Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family

by Elizabeth Rundle Charles

  XXXVII.

  Fritz's Story.

  EISLEBEN, 1546.

  It has been quite a festival day at Eisleben. The child who, sixty-threeyears since, was born here to John Luther, the miner, returns to-day thegreatest man in the empire, to arbitrate in a family dispute of theCounts of Mansfeld.

  As Eva and I watched him enter the town to-day from the door of ourhumble happy home, she said,--

  "He that is greatest among you shall be as he that doth serve."

  These ten last years of service have, however, aged him much!

  I could not conceal from myself that they had. There are traces ofsuffering on the expressive face, and there is a touch of feebleness inthe form and step.

  "How is it," I said to Eva, "that Else or Thekla did not tell us ofthis? He is certainly much feebler."

  "They are always with him," she said, "and we never see what Time isdoing, love; but only what he has done."

  Her words made me thoughtful. Could it be that such changes were passingon us also, and that we were failing to observe them?

  When Dr. Luther and the throng had passed, we returned into the house,and Eva resumed her knitting, while I recommenced the study of mysermon; but secretly I raised my eyes from my books and surveyed her. Iftime had indeed thus been changing that beloved form, it was better Ishould know it, to treasure more the precious days he was sotreacherously stealing.

  Yet scarcely, with the severest scrutiny, could I detect the trace ofage or suffering on her face or form. The calm brow was as white andcalm as ever. The golden hair, smoothly braided under her white matronlycap, was as free from grey as even our Agnes', who was flitting in andout of the winter sunshine, busy with household work in the next room.There was a roundness on the cheek, although, perhaps, its curve was alittle changed; and when she looked up, and met my eyes, was there notthe very same happy, child-like smile as ever, that seemed to overflowfrom a world of sunshine within?

  "No!" I said; "Eva, thank God, I have not deluded myself! Time has notstolen a march on you yet."

  "Think how I have been shielded, Fritz," she said. "What a sunny andsheltered life mine has been, never encountering any storm except underthe shelter of such a home and such a love. But Dr. Luther has been solong the one foremost and highest, on whose breast the first force ofevery storm has burst."

  Just then our Heinz came in.

  "Your father is trying to prove I am not growing old," she said.

  "Who said such a thing of our mother?" asked Heinz, turning fiercely toAgnes.

  "No one," I said; "but it startled me to see the change in Dr. Luther,and I began to fear what changes might have been going on unobserved inour own home."

  "Is Dr. Luther much changed?" said Heinz. "I think I never saw a noblerface, so resolute and true, and with such a keen glance in his darkeyes. He might have been one of the emperor's greatest generals--helooks so like a veteran."

  "Is he not a veteran, Heinz?" said Eva. "Has he not fought all ourbattles for us for years? What did you think of him, Agnes?"

  "I remember best the look he gave my father and you," she said. "Hisface looked so full of kindness; I thought how happy he must make hishome."

  That evening was naturally a time, with Eva and me, for going over thepast. And how much of it is linked with Dr. Luther! That our dear homeexists at all is, through God, his work. And more even than that: thefreedom and peace of our hearts came to us chiefly at first through him.All the past came back to me when I saw his face again; as if suddenlyflashed on me from a mirror. The days when he sang before Aunt UrsulaCotta's door at Eisenach--when the voice which has since stirred allChristendom to its depths sang carols for a piece of bread. Then thegradual passing away of the outward trials of poverty, through hisfather's prosperity and liberality--the brilliant prospects openingbefore him at the university--his sudden, yet deliberate closing of allthose earthly schemes--the descent into the dark and bitter waters,where he fought the fight for his age, and, all but sinking, found theHand that saved him, and came to the shore again on the right side; andnot alone, but upheld evermore by the hand that rescued him, and whichhe has made known to the hearts of thousands.

  Then I seemed to see him stand before the emperor at Worms, in that daywhen men did not know whether to wonder most at his gentleness or hisdaring--in that hour which men thought was his hour of conflict, butwhich was in truth his hour of triumph, after the real battle had beenfought and the real victory won.

  And now twenty years more had passed away; the Bible has been translatedby him into German, and is speaking in countless homes; homes hallowed(and, in many instances, created) by his teaching.

  "What then," said Eva, "has been gained by his teaching and his work?"

  "The yoke of tradition, and of the Papacy, is broken," I said. "Thegospel is preached in England, and, with more or less result, throughoutGermany. In Denmark, an evangelical pastor has consecrated KingChristian III. In the low countries, and elsewhere, men and women havebeen martyred, as in the primitive ages, for the faith. In France and inSwitzerland evangelical truth has been embraced by tens of thousands,although not in Dr. Luther's form, nor only from his lips."

  "These are great results," she replied; "but they are external--atleast, we can only see the outside of them. What fruit is there in thislittle world, around us at Eisleben, of whose heart we know something?"

  "The golden age is, indeed, not come," I said, "or the Counts ofMansfeld would not be quarrelling about church patronage, and needingDr. Luther as a peace-maker. Nor would Dr. Luther need so continually towarn the rich against avarice, and to denounce the selfishness whichspent thousands of florins to buy exemption from future punishment, butgrudges a few kreuzers to spread the glad tidings of the grace of God.If covetousness is idolatry, it is too plain that the Reformation has,with many, only changed the idol."

  "Yet," replied Eva, "it is certainly something to have the idol removedfrom the Church to the market, to have it called by a despised insteadof by a hallowed name, and disguised in any rather than in sacredvestments."

  Thus we came to the conclusion that the Reformation had done for us whatsunrise does. It had wakened life, and ripened real fruits of heaven inmany places, and it had revealed evil and noisome things in their trueforms. The world, the flesh and the devil remain unchanged; but it ismuch to have learned that the world is not a certain definite regionoutside the cloister, but an atmosphere to be guarded against as aroundus everywhere; that the flesh is not the love of kindred or of nature,but of _self in these_, and that the devil's most fiery dart is distrustof God. For us personally, and ours, how infinitely much Dr. Luther hasdone; and if for us and ours, how much for countless other hearts andhomes unknown to us!

  _Monday_, _February_ 15, 1543.

  Dr. Luther administered the communion yesterday, and preached. It hasbeen a great help to have him going in and out among us. Four times hehas preached; it seems to us, with as much point and fervour as ever.To-day, however, there was a deep solemnity about his words. His textwas in Matt. xi., "Fear not, therefore; for there is nothing coveredthat shall not be revealed, and hid that shall not be known. What I tellyou in darkness, that speak ye in light; and what ye hear in the ear,that preach ye on the house-tops. And fear not them which kill the body,but are not able to kill the soul; but rather fear him which is able todestroy both soul and body in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for afarthing? And one of them shall not fall on the ground without yourFather. But the very hairs of your head are all numbered." He must havefelt feebler than he seemed, for he closed with the words--

  "This, and much more, may be said from the passage; but I am too weak,and _here we will close_."

  Eva seemed very grave all the rest of the day; and when I returned fromthe school on this morning, she met me with an anxious face at the door,and said--

  "Is the doctor better?"

  "I have not heard that he is ill,
" I said. "He was engaged with thearbitration again to-day."

  "I cannot get those words of his out of my head," she said; "they hauntme--'_Here we will close_.' I cannot help thinking what it would benever to hear that faithful voice again."

  "You are depressed, my love," I said, "at the thought of Dr. Luther'sleaving us this week. But by-and-by we will stay some little time atWittemberg, and hear him again there."

  "If God will!" she said gravely. "What God has given us, through him,can never be taken away."

  I have inquired again about him, however, frequently to-day, but thereseems no cause for anxiety. He retired from the Great Hall where theconferences and the meals take place, at eight o'clock; and thisevening, as often before during his visit, Dr. Jonas overheard himpraying aloud at the window of his chamber.

  _Thursday, 18th February_.

  The worst--the very worst--has come to pass! The faithful voice is,indeed, silenced to us on earth for ever.

  Here where the life began it has closed. He who, sixty-three years ago,lay here a little helpless babe, lies here again a lifeless corpse. Yetit is not with sixty-three years ago, but with three days since that wefeel the bitter contrast. Three days ago he was among us the counsellor,the teacher, the messenger of God, and now that heart, so open, sotender to sympathize with sorrows, and so strong to bear a nation'sburden, has ceased to beat.

  Yesterday it was observed that he was feeble and ailing. The Princes ofAnhalt and the Count Albert of Mansfeld, with Dr. Jonas and his otherfriends, entreated him to rest in his own room during the morning. Hewas not easily persuaded to spare himself, and probably would not haveyielded then, had he not felt that the work of reconciliation wasaccomplished, in all save a few supplementary details. Much of theforenoon, therefore, he reposed on a leathern couch in his room,occasionally rising, with the restlessness of illness, and pacing theroom, or standing in the window praying, so that Dr. Jonas andCoelius, who were in another part of the room, could hear him. Hedined, however, at noon, in the Great Hall, with those assembled there.At dinner he said to some near him, "If I can, indeed, reconcile therulers of my birth-place with each other, and then, with God'spermission, accomplish the journey back to Wittemberg, I would go homeand lay myself down to sleep in my grave, and let the worms devour mybody."

  He was not one weakly to sigh for sleep before night; and we now knowtoo well from how deep a sense of bodily weariness and weakness thatwish sprang. Tension of heart and mind, and incessant work,--the toil ofa daily mechanical labourer, with the keen, continuous thought of thehighest thinker,--working as much as any drudging slave, and asintensely as if all he did was his delight,--at sixty-three the strong,peasant frame was worn out as most men's are at eighty, and he longedfor rest.

  In the afternoon he complained of painful pressure on the breast, andrequested that it might be rubbed with warm cloths. This relieved him alittle; and he went to supper again with his friends in the Great Hall.At table he spoke much of eternity, and said he believed his own deathwas near; yet his conversation was not only cheerful, but at times gay,although it related chiefly to the future world. One near him askedwhether departed saints would recognize each other in heaven. He said,Yes, he thought they would.

  When he left the supper-table he went to his room.

  In the night,--last night,--his two sons, Paul and Martin, thirteen andfourteen years of age, sat up to watch with him, with Justus Jonas,whose joys and sorrows he had shared through so many years. Coeliusand Aurifaber also were with him. The pain in the breast returned, andagain they tried rubbing him with hot cloths. Count Albert came, and theCountess, with two physicians, and brought him some shavings from thetusk of a sea-unicorn, deemed a sovereign remedy He took it, and slepttill ten. Then he awoke, and attempted once more to pace the room alittle; but he could not, and returned to bed. Then he slept again tillone. During those two or three hours of sleep, his host Albrecht, withhis wife, Ambrose, Jonas, and Luther's son, watched noiselessly besidehim, quietly keeping up the fire. Everything depended on how long heslept, and how he woke.

  The first words he spoke when he awoke sent a shudder of apprehensionthrough their hearts.

  He complained of cold, and asked them to pile up more fire. Alas! thechill was creeping over him which no effort of man could remove.

  Dr. Jonas asked him if he felt very weak.

  "Oh," he replied, "how I suffer! My dear Jonas, I think I shall diehere, at Eisleben, where I was born and baptized."

  His other friends were awakened, and brought in to his bed-side.

  Jonas spoke of the sweat on his brow as a hopeful sign, but Dr. Lutheranswered--

  "It is the cold sweat of death. I must yield up my spirit, for mysickness increaseth."

  Then he prayed fervently, saying--

  "Heavenly Father! everlasting and merciful God thou hast revealed to methy dear Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. Him have I taught; Him have Iexperienced; Him have I confessed; Him I love and adore as my belovedSaviour, Sacrifice, and Redeemer--Him whom the godless persecute,dishonour, and reproach. O heavenly Father, though I must resign mybody, and be borne away from this life, I know that I shall be with Himfor ever. Take my poor soul up to Thee!"

  Afterwards he took a little medicine, and, assuring his friends that hewas dying, said three times--

  "Father, into thy hands do I commend my spirit. Thou hast redeemed me,thou faithful God. Truly _God hath so loved the world_!"

  Then he lay quiet and motionless. Those around sought to rouse him, andbegan to rub his chest and limbs, and spoke to him, but he made noreply. Then Jonas and Coelius, for the solace of the many who hadreceived the truth from his lips, spoke aloud, and said--

  "Venerable father, do you die trusting in Christ, and in the doctrineyou have constantly preached?"

  He answered by an audible and joyful "Yes!"

  That was his last word on earth. Then turning on his right side, heseemed to fall peaceably asleep for a quarter of an hour. Once more hopeawoke in the hearts of his children and his friends; but the physiciantold them it was no favourable symptom.

  A light was brought near his face; a death-like paleness was creepingover it, and his hands and feet were becoming cold.

  Gently once more he sighed; and, with hands folded on his breast,yielded up his spirit to God without a struggle.

  This was at four o'clock in the morning of the 18th of February.

  And now, in the house opposite the church where he was baptized, andsigned with the cross for the Christian warfare, Martin Luther lies--hiswarfare accomplished, his weapons laid aside, his victory won--at restbeneath the standard he has borne so nobly. In the place where his eyesopened on this earthly life his spirit has awakened to the heavenlylife. Often he used to speak of death as the Christian's true birth, andof this life as but a growing into the chrysalis-shell in which thespirit lives till its being is developed, and it bursts the shell, castsoff the web, struggles into life, spreads its wings and sours up to God.

  To Eva and me it seems a strange, mysterious seal set on his faith, thathis birth-place and his place of death--the scene of his nativity toearth and heaven--should be the same.

  We can only say, amidst irrepressible tears, those words often on hislips, "O death! bitter to those whom thou leavest in life!" and "Fearnot, _God liveth still_."

  XXXVIII.

  Else's Story.

  _March_, 1546

  It is all over. The beloved, revered form is with us again, but Lutherour Father, our pastor, our friend, will never be amongst us more. Hisceaseless toil and care for us all have worn him out,--the care whichwastes life more than sorrow,--care such as no man knew since theapostle Paul, which only faith such as St. Paul's enabled him to sustainso long.

  This morning his widow, his orphan sons and daughter, and many of thestudents and citizens went out to the Eastern Gate of the city to meetthe funeral procession. Slowly it passed through the
streets, socrowded, yet so silent, to the city church where he used to preach.

  Fritz came with the procession from Eisleben, and Eva, with Heinz andAgnes, are also with us, for it seemed a necessity to us all once moreto feel and see our beloved around us, now that death has shown us theimpotence of a nation's love to retain the life dearest and most neededof all.

  Fritz has been telling us of that mournful funeral journey fromEisleben.

  The Counts of Mansfeld, with more than fifty horsemen, and many princes,counts, and barons, accompanied the coffin. In every village throughwhich they passed the church-bells tolled as if for the prince of theland; at every city gate magistrates, clergy, young and old, matrons,maidens, and little children, thronged to meet the procession, clothedin mourning, and chanting funeral hymns?--German evangelical hymns ofhope and trust, such as he had taught them to sing. In the last churchin which it lay before reaching its final resting-place at Wittemberg,the people gathered around it, and sang one of his own hymns, "I journeyhence in peace," with voices broken by sobs and floods of tears.

  Thus day and night the silent body was borne slowly through theThuringian land. The peasants once more remembered his faithfulaffection for them, and everywhere, from village and hamlet, and fromevery little group of cottages, weeping men and women pressed forward todo honour to the poor remains of him they had so often misunderstood inlife.

  After Pastor Bugenhagen's funeral sermon from Luther's pulpit,Melancthon spoke a few words beside the coffin in the city church. Theyloved each other well. When Melancthon heard of his death he was mostdeeply affected, and said in the lecture-room,--

  "The doctrine of the forgiveness of sins and of faith in the Son of God,has not been discovered by any human understanding, but has beenrevealed unto us by God _through this man_ whom he has raised up."

  In the city church, beside the coffin, before the body was lowered intoits last resting-place near the pulpit where he preached, Dr. Melancthonpronounced these words in Latin, which Caspar Creutziger immediatelytranslated into German,--

  "Every one who truly knew him, must bear witness that he was abenevolent, charitable man, gracious in all his discourse, kindly andmost worthy of love, and neither rash, passionate, self-willed, or readyto take offence. And, nevertheless, there were also in him anearnestness and courage in his words and bearing such as become a manlike him. His heart was true and faithful, and without falsehood. Theseverity which he used against the foes of the doctrine in his writingsdid not proceed from a quarrelsome or angry disposition, but from greatearnestness and zeal for the truth. He always showed a high courage andmanhood, and it was no little roar of the enemy which could appall him.Menaces, dangers, and terror dismayed him not. So high and keen was hisunderstanding, that he alone in complicated, dark, and difficult affairssoon perceived what was to be counselled and to be done. Neither, assome think, was he regardless of authority, but diligently regarded themind and will of those with whom he had to do. His doctrine did notconsist in rebellious opinions made known with violence; it is rather aninterpretation of the divine will and of the true worship of God, anexplanation of the word of God, namely of the gospel of Christ. Now heis united with the prophets of whom he loved to talk. Now they greet himas their fellow-labourer, and with him praise the Lord who gathers andpreserves his Church. But we must retain a perpetual, undyingrecollection of this our beloved father, and never let his memory fadefrom our hearts."

  His effigy will be placed in the city church, but his living portrait isenshrined in countless hearts. His monuments are the schools throughoutthe land, every hallowed pastor's home, and above all, "the German Biblefor the German people!"

  WITTEMBERG, _April_, 1547.

  We stand now in the foremost rank of the generations of our time. Ourfather's house on earth has passed away for ever. Gently, not long afterDr Luther's death, our gentle mother passed away, and our father enteredon the fulfilment of those never-failing hopes to which, since hisblindness, his buoyant heart has learned more and more to cling.

  Scarcely separated a year from each other, both in extreme old age,surrounded by all dearest to them on earth, they fell asleep in Jesus.

  And now Fritz, who has an appointment at the university, lives in thepaternal house with his Eva and our Thekla, and the children.

  Of all our family I sometimes think Thekla's life is the most blessed.In our evangelical church, also, I perceive, God by his providence makesnuns; good women, whose wealth of love is poured out in the Church;whose inner as well as whose outer circle is the family of God. How manywhom she has trained in the school and nursed in the seasons ofpestilence or adversity, live on earth to call her blessed, or live inheaven to receive her into the everlasting habitations!

  And among the reasons why her life is so high and loving, no doubt oneis, that socially her position is one not of exaltation but oflowliness.

  She has not replaced, by any conventional dignities of the cloister,God's natural dignities of wife and mother. Through life hers has beenthe _lowest_ place; therefore, among other reasons, I oft think inheaven it may be the _highest_. But we shall not grudge it her, Eva andChriemhild and Atlantis and I.

  With what joy shall we see those meek and patient brows crowned with thebrightest crowns of glory and immortal joy!

  The little garden behind the Augustei has become a sacred place.Luther's widow and children still live there. Those who knew him, andtherefore loved him best, find a sad pleasure in lingering under theshadow of the trees which used to shelter him, beside the fountain andthe little fish-pond which he made, and the flowers he planted, andrecalling his words and his familiar ways; how he used to thank God forthe fish from the pond, and the vegetables sent to his table from thegarden; how he used to wonder at the providence of God, who fed thesparrows and all the little birds, "which must cost him more in a yearthan the revenue of the king of France;" how he rejoiced in the "dew,that wonderful work of God," and the rose, which no artist couldimitate, and the voice of the birds. How living the narratives of theBible became when he spoke of them!--of the great apostle Paul whom heso honoured, but pictured as "an insignificant-looking, meagre man, likePhilip Melancthon;" or of the Virgin Mary, "who must have been a highand noble creature, a fair and gracious maiden, with a kind sweetvoice;" or of the lowly home at Nazareth, "where the Saviour of theworld was brought up as a little obedient child."

  And not one of us, with all his vehemence, could ever remember a jealousor suspicious word, or a day of estrangement, so generous and trustfulwas his nature.

  Often, also, came back to us the tones of that rich, true voice, and ofthe lute or lyre, which used so frequently to sound from thedwelling-room with the large window, at his friendly entertainments, orin his more solitary hours.

  Then, in twilight hours of quiet, intimate converse, Mistress Luther canrecall to us the habits of his more inner home life--how in hissicknesses he used to comfort her, and when she was weeping would say,with irrepressible tears, "Dear Kaethe, our children trust us, thoughthey cannot understand; so must we trust God. It is well if we do; allcomes from him." And his prayers morning and evening, and frequently atmeals, and at other times in the day--his devout repeating of theSmaller Catechism "to God"--his frequent fervent utterance of the Lord'sprayer, or of psalms from the Psalter, which he always carried with himas a pocket prayer-book. Or, at other times, she may speak reverently ofhis hours of conflict, when his prayers became a tempest--a torrent ofvehement supplication--a wrestling with God, a son in agony at the feetof a father. Or, again, of his sudden wakings in the night, to encounterthe unseen devil with fervent prayer, or scornful defiance, or words oftruth and faith.

  More than one among us knew what reason he had to believe in theefficacy of prayer. Melancthon, especially, can never forget the daywhen he lay at the point of death, half unconscious, with eyes growingdim, and Luther came and exclaimed with dismay,--

  "God save us! how successfully has the devil misu
sed this mortal frame!"

  And then turning from the company towards the window, to pray, lookingup to the heavens, he came (as he himself said afterwards), "as amendicant and a suppliant to God, and pressed him with all the promisesof the Holy Scriptures he could recall; so that God must hear me, ifever again I should trust his promises."

  After that prayer, he took Melancthon by the hand, and said, "Be of goodcheer, Philip, you will not die." And from that moment Melancthon beganto revive and recover consciousness, and was restored to health.

  Especially, however, we treasure all he said of death and theresurrection, of heaven and the future world of righteousness and joy,of which he so delighted to speak. A few of these sayings I may recordfor my children.

  "In the Papacy, they made pilgrimages to the shrines of the saints--toRome, Jerusalem, St. Jago--to atone for sins. But now, we in faith canmake true pilgrimages which really please God. When we diligently readthe prophets, psalms, and evangelists, we journey towards God, notthrough cities of the saints, but in our thoughts and hearts, and visitthe true Promised Land and Paradise of everlasting life.

  "The devil has sworn our death, but he will crack a deaf nut. The kernelwill be gone."

  He had so often been dangerously ill that the thought of death was veryfamiliar to him. In one of his sicknesses he said, "I know I shall notlive long. My brain is like a knife worn to the hilt; it can cut nolonger."

  "At Coburg I used to go about and seek for a quiet place where I mightbe buried, and in the chapel under the cross I thought I could lie well.But now I am worse than then. God grant me a happy end! I have no desireto live longer."

  When asked if people could be saved under the Papacy who had never heardhis doctrine of the gospel, he said, "Many a monk have I seen, beforewhom, on his death-bed, they held the crucifix, as was then the custom.Through faith in His merits and passion, they may, indeed, have beensaved."

  "What is our sleep," he said, "but a kind of death? And what is deathitself but a night sleep? In sleep all weariness is laid aside, and webecome cheerful again, and rise in the morning fresh and well. So shallwe awake from our graves in the last day, as though we had only slept anight, and bathe our eyes and rise fresh and well.

  "I shall rise," he said, "and converse with you again. This finger, onwhich is this ring, shall be given to me again. All must be restored.'God will create new heavens and a new earth, wherein dwellethrighteousness.' There all will be pure rapture and joy. Those heavensand that earth will be no dry, barren sand. When a man is happy, a tree,a nosegay, a flower, can give him gladness. Heaven and earth will berenewed, and we who believe shall be everywhere _at home_. Here it isnot so; we are driven hither and thither, that we may have to sigh forthat heavenly fatherland."

  "When Christ causes the trumpet to peal at the last day, all will comeforth like the insects which in winter lie as dead, but when the suncomes, awake to life again; or as the birds who lie all the winterhidden in clefts of the rocks, or in hollow banks by the river sides,yet live again in the spring."

  He said at another time, "Go into the garden, and ask the cherry-treehow it is possible that from a dry, dead twig, can spring a little bud,and from the bud can grow cherries. Go into the house and ask the matronhow it can be that from the eggs under the hen living chickens will comeforth. For if God does thus with cherries and birds, canst thou nothonour him by trusting that if he let the winter come over thee--sufferthee to die and decay in the ground--he can also, in the true summer,bring thee forth again from the earth, and awaken thee from the dead?"

  "O gracious God!" he exclaimed, "come quickly, come at last! I wait everfor that day--that morning of spring!"

  And he waits for it still. Not now, indeed, on earth, "in what kind ofplace we know not," as he said; "but most surely free from all grief andpain, resting in peace and in the love and grace of God."

  We also wait for that Day of Redemption, still in the weak flesh andamidst the storm and the conflict; but strong and peaceful in the truthMartin Luther taught us, and in the God he trusted to the last.

  THE END.