religion, and I

prayed that the avenging fire of God's wrath might descend and consume

our tormentors. This deceased saint checked my imprecation by calling

to my mind the divine prayer of our holy Savior, and with a chastened

and humble spirit I repeated after her: 'Father forgive them, for they

know not what they do.'

'And so must you henceforth pray, my hearers. Of the men who now by

divine permission pursue and persecute us, by far the greater number

are acting not from inveterate cruelty but under the influence of a

mistaken sense of religious duty, and desire to lead us back to that

path which they deem the only safe one; and this desire is not

censurable.

'But that they seek, by means of persecution and torture, to compel us

to receive what they hold to be the true faith,--that they would bind

the immortal spirit with earthly chains, when the word of God cannot be

bound or confined,--therein lies their error. It therefore becomes us

as christians to forgive them; 'they know not what they do.'

'Even that terrible man whose barbarity has destroyed this blessed

martyr to our faith, knew not, as we charitably hope, what he did,--and

therefore will we not curse him, but pray to God that he will purify

his heart and enlighten his mind.

'Therefore let us patiently suffer the afflictions which the Lord may

yet send us for our good, without hatred towards the instruments he may

employ for that purpose, and thus seek to become worthy of the glorious

martyrs to the pure Christianity of the first ages, and of this our

blessed friend. Should He require us also to lay down our lives for our

faith, so will we without anger or opposition bow our necks to the

death-dealing axe, and die with the departing exclamation of our

Savior, 'it is fulfilled!--Amen.''

He retired. The lid of the coffin was fastened down, and it was then

lowered into the earth.

In accordance with a pious old custom, the husband and orphans each

cast three handsful of earth into the grave, as a last farewell, and

the bereaved man then retired, tearless as he had come, while the

children found relief for their sorrow in audible weeping.

All the spectators now-pressed about the grave to pay the last honors

to the dear departed, and from hundreds of hands fell the earth upon

the coffin below. The young Franciscan also, by great exertion made a

path for himself to the grave; having thrown in his handful of earth,

he hastily caught hold of his companions, and exclaiming, 'now forward,

the moments are precious!' led them away.

'Why should the moments be so precious to this monk?' mused the

observant Lichtensteiner; and then, after a moment's reflection, he

suddenly cried, 'the captain may be able to explain it!'--and ran from

the church-yard.

CHAPTER XVI.

In a low chamber in the little village of Friedland, eight days later,

lay the aged Mrs. Rosen on the sick bed upon which the effects of her

long confinement in the cellar, the extraordinary exertions consequent

upon her sudden flight, and more than all, her sorrow for the loss of

her beloved daughter, had thrown her. The owner of the house, a

weaver's widow, who had formerly been a servant to her, and who had

been indebted to her liberality for her comfortable establishment,

stood at the head of her bed with a phial and spoon in her hand, and

with a countenance expressive of the tenderest sympathy. Before the bed

sat Oswald and the weeping Faith.

'Compose yourself, my daughter,' said the matron. 'I shall surely

recover from this illness. Alas, one may suffer much before the thread

of life will break! I feel much better to-day than I did yesterday, and

I hope not to be the cause of anxiety much longer.'

'God grant it!' sobbed Faith, sinking upon her knees before the bed,

and covering her dear mother's hand with her kisses and tears.

At that moment Jonas, the widow's son, entered the cottage with his hat

and traveling staff, gave them a melancholy and silent greeting, and

began to unpack his bundle.

'So soon returned from Schweidnitz?' asked Oswald. 'What is the state

of affairs there?'

'Still very bad, sir,' answered Jonas. 'The soldiers abuse and oppress

the people in a manner that might soften a heart of stone; and you may

consider it fortunate that you are here.'

'Did you succeed in speaking to my brother-in-law, my good friend?'

anxiously asked Faith.

'I saw him last evening, and told and gave him all. He keeps about with

difficulty, to save his household from entire ruin. He gave me this

letter and this bag of gold for you, and sends kind greetings to you

all.'

Oswald took the letter, broke the seal and read:

'The persecution still rages, and I thank heaven that you are for the

present in a place of safety. Immediately after the funeral of my dear

Katharine, the clergymen were all compelled to leave the city. In the

course of the night my house underwent a strict search, and even the

vault in which you were so long concealed did not escape. The captain

has already nearly recovered, and left his bed to-day for the first

time, to wait upon the colonel. The latter, as I understand, gave him a

very unpleasant reception. They afterwards conferred together for two

hours, with closed doors. What was there agreed upon God only knows;

but when the captain returned, I was standing in front of my shop, and

he greeted me in a manner so terribly courteous that it made me

shudder. I have just heard that a squadron of dragoons have orders to

be ready for a movement to-morrow morning at day-break; but their

destination is kept secret. God be merciful to the poor people upon

whom they may fall. I send you what I can spare, and beg that you will

not again write or send any message to me until I make known to you

that you can do so with safety. My guests keep a sharp watch upon me,

and I am very anxious about your last letter, which I mislaid in

consequence of one of the soldiers having interrupted me while reading

it. I yet hope to find it again. God preserve you and me!'

A death-like stillness prevailed in the room at the conclusion of the

reading, and no one ventured to express the renewed apprehensions which

the letter had inspired.

'This is a discouraging letter,' at length observed Oswald,

interrupting the general silence; 'and I begin to fear we are not

entirely safe even here. Would that we had fled to Breslau, as I

advised! The capital of the province, which is at the same time the

seat of government of the principality, will surely be spared the

longest.'

He was interrupted by a disturbance out of doors very unusual for that

quiet and retired village. People were running to and fro and calling

to each other in the Streets, and Oswald, alarmed, sprang for his sword

which lay in the recess of the window.

'Go out and see what is the cause of this disturbance,' said he to

Jonas, and bring us word as soon as possible.'

Jonas obeyed, and his mother observed, 'something very dreadful must

have happened; for the people are running and screaming, as if a fire

had broken out or an enemy were at the gates.'

'Protect us, Oswald,' begged Faith, leaning tremblingly upon the youth.

'While I live!' answered he, grasping his sword.

'Save yourselves--the converters are coming!' cried Jonas, rushing into

the room.

'It must be a false alarm,' cried Oswald. 'You must be mistaken.'

'I was told so by a farmer who has just returned from Waldenburg. He

was about to leave that city, when a squadron of the Lichtenstein

dragoons entered it. They dismounted for breakfast, and he had it from

the mouth of one of the soldiers that this village was their place of

destination. Whereupon he immediately left the city and drove home as

fast as possible to give the alarm.'

'Then we must have at least an hour's start of them,' said Oswald; and

turning to madam Rosen, 'if you feel able to travel, I will immediately

provide a conveyance to Bohemia.'

'No, my son,' said the matron, with a melancholy smile. 'For this time

I must remain here and await the providence of God. I should only

hinder you in your flight, and you would at last have only a corpse to

convey across the border.'

'I stir not from your side!' sobbed the tender Faith, clasping her

mother with anxious affection.

'That would be folly, my child,' said the mother, earnestly, 'and a

very childish demonstration of your love. You and your betrothed are

the objects of the search of our persecutors. They would have little

desire to encumber themselves with me. I have wandered here as a

peasant woman, and our hostess can give them to understand, that I am a

yarn gatherer suddenly taken ill at her house. Your charms, and

Oswald's stately figure render it impossible for you to be concealed in

the same way, and therefore you must instantly forth.'

'Never!' cried Faith, wringing her hands.

'It is my will,' said the mother, with decision. 'Will you, my

daughter, increase the sorrows of your sick mother by disobedience, and

betray by your presence what otherwise may remain undiscovered? Would

you see your lover fall before your eyes, unable to defend you against

superior force?'

'I obey,' sighed Faith; and she hastened to pack a small bundle and put

on her cloak.

'By the holy faith which we profess in common,' said the hostess, 'you

leave your mother in good hands.'

'I am sure of that, and consequently depart with confidence,' said

Oswald, leading the inconsolable maiden to her mother's bed-side.

With bright eyes the mother placed her daughter's hand in that of

Oswald. 'Be ye one, here and hereafter!' cried she. 'That is my

blessing upon your espousals; and now let me beg of you to go directly,

without any leave-taking, for which I have not strength, and which will

rob you of time, every moment of which is invaluable.'

Faith attempted to speak again, but her mother pointed towards the

door, and Oswald led her forth.

CHAPTER XVII.

Daylight had long since disappeared when Oswald and Faith alighted from

their wagon at a solitary inn beyond the Bohemian boundary. 'Here you

are for the present in safety,' said the conductor who had brought them

from Friedland, knocking at the door. 'The people of the house are

honest, and of our faith at heart. The vicinity is full of secret

Hussites.'

'Who comes so late?' asked a little, dark-complexioned old woman,

opening the door with her hand held before a flickering torch.

'A young wedded pair, mother Thekla,' answered the conductor, 'who are

fleeing before the converters. Receive them kindly and take good care

of them. God will reward you for it.'

'It is but our duty,' said the woman. 'Come in, poor creatures.'

'Farewell,' said the conductor to Oswald. 'I intend to return directly;

for my wife and children may not be safely left without a protector

among the reckless soldiery.'

'And, that you have brought me here--' said Oswald, forcing into his

hand a couple of dollars over and above the fee agreed upon....

'I have already forgotten it,' said the conductor, laughing. 'Besides,

when I get into the forest, I intend to load my wagon with wood, which

I shall gaily drag into Friedland early in the morning, and nobody will

think of asking me what freight I took thence. May God protect you!'

He mounted his wagon and drove rapidly away, while Oswald led his

companion into the bar-room. To their great satisfaction it was

tolerably empty. Only in one corner of the room snored three men and

four large hounds on some straw, and at a table near the gray-headed

host, with a goblet before him, sat a large strongly built man in the

dress of a Bohemian peasant. Oswald observed the sabre which the guest

bore, and the large knife in his girdle, with some suspicion; but the

honest lineaments and saddened expression of his brown, haggard face,

again inspired him with confidence. He courteously seated himself at

the table and called for a glass of wine, while Faith was arranging

with the hostess for a supper and accommodations for the night.

'You are in flight on account of your faith, as I hear, my dear sir?'

asked the stranger in a voice of the deepest bass, and at the same time

glancing at him mistrustfully with his wild, black eyes.

'The time and weather would have been badly chosen for a journey of

pleasure,' peevishly answered Dorn.

'You must surely have come from Jauer, or Loewenberg, or Schweidnitz?'

further asked the man; 'for they are very strenuously pushing the

counter-reformation in those places just now. 'You are by far too

curious!' cried Oswald, with displeasure. 'I do not willingly listen to

such questions from strangers.'

'It is the business of my office to ask questions, my young gentleman,'

thundered the stranger; 'for I am a captain of Bohemian provincial

troops, and am stationed here upon the border to guard against the

influx of Silesian heretics.'

While he said this, the four hounds sprang up and placed themselves

growling before Oswald, and the three men half raised their bodies from

the straw, their flashing eyes peering from their dark brown faces, and

their well scoured muskets glistening in their hands. Oswald instantly

arose and drew his sword.

'Put up your weapon!' the man now cried in an altered tone, seizing his

goblet. 'I but wished to be certain of my man. Come, be again quietly

seated, and do me justice in a fresh goblet. The Bohemian goose and

Silesian swan!'

'Huss and Luther!' cried Oswald touching glasses and emptying his own

with a lighter heart, while the hounds and soldiers again stretched

themselves upon the straw.

'Do not be offended that I thought it necessary to prove you,' said the

Bohemian; 'but the tricks and artifices of the papists are so manifold,

that these precautions are rendered quite necessary. You might have

been a spy of the Jesuits. Since we now understand each other, however,

I may converse with you without reserve. You are not safe even here.

For my old friend, our host, I will indeed be answerable; but the

converters sometimes come over the border to us; especially when they

deem that they have important game in view; and you appear to me as

though you might be of some consequence. Therefore, if it be agreeable,

I will conduct you and your little wife to a place, where you may dwell

in peace behind the everlasting walls which the Lord himself has built

for the defence of persecuted innocents.'

'There is no falsehood in that face!' answered Oswald; 'and I accept

your offer with gratitude.'

'You will not indeed find our residence very elegant,' said the

Bohemian; 'and that delicate female form may be wholly unaccustomed to

such quarters; but necessity reconciles one to privations, and a very

little suffices for our actual necessities.'

'Be not concerned on that account,' said Faith, who had now seated

herself near Oswald. 'A safe shelter is all we wish.'

'Well, eat your supper,' said the Bohemian, 'and retire quickly to

rest, that you may be ready to start by day-break in the morning. I

have been long accustomed to watch through the night, and will guard

you faithfully. With the rising sun we shall be among the rocks.'

CHAPTER XVIII.

Wrapped in his cloak, Oswald was yet sweetly and soundly sleeping upon

the floor, before the only bed in the house, in which his fair

companion was slumbering. A knock was heard at the door, and the

Bohemian cried, 'bestir yourself, sir. The morning breaks, and we must

away!' The youth sprang upon his feet and awoke the maiden with a kiss.

Soon ready to set out, they took a grateful leave of their worthy hosts

and stepped to the door. Every object was obscured by a thick morning

mist; and the sun, like a large red ball of fearful size, was just

rising in the east.

'Let us wait a little, until the sun has dissipated the mist,' said the

Bohemian, 'lest the lady should hurt her feet among the rocks.'

They stood a short time, waiting and shivering in the morning wind.

Oswald had thrown his cloak over Faith, and held her closely clasped to

keep her warm. The mist moved before them like a waving ocean, and

apparently resolved itself into numerous dark clouds, which settled

down upon the earth, and seemed to root themselves there. Meanwhile the

sun had mounted higher, the waving of the ocean of mist increased, and

suddenly there came a powerful gust of wind which rent and pressed down

the immense cloud-curtain, when a scene as singular as it was

magnificent, lay before Oswald's astonished eyes. The dark clouds that

had appeared to sink down upon the earth, had changed to huge masses of

gray rocks, which, rising up into the blue ether like countless

palaces, churches and high towers, assumed the appearance of a gigantic

city. Softly rounded snow-domes, crimsoned by the rays of the morning

sun and glistening with thousands of diamonds, adorned the summits of

these natural edifices, and the undying verdure of the pines and firs

which arose here and there from the clefts of the rocks, gave a

cheerful aspect to the view.

'Great is the Lord, when seen in his works!' cried the enraptured

Oswald, withdrawing his mantle from Faith, to enable her to enjoy the

spectacle.

Opening her large and beautiful eyes, she stood awhile as if blinded.

'How came this strange and wonderful city here?' asked she with

astonishment 'Is it indeed a city?'

'Certainly,' answered the Bohemian, laughing. 'We call it the stone

city, and divide it into city and suburbs. It is here, however,

properly called the rocks of Aldersbach.'

'Are we to go in among those rocks?' anxiously asked Faith, clasping

her Oswald more closely.

'There is no other way, my child,' answered the latter. 'Be not

alarmed--you see that I am not disturbed, which I should be, if I

anticipated any danger to you.'

'Ah, you iron-nerved men never anticipate danger until it is close at

hand,' said the maiden; 'and then it is too late to avoid it.'

'Go on in advance, Lotek,' said the Bohemian to one of his companions.

'Beat the path a little where the snow lies too deep; announce to the

worthy pastor that I bring him guests, and kindle a good fire in my

quarters, that the lady may be rendered comfortable on her arrival.'

Lotek threw his musket upon his back, whistled to his wolf-dog, stepped

off with long strides, and soon disappeared among the rocks.

'Now, if agreeable, we also will start,' said the Bohemian. 'The sun is

tolerably high, and I would not willingly remain abroad, in open day.'

'Come, my child,' said Oswald, offering his arm to Faith, which she

took with a sigh, and they briskly entered among the rocks. The

procession was led by the Bohemian, closed by his armed companions, and

flanked by the hounds.

'These masses are frightfully high,' said Faith, looking anxiously up

at their summits.

'They appear so to you,' said the Bohemian, looking back. 'These,

however, are but small affairs. We are now only in the suburbs. In the

city you will see rocks worth talking about.'

'Heaven take pity on us!' sighed Faith, wandering on until she came to

an open space. Here towered up, solitary and frightful, a single

monstrous gray rock, formed like an inverted cone with its base

stretching high up into the clouds and its apex imbedded in a lake of

ice.

'Do not go so near, Oswald,' said Faith. 'This large rock must in the

next moment tumble over.'

'Fear it not,' said the Bohemian. 'This is the Sugarloaf, which has

been standing thus upon its head for thousands of years, and will

surely retain its position long after we are in our graves.'

They were still advancing, when Faith, who was somewhat ashamed to

exhibit her fears to the Bohemian, whispered to Oswald, 'only see that

horrible gray giant's head projecting over us from between those high

towers. I can plainly discern a monstrous, solemn looking face,

surrounded by flowing gray locks.'

'That is the burgomaster,' said the laughing Bohemian, who well

understood the whisper. 'So is this sport of nature called, and it is

the most beautiful of any here. You need not fear him, for he is the

only burgomaster on earth who never troubled any one.'

They continued to proceed farther and farther, until at length they

were interrupted by a purling mountain stream. Beyond it, stood a broad

mass of stone. The Bohemian leaped across the rivulet, rattling down a

quantity of loose stones behind him, and with the humming operation of

some wheel-work, the heavy stone moved slowly aside, and discovered a

low, narrow opening.

'Do we enter there?' asked Faith in a tone so disconsolate as to call

forth a hearty laugh from all the Bohemians. Even Oswald joined in the

laugh, and, clasping the maiden in his arms, he sprung with her to

the opposite bank. They all now stood within a narrow passage, the

wheel-work again moved, the entrance closed, and they were enveloped in

darkness.

'It is very dark here!' cried Faith.

'We shall soon come into the light,' said their leader, advancing. The

others followed, and they thus proceeded in a narrow path, floored with

yielding planks, and bounded by high perpendicular walls of dark gray

stone, between which was seen the dark blue sky--so dark indeed, that

they could almost distinguish the stars in broad day-light. The

trickling water glistened upon the walls like silver threads upon a

black velvet ground; and here and there little waterfalls, forming

dazzling crystals with their congealing spray, bounded down the rocks

and disappeared under the planks upon which they were walking.

'If we follow this path much longer,' protested Faith, 'I shall die of

fear and anxiety.'

'For shame, my love!' answered Oswald. 'Will you, who spoke so boldly

for me to the grim Wallenstein, lose your courage here in the bosom of

harmonious nature, where we are especially and wholly in the hands of a

protecting God?'

'We are at the end!' exclaimed the Bohemian, stepping out into the

clear sunshine. The fugitives followed him, and found themselves in a

narrow but pleasant valley, surrounded by high snow-covered rocks which

cut off this quiet retreat from the rest of the world. A clear, silver

fountain, which gushed from a cleft in the rocks, meandered through the

vale, while among and upon the rocks, like eyries, were to be seen

about ten huts, built of rough branches, and well covered with moss, to

secure their inhabitants from the inclemencies of the weather. Men,

women, and children, were moving in and about these simple dwellings as

quietly and confidently as if they had resided there all their lives.

The fire ordered by the Bohemian twirled its smoke up into the clear

heavens, and there sat Lotek, assiduously turning a haunch of venison

which was roasting before it. An old and venerable man with a long

white beard, in a black clerical dress, and with a black cap

surmounting his white hairs, came forth from one of the best of the

huts to meet the new comers.

'Welcome, ye who have become outcasts and wanderers for the sake of

your faith!' said he, with solemnity, as he extended to them the hand

of friendship. 'Welcome to the Hussite's Rest. In my hut there is yet

room for you. Come, eat of my bread and drink of my cup. By the grace

of God you have here found an asylum which will conceal and protect you

as long as may be necessary; for the destructive storm which now rages

over the land, reaches not here.'

'Heartfelt thanks for your hospitable offer, reverend father,' said

Oswald. 'Have you dwelt long among these rocks?'

'For the last five years,' answered the venerable pastor. 'After our

emperor (who will one day have to answer for the deed before the

judgment seat) destroyed the sacred edict which assured toleration, and

burned its seal, there was no longer peace or safety for the poor

Hussites in Bohemia. As he openly declared that 'he would have none but

catholic subjects,' more than thirty thousand of our most respected

families, embracing all ranks, wandered abroad to strengthen and enrich

foreign countries by their wealth and industry. The poor cultivators of

the soil could not avail themselves of the generous permission to

emigrate with their property. They could not carry the soil with them,

and being thus compelled to remain, they seized their arms and fell

upon their persecutors. I myself, with the cross in my hand, led my

parishioners against the enemy, and we struck boldly for our religion.

Fresh armies were sent against us; the gallows and racks were

encumbered with the corpses of our brethren, and we were compelled to

yield; but it was impossible for us wholly to abandon our father-land,

and we therefore threw ourselves into the caverns among these rocks,

where a deep seclusion from the world is our only safety. Here we live

quietly and peacefully upon the produce of our labor and the chase,

which we dispose of in Bohemia and Silesia, and are much rejoiced

whenever a victim of priestly rage wanders hither to claim our

protection and hospitality.'

'We may now dismiss all anxiety,' said Oswald to Faith. 'We have at

last reached a safe and well concealed haven.'

'That beauteous form inclines so confidingly and yet so modestly toward

you, young man,' said the venerable pastor, 'that I should judge you

were not yet man and wife, but only lovers. If you desire it, I will

pronounce the blessing of the church over you. I am fully authorized to

perform the ceremony, having received ordination from our right

reverend bishop, who now wears the crown of martyrdom before the throne

of the Lamb.'

'Have I your consent, my dearest?' asked Oswald, warmly pressing the

maiden's hand. 'We already have your mother's blessing.'

'Not now, dear Oswald,' said Faith, with mingled sadness and

resignation. 'I cannot consent to take that important step while yet so

deeply impressed with sorrow for the fate of my dearest relatives. Our

love must now wear the mourning dress in which it has been clad by

these unhappy times. It would be almost wicked to put on the myrtle

now; and the decisive _yes_, which should be spoken out of a joyful

heart, would be stifled by my sobs and tears, under the present

circumstances.'

'Your wish can alone decide the question,' said Oswald, tenderly,

impressing a chaste kiss upon her forehead.

'Maiden, it is evident you have chosen a worthy partner,' said the

pastor. 'And early has your betrothed learnt the lesson of self-denial,

the hardest in this life to be acquired.'

Delighted to hear from such reverend lips the praise of one so dear to

her, the maiden threw her arms about Oswald's neck and embraced him

with love and joy.

CHAPTER XIX.

'The morning is fine,' said Faith to Oswald after breakfast, as their

venerable host seated himself with his bible upon his knee; 'and the

valley here is so narrow and close that these huge rocks seem to press

upon my heart. Let us therefore walk out a short distance beyond their

confines.'

'Venture not too far, my children!' said the pastor, in a warning voice

without raising his eyes from his book. 'My old body is a true and

faithful weather-prophet, and tells me that we shall have a severe

storm to-day. These storms rage much more furiously here than in the

plains, and, when they come, every living creature finds it necessary

to seek a shelter.'

'We will soon return,' promised Faith, skipping forth by Oswald's side.

'Mark well the place of entrance to our retreat,' said the Hussite, who

opened the outer stone door for them; 'that you may be sure to find it

again. The passages among the rocks are very similar, and if by mistake

you enter a wrong one you may be compelled to wander about all day

long.'

'Never fear! 'answered Oswald. 'It would illy become a soldier to be

unable to remember any locality it might be necessary for him to find

again. He then looked at the highest peaks in the vicinity, impressed

their relative positions upon his memory, carefully examined the secret

door, and thus prepared, they went forth into the clear fresh morning

air and soon became engaged in a conversation of such interest as to

render them entirely heedless of the lapse of time.

'I know not how it is,' said Faith, fanning her glowing face with her

handkerchief; 'it is yet mid winter here, and I am so very warm.'

'It is incident to the summer of life,' said their former guide, who

suddenly stood before them as they turned a corner; 'especially when

the sun of love shines warmly. It is not probable you will have much

further occasion to complain of the heat to-day, for a storm is

approaching.'

'With the sky so clear? Impossible!' cried Faith.

'You know nothing of the tricks of the mountain-sprites,' said the

Bohemian. 'One moment we have sunshine, the next thunder and lightning.

That is the way with them. You will do well to return to the valley

betimes.'

He passed on and was soon out of sight.

'We had better follow him,' said Oswald.

'Yet but one quarter of an hour,' begged Faith; 'and then we will

return as fast as we can.'

'Who can deny you any thing,' said the youth; 'even when you solicit

what should not be granted?'

They still continued to advance, until they came where the rocks were

less compactly clustered, and glimpses of the plain, presenting

brilliant winter landscapes, were occasionally obtained through the

openings.

'Ah, how much pleasanter it is here than in the pent up valley!' cried

Faith, clapping her hands with childish joy.

Oswald suddenly started and listened. 'Did you hear nothing?' he asked

the maiden. 'It sounded like a distant trumpet.'

'Yes,' said Faith, after listening a moment; 'it must be the blast of a

trumpet.'

'It may be our pursuers!' cried Oswald. 'Let us hasten back to our

asylum.'

He now turned quickly about with Faith, and, rather bearing than

leading her, hastened to retrace the path by which they had come.

Before proceeding far on their return, they were met by a colder and

sharper wind, and the snow which it blew from the summits of the rocks

involved them in a white fleecy cloud.

'Alas, Oswald, I can no longer see,' complained Faith.

'It is but little better with me,' answered Oswald, groping after the

path to the right, which he supposed to be the one he should take.

Still sharper blew the wind as the storm rapidly approached, and the

dark gray mountain-clouds lashed the immense rocks with their mighty

wings, sending down their accumulated snows upon the heads of the poor

wanderers. Still more wildly rushed and whistled and howled the winds

among the rocks, in strangely horrible tones, and in the midst of the

uproar they distinguished the sounds of distant rolling thunder and the

flashes of lightning in the low dark clouds. In this struggle of the

elements, all the summits and other landmarks which Oswald had noted to

guide his returning steps, had completely disappeared, and at length he

impatiently cried: 'I have lost the way. Why was I weak enough to yield

to the wishes of a child!'

'Chide not, dear Oswald,' entreated Faith, submissively. 'I will

willingly endure every hardship which is suffered with you.'

'That is what distresses me,' said Oswald. 'Were I alone, I should

enjoy this storm instead of trembling at it; for nature appears to me

most beautiful in anger, and I have already been compelled to expose

this brow to many a wild tempest. My anxiety for you troubles me. If

your health should be injured by this exposure I should be

inconsolable, and have only my own thoughtlessness to blame for it.'

A brighter flash and louder report now put it beyond doubt that a

terrible storm was at hand. The echoes thundered among the rocks, now

nearer and now farther off, until they finally died away in indistinct

murmurs.

'A thunderstorm in winter!' cried the trembling Faith. 'That is doubly

horrible.'

'Who knows that this tempest may not bring a blessing; and certainly it

cannot do much harm here among these old rocks,' said Oswald by way of

consoling her, still continuing to advance at random.

'Thank heaven, I hear human voices!' exultingly shouted Faith: and like

a doe she skipped towards an eminence with such speed that Oswald could

scarcely follow her.

A multitude of people were approaching, sure enough. It was composed of

colonel Goes, the detestable Hurka, and a troop of the Lichtenstein

dragoons, who immediately aimed their arms at the fugitives.

'Stand!' cried Goes, amid the thunder of the storm, to his son, whom he

instantly recognised. 'Stand, or I command the troops to fire.'

'Father, do no violence!' cried the despairing youth, throwing himself

before the maiden, who had sunk upon her knees; 'God judges righteously

and protects the innocent! Hear how he warns you with the voice of his

thunder!'

The captain gave a loud and scornful laugh.

'Seize the rebel and his heretic bride,' shrieked the angry colonel.

The captain, nothing loth, motioning his dragoons to follow him and

confiding in his superior force, hastened forward, swinging his sword

high above his head. The colonel accompanied him and the dragoons

followed.

'Save me, my God, from the crime of parricide!' cried Oswald, advancing

to meet his opponents.

At that moment came a blinding flash of lightning, accompanied by a

deafening clap of thunder, and with it rushed down from the highest

summit a monstrous mass of stone which caused the earth to tremble as

if there had been an earthquake; a short, sharp cry was heard, and the

pursuers and pursued were prostrated upon their faces.

CHAPTER XX.

The first glance of Oswald's opening eyes, when consciousness returned,

was directed in search of poor Faith. She lay near him in a deep swoon.

Flying to her aid, he applied snow to her temples and warmed her lips

with his kisses. At length she opened her eyes.

'You are yet alive, my Oswald!' cried she, with pious ecstasy, folding

her hands as if giving thanks. 'The Lord has passed over us in the

tempest; but he has remembered us in mercy!'

'Pious maiden,' said Goes, who stood behind them, leaning like a dying

man upon a dragoon. 'Pious maiden, so mayest thou speak, out of the

fulness of thy pure heart,--but the sinner must smite upon his breast

and cry. The Lord is just, and in his wrath has executed a righteous

judgment! Yet I may also give thanks for his mercy; for he has only

punished the incorrigibly wicked, warning the deluded with the voice of

his thunder, and leaving him yet a space for repentance and amendment.

Forgive me, my son. I had unlearned to be a man and a father; but will

again become one, even at this late hour of my life.'

'Your goodness restores me to new life, my father,' said Oswald,

pressing the paternal hand to his lips. His thoughts then instantly

recurred to the monster who had allured, his father there and

stimulated him to the commission of crime; and, catching up his sword

from the ground, his death-flashing glance sought the captain.

'He whom you seek is not far off,' said Goes, speaking low, so as not

to attract the maiden's attention, lest she should be too much shocked.

With a trembling hand he directed his son to the enormous rock which,

still smoking with the fire of heaven, lay in the path. The youth

shuddered as he turned his head and beheld a naked sword projecting

from under the mass, in the grasp of a stiffened hand. The captain's

plumed hat lay near, and the surrounding snow was reddened by a small

rivulet of blood which came trickling forth.

'Behold the judgment of God, and implore his mercy for your repentant

father,' said Goes, sinking into the arms of his son.

CHAPTER XXI.

Three months later, Frau Rosen was sitting in the little cottage of the

weaver's widow in Friedland, with an expression of soil serenity upon

her still pale countenance. On either side of her sat Oswald and Faith,

each holding one of her hands, and all rejoicing at her convalescence.

The rattle of an approaching carriage was heard without, and directly

four black horses, attached to the carriage of colonel Goes, trotted up

to the cottage door. The merchant Fessel, yet thin and pale from his

past illness and sorrows, descended from the carriage and entered the

room.

As calamities suffered in common, only strengthen the bands by which

good hearts are united, so the meeting of these friends evinced

increased tenderness and affection; while the memory of the dear

departed, which it called up, received the tribute of many tears.

'How stand matters in our good city of Schweidnitz? at length asked the

matron.

'Badly enough, as yet,' answered Fessel; 'but not near so bad as when

you left us. There seems, indeed, no prospect of an end to our

oppressions. The Jesuits are constantly multiplying their encroachments

and assumptions, and the royal judge whom the count has installed there

commands that all shall become catholic communicants, and prohibits

attendance upon the Lutheran churches out of town. These commands

cannot be very effectively enforced, and the military executions have

been discontinued ever since the departure of the tyrannical Dohna.

Many of the troops also have been withdrawn, and but two squadrons now

remain in the city. I must do the colonel the justice to say, moreover,

that he has done every thing in his power to mitigate our sufferings,

even at great hazard of injuring himself.'

'The Lord reward him for it,' said Frau Rosen, 'and allow it to balance

the long account in that book where his sins are recorded.'

'I am here as his messenger,' continued Fessel; 'to conduct you all to

the little inn near the rocks of Aldersbach, where he intends to hold a

family festival.'

'There?' asked Oswald with surprise. 'That indicates some important,

and certainly some joyful purpose.'

'He keeps his plans and objects very secret,' said Fessel. 'I have my

conjectures; but can divulge nothing. That it is to be a great festival

I know by the extent of the preparations. He has been there with a

stone-cutter and gardener from Schweidnitz, since the day before

yesterday; and he wishes you all to come in full dress to-day.'

Fessel, having returned to his carriage, soon came in again with two

large packages, which he delivered to the lovers. Faith hastened to her

mother with hers, that they might examine and comment upon its contents

together.

Meanwhile, Oswald opened his package and found therein a splendid

Danish officer's uniform with all its usual appendages. 'The time for

these gilded ornaments has long since passed with me,' he observed with

a feeling of dissatisfaction; 'and I do not deem it proper to wear the

costume of a station which I intend never again to occupy.'

'He anticipated the objection,' said Fessel; 'and requests me to beg of

you to wear it only this day, for his sake, notwithstanding your own

disinclination.'

'Ah, Oswald, look!' exclaimed the happy Faith, holding out her present

for his examination. 'See this beautiful white silken dress and this

splendid diamond ornament!'

'It is very beautiful,' said Oswald, giving it a careless glance; 'but

is there no myrtle-wreath with the dress?'

'I have already sought it in vain,' answered Faith, with a slight

blush.

'Alas!' sighed Oswald, 'then the most acceptable present is wanting. My

dearest hope for to-day is at once annihilated.'

'Murmur not against your father, my dear brother-in-law,' begged

Fessel. 'I will be answerable that he means well with you and our

little Faith.'

'It is well!' said Oswald, taking his package under his arm and

retiring to dress; 'but he ought not to have forgotten the

myrtle-wreath!'

CHAPTER XXII.

Panting and foaming, the four black steeds drew up before the little

inn at Aldersbach, which was now gaily decorated with evergreens. The

happy old colonel stood in the door, ready to receive them. Oswald

assisted Faith, and Fessel his mother-in-law, to alight. Goes advanced

to the latter and clasped her hand. 'You have lost much through us,' he

sorrowfully said, 'can you forgive?'

'Should I else deserve to be called a christian?' answered the matron.

'May God reward your kindness!' said the colonel, leading her into the

house, in the largest room of which several protestant officers of the

imperial army were assembled. Oswald then entered with Faith, in all

her youthful beauty, which was much heightened by her rich dress.

'Ha, what a charming maiden!' exclaimed Goes. 'Yes, my son, her

appearance would excuse thy choice, if indeed it needed an excuse.'

'I cannot share any part of the satisfaction which seems to be so

general,' said Oswald with forced gaiety, 'as it is impossible for me

to feel comfortable in a dress which is unsuited to my station and

calling.'

'It is exactly suited to your station,' said the colonel with

solemnity, handing a folded paper to him. It was a major's commission

in the Danish service.

'This is wholly contrary to my wish,' exclaimed Oswald with surprise,

as he perceived the nature of the document. 'I have laid down the sword

forever!'

'That cannot be done with safety at present in any part of Europe, my

dear Oswald,' said Goes. 'In these rough times a man must bear the

sword, if he would not be compelled to bow his neck under it; nor is

there any prospect that it will soon be otherwise. You have repeatedly

shown, that you will never be able to reconcile yourself to the humble

and submissive condition of a burgher. Whenever occasion has offered,

you have unhesitatingly drawn that sword with which you have

professedly wished to have nothing more to do. I most heartily rejoice

at it, because of the evidence it affords that my blood flows in your

veins; but at the same time it proves your unfitness for the counter

and yard-stick. You must again serve,--it is required both for your

honor and mine. To serve the emperor would be against your conscience.

I have therefore sought out a service which, as matters now stand,

cannot be objectionable to either of us. A permanent peace has been

concluded between the emperor and the king of Denmark. Your new

situation will lead you from Silesia to the land where your own faith,

which is persecuted here, is openly and triumphantly professed. You

will be spared the grief of being compelled to witness innumerable

evils which you can have no power to remedy. All these considerations

were well weighed by me before I applied in your name for the honorable

appointment which you surely will not now reject.'

'You are right,' cried Oswald. 'You see farther than I do, and I

gratefully receive the commission from your paternal hands.'

'My application alone would not have met with such ready success,'

continued Goes. 'For that, you have to thank one whose friendship and

patronage you literally conquered at Dessau,--the duke of Friedland. He

wrote himself to Copenhagen in your behalf; and the mediator who

brought about the treaty of Lubeck could hardly be refused so small a

request by the king of Denmark.'

'Honor to the lion!' jocosely exclaimed Frau Rosen. 'Those large wild

beasts generally have some generosity about them.'

'All is in readiness!' said the old Hussite host, entering the room and

throwing open the doors.

'Give your arm to Faith, my son, and follow this man,' said Goes. The

lovers looked at each other with some surprise, and obeyed the command.

After them came the matron, supported by Goes and Fessel. The officers

followed.

The procession entered directly among the rocks, and at length,

magnificently gilded by the evening sun, the eventful mass of stone

which had been detached and overthrown by the lightning, shone upon

them with a far different and more friendly aspect than when it had

last met their view. It was hung around with evergreens and adorned

with flowery garlands; and upon the most conspicuous part of it a

medallion had been cut out, with these words engraved upon it: '_The

lightning of heaven here punished and warned._' Underneath was cut out

the day of the month and the year. In front of the huge mass stood an

altar, built of the fragments which were shivered from it when it fell.

The old pastor of Huss's Rest waited at the altar, in his clerical

robes and with opened book. On each side of him stood Fessel's

children, holding wreaths of flowers.

'What can all this mean?' whispered Faith to Oswald, in sweet

confusion, while the colonel placed the missing myrtle wreath upon her

blond locks.

'Unite this pair in marriage, reverend father,' cried the colonel, with

gushing tears, leading the lovers to the altar.

CHAPTER XXIII.

Mild toleration has spread its dove-like wings over the states of

Austria for many long years since the period above referred to,--the

colony of Huss's Rest is no longer to be found among the rocks of

Aldersbach,--and the silver rivulet again meanders in silent solitude

through the concealed valley. The huge rock hurled down by the

lightning's stroke yet lies, a lasting monument, in the middle of the

road, and the medallion may yet be recognised. Time has effaced the

inscription, and the guide who now conducts the curious visitor knows

only a legend of an English gentleman, who atoned for his desire to

view a thunderstorm among the rocks by being very nearly crushed by the

fall of this rifted fragment. In memory of his imminent danger, and in

gratitude for his almost miraculous preservation, he is said to have

caused the medallion to be carved in the rock. Of the punishment of the

reprobate captain and the deep repentance of the colonel of the

converters, they have long since forgotten the tradition; and FANCY may

therefore be allowed to erect her light and airy castle upon the

granite foundation of history; to picture forth to those now living the

savage contests for opinion, of former times,--and to warn them against

the evils of an exclusive and intolerant spirit, into which we are in

constant danger of relapsing.

THE SORCERESS.

BY C. F. VAN DER VELDE.

CHAPTER I.

The first rays of the morning sun were brilliantly reflected by the

polished arms of Ryno and Idallan, as they rode gaily forth in search

of adventures. It was not their first similar excursion. As usual with

errant knights, they had struck down many a dragon, vanquished many a

giant, and rescued many a damsel from the clutches of wicked magicians.

Delicate arms had clasped their knees in gratitude, tender bosoms had

feverishly beat against their iron breastplates, ruby lips had pledged

them in golden cups of the juice of the Syracusan grape, and yet their

hearts remained cold and impenetrable as the pure steel of their armor.

The delightful consciousness of freedom, strength, and youthful

spirits, spoke in their every movement. Stately and beautiful they

passed on their way, their sharp lances resting quietly upon their

right stirrups, their swords peacefully clinking in their scabbards,

and their hands carelessly holding their highly ornamented bridle

reins.

Suddenly they heard female voices uttering distressing cries for help.

The steeds snorted and pricked up their ears; the knights involuntarily

drew a tighter rein, seized their lances, and applied the spur; and

thus they darted forward with perfect indifference whether this new

adventure should be crowned with wounds or kisses, blows or treasures,

a martyr's chains, or an hymeneal altar.

Their panting chargers soon bore them to a forest filled with oaks of a

thousand years, whence had proceeded those outcries, which were now

subsiding to sobs so low as to be almost lost to the ear. At length a

green meadow opened upon them through the wood, and there, enclosed by

a circle of Moors, stood two powerless maidens of angelic beauty, bound

to a tree. An old, meagre, yellow monster, in the rich dress of the

east, appeared to be feasting himself with gazing upon their charms. He

had just drawn a dagger from his girdle and was about to approach one

of the maidens, when Ryno and Idallan burst upon them from the thicket

with the suddenness of the lightning's flash, and the fury of the

storm. Knight-errant like, without asking any questions, they nailed

six of the Moors to the nearest oaks with their lances, and then, (as

if Vulcan had sent his cyclops to the work,) their blows fell like hail

upon the astonished Moors.

Courage, strength, knowledge of the use of arms, and the consciousness

of a good cause, enabled them quickly to overpower their venal

opponents. Those, who were not killed by the sword or trampled down by

the horses, threw away their weapons and fled. Only the horrid looking

yellow old man kept his ground, and he was busily employed in drawing

strange characters in the air with a black wand. 'You lose your pains!'

cried Idallan, laughing. 'You must know, sir wizard, that our arms,

tempered by the fairy Diamanta, fear no magic charm, and that only

superior natural power can prevail against them.'

'If you wish a proof of it,' interposed Ryno, springing from his horse,

'I am here ready for the trial, and you may call back your flying Moors

to arm you.'

Without answer, but with a glance that disclosed the hell within, the

sorcerer strode with uplifted dagger, towards his poor bound victim;

but Ryno's ready weapon interrupted him in full career. With rifted

head the fiend sank to the earth, which immediately opened and

swallowed his hideous form; while a blue smoke, accompanied by fearful

sounds, gnashing of the teeth and scornful laughter, issued from the

spot where he had disappeared.

The knights hastened to the damsels, and by the aid of their bloody

swords quickly severed the bands by which they were confined. Water

brought from a neighboring spring soon restored the fainting sufferers

to consciousness, and with the first glances of their large blue eyes

arose a new sun upon their deliverers. The charming girls cast a

shuddering glance upon the field of slaughter, kneeled before the

knights with their arms folded in thanksgiving, timidly murmured to

them some words in an unknown language, and, after a short internal

struggle, rushed into their preservers' arms. An ardent kiss burned

upon the lips of each of the enraptured heroes; but before they could

recover from their delightful surprise, the maidens had escaped from

their embraces. One bound of their little feet lifted them into the

air,--a zephyr expanded their dresses into sails,--and with glances of

ineffable sweetness they rose high over the gigantic trees, and swept

beyond the vision of their astonished beholders.

CHAPTER II.

'By my knightly oath, it is not fair,' said Ryno, after a long pause,

'to leave us standing here alone.'

'It is ungrateful,' murmured Idallan.

_Ryno._--Say not that; for had all my heart's blood flowed upon this

spot, the kiss impressed upon my lips would have been a sufficient

reward.

_Idallan._--I am wounded in the arm.

_Ryno._--And I in the heart, which is far more dangerous.

_Idallan._--What is now to be done?

_Ryno._--Resume our travels. The heavenly forms moved towards the west,

and happily no direction can be the wrong one for us.

Idallan sighed, and they proceeded towards their horses.

'Hold! what do I see?' cried Ryno.

'Where?' asked Idallan.

'A white veil, the earthly covering which the fairies left behind them

when they mounted into the air.'

The two knights rushed towards the veil, and both caught hold of it at

the same moment. 'It belonged to the damsel saved by me, and is

therefore mine!' exclaimed Idallan.

_Ryno._--I saw it first.

_Idallan._--My blood flowed in the strife by which we have obtained it!

_Ryno._--It is mine, I will not yield it up.

_Idallan._--Nor I, but with my life.

Both held the veil fast, and it was in imminent danger of being torn in

pieces.

'Hold!' said Ryno. 'Why should we senselessly destroy that which,

uninjured, would make one of us happy. Let us calmly and peacefully

determine our respective claims by an appeal to argument and reason.'

'I never will resign my claim,' scornfully exclaimed Idallan. 'If you

persist in yours, the sword must decide.'

_Ryno._--You are my brother in arms, and wounded; I will not fight with

you!

_Idallan._--Has the struggle with the Moors already exhausted your

stock of courage?

_Ryno._--Idallan! Even this shall not provoke me!

Idallan in a rage seized the veil, which Ryno reluctantly released, to

save it from destruction. He hung it upon a high branch, and placed

himself before it with his sword drawn. 'The veil is mine, if you are

too cowardly to contend for it.' The noble Ryno half drew his sword,

but, recollecting himself, immediately returned it to its sheath, and

was about to mount his horse.

'Do you slight me?' roared Idallan, running after him sword in hand.

Ryno was compelled to turn and draw, and a furious battle commenced

over the dead bodies of the Moors. The attack and defence were

conducted on both sides with equal courage and skill, so that neither

obtained any advantage over the other. Sparks flew at every encounter

of their weapons, the frightened birds flew screaming from the place,

and the timid deer fled to the protection of the remotest thickets.

CHAPTER III.

Under a natural arch of primeval granite, in the most secluded recess

of a wild and savage mountain, was situated the deeply indented cave of

the sorceress, Hiorba. The cavern was filled with sieves and cauldrons,

mummies and bundles of herbs, hieroglyphics and mirrors, crystal globes

and crocodiles, in mystical confusion. Two torches, held by skeleton

hands, lighted the whole. In a circle of strange characters and human

bones, lay the aged and despairing Hiorba, her face to the ground,

frantically tearing the last remains of her silver hair with her

withered hands. Two large black cats were caressingly and soothingly

purring about her. Suddenly she appeared to be shaken as by an electric

shock. She arose with flashing eyes, stretched out her magic wand

towards the largest of the mirrors, and murmured some words of unknown

meaning. Strange confused images appeared upon the clear crystal. As

she anxiously watched the figures her interest seemed to increase every

moment, and every moment her joy became more plainly visible, until at

length she gave a cry of ecstatic delight as Aliande and Daura, her

charming foster-daughters, rushed breathlessly into the cave.

'Here we are, good mother,' cried Daura, embracing her with ardor.

'Escaped from death, from shame, and from the terrible Rasalkol!' cried

Aliande, pressing the old woman's hand to her lips with filial love.

'Saved by the noblest, bravest and handsomest youths....'

'Silence, children!' said the sorceress, interrupting them. 'My true

mirror has already told me all, and more perhaps than you will be

willing to confess.'

Blushing and confused, the maidens cast their sparkling eyes upon the

ground.

'Quickly, ah too quickly, has love for your deliverers found its way to

your young hearts. Faithfully until now have I guarded you against this

dangerous passion; but the moment in which the traitor Rasalkol

succeeded in abducting you from this protecting cavern, my power over

you ceased. The reprobate's hellish plan of destroying both you and me

has indeed failed; but you may yet one day wish that you had bled under

his dagger;--for the sorrows of unrequited love cut more keenly into

weak woman's heart than a thousand daggers.'

'You do not know our knights,' interposed Aliande in a scarcely audible

murmur.

'I know them to be men. As the wolf resembles the hyena, and both of

these the jackal, so also do the whole profligate sex resemble each

other,--differing only in their outward appearance and capacity for

seizing their prey. The inexperienced eyes of the harmless doe are

easily fascinated by the beautiful stripes of the blood-thirsty tiger!'

Tears trickled down the maidens' cheeks, at this reproof.

'I love you my children,' continued Hiorba in a tenderer tone. 'You are

the grand-children of my good niece, whom I buried on my hundredth

birth day. Willingly would I have rendered you happy, which you can

only be in an unmarried state; but you are in love, and all my warnings

are spoken to the winds. For once, however, yield to a mother's

anxiety: Let me _prove_ the men of your choice.'

'Has not their battle with Rasalkol and his Moors already proved them

sufficiently?' asked Aliande.

'Their knightly courage,--but not their hearts.'

'If all men were proved in advance,' answered Daura, with a faint

smile, 'who would come unscathed from the furnace?'

'Your questions contain a significant denial of my request,' answered

Hiorba. 'Since you have seen these strangers I have no longer any

influence over your hearts. Consider well my last warning.'

She again raised her wand to the mirror and the field of battle again

presented itself. Aliande saw the fluttering veil, and the furious

contention of the knights.

'For God's sake, Hiorba,' shrieked the maidens; 'help, protect save!'

'See you those rough and savage men?' said Hiorba; 'They do not know

which has the best right to the flimsy web, and yet each knight is

ready to murder his brother-in-arms for its possession. You have here a

specimen of what men call honor; and believe me, as their feet now

recklessly trample upon the delicate wood-flower in their deadly

struggle, so will the tyranny of their strength, their pride, and their

sensuality, trample upon all your tenderest feelings and finally break

your hearts.'

'Why waste so many words,' complained the maidens; 'save, good mother,

separate the frantic knights.'

Shaking her head in token of disapprobation, Hiorba reluctantly took

her wand and opened a cage which hung from the arch above; a bird of

paradise came chirping thence, and perched confidingly upon her

shoulder.

'Go, bring me the veil, Immo!' said Hiorba; 'and lead hither the

contending knights, also.'

With her wand she softly touched the bird between its wings, and,

sweetly warbling, it shot off like an arrow from the bow.

CHAPTER IV.

Ryno and Idallan still continued their insane struggle. Their helmets

and scarfs were hacked to pieces, and hung in fragments about their

shoulders. The green sward was already dyed crimson from their many

wounds, when the thrilling song of a bird, fuller and sweeter than the

voluptuous tones of the nightingale, filled the neighboring air.

Through the soothing influence of those tones, softer feelings were

awakened in the breasts of the combatants. An armistice was tacitly

concluded; and with suspended breath they listened to the heavenly

music, until they at length perceived a beautiful winged songster

fluttering about the branch upon which the veil was hanging. Softer and

more soul-thrilling were the seductive tones poured from its little

throat, and Ryno hazarded the remark:

'How foolish to be hacking each other's bones for a thing of so little

consequence!'

'You are right!' said Idallan, putting up his sword and extending his

hand to his brother-in-arms. A clear-ringing song of triumph resounded

from the beak of the wonderful bird as their hands met with the grasp

of reconciliation, while the little mediator seized the veil in its

purple claws, and moved slowly and gracefully toward the west, still

continuing its enticing music. 'It calls us, brother, shall we not

follow?' asked Ryno.

'Yes, let us pursue the veil!' cried Idallan: 'this beauteous banner

leads us to more delightful conquests!'

They resumed their saddles and hastened to follow their mysterious

guide, keeping their eyes immovably fixed upon the bright and waving

emblem, which remained constantly visible in the distance.

CHAPTER V.

The gray-haired Hiorba was standing with her blooming daughters upon

the ruins of an ancient castle. 'You will not listen to my warnings,'

she sadly and affectionately remarked. 'You scorn to consecrate your

virgin purity to the gods, as I have done, and receive rare knowledge,

great power, and almost an earthly immortality, in return. The ardent

wishes of youth kindle only for sensual enjoyments, which are ever

mingled with sorrow and of short duration. Your desires shall be

gratified. You shall possess whatever can bless mortal maidens: wealth,

splendor, honors, and the husbands of your choice. The rest must depend

upon the gods.'

'Why so earnest and solemn, good mother?' said Aliande.

'Your present situation, your inconsiderate choice for a whole life,

the reflection that your days will be embittered and abridged by

unappreciated and betrayed love, all contribute to make me sad. An

equal affliction threatens both of you, for it is not in my power to

call back spirits from the blooming fields of Walhalla to furnish

husbands for you. It is done! I hear the distant song of Immo, and

hasten to prepare your future abodes.'

Drawing a circle which included herself and the maidens, Hiorba then

pronounced the mysterious words of conjuration. Subterranean thunder

was heard, the earth heaved, gleams of lightning escaped through the

cleft rocks, and a thick smoke almost destroyed the power of

respiration. In an instant they became fearfully conscious that they

were no longer alone among the ruins. Innumerable demons surrounded

Hiorba's magic circle, respectfully awaiting her commands.

'Spirits of the Earth!' cried the antiquated virgin with great dignity,

'my foster-daughters, Aliande and Daura, require of me a dowry. Spirits

of the east and west! I command you to convert these ruins into a

splendid castle for the residence of Aliande. Spirits of the north and

south! Prepare upon yonder hill a similar abode for my Daura. To the

work! In nine times nine twinklings of the eye must all be completed.'

A motion of her wand, and half of the demons disappeared. The other

half cleaved the earth for the purpose of bringing forth the granite,

marble, gold, iron and other materials required for the edifice. The

lightning played and the thunder rolled incessantly, earthquakes

followed each other in quick succession, the winds howled, and the

subterranean waters rushed and roared most fearfully. All nature

appeared to lie in convulsions, as if it were a wicked invasion of her

rights that immortal hands should perform the work of mortals.

Powerless and insensible lay Aliande and Daura within the circle.

Terrible flames burst from the crevices of the earth, giving fearful

tokens of the subterranean labors of the gnomes. Hiorba stood amid the

general uproar, calmly directing the raging elements, which never for a

moment disturbed so much as one of the silver hairs of her head.

CHAPTER VI.

The nine times nine moments had expired; the subterranean flames were

extinguished, and the bright sun shone upon a magnificent palace

encompassed by high walls, while its rays were brilliantly reflected by

the metal roof. The gilded summits of its seven towers flashed in the

sunlight like the seven stars. Hiorba viewed the labor of her

mysterious agents with satisfaction, and then awoke the damsels with a

touch of her wand. They looked around with astonishment upon the new

world in which they found themselves. They had fallen asleep among

ruins, upon damp moss overgrown with thorns and nettles, and now awoke

upon soft couches of velvet and gold, in the balcony of a splendid

edifice. The building was of granite, faced with marble, uniting the

strength of the Gothic with the lightness and beauty of the Grecian

style. Masterpieces of Grecian sculpture adorned every nook, step, and

landing-place,--while the magnificent pleasure-garden, with all its

fountains, cascades, lakes, temples, shaded walks, islands and

obelisks, extended down the mountain slope. It was some time before

they were convinced that it was not all a dream.

The damsels embraced their kind foster-mother, while tears of affection

and gratitude eloquently spoke their thanks. 'Enough,' said Hiorba,

withdrawing herself from their embraces; 'you know not, as yet, whether

I deserve your thanks. That will be discovered hereafter, when the

roses and thorns of this life shall have been weighed and balanced by

the immortal gods. I must be brief, for already do I hear the

approaching steeds of Ryno and Idallan, and I cannot look upon the men

who are about to pluck, and perhaps to crush and destroy, the two

sweetest roses of my garden. I now take my leave. I shall always act a

mother's part by you,--but, only three times is it allowed me to become

visible to the wives of Ryno and Idallan; at the moments of their

greatest happiness, of their deepest misery, and of their untimely

deaths. Preserve the same purity of soul which I have so carefully

nurtured, so that in your last sad hour I may kiss the dews of death

from your foreheads, and conduct your liberated spirits to the elysian

fields of Walhalla.'

A soft and heavenly light overspread Hiorba's countenance, the wrinkles

of age disappeared, and golden locks surrounded her clear forehead like

a halo. Azure and purple wings unfolded from her shoulders, a robe of

light enveloped her tall, majestic form, and on an amber cloud she

floated away from the sisters, who watched her disappearance with

speechless awe.

The tuneful Immo now fluttered through the castle gate with Aliande's

veil. The draw-bridge fell, and the two knights, who had closely

followed her, leaped from their horses, bounded up the steps, and threw

themselves at the feet of the maidens; whilst Immo, perched upon the

highest castle tower, sweetly warbled forth the bridal song.

CHAPTER VII.

A crystal lamp, suspended from the arched ceiling of a lofty chamber,

shed a soft moonlight over the silken tapestry of the bridal bed where

Ryno was slumbering upon the bosom of the happy Aliande. The beauteous

bride was watching the peaceful slumber of her beloved partner with

mingled and undefinable feelings of joy and sorrow, when she suddenly

heard a rustling of the drapery, and immediately the well known form of

the sorceress stood before her.

'You are happy, Aliande?' she asked.

'Unspeakably!' murmured Aliande, hiding her blushing cheek in the bosom

of her faithful foster-mother.

'Does your heart suggest no wish yet ungratified?'

'Only one!' timidly answered the lovely bride.

'Yet one?' rejoined the astonished Hiorba. 'Thus it is with poor

mortals. Upon the highest pinnacle of earthly happiness they are still

tormented by insatiable aspirations. Confide your secret wish to me, my

daughter.'

'During the bridal supper, as my husband was giving a rapid sketch of

his knightly adventures, and painting the charms of the various damsels

he had saved, in glowing colors, I began to fear that I--perhaps

soon--might be no longer the _only_ object of his love.'

'Already jealous, Aliande, on this your bridal night!....'

'Death, rather than a rival!'

'What is your wish of me?' asked Hiorba.

'To relieve me from the torture of uncertainty, I desire a faithful

monitor which shall inform me when Ryno kneels before strange altars,

that I may win back the idol of my heart with redoubled love,

or,--learn to despise and scorn the inconstant.'

'An unfriendly star rules over both you and me,' said Hiorba in a

desponding tone. 'I am convinced that the fulfilment of this wish will

make you most miserable, and yet I am constrained by a power greater

than my own to grant it.'

She stamped upon the floor, and immediately two hideous gnomes appeared

with a time-piece made of the most costly materials, curiously wrought

into the form of a temple of Venus.

'Take this production of magic art,' said Hiorba, 'but conceal it

carefully from your husband, lest in the exasperation of conscious

guilt he should destroy his innocent accuser. This clock will always

stand still, this bell will always remain silent, and this mirror will

reflect only your own features, so long as Ryno remains true to his

vows; but should he ever yield to the common vice of his sex,

voluptuous melodies will issue from the temple, the index will indicate

the time, and the crystal mirror will reflect the image of the favored

rival.'

Aliande was about to express her gratitude, but Hiorba interrupted her.

'Thank me not,--for with this present you receive enduring sorrow and

late repentance. Soon shall I greet you a second time, but then it will

be in tears.' She spoke, and disappeared.

CHAPTER VIII.

Transporting herself to the splendid seven-towered palace of the other

sister, the sorceress entered Daura's chamber and awoke her from her

sweet dreams of happiness with a kiss. Then came the same questions,

and the same protestations of unspeakable happiness; yet the quiet and

contented Daura, also, seemed to have _one_ wish concealed in the

secret recesses of her bosom. After Hiorba's long and tender entreaties

for her confidence, she finally said: 'through repeated and pressing

inquiries of both Ryno and Idallan, I have learned of the exhibition of

savage rage by my husband in the bloody contest for the lost veil,

which Ryno would have resigned for the sake of peace and friendship,

refusing to fight until he was compelled to do so in his own defence. I

fear that Idallan's violence, which did not spare even his beloved

brother-in-arms, will also rend my heart and prepare many sad days and

tearful nights for me. Oh that I were in possession of a charm which,

like David's harp, would allay the demon of anger! What then could be

wanting to my happiness?'

'Immo!' cried Hiorba, with a complacent smile, opening the window. In

came the delicate bird, bearing about its neck a radiant diamond chain

to which a small ivory flute was attached. 'Take this flute, my gentle

Daura,' said the sorceress; 'pass this chain about your neck, and let

your faithful mother's gift remain always upon your bosom. When

Idallan's wild passions begin to kindle, when his inconsiderate bursts

of anger threaten to wound the peace of my gentle daughter, then will

the soothing tones of this instrument soften his rage and shed balm

upon his mind.'

With glad surprise Daura extended her fair hand for the talisman, and

Hiorba vanished.

CHAPTER IX.

A year had passed from the stream of time into the ocean of eternity

since the marriage of the two sisters, when Hiorba arose out of the

rocks in the oak forest between the two palaces. The proud edifices yet

shone in all their original splendor, and their majestic walls cast

long shadows over the vale below; but the rock upon which the sorceress

was standing had changed its appearance. Instead of being bare, as

formerly, it was now shaded by tall cedars, lofty pines, and trembling

poplars, and encircled with blooming rose-hedges, A gilded dome,

supported by nine Corinthian pillars of alabaster, adorned the summit.

The sorceress inquisitively examined the temple, and with surprise and

pleasure encountered her own statue crowned with fresh cypress and

faded roses. Tears of joyful emotion filled Hiorba's eyes, and her

first impulse was to fly immediately to her foster-daughters, that she

might, invisible to them, impress a kiss of gratitude upon their

unconscious foreheads; but while hesitating which of the happy brides

she should first visit, she discerned two female forms approaching from

opposite directions. Discovering that they were her two daughters, she

wrapped herself in impenetrable clouds, that she might be a secret

witness of their interview. Their appearance gave her no pleasure.

Their pale cheeks were not lighted by the sun of matrimonial

peace,--their lingering steps and downcast eyes spoke not of

happiness,--and with fear and sorrow Hiorba leaned against the altar

which supported her statue. At length the sisters reached the place and

rushed sobbing into each other's arms.

'My sufferings have reached their utmost limit!' exclaimed Aliande.

'My last hope is annihilated!' sighed Daura.

'How ineffably miserable,' said Aliande, 'has our good mother's last

gift made me! With almost every change of the moon does the warning

voice of my magic clock rend my poor betrayed heart. My fatal mirror is

constantly reflecting new faces which seldom indicate delicate feminine

charms, never mental elevation. All my tears have hitherto been able to

obtain but empty promises of amendment from the faithless one; and my

just reproaches only exasperate him. To-day I see the hated features of

my last waiting maid, the light and impudent Rosa! No, I will bear

these mortifications, these repeated insults, no longer!'

'Ah, how much more miserable am I, good sister!' sobbed Daura. 'It was

but the intoxication of the senses which led Idallan to my arms; and in

addition to my other sorrows I now feel that he has never, never loved

me. The first week of our honey-moon had scarcely passed when he found

himself annoyed by the gentle tones of my flute, which, against his

will, moderated the severity of his fierce disposition. In a confiding

moment, after he had successfully feigned the tenderest affection, he

succeeded in drawing from me the secret of the maternal gift. With

pleasant jests and agreeable trifling he unwound the chain from my

neck; but no sooner was the delicate instrument in his hands, than his

brow became clouded, his eyes flashed with an unnatural fire, and with

a voice of thunder he denounced me as a vile sorceress who had

disgraced his knightly bed. Then with furious rage he dashed the flute

to the earth. Yet once more were heard its soft and tranquilizing

tones. Too late! Idallan's foot was already raised, and trampling it in

his anger, he annihilated its sweet melody forever. What, what have I

not suffered since that unhappy hour!....'

'His heart is depraved--forget him!' cried Hiorba, stepping visibly

between the sisters, who threw themselves at her feet in glad surprise.

'You both decided too rashly!' continued the weeping foster-mother. 'I

warned you in vain. In vain did I entreat permission to prove your

lovers. The evil is done,--and requires help, not reproaches. Your

case, Aliande, may possibly be remedied; yours, poor Daura--never! That

you may not doubt the truth of my words, I will now commence the trial

of both husbands, and wo to him who shall prove base!'

She concluded with a voice of thunder, and disappeared. The unhappy

sisters silently embraced each other, and then slowly returned to their

splendid prisons.

CHAPTER X.

Idallan was restlessly tossing upon his solitary bed on the first

anniversary of his marriage night, whilst the repudiated and suffering

Daura rested in a distant chamber, steeping her pillow with her tears.

Idallan's heart was radically bad, as might be inferred from his

conduct in the contest for the veil. Savage and boisterous passions

tarnished the splendor of the many knightly virtues which adorned his

nature; and his real character appeared, when fortune, from her

cornucopia, suddenly poured the full stream of love, wealth and

splendor upon him. This unexpected and overabundant fulfilment of all

his wildest hopes, gave the finishing touch to his temperament. The

beauteous woman, whom unreflecting love had conducted to his arms, he

valued merely as the slave of his rough and savage will. The princely

treasures which Hiorba's generosity had heaped in his coffers, had only

excited his thirst for gold. Hundreds of families who had sought the

protection of his castle, and converted the surrounding forest into

fruitful fields, were happy to be considered his subjects, and thus

ministered to his love of power and dominion. Schemes of ambition

disturbed his brain. He already in imagination saw himself a prince,

perhaps of the whole earth, with Ryno his vassal, and an emperor's

daughter for his wife; but he looked upon his gentle and faithful Daura

as the greatest obstacle in the way of his success. His undisguised

scorn and contempt had taught her to weep the rash choice made during

the brief intoxication of love. There lay Idallan, disturbed by dreams

which naturally took the tone of his daily thoughts and the color of

the black soul whence they emanated. A glimmering light suddenly

disturbed his uneasy sleep. Idallan leaped wildly from his bed, and

before him stood the monster Rasalkol, surrounded by a pale sulphurous

light, and horribly disfigured by the wound which Ryno gave him in the

oak forest.

'Your first matrimonial year is ended!' said the fearful phantom in a

sepulchral tone, 'and thank the Gods! you are unhappy. Your great soul

must feel the pressure of the chains which bind you forever to a lowly

bride. Daura suffices not for a man of noble ambition, and fate has

destined you for greater things. Three crowns are waiting to grace your

brow, when you shall have rendered yourself worthy of them.'

'Messenger of Heaven!' cried Idallan in ecstasies.

'You must know,' continued the spectre, 'that since the day when you

and Ryno attacked me with such inconsiderate zeal, I have been

condemned through Hiorba's cruelty, to wander about among the

subterranean caves of this mountain, until some firm and courageous

adventurer deliver me from the power of that ugly witch. The brave man

who shall accomplish this, I will raise to the first throne in the

world, give him the daughter of the most powerful ruler for a wife, and

lay my inexhaustible treasures open to him.'

'O that it may be my destiny to end your sorrows, wise magician!' said

Idallan, sighing.

'You alone can do it, brave and noble knight,' answered Rasalkol. 'You

alone have the means in your hands, to destroy Hiorba, deliver me, and

procure unspeakable happiness for yourself; but he who would serve

Rasalkol must not fear to shed blood!'

'Give me but wealth and power, and I will slay millions for you.'

'Take this withered twig,' said the phantom, handing him a wand. 'Bear

it to the chamber where Daura sleeps, strike your dagger to her heart

in such a manner that the warm blood shall sprinkle the wand. The twig

will acquire new life; leaves, buds and flowers will instantly put

forth, it will take root in the earth and bear a magnificent fruit,

containing within itself the seeds of death. Divide the fruit and send

it in the name of Daura to Ryno and Aliande. As soon as you hear that

they are dead, bring their bodies here and lay them by the corpse of

your wife. Then tear out their hearts and burn them with the wood of

the tree. When the fire shall have destroyed the last fibre, Hiorba

will expire with dreadful torments. I shall then be free and eternally

grateful.'

'I am yours!' cried Idallan, cautiously proceeding to the sleeping

chamber of the unhappy Daura, with the magic wand in one hand and his

dagger in the other. A mysterious light preceded the monster's steps.

Softly opening the door, the angelic form lay before him, wrapped in

peaceful slumber. The sweet smile of innocence played upon her pale

lips. In a tone of melancholy tenderness which would have softened a

tiger, she exclaimed in her sleep, 'lovest thou me no longer, Idallan?'

Yet did Idallan, with a malicious scowl, raise his arm to strike. At

that instant a flash of lightning hurled the dagger from his hand, and,

instead of Rasalkol, the sorceress Hiorba stood before him. Her

piercing glance seemed almost annihilating, and the trembling culprit

cast his eyes upon the earth, as if imploring it to open and swallow

him.

'Daughter, your tender husband would become your murderer!' said

Hiorba. 'Thus is your hasty choice rewarded.' Then turning to Idallan:

'the soul's deepest grief, the eternal loss of her heart's peace,

punishes your unhappy wife for her disregard of the maternal advice;

but what can be a sufficient punishment for you?'

Idallan was silent.

'Your obdurate heart was steeled against your wife, your faithful

brother-in-arms, and against me, to whose kindness you were indebted

for the foundation of your fortunes. Ambition and shameful avarice have

incited you to the blackest crimes! Be your punishment proportioned to

your deeds! Therefore up, demons! drag this condemned one to Hecla's

ever flaming gulf! There let soul and body suffer the pain of the

dreadful sulphur bath, until the mortal part has become changed to

gold. For a thousand years may the sordid dross remain, until by

millions of accidents it becomes transformed into a circle, and presses

a crowned and joyless head. When the crown thus formed sparkles with

gems, awaken in the miserable metal its gnawing consciousness, and, so

long as the diadem endures, torture the soul with the perception of

treasures and honors never to be enjoyed!'

Having spoken thus, Hiorba waved her fearful wand. Two horrible demons

appeared, and, with a laugh, which extorted a howl of anguish from the

criminal, forced him away.

CHAPTER XI.

The inconstant Ryno had one day been belated while engaged in the

chase, which had become his favorite occupation since the destruction

of his matrimonial peace. He had pursued a wounded doe into a thicket

out of which he was unable to find his way. The evening air blew chill,

the stars shone faintly through the nebulous atmosphere, and the

moonless night was spreading its brown mantle over the earth. A deep

silence pervaded the forest, broken only by the hootings of the owl,

and the howlings of the wolf. Ryno dismounted to grope for the devious

path. He wandered on in this manner for the space of a quarter of an

hour, leading his horse by the bridle-rein, when suddenly he heard a

flourish of drums and trumpets. Looking up, he was astonished to find

himself at no great distance from a magnificent and brilliantly

illuminated castle. Pleased and surprised, for in all his hunting

excursions he had never encountered it before, he threw himself upon

his horse and hastened toward its gates. Trumpets and comets rang a

merry peal, the drawbridge descended, the gate flew open, and he soon

found himself in the inner court, surrounded by a band of richly clad

and golden locked pages. They seized his bridle, relieved him of his

hunting-spear, bow and quiver,--one of them respectfully held his

stirrup, while another, on bended knee, bade him welcome.

'Do you know me?' asked Ryno with astonishment.

'Who does not know the knightly Ryno, so renowned for his personal

beauty, and indomitable courage!' humbly answered the courtly page.

'Will you please to follow me to the banqueting hall? You are expected

there with affectionate impatience by count Arno, the lord of the

castle, and Rosamunda his charming daughter.'

Readily yielding to this welcome invitation, he left his horse to the

attendants, and followed the smooth-tongued flatterer into the castle.

A marble vestibule, supported by a colonade of porphyry, led him to a

broad alabaster stair-case, which was surmounted by a gilded and richly

ornamented balustrade. Twelve servants in dresses of white silk,

embroidered with gold, preceded him with torches to light his steps.

The folding doors of the banqueting room flew open. A richly covered

table, glittering with golden vessels and surrounded by knights and

ladies, stood in the middle of the hall, and a splendid chandelier

poured a flood of light from above. Uncertain whether he could trust

his senses, Ryno entered, and the most delightful music from the

balcony of the hall greeted his arrival. The knights and dames rose

respectfully from their seats, while a venerable old man in a knightly

costume, with a delicate female whose beauty was too dazzling for

mortal pen to describe, advanced to meet him. Touching a full goblet

with her rosy lips, the female thus addressed him: 'With this cup,

Rosamunda, the daughter of the house, greets the brave Ryno, in the

name of the lord of the castle.'

Already intoxicated by what he saw, Ryno drained the golden cup,

impressed a glowing kiss upon Rosamunda's delicate fingers, shook the

proffered hand of the old knight, who led him to the upper end of the

table and seated him by Rosamunda's side. Familiar conversation, jests

and laughter, the delightful music, the exhilarating cup, and, more

than all these, the proximity of the blooming maiden, so warmed his

blood and confused his mind, that the question never occurred to him

how the castle came to be there, and its inhabitants to know him. He

soon became engaged in a tender conversation with Rosamunda, and but

too soon did they comprehend each other's glances. The table was now

cleared, and the dance began. Drunk with pleasure, Ryno floated through

the assembly with Rosamunda, pressing her divine form to his beating

heart, and amid the tumult and giddiness of the waltz robbing her of a

first kiss, which was warmly returned. When the dance was ended, the

company sought the refreshing coolness of the gardens. The lovers soon

found themselves in a solitary grotto, where, sunk in Ryno's embrace,

Rosamunda murmured that she would be his forever, and that she doubted

not of her father's consent to their union.

This brought the inconstant Ryno to his senses. With much embarrassment

he stammered:

'By my knightly oath and duty, I love you beyond measure, charming

girl, but I cannot become your husband, for--I am already another's.'

Tears flowed in torrents from Rosamunda's eyes, upon this declaration.

With the most violent sorrow she reproached him for having stormed her

heart and destroyed its peace, while bound by earlier ties. She

declared that she could not live without him, and at last implored him

to dissolve his first marriage, that he might become her's alone.

Ryno anxiously endeavored to effect a retreat. 'Aliande is my lawful

wife,' said he, in a tone of decision: 'and never, never will I

repudiate her.'

New reproaches, new tears, and new solicitations followed. Ardent

kisses burned upon his lips, the softest arms twined about his neck,

and the most voluptuous bosom beat against his throbbing heart. He was

almost subdued; but he summoned resolution and, gently repulsing her,

said: 'Leave me, charming maiden,--my integrity must soon wither under

your warm embrace, and with a consciousness of my baseness, I should

then stand before you as a faithless husband, a seducer of innocence,

and a dishonored knight. Pardon my frankness. Your personal charms and

yielding disposition captivate my senses, which have too often led me

astray. You desire marriage. That must not, cannot be! I am weak and

giddy; but no severity of torment shall make me a faithless villain! My

wife is good; I am indebted to her for all my earthly prosperity

and happiness. She has already suffered too much through my

inconstancy,--and rather should this hand wither than I would repudiate

Aliande for the purpose of pledging it to another; even were that other

the divine Rosamunda.'

Once more she threw her arms around him in a last effort to subdue his

heart;--and while he was vainly striving to escape from her embrace,

the grotto was suddenly illuminated by torches, and the lord of the

castle stood before him surrounded by knights and servants, and foaming

with rage.

'What do I see!' thundered he: 'What shame and disgrace are visited

upon my gray hairs! Rosamunda in this solitary grotto under the mantle

of night, in the arms of a youthful stranger! My house is forever

degraded and my lineage dishonored!'

'Your daughter is innocent and inviolate,' answered Ryno; 'and her lips

will inform you, that no unworthy knight now stands before you.'

'You are in error, my good father,' cried Rosamunda, embracing his

knees with anguish; 'Ryno is already married!'

'Married!' growled the old man, repulsing his daughter with a violence

that caused her to sink to the earth in a swoon: 'Married! Then is my

daughter's dishonor beyond remedy! That word decides your fate, Ryno!

and you shall feel how the abuser of the laws of hospitality is

punished in Arno's castle. Seize him, slaves! bind the wretch in

fetters!'

Ryno's hand rushed to his side, but having thrown off his sword for the

dance, he found no weapon there. He struggled manfully against the

rabble host however, until he was finally overcome, cast upon the

ground, bound, and thrown into a deep dungeon beneath the castle.

He lay upon mouldering straw, confined with clanking chains which were

made fast to the wall. A dim lamp lighted the place clearly enough to

show all its horrors. 'This is undeserved!' cried Ryno, as his eye

wandered about his new residence and finally rested upon the heavy iron

door. 'How many times have heavenly enjoyments rewarded my

faithlessness to my Aliande; and now that I, for the first time, have

conducted myself as became a virtuous knight, I sigh in these chains.

If dame fortune will persist in such blindness and stupidity, I shall

take care how I trust her hereafter!'

The prisoner had lost himself in sad rumination, the name of Aliande

now and then escaping from his laboring bosom with many a sigh. At

length a lively contention arose outside his prison door. A female

voice was heard in earnest solicitation, and a manly one opposing;

finally he heard the clinking of gold, and the bolts were withdrawn.

In the most seductive night dress, with streaming hair, tearful eyes

and pale cheeks, which increased her beauty a thousand fold, Rosamunda

tottered into the prison. With a trembling and mournful voice she said

to him, 'you have rejected me when you were yet free to choose; but I

come not now to speak of myself, of my love, or of the grief inflicted

by your rejection. Your welfare alone has induced me to seek you once

more. Your life, which is dearer to me than my own,--dearer even than

my eternal happiness,--stands upon a cast.'

'I am sorry that such a momentary hallucination should be followed by

such serious consequences,' said Ryno.

'The lioness robbed of her young, is a lamb in comparison with my

father when the honor of his family is concerned. You have only the

cruel choice between my hand and a miserable death.'

'That is a hard alternative!' said Ryno with a shudder.

'Reflect that you are forever lost to Aliande. If your wife loves like

Rosamunda, she would rather yield you to another's arms than deliver

you up to a horrible death.'

'No artful sophistry, or seductive blandishments, can change my

resolution. Your father must cite me before a court of honor, if he be

an honorable knight. There will I answer his charge, and give him all

the satisfaction he has a right to claim. If he do not that, if he be

determined to destroy a chained and defenceless man in a secret

dungeon, he is a despicable assassin.'

'Ryno!' cried Rosamunda, again clasping him with wild self-abandonment.

Gently releasing himself from her embrace he bore her as far as his

chains would permit, and called the sentinels. Upon their entrance he

committed the weeping maiden to their care and commanded them to

conduct her to her father.

'A night of torment!' sighed Ryno, throwing himself back upon his

straw: 'but I have one consolation amid all my sorrows. By my death I

shall seal that fidelity which I have heretofore but ill kept, and

expiate the tears which my inconstancy has cost Aliande,--thus becoming

purified and prepared for the joys of Walhalla. The gods bless and

protect my wife and children!'

Again were the bolts withdrawn, and, in a mourning dress, the lord of

the castle entered.

'You may thank a feeling of compassion that I condescend once more to

parley with you!' said the old man with a painful suppression of his

rage.

'I desire not your compassion.'

'You have violated the laws of hospitality and seduced my only child.'

'That is not true!'

'Knights and serfs were witnesses of my shame, which blood alone can

efface. Were your previous marriage dissolved, however, and Rosamunda

your wife, I might, perhaps, forgive you.'

'That can never be.'

'Rosamunda's person is fair, and yet fairer is her guileless heart. She

is of the noblest lineage. Immense treasures lie in the caves of this

castle, and my lands extend twenty days' journey towards the north.

Take your life from my daughter's hand!'

'Place everlasting torments in one scale, and an imperial crown in the

other, I repudiate my wife at no price.'

'Will Aliande be less inconsolable as a widow than divorced?'

'Waste not your breath!'

'By the eternal gods! I warn you for the last time. These prison walls

see you Rosamunda's husband, or echo the death-sigh forced from you by

the rack!'

Ryno tore one of the golden locks from his head and handed it to his

persecutor. 'If one spark of humanity yet slumbers in your bosom you

will send this lock to my poor wife, with the message--That I die

faithful to her, and that I wish her to train up my son as a good and

virtuous knight.--Now let your executioners come on, I am ready.'

'Then, by Woden!' roared the foaming parent, 'you never behold the

rising of another sun!'

He struck a bell, and twelve armed men with closed visors and drawn

swords, slowly and silently entered. One of them detached Ryno's chains

from the wall. Again the bell sounded, and at the other end of the

prison the heavy doors of the torture vault flew open with a horrible

clang. The cave-like room was hung with black and lighted with torches.

Every instrument which the cruelty of man has invented for the torment

of his fellow man, brightly polished and arranged with frightful

regularity, met the glance of the unfortunate prisoner. Large pincers

were glowing in a chafing dish, and in the centre of the room stood the

dreadful rack with its fearful and mysterious equipments. Three hideous

ruffians, with naked arms, in blood-red caps and doublets, stood

waiting beside it. On the right was an open and empty coffin.

'For the last time, choose!' cried the incensed tyrant.

'Death!' said Ryno, calmly, and sighing the name of Aliande, he

advanced toward the rack with a firm step. A beam of light suddenly

illuminated the dungeon. The torture-chamber, the guards, the rack, the

executioners, had all vanished,--and Ryno found himself again in a

magnificent room whose azure star-besprinkled dome was supported by

rose-crowned pillars. With a friendly smile the sorceress Hiorba

approached him; and, as on the first day of his marriage, with the glow

of newly awakened love, sank the happy Aliande upon his breast,

thanking him for his unshaken fidelity to his early vows.

'You have sustained the trial!' said Hiorba, 'and thereby expiated many

a former folly, which Aliande must now forget. Love has returned,

confidence is born anew, and I shall leave the again united pair with

unshaken hope. The unhappy Daura will accompany me. Possibly she may

learn forgetfulness in my quiet and peaceful retreat, which she ought

never to hare left. Farewell, my children. Forget not the true

watchwords of hymen--LOVE AND FIDELITY! Ryno, remain the same Ryno you

were in the grotto and in Arno's dungeon. Aliande, never forget that,

not tears and reproaches, but kindness and affection only, can reclaim

an erring husband.'

She disappeared in a cloud of incense, and the reunited lovers sealed

their mutual promise to obey her sage instructions, with a kiss.

Faithfully was that promise kept. Even when Aliande's head had become

silvered with age she alone was the happiness of Ryno, as he was hers;

and it was many years before the venerable matron, surrounded by her

grandchildren, was surprised by her friend Hiorba, who came in a robe

of light to kiss her expiring breath from her pale lips.

THE ANABAPTIST.

A TALE OF THE FIRST HALF OF THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

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.'

He then turned his back upon the youth and strode on after the

procession. Alf no longer felt the weight of his knapsack, but sprang

forward toward Munster with joyful leaps. He soon, however, encountered

a new mass of fugitives, among whom he could not easily penetrate--and

the dust raised by people, cattle, horses and carriages, becoming

insufferable, Alf retreated into a solitary inn by the way side, until

the tumult had passed away.

As he laid down his knapsack in the tap room and called for a cup of

wine, the door opened and in tottered a pale thin man in a long black

clerical robe. He was followed by a light dashing fellow with the

countenance of a satyr, who carried his bundle for him.

'I can go no further,' groaned the pale man, sinking down upon the

nearest seat.

'Now, doctor, you are for the present indeed in safety,' said his

attendant to him, depositing the bundle upon the stove-bench. 'Permit

me to take a refreshing draught, and then to bid you farewell.'

'Thou dost not wish, then, to go to the good Hessenland, my son?' asked

the doctor, sorrowfully.

'No,' answered the youth, 'but do not consider me unkind. I return to

Munster. New governors will require new clothes, because much of the

dignity of office consists in the dress. My needle will not be

permitted to remain idle there, and I shall make great profits.

Moreover the doctrine of liberty and equality was plain to me from the

beginning; and if the good people would not come so easily to blows,

nothing could be said against it.'

'I thought you held fast to the ancient faith,' said the doctor

complainingly, 'since you sustained me so truly.'

'No,' laughingly replied the hare-brained youth. 'I held to you while

you benefitted me; and on that account I could not reconcile it to

myself to desert you in your hour of need. Now you are in safety; and I

must return to the only place where fellows like myself are held in

some degree of estimation; in any other I might remain all my life a

wandering ragamuffin.'

'One deception less,' sighed the doctor sinking into gloomy meditation,

when the host entered with a mug of wine for Alf. When he perceived the

doctor the mug fell, and, clasping his hands over his head, he cried:

'Holy God! are you also driven away, reverend sir?'

'The true shepherds must first be driven away,' said the doctor with a

melancholy smile, 'when the wolf desires undisturbedly to break into

the unfortunate fold. Nevertheless I may congratulate myself that I

held out until the last moment, and only yielded to open violence.'

'How was that possible in so short a time, doctor?' asked the host.

'The adherents of the Augsburg confession were certainly very powerful

as yet, in the city, as the papists also were.'

'The terrible Matthias,' replied the doctor, 'had sent circulars

through the neighborhood and collected all the anabaptists at Munster.

Consequently, all the low rabble, who had nothing at home to lose,

rushed into the poor city, and last night, taking possession of the

arsenal and town house, they set fire to the cloisters of Mauritius.

They ran, as if possessed, howling through the streets with naked

swords, crying, 'Repent and be baptised!' and 'Depart ye Godless!'

Neither condition, age, nor sex availed; delicate women, the sick and

dying, were all mercilessly thrust out at the gates of their native

city unless they would profess the heretical, heathenish worship. The

choice between death, flight, and apostacy, only remained, even to me;

and as I thought it better to be useful through the preaching of the

word to honest christians than through martyrdom in the paws of such

raging brutes, I shook the dust from my feet and escaped,--and God must

judge.'

'I am very sorry for you,' cried Alf, much agitated: 'because you have

such a venerable appearance, and doubtless think yourself truly

faithful, though you wander in darkness. Nevertheless, it is a culpable

stubbornness in you Lutherans, to struggle so violently against the new

doctrines, which have the right and the holy scriptures so clearly on

their side. Has not our Lord and Savior expressly commanded his

Apostles--'Go ye into all the world and teach all people and baptize

them?' So therefore, the teaching must precede the baptism, according

to Christ's own words. How dare you, then, presume to baptize new born

children who can know nothing of God?'

'What, another anabaptist!' grumbled the host, with a discontented

glance at the speaker; and the worthy doctor directed his eyes, full of

heartfelt sorrow, upon the youth, and sighed--'Another lamb gone astray

from the flock, whom I cannot lead back to the protecting fold. This it

is, that makes me sad.'

'You have not answered my question,' said Alf, with the triumph of the

controversialist.

'Of what advantage is it to show the way to the blind, who will not see

it?' cried the doctor: 'I could answer you, that Christ's apostles

could only baptize adults, because those only came over to christianity

at first; but that, at a later period, the burning zeal of the great

Augustine placed near the heart of the christian fathers the duty of

consecrating their children to Christ through the holy baptism into the

covenant, and thereby to deliver them from the original sin and impart

to them the redemption through Christ, before peradventure they should

be snatched away in their tender youth by a premature death. Would to

God that this schism was the only one that your companions in your

mistaken faith defend with such terrible obstinacy and fierceness. You

have yet other dogmas which you advance, sufficient to convert our

earth, God's beautiful temple, into a den of murderers. Your community

of goods, your equality of rank, your struggle against secular

authority, lead directly to lawless confusion, robbery, murder, and

unhappy revolution.'

'Even the best opinions may be misconstrued,' replied Alf, angrily.

'The gospel looks upon all men as equal. The distinctions made among

them by birth, rank, and wealth, are contrary to its spirit. Christians

who possess the doctrines of God as precepts, and take his spirit for

their guide, need no power that destroys religious liberty without

authority. They are able to govern themselves by the word of God, and

the Holy Spirit will always guide them, that they stumble not in the

paths in which they are led by their faith.'

'Unhappy, infatuated youth!' cried the doctor, with a majestic

prophetic look and tone. 'Go now into the unfortunate city, and behold

how the anabaptist spirit has conducted your companions to robbery,

incendiarism and murder, in the smoking ruins of the cloister, and in

the bleeding bodies which strew the highways! If this horrible

spectacle be not enough to move your heart, think of the words which in

this sad hour I address to you in the name of that God whom your

proceedings profane. These crimes will be but the beginning of your

afflictions. Your equality will yet be to you but equality of

misery--your community of goods will bring you to beggary. Instead of

the magistracy which you now drive away, miscreants will rise up from

the midst of you, and with bloody hands rend your own entrails, until

the wrath of a long suffering God finally awakes, until the avenger

appears, and you all perish in one common ruin.'

'There come horsemen galloping,' cried the doctor's attendant, who was

standing at the window with his cup; 'and, if I see rightly, they bear

our lord bishop's colors. It might be well for me to go back to the

city.'

'The bishop's riders!' sighed the doctor. 'It often happens that the

avenger only lingers near; but this time the Lord in his anger has

given him wings.'

'The bishop's riders!' cried the host, anxiously: 'May God be merciful

to us. Those fellows make no distinctions, but shear both Lutherans and

anabaptists over one comb.'

Alf's eyes flashed fire at this; he drew from his portmanteau a large,

two edged dirk-knife, screwed it upon his walking stick, and placed

himself in a defensive attitude.

Meanwhile the horsemen had stalked into the inn.

'Here is a whole band of anabaptists collected together,' cried the

officer. 'Halters from the horses! we will bind them together in

couples.'

'I am the doctor of theology, Theodore Fabricius,' cried the reverend

gentleman, with all the dignity of his station; 'driven from Munster by

the anabaptists, and am under the special protection of his grace the

landgrave of Hesse.'

'Why should we trouble ourselves much about the heretics,' exclaimed

the serjeant. 'Don't trifle and spend your time in unnecessary

discourse; submit without resistance!' cried another, seizing the poor

doctor by the collar.

Then sprang forward Alf, and struck aside the strong hand of the

horseman. 'Back!' cried he, holding his dirk-spear before him, 'I will

stab the first who touches the old man.'

'That is brave!' cried the host, exultingly; and, armed with a small

hatchet, he stationed himself at Alf's side.

'Young man, why do you interfere?' cried the horseman, recoiling. 'Out

broadswords!' shouted the officer, and the broad blades were already

flashing, when a new trampling of horses drew all eyes to the window,

and in an instant a fresh band of horsemen crowded into the room.

'God be praised!' cried Fabricius, with folded hands; 'those are the

colors of my lord, the landgrave.'

'What mischief are you episcopalians carrying on here?' angrily asked

the captain of the new comers.

'We surely shall not answer to a Hessian concerning that, while

standing upon our lord bishop's own ground,' blustered the serjeant.

'With greater right may I ask how you could yourself venture upon our

territory with weapons and arms, without escort?'

'Madman!' cried the captain, 'is that the way you speak to your allies?

We are sent by our lord to help yours against the rebellious

anabaptists. At present I am commanded to the defence of the

evangelical preachers, who are compelled to flee from Munster, and I

will not permit you to abuse them.'

'If you expect that I shall believe every thing you say upon your mere

assertion,' sneeringly answered the bishop's serjeant-major, 'you are

for once mistaken. The heretic priest is my prisoner.'

'Contemptible slave of a priest!' thundered the captain, 'when the word

of a knight is doubted, he has no other voucher than his good sword;'

and drawing forth his blade, he called to his followers, 'strike flat,

comrades.'

As if all the furriers of Munster had collected together in the tavern

to beat their skins, so clattered the Hessian blades upon the broad

backs of the episcopalians in mighty chorus. In a moment the room was

cleared, and the Hessians were sitting behind their full jugs, making

themselves merry over their easy and bloodless victory.

'Where do you desire to be conducted, reverend doctor?' asked the

captain courteously.

'I intend to go direct to Cassel,' answered Fabricius, 'to give an

account of my mission to the landgrave. If you will give me a file of

horsemen as far as Paderborn, I shall reach my destination without

difficulty.'

'With your permission, Mr. Captain,' said the landlord, 'I will myself

convey my confessor as far as Paderborn in my little wagon.'

'It is well!' answered the captain, casting a glance upon Alf, who had

unscrewed the knife from his staff and was preparing to proceed on his

way.

'Who art thou?' he asked in a severe tone.

'An honest journeyman armorer,' answered Alf, boldly, 'who am returning

to Munster in search of employment.'

'To Munster?' angrily repeated the captain: 'to that heated furnace

where the frantic mob are preparing misery for the country?--and

now,--directly? Dost thou belong to them?'

'Shame to him who denies his faith through fear of men,' cried Alf;

'yes, I am an anabaptist.'

'Munster needs no armorer now,' said the captain, with decision; 'sharp

weapons are not good for children and drunken men: they injure

themselves and others with them. Thou goest with us back to the head

quarters at Walbeck.'

'Never!' exclaimed Alf, in wrath, drawing his knife.

'Pardon his imprudence,' entreated Fabricius, stepping between them.

'His spirit is diseased and heavily weighed down; but his heart is

better than his mistaken faith. He has hazarded his life in my defence

against the episcopalians, regardless of the difference of our creeds.

Let him go in freedom.'

'You know not what you ask, doctor,' said the captain, displeased.

'Ought I to permit the rebels to strengthen themselves by the

acquisition of such a stout fellow?'

'There are already, alas! a plenty of wicked men,' said Fabricius,

'ferociously raging in the unhappy city. It seems to me it is to be

wished, that there should be some good souls among them, who might

mitigate many an evil, and prevent many a crime. The whole conduct of

this youth convinces me, that his erroneous opinions will not hold out

against the misdeeds he will witness, and against the voice of truth in

his own heart; and then may even he become a fit instrument in God's

cause. Let him go, by my desire.'

'Go then,' impatiently cried the captain, returning to the drinking

table.

'God reward thee,' said Alf, with deep feeling, and pressing the hand

of Fabricius to his bosom; 'thou hast saved me from murder.'

'The Lord enlighten thee!' said Fabricius, laying his hands upon the

youth's head for a farewell blessing, 'so that we may one day joyfully

meet again.'

'Yon say that with great confidence, sir,' cried Alf, perplexedly, 'as

if the error were certainly upon _our_ side. I firmly believe it to be

upon _yours_. For God's sake, then, which of us two is right in these

dreadful contentions?'

'If that doubt itself do not already tell thee, my son,' said

Fabricius, in a friendly manner, 'only submit the new belief to the

touchstone of thy reason and thy honest heart--bring it to the test of

the holy scriptures,--seek the truth with diligence and thou shalt find

it.'

'No, no!' cried Alf, in the wild conflict of his soul. 'The holy

spirit, that spoke by our prophets, cannot err. Satan himself must have

whispered the wicked doubt to me: I reject and cast it from me, as,

according to God's commandment, I ought the eye that offends me. I am,

here, yet within the confines of anti-christ, and his power darkens my

vision. Wherefore, forward to the realm of light! Up, toward the holy

Zion!'

As if beside himself, the enthusiast strode out of the house, the

worthy Fabricius with saddened looks, watching his retreating form.

Alf was already advancing toward the city with vigorous strides, when

he heard some one calling behind, and the nimble tailor came running

after him. 'Take me with you, compatriot,' begged he: 'I have taken my

leave of the worthy doctor, and would willingly return to the city in

good company.'

'Where were you during the first part of the fight?' asked Alf of him.

'Behind the stove, dear compatriot,' laughingly confessed the tailor;

'and when it began between the Hessians and the episcopalians, I

crawled under the stove, lest perhaps both parties might take me for an

enemy, and I thus receive a double portion of blows.'

'For shame,' said Alf, scornfully.

'What is there in that to be ashamed of?' babbled the tailor. 'Let each

honor his profession. An armorer, with legs and arms to his body, as

you have, by the grace of God, must hammer upon his enemies as he would

upon old iron--it is his duty; but a poor little tailor, like me, has

the privilege of running away from such affairs of honor; and I should

little grace my fraternity by exhibiting an ill-timed valor in old

quarrels.'

'Under such circumstances,' said Alf, 'I cannot understand how your

cowardice can suffer you to return to Munster, which just now is very

tempestuous and clanging with arms.'

'Why, not a hair of my head can be injured!' triumphantly answered the

tailor. 'I am the old boon companion of the second of the prophets who

are now very powerful in the government of the city, and they cannot

fail me. When once the old order of affairs shall be wholly overturned,

I may be clothed with a station of high honor in the new government.

For a generalship in the field my stars have certainly not directly

designed me; but a chancellorship or treasurership I may fill as well

as another.'

'For that must God in his anger have created you,' cried Alf, with

indignant laughter.

'Because I am a tailor?' asked the chancellor-in-expectancy, angrily.

'How blind does the pride of your hands make you, friend armorer! Does

every thing depend upon strong bones in this world? What was Johannes

Bockhold of Leyden, our great prophet, more than a tailor? What does he

now appear, and to what will he not hereafter attain! The days and

nights have not yet all passed. He has a head for twenty; and when we

loitered about together as comedians, while business in our line was

dull, then did he play the parts of emperors and kings, and played and

ranted in such a manner as to compel respect from all. Give him the

world and he will govern it in fine style.'

'A man who plays the buffoon for bread, selected to carry on the work

of the spirit in my native city!' sighed Alf, losing himself in sad

reflections until they arrived at the closed gates.

Here all was crowded with the busy activity of the burghers. The city

walls were repaired and raised,--the ditches were deepened and

furnished with palisades,--new bulwarks and towers arose on

high,--hammer and trowel, shovel and pickaxe, were in constant

motion,--and the dirt carts creaked incessantly. Aged and distinguished

men worked unweariedly, like day-laborers; women and children assisted;

and the pleasure and satisfaction, with which every thing was

accomplished, rendered it very apparent that the most ardent enthusiasm

was the soul of this body.

'Do you not perceive,' cried the tailor, gaily slapping Alf's shoulder,

'that the bishop will be compelled to break many a tooth upon our walls

before he will be able to eat us up?'

'What does that denote?' asked Alf, disregarding the boast, and

pointing to two large stone slabs covered with letters which were

hanging upon the gates.

'Those are the commands of our second Moses, of our great Matthias,'

replied the tailor, reverently. 'He has caused them to be cut in stone

and to be hung thus on all the gates of the city, to keep the people in

the fear of God, so that every man may conduct according to them.'

At that moment a confused drumming alarm rattled in the city, and a

desolate thrilling cry of the raging populace answered the warlike

call; an icy chill diffused itself through every member of Alf's body,

as it seemed to him as if the people were roaring for blood.

'The prophets are calling the people together,' said the tailor,

dragging Alf forward. 'Come, we must hear what they have to say to us;

we belong to the mass, and can give our opinions upon public affairs

whenever it may seem good to us.'

They hastened toward the market, where the human tide, as if agitated

by the wildest storms, waved to and fro, thundering and roaring.

The thickest crowd was about St. Lambert's church, and the mass, armed

with clubs and spears and muskets, seemed here to form a large circle,

from the centre of which a single commanding voice occasionally rose

above the general bustle of the crowd.

Alf swung himself up to the corner stone of a house near the market,

held fast to the iron supporters of a pitch-pan, and looked towards the

centre of the circle.

'What do you see,' cried the tailor to him above.

'A stout man,' answered Alf, 'clad in a coarse woolen capote. I can

scarcely see his face through his disheveled hair and bushy beard. He

poises a stout spear over a vigorous burgher who is kneeling before

him.'

'That is our great Matthias,' exclaimed the tailor.

A fresh multitude at that instant came up and pulled Alf down from his

corner stone. The tailor held on with all his might to prevent being

borne away by the crowd, and grumbled, 'it is very wrong that one

should be hindered by the crowd from seeing what the people do in their

sovereign judicial capacity.'

'Thank God! I find one acquaintance here at least!' exclaimed a pale

girl, tremblingly seizing the hand of the tailor. 'If you have the

heart of a man, my good fellow, help us out of this great difficulty.

You have much influence with Johannes Bockhold, the prophet; beg of

him, therefore, mercy for my poor uncle!'

'For your uncle, mademoiselle Clara?' inquired he with astonishment.

'What has happened to the worthy master Trutlinger?'

'Trutlinger, Hubert Trutlinger, the armorer?' exclaimed Alf, in great

agitation; 'my good old master? What has happened to him?'

'Alas, they have dragged him before the tribunal of the people!'

complained the weeping girl; 'he is said to have spoken evil of the

prophets.'

'That is a bad case,' said the tailor, 'and in such an unpleasant

predicament there is not much to be hoped from any interference.'

'But you must attempt that possibility,' said Alf, 'of serving the

upright man and this loving child.'

There fell a shot in the midst of the circle, which was directly

followed by a horrible cry from the thousand voiced multitude. 'God!

what was that?' exclaimed the girl, aghast. 'I fear my intercession

comes too late,' said the tailor dubiously. At that moment the circle

opened and the doomed one was brought forth, borne in mournful silence

upon the halberds of several burghers. The blood was streaming from a

spear wound in his side, and from a reeking shot wound in his breast;

yet the unhappy man was not dead, but breathed, although with infinite

pain, and had his eyes directed imploringly toward heaven. 'Not even to

be able to die,' groaned he. 'Thou punishest heavily my foolishness, O

God!'

'Be satisfied unhappy man,' exclaimed the terrible prophet, who had

followed him. 'Heaven has revealed to me that the hour of thy death has

not yet come. God has determined to show thee mercy. Convey him to his

dwelling,' said he to the bearers, 'so that he may be taken care of by

his own family. The Lord desires not the death of sinners, but that

they should be converted and live.'

'Bear me forward quickly,' begged the dying man to those who were

carrying him. 'These bible-sayings cut me to the heart,--for, out of

his mouth, they sound to me like a blaspheming of God.'

They bore him toward his house. Alf tremblingly followed the poor

Clara, whose eyes were streaming with countless tears, and who on the

way vainly sought to check with her handkerchief the flow of blood from

the gushing wounds.

At the door of Trutlinger's house the sad train was received by a

beauteous maiden. Around her noble, blooming face, floated in profusion

the rich curls of her dark locks. The fire of her black eyes, increased

by enthusiasm, pierced deep into the heart. Her high forehead, her

finely arched nose, her slender and majestic figure, imparted to her

whole appearance something queenlike, which even her burgher garb, (in

consequence of the strictness of the new belief deprived of every

ornament) could not counteract. When she perceived the situation of her

unhappy uncle, she wrung her white hands, tears burst from her eyes,

which in the bitterness of her grief were raised to heaven, and

embellished by her sorrow she stood, a weeping Madonna. The meek,

unassuming Clara became wholly eclipsed by her noble figure, at which

Alf stood gazing with true devotion. 'For God's sake, what has happened

to you, dear uncle?' cried she, accompanying the bearers, who conveyed

the sufferer into the nearest lower room and there laid him upon a bed.

'He has practised continual mocking of the holy mission of our

prophets,' answered one of the bearers, 'and the prophet Matthias has

judged him before the congregation.'

'God be merciful to his poor soul!' murmured the departing populace,

and Alf was left alone with the maidens and the dying man.

'How came your senses so entirely to desert you, my poor uncle, as to

permit you to fall into so heavy a sin?' moaned the beauteous girl, who

was bandaging his wounds with the quiet sorrowful Clara.

'Be silent, simpleton!' angrily replied the old man with his remaining

strength. 'My senses have indeed deserted me; but only with the lying

spirit of the wicked wretches whom in my madness I held for God's

prophets. With my gushing blood departs the delusion which perhaps has

cost me my salvation, and I perceive with horror that my poor native

city, led astray by crafty imposters, is on the way to ruin for time

and eternity.'

'Gracious heavens! he already repeats his offences,' sobbed the gentle

maiden. 'We are not alone, uncle,' Clara reminded him in a voice of

gentle entreaty.

Trutlinger, raising his weary eyes toward the youth, remained fixedly

considering him for a long time; and, as if he finally recollected him,

a smile dawned upon his face, which his sufferings chased away. 'If I

see rightly,' said he faintly, 'that is a good old acquaintance, before

whom no precaution or constraint is necessary. Do I mistake, comrade?

Are you not my former faithful apprentice, Alf Kippenbrock?'

'I am the same, my worthy master,' said Alf, approaching and taking his

hand, while his tears flowed more mildly.

'This is the finger of God!' exclaimed Trutlinger, and a feeble light

relumed his eyes. 'These girls are orphans--their last protector goes

to the grave in me. The thought that I must leave their inexperienced

youth behind me without protection in this den of murderers, renders my

death most afflicting. You were always a good and capable man,

Kippenbrock. Promise, then, to your dying master, with the hand and

word of a man, that you will shelter and protect these poor children

according to the best of your ability.'

Alf cast a friendly glance upon the proteges confided to him. The

dark-haired young maiden gleamed upon him with a burning glance, while

Clara timidly cast her blue eyes upon the ground. The heart of the

youth swelled. He quickly pressed Trutlinger's cold hand and cried, 'I

promise it.'

'God reward thee!' faintly uttered the hoary man, his head sank hack

and his lacerated breast labored with the death-struggle. Yet once more

he suddenly opened his eyes. All radiant were they raised toward

heaven. 'Yes,' cried he aloud and joyfully,--'yes, thou hast forgiven

the son of earth his errors! I see thy brightness!'--and he was no

more.

'Lord, deal not with him in judgment!' prayed the enthusiastic young

woman, with pious zeal.

'My second father!' cried Clara, mildly weeping, and, bending down over

the dead body, she softly kissed his pale lips.

'No,' cried Alf, with angry grief, 'this sentence was not pronounced

and executed in accordance with thy will, Spirit of Mercy!'