Katharina Luther

by Anne Boileau

  “Dear Lord, is it Your will that I marry this man? Is it a sin, for me, a fallen nun, to marry a man who was a monk? I broke my vows and left the convent; he broke his vows too. He wants to marry me and I think I want to marry him. But Your will be done. You forgave me when I escaped from Nimbschen. You forgave me when I transgressed with the Nürnberger. Now, I ask you to give me a sign. Is it Your will that I break my vow of chastity and marry Your son Martin, who loves You, and understands more than anyone the sacrifice You made for us all, for our redemption?

  “Dear Lord, let me know what I should do.”

  Chapter 13

  The Storks’ Nest

  Wer andere richtet, verurteilt sich selbst.

  He who judges others sentences himself.

  The next day, Thursday, I wrote the Doctor a short note:

  Dear Herr Doktor Luther,

  Herr Cranach conveyed to me your proposal of marriage. I am flattered to be the object of your admiration. However, could we meet and talk about it?

  Yours respectfully,

  Katharina von Bora.

  Dear Fräulein von Bora,

  Thank you for your letter. Would you be so kind as to visit me at the Black Cloister tomorrow afternoon, after the midday break? I await with anticipation your visit. Dorothea will let you in. Please come up the stairs to my study.

  God Bless you, my child.

  Martin Luther.

  So on Friday morning I washed my face and hands, put on my best dress, braided my hair up neatly and pinched my cheeks. I practised staring boldly at my own image in the mirror, wanting to seem strong and unafraid; nevertheless, my nerves were as taught as harp strings as I walked down the street to the Black Cloister. The small door within the large entrance gate was unlocked. I let myself in, walked through the arched entrance, into the courtyard with the large elm tree, past the water source, which flows all the time into a stone trough, and knocked on the side door leading into the scullery. Why didn’t I go to the front door like a respectable visitor? For some reason I felt diffident, not quite worthy, which was stupid, considering the reason for my visit; but this side door had been the one we fugitive nuns had always used during our stay here. Dr Luther’s little herrings. How young we were then, and innocent. It seemed more like a decade ago, not just two years. I tugged on the bell-pull and stood waiting, smoothing down my skirt and composing my features. Dorothea opened the door and greeted me with her usual reservation; she led me through the kitchen into the hall.

  “The Doctor expects you, Fräulein von Bora. Just go on up, you know where his study is.”

  I counted the steps as I went up, stopping now and then to catch my breath. Sixty-three. I tip-toed along the corridor carrying my shoes so he wouldn’t hear my footsteps. Though he must surely hear my thumping heart! The door to his study was shut. I stood still before it and tried to steady my breathing, to slow down my heart. My bodice was too tight, the laces cutting into my chest. My armpits were damp and prickling. I got a hanky out of my pocket and wiped my sweaty face. ‘Come on, you stupid girl, what are you waiting for?’ I raised my right fist and rapped on the door.

  “Come in.”

  He stands up as I enter and walks towards me, his hands outstretched. He takes my hands in his and we stand facing each other in silence for what seems like several minutes. Then he leads me to a chair and I sit down. I will my heart to slow down. My breathing is steadier now.

  The great man seems rather shy. Can he really be nervous of me, a young woman of no consequence? He sits down behind the desk and runs his fingers through his hair. Then he twists away from me and points out of the window at a heap of sticks on a chimney.

  “You see the stork? She’s sitting on a clutch. That bodes well, you know, for the coming year.”

  “Yes, we have a pair at the Cranach House too, though we can’t see the nest so close.”

  “Lovely birds. Where do they disappear to in winter do you suppose?”

  “I really wouldn’t know, Herr Doktor. Somewhere warmer, I should think.”

  “Yes, no doubt. They fly south, that much we know.”

  He turned back to look at me, then looked away again, cleared his throat and shifted some papers about on his desk. Eventually, with averted eyes, he said:

  “Fräulein von Bora, you received my message, from Herr Cranach?”

  “I did.”

  “And might I ask if you have had a chance to think about it?”

  I looked past him through the window at the birds’ nest, and just then the other stork arrived, landing awkwardly on the heap of sticks. It was change of shift for the brooding pair. I thought about my prayers to Jesus, about my asking him for a sign. Was this the sign I had been praying for? A pair of birds, raising their chicks, living and working together, in harmony and mutual affection. Yes, Jesus couldn’t have sent a clearer message, a more apt way of telling me that this was the road I should take. That I should indeed accept his proposal and build a nest with him, on our metaphorical chimney, like those long legged birds outside his window.

  “I have thought about it. I have prayed too.”

  “We can make no decision without the help of Our Lord. So let me ask you again, Fräulein, after your thoughts and sleep, after your prayers and supplications, what decision have you come to? Would this young, beautiful one-time nun be prepared to marry this middle-aged ugly, difficult one-time monk?”

  “I think so. Yes, I think she might be. Be prepared to, I mean.”

  “But you’re not sure. I’m not an easy man. I think you know that already.”

  He looks at me with such anxiety and tenderness, I see a yearning in his eyes which I have never seen before. And all of a sudden I hear myself talking with a fluency quite new to me, I hear words spilling out of my mouth almost before they take shape in my head.

  “Herr Doktor. I have had reservations, I must admit. I have been wrestling with my conscience. After all, as you know, I took my vows when I was fifteen, I became a Bride of Christ. Then I became disillusioned, partly because of reading your sermons and letters. So with eight other nuns I abandoned my husband, the dear Lord Christ, and we ran away from the convent. I broke my vow of Obedience. I have suffered a heavy conscience about that for two whole years. Now, I find myself weighing up the possibility of yet another betrayal of our Lord, by promising to marry you. That would entail my breaking a second vow made to Christ, the vow of Chastity. And you, Dr Luther, you were a monk and you have broken your vows. Is it not sinful for a monk to marry a nun? I’ve heard it said that any children born of such a union are evil, cursed, even monsters. You asked me about my reservations. I am doing my best to explain.”

  “Dear Fräulein von Bora, I understand entirely what you feel and I would worry if you didn’t find it necessary to examine your conscience on such a grave matter. But let me explain about celibacy and what I see as God’s attitude to our sexuality. God made women in such a way that they are able to bear children and give them milk to suck. He also made men yearn for the comfort and company of women. This is natural. God wants what is natural. As I said, He created men and women to be together in marriage, and what happens in the marriage bed is as natural as eating and drinking. Chastity should only be for those to whom it comes naturally, when it is of their own free will; it should not be imposed upon them. I too have been celibate all my life. But I have preached and written many times about this, and do believe very strongly that every priest should be free to marry if he wants to; because before God and the Holy Scriptures marriage of the clergy is no offence. Clerical celibacy is not God’s law but the Pope’s; and Christ has set us free from all manmade laws. If he could, the Pope would forbid eating, drinking, the natural movement of the bowels, or growing fat! But he can’t.

  “No, dear Katharina, it is no sin for an ex-monk and an ex-nun to marry one another. You and I, we both grew up thinking marriage would not be for us; but now you have discarded your veil, and I my cowl. I think we might perhaps suit each oth
er all the better because of that. Jesus would look lovingly upon our union, I feel certain. But do you perhaps have other reservations? Katharina, please ask me, tell me, what is on your mind, I can see you are still hesitant. I want you to be sure. Take your time. I can wait.”

  At that I feel bolder, and plunge on with my unrehearsed doubts and fears.

  “I have wondered, as well, whether you’re asking me to be your wife simply as a matter of expedience. You need someone to run your house, to be a hostess to your guests, to help you keep the accounts, care for the animals, prepare the provender. And of course I would be able to run your house, but I don’t want simply to be your housekeeper; I want a real husband, a father for my children, a loving companion.”

  I suppose in a way I want him to tell me he loves me. But why should he? I do not love him and I don’t think he loves me. But we respect one another and both feel, instinctively, that we would make a good team. Love can grow later, especially if we are to be blessed with children. I can almost see him now, with a baby in his arms and a toddler at his knee. I have heard him say that his parents in Erfurt long for him to marry and have a family; and I have seen how he enjoys the company of the Cranach children, how he relates to all the little ones in church.

  He planted his large hands on the table in front of him and got to his feet. He came round the desk to where I was sitting – a sunbeam was slanting down through the high window with motes of dust swimming about in it. He took my hands in his and with a lightness of touch made as if to lift me to my feet. We stood facing each other, still holding hands, both of us in the sunbeam; then he touched my cheek with the back of his hand and we looked into each others’ eyes.

  “Katharina. Not a housekeeper. A wife. I want a wife to lie with, to laugh with, to eat with. I want, if God be willing, a mother to my children. I will not say I am in love. But I think we can grow into love. Does that make sense to you? I admire you enormously. You have courage and sometimes a sharp tongue. So have I. You know who you are. You know your God. I like the way you plant your feet on the ground. You will need to keep them there if you are to live with me. And yes, I admit that I do admire the skill with which you manage the dairy and the bees and the vegetable garden at the Cranachs. Of course I need a skilled housekeeper. But above all, Katharina, and I swear this is true, I want you because you are who you are, and I think we can live and work together. So, dear girl, forget about sins and forget about the job of housekeeper. This old professor and priest seeks a loving wife. And he wants, more than anything else, for that wife to be you, Katharina von Bora. If you say ‘yes’ you will make this old renegade the happiest man in Wittenberg.”

  “Then I will say Yes, Herr Doctor. Yes, I will marry you and be your wife.”

  “You will? You really mean that? Oh, dear God, I am quite overwhelmed.” He hugs me like a great big bear and lifts me off my feet. “Come, let us drink to this! Let the bells ring out! We shall arrange a date for the betrothal. Soon, soon! There will be rejoicing! Dear Katharina, little did I know when my herrings arrived in the Cloister that one of them would become my wife!”

  I refrained from saying, ‘maybe not, but your first choice was not me, but Ave.’ Nevertheless, the thought lay between us, unspoken, and ultimately, irrelevant.

  Then my husband-to-be puts his arms round me again in a clumsy bear hug, and I hug him back. Our first embrace. The first of many. Then he holds my hand and leads me down the spiral staircase to the refectory and we walk arm in arm down Castle Street to the Cranach House.

  “Bring wine, bring sack and sherry! The Lady has spoken and she says Yes!” cries the Doctor to anyone who’ll hear. “I am to take a wife! Rejoice with me, with us. Here I stand, the luckiest man in Saxony!”

  Barbara and Lucas came running towards us grinning; they kissed me and shook the Doctor’s hand, amidst laughter and congratulations. The children whooped with pleasure and ran to tell all the staff in the house and the workshops. The lame crane flapped around the courtyard in excitement and the chickens began to cackle. In no time at all tools were laid down, presses put to bed and workshops were closed to make way for a party. The best wine flowed amid laughter, dancing and song.

  I have to admit, it was not a love match as it would have been had I become Frau Baumgartner. However, we admired and respected one another and a flame of affection for him burned already in my heart. I knew he was not an easy man and he knew I was strong enough to stand up to him.

  My time spent in the stables as a child had prepared me for this. If you tug at a horse he will dig in his toes and grow stubborn, and remind you of his superior strength. Ask him with tact and respect and he will lend you his strength willingly. Men are similar to horses. When I met Martin I recognised in him the same combination of power and timidity, of bravado and hesitation, which I had already come to recognise in those strong, gentle giants.

  Of course it is ridiculous to liken Martin to a horse; I only mean to illustrate the way in which I approach him; and if I were to draw a comparison between the Doctor and a horse I would say he is not always reliable in the stable. He has a fierce temper on him. Poor Joachim the garden boy got the rough end of it once. He had stupidly left the gate to the walled garden ajar and the sow and her piglets had wandered in and rootled up all the lazy-beds – rows of young spinach, radish, onions and peas were all ruined. They had even pushed over the beanpoles, and lain down to roll on the soft tilth. It was annoying, because the gardener and Joachim had spent hours over several weeks sowing and planting, and it had all gone to ruin. But to my mind it was pointless yelling at the poor lad and hitting him like that. He was so contrite, and spent the next few days sowing fresh seeds and trying to make amends. Martin pushes himself too hard and never lets himself off easily; at the same time, he is as harsh a judge of others as he is of himself.

  His temper is not improved by his poor health. He suffers from boils and constipation and indigestion and gallstones. He also gets headaches. All of this affects his temper and the way he treats others. I was soon to discover just how badly he behaves sometimes; he enjoys making fun of others just to get a cheap laugh. It was during the few short weeks of our betrothal, in early June. I had taken to joining him and his guests now and then for supper at the Black Cloister; we were sitting at table with several erudite guests, engaged in an interesting conversation, about theology and religious practices and how these can affect society at large. I was enjoying myself, taking part in a lively debate, when suddenly, with no warning at all, he turned on me, his eyes flashing, and said: “Fräulein von Bora, kindly oblige us all by talking less and listening more. Our guests did not come all this way to listen to a woman’s opinions.”

  I had taken trouble with my appearance that evening, wanting to make a good impression on the visitors. I was wearing a new dress which Barbara had given me in honour of our engagement. It’s made of green taffeta with a black velvet bodice, laced below the bosom. In my vanity I had probably laced it a bit too tight, but when he turned on me like that, saying that I should talk less, my bodice laces began to cut into my chest, I started breathing too hard, and I thought I might faint. I sat quite still, my face burning, my chest heaving, longing to loosen the laces. Then the Doctor heaped coals upon the fire. He leant back in his chair, one fist on the table, the other holding his pewter mug on his paunch, and announced to the table at large: “Men have broad chests and narrow hips, therefore they have wisdom. Women have small breasts, large thighs and broad behinds. On which they should sit quietly.” Laughter all round, among the men at least. Even Rörer the secretary chuckled as he wrote it down in his little book; he notes down the Doctor’s utterances at table for posterity and calls them Tischreden or Table Talk.

  I got to my feet, picking up my half-finished mug of beer. I wanted to throw it in his face, but restrained myself and left the room with as much dignity as I could muster. Nobody was laughing now. I stumbled out into the cool dusk of the courtyard and leant against the pear tree gasping
for air, loosening my laces, my heart pounding with fury.

  After wandering around the grounds for almost an hour, I calmed down and returned to the house. It was dark now. The guests had left or gone up to bed, and Dorothea was closing the shutters and snuffing the lights.

  “Dorothea, where is the Doctor?” I asked.

  “I reckon he’ll have gone to bed, it’s late. Should you be going on home?”

  “No. Don’t trouble yourself, I’m going up to see him.”

  I stepped through the doorway to the staircase. Dorothea watched me in disbelief. We might be betrothed, but single women are not supposed go upstairs in the Cloister at night, if they want to preserve their good name. But at that moment I did not care about my name, good or otherwise. I was going to have it out with that arrogant, ill-tempered peasant.

  I climbed the wide wooden staircase to the first floor, then the stone spiral staircase in the old tower. I knew Martin slept up here somewhere, but as I passed the door to his study I saw a light shining underneath it. I knocked and pushed it open without waiting for him to say come in. He was sitting at his desk, a candle flickering at his elbow. He got to his feet as I entered the room and we stood there in silence staring at each other. The tension in the air was as taut as a long-bow drawn back at full stretch.

  “Dr. Luther, if you wish to marry me, you will never speak to me like that again.” My voice shook with anger, but I did not allow it to rise. “I am your equal before God, not a foolish chattel to be made fun of in front of callow students and drunken toadies. I want you to apologise and promise not to shame me in public like that again.” My whole body trembled, with anger and also fear, for this was not something I could unsay. I knew he was not used to our sex, and that in his eyes women were not equal to men. But it was quite intolerable that my betrothed should belittle me in this way. He had to retract, or we were finished.