Augustei, under the shade of the pear-tree, where she so often sits
beside the Doctor. Our children were playing around us--her little
Haenschen with the boys, while the little Magdalen sat cooing like a dove
over some flowers, which she was pulling to pieces, on the grass at our
feet.
She talked to me much about the Doctor; how dearly he loves the little
ones, and what lessons of divine love and wisdom he learns from their
little plays. He says often, that beautiful as all God's works are,
little children are the fairest of all; that the dear angels especially
watch over them. He is very tender with them, and says sometimes they
are better theologians than he is, for they trust God. Deeper prayers
and higher theology he never hopes to reach than the first the little
ones learn--the Lord's Prayer and the Catechism. Often, she said, he
says over the Catechism, to remind himself of all the treasures of faith
we possess.
It is delightful too, she says, to listen to the heavenly theology he
draws from birds and leaves and flowers, and the commonest gifts of God
or events of life. At table, a plate of fruit will open to him a whole
volume of God's bounty, on which he will discourse. Or, taking a rose in
his hand, he will say, "A man who could make one rose like this would be
accounted most wonderful; and God scatters countless such flowers around
us! But the very infinity of his gifts makes us blind to them."
And one evening, he said of a little bird, warbling its last little song
before it went to roost, "Ah, dear little bird! he has chosen his
shelter, and is quietly rocking himself to sleep, without a care for
to-morrow's lodging; calmly holding by his little twig, and leaving God
to think for him."
In spring he loves to direct her attention to the little points and
tufts of life peeping everywhere from the brown earth or the bare
branches. "Who," he said, "that had never witnessed a spring-time would
have guessed, two months since, that these lifeless branches had
concealed within them all that hidden power of life? It will be thus
with us at the resurrection. God writes his gospel, not in the Bible
alone, but in trees, and flowers, and clouds, and stars."
And thus, to Mistress Luther, that little garden, with his presence and
his discourse, has become like an illuminated Gospel and Psalter.
I ventured to ask her some questions, and, among others, if she had ever
heard him speak of using a form of words in prayer. She said she had
once heard him say "we might use forms of words in private prayer until
the wings and feathers of our souls are grown, that we may soar freely
upward into the pure air of God's presence." But _his_ prayers, she
says, are sometimes like the trustful pleadings of his little boy
Haenschen with him; and sometimes like the wrestling of a giant in an
agony of conflict.
She said, also, that she often thanks God for the Doctor's love of
music. When his mind and heart have been strained to the utmost, music
seems to be like a bath of pure fresh water to his spirit, bracing and
resting it at once.
I indeed have myself heard him speak of this, when I have been present
at the meetings he has every week at his house for singing in parts.
"The devil," he says--"that lost spirit--cannot endure sacred songs of
joy. Our passions and impatiences, our complainings and our cryings, our
Alas! and our Woe is me! please him well; but our songs and psalms vex
him and grieve him sorely."
Mistress Luther told me she had many an anxious hour about the Doctor's
health. He is often so sorely pressed with work and care; and he has
never recovered the weakening effects of his early fasts and conflicts.
His tastes at table are very simple, his favourite dishes are herrings
and pease-soup. His habits are abstemious, and when engrossed with any
especial work, he would forget or go without his meals altogether if she
did not press him to take them. When writing his Commentary on the
Twenty-second Psalm, he shut himself up for three days with nothing but
bread and salt; until, at last, she had to send for a locksmith to break
open the door, when they found him absorbed in meditation.
And yet, with all his deep thoughts and his wide cares, like a king's or
an archbishop's, he enters into his children's games as if he were a
boy; and never fails, if he is at a fair on his travels, to bring the
little ones home some gift for a fairing.
She showed me a letter she had just received from him from Coburg, for
his little son Haenschen. She allowed me to copy it. It is written
thus:--
"Grace and peace in Christ to my heartily dear little son.
"I see gladly that thou learnest well and prayest earnestly. Do
thus, my little son, and go on. When I come home I will bring
thee a beautiful fairing. I know a pleasant garden, wherein
many children walk about. They have little golden coats, and
pick up beautiful apples under the trees, and pears, cherries,
and plums. They dance and are merry, and have also beautiful
little ponies, with golden reins and silver saddles. Then I
asked the man whose the garden is, whose children those were.
He said, 'These are the children who love to pray, who learn
their lessons, and are good.' Then I said, 'Dear man, I also
have a little son; he is called Haensichen Luther. Might not he
also come into the garden, that he might eat such apples and
pears, and ride on such beautiful little ponies, and play with
these children?' Then the man said, 'If he loves to pray, learn
his lessons, and is good, he also shall come into the
garden--Lippus and Jost also (the little sons of Melancthon and
Justus Jonas); and when they all come together, they also shall
have pipes, drums, lutes, and all kinds of music; and shall
dance, and shoot with little bows and arrows.'
"And he showed me there a fair meadow in the garden, prepared
for dancing. There were many pipes of pure gold, drums, and
silver bows and arrows. But it was still early in the day, so
that the children had not had their breakfasts. Therefore I
could not wait for the dancing, and said to the man, 'Ah, dear
sir, I will go away at once, and write all this to my little
son Haensichen, that he may be sure to pray and to learn well,
and be good, that he also may come into this garden. But he has
a dear aunt, Lena; he must bring her with him.' Then said the
man, 'Let it be so; go and write him thus.'
"Therefore, my dear little son Haensichen, learn thy lessons,
and pray with a cheerful heart; and tell all this to Lippus and
Justus too, that they also may learn their lessons and pray. So
shall you all come together into this garden. Herewith I
commend you to the Almighty God; and greet Aunt Lena, and give
her a kiss from me.--Thy dear father,
"MARTIN LUTHER."
Some who have seen this letter say it is too trifling for such serious
subjects. But heaven is not a grim and austere, but a most bright and
joyful place; and Dr. Luther is only telling the child in his own
childish language what a happy place it is. Does not God our heavenly
Father do even so with us?
I should like to have seen Dr. Luther turn from his grave letters to
princes and doctors about the great Augsburg Confession, which they are
now preparing, to write these loving words to his little Hans. No wonder
"Catharine Lutherinn," "Doctoress Luther," "mea dominus Ketha," "my lord
Kaethe," as he calls her, is a happy woman. Happy for Germany that the
Catechism in which our children learn the first elements of divine
truth, grew out of the fatherly heart of Luther, instead of being put
together by a Diet or a General Council.
One more letter I have copied, because my children were so interested in
it. Dr. Luther finds at all times great delight in the songs of birds.
The letter I have copied was written on the 28th April to his friends
who meet around his table at home.
"Grace and peace in Christ, dear sirs and friends! I have
received all your letters, and understand how things are going
on with you. That you, on the other hand, may understand how
things are going on here, I would have you know that we,
namely, I, Master Veit, and Cyriacus, are not going to the Diet
at Augsburg. We have, however, another Diet of our own here.
"Just under our window there is a grove like a little forest,
where the choughs and crows have convened a diet, and there is
such a riding hither and thither, such an incessant tumult, day
and night, as if they were all merry and mad with drinking.
Young and old chatter together, until I wonder how their breath
can hold out so long. I should like to know if any of those
nobles and cavaliers are with you; it seems to me they must be
gathered here out of the whole world.
"I have not yet seen their emperor; but their great people are
always strutting and prancing before our eyes, not, indeed, in
costly robes, but all simply clad in one uniform, all alike
black, all alike grey-eyed, and all singing one song, only with
the most amusing varieties between young and old, and great and
small. They are not careful to have a great palace and hall of
assembly, for their hall is vaulted with the beautiful, broad
sky, their floor is the field strewn with fair, green branches,
and their walls reach as far as the ends of the world. Neither
do they require steeds and armour; they have feathered wheels
with which they fly from shot and danger. They are, doubtless,
great and mighty lords, but what they are debating I do not yet
know.
"As far, however, as I understand through an interpreter, they
are planning a great foray and campaign against the wheat,
barley, oats, and all kinds of grain, and many a knight will
win his spurs in this war, and many a brave deed will be done.
"Thus we sit here in our Diet, and hear and listen with great
delight, and learn how the princes and lords, with all the
other estates of the empire, sing and live so merrily. But our
especial pleasure is to see how cavalierly they pace about,
whet their beaks, and furbish their armour, that they may win
glory and victory from wheat and oats. We wish them health and
wealth,--and that they may all at once be impaled on a quickset
hedge!
"For I hold they are nothing better than sophists and Papists
with their preaching and writing; and I should like to have
these also before me in our assembly, that I might hear their
pleasant voices and sermons, and see what a useful people they
are to devour all that is on the face of the earth, and
afterwards chatter no one knows how long!
"To-day we have heard the first nightingale; for they would not
trust April. We have had delightful weather here, no rain,
except a little yesterday. With you, perhaps, it is otherwise.
Herewith I commend you to God. Keep house well. Given from the
Diet of the grain-Turks, the 28th of April, anno 1530.
"MARTINUS LUTHER."
Yet, peaceful and at leisure as he seems, Gottfried says the whole of
Germany is leaning now once more on the strength of that faithful heart.
The Roman diplomatists again and again have all but persuaded Melancthon
to yield everything for peace; and, but for the firm and faithful words
which issue from "this wilderness," as Luther calls the Coburg fortress,
Gottfried believes all might have gone wrong. Severely and mournfully
has Dr. Luther been constrained to write more than once to "Philip
Pusillanimity," demanding that at least he should not give up the
doctrine of justification by faith, and abandon all to the decision of
the bishops!
It is faith which gives Luther this clearness of vision. "It is God's
word and cause," he writes, "therefore our prayer is certainly heard,
and already he has determined and prepared the help that shall help us.
This cannot fail. For he says, 'Can a woman forget her sucking child,
that she should not have compassion on the son of her womb? yea, they
may forget, yet will I not forget thee. See, I have graven thee on the
palms of my hands.' I have lately seen two miracles," he continues; "the
first, as I was looking out of my window and saw the stars in heaven,
and all that beautiful vaulted roof of God, and yet saw no pillars on
which the Master Builder had fixed this vault; yet the heaven fell not,
but all that grand arch stood firm. Now, there are some who search for
such pillars, and want to touch and grasp them, and since they cannot,
they wonder and tremble as if the heaven must certainly fall, for no
other reason but because they cannot touch and grasp its pillars. If
they could lay hold on those, think they, then the heaven would stand
firm!
"The second miracle was--I saw great clouds rolling over us, with such a
ponderous weight that they might be compared to a great ocean, and yet I
saw no foundation on which they rested or were based, nor any shore
which kept them back; yet they fell not on us, but frowned on us with a
stern countenance, and fled. But when they had passed by, then shone
forth both their foundation and our roof which had kept them back--the
rainbow! Truly a weak, thin, slight foundation and roof, which soon
melted away into the clouds, and was more like a shadowy prism, such as
we see through coloured glass, than a strong and firm foundation! so
that we might well distrust that feeble dyke which kept back that
terrible weight of waters. Yet we found, in fact, that this
unsubstantial prism could bear up the weight of waters, and that it
guards us safely. But there are some who look rather at the thickness
and massy weight of the waters and clouds, than at this thin, slight,
narrow bow of promise. They would like to _feel the strength_ of that
shadowy, evanescent arch, and because they cannot do this, they are ever
fearing that the clouds will bring back the deluge."
Heavenly Father, since one man who trusts thy word can thus uphold a
nation, what could not thy word do for each of us if we would each of us
thus trust it, and Thee who speakest it.