Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family

by Elizabeth Rundle Charles

  XX.

  Thekla's Story.

  TUNNENBERG, _May_, 1521

  Is the world really the same? Was there really ever a spring like this,when the tide of life seems overflowing and bubbling up in leaf-buds,flowers, and song, and streams?

  It cannot be _only_ that God has given me the great blessing of Bertrandde Crequi's love, and that life opens in such bright fields of hope andwork before us two; or that this is the first spring I ever spent in thecountry. It seems to me that God is really pouring a tide of fresh lifethroughout the world.

  Fritz has escaped from the prison at Maintz, and he writes as if he feltthis an Easter-tide for all men. In all places, he says, the hearts ofmen are opening to the glad tidings of the redeeming love of God.

  Can it be, however, that every May is such a festival among the woods,and that this solemn old forest holds such fairy holiday every year,garlanding its bare branches and strewing every brown nook which asunbeam can reach, with showers of flowers, such as we strew on abride's path? And then, who could have imagined that those grave oldfirs and stately birches could become the cradles of all thesedelicate-tufted blossoms and tenderly-folded leaflets, bursting on allsides from their gummy casings? And--joy of all joys!--it is notunconscious vegetable life only which thus expands around us. It is Godtouching every branch and hidden root, and waking them to beauty! It isnot sunshine merely, and soft breezes; it is our Father smiling on hisworks, and making the world fresh and fair for his children,--it is thehealing touch and the gracious Voice we have learned to know. "We are inthe world, and the world was made by Thee;" "_Te Deum laudamus_: weacknowledge thee, O Saviour, to be the Lord."

  Our Chriemhild certainly has a beautiful home. Bertrand's home, also, isa castle in the country, in Flanders. But he says their country is notlike this forest-land. It has long been cleared by industrious hands.There are long stately avenues leading to his father's chateau; but allaround, the land is level, and waving with grass and green or goldencorn-fields. That, also, must be beautiful. But probably the home he hasgone to prepare for me may not be there. Some of his family are verybitter against what they call his Lutheran heresy, and although he isthe heir, it is very possible that the branch of the family whichadheres to the old religion may wrest the inheritance from him. That, wethink, matters little. God will find the right place for us, and lead usto it, if we ask him. And if it be in the town, after all, the tide oflife in human hearts is nobler than that in trees and flowers. In a fewmonths we shall know. Perhaps he may return here, and become a professorat Wittemberg, whither Dr. Luther's name brought him a year since tostudy.

  _June_, 1521.

  A rumour has reached us, that Dr. Luther has disappeared on his way backfrom Worms.

  This spring, in the world as well as in the forest, will doubtless haveits storms. Last night, the thunder echoed from hill to hill, and thewind wailed wildly among the pines. Looking out of my narrow window inthe tower on the edge of the rock, where I sleep, it was awful to seethe foaming torrent below gleaming in the lightning-flashes, whichopened out sudden glimpses into the depths of the forest, leaving itdoubly mysterious.

  I thought of Fritz's lonely night, when he lost himself in the forest;and thanked God that I had learned to know the thunder as His voice, andHis voice as speaking peace and pardon. Only, at such times I shouldlike to gather all dear to me around me; and those dearest to me arescattered far and wide.

  The old knight Ulrich is rather impetuous and hot-tempered; and hissister, Ulrich's aunt, Dame Hermentrud, is grave and stately.Fortunately, they both look on Chriemhild as a wonder of beauty andgoodness; but I have to be rather careful. Dame Hermentrud is apt toattribute any over-vehemence of mine in debate to the burgherCotta-blood; and although they both listen with interest to Ulrich orChriemhild's version of Dr. Luther's doctrines, Dame Hermentrudfrequently warns me against unfeminine exaggeration or eagerness inthese matters, and reminds me that the ancestors of the Gersdorf familywere devout and excellent people long before a son was born to HansLuther the miner.

  The state of the peasants distresses Chriemhild and me extremely. Sheand Ulrich were full of plans for their good when they came here tolive; but she is at present almost exclusively occupied with theeducation of a little knightly creature, who came into the world twomonths since, and is believed to concentrate in his single little personall the ancestral virtues of all the Gersdorfs, to say nothing of theSchoenbergs. He has not, Dame Hermantrud asserts, the slightest featureof resemblance to the Cottas. I cannot, certainly, deny that he bearsunmistakable traces of that aristocratic temper and that lofty taste forruling which at times distinguished my grandmother, and, doubtless, allthe Gersdorfs from the days of Adam downward, or at least from the timeof Babel. Beyond that, I believe, few pedigrees are traced, except in ageneral way to the sons of Noah. But it is a great honour for me to beconnected, even in the humblest manner, with such a distinguished littlebeing. In time, I am not without hopes that it will introduce a littlereflex nobility even into my burgher nature: and meantime Chriemhild andI secretly trace remarkable resemblances in the dear baby features toour grandmother, and even to our beloved, sanguine, blind father. It iscertainly a great consolation that our father chose our names from thepoems and the stars and the calendar of aristocratic saints, instead offrom the lowly Cotta pedigree.

  Ulrich has not indeed by any means abandoned his scheme of usefulnessamong the peasantry who live on his uncle's estates. But he finds moreopposition than he expected. The old knight, although ready enough tolisten to any denunciations of the self-indulgent priests and lazy monks(especially those of the abbey whose hunting-grounds adjoin his own), isvery averse to making the smallest change in anything. He says the boorsare difficult enough to keep in order as it is; that if they are taughtto think for themselves, there will be no safety for the game, or foranything else. They will be quoting the Bible in all kinds of wrongsenses against their rightful lords, and will perhaps even take todebating the justice of the hereditary feuds, and refuse to follow theirknight's banner to the field.

  As to religion, he is quite sure that the Ave and the Pater are as muchas will be expected of them; whilst Dame Hermentrud has most seriousdoubts of this new plan of writing books and reading prayers in thelanguage of the common people. They will be thinking themselves as wiseas the priests, and perhaps wiser than their masters.

  But Ulrich's chief disappointment is with the peasants themselves. Theyseem as little anxious for improvement as the lords are for them, andare certainly suspicious to a most irritating degree of any schemes fortheir welfare issuing from the castle. As to their children being taughtto read, they consider it an invasion of their rights, and murmur thatif they follow the nobles in hunt and foray, and till their fields, andgo to mass on Sunday, the rest of their time is their own, and it is anusurpation in priest or knight to demand more.

  It will, I fear, be long before the dry, barren crust of their dull hardlife is broken; and yet the words of life are for them as much as forus! And one great difficulty seems to me, that if they were taught toread, there are so few German religious books. Except a few tracts ofDr. Luther's, what is there that they could understand? If some onewould only translate the record of the words and acts of our Lord andhis apostles, it would be worth while then teaching every one to read.

  And if we could only get them to confide in us! There must be thought,and we know there is affection underneath all this reserve. It is aheavy heritage for the long ancestry of the Gersdorfs to have bequeathedto this generation, these recollections of tyranny and this mutualdistrust. Yet Ulrich says it is too common throughout the land. Many ofthe old privileges of the nobles were so terribly oppressive in hard orcareless hands.

  The most promising field at present seems to be among the householdretainers. Among these there is strong personal attachment; and thememory of Ulrich's pious mother seems to have left behind it that
faithin goodness which is one of the most precious legacies of holy lives.

  Even the peasants in the village speak lovingly of her; of the medicineshe used to distil from the forest-herbs, and distribute with her ownhands to the sick. There is a tradition also in the castle of a brightmaiden called Beatrice who used to visit the cottage homes, and bringsunshine whenever she came. But she disappeared years ago, they say; andthe old family nurse shakes her head as she tells me how the LadyBeatrice's heart was broken, when she was separated by family feuds fromher betrothed, and after that she went to the convent at Nimptschen, andhas been dead to the world ever since.

  Nimptschen! that is the living grave where our precious Eva is buried.And yet where she is I am sure it can be no grave of death. She willbring life and blessings with her. I will write to her, especially aboutthis poor blighted Beatrice.

  Altogether the peasants seem much less suspicious of the women of theGersdorf family than of the men. They will often listen attentively evento me. And when Chriemhild can go among them a little more, I hopebetter days will dawn.

  _August_, 1521.

  This morning we had a strange encounter. Some days since we received amysterious intimation from Wittemberg, that Dr. Luther is alive and infriendly keeping, not far from us. To-day Ulrich and I were ridingthrough the forest to visit an outlying farm of the Gersdorfs in thedirection of Eisenach, when we heard across a valley the huntsman'shorn, with the cry of the dogs in full chase. In a few moments anopening among the trees brought us in sight of the hunt sweeping towardsus up the opposite slopes of the valley. Apart from the hunt, and nearerus, at a narrow part of the valley, we observed a figure in the cap andplumes of a knight, apparently watching the chase as we were. As we werelooking at him, a poor bewildered leveret flew towards him, and coweredclose to his feet. He stooped, and gently taking it up, folded it in thelong sleeve of his tunic, and stepped quickly aside. In another minute,however, the hunt swept up towards him, and the dogs scenting theleveret, seized on it in its refuge, dragged it down, and killed it.

  This unusual little incident, this human being putting himself on theside of the pursued, instead of among the pursuers, excited ourattention. There was also something is the firm figure and sturdy gaitthat perplexingly reminded us of some one we knew. Our road lay acrossthe valley, and Ulrich rode aside to greet the strange knight. In amoment he returned to me, and whispered,--

  "It is Martin Luther!"

  We could not resist the impulse to look once more on the kind honestface, and riding close to him we bowed to him.

  He gave us a smile of recognition, and laying his hand on Ulrich'ssaddle said, softly, "The chase is a mystery of higher things. See how,as these ferocious dogs seized my poor leveret from its refuge, Satanrages against souls, and seeks to tear from their hiding-place eventhose already saved. But the Arm which holds them is stronger than mine.I have had enough of this kind of chase," he added; "sweeter to me thechase of the bears, wolves, boars, and foxes which lay waste the Church,than that of these harmless creatures. And of such rapacious beaststhere are enough in the world."

  My heart was full of the poor peasants I had been seeing lately. I nevercould feel afraid of Dr. Luther, and this opportunity was too preciousto be thrown away. It always seemed the most natural thing in the worldto open one's heart to him. He understood so quickly and so fully. As hewas wishing us good-bye, therefore, I said (I am afraid, in that abruptblundering way of mine),--

  "Dear Dr. Luther, the poor peasants here are so ignorant! and I havescarcely anything to read to them which they can understand. Tell someone, I entreat you, to translate the Gospels into German for them; suchGerman as your 'Discourse on the Magnificat,' or 'The Lord's Prayer,'for they all understand that."

  He smiled, and said, kindly,--

  "It is being done, my child. I am trying in my Patmos tower once more tounveil the Revelation to the common people; and, doubtless, they willhear it gladly. That book alone is the sun from which all true teachersdraw their light. Would that it were in the language of every man, heldin every hand, read by every eye, listened to by every ear, treasured upin every heart. And it will be yet, I trust."

  He began to move away, but as we looked reverently after him he turnedto us again, and said, "Remember the wilderness was the scene of thetemptation. Pray for me, that in the solitude of my wilderness I may bedelivered from the tempter." And waving his hand, in a few minutes hewas out of sight.

  We thought it would be an intrusion to follow him, or to inquire wherehe was concealed. But as the hunt passed away, Ulrich recognized one ofthe huntsmen as a retainer of the Elector Frederick at his castle of theWartburg.

  And now when every night and morning in my prayers I add, as usual, thename of Dr. Luther to those of my mother and father and all dear to me,I think of him passing long days and nights alone in that grim castle,looking down on the dear old Eisenach valley, and I say, "Lord, make thewilderness to him the school for his ministry to all our land."

  For was not our Saviour himself led first into the wilderness, toovercome the tempter in solitude, before he came forth to teach, andheal, and cast out devils?

  _October_.

  Ulrich has seen Dr. Luther again. He was walking in the forest near theWartburg, and looked very ill and sad. His heart was heavy on account ofthe disorders in the Church, the falsehood and bitterness of the enemiesof the gospel, and the impetuosity or lukewarmness of too many of itsfriends. He said it would almost have been better if they had left himto die by the hands of his enemies. His blood might have cried to Godfor deliverance. He was ready to yield himself to them as an ox to theyoke. He would rather be burned on live coals, than sleep away theprecious years thus, half alive, in sloth and ease. And yet, from whatUlrich gathered further from him of his daily life, his "sloth and ease"would seem arduous toil to most men. He saw the room where Dr. Lutherlives and labours day and night, writing letters of consolation to hisfriends, and masterly replies, they say, to the assailants of the truth,and (better than all) translating the Bible from Hebrew and Greek intoGerman.

  The room has a large window commanding many reaches of the forest; andhe showed Ulrich the rookery in the tops of the trees below, whence helearned lessons in politics from the grave consultations of the rookswho hold their Diet there; he also spoke to him of the various creaturesin rock and forest which soothed his solitude, the birds singing amongthe branches, the berries, wild flowers, and the clouds and stars. Buthe alluded also to fearful conflicts, visible and audible appearances ofthe Evil One; and his health seemed much shattered.

  We fear that noble loving heart is wearing itself out in the lonelyfortress. He seems chafing like a war-horse at the echo of the distantbattle; or a hunter at the sound of the chase; or, rather, as a captivegeneral who sees his troops, assailed by force and stratagem, broken andscattered, and cannot break his chains to rally and to lead them on.

  Yet he spoke most gratefully of his hospitable treatment in the castle;said he was living like a prince or a cardinal; and deprecated thethought that the good cause would not prosper without his presence.

  "I cannot be with them in death," he said, "nor they with me! Each mustfight that last fight, go through that passion alone. And only thosewill overcome who have learned how to win the victory before, andgrounded deep in the heart that word, which is the great power againstsin and the devil, that Christ has died for each one of us, and hasovercome Satan for ever."

  He said also that if Melancthon lived it mattered little to the Churchwhat happened to him. The Spirit of Elijah came in double power onElisha.

  And he gave Ulrich two or three precious fragments of his translation ofthe Gospels, for me to read to the peasants.

  _November_.

  I have gone with my precious bits of the German Bible that is to be intomany a cottage during this month,--simple narratives of poor, leprous,a
nd palsied people, who came to the Lord, and he touched them and healedtheir diseases; and of sinners whom he forgave.

  It is wonderful how the simple people seem to drink them in; that is,those who care at all for such things. "Is this indeed what the LordChrist is like?" they say; "then, surely, we may speak to him in our ownwords, and ask just what we want, as those poor men and women did ofold. Is it true, indeed, that peasants, women, and sick people couldcome straight to the Lord himself? Was he not always kept off fromcommon people by a band of priests and saints? Was he indeed to bespoken to by all, and He such a great Lord?"

  I said that I thought it was the necessity of human princes, and nottheir glory, to be obliged to employ deputies, and not let each oneplead his own case. They look greatest afar off, surrounded by the pompof a throne, because in themselves they are weak and sinful, like othermen. But he needed no pomp, nor the dignity of distance, because he isnot like other men, but sinless and divine, and the glory is in Himself,not in the things around him.

  Then I had a narrative of the crucifixion to read; and many a tear haveI seen stream over rough cheeks, and many a smile beam in dim aged eyesas I read this.

  "We seem to understand it all at once," an old woman said; "and yetthere always seems something more in it each time."

  _December_.

  This morning I had a letter from Bertrand,--the first for many weeks. Heis full of hope; not, indeed, of recovering his inheritance, but ofbeing at Wittemberg again in a few weeks.

  I suppose my face looked very bright when I received it and ran with theprecious letter to my own room; for Dame Hermentrud said much thisevening about receiving everything with moderation, and about thepropriety of young maidens having a very still and collected demeanour,and about the uncertainty of all things below. My heavenly Father knowsI do not forget that all things are uncertain; although, often, I darenot dwell on it. But He has given me this good gift--He himself--and Iwill thank him with an overflowing heart for it!

  I cannot understand Dame Hermentrud's religion. She seems to think itprudent, and a duty, to take everything God gives coolly, as if we didnot care very much about it, lest He should think he had given ussomething too good for us, and grudge it to us, and take it away again.

  No; if God does take away, He takes away as He gave, in infinite love;and I would not for the world add darkness to the dark days, if theymust come, by the bitter regret that I did not enjoy the sunshine whilstHe gave it. For, indeed, I cannot help fearing sometimes, when I thinkof the martyrs of old, and the bitterness of the enemies of the goodtidings now. But then I try to look up, and try to say, "Safer, OFather, in thy hands than in mine." And all the comfort of the prayerdepends on how I can comprehend and feel that name, "Father!"