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 Xd. "$dsor\ and $m$, I[im&tm. I^Mnlm; ah ami Keln "Jcrl-
 
 
 CHRONICLES 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SCHONBERG-COTTA FAMILY. 
 
 BY THE AUTHOR OF 
 " The Voice of Christian Life in Song," " The Three Wakings? 
 
 LONDON: 
 T. NELSON AND SONS, PATERNOSTER ROW; 
 
 EDINBURGH ; AND NEW YORK. 
 
 I 866. 
 
 [The Right of Translation Reserved.]
 
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 IMMM.% 
 
 The portions of these Chronicles which refer to Luther, Melancthon, 
 Frederic of Saxony, and other historical persons, can be verified from 
 Luther's "Tischreden;" Luther's "Briefe, Sendschreiben und Beden- 
 ken ;" edited by De Wette ; the four volumes called, ' ' Geist aus Luther's 
 Schriften," edited by F. W«Lomler, C. F. Lucius, Dr. T. Rust, L. 
 Sackreuter, and Dr. Ernst Zimmermann ; Tutschmann's " Friedrich 
 der Weise ;" the " History of the Reformation," by Ranke ; and that 
 by D'Aubigne; with the ordinary English historical works relating to 
 the period.
 
 CHRONICLES 
 
 SCHONBERG-COTTA FAMILY. 
 
 €kts Storm 
 
 RIEDRICH wishes me to write a chronicle of my life. 
 Friedrich is my eldest brother. I am sixteen, and he 
 is seventeen, and I have always been in the habit 
 of doing what he wishes ; and therefore, although it seems to 
 me a very strange idea, I do so now. It is easy for Friedrich 
 to write a chronicle, or anything else, because he has thoughts. 
 But I have so few thoughts, I can only write what I see and 
 hear about people and things. And that is certainly very 
 little to write about, because everything goes on so much the 
 same always with us. The people around me are the same I 
 have known since I was a baby, and the things have changed 
 very little; except that the people are more, because there are 
 so many little children in our home now, and the things seem 
 to me to become less, because my father does not grow richer ; 
 and there are more to clothe and feed. However, since Fritz 
 wishes it, I will try ; especially as ink and paper are the two 
 things which are plentiful among us, because my father is a 
 printer. 
 
 Fritz and I have never been separated all our lives until now.
 
 ro Chronicles of the ScJionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Yesterday he went to the University at Erfurt. It was when I 
 was crying at the thought of parting with him that he told me 
 his plan about the chronicle. He is to write one, and I another. 
 He said it would be a help to him, as our twilight talk has been 
 — when always, ever since I can remember, we two have ■ crept 
 away in summer into the garden, under the great pear-tree, and 
 in winter into the deep window of the lumber-room inside my 
 fathers printing-room, where the bales of paper are kept, and 
 old books are piled up, among which we used to make ourselves 
 a seat. 
 
 It may be a help and comfort to Fritz, but I do not see how 
 it ever can be any to me. He had all the thoughts, and he 
 will have them still. But I — what shall I have for his voice 
 and his dear face, but cold, blank paper, and no thoughts at 
 all ! Besides, I am so very busy, being the eldest ; and the 
 mother is far from strong, and the father so often wants me to 
 help him at his types, or to read to him while he sets them. 
 However, Fritz wishes it, and I shall do it. I wonder what his 
 chronicle will be like! 
 
 But where am I to begin 1 What is a chronicle 1 Two of 
 the books in the Bible are called " Chronicles" in Latin — at 
 least Fritz says that is what the other long word* means — and 
 the first book begins with " Adam," I know, because I read it 
 one day to my father for his printing. But Fritz certainly 
 cannot mean me to begin as far back as that. Of course I 
 could not remember. I think I had better begin with the oldest 
 person I know, because she is the furthest on the way back to 
 Adam ; and that is our grandmother Von Schonberg. She is 
 very old — more than sixty — but her form is so erect, and her 
 dark eyes so piercing, that sometimes she looks almost younger 
 than her daughter, our precious mother, who is often bowed 
 down with ill-health and cares. 
 
 Our grandmother's father was of a noble Bohemian family, and 
 that is what links us with the nobles, although my father's 
 family belongs to the burgher class. Fritz and I like to look 
 at the old seal of our grandfather Von Schonberg, with all its 
 
 * I'araliporaenojfc
 
 ElsPs Story. i 1 
 
 quarterings, and to hear the tales of our knightly and soldier 
 ancestors — of crusader and baron. My mother, indeed, tells us 
 this is a mean pride, and that my father's printing-press is a 
 symbol of a truer nobility than any crest of battle-axe or sword ; 
 but our grandmother, I know, thinks it a great condescension 
 for a Schonberg to have married into a burgher family. Fritz 
 feels with my mother, and says the true crusade will be waged 
 by our father's black types far better than by our great-grand- 
 father's lances. But the old warfare was so beautiful, with the 
 prancing horses and the streaming banners ! And I cannot help 
 thinking it would have been pleasanter to sit at the window of 
 some grand old castle like the Wartburg, which towers above 
 our town, and wave my hand to Fritz, as he rode, in flashing 
 armour, on his war-horse, down the steep hill side, instead of 
 climbing up on piles of dusty books at our lumber-room win- 
 dow, and watching him, in his humble burgher dress, with his 
 wallet (not too well filled), walk down the street, while no one 
 turned to look. Ah, well ! the parting would have been as 
 dreary, and Fritz himself could not be nobler. Only I cannot 
 help seeing that people do honour the bindings and the gilded 
 titles, in spite of all my mother and Fritz can say; and I should 
 like my precious book to have such a binding, that the people 
 who could not read the inside, might yet stop to look at the 
 gold clasps and the jewelled back. To those who can read the 
 inside, perhaps it would not matter. For of all the old barons 
 and crusaders my grandmother tells us of, I know well none 
 ever were or looked nobler than our Fritz. His eyes are not 
 blue, like mine — which are only German Cotta eyes, but dark 
 and flashing. Mine are very good for seeing, sewing, and helping 
 about the printing; but his, I think, would penetrate men's 
 hearts and command them, or survey a battle-field at a glance. 
 
 Last week, however, when I said something of the kind to 
 him, he laughed, and said there were better battle-fields than 
 those on which men's bones lay bleaching; and then there came 
 that deep look into his eyes, when he seems to see into a world 
 beyond my reach. 
 
 But I began with our grandmother, and here I am thinking 
 about Friedrich again. I am afraid that he will be the beginning
 
 12 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 and end of my chronicle. Fritz has been nearly all the world 
 to me. I wonder if that is why he is to leave me. The monks 
 say we must not love any one too much ; and one day, when we 
 went to see Aunt Agnes, my mother's only sister, who is a nun 
 in the convent of Nimptschen, I remember her saying to me 
 when I had been admiring the flowers in the convent garden, 
 " Little Else, will you come and live with us, and be a happy, 
 blessed sister here % " 
 
 I said, " Whose sister, Aunt Agnes 1 I am Fritz's sister ! May 
 Fritz come too 1 " 
 
 "Fritz could go into the monastery at Eisenach," she said. 
 
 " Then I would go with him," I said. " I am Fritz's sister, 
 and I would go nowhere in the world without him." 
 
 She looked on me with a cold, grave pity, and murmured, 
 " Poor little one, she is like her mother; the heart learns to idolize 
 early. She has much to unlearn. God's hand is against all idols." 
 
 That is many years ago ; but I remember as if it were yester- 
 day, how the fair convent garden seemed to me all at once to 
 grow dull and cheerless at her words and her grave looks, and I 
 felt it damp and cold like a church-yard ; and the flowers looked 
 like made flowers ; and the walls seemed to rise like the walls of 
 a cave, and I scarcely breathed until I was outside again, and 
 had hold of Fritz's hand. 
 
 For I am not at all religious. I am afraid I do not even wish 
 to be. All the religious men and women I have ever seen do 
 not seem to me half so sweet as my poor dear mother ; nor as 
 kind, clever, and cheerful as my father; nor half as noble and 
 good as Fritz. And the Lives of the Saints puzzle me exceedingly, 
 because it seems to me that if every one were to follow the ex- 
 ample of St. Catherine, and even our own St. Elizabeth of Hun- 
 gary, and disobey their parents, and leave their little children, it 
 would make everything so very wrong and confused. I wondei 
 if any one else ever felt the same, because these are thoughts I 
 have never even told to Fritz ; for he is religious, and I am 
 afraid it would pain him. 
 
 Our grandmother's husband fled from Bohemia on account 
 of religion ; but I am afraid it was not the right kind of religion, 
 because no one seems to like to speak about it; and what Fritz
 
 Els^s Story. 13 
 
 and I know about him is only what we have picked up from time 
 to time, and put together for ourselves. 
 
 Nearly a hundred years ago, two priests preached in Bohemia, 
 called John Huss and Jerome of Prague. They seem to have 
 been dearly beloved, and to have been thought good men during 
 their life-time ; but people must have been mistaken about them, 
 for they were both burnt alive as heretics at Constance in two 
 following years — in 141 5 and 1416 ; which of course proves that 
 they could not have been good men, but exceedingly bad. 
 
 However, their friends in Bohemia would not give up believing 
 what they had learned of these men, although they had seen what 
 end it led to. I do not think this was strange, because it is so 
 very difficult to make oneself believe what one ought, as it is, 
 and I do not see that the fear of being burned even would help 
 one to do it; although, certainly, it might keep one silent. But 
 these friends of John Huss were many of them nobles and great 
 men, who were not accustomed to conceal their thoughts, and 
 they would not be silent about what Huss had taught them. 
 What this was, Fritz and I never could find out, because m). 
 grandmother, who answers all our other questions, never would 
 tell us a word about this. We are, therefore, afraid it must be 
 something very wicked indeed. And yet, when I asked one day 
 if oui grandfather (who, we think, had followed Huss), was a 
 wicked man, her eyes flashed like lightning, and she said ve- 
 hemently,— 
 
 " Better never lived or died ! " 
 
 This perplexes us, but perhaps we shall understand it, like so 
 many other things, when we are older. 
 
 Great troubles followed on the death of Huss. Bohemia was 
 divided into three parties, who fought against each other. Castles 
 were sacked, and noble women and little children were driven 
 into caves and forests. Our forefathers were among the sufferers. 
 In 1458 the conflict reached its height; many were beheaded, 
 hung, burned alive, or tortured. My grandfather was killed as 
 he was escaping, and my grandmother encountered great dangers, 
 and lost all the little property which was left her, in reaching 
 Eisenach, a young widow with two little children, my mother 
 and Aunt Agnes.
 
 14 Chronicles of the Sdionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Whatever it was that my great grandfather believed wrong, his 
 wife did not seem to share it. She took refuge in the Augus- 
 tinian Convent, where she lived until my Aunt Agnes took the 
 veil, and my motner was married, when she came to live with us. 
 She is as fond of Fritz as I am, in her way ; although she scolds 
 us all in turn, which is perhaps a good thing, because as she 
 says, no one else does. And she has taught me nearly all I 
 know, except the Apostles' Creed and Ten Commandments, 
 which our father taught us, and the Paternoster and Ave Mary 
 which we learned at our mother's knee. Fritz, of course, knows 
 infinitely more than I do. He can say the Cisio Janus (the 
 Church Calendar) through without one mistake, and also the 
 Latin Grammar, I believe ; and he has read Latin books of which 
 I cannot remember the names ; and he understands all that the 
 priests read and sing, and can sing himself as well as any of them. 
 
 But the legends of the saints, and the multiplication table, and 
 the names of herbs and flowers, and the account of the Holy 
 Sepulchre, and of the pilgrimage to Rome, — all these our grand- 
 mother has taught us. She looks so beautiful, our dear old 
 gradmother, as she sits by the stove with her knitting, and talks 
 to Fritz and me, with her lovely white hair and her dark bright 
 eyes, so full of life and youth, they make us think of the fire on 
 the hearth when the snow is on the roof, all warm within, or, 
 as Fritz says, — 
 
 " It seems as if her heart lived always in the summer, and 
 the winter of old age could only touch her body." 
 
 But I think the summer in which our grandmother's soul lives 
 must be rather a fiery kind of summer, in which there are light- 
 nings as well as sunshine. Fritz thinks we shall know her again 
 at the Resurrection Day by that look in her eyes, only perhaps 
 a little softened. But that seems to me terrible, and very far 
 off; and I do not like to think of it. We often debate which 
 of the saints she is like. I think St. Anna, the mother of Mary, 
 mother of God, but Fritz thinks St. Catherine of Egypt, because 
 she is so like a queen. 
 
 Besides all this, I had nearly forgotten to say I know the 
 names of several of the stars, which Fritz taught me. And I 
 can knit and spin, and do point stitch, and embroider a little.
 
 Else's Story. 1 5 
 
 I intend to teach it all to the children. There are a great many 
 children in our home, and more every year. If there had not 
 been so many, I might have had time to learn more, and also to 
 be more religious; but I cannot see what they would do at home 
 if I were to have a vocation. Perhaps some of the younger 
 ones may be spared to become saints. I wonder if this should 
 turn out to be so, and if I help them, if any one ever found 
 some little humble place in heaven for helping some one else 
 to be religious ! Because then there might perhaps be hope for 
 me after all. 
 
 Our father is the wisest man in Eisenach. The mother thinks, 
 perhaps, in the world. Of this, however, our grandmother has 
 doubts. She has seen other places besides Eisenach, which is 
 perhaps the reason. He certainly is the wisest man I ever 
 saw. He talks about more things that I cannot understand than 
 any one else I know. He is also a great inventor. He thought 
 of the plan of printing books before any one else, and had 
 almost completed the invention before any press was set up. 
 And he always believed there was another world on the other 
 side of the great sea, long before the Admiral Christopher Colum- 
 bus discovered America. The only misfortune has been that 
 some one else has always stepped in just before he had com- 
 pleted his inventions, when nothing but some little insignificant 
 detail was wanting to make everything perfect, and carried off 
 all the credit and profit. It is this which has kept us from 
 becoming rich, — this and the children. But the father's temper 
 is so placid and even, nothing ever sours it. And this is what 
 makes us all admire and love him so much, even more than his 
 great abilities. He seems to rejoice in these successes of other 
 people just as much as if he had quite succeeded in making 
 them himself. If the mother laments a little over the fame that 
 might have been his, he smiles and says, — 
 
 " Never mind, little mother. It will be all the same a hundred 
 years hence. Let us not grudge any one his reward. The 
 world has the benefit if we have not." 
 
 Then if the mother sighs a little over the scanty larder and 
 wardrobe, he replies, —
 
 16 Chronicles of the ScJtdnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " Cheer up, little mother, there are more Americas yet to be 
 discovered, and more inventions to be made. In fact," he adds, 
 with that deep far seeing look of his, " something else has just 
 occurred to me, which, when I have brought it to perfection, 
 will throw all the discoveries of this and every other age into 
 the shade." 
 
 And he kisses the mother and departs into his printing-room. 
 And the mother looks wonderingly after him, and says, — 
 
 " We must not disturb the father, children, with our little cares. 
 He has great things in his mind, which we shall all reap the 
 harvest of some day." 
 
 So, she goes to patch some little garment once more, and to try 
 to make one day's dinner expand into enough for two. 
 
 What the father's great discovery is at present, Fritz and I do 
 not quite know. But we think it has something to do, either 
 with the planets and the stars, or with that wonderful stone 
 the philosophers have been so long occupied about. In either 
 case, it is sure to make us enormously rich all at once ; and, 
 meantime, we may well be content to eke out our living as best 
 we can. 
 
 Of the mother I cannot think of anything to say. She is just 
 the mother — our own dear, patient, loving, little mother — unlike 
 every one else in the world ; and yet it seems as if there was 
 nothing to say about her by which one could make any one 
 else understand what she is. It seems as if she were to other 
 people (with reverence I say it) just what the blessed Mother 
 of God is to the other saints. St. Catherine has her wheel and 
 her crown, and St. Agnes her lamb and her palm, and St. Ursula 
 her eleven thousand virgins; but Mary, the ever-blessed, has 
 only the Holy Child. She is the blessed woman, the Holy 
 Mother, and nothing else. That is just what the mother is. 
 She is the precious little mother, and the best woman in the 
 world, and that is all. I could describe her better by saying 
 what she, is not. She never says a harsh word to any one nor 
 of any one. She is never impatient with the father, like our 
 grandmother. She is never impatient with the children, like 
 me. She never complains or scolds. She is never idle. She
 
 E/s^'s Story. \ j 
 
 never looks severe and cross at us, like Aunt Agnes. But I 
 must not compare her with Aunt Agnes, because she herself 
 once reproved me for doing so; she said Aunt Agnes was a 
 religious, a pure, and holy woman, far, far above her sphere 
 or ours ; and we might be thankful, if we ever reached heaven 
 if she let us kiss the hem of her garment. 
 
 Yes, Aunt Agnes is a holy woman — a nun ; I must be careful 
 what I say of her. She makes long, long prayers, they say, — 
 so long that she has been found in the morning fainting on the 
 cold floor of the convent church. She eats so little that Father 
 Christopher, who is the convent confessor and ours, says he 
 sometimes thinks she must be sustained by angels. But Fritz 
 and I think that, if that is true, the angel's food cannot be very 
 nourishing; for, when we saw her last, through the convent 
 grating, she looked like a shadow in her black robe, or like 
 that dreadful picture of death we saw in the convent chapel. 
 She wears the coarsest sackcloth, and often, they say, sleeps on 
 ashes. One of the nuns told my mother, that one day when 
 she fainted, and they had to unloose her dress, they found scars 
 and stripes, scarcely healed, on her fair neck and arms, which 
 she must have inflicted on herself. They all say she will have 
 a very high place in heaven ; but it seems to me, unless there 
 is a very great difference between the highest and lowest places 
 in heaven, it is a great deal of trouble to take. But, then, I 
 am not religious; and it is altogether so exceedingly difficult 
 to me to understand about heaven. Will every one in heaven 
 be always struggling for the high places'? Because when every 
 one does that at church on the great festival days, it is not at all 
 pleasant; those who succeed look proud, and those who fail 
 look cross. But, of course, no one will be cross in heaven, 
 nor proud. Then how will the saints feel who do not get the 
 highest places ? Will they be pleased or disappointed? If they 
 are pleased, what is the use of struggling so much to climb a 
 little higher? And if they are not pleased, would that be saint- 
 like? Because the mother always teaches us to choose the 
 lowest places, and the eldest to give up to the little ones. Will 
 the greatest, then, not give up to the little ones in heaven? Of 
 
 2
 
 1 8 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 one thing I feel sure : if the mother had a high place in heaven, 
 she would always be stooping down to help some one else up, 
 or making room for others. And then, what are the highest 
 places in heaven? At the emperor's court, I know, they are 
 the places nearest him; the seven Electors stand close around 
 the throne. But can it be possible that any would ever feel at 
 ease, and happy so very near the Almighty? It seems so ex- 
 ceedingly difficult to please Him here, and so very easy to 
 offend Him, that it does seem to me it would be happier to 
 be a little further off, in some little quiet corner near the gate, 
 with a good many of the saints between. The other day, Father 
 Christopher ordered me such a severe penance for dropping a 
 crumb of the sacred Host ; although I could not help thinking 
 it was as much the priest's fault as mine. But he said God 
 would be exceedingly displeased ; and Fritz told me the priests 
 fast and torment tnemseives severely sometimes, for only omit- 
 ting a word in the Mass. 
 
 Then the awful picture of the Lord Christ, with the lightnings 
 in his hand ! It is very different from the carving of him on 
 the cross. Why did he suffer so? Was it, like Aunt Agnes, 
 to get a higher place in heaven? or, perhaps, to have the right to 
 be severe, as she is with us? Such very strange things seem to 
 offend and to please God, I cannot understand it at all; but that 
 is because I have no vocation for religion. In the convent, the 
 mother says, they grow like God, and so understand him better. 
 
 Is Aunt Agnes, then, more like God than our mother? That 
 face, still and pale as death; those cold, severe eyes; that voice, 
 so hollow and monotonous, as if it came from a metal tube or 
 a sepulchre, instead of from a heart ! Is it with that look God 
 will meet us, with that kind of voice he will speak to us? Indeed, 
 the Judgment-day is very dreadful to think of; and one must 
 indeed need to live many years in the convent not to be afraid 
 of going to heaven. 
 
 Oh, if only our mother were the saint — the kind of good 
 woman that pleased God — instead of Aunt Agnes, how sweet 
 it would be to try and be a saint then ; and how sure one would 
 feel that one might hope to reach heaven, and that, if one 
 reached it, one would be happy there!
 
 Else's Story. jg 
 
 Aunt Ursula Cotta is another of the women I wish were the 
 right kind of saint. She is my father's first cousin's wife ; but 
 we have always called her aunt, because almost all little children 
 who know her do, — she is so fond of children, and so kind 
 to every one. She is not poor like us, although Cousin Conrad 
 Cotta never made any discoveries, or even nearly made any. 
 There is a picture of St. Elizabeth of Thuringia, our sainted 
 Landgravine, in our parish church, which always makes me 
 think of Aunt Ursula. St. Elizabeth is standing at the gate 
 of a beautiful castle, something like our castle of the Wart- 
 burg, and around her are kneeling a crowd of very poor 
 people — cripples, and blind, and poor thin mothers, with little 
 hungry-looking children — all stretching out their hands to the 
 lady, who is looking on with such kindly, compassionate looks, 
 just like Aunt Ursula; except that St. Elizabeth is very thin and 
 pale, and looks almost as nearly starved as the beggars around 
 her, and Aunt Ursula is rosy and fat, with the pleasantest 
 dimples in her round face. But the look in the eyes is the 
 same — so loving, and true, and earnest, and compassionate. 
 The thinness and pallor are, of course, only just the difference 
 there must be between a saint who fasts, and does so much 
 penance, and keeps herself awake whole nights saying prayers, 
 as St. Elizabeth did, and a prosperous burgher's wife, who eats 
 and sleeps like other people, and is only like the good Land- 
 gravine in being so kind to every one. 
 
 The other half of the story of the picture, however, would not 
 do for Aunt Ursula. In the apron of the saint, instead of loaves 
 of bread are beautiful clusters of red roses. Our grandmother 
 told us the meaning of this. The good Landgravine's husband 
 did not quite like her giving so much to the poor; because 
 she was so generous she would have left the treasury bare. So 
 she used to give her alms unknown to him. But on this day 
 when she was giving away those loaves to the beggars at the 
 castle gate, he happened suddenly to return, and finding hei 
 occupied in this way, he asked her rather severely what she had 
 in her apron. She said "roses!" 
 
 " Let me see," said the Landgrave. 
 
 And God loved her so much, that to save her from being
 
 20 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 blamed, he wrought a miracle. When she opened her apron, 
 instead of the loaves she had been distributing, there were beauti- 
 ful flowers. And this is what the picture represents. I always 
 wanted to know the end of the story. I hope God worked 
 another miracle when the Landgrave went away, and changed 
 the roses back into loaves. I suppose He did, because the 
 starving people look so contented. But our grandmother does 
 not know. Only in this, I do not think Aunt Ursula would 
 have done the same as the Landgravine. I think she would 
 have said boldly if Cousin Cotta had asked her, " I have loaves 
 in my apron, and I am giving them to these poor starving 
 subjects of yours and mine," and never been afraid of what he 
 would say. And then, perhaps, Cousin Cotta — I mean the 
 Landgrave's — heart would have been so touched, that he would 
 have forgiven her, and even praised her, and brought her some 
 more loaves. And then instead of the bread being changed to 
 flowers, the Landgrave's heart would have been changed from 
 stone to flesh, which does seem a better thing. But when I 
 once said this to grandmother, she said it was very wrong to 
 fancy other ends to the legends of the saints, just as if they 
 were fairy tales; that St. Elizabeth really lived in that old 
 castle of the Wartburg, not more than three hundred years ago, 
 and walked through those very streets of Eisenach, and gave 
 alms to the poor here, and went into the hospitals, and dressed 
 the most loathsome wounds that no one else would touch, and 
 spoke tender loving words to wretched outcasts no one else 
 would look at. That seems to me so good and dear of her; but 
 that is not what made her a saint, because Aunt Ursula and 
 our mother do things like that, and our mother has told me 
 again and again that it is Aunt Agnes who is like the saint, and 
 not she. 
 
 It is what she suffered, I suppose, that has made them put 
 her in the Calendar; and yet it is not suffering in itself that 
 makes people saints, because I do not believe St. Elizabeth 
 herself suffered more than our mother. It is true she used to 
 leave her husband's side and kneel all night on the* cold floor, 
 while he was asleep. But the mother has done the same as 
 that often and often. When any of the little ones has been ill,
 
 Els^s Story. 21 
 
 how often she has walked up and down hour after hour, with 
 the sick child in her arms, soothing and fondling it, and quiet- 
 ing all its fretful cries with unwearying tender patience. Then 
 St. Elizabeth fasted until she was almost a shadow; but how 
 often have I seen our mother quietly distribute all that was nice 
 and good in our frugal meals to my father and the children, 
 scarcely leaving herself a bit, and hiding her plate behind a dish 
 that the father might not see. And Fritz and I often say 
 how wasted and worn she looks; not like the Mother of 
 Mercy as we remember her, but too much like the wan pale 
 Mother of Sorrows with the pierced heart. Then as to pain, 
 have not I seen our mother suffer pain compared with which 
 Aunt Agnes or St. Elizabeth's discipline must be like the prick of 
 a pin. 
 
 But yet all that is not the right kind of suffering to make a 
 saint. Our precious mother walks up and down all night not to 
 make herself a saint, but to soothe her sick child. She eats 
 no dinner, not because she chooses to fast, but because we 
 are poor, and bread is dear. She suffers, because God lays 
 suffering upon her, not because she takes it on herself. And all 
 this cannot make her a saint. When I say anything to compas- 
 sionate or to honour her, she smiles and says, — 
 
 " My Else, I chose this lower life instead of the hign vocation 
 of your Aunt Agnes, and I must take the consequences. We 
 cannot have our portion both in this world and the next." 
 
 If the size of our mother's portion in the next wond were 
 to be in proportion to its smallness in this, I think she might 
 have plenty to spare; but this I do not venture to say to her. 
 
 There is one thing St. Elizabeth did which certainly our 
 mother would never do. She left her little fatherless children 
 to go into a convent. Perhaps it was this that pleased God and 
 the Lord Jesus Christ so very much, that they took her up to 
 be so high in heaven. If this is the case, it is a great mercy 
 for our father and for us that our mother has not set her heart 
 on being a saint. We sometimes think, however, that perhaps 
 although He cannot make her a saint on account of the rules 
 they have in heaven about it, God may give our mother some 
 little good thing, or some kind word, because of her being so
 
 22 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 very good to us. She says this is no merit, however, because 
 of her loving us so much. If she loved us less, and so found 
 it more a trouble to work for us ; or if we were little stranger 
 beggar children she chose to be kind to, instead of her own, I 
 suppose God would like it better. 
 
 There is one thing, moreover, in St. Elizabeth's history which 
 once brought Fritz and me into great trouble and perplexity. 
 When we were little children, and did not understand things 
 as we do now, but thought we ought to try and imitate the 
 saints, and that what was right for them must be right for us, 
 and when our grandmother had been telling us about the holy 
 Landgravine privately selling her jewels, and emptying her 
 husband's treasury to feed the poor, we resolved one day to 
 go and do likewise. We knew a very poor old woman in the 
 next street, with a great many orphan grandchildren, and we 
 planned a long time together before we thought of the way to 
 help her like St. Elizabeth. At length the opportunity came. 
 It was Christmas eve, and for a rarity there were some meat, 
 and apples, and pies in our store-room. We crept into the 
 room in the twilight, filled my apron with pies, and meat, and 
 cakes, and stole out to our old woman's to give her our booty. 
 The next morning the larder was found despoiled of half of 
 what was to have been our Christmas dinner. The children 
 cried, and the mother looked almost as distressed as they did. 
 The father's placid temper for once was roused, and he cursed 
 the cat and the rats, and wished he had completed his new 
 infallible rat trap. Our grandmother said very quietly, — 
 
 " Thieves more discriminating than rats or mice have been 
 here. There are no crumbs, and not a thing is out of place. 
 Besides, I never heard of rats or mice eating pie-dishes. 
 
 Fritz and I looked at each other, and began to fear we had 
 done wrong, when little Christopher said — 
 
 " I saw Fritz and Else carry out the pies last night." 
 " Else! Fritz!" said our father, "what does this mean?" 
 I would have confessed, but I remembered St. Elizabeth and 
 the roses, and said, with a trembling voice — 
 
 " They were not pies you saw, Christopher, but roses." 
 " Roses," said the mother very gravely, "at Christmas !"
 
 ElsPs Story. 23 
 
 I almost hoped the pies would have reappeared on the 
 shelves. It was the very juncture at which they did in the 
 legend ; but they did not. On the contrary, everything seemed 
 to turn against us. 
 
 " Fritz," said our father very sternly, *' tell the truth, or I 
 shall give you a flogging." 
 
 This was a part of the story where St. Elizabeth's example 
 quite failed us. I did not know what she would have done if 
 some one else had been punished for her generosity; but I 
 felt no doubt what I must do. 
 
 " O father!" I said, "it is my fault — it was my thought! We 
 took the things to the poor old woman in the next street for her 
 grandchildren." 
 
 "Then she is no better than a thief," said our father, "to 
 have taken them. Fritz and Else, foolish children, shall have 
 no Christmas dinner for their pains ; and Else shall, moreover, 
 be locked into her own room, for telling a story." 
 
 I was sitting shivering in my room, wondering how it was 
 that things succeeded so differently with St. Elizabeth and with 
 us, when Aunt Ursula's round pleasant voice sounded up the 
 stairs, and in another minute she was holding me laughing in 
 her arms. 
 
 " My poor little Else ! We must wait a little before we 
 imitate our patron saint ; or we must begin at the other end. 
 It would never do, for instance, for me to travel to Rome with 
 eleven thousand young ladies like St. Ursula." 
 
 My grandmother had guessed the meaning of our foray, and 
 Aunt Ursula coming in at the time, had heard the narrative, 
 and insisted on sending us another Christmas dinner. Fritz 
 and I secretly believed that St. Elizabeth had a good deal to 
 do with the replacing of our Christmas dinner ; but after that, 
 we understood that caution was needed in transferring the holy 
 example of the saints to our own lives, and that at present 
 we must not venture beyond the ten commandments. 
 
 Yet to think that St. Elizabeth, a real canonized saint — 
 whose picture is over altars in the churches — whose good deeds 
 are painted on the church windows, and illumined by the sun 
 shining through them — whose bones are laid up in reliquaries,
 
 24 Chronicles of the ScJwnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 one of which I wear always next my heart — actually lived and 
 prayed in that dark old castle above us, and walked along these 
 very streets — perhaps even had been seen from this window of 
 Fritz's and my beloved lumber-room. 
 
 Only three hundred years ago ! If only I had lived three 
 hundred years earlier, or she three hundred years later, I might 
 have seen her and talked to her, and asked her what it was 
 that made her a saint. There are so many questions I should 
 like to have asked her. I would have said, " Dear St. Eliza- 
 beth, tell me what it is that makes you a saint ? It cannot be 
 your charity, because no one can be more charitable than Aunt 
 Ursula, and she is not a saint ; and it cannot be your sufferings, 
 or your patience, or your love, or your denying yourself for 
 the sake of others, because our mother is like you in all that, 
 and she is not a saint. "Was it because you left your little chil- 
 dren, that God loves you so much? or because you not only did 
 and bore the things God laid on you, as our mother does, but 
 chose out other things for yourself, which you thought harder?" 
 And if she were gentle (as I think she was), and would have 
 listened, I would have asked her, " Holy Landgravine, why are 
 things which were so right and holy in you, wrong for Fritz and 
 me?" And I would also have asked her, " Dear St. Elizabeth, my 
 patroness, what is it in heaven that makes you so happy there?" 
 
 But I forgot — she would not have been in heaven at all. 
 She would not even have been made a saint, because it was 
 only after her death, when the sick and crippled were healed 
 by touching her body, that they found out what a saint she 
 had been. Perhaps, even, she would not herself have known 
 she was a saint. And if so, I wonder if it can be possible that 
 our mother is a saint after all, only she does not know it ! 
 
 Fritz and I are four or five years older than any of the 
 children. Two little sisters died of the plague before any more 
 were born. One was baptized, and died when she was a year 
 old, before she could soil her baptismal robes. Therefore we 
 feel sure she is in paradise. I think of her whenever I look at 
 the cloud of glory around the Blessed Virgin in St. George's 
 Church. Out of the cloud peep a number of happy child-
 
 Else's Story. 25 
 
 faces — some leaning their round soft cheeks on their pretty 
 dimpled hands, and all looking up with such confidence at the 
 dear mother of God. I suppose the little children in heaven 
 especially belong to her. It must be very happy, then, to have 
 died young. 
 
 But of that other little nameless babe who died at the same 
 time none of us ever dare to speak. It was not baptized, and 
 they say the souls of little unbaptized babes hover about for 
 ever in the darkness between heaven and hell. Think of the 
 horror of falling from the loving arms of our mother into the 
 cold and the darkness, to shiver and wail there for ever, and 
 belong to no one. At Eisenach we have a Foundling Hospital, 
 attached to one of the nunneries founded by St. Elizabeth, 
 for such forsaken little ones. If St. Elizabeth could only 
 establish a Foundling somewhere near the gates, of paradise 
 for such little nameless outcast child-souls ! But I suppose she 
 is too high in heaven, and too far from the gates to hear the 
 plaintive cries of such abandoned little ones. Or perhaps 
 God, who was so much pleased with her for deserting her own 
 little children, would not allow it. I suppose the saints in 
 heaven who have been mothers, or even elder sisters like me, 
 leave their mother's hearts on earth, and that in paradise they 
 are all monks and nuns like Aunt Agnes and Father Christopher. 
 
 Next to that little nameless one came the twin girls Chriem- 
 hild (named after our grandmother), and Atlantis, so christened 
 by our father on account of the discovery of the great world 
 beyond the sea which he had so often thought of, and which 
 the great admiral Christopher Columbus accomplished about 
 that time. Then the twin boys Boniface Pollux and Christopher 
 Castor; their names being a compromise between our father, 
 who was struck with some remarkable conjunction of their stars 
 at their birth, and my mother, who thought it only right to 
 counterbalance such Pagan appellations with names written in 
 heaven. Then another boy, who only lived a few weeks ; and 
 then the present baby, Thekla, who is the plaything and darling 
 of us all. 
 
 These are nearly all the people I know well ; except, indeed.
 
 26 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Martin Luther, the miner's son, to whom Aunt Ursula Cotta 
 has been so kind. He is dear to us all as one of our own 
 family. He is about the same age as Fritz, who thinks there is 
 no one like him. And he has such a voice, and is so religious, 
 and yet so merry withal ; at least at times. It was his voice 
 and his devout ways which first drew Aunt Ursula's attention 
 to him. She had seen him often at the daily prayers at church. 
 He used to sing as a chorister with the boys of the Latin school 
 of the parish of St. George, where Fritz and he studied. The 
 ringing tones of his voice, so clear and true, often attracted 
 Aunt Ursula's attention; and he always seemed so devout. 
 But we knew little about him. He was very poor, and had a 
 pinched, half-starved look when first we noticed him. Often I 
 have seen him on the cold winter evenings singing about the streets 
 for alms, and thankfully receiving a few pieces of broken bread 
 and meat at the doors of the citizens; for he was never a bold 
 and impudent beggar as some of the scholars are. Our 
 acquaintance with him, however, began one day which I re- 
 member well. I was at Aunt Ursula's house, which is in 
 George Street, near the church and school. I had watched the 
 choir of boys singing from door to door through the street. No 
 one had given them anything : they looked disappointed and 
 hungry. At last they stopped before the window where Aunt 
 Ursula and I were sitting with her little boy. That clear, high, 
 ringing voice was there again. Aunt Ursula went to the door 
 and called Martin in, and then she went herself to the kitchen, 
 and after giving him a good meal himself, sent him away with 
 his wallet full, and told him to come again very soon. After 
 that, I suppose she consulted with Cousin Conrad Cotta, and 
 the result was that Martin Luther became an inmate of their 
 house, and has lived among us familiarly since then like one of 
 our own cousins. 
 
 He is wonderfully changed since that day. Scarcely any 
 one would have thought then what a joyous nature his is. The 
 only thing in which it seemed then to flow out was in his clear 
 true voice. He was subdued and timid like a creature that 
 had been brought up without love. Especially he used to be 
 shy with young maidens, and seemed afraid to look in a
 
 EIs^s Story. 27 
 
 woman's face. I think they must have been veiy severe with 
 him at home. Indeed, he confessed to Fritz that he had often 
 as a child been beaten till the blood came for trifling offences, 
 such as taking a nut, and that he was afraid to play in his 
 parents' presence. And yet he would not hear a word reflecting 
 on his parents. He says his mother is the most pious woman 
 in Mansfeld, where his family live, and his father denies him- 
 self in every way to maintain and educate his children, especially 
 Martin, who is to be the learned man of the family. His 
 parents are inured to hardships themselves, and believe it to be 
 the best early discipline for boys. Certainly poor Martin had 
 enough of hardship here. But that may be the fault of his 
 mother's relations at Eisenach, who, they hoped, would have 
 been kind to him, but who do not seem to have cared for him 
 at all. At one time he told Fritz he was so pinched and dis- 
 couraged by the extreme poverty he suffered, that he thought 
 of giving up study in despair, and returning to Mansfeld to 
 work with his father at the smelting furnaces, or in the mines 
 under the mountains. Yet indignant tears start to his eyes if 
 any one ventures to hint that his father might have done more 
 for him. He was a poor digger in the mines, he told Fritz, and 
 often he had seen his mother carrying fire-wood on her shoul- 
 ders from the pine-woods near Mansfeld. 
 
 But it was in the monastic schools, no doubt, that he learned 
 to be so shy and grave. He had been taught to look on manied 
 life as a low and evil thing; and, of course, we all know it cannot 
 be so high and pure as the life in the convent. I remember 
 now his look of wonder when Aunt Ursula, who is not fond 
 of monks, said to him one day, "There is nothing on earth 
 more lovely than the love of husband and wife, when it is in 
 the fear of God." 
 
 In the warmth of her bright and sunny heart, his whole nature 
 seemed to open like the flowers in summer. And now there is 
 none in all our circle so popular and sociable as he is. He 
 plays on the lute, and sings as we think no one else can. And 
 our children all love him, he tells them such strange, beautiful 
 stories about enchanted gardens and crusaders, and about his 
 own childhood, among the pine-forests and the mines.
 
 23 Chronicles of the Schbnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 ■ It is from Martin Luther, indeed, that I have heard more 
 than from any one else, except from our grandmother, of the 
 great world beyond Eisenach. He has lived already in three 
 other towns, so that he is quite a traveller, and knows a great 
 deal of the world, although he is not yet twenty. Our father 
 has certainly told us wonderful things about the great islands 
 beyond the seas which the Admiral Columbus discovered, and 
 which will one day, he is sure, be found to be only the other 
 side of the Indies and Tokay and Araby. Already the Spaniards 
 have found gold in those islands, and our father has little doubt 
 that they are the Ophir from which King Solomon's ships 
 brought the gold for the temple. Also, he has told us about 
 the strange lands in the south, in Africa, where the dwarfs 
 live, and the black giants, and the great hairy men who climb 
 the trees and make nests there, and the dreadful men-eaters, 
 and . the people who have their heads between their shoulders. 
 But we have not yet met with any one who have seen all those 
 wonders, so that Martin Luther and our grandmother are the 
 greatest travellers Fritz and I are acquainted with. 
 
 Martin was born at Eisleben. His mother's is a burgher 
 family. Three of her brothers live here at Eisenach, and here 
 she was married. But his father came of a peasant race. His 
 grandfather had a little farm of his own at Mora, among the 
 Thuringian pine-forests ; but Martin's father was the second 
 son ; their little property went to the eldest, and he became a 
 miner, went to Eisleben, and then settled at Mansfeld, near 
 the Hartz mountains, where the silver and copper lie buried in 
 the earth. 
 
 At Mansfeld Martin lived until he was nineteen. I should 
 like to see the place. It must be so strange to watch the great 
 furnaces, where they fuse the copper and smelt the precious 
 silver, gleaming through the pine-woods, for they burn all through 
 the night in the clearings of the forest. When Martin was a 
 little boy he may have watched by them with his father, who 
 now has furnaces and a foundry of his own. Then there are 
 the deep pits under the hills, out of which come from time to 
 time troops of grim-looking miners. Martin is fond of the 
 miners ; they are such a brave and hardy race, and they have
 
 ElsPs Story. 29 
 
 fine bold songs and choruses of their own which he can sing, 
 and wild original pastimes. Chess is a favourite game with 
 them. They are thoughtful too, as men may well be who dive 
 into the secrets of the earth. Martin, when a boy, has often 
 gone into the dark, mysterious pits and winding caverns with 
 them, and seen the veins of precious ore. He has also often 
 seen foreigners of various nations. They come from all parts 
 of the world to Mansfeld for the silver, — from Bavaria and 
 Switzerland, and even from the beautiful Venice, which is a city 
 of palaces, where the streets are canals filled by the blue sea, 
 and instead of waggons they use boats, from which people 
 land on the marble steps of the palaces. All these things 
 Martin has heard described by those who have really seen 
 them, besides what he has seen himself. His father also fre- 
 quently used to have the schoolmasters and learned men at 
 his house, that his sons might profit by their wise conversation. 
 But I doubt if he can have enjoyed this so much. It must 
 have been difficult to forget the rod with which once he was 
 beaten fourteen times in one morning, so as to feel sufficiently 
 at ease to enjoy their conversation. Old Count Gunther of 
 Mansfeld thinks much of Martin's father, and often used to 
 send for him to consult him about the mines. 
 
 Their house at Mansfeld stood at some distance from the 
 school-house which was on the hill, so that, when he was little, 
 an older boy used to be kind to him, and carry him in his 
 arms to school. I daresay that was in winter, when his little 
 feet were swollen with chilblains, and his poor mother used to 
 go up to the woods to gather faggots for the hearth. 
 
 His mother must be a very good and holy woman, but not, 
 I fancy, quite like our mother ; rather more like Aunt Agnes. 
 I think I should have been rather afraid of her. Martin says 
 she is very religious. He honours and loves her very much, 
 although she was very strict with him, and once, he told Fritz, 
 beat him, for taking a nut from their stores, until the blood 
 came. She must be a brave, truthful woman, who would not 
 spare herself or others ; but I think I should have felt more at 
 home with his father, who used so often to kneel beside Martin's 
 bed at night, and pray God to make him a good and useful
 
 30 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 man. Martin's father, however, does not seem so fond of the 
 monks and nuns, and is therefore, I suppose, not so religious 
 as his mother is. He does not at all wish Martin to become a 
 priest or a monk, but to be a great lawyer, or doctor, or pro- 
 fessor at some university. 
 
 Mansfeld, however, is a very holy place. There are many 
 monasteries and nunneries there, and in one of them two of the 
 countesses were nuns. There is also a castle there, and our St. 
 Elizabeth worked miracles there as well as here. The devil 
 also is not idle at Mansfeld. A wicked old witch lived close to 
 Martin's house, and used to frighten and distress his mother 
 much, bewitching the children so that they nearly cried them- 
 selves to death. Once even, it is said, the devil himself got up 
 into the pulpit, and preached, of course in disguise. But in all 
 the legends it is the same. The devil never seems so busy as 
 where the saints are, which is another reason why I feel how 
 difficult it would be to be religious. 
 
 Martin had a sweet voice, and loved music as a child, and 
 he used often to sing at people's doors as he did here. Once, 
 at Christmas time, he was singing carols from village to village 
 among the woods with other boys, when a peasant came to the 
 door of his hut, where they were singing, and said in a loud 
 gruff voice, "Where are you, boys?" The children were so 
 frightened that they scampered away as fast as they could, and 
 only found out afterwards that the man with a rough voice had 
 a kind heart, and had brought them out some sausages. Poor 
 Martin was used to blows in those days, and had good reason 
 to dread them. It must have been pleasant, however, to hear 
 the boys' voices carolling through the woods about Jesus born 
 at Bethlehem. Voices echo so strangely among the silent pine- 
 forests. 
 
 When Martin was thirteen he left Mansfeld and went to 
 Magdeburg, where the Archbishop Ernest lives, the brother of 
 our Elector, who has a beautiful palace, and twelve trumpeters 
 to play to him always when he is at dinner. Magdeburg must 
 be a magnificent city, very nearly, we think, as grand as Rome 
 itself. There is a great cathedral there, and knights and princes 
 and many soldiers, who prance about the streets ; and tourna-
 
 Else's Story. 31 
 
 ments and splendid festivals. But our Martin heard more than 
 he saw of all this. He and John Reineck of Mansfeld (a boy 
 older than himself, who is one of his greatest friends), went to 
 the school of the Franciscan Cloister, and had to spend theii 
 time with the monks, or sing about the streets for bread, or 
 in the church-yard when the Franciscans in their grey robes 
 went there to fulfil their office of burying the dead. But it was 
 not for him, the miner's son, to complain, when, as he says, he 
 used to see a Prince of Anhalt going about the streets in a 
 cowl begging bread, with a sack on his shoulders like a beast 
 of burden, insomuch that he was bowed to the ground. The 
 poor prince, Martin said, had fasted and watched and mortified 
 his flesh until he looked like an image of death, with only skin 
 and bones. Indeed, shortly after he died. 
 
 At Magdeburg also, Martin saw the picture of which he has 
 often told us. " A great ship was painted, meant to signify the 
 Church, wherein there was no layman, not even a king or 
 prince. There were none but the pope with his cardinals and 
 bishops in the prow, with the Holy Ghost hovering over them, 
 the priests and monks with their oars at the side ; and thus 
 they were sailing on heavenward. The laymen were swimming 
 along in the water around the ship. Some of them were drown- 
 ing ; some were drawing themselves up to the ship by means 
 of ropes, which the monks, moved with pity, and making over 
 their own good works, did cast out to them to keep them from 
 drowning, and to enable them to cleave to the vessel and to go 
 with the others to heaven. There was no pope, nor cardinal, 
 nor bishop, nor priest, nor monk in the water, but laymen 
 only." 
 
 It must have been a very dreadful picture, and enough to 
 make any one afraid of not being religious, or else to make one 
 feel how useless it is for any one, except the monks and nuns, 
 to try to be religious at all. Because however little merit any 
 one had acquired, some kind monk might still be found to 
 throw a rope out of the ship and help him in ; and, however 
 many good works any layman might do, they would be of no 
 avail to help him out of the flood, or even to keep him from 
 drowning, unless he had some friend in a cloister.
 
 32 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 I said Martin was merry ; and so he is, with the children, 
 or when he is cheered with music or singing. And yet, on the 
 whole, I think he is rather grave, and often he looks very 
 thoughtful, and even melancholy. His merriment does not 
 seem to be so much from carelessness as from earnestness of 
 heart, so that whether he is telling a story to the little ones, or 
 singing a lively song, his whole heart is in it, — in his play as 
 well as in his work. 
 
 In his studies Fritz says there is no one at Eisenach who 
 can come near him, whether in reciting, or writing prose or 
 verse, or translating, or church music. 
 
 Master Trebonius, the head of St. George's school, is a very 
 learned man and very polite. He takes off his hat, Fritz says, 
 and bows to his scholars when he enters the school, for he 
 says that " among these boys are future burgomasters, chan- 
 cellors, doctors, and magistrates." This must be very different 
 from the masters at Mansfeld. Master Trebonius thinks very 
 much of Martin. I wonder if he and Fritz will be burgomasters 
 or doctors one day. 
 
 Martin is certainly very religious for a boy, and so is Fritz. 
 They attend mass very regularly, and confession, and keep 
 the fasts. 
 
 From what I have heard Martin say, however, I think he is 
 as much afraid of God and Christ and the dreadful day of 
 wrath and judgment as T am. Indeed I am sure he feels, as 
 every one must, there would be no hope for us were it not 
 for the Blessed Mother of God who may remind her Son how 
 she nursed and cared for him, and move him to have some 
 pity. 
 
 But Martin has been at the University of Erfurt nearly two 
 years, and Fritz has now left us to study there with him ; and 
 we shall have no more music, and the children no more stories 
 until no one knows when. 
 
 These are the people I know. I have nothing else to say 
 except about the things I possess, and the place we live in. 
 
 The things are easily described. I have a silver reliquary, 
 with a lock of the hair of St. Elizabeth in it. That is my
 
 Els'^s Story. 33 
 
 greatest treasure. I have a black rosary with a large iron 
 cross which Aunt Agnes gave me. I have a missal, and part 
 of a volume of the Nibelungen Lied ; and besides my every-day 
 dress, a black taffetas jacket and a crimson stuff petticoat, and 
 two gold ear rings, and a silver chain for holidays, which Aunt 
 Ursula gave me. Fritz and I between us have also a copy of 
 some old Latin hymns, with woodcuts, printed at Niimberg. 
 And in the garden I have two rose bushes ; and I have a 
 wooden crucifix carved in Rome out of wood which came from 
 Bethlehem, and in a leather purse one gulden my godmother 
 gave me at my christening ; and that is all. 
 
 The place we live in is Eisenach, and I think it a beautiful 
 place. But never having seen any other town, perhaps I cannot 
 very well judge. There are nine monasteries and nunneries 
 here, many of them founded by St. Elizabeth. And there are 
 I do not know how many priests. In the churches are some 
 beautiful pictures of the sufferings and glory of the saints ; and 
 painted windows, and on the altars gorgeous gold and silver 
 plate, and a great many wonderful relics which we go to adoi e 
 on the great saints' days. 
 
 The town is in a valley, and high above the houses rises ths 
 hill on which stands the Wartburg, the castle where St. Eliza- 
 beth lived. I went inside it once with our father to take some 
 books to the Elector. The rooms were beautifully furnished 
 with carpets and velvet-covered chairs. A lady dressed in silk 
 and jewels, like St. Elizabeth in the pictures, gave me sweet- 
 meats. But the castle seemed to me dark and gloomy. I 
 wondered which was the room in which the proud mother of 
 the Landgrave lived, who was so discourteous to St. Elizabeth 
 when she came a young maiden from her royal home far away 
 in Hungary ; and which was the cold wall against which she 
 pressed her burning brow, when she rushed through the castle 
 in despair on hearing suddenly of the death of her husband. 
 
 I was glad to escape into the free forest again, for all around 
 the castle, and over all the hills, as far as we can see around 
 Eisenach, it is forest. The tall dark pine woods clothe the 
 hills ; but in the valleys the meadows are very green beside 
 the streams. It is better in the valleys among the wild flowers 
 
 3
 
 34 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 than in that stern old castle, and I did not wonder so much 
 after being there that St. Elizabeth built herself a hut in a lowly 
 valley among the woods, and preferred to live and die there. 
 
 It is beautiful in summer in the meadows, at the edge of the 
 pine woods, when the sun brings out the delicious aromatic 
 perfume of the pines, and the birds sing, and the rooks caw. I 
 like it better than the incense in St. George's Church, and 
 almost better than the singing of the choir, and certainly better 
 than the sermons which are so often about the dreadful fires 
 and the judgment-day, or the confessional where they give us 
 such hard penances. The lambs, and the birds, and even the 
 insects, seem so happy, each with its own little bleat, or warble, 
 or coo, or buzz of content. 
 
 It almost seems then as if Mary, the dear Mother of God, 
 were governing the world instead of Christ, the Judge, or the 
 Almighty with the thunders. Every creature seems so blithe 
 and so tenderly cared for, I cannot help feeling better there 
 than at church. But that is because I have so little religion.
 
 II. 
 
 dMratfs from Jfricbrid/s Chronicle. 
 
 Erfurt, 1503. 
 
 T last I stand on the threshold of the world I have so 
 long desired to enter. Else's world is mine no longer; 
 and yet, never until this week did I feel how dear that 
 little home-world is to me. Indeed, Heaven forbid I should 
 have left it finally. I look forward to returning to it again, never 
 more, however, as a burden on our parents, but as their stay and 
 support, to set our-mother free from the cares which are slowly 
 eating her precious life away, to set our father free to pursue his 
 great projects, and to make our little Else as much a lady as 
 any of the noble baronesses our grandmother tells us of. 
 Although, indeed, as it is, when she walks beside me to church 
 on holidays, in her crimson dress, with her round, neat, little 
 figure in the black jacket with the white stomacher, and the 
 silver chains, her fair hair so neatly braided, and her blue eyes 
 so full of sunshine, — who can look better than Else ? And I 
 can see I am not the only one in Eisenach who thinks so. I 
 would only wish to make all the days holidays for her, and 
 that it should not be necessary when the festival is over for my 
 little sister to lay aside all her finery so carefully in the great 
 chest, and put on her Aschpiittel garments again, so that if the 
 fairy prince we used to talk of were to come, he would scarcely 
 recognise the fair little princess he had seen at church. And 
 yet no fairy prince need be ashamed of our Else, even in her 
 working, everyday clothes; — he certainly would not be the 
 right one if he were. In the twilight, when the day's work 
 is done, and the children are asleep, and she comes and sits 
 beside me with her knitting in the lumber-room or under the
 
 36 Chronicles of the Schd)ibcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 pear tree in the garden, what princess could look fresher or 
 neater than Else, with her smooth fair hair braided like a 
 coronet 1 Who would think that she had been toiling all day, 
 cooking, washing, nursing the children. Except, indeed, because 
 of the healthy colour her active life gives her face, and for that 
 sweet low voice of hers, which I think women learn best by 
 the cradles of little children. 
 
 I suppose it is because I have never yet seen any maiden to 
 be compared to our Else that I have not yet fallen in love. 
 And, nevertheless, it is not of such a face as Else's I dream, 
 when dreams come, or even exactly such as my mother's. My 
 mother's eyes are dimmed with many cares ; is it not that very 
 worn and faded brow that makes her sacred to me 1 More 
 sacred than any saintly halo ! And Else, good, practical little 
 Else, she is a dear household fairy ; but the face I dream of 
 has another look in it. Else's eyes are good, as she says, for 
 seeing and helping ; and sweet, indeed, they are for loving — 
 dear, kind, true eyes. But the eyes I dream of have another 
 look, a fire like our grandmother's, as if from a southern sun ; 
 dim, dreamy, far-seeing glances, burning into hearts, like the 
 ladies in the romances, and yet piercing into heaven, like St. 
 Cecilia's when she stands entranced by her organ. She should 
 be a saint, at whose feet I might sit and look through her pure 
 heart into heaven, and yet she should love me wholly, passion- 
 ately, fearlessly, devotedly, as if her heaven were all in my love. 
 My love ! and who am I that I should have such dreams 1 A 
 poor burgher lad of Eisenach, a penniless student of a week's 
 standing at Erfurt ! The eldest son of a large destitute family, 
 who must not dare to think of loving the most perfect maiden, 
 in the world, when I meet her, until I have rescued a father, 
 mother, and six brothers and sisters from the jaws of biting 
 poverty. And even in a dream it seems almost a treachery to 
 put any creature above Else. I fancy I see her kind blue 
 eyes filling with reproachful tears. For there is no doubt 
 that in Else's heart I have no rival, even in a dream. Poor, 
 loving, little Else ! 
 
 Yes, she must be rescued from the pressure of those daily 
 fretting cares of penury and hope deferred, which have made
 
 FricdricJis Story. 37 
 
 our mother old so early. If I had been in the father's place, I 
 could never have borne to see winter creeping so soon over 
 the summer of her life. But he does not see it. Or if for a 
 moment her pale face and the grey hairs which begin to come 
 seem to trouble him, J ie kisses her forehead, and says, 
 
 "Little mother, it will soon be over; there is nothing want- 
 ing now but the last link to make this last invention perfect, and 
 then—" 
 
 And then he goes into his printing-room ; but to this day 
 the missing link has never been found. Else and our mother, 
 however, always believe it will turn up some day. Our grand- 
 mother has doubts. And I have scarcely any hope at all, 
 although, for all the world, I would not breathe this to any one 
 at home. To me that laboratory of my father's, with its furnace, 
 its models, its strange machines, is the most melancholy place 
 in the world. It is like a haunted chamber, — haunted with the 
 helpless, nameless ghosts of infants that have died at their 
 birth, — the ghosts of vain and fruitless projects ; like the ruins 
 of a city that some earthquake had destroyed before it was 
 finished, ruined palaces that were never roofed, ruined houses 
 that were never inhabited, ruined churches that were never 
 worshipped in. The saints forbid that my life should be like 
 that ! and yet what it is which has made him so unsuccessful, I 
 can never exactly make out. He is no dreamer. He is no 
 idler. He does not sit lazily down with folded arms and 
 imagine his projects. He makes his calculations with the most 
 laborious accuracy ; he consults all the learned men and books 
 he has access to. He weighs, and measures, and constructs 
 the neatest models possible. His room is a museum of exquisite 
 models, which seem as if they must answer, and yet never do. 
 The professors, and even the Elector's secretary, who has come 
 more than once to consult him, have told me he is a man of 
 remarkable genius. 
 
 What can it be, then, that makes his life such a failure 1 I 
 cannot think ; unless it is that other great inventors and dis- 
 coverers seem to have made their discoveries and inventions as 
 it were by the way, in the course of their everyday life. As a 
 seaman sails on his appointed voyage to some definite port, he
 
 38 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 notices drift-wood or weeds which must have come from un> 
 known lands beyond the seas. As he sails in his calling from 
 port to port, the thought is always in his mind; everything he 
 hears groups itself naturally around this thought ; he observes 
 the winds and currents; he collects information from mariners 
 who have been driven out of their course, in the direction where 
 he believes this unknown land to lie. And at length he per- 
 suades some prince that -his belief is no mere dream, and like 
 the great admiral Christopher Columbus, he ventures across 
 the trackless unknown Atlantic and discovers the Western 
 Indies. But before he was a discoverer, he was a mariner. 
 
 Or some engraver of woodcuts thinks of applying his carved 
 blocks to letters, and the printing-press is invented. But it is 
 in his calling. He has not gone out of his way to hunt for 
 inventions. He has found them in his path, the path of his 
 daily calling. It seems to me people do not become great, do 
 not become discoverers and inventors by trying to be so, but 
 by determining to do in the very best way what they have to 
 do. Thus improvements suggest themselves, one by one, step 
 by step ; each improvement is tested as it is made by practical 
 use, until at length the happy thought comes, not like an elf 
 from the wild forests, but like an angel on the daily path ; and 
 the little improvements become the great invention. There is 
 another great advantage, moreover, in this method over our 
 father's. If the invention never comes, at all events we have 
 the improvements, which are worth something. Every one 
 cannot invent the printing-press or discover the New Indies ; 
 but every engraver may make his engravings a little better, 
 and every mariner may explore a little further than his pre- 
 decessors. 
 
 Yet it seems almost like treason to write thus of our father. 
 What would Else or our mother think, who believe there is 
 nothing but accident or the blindness of mankind between us 
 and greatness 1 Not that they have learned to think thus from 
 our father. Never in my life did I hear him say a grudging or 
 depreciating word of any of those who have most succeeded 
 where he has failed. He seems to look on all such men as 
 part of a great brotherhood and to rejoice in another man
 
 Friedrich 's Story. 39 
 
 hitting the point which he missed, just as he would rejoice in 
 himself succeeding in something to-day which he failed in 
 yesterday. It is this nobleness of character which makes me 
 reverence him more than any mere successes could. It is 
 because I fear, that in a life of such disappointment my char- 
 acter would not prove so generous, but that failure would sour 
 my temper and penury degrade my spirit as they never have 
 his, that I have ventured to search for the rocks on which he 
 made shipwreck, in order to avoid them. All men cannot 
 return wrecked, and tattered, and destitute from an unsuccessful 
 voyage, with a heart as hopeful, a temper as generous, a spirit 
 as free from envy and detraction, as if they brought the golden 
 fleece with them. Our father does this again and again; and 
 therefore I trust his argosies are laid up for him as for those 
 who follow the rules of evangelical perfection, where neither 
 moth nor rust can corrupt. I could not. I would never return 
 until I could bring what I had sought, or I should return a 
 miserable man, shipwrecked in heart as well as in fortune. And 
 therefore I must examine my charts, and choose my port and 
 my vessel carefully, before I sail. 
 
 All these thoughts came into my mind as I stood on the last 
 neight of the forest, from which I could look back on Eisenach, 
 nestling in the valley under the shadow of the Wartburg. May 
 the dear mother of God, St. Elizabeth, and all the saints, defend 
 it evermore ! 
 
 But there was not much time to linger for a last view of 
 Eisenach. The winter days were short ; some snow had fallen 
 in the previous night. The roofs of the houses in Eisenach 
 were white with it, and the carvings of spire and tower seemed 
 inlaid with alabaster. A thin covering lay on the meadows and 
 hill-sides, and light feather-work frosted the pines. I had nearly 
 thirty miles to walk through forest and plain before I reached 
 Erfurt. The day was as bright and the air as light as my heart. 
 The shadows of the pines lay across the frozen snow, over 
 which my feet crunched cheerily. In the clearings, the outline 
 of the black twigs were pencilled dark and clear against the 
 light blue of the winter sky. Every outline was clear, and 
 crisp, and definite, as I resolved my own aims in life should be
 
 40 Chronicles of I 'he Schbiiberg-Cotta Family, 
 
 I knew my purposes were pure and high, and I felt as if Heaven 
 must prosper me. 
 
 But as the day wore on, I began to wonder when the forest 
 would end, until, as the sun sank lower and lower, I feared I 
 must have missed my way; and at last, as I climbed a height 
 to make a survey, to my dismay it was too evident I had taken 
 the wrong turning in the snow. Wide reaches of the forest lay 
 all around me, one pine-covered hill folding over another; and 
 only in one distant opening could I get a glimpse of the level 
 land beyond, where I knew Erfurt must lie. The daylight was 
 fast departing ; my wallet was empty. I knew there were 
 villages hidden in the valleys here and there; but not a wreath 
 of smoke could I see, nor any sign of man, except here and 
 there fagots piled in some recent clearing. Towards one of 
 these clearings I directed my steps, intending to follow the 
 wood-cutters' track, which I thought would probably lead me 
 to the hut of some charcoal burner, where I might find fire and 
 shelter. Before I reached this spot, however, night had set in. 
 The snow began to fall again, and it seemed too great a risk to 
 leave the broader path to follow any unknown track. I re- 
 solved, therefore, to make the best of my circumstances. They 
 were not unendurable. I had a flint and tinder, and gathering 
 some dry wood and twigs, I contrived with some difficulty to 
 light a fire. Cold and hungry I certainly was, but for this I 
 cared little. It was only an extra fast, and it seemed to me 
 quite natural that my journey of life should commence with 
 difficulty and danger. It was always so in legend of the saints, 
 romance, or elfin tale, or when anything great was to be done. 
 
 But in the night, as the wind howled through the countless 
 stems of the pines, not with the soft varieties of sound it makes 
 amidst the summer oak-woods, but with a long monotonous 
 wail like a dirge, a tumult awoke in my heart such as I had 
 never known before. I knew these forests were infested by 
 robber-bands, and I could hear in the distance the baying and 
 howling of the wolves ; but it was not fear which tossed my 
 thoughts so wildly to and fro, at least not fear of bodily harm. 
 I thought of all the stories of wild huntsmen, of wretched guilty 
 men, hunted by packs of fiends ; and the stories which had
 
 Friedrich 's Story. 41 
 
 excited a wild delight in Else and me, as our grandmother told 
 them by the fire at home, now seemed to freeze my soul with 
 horror. For was not I a guilty creature, and were not the 
 devils indeed too really around me? — and what was to prevent 
 their possessing me] AVho in all the universe was on my side! 
 Could I look up with confidence to God? He loves only the 
 ■holy. Or to Christ? He is the judge; and more terrible than 
 any cries of legions of devils will it be to the sinner to hear his 
 voice from the awful snow-white throne of judgment. Then, 
 my sins rose before me — my neglected prayers, penances im- 
 perfectly performed, incomplete confessions. Even that morning, 
 had I not been full of proud and ambitious thoughts — even, 
 perhaps, vainly comparing myself with my good father, and 
 picturing myself as conquering and enjoying all kinds of worldly 
 delights ? It was true, it could hardly be a sin to wish to save 
 my family from penury and care ; but it was certainly a sin to 
 be ambitious of worldly distinction, as Father Christopher had 
 so often told me. Then, how difficult to separate the two ! 
 Where did duty end, and ambition and pride begin ? I deter- 
 mined to find a confessor as soon as I reached Erfurt, if ever I 
 reached it. And yet, what could even the wisest confessor do 
 for me in such difficulties? How could I ever be sure that I 
 had not deceived myself in examining my motives, and then 
 deceived him, and thus obtained an absolution on false pre- 
 tences, which could avail me nothing? And if this might be so 
 with future confessions, why not with all past ones 1 
 
 The thought was horror to me, and seemed to open a fathom- 
 less abyss of misery yawning under my feet. I could no more 
 discover a track out of my miserable perplexities than o\V oi 
 the forest. 
 
 For if these apprehensions had any ground, not only the sins 
 I had failed to confess were unpardoned, but the sins I had 
 confessed and obtained absolution for on false grounds. Thus 
 it might be that at that moment my soul stood utterly un- 
 sheltered, as my body from the snows, exposed to the wrath 
 of God, the judgment of Christ, and the exulting cruelty of 
 devils. 
 
 It seemed as if only one thing could save me, and that could
 
 42 Chronicles of the ScJi'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 never be had. If I could find an infallible confessor who could 
 see down into the depth of my heart, and back into every 
 recess of my life, who could unveil me to myself, penetrate all 
 my motives, and assign me the penances I really deserved, I 
 would travel to the end of the world to find him. The severest 
 penances he could assign, after searching the lives of all the 
 holy Eremites and Martyrs, for examples of mortification, it 
 seemed to me would be light indeed, if I could only be sure 
 they were the right penances and would be followed by a true 
 absolution. 
 
 But this it was, indeed, impossible I could ever find. 
 
 What sure hope then could I ever have of pardon or remis- 
 sion of sins'? What voice of priest or monk, the holiest on 
 earth, could ever assure me I had been honest with myself? 
 What absolution could ever give me a right to believe that the 
 baptismal robes, soiled as they told me " before I had left off 
 my infant socks," could once more be made white and clean] 
 
 Then for the first time in my life the thought flashed on me, 
 of the monastic vows, the cloister and the cowl. I knew there 
 was a virtue in the monastic profession which many said was 
 equal to a second baptism. Could it be possible that the end 
 of all my aspirations might after all be the monk's frock 1 What 
 then would become of father and mother, dear Else, and the 
 little ones? The thought of their dear faces seemed for an 
 instant to drive away these gloomy fears, as they say a hearth- 
 fire keeps off the wolves. But then a hollow voice seemed to 
 whisper, " If God is against you, and the saints, and your con- 
 science, what help can you render your family or any one else?" 
 The conflict seemed more than I could bear. It was so im- 
 possible to me to make out which suggestions were from the 
 devil and which from God, and which from my own sinful 
 heart; and yet it might be the unpardonable sin to confound 
 them. Wherefore for the rest of the night I tried not to think 
 at all, but paced up and down reciting the Ten Commandments, 
 the Creed, the Paternoster, the Ave Maria, the Litanies of the 
 Saints, and all the collects and holy ejaculations I could think 
 of. By degrees this seemed to calm me, especially the Creeds 
 and the Paternoster, whether because these are spells the fiends
 
 Friedrich's Story. 43 
 
 especially dread, or because there is something so comforting 
 in the mere words, " Our Father," and " the remission of sins," 
 I do not know. Probably for both reasons. 
 
 And so the morning dawned, and the low sunbeams slanted 
 up through the red stems of the pines; and I said the Ave 
 Maria, and thought of the sweet mother of God, and was a 
 little cheered. 
 
 But all the next day I could not recover from the terrors of 
 that solitary night. A shadow seemed to have fallen on my 
 hopes and projects. How could I tell that all which had 
 seemed most holy to me as an object in life might not be 
 temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil ; and that with 
 all my labouring for my dear ones at home, my sins might not 
 bring on them more troubles than all my successes could avert! 
 
 As I left the shadow of the forest, however, my heart seemed 
 to grow lighter. I shall always henceforth feel sure that the 
 wildest legends of the forests may be true, and that the fiends 
 have especial haunts among the solitary woods at night. 
 
 It was pleasant to see the towers of Erfurt rising before me 
 on the plain. 
 
 I had only one friend at the University; but that is Martin 
 Luther, and he is a host in himself to me. He is already dis- 
 tinguished among the students here; and the professors expect 
 great things of him. 
 
 He is especially studying jurisprudence, because his father 
 wishes him to be a great lawyer. This also is to be my pro- 
 fession, and his counsel, always so heartily given, is of the 
 greatest use to me. 
 
 His life is, indeed, changed since we first knew him at 
 Eisenach, when Aunt Ursula took compassion on him, a desti- 
 tute scholar, singing at the doors of the houses in St. George 
 Street for a piece of bread. His father's hard struggles to 
 maintain and raise his family have succeeded at last; he is now 
 the owner of a foundry and some smelting-furnaces, and 
 supports Martin liberally at the university. The icy morning 
 of Martin's struggles seems over, and all is bright before him. 
 
 Erfurt is the first University in Germany. Compared with 
 it, as Martin Luther says, the other universities are mere
 
 44 Chronicles of the Sch'onberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 private academies. At present we have from a thousand to 
 thirteen hundred students. Some of our professors have studied 
 the classics in Italy, under the descendants of the ancient 
 Greeks and Romans. The Elector Frederic has, indeed, lately 
 founded a new University at Wittemberg, but we at Erfurt have 
 little fear of Wittemberg outstripping our ancient institution. 
 
 The Humanists, or disciples of the ancient heathen learning, 
 are in great force here, with Mutianus Rufus at their head. 
 They meet often, especially at his house, and he gives them 
 subjects for Latin versification, such as the praises of poverty. 
 Martin Luther's friend Spalatin joined these assemblies; but he 
 himself does not, at least not as a member. Indeed, strange 
 things are reported of their converse, which make the names of 
 poet and philosopher in which they delight very much suspected 
 in orthodox circles. These ideas Mutianus and his friends are 
 said to have imported with the classical literature from Italy. 
 He has even declared and written in a letter to a friend, that 
 "there is but one God, and one goddess, although under various 
 forms and various names, as Jupiter, Sol, Apollo, Moses, Christ; 
 Luna, Ceres, Proserpine, Tellus, Mary." But these things he 
 warns his disciples not to speak of in public. " They must be 
 veiled in silence," he says, " like the Eleusinian mysteries. In 
 the affairs of religion we must make use of the mask of fables 
 and enigmas. Let us by the grace of Jupiter, that is, of the 
 best and highest God, despise the lesser gods. When I say 
 Jupiter, I mean Christ and the true God." 
 
 Mutianus and his friends also in their intimate circles speak 
 most slightingly of the Church ceremonies, calling the Mass a 
 comedy, and the holy relics ravens' bones;* speaking of the 
 service of the altar as so much lost time ; and stigmatizing the 
 prayers at the canonical hours as a mere baying of hounds, or 
 the humming, not of busy bees, but of lazy drones. 
 
 If you reproached them with such irreverent sayings, they 
 would probably reply that they had only uttered them in an 
 esoteric sense, and meant nothing by them. But when people 
 deem it right thus to mask their truths, and explain away their 
 errors, it is difficult to distinguish which is the mask and which 
 
 * That is, skeletons left on the gallows for the ravens to peck at.
 
 FricdricJis Stury. 45 
 
 the reality in their estimation. It seems to me also that thev 
 make mere intellectual games or exercises out of the most pro- 
 found and awful questions. 
 
 This probably, more than the daring character of their 
 speculations, deters Martin Luther from numbering himself 
 among them. His nature is so reverent in spite of all the 
 courage of his character. I think he would dare or suffer any- 
 thing for what he believed true; but he cannot bear to have 
 the poorest fragment of what he holds sacred trifled with or 
 played with as a mere feat of intellectual gymnastics. 
 
 His chief attention is at present directed, by his father's 
 especial desire, to Roman literature and law, and to the study 
 of the allegories and philosophy of Aristotle. He likes to have 
 to do with what is true and solid ; poetry and music are his 
 delight and recreation. But it is in debate he most excels. A 
 few evenings since, he introduced me to a society of students, 
 where questions new and old are debated ; and it was glorious 
 to see how our Martin carried off the palm; sometimes swoop- 
 ing down on his opponents like an eagle among a flock of small 
 birds, or setting down his great lion's paw and quietly crushing 
 a host of objections, apparently unaware of the mischief he had 
 done, until some feeble wail of the prostrate foe made him 
 sensible of it, and he withdrew with a good-humoured apology 
 for having hurt any one's feelings. At other times he withers 
 an unfair argument or a confused statement to a cinder by some 
 lightning-flash of humour or satire. I do not think he is often 
 perplexed by seeing too much of the other side of a disputed 
 question. He holds the one truth he is contending for, and he 
 sees the one point he is aiming at, and at that he charges with 
 a force compounded of the ponderous weight of his will, and the 
 electric velocity of his thoughts, crushing whatever comes in his 
 way, scattering whatever escapes right and left, and never heed- 
 ing how the scattered forces may reunite and form in his rear. 
 He knows that if he only turns on them, in a moment they will 
 disperse again. 
 
 I cannot quite tell how this style of warfare would answer for 
 an advocate, who had to make the best of any cause he is 
 engaged to plead. I cannot fancy Martin Luther quietly
 
 q.6 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 collecting the arguments from the worst side, to the end that 
 even the worst side may have fair play; which is, I suppose, 
 often the office of an advocate. 
 
 No doubt, however, he will find or make his calling in the 
 world. The professors and learned men have the most brilliant 
 expectations as to his career. And what is rare (they say), he 
 seems as much the favourite of the students as of the professors. 
 His nature is so social ; his musical abilities and his wonderful 
 powers of conversation make him popular with all. 
 
 And yet, underneath it all, we who know him well can 
 detect at times that tide of thoughtful melancholy which seems 
 to lie at the bottom of all hearts which have looked deeply into 
 themselves or into life. 
 
 He is as attentive as ever to religion, never missing the daily 
 mass. But in our private conversations, I see that his con- 
 science is anything but at ease. Has he passed through 
 conflicts such as mine in the forest on that terrible night? 
 Perhaps through conflicts as much fiercer and more terrible, as 
 his character is stronger and his mind deeper than mine. But 
 who can tell? What is the use of unfolding perplexities to 
 each other, which it seems no intellect on earth can solve ? 
 The inmost recesses of the heart must always, I suppose, be 
 a solitude, like that dark and awful sanctuary within the veil of 
 the old Jewish temple, entered only once a year, and faintly 
 illumined by the light without, through the thick folds of the 
 sacred veil. 
 
 If only that solitude were indeed a holy of holies — or, being 
 what it is, if we only need enter it once a year, and not carry 
 about the consciousness of its dark secrets with us everywhere. 
 But, alas ! once entered we can never forget it. It is like the 
 chill, dark crypts underneath our churches, where the masses 
 for the dead are celebrated, and where in some monastic 
 churches the embalmed corpses lie shrivelled to mummies, and 
 visible through gratings. Through all the joyous festivals of 
 the holidays above, the consciousness of those dark chambers 
 of death below seems to creep up ; like the damps of the vaults 
 through the incense, like the muffled wail of the dirges through 
 the songs of praise.
 
 FriedricJis Story. 47 
 
 Erfurt, April 1503. 
 
 We are just returned from an expedition which might have 
 proved fatal to Martin Luther. Early in the morning, three 
 days since, we started to walk to Mansfeld on a visit to his 
 family, our hearts as full of hope as the woods were full of song. 
 We were armed with swords ; our wallets were full ; and spirits 
 light as the air. Our way was to lie through field and forest, 
 and then along the banks of the river Holme, through the 
 Golden Meadow where are so many noble cloisters and im- 
 perial palaces. 
 
 But we had scarcely been on our way an hour when Martin, 
 by some accident, ran his sword into his foot. To my dismay 
 the blood gushed out in a stream. He had cut into a main 
 artery. I left him under the care of some peasants, and ran 
 back to Erfurt for a physician. When he arrived, however, 
 there was great difficulty in closing the wound with bandages. 
 I longed for Else or our mother's skilful fingers. We contrived 
 to carry him back to the city. I sat up to watch with him. 
 But in the middle of the night his wound burst out bleediny 
 afresh. The danger was very great, and Martin himself giving 
 up hope, and believing death was close at hand, committed his 
 soul to the blessed Mother of God. Merciful and pitiful, 
 knowing sorrow, yet raised glorious above all sorrow, with a 
 mother's heart for all, and a mother's claim on Him who is the 
 judge of all, where indeed can we so safely flee for refuge as to 
 Mary? It was edifying to see Martin's devotion to her, and no 
 doubt it was greatly owing to this that at length the remedies 
 succeeded, the bandages closed the wound again, and the blood 
 was stanched. 
 
 Many an Ave will I say for this to the sweet Mother of 
 Mercy. Perchance she may also have pity on me. O sweetest 
 Lady, " eternal daughter of the eternal Father, heart of the 
 indivisible Trinity," thou seest my desire to help my own care- 
 worn mother; aid me, and have mercy on me, thy sinful child. 
 
 Erfurt, June 1503 
 
 Martin Luther has taken his first degree. He is a fervent 
 student, earnest in this as in everything. Cicero and Virgil are
 
 48 Chronicles of the Sdionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 his great companions among the Latins. He is now raised 
 quite above the pressing cares of penury, and will probably 
 never taste them more. His father is now a prosperous burgher 
 of Mansfeld, and on the way to become burgomaster. I wish 
 the prospects at my home were as cheering. A few years less 
 of pinching poverty for myself seems to matter little, but the 
 cares of our mother and Else weigh on me often heavily. It 
 must be long yet before I can help them effectually, and meantime 
 the bright youth of my little Else, and the very life of our toil- 
 worn patient mother, will be wearing away. 
 
 For myself I can fully enter into what Martin says, " The 
 young should learn especially to endure suffering and want ; for 
 such suffering doth them no harm. It doth more harm for one 
 to prosper without toil than it doth to endure suffering." He 
 says also, " It is God's way, of beggars to make men of power, 
 just as he made the world out of nothing. Look upon the 
 courts of kings and princes, upon cities and parishes. You will 
 there find jurists, doctors, councillors, secretaries, and preachers 
 who were commonly poor, and always such as have been 
 students, and have risen and flown so high through the quill 
 that they are become lords." 
 
 But the way to wealth through the quill seems long ; and lives 
 so precious to me are being worn out meantime, while I climb 
 to the point where I could help them ! Sometimes I wish I 
 had chosen the calling of a merchant, men seem to prosper 
 so much more rapidly through trade than through study; and 
 nothing on earth seems to me so well worth working for as to 
 lift the load from their hearts at home. But it is too late. 
 Rolling stones gather no moss. I must go on now in the 
 track I have chosen. Only sometimes again the fear which 
 came over me on that night in the forest. It seems as if 
 heaven were against^ me, and that it is vain presumption for 
 such as I even to hope to benefit any one. 
 
 Partly, no doubf, it is the depression, caused by poor living, 
 which brings these thoughts. Martin Luther said so to me one 
 day when he found me desponding. He said he knew so well 
 what it was. He had suffered so much from penury at Magde- 
 burg, and at Eisenach had even seriously thought of giving up
 
 FriedricKs Story. 49 
 
 study altogether and returning to his father's calling. He is 
 kind to me and to all who need, but his means do not yet allow 
 him to do more than maintain himself. Or rather, they are not 
 his but his father's, and he feels he has no right to be generous 
 at the expense of his father's self-denial and toil. 
 
 I find life look different, I must say, after a good meal. But 
 then I cannot get rid of the thought of the few such meals they 
 have at home. Not that Else writes gloomily. She never 
 mentions a thing to sadden me. And this week she sent me 
 a gulden, which she said belonged to her alone, and she had 
 vowed never to use unless I would take it. But a student who 
 saw them lately said our mother looked wan and ill. And to 
 increase their difficulties, a month since the father received into 
 the house a little orphan girl, a cousin of our mother's, called 
 Eva von Schonberg. Heaven forbid that I should grudge the 
 orphan her crust, but when it makes a crust less for the mother 
 and the little ones, it is difficult to rejoice in such an act of 
 charity. 
 
 Erfurt, July 1503. 
 
 I have just obtained a nomination on a foundation, which 
 will, I hope, for the present at least, prevent my being any 
 burden on my family for my own maintenance. The rules are 
 very strict, and they are enforced with many awful vows and 
 oaths which trouble my conscience not a little, because, if the 
 least detail of these rules to which I have sworn is even inad- 
 vertently omitted, I involve myself in the guilt of perjury. 
 However, it is a step onward in the way to independence; and 
 a far heavier yoke might well be borne with such an object. 
 
 We (the beneficiaries on this foundation) have solemnly 
 vowed to observe the seven canonical hours, never omitting the 
 prayers belonging to each. This insures early rising, which is 
 a good thing for a student. The most difficult to keep is 
 the midnight hour, after a day of hard study; but it is no more 
 than soldiers on duty have continually to go through. We have 
 also to chant the Miserere at funerals, and frequently to hear the 
 eulogy of the Blessed Virgin Mary. This last can certainly not 
 be called a hardship, least of all to me who desire ever hence- 
 forth to have an especial devotion to Our Lady, to recite daily 
 
 4
 
 50 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 the Rosary, commemorating the joys of Mary, the Salutation, 
 the journey across the mountains, the birth without pain, the 
 finding of Jesus in the Temple, and the Ascension. It is only 
 the vows which make it rather a bondage. But, indeed, in 
 spite of all, it is a great boon. I can conscientiously write to 
 Else now, that I shall not need another penny of their scanty 
 store, and can even, by the next opportunity, return what she 
 sent, which, happily, I have not yet touched. 
 
 August 1503. 
 
 Martin Luther is very dangerously ill; many of the professors 
 and students are in great anxiety about him. He has so many 
 friends ; and no wonder ! He is no cold friend himself, and all 
 expect great honour to the University from his abilities. I 
 scarcely dare to think what his loss would be to me. But this 
 morning an aged priest who visited him inspired us with some 
 hope. As Martin lay, apparently in the last extremity, and 
 himself expecting death, this old priest came to his bed-side, 
 and said gently, but in a firm tone of conviction, — 
 
 " Be of good comfort, my brother, you will not die at this 
 time ; God will yet make a great man of you, who shall comfort 
 many others. Whom God loveth and proposeth to make a 
 blessing, upon him he early layeth the cross, and in that school, 
 who patiently endure learn much." 
 
 The words came with a strange kind of power, and I cannot 
 help thinking that there is a little improvement in the patient 
 since they were uttered. Truly, good words are like food and 
 medicine to body and soul. 
 
 Erfurt, August 1503. 
 
 Martin Luther is recovered ! The Almighty, the Blessed 
 Mother, and all the saints be praised. 
 
 The good old priest's words have also brought some especial 
 comfort to me. If it could only be possible that those troubles 
 and cares which have weighed so heavily on Else's early life 
 and mine, are not the rod of anger, but the cross laid on those 
 God loveth ! But who can tell ? For Else, at least, I will try 
 to believe this. 
 
 The world is wide in those days, with the great New World 
 opened by the Spanish mariners beyond the Atlantic, and the
 
 FricdricJi s Story. 5 1 
 
 noble Old World opened to students through the sacred foun- 
 tains of the ancient classics, once more unsealed by the revived 
 study of the ancient languages ; and this new discovery of 
 printing, which will, my father thinks, diffuse the newly unsealed 
 fountains of ancient wisdom in countless channels among high 
 and low. 
 
 These are glorious times to live in. So much already un- 
 folded to us! And who knows what beyond? For it seems as 
 if the hearts of men everywhere were beating high with expecta- 
 tion ; as if, in these days, nothing were too great to anticipate, 
 or too good to believe. 
 
 It is well to encounter our dragons at the threshold of life ; 
 instead of at the end of the race — at the threshold of death ; 
 therefore, I may well be content. In this wide and ever widen- 
 ing world, there must be some career for me and mine. What 
 will it be 1 
 
 And what will Martin Luther's be? Much is expected from 
 him. Famous every one at the University says he must be. 
 On what field will he win his laurels 1 Will they be laurels or 
 palms 1 
 
 When I hear him in the debates of the students, all waiting 
 for his opinions, and applauding his eloquent words, I see the 
 laurel already among his black hair, wreathing his massive 
 homely forehead. But when I remember the debate which I 
 know there is within him, the anxious fervency of his devotions, 
 his struggle of conscience, his distress at any omission of duty, 
 and watch the deep melancholy look which there is sometimes 
 in his dark eyes, I think not of the tales of the heroes, but of 
 the legends of the saints, and wonder in what victory over the 
 old dragon he will win his palm. 
 
 But the bells are sounding for compline, and I must not miss 
 the sacred hour.
 
 III. 
 
 disc's Cjjnmixl*. 
 
 Eisenach, 1304. 
 
 CANNOT say that things have prospered much with 
 us since Fritz left. The lumber-room itself is changed. 
 The piles of old books are much reduced, because we 
 have been obliged to pawn many of them for food. Some even 
 of the father's beautiful models have had to be sold. It went 
 terribly to his heart. But it paid our debts. 
 
 Our grandmother has grown a little querulous at times lately. 
 And I am so tempted to be cross sometimes. The boys eat so 
 much, and wear out their clothes so fast. Indeed, I cannot 
 see that poverty makes any of us any better, except it be my 
 mother, who needed improvement least of all. 
 
 September 1504. 
 
 The father has actually brought a new inmate into the house, 
 a little girl, called Eva von Schonberg, a distant cousin of our 
 mother. 
 
 Last week he told us she was coming, very abruptly. I 
 think he was rather afraid of what our grandmother would say, 
 for we all know it is not of the least use to come round her 
 with soft speeches. She always sees what you are aiming at, 
 and with her keen eyes cuts straight through all your circumlo- 
 cutions, and obliges you to descend direct on your point, with 
 more rapidity than grace. 
 
 Accordingly, he said, quite suddenly, one day at dinner, — 
 
 " I forgot to tell you, little mother, I have just had a letter 
 from your relations in Bohemia. Your great-uncle is dead. 
 His son, you know, died before him. A little orphan girl is 
 left with no one to take care of her. I have desired them to 
 send her to us. I could do no less. It was an act, not of
 
 Else's Story. 53 
 
 charity, but of the plainest duty. And besides," he added, 
 apologetically, " in the end it may make our fortunes. There 
 is property somewhere in the family, if we could get it; and this 
 little Eva is the descendant of the eldest branch. Indeed, I do 
 not know but that she may bring many valuable family heir- 
 looms with her." 
 
 These last observations he addressed especially to my grand- 
 mother, hoping thereby to make it clear to her that the act was 
 one of the deepest worldly wisdom. Then turning to the 
 mother, he concluded, — 
 
 " Little mother, thou wilt find a place for the orphan in thy 
 heart, and Heaven will no doubt bless us for it." 
 
 "No doubt about the room in my daughter's heart !" mur- 
 mured our grandmother; "the question, as I read it, is not 
 about hearts, but about larders and wardrobes. And, certainly," 
 she added, not very pleasantly, " there is room enough there 
 for any family jewels the young heiress may bring." 
 
 As usual, the mother came to the rescue. 
 
 "Dear grandmother," she said, "Heaven, no doubt, will 
 repay us ; and besides, you know, we may now venture on a 
 little more expense, since we are out of debt." 
 
 " There is no doubt, I suppose," retorted our grandmother, 
 "about Heaven repaying you; but there seems to me a good 
 deal of doubt whether it will be in current coin." 
 
 Then, I suppose fearing the effect of so doubtful a sentiment 
 on the children, she added rather querulously, but in a gentler 
 tone, — 
 
 " Let the little creature come. Room may be made for her 
 soon in one way or another. The old creep out at the church- 
 yard gate, while the young bound in at the front door." 
 
 And in a few days little Eva came ; but, unfortunately with- 
 out the family jewels. But the saints forbid I should grow 
 mercenary or miserly, and grudge the orphan her crust ! 
 
 And who could help welcoming little Eva % As she lies on 
 my bed asleep, with her golden hair on the pillow, and the long 
 lashes shading her cheek, flushed with sleep and resting on her 
 dimpled white hand, who could wish her away 1 And when I 
 put out the lamp (as I must very soon) and lie down beside
 
 54 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 her, she will half awake, just to nestle into my heart, and mur- 
 mur in her sleep, "Sweet cousin Else !" And I shall no more 
 be able to wish her gone than my guardian angel. Indeed I 
 think she is something like one. 
 
 She is not quite ten years old ; but being an only child, and 
 always brought up with older people, she has a quiet, con- 
 siderate way, and a quaint, thoughtful gravity, which sits with a 
 strange charm on her bright, innocent, child-like face. 
 
 At first she seemed a little afraid of our children, especially 
 the boys, and crept about everywhere by the side of my mother, 
 to whom she gave her confidence from the beginning. She did 
 not so immediately take to our grandmother, who was not very 
 warm in her reception ; but the second evening after her arrival, 
 she deliberately took her little stool up to our grandmother's 
 side, and seating herself at her feet, laid her two little, soft 
 hands on the dear, thin, old hands, and said, — 
 
 " You must love me, for I shall love you very much. You 
 are like my great-aunt who died." 
 
 And, strange to say, our grandmother seemed quite flattered; 
 and ever since they have been close friends. Indeed she com- 
 mands us all, and there is not one in the house who does not 
 seem to think her notice a favour. I wonder if Fritz would feel 
 the same ! 
 
 Our father lets her sit in his printing-room when he is making 
 experiments, which none of us ever dared to do. She perches 
 herself on the window-sill, and watches him as if she understood 
 it all, and he talks to her as if he thought she did. 
 
 Then she has a wonderful way of telling the legends of the 
 saints to the children. When our grandmother tells them, I 
 think of the saints as heroes and warriors. When I try to relate 
 the sacred stories to- the little ones, I am afraid I make them 
 too much like fairy tales. But when little Eva is speaking about 
 St. Agnes or St. Catherine, her voice becomes soft and deep, like 
 church music ; and her face grave and beautiful, like one of the 
 child-angels in the pictures ; and her eyes as if they saw into 
 heaven. I wish Fritz could hear her. I think she must be just 
 what the saints were when they were little children, except for 
 that strange, quiet way she has of making every one do what
 
 EIs^s Story. 55 
 
 she likes. If our St. Elizabeth had resembled our little Eva in 
 that, I scarcely think the Landgravine-mother would have ven- 
 tured to have been so cruel to her. Perhaps it is little Eva 
 who is to be the saint among us ; and by helping her we may- 
 best please God, and be admitted at last to some humble place 
 in heaven. 
 
 Eisenach, December. 
 
 It is a great comfort that Fritz writes in such good spirits. 
 He seems full of hope as to his prospects, and already he has 
 obtained a place in some excellent institution, where, he says, 
 he lives like a cardinal, and is quite above wanting assistance 
 from any one. This is very encouraging. Martin Luther, also, 
 is on the way to be quite a great man, Fritz says. It is difficult 
 to imagine this ; he looked so much like any one else, and we 
 are all so completely at home with him, and he talks in such a 
 simple, familiar way to us all — not in learned words, or about 
 difficult, abstruse subjects, like the other wise men I know. 
 Certainly it always interests us all to hear him, but one can 
 understand all he says — even I can ; so that it is not easy to 
 think of him as a philosopher and a great man. I suppose wise 
 men must be like the saints : one can only see what they are 
 when they are at some distance from us 
 
 What kind of great man will Martin Luther be, I wonder 1 
 As great as our burgomaster, or as Master Trebonius 1 Perhaps 
 even greater than these ; as great, even, as the Elector's secre- 
 tary, who came to see our father about his inventions. But it 
 is a great comfort to think of it, especially on Fritz's account ; 
 for I am sure Martin will never forget old friends. 
 
 I cannot quite comprehend Eva's religion. It seems to make 
 her happy. I do not think she is afraid of God, or even of con- 
 fession. She seems to enjoy going to church as if it were a holi- 
 day in the woods ; and the name of Jesus seems not terrible, 
 but dear to her, as the name of the sweet Mother of God is to 
 me. This is very difficult to understand. I think she is not even 
 very much afraid of the judgment-day ; and this is the reason 
 why I think so:— The other night when we were both awakened by 
 an awful thunder-storm, I hid my face under the clothes, in 
 order not to see the flashes, until I heard the children crying in the
 
 56 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 next room, and rose of course, to soothe thern, because our 
 mother had been very tired that day, and was, I trusted, asleep. 
 When I had sung and talked to the little ones, and sat by them 
 till they were asleep, I returned to our room, trembling in every 
 limb ; but I found Eva kneeling by the bed-side, with her cruci- 
 fix pressed to her bosom, looking as calm and happy as if the 
 lightning flashes had been morning sunbeams. 
 
 She rose from her knees when I entered ; and when I was 
 once more safely in bed, with my arm around her, and the storm 
 had lulled a little, I said, — 
 
 " Eva, are you not afraid of the lightning?" 
 " I think it might hurt us, Cousin Else," she said; " and that 
 was the reason I was praying to God." 
 
 " But, Eva," I said, " supposing the thunder should be the 
 archangel's voice ! I always think every thunder-storm may be 
 the beginning of the day of wrath — the dreadful judgment-day. 
 What should you do then?" 
 
 She was silent a little, and then she said, — 
 " I think I should take my crucifix and pray, and try to ask 
 the Lord Christ to remember that he died on the cross for us 
 once. I think he would take pity on us if we did. Besides. 
 Cousin Else," she added, after a pause, " I have a sentence 
 which always comforts me. My father taught it me when I 
 was a very little girl, in the prison, before he died. I could not 
 remember it all, but this part I have never forgotten : God so 
 loved the world, that he gave his only Son. There was more, 
 which I forgot ; but that bit I always remembered, because I 
 was my father's only child, and he loved me so dearly. I do 
 not quite know all it means ; but I know they are God's 
 words, and I feel sure it means that God loves us very much, 
 and that he is in some way like my father." 
 
 " I know," I replied, " the Creed says, ' God the Father 
 Almighty ;' but I never thought that the Almighty Father meant 
 anything like our own father. I thought it meant only that he 
 is very great, and that we all belong to him, and that we ought 
 to love him. Are you sure, Eva, it means he loves us ?" 
 " I believe so, Cousin Else," said Eva. 
 " Perhaps it does mean that he loves you, Eva," I answered.
 
 Else's Story. 57 
 
 " But you are a good child, and always have been, I should 
 think ; and we all know that God loves people who are good. 
 That sentence says nothing, you see, about God loving people 
 who are not good. It is because I am never sure that I am 
 doing the things that please him, that I am afraid of God and 
 of the judgment-day." 
 
 Eva was silent a minute, and then she said, — 
 
 " I wish I could remember the rest of the sentence. Perhaps 
 it might tell." 
 
 "Where does that sentence come from, Eva?" I asked. 
 " Perhaps we might find it. Do you think God said it to 
 your father from heaven, in a vision or a dream, as he speaks 
 to the saints 1 " 
 
 " I think not, Cousin Else," she replied thoughtfully ; " be- 
 cause my father said it was in a book, which he told me where 
 to find, when he was gone. But when I found the book, a 
 priest took it from me, and said it was not a good book for little 
 girls ; and I never had it again. So I have only my sentence, 
 Cousin Else. I wish it made you happy, as it does me." 
 
 I kissed the darling child and wished her good night ; but I 
 could not sleep. I wish I could see the book. But perhaps, 
 after all, it is not a right book ; because (although Eva does not 
 know it) I heard my grandmother say her father was a Hussite, 
 and died on the scaffold for believing something wrong. 
 
 In the morning Eva was awake before me. Her large dark 
 eyes were watching me, and the moment I woke she said, — 
 
 " Cousin Else, I think the end of that sentence has some- 
 thing to do with the crucifix ; because I always think of them 
 together. You know the Lord Jesus Christ is God's only Son, 
 and he died on the cross for us." 
 
 And she rose and dressed, and said she would go to matins 
 and say prayers for me, that I might not be afraid in the next 
 thunder-storm. 
 
 It must be true, I am sure, that the cross and the blessed 
 Passion were meant to do us some good ; but then they can 
 only do good to those who please God, and that is precisely 
 what it is so exceedingly difficult to find out how to do.' 
 
 I cannot think, however, that Eva can in any way be believ-
 
 58 Chronicles of the Scldviberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 ing wrong, because she is so religious and so good. She attends 
 most regularly at the confessional, and is always at church at 
 the early mass, and many times besides. Often, also, I find 
 her at her devotions before the crucifix and the picture of the 
 Holy Virgin and Child in our room. She seems really to en- 
 joy being religious, as they say St. Elizabeth did. 
 
 As for me, there is so very much to do between the printing, 
 and the house, and our dear mother's ill health, and the baby, 
 and the boys, who tear their clothes in such incomprehensible 
 ways, that I feel more and more how utterly hopeless it is for 
 me ever to be like any of the saints — unless, indeed, it is St. 
 Christopher, whose legend is often a comfort to me, as our 
 grandmother used to tell it to us, which was in this way : — 
 
 Offerus was a soldier, a heathen, who lived in the land of 
 Canaan. He had a body twelve ells long. He did not like to 
 obey, but to command. He did not care what harm he did to 
 others, but lived a wild life, attacking and plundering all who 
 came in his way. He only wished for one thing — to sell his ser- 
 vices to the Mightiest ; and as he heard that the emperor was in 
 those days the head of Christendom, he said, "Lord Emperor, 
 will you have me 1 To none less will I sell my heart's blood." 
 
 The emperor looked at his Samson strength, his giant chest, 
 and his mighty fists, and he said, " If thou wilt serve me for 
 ever, OfferuSj I will accept thee." 
 
 Immediately the giant answered, " To serve you for ever is 
 not so easily promised ; but as long as I am your soldier, none 
 in east or west shall trouble you." 
 
 Thereupon he went with the emperor through all the land, 
 and the emperor was delighted with him. All the soldiers, in 
 the combat as at the wine-cup, were miserable, helpless creatures 
 compared with Offerus. 
 
 Now the emperor had a harper who sang from morning till 
 bed-time ; and whenever the emperor was weary with the 
 march this minstrel had to touch his harp-strings. Once, at 
 eventide, they pitched the tents near a forest. The emperor 
 ate and drank lustily ; the minstrel sang a merry song. But as, 
 in his song, he spoke of the evil one, the emperor signed the 
 cross on his forehead. Said Offerus aloud to his comrades,
 
 ElsPs Story. 59 
 
 " What is this 1 What jest is the Prince making now 1 " Then 
 the emperor said, " Offerus, listen : I did it on account of the 
 wicked fiend, who is said often to haunt this forest with great 
 rage and fury." That seemed marvellous to Offerus, and he 
 said, scornfully, to the emperor, " I have a fancy for wild boars 
 and deer. Let us hunt in this forest." The emperor said softly, 
 " Offerus, no ! Let alone the chase in this forest, for in filling 
 thy larder thou mightst harm thy soul." Then Offerus made a 
 wry face, and said, " The grapes are sour ; if your highness is 
 afraid of the devil, I will enter the service of this lord, who is 
 mightier than you." Thereupon he coolly demanded his pay, 
 took his departure, with no veiy ceremonious leave-taking, and 
 strode off cheerily into the thickest depths of the forest. 
 
 In a wild clearing of the forest he found the devil's altar, built 
 of black cinders; and on it, in the moonlight gleamed the white 
 skeletons of men and horses. Offerus was in no way terrified, 
 but quietly inspected the skulls and bones; then he called three 
 times in a loud voice on the evil one, and seating himself fell 
 asleep, and soon began to snore. When it was midnight, the 
 earth seemed to crack, and on a coal-black horse he saw a pitch- 
 black rider, who rode at him furiously, and sought to bind him 
 with solemn promises. But Offerus said, "We shall see." Then 
 they went together through the kingdoms of the world, and 
 Offerus found him a better master than the emperor; needed 
 seldom to polish his armour, but had plenty of feasting and fun. 
 However, one day as they went along the high-road, three tall 
 crosses stood before them. Then the Black Prince suddenly 
 had a cold, and said, " Let us creep round by the bye-road." 
 Said Offerus, " Methinks you are afraid of those gallows trees," 
 and, drawing his bow, he shot an arrow into the middle cross. 
 " What bad manners ! " said Satan, softly ; " do you not know 
 that he who in his form as a servant is the son of Mary, now 
 exercises great power 1 " If that is the case," said Offerus, " I 
 came to you fettered by no promise ; now I will seek further for 
 the mightiest, whom only I will serve." Then Satan went off 
 with a mocking laugh, and Offerus went on his way asking every 
 traveller he met for the Son of Mary. But, alas ! few bare Him 
 in their hearts ; and no one could tell the giant where the Lord
 
 6o Chronicles of the Schb'noerg-Cotta Family. 
 
 dwelt, until one evening Offerus found an old pious hermit, who 
 gave him a night's lodging in his cell, and sent him next morn- 
 ing to the Carthusian cloister. There the lord prior listened to 
 Offerus, showed him plainly the path of faith, and told him he 
 must fast and pray, as John the Baptist did of old in the wilder- 
 ness. But he replied, " Locusts and wild honey, my lord, are 
 quite contrary to my nature, and I do not know any prayers. I 
 should lose my strength altogether, and had rather not go to 
 heaven at all than in that way." "Reckless man!" said the 
 prior. "However, you may try another way: give yourself up 
 heartily to achieve some good work." " Ah ! let me hear," said 
 Offerus; "I have strength for that." " See, there flows a mighty 
 river, which hinders pilgrims on their way to Rome. It has 
 neither ford nor bridge. Carry the faithful over on thy back." 
 " If I can please the Saviour in that way, willingly will I carry 
 the travellers to and fro," replied the giant. And thereupon he 
 built a hut of reeds, and dwelt thenceforth among the water-rats 
 and beavers on the borders of the river, carrying pilgrims over 
 the river cheerfully, like a camel or an elephant. But if any 
 one offered him ferry-money, he said, " I labour for eternal life." 
 And when now, after many years, Offerus's hair had grown white, 
 one stormy night a plaintive little voice called to him, " Dear, 
 good, tall Offerus, carry me across." Offerus was tired and 
 sleepy, but he thought faithfully of Jesus Christ, and with weary 
 arms seizing the pine trunk which was his staff when the floods 
 swelled high, he waded through the water and nearly reached 
 the opposite bank; but he saw no pilgrim there, so he thought, 
 " I was dreaming," and went back and lay down to sleep again. 
 But scarcely had he fallen asleep when again came the little 
 voice, this time very plaintive and touching, " Offerus, good, 
 dear, great, tall Offerus, carry me across." Patiently the old 
 giant crossed the river again, but neither man nor mouse was to 
 be seen, and he went back and lay down again, and was soon 
 fast asleep; when once more came the little voice, clear and 
 plaintive, and imploring, " Good, dear, giant Offerus, carry me 
 across." The third time he seized his pine-stem and went 
 through the cold river. This time he found a tender, fair little 
 boy, with golden hair. In his left hand was the standard of the
 
 Else's Story. 61 
 
 Lamb ; in his right, the globe. He looked at the giant with eyes 
 full of love and trust, and Offerus lifted him up with two fingers ; 
 but, when he entered the river, the little child weighed on him 
 like a ton. Heavier and heavier grew the weight, until the 
 water almost reached his chin ; great drops of sweat stood on 
 his brow, and he had nearly sunk in the stream with the little 
 one. However, he struggled through, and tottering to the other 
 side, set the child gently down on the bank, and said, " My 
 little lord, prithee, come not this way again, for scarcely have I 
 escaped this time with life." But the fair child baptized Offerus 
 on the spot, and said to him, " Know all thy sins are forgiven ; 
 and although thy limbs tottered, fear not, nor marvel, but re- 
 joice ; thou hast carried the Saviour of the world ! For a token, 
 plant thy pine-trunk, so long dead and leafless, in the earth ; to- 
 morrow it shall shoot out green twigs. And henceforth thou 
 shalt be called not Offerus, but Christopher." Then Christopher 
 folded his hands and prayed and said, " I feel my end draws nigh. 
 My limbs tremble; my strength fails; and God has forgiven me 
 all my sins." Thereupon the child vanished in light ; and Chris- 
 topher set his staff in the earth. And so on the morrow, it shot 
 out green leaves and red blossoms like an almond. And three 
 days afterwards the angels carried Christopher to Paradise. 
 
 This is the legend which gives me more hope than any other. 
 How sweet it would be, if, when I had tried in some humble 
 way to help one and another on the way to the holy city, when 
 the last burden was borne, and the strength was failing, the holy 
 child should appear to me and say, " Little Else, you have done 
 the work I meant you to do — your sins are forgiven;" and then 
 the angels were to come and take me up in their arms, and carry 
 me across the dark river, and my life were to grow young and 
 bloom again in Paradise, like St. Christopher's withered staff ! 
 
 But to watch all the long days of life by the river, and carry 
 the burdens, and not know if we are doing the right thing after 
 all — that is what is so hard ! 
 
 Sweet, when the river was crossed, to find that in fulfilling 
 some little, humble, everyday duty, one had actually been serv- 
 ing and pleasing the mightiest, the Saviour of the world ! But 
 if one could only know it whilst one 7cas struggling through the
 
 62 Chronicles of the ScJionbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 flood, how delightful that would be ! How little one would 
 mind the icy water, or the aching shoulders, or the tottering, 
 failing limbs ! 
 
 Eisenach, January 1505. 
 
 Fritz is at home with us again. He looks as much a man now 
 as our father, with his moustache and his sword. How cheer- 
 ful the sound of his firm step and his deep voice makes the 
 house! When I look at him sometimes, as he tosses the child- 
 ren and catches them in his arms, or as he flings the balls with 
 Christopher and Pollux, or shoots with boAv and arrows in the 
 evenings at the city games, my old wish recurs that he had lived 
 in the days when our ancestors dwelt in the castles in Bohemia, 
 and that Fritz had been a knight, to ride at the head of his re- 
 tainers to battle for some good cause, — against the Turks, for 
 instance, who are now, they say, threatening the empire, and all 
 Christendom. My little world at home is wide indeed, and full 
 enough for me, but this burgher life seems narrow and poor for 
 him. I should like him to have to do with men instead of books. 
 Women can read, and learn, and think, if they have time (al- 
 though, of course, not as well as men can) ; I have even heard 
 of women writing books. St. Barbara and St. Catherine under- 
 stood astronomy, and astrology, and philosophy, and could speak 
 I do not know how many languages. But they could not have 
 gone forth armed with shield and spear like St. George of Cap- 
 padocia, to deliver the fettered princess and slay the great Afri- 
 can dragon. And I should like Fritz to do what women caxwot 
 do. There is such strength in his light, agile frame, and such 
 power in his dark eyes ; although, certainly after all he had written 
 to us about his princely fare at the House at Erfurt, where 
 he is a beneficiary, our mother and I did not expect to have 
 seen his face looking so hollow and thin. 
 
 He has brought me back my godmother's gulden. He says 
 he is an independent man, earning his own livelihood, and quite 
 above receiving any such gratuities. However, as I devoted it 
 to Fritz I feel I have a right to spend it on him, which is a great 
 comfort, because I can provide a better table than we can usually 
 afford, during the few days he will stay with us, so that he may 
 never guess how pinched we often are.
 
 Else's Story. 6} 
 
 I am ashamed of myself, but there is something in this return 
 of Fritz which disappoints me. I have looked forward to it 
 day and night through all these two years with such longing. 1 
 thought we should begin again exactly where we left off. I pictured 
 to myself the old daily life with him going on again as of old. 
 I thought of our sitting in the lumber-room, and chatting over 
 all our perplexities, our own and the family's, and pouring our 
 hearts into each other's without reserve or fear, so that it was 
 scarcely like talking at all, but like thinking aloud. 
 
 And, now, instead of our being acquainted with every detail 
 of each other's daily life, so that we are aware what we are 
 feeling without speaking about it, there is a whole history of new 
 experience to be narrated step by step, and we do not seem 
 to know where to begin. None of the others can feel this as 
 I do. He is all to the children and our parents that he ever 
 was, and why should I expect more 1 ? Indeed, I scarcely know 
 what I did expect, or what I do want. Why should Fritz be 
 more to me than to any one else 1 It is selfish to wish it, and 
 it is childish to imagine that two years could bring no change. 
 Could I have wished it 1 ? Do I not glory in his strength, and 
 in his free and manly bearing ] And could I wish a student at 
 the great University of Erfurt, who is soon to be a Bachelor of 
 Arts, to come and sit on the piles of old books in our lumber- 
 room, and to spend his time in gossiping with me? Besides, 
 what have I to say 1 And yet, this evening, when the twilight- 
 hour came round for the third time since he returned, and he 
 seemed to forget all about it, I could not help feeling troubled, 
 and so took refuge here by myself. 
 
 Fritz has been sitting in the family-room for the last hour, 
 with all the children round him, telling them histories of what 
 the students do at Erfurt; of their poetical club, where they meet 
 and recite their own verses, or translations of the ancient books 
 which have been unburied lately, and yet are fresher, he says, 
 than any new ones, and set every one thinking; of the debating 
 meeting, and the great singing parties where hundreds of voices 
 join, making music fuller than any organ, — in both of which 
 Martin Luther seems a leader and a prince; and then of the 
 fights among the students, in which I do not think Martin Luther
 
 64 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 has joined, but which, certainly, interest Christopher and Pol- 
 lux more than anything else. The boys were standing on each 
 side of Fritz, listening with wide open eyes ; Chriemhild and At- 
 lantis had crept close behind him with their sewing ; little Thekla 
 was on his knee, playing with his sword-girdle ; and little Eva 
 was perched in her favourite place on the window-sill, in front 
 of him. At first she kept at a distance from him, and said no- 
 thing ; not, I think, from shyness, for I do not believe that child 
 is afraid of any one or any thing, but from a quaint way she has 
 of observing people, as if she were learning them through like a 
 new language, or, like a sovereign making sure of the character 
 of a new subject before she admits him into her service. The 
 idea of the little creature treating our Fritz in that grand style ! 
 But it is of no use resisting it. He has passed through his pro- 
 bation like the rest of us, and is as much flattered as the grand- 
 mother, or any of us, at being admitted into her confidence. 
 When I left, Eva, who had been listening for some time with 
 great attention to his student-stories, had herself become the 
 chief speaker, and the whole party were attending with riveted 
 interest while she related to them her favourite Legend of St. 
 Catherine. They had all heard it before, but in some way when 
 Eva tells these histories they always seem new. I suppose it is 
 because she believes them so fervently] it is not as if she were 
 repeating something she had heard, but quietly narrating some- 
 thing she has seen, much as one would imagine an angel might 
 who had been watching unseen while it all happened. And, 
 meantime, her eyes, when she raises theiii, with their fringe of 
 long lashes, seem to look at once into your heart and into 
 heaven. 
 
 No wonder Fritz forgets the twilight-hour. But it is strange 
 he has never once asked about our chronicle. Of that, however, 
 I am glad, because I would not for the world show him the 
 narrative of our struggles. 
 
 Can it be possible I atn envious of little Eva — dear, little, 
 loving, orphan Eva? I do rejoice that all the world should 
 love him. Yet, it was so happy to be Fritz's only friend ; and 
 why should a little stranger child steal my precious twilight-hour 
 from mel
 
 EIs^s Story. 65 
 
 Well, I suppose Aunt Agnes was right, and I made an idol 
 of Fritz, and God was angry, and I am being punished. But 
 the saints seemed to find a kind of sacred pleasure in their 
 punishments, and I do not; nor do I feel at all the better for 
 them, but the worse — which is another proof how hopeless it 
 is for me to try to be a saint. 
 
 Eisenach, February. 
 
 As I wrote those last words in the deepening twilight, two strong 
 hands were laid very gently on my shoulders, and a voice said — 
 
 " Sister Else, why can you not show me your chronicle?" 
 
 I could make no reply. 
 
 " You are convicted," rejoined the same voice. 
 
 " Do you think I do not know where that gulden came from? 
 Let me see your godmother's purse." 
 
 I began to feel the tears choking me ; but Fritz did not seem 
 to notice them. 
 
 " Else," he said, " you may practise your little deceptive arts 
 on all the rest of the family, but they will not do with me. Do 
 you think you will ever persuade me you have grown thin by 
 eating sausages and cakes and wonderful holiday puddings 
 every day of your life? Do you think the hungry delight in the 
 eyes of those boys was occasioned by their everyday, ordinary 
 fare? Do you think," he added, taking my hands in one of his, 
 " I did not see how blue and cold, and covered with chilblains, 
 these little hands were, which piled up the great logs on the 
 hearth when I came in this morning?" 
 
 Of course I could do nothing but put my head on his shoul- 
 der and cry quietly. It was of no use denying anything. Then 
 he added rapidly, in a low deep voice — 
 
 " Do you think I could help seeing our mother at her old 
 devices, pretending she had no appetite, and liked nothing so 
 much as bones and sinews?" 
 
 " O Fritz," I sobbed, " I cannot help it. What am I to do I" 
 
 " At least," he said, more cheerfully, " promise me, little 
 woman, you will never make a distinguished stranger of your 
 brother again, and endeavour by all kinds of vain and deceitful 
 devices to draw the whole weight of the family cares on your 
 own shoulders." 
 
 5
 
 66 Chronicles of the ScJwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " Do you think it is a sin I ought to confess, Fritz?" I said j 
 "I did not mean it deceitfully; but I am always making such 
 blunders about right and wrong. What can I do?" 
 
 " Does Aunt Ursula know?" he asked rather fiercely. 
 
 " No; the mother will not let me tell any one. She thinks 
 they would reflect on our father; and he told her only last 
 week, he has a plan about a new way of smelting lead, which is, 
 I think, to turn it all into silver. That would certainly be a 
 wonderful discovery; and he thinks the Elector would take it 
 up at once, and we should probably have to leave Eisenach and 
 live near the Electoral Court. Perhaps even the Emperor 
 would require us to communicate the secret to him, and then 
 we should have to leave the countiy altogether; for you know 
 there are great lead-mines in Spain ; and if once people could 
 make silver out of lead, it would be much easier and safer than 
 going across the great ocean to procure the native silver from 
 the Indian savages." 
 
 Fritz drew a long breath. 
 
 "And meantime?" he said. 
 
 "Well, meantime?" I said, "it is, of course, sometimes a 
 little difficult to get on." 
 
 He mused a little while, and then he said — 
 
 " Little Else, I have thought of a plan which may, I think? 
 bring us a few guldens — until the process of transmuting lead 
 into silver is completed." 
 
 "Of course," I said, "after that we shall want nothing, but 
 be able to give to those who do want. And oh, Fritz ! how well 
 we shall understand how to help people who are poor. Do 
 you think that is why God lets us be so poor ourselves so long, 
 and never seems to hear our prayers?" 
 
 " It would be pleasant to think so, Else," said Fritz, gravely ; 
 " but it is very difficult to understand how to please God, or how 
 to make our prayers reach him at all — at least when we are so 
 often feeling and doing wrong." 
 
 It cheered me to see that Fritz does not despair of the great 
 invention succeeding one day. He did not tell me what his 
 own plan is. 
 
 Does Fritz, then, also feel so sinful and so perplexed how to'
 
 Elst's Story. 67 
 
 please God? Perhaps a great many people feel the same. It 
 is very strange. If it had only pleased God to make it a little 
 plainer! I wonder if that book Eva lost would tell us anything! 
 
 After that evening the barrier between me and Fritz was of 
 course quite gone, and we seemed closer than ever. We had 
 delightful twilight talks in our lumber-room, and I love him 
 more than ever. So that Aunt Agnes would, I suppose, think 
 me more of an idolater than before. But it is very strange that 
 idolatry should seem to do me so much good. I seem to love 
 all the world better for loving Fritz, and to find everything 
 easier to bear, by having him to unburden everything on, so 
 that I had never fewer little sins to confess than during the two 
 weeks Fritz was at home. If God had only made loving 
 brothers and sisters and the people at home the way to please 
 him, instead of not loving them too much, or leaving them all 
 to bury one's self in a cold convent, like Aunt Agnes ! 
 
 Little Eva actually persuaded Fritz to begin teaching her the 
 Latin grammar ! I suppose she wishes to be like her beloved 
 St. Catherine, who was so learned. And she says all the holy 
 books, the prayers and the hymns, are in Latin, so that she 
 thinks it must be a language God particularly loves. She asked 
 me a few days since if they speak Latin in heaven. 
 
 Of course I could not tell. I told her I believed the Bible 
 was originally written in two other languages, the languages of 
 the Greeks and the Jews, and that I had heard some one say 
 Adam and Eve spoke the Jews' language in paradise, which I 
 suppose God taught them. 
 
 But I have been thinking over it since, and I should hot 
 wonder if Eva is right. 
 
 Because, unless Latin is the language of the saints and holy 
 angels in heaven, why should God wish the priests to speak it 
 everywhere, and the people to say the Ave and Paternoster in 
 it? We should understand it all so much better in German; 
 but of course if Latin is the language of the blessed saints and 
 angels, that is a reason for it. If we do not always under- 
 stand, they do, which is a great comfort. Only I think it is a 
 very good plan of little Eva's to try and learn Latin; and when 
 I have more time to be religious, perhaps I may try also.
 
 IV. 
 
 (Extracts from Jncbricjj's Chronicle. 
 
 Erfurt, 1505. 
 
 |HE university seems rather a cold world after the dear 
 old home at Eisenach. But it went to my heart to 
 see how our mother and Else struggle, and how worn 
 and thin they look. Happily for them, they have still hope in 
 the great invention, and I would not take it away for the world. 
 But meantime, I must at once do something to help. I can 
 sometimes save some viands from my meals, which are por- 
 tioned out to us liberally on this foundation, and sell them; 
 and I can occasionally earn a little by copying themes for the 
 richer students, or sermons and postils for the monks. The 
 printing-press has certainly made that means of maintenance 
 more precarious ; but printed books are still very dear, and also 
 very large, and the priests are often glad of small copies of 
 fragments of the postils, or orations of the fathers, written off in 
 a small, clear hand, to take with them on their circuits around 
 the villages. There is also writing to be done for the lawyers, 
 so that I do not despair of earning something: and if my 
 studies are retarded a little, it does not so much matter. It is 
 not for me to aspire to great things, unless, indeed, they can 
 be reached by small and patient steps. I have a work to do 
 for the family. My youth must be given to supporting them 
 by the first means I can find. If I succeed, perhaps Chris- 
 topher or Pollux will have leisure to aim higher than I can ; or, 
 perhaps, in middle and later life I myself shall have leisure to 
 pursue the studies of these great old classics, which seem to 
 make the horizon of our thoughts so wide, and the world so 
 glorious and large, and life so deep. It would certainly be a
 
 FriedricJis Story. 69 
 
 great delight to devote one's self, as Martin Luther is now able 
 to do, to literature and philosophy. His career is opening 
 nobly. This spring he has taken his degree as Master of Arts, 
 and he has been lecturing on Aristotle's physics and logic. He 
 has great power of making dim things clear, and old things 
 fresh. His lectures are crowded. He is also studying law, in 
 order to qualify himself for some office in the State. His parents 
 (judging from his father's letters) seem to centre all their hopes 
 in him; and it is almost the same here at the university. Great 
 tilings are expected of him; indeed there scarcely seems any 
 career that is not open to him. And he is a man of such heart, 
 as well as intellect, that he seems to make all the university, 
 the professors as well as the students, look on him as a kind of 
 possession of their own. All seem to feel a property in his 
 success. Just as it was with our little circle at Eisenach, so it 
 is with the great circle at the university. He is our Master 
 Martin ; and in every step of his ascent we ourselves feel a little 
 higher. I wonder, if his fame should indeed spread as we an- 
 ticipate, if it will be the same one day with all Germany? if the 
 whole land will say exultingly by-and-by — our Martin Luther? 
 
 Not that he is without enemies; his temper is too hot and 
 his heart too warm for that negative distinction of phlegmatic 
 negative natures. 
 
 June, 1505. 
 
 Martin Luther came to me a few days since, looking terribly 
 agitated. His friend Alexius has been assassinated, and he 
 takes it exceedingly to heart; not only, I think, because of the 
 loss of one he loved, but because it brings death so terribly 
 near, and awakens again those questionings which I know aie 
 in the depths of his heart, as well as of mine, about God, and 
 judgment, and the dark, dread future before us, which we can- 
 not solve, yet cannot escape nor forget. 
 
 To-day we met again, and he was full of a book he had dis- 
 covered in the university library, where he spends most of his 
 leisure hours. It was a Latin Bible, which he had never seen 
 before in his life. He marvelled greatly to see so much more 
 in it than in the Evangelia read in the churches, or in the Col- 
 lections of Homilies. He was called away to lecture, or, he
 
 yo Chronicles of the Sclwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 said, he could have read on for hours. Especially one history 
 seems to have impressed him deeply. It was in the Old Tes- 
 tament. It was the story of the child Samuel and his mother 
 Hannah. " He read it quickly through," he said, " with hearty 
 delight and joy; and because this was all new to him, he began 
 to wish from the bottom of his heart that God would one day 
 bestow on him such a book for his own." 
 
 I suppose it is the thought of his own pious mother which 
 makes this history interest him so peculiarly. It is indeed a 
 beautiful history, as he told it me, and makes one almost wish 
 one had been born in the times of the old Hebrew monarchy. 
 It seems as if God listened so graciously and readily then to 
 that poor sorrowful woman's prayers. And if we could only, each 
 of us, hear that voice from heaven, how joyful it would be to 
 reply, like that blessed child, " Speak, Lord, for thy servant 
 heareth ;" and then to learn, without possibility of mistake, 
 what God really requires of each of us. I suppose, however, 
 the monks do feel as sure of their vocation as the holy child of 
 old, when they leave home and the world for the service of the 
 Church. It would be a great help if other people had voca- 
 tions to their various works in life, like the prophet Samuel and 
 (I suppose) the monks, that we might all go on fearlessly, with 
 a firm step, each in his appointed path, and feel sure that we 
 are doing the right thing, instead of perhaps drawing down 
 judgments on those we would die to serve, by our mistakes and 
 sins. It can hardly be intended that all men should be monks 
 and nuns. Would to Heaven, therefore, that laymen had also 
 their vocation, instead of this terrible uncertainty and doubt 
 that will shadow the heart at times, that we may have missed our 
 path (as I did that night in the snow-covered forest), and, like 
 Cain, be flying from the presence of God, and gathering on us 
 and ours his curse. 
 
 July 12, 1505. 
 
 There is a great gloom over the university. The plague is 
 among us. Many are lying dead who, only last week, were 
 full of youth and hope. Numbers of the professors, masters, 
 and students have fled to their homes, or to various villages in 
 the nearest reaches of the Thuringian forest. The churches
 
 FriedricJi's Story. j\ 
 
 are thronged at all the services. The priests and monks (those 
 who remain in the infected city) take advantage of the terror 
 the presence of the pestilence excites, to remind people of the 
 more awful terrors of that dreadful day of judgment and wrath 
 which no one will be able to flee. Women, and sometimes 
 men, are borne fainting from the churches, and often fall at 
 once under the infection, and never are seen again. Martin 
 Luther seems much troubled in mind. This epidemic, follow- 
 ing so close on the assassination of his friend, seems to over- 
 whelm him. But he does not talk of leaving the city. Per- 
 haps the terrors which weigh most on him are those the 
 preachers recall so vividly to us just now, from which there is 
 no flight by change of place, but only by change of life. 
 During this last week, especially since he was exposed to a 
 violent thunder-storm on the high road near Erfurt, he has 
 seemed strangely altered. A deep gloom is on his face, and 
 he seems to avoid his old friends. I have scarcely spoken to 
 him. 
 
 July 14. 
 
 To-day, to my great surprise, Martin has invited me and 
 several other of his friends to meet at his rooms on the day 
 after to-morrow, to pass a social evening in singing and feast- 
 ing. The plague has abated ; yet I rather wonder at any one 
 thinking of merry-making yet. They say, however, that a 
 merry heart is the best safe-guard. 
 
 fitly 17. 
 
 The secret of Martin Luther's feast is opened now. The 
 whole university is in consternation. He has decided on be- 
 coming a monk. Many think it is a sudden impulse, which 
 may yet pass away. I do not. I believe it is the result of the 
 conflicts of years, and that he has only yielded, in this act, to 
 convictions which have been recurring to him continually dur- 
 ing all his brilliant university career. 
 
 Never did he seem more animated than yesterday evening. 
 The hours flew by in eager, cheerful conversation. A weight 
 seemed removed from us. The pestilence was departing; the 
 professors and students were returning. We felt life resuming 
 its old tourse, and ventured once more to look forward with
 
 72 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 hope. Many of us had completed our academical course, and 
 were already entering the larger world beyond — the university 
 of life. Some of us had appointments already promised, and 
 most of us had hopes of great things in the future ; the less 
 definite the prospects, perhaps the more brilliant. Martin 
 Luther did not hazard any speculations as to his future career ; 
 but that surprised none of us. His fortune, we said, was in- 
 sured already ; and many a jesting claim was put in for his 
 future patronage, when he should be a great man. 
 
 We had excellent music also, as always at any social gather- 
 ing where Martin Luther is. His clear, true voice was listened 
 to with applause in many a well-known song, and echoed in 
 joyous choruses afterward by the whole party. So the evening 
 passed, until the university hour for repose had nearly arrived ; 
 when suddenly, in the silence after the last note of the last chorus 
 had died away, he bid us all farewell ; for on the morrow, he 
 said, he purposed to enter the Augustinian monastery as a 
 novice ! At first, some treated this as a jest ; but his look and 
 bearing soon banished that idea. Then all earnestly en- 
 deavoured to dissuade him from his purpose. Some spoke of 
 the expectations the university had formed of him — others, of 
 the career in the world open to him ; but at all this he only 
 smiled. When, however, one of us reminded him of his father, 
 and the disappointment it might cause in his home, I noticed 
 that a change came over his face, and I thought there was 
 a slight quiver on his lip. But all, — friendly remark, oalm 
 remonstrance, fervent, affectionate entreaties, — all were un- 
 availing. 
 
 "To-day," he said, "you see me; after this you will see me 
 no more." 
 
 Thus we separated. But this morning, when some of his 
 nearest friends went to his rooms early, with the faint hope of 
 yet inducing him to listen, while we pressed on him the 
 thousand unanswerable arguments which had occurred to us 
 since we parted from him, his rooms were empty, and he was 
 nowhere to be found. To all our inquiries we received no re- 
 ply but that Master Martin had gone that morning, before it 
 was light, to the Augustinian cloister.
 
 FriedricWs Story. 73 
 
 Thither we followed him, and knocked loudly at the heavy 
 convent gates. After some minutes they were slightly opened, 
 and a sleepy porter appeared. 
 
 "Is Martin Luther here 1 ?" we asked. 
 
 "He is here!" was the reply; not, we thought, without a 
 little triumph in the tone. 
 
 " We wish to speak with him," demanded one of us. 
 
 " No one is to speak with him," was the grim rejoinder. 
 
 "Until when?" we asked. 
 
 There was a little whispering inside, and then came the de- 
 cisive answer, " Not for a month at least." 
 
 We would have lingered to parley further, but the heavy 
 nailed doors were closed against us, we heard the massive bolts 
 rattle as they were drawn, and all our assaults with fists or iron 
 staffs on the convent gates, from that moment did not awaken 
 another sound within. 
 
 " Dead to the world, indeed!" murmured one at length; " the 
 grave could not be more silent." 
 
 Baffled, and hoarse with shouting, we wandered back again 
 to Martin Luther's rooms. The old familiar rooms, where we 
 had so lately spent hours with him in social converse ; where I 
 and many of us had spent so many an hour in intimate, affec- 
 tionate intercourse, — his presence would be there no more; 
 and the unaltered aspect of the mute, inanimate things only 
 made the emptiness and change more painful by the con- 
 trast. 
 
 And yet, when we began to examine more closely, the aspect 
 of many things was changed. His flute and lute, indeed, lay 
 on the table, just as he had left them on the previous evening. 
 But the books — scholastic, legal, and classical — were piled up 
 carefully in one corner, and directed to the booksellers. In 
 looking over the well-known volumes, I only missed two, Virgil 
 and Plautus ; I suppose he took these with him. Whilst we 
 were looking at a parcel neatly rolled up in another place, the 
 old man who kept his rooms in order came in, and said, " That 
 is Master Martin's master's robe, his holiday attire, and his 
 master's ring. They are to be sent to his parents at Mans- 
 feld."
 
 74 Chronicles of the ScJwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 A choking sensation came over me as I thought of the father 
 who had struggled so hard to maintain his son, and had hoped 
 so much from him, receiving that packet. Not from the dead. 
 Worse than from the dead, it seemed to me. Deliberately self- 
 entombed ; deliberately with his own hands building up a 
 barrier between him and all who love him best. With the 
 dead, if they are happy, we may hold communion — at least the 
 Creed speaks of the communion of saints ; we may pray to 
 them ; or, at the worst, we may pray for them. But between 
 the son in the convent and the father at Mansfeld the barrier 
 is not merely one of stone and earth. It is of the impenetrable 
 iron of will and conscience. It would be a temptation now for 
 Martin Luther to pour out his heart in affectionate words to 
 father, mother, or friend. 
 
 And yet, if he is right, — if the flesh is only to be subdued, if 
 God is only to be pleased, if heaven is only to be won in this 
 way, — it is of little moment indeed what the suffering may be 
 to us or any belonging to us in this fleeting life, down which the 
 grim gates of death which close it, ever cast their long shadow. 
 
 May not Martin serve his family better in the cloister than 
 at the emperor's court, for is not the cloister the court of a 
 palace more imperial? — we may say, the very audience- 
 chamber of the King of kings. Beside*, if he had a vocation, 
 what curse might not follow despising it 1 Happy for those 
 whose vocation is so clear that they dare not disobey it ; 
 or whose hearts are so pure that they would not if they 
 dared ! 
 
 July 19. 
 
 These two days the university has been in a ferment at the 
 disappearance of Martin Luther. Many are indignant with 
 him, and more with the monks, who, they say, have taken ad- 
 vantage of a fervent impulse, and drawn him into their net. 
 Some, however, especially those of the school of Mutianus — 
 the Humanists — laugh, and say there are ways through the 
 cloister to the court, — and even to the tiara. But those misun- 
 derstand Martin. We who know him are only too sure that he 
 will be a true monk, and that for him there is no gate from the 
 cloister back into the world.
 
 Friedrick's Story. 75 
 
 It appears now that he had been meditating this step more 
 than a fortnight. 
 
 On the first of this month (July) he was walking on the road 
 between Erfurt and Stotterheim, when a thunder-storm which 
 had been gathering over the.Thuringian forest, and weighing 
 with heavy silence on the plague-laden air, suddenly burst over 
 his head. He was alone, and far from shelter. Peal followed 
 peal, succeeded by terrible silences ; the forked lightning danced 
 wildly around him, until at length one terrific flash tore up the 
 ground at his feet, and nearly stunned him. He was alone, 
 and far from shelter; he felt his soul equally alone and un- 
 sheltered. The thunder seemed to him the angry voice of an 
 irresistible, offended God. The next flash might wither his 
 body to ashes, and smite his soul into the flames it so terribly 
 recalled ; and the next thunder-peal which followed might echo 
 like the trumpet of doom over him lying unconscious, deaf, and 
 mute in death. Unconscious and mute as to his body ! but 
 who could imagine to what terrible intensity of conscious, ever- 
 lasting anguish his soul might have awakened ; what wailings 
 might echo around his lost spirit, what cries of unavailing en- 
 treaty he might be pouring forth 1 Unavailing then ! not, per- 
 haps wholly unavailing now ! He fell on his knees, — he pros- 
 trated himself on the earth, and cried in his anguish and terror, 
 " Help, beloved St. Anne, and I will straightway become a 
 monk." 
 
 The storm rolled slowly away; but the irrevocable words had 
 been spoken, and the peals of thunder, as they rumbled more 
 and more faintly in the distance, echoed on his heart like the 
 dirge of all his worldly life. 
 
 He reached Erfurt in safety, and, distrustful of his own stead- 
 fastness, breathed nothing of his purpose except to those who 
 would, he thought, sustain him in it. This was no doubt the 
 cause of his absent and estranged looks, and of his avoiding us 
 during that fortnight. 
 
 He confided his intention first to Andrew Staffelstein, the 
 rector of the university, who applauded and encouraged him, 
 mid took him at once to the new Franciscan cloister. The 
 monks received him with delight, and urged his immediately
 
 76 Chronicles of the Sclwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 joining their order. He told them he must first acquaint his 
 father of his purpose, as an • act of confidence only due to a 
 parent who had denied himself so much and toiled so hard to 
 maintain his son liberally at the university. But the rector and 
 the monks rejoined that he must not consult with flesh and 
 blood ; he must " forsake father and mother, and steal away to 
 the cross of Christ." " Whoso putteth his hand to the plough 
 and looketh back," said they, " is not worthy of the kingdom of 
 God." To remain in the world was peril. To return to it was 
 perdition. 
 
 A few religious women to whom the rector mentioned Mar- 
 tin's intentions, confirmed him in them with fervent words of 
 admiration and encouragement. 
 
 Did not one of them relent, and take pity on his mother and 
 his father 1 And yet, I doubt if Martin's mother would have 
 interposed one word of remonstrance between him and the 
 cloister. She is a very religious woman. To offer her son, her 
 pride, to God, would have been offering the dearest part of 
 herself; and women have a strength in self-sacrifice, and a mysteri- 
 ous joy, which I feel no doubt would have carried her through. 
 
 With Martin's father it would no doubt have been different. 
 He has not a good opinion of the monks, and he has a very 
 strong sense of paternal and filial duty. He, the shrewd, hard- 
 working, successful peasant, looks on the monks as a company 
 of drones, who, in imagining they are giving up the delights of 
 the world, are often only giving up its duties. He was content 
 to go through any self-denial and toil that Martin, the pride of 
 the whole family, might have scope to develop his abilities. But 
 to have the fruit of all his counsel, and care, and work buried 
 in a convent, will be very bitter to him. It was terrible advice 
 for the rector to give a son. And yet, no doubt, God has the 
 first claim ; and to expose Martin to any influence which might 
 have induced him to give up his vocation, would have been 
 perilous indeed. No doubt the conflict in Martin's heart was 
 severe enough as it was. His nature is so affectionate, his 
 sense of filial duty so strong, and his honour and love for his 
 parents so deep. Since the step is taken, Holy Mary aid him 
 not to draw back !
 
 FriedriclCs Story. yj 
 
 December, 1505. 
 
 This morning I saw a sight I never thought to have seen. 
 A monk, in the grey frock and cowl of the Augustinians, was 
 pacing slowly through the streets with a heavy sack on his 
 shoulders. The ground was covered with snow, his feet were 
 bare; but it was no unfrequent sight, and I was idly and half- 
 unconsciously watching him pause at door after door, and 
 humbly receiving any contributions that were offered, stow them 
 away in the convent-sack, when at length he stopped at the 
 door of the house I was in, and then, as his face turned up 
 towards the window where I stood, I caught the eye of Martin 
 Luther ! 
 
 I hurried to the door with a loaf in my hand, and, before 
 offering it to him, would have embraced him as of old; but he 
 bowed low as he received the bread, until his forehead nearly 
 touched the ground, and, murmuring a Latin " Gratias," would 
 have passed on. 
 
 " Martin," I said, " do you not know me V 
 "I am on the service of the convent," he said. "It is against 
 the rules to converse or to linger." 
 
 It was hard to let him go without another word. 
 " God and the saints help thee, Brother Martin ! " I 
 said. 
 
 He half turned, crossed himself, bowed low once more, as a 
 maid-servant threw him some broken meat, said meekly, " God 
 be praised for every gift he bestoweth," and went on his toil- 
 some quest for alms with stooping form and downcast eyes. 
 But how changed his face was ! The flush of youth and health 
 quite faded from the thin, hollow cheeks; the fire of wit and 
 fancy all dimmed in the red, sunken eyes ! Fire there is indeed 
 in them still, but it seemed to me of the kind that consumes — 
 not that warms and cheers. 
 
 They are surely harsh to him at the convent. To send him 
 who was the pride and ornament of the university not six 
 months ago, begging from door to door, at the houses of friends 
 and pupils, with whom he may not even exchange a greeting ! 
 Is there no pleasure to the obscure and ignorant monks in thus 
 humbling one who was so lately so far above them? The hands
 
 78 Chronicles of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 which wield such rods need to be guided by hearts that are 
 very noble or very tender. Nevertheless, I have no doubt that 
 Brother Martin inflicts severer discipline on himself than any 
 that can be laid on him from without. It is no external con- 
 flict that has thus worn and bowed him down in less than half 
 a year. 
 
 I fear he will impose some severe mortification on himself 
 for having spoken those few words to which I tempted 
 him. 
 
 But if it is his vocation, and if it is for heaven, and if he is 
 thereby earning merits to bestow on others, any conflict could 
 no doubt be endured ! 
 
 July, 1506. 
 
 Brother Martin's novitiate has expired, and he has taken the 
 name of Augustine, but we shall scarcely learn to call him by 
 it. Several of us were present a few days since at his taking 
 the final vows in the Augustinian Church. Once more we 
 heard the clear, pleasant voice which most of us had heard, in 
 song and animated conversation, on that farewell evening. It 
 sounded weak and thin, no doubt with fasting. The garb of 
 the novice was laid aside, the monk's frock was put on, and 
 kneeling below the altar steps, with the prior's hands on his 
 bowed head, he took the vow in Latin : — 
 
 " I, Brother Martin, do make profession and promise 
 obedience unto Almighty God, unto Mary, ever virgin, and 
 unto thee, my brother, prior of this cloister, in the name and in 
 the stead of the general prior of the order of the Eremites of St. 
 Augustine, the bishop and his regular successors, to live in 
 poverty and chastity after the rule of the said St. Augustine 
 until death." 
 
 Then the burning taper, symbol of the lighted and ever- 
 vigilant heart, was placed in his hand. The prior murmured a 
 prayer over him, and instantly from the whole of the monks 
 burst the hymn, " Veni Sancte Spiritus." 
 
 He knelt while they were singing; and then the monks led 
 him up the steps into the choir, and welcomed him with the kiss 
 of brotherhood. 
 
 Within the screen, within the choir, among the holy brother
 
 FriedricJis Story. 79 
 
 hood inside, who minister before the altar ! And we, his old 
 friends, left outside in the nave, separated from him for ever by 
 the screen of that irrevocable vow ! 
 
 For ever ! Is it for ever 1 Will there indeed be such a veil, 
 an impenetrable barrier, between us and him at the judgment- 
 day 1 And we outside 1 A barrier impassable for ever then, 
 but not now, not yet ! 
 
 January, 1507. 
 
 I have just returned from another Christmas at home. Things 
 look a little brighter there. This last year, since I took my 
 rhaster's degree, I have been able to help them a little more 
 effectually with the money I receive from my pupils. It was a 
 delight to take our dear, self-denying, loving Else a new dress 
 for holidays, although she protested her old crimson petticoat 
 and black jacket were as good as ever. The child Eva has still 
 that deep, calm, earnest look in her eyes, as if she saw into the 
 world of things unseen and eternal, and saw there what filled 
 her heart with joy. I suppose it is that angelic depth of her 
 eyes, in contrast with the guileless, rosy smile of the childlike 
 lips, which gives the strange charm to her face, and makes one 
 think of the pictures of the child-angels. 
 
 She can read the Church Latin now easily, and delights 
 especially in the old hymns. When she repeats them in that 
 soft, reverent, childish voice, they seem to me deeper and more 
 sacred than when sung by the fullest choir. Her great favourite 
 is St. Bernard's " Jesu Dulcis Memoria," and his " Salve Caput 
 Cruentatum;" but some verses of the "Dies Irae" also are very 
 often on her lips. I used to hear her warbling softly about the 
 house, or at her work, with a voice like a happy dove hidden in 
 the depths of some quiet wood, — 
 
 " Qucrens me sedisti lassus," 
 
 or 
 
 Jesu mi dulcissimc, Domine ccelorum, 
 Conditor omnipotens, Rex universorum ; 
 Quis jam actus suffieit mirari gestorum, 
 Quse te ferre compulit salus miserorum. 
 
 Te de ccelo caritas traxit animarum, 
 
 Pro quibus palatium deserens praeclarum ;
 
 80 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Coita Family. 
 
 Miseram ingrediens vallem lacrymarum, 
 Opus durum suscipis, et iter amarum.* 
 
 The sonorous words of the ancient imperial language sound 
 so sweet and strange, and yet so familiar from the fresh childish 
 voice. Latin seems from her lips no more a dead language. 
 It is as if she had learned it naturally in infancy from listening 
 to the songs of the angels who watched her in her sleep, or 
 from the lips of a sainted mother bending over her pillow from 
 heaven. 
 
 One thing, however, seems to disappoint little Eva. She has 
 a sentence taken from a book her father left her before he died, 
 but which she was never allowed to see afterwards. She is 
 always hoping to find the book in which this sentence was, and 
 has not yet succeeded. 
 
 I have little doubt myself that the book was some heretical 
 volume belonging to her father, who was executed for being a 
 Hussite. It is to be hoped, therefore, she will never find it. 
 She did not tell me this herself, probably because Else, to whom 
 she mentioned it, discouraged her in such a search. We all 
 feel it is a great blessing to have rescued that innocent heart 
 from the snares of those pernicious heretics, against whom our 
 Saxon nation made such a noble struggle. There are not very 
 many of the Hussites left now in Bohemia. As a national party 
 they are indeed destroyed, since the Calixtines separated from 
 them. There are, however, still a few dragging out a miserable 
 existence among the forests and mountains; and it is reported 
 that these opinions have not yet even been quite crushed in the 
 cities, in spite of the vigorous measures used against them, but 
 that not a few secretly cling to their tenets, although outwardly 
 conforming to the Church. So inveterate is the poison of 
 heresy, and so great the danger from which little Eva has been 
 rescued. 
 
 * " Jesu, Sovereign Lord of heaven, sweetest Friend to me, 
 King of all the universe, all was made by thee ; 
 Who can know or comprehend the wonders thou hast wrought, 
 Since the saving of the lost thee so low hath brought ? 
 Thee the love of souls drew down from beyond the sky, — 
 Drew thee from thy glorious home, thy palace bright and high I 
 To this narrow vale of tears thou thy footsteps bendest : 
 Hard the work thou tak'st on thee, rough the way thou wendurt-"
 
 Friedrich's Story. 81 
 
 Erfurt, May 2, 1507. 
 
 To-day once more the seclusion and silence which have 
 enveloped Martin Luther since he entered the cloister have been 
 broken. This day he has been consecrated priest, and has 
 celebrated his first mass. There was a great feast at the 
 A.ugustinian convent; offerings poured in abundance into the 
 convent treasury, and Martin's father, John Luther, came from 
 Mansfeld to be present at the ceremony. He is reconciled at 
 last to his son (whom for a long time he refused to see) ; al- 
 though not, I believe, to his monastic profession. It is cer- 
 tainly no willing sacrifice on the father's part. And no wonder. 
 After toiling for years to place his favourite son in a position 
 where his great abilities might have scope, it must have been 
 hard to see everything thrown away just as success was attained, 
 for what seemed to him a wilful, superstitious fancy. And 
 without a word of dutiful consultation to prepare him for the 
 blow ! 
 
 Having, however, at last made up his mind to forgive his 
 son, he forgave him like a father, and came in pomp with 
 precious gifts to do him honour. He rode to the convent gate 
 with an escort of twenty horsemen, and gave his son a present 
 of twenty florins. 
 
 Brother Martin was so cheered by the reconciliation, that at 
 the ordination feast he ventured to try to obtain from his father 
 not only pardon, but sanction and approval. It was of the 
 deepest interest to me to hear his familiar eloquent voice again, 
 pleading for his father's approval. But he failed. In vain he 
 stated in his own fervent words the motives that had led to his 
 vow ; in vain did the monks around support and applaud all he 
 said. The old man was not to be moved. 
 
 "Dear father," said Martin, "what was the reason of thy 
 objecting to my choice to become a monk 1 Why wert thou 
 then so displeased, and perhaps art not reconciled yet 1 It is 
 such a peaceful and godly life to live." 
 
 I cannot say that Brother Martin's worn and furrowed face 
 spoke much for the peacefulness of his life ; but Master John 
 Luther boldly replied in a voice that all at the table might 
 hear, — 
 
 6
 
 82 Chronicles of the ScJwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " Didst thou never hear that a son must be obedient to his 
 parents 1 And, you learned men, did you never read the Scrip- 
 tures, 'Thou shalt honour thy father and thy mother 1 ?' God 
 grant that those signs you speak of may not prove to be lying 
 wonders of Satan." 
 
 Brother Martin attempted no defence. A look of sharp pain 
 came over his face, as if an arrow had pierced his heart ; but he 
 remained quite silent. 
 
 Yet he is a priest ; he is endued with a power never com- 
 mitted even to the holy angels — to transubstantiate bread into 
 God — to sacrifice for the living and the dead. 
 
 He is admitted into the inner circle of the court of heaven. 
 
 He is on board that sacred ark which once he saw portrayed 
 at Magdeburg, where priests and monks sail safely amidst a 
 drowning world. And what is more, he himself may, from his 
 safe and sacred vessel, stoop down and rescue perishing men ; 
 perhaps confer unspeakable blessings on the soul of that very 
 father whose words so wounded him. 
 
 For such ends well may he bear that the arrow should pierce 
 his heart. Did not a sword pierce thine, O mournful mother of 
 consolations 1 
 
 And he is certain of his vocation. He does not think as we 
 in the world so often must, " Is God leading me, or the devil 1 
 Am I resisting His higher calling in only obeying the humbler 
 call of everyday duty 1 Am I bringing down blessings on those 
 I love, or curses ]" 
 
 Brother Martin, without question, has none of these distract- 
 ing doubts. He may well bear any other anguish which may 
 meet him in the ways of God, and because he has chosen them. 
 At least he has not to listen to such tales as I have heard lately 
 from a young knight, Ulrich von Hutten, who is studying here 
 at present, and has things to relate of the monks, priests, and 
 bishops in Rome itself which tempt one to think all invisible 
 things a delusion, and all religion a pretence.
 
 V. 
 
 €kts CI j) roiuclf. 
 
 Eisenach, January 1510. 
 
 E have passed through a terrible time ; if, indeed, wc 
 are through it ! 
 
 The plague has been at Eisenach; and, alas! is 
 brre still. 
 
 Fritz came home to us as usual at Christmas. Just before 
 he left Erfurt the plague had broken out in the University. 
 But he did not know it. When first he came to us he seemed 
 quite well, and was full of spirits ; but on the second day he 
 complained of cold and shivering, with pain in the head, 
 which increased towards the evening. His eyes then began to 
 have a fixed, dim look, and he seemed unable to speak or think 
 long connectedly. 
 
 I noticed that the mother watched him anxiously that even- 
 ing ; and at its close, feeling his hands feverish, she said very 
 quietly that she should sit up in his room that night. At first 
 he made some resistance, but he seemed too faint to insist on 
 anything ; and, as he rose to go to bed, he tottered a little, 
 and said he felt giddy, so that my mother drew his arm within 
 hers and supported him to his room. 
 
 Still I did not feel anxious ; but when Eva and I reached 
 our room, she said, in that quiet, convincing manner which she 
 had even as a child, fixing her large eyes on mine, — 
 
 " Cousin Else, Fritz is very ill." 
 
 " I think not, Eva," I said ; " and no one would feel anxious 
 about him as soon as I should. He caught a chill on his way 
 from Erfurt. You know it was late when he arrived, and snow- 
 ing fast, and he was so pleased to see us, and so eager in con-
 
 84 Chronicles of the ScJionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 versation that he would not change his things. It is only a slight 
 feverish cold. Besides, our mother's manner was so calm when she 
 wished us good night. I do not think she is anxious. She is 
 only sitting up with him for an hour or two to see that he sleeps." 
 
 " Cousin Else," replied Eva, " did you not see the mother's 
 lip quiver when she turned to wish us good night 1" 
 
 " No, Eva," said I ; " I was looking at Fritz." 
 
 And so we went to bed. But I thought it strange that Eva, 
 a girl of sixteen, should be more anxious than I was, and I his 
 sister. Hope is generally so strong, and fear so weak, before 
 one has seen many fears realized, and many hopes disap- 
 pointed. Eva, however, had always a way of seeing into the 
 truth of things. I was very tired with the day's work (for I 
 always rise earlier than usual when Fritz is here, to get every- 
 thing done before he is about), and I must very soon have 
 fallen asleep. It was not midnight when I was roused by the 
 mother's touch upon my arm. 
 
 The light of the lamp she held showed me a paleness in her 
 face and an alarm in her eyes which awoke me thoroughly in 
 an instant. 
 
 " Else," she said, " go into the boys' room and send Chris- 
 topher for a physician. I cannot leave Fritz. But do not 
 alarm your father !" she added, as she crept again out of the 
 room after lighting our lamp. 
 
 I called Christopher, and in five minutes he was dressed and 
 out of the house. When I returned to our room Eva was 
 sitting dressed on the bed. She had not been asleep, I saw. I 
 think she had been praying, for she held the crucifix in her clasped 
 hands, and there were traces of tears on her cheek, although, 
 when she raised her eyes to me, they were clear and tearless. 
 
 " What is it, Cousin Else V she said. " When I went for a 
 moment to the door of his room he was talking. It was his voice, 
 but with such a strange, wild tone in it. I think he heard my 
 step, although I thought no one would, I stepped so softly, for he 
 called ' Eva, Eva !' but the mother came to the door and silently 
 motioned me away. But you may go, Else," she added, with a 
 passionate rapidity very unusual with her. " Go and see him." 
 
 I went instantly. He was talking very rapidly and vehe-
 
 ElsPs Story. 85 
 
 mently, and in an incoherent way it was difficult to under- 
 stand. My mother sat quite still, holding his hand. His eyes 
 were not bright as in fever, but dim and fixed. Yet he was in 
 a raging fever. His hand, when I touched it, burned like fire, 
 and his face was flushed crimson. I stood there quite silently 
 beside my mother until the physician came. At first Fritz's 
 eyes followed me ; then they seemed watching the door for 
 some one else ; but in a few minutes the dull vacancy came 
 over them again, and he seemed conscious of nothing. 
 
 At last the physician came. He paused a moment at the 
 door, and held a bag of myrrh before him ; then advancing to 
 the bed, he drew aside the clothes and looked at Fritz's arm. 
 
 " Too plain !" he exclaimed, starting back as he perceived a 
 black swelling there. " It is the plague !" 
 
 My mother followed him to the door. 
 
 " Excuse me, madam," he said ; " life is precious, and I 
 might carry the infection into the city." 
 
 " Can nothing be done V she said. 
 
 " Not much !" he said bluntly ; and then, after a moment's 
 hesitation, touched by the distress in her face, he returned to 
 the bedside. " I have touched him," he murmured, as if 
 apologizing to himself for incurring the risk ; " the mischief is 
 done, doubtless, already." And taking out his lancet he bled 
 my brother's arm. 
 
 Then, after binding up the arm, he turned to me and said, — 
 
 " Get cypress and juniper wood, and burn them in a brazier 
 in this room, with rosin and myrrh. Keep your brother as 
 warm as possible — do not let in a breath of air ! And," he 
 added, as I followed him to the door, " on no account suffer 
 him to sleep for a moment,* and let no one come near him but 
 you and your mother." 
 
 When I returned to the bedside, after obeying these direc- 
 tions, Fritz's mind was wandering; and although we could 
 understand little that he said, he was evidently in great distress. 
 He seemed to have comprehended the physician's words, for 
 he frequently repeated, " The plague ! the plague ! I have 
 brought a curse upon my house !" and then he would wander 
 
 * An approved method of treatment of the plague in those times.
 
 86 CJironicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 strangely calling on Martin Luther and Eva to intercede and 
 obtain pardon for him, as if he were invoking saints in heaven ; 
 and occasionally he would repeat fragments of Latin hymns. 
 
 It was dreadful to have to keep him awake ; to have to rouse 
 him, whenever he showed the least symptom of slumber, to 
 thoughts which so perplexed and troubled his poor brain. But 
 on the second night the mother fainted away, and I had to 
 carry her to her room. Her dear thin frame was no heavy 
 weight to bear. I laid her on the bed in our room, which 
 was the nearest. Eva appeared at the door as I stood beside 
 our mother. Her face was as pale as death. Before I could 
 prevent it, she came up to me, and taking my hands said, — 
 
 " Cousin Else, only promise me one thing ; — if he is to die, 
 let me see him once more." 
 
 " I dare not promise anything, Eva," I said ; " consider the 
 infection !" 
 
 " What will the infection matter to me if he dies V she said ; 
 " I am not afraid to die." 
 
 " Think of the father and the children, Eva," I said ; " if 
 our mother and I should be seized next, what would they do V 
 
 " Chriemhild will soon be old enough to take care of them,'" 
 she said very calmly; "promise me, promise me, Else, or 1 
 will see him at once." 
 
 And I promised her, and she threw her arms around me, 
 and kissed me. Then I went back to Fritz, leaving Eva chafing 
 my mother's hands. It was of no avail, I thought, to try to 
 keep her from contagion, now that she had held my hands in 
 hers. 
 
 When I came again to Fritz's bedside he was asleep ! Bit- 
 terly I reproached myself; but what could I have done? He 
 was asleep — sleeping quietly, with soft even breathing. I had 
 not courage to awake him ; but I knelt down and implored the 
 blessed Virgin and all the saints to have mercy on me and 
 spare him. And they must have heard me ; for, in spite of my 
 failure in keeping the physician's orders, Fritz began to recover 
 from that very sleep. 
 
 Our grandmother says it was a miracle ; " unless," she added, 
 " the doctor was wrong !"
 
 Els^s Story. 87 
 
 He awoke from that sleep refreshed and calm, but weak as 
 an infant. 
 
 It was delightful to meet his eyes when first he awoke, with 
 the look of quiet recognition in them, instead of that wild, 
 fixed stare, or that restless wandering ; to look once more into 
 his heart through his eyes. He looked at me a long time with 
 a quiet content, without speaking, and then he said, holding 
 out his hand to me, — 
 
 " Else, you have been watching long here. You look tired ; 
 go and rest." 
 
 " It rests me best to look at you," I said, " and see you 
 better." 
 
 He seemed too weak to persist, and after taking some food 
 and cooling drinks, he fell asleep again, and so did I; for the 
 next thing I was conscious of was our mother gently placing a 
 pillow underneath my head, which had sunk on the bed where 
 I had been kneeling, watching Fritz. I was ashamed of being 
 such a bad nurse ; but our mother insisted on my going to our 
 room to seek rest and refreshment. And for the next few days 
 we took it in turns to sit beside him, until he began to regain 
 strength. Then we thought he might like to see Eva; but 
 when she came to the door, he eagerly motioned her away, and 
 said, — 
 
 " Do not let her venture near me. Think if I were to bring 
 this judgment of God on her !" 
 
 Eva turned away, and was out of sight in an instant ; but 
 the troubled, perplexed expression came back into my brother's 
 eyes, and the feverish flush into his face, and it was long before 
 he seemed calm again. 
 
 I followed Eva. She was sitting with clasped hands in our 
 room. 
 
 " Oh, Else," she said, " how altered he is ! Are you sure he 
 will live, even now?" 
 
 I tried to comfort her with the hope which was naturally so 
 much stronger in me, because I had seen him in the depths from 
 which he was now slowly rising again to life. But something 
 in that glimpse of him seemed to weigh on her very life ; and 
 as Fitz recovered, Eva seemed to grow paler and weaker, until
 
 88 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 the same feverish symptoms came over her which we had learned 
 so to dread, and then the terrible tokens, the plague-spots, 
 which could not be doubted, appeared on the fair, soft arms, 
 and Eva was lying with those dim, fixed, pestilence-veiled eyes, 
 and the wandering brain. 
 
 For a day we were able to conceal it from Fritz, but no 
 longer. 
 
 On the second evening after Eva was stricken, I found him 
 standing by the window of his room, looking into the street. 
 I shall never forget the expression of horror in his eyes as he 
 turned from the window to me. 
 
 " Else," he said, " how long have those fires been burning in 
 the streets V 
 
 " For a week," I said. " They are fires of cypress-wood and 
 juniper, and myrrh and pine gums. The physicians say they 
 purify the air." 
 
 " I know too well what they are," he said. " And, Else," he 
 said, " why is Master Biirer's house opposite closed V 
 
 " He has lost two children," I said. 
 
 " And why are those other windows closed all down the 
 street V he rejoined. 
 
 " The people have left, brother," I said ; " but the doctors 
 hope the worst is over now." 
 
 " O just God !" he exclaimed, sinking on a chair and cover- 
 ing his face ; " I was flying from thee, and I have brought the 
 curse on my people !" 
 
 Then, after a minute's pause, before I could think of any words 
 to comfort him, he looked up, and suddenly demanded, — 
 
 " Who are dead in this house, Else V 
 
 " None, none," I said. 
 
 " Who are stricken ?" he asked. 
 
 " All the children and the father are well," I said, " and the 
 mother." 
 
 " Then Eva is stricken !" he exclaimed — " the innocent for 
 the guilty ! She will die and be a saint in heaven, and I, who 
 have murdered her, shall live, and shall see her no more, for 
 ever and for ever." 
 
 I could not comfort him. The strength of his agony utterly
 
 ElsPs Story. 89 
 
 stunned me. I could only burst into tears, so that he had to 
 try to comfort me. But he did not speak ; he only took my 
 hands in his kindly, as of old, without saying another word- 
 At length I said — 
 
 " It is not you who brought the plague, dear Fritz ; it is God 
 who sent it ! " 
 
 " I know it is God!" he replied, with such an intense bitter- 
 ness in his tone that I did not attempt another sentence. 
 
 That night Eva wandered much as I watched beside her; but 
 her delirium was quite different from that of Fritz. Her spirit 
 seemed floating away on a quiet stream into some happy land 
 we could not see. She spoke of a palace, of a home, of 
 fields of fragrant lilies, of white-robed saints walking among 
 them with harps and songs, and of One who welcomed her. 
 Occasionally, too, she murmured snatches of the same Latin 
 hymns that Fritz had repeated in his delirium, but in a tone so 
 different, so child-like and happy ! If ever she appeared 
 troubled, it was when she seemed to miss some one, and be 
 searching here and there for them ; but then she often ended 
 with, " Yes, I know they will come ; I must wait till they 
 come." And so at last she fell asleep, as if the thought had 
 quieted her. 
 
 I could not hinder her sleeping, whatever the physician said; 
 she looked so placid, and had such a happy smile on her lips. 
 Only once, when she had lain thus an hour quite still, while 
 her chest seemed scarcely to heave with her soft, tranquil 
 breathing, I grew alarmed lest she should glide thus from us 
 into the arms of the holy angels; and I whispered softly, " Eva, 
 dear Eva!" 
 
 Her lips parted slightly, and she mui mured — 
 
 "Not yet; wait till they can come." 
 
 And then she turned her head again on the pillow, and 
 slept on. 
 
 She awoke quite collected and calm, and then she said quietly — ■ 
 
 "Where is the mother?" 
 
 " She is resting, darling Eva." 
 
 She gave a little contented smile, and then, in broken words 
 at intervals, she said —
 
 90 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " Now, I should like to see Fritz. You promised I should 
 see him again ; and now, if I die, I think he would like to see 
 me once more." 
 
 I went to fetch my brother. He was pacing up and down 
 his room, with the crucifix clasped to his breast. At first, to 
 my surprise, he seemed very reluctant to come; but when I 
 said how much she wished it, he followed me quite meekly into 
 her room. Eva was resuming her old command over us all. 
 She held out her hand, with a look of such peace and rest on 
 her face. 
 
 " Cousin Fritz," she said at intervals, as she had strength, 
 "you have taught me so many things; you have done so much 
 for me ! Now I wish you to learn my sentence, that if I go, it 
 may make you happy, as it does me." Then very slowly and dis- 
 tinctly she repeated the words — " ' God so loved the world, that 
 he gave his only Son.' Cousin Fritz," she added, " I do not 
 know the end of the sentence. I have not been able to find 
 it; but you must find it. I am sure it comes from a good book, 
 it makes me love God so much to think of it. Promise me you 
 will find it, if I should die." 
 
 He promised, and she was quite satisfied. Her strength 
 seemed exhausted, and in a few moments, with my arms round 
 her as I sat beside her, and with her hand in Fritz's, she fell 
 into a deep, quiet sleep. 
 
 I felt from that time she would not die, and I whispered very 
 softly to Fritz — 
 
 "She will not die; she will recover, and you will not have 
 killed her; you will have saved her!" 
 
 But when I looked into his face, expecting to meet a thankful, 
 happy response, I was appalled by the expression there. 
 
 He stood immovable, not venturing to withdraw his hand, 
 but with a rigid, hopeless look in his worn, pale face, which 
 contrasted terribly with the smile of deep repose on the sleeping 
 face on which his eyes were fixed. 
 
 And so he remained until she awoke, when his whole coun- 
 tenance changed for an instant to return her smile. 
 
 Then he said softly, " God bless you, Eva!" and pressing her 
 hand to his lips, he left the room.
 
 Els^s Story. 91 
 
 When I saw him again that day, I said — 
 
 " Fritz, you saved Eva's life ! She rallied from the time she 
 saw you." 
 
 " Yes," he replied, very gently, but with a strange impassive- 
 ness in his face; " I think that may be true. I have saved her." 
 
 But he did not go into her room again ; and the next day, to 
 our surprise and disappointment, he said suddenly that he must 
 leave us. 
 
 He said few words of farewell to any of us, and would not see 
 Eva to take leave of her. He said it might disturb her. 
 
 But when he kissed me before he went, his hands and his 
 lips were as cold as death. Yet as I watched him go down the 
 street, he did not once turn to wave a last good-bye, as he 
 always used to do; but slowly and steadily he went on till he 
 was out of sight. 
 
 I turned back into ' the house with a very heavy heart ; but 
 when I went to tell Eva Fritz was gone, and tried to account 
 for his not coming to take leave of her, because I thought it 
 would give her pain (and it does seem to me rather strange of 
 Fritz), she looked up with her quiet, trustful, contented smile, 
 and said — 
 
 " I am not at all pained, Cousin Else. I know Fritz had 
 good reasons for it — some good, kind reasons — because he 
 always has; and we shall see him again as soon as he feels it 
 right to come."
 
 VI. 
 
 Jrhbricf/s Sforg. 
 
 St. Sebastian, Erfurt, January 20, 151c. 
 
 |HE irrevocable step is taken. I have entered the 
 Augustinian cloister. I write in Martin Luther's cell. 
 Truly I have forsaken father and mother, and all that 
 was dearest to me, to take refuge at the foot of the cross. 1 
 have sacrificed everything on earth to my vocation, and yet the 
 conflict is not over. I seem scarcely more certain of my voca- 
 tion now than while I remained in the world. Doubts buzz 
 around me like wasps, and sting me on every side. The devil, 
 transforming himself into an angel of light, perplexes me with 
 the very words of Scripture. The words of Martin Luther's 
 father recur to me, as if spoken by a divine voice. " Honour 
 thy father and thy mother!" echoes back to me from the chants 
 of the choir, and seems written everywhere on the white walls 
 of my cell. 
 
 And, besides the thunder of these words of God, tender 
 voices seem to call me back by every plea of duty, not to aban- 
 don them to fight the battle of life alone. Else calls me from 
 the old lumber-room, " Fritz ! brother ! who is to tell me now 
 what to do 1 ?" My mother does not call me back; but I seem 
 ever to see her tearful eyes, full of reproach and wonder which 
 she tries to repress, lifted up to heaven for strength; and her 
 worn, pale face, growing more wan every day. In one voice 
 and one face only I seem never to hear or see reproach or recall ; 
 and yet, Heaven forgive me, those pure and saintly eyes which 
 seem only to say, " Go on, Cousin Fritz, God will help thee, 
 and I will pray!" — those sweet, trustful, heavenly eyes, draw 
 me back to the world with more power than anything else.
 
 FriedricJi 's Story. 93 
 
 Is it, then, too late? Have I lingered in the world so long 
 that my heart can never more be torn from it? Is this the 
 punishment of my guilty hesitation, that, though I have given 
 my body to the cloister, God will not have my soul, which ever- 
 more must hover like a lost spirit about the scenes it was too 
 reluctant to leave? Shall I evermore, when I lift my eyes to 
 heaven, see all that is pure and saintly there embodied for me 
 in a face which it is deadly sin for me to remember? 
 
 Yet I have saved her life ! If I brought the curse on my 
 people by my sin, was not my obedience accepted] From the 
 hour when, in my room alone, after hearing that Eva was 
 stricken, I prostrated myself before God, and not daring to 
 take His insulted name on my lips, approached him through 
 His martyred saint, and said, " Holy Sebastian, by the arrows 
 which pierced thy heart, ward off the arrows of pestilence from 
 my home, and I will become a monk, and change my own 
 guilty name for thine," — from that moment did not Eva begin 
 to recover, and from that time were not all my kindred un- 
 scathed? " Cadent a latere tuo mille, et decern millia a dextris 
 tuis; ad te autem non approprinquabit." Were not the words 
 literally fulfilled; and while many still fell around us, was one 
 afterwards stricken in my home? 
 
 Holy Sebastian, infallible protector against pestilence, by thy 
 firmness when accused, confirm my wavering will ; by thy double 
 death, save me from the second death; by the arrows which 
 could not slay thee, thou hast saved us from the arrow that 
 rlieth by day; by the cruel blows which sent thy spirit from the 
 circus to paradise, strengthen me against the blows of Satan; 
 by thy body rescued from ignominious sepulture and laid in the 
 catacombs among the martyrs, raise me from the filth of sin; 
 by thy generous pleading for thy fellow-sufferers amidst thine 
 own agonies, help me to plead for those who suffer with me; 
 and by all thy sorrows, and merits, and joys, plead — oh plead 
 for me, who henceforth bear thy name ! 
 
 St. Scholastica, February 10. 
 
 I have been a month in the monastery. Yesterday my first 
 probation was over, and I was invested with the white garments 
 of the novitiate.
 
 94 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 The whole of the brotherhood were assembled in the church, 
 when, kneeling before the prior, he asked me solemnly whether 
 I thought my strength sufficient for the burden I purposed to 
 take on myself. 
 
 In a low, grave voice, he reminded me what those burdens 
 are — the rough plain clothing ; the abstemious living ; the 
 broken rest and long vigils ; the toils in the service of the order ; 
 the reproach and poverty; the humiliations of the mendicant; 
 and, above all, the renunciation of self-will and individual glory, 
 to be a member of the order, bound to do whatever the supe ■ 
 riors command, and to go whithersoever they direct. 
 
 " With God for my help," I could venture to say, " of this 
 will I make trial." 
 
 Then the prior replied, — 
 
 "We receive thee, therefore, on probation for one year; and 
 may God, who has begun a good work in thee, carry it on unto 
 perfection." 
 
 The whole brotherhood responded in a deep amen, and then 
 all the voices joined in the hymn, — 
 
 " Magna Pater Augustine, preces nostras susclpe, 
 Et per eas conditori nos placare satage, 
 Atque rege gregem tuum, summum decus praesuluin. 
 
 Amatorem paupertatis, te collaudant pauperes ; 
 Assertorem veritatis amant veri judices; 
 Frangis nobis favos mellis de Scripturis disserens. 
 
 Quae obscura prius erant nobis plana faciens, 
 Tu de verbis Salvatoris dulcem panem conficis, 
 Et propinas potum vitae de psalmorum nectare. 
 
 Tu de vita clericorum sanctam scribis regulam, 
 Quam qui amant et sequuntur viam tenent regiam, 
 Atque tuo sancto ductu redeunt ad patriam. 
 
 Regi regum salus, vita, decus et emperium ; 
 Trinitati Iaus et honor sit per omne sasculum, 
 Qui concives nos ascribat supernorum civium."* 
 
 As the sacred words were chanted, they mingled strangely in 
 my mind with the ceremonies of the investiture. My hair was 
 shorn with the clerical tonsure ; my secular dress was laid aside ; 
 
 * " Great Father Augustine, receive our prayers, 
 
 And through them effectually reconcile the Creator ; 
 And rule thy flock, the highest glory of rulers.
 
 Friedrich 's Story. 95 
 
 the garments of the novice were thrown on ; and I was girded 
 with the girdle of rope, whilst the prior murmured softly to me, 
 that with the new robes I must put on the new man. 
 
 Then, as the last notes of the hymn died away, I knelt and 
 bowed low to receive the prior's blessing, invoked in these 
 words : — 
 
 " May God, who hath converted this young man from the 
 world, and given him a mansion in heaven, grant that his daily 
 walk may be as becometh his calling ; and that he may have 
 cause to be thankful for what has this day been done." 
 
 Versicles were then chanted responsively by the monks, who, 
 forming in procession, moved towards the choir, where we all 
 prostrated ourselves in silent prayer. 
 
 After this they conducted me to the great hall of the cloister, 
 where all the brotherhood bestowed on me the kiss of peace. 
 
 Once more I knelt before the prior, who reminded me that 
 he who persevereth to the end shall be saved ; and gave me 
 over to the direction of the preceptor, whom the new Vicar- 
 General Staupitz has ordered to be appointed to each novice. 
 
 Thus the first great ceremony of my monastic life is over, 
 and it has left me with a feeling of blank and disappointment. 
 It has made no change that I can feel in my heart. It has not 
 removed the world further off from me. It has only raised 
 another impassable barrier between me and all that was dearest 
 to me; — impassable as an ocean without ships, infrangible as 
 the strongest iron, I am determined my will shall make it; but 
 
 The poor praise thee, lover of poverty ; 
 True judges love thee, defender of truth ; 
 
 Breaking the honeycomb of the honey of Scripture, thou distributest 
 it to us. 
 
 Making smooth to us what before was obscure ; 
 
 Thou, from the words of the Saviour, furnishest us with wholesome 
 
 bread, 
 And givest to drink draughts of life from the nectar of the psalms. 
 
 Thou writest the holy rule for the life of priests, 
 Which, whosoever love and follow, keep the royal road, 
 And by thy holy leading return to their fatherland. 
 
 Salvation to the King of kings, life, glory, and dominion; 
 Honour and praise be to the Trinity throughout all ages, 
 To Him who declareth us to be fellow-citizens with the citizens of 
 heaven."
 
 g6 Chronicles of the ScJwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 to my heart, alas ! thin as gossamer, since every faintest, wistful 
 tone of love, which echoes from the past, can penetrate it and 
 pierce me with sorrow. 
 
 My preceptor is very strict in enforcing the rules of the order. 
 Trespasses against the rules are divided into four classes, — 
 small, great, greater, and greatest, to each of which is assigned 
 a different degree of penance. Among the smaller are, failing 
 to go to church as soon as the sign is given, forgetting to touch 
 the ground instantly with the hand and to smite the breast if in 
 reading in the choir or in singing the least error is committed ; 
 looking about during the service; omitting prostration at the 
 Annunciation or at Christmas; neglecting the benediction in 
 coming in or going out ; failing to return books or garments to 
 their proper places; dropping food; spilling drink; forgetting 
 to say grace before eating. Among the great trespasses are : 
 contending, breaking the prescribed silence at fasts, and looking 
 at women, or speaking to them, except in brief replies. 
 
 The minute rules are countless. It is difficult at first to 
 learn the various genuflexions, inclinations, and prostrations. 
 The novices are never allowed to converse except in presence 
 of the prior, are forbidden to take any notice of visitors, are 
 enjoined to walk with downcast eyes, to read the Scriptures 
 diligently, to bow low in receiving every gift, and say, " The 
 Lord be praised in his gifts." 
 
 How Brother Martin, with his free, bold, daring nature, bore 
 those minute restrictions, I know not. To me there is a kind 
 of dull, deadening relief in them, they distract my thoughts, or 
 prevent my thinking. 
 
 Yet it must be true, my obedience will aid my kindred more 
 than all my toil could ever have done whilst disobediently 
 remaining in the world. It is not a selfish seeking of my own 
 salvation and ease which has brought me here, whatever some 
 may think and say, as they did of Martin Luther. I think of 
 that ship in the picture at Magdeburg he so often told me of. 
 Am I not in it, — actually in it now 1 and shall I not hereafter, 
 when my strength is recovered from the fatigue of reaching it, 
 hope to lean over and stretch out my arms to them, still strug- 
 gling in the waves of this bitter world? and save them!
 
 Friedridis Story. 97 
 
 Save them ; yes, save their souls ! Did not my vow save 
 precious lives? And shall not my fastings, vigils, disciplines, 
 prayers be as effectual for their souls ? And, then, hereafter, in 
 heaven, where those dwell who, in virgin purity, have followed 
 the Lamb, shall I not lean over the jasper-battlements and help 
 them from Purgatory up the steep sides of Paradise, and be 
 first at the gate to welcome them in ! And then, in Paradise, 
 where love will no longer be in danger of becoming sin, may 
 we not be together for ever and for ever ? And then, shall I 
 regret that I abandoned the brief polluted joys of earth for the 
 pure joys of eternity] Shall I lament then that I chose, ac- 
 cording to my vocation, to suffer apart from them that their 
 souls might be saved, rather than to toil with them for the 
 perishing body ? 
 
 Then ! then / I, a saint in the City of God ! I, a hesitating, 
 sinful novice in the Augustinian monastery at Erfurt, who, 
 after resisting for years, have at last yielded up my body to the 
 cioister, but have no more power than ever to yield up my 
 heart to God ! 
 
 Yet I am in the sacred vessel j the rest will surely follow. 
 Do all monks have such a conflict? No doubt the Devil fights 
 hard for every fresh victim he loses. It is, it must be, the 
 Devil who beckons me through those dear faces, who calls me 
 through those familiar voices ; for they would never call me back. 
 They would hide their pain, and say, " Go to God, if he calls 
 thee ; leave us and go to God." Else, my mother, all would say 
 that; if their hearts broke in trying to say it ! 
 
 Had Martin Luther such thoughts in this very cell ? If they 
 are from the Evil One, I think he had, for his assaults are 
 strongest against the noblest; and yet I scarcely think he can 
 have had such weak doubts as those which haunt me. He was 
 not one of those who draw back to perdition ; nor even of those 
 who, having put their hand to the plough, look back, as I, alas ! 
 am so continually doing. And what does the Scripture say of 
 such? — "They are not fit for the kingdom of God." No. ex- 
 ception, no reserve — monk, priest, saint; if a max\Iook back, he 
 is not fit for the kingdom of God. Then what becomes of nr, 
 hopes of Paradise, or of acquiring merits which may aid others 1 
 
 7
 
 98 Chronicles of the ScJionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Turn back, draw back, I will never, although all the devils were 
 to drive me, or all the world entice me ; but look back, who can 
 help that 1 If a look can kill, what can save 1 Mortification, 
 crucifixion, not for a day, but daily; — I must die daily; I must 
 be dead — dead to the world. This cell must to me be as a 
 tomb, where all that was most living in my heart must die and 
 be buried. Was it so to Martin Luther % Is the cloister that 
 to those bands of rosy, comfortable monks, who drink beer 
 from great cans, and feast on the best of the land, and fast on 
 the choicest fish 1 The Tempter ! the Tempter again ! Judge 
 not, and ye shall not be judged. 
 
 St. Eulalia, Erfurt, February 12, 1510. 
 
 To-day one of the older monks came to me, seeing me, I 
 suppose, look downcast and sad, and said, " Fear not, Brother 
 Sebastian, the strife is often hard at first ; but remember the 
 words of St. Jerome : ' Though thy father should lie before thy 
 door weeping and lamenting, though thy mother should show 
 thee the body that bore thee, and the breasts that nursed thee, 
 see that thou trample them under foot, and go on straightway 
 to Christ' " 
 
 I bowed my head, according to rule, in acknowledgment of 
 his exhortation, and I suppose he thought his words comforted 
 and strengthened me; but Heaven knows the Conflict they 
 awakened in my heart when I sat alone to-night in my cell. 
 " Cruel, bitter, wicked words ! " my earthly heart would say; my 
 sinful heart, that vigils, scourging, scarcely death itself, I fear, 
 can kill. Surely, at least, the holy father Jerome spoke of 
 heathen fathers and mothers. My mother would not show her 
 anguish to win me back; she would say, "My son, my first- 
 born, God bless thee; I give thee freely up to God." Does 
 she not say so in this letter which I have in her handwriting, — 
 which I have and dare not look at, because of the storm of 
 memories it brings rushing on my heart? 
 
 Is there a word of reproach or remonstrance in her letter 1 
 If there were, I would read it; it would strengthen me. The 
 saints had that to bear. It is because those holy, tender words 
 echo in my heart, from a voice weak with feeble health, that
 
 Fricdridis Story. 99 
 
 day by day, and hour by hour, my heart goes back to the home at 
 Eisenach, and sees them toiling unaided in the daily struggle for 
 bread, to which I have abandoned them, unsheltered and alone. 
 
 Then at times the thought comes, Am I, after all, a dreamer, 
 as I have sometimes ventured to think my father, — neglecting 
 my plain daily task for some Atlantis 1 and if my Atlantis is 
 in Paradise instead of beyond the ocean, does that make so 
 much difference ? 
 
 If Brother Martin were only here, he might understand and 
 help me ; but he has now been nearly two years at Wittemberg, 
 where he is, they say, to lecture on theology at the Elector's 
 new university, and to be preacher. The monks seem nearly 
 as proud of him as the University of Erfurt was. 
 
 Yet, perhaps, after all, he might not understand my per- 
 plexities. His nature was so firm and straightforward and 
 strong. He would probably have little sympathy with wavering 
 hearts and troubled consciences like mine. 
 
 March 7. — SS. Perpetua and Felicitas. — 
 Erfurt, Augustinian Cloister. 
 
 To-day I have been out on my first quest for alms. It 
 seemed very strange at first to be begging at familiar doors, 
 with the frock and the convent sack on my shoulders ; but 
 although I tottered a little at times under the weight as it grew 
 heavy (for the plague and fasting have left me weak), I returned 
 to the cloister feeling better and easier in mind, and more 
 hopeful as to my vocation, than I had done for some days. 
 Perhaps, however, the fresh air had something to do with it, 
 and, after all, it was only a little bodily exultation. But cer- 
 tainly such bodily loads and outward mortifications are not the 
 burdens which weigh the spirit down. There seemed a luxury 
 in the half-scornful looks of some of my former fellow-students, 
 and in the contemptuous tossing to me of scraps of meat by 
 some grudging hands; just as a tight pressure, which in itself 
 would be pain were we at ease, is relief to severe pain. 
 
 Perhaps, also, O holy Perpetua and Felicitas, whose day it is, 
 and especially thou, O holy Perpetua, who, after encouraging 
 thy sons to die for Christ, wast martyred thyself, hast pleaded
 
 ioo Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 for my forsaken mother and for me, and sendest me this day 
 some ray of hope. 
 
 St. Joseph. — March 19— 
 Augustinian Cloister, Erfurt. 
 
 St. Joseph, whom I have chosen to be one of the twenty-one 
 patrons whom I especially honour, hear and aid me to-day. 
 Thou whose glory it was to have no glory, but meekly to aid 
 others to win their higher crowns, give me also some humble 
 place on high; and not to me alone, but to those also whom I 
 have left still struggling in the stormy seas of this perilous world. 
 
 Here, in the sacred calm of the cloister, surely at length the 
 heart must grow calm, and cease to beat except with the life of 
 the universal Church, — the feasts in the calendar becoming its 
 events. But when will that be to me 1 
 
 March 20. 
 
 Has Brother Martin attained this repose yet 1 An aged monk 
 sat with me in my cell yesterday, who told me strange tidings of 
 him, which have given me some kind of bitter comfort. 
 
 It seems that the monastic life did not at once bring repose 
 into his heart. 
 
 This aged monk was Brother Martin's confessor, and he has 
 also been given to me for mine. In his countenance there is 
 such a peace as I long for; — not a still, death-like peace, as if 
 he had fallen into it after the conflict ; but a living, kindly 
 peace, as if he had won it through the conflict, and enjoyed it 
 even while the conflict lasted. 
 
 It does not seem to me that Brother Martin's scruples and 
 doubts were exactly like mine. Indeed, my confessor says that 
 in all the years he has exercised his office he has never found 
 two troubled hearts troubled exactly alike. 
 
 I do not know that Brother Martin doubted his vocation, or 
 looked back to the world ; but he seems to have suffered agonies 
 of inward torture. His conscience was so quick and tender, 
 that the least sin wounded him as if it had been the grossest 
 crime. He invoked the saints most devoutly — choosing, as I 
 have done from his example, twenty-one saints, and invoking 
 three every day, so as to honour each every week. He read 
 mass every day, and had an especial devotion for the blessed
 
 Fricdrich 's Story. ioi 
 
 Virgin. He wasted his body with fastings and watching. He 
 never intentionally violated the minutest rule of the order ; and 
 yet the more he strove, the more wretched he seemed to be. 
 Like a musician whose ear is cultivated to the highest degree, 
 the slightest discord was torture to him. Can it then be God's 
 intention that the growth of our spiritual life is only growing sen- 
 sitiveness to pain? Is this true growth? — or is it that monstrous 
 development of one faculty at the expense of others, which is 
 deformity or disease? 
 
 The confessor said thoughtfully, when I suggested this — 
 
 " The world is out of tune, my son, and the heart is out of 
 tune. The more our souls vibrate truly to the music of heaven, 
 the more, perhaps, they must feel the discords of earth. At 
 least it was so with Brother Martin; until at last, omitting a 
 prostration or a genuflexion would weigh on his conscience like 
 a crime. Once, after missing him for some time, we went to 
 the door of his cell, and knocked. It was barred, and all our 
 knocking drew no response. We broke open the door at last, 
 and found him stretched senseless on the floor. We only suc- 
 ceeded in reviving him by strains of sacred music, chanted by 
 the choristers whom we brought to his cell. He always dearly 
 loved music, and believed it to have a strange potency against 
 the wiles of the devil." 
 
 " He must have suffered grievously," I said. " I suppose it 
 is by such sufferings merit is acquired to aid others!" 
 
 " He did suffer agonies of mind," replied the old monk. 
 " Often he would walk up and down the cold corridors for nights 
 together." 
 
 " Did nothing comfort him?" I asked. 
 
 "Yes, my son; some words I once said to him comforted him 
 greatly. Once, when I found him in an agony of despondency 
 in his cell, I said, ' Brother Martin, dost thou believe in " the 
 forgiveness of sins," as saith the Creed?' His face lighted up 
 at once." 
 
 "The forgiveness of sins!" I repeated slowly. "Father, I 
 also believe in that. But forgiveness only follows on contrition, 
 confession, and penance. How can I ever be sure that I have 
 been sufficiently contrite, that I have made an honest and
 
 102 Chronicles of the Schbnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 complete confession, or that I have performed my penance 
 aright? 
 
 " Ah, my son," said the old man, " these were exactly Brother 
 Martin's perplexities, and I could only point him to the crucified 
 Lord, and remind him again of the forgiveness of sins. All we 
 do is incomplete, and when the blessed Lord says he forgiveth 
 sins, I suppose he means the sins of sinners, who sin in their 
 confession as in everything else. My son, He is more compas- 
 sionate than you think, perhaps than any of us think. At least 
 this is my comfort; and if, when I stand before Him at last, I 
 find I have made a mistake, and thought Him more compas- 
 sionate than He is, I trust He will pardon me. It can scarcely, 
 I think, grieve Him so much as declaring Him to be a hard 
 master would." 
 
 I did not say anything more to the old man. His words so 
 evidently were strength and joy to him, that I could not venture 
 to question them further. To me, also, they have given a gleam 
 of hope. And yet, if the way is not rough and difficult, and if 
 it is not a hard thing to please Almighty God, why all those 
 severe rules and renunciations — those heavy penances for trifling 
 offences? 
 
 Merciful we know He is. But the emperor may be merciful ; 
 and yet, if a peasant were to attempt to enter the imperial 
 presence without the prescribed forms, would he not be driven 
 from the palace with curses, at the point of the sword? And 
 what are those rules at the court of heaven? 
 
 If perfect purity of heart and life, who can lay claim to that? 
 
 If a minute attention to the rules of an order such as this of St. 
 Augustine, who can be sure of having never failed in this? The 
 inattention which caused the neglect would probably let it glide 
 from the memory. And then, what is the worth of confession? 
 
 Christ is the Saviour, but only of those who follow him. 
 There is forgiveness of sins, but only for those who make ade- 
 quate confession. I, alas ! have not followed him fully. What 
 priest on earth can assure me I have ever confessed fully? 
 
 Therefore I see Him merciful, gracious, holy — a Saviour, but 
 seated on a high throne, where I can never be sure petitions of 
 mine will reach him ; and, alas ! one day to be seated on a great
 
 Friedrich's Story. 103 
 
 white throne, whence it is too sure his summoning voice will 
 reach me. 
 
 Mary, mother of God, Virgin of virgins, mother of divine 
 grace- — holy Sebastian and all martyrs — great father Augustine 
 and all holy doctors, intercede for me, that my penances may 
 be accepted as a satisfaction for my sins, and may pacify my 
 Judge. 
 
 March 25. — Annunciation op the Holy Virgin. 
 
 My preceptor has put into my hands the Bible bound in red 
 morocco which Brother Martin, he says, used to read so much. 
 I am to study it in all the intervals which the study of the 
 fathers, expeditions for begging, the services of the Church, and 
 the menial offices in the house which fall to the share of novices, 
 allow. These are not many. I have never had a Bible in my 
 hands before, and the hours pass quickly indeed in my cell 
 which I can spend in reading it. The preceptor, when he comes 
 to call me for the midnight service, often finds me still reading. 
 
 It is very different from what I expected. There is nothing 
 oratorical in it, there are no laboured disquisitions, and no 
 minute rules, at least in the New Testament. 
 
 I wish sometimes I had lived in the Old Jewish times, when 
 there was one temple wherein to worship, certain definite feasts 
 to celebrate, certain definite ceremonial rules to keep. 
 
 If I could have stood in tne Temple courts on that great day 
 of atonement, and seen the victim slain, and watched till the 
 high priest came out from the holy place with his hands lifted up 
 in benediction, I should have known absolutely that God was 
 satisfied, and returned to my home in peace. Yes, to my home! 
 There were no monasteries, apparently, in those Jewish times. 
 Family life was God's appointment then, and family affections 
 had his most solemn sanctions. 
 
 In the New Testament, on the contrary, I cannot find any of 
 those definite rules. It is all addressed to the heart; and who 
 can make the heart right 1 ? I suppose it is the conviction of this 
 which has made the Church since then restore many minute 
 rules and discipline, in imitation of the Jewish ceremonial ; for 
 in the Gospels and Epistles I can find no ritual, ceremonial, or 
 definite external rules of any kind.
 
 104 Chronicles of the Schb'nberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 What advantage, then, has the New Testament over the old 1 
 Christ has come. " God so loved the world, that he gave his 
 only begotten Son." This ought surely to make a great differ- 
 ence between us and the Jews. But how? 
 
 April 9. — St. Gregory of Nyssa. 
 
 I have found, in my reading to-day, the end of Eva's sentence 
 ■ — " God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, 
 that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have ever- 
 lasting life." 
 
 How simple the words are! — " Believeth;" that would mean, 
 in any other book, " trusteth," " has reliance" in Christ ; — simply 
 to confide in him, and then receive his promise not to perish. 
 
 But here — in this book, in theology — it is necessarily impossible 
 that believing can mean anything so simple as that; becausej at 
 that rate, any one who merely came to the Lord Jesus Christ 
 in confiding trust would have everlasting life, without any further 
 conditions; and this is obviously out of the question. 
 
 For what can be more simple than to confide in one worthy 
 of confidence? and what can be greater than everlasting life? 
 
 And yet we know, from all the teaching of the doctors and 
 fathers of the Church, that nothing is more difficult than obtaining 
 everlasting life; and that, for this reason, monastic orders, pil- 
 grimages, penances, have been multiplied from century to 
 century; for this reason saints have forsaken every earthly joy, 
 and inflicted on themselves every possible torment; — all to 
 obtain everlasting life, which, if this word "believeth" meant 
 here what it would mean anywhere but in theology, would be 
 offered freely to every petitioner. 
 
 Wherefore it is clear that " believeth," in the Scriptures, means 
 something entirely different from what it does in any secular 
 book, and must include contrition, confession, penance, satis- 
 faction, mortification of the flesh, and all else necessary to 
 salvation. 
 
 Shall I venture to send this end of Eva's sentence to her? 
 
 It might mislead her. Dare I for her sake? — dare I still 
 more tot my own i 
 
 One hour I have sat before this question ; and whither has my
 
 Fr itdrich's Story. 105 
 
 hearf wandered \ What confession can retrace the flood of bittei 
 thoughts which have rushed over me in this one hour 1 
 
 I had watched her grow from childhood into early woman- 
 hood; and until these last months, until that week of anguish, 
 I had thought of her as a creature between a child and an angel. 
 I had loved her as a sister who had yet a mystery and a charm 
 about her different from a sister. Only when it seemed that 
 death might separate us did it burst upon me that there was 
 something in my affection for her which made her not one 
 among others, but in some strange sacred sense the only one on 
 earth to me. 
 
 And as I recovered came the hopes I must never more recall, 
 which made all life like the woods in spring, and my heart like 
 a full river set free from its ice fetters, and flowing through the 
 world in a tide of blessing. 
 
 I thought of a home which might be, I thought of a sacrament 
 which should transubstantiate all life into a symbol of heaven, 
 a home which was to be peaceful and sacred as a church, because 
 of the meek, and pure, and heavenly creature who should mini- 
 ster and reign there. 
 
 And then came to me that terrible vision of a city smitten by 
 the pestilence which I had brought, with the recollection of the 
 impulse I had had in the forest at midnight, and more than 
 once since then, to take the monastic vows. I felt I was like 
 Jonah flying from God; yet still I hesitated until she was stricken. 
 And then I yielded. I vowed if she were saved I would become 
 a monk. 
 
 Not till she was stricken, whose loss would have made the 
 whole world a blank to me : not till the sacrifice was worthless, 
 — did I make it! And will God accept such a sacrifice as this? 
 
 At least Brother Martin had not this to reproach himself 
 with. He did not delay his conversion until his whole being 
 had become possessed by an image no prayers can erase; nay, 
 which prayer and holy meditations on heaven itself, only rivet on 
 the heart, as the purest reflection of heaven memory can recall. 
 
 Brother Martin, at least, did not trifle with his vocation until 
 too late.
 
 VII. 
 
 January 23. 
 
 |T is too plain now why Fritz would not look back as he 
 went down the street. He thought it would be 
 looking back from the kingdom of God. 
 
 The kingdom of God, then, is the cloister, and the world, we 
 are that ! — father, mother, brothers, sisters, friends, home, that 
 is the world ! I shall never understand it. For if all my 
 younger brothers say is 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 our parents' old age. He was the example and admira- 
 tion of the boys, and the pride and delight of us all ; and to 
 me'/ My heart grows so bitter when I write about it, I seem to 
 hate and reproach every one. Every one but Fritz; I cannot, 
 of course, hate him. But why was all that was gentlest and 
 noblest in him made to work towards this last dreadful step] 
 
 If our father had only been more successful, Fritz need not 
 have entered on that monastic foundation at Erfurt, which made 
 his conscience so sensitive; if my mother had only not been so 
 religious, and taught us to reverence Aunt Agnes as so much 
 better than herself, he might never have thought of the monastic 
 life; if I had been more religious he might have confided more 
 in me, and I might have induced him to pause, at least, a few 
 years before taking this unalterable step. If Eva had not been 
 so wilful, and insisted on braving the contagion from me, she 
 might never have been stricken, and that vow might not yet, 
 might never have been taken. If God had not caused him so 
 innocently to bring the pestilence among us ! But I must not
 
 Elsfs Story. 107 
 
 dare to say another word of complaint, or it will become blas- 
 phemy. Doubtless it is God who has willed to bring all this 
 misery on us; and to rebel against God is a deadly sin. As 
 Aunt Agnes said, " The Lord is a jealous God," he will not 
 suffer us to make idols. We must love him best, first, alone. 
 We must make a great void in our heart by renouncing all 
 earthly affections, that he may fill it. We must mortify the 
 flesh, that we may live. What, then, is the flesh % I suppose 
 all our natural affections, which the monks call our fleshly lusts. 
 These Fritz has renounced. Then if all our natural affections 
 are to die in us, what is to live in us 1 The " spiritual life," 
 they say in some of the sermons, and " the love of God." But 
 are not my natural affections my heart; and if I am not to love 
 God with my heart, with the heart with which I love my father 
 and mother, what am I to love him with? 
 
 It seems to me, the love of God to us is something quite 
 different from any human being's love to us. 
 
 When human beings love us they like to have us with them ; 
 they delight to make us happy; they delight in our being happy, 
 whether they make us so or not, if it is a ] ight happiness, a hap 
 piness that does us good. 
 
 Rut with God's love it must be quite different. He warns us 
 not on any account to come too near Him. We have to place 
 priests, and saints, and penances between us and Him, and 
 then approach Him with the greatest caution, lest, after all, it 
 should be in the wrong way, and He should be angry. And, 
 instead of delighting in our happiness, He is never so much 
 pleased as when we renounce all the happiness of our life, and 
 make other people wretched in doing so, as Fritz, our own 
 Fritz, has just done. 
 
 Therefore, also, no doubt, the love God requires we should 
 feel for Him is something entirely different from the love we 
 give each other. It must, I suppose, be a serious, severe, calm 
 adoration, too sublime to give either joy or sorrow, such as had 
 left its stamp on Aunt Agnes's grave 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
 
 108 Oironicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 face there have been tears, real, bitter, human tears ; in thi?ie 
 eyes there have been smiles of joy, real, simple, human joy. 
 Thou wilt understand and have pity. Yet oh, couldst not thou, 
 even thou, sweet mother, have reminded him of the mother he 
 has left to battle on alone? thou who art a mother, and didst bend 
 over a cradle, and hadst a little lowly home at Nazareth once ? 
 
 But I know my own mother would not even herself have 
 uttered a word to keep Fritz back. When first we heard of it, 
 and I entreated her to write and remonstrate, although the 
 tears were streaming from her eyes, she said, " Not a word, 
 Else, not a syllable. Shall not I give my son up freely to Him 
 who gave him to me. God might have called him away from 
 earth altogether when he lay smitten with the plague, and shall 
 I grudge him to the cloister? I shall see him again," she added, 
 " once or twice at least. When he is consecrated priest, shall 
 I not have joy then, and see him in his white robes at the altar, 
 and, perhaps, even receive my Creator from his hands ! " 
 
 "Once or twice! — O mother!" I sobbed, "and in church, 
 amongst hundreds of others ! What pleasure will there be in 
 that ?" 
 
 " Else," she said softly, but with a firmness unusual with her, 
 " my child, do not say another word. Once I myself had some 
 faint inclination to the cloister, which, if I had nourished it, 
 might have grown into a vocation. But I saw your father, and 
 I neglected it. And see what troubles my children have to 
 bear ! Has there not also been a kind of fatal spell on all your 
 father's inventions ? Perhaps God will at last accept from me 
 in my son what I withheld in myself, and will be pacified to- 
 wards us, and send us better days; and then your father's great 
 invention will be completed yet. But do not say anything of 
 what I told you 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 would have bequeathed them all to him ! " 
 
 For some days he never touched a model ; but now he has 
 crept back to his old folios and his instruments, and tells us 
 there was something in Fritz's horoscope which might have 
 prepared us for this, had he only understood it a little before.
 
 EL£'s Story. iog 
 
 However, this discovery, although too late to warn us of the blow, 
 consoles our father, and he has resumed his usual occupations. 
 
 Eva looks very pale and fragile, partly, no doubt, from the 
 effects of the pestilence ; but when first the rumour reached us, 
 I sought some sympathy from her, and said, " O Eva, how 
 strange it seems, when Fritz always thought of us before himself, 
 to abandon us all thus without one word 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 never have left us. 
 
 She understood him best of all, as she so often does. When 
 his letter came to our mother, it gave just the reasons she had 
 often told me she was sure had moved him. 
 
 It is difficult to tell what Eva feels, because of that strange 
 inward peace 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 
 scarcely bear to enter our dear old lumber-room, or to do any- 
 thing I did with him', her great delight seems to be to read every 
 book he liked, and to learn and repeat every hymn she learned 
 with him. 
 
 Eva and the mother cling very closely together. She will 
 scarcely let my mother do any household work, but insists on 
 sharing every laborious task which hitherto we have kept her 
 from, because of her slight and delicate frame. 
 
 It is true I rise early to save them all the work I can, be- 
 cause they have neither of them half the strength I have, and I 
 enjoy stirring about. Thoughts come so much more bitterly on 
 me when I am sitting still. 
 
 But when I am kneading the dough, or pounding the clothes 
 with stones in the stream on washing-days, I feel as I were 
 pounding at all my perplexities ; and that makes my hands 
 stronger and my perplexities more shadowy, until even now I 
 find myself often singing as I am wringing the clothes by the 
 stream. It is so pleasant in the winter sunshine, with the brook 
 babbling among the rushes and cresses, and little Thekla pratt 
 ling by my side, and pretending to help.
 
 I TO Chronicles of tfie Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 But when I have finished my day's work, and come into the 
 house, I find the mother and Eva sitting close side by side; and 
 perhaps Eva is silent, and my mother brashes tears away as 
 they fall on her knitting ; but when they look up, their faces are 
 calm and peaceful, and then I know they have been talking 
 about Fritz. 
 
 Eisenach, February 2. 
 
 Yesterday afternoon I found Eva translating a Latin hymn 
 he loved, to our mother, and then she sang it through in her 
 sweet clear voice. It was 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 % I could 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 in sobs." 
 
 " But I do not feel separated from Fritz, Cousin Else," she 
 said, " and I never shall. Instead of hearing that melancholy 
 chant you think of, ' never, never more ' echo from all the hymns 
 he loved, I always seem to hear his voice responding, ' For 
 ever and for evermore.' And I think of the time when we shall 
 sing them together again." 
 
 " Do you mean in heaven, Eva 1 ?" I said, " that is so very far 
 off, if we ever reach it — " 
 
 " Not so very far off, Cousin Else," she said. " I often think 
 it is very near. If it were not so, how could the angels be so 
 much with us and yet with God V 
 
 " But life seems so long, now Fritz is gone." 
 
 " Not so very long, Cousin Else," she said. " I often think 
 it may be veiy short, and often I pray it may." 
 
 " Eva !" I exclaimed, "you surely do not pray that you may 
 die?" 
 
 " Why not 1" she said, very quietly. " I think if God took 
 us to himself, we might help those we love better there than at 
 Eisenach, or perhaps even in the convent. And it is there wc 
 shall meet again, and there are never any partings. My fathet 
 told me so," she added, "before he died."
 
 ElsPs Story. 1 1 1 
 
 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 you help us so much more here !" 
 
 February 8. 
 
 I cannot feel at all reconciled to losing Fritz, nor do I think 
 I ever shall. 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; and that is passed for 
 ever. 
 
 My great comfort is our grandmother. The mother and Eva 
 look on everything from such sublime heights ; but my grand- 
 mother feels more as I do. Often, indeed, she speaks very 
 severely of Fritz, which always does me good, because, of 
 course, I defend him, and then she becomes angry, and says 
 we are an incomprehensible family, and have the strangest ideas 
 of right and wrong, from my father downward, she ever heard 
 of; and then I grow angry, and say my father is the best and 
 wisest man in the Electoral States. Then our grandmother 
 begins to lament over her poor, dear daughter, and the life she 
 has led, and rejoices, in a plaintive voice, that she herself has 
 nearly done with the world altogether; and then I try to com- 
 fort her, and say that I am sure there is not much in the world 
 to make any one wish to stay in it; and, having reached this 
 point of despondency, we both cry and embrace each other, 
 and she says I am 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 comes of it, we will 
 never call Fritz anything but Fritz. 
 
 "Brother Sebastian, indeed !" she said; "your mother might 
 as well take a new husband as your brother a new name ! Was 
 not she married, and was not he christened in church ] Is not 
 Friedrich a good, honest name, which hundreds of your ancestors 
 have borne 1 And shall we call him instead a heathen foreign 
 name, that none of your kindred were ever known by V 
 
 " Not heathen, grandmother," I ventured to suggest. " You
 
 r 12 Chronicles of the Schoiibcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 remember telling us of the martyrdom of St. Sebastian by tha 
 heathen emperor?" 
 
 " Do you contradict me, child V she exclaimed. " Did I not 
 know the whole martyrology before your mother was born 1 I 
 say it is a heathen name. No blame to the saint if his parents 
 were poor benighted Pagans, and knew no better name to give 
 him; but that our Fritz should adopt it instead of his own is 
 a disgrace. My lips at least are too old to learn such new 
 fashioned nonsense. I shall call him the name 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 hearts till 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 of his thick, dark, waving hair clipped in the 
 circle of the tonsure. But the worst part of it is the effect of 
 his becoming a monk has had on the other boys, Christopher 
 and Pollux. 
 
 They, who before this thought Fritz the model of everything 
 good and great, seem repelled from all religion now. I have 
 difficulty even in getting them to church. 
 
 Christopher said to me the other day — 
 
 " Else, why is a man who suddenly deserts his family to 
 become a soldier called a villain, while the man who deserts 
 those who depend on him to become a monk is called a saint?" 
 
 It is very unfortunate the boys should come to me with their 
 religious perplexities, because I am so perplexed myself, I have 
 no idea how to answer them. I generally advise them to ask 
 Eva. 
 
 This time I could only say, as our grandmother had so often 
 said to me, — 
 
 " You must wait till you are older, and then you will under- 
 stand." But I added, "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 mother have no idea how wicked many of them am
 
 Else's Story. I 1 3 
 
 Reinhardt says he has seem them drunk often, and heard them 
 swear, and that some of them make a jest even of the mass, and 
 that the priests' houses are not fit for any honest maiden to 
 visit, and, — " 
 
 "Reinhardt is a bad boy," I said, colouring; "and I have 
 often told you I do not want to hear anything he says." 
 
 " But I, at all events, shall never become a monk or a priest," 
 retorted Christopher ; " I think the merchants are better. 
 Women cannot understand about these things," he added, loftily, 
 " and it is better they should not; 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 his clothes, and getting into scrapes, and perplexing us 
 to get him out of them, comparing himself with Fritz, and look- 
 ing down on his sisters ; and I 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 things myself 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 done by women, from Eve 
 to Helen and Cleopatra?" 
 
 "Do not mention our mother Eve with those heathens, 
 Christopher," said our grandmother, coming to my rescue, from 
 her corner by the stove. " Eve is in the Holy Scriptures, and 
 many of these pagans are not fit for people to speak of. Half 
 the saints are women, you know very well. Peasants and 
 traders," she added sublimely, " may talk slightingly of women ; 
 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 grand- 
 mother tartly. And accepting this imprudent concession of our 
 grandmother's, Christopher retired from the contest. 
 
 March 25. 
 
 I have just been looking at two letters addressed to Fathei 
 Johann Braun, one of our Eisenach priests, by Martin Luther. 
 
 8
 
 U4 Chronicles of the Schdnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 They were addressed to him as " the holy and venerable priest 
 of Christ and of Mary." So much I could understand, and also 
 that he calls himself Brother Martin Luther, not Brother 
 Augustine, a name he assumed on first entering 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 strange things about the doings at Annaberg. 
 
 Dr. Tetzel has been there two years, selling the papal indul- 
 gences to the people ; and lately, out of regard, he says, to the 
 great piety of the German people, he has reduced their price. 
 
 There was a great deal of discussion about it, which I rather 
 regretted the boys were present to hear. My father said indul- 
 gences did not mean forgiveness of sins, but only remission of 
 certain penances which the Church had imposed. But the 
 young man from Annaberg told us that Dr. John Tetzel 
 solemnly assured the people, that since it was impossible for 
 them, on account of their sins, to make satisfaction to God by 
 their works, our Holy Father the Pope, who has the control of 
 all the treasury of merits accumulated by the Church through- 
 out the ages, now graciously sells those merits to any who will 
 buy, and thereby bestows on them forgiveness 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 in the 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 to the people even to see the blood of the 
 Crucified flow from the cross. Beneath this cross are the ban- 
 ners of the Church, and the papal standard, with the triple crown. 
 Before it is the large, strong iron money chest. On one side 
 stands the pulpit, where Dr. Tetzel preaches daily, and exhorts 
 the people to purchase this inestimable favour while yet there is 
 time, for themselves and their relations in purgatory, — and trans- 
 lates the long parchment mandate of the Lord Pope, with the 
 papal seals hanging from it. On the other side is a table, where 
 sit several priests, with pen, ink, and writing-desk, selling the
 
 ElsPs Story. 1 15 
 
 indulgence tickets, and counting the money into boxes. Lately, 
 he told us, not only have the prices been reduced, but at the 
 end of the letter affixed to the churches, it is added, " Pauperi- 
 bus dentur gratis" 
 
 " Freely to the poor ! " That certainly would suit us ! And 
 if I had only time to make a pilgrimage to Annaberg, if this is 
 the kind of religion that pleases God, it certainly might be 
 attainable even for me. 
 
 If Fritz had only known it before, he need not have made 
 that miserable vow. A journey to Annaberg would have more 
 than answered the purpose. 
 
 Only, if the Pope has such inestimable treasures at his dis- 
 posal, why could he not always give them " freely to the poor," 
 always and everywhere? 
 
 But I know it is a sin to question what the Lord Pope does. 
 I might almost 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 He not give them freely to us 
 direct 1 ? It is plain these are questions too high for me. 
 
 I am not the only one perplexed by those indulgences, how- 
 ever. My mother says it is not the way she was taught, and 
 she had rather keep to the old 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 beautiful Rome, and 
 going over the mountains and over the seas, into every city and 
 every village ; every hut in the forests, and every room in the 
 lowest streets, that none might miss the blessing, although I had 
 to walk barefoot, and never saw holy Rome again." 
 
 " But then," said our father, " the great church at St Peter's 
 would never be built. It is on that, you know, the indulgence 
 money is to be spent." 
 
 "But Jerusalem the Golden would be built, Uncle Cotta!" 
 said Eva; "and would not that be better] 
 
 "We had better not talk about it, Eva," said the mothei. 
 "The holy Jerusalem is being built; and I suppose there are 
 many different ways to the same end. Only I like the way I 
 know best." 
 
 The boys, I regret to say, had made many irreverent gestures
 
 n6 Chronicles of the Schbtiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 during this conversation about the indulgences, and afterwards 
 I had to speak to them. 
 
 " Sister Else, " said Christopher, " it is quite useless talking 
 to me. I hate the monks, and all belonging to them. And I 
 do not believe a word they say — at least, not because they say 
 it. The boys at school say this Dr. Tetzel is a very bad man, 
 and a great liar. Last week Reinhardt told us something he did, 
 which will show you what he is. One day he promised to show 
 the people a feather which the devil plucked out of the wing of 
 the archangel Michael. Reinhardt says he supposes the devil 
 gave it to Dr. Tetzel. However that may be, during the night 
 some students in jest found their way to his relic-box, stole the 
 feather, and replaced it by some coals. The next day, when 
 Dr. Tetzel had been preaching fervently for a long time on the 
 wonders of this feather, when he opened the box there was no- 
 thing in it but charcoal. But he was not to be disconcerted. 
 He merely said, ' I have taken the wrong box of relics, I per 
 ceive; these are 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," rejoined 
 Christopher. 
 
 I resolved to see if Pollux was as deeply possessed with this 
 irreverent spirit as Christopher, and therefore this morning, when 
 I found him alone, I said, " Pollux, you used to love Fritz so 
 dearly, you would not surely take up thoughts which would pain 
 him so deeply if he knew of it." 
 
 " I do love Fritz," Pollux replied, " but I can never think he 
 was right in leaving us all ; and I like the religion of the Creeds 
 and the Ten Commandments better than that of the monks." 
 
 Daily, hourly I feel the loss of Fritz. It is not half as much 
 the money he earned; although, of course, that helped us; we 
 can and do struggle on without that. It is the influence he 
 had over the boys. They felt he was before them in the same 
 race; and when he remonstrated with them about anything, they 
 listened. But if I blame them, they think it is only a woman's 
 ignorance, or a woman's superstition, — and boys, they say, can- 
 not be like women. And now it is the same with Fritz. He
 
 Else's Story. 1 17 
 
 is removed into another sphere, which is not theirs; and if I 
 remind them of what he did or said, they say, "Yes, Fritz 
 thought so; but you know he has become a monk; but we do 
 not intend ever to be monks, and the religion of monks and 
 laymen are different things." 
 
 April 2. 
 
 The spring is come again. I wonder if it sends the thrill of 
 joy into Fritz'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 happy 
 birds — making their nests among them, as they do in our yard, 
 and singing as they work. 
 
 But the birds are not monks. Their nests are little homes, and 
 they wander freely whither they will, only brought back by love. 
 Perhaps Fritz does not like to listen to the birds now, because 
 they remind him of home, and of our long spring days in the 
 forest. Perhaps, too, they are part of the world he has re- 
 nounced ; and he must be dead to the world ! 
 
 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 the ants roofing their nests with fir 
 twigs, and the birds flying hither and thither with food for 
 their nestlings ; and to hear the wood-pigeons, which Fritz 
 always said were like Eva, cooing softly in the depths of the 
 forest. 
 
 At mid-day we sat down in a clearing of the forest, to enjoy 
 the meal we had brought with us. A little quiet brook prattled 
 near us, of which we drank, 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 tales of demon hunts, which flew with the baying of demon 
 dogs through these very forests at midnight. Then, as the 
 children began to look fearfully around, and shiver, even at 
 mid-day, while they listened, Christopher delighted them with 
 quaint stories of wolves in sheeps' clothing politely offering 
 themselves to the farmer as shepherds, which, I suspect, were
 
 1 1 8 Chronicles of the Schbnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 from some dangerous satirical book, but, without the applica- 
 tion, were very amusing. 
 
 Chriemhild and Atlantis had their stories of Kobolds, who 
 played strange tricks in the cow-stall; and of Riibezahl and 
 the misshapen dwarf gnomes, who guarded the treasures of gold 
 and silver in the glittering caves under the mountains; and of 
 the elves, who danced beside the brooks at twilight. 
 
 " And I," said loving little Thekla, " always want to see poor 
 Nix, the water-sprite, who cries by the streams at moonlight, 
 and lets his tears mix with the waters, because he has no soul, and 
 he wants to live for ever. I should like to give him half mine." 
 
 We should all of us have been afraid to speak of these crea- 
 tures, in their own haunts among the pines, if the sun had not 
 been high in the heavens. Even as it was, I began to feel a 
 little uneasy, and I wished to 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 the 
 sound of the church bells ; which makes some, again, think 
 they are worse than poor, shadowy, dethroned heathen gods, 
 and had, indeed, better be never mentioned at all. I thought 
 I could not do better 1 than tell the legend of my beloved giant 
 Offerus, who became Christopher and a saint by carrying the 
 holy child across the river. 
 
 Thekla wondered if her favourite Nix could be saved in the 
 same way. She longed to see him and tell him about it. 
 
 But Eva had still her story to tell, and she related to us her 
 /egend of St. Catharine. 
 
 "St. Catharine," she" said, "was a lady of royal birth, the 
 only child of the king and queen of Egypt. Her parents were 
 heathens, but they died and left her an orphan when she was 
 only fourteen. She was more beautiful than any of the ladies 
 of her court, and richer than any princess in the world; but 
 she did not care for pomp, or dress, or all her precious things. 
 God's golden stars seemed to her more magnificent than all 
 the splendour of her kingdom, and she shut herself up in her 
 palace, and studied philosophy and the stars until she grew 
 wiser than all the wise men of the East.
 
 ElsFs Story : 1 19 
 
 " But one day the Diet of Egypt met, and resolved that their 
 young queen must be persuaded to marry. They sent a depu- 
 tation to her in her palace, who asked her, if they could find a 
 prince beautiful beyond any, surpassing all philosophers in wis- 
 dom, of noblest mind and richest inheritance, would she marry 
 him? The queen replied, 'He must be so noble that all men 
 shall worship him, so great that I shall never think I 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 ye can find such a prince, he shall be my husband 
 and the lord of my heart.' Now, near the queen's palace there 
 lived a poor old hermit in a cave, and that very night the holy 
 Mother of God appeared to him, and told him the King who 
 should be lord of the queen's heart was none other than her 
 Son. Then the hermit went to the palace and presented the 
 queen with a picture of the Virgin and Child; and when St. 
 Catharine saw it her 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 as a 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 a glori- 
 ous company of angels, clothed in white, with chaplets of 
 white lilies. She fell on her face before them, but they said, 
 ' Stand up, dear sister Catharine, and be right welcome.' Then 
 they led her by the hand to another company of angels more 
 glorious still, clothed in purple with chaplets of red roses. Be- 
 fore these, again, she fell on her face, dazzled with their glory; 
 but they said, 'Stand up, dear sister Catharine; thee hath the 
 King delighted to honour.' Then they led her by the hand to 
 an inner chamber of the palace of heaven, where sat a queen 
 in state ; and the angels said to her, ' Our most gracious 
 sovereign Lady, Empress of heaven, and Mother of the King 
 of Blessedness, be pleased that we present unto you this our 
 sister, whose name is in the Book of Life, beseeching you to 
 accept her as your daughter and handmaid.' Then our blessed 
 Lady rose and smiled graciously, and led St. Catharine to her 
 blessed Son; but he turned from her, and said sadly, 'She is 
 not fair enough for Me.' Then St. Catharine awoke, and in
 
 120 Chronicles of thi Sch'onberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 her heart all day echoed the words, ' She is not fair enough for 
 Me; ' and she rested not until she became a Christian and was 
 baptized. And then, after some years, the tyrant Maximin put 
 her to cruel tortures, and beheaded her because she was a 
 Christian. But the angels took her body, and laid it in a white 
 marble tomb on the top of Mount Sinai, and the Lord Jesus 
 Christ received her soul, and welcomed her to heaven as his 
 pure and spotless bride; for at last he had made her 'fair enough 
 for him.' And so 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 we returned with our faggots, it was pleasant to 
 see the goats creeping on before the long shadows which even- 
 ing began to throw from the forests across the green valleys. 
 
 The hymns which Eva sang as we went, seemed quite in tune 
 with everything else. I did not want to understand the words; 
 everything seemed singing in words I could not help feeling, — 
 
 " God is good to us all. He gives twigs to the ants, and 
 grain to the birds, and makes the trees their palaces, and teaches 
 them to sing ; and will He not care for you 1 ?" 
 
 Then the boys were so good ! They never gave me a mo- 
 ment's anxiety, not even Christopher, but collected faggots 
 twice as large as ours in half the time, and then finished ours, 
 and then performed all kinds of feats in climbing trees and 
 leaping brooks, and brought home countless treasures for 
 Thekla. 
 
 These are the days that always make me feel so much better ; 
 even a little religious, and as if I could almost love God ! It 
 is only when I come back again into the streets, under the sha- 
 dow of the nine monasteries, and see the monks and priests in 
 dark robes' flitting silently about with downcast eyes, that I re- 
 member we are not like the birds 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 his other creatures, until 
 we have become holy, and worked our way through that 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 the threshold of St. George's Church, and crossing
 
 ElsPs Story. 121 
 
 herself with holy water, went softly up to the high altar, and 
 there she knelt while the lamp burned before the Holy Sacra- 
 ment. And when I looked at her face as she rose, it was beam- 
 ing with joy. 
 
 " You are happy, Eva, in the church and in the forest," I said 
 to her as we went home ; " you seem at home everywhere." 
 
 "Is not God everywhere?" she said ; "and has He not loved 
 the world ?" 
 
 " But our sins F I said. 
 
 " Have we not the Saviour 1 ?" "she said, bowing her head. 
 
 " But think how hard people find it to please him," I said. 
 " Think of the pilgrimages, the penances, the indulgences !" 
 
 " I do not quite understand all that," she said ; " I only quite 
 understand my sentence and the crucifix which tells us the Son 
 of God died for man. That must have been from love, and I 
 love him ; and all the rest I am content to leave." 
 
 " But to-night as I look at her dear childlike face asleep on the 
 pillow, and see how thin the cheek is which those long lashes 
 shade, and how transparent the little hand on which she rests, 
 a cold fear comes over me lest God should even now be mak- 
 ing her spirit " fair enough for him," and so too fair for earth 
 and for us. 
 
 April 4. 
 
 This afternoon I was quite cheered by seeing Christopher 
 and Pollux bending together eagerly over a book, which they 
 had placed before them on the window sill. It reminded me 
 of Fritz, and I went up to see what they were reading. 
 
 I found, however, to my dismay, it was no church-book or 
 learned Latin school-book ; but, on the contrary, a German 
 book full of woodcuts, which shocked me very much. It was 
 called Reinecke Fuchs, and as far as I could understand made 
 a jest of everything. There were foxes with monk's frocks, and 
 even in cardinal's hats, and wolves in cassocks with shaven 
 crowns. Altogether it seemed to me a very profane and peril- 
 ous book ; but when I took it to our father, to my amazement 
 he seemed as much amused with it as the boys, and said there 
 were evils in the world which were better attacked by jests than 
 by sermons.
 
 122 Chronicles of the ScJionberg-Cotta Family 
 
 April, St. MarKs Day. 
 
 I have just heard a sermon about despising the world, from 
 a great preacher, one of the Dominican friars, who is going 
 through the land to awaken people to religion. 
 
 He spoke especially against money, which he called " delu- 
 sion, and dross, and worthless dust, and a soul-destroying 
 canker." To monks no doubt it may 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 ever known, 
 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, and we did not know where to turn for the sum we 
 needed. Lately I have been employing my leisure hours in 
 embroidering some fine Venetian silk Aunt Ursula gave me ; 
 and not having any copies, I had brought in some fresh leaves 
 and flowers from the forest and tried to imitate them, hoping to 
 sell them. 
 
 When I had finished, it was thought pretty, and I carried it 
 to the merchant, who took the father's precious models, long 
 ago. 
 
 He has always been kind to us since, and has procured us 
 ink and paper at a cheaper rate than others can buy it. 
 
 When I showed him my work he seemed surprised, and in- 
 stead of showing it to his wife, as I had expected, he said smil- 
 ing,— 
 
 " These things are not for poor honest burghers like me. 
 You know my wife might be fined by the sumptuary laws if she 
 aped the nobility by wearing anything so fine as this. I am 
 going to the Wartburg to speak about a commission I have 
 executed for the Elector-Frederick, and if you like I will take 
 you and your embroidery with me." 
 
 I felt dismayed at first at such an idea, but I had on the new 
 dress Fritz gave me a year ago, and I resolved to venture. 
 
 It was so many years since I had passed through that massive 
 gateway into the great court-yard ; and I thought of St. Eliza- 
 beth distributing loaves, perhaps, at that very gate, and in- 
 wardly entreated her to make the elector or the ladies of his 
 court propitious to me.
 
 Else's Story. 123 
 
 I was left standing what seemed to me a long time, in. an 
 ante-room. Some very gaily dressed gentlemen and ladies 
 passed me and looked at me rather scornfully. I thought the 
 courtiers were not much improved since the days when they 
 were so rude to St. Elizabeth. 
 
 But at last I was summoned into the Elector's presence. I 
 trembled very much, for I thought — If the servants are so 
 haughty, what will the master be? But he smiled on me quite 
 kindly, and said, " My good child, I like this work of thine ; 
 and this merchant tells me thou art a dutiful daughter. I will 
 purchase this at once for one of my sisters, and pay thee at 
 once." 
 
 I was so surprised and delighted with his kindness that I can- 
 not remember the exact words of what he said afterwards, but 
 the substance of them was that the elector is building a new 
 church at his new university town of Wittemberg which is to 
 have choicer relics than any church in Germany. And I am 
 engaged to embroider altar-cloths and coverings for the reli- 
 quaries. And the sum already paid me nearly covers our pre- 
 sent debt. 
 
 No ! whatever that Dominican preacher might say, nothing 
 would ever persuade me that these precious guldens, which I 
 took home yesterday evening with a heart brimming over with 
 joy and thankfulness, which made our father clasp his hands in 
 thanksgiving, and our mother's eyes overflow with happy tears, 
 are mere delusion, or dross, or dust. 
 
 Is not money what we make it 1 Dust in the miser's chests ; 
 canker in the proud man's heart ; but golden sunbeams, streams 
 of blessing earned by a child's labour and comforting a parent's 
 heart, or lovingly poured from rich men's hands into poor men's 
 homes. 
 
 Aprilosx 
 
 Better days seem dawning at last. Dr. Martin, who preaches 
 now at the elector's new university of Wittemberg, must, we 
 think, have spoken to the elector for us, and our father is ap- 
 pointed to superintend the printing-press especially for Latin 
 books, which is to be set up there. 
 
 And sweeter even than this, it must be from Fritz that this
 
 124 Chronicles of the Sdionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 boon comes to us. Fritz, dear unselfish Fritz, is the benefactor 
 of the family after all. It must have been he who asked Dr. 
 Martin Luther to speak for us. There, in his lonely cell at 
 Erfurt, he thinks then of us ! And he prays for us. He will 
 never forget us. His new name will not alter his heart. And, 
 perhaps one day, when the novitiate is over, we may see him 
 again. But to see him as no more our Fritz, but Brother 
 Sebastian! — his home, the Augustinian cloister! — his mother, 
 the church ! — his sisters, all holy women ! — would it not be 
 almost worse than not seeing him at all % 
 
 We are all to move to Wittemberg in a month, except Pollux, 
 who is to remain 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 me many a gleam of joy when I think of it. If the 
 elector whose presence I so trembled to enter, proved so much 
 more condescending and accessible than his courtiers, — oh, if 
 it could only be possible that we are making some mistake 
 about God, and that He after all may be more gracious and 
 ready to listen to us than His priests, or even than the saints 
 who wait on Him in His palace in heaven !
 
 VIII. 
 
 gxxtl'n Btoxv. 
 
 Erfurt, Augustinian Convent, A frit i. 
 
 SUPPOSE conflict of mind working on a constitution 
 weakened by the plague, brought on the illness from 
 which I am just recovering. It is good to feel 
 strength returning as I do. There is a kind of natural irresist- 
 ible delight in life, however little we have to live for, especially 
 to one so little prepared to die as I am. As I write, the rooks 
 are cawing in the churchyard elms, disputing and chattering like 
 a set of busy prosaic burghers. But retired from all this noisy 
 public life, two thrushes have built their nest in a thorn just 
 under the window of my cell. And early in the morning they 
 wake me with song. He flies hither and thither as busy as a 
 bee, with food for his mate, as she broods secure among the 
 thick leaves, and then he perches on a twig, and sings as if he 
 had nothing to do but to be happy. All is pleasure to him, 
 no doubt — the work as well as the singing. Happy the crea- 
 tures for whom it is God's will that they should live according 
 to their nature, and not contrary to it. 
 
 Probably in the recovering from illness, when the body is still 
 weak, yet thrilling with reviving strength, the heart is especially 
 tender, and yearns more towards home and former life than it 
 will when strength returns and brings duties. Or, perhaps, this 
 illness recalls the last, — and the loving faces and soft hushed 
 voices that were around me then. 
 
 Yet I have nothing to complain of. My aged confessor has 
 scarcely left my bedside. From the first he brought his bed 
 into my cell, and watched over me like a father.
 
 126 Chronicles of the Schdnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 And his words minister to my heart as much as his hands to 
 my bodily wants. 
 
 If my spirit would only take the comfort he offers, as easily 
 as I receive food and medicine from his hands ! 
 
 He does not attempt to combat my difficulties one by one. 
 He says — 
 
 " I am little of a physician. I cannot lay my hand on the 
 seat of disease. But there is One who can." And to Hirn I 
 know the simple-hearted old man prays for me. 
 
 Often he recurs to the declaration in the creed, " I believe in 
 the forgiveness of sins." " It is the command of God," he said 
 to me one day, " that we should believe in the forgiveness of 
 sins; not of David's or Peter's sins, but of ours, our own, the 
 very sins that distress our consciences." He also quoted a ser- 
 mon of St. Bernard's on the annunciation. 
 
 " The testimony of the Holy Ghost given in thy heart is this, 
 ' Thy sins are forgiven thee.' " 
 
 Yes, forgiven to all penitents! But who can assure me I am 
 a true penitent 1 ? 
 
 These words, he told me, comforted Brother Martin, and he 
 wonders they do not comfort me. I suppose Brother Martin 
 had "the testimony of the Holy Ghost in his heart;" but who 
 shall give that to me! tome who resisted the vocation of the 
 Holy Ghost so long ; who in my deepest heart obey it so im- 
 perfectly still ! 
 
 Brother Martin was faithful, honest, thorough, single-hearted, 
 — all that God accepts ; all that I am not ! 
 
 The affection and compassion of my aged confessor often, 
 however, comfort me, even when his words have little power. 
 They make me feel a dim hope now and then that the Lord he 
 serves may have something of the same pity in his heart. 
 
 Erfurt, April 15. 
 
 The Vicar-General, Staupitz, has visited our convent. I have 
 confessed to him. He was very gentle with me, and to my 
 surprise prescribed me scarcely any penance, although I endea- 
 voured to unveil all to him. 
 
 Once he murmured, as if to himself, looking at me with a
 
 Fritzs Story. 127 
 
 penetrating compassion, " Yes, there is no drawing back. But 
 I wish I had known this before." And then he added to me, 
 " Brother, we must not confuse suffering with sin. It is sin to 
 turn back. It may be anguish to look back and see what we 
 have renounced, but it is not necessarily sin, if we resolutely 
 press forward still. And if sin mingles with the regret, remem- 
 ber we have to do not with a painted, but a real Saviour; and 
 he died not for painted but for real sins. Sin is never overcome 
 by looking at it, but by looking away from it to Him who bore 
 our sins, yours and mine, on the cross. The heart is never 
 won back to God by thinking we ought to love him, but by 
 learning what he is, all worthy of our love. True repentance 
 begins with the love of God. The Holy Spirit teaches us to 
 know, and, therefore, to love God. Fear not, but read the 
 Scriptures, and pray. He will employ thee in his service yet, 
 and in his favour is life, and in his service is freedom." 
 
 This confession gave me great comfort for the time. I felt 
 myself understood, and yet not despaired of. And that even- 
 ing, after repeating the Hours, I ventured in my own words to 
 pray to God, and found it solemn and sweet. 
 
 But since then my old fear has recurred. Did I indeed con- 
 fess completely even to the Vicar-General 1 ? If I had, would 
 not his verdict have been different 1 Does not the very mild- 
 ness of his judgment prove that I have once more deceived my- 
 self — made a false confession, and, therefore, failed of the ab- 
 solution ! But it is a relief to have his positive command as my 
 superior to study the Holy Scriptures, instead of the scholastic 
 theologians, to whose writings my preceptor had lately been 
 exclusively directing my studies. 
 
 AJ>ril 25. 
 
 I have this day, to my surprise, received a command, issuing 
 from the Vicar-General, to prepare to set off on a mission to 
 Rome. 
 
 The monk under whose direction I am to journey I do not 
 yet know. 
 
 The thought of the new scenes we shall pass through, and the 
 wonderful new world we shall enter on, — new and old, — fills 
 me with an almost childish delight. Since I heard it, my heart
 
 12S Chronicles of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 and conscience seem to have become strangely lightened, which 
 proves, I fear, how little real earnestness there is in me. 
 
 Another thing, however, has comforted me greatly. In the 
 course of my confession I spoke to the Vicar-General about 
 my family, and he has procured for my father an appointment 
 as superintendent of the Latin printing press, at the Elector's 
 new University of Wittemberg. 
 
 I trust now that the heavy pressure of pecuniary care which 
 has weighed so long on my mother and Else will be relieved. 
 It would have been sweeter to me to have earned this relief for 
 them by my own exertions. But we must not choose the shape 
 or the time in which divine messengers shall appear. 
 
 The Vicar-General has, moreover, presented me with a little 
 volume of sermons by a pious Dominican friar, named Tauler. 
 These are wonderfully deep and heart-searching. I find it diffi- 
 cult to reconcile the sublime and enrapt devotion to God which 
 inspires them, with the minute rules of our order, the details of 
 scholastic casuistry, and the precise directions as to the measure 
 of worship and honour, Dulia, Hyperdulia, and Latria to be 
 paid to the various orders of heavenly beings, which make 
 prayer often seem as perplexing to me as the ceremonial of 
 the imperial court would to a peasant of the Thuringian 
 forest. 
 
 This Dominican speaks as if we might soar above all these 
 lower things, and lose ourselves in the One Ineffable Source, 
 Ground, Beginning, and End of all Being; the One who is all. 
 
 Dearer to me, however, than this, is an old manuscript in 
 our convent library, containing the confessions of the patron of 
 our order himself, the great father Augustine. 
 
 Straight from his heart it penetrates into mine, as if spoken 
 to me to-day. Passionate, fervent, struggling, wandering, 
 trembling, adoring heart, I feel its pulses through every line! 
 
 And was this the experience of one who is now a saint on 
 the most glorious heights of heaven 1 ? 
 
 Then the mother! Patient, lowly, noble, saintly Monica; 
 mother, and more than martyr. She rises before me in the 
 likeness of a beloved form I may remember without sin, even 
 here, even now. St. Monica speaks to me with my mother's
 
 Fritzs Story. 129 
 
 voice ; and in the narrative of her prayers I seem to gain a 
 deeper insight into what my mother's have been for me. 
 
 St. Augustine was happy, to breathe the last words of com- 
 fort to her himself as he did, to be with her dwelling in one 
 house to the last. This can scarcely be given to me. " That 
 sweet habit of living together" is broken for ever between us; 
 broken by my deliberate act. "For the glory of God!" may 
 God accept it ; if not, may he forgive ! 
 
 That old manuscript is worn with reading. It has lain in the 
 convent library for certainly more than a hundred years. Gene- 
 ration after generation of those who now lie sleeping in the field 
 of God below our windows have turned over those pages. 
 Heart after heart has doubtless come, as I came, to consult the 
 oracle of that deep heart of old times, so nearly shipwrecked, so 
 gloriously saved. 
 
 As I read the old thumbed volume, a company of spirits seems 
 to breathe in fellowship around me, and I think how many, 
 strengthened by these words, are perhaps even now, like him 
 who penned them, amongst the spirits of the just made perfect. 
 
 In the convent library, the dead seem to live again around me. 
 In the cemetery are the relics of the corruptible body. Among 
 these worn volumes I feel the breath of the living spirits of gen- 
 erations passed away. 
 
 I must say, however, there is more opportunity for solitary 
 communion with the departed in that library than I could wish. 
 The books are not so much read, certainly, in these days, as the 
 Vicar-General would desire, although the Augustinian has the 
 reputation of being among the more learned orders. 
 
 I often question what brought many of these easy comfor- 
 table monks here. But many of the faces give no reply to my 
 search. No history seems written on them. The wrinkles seem 
 mere ruts of the wheels of Time, not furrows sown with the seeds 
 of thought, — happy at least if they are not as fissures rent by 
 the convulsions of inward fires. 
 
 I suppose many of the brethren became monks just as other 
 men become tailors or shoemakers, and with no further spiritual 
 aim, because their parents planned it so. Rut I may wrong even 
 the meanest in saying so. The shallowest human heart has 
 
 9
 
 130 Chronicles of the ScJwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 depths somewhere, let them be crusted over by ice ever so thick, 
 or veiled by flowers ever so fair. 
 
 And I — I and this unknown brother are actually about to 
 journey to Italy, the glorious land of sunshine, and vines, and 
 olives, and ancient cities — the land of Rome, imperial, saintly 
 Rome, where countless martyrs sleep, where St. Augustine and 
 Monica sojourned, where St. Paul and St. Peter preached and 
 suffered, — where the vicar of Christ lives and reigns? 
 
 May 1. 
 
 The brother with whom I am to make the pilgrimage to Rome 
 arrived last night. To my inexpressible delight it is none other 
 than Brother Martin — Martin Luther! Professor of Theology 
 in the Elector's new University of Wittemberg. He is much 
 changed again since I saw him last, toiling through the streets 
 of Erfurt with the sack on his shoulder. The hollow, worn look, 
 has disappeared from his face, and the fire has come back to 
 his eyes. Their expression varies, indeed, often from the 
 sparkle of merriment to a grave earnestness, when all their light 
 seems withdrawn inward ; but underneath there is that kind of 
 repose I have noticed in the countenance of my aged confessor. 
 
 Brother Martin's face has, indeed, a history written on it, and 
 a history, I deem, not yet finished. 
 
 Heidelberg, May 25. 
 
 I wondered at the lightness of heart with which I set out on 
 our journey from Erfurt. 
 
 The Vicar-General himself accompanied us hither. We tra- 
 velled partly on horseback, and partly in wheeled carriages. 
 
 The conversation turned much on the prospects of the new 
 university, and the importance of finding good professors of the 
 ancient languages for it. Brother Martin himself proposed to 
 make use of his sojourn at Rome, to improve himself in Greek 
 and Hebrew, by studying under the learned Greeks and rabbis 
 there. They counsel me also to do the same. 
 
 The business which calls us to Rome is an appeal to the Holy 
 Father, concerning a dispute between some convents of our 
 Order and the Vicar-General. 
 
 But they say business is slowly conducted at Rome, and will 
 leave us much time for other occupations besides those which
 
 Fritzs Story. 131 
 
 are most on our hearts, namely, paying homage at the tombs of 
 the holy apostles and martyrs. 
 
 They speak most respectfully and cordially of the Elector 
 Frederick, who must indeed be a very devout prince. Not many 
 years since, he accomplished a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and 
 took with him the painter Lucas Cranach, to make drawings of 
 the various holy places. 
 
 About ten years since, he built a church dedicated to St. 
 Ursula, on the site of the small chapel erected in 1353, over the 
 Holy Thorn from the Crown of Thorns, presented to a former 
 elector by the king of France. 
 
 This church is already, they say, through the Elector Frederick's 
 diligence, richer in relics than any church in Europe, except that 
 of Assisi, the birthplace of St. Francis. And the collection is 
 still continually being increased. 
 
 They showed me a book printed at Wittemberg a year or two 
 since, entitled " A Description of the Venerable Relics," adorned 
 with one hundred and nineteen woodcuts. 
 
 The town itself seems to be still poor and mean compared 
 with Eisenach and Erfurt; and the students, of whom there are 
 now nearly five hundred, are at times very turbulent. There is 
 much beer-drinking among them. In 1507, three years since, 
 the Bishop of Brandenburg laid the whole city under interdict 
 for some insult offered by the students to his suite, and now 
 they are forbidden to wear guns, swords, or knives. 
 
 Brother Martin, however, is full of hope as to the good to be 
 done among them. He himself received the degree of Biblicus 
 (Bible teacher) on the 9th of March last year; and every day he 
 lectures between twelve and one o'clock. 
 
 Last summer, for the first time, he was persuaded by the 
 Vicar-General to preach publicly. I heard some conversation 
 between them in reference to this, which afterwards Brother 
 Martin explained to me. 
 
 Dr. Staupitz and Brother Martin were sitting last summer in 
 the convent garden at Wittemberg together, under the shade of 
 a pear tree, whilst the Vicar-General endeavoured to prevail on 
 him to preach. He was exceedingly unwilling to make the 
 attempt. " It is no little matter," said he to Dr. Staupitz, " to
 
 132 Chronicles of the ScJi'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 appear before the people in the place of God." " I had fifteen 
 arguments," he continued in relating it to me, " wherewith I 
 purposed to resist my vocation ; but they availed nothing." At 
 the last I said, " Dr. Staupitz, you will be the death of me, for 
 I cannot live under it three months." " Very well," replied Dr. 
 Staupitz, " still go on. Our Lord God hath many great things 
 to accomplish, and he has need of wise men in heaven as well 
 as in earth." 
 
 Brother Martin could not further resist, and after making a 
 trial before the brethren in the refectory, at last, with a tremb- 
 ling heart he mounted the pulpit of the little chapel of the 
 Augustinian cloister. 
 
 " When a preacher for the first time enters the pulpit," he 
 concluded, " no one would believe how fearful he is ; he sees so 
 many heads before him. When I go into the pulpit, I do not 
 look on any one. I think them only to be so many blocks 
 before me, and I speak out the words of my God." 
 
 And yet Dr. Staupitz says his words are like thunder-peals. 
 
 Yet! do I say? Is it not because? He feels himself nothing; 
 
 he feels his message everything; he feels God present. What 
 
 more could be needed to make a man of his power a great 
 
 preacher? 
 
 With such discourse the journey seemed accomplished quickly 
 indeed. And yet, almost the happiest hours to me were those 
 when we were all silent, and the new scenes passed rapidly 
 before me. It Avas a great rest to live for a time on what I saw, 
 and cease from thought, and remembrance, and inward quest- 
 ionings altogether. For have I not been commanded this journey 
 by my superiors, so that in accordance with my vow of obedi- 
 ence, my one duty at present is to travel ; and therefore what 
 pleasure it chances to bring I must not refuse. 
 
 We spent some hours in Nuremberg. The quaint rich carvings 
 of many of the houses were beautiful There also we saw 
 Albrecht Durer's paintings, and heard Hans Sachs, the shoe- 
 maker and poet, sing his godly German hymns. And as we 
 crossed the Bavarian plains, the friendliness of the simple 
 peasantry made up to us for the sameness of the country. 
 
 Near Heidelberg again I fancied myself once more in the
 
 Fritzs Story. 133 
 
 Thuringian forest, especially as we rested in the convent of 
 Erbach in the Odenwald. Again the familiar forests and green 
 valleys with their streams were around me. I fear Else and the 
 others will miss the beauty of the forest-covered hills around 
 Eisenach, when they remove to Wittemberg, which is situated 
 on a barren, monotonous flat. About this time they will be 
 moving ! 
 
 Brother Martin has held many disputations on theological 
 and philosophical questions in the University of Heidelberg; 
 but I, being only a novice, have been free to wander whither I 
 would. 
 
 This evening it was delightful to stand in the woods of the 
 Elector Palatine's castle, and from among the oaks and delicate 
 birches rustling about me, to look down on the hills of the 
 Odenwald folding over each other. Far up among them I traced 
 the narrow, quiet Neckar, issuing from the silent depths of the 
 forest ; while on the other side, below the city, it wound on 
 through the plain to the Rhine, gleaming here and there with 
 the gold of sunset or the cold grey light of the evening. Beyond, 
 far off, I could see the masts of ships on the Rhine. 
 
 I scarcely know why, the river made me think of life, of mine 
 and Brother Martin's. Already he has left the shadow of the 
 forests. Who can say what people his life will bless, what sea 
 it will reach, and through what perils? Of this I feel sure, it 
 will matter much to many what its course shall be. For me it 
 is otherwise. My life, as far as earth is concerned, seems closed, 
 — ended; and it can matter little to any, henceforth, through 
 what regions it passes, if only it reaches the ocean at last, and 
 ends, as they say, in the bosom of God. If only we could be 
 sure that God guides the course of our lives as he does that of 
 rivers ! And yet, do they not say that some rivers lose them- 
 selves in sandwastes, and others trickle meanly to the sea 
 through lands they have desolated into untenantable marshes % 
 
 Black Forest, May 14, 1510. 
 
 Brother Martin and I are now fairly on our pilgrimage alone, 
 walking all day, begging our provisions and our lodgings, which 
 he sometimes repays by performing a mass in the parish church,
 
 134 Chronicles of the ScJi'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 or by a promise of reciting certain prayers or celebrating masses 
 on the behalf of our benefactors, at Rome. 
 
 These are, indeed, precious days. My whole frame seems 
 braced and revived by the early rising, the constant movement 
 in the pure air, the pressing forward to a definite point. 
 
 But more, infinitely more than this, my heart seems reviving. 
 I begin to have a hope and see a light which, until now, I scarcely 
 deemed possible. 
 
 To encourage me in my perplexities and conflicts, Brother 
 Martin unfolded to me what his own had been. To the storm 
 of doubt, and fear, and anguish in that great heart of his, my 
 troubles seems like a passing spring shower. Yet to me they 
 were tempests which laid my heart waste. And God, Brother 
 Martin believes, does not measure his pity by what our sorrows 
 are in themselves, but what they are to us. Are we not all chil- 
 dren, little children, in his sight 1 ! 
 
 " I did not learn my divinity at once," he said, " but was con- 
 strained by my temptations to search deeper and deeper; for no 
 man without trials and temptations can attain a true understand- 
 ing of the Holy Scriptures. St. Paul had a devil that beat him 
 with fists, and with temptations drove him diligently to study 
 the Holy Scriptures. Temptations hunted me into the Bible, 
 wherein I sedulously read; and thereby, God be praised, at length 
 attained a true understanding of it." 
 
 He then related to me what some of these temptations were; 
 — the bitter disappointment it was to him to find that the cowl, 
 and even the vows and the priestly consecration, made no 
 change in his heart ; that Satan was as near him in the cloister 
 as outside, and he no stronger to cope with him. He told me 
 of his endeavours to keep every minute rule of the order, and 
 how the slightest deviation weighed on his conscience. It 
 seems to have been like trying to restrain a fire by a fence of 
 willows, or to guide a mountain torrent in artificial windings 
 through a flower-garden, to bind his fervent nature by these 
 vexatious rules. He was continually becoming absorbed in 
 some thought or study, and forgetting all the rules, and then 
 painfully he would turn back and retrace his steps; sometimes 
 spending weeks in absorbing study, and then remembering he
 
 Fritz's Story. 135 
 
 had neglected his canonical hours, and depriving himself of 
 sleep for nights to make up the missing prayers. 
 
 He fasted, disciplined himself, humbled himself to perform 
 the meanest offices for the meanest brother; forcibly kept sleep 
 from his eyes wearied with study, and his mind worn out with 
 conflict, until every now and then Nature avenged herself by 
 laying him unconscious on the floor of his cell, or disabling him 
 by a fit of illness. 
 
 But all in vain; his temptations seemed to grow stronger, his 
 strength less. Love to God he could not feel at all; but in his 
 secret soul the bitterest questioning of God, who seemed to tor- 
 ment him at once by the law and the gospel. He thought of 
 Christ as the severest judge, because the most righteous; and 
 the very phrase, " the righteousness of God," was torture to him. 
 
 Not that this state of distress was continual with him. At 
 times he gloried in his obedience, and felt that he earned re- 
 wards from God by performing the sacrifice of the mass, not 
 only for himself, but for others. At times, also, in his circuits, 
 after his consecration, to say mass in the villages around Erfurt, 
 he would feel his spirits lightened by the variety of the scenes 
 he witnessed, and would be greatly amused at the ridiculous 
 mistakes of the village choirs; for instance, their chanting the 
 " Kyrie" to the music of the " Gloria. 
 
 Then, at other times, his limbs would totter with terror when 
 he offered the holy sacrifice, at the thought that he, the sacri- 
 ficing priest, yet the poor, sinful Brother Martin, actually stood 
 before God " without a Mediator." 
 
 At his first mass he had difficulty in restraining himself from 
 flying from the altar — so great was his awe and the sense of his 
 unworthiness. Had he done so, he would have been excom- 
 municated. 
 
 Again, there were days when he perfonned the services with 
 some satisfaction, and would conclude with saying, " O Lord 
 Jesus, I come to thee, and entreat thee to be pleased with 
 whatsoever I do and suffer in my order; and I pray thee that 
 these burdens and this straitness of my rule and religion may 
 be a full satisfaction for all my sins." 
 
 Yet then again, the dread would come that perhaps he had
 
 136 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 inadvertently omitted some word in the service, such as : 
 "enim" or "seternum," or neglected some prescribed genu- 
 flexion, or even a signing of the cross ; and that thus, instead 
 of offering to God an acceptable sacrifice in the mass, he had 
 committed a grievous sin. 
 
 From such terrors of conscience he fled for refuge to some of 
 his twenty-one patron saints, or oftener to Mary, seeking to 
 touch her womanly heart, that she might appease her Son. He 
 hoped that by invoking three saints daily, and by letting his 
 body waste away with fastings and watchings, he should satisfy 
 the law, and shield his conscience against the goad of the driver. 
 But it all availed him nothing. The further he went on in this 
 way, the more he was terrified. 
 
 And then he related to me how the light broke upon his 
 heart; slowly, intermittently, indeed; yet it has dawned on him. 
 His day may often be dark and tempestuous; but it is day, and 
 not night. 
 
 Dr. Staupitz was the first who brought him any comfort. 
 The Vicar-General received his confession not long after he 
 entered the cloister, and from that time won his confidence, 
 and took the warmest interest in him. Brother Martin fre- 
 quently wrote to him; and once he used the words, in reference 
 to some neglect of the rules which troubled his conscience, 
 "Oh, my sins, my sins!" Dr. Staupitz replied, "You would 
 be without sin, and yet you have no proper sins. Christ for- 
 gives true sins, such as parricide, blasphemy, contempt of God, 
 adultery, and sins like these. These are sins indeed. You 
 must have a register in which stand veritable sins, if Christ is to 
 help you. You would be a painted sinner, and have a painted 
 Christ as a Saviour. You-must make up your mind that Christ 
 is a real Saviour, and you a real sinner." 
 
 These words brought some light to Brother Martin, but the 
 darkness came back again and again; and tenderly did Dr. 
 Staupitz sympathize with him and rouse him — Dr. Staupitz, and 
 that dear aged confessor, who ministered also so lovingly to me. 
 Brother Martin's great terror was the thought of the righteous- 
 ness of God, by which he had been taught to understand his 
 inflexible severity in executing judgment on sinners.
 
 Fritz's Story. 137 
 
 Dr. Staupitz and the confessor explained to him that the 
 righteousness of God is not against the sinner who believes in 
 the Lord Jesus Christ, but ./Or him — not against us to condemn, 
 but for us to justify". 
 
 He began to study the Bible with a new zest. He had had 
 the greatest longing to understand rightly the Epistle of St. 
 Paul to the Romans, but was always stopped by the word 
 " righteousness" in the first chapter and seventeenth verse, 
 where Paul says the righteousness of God is revealed by the 
 gospel. " I felt very angry," he said, " at the term, ' righteous- 
 ness of God;' for, after the manner of all the teachers, I was 
 taught to understand it in a philosophic sense, of that righteous- 
 ness by which God is just and punisheth the guilty. Though 
 I had lived without reproach, I felt myself to be a great sinner 
 before God, and was of a very quick conscience, and had not 
 confidence in a reconciliation with God to be produced by any 
 work or satisfaction or merit of my own. For this cause I had 
 in me no love of a righteous and angry God, but secretly hated 
 him, and thought within myself, Is it not enough that God has 
 condemned us to everlasting death by Adam's sin, and that we 
 must suffer so much trouble and miseiy in this life] Over and 
 above the terror and threatening of the law, must he needs in- 
 crease by the gospel our misery and anguish, and, by the preach- 
 ing of the same, thunder against us his justice and fierce 
 wrath] My confused conscience ofttimes did cast me into fits 
 of anger, and I sought day and night to make out the meaning 
 of Paul ; and at last I came to apprehend it thus : Through the 
 gospel is revealed the righteousness which availeth with God — 
 a righteousness by which God, in his mercy and compassion, 
 justifieth us ; as it is written, ' The just shall live by faith! 
 Straightway I felt as if I were born anew; it was as if I had 
 found the door of Paradise thrown wide open. Now I saw the 
 Scriptures altogether in a new light — ran through their whole 
 contents as far as my memory would serve, and compared 
 them — and found that this righteousness was the more surely 
 that by which he makes us righteous, because everything 
 agreed thereunto so well. The expression, ' the righteousness 
 of God,' which I so much hated before, became now dear and
 
 138 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 precious — my darling and most comforting word. That pas- 
 sage of Paul was to me the true door of Paradise." 
 
 Brother Martin also told me of the peace the words, " I be- 
 lieve in the forgiveness of sins," brought to him, as the aged 
 confessor had previously narrated to me ; for, he said, the devil 
 often plucked him back, and, taking the very form of Christ, 
 sought to terrify him again with his sins. 
 
 As I listened to him, the conviction came on me that he had 
 indeed drunk of the well-spring of everlasting life, and it seemed 
 almost within my own reach; but I said — 
 
 " Brother Martin, your sins were mere transgressions of 
 human rules, but mine are different." And I told him how I 
 had resisted my vocation. He replied — 
 
 " The devil gives heaven to people before they sin ; but after 
 they sin, brings their consciences into despair. Christ deals 
 quite in the contrary way, for he gives heaven after sins com- 
 mitted, and makes troubled consciences joyful." 
 
 Then we fell into a long silence, and from time to time, as I 
 looked at the calm which reigned on his rugged and massive 
 brow, and felt the deep light in his dark eyes, the conviction 
 gathered strength — 
 
 " This solid rock on which that tempest-tossed spirit rests is 
 Truth!" 
 
 His lips moved now and then, as if in prayer, and his eyes 
 were lifted up from time to time to heaven, as if his thoughts 
 found a home there. 
 
 After this silence, he spoke again, and said — 
 
 " The gospel speaks nothing of our works, or of the works of 
 the law, but of the inestimable mercy and love of God towards 
 most wretched and miserable sinners. Our most merciful 
 Father, seeing us overwhelmed and oppressed with the curse 
 of the law, and so to be holden under the same that we could 
 never be delivered from it by our own power, sent his only Son 
 into the world, and laid upon him the sins of all men, saying, 
 ' Be thou Peter, that denier; Paul, that persecutor, blasphemer, 
 and cruel oppressor; David, that adulterer; that sinner that did 
 eat the apple in Paradise; that thief that hanged upon the cross; 
 and briefly, be thou the person that hath committed the sins of
 
 Fritz's Story. 139 
 
 all men, and pay and satisfy for them.' For God trifleth not with 
 us, but speaketh earnestly and of great love, .that Christ is the 
 Lamb of God who beareth the sins of us all. He is just, and 
 the justifier of him that believeth in Jesus." 
 
 I could answer nothing to this, but walked along pondering 
 these words. Neither did he say any more at that time. 
 
 The sun was sinking low, and the long shadows of the pine 
 trunks were thrown athwart our green forest-path, so that we 
 were glad to find a charcoal-burner's hut, and to take shelter 
 for the night beside his files. 
 
 But that night I could not sleep ; and when all were sleeping 
 around me, I rose aad went out into the forest. 
 
 Brother Martin is not a man to parade his inmost conflicts 
 before the eyes of others, to call forth their sympathy or theii 
 idle wonder. He has suffered too deeply and too recently for 
 that. It is not lightly that he has unlocked the dungeons and 
 torture-chambers of his past life for me. It is as a fellow- 
 sufferer and a fellow-soldier, to show me how I also may escape 
 and overcome. 
 
 It is surely because he is to be a hero and a leader of men 
 that God has caused him to tread these bitter ways alone. 
 
 A new meaning dawns on old words for me. There is no« 
 thing new in what he says ; but it seems new to me, as if God 
 had spoken it first to-day ; and all things seem made new in its 
 light. 
 
 God, then, is more earnest for me to be saved than I am to 
 be saved ! 
 
 " He so loved the world, that he gave his Son. 
 
 He loved not saints, not penitents, not the religious, not 
 those who love him; but "the world" secular men, profane 
 men; hardened rebels, hopeless wanderers and sinners ! 
 
 He gave not a mere promise, not an angel to teach us, not a 
 world to ransom us, but his Son — his Only-begotten ! 
 
 So much did God love the world, sinners, me ! I believe 
 this ; I must believe it ; I believe on him who says it. How 
 can I then do otherwise than rejoice 1 
 
 Two glorious visions rise before me and begin to fill the 
 world and all my heart with joy.
 
 140 Chronicles of the Schojiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 I see the Holiest, the Perfect, the Son made the victim, the 
 lamb, the curse, willingly yielding himself up to death on the 
 cross for me. 
 
 I see the Father — inflexible in justice yet delighting in mercy 
 — accepting him, the spotless Lamb whom he had given ; raising 
 him from the dead ; setting him on his right hand. Just, beyond 
 all my terrified conscience could picture him, he justifies me 
 the sinner. 
 
 Hating sin as love must abhor selfishness, and life death, and 
 purity corruption, he loves me — the selfish, the corrupt, the 
 dead in sins. He gives his Son, the Only-begotten, for me; he 
 accepts his Son, the spotless Lamb, for me; he forgives me; he 
 acquits me; he will make me pure. 
 
 The thought overpowered me. I knelt among the pines and 
 spoke to Him who hears when we have no words, for words 
 failed me altogether then. 
 
 Munich, May 18. 
 
 All the next day and the next that joy lasted. Every twig, 
 and bird, and dew-drop spoke in parables to me; sang to me 
 the parable of the son who had returned from the far country, 
 and as he went towards his father's house prepared his confes- 
 sion; but never finished the journey, for the father met him 
 when he was yet a great way off; and never finished the con- 
 fession, for the father stopped his self-reproaches with embraces. 
 
 And on the father's heart what child could say, " Make me 
 as one of thy hired servants ]" 
 
 I saw His love shining in every dew-drop on the grassy forest 
 glades; I heard it in the song of every bird; I felt it in every 
 pulse. 
 
 I do not know that we spoke much during those days, Bro- 
 ther Martin and I. 
 
 I have known something of love ; but I have never felt a love 
 that so fills, overwhelms, satisfies, as this love of God. And 
 when first it is " thou and I" between God and the soul, for a 
 time, at least, the heart has little room for other fellow- 
 ship. 
 
 But then came doubts and questionings. Whence came they 
 Brother Martin said from Satan.
 
 Fritz^s Story. 141 
 
 " The devil is a wretched, unhappy spirit," said he, " and he 
 loves to make us wretched." 
 
 One thing that began to trouble me was, whether I had the 
 right kind of faith. Old definitions of faith recurred to me, by 
 which faith is said to be nothing unless it is informed with 
 charity and developed into good works, so that when it saith we 
 are justified by faith, the part is taken for the whole — and it means 
 by faith, also hope, charity, all the graces, and all good works. 
 
 But Brother Martin declared it meaneth simply believing. 
 He said, — 
 
 " Faith is an almighty thing, for it giveth glory to God, 
 which is the highest service that can be given to him. Now, 
 to give glory to God, is to believe in him; to count him true, 
 wise, righteous, merciful, almighty. The chiefest thing God 
 requireth of man is, that he giveth unto him his glory and divi- 
 nity; that is to say, that he taketh him not for an idol, but for 
 God; who regardeth him, heareth him, showeth mercy unto him, 
 and helpeth him. For faith saith thus, ' I believe thee, O God, 
 when thou speakest.'" 
 
 But our great wisdom, he says, is to look away from all these 
 questionings, — from our sins, our works, ourselves, to Christ, 
 who is our righteousness, our Saviour, our all. 
 
 Then at times other things perplex me. If faith is so simple, 
 and salvation so free, why all those orders, rules, pilgrimages, 
 penances 1 
 
 And to these perplexities we can neither of us find any 
 answer. But we must be obedient to the Church. What we 
 cannot understand we must receive and obey. This is a monk's 
 duty, at least. 
 
 Then at times another temptation comes on me. " If thou 
 had'st known of this before," a voice says deep in my heart, " thou 
 couldst have served God joyfully in thy home, instead of pain- 
 fully in the cloister; couldst have helped thy parents and Else, and 
 spoken with Eva on these things, which her devout and simple 
 heart has doubtless received already." But, alas ! I know too 
 well what tempter ventures to suggest that name to me, and I 
 say, " Whatever might have been, malicious spirit, now I am a 
 religious, a devoted man, to whom it is perdition to draw back !"
 
 142 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Yet, in a sense, I seem less separated from my beloved ones 
 during these past days. 
 
 There is a brotherhood, there is a family, more permanent 
 than the home at Eisenach, or even the Order of St. Augustine, 
 in which we may be united still. There is a home in which, 
 perhaps, we may yet be one household again. 
 
 And meantime, God may have some little useful work for me 
 to do here, which in his presence may make life pass as quickly 
 as this my pilgrimage to Rome in Brother Martin's company. 
 
 Benedictine Monastery in Lombardy. 
 
 God has given us during these last days to see, as I verily 
 believe, some glimpses into Eden. The mountains with snowy 
 summits, like the white steps of His throne j the rivers which 
 flow from them and enrich the land ; the crystal seas, like glass 
 mingled with fire, when the reflected snow-peaks burn in the 
 lakes at dawn or sunset; and then this Lombard plain, watered 
 with rivers which make its harvests gleam like gold ; this garner 
 of God, where the elms or chestnuts grow among the golden 
 maize, and the vines festoon the trees, so that all the land seems 
 garlanded for a perpetual holy day. We came through the Tyrol 
 by Fiissen, and then struck across by the mountains and the 
 lakes to Milan. 
 
 Now we are entertained like princes in this rich Benedictine 
 abbey. Its annual income is 36,000 florins. " Of eating and 
 feasting," as Brother Martin says, " there is no lack ;■" for 12,000 
 florins are consumed on guests, and as large a sum on building. 
 The residue goeth to the convent and the brethren. 
 
 They have received us poor German monks with much hon- 
 our, as a deputation from the great Augustinian Order to the 
 Pope. 
 
 The manners of these southern people are very gentle and 
 courteous ; but they are lighter in their treatment of sacred 
 things than we could wish. 
 
 The splendour of the furniture and dress amazes us ; it is 
 difficult to reconcile it with the vows of poverty and renuncia- 
 tion of the world. But I suppose they regard the vow of poverty 
 as binding not on the community, but only on the individual
 
 Fritz's Story. 143 
 
 monk. It must, however, at the best, be hard to live a severe 
 and ascetic life amidst such luxuries. Many, no doubt, do not 
 try. 
 
 The tables are supplied with the most costly and delicate 
 viands ; the walls are tapestried ; the dresses are of fine silk ; 
 the floors are inlaid with rich marbles. 
 
 Poor, poor splendours, as substitutes for the humblest home ! 
 
 Bologna, June. 
 
 We did not remain long in the Benedictine monastery, for 
 this reason : Brother Martin, I could see, had been much per- 
 plexed by their luxurious living ; but as a guest, had, I suppose, 
 scarcely felt at liberty to remonstrate, until Friday came, when, 
 to our amazement, the table was covered with meats and fruits, 
 and all kinds of viands, as on any other day, regardless not only 
 of the rules of the Order, but of the common laws of the whole 
 Church. 
 
 He would touch none of these dainties ; but not content with 
 this silent protest, he boldly said before the whole company, 
 " The Church and the Pope forbid such things ! " 
 
 We had then an opportunity of seeing into what the smooth- 
 ness of these Italian manners can change when ruffled. 
 
 The whole brotherhood burst into a storm of indignation. 
 Their dark eyes flashed, their white teeth gleamed with scornful 
 and angry laughter, and their voices rose in a tempest of 
 vehement words, many of which were unintelligible to us. 
 
 "Intruders," "barbarians," "coarse and ignorant Germans," 
 and other biting epithets, however, we could too well under- 
 stand. 
 
 Brother Martin stood like a rock amidst the torrent, and 
 threatened to make their luxury and disorder known at Rome. 
 
 When the assembly broke up, we noticed the brethren gather 
 apart in small groups, and cast scowling glances at us when we 
 chanced to pass near. 
 
 That evening the porter of the monastery came to us privately 
 and warned us that this convent was no longer a safe resting- 
 place for us. 
 
 Whether this was a friendly warning, or merely a device of
 
 '144 Chronicles of the Schdnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 the brethren to get rid of troublesome guests, I know not; but 
 we had no wish to linger, and before the next day dawned we 
 crept in the darkness out of a side gate into a boat, which 
 we found on the river which flows beneath the walls, and 
 escaped. 
 
 It was delightful to-day winding along the side of a hill, near 
 Bologna, for miles, under the flickering shade of trellises covered 
 with vines. But Brother Martin, I thought, looked ill and weary. 
 
 Bologna. 
 
 Thank God, Brother Martin is reviving again. He has been 
 on the very borders of the grave. 
 
 Whether it was the scorching heat through which we have 
 been travelling, or the malaria, which affected us with catarrh 
 one night when we slept with our windows open, or whether the 
 angry monks in the Benedictine Abbey mixed some poison with 
 our food, I know not ; but we had scarcely reached this place 
 when he became seriously ill. 
 
 As I watched beside him I learned something of the anguish 
 he passed through at our convent at Erfurt. The remembrance 
 of his sins and the terrors of God's judgment rushed on his mind, 
 weakened by suffering. At times he recognised that it was the 
 hand of the evil one which was keeping him down. "The 
 devil," he would say, " is the accuser of the brethren, not Christ. 
 Thou, Lord Jesus, art my forgiving Saviour!" And then he 
 would rise above the floods. Again his mind would bewilder 
 itself with the unfathomable — the origin of evil, the relation of 
 our free will to God's almighty will. 
 
 Then I ventured to recall to him the words of Dr. Staupitz 
 he had repeated to me : " Behold the wounds of Jesus Christ, 
 and then thou shalt see the counsel of God clearly shining forth. 
 We cannot comprehend God out of Jesus Christ. In Christ 
 you will find what God is, and what he requires. You will find 
 him nowhere else, whether in heaven or on earth." 
 
 It was strange to find myself, untried recruit that I am, thus 
 attempting to give refreshment to such a veteran and victor as 
 Brother Martin ; but when the strongest are brought into single 
 combats such as these, which must be single, a feeble hand may
 
 Fritz's Story. 145 
 
 bring a draught of cold water to revive the hero between the 
 pauses of the fight. 
 
 The victor)', however, can only be won by the combatant 
 himself; and at length Brother Martin fought his way through 
 once more, and as so often happens, just when the fight seemed 
 hottest. It was with an old weapon he overcame — " The just 
 shall live by faith." 
 
 Once more the words which have helped him so often, which 
 so frequently he has repeated on this journey, came with power 
 to his mind. Again he looked to the crucified Saviour; again 
 he believed in Him triumphant and ready to forgive on the 
 throne of grace ; and again his spirit was in the light. 
 
 His strength also soon began to return; and in a few days we 
 are to be in Rome. 
 
 Rome. 
 
 The pilgrimage is over. The holy city is at length 
 reached. 
 
 Across burning plains, under trellised vine-walks on the hill- 
 sides, over wild, craggy mountains, through valleys green with 
 chestnuts, and olives, and thickets of myrtle, and fragrant with 
 lavender and cistus, we walked, until at last the sacred towers 
 and domes burst on our sight, across a reach of the Campagna 
 — the city where St. Paul and St. Peter were martyred — the 
 metropolis of the kingdom of God. 
 
 The moment we came in sight of the city Brother Martin 
 prostrated himself on the earth, and, lifting up his hands to 
 heaven, exclaimed — 
 
 " Hail, sacred Rome! thrice sacred for the blood of the mar- 
 tyrs here shed." 
 
 And now we are within the sacred walls, lodged in the Augus- 
 tinian monastery, near to the northern gate, through which we 
 entered, called by the Romans the " Porta del Popolo." 
 
 Already Brother Martin has celebrated a mass in the convent 
 church. 
 
 And to-morrow we may kneel where apostles and martyrs 
 stood ! 
 
 We may perhaps even see the holy father himself ! 
 Are we indeed nearer heaven here 1 
 
 10
 
 146 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 It seems to me as if I felt God nearer that night in the Black 
 Forest. 
 
 There is so much tumult, and movement, and pomp around 
 us in the great city. 
 
 When, however, I feel it more familiar and home-like, perhaps 
 it will seem more heaven-like.
 
 IX. 
 
 to 
 
 Eisenach, April. 
 
 HE last words I shall write in our dear old lumber-room, 
 Fritz's and mine ! I have little to regret in it now, 
 however, that our twilight talks are over for ever. We 
 Leave early to-morrow morning for Wittemberg. It is strange to 
 look out into the old street, and think how all will look exactly 
 the same there to-morrow evening, — the monks siowly pacing 
 along in pairs, the boys rushing out of school, as they are now, 
 the maid-servants standing at the doors with the baby in their 
 arms, or wringing their mops, — and we gone. How small a 
 blank people seem to make when they are gone, however large 
 the space they seemed to fill when they were present, — except, 
 indeed, to two or three hearts ! I see 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 the same as 
 before he became a monk, — except, indeed, with the mother 
 and Eva and me. 
 
 The mother seems more and more like a shadow gliding in 
 and out among us. 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 of the inclination she thinks she 
 neglected in her youth towards the cloister, I understand her 
 better, — the trembling fear with which she receives any good 
 thing, and the hopeless submission with which she bows to 
 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 it most keenly. She had, I feel sure, planned another 
 life for him. I see it in the peculiar tenderness of the tie which
 
 148 CJironicles of the Scliouberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 binds her to Eva. She said to me to-day, as we were packing 
 up some of Fritz's books, " The sacrifice I was too selfish to 
 make myself my son has made for me. Else, 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 
 at last, God only knows with what fearful interest the debt may 
 have to be paid." 
 
 The words weigh on me like a curse. I cannot help feeling 
 sometimes, as I 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 
 exacts retribution ! — a creditor, exacting to the last farthing for 
 the most trifling 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 my mother is thus visited for a mistake, for 
 neglecting a doubtful vocation, my pious, sweet mother, what 
 hope is there for me, who scarcely pass a day without having to 
 repent of saying some sharp word to those boys (who certainly 
 are often very provoking), or doing what I ought not, or omit- 
 ting some religious duty, or at least without envying some one 
 who is richer, or inwardly murmuring at our lot, — even some- 
 times 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 pleased at the thought of our emigration. All day he 
 has been packing, and unpacking, and repacking his machines 
 into some specially safe corners of the great waggon which 
 cousin Conrad Cota has lent us for our journey. 
 
 Eva, on the other hand, seems to belong to this world as 
 little as the mother. Not that she looks depressed or hopeless. 
 Her face often perfectly beams with peace ; but it seems entirel} 
 independent of everything here, and is neither ruffled by the 
 difficulties we encounter, nor enhanced when anything goes a 
 little better. I must confess it rather provokes me, almost as 
 much as the boys do. I have serious fears that one day she 
 will leave us, like Fritz, and take refuge in a convent. And yet 
 I am sure I -have not a fault to find with her. I suppose that 
 is exactly what our grandmother and I feel so provoking.
 
 E/sPs Story. 149 
 
 Lately she has abandoned all her Latin books for a German 
 book entitled " Theologia Teutsch," or "Theologia Germanica," 
 which Fritz sent us before he left the Erfurt convent on his pil- 
 grimage to Rome. This book seems to make Eva very happy ; 
 but as to me, it appears to me more unintelligible than Latin. 
 Although it is quite different from all the 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 that would suit me. 
 It all seems so sublime and vague, and so far out of my reach ; 
 — only fit for people who have time to climb the heights; whilst 
 my path seems to lie in the valleys, and among the streets, and 
 amidst all kinds of little every-day secular duties and cares, 
 which religion is too lofty to notice. 
 
 I can only hope that some day at the end of my life God will 
 graciously give me a little leisure to be religious and to prepare 
 to meet him, or that Eva's and Fritz's prayers and merits will 
 avail for me. 
 
 WlTTEMBERG, May 1510. 
 
 We are beginning to get settled into our new home, which is 
 in the street near the University buildings. Martin Luther, or 
 Brother Martin, has a great name here. They say his lectures 
 are more popular than any one's. And he also frequently 
 preaches in the city church. Our grandmother is not pleased 
 wiUi the change. She calls the town a wretched mud village, 
 and wonders what can have induced the Electors of Saxony to 
 fix their residence and found a university in such a sandy desert 
 as this. She supposes it is very much like the deserts of 
 Arabia. 
 
 But Christopher and I think differently. There are several 
 very fine buildings here, beautiful churches, and the University, 
 and the Castle, and the Augustinian Monastery; and we have 
 no doubt that in time the rest of the town will grow up to them. 
 I have heard our grandmother say that babies with features too 
 large for their faces often prove the handsomest people when 
 they grow up to their features. And so, no doubt, it will be 
 with Wittemberg, which is at present certainly rather like an 
 infant with the eyes and nose of a full-grown man. The mud 
 walls and low cottages with thatched roofs look strangely out
 
 150 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 of keeping with the new buildings, the Elector's palace and 
 church at the western end, the city church in the centre, and 
 the Augustinian cloister and university at the eastern extremity, 
 near the Elster gate, close to which we live. 
 
 It is true that there are no forests of pines, and wild Hills, 
 and lovely green valleys here, as around Eisenach. But our 
 grandmother need not call it a wilderness. The white sand- 
 hills on the north are broken with little dells and copses ; and 
 on the south, not two hundred rods from 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 its quiet sources among the mountains, and onwards to 
 its home in the great sea. We had no great river at Eisenach, 
 which is an advantage on the side of Wittemberg. And then 
 the banks are fringed with low oaks and willows, which bend 
 affectionately over the water, and are delightful to sit amongst 
 on summer evenings. 
 
 If I were not a little afraid of the people ! The father does 
 not like Eva 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 is some comfort. But the towns- 
 people also are warlike and turbulent, and drink a great deal 
 of beer. There are one hundred and seventy breweries in the 
 place, although there are not more than three hundred and 
 fifty houses. Few of the inhabitants send their children to 
 school, although there are five hundred students from all parts 
 of Germany at the university. 
 
 Some of the poorer people, who come from the country 
 around to the markets, talk a language I cannot understand. 
 Our grandmother says they are Wends, and that this town is 
 the last place on the borders of the civilized world. Beyond 
 it, she declares, there are nothing but barbarians and Tartars. 
 Indeed, she is not sure whether our neighbours themselves are 
 Christians. 
 
 St. Boniface, the great apostle of the Saxons, did not extend 
 his labours further than Saxony; and she says the Teutonic 
 knights who conquered Prussia and the regions beyond us, were 
 only Christian colonists living in the midst of half-heathen
 
 ElsPs Story. 1 5 1 
 
 savages. To me it is rather a gloomy idea, to think that 
 between Wittemberg and the Turks and Tartars, or even the 
 savage* in the Indies beyond, which Christopher Columbus has 
 discovered, there are only a few half-civilized Wends, living in 
 those wretched hamlets which dot the sandy heaths around 
 the town. 
 
 But the father says it is a glorious idea, and that, if he were 
 only a little younger, he would organize a land expedition, and 
 traverse the country until he reached the Spaniards and the 
 Portuguese, who sailed to the 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 the houses are roofed and paved with 
 gold, and return laden with treasures!" It seems to make him 
 feel even his experiments with the retorts and crucibles in which 
 he is always on the point of transmuting lead into silver, to be 
 tame and slow processes. Since we have been here, he has for 
 the time abandoned his alchemical experiments, and sits for 
 hours with a great map spread before him, calculating in the 
 most accurate and elaborate manner how long it would take to 
 reach the new Spanish discoveries by way of Wendish Prussia. 
 " For," he remarks, " if I am never able to carry out the scheme 
 myself, it may one day immortalize one of my sons, and enrich 
 and ennoble the whole of our family ! " 
 
 Our journey from Eisenach was one continual fete to the 
 children. For my mother and the baby — now two years old — 
 we made a couch in the waggon, of the family bedding. My 
 grandmother sat erect in a nook among the furniture. Little 
 Thekla was enthroned like a queen on a pile of pillows, where 
 she sat hugging her own especial treasures, — her broken doll, 
 the wooden horse Christopher made for her, a precious store of 
 cones and pebbles from the forest, and a very shaggy dis- 
 reputable foundling dog which she has adopted, and can by no 
 means be persuaded to part with. She calls the dog Nix, and 
 is sure that he is always asking her with his wistful eyes to 
 teach him to speak, and give him a soul. With these, her 
 household gods, preserved to her, she showed little feeling at 
 parting from the rest of our Eisenach world.
 
 152 Chronicles of the ScJionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 The father was equally absorbed with his treasures, his folios, 
 and models, and instruments, which he jealously guarded. 
 
 Eva had but one inseparable treasure, the volume of the 
 " Theologia Germanica," which she has appropriated. 
 
 The mother's especial thought was the baby. Chriemhild 
 was overwhelmed with the parting with Polux, who was left 
 behind with Cousin Conrad Cotta; and Atlantis was so wild 
 with delight at the thought of the new world and the new life, 
 from which she was persuaded all the cares of the old were to 
 be extracted for ever, that, had it not been for Christopher and 
 me, I must say the general interests of the family would have 
 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 — w T hich have been so prolific for mischief — ■ 
 seemed suddenly turned into useful channels, like the mis- 
 chievous elves of the farm and hearth, when they are capriciously 
 bent on doing some poor human being a good turn. He 
 scarcely tried my temper once during the whole journey. Since 
 we reached Wittemberg, however, I cannot say as much. I feel 
 anxious about the companions he has found among the students, 
 and often, often I long that Fritz's religion had led him to 
 remain among us, at least until the boys had grown up. 
 
 I had nerved myself beforehand for the leave-taking with the 
 old friends and the old home, but when the moving actually 
 began, there was no time to think of anything but packing in 
 the last things which had been nearly forgotten, and arranging 
 every one in their places. I had not even a moment for a last 
 look at the old house, for at the instant we turned the corner, 
 Thekla and her treasures nearly came to an untimely end by 
 the downfall of one of the father's machines; which so dis- 
 couraged Thekla, and excited our grandmother, Nix, and the 
 baby, that it required considerable soothing to restore every 
 one to equanimity; and, in the meantime, the corner of the 
 street had been turned, and the dear 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 silent witness of so 
 many joys, and cares, and sorrows !
 
 Else's Story. 153 
 
 We had few adventures during the first day, except that 
 Thekla's peace was often broken by the difficulties in which 
 Nix's self-confident but not very courageous disposition fre- 
 quently involved him with the cats and dogs in the villages, 
 and their proprietors. 
 
 The first evening in the forest was delightful. We encamped 
 in a clearing. Sticks were gathered for a fire, round which we 
 arranged such bedding and furniture as we could unpack, and 
 the children were wild with delight at thus combining serious 
 household work with play, whilst Christopher foddered and 
 tethered the horses. 
 
 After our meal we began to tell stories, but our grandmother 
 positively forbade our mentioning the name of any of the forest 
 sprites, or of any evil 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 distant moanings among the pines, not quite 
 to be accounted for by the wind. I grew rather uneasy, and at 
 length lifted my head to see if any one else was 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 strange and unaccountable noises around us 1 I wonder 
 if it can be true that strange 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. I suppose in the solitude we feel them 
 nearer, and perhaps they are." 
 
 I was not at all re-assured. 
 
 " Eva," I said, " I wish you would say some prayers ; I feel 
 afraid I may not think of the right ones. But are you really 
 not at all afraid V 
 
 "Why should I bel" she said softly; "God is nearer us 
 always than all the spirits, good or evil, — nearer and greater 
 than all. And he is the Supreme Goodness. I like the soli- 
 tude, Cousin Else, because it seems to lift me above all the 
 creatures to the One who is all and in all. And I like the wild
 
 154 Chronicles of the Schdiiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 forests," she continued, as if to herself, "because God is the 
 only owner there, and I can feel more unreservedly, that we, 
 and the creatures, and all we most call our own, are His, and 
 only His. In the cities, the houses are called after the names 
 of men, and each street and 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 to all. There is but 
 one table, and that is His ; the creatures live as free pensioners 
 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's fall," she replied. " Some say it was because Adam 
 ate the apple that he was lost, or fell ; but my book says it 
 was ' because of his claiming something for his own ; and 
 because of his saying, I, mine, me, and the like.'" 
 
 " 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 same because all are equally God's ] If property is sin, 
 then why is stealing sin? Eva, this religion is quite above and 
 beyond me. It seems to me in this way it would be almost as 
 wrong to give thanks for what we have, as to covet what we 
 have not, because we ought not to think we have anything. 
 It perplexes me extremely." 
 
 I lay down again, resolved not to think any more about it. 
 Fritz and I proved once, a long time ago, how useless it is for 
 me, at least, to attempt to get beyond the Ten Commandments. 
 But trying to comprehend what Eva said so bewildered me, that 
 my thoughts soon wandered beyond my control altogether. I 
 heard no more of Eva or the winds, but fell into a sound 
 slumber, and dreamt that Eva and an angel were talking beside 
 me all night in Latin, which I felt I ought to understand, but 
 of course could not. 
 
 The next day we had not been long on our journey when, at 
 a narrow part of the road, in a deep valley, a company of 
 horsemen suddenly dashed down from a castle which towered 
 on our right, and barred our further progress with serried 
 lances. 
 
 " Do you belong to Erfurt 1" asked the leader, turning our
 
 ElsPs Story. 155 
 
 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 no quarrel with Eisenach. This is not what we are wait- 
 ing for." 
 
 The cavaliers made a passage for us, but a young knight who 
 seemed to lead them rode on 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 very courteously, " 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 1 ?" 
 
 " Cotta," answered Christopher. " My father is the director 
 of the Elector'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 waggon, 
 and saluting our father, surveyed us all with a cool freedom, as 
 if his notice honoured us, until his eye lighted on Eva, who was 
 sitting with her arm round Thekla, soothing the frightened 
 child, and helping her to arrange some violets Christopher had 
 gathered a few minutes before. His voice lowered when he saw 
 her, and he said, — 
 
 " This is no burgher maiden, surely 1 May I ask your name, 
 fair Fraulein 1" he said, doffing his hat and addressing Eva. 
 
 She made no reply, but continued arranging her flowers, 
 without changing feature or colour, except that her lip curled 
 and quivered slightly 
 
 " The Fraulein is absorbed with her bouquet ; would that we 
 were nearer our Schloss, that I might offer her flowers more 
 worthy of her handling." 
 
 " Are you addressing me 1" said Eva at length, raising her 
 large eyes, and fixing them on him with her gravest expression; 
 "I am no Fraulein, I am a burgher maiden; but if I were a
 
 r 56 Chronicles of the Sch'dnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 queen, any of God's flowers would be fair enough forme. And 
 to a true knight," she added, " a peasant maiden is as sacred 
 as a queen." 
 
 No one ever could trifle with that earnest expression of Eva's 
 face. It was his turn to be abashed. His effrontery failed him 
 altogether, and he murmured, " I have merited the rebuke, 
 These flowers are too fair, at least for me. If you would bestow 
 one on me, I would keep it sacredly as a gift of my mother's, 
 or as the relics of a saint." 
 
 "You can gather them anywhere in the forest," said Eva; 
 but little Thekla filled both her little hands with violets, and 
 gave them to him. 
 
 " You may have them all if you like," she said; " Christopher 
 can gather us plenty more." 
 
 He took them carefully from the child's hand, and, bowing 
 low, rejoined his men who were in front. He then returned, 
 said a few words to Christopher, and with his troop retired to 
 some distance behind us, and followed us till we were close to 
 Erfurt, when he spurred on to my father's side, and saying rapidly, 
 u You will be safe now, and need no further convoy," once more 
 bowed respectfully to us, and rejoining his men, we soon lost 
 the echo of their horse-hoofs, as they galloped back through the 
 forest. 
 
 ""What did the knight say to you, Christopher]" I asked, 
 when we dismounted at Erfurt that evening. 
 
 " He said that part of the forest was dangerous at present, 
 because of a feud between the knights and the burghers, and if 
 we would allow him, he would 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," re- 
 joined Christopher, uncompromisingly; " to insult us without 
 provocation, and then, as a favour, exempt us from their own 
 illegal oppressions ! But women are always fascinated with 
 what men on horseback do." 
 
 " No one is fascinated with any one," I replied. For it 
 always provokes me exceedingly when that boy talks in that 
 way about women. And our grandmother inteqoosed, — " Don't
 
 ElsPs Story. 157 
 
 dispute, children ; if your grandfather had not been unfortunate, 
 you would have been of the knights' order yourselves, therefore 
 it is not for you to run down the nobles." 
 
 " I should never have been a knight," persisted Christopher, 
 " or a priest or a robber." But it was consolatory to my grand- 
 mother and me to consider how exalted our position would have 
 been, had it not been for certain little unfortunate hindrances. 
 Our grandmother never admitted my father into the pedi- 
 gree. 
 
 At Leipsic we left the children, while our grandmother, our 
 mother, Eva, and I went on foot to see Aunt Agnes at the con- 
 vent 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 if the voice, and manner, and face were entirely un- 
 changed since that last interview when she terrified me as a 
 child by asking me to become a sister, and abandon Fritz. 
 
 Only the voice sounded to me even more like a muffled bell 
 used only for funerals, especially when she said, in reference to 
 Fritz's entering the cloister, " Praise to God, and the blessed 
 Virgin, and all the saints. At last, 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, all these years been praying that our happiness should 
 be ruined and our home desolated? And had God heard her? 
 Was the fatal spell, which my mother feared was binding us, 
 after all nothing else than Aunt Agnes's terrible prayers 1 
 
 Her face looked as lifeless as ever, in the folds of white linen 
 which bound it into a regular oval. Her voice was metallic 
 and lifeless ; the touch of her hand was impassive and cold as 
 marble when we took leave of her. My mother wept, and said, 
 "Dear Agnes, perhaps we may never meet again on earth." 
 
 " Perhaps not," was the reply. 
 
 "You will not forget us, sister 1 ?" said my 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 anything more human than an organ playing 
 Gregorian chants.
 
 i$S Chronicles of the Schbiiberg-Colta Family. 
 
 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 ! Had she not been asking Him to make Fritz a 
 monk? and is not Fritz separated from us for ever 1 ? 
 
 " How did you like the convent, Eva V I said to her that 
 night when we were alone. 
 
 " It seemed very still and peaceful," she said. " I think 
 one could be very happy there. There would be so much 
 time for prayer. One could perhaps 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 over the city walls, across the heath, to the Elbe, which 
 gleams and sparkles between its willows and dwarf oaks. Be- 
 hind the house is a plot of neglected ground, which Christopher 
 is busy at his leisure hours trenching and spading into an herb- 
 garden. We are to have a few flowers on the borders of the 
 straight walk which intersects it, — daffodils, pansies, roses, and 
 sweet violets and gilliflowers, and wallflowers. At the end of the 
 garden are two apple trees and a pear tree, which had shed their 
 blossoms just before we arrived, in a carpet of pink and white 
 petals. Under the shade of these I carry my embroidery frame, 
 when the house work is finished; and sometimes little Thekla 
 comes and prattles to me, and sometimes Eva reads and sings 
 to me. I cannot help regretting that lately Eva is so absorbed 
 with that " Theologia Germanica." I cannot understand it as 
 well as I do the Latin hymns when once she has translated 
 them to me ; for these speak of Jesus the Saviour, who left the 
 heavenly home and sat weary by the way seeking for us; or of 
 Mary his dear mother; and although sometimes they tell of 
 wrath and judgment, at all events I know what it means. But
 
 Elsfs Story. 159 
 
 this other book is all to me one dazzling haze, without sun, 
 or moon, or stars, or heaven, or earth, or seas, or anything 
 distinct, — but all a blaze of indistinguishable glory, which is 
 God; the One who is all — a kind of ocean of goodness, in 
 which, in some mysterious way, we ought to be absorbed. But 
 I am not an ocean, or any part of one; and I cannot love an 
 ocean, because it is infinite, or unfathomable, or all-sufficient, 
 or anything else. 
 
 My mother's thought of God, as watching lest we should be 
 too happy and love any one more than himself, remembering 
 the mistakes and sins of youth, and delaying to punish them 
 until just the moment when the punishment would be most 
 keenly felt, is dreadful enough. But even that is not to me so 
 bewildering and dreary as this all-absorbing Being in Eva's book. 
 The God my mother dreads has indeed eyes of severest justice, 
 and a frown of wrath against the sinner; but if once one could 
 learn how to please him, the eyes might smile, the frown might 
 pass. It is a countenance ; and a heart which might meet ours ! 
 But when Eva reads her book to me, I seem to look up into 
 heaven and see nothing but heaven — light, space, infinity, and 
 still on and on, infinity and light; a moral light, indeed — per- 
 fection, purity, goodness ; but no eyes I can look 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 the Elbe. 
 
 The town was quite hushed. The space of sky above us 
 over the plain looked so large and deep. We seemed to see 
 range after range of stars beyond each other in the clear air. 
 The only sound was the distant, steady rush of the broad river, 
 which gleamed here and there in the starlight. 
 
 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 much happier it is to be able to look up and feel 
 there is no barrier of our own poor ownership between us and 
 Him, the Possessor of heaven and earth ! How much poorer 
 we should be if we were lords of this land, like the Elector, and 
 if we said, 'All this is mine!' and so saw only I and mine in it 
 all, instead of God and God's!"
 
 160 CJironicles of tJie Scliouberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 "Yes," I said, "if we ended in saying I and mine; but 1 
 should be very thankful if God gave us a little more out of his 
 abundance, to use for our wants. And yet, how much better 
 things are with us than they were! — the appointment of my 
 father as director of the Elector's printing establishment, in- 
 stead of a precarious struggle for ourselves ; and this embroidery 
 of mine! It seems to me, Eva, sometimes, we might be a 
 happy family yet." 
 
 " My book," she replied thoughtfully, " says we shall never 
 be truly satisfied in God, or truly free, unless all things are one 
 to us, and One is all, and something and nothing are alike. I 
 suppose I am not quite truly free, Cousin Else, for I cannot 
 like this place quite as much as the old Eisenach home." 
 
 I began to feel quite impatient, and I said, — " Nor can I or 
 any of us ever feel any home quite the same again, since Fritz 
 is gone. But as to feeling something and nothing are alike, 
 I never can, and I will never try. One might as well be dead 
 at once." 
 
 "Yes," said Eva gravely; "I suppose we shall never com- 
 prehend it quite, or be quite satisfied and free, until we die." 
 
 We talked no more that night; but I heard her singing one 
 of her favourite hymns : * — 
 
 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. 
 
 Ad perennis vit^e fontem mens sitivit arida, 
 Claustra carnis prassto frangi clausa quaerit ani;ua, 
 Gliscit, ambit, electatur, exul frui patria. 
 &C. &c. &c. 
 
 The translation only is given above.
 
 Else's Story. 161 
 
 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 Row ; 
 
 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 offence 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 kuiiwa 
 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 for ever, 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. 
 
 11
 
 1 62 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 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 ! 
 
 Passion Week. 
 
 Wittemberg has been very full this week. There have been 
 great mystery-plays in the City Church; and in the Electoral 
 Church (Schloss Kirche) all the relics have been solemnly ex- 
 hibited. Crowds of pilgrims have come from all the neighbour- 
 ing villages, Wendish and Saxon. It has been very unpleasant 
 to go about the streets, so much beer has been consumed ; and 
 the students and peasants have had frequent encounters. It is 
 certainly a comfort that there are large indulgences to be ob- 
 tained by visiting the relics, for the pilgrims seem to need a 
 great deal of indulgence. 
 
 The sacred mystery-plays were very magnificent. The Judas 
 was wonderfully 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 lovely angel — and enjoyed it very 
 much. They wanted Eva to represent one of the holy women 
 at the cross, but she would not. Indeed she nearly wept at the 
 thought, and did not seem to like the whole ceremony at all. 
 " It all really happened !" she said ; " they really crucified Him ! 
 And He is risen, and living in heaven; and I cannot bear to 
 see it performed, like a fable." 
 
 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 I came back to the house to seek her, I found 
 her kneeling by our bed-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, except that the young knight 
 who had stopped us in the forest had bowed very respectfully 
 to her, and had shown her a few dried violets, which he said he 
 should always keep in remembrance of her and her words.
 
 Els^s Story. \6$ 
 
 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 will ever have any right to keep anything for my sake ; 
 and if Fritz had been here, he would never have allowed it." 
 
 "Little Eva," I said, "what has become of your 'Theologia 
 TeutschT Your book says you are to take all things meekly, 
 and be indifferent, I suppose, alike to admiration and reproach." 
 
 " Cousin Else," said Eva very gravely, rising and standing erect 
 before me with clasped hands, "I have not learned the 'Theologia' 
 through well yet, 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 no rest except in being a wife or 
 a nun. A wife I shall never be, and therefore, dear, dear Else," 
 she continued, kneeling down again, and throwing her arms 
 around me, " I have just decided — I will go to the convent 
 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 let her 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 against Him!" Then, fearing she might 
 have wounded me, she kissed me and said, — " Since Fritz left, 
 she has grown so very dear ! But how can I murmur when my 
 loving Else is spared to us!" 
 
 " Mother," I said, " do you think Aunt Agnes has been pray- 
 ing again for this 1 ?" 
 
 "Probably!" she replied, with a startled look. "She did 
 look very earnestly at Eva." 
 
 "Then, mother," I replied, "I shall write to Aunt Agnes at 
 once, to tell her that she is not to make any such prayers for 
 you or for me. For, as to me, it is entirely useless. And it 
 you were to imitate St. Elizabeth, and leave us, it would break 
 all our hearts, and the family would go to ruin altogether." 
 
 " What are you thinking of, Else?" replied my mother meekly. 
 "It is too late indeed for me to think of being a saint. I can 
 never hope for anything beyond this, that God in his great
 
 164 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 mercy may one day pardon me my sins, and receive me as the 
 lowest of his creatures, for the sake of his dear Son who died 
 upon the cross. What could you mean by my imitating St. 
 Elizabeth?" 
 
 I felt re-assured, and did not pursue the subject, fearing it 
 might suggest what I dreaded to my mother. 
 
 WlTTEMBERG, Julie 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 have left us all to struggle on in the world 
 without them, — with all that helped us to be less earthly taken 
 from us. It seems to me as if a lovely picture of the Holy 
 Mother had been removed from the dwelling-room since Eva 
 has gone, and instead we had nothing left but family portraits, 
 and paintings of common earthly things; or as if a window 
 opening towards the stars had been covered by a low ceiling 
 She was always like a little 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 to turn my thoughts from the arrange- 
 ments for to-morrow, and the troubles of yesterday, and the 
 perplexities of to-day. I had no idea how I must have been 
 leaning on her. She always seemed so child-like, and so above 
 my petty cares — and in piactical things I certainly understood 
 much more ; and yet, in some way, whenever I talked anything 
 over with her, it always seemed to take the burden away, — to 
 change cares into duties, and clear my thoughts wonderfully, — 
 just by lightening my heart. It was not that she suggested 
 what to do; but she made me feel things were working for good, 
 not for harm — that God in some way ordered them — and then 
 the right thoughts seemed to come to me naturally. 
 
 Our mother, I am afraid, grieves as much as she did for Fritz ; 
 but she tries to hide it, lest we should feel her ungrateful for 
 the love of her children. 
 
 I have a terrible dread sometimes that Aunt Agnes will get 
 her prayers answered about our precious mother also, — if not 
 in one way, in another. She looks so pale and spiritless.
 
 ElsFs Story. 165 
 
 June 20. 
 
 Christopher has just returned from taking Eva to the convent. 
 He says she shed many tears when he left her; which is a com- 
 fort. I could not bear to think that something and nothing 
 were alike to her yet! He told me also one thing, which has 
 made me rather anxious. On the journey, Eva begged him to 
 take care of our father's sight, which, she said, she thought had 
 been failing a little lately. And just before they separated she 
 brought him a little jar of distilled eye-water, which the nuns 
 were skilful 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 has asked me once or twice to find things for him, and to 
 help him about his models, in a way he never used to do. 
 
 It is strange that Eva, with those deep, earnest, quiet eyes, 
 uhich seemed to look about so little always saw before any of 
 us what every one wanted. Darling child ! she will remember 
 us, then, and our little cares. And she will have some eye-water 
 to make, which will be much better for her than reading all day 
 in that melancholy " Theologia Teutsch." 
 
 But are we to call our Eva, Ave 1 ? She gave these lines of 
 the hymn in her own 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 cueli porta. 
 
 Svmetts illud Ave 
 
 Oabrielis ore 
 Kunda nos in pace 
 Alutans nomen Etct." 
 
 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 bit further off, and nearer heaven. 
 
 Her living so near heaven, while she was with us, never seemed 
 to make her further off, but nearer to us all. 
 
 Now, however, it cannot, of course, be the same. 
 
 Our grandmother remains steadfast to the baptismal name.
 
 1 66 Chronicles of t lie ScMnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " Receiving that Ave from the lips of Gabriel, the blessed 
 Mother transformed the name of our mother Eva ! And now 
 our child Eva is on her way 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 but maidens 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, and something in her words and tones, have haunted me 
 like a holy vision, or a church hymn, ever since I saw her." 
 
 I could not feel as indignant with the young knight as Eva 
 did. And he seemed so interested in our father's models, that 
 we could not refuse him permission to come and see us again. 
 
 Yes, our Eva was, I suppose, as he says, too religious and too 
 heavenly for this world. 
 
 Only, as so many of us have, after all, to live in the world, 
 unless the world is to come to an end altogether, it would be a 
 great blessing if God had made a religion for us poor, secular 
 people, as well as one for the monks and nuns. 

 
 X. 
 
 Jfvit^s Slorn. 
 
 Rome, Augustinian Convent. 
 
 OLY as this city necessarily must be, consecrated by 
 relics of the church's most holy dead, consecrated 
 by the presence of her living Head, I scarcely think 
 religion is as deep in the hearts of these Italians as of our poor 
 Germans in the cold north. 
 
 But I may mistake ; feeling of all kinds manifests itself in such 
 different ways with different characters. 
 
 Certainly the churches are thronged on all great occasions, 
 and the festas are brilliant. But the people seem rather to re- 
 gard them as holidays and dramatic entertainments, than as the 
 solemn and sacred festivals we consider them in Saxony. This 
 morning, for instance, I heard two women criticizing a proces- 
 sion in words such as these, as far as the little Italian I have 
 picked up enabled me to understand them : — 
 
 "Ah, Nina mia, the angels are nothing to-day; you should 
 have seen our Lucia last year ! Every one said she was heavenly. 
 If the priests do not arrange it better, people will scarcely care 
 to attend. Besides, the music was execrable." 
 
 " Ah, the nuns of the Cistercian convent understand how to 
 manage a ceremony. They have ideas ! Did you see their 
 Bambino last Christmas 1 Such lace ! and the cradle of tortoise- 
 shell, fit for an emperor, as it should be ! And then their robes 
 for the Madonna on her fetes ! Cloth of gold embroidered with 
 pearls and brilliants worth a treasury!" 
 
 " Yes," replied the other, lowering her voice, " I have been 
 told the history of those robes. A certain lady who was power- 
 ful at the late Holy Father's court, is said to have presented the
 
 1 68 Chronicles of the Sch'6)iberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 dress in which she appeared on some state occasion to the nuns, 
 just as she wore it." 
 
 "Did she become a penitent, then?" 
 
 "A penitent? I do not know; such an act of penitence would 
 purchase indulgences and masses to last at least for some time." 
 Brother Martin and I do not so much affect these gorgeous 
 processions. These Italians, with their glorious skies and the 
 rich colouring of their beautiful land require more splendour 
 in their religion than our German eyes can easily gaze on un- 
 dazzled. 
 
 It rather perplexed us to see the magnificent caparisons of 
 the horses of the cardinals ; and more especially to behold the 
 Holy Father sitting on a fair palfrey, bearing the sacred Host. 
 In Germany, the loftiest earthly dignity prostrates itself low be- 
 fore that Ineffable Presence. 
 
 But my mind becomes confused. Heaven forbid that I should 
 call the Vicar of Christ an earthly dignitary ! Is he not the re- 
 presentative and oracle of God on earth 1 
 
 For this reason, — no doubt in painful contradiction to the 
 reverent awe natural to every Christian before the Holy Sacra- 
 ment, — the Holy Father submits to sitting enthroned in the 
 church, and receiving the body of our Creator through a golden 
 tube presented to him by a kneeling cardinal. 
 
 It must be very difficult for him to separate between the office 
 and the person. It is difficult enough for us. But for the human 
 spirit not yet made perfect to receive these religious honours 
 must be overwhelming. 
 
 Doubtless, at night, when the holy father humbles himself in 
 solitude before God, his self-abasement is as much deeper than 
 that of ordinary Christians as his exaltation is greater. 
 
 I must confess that it is an inexpressible relief to me to retire 
 to the solitude of my cell at night, and pray to Him of whom 
 Brother Martin and I spoke in the Black Forest; to whom the 
 homage of the universe is no burden, because it is not mere pro- 
 stration before an office, but adoration of a person. " Holy, 
 holy, holy, Lord God Almighty : heaven and earth are full of 
 thy glory." 
 
 Holiness — to which almightiness is but an attribute, — Hol>
 
 Fritz s Story. i6g 
 
 One, who hast loved and given thine Holy One for a sinful 
 world, miserere ?iobis ! 
 
 Rome, July. 
 
 We have diligently visited all the holy relics, and offered 
 prayers at every altar at which especial indulgences are procured, 
 for ourselves and others. 
 
 Brother Martin once said he could almost wish his father 
 and mother (whom he dearly loves) were dead, that he might 
 avail himself of the privileges of this holy city to deliver their 
 souls from purgatory. 
 
 He says masses whenever he can. But the Italian priests are 
 often impatient with him because he recites the office so slowly. 
 I heard one of them say, contemptuously, he had accomplished 
 thirty masses while Brother Martin only finished one. And 
 more than once they hurry him forward, saying " Passa ! passa ! " 
 
 There is a strange disappointment in these ceremonies to me, 
 and, I think, often to him. I seem to expect so much more, — 
 not more pomp, of that there is abundance ; but when the cere- 
 mony itself begins, to which all the pomp of music, and proces- 
 sions of cavaliers, and richly-robed priests, and costly shrines, 
 are mere preliminary accessories, it seems often so poor ! The 
 kernel inside all this gorgeous shell seems to the eye of sense 
 like a little poor withered dust. 
 
 To the eye of sense ! Yes, I forget. These are the splen- 
 dours of faith, which faith only can behold. 
 
 To-day we gazed on the Veronica, — the holy impression left 
 by our Saviour's face on the cloth St. Veronica presented to him 
 to wipe his brow, bowed under the weight of the cross. We 
 had looked forward to this sight for days; for seven thousand 
 years of indulgence from penance are attached to it. 
 
 But when the moment came Brother Martin and I could see 
 nothing but a black board hung with a cloth, before which another 
 white cloth was held. In a few minutes this was withdrawn, 
 and the great moment was over, the glimpse of the sacred thing 
 Dn which hung the fate of seven thousand years ! For some 
 time Brother Martin and I did not speak of it. I feared there 
 had been some imperfection in my looking, which might affect 
 the seven thousand years ; but observing his countenance rather
 
 170 Chronicles of the ScJwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 downcast, I told my difficulty, and found that he also had seen 
 nothing but a white cloth. 
 
 The skulls of St. Peter and St. Paul perplexed us still more, 
 because they had so much the appearance of being carved in 
 wood. But in the crowd we could not approach very close; 
 and doubtless Satan uses devices to blind the eyes even of the 
 faithful. 
 
 One relic excited my amazement much — the halter with which 
 Judas hanged himself ! It could scarcely be termed a holy relic. 
 I wonder who preserved it, when so many other precious things 
 are lost. Scarcely the apostles; perhaps the scribes, out of ma- 
 lice. 
 
 The Romans, I observe, seem to care little for what to us is 
 the kernel and marrow of these ceremonies — the exhibition of 
 the holy relics. They seem more occupied in comparing the 
 pomp of one year, or of one church, with another. 
 
 We must not, I suppose, measure the good things do us by 
 our own thoughts and feelings, but simply accept it on the testi- 
 mony of the Church. 
 
 Otherwise I might be tempted to imagine that the relics of 
 pagan Rome do my spirit more good than gazing on the sacred 
 ashes or bones of martyrs or apostles. When I walk over the 
 heaps of shapeless ruin, so many feet beneath which lies buried 
 the grandeur of the old imperial city; or when I wander among 
 the broken arches of the gigantic Coliseum, where the martyrs 
 fought with wild beasts, — great thoughts seem to grow naturally 
 in my mind, and I feel how great truth is, and how little empires 
 are. 
 
 I see an empire solid as this Coliseum crumble into ruins as 
 undistinguishable as the dust of those streets, before the word 
 of that once despised Jew of Tarsus, " in bodily presence weak," 
 who was beheaded here. Or, again, in the ancient Pantheon, 
 when the music of Christian chants rises among the shadowy 
 forms of the old vanquished gods painted on the walls, and the 
 light streams down, not from painted windows in the walls, but 
 from the glowing heavens above, every note of the service 
 echoes like a peal of triumph, and fills my heart with thankful- 
 ness.
 
 Fritzs Story. 171 
 
 But my happiest hours here are spent in the church of my 
 patron, St. Sebastian, without the walls, built over the ancient 
 catacombs. 
 
 Countless martyrs, they say, rest in peace in these ancient 
 sepulchres. They have not been opened for centuries ; but they 
 are believed to wind in subterranean passages far beneath the 
 ancient city. In those dark depths the ancient Church took 
 refuge from persecution; there she laid her martyrs; and there, 
 over their tombs, she chanted hymns of triumph, and held com- 
 munion with Him for whom they died. In that church I spend 
 hours. I have no wish to descend into those sacred sepulchres, 
 and pry among the graves the resurrection trump will open soon 
 enough. I like to think of the holy dead, lying undisturbed 
 and quiet there; of their spirits in Paradise; of their faith trium- 
 phant in the city which massacred them. 
 
 No doubt they also had their perplexities, and wondered why 
 the wicked triumph, and sighed to God, " How long, O Lord, 
 how long 1 ?" 
 
 And yet I cannot help wishing I had lived and died among 
 them, and had not been born in times when we see Satan appear, 
 not in his genuine hideousness, but as an angel of light. 
 
 For of the wickedness that prevails in this Christian Rome, 
 alas, who can speak ! of the shameless sin, the violence, the pride, 
 the mockery of sacred things ! 
 
 In the Coliseum, in the Pantheon, in the Church of St. Sebas- 
 tian, I feel an atom— but an atom in a solid, God-governed 
 world, where truth is mightiest; — insignificant in myself as 
 the little mosses which flutter on these ancient stones; but yet 
 a little moss on a great rock which cannot be shaken — the rock 
 of God's providence and love. In the busy city, I feel tossed 
 hither and thither on a sea which seems to rage and heave at its 
 own wild will, without aim or meaning — a sea of human passion. 
 Among the ruins, I commune with the spirits of our great and 
 holy dead, who live unto God. At the exhibition of the sacred 
 relics, my heart is drawn down to the mere perishable dust 
 decorated with the miserable pomps of the little men of the day. 
 
 And then I return to the convent and reproach myself for 
 censoriousness, and unbelief, and pride, and try to remember
 
 172 Chronicles of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 that the benefits of these ceremonies and exhibitions are only 
 to be understood by faith, and are not to be judged by inward 
 feeling, or even by their moral results. 
 
 The Church, the Holy Father, solemnly declare that pardons 
 and blessings incalculable, to ourselves and others, flow from so 
 many Paternosters and Aves recited at certain altars, or from 
 seeing the Veronica or the other relics. I have performed the 
 acts, and I must at my peril believe in their efficacy. 
 
 But Brother Martin and I are often sorely discouraged at the 
 wickedness we see and hear around us. A few days since he 
 was at a feast with several prelates and great men of the Church, 
 and the fashion among them seemed to be to jest at all that is 
 most sacred. Some avowed their disbelief in one portion of the 
 faith, and some in others ; but all in a light and laughing way, 
 as if it mattered little to any of them. One present related how 
 they sometimes substituted the words panis es, et pcuiis manebis 
 in the mass, instead of the words of consecration, and then 
 amused themselves with watching the people adore what was, 
 after all, no consecrated Host, but a mere piece of bread. 
 
 The Romans themselves we have heard declare, that if there 
 be a hell, Rome is built over it. They have a couplet, — 
 
 " Vivere qui sancte vultis, discedite Roma: 
 Omnia hie esse licent, non licet esse probum." * 
 
 O Rome ! in sacredness as Jerusalem, in wickedness as Babylon, 
 how bitter is the conflict that breaks forth in the heart at seeing 
 holy places and holy character thus disjoined! How overwhel- 
 ming the doubts that rush back on the spirit again and again, 
 as to the very existence of holiness or truth in the universe, when 
 we behold the deeds of Satan prevailing in the very metropolis 
 of the kingdom of God ! 
 
 Rome, August. 
 
 Mechanically, we continue to go through every detail of the 
 prescribed round of devotions, believing against experience, and 
 hoping against hope. 
 
 To-day Brother Martin went to accomplish the ascent of the 
 
 * [" Ye who would live holily, depart from Rome : all things are allowed here, except tc 
 be upright."]
 
 Fritz s Story. 173 
 
 Santa Scala — the Holy Staircase — which once, they say, formed 
 part of Pilate's house. I had crept up the sacred steps before, 
 and stood watching him as, on his knees, he slowly mounted 
 step after step of the hard stone, worn into hollows, by the knees 
 of penitents and pilgrims. An indulgence for a thousand years 
 — indulgence from penance — is attached to this act of devotion. 
 Patiently he crept half way up the staircase, when, to my 
 amazement, he suddenly stood erect, lifted his face heavenward, 
 and, in another moment, turned and walked slowly down again. 
 
 He seemed absorbed in thought when he rejoined me; and 
 it was not until some time afterwards that he told me the 
 meaning of this sudden abandonment of his purpose. 
 
 He said that, as he was toiling up, a voice, as if from heaven, 
 seemed to whisper to him the old, well-known words, which had 
 been his battle-cry in so many a victorious combat, — " The just 
 shall live by faith." 
 
 He seemed awakened, as if from a nightmare, and restored 
 to himself. He dared not creep up another step; but, rising 
 from his knees, he stood upright, like a man suddenly loosed 
 from bonds and fetters, and, with the firm step of a freeman, 
 he descended the Staircase and walked from the place. 
 
 August 1511. 
 
 To-night there has been an assassination. A corpse was found 
 near our convent gates, pierced with many wounds. But no one 
 seems to think much of it. Such things are constantly occurring, 
 they say; and the only interest seems to be as to the nature of 
 the quarrel which led to it. 
 
 "A prelate is mixed up with it," the monks whisper; " one of 
 the late Pope's family. It will not be investigated." 
 
 But these crimes of passion seem to me comprehensible and 
 excusable, compared with the spirit of levity and mockery which 
 pervades all classes. In such acts of revenge you see human 
 nature in ruins ; yet in the ruins you can trace something of the 
 ancient dignity. But in this jesting, scornful spirit, which mocks 
 at sacredness in the service of God, at virtue in women, and at 
 truth and honour in men, all traces of God's image seem crushed 
 find trodden into shapeless, incoherent dust.
 
 174 Chronicles of the Schouberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 From such thoughts I often take refuge in the Campagna, and 
 feel a refreshment in its desolate spaces, its solitary wastes, its 
 traces of material ruin. 
 
 The ruins of empires and of imperial edifices do not depress 
 me. The immortality of the race and of the soul rises grandly 
 in contrast. In the Campagna we see the ruins of imperial 
 Rome; but in Rome we see the ruin of our race and nature. 
 And what shall console us for that, when the presence of all that 
 Christians most venerate is powerless to arrest it? 
 
 Were it not for some memories of a home at Eisenach, on 
 which I dare not dwell too much, it seems at times as if the 
 very thought of purity and truth would fade from my heart. 
 
 Rome, August. 
 
 Brother Martin, during the intervals of the business of his 
 Order, which is slowly winding its way among the intricacies of 
 the Roman courts, is turning his attention to the study of Hebrew, 
 under the Rabbi Elias Levita. 
 
 I study also with the Rabbi, and have had the great benefit, 
 moreover, of hearing lectures from the Byzantine Greek pro- 
 fessor, Argyropylos. 
 
 Two altogether new worlds seem to open to me through these 
 men, — one in the far distances of time, and the other in those 
 of space. 
 
 The Rabbi, one of the race which is a by-word and a scorn 
 among us from boyhood, to my surprise seems to glory in his 
 nation and his pedigree, with a pride which looks down on the 
 antiquity of our noblest lineages as mushrooms of a day. I had 
 no conception that underneath the misery and the obsequious 
 demeanour of the Jews such lofty feelings existed. And yet, 
 what wonder is it ! Before Rome was built, Jerusalem was a 
 sacred and royal city; and now that the empire and the people 
 of Rome have passed for centuries, this nation, fallen before 
 their prime, still exists to witness their fall. 
 
 I went once to the door of their synagogue, in the Ghetto. 
 There were no shrines in it, no altars, no visible symbols of 
 sacred things, except the roll of the Law, which was reverently 
 taken out of a sacred treasury and read aloud. Yet there seemed
 
 Fritz's Story. 175 
 
 something sublime in this symbolizing of the presence of God 
 only by a voice reading the words which, ages ago, He spoke to 
 their prophets in the Holy Land. 
 
 " Why have you no altar?' I asked once of one of the 
 Rabbis. 
 
 " Our altar can only be raised when our temple is built," 
 was the reply. " Our temple can only rise in the city and on 
 the hill of our God. But," he continued, in a low, bitter tone, 
 " when our altar and temple are restored, it will not be to offer 
 incense to the painted image of a Hebrew maiden." 
 
 I have thought of the words often since. But were they not 
 blasphemy? I must not dare recall them. 
 
 But those Greeks! they are Christians, and yet not of our 
 communion. As Argyropylos speaks, I understand for the first 
 time that a Church exists in the East, as ancient as the Church 
 of Western Europe, and as extensive, which acknowledges the 
 Holy Trinity and the Creeds, but owns no allegiance to the 
 Holy Father the Pope. 
 
 The world is much larger and older than Else or I thought 
 at Eisenach. May not God's kingdom be much larger than 
 seme think at Rome? 
 
 In the presence of monuments which date back to days before 
 Christianity, and of men who speak the language of Moses, and, 
 with slight variations, the language of Homer, our Germany 
 seems in its infancy indeed. Would to God it were in its infancy, 
 and that a glorious youth and prime may succeed, when these 
 old, decrepit nations are worn out and gone ! 
 
 Yet Heaven forbid that I should call Rome decrepit— Rome, 
 on whose brow rests, not the perishable crown of earthly do- 
 minion, but the tiara of the kingdom of God. 
 
 September. 
 
 The mission which brought Brother Martin hither is nearly 
 accomplished. We shall soon — we may at a day's notice — leave 
 Rome and return to Germany. 
 
 And what have we gained by our pilgrimage? 
 
 A store of indulgences beyond calculation. And knowledge ; 
 eyes opened to see good and evil. Ennobling knowledge ! 
 glimpses into rich worlds of human life and thought, which
 
 1/6 Chronicles of the ScJwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 humble the heart in expanding the mind. Bitter knowledge! 
 illusions dispelled, aspirations crushed. We have learned that 
 the heart of Christendom is a moral plague-spot; that spiritual 
 privileges and moral goodness have no kind of connection, be- 
 cause where the former are at the highest perfection, the latter 
 is at the lowest point of degradation. 
 
 We have learned that on earth there is no place to which the 
 heart can turn as a sanctuary, if by a sanctuary we mean not 
 merely a refuge from the punishment of sin, but a place in which 
 to grow holy. 
 
 In one sense, Rome may, indeed, be called the sanctuary of 
 the world ! It seems as if half the criminals in the world had 
 found a refuge here. 
 
 When I think of Rome in future as a city of the living, I shall 
 think of assassination, treachery, avarice, a spirit of universal 
 mockery, which seems only the foam over an abyss of universal 
 despair ; mockery of all virtue, based on disbelief in alJ 
 truth. 
 
 It is only as a city of the dead that my heart will revert to 
 Rome as a holy place. She has indeed built, and built beau- 
 tifully, the sepulchres of the prophets. 
 
 Those hidden catacombs, where the holy dead rest, far under 
 the streets of the city, — too far for traffickers in sacred bones to 
 disturb them, — among these the imagination can rest, like those 
 beatified ones, in peace. 
 
 The spiritual life of Rome seems to be among her dead. 
 Among the living all seems spiritual corruption and death. 
 
 May God and the saints have mercy on me if I say what is 
 sinful. Does not the scum necessarily rise to the surface? Do 
 not acts of violence and words of mockery necessarily make 
 more noise in the world than prayers ? How do I know how 
 many humble hearts there are in those countless convents there, 
 that secretly offer acceptable incense to God, and keep the 
 perpetual lamp of devotion burning in the sight of God? 
 
 How do I know what deeper and better thoughts lie hidden 
 under that veil of levity? Only I often feel that if God had not 
 made me a believer through his word, by the voice of Brother 
 Martin in the Black Forest, Rome might too easily have made
 
 Fritz's Story. 177 
 
 me an infidel. And it is certainly true, that to be a Christian 
 at Rome as well as elsewhere, (indeed, more than elsewhere) 
 one must breast the tide, and must walk by faith, and not by 
 sight. 
 
 But we have performed the pilgrimage. We have conscien- 
 tiously visited all the shrines; we have recited as many as 
 possible of the privileged acts of devotion, Paters and Aves, at 
 the privileged shrines. 
 
 Great benefits must result to us from these things. 
 
 But benefits of what kind? Moral? How can that be? 
 When shall I efface from my memory the polluting words and 
 works I have seen and heard at Rome? Spiritual? Scarcely ; 
 if by spiritual we are to understand a devout mind, joy in God, 
 and nearness to him. When, since that night in the Black 
 Forest, have I found prayer so difficult, doubts so overwhelm- 
 ing, the thoughts of God and heaven so dim, as at Rome? 
 
 The benefits, then, that we have received, must be ecclesias- 
 tical, — those that the Church promises and dispenses. And 
 what are these ecclesiastical benefits? Pardon? But is it not 
 written that God gives this freely to those who believe on his 
 Son? Peace? But is not that the legacy of the Saviour to all 
 who love him? 
 
 What then? Indulgences. Indulgences from what? From 
 the temporal consequences of sin? Too obviously not these. 
 Do the ecclesiastical indulgences save men from disease, and 
 sorrow, and death? Is it, then, from the eternal consequences 
 of sin? Did not the Lamb of God, dying for us on the cross, 
 bear our sins there, and blot them out? What then remains, 
 which the indulgences can deliver from? Penance and purga- 
 tory. What then are penance and purgatory? Has penance 
 in itself no curative effect, that we can be healed of our sins by 
 escaping as well as by performing it? Have purgatorial fires 
 no purifying power, that we can be purified as much by repeat- 
 ing a few words of devotion at certain altars as by centuries of 
 agony in the flames? 
 
 All these questions rise before me from time to time, and I 
 find no reply. If I mention them to my confessor, he says, — 
 
 " These are temptations of the Devil. You must not listen 
 
 12
 
 178 Chronicles of the Schbnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 to them. They are vain and presumptuous questions. There 
 are no keys on earth to open these doors." 
 
 Are there any keys on earth to lock them again, when once 
 they have been opened? 
 
 " You Germans," others of the Italian priests say, " take 
 everything with such desperate seriousness. It is probably 
 owing to your long winters and the heaviness of your north- 
 ern climate, which must, no doubt, be very depressing to the 
 spirits." 
 
 Holy Mary ! and these Italians, if life is so light a matter to 
 them, will not they also have one day to take death " with 
 desperate seriousness," and judgment and eternity, although 
 there will be no long winters, I suppose, and no heavy northern 
 climate, to depress the spirits in that other world. 
 
 We are going back to Germany at last. Strangely has the 
 world enlarged to me since we came here. We are accredited 
 pilgrims ; we have performed every prescribed duty, and availed 
 ourselves of every proffered privilege. And yet it is not because 
 of the regret of quitting the Holy City that our hearts are full 
 of the gravest melancholy as we turn away from Rome. 
 
 When I compare the recollections of this Rome with those of 
 a home at Eisenach, I am tempted in my heart to feel as if 
 Germany, and not Rome, were the Holy Place, and our pil- 
 grimage were beginning, instead of ending, as we turn our faces 
 northward !
 
 XI. 
 
 Cistercian Convent, Nimptschen, isit. 
 
 IFE cannot, at the utmost, last very long, although at 
 seventeen we may be tempted to think the way 
 between us and heaven interminable. 
 
 For the convent is certainly not heaven ; I never expected it 
 would be. It is not nearly so much like heaven, I think, as 
 Aunt Cotta's home; because love seems to me to be the essential 
 joy of heaven, and there is more love in that home than here. 
 
 I am not at all disappointed. I did not expect a haven of 
 rest, but only a sphere where I might serve God better, and, at 
 all events, not be a burden on dear Aunt Cotta. For I feel 
 sure Uncle Cotta will become blind; and they have so much 
 difficulty to struggle on, as it is. 
 
 And the world is full of dangers for a young orphan girl like 
 me; and I am afraid they might want me to marry some one, 
 which I never could. 
 
 I have no doubt God will give me some work to do for him 
 here, and that is all the happiness I look for. Not that I think 
 there are not other kinds of happiness in the world which are 
 not wrong ; but they are not for me. 
 
 I shall never think it was wrong to love them all at Eisenach 
 as much as I did, and do, whatever the confessor may say. I 
 shall be better all my life, and all the life beyond, I believe, for 
 the love God gave them for me, and me for them, and for 
 having known Cousin Fritz. I wish very much he would write 
 to me; and sometimes I think I will write to him. I feel sure 
 it would do us both good. He always said it did him good to 
 talk and read the dear old Latin hymns with me; and I know
 
 i8o Chronicles of the Schouberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 they never seemed more real and true than when I sang them 
 to him. But the father confessor says it would be exceedingly 
 perilous for our souls to hold such a correspondence; and he 
 asked me if I did not think more of my cousin than of the 
 hymns when I sang them to him, which, he says, would have 
 been a great sin. I am sure I cannot tell exactly how the 
 thoughts were balanced, or from what source each drop of 
 pleasure flowed. It was all blended together. It was joy to 
 sing the hymns, and it was joy for Fritz to like to hear them; 
 and where one joy overflowed into the other I cannot tell. I 
 believe God gave me both; and I do not see that I need care 
 to divide one from the other. Who cares, when the Elbe is 
 flowing past its willows and oaks at Wittemberg, which part of 
 its waters was dissolved by the sun from the pure snows on the 
 mountains, and which came trickling from some little humble 
 spring on the sandy plains? Both springs and snows came 
 originally from the clouds above; and both, as they flow blended 
 on together, make the grass spring and the leaf-buds swell, and 
 all the world rejoice. 
 
 The heart with which we love each other and with which we 
 love God, is it not the same? Only God is all good, and we 
 are all His, therefore we should love Him best. I think I do. 
 or I should be more desolate here than I am, away from all but 
 him. 
 
 That is what I understand by my " Theologia Germanica," 
 which Else does not like. I begin with my father's legacy — 
 " God so loved the world, that he gave his Son;" and then I 
 think of the crucifix, and of the love of Him who died for us ; 
 and, in the light of these, I love to read in my book of Him 
 who is the Supreme Goodness, whose will is our rest, and who 
 is himself the joy of all our joys, and our joy when we have no 
 other joy. The .things I do not comprehend in the book, I 
 leave, like so many other things. I am but a poor girl of 
 seventeen, and how can I expect to understand everything] 
 Only I never let the things I do not understand perplex me about 
 those I do. 
 
 Therefore, when my confessor told me to examine my heart, 
 and see if there were not wrong and idolatrous thoughts mixed
 
 Evas Story. 181 
 
 up with my love for them all at Eisenach, I said at once, look- 
 ing up at him — 
 
 " Yes, father, I did not love them half enough, for all their 
 love to me." 
 
 I think he must have been satisfied; for although he looked 
 perplexed, he did not ask me any more questions. 
 
 I feel very sorry for many of the nuns, especially for the old 
 nuns. They seem to me like children, and yet not child-like. 
 The merest trifles appear to excite or trouble them. They speak 
 of the convent as if it were the world, and of the world as if it 
 were hell. It is a childhood with no hope, no youth and 
 womanhood before it. It reminds me of the stunted oaks we 
 passed on Diiben Heath, between Wittemberg and Leipsic, which 
 will never be full-grown, and yet are not saplings. 
 
 Then there is one, Sister Beatrice, whom the nuns seem to 
 think very inferior to themselves, because they say she was 
 forced into the convent by her relatives, to prevent her marrying 
 some one they did not like, and could never be induced to take 
 the vows until her lover died, — which, they say, is hardly worthy 
 of the name of a vocation at all. 
 
 She does not seem to think so either, but moves about in a 
 subdued, broken-spirited way, as if she felt herself a creature 
 belonging neither to the Church nor to the world. 
 
 The other evening she had been on an errand for the prioress 
 through the snow, and returned blue with cold. She had made 
 some mistake in the message, and was ordered at once, with con- 
 temptuous words, to her cell, to finish a penance by reciting 
 certain prayers. 
 
 I could not help following her. When I found her, she was 
 sitting on her pallet shivering, with the prayer-book before her. 
 I crept into the cell, and, sitting down beside her, began to chafe 
 her poor icy hands. 
 
 At first she tried to withdraw them, murmuring that she had 
 a penance to perform ; and then her eyes wandered from the 
 book to mine. She gazed wonderingly at me for some moments, 
 and then she burst into tears, and said,- 
 
 " Oh, do not do that ! It makes me think of the old nursery at 
 home. And my mother is dead; all are dead, and I cannot die."
 
 1 82 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 She let me put my arms round her, however; and, in faint, 
 broken words, the whole history came out. 
 
 " I am not here from choice," she said. " I should never have 
 been here if my mother had not died; and I should never have 
 taken the vows if he had not died, whatever they had done to 
 me ; for we were betrothed, and we had vowed before God we 
 would be true to each other till death. And why is not one vow 
 as good as another? When they told me he was dead, I took 
 the vows — or, at least, I let them put the veil on me, and said 
 the words as I was told, after the priest; for I did not care what 
 I did. And so I am a nun. I have no wish now to be anything 
 else. But it will do me no good to be a nun, for I loved Eber- 
 hard first, and I loved him best; and now that he is dead, I love 
 no one, and have no hope in heaven or earth. I try, indeed, 
 not to think of him, because they say that is sin ; but I cannot 
 think of happiness without him, if I try for ever." 
 
 I said, "I do not think it is wrong for you to think of him." 
 
 Her face brightened for an instant, and then she shook her 
 head, and said, — 
 
 " Ah, you are a child ; you are an angel. You do not know. " 
 And then she began to weep again, but more quietly. " I wish 
 you had seen him ; then you would understand better. It was 
 not wrong for me to love him once; and he was so different 
 from every one else — so true and gentle, and so brave." 
 
 I listened vvhile she continued to speak of him; and at last, 
 looking wistfully at me, she said, in a low, timid voice, " I can- 
 not help trusting you." And she drew from inside a fold of her 
 robe a little piece of yellow paper, with a few words written on 
 it, in pale, faded ink, and a lock of brown hair. 
 
 " Do you think it is very wrong 1 ?" she asked. " I have never 
 told the confessor, because I am not quite sure if it is a sin to 
 keep it; and I am quite sure the sisters would take it from me 
 if they knew. Do you think it is wrong?" 
 
 The words were very simple — expressions of unchangeable 
 affection, and a prayer that God would bless her and keep them 
 for each other till better times. 
 
 I could not speak, I felt so sorry; and she murmured, ner- 
 vously taking her poor treasures from my hands, " You do not
 
 Eva's Story. 183 
 
 think it right. But you will not tell? Perhaps one day I shall 
 be better, and be able to give them up; but not yet. I have 
 nothing else." 
 
 Then I tried to tell her that she had something else ; — that 
 God loved her and had pity on her, and that perhaps He was 
 only answering the prayer of her betrothed, and guarding them 
 in His blessed keeping until they should meet in better times. 
 At length she seemed to take comfort; and I knelt down with 
 her, and we said together the prayers she had been commanded 
 to recite. 
 
 When I rose, she said thoughtfully, " You seem to pray as if 
 some one in heaven really listened and cared." 
 
 "Yes," I said; "God does listen and care." 
 
 " Even to me?' she asked; " even for me] Will he not de- 
 spise me, like the holy sisterhood]" 
 
 " He scorns no one ; and they say the lowest are nearest 
 Him, the Highest." 
 
 " I can certainly never be anything but the lowest," she said 
 " It is fit no one here should think much of me, for I have only 
 given the refuse of my life to God. And besides, I had never 
 much power to think; and the little I had seems gone since 
 Eberhard died. I had only a little power to love ; and I thought 
 that was dead. But since you came, I begin to think I might 
 yet love a little." 
 
 As I left the cell she called me back. 
 
 " What shall I do when my thoughts wander, as they always 
 do in the long prayers]" she asked. 
 
 " Make shorter prayers, I think, oftener," I said. " I think 
 that would please God as much." 
 
 August 151Z. 
 
 The months pass on very much the same here; but I do 
 not find them monotonous. I am permitted by the prioress to 
 wait on the sick, and also often to teach the younger novices. 
 This little world grows larger to me every week. It is a world 
 of human hearts, — and what a world there is in every heart ! 
 
 For instance, Aunt Agnes ! I begin now to know her. All 
 the sisterhood look up to her as almost a saint already. But I 
 do not Delieve she thinks so herself. For many months after ]
 
 1 84 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 entered the cloister she scarcely seemed to notice me; but last 
 week she brought herself into a low fever by the additional fasts 
 and severities she has been imposing on herself lately. 
 
 It was my night to watch in the infirmary when she became 
 ill. 
 
 At first she seemed to shrink from receiving anything at my 
 hands. 
 
 " Can they not send any one else 1 ?" she asked sternly. 
 
 " It is appointed to me," I said, " in the order of the sister- 
 hood." 
 
 She bowed her head, and made no further opposition to my 
 nursing her. And it was very sweet to me, because in spite of 
 all the settled, grave impassiveness of her countenance, I could 
 not help seeing something there which recalled dear Aunt 
 Cotta. 
 
 She spoke to me very little; but I felt her large deep eyes 
 following me as I stirred little concoctions of herbs on the fire, 
 or crept softly about the room. Towards morning she said, 
 " Child, you are tired — come and lie down;" and she pointed 
 to a little bed bedside her own. 
 
 Peremptory as were the words, there was a tone in them differ- 
 ent from the usual metallic firmness in her voice — which froze 
 Else's heart — a tremulousness which was almost tender. I could 
 not resist the command, especially as she said she felt much 
 better ; and in a few minutes, bad nurse that I was, I fell asleep. 
 
 How long I slept I know not, but I was awakened by a slight 
 movement in the room, and looking up, I saw Aunt Agnes's bed 
 empty. In my first moments of bewildered terror I thought of 
 arousing the sisterhood, when I noticed that the door of the 
 infirmary which opened on the gallery of the chapel was slightly 
 ajar. Softly I stole towards it, and there, in the front of the 
 gallery, wrapped in. a sheet, knelt Aunt Agnes, looking more 
 than ever like the picture of death which she always recalled to 
 Else. Her lips, which were as bloodless as her face, moved with 
 passionate rapidity; her thin hands feebly counted the black 
 beads of her rosary; and her eyes were fixed on a picture of the 
 Mater Dolorosa with the seven swords in her heart, over one of 
 the altars. There was no impassiveness in the poof sharp
 
 Eva's Story. 1S5 
 
 features and trembling lips then. Her whole soul seemed going 
 forth in an agonized appeal to that pierced heart; and I heard 
 her murmur, " In vain ! Holy Virgin, plead for me ! it has been 
 all in vain. The flesh is no more dead in me than the first day. 
 That child's face and voice stir my heart more than all thy 
 sorrows. This feeble tie of nature has more power in me than 
 all the relationships of the heavenly city. It has been in vain, 
 — all, all in vain. I cannot quench the fires of earth in my 
 heart." 
 
 I scarcely ventured to interrupt her, but as she bowed her 
 head on her hands, and fell almost prostrate on the floor of the 
 chapel, while her whole frame heaved with repressed sobs, I 
 went forward and gently lifted her, saying, "Sister Agnes, 
 I am responsible for the sick to-night. You must come 
 back." 
 
 She did not resist. A shudder passed through her; then the 
 old stony look came back to her face, more rigid than ever, and 
 she suffered me to wrap her up in the bed, and give her a warm 
 drink. 
 
 I do not know whether she suspects that I heard her. She 
 is more reserved with me than ever; but to me those resolute, 
 fixed features, and that hard, firm voice, will never more be 
 what they were before. 
 
 No wonder that the admiration of the sisterhood has no power 
 to elate Aunt Agnes, and that their wish to elect her sub-prioress 
 had no seduction for her. She is striving in her inmost soul 
 after an ideal, which, could she reach it, what would she be 1 ? 
 
 As regards all human feeling and earthly life, dead! 
 
 And just as she hoped this was attained, a voice — a poor, 
 friendly child's voice — falls on her ear, and she finds that what 
 she deemed death was only a dream in an undisturbed slumber, 
 and that the whole work has to begin again. 
 
 It is a fearful combat, this concentrating all the powers of life 
 on producing death in life. 
 
 Can this be what God means'? 
 
 Thank God, at least, that my vocation is lower. The hum- 
 bling work in the infirmary, and the trials of temper in the 
 school of the novices, seem to teach me more, and to make me
 
 1 86 Chronicles of the Schbnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 feel that I am nothing and have nothing in myself, more than 
 all my efforts to feel nothing. 
 
 My " Theologia" says, indeed, that true self-abnegation is 
 freedom ; and freedom cannot be attained until we are above 
 the fear of punishment or the hope of reward. Else cannot 
 bear this ; and when I spoke of it the other day to poor Sister 
 Beatrice, she said it bewildered her poor brain altogether to 
 think of it. But I do not take it in that sense. I think it must 
 mean that love is its own reward ; and grieving Him we love, 
 who has so loved us, our worst punishment. And that seems to 
 me quite true.
 
 XII. 
 
 Ctac's Story. 
 
 Wittemderg, June 1512. 
 
 j]UR Eva seems happy at the convent. She has taken 
 the vows, and is now finally Sister Ave. She has also 
 sent us some eye-water for the father. But in spite 
 of all we can do his sight seems failing. 
 
 In some way or other I think my father's loss of sight has 
 brought blessing to the family. 
 
 Our grandmother, who is very feeble now, and seldom leaves 
 her chair by the stove, has become much more tolerant of his 
 schemes since there is no chance of theii being carried out, 
 and listens with remarkable patience to his statements of the 
 wonders he would have achieved had his sight only been con- 
 tinued a few years. 
 
 Nor does the father himself seem as much dejected as one 
 would have expected. 
 
 When I was comforting him to-day by saying how much less 
 anxious our mother looks, he replied,— 
 
 " Yes, my child, the praeter pluperfect subjunctive is a more 
 comfortable tense to live in than the future subjunctive, for any 
 length of time." 
 
 I looked perplexed, and he explained, — 
 
 " It is easier, when once one has made up one's mind to it, 
 to say, ' Had I had this I might have done that,' than, ' If 1 
 can have this I shall do that,' — at least it is easier to the anxious 
 and excitable feminine mind." 
 
 " But to you, father V 
 
 " To me it is a consolation at last to be appreciated. Even 
 your grandmother understands at length how great the results
 
 1 88 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 would have been if I could only have had eye-sight to perfect 
 that last invention for using steam to draw water." 
 
 Our grandmother must certainly have put great restraint on 
 her usually frank expression of opinion, if she has led our 
 father to believe she had any confidence in that last scheme ; 
 for, I must confess, that of all our father's inventions and dis- 
 coveries, the whole family consider this idea about the steam 
 the wildest and most impracticable of all. The secret of per- 
 petual motion might, no doubt, be discovered, and a clock be 
 constructed which would never need winding up, — I see no 
 great difficulty in that. It might be quite possible to transmute 
 lead into gold, or iron into silver, if one could find exactly the 
 right proportions. My father has explained all that to me quite 
 clearly. The elixir which would prolong life indefinitely seems 
 to me a little more difficult ; but this notion of pumping up 
 water by means of the steam which issues from boiling water 
 and disperses in an instant, we all agree in thinking quite 
 visionary, and out of the question ; so that it is, perhaps, as 
 well our poor father should not have thrown away any more 
 expense or time on it. Besides, we had already had two or 
 three explosions from his experiments ; and some of the neigh- 
 bours were beginning to say very unpleasant things about the 
 black art, and witchcraft ; so that on the whole, no doubt, it is 
 all for the best. 
 
 I would not, however, for the world, have hinted this to him ; 
 therefore I only replied, evasively, — 
 
 " Our grandmother has indeed been much gentler and more 
 placid lately." 
 
 " It is not only that," he rejoined ; " she has an intelligence 
 far superior to that of most women, — she comprehends. And 
 then," he continued, " I am not without hopes that that young 
 nobleman, Ulrich von Gersdorf, who comes here so frequently 
 and asks about Eva, may one day carry out my schemes. He 
 and Chriemhild begin to enter into the idea quite intelligently. 
 Besides, there is Master Reichenbach, the rich merchant to 
 whom your Aunt Cotta introduced us ; he has money enough 
 to carry things out in the best style. He certainly does not 
 promise much, but he is an intelligent listener, and that is a
 
 ElsPs Story. 1S9 
 
 great step. Gottfried Reichenbach is an enlightened man for 
 a merchant, although be is, perhaps, rather slow in comprehen- 
 sion, and a little over-cautious." 
 
 " He is not overcautious in his alms, father," I said ; " at 
 least Dr. Martin Luther says so." 
 
 " Perhaps not," he said. " On the whole, certainly, the 
 citizens of Wittemberg are very superior to those of Eisenach, 
 who were incredulous and dull to the last degree. It will be a 
 great thing if Reichenbach and Von Gersdorf take up this in- 
 vention. Reichenbach can introduce it at once among the 
 patrician families of the great cities with whom he is connected, 
 and Von Gersdorf would promote it among his kindred knights. 
 It would not, indeed, be such an advantage to our family as if 
 Pollux and Christopher, or our poor Fritz, had" carried it out. 
 But never mind, Else, my child, we were children of Adam be- 
 fore we were Cottas. We must think not only of the family, 
 but of the world." 
 
 Master Reichenbach, indeed, may take a genuine interest in 
 my father's plans, but I have suspicions of Ulrich von Gersdorf. 
 He seems to me far more interested in Chriemhild's embroidery 
 than in our father's steam-pump ; and although he continues to 
 talk of Eva as if he thoug'ht her an angel, he certainly sometimes 
 looks at Chriemhild as if he thought her a creature as interesting. 
 
 I do not like such transitions ; and, besides, his conversa- 
 tion is so very different, in my opinion, from Master Reichen- 
 baclvs. Ulrich von Gersdorf has no experience of life beyond 
 a boar-hunt, a combat with some rival knights, or a foray on 
 some defenceless merchants. His life has been passed in the 
 castle of an uncle of his in the Thuringian forest ; yet I cannot 
 wonder that Chriemhild listens, with a glow of interest on her 
 face, as she sits with her eyes bent on her embroidery, to his 
 stories of ambushes and daring surprises. But to me this life 
 seems rude and lawless. Ulrich's uncle was unmarried ; and 
 they had no ladies in the castle except a widowed aunt of 
 Ulrich's, who seems to be as proud as Lucifer, and especially to 
 pride herself on being able to wear pearls and velvet, which no 
 burgher's wife may appear in. 
 
 Ulrich's mother died early. I fancy she was gentler and of
 
 190 Chronicles of the Sdwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 a truer nobleness. He says the only book they have in the 
 castle is an old illuminated Missal which belonged to her. He 
 has another aunt, Beatrice, who is in the convent at Nimpt- 
 schen with our Eva. They sent her there to prevent her mar- 
 rying the son of a family with whom they had a hereditary feud. 
 I begin to feel, as Fritz used to say, that the life of these petty 
 nobles is not nearly so noble as that of the burghers. They 
 seem to know nothing of the world beyond the little district 
 they rule by terror. They have no honest way of maintaining 
 themselves, but live by the hard toil of their poor oppressed 
 peasants, and by the plunder of their enemies. 
 
 Herr Reichenbach, on the other hand, is connected with the 
 patrician families in the great city of Niirnberg ; and although 
 he does not talk much, he has histories to tell of painters and 
 poets, and great events in the broad field of the world. Ah, I 
 wish he had known Fritz ! He likes to hear me talk of him. 
 
 And then, moreover, Herr Reichenbach has much to tell me 
 about Brother Martin Luther, who is at the head of the Ere- 
 mite or Augustine Convent here, and seems to me to be the 
 great man of Wittemberg ; at least people appear to like him or 
 dislike him more than any one else here. 
 
 October 19, 1512. 
 
 This has been a great day at Wittemberg. Friar Martin 
 Luther has been created Doctor of Divinity. Master Reichen- 
 bach procured us excellent places, and we saw the degree con- 
 ferred on him by Dr. Andrew Bodenstein of Carlstadt. 
 
 The great bell of the city churches, which only sounds on 
 great occasions, pealed as if for a Church festival ; all the uni- 
 versity authorities marched in procession through the streets ; 
 and after taking the vow, Friar Martin was solemnly invested 
 with the doctor's robes, hat, and ring — a massive gold ring 
 presented to him by the Elector. 
 
 But the part which impressed me most was the oath, which 
 Dr. Luther pronounced most solemnly, so that the words, in 
 his fine clear voice, rang through the silence. He repeated it 
 after Dr. Bodenstein, who is commonly called Carlstadt. The 
 words in Latin, Herr Reichenbach says, were these (he wrote 
 them for me to send to Eva), —
 
 ElsPs Story. 191 
 
 " Juro me veritatem evangelicam viriliter defensurum ;" 
 which Herr Reichenbach translated, " I swear vigorously to de- 
 fend eva?igelical truth? 
 
 This oath is only required at one other university besides 
 Wittemberg — that of Tubingen. Dr. Luther swore it as if he 
 were a knight of olden times, vowing to risk life and limb in 
 some sacred cause. To me, who could not understand the 
 words, his manner was more that of a warrior swearing on his 
 sword, than of a doctor of divinity. 
 
 And Master Reichenbach says, " What he has promised he 
 will do I" 
 
 Chriemhild laughs at Master Reichenbach, because he has 
 entered his name on the list of university students, in order to 
 attend Dr. Luther's lectures. 
 
 " With his grave old face, and his grey hair," she says, " to 
 sit among those noisy student boys !" 
 
 But I can see nothing laughable in it. I think it is a sign of 
 something noble, for a man in the prime of life to be content 
 to learn as a little child. And besides, whatever Chriemhild 
 may say, if Herr Reichenbach is a little bald, and has a few 
 grey hairs, it is not on account of age. Grown men, who 
 think and feel, in these stormy times, cannot be expected 
 to have smooth faces and full curly locks, like Ulrich von 
 Gersdorf. 
 
 I am sure if I were a man twice as old as he is, there is no- 
 thing I should like better than to attend Dr. Luther's lectures. 
 I have heard him preach once in the City Church, and it was 
 quite different from any other sermon I ever heard. He spoke 
 of God and Christ, and heaven and hell, with as much convic- 
 tion and simplicity as if he had been pleading some cause of 
 human wrong, or relating some great events which happened on 
 earth yesterday, instead of reciting it like a piece of Latin 
 grammar, as so many of the monks do. 
 
 I began almost to feel as if I might at last find a religion that 
 would do for me. Even Christopher was attentive. He said 
 Dr. Luther called everything by such plain names, one could 
 not help understanding. 
 
 We have seen him once at our house. He was so respectful
 
 192 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 to our grandmother, and so patient with my father, and he 
 spoke so kindly of Fritz. 
 
 Fritz has written to us, and has recommended us to take Dr. 
 Martin Luther for our family confessor. Pie says he can never 
 repay the good Dr. Luther has done to him. And certainly he 
 writes more brightly and hopefully than he ever has since he 
 left us, although he has, alas ! finally taken those dreadful, irre- 
 vocable vows. 
 
 March 1513. 
 
 Dr. Luther has consented to be our confessor; and thank 
 God I do believe at last I have found the religion which may 
 make me, even me, love God. Dr. Luther says I have entirely 
 misunderstood God and the Lord Jesus Christ. He seemed to 
 understand all I have been longing for and perplexing myself 
 about all my life, with a glance. When I began to falter out 
 my confessions and difficulties to him, he seemed to see them 
 all spread before him, and explained them all to me. He says 
 I have been thinking of God as a severe judge, an exactor, a 
 harsh creditor, when he is a rich Giver, a forgiving Saviour, yea, 
 the very fountain of inexpressible love. 
 
 " God's love," he said, " gives in such a way that it flows 
 from a Father's heart, the well-spring of all good. The heart 
 of the giver makes the gift dear and precious ; as among our- 
 selves we say of even a trifling gift, ' It comes from a hand we 
 love,' and look not so much at the gift as at the heart." 
 
 " If we will only consider him in his works, we shall learn 
 that God is nothing else but pure, unutterable love, greater and 
 more than any one can think. The shameful thing is, that the 
 world does not regard this, nor thank him for it, although every 
 day it sees before it such countless benefits from him ; and it 
 deserves for its ingratitude that the sun should not shine another 
 moment longer, nor the grass grow; yet He ceases not, without 
 a moment's interval, to love us, and to do us good. Language 
 must fail me to speak of his spiritual gifts. Here he pours forth 
 for us, not sun and moon, nor heaven and earth, but his own 
 heart, his beloved Son, so that He suffered His blood to be 
 shed, and the most shameful death to be inflicted on Him, for 
 us wretched, wicked, thankless creatures. How, then, can we
 
 Else's Story. 193 
 
 say anything but that God is an abyss of endless, unfathomable 
 love?" 
 
 " The whole Bible," he says, " is full of this, — that we should 
 not doubt, but be absolutely certain, that God is merciful, 
 gracious, patient, faithful, and true ; who not only will keep his 
 promises, but already has kept and done abundantly beyond 
 what he promised, since he has given his own Son for our sins 
 on the cross, that all who believe on Him should not perish, 
 but have everlasting life." 
 
 " Whoever believes and embraces this," he added, " that God 
 has given his only Son to die for us poor sinners, to him it is no 
 longer any doubt, but the most certain truth, that God reconciles 
 us to himself, and is favourable and heartily gracious to us." 
 
 "Since the gospel shows us Christ the Son of God, who, 
 according to the will of the Father, has offered himself up for us, 
 and has satisfied for sin, the heart can no more doubt God's 
 goodness and grace, — is no more affrighted, nor flies from God, 
 but sets all its hope in his goodness and mercy." 
 
 " The apostles are always exhorting us," he says, " to continue 
 in the love of God, — that is, that each one should entirely con- 
 clude in his heart that he is loved by God; and they set before 
 our eyes a certain proof of it, in that God has not spared his 
 Son, but given him for the world, that through His death the 
 world might again have life. 
 
 " It is God's honour and glory to give liberally. His nature 
 is all pure love ; so that if any one would describe or picture 
 God, he must describe One who is pure love, the divine nature 
 being nothing else than a furnace and glow of such love that it 
 fills heaven and earth. 
 
 " Love is an image of God, and not a dead image, nor one 
 painted on paper, but the living essence of the divine nature, 
 which burns full of all goodness. 
 
 "He is not harsh, as we are to those who have injured us. 
 We withdraw our hand and close our purse, but he is kind to 
 the unthankful and the evil. 
 
 " He sees thee in thy poverty and wretchedness, and knows 
 thou hast nothing to pay. Therefore he freely forgives, and 
 gives thee all." 
 
 13
 
 194 Chronicles of the Schbnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " It is not to be borne," he said, " that Christian people 
 should say, We cannot know whether God is favourable to us 
 or not. On the contrary, we should learn to say, I know that 
 I believe in Christ, and therefore that God is my gracious 
 Father." 
 
 "What is the reason that God gives 1" he said, one day. 
 "What moves him to it? Nothing but unutterable love, be- 
 cause he delights to give and to bless. What does he give % 
 Not empires merely, not a world full of silver and gold, not 
 heaven and earth only, but his Son, who is as great as himself, 
 — that is, eternal and incomprehensible; a gift as infinite as the 
 Giver, the very spring and fountain of all grace; yea, the pos- 
 session and property of all the riches and treasures of God." 
 
 Dr. Luther said also, that the best name by which we can 
 think of God is Father. " It is a loving, sweet, deep, heart- 
 touching name ; for the name of father is in its nature full of 
 inborn sweetness and comfort. Therefore, also, we must con- 
 fess ourselves children of God; for by this name we deeply 
 touch our God, since there is not a sweeter sound to the father 
 than the voice of the child." 
 
 All this is wonderful to me. I scarcely dare to open my 
 hand, and take this belief home to my heart. 
 
 Is it then, indeed, thus we must think of God 1 ? Is he, indeed, 
 as .Dr. Luther says, ready to listen to our feeblest cry, ready to 
 forgive us, and to help us? 
 
 And if he is indeed like this, and cares what we think of him, 
 how I must have grieved him all these years ! 
 
 Not a moment longer ! I will not distrust Thee a moment 
 longer. See, heavenly Father, I have come back ! 
 
 Can it, indeed, be possible that God is pleased when we trust 
 him, — pleased when we pray, simply because he loves us % 
 
 Can it indeed be true, as Dr. Luther says, that love is our 
 greatest virtue ; and that we please God best by being kind to 
 each other, just because that is what is most like him? 
 
 I am sure it is true. It is so good, it must be true. 
 
 Then it is possible for me, even for me, to love God. How 
 is it possible for me not to love him 1 ? And it is possible 
 for me, even for me, to be religious, if to be religious is to
 
 Elst's Story. 195 
 
 love God, and to do whatever we can to make those around us 
 happy. 
 
 But if this is indeed religion, it is happiness, it is freedom, — 
 it is life ! 
 
 Why, then, are so many of the religious people I know of a 
 sad countenance, as if they were bond-servants toiling for a hard 
 master 1 
 
 I must ask Dr. Luther. 
 
 April, 1513. 
 
 I have asked Dr. Luther, and he says it is because the devil 
 makes a great deal of the religion we see; that he pretends to 
 be Christ, and comes and terrifies people, and scourges them 
 with the remembrance of their sins, and tells them they must 
 not dare to lift up their eyes to heaven, because God is so holy, 
 and they are so sinful. But it is all because he knows that if 
 they would lift their eyes to heaven, their terrors would vanish, 
 and they would see Christ there, not as the Judge, and the hard, 
 exacting Creditor, but as the pitiful, loving Saviour. 
 
 I find it a great comfort to believe in this way in the devil. 
 Has he not been trying to teach me his religion all my life ] 
 And now I have found him out ! He has been telling me lies, 
 not about myself (Ur. Luther says he cannot paint us more sin- 
 ful than we are), but lies about God. It helps me almost as 
 much to hear Dr. Luther speak about the devil as about God — 
 " the malignant, sad spirit," he says, " who loves to make every 
 one sad." 
 
 With God's help, I will never believe him again. But Dr. 
 Luther said I shall, often; that he will come again and malign 
 God, and assail my peace in so many ways, that it will be long 
 before I learn to know him. 
 
 I shuddered when he told me this; but then he re-assured 
 me, by telling me a beautiful story, which, he said, was from the 
 Bible. It was about a Good Shepherd and silly, wandering 
 sheep, and a wolf who sought to devour them. " All the care 
 of the Shepherd," he said, " is in the tenderest way to attract the 
 sheep to keep close to him; and when they wander, he goes and 
 seeks them, takes them on his shoulder, and carries them safe 
 home. All our wisdom," he says, "is to keep always near
 
 196 Chronicles of the ScJionbcrg-Coita Family. 
 
 this Good Shepherd, who is Christ, and to listen to Hia 
 voice." 
 
 I know the Lord Jesus Christ is called the Good Shepherd. 
 I have seen the picture of him carrying the lamb on his shoulder. 
 But until Dr. Luther explained it to me, I thought it meant 
 that he was the Lord and Owner of all the world, who are his 
 flock. But I never thought that he cared for me as his sheep, 
 sought me, called me, watched me, even me, day by day. 
 
 Other people, no doubt, have understood all this before. And 
 yet, if so, why do not the monks preach of it 7 Why should 
 Aunt Agnes serve Him in the convent by penances and self- 
 tormentings, instead of serving Him in the world by being kind 
 and helping all around 1 Why should our dear, gentle mother, 
 have such sad, self-reproachful thoughts, and feel as if she and 
 our family were under a curse 1 
 
 Dr. Luther said that Christ was " made a curse for us ;" that 
 he, the unspotted and undefiled Lamb of God, bore the curse 
 for us on the cross ; and that we, believing in him, are not under 
 the curse, but under the blessing — that we are blessed. 
 
 This, then, is what the crucifix and the Agnus Dei mean. 
 
 Doubtless many around me have understood all this long ago. 
 I am sure, at least, that our Eva understood it. 
 
 But what inexpressible joy for me, as I sit at my embroidery 
 in the garden, to look up through the apple-blossoms and the 
 fluttering leaves, and to see God's love there ; — to listen to the 
 thrush that has built his nest among them, and feel God's love, 
 who cares for the birds, in every note that swells his little throat ; 
 — to look beyond to the bright blue depths of the sky, and feel 
 they are a canopy of blessing — the roof of the house of my 
 Father; that if clouds pass over, it is the unchangeable light 
 they veil; that, even when the day itself passes, I shall see that 
 the night itself only unveils new worlds of light ; and to know 
 that if I could unwrap fold after fold of God's universe, I should 
 only unfold more and more blessing, and see deeper and deeper 
 into the love which is at the heart of all ! 
 
 And then what joy again to turn to my embroidery, and, as 
 my fingers busily ply the neddle, to think — 
 
 "This is to help my father and mother; this, even this, is a
 
 ElsPs Story. 197 
 
 little work of love. And as I sit and stitch, God is pleased with 
 me, and with what I am doing. He gives me this to do, as 
 much as he gives the priests to pray, and Dr. Luther to preach. 
 I am serving Him, and he is near me in my little corner of the 
 world, and is pleased with me — even with me!" 
 
 Oh, Fritz and Eva! if you had both known this, need you 
 have left us to go and serve God so far away? 
 
 Have I indeed, like St. Christopher, found my bank of the 
 river, where I can serve my Saviour by helping all the pilgrims 
 I can? 
 
 Better, better than St. Christopher; for do I not know the 
 voice that calls to me — 
 
 "Else! Else! do this for me?" 
 
 And now I do not feel at all afraid to grow old, which is a 
 great relief, as I am already six-and-twenty, and the children 
 think me nearly as old as our mother. For what is growing 
 old, if Dr. Martin Luther is indeed right (and I am sure he is), 
 but growing daily nearer God, and His holy, happy home ! Dr. 
 Luther says our Saviour called heaven his Father's house. 
 
 Not that I wish to leave this world. While God wills we 
 should stay here, and is with us, is it not home-like enough for 
 us? 
 
 May, is 1 3. 
 
 This morning I was busy making a favourite pudding of the 
 father's, when I heard Herr Reichenbach's voice at the door. 
 He went into the dwelling-room, and soon afterwards Chriem- 
 hild, Atlantis, and Thekla, invaded the kitchen. 
 
 " Herr Reichenbach wishes to have a consultation," said 
 Chriemhild, " and we are sent away." 
 
 I felt anxious for a moment. It seemed like the old Eisenach 
 days; but since we have been at Wittemberg we have never 
 gone into debt; so that, after thinking a little, I was re-assured. 
 The children were full of speculations what it would be about. 
 Chriemhild thought it was some affair of state, because she had 
 seen him in close confabulation with Ulrich von Gersdorf as he 
 came up the street, and they had probably been discussing 
 some question about the privileges of the nobles and burghers. 
 
 Atlantis believed it had something to do with Dr. Martin
 
 198 Chronicles of the ScJionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Luther, because Herr Reichenbach had presented the mother 
 with a new pamphlet of the Doctor's on entering the room. 
 
 Thekla was sure it was at last the opportunity to make use 
 of one of the father's discoveries, — whether the perpetual clock, 
 or the transmutation of metals, or the steam-pump, she could 
 not tell; but she was persuaded that it was something which 
 was to make our fortunes at last, because Herr Reichenbach 
 looked so very much in earnest, and was so very respectful to 
 our father. 
 
 They had not much time to discuss their various theories 
 when we heard Herr Reichenbach's step pass hurriedly through 
 the passage, and the door closed hastily after him. 
 
 "Do you call that a consultation'?" said Chriemhild, scorn- 
 fully; "he has not been here ten minutes." 
 
 The next instant our mother appeared, looking very pale, 
 and with her voice trembling as she said, — 
 
 " Else, my child, we want you." 
 
 " You are to know first, Else," said the children. " Well, it 
 is only fair; you are a dear good eldest sister, and will be sure 
 to tell us." 
 
 I scarcely knew why, but my fingers did not seem as much 
 under control as usual, and it was some moments before I could 
 put the finishing stroke to my pudding, wash my hands, pull 
 down the white sleeves to my wrists, and join them in the 
 dwelling-room, so that my mother re-appeared with an im- 
 patience very unusual for her, and led me in herself. 
 
 " Else, darling, come here," said my father. And when he 
 felt my hand in his, he added, " Herr Reichenbach left a 
 message for thee. Other parents often decide these matters for 
 their children, but thy mother and I wish to leave the matter to 
 thee. — Couldst thou be his wife'?" 
 
 The question took me by surprise, and I could only say, — 
 
 " Can it be possible he thinks of me 1 ?" 
 
 "I see nothing impossible in that, my Else," said my father; 
 " but at all events Herr Reichenbach has placed that beyond 
 a doubt. The question now is whether our Else can think of 
 him." 
 
 I could not say anything.
 
 Else's Story. 199 
 
 "Think well before you reject him," said my father; " he is 
 a good and generous man, he desires no portion with thee ; he 
 says thou wouldst be a portion for a king ; and I must say he is 
 very intelligent and well-informed, and can appreciate scientific 
 inventions as few men in these days can." 
 
 " I do not wish him to be dismissed," I faltered. 
 
 But my tender-hearted mother said, laying my head on her 
 shoulder, — 
 
 "Yet think well, darling, before you accept him. We are 
 not poor now, and we need no stranger's wealth to make us 
 happy. Heaven forbid that our child should sacrifice herself 
 for us. Herr Reichenbach is, no doubt, a good and wise man, 
 but I know well a young maiden's fancy. He is little, I know 
 — not tall and stalwart, like our Fritz and Christopher; and he 
 is a little bald, and he is not very young, and rather grave and 
 silent, and young girls — " 
 
 " But, mother," I said, " I am not a young girl, I am six-and- 
 twenty; and I do not think Herr Reichenbach old, and I never 
 noticed that he was bald, and I am sure to me he is not silent." 
 
 " That will do, Else," said the grandmother, laughing from 
 her corner by the stove. " Son and daughter, let these two 
 settle it together. They will arrange matters better than we 
 shall for them." 
 
 And in the evening Herr Reichenbach came again, and 
 everything was arranged. 
 
 "And that is what the consultation was about!" said the chil- 
 dren, not without some disappointment. " It seems such an 
 ordinary thing," said Atlantis, " we are so used to seeing Herr 
 Reichenbach. He comes almost every day." 
 
 "I do not see that that is any objection," said Chriemhild; 
 " but it seems hardly like being married, only just to cross the 
 street. His house is just opposite." 
 
 " But it is a great deal prettier than ours," said Thekla. " I 
 like Herr Reichenbach; no one ever took such an interest in 
 my drawings as he does. He tells me where they are wrong, 
 and shows me how to make them right, as if he really felt it of 
 some consequence; which it is, you know, Else, because one 
 day I mean to embroider and help the family, like you. And
 
 200 Chronicles of the Schoiiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 no one was ever so kind to Nix as he is. He took the dog on 
 his knee the other day, and drew out a splinter which had 
 lamed him, which Nix would not let any one else do but me. 
 Nix is very found of Herr Reichenbach, and so am I. He is 
 much wiser, I think, than Ulrich, who teases Nix, and pretends 
 never to know my cats from my cows; and I do not see that 
 he is much older; besides, I could not bear our Else to live a 
 step further off." 
 
 And Thekla climbed up on my lap and kissed me, while Nix 
 stood on his hind legs and barked, evidently thinking it was a 
 great occasion. So that two of the family at least have given 
 their consent. 
 
 But none of the family know yet what Herr Reichenbach said 
 to me when we stood for a few minutes by the window, before 
 he left this evening. He said — 
 
 " Else, it is God who gives me this joy. Ever since the 
 evening when you all arrived at Wittemberg, and I saw you 
 tenderly helping the aged and directing the young ones, and 
 never flurried in all the bustle, but always at leisure to thank 
 any one for any little kindness, or to help any one out of any 
 little difficulty, I thought you were the light of this home, and 
 I prayed God one day to make you the light of mine." 
 
 Ah ! that shows how love veils people's faults ; but he did not 
 know Fritz, and not much of Eva. They were the true sunshine 
 of our home. However, at all events, with God's help, I will 
 do my very best to make Herr Reichenbach's home bright. 
 
 But the best of all is, I am not afraid to accept this blessing. 
 I believe it is God, out of his inexpressible love, as Dr. Luther 
 says, who has given it me, and I am not afraid He will think 
 me too happy. 
 
 Before I had Dr. Luther for my confessor, I should never 
 have known if it was to be blessing or a curse; but now 
 I am not afraid. A chain seems to have dropped from my 
 heart, and a veil from my eyes, and I can call God Father, and 
 take everything fearlessly from him. 
 
 And I know Gottfried feels the same. Since I never had a 
 vocation for the higher religious life, it is an especial mercy for 
 me to have found a religion which enables a very poor every-
 
 ElsPs Story. 201 
 
 day maiden in the world to love God and to seek his bless- 
 ing. 
 
 June. 
 
 Our mother has been full of little tender apologies to me this 
 week, for having called Gottfried (Herr Reichenbach says I am 
 to call him so) old, and bald, and little, and grave. 
 
 " You know, darling, I only meant I did not want you to 
 accept him for our sakes. And after all, as you say, he is 
 scarcely bald ; and they say all men who think much lose their 
 hair early; and I am sure it is no advantage to be always 
 talking; and every one cannot be as tall as our Fritz and 
 Christopher." 
 
 " And after all, dear mother," said the grandmother, " Else 
 did not choose Herr Reichenbach for your sakes; but are you 
 quite sure he did not choose Else for her father's sake % He 
 was always so interested in the steam-pump ! " 
 
 My mother and I are much cheered by seeing the quiet influ- 
 ence Herr Reichenbach seems to have over Christopher, whose 
 companions and late hours have often caused us anxiety lately. 
 Christopher is not distrustful of him, because he is no priest, 
 and no great favourer of monks and convents ; and he is not 
 so much afraid about Christopher as we timid, anxious women 
 were beginning to be. He thinks there is good metal in him ; 
 and he says the best ore cannot look like gold until it is fused. 
 It is so difficult for us women, who have to watch from our quiet 
 homes afar, to distinguish the glow of the smelting furnace from 
 the glare of a conflagration. 
 
 Wittemberg, September 1513. 
 
 This morning, Herr Reichenbach, Christopher, and Ulrich 
 von Gersdorf (who is studying here for a time) came in full 
 of excitement, from a discussion they had been hearing be- 
 tween Dr. Luther and some of the doctors and professors of 
 Erfurt. 
 
 I do not know that I quite clearly understand what it was 
 about; but they seemed to think it of great importance. 
 
 Our house has become rather a gathering-place of late ; 
 partly, I think, on account of my father's blindness, which 
 always insures that there will be some one at home.
 
 202 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 It seems that Dr. Luther attacks the old methods of teaching 
 in the universities, which makes the older professors look on 
 him as a dangerous innovator, while the young delight in him 
 as a hero fighting their battles. And yet the authorities Dr. 
 Luther wishes to re-instate are older than those he attacks. 
 He demands that nothing shall be received as the standard of 
 theological truth except the Holy Scriptures. I cannot under- 
 stand why there should be so much conflict about this, because 
 I thought all we believed was founded on the Holy Scriptures. 
 I suppose it is not ; but if not, on whose authority ] I must 
 ask Gottfried this one day when we are alone. 
 
 The discussion to-day was between Dr. Andrew Bodenstein, 
 Archdeacon of Wittemberg, Dr. Luther, and Dr. Jodocus of 
 Eisenach, called Trutvetter, his old teacher. Dr. Carlstadt 
 himself, they said, seemed quite convinced ; and Dr. Jodocus 
 is silenced and is going back to Erfurt. 
 
 The enthusiasm of the students is great. The great point of 
 Dr. Luther's attack seems to be Aristotle, who was a heathen 
 Greek. I cannot think why these Church doctors should be 
 so eager to defend him ; but Herr Reichenbach says all the 
 teaching of the schools and all the doctrine of indulgences are 
 in some way founded on this Aristotle, and that Dr. Luther 
 wants to clear away everything which stands as a screen between 
 the students and the Bible. 
 
 Ulrich von Gersdorf said that our doctor debates like his 
 uncle, Franz von Sickingen, fights. He stands like a rock 
 on some point he feels firm on; and then, when his opponents 
 are weary of trying to move him, he rushes suddenly down 
 on them, and sweeps them away like a torrent. 
 
 " But his great secret seems to be," remarked Christopher, 
 " that he believes every word he says. He speaks like other 
 men works, as if every stroke were to tell." 
 
 And Gottfried said, quietly, " He is fighting the battle of God 
 with the scribes and Pharisees of our days ; and whether he 
 triumph or perish, the battle will be won. It is a battle, not 
 merely against falsehood, but for truth, to keep a position he 
 has won." 
 
 " When I hear him," said Ulrich, " I wish my student days
 
 Els^s Story. 203 
 
 over, and long to be in the old castle in the Thuringian Forest, 
 to give everything good there a new impulse. He makes me 
 feel the way to fight the world's great battles is for each to 
 conquer the enemies of God in his own heart and home. He 
 speaks of Aristotle and Augustine ; but he makes me think of 
 the sloth and tyranny in the castle, and the misery and oppres- 
 sion in the peasant's hut, which are to me what Aristotle and 
 the schoolmen are to him." 
 
 " And I," said Christopher, " when he speaks, think of our 
 printing press, until my daily toil there seems the highest work 
 I could do ; and to be a printer, and wing such words as his 
 through the world, the noblest thing on earth." 
 
 "But his lectures fight the good fight even more than his 
 disputations," remarked Gottfried. " In these debates he clears 
 the world of the foe ; but in his explanations of the Psalms and 
 the Romans, he carries the battle within, and clears the heart 
 of the lies which kept it back from God. In his attacks on 
 Aristotle, he leads you to the Bible as the one source of truth ; 
 in his discourses on justification by faith he leads you to God 
 as the one source of holiness and joy." 
 
 " They say poor Dr. Jodocus is quite ill with vexation at his 
 defeat," said Christopher ; " and that there are many bitter 
 things said against Dr. Luther at Erfurt." 
 
 " What does that matter," rejoined Ulrich, " since Wittemberg 
 is becoming every month more thronged with students from all 
 parts of Germany, and the Augustinian cloister is already full 
 of young monks, sent hither from various convents, to study 
 under Dr. Luther ? The youth and vigour of the nation are 
 with us. Let the dead bury their dead." 
 
 " Ah, children," murmured the grandmother, looking up from 
 her knitting, " that is a funeral procession that lasts long. The 
 young always speak of the old as if they had been born old. 
 Do you think our hearts never throbbed high with hope, and 
 that we never fought with dragons 1 Yet the old serpent is not 
 killed yet. Nor will he be dead when we are dead, and you 
 are old, and your grandchildren take their place in the old fight, 
 and think they are fighting the first battle the world has seen, 
 and vanquishing the last enemy."
 
 204 Chronicles of the Schojiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " Perhaps not," said Gottfried; " but the last enemy will be 
 overcome at last, and who knows how soon]" 
 
 Wittemberg, October 1513. 
 
 It is a strong bond of union between Herr Reichenbach and 
 me, our reverence and love for Dr. Luther. 
 
 He is lecturing now on the Romans and the Psalms, and as I 
 sit at my spinning-wheel, or sew, Gottfried often reads to me 
 notes from these lectures, or tells me what they have been 
 about. This is a comfort to me also, because he has many 
 thoughts and doubts which, were it not for his friendship with 
 Dr. Luther, would make me tremble for him. They are so new 
 and strange to me; and as it is I never venture to speak of 
 them to my mother. 
 
 He thinks there is great need of reformations and changes in 
 /he Church. He even thinks Christopher not far from right in 
 his dislike of many of the priests and monks, who, he says, lead 
 lives which are a disgrace to Christendom. 
 
 But his chief detestation is the sale of indulgences, nowpreached 
 in many of the towns of Saxony by Dr. Tetzel. He says it is 
 a shameless traffic in lies, and that most men of intelligence 
 and standing in the great cities think so. And he tells me that 
 a very good man, a professor of theology — Dr. John Wesel — 
 preached openly against them about fifty years ago at the Uni- 
 versity of Erfurt, and afterwards at Worms and Mainz ; and 
 that John of Goch and other holy men were most earnest in 
 denouncing them. 
 
 And when I asked if the Pope did not sanction them, he said 
 that to understand what the Pope is one needs to go to Rome. 
 He went there in his youth, not on pilgrimage, but on mercan- 
 tile business, and he told me that the wickedness he saw there, 
 especially in the family of the reigning Pope, the Borgia, for 
 many years made him hate the very name of religion. Indeed, 
 he said it was principally through Dr. Luther that he had begun 
 again to feel there could be a religion, which, instead of being 
 a cloak for sin, should be an incentive to holiness. 
 
 He says also that I have been quite mistaken about " Rein- 
 eke Fuchs ;" that it is no vulgar jest-book, mocking at really
 
 Els^s Story. 205 
 
 sacred things, but a bitter, earnest satire against the hypocrisy 
 which practises all kinds of sin in the name of sacred things. 
 
 He doubts even if the Calixtines and Hussites are as bad as 
 they have been represented to be. It alarms me sometimes to 
 hear him say these things. His world is so much larger than 
 mine, it is difficult for my thoughts to follow him into it. If 
 the world is so bad, and there is so much hypocrisy in the 
 holiest places, perhaps I have been hard on poor Christopher 
 after all. 
 
 But if Fritz has found it so, how unhappy it must make him ! 
 
 Can really religious people like Fritz and Eva do nothing 
 better for the world, but leave it to grow more and more corrupt 
 and unbelieving, while they sit apart to weave their robes of 
 sanctity in convents. It does seem time for something to be 
 done. I wonder who will do it? 
 
 I thought it might be the Pope ; but Gottfried shakes his 
 head, and says, " No good thing can begin at Rome." 
 
 " Or the prelates 1 " I asked one day. 
 
 " They are too intent," he said, " on making their courts as 
 magnificent as those of the princes, to be able to interfere with 
 the abuses by which their revenues are maintained." 
 
 "Or the princes]" 
 
 " The friendship of the prelates is too important to them, for 
 them to interfere in spiritual matters." 
 
 "Or the emperor 1" 
 
 "The emperor," he said, "has enough to do to hold his own 
 against the princes, the prelates, and the pope." 
 
 " Or the knights ? " 
 
 " The knights are at war with all the world," he replied ; " to 
 say nothing of their ceaseless private feuds with each other. 
 With the peasants rising on one side in wild insurrection, the 
 great nobles contending against their privileges on the other, 
 and the great burgher families throwing their barbarous splen- 
 dour into the shade as much as the city palaces do their bare 
 robber castles, the knights and petty nobles have little but 
 bitter words to spare for the abuses of the clergy. Besides, 
 most of them have relations whom they hope to provide for 
 with some good abbey."
 
 206 Chronicles of the ScJionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " Then the peasants ! " I suggested. " Did not the gospel 
 first take root among peasants 1 " 
 
 " Inspired peasants and fishermen ! " he replied, thoughtfully. 
 " Peasants who had walked up and down the land three years 
 in the presence of the Master. But who is to teach our peasants 
 now % They cannot read ! " 
 
 " Then it must be the burghers," I said. 
 
 " Each may be prejudiced in favour of his order," he replied, 
 with a smile ; " but I do think if better days dawn, it will be 
 through the cities. There the new learning takes root ; there 
 the rich have society and cultivation, and the poor have teachers ; 
 and men's minds are brightened by contact and debate, and 
 there is leisure to think and freedom to speak. If a reformation 
 of abuses were to begin, I think the burghers would promote it 
 most of all." 
 
 " But who is to begin it % " I asked. " Has no one ever 
 tried 1" 
 
 " Many have tried," he replied sadly ; " and many have 
 perished in trying. While they were assailing one abuse, others 
 were increasing. Or while they endeavoured to heal some 
 open wound, some one arose and declared that it was im- 
 possible to separate the disease from the whole frame, and that 
 they were attempting the life of our Holy Mother the Church." 
 
 "Who, then, will venture to begin V I said. "Can it be 
 Dr. Luther? He is bold enough to venture anything ; and since 
 he has done so much good to Fritz, and to you, and to me, why 
 not to the whole Church 1 " 
 
 " Dr. Luther is faithful enough, and bold enough for any- 
 thing his conscience calls him to," said Gottfried ; " but he is 
 occupied with saving men's souls, not with reforming ecclesias- 
 tical abuses." 
 
 " But if the ecclesiastical abuses came to interfere with the 
 salvation of men's souls," I suggested, " what would Dr. Luther 
 do then?" 
 
 "We should see, Else," said Gottfried. "If the wolves 
 attacked one of Dr. Luther's sheep, I do not think he would 
 care with what weapon he rescued it, or at what risk."
 
 XIII. 
 
 dEb a's Storn. 
 
 NlMfTSCHEN, 1517. 
 
 RE AT changes have taken place during these last three 
 years in Aunt Cotta's home. Else has been married 
 more than two years, and sends me wonderful narra- 
 tives of the beauty and wisdom of her little Margarethe, who 
 begins now to lisp the names of mother, and father, and aunts. 
 Else has also taught the little creature to kiss her hand to a 
 picture they have of me, and call it Cousin Eva. They will not 
 adopt my convent name. 
 
 Chriemhild also is betrothed to the young knight, Ulrich von 
 Gersdorf, who has a castle in the Thuringian Forest ; and she 
 writes that they often speak of Sister Ave, and that he keeps 
 the dried violets still, with a lock of his mother's hair and a 
 relic of his patron saint. Chriemhild says I should scarcely 
 know him again, he is become so earnest and so wise, and so 
 full of good purposes. 
 
 And little Thekla writes that she also understands something 
 of Latin. Else's husband has taught her ; and there is nothing 
 Else and Gottfried Reichenbach like so much as to hear her 
 sing the hymns Cousin Eva used to sing. 
 
 They seem to think of me as a kind of angel sister, who was 
 early taken to God, and will never grow old. It is very sweet 
 to be remembered thus ; but sometimes it seems as if it were 
 hardly me they .were remembering or loving, but what I was or 
 might have been. 
 
 Would they recognise Cousin Eva in the grave, quiet woman 
 of twenty-two I have become 1 For whilst in the old home 
 Time seems to mark his course like a stream by growth and 
 life, here in the convent he seems to mark it only by the slow
 
 2o8 Chronicles of the Schonierg-Cotta Family. 
 
 falling of the shadow on the silent dial — the shadow of death. 
 In the convent there is no growth but growing old. 
 
 In Aunt Cotta's home the year expanded from winter into 
 spring, and summer, and autumn — seed-time and harvest — the 
 season of flowers and the season of fruits. The seasons grew 
 into each other, we knew not how or when. In the convent 
 the year is sharply divided into December, January. February, 
 March, and April, with nothing to distinguish one month from 
 another but their names and dates. 
 
 In our old home the day brightened from dawn to noon, and 
 then mellowed into sunset, and softly faded into night. Here 
 in the convent the day is separated into hours by the clock. 
 
 Sister Beatrice's poor faded face is slowly becoming a little 
 more faded ; Aunt Agnes's a little more worn and sharp ; and 
 I, like the rest, am six years older than I was six years ago, 
 when I came here ; and that is all. 
 
 It is true, fresh novices have arrived, and have taken the 
 irrevocable vows, and fair young faces are around me ; but my 
 heart aches sometimes when I look at them, and think that 
 they, like the rest of us, have closed the door on life, with all 
 its changes, and have entered on that monotonous pathway to 
 the grave whose stages are simply growing old. 
 
 Some of these novices come full of high aspirations for a 
 religious life. They have been told about the heavenly Spouse, 
 who will fill their consecrated hearts with pure, unutterable joys, 
 the world can never know. 
 
 Many come as sacrifices to family poverty or family pride, 
 because their noble parents are too poor to maintain them 
 suitably, or in order that their fortunes may swell the dower of 
 some married sister. 
 
 I know what disappointment is before them when they learn 
 that the convent is but a poor, childish mimicry of the world, 
 with its petty ambitions and rivalries, but without the life and 
 the love. I know the noblest will suffer most, and may, perhaps, 
 fall the lowest. 
 
 To narrow, apathetic natures, the icy routine of habit will 
 more easily replace the varied flow of life. They will fit into 
 their harness sooner, and become as much interested in the
 
 Eva's Story. 209 
 
 gossip of the house or the order, the election of superiors, or the 
 scandal of some neighbouring nunnery, as they would have 
 become in the gossip of the town or village they would have 
 lived in in the world. 
 
 But warm hearts and high spirits — these will chafe and 
 struggle, or (worse still !) dream they have reached depths of self- 
 abasement or soared to heights of mystical devotion, and then 
 awake, with bitter self-reproaches, to find themselves too weak 
 to cope with some small temptation, like Aunt Agnes. 
 
 These I will help all I cam But I have learned, since I 
 came to Nimptschen, that it is a terrible and perilous thing 10 
 take the work of the training of our souls out of God's hands 
 into our own. The pruning knife in his hands must sometimes 
 wound and seem to impoverish ; but in ours it cuts, and wounds, 
 and impoverishes, and does not prune. We can, indeed, inflict 
 pain on ourselves ; but God alone can make pain healing, or 
 suffering discipline. 
 
 I can only pray that, however mistaken many may be in 
 immuring themselves here, Thou who art the Good Physician 
 wilt take us, with all our useless self-inflicted wounds, and all 
 our wasted, self-stunted faculties, and as we are and as thou art, 
 still train us for thyself. 
 
 The infirmary is what interests me most. Having secluded 
 ourselves from all the joys and sorrows and vicissitudes of 
 common life, we seem scarcely to have left anything in God's 
 hands, wherewith to try our faith and subdue our wills to his, 
 except sickness. Bereavements we cannot know who have 
 bereaved ourselves of all companionship with our beloved for 
 evermore on earth. Nor can we know the trials either of poverty 
 or of prosperity, since we can never experience either; but, 
 having taken the vow of voluntary poverty on ourselves, whilst we 
 can never call anything individually our own, we are freed from 
 all anxieties by becoming members of a richly-endowed order. 
 
 Sickness only remains beyond our control; and, therefore, 
 when I see any of the sisterhood laid on the bed of suffering, I 
 think— 
 
 " God has laid thee there!" and I feel more sure that it is the 
 right thing. 
 
 14
 
 210 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 I still instruct the novices; but sometimes the dreary question 
 comes to me — 
 
 " For what am I instructing them? " 
 
 Life has no future for them — only a monotonous prolonging 
 of the monotonous present. 
 
 I try to feel, " I am training them for eternity." But who 
 can do that but God, who inhabiteth eternity, and sees the links 
 which connect every moment of the little circles of time with 
 the vast circumference of the everlasting future? 
 
 But I do my best. Catharine von Bora, a young girl of six- 
 teen, who has lately entered the convent, interests me deeply. 
 There is such strength in her character and such warmth in her 
 heart. But, alas ! what scope is there for these here 1 
 
 Aunt Agnes has not opened her heart in any way to me. 
 True, when I was ill, she watched over me as tenderly as Aunt 
 Cotta could; but when I recovered, she seemed to repel all de- 
 monstrations of gratitude and affection, and went on with that 
 round of penances and disciplines, which make the nuns 
 reverence her as so especially saintly. 
 
 Sometimes I look with longing to the smoke and lights in the 
 village we can see among the trees from the upper windows of 
 the convent. I know that each little wreath of smoke comes 
 from the hearth of a home where there are father and mother 
 and little children ; and the smoke wreaths seems to me 
 to rise like holy clouds of incense to God our Father in 
 heaven. 
 
 But the alms given so liberally by the sisterhood are given at 
 the convent-gate, so that we never form any closer connection 
 with the poor around us than that of beggars and almoners; 
 and I long to be their friend. 
 
 Sometimes I am afraid I acted in impatient self-will in leaving 
 Aunt Cotta's home, and that I should have served God better 
 by remaining there, and that, after all, my departure may have 
 left some little blank it would not have been useless to fill. As 
 the girls marry, Aunt Cotta might have found me a comfort; 
 and, as " Cousin Eva," I might perhaps have been more of a 
 help to Else's children than I can be to the nuns here as Sister 
 Ave. But whatever might have been, it is impatience and re-
 
 Eva's Story. 
 
 211 
 
 bellion to think of that now; and nothing can separate me from 
 God and his love. 
 
 Somehow or other, however, even the "Theologia Germanica," 
 and the high, disinterested communion with God it teaches, 
 seemed sweeter to me, in the intervals of an interrupted and 
 busy Jife, than as the business of this uninterrupted leisure. 
 The hours of contemplation were more blessed for the very 
 trials and occupations which seemed to hinder them. 
 
 Sometimes I feel as if my heart also were freezing, and 
 becoming set and hard. I am afraid, indeed, it would, were it 
 not for poor Sister Beatrice, who has had a paralytic stroke, and 
 is now a constant inmate of the infirmary. She speaks at times 
 yery incoherently, and cannot think at any time connectedly. 
 But I have found a book which interests her; it is the Latin 
 Gospel of St. Luke, which I am allowed to take from the con- 
 vent library and translate to her. The narratives are so brief 
 and simple, she can comprehend them, and she never wearies 
 of hearing them. The very familiarity endears them, and to me 
 they are always new. 
 
 But it is very strange that there is nothing about penance or 
 vows in it, or the adoration of the blessed Virgin. I suppose 
 I shall find that in the other Gospels, or in the Epistles, which 
 were written after our Lady's assumption into heaven. 
 
 Sister Beatrice likes much to hear me sing the hymn by Ber- 
 nard of Clugni, on the perpetuity of joy in heaven:* — 
 
 Here brief is the sighing, 
 And brief is the crying, 
 
 For brief is the life ! 
 The life there is endless, 
 The joy there is endless, 
 
 And ended the strife. 
 
 What joys are in heaven? 
 To whom are they given ? 
 
 Ah! what? and to whom? 
 The stars to the earth-born, 
 " Best robes" to the sin-worn, 
 
 The crown for the doom ! 
 
 O country the fairest ! 
 Our country, the dearest ! 
 
 We press towards thee ' 
 O Sion the golden ! 
 Our eyes now are holdcn, 
 
 Thy light till we see : 
 
 Thy crystalline ocean, 
 Unvexed by commotion, 
 
 Thy fountain of life ; 
 Thy deep peace unspoken, 
 Pure, sinless, unbroken, — 
 
 Thy peace beyond strife : 
 
 Hie breve vivitur, hie breve plangitur, hie breve fletnr, 
 Non breve vivere, non breve plangere, retribuutur. 
 O retributio ! stat brevis actio, vita perennis, 
 O retributio • coelica mansio stat lue plenis. 
 &c &.c. &c
 
 212 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Thy meek saints all glorious, 
 Thy martyrs victorious, 
 
 Who suffer no more ; 
 Thy halls full of singing, 
 Thy hymns ever ringing 
 
 Along thy safe shore. 
 
 Like the lily for whiteness, 
 Like the jewel for brightness, 
 
 Thy vestments, O Bride ! 
 The Lamb ever with thee, 
 The Bridegroom is with thee, — 
 
 With thee to abide ! 
 
 We know not, we know not, 
 All human words show not; 
 
 The joys we may reach ; 
 The mansions preparing, 
 The joys for our sharing, 
 
 The welcome for each. 
 
 O Sion the golden ! 
 
 My eyes still are holden, 
 
 Thy light till I see ; 
 And deep in thy glory, 
 Unveiled then before me, 
 
 My King, look on thee I 
 
 April 15 1 7. 
 
 The whole of the Augustinlan Order in Saxony has been 
 greatly moved by the visitation of Dr. Martin Luther. He has 
 been appointed Deputy Vicar-General in the place of Dr. Stau- 
 pitz, who has gone on a mission to the Netherlands, to collect 
 relics for the Elector Frederick's new church at Wittemberg. 
 
 Last April Dr. Luther visited the Monastery of Grimma, not 
 far from us; and through our Prioress, who is connected with 
 the Prior of Grimma, we hear much about it. 
 
 He strongly recommends the study of the Scriptures and of 
 St. Augustine, in preference to every other book, by the brethren 
 and sisters of his Order. We have begun to follow his advice 
 in our convent, and a new impulse seems given to everything. 
 I have also seen two beautiful letters of Dr. Martin Luther's, 
 written to two brethren of the Augustinian Order. Both were 
 written in April last, and they have been read by many amongst 
 us. The first was to Brother George Spenlein, a monk at 
 Memmingen. It begins, " In the name of Jesus Christ." After 
 speaking of some private pecuniary matters, he writes : — 
 
 " As to the rest, I desire to know how it goes with thy soul ; 
 whether, weary of its own righteousness, it learns to breathe and 
 to trust in the righteousness of Christ. For in our age the 
 temptation to presumption burns in many, and chiefly in those 
 who are trying with all their might to be just and good. Ignorant 
 of the righteousness of God, which in Christ is given to us richly 
 and without price, they seek in themselves to do good works, so 
 that at last they may have confidence to stand .before God, 
 adorned with merits and virtues, — which is impossible. Thou.
 
 Eva's Story. 213 
 
 when with us, wert of this opinion, and so was I; but now I 
 contend against this error, although I have not yet conquered it. 
 
 " Therefore, my dear brother, learn Christ and him crucified ; 
 learn to sing to him, and, despairing of thyself, to say to him, 
 ' Lord Jesus, thou art my righteousness, but I am thy sin. Thou 
 hast taken me upon thyself, and given to me what is thine ; thou 
 hast taken on thee what thou wast not, and hast given to me 
 what I was not.' Take care not to aspire to such a purity that 
 thou shalt no longer seem to thyself a sinner; for Christ does 
 not dwell except in sinners. For this he descended from heaven, 
 where he abode with the just, that he might abide with sinners. 
 Meditate on this love of his, and thou shalt drink in his sweet 
 consolations. For if, by our labours and afflictions, we could 
 attain quiet of conscience, why did he die? Therefore, only in 
 Him, by a believing self-despair, both of thyself and of thy 
 works, wilt thou find peace. For he has made thy sins his, and 
 his righteousness he has made thine." 
 
 Aunt Agnes seemed to drink in these words like a patient in 
 a raging fever. She made me read them over to her again and 
 again, and then translate and copy them; and now she carries 
 them about with her everywhere. 
 
 To me the words that follow are as precious. Dr. Luther 
 says, that as Christ hath borne patiently with us wanderers, we 
 should also bear with others. " Prostrate thyself before the 
 Lord Jesus," he writes, " seek all that thou lackest. He him- 
 self will teach thee all, even to do for others as he has done for 
 thee." 
 
 The second letter was to Brother George Leiffer of Erfurt. 
 It speaks of affliction thus : — 
 
 " The cross of Christ is divided throughout the whole world. 
 To each his portion comes in time, and does not fail. Thou, 
 therefore, do not seek to cast thy portion from thee, but rather 
 receive it as a holy relic, to be enshrined, not in a gold or silver 
 reliquary, but in the sanctuary of a golden, that is a loving and 
 submissive heart. For if the wood of the cross was so conse- 
 crated by contact with the flesh and blood of Christ that it is 
 considered as the noblest of relics, how much more are injuries, 
 persecutions, sufferings, and the hatred of men, sacred relics,
 
 214 Chronicles of the Sclwnbcrg-Cotta Family, 
 
 consecrated not by the touch of his body, but by contact 
 with his most loving heart and Godlike will ! These we should 
 embrace, and bless, and cherish, since through him the curse is 
 transmuted into blessing, suffering into glory, the cross into 
 joy/' 
 
 Sister Beatrice delights in these words, and murmurs them 
 over to herself as I have explained them to her. " Yes, I un- 
 derstand; this sickness, helplessness, — all I have lost and suf- 
 fered, are sacred relics from my Saviour; not because he forgets, 
 but because he remembers me; He remembers me! Sister Ave, 
 I am content." 
 
 And then she likes me to sing her favourite hymn, /esu dulcis 
 manor ia : — 
 
 O Jesus ! thy sweet memory 
 Can fill the heart with ecstasy ; 
 But passing all things sweet that be, 
 I'hy presence, Lord, to me. 
 
 What hope, O Jesus, thou canst render 
 To those who other hopes surrender ! 
 To those who seek thee, O how tender ' 
 But what to those who find ! 
 
 With Mary, ere the morning break, 
 Him at the sepulchre I seek, — 
 Would hear him to my spirit speak, 
 And see him with my heart. 
 
 Wherever I may chance to be, 
 Thee first my heart desires to see ;— 
 How glad when I discover thee ! 
 How blest when I retain ! 
 
 Beyond all treasures is thy grace ; — 
 O when wilt thou thy steps retrace, 
 And satisfy me with thy face, 
 
 And make me wholly glad ? 
 
 Then come, O come, thou perfect King, 
 Of boundless glory boundless spring ; 
 Arise, and fullest daylight bring, 
 Jesus, expected long ! 
 
 May 1517. 
 
 Aunt Agnes has spoken to me at last. Abruptly and sternly, 
 as if more angry with herself than repenting or rejoicing, she 
 said to me this morning, "Child, those words of Dr. Luther's 
 have searched my heart. I have been trying all my life to be a 
 saint, and so to reach God. And I have failed utterly. And 
 now I learn that I am a sinner, and yet that God's love reaches 
 me. The cross, the cross of Christ, is my pathway from hell to 
 heaven. I am not a saint. I shall never be a saint. Christ 
 is the only Saint, the Holy One of God ; and he has borne my 
 sins, and he is my righteousness. He has done it all ; and I 
 have nothing left but to give him all the glory, and to love, to 
 love, to love him to all eternity! And I will do it," she added
 
 Eva's Story. 
 
 215 
 
 fervently, " poor, proud, destitute, and sinful creature that I am. 
 I cannot help it j I must." 
 
 But strong and stern as the words were, how changed Aunt 
 Agnes's manner ! — humble and simple as a child's. And as she 
 left me for some duty in the house, she kissed my forehead, and 
 said, "Ah, child, love me a little, if you can, — not as a saint, 
 but as a poor, sinful old woman, who among her worst sins has 
 counted loving thee too much, which was certainly, after all, 
 among the least; love me a little, Eva, for my sister's sake, whom 
 you love so much."
 
 XIV. 
 
 August 1317. 
 
 [ES, our little Gretchen is certainly rather a remarkable 
 child. Although she is not yet two years old, she 
 knows all of us by name. She tyrannizes over us all, 
 except me. I deny her many things which she cries for; ex- 
 cept when Gottfried is present, who, unfortunately, cannot bear 
 to see her unhappy for a moment, and having (he says) had his 
 temper spoilt in infancy by a cross nurse, has no notion of in- 
 fant education, except to avoid contradiction. Christopher, who 
 always professed a supreme contempt for babies, gives her rides 
 on his shoulder in the most submissive manner. But best of 
 all, I love to see her sitting on my blind father's knee, and strok- 
 ing his face with a kind of tender, pitiful reverence, as if she 
 felt there was something missing there. 
 
 I have taught her, too, to say Fritz's name, when I show her 
 the little lock I wear of his hair; and to kiss Eva's picture. I 
 cannot bear that they should be as lost or dead to her. But I 
 am afraid she is perplexed between Eva's portrait and the pic- 
 ture of the Holy Virgin, which I teach her to bow and cross her 
 forehead before; because sometimes she tries to kiss the picture 
 of Our Lady, and to twist her little fingers into the sacred sign 
 before Eva's likeness. However, by-and-by she will distinguish 
 better. And are not Eva and Fritz indeed our family saints and 
 patrons '2 I do believe their prayers bring down blessings on us 
 
 all. 
 
 For our family has been so much blessed lately ! The dear 
 mother's face looks so bright, and has regained something of its 
 old sweet likeness to the Mother of Mercy. And I am so
 
 ElsPs Story. 21 7 
 
 happy, so brimful of happiness. And it certainly does make 
 me feel more religious than I did. 
 
 Not the home-happiness only I mean, but that best blessing 
 of all, that came first, before I knew that Gottfried cared for me, 
 — the knowledge of the love of God to me, — that best riches of 
 all, without which all our riches would be mere cares — the riches 
 of the treasury of God freely opened to us in Christ Jesus our 
 Lord. 
 
 Gottfried is better than I ever thought he was. Perhaps he 
 really grows better every year; certainly he seems better and 
 dearer to me. 
 
 Chriemhild and Ulrich are to be married very soon. He is 
 gone now to see Franz von Sickingen, and his other relations in 
 the Rhineland, and to make arrangements connected with his 
 marriage. Last year Chriemhild and Atlantis stayed some weeks 
 at the old castle in the Thuringian Forest, near Eisenach. A 
 wild life it seemed to be, from their description, deep in the 
 heart of the forest, in a lonely fortress on a rock, with only a 
 few peasants' huts in sight ; and with all kinds of strange legends 
 of demon huntsmen, and elves, and sprites haunting the neigh- 
 bourhood. To me it seems almost as desolate as the wilder- 
 ness where John the Baptist lived on locusts and wild honey; 
 but Chriemhild thought it delightful. She made acquaintance 
 with some of the poor peasants, and they seemed to think her 
 an angel, — an opinion (Atlantis says) shared by Ulrich's old 
 uncle and aunt, to say nothing of Ulrich himself. At first the 
 aged Aunt Hermentrude was rather distant ; but on the Schon- 
 berg pedigree having been duly tested and approved, the old 
 lady at length considered herself free to give vent to her feel- 
 ings, whilst the old knight courteously protested that he had al- 
 ways seen Chriemhild's pedigree in her face. 
 
 And Ulrich says there is one great advantage in the solitude 
 and strength of his castle, — he could offer an asylum at any time 
 to Dr. Luther, who has of late become an object of bitter hatred 
 to some of the priests. 
 
 Dr. Luther is most kind to our little Gretchen, whom he bap- 
 tized. He says little children often understand God better than 
 the wisest doctors of divinity.
 
 2i8 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Thekla has experienced her first sorrow. Her poor little 
 foundling, Nix, is dead. For some days the poor creature had 
 been ailing, and at last he lay for some hours quivering, as if with 
 inward convulsions; yet at Thekla's voice the dull, glassy eyes 
 would brighten, and he would wag his tail feebly as he lay on 
 his side. At last he died ; and Thekla was not to be comforted, 
 but sat apart and shed bitter tears. The only thing which 
 cheered her was Christopher's making a grave in the garden for 
 Nix, under the pear tree where I used to sit at embroidery in 
 summer as now she does. It was of no use to try to laugh her 
 out of her distress. Her lip quivered and her eyes filled with 
 tears if any one attempted it. Atlantis spoke seriously to her 
 on the duty of a little girl of twelve beginning to put away chil- 
 dish things; and even the gentle mother tenderly remonstrated 
 and said one day, when Dr. Luther had asked her for her favou- 
 rite, and had been answered by a burst of tears, " My child, if you 
 mourn so for a dog, what will you do when real sorrows come 1 " 
 
 But Dr. Luther seemed to understand Thekla better than any 
 of us, and to take her part. He said she was a child, and hei 
 childish sorrows were no more trifles to her than our sorrows 
 are to us; that from heaven we might probably look on the fall 
 of an empire as of less moment than we now thought the death 
 of Thekla's dog ; yet that the angels who look down on us from 
 heaven do not despise our little joys and sorrows, nor should 
 we those of the little ones ; or words to this effect. He has a 
 strange sympathy with the hearts of children. Thekla was so 
 encouraged by his compassion, that she crept close to him and 
 laid her hand in his, and said, with a look of wistful earnestness, 
 " Will Nix rise again at the last day 1 Will there be dogs in the 
 other world ! " 
 
 Many of us were appalled at such an irreverent idea; but Dr. 
 Luther did not seem to think it irreverent. He said, " We know 
 less of what that other world will be than this little one, or than 
 that babe," he added, pointing to my little Gretchen, " knows of 
 the empires or powers of this world. But of this we are sure, the 
 world to come will be no empty, lifeless waste. See how full 
 and beautiful the Lord God has made all things in this passing, 
 perishing world of heaven and earth ! Plow much more beau-
 
 Elst's Story. 219 
 
 tiful, then, will he make that eternal incorruptible world ! God 
 will make new heavens and a new earth. All poisonous, and 
 malicious, and hurtful creatures will be banished thence, — all 
 that our sin has ruined. All creatures will not only be harm- 
 less, but lovely, and pleasant and joyful, so that we might play 
 with them. ' The sucking child shall play on the hole of the 
 asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the cockatrice' 
 den.' Why, then, should there not be little dogs in the new 
 earth, whose skin might be fair as gold, and their hair as bright 
 as precious stones]"* 
 
 Certainly, in Thekla's eyes, from that moment there has been 
 no doctor of divinity like Dr. Luther. 
 
 Torgau, November io, 1516. 
 
 The plague is at Wittemberg. We have all taken refuge here. 
 The university is scattered, and many, also, of the Augustinian 
 monks. 
 
 Dr. Luther remains in the convent at Wittemberg. We have 
 seen a copy of a letter of his, dated the 26th October, and ad- 
 dressed to the Venerable Father John Lange, Prior of Erfurt 
 Monastery. 
 
 " Health. I have need of two secretaries or chancellors, 
 since all day long I do nothing but write letters; and I know 
 not whether, always writing, I may not sometimes repeat the 
 same things. Thou wilt see. 
 
 "I am convent lecturer; reader at meals; I am desired to 
 be daily parish preacher; I am director of studies, vicar of the 
 prior, (i.e., prior eleven times over,) inspector of the fish-ponds 
 at Litzkau, advocate of the cause of the people of Herzberg at 
 Torgau, lecturer on Paul and on the Psalms; besides what I have 
 said already of my constant correspondence. I have rarely 
 time to recite my Canonical Hours, to say nothing of my own 
 particular temptations from the world, the flesh, and the devil. 
 See what a man of leisure I am ! 
 
 " Concerning Brother John Metzel I believe you have 
 already received my opinion. I will see, however, what I can 
 do. How can you think I can find room for your Sardana- 
 paluses and Sybarites] If you have educated them ill, you must 
 
 * Luther's Tischreden.
 
 220 Chronicles of the Sch'dnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 bear with those you have educated ill. I have enough useless 
 brethren ; — if, indeed, any are useless to a patient heart. I am 
 persuaded that the useless may become more useful than those 
 who are the most useful now. Therefore bear with them for 
 the time. 
 
 " I think I have already written to you about the brethren 
 you sent me. Some I have sent to Magister Spangenburg, as 
 they requested, to save their breathing this pestilential air. 
 With two from Cologne I felt such sympathy, and thought so 
 much of their abilities, that I have retained them, although at 
 much expense. Twenty-two priests, forty-two youths, and in 
 the university altogether forty-two persons are supported out of 
 our poverty. But the Lord will provide. 
 
 " You say that yesterday you began to lecture on the Sen- 
 tences. To-morrow I begin the Epistle to the Galatians; 
 although I fear that, with the plague among us as it is, I shall 
 not be able to continue. The plague has taken away already 
 two or three among us, but not all in one day; and the son of 
 our neighbour Faber, yesterday in health, to-day is dead ; and 
 another is infected. What shall I say? It is indeed here, and 
 begins to rage with great cruelty and suddenness, especially 
 among the young. You would persuade me and Master Bar- 
 tholomew to take refuge with you. Why should I flee 1 ? I hope 
 the world would not collapse if Brother Martin fell. If the 
 pestilence spreads, I will indeed disperse the monks throughout 
 the land. As for me, I have been placid here. My obedience 
 as a monk does not suffer me to fly; since what obedience re- 
 quired once it demands still. Not that I do not fear death — 
 (I am not the Apostle Paul but only the reader of the Apostle 
 Paul) — but I hope the Lord will deliver me from my fear. 
 
 "Farewell; and be mindful of us in this day of the visitation 
 of the Lord, to whom be glory." 
 
 This letter has strengthened me and many. Yes, if it had 
 been our duty, I trust, like Dr. Luther, we should have had 
 courage to remain. The courage of his act strengthens us ; and 
 also the confession of fear in his words. It does not seem a 
 fear which hath torment, or which fetters his spirit. It does 
 not even crush his cheerfulness. It is a natural fear of dying,
 
 Elst's Story. 221 
 
 which I also cannot overcome. From me, then, as surely from 
 him, when God sees it time to die, He will doubtless remove 
 the dread of death. 
 
 This season of the pestilence recalls so much to me of what 
 happened when the plague last visited us at Eisenach ! 
 
 We have lost some since then, — if I ought to call Eva and 
 Fritz lost. But how my life has been enriched ! My husband, 
 our little Gretchen; and then so much outward prosperity! 
 All that pressure of poverty and daily care entirely gone, and 
 so much wherewith to help others ! And yet, am I so entirely 
 free from care as I ought to be? Am I not even at times more 
 burdened with it 1 ? 
 
 When first I married, and had Gottfried on whom to unbur- 
 den every perplexity, and riches which seemed to me inexhaust- 
 ible, instead of poverty, I thought I should never know care 
 again. 
 
 But is it so 1 Have not the very things themselves, in their 
 possession, become cares'? When I hear of these dreadful wars 
 with the Turks, and of the insurrections and disquiets in vari- 
 ous parts, and look round on our pleasant home, and gardens, 
 and fields, I think how terrible it would be again to be plunged 
 into poverty, or that Gretchen ever should be; so that riches 
 themselves become cares. It makes me think of what a good 
 man once told me : that the word in the Bible which is trans- 
 lated " rich," in speaking of Abraham, in other places is trans- 
 lated "heavy;" so that instead of reading, "Abraham left 
 Egypt rich in cattle and silver and gold," we might read "heavy 
 in cattle, silver, and gold." 
 
 Yes, we are on a pilgrimage to the Holy City; we are in flight 
 from an evil world; and too often riches are weights which hin- 
 der our progress. 
 
 I find it good, therefore, to be here in the small, humble 
 house we have taken refuge in — Gottfried, Gretchen, and I. 
 The servants are dispersed elsewhere; and it lightens my heart 
 to feel how well we can do without luxuries which were begin- 
 ing to seem like necessaries. Doctor Luther's words come to 
 my mind: "The covetous enjoy what they have as little as 
 what they have not. They cannot even rejoice in the sunshine.
 
 222 Chronicles of the Sclionbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 They think not what a noble gift the light is — what an inex- 
 pressibly great treasure the sun is, which shines freely on all the 
 world." 
 
 Yes, God's common gifts are His most precious; and His 
 most precious gifts — even life itself — have no root in themselves. 
 Not that they are without root; they are better rooted in the 
 depths of His unchangeable love. 
 
 It is well to be taught, by such a visitation even as this pesti- 
 lence, the utter insecurity of everything here. " If the ship it- 
 self," as Gottfried says, " is exposed to shipwreck, who, then, 
 can secure the cargo?" Henceforth let me be content with the 
 only security Doctor Luther says God will give us, — the secu- 
 rity of His presence and care : " / will never leave thee." 
 
 Wittembekg, June 1517. 
 
 We are at home once more; and, thank God! our two house- 
 holds are undiminished, save by one death — that of our young- 
 est sister, the baby when we left Eisenach. The professors and 
 students also have returned. Dr. Luther, who remained here 
 all the time, is preaching with more force and clearness than 
 ever. 
 
 The town is greatly divided in opinion about him. Doctor 
 Tetzel, the great Papal Commissioner for the sale of indul- 
 gences, has established his red cross, announcing the sale of 
 pardons, for some months, at Juterbok and Zerbst, not far from 
 Wittemberg. 
 
 Numbers of the townspeople, alarmed, I suppose, by the 
 pestilence into anxiety about their souls, have repaired to 
 Dr. Tetzel, and returned with the purchased tickets of indul- 
 gence. 
 
 I have always been perplexed as to what the indulgences 
 really give. Christopher has terrible stories about the money 
 paid for them being spent by Dr. Tetzel and others on taverns 
 and feasts ; and Gottfried says, " It is a bargain between the 
 priests, who love money, and the people, who love sin." 
 
 Yesterday morning I saw one of the letters of indulgence for 
 the first time. A neighbour of ours, the wife of a miller, whose 
 weights have been a little suspected in the town, was in a state
 
 E/s^'s Story. 223 
 
 of great indignation when I went to purchase some flour of 
 her. 
 
 "See!" she said; -''this Dr. Luther will be wiser than the 
 Pope himself. He has refused to admit my husband to the 
 Holy Sacrament unless he repents and confesses to him, 
 although he took his certificate in his hand." 
 
 She gave it to me, and I read it. Certainly, if the doctors of 
 divinity disagree about the value of these indulgences, Dr. 
 Tetzel has no ambiguity nor uncertainty in his language. 
 
 " I," says the letter, " absolve thee from all the excesses, sins, 
 and crimes w r hich thou hast committed, however great and enor- 
 mous they may be. I remit for thee the pains thou mightest 
 have had to endure in purgatory. I restore thee to participa- 
 tion in the sacraments. I incorporate thee afresh into the com- 
 munion of the Church. I re-establish thee in the innocence 
 and purity in which thou wast at the time of thy baptism. So 
 that, at the moment of thy death, the gate by which souls pass 
 into the place of torments will be shut upon thee; while, on 
 the contrary, that which leads to the paradise of joy will be 
 open to thee. And if thou art not called on to die soon, this 
 grace will remain unaltered for the time of thy latter end. 
 
 " In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy 
 Ghost. 
 
 " Friar John Tetzel, Commissary, has signed it 
 with his own hand." 
 
 " To think," said my neighbour, " of the Pope promising my 
 Franz admittance into paradise; and Dr. Luther will not even 
 admit him to the altar of the parish church! And after spend- 
 ing such a sum on it ! for the friar must surely have thought my 
 husband better off than he is, or he would not have demanded 
 gold of poor struggling people like us." 
 
 " But if the angels at the gate of paradise should be of the 
 same mind as Dr. Luther 1" I suggested. "Would it not be 
 better to find that out here than there 1" 
 
 "It is impossible," she replied; "have we not the Holy 
 Father's own word 1 and did we not pay a whole golden florin '( 
 It is impossible it can be in vain." 
 
 " Put the next florin in your scales instead of in Dr. Tetzel's
 
 224 Chronicles of the Sch'dnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 chest, neighbour," said a student, laughing, as he heard her 
 loud and angry words ; " it may weigh heavier with your flour 
 than against your sins." 
 
 I left them to finish the discussion. 
 
 Gottfried says it is quite true that Dr. Luther in the confes- 
 sional in the city church has earnestly protested to many of his 
 penitents against their trusting to these certificates, and has 
 positively refused to suffer any to communicate, except on their 
 confessing their sins, and promising to forsake them, whether 
 provided with indulgences or not. 
 
 In his sermon to the people last year on the Ten Command- 
 ments, he told them forgiveness was freely given to the penitent 
 by God, and was not to be purchased at any price, least of all 
 with money. 
 
 WlTTEMBERG, July 18. 
 
 The whole town is in a ferment to-day, on account of Dr. 
 Luther's sermon yesterday, preached before the Elector in the 
 Castle church. 
 
 The congregation was very large, composed of the court, 
 students, and townspeople. 
 
 Not a child or ignorant peasant there but could understand 
 the preacher's words. The Elector had procured especial in- 
 dulgences from the pope in aid of his church, but Dr. Luther 
 made no exception, in order to conciliate him. He said the 
 Holy Scriptures nowhere demand of us any penalty or satis- 
 faction for our sins. God gives and forgives freely and without 
 price, out of his unutterable grace ; and lays on the forgiven no 
 other duty than true repentance and sincere conversion of the 
 heart, resolution to bear the cross of Christ, and to do all the 
 good we can. He declared also that it would be better to give 
 money freely towards the building of St. Peter's Church at 
 Rome, than to bargain with alms for indulgences ; that it was 
 more pleasing to God to give to the poor, than to buy these 
 letters, which, he said, would at the utmost do nothing more 
 for any man than remit mere ecclesiastical penances. 
 
 As we returned from the church together, Gottfried said, — 
 
 " The battle-cry is sounded then at last ! The wolf has 
 assailed Dr. Luther's own flock, and the shepherd is roused
 
 ElsPs Story. 225 
 
 The battle-cry is sounded, Else, but the battle is scarcely 
 begun." 
 
 And when we described the sermon to our grandmother, she 
 murmured, — 
 
 " It sounds to me, children, like an old story of my child- 
 hood. Have I not heard such words half a century since in 
 Bohemia? and have I not seen the lips which spoke them 
 silenced in flames and blood % Neither Dr. Luther nor any of 
 you know whither you are going. Thank God, I am soon 
 going to him who died for speaking just such words 1 Thank 
 God I hear them again before I die ! I have doubted long 
 about them and about everything ; how could I dare to think a 
 few proscribed men right against the whole Church 1 But since 
 these old words cannot be hushed, but rise from the dead 
 again, I think there must be life in them ; eternal life. Chil- 
 dren," she concluded, " tell me when Dr. Luther preaches 
 again ; I will hear him before I die, that I may tell your grand- 
 father, when I meet him, the old truth is not dead. I think it 
 would give him another joy, even before the throne of God." 
 
 Wittemberg, August. 
 
 Christopher has returned from Jiiterbok. He saw there a 
 great pile of burning faggots, which Dr. Tetzel had caused to 
 be kindled in the market-place, " to burn the heretics," he said. 
 
 We laughed as he related this, and also at the furious threats 
 and curses that had been launched at Dr. Luther from the 
 pulpit in front of the iron money-chest. But our grandmother 
 said, "It is no jest, children; they have done it, and they will 
 do it again yet !" 
 
 Wittemberg, November i, 1517. 
 All Saints' Day. 
 
 Yesterday evening, as I sat at the window with Gottfried in 
 the late twilight, hushing Gretchen to sleep, we noticed Dr. 
 Luther walking rapidly along the street towards the Castle 
 church. His step was firm and quick, and he seemed too full 
 of thought to observe anything as he passed. There was 
 something unusual in his bearing, which made my husband call 
 my attention to him. His head was erect and slightly thrown 
 
 15
 
 226 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 back, as when he preaches. He had a large packet of papers 
 in his hand, and although he was evidently absorbed with some 
 purpose, he had more the air of a general moving to a battle- 
 field than of a theologian buried in meditation. 
 
 This morning, as we went to the early mass of the festival, 
 we saw a great crowd gathered around the doors of the Castle 
 church; not a mob, however, but an eager throng of well- 
 dressed men, professors, citizens, and students ; those within 
 the circle reading some writing which was posted on the door, 
 whilst around, the crowd was broken into little knots, in eager 
 but not loud debate. 
 
 Gottfried asked what had happened. 
 
 " It is only some Latin theses against the indulgences, by 
 Dr. Luther," replied one of the students, " inviting a disputation 
 on the subject." 
 
 I was relieved to hear that nothing was the matter, and 
 Gottfried and I quietly proceeded to the service. 
 
 "It is only an affair of the university," I said. " I was afraid 
 it was some national disaster, an invasion of the Turks, or some 
 event in the Elector's family." 
 
 As we returned, however, the crowd had increased, and the 
 debate seemed to be becoming warm among some of them. 
 One of the students was translating the Latin into German for 
 the benefit of the unlearned, and we paused to listen. 
 
 What he read seemed to me very true, but not at all remark- 
 able. We had often heard Dr. Luther say and even preach 
 similar things. At the moment we came up the words the 
 student was reading were, — 
 
 " It is a great error for one to think to make satisfaction for 
 his sins, in that God always forgives gratuitously and from his 
 boundless grace, requiring nothing in return but holy living." 
 
 This sentence I remember distinctly, because it was so much 
 like what we had heard him preach. Other propositions fol- 
 lowed, such as that it was very doubtful if the indulgences could 
 deliver souls from purgatory, and that it was better to give alms 
 than to buy indulgences. But why these statements should 
 collect such a crowd, and excite such intense interest, I could 
 not quite understand, unless it was because they were in Latin,
 
 ElsPs Story. 227 
 
 One sentence, I observed, aroused very mingled feelings in 
 the crowd. It was the declaration that the Holy Scriptures 
 alone could settle any controversy, and that all the scholastic 
 teachers together could not give authority to one doctrine. 
 
 The students and many of the citizens received this announce- 
 ment with enthusiastic applause, and some of the professors 
 testified a quiet approval of it ; but others of the doctors shook 
 their heads, and a few retired at once, murmuring angrily as 
 they went. 
 
 At the close came a declaration by Dr. Luther, that " what- 
 ever some unenlightened and morbid people might say, he was 
 no heretic." 
 
 " Why should Dr. Luther think it necessary to conclude with 
 a declaration that he is no heretic V I said to Gottfried as we 
 walked home. " Can anything be more full of respect for the 
 Pope and the Church than many of these theses are 1 And 
 why should they excite so much attention 1 Dr. Luther says no 
 more than so many of us think !" 
 
 " True, Else," replied Gottfried, gravely ; " but to know how 
 to say what other people only think, is what makes men poets 
 and sages ; and to dare to say what others only dare to think, 
 makes men martyrs or reformers, or both." 
 
 November 20. 
 
 It is wonderful the stir these theses make. Christopher 
 cannot get them printed fast enough. Both the Latin and 
 German printing-presses are engaged, for they have been trans- 
 lated, and demands come for them from every part of Ger- 
 many. 
 
 Dr. Tetzel, they say, is furious, and many of the prelates are 
 uneasy as to the result; the new bishop has dissuaded Dr. 
 Luther from publishing an explanation of them. It is reported 
 that the Elector Frederick is not quite pleased, fearing the effect 
 on the new university, still in its infancy. 
 
 Students, however, are crowding to the town, and to Dr. 
 Luther's lectures, more than ever. He is the hero of the youth 
 of Germany. 
 
 But none are more enthusiastic about him than our grand- 
 mother. She insisted on being taken to church on All Saints' 

 
 228 CJironicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Day, and tottering up the aisle, took her place immediately 
 under Dr. Luther's pulpit, facing the congregation. 
 
 She had eyes or ears for none but him. When he came 
 down the pulpit stairs she grasped his hand, and faltered out a 
 broken blessing. And after she came home she sat a long time 
 in silence, occasionally brushing away tears. 
 
 When Gottfried and I took leave for the night, she held one 
 of our hands in each of hers, and said, — 
 
 " Children ! be braver than I have been ; that man preaches 
 the truth for which my husband died. God sends him to you. 
 Be faithful to him. Take heed that you forsake him not. It 
 is not given to every one as to me to have the light they forsook 
 in youth restored to them in old age. To me his words are like 
 voices from the dead. They are worth dying for." 
 
 My mother is not so satisfied. She likes what Dr. Luther 
 says, but she is afraid what Aunt Agnes might think of it. She 
 thinks he speaks too violently sometimes. She does not like 
 any one to be pained. She cannot herself much like the way 
 they sell the indulgences, but she hopes Dr. Tetzel means well, 
 and she has no doubt that the Pope knows best ; and she is 
 convinced that in their hearts all good people mean the same, 
 only she is afraid, in the heat of discussion, every one will go 
 further than any one intends, and so there will be a great deal 
 of bad feeling. She thought it was quite right of Dr. Luther 
 quietly to admonish any of his penitents who were imagining 
 they could be saved without repentance ; but why he should 
 excite all the town in this way by these theses she could not un- 
 derstand ; especially on All Saints' Day, when so many strangers 
 came from the country, and the holy relics were exhibited, and 
 every one ought to be absorbed with their devotions. 
 
 " Ah, little mother," said my father, " women are too tender- 
 hearted for ploughmen's work. You could never bear to break 
 up the clods, and tear up all the pretty wild flowers. But when 
 the harvest comes we will set you to bind up the sheaves, or to 
 glean beside the reapers. No rough hands of men will do that 
 so well as yours." 
 
 And Gottfried said his vow as doctor of divinity makes it as 
 much Dr. Luther's plain duty to teach true divinity, as his
 
 ElsPs Story. 229 
 
 priestly vows oblige him to guard his flock from error and sin. 
 Gottfried says we have fallen on stormy times. For him that 
 may be best, and by his side all is well for me. Besides, I am 
 accustomed to rough paths. But when I look on our little 
 tender Gretchen, as her dimpled cheek rests flushed with sleep 
 on her pillow, I cannot help wishing the battle might not begin 
 in her time. 
 
 Dr. Luther counted the cost before he affixed these theses 
 to the church door. It was this which made him do it so 
 secretly, without consulting any of his friends. He knew there 
 was risk in it, and he nobly resolved not to involve any one else 
 — Elector, professor, or pastor — in the danger he incurred 
 without hesitation for himself. 
 
 Decc?nber 15 17. 
 
 In one thing we are all agreed, and that is in our delight in 
 Dr. Luther's lectures on St. Paul's Epistle to the Galatians. 
 Gottfried heard them and took notes, and reported them to us 
 in my father's house. We gather around him, all of us, in the 
 winter evenings, while he reads those inspiring words to us. 
 Never, I think, were words like them. Yesterday he was read- 
 ing to us, for the twentieth time, what Dr. Luther said on the 
 words, " Who loved me, and gave himself for me." 
 
 " Read with vehemency," he says, " those words ' me,' and 
 'for me.' Print this 'me' in thy heart, not doubting that thou 
 art of the number to whom this ' me ' belongeth ; also, that 
 Christ hath not only loved Peter and Paul, and given himself 
 for them, but that the same grace also which is comprehended 
 in this ' me,' as well pertaineth and cometh unto us as unto 
 them. For as we cannot deny that we are all sinners, all lost ; 
 so we cannot deny that Christ died for our sins. Therefore, 
 when I feel and confess myself to be a sinner, why should I not 
 say that I am made righteous through the righteousness of 
 Christ, especially when I hear He loved me and gave himself 
 forme?" 
 
 And then my mother asked for the passages she most delights 
 in : " O Christ, I am thy sin, thy curse, thy wrath of God, thy 
 hell ; and contrariwise, thou art my righteousness, my blessing, 
 my life, my grace .of God, my heaven."
 
 230 Chronicles of the Sclionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 And again, when he speaks of Christ being " made a curse 
 for us, the unspotted and undented Lamb of God wrapped in 
 our sins, God not laying our sins upon us, but upon his Son, 
 that he, bearing the punishment thereof, might be our peace, 
 that by his stripes we might be healed." 
 
 And again : — 
 
 " Sin is a mighty conqueror, which devoureth all mankind, 
 learned and unlearned, holy, wise, and mighty men. This 
 tyrant flieth upon Christ, and will needs swallow him up as he 
 doth all other. But he seeth not that Christ is a person of 
 invincible and everlasting righteousness. Therefore in this 
 combat sin must needs be vanquished and killed; and righteous- 
 ness must overcome, live, and reign. So in Christ all sin is 
 vanquished, killed, and buried ; and righteousness remaineth 
 a conqueror, and reigneth for ever. 
 
 " In like manner Death, which is an omnipotent queen and 
 empress of the whole world, killing kings, princes, and all men, 
 doth mightily encounter with Life, thinking utterly to overcome 
 it and to swallow it up. But because the Life was immortal, 
 therefore when it was overcome, it nevertheless overcame, van- 
 quishing and killing Death. Death, therefore, through Christ, 
 is vanquished and abolished, so that now it is but a painted 
 death, which, robbed of its sting, can no more hurt those that 
 believe in Christ, who is become the death of death. 
 
 " So the curse hath the like conflict with the blessing, and 
 would condemn and bring it to nought ; but it cannot. For 
 the blessing is divine and everlasting, therefore the curse must 
 needs give place. For if the blessing in Christ could be over- 
 come, then would God himself be overcome. But this is im- 
 possible ; therefore Christ, the power of God, righteousness, 
 blessing, grace, and life, overcometh and destroyeth those mon- 
 sters, sin, death, and the curse, without war and weapons, in 
 this our body, so that they can no more hurt those that believe." 
 
 Such truths are indeed worth battling for; but who, save the 
 devil, would war against them? I wonder what Fritz would 
 think of it all. 
 
 Wittemberg, February 1518. 
 
 Christopher returned yesterday evening from the market-
 
 Else's Story. 231 
 
 place, where the students have been burning Tetzel's theses ; 
 which he wrote in answer to Dr. Luther's. Tetzel hides behind 
 the papal authority, and accuses Dr. Luther of assailing the 
 Holy Father himself. 
 
 But Dr. Luther says nothing shall ever make him a heretic ; 
 that he will recognise the voice of the Pope as the voice of 
 Christ himself. The students kindled this conflagration in the 
 market-place entirely on their own responsibility. They are 
 full of -enthusiasm for Dr. Martin, and of indignation against 
 Tetzel and the Dominicans. 
 
 " Who can doubt," said Christopher, " how the conflict will 
 end, between all learning and honesty and truth on the one 
 side, and a few contemptible avaricious monks on the other?" 
 And he proceeded to describe to us the conflagration and the 
 sayings of the students with as much exultation as if it had been 
 a victory over Tetzel and the indulgence-mongers themselves. 
 
 "But it seems to me," I said, "that Dr. Luther is not so 
 much at ease about it as you are. I have noticed lately that he 
 looks grave, and at times very sad. He does not seem to think 
 the victory won." 
 
 "Young soldiers," said Gottfried, "on the eve of their first 
 battle may be as blithe as on the eve of a tournay. Veterans 
 are grave before the battle. Their courage come? with the 
 conflict. It will be thus, I believe, with Dr. Luther. For 
 surely the battle is coming. Already some of his old friends 
 fall off. They say the censor at Rome, Prierias, has condemned 
 and written against his theses." 
 
 "But," rejoined Christopher, "they say also that Pope Leo 
 praised Dr. Luther's genius, and said it was only the envy of the 
 monks which found fault with him. Dr. Luther believes the 
 Pope only needs to learn the truth about these indulgence- 
 mongers to disown them at once." 
 
 " Honest men believe all men honest until they are proved 
 dishonest," said Gottfried drily; "but the Roman court is ex- 
 pensive and the indulgences are profitable." 
 
 This morning our grandmother asked nervously what was the 
 meaning of the shouting she had heard yesterday in the market- 
 place, and the glare of fire she had seen, and the crackling i
 
 232 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " Only Tetzel's lying theses," said Christopher. She seemed 
 relieved. 
 
 " In my early days," she said, "I learned to listen too eagerly 
 to sounds like that. But in those times they burned othei 
 things than books or papers in the market-places." 
 
 " Tetzel threatens to do so again," said Christopher. 
 
 " No doubt they will, if they can," she replied, and. relapsed 
 into silence.
 
 XV. 
 
 Jfn#s Storg. 
 
 Augustinian Convent, Mainz, November 1517. 
 
 EVEN years have passed since I have written anything 
 in this old chronicle of mine, and as in the quiet of 
 this convent once more I open it, the ink on the first 
 pages is already brown with time; yet a strange familiar frag- 
 rance breathes from them, as of early spring flowers. My 
 childhood comes back to me, with all its devout simplicity; 
 my youth, with all its rich prospects and its buoyant, ardent 
 hopes. My childhood seems like one of those green quiet 
 valleys in my native forests, like the valley of my native Eisenach 
 itself, when that one reach of the forest, and that one quiet town 
 with its spires and church bells, and that one lowly home with 
 its love, its cares, and its twilight talks in the lumber-room, 
 were all the world I could see. 
 
 Youth rises before me like that first journey through the 
 forest to the University of Erfurt, when the world opened to 
 me like the plains from the breezy heights, a battle-field for 
 glorious achievement, an unbounded ocean for adventure and 
 discovery, a vast field for noble work. 
 
 Then came another brief interval, when once again the lowly 
 home at Eisenach became to me dearer and more than all the 
 wide world beside, and all earth and all life seemed to grow 
 sacred and to expand before me in the light of one pure, holy, 
 loving maiden's heart. I have seen nothing so heaven-like 
 since as she was. But then came the great crash which wrenched 
 my life in twain, and made home and the world alike forbidden 
 ground to me. 
 
 At first, after that, for years I dared not think of Eva. But
 
 234 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Colta Family. 
 
 since my pilgrimage to Rome, I venture to cherish her memory 
 again. I thank God every day that nothing can erase that 
 image of purity and love from my heart. Had it not been for 
 that, and for the recollection of Dr. Luther's manly, honest 
 piety, there are times when the very existence of truth and holi- 
 ness on earth would have seemed inconceivable, such a chaos 
 of corruption has the world appeared to me. 
 
 How often has the little lowly hearth-fire, glowing from the 
 windows of the old home, saved me from shipwreck, when "for 
 many days neither sun nor stars appeared, and no small tem- 
 pest lay on me." 
 
 For I have lived during these years behind the veil of outward 
 shows, a poor insignificant monk, before whom none thought 
 it worth while to inconvenience themselves with masks or dis- 
 guises. I have spent hour after hour, moreover, in the confes- 
 sional. I have been in the sacristy before the mass, and at the 
 convent feast after it. And I have spent months once and 
 again at the heart of Christendom, in Rome itself, where the 
 indulgences which are now stirring up all Germany are manu- 
 factured, and where the money gained by the indulgences is 
 spent ; not entirely on the building of St. Peter's or in holy wars 
 against the Turks ! 
 
 Thank God that a voice is raised at last against this crying, 
 monstrous lie, the honest voice of Dr. Luther. It is ringing 
 through all the land. I have just returned from a mission 
 through Germany, and I -had opportunities of observing the 
 effect of the theses. 
 
 The first time I heard of them was from a sermon in a church 
 of the Dominicans in Bavaria. 
 
 The preacher spoke of Dr. Luther by name, and reviled the 
 theses as directly inspired by the devil, declaring that their 
 wretched author would have a place in hell lower than all the 
 heretics, from Simon Magus downward. 
 
 The congregation were roused and spoke of it as they dis- 
 persed. Some piously wondered who this new heretic could be 
 who was worse even than Huss. Others speculated what this 
 new poisonous doctrine could be; and a great many bought a 
 copy of the theses to see.
 
 Fritz's Story. 235 
 
 In the Augustinian convent that evening they formed the 
 subject of warm debate. Not a few of the monks triumphed in 
 them as an effective blow against Tetzel and the Dominicans. 
 A few rejoiced and said these were the words they had been 
 longing to hear for years. Many expressed wonder that people 
 should make so much stir about them, since they said nothing 
 more than all honest men in the land had always thought. 
 
 A few nights afterwards I lodged at the house of Ruprecht 
 Haller, a priest in a Franconian village. A woman of quiet 
 and modest appearance, young in form but worn and old in 
 expression, with a subdued, broken-spirited bearing, was pre- 
 paring our supper, and whilst she was serving the table I began 
 to speak to the priest about the theses of Dr. Luther. 
 
 He motioned to me to keep silence, and hastily turned the 
 conversation. 
 
 When we were left alone he explained his reasons. " I gave 
 her the money for an indulgence letter last week, and she pur- 
 chased one from one of Dr. Tetzel's company," he said ; " and 
 when she returned her heart seemed lighter than I have seen it 
 for years, since God smote us for our sins, and little Dietrich 
 died. I would not have her robbed of that little bit of comfort 
 for the world, be it true or false." 
 
 Theirs was a sad story, common enough in every town and 
 village as regarded the sin, and only uncommon as to the long- 
 ing for better things which yet lingered in the hearts of the 
 guilty. 
 
 I suggested her returning to her kindred or entering a 
 convent. 
 
 " She has no kindred left that would receive her," he said ; 
 " and to send her to be scorned and disciplined by a community 
 of nuns — never ! " 
 
 " But her soul !" I said, "and yours V 
 
 " The blessed Lord received such," he answered almost 
 fiercely, " before the Pharisees." 
 
 "Such received Him!" I said quietly, "but receiving Him 
 they went and sinned no more." 
 
 " And when did God ever say it was sin for a priest to marry]" 
 he asked; "not in the Old Testament, for the son of Elkanah
 
 236 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 the priest and Hannah ministered before the Lord in the 
 temple, as perhaps our little Dietrich," he added in a low tone, 
 " ministers before Him in his temple now. And where in the 
 New Testament do you find it forbidden ?" 
 
 " The Church forbids it." I said. 
 
 "Since when?" he asked. "The subject is too near my 
 heart for me not to have searched to see. And five hundred 
 years ago, I have read, before the days of Hildebrand the pope, 
 many a village pastor had his lawful wife, whom he loved as I 
 love Bertha ; for God knows neither she nor I ever loved another." 
 
 "Does this satisfy her conscience 1 ?" I asked. 
 
 "Sometimes," he replied bitterly, "but only sometimes. 
 Oftener she lives as one under a curse, afraid to receive any 
 good thing, and bowing to every sorrow as her bitter desert, 
 and the foretaste of the terrible retribution to come." 
 
 " Whatever is not of faith is sin," I murmured. 
 
 " But what will be the portion of those who call what God 
 sanctions sin," he said, "and bring trouble and pollution into 
 hearts as pure as hers ?" 
 
 The woman entered the room as he was speaking, and must 
 have caught his words, for a deep crimson flushed her pale 
 face. As she turned away, her whole frame quivered with a 
 suppressed sob. But afterwards, when the priest left the room, 
 she came up to me and said, looking with her sad, dark, lustreless 
 eyes at me, " You were saying that some doubt the efficacy of 
 these indulgences ? But do you ? I cannot trust him," she 
 added softly, "he would be afraid to tell me if he thought so." 
 
 I hesitated what to say. I could not tell an untruth ; and 
 before those searching, earnest eyes, any attempt at evasion 
 would have been vain. 
 
 " You do not believe this letter can do anything for me," she 
 said; " nor do /." And moving quietly to the hearth, she tore 
 the indulgence into shreds, and threw it on the flames. 
 
 " Do not tell him this," she said; "he thinks it comforts me." 
 
 I tried to say some words about repentance and forgiveness 
 being free to all. 
 
 "Repentance for me," she said, "would be to leave him, 
 would it not?"
 
 Fritz s Slovy. 2$J 
 
 I could not deny it. 
 
 " I will never leave him," she replied, with a calmness which 
 was more like principle than passion. " He has sacrificed life 
 for me; but for me he might have been a great and honoured 
 man. And do you think I would leave him to bear his blighted 
 life alone V 
 
 Ah ! it was no dread of scorn or discipline which kept her 
 from the convent. 
 
 For some time I was silenced. I dared neither to reproach 
 nor to comfort. At length I said, " Life, whether joyful or sorrow- 
 ful, is very short. Holiness is infinitely better than happiness 
 here, and holiness makes happiness in the life beyond. If yju 
 felt it would be for his good, you would do anything, at any 
 cost to yourself, would you not 1 ?" 
 
 Her eyes filled with tears. " You believe, then, that there is 
 some good left, even in me!" she said. "For this may God 
 bless you ! " and silently she left the room. 
 
 Five hundred years ago these two lives might have been holy, 
 honourable, and happy; and now ! — 
 
 I left that house with a heavy heart, and a mind more 
 bewildered than before. 
 
 But that pale, worn face; those deep, sad, truthful eyes; and 
 that brow, that might have been as pure as the brow of a St. 
 Agnes, have haunted me often since. And whenever I think of 
 it, I say, — 
 
 " God be merciful to them and to me, sinners ! " 
 
 For had not my own good, pure, pious mother doubts and 
 scruples almost as bitter % Did not she also live too often as if 
 under a curse 1 Who or what has thrown this shadow on so 
 many homes 1 Who that knows the interior of many convents 
 dares to say they are holier than homes 1 Who that has lived 
 with, or confessed many monks or nuns, can dare to say their 
 hearts are more heavenly than those of husband or wife, father 
 or mother 1 Alas ! the questions of that priest are nothing new 
 to me. But I dare not entertain them. For if monastic life is 
 a delusion, to what have I sacrificed hopes which were so ab- 
 sorbing, and might have been so pure 1 
 
 Regrets are burdens a brave man must cast off. For my little
 
 238 Chronicles of the Schdnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 life what does it matter 1 But to see vice shamefully reigning 
 in the most sacred places, and scruples, perhaps false, staining 
 the purest hearts, who can behold these things and not mourn I 
 Crimes a pagan would have abhorred atoned for by a few florins ; 
 sins which the Holy Scriptures scarcely seem to condemn, weigh- 
 ing on tender consciences like crimes ! What will be the end 
 of this chaos 1 
 
 The next night I spent in the castle of an old knight in the 
 Thuringian Forest, Otto von Gersdorf. He welcomed me very 
 hospitably to his table, at which a stately old lady presided, his 
 widowed sister. 
 
 "What is all this talk about Dr. Luther and his theses?" he 
 asked; " only, I suppose, some petty quarrel between the monks! 
 And yet my nephew Ulrich thinks there is no one on earth like 
 this little Brother Martin. You good Augustinians do not like 
 the Black Friars to have all the profit; is that it?" he asked 
 laughing. 
 
 " That is not Dr. Luther's motive, at all events," I said ; " I 
 do not believe money is more to him than it is to the birds of 
 the air." 
 
 " No, brother," said the lady ; think of the beautiful words our 
 Chriemhild read us from his book on the Lord's Prayer." 
 
 " Yes ; you, and Ulrich, and Chriemhild, and Atlantis," re- 
 joined the old knight, " you are all alike ; the little friar has be- 
 witched you all." 
 
 The names of my sisters made my heart beat. 
 
 "Does the lady know Chriemhild and Atlantis Cotta?" I 
 asked. 
 
 " Come, nephew Ulrich," said the knight to a young man who 
 just then entered the hall from the chase ; " tell this good brother 
 all you know of Fraulein Chriemhild Cotta." 
 
 We were soon the best friends ; and long after the old knight 
 and his sister had retired, Ulrich von Gersdorf and I sat up dis- 
 coursing about Dr. Luther and his noble words and deeds, and 
 of names dearer to us both even than his. 
 
 " Then you are Fritz!" he said musingly after a pause ; " the 
 Fritz they all delight to talk of, and think no one can ever be
 
 Fritz's Story. 239 
 
 equal to. You are the Fritz that Chriemhild says her mother 
 always hoped would have wedded that angel maiden Eva von 
 Schonberg, who is now a nun at Nimptschen ; whose hymn-book 
 and ' Theologia Teutsch ' she carried with her to the convent. I 
 wonder vou could have left her to become a monk," he continued ; 
 " your vocation must have been very strong." 
 
 At that moment it certainly felt very weak. But I would not 
 for the world have let him see this, and I said, with as steady a 
 voice as I could command, " I believed it was God's will." 
 
 " Well," he continued, " it is good for any one to have seen 
 her, and to carry that image of purity and piety with him into 
 cloister or home. It is better than any painting of the saints, 
 to have that angelic, childlike countenance, and that voice sweet 
 as church music, in one's heart." 
 
 " It is," I said, and I could not have said a word more. Hap- 
 pily for me, he turned to another subject and expatiated for a 
 long time on the beauty and goodness of his little Chriemhild, 
 who was to be his wife, he said, next year ; whilst through my 
 heart only two thoughts remained distinct, namely, what my 
 mother had wished about Eva and me, and that Eva had taken 
 my "Theologia Teutsch" into the convent with her. 
 
 It took some days before I could remove that sweet, guile- 
 less, familiar face, to the saintly, unearthly height in my heart, 
 where only it is safe for me to gaze on it. 
 
 But I believe Ulrich thought me a very sympathizing listener, 
 for in about an hour he said, — 
 
 " You are a patient and good-natured monk, to listen thus 
 to my romances. However, she is your sister, and I wisli 
 you would be at our wedding. But, at all events, it will be 
 delightful to have news for Chriemhild and all of them about 
 Fritz." 
 
 I had intended to go on to Wittemberg for a few days, but 
 after that conversation I did not dare to do so at once. I re- 
 turned to the university of Tubingen, to quiet my mind a little 
 with Greek and Hebrew, under the direction of the excellent 
 Reuchlin, it being the will of our Vicar-General that I should 
 study the languages. 
 
 At Tubingen I found Ur. Luther's theses the great topic of
 
 240 Chronicles of the Sch'dnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 debate. Men of learning rejoiced in the theses as an assault 
 on barbarism and ignorance ; men of straightforward integrity 
 hailed them as a protest against a system of lies and imposture ; 
 men of piety gave thanks for them as a defence of holiness and 
 truth. The students enthusiastically greeted Dr. Luther as the 
 prince of the new age ; the aged Reuchlin and many of the pro- 
 fessors recognised him as an assailant of old foes from a new 
 point of attack. 
 
 Here I attended for some weeks the lectures of the young 
 doctor, Philip Melancthon (then only twenty-one, yet already a 
 doctor for four years), until he was summoned to Wittemberg, 
 which he reached on the 25th of August 15 18. 
 
 On business of the order, I was deputed about the same time 
 on a mission to the Augustinian convent at Wittemberg, so that 
 I saw him arrive. The disappointment at his first appearance 
 was great. Could this little unpretending-looking youth be the 
 great scholar Reuchlin had recommended so warmly, and from 
 whose abilities the Elector Frederick expected such great results 
 for his new university 1 
 
 Dr. Luther was among the first to discover the treasure hidden 
 in this insignificant frame. But his first Latin harangue, four 
 days after his arrival, won the admiration of all ; and very soon 
 his lecture-room was crowded. 
 
 This was the event which absorbed Wittemberg when first I 
 saw it. 
 
 The return to my old home was very strange to me. Such a 
 broad barrier of time and circumstance had grown up between 
 me and those most familiar to me ! 
 
 Else', matronly, as she was, with her keys, her stores, her large 
 household, and her two children, the baby Fritz and Gretchen, 
 was in heart the very same to me as when we parted for my first 
 term at Erfurt. Her honest, kind blue eyes, had the very same 
 look. But around her was a whole new world of strangers, 
 strange to me as her own new life, with whom I had no links 
 whatever. 
 
 With Chriemhild and the younger children, the recollection of 
 me as the elder brother seemed struggling with their reverence 
 for the priest. Christopher appeared to look on me with a mix-
 
 Fritz s Story. 241 
 
 ture of pity, and respect, and perplexity, which prevented my 
 having any intimate intercourse with him at all. 
 
 Only my mother seemed unchanged with regard to me, although 
 much more aged and feeble. But in her affection there was a 
 clinging tenderness which pierced my heart more than the bit- 
 terest reproaches. I felt by the silent watching of her eyes how 
 she had missed me. 
 
 My father was little altered, except that his schemes appeared 
 to give him a new and placid satisfaction, in the very impossi- 
 bility of their fulfilment, and that the relations between him and 
 my grandmother were much more friendly. 
 
 There was at first a little severity in our grandmother's manner 
 to me, which wore off when we understood how much Dr. Luther's 
 teaching had done for us both ; and she never wearied of hear- 
 ing what he had said and done at Rome. 
 
 The one who, I felt, would have been entirely the same, was 
 gone for ever ; and I could scarcely regret the absence which 
 left that one image undimmed by the touch of time, and sur 
 rounded by no barriers of change. 
 
 But of Eva no one spoke to me, except little Thekla, who 
 sang to me over and over the Latin hymns Eva had taught her, 
 and asked if she sang them at all in the same way. 
 
 I told her yes. They were the same words, the same melo- 
 dies, much of the same soft, reverent, innocent manner. But 
 little Thekla's voice was deep and powerful, and clear like a 
 thrush's ; and Eva's used to be like the soft murmuring of a dove 
 in the depth of some quiet wood — hardly a voice at all — an em- 
 bodied prayer, as if you stood at the threshold of her heart, and 
 heard the music of her happy, holy, childlike thoughts within. 
 
 No, nothing could ever break the echo of that voice to me. 
 
 But Thekla and I became great friends. She had scarcely 
 known me of old. We became friends as we were. There was 
 nothing to recall, nothing to efface. And Cousin Eva had been 
 to her as a star or angel in heaven, or as if she had been another 
 child sent by God out of some beautiful old legend to be her 
 friend. 
 
 Altogether, there was some pain in this visit to my old home. 
 I had prayed so earnestly that the blank my departure had made 
 
 16
 
 24-2 Chronicles of the Sclwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 might be filled up ; yet now that I saw it filled, and the life of 
 my beloved running its busy course, with no place in it for me, 
 it left a dreary feeling of exile on my heart. If the dead could 
 thus return, would they feel anything of this 1 Not the holy 
 dead, surely. They would rejoice that the sorrow, having wrought 
 its work, should cease to be so bitter — that the blank should, 
 not, indeed, be filled (no true love can replace another), but 
 veiled and made fruitful, as time and nature veil all ruins. 
 
 But the holy dead would revisit earth from a home, a Fathers 
 house ; and that the cloister is not, nor can ever be. 
 
 Yet I would gladly have remained at Wittemberg. Compared 
 with Wittemberg, all the world seemed asleep. There it was 
 morning, and an atmosphere of hope and activity was around 
 my heart. Dr. Luther was there ; and, whether consciously or 
 not, all who look for better days seem to fix their eyes on him. 
 
 But I was sent to Mainz. On my journey thither I went out 
 of my way to take a new book of Dr. Luther's to my poor Priest 
 Ruprecht in Franconia. His village lay in the depths of a pine 
 forest. The book was the Exposition of the Lord's Prayer in 
 German, for lay and unlearned people. The priest's house was 
 empty ; but I laid the book on a wooden seat in the porch, with 
 my name written in it, and a few words of gratitude for his 
 hospitality. And as I wound my way through the forest, I 
 saw from a height on the opposite side of the valley a woman 
 enter the porch, and stoop to pick up the book, and then stand 
 reading it in the doorway. As I turned away, her figure still 
 stood motionless in the arch of the porch, with the white leaves 
 of the open book relieved against the shadow of the interior. 
 
 I prayed that the words might be written on her heart. 
 Wonderful words of holy love and grace I knew were there, 
 which would restore hope and purity to any heart on which they 
 were written. 
 
 And now I am placed in this Augustinian monastery at Mainz 
 in the Rhine-land. 
 
 This convent has its own peculiar traditions. Here is a dun- 
 geon in which, not -forty years ago (in 14S1), died John of Wesel 
 — the old man who had dared to protest against indulgences, 
 and to utter such truths. as Dr. Luther is upholding now.
 
 
 Fritz's Story. 243 
 
 An aged monk of this monastery, who was young when John 
 of Wesel died, remembers him, and has often spoken to me 
 about him. The inquisitors instituted a process against him, 
 which was carried on, like so many others, in the secret of the 
 cloister. 
 
 It was said that he made a general recantation, but that two 
 accusations which were brought against him he did not attempt 
 in his defence to deny. They were these : " That it is not his 
 monastic life which saveo any monk, but the grace of God ;" and, 
 " That the same Holy Spirit who inspired the Holy Scriptures 
 alone can interpret them with power to the heart." 
 
 The inquisitors burned his books; at which, my informant 
 said, the old man wept. 
 
 "Why," he said, should men be so inflamed against himi 
 There was so much in his books that was good, and must they 
 be all burned for the little evil that was mixed with the good ? 
 Surely this was man's judgment, not God's — not His who would 
 have spared Sodom, at Abraham's prayer, for but ten righteous, 
 had they been found there. O God," he sighed, "must the good 
 perish with the evil?" 
 
 But the inquisitors were not to be moved. The books were 
 condemned and ignominiously burned in public; the old man's 
 name was branded with heresy; and he himself was silenced, 
 and left in the convent prison to die. 
 
 I asked the monk who told me of this, what were the especial 
 heresies for which John of Wesel was condemned. 
 
 " Heresies against the Church, I believe," he replied. " I 
 have heard him in his sermons declare that the Church was 
 becoming like what the Jewish nation was in the days of our 
 Lord. He protested against the secular splendours of the 
 priests and prelates — against the cold ceremonial into which he 
 said the services had sunk, and the empty superstitions which 
 were substituted for true piety of heart and life. He said that 
 the salt had lost its savour; that many of the priests were thieves 
 and robbers, and not shepherds; that the religion in fashion 
 was little better than that of the Pharisees who put our Lord to 
 death — a cloak for spiritual pride, and narrow, selfish bitterness. 
 He declared that divine and ecclesiastical authority were of very
 
 244 Chronicles of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 different weight; that the outward professing Church was to be 
 distinguished from the true living Church of Christ; that the 
 power of absolution given to the priests was sacramental, and 
 not judicial. In a sermon at Worms, I once heard him say he 
 thought little of the Pope, the Church, or the Councils, as a 
 foundation to build our faith upon. ' Christ alone,' he declared, 
 ' I praise. May the word of Christ dwell in us richly!'" 
 
 " They were bold words, " T remarked. 
 
 "More than that," replied the aged monk; "John of Wesel 
 protested that what the Bible did not hold as sin, neither could 
 he; and he is even reported to have said, ' Eat on fast days, if 
 thou art hungry.' " 
 
 " That is a concession many of the monks scarcely need," I 
 observed. " His life, then, was not condemned, but only his 
 doctrine." 
 
 " I was sorry," the old monk resumed, " that it was necessary 
 to condemn him; for from that time to this, I never have heard 
 preaching that stirred the heart like his. When he ascended 
 the pulpit, the church was thronged. The laity understood and 
 listened to him as eagerly as the religious. It was a pity he 
 was a heretic, for I do not ever expect to hear his like again." 
 
 "You have never heard Dr. Luther preach?" I said. 
 
 " Dr. Luther who wrote those theses they are talking so much 
 of!" he asked. "Do the people throng to hear his sermons, 
 and hang on his words as if they were words of life?" 
 
 " They do," I replied. 
 
 " Then," rejoined the old monk softly, " let Dr. Luther take 
 care. That was the way with so many of the heretical preachers. 
 With John of Goch at Mechlin, and John Wessel whom they 
 expelled from Paris, I have heard it was just the same. But," 
 he continued, " if Dr. Luther comes to Mainz, I will certainly try 
 to hear him. I should like to have my cold, dry, old heart moved 
 like that again. Often when I read the holy Gospels John of 
 Wesel's words come back. Brother, it was like the breath of life." 
 
 The last man that ventured to say in the face of Germany 
 that man's word is not to be placed on an equality with God's, 
 and that the Bible is the only standard of truth, and the one, 
 rule of right and wrong — this is how he died !
 
 Fritz's Story. 245 
 
 How will it be with the next — with the man that is proclaim- 
 ing this in the face of the world now] 
 
 The old monk turned back to me, after we had separated, 
 and said, in a low voice — 
 
 "Tell Dr. Luther to take warning by John of Wesel. Holy 
 men and great preachers may so easily become heretics without 
 knowing it. And yet," he added, " to preach such sermons as 
 John of Wesel, I am not sure it is not worth while to die in 
 prison. I think I could be content to die, if I could hear one 
 such again! Tell Dr. Luther to take care; but nevertheless, if 
 he comes to Mainz I will hear him." 
 
 The good, then, in John of Wesel's words, has not perished, 
 in spite of the flames.
 
 XVI. 
 
 diss's jsten. 
 
 WlTTEMBEKG, July 13, 1520. 
 
 ''ANY events have happened since last I wrote, both in 
 this little world and in the large world outside. 
 Our Gretchen has two little brothers, who are as 
 ingenious in destruction, and seem to have as many designs 
 against their own welfare, as their uncles had at their age, and 
 seem likely to perplex Gretchen, dearly as she loves them, much 
 as Christopher and Pollux did me. Chriemhild is married, and 
 has gone to her home in the Thuringian Forest. Atlantis is 
 betrothed to Conrad Winkelried, a Swiss student. Pollux is 
 gone to Spain, on some mercantile affairs of the Eisenach house 
 of Cotta, in which he is a partner; and Fritz has been among 
 us once more. That is now about two years since. He was 
 certainly much graver than of old. Indeed he often looked 
 more than grave, as if some weight of sorrow rested on him. 
 But with our mother and the children he was always cheerful. 
 
 Gretchen and Uncle Fritz formed the strongest mutual at- 
 tachment, and to this day she often asks me when he will come 
 back; and nothing delights her more than to sit on my knee 
 before his picture, and hear me tell over and over again the 
 stories of our old talks in the lumber-room at Eisenach, or of 
 the long days we used to spend in the pine forests, gathering 
 wood for the winter fires. She thinks no festival could be so 
 delightful as that ; and her favourite amusement is to gather 
 little bundles of willow or oak twigs, by the river Elbe, or on 
 the Diiben Heath, and bring them home for household use. 
 All the splendid puppets and toys her father brings her from 
 Nuremberg, or has sent from Venice, do not give her half the
 
 Else's Story. 247 
 
 pleasure that she finds in the heath, when he takes her there, 
 and she returns with her little apron full of dry sticks, and her 
 hands as brown and dirty as a little wood-cutter's, fancying she 
 is doing what Uncle Fritz and I did when we were children, 
 and being useful. 
 
 Last summer she was endowed with a special apple and pear 
 tree of her own, and the fruit of these she stores with her little 
 fagots to give at Christmas to a poor old woman we know. 
 
 Gottfried and I want the children to learn early that pure 
 joy of giving, and of doing kindnesses, which transmutes wealth 
 from dust into true gold, and prevents these possessions which 
 are such good servants from becoming our masters, and reduc- 
 ing us, as they seem to do so many wealthy people, into the 
 mere slaves and hired guardians of things. 
 
 I pray God often that the experience of poverty which I had 
 for so many years may never be lost. It seems to me a gift 
 God has given me, just as a course at the university is a gift. 
 I have graduated in the school of poverty, and God grant I 
 may never forget the secrets poverty taught me about the 
 struggles and wants of the poor. 
 
 The room in which I write now, with its carpets, pictures, and 
 carved furniture, is very different from the dear bare old lumber- 
 room where I began my Chronicle; and the inlaid ebony and 
 ivory cabinet on which my paper lies is a different desk from 
 the piles of old books where I used to trace the first pages 
 slowly in a childish hand. But the poor man's luxuries will 
 always be the most precious to me. The warm sunbeams, shin- 
 ing through the translucent vine-leaves at the open window, are 
 fairer than all the jeweldike Venetian glass of the closed case- 
 ments which are now dying crimson the pages of Dr. Luther's 
 Commentary, left open on the window-seat an hour since by 
 Gottfried. 
 
 But how can I be writing so much about my own tiny world, 
 when all the world around me is agitated by such great fears 
 and hopes? 
 
 At this moment, through the open window, I see Dr. Luther 
 and Dr. Philip MelanctJion walking slowly up the street in close 
 conversation. The hum of their voices reaches me here,
 
 248 Chronicles of the Sclionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 although they are talking low. How different they look, and 
 are; and yet what friends they have become! Probably, in a 
 great degree, because of the difference. The one looks like a 
 veteran soldier, with his rock-like brow, his dark eyes, his vigor- 
 ous form, and his firm step ; the other, with his high, expanded 
 forehead, his thin worn face, and his slight youthful frame, like 
 a combination of a young student and an old philosopher. 
 
 Gottfried says God has given them to each other and to Ger- 
 many, blessing the Church as he does the world by the union 
 of opposites, rain and sunshine, heat and cold, sea and land, 
 husband and wife. 
 
 How those two great men (for Gottfried says Dr. Melancthon 
 is great, and I know that Dr. Luther is) love and reverence each 
 other ! Dr. Luther says he is but the forerunner, and Melanc- 
 thon the true prophet; that he is but the wood-cutter clearing 
 the forest with rough blows, that Dr. Philip may sow the pre- 
 cious seed; and when he went to encounter the legate at Augs- 
 burg, he wrote, that if Philip lived it mattered little what became 
 of him. 
 
 But we do not think so, nor does Dr. Melancthon. " No 
 one," he says, " comes near Dr. Luther, and indeed the heart 
 of the whole nation hangs on him. Who stirs the heart of Ger- 
 many — of nobles, peasants, princes, women, children — as he 
 does with his noble faithful words V 
 
 Twice during these last years we have been in the greatest 
 anxiety about his safety, — once when he was summoned before 
 the legate at Augsburg, and once when he went to the great 
 disputation with Dr. Eck at Leipsic. 
 
 But how great the difference between his purpose when he 
 went to Augsburg, and when he returned from Leipsic ! 
 
 At Augsburg he would have conceded anything, but the truth 
 about the free justification of every sinner who believes in 
 Christ. He reverenced the Pope; he would not for the world 
 become a heretic ! No name of opprobrium was so terrible to 
 him as that. 
 
 At Leipsic he had learned to disbelieve that the Pope had 
 any authority to determine doctrine, and he boldly confessed 
 that the Hussites (men till now abhorred in Saxony as natural
 
 ElsPs Story. 24c) 
 
 enemies as well as deadly heretics) ought to be honoured foi 
 confessing sound truth. And from that time both Dr. Luthei 
 and Melancthon have stood forth openly as the champions of 
 the Word of God against the Papacy. 
 
 Now, however, a worse danger threatens him, even the bull 
 of excommunication which they say is now being forged at 
 Rome, and which has never yet failed to crush where it has 
 fallen. Dr. Luther has, indeed, taught us not to dread it as a 
 spiritual weapon, but we. fear its temporal effects, especially if 
 followed by the ban of the empire. 
 
 Often, indeed, he talks of taking refuge in some other land ; 
 the good Elector, even himself, has at times advised it, fearing 
 no longer to be able to protect him. But God preserve him to 
 Germany ! 
 
 June 23, 1520. 
 
 This evening, as we were sitting in my father's house, Chris- 
 topher brought us, damp from the press, a copy of Dr. Luther's 
 Appeal to His Imperial Majesty, and to the Christian Nobility 
 of the German Nation, on the Reformation of Christendom. 
 Presenting it to our grandmother, he said, — 
 
 " Here, madam, is a weapon worthy of the bravest days of 
 the Schonbergs, mighty to the pulling down of strongholds." 
 
 "Ah," sighed our mother, "always wars and fightings! It is 
 a pity the good work cannot be done more quietly." 
 
 "Ah, grandmother," said my father, "only see how her 
 burgher life has destroyed the heroic spirit of her crusading 
 ancestors. She thinks that the Holy Places are to be won back 
 from the infidels without a blow, only by begging their pardon 
 and kissing the hem of their garments." 
 
 "You should hear Catherine Krapp, Dr. Melancthon's wife!" 
 rejoined our mother; "she agrees with me that these are terrible 
 times. She says she never sees the doctor go away without 
 thinking he may be immured in some dreadful dungeon before 
 they meet again." 
 
 " But remember, dear mother," I said, " your fears when first 
 Dr. Luther assailed Tetzel and his indulgences three years ago ! 
 And who has gained the victory there 1 ? Dr. Martin is the 
 admiration of all good men throughout Germany; and poor
 
 250 Chronicles of the Schbnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Tetzel, despised by his own party, rebuked by the legate, died, 
 
 they say, of a broken heart just after the great Leipsic disputation.' 
 "Poor Tetzel !" said my mother, "his indulgences could not 
 
 bind up a broken heart. I shall always love Dr. Luther for 
 
 writing him a letter of comfort when he was dying, despised 
 
 and forsaken even by his own party. I trust that He who can 
 
 pardon has had mercy on his soul." 
 
 "Read to us, Christopher," said our grandmother; "your 
 
 mother would not shrink from any battle-field if there were 
 
 wounds there which her hands could bind." 
 
 " No," said .Gottfried, " the end of war is peace, — God's 
 
 peace, based on His truth. Blessed are those who in the 
 
 struggle never lose sight of the end." 
 
 Christopher read, not without interruption. Many things in 
 
 the book were new and startling to most of us: — - 
 
 " It is not rashly," Dr. Luther began, "that I, a man of the 
 
 people, undertake to address your lordships. The wretchedness 
 
 and oppression that now overwhelm all the states of Christen- 
 dom, and Germany in particular, force from me a cry of distress. 
 I am constrained to call for help ; I must see whether God will 
 not bestow his Spirit on some man belonging to our country, 
 and stretch forth his hand to our unhappy nation." 
 
 Dr. Luther never seems to think he is to do the great work. 
 He speaks as if he were only fulfilling some plain humble duty, 
 and calling other men to undertake the great achievement; and 
 all the while that humble duty is the great achievement, and he 
 is doing it. 
 
 Dr. Luther spoke of the wretchedness of Italy, the unhappy 
 land where the Pope's throne is set, her ruined monasteries, her 
 decayed cities, her corrupted people; and then he showed how 
 Roman avarice and pride were seeking to reduce Germany to a 
 state as enslaved. He appealed to the young emperor, Charles, 
 soon about to be crowned. He reminded all the rulers of 
 their responsibilities. He declared that the papal territory, 
 called the patrimony of St. Peter, was the fruit of robbery. 
 Generously holding out his hand to the very outcasts his enemies 
 had sought to insult him most grievously by comparing him 
 with, he said, —
 
 Else's St 01 y. 251 
 
 " It is time that we were considering the cause of the Bohe- 
 mians, and re-uniting ourselves to them." 
 
 At these words my grandmother dropped her work, and 
 fervently clasping her hands, leant forward, and fixing her eyes 
 on Christopher, drank in every word with intense eager- 
 ness. 
 
 When he came to the denunciation of the begging friars, and 
 the recommendation that the parish priests should marry, 
 Christopher interrupted himself by an enthusiastic "vivat" 
 
 When, however, after a vivid picture of the oppressions and 
 avarice of the legates, came the solemn abjuration : — 
 
 " Hearest thou this, O Pope, not most holy, but most sinful ? 
 May God from the heights of his heaven soon hurl thy throne 
 into the abyss!" my mother turned pale, and crossed herself. 
 
 What impressed me most was the plain declaration:— 
 
 " It has been alleged that the Pope, the bishops, the priests, 
 and the monks and nuns form the estate spiritual or ecclesias- 
 tical; while the princes, nobles, burgesses, and peasantry form 
 the secular estate or laity. Let no man, however, be alarmed 
 at this. All Christians constitute the spiritual estate ; and the 
 only difference among them is that of the functions which they 
 discharge. We have all one baptism, one faith, and it is this 
 which constitutes the spiritual man." 
 
 If this is indeed true, how many of my old difficulties it 
 removes with a stroke ! All callings, then, may be religious 
 callings; all men and women of a religious order. Then my 
 mother is truly and undoubtedly as much treading the way 
 appointed her as Aunt Agnes; and the monastic life is only one 
 among callings equally sacred. 
 
 When I said this to my mother, she said, " I as religious a 
 woman as Aunt Agnes ! No, Else ! whatever Ur. Luther ven- 
 tures to declare, he would not say that. I do sometimes have 
 a hope that for His dear Son's sake God hears even my poor 
 feeble prayers; but to pray night and day, and abandon all for 
 God, like my sister Agnes, that is another thing altogether." 
 
 But when, as we crossed the street to our home, I told Gott- 
 fried how much those words of Dr. Luther had touched me, 
 and asked if he really thought we in our secular calling were
 
 252 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 not only doing our work by a kind of indirect permission, but 
 by a direct vocation from God, he replied, — 
 
 " My doubt, Else, is whether the vocation which leads men 
 to abandon home is from God at all ; whether it has either his 
 command or even his permission." 
 
 But if Gottfried is right, Fritz has sacrificed his life to a 
 delusion. How can I believe that 1 ? And yet if he could per- 
 ceive it, how life might change for him ! Might he not even 
 yet be restored to us 1 But I am dreaming. 
 
 October 1%, 1520. 
 
 More and more burning words from Dr. Luther. To-day we 
 have been reading his new book on the Babylonish Captivity. 
 "God has said," he writes in this, '"Whosoever shall believe 
 and be baptized shall be saved.' On this promise, if we receive 
 it with faith, hangs our whole salvation. If we believe, our 
 heart is fortified by the divine promise ; and although all should 
 forsake the believer, this promise which he believes will never 
 forsake him. With it he will resist the adversary who rushes 
 upon his soul, and will have wherewithal to answer pitiless 
 death, and even the judgment of God." And he says in 
 another place, " The vow made at our baptism is sufficient of 
 itself, and comprehends more than we can ever accomplish. 
 Hence all other vows may be abolished. Whoever enters the 
 priesthood or any religious order, let him well understand that 
 the works of a monk or of a priest, however difficult they may 
 be, differ in no respect in the sight of God from those of a 
 countryman who tills the ground, or of a woman who conducts 
 a household. God values all things by the standard of faith. 
 And it often happens that the simple labour of a male or female 
 servant is more agreeable to God than the fasts and the works 
 of a monk, because in these faith is wanting." 
 
 What a consecration this thought gives to my commonest 
 duties ! Yes, when I am directing the maids in their work, or 
 sharing Gottfried's cares, or simply trying to 'brighten his home 
 at the end of the busy day, or lulling my children to sleep, can 
 I indeed be serving God as much as Dr. Luther at the altar or 
 in his lecture -room 1 I also, then, have indeed my vocation 
 direct from God.
 
 ElsPs Story. 253 
 
 How could I ever have thought the mere publication of a 
 book would have been an event to stir our hearts like the 
 arrival of a friend ! Yet it is even thus with every one of those 
 pamphlets of Dr. Luther's. They move the whole of our two 
 households, from our grandmother to Thekla, and even the 
 little maid, to whom I read portions. She says, with tears, " If 
 the mother and father could hear this in the forest !" Students 
 and burghers have not patience to wait till they reach home, 
 but read the heart-stirring pages as they walk through the 
 strees. And often an audience collects around some communi- 
 cative reader, who cannot be content with keeping the free, 
 liberating truths to himself. 
 
 Already, Christopher says, four thousand copies of the 
 "Appeal to the Nobility" are circulating through Germany. 
 
 I always thought before of books as the peculiar property of 
 the learned. But Dr. Luther's books are a living voice, — a 
 heart God has awakened and taught, speaking to countless 
 hearts as a man talketh with his friend. I can indeed see now, 
 with my father and Christopher, that the printing-press is a 
 nobler weapon than even the spears and broadswords of our 
 knightly Bohemian ancestors. 
 
 Wittemberg, December io, 1520. 
 
 Dr. Luther has taken a great step to-day. He has publicly 
 burned the Decretals, with other ancient writings, on which the 
 claims of the court of Rome are founded, but which are now 
 declared to be forgeries; and more than this, he has burnt the 
 Pope's bull of excommunication against himself. 
 
 Gottfried says that for centuries such a bonfire as this has not 
 been seen. He thinks it means nothing less than an open and 
 deliberate renunciation of the papal tyranny which for so many 
 hundred years has held the whole of western Christendom in 
 bondage. He took our two boys to see it, that we may remind 
 them of it in after years as the first great public act of free- 
 dom. 
 
 Early in the morning the town was astir. Many of the 
 burghers, professors, and students knew what was about to be 
 done; for this was no deed of impetuous haste or angry 
 vehemence.
 
 254 Chronicles of the ScJionbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 I dressed the children early, and we went to my father's 
 house. 
 
 Wittemberg is as full now of people of various languages as 
 the tower of Babel must have been after the confusion of 
 tongues. But never was this more manifest than to-day. 
 
 Flemish monks from the Augustine cloisters at Antwerp; 
 Dutch students from Finland; Swiss youths, with their erect 
 forms and free mountain gait; knights from Prussia and Lithu- 
 ania; strangers even from quite foreign lands, — all attracted 
 hither by Dr. Luther's living words of truth, passed under our 
 windows about nine o'clock this morning, in the direction of 
 the Elster gate, eagerly gesticulating and talking as they went. 
 Then Thekla, Atlantis, and I mounted to an upper room, and 
 watched the smoke rising from the pile, until the glare of the 
 conflagration burst through it, and stained with a faint red the 
 pure daylight. 
 
 Soon afterwards the crowds began to return; but there seemed 
 to me to be a gravity and solemnity in the manner of most, 
 different from the eager haste with which they had gone forth. 
 
 " They seem like men returning from some great Church 
 festival," I said. 
 
 " Or from lighting a signal-fire on the mountains, which shall 
 awaken the whole land to freedom," said Christopher, as they 
 rejoined us. 
 
 " Or from binding themselves with a solemn oath to liberate 
 their homes, like the Three Men at Griitli," said Conrad 
 Winkelried, the young Swiss to whom Atlantis is betrothed. 
 
 " Yes," said Gottfried, " fires which may be the beacons of a 
 world's deliverance, and may kindle the death-piles of those 
 who dared to light them, are no mere students' bravado." 
 
 " Who did the deed, and what was burned?" I asked. 
 
 " One of the masters of arts lighted the pile," my husband 
 replied, " and then threw on it the Decretals, the false Epistles 
 of St. Clement, and other forgeries, which have propped up the 
 edifice of lies for centuries. And when the flames which con- 
 sumed them had done their work and died away, Dr. Luther 
 himself, stepping forward, solemnly laid the Pope's bull of 
 excommunication on the fire, saying amidst the breathless
 
 Else's Story, 
 
 255 
 
 silence, 'As thou hast troubled the Lord's saints, may the eternal 
 fire destroy thee.' Not a word broke the silence until the last 
 crackle and gleam of those symbolical flames had ceased, and 
 then gravely but joyfully we all returned to our homes." 
 
 "Children," said our grandmother, "you have done well; 
 yet you are not the first that have defied Rome." 
 
 " Nor perhaps the last she will silence," said my husband. 
 "But the last enemy will be destroyed at last; and meantime 
 every martyr is a victor,"
 
 XVII. 
 
 HAVE read the whole of the New Testament through 
 to Sister Beatrice and Aunt Agnes. Strangely differ- 
 ent auditors they were in powers of mind and in 
 experience of life; yet both met, like so many in His days on 
 earth, at the feet of Jesus. 
 
 " He would not have despised me, even me," Sister Beatrice 
 would say. " Poor, fond creature, half-witted or half-crazed 
 they call me; but He would have welcomed me." 
 
 " Does He not welcome you?" I said. 
 
 "You think so? Yes, I think — I am sure he does. My 
 poor broken bits and remnants of sense and love, He will not 
 despise them. He will take me as I am." 
 
 One day when I had been reading to them the chapter in St. 
 Luke with the parables of the lost money, the lest sheep, and 
 the prodigal, Aunt Agnes, resting her cheek on her thin hand, 
 and fixing her large dark eyes on me, listened with intense 
 expectation to the end ; and then she said, — 
 
 " Is that all, my child 1 Begin the next chapter." 
 
 I began about the rich man and the unjust steward; but 
 before I had read many words, — ■ 
 
 "That will do," she said in a disappointed tone. "It is another 
 subject. Then not one of the Pharisees came after all ! If I 
 had been there among the hard, proud Pharisees — as I might 
 have been when he began, wondering, no doubt, that he could 
 so forget himself as to eat with publicans and sinners — if I 
 had been there, and had heard him speak thus, Eva, I must 
 have fallen at his feet and said, ' Lord, I am a Pharisee no 
 more — I am the lost sheep, not one of the ninety and nine —
 
 Evas Story. 257 
 
 the wandering child, not the elder brother. Place me low, low 
 among the publicans and sinners — lower than any; but only 
 say thou earnest also to Seek me, even me.' And, child, he 
 would not have sent me away ! But, Eva," she added, after a 
 pause, wiping away the tears which ran slowly over her withered 
 cheeks, " is it not said anywhere that one Pharisee came to 
 him?" 
 
 I looked, and could find it nowhere stated positively that 
 one Pharisee had abandoned his pride, and self-righteousness, 
 and treasures of good works, for Jesus. It seemed all on the 
 side of the publicans. Aunt Agnes was at times distressed. 
 
 "And yet," she said, " I have come. I am no longer among 
 those who think themselves righteous, and despise others. But 
 I must come in behind all. It is I, not the woman who was a 
 sinner, who am the miracle of his grace; for since no sin so 
 keeps men from him as spiritual pride, there can be no sin so 
 degrading in the sight of the pure and humble angels, or of the 
 Lord. But look again, Eva ! Is there not one instance of 
 such as I being saved?" 
 
 I found the history of Nicodemus, and we traced it through 
 the Gospel from the secret visit to the popular Teacher at 
 night, to the open confession of the rejected Saviour before his 
 enemies. 
 
 Aunt Agnes thought this might be the example she sought, 
 but she wished to be quite sure. 
 
 " Nicodemus came in humility, to learn," she said. " We 
 never read that he despised others, or thought he could make 
 himself a saint." 
 
 At length we came to the Acts of the Apostles, and there, 
 indeed, we found the history of one, " of the straitest sect a 
 Pharisee," who verily thought himself doing God service by 
 persecuting the despised Nazarenes to death. And from that 
 time Aunt Agnes sought out and cherished every fragment of 
 St. Paul's history, and every sentence of his sermons and writ- 
 ings. She had found the example she sought of the " Pharisee 
 who was saved " — in him who obtained mercy, " that in him 
 first God might show forth the riches of his long-suffering to 
 those who thereafter, through his word, should believe." 
 
 17
 
 25 S Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 She determined to learn Latin, that she might read these 
 divine words for herself. It was affecting to see her sitting 
 among the novices whom I taught, carefully spelling out the 
 words, and repeating the declensions and conjugations. I had 
 no such patient pupil ; for although many were eager at first, 
 not a few relaxed after a few weeks' toil, not finding the results 
 very apparent, and said it would never sound so natural and 
 true as when Sister Ave translated it for them into German. 
 
 I wish some learned man would translate the Bible into Ger- 
 man. Why does not some one think of it? There is one Ger- 
 man translation from the Latin, the prioress says, made about 
 thirty or forty years ago; but it is very large and costly, and 
 not in language that attracts simple people. I wish the Pope 
 would spend some of the money from the indulgences on a new 
 translation of the New Testament. I think it would please God 
 much more than building St. Peter's. 
 
 Perhaps, however, if people had the German New Testa- 
 ment they would not buy the indulgences; for in all the Gos- 
 pels and Epistles I cannot find one word about buying pardons; 
 and, what is more strange, not a word about adoring the 
 Blessed Virgin, or about nunneries or monasteries. I cannot 
 see that the holy apostles founded one such community, or 
 recommended any one to do so. 
 
 Indeed, there is so much in the New Testament, and in what 
 I have read of the Old, about not worshipping any one but 
 God, that I have quite given up saying any prayers to the 
 Blessed Mother, for many reasons • 
 
 In the first place, I am much more sure that our Lord can 
 hear us always than his mother, because he so often says so. 
 And I am much more sure he can help, because I know all 
 power is given to him in heaven and in earth. 
 
 And in the next place, if I were quite sure that the Blessed 
 Virgin and the saints could hear me always, and could help 
 or would intercede, I am sure also that no one among them 
 —not the Holy Mother herself — is half so compassionate and 
 full of love, or could understand us so well, as He who died 
 for us. In the Gospels, he was always more accessible than 
 the disciples. St. Peter might be impatient in the impetuosity
 
 Evas Story. 259 
 
 of his zeal. Loving indignation might overbalance the forbear- 
 ance of St. John the beloved, and he might wish for fire from 
 heaven on those who refused to receive his Master. All the 
 holy apostles rebuked the poor mothers who brought their 
 children, and would have sent away the woman of Canaan; 
 but he tenderly took the little ones into his arms from the 
 arms of the mothers the disciples had rebuked. His patience 
 was never wearied; He never misunderstood or discouraged 
 any one. Therefore I pray to Him and our Father in heaven 
 alone, and through Him alone. Because if he is more piti- 
 ful to sinners than all the saints, which of all the saints can be 
 beloved of God as he is, the well-beloved Son 1 He seems 
 everything, in every circumstance, we can ever want. Higher 
 mediation we cannot find, tenderer love we cannot crave. 
 
 And very sure I am that the meek Mother of the Lord, the 
 disciple whom Jesus loved, the apostle who determined to know 
 nothing among his converts save Jesus Christ, and him crucified, 
 will not regret any homage transferred from them to Him. 
 
 Nay, rather, if the blessed Virgin, and the holy apostles have 
 heard how, through all these years, such grievous and unjust 
 things have been said of their Lord ; how his love has been 
 misunderstood, and he has been represented as hard to be en- 
 treated, — He who entreats sinners to come and be forgiven ; — 
 has not this been enough to shadow their happiness, even in 
 heaven ? 
 
 A nun has lately been transferred to our convent, who came 
 originally from Bohemia, where all her relatives had been slain 
 for adhering to the party of John Huss, the heretic. She is 
 much older than I am, and she says she remembers well the 
 name of my family, and that my great-uncle, Aunt Agnes' 
 father, died a heretic! She cannot tell what the heresy was, but 
 she believes it was something about the blessed sacrament and 
 the authority of the Pope. She had heard that otherwise he 
 was a charitable and holy man. 
 
 Was my father, then, a Hussite? 
 
 I have found the end of the sentence he gave me as his dying 
 legacy : — " God so loved the world, that he gave his only 
 begotten Son, that whosoever believcth in him should not perish,
 
 260 Chronicles of the Schoubcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 but have everlasting lifer And instead of being in a book not fit 
 for Christian children to read, as the priest who took it from me 
 said, it is in the Holy Scriptures! 
 
 Can it be possible that the world has come round again to 
 the state it was in when the rulers and priests put the Saviour 
 to death, and St. Paul persecuted the disciples as heretics? 
 
 NlMPTSCHEN, 1520. 
 
 A wonderful book of Dr. Luther's appeared among us a few 
 weeks since, on the Babylonish Captivity; and although it was 
 taken from us by the authorities, as dangerous reading for nuns, 
 this was not before many among us had become acquainted 
 with its contents. And it has created a great ferment in the 
 convent. Some say they are words of impious blasphemy; 
 some say they are words of living truth. He speaks of the for- 
 giveness of sins being free ; of the Pope and many of the priests 
 being the enemies of the truth of God ; and of the life and call- 
 ing of a monk or nun as in no way holier than that of any 
 humble believing secular man or woman, — a nun no holier than 
 a wife or a household servant ! 
 
 This many of the older nuns think plain blasphemy. Aunc 
 Agnes says it is true, and more than true; for, from what I tell 
 her, there can be no doubt that Aunt Cotta has been a lowlier 
 and holier woman all her life than she can ever hope to be. 
 
 And as to the Bible precepts, they certainly seem far more 
 adapted to people living in homes than to those secluded in 
 convents. Often when I am teaching the young novices the 
 precepts in the Epistles, they say, — 
 
 " But sister Ave, find some precepts for us. These sayings 
 are for children, and wives, and mothers, and brothers, and 
 sisters ; not for those who have neither home nor kindred on 
 earth." 
 
 Then if I try to speak of loving God and the blessed Saviour, 
 some of them say, — 
 
 " But we cannot bathe his feet with tears, or anoint them 
 with ointment, or bring him food, or stand by his cross, as the 
 good women did of old. Shut up here, away from every one, 
 how can we show him that we love him V
 
 Eva's Story. 261 
 
 And I can only say, " Dear sisters, you are here now ; there- 
 fore surely God will find some way for you to serve him here." 
 
 But my heart aches for them, and I doubt no longer, I feel 
 sure God can never have meant these young, joyous hearts to 
 be cramped and imprisoned thus. 
 
 Sometimes I talk about it with Aunt Agnes; and we consider 
 whether, i-f these vows are indeed irrevocable, and these children 
 must never see their homes again, the convent could not one 
 day be removed to some city where sick and suffering men 
 and women toil and die; so that we might, at least, feed the 
 hungry, clothe the naked, and visit and minister to the sick and 
 sorrowful. That would be life once more, instead of this mono- 
 tonous routine, which is not so much death as mechanism — an 
 inanimate existence which has never been life. 
 
 October, 1520. 
 
 Sister Beatrice is very ill. Aunt Agnes has requested as an 
 especial favour to be allowed to share the attending on her 
 with me. Never was gentler nurse or more grateful patient. 
 
 It goes to my heart to see Aunt Agnes meekly learning from 
 me how to render the little services required at the sick-bed 
 She smiles, and says her feeble blundering fingers had grown 
 into mere machines for turning over the leaves of prayer-books, 
 just as her heart was hardening into a machine for repeating 
 prayers. Nine of the young nuns, Aunt Agnes, Sister Beatrice, 
 and I, have been drawn veiy closely together of late. Among 
 the noblest of these is Catherine von Bora, a young nun, about 
 twenty years of age. There is such truth in her full dark eyes, 
 which look so kindly and frankly into mine, and such character 
 in the firmly-closed mouth. She declines learning Latin, and 
 has not much taste for learned books; but she has much clear 
 practical good sense, and she, with many others, delights greatly 
 in Dr. Luther's writings. They say they are not .books; they 
 are a living voice. Every fragment of information I can give 
 them about the doctor is eagerly received, and many rumours 
 reach us of his influence in the world. When he was near 
 Nimptschen, two years ago, at the great Leipsic disputation, 
 we heard that the students were enthusiastic about him, and 
 that the common people seemed to drink in his words almost
 
 262 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 as they did our Lord's when he spoke upon earth ; and what is 
 more, that the lives of some men and women at the court have 
 been entirely changed since they heard him. We were told he 
 had been the means of wonderful conversions ; but what was 
 strange in these conversions was, that those so changed did not 
 abandon their position in life, but only their sins, remaining 
 where they were when God called them, and distinguished from 
 others, not by veil or cowl, but by the light of holy works. 
 
 On the other hand, many, especially among the older nuns, have 
 received quite contrary impressions, and regard Dr. Luther as a 
 heretic, worse than any who ever rent the Church. These look 
 very suspiciously on us, and subject us to many annoyances, hin- 
 dering our conversing and reading together as much as possible. 
 
 We do, indeed, many of us wonder that Dr. Luther should 
 use such fierce and harsh words against the Pope's servants. 
 Yet St. Paul even "could have wished that those were cut off" 
 that troubled his flock; and the very lips of divine love launched 
 woes against hypocrites and false shepherds severer than any 
 that the Baptist or Elijah ever uttered in their denunciations 
 from the wilderness. It seems to me that the hearts which are 
 tenderest towards the wandering sheep will ever be severest 
 against the seducing shepherds who lead them astray. Oniy 
 we need always to remember that these very false shepherds 
 themselves are, after all, but wretched lost sheep, driven hither 
 and thither by the great robber of the fold ! 
 
 1521. 
 
 Just now the hearts of the little band among us who owe so 
 much to Dr. Luther are lifted up night and day in prayer to 
 God for him. He is soon to be on his way to the Imperial 
 Diet at Worms. He has the Emperor's safe-conduct, but it is 
 said this did not save John Huss from the flames. In our 
 prayers we are much aided by his own Commentary on the 
 Book of Psalms, which I have just received from Uncle Cotta's 
 printing-press. 
 
 This is now Sister Beatrice's great treasure, as I sit by her 
 bed-side and read it to her. 
 
 He says that " the mere frigid use of the Psalms in the 
 canonical hours, though little understood, brought some sweet-
 
 Evas Story. 263 
 
 ness of the breath of life to humble hearts of old, like the faint 
 fragrance in the air not far from a bed of roses." 
 
 He says, " All other books give us the words and deeds of 
 the saints, but this gives us their inmost souls." He calls the 
 Psalter "the little Bible." "There," he says, "you may look 
 into the hearts of the saints as into Paradise, or into the opened 
 heavens, and see the fair flowers or the shining stars, as it were, 
 of their affections springing or beaming up to God, in response 
 to his benefits and blessings." 
 
 March, 1521. 
 
 News has reached me to-day from Wittemberg which makes 
 me feel indeed that the days when people deem they do God 
 service by persecuting those who love him, are too truly come 
 back. Thekla writes me that they have thrown Fritz into the 
 convent prison at Mainz, for spreading Dr. Luther's doctrine 
 among the monks. A few lines sent through a friendly monk 
 have told them of this. She sent them on to me. 
 
 " My beloved ones," he writes, " I am in the prison where, 
 forty years ago, John of Wesel died for the truth. I am ready 
 to die if God wills it so. His truth is worth dying for, and his 
 love will strengthen me. But if I can I will escape, for the 
 truth is worth living for. If, however, you do not hear of me 
 again, know that the truth I died for is Christ's, and that the 
 love which sustained me is Christ himself. And likewise, that 
 to the last I pray for you all, and for Eva; and tell her that the 
 thought of her has helped me often to believe in goodness and 
 truth, and that I look assuredly to meet her and all of you 
 again. — Friedrich Schonberg Cotta." 
 
 In prison and in peril of life ! Death itself cannot, I know, 
 more completely separate Fritz and me than we are separated 
 already. Indeed, of the death even of one of us, I have often 
 thought as bringing us a step nearer, rending one veil between us. 
 Yet, now that it seems so possible, — that perhaps it has already 
 come, — I feel there was a kind of indefinable sweetness in being 
 only on the same earth together, in treading the same pilgrim 
 way. At least we could help each other by prayer; and now, 
 if he is indeed treading the streets of the heavenly city, so high 
 above, the world does seem darker.
 
 264 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 But, alas ! he may not be in the heavenly city, but in some 
 cold earthly dungeon, suffering I know not what ! 
 
 I have read the words over and over, until I have almost lost 
 their meaning. He has no morbid desire to die. He will 
 escape if he can, and he is daring enough to accomplish much. 
 And yet, if the danger were not great, he would not alarm Aunt 
 Cotta with even the possibility of death. He always considered 
 others so tenderly. 
 
 He says I have helped him, him who taught and helped me, 
 a poor ignorant child, so much ! Yet I suppose it may be so. 
 It teaches us so much to teach others. And we always under- 
 stood each other so perfectly with so few words. I feel as if 
 blindness had fallen on me, when I think of him now. My 
 heart gropes about in the dark and cannot find him. 
 
 But then I look up, my Saviour, to thee. "To thee the 
 night and the day are both alike." I dare not think he is 
 suffering; it breaks my heart. I cannot rejoice as I would in 
 thinking he may be in heaven. I know not what to ask, but 
 thou art with him as with me. Keep him close under the 
 shadow of thy wing. There we are safe, and there we are 
 together. And oh, comfort Aunt Cotta ! She must need it sorely. 
 
 Fritz, then, like our little company at Nimptschen, loves the 
 words of Dr. Luther. When I think of this I rejoice almost 
 more than I weep for him. These truths believed in our hearts 
 seem to unite us more than prison or death can divide. When 
 I think of this I can sing once more St. Bernard's hymn : — 
 
 SALVE CAPUT CRUENTATUM. 
 
 Hail ! thou Head, so bruised and wounded, 
 With the crown of thorns surrounded, 
 Smitten with the mocking reed, 
 Wounds which may not cease to bleed 
 
 Trickling faint and slow. 
 Hail ! from whose most blessed brow 
 None can wipe the blood-drops now ; 
 All the bloom of life has fled, 
 Mortal paleness there instead ; 
 Thou before whose presence dread 
 
 Angels trembling bow. 
 
 All thy vigour and thy life 
 Fading in this bitter strife ; 
 
 Death his stamp on thee has set, 
 Hollow and emaciate, 
 
 Faint and drooping there. 
 Thou this agony and scorn 
 Hast for me a sinner borne ! 
 Me, unworthy, all for me ! 
 With those wounds of love on thee, 
 
 Glorious Face, appear 1 
 
 Yet in this thine agony, 
 Faithful Shepherd, think of me 
 From whose lips of love divine 
 Sweetest draughts of life are mine, 
 Purest honey flows ;
 
 Eva's Story. 
 
 265 
 
 A.11 unworthy of thy thought, 
 Guilty, yet reject me not; 
 Unto me thy head incline, — 
 Let that dying head of thine 
 In mine arms repose ! 
 
 Let me true communion know 
 With thee in thy sacred woe, 
 Counting all beside but dross, 
 Dying with thee on thy cross ; — 
 
 'Neath if will I die ! 
 Thanks to thee with every breath 
 Jesus, for thy bitter death; 
 
 Grant thy guilty one this prayer : 
 When my dying hour is near, 
 
 Gracious God, be nigh ! 
 
 When my dying hour must be, 
 Be not absent then from me ; 
 In that dreadful hour, I pray, 
 Jesus come without delay ; 
 
 See, and set me free 
 When thou biddest me depart, 
 Whom I cleave to with my heartj 
 Lover of my soul, be near, 
 With thy saving cross appear, — . 
 
 Show thyself to me 1
 
 XVIII. 
 
 ©jjchla's jitarg. 
 
 WlTTEMBERG, April*, 1521. 
 
 R. LUTHER is gone. We all feel like a family be- 
 reaved of our father. 
 
 The professors and chief burghers, with numbers 
 of the students, gathered around the door of the Augustinian 
 Convent this morning to bid him farewell. Gottfried Reichen- 
 bach was near as he entered the carriage, and heard him say, 
 as he turned to Melancthon, in a faltering voice, " Should I not 
 return, and should my enemies put me to death, O my brother, 
 cease not to teach and to abide steadfastly in the truth. Lab- 
 our in my place, for I shall not be able to labour myself. If you 
 be spared it matters little that I perish." 
 
 And so he drove off. And a few minutes after, we, who were 
 waiting at the door, saw him pass. He did not forget to smile 
 at Else and her little ones, or to give a word of farewell to our 
 dear blind father as he passed us. But there was a grave 
 steadfastness in his countenance that made our hearts full of 
 anxiety. As the usher with the imperial standard who preceded 
 him, and then Dr. Luther's carriage, disappeared round a corner 
 of the street, our grandmother, whose chair had been placed at 
 the door that she might see him pass, murmured, as if to her- 
 self, — 
 
 " Yes, it was with just such a look they went to the scaffold 
 and the stake when I was young." 
 
 I could see little, my eyes were so blinded with tears ; and 
 when our grandmother said this, I could bear it no longer, but 
 ran up to my room, and here I have been ever since. My 
 mother and Else and all of them say I have no control over my
 
 Theklas Story. 267 
 
 feelings; and I am afraid I have not. But it seems to me as if 
 every one I lean my heart on were always taken away. First, 
 there was Eva. She always understood me, helped me to under- 
 stand myself; did not laugh at my perplexities as childish, did not 
 think my over-eagerness was always heat of temper, but met my 
 blundering efforts to do right. Different as she was from me 
 (different as an angel from poor bewildered blundering Giant 
 Christopher in Else's old legend), she always seemed to come 
 down to my level and see my difficulties from where I stood, 
 and so helped me over them ; whilst every one else sees them 
 from above, and wonders any one can think such trifles troubles 
 at all. Not, indeed, that my dear mother and Else are proud, 
 or mean to look down on any one; but Else is so unselfish, her 
 whole life is so bound up in others, that she does not know 
 what more wilful natures have to contend with. Besides, she 
 is now out of the immediate circle of our everyday life at home. 
 Then our mother is so gentle ; she is frightened to think what 
 sorrows life may bring me with the changes that must come, 
 if little things give me such joy or grief now. I know she 
 feels for me often more then she dares let me see ; but she is 
 always thinking of arming me for the trials she believes must 
 come, by teaching me to be less vehement and passionate about 
 trifles now. But I am afraid it is useless. I think every crea- 
 ture must suffer according to its nature ; and if God has made 
 our capacity for joy or sorrow deep, we cannot fill up the 
 channel and say, " Hitherto I will feel; so far, and no further." 
 The waters are there, — soon they will recover for themselves the 
 old choked-up courses; and meantime they will overflow. Eva 
 also used to say, " that our armour must grow with our growth, 
 and our strength with the strength of our conflicts ; and that 
 there is only one shield which does this, the shield of faith, — a 
 living, daily trust in a living, ever-present God." 
 
 But Eva went away. And then Nix died. I suppose if I saw 
 any child now mourning over a dog as I did over Nix, I should 
 wonder much as they all did at me then. But Nix was not only 
 a dog to me. He was Eisenach and my childhood ; and a 
 whole world of love and dreams seemed to die for me with 
 Nix.
 
 268 Chronicles of the Sclionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 To all the rest of the world I was a little vehement girl of 
 fourteen ; to Nix I was mistress, protector, everything. It was 
 weeks before I could bear to come in at the front door, where 
 he used to watch for me with his wistful eyes, and bound with 
 cries of joy to meet me. I used to creep in at the garden gate. 
 
 And then Nix's death was the first approach of Death to me, 
 and the dreadful power was no less a power because its shadow 
 fell first for me on a faithful dog. I began dimly to feel that 
 life, which before that seemed to be a mountain-path always 
 mounting and mounting through golden mists to I know not 
 what heights of beauty and joy, did not end on the heights, but 
 in a dark unfathomed abyss, and that however dim its course 
 might be, it has, alas, no mists, or uncertainty around the nature 
 of its close, but ends certainly, obviously, and universally in 
 death. 
 
 I could not tell any one what I felt. I did not know myself. 
 How can we understand a labyrinth until we are through it 1 ? 
 I did not even know it was a labyrinth. I only knew that a 
 light had passed away from everything, and a shadow had fallen 
 in its place. 
 
 Then it was that Dr. Luther spoke to me of the other world, 
 beyond death, which God would certainly make more full and 
 beautiful than this ; — the world on which the shadow of death 
 can never come, because it lies in the eternal sunshine, on the 
 other side of death, and all the shadows fall on this side. That 
 was about the time of my first communion, and I saw much of 
 Dr. Luther, and heard him preach. I did not say much to him, 
 but he let down a light into my heart which, amidst all its wan- 
 derings and mistakes, will, I believe, never go out. 
 
 He made me understand something of what our dear heavenly 
 Father is, and that willing but unequalled Sufferer — that gracious 
 Saviour who gave himself for our sins, even for mine. And he 
 made me feel that God would understand me better than any 
 one, because love always understands, and the greatest love 
 understands best, and God is love. 
 
 Else and I spoke a little about it sometimes, but not much. 
 I am still a child to Else and to all of them, being the youngest, 
 and so much less self-controlled than I ought to be. Fritz
 
 Thcklas Story. 26g 
 
 understood it best; at least, I could speak to him more freely, — 
 I do not know why. Perhaps some hearts are made to answer 
 naturally to each other, just as some of the furniture always 
 vibrates when I touch a particular string of the lute, while 
 nothing else in the room seems to feel it. Perhaps, too, sorrow 
 deepens the heart wonderfully, and opens a channel into the 
 depths of all other hearts. And I am sure Fritz has known very 
 deep sorrow. What, I do not exactly know; and I would not 
 for the world try to find out. If there is a secret chamber in 
 his heart, which he cannot bear to open to any one, when J 
 think his thoughts are there, would I not turn aside my eyes 
 and creep softly away, that he might never know I had found 
 it out? 
 
 The innermost sanctuary of his heart is, however, I know, not 
 a chamber of darkness and death, but a holy place of daylight, 
 for God is there. 
 
 Hours and hours Fritz and I spoke of Dr. Luther, and what 
 he had done for us both ; more, perhaps, for Fritz than even for 
 me, because he had suffered more. It seems to me as if we 
 and thousands besides in the world had been worshipping before 
 an altar-picture of our Saviour, which we had been told was 
 painted by a great master after a heavenly pattern. But all we 
 could see was a grim, hard, stern countenance of one sitting on 
 a judgment-throne; in his hands lightnings, and worse lightnings 
 buried in the cloud of his severe and threatening brow. And 
 then, suddenly we heard Dr. Luther's voice behind us saying, 
 in his ringing, inspiriting tones, " Friends, what are you doing 1 
 That is not the right painting. These are only the boards 
 which hide the master's picture." And so saying, he drew aside 
 the terrible image on which we had been hopelessly gazing, 
 vainly trying to read some traces of tenderness and beauty there. 
 And all at once the real picture was revealed to us, the picture 
 of the real Christ, with the look on his glorious face which he 
 had on the cross, when he said of his murderers, " Father, for- 
 give them ; they know not what they do ;" and to his mother, 
 " Woman, behold thy son ;" or to the sinful woman who washed 
 his feet, " Go in peace." 
 
 Fritz and I also spoke very often of Eva. At least, he liked
 
 270 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 me to speak of her while he listened. And I never weary of 
 speaking of our Eva. 
 
 But then Fritz went away. And now it is many weeks since 
 we have heard from him; and the last tidings we had were that 
 little note from the convent-prison of Mainz ! 
 
 And now Dr. Luther is gone — gone to the stronghold of his 
 enemies — gone, perhaps, as our grandmother says, to martyr- 
 dom ! 
 
 And who will keep that glorious revelation of the true, loving, 
 pardoning God open for us, — with a steady hand keep open 
 those false shutters, now that he is withdrawn? Dr. Melancthon 
 may do as well for the learned, for the theologians ; but who 
 will replace Dr. Luther to us, to the people, to working men 
 and eager youths, and to women and to children 1 Who will 
 make us feel as he does that religion is not a study, or a pro- 
 fession, or a system of doctrines, but life in God ; that prayer is 
 not, as he said, an ascension of the heart as a spiritual exercise 
 into some vague airy heights, but the lifting of the heart to God, 
 to a heart which meets us, cares for us, loves us inexpressibly? 
 Who will ever keep before us as he does that " Our Father," 
 which makes all the rest of the Lord's Prayer and all prayer 
 possible and helpful? No. wonder that mothers held out their 
 children to receive his blessing as he left us, and then went 
 home weeping, whilst even strong men brushed away tears from 
 their eyes. 
 
 It is true, Dr. Bugenhagen, who has escaped from persecution 
 in Pomerania, preaches fervently in his pulpit; and Archdeacon 
 Carlstadt is full of fire, and Dr. Melancthon full of light ; and 
 many good, wise men are left. But Dr. Luther seemed the 
 heart and soul of all. Others might say wiser things, and he 
 might say many things others would be too wise to say, but it 
 is through Dr. Luther's heart that God has revealed His heart 
 and His word to thousands in our country, and no one can ever 
 be to us what he is. 
 
 Day and night we pray for his safety. 
 
 April 1 j. 
 
 Christopher has returned from Erfurt, where he heard Dr. 
 Luther preach.
 
 The Ida's Story. 271 
 
 He told us that in many places his progress was like that of 
 a beloved prince through his dominions ; of a prince who was 
 going out to some great battle for his land. 
 
 Peasants blessed him ; poor men and women thronged around 
 him and entreated him not to trust his precious life among his 
 enemies. One aged priest at Nuremberg brought out to him a 
 portrait of Savonarola, the good priest whom the Pope burned 
 at Florence not forty years ago. One aged widow came to him 
 and said her parents had told her God would send a deliverer 
 to break the yoke of Rome, and she thanked God she saw him 
 before she died. At Erfurt sixty burghers and professors rode 
 out some miles to escort him into the city. There, where he 
 had relinquished all earthly prospects to beg bread as a monk 
 through the streets, the streets were thronged with grateful men 
 and women, who welcomed him as their liberator from false- 
 hood and spiritual tyranny. 
 
 Christopher heard him preach in the church of the Augustin- 
 ian Convent, where he had (as Fritz told me) suffered such 
 agonies of conflict. He stood there now an excommunicated 
 man, threatened with death; but he stood there as victor, through 
 Christ, over the tyranny and lies of Satan. He seemed entirely 
 to forget his own danger in the joy of the eternal salvation he 
 came to proclaim. Not a word, Christopher said, about him- 
 self, or the Diet, or the Pope's bull, or the Emperor, but all 
 about the way a sinner may be saved, and a believer may be 
 joyful. "There are two kind of works," he said; "external 
 works, our own works. These are worth little. One man 
 builds a church ; another makes a pilgrimage to St. Peter's ; a 
 third fasts, puts on the hood, goes barefoot. All these works 
 are nothing, and will perish. Now, I will tell you what is the 
 true good work. God hath raised again a man, the Lord Jesus 
 Christ, in order that he may crush death, destroy sin, shut the 
 gates of hell. This is the work of salvation. The devil believed 
 he had the Lord in his power when he beheld him between 
 two thieves, suffering the most shameful martyrdom, accursed 
 both of Heaven and man. But God put forth his might, and 
 annihilated death, sin, and hell. Christ hath won the victory. 
 This is the great news! And we are saved by his work, not
 
 272 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 by our works. The Pope says something very different. I tell 
 you the holy Mother of God herself has been saved, not by her 
 virginity, nor by her maternity, nor by her purity, nor by her 
 works, but solely by means of faith, and by the work of God." 
 
 As he spoke the gallery in which Christopher stood listening 
 cracked. Many were greatly terrified, and even attempted to 
 rush out. Dr. Luther stopped a moment, and then stretching 
 out his hand said, in his clear, firm voice, " Fear not, there is 
 no danger. The devil would thus hinder the preaching of the 
 gospel, but he will not succeed." Then returning to his text, 
 he said, " Perhaps you will say to me, 'You speak to us much 
 about faith, teach us how we may obtain it' Yes, indeed, that 
 is what I desire to teach you. Our Lord Jesus Christ has said, 
 ' Peace be unto you. Behold my hands 1 And this is as if he 
 said, ' O man, it is I alone who have taken away thy sins, and 
 who have redeemed thee, and now thou hast peace, saith the 
 Lord.' " 
 
 And he concluded, — 
 
 " Since God has saved us, let us so order our works that he 
 may take pleasure therein. Art thou rich 1 Let thy goods be 
 serviceable to the poor. Art thou poor? Let thy services be 
 of use to the rich. If thy labours are useless to all but thyself, 
 the services thou pretendest to render to God are a mere lie." 
 
 Christopher left Dr. Luther at Erfurt. He said many tried 
 to persuade the doctor not to venture to Worms ; others reminded 
 him of John Huss, burned in spite of the safe-conduct. And 
 as he went, in some places the papal excommunication was 
 affixed on the walls before his eyes; but he said, "If I perish, 
 the truth will not." 
 
 And nothing moved him from his purpose. Christopher was 
 most deeply touched with that sermon. He says the text, 
 " Peace be unto you ; and when he had so said Jesus showed unto 
 them his hands and his side" rang through his heart all the way 
 home to Wittemberg, through the forests and the plain. The 
 pathos of the clear true voice we may never hear again writes 
 them on his heart; and more than that, I trust, the deeper 
 pathos of the voice which uttered the cry of agony once on the 
 cross for us, — the agony which won the peace.
 
 Theklas Story, 273 
 
 Yes; when Dr. Luther speaks he makes us feel we have to 
 do with persons, not with things, — with the devil who hates us, 
 with God who loves us, with the Saviour who died for us. It 
 is not holiness only and justification, or sin and condemnation. 
 It is we sinning and condemned, Christ suffering for us, and 
 God justifying and loving us. It is all I and thou. He brings 
 us face to face with God, not merely sitting serene on a distant 
 imperial throne, frowning in terrible majesty, or even smiling 
 in gracious pity, but coming down to us close, seeking us, and 
 caring, caring unutterably much, that we, even we, should be 
 saved. 
 
 I never knew, until Dr. Luther drove out of Wittemberg, and 
 the car with the cloth curtains to protect him from the weather, 
 which the town had provided, passed out of sight, and I saw 
 the tears gently flowing down my mother's face, how much she 
 loved and honoured him. 
 
 She seems almost as anxious about him as about Fritz; and 
 she did not reprove me that night when she came in and found 
 me weeping by my bed. She only drew me to her and 
 smoothed down my hair, and said, " Poor little Thekla ! God 
 will teach us both how to have none other gods but himself. 
 He will do it very tenderly; but neither thy mother nor thy 
 Saviour can teach thee this lesson without many a bitter tear." 
 
 18
 
 XIX. 
 
 gnijs Siorjj. 
 
 Ebernburg, April 2, 1526. 
 
 CHASM has opened between me and my monastic 
 life. I have been in the prison, and in the prison 
 have I received at last, in full, my emancipation. 
 The ties I dreaded impatiently to break have been broken for 
 me, and I am a monk no longer. 
 
 I could not but speak to my brethren in the convent of the 
 glad tidings which had brought me such joy. It is as impossible 
 for Christian life not to diffuse itself as that living water should 
 not flow, or that flames should not rise. Gradually a little band 
 of Christ's freedmen gathered around me. At first I did not 
 speak to them much of Dr. Luther's writings. My purpose 
 was to show them that Dr. Luther's doctrine was not his own, 
 but God's. 
 
 But the time came when Dr. Luther's name was on every 
 lip. The bull of excommunication went forth against him from 
 the Vatican. His name was branded as that of the vilest of 
 heretics by eveiy adherent of the Pope. In many churches, 
 especially those of the Dominicans, the people were summoned 
 by the great bells to a solemn service of anathema, where the 
 whole of the priests, gathered at the altar in the darkened build- 
 ing, pronounced the terrible words of doom, and then, flinging 
 down their blazing torches extinguished them on the stone pave- 
 ment, as hope, they said, was extinguished by the anathema for 
 the soul of the accursed. 
 
 At one of these services I was accidentally present. And mine 
 was not the only heart which glowed with burning indignation 
 to hear that worthy name linked with those of apostates and
 
 Fritz* $ Story. 275 
 
 heretics, and held up to universal execration. But, perhaps, in 
 no heart there did it enkindle such a fire as in mine. Because 
 I knew the source from which those curses came, how lightly, 
 how carelessly those firebrands were flung; not fiercely, by the 
 fanaticism of blinded consciences, but daintily and deliberately, 
 by cruel, reckless hands, as a matter of diplomacy and policy, 
 by those who cared themselves neither for God's curse nor his 
 blessing. And I knew also the heart which they were meant to 
 wound; how loyal, how tender, how true; how slowly, and with 
 what pain Dr. Luther had learned to believe the idols of his 
 youth a lie ; with what a wrench, when the choice at last had to 
 be made between the word of God and the voice of the Church, 
 he had clung to the Bible, and let the hopes, and trust, and 
 friendships of earlier days be torn from him ; what anguish that 
 separation still cost him ; how willingly, as a humble little child, 
 at the sacrifice of anything but truth and human souls, he 
 would have flung himself again on the bosom of that Church to 
 which, in his fervent youth, he had offered up all that makes 
 life dear. 
 
 " They curse, but bless T/iou." 
 
 The words came unbidden into my heart, and almost uncon- 
 sciously from my lips. Around me I heard more than one 
 "Amen;" but at the same time I became aware that I was 
 watched by malignant eyes. 
 
 After the publication of the excommunication, they publicly 
 burned the writings of Dr. Luther in the great square. Mainz 
 was the first city in Germany where this indignity was offered 
 him. 
 
 Mournfully I returned to my convent. In the cloisters of 
 our Order the opinions concerning Luther are much divided. 
 The writings of St. Augustine have kept the truth alive in many 
 hearts amongst us ; and besides this, there is the natural bias to 
 one of our own order, and the party opposition to the Domini- 
 cans, Tetzel and Eck, Dr. Luther's enemies. Probably there 
 are few Augustinian convents in which there are not two oppo- 
 site parties in reference to Dr. Luther. 
 
 In speaking of the great truths, of God freely justifying the 
 sinner because Christ died, (the Judge acquitting because the
 
 276 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Judge himself had suffered for the guilty), I had endeavoured to 
 trace them, as I have said, beyond all human words to their 
 divine authority. But now to confess Luther seemed to me to 
 have become identical with confessing Christ. It is the truth 
 which is assailed in any age which tests our fidelity. It is to 
 confess we are called, not merely to profess. If I profess, with 
 the loudest voice and the clearest exposition, every portion of 
 the truth of God except precisely that little point which the 
 world and the devil are at that moment attacking, I am not 
 confessing Christ, however boldly I may be professing Christi- 
 anity. Where the battle rages the loyalty of the soldier is 
 proved; and to be steady on all the battle-field besides is mere 
 flight and disgrace to him if he flinches at that one point. 
 
 It seems to me also that, practically, the contest in every age 
 of conflict ranges usually round the person of one faithful, God- 
 sent man, whom to follow loyally is fidelity to God. In the 
 days of the first Judaizing assault on the early Church, that 
 man was St. Paul. In the great Arian battle, this man was 
 Athanasius — " Athanasius contra mundum." In our days, in 
 our land, I believe it is Luther ; and to deny Luther would be 
 for me who learned the truth from his lips, to deny Christ. 
 Luther, I believe, is the man whom God has given to his 
 Church in Germany in this age. Luther, therefore, I will fol- 
 low — not as a perfect example, but as a God-appointed leader. 
 Men can never be neutral in great religious contests; and if, 
 because of the little wrong in the right cause, or the little evil 
 in the good man, we refuse to take the side of right, we are, by 
 that very act, silently taking the side of wrong. 
 
 When I came back to the convent I found the storm gather- 
 ing. I was asked if I possessed any of Dr. Luther's writings. 
 I confessed that I did. It was demanded that they should be 
 given up. I said they could be taken from me, but I would 
 not willingly give them up to destruction, because I believed 
 they contained the truth of God. Thus the matter ended until 
 we had each retired to our cells for the night, when one of the 
 older monks came to me and accused me of secretly spreading 
 Lutheran heresy among the brethren. 
 
 I acknowledged I had diligently, but not secretly, done all I 

 
 Fritz's Story. 277 
 
 could to spread among the brethren the truths contained in Dr. 
 Luther's books, although not in his words, but in St. Paul's. A 
 warm debate ensued, which ended in the monk angrily leaving 
 the cell, saying that means would be found to prevent the fur- 
 ther diffusion of this poison. 
 
 The next day I was taken into the prison where John of 
 Wesel died ; the heavy bolts were drawn upon me, and I was 
 left in solitude. 
 
 As they left me alone, the monk with whom I had the dis- 
 cussion of the previous night said, " In this chamber, not forty 
 years since, a heretic such as Martin Luther died." 
 
 The words were intended to produce wholesome fear : they 
 acted as a bracing tonic. The spirit of the conqueror who had 
 seemed to be defeated there, but now stood with the victorious 
 palm before the Lamb, seemed near me. The Spirit of the 
 truth for which he suffered was with me ; and in the solitude of 
 that prison I learned lessons years might not have taught me 
 elsewhere. 
 
 No one except those who have borne them knows how strong 
 are the fetters which bind us to a false faith, learned at our 
 mother's knee, and rivetted on us by the sacrifices of years. 
 Perhaps I should never have been able to break them. For 
 me, as for thousands of others, they were rudely broken by hos- 
 tile hands. But the blows which broke them were the accolade 
 which smote me from a monk into a knight and soldier of my 
 Lord. 
 
 Yes ; there I learned that these vows which have bound me 
 for so many years are bonds, not to God, but to a lying tyranny. 
 The only true vows, as Dr. Luther says, are the vows of our 
 baptism — to renounce the world, the flesh, and the devil, as 
 soldiers of Christ. The only divine Order is the common order 
 of Christianity. All other orders are disorder ; not confedera- 
 tions within the Church, but conspiracies against it. If, in an 
 army, the troops chose to abandon the commander's arrange- 
 ment, and range themselves, by arbitrary rules, in peculiar uni- 
 forms, around self-elected leaders, they would not be soldiers 
 - — they would be mutineers. 
 
 God's order is, I think, the State to embrace all men, the
 
 278 Chronicles of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Church to embrace all Christian men ; and the kernel of the 
 State and the type of the Church is the family. 
 
 He creates us to be infants, children — sons, daughters — hus- 
 band, wife — father, mother. He says, Obey your parents, love 
 your wife, reverence your husband, love your children. As 
 children, let the Lord at Nazareth be your model ; as married, 
 let the Lord, who loved the Church better than life, be your 
 type ; as parents, let the heavenly Father be your guide. And 
 if we, abandoning every holy name of family love he has sanc- 
 tioned, and every lowly duty he has enjoined, choose to band 
 ourselves anew into isolated conglomerations of men or women, 
 connected only by a common name and dress, we are not only 
 amiable enthusiasts — we are rebels against the Divine order of 
 humanity. 
 
 God, indeed, may call some especially to forsake father and 
 mother, and wife and children, and all things for his dearer 
 love. But when he calls to such destinies, it is by the plain 
 voice of Providence, or by the bitter call of persecution; and then 
 the martyr's or the apostle's solitary path is as much the lowly, 
 simple path of obedience as the mother's or the child's. The 
 crown of the martyr is consecrated by the same holy oil which 
 anoints the head of the bride, the mother, or the child, — the 
 consecration of love and of obedience. There is none other. 
 All that is not duty is sin ; all that is not obedience is disobe- 
 dience; all that is not of love is of self; and self crowned with 
 thorns in a cloister is as selfish as self crowned with ivy at a 
 revel. 
 
 Therefore I abandon cowl and cloister for ever. I am no 
 more Brother Sebastian, of the order of the Eremites of St. Au- 
 gustine. I am Friedrich Cotta, Margaret Cotta's son, Else and 
 Thekla's brother Fritz. I am no more a monk. I am a Chris- 
 tian. I am no more a vowed Augustinian. I am a baptized 
 Christian, dedicated to Christ from the arms of my mother, 
 united to Him by the faith of my manhood. Henceforth I will 
 order my life by no routine of ordinances imposed by the will 
 of a dead man hundreds of years since. But, day by day I 
 will seek to yield myself, body, soul, and spirit, to the living 
 will of my almighty, loving God, saying to him morning by
 
 Fritz s Story. 279 
 
 morning, " Give me this day my daily bread. Appoint to me 
 this day my daily task." And he will never fail to hear, how- 
 ever often I may fail to ask. 
 
 I had abundance of time for those thoughts in my prison ; 
 for during the three weeks I lay there I had, with the exception 
 of the bread and water which were silently laid inside the door 
 every morning, but two visits. And these were from my friend 
 the aged monk who had first told me about John of Wesel. 
 
 The first time he came (he said) to persuade me to recant. 
 But whatever he intended, he said little about recantation — 
 much more about his own weakness, which hindered him from 
 confessing the same truth. 
 
 The second time he brought me a disguise, and told me he 
 had provided the means for my escape that very night. When, 
 therefore, I heard the echoes of the heavy bolts of the great 
 doors die away through the long stone corridors, and listened 
 till the last tramp of feet ceased, and door after door of the 
 various cells was closed, and every sound was still throughout 
 the building, I laid aside my monk's cowl and frock, and put 
 on the burgher dress provided for me. 
 
 To me it was a glad and solemn ceremony, and, alone in my 
 prison, I prostrated myself on the stone floor, and thanked Him 
 who, by his redeeming death and the emancipating word of his 
 free Spirit, had made me a free man, nay, infinitely better, his 
 fnedman. 
 
 The bodily freedom to which I looked forward was to me a 
 light boon indeed, in comparison with the liberty of heart 
 already mine. The putting on this common garb of secular 
 life was to me like a solemn investiture with the freedom of the 
 city and the empire of God. Henceforth I was not to be a 
 member of a narrow, separated class, but of the common family ; 
 no more to freeze alone on a height, but to tread the lowly path 
 of common duty ; to help my brethren, not as men at a sump- 
 tuous table throw crumbs to beggars and dogs, but to live 
 amongst them — to share my bread of life with them ; no longer 
 as the forerunner in the wilderness, but, like the Master, in the 
 streets, and highways, and homes of men ; assuming no nobler 
 name than man created in the image of God, born in the image
 
 280 Chronicles of the Schouberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 of Adam ; aiming at no loftier title than Christian, redeemed by 
 the blood of Christ, and created anew, to be conformed to his 
 glorious image. Yes, as the symbol of a freedman, as the uniform 
 of a soldier, as the armour of a sworn knight, at once freeman 
 and servant, was that lowly burgher's dress to me ; and with a 
 joyful heart, when the aged monk came to me again, I stepped 
 after him, leaving my monk's frock lying in the corner of the 
 cell, like the husk of that old lifeless life. 
 
 In vain did I endeavour to persuade my liberator to accom- 
 pany me in my flight. " The world would be a prison to me, 
 brother," he said with a sad smile. " All I loved in it are dead, 
 and what could I do there, with the body of an old man and 
 the helpless inexperience of a child 1 Fear not for me," he 
 added; " I also shall, I trust, one day dwell in a home; but not 
 on earth !" 
 
 And so we parted, he returning to the convent, and I taking 
 my way, by river and forest, to this castle of the noble knight 
 Franz von Sickengen, on a steep height at the angle formed by 
 the junction of two rivers. 
 
 My silent weeks of imprisonment had been weeks of busy life 
 in the world outside. When I reached this castle of Ebern- 
 burg, I found the whole of its inhabitants in a ferment about 
 the summoning of Dr. Luther to Worms. His name, and 
 my recent imprisonment for his faith, were a sufficient pass- 
 port to the hospitality of the castle, and I was welcomed most 
 cordially. 
 
 It was a great contrast to the monotonous routine of the con- 
 vent and the stillness of the prison. All was life and stir ; 
 eager debates as to what it would be best to do for Dr. Luther ; 
 incessant coming and going of messengers on horse and foot 
 between Ebernburg and Worms, where the Diet is already sit- 
 ting, and where the good knight Franz spends much of his time 
 in attendance on the Emperor. 
 
 Ulrich Von Hutten is also here, from time to time, vehement 
 in his condemnation of the fanaticism of monks and the luke- 
 warmness of princes ; and Dr. Bucer, a disciple of Dr. Luther's, 
 set ffee from the bondage of Rome by his healthful words at 
 the great conference of the Augustinians at Heidelberg.
 
 Fritzs Story. 28 1 
 
 April 30,, 1521. 
 
 The events of an age seem to have been crowded into the 
 last month. A few days after I wrote last, it was decided to 
 send a deputation to Dr. Luther, who was then rapidly 
 approaching Worms, entreating him not to venture into the 
 city, but to turn aside to Ebernburg. The Emperor's confes- 
 sor, Glapio, had persuaded the knight von Sickingen and 
 the chaplain Bucer, that all might easily be arranged, if 
 Dr. Luther only avoided the fatal step of appearing at the 
 Diet. 
 
 A deputation of horsemen was therefore sent to intercept the 
 doctor on his way, and to conduct him, if he would consent, to 
 Ebernburg, the " refuge and hostelry of righteousness," as it 
 has been termed. 
 
 I accompanied the little band, of which Bucer was to be chief 
 spokesman. I did not think Dr. Luther would come. Unlike 
 the rest of the party, I had known him not only when he stepped 
 on the great stage of the world as the antagonist of falsehood, 
 but as the simple, straightforward, obscure monk. And I knew 
 that the step which to others seemed so great, leading him from 
 safe obscurity into perilous pre-eminence before the eyes of all 
 Christendom, was to him no great momentary effort, but simply 
 one little step in the path of obedience and lowly duty which 
 he had been endeavouring to tread so many years. But I 
 feared. I distrusted Glapio, and believed that all this earnest- 
 ness on the part of the papal party to turn the doctor aside was 
 not for his sake, but for their own. 
 
 I needed not, at least, have distrusted Dr. Luther. Bucer 
 entreated him with the eloquence of affectionate solicitude ; his 
 faithful friends and fellow-travellers, Jonas, Amsdorf, and 
 Schurff, wavered, but Dr. Luther did not hesitate an instant. 
 He was in the path of obedience. The next step was as un- 
 questionable and essential as all the rest, although, as he had 
 once said, "it led through flames which extended from Worms 
 to Wittemberg, and raged up to heaven." He did not, how- 
 ever, use any of these forcible illustrations now, natural as they 
 were to him. He simply said, — 
 
 I continue my journey. If the Emperor's confessor has 
 
 «
 
 282 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 anything to say to me, he can say it at Worms. / will go to 
 the place to which I have been summoned." 
 
 And he went on, leaving the friendly deputation to return 
 baffled to Ebernburg. 
 
 I did not leave him. As we went on the way, some of those 
 who had accompanied him told me through what fervent greet- 
 ings and against what vain entreaties of tearful affection he had 
 pursued his way thus far; how many had warned him that he 
 was going to the stake, and had wept that they should see his 
 face no more ; how through much bodily weakness and suffering, 
 through acclamations and tears, he had passed on simply and 
 steadfastly, blessing little children in the schools he visited, and 
 telling them to search the Scriptures; comforting the timid and 
 aged, stirring up the hearts of all to faith and prayer, and by 
 his courage and trust more than once turning enemies into 
 friends. 
 
 "Are you the man who is to overturn the popedom]" said a 
 soldier, accosting him rather contemptuously at a halting-place ; 
 "how will you accomplish that?" 
 
 " I rely on Almighty God," he replied, " whose orders I 
 have." 
 
 And the soldier replied reverently, — 
 
 "I serve the Emperor Charles; your Master is greater than 
 mine." 
 
 One more assault awaited Dr. Luther before he reached his 
 destination. It came through friendly lips. When he arrived 
 near Worms, a messenger came riding rapidly towards us from 
 his faithful friend Spalatin, the Elector's chaplain, and implored 
 him on no account to think of entering the city. 
 
 The doctor's old fervour of expression returned at such a 
 temptation meeting him so near the goal. 
 
 " Go tell your master," he said, "that if there were at Worms 
 as many devils as there are tiles on the roofs, yet would I 
 go in." 
 
 And he went in. A hundred cavaliers met him near the 
 gates, and escorted him within the city. Two thousand people 
 were eagerly awaiting him, and pressed to see him as he passed 
 through the streets. Not all friends. Fanatical Spaniards were
 
 Fritz s Story. 283 
 
 among them, who had torn his books in pieces from the book- 
 stalls, and crossed themselves when they looked at him, as if he 
 had been the devil; baffled partisans of the Pope: and on the 
 other hand, timid Christians who hoped all from Ms courage; 
 men who had waited long for this deliverance, had received life 
 from his words, and had kept his portrait in their homes and 
 hearts encircled like that of a canonized saint with a glory. 
 And through the crowd he passed, the only man, perhaps, in it 
 who did not see Dr. Luther through a mist of hatred or of 
 glory, but felt himself a solitary, feeble, helpless man, leaning 
 only, yet resting securely, on the arm of Almighty strength. 
 
 Those who knew him best perhaps wondered at him most 
 during those days which followed. Not at his courage — that 
 we had expected — but at his calmness and moderation. It 
 was this which seemed to me most surely the seal of God on 
 that fervent impetuous nature, stamping the work and the man 
 as of God. 
 
 We none of us knew how he would have answered before 
 that august assembly. At his first appearance some of us feared 
 he might have been too vehement. The Elector Frederick 
 could not have been more moderate and calm. When asked 
 whether he would retract his books, I think there were few 
 among us who were not surprised at the noble self-restraint of 
 his reply. He asked for time. 
 
 " Most gracious Emperor, gracious princes and lords," he 
 said, "with regard to the first accusation, I acknowlege the 
 books enumerated to have been from me. I cannot disown 
 them. As regards the second, seeing that is a question of the 
 faith and the salvation of souls, and of God's word, the most 
 precious treasure in heaven or earth, I should act rashly were I 
 to reply hastily. I might affirm less than the case requires, or 
 more than truth demands, and thus offend against that word of 
 Christ, 'Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also 
 deny before my Father who is in heaven.' Wherefore I beseech 
 your imperial majesty, with all submission, to allow me time 
 that I may reply without doing prejudice to the word of 
 God." 
 
 He could afford to be thought for the time what many of his
 
 2S4 Chronicles of the Sclionberg-Cotta Famt/f. 
 
 enemies tauntingly declared him, a coward, brave in the cell, 
 but appalled when he came to face the world. 
 
 During the rest of that day he was full of joy; "like a child." 
 said some, "who knows not what is before him ;" "like a veteran," 
 said others, "who has prepared everything for the battle;" like 
 both, I thought, since the strength of the veteran in the battles 
 of God is the strength of the child following his Father's eye, 
 and trusting on his Father's arm. 
 
 A conflict awaited him afterwards in the course of the night, 
 which one of us witnessed, and which made him who witnessed 
 it feel no wonder that the imperial presence had no terrors for 
 Luther on the morrow. 
 
 Alone that night our leader fought the fight to which all 
 other combats were but as a holiday tournament. Prostrate on 
 the ground, with sobs and bitter tears, he prayed, — 
 
 " Almighty, everlasting God, how terrible this world is ! How 
 it would open its jaws to devour me, and how weak is my trust 
 in thee ! The flesh is weak, and the devil is strong ! O thou 
 my God, help me against all the wisdom of this world. Do 
 thou the work. It is for thee alone to do it; for the work is 
 thine, not mine. I have nothing to bring me here. I have no 
 controversy to maintain, not I, with the great ones of the earth. 
 I too would that my days should glide along, happy and calm. 
 But the cause is thine. It is righteous, it is eternal. O Lord, 
 help me ; thou that art faithful, thou that art unchangeable. It 
 is not in any man I trust. That were vain indeed. All that 
 is in man gives way; all that comes from man faileth. O God, 
 my God, dost thou not hear me? Art thou dead? No; thou 
 canst not die ! Thou art but hiding thyself. Thou hast chosen 
 me for this work. I know it. Oh, then, arise and work. Be 
 thou on my side, for the sake of thy beloved Son Jesus Christ, 
 who is my defence, my shield, and my fortress. 
 
 "O Lord, my God, where art thou? Come, come; I am 
 ready — ready to forsake life for thy truth, patient as a lamb. 
 For it is a righteous cause, and it is thine own. I will not 
 depart from thee, now nor through eternity. And although the 
 world should be full of demons; although my body, which, 
 nevertheless, is the work of thine hands, should be doomed to
 
 Fritzs Story. 285 
 
 bite the dust, to be stretched upon the rack, cut into pieces, 
 consumed to ashes, the soul is thine. Yes; for this I have the 
 assurance of thy word. My soul is thine. It will abide near 
 thee throughout the endless ages. Amen. O God, help thou 
 me ! Amen." 
 
 Ah, how little those who follow know the agony it costs to 
 take the first step, to venture on the perilous ground no human 
 soul around has tried ! 
 
 Insignificant indeed the terrors of the empire to one who had 
 seen the terrors of the Almighty. Petty indeed are the assaults 
 of flesh and blood to him who has withstood principalities and 
 powers, and the hosts of the prince of darkness. 
 
 At four o'clock the Marshal of the Empire came to lead him 
 to his trial. But his real hour of trial was over, and calm and 
 joyful Dr. Luther passed through the crowded streets to the 
 imperial presence. 
 
 As he drew near the door, the veteran General Freundsberg, 
 touching his shoulder, said — 
 
 " Little monk, you have before you an encounter such as 
 neither I nor any other captains have seen the like of even in 
 our bloodiest campaigns. But if your cause be just, and if 
 you know it to be so, go forward in the name of God, and fear 
 nothing. God will not forsake you." 
 
 Friendly heart ! he knew not that our Martin Luther was 
 coming from his battle-field, and was simply going as a con- 
 queror to declare before men the victory he had won from 
 mightier foes. 
 
 And so at last he stood, the monk, the peasant's son, before 
 all the princes of the empire, the kingliest heart among them 
 all, crowned with a majesty which was incorruptible, because in- 
 visible to worldly eyes; one against thousands who were bent 
 on his destruction; one in front of thousands who leant on his 
 fidelity; erect because he rested on that unseen arm above. 
 
 The words he spoke that day are ringing through all Ger- 
 many. The closing sentence will never be forgotten — 
 
 " Here 1 'stand. I cannot do otherwise. God help me. Amen." 
 
 To him these deeds of heroism are acts of simple obedience ; 
 every step inevitable, because every step is duty. In this path
 
 286 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 he leans on God's help absolutely and only. And all faithful 
 hearts throughout the land respond to his Amen. 
 
 On the other hand, many of the polished courtiers and subtle 
 Roman diplomatists saw no eloquence in his words, words 
 which stirred every true heart to its depths. " That man," said 
 they, "will never convince us." How should he 1 ? His argu- 
 ments were not in their language, nor addressed to them, but 
 to true and honest hearts; and to such they spoke. 
 
 To men with whom eloquence means elaborate fancies, de- 
 corating corruption or veiling emptiness, what could St. Paul 
 seem but a "babbler?" 
 
 All men of earnest purpose acknowledged their force; — 
 enemies, by indignant clamour that he should be silenced; 
 friends, by wondering gratitude to God who had stood by him. 
 
 It was nearly dark when the Diet broke up. As Dr. Luther 
 came out, escorted by the imperial officers, a panic spread 
 through the crowd collected in the street, and from every lip to 
 lip was heard the cry, — 
 
 " They are taking him to prison." 
 
 " They are leading me to my hotel," said the calm voice of 
 him whom this day has made the great man of Germany. And 
 the tumult subsided. 
 
 Ebernburg, June 1521. 
 
 Dr. Luther has disappeared! Not one that I have seen 
 knows at this moment where they have taken him, whether he 
 is in the hands of friend or foe, whether even he is still on earth ! 
 
 We ought to have heard of his arrival at Wittemberg many 
 days since. But no inquiries can trace him beyond the village 
 of Mora in the Thuringian Forest. There he went from Eise- 
 nach on his way back to Wittemberg, to visit his aged grand- 
 mother and some of his father's relations, peasant farmers who 
 live on the clearings of the forest. In his grandmother's lowly 
 home he passed the night, and took leave of her the next morn- 
 ing ; and no one has heard of him since. 
 
 We are not without hope that he is in the hands of friends; 
 yet fears will mingle with these hopes. His enemies are so 
 many and so bitter; and no means would seem, to many of 
 them, unworthy, to rid the world of such a heretic.
 
 Fritz's Story. 287 
 
 While he yet remained at Worms the Romans strenuously 
 insisted that his obstinacy had made the safe-conduct invalid; 
 some even of the German princes urged that he should be 
 seized; and it was only by the urgent remonstrances of others, 
 who protested that they would never suffer such a blot on Ger- 
 man honour, that he was saved. 
 
 At the same time the most insidious efforts were made to 
 persuade him to retract, or to resign his safe-conduct in order 
 to show his willingness to abide by the issue of a fair discussion. 
 This last effort, appealing to Dr. Luther's confidence in the 
 truth for which he was ready to die, had all but prevailed with 
 him. But a knight who was present when it was made, seeing 
 through the treachery, fiercely ejected the priest who proposed 
 it from the house. 
 
 Yet through all assaults, insidious or open, Dr. Luther re- 
 mained calm and unmoved, moved by no threats, ready to listen 
 to any fair proposition. 
 
 Among all the polished courtiers and proud princes and pre- 
 lates, he seemed to me to stand like an ambassador from an 
 imperial court among the petty dignitaries of some petty pro- 
 vince. His manners had the dignity of one who has been 
 accustomed to a higher presence than any around him, giving 
 to every one the honour due to him, indifferent to all personal 
 slights, but inflexible on every point that concerned the honour 
 of his sovereign. 
 
 Those of us who had known him in earlier days saw in him 
 all the simplicity, the deep earnestness, the childlike delight in 
 simple pleasures we had known in him of old. It was our 
 old friend Martin Luther, but it seemed as if our Luther had 
 come back to us from a residence in heaven, such a peace and 
 majesty dwelt in all he said. One incident especially struck 
 me. When the glass he was about to drink of at the feast given 
 by the Archbishop of Treves, one of the papal party, shivered 
 in his hand as he signed the cross over it, and his friends 
 exclaimed " poison !" he (so ready usually to see spiritual agency 
 in all things) quietly observed that " the glass had doubtless 
 broken on account of its having been plunged too soon into cold 
 water when it was washed."
 
 288 Chronicles of the ScJibnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 His courage was no effort of a strong nature. He simply 
 trusted in God, and really was afraid of nothing. 
 
 And now he is gone. 
 
 Whether among friends or foes, in a hospitable refuge such 
 as this, or in a hopeless secret dungeon, to us for the time at 
 least he is dead. No word of sympathy or counsel passes be- 
 tween us. The voice which all Germany hushed its breath to 
 hear is silenced. 
 
 Under the excommunication of the Pope, under the ban of 
 the empire, branded as a heretic, sentenced as a traitor, reviled 
 by the Emperor's own edict as " a fool, a blasphemer, a devil 
 clothed in a monk's cowl," it is made treason to give him food 
 or shelter, and a virtue to deliver him to death. And to all 
 this, if he is living, he can utter no word of reply. 
 
 Meantime, on the other hand, every word of his is treasured 
 up and clothed with the sacred pathos of the dying words of a 
 father. The noble letter which he wrote to the nobles describ- 
 ing his appearance before the Diet is treasured in every home. 
 
 Yet some among us derive not a little hope from the last 
 letter he wrote, which was to Lucas Cranach, from Frankfort. 
 In it he says, — 
 
 " The Jews may sing once more their ' Io ! Io ! ' but to us 
 also the Easter-day will come, and then will we sing Alleluiah. 
 A little while we must be silent and suffer. ' A little while,' 
 said Christ, ' and ye shall not see me ; and again a little while 
 and ye shall see me.' I hope it may be so now. But the will 
 of God, the best in all things, be done in this as in heaven and 
 earth. Amen." 
 
 Many of us think this is a dim hint to those who love him 
 that he knew what was before him, and that after a brief con- 
 cealment for safety, " till this tyranny be overpast," he will be 
 amongst us once more. 
 
 I, at least, think so, and pray that to him this time of silence 
 may be a time of close intercourse with God, from which he 
 may come forth refreshed and strengthened to guide and help 
 us all. 
 
 And meantime, a work, not without peril, but full of sacred 
 joy, opens before me. I have been supplied by the friends ot
 
 Fritz's Story. 2S9 
 
 Dr. Luther's doctrine with copies of his books and pamphlets, 
 both in Latin and German, which I am to sell as a hawker 
 through the length and breadth of Germany, and in any other 
 lands I can penetrate. 
 
 I am to start to-morrow, and to me my pack and strap are 
 burdens more glorious than the armour of a prince of the 
 empire; my humble pedlar's coat and staff are vestments 
 more sacred than the robes of a cardinal or the weeds of a 
 pilgrim. 
 
 For am I not a pilgrim to the city which hath foundations % 
 Is not my yoke the yoke of Christ 1 ? and am I not distributing, 
 among thirsty and enslaved men, the water of life and the truth 
 which sets the heart free \ 
 
 Black Forest, May 1521. 
 
 The first week of my wandering life is over. To-day my way 
 lay through the solitary paths of the Black Forest, which, eleven 
 years ago, I trod with Dr. Martin Luther, on our pilgrimage to 
 Rome. Both of us then wore the monk's frock and cowl. Both 
 were devoted subjects of the Pope, and would have deprecated, 
 as the lowest depth of degradation, his anathema. Yet at that 
 very time Martin Luther bore in his heart the living germ of all 
 that is now agitating men's hearts from Pomerania to Spain. 
 He was already a freedman of Christ, and he knew it. The 
 Holy Scriptures were already to him the one living fountain of 
 truth. Believing simply on Him who died, the just for the 
 unjust, he had received the free pardon of his sins. Prayer was 
 to him the confiding petition of a forgiven child received to the 
 heart of the Father, and walking humbly by his side. Christ 
 he knew already as the Confessor and Priest; the Holy Spirit 
 as the personal teacher through His own Word. 
 
 The fetters of the old ceremonial were indeed still around 
 him, but only as the brown casings still swathe many of the 
 swelling buds of the young leaves ; which others, this May morn- 
 ing, cracked and burst as I passed along in the silence through 
 the green forest paths. The moment of liberation, to the 
 passer-by always seems a great, sudden effort; but those who 
 have watched the slow swelling of the imprisoned bud, know 
 that the last expansion of life which bursts the scaly cerements 
 
 19
 
 200 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 is but one moment of the imperceptible but incessant growth, 
 of which even the apparent death of winter was a stage. 
 
 But it is good to live in the spring-time; and as I went on, 
 my heart sang with the birds and the leaf-buds, " For me also 
 the cerements of winter are burst, — for me and for all the land ! " 
 
 And as I walked, I sang aloud the old Easter hymn which 
 Eva used to love : — 
 
 Pone luctum, Magdalena, 
 Et Serena lacrymas ; 
 
 Non est jam sermonis coena, 
 Non cur fletum exprimas ; 
 
 Causae mille sunt laetandi, 
 
 Causae mille exultandi, 
 
 Alleluia resonet ! 
 
 Suma risum, Magdalena, 
 Frons nitescat lucida ; 
 
 Denigravit omnis poena, 
 Lux coruscat fulgida ; 
 
 Christus nondum liberavit, 
 
 Et de morte triumphavit: 
 Alleluia resonet ! 
 
 Gaude, plaude Magdalena, 
 Tumba Christus exiit ; 
 
 Tristis est peracta scer.a, 
 Victor mortis rediit ; 
 
 Quern deflebis morientem, 
 Nunc arride resurgentem : 
 Alleluia resonet! 
 
 Tolle vultum, Magpalena, 
 Redivivum obstupe : 
 
 Vide frons quam sit amoena, 
 Quinque plagas adspice ; 
 
 Fulgent sicut margaritae, 
 
 Ornamenta novae vitae : 
 
 Alleluia resonet! 
 
 Vive, vive, Magdalena I 
 Tua lux reversa est : 
 
 Guadiis turgescit vena, 
 Mortis vis obstersa est ; 
 
 Maesti procul sunt dolores, 
 
 Laeti redeant amores : 
 
 Alleluia resonet! 
 
 Yes, even in the old dark times, heart after heart, in quiet 
 homes and secret convent cells, has doubtless learned this hidden 
 joy. But now the world seems learning it. The winter has its 
 robins, with their solitary warblings; but now the spring is here, the 
 songs come in choruses, — and thank God I am awake to listen ! 
 
 But the voice which awoke this music first in my heart, 
 among these very forests — and since then, through the grace of 
 God, in countless hearts throughout this and all lands — what 
 silence hushes it now? The silence of the grave, or only of 
 some friendly refuge ] In either case, doubtless, it is not silent 
 to God. 
 
 I had scarcely finished my hymn, when the trees became 
 more scattered and smaller, as if they had been cleared not long 
 since; and I found myself on the edge of a valley, on the 
 slopes of which nestled a small village, with its spire and belfry 
 rising among the wooden cottages, and flocks of sheep and
 
 Fritz's Story. 291 
 
 goats grazing in the pastures beside the little stream which 
 watered it. 
 
 I lifted up my heart to God, that some hearts in that peace- 
 ful place might welcome the message of eternal peace through 
 the books I carried. 
 
 As I entered the village, the priest came out of the parsonage 
 — an aged man, with a gentle, kindly countenance — and courte- 
 ously saluted me. 
 
 I offered to show him my wares. 
 
 " It is not likely there will be anything there for me," he said, 
 smiling. " My days are over for ballads and stories, such as I 
 suppose your merchandise consists of." 
 
 But when he saw the name of Luther on the title-page of a 
 volume which I showed him, his face changed, and he said in 
 a grave voice, " Do you know what you carry 1" 
 
 " I trust I do," I replied. " I carry most of these books in 
 my heart as well as on my shoulders." 
 
 "But do you know the danger]" the old man continued. 
 " We have heard that Dr. Luther has been excommunicated by 
 the Pope, and laid under the ban of the empire; and only last 
 week, a travelling merchant, such as yourself, told us that his 
 body had been seen, pierced through with a hundred wounds." 
 
 " That was not true three days since," I said. " At least, his 
 best friends at Worms knew nothing of it." 
 
 "Thank God!" he said; "for in this village we owe that 
 good man much. And if," he added timidly, " he has indeed 
 fallen into heresy, it would be well he had time to repent." 
 
 In that village I sold many of my books, and left others with 
 the good priest, who entertained me most hospitably, and sent 
 me on my way with a tearful farewell, compounded of blessings, 
 warnings, and prayers. 
 
 Paris, July 1521. 
 
 I have crossed the French frontier, and have been staying 
 some days in this great, gay, learned city. 
 
 In Germany, my books procured me more of welcome than 
 of opposition. In some cases, even where the local authorities 
 deemed it their duty publicly to protest against them, they them- 
 selves secretly assisted in their distribution. In others, the
 
 292 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 eagerness to purchase, and to glean any fragment of information 
 about Luther, drew a crowd around me, who, after satisfying 
 themselves that I had no news to give them of his present state, 
 lingered as long as I would speak, to listen to my narrative of 
 his appearance before the Emperor at Worms, while murmurs 
 of enthusiastic approval, and often sobs and tears, testified the 
 sympathy of the people with him. In the towns, many more 
 copies of his " Letter to the German Nobles " were demanded 
 than I could supply. 
 
 But what touched me most was to see the love and almost 
 idolatrous reverence which had gathered around his name in 
 remote districts, among the oppressed and toiling peasantry. 
 
 I remember especially, in one village, a fine-looking old 
 peasant farmer taking me to an inner room where hung a 
 portrait of Luther, encircled with a glory, with a curtain be- 
 fore it. 
 
 " See !" he said. " The lord of that castle" and he pointed 
 to a fortress on an opposite height) "has wrought me and mine 
 many a wrong. Two of my sons have perished in his selfish 
 feuds, and his huntsmen lay waste my fields as they choose in 
 the chase ; yet, if I shoot a deer, I may be thrown into the castle 
 dungeon, as mine have been before. But their reign is nearly 
 over now. I saw that man at Worms. I heard him speak, 
 bold as a lion, for the truth, before emperor, princes, and pre- 
 lates. God has sent us the deliverer ; and the reign of righte- 
 ousness will come at last, when every man shall have his due." 
 
 " Friend," I said, with an aching heart, " the Deliverer came 
 fifteen hundred years ago, but the reign of justice has not come 
 to the world yet. The Deliverer was crucified, and his followers 
 since then have suffered, not reigned." 
 
 " God is patient," he said, " and we have been patient long, 
 God knows ; but I trust the time is come at last." 
 
 " But the redemption Dr. Luther proclaims," I said, gently, 
 " is liberty from a worse bondage than that of the nobles, and 
 it is a liberty no tyrant, no dungeon, can deprive us of — the 
 liberty of the sons of God ;" — and he listened earnestly while I 
 spoke to him of justification, and of the suffering, redeeming 
 Lord. But at the end he said —
 
 Fritz s Story, 293 
 
 " Yes, that is good news. But I trust Dr. Luther will avenge 
 many a wrong among us yet. They say he was a peasant's son 
 like me." 
 
 If I were Dr. Luther, and knew that the wistful eyes of the 
 oppressed and sorrowful throughout the land were turned to me, 
 I should be tempted to say — 
 
 " Lord, let me die before these oppressed and burdened 
 hearts learn how little I can help them ! " 
 
 For verily there is much evil done under the sun. Yet 
 as truly there is healing for every disease, remedy for every 
 wrong, and rest from every burden, in the tidings Dr. Luther 
 brings. But remedy of a different kind, I fear, from what too 
 many fondly expect ! 
 
 It is strange, also, to see how, in these few weeks, the wildest 
 tales have sprung up and spread in all directions about Dr. 
 Luther's disappearance. Some say he has been secretly mur- 
 dered, and that his wounded corpse has been seen; others, that 
 he was borne away bleeding through the forest to some dread- 
 ful doom ; while others boldly assert that he will re-appear at 
 the head of a band of liberators, who will go through the length 
 and breadth of the land, redressing every wrong, and punishing 
 every wrong-doer. 
 
 Truly, if a few weeks can throw such a haze around facts, 
 what would a century without a written record have done for 
 Christianity; or what would that record itself have been without 
 inspiration ? 
 
 The country was in some parts very disturbed. In Alsace I 
 came on a secret meeting of the peasants, who have bound 
 themselves with the most terrible oaths to wage war to the death 
 against the nobles. 
 
 More than once I was stopped by a troop of horsemen near 
 a castle, and my wares searched, to see if they belonged to the 
 merchants of some city with whom the knight of the castle was 
 at feud ; and on one of these occasions it might have fared ill 
 with me if a troop of Landsknechts in the service of the empire 
 had not appeared in time to rescue me and my companions. 
 
 Yet everywhere the name of Luther was of equal interest. 
 The peasants believed he would rescue them from the tyranny
 
 294 Chronicles of the Sch'diiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 of the nobles ; and many of the knights spoke of him as the 
 assertor of German liberties against a foreign yoke. More than 
 one poor parish priest welcomed him as the deliverer from the 
 avarice of the great abbeys or the prelates. Thus, in farm-house 
 and hut, in castle and parsonage, I and my books found many 
 a cordial welcome. And all I could do was to sell the books, 
 and tell all who would listen, that the yoke Luther's words were 
 powerful to break was the yoke of the devil, the prince of all 
 oppressors, and that the freedom he came to republish was free- 
 dom from the tyranny of sin and self. 
 
 My true welcome, however, the one which i^joiced my heart, 
 was when any said, aa - ma ny did, on sick-beds, in lowly and 
 noble homes, and in monasteries — 
 
 " Thank God, these words are in our hearts already. They 
 have taught us the way to God \ they have brought us peace and 
 freedom." 
 
 Or when others said — 
 
 " I must have that book. This one and that one that I know 
 is another man since he read Dr. Luther's words." 
 
 But if I was scarcely prepared for the interest felt in Dr. 
 Luther in our own land, true German that he is, still less did I 
 expect that his fame would have reached to Paris, and even 
 further. 
 
 The night before I reached this city I was weary with a long 
 day's walk in the dust and heat, and had fallen asleep on a 
 bench in the garden outside a village inn, under the shade of a 
 trellised vine, leaving my pack partly open beside me. When 
 I awoke, a grave and dignified-looking man, who, from the rich- 
 ness of his dress and arms, seemed to be a nobleman, and, from 
 the cut of his slashed doublet and mantle, a Spaniard, sat be- 
 side me, deeply engaged in reading one of my books. I did 
 not stir at first, but watched him in silence. The book he held 
 was a copy of Luther's Commentary on the Galatians, in Latin. 
 
 In a few minutes I moved, and respectfully saluted him. 
 
 " Is this book for sale 1" he asked. 
 
 I said it was, and named the price. 
 
 He immediately laid down twice the sum, saying, " Give a 
 copy to some one who cannot buy."
 
 Fritz's Story, 295 
 
 I ventured to ask if he had seen it before. 
 
 " I have," he said. " Several copies were sent by a Swiss 
 printer, Frobenius, to Castile. And I saw it before at Venice. 
 It is prohibited in both Castile and Venice now. But I have 
 always wished to possess a copy that I might judge for myself. 
 Do you know Dr. Luther V he asked, as he moved away. 
 
 " I have known and reverenced him for many years," I said. 
 
 " They say his life is blameless, do they not?" he asked. 
 
 " Even his bitterest enemies confess it to be so," I re- 
 plied. 
 
 " He spoke like a brave man before the Diet," he resumed ; 
 " gravely and quietly, as true men speak who are prepared to 
 abide by their words. A noble of Castile could not have spoken 
 with more dignity than that peasant's son. The Italian priests 
 thought otherwise ; but the oratory which melts girls into tears 
 from pulpits is not the eloquence for the councils of men. That 
 monk had learned his oratory in a higher school. If you ever 
 see Dr. Luther again," he added, " tell him that some Spaniards, 
 even in the Emperor's court, wished him well." 
 
 And here in Paris I find a little band of devout and learned 
 men, Lefevre, Farel, and Brigonnet, bishop of Meaux, actively 
 employed in translating and circulating the writings of Luther 
 and Melancthon. The truth in them, they say, they had learned 
 before from the book of God itself, namely, justification through 
 faith in a crucified Saviour leading to a life devoted to him. 
 But jealous as the French are of admitting the superiority of 
 anything foreign, and contemptuously as they look on us un- 
 polished Germans, the French priests welcome Luther as a 
 teacher and a brother, and are as eager to hear all particulars 
 of his life as his countrymen in every town and quiet village 
 throughout Germany. 
 
 They tell me also that the king's own sister, the beautiful and 
 learned Duchess Margaret of Valois, reads Dr. Luther's writings, 
 and values them greatly. 
 
 Indeed, I sometimes think if he had carried out the intention 
 he formed some years since, of leaving Wittemberg for Paris, he 
 would have found a noble sphere of action here. The people 
 are so frank in speech, so quick in feeling and perception; and
 
 ?()6 Chronicles of the ScJwnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 their bright keen wit cuts so much more quickly to the heart of 
 a fallacy than our sober, plodding, Northern intellect. 
 
 Basel. 
 
 Before I left Ebernburg, the knight Ulrich von Hutten had 
 taken a warm interest in my expedition ; had especially recom- 
 mended me to seek out Erasmus, if ever I reached Switzerland ; 
 and had himself placed some copies of Erasmus' sermons, 
 " Praise of Folly," among my books. 
 
 Personally I feel a strong attachment to that brave knight. 
 I can never forget the generous letter he wrote to Luther before 
 his appearance at the Diet : — " The Lord hear thee in the day of 
 trouble: the name of the God of Jacob defend thee. O my beloved 
 Luther, my revered father, fear not; be strong. Fight valiantly 
 for Christ. As for me, I also will fight bravely. Would to God 
 I might see how they knit their brows May Christ pre- 
 serve you." 
 
 Yes, to see the baffled enemies knit their brows as they did 
 then, would have been a triumph to the impetuous soldier, but 
 at the time he was prohibited from approaching the Court. 
 Luther's courageous and noble defence filled him with en- 
 thusiastic admiration. He declared the doctor to be a greater 
 soldier than any of the knights. When we heard of Dr. Luther's 
 disappearance he would have collected a band of daring spirits 
 like himself, and scoured the country in search of him. Hutten's 
 objects were high and unselfish. He had no mean and petty 
 ambitions. With sword and pen he had contended against 
 oppression and hypocrisy. To him the Roman Court was de- 
 testable, chiefly as a foreign yoke ; the corrupt priesthood, as a 
 domestic usurpation. He had a high ideal of knighthood, and 
 believed that his order, enlightened by learning, and inspired by 
 a free and lofty faith, might emancipate Germany and Christen- 
 dom. Personal danger he despised, and personal aims. 
 
 Yet with all his fearlessness and high aspirations, I scarcely 
 think he hoped himself to be the hero of his ideal chivalry. 
 The self-control of the pure true knight was too little his. In 
 his visions of a Christendom from which falsehood and avarice 
 were to be banished, and where authority was to reside in an 
 order of ideal knights, Franz von Sickingen, the brave good
 
 Fritz's Story, 297 
 
 lord of Ebernburg, with his devout wife Hedwiga, was to raise 
 the standard, around which Ulrich and all the true men in the 
 lane were to rally. Luther, Erasmus, and Sickingen, he thought 
 — the types of the three orders, learning, knighthood, and 
 priesthood, — might regenerate the world. 
 
 Erasmus had began the work with unveiling the light in the 
 sanctuaries of learning. Luther had carried it on by diffusing 
 the light among the people. The knights must complete it by 
 forcibly scattering the powers of darkness. Conflict is Erasmus' 
 detestation. It is Luther's necessity. It is Hutten's de- 
 light. 
 
 I did not, however, expect much sympathy in my work from 
 Erasmus. It seemed to me that Hutten, admiring his clear, 
 luminous genius, attributed to him the fire of his own warm and 
 courageous heart. However, I intended to seek him out at 
 Basel. 
 
 Circumstances saved me the trouble. 
 
 As I was entering the city, with my pack nearly empty, hop- 
 ing to replenish it from the presses of Frobenius, an elderly 
 man, with a stoop in his shoulders, giving him the air of a 
 student, ambled slowly past me, clad in a doctor's gown and 
 hat, edged with a broad border of fur. The keen small dark 
 eyes surveyed me and my pack for a minute, and then reining 
 in his horse he joined me, and said, in a soft voice and courtly 
 accent, "We are of the same profession, friend. We manufac- 
 ture, and you sell. What have you in your pack?" 
 
 I took out three of my remaining volumes. One was Luther's 
 "Commentary on the Galatians;" the others, his "Treatise on 
 the Lord's Prayer," and his "Letter to the German Nobles." 
 
 The rider's brow darkened slightly, and he eyed me sus- 
 piciously. 
 
 " Men who supply ammunition to the people in times of in- 
 surrection seldom do it at their own risk," he said. " Young 
 man, you are on a perilous mission, and would do well to count 
 the cost." 
 
 "I have counted the cost, sir," I said, "and I willingly brave 
 the peril." 
 
 " Well, well," he replied, "some are born for battle-fields, and
 
 298 CJironiclcs of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 some for martyrdom; others for neither. Let each keep to his 
 calling, — 
 
 'Nequissimam pacem justissimo bello antifeio,' 
 
 But 'those who let in the sea on the marshes little know where 
 it will spread.'" 
 
 This illustration from the Dutch dykes awakened my sus- 
 picions as to who the rider was, and looking at the thin, sensi- 
 tive, yet satirical lips, the delicate, sharply-cut features, the 
 pallid complexion, and the dark keen eyes I had seen represented 
 in so many portraits, I could not doubt with whom I was 
 speaking. But I did not betray my discovery. 
 
 " Dr. Luther has written some good things, nevertheless," he 
 said. " If he had kept to such devotional works as this," 
 returning to me "The Lord's Prayer," "he might have served 
 his generation quietly and well; but to expose such mysteries 
 as are treated of here to the vulgar gaze, it is madness!" and he 
 hastily closed the "Galatians." Then glancing at the "Letter to 
 the Nobles," he almost threw it into my hand, saying petulantly, — 
 
 " That pamphlet is an insurrection in itself. 
 
 "What other books have you?" he asked after a pause. 
 
 I drew out my last copy of the "Encomium of Folly." 
 
 " Have you sold many of these 1 ?" he asked coolly. 
 
 "All but this copy," I replied. 
 
 "And what did people say of it?" 
 
 " That depended on the purchasers," I replied. " Some say 
 the author is the wisest and wittiest man of the age, and if all 
 knew where to stop as he does, the world would slowly grow 
 into Paradise, instead of being turned upside down as it is now. 
 Others, on the contrary, say that the writer is a coward, who 
 has no courage to confess the truth he knows. And others, 
 again, declare the book is worse than any of Luther's, and that 
 Erasmus is the source of all the mischief in the world, since if 
 he had not broken the lock, Luther would never have entered 
 the door." 
 
 "And you think?" he asked. 
 
 "I am but a poor pedlar, sir," I said; "but I think there is 
 a long way between Pilate's delivering up the glorious King he 
 knew was innocent — perhaps began to see might be divine, and
 
 Fritz's Story. 299 
 
 St. Peter's denying the Master he loved. And the Lord who 
 forgave Peter knows which is which; which the timid disciple, 
 and which the cowardly friend of His foes. But the eye of 
 man, it seems to me, may find it impossible to distinguish. I 
 would rather be Luther at the Diet of Worms, and under 
 anathema and ban, than either." 
 
 " Bold words !" he said, "to prefer an excommunicated heretic 
 to the prince of the apostles !" 
 
 But a shade passed over his face, and courteously bidding 
 me farewell, he rode on. 
 
 The conversation seemed to have thrown a shadow and chill 
 over my heart. 
 
 After a time, however, the rider slackened his pace again, and 
 beckoned to me to rejoin him. 
 
 " Have you friends in Basel?" he asked kindly. 
 
 "None," I replied; "but I have letters to the printer Fro- 
 benius, and I was recommended to seek out Erasmus." 
 
 "Who recommended you to do that 1 ?" he asked. 
 
 " The good knight Ulrich von Hutten," I replied. 
 
 "The prince of all turbulent spirits!" he murmured gravely. 
 " Little indeed is there in common between Erasmus of Rotter- 
 dam and that firebrand." 
 
 " Ritter Ulrich has the greatest admiration for the genius of 
 Erasmus," I said, "and thinks that his learning, with the swords 
 of a few good knights, and the preaching of Luther, might set 
 Christendom right." 
 
 " Ulrich von Hutten should set his own life right first," was 
 the reply. " But let us leave discoursing of Christendom and 
 these great projects, which are altogether beyond our sphere. 
 Let the knights set chivalry right, and the cardinals the papacy, 
 and the emperor the empire. Let the hawker attend to his 
 pack, and Erasmus to his studies. Perhaps hereafter it will be 
 found that his satires on the follies of the monasteries, and above 
 all his earlier translation of the New Testament, had their share 
 in the good work. His motto is, 'Kindle the light and the 
 darkness will disperse of itself.'" 
 
 " If Erasmus," I said, "would only consent to share in the 
 result he has indeed contributed so nobly to bring about 1 "
 
 300 Chronicles of the Sch'dnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 "Share in what?" he replied quickly; "in the excommunica- 
 tion of Luther? or in the wild projects of Hutten? Have it 
 supposed that he approves of the coarse and violent invectives 
 of the Saxon monk, or the daring schemes of the adventurous 
 knight? No; St. Paul wrote courteously, and never returned 
 railing for railing. Erasmus should wait till he find a reformer 
 like the apostle ere he join the Reformation. But, friend," he 
 added, "I do not deny that Luther is a good man, and means 
 well. If you like to abandon your perilous pack, and take to 
 study, you may come to my house, and I will help you as far 
 as I can with money and counsel. For I know what it is to be 
 poor, and I think you ought to be better than a hawker. And," 
 he added, bringing his horse to a stand, "if you hear Erasmus 
 maligned again as a coward or a-traitor, you may say that God 
 has more room in his kingdom than any men have in their 
 schools ; and that it is not always so easy for men who see 
 things on many sides to embrace one. Believe also that the 
 loneliness of those who see too much or dare too little to be 
 partisans, often has anguish bitterer than the scaffolds of martyrs. 
 But," he concluded in a low voice, as he left me, "be careful 
 never again to link the names of Erasmus and Hutten. I 
 assure you nothing can be more unlike. And Ulrich von 
 Hutten is a most rash and dangerous man. 
 
 " I will be careful never to forget Erasmus," I said, bowing 
 low, as I took the hand he offered. And the doctor rode 
 on." 
 
 Yes, the sorrows of the undecided are doubtless bitterer than 
 those of the courageous; bitterer as poison is bitterer than 
 medicine, as an enemy's wound is bitterer than a physician's. 
 Yet it is true that the clearer the insight into difficulty and 
 danger, the greater need be the courage to meet them. The 
 path of the rude simple man who sees nothing but right on one 
 side, and nothing but wrong on the other, is necessarily plainer 
 than his who, seeing much evil in the good cause, and some 
 truth at the foundation of all error, chooses to suffer for the 
 right, mixed as it is, and to suffer side by side with men whose 
 manners distress him, just because he believes the cause is on 
 the whole that of truth and God. Luther's school may not in-
 
 Fritz's Story. 
 
 301 
 
 deed have room for Erasmus, nor Erasmus's school for Luther; 
 but God may have compassion and room for both. 
 
 At Basel I replenished my pack from the stores of Frobenius, 
 and received very inspiriting tidings from him of the spread of 
 the truth of the gospel (especially by means of the writings of 
 Luther) into Italy and Spain. I did not apply further to 
 Erasmus. 
 
 Near Zurich, July. 
 
 My heart is full of resurrection hymns. Everywhere in the 
 world it seems Easter-tide. This morning, as I left Zurich, and, 
 climbing one of the heights on this side, looked down on the 
 lake, rippled with silver, through the ranges of green and forest- 
 covered hills, to the glorious barrier of far-off mountains, purple, 
 and golden, and snow-crowned, which encircles Switzerland, 
 and thought of the many hearts which, during these years, have 
 been awakened here to the liberty of the sons of God, the old 
 chant of Easter and Spring burst from my lips : — 
 
 Plaudite cceli, 
 Rideat aether 
 Summus et imus 
 Gaudeat orbis ! 
 Transivit atrae 
 Turba procelku ! 
 Subuit almae 
 Gloria palmae ! 
 
 Surgite verni, 
 Surgite flores, 
 Germina pictis 
 Surgite campis ! 
 Teneris mistae 
 Violis rosae ; 
 Candida sparsis 
 Lilia calthis! 
 
 Currite plenis 
 Carmina venis, 
 Fundite lactum 
 Barbita metrum ; 
 Namque revixit 
 Sicuti dixit 
 Pius illaesus 
 Funere Jesus. 
 
 Plaudite montes, 
 Ludite fontes, 
 Resonent valles, 
 Repetant colles ! 
 Io revixit, 
 Sicuti dixit 
 l'ius illaesus 
 Funere Jesus. * 
 
 And when I ceased, the mountain stream which dashed over 
 the rocks beside me, the whispering grasses, the trembling wild- 
 
 Smile praises, O sky ! 
 
 Soft breathe them, O air, 
 Below and on high, 
 
 And everywhere? 
 The black troop of storms 
 
 Has yielded to calm ; 
 Tufted blossoms are peeping, 
 
 And early palm. 
 
 Awake thee, O spring ! 
 
 Ye flowers, come forth, 
 With thousand hues tinting 
 
 The soft green earth ! 
 Ye violets tender, 
 
 And sweet roses bright, 
 Gay Lent-lilies blended 
 
 With pure lilies white
 
 302 Chronicles of the Schbnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 flowers, the rustling forests, the lake with its ripples, the green 
 hills and solemn snow-mountains beyond — all seemed to take 
 up the chorus. 
 
 There is a wonderful, invigorating influence about Ulrich 
 Zwingle, with whom I have spent many days lately. It seems 
 as if the fresh air of the mountains among which he passed his 
 youth were always around him. In his presence it is impossible 
 to despond. While Luther remains immovably holding every 
 step of ground he has taken, Zwingle presses on, and surprises 
 the enemy asleep in his strongholds. Luther carries on the 
 war like the Landsknechts, our own firm and impenetrable 
 infantry; Zwingle, like his own impetuous mountaineers, sweeps 
 down from the heights upon the foe. 
 
 In Switzerland I and my books have met with more sudden 
 and violent varieties of reception than anywhere else; the people 
 are so free and unrestrained. In some villages, the chief men, 
 or the priest himself, summoned all the inhabitants by the 
 church bell, to hear all I had to tell about Dr. Luther and his 
 work, and to buy his books; my stay was one constant fete; and 
 the warm-hearted peasants accompanied me miles on my way, 
 discoursing of Zwingle and Luther, the broken yoke of Rome, 
 and the glorious days of freedom that were coming. The names 
 of Luther and Zwingle were on every lip, like those of Tell and 
 Winkelried and the heroes of the old struggle of Swiss liberation. 
 
 In other villages, on the contrary, the peasants gathered 
 angrily around me, reviled me as a spy and an intruding for- 
 eigner, and drove me with stones and rough jests from among 
 them, threatening that I should not escape so easily another 
 time. 
 
 In some places they have advanced much further than among 
 us in Germany. The images have been removed from the 
 churches, and the service is read in the language of the people. 
 
 Sweep tides of rich music 
 
 The new world along, 
 And pour in full measure, 
 
 Sweet lyres, your song ! 
 Sing, sing, for He liveth ! 
 
 He lives, as He said ; — 
 The Lord has arisen', 
 
 Unharmed, from the dead! 
 
 Clap, clap your hands, mountains ! 
 
 Ye valleys, resound ! 
 Leap, leap for joy, fountains! 
 
 Ye hills, catch the sound ! 
 All triumph; He liveth! 
 
 He lives, as He said ; — 
 The Lord has arisen, 
 
 Unharmed, from the dead !
 
 
 Fritz's Story. 303 
 
 But the great joy is to see that the light has not been spread 
 only from torch to torch, as human illumination spread, but has 
 burst at once on Germany, France, and Switzerland, as heavenly 
 light dawns from above. It is this which makes it not an illu- 
 mination merely, but morning and spring ! Lefevre in France 
 and Zwingle in Switzerland both passed through their period of 
 storms and darkness, and both, awakened by the heavenly light 
 to the new world, found that it was no solitude — that others also 
 were awake, and that the day's work had begun, as it should, 
 with matin songs. 
 
 Now I am tending northwards once more. I intend to renew 
 my stores at my father's press at Wittemberg. My heart yearns 
 also for news of all dear to me there. Perhaps, too, I may yet 
 see Dr. Luther, and find scope for preaching the evangelical 
 doctrine among my own people. 
 
 For better reports have come to us from Germany, and we 
 believe Dr. Luther is in friendly keeping, though where, is still 
 a mystery. 
 
 The Prison of a Dominican Convent, 
 Franconia, A iigust. 
 
 All is changed for me. Once more prison walls are around 
 me, and through prison bars I look out on the world I may not 
 re-enter. I counted this among the costs when I resolved to 
 give myself to spreading far and wide the glad tidings of redemp- 
 tion. It was worth the cost ; it is worth whatever man can 
 inflict — for I trust that those days have not been spent in 
 vain. 
 
 Yesterday evening, as the day was sinking, I found my way 
 once more to the parsonage of Priest Ruprecht in the Franconian 
 village. The door was open, but I heard no voices. There 
 was a neglected look about the little garden. The vine was 
 hanging untwined around the porch. The little dwelling, which 
 had been so neat, had a dreary, neglected air. Dust lay thick 
 on the chairs, and the remains of the last meal were left on the 
 table. And yet it was evidently not unoccupied. A book lay 
 upon the window-sill, evidently lately read. It was the copy of 
 Luther's German Commentary on the Lord's Prayer which I 
 had left that evening many months ago in the porch.
 
 304 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 I sat down on a window seat, and in a little while I saw the 
 priest coming slowly up the garden. His form was much bent 
 since I saw him last He did not look up as he approached 
 the house. It seemed as if he expected no welcome. But 
 when I went out to meet him, he grasped my hand cordially, 
 and his face brightened. When, however, he glanced at the 
 book in my hand, a deeper shade passed over his brow ; and, 
 motioning me to a chair, he sat down opposite me without 
 speaking. 
 
 After a few minutes, he looked up, and said in a husky 
 voice, " That book did what all the denunciations and terrors 
 of the old doctrine could not do. It separated us. She has 
 left me." 
 
 He paused for some minutes, and then continued, — "The 
 evening that she found that book in the porch, when I returned 
 I found her reading it. ' See ! ' she said, ' at last some one has 
 written a religious book for me ! It was left here open, in the 
 porch, at these words : " If thou dost feel that in the sight of 
 God and all creatures thou art a fool, a sinner, impure, and con- 
 demned, .... there remaineth no solace for thee, and no salva- 
 tion, unless in Jesus Christ. To know him is to understand 
 what the apostle says, — ' Christ has of God been made unto us 
 wisdom, and righteousness, and sanctification, and redemption.' 
 He is the bread of God — our bread, given to us as children of 
 the heavenly Father. To believe is nothing else than to eat 
 this bread from heaven." And look again. The book says, 
 " It touches God's heart when we call him Father," — and again, 
 " WJiich art in heaven." " He that acknowledges he has a 
 Father who is in heaven, owns that he is like an orphan on the 
 earth. Hence his heart feels an ardent longing, like a child 
 living away from its father's country, amongst strangers, wretched 
 and forlorn. It is as if he said, " Alas ! my Father, thou art in 
 heaven, and I, thy miserable child, am on earth, far from thee 
 amid danger, necessity, and sorrow." Ah, Ruprecht,' she said, 
 her eyes streaming with tears, ' that is so like what I feel, — so 
 lost, and orphaned, and far away from home.' And then, fearing 
 she had grieved me, she added, ' Not that I am neglected. Thou 
 knowest I could never feel that. But oh, can it be possible
 
 Fritz's Story. 305 
 
 that God would take me back, not after long years of penance, 
 but now, and here, to his very heart?' 
 
 " I could say little to teach her, but from that time this book 
 was her constant companion. She begged me to find out all 
 the passages in my Latin Gospels which speak of Jesus suffering 
 for sinners, and of God as the Father. I was amazed to see 
 how many there were. The. book seemed full of them. And 
 so we went on for some days, until one evening she came to me, 
 and said, ' Ruprecht, if God is indeed so infinitely kind and 
 good, and has so loved us, we must obey him, must we not?' 
 I could not for the world say No, and I had not the courage to 
 say Yes, for I knew what she meant." 
 
 Again he paused. 
 
 " I knew too well what she meant, when, on the next morn- 
 ing, I found the breakfast laid, and everything swept and pre- 
 pared as usual, and on the table, in printed letters on a scrap 
 of paper, which she must have copied from the book, for she 
 could not write, ' Farewell. We shall be able to pray for each 
 other now. And God will be with us, and will give us to meet 
 hereafter, without fear of grieving him, in our Father's house.' " 
 
 "Do you know where she is?" I asked. 
 
 " She has taken service in a farm-house several miles away in 
 the forest," he replied. " I have seen her once. She looked 
 very thin and worn. But she did not see me." 
 
 The thought which had so often suggested itself to me before, 
 came with irresistible force into my mind then, — " If those vows 
 of celibacy are contrary to the will of God, can they be bind- 
 ing?" But I did not venture to suggest them to my host. I 
 only said, "Let us pray that God will lead you both. The 
 heart can bear many a heavy burden if the conscience is free !" 
 
 "True," he said. And together we knelt down, whilst I 
 spoke to God. And the burden of our prayer was neither more 
 nor less than this, " Our Father which art in heaven, not our 
 will, but thine be done." 
 
 On the morrow I bade him farewell, leaving him several 
 other works of Luther's. And I determined not to lose an hour 
 in seeking Melancthon and the doctors at Wittemberg, and 
 placing this case before them. 
 
 20
 
 jo6 Chronicles of the Schoiiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 And now, perhaps, I shall never see Wittemberg again ! 
 
 It is not oft 2n that I have ventured into the monasteries, but 
 to-day a young monk, who was walking in the meadows of this 
 abbey, seemed so interested in my books, that I followed him 
 to the convent, where he thought I should dispose of many 
 copies. Instead of this, however, whilst I was waiting in the 
 porch for him to return, I heard the sound of angry voices in 
 discussion inside, and before I could perceive what it meant, 
 three or four monks came to me, seized my pack, bound my 
 hands, and dragged me to the convent prison, where I now am. 
 
 " It is time that this pestilence should be checked," said one 
 of them. " Be thankful if your fate is not the same as that of 
 your poisonous books, which are this evening to make a bonfire 
 in the court." 
 
 And with these words I was left alone in this low, damp, 
 dark cell, with its one little slit high in the wall, which, until 
 my eyes grew accustomed to it, seemed only to admit just light 
 enough to show the iron fetters hanging from the walls. But 
 what power can make me a captive while I can sing : — 
 
 Mortis portis fractis, fortis 
 Fortior vim sustulit ; 
 
 Ft per crucem regem trucem, 
 Infernorum perculit. 
 
 Lumen clarum tenebrarum 
 Sedibus resplenduit ; 
 
 Dura salvare, recreare 
 Quod creavit, voluit. 
 
 Hinc Creator, ne peccator, 
 Moreretur, moritur ; 
 
 Cujus morte, nova sorte, 
 Vita nobis oritur.* 
 
 Are not countless hearts now singing this resurrection hymn, 
 to some of whom my hands brought the joyful tidings'? In the 
 lonely parsonage, in the forest and farm, hearts set free by love 
 from the fetters of sin — in village and city, in mountain and 
 plain ! 
 
 And at Wittemberg, in happy homes, and in the convent, are 
 not my beloved singing it too 1 
 
 Lo, the gates of death are broken 
 And the strong man armed is spoiled 
 
 Of his armour, which he trusted, 
 By the stronger Arm despoiled. 
 
 Vanquished is the Prince of Hell ; 
 Smitten by the cross, he ffilL 
 
 That the sinner might not perish, 
 For him the Creator dies ; 
 
 By whose death, our dark lot chang- 
 ing, 
 Life again for us doth rise.
 
 Fritz's Story. 307 
 
 September. 
 
 Yet the time seems long to lie in inaction here. With these 
 tidings, " The Lord is risen," echoing through her heart, would 
 it not have been hard for the Magdalene to be arrested on her 
 way to the bereaved disciples before she could tell it 1 
 
 October. 
 
 I have a hope of escape. In a corner of my prison I dis- 
 covered, some days since, the top of an arch, which I believe 
 must belong to a blocked-up door. By slow degrees — working 
 by night, and covering over my work by day — I have dug out 
 a flight of steps which led to it. This morning I succeeded in 
 dislodging one of the stones with which the door-way had been 
 roughly filled up, and through the space surveyed the ground 
 outside. It was a portion of a meadow, sloping to the stream 
 which turned the abbey mills. This morning two of the monks 
 came to summon me to an examination before the Prior, as to 
 my heresies; but to-night I hope to dislodge the few more 
 stones, and this very night, before morning dawn, to be treading 
 with free step the forest covered hills beyond the valley. 
 
 My limbs feel feeble with insufficient food, and the damp, 
 close air of the cell ; and the blood flows with feverish, uncer- 
 tain rapidity through my veins ; but, doubtless, a few hours on 
 the fresh, breezy hills will set all this right. 
 
 And yet once more I shall see my mother, and Else', and 
 Thekla, and little Gretchen, and all, — all but one, who, I fear, 
 is still imprisoned in convent walls. Yet once more I trust to 
 go throughout the land spreading the joyful tidings, — " The 
 Lord is risen indeed ;" the work of redemption is accomplished, 
 and He who once lived and suffered on earth, compassionate to 
 lieal, now lives and reigns in heaven, mighty to save.
 
 XX. 
 
 CJpMa's Sforj). 
 
 TuNNENBERG, May 1521. 
 
 j|S the world really the same % Was there really ever a 
 spring like this, when the tide of life seems overflow- 
 ing and bubbling up in leaf-buds, flowers, and songs, 
 and streams ] 
 
 It cannot be only that God has given me the great blessing 
 of Bertrand de Crequi's love, and that life opens in such bright 
 fields of hope and work before us two ; or that this is the first 
 spring I ever spent in the country. It seems to me that God 
 is really pouring a tide of fresh life throughout the world. 
 
 Fritz has escaped from the prison at Maintz, and he writes 
 as if he felt this an Easter-tide for all men. In all places, he 
 says, the hearts of men are opening to the glad tidings of the 
 redeeming love of God. 
 
 Can it be, however, that every May is such a festival among 
 the woods, and that this solemn old forest holds such fairy 
 holiday every year, garlanding its bare branches and strewing 
 every brown nook which a sunbeam can reach, with showers of 
 flowers, such as we strew on a bride's path 1 And then, who 
 could have imagined that those grave old firs and stately birches 
 could become the cradles of all these delicate-tufted blossoms and 
 tenderly- folded leaflets, bursting on all sides from their. gummy 
 casings 1 And — joy of all joys ! — it is not unconscious vegetable 
 life only which thus expands around us. It is God touching 
 every branch and hidden root, and waking them to beauty ! 
 It is not sunshine merely, and soft breezes ; it is our Father 
 smiling on his works, and making the world fresh and fair for 
 his children, — it is the healing touch and the gracious Voice we 
 have learned to know. " We are in the world, and the world
 
 The kin's Story. 309 
 
 was made by Thee f and "TeDeum laudamus : we acknowledge 
 thee, O Saviour, to be the Lord." 
 
 Our Chriemhild certainly has a beautiful home. Bertrand's 
 home, also, is a castle in the country, in Flanders. But he says 
 their country is not like this forest-land. It has long been 
 cleared by industrious hands. There are long stately avenues 
 leading to his father's chateau ; but all around, the land is level, 
 and waving with grass and green or golden corn-fields. That, 
 also, must be beautiful. Eut probably the home he has gone 
 to prepare for me may not be there. Some of his family are 
 very bitter against what they call his Lutheran heresy, and 
 although he is the heir, it is very possible that the branch of the 
 family which adheres to the old religion may wrest the inherit- 
 ance from him. That, we think, matters little. God will find 
 the right place for us, and lead us to it, if we ask him. And 
 if it be in the town, after all, the tide of life in human hearts 
 is nobler than that in trees and flowers. In a few months we 
 shall know. Perhaps he may return here, and become a pro- 
 fessor at Wittemberg, whither Dr. Luther's name brought him 
 a year since to study. 
 
 June 1521. 
 
 A rumour has reached us, that Dr. Luther has disappeared 
 on his way back from Worms. 
 
 This spring, in the world as well as in the forest, will doubt- 
 less have its storms. Last night, the thunder echoed from hill 
 to hill, and the wind wailed wildly among the pines. Looking 
 out of my narrow window in the tower on the edge of the rock, 
 where I sleep, it was awful to see the foaming torrent below 
 gleaming in the lightning-flashes, which opened out sudden 
 glimpses into the depths of the forest, leaving it doubly mys- 
 terious. 
 
 I thought of Fritz's lonely night, when he lost himself in the 
 forest ; and thanked God that I had learned to know the 
 thunder as His voice, and His voice as speaking peace and 
 pardon. Only, at such times I should like to gather all dear 
 to me around me ; and those dearest to me are scattered Tar 
 and wide. 
 
 The old knight Ulrich is rather impetuous and hot-tempered ;
 
 3 to Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 and his sister, Ulrich's aunt, Dame Hermentrud, is grave and 
 stately. Fortunately, they both look on Chriemhild as a wonder 
 of beauty and goodness ; but I have to be rather careful. Dame 
 Hermentrud is apt to attribute any over-vehemence of mine in 
 debate to the burgher Cotta blood; and although they both 
 listen with interest to Ulrich or Chriemhild's version of Dr. 
 Luther's doctrines, Dame Hermentrud frequently warns me 
 against unfeminine exaggeration or eagerness in these matters, 
 and reminds me that the ancestors of the Gersdorf family were 
 devout and excellent people long before a son was born to Hans 
 Luther the miner. 
 
 The state of the peasants distresses Chriemhild and me ex- 
 tremely. She and Ulrich were full of plans for their good when 
 they came here to live ; but she is at present almost exclusively 
 occupied with the education of a little knightly creature, who 
 came into the world two months since, and is believed to con- 
 centrate in his single little person all the ancestral virtues of all 
 the Gersdorfs, to say nothing of the Schonbergs. He has not, 
 Dame Hermentrud asserts, the slightest feature of resemblance 
 to the Cottas. I cannot, certainly, deny that he bears un- 
 mistakable traces of that aristocratic temper and that lofty taste 
 for ruling which at times distinguished my grandmother, and, 
 doubtless, all the Gersdorfs from the days of Adam downward, 
 or at least from the time of Babel. Beyond that, I believe, few 
 pedigrees are traced, except in a general way to the sons of 
 Noah. But it is a great honour for me to be connected, even 
 in the humblest manner, with such a distinguished little being. 
 In time, I am not without hopes that it will introduce a little 
 reflex nobility even into my burgher nature ; and meantime 
 Chriemhild and I secretly trace remarkable resemblances in 
 the dear baby features to our grandmother, and even to our 
 beloved, sanguine, blind father. It is certainly a great consola- 
 tion that our father chose our names from the poems and the 
 stars and the calendar of aristocratic saints, instead of from the 
 lowly Cotta pedigree. 
 
 Ulrich has not indeed by any means abandoned his scheme 
 of usefulness among the peasantry who live on his uncle's 
 estates. But he finds more opposition than he expected. The
 
 Thekla 's Story. 3 1 1 
 
 old knight, although ready enough to listen to any denunciations 
 of the self-indulgent priests and lazy monks (especially those of 
 the abbey whose hunting-grounds adjoin his own), is very averse 
 to making the smallest change in anything. He says the boors 
 are difficult enough to keep in order as it is ; that if they are 
 taught to think for themselves, there will be no safety for the 
 game, or for anything else. They will be quoting the Bible in 
 all kinds of wrong senses against their rightful lords, and will 
 perhaps even take to debating the justice of the hereditary feuds, 
 and refuse to follow their knight's banner to the field. 
 
 As to religion, he is quite sure that the Ave and the Pater 
 are as much as will be expected of them ; whilst Dame Her- 
 mentrud has most serious doubts of this new plan of writing 
 books and reading prayers in the language of the common 
 people. They will be thinking themselves as wise as the priests, 
 and perhaps wiser than their masters. 
 
 But Ulrich's chief disappointment is with the peasants them- 
 selves. They seem as little anxious for improvement as the 
 lords are for them, and are certainly suspicious to a most irritat- 
 ing degree of any schemes for their welfare issuing from the 
 castle. As to their children being taught to read, they consider 
 it an invasion of their rights, and murmur that if they follow the 
 nobles in hunt and foray, and till their fields, and go to mass on 
 Sunday, the rest of their time is their own, and it is an usurpation 
 in priest or knight to demand more. 
 
 It will, I fear, be long before the dry, barren crust of their 
 dull hard life is broken ; and yet the words of life are for them 
 as much as for us ! And one great difficulty seems to me, that 
 if they were taught to read, there are so few German religious 
 books. Except a few tracts of Dr. Luther's, what is there that 
 they could understand 1 If some one would only translate the 
 record of the words and acts of our Lord and his apostles, it 
 would be worth while then teaching every one to read. 
 
 And if we could only get them to confide in us ! There 
 must be thought, and we know there is affection underneath all 
 this reserve. It is a heavy heritage for the long ancestry of the 
 Gersdorfs to have bequeathed to this generation, these recollec- 
 tions of tyranny and wrong, and this mutual distrust. Yet
 
 312 CJironicles of the Sclwnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Ulrich says it is too common throughout the land. Many of the 
 old privileges of the nobles were so terribly oppressive in hard 
 or careless hands. 
 
 The most promising field at present seems to be among the 
 household retainers. Among these there is strong personal at- 
 tachment ; and the memory of Ulrich's pious mother seems to 
 have left behind it that faith in goodness which is one of the 
 most precious legacies of holy lives. 
 
 Even the peasants in the village speak lovingly of her ; of the 
 medicine she used to distil from the forest-herbs, and distribute 
 with her own hands to the sick. There is a tradition also in 
 the castle of a bright maiden called Beatrice who used to visit 
 the cottage homes, and bring sunshine whenever she came. But 
 she disappeared years ago, they say ; and the old family nurse 
 shakes her head as she tells me how the Lady Beatrice's heart 
 was broken, when she was separated by family feuds from her 
 betrothed, and after that she went to the convent at Nimptschen, 
 and has been dead to the world ever since. 
 
 Nimptschen ! that is the living grave where our precious Eva 
 is buried. And yet where she is I am sure it can be no grave 
 of death. She will bring life and blessings with her. I will 
 write to her, especially about this poor blighted Beatrice. 
 
 Altogether the peasants seem much less suspicious of the 
 women of the Gersdorf family than of the men. They will often 
 listen attentively even to me. And when Chriemhild can go 
 among them a little more, I hope better days will dawn. 
 
 August 1521. 
 
 This morning we had a strange encounter. Some days since 
 we received a mysterious intimation from Wittemberg, that Dr. 
 Luther is alive and in 'friendly keeping, not far from us. To- 
 day Ulrich and I were riding through the forest to visit an out- 
 lying farm of the Gersdorfs in the direction of Eisenach, when 
 we heard across a valley the huntsman's horn, with the cry of 
 the dogs in full chase. In a few moments an opening among 
 the trees brought us in sight of the hunt sweeping towards us up 
 the opposite slopes of the valley. Apart from the hunt, and 
 nenrer us, at a narrow part of the valley, we observed a figure
 
 Thclda's Story. 313 
 
 in the cap and plumes of a knight, apparently watching the 
 chase as we were. As we were looking at him, a poor be- 
 wildered leveret flew towards him, and cowered close to his 
 feet. He stooped, and gently taking it up, folded it in the long 
 sleeve of his tunic, and stepped quickly aside. In another 
 minute, however, the hunt swept up towards him, and the dogs 
 scenting the leveret, seized on it in its refuge, dragged it down, 
 and killed it. 
 
 This unusual little incident, this human being putting himself 
 on the side of the pursued, instead of among the pursuers, ex- 
 cited our attention. There was also something in the firm 
 figure and sturdy gait that perplexingly reminded us of some 
 one we knew. Our road lay across the valley, and Ulrich rode 
 aside to greet the strange knight. In a moment he returned to 
 me, and whispered, — 
 
 "It is Martin Luther!" 
 
 We could not resist the impulse to look once more on the 
 kind honest face, and riding close to him we bowed to him. 
 
 He gave us a smile of recognition, and laying his hand on 
 Ulrich's saddle said, softly, " The chase is a mystery of higher 
 things. See how, as these ferocious dogs seized my poor leveret 
 from its refuge, Satan rages against souls, and seeks to tear from 
 their hiding-place even those already saved. But the Arm which 
 holds them is stronger than mine. I have had enough of this 
 kind of chase," he added; "sweeter to me the chase of the 
 bears, wolves, boars, and foxes which lay waste the Church, than 
 that of these harmless creatures. And of such rapacious beasts 
 there are enough in the world." 
 
 My heart was full of the poor peasants I had been seeing 
 lately. I never could feel afraid of Dr Luther, and this oppor- 
 tunity was too precious to be thrown away. It always seemed 
 the most natural thing in the world to open one's heart to him. 
 He understood so quickly and so fully. As he was wishing us 
 good-bye, therefore, I said (I am afraid, in that abrupt blunder- 
 ing way of mine), — 
 
 " Dear Dr. Luther, the poor peasants here are so ignorant ! 
 and I have scarcely anything to read to them which they can 
 understand. Tell some one, I entreat you, to translate the
 
 314 Chronicles of the Scfwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Gospels into German for them; such German as your ' Discourse 
 on the Magnificat/ or 'The Lord's Prayer,' for they all un- 
 derstand that." 
 
 He smiled, and said, kindly, — 
 
 " It is being done, my child. I am trying in my Patmos 
 tower once more to unveil the Revelation to the common 
 people ; and, doubtless, they will hear it gladly. That book 
 alone is the sun from which all true teachers draw their light. 
 Would that it were in the language of every man, held in every 
 hand, read by every eye, listened to by every ear, treasured up 
 in every heart. And it will be yet, I trust." 
 
 He began to move away, but as we looked reverently after 
 him he turned to us again, and said, " Remember the wilder- 
 ness was the scene of the temptation. Pray for me, that in the 
 solitude of my wilderness I may be delivered from the tempter." 
 And waving his hand, in a few minutes he was out of sight. 
 
 We thought it would an intrusion to follow him, or to inquire 
 where he was concealed. But as the hunt passed away, Ulrich 
 recognised one of the huntsmen as a retainer of the Electoi 
 Frederick at his castle of the Wartburg. 
 
 And now when every night and morning in my prayers I add, 
 as usual, the name of Dr. Luther to those of my mother and 
 father and all dear to me, I think of him passing long days 
 and nights alone in that grim castle, looking down on the dear 
 old Eisenach valley, and I say, " Lord, make the wilderness to 
 him the school for his ministry to all our land." 
 
 For was not our Saviour himself led first into the wilderness, 
 to overcome the tempter in solitude, before he came forth to 
 teach, and heal, and cast out devils 1, 
 
 October. 
 
 Ulrich has seen Dr. Luther again. He was walking in the 
 forest near the Wartburg, and looked very ill and sad. His 
 heart was heavy on account of the disorders in the Church, the 
 falsehood and bitterness of the enemies of the gospel, and the 
 impetuosity or lukewarmness of too many of its friends. He 
 said it would almost have been better if they had left him to 
 die by the hands of his enemies. His blood might have cried 
 to God for deliverance. He was ready to yield himself to them
 
 Thekla 's Story. 3 1 5 
 
 as an ox to the yoke. He would rather be burned on live coals, 
 than sleep away the precious years thus, half alive, in sloth and 
 ease. And yet, from what Ulrich gathered further from him of 
 his daily life, his "sloth and ease" would seem arduous toil 
 to most men. He saw the room where Dr. Luther lives and 
 labours day and night, writing letters of consolation to his 
 friends, and masterly replies, they say, to the assailants of the 
 truth, and (better than all) translating the Bible from Hebrew 
 and Greek into German. 
 
 The room has a large window commanding many reaches of 
 the forest; and he showed Ulrich the rookery in the tops of the 
 trees below, whence he learned lessons in politics from the grave 
 consultations of the rooks who hold their Diet there ; he also 
 spoke to him of tbe various creatures in rock and forest which 
 soothed his solitude, the birds singing among the branches, the 
 berries, wild flowers, and the clouds and stars. But he alluded 
 also to fearful conflicts, visible and audible appearances of the 
 Evil One; and his health seemed much shattered. 
 
 We fear that noble loving heart is wearing itself out in the 
 lonely fortress. He seems chafing like a war-horse at the echo 
 of the distant battle; or a hunter at the sound of the chase; or, 
 rather, as a captive general who sees his troops, assailed by force 
 and stratagem, broken and scattered, and cannot break his 
 chains to rally and to lead them on. 
 
 Yet he spoke most gratefully of his hospitable treatment in 
 the castle ; said he was living like a prince or a cardinal ; and 
 deprecated the thought -that the good cause would not prosper 
 without his presence. 
 
 " I cannot be with them in death," he said, " nor they with 
 me ! Each must fight that last fight, go through that passion 
 alone. And only those will overcome who have learned how 
 to win the victory before, and grounded deep in the heart that 
 word, which is the great power against sin and the devil, that 
 Christ has died for each one of us, and has overcome Satan for 
 ever." 
 
 He said also that if Melancthon lived it mattered little to the 
 Church what happened to him. The Spirit of Elijah came in 
 double power on Elisha.
 
 3i6 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 And he gave Ulrich two or three precious fragments of his 
 translation of the Gospels, for me to read to the peasants. 
 
 November. 
 
 I have gone with my precious bits of the German Bible that 
 is to be into many a cottage during this month, — simple narra- 
 tives of poor, leprous, and palsied people, who came to the 
 Lord, and he touched them and healed their diseases; and of 
 sinners whom he forgave. 
 
 It is wonderful how the simple people seem to drink them 
 in ; that is, those who care at all for such things. " Is this in- 
 deed what the Lord Christ is like?" they say; "then, surely, 
 we may speak to him in our own words, and ask just what we 
 want, as those poor men and women did of old. Is it true, 
 indeed, that peasants, women, and sick people could come 
 straight to the Lord himself 1 ? Was he not always kept off from 
 common people by a band of priests and saints? Was he in- 
 deed to be spoken to by all, and He such a great Lord?" 
 
 I said that I thought it was the necessity of human princes, 
 and not their glory, to be obliged to employ deputies, and not 
 let each one plead his own case. They look greatest afar off, 
 surrounded by the pomp of a throne, because in themselves 
 they are weak and sinful, like other men. But he needed no 
 pomp, nor the dignity of distance, because he is not like other 
 men, but sinless and divine, and the glory is in Himself, not in 
 the things around him. 
 
 Then I had a narrative of the crucifixion to read ; and many 
 a tear have I seen stream over rough cheeks, and many a smile 
 beam in dim aged eyes as I read this. 
 
 " We seem to understand it all at once," an old woman said ; 
 and yet there always seems something more in it each time." 
 
 December. 
 
 This morning I had a letter from Bertrand, — the first for 
 many weeks. He is full of hope; not, indeed, of recovering 
 his inheritance, but of being at Wittemberg again in a few weeks. 
 
 I suppose my face looked very bright when I received it and 
 ran with the precious letter to my own room; for Dame Her-
 
 T Jidda s Story. 317 
 
 mentrud said much this evening about receiving everything with 
 moderation, and about the propriety of young maidens having 
 a very still and collected demeanour, and about the uncertainty 
 of all things below. My heavenly Father knows I do not for- 
 get that all things are uncertain; although, often, I dare not 
 dwell on it. But He has given me this good gift — He Himself 
 — and I will thank him with an overflowing heart for it ! 
 
 I cannot understand Dame Hermentrud's religion. She seems 
 to think it prudent, and a duty, to take everything God gives 
 coolly, as if we did not care veiy much about it, lest He should 
 think he had given us something too good for us, and grudge it 
 to us, and take it away again. 
 
 No ; if God does take away, He takes away as He gave, in 
 infinite love ; and I would not for the world add darkness to the 
 dark days, if they must come, by the bitter regret that I did not 
 enjoy the sunshine whilst He gave it. For, indeed, I cannot 
 help fearing sometimes, when I think of the martyrs of old, and 
 the bitterness of the enemies of the good tidings now. But 
 then I tiy to look up, and try -to say, " Safer, O Father, in thy 
 hands than in mine." And all the comfort of the prayer de- 
 pends on how I can comprehend and feel that name, " Father!"
 
 XXI. 
 
 €bu's Siorji. 
 
 Cistercian Convent, Nimptschen, 
 September 2, 1521. 
 
 HEY have sent me several sheets of Dr. Luther's trans- 
 lation of the New Testament, from Uncle Cotta's 
 press at Wittemberg. 
 
 Of all the works he ever did for God, this seems to me the 
 mightiest and the best. None has ever so deeply stirred our 
 convent. Many of the sisters positively refuse to join in any 
 invocation of the saints. They declare that it must be Satan 
 himself who has kept this glorious book locked up in a dead 
 language out of reach of women and children and the common 
 people. And the young nuns say it is so interesting, it is not 
 in the least like a book of sermons, or a religious treatise. 
 
 " It is like everyday life," said one of them to me, " with 
 what every one wants brought into it ; a perfect Friend, so in- 
 finitely good, so near, and so completely understanding oui 
 inmost hearts. Ah, Sister Eva," she added, " if they could only 
 hear of this at home ! 
 
 October. 
 
 To-day we have received a copy of Dr. Luther's thesis against 
 the monastic life. 
 
 " There is but one only spiritual estate," he writes, " which is 
 holy and makes holy, and that is Christianity, — the faith which 
 is the common right of all." 
 
 " Monastic institutions," he continues, " to be of any use 
 ought to be schools, in which children may be brought up until 
 they are adults. But as it is, they are houses in which men and 
 women become children, and ever continue childish."
 
 Evas Story. 319 
 
 Too well, alas ! I know the truth of these last words ; the 
 hopeless, childish occupation with trifles, into which the majority 
 of the nuns sink when the freshness of youth and the bitter 
 conflict of separation from all dear to the heart has subsided, 
 and the great incidents of life have become the decorating the 
 church for a festival, or the pomp attending the visit of an In- 
 spector or Bishop. 
 
 It is against this I have striven. It is this I dread for the 
 young sisters ; to see them sink into contented trifling with reli- 
 gious playthings. And I have been able to see no way of escape, 
 unless, indeed, we could be transferred to some city and devote 
 ourselves to the case of the sick and poor. 
 
 Dr. Luther, however, admits of another solution. We hear 
 that he has counselled the Prior of the Monastery at Erfurt to 
 suffer any monks who wish it freely to depart. And many, we 
 have been told, in various monasteries have already left, and 
 returned to serve God in the world. 
 
 Monks can, indeed, do this. The world is open before them, 
 and in some way they are sure to find occupation. But with us 
 it is different? Torn away from our natural homes, the whole 
 world around us is a trackless desert. 
 
 Yet how can I dare to say this 1 Since the whole world is 
 the work of our heavenly Father's hands, and may be the way 
 to our Father's house, will not He surely find a place for each 
 of us in it, and a path for us through it 1 
 
 November 10. 
 
 Nine of the younger nuns have come to the determination, 
 if possible, to give up the conventual life, with its round of 
 superstitious observances. This evening we held a consultation 
 in Sister Beatrice's cell. Aunt Agnes joined us. 
 
 It was decided that each should write to her relatives, simply 
 confessing that she believed the monastic vows and life to be 
 contrary to the Holy Scriptures, and praying to be received 
 back into her family. 
 
 Sister Beatrice and Aunt Agnes decided to remain patiently 
 where they were. 
 
 " My old home would be no more a home to me now than 
 the convent," sister Beatrice said. " There is liberty for me
 
 320 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 to die here, and an open way for my spirit to return to 
 God." 
 
 And Aunt Agnes said, — 
 
 " Who knows but that there may be some lowly work left for 
 me to do here yet ! In the world I should be as helpless as a 
 child, and why should I return to be a burden on my kindred." 
 
 They both urged me to write to Else or Aunt Cotta to re- 
 ceive me. But I can scarcely think it my duty. Aunt Cotta 
 has her children around her. Else's home is strange to me. 
 Besides, kind as every one has been to me, I am as a stray waif 
 on the current of this world, and have no home in it. I think 
 God has enabled me to cheer and help some few here, and 
 while Aunt Agnes and Sister Beatrice remain, I cannot bear the 
 thought of leaving. At all events I will wait. 
 
 November 22. 
 
 Fritz is in prison again. For many weeks they had heard 
 nothing from him, and were wondering where he was, when a 
 letter came from a priest called Ruprecht Haller, in Franconia. 
 He says Fritz came to his house one evening in July, remained 
 the night, left next morning with his pack of Lutheran books, 
 intending to proceed direct to Wittemberg, and gave him the 
 address of Aunt Cotta there. But a few weeks afterwards a 
 young monk met him near the Dominican Convent, and asked if 
 he were the priest at whose house a pedlar had spent a night 
 a few weeks before. The priest admitted it ; whereon the young 
 monk said to him, in a low, hurried accent, — 
 
 " Write to his friends, if you know them, and say be is in the 
 prison of the convent, under strong suspicion of heresy. I am 
 the young monk to whom he gave a book on the evening he 
 came. Tell them I did not intend to betray him, although I led 
 him into the net; and if ever they should procure his escape, 
 and you see him again, tell him I have kept his book." The 
 good priest says something also about Fritz having been his 
 salvation. And he urges that the most strenuous exertions should 
 be made to liberate him, and any powerful friends we have should 
 be entreated to intercede, because the Prior of the Dominican 
 Convent where he is imprisoned is a man of the severest temper, 
 and a mighty hater of heretics.
 
 Evas Story. 321 
 
 Powerful friends ! I know none whom we can entreat but 
 God. 
 
 It was in July, then, that he was captured, two months since. 
 I wonder if it is only my impatient spirit ! but I feel as if I must 
 go to Aunt Cotta. I have a feeling she will want me now. I 
 think I might comfort her ; for who can tell what two months 
 in a Dominican prison may have done for him 1 ? 
 
 In our convent have we not a prison, low, dark, and damp 
 enough to weigh the life out of any one in six weeks ! From 
 one of the massive low pillars hang heavy iron fetters, happily 
 rusted now from disuse; and in a corner are a rack and other 
 terrible instruments, now thrown aside there, on which some of 
 the older nuns say they have seen stains of blood. 
 
 When he was in prison before at Mainz, I did not seem so 
 desponding about his deliverance as I feel now. 
 
 Are these fears God's merciful preparations for some dreadful 
 tidings about to reach us? or are they the mere natural en- 
 feebling of the power to hope as one grows older? 
 
 December, 1521. 
 
 Many disappointments have fallen on us during the last fort- 
 night. Answer after answer has come to those touching entreaties 
 of the nine sisters to their kindred, in various tones of feeling, 
 but all positively refusing to receive them back to their homes. 
 
 Some of the relatives use the bitterest reproaches and the 
 severest menaces. Others write tenderly and compassionately, 
 but all agree that no noble family can possibly bring on itself 
 the disgrace of aiding a professed nun to break her vows. Poor 
 children ! my heart aches for them, some of them are so young, 
 and were so confident of being welcomed back with open arms, 
 remembering the tears with which they were given up. 
 
 Now indeed they are thrown on God. He will not fail them; 
 but who can say what thorny paths their feet may have to 
 tread % 
 
 It has also been discovered here that some of them have 
 written thus to their relations, which renders their position far 
 more difficult and painful. 
 
 Many of the older nuns are most indignant at what they con- 
 cider an act of the basest treachery and sacrilege. I also am 
 
 21
 
 322 Chronicles of the ScJwnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 forbidden to have any more intercourse with the suspected sisters. 
 Search has been made in every cell, and all the Lutheran books 
 have been seized, whilst the strictest attendance is required at all 
 the services. 
 
 February 10, 1522. 
 
 Sister Beatrice is dead, after a brief illness. The gentle, 
 patient spirit is at rest. 
 
 It seems difficult to think of joy associated with that subdued 
 and timid heart, even in heaven. I can only think of her as 
 at rest. 
 
 One night after she died I had a dream, in which I seemed 
 to see her entering into heaven. Robed and veiled in white, I 
 saw her slowly ascending the way to the gates of the City. Her 
 head and her eyes were cast on the ground, and she did not 
 seem to dare to look up at the pearly gates, even to see if they 
 were open or closed. But two angels, the gentlest spirits in 
 heaven, came out and met her, and each taking one of her hands, 
 led her silently inside, like a penitent child. And as she enter- 
 ed, the harps and songs within seemed to be hushed to music 
 soft as the dreamy murmur of a summer noon. Still she did 
 not look up, but passed through the golden streets with her 
 hands trustingly folded in the hands of the angels, until she stood 
 before the throne. Then from the throne came a Voice, which 
 said, " Beatrice, it is I ; be not afraid." And when she heard 
 that voice, a quiet smile beamed over her face like a glory, and 
 for the first time she raised her eyes; and sinking at His feet, 
 murmured, " Home!" And it seemed to me as if that one word 
 from the low, trembling voice vibrated through every harp in 
 heaven ; and from countless voices, ringing as happy children's, 
 and tender as a mother's, came back, in a tide of love and music, 
 the words, " Welcome home." 
 
 This was only a dream ; but it is no dream that she is there ! 
 
 She said little in her illness. She did not suffer much. The 
 feeble frame made little resistance to the low fever which attack- 
 ed her. The words she spoke were mostly expressions of thank- 
 fulness for little services, or entreaties for forgiveness for any 
 little pain she fancied she might have given. 
 
 Aunt Agnes and I chiefly waited on her. She was uneasy if
 
 Evas Story, 
 
 323 
 
 we were long away from her. Her thoughts often recurred to 
 her girlhood in the old castle in the Thuringian Forest; and she 
 liked to hear me speak of Chriemhild and Ulrich, and their 
 infant boy. One evening she called me to her, and said, " Tell 
 my sister Hermentrud, and my brother, I am sure they all meant 
 kindly in sending me here ; and it has been a good place 
 for me, especially since you came. But tell Chriemhild and 
 Ulrich," she added, " if they have daughters, to remember 
 plighted troth is a sacred thing, and let it not be lightly severed. 
 Not that the sorrow has been evil for me; only I would not 
 have another suffer. All, all has been good for me, and I so 
 unworthy of all ! 
 
 Then passing her thin hands over my head as I knelt beside 
 her, she said, " Eva, you have been like a mother, a sister, a 
 child, — everything to me. Go back to your old home when I 
 am gone. I like to think you will be there." 
 
 Then, as if fearing she might have been ungrateful to Aunt 
 Agnes, she asked for her, and said, "I can never thank you enough 
 for all you have done for me. The blessed Lord will remember 
 it; for did he not say, ' In that ye have done it unto the least! " 
 
 And in the night, as I sat by her alone, she said, " Eva, I 
 have dreaded very much to die. I am so very weak in spirit, 
 and dread everything. But I think God must make it easier for 
 the feeble such as me. For although I do not feel any stronger 
 I am not afraid now. It must be because He is holding me up." 
 
 She then asked me to sing ; and with a faltering voice I sung, 
 as well as I could, the hymn, Astant angelorum chori: — 
 
 High the angel-choirs are raising 
 Heart and voice in harmony : 
 
 The Creator King still praising, 
 Whom in beauty there they see ! 
 
 Sweetest strains from soft harps stealing, 
 
 Trumpets notes of triumph pealing ; 
 
 Radiant wings and white robes gleaming, 
 
 Up the steps of glory streaming, 
 Where the heavenly bells are ringing, 
 Holy holy, holy, singing 
 
 To the mighty Trinity ! 
 For all earthly care and sighing 
 
 In that city cease to be ! 
 
 And two days after, in the grey of the autumn morning, she 
 died. She fell asleep with the name of Jesus on her lips. 
 
 It is strange how silent and empty the convent seems, only 
 because that feeble voice is hushed and that poor shadowy form 
 has passed away !
 
 324 Chronicles of the ScJi'dnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 February 152 a. 
 
 Sister Beatrice has been laid in the convent churchyard with 
 solemn, mournful dirges and masses, and stately ceremonies, 
 which seemed to me little in harmony with her timid, shrink- 
 ing nature, or with the peace her spirit rests in now. 
 
 The lowly mound in the churchyard, marked by no memorial 
 but a wooden cross, accords better with her memory. The 
 wind will rustle gently there next summer, through the grass; 
 and this winter the robin will warble quietly in the old elm 
 above. 
 
 But I shall never see the grass clothe that earthy mound. 
 It is decided that I am to leave the convent this week. Aunt 
 Agnes and two of the young sisters have just left my cell, and 
 all is planned. 
 
 The petty persecutions against those they call the Lutheran 
 Sisters increase continually, whilst severer and more open pro- 
 ceedings are threatened. It is therefore decided that I am to 
 make my escape at the first favourable opportunity, find my 
 way to Wittemberg, and then lay the case of the nine nuns be- 
 fore the Lutheran doctors, and endeavour to provide for their 
 rescue. 
 
 February 20, 1522. 
 
 At last the peasant's dress in which I am to escape is in my 
 cell, and this very night, when all is quiet, I am to creep out of 
 the window of Katherine von Bora's cell, into the convent 
 garden. Aunt Agnes has been nervously eager about my going, 
 and has been busy secretly storing a little basket with provisions. 
 But to-night, when I went into her cell to wish her goodbye, she 
 quite broke down, and held me tight in her arms, as if she could 
 never let me go, while her lips quivered, and tears rolled slowly 
 over her thin, furrowed cheeks. " Eva, child," she said, " who 
 first taught mc to love in spite of myself, and then taught me 
 that God is love, and that he could make me, believing in Jesus, 
 a happy, loving child again ! how can I part with thee?" 
 
 " Thou wilt join me again," I said, " and your sister who loves 
 thee so dearly!" 
 
 She shook her head and smiled through her tears, as she 
 said, —
 
 Eva's Story. 32c; 
 
 " Poor helpless old woman that I am, what would you all 
 do with me in the busy life outside 1 ?" 
 
 But her worst fear was for me, in my journey alone to Wittenv 
 berg, which seemed to her, who for forty years had never passed 
 the convent walls, so long and perilous. Aunt Agnes always 
 thinks of me as a young girl, and imagines every one must think 
 me beautiful, because love makes me so to her. She is sure 
 they will take me for some princess in disguise. 
 
 She forgets I am a quiet, sober-looking woman of seven-and 
 twenty, whom no one will wonder to see gravely plodding along 
 the highway. 
 
 But I almost made her promise to come to us at Wittemberg; 
 and at last she reproached herself with distrusting God, and said 
 she ought never to have feared that his angels would watch 
 over me. 
 
 Once more, then, the world opens before me; but I do not 
 hope (and why should I wish 1) that it should be more to me 
 than this convent has been, — a place where God will be with 
 me and give me some little loving services to do for him. 
 
 But my heart does yearn to embrace dear Aunt Cotta and 
 Else once more, and little Thekla. And when Thekla marries, 
 and Aunt and Uncle Cotta are left alone, I think they may want 
 me, and Cousin Eva may grow old among Else's children, and 
 all the grandchildren, helping one and another a little, and 
 missed a little when God takes me. 
 
 But chiefly I long to be near Aunt Cotta, now that Fritz is in 
 that terrible prison. She always said I comforted her more 
 than any one, and I think I may again.'
 
 XXII. 
 
 (disc's Btotg. 
 
 October 1521. 
 
 ! HRISTOPHER has just returned from a journey to 
 Halle. They have dared once more to establish the 
 sale of indulgences there, under the patronage of the 
 young and self-indulgent Archbishop Albert of Mainz. Many 
 of the students and the more thoughtful burghers are full of indig- 
 nation at seeing the great red cross once more set up, and the 
 heavenly pardons hawked through the streets for sale. This 
 would not have been attempted, Gottfried feels sure, had not 
 the enemy believed that Dr. Luther's voice is silenced for ever. 
 Letters from him are, however, privately handed about among 
 us here, and more than one of us know that he is in safe keep- 
 ing not very far from us. 
 
 November. 
 
 Gottfried has just brought me the letter from Luther to the 
 Archbishop of Mainz ; which will at least convince the indul- 
 gence-mongers that they have roused the sleeping lion. 
 
 He reminds the Archbishop-Elector that a conflagration has 
 already been raised by the protest of one poor insignificant monk 
 against Tetzel ; he warns him that the God who gave strength 
 to that feeble human voice because it spoke his truth, " is living 
 still, and will bring down the lofty cedars and the haughty 
 Pharaohs, and can easily humble an Elector of Mainz although 
 there were four Emperors supporting him." He solemnly 
 requires him to put down that avaricious sale of lying pardons 
 at Mainz, or he will speedily publish a denunciation (which he 
 has already written) against " The New School at Halle." " For 
 Luther," he says, " is not dead yet."
 
 ElsPs Story. 327 
 
 We are in great doubt how the Archbishop will bear such a 
 bold remonstrance. 
 
 November 20. 
 
 The remonstrance has down its work. The Prince Arch- 
 bishop has written a humble and apologetic letter to Dr. Luther, 
 and the indulgences are once more banished from Halle. 
 
 At Wittemberg, however, Dr. Luther's letters do not at all 
 compensate for his presence. There is great confusion here, 
 and not seldom there are encounters between the opposite 
 parties in the streets. 
 
 Almost all the monks in the Augustinian Convent refused 
 some weeks since to celebrate private masses or to adore the 
 host. The gentle Dr. Melancthon and the other doctors at first 
 remonstrated, but were at length themselves convinced, and 
 appealed to the Elector of Saxony himself to abolish these 
 idolatrous ceremonies. We do not yet know how he will act. 
 No public alterations have yet been made in the Church 
 services. 
 
 But the great event which is agitating Wittemberg now is the 
 abandonment of the cloister and the monastic life by thirteen of 
 the Augustinian monks. The Pastor Feldkirchen declared 
 against priestly vows, and married some months since. But he 
 was only a secular priest; and the opinions of all good men 
 about the marriage of the priests of the parochial churches have 
 long been undivided amongst us. 
 
 Concerning the monks, however, it is different. For the 
 priests to marry is merely a change of state ; for the monks to 
 abandon their vows is the destruction of their order, and of the 
 monastic life altogether. 
 
 Gottfried and I are fully persuaded they are right; and we 
 honour greatly these men, who, disclaiming maintenance at 
 other people's expense, are content to place themselves among 
 the students at the university. More especially, however, I 
 honour the older or less educated brethren, who, relinquishing 
 the consideration and idle plenty of the cloister, set themselves 
 to learn some humble trade. One of these has apprenticed 
 himself to a carpenter; and as we passed his bench the other 
 day, and watched him perseveringly trying to train his unaccus-
 
 328 Chronicles of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 tomed fingers to handle the tools, Gottfried took off his cap and 
 respectfully saluted him, saying, — 
 
 " Yes, that is right. Christianity must begin again with the 
 carpenter's home at Nazareth." 
 
 In our family, however, opinions are divided. Our dear, 
 anxious mother perplexes herself much as to what it will all lead 
 to. It is true that Fritz's second imprisonment has greatly 
 shaken her faith in the monks; but she is distressed at the un- 
 settling tendencies of the age. To her it seems all destructive ; 
 and the only solution she can imagine for the difficulties of the 
 times is, that these must be the latter days, and that when every- 
 thing is pulled down, our Lord himself will come speedily to 
 build up his kingdom in the right way. 
 
 Deprived of the counsel of Fritz and her beloved Eva, and 
 of Dr. Luther — in whom lately she had grown more to confide, 
 although she always deprecates his impetuosity of language — 
 she cannot make up her mind what to think about anything. 
 She has an especial dread of the vehemence of the Archdeacon 
 Carlstadt; and the mild Melancthon is too much like herself in 
 disposition for her to lean on his judgment. 
 
 Nevertheless, this morning, when I went to see them, I found 
 her busily preparing some nourishing soup ; which, when I asked 
 her, she confessed was destined for the recusant monk who had 
 become a carpenter. 
 
 " Poor creatures," she said apologetically, " they were accus- 
 tomed to live well in the cloister, and I should not like them to 
 feel the difference too suddenly." 
 
 Our grandmother is more than eighty now. Her form is still 
 erect, although she seldom moves from her arm-chair; and her 
 faculties seem little dimmed, except that she cannot attend to 
 anything for any length of time. Sometimes I think old age to 
 her is more like the tender days of early spring, than hard and 
 frosty winter. Thekla says it seems as if this life were dawning 
 softly for her into a better; or as if God were keeping her, like 
 Moses, with undimmed eyes and strength unabated, till she may 
 have the glimpse of the Promised Land, and see the deliverance 
 she has so long waited for close at hand. 
 
 With our children she is as great a favourite as she was with
 
 ElsPs Story. 329 
 
 us; she seems to have forgotten her old ways of finding fault; 
 either because she feels less responsibility about the third gene- 
 ration, or because she sees all their little faults through a 
 mellowed light. I notice, too, that she has fallen on quite a 
 different vein of stories from those which used to rivet us. She 
 seems to pass over the legendary lore of her early womanhood, 
 back to the experiences of her own stirring youth and childhood. 
 The mysteries of our grandfather's history, which we vainly 
 sought to penetrate, are all opened to Gretchen and the boys. 
 The saints and hermits, whose adventures were our delight, are 
 succeeded by stories of secret Hussite meetings to read the 
 Scriptures among the forests and mountains of Bohemia; of 
 wild retreats in caves, where whole families lived for months in 
 concealment; of heart-rending captures or marvellous escapes. 
 
 The heroes of my boys will be, not St. Christopher and St. 
 George, but Hussite heretics! My dear mother often throws in 
 a warning word to the boys, that those were evil times, and 
 that people do not need to lead such wild lives now. But the 
 text makes far more impression on the children than the 
 commentary. 
 
 Our grandmother's own chief delight is still in Dr. Luther's 
 writings. I have lately read over to her and my father, I know 
 not how many times, his letter from the Wartburg, " to the little 
 band of Christ at Wittemberg," with his commentary accom- 
 panying it on the 37th Psalm — "Fret not thyself because of 
 evildoers." 
 
 Our dear father is full of the brightest visions. He is per- 
 suaded that the whole world is being rapidly set right, and that 
 it matters little, indeed, that his inventions could not be com- 
 pleted, since we are advancing at full speed into the Golden 
 Age of humanity. 
 
 Thus, from very opposite points and through very different 
 paths, he and my mother arrive at the same conclusion. 
 
 We have heard from Thekla that Ulrich has visited Dr. Luther 
 at the Wartburg, where he is residing. I am so glad to know 
 where he is. It is always so difficult to me to think of people 
 without knowing the scene around them. The figure itself 
 seems to become shadowy in the vague, shadowy, unknown
 
 330 Chronicles of the Scltonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 world around it. It is this which adds to my distress about 
 Fritz. Now I can think of Dr. Luther sitting in that large 
 room in which I waited for the Elector with my embroidery, so 
 many years ago — looking down the steep over the folded hills, 
 reaching one behind another till the black pines and the green 
 waving branches fade into lovely blue beneath the golden 
 horizon. And at sunset I seem to see how the shadows creep 
 over the green valleys where we used to play, and the low sun 
 lights up the red stems of the pines. 
 
 Or in the summer noon I see him sitting with his books — 
 great folios, Greek, and Hebrew, and Latin — toiling at that 
 translation of the Book of God, which is to be the blessing of 
 all our people ; while the warm sunbeams draw out the aromatic 
 scent of the fir-woods, and the breezes bring it in at the open 
 window. 
 
 Or at early morning I fancy him standing by the castle walls, 
 looking down on the towers and distant roofs of Eisenach, while 
 the bell of the great convent booms up to him the hour; and 
 he thinks of the busy life beginning in the streets, where once 
 he begged for bread at Aunt Ursula Cotta's door. Dear Aunt 
 Ursula, I wish she could have lived till now, to see the rich 
 harvest an act of loving-kindness will sometimes bring forth. 
 
 Or at night, again, when all sounds are hushed except the 
 murmur of the unseen stream in the valley below, and the sigh- 
 ing of the wind through the forest, and that great battle begins 
 which he has to fight so often with the powers of darkness, and 
 he tries to pray, and cannot lift his heart to God, I picture him 
 opening his casement, and looking down on forest, rock, and 
 meadow, lying dim and lifeless beneath him, glance from these 
 up to God, and re-assure himself with the truth he delights 
 to utter — 
 
 " God lives still '/" feeling, as he gazes, that night is only 
 hiding the sun, not quenching him, and watching till the grey 
 of morning slowly steals up the sky and down into the 
 forest. 
 
 Yes, Dr. Melancthon has told us how he toils and how he 
 suffers at the Wartburg, and how once he wrote, "Are my 
 friends forgetting to pray for me, that the conflict is so terrible?"
 
 Elsts Story. 331 
 
 No ; Gottfried remembers him always among our dearest names 
 of kith and kindred. 
 
 " But," he said to-day, "we must leave the training of our 
 chief to God." 
 
 Poor, tried, perplexed Saint Elizabeth! another royal heart is 
 suffering at the Wartburg now, another saint is earning his 
 crown through the cross at the old castle home; but not to be 
 canonized in the Papal Calendar ! 
 
 December 21. 
 
 The Chapter of the Augustinian Order in Thuringia and 
 Misnia has met here within this last month, to consider the 
 question of the irrevocable nature of monastic vows. They 
 have come to the decision that in Christ there is neither layman 
 nor monk ; that each is free to follow his conscience. 
 
 Christmas Day, 1521. 
 
 This has been a great day with us. 
 
 Archdeacon Carlstadt announced, some little time since, that 
 he intended, on the approaching Feast of the Circumcision, to 
 administer the holy sacrament to the laity under the two species 
 of bread and wine. His right to do this having been disputed, 
 he hastened the accomplishment of his purpose, lest it should 
 be stopped by any prohibition from the court. 
 
 To-day, after his sermon in the City Church, in which he 
 spoke of the necessity of replacing the idolatrous sacrifice of 
 the mass by the holy supper, he went to the altar, and, after 
 pronouncing the consecration of the elements in German, he 
 turned towards the people, and said solemnly, — 
 
 " Whosoever feels heavy laden with the burden of his sins, 
 and hungers and thirsts for the grace of God, let him come and 
 receive the body and blood of the Lord." 
 
 A brief silence followed his words, and then, to my amaze- 
 ment, before any one else stirred, I saw my timid, retiring 
 mother slowly moving up the aisle, leading my father by the 
 hand. Others followed; some with reverent, solemn demeanour, 
 others perhaps with a little haste and over eagerness. And as 
 the last had retired from the altar, the archdeacon, pronouncing 
 the general absolution, added solemnly,—
 
 33- Chronicles of the Schonberg-Colta Family. 
 
 " Go, and sin no more." 
 
 A few moments' pause succeeded, and then, from many 
 voices here and there, gradually swelling to a full chorus, arose 
 the Agnus Dei, — 
 
 " Lamb of God, who takest away the sin of the world, have 
 mercy on us. Give us peace." 
 
 We spent the Christmas, as usual, in my father's house. 
 Wondering, as I did, at my mother's boldness, I did not like to 
 speak to her on the subject; but, as we sat alone in the after- 
 noon, while our dear father, Gottfried, Christopher, and the 
 children had gone to see the skating on the Elbe, she said to 
 me, — 
 
 " Else, I could not help going. It seemed like the voice of 
 our Lord himself saying to me, ' Thou art heavy laden — come!' 
 I never understood it all as I do now. It seemed as if I saw 
 the gospel with my eyes, — saw that the redemption is finished, 
 and that now the feast is spread. I forgot to question whether 
 I repented, or believed, or loved enough. I saw through the 
 ages the body broken and the blood shed for me on Calvary ; 
 and now I saw the table spread, and heard the welcome, and I 
 could not help taking your father's hand and going up at once." 
 
 " Yes, dear mother, you set the whole congregation the best 
 example!" I said. 
 
 "I !" she exclaimed. "Do you mean that I went up before 
 any one else ? What ! before all the holy men, and doctors, 
 and the people in authority 1 ? Else, my child, what have I 
 done? But I did not think of myself, or of any one else. I 
 only seemed to hear His voice calling me; and what could I 
 do but go? And, indeed, I cannot care now how it looked ! 
 Oh, Else," she continued, " it is worth while to have the world 
 thus agitated to restore this feast again to the Church; worth 
 while," she added with a trembling voice, " even to have Fritz 
 in prison for this. The blessed Lord has sacrificed himself for 
 us, and we are living in the festival. He died for sinners. He 
 spread the feast for the hungry and thirsty. Then those who 
 feel their sins most must be not the last but the first to come. 
 I see it all now. That holy sacrament is the gospel for 
 me."
 
 ElsPs Story. 333 
 
 February 10, 1522. 
 
 The whole town is in commotion. 
 
 Men have appeared among us who say that they are directly 
 inspired from heaven; that study is quite unnecessary — indeed, 
 an idolatrous concession to the flesh and the letter; that it is 
 wasting time and strength to translate the Holy Scriptures, 
 since, without their understanding a word of Greek or Hebrew. 
 God has revealed its meaning to their hearts. 
 
 These men come from Zwickau. Two of them are cloth- 
 weavers ; and one is Munzer, who was a priest. They also de- 
 clare themselves to be prophets. Nicholas Storck, a weaver, 
 their leader, has chosen twelve apostles and seventy-two disciples. 
 in imitation of our Lord. And one of them cried in awful 
 tones, to-day through the streets, — 
 
 " Woe, woe to the impious governers of Christendom ! 
 Within less than seven years the world shall be made desolate. 
 The Turk will overrun the land. No sinner shall remain alive. 
 God will purify the earth by blood, and all the priests will be 
 put to death. The saints will reign. The day of the Lord is 
 at hand. Woe! woe!" 
 
 Opinions are divided throughout the university and the town 
 about them. The Elector himself says he would rather yield 
 up his crown and go through the world a beggar than resist the 
 voice of the Lord. Dr. Melancthon hesitates, and says we 
 must try the spirits, whether they be of God. The Archdeacon 
 Carlstadt is much impressed with them, and from his profes- 
 sorial chair even exhorts the students to abandon the vain pur- 
 suits of carnal wisdom, and to return to earn their bread, accord- 
 ing to God's ordinance, in the sweat of their brow. The 
 master of the boys' school called, from the open window of the 
 school-room, to the citizens to take back their children. Not a 
 few of the students are dispersing, and others are in an excitable 
 state, ready for any tumult. The images have been violently 
 torn from one of the churches and burnt. The monks of the 
 Convent of the Cordeliers have called the soldiers to their aid 
 against a threatened attack. 
 
 Gottfried and others are persuaded that these men of 
 Zwickau are deluded enthusiasts. He says, " The spirit
 
 334 Chronicles of the Schbnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 which undervalues the word of God cannot be the Spirit of 
 God." 
 
 But among the firmest opponents of these new doctrines is, 
 to our surprise, our charitable mother. Her gentle, lowly 
 spirit seems to shrink from them as with a heavenly instinct. 
 She says, " The Spirit of God humbles — does not puff up." 
 
 When it was reported to us the other day that Nicholas Storck 
 had seen the angel Gabriel in the night, who flew towards him 
 and said to him, "As for thee, thou shalt be seated on my 
 throne!" the mother said, — 
 
 " It is new language to the angel Gabriel, to speak of his 
 throne. The angels in old times used to speak of the throne 
 of God." 
 
 And when another said that it was time to sift the chaff from 
 the wheat, and to form a Church of none but saints, she 
 said, — 
 
 " That would never suit me, then. I must stay outside, in 
 the Church of redeemed sinners. And did not St. Paul him- 
 self say, as Dr. Luther told us, 'Sinners, of whom I am chief]'" 
 
 " But are you not afraid," some one asked her, " of dishon- 
 ouring God by denying his messengers, if, after all/these pro- 
 phets should be sent from him ] " 
 
 " I think not," she replied quietly. " Until the doctors are 
 sure, I think I cannot displease my Saviour by keeping to the 
 old message." 
 
 My father, however, is much excited about it; he sees no 
 reason why there should not be prophets at Wittemberg as well 
 as at Jerusalem ; and in these wonderful days, he argues, what 
 wonders can be too great to believe ? 
 
 I and many others long exceedingly for Dr. Luther. I 
 believe, indeed, Gottfried is right, but it would be terrible to 
 make a mistake ; and Dr. Luther always seems to see straight 
 to the heart of a thing at once, and storms the citadel, while 
 Dr. Melancthon is going round and round, studying each point 
 of the fortifications. 
 
 Dr. Luther never wavers in opinion in his letters, but warns 
 us most forcibly against these delusions of Satan. But then 
 people say he has not seen or heard the " prophets." One letter
 
 ElsPs Story. 335 
 
 can be discussed and answered long before another comes, 
 and the living eye and voice are much in such a conflict as this. 
 What chief could lead an army on to battle by letters 1 
 
 February 26, 1522. 
 
 Our dove of peace has come back to our home ; our Eva ! 
 This evening, when I went over with a message to my mother, 
 to my amazement I saw her sitting with her hand in my father's, 
 quietly reading to him the twenty-third psalm, while my grand- 
 mother sat listening, and my mother was contentedly knitting 
 beside them. 
 
 It seemed as if she had scarcely been absent a day, so quietly 
 had she glided into her old place. It seemed so natural, and 
 yet so like a dream, that the sense of wonder passed from me 
 as it does in dreams, and I went up to her and kissed her fore- 
 head. 
 
 "Dear Cousin Else, is it you!" she said. "I intended to 
 have come to you the first thing to-morrow." 
 
 The dear, peaceful, musical voice, what a calm it shed over 
 the home again ! 
 
 "You see you have all left Aunt Cotta," she said, with a 
 slight tremulousness in her tone, "so I am come back to be 
 with her always, if she will let me." 
 
 There were never any protestations of affection between my 
 mother and Eva, they understand each other so completely. 
 
 February 28. 
 
 Yes, it is no dream. Eva has left the convent, and is one of 
 us once more. Now that she has resumed all her old ways, I 
 wonder more than ever how we could have got on without her. 
 She speaks as quietly of her escape from the convent, and her 
 lonely journey across the country, as if it were the easiest and 
 most every-day occurrence. She says every one seemed anxious 
 to help her and take care of her. 
 
 She is very little changed. Hers was not a face to change. 
 The old guileless expression is on her lips — the same trustful, 
 truthful light in her dark soft eyes; the calm, peaceful brow, 
 that always reminded one of a sunny, cloudless sky, is calm and
 
 336 Chronicles of the ScJibnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 bright still; and around it the golden hair, not yet grown from 
 its conventual cutting, clusters in little curls which remind ine 
 of her first days with us at Eisenach. Only all the character of 
 the face seems deepened, I cannot say shadowed, but penetrated 
 with that kind of look which I fancy must always distinguish 
 the faces of the saints above from those of the angels, — those 
 who have suffered from those who have only sympathized ; that 
 deep, tender, patient, trusting, human look, which is stamped 
 on those who have passed to the heavenly rapturous " Thy will 
 be done" through the agony of " Not my will, but Thine" 
 
 At first Gretchen met her with the kind of reverent face she 
 has at church ; and she asked me afterwards, " Is that really 
 the Cousin Eva in the picture 1 " But now there is the most 
 familiar intimacy between them, and Gretchen confidingly and 
 elaborately expounds to Cousin Eva all her most secret plans 
 and delights. The boys, also, have a most unusual value for 
 her good opinion, and appear to think her judgment beyond 
 that of ordinary women ; for yesterday little Fritz was eagerly 
 explaining to her the virtues of a new bow that had been given 
 him, formed in the English fashion. 
 
 She is very anxious to set nine young nuns, who have em- 
 braced the Lutheran doctrine, free from Nimptschen. Gott- 
 fried thinks it very difficult, but by no means impracticable in 
 time. 
 
 Meanwhile, what a stormy world our dove has returned to ! — 
 the university well-nigh disorganized; the town in commotion; 
 and no German Bible yet in any one's hands, by which, as 
 Gottfried says, the claims of these new prophets might be 
 tested. 
 
 Yet it does not seem to depress Eva. She says it seems to 
 her like coming out of the ark into a new world ; and, no doubt, 
 Noah did not find everything laid out in order for him. She is 
 quite on my mother's side about the prophets. She says, the 
 apostles preached not themselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord. 
 If the Zwickau prophets preach him, they preach nothing new; 
 and if they preach themselves, neither God nor the angel 
 Gabriel gave them that message. 
 
 Our great sorrow is Fritz's continued imprisonment. At first
 
 ElsPs Story. 337 
 
 we felt sure he would escape, but every month lessens our 
 hopes, until we scarcely dare speak of him except in our prayers. 
 Yet daily, together with his deliverance, Gottfried and I pray 
 for the return of Dr. Luther, and for the prosperous completion 
 of his translation of the German Bible, which Gottfried believes 
 will be the greatest boon Dr. Luther has given, or can ever 
 give, to the German people, and through them to Christendom. 
 
 Satitrday, March 8, 1522. 
 
 The great warm heart is beating amongst us once more ! 
 
 Dr. Luther is once more dwelling quietly in the Augustinian 
 cloister, which he left for Worms a year ago. What changes 
 since then ! He left us amid our tears and vain entreaties not 
 to trust his precious life to the treacherous safe -conduct which 
 had entrapped John Huss to the stake. 
 
 He returns unscathed and triumphant — the defender of the 
 good cause before emperor, prelates, and princes — the hero of 
 our German people. 
 
 He left citizens and students for the most part trembling at 
 the daring of his words and deeds. 
 
 He returns to find students and burghers impetuously and 
 blindly rushing on in the track he opened, beyond his judgment 
 and convictions. 
 
 He left, the foremost in the attack, timidly followed as he 
 hurried forward, braving death alone. 
 
 He returns to recall the scattered forces, dispersed and 
 divided in wild and impetuous pursuit. 
 
 Will, then, his voice be as powerful to recall and re-organize 
 as it was to urge forward ] 
 
 He wrote to the Elector, on his way from the Wartburg, dis- 
 claiming his protection — declaring that he returned to the flock 
 God had committed to him at Wittemberg, called and con- 
 strained by God himself, and under mightier protection than 
 that of an elector ! " The sword," he said, " could not defend 
 the truth. The mightiest are those whose faith is mightiest. 
 Relying on his master, Christ, and on him alone, he came." 
 
 Gottfried says it is fancy, but already it seems to me I see a 
 difference in the town — less bold, loud talking, than the day 
 
 22
 
 338 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Catta Family. 
 
 before yesterday; as in a family of eager, noisy boys, whose 
 father is amongst them again. But after to-morrow, we shall be 
 able to judge better. He is to preach in the city pulpit. 
 
 Monday, March io, 1522. 
 
 We have heard him preach once more. Thank God, those 
 days in the wilderness, as he called it, have surely not been lost 
 days for Dr. Luther. 
 
 As he stood again in the pulpit, many among the crowded 
 congregation could not refrain from shedding tears of joy. In 
 that familar form and truthful, earnest face, we saw the man 
 who had stood unmoved before the emperor and all the great 
 ones of the empire — alone, upholding the truth of God. 
 
 Many of us saw, moreover, with even deeper emotion, the 
 sufferer who, during those last ten months, had stood before an 
 enemy more terrible than pope or emperor, in the solitude of 
 the Wartburg; and while his own heart and flesh were often 
 well-nigh failing in the conflict, had never failed to carry on the 
 struggle bravely and triumphantly for us his flock; sending 
 masterly replies to the University of Paris; smiting the lying 
 traffic with indulgences, by one noble remonstrance, from the 
 trembling hands of the Archbishop of Mainz; writing letter after 
 letter of consolation or fatherly counsel to the little flock of 
 Christ at Wittemberg; and, through all, toiling at that translation 
 of the Word of God, which is the great hope of our country. 
 
 But older, tenderer, more familiar associations, mastered all 
 the others when we heard his voice again — the faithful voice 
 that had warned and comforted us so long in public and in 
 private. To others, Dr. Luther might be the hero of Worms, 
 the teacher of Germany, the St. George who had smitten the 
 dragon of falsehood : to us he was the true, affectionate pastor ; 
 and many of us, I believe, heard little of the first words of his 
 sermon, for the mere joy of hearing his voice again, as the clear, 
 deep tones, vibrated through the silent church. 
 
 He began with commending our faith. He said we had made 
 much progress during his absence. But he went on to say, " We 
 must have more than faith — we must have love. If a man with 
 a sword in his hand happens to be alone, it matters little whether
 
 Elscs Story. 339 
 
 he keep it in the scabbard or not; but if he is in the midst 
 of a crowd, he must take care to hold it so as not to hurt any 
 one. 
 
 "A mother begins with giving her infant milk. Would it live 
 if she gave it first meat and wine] 
 
 "But, thou, my friend, hast, perhaps had enough of milk! It 
 may be well for thee. Yet let thy weaker, younger brother 
 take it. The time was when thou also couldst have taken 
 nothing else. 
 
 " See the sun ! It brings us two things — light and heat. The 
 rays of light beam directly on us. No king is powerful enough 
 to intercept those keen, direct, swift rays. But heat is radiated 
 back to us from every side. Thus, like the light, faith should 
 ever be direct and inflexible; but love, like the heat, should 
 radiate on all sides, and meekly adapt itself to the wants of all. 
 
 " The abolition of the mass, you say," he continued, " is ac- 
 cording to Scripture. I agree with you. But in abolishing it, 
 what regard had you for order and decency 1 ? You should have 
 offered fervent prayers to God, public authority should have been 
 applied to, and every one would have seen then that the thing 
 came from God. 
 
 "The mass is a bad thing; God is its enemy; it ought to be 
 abolished ; and I would that throughout the whole world it were 
 superseded by the supper of the gospel. But let none tear any 
 one away from it with violence. The matter ought to be com- 
 mitted to God. It is His Word that must act, and not we. 
 And wherefore 1 do you say 1 ? Because I do not hold the hearts 
 of men in my hand as the potter holds the clay in his. Our 
 work is to speak ; God will act. Let us preach. The rest be- 
 longs to him. If I employ force, what do I gain 1 Changes in 
 demeanour, outward shows, grimaces, shams, hypocrisies. But 
 what becomes of sincerity of heart, of faith, of Christian love 1 
 All is wanting where these are wanting; and for the rest I would 
 not give the stalk of a pear. 
 
 " What we want is the heart ; and to win that, we must preach 
 the gospel. Then the word will drop to-day into one heart, 
 to-morrow into another, and will so work that each will forsake 
 the mass. God effects more than you and I and the whole world
 
 34-0 Chronicles of the Schonbei g-Cotta Family. 
 
 combined could attempt. He secures the heart; and when that 
 is won, all is won. 
 
 " I say not this in order to re establish the mass. Since it has 
 been put down, in God's name let it remain so. But ought it to 
 have been put down in the way it has been] St. Paul, on arriv- 
 ing at the great city of Athens, found altars there erected to 
 false gods. He passed from one to another, made his own re- 
 flections on all, but touched none. But he returned peaceably 
 to the Forum, and declared to the people that all those gods 
 were mere idols. This declaration laid hold on the hearts of 
 some, and the idols fell without Paul's touching them. I would 
 preach, I would speak, I would write, but I would lay constraint 
 on no one; for faith is a voluntary thing. See what I have 
 done! I rose in opposition to the pope, to indulgences, and the 
 Papists; but I did so without tumult or violence. I pressed 
 before all things the word of God; I preached, I wrote; I did 
 nothing else. And while I was asleep, or seated at table in 
 conversation with Amsdorf and Melancthon, over our Wittem- 
 berg beer, that Word which I had been preaching was working, 
 and subverted the popedom as never before it was damaged by 
 assault of prince or emperor. I did nothing; all was done by 
 the Word. Had I sought to appeal to force, Germany might 
 by this time have been steeped in blood. And what would have 
 been the result] Ruin and desolation of soul and body. I 
 therefore kept myself quiet, and left the Word to force its own 
 way through the world. Know you what the devil thinks when 
 he sees people employ violence in disseminating the gospel 
 among men? Seated with his arms crossed behind hell fire, 
 Satan says, with a malignant look and hideous leer, ' Ah, but 
 these fools are wise men, indeed, to do my work for me ! ' But 
 when he sees the Word go forth and engage alone on the field 
 of battle, then he feels ill at ease; his knees smite against each 
 other, he shudders and swoons away with terror." 
 
 Quietly and reverently, not with loud debatings and noisy 
 protestations of what they would do next, the congregation 
 dispersed. 
 
 The words of forbearance came with such weight from that 
 daring, fearless heart, which has braved the wrath of popedom
 
 ElsPs Story. 341 
 
 and empire alone for God, and still braves excommunicatior 
 and ban ! 
 
 Wednesday, Jlfarc/i n. 
 
 Yesterday again Dr. Luther preached. He earnestly warned 
 us against the irreverent participation in the holy sacrament. 
 " It is not the external eating which makes the Christian," he 
 said ; " it is the internal and spiritual eating, which is the work 
 of faith, and without which all external things are mere empty 
 shows and vain grimaces. Now this faith consists in firmly be- 
 lieving that Jesus Christ is the Son of God; that having charged 
 himself with our sins and our iniquities, and having borne them 
 on the cross, he is himself the sole, the all-sufficient expiation ; 
 that he ever appears before God; that he reconciles us to the 
 Father, and that he has given us the sacrament of his body in 
 order to strengthen our faith in that unutterable mercy. If I 
 believe these things, God is my defender: with him on my side, 
 I brave sin, death, hell, and demons ; they can do me no harm, 
 nor even touch a hair of my head. This spiritual bread is the 
 consolation of the afflicted, the cure of the sick, the life of the 
 dying, food to the hungry, the treasure of the poor. He who 
 is not grieved by his sins, ought not, then, to approach this 
 altar. What would he do there? Ah, did our conscience 
 accuse us, did our heart feel crushed at the thought of our 
 shortcomings, we could not then lightly approach the holy sacra- 
 ment." 
 
 There were more among us than the monk Gabriel Didymus 
 (a few days since one of the most vehement of the violent fac- 
 tion, now sobered and brought to his right mind), that could 
 say as we listened, " Verily it is as the voice of an angel." 
 
 But, thank God, it is not the voice of an angel, but a human 
 voice vibrating to every feeling of our hearts — the voice of our 
 own true, outspoken Martin Luther, who will, we trust, now 
 remain with us to build up with the same word which has already 
 cleared away so much. 
 
 And yet I cannot help feeling as if his absence had done its 
 work for us as well as his return. If the hands of violence can 
 be arrested now, I cannot but rejoice they have done just as 
 much as they have.
 
 34 2 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Now, let Dr. Luther's principle stand. Abolish nothing that 
 is not directly prohibited by the Holy Scriptures. 
 
 March 30 
 
 Dr. Luther's eight discourses are finished, and quiet is restored 
 to Wittemberg. The students resume their studies, the boys 
 return to school ; each begins with a lowly heart once more the 
 work of his calling. 
 
 No one has been punished. Luther would not have force 
 employed either against the superstitious or the unbelieving in- 
 novators. " Liberty," he says, " is of the essence of faith." 
 
 With his tender regard for the sufferings of others we do not 
 wonder so much at this. 
 
 But we all wonder far more at the gentleness of his words. 
 They say the bravest soldiers make the best nurses of their 
 wounded comrades. Luther's hand seems to have laid aside 
 the battle-axe, and coming among his sick and wounded and 
 J perplexed people here, he ministers to them gently as the kindest 
 woman — as our own mother could, who is herself won over to 
 love and revere him with all her heart. 
 
 Not a bitter word has escaped him, although the cause these 
 disorders are risking is the cause for which he has risked his life. 
 
 And there are no more tumults in the streets. The frightened 
 Cordelier monks may carry on their ceremonies without terror, 
 or the aid of soldiery. All the warlike spirits are turned once 
 more from raging against small external things, to the great battle 
 beginning everywhere against bondage and superstition. 
 
 Dr. Luther himself has engaged Dr. Melancthon's assistance 
 in correctingand perfecting the translation of the New Testament, 
 which he made m the solitude of the Wartburg. Their friend- 
 ship seems closer than ever. 
 
 Christopher's press is in the fullest activity, and all seem full 
 of happy, orderly occupation again. 
 
 Sometimes I tremble when I think how much we seem to 
 depend on Dr. Luther, lest we should make an idol of him ; but 
 Thekla, who is amongst us again, said to me when I expressed 
 this fear, — 
 
 " Ah, dear Else, that is the old superstition. When God gives 
 us a glorious summer and good harvest, are we to receive it
 
 ElsPs Story. 343 
 
 coldly and enjoy it tremblingly, lest he should send us a bad 
 season next year to prevent our being too happy % If he sends 
 the dark days, will he not also give us a lamp for our feet through 
 them 1 " 
 
 And even our gentle mother said, — 
 
 " I think if God gives us a staff, Else, he intends us to lean on it." 
 
 " And when he takes it away," said Eva, " I think He is sure 
 to give us his own hand instead ! I think what grieves God is, 
 when we use his gifts for what he did not intend them to be ; as 
 if, for instance, we were to plant our staff, instead of leaning on 
 it ; or to set it up as an image and adore it, instead of resting on 
 it and adoring God. Then, I suppose, we might have to learn 
 that our idol was not in itself a support, or a living thing at all, 
 but only a piece of lifeless wood." 
 
 "Yes," said Thekla decidedly, "when God gives us friends, 
 I believe he means us to love them as much as we can. And 
 when he gives us happiness, I am sure he means us to enjoy 
 it as much as we can. And when he gives soldiers a good gene- 
 ral, he means them to trust and follow him. And when he gives 
 us back Dr. Luther and Cousin Eva," she added, drawing Eva's 
 hand from her work and covering it with kisses, " I am quite 
 sure he means us to welcome them with all our hearts, and feel 
 that we can never make enough of them. O Else," she added, 
 smiling, " you will never, I am afraid, be set quite free from the 
 old fetters. Every now and then we shall hear them clanking 
 about you, like the chains of the family ghost of the Gersdorfs. 
 You will never quite believe, dear good sister, that God is not 
 better pleased with you when you are sad than when you are 
 happy." 
 
 " He is often nearest," said Eva softly, " when we are sad." 
 And Thekla's lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears as she 
 replied in a different tone, — 
 
 " I think I know that too, Cousin Eva." 
 
 Poor child, she has often had to prove it. Her heart must 
 often ache- when she thinks of the perilous position of Bertrand 
 de Cre'qui among his hostile kindred in Flanders. And it L 
 therefore she cannot bear a shadow of a doubt to be thrown on 
 the certainty of their re-union.
 
 344 Chronicles of the Schb'nbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 The evangelical doctrine is enthusiastically welcomed at Ant- 
 werp and other cities of the Low Countries. But, on the other 
 hand, the civil and ecclesiastical authorities oppose it vehemently, 
 and threaten persecution. 
 
 May 1522. 
 
 Dr. Luther has had an interview with Mark Stiibner, the 
 schoolmaster Cellarius, and others of the Zwickau prophets and 
 their disciples. He told them plainly that he believed their 
 violent, self-willed, fanatical proceedings were suggested, not by 
 the Holy Spirit of love and truth, but by the spirit of lies and 
 malice. Yet he is said to have listened to them with quietness. 
 Cellarius, they say, foamed and gnashed his teeth with rage, 
 but Stiibner showed more self-restraint. 
 
 However, the prophets have all left Wittemberg, and quiet is 
 restored. 
 
 A calm has come down on the place, and on every home in 
 it — the calm of order and subjection instead of the restless- 
 ness of self-will. And all has been accomplished through the 
 presence and the words of the man whom God has sent to be 
 our leader, and whom we acknowledge. Not one act of violence 
 has been done since he came. He would suffer no constraint 
 either on the consciences of the disciples of the " prophets," or 
 on those of the old superstition. He relies, as we all do, on 
 the effect of the translation of the Bible into German, which is 
 now quietly and rapidly advancing. 
 
 Every week the doctors meet in the Augustinian Convent, 
 now all but empty, to examine the work done, and to consult 
 about the difficult passages. When once this is accomplished, 
 they believe God will speak through those divine pages direct 
 to all men's hearts, and preachers and doctors may retire to 
 their lowly subordinate places.
 
 XXIII. 
 
 jHRIEMHILD and I have always been the least clever 
 of the family, and with much less that is distinctive 
 about us. Indeed, I do not think there is anything 
 particularly characteristic about us, except our being twins. 
 Thekla says we are pure Saxons, and have neither of us any- 
 thing of the impetuous Czech or Bohemian blood; which may 
 so far be good for me, because Conrad has not a little of the 
 vehement Swiss character in him. Every one always spoke of 
 Chriemhild and me, and thought of us together; and when they 
 called us the beauties of the family, I think they chiefly meant 
 that we looked pleasant together by contrast. Thekla says God 
 sends the flowers into the world as twins ; contrasting with each 
 other jus* as we did, — the dark-eyed violets with the fair prim- 
 roses ; golden gorse, and purple heather. Chriemhild she used 
 sometimes to call sister Primrose, and me sister Violet. Chriem- 
 hild, however, is beautiful by herself without me, — so tall, and 
 fair, and placid, and commanding-looking, with her large grey 
 eyes, her calm broad brow, and her erect full figure, which always 
 made her gentle manner seem condescending like a queen's. 
 But I am nothing without Chriemhild ; only people used to like 
 to see my small slight figure, and my black eyes and hair, beside 
 hers. 
 
 I wonder what Conrad Winkelried's people will think of me 
 in that far-off mountainous Switzerland whither he is to take me ! 
 He is sure they will all love me ; but how can I tell 1 Sometimes 
 my heart flutters a great deal to think of leaving home, and 
 Else and the dear mother, and all. It is true Chriemhild seemed
 
 346 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 to find it quite natural when the time came, but she is so diffe- 
 rent. Every one was sure to be pleased with Chriemhild. 
 
 And I am so accustomed to love and kindness. They all know 
 me so well here, and how much less clever I am than the rest, 
 that they all bear with me tenderly. Even Thekla, who is often 
 a little vehement, is always gentle with me, although she may 
 laugh a little sometimes when I say anything more foolish than 
 usual. I am so often making discoveries of things that every 
 one else knew long since. I do not think I am so much afraid 
 on my own account, because I have so little right to expect any- 
 thing, and always get so much more than I deserve from our 
 dear heavenly Father and from every one. Only on Conrad's 
 account I should like to be a little wiser, because he knows so 
 many languages, and is so very clever. When I spoke to Else 
 about it once, she smiled and said she had the same kind of fears 
 once, but if we ask him, God will always give us just the wisdom 
 we want day by day. It is part of the " daily bread," she said. 
 And certainly Else is not learned, and yet every one loves her, 
 and she does so much good in a quiet way. But then, although 
 she is not learned, she seems to me wise in little things. And 
 she used to write a Chronicle when she was younger than I am. 
 She told me so, although I have never seen it. I have been 
 thinking that perhaps it is writing the Chronicle that has made 
 her wise, and therefore I intend to try to write one. But as at 
 present I can think of nothing to say of my own, I will begin 
 by copying a narrative Conrad lent me to read a few days since, 
 written by a young Swiss student, a friend of his, who has just 
 come to Wittemberg from St. Gall, where his family live. His 
 name is Johann Kessler, and Conrad thinks him veiy good and 
 diligent. 
 
 " Copy of Johann Kessler 's Narrative. 
 
 " As we were journeying towards Wittemberg to study the 
 Holy Scriptures, at Jena we encountered a fearful tempest, and 
 after many inquiries in the town for an inn where we might pass 
 the night, we could find none, either by seeking or asking ; no 
 one would give us a night's lodging. For it was carnival time, 
 when people have little care for pilgrims and strangers. So we
 
 Atlantis Story. 347 
 
 went forth again from the town, to try if we could find a village 
 where he might rest for the night. 
 
 " At the gate, however, a respectable-looking man met us, and 
 spoke kindly to us, and asked whither we journeyed so late at 
 night, since in no direction could we reach house or inn where 
 we could find shelter before dark night set in. It was, more- 
 over, a road easy to lose ; he counselled us, therefore, to remain 
 all night where we were. 
 
 " We answered, — ■ 
 
 " ' Dear father, we have been at all the inns, and they sent 
 us from one to another ; everywhere they refused us lodging; we 
 have, therefore, no choice but to journey further.' 
 
 " Then he asked if we had also inquired at the sign of the 
 Black Bear. 
 
 " Then we said, — 
 
 " 'We have not seen it. Friend, where is it 1 ?' 
 
 " Then he led us a little out of the town. And when we saw 
 the Black Bear, lo, whereas all the other landlords had refused 
 us shelter, the landlord there came himself out at the gate to 
 receive us, bade us welcome, and led us into the room. 
 
 " There we found a man sitting alone at the table, and before 
 him lay a little book. He greeted us kindly, asked us to draw 
 near, and to place ourselves by him at the table. For our shoes 
 (may we be excused for writing it) were so covered with mud 
 and dirt, that we were ashamed to enter boldly into the cham- 
 ber, and had seated ourselves on a little bench in a corner near 
 the door. 
 
 " Then he asked us to drink, which we could not refuse. When 
 we saw how cordial and friendly he was, we seated ourselves 
 near him at his table as he had asked us, and ordered wine that 
 we might ask him to drink in return. We thought nothing else 
 but that he was a trooper, as he sat there, according to the cus- 
 tom of the country, in hosen and tunic, without armour, a sword 
 by his side, his right hand on the pommel of the sword, his left 
 grasping its hilt. His eyes were black and deep, flashing and 
 beaming like a star, so that they could not well be looked at. 
 
 "Soon he began to ask what was our native country. But 
 he himself replied, —
 
 31<S Chronicles of the Schdnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " ' You are Switzers. From what part of Switzerland 1 ' 
 
 " We answered, — 
 
 " ' From St. Gall.' 
 
 " Then he said, — 
 
 " ' If you are going hence to Wittemberg, as I hear, you will 
 find good fellow-countrymen there, namely, Doctor Hieronymus 
 Schurf, and his brother, Doctor Augustin.' 
 
 " We said,— 
 
 " 'We have letters to them.' And then we inquired, 
 
 " ' Sir, can you inform us if Martin Luther is now at Wittem- 
 berg, or if not where he is?' 
 
 " He said, — 
 
 " ' I have reliable information that Luther is not now at 
 Wittemberg. He will, however, soon be there. Philip Melanc- 
 thon is there now; he teaches Greek, and others teach Hebrew. 
 I counsel you earnestly to study both ; for both are necessary 
 in order to understand the Holy Scriptures. 
 
 " We said — 
 
 " ' God be praised ! For if God spare our lives we will not 
 depart till we see and hear that man ; since on his account 
 have we undertaken this journey, because we understood that 
 he purposes to abolish the priesthood, together with the mass, 
 as an unfounded worship. For as we have from our youth 
 been destined by our parents to be priests, we would know 
 what kind of instruction he will give us, and on what authority 
 he seeks to effect such an object.' 
 
 " After these words, he asked, — 
 
 " ' Where have you studied hitherto ?' 
 
 "Answer, 'At Basel.' 
 
 "Then said he, 'How goes it at Basel? Is Erasmus of 
 Rotterdam still there, and what is he doing?' 
 
 " ' Sir,' said we, ' we know not that things are going on there 
 otherwise than well. Also, Erasmus is there, but what he is 
 occupied with is unknown to any one, for he keeps himself very 
 quiet, and in great seclusion.' 
 
 " This discourse seemed to us very strange in the trooper ; 
 that he should know how to speak of both the Schurfs, of Philip, 
 and Erasmus, and also of the study of Hebrew and Greek.
 
 Atlantis Story. 349 
 
 " Moreover, he now and then used Latin words, so that we 
 deemed he must be more than a common trooper. 
 
 " ' Friend,' he asked, ' what do they think in Switzerland of 
 Luther.' 
 
 " ' Sir, there, as elsewhere, there are various opinions. Many 
 cannot enough exalt him, and praise God that He has made 
 His truth plain through him, and laid error bare ; many, on the 
 other hand, and among these more especially the clergy, con- 
 demn him as a reprobate heretic' 
 
 " Then he said, ' I can easily believe it is the clergy that 
 speak thus.' 
 
 " With such conversation we grew quite confidential, so that 
 my companion took up the little book that lay before him, and 
 looked at it. It was a Hebrew Psalter. Then he laid it quickly 
 down again, and the trooper drew it to himself. And my com- 
 panion said, ' I would give a finger from my hand to understand 
 that language.' 
 
 " He answered, ' You will soon comprehend it, if you are 
 diligent : I also desire to understand it better, and practise 
 myself daily in it' 
 
 " Meantime the day declined, and it became quite dark, when 
 the host came to the table. 
 
 " When he understood our fervent desire and longing to see 
 Martin Luther, he said, — 
 
 " ' Good friends, if you had been here two days ago, you 
 would have had your wish, for he sat here at table, and ' (point- 
 ing with his finger) 'in that place.' 
 
 " It vexed and fretted us much that we should have lingered 
 on the way ; and we vented our anger on the muddy and 
 wretched roads that had delayed us. 
 
 " But we added, — 
 
 " ' It rejoices us, however, to sit in the house and at the table 
 where he sat.' 
 
 " Thereat the host laughed, and went out at the door. 
 
 " After a little while, he called me to come to him at the door 
 of the chamber. I was alarmed, fearing I had done something 
 unsuitable, or that I had unwittingly given some offence. But 
 the host said to me, —
 
 350 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " : Since I perceive that you so much wish to see and hear 
 Luther, — that is he who is sitting with you.' 
 
 " I thought he was jesting, and said, — 
 
 " ' Ah, Sir Host, you would befool me and my wishes with a 
 false image of Luther !' 
 
 " He answered, — 
 
 " ' It is certainly he. But do not seem as if you knew this.' 
 
 " I could not believe it ; but I went back into the room, and 
 longed to tell my companion what the host had disclosed to me. 
 At last I turned to him, and whispered softly, — 
 
 " ' The host has told me that is Luther.' 
 
 " He, like me, could not at once believe it, and said, — 
 
 " ' He said, perhaps, it was Hutten, and thou hast misunder- 
 stood him.' 
 
 " And because the stranger's bearing and military dress suited 
 Hutten better than Luther, I suffered myself to be persuaded 
 he had said, ' It is Hutten,' since the two names had a some- 
 what similar sound. What I said further, therefore, was on the 
 supposition that I was conversing with Huldrich ab Hutten, the 
 knight. 
 
 " While this was going on, two merchants arrived, who in- 
 tended also to remain the night ; and after they had taken off 
 their outer coats and their spurs, one laid down beside him an 
 unbound book. 
 
 " Then he the host had (as I thought) called Martin Luther, 
 asked what the book was. 
 
 "'It is Dr. Martin Luther's Exposition of certain Gospels 
 and Epistles, just published. Have you not yet seen it?' 
 
 "Said Martin, ' It will soon be sent to me.' 
 
 " Then said the host, — 
 
 " ' Place yourselves at table ; we will eat.' 
 
 " But we besought him to excuse us, and give us a place 
 apart. But he said, — 
 
 " ' Good friends, seat yourselves at the table. I will see that 
 you are welcome.' 
 
 " When Martin heard that, he said, — 
 
 " ' Come, come, I will settle the score with the host by-and- 
 by.'
 
 A tlantis' Story. 351 
 
 "During the meal, Martin said many pious and friendly 
 words, so that the merchants and we were dumb before him, 
 and heeded his discourse far more than our food. Among 
 other things, he complained, with a sigh, how the princes and 
 nobles were gathered at the Diet at Niirnberg on account of 
 God's word, many difficult matters, and the oppression of the 
 German nation, and yet seemed to have no purpose but to 
 bring about better times by means of tourneys, sleigh-rides, and 
 all kinds of vain, courtly pleasures; whereas the fear of God and 
 Christian prayer would accomplish so much more. 
 
 " 'Yet these,' said he sadly, 'are our Christian princes !' 
 
 " Further, he said, 'We must hope that the evangelical truth 
 will bring forth better fruit in our children and successors — who 
 will never have been poisoned by papal error, but will be planted 
 in the pure truth and word of God — than in their parents, in 
 whom these errors are so deeply rooted that they are hard to 
 eradicate.' 
 
 "After this, the merchants gave their opinion, and the elder 
 of them said, — 
 
 " ' I am a simple, unlearned layman, and have no special 
 understanding of these matters ; but as I look at the thing, I 
 say, Luther must either be an angel from heaven or a devil 
 from hell. I would gladly give ten florins to be confessed by 
 him, for I believe he could and would enlighten my conscience.' 
 
 " Meantime the host came secretly to us and said, — 
 
 " ' Martin has payed for your supper.' 
 
 " This pleased us much, not on account of the gold or the 
 meal, but because that man had made us his guests. 
 
 " After supper, the merchants rose and went into the stable 
 to look after their horses. Meanwhile Martin remained in the 
 room with us, and we thanked him for his kindness and 
 generosity, and ventured to say we took him to be Huldrich ab 
 Hutten. But he said, — 
 
 " ' I am not he.' 
 
 " Thereon the host came, and Martin said, — 
 'I have to-night become a nobleman, for these Switzers 
 take me for Huldrich ab Hutten.' 
 
 ''And then he laughed at the jest, and said,—
 
 352 Chronicles of the ScJwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 "'They take me for Hutten, and you take me for Luther. 
 Soon I shall become Markolfus the clown.' 
 
 " And after this he took a tall beer-glass, and said, according 
 to the custom of the country, — 
 
 " ' Switzers, drink after me a friendly draught to each other's 
 welfare.' 
 
 " But as I was about to take the glass from him, he changed 
 it, and ordered, instead, a glass of wine, and said,. — 
 
 "'Beer is a strange and unwonted beverage to you. Drink 
 the wine.' 
 
 " Thereupon he stood up, threw his mantle over his shoulder, 
 and took leave. He offered us his hand, and said, — 
 
 '"When you come to Wittemberg, greet Dr. Hieronymus 
 Schurf from me.' 
 
 " We said, — 
 
 '"Gladly would we do that, but what shall we call you, that 
 he may understand the greeting?' 
 
 " He said, — 
 
 "'Say nothing more than, He who is coming sends you greet- 
 ing. He will at once understand the words.' 
 
 " Thus he took leave of us, and retired to rest. 
 
 "Afterwards the merchants returned into the room, and 
 desired the host to bring them more to drink, whilst they had 
 much talk with him as to who this guest really was. 
 
 " The host confessed he took him to be Luther ; whereupon 
 they were soon persuaded, and regretted that they had spoken 
 so unbecomingly before him, and said they would rise early 
 on the following morning, before he rode off, and beg him not 
 to be angry with them, or to think evil of them, since they had 
 not known who he was. 
 
 "This happened as they wished, and they found him the 
 next morning in the stable. 
 
 " But Martin said, ' You said last night at supper you would 
 gladly give ten florins to confess to Luther. When you confess 
 yourselves to him you will know whether I am Martin Luther 
 or not.' 
 
 " Further than this he did not declare who he was, but soon 
 afterwards mounted and rode off to Wittemberg.
 
 Atlantis Story. 353 
 
 " On the same day we came to Naumburg, and as we entered 
 a village (it lies under a mountain, and I think the mountain is 
 called Orlamunde, and the village Nasshausen), a stream was 
 Mowing through it which was swollen by the rain of the previous 
 clay, and had carried away part of the bridge, so that no one 
 could ride over it. In the same village we lodged for the night, 
 and it happened that we again found in the inn the two mer- 
 chants; so they, for Luther's sake, insisted on making us their 
 guests at this inn. 
 
 " On the Saturday after, the day before the first Sunday in 
 Lent, we went to Dr. Hieronymus Schurf, to deliver our letters 
 of introduction. When we were called into the room, lo and 
 behold ! there we found the trooper Martin, as before at Jena ; 
 and with him were Philip Melancthon, Justus Jonas, Nicolaus 
 Amsdorf, and Dr. Augustin Schurf, who were relating to him 
 what had happened at Wittemberg during his absence. He 
 greeted us, and, laughing, pointed with his finger and said, 
 'This is Philip Melancthon, of whom I spoke to you.'" 
 
 I have copied this to begin to improve myself, that I may be 
 a better companion for Conrad, and also because in after years 
 I think we shall prize anything which shows how our Martin 
 Luther won the hearts of strangers, and how, when returning to 
 Wittemberg an excommunicated and outlawed man, with all the 
 care of the evangelical doctrine on him, he had a heart at 
 leisure for little acts of kindness and words of faithful counsel. 
 
 What a blessing it is for me, who can understand nothing of 
 the "Theologia Teutsch," even in German, and never could 
 have learned Latin like Eva, that Dr. Luther's sermons are so 
 plain to me, great and learned as he is. Chriemhild and I 
 always understood them; and although we could never talk 
 much to others, at night in our bed-room we used to speak to 
 each other about them, anil say how very simple religion 
 seemed when he spoke of it, — just to believe in our blessed 
 Lord Jesus Christ, who died for our sins, and to love him, and 
 to do all we can to make every one around us happier and 
 better. What a blessing for people who are not clever, like 
 Chriemhild and me, to have been born in days when we are 
 
 23
 
 354 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 taught that religion is faith and love, instead of all of those com- 
 plicated rules and lofty supernatural virtues which people used 
 to call religion. 
 
 And yet they say faith and love and humility are more really 
 hard than all the old penances and good works. 
 
 But that must be, I think, to people who have never heard, 
 as we have from Dr. Luther, so much about God to make us 
 love him; or to people who have more to be proud of than 
 Chriemhild and I and so find it more difficult to think little of 
 themselves.
 
 XXIV. 
 
 (Eton's Sttotv. 
 
 WlTT.MBERG, October If It. 
 
 |0W strange it seemed at first to be moving freely about 
 in the world once more, and to come back to the old 
 home at Wittemberg ! Very strange to find the 
 places so little changed, and the people so much. The little 
 room where Else' and I used to sleep, with scarcely an article 
 of furniture altered, except that Thekla's books are there instead 
 of Else's wooden crucifix; and the same view over the little 
 garden, with its pear-tree full of white blossom, to the Elbe with 
 its bordering oaks and willows, all then in their freshest deli- 
 cate early green, while the undulations of the level land faded 
 in soft blues to the horizon. 
 
 But, unlike the convent, all the changes in the people seemed 
 to have been wrought by the touch of life rather than by that 
 of death. 
 
 In Else's own home across the street, the ringing of those 
 sweet childish voices, so new to me, and yet familiar with 
 echoes of old tones and looks of our own well-remembered 
 early days ! And on Else herself the change seemed only such 
 as that which develops the soft tints of spring into the green of 
 shadowing leaves. 
 
 Christopher has grown from the self-assertion of boyhood 
 into the strength and protecting kindness of manhood. Uncle 
 Cotta's blindness seems to dignify him and make him the cen- 
 tral object of every one's tender, reverent care, while his visions 
 grow brighter in the darkness, and more placid on account of 
 his having no responsibility as to fulfilling them. He seems to 
 me a kind of hallowing presence in the family, calling out every
 
 356 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Gotta Family. 
 
 one's sympathy and kindness, and pathetically reminding us by 
 his loss of the preciousness of our common mercies. 
 
 On the grandmother's heart the light is more like dawn than 
 sunset— so fresh, and soft, and full of hope her old age seems. 
 The marks of fretting, daily anxiety, and care have been 
 smoothed from dear Aunt Cotta's face; and although a deep 
 shadow rests there often when she thinks of Fritz, I feel sure 
 sorrow is not now to her the shadow of a mountain of divine 
 wrath, but the shadow of a cloud which brings blessing and 
 hides light, which the Sun of love drew forth, and the Rainbow 
 of promise consecrates. 
 
 Yet he has the place of the first-born in her heart. With the 
 others, though not forgotten, I think his place is partly filled 
 — but never with her. Else"s life is very full. Atlantis never 
 knew him as the elder ones did; and Thekla, dearly as she 
 learned to love him during his little sojourn at Wittemberg, has 
 her heart filled with the hopes of her future, or at times over- 
 whelmed with its fears. With all it almost seems he would 
 have in some measure to make a place again, if he were to 
 return. But with Aunt Cotta the blank is as utterly a blank, 
 and a sacred place kept free from all intrusion, as if it were a 
 chamber of her dead, kept jealously locked and untouched since 
 the last day he stood living there. Yet he surely is not dead ; 
 I say so to myself and to her when she speaks of it, a thousand 
 times. Why, then, does this hopeless feeling creep over me 
 when I think of him 1 ? It seems so impossible to believe he 
 ever can be amongst us any more. If it would please God only 
 to send us some little word ! But since that letter from Priest 
 Ruprecht Haller, not a syllable has reached us. Two months 
 since, Christopher went to this priest's village in Franconia, and 
 lingered some days in the neighbourhood, making inquiries in 
 every direction around the monastery where he is. But he 
 could hear nothing, save that in the autumn of last year, the 
 little son of a neighbouring knight, who was watching his 
 mother's geese on the outskirts of the forest near the convent, 
 used to hear the sounds of a man's voice singing from the win- 
 dow of the tower where the convent prison is. The child used 
 to linger near the spot to listen to the songs, which, he said,
 
 Evas Story. 357 
 
 were so rich and deep — sacred, like church hymns, but more 
 joyful than anything he ever heard at church. He thought they 
 were Easter hymns; but since one evening in last October he 
 has never heard them, although he has often listened. Nearly a 
 year since now ! 
 
 Yet nothing can silence those resurrection hymns in his 
 heart ! 
 
 Aunt Cotta's great comfort is the holy sacrament. Nothing, 
 she says, lifts up her heart like that. Other symbols, or writ- 
 ings, or sermons bring before her, she says, some part of truth; 
 but the Holy Supper brings the Lord Himself before her. Not 
 one truth about him, or another, but himself; not one act 
 of his holy life alone, nor even his atoning death, but his very 
 person, human and divine, — himself living, dying, conquering 
 death, freely bestowing life. She has learned that to attend that 
 holy sacrament is not, as she once thought, to perform a good 
 work, which always left her more depressed than before with 
 the feeling how unworthily and coldly she had done it; but to 
 look off from self to Him who finished the good work of redemp- 
 tion for us. As Dr. Melancthon says, — - 
 
 " Just as looking at the cross is not the doing of a good 
 work, but simply contemplating a sign which recalls to us the 
 death of Christ ; 
 
 " Just as looking at the sun is not the doing of a good work, 
 but simply contemplating a sign which recalls to us Christ and 
 his gospel ; 
 
 " So participating at the Lord's table is not the doing 
 of a good work, but simply the making use of a sign which 
 brings to mind the grace that has been bestowed on us by 
 Christ." 
 
 " But here lies the difference ; symbols discovered by man 
 simply recall what they signify, whereas the signs given by God 
 not only recall the things, but further assure the heart with 
 respect to the will of God." 
 
 " As the sight of a cross does not justify, so the mass does 
 not justify. As the sight of a cross is not a sacrifice, either 
 for our sins cr for the sins of others, so the mass is not a 
 sacrifice."
 
 358 Chronicles of the Schonberg- Cotta Family. 
 
 " There is but one sacrifice, there is but one satisfaction— 
 Jesus Christ. Beyond him there is nothing of the kind." 
 
 I have been trying constantly to find a refuge for the nine 
 evangelical nuns I left at Nimptschen, but hitherto in vain. I 
 do not, however, by any means despair. I have advised them 
 now to write themselves to Dr. Luther. 
 
 October 1522. 
 
 The German New Testament is published at last. 
 
 On September the 21st it appeared j and that day, happening 
 to be Aunt Cotta's birthday, when she came down among us in 
 the morning, Gottfried Reichenbach met her, and presented 
 her with two large folio volumes in which it is printed, in the 
 name of the whole family. 
 
 Since then one volume always lies on a table in the gene- 
 ral sitting-room, and one in the window of Aunt Cotta's bed- 
 room. 
 
 Often now she comes down in the morning with a beaming 
 face, and tells us of some verse she has discovered. Uncle 
 Cotta calls it her diamond-mine, and says, " The little mother 
 has found the El Dorado after all ! " 
 
 One morning it was, — 
 
 " Cast all your care on him, for he careth for you ; " and that 
 lasted her many days. 
 
 To-day it was, — 
 
 " Tribulation worketh patience ; and patience, experience ; 
 and experience, hope ; and hope maketh not ashamed ; because 
 the love of God is shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Ghost, 
 which is given unto us." " Eva," she said, " that seems to me 
 so simple. It seems to me to mean, that when sorrow comes, 
 then the great thing we have to do is, to see we do not lose 
 hold of patience; she seems linked to all the other graces, and 
 to lead them naturally into the heart, hand in hand, one by one. 
 Eva, dear child," she added, " is that what is meant % " 
 
 I said how often those words had cheered me, and how 
 happy it is to think that all the while these graces are illumining 
 the darkness of the heart, the dark hours are passing away, 
 until all at once Hope steals to the casement and withdraws the 
 shutters ; and the light which has slowly been dawning all the
 
 Eva's Story. 359 
 
 time, streams into the heart, " the love of God shed abroad by 
 the Holy Ghost." 
 
 " But," rejoined Aunt Cotta, " we cannot ourselves bring in 
 Experience, or reach the hand of Hope, or open the window to 
 let in the light of Love ; we can only look up to God, keep firm 
 hold of Patience, and she will bring all the rest." 
 
 " And yet," I said, " peace comes before patience, peace 
 with God through faith in Him who was delivered for our 
 offences. All these' graces do not lead us up to God. We 
 have access to him first, and in his presence we learn the rest." 
 
 Yes, indeed, the changes in the Wittemberg world since I 
 left it, have been wrought by the hand of life, and not by that 
 of death, or time, which is his shadow. For have not the 
 brightest been wrought by the touch of the Life himself? 
 
 It is God, not time, that has mellowed our grandmother's 
 character ; it is God and not time that has smoothed the care- 
 worn wrinkles from Aunt Cotta's brow. 
 
 It is life and not death that has all but emptied the Augus- 
 tinian convent, sending the monks back to their places in the 
 world, to serve God and proclaim his gospel. 
 
 It is the water of life that is flowing through home after home 
 in the channel of Dr. Luther's German Testament, and bringing 
 forth fruits of love, and joy, and peace. 
 
 And we know it is life and not death which is reigning in 
 that lonely prison, wherein the child heard the resurrection 
 hymns, and that is triumphing now in the heart of him who 
 sang them, wherever he may be !
 
 XXV. 
 
 Cljchln's Sfcrrn. 
 
 October 1522. 
 
 NCE more the letters come regularly from Flanders ; 
 and in most ways their tidings are joyful. Nowhere 
 throughout the world, Bertrand writes, does the evan- 
 gelical doctrine find such an eager reception as there. The 
 people in the great free cities have been so long accustomed to 
 judge for themselves and to speak their mind freely. The 
 Augustinian monks who studied at Wittemberg, took back the 
 gospel with them to Antwerp, and preached it openly in their 
 church, which became so thronged with eager hearers, that 
 numbers had to listen outside the doors. It is true, Bertrand 
 says, that the Prior and one or two of the monks have been 
 arrested, tried at Brussels, and silenced ; but the rest continue 
 undauntedly to preach as before, and the effect of the persecu- 
 tion has been only to deepen the interest of the citizens. 
 
 The great new event which is occupying us all now, however, 
 is the publication of Dr. Luther's New Testament. Chriemhild 
 writes that it is the greatest boon to her, because being afraid 
 to trust herself to say much, she simply reads, and the peasants 
 seem to understand that book better than anything she can say 
 about it ; or even, if at any time they come to anything which 
 perplexes them, they generally find that by simply reading on 
 it grows quite clear. Also, she writes, Ulrich reads it every 
 evening to all the servants, and it seems to bind the household 
 together wonderfully. They feel that at last they have found 
 something inestimably precious, which is yet no " privilege " of 
 man or class, but the common property of all. 
 
 In many families at Wittemberg the book is daily read, for
 
 Thcklas Story. 361 
 
 there are few of those who can read at all who cannot afford a 
 copy, since the price is but a florin and a half. 
 
 New hymns also are beginning to spring up among us. We 
 are no more living on the echo of old songs. A few days since 
 a stra'nger from the north sang before Dr. Luther's windows, at 
 the Augustinian convent, a hymn beginning, — 
 
 " Es ist das Heil uns kommen her." 
 
 Dr. Luther desired that it might be sung again. It was a 
 response from Prussia to the glad tidings which have gone 
 forth far and wide through his words ! He said " he thanked 
 God with a full heart." 
 
 The delight of having Eva among us once more is so great ! 
 Her presence seems to bring peace with it. It is not what she 
 says or does, but what she is. It is more like the effect of 
 music than anything else I know. A quiet seems to come over 
 one's heart from merely being with her. No one seems to fill 
 so little space, or make so little noise in the world as Eva, when 
 she is there ; and yet when she is gone, it is as if the music 
 and the light had passed from the place. Everything about 
 her always seems so in tune. Her soft, quiet voice, her gentle, 
 noiseless movements, her delicate features, the soft curve of her 
 cheek, those deep loving eyes, of which one never seems able 
 to remember anything but that Eva herself looks through them 
 into your heart. 
 
 All so different from me, who can scarcely ever come into a 
 room without upsetting something, or disarranging some person, 
 and can seldom enter on a conversation without upsetting some 
 one's prejudices, or grating on some one's feelings! 
 
 It seems to me sometimes as if God did indeed lead Eva, as 
 the Psalm says, " by His eye ; " as if he had trained her to what 
 she is by the direct teaching of his gracious voice, instead of by 
 the rough training of circumstances. And nevertheless, she 
 never makes me feel her hopelessly above me. The light is 
 not like a star, which makes one feel " how peaceful it must 
 be there, in these heights," but brings little light upon our path. 
 It is like a lowly sunbeam coming down among us, and making 
 us warm and bright.
 
 362 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 She always makes me think of the verse about the saint who 
 was translated silently to heaven, because he had " walked with 
 God." Yes, I am sure that is her secret. 
 
 Only I have a malicious feeling that I should like to see her 
 for once thoroughly tossed out of her calm, just to be "quite 
 sure it is God's peace, and not some natural or fairy gift, or a 
 stoical impassiveness from the " Theologia Teutsch." Some- 
 times I fancy for an instant whether it is not a little too much 
 with Eva, as if she were "translated" already; as if she had 
 passed to the other side of the deepest earthly joy and sorrow, 
 at least as regards herself. Certainly she has not as regards 
 others. Her sympathy is indeed no condescending alms, flung 
 from the other side of the flood, no pitying glance cast down 
 on grief she feels, but could never share. Have I not seen her 
 lip quiver, when I spoke of the dangers around Bertrand, even 
 when my voice was firm, and felt her tears on my face when she 
 drew me to her heart. 
 
 December 1522. 
 
 That question at last is answered ! I have seen Cousin Eva 
 moved out of her calm, and feel at last quite sure she is not 
 " translated " yet. Yesterday evening we were all sitting in the 
 family-room. Our grandmother was dozing by the stove. Eva 
 and my mother were busy at the table, helping Atlantis in pre- 
 paring the dresses for her wedding, which is to be early in next 
 year. I was reading to my father from Dr. Melancthon's new 
 book, " The Common Places," (which all learned people say is 
 so much more elegant and beautifully written than Dr. Luther's 
 works, but which is to me only just a composed book, and not 
 like all Dr. Luther's writings, a voice from the depths of a heart.) 
 I was feeling like my grandmother, a little sleepy, and, indeed, 
 the whole atmosphere around us seemed drowsy and still, when 
 our little maid, Lottchen, opened the door with a frightened 
 expression, and before she could say anything, a pale tall man 
 stood there. Only Eva and I were looking towards the door. 
 I could not think who it was, until a low startled voice ex- 
 claimed " Fritz ! " and looking round at Eva, I saw she had 
 fainted. 
 
 In another instant he was kneeling beside her, lavishing every
 
 Thecklcis Story. 363 
 
 tender name on her, while my mother stood on the other side, 
 holding the unconscious form in her arms, and sobbing out 
 Fritz's name. 
 
 Our dear father stood up, asking bewildered questions — our 
 grandmother awoke, and rubbing her eyes, surveyed the whole 
 group with a puzzled expression, murmuring, — 
 
 " Is it a dream 1 Or are the Zwickau prophets right after all, 
 and is it the resurrection 1 " 
 
 But no one seemed to remember that tears and endearing 
 words and bewildered exclamations were not likely to restore 
 any one from a fainting fit, until to my great satisfaction our 
 good motherly Else appeared at the door, saying, " What is it 1 
 Lottchen ran over to tell me she thought there were thieves." 
 
 Then comprehending everything at a glance, she dipped a 
 handkerchief in water, and bathed Eva's brow, and fanned her 
 with it, until in a few minutes she awoke with a short sobbing 
 breath, and in a little while her eyes opened, and as they rested 
 on Fritz, a look of the most perfect rest came over her face, 
 she placed her other hand on the one he held already, and 
 closed her eyes again. I saw great tears falling under the 
 closed eyelids. Then looking up again and seeing my mother 
 bending over her, she drew down her hand and laid it on 
 Fritz's, and we left those three alone together. 
 
 When we were all safely in the next room, we all by one 
 impulse began to weep. I sobbed, — 
 
 " He looks so dreadfully ill. I think they have all but 
 murdered him." 
 
 And Else said, — 
 
 " She has exactly the same look on her face that came over 
 it when she was recovering from the plague, and he stood 
 motionless beside her, with that rigid hopeless tranquillity on 
 his face, just before he left to be a monk. What will happen 
 next?" 
 
 And my grandmother said in a feeble broken voice, — 
 
 " He looks just as your grandfather did when he took leave 
 of me in prison. Indeed, sometimes I am quite confused in 
 mind. It seems as if things were coming over again. I can hardly 
 make out whether it is a dream, or a ghost, or a resurrection.
 
 364 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Our father only did not join in our tears. He said what was 
 very much wiser. 
 
 " Children, the greatest joy our house has known since Fritz 
 left has come to it to-day. Let us give God thanks." And 
 we all stood around him while he took the little velvet cap 
 from his bald head and thanked God, while we all wept out our 
 Amen. After that we grew calmer; the overwhelming tumult 
 of feeling, in which we could scarcely tell joy from sorrow, 
 passed, and we began to understand it was indeed a great joy 
 which had been given to us. 
 
 Then we heard a little stir in the house, and my mother 
 summoned us back ; but we found her alone with Fritz, and 
 would insist on his submitting to an unlimited amount of family 
 caresses and welcomes. 
 
 " Come, Fritz, and assure our grandmother that you are alive, 
 and that you have never been dead," said Else. And then her 
 eyes filling with tears, she added, " What you must have suffered ! 
 If I had not remembered you before you received the tonsure, 
 I should scarcely have known you now with your dark, long 
 beard, and your white thin face." 
 
 " Yes," observed Atlantis in the deliberate way in which she 
 usually announces her discoveries, " no doubt that is the reason 
 why Eva recognised Fritz " before Thekla did, although they 
 were both facing the door, and must have seen him at the 
 same time. She remembered him before he received the 
 tonsure." 
 
 We all smiled a little at Atlantis' discovery, whereupon she 
 looked up with a bewildered expression, and said, " Do you 
 think, then, she did not recognise him 1 I did not think of that. 
 Probably, then, she took him for a thief, like Lottchen ! " 
 
 Fritz was deep in conversation with our mother, and was not 
 heeding us, but Else laughed softly as she patted Atlantis' hand, 
 and said, — 
 
 " Conrad Winkelried must have expressed himself very plainly, 
 sister, before you understood him." 
 
 " He did, sister Else," replied Atlantis gravely. " But what 
 has that to do with Eva ] " 
 
 When I went up to our room, Eva's and mine, I found her
 
 Thekla' s Story. 365 
 
 kneeling by her bed. In a few minutes she rose, and clasping 
 me in her arms, she said — 
 
 " God is very good, Thekla. I have believed that so long, 
 but never half enough until to-night." 
 
 I saw that she had been weeping, but the old calm had come 
 back to her face, only with a little more sunshine on it. 
 
 Then, as if she feared to be forgetting others in her own 
 happiness, she took my hand and said — 
 
 " Dear Thekla, God is leading us all through all the dark days 
 to the morning. We must never distrust Him any more ! " 
 
 And without saying another word we retired to rest. In the 
 morning when I woke Eva was sitting beside me with a lamp 
 on the table, and the large Latin Bible open before her. I 
 watched her face for some time. It looked so pure, and good, 
 and happy, with that expression on it which always helped me 
 to understand the meaning of the words, " child of God," " little 
 children," as Dr. Melancthon says our Lord called his disciples 
 just before he left them. There was so much of the unclouded 
 trustfulness of the "child" in it, and yet so much of the peace 
 and depth which are of God. 
 
 After I had been looking at her a while she closed the Bible 
 and began to alter a dress of mine which she had promised to 
 prepare for Christmas. As she wajs sewing, she hummed softly, 
 as she was accustomed, same strains of old church music. At 
 length I said — 
 
 " Eva, how old were you when Fritz became a monk 1 " 
 
 "Sixteen," she said softly; "he went away just after the 
 
 plague." 
 
 " Then you have been separated twelve long years," I said. 
 " God, then, sometimes exercises patience a long while." 
 
 " It does not seem long now," she said ; " we both believed 
 we were separated by God, and separated for ever on earth." 
 
 " Poor Eva," I said ; " and this was the sorrow which helped 
 to make you so good." 
 
 " I did not know it had been so great a sorrow, Thekla," she 
 said with a quivering voice, " until last night." 
 
 " Then you had loved each other all that time," I said, half 
 to myself.
 
 366 Chronicles of the Schonherg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " I suppose so," she said in a low voice. " But I never knew 
 till yesterday how much." 
 
 After a short silence she began again, with a smile. 
 
 " Thekla, he thinks me unchanged during all those years ; 
 me, the matron of the novices ! But, oh, how he is changed ! 
 What a life-time of suffering on his face ! How they must have 
 made him suffer ! " 
 
 " God gives it to you as your life-work to restore and help 
 him," I said. " O Eva, it must be the best woman's lot in the 
 world to bind up for the dearest on earth the wounds which 
 men have inflicted. It must be joy unutterable to receive back 
 from God's own hands a love you have both so dearly proved 
 you were ready to sacrifice for him." 
 
 " Your mother thinks so too," she said. " She said last night 
 the vows which would bind us together would be holier than 
 any ever uttered by saint or hermit." 
 
 " Did our mother say that?" I asked. 
 
 " Yes," replied Eva. " And she said she was sure Dr. Luther 
 would think so also."
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Jfn#s Storm 
 
 December 31, 1522. 
 
 E are betrothed. Solemnly in the presence of our family 
 and friends Eva has promised to be my wife ; and in 
 a few weeks we are to be married. Our home, (at all 
 events, at first) is to be in the Thuringian forest, in the parson- 
 age belonging to Ulrich von Gersdorf's castle. The old priest 
 is too aged to do anything. Chriemhild has set her heart on 
 having us to reform the peasantry, and they all believe the quiet 
 and the pure air of the forest will restore my health, which has 
 been rather shattered by all I have gone through during these 
 last months, although not as much as they think. I feel strong 
 enough for anything already. What I have lost during all those 
 years in being separated from her ! How poor and one-sided 
 my life has been ! How strong the rest her presence gives me, 
 makes me to do whatever work God may give me ! 
 
 Amazing blasphemy on God to assert that the order in which 
 he has founded human life is disorder, that the love which the 
 Son of God compares to the relation between himself and his 
 Church sullies or lowers the heart. 
 
 Have these years then been lost 1 Have I wandered away 
 wilful and deluded from the lot of blessing God had appointed 
 me, since that terrible time of the plague, at Eisenach ] Have 
 all these been wasted years 1 Has all the suffering been fruit- 
 less, unnecessary pain ] And, after all, do I return with precious 
 time lost and strength diminished just to the point I might have 
 reached so long ago ? 
 
 For Eva I am certain this is not so ; every step of her way, 
 the loving Hand has led her. Did not the convent through her 
 become a home or a way to the Eternal Home to many? But
 
 368 Chronicles of the Sch'dnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 for me? No, for me also the years have brought more than 
 they have taken away ! Those who are to help the perplexed 
 and toiling men of their time, must first go down into the con- 
 flicts of their time. Is it not this which makes even Martin 
 Luther the teacher of our nation ? Is it not this which qualifies 
 weak and sinful men to be preachers of the gospel instead of 
 angels from heaven? 
 
 The holy angels sang on their heavenly heights the glad 
 tidings of great joy, but the shepherds, the fishermen, and the 
 publican spoke it in the homes of men! The angel who 
 liberated the apostles from prison said, as if spontaneously, from 
 the fulness of his heart, " Go speak to the people the words oj 
 this lifer But the trembling lips of Peter who had denied, and 
 Thomas who had doubted, and John who had misunderstood, 
 were to speak the life-giving words to men, denying, doubting, 
 misconceiving men, to tell what they knew, and how the Saviour 
 could forgive. 
 
 The voice that had been arrested in cowardly curses by the 
 look of divine pardoning love, had a tone in it the Archangel 
 Michael's could never have ! 
 
 And when the Pharisees, hardest of all, were to be reached, 
 God took a Pharisee of the Pharisees, a blasphemer, a perse- 
 cutor, one who could say, " I might also have confidence in the 
 flesh," " I persecuted the Church of God." 
 
 Was David's secret contest in vain, when slaying the lion and 
 the bear, to defend those few sheep in the wilderness, he proved 
 the weapons with which he slew Goliath and rescued the hosts 
 of Israel? Were Martin Luther's years in the convent of Erfurt 
 lost ? Or have they not been the school-days of his life, the 
 armoury where his weapons were forged, the gymnasium in 
 which his eye and hand were trained for the battle-field? 
 
 He has seen the monasteries from within ; he has felt the 
 monastic life from within. He can say of all these external rules, 
 " I have proved them, and found them powerless to sanctify the 
 heart." It is this which gives the irresistible power to his speak- 
 ing and writing. It is this which by God's grace enables him 
 to translate the Epistles of Paul the Pharisee and the Apostle as 
 he has done. The truths had been translated by the Holy
 
 Fritz's Story. 36} 
 
 Spirit into the language of his experience, and graven on his 
 heart long before ; so that in rendering the Greek into German 
 he also testified of things he had seen, and the Bible from his 
 pen reads as if it had been originally written in German, for the 
 German people. 
 
 To me also in my measure these years have not been time 
 lost. There are many truths that one only learns in their ful- 
 ness by proving the bitter bondage of the errors they contradict. 
 
 Perhaps also we shall help each other and others around us 
 better for having been thus trained apart. I used to dream of 
 the joy of leading her into life. But now God gives her back 
 to me enriched with all those years of separate experience, not 
 as the Eva of childhood, when I saw her last, but ripened to 
 perfect womanhood ; not merely to reflect my thoughts, but to 
 blend the fulness of her life with mine. 
 
 24
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Cuba's Btavn. 
 
 Wittemberg, January 1525. 
 
 [OW little idea I had how the thought of Fritz was inter- 
 woven with all my life ! He says he knew only too 
 well how the thought of me was bound up with every 
 hope and affection of his ! 
 
 But he contended against it long. He said that conflict was 
 far more agonizing than all he suffered in the prison since. For 
 many years he thought it sin to think of me. I never thought 
 it sin to think of him. I was sure it was not, whatever my con- 
 fessor might say. Because I had always thanked God more than 
 for anything else in the world, for all he had been to me, and 
 had taught me, and I felt so sure what I could thank God for 
 could not be wrong. 
 
 But now it is duty to love him best. Of that I am quite sure. 
 And certainly it is not difficult. My only fear is that he will be 
 disappointed in me when he learns just what I am, day by day, 
 with all the halo of distance gone. And yet I am not really 
 afraid. Love weaves better glories than the mists of distance. 
 And we do not expect miracles from each other, or that life is 
 to be a Paradise. Only the unutterable comfort of being side 
 by side in every conflict, trial, joy, and supporting each other! 
 If I can say " only " of that ! For I do believe our help will be 
 mutual. Far weaker and less wise as I am than he is, with a 
 range of thought and experience so much narrower, and a force 
 of purpose so much feebler, I feel I have a kind of strength 
 which may in some way, at some times even help Fritz. And 
 it is this which makes me see the good of these separated years, 
 in which otherwise I might have lost so much. With him the 
 whole world seems so much larger and higher to me, and yet
 
 Evas Story. 371 
 
 during these years, I do feel God has taught me something, and 
 it is a happiness to have a little more to bring him than I could 
 have had in my early girlhood. 
 
 It was for my sake, then, he made that vow of leaving us for 
 ever ! 
 
 And Aunt Cotta is so happy. On that evening when he 
 returned, and we three were left alone, she said, after a few 
 minutes' silence — 
 
 " Children, let us all kneel down, and thank God that he has 
 given me the desire of my heart." 
 
 And afterwards she told us what she had always wished and 
 planned for Fritz and me, and how she had thought his aban- 
 doning of the world a judgment for her sins; but how she was 
 persuaded now that the curse borne for us was something in- 
 finitely more than anything she could have endured, and that it 
 had been all borne, and nailed to the bitter cross, and rent and 
 blotted out for ever. And now, she said, she felt as if the last 
 shred of evil were gone, and her life were beginning again in us 
 — to be blessed and a blessing beyond her utmost dreams. 
 
 Fritz does not like to speak much of what he suffered in the 
 prison of that Dominican convent, and least of all to me; 
 because, although I repeat to myself, " It is over — over for ever ! " 
 — whenever I think of his having been on the dreadful rack, it 
 all seems present again. 
 
 He was on the point of escaping the very night they came and 
 led him in for examination in the torture-chamber. And after 
 that, they carried him back to prison, and seem to have left him 
 to die there. For two days they sent him no food ; but then 
 the young monk who had first spoken to him, and induced him 
 to come to the convent, managed to steal to him almost every 
 day with food and water, and loving words of sympathy, until 
 his strength revived a little, and they escaped together through 
 the opening he had dug in the wall before the examination. 
 But their escape was soon discovered, and they had to hide in 
 the caves and recesses of the forest for many weeks before they 
 could strike across the country.and find their way to Wittem- 
 berg at last. 
 
 But it is over now. And yet not over. He who suffered will
 
 37 ; 
 
 Chronicles of the Schdnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 never forget the suffering faithfully borne for him. And the 
 prison at the Dominican convent will be a fountain of strength 
 for his preaching among the peasants in the Thuringian Forest. 
 He will be able to say, " God can sustain in all trials. He will 
 not suffer you to be tempted above that you are able to bear. 
 I know it, for I have proved it." And I think that will help him 
 better to translate the Bible to the hearts of the poor, than even 
 the Greek and Hebrew he learned at Rome and Tubingen.
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 (disc's jstforjj. 
 
 LL our little world is in such a tumult of thankfulness 
 and joy at present, that I think I am the only sober 
 person left in it. 
 
 The dear mother hovers around her two lost ones with quiet 
 murmurs of content, like a dove around her nest, and is as 
 absorbed as if she were marrying her first daughter, or were a 
 bride herself, instead of being the established and honoured 
 grandmother that she is. Chriemhild and I might find it 
 difficult not to be envious, if we had not our own private con- 
 solations at home. 
 
 Eva and Fritz are certainly far more reasonable, and instead 
 of regarding the whole world as centering in them, like our dear 
 mother, appear to consider themselves made to serve the whole 
 world, which is more Christian-like, but must also have its limits. 
 I cannot but feel it a great blessing for them that they have 
 Chriemhild and Ulrich, and more especially Gottfried u.nd me, 
 to look after their temporal affairs. 
 
 For instance, house linen. Eva, of course, has not a piece ; 
 and as to her bridal attire, I believe she would be content to be 
 married in a nun's robe, or in the peasant's dress she escaped 
 from Nimptschen in. However, I have stores which, as Gretchen 
 is not likely to require them just yet, will, no doubt, answer the 
 purpose. Gretchen is not more than eight, but I always think 
 it well to be beforehand ; and my maidens had already a stock 
 of linen enough to stock several chests for her, which, under the 
 circumstances, seems quite a special providence. 
 
 Gottfried insists upon choosing her wedding dress. And my 
 mother believes her own ancestral jewelled head-dress with the
 
 374 Chronicles of tlie Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 pearls (which once in our poverty we nearly sold to a merchant 
 at Eisenach) has been especially preserved for Eva. 
 
 It is well that Atlantis, who is to be married on the same 
 day, is the meekest and most unselfish of brides, and that her 
 marriage outfit is already all but arranged. 
 
 Chriemhild and Ulrich have persuaded the old knight to re- 
 build the parsonage ; and she writes what a delight it is to 
 watch it rising among the cottages in the village, and think of 
 the fountain of blessing that house will be to all. 
 
 Our grandmother insists on working with her dear, feeble 
 hands, on Eva's wedding stores, and has ransacked her scanty 
 remnants of former splendour, and brought out many a quaint 
 old jewel from the ancient Schonberg treasures. 
 
 Christopher is secretly preparing them a library of all Dr. 
 Luther's and Dr. Melancthon's books, beautifully bound, and I 
 do not know how many learned works besides. 
 
 And the melancholy has all passed from Fritz's face, or only 
 remains as the depth of a river to bring out the sparkle of its 
 ripples. 
 
 The strain seems gone from Eva's heart and his. They both 
 seem for the first time all they were meant to be. 
 
 Just now, however, another event is almost equally filling 
 our grandmother's heart. 
 
 A few days since, Christopher brought in two foreigners to 
 introduce to us. When she saw them, her work dropped from 
 her hands, and half rising to meet them, she said some words 
 in a language strange to all of us. 
 
 The countenance of the strangers brightened as she spoke, 
 and they replied in the same language. 
 
 After a few minutes' conversation, our grandmother turned to 
 us, and said, — 
 
 " They are Bohemians, — they are Hussites. They know my 
 husband's name. The truth he died for is still living in my 
 country." 
 
 The rush of old associations was too much for her. Her 
 lips quivered, the tears fell slowly over her cheeks, and she 
 could not say another word. 
 
 The strangers consented to remain under my father's roof for
 
 Elst's Story. 375 
 
 the night, and told us the errand which brought them to Wittem- 
 berg. 
 
 From generation to generation, since John Husswas martyred, 
 they said, the truth he taught had been preserved in Bohemia, 
 always at the risk, and often at the cost of life. Sometimes it 
 had perplexed them much that nowhere in the world beside 
 could they hear of those who believed the same truth. Could 
 it be possible that the truth of God was banished to the moun- 
 tain fastnesses 1 Like Elijah of old, they felt disposed to cry 
 in their wilderness, " I, only I, am left." 
 
 " But they could not have been right to think thus," said my 
 mother, who never liked the old religion to be too much re- 
 proached. " God has always had his own who have loved him, in 
 the darkest days. From how many convent cells have pious 
 hearts looked up to him. It requires great teaching of the Holy 
 Spirit and many battles to make a Luther; but, I think, it re- 
 quires only to touch the hem of Christ's garment to make a 
 Christian. 
 
 " Yes," said Gottfried, opening our beloved commentary on 
 the Galatians, " what Dr. Luther said is true indeed, ' Some there 
 were in the olden time whom God called by the text of the 
 gospel ar.d by baptism. These walked in simplicity and hum- 
 bleness of heart, thinking the monks and friars, and such only 
 as were anointed by the bishops, to be religious and holy, and 
 themselves to be profane and secular, and not worthy to be 
 compared to them. Wherefore, they feeling in themselves no 
 good works to set against the wrath and judgment of God, did 
 fly to the death and passion of Christ, and were saved in this 
 simplicity.' " 
 
 " No doubt it was so," said the Bohemian deputies. " But 
 all this was hidden from the eye of man. Twice our fathers 
 sent secret messengers through the length and breadth of Chris- 
 tendom to see if they could find any that did understand, that 
 did seek after God, and everywhere they found carelessness, 
 superstition, darkness, but no response." 
 
 " Ah," said my mother, " that is a search only the eye of God 
 can make. Yet, doubtless, the days were dark." 
 
 " They came back without having met with any response,"
 
 376 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 continued the strangers, " and again our fathers had to toil and 
 suffer on alone. And now the sounds of life have reached us 
 in our mountain solitudes from all parts of the world ; and we 
 have come to Wittemberg to hear the voice which awoke them 
 first, and to claim brotherhood with the evangelical Christians 
 here. Dr. Luther has welcomed us, and we return to our 
 mountains to tell our people that the morning has dawned on 
 the world at last." 
 
 The evening passed in happy intercourse, and before we 
 separated, Christopher brought his lute, and we all sang to- 
 gether the hymn of John Huss, which Dr. Luther has published 
 among his own : — 
 
 " Jesus Christus nostra salus," 
 
 and afterwards Luther's own glorious hymn in German :— 
 
 " Nun freut euch lieben Christen gemein." 
 
 Dear Christian people, all rejoice, 
 Each soul with joy upspringing ; 
 
 Pour forth one song with heart and voice, 
 With love and gladness singing. 
 
 Give thanks to God, our Lord above — 
 
 Thanks for his miracle of love ; 
 Dearly he hath redeemed us ! 
 
 The devil's captive bound I lay, 
 Lay in death's chains forlorn ; 
 
 My sins distressed me night and day — 
 The sin within me born ; 
 
 I could not do the thing I would, 
 
 In all my life was nothing good, 
 Sin had possessed me wholly. 
 
 My good works could no comfort shed, 
 Worthless must they be rated ; 
 
 My free will to all good was dead, 
 And God's just judgments hated. 
 
 Me of all hope my sins bereft: 
 
 Nothing but death to me was left, 
 And death was hell's dark portal. 
 
 Then God saw with deep pity moved 
 My grief that knew no measure ; 
 
 Pitying he saw, and freely loved, — 
 To save me was his pleasure. 
 
 The Father's heart to me was stirred. 
 
 He saved me with no sovereign word, 
 His very best it cost him. 
 
 He spoke to his beloved Son 
 
 With infinite compassion, 
 " Go hence, my heart's most precious crnwn 
 
 Be to the lost salvation ; 
 Death, his relentless tyrant slay, 
 And bear him from his sins away, 
 
 With thee to live forever." 
 
 Willing the Sou took that behest, 
 
 Born of a maiden mother, 
 To his own earth he came a guest, 
 
 And made himself my brother. 
 All secretly he went his way, 
 Veiled in my mortal flesh he lay, 
 
 And thus the foe he vanquished. 
 
 He said to me, "Cling close to me, 
 
 Thy sorrows now are ending ; 
 Freely I gave myself for thee, 
 
 Thy life with mine defending 
 For I am thine, and thou art mine, 
 And where I am there thou shalt shine, 
 
 The foe shall never reach us. 
 
 True, he will shed my heart's life blood, 
 
 And torture me to death ; 
 All this I suffer for thy good, 
 
 This hold with earnest faith. 
 Death dieth through my life divine ; 
 
 I sinless bear those sins of thine, 
 
 And so shalt thou be rescued.
 
 ElsVs Story, 
 
 377 
 
 1 rise again to heaven from hence, 
 High to my Father soaring, 
 
 Thy Master there to be, and thence, 
 My Spirit on thee pouring; 
 
 In every grief to comfort thee, 
 
 And teach thee more and more of me, 
 Into all truth still guiding. 
 
 What I have done and taught on eirth, 
 Do thou, and teach, none dreading ; 
 
 That so God's kingdom may go forth, 
 And his high praise be spreading ; 
 
 And guard thee from the words of men, 
 
 Lest the great joy be lost again ; 
 Thus my last charge I leave thee." 
 
 Afterwards, at our mother's especial desire, Eva and Fritz 
 sang a Latin resurrection hymn from the olden time.* 
 
 The renewal of the world 
 
 Countless new joys bringeth forth: 
 Christ arising, all things rise — 
 
 Rise with him from earth. 
 All the creatures feel their Lord — 
 
 Feel his festal light outpoured. 
 
 Fire springs up with motion free, 
 Breezes wake up soft and warm ; 
 
 Water flows abundantly, 
 Earth remaineth firm. 
 
 All things light now sky-ward soar, 
 
 Solid things are rooted more : 
 All things are made new. 
 
 Ocean waves, grown tranquil, lie 
 Smiling 'neath the heavens serene ; 
 
 All the air breathes light and fresh ; 
 Our valley groweth green. 
 
 Verdure clothes the arid plain, 
 Frozen waters gush again 
 At the touch of spring. 
 
 For the frost of death is melted 
 The prince of this world lieth low ; 
 
 And his empire strong among us, 
 All is broken now. 
 
 Grasping Him in whom alone 
 
 He could nothing claim or own. 
 His domain he lost. 
 
 Paradise is now regained, 
 Life has vanquished death ; 
 
 And the joys he long had lost, 
 Man recovereth. 
 
 The cherubim at God's own word 
 
 Turn aside the flaming sword ; 
 
 The long-lost blessing is restored, 
 The closed way opened free. 1 
 
 The next morning the strangers left us ; but all the day our 
 grandmother sat silent and tranquil, with her hands clasped, in 
 an inactivity very unusual with her. In the evening, when we 
 had assembled again — as we all do now every day in the old 
 house — she said quietly, " Children, sing to me the ' Nunc 
 Dimittis.' God has fulfilled every desire of my heart ; and, if 
 he willed it, I should like now to depart in peace to my dead. 
 For I know they live unto him." 
 
 Afterwards, we fell into conversation about the past. It was 
 the eve of the wedding-day of Eva and Fritz, and Atlantis and 
 Conrad. And we, a family united in one faith, naturally spoke 
 
 * Mundi renovatio 
 
 Nova parit gaudia, 
 Resurgente Domino 
 Conresurgunt omnia; 
 
 The translation only is given above, 
 t Adam of St. Victor, twelfth century. 
 
 Elementa serviunt, 
 Et auctoris sentiunt, 
 Quanta sint solemnia. 
 &c. &c. &c.
 
 378 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 together of the various ways in which God had led us to the 
 one end. 
 
 The old days rose up before me, when the ideal of holiness 
 had towered above my life, grim and stony, like the fortress of 
 the Wartburg (in which my patroness had lived), above the 
 streets of Eisenach ; and when even Christ the Lord seemed to 
 me, as Dr. Luther says, " a law -maker giving more strait and 
 heavy commands than Moses himself" — an irrevocable, unap- 
 proachable Judge, enthroned far up in the cold spaces of the 
 sky ; and heaven, like a convent, with very high walls, peopled 
 by nuns rigid as Aunt Agnes. And then the change which 
 came over all my heart when I learned, through Dr. Luther's 
 teaching, that God is love — is our Father ; that Christ is the 
 Saviour, who gave himself for our sins, and loved us better than 
 life ; that heaven is our Father's house ; that holiness is simply 
 loving God — who is so good, and who has so loved us, and, 
 loving one another, that the service we have to render is simply 
 to give thanks and to do good ; — when, as Dr. Luther said, that 
 word " our " was written deeply in my heart — that for our sins 
 He died— for mine,— that for all, for us, for me, He gave him- 
 self. 
 
 And then Fritz told us how he had toiled and tormented 
 himself to reconcile God to him, until he found, through Dr. 
 Luther's teaching, that our sins have been borne away by the 
 Lamb of God— the sacrifice not of man's gift, but of God's ; 
 " that in that one person, Jesus Christ, we had forgiveness of 
 sins and eternal life ;" that God is to us as the father to the 
 prodigal son — entreating us to be reconciled to Him. And he 
 told us also, how he had longed for a priest, who could know 
 infallibly all his heart, and secure him from the deceitfulness 
 and imperfectness of his own confessions, .and assure him that, 
 knowing all his sin to its depths, with all its aggravations, he 
 yet pronounced him absolved. And at last he had found that 
 Priest, penetrating to the depths of his heart, tracing every act 
 to its motive, every motive to its source, and yet pronouncing 
 him absolved, freely, fully, at once — imposing no penance, but 
 simply desiring a life of thanksgiving in return. "And this 
 Priest," he added, " is with me always ; I make my confession
 
 ElsPs Story. 379 
 
 to him every evening, or oftener, if I need it; and as often as I 
 confess, He absolves, and bids me be of good courage — go in 
 peace, and sin no more. But He is not on earth. He dwells 
 in the holy of holies, which never more is empty, like the soli- 
 tary sanctuaiy of the old temple on all days in the year but one. 
 He ever liveth to make intercession for us !" 
 
 Then we spoke together of the two great facts Dr. Luther had 
 unveiled to us from the Holy Scriptures, that there is one sac- 
 rifice of atonement, the spotless Lamb of God, who gave him- 
 self once for our sins; and that there is but one priestly Medi- 
 ator, the Son of Man and Son of God ; that, in consequence of 
 this, all Christians are a holy priesthood to offer up spiritual 
 sacrifices; and the feeblest has his offering, which, through 
 Jesus Christ, God delights to accept, having first accepted the 
 sinner himself in the Beloved. 
 
 Our mother spoke to us, in a few words, of the dreadful 
 thoughts she had of God — picturing him rather as the lightning 
 than the light; of the curse which she feared was lowering like 
 a thunder-cloud over her life, until Dr. Luther began to show 
 her that the curse has been borne for us by Him who was made 
 a curse for us, and removed for ever from all who trust in him. 
 " And then," she said, " the Holy Supper taught me the rest. 
 He bore for us the cross; he spreads for us the feast. We 
 have, indeed, the cross to bear, but never more the curse; the 
 cross from man, temptation from the devil, but from God 
 nothing but blessing." 
 
 But Eva said she could not remember the time when she did 
 not think God good and kind beyond all. There were many 
 other things in religion which perplexed her; but this had always 
 seemed clear, that God so loved the world, he gave his Son. 
 And she had always hoped that all the rest would be clear one 
 day in the light of that love. The joy which Dr. Luther's 
 writings had brought her was, she thought, like seeing the stains 
 cleared away from some beautiful painting, whose beauty she 
 had known but not fully seen — or like having a misunderstand- 
 ing explained about a dear friend. She had always wondered 
 about the hard penances to appease One who loved so much, 
 and the many mediators to approach Him ; and it had been an
 
 3 So Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 inexpressible delight to find that these were all a mistake, and 
 that access to God was indeed open — that the love and the sin, 
 — life and death, — had met on the cross, and the sin had been 
 blotted out, and death swallowed up of life. 
 
 In such discourse we passed the eve of the wedding-day. 
 
 And now the day has vanished like a bright vision ; our little 
 gentle loving Atlantis has gone with her husband to their distant 
 home, the bridal crowns are laid aside, and Eva and Fritz in 
 their sober every-day dress, but with the crown of unfading joy 
 in their hearts, have gone together to their lowly work in the 
 forest, to make one more of those hallowed pastor's homes 
 which are springing up now in the villages of our land. 
 
 But Gretchen's linen-chest is likely to be long before it can 
 be stored again. We have just received tidings of the escape 
 of Eva's friends, the nine nuns of Nimptschen, from the con- 
 vent, at last ! They wrote to Dr. Luther, who interested himself 
 much in seeking asylums for them. And now Master Leonard 
 Koppe of Torgau has brought them safely to Wittemberg con- 
 cealed in his beer waggon. They say one of the nuns in their 
 haste left her slipper behind. They are all to be received into 
 various homes, and Gottfried and I are to have the care of 
 Catherine von Bora, the most determined and courageous, it is 
 said, of all, from whose cell they effected their escape. 
 
 I have been busy preparing the guest-chamber for her, strew- 
 ing lavender on the linen, and trying to make it home-like for 
 the young maiden who is banished for Christ's sake from her 
 old home. 
 
 I think it must bring blessings to any home to have such 
 guests. 
 
 June IS23. 
 
 Our guest, the noble maiden Catherine von Bora, has arrived. 
 Grave and reserved she seems to be, although Eva spoke of her 
 as very cheerful, and light as well as firm of heart I feel a 
 little afraid of her. Her carriage has a kind of majesty about it 
 which makes me offer her more deference than sympathy. Her 
 eyes are dark and flashing, and her forehead is high and calm. 
 
 This is not so remarkable in me, I having been always easily 
 appalled by dignified persons; but even Dr. Luther, it seems to
 
 E/sc's Story. 3S1 
 
 me, is somewhat awed by this young maiden. He thinks her 
 rather haughty and reserved. I am not sure whether it is pride 
 or a certain maidenly dignity. 
 
 I am afraid I have too much of the homely burgher Cotta 
 nature to be quite at ease with her. 
 
 Our grandmother would doubtless have understood her bettei 
 than either our gentle mother or I, but the dear feeble form 
 seems to have been gradually failing since that meeting with 
 the emissaries of the Bohemian Church. Since the wedding 
 she has not once left her bed. She seems to live more than 
 ever in the past, and calls people by the names she knew them 
 in her early days, speaking of our grandfather as " Franz," and 
 calling our mother "Greta" instead of "the mother." In the 
 past she seems to live, and in that glorious present, veiled from 
 her view by so thin a veil. Towards heaven the heart, whose 
 earthly vision is closing, is as open as ever. I sit beside her 
 and read the Bible and Dr. Luther's books, and Gretchen says 
 to her some of the new German hymns, Dr.. Luther's, and his 
 translation of John Huss's hymns. To-day she made me read 
 again and again this passage, — " Christian faith is not, as some 
 say, an empty husk in the heart until love shall quicken it; but 
 if it be true faith, it is a sure trust and confidence in the heart 
 whereby Christ is apprehended, so that Christ is the object of 
 faith; yea, rather even, hi faith Christ himself is present. Faith 
 therefore justifieth because it apprehendeth and possesseth this 
 treasure, Christ present. Wherefore Chri- apprehended by 
 faith, and dwelling in the heart, is the true Christian right- 
 eousness." 
 
 It is strange to sit in the old house, now so quiet, with our 
 dear blind father downstairs, and only Thekla at home of all the 
 sisters, and the light in that brave, strong heart of our grand 
 mother growing slowly dim; or to he^r the ringing sweet childish 
 voice of Gretchen repeating the hymns of this glorious new time 
 to the failing heart of the olden time. 
 
 Last night, while I watched beside that sick-bed, I thought 
 rnuch of Dr. Luther alone in the Augustinian monastery, 
 patiently abiding in the dwelling his teaching has emptied, send- 
 ing forth thence workers and teachers throughout the world ;
 
 382 Chronicles of the Sclwnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 and as I pondered what he has been to us, to Fritz and Eva in 
 their lowly hallowed home, to our mother, to our grandmother, 
 to the Bohemian people, to little Gretchen singing her hymns 
 to me, to the nine rescued nuns, to Aunt Agnes in the convent, 
 and Christopher at his busy printing-press, to young and old, 
 religious and secular ; I wonder what the new time will bring to 
 that brave, tender, warm heart which has set so many hearts 
 which were in bondage free, and made life rich to so many who 
 were poor, yet has left his own life so solitary still.
 
 XXIX. 
 
 €ba's £torj|. 
 
 Thuringian Forest, "July 1523. 
 
 T is certainly very much happier for Fritz and me to 
 live in the pastor's house than in the castle ; down 
 among the homes of men, and the beautiful mysteries 
 of this wonderful forest land, instead of towering high above all 
 on a fortified height. Not of course that I mean the heart may 
 not be as lowly in the castle as in the cottage; but it seems to 
 me a richer and more fruitful life to dwell among the people 
 than to be raised above them. The character of the dwelling 
 seems to symbolize the nature of the life. And what lot can be 
 so blessed as ours 1 
 
 Linked to all classes that we may serve our Master who came 
 to minister among all. In education equal to the nobles, or 
 rather to the patrician families of the great cities, who so far 
 surpass the country proprietors in culture, — in circumstances the 
 pastor is nearer the peasant, knowing by experience what are 
 the homely trials of straitened means. Little offices of kindness 
 can be interchanged between us. Muhme Triidchen finds a 
 pure pleasure in bringing me a basket of her new-laid eggs as 
 an acknowledgment of Fritz's visits to her sick boy; and it 
 makes it all the sweeter to cany food to the family of the old 
 charcoal-burner in the forest-clearing that our meals for a day 
 or two have to be a little plainer in consequence. I think gifts 
 which come from loving contrivance and a little self-denial, must 
 be more wholesome to receive than the mere overflowings of a 
 full store. And I am sure they are far sweeter to give. Our 
 lowly home seems in some sense the father's house of the village ; 
 and it is such homes, such hallowed centres of love and minis-
 
 384 Chronicles of the Scli'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 try, which God through our Luther is giving back to village after 
 village in our land. 
 
 But, as Fritz says, I must be careful not to build our parsonage 
 into a pinnacle higher than any castle, just to make a pedestal 
 for him, which I certainly sometimes detect myself doing. His 
 gifts seem to me so rich, and his character is, I am sure, so 
 noble, that it is natural I should picture to myself his vocation 
 as the highest in the world. That it is the highest, however, 
 I am secretly convinced ; the highest as long as it is the 
 lowliest. 
 
 The people begin to be quite at home with us now. There 
 are no great gates, no moat, no heavy drawbridge between us 
 and the peasants. Our doors stand open ; and timid hands 
 which could never knock to demand admittance at castle or 
 convent gate can venture gently to lift our latch. Mothers 
 creep to the kitchen with their sick children to ask for herbs, 
 lotions, or drinks, which I learned to distil in the convent. 
 And then I can ask them to sit down, and we often naturally 
 begin to speak of Him who healed the sick people with a word, 
 and took the little children from the mothers' arms to His to 
 bless them. Sometimes, too, stories of wrong and sorrow come 
 out to me which no earthly balm can cure, and I can point to 
 Him who only can heal because He only can forgive. 
 
 Then Fritz says he can preach so differently from knowing 
 the heart-cares and burdens of his flock ; and the people seem 
 to feel so differently when they meet again from the pulpit with 
 sacred words and histories which they have grown familiar with 
 in the home. 
 
 A few of the girls come to me also to learn sewing or knitting, 
 and to listen or learn to read Bible stories. Fritz meanwhile 
 instructs the boys in the Scriptures and in sacred music, because 
 the schoolmaster is growing old and can teach the children little 
 but a few Latin prayers by rote, and to spell out the German 
 alphabet. 
 
 I could not have imagined such ignorance as we have found 
 here. It seems, Fritz says, as if the first preachers of Chris- 
 tianity to the Germans had done veiy much for the heart of the 
 nation what the first settlers did for its forests, made a clearing
 
 Eva's Story. 3X5 
 
 here and there, built a church, and left the rest to its original 
 state. 
 
 The bears and wolves which prowl about the forest, and 
 sometimes in winter venture close to the thresholds of our 
 houses, are no wilder than the wild legends which haunt the 
 hearts of the peasants. On Sundays they attire themselves in 
 their holiday clothes, come to hear mass, bow before the sacred 
 host, and the crucifix, and image of the Virgin, and return to 
 continue during the week their everyday terror-worship of the 
 spirits of the forest. They seem practically to think our Lord 
 is the God of the church and the village, while the old pagan 
 sprites retain possession of the forest. They appear scarcely 
 even quite to have decided St. Christopher's question, " Which 
 is the strongest, that I may worship him 1 " 
 
 But, alas, whether at church or in the forest, the worship 
 they have been taught seems to have been chiefly one of fear. 
 The Cobolds and various sprites they believe will bewitch their 
 cows, set fire to their hay-stacks, lead them astray through the 
 forest, steal their infants from the cradle to replace them by 
 fairy changelings. Their malignity and wrath they deprecate, 
 therefore, by leaving them gleanings of corn or nuts, by speaking 
 of them with feigned respect, or by Christian words and prayer, 
 which they use as spells. 
 
 From the Almighty God they fear severer evil. He, they 
 think, is to sit on the dreadful day of wrath on the judgment 
 throne to demand strict account of all their misdeeds. Against 
 His wrath also they have been taught to use various remedies 
 which seem to us little better than a kind of spiritual spells ; 
 paters, aves, penances, confession, indulgences. 
 
 To protect them against the forest sprites they have secret 
 recourse to certain gifted persons, mostly shrivelled, solitary, 
 weird old women (successors, Fritz says, of the old pagan 
 prophetesses), who for money perform certain rites of white 
 magic for them ; or give them written charms to wear, or teach 
 them magic rhymes to say. 
 
 To protect them against God, they used to have recourse to 
 the priest, who performed masses for them, laid ghosts, absolved 
 sins, promised to turn aside the vengeance of offended heaven. 
 
 25
 
 386 Chronicles of the Sc/wnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 But in both cases they seem to have the melancholy per- 
 suasion that the ruling power is hostile to them. In both cases, 
 religion is not so much a worship as a spell; not an approach 
 to God, but an interposing of something to keep off the weight 
 of his dreaded presence. 
 
 When first we began to understand this, it used to cost me 
 many tears. 
 
 " How can it be," I said one day to Fritz, " that all the world 
 seems so utterly to misunderstand God 1 " 
 
 " There is an enemy in the world," he said, solemnly, " sowing 
 lies about God in every heart." 
 
 " Yet God is mightier than Satan," I said ; " how is it then 
 that no ray penetrates through the darkness from fruitful seasons, 
 from the beauty of the spring time, from the abundance of the 
 harvest, from the joys of home, to show the people that God 
 is lover' 
 
 " Ah, Eva," he said sadly, " have you forgotten that not only 
 is the devil in the world, but sin in the heart 1 He lies, indeed, 
 about God, when he persuades us that God grudges us blessings; 
 but he tells the truth about ourselves when he reminds us that 
 we are sinners, under the curse of the good and lovingjaw. The 
 lie would not stand for an instant if it were not founded on the 
 truth. It is only by confessing the truth, on which his false- 
 hood is based, that we can destroy it. We must say to the 
 peasants, " Your fear is well founded. See on that cross what 
 your sin cost ! " 
 
 " But the old religion displayed the crucifix," I said. 
 
 " Thank God, it did — it does ! " he said. " But, instead of 
 the crucifix, we have to tell of a cross from which the Crucified 
 is gone ; of an empty tomb and a risen Saviour ; of the curse 
 removed ; of God, who gave the Sacrifice, welcoming back the 
 Sufferer to the throne." 
 
 We have not made much change in the outward ceremonies. 
 Only, instead of the sacrifice of the mass, we have the Feast of 
 the Holy Supper ; no elevation of the host, no saying of private 
 masses for the dead ; and ail the prayers, thanksgivings, and 
 hymns, in German. 
 
 Dr. Luther still retains the Latin in some of the services of
 
 Eva's Story. 3$ 7 
 
 Wittemberg, on account of its being an university town, that 
 the youth may be trained in the ancient languages. He said 
 he would gladly have some of the services in Greek and Hebrew, 
 in order thereby to make the study of those languages as 
 common as that of Latin. But here in the forest, among the 
 ignorant peasants, and the knights, who, for the most part, 
 forget before old age what little learning they acquired in boy- 
 hood, Fritz sees no reason whatever for retaining the ancient 
 language ; and delightful it is to watch the faces of the people 
 when he reads the Bible or Luther's hymns, now that some of 
 them begin to understand that the divine service is something 
 in which their hearts and minds are to join, instead of a kind 
 of magic external rite to be performed for them. 
 
 It is a great delight also to us to visit Chriemhild and Ulrich 
 von Gersdorf at the castle. The old knight and Dame Her- 
 mentrud were very reserved with us at first ; but the knight has 
 always been most courteous to me, and Dame Hermentrud, 
 now that she is convinced we have no intention of trenching on 
 her state, receives us very kindly. 
 
 Between us, moreover, there is another tender bond, since 
 she has allowed herself to speak of her sister Beatrice, to me 
 known only as the subdued and faded aged nun ; to Dame 
 Hermentrud, and the aged retainers and villagers, remembered 
 in her bright, but early blighted, girlhood. 
 
 Again and again I have to tell her sister the story of her 
 gradual awakening from uncomplaining hopelessness to a lowly 
 and heavenly rest in Christ ; and of her meek and peaceful 
 death. 
 
 " Great sacrifices," she said once, " have to be made to the 
 honour of a noble lineage, Frau Pastorin. I also have had my 
 sorrows ; " and she opened a drawer of a cabinet, and showed 
 me the miniature portraits of a nobleman and his young boy, 
 her husband and son, both in armour. " These both were 
 slain in a feud with the family to which Beatrice's betrothed 
 belonged," she said bitterly. " And should our lines ever be 
 mingled in one?" 
 
 " But are these feuds never to die out?" I said. 
 
 " Yes," she replied sternly, leading me to a window, from
 
 388 Chronicles of the Schbnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 which we looked on a ruined castle in the distance. " That 
 feud has died out. The family is extinct ! " 
 
 " The Lord Christ tells us to forgive our enemies," I said 
 quietly. 
 
 " Undoubtedly," she replied ; " but the Von Bernsteins were 
 usurpers of our rights, robbers and murderers. Such wrongs 
 must be avenged, or society would fall to pieces." 
 
 Towards the peasants Dame Hermentrud has very condes- 
 cending and kindly feelings, and frequently gives us food and 
 clothing for them, although she still doubts the wisdom of 
 teaching them to read. 
 
 " Every one should be kept in his place," she says. 
 
 And as yet I do not think she can form any idea of heaven, 
 except as of a well organized community, in which the spirits 
 of the nobles preside loftily on the heights, while the spirits of 
 the peasants keep meekly to the valleys; the primary distinction 
 between earth and heaven being, that in heaven all will know 
 how to keep in their places. 
 
 And no doubt in one sense she is right. But how would she 
 like the order in which places in heaven are assigned 1 
 
 " The first shall be last, and the last first." 
 
 " He that is chief among you, let him be as he that doth serz>e." 
 
 Among the peasants sometimes, on the other hand, Fritz is 
 startled by the bitterness of feeling which betrays itself against 
 the lords ; how the wrongs of generations are treasured up, and 
 the name of Luther is chiefly revered from a vague idea that he, 
 the peasant's son, will set the peasants free. 
 
 Ah, when will God's order be established in the world, when 
 each, instead of struggling upwards in selfish ambition, and 
 pressing others down in mean pride — looking up to envy, and 
 looking down to scorn — shall look up to honour and look down 
 to help ! when all shall "by love serve one another?" 
 
 September 1523. 
 
 We have now a guest of whom I do not dare to speak to 
 Dame Hermentrud. Indeed, the whole history Fritz and I 
 will never tell to any here. 
 
 A few days since a worn, grey-haired old man came to our
 
 Eva's Story. 389 
 
 house, whom Fritz welcomed as an old friend. It was Priest 
 Ruprecht Haller, from Franconia. Fritz had told me something 
 of his history, so that I knew what he meant, when in a quiver- 
 ing voice he said, abruptly, taking Fritz aside, — 
 
 " Bertha is very ill — perhaps dying. I must never see her 
 any more. She will not suffer it, I know. Can you go and 
 speak a few words of comfort to her]" 
 
 Fritz expressed his readiness to do anything in his power, 
 and it was agreed that Priest Ruprecht was to stay with us that 
 night, and that they were to start together on the morrow for 
 the farm where Bertha was at service, which lay not many miles 
 off through the forest. 
 
 But in the night I had a plan, which I determined to set 
 going before I mentioned it to Fritz, because he will often con- 
 sent to a thing which is once begun, which he would think quite 
 impracticable if it is only J>roJ>osed; that is, especially as regards 
 anything in which I am involved. Accordingly, the next morning 
 I rose very early and went to our neighbour, Farmer Herder, to 
 ask him to lend us his old grey pony for the day, to bring home 
 an invalid. He consented, and before we had finished breakfast 
 the pony was at the door. 
 
 "What is this?" said Fritz. 
 
 " It is Farmer Herder's pony to take me to the farm where 
 Bertha lives, and to bring her back," I said. 
 
 "Impossible, my love!" said Fritz. 
 
 " But you see it is already all arranged, and begun to be 
 done," I said; "I am dressed, and the room is all ready to 
 receive her." 
 
 Priest Ruprecht rose from the table, and moved towards me, 
 exclaiming fervently, — 
 
 "God bless you !" Then seeming to fear that he had said 
 what he had no right to say, he added, " God bless you for the 
 thought. But it is too much ! " and he left the room. 
 
 "What would you do, Eva?" Fritz said, looking in much 
 perplexity at me. 
 
 " Welcome Bertha as a sister," I said, " and nurse her until 
 she is well." 
 
 "But how can I suffer you to be under one roof?" he said.
 
 39° Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 I could not help my eyes filling with tears. 
 
 " The Lord Jesus suffered such to anoint his feet," I said, 
 " and she, you told me, loves Him, has given up all dearest to 
 her to keep his words. Let us blot out the past as he does, 
 and let her begin life again from our home, if God wills it so." 
 
 Fritz made no further objection. And through the dewy 
 forest paths we went, we three; and with us, I think we all felt, 
 went Another, invisible, the Good Shepherd of the wandering 
 sheep. 
 
 Never did the green glades and forest flowers and solemn 
 pines seem to me more fresh and beautiful, and more like a 
 holy cathedral than that morning. 
 
 After a little meek resistance Bertha came back with Fritz 
 and me. Her sickness seemed to me to be more the decline 
 of one for whom life's hopes and work are over, than any 
 positive disease. And with care, the grey pony brought her 
 safely home. 
 
 Never did our dear home seem to welcome us so brightly as 
 when we led her back to it, for whom it was to be a sanctuaiy 
 of rest, and refuge from bitter tongues. 
 
 There was a little room over the porch which we had set 
 apart as the guest-chamber ; and very sweet it was to me that 
 Bertha should be its first inmate; very sweet to Fritz and me 
 that our home should be what our Lord's heart is, a refuge for 
 the outcast, the penitent, the solitary, and the sorrowful. 
 
 Such a look of rest came over her poor, worn face, when at 
 last she was laid on her little bed ! 
 
 " I think I shall get well soon," she said the next morning, 
 "and then you will let me stay and be your servant; when I 
 am strong I can work really hard, and there is something in you 
 both which makes me feel this like home." 
 
 "We will try," I said, "to find out what God would have 
 us do." 
 
 She does improve daily. Yesterday she asked for some spin- 
 ning, or other work to do, and it seems to cheer her wonderfully. 
 To-day she has been sitting in our dwelling-room with her spin- 
 ning-wheel. I introduced her to the villagers who come in as 
 a friend who has been ill. They do not know her history.
 
 Evas Story. 391 
 
 January 1524. 
 
 It is all accomplished now. The little guest-chamber over 
 the porch is empty again, and Bertha is gone. 
 
 As she was recovering Fritz received a letter from Priest 
 Ruprecht, which he read in silence, and then laid aside until 
 we were alone on one of our expeditions to the old charcoal- 
 burner's in the forest. 
 
 " Haller wants to see Bertha once more," he said, dubiously. 
 
 "And why not, Fritz?" I said; "why should not the old 
 wrong as far as possible be repaired, and those who have given 
 each other up at God's commandment, be given back to each 
 other by his commandment 1 ?" 
 
 " I have thought so often, my love," he said, " but I did not 
 know what you would think." 
 
 So after some little difficulty and delay, Bertha and Priest 
 Ruprecht Haller were married very quietly in our village church, 
 and went forth to a distant village in Pomerania, by the Baltic 
 Sea, from which Dr. Luther had received a request to send them 
 a minister of the gospel. 
 
 It went to my heart to see the two go forth together down 
 the village street, those two whose youth inhuman laws and 
 human weakness had so blighted. There was a reverence about 
 his tenderness to her, and a wistful lowliness in hers for him, 
 which said, " All that thou hast lost for me, as far as may be I 
 will make up to thee in the years that remain !" 
 
 But as we watched her pale face and feeble steps, and his 
 bent, though still vigorous form, Fritz took my hands as we 
 turned back into the house, and said, — 
 
 " It is well. But it can hardly be for long !" 
 
 And I could not answer him for tears.
 
 XXX. 
 
 rise's Story. 
 
 WlTTEMBERG, August 1524. 
 
 HE slow lingering months of decline are over. Yes- 
 terday our grandmother died. As I looked for the 
 last time on the face that had smiled on me from child- 
 hood, the hands which rendered so many little loving services 
 to me, none of which can evermore be returned to her, what a 
 sacred tenderness is thrown over all recollection of her, how 
 each little act of thoughtful consideration and self-denial rushes 
 back on the heart, what love I can see glowing through the 
 anxious care which sometimes made her a little querulous, 
 especially with my father, although never lately. 
 
 Can life ever be quite the same again 1 Can we ever forget 
 to bear tenderly with little infirmities such as those of hers, 
 which seem so blameless now, or to prize with a thankfulness 
 which would flood with sunshine our little cares, the love which 
 must one day be silent to us as she is now? 
 
 Her death seems to age us all into another generation ! She 
 lived from the middle of the old world into the full morning of 
 the new; and a whole age of the past seems to die with her. 
 But after seeing those Bohemian deputies and knowing that 
 Fritz and Eva were married, she ceased to wish to live. She 
 had lived, she said, through two mornings of time on earth, and 
 now she longed for the daybreak of heaven. 
 
 But yesterday morning, one of us ! and now one of the heavenly 
 host ! Yesterday we knew every thought of her heart, every 
 detail of her life, and now she is removed into a sphere of which 
 we know less than of the daily life of the most ancient of the 
 patriarchs. As Dr. Luther says, an infant on its mother's breast
 
 Els^s Story. 393 
 
 has as much understanding of the life before it, as we of the life 
 before us after death. " Yet," he saith also, " since God hath 
 made his world of earth and sky so fair, how much fairer that 
 imperishable world beyond ! " 
 
 All seems to me clear and bright after the resurrection ; but 
 now ? where is that spirit now, so familiar to us and so dear, and 
 now so utterly separated 1 
 
 Dr. Luther said, " A Christian should say, I know that it is 
 thus I shall journey hence ; when my soul goes forth, charge is 
 given to God's kings and high princes, who are the dear angels, 
 to receive me and convoy me safely home. The Holy Scrip- 
 tures, he writes, teach nothing of purgatory, but tell us that the 
 spirits of the just enjoy the sweetest and most delightful peace 
 and rest. How they live there, indeed, we know not, or what 
 the place is where they dwell. But this we know assuredly, they 
 are in no grief or pain, but rest in the grace of God. As in this 
 life they were, wont to fall softly asleep in the guard and keep- 
 ing of God and the dear angels, without fear of harm, although 
 the devils might prowl around them ; so after this life do they 
 repose in the hand of God." 
 
 " To depart and be with Christ is far better." 
 
 " To-day in Paradise with me." 
 
 " Absent from the body, at home with the Lord." 
 
 Everything for our peace and comfort concerning those who 
 are gone depends on what those words "with me" were to them 
 and are to us. Where and how they live, indeed, we know not ; 
 with Whom we know. The more then, O our Saviour and 
 theirs ! we know of Thee, the more we know of them. With 
 Thee, indeed, the waiting-time before the resurrection can be no 
 cold drear ante-chamber of the palace. Where Thou art, must 
 be light, love, and home. 
 
 Precious as Dr. Luther's own words are, what are they at a 
 time like this, compared with the word of God he has unveiled 
 to us 1 
 
 My mother, however, is greatly cheered by these words of 
 his, "Our Lord and Saviour grant us joyfully to see each other 
 again hereafter. For our faith is sure, and we doubt not that 
 we shall see each other again with Christ in a little while; since
 
 394 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 the departure from this life to be with Christ is less in God's 
 sight, than if I go from you to Mansfeld, or you took leave ol 
 me to go from Wittemberg to Mansfeld. This is assuredly true. 
 A brief hour of sleep and all will be changed.'' 
 
 Wittemberg, September 1524. 
 
 During this month we have been able often to give thanks 
 that the beloved feeble form is at rest. The times seem very 
 troublous. Dr. Luther thinks most seriously of them. Rum- 
 ours have reached us for some time of an uneasy feeling among 
 the peasantry. Fritz wrote about it from the Thuringian Forest. 
 The peasants, as our good Elector said lately, have suffered 
 many wrongs from their lords; and Fritz says they had formed 
 the wildest hopes of better days from Dr. Luther and his words. 
 They thought the days of freedom had come. And bitter and 
 hard it is for them to learn that the gospel brings freedom now 
 as of old by giving strength to suffer, instead of by suddenly re- 
 dressing wrong. The fanatics, moreover, have been among 
 them. The Zwickau prophets and Thomas Miinzer (silenced 
 last year at Wittemberg by Luther's return from the Wartburg), 
 have promised them all they actually expected from Luther. 
 Once more, they say, God is sending inspired men on earth, to 
 introduce a new order of things, no more to teach the saints how 
 to bow, suffer, and be patient; but how to fight and avenge 
 themselves of their adversaries, and to reign. 
 
 October 1524. 
 
 Now, alas, the peasants are in open revolt, rushing through 
 the land by tens of thousands. The insurrection began in the 
 Black Forest, and now it sweeps throughout the land, gathering 
 strength as it advances, and bearing everything before it by the 
 mere force of numbers and movement. City after city yields 
 and admits them, and swears to their Twelve Articles, which in 
 themselves they say are not so bad, if only they were enforced 
 by better means. Castle after castle is assailed and falls. Ul- 
 rich writes in burning indignation at the cruel deaths they have 
 inflicted on noble men and women, and on their pillaging the 
 convents. Fritz, on the other hand, writes entreating us not to
 
 Else's Story. 395 
 
 forget the long catalogue of legalized wrongs which had led to 
 this moment of fierce and lawless vengeance. 
 
 Dr. Luther, although sympathizing with the peasants by birth, 
 and by virtue of his own quick and generous indignation at in- 
 justice, whilst with a prophet's plainness he blames the nobles for 
 their exactions and tyranny, yet sternly demands the suppression 
 of the revoltwith the sword. He says this is essential, if it were only 
 to free the honest and well-meaning peasantry from the tyranny 
 of the ambitious and turbulent men who compel them to join 
 their banner on pain of death. With a heart that bleeds at every 
 severity, he counsels the severest measures as the most merciful. 
 More than once he and others of the Wittemberg doctors have 
 succeeded in quieting and dispersing riotous bands of the peas- 
 ants assembled by tens of thousands, with a few calm and ear- 
 nest words. But bitter, indeed, are these times to him. The 
 peasants whom he pities, and because he pities condemns, call 
 out that he has betrayed them, and threaten his life. The pre- 
 lates and princes of the old religion declare all this disorder and 
 pillage are only the natural consequences of his false doctrine. 
 But between them both he goes steadfastly forward, speaking 
 faithful words to all. More and more, however, as terrible 
 rumours reach us of torture, and murder, and wild pillage, he 
 seems to become convinced that mercy, and vigour are on the 
 same side. And now he, whose journey through Germany not 
 three years since was a triumphal procession, has to ride secretly 
 fron' place to place on his errands of peace-making, in danger 
 of being put to death by the people if he were discovered ! 
 
 My heart aches for these peasants. These are not the Phari- 
 sees who were " not blind" but understood only too well what 
 they rejected. They are the " multitudes," the common people, 
 who as of old heard the voice of love and truth gladly; for whom 
 dying he pleaded, " They know not what they do." 
 
 April 1325. 
 
 The tide has turned. The army of the empire, under Truch- 
 sess, is out. Philip of Hesse, after quieting his own dominions, 
 is come to Saxony to suppress the revolt here. Our own gentle 
 and merciful Elector, who so reluctantly drew the sword, is, they 
 say, dying. The world is full of change !
 
 396 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Meantime, in our little Wittemberg world, changes are in pro- 
 spect. It seems probable that Dr. Luther, after settling the 
 other eight nuns, and endeavouring also to find a home for 
 Catherine von Bora, will espouse her himself. A few months 
 since he tried to persuade her to marry Glatz, pastor of Orla- 
 mund, but she refused. And now it seems certain that the soli- 
 tary Augustinian convent will become a home, and that she will 
 make it so. 
 
 Gottfried and I cannot but rejoice. In this world of tumult 
 and unrest, it seems so needful that that warm, earnest heart 
 should have one place where it can rest, one heart that will un- 
 derstand and be true to him if all else should become estranged, 
 as so many have. And this, we trust, Catherine von Bora 
 will be to him. 
 
 Reserved, and with an innate dignity, which will befit the wife 
 of him whom God has called in so many ways to be the leader 
 of the hearts of men, she has a spirit which will prevent her 
 sinking into the mere reflection of that resolute character, and a 
 cheerfulness and womanly tact which will, we hope, sustain him 
 through many a depressing hour, such as those who wear earth's 
 crowns of any kind must know. 
 
 December 1525. 
 
 This year has, indeed,, been a year of changes. The peasant 
 revolt is crushed. At Frankenhausen, the last great victory was 
 gained. Thomas Miinzer was slain, and his undisciplined hosts 
 fled in hopeless confusion. The revolt is crushed, alas ! Gott- 
 fried says, as men too generally crush their enemies when once in 
 their power, exceeding the crime in the punishment, and laying 
 up a store of future revolt and vengeance for future generations 
 
 The good and wise Elector Friedrich died just before the vic- 
 tory. It is well, perhaps, that he did not live to see the terrible 
 vengeance that has been inflicted, the roadsteads lined with gib- 
 bets, torture returned by torture, insult by cruel mocking. The 
 poor deluded people, especially the peasantry, wept for the good 
 Elector, and said, " Ah, God, have mercy on us ! We have lost 
 our father ! " He used to speak kindly to their children in the 
 fields, and was always ready to listen to a tale of wrong. He 
 died humbly as a Christian; he was buried royally as a prince.
 
 ElsPs Story. 397 
 
 Shortly before his death, his chaplain, Spalatin, came to see 
 him. The Elector gave him his hand, and said, " You do well 
 to come to me. We are commanded to visit the sick." 
 
 Neither brother nor any near relative was with him when he 
 died. The services of all brave men were needed in those 
 stormy days. But he was not forsaken. To the childless, soli- 
 tary sufferer his faithful servants were like a family. 
 
 " Oh, dear children," he said, " I suffer greatly!" 
 
 Then Joachim Sack, one of his household, a Silesian, said, — 
 
 " Most gracious master, if God will, you will soon be better." 
 
 Shortly after the dying prince said, — 
 
 " Dear children, I am ill indeed." 
 
 And Sack answered, — 
 
 " Gracious lord, the Almighty God sends you all this with a 
 Father's love, and with the best will to you." 
 
 Then the prince repeatedly softly, in Latin, the words of Job, 
 " The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be 
 the name of the Lord." 
 
 And once more he said, — 
 
 " Dear children, I am very ill." 
 
 And the faithful Joachim comforted him again, — " My gra- 
 cious Master, the Almighty God, sends it all to your electoral 
 highness from the greatest love." 
 
 The prince clasped his hands, and said, — 
 
 " For that I can trust my good God!" and added, " Help me, 
 help me, O my God." 
 
 And after receiving the holy communion in both kinds, he 
 called his servants around him, and said, — 
 
 " Dear children, I entreat you, that in whatever I have done 
 you wrong, by word or deed, you will forgive me for God's sake, 
 and pray others to do the same. For we princes do much 
 wrong often to poor people that should not be." 
 
 As he spoke thus, all that were in the room could not restrain 
 their tears, and seeing that, he said, — 
 
 " Dear children, weep not for me. It will not be long with 
 me now. But think of me, and pray to God for me." 
 
 Spalatin had copied some verses of the Bible for him, which 
 he put on his spectacles to read for himself. He thought much
 
 398 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 of Luther, whom, much as he had befriended him, he had never 
 spoken to, and sent for him. But it was in vain. Luther was 
 on the Hartz mountains, endeavouring to quell the peasants' 
 revolt. ' That interview is deferred to the world where all earthlv 
 distinctions are forgotten, but where the least Christian sendees 
 are remembered." 
 
 So, " a child of peace," as one said, " he departed, and rests 
 in peace, through the high and only merits of the only Son of 
 God," in whom, in his last testament, he confessed was " all his 
 hope." 
 
 It was a solemn day for Wittenberg when they laid him in 
 his grave in the Electoral Church, which he had once so richly 
 provided with relics. His body lying beneath it is the most 
 sacred relic it enshrines for us now. 
 
 Knights and burghers met the coffin at the city gate ; eight 
 noblemen carried it, and a long train of mourners passed 
 through the silent streets. Many chanted around the tomb the 
 old Latin hymns, " In media vitae," and " Si bona suscipimur," 
 and also the German, " From deepest need I cry to Thee," 
 and — 
 
 "In Fried und Freud fahr ich dahin." 
 " I journey hence in peace and joy." 
 
 The money which would in former times have purchased masses 
 for his soul, was given to the poor. And Dr. Luther preached 
 a sermon on that promise, " Those who sleep in Jesus, God will 
 bring with him," which makes it needless, indeed, to pray for 
 the repose of those who thus sleep. 
 
 Gretchen asked me in the evening what the hymn meant, — 
 
 " I journey hence in peace and joy." 
 
 I told her it was the soul of the prince that thus journeyed 
 hence. 
 
 " The procession was so dark and sad," she said, " the words 
 did not seem to suit." 
 
 " That procession was going to the grave," said Thekla, who 
 was with us. " There was another procession, which we could 
 not see, going to heaven. The holy angels, clothed in radiant 
 white, were carrying the happy spirit to heaven, and singing.
 
 Els^s Story. 399 
 
 as they went, anthems such as that, while we were weeping 
 here." 
 
 " I should like to see that procession of the dear angels, Aunt 
 Thekla," said Gretchen. " Mother says the good Elector had 
 no little children to love him, and no one to call him any ten- 
 derer name than ' Your electoral highness' when he died. But 
 on the other side of the grave he will not be lonely, will he 1 
 The holy angels will have tender names for him there, will 
 they not?" 
 
 " The Lord Jesus will, at all events," I said. " He calleth his 
 own sheep by name." 
 
 And Gretchen was comforted for the Elector. 
 
 Not long after that day of mourning came a day of rejoicing 
 to our household, and to all the friendly circle at Wittemberg. 
 
 Quietly, in our house, on June the 23d, Dr. Luther and Cathe- 
 rine von Bora were married. 
 
 A few days afterwards the wedding feast was held on the 
 home-bringing of the bride to the Augustinian cloister, which, 
 together with " twelve brewings of beer yearly," the good Elec- 
 tor John Frederic has given Luther as a wedding present. Brave 
 old John Luther and his wife, and Luther's pious mother came to 
 the feast from Mansfeld, and a day of much festivity it was to all. 
 
 And now for six months, what Luther calls " that great thing, 
 the union and communion between husband and wife," hath 
 hallowed the old convent into a home, whilst the prayer of 
 faith and the presence of Him whom faith sees, have consecrated 
 the home into a sanctuary of love and peace. 
 
 Many precious things hath Dr. Luther said of marriage. God, 
 he says, has set the type of marriage before us throughout all 
 creation. Each creature seeks its perfection through being blent 
 with another. The very heaven and earth picture it to us, for 
 does not the sky embrace the green earth as its bride 1 " Pre- 
 cious, excellent, glorious," he says, " is that word of the Holy 
 Ghost, ' the heart of the husband doth safely trust in her.' " 
 
 He says also, that so does he honour the married state, that 
 before he thought of marrying his Catherine, he had resolved, 
 if he should be laid suddenly on his dying bed, to be espoused
 
 400 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 before he died, and to give two silver goblets to the maiden as 
 his wedding and dying gift. And lately he counselled one who 
 was to be married, " Dear friend, do thou as I did, when I 
 would take my Kathe. I prayed to our Lord God with all my 
 heart. A good wife is a companion of life, and her husband's 
 solace and joy, and when a pious man and wife love each other 
 truly, the devil has little power to hurt them. 
 
 " All men," he said, " believe and understand that marriage 
 is marriage, a hand a hand, riches are riches ; but to believe 
 that marriage is of God, and ordered and appointed by God ; 
 that the hand is made by God, that wealth and all we have and 
 are is given by God, and is to be used as his" work to his praise, 
 that is not so commonly believed. And a good wife," he said, 
 " should be loved and honoured, firstly, because she is God's 
 gift and present : secondly, because God has endowed women 
 with noble and great virtues, which, when they are modest, 
 faithful, and believing, far overbalance their little failings and 
 infirmities." 
 
 Wittemberg, December 1525. 
 
 Another year all but closed — a year of mingled storm and 
 sunshine ! The sorrow we dreaded for our poor Thekla is 
 come at last too surely. Bertrand de Crdquy is dead ! He 
 died in a prison alone, for conscience' sake, but at peace in 
 God. A stranger from Flanders brought her a few words of 
 farewell in his handwriting, and afterwards saw him dead, so 
 that she cannot doubt. She seems to move about like one 
 walking in a dream, performing every common act of life as 
 before, but with the soul asleep. We are afraid what will be 
 the end of it. God help her ! She is now gone for the Christ- 
 mas to Eva and Fritz. 
 
 Sad divisions have sprung up among the evangelical Christians. 
 Dr Luther is very angry at some doctrines of Karlstadt and the 
 Swiss brethren concerning the holy sacraments, and says they 
 will be wise above what is written. We grieve at these things, 
 especially as our Atlantis has married a Swiss, and Dr. Luther 
 will not acknowledge them as brethren. Our poor Atlantis is 
 much perplexed, and writes that she is sure her husband 
 meaneth not to undervalue the Holy Supper, and that in very
 
 ElsPs Story. 401 
 
 truth they find their Saviour present there as we do. But Dr. 
 Luther is very stern about it. He fears disorders and wild 
 opinions will be brought in again, such as led to the slaughter 
 of the peasants' war. Yet he himself is sorely distressed about 
 it, and saith often that the times are so evil the end of the world 
 is surely drawing nigh. 
 
 In the midst of all this perplexity, we who love him rejoice 
 that he has that quiet home in the Augustei, where " Lord 
 Kathe," as he calls her, and her little son Hanschen reign, and 
 where the dear, holy angels, as Luther says, watch over the 
 cradle of the child. 
 
 It was a festival to all Wittemberg when little Hans Luther 
 was born. 
 
 Luther's house is like the sacred hearth of Wittemberg and 
 of all the land. There in the winter evenings he welcomes his 
 friends to the cheerful room with the large window, and some- 
 times they sing good songs or holy hymns in parts, accompanied 
 by the lute and harp, music at which Dr. Luther is sure King 
 David would be amazed and delighted, could he rise from his 
 grave, " since there can have been none so fine in his days." 
 " The devil," he says, " always flies from music, especially from 
 sacred music, because he is a despairing spirit, and cannot bear 
 joy and gladness." 
 
 And in the summer days he sits under the pear tree in his 
 garden, while Kathe works beside him ; or he plants seeds and 
 makes a fountain ; or he talks to her and his friends about the 
 wonders of beauty God has set in the humblest flowers, and the 
 picture of the resurrection he gives us in every delicate twig that 
 in spring bursts from the dry brown stems of winter. 
 
 More and more we see what a good wife God has given him 
 in Catherine von Bora, with her cheerful, firm, and active spirit, 
 and her devoted affection for him. Already she has the manage- 
 ment of all the finance of the household, a very necessary ar- 
 rangement, if the house of Luther is not to go to ruin; for Dr. 
 Luther would give everything, even to his clothes and furniture, 
 to any one in distress, and he will not receive any payment 
 either for his books or for teaching the students. 
 
 She is a companion for him, moreover, and not a mere 
 
 26
 
 402 Clironicles of the ScJi'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 listener, which he likes, however much he may laugh at her 
 eloquence, " in her own department surpassing Cicero's," and 
 sarcastically relate how when first they were married, not know- 
 ing what to say, but wishing to " make conversation," she used 
 to say, as she sat at her work beside him, " Herr Doctor, is not 
 the lord high chamberlain in Prussia the brother of the mar- 
 grave?" hoping that such high discourse would not be too 
 trifling for him ! He says, indeed, that if he were to seek an 
 obedient wife, he would carve one for himself out of stone. 
 But the belief among us is, that there are few happier homes 
 than Dr. Luther's ; and if at any time Catherine finds him 
 oppressed with a sadness too deep for her ministry to reach, she 
 quietly creeps out and calls Justus Jonas, or some other friend, 
 to come and cheer the doctor. Often, also, she reminds him of 
 the letters he has to write ; and he likes to have her sitting by 
 him while he writes, which is a proof sufficient that she can be 
 silent when necessary, whatever jests the Doctor may make 
 about her " long sermons, which she certainly never would have 
 made, if, like other preachers, she had taken the precaution of 
 beginning with the Lord's Prayer ! " 
 
 The Christian married life, as he says, " is a humble and a 
 holy life," and well, indeed, is it for our German Reformation 
 that its earthly centre is neither a throne, nor a hermitage, but 
 a lowly Christian home. 
 
 Parsonage of Gersdorf, June 1527. 
 
 I am staying with Eva while Fritz is absent making a journey 
 of inspection of the schools throughout Saxony at Dr. Luther's 
 desire, with Dr. Philip Melancthon, and many other learned 
 men. 
 
 Dr. Luther has set his heart on improving the education of 
 the children, and is anxious to have some of the revenues of the 
 suppressed convents appropriated to this purpose before all are 
 quietly absorbed by the nobles and princes for their own uses. 
 
 It is a renewal of youth to me, in my sober middle age, to 
 be here along with Eva, and yet not alone. For the terror of 
 my youth is actually under our roof with me. Aunt Agnes is 
 an inmate of Fritz's home ! During the pillaging of the con- 
 vents and dispersing of the nuns, which took place in the drea 1-
 
 Else's Story. 403 
 
 ful peasants' war, she was driven from Nimptschen, and after 
 spending a few weeks with our mother at Wittemberg, has finally 
 taken refuge with Eva and Fritz. 
 
 But Eva's little twin children, Heinz and Agnes, will asso- 
 ciate a very different picture with the name of Aunt Agnes from 
 the rigid lifeless face and voice which used to haunt my dreams 
 of a religious life, and make me dread the heaven, of whose in- 
 habitants, I was told, Aunt Agnes was a type. 
 
 Perhaps the white hair softens the high but furrowed brow; 
 yet surely there was not that kindly gleam in the grave eyes I 
 remember, or that tender tone in the voice. Is it an echo of 
 the voices of the little ones she so dearly loves, and a reflection 
 of the sunshine in their eyes'? No; better than that even, I 
 know, because Eva told me. It is the smile and the music of 
 a heart made as that of a little child through believing in the 
 Saviour. It is the peace of the Pharisee, who has won the pub- 
 lican's blessing by meekly taking the publican's place. 
 
 I confess, however, I do not think Aunt Agnes's presence im- 
 proves the discipline of Eva's household. She is exceedingly 
 slow to detect any traces of original sin in Eva's children, while 
 to me, on the contrary, the wonder is that any creature so good 
 and exemplary as Eva should have children so much like other 
 people's — even mine. One would have thought that her infants 
 would have been a kind of half angels, taking naturally to all 
 good things, and never doing wrong except by mistake in a gentle 
 and moderate way. Whereas, I must say, I hear frequent little 
 wails of rebellion from Eva's nursery, especially at seasons of 
 ablution, much as from mine; and I do not think even our 
 Fritz ever showed more decided pleasure in mischief, or more 
 determined self-will, than Eva's little rosy Heinz. 
 
 One morning after a rather prolonged little battle between 
 Heinz and his mother about some case of oppression of little 
 Agnes, I suggested to Aunt Agnes — 
 
 " Only to think that Eva, if she had kept to her vocation, 
 might have attained to the full ideal of the Theologia Teutsch, 
 have become a St. Elizabeth, or indeed far better 1 ?" 
 
 Aunt Agnes looked up quickly — 
 
 " And you mean to say she is not better now! You imagine
 
 404 Chronicles of the ScJionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 that spinning meditations all day long is more Christian work 
 for a woman than training these little ones for God, and help- 
 ing them to fight their first battles with the devil ! " 
 
 "Perhaps not, Aunt Agnes," I said, " but then, you see, I know 
 nothing of the inside of a convent." 
 
 " I do" said Aunt Agnes emphatically, " and also of the inside 
 of a nun's heart. And I know what wretched work we make of 
 it when we try to take our education out of our Heavenly 
 Father's hands into our own. Do you think," she continued, 
 " Eva did not learn more in the long nights when she watched 
 over her sick child than she could have learned in a thousand 
 self-imposed vigils before any shrine? And to-night, when she 
 kneels with Heinz, as she will, and says with him, ' Pray God 
 forgive little Heinz for being a naughty boy to-day,' and lays 
 him on his pillow, and as she watches him fall asleep, asks 
 God to bless and train the wilful little one, and then asks for 
 pardon herself, do you not think she learns more of what ' for- 
 giveness' means and 'Our Father' than from a year's study of 
 the Theologia Teutsch?" 
 
 I smiled and said, " Dear Aunt Agnes, if Fritz wants to hear 
 Eva's praises well sung, I will tell him to suggest to you whether 
 it might not have been a higher vocation for her to remain a 
 nun!" 
 
 " Ah ! child," said Aunt Agnes, with a little mingling of the 
 old sternness and the new tenderness in her voice, " if you had 
 learned what I have from those lips, and in this house, you 
 could not, even in jest, bear to hear a syllable of reflection on 
 either." 
 
 Indeed, even Aunt Agnes cannot honour this dear home 
 more than I do. Open to every peasant who has a sorrow or 
 a wrong to tell, it is also linked with the castle; and linked to 
 both, not by any class privileges, but because here peasants and 
 nobles alike are welcomed as men and women, and as Christian 
 brothers and sisters. 
 
 Now and then we pay a visit to the castle, where our noble 
 sister Chriemhild is enthroned. But my tastes have always been 
 burgher like, and the parsonage suits me much better than the 
 castle. Besides, I cannot help feeling some little awe of Dame
 
 Elst's Story. 405 
 
 Her mentrud, especially when my two boys are with me, they 
 being apt to indulge in a burgher freedom in their demeanour. 
 The furniture and arrangements of the castle are a generation 
 behind our own at Wittemberg, and I cannot at all make the 
 boys comprehend the majesty of the Gersdorf ancestry, nor the 
 necessary inferiority of people who live in streets to those who 
 live in isolated rock fortresses. So that I am reduced to the 
 Bible law of " honour to grey hairs " to enforce due respect to 
 Dame Hermentrud. 
 
 Little Fritz wants to know what the Gersdorf ancestry are re- 
 nowned for. "Was it for learning'?" he asked. 
 
 I thought not, as it is only this generation who have learned 
 to read, and the old knight even is suspected of having strong 
 reasons for preferring listening to Ulrich's reading to using a 
 book for himself. 
 
 " Was it then for courage?" 
 
 " Certainly, the Gersdorfs had always been brave." 
 
 "With whom, then, had they fought?" 
 
 " At the time of the Crusades, I believed, against the infidels." 
 
 "And since then?" 
 
 I did not feel sure, but looking at the ruined castle of Bern- 
 stein and the neighbouring height, I was afraid it was against 
 their neighbours. 
 
 And so, after much cross questioning, the distinctions of the 
 Gersdorf family seemed to be chiefly reduced to their having 
 been Gersdorfs, and having lived at Gersdorf for a great many 
 hundred years. 
 
 Then Fritz desired to know in what way his cousins, the 
 Gersdorfs of this generation, are to distinguish themselves 1 
 This question also was a perplexity to me, as I know it often is 
 to Chriemhild. They must not on any account be merchants ; 
 and now that in the Evangelical Church the great abbeys are 
 suppressed, and some of the bishoprics are to be secularized, it 
 is hardly deemed consistent with Gersdorf dignity that they 
 should become clergymen. The eldest will have the castle, 
 One of them may study civil law. For the others nothing seems 
 open but the idling dependent life of pages and military atten- 
 dants in the castles of some of the greater nobles.
 
 406 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 If the past is the inheritance of the knights, it seems to me 
 the future is far more likely to be the possession of the active 
 burgher families. I cannot but feel thankful for the lot which 
 opens to our boys honourable spheres of action in the great 
 cities of the empire. There seems no room for expansion in the 
 life of those petty nobles. While the patrician families of the 
 cities are sailing on the broad current of the times, encouraging 
 art, advancing learning, themselves sharing all the thought and 
 progress of the time, these knightly families in the country re- 
 main isolated in their grim castles ruling over a few peasants, 
 and fettered to a narrow local circle, while the great current of 
 the age sweeps by them. 
 
 Gottfried says, narrow and ill-used privileges always end in 
 ruining those who bigotedly cling to them. The exclusiveness 
 which begins by shutting others out, commonly ends in shutting 
 the exclusive in. The lordly fortress becomes the narrow prison. 
 
 All these thoughts passed through my mind as I left the rush- 
 strewn floor of the hall where Dame Hermentrud had received 
 me and my boys, with a lofty condescension, while, in the course 
 of the interview, I had heard her secretly remarking to Chriem- 
 hild how unlike the cousins were; "It was quite singular how 
 entirely the Gersdorf children were unlike the Cottas!" 
 
 But it was not until I entered Eva's lowly home, that I de- 
 tected the bitter root of wounded pride from which my deep 
 social speculations sprang. I had been avenging myself on the 
 Schonberg-Gersdorf past by means of the Cotta-Reichenbach 
 future. Yes; Fritz and Eva's lowly home is nobler than Chriem- 
 hild's, and richer than ours; richer and nobler just in as far as 
 it is more lowly and more Christian ! 
 
 And I learned my lesson after this manner. 
 
 " Dame Hermentrud is very proud," I said to Eva, as I re- 
 turned from the castle and sat down beside her in the porch, 
 where she was sewing ; " and I really cannot see on what 
 ground." 
 
 Eva made no reply, but a little amused smile played about 
 her mouth, which for the moment rather aggravated me. 
 
 "Do you mean to say she is not proud, Eva?" I continued 
 controversially.
 
 Els^s Story. 407 
 
 " I did not mean to say that any one was not proud," said 
 Eva. 
 
 " Did you mean then to imply that she has anything to be 
 proud off 
 
 "There are all the ghosts of all the Gersdorfs," said Eva; 
 " and there is the high ancestral privilege of wearing velvet and 
 pearls, which you and I dare not assume." 
 
 " Surely," said I, " the privilege of possessing Lucas Cranach's 
 pictures, and Albrecht Diirer's carvings, is better than that." 
 
 "Perhaps it is," said Eva demurely; " perhaps wealth is as 
 firm ground for pride to build on as ancestral rank. Those 
 who have neither, like Fritz and I, may be the most candid 
 judges." 
 
 I laughed, and felt a cloud pass from my heart. Eva had 
 dared to call the sprite which vexed me by his right name, and 
 like any other gnome or cobold, he vanished instantly. 
 
 Thank God our Eva is Cousin Eva again, instead of Sister 
 Ave; that her single heart is here among us to flash the light 
 on our consciences just by shining, instead of being hidden 
 under a saintly canopy in the shrine of some distant convent. 
 
 July, 1527. 
 
 Fritz is at home. It was delightful to see what a festival his 
 return was, not only in the home, but in the village — the chil- 
 dren running to the doors to receive a smile, the mothers stop- 
 ping in their work to welcome him. The day after his return 
 was Sunday. As usual, the children of the village were as- 
 sembled at five o'clock in the morning to church. Among them 
 were our boys, and Chriemhild's, and Eva's twins, Heinz and 
 Agnes — rosy, merry children of the forest as they are. All, 
 however, looked as good and sweet as if they had been children 
 of Eden, as they tripped that morning after each other over the 
 village green, their bright little forms passing in and out of the 
 shadow of the great beech-tree which stands opposite the church. 
 
 The little company all stood together in the church before 
 the altar, while Fritz stood on the step and taught them. At 
 first they sang a hymn, the elder boys in Latin, and then all 
 together in German; and then Fritz heard them say Luther's
 
 4oS Chromcles of the Schonberg-Cotta Faintly. 
 
 Catechism. How sweetly the lisping, childish voices answered 
 his deep, manly voice; like the rustling of the countless summer 
 leaves outside, or the fall of the countless tiny cascades of the 
 village stream in the still summer morning. 
 
 " My dear child, what art thou 1 ?" he said. 
 
 Answer from the score of little hushed, yet ringing voices — 
 
 " I am a Christian." 
 
 " How dost thou know that]" 
 
 " Because I am baptized, and believe on my dear Lord Jesus 
 Christ." 
 
 " What is it needful that a Christian should know for his sal- 
 vation?" 
 
 Answer — " The Catechism." 
 
 And afterwards, in the part concering the Christian faith, the 
 sweet voices repeated the Creed in German. 
 
 " I believe in God the Father Almighty." 
 
 And Fritz's voice asked gently — 
 
 " What does that mean?" 
 
 Answer — " I believe that God has created me and all crea- 
 tures; has given me body and soul, eyes, ears, and all my limbs, 
 reason, and all my senses, and still preserves them to me; and 
 that he has also given me my clothes and my shoes, and what- 
 soever I eat or drink ; that richly and daily he provides me with 
 all needful nourishment for body and life, and guards me from 
 all danger and evil ; and all this out of pure fatherly divine 
 goodness and mercy, without any merit or deserving of mine. 
 And for all this I am bound to thank and praise him, and also 
 to serve and obey him. This is certainly true." 
 
 Again — 
 
 " I believe in Jesus Christ," &c. 
 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 " I believe that Jesus Christ, true God, begotten of the Father 
 from eternity, and also true man, born of the Virgin Mary, is 
 my Lord, who has redeemed me, a lost and condemned human 
 creature, has purchased and won me from all sins, from death 
 and from the power of the devil, not with silver and gold, but 
 with his own holy precious blood, and with his innocent suffer- 
 ing and dying, that I may be his own, and live in his kingdom
 
 E/sc's Story. 409 
 
 under him, and serve him in endless righteousness, innocence, 
 and blessedness, even as he is risen from the dead, and lives 
 and reigns for ever. This is certainly true. 
 
 And again, 
 
 " I believe in the Holy Ghost." 
 
 "What does that mean]" 
 
 " I believe that not by my own reason or power can I believe 
 on Jesus Christ my Lord, or come to him ; but the Holy Ghost 
 has called me through the gospel, enlightened me with his gifts, 
 sanctified and kept me in the right faith, as he calls all Christian 
 people on earth, gathers, enlightens, sanctifies them, and through 
 Jesus keeps them in the right and only faith, among which 
 Christian people he daily richly forgives all sins, to me and all 
 believers, and at the last day will awaken me and all the dead, 
 and to me and all believers in Christ will give eternal life. This 
 is certainly true." 
 
 And again, on the Lord's Prayer, the children's voices 
 began, — 
 
 " Our Father who art in heaven." 
 
 "What does that mean?" 
 
 " God will in this way sweetly persuade us to believe that he 
 is our true Father, and that we are his true children ; that cheer- 
 fully and with all confidence we may ask of him as dear children 
 ask of their dear fathers." 
 
 And at the end, 
 
 "What does Amen mean V 
 
 " That I should be sure such prayers are acceptable to the 
 Father in heaven, and granted by him, for he himself has taught 
 us thus to pray, and promised that he will hear us. Amen, 
 amen — that means, yes, yes, that shall be done." 
 
 And when it was asked, — 
 
 "Who receives the holy sacrament worthily?" 
 
 Softly came the answer, — 
 
 " He is truly and rightly prepared who has faith in these 
 words, ' Given and shed for you, for the forgiveness of sins.' 
 But he who doubts or disbelieves these words, is unworthy and 
 unprepared ; for the words, i for you,' need simple believing 
 hearts."
 
 410 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 As I listened to the simple living words, I could not wonder 
 that Dr. Luther often repeats them to himself, or rather, as he 
 says, ' to God,' as an antidote to the fiery darts of the wicked 
 one. 
 
 And so the childish voices died away in the morning stillness 
 of the church, and the shadow of the bell-tower fell silently 
 across the grassy mounds or wooden crosses beneath which 
 rest the village dead; and as we went home, the long shadow 
 of the beech-tree fell on the dewy village green. 
 
 Then, before eleven o'clock, the church bell began to ring, 
 and the peasants came trooping from the different clearings of 
 the forest. One by one we watched the various groups in their 
 bright holiday dresses, issuing out of the depths "of dark green 
 shade, among them, doubtless, many a branch of the Luther 
 family who live in this neighbourhood. Afterwards each door 
 in the village poured out its contributions, and soon the little 
 church was full, the men and women seated on the opposite 
 sides of the church, and the aged gathered around the pulpit. 
 Fritz's text was Eva's motto, " God so loved the world." Simply, 
 with illustrations such as they could understand, he spoke to 
 them of God's infinite love, and the infinite cost at which he 
 had redeemed us, and of the love and trust and obedience we 
 owe him, and, according to Dr. Luther's advice he did not speak 
 too long, but " called black black, and white white, keeping to 
 one' simple subject, so that the people may go away and say, 
 ' The sermon was about this: " For, as I heard Dr. Luthei 
 say, " We must not speak to the common people of high 
 difficult things, or with mysterious words. To the church come 
 little children, maid-servants, old men and women, to whom 
 high doctrine teaches nothing. For, if they say about it, ' Ah, 
 he said excellent things, he has made a fine sermon !' And 
 one asks, ' What about, then V they reply, ' I know not.' Let 
 us remember what pains our Lord Christ took to preach simply. 
 From the vineyard, from the sheepfold, from trees, he drew his 
 illustrations, all that the people might feel and understand." 
 
 That sermon of Fritz's left a deep rest in my heart. He 
 spoke not of justification, and redemption merely, but of the 
 living God redeeming and justifying us. Greater service can no
 
 EM 's Story. 411 
 
 one render us than to recall to us what God has done for us, 
 and how he really and tenderly cares for us. 
 
 In the afternoon, the children were gathered for a little while 
 in the school-room, and questioned about the sermon. At 
 sunset again we all met for a short service in the church, and 
 sang evening hymns in German, after which the pastor pro- 
 nounced the benediction, and the little community scattered 
 once more to their various homes. 
 
 With the quiet sunshine, and the light shed on the home 
 by Fritz's return, to-day seemed to me almost like a day in 
 Paradise. 
 
 Thank God again and again for Dr. Luther, and especially 
 for these two great benefits given back to us through him — 
 first, that he has unsealed the fountain of God's word from the 
 icy fetters of the dead language, and sent it flowing through the 
 land, everywhere wakening winter into spring; and secondly, 
 that he has vindicated the sanctity of marriage and the home 
 life it constitutes ; unsealing the grave-stones of the convent 
 gates, and sending forth the religion entranced and buried there 
 to bless the world in a thousand lowly, holy, Christian homes 
 such as this.
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Ochla's Storn. 
 
 o - 
 
 Wittemberg, September 1527. 
 
 HAVE said it from my heart at last ! yes, I am sure I 
 say it from my heart, and if with a broken heart, God 
 will not despise that. 
 Our Father which art in heaven, thy will, not mine be done." 
 
 I thought I could bear anything better than suspense ; but I 
 had no idea what a blank of despair the certainty would bring. 
 
 Then came dreadful rebellious thoughts, that God should let 
 him die alone ! and then recurred to my heart all they had said 
 to me about not making idols, and I began to fear I had never 
 really loved or worshipped God at all, but only Bertrand ; and 
 then came a long time of blank and darkness into which no 
 light of human or divine love or voices of comfort seemed in 
 the least to penetrate. I thought God would never receive me 
 until I could say, "Thy will be done," and this I could not say. 
 
 The first words I remember that seemed to convey any mean- 
 ins at all to me were some of Dr. Luther's in a sermon. He 
 said it was easy to believe in God's pardoning love in times of 
 peace, but in times of temptation when the devil assailed the 
 soul with all his fiery darts, he himself found it hard, indeed, to 
 hold to the truth he knew so well, that Christ was not a severe 
 judge, or a hard exactor, but a forgiving Saviour, indeed love 
 itself, pure unalterable love. 
 
 Then I began to understand it was the devil, the malignant 
 exacting evil spirit that I had been listening to in the darkness 
 of my heart, that it was he who had been persuading me I must 
 not dare to go to my Father, before I could bring him a perfectly 
 submissive heart.
 
 Thcklas Story. 413 
 
 And then I remembered the words, " Come unto me, ye 
 that are weary and heavy laden ;" and, alone in my room, I fell 
 on my knees, and cried, " O blessed Saviour, O heavenly 
 Father, I am not submissive ; but I am weary, weary and 
 heavy-laden; and I come to thee. Wilt thou take me as I 
 am, and teach me in time to say, 'Thy will be done !'" And 
 he received me, and in time he has taught me. At least I can 
 say so to-night. To-morrow, perhaps, the old rebellion will 
 come back. But if it does, I will go again to our heavenly 
 Father and say again, " Not submissive yet, only heavy-laden ! 
 Father, take my hand, and say, begin again !" 
 
 Because amidst all these happy homes I felt so unnecessary 
 to any one, and so unutterably lonely. I longed for the old 
 convents to bury myself in, away from all joyous sounds. But, 
 thank God, they were closed for me ; and I do not wish for 
 them now. 
 
 Dr. Luther began to help me by showing me how the devil 
 had been keeping me from God. 
 
 And now God has helped me by sending through my heart 
 again a glow of thankfulness and love. 
 
 The plague has been at Wittemberg again. Dr. Luther's 
 house has been turned into an hospital; for dear as are his 
 Kathe and his little Hans to him, he would not flee from the 
 danger, any more than years ago, when he was a monk in the 
 convent which is now his home. 
 
 And what a blessing his strong and faithful words have been 
 among us, from the pulpit, by the dying bed, or in the house of 
 mourning. 
 
 But it is through my precious mother chiefly that God has 
 spoken to my heart, and made me feel he does indeed sustain, 
 and care, and listen. She was so nearly gone. And now she is 
 recovering. They say the danger is over. And never more will 
 I say in my heart, " To me only God gives no home," or fear to 
 let my heart entwine too closely round those God has left me 
 to love, because of the anguish when that clasp is severed. I 
 will take the joy and the love with all its possibilities of sorrow, 
 and trust in God for both. 
 
 Perhaps, also, God may have some little work of love for me
 
 414 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 to do, some especial service even for me, to make me needed 
 in the world as long as I am here. For to-day Justus Jonas, 
 who has lost his little son in the plague, came to me and said, — ■ 
 
 " Thekla, come and see my wife. She says you can comfort 
 her, for you can comprehend sorrow." 
 
 Of course I went. I do not think I said anything to comfort 
 her. I could do little else but weep with her, as I looked on 
 the little, innocent, placid, lifeless face. But when I left her 
 she said I had done her good, and begged me to come again. 
 
 So, perhaps, God has some blessed services for me to render 
 him, which I could only have learned as he has taught me ; and 
 when we meet hereafter, Bertrand and I, and hear that dear 
 divine and human voice that has led us through the world, we 
 together shall be glad of all this bitter pain that we endured ai id 
 felt, and give thanks for it for ever and for ever !
 
 XXXII. 
 
 disc's j&orjj. 
 
 WlTTEMBERG, May I52O. 
 
 F all the happy homes Gocl has given to Germany through 
 Dr. Luther, I think none are happier than his own. 
 The walls of the Augustine convent echo now with 
 the pattering feet and ringing voices of little children, and every 
 night the angels watch over the sanctuary of a home. The 
 birthdays of Dr. Luther's children are festivals to us all, and 
 more especially the birthday of little Hans the firstborn was so. 
 
 Yet death also has been in that bright home. Their second 
 child, a babe, Elizabeth, was early taken from her parents. Dr. 
 Luther grieved over her much. A little while after her death 
 he wrote to his friend Hausmann : — 
 
 " Grace and peace. My Johannulus thanks thee, best Nicho- 
 las, for the rattle, in which he glories and rejoices wondrously. 
 
 " I have begun to write something about the Turkish war, 
 which will not, I hope, be useless. 
 
 " My little daughter is dead ; my darling little Elizabeth. It 
 is strange how sick and wounded she has left my heart, almost 
 as tender as a woman's, such pity moves me for that little one. 
 I never could have believed before what is the tenderness of a 
 father's heart for his children. Do thou pray to the Lord for 
 me, in Whom fare-thee-well." 
 
 Catherine von Bora is honoured and beloved by all. Some 
 indeed complain of her being too economical ; but what would 
 become of Dr. Luther and his family if she were as reckless in 
 giving as he is ] He has been known even to take advantage of her 
 illness to bestow his plate on some needy student. He never will 
 receive a kreuzer from the students he teaches ; and he refuses to
 
 4 16 CJir onirics of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 sell his writings, which provokes both Gottfried and me, noble as 
 it is of him, because the great profits they bring would surely be 
 better spent by Dr. Luther than by the printers who get them now. 
 Our belief is, that were it not for Mistress Luther, the whole 
 household would have long since been reduced to beggary, and 
 Dr. Luther, who does not scruple to beg of the Elector or of any 
 wealthy person for the needs of others (although never for his 
 own), knows well how precarious such a livelihood is. 
 
 His wife does not, however, always succeed in restraining his 
 propensities to give everything away. Not long ago, in defiance 
 of her remonstrating looks, in her presence he bestowed on a 
 student who came to him asking money to help him home from 
 the university, a silver goblet which had been presented to him, 
 saying that he had no need to drink out of silver. 
 
 We all feel the tender care with which she watches over his 
 health, a gift to the whole land. His strength has never quite 
 recovered the strain on it during those years of conflict and 
 penance in the monastery at Erfurt. And it is often strained to 
 the utmost now. All the monks and nuns who have renounced 
 their idle maintenance in convents for conscience' sake ; all 
 congregations that desire an evangelical pastor ; all people of all 
 kinds in trouble of mind, body, or estate, turn to Dr. Luther for 
 aid or counsel, as to the warmest heart and the clearest head 
 in the land. His correspondence is incessant, embracing and 
 answering every variety of perplexity, from counselling evange- 
 lical princes how best to reform their states, to directions to 
 some humble Christian woman how to find peace for her con- 
 science in Christ. And besides the countless applications to 
 him for advice, his large heart seems always at leisure to listen 
 to the appeal of the persecuted far and near, or to the cry of the 
 bereaved and sorrowful. 
 
 Where shall we find the spring of all this activity but in the 
 Bible, of which he says, " There are few trees in that garden 
 which I have not shaken for fruit ; " and in prayer, of which he, 
 the busiest man in Christendom, (as if he were a contemplative 
 hermit) says, " Prayer is the Christian's business (Das Gebet est 
 des Christen Handwerk)." 
 
 Yes, it is the leisure he makes for prayer which gives him
 
 Else's Story. 417 
 
 leisure for all besides. It is the hours passed with the life-giv- 
 ing word which make sermons, and correspondence, and teach- 
 ing of all kinds to him simply the outpouring of a full heart. 
 
 Yet such a life wears out too quickly. More than once has 
 Mistress Luther been in sore anxiety about him during the four 
 years they have been married. 
 
 Once, in 1527, when little Hans was the baby, and he believed 
 he should soon have to leave her a widow with the fatherless 
 little one, he said rather sadly he had nothing to leave her but 
 the silver tankards which had been presented to him. 
 
 " Dear doctor," she replied, " if it be God's will, then I also 
 choose that you be with him rather than me. It is not so much 
 I and my child even that need you as the multitude of pious 
 Christians. Trouble yourself not about me." 
 
 What her courageous hopefulness and her tender watchfulness 
 have been to him, he showed when he said, — 
 
 " I am too apt to expect more from my Kathe, and from Me- 
 lancthon, than I do from Christ my Lord. And yet I well know 
 that neither they nor any one on earth has suffered, or can suffer, 
 what he hath suffered for me." 
 
 But although incessant work may weigh upon his body, there 
 are severer trials which weigh upon his spirit. The heart so 
 quick to every touch of affection or pleasure cannot but be sen- 
 sitive to injustice or disappointment. It cannot therefore be 
 easy for him to bear that at one time it should be perilous for 
 him to travel on account of the indignation of the nobles, whose 
 relatives he has rescued from nunneries ; and at another time 
 equally unsafe because of the indignation of the peasants, for 
 whom, though he boldly and openly denounced their mad insur- 
 rection, he pleads fervently with nobles and princes. 
 
 But bitterer than all other things to him, are the divisions 
 among evangelical Christians. Every truth he believes flashes 
 on his mind with such overwhelming conviction, that it seems 
 to him nothing but incomprehensible wilfulness for any one else 
 not to see it. Every conviction he holds, he holds with the 
 grasp of one ready to die for it — not only with the tenacity of 
 possession, but of a soldier to whom its defence has been in- 
 trusted. Pie would not, indeed, have any put to death or im- 
 
 27
 
 41 8 Chronicles of the Schouberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 prisoned for their misbelief. But hold out the hand of fellow- 
 ship to those who betray any part of his Lord's trust, he thinks, 
 — how dare he 1 Are a few peaceable days to be purchased at 
 the sacrifice of eternal truth ] 
 
 And so the division has taken place between us and the Swiss. 
 
 My Gretchen perplexed me the other day, when we were 
 coming from the city church, where Dr. Luther had been preach- 
 ing against the Anabaptists and the Swiss, (whom he will persist 
 in classing together,) by saying, — 
 
 " Mother, is not Uncle Winkelried a Swiss, and is he not a 
 good man 1 " 
 
 " Of course Uncle Conrad is a good man, Gretchen," rejoined 
 our Fritz, who had just returned from a visit to Atlantis and 
 Conrad. " How can you ask such questions?" 
 
 " But he is a Swiss, and Dr. Luther said we must take care 
 not to be like the Swiss, because they say wicked things about 
 the holy sacraments." 
 
 " I am sure Uncle Conrad does not say wicked things," re- 
 torted Fritz, vehemently. " I think he is almost the best man 
 I ever saw. Mother," he continued, "why does Dr. Luther 
 speak so of the Swiss i" 
 
 " You see, Fritz," I said, "Dr. Luther never stayed six months 
 among them as you did ; and so he has never seen how good 
 they are at home." 
 
 " Then," rejoined Fritz, sturdily, "if Dr. Luther has not seen 
 them, I do not think he should speak so of them." 
 
 I was driven to have recourse to maternal authority to close 
 the discussion, reminding Fritz that he was a little boy, and could 
 not pretend to judge of good and great men like Dr. Luther. 
 But, indeed, I could not help half agreeing with the child. It 
 was impossible to make him understand how Dr. Luther has 
 fought his way inch by inch to the freedom in which we now 
 stand at ease ; how he detests the Zwinglian doctrines, not so 
 much for themselves, as for what he thinks they imply. How 
 will it be possible to make our children, who enter on the peace- 
 ful inheritance so dearly won, understand the rough, soldierly 
 vehemence, of the warrior race, who re-conquered that inheri- 
 tance for them i
 
 Else's Story. 419 
 
 As Dr. Luther says, " It is not a little thing to change the 
 whole religion and doctrine of the Papacy. How hard it has 
 been to me, they will see in that Day. Now no one believes it!" 
 
 God appointed David to fight the wars of Israel, and Solomon 
 to build the temple. Dr. Luther has had to do both. What 
 wonder if the hand of the soldier can sometimes be traced in 
 the work of peace ! 
 
 Yet, why should I perplex myself about this? Soon, too 
 soon, death will come, and consecrate the virtues of our genera- 
 tion to our children, and throw a softening veil over our mistakes. 
 
 Even now that Dr. Luther is absent from us at Coburg, in 
 the castle there, how precious his letters are ; and how doubly 
 sacred the words he preached to us last Sunday from the pulpit, 
 now that to-morrow we are not to hear him. 
 
 He is placed in the castle at Coburg, in order to be nearer 
 the Diet at Augsburg, so as to aid Dr. Melancthon, who is there, 
 with his counsel. The Elector dare not trust the royal heart 
 and straightforward spirit of our Luther among the prudent 
 diplomatists at the Diet. 
 
 Mistress Luther is having a portrait taken of their little Mag- 
 dalen, who is now a year old, and especially dear to the Doctor, 
 to send to him in the fortress. 
 
 June 1530. 
 
 Letters have arrived from and about Dr. Luther. His father 
 is dead — the brave, persevering, self-denying, truthful old man, 
 who had stamped so much of his own character on his son. 
 "It is meet I should mourn such a parent," Luther writes, "who 
 through the sweat of his brow had nurtured and educated me, 
 and made me what I am." He felt it keenly, especially since 
 he could not be with his father at the last; although he gives 
 thanks that he lived in these times of light, and departed strong 
 in the faith of Christ. Dr. Luther's secretary writes, however, 
 that the portrait of his little Magdalen comforts him much. 
 He has hung it on the wall opposite to the place where he sits 
 at meals. 
 
 Dr. Luther is now the eldest of his race. He stands in the 
 foremost rank of the generations slowly advancing to confront 
 death.
 
 4-20 Chronicles of the Schbubcrg-Coita Family, 
 
 To-day I have been sitting with Mistress Luther in the garden 
 behind the Augustei, under the shade of the pear-tree, where 
 she so often sits beside the Doctor. Our children were playing 
 around us — her little Hanschen with the boys, while the little 
 Magdalen sat cooing like a dove over some flowers, which she 
 was pulling to pieces, on the grass at our feet. 
 
 She talked to me much about the Doctor ; how dearly he 
 loves the little ones, and what lessons of divine love and wisdom 
 he learns from their little plays. 
 
 He says often, that beautiful as all God's works are, little 
 children are the fairest of all; that the dear angels especially 
 watch over them. He is very tender with them, and says some- 
 times they are better theologians than he is, for they trust God. 
 Deeper prayers and higher theology he never hopes to reach 
 than the first the little ones learn — the Lord's Prayer and the 
 Catechism. Often, she said, he says over the Catechism, to 
 remind himself of all the treasures of faith we possess. 
 
 It is delightful too, she says, to listen to the heavenly theology 
 he draws from birds and leaves and flowers, and the commonest 
 gifts of God or events of life. At table, a plate of fruit will open 
 to him a whole volume of God's bounty, on which he will dis- 
 course. Or, taking a rose in his hand, he will say, "A man who 
 could make one rose like this would be accounted most wonder- 
 ful ; and God scatters countless such flowers around us ! But 
 the very infinity of his gifts makes us blind to them." 
 
 And one evening, he said of a little bird, warbling its last 
 little song before it went to roost, "Ah, dear little bird! he has 
 chosen his shelter, and is quietly rocking himself to sleep, with- 
 out a care for to-morrow's lodging; calmly holding by his little 
 twig, and leaving God to think for him." 
 
 In spring he loves to direct her attention to the little points 
 and tufts of life peeping everywhere from the brown earth or 
 the bare branches. "Who," he said, "that had never witnessed 
 a spring-time would have guessed, two months since, that these 
 lifeless branches had concealed within them all that hidden 
 power of life 1 ? It will be thus with us at the resurrection. God 
 writes his gospel, not in the Bible alone, but in trees, and 
 flowers, and clouds, and stars."
 
 List's Story. 42 t 
 
 And thus, to Mistress Luther, that little garden, with his 
 presence and his discourse, has become like an illuminated 
 Gospel and Psalter. 
 
 I ventured to ask her some questions, and, among others, if 
 she had ever heard him speak of using a form of words in 
 prayer. She said she had once heard him say "we might use 
 forms of words in private prayer until the wings and feathers of 
 our souls are grown, that we may soar freely upward into the 
 pure air of God's presence." But his prayers, she says, are 
 sometimes like the trustful pleadings of his little boy Hanschen 
 with him ; and sometimes like the wrestling of a giant in an 
 agony of conflict. 
 
 She said, also, that she often thanks God for the Doctor's love 
 of music. When his mind and heart have been strained to the 
 utmost, music seems to be like a bath of pure fresh water to his 
 spirit, bracing and resting it at once. 
 
 I indeed have myself heard him speak of this, when I have 
 been present at the meetings he has every week at his house for 
 singing in parts. " The devil," he says — " that lost spirit — 
 cannot endure sacred songs of joy. Our passions and im- 
 patiences, our complainings and our cryings, our Alas ! and our 
 Woe is me ! please him well; but our songs and psalms vex him 
 and grieve him sorely." 
 
 Mistress Luther told me she had many an anxious hour about 
 the Doctor's health. He is often so sorely pressed with work 
 and care; and he has never recovered the weakening effects of 
 his early fasts and conflicts. 
 
 His tastes at table are very simple, his favourite dishes are 
 herrings and pease-soup. His habits are abstemious, and when 
 engrossed with any especial work, he would forget or go without 
 his meals altogether if she did not press him to take them. 
 When writing his Commentary on the Twenty-second Psalm, 
 he shut himself up for three days with nothing but bread and 
 salt; until, at last, she had to send for a locksmith to break 
 open the door, when they found him absorbed in medita- 
 tion. 
 
 And yet, with all his deep thoughts and his wide cares, like a 
 king's or an archbishop's, he enters into his children's games as
 
 422 Chronicles of the ScJionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 if he were a boy; and never fails, if he is at a fair on his travels, 
 to bring the little ones home some gift for a fairing. 
 
 She showed me a letter she had just received from him from 
 Coburg, for his little son Hanschen. She allowed me to copy 
 it. It is written thus: — 
 
 " Grace and peace in Christ to my heartily dear little son. 
 
 " I see gladly that thou learnest well and prayest earnestly. 
 Do thus, my little son, and go on. When I come home I will 
 bring thee a beautiful fairing. I know a r leasant garden, wherein 
 many children walk about. They have little golden coats, and 
 pick up beautiful apples under the trees, and pears, cherries, 
 and plums. They dance and are merry, and have also beautiful 
 little ponies, with golden reins and silver saddles. Then I 
 asked the man whose the garden is, whose children those were. 
 He said, 'These are the children who love to pray, who learn 
 their lessons, and are good.' Then I said, 'Dear man, I also 
 have a little son ; he is called Hansichen Luther. Might not 
 he also come into the garden, that he might eat such apples and 
 pears, and ride on such beautiful little ponies, and play with 
 these children?' Then the man said, 'If he loves to pray, 
 learns his lessons, and is good, he also shall come into the 
 garden — Lippus and Jost also (the little sons of Melancthon 
 and Justus Jonas); and when they all come together, they also 
 shall have pipes, drums, lutes, and all kinds of music; and shall 
 dr.nce, and shoot with little bows and arrows.' 
 
 " And he showed me there a fair meadow in the garden, pre- 
 pared for dancing. There were many pipes of pure gold, 
 drums, and silver bows and arrows. But it was still early in the 
 day, so that the children had not had their breakfasts. There- 
 fore I could not wait for the dancing, and said to the man, 'Ah, 
 dear sir, I will go away at once, and write all this to my little 
 son Hansichen. that he may be sure to pray and to learn well, 
 and be good, that he also may come into this garden. But he 
 has a dear aunt, Lena ; he must bring her with him.' Then 
 said the man, ' Let it be so ; go and write him thus.' 
 
 "Therefore, my dear little son Hansichen, learn thy lessons, 
 and pray with a cheerful heart; and tell all this to Lippus and
 
 List's Story. 423 
 
 J ustus too, that they also may learn their lessons and pray. So 
 shall you all come together into this garden. Herewith I com- 
 mend you to the Almighty God; and greet Aunt Lena, and 
 give her a kiss from me. — Thy dear father, 
 
 Martin Luther." 
 
 Some who have seen this letter say it is too trifling for such 
 serious subjects. Eut heaven is not a grim and austere, but a 
 most bright and joyful place ; and Dr. Luther is only telling 
 the child in his own childish language what a happy place it is. 
 Does not God our heavenly Father do even so with us] 
 
 I should like to have seen Dr. Luther turn from his grave 
 letters to princes and doctors about the great Augsburg Con- 
 fession, which they are now preparing, to write these loving 
 words to his little Hans. No wonder " Catharine Lutherinn," 
 " Doctoress Luther," " mea dominus Ketha," " my lord Kathe," 
 as he calls her, is a happy woman. Happy for Germany that 
 the Catechism in which our children learn the first elements of 
 divine truth, grew out of the fatherly heart of Luther, instead 
 of being put together by a Diet or a General Council. 
 
 One more letter I have copied, because my children were so 
 interested in it. Dr. Luther finds at all times great delight in 
 the songs of birds. The letter I have copied was written on 
 the 28th April to his friends who meet around his table at home. 
 
 " Grace and peace in Christ, dear sirs and friends ! I have 
 received all your letters, and understand how things are going 
 on with vou. That you, on the other hand, may understand 
 how things are going on here, I would have you know that we, 
 namely, I, Master Veit, and Cyriacus, are not going to the 
 Diet at Augsburg. We have, however, another Diet of our 
 own here. 
 
 " Just under our window there is a grove like a little forest, 
 where the choughs and crows have convened a diet, and there 
 is such a riding hither and thither, such an incessant tumult, 
 day and night, as if they were all merry and mad with drinking. 
 Young and old chatter together, until I wonder how their breath 
 can hold out so long. I should like to know if any of those
 
 424 Chronicles of the Sch'dnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 nobles and cavaliers are with you ; it seems to me they must 
 be gathered here out of the whole world. 
 
 " I have not yet seen their emperor ; but their great people 
 are always strutting and prancing before our eyes, not, indeed, 
 in costly robes, but all simply clad in one uniform, all alike 
 black, all alike grey-eyed, and all singing one song, only with 
 the most amusing varieties between young and old, and great 
 and small. They are not careful to have a great palace and 
 hall of assembly, for their hall is vaulted with the beautiful, 
 broad sky, their floor is the field strewn with fair, green brandies, 
 and their walls reach as far as the ends of the world. Neither 
 do they require steeds and armour ; they have feathered wheels 
 witli which they fly from shot and danger. They are, doubtless, 
 great and mighty lords, but what they are debating I do not 
 yet know. 
 
 " As far, however, as 1 understand through an interpreter, 
 they are planning a great foray and campaign against the wheat, 
 barley, oats, and all kinds of grain, and many a knight will 
 win his spurs in this war, and many a brave deed will be 
 done. 
 
 " Thus we sit here in our Diet, and hear and listen with 
 great delight, and learn how the princes and lords, with all the 
 other estates of the empire, sing and live so merrily. But our 
 especial pleasure is to see how cavalierly they pace about, whet 
 their beaks, and furbish their armour, that they may win glory 
 and victory from wheat and oats. We wish them health and 
 wealth, — and that they may all at once be impaled on a quick- 
 set hedge ! 
 
 " For I hold they are nothing better than sophists and Papists 
 with their preaching and writing ; and I should like to have 
 these also before me in our assembly, that I might hear their 
 pleasant voices and sermons, and see what a useful people they 
 are to devour all that is on the face of the earth, and afterwards 
 chatter no one knows how long ! 
 
 " To-day we have heard the first nightingale ; for they would 
 not trust April. We have had delightful weather here, no rain, 
 except a little yesterday. With you, perhaps, it is otherwise. 
 Herewith I commend you to God. Keep house welL Given
 
 Ebb's Story. 425 
 
 from the Diet of the grain-Turks, the 28th of April, anno 
 1530. Martinus Luther." 
 
 Yet, peaceful and at leisure as he seems, Gottfried says the 
 whole of Germany is leaning now once more on the strength of 
 that faithful heart. 
 
 The Roman diplomatists again and again have all but per- 
 suaded Melancthon to yield everything for peace ; and, but for 
 the firm and faithful words which issue from " this wilderness," 
 as Luther calls the Coburg fortress, Gottfried believes all might 
 have gone wrong. Severely and mournfully has Dr. Luther been 
 constrained to write more than once to " Philip Pusillanimity," 
 demanding that at least he should not give up the doctrine of 
 justification by faith, and abandon all to the decision of the 
 bishops ! 
 
 It is faith which gives Luther this clearness of vision. " It 
 is God's word and cause," he writes, " therefore our prayer is 
 certainly heard, and already He has determined and prepared 
 the help that shall help us. This cannot fail. For he says, 
 ' Can a woman forget her sucking child, that she should not 
 have compassion on the son of her womb'? yea, they may forget, 
 yet will I not forget thee. See, I have graven thee on the 
 palms of my hands.' I have lately seen two miracles," he con- 
 tinues ; " the first, as I was looking out of my window and saw 
 the stars in heaven, and all that beautiful vaulted roof of God, 
 and yet saw no pillars on which the Master Builder had fixed 
 this vault ; yet the heaven fell not, but all that grand arch stood 
 firm. Now, there are some who search for such pillars, and 
 want to touch and grasp them, and since they cannot, they 
 wonder and tremble as if the heaven must certainly fall, for no 
 other reason but because they cannot touch and grasp its pillars. 
 If they could lay hold on those, think they, then the heaven 
 would stand firm ! 
 
 " The second miracle was — I saw great clouds rolling over 
 us, with such a ponderous weight that they 1 might be compared 
 to a great ocean, and yet I saw no foundation on which they 
 rested or were based, nor any shore which kept them back ; 
 yet they fell not on us, but frowned on us with a stern coun-
 
 426 Chronicles of the ScJibiiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 tenance, and fled. But when they had passed by, then shone 
 forth both their foundation and our roof which had kept them 
 back — the rainbow ! Truly a weak, thin, slight foundation 
 and roof, which soon melted away into the clouds, and was 
 more like a shadowy prism, such as we see through coloured 
 glass, than a strong and firm foundation ! so that we might 
 well distrust that feeble dyke which kept back that terrible 
 weight of waters. Yet we found, in fact, that this unsubstan- 
 tial prism could bear up the weight of waters, and that it 
 guards us safely. But there are some who look rather at the 
 thickness and massy weight of the waters and clouds, than at 
 this thin, slight, narrow bow of promise. They would like to 
 feel the strength of that shadowy, evanescent arch, and because 
 they cannot do this, they are ever fearing that the clouds will 
 bring back the deluge." 
 
 Heavenly Father, since one man who trusts thy word can 
 thus uphold a nation, what could not thy word do for each 
 of us if we would each of us thus trust it, and Thee who 
 speakest it !
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Cjjehla's Storm 
 
 WlTTEMBERG, 1540. 
 
 HE time I used to dread most of all in my life, after 
 that great bereavement which laid it waste, is come. 
 I am in the monotonous level of solitary middle age. 
 The sunny heights of childhood, and even the joyous breezy 
 slopes of youth, are almost out of sight behind me ; and the 
 snowy heights of reverend age, from which we can look over 
 into the promised land beyond, are almost as far before me. 
 Other lives have grown from the bubbling spring into the broad 
 and placid river, while mine is still the little narrow stream it 
 was at first ; only, creeping slow and noiseless through the flats, 
 instead of springing gladly from rock to rock, making music 
 wherever it came. Yet I am content ; absolutely, fully content. 
 I am sure that my life also has been ordered by the highest 
 wisdom and love ; and that (as far as my faithless heart does 
 not hinder it) God is leading me also on to the very highest and 
 best destiny for me. 
 
 I did not always think so. I used to fear that not only 
 would this bereavement throw a shadow on my earthly life, but 
 that it would stunt and enfeeble my nature for ever ; that 
 missing all the sweet, ennobling relationships of married life, 
 even throughout the ages I should be but an undeveloped, 
 one-sided creature. 
 
 But one day I was reading in Dr. Luther's German Bible the 
 chapter about the body of Christ, the twelfth of First Corin- 
 thians, and great comfort came into my heart through it. I 
 saw that we are not meant to be separate atoms, each complete 
 in itself, but members of a body, each only complete through
 
 428 Chronicles of the Sclioiiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 union with all the rest. And then I saw how entirely unimportant 
 it is in what place Christ shall set me in his body; and how 
 impossible it is for us to judge what he is training us for, until 
 the body is perfected and we see what we are*to be in it. 
 
 On the Diiben Heath also, soon after, when I was walking 
 home with Else's Gretchen, the same lesson came to me in a 
 parable, through a clump of trees under the shade of which we 
 were resting. Often, from a distance, we had admired the 
 beautiful symmetry of the group, and now, looking up, I saw 
 how imperfect every separate tree was, all leaning in various 
 directions, and all only developed on one side. If each tree 
 had said, "I am a beech tree, and I ought to throw out 
 branches on every side, like my brother standing alone on the 
 heath," what would have become of that beautiful clump? And 
 looking up through the green interwoven leaves to the blue sky 
 I said, — 
 
 "Heavenly Father, thou art wise! I will doubt no more. 
 Plant me where thou wilt in thy garden, and let me grow as 
 thou wilt! Thou wilt not let me fail of my highest end." 
 
 Dr. Luther also said many things which helped me from time 
 to time, in conversation or in his sermons. 
 
 " The barley," he said, " must suffer much from man. First, 
 it is cast into the earth that it may decay. Then, when it is 
 grown up and ripe, it is cut and mown down. Then it is crushed 
 and pressed, fermented and brewed into beer. 
 
 " Just such a martyr also is the linen or flax. When it is ripe 
 it is plucked, steeped in water, beaten, dried, hacked, spun, and 
 woven into linen, which again is torn and cut. Afterwards it 
 is made into plaster for "sores, and used for binding up wounds. 
 Then it becomes lint, is laid under the stamping machines in 
 the paper mill, and torn into small bits. From this they make 
 paper for writing and printing. 
 
 " These creatures, and many others like them, which are of 
 great use to us, must thus suffer. Thus also must good, godly 
 Christians suffer much from the ungodly and wicked. Thus, 
 however, the barley, wine, and corn are ennobled; in man be- 
 coming flesh, and in the Christian man's flesh entering into the 
 heavenly kingdom."
 
 Thcklas Story. 429 
 
 Often he speaks of the " dear, holy cross, a portion of which 
 is given to all Christians." 
 
 " All the saints," he said once, when a little child of one ot 
 his friends lay ill, " must drink of the bitter cup. Could Mary 
 even, the dear mother of our Lord, escape? All who are dear 
 to him must suffer. Christians conquer when they suffer; only 
 when they rebel and resist are they defeated and lose the day." 
 
 He, indeed, knows what trial and temptation mean. Many 
 a bitter cup has he had to drink, he to whom the sins, and sel- 
 fishness, and divisions of Christians are personal sorrow and 
 shame. It is therefore, no doubt, that he knows so well how 
 to sustain and comfort. Those, he says, who are to be the 
 bones and sinews of the Church must expect the hardest blows. 
 
 Well I remember his saying, when, on the 8th of August, 
 1529, before his going to C.oburg, he and his wife lay sick of a 
 fever, while he suffered also from sciatica, and many other ail- 
 ments, — 
 
 "God has touched me sorely. I have been impatient; but 
 God knows better than I whereto it serves. Our Lord God is 
 like a printer who sets the letters backwards, so that here we can- 
 not read them. When we are printed off yonder, in the life to come, 
 we shall read all clear and straightforward. Meantime we must 
 have patience." 
 
 In other ways more than I can number he and his words 
 have helped me. No one seems to understand as he does what 
 the devil is and does. It is the temptation in the sorrow which 
 is the thing to be dreaded and guarded against. This was what 
 I did not understand at first when Bertrand died. I thought I 
 was rebellious, and dared not approach God till I ceased to feel 
 rebellious. I did not understand that the malignant one who 
 tempted me to rebel also tempted me to think God would not 
 forgive. I had thought before of affliction as a kind of sanctuary 
 where naturally I should feel God near. I had to learn that it 
 is also night-time, even " the hour of darkness," in which the 
 prince of darkness draws near unseen. As Luther says, " The 
 devil torments us in the place where we are most tender and 
 weak, as in Paradise he fell not on Adam, but on Eve." 
 
 Inexpressible was the relief to me when I learned who had
 
 430 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 been tormenting me, and turned to Him who vanquished the 
 tempter of old to banish him now from me. For terrible as Dr. 
 Luther knows that fallen angel to be, — " the antithesis," as he 
 said, " of the Ten Commandments," who for thousands of years 
 has been studying with an angel's intellectual power, "how most 
 effectually to distress and ruin man," — he always reminds us 
 that, nevertheless, the devil is a vanquished foe, that the victory 
 has not now to be won ; that, bold as the evil one is to assail and 
 tempt the ungarded, a word or look of faith will compel him to 
 flee " like a beaten hound." It is this blending of the sense of 
 Satan's power to tempt, with the conviction of his powerlessness 
 to injure the believing heart, which has so often sustained me 
 in Dr. Luther's words. 
 
 But it is not only thus that he has helped me. He presses 
 on us often the necessity of occupation. It is better, he says, 
 to engage in the humblest work, than to sit still alone and 
 encounter the temptations of Satan. " Oft in my temptations 
 I have need to talk even with a child, in order to expel such 
 thoughts as the devil possesses me with ; and this teaches me 
 not to boast as if of myself I were able to help myself, and to 
 subsist without the strength of Christ. I need one at times to 
 help me who in his whole body has not as much theology as I 
 have in one finger." "The human heart," he says, "is like a 
 millstone in a mill : when you put wheat under it, it turns, and 
 grinds, and bruises the wheat to flour ; if you put no wheat it 
 still grinds on, but then it is itself it grinds and wears away. So 
 the human heart, unless it be occupied with some employment, 
 leaves space for the devil, who wriggles himself in, and brings 
 with him a whole host of evil thoughts, temptations, tribulations, 
 which grind away the heart." 
 
 After hearing him say this, I tried hard to find myself some 
 occupation. At first it seemed difficult. Else wanted little 
 help with her children, or only occasionally. At home the cares 
 of poverty were over, and my dear father and mother lived in 
 comfort, without my aid. I used discontentedly to wish some- 
 times that we were poor again, as in Else's girlish days, that I 
 might be needed, and really feel it of some use to spin and em- 
 broider, instead of feeling that I only worked for the sake ot
 
 Thekld's Story. 431 
 
 not being idle, and that no one would be the better for what I 
 did. 
 
 At other times I used to long to seclude myself from all the 
 happy life around, and half to reproach Dr. Luther in my heart 
 for causing the suppression of the convents. In a nunnery, at 
 least, I thought I should have been something definite and re- 
 cognised, instead of the negative, undeveloped creature, I felt 
 myself to be, only distinguished from those around by the 
 absence of what made their lives real and happy. 
 
 My mother's recovery from the plague helped to cure me of 
 that, by reminding me of the home blessings still left. I began, 
 too, to confide once more in God, and I was comforted by 
 thinking of what my grandmother said to me one day when I 
 was a little girl, crying hopelessly over a tangled skein and sob- 
 bing, "1 shall never untangle it;" "Wind, dear child, wind on, 
 inch by inch, undo each knot one by one, and the skein will 
 soon disentangle itself." So I resolved to wind on my little 
 thread of life day by day, and undo one little knot after another, 
 until now, indeed, the skein has disentangled itself. 
 
 Few women, I think, have a life more full of love and interest 
 than mine. I have undertaken the care of a school for little 
 girls, among whom are two orphans, made fatherless by the 
 peasants' war, who were sent to us; and this also I owe to Dr. 
 Luther. He has nothing more at heart than the education of 
 the young; nothing gives him more pain than to see the covet- 
 ousness which grudges funds for schools; and nothing more joy 
 than to see the little ones grow up in all good knowledge. As 
 he wrote to the Elector John from Coburg twelve years ago:— 
 
 " The merciful God shows himself indeed gracious in making 
 his Word so fruitful in your land. The tender little boys and 
 maidens are so well instructed in the Catechism and Scriptures, 
 that my heart melts when I see that young boys and girls can 
 pray, believe, and speak better of God and Christ than all the 
 convents and schools could in the olden time. 
 
 " Such youth in your grace's land are a fair Paradise, of which 
 the like is not in the world. It is as if God said, ' Courage, 
 dear Duke John, I commit to thee my noblest treasure, my 
 pleasant Paradise; thou shalt be father over it. For under th>
 
 432 Chronicles of the ScJwnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 guard and rule I place it, and give thee the honour that thou shalt 
 be my gardener and steward.' This is assuredly true. It is 
 even as if our Lord himself were your grace's guest and ward, 
 since his Word and his little ones are your perpetual guests and 
 wards." 
 
 For a little while a lady, a friend of his wife, resided in his 
 House in order to commence such a school at Wittemberg for 
 young girls ; and now it has become my charge. And often 
 Dr. Luther comes in and lays his hands on the heads of the 
 little ones, and asks God to bless them, or listens while they 
 repeat the Catechism or the Holy Scriptures. 
 
 Deconber 25, 1542. 
 
 Once more the Christmas tree has been planted in our homes 
 at Wittemberg. How many such happy Christian homes there 
 are among us ! Our Else's, Justus Jonas', and his gentle, sym- 
 pathizing wife, who, Dr. Luther says, " always brings comfort in 
 her kind pleasant countenance." We all meet at Else's home 
 on such occasions now. The voices of the children are better 
 than light to the blind eyes of my father, and my mother renews 
 her own maternal joys again in her grandchildren, without the 
 cares. 
 
 But of all these homes none is happier or more united than 
 Dr. Luther's. His childlike pleasure in little things makes 
 every family festival in his house so joyous; and the children's 
 plays and pleasures, as well as their little troubles, are to him a 
 perpetual parable of the heavenly family, and of our relationship 
 to God. There are five children in his family now; Hans, the 
 first-born; Magdalen, a lovely, loving girl of thirteen; Paul, 
 Martin, and Margaretha. 
 
 How good it is for those who are bereaved and sorrowful that 
 our Christian festivals point forward and upward as well as 
 backward-; that the eternal joy to which we are drawing ever 
 nearer is linked to the earthly joy which has passed away. Yes, 
 the old heathen tree of life, which that young green fir from the 
 primeval forests of our land is said to typify, has been christened 
 into the Christmas tree. The old tree of life was a tree of 
 sorrow, and had its roots in the evanescent earth, and at its base 
 sat the mournful Destinies, ready to cut the thread of human
 
 Theklas Story. 433 
 
 life. Nature ever renewing herself contrasted mournfully with 
 the human life that blooms but once. But our tree of life is a 
 tree of joy, and is rooted in the eternal Paradise of joy. The 
 angels watch over it, and it recalls the birth of the Second Man 
 — the Lord from heaven — who is not merely " a living soul, but 
 a life-giving spirit." In it the evanescence of Nature, immortal 
 as she seems, is contrasted with the true eternal life of mortal 
 man. In the joy of the little ones, once more, thank God, my 
 whole heart seems to rejoice; for I also have my face towards 
 the dawn, and I can hear the fountain of life bubbling up which- 
 ever way I turn. Only, before me it is best and freshest! for it 
 is springing up to life everlasting. 
 
 December 154?. 
 
 A shadow has fallen on the peaceful home of Dr. Luther : 
 Magdalen, the unselfish, obedient, pious, loving child — the 
 darling of her father's heart — is dead; the first-born daughter, 
 whose portrait, when she was a year old, used to cheer and 
 delight him at Coburg. 
 
 On the 5th of this last September she was taken ill, and then 
 Luther wrote at once to his friend Marcus Crodel to send his 
 son John from Torgau, where he was studying, to see his sister. 
 He wrote, — 
 
 " Grace and peace, my Marcus Crodel. I request that you 
 will conceal from my John what I am writing to you. My 
 daughter Magdalen is literally almost at the point of death — soon 
 about to depart to her Father in heaven, unless it should yet 
 seem fit to God to spare her. But she herself so sighs to see 
 her brother, that I am constrained to send a carriage to fetch 
 him. They indeed loved one another greatly. May she sur- 
 vive to his coming ! I do what I can, lest afterwards the sense 
 of haying neglected anything should torture me. Desire him, 
 therefore, without mentioning the cause, to return hither at once 
 with all speed in this carriage; hither, — where she will either 
 sleep in the Lord or be restored. Farewell in the Lord." 
 
 Her brother came, but she was not restored. 
 
 As she lay very ill, Doctor Martin said, — 
 
 " She is very dear to me ; but, gracious God, if it is thy will to 
 take her hence, I am content to know that she will be with thee." 
 
 28
 
 434 Chronicles of the Sclionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 And as she lay in the bed, he said to her, — 
 
 " Magdalenchen, my little daughter, thou wouldst like to stay 
 n r ith thy father ; and thou art content also to go to thy Father 
 yonder." 
 
 Said she, " Yes, dearest father; as God wills." 
 
 Then said the father, — 
 
 " Thou darling child, the spirit is willing, but the flesh is 
 weak." 
 
 Then he turned away and said, — 
 
 " She is very dear to me. If the flesh is so strong, what will 
 the spirit be?" 
 
 And among other things he said, — 
 
 " For a thousand years God has given no bishop such great 
 gifts as he has given me; and we should rejoice in his gifts. I 
 am angry with myself that I cannot rejoice in my heart over 
 her, nor give thanks ; although now and then I can sing a little 
 song to our God, and thank him a little for all this. But let us 
 take courage ; living or dying, we are the Lord's. ' Sive vivimus, 
 sive moremur, Domini sumus.' This is true, whether we take 
 ' Domini ' in the nominative or the genitive : we are the Lord's, 
 and in him we are lords over death and life." 
 
 Then said Master George Rorer, — 
 
 " I once heard your reverence say a thing which often 
 comforts me — namely, ' I have prayed our Lord God that he 
 will give me a happy departure when I journey hence. And he 
 will do it; of that I feel sure. At my latter end I shall yet 
 speak with Ghrist my Lord, were it for ever so brief a space.' 
 I fear sometimes," continued Master Rorer, " that I shall de- 
 part hence suddenly, in silence, without being able to speak a 
 word." 
 
 Then said Dr. Martin Luther, — 
 
 " Living or dying, we are the Lord's. It is equally so whether 
 you were killed by falling down stairs, or were sitting and 
 writing, and suddenly should die. It would not injure me if I 
 fell from a ladder and lay dead at its foot; for the devil hates us 
 grievously, and might even bring about such a thing as that." 
 
 When, at last, the little Magdalen lay at the point of death, 
 her father fell on his knees by her bed-side, wept bitterly, and
 
 Thcklas Story. 435 
 
 prayed that God would receive her. Then she departed, ami 
 fell asleep in her father's arms. Her mother was also in the 
 room, but further off, on account of her grief. This happened 
 a little after nine o'clock on the Wednesday after the 19th Sunday 
 after Trinity, 1542. 
 
 The Doctor repeated often, as before said, — 
 
 " I would desire indeed to keep my daughter, if our Lord 
 God would leave her with me; for I love her very dearly. But 
 His will be done ; for nothing can be better than that for her." 
 
 Whilst she still lived, he said to her, — 
 
 " Dear daughter, thou hast also a Father in heaven ; thou art 
 going to him." 
 
 Then said Master Philip, — 
 
 " The love of parents is an image and illustration of the love 
 of God, engraven on the human heart. If, then, the love of 
 God to the human race is as great as that of parents to their 
 children, it is indeed great and fervent." 
 
 When she was laid in the coffin, Doctor Martin said, — 
 
 "Thou darling Lenichen, how well it is with thee!" 
 
 And as he gazed on her lying there, he said, — 
 
 " Ah, thou sweet Lenichen, thou shalt rise again, and shine 
 like a star; yes, like the sun!" 
 
 They had made the coffin too narrow and too short, and he 
 said, — 
 
 " The bed is too small for thee ! I am indeed joyful in spirit, 
 but after the flesh I am very sad; this parting is so beyond 
 measure trying. Wonderful it is that I should know she is 
 certainly at peace, and that all is well with her, and yet should 
 be so sad." 
 
 And when the people who came to lay out the corpse, accord- 
 ing to custom, spoke to the Doctor, and said they were sorry 
 for his affliction, he said, — 
 
 " You should rejoice. I have sent a saint to heaven; yes, a 
 living saint ! May we have such a death ! Such a death I 
 would gladly die this very hour." 
 
 Then said one, "That is true indeed; yet ever) one would 
 wish to keep his own." 
 
 Doctor Martin answered. —
 
 43^3 Chronicles of the Sclionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " Flesh is flesh, and blood is blood. I am glad that she is 
 yonder. There is no sorrow but that of the flesh." 
 
 To others who came he said, — 
 
 " Grieve not. I have sent a saint to heaven ; yes, I have 
 sent two such thither!" alluding to his infant Elizabeth. 
 
 As they were chanting by the corpse, " Lord, remember not 
 our fonner sins, which are of old," he said, — 
 
 " I say, O Lord, not our former sins only, nor only those of 
 old, but our present sins ; for we are usurers, exactors, misers. 
 Yea, the abomination of the mass is still in the world!" 
 
 When the coffin was closed, and she was buried, he said, 
 " There, is indeed a resurrection of the body." 
 
 And as they returned from the funeral, he said, — 
 
 " My daughter is now provided for in body and soul. We 
 Christians have nothing to complain of; we know it must be so. 
 We are more certain of eternal life than of anything else; for 
 God who has promised it to us for his dear Son's sake, can 
 never lie. Two saints of my flesh our Lord God has taken, but 
 not of my blood. Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom." 
 
 Among other things, he said, — 
 
 " We must take great care for our children, and especially for 
 the poor little maidens; we must not leave it to others to care 
 for them. I have no compassion on the boys. A lad can 
 maintain himself wherever he is, if he will only work; and if he 
 will not work, be is a scoundrel. But the poor maiden-kind 
 must have a staff to lean on." 
 
 And again, — 
 
 " I gave this daughter very willingly to our God. After the 
 flesh, I would indeed have wished to keep her longer with me, 
 but since he has taken her hence, I thank him." 
 
 The night before Magdalen Luther died, her mother had a 
 dream, in which she saw two men clothed in fair raiment, beautiful 
 and young, come and lead her daughter away to her bridal. 
 When, on the next morning Philip Melancthon came into the 
 cloister, and asked her how her daughter was, she told him her 
 dream. 
 
 But he was alarmed at it, and said to others, — 
 
 " Those young men are the dear angels who will come and 

 
 Tlicklas Story. 
 
 437 
 
 lead this maiden into the kingdom of heaven, to the true 
 Bridal." 
 
 And the same day she died. 
 
 Some little time after her death, Dr. Martin Luther said, — 
 
 " If my daughter Magdalen could come to life again, and 
 bring with her to me the Turkish kingdom, I would not have it. 
 Oh, she is well cared for • ' Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur.' 
 Who dies thus, certainly has eternal life. I would that I, and 
 my children, and ye all could thus all depart; for evil days are 
 coming. There is neither help nor counsel more on earth, I 
 see, until the Judgment Day. I hope, if God will, it will not 
 be long delayed; for covetousness and usury increase." 
 
 And often at supper he repeated, " Et multipicata sunt mala 
 in terris." 
 
 He himself made this epitaph, and had it placed on his Mag- 
 dalen's tomb : — 
 
 " Dormio cum Sanctis hie Magdalena Lutheri 
 Filia, et hoc strato tecta quiesco raeo. 
 Filia mortis eram, peccati semine nata, 
 Sanguine sed vivo', Christe, redempta tuo." * 
 
 In German, — 
 
 " Here sleep I, Lenichen, Dr. Luther's little daughter, 
 Rest with all the saints in my little bed ; 
 I who was born in sins, 
 And must for ever have been lost. 
 But now I live, and all is well with me, 
 Lord Christ, redeemed with thy blood." 
 
 Yet indeed, although he tries to cheer others, he laments 
 long and deeply himself, as many of his letters show. 
 
 To Jonas he wrote, — 
 
 " I think you will have heard that my dearest daughter 
 Magdalen is born again to the eternal kingdom of Christ. But 
 although I and my wife ought to do nothing but give thanks, 
 rejoicing in so happy and blessed a departure, by which she has 
 escaped the power of the flesh, the world, the Turk, and the 
 
 A friend has translated it thus : — 
 
 I, Luther's daughter Magdalen, 
 Here slumber with the blest ; 
 
 Upon this bed I lay my head, 
 And take my quiet rest. 
 
 I was a child of death on earth, 
 In sin my life was given : 
 
 But on the tree Christ died for n.e ; 
 And now I live in heaven.
 
 438 Chronicles of the Sch'oiiberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 devil ; yet such is the strength of natural affection, that we can- 
 not part with her without sobs and groans of heart. They cleave 
 to our heart, th^y remain fixed in its depths — her face, her 
 woids — the looks, living and dying, of that most dutiful and 
 obedient child; so that even the death of Christ (and what are 
 all deaths in comparison with that?) scarcely can efface her 
 death from our minds. Do thou, therefore, give thanks to God 
 in our stead. Wonder at the great work of God who thus glori- 
 fies our flesh ! She was, as thou knowest, gentle and sweet in 
 disposition, and was altogether lovely. Blessed be the Lord 
 Jesus Christ, who called, and chose, and has thus magnified 
 her ! I wish for myself and all mine, that we may attain to such 
 a death ; yea, rather, to such a life, which only I ask from God, 
 the Father of all consolation and mercy." 
 
 And again, to Jacob Probst, pastor at Bremen — 
 
 " My most dear child, Magdalen, has departed to her heavenly 
 Father, falling asleep full of faith in Christ. An indignant 
 horror against death softens my tears. I loved her vehemently. 
 But in that day we shall be avenged on death, and on him who 
 is the author of death." 
 
 And to Amsdorf — 
 
 " Thanks to thee for endeavouring to console me on the 
 death of my dearest daughter. I loved her not only for that 
 she was my flesh, but for her most placid and gentle spirit, ever 
 so dutiful to me. But now I rejoice that she is gone to live 
 with her heavenly Father, and is fallen into sweetest sleep until 
 that day. For the times are and will be worse and worse; and 
 in my heart I pray that to thee, and to all dear to me, may be 
 given such an hour of departure, and with such placid quiet, 
 truly to fall asleep in the Lord. ' The just are gathered, and 
 rest in their beds' ' For verily the world is as a horrible Sodom.' " 
 
 And to Lauterbach — 
 
 " Thou writest well, that in this most evil age death (or more 
 truly, sleep) is to be desired by all. And although the depar- 
 ture of that most dear child has, indeed, no little moved me, yet 
 I rejoice more that she, a daughter of the kingdom, is snatched 
 from the jaws of the devil and the world; so sweetly did she 
 fall asleep in Christ."
 
 TJicklas Story. 439 
 
 So mournfully and tenderly he writes and speaks, the shadow 
 of that sorrow at the centre of his life overspreading the whole 
 world with darkness to him. Or rather, as he would say, the 
 joy of that loving, dutiful child's presence being withdrawn, he 
 looks out from his cold and darkened hearth, and sees the 
 world as it is; the covetousness of the rich; the just demands, 
 yet insurrectionary attempts of the poor; the war with the Turks 
 without, the strife in the empire within; the fierce animosities 
 of impending religious war; the lukewarmness and divisions 
 among his friends. For many years God gave that feeling 
 heart a refuge from all these in the bright, unbroken circle of 
 his home. But now the next look to him seems beyond this 
 life ; to death, which unveils the kingdom of truth and righteous- 
 ness, and love, to each, one by one ; or still more, to the glorious 
 Advent which will manifest it to all. Of this he delights to 
 speak. The end of the world, he feels sure, is near ; and he 
 says all preachers should tell their people to pray for its coming, 
 as the beginning of the golden age. He said once — " O gracious 
 God, come soon again ! I am waiting ever for the day — the 
 spring morning, when day and night are equal, and the clear, 
 bright rose of that dawn shall appear. From that glow of 
 morning I imagine a thick, black cloud will issue, forked with 
 lightning, and then a crash, and heaven and earth will fall. 
 Praise be to God, who has taught us to long and look for that 
 day. In the Papacy, they sing — 
 
 ' Dies irae, dies ilia ; ' 
 
 but we look forward to it with hope; and I trust it is not far 
 distant." 
 
 Yet he is no dreamer, listlessly clasping his hands in the 
 night, and watching for the dawn. He is of the day, a child of 
 the light; and calmly, and often cheerfully, he pursues his life 
 of ceaseless toil for others, considerately attending to the wants 
 and pleasures of all, from the least to the greatest; affection- 
 ately desirous to part with his silver plate, rather than not give 
 a generous reward to a faithful old servant, who was retiring 
 from his service; pleading the cause of the helpless; writing 
 letters of consolation to the humblest who need his aid ; caring
 
 44 o Chronicles of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 for all the churches, yet steadily disciplining his children when 
 they need it, or ready to enter into any scheme for their plea- 
 sure. 
 
 WlTTEMBERG, 1545. 
 
 It seems as if Dr. Luther were as necessary to us now as 
 when he gave the first impulse to better things, by affixing his 
 theses to the doors of Wittemberg, or when the eyes of the 
 nation centred on him at Worms. In his quiet home he sits 
 and holds the threads which guide so many lives, and the des- 
 tinies of so many lands. He has been often ailing lately, and 
 sometimes very seriously. The selfish luxury of the rich burghers 
 and nobles troubles him much. He almost forced his way one 
 day into the Elector's cabinet, to press on him the appropria- 
 tion of some of the confiscated church revenues to the payment 
 of pastors and schoolmasters; and earnestly, again and again, 
 from the pulpit, does he denounce covetousness. 
 
 "All other vices," he says, " bring their pleasures; but the 
 wretched avaricious man is the slave of his goods, not their 
 master; he enjoys neither this world nor the next. Here he 
 has purgatoiy, and there hell; while faith and content bring 
 rest to the soul here, and afterwards bring the soul to heaven. 
 For the avaricious lack what they have, as well as what they 
 have not." 
 
 Never was a heart more free from selfish interests and aims 
 than his. His faith is always seeing the invisible God; and to 
 him it seems the most melancholy folly, as well as sin, that 
 people should build their nests in this forest, on all whose trees 
 he sees " the forester's mark of destruction." 
 
 The tone of his preaching has often lately been reproachful 
 and sad. 
 
 Else's Gretchen, now a thoughtful maiden of three -an d- 
 twenty, said to me the other day, — 
 
 " Aunt Thekla, why does Dr. Luther preach sometimes as 
 if his preaching had done no good % Have not many of the 
 evil things he attacked been removed? Is not ihe Bible in 
 every home? Our mother says we cannot be too thankful for 
 living in these times, when we are taught the truth about God, 
 and are given a religion of trust and love, instead of one of dis-
 
 TJicklas Story. 441 
 
 trust and dread. Why does Dr. Luther often speak as if nothing 
 had been done 1 ? 
 
 And I could only say, — 
 
 " We see what has been done ; but Dr. Luther only knows 
 what he hoped to do. He said one day — ' If I had known at 
 first that men were so hostile to the Word of God, I should have 
 held my peace. I imagined that they sinned merely through 
 ignorance.' " 
 
 " I suppose, Gretchen," I said, " that he had before him the 
 vision of the whole of Christendom flocking to adore and serve 
 his Lord, when once he had shown them how good He is. 
 We see what Dr. Luther has done. He sees what he hoped, 
 and contrasts it what is left undone."
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Cbe Pother's Sforg. 
 
 DO not think there is another old man and woman in 
 Christendom who ought to be so thankful as my hus- 
 band and I. 
 No doubt all parents are inclined to look at the best side of 
 their own children ; but with ours there is really no other side 
 to look at, it seems to me. Perhaps Else has sometimes a little 
 too much of my anxious mind ; but even in her tender heart, as 
 in all the others, there is a large measure of her father's hope- 
 fulness. And then, although they have, perhaps, none of them 
 quite his inventive genius, yet that seems hardly a matter of 
 regret; because, as things go in the world, other people seem 
 so often, at the very goal, to step in and reap the fruit of these 
 inventions, just by adding some insignificant detail which makes 
 the invention work, and gives them the appearance of having 
 been the real discoverers. 
 
 Not that I mean to murmur for one instant against the people 
 who have this little knack of just putting the finishing touch 
 and making things succeed; that also, as the house-father says, 
 is God's gift, and although it cannot certainly be compared to 
 those great, lofty thoughts and plans of my husband's, it has 
 more current value in the world. Not, again, that I would for 
 an instant murmur at the world. We have all so much more in 
 it than we deserve (except, perhaps, my dearest husband, who 
 cares so little for its rewards !) It has been quite wonderful 
 how good every one has been to us. Gottfried Reichenbach, 
 and all our sons-in-law, are like sons to us; and certainly 
 could not have prized our daughters more if they had had the 
 dowry of princesses; although I must candidly say I think our
 
 The Mother's Story. 443 
 
 dear daughters without a kreutzer of dowry are worth a fortune 
 to any man. I often wonder how it is they are such house- 
 wives, and so sensible and wise in every way, when I never 
 considered myself at all a clever manager. To be sure their 
 father's conversation was always very improving; and my deal 
 blessed mother was a store-house of wisdom and experience. 
 However, there is no accounting for these things. God is won- 
 derfully good in blessing the humblest efforts to train up the 
 little ones for him. We often think the poverty of their earl) 
 years was quite a school of patience and household virtues for 
 them all. Even Christopher and Thekla, who caused us more 
 anxiety at first than the others, are the very stay and joy of our 
 old age ; which shows how little we can foresee what good things 
 God is preparing for us. 
 
 How I used at one time to tremble for them both ! It shocked 
 Else and me so grievously to see Christopher, as we thought, 
 quite turning his back on religion, after Fritz became a monk ; 
 and what a relief it was to see him find in Dr. Luther's sermons 
 and in the Bible the truth which bowed his heart in reverence, 
 yet left his character free to develop itself without being com- 
 pressed into a mould made for other characters. What a relief 
 it was to hear that he turned, not from religion, but from what 
 was false in the religion then taught, and to see him devoting 
 himself to his calling as a printer with a feeling as sacred as 
 Fritz to his work as a pastor ! 
 
 Then our Thekla, how anxious I was about her at one time ! 
 how eager to take her training out of God's hands into my own, 
 which I thought, in my ignorance, might spare her fervent, en- 
 thusiastic, loving heart some pain. 
 
 I wanted to tame down and moderate everything in her by 
 tender warnings and wise precepts. I wanted her to love less 
 vehemently, to rejoice with more limitation, to grieve more 
 moderately. I tried hard to compress her character into a nar- 
 rower mould. But God would not have it so. I can see it all 
 now. She was to love and rejoice, and then to weep and lament, 
 according to the full measure of her heart, that in the heights and 
 depths to which God led her, she might learn what she was to 
 learn of the heights and depths of the love which extends beyond
 
 444 Chronicles of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 all joy and below all sorrow. Her character, instead of becom- 
 ing dwarfed and stunted, as my ignorant hand might have made 
 it, was to be thus braced, and strengthened, and rooted, that 
 others might find shelter beneath her sympathy and love, as so 
 many do now. I would have weakened in order to soften ; 
 God's providence has strengthened and expanded while softening, 
 and made her strong to endure and pity as well as strong to feel. 
 
 No one can say what she is to us, the one left entirely to us, 
 to whom we are still the nearest and the dearest, who binds our 
 years together by the unbroken memory of her tender care, and 
 makes us young in her childlike love, and brings into our fail- 
 ing life the activity and interest of mature age by her own life 
 of active benevolence. 
 
 Else and her household are the delight of our daily life ; Eva 
 and Fritz are our most precious and consecrated treasures, and 
 all the rest are good and dear as children can be ; but to all the 
 rest we are the grandmother and the grandfather. To Thekla 
 we are "father" and "mother" still, the shelter of her life and 
 the home of her affections. Only, sometimes my old anxious 
 fears creep over me when I think what she will do when we are 
 gone. But I have no excuse for these now, with all those pro- 
 mises of our Lord, and his word about the lilies and the birds, 
 in plain German in my Bible, and the very same lilies and birds 
 preaching to me in colours and songs as plain from the eaves 
 and from the garden outside my window. 
 
 Never did any woman owe so much to Dr. Luther and the 
 Reformation as I. Christopher's religion ; Fritz and Eva's mar- 
 riage ; Thekla's presence in our home, instead of her being a 
 nun in some convent-prison ; all the love of the last months my 
 dear sister Agnes and I spent together before her peaceful 
 death; and the great weight of fear removed from my own 
 heart ! 
 
 And yet my timid, easedoving nature, will sometimes shrink, 
 not so much from what has been done, as from the way in which 
 it has been done. I fancy a little more gentleness might have 
 prevented so terrible a breach between the new and the old re- 
 ligions ; that the peasant war might have been saved ; and some- 
 how or other (how, I cannot at all tell) the good people on both
 
 The Mother's Story. 445 
 
 sides might have been kept at one. For that there are good 
 people on both sides, nothing will ever make me doubt. In- 
 deed, is not one of our own sons — our good and sober-minded 
 Pollux — still in the old Church 1 And can I doubt that he and 
 his devout, affectionate little wife, who visits the poor and nurses 
 the sick, love God and try to serve him 1 
 
 In truth, I cannot help half counting it among our mercies 
 that we have one son still adhering to the old religion ; although 
 my children, who are wiser than I, do not think so ; nor my hus- 
 band, who is wiser than they ; nor Dr. Luther, who is, on the 
 whole, I believe, wiser than any one. Perhaps I should rather 
 say, that great as the grief is to us and the loss to him, I cannot 
 help seeing some good in our Pollux remaining as a link be- 
 tween us and the religion of our fathers. It seems to remind 
 us of the tie of our common creation and redemption, and our 
 common faith, however dim, in our Creator and Redeemer. It 
 prevents our thinking all Christendom which belongs to the old 
 religion quite the same as the pagans or the Turks; and it also 
 helps a little to prevent their thinking us such hopeless infidels. 
 
 Besides, although they would not admit it, I feel sure that 
 Dr. Luther and the Reformation have taught Pollux and his wife 
 many things. They also have a German Bible ; and although 
 it is much more cumbrous than Dr. Luther's, and, it seems to 
 me, not half such genuine, hearty German, still he and his wife 
 can read it ; and I sometimes trust we shall find by-and-by we 
 did not really differ so very much about our Saviour, although 
 we may have differed about Dr. Luther. 
 
 Perhaps I am wrong, however, in thinking that great changes 
 might have been more quietly accomplished. Thekla says the 
 spring must have its thunder-storms as well as its sunshine and 
 gentle showers, and that the stone could not be rolled away 
 from the sepulchre, nor the veil rent in the holy place, without 
 an earthquake. 
 
 Else's Gottfried says the devil would never suffer his lies about 
 the good and gracious God to be set aside without a battle ; and 
 that the dear holy angels have mighty wars to wage, as well as 
 silent watch to keep by the cradles of the little ones. Only I 
 cannot help wishing that the Reformers, and even Dr. Luther
 
 446 Chronicles of the ScJwnbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 himself, would follow the example of the archangel Michael in 
 not returning railing for railing. 
 
 Of one thing, however, I am quite sure, whatever any one 
 may say ; and that is, that it is among our great mercies that 
 our Atlantis married a Swiss, so that through her we have a link 
 with our brethren the evangelical Christians who follow the 
 Zwinglian Confession. I shall always be thankful for the months 
 her father and I passed under their roof. If Dr. Luther could 
 only know how they revere him for his noble work, and how one 
 they are with us and him in faith in Christ and Christian love ! 
 
 I was a little perplexed at one time how it could be that such 
 good men should separate, until Thekla reminded me of that 
 evil one who goes about accusing God to us, and us to one 
 another. 
 
 On the other hand, some of the Zwinglians are severe on Dr. 
 Luther for his " compromise with Rome," and his " unscriptural 
 doctrines," as some of them call his teaching about the sacra- 
 ments. 
 
 These are things on which my head is not clear enough to 
 reason. It is always so much more natural to me to look out 
 for points of agreement than of difference ; and it does seem to 
 me, that deep below all the differences good men often mean 
 the same. Dr. Luther looks on holy baptism in contrast with 
 the monastic vow r s, and asserts the common glory of the baptism 
 and Christian profession which all Christians share, against the 
 exclusive claims of any section of priests or monks. And in the 
 holy Supper, it seems to me simply the certainty o£the bless- 
 ing, and the reality of the presence of our Saviour in the sacra- 
 ment, that he is really vindicating, in his stand on the words, 
 " This is my body." Baptism represents to him the consecra- 
 tion and priesthood of all Christians, to be defended against all 
 narrow privileges of particular orders; the holy Supper, the as- 
 sured presence of Christ, to be defended against all doubters. 
 
 To the Swiss, on the other hand, the contrast is between faith 
 and form, letter and spirit. This is, at all events, what my hus- 
 band thinks. 
 
 I wish Dr. Luther would spend a few months with our Atlan- 
 tis and her Conrad. I shall always be thankful we did.
 
 The Mother 's Story. 447 
 
 Lately, the tone of Dr. Luther's preaching has often been re- 
 proachful and full of warning. These divisions between the 
 evangelical Christians distress him so much. Yet he himself, 
 with that resolute will of his, keeps them apart, as he would keep 
 his children from poison, saying severe and bitter things of the 
 Zwinglians, which sometimes grieve me much, because I know 
 Conrad Winkelried's parish and Atlantis' home. 
 
 Well, one thing is certain : if Dr. Luther had been like me, 
 we should have had no Reformation at all. And Dr. Luther 
 and the Reformation have brought peace to my heart and joy 
 to my life, for which I would go through any storms. Only, to 
 leave our dear ones behind in the storms is another thing ! 
 
 But our dear heavenly Father has not, indeed, called us to 
 leave them yet. When he does call us, he will give us the strength 
 for that. And then we shall see everything quite clearly, be- 
 cause we shall see our Saviour quite clearly, as He is, know his 
 love, and love him quite perfectly. What that will be we know 
 not yet ! 
 
 But I am quite persuaded that when we do really see our 
 blessed Lord face to face, and see all things in his light, we shall 
 all be very much surprised, and find we have something to un- 
 learn, as well as infinitely much to learn ; not Pollux, and the 
 Zwinglians, and I only, but Dr. Philip Melancthon, and Dr. 
 Luther, and all ! 
 
 For the Reformation, and even Dr. Luther's German Bible, 
 have not taken all the clouds away. Still, we see through a 
 glass darkly. 
 
 But they have taught us that there is nothing evil and dark 
 behind to be found out ; only, much to be revealed which is too 
 good for us yet to understand, and too bright for us yet to see.
 
 XXXV. 
 
 ElSLEBEII, IS42- 
 
 UNT ELSE says no one in the world ought to present 
 more thanksgivings to God than Heinz and I, and I 
 am sure she is right. 
 
 In the first place, we have the best father and mother in the 
 world, so that whenever from our earliest years they have spoken 
 to us about our Father in heaven, we have had just to think of 
 what they were on earth to us, and feel that all their love and 
 goodness together are what God is ; only (if we can conceive 
 such a thing) much more. We have only had to add to what 
 they are, to learn what God is, not to take anything away ; to 
 say to ourselves, as we think of our parents, so kind in judging 
 others, so loving, so true, " God is like that — only the love is 
 greater and wiser than our father's, tenderer and more sympathiz- 
 ing than our mother's (difficult as it is to imagine). And then 
 there is just one thing in which he is unlike. His power is un- 
 bounded. He can give to us every blessing he sees it good to 
 give. 
 
 With such a father and mother on earth, and such a Father 
 in heaven, and with Heinz, how can I ever thank our God 
 enough ] 
 
 And our mother is so young still ! Our dear father said the 
 other day, " her hair has not a tinge of grey in it, but is as gol- 
 den as our Agnes' s." And her face is so fair and sweet, and 
 her voice so clear and full in her own dear hymns, or in talking ! 
 Aunt Else says, it makes one feel at rest to look at her, and that 
 her voice always was the sweetest in the world, something be- 
 tween church music and the cooing of a dove. Aunt Else says
 
 Evas Agnes' s Story. 449 
 
 also, that even as a child she had just the same way she has 
 now of seeing what you are thinking about — of coming into your 
 heart, and making everything that is good in it feel it is under- 
 stood, and all that is bad in it feel detected and slink away. 
 
 Our dear father does not, indeed, look so young ; but I like 
 men to look as if they had been in the wars — as if their hearts 
 had been well ploughed and sown. And the grey in his hair, and 
 the furrows on his forehead — those two upright ones when he is 
 thinking — and the firm compression of his mouth, and the hollow 
 on his cheek, seem to me quite as beautiful in their way as our 
 mother's placid brow, and the dear look on her lips, like the dawn 
 of a smile, as if the law of kindness had moulded every curve. 
 
 Then, in the second place (perhaps I ought to have said in the 
 first), we have " the Catechism." And Aunt Else says we have 
 no idea, Heinz and I, what a blessing that is to us. We cer- 
 tainly did not always think it a blessing when we were learning 
 it. But I begin to understand it now, especially since I have 
 been staying at Wittemberg with Aunt Else, and she has told me 
 about the perplexities of her childhood and early youth. 
 
 Always to have learned about God as the Father who " cares 
 for us every day" — gives us richly all things to enjoy, and 
 "that all out of pure, fatherly, divine love and goodness ; and 
 of the Lord Jesus Christ, that he has redeemed me from all sin, 
 from death, and from the power of the devil, to be his own — 
 redeemed me, not with gold and silver, but with his holy, 
 precious blood j" and of the Holy Spirit, that "he dwells with 
 us daily, calls us by his gospel, enlightens, and richly forgives;" 
 — all this, she says, is the greatest blessing any one can know. 
 To have no dark, suspicious thoughts of the good God, uncon- 
 sciously drunk in from infancy, to dash away from our hearts — 
 Dr. Luther himself says we have little idea what a gift that is 
 to us young people of this generation. 
 
 It used to be like listening to histories of dark days centuries 
 ago, to hear Aunt Else speak of her childhood at Eisenach, 
 when Dr. Luther also was a boy, and used to sing for bread at 
 our good kinswoman Ursula Cotta's door — when the monks 
 and nuns from the many high-walled convents used to walk 
 demurely in their dark robes about the streets \ and Aunt Else 
 
 29
 
 450 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 used to tremble at the thought of heaven, because it might be like 
 a convent garden, and all the heavenly saints like Aunt Agnes. 
 
 Our dear Great-Aunt Agnes, how impossible for us to under- 
 stand her being thus dreaded . — she who was the playmate of 
 our childhood ; and used to spoil us, our mother said, by doing 
 everything we asked, and making us think she enjoyed being 
 pulled about, and made a lion or a Turk of, as much as we en- 
 joyed it. How well I remember now the pang that came over 
 Heinz and me when we were told to speak and step softly, be- 
 cause she was ill, and then taken for a few minutes in the day 
 Co sit quite still by her bed-side with picture-books, because she 
 loved to look at us, but could not bear any noise. And at last 
 the day when we were led in solemnly, and she could look at 
 us no more, but lay quite still and white, while we placed our 
 flowers on the bed, and we both felt it too sacred and too much 
 like being at church to cry— until our evening prayer-time came, 
 and our mother told us that Aunt Agnes did not need our prayers 
 any longer, because God had made her quite good and happy 
 in heaven. And Heinz said he wished God would take us all, 
 and make us quite good and happy with her. But I, when we 
 were left in our cribs alone, sobbed bitterly, and could not sleep. 
 It seemed so terrible to think Aunt Agnes did not want us any 
 more, and that we could do nothing more for her — she who 
 had been so tenderly good to us ! I was so afraid, also, that 
 we had not been kind enough to her, had teased her to play 
 with us, and made more noise than we ought; and that that was 
 the reason God had taken her away. Heinz could not under- 
 stand that at all. He was quite sure God was too kind ; and, 
 although he also cried, he soon fell asleep. It was a great 
 relief to me when our mother came round, as she always did the 
 last thing to see if we were asleep, and I could sob out my 
 troubles on her heart, and say — 
 
 "Will Aunt Agnes never want us any more?" 
 
 " Yes, darling," said our mother ; " she wants us now. She 
 is waiting for us all to come to her." 
 
 " Then it was not because w T e teased her, and were noisy, she 
 was taken away % We did love her so very dearly ! And can 
 we do nothing for her now 1 ?"
 
 Eva's Agnes 's Story. 451 
 
 Then she told me how Aunt Agnes had suffered much here, 
 and that our heavenly Father had taken her home, and that, 
 although we could not do anything for her now, we need not 
 leave her name out of our nightly prayers, because we could 
 always say, " Thank God for taking dear Aunt Agnes home ! 
 
 And so two things were written on my heart that night, that there 
 was a place likehomebeyond the sky, where Aunt Agneswas wait- 
 ing for us, loving us quite as much as ever, with God who loved 
 us more than any one; and that we must be as kind as possible 
 to people, and not give any one a moment's pain, because a time 
 may come when they will not need our kindness any more. 
 
 It is very difficult for me who always think of Aunt Agnes 
 waiting for us in heaven, with the wistful loving look she used 
 to have when she lay watching for Heinz and me to come and 
 sit by her bed-side, to imagine what different thoughts Aunt 
 Else had about her when she was a nun. 
 
 But Aunt Else says that she has no doubt that Heinz and I, 
 with our teasing, and our noise, and our love, were among the 
 chief instruments of her sanctification. Yes, those days of Aunt 
 Else's childhood appear almost as far away from us as the days 
 of St. Elizabeth of Hungary, who lived at the Wartburg, used 
 to seem from Aunt Else. It is wonderful to think what that 
 miner's son, whom old John Reineck remembers carrying on his 
 shoulders to the school-house up the hill, here at Eisleben, has 
 done for us all. So completely that grim old time seems to 
 have passed away. There is not a monastery left in all Saxony, 
 and the pastors are all married, and schools are established in 
 every town, where Dr. Luther says the young lads and maidens 
 hear more about God and Christianity than the nuns and monks 
 in all the convents had learned thirty years ago. 
 
 Not that all the boys and maidens are good as they ought to 
 be. No ; that is too plain from what Heinz and I feel and 
 know, and also from what our dear father preaches in the pulpit 
 on Sundays. Our mother says sometimes she is afraid we of 
 this generation shall grow up weak, and self-indulgent, and 
 ease-loving, unlike our fathers who had to fight for every inch 
 of truth they hold, with the world, the flesh, and the devil. 
 
 But our dear father smiles gravely, and says, she need not
 
 45- Chronicles of the Schdnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 te;ir. These three enemies are not slain yet, and will give the 
 young generation enough to do. Besides, the Pope is still 
 reigning at Rome, and the Emperor is even now threatening us 
 with an army, to say nothing of the Turks, and the Anabaptists, 
 of whom Dr. Luther says so much. 
 
 I knew very little of the world until two years ago, and not 
 much, I am afraid, of myself. But when I was about fifteen I 
 went alone to stay with Aunt Chriemhild and Aunt Else, and 
 then I learned many things which in learning troubled me not a 
 little, but now that they are learned make me happier than before, 
 which our mother says is the way with most of God's lessons. 
 Before these visits I had never left home ; and although Heinz 
 who had been away, and was also naturally more thrown with 
 other people as a boy than I was, often told me I knew no more 
 of actual life than a baby, I never understood what he meant. 
 
 I suppose I had always unconsciously thought our father and 
 mother were the centre of the world to every one as well as to 
 us ; and had just been thankful for my lot in life, because I 
 believed in all respects no one else had anything so good ; and 
 entertained a quiet conviction that in their hearts every one 
 thought the same. And to find that to other people our lot in 
 life seemed pitiable and poor, was an immense surprise to me, 
 and no little grief ! 
 
 We left our old home in the forest many years since, when 
 Heinz and I were quite children ; and it only lingered in our 
 memories as a kind of Eden or fairy-land, where amongst wild 
 flowers, and green glades, and singing birds, and streams, we 
 made a home for all our dreams, not questioning, however, in 
 our hearts that our new home at Eisleben was quite as excellent 
 in its way. Have we not a garden behind the house with 
 several apple-trees, and a pond as large as any of our neigh- 
 bours, and an empty loft for wet days — the perfection of a loft 
 — for telling fairy tales in, or making experiments, or preparing 
 surprises of wonderful cabinet work with Heinz's tools ? And 
 has not our Eisleben valley also its green and wooded hills, and 
 in the forests around are there not strange glows all night from 
 the great miner's furnaces to which those of the charcoal burners 
 in the Thuringian forest are mere toys ? And are there not,
 
 Eva's Agnes' s Story. 453 
 
 moreover, all kinds of wild caverns and pits from which at in- 
 tervals the miners come forth, grimy and independent, and sing 
 their wild songs in chorus as they come home from work? And 
 is not Eisleben Dr. Luther's birth-place 1 And have we not a 
 high grammar-school which Dr. Luther founded, and in which 
 our dear father teaches Latin 1 And do we not hear him preach 
 once every Sunday] 
 
 To me it always seemed, and seems still, that nothing can 
 be nobler than our dear father's office of telling the people the 
 way to heaven on Sundays, and teaching their children the way 
 to be wise and good on earth in the week. It was a great shock 
 to me when I found every one did not think the same. 
 
 Not that every one was not always most kind to me ; but it 
 happened in this way. 
 
 One day some visitors had been at Uncle Ulrich's castle. 
 They had complimented me on my golden hair, which Heinz 
 always says is the colour of the princess' in the fairy tale. I 
 went out at Aunt Chriemhild's desire, feeling half shy and half 
 flattered, to play with my cousins in the forest. As I was 
 sitting hidden among the trees, twining wreaths from the forget- 
 me-nots my cousins were gathering by the stream below, these 
 ladies passed again. I heard one of them say, — 
 
 " Yes, she is a well-mannered little thing for a schoolmaster's 
 daughter." 
 
 " I cannot think whence a burgher maiden — the Cottas are 
 all burghers, are they not ? — should inherit those little white 
 hands and those delicate features," said the other. 
 
 " Poor, too, doubtless, as they must be !" was the reply, "one 
 would think she had never had to work about the house, as no 
 doubt she must." 
 
 " Who was her grandfather ]" 
 
 " Only a printer at Wittemberg !" 
 
 " Only a schoolmaster !" and " only a printer !" 
 
 My whole heart rose against the scornful words. Was this 
 what people meant by paying compliments? Was this the 
 estimate my father was held in in the world — he, the noblest 
 man in it, who was fit to be the Elector or the Emperor? A 
 bitter feeling came over me, which I thought was affection and
 
 454 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 an aggrieved sense of justice. But love is scarcely so bitter, or 
 justice so fiery. 
 
 I did not tell any one, nor did I shed a tear, but went on 
 weaving my forget-me-not wreaths, and forswore the wicked 
 and hollow world. Had I not promised to do so long since, 
 through my godsponsers, at my baptism % Now, I thought, I 
 was learning what all that meant. 
 
 At Aunt Else's, however, another experience awaited me. 
 There was to be a fair, and we were all to go in our best holi- 
 day dresses. My cousins had rich Oriental jewels on their 
 bodices ; and although, as burgher maidens, they might not, 
 like my cousins at the castle, wear velvets, they had jackets and 
 dresses of the stiffest, richest silks, which Uncle Reichenbach 
 had sent for from Italy and the East. 
 
 My stuff dress certainly looked plain beside them, but I did 
 not care in the least for that ; my own dear mother and I had 
 made it together ; and she had hunted up some old precious 
 stores to make me a taffetas jacket, which, as it was the most 
 magnificent apparel I had ever possessed, we had both looked 
 at with much complacency. Nor did it seem to me in the least 
 less beautiful now. The touch of my mother's fingers had been 
 on it, as she smoothed it round me the evening before I came 
 away. And Aunt Else had said it was exactly like my mother. 
 But my cousins were not quite pleased, it was evident ; espe- 
 cially Fritz and the elder boys. They said nothing ; but on the 
 morning of the fete, a beautiful new dress, the counterpart of my 
 cousins', was laid at my bedside before I awoke. 
 
 I put it on with some pleasure, but, when I looked at myself 
 in the glass — it was very unreasonable — I could not bear it. 
 It seemed a reproach on my mother, and on my humble life 
 and my dear, poor home at Eisleben, and I sat down and cried 
 bitterly, until a gentle knock at the door aroused me ; and 
 Aunt Else came in, and found me sitting with tears on my 
 face and on the beautiful new dress, exceedingly ashamed of 
 myself. 
 
 " Don't you like it, my child 1 It was our Fritz's thought. J 
 was afraid you might not be pleased." 
 
 " My mother thought the old one good enough," I said in a
 
 Eva 's Agnes 's Story. 455 
 
 very faltering tone. " It was good enough for my home. I 
 had better go home again." 
 
 Aunt Else was carefully wiping away the tears from my dress, 
 but at these words she began to cry herself, and drew me to her 
 heart, and said it was exactly what she should have felt in hei 
 young days at Eisenach, but that I must just wear the new dress 
 to the fete, and then I need never wear it again unless I liked ; 
 and that I was right in thinking nothing half so good as mv 
 mother, and all she did, because nothing ever was, or would be, 
 she was sure. 
 
 So we cried together, and were comforted ; and I wore the 
 green taffetas to the fair. 
 
 But when I came home again to Eisleben, I felt more ashamed 
 of myself than of the taffetas dress or of the flattering ladies at 
 the Castle. The dear, precious old home, in spite of all I could 
 persuade myself to the contrary, did look small and poor, and 
 the furniture worn and old. And yet I could see there new 
 traces of care and welcome everywhere — fresh rushes on the 
 floors; a new white quilt on my little bed, made, I knew, by 
 my mother's hands. 
 
 She knew very soon that I was feeling troubled about some- 
 thing, and soon she knew it all, as I told her my bitter expe- 
 riences of life. 
 
 "Your father 'only a schoolmaster!'" she said, "and you 
 yourself presented with a new taffetas dress ! Are these all youi 
 grievances, little Agnes'?" 
 
 "All, mother!" I exclaimed; "and only!" 
 
 " Is your father anything else but a schoolmaster, Agnes?" she 
 said. 
 
 " I am not ashamed of that for an instant, mother," I said ; 
 " you could not think it. I think it is much nobler to teach 
 children than to hunt foxes, and buy and sell bales of silk and 
 wool. But the world seems to me exceedingly hollow and 
 ciooked ; and I never wish to see any more of it. Oh, mother, 
 do you think it was all nonsense in me!" 
 
 " I think, my child, you have had an encounter with the 
 world, the flesh, and the devil ; and I think they are no con- 
 temptible enemies. And I think you have not left them behind.
 
 456 Chronicles of the ScJi'onberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " But is not our father's calling nobler than any one's, and 
 our home the nicest in the world?" I said; "and Eisleben 
 really as beautiful in its way as the Thuringian forest, and as 
 wise as Wittemberg?" 
 
 " All callings may be noble," she said ; " and the one God calls 
 us to is the noblest for us. Eisleben is not, I think, as beauti- 
 ful as the old forest-covered hills at Gersdorf; nor Luther's 
 birth-place as great as his dwelling-place, where he preaches and 
 teaches, and sheds around him the influence of his holy daily 
 life. Other homes may be as good as yours, dear child, though 
 none can be so to you." 
 
 And so I learned that what makes any calling noble is its 
 being commanded by God, and what makes anything good is 
 its being given by God ; and that contentment consists not in 
 persuading ourselves that our things are the very best in the 
 world, but in believing they are the best for us, and giving God 
 thanks for them. 
 
 That was the way I began to learn to know the world. And 
 also in that way I began better to understand the Catechism, 
 especially the part about the Lord's Prayer, and that on the 
 second article of the Creed, where we learn of Him who suffered 
 for our sins and redeemed us with his holy precious blood. 
 
 I have just returned from my second visit to Wittemberg, 
 which was much happier than my first — indeed, exceedingly 
 happy. 
 
 The great delight of my visit, however, has been seeing and 
 hearing Dr. Luther. His little daughter, Magdalen, three 
 years younger than I am, had died not long before, but that 
 seemed only to make Dr. Luther kinder than ever to all young 
 maidens — " the poor maidenkind," as he calls them. 
 
 His sermons seemed to me like a father talking to his children ; 
 and Aunt Else says he repeats the Catechism often himself "to 
 God " to cheer his heart and strengthen himself— the great Dr. 
 Martin Luther ! 
 
 I had heard so much of him, and always thought of him as 
 the man nearest God on earth, great with a majesty surpassing 
 infinitely that of the Elector or the Emperor. And now it was 
 a great delight to see him in his home, in the dark wainscoted
 
 Eva's Agnes 's Story. 457 
 
 room looking on his garden, and to see him raise his head from 
 his writing and smile kindly at us as he sat at the great table in 
 the broad window, with Mistress Luther sewing on a lower seat 
 beside him, and little Margaretha Luther, the youngest child, 
 quietly playing beside them, contented with a look now and 
 then from her father. 
 
 I should like to have seen Magdalen Luther. She must 
 have been such a good and loving child. But that will be here- 
 after in heaven ! 
 
 I suppose my feeling for Dr. Luther is different from that of 
 my mother and father. They knew him during the conflict. 
 We only know him as the conqueror, with the palm, as it were, 
 already in his hand. 
 
 But my great friend at Wittemberg is Aunt Thekla. I think, 
 on the whole, there is no one I should more wish to be like. 
 She understands one in that strange way, without telling, like 
 my mother. I think it is because she has felt so much. Aunt 
 Else told me of the terrible sorrow she had when she was 
 young. 
 
 Our dear mother and father also had their great sorrows, 
 although they came to the end of their sorrow in this life, and 
 Aunt Thekla will only come to the end of hers in the other 
 world. But it seems to have consecrated them all, I think, in 
 some peculiar way. They all, and Dr. Luther also, make me 
 think of the people who, they say, have the gift, by striking on 
 the ground, of discovering where the hidden springs lie that 
 others may know where to dig for the wells. Can sorrow only 
 confer this gift of knowing where to find the hidden springs in 
 the heart 1 If so, it must be worth while to suffer. Only there 
 are just one or two sorrows which it seems almost impossible 
 to bear ! 
 
 But, as our mother says, our Saviour has all the gifts in His 
 hands; and "the greatest gift" of all (in whose hands the 
 roughest tools can do the finest work) " is love/" And that is 
 just the gift every one of us may have without limit.
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 tla's Sicrrg, 
 
 Wittrmberg, 23*/ January 1546. 
 
 |R. LUTHER has left Wittemberg to-day for Eisleben, 
 his birth-place, to settle a dispute between the 
 Counts of Mansfeld concerning certain rights of 
 church patronage. 
 
 He left in good spirits, intending to return in a few days. 
 His three sons, John, Martin, and Paul, went with him. 
 Mistress Luther is anxious and depressed about his departure, 
 but we trust without especial cause, although he has often of 
 late been weak and suffering. 
 
 The dulness and silence which to me always seem to settle 
 down on Wittemberg in his absence are increased now doubt- 
 less by this wintry weather, and the rains and storms which 
 have been swelling the rivers to floods. He is, indeed, the true 
 father and king of our little world ; and when he is with us all 
 Germany and the world seem nearer us through his wide-seeing 
 mind and his heart that thrills to every touch of want or sorrow 
 throughout the world. 
 
 February. 
 
 Mistress Luther has told me to-day that Dr. Luther said 
 before he left he could "lie down on his deathbed with joy if 
 he could first see his dear Lords of Mansfeld reconciled." She 
 says also he has just concluded the Commentary on Genesis, 
 on which he has been working these ten years, with these words — 
 
 " I am weak atid can do no more. Pray God he may grant me 
 a peaceful and happy death." 
 
 She thinks his mind has been dwelling of late more than 
 usual, even with him, on death, and fears he feels some inward 
 premonition or presentiment of a speedy departure.
 
 Theklas Story. 459 
 
 So long he has spoken of death as a thing to be desired ! 
 Vet it always makes our hearts ache to hear him do so. Of 
 the Advent, as the end of all evil and the beginning of the 
 Kingdom, we can well bear to hear him speak, but not of that 
 which if the end of all evil to him, would seem like the begin- 
 ning of all sorrows to us. 
 
 Now, however, Mistress Luther is somewhat comforted by 
 his letters, which are more cheerful than those she received 
 during his absence last year, when he counselled her to sell all 
 their Wittemberg property, and take refuge in her estate at 
 Zollsdorf, that he might know her safe out of Wittemberg — that 
 "haunt of selfishness and luxury" — before he died. 
 
 His first letter since leaving Wittemberg this time is 
 addressed — 
 
 " To my kind and dear Kathe Lutherin, at Wittemberg, grace 
 and peace in the Lord. 
 
 " Dear Kathe, — To-day at half-past eight o'clock we reached 
 Halle, but have not yet arrived at Eisleben ; for a great ana- 
 baptist encountered us with water-floods and great blocks of 
 ice, which covered the land, and threatened to baptize us all 
 again. Neither could we return, on account of the Mulda. 
 Therefore we remain tranquilly here at Halle, between the two 
 streams. Not that we thirst for water to drink, but console 
 ourselves with good Torgau beer and Rhine wine, in case the 
 Saala should break out into a rage again. For we and our servants, 
 and the ferrymen, would not tempt God by venturing on the 
 water; for the devil is furious against us, and 'dwells in the 
 water-floods ; and it is better to escape him than to complain of 
 him, nor is it necessary that we should become the jest of the 
 pope and his hosts. I could not have believed that the Saala 
 could have made such a brewing, bursting over the causeway 
 and all. Now no more ; but pray for us and be pious. I hold, 
 hadst thou been here, thou hadst counselled us to do precisely 
 what we have done. So for once we should have taken thy advice. 
 Herewith I commend you to God. Amen. At Halle, on the day 
 of the Conversion of St. Paul. Martinus Luther." 
 
 Four other letters she has received, one dated on the 2d of 
 February, addressed —
 
 460 Chronicles of the Sch'onberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 " To my heartily beloved consort Katherin Lutherin, the 
 Zollsdorfian doctoress, proprietress of the Saiimarkt, and what- 
 ever else she may be, grace and peace in Christ; and my old 
 poor (and, as I know, powerless) love to thee ! 
 
 " Dear Kathe, — I became very weak on the road close to 
 Eisleben, for my sins; although, wert thou there, thou wouldst 
 have said it was for the sins of the Jews. For near Eisleben 
 we passed through a village where many Jews reside, and it is 
 true, as I came through it, a cold wind came through my Baret 
 (doctor's hat), and my head, as if it would turn my brain to 
 ice. 
 
 " Thy sons left Mansfeld yesterday, because Hans von Jene 
 so humbly entreated them to accompany him. I know not 
 what they do. If it were cold, they might help me freeze 
 here. Since, however, it is warm again, they may do or suffer 
 anything else they like. Herewith I commend you and all the 
 house to God, and greet all our frieuds. Vigilia purificationis." 
 
 And again — 
 
 Eisleben. 
 
 " To the deeply learned lady Katherin Lutherin, my gracious 
 consort at Wittemberg, grace and peace. 
 
 " Dear Kathe, — We sit here and suffer ourselves to be tor- 
 tured, and would gladly be away; but that cannot be, I think, 
 for a week. Thou mayest say to Master Philip that he may 
 correct his exposition ; for he has not yet rightly understood 
 why the Lord called riches thorns. Here is the school in 
 which to learn that" (i.e., the Mansfeld controversies about 
 property). " But it dawns on me that in the Holy Scriptures 
 thorns are always menaced with fire; therefore I have all the 
 more patience, hoping, with God's help, to bring some good out 
 of it all. It seems to me the devil laughs at us ; but God laughs 
 him to scorn ! Amen. Pray for us. The messenger hastes. 
 On St Dorothea's day. M. L. (thy old lover)." 
 
 Dr. Luther seems to be enjoying himself in his own simple 
 hearty way, at his old home. Nobles and burghers give him 
 the most friendly welcome. 
 
 The third letter Mistress Luther has received is full of play- 
 ful tender answers to her anxieties about him.
 
 Tluklas Story, 461 
 
 " To my dear consort Katherin Lutherin, doctoress and self- 
 tormentor at Wittemberg, my gracious lady, grace and peace in 
 the Lord. 
 
 " Read thou, dear Kathe, the Gospel of John, and the smaller 
 Catechism, and then thou wilt say at once, 'All that in the book 
 is said of me.' For thou must needs take the cares of thy God 
 upon thee, as if He were not almighty, and could not create 
 ten Doctor Martins, if the one old Doctor Martin were drowned 
 in the Saala. Leave me in peace with thy cares ! I have a 
 better guardian than thou and all the angels. It is He who 
 lay in the manger, and was fondled on a maiden's breast ; but 
 who sitteth also now on the right hand of God the Almighty 
 Father. Therefore be at peace." 
 
 And again — 
 
 " To the saintly anxious lady, Katherin Lutherin, Doctorin 
 Zulsdorferin at Wittemberg, my gracious dear wife, grace and 
 peace in Christ. 
 
 "Most saintly lady Doctoress, — We thank your ladyship kindly 
 for your great anxiety and care for us which prevented your 
 sleeping ; for since the time that you had this care for us, a fire 
 nearly consumed us in our inn, close by my chamber door; and 
 yesterday (doubtless by the power of your care), a stone almost 
 fell on our head, and crushed us as in a mouse-trap. For in 
 our private chamber during more than two days, lime and 
 mortar crashed above us, until we sent for workmen, who only 
 touched the stone with two fingers, when it fell, as large as a 
 large pillow two hand-breadths wide. For all this we should 
 have to thank your anxiety; had not the dear holy angels been 
 guarding us also ! I begin to be anxious that if your anxieties 
 do not cease, at last the earth may swallow us up, and all the 
 elements pursue us. Dost thou indeed teach the Catechism 
 and the creed? Do thou then pray and leave God to care, as 
 it is promised. 'Cast thy burden on the Lord, and he shall 
 sustain thee.' 
 
 " We would now gladly be free and journey homewards, if 
 God willed it so. Amen. Amen. Amen. On Scholastica's 
 Day. The willing servant of your holiness, 
 
 "Martin Luther."
 
 462 Chronicles of the Sclionberg-Colta Family, 
 
 February zyth. 
 
 Good news for us all at Wittemberg ! Mistress Luther has 
 received a letter from the doctor, dated the 14th February, 
 announcing his speedy return : — 
 
 " To my kind dear wife Katharin Lutherin von Bora, at Wit- 
 temberg, — 
 
 " Grace and peace in the Lord, dear Kathe ! We hope this 
 week to come home again, if God will. God has shown us 
 great grace ; for the lords have arranged all through their 
 referees, except two or three articles — one of which is that 
 Count Gebhard and Count Albrecht should again become 
 brothers, which I undertake to-day, and will invite them to be 
 my guests, that they may speak to each other, for hitherto they 
 have been dumb, and have embittered one another with severe 
 letters. 
 
 "The young men are all in the best spirits, make excursions 
 with fools' bells on sledges — the young ladies also — and amuse 
 themselves together; and among them also Count Gebhard's 
 son. So we must understand God is exauditor precum. 
 
 " I send to thee some game which the Countess Albrecht 
 has presented to me. She rejoices with all her heart at the 
 peace. Thy sons are still at Mansfeld. Jacob Luther will 
 take good care of them. We have food and drink here like 
 noblemen, and we are waited on well — too well, indeed — so 
 that we might forget you at Wittemberg. I have no ailments. 
 
 " This thou canst show to Master Philip, to Doctor Pomer, 
 and to Doctor Creuzer. The report has reached this place that 
 Doctor Martin has been ' snatched away' (i.e., by the devil), as 
 they say at Magdeburg and at Leipzig. Such fictions these 
 countrymen compose, who see as far as their noses. Some say 
 the emperor is thirty miles from this, at Soest, in Westphalia; 
 some that the Frenchman is captive, and also the Landgrave. 
 But let us sing and say, we will wait what God the Lord will 
 do. — Eisleben, on the Sunday Valentini. M. Luther, D." 
 
 So the work of peace-making is done, and Dr. Luther is to 
 return to us this week — long, we trust, to enjoy among us the 
 peace-maker's beatitude.
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 vfori). 
 
 ElSLEBEN, 1546. 
 
 T has been quite a festival day at Eisleben. The child 
 who, sixty-three years since, was born here to John 
 Luther the miner, returns to-day the greatest man in 
 the empire, to arbitrate in a family dispute of the Counts of 
 Mansfeld. 
 
 As Eva and I watched him enter the town to-day from the 
 door of our humble 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 of suffering on the expressive face, and there is a touch of 
 feebleness in the form and step. 
 
 " How is it," I said to Eva, " that Else or Thekla did not 
 tell us of this 1 He is certainly much feebler." 
 
 " They are always with him," she said, " and we never see 
 what Time is doing, love; but only what he has done." 
 
 Her words made me thoughtful. Could it be that such 
 changes were passing on 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 recom- 
 menced the study of my sermon ; but secretly I raised my eyes 
 from my books and surveyed her. If time had indeed thus 
 been changing that beloved form, it was better I should know 
 it, to treasure more the precious days he was so treacherously 
 stealing.
 
 464 Chronicles of the Schdnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Yet scarcely, with the severest scrutiny, could I detect the 
 trace of age or suffering on her face or form. The calm brow 
 was as white and calm as ever. The golden hair, smoothly 
 braided under her white matronly cap, was as free from grey as 
 even our Agnes', who was flitting in and out of the winter sun- 
 shine, busy with household work in the next room. There was 
 a roundness on the cheek, although, perhaps, its curve was a 
 little changed ; and when she looked up, and met my eyes, was 
 there not the very same happy, childlike smile as ever, that 
 seemed to overflow from a world of sunshine within? 
 
 "No!" I said; "Eva, thank God, I have not deluded my- 
 self! Time has not stolen a march on you yet." 
 
 " Think how I have been shielded, Fritz," she said. " What 
 a sunny and sheltered life mine has been, never encountering 
 any storm except under the shelter of such a home and such 
 love. But Dr. Luther has been so long the one foremost and 
 highest, on whose breast the first force of every 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, turn- 
 ing fiercely to Agnes. 
 
 " 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 in our own home." 
 
 " Is Dr. Luther much changed?" said Heinz. " I think I 
 never saw a nobler face, so resolute and true, and with such a 
 keen glance in his dark eyes. He might have been one of the 
 emperor's greatest generals — he looks so like a veteran." 
 
 "Is he not a veteran, Heinz?" said Eva. "Has he not 
 fought all our battles for us for years? What did you think of 
 him, Agnes?" 
 
 " I remember best the look he gave my father and you," she 
 said. "His face looked so full of kindness; I thought how 
 happy he must make his home." 
 
 That evening was naturally a time, with Eva and me, for 
 going over the past And how much of it is linked with Dr.
 
 Fritz's Story. 465 
 
 Luther! . That our dear home exists at all is, through God, his 
 work. And more even than that: the freedom 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 suddenly 
 flashed on me from a mirror. The days when he sang before 
 Aunt Ursula Cotta's door at Eisenach — when the voice which 
 has since stirred all Christendom to its depths sang carols for a 
 piece of bread. Then the gradual passing away of the outward 
 trials of poverty, through his father's prosperity and liberality — 
 the brilliant prospects opening before him at the university — 
 his sudden, yet deliberate closing of all those earthly schemes 
 — the descent into the dark and bitter waters, where he fought 
 the fight for his age, and, all but sinking, found the Hand that 
 saved him, and came to the shore again on the right side ; and 
 not alone, but upheld evermore by the hand that rescued him, 
 and which he has made known to the hearts of thousands. 
 
 Then I seemed to see him stand before the emperor at 
 Worms, in that day when men did not know whether to wonder 
 most at his gentleness or his daring — in that hour which men 
 thought was his hour of conflict, but which was in truth his 
 hour of triumph, after the real battle had been fought and the 
 real victory won. 
 
 And now twenty years more had passed away ; the Bible has 
 been translated by him into German, and is speaking in count- 
 less 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. 
 " The gospel is preached in England, and, with more or less 
 result, throughout Germany. In Denmark, an evangelical pastor 
 has consecrated King Christian III. In the low countries, and 
 elsewhere, men and women have been martyred, as in the pri- 
 mitive ages, for the faith. In France and in Switzerland evan- 
 gelical 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 
 — at least, wc can only see the outside of them. What fruit is
 
 ±66 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 there in this little world, around us at Eisleben, of whose heart 
 we know something?" 
 
 " The golden age is, indeed, not come," I said, " or the 
 Counts of Mansfeld would not be quarrelling about church 
 patronage, and needing Dr. Luther as a peace-maker. Nor 
 would Dr. Luther need so continually to warn the rich against 
 avarice, and to denounce the selfishness which spent thousands 
 of florins to buy exemption from future punishment, but grudges 
 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 removed from the Church to the market, to have it called 
 by a despised instead of by a hallowed name, and disguised in 
 any rather than in sacred vestments." 
 
 Thus we came to the conclusion that the Reformation had 
 done for us what sunrise does. It had wakened life, and 
 ripened real fruits of heaven in many places, and it had revealed 
 evil and noisome things in their true forms. The world, the 
 flesh, and the devil remain unchanged ; but it is much to have 
 learned that the world is not a certain definite region outside 
 the cloister, but an atmosphere to be guarded against as around 
 us 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 
 distrust of God. For us personally, and ours, how infinitely 
 much Dr. Luther has done; and if for us and ours, how much 
 for countless other hearts and homes unknown to us ! 
 
 Monday, February 15, 1343. 
 
 Dr. Luther adminstered the communion yesterday, and 
 preached. It has been a great help to have him going in and 
 out among us. Four times he has 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 text was in 
 Matt, xi., "Fear not, therefore; for there is nothing covered 
 that shall not be revealed, and hid that shall not be known. 
 What I tell you in darkness, that speak ye in light; and what 
 ye hear in the ear, that preach ye on the house-tops. And tear.
 
 Fritz's Stoiy. 467 
 
 not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul ; 
 but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body 
 in hell. Are not two sparrows sold for a farthing ? And one 
 of them shall not fall on the ground without your Father. But 
 the very hairs of your head are all numbered." He must have 
 felt feebler than he seemed, for he closed with the words — 
 
 "This, and much more, maybe 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 from the 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 the arbitration again to-day. 
 
 " I cannot get those words of his out of my head," she 
 said; "they haunt me — ' Here we will close! I cannot help 
 thinking what it would be never to hear that faithful voice 
 again." 
 
 " You are depressed, my love," I said, " at the thought of 
 Dr. Luther's leaving us this week. But by-an<l-by we will stay 
 some little time at Wittemberg, 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 there seems no cause for anxiety. He retired from the 
 Great Hall where the conferences and the meals take place, at 
 eight o'clock; and this evening, as often before during his visit, 
 Dr. Jonas overheard him praying aloud at the window of his 
 chamber. 
 
 Thursday, \%th 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 lite- 
 less corpse. Yet it is not with sixty-three years ago, but with 
 three days since that we feel the bitter contrast. Three days 
 ago he was among us the counsellor, the teacher, the messenger 
 of God, and now that heart, so open, so tender to sympathize
 
 4-6S Chronicles of the Schonbcrg-Cotta Family. 
 
 with sorrows, and so strong to bear a nation's burden, has 
 ceased to beat. 
 
 Yesterday it was observed that he was feeble and ailing. 
 The Princes of Anhalt and the Count Albert of Mansfeld, with 
 Dr. Jonas and his other friends, entreated him to rest in his own 
 room during the morning. He was not easily persuaded to 
 spare himself, and probably would not have yielded then, had 
 he not felt that the work of reconciliation was accomplished, in 
 all save a few supplementary details. Much of the forenoon, 
 therefore, he reposed on a leathern couch in his room, occasion- 
 ally rising, with the restlessness of illness, and pacing the room, 
 or standing in the window praying, so that Dr. Jonas and 
 Ccelius, who were in another part of the room, could hear him. 
 He dined, however, at noon, in the Great Hall, with those as- 
 sembled there. At dinner he said to some near him, " If I can, 
 indeed, reconcile the rulers of my birth-place with each other, 
 and then, with God's permission, accomplish the journey back 
 to Wittemberg, I would go home and lay myself down to sleep 
 in my grave, and let the worms devour my body." 
 
 He was not one weakly to sigh for sleep before night; and 
 we now know too well from how deep a sense of bodily weari- 
 ness and weakness that wish sprang. Tension of heart and 
 mind, and incessant work, — the toil of a daily mechanical 
 labourer, with the keen, continuous thought of the highest 
 thinker, — working as much as any drudging slave, and as 
 intensely 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 longed for rest. 
 
 In the afternoon he complained of painful pressure on the 
 breast, and requested that it might be nibbed with warm cloths. 
 This relieved him a little ; 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 death was near; yet his con- 
 versation was not only cheerful, but at times gay, although it 
 related chiefly to the future world. One near him asked 
 whether departed saints would recognise each other in heaven. 
 He said, Yes, he thought they would. 
 
 When he left the supper-table he went to his room.
 
 Fritz's Story. 469 
 
 In the night, — last night, — his two sons, Paul and Martin, 
 thirteen and fourteen years of age, sat up to watch with him, 
 with Justus Jonas, whose joys and sorrows he had shared 
 through so many years. Ccelius and Aurifaber also were with 
 him. The pain in the breast returned, and again they tried rulv 
 bing him with hot cloths. Count Albert came, and the Countess, 
 with two physicians, and brought him some shavings from the 
 tusk of a sea-unicorn, deemed a sovereign remedy. He took it, 
 and slept till ten. Then he awoke, and attempted once more 
 to pace the room a little; but he could not, and returned to 
 bed. Then he slept again till one. During those two or three 
 hours of sleep, his host Albrecht, with his wife, Ambrose, Jonas, 
 and Luther's son, watched noiselessly beside him, quietly keep- 
 ing up the fire. Everything depended on how long he slept, 
 and how he woke. 
 
 The first words he spoke when he awoke sent a shudder of 
 apprehension through their hearts. 
 
 He complained of cold, and asked them to pile up more fire 
 Alas ! the chill 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 1 
 shall die here, 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. Luther answered — 
 
 " It is the cold sweat of death. I must yield up my spirit, 
 for my sickness increaseth." 
 
 Then he prayed fervently, saying — ■ 
 
 " Heavenly Father ! everlasting and merciful God ! thou hast 
 revealed to me thy dear Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. Him have 
 I taught ; Him have I experienced ; Him have I confessed ; 
 Him I love and adore as my beloved Saviour, Sacrifice, and 
 Redeemer — Him whom the godless persecute, dishonour, and 
 reproach. O heavenly Father, though I must resign my body, 
 and be borne away from this life, I know that I shall be with 
 Him for ever. Take my poor soul up to Thee !"
 
 4/0 Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Afterwards he took a little medicine, and, assuring his friends 
 that he was 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 I" 
 
 Then he lay quite quiet and motionless. Those around 
 sought to rouse him, and began to rub his chest and limbs, and 
 spoke to him, but he made no reply. Then Jonas and Ccelius, 
 for the solace of the many who had received the truth from his 
 lips, spoke aloud, and said — 
 
 " Venerable father, do you die trusting in Christ, and in the 
 doctrine you have constantly preached?" 
 
 He answered by an audible and joyful "Yes !" 
 
 That was his last word on earth. Then turning on his right 
 side, he seemed to fall peaceably asleep for a quarter of an hour. 
 Once more hope awoke in the hearts of his children and his 
 fric nds ; but the physician told them it was no favourable symptom. 
 
 A light was brought near his face; a death-like paleness was 
 creeping over 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, and signed with the cross for the Christian warfare, 
 Martin Luther lies — his warfare accomplished, his weapons laid 
 aside, his victory won — at rest beneath the standard he has 
 borne so nobly. In the place where his eyes opened on this 
 earthly life his spirit has awakened to the heavenly life. Often 
 he used to speak of death as the Christian's true birth, and of this 
 life as but a growing into the chrysalis-shell in which the spirit 
 livrs till its being is developed, and it bursts the shell, casts off 
 the web, struggles into life, spreads its wings and soars up to God. 
 
 To Eva and me it seems a strange, mysterious seal set on his 
 faith, that his birth-place and his place of death — the scene of 
 his nativity to earth and heaven — should be the same. 
 
 We can only say, amidst irrepressible tears, those words 
 often on his lips, " O death ! bitter to those whom thou leavest 
 in life!" and " Fear not, God liveth still "
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 (Else's Stag. 
 
 March 1546. 
 
 T is all over. The beloved, revered form is with us 
 again, but Luther our father, our pastor, our friend, 
 will never be amongst us more. His ceaseless toil 
 and care for us all have worn him out, — the care which wastes 
 life more than sorrow, — care such as no man knew since the 
 apostle Paul, which only faith such as St. Paul's enabled him 
 to sustain so long. 
 
 This morning his widow, his orphan sons and daughter, and 
 many of the students and citizens went out to the Eastern Gate 
 of the city to meet the funeral procession. Slowly it passed 
 through the streets, so crowded, yet so silent, to the city church 
 where he used to preach. 
 
 Fritz came with the procession from Eisleben, and Eva, with 
 Heinz and Agnes, are also with us, for it seemed a necessity to 
 us all once more to feel and see our beloved around us, now 
 that death has shown us the impotence of a nation's love to 
 retain the life dearest and most needed of all. 
 
 Fritz has been telling us of that mournful funeral journey 
 from Eisleben. 
 
 The Counts of Mansfeld, with more than fifty horsemen, and 
 many princes, counts, and barons, accompanied the coffin. In 
 every village through which they passed the church-bells tolled as 
 if for the prince of the land ; at every city gate magistrates, 
 clergy, young and old, matrons, maidens, and little children, 
 thronged to meet the procession, clothed in mourning, and 
 chanting funeral hymns — German evangelical hymns of hope 
 and trust, such as he had taught them to sing. In the last 
 church in which it lay before reaching its final resting-place at
 
 472 Chronicles of i lie ScJionberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 Wittemberg, the people gathered around it, and sang one of his 
 own hymns, " I journey hence in peace," with voices broken 
 by sobs and floods of tears. 
 
 Thus day and night the silent body was borne slowly through 
 the Thuringian land. The peasants once more remembered 
 his faithful affection for them, and everywhere, from village and 
 hamlet, and from every little group of cottages, weeping men 
 and women pressed forward to do honour to the poor remains 
 of him they had so often misunderstood in life. 
 
 After Pastor Bugenhagen's funeral sermon from Luther's pul- 
 pit, Melancthon spoke a few words beside the coffin in the city 
 church. They loved each other well. When Melancthon heard 
 of his death he was most deeply 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 understand- 
 ing, but has been revealed unto us by God through this man 
 whom he has raised up.'' 
 
 In the city church, beside the coffin, before the body was 
 lowered into its last resting-place near the pulpit where he 
 preached, Dr. Melancthon pronounced these words in Latin, 
 which Caspar Creutziger immediately translated into German, — 
 
 " Every one who truly knew him, must bear witness that he 
 was a benevolent, charitable man, gracious in all his discourse, 
 kindly and most worthy of love, and neither rash, passionate, 
 self-willed, or ready to take offence. And, nevertheless, there 
 were also in him an earnestness and courage in his words and 
 bearing such as become a man like him. His heart was true 
 and faithful, and without falsehood. The severity which he used 
 against the foes of the doctrine in his writings did not proceed 
 from a quarrelsome or angry disposition, but from great earnest- 
 ness and zeal for the truth. He always showed a high courage 
 and manhood, and it was no little roar of the enemy which could 
 appal him. Menaces, dangers, and terror dismayed him not. 
 So high and keen was his understanding, that he alone in com- 
 plicated, dark, and difficult affairs soon perceived what was to 
 be counselled and to be done. Neither, as some think, was he 
 regardless of authority, but diligently regarded the mind and
 
 Elsfs Story. 473 
 
 will of those with whom he had to do. His doctrine did not 
 consist in rebellious opinions made known with violence ; it is 
 rather an interpretation of the divine will and of the true worship 
 of God, an explanation of the word of God, namely of the gospel 
 of Christ. Now he is united with the prophets of whom he 
 loved to talk. Now they greet him as their fellow-labourer, and 
 with him praise the Lord who gathers and preserves his Church. 
 But we must retain a perpetual, undying recollection of this our 
 beloved father, and never let his memory fade from our hearts." 
 His effigy will be placed in the city church, but his living 
 portrait is enshrined in countless hearts. His monuments are 
 the schools throughout the land, every hallowed pastor's home, 
 and above all, " the German Bible for the German people ! " 
 
 WlTTEMBERG, April 1547. 
 
 We stand now in the foremost rank of the generations of our 
 time. Our father's house on earth has passed away for ever. 
 Gently, not long after Dr. Luther's death, our gentle mother 
 passed away, and our father entered on the fulfilment of those 
 never-failing hopes to which, since his blindness, 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 the paternal 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 makes nuns ; 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 many whom she has trained 
 in the school and nursed in the seasons of pestilence or adver- 
 sity, live on earth to call her blessed, or live in heaven to receive 
 her into the everlasting habitations ! 
 
 And among the reasons why her life is so high and loving, no 
 doubt one is, that socially her position is one not of exaltation 
 but of lowliness.
 
 474 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 She has not replaced, by any conventional dignities of the 
 cloister, God's natural dignities of wife and mother. Through 
 life hers has been the lowest place ; wherefore, among other rea- 
 sons, I oft think in heaven it may be the highest. But we shall 
 not grudge it her, Eva and Chriemhild and Atlantis and I. 
 
 With what joy shall we see those meek and patient brows 
 crowned with the brightest 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, and therefore loved him best, find a sad pleasure in 
 lingering under the shadow of the trees which used to shelter 
 him, beside the fountain and the little fish-pond which he made, 
 and the flowers he planted, and recalling his words and his fami- 
 liar ways ; how he used to thank God for the fish from the pond, 
 and the vegetables sent to his table from the garden ; how he 
 used to wonder at the providence of God, who fed the sparrows 
 and all the little birds, " which must cost him more in a year 
 than the revenue of the king of France ; " how he rejoiced in the 
 " dew, that wonderful work of God," and the rose, which no 
 artist could imitate, and the voice of the birds. How living 
 the narratives of the Bible became when he spoke of them ! — 
 of the great apostle Paul whom he so honoured, but pictured as 
 " an insignificant-looking, meagre man, like Philip Melancthon;" 
 or of the Virgin Mary, " who must have been a high and noble 
 creature, a fair and gracious maiden, with a kind sweet voice ; " 
 or of the lowly home at Nazareth, " where the Saviour of the 
 world was brought up as a little obedient child." 
 
 And not one of us, with all his vehemence, could ever remem- 
 ber a jealous or suspicious word, or a day of estrangement, so 
 generous and trustful was his nature. 
 
 Often, also, came back to us the tones of that rich, true voice, 
 and of the lute or lyre, which used so frequently to sound from 
 the dwelling-room with the large window, at his friendly enter- 
 tainments, or in his more solitary hours. 
 
 Then, in twilight hours of quiet, intimate converse, Mistress 
 Luther can recall to us the habits of his more inner home life — 
 how in his sicknesses he used to comfort her, and when she was
 
 ElsPs Story. 475 
 
 weeping would say, with irrepressible tears, " Dear Kathe, our 
 children trust us, though they cannot understand ; so must we 
 trust God. It is well if we do ; all comes from him." And his 
 prayers morning and evening, and frequently at meals and at 
 other times in the day — his devout repeating of the Smaller 
 Catechism " to God " — his frequent fervent utterance of the 
 Lord's prayer, or of psalms from the Psalter, which he always 
 carried with him as a pocket prayer-book. Or, at other times, 
 she may speak reverently of his hours of conflict, when his 
 prayers became a tempest — a torrent of vehement supplication 
 — a wrestling with God, a son in agony at the feet of a father. 
 Or, again, of his sudden wakings in the night, to encounter the 
 unseen devil with fervent prayer, or scornful defiance, or words 
 of truth and faith. 
 
 More than one among us knew what reason he had to believe 
 in the efficacy of prayer. Melancthon, especially, can never 
 forget the day when he lay at the point of death, half unconsci- 
 ous, with eyes growing dim, and Luther came and exclaimed 
 with dismay, — 
 
 " God save us ! how successfully has the devil misused this 
 mortal frame ! " 
 
 And then turning from the company towards the window, to 
 pray, looking up to the heavens, he came (as he himself said 
 afterwards), "as a mendicant and a suppliant to God, and pressed 
 him with all the promises of the Holy Scriptures he could re- 
 call ; so that God must hear me, if ever again I should trust his 
 promises." 
 
 After that prayer, he took Melancthon by the hand, and said, 
 " Be of good cheer, Philip, you will not die." And from that 
 moment Melancthon began to revive and recover consciousness, 
 and was restored to health. 
 
 Especially, however, we treasure all he said of death and the 
 resurrection, of heaven and the future world of righteousness and 
 joy, of which he so delighted to speak. A few of these sayings 
 I may record for my children. 
 
 " In the Papacy, they made pilgrimages to the shrines of the 
 saints — to Rome, Jerusalem, St. Jago— to atone for sins. But 
 now, we in faith can make true pilgrimages, which really please
 
 476 Chronicles of the Sch'dnberg-Cotta Family. 
 
 God. When we diligently read the prophets, psalms, and evan- 
 gelists, we journey towards God, not through cities of the saints, 
 but in our thoughts and hearts, and visit the true Promised Land 
 and Paradise of everlasting life. 
 
 "The devil has sworn our death, but he will crack a deaf nut. 
 The kernel will be gone." 
 
 He had so often been dangerously ill that the thought of death 
 was very familiar to him. In one of his sicknesses he said, " I 
 know I shall not live long. My brain is like a knife worn to the 
 hilt ; it can cut no longer." 
 
 " At Coburg I used to go about and seek for a quiet place 
 where I might be buried, and in the chapel under the cross J 
 thought I could lie well. But now I am worse than then. God 
 grant me a happy end ! I have no desire to live longer." 
 
 When asked if people could be saved under the Papacy who 
 had never heard his doctrine of the gospel, he said, " Many a 
 monk have I seen, before whom, on his death-bed, they held 
 the crucifix, as was then the custom. Through faith in His 
 merits and passion, they may, indeed, have been saved." 
 
 " What is our sleep," he said, " but a kind of death % And 
 what is death itself but a night sleep ? In sleep all weariness is 
 laid aside, and we become cheerful again, and rise in the morn- 
 ing fresh and well. So shall we awake from our graves in the 
 last day, as though we had only slept a night, and bathe our 
 eyes and rise fresh and well. 
 
 " I shall rise," he said, " and converse with you again. This 
 finger, on which is this ring, shaii be given to me again. All 
 must be restored. ' God will create new heavens and a new 
 earth, wherein dwelleth righteousness.' There all will be pure 
 rapture and joy. Those heavens and 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 be renewed, and 
 we who believe shall be everywhere at home. Here it is not so ; 
 we are driven hither and thither, that we may have to sigh for 
 that heavenly fatherland." 
 
 " When Christ causes the trumpet to peal at the last day, all 
 will come forth like the insects which in winter lie as dead, but 
 when the sun comes, awake to life again ; or as the birds who
 
 ElsPs Story. 
 
 All 
 
 lie all the winter hidden 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-tree how 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 matron how it can be that from the 
 eggs under the hen living chickens will come forth. For if God 
 does thus with cherries and birds, canst thou not honour him 
 by trusting that if he let the winter come over thee — suffer thee 
 to die and decay in the ground — he can also, in the true sum- 
 mer, bring thee forth again from the earth, and awaken thee 
 from the dead 1 " 
 
 " O gracious God ! " he exclaimed, " come quickly, come at 
 last ! I wait ever for that day — that morning of spring ! " 
 
 And he waits for it still. Not now, indeed, on earth, "in 
 what kind of place we know not," as he said; " but most surely 
 free from all grief and pain, resting in peace and in the love and 
 grace of God." 
 
 We also wait for that Day of Redemption, still in the weak 
 flesh and amidst the storm and the conflict ; but strong and 
 peaceful in the truth Martin Luther taught us, and in the God 
 he trusted to the last.
 
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