And G.o.d hears her, and grants her prayers. It is too clear He does! Had she not been asking Him to make Fritz a monk? and is not Fritz separated from us for ever?

"How did you like the convent, Eva?" I said to her that night when we were alone.

"It seemed very still and peaceful," she said. "I think one could be very happy there. There would be so much time for prayer. One could perhaps more easily lose self there, and become nearer to G.o.d."

"But what do you think of Aunt Agnes?"

"I felt drawn to her. I think she has suffered."

"She seems to be dead alike to joy or suffering," I said.

"But people do not thus die without pain," said Eva very gravely.

Our house at Wittemberg is small. From the upper windows we look over the city walls, across the heath, to the Elbe, which gleams and sparkles between its willows and dwarf oaks. Behind the house is a plot of neglected ground, which Christopher is busy at his leisure hours trenching and spading into an herb-garden. We are to have a few flowers on the borders of the straight walk which intersects it,--daffodils, pansies, roses, and sweet violets and gilliflowers, and wallflowers. At the end of the garden are two apple trees and a pear tree, which had shed their blossoms just before we arrived, in a carpet of pink and white petals. Under the shade of these I carry my embroidery frame, when the house work is finished; and sometimes little Thekla comes and prattles to me, and sometimes Eva reads and sings to me. I cannot help regretting that lately Eva is so absorbed with that "Theologia Germanica." I cannot understand it as well as I do the Latin hymns when once she has translated them to me; for these speak of Jesus the Saviour, who left the heavenly home and sat weary by the way seeking for us; or of Mary his dear mother; and although sometimes they tell of wrath and judgment, at all events I know what it means. But this other book is all to me one dazzling haze, without sun, or moon, or stars, or heaven, or earth, or seas, or anything distinct,--but all a blaze of indistinguishable glory, which is G.o.d; the One who is all--a kind of ocean of goodness, in which, in some mysterious way, we ought to be absorbed. But I am not an ocean, or any part of one; and I cannot love an ocean, because it is infinite, or unfathomable, or all-sufficient, or anything else.

My mother's thought of G.o.d, as watching lest we should be too happy and love any one more than himself, remembering the mistakes and sins of youth, and delaying to punish them until just the moment when the punishment would be most keenly felt, is dreadful enough. But even that is not to me so bewildering and dreary as this all-absorbing Being in Eva's book. The G.o.d my mother dreads has indeed eyes of severest justice, and a frown of wrath against the sinner; but if once one could learn how to please him, the eyes might smile, the frown might pa.s.s. It is a countenance; and a heart which might meet ours! But when Eva reads her book to me, I seem to look up into heaven and see nothing but heaven--light, s.p.a.ce, infinity, and still on and on, infinity and light; a moral light, indeed--perfection, purity, goodness; but no eyes I can look into, no heart to meet mine--none whom I could speak to, or touch, or see!

This evening we opened our window and looked out across the heath to the Elbe.

The town was quite hushed. The s.p.a.ce of sky above us over the plain looked so large and deep. We seemed to see range after range of stars beyond each other in the clear air. The only sound was the distant, steady rush of the broad river, which gleamed here and there in the starlight.

Eva was looking up with her calm, bright look. "Thine!" she murmured, "all this is Thine; and we are Thine, and Thou art here! How much happier it is to be able to look up and feel there is no barrier of our own poor ownership between us and Him, the Possessor of heaven and earth! How much poorer we should be if we were lords of this land, like the Elector, and if we said, 'All this is mine!' and so saw only I and mine in it all, instead of G.o.d and G.o.d's!"

"Yes," I said, "if we _ended_ in saying I and mine; but I should be very thankful if G.o.d gave us a little more out of his abundance, to use for our wants. And yet, how much better things are with us then they were!--the appointment of my father as director of the Elector's printing establishment, instead of a precarious struggle for ourselves; and this embroidery of mine! It seems to me, Eva, sometimes, we might be a happy family yet."

"My book," she replied thoughtfully, "says we shall never be truly satisfied in G.o.d, or truly free, unless all things are one to us, and One is all, and something and nothing are alike. I suppose I am not quite truly free, Cousin Else, for I cannot like this place quite as much as the old Eisenach home."

I began to feel quite impatient, and I said,--"Nor can I or any of us ever feel any home quite the same again, since Fritz is gone. But as to feeling something and nothing are alike, I never can, and I will never try. One might as well be dead at once."

"Yes," said Eva gravely; "I suppose we shall never comprehend it quite, or be quite satisfied and free, until we die."

We talked no more that night; but I heard her singing one of her favourite hymns:[6]--

In the fount of life perennial the parched heart its thirst would slake, And the soul, in flesh imprisoned, longs her prison-walls to break,-- Exile, seeking, sighing, yearning in her Fatherland to wake.

When with cares oppressed and sorrows, only groans her grief can tell, Then she contemplates the glory which she lost when first she fell: Memory of the vanished good the present evil can but swell.

Who can utter what the pleasures and the peace unbroken are Where arise the pearly mansions, shedding silvery light afar-- Festive seats and golden roofs, which glitter like the evening star?

Wholly of fair stones most precious are those radiant structures made; With pure gold, like gla.s.s transparent, are those shining streets inlaid; Nothing that defiles can enter, nothing that can soil or fade.

Stormy winter, burning summer, rage within those regions never; But perpetual bloom of roses, and unfading spring for ever: Lilies gleam, the crocus glows, and dropping balms their scents deliver;

Honey pure, and greenest pastures,--this the land of promise is Liquid odours soft distilling, perfumes breathing on the breeze; Fruits immortal cl.u.s.ter always on the leafy, fadeless trees.

There no moon shines chill and changing, there no stars with twinkling ray-- For the Lamb of that blest city is at once the sun and day; Night and time are known no longer,--day shall never fade away.

There the saints, like suns, are radiant,--like the sun at dawn they glow; Crowned victors after conflict, all their joys together flow; And, secure, they count the battles where they fought the prostrate foe.

Every stain of flesh is cleansed, every strife is left behind; Spiritual are their bodies,--perfect unity of mind; Dwelling in deep peace for ever, no offense or grief they find.

Putting off their mortal vesture, in their Source their souls they steep,-- Truth by actual vision learning, on its form their gaze they keep,-- Drinking from the living Fountain draughts of living waters deep.

Time, with all its alternations, enters not those hosts among,-- Glorious, wakeful, blest, no shade of chance or change o'er them is flung; Sickness cannot touch the deathless, nor old age the ever young.

There their being is eternal,--things that cease have ceased to be.

All corruption there has perished,--there they flourish strong and free; Thus mortality is swallowed up of life eternally.

Nought from them is hidden,--knowing Him to whom all things are known All the spirit's deep recesses, sinless, to each other shown,-- Unity of will and purpose, heart and mind for ever one.

Diverse as their varied labours the rewards to each that fall; But Love, what she loves in others evermore her own doth call: Thus the several joy of each becomes the common joy of all.

Where the body is, there ever are the eagles gathered; For the saints and for the angels one most blessed feast is spread,-- Citizens of either country living on the self-same bread.

Ever filled and ever seeking, what they have they still desire; Hunger there shall fret them never, nor satiety shall tire,-- Still enjoying whilst aspiring, in their joy they still aspire.

There the new song, new forever, those melodious voices sing,-- Ceaseless streams of fullest music through those blessed regions ring!

Crowned victors ever bringing praises worthy of the King!

Blessed who the King of Heaven in his beauty thus behold, And, beneath his throne rejoicing, see the universe unfold,-- Sun and moon, and stars and planets, radiant in his light unrolled.

Christ, the Palm of faithful victors! of that city make me free; When my warfare shall be ended, to its mansions lead thou me; Grant me, with its happy inmates, sharer of thy gifts to be!

Let thy soldier, still contending, still be with thy strength supplied; Thou wilt not deny the quiet when the arms are laid aside; Make me meet with thee for ever in that country to abide!

[Footnote 6:

Ad perennis vitae fontem mens sitivit arida, Claustra carnis praest frangi clausa quaerit anima, Gliscit, ambit, electatur, exul frui patria.

&c. &c. &c.

(The translation only is given above.)]

_Pa.s.sion Week._

Wittemberg has been very full this week. There have been great mystery-plays in the City Church; and in the Electoral Church (_Schloss Kirche_) all the relics have been solemnly exhibited. Crowds of pilgrims have come from all the neighbouring villages, Wendish and Saxon. It has been very unpleasant to go about the streets, so much beer has been consumed; and the students and peasants have had frequent encounters. It is certainly a comfort that there are large indulgences to be obtained by visiting the relics, for the pilgrims seem to need a great deal of indulgence.

The sacred mystery-plays were very magnificent. The Judas was wonderfully hateful,--hunchbacked, and dressed like a rich Jewish miser; and the devils were dreadful enough to terrify the children for a year.

Little Thekla was dressed in white, with gauze wings, and made a lovely angel--and enjoyed it very much. They wanted Eva to represent one of the holy women at the cross, but she would not. Indeed she nearly wept at the thought, and did not seem to like the whole ceremony at all. "It all really happened!" she said; "they really crucified Him! And He is risen, and living in heaven; and I cannot bear to see it performed, like a fable."

The second day there was certainly more jesting and satire than I liked.

Christopher said it reminded him of "Reinecke Fuchs."

In the middle of the second day we missed Eva, and when in a few hours I came back to the house to seek her, I found her kneeling by our bed-side, sobbing as if her heart would break. I drew her towards me, but I could not discover that anything at all was the matter, except that the young knight who had stopped us in the forest had bowed very respectfully to her, and had shown her a few dried violets, which he said he should always keep in remembrance of her and her words.

It did not seem to me so unpardonable an offence, and I said so.