"There is no time so miserable
But a man may be true."
Shakespeare.
"Berthold, hast thou heard the news?"
"I have, Pastor. I was coming to ask if you had heard it."
"Ah, it was told me last night, by one that meant it kindly. I knew it
would come sooner or later."
"What will they do, think you?" Gerhardt hesitated. It was not so easy
to guess in 1165 the awful depths to which religious hatred could
descend, as it would have been some two centuries later. They knew
something then of the fury of the Church against open unbelievers or
political enemies; but persecution of Christians by Christians on
account of nothing but their belief and the confession of it, was
something new at that time.
"They will impose penance on us, I suppose," suggested old Berthold.
"Doubtless, if we stand firm. And we must stand firm, Berthold,--every
one of us."
"Oh, of course," replied Berthold calmly. "They won't touch the
women?--what think you?"
"I know not what to think. But I imagine--not."
"Fine and scourging, perchance. Well, we can stand that."
"We can stand any thing with God to aid us: without Him we can bear
nothing. Thanks be to the Lord, that last they that trust Him will
never be called upon to do."
"I heard there was a council of the bishops to be held upon us,"
suggested Berthold a little doubtfully.
"I hope not. That were worse for us than a summons before the King.
Howbeit, the will of the Lord be done. It may be that the hotter the
furnace is heated, the more glory shall be His by the song of His
servants in the fires."
"Ay, there'll be four," said old Berthold, bowing reverently. "Sure
enough, Pastor, whatever we are called upon to bear, there will be One
more than our number, and His form shall be that of the _Son_ of God.
Well! the children will be safe, no question. But I am afraid the
hottest corner of the furnace may be kept for you, dear Teacher."
"Be it so," answered Gerhardt quietly. "Let my Lord do with me what is
good in His sight; only let me bring glory to Him, and show forth His
name among the people."
"Ay, but it does seem strange," was the response, "that the work should
be stopped, and the cause suffer, and eloquent lips be silenced, just
when all seemed most needed! Can you understand it, Pastor?"
"No," said Gerhardt calmly. "Why should I? He understands who has it
all to do. But the cause, Berthold! The cause will not suffer. It is
God's custom to bring good out of evil--to give honey to His Samsons out
of the carcases of lions, and to bring His Davids through the cave of
Adullam to the throne of Israel. It is for Him to see that the cause
prospers, in His own time and way. We have only to do each our little
handful of duty, to take the next step as He brings it before us.
Sometimes the next step is a steep pull, sometimes it is only an easy
level progress. We have but to take it as it comes. Never two steps at
once; never one step, without the Lord at our right hand. Never a cry
of `Lord, save me!' from a sinking soul, that the hand which holds up
all the worlds is not immediately stretched forth to hold him up."
"One can't always feel it, though," said the old man wistfully.
"It is enough to know it."
"Ay, when we two stand talking together in Overee Lane [Overee Lane ran
out of Grandpont Street, just below the South Gate], so it may be: but
when the furnace door stands open, an King Nebuchadnezzar's mighty men
are hauling you towards it, how then, good Pastor?"
"Berthold, what kind of a father would he be who, in carrying his child
over a bridge, should hold it so carelessly that he let it slip from his
arms into the torrent beneath, and be drowned?"
"Couldn't believe such a tale, Pastor, unless the father were either
drunk or mad. Why, he wouldn't be a man--he'd be a monster."
"And is that the character that thou deemest it fair and true to give to
Him who laid down His life for thee?"
"Pastor!--Oh! I see now what you mean. Well--ay, of course--"
"Depend upon it, Berthold, the Lord shall see that thou hast grace
sufficient for the evil day, if thy trust be laid on Him. He shall not
give thee half enough for thy need out of His royal treasure, and leave
thee to make up the other half out of thy poor empty coffer. `My God
shall supply all your need, according to His riches in glory'--`that ye,
always having all-sufficiency in all things, may abound to every good
work.' Is that too small an alner [Note 1] to hold the wealth thou
wouldst have? How many things needest thou beyond `_all_ things'?"
"True enough," said Berthold. "But I was not thinking so much of
myself, Pastor--I've had my life: I'm two-and-fourscore this day; and if
I am called on to lay it down for the Lord, it will only be a few months
at the furthest that I have to give Him. It wouldn't take so much to
kill me, neither. An old man dies maybe easier than one in the full
vigour of life. But you, my dear Pastor!--and the young fellows among
us--Guelph, and Conrad, and Dietbold, and Wilhelm--it'll be harder work
for the young saplings to stand the blast, than for the old oak whose
boughs have bent before a thousand storms. There would most likely be a
long term of suffering before you, when my rest was won."
"Then our rest would be the sweeter," replied Gerhardt softly. "`He
knoweth the way that we take; when He hath tried us, we shall come forth
as gold.' He is faithful, who will not suffer us to be tried above that
we are able to bear. And He can make us able to bear any thing."
Gerhardt was just turning into Kepeharme Lane, when a voice at his elbow
made him pause and look back.
"Did you want me, friend?"
"No," answered a hoarse voice, in a significant tone. "You want me."
Gerhardt smiled. "I thank you, then, for coming to my help. I almost
think I know your voice. Are you not Rubi, the brother of Countess, who
made such a pet of my little child?"
An affirmative grunt was the response.
"Well, friend?"
"If an open pit lay just across this street, between you and the Walnut
Tree, what would you do?" asked the hoarse voice.
"That would depend on how necessary it was that I should pass it, would
it not?"
"Life this way--death that way," said Rubi shortly.
"And what way honour?"
"Pshaw! `All that a man hath will he give for his life.'"
"Truth: yet even life, sometimes, will a man give for glory, patriotism,
or love. There is a life beyond this, friend Rubi; and for that, no
price were too high to pay."
"Men may weigh gold, but not clouds," answered Rubi in a rather scornful
tone.
"Yet how much gold would purchase the life-giving water that comes from
the clouds?" was Gerhardt's ready response.
"At how much do you value your life?" asked Rubi without answering the
question.
"Truly, friend, I know not how to respond to that. Do you count my life
to be in danger, that you ask me?"
"Not if the morning light come to you in Aylesbury or Cricklade--at
least, perchance not. But if it dawn on you where you can hear the bell
from yon tower--ay, I do."
"I perceive your meaning. You would have me to fly."
In the evening twilight, now fast darkening, Gerhardt could see a nod of
Rubi's black head.
"`Should such a man as I flee?' Friend, I am the leader of this band of
my countrymen--"
"Just so. That's the reason."
"Were I to flee, would they stand firm?" said Gerhardt thoughtfully,
rather to himself than to the young Jew.
"Firm--to what?"
"To God," replied Gerhardt reverently, "and to His truth."
"What does a Gentile care for truth? They want you to worship one dead
man, and you prefer to worship another dead man. What's the odds to
you? Can't you mutter your Latin, and play with your beads, before
both, and have done with it?"
"I worship no saints, and have no beads."
"Father Jacob! You must be a new sort of a Gentile. Never came across
a reptile of your pattern before. Is that why Countess took to you?"
"I cannot say. It was the child, I think, that attracted her. Well,
friend, I am thankful for your warning. But how come you to know?"