The woman who, for her husband's sake, might with reason have looked for exemption from the common fate of widowhood, was made to experience to the full the dreariness of her condition, and the world's ingratitude. But mankind is subject to the universal law, that "we must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God;" and the question is silenced, which involuntarily suggests itself: Lord, why hast Thou dealt thus severely with poor Katharine?
One day an official of the Elector's chancery knocked at the door of the chancellor, Dr. Brück, in Wittenberg, and after considerable delay and much formality was ushered into the presence of the distinguished man.
Dr. Gregory von Brück was of a tall and imposing stature. His fine features and lofty brow betokened a keen and vigorous intellect, and his brilliant, expressive eyes gave evidence of great mental activity. It was he who, at the diet of Augsburg, together with his colleague, Dr. Baier presented to the Emperor the Confession of the Lutheran faith; and from that day forward his power and influence had steadily increased. He was a frequent visitor at Luther's house, and although the cool reserve which the chancellor always maintained toward Katharine, annoyed the Doctor, yet it did not prevent him from doing justice to the merits of his friend. Luther never asked the reason of the chancellor's behavior. Had he done so, the other would doubtless have learned better to appreciate the wife of the great Doctor.
"What is your wish?" Brück demanded of the counselor, who, bowing with great deference, replied:
"His grace the Elector, sends you his greeting, and desires that you will give your opinion regarding the affairs of Dr. Luther's widow, his Grace trusting that you, as Luther's friend, will prove yourself a defender and protector of this widow."
Brück's eyes assumed an impenetrable expression, while his white hands toyed with a pen.
The counselor paused for a reply, and then continued: "You doubtless know, that she has sent a petition to his Grace!"
"A petition?" interrupted Brück, glancing sharply toward the speaker. "It was so rumored; but in this matter she has not confided in me. Do you know the contents of the petition?"
"I know them," was the answer, "and it was to learn your opinion in the matter, that his Grace sent me hither."
"Say on!" urged the chancellor.
"You probably are aware," the counselor began, "that during the life-time of Dr. Martin, the Elector presented him with a capital of 1,000 florins, of which he enjoyed the interest during his later years. To this,—out of pity toward the family, and out of gratitude for the reformer's great services—his Grace desires to add a second thousand, to relieve somewhat the widow's needy condition. She has in her petition requested, that the promised 2,000 florins be invested in land, which yields a better income. She says further that the estate of Wachsdorf, adjoining her own estate of Zulsdorf, is for sale, that her late husband admired it, and that it can be bought for 2,000 florins."
The chancellor moved impatiently upon his seat. "This is a bad beginning. Does the woman dare to approach the Elector with a falsehood! Would she have it appear, that her husband coveted the land? I perceive her meaning. She is not satisfied with Zulsdorf, but must needs have a larger estate to manage and rule. If the Elector does her will, she will begin to build and make improvements in Wachsdorf, as she did elsewhere, and will waste much money. Moreover, Wachsdorf is an unprofitable possession,—it is well known, that each spring the fields are flooded by the Elbe."
The counselor shook his head. "Pardon me, sir chancellor; I am well acquainted with Wachsdorf, having often been there in my youth, and I never heard of the disadvantage you mention. I hold it to be cheap at 2,000 florins, and the widow no doubt desires to possess it, for her children's sake."
The chancellor's face flushed, and he harshly exclaimed: "Her children? It is chiefly for their sake, that I oppose the purchase. For what will follow? The boys will waste their time with riding and bird catching, instead of sitting at their books. Mistress Katharine is very weak with her children, and unable to oppose them. It would be well therefore, if the boys were taken from her, and placed with competent tutors. But she is stubborn and refuses this, even as she refused my well-meant offer of giving Hans a position in the Elector's chancery. Her obstinacy will make it difficult to find guardians, every one knowing that he will have a hard time with the woman. I fear, moreover, that her ambition and avarice will prevent her from acting justly by her children, especially if, as I expect, she marries again."
"O sir," exclaimed the counselor indignantly, "how can you entertain such suspicions against a poor widow, of whom others speak very differently."
The chancellor lifted his hand: "Do not excite yourself. What you know, is from hearsay,—I have known her during many years of intercourse with her husband."
"I know her better than from hearsay," replied the other, "I read the Doctor's last will and testament, which he wrote in 1542, and which was submitted to his Grace for confirmation. From this document it is evident that Luther, who surely knew his wife better than any, trusted her entirely. Methinks the Elector has sent me to the wrong man,—to the widow's accuser rather than her defender. His Grace expected other things from you, and I would gladly be excused from carrying your message to him."
Brück rose from his chair, and excitedly paced the room, then suddenly pausing before the counselor, he said in a gentler tone: "You misunderstand me, and do me injustice in thinking me unfriendly toward Mistress Luther. I assure you, that I am only concerned for her welfare, although my advice may displease her. But I will relieve you of your duty, and write to the Elector myself."
The counselor breathed a sigh of relief: "Accept my thanks therefor, sir chancellor. May God give you wisdom to do the right, and a merciful heart toward the poor widow, whose lot is more pitiable than any other. Remember the old saying: 'The widow's tears must needs flow, but they cry out against him who calls them forth.'"
The chancellor, slightly frowning, turned his eyes upon the other with a questioning glance, and dismissed him.
Then he wrote his report to the Elector.
Meanwhile, the counselor was sitting with the widow of the reformer, to form, if possible, his own opinion. He met there Master Philip Melanchthon, and remained three hours. From the heartiness with which he took leave of Mistress Katharine, it may be supposed that he was favorably impressed by what he saw and heard.
Two days later, he was summoned to the Elector, whom he found sitting at his writing-table with a letter in his hand.
"I expected you yesterday, dear Veit," said the Elector, "I wished to hear from your lips the view taken by our chancellor Brück, regarding the petition of Dr. Luther's widow. In the mean time I have received this letter, in which the chancellor gives his opinion more circumstantially. It has surprised me greatly, being written in a tone, that is far from friendly to the widow of our dear Doctor. He surely knows her well, having been much in Luther's house; and I must needs believe him, although I had imagined Doctor Luther's wife to be a very different woman."
With a bow, the counselor said: "Will your Grace permit me to give my opinion?"
"Say on, dear Veit," urged the Elector, leaning forward to listen.
The counselor began: "Master Brück is a highly learned man, and of great ability, which none will dispute. He has a clear eye in discerning the nature of things in general; but here his judgment is at fault. He does injustice to the widow of Dr. Martin, and esteems her less highly than she deserves. I went to her myself, wishing to know her personally; and what I saw, and what Melanchthon told me, convinces me, that the chancellor is in error. I therefore pray your Grace, not to lay too much weight upon his communication, but to grant the widow's petition."
The Elector held out his hand: "I thank you from my heart, dear Veit. You have done me a great service," and the counselor withdrew. When the Elector was alone, he re-read the chancellor's letter. Then, lifting his eyes to a portrait of Luther, which hung upon the wall opposite, he exclaimed: "No, posterity shall not accuse me of faithlessness! Martin, thou glorified spirit, I promised thee with hand and lips, that thy wife and thy children should be to me as my own, and I will keep my promise. Even though thy wife were undeserving, yet, for thy sake, I would help her. Who could worthily repay thee, thou benefactor of mankind, the fountain, from which shall spring life and blessing to generations yet unborn!"
* * * * * * * * * *
In the Luther-house at Wittenberg, sacred henceforth to grief, Mistress Katharine, the widow, with her children, gave thanks to the Lord, who had visited them in their affliction. "Thou art a father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows," faltered the pale lips, "Thou hast not hidden thyself from us, and hast given us beyond what we ask or think."
Help had come from three quarters. The Elector of Saxony, John Frederick the Magnanimous, confirmed Luther's Will, written in the year 1542, and made his family a gift of the 2,000 florins, which were invested for the children in the estate of Wachsdorf.
On the following day, a letter came from the counts of Mansfield, bringing a further gift of 2,000 florins, which was to be put at interest for 100 florins annually. And lastly, the king of Denmark, Christian III., sent 50 ducats, with the promise that the pension, which Luther with two other theologians of Wittenberg, had during the last years of his life, received from him, should be continued to his widow.
Here was help indeed,—not much among so many, it is true,—but in Luther's school, Katharine had learned contentment, gratitude toward the Ruler of hearts, and trust in the divine Helper.
As a further evidence of God's mercy, men well-known for their honor and integrity, offered themselves as guardians for herself and her children. The captain Asmus Spiegel, and her brother, Hans von Bora, were to act as her advisers, while the care of the children's interests was given over to the Burgomaster, Ambrose Reuter, the Electors' court-physician, Melchior Ratzenberger, and Luther's own brother, Jacob. The Professors Melanchthon and Cruciger offered themselves as additional guardians, to see to it, that their beloved Doctor's children were brought up in the fear of God and in the true doctrine.
The oldest, John, now a youth of twenty, wished to continue his studies, which was granted him. The two younger ones, Paul and Martin, were left in their mother's care; their tutor, Ambrose Rudtfeld, having proved himself a competent and conscientious teacher, he was retained. Gretchen, eleven years old, naturally remained with her mother.
The widow's trust in God was not deceived. Her means were scant, it is true. But Katharine had not in vain spent twenty years under the influence of her husband's noble nature. The lessons she had learned now proved their value,—and she reaped the interest upon her spiritual capital.
But it is written: "How unsearchable are His judgments, and his ways past finding out." Thou art a God that hideth Himself, and wonderful are Thy dealings with men! Katharine's trials were not yet ended, and her tortured heart must needs pass through the purifying fires of further sorrow.
"Evil times are at hand," Luther often said, and the great man had scarcely closed his eyes, when the storm burst.
It had long been evident to discerning eyes, that the Emperor Charles V was only seeking a convenient pretext, for destroying with the sword the fruits of Luther's labors. Realizing their danger, the protestant princes and Cities had formed the Union of Smalcald, and their defensive measures stirred the Emperor's wrath to a still fiercer glow. He was playing a double game; false alike toward the Protestants and the Pope, he sought merely to strengthen his own power in an Empire, to whose very language he was a stranger.
Having, by means of specious promises, gained the Pope for his purposes, he sought aid in Germany itself for the war of extermination. The Duke of Bavaria was speedily won by the promise of the Elector's hat. Other, smaller potentates, were lured with smaller bribes. Even in the camp of the Protestant princes, to their shame be it said, the Emperor found allies; Hans, Margrave of Küstrin, and Eric, Duke of Brunswick-Calenburg, were not ashamed to wear the Imperial colors. Not content with these acquisitions, the Emperor coveted the alliance of the young and ambitious Duke Moritz of Saxony, to gain whose good will, he encouraged the quarrel between the young Duke and his cousin, the Elector John Frederick of Saxony. For the Judas-reward of the Saxon electorate, Duke Moritz betrayed the Protestant faith.
Having secured these confederates, the Emperor openly continued his preparations. To the questions of the allies as to his intentions, he scornfully replied: That his purpose was to chastise certain unruly German princes, who, under the guise of religion, cast contempt upon the imperial majesty.
It became necessary therefore, to devise a plan, by which the chastisement designed for themselves, might rather fall upon the Emperor's back.
The affairs of the Protestants wore a promising aspect. In Upper Germany an army of 47,000 men was speedily organized under the valiant general Schärtlin, and it would have been an easy matter to capture the Emperor, who with 9,000 men lay before Ratisbon. Schärtlin urged immediate action; but an ill-timed sentiment of delicacy, which forbade the allies to enter the territory of the neutral Duke of Bavaria, caused them to hesitate. Their indecision gave the Emperor time to reinforce his army, and courage, to put the Elector of Saxony and the Landgrave of Hesse under the ban of the Empire.
Uniting their forces with those under Schärtlin, the two outlawed princes advanced upon the imperial army. Much had been lost, but the Emperor might still have succumbed to the superior strength of the Protestants. Again their hesitation and indecision came to his aid. Winter set in. Moritz had gained time to occupy the Saxon territory and to instal himself as the new sovereign. There was nothing left for the ex-elector, but to return in haste and re-conquer his electorate. Schärtlin's army ran short of provisions. The free cities, losing courage, submitted, one by one, to the Emperor, who in the beginning of 1547 found himself master of the whole of Southern Germany. Shortly after, the Rhenish provinces were lost to Protestantism.
Then the tide turned.
There was great rejoicing in the Saxon land. The streets were thronged with people. Cannon thundered from the ramparts; bells rang; flags streamed from the church-towers; an eager enthusiasm spread from village to village, from town to town. The elector, outlawed by the Emperor, robbed of his sovereignty, had returned to his devoted subjects. Their love was his triumphal chariot, his sword and buckler, the banner under which he not only recovered his own inheritance, but conquered a goodly portion of his ambitious cousin's territory. John Frederick of Saxony, whose destruction had been planned, rose to a higher pinnacle of power than he had ever before occupied. The Emperor trembled with fear and anxiety, and the knowledge that his infamous transaction with Duke Moritz stood revealed before the eyes of all Germany, broke the last remnant of his courage.
He considered his cause well-nigh lost, and despair seized upon his mind. Already it was rumored, that the Bohemians had joined the Elector! If this were true, then all hope was at an end. Fortunately for him, however, and unfortunately for the Elector, the Bohemians maintained an inexplicable inactivity, allowing their advantages to slip from their grasp, and suffering the Imperial troops to escape from Bohemia, and to follow in the wake of the Elector, who, with an army of 9,000 men, was encamped at Mühlberg on the Elbe; fearing no evil, and deeming the burning of the Elbe bridge a sufficient security against surprises.
But the burning of bridges was of little use, when treachery guided the enemy to a ford, which made a bridge unnecessary. The name of the miller Strauch is for all time branded with infamy. Out of revenge for the loss of his horses, which the Saxon troopers had carried off, he betrayed his sovereign and his country.
It was a still, peaceful morning, on the Sunday Quasimodo geniti, April 24th, 1547. The good elector was sitting in church, devoutly listening to the preaching of the Gospel, when suddenly the noise of a wild tumult broke in upon his devotions. It was the enemy!
The soldiers ran hither and thither, in utter confusion. The officers' commands were unheeded; they all fled wildly toward the heath of Lochau. The elector succeeded in rallying a few of the panic-stricken cavalry regiments, to cover their retreat. But no valor was able to withstand the enemy's superior forces. The Saxon army was cut to pieces and scattered; and the Elector, heroically defending himself, was disabled by a sabre-cut in his face. A look of despair came into his eyes, as he surrendered.
Suddenly a loud thunder-clap was heard, startling all by its unseasonable and unexpected occurrence. But into the Elector's face there came a new light, and with a loud voice he exclaimed: "Yes, Thou mighty God, Thou makest Thyself to be heard. Thou still livest and doest all things well."
Dragged by the Hungarian horsemen into the Emperor's presence, he was received with a look of mingled joy, anger and contempt. The Elector John Frederick Saxony was a prisoner in the hands of the man who had threatened to destroy Protestantism, root and branch; and his electorate was irretrievably lost to him and his race.
* * * * * * * * * *
Wittenberg was in dire confusion. The Emperor was coming, preceded by the rumor that the city of the arch-heretic was to be made to feel the full weight of his displeasure; and was to disappear from the face of the earth, as unworthy of being shone upon by the sun.
The citizens, and among them the widow of the "arch-heretic," prepared to fly. In December of the past year she had been obliged to seek an asylum in Magdeburg, when Duke Moritz advanced upon Wittenberg, and besieged the citadel. But the Elector had hastened to the relief of the city, and recalled the fugitives. Now she must once more bid farewell to her home,—perhaps never to return, for between the Elector's captivity and the Emperor's threat, Wittenberg had small hope of escaping.
Their flight was attended with many hindrances and difficulties. In the general disorder, each one was concerned only for his own safety. After much persuasion, a teamster was found willing to give the widow and her children a place upon his cart.
He drove in mad haste over the rough roads, belaboring the poor animals with furious blows, and urging them forward, as though the enemy were already at his heels. For hours the wild chase lasted, and night was at hand. The road was uphill, rough and stony; and suddenly the exhausted horses refused to proceed. The teamster, beside himself with rage and fear, forced them on with more blows, when one of the horses, uttering a short, piteous cry, dropped dead. Then he fell to berating the poor beasts, the Emperor, and finally his passengers, whose weight, he asserted, had overtaxed the horses' strength.
Without a word, Katharine and her children climbed down from the cart, and the teamster went on his way.
The widow stood under the open sky; beside her a large chest, containing her most necessary possessions. Not a human being was to be seen near and far. The sky was hung with heavy clouds, and a soft rain was beginning to fall. It was impossible to spend the night in the open air.
For a moment Katharine hesitated; then she beckoned to her sons. They broke open the chest; she gave to each one as much as he could carry, and comforting the frightened children, she said: "Let us go in God's name! We are everywhere in His keeping; He will not forsake us!"
They walked rapidly, and half an hour later, a light shining through the darkness, showed them the way to the habitations of men. They soon reached a village, and the first door at which they knocked, was hospitably opened to receive them.
"Good Heavens, Mistress Luther, is it you?" exclaimed a voice from a corner of the dimly-lighted room, as they entered.
"Master Philip," cried Katharine and the children, equally surprised. It was Philip Melanchthon, her husband's dearest friend, whom a similar accident,—his wagon having been overturned in a ditch—had driven to seek shelter in the village.
The kind peasants, to whom these exclamations betrayed the identity of their guests, could not sufficiently express their reverent affection. The contents of the larder were produced for their refreshment. The beds of the family, in spite of all their protestations, were given up to the strangers, and on the following morning, before sunrise, the peasant was at the door, with his own cart, prepared to carry them to their journey's end.
"The Lord's chancery," said Melanchthon, as they entered Magdeburg, through the gloomy gate of the fortress. "Your dear husband often gave the city that name. Who would then have thought, that we should one day come hither, to seek safety from persecution. But I thank God, that in these troublous times, he has provided for us a place of refuge."
Katharine found in Magdeburg a number of her friends and acquaintances from Wittenberg, among others the professor of theology, George Major, a dear friend of her departed husband. It was to him she now chiefly looked for protection, as Melanchthon having upon his hands the care of many other fugitives, was very much engaged.
Here too, the people, for Luther's sake, received his wife and children with open arms. A Senator, in whose house they lodged, made every effort to keep his guests with him permanently. With touching kindness, he and his wife urged Katharine to regard their roomy house as the home of herself and her children; and, not knowing whether she would ever be able to return to Wittenberg, she finally yielded to their pleading. But she had scarcely consented, when the dreadful tidings were brought them, that the Emperor threatened to put the city under the ban of the Empire, for harboring the Wittenberg fugitives; and the hearts, which had bounded with renewed hopefulness, sank back again into deeper gloom.
Katharine passed the night in sleepless anxiety, struggling for light. Whither should she go? Was there not, in God's wide world, a spot where the widow of the German Reformer might lay her head?
Early in the morning, she sought Professor Major, whom she found in deep dejection.
"My dear Professor," said Katharine, offering her hand, "it is clear, that we cannot continue in Magdeburg. A plan came to me during the night, and I would ask your assistance in carrying it out."
"Alas, yes," Major interrupted; "we must leave this hospitable place, and our kind friends."
"Hear me," continued Katharine. "We will never find peace within the territories of the Emperor Charles. His threats will ever follow at our heels. Therefore, I think it were best for us, to go whither his arm cannot reach us."
"What do you mean, Mistress Luther?" asked the professor, with wide-open, startled eyes.
"It is a long distance which I propose to travel," said Katharine; "but I do not shrink from it, and the end will reward our labor. I desire to go to Denmark, where under the rule of King Christian the gospel is preached without hindrance. I will go to the champion of the Protestant Confession. He has kept faith with Dr. Martin, and I feel sure that he will take pity on his widow."
The professor listened, with growing astonishment, and when she had finished, said: "I approve of your plan, dear Mistress Luther, and wish you a happy journey."
With a somewhat embarrassed smile, Katharine looked at him. "But I have a request to add,—a helpless woman cannot alone undertake so arduous a journey, and I would pray you to make this further sacrifice, and accompany me."
For a moment the professor hesitated, then cheerfully replied: "It shall be as you wish, dear Mistress Luther."
On the following morning a wagon, covered with sail-cloth, stood at the Senator's door, to carry away his guests.
The journey proceeded safely, until they reached Brunswick. Here they were detained by the friendliness and solicitude of the Senate of the city, who endeavored to dissuade Katharine from her purpose, and to comfort her with the hope of better times. But she was resolved, and merely urged to greater haste. From Brunswick they travelled in a hired wagon. On the way they encountered frequent troops of lansquenets, and the professor's face grew serious, when he observed the imperial colors. Katharine was alarmed, and begged the driver to hurry toward the village of Gifhorn, visible in the distance. But as they neared the village, the troops became more numerous, and the place itself was thronged with soldiers and camp-followers, so that the travellers were scarcely able to advance. It was still more difficult to find a lodging, in spite of the professor's untiring efforts. The end of their journey, which had seemed so near, was lost in the distance,—vague and unattainable. After a bitter struggle, Katharine abandoned her cherished hope, and on the evening of this day said to her protector: "I cannot endure that you should have so much toil and trouble in my behalf. Let us turn back; it is too dangerous, and I fear that it will be impossible to reach Denmark."
Professor Major nodded sadly; "I do it willingly, for God's sake, yet I think it is His will, that we turn back."
And so they did, the next morning, not knowing whither to go.
Toward noon they halted at an inn, to buy food. In the guest's room sat an elderly man, with a piece of bread and cheese before him. From his appearance, they recognized him as a travelling merchant. After the customary greetings, it was discovered that he came from Torgau, and was able to give them tidings of Wittenberg.
"The city fared better than any dared hope," he related, "after the reports which preceded the Emperor, that the 'hotbed of heresy' would be made to feel the full measure of his vengeance. But he dealt with it in a merciful and truly royal manner. He had been a traitor, had he done otherwise; for a promise must needs be kept, especially an Emperor's promise."
"What do you mean?" asked the professor.
"Are you perhaps acquainted with Lucas Kranach, the Elector's court-painter?" continued the other.
"How should we not know him?" exclaimed both his hearers.
"It was he who saved the city. He went to the Imperial headquarters, and forcing his way past the guards, walked boldly to the Emperor's tent. Then in all humility, yet confidently, he reminded his Majesty of a promise, he had once made to the painter. I cannot tell, what it was, but the result was, that the Emperor dealt beyond expectation gently with the city of Wittenberg."
"I understand," cried the professor. "Kranach once related to me, how, many years ago, he had met the present Emperor Charles V., when he was still a boy. If I am not mistaken, Kranach was sent by the Elector Frederick the Wise as ambassador to Mechlin in the Low Countries, where the Emperor Maximilian was at that time holding his court. On this occasion, the Emperor caused his portrait to be painted by the distinguished artist; and the young Prince Charles, already destined to wear the Imperial Crown of Germany, also desired to sit for his picture. He made many promises to Master Kranach, that he would be patient and sit still. But the unruly boy gave the artist much trouble by his restlessness. Yet the portrait succeeded admirably, and in his childish delight, pressing Kranach's hands, the prince said to him: 'Master Lucas, when I am a sovereign like my uncle, and you have a favor to ask of me, it shall be granted. Here is my hand upon it!' And now, it seems, after so many years, he was able to claim his promise of the Emperor. Kranach is a noble man,—for himself he asks nothing, only for others. Herein he resembles him, who counted him among his friends,—the blessed Dr. Martin!"
Deeply moved, the merchant dried his eyes. "Yes, he is truly a great and noble man, who thus forgets himself. I have been further told, that the Emperor received him very graciously, and made him the most brilliant offers, if he would enter the imperial service as court-painter. But Kranach gratefully declined his proposals, requesting instead, that his Majesty deal generously with his captive sovereign, John Frederick of Saxony, as befitted the victor. Kranach said that as he had received many kindnesses and benefits from his gracious master, he therefore would fain show his gratitude, and do what in him lay to ease the prisoner's hard lot."
Katharine listened with brimming eyes; the professor was deeply touched, and a long silence followed the merchant's tale. Then Katharine, turning to him, said: "The city was indeed spared; but a further care presses upon me. I would know the fate of,—" She did not finish the sentence,—her eyes anxiously questioned the merchant's face.
"Be comforted, dear Mistress Luther," he replied. "The Duke of Alva, with his face of parchment and his heart of stone, vehemently urged the Emperor, to have the 'arch-heretic's' ashes scattered to the winds. But his Majesty angrily replied: 'I make war upon the living, not upon the dead.' He even forbade his soldiers to disturb the Lutheran worship. Bugenhagen preached the gospel unhindered, in the presence of many Spanish soldiers; and one day he even observed the Emperor himself among his hearers."
Katharine breathed a sigh of relief, and warmly thanked the bearer of such good tidings.
Three days later, a woman with her four children knelt at Luther's grave in the Castle-church at Wittenberg, and with many tears, gave thanks that this sacred spot remained undesecrated. It was her first errand,—afterwards she returned to her home in the Augustinian convent.
A dreary sight here met her eyes. The Emperor's orders had not extended to Luther's dwelling, and the spot where the "arch-heretic" had lived, became the scene of savage destruction, and of the brutal revenge of the Spanish soldiery. The household furniture was broken, the cellars robbed of their contents, and the walls soiled with foul doggerel. The children lamented, but Katharine, silently, went about to establish a new home upon the ruins of the old.
Great courage and a high degree of trust in God were needed, to face the future. The ruined house might have been repaired, but whichever way the widow turned, she saw only desolation.
"Lord, how long!" sighed the poor woman; but the answer was: Thine hour is not yet come; thou shalt enter still further into the dark valley, but my rod and my staff shall comfort thee.
The war had laid waste a large district. The burdens lay heavily upon the drained and ravaged land. Wearily the peasant ploughed his fields, knowing that others would reap the fruit of his toil. With sorrow, Katharine's thoughts reverted to her beloved Zulsdorf, and the fond hopes she had cherished there. But her dear husband had found another resting-place. She had not been permitted, in the peaceful quiet of Zulsdorf, to comfort his declining years with her loving care. And now, in her widowhood, the care of her children's education made a residence there impossible. She had resigned this wish, but hoped to find in her farm a means of support. In consequence of the war, however, the land had become worthless, and what the horses' hoofs had spared, was claimed by the sovereign for the expenses of the war. Instead of receiving from Zulsdorf, she was obliged to give. And Wachsdorf! She repented bitterly of having urged the purchase of the second estate. The Chancellor Brück, had been right in opposing her!
Again, Melanchthon proved himself a trusty friend and adviser. He petitioned the Elector Moritz to remit her share of the war-taxes, and even accompanied her to Leipsic, to the imperial headquarters, to make her request in person; but all was of no avail.
On all sides, Katharine saw only broken supports. The capital secured for her in Mansfeld yielded no interest; the war had impoverished her friends there, and robbed them of the means of keeping their promise. In Torgau, another sat upon the electoral throne,—a new king had arisen over Egypt, which knew not Joseph; John Frederick, the kind, generous prince, in whom she had placed her hopes, lay in chains, and the Emperor held the pen, which was to sign his death-warrant.
One hope was left,—the king of the Danes, who had on a former occasion proved a friend in need. The widow had been prevented from placing herself personally under his protection, but the ever-ready Melanchthon offered to make an appeal in her behalf to the royal heart. In his petition he pictured in moving words the condition of Luther's widow. Then she waited and hoped, seeing in every stranger that came to her door a possible messenger from the king. But she waited in vain. Had the letter miscarried? or was the king's heart hardened?
Cruel want knocked at Katharine's door, whither in former times so many had come, seeking and finding help and comfort. The world is forgetful, and returns benefactions with ingratitude. Katharine had faithful friends, but they, too, were poor.
Bugenhagen learned to his surprise, that the King of Denmark had made no reply to Melanchthon's petition, and, without telling the widow of his purpose, he again pleaded her cause. But he too hoped and waited for that which never came.
In the meantime, Katharine made a last effort. John, her eldest son, was wasting his time at home, forgetting all that he had learned. By selling the greater part of her remaining trinkets and silverware, she succeeded in raising a few hundred florins. With this money, she repaired the one wing of her house, and took lodgers. God in his goodness directed the hearts of some of these, to have compassion with the widow, and to pay her above what she asked.
One day she led John into her chamber, and falling upon her knees, committed her son to the Lord's keeping.
Early the next morning, the youth set out upon his journey. His mother had filled his knapsack with provisions, and had given him a few of her hard-earned gold-pieces upon the way. Thus supplied, he walked to Konigsberg, where he entered his name as a student of the University.
His mother's blessing followed him, and gave him strength and courage for his work. And her prayer, that the hearts of men might turn in kindness to her son, found a gracious hearing. John entered the service of the Saxon, and afterwards of the Prussian government, and lived to do credit to his father's name.
Katharine was relieved of one pressing care. John's letters from Konigsberg brought good and cheering news. The other children also gave her much pleasure, and it seemed as though a brighter day were about to dawn.
But a fresh trial awaited her: the busy, never-resting hands were forced to be idle,—a slow fever threw her upon a bed of sickness. The physician was puzzled,—he thought the disorder was of the mind, rather than of the body. It became necessary to procure a servant, if the lodgers were to be retained. A maid-servant was hired, to wait upon her, but the discovery of her hypocrisy and dishonesty, added new misery to Katharine's sufferings.
Then followed days, in which she and her children experienced the bitter pangs of hunger. The friends indeed remained,—Melanchthon, Bugenhagen, Cruciger stood by her with unchanging devotion. But she shrank from burdening with her troubles those who had already done so much. Piece by piece, her small store of silver wandered to the silversmith, painful as it was, to part with these witnesses of her former happiness.
But more urgent grew her need,—more hopeless the outlook into the future.
One day, the widow seated herself at the writing-table. Since the representations of Melanchthon and Bugenhagen had failed to move the Danish king, she resolved herself to make a last appeal, trusting that her own words, coming from her troubled heart, might prove effective. Writing was an unwonted occupation, her eyes were dim with tears, and slowly letter was added to letter. After two hours of painful labor, the petition was finished.
"The grace of God through His only Son, Jesus Christ, our Saviour, to the most gracious and powerful lord and king!
"I humbly pray your Majesty, favorably to regard this my petition, for the reason that I am a widow, and that my dear husband, Dr. Martin Luther, of blessed memory, faithfully served the Christian religion, and enjoyed the special favor of your Majesty. During the latter part of my dear husband's life, your Majesty kindly granted him a pension of fifty ducats, wherefore I thank your Majesty, and pray to God in your behalf. And, inasmuch as I and my children have no support, and these troublous times cause us much distress, I would petition your Majesty, graciously to continue this assistance; for I am sure that your Majesty has not forgotten the great and toilsome labors of my dear husband. Your Majesty is the only king upon this earth, to whom poor Christians may fly for refuge, and because of the benefactions accorded by your Majesty to Christian pastors, their widows and orphans, God will doubtless grant you especial gifts and blessings, for which I shall earnestly and faithfully pray. May the Almighty God mercifully protect your Majesty, and all your house.
"Your Majesty's humble servant,
"KATHARINE,
"Widow of Dr. Martin Luther.
"Wittenberg, on the 13th of October, A.D. 1530."
"They that sow in tears, shall reap in joy," whispered Katharine, as she folded the letter.
Yes, truly, thus is it written in His Word, which cannot fail. But it is also written: "My time is not yet come," and again, "Be patient in tribulation," and "Wait upon the Lord."
Again, the petition was in vain. Months passed, but they brought no reply.
If there is consolation in having companions in misery, then Luther's widow might indeed deem herself consoled.
The Elector John Frederick of Saxony, outlawed and dispossessed of his throne, was still a prisoner in the Emperor's hands. Although absent from his subjects, and no longer their master, he yet governed and influenced his people; and from the captive prince a blessing went forth upon all who kept their faith with the Protestant confession. The example of his noble endurance, his heroism, and humble submission inspired thousands, boldly to confess Christ; while on the other hand the unfaithful and the hard of heart were made to feel the shame of their weakness and time-serving.
Luther once said of his friend Hausman: "What we teach, he lives." Had Luther been alive, he might have applied this saying to the Elector also. A man, who has an electorate to sacrifice for his faith, doubtless finds it more difficult to follow Christ, than one who had nothing to lose. And all the more glorious does such an one stand before the world. John Frederick appears as a mighty one in Israel, when we consider his heroic calmness, his childlike submission. There was no hesitation, no halting on both sides; his heart was rooted in God's grace, and whether the Emperor sought to tempt him with fair promises, or threatened him with a fearful doom, he never swerved from the faith. His death-sentence was announced to him, while he sat at a game of chess. He calmly finished the game and then said: "I thought your Imperial Majesty would have dealt more mercifully with me; but if it cannot be otherwise, I beg that the day of my death be made known to me beforehand. There are matters which I wish to arrange with my wife and children." Death has no terrors for him,—his glance says: "To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."
The Emperor's awakened conscience caused him to revoke the sentence of death, and he promised the Elector liberty and ample indemnification for the ignominy endured, if he would but acknowledge the "Interim" of Augsburg, that masterpiece of Romish craft and deception which, under the guise of yielding to the demands of the Reformation, tore the heart out of Protestantism. He believed himself sure of his game, not deeming it possible that a man should withstand such a temptation, and sacrifice his throne, his honor, and his liberty to the Word of God; he himself being quite incapable of such an act. Yet he was impressed, and a flush of shame rose to his face, when he heard the Elector's answer:
"I stand as a poor prisoner before your majesty. I do not deny that I have confessed the truth, and for its sake have lost all that I possessed,—my wife and children, my land and my people,—in short, all that God gave and lent me in this world. I have nothing to call my own, save this poor, captive body,—even it is not in my own power, but in that of your majesty. And standing thus despoiled before the world, I am bidden also to renounce my heavenly inheritance by a recantation, from which may God preserve me. For herein have I placed my highest hopes; and I know, that although for its sake I must yield up life, yet will God give me a better possession hereafter. It would ill befit me, by an iniquitous recantation, to mislead so many thousands. Therefore, most gracious Emperor, having me in your power, your Majesty may deal with me as with a prisoner. I will abide by the truth I have confessed; and, as an example to others, willingly suffer, whatsoever God and your Majesty shall lay upon me."
The Emperor averted his face at these words. The positions were reversed; the judge stood condemned by his prisoner, and here found himself face to face with a power, which yields to no earthly force. The Lord knocked at the heart of the Emperor Charles, but it refused to answer. Fresh indignities were heaped upon the unfortunate Elector. The Emperor was not ashamed to drag him in triumph through Germany, and even permitted the Spanish guards to exhibit him for money to the curious multitude.
The prisoner's chief consolations were the Bible and Luther's writings, of which he often said, that they penetrated body and soul, and that when he compared other writings with those of Luther, he found in a single page from the latter, more strength, and spiritual nourishment, and consolation, than in a. whole book by another. To strike his tenderest spot, the Emperor deprived him of these treasures. His Court-preacher, Master Christopher Hofman, who had been permitted to accompany him, and preach to him the pure word of God, came one day with tears to bid him farewell—at the Emperor's command.
The Elector remained calm and undaunted. "Even though they have taken my books, yet they cannot tear from my heart the lessons I have learned from them; and even though you go, dear Hofman, the Lord will remain with me."
When the Emperor found himself powerless to influence the Elector, he endeavored to persuade his sons to accept the Interim. But they refused to act without their father's sanction. His message to them was, "if God's mercy and their father's love were dear to them, to abide steadfastly by his former answer and declaration; and not to suffer themselves to be intimidated, or turned aside, even though the last remnant of their inheritance were taken from them, and still greater dangers threatened. The Almighty God would not forget them, but would graciously protect and defend them."
Great numbers of the Lutheran clergy, refusing to acknowledge the Interim, were driven into misery,—those of Augsburg with the rest. They refused to leave the city, without the blessing of the princely martyr, who just then happened to be in Augsburg.
John Frederick was deeply moved by their words, and turned away to hide his tears; but he speedily conquered himself, and addressing the men, asked: "And has the Emperor forbidden you the entrance to heaven?"
"No," was the answer.
"Then, my friends," cried the Elector, "do not despair. Be of good cheer,—heaven is ours still; and God will surely show you a place upon this earth, where you will be permitted to preach his word." He reached into his wallet. "Here is all that I possess in the world. I wish to give you something on the way. Share it with your brethren. My God will provide for me further, I trust."
When his fellow-prisoner, the Duke Ernst of Brunswick-Luneberg, began to despair, John Frederick comforted him: "Do not distress yourself. Since we have been worsted in the struggle, let us arm ourselves with patience, and we shall overcome in the end. Let us show by our actions, that we despise misfortune, and thus shall we wrest the victory from our enemy's hand. This is the true manner of taking our revenge."
A second year of misery was added to the first; the hope of deliverance grew ever fainter; but John Frederick continued true to himself,—a hero in the warfare of faith. Like David of old, the God-fearing monarch, in the midst of his affliction, sounded his harp and a psalm rang forth from his prison,—a psalm, whose notes to this day appeal to each human heart, bringing strength, and peace, and consolation:
"As God hath willed, so too will I,[1]
And naught my trust shall alter,
In trial and perplexity.
O, may I never falter.
All things that be,
God certainly
For purpose wise is sending;
What He hath willed
Must be fulfilled,
To reach a blessed ending.
"As God hath willed it must abide,
Self-will would but mislead me:
Forbidden joys I'll cast aside,
And graciously He'll heed me.
Howe'er it seem,
I'll rest in Him;
His grace is with me surely;
Howe'er it seem,
I'll rest in Him,
Whose purpose stands securely.
"As God hath willed, I shall obey,
In all to Him submitting,
Who can His mighty Will gainsay?
He doth what is befitting.
Wisdom, nor wit,
Can alter it.
Nor sorest grief, nor passion;
My murmuring
No change could bring,
His hand my way doth fashion.
"As God hath willed, so I will choose,
His promises believing,
Obedience never more refuse,
But ever to Him cleaving,
Cast off my fears:
All days and years
Are by His law designed.
In this secure:
His Word is sure,
I'm to His laws resigned.
"As God hath willed, unchanged shall stay,
As well the birds might sorrow!
If hope forsake the home to-day,
'Tis to return to-morrow.
The gifts of God
Are well bestowed;
And, if He seem unheeding,
Still let me say,
Most thankfully,
Unto my good 'tis leading."
Even as, long years ago, Luther's theses, as if borne on angel's wings, had flown through the length and breadth of Germany, thus it was with this song of the captive prince. In a wondrous manner, its strains over-leaped the prison-walls, ringing forth into the world, for thousands to hear. People sang it in the churches; troubled and stricken souls, praying for guidance, found in it the help they sought; and to the conscience of many an one who had fallen from the faith, it came as a messenger of justice from God.
Luther's widow had fastened a copy of the hymn upon the wall opposite her bed; each morning, it greeted her as a voice from above, and each morning she thanked the Elector anew, who herewith gave her more, than he had ever given her in the days of his prosperity.
Money and bread he no longer had to bestow, yet he remained her benefactor, who, until the day of her death, kept his promise to the widow. The stubborn and unbelieving human heart is so prone, in its trouble, to see no further than the present moment, and to regard its own affliction as exceeding all other. But when the cross bearer learns to look about him, and finds that some are still more heavily burdened, he takes heart, to bear his own trials with a meek and quiet spirit. It sometimes seemed to Katharine, as though her burden were heavier than she could bear, and the world's neglect of the widow of him who had been the benefactor of Christianity, appeared doubly shameful. But when she thought of her beloved sovereign, of his heroic endurance, his humble resignation, her cross lost half its weight, and with a blush of shame, she asked forgiveness of God for her faint-heartedness.
This was a glimmer of light in the night of her sorrow, and now at last, a star arose upon her horizon, bringing her a heavenly greeting.
It was on New Year's Day in the year 1552. Katharine has just received the congratulations of her children, when Bugenhagen entered, and from the depths of his kind, faithful heart, spoke to the widow words of comfort and encouragement.
When Katharine had expressed her own hearty good wishes for his welfare during the coming year, Bugenhagen continued: "I greatly wondered, for what cause the King of Denmark made no reply to our repeated petitions in your behalf, knowing as I do, his kind and merciful heart, and he having regularly transmitted to Melanchthon and myself our usual pension. Yesterday a young man came to me, who has travelled much, and was employed as Secretary at the Danish Court, whither he is shortly to return. When I expressed to him my surprise that the king had thus withdrawn his accustomed aid, he was much astonished, and could not otherwise explain the matter, than that the letters must have miscarried; for, as he said, the conversation one day turned upon the widow of Dr. Luther, when one of the royal officers said that no doubt she was in comfortable circumstances, as she had not petitioned his majesty for a continuance of the pension. Herefrom, dear Mistress Luther, you perceive that the king knows nothing of your need. I would therefore advise you to venture another letter, which I will entrust to the secretary, when he leaves, and I trust that it will not prove fruitless."
Katharine thanked her friend, and did as he advised. When she learned that the young man purposed to set out upon his journey on the 9th of January, she sat down and wrote:
"Most gracious lord! Accept my humble service and my feeble prayers to God in your majesty's behalf.
Your majesty doubtless remembers, that my dear husband, of blessed memory, also Master Philip Melanchthon and Dr. Bugenhagen received annually from your majesty a pension, toward the support of their families; which has heretofore been regularly paid out to Dr. Pommer and Master Philip. And inasmuch as my dear husband was well-inclined to your majesty, regarding you as a most Christian king, and as your majesty at all times greatly favored my husband—for which I am humbly grateful—I feel myself constrained, by reason of my great need, to petition your majesty, hoping that you will pardon this request of a poor widow. I would pray, that this money be continued to me. Your majesty doubtless knows how, since my husband's death, war and trouble have visited our land; how the poor have been oppressed, and how many have been made widows and orphans, so that one cannot but feel pity, all of which were too long to relate. For these and other reasons, I am forced to make this appeal, trusting that your majesty will kindly grant my petition, and receive the reward of the Almighty God, who is the friend of widows and orphans. Into the keeping of that same God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, I commend your majesty, praying that He may grant you long life for the sake of His Church, and graciously keep and preserve you from all danger to body or soul. Amen."
"Your Majesty's humble servant,
"KATHARINE LUTHER,
"Dr. Martin's Widow.
"On the 8th of January, in the year 1532."
When Katharine gave the letter to Dr. Bugenhagen to read, he added these few words: "Father Luther's widow is in sore straits, and therefore petitions your majesty for relief, having, together with her neighbors, suffered great losses during the year."
On the following day the secretary left, carrying the letter with him, which he delivered into the king's own hands.
Once more, Katharine was obliged to take from the corner cupboard three silver cups, and to carry them to the silver-smith, but she went with a lighter heart, feeling that help was near.
She was not deceived, for sooner than she dared to hope, on the 20th of March, a messenger from the King of Denmark brought her fifty ducats, with the king's greeting.
Here was another glimpse of sunshine in the dreary life of her widowhood, and a renewed assurance that the God of our fathers still lived. His faithfulness and mercy had even better things in store for her,—his angel was already upon the way—bringing His message to the sufferer: "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."
[1] Translated by Miss Mary Welden.
The situation of Wittenberg was not a healthy one. The vapors arising from the broad flats of the Elbe were doubtless favorable to the growth of vegetation,—but scarcely to the health of human beings. The moat surrounding the walls, and half-filled with stagnant water, contributed its share to the noisome odors which poisoned the air. Several times during Luther's lifetime the plague, beside other epidemics, had made fearful havoc among the citizens; it returned again in the summer of 1552, and raged with renewed fury.
The angel of death was followed as usual, by his most powerful ally,—fear. Men had learned no lessons from experience, or they would have remembered that a calm temper is the most effective safe-guard against the pestilence; and again, death reaped an abundant harvest. In the universal distress, charity was dead, and selfishness stood revealed in its most hideous form. Children forsook their dying parents; the gravediggers left the neglected corpses lying by the wayside: superstition, with its senseless remedies helped many an one to his death, while others with fiendish malice carried the seeds of the pestilence into uninfected houses.
Many of the citizens sought safety in flight. The University was closed at the Elector's command, professors and students repairing to Torgau.
Katharine had learned from her husband, calmly to commit herself to the Lord's care, and to help, wherever she was able. The opportunity was thus given her, of heaping coals of fire upon the heads of many, who had closed their hearts to her in the time of her need.
For five weeks the plague had raged in Wittenberg, still sparing Katharine's household. Then one of her lodgers was stricken down, and died. She had no fear, at least not for herself,—for her desire was, to depart and be with Christ, and with her beloved husband. Yet she was concerned for her children's sake, and finally resolved to leave Wittenberg, and go to Torgau.
As usual, she lost no time in carrying out her decision. A few days later, a large, canvas-covered wagon held at the door of the Luther-house, to carry away the widow and her children with their most necessary belongings.
Katharine's eyes rested sadly upon the spot, where she had enjoyed so much happiness during her husband's life, and had experienced so much affliction since his death. The human heart is bound with a thousand cords to its earthly home; and not only the joys of the past, but its sorrows also, exercise a magnetic power, which makes parting a bitter trial.
Katharine was very sad. Hot tears gushed from her eyes, and she stood hesitating at the open gate, until the horses grew impatient and the driver urged her to make haste.
Their road led them through the Elster-gate, and past the garden, whose dense shrubbery recalled so many pleasant hours. Further on, at a little distance from the road, rose the summer-house beside the fountain, where her husband was wont to receive his friends, and where they spent many hours together in earnest labor or in cheerful talk. It seemed to her like taking leave of her life, as one by one, the scenes of her departed happiness vanished from her sight.
She sat lost in melancholy revery, and the children, divining her thoughts, feared to disturb her, or to relieve the heaviness of their own hearts. Only the driver was insensible to their grief, and swore lustily at his horses, who refused to settle to a quiet pace.
Katharine roused herself at last, and saw to her dismay that the horses were being controlled with difficulty. As they passed through the outskirts of a village, a dog ran out and barked at them. This so excited the frightened animals that they became entirely unmanageable. They plunged and dashed furiously down the road.
Katharine was in deadly fear. Scarcely conscious of herself, she suddenly rose from her seat, and sprang from the wagon. She could not have chosen a more unfavorable spot, for by the roadside ran a stream of water, with steep banks. In alighting, she struck against a stone and slipped into the water. With the help of a peasant who hurried to their assistance, the driver succeeded in quieting the horses; Katharine, wet to the skin, and stunned by her fall, was unable to rise; she was lifted into the wagon, and covered with warm wraps.
Two hours later they reached Torgau. Lodgings had been taken for them in a house near the convent church. The landlord, Kasper Grünewald by name, and a worthy man, had been a friend of Luther's. As the Saviour said of Mary Magdalene, it might be said of him: He hath done what he could. It seemed like paying a debt of love to his departed friend, when he could shelter the widow in his house; and he vied with her children in giving her the tenderest care.
Katharine was at once put to bed;—the fright and the chill had made her very weak, and brought on a high fever.
The physician who was called in, shook his head, and did all that his skill suggested, to revive the sinking forces. It seemed as though all were concerned in repairing the world's neglect of the widow of the great man.
She appreciated their efforts. Her lips overflowed with gratitude, and when her growing weakness deprived her of the power of speech, her eyes and the mute pressure of her hand conveyed her thanks.
The loveliest roses bloomed upon her cheeks; and her skin was lily-white and transparently pure. She did not seem ill, and never in her life had she been fairer. A strange light shone in her eyes, and her manner was so gentle and tender, that those who entered her presence, seemed to feel a breath from the other world. Her thoughts were in Heaven, more than upon the earth. She often spoke of her husband, not only in her waking moments, but also in her dreams; and sometimes she spoke to him, as though he were actually present.
Winter came, with its snow-flakes and its ice-flowers, with its long nights, and the holy calm of the Advent Season. "Come, Thou Saviour of the Gentiles,"—they sang in the churches; and in the street, under the sick woman's window, the choir-boys repeated the sacred strains.
She listened to the sweet, joyous tones; her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowed, and she softly sang, "Come, Thou Saviour of the Gentiles." Then she folded her hands, and inspired with sudden strength, she prayed: "Lord, my Saviour, Thou standest at the door, and wouldst enter in. O come, Thou beloved guest, whom my soul awaits with longing. For I desire to depart and to be with Thee. Grant me a peaceful end, and a blessed departure from this valley of tears. Let my poor children be committed to Thy mercy,—that none of them be lost, but that all may one day appear before Thy throne, and unite with us in praising Thy glorious Name. And, Lord, look down in mercy upon Thy Church, which the pope and other ungodly men would fain rend in pieces, extinguishing the light of the Gospel truth which, by Thy servant, the blessed Dr. Martin, Thou didst kindle in our German land. Have mercy upon all, who for the Gospel's sake suffer shame and persecution, and give them strength, boldly to confess their faith, that Thy Name may through them be glorified. I give Thee thanks, that Thou didst regard the misery of our beloved Elector, and didst turn his captivity, that men may see how Thou dost bring to honor those who have suffered for Thy Name's sake. Grant him a calm and peaceful old age, and finally take him home to Thee. Dear Lord, I thank Thee for all the trials, through which Thou didst lead me, and by which Thou didst prepare me to behold Thy Glory. Thou hast never forsaken nor forgotten me; Thou hast evermore caused Thy face to shine upon me, when I called upon Thee. Behold, now I grasp Thy hand and say, as Jacob of old: Lord, I will not let Thee go, unless Thou bless me! I will cling to my Lord Jesus forevermore. Amen. Help me, dear Lord God. Amen."
She had spoken in a low tone, pausing frequently. Now she lay exhausted. Her hands were clasped; her eyes turned upward, as though she were watching for the coming of the Lord.
Those around her prayed softly.
The hours passed; night came. They lighted the lamp, and kindled a fresh fire in the stove, for it was a bitter cold day, the 20th of December, in the year 1552.
As it struck nine, the mother turned to her children, whose faces had grown wan and pinched with watching and anxiety. "Had you not better lie down and sleep, my dear children?" she whispered. "I too am tired."
Then, assisted by Gretchen, she turned to the wall, closed her eyes and breathed quietly.
The children sat in silence by her bedside, watching their mother's sleep, and fondly hoping that it might be the sleep of returning health. About an hour passed thus.
Then Margaret rose, and softly creeping to the bed, she leaned over her mother. She listened—all was still: The patient sufferer was at home with her God.
THE END.