Thekla's Story.
_October_, 1522.
Once more the letters come regularly from Flanders; and in most ways
their tidings are joyful. Nowhere throughout the world, Bertrand writes,
does the evangelical doctrine find such an eager reception as there. The
people in the great free cities have been so long accustomed to judge
for themselves, and to speak their minds freely. The Augustinian monks
who studied at Wittemberg, took back the gospel with them to Antwerp,
and preached it openly in their church, which became so thronged with
eager hearers, that numbers had to listen outside the doors. It is true,
Bertrand says, that the Prior and one or two of the monks have been
arrested, tried at Brussels, and silenced; but the rest continue
undauntedly to preach as before, and the effect of the persecution has
been only to deepen the interest of the citizens.
The great new event which is occupying us all now, however, is the
publication of Dr. Luther's New Testament. Chriemhild writes that is the
greatest boon to her, because being afraid to trust herself to say much,
she simply reads, and the peasants seem to understand that book better
than anything she can say about it; or even, if at any time they come to
anything which perplexes them, they generally find that by simply
reading on it grows quite clear. Also, she writes, Ulrich reads it every
evening to all the servants, and it seems to bind the household together
wonderfully. They feel that at last they have found something
inestimably precious, which is yet no "privilege" of man or class, but
the common property of all.
In many families at Wittemberg the book is daily read, for there are few
of those who can read at all who cannot afford a copy, since the price
is but a florin and a half.
New hymns also are beginning to spring up among us. We are no more
living on the echo of old songs. A few days since a stranger from the
north sang before Dr. Luther's windows, at the Augustinian convent, a
hymn beginning,--
"Es ist das Heil uns kommen her."
Dr. Luther desired that it might be sung again. It was a response from
Prussia to the glad tidings which have gone forth far and wide through
his words! He said "he thanked God with a full heart."
The delight of having Eva among us once more is so great! Her presence
seems to bring peace with it. It is not what she says or does, but what
she is. It is more like the effect of music than anything else I know. A
quiet seems to come over one's heart from merely being with her. No one
seems to fill so little space, or make so little noise in the world as
Eva, when she is there; and yet when she is gone, it is as if the music
and the light had passed from the place. Everything about her always
seems so in tune. Her soft, quiet voice, her gentle, noiseless
movements, her delicate features, the soft curve of her cheek, those
deep loving eyes, of which one never seems able to remember anything but
that Eva herself looks through them into your heart.
All so different from me, who can scarcely ever come into a room without
upsetting something, or disarranging some person, and can seldom enter
on a conversation without upsetting some one's prejudices, or grating on
some one's feelings!
It seems to me sometimes as if God did indeed lead Eva, as the Psalm
says, "by His eye;" as if he had trained her to what she is by the
direct teaching of his gracious voice, instead of by the rough training
of circumstances. And nevertheless, she never makes me feel her
hopelessly above me. The light is not like a star, which makes one feel
"how peaceful it must be there, in these heights," but brings little
light upon our path. It is like a lowly sunbeam coming down among us,
and making us warm and bright.
She always makes me think of the verse about the saint who was
translated silently to heaven, because he had "_walked with God_." Yes,
I am sure that is her secret.
Only I have a malicious feeling that I should like to see her for once
thoroughly tossed out of her calm, just to be quite sure it is God's
peace, and not some natural or fairy gift, or a stoical impassiveness
from the "Theologia Teutsch." Sometimes, I fancy for an instant whether
it is not a little too much with Eva, as if she were "translated"
already; as if she had passed to _the other side_ of the deepest earthly
joy and sorrow, at least as regards herself. Certainly she has not as
regards others. Her sympathy is indeed no condescending alms, flung from
the other side of the flood, no pitying glance cast down on grief she
feels, but could never share. Have I not seen her lip quiver, when I
spoke of the dangers around Bertrand, even when my voice was firm, and
felt her tears on my face when she drew me to her heart.
_December_, 1522.
That question at last is answered! I _have_ seen Cousin Eva moved out of
her calm, and feel at last quite sure she is not "translated" yet.
Yesterday evening we were all sitting in the family room. Our
grandmother was dozing by the stove. Eva and my mother were busy at the
table, helping Atlantis in preparing the dresses for her wedding, which
is to be early in next year. I was reading to my father from Dr.
Melancthon's new book, "The Common Places," (which all learned people
say is so much more elegant and beautifully written than Dr. Luther's
works, but which is to me only just a composed book, and not like all
Dr. Luther's writings, a voice from the depths of a heart.) I was
feeling like my grandmother, a little sleepy, and, indeed, the whole
atmosphere around us seemed drowsy and still, when our little maid,
Lottchen, opened the door with a frightened expression, and before she
could say anything, a pale tall man stood there. Only Eva and I were
looking towards the door. I could not think who it was, until a low
startled voice exclaimed "Fritz!" and looking around at Eva, I saw she
had fainted.
In another instant he was kneeling beside her, lavishing every tender
name on her, while my mother stood on the other side, holding the
unconscious form in her arms, and sobbing out Fritz's name.
Our dear father stood up, asking bewildered questions--our grandmother
awoke, and rubbing her eyes, surveyed the whole group with a puzzled
expression, murmuring,--
"Is it a dream? Or are the Zwickau prophets right after all, and is it
the resurrection?"
But no one seemed to remember that tears and endearing words and
bewildered exclamations were not likely to restore any one from a
fainting fit, until to my great satisfaction our good motherly Else
appeared at the door, saying, "What is it? Lottchen ran over to tell me
she thought there were thieves."
Then comprehending everything at a glance, she dipped a handkerchief in
water, and bathed Eva's brow, and fanned her with it, until in a few
minutes she awoke with a short sobbing breath, and in a little while her
eyes opened, and as they rested on Fritz, a look of the most perfect
rest came over her face, she placed her other hand on the one he held
already, and closed her eyes again. I saw great tears falling under the
closed eyelids. Then looking up again and seeing my mother bending over
her, she drew down her hand and laid it on Fritz's, and we left those
three alone together.
When we were all safely in the next room, we all by one impulse began to
weep. I sobbed,--
"He looks so dreadfully ill. I think they have all but murdered him."