Thou hast taken me upon thyself, and given to me what is thine; thou hast taken on thee what thou was not, and has given to me what I was not.' Take care not to aspire to such a purity that thou shalt no longer seem to thyself a sinner; for Christ does not dwell except in sinners. For this he descended from heaven, where he abode with the just, that he might abide with sinners.

Meditate on this love of his, and thou shalt drink in his sweet consolations. For if, by our labours and afflictions, we could attain quiet of conscience, why did he die? Therefore, only in Him, by a believing self-despair, both of thyself and of thy works, wilt thou find peace. For he has made thy sins his, and his righteousness he has made thine."

Aunt Agnes seemed to drink in these words like a patient in a raging fever. She made me read them over to her again and again, and then translate and copy them; and now she carries them about with her everywhere.

To me the words that follow are as precious. Dr. Luther says, that as Christ hath borne patiently with us wanderers, we should also bear with others. "Prostrate thyself before the Lord Jesus," he writes, "seek all that thou lackest. He himself will teach thee all, even to do for others as he has done for thee."

The second letter was to Brother George Leiffer of Erfurt. It speaks of affliction thus:--

"The cross of Christ is divided throughout the whole world. To each his portion comes in time, and does not fail. Thou, therefore, do not seek to cast thy portion from thee, but rather receive it as a holy relic, to be enshrined, not in a gold or silver reliquary, but in the sanctuary of a golden, that is, a loving and submissive heart. For if the wood of the cross was so consecrated by contact with the flesh and blood of Christ that it is considered as the n.o.blest of relics, how much more are injuries, persecutions, sufferings, and the hatred of men, sacred relics, consecrated not by the touch of his body, but by contact with his most loving heart and G.o.dlike will!

These we should embrace, and bless, and cherish, since through him the curse is trans.m.u.ted into blessing, suffering into glory, the cross into joy."

Sister Beatrice delights in these words, and murmurs them over to herself as I have explained them to her. "Yes, I understand; this sickness, helplessness,--all I have lost and suffered,--are sacred relics from my Saviour; not because he forgets, but because he remembers me--he remembers me. Sister Ave, I am content."

And then she likes me to sing her favourite hymn _Jesu dulcis memoria_:--

O Jesus, thy sweet memory Can fill the heart with ecstasy; But pa.s.sing all things sweet that be, Thy presence, Lord, to me.

What hope, O Jesus, thou canst render To those who other hopes surrender!

To those who seek thee, O how tender!

But what to those who find!

With Mary, ere the morning break, Him at the sepulchre I seek,-- Would hear him to my spirit speak, And see him with my heart.

Wherever I may chance to be, Thee first my heart desires to see; How glad when I discover thee; How blest when I retain!

Beyond all treasures is thy grace;-- Oh, when wilt thou thy steps retrace And satisfy me with thy face, And make me wholly glad?

Then come, Oh, come, thou perfect King, Of boundless glory, boundless spring; Arise, and fullest daylight bring, Jesus, expected long!

_May_, 1517.

Aunt Agnes has spoken to me at last. Abruptly and sternly, as if more angry with herself than repenting or rejoicing, she said to me this morning, "Child, those words of Dr. Luther's have reached my heart. I have been trying all my life to be a saint, and so to reach G.o.d. And I have failed utterly. And now I learn that I am a sinner, and yet that G.o.d's love reaches me. The cross, the cross of Christ, is my pathway from h.e.l.l to heaven. I am not a saint. I shall never be a saint. Christ is the only Saint, the Holy One of G.o.d; and he has borne my sins, and he is my righteousness. He has done it all; and I have nothing left but to give him all the glory, and to love, to love, to love him to all eternity. And I will do it," she added fervently, "poor, proud, dest.i.tute, and sinful creature that I am. I cannot help it; I must."

But strong and stern as the words were, how changed Aunt Agnes's manner!--humble and simple as a child's. And as she left me for some duty in the house, she kissed my forehead, and said, "Ah, child, love me a little, if you can,--not as a saint, but as a poor, sinful old woman, who among her worst sins has counted loving thee too much, which was perhaps, after all, among the least; love me a little, Eva, for my sister's sake, whom you love so much."

XIV.

Else's Story.

_August_, 1517.

Yes, our little Gretchen is certainly a remarkable child. Although she is not yet two years old, she knows all of us by name. She tyranizes over us all, except me. I deny her many things which she cries for; except when Gottfried is present, who, unfortunately, cannot bear to see her unhappy for a moment, and having (he says) had his temper spoilt in infancy by a cross nurse, has no notion of infant education, except to avoid contradiction. Christopher, who always professed a supreme contempt for babies, gives her rides on his shoulder in the most submissive manner. But best of all, I love to see her sitting on my blind father's knee, and stroking his face with a kind of tender, pitiful reverence, as if she felt there was something missing there.

I have taught her, too, to say Fritz's name, when I show her the little lock I wear of his hair; and to kiss Eva's picture. I cannot bear that they should be as lost or dead to her. But I am afraid she is perplexed between Eva's portrait and the picture of the Holy Virgin, which I teach her to bow and cross her forehead before; because sometimes she tries to kiss the picture of Our Lady, and to twist her little fingers into the sacred sign before Eva's likeness. However, by-and-by she will distinguish better. And are not Eva and Fritz indeed our family saints and patrons? I do believe their prayers bring down blessings on us all.

For our family has bean so much blessed lately! The dear mother's face looks so bright, and has regained something of its old sweet likeness to the Mother of Mercy. And I am so happy, so brimful of happiness. And it certainly does make me feel more religious than I did.

Not the home-happiness only, I mean, but that best blessing of all, that came first, before I knew that Gottfried cared for me,--the knowledge of the love of G.o.d to me,--that best riches of all, without which all our riches would be mere cares--the riches of the treasury of G.o.d freely opened to us in Christ Jesus our Lord.

Gottfried is better than I ever thought he was. Perhaps he really grows better every year; certainly he seems better and dearer to me.

Chriemhild and Ulrich are to be married very soon. He has gone now to see Franz von Sickingen, and his other relations in the Rhineland, and to make arrangements connected with his marriage. Last year Chriemhild and Atlantis stayed some weeks at the old castle in the Thuringian Forest, near Eisenach. A wild life it seemed to be, from their description, deep in the heart of the forest, in a lonely fortress on a rock, with only a few peasants' huts in sight; and with all kinds of strange legends of demon huntsmen, and elves, and sprites haunting the neighborhood. To me it seems almost as desolate as the wilderness where John the Baptist lived on locusts and wild honey; but Chriemhild thought it delightful. She made acquaintance with some of the poor peasants, and they seemed to think her an angel,--an opinion (Atlantis says) shared by Ulrich's old uncle and aunt, to say nothing of Ulrich himself. At first the aged Aunt Hermentrude was rather distant; but on the Schonberg pedigree having been duly tested and approved, the old lady at length considered herself free to give vent to her feelings, whilst the old knight courteously protested that he had always seen Chriemhild's pedigree in her face.

And Ulrich says there is one great advantage in the solitude and strength of his castle,--he could offer an asylum at any time to Dr.

Luther, who has of late become an object of bitter hatred to some of the priests.

Dr. Luther is most kind to our little Gretchen, whom he baptized. He says little children often understand G.o.d better than the wisest doctors of divinity.

Thekla has experienced her first sorrow. Her poor little foundling, Nix, is dead. For some days the poor creature had been ailing, and at last he lay for some hours quivering, as if with inward convulsions; yet at Thekla's voice the dull, gla.s.sy eyes would brighten, and he would wag his tail feebly as he lay on his side. At last he died; and Thekla was not to be comforted, but sat apart and shed bitter tears. The only thing which cheered her was Christopher's making a grave in the garden for Nix, under the pear tree where I used to sit at embroidery in summer, as now she does. It was of no use to try to laugh her out of her distress.

Her lip quivered and her eyes filled with tears if any one attempted it.

Atlantis spoke seriously to her on the duty of a little girl of twelve beginning to put away childish things; and even the gentle mother tenderly remonstrated, and said one day, when Dr. Luther had asked her for her favourite, and had been answered by a burst of tears, "My child, if you mourn so for a dog, what will you do when real sorrows come?"

But Dr. Luther seemed to understand Thekla better than any of us, and to take her part. He said she was a child, and her childish sorrows were no more trifles to her than our sorrows are to us; that from heaven we might probably look on the fall of an empire as of less moment than we now thought the death of Thekla's dog; yet that the angels who look down on us from heaven do not despise our little joys and sorrows, nor should we those of the little ones; or words to this effect. He has a strange sympathy with the hearts of children. Thekla was so encouraged by his compa.s.sion, that she crept close to him and laid her hand in his, and said, with a look of wistful earnestness, "Will Nix rise again at the last day? Will there be dogs in the other world?"

Many of us were appalled at such an irreverent idea; but Dr. Luther did not seem to think it irreverent. He said, "We know less of what that other world will be than this little one, or than that babe," he added, pointing to my little Gretchen, "knows of the empires or powers of this world. But of this we are sure, the world to come will be no empty, lifeless waste. See how full and beautiful the Lord G.o.d has made all things in this pa.s.sing, perishing world of heaven and earth! How much more beautiful, then, will he make that eternal, incorruptible world!

G.o.d will make new heavens and a new earth. All poisonous, and malicious, and hurtful creatures will be banished thence,--all that our sin has ruined. All creatures will not only be harmless, but lovely, and pleasant, and joyful, so that we might play with them. 'The sucking child shall play on the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put his hand on the c.o.c.katrice's den.' Why, then, should there not be little dogs in the new earth, whose skin might be fair as gold, and their hair as bright as precious stones?"

Certainly, in Thekla's eyes, from that moment there has been no doctor of divinity like Dr. Luther.

TORGAU, _November_ 10, 1516.

The plague is at Wittemberg. We have all taken refuge here. The university is scattered, and many, also, of the Augustinian monks.

Dr. Luther remains in the convent at Wittemberg. We have seen a copy of a letter of his, dated the 26th October, and addressed to the Venerable Father John Lange, Prior of Erfurt Monastery.

"Health. I have need of two secretaries or chancellors, since all day long I do nothing but write letters; and I know not whether, always writing, I may not sometimes repeat the same things. Thou wilt see.

"I am convent lecturer; reader at meals; I am desired to be daily parish preacher; I am director of studies, vicar (_i.

e._, prior eleven times over), inspector of the fish-ponds at Litzkau, advocate of the cause of the people of Herzberg at Torgau, lecturer on Paul and on the Psalms; besides what I have said already of my constant correspondence. I have rarely time to recite my Canonical Hours, to say nothing of my own particular temptations from the world, the flesh, and the devil. See what a man of leisure I am!

"Concerning Brother John Metzel I believe you have already received my opinion. I will see, however, what I can do. How can you think I can find room for your Sardanapaluses and Sybarites? If you have educated them ill, you must bear with those you have educated ill. I have enough useless brethren;--if, indeed, any are useless to a patient heart. I am persuaded that the useless may become more useful than those who are the most useful now. Therefore bear with them for the time.

"I think I have already written to you about the brethren you sent me. Some I have sent to Magister Spangenburg, as they requested, to save their breathing this pestilential air. With two from Cologne I felt such sympathy, and thought so much of their abilities, that I have retained them, although at much expense. Twenty-two priests, forty-two youths, and in the university altogether forty-two persons are supported out of our poverty. But the Lord will provide.

"You say that yesterday you began to lecture on the Sentences.

To-morrow I begin the Epistle to the Galatians; although I fear that, with the plague among us as it is, I shall not be able to continue. The plague has taken away already two or three among us, but not all in one day; and the son of our neighbour Faber, yesterday in health, to-day is dead; and another is infected.

What shall I say? It is indeed here, and begins to rage with great cruelty and suddenness, especially among the young. You would persuade me and Master Bartholomew to take refuge with you. Why should I flee? I hope the world would not collapse if Brother Martin fell. If the pestilence spreads, I will indeed disperse the monks throughout the land. As for me, I have been placed here. My obedience as a monk does not suffer me to fly; since what obedience required once, it demands still. Not that I do not fear death--(I am not the Apostle Paul, but only the reader of the Apostle Paul)--but I hope the Lord will deliver me from my fear.

"Farewell; and be mindful of us in this day of the visitation of the Lord, to whom be glory."

This letter has strengthened me and many. Yes, if it had been our duty, I trust, like Dr. Luther, we should have had courage to remain. The courage of his act strengthens us; and also the confession of fear in his words. It does not seem a fear which hath torment, or which fetters his spirit. It does not even crush his cheerfulness. It is a natural fear of dying, which I also cannot overcome. From me, then, as surely from him, when G.o.d sees it time to die, He will doubtless remove the dread of death.

This season of the pestilence recalls so much to me of what happened when the plague last visited us at Eisenach!