Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family

by Elizabeth Rundle Charles

  IX.

  Else's Story.

  EISENACH, _April_.

  The last words I shall write in our dear old lumber-room, Fritz's andmine! I have little to regret in it now, however, that our twilighttalks are over for ever. We leave early to-morrow morning forWittemberg. It is strange to look out into the old street, and think howall will look exactly the same there to-morrow evening,--the monksslowly pacing along in pairs, the boys rushing out of school, as theyare now, the maid-servants standing at the doors with the baby in theirarms, or wringing their mops,--and we gone. How small a blank peopleseem to make when they are gone, however large the space they seemed tofill when they were present--except, indeed, to two or three hearts! Isee this with Fritz. It seemed to me our little world must fall when he,its chief pillar, was withdrawn. Yet now everything seems to go on thesame as before he became a monk,--except, indeed, with the mother andEva and me.

  The mother seems more and more like a shadow gliding in and out amongus. Tenderly, indeed, she takes on her all she can of our family cares;but to family joys she seems spiritless and dead. Since she told me ofthe inclination she thinks she neglected in her youth towards thecloister, I understand her better,--the trembling fear with which shereceives any good thing, and the hopeless submission with which she bowsto every trouble, as to the blows of a rod always suspended over her,and only occasionally mercifully withheld from striking.

  In the loss of Fritz the blow has fallen exactly where she would feel itmost keenly. She had, I feel sure, planned another life for him. I seeit in the peculiar tenderness of the tie which binds her to Eva. Shesaid to me to-day, as we were packing up some of Fritz's books, "Thesacrifice I was too selfish to make myself my son has made for me. OElse, my child, give at once, _at once_, whatever God demands of you.What he demands must be given at last; and if only wrung out from us atlast, God only knows with what fearful interest the debt may have to bepaid."

  The words weigh on me like a curse. I cannot help feeling sometimes, asI know she feels always, that the family is under some fatal spell.

  But oh, how terrible the thought is that this is the way God exactsretribution!--a creditor, exacting to the last farthing for the mosttrifling transgression; and if payment is delayed, taking life or limb,or what is dearer, in exchange. I cannot bear to think of it. For if mymother is thus visited for a mistake, for neglecting a doubtfulvocation, my pious, sweet mother, what hope is there for me, whoscarcely pass a day without having to repent of saying some sharp wordto those boys (who certainly are often very provoking), or doing what Iought not, or omitting some religious duty, or at least without envyingsome one who is richer, or inwardly murmuring at our lot,--evensometimes thinking bitter thoughts of our father and his discoveries!

  Our dear father has at last arranged and fitted in all his treasures,and is the only one, except the children, who seems thoroughly pleasedat the thought of our emigration. All day he has been packing, andunpacking, and repacking his machines into some specially safe cornersof the great wagon which cousin Conrad Cotta has lent us for ourjourney.

  Eva, on the other hand, seems to belong to this world as little as themother. Not that she looks depressed or hopeless. Her face oftenperfectly beams with peace; but it seems entirely independent ofeverything here, and is neither ruffled by the difficulties weencounter, nor enhanced when anything goes a little better. I mustconfess it rather provokes me, almost as much as the boys do. I haveserious fears that one day she will leave us, like Fritz, and takerefuge in a convent. And yet I am sure I have not a fault to find withher. I suppose that is exactly what our grandmother and I feel soprovoking. Lately she has abandoned all her Latin books for a Germanbook entitled "Theologia Teutsch," or "Theologia Germanica," which Fritzsent us before he left the Erfurt convent on his pilgrimage to Rome.This book seems to make Eva very happy; but as to me, it appears to memore unintelligible than Latin. Although it is quite different from allthe other religious books I ever read, it does not suit me any better.Indeed, it seems as if I never should find the kind of religion thatwould suit me. It all seems so sublime and vague, and so far out of myreach;--only fit for people who have time to climb the heights; whilstmy path seems to lie in the valleys, and among the streets, and amidstall kinds of little every-day secular duties and cares, which religionis too lofty to notice.

  I can only hope that some day at the end of my life God will graciouslygive me a little leisure to be religious and to prepare to meet him, orthat Eva's and Fritz's prayers and merits will avail for me.

  WITTEMBERG, _May_, 1510.

  We are beginning to get settled into our new home, which is in thestreet near the University buildings. Martin Luther, or Brother Martin,has a great name here. They say his lectures are more popular than anyone's. And he also frequently preaches in the city church. Ourgrandmother is not pleased with the change. She calls the town awretched mud village, and wonders what can have induced the Electors ofSaxony to fix their residence and found a university in such a sandydesert as this. She supposes it is very much like the deserts of Arabia.

  But Christopher and I think differently. There are several very finebuildings here, beautiful churches, and the University, and the Castle,and the Augustinian Monastery; and we have no doubt that in time therest of the town will grow up to them. I have heard our grandmother saythat babies with features too large for their faces often prove thehandsomest people when they grow up to their features. And so, no doubt,it will be with Wittemberg, which is at present certainly rather like aninfant with the eyes and nose of a full-grown man. The mud walls and lowcottages with thatched roofs look strangely out of keeping with the newbuildings, the Elector's palace and church at the western end, the citychurch in the centre, and the Augustinian cloister and university at theeastern extremity, near the Elster gate, close to which we live.

  It is true that there are no forests of pines, and wild hills, andlovely green valleys here, as around Eisenach. But our grandmother neednot call it a wilderness. The white sand-hills on the north are brokenwith little dells and copses; and on the south, not two hundred rodsfrom the town, across a heath, flows the broad, rapid Elbe.

  The great river is a delight to me. It leads one's thoughts back to itsquiet sources among the mountains, and onwards to its home in the greatsea. We had no great river at Eisenach, which is an advantage on theside of Wittemberg. And then the banks are fringed with low oaks andwillows, which bend affectionately over the water, and are delightful tosit amongst on summer evenings.

  If I were not a little afraid of the people! The father does not likeEva and me to go out alone. The students are rather wild. This year,however, they have been forbidden by the rector to carry arms, which issome comfort. But the town's people also are warlike and turbulent, anddrink a great deal of beer. There are one hundred and seventy breweriesin the place, although there are not more than three hundred and fiftyhouses. Few of the inhabitants send their children to school, althoughthere are five hundred students from all parts of Germany at theuniversity.

  Some of the poorer people, who come from the country around to themarkets, talk a language I cannot understand. Our grandmother says theyare Wends, and that this town is the last place on the borders of thecivilized world. Beyond it, she declares, there are nothing butbarbarians and Tartars. Indeed, she is not sure whether our neighborsthemselves are Christians.

  St. Boniface, the great apostle of the Saxons, did not extend hislabours further than Saxony; and she says the Teutonic knights whoconquered Prussia and the regions beyond us, were only Christiancolonists living in the midst of half-heathen savages. To me it israther a gloomy idea, to think that between Wittemberg and the Turks andTartars, or even the savages in the Indies beyond, which ChristopherColumbus has discovered, there are only a few half-civilized Wends,living in those wretched hamlets which dot the sandy heaths around thetown.

  But the father says it is a glorious idea, a
nd that, if he were only alittle younger, he would organize a land expedition, and traverse thecountry until he reached the Spaniards and the Portuguese, who sailed tothe same point by sea.

  "Only to think," he says, "that in a few weeks, or months at the utmost,we might reach Cathay, El Dorado, and even Atlantis itself, where thehouses are roofed and paved with gold, and return laden with treasures!"It seems to make him feel even his experiments with the retorts andcrucibles in which he is always on the point of transmuting lead intosilver, to be tame and slow processes. Since we have been here, he hasfor the time abandoned his alchemical experiments, and sits for hourswith a great map spread before him, calculating in the most accurate andelaborate manner how long it would take to reach the new Spanishdiscoveries by way of Wendish Prussia. "For," he remarks, "if I am neverable to carry out the scheme myself, it may one day immortalize one ofmy sons, and enrich and ennoble the whole of our family!"

  Our journey from Eisenach was one continual fete to the children. For mymother and the baby--now two years old--we made a couch in the wagon, ofthe family bedding. My grandmother sat erect in a nook among thefurniture. Little Thekla was enthroned like a queen on a pile ofpillows, where she sat hugging her own especial treasures,--her brokendoll, the wooden horse Christopher made for her, a precious store ofcones and pebbles from the forest, and a very shaggy disreputablefoundling dog which she has adopted, and can by no means be persuaded topart with. She calls the dog Nix, and is sure that he is always askingher with his wistful eyes to teach him to speak, and give him a soul.With these, her household gods, preserved to her, she showed littlefeeling at parting from the rest of our Eisenach world.

  The father was equally absorbed with his treasures, his folios, andmodels, and instruments, which he jealously guarded.

  Eva had but one inseparable treasure, the volume of the "TheologiaGermanica," which she has appropriated.

  The mother's especial thought was the baby. Chriemhild was overwhelmedwith the parting with Pollux, who was left behind with Cousin ConradCotta, and Atlantis was so wild with delight at the thought of the newworld and the new life, from which she was persuaded all the cares ofthe old were to be extracted for ever, that, had it not been forChristopher and me, I must say the general interest of the family wouldhave been rather in the background.

  For the time there was a truce between Christopher and me concerning"Reinecke Fuchs," and our various differences. All his faculties--whichhave been so prolific for mischief--seemed suddenly turned into usefulchannels, like the mischievous elves of the farm and hearth, when theyare capriciously bent on doing some poor human being a good turn. Hescarcely tried my temper once during the whole journey. Since we reachedWittemberg, however, I cannot say as much. I feel anxious about thecompanions he has found among the students, and often, often I long thatFritz's religion had led him to remain among us, at least until the boyshad grown up.

  I had nerved myself beforehand for the leave-taking with the old friendsand the old home, but when the moving actually began, there was no timeto think of anything but packing in the last things which had beennearly forgotten, and arranging every one in their places. I had noteven a moment for a last look at the old house, for at the instant weturned the corner, Thekla and her treasures nearly came to an untimelyend by the downfall of one of the father's machines; which sodiscouraged Thekla, and excited our grandmother, Nix and the baby, thatit required considerable soothing to restore every one to equanimity;and, in the meantime, the corner of the street had been turned, and thedear old house was out of sight. I felt a pang, as if I had wronged it,the old home which had sheltered us so many years, and been the silentwitness of so many joys, and cares, and sorrows!

  We had few adventures during the first day, except that Thekla's peacewas often broken by the difficulties in which Nix's self-confident butnot very courageous disposition frequently involved him with the catsand dogs in the villages, and their proprietors.

  The first evening in the forest was delightful. We encamped in aclearing. Sticks were gathered for a fire, round which we arranged suchbedding and furniture as we could unpack, and the children were wildwith delight at thus combining serious household work with play, whilstChristopher foddered and tethered the horses.

  After our meal we began to tell stories, but our grandmother positivelyforbade our mentioning the name of any of the forest sprites, or of anyevil or questionable creature whatever.

  In the night I could not sleep. All was so strange and grand around us,and it did seem to me that there were wailings and sighings and distantmoanings among the pines, not quite to be accounted for by the wind. Igrew rather uneasy, and at length lifted my head to see if any one elsewas awake.

  Opposite me sat Eva, her face lifted to the stars, her hands clasped,and her lips moving as if in prayer. I felt her like a guardian angel,and instinctively drew nearer to her.

  "Eva," I whispered at last, "do you not think there are rather strangeand unaccountable noises around us? I wonder if it can be true thatstrange creatures haunt the forests?"

  "I think there are always spirits around us, Cousin Else," she replied,"good and evil spirits prowling around us, or ministering to us. Isuppose in the solitude we feel them nearer, and perhaps they are."

  I was not at all reassured.

  "Eva," I said, "I wish you would say some prayers; I feel afraid I maynot think of the right ones. But are you really not at all afraid?"

  "Why should I be?" she said softly; "God is nearer us always than allthe spirits, good or evil,--nearer and greater than all. And he is theSupreme Goodness. I like the solitude, Cousin Else, because it seems tolift me above all the creatures to the One who is all and in all. And Ilike the wild forests," she continued, as if to herself, "because God isthe only owner there, and I can feel more unreservedly, that we, and thecreatures, and all we most call our own, are His, and only His. In thecities, the houses are called after the names of men, and each streetand house is divided into little plots, of each of which some one says,'It is mine.' But here all is visibly only God's, undivided, common toall. There is but one table, and that is His; the creatures live as freepensioners on His bounty."

  "Is it then sin to call anything our own?" I asked.

  "My book says it was this selfishness that was the cause of Adam'sfall," she replied. "Some say it was because Adam ate the apple that hewas lost, or fell; but my book says it was 'because of his claimingsomething for his own; and because of his saying, I, mine, me, and thelike.'"

  "That is very difficult to understand." I said, "Am I not to say, _My_mother, _my_ father, _my_ Fritz? Ought I to love every one the samebecause all are equally God's? If property is sin, then why is stealingsin? Eva, this religion is quite above and beyond me. It seems to me inthis way it would be almost as wrong to give thanks for what we have, asto covet what we have not, because we ought not to think we haveanything. It perplexes me extremely."

  I lay down again, resolved not to think any more about it. Fritz and Iproved once, a long time ago, how useless it is for me, at least, toattempt to get beyond the Ten Commandments. But trying to comprehendwhat Eva said so bewildered me, that my thoughts soon wandered beyond mycontrol altogether. I heard no more of Eva or the winds, but fell into asound slumber, and dreamt that Eva and an angel were talking beside meall night in Latin, which I felt I ought to understand, but of coursecould not.

  The next day we had not been long on our journey when, at a narrow partof the road, in a deep valley, a company of horsemen suddenly dasheddown from a castle which towered on our right, and barred our furtherprogress with serried lances.

  "Do you belong to Erfurt?" asked the leader, turning our horses' heads,and pushing Christopher aside with the butt end of his gun.

  "No," said Christopher, "to Eisenach."

  "Give way, men," shouted the knight to his followers; "we have noquarrel with Eisenach. This is not what we are waiting for."

  The cavaliers made a passage for us, but a young knight who seemed tolead them rode o
n beside us for a time.

  "Did you pass any merchandise on your road?" he asked of Christopher,using the form of address he would have to a peasant.

  "We are not likely to pass anything," replied Christopher, not verycourteously, "laden as we are."

  "What is your lading?" asked the knight.

  "All our worldly goods," replied Christopher, curtly.

  "What is your name, friend, and where are you bound?"

  "Cotta," answered Christopher. "My father is the director of theElector's printing press at the new University of Wittemberg."

  "Cotta!" rejoined the knight more respectfully, "a good burgher name;"and saying this he rode back to the wagon, and saluting our father,surveyed us all with a cool freedom, as if his notice honoured us, untilhis eye lighted on Eva, who was sitting with her arm round Thekla,soothing the frightened child, and helping her to arrange some violetsChristopher had gathered a few minutes before. His voice lowered when hesaw her, and he said,--

  "This is no burgher maiden, surely? May I ask your name, fair Frauelein?"he said, doffing his hat and addressing Eva.

  She made no reply, but continued arranging her flowers, without changingfeature or colour, except her lip curled and quivered slightly.

  "The Frauelein is absorbed with her bouquet; would that we were nearerour Schloss, that I might offer her flowers more worthy of herhandling."

  "Are you addressing me?" said Eva at length, raising her large eyes, andfixing them on him with her gravest expression; "I am no Frauelein, I ama burgher maiden; but if I were a queen, any of God's flowers would befair enough for me. And to a true knight," she added, "a peasant maidenis as sacred as a queen."

  No one ever could trifle with that earnest expression of Eva's face. Itwas his turn to be abashed. His effrontery failed him altogether, and hemurmured, "I have merited the rebuke. These flowers are too fair, atleast for me. If you would bestow one on me, I would keep it sacredly asa gift of my mother's or as the relics of a saint."

  "You can gather them anywhere in the forest," said Eva; but littleThekla filled both her little hands with violets, and gave them to him.

  "You may have them all if you like," she said; "Christopher can gatherus plenty more."

  He took them carefully from the child's hand, and, bowing low, rejoinedhis men who were in front. He then returned, said a few words toChristopher, and with his troop retired to some distance behind us, andfollowed us till we were close to Erfurt, when he spurred on to myfather's side, and saying rapidly, "You will be safe now, and need nofurther convoy," once more bowed respectfully to us, and rejoining hismen, we soon lost the echo of their horse-hoofs, as they galloped backthrough the forest.

  "What did the knight say to you, Christopher?" I asked, when wedismounted at Erfurt that evening.

  "He said that part of the forest was dangerous at present, because of afeud between the knights and the burghers, and if we would allow him, hewould be our escort until we came in sight of Erfurt."

  "That, at least, was courteous of him," I said.

  "Such courtesy as a burgher may expect of a knight," rejoinedChristopher, uncompromisingly; "to insult us without provocation, andthen, as a favour, exempt us from their own illegal oppressions! Butwomen are always fascinated with what men on horseback do."

  "No one is fascinated with any one," I replied. For it always provokesme exceedingly when that boy talks in that way about women. And ourgrandmother interposed,--"Don't dispute, children; if your grandfatherhad not been unfortunate, you would have been of the knights' orderyourselves, therefore it is not for you to run down the nobles."

  "I should never have been a knight," persisted Christopher, "or a priestor a robber." But it was consolatory to my grandmother and me toconsider how exalted our position would have been, had it not been forcertain little unfortunate hindrances. Our grandmother never admitted myfather into the pedigree.

  At Leipsic we left the children, while our grandmother, our mother, Eva,and I went on foot to see Aunt Agnes at the convent of Nimptschen,whither she had been transferred, some years before, from Eisenach.

  We only saw her through the convent grating. But it seemed to me as ifthe voice, and manner, and face were entirely unchanged since that lastinterview when she terrified me as a child by asking me to become asister, and abandon Fritz.

  Only the voice sounded to me even more like a muffled bell used only forfunerals, especially when she said, in reference to Fritz's entering thecloister, "Praise to God, and the blessed Virgin, and all the saints. Atlast, then, He has heard my unworthy prayers; one at least is saved!"

  A cold shudder passed over me at her words. Had she then, indeed, allthese years been praying that our happiness should be ruined and ourhome desolated? And had God heard her? Was the fatal spell, which mymother feared was binding us, after all nothing else than Aunt Agnes'sterrible prayers?

  Her face looked as lifeless as ever, in the folds of white linen whichbound it into a regular oval. Her voice was metallic and lifeless; thetouch of her hand was impassive and cold as marble when we took leave ofher. My mother wept, and said, "Dear Agnes, perhaps we may never meetagain on earth."

  "Perhaps not," was the reply.

  "You will not forget us, sister?" said the mother.

  "I never forget you," was the reply, in the same deep, low, firm,irresponsive voice, which seemed as if it had never vibrated to anythingmore human than an organ playing Gregorian chants.

  And the words echo in my heart to this instant, like a knell.

  She never forgets us.

  Nightly in her vigils, daily in church and cell, she watches over us,and prays God not to let us be too happy.

  And God hears her, and grants her prayers. It is too clear He does! Hadshe not been asking Him to make Fritz a monk? and is not Fritz separatedfrom us for ever?

  "How did you like the convent, Eva?" I said to her that night when wewere alone.

  "It seemed very still and peaceful," she said. "I think one could bevery happy there. There would be so much time for prayer. One couldperhaps more easily lose self there, and become nearer to God."

  "But what do you think of Aunt Agnes?"

  "I felt drawn to her. I think she has suffered."

  "She seems to be dead alike to joy or suffering," I said.

  "But people do not thus die without pain," said Eva very gravely.

  Our house at Wittemberg is small. From the upper windows we look overthe city walls, across the heath, to the Elbe, which gleams and sparklesbetween its willows and dwarf oaks. Behind the house is a plot ofneglected ground, which Christopher is busy at his leisure hourstrenching and spading into an herb-garden. We are to have a few flowerson the borders of the straight walk which intersects it,--daffodils,pansies, roses, and sweet violets and gilliflowers, and wallflowers. Atthe end of the garden are two apple trees and a pear tree, which hadshed their blossoms just before we arrived, in a carpet of pink andwhite petals. Under the shade of these I carry my embroidery frame, whenthe house work is finished; and sometimes little Thekla comes andprattles to me, and sometimes Eva reads and sings to me. I cannot helpregretting that lately Eva is so absorbed with that "TheologiaGermanica." I cannot understand it as well as I do the Latin hymns whenonce she has translated them to me; for these speak of Jesus theSaviour, who left the heavenly home and sat weary by the way seeking forus; or of Mary his dear mother; and although sometimes they tell ofwrath and judgment, at all events I know what it means. But this otherbook is all to me one dazzling haze, without sun, or moon, or stars, orheaven, or earth, or seas, or anything distinct,--but all a blaze ofindistinguishable glory, which is God; the One who is all--a kind ofocean of goodness, in which, in some mysterious way, we ought to beabsorbed. But I am not an ocean, or any part of one; and I cannot lovean ocean, because it is infinite, or unfathomable, or all-sufficient, oranything else.

  My mother's thought of God, as watching lest we should be too happy andlove any one more than himself, remembering the mistakes and sins ofyouth, and
delaying to punish them until just the moment when thepunishment would be most keenly felt, is dreadful enough. But even thatis not to me so bewildering and dreary as this all-absorbing Being inEva's book. The God my mother dreads has indeed eyes of severestjustice, and a frown of wrath against the sinner; but if once one couldlearn how to please him, the eyes might smile, the frown might pass. Itis a countenance; and a heart which might meet ours! But when Eva readsher book to me, I seem to look up into heaven and see nothing butheaven--light, space, infinity, and still on and on, infinity and light;a moral light, indeed--perfection, purity, goodness; but no eyes I canlook into, no heart to meet mine--none whom I could speak to, or touch,or see!

  This evening we opened our window and looked out across the heath to theElbe.

  The town was quite hushed. The space of sky above us over the plainlooked so large and deep. We seemed to see range after range of starsbeyond each other in the clear air. The only sound was the distant,steady rush of the broad river, which gleamed here and there in thestarlight.

  Eva was looking up with her calm, bright look. "Thine!" she murmured,"all this is Thine; and we are Thine, and Thou art here! How muchhappier it is to be able to look up and feel there is no barrier of ourown poor ownership between us and Him, the Possessor of heaven andearth! How much poorer we should be if we were lords of this land, likethe Elector, and if we said, 'All this is mine!' and so saw only I andmine in it all, instead of God and God's!"

  "Yes," I said, "if we _ended_ in saying I and mine; but I should be verythankful if God gave us a little more out of his abundance, to use forour wants. And yet, how much better things are with us then theywere!--the appointment of my father as director of the Elector'sprinting establishment, instead of a precarious struggle for ourselves;and this embroidery of mine! It seems to me, Eva, sometimes, we might bea happy family yet."

  "My book," she replied thoughtfully, "says we shall never be trulysatisfied in God, or truly free, unless all things are one to us, andOne is all, and something and nothing are alike. I suppose I am notquite truly free, Cousin Else, for I cannot like this place quite asmuch as the old Eisenach home."

  I began to feel quite impatient, and I said,--"Nor can I or any of usever feel any home quite the same again, since Fritz is gone. But as tofeeling something and nothing are alike, I never can, and I will nevertry. One might as well be dead at once."

  "Yes," said Eva gravely; "I suppose we shall never comprehend it quite,or be quite satisfied and free, until we die."

  We talked no more that night; but I heard her singing one of herfavourite hymns:[6]--

  In the fount of life perennial the parched heart its thirst would slake, And the soul, in flesh imprisoned, longs her prison-walls to break,-- Exile, seeking, sighing, yearning in her Fatherland to wake.

  When with cares oppressed and sorrows, only groans her grief can tell, Then she contemplates the glory which she lost when first she fell: Memory of the vanished good the present evil can but swell.

  Who can utter what the pleasures and the peace unbroken are Where arise the pearly mansions, shedding silvery light afar-- Festive seats and golden roofs, which glitter like the evening star?

  Wholly of fair stones most precious are those radiant structures made; With pure gold, like glass transparent, are those shining streets inlaid; Nothing that defiles can enter, nothing that can soil or fade.

  Stormy winter, burning summer, rage within those regions never; But perpetual bloom of roses, and unfading spring for ever: Lilies gleam, the crocus glows, and dropping balms their scents deliver;

  Honey pure, and greenest pastures,--this the land of promise is Liquid odours soft distilling, perfumes breathing on the breeze; Fruits immortal cluster always on the leafy, fadeless trees.

  There no moon shines chill and changing, there no stars with twinkling ray-- For the Lamb of that blest city is at once the sun and day; Night and time are known no longer,--day shall never fade away.

  There the saints, like suns, are radiant,--like the sun at dawn they glow; Crowned victors after conflict, all their joys together flow; And, secure, they count the battles where they fought the prostrate foe.

  Every stain of flesh is cleansed, every strife is left behind; Spiritual are their bodies,--perfect unity of mind; Dwelling in deep peace for ever, no offense or grief they find.

  Putting off their mortal vesture, in their Source their souls they steep,-- Truth by actual vision learning, on its form their gaze they keep,-- Drinking from the living Fountain draughts of living waters deep.

  Time, with all its alternations, enters not those hosts among,-- Glorious, wakeful, blest, no shade of chance or change o'er them is flung; Sickness cannot touch the deathless, nor old age the ever young.

  There their being is eternal,--things that cease have ceased to be. All corruption there has perished,--there they flourish strong and free; Thus mortality is swallowed up of life eternally.

  Nought from them is hidden,--knowing Him to whom all things are known All the spirit's deep recesses, sinless, to each other shown,-- Unity of will and purpose, heart and mind for ever one.

  Diverse as their varied labours the rewards to each that fall; But Love, what she loves in others evermore her own doth call: Thus the several joy of each becomes the common joy of all.

  Where the body is, there ever are the eagles gathered; For the saints and for the angels one most blessed feast is spread,-- Citizens of either country living on the self-same bread.

  Ever filled and ever seeking, what they have they still desire; Hunger there shall fret them never, nor satiety shall tire,-- Still enjoying whilst aspiring, in their joy they still aspire.

  There the new song, new forever, those melodious voices sing,-- Ceaseless streams of fullest music through those blessed regions ring! Crowned victors ever bringing praises worthy of the King!

  Blessed who the King of Heaven in his beauty thus behold, And, beneath his throne rejoicing, see the universe unfold,-- Sun and moon, and stars and planets, radiant in his light unrolled.

  Christ, the Palm of faithful victors! of that city make me free; When my warfare shall be ended, to its mansions lead thou me; Grant me, with its happy inmates, sharer of thy gifts to be!

  Let thy soldier, still contending, still be with thy strength supplied; Thou wilt not deny the quiet when the arms are laid aside; Make me meet with thee for ever in that country to abide!

  [Footnote 6:

  Ad perennis vitae fontem mens sitivit arida, Claustra carnis praesto frangi clausa quaerit anima, Gliscit, ambit, electatur, exul frui patria. &c. &c. &c.

  (The translation only is given above.)]

  _Passion Week._

  Wittemberg has been very full this week. There have been greatmystery-plays in the City Church; and in the Electoral Church (_SchlossKirche_) all the relics have been solemnly exhibited. Crowds of pilgrimshave come from all the neighbouring villages, Wendish and Saxon. It hasbeen very unpleasant to go about the streets, so much beer has beenconsumed; and the students and peasants have had frequent encounters. Itis certainly a comfort that there are large indulgences to be obtainedby visiting the relics, for the pilgrims seem to need a great deal ofindulgence.

  The sacred mystery-plays were very magnificent. The Judas waswonderfully hateful,--hunchbacked, and dressed like a rich Jewish miser;and the devils were dreadful enough to terrify the children for a year.

  Little Thekla was dressed in white, with gauze wings, and made a lovelyangel--and enjoyed it very much. They wanted Eva to represent one of theholy women at the cross, but she would not. Indeed she nearly wept atthe thought, and did not seem to like the whole ceremony at all. "It allreally happened!" she said; "they really crucified Him! And He is risen,and liv
ing in heaven; and I cannot bear to see it performed, like afable."

  The second day there was certainly more jesting and satire than I liked.Christopher said it reminded him of "Reinecke Fuchs."

  In the middle of the second day we missed Eva, and when in a few hours Icame back to the house to seek her, I found her kneeling by ourbed-side, sobbing as if her heart would break. I drew her towards me,but I could not discover that anything at all was the matter, exceptthat the young knight who had stopped us in the forest had bowed veryrespectfully to her, and had shown her a few dried violets, which hesaid he should always keep in remembrance of her and her words.

  It did not seem to me so unpardonable an offence, and I said so.

  "He had no right to keep anything for my sake!" she sobbed. "No one willever have any right to keep anything for my sake; and if Fritz had beenhere, he would never have allowed it."

  "Little Eva," I said, "what has become of your 'Theologia Teutsch?' Yourbook says you are to take all things meekly, and be indifferent, Isuppose, alike to admiration and reproach."

  "Cousin Else," said Eva very gravely, rising and standing erect beforeme with clasped hands, "I have not learned the 'Theologia' through wellyet, but I mean to try. The world seems to me very evil, and very sad.And there seems no place in it for an orphan girl like me. There is norest except in being a wife or a nun. A wife I shall never be, andtherefore, dear, dear Else," she continued, kneeling down again, andthrowing her arms around me, "I have just decided--I will go to theconvent where Aunt Agnes is, and be a nun."

  I did not attempt to remonstrate; but the next day I told the mother,who said gravely, "She will be happier there, poor child! We must lether go."

  But she became pale as death, her lip quivered, and she added,--"Yes,God must have the choicest of all. It is in vain indeed to fight againstHim!" Then, fearing she might have wounded me, she kissed me andsaid,--"Since Fritz left, she has grown so very dear! But how can Imurmur when my loving Else is spared to us?"

  "Mother," I said, "do you think Aunt Agnes has been praying again forthis?"

  "Probably!" she replied, with a startled look. "She did look veryearnestly at Eva."

  "Then, mother," I replied, "I shall write to Aunt Agnes at once, to tellher that she is not to make any such prayers for you or for me. For, asto me, it is entirely useless. And if you were to imitate St. Elizabeth,and leave us, it would break all our hearts, and the family would go toruin altogether."

  "What are you thinking of, Else?" replied my mother meekly. "It is toolate indeed for me to think of being a saint. I can never hope foranything beyond this, that God in his great mercy may one day pardon memy sins, and receive me as the lowest of his creatures, for the sake ofhis dear Son who died upon the cross. What could you mean by myimitating St. Elizabeth?"

  I felt reassured, and did not pursue the subject, fearing it mightsuggest what I dreaded to my mother.

  WITTEMBERG, _June_ 14.

  And so Eva and Fritz are gone, the two religious ones of the family.They are gone into their separate convents, to be made saints, and haveleft us all to struggle in the world without them,--with all that helpedus to be less earthly taken from us. It seems to me as if a lovelypicture of the Holy Mother had been removed from the dwelling-room sinceEva has gone, and instead we had nothing left but family portraits, andpaintings of common earthly things; or as if a window opening towardsthe stars had been covered by a low ceiling. She was always like alittle bit of heaven among us.

  I miss her in our little room at night. Her prayers seemed to hallow it.I miss her sweet, holy songs at my embroidery; and now I have nothing toturn my thoughts from the arrangements for to-morrow, and the troublesof yesterday, and the perplexities of to-day. I had no idea how I musthave been leaning on her. She always seemed so child-like, and so abovemy petty cares--and in practical things I certainly understood muchmore; and yet, in some way, whenever I talked anything over with her, italways seemed to take the burden away,--to change cares into duties, andclear my thoughts wonderfully,--just by lightening my heart. It was notthat she suggested what to do; but she made me feel things were workingfor good, not for harm--that God in some way ordered them--and then theright thoughts seemed to come to me naturally.

  Our mother, I am afraid, grieves as much as she did for Fritz; but shetries to hide it, lest we should feel her ungrateful for the love of herchildren.

  I have a terrible dread sometimes that Aunt Agnes will get her prayersanswered about our precious mother also,--if not in one way, in another.She looks so pale and spiritless.

  Christopher has just returned from taking Eva to the convent. He saysshe shed many tears when he left her; which is a comfort. I could notbear to think that something and nothing were alike to her yet! He toldme also one thing, which has made me rather anxious. On the journey, Evabegged him to take care of our father's sight, which, she said, shethought had been failing a little lately. And just before they separatedshe brought him a little jar of distilled eye-water, which the nuns wereskillful in making, and sent it to our father with Sister Ave's love.

  Certainly my father has read less lately; and now I think of it, he hasasked me once or twice to find things for him, and to help him about hismodels, in a way he never used to do.

  It is strange that Eva, with those deep, earnest, quiet eyes, whichseemed to look about so little, always saw before any of us what everyone wanted. Darling child! she will remember us, then, and our littlecares. And she will have some eye-water to make, which will be muchbetter for her than reading all day in that melancholy "TheologiaTeutsch."

  But are we to call our Eva, Ave? She gave these lines of the hymn in herown writing to Christopher, to bring to me. She often used to sing it,and has explained the words to me:--

  "Ave, maris stella Dei mater alma Atque semper virgo Felix coeli porta.

  _Sumens illud Ave_ Gabrielis ore Funda nos in pace _Mutans nomen Evoe_."

  It is not an uncommon name, I know, with nuns.

  Well, dearly as I loved the old name, I cannot complain of the change.Sister Ave will be as dear to me as Cousin Eva, only a little bitfurther off, and nearer heaven.

  Her living so near heaven, while she was with us, never seemed to makeher further off, but nearer to us all.

  Now, however, it cannot, of course, be the same.

  Our grandmother remains steadfast to the baptismal name.

  "Receiving that Ave from the lips of Gabriel, the blessed Mothertransformed the name of our mother Eva! And now our child Eva is on herway to become Saint Ave,--God's angel Ave in heaven!"

  _June_ 30.

  The young knight we met in the forest has called at our house to-day.

  I could scarcely command my voice at first to tell him where our Eva is,because I cannot help partly blaming him for her leaving us at last.

  "At Nimptschen!" he said; "then she was noble, after all. None butmaidens of noble houses are admitted there."

  "Yes," I said, "our mother's family is noble."

  "She was too heavenly for this world!" he murmured. "Her face, andsomething in her words and tones, have haunted me like a holy vision, ora church hymn, ever since I saw her."

  I could not feel as indignant with the young knight as Eva did. And heseemed so interested in our father's models, that we could not refusehim permission to come and see us again.

  Yes, our Eva was, I suppose, as he says, too religious and too heavenlyfor this world.

  Only, as so many of us have, after all, to live in the world, unless theworld is to come to an end altogether, it would be a great blessing ifGod had made a religion for us poor, secular people, as well as one forthe monks and nuns.