XXIV.
Eva's Story.
WITTEMBERG, _October_, 1522.
How strange it seemed at first to be moving freely about in the worldonce more, and to come back to the old home at Wittemberg! Very strangeto find the places so little changed, and the people so much. The littleroom where Else and I used to sleep, with scarcely an article offurniture altered, except that Thekla's books are there instead ofElse's wooden crucifix; and the same view over the little garden, withits pear-tree full of white blossoms, to the Elbe with bordering oaksand willows, all then in their freshest delicate early green; while theundulations of the level land faded in soft blues to the horizon.
But, unlike the convent, all the changes in the people seemed to havebeen wrought by the touch of life rather than by that of death.
In Else's own home across the street, the ringing of those sweetchildish voices, so new to me, and yet familiar with echoes of old tonesand looks of our own well-remembered early days! And on Else herself thechange seemed only such as that which develops the soft tints of springinto the green of shadowing leaves.
Christopher has grown from the self-assertion of boyhood into thestrength and protecting kindness of manhood. Uncle Cotta's blindnessseems to dignify him and make him the central object of every one'stender, reverent care, while his visions grow brighter in the darkness,and more placid on account of his having no responsibility as tofulfilling them. He seems to me a kind of hallowing presence in thefamily, calling out every one's sympathy and kindness, and patheticallyreminding us by his loss of the preciousness of our common mercies.
On the grandmother's heart the light is more like dawn than sunset--sofresh, and soft, and full of hope her old age seems. The marks offretting, daily anxiety, and care have been smoothed from dear AuntCotta's face; and although a deep shadow rests there often when shethinks of Fritz, I feel sure sorrow is not now to her the shadow of amountain of divine wrath, but the shadow of a cloud which bringsblessing and hides light, which the Sun of love drew forth, and theRainbow 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 withher. Else's life is very full. Atlantis never knew him as the elder onesdid; and Thekla, dearly as she learned to love him during his littlesojourn at Wittemberg, has her heart filled with the hopes of herfuture, or at times overwhelmed with its fears. With all it almost seemshe would have in some measure to make a place again, if he were toreturn. But with Aunt Cotta the blank is as utterly a blank, and asacred place kept free from all intrusion, as if it were a chamber ofher dead, kept jealously locked and untouched since the last day hestood living there. Yet surely he is not dead; I say so to myself and toher when she speaks of it, a thousand times. Why, then, does thishopeless feeling creep over me when I think of him? It seems soimpossible to believe he ever can be amongst us any more. If it wouldplease God only to send us some little word! But since that letter fromPriest Ruprecht Haller, not a syllable has reached us. Two months since,Christopher went to this priest's village in Franconia, and lingeredsome days in the neighbourhood, making inquiries in every directionaround the monastery where he is. But he could hear nothing, save thatin the autumn of last year, the little son of a neighbouring knight, whowas watching his mother's geese on the outskirts of the forest near theconvent, used to hear the sounds of a man's voice singing from thewindow of her tower where the convent prison is. The child used tolinger near the spot to listen to the songs, which, he said, were sorich and deep--sacred, like church hymns, but more joyful than anythinghe ever heard at church. He thought they were Easter hymns; but sinceone evening in last October he has never heard them, although he hasoften 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 writings, or sermonsbring before her, she says, some part of truth; but the Holy Supperbrings 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 atoningdeath, but his very person, human and divine,--_himself_ living, dying,conquering death, freely bestowing life. She has learned that to attendthat holy sacrament is not, as she once thought, to perform a good work,which always left her more depressed than before with the feeling howunworthy and coldly she had done it; but to look off from self to Himwho finished _the good work_ of redemption for us. As Dr. Melancthonsays,--
"Just as looking at the cross is not the doing of a good work, butsimply 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 simplycontemplating 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 thathas been bestowed on us by Christ."
"But here lies the difference; symbols discovered by man simply recallwhat they signify, whereas the signs given by God not only recall thethings, 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 or forthe sins of others, so the mass is not a sacrifice."
"There is but one sacrifice, there is but one satisfaction--JesusChrist. Beyond him there is nothing of the kind."
I have been trying constantly to find a refuge for the nine evangelicalnuns I left at Nimptschen, but hitherto in vain. I do not, however, byany 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; and that day, happening to be AuntCotta's birthday, when she came down among us in the morning, GottfriedReichenbach met her, and presented her with two large folio volumes inwhich it is printed, in the name of the whole family.
Since then one volume always lies on a table in the generalsitting-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 tellsus of some verse she has discovered. Uncle Cotta calls it herdiamond-mine, and says, "The little mother has found the El Dorado afterall!"
One morning it was,--
"Cast all your care on him, for he careth for you;' and that lasted hermany 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 shedabroad 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 whensorrow comes, then the great thing we have to do is, to see we do notlose hold of _patience_; she seems linked to all the other graces, andto 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 tothink that all the while these graces are illumining the darkness of theheart, the dark hours are passing away, until all at once Hope steals tothe casement and withdraws the shutters; and the light which has slowlybeen dawning all the time streams into the heart, "the love of God shedabroad by the Holy Ghost."
"But," rejoined Aunt Cotta, "we cannot ourselves bring in Experience, orreach 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 willbring all the rest_."
"And yet," I said, "_peace_ comes before _patience_, peace with Godthrough faith in Him who was delivered for our offences. All thesegraces do not lead us up to God. We have access to him first, and in hispresence we learn the rest."
Yes, indeed, the changes in the Wittemberg world since I left it, havebeen wro
ught 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 thetouch of the Life himself?
It is God, not time, that has mellowed our grandmother's character; itis God and not time that has smoothed the careworn wrinkles from AuntCotta's brow.
It is life and not death that has all but emptied the Augustinianconvent, sending the monks back to their places in the world, to serveGod and proclaim his gospel.
It is the water of life that is flowing through home after home in thechannel of Dr. Luther's German Testament and bringing forth fruits oflove, and joy, and peace.
And we know it is life and not death which is reigning in that lonelyprison, wherein the child heard the resurrection hymns, and that istriumphing now in the heart of him who sang them, wherever he may be!