One bright afternoon, in the month of May, 1524, a light waggon, driven
by a venerable-looking person with a long white beard, stopped before
the gate of the convent of Nimptsch, and from out of it stepped a
merchant of equally venerable and still more dignified appearance. He
begged the portress to present his humble respects to the lady abbess,
with a request that he might be allowed to offer for sale to the noble
ladies numerous articles which they might find acceptable. The lady
abbess, having carefully surveyed the venerable merchant and his driver
through a lattice above the gate, was satisfied that they might, without
danger, be admitted into the court-yard. The horses were, however,
somewhat restive, and it required, evidently, all the strength the old
driver possessed to keep them quiet while his master took out his bales
and boxes, and conveyed them, with somewhat feeble steps, into the room
were strangers, such as he, were received. An iron grating ran across
it, within which the nuns were collected; but there existed a small
window, through which articles could be handed for inspection.
The merchant evidently understood the tastes and requirements of nuns.
There were silks for embroidery and gold-thread, and beads, and pencils,
and brushes, and colours for illuminating missals, and paper and writing
materials, and various manufactures for making artificial flowers; he
had even spices and mixtures for making confectionery. There was linen
also, coarse and fine, and all the materials of the exact hue required
by the sisters for their dresses; indeed, it would have been difficult
to say what there was not in Herr Meyer's waggon which the nuns could
possibly require. The price, too, at which he sold his goods was
remarkably low, and the nuns of Nimptsch were not at all averse to
making good bargains. Unfortunately, however, he discovered that he had
only brought specimens of many of the articles. His large waggon he had
left at Torgau. He would, therefore, take the orders with which the
holy ladies might honour him, and return next day with the goods.
The merchant, Herr Meyer, was better than his word, for he returned the
next day not only with the articles ordered, but with many other curious
things, which he had brought, he said, for the inspection and amusement
of the ladies, and the servants and attendants in the house; the good
portress especially was remembered. There were carriages and animals
which ran along the ground by themselves, and a house in which a door
opened, when out of it came a cock which crowed, and then a small bird
came out of an upper window and sang, and then a woman looked out to
ascertain what the noise was about. Numerous toys of a similar
character the merchant had brought, he said, from Nuremburg.
Meantime the horses in the waggon became very frisky, the merchant,
therefore, went down, with most of his boxes to help quiet them, he
said, leaving the abbess and her nuns busily engaged with the toys; the
portress, too, was still watching the cock coming out of the house and
crowing, and the bird singing, and the woman looking out to see what it
was all about.
"These horses will be doing some mischief, Karl, if they stay shut up in
this court-yard," exclaimed the merchant. "I will open the gate, and
then if they choose to gallop off they will soon get tired, and you can
come back for me and my goods."
Suiting the action to the word, he undid the bars of the gate, and Karl
drove through, pulling up, however, directly he was outside. The
portress ran out, for such a thing as allowing a stranger to open the
gate was against all rule.
"Stay, I have some more curious things," said the merchant. And he
stepped into the waggon.
Just at that moment something must have startled the horses, for they
set off at full speed, the driver in no way attempting to stop them.
The lady abbess and the nuns looked out through the bars of the windows,
expecting to see Herr Meyer, after his horses had had a good gallop,
return with the other curiosities he had said he possessed. They looked
and looked, but they looked in vain. At last they came to the
conclusion that some accident had happened. For this they were very
sorry, as they all agreed that a more pleasant-spoken, liberal merchant
they had never seen. The opinions, however, of the lady abbess and some
of the elder sisters were somewhat modified, when at vespers, as all the
nuns were assembled, Sister Ava, and another young and pretty nun, her
great friend, Sister Beatrice, were missing. They were not in their
cells. The whole convent was searched; they were not to be found.
Never had there been such a commotion among the authorities and elder
sisters, though most of the young ones took the matter very quietly, and
did not search for what they knew well was not to be found. Remembering
the warning she had received, the lady abbess had a strong suspicion
that Eric Lindburg was at the bottom of the matter. This was only the
beginning of her troubles. Somehow or other, fresh heretical books were
introduced into the convent, and the young nuns had so completely
mastered the contents of those of which they had been deprived that they
were able to discuss them and explain them to the elder sisters. Even
the abbess herself could not answer many of their arguments which they
boldly put forth, nor indeed could the father confessor, nor the other
visiting priests. Of the last one heartily agreed with them, and the
others boldly acknowledged that there was a great deal of truth in what
they said. Gaining confidence, nine young ladies at last united to
support each other, and positively refused to attend mass or any
services when adoration was paid to the Virgin Mary or to the saints,
and demanded that as their vows were taken in ignorance, and that as
they were directly contrary to the Gospel, they should be released from
them, and allowed to return into the world to fulfil their duties as
virtuous women and citizens.
Those in authority were astonished and utterly confounded, and hesitated
to take any harsh measures. Public opinion they well knew outside the
convent walls ran pretty strongly in favour of the nuns' opinions. As
their friends would not receive them at home, the young ladies resolved
to repair in a body to some respectable place with order and decency.
Through some means their resolution was made known to two pious citizens
of Torgau, Leonard Koppe and Wolff Tomitzsch, who offered their
assistance. "It was accepted as coming from God Himself," says an
historian of that time. Without opposition they left the convent, and
Koppe and Tomitzsch received them in their waggon, and conveyed them to
the old Augustine convent in Wittemburg, of which Luther at that time
was the sole occupant.
"This is not my doing," said Luther, as he received them; "but would to
God that I could thus rescue all captive consciences, and empty all the
cloisters. The breach is made."
Catharine Bora, who afterwards became his wife, found a welcome in the
family of the burgomaster of Wittemburg, and the other nuns, as soon as
their arrival was known, were gladly received in other families of
similar position. It may here be remarked that the facts of the case
completely refute the vulgar notion, put forth by the enemies of the
Reformation, that Luther commenced the work of the Reformation for the
sake of enabling himself and other monks and priests to marry. His mind
was long in doubt whether monks ought to marry. Many months after he
became acquainted with the excellent Catharine, when his friends pressed
him to marry, he replied:
"God may change my heart if it is His pleasure, but I have no thought of
taking a wife. Not that I feel no attractions in that state, but every
day I expect the death and punishment of an heretic."
Not till more than a year after Catharine Bora had escaped from the
convent did she become the wife of Martin Luther.