Part 8 (1/2)

”This is my wife,” stammered Henry.

The old man did not even affect the bare semblance of cordiality. He coldly said: ”Women also, nowadays, seem to love sad spectacles.”

Michal, however, before sitting down, folded her hands on the back of the chair, and piously inclining her head said grace.

The old man wrinkled his eyebrows and turned his face away.

Then they sat down to eat.

Nothing but vegetables was served, and after the vegetables came cheese. No flesh was to be seen, not a dish was there which required the a.s.sistance of a knife. Of beer and wine, however, there was no stint. The master of the house urged no one to eat, he left that to the housekeeper. She poured out for Michal beer and wine. Michal begged for water instead, but this they would not give her. They told her that the water of Zeb gave skin diseases to those who drank of it. So she had to sip beer.

During the meal no one broke silence, but after the first cup was drunk, the master of the house raised his voice.

”Did the rascals plunder your reverence as well?”

”We ourselves only escaped as by a miracle.”

”They will receive their reward. Your reverence will see them the day after to-morrow.”

Henry stared at him with astonishment.

”Yes, the soldiers have captured six of them, and these with some others will be executed the day after to-morrow.”

Henry looked blankly at the old man, whose sharp eyes took in his astonishment at once.

”What! has not your reverence been sent here on purpose to give the last consolations of religion to those of the poor sinners who are of the same communion as yourself?”

Henry's face grew pale.

The old man guessed his thoughts.

”Such an office is no doubt none of the most pleasant. Not every clergyman likes to be at the side of the poor sinners during such a sad spectacle. The Franciscans of Eperies are sent to shrive the Catholics, the pastors of Great Leta to comfort the Protestants.

Indeed this office is part of the cure. On every such sad occasion the pastor of Great Leta has to sit in the felons' car by my side with the delinquents opposite. He is therefore a frequent guest at my house.”

To Henry it seemed as if the house were falling about his ears. He had known nothing of all this till now. He began to wipe away the sweat from his brow.

”Did not your reverence know then that the black ca.s.sock of the pastor of Great Leta and the red mantle of the vihodar of Zeb go together? Did the Consistory conceal the fact from your reverence when they recapitulated the emoluments of the benefice--a denarius for each baptism, a Mary-florin for each burial, and a Kremnitz ducat for the last sacraments administered to each poor felon?”

”To tell you the truth,” stammered Henry, ”I did not go very closely into the question of the temporalities. I only thought about my spiritual duties.”

”Then if you have not come hither to act as chaplain at the execution of the law's sentence, to what other circ.u.mstances does my poor house owe the honor of your society?”

Michal threw Henry an encouraging look, signifying that now was the time to confess everything.

”I will tell you my story, master,” began Henry. ”Ten years ago I fled from my father's house. My father loved me. He was good to me.

I was his only son, and I forsook him, nevertheless, because I did not want to follow his trade, because I strove after higher things.

It was my wish to become a scholar and a clergyman. For the last ten years I have not let my father know where I was. During that time I have endured much misery; but I have also been compensated for it. I have made progress in the path of learning. I was the first among my fellow-scholars. The high-born sons of great statesmen and churchmen sat on the same bench with me, with me the poor mendicant student; but no one has ever sat before me. I outstripped them all. I was the favorite of the professor and the presbyters. When I mounted the pulpit to preach, the people strained their ears so as not to lose a single word, and no one ever went to sleep when I was speaking. When scarcely four-and-twenty years of age I was elected a regular minister, and the superintendent confirmed the choice. I was not even obliged to officiate beforehand as chaplain in the usual way.

'Twas the greatest distinction which could have befallen a theologian. In the examination which preceded my consecration, my replies were such that the whole Consistory cried unanimously, 'Eminentissime!' And my benefactor, my protector, the famous, most learned Dr. David Frohlich, crowned the efforts of my laborious life by giving me his only daughter to wife. I then resolved to seek out in his solitude my long-deserted father, who thought me dead, and was pa.s.sing his declining years in dreary abandonment. I said to my beloved wife, 'Let us go and seek out my poor old father, let us present ourselves as traveling strangers and take him by surprise.