Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family

  XIX.

  Fritz's Story.

  EBERNBURG, _April_ 2, 1526.

  A chasm has opened between me and my monastic life. I have been in theprison, and in the prison have I received at last, in full, myemancipation. The ties I dreaded impatiently to break have been brokenfor me, and I am a monk no longer.

  I could not but speak to my brethren in the convent of the glad tidingswhich had brought me such joy. It is as impossible for Christian lifenot to diffuse itself as that living water should not flow, or thatflames should not rise. Gradually a little band of Christ's freedmengathered 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'sdoctrine was _not_ his own, but God's.

  But the time came when Dr. Luther's name was on every lip. The bull ofexcommunication went forth against him from the Vatican. His name wasbranded as that of the vilest of heretics by every adherent of the Pope.In many churches, especially those of the Dominicans, the people weresummoned by the great bells to a solemn service of anathema, where thewhole of the priests, gathered at the altar in the darkened building,pronounced the terrible words of doom and then, flinging down theirblazing torches extinguished them on the stone pavement, as hope, theysaid, was extinguished by the anathema for the soul of the accursed.

  At one of these services I was accidentally present. And mine was notthe only heart which glowed with burning indignation to hear that worthyname linked with those of apostates and heretics, and held up touniversal execration. But, perhaps, in no heart there did it enkindlesuch a fire as in mine. Because I knew the source from which thosecurses came, how lightly, how carelessly those firebrands were flung;not fiercely, by the fanaticism of blinded consciences, but daintily anddeliberately, by cruel, reckless hands, as a matter of diplomacy andpolicy, by those who cared themselves neither for God's curse nor hisblessing. And I knew also the heart which they were meant to wound; howloyal, how tender, how true; how slowly, and with what pain Dr. Lutherhad 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 thevoice of the Church, he had clung to the Bible, and let the hopes, andtrust, and friendships of earlier days be torn from him; what anguishthat separation still cost him; how willingly, as a humble little child,at the sacrifice of anything but truth and human souls, he would haveflung himself again on the bosom of that Church to which, in his ferventyouth, he had offered up all that makes life dear.

  "_They curse, but bless Thou._"

  The words came, unbidden into my heart, and almost unconsciously from mylips. Around me I heard more than one "Amen;" but at the same time Ibecame aware that I was watched by malignant eyes.

  After the publication of the excommunication, they publicly burned thewritings of Dr. Luther in the great square. Mainz was the first city inGermany where this indignity was offered him.

  Mournfully I returned to my convent. In the cloisters of our Order theopinions concerning Luther are much divided. The writings of St.Augustine have kept the truth alive in many hearts amongst us; andbesides this, there is the natural bias to one of our own order, and theparty opposition to the Dominicans, Tetzel and Eck, Dr. Luther'senemies. Probably there are few Augustinian convents in which there arenot two opposite parties in reference to Dr. Luther.

  In speaking of the great truths, of God freely justifying the sinnerbecause Christ died, (the Judge acquitting because the Judge himself hadsuffered for the guilty), I had endeavoured to trace them, as I havesaid, beyond all human words to their divine authority. But now toconfess Luther seemed to me to have become identical with confessingChrist. It is the truth which is assailed in any age which tests ourfidelity. It is to _confess_ we are called, not merely to _profess_. IfI profess, with the loudest voice and the clearest exposition, everyportion of the truth of God except precisely that little point which theworld and the devil are at that moment attacking, I am not confessingChrist, however boldly I may be professing Christianity. Where thebattle rages the loyalty of the soldier is proved; and to be steady onall the battle-fields besides is mere flight and disgrace to him if heflinches at that one point.

  It seems to me also that, practically, the contest in every age ofconflict ranges usually round the person of one Faithful, Godsent man,whom to follow loyally is fidelity to God. In the days of the firstJudaizing assault on the early Church, that man was St. Paul. In thegreat Arian battle, this man was Athanasius--"_Athanasius contramundum_." In our days, in our land, I believe it is Luther; and to denyLuther would be for me who learned the truth from his lips, to denyChrist. Luther, I believe, is the man whom God has given to his Churchin Germany in this age. Luther, therefore, I will follow--not as aperfect example, but as a God-appointed leader. Men can never be neutralin great religious contests; and if, because of the little wrong in theright cause, or the little evil in the good man, we refuse to take theside of right, we are, by that very act, silently taking the side ofwrong.

  When I came back to the convent I found the storm gathering. I was askedif I possessed any of Dr. Luther's writings. I confessed that I did. Itwas demanded that they should be given up. I said they could be takenfrom me, but I would not willingly give them up to destruction, becauseI believed they contained the truth of God. Thus the matter ended untilwe had each retired to our cells for the night, when one of the oldermonks came to me and accused me of secretly spreading Lutheran heresyamong the brethren.

  I acknowledged I had diligently, but not secretly, done all I could tospread 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 meanswould be found to prevent the further diffusion of this poison.

  The next day I was taken into the prison where John of Wesel died; theheavy bolts were drawn upon me, and I was left in solitude.

  As they left me alone, the monk with whom I had the discussion of theprevious night said. "In this chamber, not forty years since, a hereticsuch as Martin Luther died."

  The words were intended to produce wholesome fear: they acted as abracing tonic. The spirit of the conqueror who had seemed to be defeatedthere, but now stood with the victorious palm before the Lamb, seemednear me. The Spirit of the truth for which he suffered was with me; andin the solitude of that prison I learned lessons years might not havetaught me elsewhere.

  No one except those who have borne them knows how strong are the fetterswhich bind us to a false faith, learned at our mother's knee, andriveted on us by the sacrifices of years. Perhaps I should never havebeen able to break them. For me, as for thousands of others, they wererudely broken by hostile hands. But the blows which broke them were theaccolade which smote me from a monk into a knight and soldier of myLord.

  Yes; there I learned that these vows which have bound me for so manyyears 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 Orderis the common order of Christianity. All other orders are disorder; notconfederations within the Church, but conspiracies against it. If, in anarmy, the troops choose to abandon the commander's arrangement, andrange themselves, by arbitrary rules, in peculiar uniforms, aroundself-elected leaders, they would not be soldiers--they would bemutineers.

  God's order is, I think, the State to embrace all men, the Church toembrace all Christian men; and the kernel of the State and the type ofthe Church is the family.

  He creates us to be infants, children--sons, daughters--husband,wife--father, mother. He says, Obey your parents, love your wife,reverence your husband, love your children. As children, let the Lord atNazareth be your model; as married, let the Lord, who loved the Churchbetter than life, be your type; as parents, let the heavenly Father beyour guide. And if we, abandoning every holy name of family love he hassanctioned, and every lowly duty he has enjoined
, choose to bandourselves anew into isolated conglomerations of men or women, connectedonly by a common name and dress, we are not only amiable enthusiasts--weare rebels against the Divine order of humanity.

  God, indeed, may call some especially to forsake father and mother, andwife and children, and all things for his dearer love. But when he callsto such destinies, it is by the plain voice of Providence, or by thebitter call of persecution; and then the martyr's or the apostle'ssolitary path is as much the lowly, simple path of obedience as themother's or the child's. The crown of the martyr is consecrated by thesame holy oil which anoints the head of the bride, the mother, or thechild,--the consecration of love and of obedience. There is none other.All that is not duty is sin; all that is not obedience is disobedience;all that is not of love is of self; and self crowned with thorns in acloister is as selfish as self crowned with ivy at a revel.

  Therefore I abandon cowl and cloister for ever. I am no more BrotherSebastian, of the order of the Eremites of St. Augustine. I am FriedrichCotta, Margaret Cotta's son, Else and Thekla's brother Fritz. I am nomore a monk. I am a Christian--I am no more a vowed Augustinian. I am abaptized Christian, dedicated to Christ from the arms of my mother,united to Him by the faith of my manhood. Henceforth I will order mylife by no routine of ordinances imposed by the will of a dead manhundreds 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 morning, "Give me this day my daily bread.Appoint to me this day my daily task." And He will never fail to hear,however often I may fail to ask.

  I had abundance of time for those thoughts in my prison; for during thethree weeks I lay there I had, with the exception of the bread and waterwhich 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 aboutJohn of Wesel.

  The first time he came (he said) to persuade me to recant. But whateverhe intended, he said little about recantation--much more about his ownweakness, which hindered him from confessing the same truth.

  The second time he brought me a disguise, and told me he had providedthe means for my escape that very night. When, therefore, I heard theechoes of the heavy bolts of the great doors die away through the longstone corridors, and listened till the last tramp of feet ceased, anddoor after door of the various cells was closed, and every sound wasstill 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, Iprostrated myself on the stone floor, and thanked Him who, by hisredeeming death and the emancipating word of his free spirit, had mademe a free man, nay, infinitely better, _his freedman_.

  The bodily freedom to which I looked forward was to me a light boonindeed, in comparison with the liberty of heart already mine. Theputting on this common garb of secular life was to me like a solemninvestiture 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 ofthe common family; no more to freeze alone on a height, but to tread thelowly path of common duty; to help my brethren, not as men at asumptuous table throw crumbs to beggars and dogs, but to live amongstthem--to share my bread of life with them; no longer as the forerunnerin the wilderness, but, like the Master, in the streets, and highways,and homes of men; assuming no nobler name than man created in the imageof God, born in the image of Adam; aiming at no loftier title thanChristian, redeemed by the blood of Christ, and created anew, to beconformed to his glorious image. Yes, as the symbol of a freedman, asthe uniform of a soldier, as the armour of a sworn knight, at oncefreeman and servant, was that lowly burgher's dress to me; and with ajoyful 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 huskof that old lifeless life.

  In vain did I endeavour to persuade my liberator to accompany me in myflight. "The world would be a prison to me, brother," he said with a sadsmile. "All I loved in it are dead, and what could I do there, with thebody of an old man and the helpless inexperience of a child? Fear notfor me," he added; "I also shall, I trust, one day dwell in a home; butnot on earth!"

  And so we parted, he returning to the convent, and I taking my way, byriver and forest, to this castle of the noble knight Franz vonSickingen, on a steep height at the angle formed by the junction of tworivers.

  My silent weeks of imprisonment had been weeks of busy life in the worldoutside. When I reached this castle of Ebernburg, I found the whole ofits inhabitants in a ferment about the summoning of Dr. Luther to Worms.His name, and my recent imprisonment for his faith, were a sufficientpassport to the hospitality of the castle, and I was welcomed mostcordially.

  It was a great contrast to the monotonous routine of the convent and thestillness of the prison. All was life and stir; eager debates as to whatit would be best to do for Dr. Luther; incessant coming and going ofmessengers on horse and foot between Ebernburg and Worms, where the Dietis already sitting, and where the good knight Franz spends much of histime in attendance on the Emperor.

  Ulrich von Hutton is also here, from time to time, vehement in hiscondemnation of the fanaticism of monks and the lukewarmness of princes;and Dr. Bucer, a disciple of Dr. Luther's, set free from the bondage ofRome by his healthful words at the great conference of the Augustiniansat Heidelberg.

  _April_ 30, 1521.

  The events of an age seem to have been crowded into the last month. Afew days after I wrote last, it was decided to send a deputation to Dr.Luther, who was then rapidly approaching Worms, entreating him not toventure into the city, but to turn aside to Ebernburg. The Emperor'sconfessor, Glapio, had persuaded the knight von Sickingen and thechaplain Bucer, that all might easily be arranged, if Dr. Luther onlyavoided the fatal step of appearing at the Diet.

  A deputation of horsemen was therefore sent to intercept the doctor onhis 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, Ihad known him not only when he stepped on the great stage of the worldas 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 theeyes of all Christendom, was to him no great momentary effort, butsimply one little step in the path of obedience and lowly duty which hehad been endeavouring to tread so many years. But I feared. I distrustedGlapio, and believed that all this earnestness on the part of the papalparty 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 himwith the eloquence of affectionate solicitude; his faithful friends andfellow-travellers, Jonas, Amsdorf, and Schurff, wavered, but Dr. Lutherdid not hesitate an instant. He was in the path of obedience. The nextstep was as unquestionable and essential as all the rest, although, ashe had once said, "it led through flames which extended from Worms toWittemberg, and raged up to heaven." He did not, however, use any ofthese forcible illustrations now, natural as they were to him. He simplysaid,--

  "I continue my journey. If the Emperor's confessor has anything to sayto me, he can say it at Worms. _I will go to the place to which I havebeen summoned._"

  And he went on, leaving the friendly deputation to return to Ebernburg.

  I did not leave him. As we went on the way, some of those who hadaccompanied him told me through what fervent greetings and against whatvain entreaties of fearful affection he had pursued his way thus far;how many had warned him that he was going to the stake, and had weptthat they should see his face no more; how, through much bodily weaknessand suffering, through acclamations and tears, he had passed on simplyand steadfastly, blessing little children in the schools he vi
sited, andtelling them to search the Scriptures; comforting the timid and aged,stirring up the hearts of all to faith and prayer, and by his courageand 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 youaccomplish 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 messengercame riding towards us from his faithful friend Spalatin, the Elector'schaplain, and implored him on no account to think of entering the city.

  The doctor's old fervour of expression returned at such a temptationmeeting him so near the goal.

  "Go tell your master," he said, "that if there were at Worms as manydevils 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 escortedhim within the city. Two thousand people were eagerly awaiting him, andpressed to see him as he passed through the streets. Not all friends.Fanatical Spaniards were among them, who had torn his books in piecesfrom the book-stalls, and crossed themselves when they looked at him, asif he had been the devil; baffled partisans of the Pope: and on theother hand, timid Christians who hoped all from his courage; men who hadwaited long for this deliverence, had received life from his words, andhad kept his portrait in their homes and hearts encircled like that of acanonized saint with a glory. And through the crowd he passed, the onlyman, perhaps, in it who did not see Dr. Luther through a mist of hatredor of glory, but felt himself a solitary, feeble, helpless man, leaningonly, yet resting securely, on the arm of Almighty strength.

  Those who knew him best perhaps wondered at him most during those dayswhich followed. Not at his courage--that we had expected--but at hiscalmness and moderation. It was this which seemed to me most surely theseal of God on that fervent impetuous nature, stamping the work and theman as of God.

  We none of us know how he would have answered before that augustassembly. At his first appearance some of us feared he might have beentoo vehement. The Elector Frederick could not have been more moderateand calm. When asked whether he would retract his books, I think therewere few among us who were not surprised at the noble self-restraint ofhis reply. He asked for time.

  "Most gracious Emperor, gracious princes and lords," he said, "withregard to the first accusation, I acknowledge the books enumerated tohave been from me. I cannot disown them. As regards the second, seeingthat is a question of the faith and the salvation of souls, and of God'sword, the most precious treasure in heaven or earth, I should act rashlywere I to reply hastily. I might affirm less than the case requires, ormore than truth demands, and thus offend against that word of Christ,'Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before myFather who is in heaven.' Wherefore I beseech your imperial majesty,with all submission, to allow me time that I may reply without doingprejudice to the word of God."

  He could afford to be thought for the time what many of his enemiestauntingly declared him, a coward, brave in the cell, but appalled whenhe came to face the world.

  During the rest of that day he was full of joy; "like a child," saidsome, "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 strengthof the child following his Father's eye, and trusting on his Father'sarm.

  A conflict awaited him afterwards in the course of the night, which oneof us witnessed, and which made him who witnessed it feel no wonder thatthe imperial presence had no terrors for Luther on the morrow.

  Alone that night our leader fought the fight to which all other combatswere but as a holiday tournament. Prostrate on the ground, with sobs andbitter tears, he prayed,--

  "Almighty, everlasting God, how terrible this world is! How it wouldopen its jaws to devour me, and how weak is my trust in thee! The fleshis weak, and the devil is strong! O thou my God, help me against all thewisdom 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 haveno controversy to maintain, not I, with the great ones of the earth. Itoo would that my days should glide along, happy and calm. But the causeis thine. It is righteous, it is eternal. O Lord, help me; thou that artfaithful, thou that art unchangeable. It is not in any man I trust. Thatwere vain indeed. All that is in man gives way; all that comes from manfaileth. O God, my God, dost thou not hear me? Art thou dead? No; thoucanst not die! Thou art but hiding thyself. Thou hast chosen me for thiswork. I know it. Oh, then, arise and work. Be thou on my side, for thesake of thy beloved Son Jesus Christ, who is my defence, my shield andmy fortress.

  "O Lord, my God, where art thou? Come, come; I am ready--ready toforsake life for thy truth, patient as a lamb. For it is a righteouscause, and it is thine own. I will not depart from thee, now nor througheternity. And although the world should be full of demons; although mybody, which, nevertheless, is the work of thine hands, should be doomedto 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 assuranceof thy word. My soul is thine. It will abide near thee throughout theendless ages. Amen. O God, help thou me! Amen!"

  Ah, how little those who follow know the agony it costs to take thefirst step, to venture on the perilous ground no human soul around hastried!

  Insignificant indeed the terrors of the empire to one who had seen theterrors of the Almighty. Petty indeed are the assaults of flesh andblood to him who has withstood principalities and powers, and the hostsof 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. Lutherpassed through the crowded streets to the imperial presence.

  As he drew near the door, the veteran General Freundsberg, touching hisshoulder, said--

  "Little monk, you have before you an encounter such as neither I nor anyother 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 inthe name of God, and fear nothing. God will not forsake you."

  Friendly heart! he knew not that our Martin Luther was coming _from_ hisbattle-field, and was simply going as a conqueror to declare before menthe victory he had won from mightier foes.

  And so at last he stood, the monk, the peasant's son, before all theprinces of the empire, the kingliest heart among them all, crowned witha majesty which was incorruptible, because invisible to worldly eyes;one against thousands who were bent on his destruction; one in front ofthousands who leant on his fidelity; erect because he rested on thatunseen arm above.

  The words he spoke that day are ringing through all Germany. The closingsentence will never be forgotten--

  "_Here I stand. I cannot do otherwise. God help me. Amen._"

  To him these deeds of heroism are acts of simple obedience; every stepinevitable, because every step is duty. In this path he leans on God'shelp absolutely and only. And all faithful hearts throughout the landrespond to his Amen.

  On the other hand, many of the polished courtiers and subtle Romandiplomatists saw no eloquence in his words, words which stirred everytrue heart to its depths. "That man," said they, "will never convinceus." How should he? His arguments were not in their language, noraddressed to them, but to true and honest hearts; and to such theyspoke.

  To men with whom eloquence means elaborate fancies, decoratingcorruption or veiling emptiness, what could St. Paul seem but a"babbler?"

  All men of earnest purpose acknowledged their force;--enemies, byindignant clamour that he should be silenced: friends, by wonderinggratitude to God who had stood by him.

  It was nearly dark when the Diet broke up. As D
r. Luther came out,escorted by the imperial officers, a panic spread through the crowdcollected 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 thisday 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 thismoment where they have taken him, whether he is in the hands of friendor foe, whether even he is still on earth!

  We ought to have heard of his arrival at Wittemberg many days since. Butno inquiries can trace him beyond the village of Mora in the ThuringianForest. There he went from Eisenach on his way back to Wittemberg, tovisit his aged grandmother and some of his father's relations, peasantfarmers who live on the clearings of the forest. In his grandmother'slowly home he passed the night, and took leave of her the next morning;and no one has heard of him since.

  We are not without hope that he is in the hands of friends; yet fearswill mingle with these hopes. His enemies are so many and so bitter; andno means would seem, to many of them, unworthy, to rid the world of sucha heretic.

  While he yet remained at Worms the Romans strenuously insisted that hisobstinacy had made the safe-conduct invalid; some even of the Germanprinces urged that he should be seized; and it was only by the urgentremonstrances of others, who protested that they would never suffer sucha blot on German honour, that he was saved.

  At the same time the most insidious efforts were made to persuade him toretreat, or to resign his safe-conduct in order to show his willingnessto abide by the issue of a fair discussion. This last effort, appealingto 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 wasmade, seeing through the treachery, fiercely ejected the priest whoproposed it from the house.

  Yet through all assaults, insidious or open, Dr. Luther remained calmand unmoved, moved by no threats, ready to listen to any fairproposition.

  Among all the polished courtiers and proud princes and prelates, heseemed to me to stand like an ambassador from an imperial court amongthe petty dignitaries of some petty province. His manners had thedignity of one who has been accustomed to a higher presence than anyaround him, giving to every one the honour due to him, indifferent toall personal slights, but inflexible on every point that concerned thehonour of his sovereign.

  Those of us who had known him in earlier days saw in him all thesimplicity, the deep earnestness, the child-like delight in simplepleasures we had known in him of old. It was our old friend MartinLuther, but it seemed as if our Luther had come back to us from aresidence in heaven, such a peace and majesty dwelt in all he said. Oneincident especially struck me. When the glass he was about to drink ofat 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 friendsexclaimed "poison!" he (so ready usually to see spiritual agency in allthings) quietly observed that "the glass had doubtless broken on accountof its having been plunged too soon into cold water when it was washed."

  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 hospital refuge such as this, or ina hopeless secret dungeon, to us for the time at least he is dead. Noword of sympathy or counsel passes between us. The voice which allGermany 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'sown 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 deliverhim to death. And to all this, if he is living, he can utter no word ofreply.

  Meantime, on the other hand, every word of his is treasured up andclothed with the sacred pathos of the dying words of a father. The nobleletter which he wrote to the nobles describing his appearance before theDiet is treasured in every home.

  Yet some among us derive not a little hope from the last letter hewrote, 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 Alleluia. 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 it is a dim hint to those who love him that he knewwhat was before him, and that after a brief concealment 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 bea time of close intercourse with God, from which he may come forthrefreshed and strengthened to guide and help us all.

  And meantime, a work, not without peril, but full of sacred joy, opensbefore me. I have been supplied by the friends of Dr. Luther's doctrinewith copies of his books and pamphlets, both in Latin and German, whichI am to sell as a hawker through the length and breadth of Germany, andin any other lands I can penetrate.

  I am to start to-morrow, and to me my pack and strap are burdens moreglorious than the armour of a prince of the empire; my humble pedlar'scoat and staff are vestments more sacred than the robes of a cardinal orthe weeds of a pilgrim.

  For am I not a pilgrim to the city which hath foundations! Is not myyoke the yoke of Christ? and am I not distributing, among thirsty andenslaved 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 throughthe solitary paths of the Black Forest, which, eleven years ago, I trodwith Dr. Martin Luther, on our pilgrimage to Rome. Both of us then worethe monk's frock and cowl. Both were devoted subjects of the Pope, andwould have deprecated, as the lowest depth of degradation, his anathema.Yet at that very time Martin Luther bore in his heart the living germ ofall that is now agitating men's hearts from Pomerania to Spain. He wasalready a freedman of Christ, and he knew it. The Holy Scriptures werealready to him the one living fountain of truth. Believing simply on Himwho died, the just for the unjust, he had received the free pardon ofhis sins. Prayer was to him the confiding petition of a forgiven childreceived to the heart of the Father, and walking humbly by his side.Christ he knew already as the Confessor and Priest; the Holy Spirit asthe personal teacher through His own Word.

  The fetters of the old ceremonial were indeed still around him, but onlyas the brown casings still swathe many of the swelling buds of the youngleaves; which others, this May morning, cracked and burst as I passedalong in the silence through the green forest paths. The moment ofliberation, to the passer-by always seems a great, sudden effort; butthose who have watched the slow swelling of the imprisoned bud, knowthat the last expansion of life which bursts the scaly cerements is butone moment of the imperceptible but incessant growth, of which even theapparent death of winter was a stage.

  But it is good to live in the spring time; and as I went on, my heartsang with the birds and the leaf-buds, "For me also the cerements ofwinter are burst,--for me and for all the land!"

  And as I walked, I sang aloud the old Easter hymn which Eva used tolove:--

  Fone luctum, Magdalena, Et serena lacrymas; Non es jam cermonis 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 per acta scena, Victor mortis rediit; Quem deflebis morientem, Nunc arride resurgentem: Alleluia resonet!

  Tolle vultum, Magdalena, Redivivum obstupe: Vide frons quam sit amoena, Quinque plagas adspice; Fulgem sicut margaritae, Ornamenta rovae vitae: Alleluia resonet!

  Vive, vive, Magdalena! Tua lux reversa est; Guadiis turgesit 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 andsecret convent cells, has doubtless learned this hidden joy. But now theworld seems learning it. The winter has its robins, with their solitarywarblings; but now the spring is here, the songs come in choruses,--andthank God I am awake to listen!

  But the voice which awoke this music first in my heart, among these veryforests--and since then, through the grace of God, in countless heartsthroughout this and all lands--what silence hushes it now? The silenceof 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 scatteredand smaller, as if they had been cleared not long since; and I foundmyself on the edge of a valley, on the slopes of which nestled a smallvillage, with its spire and belfry rising among the wooden cottages, andflocks of sheep and goats grazing in the pastures beside the littlestream which watered it.

  I lifted up my heart to God, that some hearts in that peaceful placemight welcome the message of eternal peace through the books I carried.

  As I entered the village, the priest came out of the parsonage--an agedman, with a gentle, kindly countenance--and courteously 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 supposeyour merchandise consists of."

  But when he saw the name of Luther on the title-page of a volume which Ishowed him, his face changed, and he said in a grave voice, "Do you knowwhat you carry?"

  "I trust I do," I replied. "I carry most of these books in my heart aswell as on my shoulders."

  "But do you know the danger?" the old man continued. "We have heard thatDr. Luther has been excommunicated by the Pope, and laid under the banof the empire; and only last week, a travelling merchant, such asyourself, told us that his body had been seen pierced through with ahundred wounds."

  "That was not true three days since," I said. "At least, his bestfriends 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 wouldbe well he had time to repent."

  In that village I sold many of my books, and left others with the goodpriest, who entertained me most hospitably, and sent me on my way with atearful farewell, compounded of blessings, warnings, and prayers.

  PARIS, _July_, 1521.

  I have crossed the French frontier, and have been staying some days inthis great, gay, learned city.

  In Germany, my books procured me more of welcome than of opposition. Insome cases, even where the local authorities deemed it their dutypublicly to protest against them, they themselves secretly assisted intheir distribution. In others, the eagerness to purchase, and to gleanany fragment of information about Luther, drew a crowd around me, who,after satisfying themselves that I had no news to give them of hispresent state, lingered as long as I would speak, to listen to mynarrative of his appearance before the Emperor at Worms, while murmursof enthusiastic approval, and often sobs and tears, testified thesympathy 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 idolatrousreverence which had gathered around his name in remote districts, amongthe oppressed and toiling peasantry.

  I remember especially, in one village, a fine-looking old peasant farmertaking me to an inner room where hung a portrait of Luther, encircledwith a glory, with a curtain before it.

  "See!" he said. "The lord of that castle," and he pointed to a fortresson an opposite height, "has wrought me and mine many a wrong. Two of mysons have perished in his selfish feuds, and his huntsmen lay waste myfields as they choose in the chase; yet, if I shoot a deer, I may bethrown into the castle dungeon, as mine have been before. But theirreign 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 prelates.God has sent us the deliverer; and the reign of righteousness will comeat last, when every man shall have his due."

  "Friend," I said, with an aching heart, "the Deliverer came fifteenhundred years ago, but the reign of justice has not come to the worldyet. The Deliverer was crucified, and his followers since then havesuffered, 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 libertyfrom a worse bondage than that of the nobles, and it is a liberty notyrant, no dungeon, can deprive us of--the liberty of the sons ofGod;"--and he listened earnestly while I spoke to him of justification,and of the suffering, redeeming Lord. But at the end he said--

  "Yes, that is good news. But I trust Dr. Luther will avenge many a wrongamong 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 oppressedand sorrowful throughout the land were turned to me, I should be temptedto say--

  "Lord, let me die before these oppressed and burdened hearts learn howlittle I can help them!"

  For verily there is much evil done under the sun. Yet as truly there ishealing for every disease, remedy for every wrong, and rest from everyburden, in the tidings Dr. Luther brings. But remedy of a differentkind, I fear, from what too many fondly expect!

  It is strange, also, to see how, in these few weeks, the wildest taleshave sprung up and spread in all directions about Dr. Luther'sdisappearance. Some say he has been secretly murdered, and that hiswounded corpse has been seen; others, that he was borne away bleedingthrough the forest to some dreadful doom; while others boldly assertthat he will re-appear at the head of a band of liberators, who will gothrough the length and breadth of the land, redressing every wrong, andpunishing every wrong-doer.

  Truly, if a few weeks can throw such a haze around facts, what would acentury without a written record have done for Christianity; or whatwould that record itself have been without inspiration?

  The country was in some parts very disturbed. In Alsace I came on asecret meeting of the peasants, who have bound themselves with the mostterrible oaths to wage war to the death against the nobles.

  More than once I was stopped by a troop of horsemen near a castle, andmy wares searched, to see if they belonged to the merchants of some citywith whom the knight of the castle was at feud; and on one of theseoccasions it might have fared ill with me if a troop of Landsknechts inthe service of the empire had not appeared in time to rescue me and mycompanions.

  Yet everywhere the name of Luther was of equal interest. The peasantsbelieved he would rescue them from the tyranny of the nobles; and manyof the knights spoke of him as the assertor of German liberties againsta foreign yoke. More than one poor parish priest welcomed him as thedeliverer from the avarice of the great abbeys or the prelates. Thus, infarm-house and hut, in castle and parsonage, I and my books found many acordial welcome. And all I could do was to sell the books, and tell allwho would listen, that the yoke Luther's words were powerful to breakwas the yoke of the devil the prince of all oppressors, and that thefreedom he came to republish was freedom from the tyranny of sin andself.

  My true welcome, however, the one which rejoiced my heart, was when anysaid, as many did, on sick-beds, in lowly and noble homes, and inmonasteries--

  "Thank G
od, these words are in our hearts already. They have taught usthe 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 mansince he read Dr. Luther's words."

  But if I was scarcely prepared for the interest felt in Dr. Luther inour own land, true German that he is, still less did I expect that hisfame would have reached to Paris, and even further.

  The night before I reached this city I was weary with a long day's walkin the dust and heat, and had fallen asleep on a bench in the gardenoutside a village inn, under the shade of a trellised vine, leaving mypack partly open beside me. When I awoke, a grave and dignified-lookingman, who, from the richness of his dress and arms, seemed to be anobleman, and, from the cut of his slashed doubtlet and mantle, aSpaniard, sat beside me, deeply engaged in reading one of my books. Idid not stir at first, but watched him in silence. The book he held wasa 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?" he asked

  I said it was and named the price.

  He immediately laid down twice the sum, saying, "Give a copy to some onewho cannot buy."

  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 prohibitedin both Castile and Venice now. But I have always wished to possess acopy that I might judge for myself. Do you know Dr. Luther?" 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 replied.

  "He spoke like a brave man before the Diet," he resumed; "gravely andquietly, as true men speak who are prepared to abide by their words. Anoble of Castile could not have spoken with more dignity than thatpeasant's son. The Italian priests thought otherwise; but the oratorywhich melts girls into tears from pulpits is not the eloquence for thecouncils of men. That monk had learned his oratory in a higher school.If you ever see Dr. Luther again," he added, "tell him that someSpaniards, 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 Briconnet, bishop of Meaux, actively employed intranslating and circulating the writings of Luther and Melancthon. Thetruth in them, they say, they had learned before from the book of Goditself, namely, justification through faith in a crucified Saviourleading to a life devoted to him. But jealous as the French are ofadmitting the superiority of anything foreign, and contemptuously asthey look on us unpolished Germans, the French priests welcome Luther asa teacher and a brother, and are as eager to hear all particulars of hislife as his countrymen in every town and quiet village throughoutGermany.

  They tell me also that the king's own sister, the beautiful and learnedDuchess Margaret of Valois, reads Dr. Luther's writings, and values themgreatly.

  Indeed, I sometimes think if he had carried out the intention he formedsome years since, of leaving Wittemberg for Paris, he would have found anoble sphere of action here. The people are so frank in speech, so quickin feeling and perception; and their bright keen wit cuts so much morequickly to the heart of a fallacy than our sober, plodding, Northernintellect.

  BASEL.

  Before I left Ebernburg, the knight Ulrich von Hutten had taken a warminterest in my expedition; had especially recommended me to seek outErasmus, if ever I reached Switzerland; and had himself placed somecopies of Erasmus' sermons, "Praise of folly," among my books.

  Personally I feel a strong attachment to that brave knight. I can neverforget the generous letter he wrote to Luther before his appearance atthe Diet:--"_The Lord hear thee in the day of trouble: the name of theGod of Jacob defend thee._ O my beloved Luther, my reverend father, fearnot; be strong. Fight valiantly for Christ. As for me, I also will fightbravely. Would to God I might see how they knit their brows.... MayChrist preserve you."

  Yes, to see the baffled enemies knit their brows as they did then, wouldhave been a triumph to the impetuous soldier, but at the time he wasprohibited from approaching the Court. Luther's courageous and nobledefence filled him with enthusiastic admiration. He declared the doctorto be a greater soldier than any of the knights. When he heard of Dr.Luther's disappearance he would have collected a band of daring spiritslike himself, and scoured the country in search of him. Hutten's objectswere high and unselfish. He had no mean and petty ambitions. With swordand pen he had contended against oppression and hypocrisy. To him theRoman Court was detestable, chiefly as a foreign yoke; the corruptpriesthood, as a domestic usurpation. He had a high ideal of knighthood,and believed that his order, enlightened by learning, and inspired by afree and lofty faith, might emancipate Germany and Christendom. Personaldanger he despised, and personal aims.

  Yet with all his fearlessness and high aspirations, I scarcely think hehoped himself to be the hero of his ideal chivalry. The self-control ofthe pure true knight was too little his. In his visions of a Christendomfrom which falsehood and avarice were to be banished, and whereauthority was to reside in an order of ideal knights, Franz vonSickingen, the brave good lord of Ebernburg, with his devout wifeHedwiga, was to raise the standard, around which Ulrich and all the truemen in the land were to rally. Luther, Erasmus, and Sickingen, hethought--the types of the three orders, learning, knighthood, andpriesthood,--might regenerate the world.

  Erasmus had begun the work with unveiling the light in the sanctuariesof learning. Luther had carried it on by diffusing the light among thepeople. The knights must complete it by forcibly scattering the powersof darkness. Conflict is Erasmus' detestation. It is Luther's necessity.It is Hutten's delight.

  I did not, however, expect much sympathy in my work from Erasmus. Itseemed 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, hoping toreplenish it from the presses of Frobenius, an elderly man, with a stoopin his shoulders, giving him the air of a student, ambled slowly pastme, 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 thenreining in his horse he joined me, and said, in a soft voice and courtlyaccent, "We are of the same profession, friend. We manufacture, and yousell. What have you in your pack?"

  I took out three of my remaining volumes. One was Luther's "Commentaryon the Galatians;" the others, his "Treatise on the Lord's Prayer," andhis "Letter to the German Nobles."

  The rider's brow darkened slightly, and he eyed me suspiciously.

  "Men who supply ammunition to the people in times of insurrection seldomdo it at their own risk," he said. "Young man, you are on a perilousmission, and would do well to count the cost."

  "I have counted the cost, sir," I said, "and I willingly brave theperil."

  "Well, well," he replied, "some are born for battle-fields, and some formartyrdom; others for neither. Let each keep to his calling,--

  'Nequissimam pacem justissimo bello antifero'

  But 'those who let in the sea on the marshes little know where it willspread.'"

  This illustration from the Dutch dykes awakened my suspicions as to whothe rider was, and looking at the thin, sensitive, yet satirical lips,the delicate, sharply-cut features, the pallid complexion, and the darkkeen eyes I had seen represented in so many portraits, I could not doubtwith whom I was speaking. But I did not betray my discovery.

  "Dr. Luther has written some good things, nevertheless," he said. "If hehad kept to such devotional works as this," returning to me "The Lord'sprayer," "he might have served his generation quietly and well; but toexpose such mysteries
as are treated of here to the vulgar gaze, it ismadness!" and he hastily closed the "Galatians." Then glancing at the"Letter to the Nobles," he almost threw it into my hand, sayingpetulently,--

  "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?" 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 isthe wisest and wittiest man of the age, and if all knew where to stop ashe does, the world would slowly grow into Paradise, instead of beingturned upside down as it is now. Others, on the contrary, say that thewriter 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 andthat Erasmus is the source of all the mischief in the world, since if hehad 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 waybetween Pilate's delivering up the glorious King he knew wasinnocent--perhaps began to see might be divine, and St. Peter's denyingthe Master he loved. And the Lord who forgave Peter knows which iswhich; which the timid disciple, and which the cowardly friend of Hisfoes. But the eye of man, it seems to me, may find it impossible todistinguish. I would rather be Luther at the Diet of Worms, and underanathema and ban, than either."

  "Bold words!" he said, "to prefer an excommunicated heretic to theprince 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 beckonedto me to rejoin him.

  "Have you friends in Basel?" he asked kindly.

  "None," I replied; "but I have letters to the printer Frobenius, and Iwas recommended to seek out Erasmus."

  "Who recommended you to do that?" he asked.

  "The good knight Ulrich von Hutten," I replied.

  "The prince of all turbulent spirits!" he murmured gravely. "Littleindeed is there in common between Erasmus of Rotterdam and thatfirebrand."

  "Ritter Ulrich has the greatest admiration for the genius of Erasmus," Isaid, "and thinks that his learning, with the swords of a few goodknights, 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 chivalryright, and the cardinals the papacy, and the emperor the empire. Let thehawker attend to his pack, and Erasmus to his studies. Perhaps hereafterit will be found that his satires on the follies of the monasteries, andabove all his earlier translation of the New Testament, had their sharein the good work. His motto is, 'Kindle the light and the darkness willdisperse of itself.'"

  "If Erasmus," I said, "would only consent to share in the result he hasindeed contributed so nobly to bring about!"

  "Share in what?" he replied quickly; "in the excommunication of Luther?or in the wild projects of Hutten? Have it supposed that he approves ofthe coarse and violent invectives of the Saxon monk, or the daringschemes of the adventurous knight? No; St. Paul wrote courteously, andnever returned railing for railing. Erasmus should wait till he find areformer like the apostle ere he join the Reformation. But, friend," headded, "I do not deny that Luther is a good man, and means well. If youlike to abandon your perilous pack, and take to study, you may come tomy 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 betterthan a hawker. And," he added, bringing his horse to a stand, "if youhear Erasmus maligned again as a coward or a traitor, you may say thatGod has more room in his kingdom than any men have in their schools; andthat it is not always so easy for men who see things on many sides toembrace one. Believe also that the loneliness of those who see too muchor dare too little to be partisans, often has anguish bitterer than thescaffolds 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. Iassure you nothing can be more unlike. And Ulrich von Hutten is a mostrash and dangerous man."

  "I will be careful never to forget Erasmus," I said, bowing low, as Itook the hand he offered. And the doctor rode on.

  Yes, the sorrows of the undecided are doubtless bitterer than those ofthe courageous; bitterer as poison is bitterer than medicine, as anenemy's wound is bitterer than a physician's. Yet it is true that theclearer the insight into difficulty and danger, the greater need be thecourage to meet them. The path of the rude simple man who sees nothingbut right on one side, and nothing but wrong on the other, isnecessarily plainer than his who, seeing much evil in the good cause,and some truth at the foundation of all error, chooses to suffer for theright, mixed as it is, and to suffer side by side with men whose mannersdistress him, just because he believes the cause is on the whole that oftruth and God. Luther's school may not indeed have room for Erasmus, norErasmus's school for Luther; but God may have compassion and room forboth.

  At Basel I replenished my pack from the stores of Frobenius, andreceived very inspiriting tidings from him of the spread of the truth ofthe gospel (especially by means of the writings of Luther) into Italyand Spain. I did not apply further to Erasmus.

  NEAR ZURICH, _July_.

  My heart is full of resurrection hymns. Everywhere in the world it seemsEaster-tide. This morning, as I left Zurich, and, climbing one of theheights on this side, looked down on the lake, rippled with silver,through the ranges of green and forest-covered hills, to the gloriousbarrier 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 sonsof God, the old chant of Easter and Spring burst from my lips:--

  Plandite coeli, Rideat aether Summus et imus Gaudeat orbis! Transivit atrae Turba procellae! Subuit almae Gloria palmae!

  Surgite verni, Surgite flores, Germina pictis Surgite campis! Teneris mistae Violis rosae; Candida sparsis Lilla calthis!

  Currite plenis Carmina venis, Fundite laetum Barbita metrum; Namque revixit Sicuti dixit Pius illaesus Funere Jesus.

  Plaudite montes, Ludite fontes, Resonent valles, Repetant colles! Io revixit. Sicuti dixit Pius illaesus Funere Jesus[9]

  [Footnote 9:

  Smile praises, O sky! Soft breathe them, O air, Below and on high, And everywhere! 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.

  Sweep tides of rich music The new world along, And pour in full measure, Sweet lyres, your song! The black troop of storms Has yielded to calm; Tufted blossoms are peeping, And early palm. 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!]

  And when I ceased, the mountain stream which dashed over the rocksbeside me, the whispering grasses, the trembling wild-flowers, therustling forests, the lake with its ripples, the green hills and solemnsnow-mountains beyond--all seemed to take up the chorus.

  There is a wonderful, invigorating influence about Ulrich Zwingle, withwhom I have spent many days lately. It seems as if the fresh air of themountains among which he passed his youth were always around hi
m. In hispresence it is impossible to despond. While Luther remains immovablyholding every step of ground he has taken, Zwingle presses on, andsurprises the enemy asleep in his strongholds. Luther carries on the warlike the Landsknechts, our own firm and impenetrable infantry; Zwingle,like his own impetuous mountaineers, sweeps down from the heights uponthe foe.

  In Switzerland I and my books have met with more sudden and violentvarieties of reception than anywhere else; the people are so free andunrestrained. In some villages, the chief men, or the priest himself,summoned all the inhabitants by the church bell, to hear all I had totell about Dr. Luther and his work, and to buy his books; my stay wasone constant _fete_, and the warm-hearted peasants accompanied me mileson my way, discoursing of Zwingle and Luther, the broken yoke of Rome,and the glorious days of freedom that were coming. The names of Lutherand Zwingle were on every lip, like those of Tell and Winkelried and theheroes of the old struggle of Swiss liberation.

  In other villages, on the contrary, the peasants gathered angrily aroundme, reviled me as a spy and an intruding foreigner, and drove me withstones and rough jests from among them, threatening that I should notescape 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 readin the language of the people.

  But the great joy is to see that the light has not been spread only fromtorch to torch, as human illumination spread, but has burst at once onGermany, France, and Switzerland, as heavenly light dawns from above. Itis this which makes it not an illumination merely, but morning andspring! Lefevre in France and Zwingle in Switzerland both passed throughtheir period of storms and darkness, and both, awakened by the heavenlylight to the new world, found that it was no solitude--that others alsowere awake, and that the day's work had begun, as it should, with matinsongs.

  Now I am tending northwards once more. I intend to renew my stores at myfather's press at Wittemberg. My heart yearns also for news of all dearto me there. Perhaps, too, I may yet see Dr. Luther, and find scope forpreaching 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, _August_.

  All is changed for me. Once more prison walls are around me, and throughprison bars I look out on the world I may not re-enter. I counted thisamong the costs when I resolved to give myself up to spreading far andwide the glad tidings of redemption. It was worth the cost; it is worthwhatever man can inflict--for I trust that those days have not beenspent in vain.

  Yesterday evening, as the day was sinking, I found my way once more tothe parsonage of Priest Ruprecht in the Franconian village. The door wasopen, but I heard no voices. There was a neglected look about the littlegarden. The vine was hanging untwined around the porch. The littledwelling, which had been so neat, had a dreary, neglected air. Dust laythick on the chairs, and the remains of the last meal were left on thetable. And yet it was evidently not unoccupied. A book lay upon thewindow-sill, evidently lately read. It was the copy of Luther's GermanCommentary on the Lord's Prayer which I had left that evening manymonths ago in the porch.

  I sat down on a window seat, and in a little while I saw the priestcoming slowly up the garden. His form was much bent since I saw himlast. He did not look up as he approached the house. It seemed as if heexpected no welcome. But when I went out to meet him, he grasped my handcordially, and his face brightened. When, however, he glanced at thebook in my hand, a deeper shade passed over his brow; and, motioning meto a chair, he sat down opposite me without speaking.

  After a few minutes he looked up, and said in a husky voice, "That bookdid what all the denunciations and terrors of the old doctrines couldnot do. It separated us. She has left me."

  He paused for some minutes, and then continued,--"The evening that shefound 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 feelthat in the sight of God and all creatures thou art a fool, a sinner,impure, and condemned, ... there remaineth no solace for thee, and nosalvation, unless in Jesus Christ. To know him is to understand what theapostle says,--'Christ has of God been made unto us wisdom, andrighteousness, and sanctification, and redemption.' He is the bread ofGod--our bread, given to us as children of the heavenly Father. Tobelieve is nothing else than to eat this bread from heaven." And lookagain. The book says, "It touches God's heart when we call himFather,"--and again, "_Which art in heaven._" "He that acknowledges hehas a Father who is in heaven, owns that he is like an orphan on theearth. Hence his heart feels an ardent longing, like a child living awayfrom its father's country, amongst strangers, wretched and forlorn. Itis as if he said, "Alas! my Father, thou art in heaven, and I, thymiserable child, am on earth, far from thee amid danger, necessity, andsorrow." 'Ah, Ruprecht,' she said, her eyes streaming with tears, 'thatis 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 amneglected. Thou knowest I could never feel that. But oh, can it bepossible 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 herconstant companion. She begged me to find out all the passages in myLatin Gospels which speak of Jesus suffering for sinners, and of God asthe Father. I was amazed to see how many there were. The book seemedfull of them. And so we went on for some days, until one evening shecame to me, and said, 'Ruprecht, if God is indeed so infinitely kind andgood, and has so loved us, we must obey him, must we not?' I could notfor the world say No, and I had not the courage to say Yes, for I knewwhat she meant."

  Again he paused.

  "I knew too well what she meant, when, on the next morning, I found thebreakfast laid, and everything swept and prepared as usual, and on thetable, in printed letters on a scrap of paper, which she must havecopied from the book, for she could not write, 'Farewell. We shall beable to pray for each other now. And God will be with us, and will giveus to meet hereafter, without fear of grieving him, in our Father'shouse."

  "Do you know where she is?" I asked.

  "She has taken service in a farm-house several miles away in theforest," he replied. "I have seen her once. She looked very thin andworn. But she did not see me."

  The thought which had so often suggested itself to me before, came withirresistible force into my mind then,--"If those vows of celibacy arecontrary to the will of God, can they be binding?" But I did not ventureto suggest them to my host. I only said, "Let us pray that God will leadyou both. The heart can bear many a heavy burden if the conscience isfree!"

  "True," he said. And together we knelt down, whilst I spoke to God. Andthe burden of our prayer was neither more nor less than this, "OurFather which art in heaven, not our will, but thine be done."

  On the morrow I bade him farewell, leaving him several other works ofLuther's. And I determined not to lose an hour in seeking Melancthon andthe doctors of Wittemberg, and placing this case before them.

  And now, perhaps, I shall never see Wittemberg again!

  It is not often that I have ventured into the monasteries, but to-day ayoung monk, who was walking in the meadows of this abbey, seemed sointerested in my books, that I followed him to the convent, where hethought I should dispose of many copies. Instead of this, however,whilst I was waiting in the porch for him to return, I heard the soundof angry voices in discussion inside, and before I could perceive whatit meant, three or four monks came to me, seized my pack, bound myhands, 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 poisonousbooks, w
hich are this evening to make a bonfire in the court."

  And with these words I was left alone in this low, damp, dark cell, withits one little slit high in the wall, which, until my eyes grewaccustomed to it, seemed only to admit just light enough to show theiron fetters hanging from the walls. But what power can make me acaptive while I can sing:--

  Mortis portis practis, fortis Fortior vim sustulit; Et per crucem regem trucem, Infernorum perculit.

  Lumen clarum tenebrarum Sedibus resplenduit; Dum salvare, recreare Quod creavit, voluit.

  Hinc creator, ne peccator, Moreretur, moritur; Cujus morte, nova sorte, Vita nobis oritur.[10]

  [Footnote 10:

  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 fell.

  That the sinner might not perish, For him the Creator dies; By whose death, our dark lot changing, Life again for us doth rise,]

  Are not countless hearts now singing this resurrection hymn, to some ofwhom my hands brought the joyful tidings? In the lonely parsonage, inthe forest and farm, hearts set free by love from the fetters of sin--invillage and city, in mountain and plain!

  And at Wittemberg, in happy homes, and in the convent, are not mybeloved singing it too?

  _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 beenhard for the Magdalene to be arrested on her way to the bereaveddisciples before she could tell it?

  _October_.

  I have a hope of escape. In a corner of my prison I discovered, somedays since, the top of an arch, which I believe must belong to ablocked-up door. By slow degrees--working by night, and covering over mywork by day--I have dug out a flight of steps which led to it. Thismorning I succeeded in dislodging one of the stones with which thedoor-way had been roughly filled up, and through the space surveyed theground outside. It was a portion of a meadow, sloping to the streamwhich turned the abbey mills. This morning two of the monks came tosummon me to an examination before the Prior, as to my heresies; butto-night I hope to dislodge the few more stones, and this very night,before morning dawn, to be treading with free step the forest coveredhills beyond the valley.

  My limbs feel feeble with insufficient food, and the damp, close air ofthe cell; and the blood flows with feverish, uncertain rapidity throughmy veins; but, doubtless, a few hours on the fresh, breezy hills willset all this right.

  And yet once more I shall see my mother, and Else, and Thekla, andlittle Gretchen, and all--all but one, who, I fear, is still imprisonedin convent walls. Yet once more I trust to go throughout the landspreading the joyful tidings.--"The Lord is risen indeed;" the work ofredemption is accomplished, and He who once lived and suffered on earth,compassionate to heal, now lives and reigns in heaven, mighty to save.