DAWN.
In a corner house on the market place of Torgau, the merchant
Leonhard Koppe, sat at the window of his comfortable room. He was a
man past fifty, with a shrewd, kindly face. His head rested on his
hand, and his eyes wandered vaguely in the distance. From time to
time he moved uneasily in his chair, and passed his hand across his
forehead. He seemed to be pondering some weighty matter. His wife,
Susanna, had questioned him repeatedly as to his ill humor; but
either he answered her curtly, or not at all; until she went away,
highly displeased.
Suddenly the merchant rapped at the window, and beckoned eagerly to
some one below. A few moments later, a thin, elderly man entered the
room. It was the chandler, Master Wolfgang Tommitzsch, whom Leonhard
cordially welcomed.
"It was a lucky moment for me, my good neighbor, when you passed my
house. You are a man of wise counsel, of which I am sorely in need;
therefore I beckoned you to come up to me."
"Say on," replied Master Wolfgang, without moving a muscle of his
face.
Leonhard loosened his doublet, and prepared to tell his trouble.
"Yesterday I returned from Wittenberg, whither I had gone on a matter
of business. I also heard our dear Dr. Luther preach in the church
of St. Mary's--his words still ring in my ears. Afterwards I met
Luther, as he was returning from the church. He suddenly caught me
by the sleeve, and said: 'Ah, is it you, my dear Koppe? My thoughts
were with you this very moment--and here I see you actually before
me, as though you had dropped from heaven. This, it seems to me, is
of God's ordering, and is a sign to me, that you are the man to carry
out the business which weighs upon my mind. You are acquainted in
the convent of Nimptschen?' When I told him that I supplied the
order with cloth and wax, he continued: 'Listen to me. In the
convent are nine noble maidens who are weary of their nunnery, but do
not know how to obtain their liberty. In their need, after they had
in vain petitioned their kinsfolk, they turned to me for help--which
I would gladly give, but that my arm is too short to reach from
Wittenberg to Nimptschen. Neither could I go thither myself and
liberate the poor captives, either secretly or by force. Therefore I
have need of a man who will lend me his arm, and I ask you, Master
Koppe, to do it, for the love of God. You know the road, and have a
clear head to devise ways and means, and a good Christian heart that
can pity the misery of others. Will you undertake this matter?' And
I said yes,--for who can resist the magic of Luther's wonderful
lightning eyes, and the pleading of his voice? I was proud indeed
that he stood and talked with me thus publicly--the great man, who
fears neither pope nor devil.
"But when he had gone, I felt hot and cold, for I perceived that I
had built a tower without reckoning the cost. I pondered the matter
on my homeward journey, and here I still sit and torment myself. The
closer I look at it, the more ticklish it appears. How shall I
disclose my plan to the nuns, without arousing the suspicions of the
abbess? Notwithstanding her seventy years, she has the eyes of a
lynx, and the scent of a fox. Even if I should succeed in
approaching them unperceived, how will it be possible to get them
away? If it were one, or even two, it might be done--but a whole
wagon full! And when they are safely out of the convent, we must
still pass through the territory of Duke George; and that is a
dangerous journey, inasmuch as the Duke hates Luther more than he
hates the Devil himself. Dear friend, what say you?"
Tommitzsch half closed his eyes and nodded reflectively. After a
moment's thought, he looked up and said: "The distress of these nuns
touches my heart. Only lately I witnessed the joy of my sister's
child, who escaped from the convent at Wurzen. Such may be the joy
of a person who rises from his grave; and methinks it is a good work,
and well pleasing to God, to help a human being from death to life.
I pity the nuns at Nimptschen, although they are strangers to me; and
if Dr. Martin desires it, how can we hesitate? Therefore, neighbor,
make the venture, and I will give you my help."
"For which you have my hearty thanks," cried the merchant, wringing
his friend's hand. "If you devise the plan, it will surely succeed."
The chandler answered calmly: "It is a good work--and God will aid
us. When do you carry the next load of goods to the convent?"
"The order may come at any hour, for Easter is near at hand," replied
Master Leonhard. "What do you mean?"
Tommitzsch returned: "It must be an easy matter to deliver a letter
secretly to one of the nuns."
The merchant listened attentively, and after a little more
conversation, the chandler left the house.
On the following morning, a heavy, canvas-covered wagon rumbled along
the road from Torgau to Grimma, and, on the evening of the same day,
halted at the gates of the convent Marienthron at Nimptschen, about
the time when the nuns were walking in the garden, after their
evening meal.
Such an arrival from the busy world was an important event amid the
monotony of convent life, especially when it was Master Leonhard
Koppe from Torgau--the pleasant, talkative man, who brought an
abundance of news, and related such merry tales. For strange to say,
these brides of heaven greatly relished an earthly jest.
As usual, he was soon surrounded by the nuns, and amid much cheerful
talk unpacked his wares. But his eyes seemed to be seeking some one;
he was absent-minded, and failed to answer their questions. When at
last Magdalene von Staupitz, coming in from the garden, approached
the group, he grew taciturn, and gave them to understand he was not
in the mood for conversation.
As Magdalene came nearer, a quick glance from the merchant's eyes met
hers. She turned away, to hide the flush which rose to her face;
and, returning to the garden, concealed herself behind an alder-bush
near the entrance, from whence she could overlook the court.
After the nuns had dispersed, she again drew near, and sought to find
in the merchant's face an explanation of his look. Hidden from the
convent by his great wagon, he hastily gave her a letter, saying:
"Read it. At the appointed time I shall be at hand."
He then climbed into the wagon, to prepare himself a resting place
for the night, and the nun disappeared among the shadows.
* * * * * * * * * *
"What ails you, Sister Magdalene?" questioned the abbess, later in
the evening. "Are you ill? Your face is pale, and the rosary
trembles in your hands."
Magdalene cast down her eyes, and answered softly: "I feel as though
a fever were shaking me. My prayers wearied me, and my head is dull
and confused."
"Then see to it that some tea is made for you," said the abbess.
Obediently, the nun left the presence of the dreaded superior,
hastily swallowed the nauseous drink, and sought her cell to escape
the torture of further questioning. She found Katharine von Bora
awaiting her.
"Tell me, sister," exclaimed Katharine, "what has happened? My heart
beats with fear, but I dared not ask you in the presence of the
others."
With a sigh of relief, Magdalene bolted her door, then sank trembling
into Katharine's arms. "Katharine, dear Katharine, the day
dawns,--the day of freedom! Luther--Luther--O thou prophet of the
Most High, thou deliverer of the German people, thou wilt prove our
good angel also!"
Katharine shivered within Magdalene's encircling arms.
"Do not speak in riddles, sister," she cried. "Relieve me from this
suspense."
Magdalene drew a slip of paper from her bosom. "See here; the answer
to our petition to Dr. Martin. Leonhard Koppe, the merchant, gave it
to me secretly. It is difficult to decipher, for Master Koppe's hand
is not skilled in writing. Listen to what he says: 'Dr. Martin
greets the nine Sisters, and through me, Leonhard Koppe, the merchant
of Torgau, will restore them to liberty. Therefore, hold yourselves
in readiness. In the night before Easter, on the fourth of April, at
the hour of ten, I will be under Katharine von Bora's window, from
whence escape is easiest. Do what is needful to keep the secret, and
may the Almighty have mercy on you!'"
Katharine would have cried out for joy, but Magdalene's hand sealed
her lips. "Restrain yourself, sister. If God is preparing a path of
escape for us, our own imprudence must not throw obstacles in the
way. Consider,--our salvation or ruin lies in our own hands. Woe be
to us, if we betray ourselves and our deliverers."
"What did you say?" interrupted Katharine, excitedly. "In the night
before Easter? God pity us! Is not that, of all times, the most
unsuitable?"
"You mean because of the vigil?" asked Magdalene, reflecting. Then
after another glance at the letter, her eyes beamed afresh.
"No,--that very night will be the most favorable to our plans. The
vigil begins at midnight, and on that evening we retire earlier than
usual to get a few hours of sleep. Here I read, that the merchant
from Torgau will wait for us at the hour of ten. Is not that wisely
planned? Oh, my spirit rises with new courage, kindled by hope, and
my last doubts are silenced."
Overcome by her feelings, Magdalene fell upon her knees, and from the
depths of her heart came her thanksgiving: "Thou Lord of my life,
Thou God of my salvation, I thank Thee, that Thou hast guided a heart
to accomplish our deliverance. I put my trust in Thee, Who wilt
surely finish the work Thou hast begun, for Thy Name's sake. Amen."