märk has ruled over us, that is at an end; and after the battle at Prague, in which Count Palatine Frederic lost crown and empire, our faith hangs upon the pulpit and the altar—and our brethren look at their homes over their shoulders; but the letter royal the Emperor himself cut to pieces with his scissars.
NEUMANN.
Why, my good Master of the Cellar! you are deep read in the chronicles of your country!
MASTER OF THE CELLAR.
So were my forefathers, and for that reason were they minstrels, and served under Procopius and Ziska. Peace be with their ashes! Well, well! they fought for a good cause tho'—There! carry it up!
NEUMANN.
Stay! let me but look at this second quarter. Look there! That is, when at Prague Castle the Imperial Counsellors, Martinitz and Stawata were hurl'd down head over heels. 'Tis even so! there stands Count Thur who commands it.
(Runner takes the service-cup and goes off with it.)
MASTER OF THE CELLAR.
O let me never more hear of that day. It was the three and twentieth of May, in the year of our Lord one thousand, six hundred, and eighteen. It seems to me as it were but yesterday—from that unlucky day it all began, all the heart-aches of the country. Since that day it is now sixteen years, and there has never once been peace on the earth.
