Gottfried and others are persuaded that these men of Zwickau are deluded enthusiasts. He says, "The spirit which undervalues the word of G.o.d cannot be the Spirit of G.o.d."
But among the firmest opponents of these new doctrines is, to our surprise, our charitable mother. Her gentle, lowly spirit seems to shrink from them as with a heavenly instinct. She says, "The Spirit of G.o.d humbles--does not puff up."
When it was reported to us the other day that Nicholas Storck had seen the angel Gabriel in the night, who flew towards him and said to him, "As for thee, thou shalt be seated on my throne!" the mother said,--
"It is new language to the angel Gabriel, to speak of _his_ throne. The angels in old times used to speak of the throne of G.o.d."
And when another said that it was time to sift the chaff from the wheat, and to form a Church of none but saints, she said,--
"That would never suit me then. I must stay outside, in the Church of redeemed sinners. And did not St. Paul himself say, as Dr. Luther told us, "Sinners, of whom I am chief?""
"But are you not afraid," some one asked her, "of dishonouring G.o.d by denying his messengers, if, after all, these prophets should be sent from him?"
"I think not," she replied quietly. "Until the doctors are sure, I think I cannot displease my Saviour by keeping to the old message."
My father, however, is much excited about it; he sees no reason why there should not be prophets at Wittemberg as well as at Jerusalem; and in these wonderful days, he argues, what wonders can be too great to believe?
I and many others long exceedingly for Dr. Luther. I believe, indeed, Gottfried is right, but it would be terrible to make a mistake; and Dr.
Luther always seems to see straight to the heart of a thing at once, and storms the citadel, while Dr. Melancthon is going round and round, studying each point of the fortifications.
Dr. Luther never wavers in opinion in his letters, but warns us most forcibly against these delusions of Satan. But then people say he has not seen or heard the "prophets." One letter can be discussed and answered long before another comes, and the living eye and voice are much in such a conflict as this.
What chief could lead an army on to battle by letters?
_February_ 26, 1522.
Our dove of peace has come back to our home; our Eva! This evening, when I went over with a message to my mother, to my amazement I saw her sitting with her hand in my father"s, quietly reading to him the twenty-third psalm, while my grandmother sat listening, and my mother was contentedly knitting beside them.
It seemed as if she had scarcely been absent a day, so quietly had she glided into her old place. It seemed so natural, and yet so like a dream, that the sense of wonder pa.s.sed from me as it does in dreams, and I went up to her and kissed her forehead.
"Dear Cousin Else, is it you!" she said. "I intended to have come to you the first thing to-morrow."
The dear, peaceful, musical voice, what a calm it shed over the home again!
"You see you have all left Aunt Cotta," she said, with a slight tremulousness in her tone, "so I am come back to be with her always, if she will let me."
There were never any protestations of affection between my mother and Eva, they understand each other so completely.
_February_ 28.
Yes, it is no dream. Eva has left the convent, and is one of us once more. Now that she has resumed all her old ways, I wonder more than ever how we could have got on without her. She speaks as quietly of her escape from the convent, and her lonely journey across the country, as if it were the easiest and most every-day occurrence. She says every one seemed anxious to help her and take care of her.
She is very little changed. Hers was not a face to change. The old guileless expression is on her lips--the same trustful, truthful light in her dark soft eyes; the calm, peaceful brow, that always reminded one of a sunny, cloudless sky, is calm and bright still; and around it the golden hair, not yet grown from its conventual cutting, cl.u.s.ters in little curls which remind me of her first days with us at Eisenach. Only all the character of the face seems deepened, I cannot say shadowed, but penetrated with that kind of look which I fancy must always distinguish the face of the saints above from those of the angels,--those who have suffered from those who have only sympathized; that deep, tender, patient, trusting, human look, which is stamped on those who have pa.s.sed to the heavenly rapturous "_Thy will be done_," through the agony of "_Not my will, but Thine_."
At first Gretchen met her with the kind of reverent face she has at church; and she asked me afterwards, "Is that really the Cousin Eva in the picture?" But now there is the most familiar intimacy between them, and Gretchen confidingly and elaborately expounds to Cousin Eva all her most secret plans and delights. The boys, also, have a most unusual value for her good opinion, and appear to think her judgment beyond that of ordinary women; for yesterday little Fritz was eagerly explaining to her the virtues of a new bow that had been given him, formed in the English fashion.
She is very anxious to set nine young nuns, who have embraced the Lutheran doctrine, free from Nimptschen. Gottfried thinks it very difficult, but by no means impracticable in time.
Meanwhile, what a stormy world our dove has returned to!--the university well-nigh disorganized; the town in commotion; and no German Bible yet in any one"s hands, by which, as Gottfried says, the claims of these new prophets might be tested.
Yet it does not seem to depress Eva. She says it seems to her like coming out of the ark into a new world; and, no doubt, Noah did not find everything laid out in order for him. She is quite on my mother"s side about the prophets. She says, the apostles preached not themselves, but Christ Jesus the Lord. If the Zwickau prophets preach him, they preach nothing new; and if they preach themselves, neither G.o.d nor the angel Gabriel gave them that message.
Our great sorrow is Fritz"s continued imprisonment. At first we felt sure he would escape, but every month lessens our hopes, until we scarcely dare speak of him except in our prayers. Yet daily, together with his deliverance, Gottfried and I pray for the return of Dr. Luther, and for the prosperous completion of his translation of the German Bible, which Gottfried believes will be the greatest boon Dr. Luther has given, or can ever give, to the German people, and through them to them Christendom.
_Sat.u.r.day_, _March_ 8, 1522.
The great warm heart is beating amongst us once more!
Dr. Luther is once more dwelling quietly in the Augustinian cloister, which he left for Worms a year ago. What changes since then! He left us amid our tears and vain entreaties not to trust his precious life to the treacherous safe-conduct which had entrapped John Huss to the stake.
He returns unscathed and triumphant--the defender of the good cause before emperor, prelates, and princes--the hero of our German people.
He left citizens and students for the most part trembling at the daring of his words and deeds.
He returns to find students and burghers impetuously and blindly rushing on the track he opened, beyond his judgment and convictions.
He left, the foremost in the attack, timidly followed as he hurried forward, braving death alone.
He returns to recall the scattered forces, dispersed and divided in wild and impetuous pursuit.
Will, then, his voice be as powerful to recall and reorganize as it was to urge forward?
He wrote to the Elector, on his way from the Wartburg, disclaiming his protection--declaring that he returned to the flock G.o.d had committed to him at Wittemberg, called and constrained by G.o.d himself, and under mightier protection than that of an elector! "The sword," he said, "could not defend the truth. The mightiest are those whose faith is mightiest. Relying on his master, Christ, and on him alone, he came."
Gottfried says it is fancy, but already it seems to me I see a difference in the town--less bold, loud talking, than the day before yesterday; as in a family of eager, noisy boys, whose father is amongst them again. But after to-morrow, we shall be able to judge better. He is to preach in the city pulpit.
_Monday_, _March_ 10, 1522.
We have heard him preach once more. Thank G.o.d, those days in the wilderness, as he called it, have surely not been lost days for Dr.
Luther.
As he stood again in the pulpit, many among the crowded congregation could not refrain from shedding tears of joy. In that familiar form and truthful, earnest face, we saw the man who had stood unmoved before the emperor and all the great ones of the empire--alone, upholding the truth of G.o.d.
Many of us saw, moreover, with even deeper emotion, the sufferer who, during those last ten months, had stood before an enemy more terrible than pope or emperor, in the solitude of the Wartburg; and while his own heart and flesh were often well-nigh failing in the conflict, had never failed to carry on the struggle bravely and triumphantly for us his flock; sending masterly replies to the University of Paris; smiting the lying traffic with indulgences, by one n.o.ble remonstrance, from the trembling hands of the Archbishop of Mainz; writing letter after letter of consolation or fatherly counsel to the little flock of Christ at Wittemberg; and, through all, toiling at that translation of the Word of G.o.d, which is the great hope of our country.
But older, tenderer, more familiar a.s.sociations, mastered all the others when we heard his voice again--the faithful voice that had warned and comforted us so long in public and in private. To others, Dr. Luther might be the hero of Worms, the teacher of Germany, the St. George who had smitten the dragon of falsehood: to us he was the true, affectionate pastor; and many of us, I believe, heard little of the first words of his sermon, for the mere joy of hearing his voice again, as the clear, deep tones, vibrated through the silent church.
He began with commending our faith. He said we had made much progress during his absence. But he went on to say, "We must have more than faith--we must have love. If a man with a sword in his hand happens to be alone, it matters little whether he keep it in the scabbard or not; but if he is in the midst of a crowd, he must take care to hold it so as not to hurt any one.
"A mother begins with giving her infant milk. Would it live if she gave it first meat and wine?
"But, thou, my friend, hast, perhaps had enough of milk! It way be well for thee. Yet let thy weaker, younger brother take it. The time was when thou also couldst have taken nothing else.
"See the sun! It brings us two things--light and heat. The rays of light beam directly on us. No king is powerful enough to intercept those keen, direct, swift rays. But heat is radiated back to us from every side.