PARTING.
The storm raged furiously, dashing heavy masses of snow against the
windows. The rooks hid in the crevices of the masonry, scarcely
venturing forth in search of their daily bread. Men whose business
forced them to go abroad, wrapped themselves in their warm cloaks,
which failed to defend them against the piercing cold.
Mistress Katharine sat at home, with Margaret, her youngest child.
Her face was pale and care-worn, and told of many sleepless nights.
Anxiety for her husband lay like a stone upon her heart; for again he
had been obliged to leave his home,--the man, now old, feeble, and
broken in health, for whom there was to be no rest upon earth.
In October and December of the past year, at the request of the
counts of Mansfeld, he had journeyed to his former home, to act as
peacemaker between the discordant factions. Now, he had gone for the
third time, and days of sorrow and anxiety had followed his
departure. Katharine had no peace. She sought the seclusion of her
chamber, to dwell in spirit with her absent husband, until the
solitude grew unbearable. But when she saw in Margaret's eyes the
reflection of her own fears, she again longed to be alone.
She knew that her husband was tenderly cared for by her three sons
and their tutor, Ambrose Rudtfelt; but it was not within their power
to stay the inclemency of the weather, nor relieve the pains which
tortured him. And from her heart rose the passionate prayer: "Lord,
if Thou wouldst but send the springtime, for Thy servant's sake!"
And behold,--the spring came!
The wind changed, the ice broke, and the snow melted before the warm
breath of the south.
With a grateful heart, Katharine breathed the balmy air. The lark's
trill overhead seemed to her the voice of an angel, bringing God's
answer to her prayer; and her lips whispered: "Thou art the God, that
doest wonders!"
The following day, she was able to add: "Thou doest exceeding
abundantly above all that we ask or think!" A letter arrived, dated
from Halle, which quieted her fears. Again she read the precious,
familiar, jesting words, and knew that her husband was of good cheer.
Gretchen was quickly called, to hear the letter read:
"To my dear, kind Katharine Luther in Wittenberg. Grace and peace in
the Lord. Dear Kate: We arrived in Halle to-day at 8 o'clock, but
did not go to Eisleben, having met a huge Anabaptist, with high waves
and masses of ice, which overran the earth, and threatened us with
immersion. Neither could we return, because of the Mulda, and must
fain lie quiet here at Halle, between the waters. Not that we desire
to drink them, for we have good Rhenish wine, and Torgau beer; we
have refreshed ourselves and are of good cheer, waiting for the Saale
to spend its fury. The coachmen, and we also, fear to tempt God by
venturing into the water, inasmuch as the Devil hates us, and we
think it wiser to avoid misfortune, than to regret it afterwards; nor
do we deem it necessary, to give the pope and his servants cause for
rejoicing. I had not believed it possible, that the Saale could
cause such a disturbance, and that it would thus flood the stony
roads. Had you been here, you would have advised us to do as we have
done; and for once, your advice would have been followed.
"God bless you, Amen! MARTIN LUTHER.
"_Halle, on the feast of the Conversion
of St. Paul, A.D. 1546._"
The joy caused by this letter was still fresh, when another followed,
dated from Eisleben:
"To my dearest mistress Katharine Luther, Doctor of Zulsdorf, lady of
the pig market, and so forth.
"Grace and peace in Christ, and my poor, old, worn-out love to you,
my dear Kate. I was very faint on the road, as we neared
Eisleben,--by my own fault. Had you been here, you would have said
it was the Jews' doing; for near Eisleben we passed through a
village, where many Jews are living. Perhaps it was they who
attacked me with so fierce a blast; for as we reached the village, a
cold wind blew into the carriage and upon my head, that it seemed as
though my brain were turning to ice. This may have caused the
dizziness. But I am now, thank God, well again, except that the fair
women of this place give me much trouble.
"When the more important matters are arranged, I must see to it, that
we take some measures with regard to the Jews. Count Albert does not
favor them, and if it is God's Will, I shall help him from the
pulpit...
"The day before yesterday, your sons went to Mansfeld, Hans having
begged the others to go with him. I do not know what they are doing
there. If it were still cold, they might be shivering; but now that
it is warm, they may do and suffer other things, as it pleases them.
May God bless you and all the household. My greetings to all.
"MARTIN LUTHER, your old lover.
"_February 1st, 1546._"
The letters which followed, written on the sixth, seventh, and tenth
of February, brought good tidings, and relieved Katharine of all
uneasiness. Luther jestingly thanked her, "the saintly mistress
Katharine Luther, in Wittenberg," for her anxiety in his behalf,
which kept her awake at night. He tells her that, since she has been
thus troubling herself, a fire broke out near his chamber-door, which
might have consumed him; and that furthermore, a great stone almost
fell upon his head, by which he would have been crushed, as in a
mousetrap. "I fear, if you do not cease from troubling, that the
earth will open and swallow us, and the elements pursue us to our
destruction. Do you pray, and leave the care of us all to God; for
it is written: Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain
thee."
Luther's last letter, of the 14th, brought great rejoicing to his
family, "Father is coming! Father is coming!" shouted little
Margaret, falling upon her mother's neck.
He has finished his work; he has reconciled the factions, and sent
home a basket of trout, a gift from the Countess Albert, and his
bodily suffering is less. Everywhere he received high honors, he
says, yet he longs to be at home, and hopes to reach it before the
end of the week.
"_Father is coming! Father is coming!_"
He came; but his home-coming was not as the fond hearts of his wife
and child had hoped.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Why are the bells tolling thus mournfully throughout the German land?
What is the meaning of the bitter tears, shed by the German people!
Why does the Elector's messenger stand sad and trembling at the door
of Luther's house in Wittenberg, fearing to deliver to mistress
Luther the letter he bears? His heart is well-nigh breaking,--he
brings her the message, that since yesterday, she is a _widow_--her
children _orphans_!
* * * * * * * * * * *
A long and mournful procession moved along the road from Eisleben.
They were bringing the man of God, who had journeyed to his old home,
that his birth-place might also become the place of his death.
Behind the heavy, leaden coffin followed a stream of mourners. All
had lost a beloved father,--all were orphaned by his death. From
every church-tower the brazen tongues sent forth their last farewell.
In the villages the peasants left their work, put on their holiday
attire, and in silence received the procession; from the city gates,
the clergy, the Senate, the people and the schools, chanting psalms
and hymns, came forth to meet the sad convoy.
As they approached Wittenberg, its streets grew silent and deserted,
for all the people had hastened out upon the road leading to Pratau.
In her lonely chamber sits a widow; her hands lie folded in her lap;
her eyes are red with weeping; she is weary--oh so weary. Her heart
is exhausted; she can scarcely grasp a thought; and like a blessed
gift of God, a dull apathy has settled upon her spirit, and blunted
her grief. Her husband is dead, and she could not be at his side, at
the supreme moment. If, by God's counsel, she was destined to lose
him, must she be denied the last consolation of ministering to him,
and closing his eyes?
She sat still,--unknowing, unheeding, overwhelmed by her great,
unspeakable grief!
Hark! the bells are tolling! The people are streaming into the
streets!
She rose and pressed both hands to her head. The faithful Wolfgang
entered, pale and trembling. Scarcely restraining his sobs, he took
her hand.
"The Doctor is coming,--let us go to meet him!"
Katharine suffered him to lead her. She saw nothing of the surging
crowd. The world was blotted from her sight,--all, save the coffin
that held her husband's clay, and was followed by an endless
procession of lords and noblemen on horseback, professors, students,
senators, and countless multitudes of men, women and children, all
weeping and lamenting aloud.
She was led to a little carriage that had been provided for her, and
thus she followed her beloved husband, whose face she was never again
to see upon earth.
The procession moved toward the Castle-church, and entered the door,
upon which, twenty-nine years ago, the hands, now cold in death, had
nailed the ninety-five theses, and the blows of whose hammer
re-echoed throughout Christendom. Justus Jonas, who in Eisleben had
spoken before the open coffin, preached the funeral sermon on 1
Thess. 4: 13-18. His words were scarcely heard amid the sobs and
cries of the people. Melanchthon, in the name of the University,
then delivered a latin address, and the remains of the prophet of God
sank into their last resting place at the foot of the altar.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Katharine looked on. Her heart was empty. She had no tears.
When all was over, Melanchthon, the faithful, took her by the hand,
and led her to her home, now so silent and desolate. He sought to
comfort her, but his words seemed cold and powerless, over against
such sorrow as hers. She found her children and her household
awaiting her. When they saw her, they broke out into fresh
lamentations.
Then God sent her help. In the face of the universal mourning, her
heart awoke to renewed trust in God; and with glowing eyes and
uplifted hands she cried: "My flesh and my heart faileth; but God is
the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever."
_BOOK THIRD._
KATHARINE VON BORA;
THE WIDOW