"We receive thee, therefore, on probation for one year; and may God, who
has begun a good work in thee, carry it on unto perfection."
The whole brotherhood responded in a deep amen, and then all the voices
joined in the hymn,--
"Magna Pater Augustine, preces nostras suscipe,
Et per eas conditori nos placare satage.
Atque rege gregem tuum, summum decus praesulum.
Amatorem paupertatis, te collaudant pauperes;
Assertorem veritatis amant veri judices;
Frangis nobis favos mellis de Scripturis disserens.
Quae obscura prius erant nobis plana faciens,
Tu de verbis Salvatoris dulcem panem conficis,
Et propinas potum vitae de psalmorum nectare.
Tu de vita clericorum sanctam scribis regulam,
Quam qui amant et sequunter viam tenent regiam,
Atque tuo sancto ductu redeunt ad patriam.
Regi regum salis, vita, decus et emperium;
Trinitati laus et honor sit per omne saeculum,
Qui concives nos ascribat supernorum civium."[5]
[Footnote 5:
"Great Father Augustine, receive our prayers,
And through them effectually reconcile the Creator;
And rule thy flock, the highest glory of rulers.
The poor praise thee, lover of poverty;
True judges love thee, defender of truth;
Breaking the honeycomb of the honey of Scripture, thou distributest
it to us.
Making smooth to us what before was obscure;
Thou, from the words of the Saviour, furnishest us with wholesome
bread,
And givest to drink draughts of life from the nectar of the psalms.
Thou writest the holy rule for the life of priests,
Which, whosoever love and follow, keep the royal road,
And by thy holy leading return to their fatherland.
Salvation to the King of kings, life, glory, and dominion;
Honour and praise be to the Trinity throughout all ages,
To Him who declareth us to be fellow-citizens with the citizens of
heaven."]
As the sacred words were chanted, they mingled strangely in my mind with
the ceremonies of the investiture. My hair was shorn with the clerical
tonsure; my secular dress was laid aside; the garments of the novice
were thrown on; and I was girded with the girdle of rope, whilst the
prior murmured softly to me, that with the new robes I must put on the
new man.
Then, as the last notes of the hymn died away, I knelt and bowed low to
receive the prior's blessing, invoked in these words:--
"May God who hath converted this young man from the world, and given him
a mansion in heaven, grant that his daily walk may be as becometh his
calling; and that he may have cause to be thankful for what has this day
been done."
Versicles were then chanted responsively by the monks, who, forming in
procession, moved towards the choir, where we all prostrated ourselves
in silent prayer.
After this they conducted me to the great hall of the cloister, where
all the brotherhood bestowed on me the kiss of peace.
Once more I knelt before the prior, who reminded me that he who
persevereth to the end shall be saved; and gave me over to the direction
of the preceptor, whom the new Vicar-General Staupitz has ordered to be
appointed to each novice.
Thus the first great ceremony of my monastic life is over, and it has
left me with a feeling of blank and disappointment. It has made no
change that I can feel in my heart. It has not removed the world further
off from me. It has only raised another impassable barrier between me
and all that was dearest to me;--impassable as an ocean without ships,
infrangible as the strongest iron, I am determined my _will_ shall make
it; but to my _heart_, alas! thin as gossamer, since every faintest,
wistful tone of love, which echoes from the past, can penetrate it and
pierce me with sorrow.
My preceptor is very strict in enforcing the rules order. Trespasses
against the rules are divided into four classes,--small, great, greater,
and greatest, to each of which is assigned a different degree of
penance. Among the smaller are, failing to go to church as soon as the
sign is given, forgetting to touch the ground instantly with the hand
and to smite the breast if in reading in the choir or in singing the
least error is committed; looking about during the service; omitting
prostration at the Annunciation or at Christmas; neglecting the
benediction in coming in or going out; failing to return books or
garments to their proper places; dropping food; spilling drink;
forgetting to say grace before eating. Among the great trespasses are:
contending, breaking the prescribed silence at fasts, and looking at
women, or speaking to them, except in brief replies.
The minute rules are countless. It is difficult at first to learn the
various genuflexions, inclinations, and prostrations. The novices are
never allowed to converse except in presence of the prior, are forbidden
to take any notice of visitors, are enjoined to walk with downcast eyes,
to read the Scriptures diligently, to bow low in receiving every gift,
and say, "The Lord be praised in his gifts."
How Brother Martin, with his free, bold, daring nature, bore those
minute restrictions, I know not. To me there is a kind of dull,
deadening relief in them, they distract my thoughts, or prevent my
thinking.
Yet it must be true, my obedience will aid my kindred more than all my
toil could ever have done whilst disobediently remaining in the world.
It is not a selfish seeking of my own salvation and ease which has
brought me here, whatever some may think and say, as they did of Martin
Luther. I think of that ship in the picture at Magdeburg he so often
told me of. Am I not in it,--actually _in_ it _now_? and shall I not
hereafter, when my strength is recovered from the fatigue of reaching
it, hope to lean over and stretch out my arms to them, still struggling
in the waves of this bitter world? and save them!
Save them; yes, save their souls! Did not my vow save precious lives?
And shall not my fastings, vigils, disciplines, prayers be as effectual
for their souls? And, then, hereafter, in heaven, where those dwell who,
in virgin purity, have followed the Lamb, shall I not lean over the
jasper-battlements and help them from Purgatory up the steep sides of
Paradise, and be first at the gate to welcome them in! And then, in
Paradise, where love will no longer be in danger of becoming sin, may we
not be together for ever and for ever? And then, shall I regret that I
abandoned the brief polluted joys of earth for the pure joys of
eternity? Shall I lament _then_ that I chose, according to my vocation,
to suffer apart from them that their souls might be saved, rather than
to toil with them for the perishing body?
Then! _then!_ I, a saint in the City of God! I, a hesitating, sinful
novice in the Augustinian monastery at Erfurt, who, after resisting for
years, have at last yielded up my body to the cloister, but have no more
power than ever to yield up my heart to God!
Yet I am _in_ the sacred vessel; the rest will surely follow. Do all
monks have such a conflict? No doubt the Devil fights hard for every
fresh victim he loses. It is, it must be, the Devil who beckons me
through those dear faces, who calls me through those familiar voices;
for _they_ would never call me back. They would hide their pain, and
say, "Go to God, if he calls thee; leave us and go to God." Else, my
mother, all would say that; if their hearts broke in trying to say it!
Had Martin Luther such thoughts in this very cell? If they are from the
Evil One, I think he had, for his assaults are strongest against the
noblest; and yet I scarcely think he can have had such weak doubts as
these which haunt me. He was not one of those who draw back to
perdition; nor even of those who, having put their hand to the plough,
_look_ back, as I, alas! am so continually doing. And what does the
Scripture say of such?--"They are not fit for the kingdom of God." No
exception, no reserve--monk, priest, saint; if a man _look_ back, he is
not fit for the kingdom of God. Then what becomes of my hopes of
Paradise, or of acquiring merits which may aid others? _Turn back_, draw
back, I will _never_, although all the devils were to drive me, or all
the world entice me, but _look_ back, who can help that? If a look can
kill, what can save? Mortification, crucifixion, not for a day, but
daily;--I must die daily; I must be _dead_--dead to the world. This cell
must to me be as a tomb, where all that was most living in my heart must
die and be buried. Was it so to Martin Luther? Is the cloister that to
those bands of rosy, comfortable monks, who drink beer from great cans,
and feast on the best of the land, and fast on the choicest fish? The
Tempter! the Tempter again! Judge not, and ye shall not be judged.
ST. EULALIA, ERFURT, _February_ 12, 1510.
To-day one of the older monks came to me, seeing me, I suppose, look
downcast and sad, and said, "Fear not, Brother Sebastian, the strife is
often hard at first; but remember the words of St. Jerome: 'Though thy
father should lie before thy door weeping and lamenting, though thy
mother should show thee the body that bore thee, and the breasts that
nursed thee, see that thou trample them under foot, and go on
straightway to Christ.'"
I bowed my head, according to rule, in acknowledgment of his
exhortation, and I suppose he thought his words comforted and
strengthened me; but Heaven knows the conflict they awakened in my heart
when I sat alone to-night in my cell. "Cruel, bitter, wicked words!" my
earthly heart would say; my sinful heart, that vigils, scourging,
scarcely death itself, I fear, can kill. Surely, at least, the holy
father Jerome spoke of heathen fathers and mothers. My mother would not
show her anguish to win me back; she would say, "My son, my first-born,
God bless thee; I give thee freely up to God." Does she not say so in
this letter which I have in her handwriting,--which I have and dare not
look at, because of the storm of memories it brings rushing on my heart?
Is there a word of reproach or remonstrance in her letter? If there
were, I would read it; it would strengthen me. The saints had that to
bear. It is because those holy, tender words echo in my heart, from a
voice weak with feeble health, that day by day and hour by hour, my
heart goes back to the home at Eisenach, and sees them toiling unaided
in the daily struggle for bread, to which I have abandoned them,
unsheltered and alone.
Then at times the thought comes, Am I, after all, a dreamer, as I have
sometimes ventured to think my father,--neglecting my plain, daily task
for some Atlantis? and if my Atlantis is in Paradise instead of beyond
the ocean, does that make so much difference?
If Brother Martin were only here, he might understand and help me; but
he has now been nearly two years at Wittemberg, where he is, they say,
to lecture on theology at the Elector's new university, and to be
preacher. The monks seem nearly as proud of him as the University of
Erfurt was.
Yet, perhaps, after all, he might _not_ understand my perplexities. His
nature was so firm and straightforward and strong. He would probably
have little sympathy with wavering hearts and troubled consciences like
mine.
_March_ 7.--SS. PERPETUA AND FELICITAS.--
ERFURT, AUGUSTINIAN CLOISTER.
To-day I have been out on my first quest for alms. It seemed very
strange at first to be begging at familiar doors, with the frock and the
convent sack on my shoulders; but although I tottered a little at times
under the weight as it grew heavy (for the plague and fasting have left
me weak), I returned to the cloister feeling better and easier in mind,
and more hopeful as to my vocation, than I had done for some days.
Perhaps, however, the fresh air had something to do with it, and, after
all, it was only a little bodily exultation. But certainly such bodily
loads and outward mortifications are not the burdens which weigh the
spirit down. There seemed a luxury in the half-scornful looks of some of
my former fellow-students, and in the contemptuous tossing to me of
scraps of meat by some grudging hands; just as a tight pressure, which,
in itself would be pain were we at ease, is relief to severe pain.
Perhaps, also, O holy Perpetua and Felicitas, whose day it is, and
especially thou, O holy Perpetua, who, after encouraging thy sons to die
for Christ, was martyred thyself, hast pleaded for my forsaken mother
and for me, and sendest me this day some ray of hope.
ST. JOSEPH.--_March_ 19.--
AUGUSTINIAN CLOISTER, ERFURT.
St. Joseph, whom I have chosen to be one of the twenty-one patrons whom
I especially honour, hear and aid me to-day. Thou whose glory it was to
have no glory, but meekly to aid others to win their higher crowns, give
me also some humble place on high; and not to me alone, but to those
also whom I have left still struggling in the stormy seas of this
perilous world.
Here, in the sacred calm of the cloister, surely at length the heart
must grow calm, and cease to beat except with the life of the universal
Church,--the feasts in the calendar becoming its events. But when will
that be to me?
_March_ 20.
Has Brother Martin attained this repose yet? An aged monk sat with me in
my cell yesterday, who told me strange tidings of him, which have given
me some kind of bitter comfort.
It seems that the monastic life did not at once bring repose into his
heart.
This aged monk was Brother Martin's confessor, and he has also been
given to me for mine. In his countenance there is such a peace as I long
for;--not a still, death-like peace, as if he had fallen into it after
the conflict; but a living, kindly peace, as if he had won it through
the conflict, and enjoyed it even while the conflict lasted.
It does not seem to me that Brother Martin's scruples and doubts were
exactly like mine. Indeed, my confessor says that in all the years he
has exercised his office, he has never found two troubled hearts
troubled exactly alike.
I do not know that Brother Martin doubted his vocation, or looked back
to the world; but he seems to have suffered agonies of inward torture.
His conscience was so quick and tender, that the least sin wounded him
as if it had been the grossest crime. He invoked the saints most
devoutly--choosing, as I have done from his example, twenty-one saints,
and invoking three every day, so as to honour each every week. He read
mass every day, and had an especial devotion for the blessed Virgin. He
wasted his body with fastings and watching. He never intentionally
violated the minutest rule of the order; and yet the more he strove, the
more wretched he seemed to be. Like a musician whose ear is cultivated
to the highest degree, the slightest discord was torture to him. Can it
then be God's intention that the growth of our spiritual life is only
growing sensitiveness to pain? Is this true growth?--or is it that
monstrous development of one faculty at the expense of others, which is
deformity or disease?