LITTLE LENA.
It is written that "we must through much tribulation enter into the
kingdom of God," and that "whom He loveth, He chasteneth."
Martin Luther and his wife had already passed through deep waters of
grief and sorrow,--he, the hero in spiritual warfare, leading the
way, and she following, keenly alive to every trouble that assailed
her husband. But the season of trials was not yet past,--they were
still, by God's Will, to taste the bitterest pain that can afflict a
parent's heart.
One day, as they sat together under the pear-tree, surrounded by
their children, the conversation chanced upon the sacrifice of Isaac.
"Good God," said Luther, "what a heart-break it must have been to
Abraham, when he was commanded to slay his only and well-beloved son
Isaac! What a painful journey that was, to Mount Moriah,--doubtless
he told his wife nothing about it. Truly, had I been in his place, I
believe I should have withstood."
His wife answered with a sigh: "I cannot grasp the thought, that God
should require of us to sacrifice our own child."
Her objection again brought Luther upon the right path: "Dear Kate,
yet you can believe that God suffered His only Son, our dear Lord and
Saviour, Jesus Christ, to die for us? There was none He loved more,
in Heaven or on earth, than His Son;--and yet He permitted Him to be
crucified for us. Would not human reason say that God had shown
Himself more tender and fatherly towards Caiaphas, Pilate, Herod, and
the others, than toward His only Son? Abraham surely believed in the
resurrection of the dead, when he was required to sacrifice his son,
concerning whom the promise had been given, that through him the
Messiah should be born, as the Epistle to the Hebrews testifies."
Katharine could not but admit that he was right; yet her eyes rested
wistfully upon her children, at the thought that God might demand
them of her.
This conversation was forgotten and the blooming health of her
children reassured the mother's heart. Yet the angel of death was
about to gather the fairest flower of them all.
One day in September of 1542, Lena, who was sitting at work beside
her mother, grew suddenly pale and complained of great pain in her
breast. The physician, who was summoned immediately, was unable to
discover the seat of the disorder. He prescribed a potion; but in
spite of the remedy, the child grew rapidly worse.
Father and mother watched by her bedside, each questioning the
other's eyes, as though seeking comfort, and then, in their utter
helplessness turning to Him, Who alone can save from death.
The child suffered much pain, but she lay quiet and uncomplaining,
only the twitching muscles betrayed her agony. Her face seemed to
grow more beautiful at the approach of death, as though the pure soul
were shining through its transparent garment of flesh. When
Katharine, seeing the anguish, which she was unable to relieve, could
not restrain her tears, Lena's sweet, pleading eyes seemed to say to
her: Do not grieve!
One morning Lena raised herself in bed, and said to her father: "Dear
father, I have a great desire to see my brother Hans. Will you not
send to Torgau, and ask Master Krodel, to give him leave of absence?
He is diligent, and will quickly make up the lost time."
Luther tenderly stroked the cold forehead, and promised.
Two days later, Hans arrived. He did not know, why he was called
home; for in his letter to Master Marcus Krodel, under whose
instruction Hans was placed, Luther had begged him, not to mention
Lena's illness, therefore great was the boy's alarm, when he saw his
little sister thus changed.
Their meeting was touching,--even Luther, the strong man, turned
away, to hide his tears.
From day to day the parents' hearts alternated between hope and fear.
Katharine's anxious eyes sought to read the physician's face,
dreading to put her question into words.
There was no lack of sympathy. All the friends of the
family,--indeed, all Wittenberg, shared in their sorrow.
For two weeks, Katharine had scarcely slept, watching her child with
the strength of self-forgetting love. But at last nature demanded
her right. She sank exhausted upon her bed, and while sleep brought
a few blessed hours of unconsciousness, her spirit was soothed with a
lovely dream-vision. She saw her little daughter, radiant with
light, floating upon a cloud, and two fair youths coming to lead the
maiden to the marriage feast.
In the morning she related her dream to her husband, and added:
"Nothing is impossible with God. I take my dream to be a happy omen."
Melanchthon, who was present, smiled sadly, and when Katharine had
left the room, he said: "Do you read the vision thus, dear Martin? I
would not take from your wife her hope, but knowing that you have
already yielded the dear child to the Lord, I will tell you, what I
take its meaning to be. The fair youths are the blessed angels, who
will lead the maiden into the heavenly kingdom, to the true
bridegroom."
Luther bowed his head and clasped his hands. After awhile he said:
"I love her very dearly, and would fain keep her, if it is our Lord's
will; but if it pleases Thee, dear Father, to take her, I will gladly
know her to be with Thee."
After Melanchthon had gone, Luther returned to the sickroom, and
seated himself beside the bed. The child's eyes were breaking, and
her skin was almost transparent.
"Magdalena, my little daughter," said her father, with quivering
lips, "you are content to stay with your father here,--and also
content to go to the Father above?"
Softly, faintly, came the answer: "Yes, dear father, as God pleases."
The mother was kneeling upon the floor, weeping,--her face buried in
her hands,--she could not witness the child's death.
Luther sought to comfort her: "Dear Kate, remember, whither Lena is
going. The lines have fallen unto her in pleasant places. She has a
goodly heritage."
But in the face of the last struggle, his strength forsook him. He
sank upon his knees beside the bed, and wept bitterly, crying aloud:
"O Lord, have mercy, and end her suffering!"
And God's angels flew softly through the chamber, kissed the maiden's
brow, and led her home, to the heavenly bridegroom.
* * * * * * * * * *
Outside, upon the stairs, the other children were watching, silently
holding each other's hands, when one of the maids, with tear-swollen
eyes, came to them and said; "You have no longer a sister Lena!"
The children cried out, and stared in dismay at the messenger of
sorrow. Paul sprang to his feet, and exclaimed angrily: "It is not
true! She is not dead!"
"She is not dead!" repeated Gretchen, and rose to go to her sister.
Then their mother came toward them, and in her face the children read
the truth.
The house was very silent. Every one stepped softly, as though Lena
were sleeping, and must not be awakened. And not only was Luther's
house a house of mourning, but every household in Wittenberg grieved
in sympathy.
With a trembling hand the stricken father wrote to his friend Justus
Jonas, who in the preceding year had removed to Halle:
"My dearest Jonas! This is to tell you, that my dear daughter
Magdalena has been born again, into the eternal kingdom of Christ.
We,--that is my wife and I,--should truly feel only joy and gratitude
at this happy and blessed departure, by which our child is removed
from the power of the flesh, the world, the Turk and the devil. Yet
natural love so masters us, that we cannot submit without sobs and
tears and much heart-breaking. For she had taken a strong hold upon
our affections,--our gentle, obedient daughter--by her looks, her
words and her behavior, in life and in death,--and even the death of
Christ cannot wholly wipe away our grief. She was, as you know, of a
sweet and gentle disposition, and well-beloved of all. Praised be
our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath thus called and glorified her. Oh,
that we, and all who are dear to us, might have such a death,--yea,
and such a life! This I ask of God, the Father of all grace and
mercy. MARTIN LUTHER."
Then he sought in prayer the strength he needed, for what remained to
be done. When he entered the death-chamber, the mother was kneeling
beside her child, whom she had herself prepared for her last
resting-place, and was placing a branch of rosemary between the cold
fingers.
How fair and lovely she was, her sweet, little Magdalena. Even death
could not mar nor destroy her gentle beauty, which seemed only
glorified,--as it will be upon the last day, when the grave shall
yield up its prey, and what was sown in corruption, shall be raised
in incorruption.
On the third day, the mortal remains of little Lena lay in her
flower-strewn coffin, which, because of the crowds of people, had
been placed in the court under the pear-tree. Luther pressed a last
kiss upon the still face. "Thou dear child,--it is well with thee!
Thou wilt rise again, and shine as a star,--yea, as the sun. My
spirit rejoices, but according to the flesh I am very sorrowful; for
parting is painful beyond measure. It is strange,--to know that she
is at peace,--and yet to mourn!"
He thanked the people who had came to testify their sympathy, adding:
"Rejoice with me, for I have now a blessed saint in Heaven. Oh! may
we all have such a death as hers!"
"Yes, Reverend Doctor," exclaimed a voice from the crowd, "you say
truly,--yet every one would fain keep his own."
Luther replied: "I am glad, that she is in Heaven; my sorrow is all
of the flesh."
Then Katharine, supported by Melanchthon's wife, tottered toward the
coffin, to bid her child a last farewell. At the sight of her, the
bystanders began to weep and lament aloud, and Wolfgang, who had also
approached, turned away--he could not see the mother's grief.
Lena's grave was beside that of her sister Elizabeth, and for the
second time, Wolfgang must needs force his trembling hands to fashion
a cross, upon which Luther wrote these words:
"I little Magdalen, sleep here,
I'm Doctor Luther's daughter dear,
In this small chamber I shall rest,
Till summoned forth with all the blest;
Tho' born in sin, not lost am I--
As was decreed--eternally.
I live, and all is well and good:
Christ ransomed me with His own blood."
When Luther returned from the burial, he said to his wife. "Our
little daughter is at rest, both in body and soul. We Christians
should not murmur,--knowing that it must be thus, and being sure of
eternal life: for God's promise, given through His dear Son, cannot
fail."
"Ah, you are a strong man," sighed Katharine; "but a mother cannot so
quickly master her sorrow, and a woman's heart is a weak and timid
thing. God will have patience with me--I will not murmur."
"Weep freely, dearest Kate," said Luther, "therefore were tears given
us, and God knows best, what miserable vessels of clay we are. He
remembers, that we are but dust, and bears with us, that His strength
may be made perfect in our weakness. And consider this: Time is
short; in a little while we shall meet again with rejoicing, and our
joy no man taketh from us."
She clasped her hands, lifted her sad eyes toward Heaven, and prayed:
"Yea, Lord Jesus, come quickly."