When she was laid in the coffin, Doctor Martin said,--
"Thou darling Lenichen, how well it is with thee!"
And as he gazed on her lying there, he said,--
"Ah, thou sweet Lenichen, thou shalt rise again, and shine like a star; yes, like the sun!"
They had made the coffin too narrow and too short, and he said,--
"The bed is too small for thee! I am indeed joyful in spirit, but after the flesh I am very sad, this parting is so beyond measure trying.
Wonderful it is that I should know she is certainly at peace, and that all is well with her, and yet should be so sad."
And when the people who came to lay out the corpse, according to custom, spoke to the doctor, and said they were sorry for his affliction, he said,--
"You should rejoice. I have sent a saint to heaven; yes, a living saint!
May we have such a death! Such a death I would gladly die this very hour."
Then said one, "That is true indeed; yet every one would wish to keep his own."
Doctor Martin answered,--
"Flesh is flesh, and blood is blood. I am glad that she is yonder. There is no sorrow but that of the flesh."
To others who came he said,--
"Grieve not. I have sent a saint to heaven; yes, I have sent two such thither!" alluding to his infant Elizabeth.
As they were chanting by the corpse, "Lord, remember not our former sins, which are of old," he said,--
"I say, O Lord, not our former sins only, nor only those of old, but our present sins; for we are usurers, exactors, misers. Yea, the abomination of the ma.s.s is still in the world!"
When the coffin was closed, and she was buried, he said, "_There is indeed a resurrection of the body._"
And as they returned from the funeral, he said,--
"My daughter is now provided for in body and soul. We Christians have nothing to complain of; we know it must be so. We are more certain of eternal life than of anything else; for G.o.d who has promised it to us for his dear Son"s sake, can never lie. Two saints of my flesh our Lord G.o.d has taken, but not of my blood. Flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom."
Among other things, he said,--
"We must take great care for our children, and especially for the poor little maidens; we must not leave it to others to care for them. I have no compa.s.sion on the boys. A lad can maintain himself wherever he is, if he will only work; and if he will not work, he is a scoundrel. But the poor maiden-kind must have a staff to lean on."
And again,--
"I gave this daughter very willingly to our G.o.d. After the flesh, I would indeed have wished to keep her longer with me; but since he has taken her hence, I thank him."
The night before Magdalen Luther died, her mother had a dream, in which she saw two men clothed in fair raiment, beautiful and young, come and lead her daughter away to her bridal. When, on the next morning, Philip Melancthon came into the cloister, and asked her how her daughter was, she told him her dream.
But he was alarmed at it, and said to others,--
"Those young men are the dear angels who will come and lead this maiden into the kingdom of heaven, to the true Bridal."
And the same day she died.
Some little time after her death, Dr. Martin Luther said,--
"If my daughter Magdalen could come to life again and bring with her to me the Turkish kingdom, I would not have it. Oh, she is well cared for; "Beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur." Who dies thus, certainly has eternal life. I would that I, and my children, and ye all could thus all depart; for evil days are coming. There is neither help nor counsel more on earth, I see, until the Judgment Day. I hope, if G.o.d will, it will not be long delayed; for covetousness and usury increase."
And often at supper he repeated, "Et multipicata sunt mala in terris."
He himself made this epitaph, and had it placed on his Magdalen"s tomb:--
"Dormio c.u.m sanctis hic Magdaleni Lutheri Filia, et hoc strato tecta quiesco meo, Filia mortis eram peccati semine nata, Sanguine sed vivo, Christe, redempta tuo."[13]
[Footnote 13: A friend has translated it thus:--
I, Luther"s daughter Magdalen, Here slumber with the blest; Upon this bed I lay my head, And take my quiet rest.
I was a child of death on earth, In sin my life was given; But on the tree Christ died for me, And now I live in heaven.]
In German,--
"Here sleep I, Lenichen, Dr. Luther"s little daughter, Rest with all the saints in my little bed; I who was born in sins, And must forever have been lost.
But now I live and all is well with me, Lord Christ, redeemed with thy blood."
Yet indeed, although he tries to cheer others, he laments long and deeply himself, as many of his letters show.
To Jonas he wrote,--
"I think you will have heard that my dearest daughter Magdalen is born again to the eternal kingdom of Christ. But although I and my wife ought to do nothing but give thanks, rejoicing in so happy and blessed a departure, by which she has escaped the power of the flesh, the world, the Turk, and the devil; yet such is the strength of natural affection, that we cannot part with her without sobs and groans of heart. They cleave to our heart, they remain fixed in its depths--her face, her words--the looks, living and dying, of that most dutiful and obedient child; so that even the death of Christ (and what are all deaths in comparison with that?) scarcely can efface her death from our minds. Do thou, therefore, give thanks to G.o.d in our stead. Wonder at the great work of G.o.d who thus glorifies our flesh! She was, as thou knowest, gentle and sweet in disposition, and was altogether lovely. Blessed be the Lord Jesus Christ, who called and chose, and has thus magnified her!
I wish for myself and all mine, that we may attain to such a death; yea, rather, to such a life, which only I ask from G.o.d, the Father of all consolation and mercy."
And again, to Jacob Probst, pastor at Bremen--
"My most dear child, Magdalen, has departed to her heavenly Father, falling asleep full of faith in Christ. An indignant horror against death softens my tears. I loved her vehemently.
But in _that day_ we shall be avenged on death, and on him who is the author of death."
And to Amsdorf--
"Thanks to thee for endeavouring to console me on the death of my dearest daughter. I loved her not only for that she was my flesh, but for her most placid and gentle spirit, ever so dutiful to me. But now I rejoice that she is gone to live with her heavenly Father, and is fallen into sweetest sleep until that day. For the times are and will be worse and worse; and in my heart I pray that to thee, and to all dear to me, may be given such an hour of departure, and with such placid quiet, truly to fall asleep in the Lord. "_The just are gathered, and rest in their beds._" "For verily the world is as a horrible Sodom.""
And to Lauterbach--
"Thou writest well, that in this most evil age death (or more truly, sleep) is to be desired by all. And although the departure of that most dear child has, indeed, no little moved me, yet I rejoice more that she, a daughter of the kingdom, is s.n.a.t.c.hed from the jaws of the devil and the world; so sweetly did she fall asleep in Christ."
So mournfully and tenderly he writes and speaks, the shadow of that sorrow at the centre of his life overspreading the whole world with darkness to him. Or rather, as he would say, the joy of that loving, dutiful child"s presence being withdrawn, he looks out from his cold and darkened hearth, and sees the world as it is; the covetousness of the rich; the just demands, yet insurrectionary attempts of the poor; the war with the Turks without, the strife in the empire within; the fierce animosities of impending religious war; the lukewarmness and divisions among his friends. For many years G.o.d gave that feeling heart a refuge from all these in the bright, unbroken circle of his home. But now the next look to him seems beyond this life; to death, which unveils the kingdom of truth and righteousness, and love, to each, one by one; or still more, to the glorious Advent which will manifest it to all. Of this he delights to speak. The end of the world, he feels sure, is near; and he says all preachers should tell their people to pray for its coming, as the beginning of the golden age. He said once--"O gracious G.o.d, come soon again! I am waiting ever for the day--the spring morning, when day and night are equal, and the clear, bright rose of that dawn shall appear. From that glow of morning I imagine a thick, black cloud will issue, forked with lightning, and then a crash, and heaven and earth will fall. Praise be to G.o.d, who has taught us to long and look for that day. In the Papacy, they sing--
"Dies irae, dies illa;"
but we look forward to it with hope; and I trust it is not far distant."