Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family

by Elizabeth Rundle Charles

  VII.

  Else's Story.

  _January_ 23.

  It is too plain now why Fritz would not look back as he went down thestreet. He thought it would be looking back from the kingdom of God.

  The kingdom of God, then, is the cloister, and the world, _we_ arethat!--father, mother, brothers, sisters, friends, home, that is theworld! I shall never understand it. For if all my younger brothers sayis true, either all the priests and monks are not in the kingdom of God,or the kingdom of God is strangely governed here on earth.

  Fritz was helping us all so much. He would have been the stay of ourparents' old age. He was the example and admiration of the boys, and thepride and delight of us all; and to _me_! My heart grows so bitter whenI write about it, I seem to hate and reproach every one. Every one butFritz; I cannot, of course, hate him. But why was all that was gentlestand noblest in him made to work towards this last dreadful step?

  If our father had only been more successful, Fritz need not have enteredon that monastic foundation at Erfurt, which made his conscience sosensitive; if my mother had only not been so religious, and taught us toreverence Aunt Agnes as so much better than herself, he might never havethought of the monastic life; if I had been more religious he might haveconfided more in me, and I might have induced him to pause, at least, afew years before taking this unalterable step. If Eva had not been sowilful, and insisted on braving the contagion from me, she might neverhave been stricken, and that vow might not yet, might never have beentaken. If God had not caused him so innocently to bring the pestilenceamong us! But I must not dare to say another word of complaint, or itwill become blasphemy. Doubtless it is God who has willed to bring allthis misery on us; and to rebel against God is a deadly sin. As AuntAgnes said, "The Lord is a jealous God," he will not suffer us to makeidols. We must love him best, first, alone. We must make a great void inour heart by renouncing all earthly affections, that he may fill it. Wemust mortify the flesh, that we may live. What, then, is the flesh? Isuppose all our natural affections, which the monks call our fleshlylusts. These Fritz has renounced. Then if all our natural affections areto die in us, what is to live in us? The "spiritual life," they say insome of the sermons, and "the love of God." But are not my naturalaffections my _heart_; and if I am not to love God with my heart, withthe heart with which I love my father and mother, what am I to love himwith?

  It seems to me, the love of God to us is something quite different fromany human being's love to us.

  When human beings love us they like to have us with them; they delightto make us happy; they delight in our being happy, whether they make usso or not, if it is a right happiness, a happiness that does us good.

  But with God's love it must be quite different. He warns us not on anyaccount to come too near Him. We have to place priests, and saints, andpenances between us and Him, and then approach Him with the greatestcaution, lest, after all, it should be in the wrong way, and He shouldbe angry. And, instead of delighting in our happiness, He is never somuch pleased as when we renounce all the happiness of our life, and makeother people wretched in doing so, as Fritz, our own Fritz, has justdone.

  Therefore, also, no doubt, the love God requires we should feel for Himis something entirely different from the love we give each other. Itmust, I suppose, be a serious, severe, calm adoration, too sublime togive either joy or sorrow, such as had left its stamp on Aunt Agnes'sgrave impassive face. I can never, never even attempt to attain to it.Certainly at present I have no time to think of it.

  Thank Heaven, thou livest still, mother of mercy! In _thy_ face therehave been tears, real, bitter, human tears; in _thine_ eyes there havebeen smiles of joy, real, simple, human joy. Thou wilt understand andhave pity. Yet oh, couldst not thou, even thou, sweet mother, havereminded him of the mother he has left to battle on alone? thou who arta mother, and didst bend over a cradle, and hadst a little lowly home atNazareth once?

  But I know my own mother would not even herself have uttered a word tokeep Fritz back. When first we heard of it, and I entreated her to writeand remonstrate, although the tears were streaming from her eyes, shesaid, "Not a word, Else, not a syllable. Shall not I give my son upfreely to Him who gave him to me. God might have called him away fromearth altogether when he lay smitten with the plague, and shall I grudgehim to the cloister? I shall see him again," she added, "once or twiceat least. When he is consecrated priest, shall I not have joy then, andsee him in his white robes at the altar, and, perhaps, even receive myCreator from his hands!"

  "Once or twice!--O mother!" I sobbed, "and in church, amongst hundredsof others! What pleasure will there be in that?"

  "Else," she said softly, but with a firmness unusual with her, "mychild, do not say another word. Once I myself had some faint inclinationto the cloister, which, if I had nourished it, might have grown into avocation. But I saw your father, and I neglected it. And see whattroubles my children have to bear! Has there not also been a kind offatal spell on all your father's inventions? Perhaps God will at lastaccept from me in my son what I withheld in myself, and will be pacifiedtowards us, and send us better days; and then your father's greatinvention will be completed yet. But do not say anything of what I toldyou to him!"

  I have never seen our father so troubled about anything.

  "Just as he was able to understand my projects!" he said, "and I wouldhave bequeathed them all to him!"

  For some days he never touched a model! but now he has crept back to hisold follies and his instruments, and tells us there was something inFritz's horoscope which might have prepared us for this, had he onlyunderstood it a little before. However, this discovery, although toolate to warn us of the blow, consoles our father, and he has resumed hisusual occupations.

  Eva looks very pale and fragile, partly, no doubt, from the effects ofthe pestilence; but when first the rumour reached us, I sought somesympathy from her, and said, "O Eva, how strange it seems, when Fritzalways thought of us before himself, to abandon us all thus without oneword of warning."

  "Cousin Else," she said, "Fritz has done now as he always does. He _has_thought of us first, I am as sure of it as if I could hear him say so.He thought he would serve us best by leaving us thus, or he would neverhave left us."

  She understood him best of all, as she so often does. When his lettercame to our mother, it gave just the reasons she had often told me shewas sure had moved him.

  It is difficult to tell what Eva feels, because of that strange inwardpeace in her which seems always to flow under all her other feelings.

  I have not seen her shed any tears at all; and whilst I can scarcelybear to enter our dear old lumber-room, or to do anything I did withhim, her great delight seems to be to read every book he liked, and tolearn and repeat every hymn she learned with him.

  Eva and the mother cling very closely together. She will scarcely let mymother do any household work, but insists on sharing every laborioustask which hitherto we have kept her from, because of her slight anddelicate frame.

  It is true I rise early to save them all the work I can, because theyhave neither of them half the strength I have, and I enjoy stirringabout. Thoughts come so much more bitterly on me when I am sittingstill.

  But when I am kneading the dough, or pounding the clothes with stones inthe stream on washing-days, I feel as I were pounding at all myperplexities; and that makes my hands stronger and my perplexities moreshadowy, until even now I find myself often singing as I am wringing theclothes by the stream. It is so pleasant in the winter sunshine, withthe brook babbling among the rushes and cresses, and little Theklaprattling by my side, and pretending to help.

  But when I have finished my day's work, and come into the house, I findthe mother and Eva sitting close side by side; and perhaps Eva is silentand my mother brushes tears away as they fall on her knitting; but whenthey look up, their faces are calm and peaceful, and then I know theyhave been talking about Fritz.

 
EISENACH, _February_ 2.

  Yesterday afternoon I found Eva translating a Latin hymn he loved, toour mother, and then she sang it through in her sweet clear voice. Itwas about the dear, dear country in heaven, and Jerusalem the Golden.

  In the evening I said to her--

  "O Eva, how can you bear to sing the hymns Fritz loved so dearly? Icould not sing a line steadily of any song he had cared to hear me sing!And he delighted always so much to listen to you. His voice would echo'never, never more' to every note I sung, and the songs would all end insobs."

  "But I do not feel separated from Fritz, Cousin Else," she said, "and Inever shall. Instead of hearing that melancholy chant you think of,'never, never more' echo from all the hymns he loved, I always seem tohear his voice responding, 'For ever and for evermore.' And I think ofthe time when we shall sing them together again."

  "Do you mean in heaven, Eva?" I said, "that is so very far off, if weever reach it--"

  "Not so very far off, Cousin Else," she said. "I often think it is verynear. If it were not so, how could the angels be so much with us and yetwith God?"

  "But life seems so long, now Fritz is gone."

  "Not so very long, Cousin Else," she said. "I often think it may be veryshort, and often I pray it may."

  "Eva!" I exclaimed, "you surely do not pray that you may die?"

  "Why not?" she said, very quietly. "I think if God took us to himself,we might help those we love better there than at Eisenach, or perhapseven in the convent. And it is there we shall meet again, and there arenever any partings. My father told me so," she added, "before he died."

  Then I understood how Eva mourns for Fritz, and why she does not weep;but I could only say--

  "O Eva, do not pray to die. There are all the saints in heaven: and youhelp us so much more here!"

  _February_ 8.

  I cannot feel at all reconciled to losing Fritz, nor do I think I evershall. Like all the other troubles, it was no doubt meant to do me good;but it does me none, I am sure, although of course, that is my fault.What did me good was being happy, as I was when Fritz came back; andthat is passed for ever.

  My great comfort is our grandmother. The mother and Eva look oneverything from such sublime heights; but my grandmother feels more as Ido. Often, indeed, she speaks very severely of Fritz, which always doesme good, because, of course, I defend him, and then she becomes angry,and says we are an incomprehensible family, and have the strangest ideasof right and wrong, from my father downward, she ever heard of; and thenI grow angry, and say my father is the best and wisest man in theElectoral States. Then our grandmother begins to lament over her poor,dear daughter, and the life she has led, and rejoices, in a plaintivevoice, that she herself has nearly done with the world altogether; andthen I try to comfort her, and say that I am sure there is not much inthe world to make any one wish to stay in it; and, having reached thispoint of despondency, we both cry and embrace each other, and she says Iam a poor, good child, and Fritz was always the delight of her heart,which I know very well;--and thus we comfort each other. We have,moreover, solemnly resolved, our grandmother and I, that, whatever comesof it, we will never call Fritz anything but Fritz.

  "Brother Sebastian, indeed!" she said, "your mother might as well take anew husband as your brother a new name! Was not she married, and was nothe christened in church? Is not Friedrich a good, honest name, whichhundreds of your ancestors have borne? And shall we call him instead aheathen foreign name, that none of your kindred were ever known by?"

  "Not heathen, grandmother," I ventured to suggest. "You remember tellingus of the martyrdom of St. Sebastian by the heathen emperor?"

  "Do you contradict me, child?" she exclaimed.

  "Did I not know the whole martyrology before your mother was born? I sayit is a heathen name. No blame to the saint if his parents were poorbenighted Pagans, and knew no better name to give him; but that ourFritz should adopt it instead of his own is a disgrace. My lips at leastare too old to learn such new fashioned nonsense. I shall call him thename I called him at the font and in his cradle, and no other."

  Yes, Fritz! Fritz! he is to us, and shall be always. Fritz in our heartstill death!

  _February_ 15.

  We have just heard that Fritz has finished his first month of probation,and has been invested with the frock of the novice. I hate to think ofhis thick, dark, waving hair clipped in the circle of the tonsure. Butthe worst part of it is the effect of his becoming a monk has had on theother boys, Christopher and Pollux.

  They, who before this thought Fritz the model of everything good andgreat, seem repelled from all religion now. I have difficulty even ingetting them to church.

  Christopher said to me the other day--

  "Else, why is a man who suddenly deserts his family to become a soldiercalled a villain, while the man who deserts those who depend on him tobecome a monk is called a saint?"

  It is very unfortunate the boys should come to me with their religiousperplexities, because I am so perplexed myself, I have no idea how toanswer them. I generally advise them to ask Eva.

  This time I could only say, as our grandmother had so often said tome,--

  "You must wait till you are older, and then you will understand." But Iadded, "Of course it is quite different: one leaves his home for God,and the other for the world."

  But Christopher is the worst, and he continued,--

  "Sister Else, I do not like the monks at all. You and Eva and our motherhave no idea how wicked many of them are. Reinhardt says he has seenthem drunk often, and heard them swear, and that some of them make ajest even of the mass, and that the priests' houses are not fit for anyhonest maiden to visit, and,--

  "Reinhardt is a bad boy," I said, colouring; "and I have often told youI do not want to hear anything he says."

  "But I, at all events, shall never become a monk or a priest," retortedChristopher; "I think the merchants are better. Woman cannot understandabout these things," he added, loftily, "and it is better they shouldnot; but I know; and I intend to be a merchant or a soldier."

  Christopher and Pollux are fifteen, and Fritz is two-and-twenty; but_he_ never talked in that lofty way to me about women not understanding!

  It did make me indignant to hear Christopher, who is always tearing hisclothes, and getting into scrapes, and perplexing us to get him out ofthem, comparing himself with Fritz, and looking down on his sisters; andI said, "It is only _boys_ who talk scornfully of women. Men, true men,honour women."

  "The monks do not!" retorted Christopher. "I have heard them say thingsmyself worse than I have ever said about any woman. Only last Sunday,did not Father Boniface say half the mischief in the world had been doneby women, from Eve to Helen and Cleopatra?"

  "Do not mention our mother Eve with those heathens, Christopher," saidour grandmother, coming to my rescue, from her corner by the stove. "Eveis in the Holy Scriptures, and many of these pagans are not fit forpeople to speak of. Half the saints are women, you know very well.Peasants and traders," she added sublimely, "may talk slightingly ofwomen; but no man can be a true knight who does."

  "The monks do!" muttered Christopher doggedly.

  "I have nothing to say about the monks," rejoined our grandmothertartly. And accepting this imprudent concession of our grandmother'sChristopher retired from the contest.

  _March_ 25.

  I have just been looking at two letters addressed to Father JohannBraun, one of our Eisenach priests, by Martin Luther. They wereaddressed to him as "the holy and venerable priest of Christ and ofMary." So much I could understand, and also that he calls himselfBrother Martin Luther, not Brother Augustine, a name he assumed on firstentering the cloister. Therefore certainly, I may call our Fritz,Brother Friedrich Cotta.

  _March_ 29, 1510.

  A young man was
at Aunt Ursula Cotta's this evening, who told us strangethings about the doings at Annaberg.

  Dr. Tetzel has been there two years, selling the papal indulgences tothe people; and lately, out of regard, he says, to the great piety ofthe German people, he has reduced their price.

  There was a great deal of discussion about it, which I rather regrettedthe boys were present to hear. My father said indulgences did not meanforgiveness of sins, but only remission of certain penances which theChurch had imposed. But the young man from Annaberg told us that Dr.John Tetzel solemnly assured the people, that since it was impossiblefor them, on account of their sins, to make satisfaction to God by theirworks, our Holy Father the Pope, who has the control of all the treasuryof merits accumulated by the Church throughout the ages, now graciouslysells those merits to any who will buy, and thereby bestows on themforgiveness of sins (even of sins which no other priest can absolve),and a certain entrance into eternal life.

  The young man said, also, that the great red cross has been erected inthe nave of the principal church, with the crown of thorns, the nails,and spear suspended from it, and that at times it has been granted tothe people even to see the blood of the Crucified flow from the cross.Beneath this cross are the banners of the Church, and the papalstandard, with the triple crown. Before it is the large, strong ironmoney chest. On one side stands the pulpit, where Dr. Tetzel preachesdaily, and exhorts the people to purchase this inestimable favour whileyet there is time, for themselves and their relations in purgatory,--andtranslates the long parchment mandate of the Lord Pope, with the papalseals hanging from it. On the other side is a table, where sit severalpriests, with pen, ink, and writing desk, selling the indulgencetickets, and counting the money into boxes. Lately he told us, not onlyhave the prices been reduced, but at the end of the letter affixed tothe churches, it is added, "_Pauperibus dentur gratis_."

  "Freely to the poor!" That certainly would suit us! And if I had onlytime to make a pilgrimage to Annaberg, if this is the kind of religionthat pleases God, it certainly might be attainable even for me.

  If Fritz had only known it before, he need not have made that miserablevow. A journey to Annaberg would have more than answered the purpose.

  Only, if the Pope has such inestimable treasures at his disposal, whycould he not always give them "freely to the poor," always andeverywhere?

  But I know it is a sin to question what the Lord Pope does. I mightalmost as well question what the Lord God Almighty does. For He also,who gave those treasures to the Pope, is He not everywhere, and could Henot give them freely to us direct? It is plain these are questions toohigh for me.

  I am not the only one perplexed by those indulgences, however. My mothersays it is not the way she was taught, and she had rather keep to theold paths. Eva said, "If I were the Lord Pope, and had such a treasure,I think I could not help instantly leaving my palace and my beautifulRome, and going over the mountains and over the seas, into every cityand every village; every hut in the forests, and every room in thelowest streets, that none might miss the blessing, although I had towalk barefoot, and never saw holy Rome again."

  "But then," said our father, "the great church at St. Peter's wouldnever be built. It is on that, you know, the indulgence money is to bespent."

  "But Jerusalem the Golden would be built, Uncle Cotta!" said Eva; "andwould not that be better?"

  "We had better not talk about it, Eva," said the mother. "The holyJerusalem _is_ being built; and I suppose there are many different waysto the same end. Only I like the way I know best."

  The boys, I regret to say, had made many irreverent gestures during thisconversation about the indulgences, and afterwards I had to speak tothem.

  "Sister Else," said Christopher, "it is quite useless talking to me. Ihate the monks, and all belonging to them. And I do not believe a wordthey say--at least, not because they say it. The boys at school say thisDr. Tetzel is a very bad man and a great liar. Last week Reinhardt toldus something he did, which will show you what he is. One day he promisedto show the people a feather which the devil plucked out the wing of thearchangel Michael. Reinhardt says he supposes the devil gave it to Dr.Tetzel. However that may be, during the night some students in jestfound their way to his relic-box, stole the feather, and replaced it bysome coals. The next day, when Dr. Tetzel had been preaching ferventlyfor a long time on the wonders of this feather, when he opened the boxthere was nothing in it but charcoal. But he was not to be disconcerted.He merely said, 'I have taken the wrong box of relics, I perceive; theseare some most sacred cinders--the relics of the holy body of St.Laurence, who was roasted on a gridiron.'"

  "Schoolboys' stories," said I.

  "They are as good as monks' stories, at all events," rejoinedChristopher.

  I resolved to see if Pollux was as deeply possessed with this irreverentspirit as Christopher, and therefore this morning, when I found himalone, I said, "Pollux, you used to love Fritz so dearly, you would notsurely take up thoughts which would pain him so deeply if he knew ofit."

  "I do love Fritz," Pollux replied, "but I can never think he was rightin leaving us all; and I like the religion of the Creeds and the TenCommandments better than that of the monks."

  Daily, hourly I feel the loss of Fritz. It is not half as much the moneyhe earned; although, of course, that helped us; we can do and struggleon without that. It is the influence he had over the boys. They felt hewas before them in the same race and when he remonstrated with themabout anything, they listened. But if I blame them, they think it isonly a woman's ignorance, or a woman's superstition.--and boys, theysay, cannot be like women. And now it is the same with Fritz. He isremoved into another sphere, which is not theirs; and if I remind themof what he did or said, they say, "Yes, Fritz thought so; but you knowhe has become a monk; but we do not intend ever to be monks, and thereligion of monks and laymen are different things."

  _April_ 2.

  The spring is come again. I wonder if it sends the thrill of joy intoFritz's cell at Erfurt that it does into all the forests around us here,and into my heart!

  I suppose there are trees near him, and birds--little happybirds--making their nests among them, as they do in our yard, andsinging as they work.

  But the birds are not monks. Their nests are little homes, and theywander freely whither they will, only brought back by love. PerhapsFritz does not like to listen to the birds now, because they remind himof home, and of our long spring days in the forest. Perhaps, too, theyare part of the world he has renounced; and he must be dead to theworld!

  _April_ 3.

  We have had a long day in the forest, gathering sticks and dry twigs.Every creature seemed so happy there! It was such a holiday to watch theants roofing their nests with fir twigs, and the birds flying hither andthither with food for their nestlings; and to hear the wood-pigeons,which Fritz always said were like Eva, cooing softly in the depths ofthe forest.

  At mid-day we sat down in a clearing of the forest, to enjoy the meal wehad brought with us. A little quiet brook prattled near us, of which wedrank, and the delicate young twigs on the topmost boughs of the dark,majestic pines trembled softly, as if for joy, in the breeze.

  As we rested, we told each other stories. Pollux began with wild talesof demon hunts, which flew with the baying of demon dogs through thesevery forests at midnight. Then, as the children began to look fearfullyaround, and shiver, even at mid-day, while they listened, Christopherdelighted them with quaint stories of wolves in sheeps' clothingpolitely offering themselves to the farmer as shepherds, which, Isuspect, were from some dangerous satirical book, but, without theapplication, were very amusing.

  Chriemhild and Atlantis had their stories of Kobolds, who played strangetricks in the cow-stall; and of Ruebezahl and the misshapen dwarf gnomes,who guarded the treasures of gold and silver in the glittering cavesunder the mountains; and of the elves, who danced beside the brooks attwilight.

>   "And I," said loving little Thekla, "always want to see poor Nix, thewater-sprite, who cries by the streams at moonlight, and lets his tearsmix with the waters, because he has no soul, and he wants to live forever. I should like to give him half mine."

  We should all of us have been afraid to speak of these creatures, intheir own haunts among the pines, if the sun had not been high in theheavens. Even as it was, I began to feel a little uneasy, and I wishedto turn the conversation from these elves and sprites, who, many think,are the spirits of the old heathen gods, who linger about their haunts.One reason why people think so is, that they dare not venture within thesound of the church bells; which makes some, again, think they are worsethan poor, shadowy, dethroned heathen gods, and had, indeed, better benever mentioned at all. I thought I could not do better than tell thelegend of my beloved giant Offerus, who became Christopher and a saintby carrying the holy child across the river.

  Thekla wondered if her favourite Nix could be saved in the same way. Shelonged to see him and tell him about it.

  But Eva had still her story to tell, and she related to us her legend ofSt. Catharine.

  "St. Catharine," she said, "was a lady of royal birth, the only child ofthe king and queen of Egypt. Her parents were heathens, but they diedand left her an orphan when she was only fourteen. She was morebeautiful than any of the ladies of her court, and richer than anyprincess in the world; but she did not care for pomp, or dress, or allher precious things. God's golden stars seemed to her more magnificentthan all the splendour of her kingdom, and she shut herself up in herpalace, and studied philosophy and the stars until she grew wiser thanall the wise men of the East.

  "But one day the Diet of Egypt met, and resolved that their young queenmust be persuaded to marry. They sent a deputation to her in her palace,who asked her, if they could find a prince beautiful beyond any,surpassing all philosophers in wisdom, of noblest mind and richestinheritance, would she marry him? The queen replied, 'He must be sonoble that all men shall worship him, so great that I shall never thinkI have made him king, so rich that none shall ever say I enriched him,so beautiful that the angels of God shall desire to behold him. If yecan find such a prince, he shall be my husband and the lord of myheart.' Now, near the queen's palace there lived a poor old hermit in acave, and that very night the holy Mother of God appeared to him, andtold him the King who should be lord of the queen's heart was none otherthan her Son. Then the hermit went to the palace and presented the queenwith a picture of the Virgin and Child; and when St. Catharine saw ither heart was so filled with its holy beauty that she forgot her books,her spheres, and the stars; Plato and Socrates became tedious to her asa twice-told tale, and she kept the sacred picture always before her.Then one night she had a dream:--She met on the top of a high mountain aglorious company of angels, clothed in white, with chaplets of whitelilies. She fell on her face before them, but they said, 'Stand up, dearsister Catharine, and be right welcome.' Then they led her by the handto another company of angels more glorious still, clothed in purple withchaplets of red roses. Before these, again, she fell on her face,dazzled with their glory; but they said, 'Stand up, dear sisterCatharine; thee hath the King delighted to honour.' Then they led her bythe hand to an inner chamber of the palace of heaven, where sat a queenin state; and the angels said to her, 'Our most gracious sovereign Lady,Empress of heaven, and Mother of the King of Blessedness, be pleasedthat we present unto you this our sister, whose name is in the Book ofLife, beseeching you to accept her as your daughter and handmaid.' Thenour blessed Lady rose and smiled graciously, and led St. Catharine toher blessed Son; but he turned from her, and said sadly, 'She is notfair enough for Me.' Then St. Catharine awoke, and in her heart all dayechoed the words, '_She is not fair enough for Me_;' and she rested notuntil she became a Christian and was baptized. And then, after someyears, the tyrant Maximin put her to cruel tortures, and beheaded herbecause she was a Christian. But the angels took her body, and laid itin a white marble tomb on the top of Mount Sinai, and the Lord JesusChrist received her soul, and welcomed her to heaven as his pure andspotless bride; for at last he had made her '_fair enough for him_.' Andso she has lived ever since in heaven, and is the sister of the angels."

  After Eva's legend we began our work again; and in the evening, as wereturned with our faggots, it was pleasant to see the goats creeping onbefore the long shadows which evening began to throw from the forestsacross the green valleys.

  The hymns which Eva sang as we went, seemed quite in tune witheverything else. I did not want to understand the words; everythingseemed singing in words I could not help feeling,--

  "God is good to us all. He gives twigs to the ants, and grain to thebirds, and makes the trees their palaces, and teaches them to sing; andwill He not care for you?"

  Then the boys were so good! They never gave me a moment's anxiety, noteven Christopher, but collected faggots twice as large as ours in halfthe time, and then finished ours, and then performed all kinds of featsin climbing trees and leaping brooks, and brought home countlesstreasures for Thekla.

  These are the days that always make me feel so much better; even alittle religious, and as if I could almost love God! It is only when Icome back again into the streets, under the shadow of the ninemonasteries, and see the monks and priests in dark robes flittingsilently about with downcast eyes, that I remember we are not like thebirds or even the ants, for they have never sinned, and that, therefore,God cannot care for us and love us as he seems to do the least of hisother creatures, until we have become holy, and worked our way throughthat great wall of sin which keeps us from him and shadows all our life.

  Eva does not feel thus. As we returned she laid her basket down on thethreshold of St. George's Church, and crossing herself with holy water,went softly up to the high altar, and there she knelt while the lampburned before the Holy Sacrament. And when I looked at her face as sherose, it was beaming with joy.

  "You are happy, Eva, in the church and in the forest," I said to her aswe went home; "you seem at home everywhere."

  "Is not God everywhere?" she said; "and has He not loved the world?"

  "But our _sins_!" I said.

  "Have we not the Saviour?" she said, bowing her head.

  "But think how hard people find it to please him," I said. "Think of thepilgrimages, the penances, the indulgences!"

  "I do not quite understand all that," she said; "I only quite understandmy sentence and the crucifix which tells us the Son of God died for man.That _must_ have been for love, and I love him; and all the rest I amcontent to leave."

  "But to-night as I look at her dear child-like face asleep on thepillow, and see how thin the cheek is which those long lashes shade, andhow transparent the little hand on which she rests, a cold fear comesover me lest God should even now be making her spirit "fair enough forhim," and so too fair for earth and for us."

  _April_ 4.

  This afternoon I was quite cheered by seeing Christopher and Polluxbending together eagerly over a book, which they had placed before themon the window sill. It reminded me of Fritz, and I went to see what theywere reading.

  I found, however, to my dismay, it was no church-book or learned Latinschool-book; but, on the contrary, a German book full of woodcuts, whichshocked me very much. It was called Reinecke Fuchs, and as far as Icould understand made a jest of everything. There were foxes with monk'sfrocks, and even in cardinal's hats, and wolves in cassocks with shavencrowns. Altogether it seemed to me a very profane and perilous book; butwhen I took it to our father, to my amazement he seemed as much amusedwith it as the boys, and said there were evils in the world which werebetter attacked by jests than by sermons.

  _April, St Mark's Day._

  I have just heard a sermon about despising the world, from a greatpreacher, one of the Dominican friars, who is going through the land toawaken people to religion.

  He spoke especially against money, wh
ich he called "delusion, and dross,and worthless dust, and a soul-destroying canker." To monks no doubt itmay be so; for what could they do with it? But it is not so to me.Yesterday money filled my heart with one of the purest joys I have everknown, and made me thank God as I hardly ever thanked him before.

  The time had come round to pay for some of the printing materials, andwe did not know where to turn for the sum we needed. Lately I have beenemploying my leisure hours in embroidering some fine Venetian silk AuntUrsula gave me; and not having any copies, I had brought in some freshleaves and flowers from the forest and tried to imitate them, hoping tosell them.

  When I had finished, it was thought pretty, and I carried it to themerchant, who took the father's precious models, long ago.

  He has always been kind to us since, and has procured us ink and paperat a cheaper rate than others can buy it.

  When I showed him my work he seemed surprised, and instead of showing itto his wife, as I had expected, he said smiling,--

  "These things are not for poor honest burghers like me. You know my wifemight be fined by the sumptuary laws if she aped the nobility by wearinganything so fine as this. I am going to the Wartburg to speak about acommission I have executed for the Elector-Frederick, and if you like Iwill take you and your embroidery with me."

  I felt dismayed at first at such an idea, but I had on the new dressFritz gave me a year ago, and I resolved to venture.

  It was so many years since I had passed through that massive gatewayinto the great court-yard; and I thought of St. Elizabeth distributingloaves, perhaps, at that very gate, and inwardly entreated her to makethe elector or the ladies of his court propitious to me.

  I was left standing what seemed to me a long time in an ante-room. Somevery gaily-dressed gentlemen and ladies passed me and looked at merather scornfully. I thought the courtiers were not much improved sincethe days when they were so rude to St. Elizabeth.

  But at last I was summoned into the Elector's presence. I trembled verymuch, for I thought--If the servants are so haughty, what will themaster be? But he smiled on me quite kindly, and said, "My good child, Ilike this work of thine; and this merchant tells me thou art a dutifuldaughter. I will purchase this at once for one of my sisters, and paythee at once."

  I was so surprised and delighted with his kindness that I cannotremember the exact words of what he said afterwards, but the substanceof them was that the elector is building a new church at his newuniversity town of Wittemberg which is to have choicer relics than anychurch in Germany. And I am engaged to embroider altar-cloths andcoverings for the reliquaries. And the sum already paid me nearly coversour present debt.

  No! whatever that Dominican preacher might say nothing would everpersuade me that these precious guldens, which I took home yesterdayevening with a heart brimming over with joy and thankfulness, which madeour father clasp his hands in thanksgiving, and our mother's eyesoverflow with happy tears, are mere delusion, or dross, or dust.

  Is not money what _we_ make it? Dust in the miser's chests; canker inthe proud man's heart; but golden sunbeams, streams of blessing earnedby a child's labour and comforting a parent's heart, or lovingly pouredfrom rich men's hands into poor men's homes.

  _April_ 20.

  Better days seem dawning at last. Dr. Martin, who preaches now at theelector's new university of Wittemberg, must, we think, have spoken tothe elector for us, and our father is appointed to superintend theprinting-press especially for Latin books, which is to be set up there.

  And sweeter even than this, it must be from Fritz that this boon comesto us. Fritz, dear, unselfish Fritz, is the benefactor of the familyafter all. It must have been he who asked Dr. Martin Luther to speak forus. There, in his lonely cell at Erfurt, he thinks then of us! And heprays for us. He will never forget us. His new name will not alter hisheart. And, perhaps, one day, when the novitiate is over, we may see himagain. But to see him as no more our Fritz, but Brother Sebastian!--hishome, the Augustinian cloister!--his mother, the church!--his sisters,all holy women!--would it not be almost worse than not seeing him atall?

  We are all to move to Wittemberg in a month, except Pollux, who is toremain with Cousin Conrad Cotta, to learn to be a merchant.

  Christopher begins to help about the printing.

  There was another thing also in my visit to the Wartburg, which gives memany a gleam of joy when I think of it. If the elector whose presence Iso trembled to enter, proved so much more condescending and accessiblethan his courtiers,--oh, if it could only be possible that we are makingsome mistake about God, and that He after all may be more gracious andready to listen to us than His priests, or even than the saints who waiton Him in His palace in heaven!