CHAPTER XXIV.

PARTING.

The storm raged furiously, dashing heavy masses of snow against the windows. The rooks hid in the crevices of the masonry, scarcely venturing forth in search of their daily bread. Men whose business forced them to go abroad, wrapped themselves in their warm cloaks, which failed to defend them against the piercing cold.

Mistress Katharine sat at home, with Margaret, her youngest child. Her face was pale and care-worn, and told of many sleepless nights. Anxiety for her husband lay like a stone upon her heart; for again he had been obliged to leave his home,--the man, now old, feeble, and broken in health, for whom there was to be no rest upon earth.

In October and December of the past year, at the request of the counts of Mansfeld, he had journeyed to his former home, to act as peacemaker between the discordant factions. Now, he had gone for the third time, and days of sorrow and anxiety had followed his departure. Katharine had no peace. She sought the seclusion of her chamber, to dwell in spirit with her absent husband, until the solitude grew unbearable. But when she saw in Margaret's eyes the reflection of her own fears, she again longed to be alone.

She knew that her husband was tenderly cared for by her three sons and their tutor, Ambrose Rudtfelt; but it was not within their power to stay the inclemency of the weather, nor relieve the pains which tortured him. And from her heart rose the passionate prayer: "Lord, if Thou wouldst but send the springtime, for Thy servant's sake!"

And behold,--the spring came!

The wind changed, the ice broke, and the snow melted before the warm breath of the south.

With a grateful heart, Katharine breathed the balmy air. The lark's trill overhead seemed to her the voice of an angel, bringing God's answer to her prayer; and her lips whispered: "Thou art the God, that doest wonders!"

The following day, she was able to add: "Thou doest exceeding abundantly above all that we ask or think!" A letter arrived, dated from Halle, which quieted her fears. Again she read the precious, familiar, jesting words, and knew that her husband was of good cheer. Gretchen was quickly called, to hear the letter read:

"To my dear, kind Katharine Luther in Wittenberg. Grace and peace in the Lord. Dear Kate: We arrived in Halle to-day at 8 o'clock, but did not go to Eisleben, having met a huge Anabaptist, with high waves and masses of ice, which overran the earth, and threatened us with immersion. Neither could we return, because of the Mulda, and must fain lie quiet here at Halle, between the waters. Not that we desire to drink them, for we have good Rhenish wine, and Torgau beer; we have refreshed ourselves and are of good cheer, waiting for the Saale to spend its fury. The coachmen, and we also, fear to tempt God by venturing into the water, inasmuch as the Devil hates us, and we think it wiser to avoid misfortune, than to regret it afterwards; nor do we deem it necessary, to give the pope and his servants cause for rejoicing. I had not believed it possible, that the Saale could cause such a disturbance, and that it would thus flood the stony roads. Had you been here, you would have advised us to do as we have done; and for once, your advice would have been followed.

"God bless you, Amen! MARTIN LUTHER.

"_Halle, on the feast of the Conversion of St. Paul, A.D. 1546._"

The joy caused by this letter was still fresh, when another followed, dated from Eisleben:

"To my dearest mistress Katharine Luther, Doctor of Zulsdorf, lady of the pig market, and so forth.

"Grace and peace in Christ, and my poor, old, worn-out love to you, my dear Kate. I was very faint on the road, as we neared Eisleben,--by my own fault. Had you been here, you would have said it was the Jews' doing; for near Eisleben we passed through a village, where many Jews are living. Perhaps it was they who attacked me with so fierce a blast; for as we reached the village, a cold wind blew into the carriage and upon my head, that it seemed as though my brain were turning to ice. This may have caused the dizziness. But I am now, thank God, well again, except that the fair women of this place give me much trouble.

"When the more important matters are arranged, I must see to it, that we take some measures with regard to the Jews. Count Albert does not favor them, and if it is God's Will, I shall help him from the pulpit...

"The day before yesterday, your sons went to Mansfeld, Hans having begged the others to go with him. I do not know what they are doing there. If it were still cold, they might be shivering; but now that it is warm, they may do and suffer other things, as it pleases them. May God bless you and all the household. My greetings to all.

"MARTIN LUTHER, your old lover.

"_February 1st, 1546._"

The letters which followed, written on the sixth, seventh, and tenth of February, brought good tidings, and relieved Katharine of all uneasiness. Luther jestingly thanked her, "the saintly mistress Katharine Luther, in Wittenberg," for her anxiety in his behalf, which kept her awake at night. He tells her that, since she has been thus troubling herself, a fire broke out near his chamber-door, which might have consumed him; and that furthermore, a great stone almost fell upon his head, by which he would have been crushed, as in a mousetrap. "I fear, if you do not cease from troubling, that the earth will open and swallow us, and the elements pursue us to our destruction. Do you pray, and leave the care of us all to God; for it is written: Cast thy burden upon the Lord, and He shall sustain thee."

Luther's last letter, of the 14th, brought great rejoicing to his family, "Father is coming! Father is coming!" shouted little Margaret, falling upon her mother's neck.

He has finished his work; he has reconciled the factions, and sent home a basket of trout, a gift from the Countess Albert, and his bodily suffering is less. Everywhere he received high honors, he says, yet he longs to be at home, and hopes to reach it before the end of the week.

"_Father is coming! Father is coming!_"

He came; but his home-coming was not as the fond hearts of his wife and child had hoped.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Why are the bells tolling thus mournfully throughout the German land? What is the meaning of the bitter tears, shed by the German people! Why does the Elector's messenger stand sad and trembling at the door of Luther's house in Wittenberg, fearing to deliver to mistress Luther the letter he bears? His heart is well-nigh breaking,--he brings her the message, that since yesterday, she is a _widow_--her children _orphans_!

* * * * * * * * * * *

A long and mournful procession moved along the road from Eisleben. They were bringing the man of God, who had journeyed to his old home, that his birth-place might also become the place of his death. Behind the heavy, leaden coffin followed a stream of mourners. All had lost a beloved father,--all were orphaned by his death. From every church-tower the brazen tongues sent forth their last farewell. In the villages the peasants left their work, put on their holiday attire, and in silence received the procession; from the city gates, the clergy, the Senate, the people and the schools, chanting psalms and hymns, came forth to meet the sad convoy.

As they approached Wittenberg, its streets grew silent and deserted, for all the people had hastened out upon the road leading to Pratau.

In her lonely chamber sits a widow; her hands lie folded in her lap; her eyes are red with weeping; she is weary--oh so weary. Her heart is exhausted; she can scarcely grasp a thought; and like a blessed gift of God, a dull apathy has settled upon her spirit, and blunted her grief. Her husband is dead, and she could not be at his side, at the supreme moment. If, by God's counsel, she was destined to lose him, must she be denied the last consolation of ministering to him, and closing his eyes?

She sat still,--unknowing, unheeding, overwhelmed by her great, unspeakable grief!

Hark! the bells are tolling! The people are streaming into the streets!

She rose and pressed both hands to her head. The faithful Wolfgang entered, pale and trembling. Scarcely restraining his sobs, he took her hand.

"The Doctor is coming,--let us go to meet him!"

Katharine suffered him to lead her. She saw nothing of the surging crowd. The world was blotted from her sight,--all, save the coffin that held her husband's clay, and was followed by an endless procession of lords and noblemen on horseback, professors, students, senators, and countless multitudes of men, women and children, all weeping and lamenting aloud.

She was led to a little carriage that had been provided for her, and thus she followed her beloved husband, whose face she was never again to see upon earth.

The procession moved toward the Castle-church, and entered the door, upon which, twenty-nine years ago, the hands, now cold in death, had nailed the ninety-five theses, and the blows of whose hammer re-echoed throughout Christendom. Justus Jonas, who in Eisleben had spoken before the open coffin, preached the funeral sermon on 1 Thess. 4: 13-18. His words were scarcely heard amid the sobs and cries of the people. Melanchthon, in the name of the University, then delivered a latin address, and the remains of the prophet of God sank into their last resting place at the foot of the altar.

* * * * * * * * * * *

Katharine looked on. Her heart was empty. She had no tears.

When all was over, Melanchthon, the faithful, took her by the hand, and led her to her home, now so silent and desolate. He sought to comfort her, but his words seemed cold and powerless, over against such sorrow as hers. She found her children and her household awaiting her. When they saw her, they broke out into fresh lamentations.

Then God sent her help. In the face of the universal mourning, her heart awoke to renewed trust in God; and with glowing eyes and uplifted hands she cried: "My flesh and my heart faileth; but God is the strength of my heart, and my portion for ever."

_BOOK THIRD._

KATHARINE VON BORA;

THE WIDOW