In that community of starving men and suffering children, all things were possible. John began his régime by introducing an exact replica of that old theocratic form of government of which he had read in his Old Testament. The burghers of Münster were divided into the twelve tribes of Israel and John himself was chosen to be their king. He had already married the daughter of one prophet, Knipperdollinck. Now he married the widow of another, the wife of his former master, John Matthysz. Next he remembered Solomon and added a couple of concubines. And then the ghastly farce began. All day long John sat on the throne of David in the market place and all day long the people stood by while the royal court chaplain read the latest batch of ordinances. These came fast and furiously, for the fate of the city was daily growing more desperate and the people were in dire need. John, however, was an optimist and thoroughly believed in the omnipotence of paper decrees. The people complained that they were hungry. John promised that he would tend to it. And forthwith a royal ukase, duly signed by His Majesty, ordained that all wealth in the city be divided equally among the rich and the poor, that the streets be broken up and used as vegetable gardens, that all meals be eaten in common. So far so good. But there were those who said that some of the rich people had hidden part of their treasures. John bade his subjects not to worry. A second decree proclaimed that all those who broke a single law of the community would be immediately decapitated. And, mind you, such a warning was no idle threat. For this royal tailor was as handy with his sword as with his scissors and frequently undertook to be his own executioner. Then came the period of hallucinations when the populace suffered from a diversity of religious manias; when the market place was crowded day and night with thousands of men and women, awaiting the trumpet blasts of the angel Gabriel. Then came the period of terror, when the prophet kept up the courage of his flock by a constant orgy of blood and cut the throat of one of his own queens. And then came the terrible day of retribution when two citizens in their despair opened the gates to the soldiers of the bishop and when the prophet, locked in an iron cage, was shown at all the Westphalian country fairs and was finally tortured to death. A weird episode, but of terrible consequence to many a God-fearing and simple soul. From that moment on, all Anabaptists were outlawed. Such leaders as had escaped the carnage of Münster were hunted down like rabbits and were killed wherever found. From every pulpit, ministers and priests fulminated against the Anabaptists and with many curses and anathemas they denounced them as communists and traitors and rebels, who wanted to upset the existing order of things and deserved less mercy than wolves or mad dogs.