CHAPTER XXII.

LITTLE LENA.

It is written that "we must through much tribulation enter into the kingdom of God," and that "whom He loveth, He chasteneth."

Martin Luther and his wife had already passed through deep waters of grief and sorrow,--he, the hero in spiritual warfare, leading the way, and she following, keenly alive to every trouble that assailed her husband. But the season of trials was not yet past,--they were still, by God's Will, to taste the bitterest pain that can afflict a parent's heart.

One day, as they sat together under the pear-tree, surrounded by their children, the conversation chanced upon the sacrifice of Isaac.

"Good God," said Luther, "what a heart-break it must have been to Abraham, when he was commanded to slay his only and well-beloved son Isaac! What a painful journey that was, to Mount Moriah,--doubtless he told his wife nothing about it. Truly, had I been in his place, I believe I should have withstood."

His wife answered with a sigh: "I cannot grasp the thought, that God should require of us to sacrifice our own child."

Her objection again brought Luther upon the right path: "Dear Kate, yet you can believe that God suffered His only Son, our dear Lord and Saviour, Jesus Christ, to die for us? There was none He loved more, in Heaven or on earth, than His Son;--and yet He permitted Him to be crucified for us. Would not human reason say that God had shown Himself more tender and fatherly towards Caiaphas, Pilate, Herod, and the others, than toward His only Son? Abraham surely believed in the resurrection of the dead, when he was required to sacrifice his son, concerning whom the promise had been given, that through him the Messiah should be born, as the Epistle to the Hebrews testifies."

Katharine could not but admit that he was right; yet her eyes rested wistfully upon her children, at the thought that God might demand them of her.

This conversation was forgotten and the blooming health of her children reassured the mother's heart. Yet the angel of death was about to gather the fairest flower of them all.

One day in September of 1542, Lena, who was sitting at work beside her mother, grew suddenly pale and complained of great pain in her breast. The physician, who was summoned immediately, was unable to discover the seat of the disorder. He prescribed a potion; but in spite of the remedy, the child grew rapidly worse.

Father and mother watched by her bedside, each questioning the other's eyes, as though seeking comfort, and then, in their utter helplessness turning to Him, Who alone can save from death.

The child suffered much pain, but she lay quiet and uncomplaining, only the twitching muscles betrayed her agony. Her face seemed to grow more beautiful at the approach of death, as though the pure soul were shining through its transparent garment of flesh. When Katharine, seeing the anguish, which she was unable to relieve, could not restrain her tears, Lena's sweet, pleading eyes seemed to say to her: Do not grieve!

One morning Lena raised herself in bed, and said to her father: "Dear father, I have a great desire to see my brother Hans. Will you not send to Torgau, and ask Master Krodel, to give him leave of absence? He is diligent, and will quickly make up the lost time."

Luther tenderly stroked the cold forehead, and promised.

Two days later, Hans arrived. He did not know, why he was called home; for in his letter to Master Marcus Krodel, under whose instruction Hans was placed, Luther had begged him, not to mention Lena's illness, therefore great was the boy's alarm, when he saw his little sister thus changed.

Their meeting was touching,--even Luther, the strong man, turned away, to hide his tears.

From day to day the parents' hearts alternated between hope and fear. Katharine's anxious eyes sought to read the physician's face, dreading to put her question into words.

There was no lack of sympathy. All the friends of the family,--indeed, all Wittenberg, shared in their sorrow.

For two weeks, Katharine had scarcely slept, watching her child with the strength of self-forgetting love. But at last nature demanded her right. She sank exhausted upon her bed, and while sleep brought a few blessed hours of unconsciousness, her spirit was soothed with a lovely dream-vision. She saw her little daughter, radiant with light, floating upon a cloud, and two fair youths coming to lead the maiden to the marriage feast.

In the morning she related her dream to her husband, and added: "Nothing is impossible with God. I take my dream to be a happy omen."

Melanchthon, who was present, smiled sadly, and when Katharine had left the room, he said: "Do you read the vision thus, dear Martin? I would not take from your wife her hope, but knowing that you have already yielded the dear child to the Lord, I will tell you, what I take its meaning to be. The fair youths are the blessed angels, who will lead the maiden into the heavenly kingdom, to the true bridegroom."

Luther bowed his head and clasped his hands. After awhile he said: "I love her very dearly, and would fain keep her, if it is our Lord's will; but if it pleases Thee, dear Father, to take her, I will gladly know her to be with Thee."

After Melanchthon had gone, Luther returned to the sickroom, and seated himself beside the bed. The child's eyes were breaking, and her skin was almost transparent.

"Magdalena, my little daughter," said her father, with quivering lips, "you are content to stay with your father here,--and also content to go to the Father above?"

Softly, faintly, came the answer: "Yes, dear father, as God pleases."

The mother was kneeling upon the floor, weeping,--her face buried in her hands,--she could not witness the child's death.

Luther sought to comfort her: "Dear Kate, remember, whither Lena is going. The lines have fallen unto her in pleasant places. She has a goodly heritage."

But in the face of the last struggle, his strength forsook him. He sank upon his knees beside the bed, and wept bitterly, crying aloud: "O Lord, have mercy, and end her suffering!"

And God's angels flew softly through the chamber, kissed the maiden's brow, and led her home, to the heavenly bridegroom.

* * * * * * * * * *

Outside, upon the stairs, the other children were watching, silently holding each other's hands, when one of the maids, with tear-swollen eyes, came to them and said; "You have no longer a sister Lena!"

The children cried out, and stared in dismay at the messenger of sorrow. Paul sprang to his feet, and exclaimed angrily: "It is not true! She is not dead!"

"She is not dead!" repeated Gretchen, and rose to go to her sister. Then their mother came toward them, and in her face the children read the truth.

The house was very silent. Every one stepped softly, as though Lena were sleeping, and must not be awakened. And not only was Luther's house a house of mourning, but every household in Wittenberg grieved in sympathy.

With a trembling hand the stricken father wrote to his friend Justus Jonas, who in the preceding year had removed to Halle:

"My dearest Jonas! This is to tell you, that my dear daughter Magdalena has been born again, into the eternal kingdom of Christ. We,--that is my wife and I,--should truly feel only joy and gratitude at this happy and blessed departure, by which our child is removed from the power of the flesh, the world, the Turk and the devil. Yet natural love so masters us, that we cannot submit without sobs and tears and much heart-breaking. For she had taken a strong hold upon our affections,--our gentle, obedient daughter--by her looks, her words and her behavior, in life and in death,--and even the death of Christ cannot wholly wipe away our grief. She was, as you know, of a sweet and gentle disposition, and well-beloved of all. Praised be our Lord Jesus Christ, who hath thus called and glorified her. Oh, that we, and all who are dear to us, might have such a death,--yea, and such a life! This I ask of God, the Father of all grace and mercy. MARTIN LUTHER."

Then he sought in prayer the strength he needed, for what remained to be done. When he entered the death-chamber, the mother was kneeling beside her child, whom she had herself prepared for her last resting-place, and was placing a branch of rosemary between the cold fingers.

How fair and lovely she was, her sweet, little Magdalena. Even death could not mar nor destroy her gentle beauty, which seemed only glorified,--as it will be upon the last day, when the grave shall yield up its prey, and what was sown in corruption, shall be raised in incorruption.

On the third day, the mortal remains of little Lena lay in her flower-strewn coffin, which, because of the crowds of people, had been placed in the court under the pear-tree. Luther pressed a last kiss upon the still face. "Thou dear child,--it is well with thee! Thou wilt rise again, and shine as a star,--yea, as the sun. My spirit rejoices, but according to the flesh I am very sorrowful; for parting is painful beyond measure. It is strange,--to know that she is at peace,--and yet to mourn!"

He thanked the people who had came to testify their sympathy, adding: "Rejoice with me, for I have now a blessed saint in Heaven. Oh! may we all have such a death as hers!"

"Yes, Reverend Doctor," exclaimed a voice from the crowd, "you say truly,--yet every one would fain keep his own."

Luther replied: "I am glad, that she is in Heaven; my sorrow is all of the flesh."

Then Katharine, supported by Melanchthon's wife, tottered toward the coffin, to bid her child a last farewell. At the sight of her, the bystanders began to weep and lament aloud, and Wolfgang, who had also approached, turned away--he could not see the mother's grief.

Lena's grave was beside that of her sister Elizabeth, and for the second time, Wolfgang must needs force his trembling hands to fashion a cross, upon which Luther wrote these words:

"I little Magdalen, sleep here, I'm Doctor Luther's daughter dear, In this small chamber I shall rest, Till summoned forth with all the blest; Tho' born in sin, not lost am I-- As was decreed--eternally. I live, and all is well and good: Christ ransomed me with His own blood."

When Luther returned from the burial, he said to his wife. "Our little daughter is at rest, both in body and soul. We Christians should not murmur,--knowing that it must be thus, and being sure of eternal life: for God's promise, given through His dear Son, cannot fail."

"Ah, you are a strong man," sighed Katharine; "but a mother cannot so quickly master her sorrow, and a woman's heart is a weak and timid thing. God will have patience with me--I will not murmur."

"Weep freely, dearest Kate," said Luther, "therefore were tears given us, and God knows best, what miserable vessels of clay we are. He remembers, that we are but dust, and bears with us, that His strength may be made perfect in our weakness. And consider this: Time is short; in a little while we shall meet again with rejoicing, and our joy no man taketh from us."

She clasped her hands, lifted her sad eyes toward Heaven, and prayed: "Yea, Lord Jesus, come quickly."