VI.
Friedrich's Story.
ST. SEBASTIAN, ERFURT, _January_ 20, 1510.
The irrevocable step is taken. I have entered the Augustinian cloister.I write in Martin Luther's cell. Truly I have forsaken father andmother, and all that was dearest to me, to take refuge at the foot ofthe cross. I have sacrificed everything on earth to my vocation, and yetthe conflict is not over. I seem scarcely more certain of my vocationnow than while I remained in the world. Doubts buzz around me likewasps, and sting me on every side. The devil, transforming himself intoan angel of light, perplexes me with the very words of Scripture. Thewords of Martin Luther's father recur to me, as if spoken by a divinevoice, "Honour thy father and thy mother!" echoes back to me from thechants of the choir, and seems written everywhere on the white walls ofmy cell.
And, besides the thunder of these words of God, tender voices seem tocall me back by every plea of duty, not to abandon them to fight thebattle of life alone. Else calls me from the old lumber-room, "Fritz'brother! who is to tell me now what to do?" My mother does not call meback; but I seem ever to see her tearful eyes, full of reproach andwonder which she tries to repress, lifted up to heaven for strength; andher worn, pale face, growing more wan every day. In one voice and oneface only I seem never to hear or see reproach or recall; and yet,Heaven forgive me, those pure and saintly eyes which seem only to say,"Go on, Cousin Fritz, God will help thee, and I will pray!"--thosesweet, trustful, heavenly eyes, draw me back to the world with morepower than anything else.
Is it, then, too late? Have I lingered in the world so long that myheart can never more be torn from it? Is this the punishment of myguilty hesitation, that, though I have given my body to the cloister,God will not have my soul, which evermore must hover like a lost spiritabout the scenes it was too reluctant to leave? Shall I evermore, when Ilift my eyes to heaven, see all that is pure and saintly there embodiedfor me in a face which it is deadly sin for me to remember?
Yet I have saved her life! If I brought the curse on my people by mysin, was not my obedience accepted? From the hour when, in my roomalone, after hearing that Eva was stricken, I prostrated myself beforeGod, and not daring to take His insulted name on my lips, approached himthrough His martyred saint, and said, "Holy Sebastian, by the arrowswhich pierced thy heart, ward off the arrows of pestilence from my home,and I will become a monk, and change my own guilty name forthine,"--from that moment did not Eva begin to recover, and from thattime were not all my kindred unscathed? "Cadent a latere tuo mille, etdecem millia a dextris tuis; ad te autem non approprinquabit." Were notthe words literally fulfilled; and while many still fell around us, wasone afterwards stricken in my home?
Holy Sebastian, infallible protector against pestilence, by thy firmnesswhen accused, confirm my wavering will; by thy double death, save mefrom the second death; by the arrows which could not slay thee, thouhast saved us from the arrow that flieth by day; by the cruel blowswhich sent thy spirit from the circus to paradise, strengthen me againstthe blows of Satan; by thy body rescued from ignominious sepulture andlaid in the catacombs among the martyrs, raise me from the filth of sin;by thy generous pleading for thy fellow sufferers amidst thine ownagonies, help me to plead for those who suffer with me; and by all thysorrows, and merits, and joys, plead--oh plead for me, who henceforthbear thy name!
ST. SCHOLASTICA, _February_ 10.
I have been a month in the monastery. Yesterday my first probation wasover, and I was invested with the white garments of the novitiate.
The whole of the brotherhood were assembled in the church, when,kneeling before the prior, he asked me solemnly whether I thought mystrength sufficient for the burden I purposed to take on myself.
In a low, grave voice, he reminded me what those burdens are--the roughplain clothing; the abstemious living; the broken rest and long vigils;the toils in the service of the order; the reproach and poverty; thehumiliations of the mendicant; and, above all, the renunciation ofself-will and individual glory, to be a member of the order, bound to dowhatever the superiors command, and to go whithersoever they direct.
"With God for my help," I could venture to say, "of this will I maketrial."
Then the prior replied,--
"We receive thee, therefore, on probation for one year; and may God, whohas begun a good work in thee, carry it on unto perfection."
The whole brotherhood responded in a deep amen, and then all the voicesjoined in the hymn,--
"Magna Pater Augustine, preces nostras suscipe, Et per eas conditori nos placare satage. Atque rege gregem tuum, summum decus praesulum.
Amatorem paupertatis, te collaudant pauperes; Assertorem veritatis amant veri judices; Frangis nobis favos mellis de Scripturis disserens.
Quae obscura prius erant nobis plana faciens, Tu de verbis Salvatoris dulcem panem conficis, Et propinas potum vitae de psalmorum nectare.
Tu de vita clericorum sanctam scribis regulam, Quam qui amant et sequunter viam tenent regiam, Atque tuo sancto ductu redeunt ad patriam.
Regi regum salis, vita, decus et emperium; Trinitati laus et honor sit per omne saeculum, Qui concives nos ascribat supernorum civium."[5]
[Footnote 5:
"Great Father Augustine, receive our prayers, And through them effectually reconcile the Creator; And rule thy flock, the highest glory of rulers.
The poor praise thee, lover of poverty; True judges love thee, defender of truth; Breaking the honeycomb of the honey of Scripture, thou distributest it to us.
Making smooth to us what before was obscure; Thou, from the words of the Saviour, furnishest us with wholesome bread, And givest to drink draughts of life from the nectar of the psalms.
Thou writest the holy rule for the life of priests, Which, whosoever love and follow, keep the royal road, And by thy holy leading return to their fatherland.
Salvation to the King of kings, life, glory, and dominion; Honour and praise be to the Trinity throughout all ages, To Him who declareth us to be fellow-citizens with the citizens of heaven."]
As the sacred words were chanted, they mingled strangely in my mind withthe ceremonies of the investiture. My hair was shorn with the clericaltonsure; my secular dress was laid aside; the garments of the novicewere thrown on; and I was girded with the girdle of rope, whilst theprior murmured softly to me, that with the new robes I must put on thenew man.
Then, as the last notes of the hymn died away, I knelt and bowed low toreceive the prior's blessing, invoked in these words:--
"May God who hath converted this young man from the world, and given hima mansion in heaven, grant that his daily walk may be as becometh hiscalling; and that he may have cause to be thankful for what has this daybeen done."
Versicles were then chanted responsively by the monks, who, forming inprocession, moved towards the choir, where we all prostrated ourselvesin silent prayer.
After this they conducted me to the great hall of the cloister, whereall the brotherhood bestowed on me the kiss of peace.
Once more I knelt before the prior, who reminded me that he whopersevereth to the end shall be saved; and gave me over to the directionof the preceptor, whom the new Vicar-General Staupitz has ordered to beappointed to each novice.
Thus the first great ceremony of my monastic life is over, and it hasleft me with a feeling of blank and disappointment. It has made nochange that I can feel in my heart. It has not removed the world furtheroff from me. It has only raised another impassable barrier between meand all that was dearest to me;--impassable as an ocean without ships,infrangible as the strongest iron, I am determined my _will_ shall makeit; but to my _heart_, alas! thin as gossamer, since every faintest,wistful tone of love, which echoes from the past, can penetrate it andpierce me with sorrow.
My preceptor is very strict in enforcing the rules order. Trespassesagainst the rules are divi
ded into four classes,--small, great, greater,and greatest, to each of which is assigned a different degree ofpenance. Among the smaller are, failing to go to church as soon as thesign is given, forgetting to touch the ground instantly with the handand to smite the breast if in reading in the choir or in singing theleast error is committed; looking about during the service; omittingprostration at the Annunciation or at Christmas; neglecting thebenediction in coming in or going out; failing to return books orgarments to their proper places; dropping food; spilling drink;forgetting to say grace before eating. Among the great trespasses are:contending, breaking the prescribed silence at fasts, and looking atwomen, or speaking to them, except in brief replies.
The minute rules are countless. It is difficult at first to learn thevarious genuflexions, inclinations, and prostrations. The novices arenever allowed to converse except in presence of the prior, are forbiddento take any notice of visitors, are enjoined to walk with downcast eyes,to read the Scriptures diligently, to bow low in receiving every gift,and say, "The Lord be praised in his gifts."
How Brother Martin, with his free, bold, daring nature, bore thoseminute restrictions, I know not. To me there is a kind of dull,deadening relief in them, they distract my thoughts, or prevent mythinking.
Yet it must be true, my obedience will aid my kindred more than all mytoil could ever have done whilst disobediently remaining in the world.It is not a selfish seeking of my own salvation and ease which hasbrought me here, whatever some may think and say, as they did of MartinLuther. I think of that ship in the picture at Magdeburg he so oftentold me of. Am I not in it,--actually _in_ it _now_? and shall I nothereafter, when my strength is recovered from the fatigue of reachingit, hope to lean over and stretch out my arms to them, still strugglingin the waves of this bitter world? and save them!
Save them; yes, save their souls! Did not my vow save precious lives?And shall not my fastings, vigils, disciplines, prayers be as effectualfor their souls? And, then, hereafter, in heaven, where those dwell who,in virgin purity, have followed the Lamb, shall I not lean over thejasper-battlements and help them from Purgatory up the steep sides ofParadise, and be first at the gate to welcome them in! And then, inParadise, where love will no longer be in danger of becoming sin, may wenot be together for ever and for ever? And then, shall I regret that Iabandoned the brief polluted joys of earth for the pure joys ofeternity? Shall I lament _then_ that I chose, according to my vocation,to suffer apart from them that their souls might be saved, rather thanto toil with them for the perishing body?
Then! _then!_ I, a saint in the City of God! I, a hesitating, sinfulnovice in the Augustinian monastery at Erfurt, who, after resisting foryears, have at last yielded up my body to the cloister, but have no morepower than ever to yield up my heart to God!
Yet I am _in_ the sacred vessel; the rest will surely follow. Do allmonks have such a conflict? No doubt the Devil fights hard for everyfresh victim he loses. It is, it must be, the Devil who beckons methrough those dear faces, who calls me through those familiar voices;for _they_ would never call me back. They would hide their pain, andsay, "Go to God, if he calls thee; leave us and go to God." Else, mymother, all would say that; if their hearts broke in trying to say it!
Had Martin Luther such thoughts in this very cell? If they are from theEvil One, I think he had, for his assaults are strongest against thenoblest; and yet I scarcely think he can have had such weak doubts asthese which haunt me. He was not one of those who draw back toperdition; nor even of those who, having put their hand to the plough,_look_ back, as I, alas! am so continually doing. And what does theScripture say of such?--"They are not fit for the kingdom of God." Noexception, no reserve--monk, priest, saint; if a man _look_ back, he isnot fit for the kingdom of God. Then what becomes of my hopes ofParadise, or of acquiring merits which may aid others? _Turn back_, drawback, I will _never_, although all the devils were to drive me, or allthe world entice me, but _look_ back, who can help that? If a look cankill, what can save? Mortification, crucifixion, not for a day, butdaily;--I must die daily; I must be _dead_--dead to the world. This cellmust to me be as a tomb, where all that was most living in my heart mustdie and be buried. Was it so to Martin Luther? Is the cloister that tothose bands of rosy, comfortable monks, who drink beer from great cans,and feast on the best of the land, and fast on the choicest fish? TheTempter! the Tempter again! Judge not, and ye shall not be judged.
ST. EULALIA, ERFURT, _February_ 12, 1510.
To-day one of the older monks came to me, seeing me, I suppose, lookdowncast and sad, and said, "Fear not, Brother Sebastian, the strife isoften hard at first; but remember the words of St. Jerome: 'Though thyfather should lie before thy door weeping and lamenting, though thymother should show thee the body that bore thee, and the breasts thatnursed thee, see that thou trample them under foot, and go onstraightway to Christ.'"
I bowed my head, according to rule, in acknowledgment of hisexhortation, and I suppose he thought his words comforted andstrengthened me; but Heaven knows the conflict they awakened in my heartwhen I sat alone to-night in my cell. "Cruel, bitter, wicked words!" myearthly heart would say; my sinful heart, that vigils, scourging,scarcely death itself, I fear, can kill. Surely, at least, the holyfather Jerome spoke of heathen fathers and mothers. My mother would notshow her anguish to win me back; she would say, "My son, my first-born,God bless thee; I give thee freely up to God." Does she not say so inthis letter which I have in her handwriting,--which I have and dare notlook at, because of the storm of memories it brings rushing on my heart?
Is there a word of reproach or remonstrance in her letter? If therewere, I would read it; it would strengthen me. The saints had that tobear. It is because those holy, tender words echo in my heart, from avoice weak with feeble health, that day by day and hour by hour, myheart goes back to the home at Eisenach, and sees them toiling unaidedin the daily struggle for bread, to which I have abandoned them,unsheltered and alone.
Then at times the thought comes, Am I, after all, a dreamer, as I havesometimes ventured to think my father,--neglecting my plain, daily taskfor some Atlantis? and if my Atlantis is in Paradise instead of beyondthe ocean, does that make so much difference?
If Brother Martin were only here, he might understand and help me; buthe has now been nearly two years at Wittemberg, where he is, they say,to lecture on theology at the Elector's new university, and to bepreacher. The monks seem nearly as proud of him as the University ofErfurt was.
Yet, perhaps, after all, he might _not_ understand my perplexities. Hisnature was so firm and straightforward and strong. He would probablyhave little sympathy with wavering hearts and troubled consciences likemine.
_March_ 7.--SS. PERPETUA AND FELICITAS.-- ERFURT, AUGUSTINIAN CLOISTER.
To-day I have been out on my first quest for alms. It seemed verystrange at first to be begging at familiar doors, with the frock and theconvent sack on my shoulders; but although I tottered a little at timesunder the weight as it grew heavy (for the plague and fasting have leftme weak), I returned to the cloister feeling better and easier in mind,and more hopeful as to my vocation, than I had done for some days.Perhaps, however, the fresh air had something to do with it, and, afterall, it was only a little bodily exultation. But certainly such bodilyloads and outward mortifications are not the burdens which weigh thespirit down. There seemed a luxury in the half-scornful looks of some ofmy former fellow-students, and in the contemptuous tossing to me ofscraps of meat by some grudging hands; just as a tight pressure, which,in itself would be pain were we at ease, is relief to severe pain.
Perhaps, also, O holy Perpetua and Felicitas, whose day it is, andespecially thou, O holy Perpetua, who, after encouraging thy sons to diefor Christ, was martyred thyself, hast pleaded for my forsaken motherand for me, and sendest me this day some ray of hope.
ST. JOSEPH.--_March_ 19.--
AUGUSTINIAN CLOISTER, ERFURT.
St. Joseph, whom I have chosen to be one of the twenty-one patrons whomI especially honour, hear and aid me to-day. Thou whose glory it was tohave no glory, but meekly to aid others to win their higher crowns, giveme also some humble place on high; and not to me alone, but to thosealso whom I have left still struggling in the stormy seas of thisperilous world.
Here, in the sacred calm of the cloister, surely at length the heartmust grow calm, and cease to beat except with the life of the universalChurch,--the feasts in the calendar becoming its events. But when willthat be to me?
_March_ 20.
Has Brother Martin attained this repose yet? An aged monk sat with me inmy cell yesterday, who told me strange tidings of him, which have givenme some kind of bitter comfort.
It seems that the monastic life did not at once bring repose into hisheart.
This aged monk was Brother Martin's confessor, and he has also beengiven to me for mine. In his countenance there is such a peace as I longfor;--not a still, death-like peace, as if he had fallen into it afterthe conflict; but a living, kindly peace, as if he had won it throughthe conflict, and enjoyed it even while the conflict lasted.
It does not seem to me that Brother Martin's scruples and doubts wereexactly like mine. Indeed, my confessor says that in all the years hehas exercised his office, he has never found two troubled heartstroubled exactly alike.
I do not know that Brother Martin doubted his vocation, or looked backto the world; but he seems to have suffered agonies of inward torture.His conscience was so quick and tender, that the least sin wounded himas if it had been the grossest crime. He invoked the saints mostdevoutly--choosing, as I have done from his example, twenty-one saints,and invoking three every day, so as to honour each every week. He readmass every day, and had an especial devotion for the blessed Virgin. Hewasted his body with fastings and watching. He never intentionallyviolated the minutest rule of the order; and yet the more he strove, themore wretched he seemed to be. Like a musician whose ear is cultivatedto the highest degree, the slightest discord was torture to him. Can itthen be God's intention that the growth of our spiritual life is onlygrowing sensitiveness to pain? Is this true growth?--or is it thatmonstrous development of one faculty at the expense of others, which isdeformity or disease?
The confessor said thoughtfully, when I suggested this--
"The world is out of tune, my son, and the heart is out of tune. Themore our souls vibrate truly to the music of heaven, the more, perhaps,they must feel the discords of earth. At least it was so with BrotherMartin; until at last, omitting a prostration or a genuflexion wouldweigh on his conscience like a crime. Once, after missing him for sometime, we went to the door of his cell, and knocked. It was barred, andall our knocking drew no response. We broke open the door at last, andfound him stretched senseless on the floor. We only succeeded inreviving him by strains of sacred music, chanted by the choristers, whomwe brought to his cell. He always dearly loved music, and believed it tohave a strange potency against the wiles of the devil."
"He must have suffered grievously," I said. "I suppose it is by suchsufferings merit is acquired to aid others."
"He did suffer agonies of mind," replied the old monk. "Often he wouldwalk up and down the cold corridors for nights together."
"Did nothing comfort him?" I asked.
"Yes, my son; some words I once said to him comforted him greatly. Once,when I found him in an agony of despondency in his cell, I said,'Brother Martin, dost thou believe in "the forgiveness of sins," assaith the Creed?' His face lighted up at once."
"The forgiveness of sins!" I repeated slowly. "Father, I also believe inthat. But forgiveness only follows on contrition, confession, andpenance. How can I ever be sure that I have been sufficiently contrite,that I have made an honest and complete confession, or that I haveperformed my penance aright?"
"Ah, my son," said the old man, "these were exactly Brother Martin'sperplexities, and I could only point him to the crucified Lord, andremind him again of the forgiveness of sins. All we do is incomplete,and when the blessed Lord says He forgiveth sins, I suppose He means thesins of _sinners_, who sin in their confession as in everything else. Myson, He is more compassionate than you think, perhaps than any of usthink. At least this is my comfort; and if, when I stand before Him atlast, I find I have made a mistake, and thought Him more compassionatethan He is, I trust He will pardon me. It can scarcely, I think, grieveHim so much as declaring Him to be a hard master would."
I did not say anything more to the old man. His words so evidently werestrength and joy to him, that I could not venture to question themfurther. To me, also, they have given a gleam of hope. And yet, if theway is not rough and difficult, and if it is not a hard thing to pleaseAlmighty God, why all those severe rules and renunciations--those heavypenances for trifling offences?
Merciful we know He is. But the emperor may be merciful; and yet, if apeasant were to attempt to enter the imperial presence without theprescribed forms, would he not be driven from the palace with curses, atthe point of the sword? And what are those rules at the court of heaven?
If perfect purity of heart and life, who can lay claim to that?
If a minute attention to the rules of an order such as this of St.Augustine, who can be sure of having never failed in this? Theinattention which caused the neglect would probably let it glide fromthe memory. And then, what is the worth of confession?
Christ is the Saviour, but only of those who follow him. There _is_forgiveness of sins, but only for those who make adequate confession. I,alas! have not followed him fully. What priest on earth can assure me Ihave ever confessed fully?
Therefore I see Him merciful, gracious, holy--a Saviour, but seated on ahigh throne, where I can never be sure petitions of mine will reach him;and, alas! one day to be seated on a great white throne, whence it istoo sure his summoning voice will reach me.
Mary, mother of God, Virgin of virgins, mother of divine grace--holySebastian and all martyrs--great father Augustine and all holy doctors,intercede for me, that my penances may be accepted as a satisfaction formy sins, and may pacify my Judge.
_March_ 25.--ANNUNCIATION OF THE HOLY VIRGIN.
My preceptor has put into my hands the Bible bound in red morocco whichBrother Martin, he says, used to read so much. I am to study it in allthe intervals which the study of the fathers, expeditions for begging,the services of the Church, and the menial offices in the house whichfall to the share of novices, allow. These are not many. I have neverhad a Bible in my hands before, and the hours pass quickly indeed in mycell which I can spend in reading it. The preceptor, when he comes tocall me for the midnight service, often finds me still reading.
It is very different from what I expected. There is nothing oratoricalin it, there are no laboured disquisitions, and no minute rules, atleast in the New Testament.
I wish sometimes I had lived in the Old Jewish times, when there was onetemple wherein to worship, certain definite feasts to celebrate, certaindefinite ceremonial rules to keep.
If I could have stood in the Temple courts on that great day ofatonement, and seen the victim slain, and watched till the high priestcame out from the holy place with his hands lifted up in benediction, Ishould have known absolutely that God was satisfied, and returned to myhome in peace. Yes, to my _home_! there were no monasteries, apparently,in those Jewish times. Family life was God's appointment then, andfamily affections had his most solemn sanctions.
In the New Testament, on the contrary, I cannot find any of thosedefinite rules. It is all addressed to the heart; and who can make theheart right? I suppose it is the conviction of this which has made theChurch since then restore many minute rules and discipline, in imitationof the Jewish ceremonial; for in the Gospels and Epistles I can find noritual, ceremonial, or definite external rules of any kind.
What advantage, then, has the New Testament o
ver the old? Christ hascome. "God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son." This_ought_ surely to make a great difference between us and the Jews. Buthow?
_April_ 9.--ST. GREGORY OF NYSSA.
I have found, in my reading to-day, the end of Eva's sentence--"God soloved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, _that whosoeverbelieveth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life_."
How simple the words are!--"Believeth;" that would mean, in any otherbook, "trusteth," "has reliance" in Christ;--simply to confide in him,and then receive his promise not to perish.
But _here_--in this book, in theology--it is necessarily impossible thatbelieving can mean anything so simple as that; because, at that rate,any one who merely came to the Lord Jesus Christ in confiding trustwould have everlasting life, without any further conditions; and this isobviously out of the question.
For what can be more simple than to confide in one worthy of confidence?and what can be greater than everlasting life?
And yet we know, from all the teaching of the doctors and fathers of theChurch, that nothing is more difficult than obtaining everlasting life;and that, for this reason, monastic orders, pilgrimages, penances, havebeen multiplied from century to century; for this reason saints haveforsaken every earthly joy, and inflicted on themselves every possibletorment;--all to obtain everlasting life, which, if this word"believeth" meant here what it would mean anywhere but in theology,would be offered freely to every petitioner.
Wherefore it is clear that "believeth," in the Scriptures, meanssomething entirely different from what it does in any secular book, andmust include contrition, confession, penance, satisfaction,mortification of the flesh, and all else necessary to salvation.
Shall I venture to send this end of Eva's sentence to her?
It might mislead her. Dare I for her sake?--dare I still more for myown?
One hour I have sat before this question; and whither has my heartwandered? What confession can retrace the flood of bitter thoughts whichhave rushed over me in this one hour?
I had watched her grow from childhood into early womanhood; and untilthese last months, until that week of anguish, I had thought of her as acreature between a child and an angel. I had loved her as a sister whohad yet a mystery and a charm about her different from a sister. Onlywhen it seemed that death might separate us did it burst upon me thatthere was something in my affection for her which made her not one amongothers, but in some strange sacred sense the only one on earth to me.
And as I recovered came the hopes I must never more recall, which madeall life like the woods in spring, and my heart like a full river setfree from its ice-fetters, and flowing through the world in a tide ofblessing.
I thought of a home which might be, I thought of a sacrament whichshould transubstantiate all life into a symbol of heaven, a home whichwas to be peaceful and sacred as a church, because of the meek and pure,and heavenly creature who should minister and reign there.
An then came to me that terrible vision of a city smitten by thepestilence which I had brought, with the recollection of the impulse Ihad had in the forest at midnight, and more than once since then, totake the monastic vows. I felt I was like Jonah flying from God; yetstill I hesitated until she was stricken. And then I yielded. I vowed ifshe were saved I would become a monk.
Not till she was stricken, whose loss would have made the whole world ablank to me: not till the sacrifice was worthless,--did I make it! Andwill God accept such a sacrifice as this?
At least Brother Martin had not this to reproach himself with. He didnot delay his conversion until his whole being had become possessed byan image no prayers can erase; nay, which prayer and holy meditations onheaven itself, only rivet on the heart, as the purest reflection ofheaven memory can recall.
Brother Martin, at least did not trifle with his vocation until toolate.
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