"DIE STILLEN IM LANDE," OR PIETISTS.
(1600-1700.)
The contrast between the epic time of the Middle Ages, and the new
period which has already been often called the lyrical, is very
perceptible in every sphere of human life, and not least in the realm
of faith.
The Roman Catholic Church of the Middle Ages had consecrated the life
of every individual by a multitude of pious usages, and shut it up in
an aristocratic spiritual state, in which the spirit of the individual
was fast bound in rigid captivity, with little spontaneous action. The
Reformation destroyed in the greater part of Germany these fetters of
the popular mind; it set freedom of decision and mental activity in
opposition to the outward constraint and splendid mechanism of the old
Church. But Protestantism gave a system of doctrine, as well as freedom
and depth, to the German mind. In the great soul of Luther, both these
tendencies of the new faith were in equilibrium; the more passionately
he struggled for his explanation of holy writ and the dogmas of his
school, the stronger and more original was the mental process through
which, after his own way, he sought his God in free prayer. It is,
nevertheless, clear that the great progress which accrued to the human
race from his teaching, could not fail to result in forming two
opposite tendencies in Protestantism. The two poles of every religion,
knowledge and the emotions of the soul, the intellectual boundaries of
religious knowledge and the fervid resignation of self to the Divine,
must prevail in the soul with varying power, according to the wants of
the individual and the cultivation of the period; now one, now the
other will preponderate, and the time might arrive when both tendencies
would come into strife and opposition. At first Protestantism waged war
against the old Church, and against the parties that arose within
itself,--a necessary consequence of greater freedom and independence of
judgment.
It is difficult to judge how far this liberal tendency of Protestantism
would have led the nation, if adversity had not come upon them. The
great war, however, gave rise to a peculiar apathy even in the best.
Each party engaged bore a token of their faith upon their banners, each
brought endless misfortune upon the people, and in all, it was apparent
how little baptism and the Lord's Supper availed to make the professors
of any confession good men. When the flames of war were dying away, men
were much inclined to attribute a great portion of their own misery and
that of the country to the strife of the contending persuasions. It
naturally followed that the colder children of the world attached
little value to any religion, and turned from it with a shrug of the
shoulder when the old ecclesiastical disputes, which even during the
war had never been entirely silenced, began to rage with loud bluster
in the pulpit and the market-place. In many districts the mass of the
people had been compelled, by dragonades and the most, extreme methods
of coercion, to change their persuasion three and four times, and the
formulas of belief were not more valued by them, from their having
learnt them by rote. Thus waste and empty had become the inward life of
the Church, which, together with the coarseness and vices introduced
among men by the long war, gave to the ten years after it an aspect so
peculiarly hopeless. There was little to love, very little to honour
upon earth.
Yet it was just at this period, when each individual felt himself in
constant fear of death, that a kind Providence often interposed to save
them from destruction. Sudden and fearful were the dangers, and equally
sudden and wonderful the rescue. That the strength of man was as
nothing in this terrible game of overwhelming events, was deeply
imprinted on the soul of every one. When the mother with her children
hid herself trembling in the high corn whilst a troop of horsemen were
passing by, and in that moment of danger murmured a prayer with
blanched lips, she naturally ascribed her preservation to the special
protection of a merciful God. If the harassed citizen, in his
hiding-place in the woods, folded his hands and prayed fervently that
the Croats who were plundering the town might not find his concealed
treasure, and afterwards, upon raking up the cinders of his burnt
house, found his silver pieces untouched, he could not help believing
that a special Providence had blinded the greedy eyes of the enemy.
When terrible strokes of fate overtake individuals in rapid succession,
a belief in omens, forebodings, and supernatural warnings is inevitably
fostered. Whilst the superstition of the multitude fixes itself on the
northern lights and falling stars, on ghosts and the cry of the
screech-owl, more polished minds seek to discover the will of the Lord
from dreams and heavenly revelations. The long war had, it is true,
hardened the hearts of men against the miseries of others; it had also
deprived them of all equability of mind; and the vacant gaze into a
desolated world, and cold indifference, were in most only interrupted
by fits of sudden weakness, which perhaps were produced by
insignificant causes, and a reckless sinner was suddenly plunged into
sorrow and contrition. Life was undoubtedly poor in love and elevation,
but the necessity of loving and honouring which lies so deep in the
German nature, after the peace, sought painfully for something high and
steadfast, in order to give an aim and an interest to his poor wavering
life. Thus the mind clung to the holy conceptions of faith, which it
again with quiet reverence endeavoured to realise heartily,
affectionately, and confidingly.
From such longings in the hearts of the people, a new life was
developed in the Christian Church. It was not only among the followers
of Luther, but equally in the Calvinistic persuasion, and almost as
much in the Roman Catholic Church; it was also not only in Germany and
the countries which then partook of German cultivation, Denmark,
Sweden, Eastern Sclavonia, and Hungary, but almost at the same time in
England, and even earlier in France and Holland, where religious schism
and political faction have rent asunder the souls of men in bitter
controversy for centuries. Nay, even among the Jesuits we may find the
working of this same craving after a new ideal in a cheerless life. In
the history of the Christian Church, this Pietism--as the new tendency
has been called by its opponents since 1674--has been a transitory
impulse, which blossomed and withered in little more than a century.
The effect it has exercised on the culture, morals, and spirit of the
German people may still be perceived. In some respects it has been an
acquisition to the nation, and a short account of it shall now be
given.
As this Pietism was no new doctrine proclaimed by some great reformer,
but only a tendency of the spirit which burst forth among many
thousands at the same time, the greater number of its professors
remained firm at first in the dogmas of their church. In fact, in the
beginning it only expressed wide-spread convictions, to which the best
natures had already, before the Thirty Years' War, given utterance;
that the points of union of religions parties, and not the deviations
of doctrinal opinions, were the main objects of faith; that personal
communion with God was independent of dogmas; that it availed little to
hear sermons and take the sacrament, to confess that one was a great
sinner and relied on the merits of Christ only and not on our own
works, nor to refrain from great sins and to say a few lifeless prayers
at appointed hours. And yet this was the usual Christianity of both
ecclesiastics and laity: a dead faith, a mere outward form of
godliness, the letter without the spirit. Little did the baptism of
children signify without conversion on arriving at maturity, little
also did communionship with the church avail, by which the laity only
received passively the gifts of salvation: each individual ought to
establish the priesthood of the Lamb in his own heart. Such was the
feeling of thousands. Of the many in Germany that followed this
tendency of the heart, none exercised for many years so great an
influence as Jacob Spener, between 1635 and 1705. Born in Alsace, where
for more than a century the doctrines of Luther and of the Swiss
reformers flourished conjointly and contended together, where the
learning of the Netherlands and even the pious books of England were
harboured, his pious heart early imbibed a steadfast faith through the
earnest teaching of schools, and under the protection accorded to him
by ladies of distinction in difficult times. Even as a boy he had been
severe upon himself and when he had once ventured to a dance he felt
obliged to leave it from qualms of conscience. He had been a tutor at a
prince's court, and also studied at Basle. At Geneva he saw with
astonishment how Jean de Labadie, by his sermons on repentance, had
emptied the wine-houses, caused gamblers to give back their gains, and
stamped upon the hearts of the children of Calvin the doctrines of
inward sanctification and of following after Christ with entire
self-renunciation. From thence Spener went to Frankfort-on-the-Maine as
pastor, and by his labours there produced a rich harvest of blessing,
which assumed ever-increasing proportions, and soon procured him
followers throughout Germany. Happily married, in prosperous
circumstances, peace-loving and prudent, with calm equanimity and
tender feelings, a loving, modest nature, he was specially adapted to
become the counsellor and confidant of oppressed hearts. Over women
especially this refined, kind-hearted, dignified man had great
influence. He established meetings of pious Christians in a private
dwelling; they were the far-famed _Collegia pietatis_, in which the
books of the holy Scriptures were explained and commented upon by the
men, whilst the women listened silently in a space set apart for them.
When later he had to deliver these discourses in the church, they lost,
for the zealous, the attractive power which in the calm exclusiveness
of the select society they had exercised; parties arose, and a portion
of his scholars separated from the church. He himself, after twenty
years of active exertion, was called from Frankfort to Dresden, and
from thence soon after to Berlin.
Spener himself was disinclined to sectarianism, the mysticism of Arndt,
and still more of Jacob Boehme, was repulsive to him, and he disapproved
when some of his friends abandoned the church; he struggled incessantly
against the enemies who wished to drive him out of it, and during the
last half of his life maintained a quiet struggle against his own
followers, who publicly showed their disrespect to the dogmas of the
church. He was decidedly no enthusiast; that the Christian religion was
one of love, that in one's own life one was to imitate that of Christ,
and value little the transitory pleasures of the world, that, after his
example, one was to show love to one's fellow-creatures: this was
always the noble keystone of his teaching. And yet there was something
in his nature, without his wishing it, which was favourable to the
isolation and seclusion in which, in the following century, the
religious life of the Pietists wore away. The stress which he laid upon
private devotion, and the solitary striving of the soul after God, and,
above all, the critical distrust with which he regarded worldly life,
could not fail to bring his followers soon into opposition with it. The
insignificance and shallowness of many pretenders to sanctity who clung
yearningly to him, made it inevitable that a similar mode of feeling
and of judging life would shortly become mere mannerism, which would
show itself in language, demeanour, and dress.
God was still the loving Father who was to be stormed by the power of
prayer, and might be moved to listen. But this generation had learnt
resignation, and a gentle whisper to God took the place of the urgent
prayer in which Luther had "brought the matter home to his Lord God."
The inscrutable ways of Providence had been imprinted by fearful
lessons on the soul, and the progress of science gave such presage of
the grandeur of the world's system, that the weakness and
insignificance of man had to be more loudly proclaimed. The sinner
had become more in awe of his God, the _naive_ ingenuousness of
the Reformation was lost. The craving for marvels had therefore
increased--increased in this generation--and zealously did they
endeavour in indirect ways to fathom the will of the Lord. Dreams were
interpreted, prognostics discerned; every beautiful feeling of the
soul, every sudden discovery made by the combinations of the mind, were
considered as direct inspirations from God. It was an old popular
belief, that accidental words which were impressed on the mind from
outward sources were to be considered as significant, and this belief
had now become a system. As the Jutlander Steno--the Roman Catholic
Bishop of Hanover, and acquaintance of Leibnitz--suddenly became a
fanatic, because a lady had spoken out of the window some indifferent
words, which he in passing by conceived to be a command from Heaven, so
did accidental words sway the minds of the Pietists. It was a favourite
custom in cases of doubt to open suddenly upon some verse in the
Bible or hymn book, and from the tenor of the words to decide these
doubts--the sentence on which the right-hand thumb was set was the
significant one--a custom which to this day remains among the people,
and the opponents of which, as early as 1700, called deridingly
"thumbing." If any one had a call from the external world, the system
was to refuse the first time, but, if repeated, then it was the call of
the Lord. It may easily be conceived that the believing soul might,
even in the first refusal, unconsciously follow a quiet inclination of
the heart which had secretly said yes or no.
That in a period of unbridled passions, the reaction against the common
lawlessness should overstep moderation is natural. After the war, a
crazy luxury in dress had begun; the women loved to make a shameless
display of their charms, the dances were frivolous, the drinking
carousals coarse, and the plays and novels often only a collection of
impurities. Thus it was natural that those who were indignant at all
this should choose to wear high dresses, simple in style and dark in
colour, and that the women should withdraw from dances and other
amusements; the drinking wine was in bad repute, the play not visited,
and dances esteemed a dangerous frivolity. But zeal went still further.
Mere cheerful society also appeared doubtful to them--men should always
show that they valued little the transitory pleasures of the world;
even the most harmless, offered by nature to men's outward senses, its
smiling blossoms and the singing of birds, were only to be admired with
caution, and it was considered inadmissible, at least on Sunday, to
pluck flowers or to put them in the hair or bosom. That praiseworthy
works of art should not find favour with the holders of such opinions
was natural. Painting and profane music were as little esteemed as the
works of the poets by whom the anxieties of earthly love are portrayed.
The world was not to be put on an equality with the Redeemer. Those who
follow not the ways of "piety," live in conformity with the world.
He who thus withdraws himself from the greater portion of his
fellow-men, may daily say to himself that he lives with his God in
humility and resignation, but he will seldom preserve himself from
spiritual pride. It was natural that the "Stillen im lande," as they
early called themselves, should consider their life the best and most
excellent, but it was equally natural that a secret conceit and
self-sufficiency of character should be fostered by it. They had so
often withstood the temptations of the world, so often made great and
small sacrifices; and as they had the illumination of God's grace, they
were his elect. Their faith taught them to practise Christian duties in
a spirit of benevolence to man, to do good to others, like the
Samaritan to the traveller, in the wilderness of life. But it was also
natural that their sympathy and benevolence to others should be chiefly
engrossed by those who had the same religious tendencies. Thus their
mutual union became, from many circumstances, peculiarly firm and
remarkable. It was not, in the first instance, particularly learned
ecclesiastics who were Pietists; on the contrary, the greater portion
of the clergy in 1700 stood firm to the orthodox point of view in
opposition to them. But they lived more by the Gospel than the law;
they sought carefully to avoid the appearance of exercising, as
preachers, dominion over the consciences of the community. This
captivated the laity--the strong minds and warm hearts of all classes,
scholars, officials, not a few belonging to the higher nobility, and,
above all, women.
For the first time since the ancient days of Germany--with the
exception of a short period of chivalrous devotion to the female
sex--were German women elevated above the mere circle of family and
household duties; for the first time did they take an active share as
members of a great society in the highest interests of humankind.
Gladly was it acknowledged by the theologians of the Pietists, that
there were more women than men in their congregations, and how
assiduously and zealously they performed all the devotional exercises,
like the women who remained by the cross when the Apostles had fled.
Their inward life, their struggle with the world, their striving after
the love of Christ and light from above, were watched with hearty
sympathy by all in their intimacy, and they found trusty advisers and
loving friends among refined and honourable men. The new conception of
faith which laid less stress on book-learning than on a pure heart,
acted on them like a charm. The calm, the seclusion, and the
aristocratic tendency of the system, attracted them powerfully; even
their greater softness, the energy of their impulsive feelings, and
their excitable, nervous nature, made them more especially subjects for
emotions, enthusiasm, and the wonderful workings of the Godhead.
Already had the gifted Anna Maria von Schurmann, at Utrecht--the most
learned of all maidens and long the admiration of travellers--been
separated from the church through Jean de Labadie; and the pious and
amiable lady had, in 1670, in her holy zeal, withdrawn all her works,
though they contained nothing unchristian. Like her, many other women
endeavoured to be the representatives of their priesthood to the
people; many of these pious theologians could boast of strong-minded
women, who prayed with and comforted them, ever strengthening them amid
the difficulties of faith, and partaking of their light. Thus it came
to pass that women of all classes became the most zealous partisans of
the Pietists. There was scarcely a noble or rich family which did not
count among its ladies one that was pious, nor who, though they might
at first be angered, were not gradually influenced by their intrinsic
worth and moral exhortations. To such noble ladies there was a great
charm in being able to protect persons of talent in their community.
They became zealous patronesses, unwearied proselytisers, and
trustworthy confidants, and helpers in the distresses of others. But
whilst they laboured for the interests of their faith, their own life
was subject to many influences. They came into contact with men of
different classes, they were accustomed to correspond with those who
were absent, and they learnt to give vent to the secrets of the heart,
and to the tender feelings of their souls. Although this was often done
in the canting expressions of the community, yet it produced in many a
deepening of the inner life. There was, indeed, something new added to
the spirit of the people.
The habit of reflecting on their own condition, of judging themselves
under strong inward emotions, was quite new to the German mind. It is
very touching to observe the child-like pleasure with which these pious
people watched the processes of their mental activity, and the emotions
of their hearts. Much was strange and surprising to them which we, from
greater practice in the observation of our own inward life and that of
others, only find common. Every train of conceptions which rapidly
formed themselves into an image, a thought, or an idea, every sudden
flash of feeling, the mainspring of which they could not discover,
appeared to them wonderful. The language of the Bible, which, after
long groping, they began to understand, was unfolded to them. Their
visions, which, owing to their assiduous application to the Scriptures,
assumed frequently the form of Bible figures, were carefully, after
their awakening, brought into rational coherence, and, unconscious of
the additions of their imagination, were polished into a small poem.
Their lyrical tendencies gave a new form to their diaries, which
hitherto had been only a register of casual occurrences; the
confidential pages became now clumsy attempts to express in grand
words, impassioned feelings, and were filled with observations on their
own hearts. When a Pietist, shortly after 1700, writes: "There were so
many deep thoughts in my heart, that I could not give expression to
them," or, "I had a strong feeling about these thoughts," this sounds
to us like the utterance of a later time, in the style of Bettine
Arnim, who undoubtedly was, in many respects, an echo of the excited
women who once prayed, under the guidance of Spener, on the banks of
the Maine. This same facility of self-contemplation found its way into
poetry, and later into novels.
Together with Pietism there began also in Germany a new style of social
intercourse. Seldom was a quiet life the lot of the heads of the pious
communities; they were transplanted, driven away, and moved about
hither and thither. The disciples, therefore, who sought for
instruction, comfort, and enlightenment, were often obliged to travel
into distant countries. Everywhere they found souls in unison, patrons
and acquaintances, and often a good reception and protection from
strangers. Those who did not travel themselves, loved to write to
kindred spirits concerning their dispositions, temptations, and
enlightenment. Such letters were carried about, copied, and sent far
and wide. Thus arose a quiet communion of pious souls throughout
Germany, a new human tie, which first broke through the prejudices of
classes, made women important members of a spiritual society, and
established a social intercourse, the highest interest of which was the
inward life of the individual. And this social tendency of the pious,
determined the form and method of intercourse of the finer minds for a
hundred years later than the time of Spener; indeed, the social
relations between our great poets and German princesses and ladies of
rank, was only rendered possible because the "_Stillen im lande_" had
lived at courts in a similar way. The whole system was the same: the
visits of travellers, the letters, and the quiet community of refined
souls. The sentimentality of the Werther period was only the
stepdaughter of the emotional mania of the old Pietism.
The beneficial influence, also, exercised by the Pietists on the
manners and morals of the people should not be under-rated, although
much of this influence was undoubtedly lost by their proneness to
separate from the multitude. But, wherever the labours of Spener, as
shepherd of souls, had found imitators, especially where Pietism had
been recognised by the church of the State, the practical Christianity
of the new teaching was perceptible. Like Spener, his followers felt
the importance of religious instruction for the young, and gladly
availed themselves of the opportunities when the youthful souls of the
parish and the parents opened themselves to them, to counsel them on
the more important occurrences of the day, and give a practical turn to
their teaching. It was they who, with warm hearts, first, after the
devastating war, provided schools for the people; and to them must be
attributed the first regular supervision of the poor in the large
cities. It is known that the German orphan-houses were established
through them; the example of Franke, in Halle, was followed in many
other cities--these great institutions were looked upon as a wonder by
contemporaries. Throughout all ages these foundations of our pious
ancestors ought to be regarded with special interest by our nation; for
they are the first undertakings for the public welfare which have been
formed _by the voluntary contributions of individuals from the whole of
Germany_. For the first time did the people become conscious how great
may be the results of many with small means working together. It is not
surprising that this experience seemed then to the people like a
fabulous tale, when one considers that in the ten years before and
after 1700, the "_Stillen_" must have collected in the countries where
the German tongue is spoken, far more than a million of thalers for
orphan-houses and other similar benevolent institutions; this was,
undoubtedly, not from private sources alone, but in that poor and
depopulated country such sums are significant.
Thus did Pietism prepare men for rapid progress in many directions, and
its best offering to its votaries, a more elevated sense of duty, and a
greater depth of feeling, passed from the "_Stillen im lande_" into the
souls of many thousands of the children of the world; it contributed
scarcely less than science to the beginning of that period of
enlightenment, by mitigating the wild and rough practices which
everywhere prevailed in the second half of the seventeenth century, and
by giving to the family life of Germans, at least in the cities,
greater simplicity, order and morality. The families from whom our
greatest scholars and poets have sprung, the parental houses of Goethe
and Schiller, show the influence which the Pietism of the last
generation exercised on their forefathers.
That many of the Pietists might lose themselves in extravagancies and
dangerous by-ways, is easily comprehensible.
It was natural that with those who, after inward struggles and long
strivings, had obtained strength for a godly life, the delivery of man
from sin should become the main point; and as they were yearning, above
all, for the direct working of God on their own life, it followed that
they ascribed this awakening to the special grace of God; that they
sought earnestly in prayer for the moment when this special
illumination and sanctification should take place by a manifestation of
the divinity; and that when, after severe tension of the soul, they
reached a state of exaltation, they considered this as the beginning of
a new life to which the grace of God was assured. Luther, also, had
striven for this illumination; he also had experienced the transports
of exaltation, inward peace, repose, certainty, and a feeling of
superiority to the world; but it had been with him, as with the
strong-minded among his contemporaries, an ever-enduring struggle, a
frequently-repeated victory, a powerful mental process which appeared
sometimes, indeed, wonderful to himself, but in which with his sound,
strong nature, there was nothing morbid, and of which the special form,
the struggles with the devil, were the natural consequences of the
_naive_, simple-hearted popular faith, which had changed the old
household spirits and hobgoblins of our heathen ancestors into
Christian angels and the devil. The Pietists, on the other hand, lived
in a time when the life both of nature and man was more rationally
viewed as to cause and effect, when a multitude of scientific
conceptions were popular, when a practical worldly mind prevailed which
made itself few illusions; and when the hearts of men were seldom
elevated by enthusiasm and great ideas. Already we begin to trace the
beginnings of rationalism. In such a time this regeneration, this
moment of awakening, was not a frame of mind easily produced--not a
condition in which, with a sound mental constitution, one could place
oneself without a certain degree of violence. It was necessary to wait
for it--to prepare oneself strenuously, and constrain body and soul to
it, by a self-contemplation, in which there was something unsound; one
must watch anxiously one's own soul, to discover when the moment of
awakening was nigh. And this moment of awakening itself was to be
entirely different from every other frame of mind. In order to arrive
at the conviction of its presence, that was not sufficient for them,
which, after severe struggles, had given a happiness to the great
reformers that rested on their countenances like a reflection of the
Godhead; the peace and serenity which come after the victorious end of
a struggle betwixt duty and inclination. This outpouring of grace with
the Pietists was frequently accompanied by ecstasies, visions, and
similar pathological phenomena, which at no period have been wanting,
but which were then sought after as the highest moments of human life
and recounted with admiration. It will shortly be shown that this was
the rock on which Pietism struck.
With such tendencies, even the reading of the Scriptures was fraught
with special danger. When they explained the holy Scriptures, being
under the conviction that God favoured them with a direct influence,
they were in the unfortunate position of considering every accidental
incident that presented itself to them in any part, as an unerring
manifestation. Now, the yearning of a weak age for a better condition,
and the inclination of the pious for special illumination, rendered the
prophetic books of the Old and New Testament particularly attractive.
Thus it came to pass that the Pietists drew from them a multitude of
revelations and prophecies. It is of no importance at what results they
arrived; but this engrossing attention to the dark passages of the
prophets, and especially the Revelation of St John, did not contribute
to render their judgment clearer, nor their scientific culture more
solid: for in their time the key to the better understanding these
records had not been found. Moreover, the knowledge of languages even
among scholars was generally unsatisfactory, although, after the
example of Schurmann, there was already here and there a pious maiden
who began to learn Hebrew. It was not long before all worldly knowledge
appeared, to most of them, useless and detrimental.
Thus, Pietism was threatened with great dangers immediately after its
rise; but the life of the early Pietists, who from Frankfort spread
themselves all over Germany, was more simple and harmless than the
later proceedings at Halle, under the separatists of the eighteenth
century.
Two autobiographies of pious individuals of Spener's school have been
preserved to us, which throw light on other phases of German life. It
is a husband and wife who have bequeathed them to us,--kind-hearted
people, with warm feelings, some learning and no particular powers of
mind,--the theologian, Johann Wilhelm Petersen, and his wife, Johanna
Eleanor, born von Merlau. After they were united in marriage, they led
together a spiritual life, in perfect unanimity, and, like a pair of
birds, flitted through the temptations and troubles of this earthly
valley. Heavenly consolation and manifestation came to them alike. The
world considered them as enthusiasts, but they were held in honour to
the close of their life by the best among the Pietists, undoubtedly
because of the goodness of their hearts, which were not choked up with
spiritual pride. The husband was industrious and faithful to his
duties, a man with poetical feeling and some philosophical culture; but
he needed another to lean on, and was evidently much influenced by his
more decided wife, whose worldly position, as being noble, gave her
consideration even among the pious. It was soon after his marriage that
a restless excitement, and sometimes an immoderate zeal, became visible
in him. His wife, who was some years older than himself, had attained
to a rigid piety, whilst struggling against the worldly life of the
small prince's court, where she had lived. One may conclude from her
biography, that she was not free from ambition and love of power, with
a slight touch of asperity. Her long, quiet struggle had made her
over-zealous, and she and the pious _Frau_ Bauer von Eyseneck, with
whom she lived later at Frankfort, both belonged to the enthusiastic
members of the community, who were inclined to conventicles, and caused
great sorrow on that account to their pastor, Spener. It may therefore
be assumed that it was chiefly the influence of the wife that drove her
husband on in the course which at last removed him from his office, and
gave him the repute of being an enthusiast and millennarian. But the
hatred of the orthodox party has done injustice to both; they were
honest even when predicting marvels. We will first give the youthful
years of the wife, then some characteristic traits from the life of the
husband, related in their own words. Johanna Eleonora Petersen, by
birth von Merlau, was born at Merlau the 25th of April, 1644. She
narrates as follows[79]:--
"The fear of the Lord has guarded me, and His goodness and truth have
led me.
"I have felt the quieting of his good Spirit from childhood, but have
resisted it from ignorance. My high position in the world has been a
great hindrance to his working; because I loved the world equally with
Him, till I came to a right understanding, and till the saving Word
wrought powerfully in me to conviction. For when I was about four years
old it came to pass that my dear parents, who had lived at Frankfort on
account of the troubles of war, returned into the country, as peace was
established. They brought many things into the country, and my now
deceased mother lived with me and both my sisters on a property at
Hettersheim, called Philippseck, where she believed herself to be out of
harm's way. Then came the servants and told her that a troop of
horsemen were coming, whereupon every one quickly put away what
belonged to them and left; my now deceased mother, with three little
children, alone, of whom the eldest was seven and I four years old,
and the third at the breast. Then did my deceased mother take the
youngest in her arms, and both of us by the hand, and went without a
maid-servant to Frankfort, which was distant a long half-league. But it
was summer, the corn was standing in the fields, and one could hear the
noise of the soldiers, who were marching about a pistol's shot from us.
Then did my deceased mother become much alarmed, and bade us pray. But
when we came to the outermost gate of the city, where we were in
security, my deceased mother sat herself down with us, and exhorted us
to thank the Most High God who had protected us. Then said my eldest
sister, who was three years older than I, 'Why should we pray now? now
they cannot come to us.' Then was I grieved to the heart at this
speech, that she would not thank God, or thought that it was no longer
necessary. I rebuked her for this, having fervent love for the Lord,
whom I thanked with my whole heart--Item, as I was persuaded that the
midwife had brought the children from heaven, I had a great desire to
talk to her; I charged her to greet heartily the Lord Jesus, and
desired to learn from her whether the dear Saviour loved me. These were
the first childish emotions that I can distinctly remember.
"When I was nine years old we became motherless orphans, and matters
went ill with us; for our father dwelt at a farm five miles from our
property, and brought the widow of a school-master into the house to
take care of us. She had her own children to help on, and spent upon
them what should have been ours, leaving us in want, so that we often
gladly took what others would not have. It happened too through her
artifices that she left us alone in the house in the evening. Then came
certain people, dressed in white shirts, and their faces rubbed with
honey and sprinkled with flour; they went about the house with lights,
broke open chests and coffers, and took from out of them what they
wished. This gave us such a fright that we huddled together behind the
stove, and perspired with fear. This went on till the whole house was
emptied. As our father was very severe with us, we had not the heart to
complain, but were only glad when he left us; so we bore with this
annoyance till von Praunheim, who is now married to my sister, visited
us,--he was then very young. To him we complained of our distress, and
he undertook to remain concealed in the house till evening, to see
whether the spirits would come again. When they did come, and one went
straight to the cupboard to break it open, then he sprang out, and
found that they were people from the country town--sons of a
wheelwright, who were intimate with the widow who had charge of us.
But, as he was alone, they rushed away and would not allow that it was
them; but the spirits did not return, and we recovered much that they
had left on the floor of the kitchen.
"This widow was discharged by my deceased father, and it was proposed
to him to take a captain's wife, who was in repute for her housekeeping
and cleverness in other ways; then my deceased father thought he had
provided well for us. But she was an unchristian woman, and did not
forget her soldier tricks. For once, when she saw some strange turkeys
on the road, she had them driven to the house; seized the best, and
drove the others away. To cook this stolen roast she wished to have
some dry wood, and in order to obtain this sent me to a square tower,
five stories high. There had been a pigeon-house under the roof, where
loose dry boards were lying, some of which I was to fetch. When I had
thrown down some, and was trying to tear away one that was still firm,
I was thrown back and fell down two stories on to a flight of steps,
and had I turned myself round I should have fallen two stories more. I
lay there about half an hour in a swoon, and when I came to myself did
not, at once, know how I came there; I stood up and felt that I was
very faint. I went down the staircase, and laid myself on a bed that
stood in a room in this same tower, on which my deceased father used to
sleep when he was at home. There I slept some hours, and when I got up
was quite fresh and sound. But during the whole of this time there were
no inquiries made after me; and when I said that I had fallen I was
only scolded for not having been more prudent. I sat apart, for I would
not eat of the stolen roast; it appeared to me truly disgraceful, and
yet I had not courage to say so.
"When I was in my eleventh year my deceased sister, who was three years
older than me, was sent to the pastor to be instructed for her
confirmation. Then a strong desire came over me to go with her, but my
deceased father would not allow me, as I was only ten years old. I
persisted, however, till my father gave his consent, if his reverence
the pastor should consider me fit for it. This latter had me brought to
him, questioning me not only as to the words, but also concerning the
sense of what I read. But God gave me such grace in answering that his
reverence the pastor was well content, and admitted me.
"Some time afterwards my sister went to Stuttgart, and I had to take
upon me the housekeeping, and to render an account of everything, which
was very difficult for me; because my deceased father, whenever he came
home, treated me with great severity, and called me to account for all
that was broken, or in any way not to his mind, and I was often
severely punished when I was innocent.
"Owing to this, such servile fear took possession of me, that I
shuddered whenever I heard a voice that resembled that of my father.
Concerning this I breathed forth many sighs to my God; but, when he was
away again, I became in good spirits, and sang and danced in gladness
of heart. I had at the same time a thorough aversion to everything that
was unseemly or childish, and would not have anything to do with the
games of marriages and christenings, and the like, of other girls, for
I was ashamed of them.
"When twelve years old I was taken to court to the Countess von
Solms-Roedelheim. She was about to be confined, and was sometimes not
right in her mind; when I went, however, she was tolerably well. But
soon after, she was confined and had two children, a young gentleman
and a lady, and became worse from day to day, so that she often took me
for her dog, which was a little lion-dog, called me by his name, and
beat me like him. It happened frequently that we drove in the water,
for in the winter time the meadows between Frankfort and Roedelheim were
quite overflowed with water, so that it entered the carriages; then the
carriages were driven empty, but we went in a boat and got in again
when we came to the end of the water. When we thus drove she often
pushed me into the water; I was to swim as her little dog, but the Most
High preserved me. Once I discovered that she had taken a knife with a
sheath out of her cupboard, and put it in her pocket. I mentioned it to
the maidservant, who was rather elderly, but she would not listen to
me; and thought the countess had no knife, and it was childishness in
me. There was a door from the bedroom of the countess into our room,
and another into that of the count. Now when night came I would not lie
down for thinking of the knife; but the maid was angry with me, and
threatened to tell the count how childishly I behaved; but I would only
lie down on the bed with my clothes on. In the night, hearing a great
disturbance, I woke up every one and rose from bed. Then the count was
heard running out of the room; and forth came the countess, with a
night-light and the bare knife in her hand. When she saw us all awake,
she became terrified and let the knife fall; then I sprang towards her
as if I wished to reach her the knife, but I ran with it out of the
door and down the stairs in the dark. When I was on the stairs I heard
the count call out, 'Where is my wife?'--to whom I answered that I had
got the knife; but I was so frightened that I would not trust myself to
turn back again, but went into a hall, which is called the giant hall
and is very gloomy, and there I remained. But the maid, who was a serf
of the countess's mother, from Bohemia, went off and did not return. So
I was left some weeks alone with the countess, and had to dress and
undress her, which was very hard upon me.
"But my deceased father happened to hear from others that I was in such
danger, and took me away. After this I went at about fifteen years old
to the Duchess of Holstein, born Landgravine of Hesse, who had married
Duke Philipp Ludwig, of the Suderburg family. The duke had by a first
marriage a daughter, who had just married the Count von Zinzendorf,
president of the Imperial chamber. I was taken as maid of honour to
this royal bride; her woman of the bedchamber was a von Steinling, who
was thirty years of age. Immediately after my arrival, the journey to
Lintz, where the marriage was to take place, was begun. We went by the
Danube, and very jovial it was; the drums and trumpets sounded
beautiful on the water, and everywhere throughout the journey we were
splendidly received; the preparations having been made by those who had
been sent to fetch the bride. It was very joyful to me after my former
terror, and I had no anxieties except the thought that my soul might
suffer, because I was going to a popish place. Whenever we came to a
resting-place, I looked out for a chamber where there was no one else,
fell on my knees and prayed that God would prevent everything that
might be injurious to my salvation. The chamber-maid of the bride
remarked how I retired apart, and slipt after me once to see what I did
alone, for she still looked upon me as very childish, because I was
small. When, however, she found me praying on my knees, she went
quietly back without my knowing that she had seen me. But once, when
the royal bride inquired whether I ever prayed, the woman of the
bedchamber answered that they need have no anxiety about me. Now when
we came to Lintz, the marriage took place at the Imperial castle, and
everything went off grandly. The following day the royal bride went to
the chapel of the castle, and there a blessing was pronounced upon her,
and a goblet full of wine was given; this was called the Johannis
blessing, and of this she and the count were to partake. Now, after the
marriage was celebrated, when every one was to settle down in their
proper places, there arose a dispute among the authorities concerning
me. The Count von Zinzendorf said that he would only admit the lady of
the bedchamber (as the noble maidens were then called) to his table;
that the others must have their meals with the '_hoffmeisterin_.' This
the duke would not consent to, as he said that she was only from the
burgher class, whereas I was of an old family, and not inferior to the
others, and he could not permit that such a distinction should be made
between us, especially as I was his wife's goddaughter.
"As this, however, was of no avail, it was determined that I should
return with the duchess, and when the reason was explained to me, it
appeared to me quite wonderful, for it was my wish to have my meals
along with the '_hoffmeisterin_,' rather than at the prince's table.
But I did not know that God had so ordained it in his mercy, and that
my poor prayers had been so graciously listened to; for after the
course of some years the princess and all the persons who had
accompanied her, fell away to the Popish religion. But at the time I
was much troubled to be obliged to return; I thought they might imagine
I had not comported myself right, and I also feared to be brought again
under the severe discipline of my father.
"But the Duke of Holstein had obtained Wiesenburg from Saxony, which
was about ten miles from Leipzig and one from Zwickau, and dwelt there,
so it pleased the duchess to keep me with her. I practised myself in
all kinds of accomplishments, so that I was much liked; in dancing,
too, I excelled others, so that these vanities were dear and pleasing
to me; I had also a real liking for splendid dress and the like
trifles, because it became me well, and I was much commended by every
one. Never did any one tell me that it was not right, but, on the
contrary, praised me for these vanities, and considered me godly
because I liked to read and pray, and went to church and was often able
to give a good account of all the main points of the sermon; I even
knew what had been preached upon the same text the preceding year. I
was looked upon as a godly maiden both by spiritual and worldly
persons, yet I pursued my course with worldly thoughts, and was not
really a true follower of Christ.
"Then it was ordained by God's mercy that the son of a
lieutenant-colonel, of the family of Brettwitz, fell in love with me;
and when, through the medium of his father, he asked me in marriage of
my royal master and mistress, and of my deceased father, they all
replied yes; but that he must first serve a year as a cornet, and then
have his father's company, who was lieutenant-colonel under the Elector
of Saxony. Now when he went forth to the war, I heard from others that
he did not lead a godly, but a worldly life; then I was secretly
troubled and threw myself on my face before God, and prayed that either
his spirit or our engagement might be changed. But I did not know that
the Most High had brought this to pass, that I might be preserved from
other noble marriages, for I was then still very young, and had many
opportunities of marrying, all of which I escaped through this
betrothal, though on his side he had thought of many others, and
engaged himself here and there in that foreign country. This lasted
several years, during which I experienced much secret sorrow, which
threw a damp over the pleasures of the world. In the course of these
years, Brettwitz was always changing his mind, fixing his thoughts upon
others, and when nothing came of it, he turned again to me, and wrote
about constancy, all which I committed to the Most High, and sought to
unite myself closer to God. Hence much refreshment from the Holy
Scriptures was imparted to me, sometimes in sleep through holy dreams,
in which I powerfully spoke out the words of Scripture, and thereupon
awoke, so that my companion, who had a godly heart, was often sore
troubled that she could not experience the like. I always comforted her
by saying that she should regard me as a child that required to be
enticed by her father, but that she was so confirmed in faith she would
have no need of such enticement. And this came from my heart, for I saw
well that my joyous spirit drew me to the world, but my God drew me
again to Him by his love.
"At last he who had been so changeable came home and visited our Court.
But my spiritual condition did not please him, because he thought so
much Bible reading would not befit a soldier's wife: he would have been
glad if I would have renounced him, as his father knew of a rich
marriage for him in Dresden, if he could with decency free himself from
me; but he did not like to be called faithless, so he would fain have
thrown the blame upon me. I remained quiet, however, and did not mind
him, but trusted to my Heavenly Father, who would order all aright. Now
there was one, named von Fresen, who would fain have warned me,
thinking I did not observe that the said Brettwitz was not acting
uprightly; so he wrote me a letter, for he had no opportunity of
speaking to me, as I was always with my duchess in her room. This
letter fell into the hands of the said Brettwitz, who thought to find
therein great evidence upon which to accuse me, either of having an
affection for another, or of courting others. His father, who was then
present, also thought that it would be a good opportunity, and that
they might with a good grace enter upon the rich marriage; so he went
to the duke and showed him the letter as proof that others were wooing
me, and therefore his son neither could nor would entertain any further
hopes of me, but would seek happiness elsewhere. It vexed the duke much
to hear such things of me, who had hitherto, to their great
astonishment, repelled all advances. It grieved me much that my royal
master and mistress should thus think of me. But when I went to my room
weeping, the words came into my mind, 'What I do thou knowest not now,
but thou shalt know hereafter;' from these I derived consolation. When
on the following day the letter was read correctly, it appeared that in
it the writer complained that he had never been able to gain an
opportunity of speaking with me, and declaring his honourable love, and
that I kept myself in reserve for a person who was false, rejecting the
love of others. Thus it became known that I was innocent, and the
Brettwitzes could not get out of it in that way. The duke and duchess
then asked me what my wishes were, as it must now be decided. Then I
begged that Brettwitz might not be driven to marry me. Thereupon the
said von Brettwitz sent two cavaliers to me in order to learn how I was
minded towards him, and whether he was still to wait some time for his
happiness. But I gave him liberty, as far as I was concerned, to seek
his happiness where he liked; for I felt no longer bound to retain my
affection for one so faithless, who, if possible, would have made me
out guilty of want of fidelity. Thereupon he paid me the false
compliment of saying that he regretted the misunderstanding: and it was
then settled that he was to make no further pretensions to me. The rich
marriage, however, did not take place, and later he became paralytic.
"Thus I was relieved from this burden, and I had become so strong in
spirit that I did not entertain any further thoughts of marriage. I
always felt that amongst the nobility there were many evil habits which
were quite contrary to Christianity--first, because they had more
opportunities of drinking; and secondly, that for every thoughtless
word they must endanger body and soul, if they would not be disgraced.
I reflected deeply on this, that they should dare to imagine themselves
Christians, and yet live quite contrary to the doctrines of Christ; and
that it never occurred to them once to abstain from such proceedings.
This took away from me all disposition to marry; for although I knew
some fine natures that had a horror of all these vices, yet I thought
that one's descendants would be exposed to the same dangers. Still I
felt I ought not to take a husband from another class, as my deceased
father thought much of his ancient family.
"But God continued to impart more grace to me; and I became acquainted
in Frankfort with a truly godly man. For when my noble master and
mistress were travelling to the baths at Emser, a stranger was on board
the vessel in which we went. By God's special providence he seated
himself next me, and we fell into a spiritual discourse which lasted
some hours, so that the four miles from Frankfort to Mayence, where he
disembarked, appeared to me only a quarter of an hour. We talked
without ceasing, and it seemed just as if he read my heart. Then I gave
vent to all, concerning which I had hitherto lived in doubt. Indeed I
found in this friend what I had despaired of ever finding in any man in
the world. Long had I looked around me to discover whether there might
be any true doers of the Word, and it had been a stumbling-block to me
that I could find none. But when I perceived in this man such great
penetration, that he could see into the very recesses of my heart, also
such humility, gentleness, holy love, and earnestness to teach the
way of truth, then I was truly comforted and much strengthened.[80]
Then was my heart filled with godly convictions, and I felt an
ever-increasing distaste to the world: and I said to myself, 'Shall I
defraud my spiritual nature for the sake of contemptible transitory
pleasures? No; I will by God's help prevail, let it cost what it may.'
I wrote thereupon to the friend who had imparted to me so many godly
gifts, that I loved him as a father, and that I purposed to loosen
myself from all worldly ties. He was, moreover, fearful that I should
not have strength enough to bear all that I should meet with. But the
parable of the five foolish virgins and other similar salutary passages
of Holy Writ were ever in my heart, and they impelled me to give up the
pleasures of the world; yet I felt a fear of my master and mistress
which I could not conquer. Then I frequently danced with tears in my
eyes, and knew not how to help myself. 'Ah,' thought I frequently, 'if
I were but the daughter of a herdsman, I should not be blamed for
living in the simplicity of Christ's teaching. No one would mind me.'
But when I became conscious that no position could excuse me, I
determined that nothing should be a hindrance to me either in life or
death. I therefore went to my duchess, and begged for my dismissal.
This was refused; but, as she wished to know what had moved me to this,
I told her openly, that the life I was obliged to lead at court was
against my conscience. Then did my dear duchess try to divert my mind
from this, looked upon it as a fit of melancholy, and said, 'You always
live like a virtuous maiden, and read and pray assiduously; you see
also that others who are good Christians do the like things; they are
not forbidden if the heart is not set upon them.' But I pointed out to
her the example of Christ and his word; I did not judge other men, but
could not be content to follow their example. As now my dear duchess
saw that she could not change my mind, she promised to excuse me
everything that I felt to be contrary to my conscience, only she would
have me remain with her and perform my duties in all other respects as
before. But I represented that she would be deprived of much service by
this, especially when strangers came, when it might easily happen that
the other maiden should fall sick, then she would be without
attendance, because I would not be present at appointed gaieties, and
that would give occasion for ridicule. She would not, however, be
deterred from her object, but promised me faithfully that I should be
relieved from all attendance at mere amusements. Then she mentioned it
to the duke, who contended with me sharply, and said it was the
suggestion of the devil, that I, who was a young lady, beloved by high
and low, should expose myself to so much contempt, that I should be
considered a fool; besides, what would my relatives say? Now, when all
this persuasion was of no avail, they sent several clergymen to me, who
tried to persuade me that I did not rightly understand the words of
Scripture. But I put it to their consciences which of these two ways
was safest: to follow after the footsteps of Christ in all simplicity,
or, while enjoying worldly pleasures, merely to talk of it and treat it
with respect, yet doing otherwise. Then they said that the first would
certainly be the best; but who could so live?--we were all sinful men.
Then I replied, 'It is commanded me to choose the better way, and as to
the power of doing it, I left that to my God,' Then they left me in
peace.
"They now tried to move me in another way, by ridicule. For at the
royal table they often looked at one another, and then at me, laughing
amongst themselves; they often said also that it was not becoming a
woman of the bedchamber to read the Bible so much, she would become too
clever. But I let them jeer. When this had gone on almost a year,
during which I was treated with contempt by even the most insignificant
at the court, excepting some pious souls, whilst I thought little of
suffering for Christ's sake, there was a sudden change. The great and
glorious God brought such fear into all hearts, the highest as well as
the lowest, that they did not venture to say or do anything wrong in my
presence; although they did not fear the court preachers, yet before me
they were quiet, and the otherwise wild young people controlled
themselves when they saw me coming. Then did tears come into my eyes,
whilst I thought within myself, 'Oh, wonderful God, with what power
have I been enabled to bring it to pass, that both great and small fear
to do wrong in my presence!' This thought did not puff up my heart, but
led me to humility; I poured out my soul before God, as I had
experienced his power, and saw that He could turn the hearts of princes
like the waters of a rivulet. In this condition of things I continued
yet three years at court, and I can truly say that I experienced much
kindness, not alone from my dear master and mistress, but from every
one: but by God's grace I did not accept many favours from the great,
nor employ them upon temporal things.
"Having then for three years lived at court in all simplicity, and
rejected all transitory pleasures, whereby the body, and not the
spirit, is recreated, it came to pass that my deceased father required
me to keep his house, as my stepmother had died in childbed, and the
child was still alive, and so I was called from court. It was, however,
very difficult for me to obtain my dismissal, as my dear duchess loved
me as if I were her child, and lamented my departure with many tears:
she even sent after me to beg I might return, and did not desist till I
promised that if I ever returned to court I should consider myself
bound to them before all others. But when I came home I found that the
child had meanwhile died, and my father had determined to become high
steward of the Princess von Philippseck. Thus I was free to settle
myself with a noble and godly widow, Baurin von Eyseneck--her maiden
name was Hinsbergen--whose manner of life was known to every one in
Frankfort, and whose end was blessed. With her I was six years, and we
loved one another as though of one heart and soul.
"About this period, being in danger of shipwreck, the Lord so mightily
strengthened me, that I was joyful while others trembled and desponded.
It happened that I was on the passage-boat from Frankfort to Hanau
going to visit my sister; there were divers people on board, among them
some soldiers, who were carrying on very coarse and improper jokes with
poor women. I was sorrowful that these people were so entirely
unmindful of their souls, and, leaning against the side of the vessel,
endeavoured to sleep that I might not hear such talk. In my sleep I
dreamt of the sentence in Psalm xiv., 'The Lord looked down from heaven
upon the children of men.' Upon this I awoke, and in waking it appeared
to me as if a great storm of wind turned the ship round; then was I
terrified and thought within myself, 'Art thou really awake? What is
thy state of mind?' Not a quarter of an hour afterwards there came a
mighty whirlwind which took hold of the ship. We were in very great
danger, so that all cried out with anguish, and called upon the name of
Jesus for help--He whom they had so often before named carelessly in
their frivolous jesting. Then did God open my mouth, to make them feel
how good it is to walk in the fear of the Lord, and that He is a refuge
in the time of trouble. When now the Most High mercifully laid the
unexpected storm, one of the women was so impudent as to say jestingly,
that our ship would have been overwhelmed by the waves, 'but, as there
is a saint on board, we have been saved;' so saying she laughed loud,
whereupon I became much excited, and said, 'You impudent woman, think
you that the hand of the Lord could not reach us?' And scarcely had I
closed my mouth, when the former wind rose again, a leak appeared in
the boat, and all gave up hope of life; but I felt an unusual joy, and
thought, 'Shall I now see my Jesus? What will now remain in the water?
Nothing but the mortal--that which has so often hindered me. That which
has been life in me will never die,' &c., &c. The ship was already
filling with water; all the caulking and pumping was of no avail; the
storm also held on, so that it was impossible to turn to the land,
either on the right or left hand, and we thought that the ship would
sink; but all at once the wind was lulled, and the ship reached the
shore. Then did all spring out of the ship, and the wild soldiers who
had been moved by my words, looked after me with great care, so that I
came well to land, and thanked God that I had been able to speak to
their hearts.
"When I had been about a year with the widow Baurin, my dear master and
mistress heard that my father no longer needed me, so my dear mistress
wrote, herself, to me to return and resume my service; she would send
the carriage for me and give me double salary, and I was to be called
mistress of the robes; but I excused myself by saying that I must take
charge of my father's property, and therefore be often present there.
But when I had passed six years with dear Frau Baurin, it was ordained
by the Most High God that my dear husband, who had seen me some years
before at Frankfort, began to think of marrying me; he gave at Luebeck a
commission to a certain person to speak to me concerning it, who did
it, but after some time had passed, for want of an opportunity. But
when I first heard it, I could not think of marrying, and after
offering up my prayers to God, I sat down and wrote to this effect, and
suggested to him another very excellent person. But my dear husband
would not be deterred, and wrote to my dear friend, also to sundry
distinguished ecclesiastics, and to my deceased father. This letter I
at first retained, till my conscience constrained me to deliver it to
my father, as it had no other aim than to serve to the glory of God.
Then I wrote and sent him the letter, and at the same time remained as
calm as if it were nothing concerning myself. All the contents of
the letter to my father were unknown to me, and I did not think
that my deceased father would give his consent. But when his answer
came--wherein he wrote that he had many reasons for not wishing me so
far from him in his old age, and had never yet made up his mind to
allow his child to marry below her station, yet he could not withstand
the will of God,--it went to my heart, and I thought it must be of God,
because my father's heart had been touched beyond all expectation. He
left the matter to my disposal, which I did not, however, agree to, but
submitted it entirely to his will. My brother-in-law, von Dorfield,
high steward at the court of Hanau, was much against it, but my
deceased father answered him in a most Christian spirit,[81] that it
was not good for us, of the evangelical faith, to esteem the clergy so
little, as the Papists held their priests so high; further, that his
daughter was not suited to a worldly man; that she would not marry
inconsiderately out of her class, as was known to every one. But God
had called me to this vocation. They were therefore obliged to be
quiet, and my father gave his consent.
"Thereupon my dear husband came to Frankfort, and we were married on
the 7th September, 1680, by D. Spener, in the presence of her Highness
the Princess von Philippseck, my father, and some noble persons of
distinction; there were about thirty, and everything went off in such a
quiet and Christian manner, that every one was pleased. But the demon
of calumny could not refrain from his malice; it vexed his tools that
the marriage was not accompanied by eating and drinking and wild
doings, after the manner of the world. Then they invented this lie,
that the Holy Spirit had appeared in the chamber in which we were
married, in a form of fire, and that we had interpreted the Revelation
of St. John. Such lies were also reported to the Rev. Dr. Heiler, who
had been himself at our wedding. But when he contradicted them, and
stated that he had been present, that nothing had passed but what was
truly Christian, they were ashamed of their lies."
Thus far the wife. The narration of the husband forms a supplement to
hers. But first we will give his account of his youth, and of his
experiences as shepherd of souls. Dr. Johann Wilhelm Petersen begins
thus:--
"I was born in the renowned city of Osnabrueck, on the 1st of June,
1649, after the conclusion of the peace of Westphalia, where my father,
George Petersen, had been sent from Lubeck on business concerning the
peace. When I grew older, my parents sent me to the Latin school at
Lubeck. They never had to force me to study, for I paid attention to
all my lessons, and concealed candles, in order that I might thus study
whilst others slept. I then also copied divers small books, as I could
not obtain printed copies. But I more especially applied myself to
prayer, as I had seen my mother do, after I had heard from her that one
could obtain everything from God through prayer, on which account I
always, before I began my studies, called upon God to bless them. And
once, when I was in want of money to buy a certain book, I went to St.
Mary's Church, placed myself on the long stools before the altar, and
prayed to God to grant me wherewith to buy the desired book. Now when I
had knelt down and finished my prayer, behold there lay a heap of money
on the bench before which I had knelt; this strengthened me much. But
when, in consequence, I wished to make a custom of it, and again sought
to obtain money by prayer, through the wise guidance of God I found
nothing, for He only hears us when in childlike simplicity we appear
before Him without any after-thought. But yet once, when about to be
punished, I turned to God in prayer, and punishment was averted.
"Now when I came to the third class, I had been very diligent;
therefore the Herr Conrector put the others to shame by my example, and
said that I had surpassed them all and gained the crown, and, as he
expressed himself, would throw sand into their eyes. This vexed the
scholars much, and excited their envy; they painted a crown in my book,
and strewed it thick with sand, with this inscription: 'This is
Petersen's crown, and the sand he would cast in our eyes.' At last I
was afraid to repeat my lesson too readily, though I had learnt it
thoroughly, lest I should be beaten by the other scholars. When I was
removed into the first class, I found there excellent preceptors. At
this period I put many verses in print, especially on the death of my
dearly beloved mother. I also delivered two orations on the restoration
of peace at Lubeck; and the Choice of Hercules. In 1669 I went to the
University of Giessen.
"When I had become master of arts at Giessen, I was much loved by the
professors, and also was, as far as lay in my power, on terms of
friendship with every one. Then was Dr. Spener, of Frankfort, strongly
recommended to me; therefore I resolved to go to Frankfort to visit
him, in order to see whether the reality came up to the praise. I found
him far superior to what I had heard; his was quite a different life
and character to what I had seen in general I had indeed, after my
fashion, feared God and loved the Holy Scriptures; but by the light of
my merely worldly learning these were very obscure to me, so that when
I presided at a disputation I feared many passages of Scripture which
were brought against me by others. Now I became aware how important it
was to understand rightly the spiritual meaning of the Holy Scriptures,
and that the learning was not worth much which could be obtained by
mere human industry.
"There came at that time to Frankfort, for the purpose of enjoying the
friendship and intercourse with the Rev. Dr. Spener, a noble lady, who
had formerly been maid of honour at a court; and as I desired much to
have, if only for once, some talk with her, I begged the reverend
doctor to give me her address in a note. This he did, and I went to
her, and presented her with my last disputation, under the impression
that it would not be disagreeable to her, as she had learnt Hebrew and
had much acquaintance with the Holy Scriptures. But she told me that I
had therein glorified 'the god Petersen,' and that, for a true
knowledge of God in Christ, far more was required than such worldly
learning, which produced generally a boastful spirit, and whereby one
could hardly attain to the godly simplicity of heavenly things. This
speech sank deep into my heart, and I was at once convinced of the
truth of it. After that I began to write a little book, wherein I noted
down what I heard from pious people concerning the way to true
godliness; and I began to practise what I had thus learnt, for without
this effectual working all else would be fruitless.
"Now when I had been strengthened in this course, I went back to
Giessen, where the change in me was soon perceived; and they began to
ridicule me on account of my 'piety.' But I cared little for it."
(Petersen afterwards returned to his home, at Lubeck, and became there
professor of poetry, but met with great enmity from the Jesuits. In
1677 he became preacher at Hanover; and was called from thence, in
1678, to Cutin, as the court preacher to the Duke of Holstein.)
"But I had not been long court preacher at Cutin, when it happened that
500 thalers were stolen out of the room of one of the gentlemen of the
bedchamber. In order to recover his money he went to a hereditary
blacksmith,[82] at the village of Zernikaw, that he might 'knock out
the thief's eye;' and in order that the smith might do it better he let
him know, through an _einspaenner_,[83] that the bishop desired it,
which was not the case. When the smith is to perform a work of this
kind he must prepare a nail three successive Sundays, and on the last
Sunday strike this nail into a head made for the purpose; whereupon the
thief, as they say, will lose his eye. He must, also, at midnight rise
up naked, and go backwards to a hut which he has newly built in an open
field, and go up to a large new bellows; take it and blow out the fire
with it; upon this two large hell-hounds will appear. This performance
having taken place in the night of the first Sunday, the villagers of
Zernikaw came to me to complain, as the whole village had no rest for
this terrible howling, which they had heard in the smithy, and said I
ought to make it known to the duke, that he might stop this wicked
work. I told them that these were important things which they had
related to me; and asked, seriously, whether the affair was really such
as they represented it. They answered that the whole village could bear
witness of it, and that the _einspaenner_ had empowered the smith to do
it. Thereupon I went to the bishop[84] (with whom, as it so happened,
the gentleman of the bedchamber then was), and I told him I wished to
say something to him privately. When I had related all to him he was
horrified, sought for further information concerning the matter, and
learnt that the _einspaenner_ had enjoined the smith to do this in the
bishop's name; then he inquired of me what was to be done. I replied
that, as his name had been misused for these public wicked proceedings,
it was necessary that the hut, which had been built in honour of the
devil, should be destroyed in the name of God; this was approved of.
Thereupon I proceeded to do it; the boys from the school, noble pages,
and many noblemen accompanied me to destroy the work of the devil. The
smith had already run away, but his wife came and begged that she might
be allowed to keep the new bellows and the iron utensils. But I said
she ought to be ashamed of herself to desire to keep among her things
what the devil had handled; whereupon she desisted from her petition.
But the noble pages set fire to and burnt the hut and bellows, and cast
the iron work into deep water. Now there came some merchants,
travelling from Hamburgh, who looked on and listened to my discourse.
It was just during the period of Christmas, so I took the passage,
'Behold a house of God among men,' and explained it shortly, but said
in direct application: 'Behold a house of the devil among the
Zernikawers. This is the place where formerly the idol of the
Holsteiners, Zernebog, was worshipped, who wishes again to install
himself; but has been driven away by the injunction of the bishop.' At
the catechising, also, at which the duke, with his court, were in the
habit of attending, I made an impressive speech, saying that the thief
must be among the court; also that there were conjectures afloat as to
who it was, and that if the thief would bring me this money, I called
God to witness, I would not betray him. So the thief, at night, would
have laid down the stolen money in the churchyard near my house, but
could not because the gentleman of the bedchamber had placed his people
there to catch the thief. Thus he himself prevented the restoration.
The bishop was very angry with the gentleman of the bedchamber, who was
obliged to leave the court. But he uttered menaces against me, because
I had disgraced him in my sermon, having said that his name, which the
smith must have mentioned in his proceedings, would be known by the
devils in hell, and that he should take care not to get there himself.
But I did not care for his threats, but trusted myself to my God and my
office.
"The courtiers, however, leagued themselves against me; they sided
almost all with the court mareschal, a Mecklenburger. But the mareschal
sought out all kinds of occasions against the duchess and her maid of
honour, Naundorf, and made the duke imagine that the duchess followed
the advice of Naundorf in everything, and thereby the duke was
irritated against the duchess. But, as I was not in their league, the
court mareschal asked me in the public saloon, to which party I
belonged, the great or the little. By the great party, they meant
themselves. I answered that I was on the side of God and justice. The
mareschal replied, that they would soon shorten my cloak for me. Now as
I perceived that the ill will of the duke to the duchess continued
increasing, I went to him, and spoke persuasively to him, that he
should not be so alienated from his wife, as those who desired it
sought only their own interests. Thereupon the duke went with me to the
duchess, and they became reconciled in my presence; and I, as it were,
united them again. The bishop told me to keep this secret; but from
this time he noted the intrigues of the court mareschal and dismissed
him.
"There was also another evil business, for a nobleman of the
illustrious court of Ploen quarrelled with a nobleman of our court, and
they challenged one another. As soon as I discovered this I went to
this sheep of my flock, and pointed out to him what an unchristian
thing duelling was, as Christ had commanded us to love our enemies. He
told me he would take care the quarrel was adjusted, so I was in some
measure reassured. But at dawn of day on the morrow, I heard a troop of
horses passing by my house, and it occurred to me that the devil was
going to have his pastime with this sheep of my flock. I rose, awoke my
servant, and as, from my great haste, I could not get a carriage, I
went after them on foot. When I had gone a mile I heard some shots at a
distance, the signal of the arrival of both parties at their respective
places. But I thought that they had already exchanged shots, so I fell
down on my knees and prayed God that neither of them might murder the
other. Then I ran on, guided by the footprints of the horses, which I
could easily see, as many of the Holstein junkers had accompanied my
sheep; and as I found them both ready to commence the duel, I went up
to my sheep and advised him to abstain from this evil deed. But his
opponent thought that he had settled with me to do this, which I denied
most solemnly; I also spoke persuasively to the others from the Ploenish
court. But neither of them would be reconciled. Then said I, 'Now, if
you will not, may God make such an example of you both, together with
the others that have come here for this duel, as may show his wrath in
the eyes of the whole world.' Yet in my heart I wished that they might
be preserved from it. Then God so ordained, that the seconds persuaded
them and they became reconciled; and I got a carriage which conveyed me
back to the house. Who could be more joyful than I, who had deprived
the devil of a roast? Nevertheless, the Holstein noblesse were disposed
in their hearts to speak evil concerning it, and observed to my lord
that in future he would get no honourable cavalier to sit at his table.
He, also, in the beginning, was inclined to speak ill of me; and for
this reason, because I had followed them on foot. Then one of the
equerries came to me and said that my lord had been so offended by my
bad conduct that he had taken to his bed. I answered, by the time he
rises from his bed he will find that I have done nothing but what was
required of me by my duty as a faithful shepherd. Thereupon my lord
sent for me, and I showed him that his table could not be adorned by
those who opposed themselves to Christ. If I was so watchful and
faithful towards a servant, how much more would I be so towards my lord
himself. Then was my lord, who truly feared God, quite softened. Soon
after, the Duke von Ploen visited our court; and my heart feared his
reproaches on account of what I had done; but he commended me, and, on
the other hand, blamed his court preacher, who had been so near the
duellists and had known the affair, yet had not stirred a foot in it.
This pleased my lord much, and he thereupon caused a severe edict to be
published against duelling.
"Up to this period I remained unmarried, and should have continued so
if my dear father had not exhorted me to marry. A patrician lady had
already been suggested to me at Lubeck, who met me in her smartest
attire, and whom my father would have been glad for me to marry; but
she was too fine for me, and I said that she would hardly suit a
clergyman. If I was to marry, no one would suit me better than
_Fraeulein_ von Merlan, who would not be a hindrance to me in my office;
but I was shy about paying my addresses to her, lest she should think I
had on this account sought her acquaintance at Frankfort. But some one
who was going to Frankfort undertook to tell her my wishes; my love,
however, would not give an answer to him who wooed her for me; but she
wrote to me, that, though she had no engagement, still she was not at
liberty to answer yes; and she proposed to me another young _docterin_
in Frankfort, who was more highly gifted, and would suit me well; but I
answered, either she or none, and wrote immediately to Herr Doctor
Spener, that he might persuade her to consent. I wrote also to her
noble father, who knew me, as I had once been at the Philippseck court,
where he was high steward, and preached before his duke. He answered
me, that though he had never had an idea of giving his daughter to one
who was not of noble family, yet, he did not know how it happened, he
was so troubled in mind when he wished to refuse his consent, that he
thought it must be the will of God that he should entrust his daughter
to the Superintendent Petersen; therefore, he sent herewith his
fatherly yes. This letter was sent me by my love, Johanna, and Doctor
Spener congratulated me. Who could be more joyful than I when I found
that my prayer had been heard? for I had knelt in prayer to my God,
that he might interpose to prevent the marriage if it were not his
will, but if it were, that he would so trouble the father's mind that
he could not withstand it. When, therefore, I read in the father's
letter that he had been thus troubled, I perceived that this was what
God had intended from all eternity. Then did I travel joyfully by
Hamburg to Frankfort, where the bans were published, and I was
afterwards married by Herr Doctor Spener.
"In 1685, the holy Revelation which God made through his angel in
certain visions to the Apostle and Evangelist John was disclosed in a
wonderful way to me and my love. Formerly I had always feared to read
such a book, because it was generally considered that it was a sealed
book, which no one could understand. But on a certain day I was
powerfully moved, and led by my God to read this book, and on the same
day and at the same hour, without my knowing it, my love felt the same
impulse, and began to read the book, equally not knowing that I had
felt a like impulse. Now, when I had gone to my study to note down
something that I had discovered, from the accordance of the prophet
Daniel with the thirteenth chapter of the Book of Revelation--what the
beast and the little horn were--behold, my love came there and told me
how she had seriously undertaken to read the holy book, and what she
had found therein, and this harmonised with mine, which I showed her,
as I had written it down, and the ink was not dry. Then were we
mutually amazed, and agreed we would confer together at the end of a
month, and observe what we had further found; but we could not withhold
it, when we discovered anything singular and of undoubted truth; and it
so happened that what she and I found was always precisely the same. We
rejoiced much thereat, and thanked God in all simplicity that He had so
invigorated us both by his enlightening spirit, as to be able to know
the future fate of the church, and to bear witness thereof. For a long
time we kept it to ourselves, till we made acquaintance with the
Fraulein Rosamunda Juliana von der Asseburg, who, in her testimony, had
borne witness to the same, yet not from searching the Holy Scriptures,
but by extraordinary grace vouchsafed her from above. Herewith I must
also note what happened to my love when she was eighteen, which I here
set down in her own words:--'I dreamt that the numerals 1685 were
written in golden ciphers on the heaven; on my right I saw a man who
pointed to the numbers and said to me, "See at that time will great
things happen, and somewhat shall be revealed unto you." Now, it was in
this year, 1685, that the great persecution took place in France, and
in the same year was the blessed millennial kingdom of the Apocalypse
revealed to me and my dear husband, at the same hour; and, without one
knowing of the other, did both our treatises so coincide, that we were
ourselves amazed at it We were therefore, by divine guidance, convinced
of the truth of what we had discovered in Holy Scripture concerning
the kingdom of our King. And later we imparted to others in all
simplicity our discovery, not caring when learned and unlearned alike
gainsaid it.'"
Here we end the narrative of Petersen. They passed the first years of
their marriage in peace. He had once accidentally placed his thumb on
the passage--"Sarah shall bear a son;" the year following he was made
happy by Johanna Eleonora bringing a son into the world, who was,
indeed, small at his birth, but who shortly afterwards raised his head
in a wonderful way out of his little bed and gave other delightful
signs that he would become something remarkable and pleasing in the
sight of the Lord. He did actually become, later, a Royal Russian
Councillor, and was able to protect his dear parents when the
millennial kingdom made their life full of cares; for, alas! it was not
granted to them to keep the great light which had been kindled at the
same time in both, under a bushel. It would have been better for their
earthly comfort had they done so.
What the worthy couple learned from the Revelation, combined with
numerous passages from the Bible--in reading which they were assisted
by earnest prayer, followed by divine inspiration--was remarkable. The
Millennium was not already come, but was approaching. It was to begin,
at no very distant time, by the return of Christ on earth; when this
should take place, a portion of the dead would rise; in great periods
of thousands of years, the whole human race, living and dead, were to
attain salvation; the Calvinists and Lutherans were to be united, and
all Jews and heathen converted; then all even the worst sinners would
be redeemed from hell; and, last of all, the devil himself brought out
of his miserable condition, and, through repentance and penance,
changed again into an angel; but this last would only be at the end of
50,000 years: from that time there would be endless bliss, love and
joy. They were inclined to think that the beginning of this glorious
time would be from 1739 to 1740.
In the year 1688, Petersen accepted the appointment of Superintendent
at Luneburg. They considered it as a special providence that he had
been called there, because once, in passing through on a journey, he
had preached a beautiful sermon which had given much satisfaction; but
in Luneburg he found many orthodox opponents who vexed and irritated
him, and some mocked him on account of the opinions which he held
concerning the millennial kingdom. They were, besides, injured by the
intimacy with the Fraulein Rosamunda von der Asseburg, whose violent
excitement and nervous exaltation had created a great sensation. The
tender and innocent character of the maiden captivated both the
Petersens; they supported the divine nature of her revelations, and
defended her in the press, especially as the dear maiden revealed
exactly the same concerning the already-mentioned return of the Lamb of
God which had been disclosed to them. The private devotions which they
held with the sick maiden gave great offence to the worldly-minded, and
they were maliciously calumniated. When Petersen once was in great
danger of drowning on the Elbe, he thought himself like the prophet
Jonas, who was cast by the Lord into the body of a whale because he
would not proclaim the secret of the Lord's word; and in this hour of
danger he vowed that henceforth he would no longer conceal from the
world his great secret. And he honestly kept his word. The millennial
kingdom, and the return of the Lamb, were brought forward incessantly
in his sermons. His hearers were amazed, his opponents denounced him,
and he was removed from his office in 1692. They both bore this
misfortune with love and trust in God.
From that time they passed their life in travelling about and writing
books, in visits to those who were like-minded, and in constant
disputes with the orthodox. They became to the multitude like persons
of evil repute, to whom calumny and ill-natured gossip seemed to cling;
they were obliged usually to keep their names secret on their journeys;
but never were they wanting in warm patrons and friends. In the castles
of princes, in the houses of the nobles, among the city authorities,
and in the rooms of artisans, they found admirers. More than all others
was Kniphausen, the President of the Supreme Court of Justice, their
protector. The year Petersen was dismissed, he obtained for them a
pension from the court of Berlin, and granted them a house at
Magdeburg; other patrons also sent them money, and gave them
recommendations, so that they were in a position to buy a small
property at Magdeburg. They were, nevertheless, annoyed by the peasants
and the clergymen of the place, and by denunciations in Berlin; but the
Queen herself maintained intercourse with the proclaimer of a
revelation so full of hope, and rejoiced that he promised salvation
finally to the wicked. Thus he remained safe, though, indeed, the
harmless proclaimer of a coming kingdom of glory was in danger of being
deceived by wolves in sheep's clothing for among the pious people
travelling about there were many deceivers. Once there came a troop of
mendicant students, who maintained that they were Pietists, and
demanded donations; then an adventurer desired instruction, having
heard that every one who allowed himself to be converted would receive
ten thalers. At last there came a false officer, who, in the absence of
the husband, under the pretence of being a follower of the Lamb,
insinuated himself into the confidence of the Frau Doctorin, who,
probably from an indelible recollection of her noble birth, was
disposed to bear special goodwill to the distinguished believer; but
the husband returned home, just in time to prevent the foreign deceiver
persuading his guileless wife to give him a letter of recommendation.
On a journey to Nuremberg, they were received into the Pegnitzer Blumen
order--he as Petrophilus, she as Ph[oe]be. Such success comforted them
amid the flood of flying sheets that surged up against them. The
true-hearted Petersen complained that every one rose up in controversy
against him, to prove themselves orthodox, and be made doctors of
theology; and when even the pious stumbled at his doctrine of the seven
trumpets, or if they reproached him, that he had once, when the
opportunity offered, reappeared in the character of the old professor
of poetry, and had celebrated the coronation of Frederick I. of Prussia
and other worldly events in Latin verses which flowed from him like
water, he bore it with resignation. The last years of their life they
dwelt in the pious district of Zerbst at Thymern, where they had
obtained a property, as their former property at Nieder-Dodeleben had
been too unquiet for them, and the peasants had become too hostile. In
1718, Petersen succeeded, by victorious disputations, in restoring to
the Evangelical communion the Duke Moritz Wilhelm von Sachsen-Zeitz.
They died at a great age--she in 1724, he in 1727.
After Spener had been removed to Berlin, the University of Halle became
the intellectual centre of Pietism; it was there that the impassioned
Franke, with his companions Breithaupt and Anton, led the theological
party. Henceforth the youth were systematically trained in the faith of
the Pietists; immense was the concourse of students; only Luther had
collected a greater number at Wittemberg. At Halle the dangers of the
new tendency were evident: the colleges became mere schools for the
propagation of their views; industrious, patient labour in the paths of
human science appeared almost superfluous; not only the controversial
points of the orthodox, but all the dogmas of the Church were treated
by many with indifference and contempt. The mind was overstrained by
intense prayer and spiritual exercises. Instead of unruly lads who
sharpened their backswords on a stone, and drank immense glasses of
beer, "_fioricos or hausticos_," in one draught, pale fellows crept
through the streets of the city in a state of inward abstraction, with
vehement movements of the hands, and loud outcries. All the believers
rejoiced over this wonderful manifestation of divine grace; but their
opponents complained of the increasing melancholy, and of distractions
of the spirit, and of nefarious proceedings of the worst kind. Vain
were the warnings of the moderate Spener.
From Halle, Pietism spread to the other Universities. Wittemberg and
Rostock withstood it long, and were for many years the last bulwarks of
orthodoxy. Even at the courts this faith gained influence: it forced
its way among the governments, and after 1700 filled the country
churches of most of the German territories. And its dominion was not
confined to Germany: an active intercourse with the pious of Denmark
and Sweden, and the Sclavonian East, contributed to maintain the inward
communion of these countries with the spiritual life of Germany, which
lasted till the end of the century. Even the orthodox opponents were,
without knowing it, transformed by this Pietism; the old scholastic
disputes were silenced, and they endeavoured to defend their own point
of view with greater dignity and learning.
Meanwhile the defects in the faith of the Pietists became greater, the
deterioration more striking. Since the process of spiritual
regeneration had become the secret act of a man's life, after which the
whole soul morbidly strained, all the bliss of salvation depended on
his admittance into the community of the pious. He who by a special act
of God's grace was brought into the condition of regeneration, lived in
a state of grace; his soul was guarded from all sin by the Lord; he
breathed a purer and more heavenly atmosphere, secure of the mercy of
the Lamb, already redeemed from sin here. But it was difficult for the
more cultivated minds to go through this spiritual process: it did not
prosper with all conscientious men, as it did with the jurist Johann
Jacob Moser. Touching are the accounts delivered to us of the strivings
of individuals, of the anguish and self-torture which fruitlessly
ground down body and soul. Among the weaker we find every kind of
self-delusion and hypocrisy. Very soon it became doubtful whether the
regenerate was an enthusiast or a deceiver: occasionally he was both at
the same time.
After Pietism had won the favour of persons of distinction and the
governing powers, it became a remunerative concern, a fashionable
thing, an assistance to very worldly objects. Generally those who
received the holiest revelations were tender, weak natures, whom one
could not suppose capable of the strenuous work which is necessary for
worldly service; they lived at the cost of their patrons. The artisans
were received into the society of the upper classes in order to assure
their spiritual progress, and whoever desired protection, hastened as
penitents to attend the meetings for edification, of some great lord,
which they preferred holding in special chambers prepared for the
purpose, rather than in the chapels of their castles. Sighs, groans,
wringing the hands, and talk about illumination, became now here and
now there a lucrative speculation. In the regenerate clergy, who held
the souls of weak nobles and gentry in their hands, might be found all
the faults peculiar to ambitious favourites, pride and mean
selfishness. Soon also the morality of many came into ill repute, and
when, after the decease of a devout lord, a society of ambitious
Pietists were expelled, a feeling of malicious pleasure was generally
excited.
Thus an opposition to Pietism arose on all sides, equally among the
orthodox, the worldly, and the learned, and finally in the sound common
sense of the people. How the judgment of the thoughtful against it was
expressed in the first half of the eighteenth century shall here be
shown by a short example.
The worthy Semler, of whom more details will be given later, relates
among his youthful reminiscences the sorrowful fate of his brother
Ernst Johann, who returned in a distracted state to his parental home,
from the regenerate circle of Magister Brumhardt and of Professor
Buddeus at the University of Jena. The passage gives such a good
insight into the period of decaying Pietism, that it shall be given
here with a few abbreviations.
"My brother was so habitually upright that he even mistrusted his own
feelings. Easy though it was to many of the brotherhood to declare the
day and the hour of their being sealed to redemption, which warranted
their living in a state of pure, spiritual, heavenly joyfulness, and
raised them to the rank of God's children, yet little could my brother
forgive himself this spiritual falsehood; he could not coincide in what
was so lightly and so repeatedly spoken of by others. He therefore fell
into immoderate grief over the greatness of his sins, which were alone
his hindrance; he not only prayed, but he moaned half the night before
the Lord, but there was no change in his feelings. He seldom eat meat,
no white or wheaten bread; he considered himself quite unworthy even of
existence. Every night, when I had gone to sleep, he stole secretly out
of bed, crept into the small adjoining library, knelt or lay down on
the floor, and gradually lost, in his passionate emotions, all caution
as to speaking softly and gently. His moaning and lamenting awoke me. I
sought him out, and small confidence as I had in myself to produce any
great effect--being as yet little advanced in conversion,--yet I
repeated to him at intervals such beautiful lines and verses, both
Greek and Hebrew, that he often embraced me and sighed, Haying, 'Ah, if
this would but begin in me.' I answered sometimes hastily, that this
was perversion instead of conversion, and how impossible it was for
that way to be right and true, wherein one acted contrary to the
intentions of God, and made one's-self into an utterly useless,
helpless creature. 'Yes,' he said, 'that is what I am, and cannot
sufficiently acknowledge it.' I talked with my mother, who wept over
her son, who might now have been our mainstay, if he had not been
spoilt by these false ideas. My father disapproved of all this still
more strongly, and expatiated at such length from dogmatic and
polemical divinity, that I could well see in what account he held
these new spiritual institutions. Meanwhile he was obliged to be
on his guard, for the whole Court were in favour of this party;
many were undoubtedly very well-meaning Christians, but there were
also undeniably many idlers and adventurers, who entered these
institutions, and found their good, comfortable life very easy. All
the evidence of their life in the flesh--which evidence was not
rare nor imperceptible--was of no avail; who could succeed here?
Occasionally there was a convert who lived in shame with his
maidservant; it was not investigated, it was a calumny, and in case of
necessity they placed him elsewhere, if his peasants were too Lutheran.
By degrees my brother insinuated that my father also had not yet
entered the narrow way, and that he could not be helped to it. They
roamed about the woods day and night, so that moonlight devotion, which
many now again recommend, is nothing new. They sang the new hymns
together; the Duke often indeed gave the conveyances for these
meetings, together with refreshments; nay, he often himself was the
coachman, when he wished publicly to do honour to some old shoemakers'
wives who had much faith, for the Saviour's sake. I am so far from
wishing to exaggerate the state of things, that indeed I have not said
all. The period for the annual pilgrimage came, for this custom had
been retained from the old times and institutions of the monks. In many
places the grace of the Saviour was supposed to dwell abundantly,
almost visibly, and thither did the brothers and sisters make their
pilgrimages, in reality contrary to the principle laid down by Christ,
that neither Jerusalem nor Samaria was the special abiding-place of His
spirit. Many of them brought their provisions with them. My brother
assuredly did not travel to Ebersdorf without money, but brought
nothing back, for he had bought this or that little book to give to the
brothers as a memento. This enthusiasm had its real views, that aspired
to great ends, although directly afterwards they were moderated,
because the Philadelphian reckoning did not coincide with them. During
these my brother's pious journeys, my mother died, for the remembrance
of whom I daily bless my God. My brother found her in her coffin when
he returned; he felt all the grief of a son, threw himself upon her,
and lay there long, crying aloud, 'Ah, if I, useless creature, had but
died in my mother's stead!' Now we obtained an entrance to his heart;
this journey on foot had much weakened his hypochondria; the
exhortations of the brotherhood called forth some ideas which he could
not himself realize; he was to a certain extent calmed, or began to
believe himself so. We represented to him that he must make his gifts
serviceable to his fellow-men, however small they might be. He first
took a situation as preceptor in a small orphan-house, and afterwards
with Herr von Dieskau, who dwelt in a castle of that name, in the most
beautiful country that one could select for oneself One portion of this
old castle stands upon the city wall; under the wall there is a small
footpath with a hedge planted as a protection against slipping, but
just under this fragment of rock flows the Saale, sometimes very full
and broad, but always deep enough to allow the passage of rafts and
boats; from the castle the eye falls upon a half circle of wood and
hills. Here my brother might perhaps have found rest and refreshment,
but he did not live much longer."
Here we close Sender's narrative. He himself became infected later by
the prevailing spiritual tendency, and he strove, whilst still a youth,
after regeneration, but the powerful tone of his mind enabled him to
recover. The state of the times also helped to bring this about.
The year 1740 was fatal to Pietism. The new King of Prussia was as
averse to the Pietists, as his father had been favourable to them.
Almost at the same time they ceased to prevail in the Saxon courts. The
time of enlightenment now began; the nation pursued another path; the
"_Stillen im lande_" only existed as an isolated community. The
association of brothers, of Count Zinzendorf, for a longer period
developed a praiseworthy missionary activity in foreign countries, but
they ceased to influence the stream of German life, which now began to
flow on with a deeper and more powerful current.
Pietism had drawn together large numbers of individuals; it had raised
them from the narrowness of mere family life, it had increased in the
soul the longing after a deeper spiritual aim, it had introduced new
forms of intercourse; here and there the strong distinctions of classes
had been broken through, and it had called forth greater earnestness
and more outward propriety in the whole nation, but it had not
strengthened national union. He who gave himself up to it with zeal,
was in great danger of withdrawing himself, with those who were
like-minded, from the great stream of life, and of looking down from
his solitude, like the shipwrecked man from his island, on the great
waste of waters around him.
The new scientific development also produced, at first, only individual
men of learning; then a free culture; after that a nation, which dared
to struggle and to die, and finally to live, for its independence.