Wartburg, and how once he wrote, "Are my friends forgetting to pray for
me, that the conflict is so terrible?" No; Gottfried remembers him
always among our dearest names of kith and kindred.
"But," he said to-day, "we must leave the training of our chief to God."
Poor, tried, perplexed Saint Elizabeth! another royal heart is suffering
at the Wartburg now, another saint is earning his crown through the
cross at the old castle home; but not to be canonized in the Papal
Calendar!
_December_ 21.
The chapter of the Augustinian Order in Thuringia and Misnia has met
here within this last month, to consider the question of the irrevocable
nature of monastic vows. They have come to the decision that in Christ
there is neither layman nor monk; that each is free to follow his
conscience.
_Christmas Day_, 1521.
This has been a great day with us.
Archdeacon Carlstadt announced, some little time since, that he
intended, on the approaching Feast of the Circumcision, to administer
the holy sacrament to the laity under the two species of bread and wine.
His right to do this having been disputed, he hastened the
accomplishment of his purpose, lest it should be stopped by any
prohibition from the court.
To-day, after his sermon in the City Church, in which he spoke of the
necessity of replacing the idolatrous sacrifice of the mass by the holy
supper, he went to the altar, and, after pronouncing the consecration of
the elements in German, he turned towards the people, and said
solemnly,--
"Whosoever feels heavy laden with the burden of his sins, and hungers
and thirsts for the grace of God, let him come and receive the body and
blood of the Lord."
A brief silence followed his words, and then, to my amazement, before
any one else stirred, I saw my timid, retiring mother slowly moving up
the aisle, leading my father by the hand. Others followed; some with
reverent, solemn demeanour, others perhaps with a little haste and
over-eagerness. And as the last had retired from the altar, the
archdeacon, pronouncing the general absolution, added solemnly,--
"Go, and sin no more."
A few moments' pause succeeded, and then, from many voices here and
there, gradually swelling to a full chorus, arose the Agnus Dei,--
"Lamb of God, who takest away the sin of the world, have mercy on us.
Give us peace."
We spent the Christmas, as usual, in my father's house. Wondering, as I
did, at my mother's boldness, I did not like to speak to her on the
subject; but, as we sat alone in the afternoon, while our dear father,
Gottfried, Christopher and the children had gone to see the skating on
the Elbe, she said to me,--
"Else, I could not help going. It seemed like the voice of our Lord
himself saying to me, '_Thou_ art heavy laden-come!' I never understood
it all as I do now. It seemed as if I _saw_ the gospel with my
eyes,--saw that the redemption is finished, and that now the feast is
spread. I forgot to question whether I repented, or believed, or loved
enough. I saw through the ages the body broken and the blood shed for me
on Calvary; and now I saw the table spread, and heard the welcome, and I
could not help taking your father's hand and going up at once."
"Yes, dear mother, you set the whole congregation the best example!" I
said.
"I!" she exclaimed. "Do you mean that I went up before any one else?
What! before all the holy men, and doctors, and the people in authority?
Else, my child, what have I done? But I did not think of myself, or of
any one else. I only seemed to hear His voice calling me; and what could
I do but go? And, indeed, I cannot care now how it looked! Oh, Else,"
she continued, "it is worth while to have the world thus agitated to
restore this feast again to the Church; worth while," she added with a
trembling voice, "even to have Fritz in prison for this. The blessed
Lord has sacrificed himself for us, and we are living in the festival.
He died for sinners. He spread the feast for the hungry and thirsty.
Then those who feel their sins most must be not the last but the first
to come. I see it all now. That holy sacrament is the gospel for me."
_February_ 10, 1522.
The whole town is in commotion.
Men have appeared among us who say that they are directly inspired from
heaven; that study is quite unnecessary--indeed, an idolatrous
concession to the flesh and the letter; that it is wasting time and
strength to translate the Holy Scriptures, since, without their
understanding a word of Greek or Hebrew, God has revealed its meaning to
their hearts.
These men come from Zwickau. Two of them are cloth-weavers; and one is
Muenzer, who was a priest. They also declare themselves to be prophets.
Nicholas Storck, a weaver, their leader, has chosen twelve apostles and
seventy-two disciples, in imitation of our Lord. And one of them cried
in awful tones, to-day through the streets,--
"Woe, woe to the impious governers of Christendom! Within less then
seven years the world shall be made desolate. The Turk will overrun the
land. No sinner shall remain alive. God will purify the earth by blood,
and all the priests will be put to death. The saints will reign. The day
of the Lord is at hand. Woe! woe!"
Opinions are divided throughout the university and the town about them.
The Elector himself says he would rather yield up his crown and go
through the world a beggar than resist the voice of the Lord. Dr.
Melancthon hesitated, and says we must try the spirits whether they be
of God. The Archdeacon Carlstadt is much impressed with them, and from
his professorial chair even exhorts the students to abandon the vain
pursuits of carnal wisdom, and to return to earn their bread, according
to God's ordinance, in the sweat of their brow. The master of the boys'
school called, from the open window of the school-room, to the citizens
to take back their children. Not a few of the students are dispersing,
and others are in an excitable state, ready for any tumult. The images
have been violently torn from one of the churches and burnt. The monks
of the Convent of the Cordeliers have called the soldiers to their aid
against a threatened attack.
Gottfried and others are persuaded that these men of Zwickau are deluded
enthusiasts. He says, "The spirit which undervalues the word of God
cannot be the Spirit of God."
But among the firmest opponents of these new doctrines is, to our
surprise, our charitable mother. Her gentle, lowly spirit seems to
shrink from them as with a heavenly instinct. She says, "The Spirit of
God humbles--does not puff up."
When it was reported to us the other day that Nicholas Storck had seen
the angel Gabriel in the night, who flew towards him and said to him,
"As for thee, thou shalt be seated on my throne!" the mother said,--
"It is new language to the angel Gabriel, to speak of _his_ throne. The
angels in old times used to speak of the throne of God."
And when another said that it was time to sift the chaff from the wheat,
and to form a Church of none but saints, she said,--
"That would never suit me then. I must stay outside, in the Church of
redeemed sinners. And did not St. Paul himself say, as Dr. Luther told
us, 'Sinners, of whom I am chief?'"
"But are you not afraid," some one asked her, "of dishonouring God by
denying his messengers, if, after all, these prophets should be sent
from him?"
"I think not," she replied quietly. "Until the doctors are sure, I think
I cannot displease my Saviour by keeping to the old message."
My father, however, is much excited about it; he sees no reason why
there should not be prophets at Wittemberg as well as at Jerusalem; and
in these wonderful days, he argues, what wonders can be too great to
believe?
I and many others long exceedingly for Dr. Luther. I believe, indeed,
Gottfried is right, but it would be terrible to make a mistake; and Dr.
Luther always seems to see straight to the heart of a thing at once, and
storms the citadel, while Dr. Melancthon is going round and round,
studying each point of the fortifications.
Dr. Luther never wavers in opinion in his letters, but warns us most
forcibly against these delusions of Satan. But then people say he has
not seen or heard the "prophets." One letter can be discussed and
answered long before another comes, and the living eye and voice are
much in such a conflict as this.
What chief could lead an army on to battle by letters?
_February_ 26, 1522.
Our dove of peace has come back to our home; our Eva! This evening, when
I went over with a message to my mother, to my amazement I saw her
sitting with her hand in my father's, quietly reading to him the
twenty-third psalm, while my grandmother sat listening, and my mother
was contentedly knitting beside them.
It seemed as if she had scarcely been absent a day, so quietly had she
glided into her old place. It seemed so natural, and yet so like a
dream, that the sense of wonder passed from me as it does in dreams, and
I went up to her and kissed her forehead.
"Dear Cousin Else, is it you!" she said. "I intended to have come to you
the first thing to-morrow."
The dear, peaceful, musical voice, what a calm it shed over the home
again!
"You see you have all left Aunt Cotta," she said, with a slight
tremulousness in her tone, "so I am come back to be with her always, if
she will let me."
There were never any protestations of affection between my mother and
Eva, they understand each other so completely.
_February_ 28.
Yes, it is no dream. Eva has left the convent, and is one of us once
more. Now that she has resumed all her old ways, I wonder more than ever
how we could have got on without her. She speaks as quietly of her
escape from the convent, and her lonely journey across the country, as
if it were the easiest and most every-day occurrence. She says every one
seemed anxious to help her and take care of her.
She is very little changed. Hers was not a face to change. The old
guileless expression is on her lips--the same trustful, truthful light
in her dark soft eyes; the calm, peaceful brow, that always reminded one
of a sunny, cloudless sky, is calm and bright still; and around it the
golden hair, not yet grown from its conventual cutting, clusters in
little curls which remind me of her first days with us at Eisenach. Only
all the character of the face seems deepened, I cannot say shadowed, but
penetrated with that kind of look which I fancy must always distinguish
the face of the saints above from those of the angels,--those who have
suffered from those who have only sympathized; that deep, tender,
patient, trusting, human look, which is stamped on those who have passed
to the heavenly rapturous "_Thy will be done_," through the agony of
"_Not my will, but Thine_."
At first Gretchen met her with the kind of reverent face she has at
church; and she asked me afterwards, "Is that really the Cousin Eva in
the picture?" But now there is the most familiar intimacy between them,
and Gretchen confidingly and elaborately expounds to Cousin Eva all her
most secret plans and delights. The boys, also, have a most unusual
value for her good opinion, and appear to think her judgment beyond that
of ordinary women; for yesterday little Fritz was eagerly explaining to
her the virtues of a new bow that had been given him, formed in the
English fashion.
She is very anxious to set nine young nuns, who have embraced the
Lutheran doctrine, free from Nimptschen. Gottfried thinks it very
difficult, but by no means impracticable in time.
Meanwhile, what a stormy world our dove has returned to!--the university
well-nigh disorganized; the town in commotion; and no German Bible yet
in any one's hands, by which, as Gottfried says, the claims of these new
prophets might be tested.
Yet it does not seem to depress Eva. She says it seems to her like
coming out of the ark into a new world; and, no doubt, Noah did not find
everything laid out in order for him. She is quite on my mother's side
about the prophets. She says, the apostles preached not themselves, but
Christ Jesus the Lord. If the Zwickau prophets preach him, they preach
nothing new; and if they preach themselves, neither God nor the angel
Gabriel gave them that message.
Our great sorrow is Fritz's continued imprisonment. At first we felt
sure he would escape, but every month lessens our hopes, until we
scarcely dare speak of him except in our prayers. Yet daily, together
with his deliverance, Gottfried and I pray for the return of Dr. Luther,
and for the prosperous completion of his translation of the German
Bible, which Gottfried believes will be the greatest boon Dr. Luther has
given, or can ever give, to the German people, and through them to them
Christendom.
_Saturday_, _March_ 8, 1522.
The great warm heart is beating amongst us once more!
Dr. Luther is once more dwelling quietly in the Augustinian cloister,
which he left for Worms a year ago. What changes since then! He left us
amid our tears and vain entreaties not to trust his precious life to the
treacherous safe-conduct which had entrapped John Huss to the stake.
He returns unscathed and triumphant--the defender of the good cause
before emperor, prelates, and princes--the hero of our German people.
He left citizens and students for the most part trembling at the daring
of his words and deeds.
He returns to find students and burghers impetuously and blindly rushing
on the track he opened, beyond his judgment and convictions.
He left, the foremost in the attack, timidly followed as he hurried
forward, braving death alone.
He returns to recall the scattered forces, dispersed and divided in wild
and impetuous pursuit.
Will, then, his voice be as powerful to recall and reorganize as it was
to urge forward?
He wrote to the Elector, on his way from the Wartburg, disclaiming his
protection--declaring that he returned to the flock God had committed to
him at Wittemberg, called and constrained by God himself, and under
mightier protection than that of an elector! "The sword," he said,
"could not defend the truth. The mightiest are those whose faith is
mightiest. Relying on his master, Christ, and on him alone, he came."
Gottfried says it is fancy, but already it seems to me I see a
difference in the town--less bold, loud talking, than the day before
yesterday; as in a family of eager, noisy boys, whose father is amongst
them again. But after to-morrow, we shall be able to judge better. He is
to preach in the city pulpit.
_Monday_, _March_ 10, 1522.
We have heard him preach once more. Thank God, those days in the
wilderness, as he called it, have surely not been lost days for Dr.
Luther.
As he stood again in the pulpit, many among the crowded congregation
could not refrain from shedding tears of joy. In that familiar form and
truthful, earnest face, we saw the man who had stood unmoved before the
emperor and all the great ones of the empire--alone, upholding the truth
of God.
Many of us saw, moreover, with even deeper emotion, the sufferer who,
during those last ten months, had stood before an enemy more terrible
than pope or emperor, in the solitude of the Wartburg; and while his own
heart and flesh were often well-nigh failing in the conflict, had never
failed to carry on the struggle bravely and triumphantly for us his
flock; sending masterly replies to the University of Paris; smiting the
lying traffic with indulgences, by one noble remonstrance, from the
trembling hands of the Archbishop of Mainz; writing letter after letter
of consolation or fatherly counsel to the little flock of Christ at
Wittemberg; and, through all, toiling at that translation of the Word of
God, which is the great hope of our country.
But older, tenderer, more familiar associations, mastered all the others
when we heard his voice again--the faithful voice that had warned and
comforted us so long in public and in private. To others, Dr. Luther
might be the hero of Worms, the teacher of Germany, the St. George who
had smitten the dragon of falsehood: to us he was the true, affectionate
pastor; and many of us, I believe, heard little of the first words of
his sermon, for the mere joy of hearing his voice again, as the clear,
deep tones, vibrated through the silent church.
He began with commending our faith. He said we had made much progress
during his absence. But he went on to say, "We must have more than
faith--we must have love. If a man with a sword in his hand happens to
be alone, it matters little whether he keep it in the scabbard or not;
but if he is in the midst of a crowd, he must take care to hold it so as
not to hurt any one.
"A mother begins with giving her infant milk. Would it live if she gave
it first meat and wine?
"But, thou, my friend, hast, perhaps had enough of milk! It way be well
for thee. Yet let thy weaker, younger brother take it. The time was when
thou also couldst have taken nothing else.
"See the sun! It brings us two things--light and heat. The rays of light
beam directly on us. No king is powerful enough to intercept those keen,
direct, swift rays. But heat is radiated back to us from every side.
Thus, like the light, faith should ever be direct and inflexible; but
love, like the heat, should radiate on all sides, and meekly adapt
itself to the wants of all.
"The abolition of the mass, you say," he continued, "is according to
Scripture. I agree with you. But in abolishing it, what regard had you
for order and decency? You should have offered fervent prayers to God,
public authority should have been applied to, and every one would have
seen then that the thing came from God.
"The mass is a bad thing; God is its enemy: it ought to be abolished;
and I would that throughout the whole world it were superceded by the
supper of the gospel. But let none tear any one away from it with
violence. The matter ought to be committed to God. It is His Word that
must act, and not we. And wherefore? do you say? Because I do not hold
the hearts of men in my hand as the potter holds the clay in his. Our
work is to speak; God will act. Let us preach. The rest belongs to him.
If I employ force, what do I gain? Changes in demeanour, outward shows,
grimaces, shams, hypocrisies. But what becomes of sincerity of heart, of
faith, of Christian love? All is wanting where these are wanting; and
for the rest I would not give the stalk of a pear.
"What we want is the heart; and to win that, we must preach the gospel.
Then the word will drop to-day into one heart, to-morrow into another,
and will so work that each will forsake the mass. God effects more than
you and I and the whole world combined could attempt. He secures the
heart; and when that is won, all is won.
"I say not this in order to re-establish the mass. Since it has been put
down, in God's name let it remain so. But ought it to have been put down
in the way it has been? St. Paul, on arriving at the great city of
Athens, found altars there erected to false gods. He passed from one to
another, made his own reflections on all, but touched none. But he
returned peaceably to the Forum, and declared to the people that all
those gods were mere idols. This declaration laid hold on the hearts of
some, and the idols fell without Paul's touching them. I would preach, I
would speak, I would write, but I would lay constraint on no one; for
faith is a voluntary thing. See what I have done! I rose in opposition
to the pope, to indulgences, and the Papists; but I did so without
tumult or violence. I pressed before all things the word of God; I
preached, I wrote; I did nothing else. And while I was asleep, or seated
at table in conversation with Amsdorf and Melancthon, over our
Wittemberg beer, that Word which I had been preaching was working, and
subverted the popedom as never before it was damaged by assault of
prince or emperor. I did nothing; all was done by the Word. Had I sought
to appeal to force, Germany might by this time have been steeped in
blood. And what would have been the result? Ruin and desolation of soul
and body. I therefore kept myself quiet, and left the Word to force its
own way through the world. Know you what, the devil thinks when he sees
people employ violence in disseminating the gospel among men? Seated
with his arms crossed behind hell fire, Satan says, with a malignant
look and hideous leer, 'Ah, but these fools are wise men, indeed, to do
my work for me!' But when he sees the Word go forth and engage alone on
the field of battle, then he feels ill at ease; his knees smite against
each other, he shudders and swoons away with terror."
Quietly and reverently, not with loud debatings and noisy protestations
of what they would do next, the congregation dispersed.
The words of forbearance came with such weight from that daring,
fearless heart, which has braved the wrath of popedom and empire above
for God, and still braves excommunication and ban!
_Wednesday_, _March_ 11.
Yesterday again Dr. Luther preached. He earnestly warned us against the
irreverent participation in the holy sacrament. "It is not the external
eating, which makes the Christian," he said; "it is the internal and
spiritual eating, which is the work of faith, and without which all
external things are mere empty shows and vain grimaces. Now this faith
consists in firmly believing that Jesus Christ is the Son of God; that
having charged himself with our sins and our iniquities, and having
borne them on the cross, he is himself the sole, the all-sufficient
expiation; that he ever appears before God; that he reconciles us to the
Father, and that he has given us the sacrament of his body in order to
strengthen our faith in that unutterable mercy. If I believe these
things, God is my defender: with him on my side, I brave sin, death,
hell, and demons; they can do me no harm, nor even touch a hair of my
head. This spiritual bread is the consolation of the afflicted, the cure
of the sick, the life of the dying, food to the hungry, the treasure of
the poor. He who is not grieved by his sins, ought not, then, to
approach this altar. What would he do there? Ah, did our conscience
accuse us, did our heart feel crushed at the thought of our
shortcomings, we could not then lightly approach the holy sacrament."
There were more among us than the monk Gabriel Didymus (a few days since
one of the most vehement of the violent faction, now sobered and brought
to his right mind), that could say as we listened, "Verily it is as the
voice of an angel."
But, thank God, it is not the voice of an angel, but a human voice
vibrating to every feeling of our hearts--the voice of our own true,
outspoken Martin Luther, who will, we trust, now remain with us to build
up with the same word which has already cleared away so much.
And yet I cannot help feeling as if his absence had done its work for us
as well as his return. If the hands of violence can be arrested now, I
cannot but rejoice they have done just as much as they have.
Now, let Dr. Luther's principle stand. Abolish nothing that is not
directly prohibited by the Holy Scriptures.
_March_ 30.
Dr. Luther's eight discourses are finished, and quiet is restored to
Wittemberg. The students resume their studies, the boys return to
school; each begins with a lowly heart once more the work of his
calling.
No one has been punished. Luther would not have force employed either
against the superstitious or the unbelieving innovators. "Liberty," he
says, "is of the essence of faith."
With his tender regard for the sufferings of others we do not wonder so
much at this.
But we all wonder far more at the gentleness of his words. They say the
bravest soldiers make the best nurses of their wounded comrades.
Luther's hand seems to have laid aside the battle-axe, and coming among
his sick and wounded and perplexed people here, he ministers to them
gently as the kindest woman--as our own mother could, who is herself won
over to love and revere him with all her heart.
Not a bitter word has escaped him, although the cause these disorders
are risking is the cause for which he has risked his life.
And there are no more tumults in the streets. The frightened Cordelier
monks may carry on their ceremonies without terror, or the aid of
soldiery. All the warlike spirits are turned once more from raging
against small external things, to the great battle beginning everywhere
against bondage and superstition.
Dr. Luther himself has engaged Dr. Melancthon's assistance in correcting
and perfecting the translation of the New Testament, which he made in
the solitude of the Wartburg. Their friendship seems closer than ever.
Christopher's press is in the fullest activity, and all seem full of
happy, orderly occupation again.
Sometimes I tremble when I think how much we seem to depend on Dr.
Luther, lest we should make an idol of him; but Thekla, who is amongst
us again, said to me when I expressed this fear,--
"Ah, dear Else, that is the old superstition. When God gives us a
glorious summer and good harvest, are we to receive it coldly and enjoy
it tremblingly, lest he should send us a bad season next year to prevent
our being too happy? If he sends the dark days, will he not also give us
a lamp for our feet through them?"