enclosure with seats in it, and a number of girls and children,
children’s carriages, etc. I said to a working man, “What do you call
this,—a square?”
It was the graveyard or old burial-place, but there were no monuments
visible, from the Moravian custom of laying stones, called breast-stones,
flat upon spots of interment.
If you enter this yard from the northwest corner, from Market Street,
you come immediately upon the graves of three bishops, in no way more
conspicuous than the others which bear breast-stones. One says, “Johannes
Etwein, Episcopus Fratrum (or Bishop of the Brethren); born June 29th,
1721, at Freudenstadt in Germany, departed Jan. 2d, 1802.
“Here he rests in peace.”
The graves of the Indians and negroes, who were buried here, are not in
an especial corner or division, but are indiscriminately mingled with
those of the other Moravians. But on the outer edge are buried some
persons of disreputable life.
One stone bears the following inscription:
“In memory of Tschoop, a Mohican Indian, who in holy baptism, Ap. 16,
1742, received the name of John: one of the first fruits of the mission
at Shekomeko, N.Y., and a remarkable instance of the power of Divine
Grace, whereby he became a distinguished teacher among his nation. He
departed this life in full assurance of faith at Bethlehem, Aug. 27, 1746.
“There shall be one fold, and one Shepherd.—John x. 6.”
About sixty-two Indians are buried here. A daughter of Heckewelder (the
distinguished missionary) furnished new gravestones for some of these
Indian remains.
The largest stone in the enclosure rests upon the grave of one of mixed
blood, not a Moravian, and I may be allowed to give a portion of the
inscription as it is:
“In Memory to my dearest Son, James McDonald Ross, eldest son of John
Ross, principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation ... died in St. Louis, Nov.
9th, 1864. His Corps transported by Adams Express to Bethlehem, and
interred at this sacred spot Nov. 22d, 1864, aged 50 years 29 days.”
One of the stones bears the name Traugott Leinbach, which may be
translated Trust-God Flaxbrook, but which does not seem peculiar to those
familiar with it.
At some of the graves there were bright, freshly-cut flowers.
At Nazareth I visited an enclosure which had once been a graveyard, but
which had been neglected, and the stones in it had been moved by one who
had become owner. This neglect has lately been atoned for by erecting
a monument inscribed with the names of those buried here. The list was
obtained by consulting the full and accurate accounts, which it is the
duty of all Moravian ministers to keep. In looking at the names on the
monument, I observed one Beata, an Indian, who died in 1746, and two
others, Beatus Schultz and Beata Böhmer. These were names assigned to
infants dead before christening; Beatus, Beata, meaning Blessed.
OLD RECOLLECTIONS.
I met, at Bethlehem, a member of the Moravian Historical Society, who was
born in that town in 1796, and was educated there. He was taught German,
and could scarcely speak English at all at eighteen.
He learned his trade as clock- and watch-maker in the brethren’s house.
He was also employed until lately as teacher of vocal music in the
parochial school.
When he was in the brethren’s house—he began to learn his trade in
1810—there were about twenty brethren domiciled there,—though some of
these had their shops elsewhere. They were all mechanics; there being a
baker, shoemaker, tinsmith, etc. The cook was also an unmarried brother,
all these household services being performed by the brethren themselves.
My informant (he was the youngest boy) had to prepare breakfast for his
employer.
When the morning bell sounded aloud (_Morgen Glocke zum Aufstehen_) the
boys sprang up, and when one story down, went into the prayer-hall, where
the _vorsteher_ or superintendent directed the services; first they “sang
a verse,” and then the _vorsteher_ read the text for the day. When the
boys got down to the lower floor (the four boys who then lodged in the
building), they swept out the rooms that were used for shops, ground
their coffee, ran down to the cook in the cellar-kitchen and set their
pots upon the coals, preparing a simple breakfast of bread, butter,
and coffee, of which each boy partook with his employer in the shop.
Then they made their cot-beds or threw the blankets back upon them; the
brethren made their own.
Mr. W.’s mother did not admire her son’s manner of performing these
domestic services. When she came down to bring fresh bedclothes and to
look after matters, she said, “If I had wax, I’d take a mould of your
body here from your bed.” “Why, what a crust you have inside of your
coffee-pot!”
Breakfast, in Mr. W.’s time, was thus eaten separately, but before that,
when all the property was in common, “_eine economische Haushaltung_,”
or economical household,—“every one was poor in that early day,”—all the
meals were eaten at a common table.
* * * * *
After breakfast, the boys washed the dishes and went to their work.
At a quarter before twelve the chapel bell rang for dinner, a custom
which continued until about 1870. “I missed it,” said Mr. W., “when it
stopped, for I had heard it all my life.”[100]
I inquired of Mr. W. whether they kept their time a half-hour or more
ahead, like other Pennsylvania Germans. He replied that one of the
brethren kept his clock by the sun-dial.
Mr. W. did not dine or sup at the brother-house, but went home for these
meals. At the age of twelve, according to the usual custom, he left the
children’s choir, and became a member of the great boys’ choir. The
little boys and girls held their festivals together.
At eighteen he joined the young men’s choir. About this time the
brethren’s house was given up to the female seminary or boarding-school,
and the few remaining brethren scattered through the town.[101]
There had been little or no intercourse between these unmarried brethren
and the sisters, but some staid, elderly sister was appointed to visit
the brother-house and see whether all the surroundings were clean.
* * * * *
“I remember,” Mr. ⸺ said, “when marriages were made by lot, but that
drove off a great many of the young people. The marriage by lot was more
suited to missionaries who had not time for a two years’ courtship.
Dr. Franklin, when in Bethlehem, asked Bishop Spangenberg whether this
practice did not make unhappy marriages, but the bishop replied, ‘Are
all marriages happy that are made after long courtship?’ We did not have
divorces, anyhow,” said Mr. W.[102]
This was the manner of the marriage by lot.
If a young missionary came home, and met his friends, they would say,
“Well, you’ve come home to get married?”
He would answer, “Yes; do you know of any one suitable?”
“Yes; there’s Sister Gretchen” (or Peggy).
Another might say, “There’s Sister Liddy;” and thus a half-dozen names
would perhaps be gathered. He had the privilege of arranging the order of
this list himself. Then, after prayer, the elders drew lots, taking the
first name; one ballot being _Ja_ and the other _Nein_ (Yes and No).
The idea was of an especial Providence, by which he should find out
whether it was the Lord’s will that he should have the first. If the
first lot should prove _Ja_, the result was communicated to the sister,
and time was allowed her to reflect whether to accept or refuse.
In the course of our conversation, Mr. W. rose and went into the next
room; and, returning, brought two vest-buttons of crystal, set in silver,
of which he gave the following account:
“My grandfather was a clothmaker, at Basle, in Switzerland. Zinzendorf
being there[103] called upon the young man, who was about leaving for
America, to join the Bethlehem and Nazareth settlements.
“Zinzendorf said to him, ‘Matthias, we won’t meet any more in this world,
but hope to meet in a better.’ He put his hand into his vest-pocket, and
said, ‘I’m sorry I have nothing to leave you to remember me by.’
“Young Matthias answered, striking his breast, ‘As long as this heart
shall beat, I’ll not forget you.’
“With a glance, Zinzendorf seized the shears from the clothmaker’s table,
and quickly cut off two of his vest-buttons. ‘Take these,’ he said,
‘they’re nearest the heart.’”
It was the grandson of the clothmaker, himself a great-grandfather, who
narrated the story, which he had received traditionally.
“I think,” said he, “that this exhibits the quickness of thought of Count
Zinzendorf. He was a great recruiting sergeant. On meeting a young man
whom he took a fancy to, he would say, ‘I have a place for you; I want
you to go to Greenland, or (perhaps) to the Cape of Good Hope.’ The
young man, astonished, would wonder what this conspicuous nobleman meant
by this. He generally succeeded, however, in charming the young man, and
the matter ended by his going upon the mission.”
* * * * *
A few recollections of old times were also given to me by a citizen of
Nazareth, aged eighty-two, whom I call Mr. P. He himself was born in
Bethlehem, but his father in Connecticut; his grandfather having migrated
and bought a farm at Gnadenhütten, a Moravian settlement, near Mauch
Chunk.
Mr. P.’s mother was a Miksch. She was placed at the age of four years
at the building at Nazareth, called Ephrata, to enable her mother to
work.[104] She did not like the treatment that she received here. “Her
mother worked in the house (her house), and in the field, I think,” said
Mr. P. “The women now do not work much in the fields,” he added. “They’re
afraid they might spoil their fingers. They’re brought up altogether too
proud. I don’t know what will become of the next generation.
“My father moved to Bethlehem, and worked at his carpenter’s trade. When
he was married he went to the ferry (at Bethlehem), and kept it for ten
years. There were no bridges then. He saw hard times in cold weather and
high water. After that he moved to the saw-mill and distillery, which
belonged to the Moravian Society. I think he got all he made in the
distillery, but worked for wages in the saw-mill.”
“The Moravians distilled liquor, then?” said I.
“Yes; they commonly drinked a little too, about nine o’clock.
“When I was between thirteen and fourteen, I went to my trade. I was put
into the brothers’ house to sleep. My trade was a blacksmith’s, and a
pretty hard one too. I served my trade seven years and seven months. When
I was in the brother-house, I spent my evenings and Sundays there. I had
liberty to go home to my parents, but not to be running, like they do
nowadays, and do mischief.
“My wife was not a member of the church,—we were married fifty-five years
ago. Brother Seidel, the Moravian preacher, married us. They were not so
strict then as they had been, in turning all those out of meeting that
married out.”
Mr. P. has a strong German accent. He said, “I never talked much English,
only when I lived nine years and a half at Quakertown. I now speak German
altogether in my family. The young people here now all try to speak
English. They’re throwing the German away too much.”
* * * * *
At Nazareth, in 1874, I met Mr. M., eighty-six years old, who said that
he was married in 1812. “I thought,” said he, “that my wife and I were
the last couple married by lot; but I have heard that there was one
since.”
Mr. M. said that the young men and women had some opportunity to see each
other, for although the young men were not allowed to visit the young
women at their own houses, yet they would sometimes meet in visiting;
but they were not allowed to speak to each other more than “a couple of
times.”
Mr. M. and I did not agree in sentiment with a Moravian woman who had
told me that young men and young women were not allowed to keep company,
and _they did not think about it_.
Sometimes there would be young persons attached to each other for a
couple of years, and the lot being unfavorable, they would go away and
leave the congregation. “Well, it was a pretty hard thing,” said the old
man, “for a pair of young people who loved each other dearly to have
the lot go against them.” He continued nearly thus: “There was one of
the boys who was with me in the brother-house who, I think, left the
congregation to be married to a member. It was generally the case, then,
that after a couple of years they would ask pardon, and be taken back.
We used to say, ‘You’ll have to take your hat under your arm and ask
pardon.’”
Mr. M. told me, concerning the Moravians formerly, that the _verlobung_,
or betrothal, lasted sometimes only about a week. “When I was married
we had a kind of love-feast after the marriage. Some were picked out to
stay, and we had wine or coffee and cake in the church. That was the old
custom.”
I suggested to Mr. M. that as there were meetings held every evening the
young people could see each other there. “There were meetings nearly
every evening,” he answered. “I remember when I worked at my trade
breaking off work and going to church. We went in our every-day clothes,
just putting on our coats. Most every evening it was, when I was young.
My trade was a blacksmith, and I was seven years an apprentice with my
father. He was a pretty strict master, and I had to get up, winter or
summer, at five o’clock, and now I wake at that hour although eighty-six.”
* * * * *
Recollections of a people would be imperfect without those of the women.
I saw at Nazareth Mrs. B., who was born at the Moravian town of Litiz, in
Lancaster County, and who was in her eightieth year.
“When I was a child,” said she, “we had Christmas dialogues, about the
birth of Christ, his sufferings and death, which were repeated by the
children. The dialogues were in the school on Christmas-day, but were
repeated several times, so that all might hear, and we never got tired of
it.[105] Christmas-trees were put up then, as they are now. The Christmas
_Putzes_ or decorations were left standing until after New Year.
“On Easter morning we meet in the church at five in the morning, and the
first tune they sing is:
“‘Der Herr ist aufershtanden,
Er ist wahrhaftig aufershtanden,’[106]
“‘The Lord has arisen,
He has indeed arisen.’
“At a certain place where the litany speaks of those who are buried
in the churchyard, and of their rising again, we walk out into the
churchyard, and the trombone players accompany the hymns that are
sung. If the weather is stormy that we cannot go out, this is always a
disappointment.
“When I was young, if a child was born in the morning, it was taken to
church in the evening to be christened. Religious meetings were held
every evening; sometimes a prayer-meeting, sometimes a _sing-meeting_.
“I recollect marriages by lot very well, because they continued until
about 1818. All marriages were by lot. Young men and young women were not
allowed to keep company, and they did not think about it.”
“They hardly dared to look at each other,” said another person present.
Mrs. B. continued: “If a young man wanted to marry,—of course he had
his eye on some one he would like,—he told it to the _Brüder-Pfleger_
(Caretaker of the Brothers), who told it to the minister, and the
minister to the _Schwester-Pfleger_ (Caretaker of the Sisters). The
name that the young man chose was taken into the lot, and if the
lot was favorable he might proceed, but if not he must look out for
another. If the lot was favorable it was told to the young woman by the
_Schwester-Pfleger_, and if the young woman was willing this sister told
the minister. There was a _Brüder-Pfleger_ in each brother-house, and a
_Schwester-Pfleger_ in each sister-house.
“Betrothals took place after the young woman had given her consent, in
the presence of the conference, composed of the ministers and their
wives, and the marriage would generally take place within a week, in the
church. The wedding was public, but those who were invited stayed to the
_Schmaus_ (feast),[107] which was cake and wine in the church. Thus the
ceremony was completed.
“Moravians then dressed with great plainness, much like the Quakers.”
As the Moravians were so very strict about the intercourse of the sexes,
they could not have allowed two young men and two young women to sit up
together with the unburied dead, as has been the custom among some of our
Pennsylvania people.
I spoke upon this point to Mrs. B., who said, “Women always sat up with
women, and men with men. However, in old times, as soon as there was a
death, the trombones sounded, as they do now, and the body was taken when
dressed, immediately to a small stone building called the corpse-house,
and here remained until the funeral.”[108]
Mrs. ⸺ said that she lost her parents before she was three years old, and
was taken into the sister-house, and her brothers into the brother-house.
Even those who had parents living sometimes preferred to live in these
buildings.
* * * * *
Some simple details of home-life were given to me by Mrs. C., of
Bethlehem.
In their own family, in her youth, they rose about five, and breakfasted
at six, usually on bread, butter, and coffee, perhaps with the addition
of molasses. At nine they had a lunch of cold meat, pie, and bread
and butter; and at a quarter before twelve came the dinner of meat
and vegetables. Often they had soup. There was soup every day at the
sister-house, and I was told that in cases of sickness it could be bought
there.
“We always had pie for dinner. At two we had coffee and bread and butter.
This was called vesper. At six was our supper of cold meat, bread and
butter, and pickles. We always had pickles, and every day in the year we
had apple-butter.”
Mrs. C.’s father was a miller, and perhaps lived more “full and plenty”
than some of his neighbors.
She continued: “Every Saturday, we baked bread, pies, and sugar-cake.
We made a great many doughnuts, or _Fast-nacht gucke_.” (Shrove-Tuesday
pancakes, as we may say.) “We made crullers, and called them
_Schtrumpf-bänder_” (“garters,” doubtless from their form). “Nearly all
our cakes were made from raised dough. One we called _Bäbe_. ‘Snow-balls’
were made with plenty of eggs, milk, flour, and a little sugar, and were
fried in fat.
“At Christmas we always had turkeys; and then we baked a great supply
of cakes, from four quarts of molasses and four pounds of sugar, and
these lasted all winter. Then every evening before we went to bed we had
Christmas cakes, sweet cider, and apples.
“The two o’clock vesper has generally fallen out of use, but if any one
comes to town now that I want to invite, and it is not convenient to have
them to dinner or supper, I say, ‘Come to vesper.’ Then we have coffee,
and always sugar-cake.”
“It would not be a vesper without the sugar-cake,” said Mrs. C.’s
daughter.
For a vesper-party for guests, Mrs. C. sets a table, and adds smoked
beef, preserves, or anything that she chooses.
She further told me that her parents were married by lot, and lived very
happily, and she added that as far as we hear, and have seen, most of the
pairs thus married lived happily. But the young people were dissatisfied
with these marriages. Although the young man had the privilege of putting
in the names of several whom he would like, yet if none of these were
drawn he became discontented.
“Should a name be chosen that did not please the young man, I believe he
had liberty to withdraw.[109]
“In those times of strict rule, there was no opportunity for the young
people of both sexes to become acquainted. This rule originated at
Herrnhut. It was on account of it that an unmarried brother who worked in
our mill was not allowed to sleep in our house, but must go every night
to the brother-house to lodge until the rule was given up, about sixty
years ago, and the brother was then allowed to sleep in the mill.”
While Mrs. C. was talking, her husband remarked that if he could find
a town such as Bethlehem was in 1822 (when, if I remember aright, he
had come to the place a stranger), he would go thousands of miles to
get his family there to live. The whole town, he said, was composed of
Moravians, and was like one family, living well, all in comfort, plain in
their dress, happy and contented with their lot.
OLD BUILDINGS.
The sister-house, the _Gemein-haus_, and the widow-house are still
standing at Bethlehem, solid stone buildings with great roofs and
dormer-windows. One of them has immense stone buttresses, and all are
fitted to withstand the effects of time. Their appearance, indeed,
is becoming peculiar. The brother-house is still standing, but has
disappeared from view as a separate structure, having been incorporated,
as I have mentioned, in the young ladies’ seminary.
The sister-house is owned by the Board of Elders of the Northern Diocese
of the Church of the United Brethren (Unitas Fratrum) in the United
States, and apartments are furnished to the widows and daughters of
servants of the church, rent free. Any unmarried Moravian woman (or
widow) may also have rooms here, but not free of charge.
The corner-stone of the widow-house was laid in 1767. This conspicuous
building has recently been purchased by a friend of the church. The
apartments will be appropriated free of rent to the widows and unmarried
daughters of missionaries, ministers, and other servants of the church,
including teachers in the seminaries.[110]
The _Gemein-haus_ (congregation-house) was used for the ministers’
families, sometimes three or four, who resided in Bethlehem. It is no
longer occupied by these, but by other members of the society. It adjoins
the old chapel, where the preaching is in German. These old buildings,
especially the widow-house, are in good repair.
One of the most striking circumstances connected with some of the old
buildings at Nazareth is the account of the numbers of persons whom
they are said to have once sheltered. The sister-house is a large
structure, but the brother-house is so inconspicuous upon the street of
the quiet little town, being, indeed, occupied as a store and dwelling,
and probably sheltering not more than two families, that it is quite
wonderful to hear tell of fifty persons having once had their homes in
it.[111]
Of one of the most noteworthy buildings at Nazareth I have already
made mention. It was called Ephrata.[112] The foundations were laid by
Whitefield, the celebrated preacher, who bought five thousand acres in
the forks of the Delaware, or where the Lehigh empties into that stream.
This tract was afterwards bought by the Moravians. In 1744, thirty-three
married couples from Bethlehem moved into this house.[113] In 1749,
the “nursery,” of which I have before spoken, was removed here from
Bethlehem. Recently this old building has been completely renovated,
and the upper floor contains the collection and library of the Moravian
Historical Society. The building is called the Whitefield-house, but it
might still be called Ephrata, or a place of rest, for the lower part is
a dwelling for retired missionary families. Only one family was there at
the time of my visit, a widow with children. Little people were running
about and laughing below, quite at home.
The “sustentation fund” of the Moravian Church supports the “resting
ministers” (such as the Methodists call superannuated ministers) the
widows and children of missionaries, etc.
MISCELLANEOUS REMARKS.
An acquaintance said to me in Lancaster, “The people of Bethlehem are
not Pennsylvania Dutch. They speak the high German.” I think, however,
that the younger people have acquired the Pennsylvania dialect. An
elderly gentleman of Bethlehem, to whom mention was made of a work upon
the “Pennsylvania Dutch,” etc., replied in this manner (with a German
accent): “We don’t want to know anything about the Pennsylvania Dutch. We
know enough about them already. We see enough of them on our farms.”
It may be inferred from what has been said that the Moravians are
persons of very considerable culture. I may go further, and speak of the
thoughtful, spiritual expression of many faces.