THE MOTHER AND HER CHILDREN.
Wittenberg, in the 16th Century, was a wretched town. The houses,
built of wood, were thatched with straw. The narrow, crooked streets
were paved roughly, or not at all; and in rainy weather, or during
the spring thaws, became almost impassable. A few prominent
buildings,--the fine churches, the Elector's palace, the University,
the Franciscan and Augustinian convents, and the dwellings of some
wealthy citizens, alone raised it to the dignity of a town.
The surrounding country had been meagerly dealt with by nature.
Luther was wont to say: "Land,--thou art nothing but sand!" In every
direction stretched wastes of sand. In the immediate neighborhood of
the town, however, especially toward the South, where rolled the
yellow waters of the Elbe, occasional clumps of trees, and even
vineyards were to be seen. Here many citizens of Wittenberg had
planted charming gardens, whither they went to refresh themselves
during the heat of summer.
One garden especially, which lay near the Elster-gate, gave evidence
of artistic skill and careful culture. The shrubs and flower beds
were tastefully arranged. A little pond, fed by a spring, lay hidden
among rustling reeds; and in the midst of a large gravelled space
rose a white summer house.
One bright day in the Summer of 1534, a merry little company was
gathered here. A strong, active boy of nine, was the leader in their
games, and their occasional excursions to the strawberry-beds. It
was his birthday, and by reason of this circumstance, and of his
seniority, he ruled over the younger ones,--a gentle little maiden of
six, and two boys, of two and four.
Within the Summer-house sat the mother, holding a baby in her arms,
and watching the play of her children,--now and then calling out a
word of warning, when the merriment grew too boisterous, or when the
eldest insisted too vigorously upon his rights.
It was Katharine, who after her day's work had come with her children
to this favorite spot,--here, under the open sky, and among the
flowers, she wished to celebrate the day on which, nine years ago,
God's grace had given her her first-born son.
Luther might well say, with the Psalmist: "My wife is as a fruitful
vine by the side of my house; my children like olive plants round
about my table,"--five healthy, happy children they were; and the
mother still fresh and blooming, as though sorrow could not touch her.
Suddenly a shout arose: "Aunt Lena! Aunt Lena is coming!" and the
children sprang towards the old woman, as though she were a fortress,
to be carried by assault.
They were very fond of the good aunt, who always had time and
patience to answer their endless questions, who told them such lovely
tales in the twilight; who dressed Lena's dolls, and made soldiers of
pasteboard for the boys, and never betrayed their childish
wrong-doings to father or mother. But to-day their enthusiastic
greeting was largely mingled with self-interest. They wanted her to
take charge of the little Gretchen, that their mother might play with
them;--this being a great favor, and a rare one, for the mother's
hands were always busy. Aunt Lena, being a person of much
penetration, guessed their wishes, and did her part most willingly.
They played hide-and-seek and blind man's buff. They counted the
peas in the pods, by holding them up to the light, and there was much
laughter among the boys, at their mother's failures. She herself
felt light-hearted and strong,--were not her children in good
health,---and the Doctor well, and vigorously at work upon his new
book?
But in time she wearied of the play and Wolfgang's appearance was a
welcome interruption. He announced that the Doctor would probably
not come before evening. Then from a basket he emptied a variety of
buns and cakes upon the table, which quieted the noisy company for a
time.
Hans seemed to have special business with Wolfgang. His eyes
betrayed his eagerness; but Wolfgang seemed not to understand this
mute appeal. When he found himself unobserved, he whispered:
"Wolfgang, let us look after the bird-traps!" Wolfgang was not easy
to persuade. He remembered the lecture he had received but the other
day, when he presented the Doctor with a tame bullfinch. Luther told
him sharply, that he took no pleasure in captive birds, which the
Lord had not created to the end that Master Wolfgang Sieberger might
snare them in his nets. But Hans pleaded so strongly,--it was his
birthday, and Wolfgang yielded.
They stole away secretly. But Martin, the four-year-old, perceiving
their intention, cried out after the fugitives, and wanted to be
taken along. With many promises and persuasions he was finally
pacified, and induced to remain behind.
Not far from the garden, near the University, was a secluded little
copse, where multitudes of the feathery tribe were wont to
congregate. It was here that Wolfgang had set his traps. As they
entered the grove, a flock of finches rose into the air. Their notes
sounded like mocking laughter to the bird-catchers, who always came
too late, and must needs be content, if after a fortnight's watching,
they snared a silly robin or a saucy sparrow. As a bird-catcher,
Wolfgang had small luck, at which he wondered greatly, for all his
measures were taken strictly according to the rules of the craft, and
the spot was well-chosen for his purpose. Perhaps the wood-nymphs
spoiled his sport! To-day again he caught nothing. Finally, his
patience was exhausted. He sprang up and gave vent to his feelings
in a vigorous oath, which the echoes flung back to him with derisive
distinctness.
The sportsmen left the copse, in a bad humor. As they approached the
garden, Wolfgang exclaimed, in consternation: "The Doctor has come.
There will be a fine reception for us, and so forth!" and with
lagging footsteps they went to meet their fate.
Luther had arrived earlier than he expected; and finding Hans absent,
at once suspected the truth. Seating himself in the summer-house, he
soon covered a sheet of paper with writing.
He received the culprits with a stern look. There was no need of
questioning them, their guilt was so clearly written upon their
faces. Wolfgang stammered something that sounded like an apology,
but Luther interrupted him: "Sit here, Wolfgang; and you, Hans, sit
beside him; and all the rest come hither, and hear the complaint,
which has come to my hands.
When all were assembled, the Doctor read as follows:
"To our well-inclined friend, Dr. Martin Luther, Professor and
preacher at Wittenberg. We thrushes, robins, linnets and other
honest and peaceable birds, who are sojourning in these parts, would
have you know that a certain Wolfgang Sieberger, your servant, has
committed a daring and ruthless deed, in that, out of malice and
hatred toward us, he has purchased dearly certain old and ragged
nets, wherewith he purposes not only to snare our good friends, the
finches; but would fain deny to us also, who have in no wise wronged
him, the liberty of flying in the air, and of picking up the grains
which God has strewn for us. All this being, as you may suppose, a
grievous oppression to us poor birds, we would direct to you our
humble petition: That you restrain your servant from his evil design;
or, failing in this, that you command him, in the evenings to scatter
grain upon this place, and in the morning not to rise before eight
o'clock. If he consents, we will be content and even grateful to
him. But if, on the contrary, he continues to persecute us, we will
pray to the good Lord to punish him; and we hope that some day he may
find toads, and snails, and grasshoppers, instead of birds, in his
net; and that at night the mice, fleas, and other vermin, shall cause
him such torment, as to make him forget his evil designs against our
liberty. Why does he spare the sparrows, magpies, jackdaws, mice and
rats, which do you much harm, which rob and steal, carrying away your
corn, oats and barley--while we seek only after crumbs and scattered
grains, freeing you moreover from flies, gnats and other troublesome
insects? We ask if this be just and reasonable? And we trust that
in future we may rest undisturbed by his snares and nets.
"Given in our airy habitation among the trees, under our usual seal."
Without adding a word, without a glance at the accused, Luther folded
the paper and put it into his pocket. Wolfgang's feelings were those
of a convicted criminal, whose sentence is being read. He turned red
and white, and would have been glad to slip away, had such an escape
been possible.
Hans sat limp and dejected. He was plunged from his eminence as the
hero of a birthday celebration! He waited eagerly for a lecture from
his father, which would have relieved his conscience. But when he
was passed by without a glance, and the father, with tender, loving
words turned to the other children, especially to Lena, the gentle
little daughter, his torture became well-nigh unbearable. With
secret horror he remembered the time when, for a mischievous prank,
he had been banished for three days from his father's presence, and
all his mother's pleadings had been in vain. His father's words
still rang painfully in his ears: "I would rather have a dead son
than a disobedient one. It is not for naught that St. Paul says 'a
bishop shall rule well his own house, and have his children in
subjection,'--that he may set a good example, and not become an
offense to other people."
Hans would have wept, but inward fear dried up the source of his
tears, and he was denied the relief of turning his trouble into
water. At supper he was unable to swallow a morsel; and his father's
kind words to the others pierced him like a knife. Lena sat very
still;---now and then her eyes wandered toward her brother,--his
sorrow was hers. On a former occasion Luther had said to his wife:
"If one would see a living illustration of the Saviour's words:
'Rejoice with them that do rejoice, and weep with them that weep,'
one needs but look at our little Lena. She has a fine, sensitive
soul, like an Æolian harp, that sounds and sings, if but a breath of
air touches its strings."
After supper, Lena clung to her father, caressed his hand, and looked
up into his face with a wistful smile.
"What would you have, my Lena?" asked her father gently, lifting her
upon his knee.
"It is Hans' birthday!" she whispered, and two great tears filled her
soft, blue eyes. Her father, touched by her loving heart, folded his
little daughter in his arms and kissed her forehead. He beckoned to
Hans: "Come hither, thou sinner, thy intercessor has conquered my
heart, so that I must needs have pity on thee!"
Hans would fain have shouted for joy, but he restrained himself, and
pressing close to his sister, he whispered: "Lena, you shall have my
clapper-mill for this!"
Luther turned to his wife and Aunt Lena. "Here you may see," he
said, "how powerful a mediator we have in our Lord Jesus Christ, whom
the Heavenly Father cannot refuse, when He pleads for sinners. If my
daughter thus speedily conquered my heart, how much more able is
Christ to dispel the Heavenly Father's anger, that the sinner may go
free. When I found this assurance in the Holy Scriptures, that we
cannot be saved by our own virtue, but only by the merits and
intercession of Jesus Christ,--a new life was born within me, and I
was constrained to proclaim it to all the world. I am heartily glad,
and thank the Lord, that the Bible has gone forth among the German
people, in the German tongue. Many a drop of sweat cleaves to it,
yet I labored with pleasure and delight, for now all can see for
themselves what God's Word is, and wherefore the Saviour came into
the world.--I regard this work as the greatest of my life; and if God
were now to call me hence, I should willingly say: Lord, here I am."
Here the little, chubby-faced Paul, bestriding a stick, came prancing
along. In his haste he dashed against his father, and was miserably
overthrown. Every one laughed at his discomfiture, but his father
lifted the little fellow upon his knee, and said: "Paul must one day
be a soldier, and ride against the Turks; then doubtless Germany will
have peace from that quarter." He stroked the curly head, and
turning to Katharine, said: "How fondly parents cling to their
youngest children,--it is no doubt, because of their helpless
condition. Hans, and Lena, and even Martin can make their wants
known,--but these little ones cannot. Yet the love is the same
toward them all."
Katharine held out the baby, Gretchen, and said with a smile: "This
one needs love more than any,--and yet you do not mention her, dear
Doctor."
Luther took the child in his arms and caressed it, saying: "There is
a great sacredness about a little child, of whom the Scriptures say:
'Their angels do always behold the face of my Father who is in
heaven.' I would give all the honor I have had, and shall have in
this world, had I died at the age of this child. A child's life is
the happiest: it has no temporal cares, knows nothing of the
disturbers of the Church, has no fear of death or hell, but only pure
and happy fancies. My dear little child, thou and all who are dear
to me are hated of the Pope, Duke George, the Devil and all their
friends. But the child is not disturbed, fears nothing, and laughs
at their anger."
The Evening had come, and Katharine began to prepare for their return
to town, the physician having strictly forbidden Luther to remain in
the open air after nightfall. He seemed little inclined to exchange
the fresh, pure air for the closeness of the narrow streets, but
found himself unable to resist his wife's pleading. With a smile he
submitted, saying: "Kate, you persuade me to do your will in all
things!"