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.
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.
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 calledconvertersstray 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.
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.
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 bindfeltupon 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 tomakeheretics, 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.