At the time our story commenced Dr Martin Luther was still residing in
the Castle of Wartburg, where he had been concealed by order of the
Elector Frederick, for nearly a year after leaving Worms, to preserve
him from the rage of his defeated enemies. His friends, however, well
knew where he was, and he had lately been summoned back to Wittemburg,
where his presence was much required.
Several months had passed away since Eric had quitted home, when one day
a man, with a large pack on his back, presented himself at the
Castle-gate, and demanded to see the Knight. He was admitted.
"Well, friend, what would you with me?" asked the Knight.
"I have books to sell, and will show them to you forthwith," answered
the colporteur, unslinging his pack. "Here is one lately printed--worth
its weight in gold, and more."
The Knight took it. It bore the simple title--"The New Testament.
German. Wittemburg."
"That is the very book I want," exclaimed the Knight, eagerly. "Yes, I
doubt not that it is worth its weight in gold. By whom has it been done
into German?"
"By Dr Martin Luther," answered the colporteur. "He began the work
when shut up in the Wartburg, and has only lately finished it with the
help of Dr Melancthon. Here are some other works by him. Will you
take them?"
"Yes, three--four--one copy of each. There is payment," said the
Knight, laying down some gold pieces.
"I take but the proper price," answered the colporteur, returning most
of them to him.
"You are an honest man," said the Knight. "If the books you sell have
made you so, they must be good."
"The books certainly are good, and I am more honest than I was. Once I
ate the bread of idleness, indulged in sloth, and was of no use to any
one. Now I labour for my food, and try to obey my Lord and Master,"
answered the colporteur.
"Why, what were you?" asked the Knight.
"A monk," answered the colporteur; "a lazy, idle monk. Dr Luther's
books came among us, and we read them, and some of my more learned
brethren translated the Testament to us who were ignorant of Greek, and
we agreed that as Jesus Christ came into the world to set us an example
as well as to die for our sins, and that as He ever went about doing
good, our system of life could not be the right one. The more we looked
into the matter, the more satisfied we became that it was altogether
opposed to the Gospel, and so we resolved forthwith to leave it. Some
who had the gift of preaching went forth to preach the Gospel; others
have begun to learn trades that they may support themselves; and, as I
have a good broad pair of shoulders, I offered to carry throughout our
fatherland the Gospel book, and other works of Dr Luther, which had
proved so great a blessing to our souls; and though I cannot preach, I
can go about and tell people that, through God's love, Christ died for
all men; that there is but one Mediator between God and man, Jesus
Christ; and that men will be saved, not by dead works, but by a living
faith in Him, which will produce fruits unto righteousness, an earnest
desire to imitate Him, to serve Him, to spread these glad tidings among
all mankind."
"It seems to me, in my humble wisdom, that you did right," observed the
Knight. "However, do not tell Father Nicholas this it you meet him.
Whenever you return this way, call here and bring me more books."
"Gladly; and I shall have some portions in German of the Old Testament,
in translating which Dr Luther is hard at work," said the colporteur.
"By what name shall I remember you, friend?" asked the Knight.
"John Muntz is my proper name, bookseller and labourer in Christ's
service," answered the colporteur, as he bade the Knight farewell.
Sturdy, honest John Muntz went his way throughout the land, selling
Luther's and Melancthon's books, with the New Testament and such parts
of the Old as they issued from the press, sometimes reading their
contents, sometimes telling to single persons or to small assemblies, in
simple language, of the glorious old truths thus brought once more to
light. It may be, in the great day, that many far-famed preachers will
be surprised that humble John Muntz, and other labourers such as he, in
the Lord's vineyard, have turned more souls into the way of
righteousness than they.
The Count of Lindburg took his books into his own room and locked them
up, that he might read them at leisure. He was not prepared just then
to enter into a controversy with Father Nicholas, and he wished for
quiet. He knew that his good wife and his daughter Laneta would take
the part of the priest, and he had an idea that when Eric came back from
Wittemburg he would prove a valuable ally on his side. Now and then,
however, as he read on, he felt very much inclined to rush down and
proclaim not only to his wife and the priest, but to the whole household
and neighbourhood, the wonderful truths here so clearly proved and
explained. But though he rose from his seat with the book in his hand
and opened the door, he went back and sat down again. Though brave as a
lion in war, and often impetuous at home, he was still timid in his own
household. His womenkind and Father Nicholas had found out his weak
point, and knew where to assail him.
The knight had always wished to act rightly according to his
convictions, consequently when some few years before this time--that is,
a short time before he paid the visit to Worms, where he first heard Dr
Luther speak--he had been urged by Father Nicholas and his wife to allow
his youngest daughter Ava, to become, as they called it, the spouse of
Christ, or, in other words, to enter a nunnery; she raising no
objection, he consented, believing, as he had been assured, that her
eternal happiness would thus be secured, and that she would be better
provided for than becoming the wife of one of the rough, fierce,
warlike, beer-drinking knights, who alone were likely to seek her hand.
The knight, however, often sighed as he thought of his fair blooming
little Ava shut up in the monastery of Nimptsch, and wished to have her
back again to sing and talk to him and to cheer his heart with her
bright presence, but he dared not to express his feelings to any of his
family, as he knew that they would be considered rank heresy. Often he
would have liked to write to his dear child, but, in the first place, he
was but a poor scribe, and in the second, he guessed that any epistle he
might send would be opened by the lady superior, and its contents
scanned before delivery, and adverse comments made, if it was not
withheld altogether. So little Ava stayed on at the convent,
embroidering priests' dresses and other ornaments for churches, and
attending mass. Whether or not she ever felt like a wild bird shut up
in a cage, wishing to be free, he could not say; he thought it possible.
She was wont once to go about the Castle singing like a bright happy
bird, not shut up in a cage then. He wondered whether she sang now. He
was sure that the nun's dress could not become her as the
bright-coloured bodice and skirt she wore. He wondered, too, whether
she ever went out now, as she was accustomed to do when at home, among
the cottagers in the neighbourhood, with a basket of food and simples,
and distributed them to the sick and needy with gentle words, which won
their hearts, or whether when mendicants came to the gate she stopped
and listened to their tales of suffering, relieved them when she could,
and seldom failed to drop a tear of sympathy for their griefs, which
went like balm to the hearts of many. He opined that the high-born
ladies of the monastery of Nimptsch would scarcely condescend thus to
employ their time. They undoubtedly were brides of Christ, but, as the
lady abbess had once remarked, it was the business of His more humble
spouses to imitate His example in that manner. After the Knight had
been thinking in this style, when he descended into the hall he was
invariably accused of being sullen and out of temper. Not that he had
any fault to find with his good Frau Margaret, or with his daughter
Laneta. They were excellent, pious women in their way. They had
embroidered five altar-cloths, seven robes of silk for the Virgin Mary,
and three for Saint Perpetua, Saint Agatha, and Saint Anne; they had
performed several severe penances for somewhat trifling faults; not a
piece of meat had passed their lips during Lent; and they had fasted on
each Friday and other canonical days throughout the year. Alms they
gave whenever they could get money from the Knight for the purpose, and
doles of bread to the poor with stated regularity; indeed, they felt
sure that they would richly have merited heaven, even with a less amount
of good deeds. Still they were desirous of making security doubly
secure.
When, therefore, in the year 1517, that is, before Ava went to the
convent, Dr John Tetzel, prior of the Dominicans, apostolic commissary
and inquisitor, set up his pulpit and booth in the neighbouring village
for the sale of indulgences, they had been among the crowds who had
flocked to his market. Near him was erected a tall red cross, with the
arms of the Pope suspended from it.
"Indulgences, dear friends," he exclaimed, when he saw a large mob
collected round him, "are the most precious and noble of God's gifts.
See this cross; it has as much efficacy as the cross of Christ. Come,
and I will give you letters, all properly sealed, by which even the sins
which you intend to commit may be pardoned. I would not change my
privileges for those of Saint Peter in heaven, for I have saved more
souls by my indulgences than the apostle by his sermons. There is no
sin so great that an indulgence cannot remit; only pay, pay well, and
all will be forgiven. Only think, for a florin you may introduce into
Paradise, not a vile coin, but an immortal soul, without its running any
risk. But, more than this, indulgences avail not only for the living,
but for the dead. For that repentance is not even necessary. Priest!
noble! merchant! wife! youth! maiden! do you not hear your parents and
your other friends who are dead, and who cry from the bottom of the
abyss, `We are suffering horrible torments! A trifling alms would
deliver us; you can give it, and you will not.'" Then Tetzel had told
them how Saint Peter and Saint Paul's bodies were rotting at Rome
because the Pope, pious as he was, could not afford to build a proper
edifice to shelter them from the weather without their help. "Bring--
bring--bring!" he shouted, in conclusion.
Dame Margaret and her daughters were greatly moved by these appeals,
though little Ava thought the monk need not have shouted so loudly. The
dame, who had just before persuaded her lord to give her a good sum of
money, bought a large supply of indulgences, not only for herself and
daughters, but for the Knight, who, she secretly believed, required them
far more than they did, because he never performed penances, made quick
work at confession, and regularly grumbled on fast-days; besides, she
could not tell of what sins he might have been guilty in his youth. She
did not tell him what she had done, but she felt much more happy than
before to think that they would now all go to heaven together. She
would even, in her zeal, have made further purchases, had not Father
Nicholas expostulated with her, observing that it would be much better
if she paid the money to enable him to say masses, which would prove
quite as efficacious; and, besides, be spent in Germany instead of going
to Rome. She was greatly horrified, some time after this, to hear the
Knight inveigh furiously against Tetzel and his indulgences, and call
him an arch rogue and impostor. Of course, on this, she did not tell
him how she had spent his money, lest he might make some unpleasant
reflections on the subject; besides, she suspected that he would not
appreciate the advantages she had secured for him. But this was after
Ava had been sent away to Nimptsch.