OUR FIRST LOSS
Let nothing make thee sad or fretful,
Or too regretful;
Be still;
What God hath ordered must be right,
Then find in it thine own delight,
My will.
--Paul Fleming.
The year 1738 is deeply graven on my memory, because it marked the first
death among the Solitary, our Brother Martin Brämer. Secondly, because
his death followed so swift upon the appearance of that strange being,
woman, witch, or devil, who, time and again, thrust herself so violently
into our lives.
In the first month of the new year, and on a day when the sun was
shining clear and bright, there being no snow on the ground, I was on my
way to the Brother woods for an armful of firewood for the hall. Close
upon where the Brother woods merged into the Sister woods stood a mighty
oak within a little clearing on the Brothers' side, a favorite haunt of
the Solitary for their rare moments of rest from their daily work.
I had about reached the clearing under the shelter of the wide-reaching
arms of the old oak when suddenly, for I was in my customary fashion of
deep meditation with mine eyes toward the ground, I walked into Brother
Martin, almost overthrowing him, for that our tailor was so small and
slight. However, we gravely saluted each other as though naught had
happened; for each knew it had been a mere accident, and were about to
pass on when I caught sight of his face, and saw from his more than
usual pallid features and the twitching lips that he was suffering from
some great shock. Never of robust health he had not been well lately,
and I thought he was suffering more than usual from his infirmity.
I hailed him with brotherly solicitude, "Thou art not well, Brother
Martin! I fear the Solitary press upon thee too sorely for thy keeping
of them clad as becomes their orders."
"Nay, nay, Brother Jabez," he replied gently; but I could hear the
trembling and the fear in his voice, "It is not my labors, which though
toilsome, lie pleasantly on me, because I love my work, and those for
whom I labor and strive to please seem to love me for what I do for
them"; and indeed this was true, for his gentle, unaffected devotion to
us and Him we served made our Brother Martin universally loved.
"But surely," I insisted, "thou'rt not well; thou'rt disturbed and
suffering, that I see plainly. I beseech thee tell me what so sorely
weighs on thee."
He looked up at me, his pale, bloodless lips quivering, and whispered
into mine ear, clutching mine arm and leaning on it as though he needed
my protection, "I have seen the Evil One in woman's form," and then he
gasped, "I shall surely die."
"Nay, nay, my brother," I replied, as though laughing at his foolish
fears, "'tis true the Evil One comes to us at times in woman's form to
lure us, as Solomon sayeth, 'to the gates of hell'; but when the fiend
comes as such it is not in horrid, repulsive shape, but like those
beautiful beings who came to Saint Anthony with such artful, seductive
enchantments that none but saint could say them nay. Surely if this Evil
One hath appeared to thee thou needst not look for thy immediate
dissolution, but mayst expect some grace from the fair devourer."
But my poor brother would not be comforted, and merely stood shaking his
head, saying mournfully, "This was no beautiful enchantress; no
seductive siren, as thou sayest; 'twas the foul fiend in his foulest,
most awful form, long, tangled hair falling every way over a face
through which there gleamed eyes on fire with the hatred of hell. I saw
the eternal enmity of the Evil One in those piercing eyes."
"Where was all this, Brother Martin?" for I saw he could not be laughed
out of his terror.
"Just beyond the oak," he replied; "she was standing in a thicket
covered with tangled vines as foul and poisonous as herself. I had all
unthinking almost walked into her when suddenly I heard a snarl like
some ravenous beast; I saw her horrible claws uplifted as though she
were about to spring on me and tear me limb from limb. I jumped back, my
heart almost standing still, thinking naught but that my end had come.
She came no farther, but contented herself with crouching there and
glaring at me with those awful eyes of hate that seemed to burn into my
very soul."
"Canst thou go with me where thou hast seen this witch or devil?" I said
boldly, although I had not overly much stomach for the venture.
As I said this he drew back and trembled violently as he cried out,
"Nay, not even for the very hope of a safe hereafter would I go to that
accursed place."
"Then remain there, thou gentle coward, whilst I go," commanded I.
Again he clutched me by the arm and cried out, "Nay, go not, Brother
Jabez; even if she touch thee not her look will blast thee like
lightning."
"I fear her not," bragged I, and strode away, leaving him shuddering
with the terror that had not yet grown cold, and with apprehensions for
me.
I had no trouble in finding the thick bush and entangling vines Brother
Martin had pointed out to me. As I approached its dark, forbidding
front, I trembled like a leaf, and then grew angry at my weakness. Then
I went on, resolutely forcing my way into the vile vines that caught me
all about my face and body and limbs so that I was ready to affirm
naught human could penetrate such a wilderness; but though I looked
carefully for any signs that would show that some one or something had
thrust itself into these exasperating vines I could find nothing, even
though I had in all these years learned much of the ways of the woods
and its signs.
In great bewilderment I was about to turn back to chide Brother Martin
with having seen nothing but a creature of his own imagining when I saw
in a small gully at the farther boundary of the thicket a footprint,
small, a woman's surely, in the soft, clayey soil. Had the imprint been
that of a cloven foot I could not have been more startled; for I knew
that the Sisterhood seldom, if ever, came to the Brother woods, and the
good wives and daughters of the near-by settlers were too timid and
honest to trespass on our lands. Much perturbed, for I knew this thing
boded evil to our community, I walked slowly back to my waiting brother,
vague remembrances strangely flitting through my mind, but making no
impression at the time, of how Sonnlein had come to me, and the midnight
beating of our Brother Beissel.
I found Brother Martin, still pale and fearful, anxiously wanting to
know what I had learned. "Nothing," I said, "of witch or devil, but the
substantial print of a woman's foot."
"Was there no smell of brimstone? No cloven footprint?" he persisted.
"Nay, thou simple one, else I had told thee. Say thou naught of this;
for they who would not believe thee would only laugh at thee, and if any
believe what could that avail?"
"Nothing, dear Brother Jabez, nothing," he said mournfully, a strange,
fixed look in his wild eyes. "A woman with an evil eye once looked upon
my little brother as he lay laughing in the cradle my father had hewn
out of a log. Until then the child was strong and healthy, never having
been sick; but from that day he wasted away, with naught that could help
or cure him, and within a month we laid him down in his little
resting-place in the orchard nigh our cabin. They whom the evil eye look
upon live not long." And then, as one who goes forth to certain death,
he looked up at me smiling bravely through all his fears and said, "If
my time hath come, let it come quickly, His servant waiteth."
I found it impossible to free him from this melancholy mood, and so we
walked back slowly and sadly to our _Kammers_, saying nothing more.
A week passed, Brother Martin quietly, with resignation, doing his lowly
duties each day; but we all could see he was in failing health. Only he
and I knew, however, that the tortures of mind he was enduring far
outweighed the lesser pains of the flesh; for I hesitate not to say of
saint as well as sinner, that until death be actually at hand, they fear
alike the inevitable end.
On a Friday night, just a week from the Friday our brother had seen this
thing, the midnight services being over, and the Brethren and Sisters
having returned to their _Kammers_ to rest their weary heads on their
hard wooden blocks, we were startled by the ringing of the Kloster bell.
Clear and loud it pealed through the cold quietness of the night. Like a
flash, though I had not thought of it before, I cried out to Brother
Obed, who had the adjoining cell, "'Tis Brother Martin," though not more
than a half-hour had expired since we had returned, he with us, from our
midnight devotions.
Suddenly the pealing notes ceased, and then came the slow, solemn
tolling of the bell, a custom followed ever after on the death of any
of our number, until forty-eight were measured out, which I knew was
about our brother's age. His cell was on the floor below, where I
hastened as soon as the last year of his life had been tolled. A number
of the Brethren, with bowed heads, stood sadly in the narrow _Kammer_,
in the still narrower doorway and corridor. I had been filled, ere I saw
him, with a dread that his death agony might have had its terrors
increased a thousand-fold by the awful memory of the witch; for I knew
he had never forgotten it. But when I looked down on the slight form and
peaceful face resting on the hard bench and still more mortifying
pillow, I saw no trace of any overpowering, death-dealing vision.
Instead, his face, though greatly wasted and altered, was as composed as
though he had merely fallen asleep in the arms of his beloved. The
little window looking out from his _Kammer_, as soon as the last spark
of life had died out, had been opened so that his soul could take its
flight unhindered and unmolested to that place of pure delights "where
the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest."
At the funeral, which was the following midnight, as we carried the body
out of the _Berghaus_ a bucket of water was poured upon the sill and
swept up, and the door immediately closed so that his spirit could not
return again to its earthly home, and to make further assurance against
such a return three crosses were marked upon the door jamb with red
earth.
We buried him who had thus passed away in the prime of his life, down in
the meadow nigh to where in later years we built our Brother house. It
was a dark, stormy night, no moon and no stars to lighten up the gloom
of the sky or the still deeper darkness in our hearts; but with our
fagot torchlights sputtering fitfully, almost blown out by the wind at
times, we laid him to rest at the midnight hour with all the honors and
rites and ceremonies of our holy order.
Thus, on this weird, stormy night, in such contrast to the peace and
gentleness of this earnest, zealous warrior of the faith who for almost
nine years had abided with us, we left in the meadow his mortal remains,
but took back with us the remembrance of his godly services and his
truth and fidelity unto his profession and brotherhood during his short
life.