the time was not far distant when yonder monarch at the window, who had
won so many victories, would have a reckoning with the Smalcalds, the
allied Protestants of Germany, and his vivid imagination surrounded him
with an almost mystical power.

He would surely succeed in becoming the master of the Protestant princes;
but was the steel sword the right weapon to destroy this agitation of the
soul which had sprung from the inmost depths of the German nature? He
knew the firm, obstinate followers of the new doctrine, for there had
been a time when his own young mind had leaned toward it.

Since those days, however, events had happened which had bound him by
indestructible fetters to the old faith. He had vowed to his dying
mother to remain faithful to the Holy Church and loyally to keep his
oath. It was not difficult for one of his modest temperament to be
content with the position of spectator of the play of life which he
occupied. He was not born for conflict, and from the seat to which he
had retired he thought he had perceived that the burden of existence was
easier to bear, and the individual not only obtained external comfort,
but peace of mind more speedily, if he left to the Church many things
which the Protestant was obliged to settle for himself. Besides, as
such, he would have missed many beautiful and noble things which the
old faith daily bestowed upon him, the artist.

People in Ratisbon held a different opinion. Defection from the Roman
Catholic Church, which seemed to him reprehensible, was considered here a
sacred duty, worthy of every sacrifice. This threatened to involve him
in fresh spiritual conflicts, and, as he dreaded such things as nocturnal
birds shun the sunlight, he stood still, thoughtfully asking himself
whether he ought not at once to give up the desire of striking new roots