The Life and Adventures of Baron Trenck-2 [42]
and deceit with ridicule; or, wanting invention themselves, publish extracts from writings of the age of Luther. But I have the honour of having attacked the pillars of the Romish hierarchy in days more dangerous. I may boast of being the first German who raised a fermentation on the Upper Rhine and in Austria, so advantageous to truth, the progress of the understanding, and the happiness of futurity.
My writings contain nothing inimical to the morality taught by Christ. I attacked the sale of indulgences, the avarice of Rome, the laziness, deceit, gluttony, robbery, and blood-sucking of the monks of Aix-la-Chapelle. The arch-priest, and nine of his coadjutors, declared every Sunday that I was a freethinker, a wizard, one whom every man, wishing well to God and the Church, ought to assassinate. Father Zunder declared me an outlaw, and a day was appointed on which my writings were to be burnt before my house, and its inhabitants massacred. My wife received letters warning her to fly for safety, which warning she obeyed. I and two of my huntsmen remained, provided with eighty-four loaded muskets. These I displayed before the window, that all might be convinced that I would make a defence. The appointed day came, and Father Zunder, with my writings in his hand, appeared ready for the attack; the other monks had incited the townspeople to a storm. Thus passed the day and night in suspense.
In the morning a fire broke out in the town. I hastened, with my two huntsmen, well armed, to give assistance; we dashed the water from our buckets, and all obeyed my directions. Father Zunder and his students were there likewise. I struck his anointed ear with my leathern bucket, which no man thought proper to notice. I passed undaunted through the crowd; the people smiled, pulled off their hats, and wished me a good-morning. The people of Aix-la-Chapelle were bigots, but too cowardly to murder a man who was prepared for his own defence.
As I was riding to Maestricht, a ball whistled by my ears, which, no doubt, was a messenger sent after me by these persecuting priests.
When hunting near the convent of Schwartzenbruck, three Dominicans lay in ambush behind a hedge. One of their colleagues pointed out the place. I was on my guard with my gun, drew near, and called out, "Shoot, scoundrels! but do not kill me, for the devil stands ready for you at your elbow." One fired, and all ran: The ball hit my hat. I fired and wounded one desperately, whom the others carried off.
In 1774, journeying from Spa to Limbourg, I was attacked by eight banditti. The weather was rainy, and my musket was in its case; my sabre was entangled in my belt, so that I was obliged to defend myself as with a club. I sprang from the carriage, and fought in defence of my life, striking down all before me, while my faithful huntsman protected me behind. I dispersed my assailants, hastened to my carriage, and drove away. One of these fellows was soon after hanged, and owned that the confessor of the banditti had promised absolution could they but despatch me, but that no man could shoot me, because Lucifer had rendered me invulnerable. My agility, fighting, too, for life, was superior to theirs, and they buried two of their gang, whom with my heavy sabre I had killed.
To such excess of cruelty may the violence of priests be carried! I attacked only gross abuses--the deceit of the monks of Aix-la- Chapelle, Cologne, and Liege, where they are worse than cannibals. I wished to inculcate true Christian duties among my fellow- citizens, and the attempt was sufficient to irritate the selfish Church of Rome.
From my Empress I had nothing to hope. Her confessor had painted me as a persecutor of the blessed Mother Church. Nor was this all. Opinions were propagated throughout Vienna that I was a dangerous man to the community.
Hence I was always wronged in courts of judicature, where there are ever to be found wicked men. They thought they were serving the cause of God by injuring me. Yet they were unable to prevent my writings from
My writings contain nothing inimical to the morality taught by Christ. I attacked the sale of indulgences, the avarice of Rome, the laziness, deceit, gluttony, robbery, and blood-sucking of the monks of Aix-la-Chapelle. The arch-priest, and nine of his coadjutors, declared every Sunday that I was a freethinker, a wizard, one whom every man, wishing well to God and the Church, ought to assassinate. Father Zunder declared me an outlaw, and a day was appointed on which my writings were to be burnt before my house, and its inhabitants massacred. My wife received letters warning her to fly for safety, which warning she obeyed. I and two of my huntsmen remained, provided with eighty-four loaded muskets. These I displayed before the window, that all might be convinced that I would make a defence. The appointed day came, and Father Zunder, with my writings in his hand, appeared ready for the attack; the other monks had incited the townspeople to a storm. Thus passed the day and night in suspense.
In the morning a fire broke out in the town. I hastened, with my two huntsmen, well armed, to give assistance; we dashed the water from our buckets, and all obeyed my directions. Father Zunder and his students were there likewise. I struck his anointed ear with my leathern bucket, which no man thought proper to notice. I passed undaunted through the crowd; the people smiled, pulled off their hats, and wished me a good-morning. The people of Aix-la-Chapelle were bigots, but too cowardly to murder a man who was prepared for his own defence.
As I was riding to Maestricht, a ball whistled by my ears, which, no doubt, was a messenger sent after me by these persecuting priests.
When hunting near the convent of Schwartzenbruck, three Dominicans lay in ambush behind a hedge. One of their colleagues pointed out the place. I was on my guard with my gun, drew near, and called out, "Shoot, scoundrels! but do not kill me, for the devil stands ready for you at your elbow." One fired, and all ran: The ball hit my hat. I fired and wounded one desperately, whom the others carried off.
In 1774, journeying from Spa to Limbourg, I was attacked by eight banditti. The weather was rainy, and my musket was in its case; my sabre was entangled in my belt, so that I was obliged to defend myself as with a club. I sprang from the carriage, and fought in defence of my life, striking down all before me, while my faithful huntsman protected me behind. I dispersed my assailants, hastened to my carriage, and drove away. One of these fellows was soon after hanged, and owned that the confessor of the banditti had promised absolution could they but despatch me, but that no man could shoot me, because Lucifer had rendered me invulnerable. My agility, fighting, too, for life, was superior to theirs, and they buried two of their gang, whom with my heavy sabre I had killed.
To such excess of cruelty may the violence of priests be carried! I attacked only gross abuses--the deceit of the monks of Aix-la- Chapelle, Cologne, and Liege, where they are worse than cannibals. I wished to inculcate true Christian duties among my fellow- citizens, and the attempt was sufficient to irritate the selfish Church of Rome.
From my Empress I had nothing to hope. Her confessor had painted me as a persecutor of the blessed Mother Church. Nor was this all. Opinions were propagated throughout Vienna that I was a dangerous man to the community.
Hence I was always wronged in courts of judicature, where there are ever to be found wicked men. They thought they were serving the cause of God by injuring me. Yet they were unable to prevent my writings from