Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family

  XXIX.

  Eva's Story.

  THURINGIAN FOREST, _July_, 1523.

  It is certainly very much happier for Fritz and me to live in thepastor's house than in the castle; down among the homes of men, and thebeautiful mysteries of this wonderful forest land, instead of toweringhigh above all on a fortified height. Not of course that I mean theheart may not be as lowly in the castle as in the cottage; but it seemsto me a richer and more fruitful life to dwell among the people than tobe raised above them. The character of the dwelling seems to symbolizethe nature of the life. And what lot can be so blessed as ours?

  Linked to all classes that we may serve our Master who came to ministeramong all. In education equal to the nobles, or rather to the patricianfamilies of the great cities, who so far surpass the country proprietorsin culture,--in circumstances the pastor is nearer the peasant, knowingby experience what are the homely trials of straitened means. Littleoffices of kindness can be interchanged between us. Muhme Truedchen findsa pure pleasure in bringing me a basket of her new-laid eggs as anacknowledgment of Fritz's visits to her sick boy; and it makes it allthe sweeter to carry food to the family of the old charcoal-burner inthe forest-clearing that our meals for a day or two have to be a littleplainer in consequence. I think gifts which come from loving contrivanceand a little self-denial, must be more wholesome to receive than themere overflowings of a full store. And I am sure they are far sweeter togive. Our lowly home seems in some sense the father's house of thevillage; and it is such homes, such hallowed centres of love andministry, which God through our Luther is giving back to village aftervillage in our land.

  But, as Fritz says, I must be careful not to build our parsonage into apinnacle higher than any castle, just to make a pedestal for him, whichI certainly sometimes detect myself doing. His gifts seem to me so rich,and his character is, I am sure, so noble, that it is natural I shouldpicture to myself his vocation as the highest in the world. That it isthe highest, however, I am secretly convinced; the highest as long as itis the lowliest.

  The people begin to be quite at home with us now. There are no greatgates, no moat, no heavy draw-bridge between us and the peasants. Ourdoors stand open; and timid hands which could never knock to demandadmittance at castle or convent gate can venture gently to lift ourlatch. Mothers creep to the kitchen with their sick children to ask forherbs, lotions, or drinks, which I learned to distil in the convent. Andthen I can ask them to sit down, and we often naturally begin to speakof Him who healed the sick people with a word, and took the littlechildren from the mothers' arms to His to bless them. Sometimes, too,stories of wrong and sorrow come out to me which no earthly balm cancure, and I can point to Him who only can heal because He only canforgive.

  Then Fritz says he can preach so differently from knowing theheart-cares and burdens of his flock; and the people seem to so feeldifferently when they meet again from the pulpit with sacred words andhistories which they have grown familiar with in the home.

  A few of the girls come to me also to learn sewing or knitting, and tolisten or learn to read Bible stories. Fritz meanwhile instructs theboys in the Scriptures and in sacred music, because the schoolmaster isgrowing old and can teach the children little but a few Latin prayers byrote, and to spell out the German alphabet.

  I could not have imagined such ignorance as we have found here. Itseems, Fritz says, as if the first preachers of Christianity to theGermans had done very much for the heart of the nation what the firstsettlers did for its forests, made a clearing here and there, built achurch, and left the rest to its original state.

  The bears and wolves which prowl about the forest, and sometimes inwinter venture close to the thresholds of our houses, are no wilder thanthe wild legends which haunt the hearts of the peasants. On Sundays theyattire themselves in their holiday clothes, come to hear mass, bowbefore the sacred host, and the crucifix, and image of the Virgin, andreturn to continue during the week their every-day terror-worship of thespirits of the forest. They seem practically to think our Lord is theGod of the church and the village, while the old pagan sprites retainpossession of the forest. They appear scarcely even quite to havedecided St. Christopher's question, "Which is the _strongest_, that Imay worship him?"

  But, alas, whether at church or in the forest, the worship they havebeen taught seems to have been chiefly one of fear. The Cobolds andvarious sprites they believe will bewitch their cows, set fire to theirhay-stacks, lead them astray through the forest, steal their infantsfrom the cradle to replace them by fairy changelings. Their malignityand wrath they deprecate, therefore, by leaving them gleanings of cornor nuts, by speaking of them with feigned respect, or by Christian wordsand prayer, which they use as spells.

  From the Almighty God they fear severer evil. He, they think, is to siton the dreadful day of wrath on the judgment throne to demand strictaccount of all their misdeeds. Against His wrath also they have beentaught to use various remedies which seem to us little better than akind of spiritual spells; paters, aves, penances, confessions,indulgences.

  To protect them against the forest sprites they have secret recourse tocertain gifted persons, mostly shrivelled, solitary, weird old women(successors, Fritz says, of the old pagan prophetesses), who for moneyperform certain rites of white magic for them; or give them writtencharms to wear, or teach them magic rhymes to say.

  To protect them against God, they used to have recourse to the priest,who performed masses for them, laid ghosts, absolved sins, promised toturn aside the vengeance of offended heaven.

  But in both cases they seem to have the melancholy persuasion that theruling power is hostile to them. In both cases, religion is not so mucha _worship_ as a _spell_; not an approach to God, but an interposing ofsomething to keep off the weight of his dreaded presence.

  When first we began to understand this, it used to cost me many tears.

  "How can it be," I said one day to Fritz, "that all the world seems soutterly to misunderstand God?"

  "There is an enemy in the world," he said, solemnly, "sowing lies aboutGod in every heart."

  "Yet God is mightier than Satan," I said; "how is it then that no raypenetrates through the darkness from fruitful seasons, from the beautyof the spring-time, from the abundance of the harvest, from the joys ofhome, to show the people that God is love?"

  "Ah, Eva," he said sadly, "have you forgotten that not only is the devilin the world, but sin in the heart? He lies, indeed, about God, when hepersuades us that God grudges us blessings; but he tells the truth aboutourselves when he reminds us that we are sinners, under the curse of thegood and loving law. The lie would not stand for an instant if it werenot founded on the truth. It is only by confessing the truth, on whichhis falsehood is based, that we can destroy it. We must say to thepeasants, 'Your fear is well founded. See _on that cross_ what your sincost!'"

  "But the old religion displayed the crucifix," I said.

  "Thank God, it did--it does!" he said. "But instead of the crucifix, wehave to tell of a cross from which the Crucified is gone; of an emptytomb and a risen Saviour; of the curse removed; of God, who gave theSacrifice, welcoming back the Sufferer to the throne."

  We have not made much change in the outward ceremonies. Only, instead ofthe sacrifice of the mass, we have the Feast of the Holy Supper; noelevation of the host, no saying of private masses for the dead; and allthe prayers, thanksgivings, and hymns, in German.

  Dr. Luther still retains the Latin in some of the services ofWittemberg, on account of its being an university town, that the youthmay be trained in the ancient languages. He said he would gladly havesome of the services in Greek and Hebrew, in order thereby to make thestudy of those languages as common as that of Latin. But here in theforest, among the ignorant peasants, and the knights, who, for the mostpart, forget before old age what little learning they acquired inboyhood, Fritz sees no reason whatever for retaining the ancientlanguage; and delightful it is to watch the faces of the people when h
ereads the Bible or Luther's hymns, now that some of them begin tounderstand that the divine service is something in which their heartsand minds are to join, instead of a kind of magic external rite to beperformed for them.

  It is a great delight also to us to visit Chriemhild and Ulrich vonGersdorf at the castle. The old knight and Dame Hermentrud were veryreserved with us at first; but the knight has always been most courteousto me, and Dame Hermentrud, now that she is convinced that we have nointention of trenching on her state, receives us very kindly.

  Between us, moreover, there is another tender bond since she has allowedherself to speak of her sister Beatrice, to me known only as the subduedand faded aged nun; to Dame Hermentrud, and the aged retainers andvillagers, remembered in her bright, but early blighted, girlhood.

  Again and again I have to tell her sister the story of her gradualawakening from uncomplaining hopelessness to a lowly and heavenly restin Christ; and of her meek and peaceful death.

  "Great sacrifices," she said once, "have to be made to the honour of anoble lineage, Frau Pastorin. I also have had my sorrows;" and sheopened a drawer of a cabinet, and showed me the miniature portraits of anobleman and his young boy, her husband and son, both in armour. "Theseboth were slain in a feud with the family to which Beatrice's betrothedbelonged," she said bitterly. "And should our lines ever be mingled inone?"

  "But are these feuds never to die out?" I said.

  "Yes," she replied sternly, leading me to a window, from which we lookedon a ruined castle in the distance. "_That_ feud has died out. Thefamily is extinct!"

  "The Lord Christ tells us to forgive our enemies," I said quietly.

  "Undoubtedly," she replied; "but the von Bernsteins were usurpers of ourrights, robbers and murderers. Such wrongs must be avenged, or societywould fall to pieces."

  Towards the peasants Dame Hermentrud has very condescending and kindlyfeelings, and frequently gives us food and clothing for them, althoughshe still doubts the wisdom of teaching them to read.

  "Every one should be kept in his place," she says.

  And as yet I do not think she can form any idea of heaven, except as ofa well organized community, in which the spirits of the nobles presideloftily on the heights, while the spirits of the peasants keep meekly tothe valleys; the primary distinction between earth and heaven being,that in heaven all will know how to keep in their places.

  And no doubt in one sense she is right. But how would she like the orderin which places in heaven are assigned?

  "_The first shall be last, and the last first._"

  "_He that is chief among you, let him be as he that doth serve._"

  Among the peasants sometimes, on the other hand, Fritz is startled bythe bitterness of feeling which betrays itself against the lords; howthe wrongs of generations are treasured up, and the name of Luther ischiefly revered from a vague idea that he, the peasant's son, will setthe peasants free.

  Ah, when will God's order be established in the world, when each,instead of struggling upwards in selfish ambition, and pressing othersdown in mean pride--looking up to envy, and looking down to scorn--shalllook up to honour and look down to help! when all shall "by love serveone another?"

  _September_, 1523.

  We have now a guest of whom I do not dare to speak to Dame Hermentrud.Indeed, the whole history Fritz and I will never tell to any here.

  A few days since a worn, grey-haired old man came to our house, whomFritz welcomed as an old friend. It was Priest Ruprecht Haller, fromFranconia. Fritz had told me something of his history, so that I knewwhat he meant, when in a quivering voice he said, abruptly, taking Fritzaside,--

  "Bertha is very ill--perhaps dying. I must never see her any more. Shewill not suffer it, I know. Can you go and speak a few words of comfortto her?"

  Fritz expressed his readiness to do anything in his power, and it wasagreed that Priest Ruprecht was to stay with us that night, and thatthey were to start together on the morrow for the farm where Bertha wasat service, which lay not many miles off through the forest.

  But in the night I had a plan, which I determined to set going before Imentioned it to Fritz, because he will often consent to a thing which isonce _begun_, which he would think quite impracticable if it is only_proposed_; that is, especially as regards anything in which I aminvolved. Accordingly, the next morning I rose very early and went toour neighbour, Farmer Herder, to ask him to lend us his old grey ponyfor the day, to bring home an invalid. He consented, and before we hadfinished breakfast the pony was at the door.

  "What is this?" said Fritz.

  "It is Farmer Herder's pony to take me to the farm where Bertha lives,and to bring her back," I said.

  "Impossible, my love!" said Fritz.

  "But you see it is already all arranged, and begun to be done," I said;"I am dressed, and the room is all ready to receive her."

  Priest Ruprecht rose from the table, and moved towards me, exclaimingfervently,--

  "God bless you!" Then seeming to fear that he had said what he had noright to say, he added, "God bless you for the thought. But it is toomuch!" and he left the room.

  "What would you do, Eva?" Fritz said, looking in much perplexity at me.

  "Welcome Bertha as a sister," I said, "and nurse her until she is well."

  "But how can I suffer you to be under one roof?" he said.

  I could not help my eyes filling with tears.

  "The Lord Jesus suffered such to anoint his feet," I said, "and she, youtold me, loves Him, has given up all dearest to her to keep his words.Let us blot out the past as he does, and let her begin life again fromour home, if God wills it so."

  Fritz made no further objection. And through the dewy forest paths wewent, we three; and with us, I think we all felt, went Another,invisible, the Good Shepherd of the wandering sheep.

  Never did the green glades and forest flowers and solemn pines seem tome more fresh and beautiful, and more like a holy cathedral than thatmorning.

  After a little meek resistance Bertha came back with Fritz and me. Hersickness seemed to me to be more the decline of one for whom life'shopes and work are over, than any positive disease. And with care, thegrey pony brought her safely home.

  Never did our dear home seem to welcome us so brightly as when we ledher back to it, for whom it was to be a sanctuary of rest, and refugefrom bitter tongues.

  There was a little room over the porch which we had set apart as theguest-chamber; and very sweet it was to me that Bertha should be itsfirst inmate; very sweet to Fritz and me that our home should be whatour Lord's heart is, a refuge for the outcast, the penitent, thesolitary, and the sorrowful.

  Such a look of rest came over her poor, worn face, when at last she waslaid on her little bed!

  "I think I shall get well soon," she said the next morning, "and thenyou will let me stay and be your servant; when I am strong I can workreally hard and there is something in you both which makes me feel thislike home."

  "We will try," I said, "to find out what God would have us do."

  She does improve daily. Yesterday she asked for some spinning, or otherwork to do, and it seems to cheer her wonderfully. To-day she has beensitting in our dwelling-room with her spinning-wheel. I introduced herto the villagers who come in as a friend who has been ill. They do notknow her history.

  _January_, 1524.

  It is all accomplished now. The little guest-chamber over the porch isempty again, and Bertha is gone.

  As she was recovering Fritz received a letter from Priest Ruprecht,which he read in silence, and then laid aside until we were alone on oneof our expeditions to the old charcoal-burner's in the forest.

  "Haller wants to see Bertha once more," he said, dubiously.

  "And why not Fritz?" I said; "why should not the old wrong as far aspossible be repaired, and those who have given each other up at God'scommandment, be given back to each other by his commandment?"

/>   "I have thought so often, my love," he said, "but I did not know whatyou would think."

  So after some little difficulty and delay, Bertha and

  Priest Ruprecht Haller were married very quietly in our village church,and went forth to a distant village in Pomerania, by the Baltic Sea,from which Dr. Luther had received a request to send them a minister ofthe gospel.

  It went to my heart to see the two go forth together down the villagestreet, those two whose youth inhuman laws and human weakness had soblighted. There was a reverence about his tenderness to her, and awistful lowliness in hers for him, which said, "All that thou hast lostfor me, as far as may be I will make up to thee in the years thatremain!"

  But as we watched her pale face and feeble steps, and his bent, thoughstill vigorous form, Fritz took my hands as we turned back into thehouse, and said,--

  "It is well. But it can hardly be for long!"

  And I could not answer him for tears.