'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 a.s.sisted; 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 G.o.d, 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 ma.s.s, 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 ma.s.s, 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 coa.r.s.e 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 mult.i.tude 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 G.o.d! 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 mult.i.tude. 'G.o.d!

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 G.o.d!'

'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. G.o.d 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 G.o.d.'

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 n.o.ble, 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, una.s.suming Clara became wholly eclipsed by her n.o.ble figure, at which Alf stood gazing with true devotion. 'For G.o.d'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.'

'G.o.d 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 G.o.d'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 G.o.d!' 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.'

'G.o.d reward thee!' faintly uttered the h.o.a.ry 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 p.r.o.nounced and executed in accordance with thy will, Spirit of Mercy!'

CHAPTER II.

The next morning Alf stepped into the apartment of his kinsman, Gerhard Kippenbrock, to salute him. The good old man, a worthy butcher by calling, had by the overthrow of all established customs been made second burgomaster of the imperial free city of Munster, without clearly knowing how that precise result had been attained. He advanced to meet the new comer, uncommonly magnificent in his black official dress, with the lace collar and golden chain of honor, and introduced him to a large, raw-boned, meagre man, in a similar dress, who sat at the table staring on vacancy with half-extinguished eyes, in which the flashes of a quiet insanity were occasionally playing.

'Thou hast here the best opportunity to recommend thyself to the favor of our first burgomaster, of brother Bernd Knipperdolling,' said the elder Kippenbrock to the youth. Alf bowed himself low before the singular man, whose appearance affected him disagreeably, and stammered some expressions of respect.

Knipperdolling cast upon him a searching glance, and then said in a hollow and monotonous voice, 'a well formed vessel for the spirit!--thy kinsman, my brother? He may become a bailiff of the city of Zion.'

'G.o.d preserve me, revered sir burgomaster!' protested Alf. 'I by no means understand all that the office requires, and should disgrace my undeserved promotion.'

'Whoever hath the spirit,' said Knipperdolling, decisively, 'needs no earthly wisdom.'

'I have taken upon myself a holy duty!' exclaimed the youth with anxiety, shuddering at the burthen of the proffered dignity. 'I have promised to the unfortunate Trutlinger on his death-bed, to take upon myself the care of his two nieces, whom he left unprotected. I shall have plenty to do,--for six journeymen are employed in the workshop of the orphans, and much work is ordered.'