CHAPTER VII.

KATHARINE IN TROUBLE, AND DR. MARTIN IN STRIFE
WITH HIS FRIENDS.

More than a year had passed. The Autumn of 1524 had come, busily destroying whatever the summer had wrought. In the streets the wind played his pranks with the first fallen leaves. On the housetops the swallows held noisy counsel together, as to their flight to the sunny Southern land, whither the storks had already preceded them.

It was Sunday morning. Crowds streamed from the town church at Wittenberg, where Luther had preached. In eager groups they stood about the market-place; and noticeable among these was the syndic, Philip Reichenbach, engaged in lively conversation with a courtly looking man in a rich dress, whose handsome, intelligent face was of a rare, artistic type. A long beard fell down upon his breast. This was the court-painter and Senator, Lucas Kranach.

"I scarcely trusted my eyes," exclaimed the syndic, eagerly gesticulating, "when I saw Brother Martin appear in the priest's frock, instead of his monkish habit. My heart rejoices, for the ugly cowl no longer suited him. After he has inwardly put away the monk's life, why should he continue to wear its outward sign? The old gown, worn and threadbare as it is, has earned its rest. But it pleases me little that he continues in the monastery, when all the monks, save the Prior Eberhard Brisger, have gone away. It were better he broke with all monkish habits."

"It is well known, dear friend," said Kranach, "that Dr. Martin has small regard for outward appearances. He may have good reasons for continuing in the convent. It is said that the Elector intends to make him a gift of it."

The syndic opened his eyes. "What! and would he receive such a gift?"

"Why not?" asked the other. "It is an evidence of favor on the Elector's part."

"Hm," said Reichenbach, "as you take it. There he sits, alone in the great, dreary, half-ruined house, with no woman's hand to minister to his wants. All that he teaches concerning the blessed Gospel is clear and plain to me; as he teaches, so he lives; and if anything in his words seemed difficult to understand, it is made clear by his life. But this passes my understanding—that, while he encourages priests and monks to enter the state of matrimony and commends it, as one that is holy and well-pleasing to God, yet he, for his own person, will have none of it. Even to Albert of Brandenburg, the Grand Master of the German Order, he gave the advice: 'Throw aside the habit of your order, take a wife, and put a Duke's crown upon your head,' which the great lord has followed, to the joy of all believers, and of Luther especially. It is known that he urged the Archbishop of Mayence, to follow the example of his cousin of Prussia. And does he not give his friends cause for doubting the earnestness of his teaching, or for fearing that he lacks courage, himself to enter the state which he commends to others?"

Lucas Kranach nodded assent. "I think with you, and I wish with all my heart, that Luther were of another mind in this matter, not only for the sake of his friends and the good cause, but for his own. Truly, if matters continue thus, we shall soon weep behind his bier; and then, the Lord only knows what will become of the world. He daily prepares himself for death, being of the opinion that the work will prosper without him, it being God's work, who is able to carve Himself a Dr. Martin out of a willow twig. But I regard it otherwise, namely, that God will not throw aside His chosen instruments until his purpose is accomplished, and the world cannot yet forego Luther's services. But that he may carry out what he has begun, he must not continue alone—without care or service. Even though his bones were of iron, and his nerves of steel, yet the giant's task, which rests upon his shoulders, will bear him down, without a faithful housewife at his side, who will care for the wants of his body. His spirit is oftentimes so lost in heavenly matters, as to forget that the body craves rest and nourishment. Only the other day I found him sitting in his chair, faint and pale, and at my questioning he confessed that over the translation of the Psalms, he had passed two days and two nights without food or drink. When at night, wearied with the day's work, he lies down upon his bed, it is a hard one, and no gentle hand has smoothed his pillow. Oh, that God would guide his heart to choose a wife who would be a helpmeet for him! He would soon recover his strength and be of good courage. But where indeed," continued Kranach with a sigh, "where is the woman worthy of such a man?" He paused, and his eyes wandered over the crowded square. "See," he exclaimed, "yonder goes your dear wife with Mistress Katharine! Is it true, as I have been told, that the Reverend Doctor Caspar Glatz has sued for her hand?"

Reichenbach's face was clouded with annoyance, as he answered: "You touch upon a matter which troubles me sorely. You doubtless heard that young Baumgaertner, who at one time pursued her with his loving glances, soon forgot our Kate, and took the wife his father had chosen for him! I am almost glad of it, for Kate now sees that I was in the right, and that the youth, by reason of his light mind and fickle heart, was unworthy of her. But I am distressed at this suit of Dr. Glatz, which Luther favors, thinking Katharine, as a former nun, most fitted to become the wife of a God-fearing priest. He is a good man, and if the sacrifice must needs be made, I would rather give her to him than to many another. But behold, since Master Nicholas von Amsdorf came at Luther's bidding, to press the Doctor's suit, she is wholly changed. She heard him in silence, then burst into tears and said: 'Reverend sir, love cannot be forced or commanded; it must be given by God. My heart is cold toward him you bid me marry, and I never could be to him what a Christian wife should be, according to God's word and command. Do not urge me, for I would rather continue in my present condition all my life, than give my hand to Dr. Glatz.' When Amsdorf represented to her that Luther would be ill-pleased at her refusal, her tears flowed afresh, and she begged that he might not be told; but that she herself would acquaint him with her decision. When on that same day Luther came to us, there was a scene which brought the tears to our eyes. Katharine fell at his feet, and spoke as I have never heard her speak. The Doctor dealt with her as a father with his child, comforted her with gentle, kindly words, and promised not to torment her any further, but to leave the matter in God's hands. After she had gone away, he sat with us for an hour longer, looking very serious, and spoke to us in such moving words, that it was easy to see how greatly he was disturbed by Katharine's trouble. After musing for some moments, he said: 'Now I understand, my friend, why you fear to lose Katharine. She is indeed a treasure, and a maiden after God's own heart. I am vexed with myself, that I have hitherto regarded her so little, when I am really her guardian and her spiritual father.' Since that day Katharine no longer stands timidly aloof from the Doctor, but is ready at all times to speak with him; and if he commends her housewifely virtues and maidenly reserve, her face beams with pleasure."

Lucas Kranach, who had listened with much attention, replied: "Yes, Katharine is of an excellent disposition, and grows ever dearer to me. I was heartily glad for her sake, when the exiled King of Denmark, during his recent visit in Wittenberg, gave her a golden ring, in acknowledgment of her womanly virtues. But God forbid, that such distinction should make her vain!"

"Do not fear," Reichenbach replied; "her mind is not set upon high things."

In the meantime they had reached the Augustinian monastery, where Luther lived. Two wayfarers, who had doubtless asked help of the Doctor, were coming out of the door; for no one in Wittenberg was so frequently sought out by the poor and needy, as was the Professor with his salary of 22 thalers and 12 groschen. He gave his last coin, and when that was spent, he did not spare the silver cup, which had been a gift from the Elector.

"Come, let us wish the Doctor a good day," said Kranach. "I desire to thank him for his sermon."

They crossed the court, and passing through a long, dark passage, reached Luther's cell. They found him sitting at his table—a large pile of letters before him. He received his friends with evident pleasure.

"Welcome, dear friends! See here—my Sunday-guests, who see to it that Doctor Martin shall have no rest even on this blessed day. They all seem to be wedding-guests. Yes, you may well stare—to-day all my friends would have me marry. Here is a letter from my good friend, Mistress Argula von Grumbach, who with many words urges me to establish by my own act my doctrine of priestly marriage, and by my own example to encourage others. Here is another from Pastor Link in Altenburg. He announces the birth of a daughter. Here again, my father resumes his old litany, and speaks with such moving words, that methinks I must reach out after the first maiden I can find. Now tell me, dear friends, are not these merry Sunday-guests?"

Lucas Kranach answered earnestly: "Perhaps they are God's messengers to you, Martin. Your friends are in danger of losing faith in your teachings, if you continue in your present course."

Luther shook his head, where the tonsure had almost disappeared under his curly hair.

"Do my friends so little understand me? See, dearest Lucas, by what I have said concerning the sanctity and the necessity of priestly marriage, I will abide forevermore. For according to God's Word, there is no condition on earth more blessed than that of marriage, which God Himself has instituted and sanctified for men of every degree, and in which state not only kings and princes and saints, but, although in a different manner, even the eternal Son of God, was born. Yet for myself, I have no thought of taking a wife. My enemies are busy enough; for to the slanders of the Papists are added the revilings of the 'heavenly prophets,' in whose name the ill-conditioned Thomas Munzer has published a pamphlet 'against the ungodly, soft-living flesh at Wittenberg.' Were I to marry, they would speedily cry out: 'Aha, now we see what his Gospel means—to serve the flesh and live in ease!' This fear makes even my friends to hesitate, and Dr. Schurf said but lately: 'If this monk took a wife, the devils would laugh, and the angels would weep;' and my dear Philip Melanchthon, who stood by, added: 'Yes, the Papists are watching for it; and if he did this thing, he would work his doctrine greater harm than the Pope's excommunication or the Emperor's interdict were able to do.' Moreover, who would think of marrying in these troublous times, when peasants have gone mad, when castles and convents are burning on all sides, and streams of innocent blood are flowing? Nor do I experience within myself the least inclination thereto. I am indeed in the Lord's hand, who can turn my heart and mind whenever it pleases Him. But as I am now disposed, I will not take a wife. Not that I am of wood or stone, but my mind is averse to marriage, and I daily anticipate a heretic's doom. Nor would I harden my heart, or reason with the Lord—but I trust that He will not suffer me to abide much longer in this world. Finally, when I advocated the marriage of priests, I did not thereby intend to impose a new sort of bondage, or to place a new yoke upon men's necks, like the unhappy Karlstadt, who would perforce compel every priest to marry. There shall be perfect liberty in this matter—either to do, or to leave undone."

Luther spoke in a tone of such very decided conviction, that Kranach did not venture to reply. He grasped the Doctor's hand, asking his friend's pardon with his eyes. Reichenbach also arose, and said gently: "God will provide!"

The two men took their leave, and Luther, being much wearied, called Wolfgang, and bade him read aloud to him the remaining letters.

CHAPTER VIII.

A SUDDEN RESOLVE.

New Year's Day of 1525 was a gloomy one, full of premonitions of coming evil. Even darker and heavier rose the storm-clouds, which had been gathering since October. In Thuringia, in Franconia and Suabia, disturbances had arisen among the oppressed peasantry—when Luther's "Sermon on Christian Liberty" fell like a spark among the explosive material, kindling a flame that startled the world. Luther, in whom the wretched peasants put their trust, had earnestly advocated their cause, and with a prophetic voice appealed to the consciences of the nobles; urging them to grant the just demands of the peasants, as set forth in their twelve articles. Peace would no doubt have speedily followed, had the knights consented to reason or mercy. But when they gave no heed to Luther's warning, and stubbornly persisted in their cruel exactions, the storm burst. Like an avalanche, gathering strength at every step, the rebellion, beginning in the Black Forest, spread over Suabia, Thuringia and Franconia. On all sides castles and convents stood in flames, and the blood of the murdered ones cried aloud to Heaven. Instigated by the "prophets" of Zwickau, the peasants were seized with a wild bestial frenzy, and a deadly terror paralyzed the hands of princes and nobles.

Luther was deeply grieved. With his fearless heroism, he twice ventured among the raging mob, endeavoring to recall them to their senses. But for once his voice was powerless. With a heavy heart he returned to Wittenberg, and with a heart still heavier, he wrote his pamphlet "against the plundering and murderous peasants," calling upon the princes to draw the sword in defence of their own. By degrees they collected their forces, and met the disorderly bands with experienced and disciplined troops. The insurgents succumbed; but, to his sorrow, Luther saw the victors wreaking unworthy vengeance upon all who wore the peasant's smock.

The church-bells throughout the land proclaimed the return of peace, and all hearts shared in the general thanksgiving. But Luther sat in his cell, and mourned. He bowed his head, refusing food and drink—for every man's hand was against him. The Papists showered curses and imprecations upon his head: "Thou art the man whose blasphemous words concerning Christian liberty, broke the fetters of the peasants, and caused this bloodshed." The peasants in their turn cried out: "Thou hast deceived our hopes, hast betrayed and forsaken us!" His friends scarcely ventured to show themselves. And the Gospel? Ah! it seemed as though all were at an end!

That the measure of his misery might be full, the crushing news came from Torgau, that the prince, whose wisdom and firmness had been a strong defence and support of the Gospel, had, on the 5th of May, departed from this evil world. Was night again to cover the earth, after the morning star of the Gospel had risen so brightly in the Heavens? Would God cast away his servant—his faithful servant, who, like a conquering hero, had begun his course so gloriously? In Wittenberg there was much anxious questioning. Where was Luther? His pulpit was silent. His chair at the University was empty. He was sitting alone in his cell, lost to outward affairs, and wholly absorbed in the inner world of thought and prayer. It was always thus on the eve of a great resolution. Thus he had sat and meditated, when he was wrestling with the resolve, in defiance of the pope and the whole world, to speak the truth, and to begin the struggle with the superstitions of Rome.

Does he utter Elijah's complaint: "It is enough; now, O Lord, take away my life!" Does he despair of himself, and of his mission? No—but a fierce, heroic struggle is passing in his soul. At last he is able to pray; and the bruised spirit finds the open door, from whence cometh its help. The heavy eyes flash with a new fire; the furrowed brow grows clear; his upturned face breathes a holy defiance. Suddenly he leaves his cell and repairs to the house of Lucas Kranach, one of his dearest friends.

The artist was standing at his easel, engaged upon a portrait of Bugenhagen, the preacher of the town-church. At Luther's entrance, he dropped his brush and received his friend with open arms.

"My Martin! Thank God that I see you again! We were in sore trouble on your behalf. But what great thing has happened, Martin? Your face shines as it does when some great thought has taken possession of you."

Luther met his friend's eyes with a solemn gaze: "Send for Dr. Bugenhagen, and for the lawyer, Dr. Apel—I desire to ask a friendly service of you three."

Kranach sent a messenger to the two men, who soon arrived, and rejoiced no less than the painter, at the sight of their friend.

Luther began: "My dear friends, a change has come over me, which will cause you to marvel greatly. Not to keep you in suspense, I will tell you at once: Brother Martin has received the Lord's command to take to himself a wife!"

In mute surprise all eyes were fixed upon Luther, who calmly continued: "It is the Lord's doing, and little short of a miracle in my own eyes. Therefore my heart consents willingly."

"The Lord's Name be praised," cried Lucas Kranach, who was the first to recover from his astonishment. "Brother Martin, this is indeed from God, and an answer to my secret prayers. But tell us whom, among the daughters of the land, have you chosen?"

"Her name is Katharine von Bora," answered Luther.

Again there was a silence; then the three men, with one accord, hastened to their friend, and warmly pressed his hands. "This also is from God," exclaimed Kranach, "for among all the maidens of my acquaintance, she is the most worthy."

Bugenhagen, in hearty, earnest words expressed his pleasure at Luther's choice, while Kranach hurried from the room, and soon returned with his wife.

In Mistress Barbara's eyes two great tears were glistening, as she offered her hand to Luther. "Blessings upon you, reverend Doctor," she said with a trembling voice, "and blessed is the maiden of your choice. How I thank the dear Lord, who has thus shown you His mercy, after the afflictions of these times. Ah, Doctor, heretofore you have, in high and noble words, lauded the holy state of matrimony, but you will find in this blessed condition more than words can tell."

A servant brought a flagon of wine and four silver cups on a golden salver.

"Be seated, dear friends," urged Kranach, while Mistress Barbara filled the cups with sparkling Spanish wine.

"Now tell us, Brother Martin," said Kranach, rubbing his hands with glee, "how did this change come to pass? For I no longer dared hope for such a resolution from you."

Luther took a draught of the wine and answered: "Man proposes and God disposes; and when He drives the human heart, it is hard to kick against the pricks. I considered three things; first, my enemies, who are waxing ever bolder and more malicious, and accuse me of driving others whither I myself fear to follow. Therefore, in defiance of the Devil, the princes and bishops, I will take a wife, thus testifying to the holiness of marriage, which they despise and reject. I will not delay, that I may still have time to enforce my doctrine by my own act. The times are evil, and my last hour may be near at hand, and I would that death should find me wedded. Then, I considered my old father. I called to mind my grief when, as a disobedient son, I entered the monastery. I would fain repair my wrong-doing, and say to him some day, in answer to his pleadings: 'See, dear father, Martin has a wife. Be at rest, and rejoice with him!' In the third place, I considered my friends, whose courage is weak, and who fear to marry, while Luther remains single. Thus would I, by my own example, establish the doctrine I have preached."

"Dear Kate," exclaimed Mistress Barbara, with enthusiasm, "Blessed art thou among women; the lines are fallen unto thee in pleasant places!"

"Does she know what is in store for her?" asked Dr. Apel.

Luther replied: "I have seen her more frequently of late, and I observed with pleasure, how her inner worth, her housewifely virtues, and her noble mind were more and more clearly revealed to me. Yet I am not an ardent lover. I am past forty, and my heart beats calmly, although I love her well. Therefore she doubtless has no suspicion of my purpose; but I trust that she will not refuse me her hand. I would request you, my friends, to accompany me, that my betrothal, made before witnesses, may have force and validity in the world's eyes."

"This is a joyous errand; few such have fallen to my lot," said Kranach. "But tell me, Martin, why will you carry out your purpose thus secretly? Melanchthon—"

"Do not speak to me of him," interrupted Luther, "he is of a timid nature—he and others of my friends, who fear that my work will fall to pieces if I take a wife, especially one who was once a nun. What is to be done, must be done quickly, lest the Devil cause confusion by the evil speaking of friends as well as foes."

Dr. Apel seemed lost in thought. Suddenly he lifted his head, and with an embarrassed smile, turned to Luther, "I rejoice at this with all my heart. But I have some misgiving, whether Katharine, with all the excellence of her heart and disposition, is suited to you, and will continue to satisfy you. For I fear she has brought but little knowledge or learning with her from the convent. Forgive me for thus speaking my thought."

Luther's eyes shone. "My dear Apel, tell me, what is it that makes Melanchthon's wife so dear to him, and his house the abode of happiness? He did not seek after a learned wife, but looked to the heart alone. A learned woman is no better than a gadfly, that glitters and yet stings. The woman who pleases her husband, and makes marriage a paradise on earth, is one with a gentle, God-fearing heart, loving and faithful, with a firm and skilful hand to govern her household."

A grateful glance from Barbara's eyes thanked him for his words.

"Now let us go, in God's Name," said Kranach, reaching for his cloak and hat.

They left the house, and Barbara silently made the sign of the holy cross after them.

* * * * * * * * * *

Mistress Riechenbach and Katharine von Bora were sitting together in the great hall, preparing vegetables for the family dinner.

"Is it true," asked the latter, "that the new elector has promised to give his earnest support to the Gospel?"

Elsa assented. "During the lifetime of his brother, of blessed memory, he frequently expressed his devotion to the Gospel, and has always shown much respect to Dr. Martin."

Katharine's eyes flashed. "Honor to whom honor is due. The Doctor is greater than any—the Emperor, kings and princes must do him homage."

Mistress Elsa smiled at the enthusiasm which every mention of Luther's name called forth in Katharine, and changed the conversation.

Suddenly a loud knock was heard. Katharine hastened to open the door, and Luther, Kranach, Bugenhagen, and Apel entered. Their greeting was so formal and solemn, that Katharine stepped aside in surprise.

They approached Mistress Elsa, whom the strange solemnity of their appearance had put in a flutter of embarrassment.

"Will you permit me," said Luther, "in the presence of yourself, and of these three honorable men, to speak with Katharine von Bora, upon a matter of great moment?"

Questioning with her eyes first Luther, then the others, who had remained in the background, Mistress Elsa, after a slight hesitation, called to Katharine, who approached with a feeling of uneasy apprehension.

"Dear Mistress Kate," Luther began, "you know how great is my interest in your welfare, and how I have endeavored to find for you a worthy husband, that as a wife you might fulfil your true vocation. But to this day my efforts have been unavailing, whereat I have been much troubled. But the proverb says: Of all good things there are three—therefore I again come to you in a matter of this nature, and entreat you—"

Her hands were lifted with a gesture of dismay.

"Do not fear, dear Katharine," continued Luther, in a gentle tone. "To-day I appear not for another, but, since God has put it into my heart, to delay no longer in enforcing my teaching by my example, and it has told me, without questioning, who was its choice, therefore I ask you, in the presence of God and these human witnesses, whether you will plight your troth to Dr. Martin Luther, and be his wedded wife?"

A deep silence succeeded. The three men stood immovable. Mistress Elsa stared at the Doctor with wide-open eyes. And Katharine? Her frame trembled; she caught the arm of a chair for support. Her face was pale, and her heart seemed to have stopped its beating.

Suddenly she lifted her clasped hands and whispered in happy forgetfulness of her surroundings; "Lord, my God, Thou knowest that I would have esteemed it happiness to be his servant! and now I am held worthy to be his wife! Lord, Thy mercy is very great!"

From Mistress Elsa's side of the room loud sobs were heard. Deeply moved, Luther took Katharine's hand.

"Then you will be mine until death?"

"Yes," came the happy, trembling answer, her heart sending back the rosy color to her cheeks. Never in her life had she seemed so fair, as in this moment of her supreme happiness.

Then the "great Doctor" sealed his betrothal with a kiss.

* * * * * * * * * *

Light streamed from the upper windows of Master Reichenbach's house on the evening of this eventful day. A festive company was gathered in the splendid apartments. Before an altar, bright with flowers and lights, knelt Martin Luther and Katharine von Bora, surrounded by their friends, who reverently, with folded hands, listened as Luther prayed: "Dear heavenly Father, who hast vouchsafed to bestow upon me Thy fatherly name and office, grant me grace and blessing to rule and govern my wife and household in Thy fear. Give unto me wisdom and strength, and unto them a willing heart and mind, to follow and obey Thy Commandments, through Jesus Christ. Amen."

"Amen," responded the others, and Bugenhagen placed the rings on the hands of the betrothed pair, blessing their union in the name of the holy Trinity.

This was done on Tuesday after the feast of the Holy Trinity, the 13th of June, 1525.

CHAPTER IX.

A DAY OF REJOICING.

The rooks who lodged among the grey walls of the Augustinian Convent at Wittenberg, peeped curiously forth from their nests, to discover the cause of the unwonted activity throughout the silent house. They were accustomed to being left in undisputed possession, but now they fluttered about in dismay, as many people, busily going and coming, carried in all manner of household goods, such as seemed to them ill-suited to a convent. Still greater was their surprise, when the kind monk, who had daily thrown them a few handfuls of grain, no longer showed himself, and they were forced to fly abroad for their daily bread.

A bustling activity had now entered the lonely old house. With busy haste, Frau Elsa went in and out. The large room, overlooking the court, was being freshly painted under her directions, and supplied with costly furniture. She came each day to feast her eyes upon the pleasant home she was preparing for her beloved Kate. But she kept the door carefully locked and the key hidden in her pocket—for Kate was to know nothing of this until the day when Luther would bring his bride to his home—which was to be on the 27th of June.

As the day drew near, the commotion increased, and Frau Elsa saw with heartfelt joy, how persons of all degrees sought to testify to Dr. Martin their love and devotion. Her eyes filled with tears, when one day an aged peasant woman came hobbling in on her crutch. She brought in a basket a hen and six little chicks, saying that she must give something to the man who, like the Saviour of old, had restored to a a widowed mother her only son; for at Luther's word the convent gates had opened, and her son had come back to her.

Many others came, with stores for the kitchen and larder, and Frau Elsa could scarcely find room for so many provisions. Shortly before the appointed day, the Senate of Wittenberg sent as a token of its esteem, a barrel of Eimbeck beer, and twenty gold florins for the Doctor—and for Mistress Katharine a piece of fine Suabian linen, together with the written promise, to supply the newly wedded couple for one year with table wine.

On the following day the University of Wittenberg sent to the greatest of its teachers a huge silver tankard, lined with gold, and richly chased. The inscription reads thus: "The honorable University of the City of Wittenberg sends this bridal gift to Dr. Martin Luther and Katharine von Bora; in the year 1525, on Tuesday after the Feast of St. John the Baptist."

Frau Elsa was busily arranging the many wedding gifts about the room. With a smile she said to herself: "What will the Doctor say to these tokens of affection, after he had strictly forbidden all gifts from his friends," when a wagon rolled into the court, and the Elector's serving men unloaded a large wild boar and two roebucks. They charged the wondering Elsa with a greeting from the court-preacher, Spalatin, to Dr. Luther, and in the confusion of her happiness, she had well nigh embraced the bearer of the message.

Meanwhile, Luther sat in his cell, writing the last of his wedding invitations. A number of letters had already been dispatched to more distant friends—to his aged parents at Mansfeld, to the three Senators of that town, to his friends in Altenburg—Spalatin and Link, and to Amsdorf and others, in Magdeburg. This last one had almost been forgotten, although it should have been the first, being directed to the merchant, Leonhard Koppe, in Torgau, without whose deed of mercy, Luther had doubtless never seen his Kate.

"Dear and reverend Father Prior," it ran, "you know what has befallen? namely, that the nun, whom two years ago you rescued from one convent, is about to enter another—not however to take the veil, but to become the housewife of Dr. Luther, who heretofore has dwelt alone in the old, forsaken Augustinian monastery in Wittenberg. God delights in preparing surprises, both for me and for the world. I pray you, therefore, to come to my wedding on the Tuesday after the feast of St. John the Baptist—but without gifts."

The important day had arrived. All Wittenberg was in a flutter of festive excitement, and many fervent prayers ascended heavenward. In the convent a distinguished company sat at table with Dr. Martin, at whose side Katharine, in wordless bliss, heard what the guests had to say in praise of the newly-wedded pair.

She was as one in a dream. She felt as though she were lifted from the condition of a servant to that of a queen, for he who sat beside her was a king indeed in the realms of thought; his sovereignty being attested alike by the praise of his friends and by the deadly hatred of his foes. And she, the humble maiden, was henceforth to stand nearer to this great man, than the most intimate of his friends—nearer than Melanchthon, or Kranach, than Bugenhagen or Jonas. She pressed her hand to her heart to still its beating, and the prayer rose from her soul: "Lord, help me, lest I grow proud. Keep me humble always."

Notwithstanding the happiness which beamed from Luther's face, a certain restlessness was perceptible in his manner, and he whispered to Katharine: "Now I shall hope no longer. God has seen fit to deny me this wish, lest there be too much of joy." Katharine understood.

Suddenly the student, John Pfister, who acted as cup bearer, announced that an aged couple stood without, who desired to see Dr. Martin. Luther ordered them to be brought in, and presently two old people, in the dress of the Mansfeld peasants, appeared at the door, where they paused, as if startled at the sight of so large a company.

Luther had risen from his seat, and as he hastened toward them, the old woman stretched out her arms, and cried: "My son Martin!"

She sank upon her son's breast and wept aloud. Luther disengaged himself for a moment, to greet his father: "Dearest father, you are a thousand times welcome! I have heartily desired to know, whether you have forgiven your disobedient son. God has led me by wondrous ways, and we must bless His name, for whatsoever He begins, He carries out most gloriously."

He turned, and pointing to Katharine, who had come nearer, said: "Father, this is your daughter."

The old man trembled, and lifting his clasped hands he exclaimed, "Now I will gladly die, since my eyes have seen this day. Martin, you are again my son indeed, and old Hans Luther is a happy father."

The wedding guests surrounded the old people, to whom the place of honor beside the bridal pair was assigned, and Dr. Martin said:

"My happiness is now complete. I had asked this one thing of the Lord, that to-day I might see my dear parents face to face, and he has heard my prayer. This I accept as a special token of his favor, and will thank Him therefor as long as I live."

BOOK SECOND.

KATHARINE VON BORA;

THE WIFE

THE WIFE.

CHAPTER X.
"AS SORROWING, YET ALWAYS REJOICING."

It was the season, when summer gives place to autumn; when the evenings grow long, and the lamps are lighted early.

In his study, Dr. Martin was seated at his great oaken table busily writing. A hanging lamp shed a pleasant light, and the stove of green tiles diffused a cheerful warmth. A brown spaniel lay curled up on the floor. On the wall near the book-shelves hung a handsome clock in a tall, slender case of polished cedar-wood, whose long pendulum gravely measured the seconds. It had been a bridal gift from the Protestant Abbot Frederick, of Nuremberg.

Beside her husband sat Katharine with her spinning wheel. She was dressed in a simple gown of black woollen stuff, and her hair was hidden under a white coif. From time to time her eyes turned with a loving, reverent glance toward her husband. The silence was unbroken, save by the scratching of Luther's pen, the humming of Katharine's wheel, and the crackling of the fire.

Suddenly the spindle slipped and fell to the floor with a crash, which startled the Doctor out of his meditations. Katharine rose in dismay. "Do not be angry, dearest Doctor, I will go elsewhere, lest my carelessness disturb you."

Luther looked up. "Not so, dear Kate. Have I not often told you that your presence is not a hindrance, but rather a help to me? I once imagined that a man who was unencumbered by a wife and by the cares of a household, could work with more profit. But I have learned to think differently. It seems as though my thoughts were freer, and my pen more ready, when you are near me. Every day I thank my God for the good and faithful wife He has given me. As I expected, my enemies make more noise than ever, and I am a worse heretic, in consequence of my marriage, than when I touched the pope's crown and the monks' soft living. But I am of good cheer nevertheless. For if my marriage is God's work, small wonder that the world is offended at it. Is it not an offence to the world, that the Creator gave His life as a ransom for mankind? If the world were my friend, I should fear that my work was not of God."

Katharine listened with increasing delight. "Ah, dearest Doctor, your speech makes my heart glad. When the evil-speakers attacked me, they caused me many a sleepless night. But my sorrow was ten times greater, when you for my sake experienced an increase of enmity. When you tell me that you rejoice at the world's displeasure, I too am comforted. If our enemies had eyes to see, they would cease to speak evil of us, and rather envy the calm and peaceful happiness which marriage has brought us."

Luther laid down his pen and said: "Yes, dear wife, you speak truly. Marriage is a holy place, with an altar, upon which incense is continually burning. All the troubles of life grow light, when each bears the other's burdens. I have a pious, faithful wife, to whom I may safely entrust all I have, even my own life. And you, Kate, have a God-fearing husband, who loves you, and esteems you more highly, than the kingdom of France, or the principality of Venice."

With a blush Katharine asked, as she bent over the table: "What are you writing, Doctor?"

Luther took up a sheet of paper: "See," he said, "these words are blows designed for a crowned head,—that of King Henry of England. Do not be alarmed, dear Kate,—Dr. Martin, whom he calls a "mangy dog" and a "hellish wolf," will tell him what will subdue his lofty spirit. I had well-nigh forgotten what he wrote against me in 1521, and silence would have been the fittest answer to such unkingly language; but when, on the occasion of my marriage, he renewed his attacks in vile words, I could no longer keep silence. Would you hear what I have written?"

As Katharine seemed eager to hear, he read aloud to her the first pages of his manuscript.

She seemed much pleased. "Ah, Doctor, how softly you tread! This pleases me well, and I would beg of you in future also to restrain your anger, for with calmness and deliberation one can deal more telling blows, than with hasty words—and perhaps in the end win the enemy's good-will."

With a smile, the Doctor took his wife's hand. "I thank you for such words. Although a woman's duty does not lie in meddling with her husband's business, yet a man suffers no harm, if his wife exhorts him to peace and gentleness, and by her example induces him to make these virtues his own. I confess that I have often yielded to my anger, and have poured oil upon the flames, when perhaps with moderation and patience I might have quenched the fire. In this matter you shall be my taskmaster, and I will thank God for the faithful friend he has given me in you."

Voices were heard outside, and presently Dorothy, the maid-servant, entered with a roll of paper. "A messenger stands without, who charged me to deliver this into Dr. Luther's hands."

Luther opened the roll and found therein letters from two Leipsic theologians—a Latin address to himself, from Master Joachim von der Heyden, and a German one to Katharine, signed by Master John Hasenberg, otherwise Myricianus.

"See here," laughed Luther, "Katharine Luther has become a famous woman, since learned writings are addressed to her!"

With mock solemnity he placed one of the papers in her hand. But he laughed no more, when he read the one directed to himself, and Katharine's face paled and flushed by turns, as she acquainted herself with the contents of the other. She was unable to finish. It seemed as though her heart must stop its beating, when Martin Luther, the object of her deepest veneration, was assailed in foul language, and the advice was given her, to flee from his unholy presence, and return to the heavenly Bridegroom, with whom she had broken her faith. With pain and dread her eyes sought her husband's face, where a dark cloud was gathering, as he waded through a flood of abuse and slander. But the cloud soon disappeared, and the old, cheerful calm took its place, as with a merry laugh he flung the letter on the table. Then he turned to Katharine and said: "What have they written you, my dear wife? I doubt not they have served you with the same dainty repast. Shall we follow their advice, take our staff, and return at once to the bosom of the all-saving church?"

With a sad smile Katharine replied: "How can you jest? My heart is sorely troubled."

"Not so, dear Kate," Luther comforted her; "I am of good cheer; for the more furiously the enemies rage and threaten, the more blessed seems the lot which God has granted me, and all their malice only serves to show me the more clearly the holiness of marriage."

Here Wolfgang entered, and reported that the messenger was still waiting for his fee. Luther quickly thrust his hand into his pocket, and finding it empty, he unlocked a cabinet, and took out two golden florins.

"Truly, the man must needs have a rich reward, for helping me to such joy and contentment. Bring him in."

When the man appeared, Luther tapped him on the shoulder and said kindly: "Dear friend, go home in peace, and tell those who sent you, that their letters have caused us much pleasure. You, as the bearer, take these two florins as your reward, together with the blessing of Dr. Martin and of Mistress Katharine, his wife."

The man, in great embarrassment, was uncertain whether Luther were in jest or in earnest, and hesitated to accept the rich gift. But Luther's manner was irresistible, and with his friendly wishes for a safe journey, the messenger took his departure. Then Luther turned to Katharine, who was still struggling with her feelings. "See, dear Kate, the Devil and the world would fain have you leave Dr. Martin. But the harder they press you, the more firmly I shall hold you; for here alone is your abiding-place."

Softly weeping, Katharine rested her head upon his breast. But her tears were no longer tears of sadness.

CHAPTER XI.

THE FAITHFUL ECKART.

"Where may Hans be staying? I hope he has not repented of his purpose!"

"Never fear, Eberhard, for it was he whose rage was fiercest against the last scoundrelly act of the heretic! Landlord, fill my cup!"

"And mine," cried a third voice.

When the landlord had brought the wine, a young nobleman clattered into the room, much excited, and was received by his friends with a noisy welcome.

They were in an inn near Wurtzen, that bore the sign of "the blue pike." A dim torch sputtered in the close, low room, and threw flickering lights upon the faces of the four men. Everything in the room was unclean; the landlord himself, with his dirt-stained jacket and grimy face, seemed a sworn foe to soap and water. It was doubtless long since he had entertained such noble guests, who seemed ill at ease in the filthy den.

They were four young squires from the neighborhood, Hans von Soldau, Eberhard von Kriebitsch, Wolf von Steinbach, and Joachim von Spergau, who had appointed this secret meeting at the "blue pike."

"It is well that you come, Hans," cried one of them to the belated conspirator, while the landlord received an unmistakable hint to betake himself elsewhere.

"Do not be angry, friends, that I come thus late," croaked Hans von Soldau in a hoarse voice, as he seated himself. "I desired to make some further inquiries; for a rumor came to my ears, that fortune was favoring our design, and would shortly provide a convenient opportunity for our revenge."

"What is it?" exclaimed the others, starting from their seats.

Hans lifted both hands. "Be quiet, and hear me. I first went to the priest and made confession of my purpose, that I might be able with greater courage and confidence to put my hand to the work. The reverend father gave me his blessing, and promised me an abundant reward in Heaven. Yet he disapproves of open violence, lest we kindle a fresh fire, more dangerous than the peasants' war. We must act secretly, that none may know what has become of the heretic." He rose, and in a louder tone continued: "Friends, brothers! We are in the same position and must therefore hold together. Each one of us has seen his patrimony lessened by the unwelcome return of a sister. Was it for this we urged our parents to place them in convents, that this infamous monk should open the doors for their escape? Woe be to you, Luther! At Nimptschen you succeeded, but it was to your own undoing that you stretched forth your ruthless hand toward Freiberg."

In a fierce rage, Wolf von Steinbach struck upon the table and roared: "I am poorer by ten thousand florins! Luther, it is you whom I shall pay for it!"

"I would gladly forego the beggarly inheritance," growled Eberhard von Kriebitsch, with an angry frown, "but I refuse to harbor that dragon, my step-sister, with whom I have quarreled since the days of my childhood!"

"Calm yourselves," urged Joachim von Spergau, "and let us learn what is the opportunity which fortune throws into our way."

Hans von Soldau drew his fingers through his flowing red beard, and related: "The Elector's court chaplain and private secretary, Spalatin, intends to be married on the 19th of November, and has invited Luther to his wedding. About two hours ago, I accidentally met the messenger bearing Luther's answer to Altenburg. Tell me, friends, does not everything shape itself to our advantage. Ha, Luther, your last bread will soon be baked!"

A deep silence followed his words. Hans stared fiercely at the conspirators, and exclaimed: "Cowards! does your heart fail you! Then I shall venture alone."

Joachim von Spergau, the most cautious of the band, replied in an injured tone: "Do not question our honor, Hans! It is not cowardise, if we hesitate for a moment, before we consent to a deed of blood."

"It may possibly be accomplished without bloodshed," explained Hans, in a milder tone. "My confessor knows a place where the heretic need not die, and yet will be dead to the world. If it should become necessary to dispatch him, you must now solemnly declare, whether you will lend a hand. If you shrink from the sight of blood, then go your way, and I alone will have the glory of ridding the world of this pestilent fellow. If you are minded to stand by me, lift up your hands, and swear."

It evidently cost the others a violent effort, to bind themselves by an oath to a probable murder; for this idea had not been entertained from the beginning. But the reproachful scorn, which flashed from Hans' eyes, drove them to a hasty resolve, and they took the oath.

After the young squires had arranged the details of the attack, they paid their reckoning, and mounting their horses, disappeared in the darkness.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Why are you so sad, dear Kate?" Luther asked his wife one day; "have you any trouble of body or mind, that you are hiding from me?"

Katharine sighed. "A heavy weight lies upon my heart, and I know not what it means. There are forebodings, which one cannot explain, and yet they will not be driven away."

"And what is your foreboding?" asked Luther with a smile.

"I fear that some great misfortune is awaiting us."

Luther lifted his finger warningly: "You see ghosts where none exist. Do you not know, that such seeing is harmful—troubling our own heart, and also displeasing the Lord God? We should fear no evil, when God's angels are watching over us. Methinks your trouble is nothing more than the added burden of caring for the three noble nuns, who have sought refuge with us. Do not let this fret you, nor grudge to the poor fugitives the shelter of our house, until the anger of their people is appeased."

"You do me injustice, dear Doctor," interrupted Katharine. "I received them willingly, much rather than the five monks from Thuringia, to whom, besides food and drink, you gave cloth for new jackets, and who afterwards broke into our house as thieves. No, dear Doctor, our nuns from Freiberg are most dear to me, and I will gladly share with them what I have,—and moreover the Elector yesterday sent a fresh load of corn, malt and wood. Yet their presence does cause me some uneasiness, especially that of the duchess Ursala von Munsterberg—who, being the niece of Duke George, your enemy, may indeed bring danger to our house."

"Be quiet, dear Kate," said Luther, "and commit yourself into the Lord's hands. What we are doing toward these unhappy women is a good deed, and well-pleasing to God, who will not permit us to come to harm for their sakes. If, nevertheless, we should suffer for this, remember that it is written: 'Blessed are ye, when men shall revile you and persecute you, for my sake.'"

Kate was silent, and tried to banish her troublesome thoughts, but her heart still refused to be silenced.

On the following morning, after the morning prayer, when the guests and servants had left the room, Katharine came to her husband with a serious face. "Dearest Doctor,—I have learned the cause of my fear. The Lord revealed it to me last night in dream. What is your opinion of dreams?"

Luther replied: "The Scripture teaches us, that God has at various times made use of dreams, to reveal to men His thoughts, and to show them the things of the future, either for their instruction or warning. What was your dream?"

"I saw you," answered Kate, "journeying in an open wagon to Altenburg, whither you were going to attend the wedding of your friend Spalatin. On the road, four men in armor sprang from an ambush, dragged you from the wagon, and struck at your head with their swords, that the blood gushed forth. Ursula von Münsterberg, the nun, stood by and tore her hair. When I awoke, I was glad to find it but a dream. But when I slept again, behold, the dream returned, and showed me the same picture. Then I perceived that it was no delusion, but a warning from God, not to go upon this journey. Dear Doctor, I beg of you, for Christ's sake, stay at home—for if you go, I shall be consumed with fear for your safety."

She clung to her husband's arm and looked at him with eyes full of piteous entreaty. Although her dreaming was little to his taste, yet he was moved by her distress. With a glance of tender love, he said gently: "I am sorry for my friend Spalatin, who will be unwilling to forego my presence on the great day; but I should be still more sorry for you, dear wife, if you were troubling yourself here at home, while I made merry in Altenburg. I will write to Spalatin, not to expect me."

Followed by a grateful look from Katharine, Luther went to his study, and wrote his letter, which ran thus:

"My Spalatin! Gladly would I come to your wedding and rejoice with you and yours, were it not that an obstacle has arisen in the way, which I am unable to remove—namely, the tears of my Kate, who imagines that you ask of me nothing less, than to imperil my life. Her loving heart, warned by a two-fold dream, foresees danger to me, as though murderers were lying in wait for me on the road. It does not seem altogether improbable, it having come to my knowledge, that the recent escape of the nuns from the convent at Freiberg, has greatly incensed the nobles in Duke George's land. Although I know that I am everywhere in the hands of the Almighty, and that not a hair of my head can suffer harm, unless it be His will, yet my heart is moved to pity for my poor Kate, who would grieve herself half to death in my absence. You will therefore not be offended, if I am unable to be present at your marriage, upon which I invoke God's richest blessing and peace.

MARTIN LUTHER."

"Wittenberg, on St. Martin's Day,
        November 11th 1525."

The messenger who was to carry the letter to Altenburg, received from Katharine an additional fee, and a flask of Frankish wine for his refreshment on the way. When she saw him disappear through the court yard gate, she breathed a deep sigh of relief, and a fervent, upturned glance bore her thanksgiving to the throne of God.

Scarcely a fortnight had passed, when Luther received from Spalatin the following letter:

"My dear Brother Martin:—Although I greatly regretted your absence on the day of my marriage, since your society is more precious to me than any other, yet now I rejoice, seeing that God's hand has interposed to preserve you from a great danger. It has been discovered, that four noblemen were lying in ambush, intending to make an end of you—since, in freeing their sisters from the convent, you have caused them temporal loss, inasmuch as it is now necessary to make provision for the maidens. One of them especially, Hans von Soldau, is a fierce, lawless fellow, from whom any evil deed may be expected. Thank your dear Kate, dear friend, for under God's guidance she has proved your faithful Eckart.

"God's grace be with you! SPALATIN."

Deeply moved, Luther laid down the letter, and sought his wife, who was busy in the kitchen. To her surprise, he folded her in his arms, and kissing her on both cheeks, said tenderly: "My faithful Eckart."

CHAPTER XII.

A NEW LIFE.

"See, Wolfgang, how lustily our garden things are growing," said Luther one sunny afternoon in June of 1526 to his amanuensis, the lame Wolfgang Sieberger, who came limping after him. "Here are the onions and radishes grown from seed my friend Langen sent me, and yonder the melons and cucumbers from Wenzel Link in Nuremberg. The roses from Altenburg please me much; the buds are ready to burst. How delighted Mistress Kate will be, when I bring her the first of our roses. But, Wolfgang, how comes it that your jacket is so soiled? Have you been at work in the stable? Save your reputation, my learned famulus!"

Wolfgang brushed the straw from his sleeve, and answered with an important look: "Had I not helped we would be poorer by one sucking pig, which in its youthful frivolity wandered away and fell into a ditch."

Luther laughed heartily: "Dr. Martin has indeed become a farmer, Mistress Kate a farmer's wife, and Master Wolfgang a farm-servant. I never dreamed that such honor and dignity would befall me. When I return from my pulpit or lecture-hall, and enter the court, where in former times a solemn silence reigned, I am greeted on all sides by such a cackling and grunting and bleating, that my heart fails me, when I think of all the pious monks and abbots, who are sleeping their last sleep here below. What would they say to such deafening noises in this sacred spot? If I would walk in the garden, and enjoy the fragrance of the flowers, suddenly a swarm of bees flies buzzing about my head, and I have learned, to my sorrow, how sharp a sword they carry. The convent is alive with human beings—almost too many, methinks. In the end it will be needful that I buy a horse of Abraham the Jew, and myself follow the plough."

Wolfgang listened with a smile and shook his head: "Reverend Doctor, you jest about the busy life in your house, and yet you owe thanks to those who have brought it about; for without it, you would fare ill, and so forth."

"What do you mean, Wolf?" asked Luther.

"What do I mean?" said Wolfgang, limping a few steps nearer. "My meaning can be made clear to you without figures, and so forth. What is the amount of the salary paid you by the Elector since your marriage? Two hundred florins. How much have we spent during the past year? Nearly five hundred florins, including the three silver drinking cups."

"Wolf," exclaimed Luther, "that is a strange reckoning."

"It is correct," continued Wolfgang, with growing excitement, "for according to your directions I have kept the books, and so forth. If you will remember, how many guests have sat at your table during the year, how many poor students have been fed daily, how many monks, and nuns, and others, have eaten of your substance, not to mention the gifts which your boundless generosity has scattered with open hands—if you will take this into consideration, and so forth, you will perceive that two hundred florins cannot last the year. Your purse is ever open, and everybody's hand is in it. Truly, you had been a beggar, and in a debtor's prison, and so forth, had not Mistress Luther managed so wisely, and had she not been careful to turn everything to profit, and so forth. I regard the Mistress with deep reverence, for with all her gentleness she has a clear and courageous spirit, and although so many burdens rest upon her, she never grows weary, but has at all times a cheerful heart, and guides her household with a firm and skillful hand, and so forth. But all this farm-yard business would not be needed, if the reverend Doctor would but consent to receive pay for his services to the University. Still larger sums would you gather, if you accepted what the printers offer for your books, and especially for the translation of the Holy Scriptures. You would soon be a veritable Croesus, and relieved of all care concerning temporal things."

Luther made an impatient gesture. His brows were raised, so that his eyes seemed larger than usual, and flashed with an angry light. "Are you again harping on the old tune, Wolfgang? It is an offence to me. Have I not told you, again and again, that I will not sell the Word of God for money? I will not bear the shame before my friends and the world, that it should be said of me: He has preached the Gospel for filthy lucre's sake, that he might heap up riches and fare sumptuously every day. 'Freely ye have received, freely give,' saith the Lord. Did not the Man who died for me let it cost Him dearly enough? Then I too will dedicate my life to my work, neither will I accept the world's reward."

Wolfgang, who stood upon a very friendly footing with the Doctor, here ventured to interrupt him: "Well said, Herr Doctor; but even though for your own person you desire nothing, and despise the treasures of this earth,—yet are you not bound to provide for those who are dependent upon you, and to secure their future, by laying aside what will keep them from want?"

"That I shall never do," replied Luther, with decision. "Otherwise they would put their trust not in God, but in their possessions, and to them their hearts would cling."

Shaking his head, Wolfgang turned, and slowly walked across the court, soliloquizing as he went: "A wonderful man, the Doctor, and so forth! How great and lofty is his spirit, and how pitiable seems one of us beside him. Such a man I never saw. He pleads for others, that a stone would be moved to pity, but for himself he asks nothing, although he needs it sorely. How many have, through his intercession, obtained favor from the Elector; yet he opposes those who would report his own needs. If he accepts a gift even from his nearest friend, it is only after much persuasion, and for the sake of sharing it with others. Thus he disposed of the two hundred florins sent him recently by his grace, the Elector, and of the hundred florins sent him by an unknown person, through Bugenhagen. I remember with sorrow the fine roebuck from the Elector's forest, it would have furnished us meat for three or four days, but the Doctor must needs invite so many friends, that they quickly made an end of it. I grieve for the costly flagon of glass and tin, a wedding gift from our gracious lord, which is about to follow the rest, being destined for the Pastor Agricola in Eisleben; because, forsooth, he expressed his admiration of it. I heard the Doctor whisper to his guest: 'I will send it before another gets it, for my Kate would fain keep it for herself, to feast her eyes upon it.' I was secretly glad, when he could not find the flagon, in time for Agricola's birthday, for in the meantime Mistress Kate had hidden it away. But what shall it avail her? As I saw with my own eyes, the Doctor wrote to Eisleben, that for the present he was unable to keep his promise, which he greatly regretted, but he hoped soon to get the flagon into his possession.—My dear Doctor is not to be measured by the standard of ordinary mortals, and so forth. Therefore it may be regarded as a wise providence of God, that such a helpmeet was given him, who, by her housewifely virtues, her thrift, her industry, foresight and experience, can sustain her household with small means. It is the Doctor's good fortune, that his wife is of a different nature from himself, thus producing a pleasant harmony between the two, and so forth."

The worthy Wolfgang, at the end of his soliloquy, found himself at the door of the stable, where stood his lathe, and where the Doctor, when his mind was wearied with study, often helped him at his work. He heard footsteps behind him, and turning, saw Luther coming toward him.

"Let us turn the lathe, dear Wolf," said Luther, "and test the new tools which my friend Link sent me from Nuremberg. I am ill-disposed for other work. My breast is sorely oppressed, and my breathing is difficult."

Wolfgang brought out the tools and they set to work. Before many minutes had passed, a maid-servant rushed from the house. Her face was flushed, and tears were in her eyes. "Herr Doctor!" she exclaimed, "Herr Doctor."

Luther looked up from his work. "What is it, Dorothy?" and a sudden flush rose to his face. Luther understood the gestures of the excited girl, and hurrying across the court, he soon stood by the bedside of his faithful wife, who had brought him a precious gift. He lay there, gazing upon his father with great clear eyes,—a strong, handsome boy. But an hour ago, Katharine was walking in the garden, and now God had given her her firstborn son.

In the joy of his overflowing heart, Luther took the child into his arms, looked into its eyes, and caressed it. "O thou dear, heavenly Father," he exclaimed, "how has poor brother Martin deserved so great a blessing! Behold this is pure, unmerited grace, and humbles me to the dust, so that I could weep,—My dear child, thou art most heartily welcome. My heart already beats with love toward thee, who hast yet done nothing to call it forth. Now I can understand how God's love toward us poor creatures forestalls our love. He does not wait until we come to Him and bring Him our love, but He comes to us.—My child, thy name shall be John, that, as often as I call thee, I may remember God's mercy, which this day has visited our house. For thy grandfather's sake also, thou shall bear his name. I can see in the spirit how his dim eyes will brighten at the tidings of thy birth, and his withered lips will glorify the name of the Lord." Turning to his wife, he said: "My dear Kate, you have made me very rich, and are daily kindling a warmer love within my heart. I would gladly give my life for you, if there were need.—But now I will hasten and call a clergyman, that this poor little heathen be made a Christian."

He reached after his cloak and hat, and left the house. An hour later, at four o'clock, the child was baptized by the Chaplain, George Roerer,—Kranach, Bugenhagen, and Jonas acting as sponsors. The custom of the time demanded that a child be baptized immediately after its birth.

With the child, a new life entered into Luther's house. A child is a tie which binds even closer those who were joined together before the altar, and is a visible reminder, that these two are pledged to inseparable companionship. Although Luther had always loved and esteemed his wife, a new tenderness now seemed to warm his heart. Katharine did not fail to perceive this increase of love, and holding her child in her arms, she often whispered, with moist eyes: "Thou sweet child! thy mother owes thee hearty thanks, for thou hast brought a great blessing into the house."

A lively competition soon arose between Katharine and her cousin, "Aunt Lena," whom Luther had received into his family after her escape from the convent, both claiming the first right to the care of the child,—Kate, because she was its mother, and the older woman because of her gratitude to those who had taken pity on her helpless condition. Whosoever saw Dr. Martin playing with his little Hans, asked himself, if this were indeed the man who had shaken the world to its very foundations; whose name was on the lips of every Christian—the hero of Worms, the prophet of the Most High? The man before whom kings and princes bowed, and whom the pope, together with his bishops, feared, more than the Grand Turk himself? How could this great man become a child again, and speak in words that a child might understand? Verily, an able and learned master was he, understanding not only the tongue of the ancient Israelites, and of the Greeks and Romans, but speaking withal the language of childhood in such a fluent manner, that it was a delight to hear him. Whence did he take the time, burdened as he was with cares of weightiest import, to play with his child and to watch his growth? In letters to his friends he had much to tell of his little Hans, of his first tooth, his first steps, and his baby prattle.—Many an one who calls himself a scholar, sits buried among his books, which are to him as children, devoting to them his whole strength, his time and his heart, while in the nursery yonder the patient mother toils for and with her living children. It seems too small a matter, to descend from the heights of spiritual life to the beginnings of human development. Martin Luther was a scholar, before whose learning many an one, who thinks he has mastered much wisdom, must hide his head. But he was far more,—being a man of a universal grasp of mind; a genius,—great in whatever position he filled; great, even, when he descended to small things.