CHAPTER XXVIII.

GLIMPSES OF SUNSHINE.

If there is consolation in having companions in misery, then Luther's widow might indeed deem herself consoled.

The Elector John Frederick of Saxony, outlawed and dispossessed of his throne, was still a prisoner in the Emperor's hands. Although absent from his subjects, and no longer their master, he yet governed and influenced his people; and from the captive prince a blessing went forth upon all who kept their faith with the Protestant confession. The example of his noble endurance, his heroism, and humble submission inspired thousands, boldly to confess Christ; while on the other hand the unfaithful and the hard of heart were made to feel the shame of their weakness and time-serving.

Luther once said of his friend Hausman: "What we teach, he lives." Had Luther been alive, he might have applied this saying to the Elector also. A man, who has an electorate to sacrifice for his faith, doubtless finds it more difficult to follow Christ, than one who had nothing to lose. And all the more glorious does such an one stand before the world. John Frederick appears as a mighty one in Israel, when we consider his heroic calmness, his childlike submission. There was no hesitation, no halting on both sides; his heart was rooted in God's grace, and whether the Emperor sought to tempt him with fair promises, or threatened him with a fearful doom, he never swerved from the faith. His death-sentence was announced to him, while he sat at a game of chess. He calmly finished the game and then said: "I thought your Imperial Majesty would have dealt more mercifully with me; but if it cannot be otherwise, I beg that the day of my death be made known to me beforehand. There are matters which I wish to arrange with my wife and children." Death has no terrors for him,--his glance says: "To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain."

The Emperor's awakened conscience caused him to revoke the sentence of death, and he promised the Elector liberty and ample indemnification for the ignominy endured, if he would but acknowledge the "Interim" of Augsburg, that masterpiece of Romish craft and deception which, under the guise of yielding to the demands of the Reformation, tore the heart out of Protestantism. He believed himself sure of his game, not deeming it possible that a man should withstand such a temptation, and sacrifice his throne, his honor, and his liberty to the Word of God; he himself being quite incapable of such an act. Yet he was impressed, and a flush of shame rose to his face, when he heard the Elector's answer:

"I stand as a poor prisoner before your majesty. I do not deny that I have confessed the truth, and for its sake have lost all that I possessed,--my wife and children, my land and my people,--in short, all that God gave and lent me in this world. I have nothing to call my own, save this poor, captive body,--even it is not in my own power, but in that of your majesty. And standing thus despoiled before the world, I am bidden also to renounce my heavenly inheritance by a recantation, from which may God preserve me. For herein have I placed my highest hopes; and I know, that although for its sake I must yield up life, yet will God give me a better possession hereafter. It would ill befit me, by an iniquitous recantation, to mislead so many thousands. Therefore, most gracious Emperor, having me in your power, your Majesty may deal with me as with a prisoner. I will abide by the truth I have confessed; and, as an example to others, willingly suffer, whatsoever God and your Majesty shall lay upon me."

The Emperor averted his face at these words. The positions were reversed; the judge stood condemned by his prisoner, and here found himself face to face with a power, which yields to no earthly force. The Lord knocked at the heart of the Emperor Charles, but it refused to answer. Fresh indignities were heaped upon the unfortunate Elector. The Emperor was not ashamed to drag him in triumph through Germany, and even permitted the Spanish guards to exhibit him for money to the curious multitude.

The prisoner's chief consolations were the Bible and Luther's writings, of which he often said, that they penetrated body and soul, and that when he compared other writings with those of Luther, he found in a single page from the latter, more strength, and spiritual nourishment, and consolation, than in a. whole book by another. To strike his tenderest spot, the Emperor deprived him of these treasures. His Court-preacher, Master Christopher Hofman, who had been permitted to accompany him, and preach to him the pure word of God, came one day with tears to bid him farewell--at the Emperor's command.

The Elector remained calm and undaunted. "Even though they have taken my books, yet they cannot tear from my heart the lessons I have learned from them; and even though you go, dear Hofman, the Lord will remain with me."

When the Emperor found himself powerless to influence the Elector, he endeavored to persuade his sons to accept the Interim. But they refused to act without their father's sanction. His message to them was, "if God's mercy and their father's love were dear to them, to abide steadfastly by his former answer and declaration; and not to suffer themselves to be intimidated, or turned aside, even though the last remnant of their inheritance were taken from them, and still greater dangers threatened. The Almighty God would not forget them, but would graciously protect and defend them."

Great numbers of the Lutheran clergy, refusing to acknowledge the Interim, were driven into misery,--those of Augsburg with the rest. They refused to leave the city, without the blessing of the princely martyr, who just then happened to be in Augsburg.

John Frederick was deeply moved by their words, and turned away to hide his tears; but he speedily conquered himself, and addressing the men, asked: "And has the Emperor forbidden you the entrance to heaven?"

"No," was the answer.

"Then, my friends," cried the Elector, "do not despair. Be of good cheer,--heaven is ours still; and God will surely show you a place upon this earth, where you will be permitted to preach his word." He reached into his wallet. "Here is all that I possess in the world. I wish to give you something on the way. Share it with your brethren. My God will provide for me further, I trust."

When his fellow-prisoner, the Duke Ernst of Brunswick-Luneberg, began to despair, John Frederick comforted him: "Do not distress yourself. Since we have been worsted in the struggle, let us arm ourselves with patience, and we shall overcome in the end. Let us show by our actions, that we despise misfortune, and thus shall we wrest the victory from our enemy's hand. This is the true manner of taking our revenge."

A second year of misery was added to the first; the hope of deliverance grew ever fainter; but John Frederick continued true to himself,--a hero in the warfare of faith. Like David of old, the God-fearing monarch, in the midst of his affliction, sounded his harp and a psalm rang forth from his prison,--a psalm, whose notes to this day appeal to each human heart, bringing strength, and peace, and consolation:

"As God hath willed, so too will I,[1] And naught my trust shall alter, In trial and perplexity. O, may I never falter. All things that be, God certainly For purpose wise is sending; What He hath willed Must be fulfilled, To reach a blessed ending.

"As God hath willed it must abide, Self-will would but mislead me: Forbidden joys I'll cast aside, And graciously He'll heed me. Howe'er it seem, I'll rest in Him; His grace is with me surely; Howe'er it seem, I'll rest in Him, Whose purpose stands securely.

"As God hath willed, I shall obey, In all to Him submitting, Who can His mighty Will gainsay? He doth what is befitting. Wisdom, nor wit, Can alter it. Nor sorest grief, nor passion; My murmuring No change could bring, His hand my way doth fashion.

"As God hath willed, so I will choose, His promises believing, Obedience never more refuse, But ever to Him cleaving, Cast off my fears: All days and years Are by His law designed. In this secure: His Word is sure, I'm to His laws resigned.

"As God hath willed, unchanged shall stay, As well the birds might sorrow! If hope forsake the home to-day, 'Tis to return to-morrow. The gifts of God Are well bestowed; And, if He seem unheeding, Still let me say, Most thankfully, Unto my good 'tis leading."

Even as, long years ago, Luther's theses, as if borne on angel's wings, had flown through the length and breadth of Germany, thus it was with this song of the captive prince. In a wondrous manner, its strains over-leaped the prison-walls, ringing forth into the world, for thousands to hear. People sang it in the churches; troubled and stricken souls, praying for guidance, found in it the help they sought; and to the conscience of many an one who had fallen from the faith, it came as a messenger of justice from God.

Luther's widow had fastened a copy of the hymn upon the wall opposite her bed; each morning, it greeted her as a voice from above, and each morning she thanked the Elector anew, who herewith gave her more, than he had ever given her in the days of his prosperity.

Money and bread he no longer had to bestow, yet he remained her benefactor, who, until the day of her death, kept his promise to the widow. The stubborn and unbelieving human heart is so prone, in its trouble, to see no further than the present moment, and to regard its own affliction as exceeding all other. But when the cross bearer learns to look about him, and finds that some are still more heavily burdened, he takes heart, to bear his own trials with a meek and quiet spirit. It sometimes seemed to Katharine, as though her burden were heavier than she could bear, and the world's neglect of the widow of him who had been the benefactor of Christianity, appeared doubly shameful. But when she thought of her beloved sovereign, of his heroic endurance, his humble resignation, her cross lost half its weight, and with a blush of shame, she asked forgiveness of God for her faint-heartedness.

This was a glimmer of light in the night of her sorrow, and now at last, a star arose upon her horizon, bringing her a heavenly greeting.

It was on New Year's Day in the year 1552. Katharine has just received the congratulations of her children, when Bugenhagen entered, and from the depths of his kind, faithful heart, spoke to the widow words of comfort and encouragement.

When Katharine had expressed her own hearty good wishes for his welfare during the coming year, Bugenhagen continued: "I greatly wondered, for what cause the King of Denmark made no reply to our repeated petitions in your behalf, knowing as I do, his kind and merciful heart, and he having regularly transmitted to Melanchthon and myself our usual pension. Yesterday a young man came to me, who has travelled much, and was employed as Secretary at the Danish Court, whither he is shortly to return. When I expressed to him my surprise that the king had thus withdrawn his accustomed aid, he was much astonished, and could not otherwise explain the matter, than that the letters must have miscarried; for, as he said, the conversation one day turned upon the widow of Dr. Luther, when one of the royal officers said that no doubt she was in comfortable circumstances, as she had not petitioned his majesty for a continuance of the pension. Herefrom, dear Mistress Luther, you perceive that the king knows nothing of your need. I would therefore advise you to venture another letter, which I will entrust to the secretary, when he leaves, and I trust that it will not prove fruitless."

Katharine thanked her friend, and did as he advised. When she learned that the young man purposed to set out upon his journey on the 9th of January, she sat down and wrote:

"Most gracious lord! Accept my humble service and my feeble prayers to God in your majesty's behalf.

Your majesty doubtless remembers, that my dear husband, of blessed memory, also Master Philip Melanchthon and Dr. Bugenhagen received annually from your majesty a pension, toward the support of their families; which has heretofore been regularly paid out to Dr. Pommer and Master Philip. And inasmuch as my dear husband was well-inclined to your majesty, regarding you as a most Christian king, and as your majesty at all times greatly favored my husband--for which I am humbly grateful--I feel myself constrained, by reason of my great need, to petition your majesty, hoping that you will pardon this request of a poor widow. I would pray, that this money be continued to me. Your majesty doubtless knows how, since my husband's death, war and trouble have visited our land; how the poor have been oppressed, and how many have been made widows and orphans, so that one cannot but feel pity, all of which were too long to relate. For these and other reasons, I am forced to make this appeal, trusting that your majesty will kindly grant my petition, and receive the reward of the Almighty God, who is the friend of widows and orphans. Into the keeping of that same God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, I commend your majesty, praying that He may grant you long life for the sake of His Church, and graciously keep and preserve you from all danger to body or soul. Amen."

"Your Majesty's humble servant,

"KATHARINE LUTHER, "Dr. Martin's Widow.

"_On the 8th of January, in the year 1532._"

When Katharine gave the letter to Dr. Bugenhagen to read, he added these few words: "Father Luther's widow is in sore straits, and therefore petitions your majesty for relief, having, together with her neighbors, suffered great losses during the year."

On the following day the secretary left, carrying the letter with him, which he delivered into the king's own hands.

Once more, Katharine was obliged to take from the corner cupboard three silver cups, and to carry them to the silver-smith, but she went with a lighter heart, feeling that help was near.

She was not deceived, for sooner than she dared to hope, on the 20th of March, a messenger from the King of Denmark brought her fifty ducats, with the king's greeting.

Here was another glimpse of sunshine in the dreary life of her widowhood, and a renewed assurance that the God of our fathers still lived. His faithfulness and mercy had even better things in store for her,--his angel was already upon the way--bringing His message to the sufferer: "Blessed are they that mourn, for they shall be comforted."

[1] Translated by Miss Mary Welden.