Else's Story.
WITTEMBERG, _August_, 1524.
The slow lingering months of decline are over. Yesterday our grandmother
died. As I looked for the last time on the face that had smiled on me
from childhood, the hands which rendered so many little loving services
to me, none of which can evermore be returned to her, what a sacred
tenderness is thrown over all recollection of her, how each little act
of thoughtful consideration and self-denial rushes back on the heart,
what love I can see glowing through the anxious care which sometimes
made her a little querulous, especially with my father, although never
lately.
Can life ever be quite the same again? Can we ever forget to bear
tenderly with little infirmities such as those of hers which seem so
blameless now, or to prize with a thankfulness which would flood with
sunshine our little cares, the love which must one day be silent to us
as she is now?
Her death seems to age us all into another generation! She lived from
the middle of the old world into the full morning of the new; and a
whole age of the past seems to die with her. But after seeing those
Bohemian deputies and knowing that Fritz and Eva were married, she
ceased to wish to live. She had lived, she said, through two mornings of
time on earth, and now she longed for the daybreak of heaven.
But yesterday morning, one of us! and now one of the heavenly host!
Yesterday we knew every thought of her heart, every detail of her life,
and now she is removed into a sphere of which we know less than of the
daily life of the most ancient of the patriarchs. As Dr. Luther says, an
infant on its mother's breast has as much understanding of the life
before it, as we of the life before us after death. "Yet," he saith
also, "since God hath made his world of earth and sky so fair, how much
fairer that imperishable world beyond!"
All seems to me clear and bright after the resurrection; but _now_?
where is that spirit now, so familiar to us and so dear, and now so
utterly separated?
Dr. Luther said, "A Christian should say, I know that it is thus I shall
journey hence; when my soul goes forth, charge is given to God's kings
and high princes, who are the dear angels, to receive me and convoy me
safely home. The Holy Scriptures, he writes, teach nothing of purgatory,
but tell us that the spirits of the just enjoy the sweetest and most
delightful peace and rest. How they live there, indeed, we know not, or
what the place is where they dwell. But this we know assuredly, they are
in no grief or pain, but rest in the grace of God. As in this life they
were wont to fall softly asleep in the guard and keeping of God and the
dear angels, without fear of harm, although the devils might prowl
around them; so after this life do they repose in the hand of God."
"_To depart and be with Christ is far better._"
"_To-day in Paradise with me._"
"_Absent from the body, at home with the Lord._"
Everything for our peace and comfort concerning those who are gone
depends on what those words "_with me_" were to them and are to us.
Where and how they live, indeed, we know not; with Whom we know. The
more then, O our Saviour and theirs! we know of Thee, the more we know
of them. With Thee, indeed, the waiting-time before the resurrection can
be no cold drear ante-chamber of the palace. Where Thou art, must be
light, love, and home.
Precious as Dr. Luther's own words are, what are they at a time like
this, compared with the word of God he has unveiled to us?
My mother, however, is greatly cheered by these words of his, "Our lord
and Saviour grant us joyfully to see each other again hereafter. For our
faith is sure, and we doubt not that we shall see each other again with
Christ in a little while; since the departure from this life to be with
Christ is less in God's sight, than if I go from you to Mansfeld, or you
took leave of me to go from Wittemberg to Mansfeld. This is assuredly
true. A brief hour of sleep and all will be changed."
WITTEMBERG, _September_, 1524.
During this month we have been able often to give thanks that the
beloved feeble form is at rest. The times seem very troublous. Dr.
Luther thinks most seriously of them. Rumours have reached us for some
time of an uneasy feeling among the peasantry. Fritz wrote about it from
the Thuringian Forest. The peasants, as our good Elector said lately,
have suffered many wrongs from their lords; and Fritz says they had
formed the wildest hopes of better days from Dr. Luther and his words.
They thought the days of freedom had come. And bitter and hard it is for
them to learn that the gospel brings freedom now as of old by giving
strength to suffer, instead of by suddenly redressing wrong. The
fanatics, moreover, have been among them. The Zwickau prophets and
Thomas Muenzer (silenced last year at Wittemberg by Luther's return from
the Wartburg), have promised them all they actually expected from
Luther. Once more, they say, God is sending inspired men on earth, to
introduce a new order of things, no more to teach the saints how to bow,
suffer, and be patient; but how to fight and avenge themselves of their
adversaries, and to reign.
_October_, 1524.
Now, alas, the peasants are in open revolt, rushing through the land by
tens of thousands. The insurrection began in the Black Forest, and now
it sweeps throughout the land, gathering strength as it advances, and
bearing everything before it by the mere force of numbers and movements.
City after city yields and admits them, and swears to their Twelve
Articles, which in themselves they say are not so bad, if only they were
enforced by better means. Castle after castle is assailed and falls.
Ulrich writes in burning indignation at the cruel deaths they have
inflicted on noble men and women, and on their pillaging the convents.
Fritz, on the other hand, writes entreating us not to forget the long
catalogue of legalized wrongs which had lead to this moment of fierce
and lawless vengeance.
Dr. Luther, although sympathizing with the peasants by birth, and by
virtue of his own quick and generous indignation at injustice, whilst
with a prophet's plainness he blames the nobles for their exactions and
tyranny, yet sternly demands the suppression of the revolt with the
sword. He says this is essential, if it were only to free the honest and
well-meaning peasantry from the tyranny of the ambitious and turbulent
men who compel them to join their banner on pain of death. With a heart
that bleeds at every severity, he counsels the severest measures as the
most merciful. More than once he and others of the Wittemberg doctors
have succeeded in quieting and dispersing riotous bands of the peasants
assembled by tens of thousands, with a few calm and earnest words. But
bitter, indeed, are these times to him. The peasants whom he pities, and
because he pities condemns, call out that he has betrayed them, and
threaten his life. The prelates and princes of the old religion declare
all this disorder and pillage are only the natural consequences of his
false doctrine. But between them both he goes steadfastly forward,
speaking faithful words to all. More and more, however, as terrible
rumours reach us of torture, and murder, and wild pillage, he seems to
become convinced that mercy and vigour are on the same side. And now he,
whose journey through Germany not three years since was a triumphal
procession, has to ride secretly from place to place on his errands of
peace-making, in danger of being put to death by the people if he were
discovered!
My heart aches for these peasants. These are not the Pharisees who were
"_not blind_," but understood only too well what they rejected. They are
the "multitudes," the common people, who as of old heard the voice of
love and truth gladly; for whom dying he pleaded, "They know not what
they do."
_April_, 1525.
The tide has turned. The army of the empire, under Truchsess, is out.
Phillip of Hesse, after quieting his own dominions, is come to Saxony to
suppress the revolt here. Our own gentle and merciful Elector, who so
reluctantly drew the sword, is, they say, dying. The world is full of
change!
Meantime, in our little Wittemberg world, changes are in prospect. It
seems probable that Dr. Luther, after settling the other eight nuns, and
endeavouring also to find a home for Catherine von Bora, will espouse
her himself. A few months since he tried to persuade her to marry Glatz,
pastor of Orlamund, but she refused. And now it seems certain that the
solitary Augustinian convent will become a home, and that she will make
it so.
Gottfried and I cannot but rejoice. In this world of tumult and unrest,
it seems so needful that that warm, earnest heart should have one place
where it can rest, one heart that will understand and be true to him if
all else should become estranged, as so many have. And this, we trust,
Catherine von Bora will be to him.
Reserved, and with an innate dignity, which will befit the wife of him
whom God has called in so many ways to be the leader of the hearts of
men, she has a spirit which will prevent her sinking into the mere
reflection of that resolute character, and a cheerfulness and womanly
tact which will, we hope, sustain him through many a depressing hour,
such as those who wear earth's crowns of any kind must know.
_December_, 1525.
This year has, indeed, been a year of changes. The peasant revolt is
crushed. At Frankenhausen, the last great victory was gained. Thomas
Muenzer was slain, and his undisciplined hosts fled in hopeless
confusion. The revolt is crushed, alas! Gottfried says, as men too
generally crush their enemies when once in their power, exceeding the
crime in the punishment, and laying up a store of future revolt and
vengeance for future generations.
The good and wise Elector Friedrich died just before the victory. It is
well, perhaps, that he did not live to see the terrible vengeance that
has been inflicted, the roadsteads lined with gibbets, torture returned
by torture, insult by cruel mocking. The poor deluded people, especially
the peasantry, wept for the good Elector, and said, "Ah, God, have mercy
on us! We have lost our father!" He used to speak kindly to their
children in the fields, and was always ready to listen to a tale of
wrong. He died humbly as a Christian; he was buried royally as a prince.
Shortly before his death, his chaplain, Spalatin, came to see him. The
Elector gave him his hand, and said, "You do well to come to me. We are
commanded to visit the sick."
Neither brother nor any near relative was with him when he died. The
services of all brave men were needed in those stormy days. But he was
not forsaken. To the childless, solitary sufferer, his faithful servants
were like a family.
"Oh, dear children," he said, "I suffer greatly!"