Genius seems born to do stupid things and to be unable to know it. Probably no stupider thing was ever said or done than that by Wagner when he wrote a diatribe on the Jew in Art. He called it “Das Judenthum in der Musik” (Judaism in Music). He declared that the mightiest people in art and in several other things the Jews could not be artists for the reason that they were wanderers and therefore lacking in national characteristics.

There could not well have been a better plea against his own statement. Art is often national but not when art is at its best. Art is an emotional result and emotion is a thing the Jews know something about. Meyerbeer was a Jew, and the most helpful friend Richard Wagner ever had, yet Wagner was so little of a Jew that he did not know the meaning of appreciation and gratitude. Instead, he hated Meyerbeer and his music intensely. Meyerbeer may have been a wanderer upon the face of the earth and without national characteristics which is a truly amusing thing to say of a Jew, since his “characteristics” are a good deal stronger than “national”: they are racial! But however that may have been, Meyerbeer’s music was certainly characteristic of its composer. As between Jew and Jew, Mendelssohn and he had a petty hatred of each other. Mendelssohn was always displeased when the extraordinary likeness between himself and Meyerbeer was commented upon. They were so much alike in physique that one night, after Mendelssohn had been tormented by his attention being repeatedly called to the fact, he cut his hair short in order to make as great a difference as possible between his appearance and that of his rival. This only served to create more amusement among his friends.

Rossini, with all the mean vanity of a small artist, one whose principal claim to fame lay in large dreams, declared that Meyerbeer was a “mere compiler.” If that be true, one must say that a good compilation is better than a poor creation. Rossini and Meyerbeer were, nevertheless, warm friends.

Meyerbeer put into practice the Wagnerian theories, which may have been one reason, aside from the constitutional artistic reasons, why Wagner hated him.

Meyerbeer was born “to the purple,” to a properly conducted life, and yet he laboured with tremendous vim. He outworked all his fellows, and one day when a friend protested, begging him to take rest, Meyerbeer answered:

“If I should stop work I should rob myself of my greatest enjoyment. I am so accustomed to it that it has become a necessity with me.” This is the true art spirit, which many who “arrive” never know the joy of possessing. Meyerbeer’s father was a rich Jewish banker, Jacob Beer, of Berlin. It is pleasant to think of one man, capable of large achievements, having an easy time of it, finding himself free all his life to follow his best creative instincts. It is not often so.

Meyerbeer’s generosity of spirit in regard to the greatness of another is shown in this anecdote:

Above all music, the Jew best loved Mozart’s, just as Mozart loved Haydn’s. Upon one occasion when Meyerbeer was dining with some friends, a question arose about Mozart’s place among composers. Some one remarked that “certain beauties of Mozart’s music had become stale with age.” Another agreed, and added, “I defy any one to listen to ‘Don Giovanni’ after the fourth act of ’Les Huguenots’!” This vulgar compliment enraged Meyerbeer. “So much the worse then for the fourth act of ’The Huguenots’!” he shouted. Of all his own work this Jewish composer loved “L’Africaine” the best, and he made and remade it during a period of seventeen years. In this he was the best judge of his own work; though some persons believe that “Le Prophete” is greater.

Among Meyerbeer’s eccentricities was one that cannot be labelled erratic. He had a wholesome horror of being buried alive, and he carried a slip about in his pocket, instructing whom it might concern to see that his body was kept unburied four days after his death, that small bells were attached to his hands and feet, and that all the while he should be watched. Then he was to be sent to Berlin to be interred beside his mother, whom he dearly loved.

THE PROPHET

CHARACTERS OF THE OPERA

Count Oberthal, Lord of the manor.
John of Leyden, an innkeeper and then a revolutionist (the
Prophet).
Jonas
Mathison
Zacharia
Bertha, affianced to John of Leyden.
Faith, John’s mother.
Choir: Peasants, soldiers, people, officers.

Story laid in Holland, near Dordrecht, about the fifteenth century.

Composer: Meyerbeer.
Author: Scribe.

ACT I

One beautiful day about four hundred years ago the sun rose upon a castle on the Meuse, where lived the Count Oberthal, known in Holland as Lord of the Manor. It was a fine sight with its drawbridge and its towers, its mills and outbuildings, with antique tables outside the great entrance, sacks of grain piled high, telling of industry and plenty. In the early day peasants arrived with their grain sacks, called for entrance, and the doors were opened to them; other men with grain to be milled came and went, and the scene presented a lively appearance.

Sheep-bells were heard in the meadows, the breezes blew softly, and men and women went singing gaily about their work. Among them was a young girl, more beautiful than the others, and her heart was specially full of hope. She was beloved of an innkeeper, John, who lived in a neighbouring village. He was prosperous and good, and she thought of him while she worked. She longed to be his wife, but John had an old mother who was mistress of the inn in fact, the inn was hers and it had been a question how they should arrange their affairs. John was too poor to go away and make a separate home, and the old mother might not care to have a daughter-in-law take her place as mistress there, carrying on the business while the active old woman sat idly by.

Upon that beautiful day, Bertha was thinking of all of these things, and hoping something would happen to change the situation. Even while she was thinking thus fate had a pleasant surprise in store for her, because the old mother, Faith, was at that very moment approaching the manor where Bertha lived. Like others of her class she owed vassalage to some petty seigneur, and while that meant oppression to be endured, it included the advantage of safety and protection in time of war.

Bertha, looking off over the country road, saw Faith, John’s mother, coming. Her step was firm for one so aged, and she was upheld on her long journey by the goodness of her mission. When Bertha saw her she ran to meet and welcome her.

“Sit down,” she cried, guiding the old woman’s steps to a seat, and hovering over her. “I have watched for your coming since the morning even since sunrise,” the young woman said, fluttering about happily. “I was certain thou wert coming.”

“Yes, yes. John said: ‘Go, go, mother, and bring Bertha home to me,’ and I have come,” she answered, caressing Bertha kindly. “I have decided to give over the work and the care to you young people; to sit by the chimneyside and see you happy; so bid farewell to this place, and prepare to return with me. John is expecting thee.”

“At once, dear mother?” she asked with some anxiety. “You know, mother, I am a vassal of the Seigneur Oberthal, and may not marry outside of his domain, without his permission. I must first get that; but he cannot wish to keep me here, when there is so much happiness in store for me!” she cried, with all the assurance of her happiness newly upon her. But while she had been speaking, Faith had looked off toward the high-road:

“Look, Bertha! dost see three strange figures coming along there?” she asked in a low tone, pointing toward the road. Bertha looked. It was true: three men, in black, of sinister appearance, were coming toward them. The pair watched.

“Who are they?” she repeated, still in low and half-frightened tones.

“I have seen them before,” Bertha answered. “It is said that they are saintly men, but they look sinister to me.”

By this time the men had been joined by many of the peasants and were approaching the castle. They were Jonas, Mathison, and Zacharia, seditionists; but they were going through the country in the garb of holy men, stirring up the people under cover of saintliness.

They preached to the people the most absurd doctrines; that they would have all the lands and castles of the nobles if they should rise up and rebel against the system of vassalage that then prevailed. They lacked a leader, however, in order to make their work successful. Now they had come to Dordrecht and were approaching the castle of the Count of Oberthal. All the peasants got into a frightful tangle of trouble and riot, and they called and hammered at the Count’s doors till he and his retainers came out.

“What is all this noise?” he demanded, and as he spoke, he recognized in Jonas, the leader of the Anabaptists, a servant whom he had discharged for thievery. He at once told the peasants of this, and it turned them against the three strangers and stopped the disturbance, but at the back of the crowd the Count Oberthal had seen the beautiful Bertha and Faith.

“What do ye do here?” he asked, curiously but kindly, noticing the beauty of Bertha. At that she went toward him.

“I wish to ask you, Seigneur, for leave to marry outside your domain. I love John of Leyden, the innkeeper this is his mother and she has come to take me home with her, if I may go.” She spoke modestly, never thinking but she would be permitted to leave. But Oberthal looked at her admiringly and decided that he would have her for himself. Then thinking of her love, she began to sing of how John had once saved her life, and Faith joined her in pleading.

“No,” Oberthal said at last, smiling; “I will not have so much loveliness leave my domain. No! I shall not give my consent.” At that she began to weep, while Faith protested against his decision. This made him angry and he ordered the two woman taken into his castle and confined there till he should decide what he wished to do with them.

The peasants, who were still gathered about the Anabaptists, uncertain how to treat them after the Count’s disclosures, now showed great anger against Oberthal for his action toward Bertha and Faith. As the two women were dragged within the castle, the peasants set up a howl of rage, while the Anabaptists extended their hands above them in a pious manner and began their Latin chant once more.

ACT II

At the little inn belonging to Faith, John had been waiting all day for her return with Bertha, and trying his best to look after those who came and went. Outside, people were waltzing and drinking and making merry, for the inn was a favourite place for the townsmen of Leyden to congregate.

“Sing and waltz; sing and waltz!” they cried, “all life is joy and three cheers for thee, John!”

“Hey! John, bring beer,” a soldier called merrily. “Let us eat, drink and ” At that moment Jonas, followed by the other Anabaptists, appeared at the inn.

“John! who is John?” they inquired of the soldier.

“John! John!” first one, then another called. “Here are some gentlemen who want beer although they are very unlikely looking chaps,” some one added, under his breath, looking the three fellows over. John came in to take orders, but his mind was elsewhere.

“It is near night and they have not come,” he kept thinking. “I wonder if anything can have happened to them! Surely not! My mother is old, but she is lively on her feet, and on her way home she would have the attention of Bertha. Only I should feel better to see them just now.”

“Come, come, John! Beer!” the soldier interrupted, and John started from his reverie. As he went to fetch the beer, Jonas too started. Then he leaned toward Mathison.

“Do you notice anything extraordinary about that man John of the inn?” he asked. The two other Anabaptists regarded the innkeeper closely.

“Yes! He is the image of David the saint in Muenster, whose image is so worshipped by the Westphalians. They believe that same saint has worked great miracles among them,” Zacharia answered, all the while watching John as he moved about among the tables.

“Listen to this! Just such a man was needed to complete our success. This man’s strong, handsome appearance and his strange likeness to that blessed image of those absurd Westphalians is enough to make him a successful leader. We’ll get hold of him, call him a prophet, and the business is done. With him to lead and we to control him, we are likely to own all Holland presently. He is a wonder!” And they put their heads together and continued to talk among themselves. Then Jonas turned to one of the guests.

“Say, friend, who is this man?”

“He is the keeper of this inn,” was the answer. “He has an excellent heart and a terrible arm.”

“A fiery temper, I should say,” the Anabaptist suggested.

“That he has, truly.”

“He is brave?”

“Aye! and devoted. And he knows the whole Bible by heart,” the peasant declared, proud of his friend. At that the three looked meaningly at one another. This certainly was the sort of man they needed.

“Come, friends, I want you to be going,” John said at that moment, his anxiety for his mother and Bertha becoming so great that he could no longer bear the presence of the roistering crowd. “Besides it is going to storm. Come. I must close up.” They all rose good-naturedly and one by one and in groups took themselves off all but the three Anabaptists, who lingered behind.

“What troubles thee, friend?” Jonas said sympathetically to John, when all had gone, and he looked toward them inquiringly.

“The fact is, my mother was to have returned to Leyden with my fiancee before this hour, and I am a little troubled to know they are so late upon the road. I imagine I feel the more anxious because of some bad dreams I have had lately two nights.” He added, trying to smile.

“Pray tell us what your dreams were. We can some of us interpret dreams. Come! Perhaps they mean good rather than bad,” Jonas urged.

“Why, I dreamed that I was standing in a beautiful temple, with everything very splendid about me, while everybody was bowing down to me ”

“Well, that is good!” Jonas interrupted.

“Ah! but wait! A crown was on my brow and a hidden choir were chanting a sacred chant. They kept repeating: ’This is the new king! the king whom heaven has given us.’ And then upon a blazing marble tablet there appeared the words ‘Woe through thee! Woe through thee!’ And as I was about to draw my sword I was nearly drowned in a sea of blood. To escape that I tried to mount the throne beside me. But I and the throne were swept away by a frightful storm which rose. And at that moment the Devil began to drag me down, while the people cried: ’Let him be accursed!’ But out of the sky came a voice and it cried ‘Mercy mercy to him!’ and then I woke trembling with the vividness of my dream. I have dreamed thus twice. It troubles me.” And he paused abstractedly, listening to the storm without, which seemed to grow more boisterous.

“Friend, let me interpret that dream as it should be understood. It means that you are born to reign over the people. You may go through difficulties to reach your throne, but you shall reign over the people.”

“Humph!” he answered, smiling incredulously, “I may reign, but it shall be a reign of love over this little domestic world of mine. I want my mother and my sweetheart, and want no more. Let them arrive safely this night, and I’ll hand over that dream-throne to you!” he answered, going to the door.

“Listen again!” Jonas persisted. “You do not know us but you have heard of us. We are those holy men who have been travelling through Holland, telling people their sacred rights as human beings; and pointing out to them that God never meant them for slaves. Join us, and that throne you dreamed of shall become a real one, and thine! Come! Consent, and you go with us. That kingdom shall be yours. You have the head and heart and the behaviour of a brave and good man.” Thus they urged him, but John only put them aside. He listened to them half in derision.

“Wait till I get my Bertha and my mother safe into this house this night, then we’ll think of that fine kingdom ye are planning for me,” he said. The Anabaptists seeing that his mind was too troubled with his own affairs, got up and went out.

“Well, thank heaven!” John cried when they had gone. “What queer fellows, to be sure! I wish it were not so late ” At that moment a great noise arose outside the inn. “What can that mean?” he said to himself, standing in the middle of the floor, hardly daring to look out, he was so disturbed. The noise became greater.

“It is the galloping of soldiers, by my faith!” he cried, and was starting toward the door when it was burst open and Bertha threw herself into his arms.

“What is this! What has happened? Good heaven! you are all torn and ”

“Save me, save and hide me!” she cried. “Thy mother is coming. The soldiers are after us look!” And glancing toward the window he saw Oberthal coming near with his soldiers. He hastily hid Bertha behind some curtains in one part of the room, just as Oberthal rushed in.

He demanded Bertha, telling John how he had taken the two women and was carrying them to Haarlem when Bertha got away. Now he had Faith, the mother, and would keep her as hostage, unless Bertha was instantly given into his hands. Upon hearing that, John was distracted with grief.

“Give her up, or I’ll kill this old woman before thy eyes!” he declared brutally. John was torn between love for his old mother and for his sweetheart, and while he stood staring wildly at Oberthal the soldiers brought his mother in and were about to cleave her head in twain when Bertha tore the curtains apart. She could not let John sacrifice his mother for her. Oberthal fairly threw her into the arms of his soldiers, while the old mother stretched her arms toward John, who fell upon a seat with his head in his hands. Then, after the soldiers and Oberthal had gone, the poor old woman tried to comfort him, but his grief was so tragic that he could not endure it, and he begged her to go to her room and leave him alone for a time. Soon after she had gone out, John heard the strange chant of the Anabaptists. He raised his head and listened that was like his dream the sacred chant!

“It is my dream,” he said. Then he started up furiously. “It is my revenge. If those strange men should come again and ask ” And at that very moment they summoned him to the door. They knew what had passed, and believed it a good time to persuade him to join them.

“Enter, enter, enter!” he cried, half beside himself with his grief; and the three strange creatures came in.

“John of Leyden, we come to offer you a throne once more, and with it your revenge for what has happened here this night.”

“I will join thee for my revenge. I need no throne but my revenge! I must have my revenge!”

“Come, and thou shalt have it. Work henceforth as we direct, and as that sainted figure of David, beloved by those of Westphalia, and we promise you revenge against the whole nobility of Holland. Come!”

“Aye thou shalt be to Holland what Jeanne d’Arc was to France!”

John went softly, yet quivering with hate and sorrow, to his mother’s door.

“She mutters a prayer in her sleep,” he said, hesitating what to do, yet overwhelmed with misfortune and fury.

“Thy revenge!” whispered Zacharia in his ear. John of Leyden looked at him darkly a moment, then:

“Let us go,” he said, and the four conspirators went softly from the old inn.

ACT III

At the close of day, at the foot of an ice-covered mountain, forests on every side, the Anabaptists were encamped in Westphalia. John of Leyden had gone to that part of Germany under the direction of Jonas, Mathison, and Zacharia, and being introduced to the people as a sainted man, all had fallen down and worshipped him and he had become a great power. So many had rallied round him that his army had become very large, and the nobles and their families were fleeing from it in consternation.

Just before nightfall, while all seemed quiet in camp, a noise of battle was heard far off, which grew louder and louder, telling of the approach of the fighters. Finally, the noise of combat was right at hand, and when the soldiers rushed into the camp there was great confusion. Among the prisoners were men and women richly dressed, little children, and old people, all prisoners, or flying on every side. The Anabaptists were ferocious in their joy over every success, and since John of Leyden had joined and led them they had been most successful.

Peasants came into camp with baskets and loads of food, while those things were bought by giving in exchange many spoils of war rich vases and fine stuffs of all sorts. Then the soldiers fell to eating and drinking, being served by their women and children while there was dancing and general rejoicing.

Many of the girls who had brought provisions into camp had skated over miles of frozen waterway, thinking little of such a performance in that country, and all was gaiety and expectation. It was known that the Emperor was marching against the Anabaptist army, and while John of Leyden had been very successful, he had as yet no stronghold; so he decided, after talking with Jonas and the other two seditionists, to attack the city of Muenster itself. That city was held by the father of the Count Oberthal, who had carried off Bertha.

Then, when the rout and camp gaiety were at their height, a stranger who had been seen wandering about the camp was brought in. He was looked upon with suspicion, and it was decided that he must immediately take an oath to belong to the Anabaptists. He agreed to do so and then, while every one was talking about the Prophet, the stranger was brought before Jonas.

“Who is it?” he asked, for outside the rays of the camp lights the wood was dark.

“One who is ready to take the oath and join us,” was the answer.

“Very well, but in this dense wood who can see anything at this time of the night? Strike a light there.”

“Yes, have a care, brother,” said Zacharia. “Let us be certain the man is sincere in his purpose to join us.”

“To-morrow we go to take Muenster, which is in the hands of that traitor Oberthal,” Mathison said.

The stranger started violently.

“We shall massacre the wretch and his people,” Jonas continued.

“Massacre!” the stranger exclaimed, then aside he murmured “my father!” because in truth the stranger who had been caught near the camp was none other than the Oberthal who had carried away Bertha.

The three Anabaptists continued to speak in so blood-thirsty a manner of their exploits that Oberthal was horrified by the thought that it was his father who was to fall into their hands on the morrow. More than that, they expected him to swear to join their expedition.

“Well, here we stand, talking in the darkness still. Let us get out of it,” Jonas cried, and they moved toward the light of the camp, taking Oberthal with them. Suddenly when in the bright light, Jonas recognized his old master who had sent him away and punished him for stealing.

“Heaven! Well, I have you now!” he cried, wickedly. “Now I’ll make short work of you!” and he called the guard. “Here! surround him. Lead him instantly to execution.”

“Without consulting the Prophet?” all cried in amazement. That was high-handed work, indeed.

“Wait for nothing. Kill him,” Jonas cried, going excitedly by one path, as John the Prophet came upon the scene by another. He was sad and cast down, and Zacharia spoke to him. “What is wrong with you?”

“I get small joy from all this,” he answered. “Jeanne d’Arc was born to such affairs, but I was better off in my inn, serving my people. It is a bad business,” and he was very melancholy.

“What is this you say?”

“I say that I think of my Bertha and my mother. I wish I were with them, while others were reforming Holland.”

“But thy mother and thy sweetheart, since they got into the hands of Oberthal, are doubtless dead.”

“Then there is little for me to fight for. I shall stop now; do you carry on your schemes as best you may. Who is that prisoner?” he asked, as Oberthal was brought back by the soldiers.

“It is a man who is about to be executed.”

“Oh he is? Who says so, since I say otherwise?” John replied, looking at Zacharia contemptuously. “I am thy Prophet,” he declared with hardly less contempt in his tone than before. “I am thy Prophet and settle these matters of life and death. I settle this one. Yonder man shall not die. I am in a humane mood.” He motioned the guard to bring Oberthal, whom he had not yet seen, before him. When face to face, John of Leyden lifted his eyes and looked again upon the man who had brought all his woes upon him; who had so persecuted him that he had in a mad moment left his peaceful inn, and undertaken to change the face of Germany. He had already wrought untold pain and suffering.

“Oberthal!” he said, hardly able to speak because of his emotion.

“Ah! thou wilt still treat him tenderly, I doubt not!” Zacharia cried, sneeringly. For a moment John of Leyden could not speak; then he said:

“Leave us!” His tone was awful, yet showed great self-repression.

“So!” he said, after gazing at Oberthal a moment. “Heaven has delivered thee into my hands!”

“It is just. My crime merits my punishment,” Oberthal said in a low voice. “But I will tell thee one thing which is thy due and may save my soul from damnation: thy Bertha, to save herself from my hands, threw herself into the sea, and thus escaped me.”

“Dead, dead!” John of Leyden said, bowing his head a moment upon his hands.

“No! there is more. Touched with remorse, I saved her.”

“And then, speak!”

“She fled to Muenster, and I was on my way there to find her and to try to restore her to thee, when I was arrested.”

“Oberthal, thy fate shall rest with her. I spare thee till she shall pronounce sentence upon thee.” He had no sooner spoken than Mathison rushed in and cried that the troops had rebelled, and that John alone could stop the riot and stay the ruin. “The gates of Muenster have been thrown open, its army has marched upon us, and our men are fleeing.”

“Run! run!” John of Leyden shouted. “After them, and turn them back. Muenster must be ours!” And he rushed off, the Anabaptists following.

When he managed to rally the soldiers, they turned upon him and accused him of being a false Prophet.

“Ye promised us to take Muenster; thy dallying has lost it to us. We shall no longer tolerate a rule like thine. Thou art no Prophet.” But since learning that Bertha was within the city of Muenster, John of Leyden’s purpose had become fixed. If he entered that city at all, it must be as a conqueror; because as a seditionist his head was wanted there. Yet if he did not enter he could not find Bertha.

When they had cried death to the Prophet, John of Leyden calmly, with great impressiveness, made them cower before his rage.

“I punish rebellion like this. If you have come to grief or if the cause shall it is because you have offended God by your haste, and by your disobedience to me,” he cried, while the soldiers shouted:

“He speaks like a holy man! We have done wrong.”

“Get to your knees, you impious men!” he cried, seeing his advantage over them, and they all fell upon their knees. His personality had gained the control over a great people once again. With this spirit of enthusiasm aroused, the city of Muenster was soon taken, and a great hymn of triumph went up. All the people likened John of Leyden to David, and rallied round him, proclaiming him king.

ACT IV

Before the city hall of the city of Muenster, many citizens were collected, and many were continually arriving, bearing rich bronzes, and chests of treasure, which they were hoping to save for themselves by placing them under the direct protection of the city. The invading hosts of John’s army filled all with fear. No one was more furious against the Prophet than Bertha, who, being in Muenster, had no thought that the Prophet who had laid waste the whole country could be her beloved sweetheart.

The public square before the city hall was soon invaded by the soldiers of John, who were crying, “Long live the Prophet!” while answering cries of “Down with him! down with thy Prophet!” were courageously shouted by the people of Muenster.

“This Prophet who is to be crowned King of the Anabaptists; he is of Satan and not of Heaven!” The whole city was full of despair.

While all was in confusion, Faith, John’s mother, was seen to wander in and kneel in prayer.

“What art thou doing there, mother?” one of the crowd questioned.

“I am praying for my son. I am begging for money that I may buy masses for his soul. I am hungry and cold. I am alone in the world. All the world seems buried in grief. I pray. There is no other hope save in prayer!” she moaned, little thinking that it was her son who had brought upon a nation so much desolation, and who at the same time was about to be crowned by the revolutionists. As people passed, they dropped money into her hand, and some led her a little way to a seat where she could rest her weary body. She had become very old and trembling since that night when she had last seen her son. She had wandered from the old inn in search of him, and had never found him; and she had no sooner left the old home than Bertha, saved from Oberthal, had flown to the inn again, to throw herself into the strong arms of her lover. She had found the place closed, for Faith and John had gone, no one knew where.

After begging and praying in the public square, Faith found herself near a sick and almost helpless man, close to the palace toward which she had wandered. Many people were about. The Prophet was going to be crowned, so it was rumoured. Among others, Bertha had wandered near.

“Thou poor, helpless brother,” said Faith. “Let me, out of my poverty, help thee a little.” At the sound of that voice Bertha paused, turned, and nearly shrieked. She had wandered alone and hopeless; and there stood Faith, her lover’s mother.

“Oh, dear mother!” she cried, and they threw themselves into each other’s arms.

“Oh, mother! How I sought for thee!” she sobbed. “Since you were not to be found in Leyden, I turned myself toward Muenster, hoping against hope to find you or John. Now take me to him. Let us go quickly!” she urged, but old Faith held back.

“My child, he is dead. I heard a voice declare to me that I should see him no more. It was an unseen voice. He is dead.” Whereupon, both women fell to weeping in each other’s arms.

“It has to do with these wicked men who have brought ruin upon Germany! these Anabaptists!” Bertha cried. “Oh, John, if thou couldst rise from thy grave and help me now. Thy courage and goodness would raise up men to drive back these who do bad deeds in the name of God.”

She cursed the famous Prophet, neither of them dreaming who he might be, and that desolation had come because the man whom they loved best had sought revenge for the wrongs done to them. With those curses in their hearts, the forlorn women wandered on with the crowd toward the cathedral where the Prophet was to be crowned.

Some of his suite had already gone into the church, but many were arriving in a grand procession. The appearance of the Prophet’s guard aroused great indignation among the citizens, who were compelled to look on helplessly.

Then came the Prophet himself, garbed all in white, from head to foot, and a wonderful march was being played, while the spectacle grew each moment more and more magnificent.

As John the Prophet passed, the revolutionary crowd threw themselves at his feet; young girls strewed flowers in his path, the choir chanted. Then, the Anabaptists having deposed the Elector Princes, were to take their places. The Prophet was anointed with holy oil, a great and impressive ceremony took place, and all the city rang with the cries that proclaimed him king. Faith and Bertha could not see the new king, but they were in the crowd, and they cursed this Prophet again none so vigorously as Bertha, while Faith hailed her as a new Judith. After a time, all being prostrate upon their knees awaiting the reentrance of the Prophet from the church, John appeared upon the great staircase which led from the cathedral. As he stood there looking unhappily upon all of those abased people who seemed to be worshipping him, he thought he heard the voice of his dream of long ago. “Woe through thee! Let him be accursed!” Overcome by the memory, he uttered those words aloud. Faith heard the voice and screamed:

“My son! my son!” John of Leyden trembled and started toward her, his arms outstretched, but Mathison, knowing the disastrous effect such an acknowledgment would have upon the crowd who believed him of holy origin, said in a low voice to John:

“Speak! reply to her, and she shall die, instantly! Deny thy mother, or she shall be killed before thine eyes.” The Anabaptists had no mind to lose all they had risked so much for, when it was just within their grasp. John looked at his mother, in agony and then he regained his self-possession.

“Who is this woman?” he asked: it was to save her life that he did it.

At that cold denial of her, Faith clasped her hands and wept. Then she became enraged at his ingratitude, and began to upbraid him.

“This poor wretch is mad,” he said, but by that time the crowd was beginning to murmur against him.

“He said he was the son of God! He is an impostor.” The Anabaptists seeing how fatal the effect of Faith’s words was going to be, spoke menacingly to John. Then John cried, as Jonas raised his sword to strike the old mother down:

“Hold! respect the day! I, thy Prophet, hath to-day received His crown. No bloodshed. This poor creature is demented. A miracle alone can restore her reason,” and he went toward Faith. “Woman, to thy knees!” he said, but she made a gesture of indignation. He continued to go toward her, then laying his hands lovingly upon her head he looked meaningly into her eyes.

“To thy knees.” His voice was soft and gentle, and slowly Faith fell upon her knees, half comprehending that he was acting as fate compelled him.

“Put up thy swords!” he commanded the people who had drawn them. Then to Faith: “Thou wert wrong, good mother!” She looked at him a moment longer.

“Yes! wrong,” she said, and bowed her head. At that the people burst into cries of enthusiasm.

“Is he thy child?” Jonas asked loudly, placing his sword-point upon her breast.

“Alas! No, he is not my son!” she answered in a weak voice.

“A miracle! A miracle!” all cried, and then the Prophet passed on, Faith looking after him without following, the people again acclaiming him with joyous shouts.

ACT V

In a dungeon underneath the palace, John found his mother. He went to the place where he had privately ordered the Anabaptists to have her taken, the moment he could leave the ceremonies of his coronation. The feast of the day was yet to come, but while the ceremonies had been going on, the three Anabaptists had had a message from the Emperor of Germany, which promised safety to themselves, if they would give the Prophet into his hands. They had treacherously decided to do this at the coronation feast.

In the dungeon the poor old mother had huddled down, no longer in fear, because her grief had rendered her insensible to everything else.

“I forgive him,” she sobbed, thinking of her son. “Let no ill come to him for what he has done to me this day.” As she was thus plunged in deepest grief, the iron door opened, flambeaux lighted the palace up, and the guard cried the Prophet’s name.

“Woman, get upon thy knees; the Prophet is coming to thee,” an officer said.

She started up: “He is coming here I shall see him?” she whispered to herself. Then the guard left, and John of Leyden came in. He ran toward his mother.

“Mother! My mother!” he cried.

“Nay!” she answered. “In the crowd I obeyed thee I read some strange message in thy face. But here, with only God’s eye upon thee, go down on thy knees before me.”

“Oh, mother, I love thee!”

But the old mother reproached him with what he had done how he had brought a people to despair and had imposed himself upon them as the son of God; but all the while she chided him, she loved him dearly.

“It was my wrongs that made me do this thing, mother,” he urged.

But she showed him all his wickedness with such vehemence that he could not answer, and could only weep. Then she spoke quietly.

“If thou art remorseful for thy sins, proclaim thy wrong. Be thyself, John of Leyden, the innkeeper, my son!”

“Desert my soldiers?” he asked, in a frightened voice. “I have led others into danger dare I desert them?”

“Thy mother demands it: it is the only way to right thy wrongdoing. The blessing of God will only then descend upon thee.” The Prophet, overwhelmed by her command, opened his arms to Heaven as a sign that he would obey, and Faith threw herself upon his breast.

Now Bertha, utterly distracted by her troubles, had disguised herself as a pilgrim, and in her madness she had determined to set fire to the stores of wood beneath the palace. She found her way into the dungeon just as John and his mother were embracing. As the iron doors were heard to open again, John turned around and saw a woman enter. As she saw John she cried bitterly:

“Behold the Prophet!” Both John and Faith cried out upon recognizing her voice.

“Now, let us perish together!” Bertha said, wildly, approaching John. Then suddenly recognizing him she stifled a scream:

“Thou! the Prophet is thou? My God, my God! Then let us perish now!” She stared in horror at the man she loved, who was also the man she had cursed and despised the famous Prophet.

“Oh, my child, speak low, speak low!” Faith implored, looking anxiously toward the iron door. “Abandon thy hate. I have found my son. He will do right. Have pity upon him,” the old mother pleaded. Bertha looking at him, felt all the love of her heart enfold him again. The madness died out her eyes.

“Yes. Let us not hate. Let us curse no more. Far from this dread city, we three were to have been happy. Yes, I love thee still; but still thou art the infamous man whom I have cursed. Since I love thee, let this atone for thee,” and before he could answer, she had plunged a dagger into her heart and fallen dead at his feet.

Then John summoned the guard. He no longer cared to live. The officer of the guard, who was faithful to him, told him, when he entered, of the plot to give him over to the Emperor, while the coronation feast was in progress.

“Very well. I am satisfied. Do thou take my mother to a place of safety. I shall be at the feast,” he said significantly. Embracing his mother, he handed her into the care of the astonished guard, and left the dungeon.

Nothing could have been more magnificent than the banquet prepared for the coronation. The tables were loaded with golden dishes, and young women passed, scattering flowers, while pages in gay dress ran hither and thither. There, John entered, and sat apart, as had been arranged. He was pale and sad. All was gaiety about him, but he had prepared an awful fate for his betrayers. In the vaults of the palace were stored powder and firearms of all sorts. Just above those vaults was the banqueting room, which had great iron gates closed at one end. The company could only leave the room by those gates. John of Leyden had brought two officers whom he could trust into the hall with him, and unheard, he commanded them to close and lock the gates as soon as the Anabaptists Zacharia, Mathison, and Jonas, with Oberthal, the great power of Muenster and the Bishops all who were his enemies and to whom the Anabaptists meant to betray him were assembled.

Then the feast began. All hailed the Prophet in loud voices, pretending great affection and faith in him. In the midst of a dance by which the guests were entertained, Faith, whom he thought quite safe, entered. She knew what he had done that he meant to blow up the palace by firing the vaults below, and she had determined to die with her son. The Prophet had not yet seen her.

The Anabaptists and John’s enemies spoke apart, and John watched them cynically. He knew well what they intended, and that he had them trapped.

“Now close the gates,” he said in a low voice to his officers. “Lock them.” He had not seen his mother. When the gates were closed, he turned smilingly to the company. He called for wine.

“Let us drink!” he cried. Then Oberthal rose and shouted:

“Thou art mine, great Prophet! Surrender thyself.” Still the Prophet smiled at them. Jonas then cried:

“Yes, thou tyrant thou art betrayed. We have thee fast! Surrender!”

“Oh, ye poor creatures,” he answered. “Listen! do ye hear nothing?” Still smiling upon them, as they stared at him, they heard a strange rumbling below. The train he had laid to blow up the palace had fired the powder.

“Thy time has come!” John of Leyden cried, and the vast hall began to fill with smoke and powder fumes. Riot reigned, and just at that moment Faith, her gray hair streaming about her, pushed through the crowd and threw herself into her son’s arms. He gave a great cry of agony.

“Mother! Thou art here?”

“To die with thee, my son!” she shrieked, and with a roar the palace fell about their ears.