Else's Story.
_August_, 1517.
Yes, our little Gretchen is certainly a remarkable child. Although she
is not yet two years old, she knows all of us by name. She tyranizes
over us all, except me. I deny her many things which she cries for;
except when Gottfried is present, who, unfortunately, cannot bear to see
her unhappy for a moment, and having (he says) had his temper spoilt in
infancy by a cross nurse, has no notion of infant education, except to
avoid contradiction. Christopher, who always professed a supreme
contempt for babies, gives her rides on his shoulder in the most
submissive manner. But best of all, I love to see her sitting on my
blind father's knee, and stroking his face with a kind of tender,
pitiful reverence, as if she felt there was something missing there.
I have taught her, too, to say Fritz's name, when I show her the little
lock I wear of his hair; and to kiss Eva's picture. I cannot bear that
they should be as lost or dead to her. But I am afraid she is perplexed
between Eva's portrait and the picture of the Holy Virgin, which I teach
her to bow and cross her forehead before; because sometimes she tries to
kiss the picture of Our Lady, and to twist her little fingers into the
sacred sign before Eva's likeness. However, by-and-by she will
distinguish better. And are not Eva and Fritz indeed our family saints
and patrons? I do believe their prayers bring down blessings on us all.
For our family has bean so much blessed lately! The dear mother's face
looks so bright, and has regained something of its old sweet likeness to
the Mother of Mercy. And I am so happy, so brimful of happiness. And it
certainly does make me feel more religious than I did.
Not the home-happiness only, I mean, but that best blessing of all, that
came first, before I knew that Gottfried cared for me,--the knowledge of
the love of God to me,--that best riches of all, without which all our
riches would be mere cares--the riches of the treasury of God freely
opened to us in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Gottfried is better than I ever thought he was. Perhaps he really grows
better every year; certainly he seems better and dearer to me.
Chriemhild and Ulrich are to be married very soon. He has gone now to
see Franz von Sickingen, and his other relations in the Rhineland, and
to make arrangements connected with his marriage. Last year Chriemhild
and Atlantis stayed some weeks at the old castle in the Thuringian
Forest, near Eisenach. A wild life it seemed to be, from their
description, deep in the heart of the forest, in a lonely fortress on a
rock, with only a few peasants' huts in sight; and with all kinds of
strange legends of demon huntsmen, and elves, and sprites haunting the
neighborhood. To me it seems almost as desolate as the wilderness where
John the Baptist lived on locusts and wild honey; but Chriemhild thought
it delightful. She made acquaintance with some of the poor peasants, and
they seemed to think her an angel,--an opinion (Atlantis says) shared by
Ulrich's old uncle and aunt, to say nothing of Ulrich himself. At first
the aged Aunt Hermentrude was rather distant; but on the Schoenberg
pedigree having been duly tested and approved, the old lady at length
considered herself free to give vent to her feelings, whilst the old
knight courteously protested that he had always seen Chriemhild's
pedigree in her face.
And Ulrich says there is one great advantage in the solitude and
strength of his castle,--he could offer an asylum at any time to Dr.
Luther, who has of late become an object of bitter hatred to some of the
priests.
Dr. Luther is most kind to our little Gretchen, whom he baptized. He
says little children often understand God better than the wisest doctors
of divinity.
Thekla has experienced her first sorrow. Her poor little foundling, Nix,
is dead. For some days the poor creature had been ailing, and at last he
lay for some hours quivering, as if with inward convulsions; yet at
Thekla's voice the dull, glassy eyes would brighten, and he would wag
his tail feebly as he lay on his side. At last he died; and Thekla was
not to be comforted, but sat apart and shed bitter tears. The only thing
which cheered her was Christopher's making a grave in the garden for
Nix, under the pear tree where I used to sit at embroidery in summer, as
now she does. It was of no use to try to laugh her out of her distress.
Her lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears if any one attempted it.
Atlantis spoke seriously to her on the duty of a little girl of twelve
beginning to put away childish things; and even the gentle mother
tenderly remonstrated, and said one day, when Dr. Luther had asked her
for her favourite, and had been answered by a burst of tears, "My child,
if you mourn so for a dog, what will you do when real sorrows come?"
But Dr. Luther seemed to understand Thekla better than any of us, and to
take her part. He said she was a child, and her childish sorrows were no
more trifles to her than our sorrows are to us; that from heaven we
might probably look on the fall of an empire as of less moment than we
now thought the death of Thekla's dog; yet that the angels who look down
on us from heaven do not despise our little joys and sorrows, nor should
we those of the little ones; or words to this effect. He has a strange
sympathy with the hearts of children. Thekla was so encouraged by his
compassion, that she crept close to him and laid her hand in his, and
said, with a look of wistful earnestness, "Will Nix rise again at the
last day? Will there be dogs in the other world?"
Many of us were appalled at such an irreverent idea; but Dr. Luther did
not seem to think it irreverent. He said, "We know less of what that
other world will be than this little one, or than that babe," he added,
pointing to my little Gretchen, "knows of the empires or powers of this
world. But of this we are sure, the world to come will be no empty,
lifeless waste. See how full and beautiful the Lord God has made all
things in this passing, perishing world of heaven and earth! How much
more beautiful, then, will he make that eternal, incorruptible world!
God will make new heavens and a new earth. All poisonous, and malicious,
and hurtful creatures will be banished thence,--all that our sin has
ruined. All creatures will not only be harmless, but lovely, and
pleasant, and joyful, so that we might play with them. 'The sucking
child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put
his hand on the cockatrice's den.' Why, then, should there not be little
dogs in the new earth, whose skin might be fair as gold, and their hair
as bright as precious stones?"
Certainly, in Thekla's eyes, from that moment there has been no doctor
of divinity like Dr. Luther.
TORGAU, _November_ 10, 1516.
The plague is at Wittemberg. We have all taken refuge here. The
university is scattered, and many, also, of the Augustinian monks.
Dr. Luther remains in the convent at Wittemberg. We have seen a copy of
a letter of his, dated the 26th October, and addressed to the Venerable
Father John Lange, Prior of Erfurt Monastery.
"Health. I have need of two secretaries or chancellors, since
all day long I do nothing but write letters; and I know not
whether, always writing, I may not sometimes repeat the same
things. Thou wilt see.
"I am convent lecturer; reader at meals; I am desired to be
daily parish preacher; I am director of studies, vicar (_i.
e._, prior eleven times over), inspector of the fish-ponds at
Litzkau, advocate of the cause of the people of Herzberg at
Torgau, lecturer on Paul and on the Psalms; besides what I have
said already of my constant correspondence. I have rarely time
to recite my Canonical Hours, to say nothing of my own
particular temptations from the world, the flesh, and the
devil. See what a man of leisure I am!
"Concerning Brother John Metzel I believe you have already
received my opinion. I will see, however, what I can do. How
can you think I can find room for your Sardanapaluses and
Sybarites? If you have educated them ill, you must bear with
those you have educated ill. I have enough useless
brethren;--if, indeed, any are useless to a patient heart. I am
persuaded that the useless may become more useful than those
who are the most useful now. Therefore bear with them for the
time.
"I think I have already written to you about the brethren you
sent me. Some I have sent to Magister Spangenburg, as they
requested, to save their breathing this pestilential air. With
two from Cologne I felt such sympathy, and thought so much of
their abilities, that I have retained them, although at much
expense. Twenty-two priests, forty-two youths, and in the
university altogether forty-two persons are supported out of
our poverty. But the Lord will provide.
"You say that yesterday you began to lecture on the Sentences.
To-morrow I begin the Epistle to the Galatians; although I fear
that, with the plague among us as it is, I shall not be able to
continue. The plague has taken away already two or three among
us, but not all in one day; and the son of our neighbour Faber,
yesterday in health, to-day is dead; and another is infected.
What shall I say? It is indeed here, and begins to rage with
great cruelty and suddenness, especially among the young. You
would persuade me and Master Bartholomew to take refuge with
you. Why should I flee? I hope the world would not collapse if
Brother Martin fell. If the pestilence spreads, I will indeed
disperse the monks throughout the land. As for me, I have been
placed here. My obedience as a monk does not suffer me to fly;
since what obedience required once, it demands still. Not that
I do not fear death--(I am not the Apostle Paul, but only the
reader of the Apostle Paul)--but I hope the Lord will deliver
me from my fear.
"Farewell; and be mindful of us in this day of the visitation
of the Lord, to whom be glory."
This letter has strengthened me and many. Yes, if it had been our duty,
I trust, like Dr. Luther, we should have had courage to remain. The
courage of his act strengthens us; and also the confession of fear in
his words. It does not seem a fear which hath torment, or which fetters
his spirit. It does not even crush his cheerfulness. It is a natural
fear of dying, which I also cannot overcome. From me, then, as surely
from him, when God sees it time to die, He will doubtless remove the
dread of death.
This season of the pestilence recalls so much to me of what happened
when the plague last visited us at Eisenach!
We have lost some since then,--if I ought to call Eva and Fritz lost.
But how my life has been enriched! My husband, our little Gretchen; and
then so much outward prosperity! All that pressure of poverty and daily
care entirely gone, and so much wherewith to help others! And yet, am I
so entirely free from care as I ought to be? Am I not even at times more
burdened with it?
When first I married, and had Gottfried on whom to unburden every
perplexity, and riches which seemed to me inexhaustible, instead of
poverty, I thought I should never know care again.
But is it so? Have not the very things themselves, in their possession,
become cares? When I hear of these dreadful wars with the Turks, and of
the insurrections and disquiets in various parts, and look round on our
pleasant home, and gardens, and fields, I think how terrible it would be
again to be plunged into poverty, or that Gretchen ever should be; so
that riches themselves become cares. It makes me think of what a good
man once told me: that the word in the Bible which is translated "rich,"
in speaking of Abraham, in other places is translated "heavy;" so that
instead of reading, "Abraham left Egypt _rich_ in cattle and silver and
gold," we might read "_heavy_ in cattle, silver, and gold."
Yes, we are on a pilgrimage to the Holy City; we are in flight from an
evil world; and too often riches are weights which hinder our progress.
I find it good, therefore, to be here in the small, humble house we have
taken refuge in--Gottfried, Gretchen, and I. The servants are dispersed
elsewhere; and it lightens my heart to feel how well we can do without
luxuries which were beginning to seem like necessaries. Dr. Luther's
words come to my mind; "The covetous enjoy what they have as little as
what they have not. They cannot even rejoice in the sunshine. They think
not what a noble gift the light is--what an inexpressibly great treasure
the sun is, which shines freely on all the world."
Yes, God's common gifts are his most precious; and his most precious
gifts--even life itself--have no root in _themselves_. Not that they are
_without_ root; they are _better_ rooted in the depths of His
unchangeable love.
It is well to be taught, by such a visitation even as this pestilence,
the utter insecurity of everything here. "If the ship itself," as
Gottfried says, "is exposed to shipwreck, who, then, can secure the
cargo?" Henceforth let me be content with the only security Dr. Luther
says God will give us,--the security of his presence and cure: "_I will
never leave thee._"
WITTEMBERG, _June_, 1517.
We are at home once more; and, thank God, our two households are
undiminished, save by one death--that of our youngest sister, the baby
when we left Eisenach. The professors and students also have returned.
Dr. Luther, who remained here all the time, is preaching with more force
and clearness.
The town is greatly divided in opinion about him. Dr. Tetzel, the great
Papal Commissioner for the sale of indulgences, has established his red
cross, announcing the sale of pardons, for some months, at Jueterbok and
Zerbst, not far from Wittemberg.
Numbers of the townspeople, alarmed, I suppose, by the pestilence, into
anxiety about their souls, have repaired to Dr. Tetzel, and returned
with the purchased tickets of indulgence.
I have always been perplexed as to what the indulgences really give.
Christopher has terrible stories about the money paid for them being
spent by Dr. Tetzel and others on taverns and feasts; and Gottfried
says, "It is a bargain between the priests, who love money, and the
people, who love sin."
Yesterday morning I saw one of the letters of indulgence for the first
time. A neighbour of ours, the wife of a miller, whose weights have been
a little suspected in the town, was in a state of great indignation when
I went to purchase some flour of her.
"See!" she said; "this Dr. Luther will be wiser than the Pope himself.
He has refused to admit my husband to the Holy Sacrament unless he
repents and confesses to him, although he took his certificate in his
hand."
She gave it to me, and I read it. Certainly, if the doctors of divinity
disagree about the value of these indulgences, Dr. Tetzel has no
ambiguity nor uncertainty in his language.
"I," says the letter, "absolve thee from all the excesses,
sins, and crimes which thou hast committed, however great and
enormous they may be. I remit for thee the pains thou mightest
have had to endure in purgatory. I restore thee to
participation in the sacraments. I incorporate thee afresh into
the communion of the Church. I re-establish thee in the
innocence and purity in which thou wast at the time of thy
baptism. So that, at the moment of thy death, the gate by which
souls pass into the place of torments will be shut upon thee;
while, on the contrary, that which leads to the paradise of joy
will be open unto thee. And if thou art not called on to die
soon, this grace will remain unaltered for the time of thy
latter end.
"In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy
Ghost,
"Friar JOHN TETZEl, Commissary, has signed it with his own
hand."
"To think," said my neighbour, "of the pope promising my Franz
admittance into paradise; and Dr. Luther will not even admit him to the
altar of the parish church? And after spending such a sum on it! for the
friar must surely have thought my husband better off than he is, or he
would not have demanded gold of poor struggling people like us."
"But if the angels at the gate of paradise should be of the same mind as
Dr. Luther?" I suggested, "would it not be better to find that out here
than there?"
"It is impossible," she replied; "have we not the Holy Father's own
word? and did we not pay a whole golden florin? It is impossible it can
be in vain."
"Put the next florin in your scales instead of in Dr. Tetzel's chest,
neighbour," said a student, laughing, as he heard her loud and angry
words; "it may weigh heavier with your flour than against your sins."