XVIII.
Thekla's Story.
WITTEMBERG, _April_ 2, 1521.
Dr. Luther is gone. We all feel like a family bereaved of our father.
The professors and chief burghers, with numbers of the students,gathered around the door of the Augustinian Convent this morning to bidhim farewell. Gottfried Reichenbach was near as he entered the carriage,and heard him say, as he turned to Melacthon, in a faltering voice,"Should I not return, and should my enemies put me to death, O mybrother, cease not to teach and to abide steadfastly in the truth.Labour in my place, for I shall not be able to labour myself. If you bespared it matters little that I perish."
And so he drove off. And a few minutes after, we, who were waiting atthe door, saw him pass. He did not forget to smile at Else and herlittle ones, or to give a word of farewell to our dear blind father ashe passed us. But there was a grave steadfastness in his countenancethat made our hearts full of anxiety. As the usher with the imperialstandard who preceded him, and then Dr. Luther's carriage, disappearedround a corner of the street, our grandmother, whose chair had beenplaced at the door that she might see him pass, murmured, as if toherself,--
"Yes, it was with just such a look they went to the scaffold and thestake when I was young."
I could see little, my eyes were so blinded with tears; and when ourgrandmother 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 sayI have no control over my feelings; and I am afraid I have not. But itseems 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 understandmyself; did not laugh at my perplexities as childish, did not think myover-eagerness was always heat of temper, but met my blundering effortsto do right. Different as she was from me (different as an angel frompoor bewildered blundering Giant Christopher in Else's old legend), shealways seemed come down to my level and see my difficulties from where Istood, and so helped me over them; whilst every one else sees them fromabove, 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 onany one; but Else is so unselfish, her whole life is so bound up inothers, that she does not know what more wilful natures have to contendwith. Besides, she is now out of the immediate circle of our every-daylife at home. Then our mother is so gentle; she is frightened to thinkwhat sorrows life may bring me with the changes that must come, iflittle things give me such joy or grief now. I know she feels for meoften more than she dares let me see; but she is always thinking ofarming me for the trials she believes must come, by teaching me to beless vehement and passionate about trifles now. But I am afraid it isuseless. I think every creature must suffer according to its nature; andif God has made our capacity for joy or sorrow deep, we cannot fill upthe channel and say, "Hitherto I will feel; so far, and no further." The_waters are there_,--soon they will recover for themselves the oldchoked-up courses; and meantime they will overflow. Eva also used tosay, "that our armour must grow with our growth, and our strength withthe strength of our conflicts; and that there is only one shield whichdoes 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 nowmourning over a dog as I did over Nix, I should wonder much as they alldid at me then. But Nix was not only a dog to me. He was Eisenach and mychildhood; and a whole world of love and dreams seemed to die for mewith Nix.
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 Icould bear to come in at the front door, where he used to watch for mewith his wistful eyes, and bound with cries of joy to meet me. I used tocreep in at the garden gate.
And then Nix's death was the first approach of Death to me, and thedreadful power was no less a power because its shadow fell first for meon a faithful dog. I began dimly to feel that life, which before thatseemed to be a mountain-path always mounting and mounting through goldenmists to I know not what heights of beauty and joy, did not end on theheights, but in a dark unfathomed abyss, and that however dim its coursemight be, it has, alas, no mists, or uncertainty around the nature ofits 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 weunderstand a labyrinth until we are through it? I did not even know itwas a labyrinth. I only knew that a light had passed away fromeverything, and a shadow had fallen in its place.
Then it was that Dr. Luther spoke to me of the other world, beyonddeath, which God would certainly make more full and beautiful thanthis;--the world on which the shadow of death can never come, because itlies in the eternal sunshine, on the other side of death, and all theshadows fall on this side. That was about the time of my firstcommunion, and I saw much of Dr. Luther, and heard him preach. I did notsay much to him, but he let down a light into my heart which, amidst allits wanderings and mistakes, will, I believe, never go out.
He made me understand something of what our dear heavenly Father is, andthat willing but unequalled Sufferer--that gracious Saviour who gavehimself for our sins, even for mine. And he made me feel that God wouldunderstand me better than any one, because love always understands, andthe greatest love understands best, and God is love.
Else and I spoke a little about it sometimes, but not much. I am still achild to Else and to all of them, being the youngest, and so much lessself-controlled than I ought to be. Fritz understood it best; at least,I could speak to him more freely,--I do not know why. Perhaps somehearts are made to answer naturally to each other, just as some of thefurniture always vibrates when I touch a particular string of the lute,while nothing else in the room seems to feel it. Perhaps, too, sorrowdeepens the heart wonderfully, and opens a channel into the depths ofall 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. Ifthere is a secret chamber in his heart, which he cannot bear to open toany one, when I think his thoughts are there, would I not turn aside myeyes 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 chamberof 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 donefor us both; more, perhaps, for Fritz than even for me, because he hadsuffered more. It seems to me as if we and thousands besides in theworld had been worshipping before an altar-picture of our Saviour, whichwe 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 sittingon a judgment throne; in his hands lightnings, and worse lightningsburied in the cloud of his severe and threatening brow. And then,suddenly we heard Dr. Luther's voice behind us saying, in his ringing,inspiring tones, "Friends, what are you doing? That is not the rightpainting. These are only the boards which hide the master's picture."
And so saying, he drew aside the terrible image on which we had beenhopelessly gazing, vainly trying to read some traces of tenderness andbeauty there. And all at once the real picture was revealed to us, thepicture of the real Christ, with the look on his glorious face which hehad on the cross, when he said of his murderers, "Father, forgive 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 me to speakof 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 heardfrom him; and the last tidings we had were that little note from theconvent-prison of Mainz!
And now Dr. Luther is gone--gone to the stronghold of his enemies--gone,perhaps, as our grandmother says, to martyrdom!
And who will keep that glorious revelation of the true, loving,pa
rdoning God open for us,--with a steady hand keep open those falseshutters, now that he is withdrawn? Dr. Melancthon may do as well forthe learned, for the theologians; but who will replace Dr. Luther to_us_, to the people, to working men and eager youths, and to women andto children? Who will make us feel as he does that religion is not astudy, or a profession, or a system of doctrines, but life in God; thatprayer is not, as he said, an ascension of the heart as a spiritualexercise into some vague airy heights, but the lifting of the heart _toGod_, to a heart which meets us, cares for us, loves us inexpressibly?Who will ever keep before us as he does the "Our Father," which makesall the rest of the Lord's Prayer and all prayer possible and helpful?No wonder that mothers held out their children to receive his blessingas he left us, and then went home weeping, whilst even strong menbrushed away tears from their eyes.
It is true, Dr. Bugenhagen, who has escaped from persecution inPomerania, preaches fervently in his pulpit; and Archdeacon Carlstadt isfull of fire, and Dr. Melancthon full of light; and many good, wise menare left. But Dr. Luther seemed the heart and soul of all. Others mightsay wiser things, and he might say many things others would be too wiseto say, but it is through Dr. Luther's heart that God has revealed Hisheart and His word to thousands in our country, and no one can ever beto us what he is.
Day and night we pray for his safety.
_April_ 15.
Christopher has returned from Erfurt, where he heard Dr. Luther preach.
He told us that in many places his progress was like that of a belovedprince through his dominions, of a prince who was going out to somegreat battle for his land.
Peasants blessed him; poor men and women thronged around him andentreated him not to trust his precious life among his enemies. One agedpriest at Nueremberg brought out to him a portrait of Savonarola, thegood priest whom the Pope burned at Florence not forty years ago. Oneaged widow came to him and said her parents had told her God would senda deliverer to break the yoke of Rome, and she thanked God she saw himbefore she died. At Erfurt sixty burghers and professors rode out somemiles to escort him into the city. There, where he had relinquished allearthly prospects to beg bread as a monk through the streets, thestreets were thronged with grateful men and women, who welcomed him astheir liberator from falsehood and spiritual tyranny.
Christopher heard him preach in the church of the Augustinian Convent,where he had (as Fritz told me) suffered such agonies of conflict. Hestood there now an excommunicated man, threatened with death; but hestood there as victor, through Christ, over the tyranny and lies ofSatan. He seemed entirely to forget his own danger in the joy of theeternal salvation he came to proclaim. Not a word, Christopher said,about himself, or the Diet, or the Pope's bull, or the Emperor, but allabout the way a sinner may be saved, and a believer may be joyful."There are two kinds of works," he said; "external works, our own works.These are worth little. One man builds a church; another makes apilgrimage to St. Peter's; a third fasts, puts on the hood, goesbarefoot. All these works are nothing, and will perish. Now, I will tellyou what is the true good work. _God hath raised again a man, the LordJesus Christ, in order that he may crush death, destroy sin, shut thegates of hell. This is the work of salvation._ The devil believed he hadthe Lord in his power when he beheld him between two thieves, sufferingthe most shameful martyrdom, accursed both of Heaven and man. But Godput forth his might, and annihilated death, sin, and hell. Christ hathwon the victory. This is the great news! And we are saved by his work,not by our works. The Pope says something very different. I tell you theholy Mother of God herself has been saved, not by her virginity, nor byher maternity, nor by her purity, nor by her works, but solely by meansof 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. Lutherstopped a moment, and then stretching out his hand said, in his clear,firm voice, "Fear not, there is no danger. The devil would thus hinderthe preaching of the gospel, but he will not succeed." Then returning tohis text, he said, "Perhaps you will say to me, 'You speak to us muchabout faith, teach us how we may obtain it.' Yes, indeed, that is what Idesire to teach you. Our Lord Jesus Christ has said, '_Peace be untoyou. Behold my hands._' And this is as if he said, 'O man, it is I alonewho have taken away thy sins, and who have redeemed thee, and now _thouhast peace_, saith the Lord.'"
And he concluded,--
"Since God has saved us, let us so order our works that he may takepleasure therein. Art thou rich? Let thy goods be serviceable to thepoor. Art thou poor? Let thy services be of use to the rich. If thylabours are useless to all but thyself, the services thou pretendest torender to God are a mere lie."
Christopher left Dr. Luther at Erfurt. He said many tried to persuadethe 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 thepapal excommunication was affixed on the walls before his eyes; but hesaid, "If I perish, the truth will not."
And nothing moved him from his purpose. Christopher was most deeplytouched with that sermon. He said the text, "_Peace be unto you; andwhen he had so said Jesus showed unto them his hands and his side_,"rang through his heart all the way home to Wittemberg, through theforests and the plain. The pathos of the clear true voice we may neverhear again writes them on his heart; and more than that. I trust thedeeper pathos of the voice which uttered the cry of agony once on thecross for us,--the agony which won the peace.
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 andjustification, or sin and condemnation. It is we sinning and condemned,Christ suffering for us, and God justifying and loving us. It is all Iand thou. He brings us face to face with God, not merely sitting sereneon a distant imperial throne, frowning in terrible majesty, or evensmiling in gracious pity, but coming down to us close, seeking us, andcaring, caring unutterably much, that we, even we, should be saved.
I never knew, until Dr. Luther drove out of Wittemberg, and the car withthe cloth curtains to protect him from the weather, which the town hadprovided, passed out of sight, and I saw the tears gently flowing downmy mother's face, how much she loved and honoured him.
She seems almost as anxious about him as about Fritz; and she did notreprove 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, "Poorlittle Thekla! God will teach us both how to have none other gods buthimself. He will do it very tenderly; but neither thy mother nor thySaviour can teach thee this lesson without many a bitter tear."