There has been preserved to us a letter, written by Luther in the year 1530, from the Castle of Coburg, to his four year old son, which is a jewel of educational wisdom, and a fitting example of the great man's skill in the language of childhood.
"Grace and Peace in Christ, my dear little son! I am well pleased to hear that thou learnest well thy lessons and prayest diligently. Continue to do so, my son, and when I come home, I will bring thee a fine "fairing." I know of a lovely, gay garden, wherein are many children, wearing golden coats, who gather from under the trees sweet apples, pears, cherries and plums. They sing, dance and are merry, and have pretty little horses, with saddles of silver and bridles of gold. I asked the master of the garden, whose were these children? He said: These are the children who love to pray and learn their lessons, and who are good. Then said I: Dear man, I too have a little son, whose name is Hans Luther. Might not he also come into this garden, and eat of these beautiful apples and pears, ride upon these fine horses, and play with these children? Said the man: If he willingly prays and learns, and is good, he may come into the garden, and Lippus[1] and Jost[2] with him. And when they are all together, they shall have pipes, drums, lutes, and all sorts of stringed instruments; and they shall dance, and shoot with little cross bows. And he showed me a smooth lawn in the garden, prepared for dancing; there hung pipes of pure gold, drums and silver cross-bows. But it was still very early, and the children had not yet dined, therefore I could not wait for the dance. I said to the man: Dear sir, I will forthwith go, and write these things to my dear son Hans, and tell him to pray diligently, learn well and be good, that he too may come into this garden. But he has an Aunt Lena, whom he must bring with him. The man said: So it shall be. Go and write him, as you have said. Therefore, my dear little son, pray and learn cheerfully, and tell Lips and Jost to do the same, that you may together come into the garden. And herewith I commit you to the dear Lord's keeping. Greet Aunt Lena, and give her a kiss from me.
"Your loving father, MARTIN LUTHER."
Thus he wrote, when in the Castle of Coburg, strengthened he with his prayers and his counsel the hearts of his friends, who appeared at the Diet of Augsburg, before the Emperor and the assembled dignitaries of the Empire, to confess the Protestant faith, and to obtain for the Reformation the recognition of its rights.
[1] Melanchthon's son Philip.
[2] Jonas' son Justus.
In the early dawn of a hot summer's day—the 6th of July, 1527—a woman hurried through the streets of Wittenberg, and knocked at the door of the town-preacher, Bugenhagen. With anxious haste she entered the study of the reverend gentleman.
"Dear Doctor, I beg of you, for Christ's sake, come with me; my dear husband is in great anguish, and I am sorely troubled. Perhaps you may be better able, than I, to comfort him."
Bugenhagen, greatly alarmed, inquired more particularly into the condition of his friend.
Mistress Katharine, still panting from her hurried walk—for the sick man was no other than Dr. Martin Luther—replied: "His head is confused, and frightful visions arise before him. He imagines that the Devil is besetting him, who seeks to put him to shame, and to destroy the work of his life. Although I have endeavored to soothe him with loving words, he seems not to hear me, and refuses food and drink. In January he suffered in a like manner, but a tea of herbs restored him. This time my simple remedies have been without effect."
Bugenhagen listened with painful interest. "Do not despair, dear Mistress Luther," he said; "it is not the Devil who is at work, but his sluggish blood, which rises to his head and produces these illusions. I can easily explain the cause. His body is taking its revenge for the sins committed against it, when in the convent, out of ignorance, and from mistaken piety, he undermined his health with watching, fasting and otherwise mortifying the flesh. He sits too closely over his books, denies himself the needed recreation, and tortures his brain with overmuch study and thought. The world's enmity against the truth causes him much sorrow; the miserable peasants' war has grieved his generous spirit, and the dispute with the Swiss sacramentarians is not yet ended. All these things have given him many sad hours. But with God's help, it will pass over. I will go with you, and do what I can."
They at once repaired to the convent. The servants stood about, in anxious fear, and regarded with dismay the town-preacher, who was also Luther's confessor.
Bugenhagen found the sick man reclining in a chair, his arms hanging listlessly at his side. His friendly greeting was received with a dreary smile.
"You are heartily welcome, dear Bugenhagen. I longed to see you, that I might unburden my heart, and receive absolution. Behold, whatsoever sins I have committed during my life, in thought, word and deed, rest like a weight upon my soul, and I pray God, for Christ's sake, to have mercy on a poor sinner. Dear Bugenhagen, give me God's assurance that I shall find grace with the ever-living Father of mercies."
Deeply moved, Bugenhagen gave him absolution, and then inquired into the nature of his malady.
"Dear Dr. Gommer," Luther replied, "the torments which are now besetting me remind me of St. Paul, when he was buffeted by the messengers of Satan; for such ills there seems to be no natural cause. Because I am usually of a cheerful countenance, many think that my path is strewn with roses; but God knows how it is with me."
Bugenhagen repeated the arguments, with which he had sought to reassure Mistress Kate, but they made little impression on the sick man.
Bugenhagen then reminded Luther of the invitation they had both received, to breakfast with the Elector's marshal, Hans Loser. "The society of these men, and the fresh air will do you good. I pray you, Martin, rouse yourself." Katharine's eloquence was added to that of Bugenhagen, and finally Luther yielded to their united persuasions.
At the inn, where the breakfast was served, a chosen company was assembled. Luther ate little, but forced himself to join in the conversation. At noon he left quietly, and went to his friend Justus Jonas, the provost of All Saints' School. He sat for two hours, pouring out his heart to his friend, for Jonas was a man of wise counsel and loving sympathy. Before leaving, Luther invited his friend to visit him in the evening. When Jonas arrived at the appointed time, he found the Doctor lying on his bed, complaining of great weakness, and a constant rushing and singing in his left ear. Feeling a sudden faintness, Luther called for water, which Jonas brought and dashed into his face. This seemed to revive the sufferer. He lay back among the pillows, with wide open eyes. But suddenly his face changed; his body grew cold, and shook as in an ague fit. With difficulty he folded his hands, and a fervent prayer rose from his lips:
"My God, if thou hast ordained this to be my last hour, I submit myself to Thy Will. O Lord, rebuke me not in thine anger, neither chasten me in thy hot displeasure. Have mercy upon me, O Lord; for I am weak: O Lord, heal me; for my bones are vexed. My soul is also sore vexed: But Thou, O Lord, how long? Return, O Lord, deliver my soul: Oh save me, for Thy mercy's sake. For in death there is no remembrance of Thee: in the grave who shall give thee thanks? I am weary with my groaning; all the night make I my bed to swim; I water my couch with my tears. Mine eye is consumed because of grief; it waxeth old, because of all mine enemies. Depart from me, all ye workers of iniquity, for the Lord hath heard the voice of my weeping. The Lord hath heard my supplication; the Lord will receive my prayer. Let all mine enemies be ashamed and sore vexed: let them return and be ashamed suddenly. Lord, Thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations. Amen."
While he was praying, Katharine had entered the room, bringing with her Augustin Schurf, the family physician, who at once ordered the patient to be wrapped in heated cloths. Luther seemed to observe nothing of what was passing. His thoughts were with God, and his eyes were turned heavenward. Again he prayed, and all folded their hands in tearful reverence:
"O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory? Thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ. I lay me down in peace and sleep; for Thou, Lord, only makest me dwell in safety. Lord Jesus Christ receive my spirit. I take refuge in Thy wounds; Thy righteousness upholds me,—Thou art our only Mediator and High Priest, who bearest the sins of the world. Dear Lord, Thou hast not counted Thy servant worthy, after the manner of the blessed martyrs, to shed his blood for Thee; yet will I take comfort in the example of St. John, to whom also this boon was denied, albeit he wrote a book against the Antichrist, far more effective than any book of mine!"
Turning to his friends, he continued: "Dear, faithful friends; lest after my death the world should say I had recanted, I ask you to witness this my confession. I declare, with a clear conscience, that I have taught none but the true and wholesome doctrine, concerning faith, love, the cross, the sacraments, and other articles of the Christian religion, according to God's Word and at His command, Who alone has guided me in this matter, and has drawn and urged me forward, without any will of mine. I testify to those who have reproached me with too great sharpness against the papists and fanatics, that I have experienced no remorse in the matter, having never sought any man's hurt, but rather the conversion and salvation of my enemies. I would fain abide a little longer, inasmuch as many a word still remains to be said against the fanatics and the Sacramentarians. But God's Will be done. Christ is stronger than Belial, and can raise up servants out of stones, who will fight in His Name."
His eyes then sought his wife, who stood apart from the others, weeping bitterly. He beckoned her to come nearer, took her hand and said: "Dearest Kate, I pray you, if the dear Lord take me from hence, that you submit to His gracious Will. You are my true and lawful wife. Of that you shall have no doubt,—let the blind world say what it will. Be guided by the Word of God; cling to that, and you will have a never-failing support against the Devil and all evil tongues."
He lay back; his breath came hard, like that of a dying man. Then he turned and asked: "Where is my dear little son Hans?"
The child was brought, and greeted his sick father with a smile. Tenderly the cold hand caressed his warm, rosy cheeks, and the pallid lips pronounced a father's blessing: "O thou poor child! I commit my dear wife and my fatherless child into the hands of my loving, faithful God. You have nothing, for I leave you no earthly goods; but God has enough for all. Dear Lord, I thank Thee from my heart, that it hath pleased Thee to make me poor in worldly things; I can therefor leave to my wife and child neither house nor land, neither money nor goods. As Thou gavest me them, so I return them to Thee. Thou rich and faithful God, do Thou sustain, teach, and provide for them, even as thou didst sustain, teach and provide for me, O Thou Father of the fatherless, Thou Friend of the widow."
Katharine's heart was wrung with grief. God, in his unsearchable wisdom, was laying a heavy sorrow upon her. For two years she had enjoyed the blessedness of her union with this man; henceforth she and her child must stand alone, poor and defenceless; dependent upon the uncertain favor of human friendship; exposed to the scorn and hatred of enemies, who would make the living feel the insults they might no longer heap upon the dead!—When she thought of herself and the child, her heart seemed well-nigh breaking; but when she looked at her husband, and heard his prayer in her behalf, strength was given her, to endure in silence, and even to speak words of comfort to the sufferer. Bending over him, she said gently: "My dearest Doctor, if it be God's Will, I would rather you were with Him, than with me. I grieve not for myself and for my child only, but for the many good Christian people, who still have need of you. Do not, my dearest husband, trouble yourself about me. I commend you to God's holy Will, and hope and trust that He will graciously spare you."
It seemed as though her words inspired the others with renewed courage. The physician, who had given up all hope, ordered the cold limbs to be again warmed and rubbed. Love and friendship labored faithfully to restore the precious life, and prayer after prayer rose to heaven.
Then came the merciful answer: "Behold, he shall not die, but live!" It seemed like a miracle when the color returned to the pallid face, and the drops of moisture which appeared on the sick man's forehead seemed like dew from Heaven.
The physician exclaimed: "He lives! He lives!" As one intoxicated by the sudden change from despair to hope, the loving wife fell at the feet of him to whom God had revealed the means of preserving her husband's life.
* * * * * * * * * *
His life was out of danger, but his soul—as he said—was still tossed to and fro between Christ and Belial, and miserably bruised. He supposed that he would all his life long be compelled to wade through deep waters of tribulation, but would gladly submit, if it contributed to the glory of his God and Saviour.
Then God sent him an angel of consolation, which to others was an angel of terror. That which cast them down, raised up Dr. Martin. That which shook the faith of strong men, and drove them to despair, restored to him the vigor of his faith and his heroic trust in the living God.
He that sits upon the pale horse rode in at the gates of Wittenberg, holding in his hand the naked sword, to which all living things must succumb. It was that terror of terrors—the plague.
The citizens were panic-stricken, and a stubborn fatalism seemed to seize upon their minds. The Elector's command came from Torgau to the University: "Let teachers and students leave Wittenberg, and seek safety in Jena!" In the Augustinian Convent sat the foremost among the teachers of the University, and in holy defiance replied to the Elector's anxious demand: "I shall remain; I dare not go!" Another urgent request came to him from his sovereign, but his answer was the same: "I shall remain; I dare not go."
Fear, that most effective ally of the plague, had taken possession of the people. But Luther was unacquainted with fear. In his ears rang the Saviour's words: "The good shepherd giveth his life for his sheep. But he that is an hireling seeth the wolf coming, and leaveth the sheep, and fleeth." With Bugenhagen and Roerer, who had also remained, he visited the plague-stricken houses, bringing help to the living and consolation to the dying. Many died in his arms, breathing pestilence into his face,—but he seemed steeled against contagion, guarded by his fidelity to his people and by his trust in God. And behold, the more lavishly the strength of his body was consumed in this loving service, the more abundantly streamed into his soul a new, God-given vigor. The shadows of melancholy vanished, the Devil's hold was loosed,—and clear in the heaven of his inner world shone his spiritual sun, Jesus Christ.
God enabled him, in many instances, to wrest from death its prey. With all the might of his influence he combated the false fears of the people, and directed them to seek help from God. He reassured the timid, and revived their sinking faith. He rebuked the foolhardy, who tempted God by refusing the necessary remedies. He battled with the superstitious notion that persons were cured by transmitting the disease to others, and thundered in holy indignation against such as in fiendish malice, forced their way into houses as yet uninfected.
Of his own danger he took no thought; nor that his precious life must be preserved to the Church. All his life long he had left the disposal of his affairs with God; with the same calm trustfulness he placed his life in the Father's hands, and his countenance wore the same peaceful serenity in the chambers of the dying, as it had formerly worn in the pulpit or lecture hall.
Not content with assuming the duties of pastor and physician among the sick, he wrote the Protestants in Halle a letter of condolence upon the death of Winkler, a preacher of the Gospel, who had been assassinated by the Romanists. He worked at his exposition of the prophet Zechariah, and made the necessary preparations for the approaching parish-visitation.
Thus he remained at his post, in unshaken fidelity,—as a good shepherd of the flock committed to his care. Silent and ashamed, his enemies beheld him enforcing his doctrine with his life.
Beside him, full of heroic courage, stood the wife whom God had given him. Ministering with the tenderest devotion to his wants, she assisted him in his labors among the sick, and with ready kindness opened her doors to all who came to her for help. The physician Schurf, with his family, had taken refuge in Luther's house. His wife fell ill, and plague spots appeared on her body. Margaret von Mochau, another member of Luther's household, fell sick. Unmindful of herself, Katharine nursed the sufferers, receiving strength from on high for the fulfilling of her Samaritan's work.
Then came news of the death of a dear friend, the young wife of the Chaplain Roerer, who, with her new-born child, fell a prey to the plague. Katharine's heart failed her at this fresh blow. Even Luther began to despair, and the storm of new trials threatened to overthrow the strong man. Bugenhagen, who, with his family, had moved into Luther's house, sought in vain to comfort his friend. Luther saw his wife growing daily weaker, and his little son Hans was beginning to droop.
But behold, God knew better than men, how to raise up the sinking hearts. On the 10th of December, Dr. Martin stood by the bedside of his beloved wife, giving thanks for the mother's life, and for the new life that had entered their house. Holding a new-born child in his arms, he bent down to little Hans and said: "See, Hans, God has given you a little sister!"
The Winter's storms scattered the last germs of the pestilence. The survivors breathed freely, and gave thanks for their deliverance, and by April the fugitives returned. Luther and his wife prayed:
"Thou art the God that doest wonders; Thou hast made known thy power and goodness towards us. In many a household, the members have been made less, but in ours there is one more."
Luther wrote to his friend, Justus Jonas: "The dear Lord has given me a daughter, my sweet, little Elizabeth, and has relieved me of all anxiety concerning my wife. The pestilence entered our house, but the Lord spared us. The plague took our pigs instead, of which five have fallen. I am happy, and thank the Lord, that the angel of death was content with such inferior prey. The plague is now dead and buried."
The returning friends flocked to his house, to convince themselves that the man of God still lived. They had left him bowed down and oppressed with care. They found him cured and, inspired with new strength, as with glowing eyes he welcomed them: "As dying, and, behold, we live."
At a short distance from Wittenberg, near the Elster-gate, a well is shown to this day, called Luther's Well, it having been discovered and opened by Luther in the year 1520. The miner's son had a sure instinct for all minerals and treasures hidden in the earth.
Near this well, among the trees, and within hearing of the rushing waters of the Elbe, Luther in the year 1526 built himself a summer-house, which Katharine's skillful hand beautified and furnished most conveniently. It was a pleasant spot and Mistress Luther was rewarded for her pains by frequent visits from her friends. In this peaceful retreat Luther loved to gather around him his friends, Melanchthon, Cruciger and Auerhahr, and with them work at the translation of the New Testament. Here the fourth chapter according to St. John, telling of Jacob's Well, was completed.
It was a warm, sunny May-day in the year 1528. The Spring sunshine had caused the tender leaves to burst their buds; the garden flowers vied with the wild flowers in furnishing sweet food to the bees and butterflies; even the farmers' plough horses neighed with delight.
In the summer house near the Elster-gate, sat Dr. Martin with his lute. The Spring-time had seized upon his heart, for when all nature is singing for joy, Dr. Martin cannot keep silence. Beside him sat Mistress Katharine, with her baby in her arms, lost in happy dreams,—now listening to the notes of the lute, now resting her eyes upon the lovely landscape. When the Doctor, changing from his free, fresh improvisation, played the air which he had composed especially for his little son Hans, Katharine hummed the tune, while Hans, who was playing on the floor with a wooden horse, looked up attentively, for he knew well that it was his song.
The child was now two years old, a blooming, vigorous boy, and already sufficiently master of his mother tongue, to make his wants known. The wooden horse, a product of Wolfgang's lathe, was his favorite toy, his childish imagination investing it with all the qualities of the living animal. It was lodged in a stall, built in a corner of the room, was each night provided with hay and straw, and in times of sickness neither medicine nor care were wanting.
With heartfelt pleasure the parents' eyes rested upon their first-born, and Katharine said to her husband: "If God gives grace, Hans will be the joy and comfort of our old age." Glancing at the child in her arms, she continued, with a troubled face:—"But when I look at our sweet little Elizabeth, I am mindful of the Apostle's admonition,—to have as though we had not. She is the child of my fears, born amid fears, and nurtured in fear to this present time. See, how pale is the little face, and how deep the shadows under her eyes."
Luther leaned over and stroked the little hand: "Dear wife, the Apostle's word applies not only to a feeble child,—we should possess all our children, as though we possessed them not. The Lord has but lent them to us, and claims them again, when it pleases Him."
A look of deep sorrow clouded Katharine's face: "Doubtless you are right, dearest Doctor; yet it is better to see them come than go, and if we were forced to yield up one of them, I believe my heart would break. Ah my little Elizabeth, my darling child—" She pressed her lips to her pale, little face, and hot tears gushed from her eyes. The Doctor felt his own growing moist, and was glad to see his friends, Melanchthon, with Master Reichenbach and his wife, coming towards their house.
"We thought," cried Mistress Elsa, "that we must seek you here, as we failed to find you at home. How lovely is this Spring day."
Frau Elsa sat down beside Katharine, and the men with Dr. Martin.
"You have a fine scent, my friends," he began, "that has betrayed to you, what his grace the Elector, has sent me. I, for my part, can boast of a true prophetic instinct, which told me that some of my friends would seek me out to-day. Therefore I have caused the gift to be brought out here." He pointed to a corner, where lay a small cask: beside it stood a large earthen jug. "It is said to be choice Spanish wine, for Dr. Martin's refreshment."
"He is a kindly gentleman, our Elector," returned Reichenbach. "But you, dear Doctor, must follow his advice, and yourself drink the wine, that was sent for your refreshment."
Luther was already filling the jug from the cask. "What would you have, dear Reichenbach? Would the wine refresh me, if I drank it alone? Just as divided joy is double joy, so, to me, divided wine is double wine."
He brought the jug to the syndic. When the latter still refused, Melanchthon said, with a significant glance: "Take it, Reichenbach; the Doctor is now forty-five years old. We cannot change his nature in these matters."
The wine was passed around, and in the intercourse with his beloved friends, Luther's inborn happy humor burst forth with irresistible charm, as though he had never in his life been sad or heavy-hearted. Towards evening other citizens of Wittenberg came out to enjoy the balmy air. Luther made them all welcome. They talked together of many things,—of the affairs of the city of Wittenberg, and of those of the kingdom of God, until it grew late, and Wolfgang came limping out from town, with warm wraps for Mistress Luther and the children, and well-meant advice to the Doctor, not to linger in the night-air. Luther readily yielded, and all returned to town together.
The roses in Luther's garden were blooming gloriously, delighting not only the Doctor, but all those whom he invited into his garden, to view the wonderful works of God, and those into whose houses he sent generous nosegays of the fragrant flowers. But greater was his joy, when he saw the roses slowly appearing in little Elizabeth's cheeks. The physician, Augustin Schurf, smiled sadly when he saw the father's fond delusion,—he knew that under the roses death was at work. Soon the little face grew pale again, and with hearts doubly saddened by disappointed hope, the parents stood beside their dying child, and tasted the bitterness of death. They prayed for its life, but God said: "Give me the child."
As the last struggle was drawing near, Luther, with a supreme effort of renunciation, exclaimed: "Lord, Thy will be done!" Katharine cried aloud: "O dear Father, let this cup pass from us. It is so bitter, methinks I cannot drink it."
When Luther saw his wife's grief, tears burst from the strong man's eyes and he wept like a child. This roused Katharine from her sorrow, and seeing her husband's pain, she strove to comfort him. And Luther, having received, was again able to give. He walked behind the little coffin, as it was carried to the grave, accompanied by weeping friends, and there spoke words of comfort to all present. Here he again experienced, more fully than ever, how great a treasure is the precious Word of God, which is most powerful and life-giving, when the soul is passing through darkness and sorrow.
Wolfgang made a little cross of wood, which he set upon the grave, and Luther wrote upon it: "Hic dormit Elisabeth, filiola Martini Lutheri, Anno 1528." "Here sleeps Elizabeth, Martin Luther's little daughter."
* * * * * * * * * *
It was long, before Katharine's loving heart could cast aside its sorrow. Yet she was made acquainted with one of the blessings of affliction, namely, the hearty sympathy and affection of the members of her household. Her servants, as well as the boarders, were eager to serve her, as though each one, as far as in him lay, desired to comfort the bereaved mother, and Katharine was deeply grateful for their loving service.
Better than they, the Lord supplied her loss. When the lilies of the valley bloomed on little Elizabeth's grave, the happy mother's thanksgiving rose heavenward: "The Lord hath taken away, the Lord hath given. Blessed be the name of the Lord." In his study Luther sat and wrote in great haste:
"Grace and Peace in Christ, my dear Amsdorf! The gracious God has regarded our sorrow, and has sent us in place of our little dead maiden, a living one. I pray you, therefore, make haste, that it may not longer remain a heathen, but speedily, by means of the blessed Sacrament, be enrolled in Heaven as an heir of eternal life."
When the sacred act had been performed, Luther took his daughter upon his arm and said: "My dear little Lena, thou art doubly welcome,—for thine own sake, and for the sake of thy departed sister, who lives again in thee; for when I look at thee, methinks I again behold my little Elizabeth."
Then, turning to his wife, he bent down over the pale face, and said: "You dearest wife, how can I thank you for this precious gift! What were Dr. Martin, without his Kate! Since I have you, I am no longer poor, but a rich man indeed! If Thou lovest me, O Lord my God, do Thou preserve and bless this dear life."
Katharine sat alone in her husband's study,—that famous spot, whence Luther directed his attacks upon the Papacy. For five long months the Doctor had been absent at the Castle of Coburg. There, by the Elector's desire, he remained during the continuance of the Diet of Augsburg, where he was unable to be present, by reason of the Imperial interdict. Yet he was near enough to aid the Protestants with his counsel, and infuse into their hearts some of his own spiritual strength.
Although the reformer was often called from home by his many duties, Katharine could never accustom herself to his absence. Her life seemed bereft of its dignity and its chief delight, when she could neither see her husband's face, nor hear his voice. She lived for him only, nay more,—all that gave purpose to her existence, and made her life worth living, came from him. As she rested under the shadow of this great man, life unfolded to her its fullness. She had no desire to glory before the world, as the wife of the greatest and the most renowned man of his time. To be overshadowed by his greatness, to receive from the abundance of his spiritual riches, seemed to her a great and an enviable privilege. To forget herself, to serve him in humble love, was her most cherished duty.
Her husband has therefore sung her praises in every key: "I have truly a faithful and God-fearing wife, in whom the heart of her husband may safely trust, as Solomon saith. She is willing and obedient in all things, more than I dared hope for. I could not find a more obedient wife, were I to hew one out of stone. Therefore I love my Kate far better than myself, and I would rather die, than that harm should come to her and the little ones. I esteem her more highly than the kingdom of France and the principality of Venice. For this is God's highest gift and grace,—a virtuous, loving, diligent, God-fearing wife, with whom thou canst live in peace, and to whom thou mayest safely entrust all that thou hast."
Luther had left for her assistance and protection the brothers Peter and Jerome Weller; but they, together with all the numerous household, could not fill the void caused by his absence. There was but one Luther, as there is but one sun in the heavens. When the sun goes down, the moon and all the myriad stars cannot take its place.
Katharine was mending little Hans' jacket, but her thoughts were not with her needle. She soon put her work aside, and unlocking a chest, brought out a pocket of yellow leather, in which she preserved the letters received from Augsburg and Coburg. Although she knew their contents by heart, she read them again. Deep, calm joy brightened her face, as the evening sunshine brightens the summer fields; for in these letters she had new and visible testimony, that Dr. Martin loved his wife with a full, true love, and that the respect of other good men was not wanting.
She smiled, as she unfolded the first letter, written in a merry, jesting vein, each word expressing delight in his lofty abode, "in the kingdom of the birds."
"Grace and Peace in Christ! My dear Kate! We have safely reached our Sinai; but we purpose to make a Tabor of it, and build three tabernacles, one for the Psalter, one for the Prophets, and one for Æsop.[1] First of all, your old lover wishes to announce to you that Dr. Martin has become a king, or at least a prince, and dwells in a high castle, with thirty serving men, in gay coats, together with twelve watchmen, and two trumpeters in the tower. It is a very quiet place, and favorable to study, except that a great tumult is constantly going on in the air without. Under our windows there is a little wood, where the ravens and jackdaws are holding a diet. There is a continual coming and going, and such chattering, day and night, that one might think they were all drunken with wine. Young and old are cawing and croaking together, that I marvel that their ears and throats can endure it. I should like to know, if any of this nobility still remain with you, for methinks they are gathered here from all quarters of the earth. I have not yet seen their Emperor, but the nobles and great ones among them are always before our eyes—not in costly raiment, but all alike arrayed in black, and all alike grey-eyed. They also sing but one tune, with the various voices of young and old, great and small. They care not for stately palaces and halls; their hall is arched with the fair, wide heavens; their floor is the earth, tricked out with green boughs; and their walls are as wide as the ends of the earth. They ask not for horses and soldiers, for they have feathery pinions, upon which they fly from the anger of men. Great and mighty lords are they; but what decisions they have arrived at, I have not yet heard; although as far as I could learn through an interpreter, they are planning a mighty crusade against the fields of wheat, barley, oats and other grains, where many an one will perform deeds of valor, and win his spurs by his prowess. Thus we are here present at this diet, hearing and seeing with much pleasure and goodwill, how the princes, lords, and other estates of the empire sing so merrily and fare so well. With especial pleasure we see them strut about, wipe their bills and hasten to the attack upon the grain-fields. We wish them good luck, and that one and all they may be spitted on a hedge stake. Methinks they are no other than the papists and sophists, with their clamoring and writing, who are here assembled before me, to show me what useful folk they are, devouring what is upon the earth, and chattering for pastime.
"To-day we heard the first nightingale; she mistrusted the month of April. The weather has been fair and lovely; and we have had no rain, save only yesterday a little. Perhaps it has been otherwise with you. Look well to the house, and God be with you.
"MARTIN LUTHER.
"April the 28th, 1530."
Katharine folded the letter carefully, and took up another, in a different handwriting.
"It pleases me much," she said softly to herself, "that his friends remember me so kindly." Then she read the letter, which Melanchthon had written her, shortly after his arrival in Augsburg:
"God's grace and blessing! Honorable, virtuous Mistress Luther: This is to inform you that we have safely reached Augsburg, for which God be praised!—and have left the Doctor at Coburg, as he has doubtless written you. But I hope soon to be with him. I pray you, write me how it goes with you, and how the captain has behaved with regard to the grain. If I can serve you in anything, I will do it with all diligence. The chancellors, Dr. Gregory Brück and Dr. Christian Baier, who will read before the Diet the Protestant confession of faith, send you greetings and good wishes. God keep you.
"PHILIPP MELANCHTHON.
"Augsburg, Wednesday after St. Walpurgis."
Underneath was written: "Dear friend, I too wish you, and Hans, little Lena and Aunt Lena much pleasure. Kiss my dearest boy in my name.
"JUSTUS JONAS."
On the outer edge was scribbled: "I too, John Agricola, of Eisleben, wish you well, dear Mistress Luther."
Two tears fell upon the letter, which, like the others, showed signs of much handling.
"How God turns evil into good," thought Kate. "The parting from my husband was a sore trial, yet as its sweet fruits I have these precious letters, whence I perceive that I am well loved, and faithfully remembered."
Another followed, also in a strange handwriting. Veit Dietrich, a member of her family, who, with Luther's nephew, Cyriac Kaufman, had accompanied the Doctor, answered a letter which Katharine, soon after Lena's birthday, had sent with a portrait of the child, to Coburg.
"God's greeting, dear Mistress Luther! You have done a good work in sending the picture to the Reverend Doctor, for it drives away many heavy thoughts. He has fastened it to the wall, opposite our table. When he first saw it, he failed to recognize little Lena. 'Why,' he said, 'have they made my Lena so dark?' But now it pleases him well, and seems to him more and more like Lena's face. She resembles Hans greatly, especially about the nose, and mouth, and eyes. Dear Mistress Luther, I pray you, have no anxiety about the Doctor. He is again, thank God, well and of good cheer. He has suffered much, not only from the Augsburg troubles, and from bodily pain,—but from grief at the death of his father. For a whole day he withdrew from us into his room, taking only his Psalter with him, and weeping bitterly. But all this he has borne and overcome, as a true hero. Dear Mistress Luther, I cannot sufficiently extol his steadfastness and serenity, his faith and hopefulness, during these troublous times. But he constantly nourishes these virtues with diligent study of the divine Word. He passes at least three hours, the best hours of the day, in prayer. Once it was my good fortune to hear him pray. Great God, how strong a faith breathed from his words. He prays to God with such deep reverence, with such power and confidence, as though he were speaking to his father or to a friend. 'I know,' he said, 'that Thou art our God and Father; therefore I am assured that Thou wilt put them to shame, that persecute Thy children. The danger is Thine, as well as ours. Thine is the cause; we have put our hands to it, because we needs must. Therefore defend Thou it, and give it the victory.' It was thus that I, standing afar off, heard him pray, with a loud, clear voice. My heart burned within me, when he spoke with God in so confident, reverent and child like a manner, insisting upon God's promises, given in the Psalms,—as one who is certain of obtaining all that he asks.—Behold, dear Mistress Luther, this great man is your husband; for which you have cause to praise God.—How fares my Hans, and my dear little Lena? Kiss them for me. Yourself and Aunt Lena I commend to God, and together with the Doctor and your Cousin Cyriac, send you greetings.
"VEIT DIETRICH."
Katharine searched further, and brought out two more letters, in her husband's strong, rugged handwriting.
"Grace and Peace in Christ! My dear Kate,—The messenger is in haste, and I can write you but a few words. Tell Dr. Pommer and the rest, that I will soon write more. We have had no tidings from Augsburg, but are waiting hourly for letters. It is rumored that the reply of our opponents will be read publicly; but that those of our party have been refused a copy of the refutation. I know not, if it be true. Where matters are thus kept in the dark, our friends will not long remain.
"Since St. Laurence's day I have been very well, and have felt no ringing in my head. Therefore I am inclined to study, for heretofore the ringing has greatly tormented me. Greetings to all. More the next time. God be with you. Amen. Pray diligently,—it is of need, and God will help us.
"MARTIN LUTHER.
"August the 14th, 1530."
To this letter Katharine had sewed another, which reached her at the same time:
"Grace and Peace in Christ, my dear Kate! After I had sealed my letter, dispatches were brought me from Augsburg, and I detained the messenger that he might carry them also to you. From them you will learn how matters stand at Augsburg,—almost as I wrote you. Let Peter Weller read them for you, or Dr. Pommer. May God help further, as He has begun. Amen. I cannot write more. The messenger is impatient to go. Greet all the dear ones, especially Hans Luther and his schoolmaster, to whom I will write soon. Greet Aunt Lena and all the others. We are eating ripe grapes, although this has been a wet month. God be with you all.
"MARTIN LUTHER.
"From the Wilderness, on the Day of the
Assumption of the V. Mary."
Then followed what was best of all, wrapped in rose colored paper—Luther's letter to his little son. Katharine's eyes grew moist as she read the precious words, and from her heart rose a prayer in behalf of the great, the glorious Dr. Martin Luther.
[1] It was Luther's intention to translate the fables of Æsop, to "adapt them for youth and common men, that they should be of some use to the Germans." There are thirteen fables of his version, rendered in the simplest popular language.
While Katharine was refolding the letters and tying them with a scarlet ribbon, her niece Elsa Kaufman[1] came into the room, and announced that a stranger, who gave his name as Urbanus Rhegius, desired to speak with Mistress Luther, having come directly from Coburg.
Katharine hurried into the court. There, under the great pear-tree, the Doctor's favorite resting place, sat a distinguished looking man, who at her approach, rose, and with great politeness advanced to meet her.
"God's greeting to you, dear Mistress Luther," he began, his foreign accent reminding her somewhat of the dialect spoken by Baumgaertner. "I regard it as a special piece of good fortune, to become acquainted with the wife of the great man, whom I met lately for the first time; and to be permitted to bring you his greetings, as I am passing through Wittenberg."
"How fares my dear lord?" asked Katharine, a blush of pleased anticipation mantling her cheeks.
"He is well and of good courage. In his great goodness and condescension he gave me a whole day of his precious time. And truly, I never experienced a happier day; for Dr. Luther is a powerful theologian. I always esteemed him greatly, but now I hold him higher than ever before, having myself seen and heard what neither pen nor words can describe. His books betoken his great mind, but when one hears him speak, with the spirit of an Apostle, on divine matters, he must needs confess: Luther is too great for wiseacres to pass judgment upon him. He is, and remains the greatest theologian in the world."
In her happy confusion, Katharine found no words to answer him. As his eyes wandered over the place, he said: "Here, then, is the spot where he dwells,—'God's Inn,' where all that are persecuted for the Gospel's sake, find shelter. Tell me, dear Mistress Luther, how can you, with your small means, feed and clothe so many? I scarcely believed my ears, when the Reverend Doctor told me, that his entire income was two hundred florins."
With a smile, Katharine pointed to the stables and barn-yard. "Do you hear those sounds, dear sir? When the larder is empty, the stable and the garden must replenish it. Yet even this would not suffice, were it not for the generous kindness of good people. Especially is the hand of our gracious Elector ever open toward us. But the Doctor is of a peculiar nature; he refuses all help,—fearing that God would reward him with temporal goods, while he strives only for heavenly treasures. Knowing my husband to be thus reluctant, they bring their gifts to me, and I do not hesitate to receive with pleasure and gratitude what is offered in love, and is sorely needed for our poor. For although I am careful, I have not been able to prevent the Doctor from incurring some debts, through aiding his friends."
Rhegius listened with eager attention, and pointing to the large side wing, he asked: "And is your whole house full, Mistress Luther?"
"Yes. A long row of boarders sit at my table. A few are able to pay me for what they receive, but the larger number have nothing else to give, than a "thank you." And I am well content, for thus far we have not suffered want, and I would rather serve them all without a reward, if it were possible."
"Are you going to build, Mistress Luther? I see in yonder corner a pile of bricks and tiles."
"Our house is large and roomy enough, dear sir, but old and ruinous. The Doctor consented to accept the building material, which the Town Council sent him in recognition of his services during the time of the plague."
With growing surprise and pleasure the stranger's eyes rested upon Mistress Katharine, who, changing the conversation, said to him: "Your speech has a foreign sound, dear sir. Where is your home, if I may ask?"
"I am a Suabian by birth," returned Rhegius, "and a theologian by profession,—but only a small one, not worthy to unloose the latchet of Dr. Martin's shoes,—yet desirous of laboring with all my strength in the vineyard of the Lord."
"Please be seated, dear Master Rhegius," urged Katharine, "I will call some of our young men, that they may hear your report of the Doctor; and I will prepare you some refreshment."
Katharine hurried across the court and entered the wing, whence she soon returned with the brothers Peter and Jerome Weller, little Hans' schoolmasters. While they joined the stranger, plying him with many eager questions, Katharine brought a bottle of home-brewed beer from the cellar, and went to the kitchen, to prepare the traveller's repast.
Before she had finished, Elsa announced a new arrival. "Dear Mistress Luther, a woman stands without. She has the look of a queen, and yet one could weep to see her sorrowful face. She asked me if the doctor had returned, and seemed much distressed when I told her he was still absent. Then she questioned me, whether Mistress Luther had a merciful heart, and begged to see you."
Katharine felt uneasy. Charging Elsa with the stranger's meal, she went to the great hall. Pausing at the door, she saw before her a woman of a tall, majestic figure, whose appearance affected her strangely. An expression of blended dignity and gentleness rested upon her face, veiled with a look of unspeakable sadness. As if in expectation of a greeting or a question, her soft, pleading eyes sought Katharine's face, until, like Elsa, she felt her own filling with tears.
"Who are you, dear lady?" asked Katharine, holding out her hand in welcome.
The stranger answered wearily: "My husband sits upon a throne, and wears an Elector's crown; but I have not where to lay my head."
Katharine started: "Merciful God! You are the unhappy wife of the Elector of Brandenburg!"
"Does my presence alarm you?" she asked, with the suspicious sensitiveness peculiar to the unfortunate. "Then I will go,—although it is with a heavy heart I relinquish the hope of finding peace under the great reformer's roof. For the Gospel's sake my lord's anger pursues me; and because I venerate Dr. Martin's doctrine as being the Word of God, the Elector has threatened to immure me."
Katharine's heart beat high, and she would have folded the unfortunate woman in her arms, but the inborn reverence for the wife of a crowned head restrained her. She grasped the hand of the princess, saying warmly: "This house is open to all who are weary and heavy laden, but especially to those who suffer for the Gospel's sake."
A gleam of joy brightened the unhappy woman's face, and with difficulty restraining her tears, she answered: "May He bless you for those words, who said: 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.'"
Katharine, after taking a hasty leave of Master Rhegius, led her guest to a quiet room, overlooking the garden. The noble lady's gracious bearing soon overcame Katharine's timidity, and they conversed together as old friends.
Katharine then learned the truth of the story which rumor had spread abroad, and mingled with many falsehoods. The Electress had incurred the anger of her papist husband by her adherence to the evangelical faith, and especially by a secret celebration of the Lord's Supper in both kinds, which was betrayed to him, and roused in him a fury of passion. He swore in his anger, that neither sun nor moon should again shine upon the heretic. To save her husband from committing a crime, she fled to Torgau, seeking refuge with the Elector of Saxony. He assigned to her the castle of Lichtenburg on the Elbe, and she accepted his kindness with gratitude. But in time the isolation and the lack of all spiritual nourishment caused her inner life to wither and pine. She had therefore come secretly to Wittenberg, to be near the fountain of living water, where her soul might find strength and repose.
Katharine expressed her regret at her husband's absence, and begged the Electress to content herself in her company, until the Doctor's return.
Deeply moved, the princess fell upon Katharine's neck, and this silent embrace was the beginning of a warm and lasting friendship. Two hearts were brought near to each other, which, however different their outward circumstances, yet were one in their aspirations after the one thing needful. Katharine soon discovered that fame had not exaggerated the gentleness, nobility and piety of the Electress of Brandenburg; while the latter found herself irresistibly attracted by the strong, upright, loving nature, by the childlike simplicity and tender heart of Mistress Luther. With unconcealed pleasure she watched Katharine, as with energetic discipline, with a clear eye and a firm hand she guided and ruled her extensive establishment. She was fond of helping here and there, and especially glad to occupy herself with the children. Good Aunt Lena stepped into the background without a murmur, and felt no pang of jealousy, when the thankless Hans in his admiration of the new "Aunt Elizabeth" could at times forget all the love and care that had been lavished upon him.
Katharine's feeling of loneliness was banished. As she devoted her spare moments to the sorely tried woman, she felt as though a higher duty were ennobling the common-place routine of her daily life; and her contentment grew, as she perceived that the patient sufferer found in her house the rest she sought, and was able to look forward to the dawning of a brighter day.
Then a letter arrived from Luther to his "dear Kate," announcing his return, and promising to bring to his son Hans a fine, large book of pure sugar, which Cousin Cyriac had brought from the garden, of which he had written.
[1] She was the orphan daughter of Luther's sister, whom, with her brother Cyriac and her sister Lena, Luther had taken into his family.
It was a still, sultry morning in August, 1532. Heavy clouds covered the sky and tempered somewhat the heat of the sun. Fido, the little dog, stretched himself lazily upon his bed, and the pigeons on the house-top hung their wings. In the court-yard of Luther's house, however, there was bustling activity, as if in preparation for some festivity. Wolfgang was helping his mistress fill the clear, home-brewed ale into jugs, when the trumpeter from the tower of the town-church proclaimed the sixth hour. Katharine left the brewing house, and hurried to the barnyard, where two maids were wringing the necks of some fat hens. Then she went to the kitchen, to satisfy herself that everything was progressing in orderly fashion. Afterward, accompanied by Wolfgang and a man-servant, she walked through the still silent streets to an orchard, which Luther owned, in the neighborhood of the pig-market. Here, overshadowed by dense willow-bushes, lay a little fish-pond. The two men set to work, casting their net, and soon Katharine, who in the meantime had plucked a basket full of ripe pears, saw her tub filled with fish of various kinds.
"These will please the Doctor," she said, with a satisfied smile. "He is a great lover of fish, and this dish shall serve as a special ornament to our feast."
"With your permission," interrupted Daniel, the servant, "I have not yet been able to learn what is the occasion of this feast."
"Do you not know, Daniel, that we at last have peace in Germany?" asked Katharine, surprised. On the homeward walk she told him what had taken place at the diet at Nuremberg: that the protestant princes had agreed to furnish the Emperor with aid against the Turks, on condition that he would not further molest them in the exercise of their religion, but concede to the Gospel its rights, until the matter should be determined by a general church council.
As they entered the Court, master Peter, the barber, came hurriedly from the house, greeted Mistress Katharine, and asked if the Doctor were not at home. He had knocked three times at the study-door, without receiving an answer.
"No doubt," said Katharine, "he has been at his books all night."
She went to her husband's chamber,—his bed was untouched; then she hurried to his study, and knocking repeatedly, heard no sound from within. She anxiously opened the door;—there sat the Doctor, motionless, bending over a book. Beside him on the table stood a plate with a piece of dry bread and half a herring.
"Doctor!" exclaimed Katharine, pausing at the door. Luther did not move. She went to him, took his hand, and bent over him, with a look of mingled anxiety and reproach.
Luther looked up in surprise.
"Dearest Doctor," said Katharine, "how you have alarmed me. Why do you do thus?"
Her question aroused him fully. A shadow passed over his face, and he pointed to the Hebrew Bible before him: "Why do you reproach me, Kate? think you that what I am doing is evil? Do you not know that I must work while it is day? For the night cometh, when no man can work."
He spoke almost harshly, but she knew that he was not angry. She silently caressed the kind hand, whose labors for the weal of the human race never ceased. Her eyes fell upon the half-consumed herring, and with a sad smile she said: "How is it that with such meagre fare you have so strong and stately a figure? Melanchthon appears as a lad beside you.—But to-day you must permit your wife to refresh you with a festive repast, after your labors. Our friends are coming to rejoice with us over the newly-won peace."
Luther passed his hand over his forehead. "I had well-nigh forgotten; but I shall enjoy our feast in the company of my friends. Spalatin too has promised to be present." He rose, and laying his hand on his wife's shoulder, said gently: "My dear wife, how heartily you are concerned for me. Wish me joy that God has given me a helpmate, who so carefully watches over my health, and bears so patiently with my faults and infirmities. Dr. Martin would far ill, had he not his Kate, who is better able, than he, to rule his household."
Katharine was disconcerted by his praise, and to change the subject said: "Master Peter, the barber, is waiting; may he come in, dear Doctor?"
Luther nodded, and the barber—a small, lean man, with thoughtful eyes, and a nimble tongue—was admitted. He greeted the Doctor respectfully. While he was stirring the soap in the cup, Luther asked:
"Well, master, what news do you bring me to-day?"
Peter was silent for a moment, then stammered: "Ah, most reverend Doctor, the newest is this, that master Peter has not yet learned how to pray. I have long desired to ask you, for, being a great theologian, you may well instruct a poor Christian in this art."
Luther smiled. "First do your work; afterwards I will tell you."
The barber made haste, impatient for his lesson to begin.
"Sit down, dear master Peter," said Luther, when he had finished. "You say praying is an art? Yes, verily,—an art, which the Papists little understand. And yet it is easily learned by every sincere Christian. See, master Peter, when your soul is disinclined to prayer, you must rouse it. Take your Psalter, withdraw to a quiet place, and read until your heart grows warm. You may also take your Catechism and devoutly consider the five Parts. This is an excellent means of kindling a flame within the heart. Although I am an old Doctor of Theology, yet like a child from its mother, I draw daily nourishment from the article of the Christian Faith and that of the Lord's Prayer. When you pray, let it be with a whole, undivided heart. Even a good barber must needs fix his eyes and his thoughts upon his razor, and not chatter and gaze about him."
Master Peter in many words expressed his gratitude, and rose to leave; but Luther detained him, saying:
"If you have time, stay, and be present at our morning worship."
He took the Bible and Catechism from the table, and, followed by the barber, proceeded to the great hall, where the household was already assembled, and awaiting the master's appearance.
After a pleasant greeting, all took their places at the long, oaken table. Luther sat at the head; at his right Mistress Katharine with Aunt Lena and the children; at his left Peter and Jerome Weller, with Wolfgang and four other young men, who were regarded as members of the family; opposite them, the sisters Elsa and Lena Kaufman, and at the lower end the servants.
Luther began with his full, rich voice, all the other voices, deep and high, joining in, and reverently singing:
"In these our days so perilous,[1]
Lord, peace in mercy send us;
No God but Thee can fight for us,
No God but Thee defend us;
Thou, our only God and Saviour."
After the master of the house had read the 23d Psalm, all rose and devoutly repeated the Morning Prayer:
"In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Ghost. Amen. I give thanks unto thee, Heavenly Father, through Jesus Christ Thy dear Son, that Thou hast protected me through the night from all danger and harm; and I beseech Thee to preserve and keep me, this day also, from all sin and evil; that in all my thoughts, words, and deeds, I may serve and please Thee. Into Thy hands I commend my body and soul, and all that is mine. Let Thy holy angel have charge concerning me, that the wicked one have no power over me. Amen."[2]
"Now let us hear the catechism," continued Luther. "Wolfgang, will you begin?"
Wolfgang rose, with folded hands, and recited the first commandment; his neighbor the second and so on, until it came to Luther's turn, who like the rest, repeated his portion.
"Dear Hans," Luther asked his six-year-old son, "can you tell me where I ended my explanation yesterday?"
"At the close of the ten commandments, dear father," was the ready answer.
"Then give heed," said Luther, "that you may know what is meant by 'the law.' The creature may well fear the law, with its threats and penalties. It is God's purpose, that the law should cause sinners to tremble; for it is a taskmaster, holding the scourge in his right hand. But understand me well,—the law is not a taskmaster for its own sake, as though it delighted in punishment, but it is evermore pointing to Christ. What manner of master would he be, who tormented and chastised his scholars without ceasing, yet taught them nothing? Of such schoolmasters there have been many,—tyrants, who made their schools places of torture, beating without reason or measure the poor children, who studied with great labor and diligence, and yet with small profit. The law is a master of quite another sort, not only making its children to fear, but driving to Christ those who fall under its condemnation. But having driven us to Him, threats no longer avail. Were Moses to accuse my conscience, I should say: Nay, Moses, but Christ is here. And on the blessed Judgment Day, Moses will say to me: Thou hast understood me well. For he that is in Christ, is delivered from the law, as the Scripture saith: 'Christ is the end of the law.' Those who are Christ's, are no longer under the law, but are sanctified." Turning to his wife, he said suddenly: "Dear Kate, do you believe that you are sanctified?"
Taken aback by his abrupt question, she was unable at once to reply. After considering for a moment, she said: "How should I believe that I am sanctified? Am I not a great sinner?"
The Doctor smiled. "See the popish unbelief,—how it has wounded the hearts of men, and possessed the inner nature so entirely, that it sees nothing beyond that outward, personal righteousness and holiness, which we achieve for ourselves. Dear Kate, if you believe that you are baptized a Christian, you must needs believe that you are sanctified. Holy baptism has power, so to change our sinfulness, that although continually present and felt, yet it does not condemn us."
A faint blush rose to Katharine's cheek, and a mute, eloquent glance thanked her husband for his comforting words.
Thereafter, following the master's example, all rose while he pronounced the blessing. The maidservants then brought in the morning meal, which was eaten in silence; after which all went to their work.
The Doctor brought from his study the Hebrew Bible and, accompanied by Peter Weller, repaired to the University, to lecture upon the Book of Genesis. Jerome took Hans to his own room, where he instructed the child in reading and writing.
During the forenoon a long table, covered with a fresh linen cloth, was placed in the court-yard, under the pear-tree; the Doctor had desired to enjoy this festive occasion under the open sky.
But darker rose the clouds, driven by a strong wind, and soon the first heavy drops plashed upon the ground. Katharine called her maids, to remove the table, and complained to her husband, who had just returned, that the rain was spoiling her pleasure.
"Not so, dear Kate," protested Luther. "God gives us what is worth many hundred thousand florins. It is now raining wheat, oats, corn, grass, and the like, for which we should thank the dear Lord, and not murmur. There is abundant room within the house,—Hark! Is not that a wagon? It is surely Spalatin. I feared he might not come. The other guests are already here."
A wagon rolled into the court, and a moment later, in the pouring rain, Luther held his beloved Spalatin in his arms. The other guests hurried from the house to greet the new comer—Melanchthon, Jonas, Bugenhagen, George Rorer, the chaplain of St. Mary's, Kaspar Cruciger, and Lucas Kranach. The wives of Jonas and Melanchthon had also been invited. Both were namesakes and warm friends of Mistress Luther, so that on that day three Katharines sat at table together.
Luther's friends rejoiced to see his cheerful mood, for only lately his spirit had been oppressed by deep melancholy. He inquired with much interest after the health of the Elector, who had been ailing since February, and the favorable report which Spalatin was able to give, added to the general cheerfulness.
After much pleasant talk, Luther rose from his chair, lifted his glass, and said: "My dear friends, it has hitherto been the custom among Christians, to cross themselves at the mention of the Infidel, and to wish him much evil, as the enemy of God and the spoiler of Christendom. But to-day it is more fitting that we thank him and drink to his health."
The men laughed at the jest. The Sultan Suleiman had indeed been the means of bringing about a peace between the Emperor and the allied Protestant princes. The danger which threatened the German Empire from the east, had compelled him to purchase their aid against the common enemy, by yielding to their demands in the matter of religion.
Luther continued: "Every creature becomes, often unwittingly, an instrument in the hand of God, for the accomplishing of His holy Will. Those who plan to do evil, do good instead; and while they would fain destroy God's kingdom, they help to build it up. May our faith never grow weary, for the Lord has many ways and means, even where our short sight can see no remedy. Here the Infidel himself must needs help the Gospel, in despite of the Pope and the Emperor.—How mercifully the Lord has sustained his cause! Everywhere throughout the Empire there are many who follow the truth. The building is under roof; it now needs to be completed and preserved. A new generation has arisen. The burden no longer rests upon me alone; but many stand as pillars of the new life, as leaders in the warfare between darkness and light."
Spalatin nodded: "Yes, Brother Martin, I too rejoice in the advancement of the good cause. The Elector returned with renewed hopefulness from Nuremberg, which has doubtless contributed to the improvement in his health."
"I have taken a hearty draught in honor of the Turk," said the chaplain Rorer, "but far greater honor is due to the man, whose wisdom brought about the peace between the Emperor and the Union of Smalcald;—the man who so clearly distinguishes between what is God's and what is Cæsar's; better than Zwingli, whose mingling of spiritual with temporal things has caused his destruction."
Luther, towards whom, at these words, all eyes were turned, lifted his hand, and said earnestly: "Dear Rorer, you know that such praise pleases me little. What I am, I am by the grace of God,—to Him alone the honor is due."
Spalatin, in the meantime, was whispering into Katharine's ear: "His grace, the Elector, sends your husband through me a gift of a hundred gold florins. Small as it is, in comparison with the consolation he received from Dr. Luther during his recent illness, yet his heart urged him to show his gratitude, as far as he is able. I will not offer it to the Doctor, knowing that he will refuse the gift, which I pray you, dear Mistress Luther, to accept; for I know that you have need of it, and the Elector will be much pleased."
Katharine whispered her thanks and said: "It is impossible to change the Doctor's mind in these matters. Only the day before yesterday, a young man who had finished his studies, and lacked the money for his homeward journey, came to us for help. My husband reached into his pocket, and finding it empty, he took a silver cup from the shelf and offered it to his student, who refused to accept it. I made signs to the Doctor with my eyes; but as though he neither saw nor heard, he crushed the cup in his strong hand, and forced it upon the young man, saying: "I have no need of silver cups. Take it to the silversmith, and whatever he gives you, is yours."
Spalatin's eyes glistened, as he glanced toward Dr. Martin, and with admiring veneration, he said softly: "That is Luther!"
Presently, Katharine rose, and brought in the fish. When in passing it around, she came to her husband, he tapped her on the shoulder. "Kate, I think you have more pleasure from your small fish-pond, than many a nobleman from his large ones, whence he can draw hundreds of fish. Ah, many an one lives in plenty, and yet cannot enjoy God's gifts with profit and pleasure."
Melanchthon, as was his habit, had sat in silent meditation. Suddenly he looked up, and turning to Luther, said: "I marvel, what our enemies would say if they saw us sitting thus pleasantly together?"
"Let them say what they will," interrupted Luther. "If we fast, they cry: Pharisees and hypocrites. If we eat, they say: Gluttons and wine-bibbers! Thus it was when our Saviour lived upon the earth. But what says our Lord in Heaven, when we enjoy His gifts? Truly, He has made them all for our use, and asks nothing further, than that we acknowledge them as His gifts, and receive them with thanksgiving."
The conversation continued for an hour longer; then Luther and his friends rose and gave thanks after meat.
The air having grown cool and fresh after the rain, the men repaired to the court, to enjoy a game of bowls, while the women sat down together under the pear-tree.
The friendship of these three women was not less intimate than that of their husbands; especially were Katharine and the wife of Justus Jonas congenial, sharing joy and sorrow with one another. Often, when Luther's forebodings pointed to an early death, and his imagination pictured to him his widowed wife, he referred her to Mistress Katharine Jonas for support and consolation. The mothers' friendship had descended to the children, who were, fond of playing and studying together.
Suddenly Luther's voice was heard, welcoming a new guest, and looking up, they saw John Walter, the choir-master from Torgau, whom Luther held in high esteem. There were joyous greetings from all, except Wolfgang, who was ill pleased at the interruption, and grumbled to himself: "Why must he come upon us just at this moment? Now the game is at an end, and so forth, and the miserable singing and howling will begin." The worthy Wolfgang, who had doubtless taken his lessons in singing from the jackdaws and magpies, considered a game of bowls superior to the finest music.
His fears were speedily realized. All gathered around the choir-master, and under his direction song after song was sung,—first folk-songs, of which Luther was very fond, then hymns and chorales, such as at Luther's request and with his assistance Walter had published for the Protestant worship. Higher and higher rose their spirits upon the wings of song, until the enthusiasm reached its climax, as Walter intoned that glorious song of battle and triumph: "A mighty Fortress is our God." The sounds re-echoed from the convent walls, and the evening wind bore the triumphal strains forth into the streets of the town. Wondrous was the power of this heroic song, which, with its majestic waves of sound, seized upon every heart. Even Wolfgang yielded, and added his croaking voice to the chorus.
The twilight slowly gathered, and after Katharine had offered her guests a light refreshment, all, except Spalatin and Walter, returned to their homes.
[1] Translated by R. Massie.