WAR.
"Evil times are at hand," Luther often said, and the great man had
scarcely closed his eyes, when the storm burst.
It had long been evident to discerning eyes, that the Emperor Charles
V was only seeking a convenient pretext, for destroying with the
sword the fruits of Luther's labors. Realizing their danger, the
protestant princes and Cities had formed the Union of Smalcald, and
their defensive measures stirred the Emperor's wrath to a still
fiercer glow. He was playing a double game; false alike toward the
Protestants and the Pope, he sought merely to strengthen his own
power in an Empire, to whose very language he was a stranger.
Having, by means of specious promises, gained the Pope for his
purposes, he sought aid in Germany itself for the war of
extermination. The Duke of Bavaria was speedily won by the promise
of the Elector's hat. Other, smaller potentates, were lured with
smaller bribes. Even in the camp of the Protestant princes, to their
shame be it said, the Emperor found allies; Hans, Margrave of
Küstrin, and Eric, Duke of Brunswick-Calenburg, were not ashamed to
wear the Imperial colors. Not content with these acquisitions, the
Emperor coveted the alliance of the young and ambitious Duke Moritz
of Saxony, to gain whose good will, he encouraged the quarrel between
the young Duke and his cousin, the Elector John Frederick of Saxony.
For the Judas-reward of the Saxon electorate, Duke Moritz betrayed
the Protestant faith.
Having secured these confederates, the Emperor openly continued his
preparations. To the questions of the allies as to his intentions,
he scornfully replied: That his purpose was to chastise certain
unruly German princes, who, under the guise of religion, cast
contempt upon the imperial majesty.
It became necessary therefore, to devise a plan, by which the
chastisement designed for themselves, might rather fall upon the
Emperor's back.
The affairs of the Protestants wore a promising aspect. In Upper
Germany an army of 47,000 men was speedily organized under the
valiant general Schärtlin, and it would have been an easy matter to
capture the Emperor, who with 9,000 men lay before Ratisbon.
Schärtlin urged immediate action; but an ill-timed sentiment of
delicacy, which forbade the allies to enter the territory of the
neutral Duke of Bavaria, caused them to hesitate. Their indecision
gave the Emperor time to reinforce his army, and courage, to put the
Elector of Saxony and the Landgrave of Hesse under the ban of the
Empire.
Uniting their forces with those under Schärtlin, the two outlawed
princes advanced upon the imperial army. Much had been lost, but the
Emperor might still have succumbed to the superior strength of the
Protestants. Again their hesitation and indecision came to his aid.
Winter set in. Moritz had gained time to occupy the Saxon territory
and to instal himself as the new sovereign. There was nothing left
for the ex-elector, but to return in haste and re-conquer his
electorate. Schärtlin's army ran short of provisions. The free
cities, losing courage, submitted, one by one, to the Emperor, who in
the beginning of 1547 found himself master of the whole of Southern
Germany. Shortly after, the Rhenish provinces were lost to
Protestantism.
Then the tide turned.
There was great rejoicing in the Saxon land. The streets were
thronged with people. Cannon thundered from the ramparts; bells
rang; flags streamed from the church-towers; an eager enthusiasm
spread from village to village, from town to town. The elector,
outlawed by the Emperor, robbed of his sovereignty, had returned to
his devoted subjects. Their love was his triumphal chariot, his
sword and buckler, the banner under which he not only recovered his
own inheritance, but conquered a goodly portion of his ambitious
cousin's territory. John Frederick of Saxony, whose destruction had
been planned, rose to a higher pinnacle of power than he had ever
before occupied. The Emperor trembled with fear and anxiety, and the
knowledge that his infamous transaction with Duke Moritz stood
revealed before the eyes of all Germany, broke the last remnant of
his courage.
He considered his cause well-nigh lost, and despair seized upon his
mind. Already it was rumored, that the Bohemians had joined the
Elector! If this were true, then all hope was at an end.
Fortunately for him, however, and unfortunately for the Elector, the
Bohemians maintained an inexplicable inactivity, allowing their
advantages to slip from their grasp, and suffering the Imperial
troops to escape from Bohemia, and to follow in the wake of the
Elector, who, with an army of 9,000 men, was encamped at Mühlberg on
the Elbe; fearing no evil, and deeming the burning of the Elbe bridge
a sufficient security against surprises.
But the burning of bridges was of little use, when treachery guided
the enemy to a ford, which made a bridge unnecessary. The name of
the miller Strauch is for all time branded with infamy. Out of
revenge for the loss of his horses, which the Saxon troopers had
carried off, he betrayed his sovereign and his country.
It was a still, peaceful morning, on the Sunday _Quasimodo geniti_,
April 24th, 1547. The good elector was sitting in church, devoutly
listening to the preaching of the Gospel, when suddenly the noise of
a wild tumult broke in upon his devotions. It was the enemy!
The soldiers ran hither and thither, in utter confusion. The
officers' commands were unheeded; they all fled wildly toward the
heath of Lochau. The elector succeeded in rallying a few of the
panic-stricken cavalry regiments, to cover their retreat. But no
valor was able to withstand the enemy's superior forces. The Saxon
army was cut to pieces and scattered; and the Elector, heroically
defending himself, was disabled by a sabre-cut in his face. A look
of despair came into his eyes, as he surrendered.
Suddenly a loud thunder-clap was heard, startling all by its
unseasonable and unexpected occurrence. But into the Elector's face
there came a new light, and with a loud voice he exclaimed: "Yes,
Thou mighty God, Thou makest Thyself to be heard. Thou still livest
and doest all things well."
Dragged by the Hungarian horsemen into the Emperor's presence, he was
received with a look of mingled joy, anger and contempt. The Elector
John Frederick Saxony was a prisoner in the hands of the man who had
threatened to destroy Protestantism, root and branch; and his
electorate was irretrievably lost to him and his race.
* * * * * * * * * *
Wittenberg was in dire confusion. The Emperor was coming, preceded
by the rumor that the city of the arch-heretic was to be made to feel
the full weight of his displeasure; and was to disappear from the
face of the earth, as unworthy of being shone upon by the sun.
The citizens, and among them the widow of the "arch-heretic,"
prepared to fly. In December of the past year she had been obliged
to seek an asylum in Magdeburg, when Duke Moritz advanced upon
Wittenberg, and besieged the citadel. But the Elector had hastened
to the relief of the city, and recalled the fugitives. Now she must
once more bid farewell to her home,--perhaps never to return, for
between the Elector's captivity and the Emperor's threat, Wittenberg
had small hope of escaping.
Their flight was attended with many hindrances and difficulties. In
the general disorder, each one was concerned only for his own safety.
After much persuasion, a teamster was found willing to give the widow
and her children a place upon his cart.
He drove in mad haste over the rough roads, belaboring the poor
animals with furious blows, and urging them forward, as though the
enemy were already at his heels. For hours the wild chase lasted,
and night was at hand. The road was uphill, rough and stony; and
suddenly the exhausted horses refused to proceed. The teamster,
beside himself with rage and fear, forced them on with more blows,
when one of the horses, uttering a short, piteous cry, dropped dead.
Then he fell to berating the poor beasts, the Emperor, and finally
his passengers, whose weight, he asserted, had overtaxed the horses'
strength.
Without a word, Katharine and her children climbed down from the
cart, and the teamster went on his way.
The widow stood under the open sky; beside her a large chest,
containing her most necessary possessions. Not a human being was to
be seen near and far. The sky was hung with heavy clouds, and a soft
rain was beginning to fall. It was impossible to spend the night in
the open air.
For a moment Katharine hesitated; then she beckoned to her sons.
They broke open the chest; she gave to each one as much as he could
carry, and comforting the frightened children, she said: "Let us go
in God's name! We are everywhere in His keeping; He will not forsake
us!"
They walked rapidly, and half an hour later, a light shining through
the darkness, showed them the way to the habitations of men. They
soon reached a village, and the first door at which they knocked, was
hospitably opened to receive them.
"Good Heavens, Mistress Luther, is it you?" exclaimed a voice from a
corner of the dimly-lighted room, as they entered.
"Master Philip," cried Katharine and the children, equally surprised.
It was Philip Melanchthon, her husband's dearest friend, whom a
similar accident,--his wagon having been overturned in a ditch--had
driven to seek shelter in the village.
The kind peasants, to whom these exclamations betrayed the identity
of their guests, could not sufficiently express their reverent
affection. The contents of the larder were produced for their
refreshment. The beds of the family, in spite of all their
protestations, were given up to the strangers, and on the following
morning, before sunrise, the peasant was at the door, with his own
cart, prepared to carry them to their journey's end.
"The Lord's chancery," said Melanchthon, as they entered Magdeburg,
through the gloomy gate of the fortress. "Your dear husband often
gave the city that name. Who would then have thought, that we should
one day come hither, to seek safety from persecution. But I thank
God, that in these troublous times, he has provided for us a place of
refuge."
Katharine found in Magdeburg a number of her friends and
acquaintances from Wittenberg, among others the professor of
theology, George Major, a dear friend of her departed husband. It
was to him she now chiefly looked for protection, as Melanchthon
having upon his hands the care of many other fugitives, was very much
engaged.
Here too, the people, for Luther's sake, received his wife and
children with open arms. A Senator, in whose house they lodged, made
every effort to keep his guests with him permanently. With touching
kindness, he and his wife urged Katharine to regard their roomy house
as the home of herself and her children; and, not knowing whether she
would ever be able to return to Wittenberg, she finally yielded to
their pleading. But she had scarcely consented, when the dreadful
tidings were brought them, that the Emperor threatened to put the
city under the ban of the Empire, for harboring the Wittenberg
fugitives; and the hearts, which had bounded with renewed
hopefulness, sank back again into deeper gloom.
Katharine passed the night in sleepless anxiety, struggling for
light. Whither should she go? Was there not, in God's wide world, a
spot where the widow of the German Reformer might lay her head?
Early in the morning, she sought Professor Major, whom she found in
deep dejection.
"My dear Professor," said Katharine, offering her hand, "it is clear,
that we cannot continue in Magdeburg. A plan came to me during the
night, and I would ask your assistance in carrying it out."
"Alas, yes," Major interrupted; "we must leave this hospitable place,
and our kind friends."
"Hear me," continued Katharine. "We will never find peace within the
territories of the Emperor Charles. His threats will ever follow at
our heels. Therefore, I think it were best for us, to go whither his
arm cannot reach us."
"What do you mean, Mistress Luther?" asked the professor, with
wide-open, startled eyes.
"It is a long distance which I propose to travel," said Katharine;
"but I do not shrink from it, and the end will reward our labor. I
desire to go to Denmark, where under the rule of King Christian the
gospel is preached without hindrance. I will go to the champion of
the Protestant Confession. He has kept faith with Dr. Martin, and I
feel sure that he will take pity on his widow."
The professor listened, with growing astonishment, and when she had
finished, said: "I approve of your plan, dear Mistress Luther, and
wish you a happy journey."
With a somewhat embarrassed smile, Katharine looked at him. "But I
have a request to add,--a helpless woman cannot alone undertake so
arduous a journey, and I would pray you to make this further
sacrifice, and accompany me."
For a moment the professor hesitated, then cheerfully replied: "It
shall be as you wish, dear Mistress Luther."
On the following morning a wagon, covered with sail-cloth, stood at
the Senator's door, to carry away his guests.
The journey proceeded safely, until they reached Brunswick. Here
they were detained by the friendliness and solicitude of the Senate
of the city, who endeavored to dissuade Katharine from her purpose,
and to comfort her with the hope of better times. But she was
resolved, and merely urged to greater haste. From Brunswick they
travelled in a hired wagon. On the way they encountered frequent
troops of lansquenets, and the professor's face grew serious, when he
observed the imperial colors. Katharine was alarmed, and begged the
driver to hurry toward the village of Gifhorn, visible in the
distance. But as they neared the village, the troops became more
numerous, and the place itself was thronged with soldiers and
camp-followers, so that the travellers were scarcely able to advance.
It was still more difficult to find a lodging, in spite of the
professor's untiring efforts. The end of their journey, which had
seemed so near, was lost in the distance,--vague and unattainable.
After a bitter struggle, Katharine abandoned her cherished hope, and
on the evening of this day said to her protector: "I cannot endure
that you should have so much toil and trouble in my behalf. Let us
turn back; it is too dangerous, and I fear that it will be impossible
to reach Denmark."
Professor Major nodded sadly; "I do it willingly, for God's sake, yet
I think it is His will, that we turn back."
And so they did, the next morning, not knowing whither to go.
Toward noon they halted at an inn, to buy food. In the guest's room
sat an elderly man, with a piece of bread and cheese before him.
From his appearance, they recognized him as a travelling merchant.
After the customary greetings, it was discovered that he came from
Torgau, and was able to give them tidings of Wittenberg.
"The city fared better than any dared hope," he related, "after the
reports which preceded the Emperor, that the 'hotbed of heresy' would
be made to feel the full measure of his vengeance. But he dealt with
it in a merciful and truly royal manner. He had been a traitor, had
he done otherwise; for a promise must needs be kept, especially an
Emperor's promise."
"What do you mean?" asked the professor.
"Are you perhaps acquainted with Lucas Kranach, the Elector's
court-painter?" continued the other.
"How should we not know him?" exclaimed both his hearers.
"It was he who saved the city. He went to the Imperial headquarters,
and forcing his way past the guards, walked boldly to the Emperor's
tent. Then in all humility, yet confidently, he reminded his Majesty
of a promise, he had once made to the painter. I cannot tell, what
it was, but the result was, that the Emperor dealt beyond expectation
gently with the city of Wittenberg."
"I understand," cried the professor. "Kranach once related to me,
how, many years ago, he had met the present Emperor Charles V., when
he was still a boy. If I am not mistaken, Kranach was sent by the
Elector Frederick the Wise as ambassador to Mechlin in the Low
Countries, where the Emperor Maximilian was at that time holding his
court. On this occasion, the Emperor caused his portrait to be
painted by the distinguished artist; and the young Prince Charles,
already destined to wear the Imperial Crown of Germany, also desired
to sit for his picture. He made many promises to Master Kranach,
that he would be patient and sit still. But the unruly boy gave the
artist much trouble by his restlessness. Yet the portrait succeeded
admirably, and in his childish delight, pressing Kranach's hands, the
prince said to him: 'Master Lucas, when I am a sovereign like my
uncle, and you have a favor to ask of me, it shall be granted. Here
is my hand upon it!' And now, it seems, after so many years, he was
able to claim his promise of the Emperor. Kranach is a noble
man,--for himself he asks nothing, only for others. Herein he
resembles him, who counted him among his friends,--the blessed Dr.
Martin!"
Deeply moved, the merchant dried his eyes. "Yes, he is truly a great
and noble man, who thus forgets himself. I have been further told,
that the Emperor received him very graciously, and made him the most
brilliant offers, if he would enter the imperial service as
court-painter. But Kranach gratefully declined his proposals,
requesting instead, that his Majesty deal generously with his captive
sovereign, John Frederick of Saxony, as befitted the victor. Kranach
said that as he had received many kindnesses and benefits from his
gracious master, he therefore would fain show his gratitude, and do
what in him lay to ease the prisoner's hard lot."
Katharine listened with brimming eyes; the professor was deeply
touched, and a long silence followed the merchant's tale. Then
Katharine, turning to him, said: "The city was indeed spared; but a
further care presses upon me. I would know the fate of,--" She did
not finish the sentence,--her eyes anxiously questioned the
merchant's face.
"Be comforted, dear Mistress Luther," he replied. "The Duke of Alva,
with his face of parchment and his heart of stone, vehemently urged
the Emperor, to have the 'arch-heretic's' ashes scattered to the
winds. But his Majesty angrily replied: 'I make war upon the living,
not upon the dead.' He even forbade his soldiers to disturb the
Lutheran worship. Bugenhagen preached the gospel unhindered, in the
presence of many Spanish soldiers; and one day he even observed the
Emperor himself among his hearers."
Katharine breathed a sigh of relief, and warmly thanked the bearer of
such good tidings.
Three days later, a woman with her four children knelt at Luther's
grave in the Castle-church at Wittenberg, and with many tears, gave
thanks that this sacred spot remained undesecrated. It was her first
errand,--afterwards she returned to her home in the Augustinian
convent.
A dreary sight here met her eyes. The Emperor's orders had not
extended to Luther's dwelling, and the spot where the "arch-heretic"
had lived, became the scene of savage destruction, and of the brutal
revenge of the Spanish soldiery. The household furniture was broken,
the cellars robbed of their contents, and the walls soiled with foul
doggerel. The children lamented, but Katharine, silently, went about
to establish a new home upon the ruins of the old.