Pictures of German Life in the XVIIIth and XIXth Centuries, Vol. I.

by Gustav Freytag

CHAPTER V.

"DIE STILLEN IM LANDE," OR PIETISTS.

(1600-1700.)

The contrast between the epic time of the Middle Ages, and the new period which has already been often called the lyrical, is very perceptible in every sphere of human life, and not least in the realm of faith.

The Roman Catholic Church of the Middle Ages had consecrated the life of every individual by a multitude of pious usages, and shut it up in an aristocratic spiritual state, in which the spirit of the individual was fast bound in rigid captivity, with little spontaneous action. The Reformation destroyed in the greater part of Germany these fetters of the popular mind; it set freedom of decision and mental activity in opposition to the outward constraint and splendid mechanism of the old Church. But Protestantism gave a system of doctrine, as well as freedom and depth, to the German mind. In the great soul of Luther, both these tendencies of the new faith were in equilibrium; the more passionately he struggled for his explanation of holy writ and the dogmas of his school, the stronger and more original was the mental process through which, after his own way, he sought his God in free prayer. It is, nevertheless, clear that the great progress which accrued to the human race from his teaching, could not fail to result in forming two opposite tendencies in Protestantism. The two poles of every religion, knowledge and the emotions of the soul, the intellectual boundaries of religious knowledge and the fervid resignation of self to the Divine, must prevail in the soul with varying power, according to the wants of the individual and the cultivation of the period; now one, now the other will preponderate, and the time might arrive when both tendencies would come into strife and opposition. At first Protestantism waged war against the old Church, and against the parties that arose within itself,--a necessary consequence of greater freedom and independence of judgment.

It is difficult to judge how far this liberal tendency of Protestantism would have led the nation, if adversity had not come upon them. The great war, however, gave rise to a peculiar apathy even in the best. Each party engaged bore a token of their faith upon their banners, each brought endless misfortune upon the people, and in all, it was apparent how little baptism and the Lord's Supper availed to make the professors of any confession good men. When the flames of war were dying away, men were much inclined to attribute a great portion of their own misery and that of the country to the strife of the contending persuasions. It naturally followed that the colder children of the world attached little value to any religion, and turned from it with a shrug of the shoulder when the old ecclesiastical disputes, which even during the war had never been entirely silenced, began to rage with loud bluster in the pulpit and the market-place. In many districts the mass of the people had been compelled, by dragonades and the most, extreme methods of coercion, to change their persuasion three and four times, and the formulas of belief were not more valued by them, from their having learnt them by rote. Thus waste and empty had become the inward life of the Church, which, together with the coarseness and vices introduced among men by the long war, gave to the ten years after it an aspect so peculiarly hopeless. There was little to love, very little to honour upon earth.

Yet it was just at this period, when each individual felt himself in constant fear of death, that a kind Providence often interposed to save them from destruction. Sudden and fearful were the dangers, and equally sudden and wonderful the rescue. That the strength of man was as nothing in this terrible game of overwhelming events, was deeply imprinted on the soul of every one. When the mother with her children hid herself trembling in the high corn whilst a troop of horsemen were passing by, and in that moment of danger murmured a prayer with blanched lips, she naturally ascribed her preservation to the special protection of a merciful God. If the harassed citizen, in his hiding-place in the woods, folded his hands and prayed fervently that the Croats who were plundering the town might not find his concealed treasure, and afterwards, upon raking up the cinders of his burnt house, found his silver pieces untouched, he could not help believing that a special Providence had blinded the greedy eyes of the enemy. When terrible strokes of fate overtake individuals in rapid succession, a belief in omens, forebodings, and supernatural warnings is inevitably fostered. Whilst the superstition of the multitude fixes itself on the northern lights and falling stars, on ghosts and the cry of the screech-owl, more polished minds seek to discover the will of the Lord from dreams and heavenly revelations. The long war had, it is true, hardened the hearts of men against the miseries of others; it had also deprived them of all equability of mind; and the vacant gaze into a desolated world, and cold indifference, were in most only interrupted by fits of sudden weakness, which perhaps were produced by insignificant causes, and a reckless sinner was suddenly plunged into sorrow and contrition. Life was undoubtedly poor in love and elevation, but the necessity of loving and honouring which lies so deep in the German nature, after the peace, sought painfully for something high and steadfast, in order to give an aim and an interest to his poor wavering life. Thus the mind clung to the holy conceptions of faith, which it again with quiet reverence endeavoured to realise heartily, affectionately, and confidingly.

From such longings in the hearts of the people, a new life was developed in the Christian Church. It was not only among the followers of Luther, but equally in the Calvinistic persuasion, and almost as much in the Roman Catholic Church; it was also not only in Germany and the countries which then partook of German cultivation, Denmark, Sweden, Eastern Sclavonia, and Hungary, but almost at the same time in England, and even earlier in France and Holland, where religious schism and political faction have rent asunder the souls of men in bitter controversy for centuries. Nay, even among the Jesuits we may find the working of this same craving after a new ideal in a cheerless life. In the history of the Christian Church, this Pietism--as the new tendency has been called by its opponents since 1674--has been a transitory impulse, which blossomed and withered in little more than a century. The effect it has exercised on the culture, morals, and spirit of the German people may still be perceived. In some respects it has been an acquisition to the nation, and a short account of it shall now be given.

As this Pietism was no new doctrine proclaimed by some great reformer, but only a tendency of the spirit which burst forth among many thousands at the same time, the greater number of its professors remained firm at first in the dogmas of their church. In fact, in the beginning it only expressed wide-spread convictions, to which the best natures had already, before the Thirty Years' War, given utterance; that the points of union of religions parties, and not the deviations of doctrinal opinions, were the main objects of faith; that personal communion with God was independent of dogmas; that it availed little to hear sermons and take the sacrament, to confess that one was a great sinner and relied on the merits of Christ only and not on our own works, nor to refrain from great sins and to say a few lifeless prayers at appointed hours. And yet this was the usual Christianity of both ecclesiastics and laity: a dead faith, a mere outward form of godliness, the letter without the spirit. Little did the baptism of children signify without conversion on arriving at maturity, little also did communionship with the church avail, by which the laity only received passively the gifts of salvation: each individual ought to establish the priesthood of the Lamb in his own heart. Such was the feeling of thousands. Of the many in Germany that followed this tendency of the heart, none exercised for many years so great an influence as Jacob Spener, between 1635 and 1705. Born in Alsace, where for more than a century the doctrines of Luther and of the Swiss reformers flourished conjointly and contended together, where the learning of the Netherlands and even the pious books of England were harboured, his pious heart early imbibed a steadfast faith through the earnest teaching of schools, and under the protection accorded to him by ladies of distinction in difficult times. Even as a boy he had been severe upon himself and when he had once ventured to a dance he felt obliged to leave it from qualms of conscience. He had been a tutor at a prince's court, and also studied at Basle. At Geneva he saw with astonishment how Jean de Labadie, by his sermons on repentance, had emptied the wine-houses, caused gamblers to give back their gains, and stamped upon the hearts of the children of Calvin the doctrines of inward sanctification and of following after Christ with entire self-renunciation. From thence Spener went to Frankfort-on-the-Maine as pastor, and by his labours there produced a rich harvest of blessing, which assumed ever-increasing proportions, and soon procured him followers throughout Germany. Happily married, in prosperous circumstances, peace-loving and prudent, with calm equanimity and tender feelings, a loving, modest nature, he was specially adapted to become the counsellor and confidant of oppressed hearts. Over women especially this refined, kind-hearted, dignified man had great influence. He established meetings of pious Christians in a private dwelling; they were the far-famed Collegia pietatis, in which the books of the holy Scriptures were explained and commented upon by the men, whilst the women listened silently in a space set apart for them. When later he had to deliver these discourses in the church, they lost, for the zealous, the attractive power which in the calm exclusiveness of the select society they had exercised; parties arose, and a portion of his scholars separated from the church. He himself, after twenty years of active exertion, was called from Frankfort to Dresden, and from thence soon after to Berlin.

Spener himself was disinclined to sectarianism, the mysticism of Arndt, and still more of Jacob Böhme, was repulsive to him, and he disapproved when some of his friends abandoned the church; he struggled incessantly against the enemies who wished to drive him out of it, and during the last half of his life maintained a quiet struggle against his own followers, who publicly showed their disrespect to the dogmas of the church. He was decidedly no enthusiast; that the Christian religion was one of love, that in one's own life one was to imitate that of Christ, and value little the transitory pleasures of the world, that, after his example, one was to show love to one's fellow-creatures: this was always the noble keystone of his teaching. And yet there was something in his nature, without his wishing it, which was favourable to the isolation and seclusion in which, in the following century, the religious life of the Pietists wore away. The stress which he laid upon private devotion, and the solitary striving of the soul after God, and, above all, the critical distrust with which he regarded worldly life, could not fail to bring his followers soon into opposition with it. The insignificance and shallowness of many pretenders to sanctity who clung yearningly to him, made it inevitable that a similar mode of feeling and of judging life would shortly become mere mannerism, which would show itself in language, demeanour, and dress.

God was still the loving Father who was to be stormed by the power of prayer, and might be moved to listen. But this generation had learnt resignation, and a gentle whisper to God took the place of the urgent prayer in which Luther had "brought the matter home to his Lord God." The inscrutable ways of Providence had been imprinted by fearful lessons on the soul, and the progress of science gave such presage of the grandeur of the world's system, that the weakness and insignificance of man had to be more loudly proclaimed. The sinner had become more in awe of his God, the naïve ingenuousness of the Reformation was lost. The craving for marvels had therefore increased--increased in this generation--and zealously did they endeavour in indirect ways to fathom the will of the Lord. Dreams were interpreted, prognostics discerned; every beautiful feeling of the soul, every sudden discovery made by the combinations of the mind, were considered as direct inspirations from God. It was an old popular belief, that accidental words which were impressed on the mind from outward sources were to be considered as significant, and this belief had now become a system. As the Jutlander Steno--the Roman Catholic Bishop of Hanover, and acquaintance of Leibnitz--suddenly became a fanatic, because a lady had spoken out of the window some indifferent words, which he in passing by conceived to be a command from Heaven, so did accidental words sway the minds of the Pietists. It was a favourite custom in cases of doubt to open suddenly upon some verse in the Bible or hymn book, and from the tenor of the words to decide these doubts--the sentence on which the right-hand thumb was set was the significant one--a custom which to this day remains among the people, and the opponents of which, as early as 1700, called deridingly "thumbing." If any one had a call from the external world, the system was to refuse the first time, but, if repeated, then it was the call of the Lord. It may easily be conceived that the believing soul might, even in the first refusal, unconsciously follow a quiet inclination of the heart which had secretly said yes or no.

That in a period of unbridled passions, the reaction against the common lawlessness should overstep moderation is natural. After the war, a crazy luxury in dress had begun; the women loved to make a shameless display of their charms, the dances were frivolous, the drinking carousals coarse, and the plays and novels often only a collection of impurities. Thus it was natural that those who were indignant at all this should choose to wear high dresses, simple in style and dark in colour, and that the women should withdraw from dances and other amusements; the drinking wine was in bad repute, the play not visited, and dances esteemed a dangerous frivolity. But zeal went still further. Mere cheerful society also appeared doubtful to them--men should always show that they valued little the transitory pleasures of the world; even the most harmless, offered by nature to men's outward senses, its smiling blossoms and the singing of birds, were only to be admired with caution, and it was considered inadmissible, at least on Sunday, to pluck flowers or to put them in the hair or bosom. That praiseworthy works of art should not find favour with the holders of such opinions was natural. Painting and profane music were as little esteemed as the works of the poets by whom the anxieties of earthly love are portrayed. The world was not to be put on an equality with the Redeemer. Those who follow not the ways of "piety," live in conformity with the world.

He who thus withdraws himself from the greater portion of his fellow-men, may daily say to himself that he lives with his God in humility and resignation, but he will seldom preserve himself from spiritual pride. It was natural that the "Stillen im lande," as they early called themselves, should consider their life the best and most excellent, but it was equally natural that a secret conceit and self-sufficiency of character should be fostered by it. They had so often withstood the temptations of the world, so often made great and small sacrifices; and as they had the illumination of God's grace, they were his elect. Their faith taught them to practise Christian duties in a spirit of benevolence to man, to do good to others, like the Samaritan to the traveller, in the wilderness of life. But it was also natural that their sympathy and benevolence to others should be chiefly engrossed by those who had the same religious tendencies. Thus their mutual union became, from many circumstances, peculiarly firm and remarkable. It was not, in the first instance, particularly learned ecclesiastics who were Pietists; on the contrary, the greater portion of the clergy in 1700 stood firm to the orthodox point of view in opposition to them. But they lived more by the Gospel than the law; they sought carefully to avoid the appearance of exercising, as preachers, dominion over the consciences of the community. This captivated the laity--the strong minds and warm hearts of all classes, scholars, officials, not a few belonging to the higher nobility, and, above all, women.

For the first time since the ancient days of Germany--with the exception of a short period of chivalrous devotion to the female sex--were German women elevated above the mere circle of family and household duties; for the first time did they take an active share as members of a great society in the highest interests of humankind. Gladly was it acknowledged by the theologians of the Pietists, that there were more women than men in their congregations, and how assiduously and zealously they performed all the devotional exercises, like the women who remained by the cross when the Apostles had fled. Their inward life, their struggle with the world, their striving after the love of Christ and light from above, were watched with hearty sympathy by all in their intimacy, and they found trusty advisers and loving friends among refined and honourable men. The new conception of faith which laid less stress on book-learning than on a pure heart, acted on them like a charm. The calm, the seclusion, and the aristocratic tendency of the system, attracted them powerfully; even their greater softness, the energy of their impulsive feelings, and their excitable, nervous nature, made them more especially subjects for emotions, enthusiasm, and the wonderful workings of the Godhead. Already had the gifted Anna Maria von Schurmann, at Utrecht--the most learned of all maidens and long the admiration of travellers--been separated from the church through Jean de Labadie; and the pious and amiable lady had, in 1670, in her holy zeal, withdrawn all her works, though they contained nothing unchristian. Like her, many other women endeavoured to be the representatives of their priesthood to the people; many of these pious theologians could boast of strong-minded women, who prayed with and comforted them, ever strengthening them amid the difficulties of faith, and partaking of their light. Thus it came to pass that women of all classes became the most zealous partisans of the Pietists. There was scarcely a noble or rich family which did not count among its ladies one that was pious, nor who, though they might at first be angered, were not gradually influenced by their intrinsic worth and moral exhortations. To such noble ladies there was a great charm in being able to protect persons of talent in their community. They became zealous patronesses, unwearied proselytisers, and trustworthy confidants, and helpers in the distresses of others. But whilst they laboured for the interests of their faith, their own life was subject to many influences. They came into contact with men of different classes, they were accustomed to correspond with those who were absent, and they learnt to give vent to the secrets of the heart, and to the tender feelings of their souls. Although this was often done in the canting expressions of the community, yet it produced in many a deepening of the inner life. There was, indeed, something new added to the spirit of the people.

The habit of reflecting on their own condition, of judging themselves under strong inward emotions, was quite new to the German mind. It is very touching to observe the child-like pleasure with which these pious people watched the processes of their mental activity, and the emotions of their hearts. Much was strange and surprising to them which we, from greater practice in the observation of our own inward life and that of others, only find common. Every train of conceptions which rapidly formed themselves into an image, a thought, or an idea, every sudden flash of feeling, the mainspring of which they could not discover, appeared to them wonderful. The language of the Bible, which, after long groping, they began to understand, was unfolded to them. Their visions, which, owing to their assiduous application to the Scriptures, assumed frequently the form of Bible figures, were carefully, after their awakening, brought into rational coherence, and, unconscious of the additions of their imagination, were polished into a small poem. Their lyrical tendencies gave a new form to their diaries, which hitherto had been only a register of casual occurrences; the confidential pages became now clumsy attempts to express in grand words, impassioned feelings, and were filled with observations on their own hearts. When a Pietist, shortly after 1700, writes: "There were so many deep thoughts in my heart, that I could not give expression to them," or, "I had a strong feeling about these thoughts," this sounds to us like the utterance of a later time, in the style of Bettine Arnim, who undoubtedly was, in many respects, an echo of the excited women who once prayed, under the guidance of Spener, on the banks of the Maine. This same facility of self-contemplation found its way into poetry, and later into novels.

Together with Pietism there began also in Germany a new style of social intercourse. Seldom was a quiet life the lot of the heads of the pious communities; they were transplanted, driven away, and moved about hither and thither. The disciples, therefore, who sought for instruction, comfort, and enlightenment, were often obliged to travel into distant countries. Everywhere they found souls in unison, patrons and acquaintances, and often a good reception and protection from strangers. Those who did not travel themselves, loved to write to kindred spirits concerning their dispositions, temptations, and enlightenment. Such letters were carried about, copied, and sent far and wide. Thus arose a quiet communion of pious souls throughout Germany, a new human tie, which first broke through the prejudices of classes, made women important members of a spiritual society, and established a social intercourse, the highest interest of which was the inward life of the individual. And this social tendency of the pious, determined the form and method of intercourse of the finer minds for a hundred years later than the time of Spener; indeed, the social relations between our great poets and German princesses and ladies of rank, was only rendered possible because the "Stillen im lande" had lived at courts in a similar way. The whole system was the same: the visits of travellers, the letters, and the quiet community of refined souls. The sentimentality of the Werther period was only the stepdaughter of the emotional mania of the old Pietism.

The beneficial influence, also, exercised by the Pietists on the manners and morals of the people should not be under-rated, although much of this influence was undoubtedly lost by their proneness to separate from the multitude. But, wherever the labours of Spener, as shepherd of souls, had found imitators, especially where Pietism had been recognised by the church of the State, the practical Christianity of the new teaching was perceptible. Like Spener, his followers felt the importance of religious instruction for the young, and gladly availed themselves of the opportunities when the youthful souls of the parish and the parents opened themselves to them, to counsel them on the more important occurrences of the day, and give a practical turn to their teaching. It was they who, with warm hearts, first, after the devastating war, provided schools for the people; and to them must be attributed the first regular supervision of the poor in the large cities. It is known that the German orphan-houses were established through them; the example of Franke, in Halle, was followed in many other cities--these great institutions were looked upon as a wonder by contemporaries. Throughout all ages these foundations of our pious ancestors ought to be regarded with special interest by our nation; for they are the first undertakings for the public welfare which have been formed by the voluntary contributions of individuals from the whole of Germany. For the first time did the people become conscious how great may be the results of many with small means working together. It is not surprising that this experience seemed then to the people like a fabulous tale, when one considers that in the ten years before and after 1700, the "Stillen" must have collected in the countries where the German tongue is spoken, far more than a million of thalers for orphan-houses and other similar benevolent institutions; this was, undoubtedly, not from private sources alone, but in that poor and depopulated country such sums are significant.

Thus did Pietism prepare men for rapid progress in many directions, and its best offering to its votaries, a more elevated sense of duty, and a greater depth of feeling, passed from the "Stillen im lande" into the souls of many thousands of the children of the world; it contributed scarcely less than science to the beginning of that period of enlightenment, by mitigating the wild and rough practices which everywhere prevailed in the second half of the seventeenth century, and by giving to the family life of Germans, at least in the cities, greater simplicity, order and morality. The families from whom our greatest scholars and poets have sprung, the parental houses of Goethe and Schiller, show the influence which the Pietism of the last generation exercised on their forefathers.

That many of the Pietists might lose themselves in extravagancies and dangerous by-ways, is easily comprehensible.

It was natural that with those who, after inward struggles and long strivings, had obtained strength for a godly life, the delivery of man from sin should become the main point; and as they were yearning, above all, for the direct working of God on their own life, it followed that they ascribed this awakening to the special grace of God; that they sought earnestly in prayer for the moment when this special illumination and sanctification should take place by a manifestation of the divinity; and that when, after severe tension of the soul, they reached a state of exaltation, they considered this as the beginning of a new life to which the grace of God was assured. Luther, also, had striven for this illumination; he also had experienced the transports of exaltation, inward peace, repose, certainty, and a feeling of superiority to the world; but it had been with him, as with the strong-minded among his contemporaries, an ever-enduring struggle, a frequently-repeated victory, a powerful mental process which appeared sometimes, indeed, wonderful to himself, but in which with his sound, strong nature, there was nothing morbid, and of which the special form, the struggles with the devil, were the natural consequences of the naïve, simple-hearted popular faith, which had changed the old household spirits and hobgoblins of our heathen ancestors into Christian angels and the devil. The Pietists, on the other hand, lived in a time when the life both of nature and man was more rationally viewed as to cause and effect, when a multitude of scientific conceptions were popular, when a practical worldly mind prevailed which made itself few illusions; and when the hearts of men were seldom elevated by enthusiasm and great ideas. Already we begin to trace the beginnings of rationalism. In such a time this regeneration, this moment of awakening, was not a frame of mind easily produced--not a condition in which, with a sound mental constitution, one could place oneself without a certain degree of violence. It was necessary to wait for it--to prepare oneself strenuously, and constrain body and soul to it, by a self-contemplation, in which there was something unsound; one must watch anxiously one's own soul, to discover when the moment of awakening was nigh. And this moment of awakening itself was to be entirely different from every other frame of mind. In order to arrive at the conviction of its presence, that was not sufficient for them, which, after severe struggles, had given a happiness to the great reformers that rested on their countenances like a reflection of the Godhead; the peace and serenity which come after the victorious end of a struggle betwixt duty and inclination. This outpouring of grace with the Pietists was frequently accompanied by ecstasies, visions, and similar pathological phenomena, which at no period have been wanting, but which were then sought after as the highest moments of human life and recounted with admiration. It will shortly be shown that this was the rock on which Pietism struck.

With such tendencies, even the reading of the Scriptures was fraught with special danger. When they explained the holy Scriptures, being under the conviction that God favoured them with a direct influence, they were in the unfortunate position of considering every accidental incident that presented itself to them in any part, as an unerring manifestation. Now, the yearning of a weak age for a better condition, and the inclination of the pious for special illumination, rendered the prophetic books of the Old and New Testament particularly attractive. Thus it came to pass that the Pietists drew from them a multitude of revelations and prophecies. It is of no importance at what results they arrived; but this engrossing attention to the dark passages of the prophets, and especially the Revelation of St John, did not contribute to render their judgment clearer, nor their scientific culture more solid: for in their time the key to the better understanding these records had not been found. Moreover, the knowledge of languages even among scholars was generally unsatisfactory, although, after the example of Schurmann, there was already here and there a pious maiden who began to learn Hebrew. It was not long before all worldly knowledge appeared, to most of them, useless and detrimental.

Thus, Pietism was threatened with great dangers immediately after its rise; but the life of the early Pietists, who from Frankfort spread themselves all over Germany, was more simple and harmless than the later proceedings at Halle, under the separatists of the eighteenth century.

Two autobiographies of pious individuals of Spener's school have been preserved to us, which throw light on other phases of German life. It is a husband and wife who have bequeathed them to us,--kind-hearted people, with warm feelings, some learning and no particular powers of mind,--the theologian, Johann Wilhelm Petersen, and his wife, Johanna Eleanor, born von Merlau. After they were united in marriage, they led together a spiritual life, in perfect unanimity, and, like a pair of birds, flitted through the temptations and troubles of this earthly valley. Heavenly consolation and manifestation came to them alike. The world considered them as enthusiasts, but they were held in honour to the close of their life by the best among the Pietists, undoubtedly because of the goodness of their hearts, which were not choked up with spiritual pride. The husband was industrious and faithful to his duties, a man with poetical feeling and some philosophical culture; but he needed another to lean on, and was evidently much influenced by his more decided wife, whose worldly position, as being noble, gave her consideration even among the pious. It was soon after his marriage that a restless excitement, and sometimes an immoderate zeal, became visible in him. His wife, who was some years older than himself, had attained to a rigid piety, whilst struggling against the worldly life of the small prince's court, where she had lived. One may conclude from her biography, that she was not free from ambition and love of power, with a slight touch of asperity. Her long, quiet struggle had made her over-zealous, and she and the pious Frau Bauer von Eyseneck, with whom she lived later at Frankfort, both belonged to the enthusiastic members of the community, who were inclined to conventicles, and caused great sorrow on that account to their pastor, Spener. It may therefore be assumed that it was chiefly the influence of the wife that drove her husband on in the course which at last removed him from his office, and gave him the repute of being an enthusiast and millennarian. But the hatred of the orthodox party has done injustice to both; they were honest even when predicting marvels. We will first give the youthful years of the wife, then some characteristic traits from the life of the husband, related in their own words. Johanna Eleonora Petersen, by birth von Merlau, was born at Merlau the 25th of April, 1644. She narrates as follows[^[79]]:--

"The fear of the Lord has guarded me, and His goodness and truth have led me.

"I have felt the quieting of his good Spirit from childhood, but have resisted it from ignorance. My high position in the world has been a great hindrance to his working; because I loved the world equally with Him, till I came to a right understanding, and till the saving Word wrought powerfully in me to conviction. For when I was about four years old it came to pass that my dear parents, who had lived at Frankfort on account of the troubles of war, returned into the country, as peace was established. They brought many things into the country, and my now deceased mother lived with me and both my sisters on a property at Hettersheim, called Philippseck, where she believed herself to be out of harm's way. Then came the servants and told her that a troop of horsemen were coming, whereupon every one quickly put away what belonged to them and left; my now deceased mother, with three little children, alone, of whom the eldest was seven and I four years old, and the third at the breast. Then did my deceased mother take the youngest in her arms, and both of us by the hand, and went without a maid-servant to Frankfort, which was distant a long half-league. But it was summer, the corn was standing in the fields, and one could hear the noise of the soldiers, who were marching about a pistol's shot from us. Then did my deceased mother become much alarmed, and bade us pray. But when we came to the outermost gate of the city, where we were in security, my deceased mother sat herself down with us, and exhorted us to thank the Most High God who had protected us. Then said my eldest sister, who was three years older than I, 'Why should we pray now? now they cannot come to us.' Then was I grieved to the heart at this speech, that she would not thank God, or thought that it was no longer necessary. I rebuked her for this, having fervent love for the Lord, whom I thanked with my whole heart--Item, as I was persuaded that the midwife had brought the children from heaven, I had a great desire to talk to her; I charged her to greet heartily the Lord Jesus, and desired to learn from her whether the dear Saviour loved me. These were the first childish emotions that I can distinctly remember.

"When I was nine years old we became motherless orphans, and matters went ill with us; for our father dwelt at a farm five miles from our property, and brought the widow of a school-master into the house to take care of us. She had her own children to help on, and spent upon them what should have been ours, leaving us in want, so that we often gladly took what others would not have. It happened too through her artifices that she left us alone in the house in the evening. Then came certain people, dressed in white shirts, and their faces rubbed with honey and sprinkled with flour; they went about the house with lights, broke open chests and coffers, and took from out of them what they wished. This gave us such a fright that we huddled together behind the stove, and perspired with fear. This went on till the whole house was emptied. As our father was very severe with us, we had not the heart to complain, but were only glad when he left us; so we bore with this annoyance till von Praunheim, who is now married to my sister, visited us,--he was then very young. To him we complained of our distress, and he undertook to remain concealed in the house till evening, to see whether the spirits would come again. When they did come, and one went straight to the cupboard to break it open, then he sprang out, and found that they were people from the country town--sons of a wheelwright, who were intimate with the widow who had charge of us. But, as he was alone, they rushed away and would not allow that it was them; but the spirits did not return, and we recovered much that they had left on the floor of the kitchen.

"This widow was discharged by my deceased father, and it was proposed to him to take a captain's wife, who was in repute for her housekeeping and cleverness in other ways; then my deceased father thought he had provided well for us. But she was an unchristian woman, and did not forget her soldier tricks. For once, when she saw some strange turkeys on the road, she had them driven to the house; seized the best, and drove the others away. To cook this stolen roast she wished to have some dry wood, and in order to obtain this sent me to a square tower, five stories high. There had been a pigeon-house under the roof, where loose dry boards were lying, some of which I was to fetch. When I had thrown down some, and was trying to tear away one that was still firm, I was thrown back and fell down two stories on to a flight of steps, and had I turned myself round I should have fallen two stories more. I lay there about half an hour in a swoon, and when I came to myself did not, at once, know how I came there; I stood up and felt that I was very faint. I went down the staircase, and laid myself on a bed that stood in a room in this same tower, on which my deceased father used to sleep when he was at home. There I slept some hours, and when I got up was quite fresh and sound. But during the whole of this time there were no inquiries made after me; and when I said that I had fallen I was only scolded for not having been more prudent. I sat apart, for I would not eat of the stolen roast; it appeared to me truly disgraceful, and yet I had not courage to say so.

"When I was in my eleventh year my deceased sister, who was three years older than me, was sent to the pastor to be instructed for her confirmation. Then a strong desire came over me to go with her, but my deceased father would not allow me, as I was only ten years old. I persisted, however, till my father gave his consent, if his reverence the pastor should consider me fit for it. This latter had me brought to him, questioning me not only as to the words, but also concerning the sense of what I read. But God gave me such grace in answering that his reverence the pastor was well content, and admitted me.

"Some time afterwards my sister went to Stuttgart, and I had to take upon me the housekeeping, and to render an account of everything, which was very difficult for me; because my deceased father, whenever he came home, treated me with great severity, and called me to account for all that was broken, or in any way not to his mind, and I was often severely punished when I was innocent.

"Owing to this, such servile fear took possession of me, that I shuddered whenever I heard a voice that resembled that of my father. Concerning this I breathed forth many sighs to my God; but, when he was away again, I became in good spirits, and sang and danced in gladness of heart. I had at the same time a thorough aversion to everything that was unseemly or childish, and would not have anything to do with the games of marriages and christenings, and the like, of other girls, for I was ashamed of them.

"When twelve years old I was taken to court to the Countess von Solms-Rödelheim. She was about to be confined, and was sometimes not right in her mind; when I went, however, she was tolerably well. But soon after, she was confined and had two children, a young gentleman and a lady, and became worse from day to day, so that she often took me for her dog, which was a little lion-dog, called me by his name, and beat me like him. It happened frequently that we drove in the water, for in the winter time the meadows between Frankfort and Rödelheim were quite overflowed with water, so that it entered the carriages; then the carriages were driven empty, but we went in a boat and got in again when we came to the end of the water. When we thus drove she often pushed me into the water; I was to swim as her little dog, but the Most High preserved me. Once I discovered that she had taken a knife with a sheath out of her cupboard, and put it in her pocket. I mentioned it to the maidservant, who was rather elderly, but she would not listen to me; and thought the countess had no knife, and it was childishness in me. There was a door from the bedroom of the countess into our room, and another into that of the count. Now when night came I would not lie down for thinking of the knife; but the maid was angry with me, and threatened to tell the count how childishly I behaved; but I would only lie down on the bed with my clothes on. In the night, hearing a great disturbance, I woke up every one and rose from bed. Then the count was heard running out of the room; and forth came the countess, with a night-light and the bare knife in her hand. When she saw us all awake, she became terrified and let the knife fall; then I sprang towards her as if I wished to reach her the knife, but I ran with it out of the door and down the stairs in the dark. When I was on the stairs I heard the count call out, 'Where is my wife?'--to whom I answered that I had got the knife; but I was so frightened that I would not trust myself to turn back again, but went into a hall, which is called the giant hall and is very gloomy, and there I remained. But the maid, who was a serf of the countess's mother, from Bohemia, went off and did not return. So I was left some weeks alone with the countess, and had to dress and undress her, which was very hard upon me.

"But my deceased father happened to hear from others that I was in such danger, and took me away. After this I went at about fifteen years old to the Duchess of Holstein, born Landgravine of Hesse, who had married Duke Philipp Ludwig, of the Suderburg family. The duke had by a first marriage a daughter, who had just married the Count von Zinzendorf, president of the Imperial chamber. I was taken as maid of honour to this royal bride; her woman of the bedchamber was a von Steinling, who was thirty years of age. Immediately after my arrival, the journey to Lintz, where the marriage was to take place, was begun. We went by the Danube, and very jovial it was; the drums and trumpets sounded beautiful on the water, and everywhere throughout the journey we were splendidly received; the preparations having been made by those who had been sent to fetch the bride. It was very joyful to me after my former terror, and I had no anxieties except the thought that my soul might suffer, because I was going to a popish place. Whenever we came to a resting-place, I looked out for a chamber where there was no one else, fell on my knees and prayed that God would prevent everything that might be injurious to my salvation. The chamber-maid of the bride remarked how I retired apart, and slipt after me once to see what I did alone, for she still looked upon me as very childish, because I was small. When, however, she found me praying on my knees, she went quietly back without my knowing that she had seen me. But once, when the royal bride inquired whether I ever prayed, the woman of the bedchamber answered that they need have no anxiety about me. Now when we came to Lintz, the marriage took place at the Imperial castle, and everything went off grandly. The following day the royal bride went to the chapel of the castle, and there a blessing was pronounced upon her, and a goblet full of wine was given; this was called the Johannis blessing, and of this she and the count were to partake. Now, after the marriage was celebrated, when every one was to settle down in their proper places, there arose a dispute among the authorities concerning me. The Count von Zinzendorf said that he would only admit the lady of the bedchamber (as the noble maidens were then called) to his table; that the others must have their meals with the 'hoffmeisterin.' This the duke would not consent to, as he said that she was only from the burgher class, whereas I was of an old family, and not inferior to the others, and he could not permit that such a distinction should be made between us, especially as I was his wife's goddaughter.

"As this, however, was of no avail, it was determined that I should return with the duchess, and when the reason was explained to me, it appeared to me quite wonderful, for it was my wish to have my meals along with the 'hoffmeisterin,' rather than at the prince's table. But I did not know that God had so ordained it in his mercy, and that my poor prayers had been so graciously listened to; for after the course of some years the princess and all the persons who had accompanied her, fell away to the Popish religion. But at the time I was much troubled to be obliged to return; I thought they might imagine I had not comported myself right, and I also feared to be brought again under the severe discipline of my father.

"But the Duke of Holstein had obtained Wiesenburg from Saxony, which was about ten miles from Leipzig and one from Zwickau, and dwelt there, so it pleased the duchess to keep me with her. I practised myself in all kinds of accomplishments, so that I was much liked; in dancing, too, I excelled others, so that these vanities were dear and pleasing to me; I had also a real liking for splendid dress and the like trifles, because it became me well, and I was much commended by every one. Never did any one tell me that it was not right, but, on the contrary, praised me for these vanities, and considered me godly because I liked to read and pray, and went to church and was often able to give a good account of all the main points of the sermon; I even knew what had been preached upon the same text the preceding year. I was looked upon as a godly maiden both by spiritual and worldly persons, yet I pursued my course with worldly thoughts, and was not really a true follower of Christ.

"Then it was ordained by God's mercy that the son of a lieutenant-colonel, of the family of Brettwitz, fell in love with me; and when, through the medium of his father, he asked me in marriage of my royal master and mistress, and of my deceased father, they all replied yes; but that he must first serve a year as a cornet, and then have his father's company, who was lieutenant-colonel under the Elector of Saxony. Now when he went forth to the war, I heard from others that he did not lead a godly, but a worldly life; then I was secretly troubled and threw myself on my face before God, and prayed that either his spirit or our engagement might be changed. But I did not know that the Most High had brought this to pass, that I might be preserved from other noble marriages, for I was then still very young, and had many opportunities of marrying, all of which I escaped through this betrothal, though on his side he had thought of many others, and engaged himself here and there in that foreign country. This lasted several years, during which I experienced much secret sorrow, which threw a damp over the pleasures of the world. In the course of these years, Brettwitz was always changing his mind, fixing his thoughts upon others, and when nothing came of it, he turned again to me, and wrote about constancy, all which I committed to the Most High, and sought to unite myself closer to God. Hence much refreshment from the Holy Scriptures was imparted to me, sometimes in sleep through holy dreams, in which I powerfully spoke out the words of Scripture, and thereupon awoke, so that my companion, who had a godly heart, was often sore troubled that she could not experience the like. I always comforted her by saying that she should regard me as a child that required to be enticed by her father, but that she was so confirmed in faith she would have no need of such enticement. And this came from my heart, for I saw well that my joyous spirit drew me to the world, but my God drew me again to Him by his love.

"At last he who had been so changeable came home and visited our Court. But my spiritual condition did not please him, because he thought so much Bible reading would not befit a soldier's wife: he would have been glad if I would have renounced him, as his father knew of a rich marriage for him in Dresden, if he could with decency free himself from me; but he did not like to be called faithless, so he would fain have thrown the blame upon me. I remained quiet, however, and did not mind him, but trusted to my Heavenly Father, who would order all aright. Now there was one, named von Fresen, who would fain have warned me, thinking I did not observe that the said Brettwitz was not acting uprightly; so he wrote me a letter, for he had no opportunity of speaking to me, as I was always with my duchess in her room. This letter fell into the hands of the said Brettwitz, who thought to find therein great evidence upon which to accuse me, either of having an affection for another, or of courting others. His father, who was then present, also thought that it would be a good opportunity, and that they might with a good grace enter upon the rich marriage; so he went to the duke and showed him the letter as proof that others were wooing me, and therefore his son neither could nor would entertain any further hopes of me, but would seek happiness elsewhere. It vexed the duke much to hear such things of me, who had hitherto, to their great astonishment, repelled all advances. It grieved me much that my royal master and mistress should thus think of me. But when I went to my room weeping, the words came into my mind, 'What I do thou knowest not now, but thou shalt know hereafter;' from these I derived consolation. When on the following day the letter was read correctly, it appeared that in it the writer complained that he had never been able to gain an opportunity of speaking with me, and declaring his honourable love, and that I kept myself in reserve for a person who was false, rejecting the love of others. Thus it became known that I was innocent, and the Brettwitzes could not get out of it in that way. The duke and duchess then asked me what my wishes were, as it must now be decided. Then I begged that Brettwitz might not be driven to marry me. Thereupon the said von Brettwitz sent two cavaliers to me in order to learn how I was minded towards him, and whether he was still to wait some time for his happiness. But I gave him liberty, as far as I was concerned, to seek his happiness where he liked; for I felt no longer bound to retain my affection for one so faithless, who, if possible, would have made me out guilty of want of fidelity. Thereupon he paid me the false compliment of saying that he regretted the misunderstanding: and it was then settled that he was to make no further pretensions to me. The rich marriage, however, did not take place, and later he became paralytic.

"Thus I was relieved from this burden, and I had become so strong in spirit that I did not entertain any further thoughts of marriage. I always felt that amongst the nobility there were many evil habits which were quite contrary to Christianity--first, because they had more opportunities of drinking; and secondly, that for every thoughtless word they must endanger body and soul, if they would not be disgraced. I reflected deeply on this, that they should dare to imagine themselves Christians, and yet live quite contrary to the doctrines of Christ; and that it never occurred to them once to abstain from such proceedings. This took away from me all disposition to marry; for although I knew some fine natures that had a horror of all these vices, yet I thought that one's descendants would be exposed to the same dangers. Still I felt I ought not to take a husband from another class, as my deceased father thought much of his ancient family.

"But God continued to impart more grace to me; and I became acquainted in Frankfort with a truly godly man. For when my noble master and mistress were travelling to the baths at Emser, a stranger was on board the vessel in which we went. By God's special providence he seated himself next me, and we fell into a spiritual discourse which lasted some hours, so that the four miles from Frankfort to Mayence, where he disembarked, appeared to me only a quarter of an hour. We talked without ceasing, and it seemed just as if he read my heart. Then I gave vent to all, concerning which I had hitherto lived in doubt. Indeed I found in this friend what I had despaired of ever finding in any man in the world. Long had I looked around me to discover whether there might be any true doers of the Word, and it had been a stumbling-block to me that I could find none. But when I perceived in this man such great penetration, that he could see into the very recesses of my heart, also such humility, gentleness, holy love, and earnestness to teach the way of truth, then I was truly comforted and much strengthened.[^[80]] Then was my heart filled with godly convictions, and I felt an ever-increasing distaste to the world: and I said to myself, 'Shall I defraud my spiritual nature for the sake of contemptible transitory pleasures? No; I will by God's help prevail, let it cost what it may.' I wrote thereupon to the friend who had imparted to me so many godly gifts, that I loved him as a father, and that I purposed to loosen myself from all worldly ties. He was, moreover, fearful that I should not have strength enough to bear all that I should meet with. But the parable of the five foolish virgins and other similar salutary passages of Holy Writ were ever in my heart, and they impelled me to give up the pleasures of the world; yet I felt a fear of my master and mistress which I could not conquer. Then I frequently danced with tears in my eyes, and knew not how to help myself. 'Ah,' thought I frequently, 'if I were but the daughter of a herdsman, I should not be blamed for living in the simplicity of Christ's teaching. No one would mind me.' But when I became conscious that no position could excuse me, I determined that nothing should be a hindrance to me either in life or death. I therefore went to my duchess, and begged for my dismissal. This was refused; but, as she wished to know what had moved me to this, I told her openly, that the life I was obliged to lead at court was against my conscience. Then did my dear duchess try to divert my mind from this, looked upon it as a fit of melancholy, and said, 'You always live like a virtuous maiden, and read and pray assiduously; you see also that others who are good Christians do the like things; they are not forbidden if the heart is not set upon them.' But I pointed out to her the example of Christ and his word; I did not judge other men, but could not be content to follow their example. As now my dear duchess saw that she could not change my mind, she promised to excuse me everything that I felt to be contrary to my conscience, only she would have me remain with her and perform my duties in all other respects as before. But I represented that she would be deprived of much service by this, especially when strangers came, when it might easily happen that the other maiden should fall sick, then she would be without attendance, because I would not be present at appointed gaieties, and that would give occasion for ridicule. She would not, however, be deterred from her object, but promised me faithfully that I should be relieved from all attendance at mere amusements. Then she mentioned it to the duke, who contended with me sharply, and said it was the suggestion of the devil, that I, who was a young lady, beloved by high and low, should expose myself to so much contempt, that I should be considered a fool; besides, what would my relatives say? Now, when all this persuasion was of no avail, they sent several clergymen to me, who tried to persuade me that I did not rightly understand the words of Scripture. But I put it to their consciences which of these two ways was safest: to follow after the footsteps of Christ in all simplicity, or, while enjoying worldly pleasures, merely to talk of it and treat it with respect, yet doing otherwise. Then they said that the first would certainly be the best; but who could so live?--we were all sinful men. Then I replied, 'It is commanded me to choose the better way, and as to the power of doing it, I left that to my God,' Then they left me in peace.

"They now tried to move me in another way, by ridicule. For at the royal table they often looked at one another, and then at me, laughing amongst themselves; they often said also that it was not becoming a woman of the bedchamber to read the Bible so much, she would become too clever. But I let them jeer. When this had gone on almost a year, during which I was treated with contempt by even the most insignificant at the court, excepting some pious souls, whilst I thought little of suffering for Christ's sake, there was a sudden change. The great and glorious God brought such fear into all hearts, the highest as well as the lowest, that they did not venture to say or do anything wrong in my presence; although they did not fear the court preachers, yet before me they were quiet, and the otherwise wild young people controlled themselves when they saw me coming. Then did tears come into my eyes, whilst I thought within myself, 'Oh, wonderful God, with what power have I been enabled to bring it to pass, that both great and small fear to do wrong in my presence!' This thought did not puff up my heart, but led me to humility; I poured out my soul before God, as I had experienced his power, and saw that He could turn the hearts of princes like the waters of a rivulet. In this condition of things I continued yet three years at court, and I can truly say that I experienced much kindness, not alone from my dear master and mistress, but from every one: but by God's grace I did not accept many favours from the great, nor employ them upon temporal things.

"Having then for three years lived at court in all simplicity, and rejected all transitory pleasures, whereby the body, and not the spirit, is recreated, it came to pass that my deceased father required me to keep his house, as my stepmother had died in childbed, and the child was still alive, and so I was called from court. It was, however, very difficult for me to obtain my dismissal, as my dear duchess loved me as if I were her child, and lamented my departure with many tears: she even sent after me to beg I might return, and did not desist till I promised that if I ever returned to court I should consider myself bound to them before all others. But when I came home I found that the child had meanwhile died, and my father had determined to become high steward of the Princess von Philippseck. Thus I was free to settle myself with a noble and godly widow, Baurin von Eyseneck--her maiden name was Hinsbergen--whose manner of life was known to every one in Frankfort, and whose end was blessed. With her I was six years, and we loved one another as though of one heart and soul.

"About this period, being in danger of shipwreck, the Lord so mightily strengthened me, that I was joyful while others trembled and desponded. It happened that I was on the passage-boat from Frankfort to Hanau going to visit my sister; there were divers people on board, among them some soldiers, who were carrying on very coarse and improper jokes with poor women. I was sorrowful that these people were so entirely unmindful of their souls, and, leaning against the side of the vessel, endeavoured to sleep that I might not hear such talk. In my sleep I dreamt of the sentence in Psalm xiv., 'The Lord looked down from heaven upon the children of men.' Upon this I awoke, and in waking it appeared to me as if a great storm of wind turned the ship round; then was I terrified and thought within myself, 'Art thou really awake? What is thy state of mind?' Not a quarter of an hour afterwards there came a mighty whirlwind which took hold of the ship. We were in very great danger, so that all cried out with anguish, and called upon the name of Jesus for help--He whom they had so often before named carelessly in their frivolous jesting. Then did God open my mouth, to make them feel how good it is to walk in the fear of the Lord, and that He is a refuge in the time of trouble. When now the Most High mercifully laid the unexpected storm, one of the women was so impudent as to say jestingly, that our ship would have been overwhelmed by the waves, 'but, as there is a saint on board, we have been saved;' so saying she laughed loud, whereupon I became much excited, and said, 'You impudent woman, think you that the hand of the Lord could not reach us?' And scarcely had I closed my mouth, when the former wind rose again, a leak appeared in the boat, and all gave up hope of life; but I felt an unusual joy, and thought, 'Shall I now see my Jesus? What will now remain in the water? Nothing but the mortal--that which has so often hindered me. That which has been life in me will never die,' &c., &c. The ship was already filling with water; all the caulking and pumping was of no avail; the storm also held on, so that it was impossible to turn to the land, either on the right or left hand, and we thought that the ship would sink; but all at once the wind was lulled, and the ship reached the shore. Then did all spring out of the ship, and the wild soldiers who had been moved by my words, looked after me with great care, so that I came well to land, and thanked God that I had been able to speak to their hearts.

"When I had been about a year with the widow Baurin, my dear master and mistress heard that my father no longer needed me, so my dear mistress wrote, herself, to me to return and resume my service; she would send the carriage for me and give me double salary, and I was to be called mistress of the robes; but I excused myself by saying that I must take charge of my father's property, and therefore be often present there. But when I had passed six years with dear Frau Baurin, it was ordained by the Most High God that my dear husband, who had seen me some years before at Frankfort, began to think of marrying me; he gave at Lübeck a commission to a certain person to speak to me concerning it, who did it, but after some time had passed, for want of an opportunity. But when I first heard it, I could not think of marrying, and after offering up my prayers to God, I sat down and wrote to this effect, and suggested to him another very excellent person. But my dear husband would not be deterred, and wrote to my dear friend, also to sundry distinguished ecclesiastics, and to my deceased father. This letter I at first retained, till my conscience constrained me to deliver it to my father, as it had no other aim than to serve to the glory of God. Then I wrote and sent him the letter, and at the same time remained as calm as if it were nothing concerning myself. All the contents of the letter to my father were unknown to me, and I did not think that my deceased father would give his consent. But when his answer came--wherein he wrote that he had many reasons for not wishing me so far from him in his old age, and had never yet made up his mind to allow his child to marry below her station, yet he could not withstand the will of God,--it went to my heart, and I thought it must be of God, because my father's heart had been touched beyond all expectation. He left the matter to my disposal, which I did not, however, agree to, but submitted it entirely to his will. My brother-in-law, von Dorfield, high steward at the court of Hanau, was much against it, but my deceased father answered him in a most Christian spirit,[^[81]] that it was not good for us, of the evangelical faith, to esteem the clergy so little, as the Papists held their priests so high; further, that his daughter was not suited to a worldly man; that she would not marry inconsiderately out of her class, as was known to every one. But God had called me to this vocation. They were therefore obliged to be quiet, and my father gave his consent.

"Thereupon my dear husband came to Frankfort, and we were married on the 7th September, 1680, by D. Spener, in the presence of her Highness the Princess von Philippseck, my father, and some noble persons of distinction; there were about thirty, and everything went off in such a quiet and Christian manner, that every one was pleased. But the demon of calumny could not refrain from his malice; it vexed his tools that the marriage was not accompanied by eating and drinking and wild doings, after the manner of the world. Then they invented this lie, that the Holy Spirit had appeared in the chamber in which we were married, in a form of fire, and that we had interpreted the Revelation of St. John. Such lies were also reported to the Rev. Dr. Heiler, who had been himself at our wedding. But when he contradicted them, and stated that he had been present, that nothing had passed but what was truly Christian, they were ashamed of their lies."

Thus far the wife. The narration of the husband forms a supplement to hers. But first we will give his account of his youth, and of his experiences as shepherd of souls. Dr. Johann Wilhelm Petersen begins thus:--

"I was born in the renowned city of Osnabrück, on the 1st of June, 1649, after the conclusion of the peace of Westphalia, where my father, George Petersen, had been sent from Lubeck on business concerning the peace. When I grew older, my parents sent me to the Latin school at Lubeck. They never had to force me to study, for I paid attention to all my lessons, and concealed candles, in order that I might thus study whilst others slept. I then also copied divers small books, as I could not obtain printed copies. But I more especially applied myself to prayer, as I had seen my mother do, after I had heard from her that one could obtain everything from God through prayer, on which account I always, before I began my studies, called upon God to bless them. And once, when I was in want of money to buy a certain book, I went to St. Mary's Church, placed myself on the long stools before the altar, and prayed to God to grant me wherewith to buy the desired book. Now when I had knelt down and finished my prayer, behold there lay a heap of money on the bench before which I had knelt; this strengthened me much. But when, in consequence, I wished to make a custom of it, and again sought to obtain money by prayer, through the wise guidance of God I found nothing, for He only hears us when in childlike simplicity we appear before Him without any after-thought. But yet once, when about to be punished, I turned to God in prayer, and punishment was averted.

"Now when I came to the third class, I had been very diligent; therefore the Herr Conrector put the others to shame by my example, and said that I had surpassed them all and gained the crown, and, as he expressed himself, would throw sand into their eyes. This vexed the scholars much, and excited their envy; they painted a crown in my book, and strewed it thick with sand, with this inscription: 'This is Petersen's crown, and the sand he would cast in our eyes.' At last I was afraid to repeat my lesson too readily, though I had learnt it thoroughly, lest I should be beaten by the other scholars. When I was removed into the first class, I found there excellent preceptors. At this period I put many verses in print, especially on the death of my dearly beloved mother. I also delivered two orations on the restoration of peace at Lubeck; and the Choice of Hercules. In 1669 I went to the University of Giessen.

"When I had become master of arts at Giessen, I was much loved by the professors, and also was, as far as lay in my power, on terms of friendship with every one. Then was Dr. Spener, of Frankfort, strongly recommended to me; therefore I resolved to go to Frankfort to visit him, in order to see whether the reality came up to the praise. I found him far superior to what I had heard; his was quite a different life and character to what I had seen in general I had indeed, after my fashion, feared God and loved the Holy Scriptures; but by the light of my merely worldly learning these were very obscure to me, so that when I presided at a disputation I feared many passages of Scripture which were brought against me by others. Now I became aware how important it was to understand rightly the spiritual meaning of the Holy Scriptures, and that the learning was not worth much which could be obtained by mere human industry.

"There came at that time to Frankfort, for the purpose of enjoying the friendship and intercourse with the Rev. Dr. Spener, a noble lady, who had formerly been maid of honour at a court; and as I desired much to have, if only for once, some talk with her, I begged the reverend doctor to give me her address in a note. This he did, and I went to her, and presented her with my last disputation, under the impression that it would not be disagreeable to her, as she had learnt Hebrew and had much acquaintance with the Holy Scriptures. But she told me that I had therein glorified 'the god Petersen,' and that, for a true knowledge of God in Christ, far more was required than such worldly learning, which produced generally a boastful spirit, and whereby one could hardly attain to the godly simplicity of heavenly things. This speech sank deep into my heart, and I was at once convinced of the truth of it. After that I began to write a little book, wherein I noted down what I heard from pious people concerning the way to true godliness; and I began to practise what I had thus learnt, for without this effectual working all else would be fruitless.

"Now when I had been strengthened in this course, I went back to Giessen, where the change in me was soon perceived; and they began to ridicule me on account of my 'piety.' But I cared little for it."

(Petersen afterwards returned to his home, at Lubeck, and became there professor of poetry, but met with great enmity from the Jesuits. In 1677 he became preacher at Hanover; and was called from thence, in 1678, to Cutin, as the court preacher to the Duke of Holstein.)

"But I had not been long court preacher at Cutin, when it happened that 500 thalers were stolen out of the room of one of the gentlemen of the bedchamber. In order to recover his money he went to a hereditary blacksmith,[^[82]] at the village of Zernikaw, that he might 'knock out the thief's eye;' and in order that the smith might do it better he let him know, through an einspänner,[^[83]] that the bishop desired it, which was not the case. When the smith is to perform a work of this kind he must prepare a nail three successive Sundays, and on the last Sunday strike this nail into a head made for the purpose; whereupon the thief, as they say, will lose his eye. He must, also, at midnight rise up naked, and go backwards to a hut which he has newly built in an open field, and go up to a large new bellows; take it and blow out the fire with it; upon this two large hell-hounds will appear. This performance having taken place in the night of the first Sunday, the villagers of Zernikaw came to me to complain, as the whole village had no rest for this terrible howling, which they had heard in the smithy, and said I ought to make it known to the duke, that he might stop this wicked work. I told them that these were important things which they had related to me; and asked, seriously, whether the affair was really such as they represented it. They answered that the whole village could bear witness of it, and that the einspänner had empowered the smith to do it. Thereupon I went to the bishop[^[84]] (with whom, as it so happened, the gentleman of the bedchamber then was), and I told him I wished to say something to him privately. When I had related all to him he was horrified, sought for further information concerning the matter, and learnt that the einspänner had enjoined the smith to do this in the bishop's name; then he inquired of me what was to be done. I replied that, as his name had been misused for these public wicked proceedings, it was necessary that the hut, which had been built in honour of the devil, should be destroyed in the name of God; this was approved of. Thereupon I proceeded to do it; the boys from the school, noble pages, and many noblemen accompanied me to destroy the work of the devil. The smith had already run away, but his wife came and begged that she might be allowed to keep the new bellows and the iron utensils. But I said she ought to be ashamed of herself to desire to keep among her things what the devil had handled; whereupon she desisted from her petition. But the noble pages set fire to and burnt the hut and bellows, and cast the iron work into deep water. Now there came some merchants, travelling from Hamburgh, who looked on and listened to my discourse. It was just during the period of Christmas, so I took the passage, 'Behold a house of God among men,' and explained it shortly, but said in direct application: 'Behold a house of the devil among the Zernikawers. This is the place where formerly the idol of the Holsteiners, Zernebog, was worshipped, who wishes again to install himself; but has been driven away by the injunction of the bishop.' At the catechising, also, at which the duke, with his court, were in the habit of attending, I made an impressive speech, saying that the thief must be among the court; also that there were conjectures afloat as to who it was, and that if the thief would bring me this money, I called God to witness, I would not betray him. So the thief, at night, would have laid down the stolen money in the churchyard near my house, but could not because the gentleman of the bedchamber had placed his people there to catch the thief. Thus he himself prevented the restoration. The bishop was very angry with the gentleman of the bedchamber, who was obliged to leave the court. But he uttered menaces against me, because I had disgraced him in my sermon, having said that his name, which the smith must have mentioned in his proceedings, would be known by the devils in hell, and that he should take care not to get there himself. But I did not care for his threats, but trusted myself to my God and my office.

"The courtiers, however, leagued themselves against me; they sided almost all with the court mareschal, a Mecklenburger. But the mareschal sought out all kinds of occasions against the duchess and her maid of honour, Naundorf, and made the duke imagine that the duchess followed the advice of Naundorf in everything, and thereby the duke was irritated against the duchess. But, as I was not in their league, the court mareschal asked me in the public saloon, to which party I belonged, the great or the little. By the great party, they meant themselves. I answered that I was on the side of God and justice. The mareschal replied, that they would soon shorten my cloak for me. Now as I perceived that the ill will of the duke to the duchess continued increasing, I went to him, and spoke persuasively to him, that he should not be so alienated from his wife, as those who desired it sought only their own interests. Thereupon the duke went with me to the duchess, and they became reconciled in my presence; and I, as it were, united them again. The bishop told me to keep this secret; but from this time he noted the intrigues of the court mareschal and dismissed him.

"There was also another evil business, for a nobleman of the illustrious court of Plön quarrelled with a nobleman of our court, and they challenged one another. As soon as I discovered this I went to this sheep of my flock, and pointed out to him what an unchristian thing duelling was, as Christ had commanded us to love our enemies. He told me he would take care the quarrel was adjusted, so I was in some measure reassured. But at dawn of day on the morrow, I heard a troop of horses passing by my house, and it occurred to me that the devil was going to have his pastime with this sheep of my flock. I rose, awoke my servant, and as, from my great haste, I could not get a carriage, I went after them on foot. When I had gone a mile I heard some shots at a distance, the signal of the arrival of both parties at their respective places. But I thought that they had already exchanged shots, so I fell down on my knees and prayed God that neither of them might murder the other. Then I ran on, guided by the footprints of the horses, which I could easily see, as many of the Holstein junkers had accompanied my sheep; and as I found them both ready to commence the duel, I went up to my sheep and advised him to abstain from this evil deed. But his opponent thought that he had settled with me to do this, which I denied most solemnly; I also spoke persuasively to the others from the Plönish court. But neither of them would be reconciled. Then said I, 'Now, if you will not, may God make such an example of you both, together with the others that have come here for this duel, as may show his wrath in the eyes of the whole world.' Yet in my heart I wished that they might be preserved from it. Then God so ordained, that the seconds persuaded them and they became reconciled; and I got a carriage which conveyed me back to the house. Who could be more joyful than I, who had deprived the devil of a roast? Nevertheless, the Holstein noblesse were disposed in their hearts to speak evil concerning it, and observed to my lord that in future he would get no honourable cavalier to sit at his table. He, also, in the beginning, was inclined to speak ill of me; and for this reason, because I had followed them on foot. Then one of the equerries came to me and said that my lord had been so offended by my bad conduct that he had taken to his bed. I answered, by the time he rises from his bed he will find that I have done nothing but what was required of me by my duty as a faithful shepherd. Thereupon my lord sent for me, and I showed him that his table could not be adorned by those who opposed themselves to Christ. If I was so watchful and faithful towards a servant, how much more would I be so towards my lord himself. Then was my lord, who truly feared God, quite softened. Soon after, the Duke von Plön visited our court; and my heart feared his reproaches on account of what I had done; but he commended me, and, on the other hand, blamed his court preacher, who had been so near the duellists and had known the affair, yet had not stirred a foot in it. This pleased my lord much, and he thereupon caused a severe edict to be published against duelling.

"Up to this period I remained unmarried, and should have continued so if my dear father had not exhorted me to marry. A patrician lady had already been suggested to me at Lubeck, who met me in her smartest attire, and whom my father would have been glad for me to marry; but she was too fine for me, and I said that she would hardly suit a clergyman. If I was to marry, no one would suit me better than Fräulein von Merlan, who would not be a hindrance to me in my office; but I was shy about paying my addresses to her, lest she should think I had on this account sought her acquaintance at Frankfort. But some one who was going to Frankfort undertook to tell her my wishes; my love, however, would not give an answer to him who wooed her for me; but she wrote to me, that, though she had no engagement, still she was not at liberty to answer yes; and she proposed to me another young docterin in Frankfort, who was more highly gifted, and would suit me well; but I answered, either she or none, and wrote immediately to Herr Doctor Spener, that he might persuade her to consent. I wrote also to her noble father, who knew me, as I had once been at the Philippseck court, where he was high steward, and preached before his duke. He answered me, that though he had never had an idea of giving his daughter to one who was not of noble family, yet, he did not know how it happened, he was so troubled in mind when he wished to refuse his consent, that he thought it must be the will of God that he should entrust his daughter to the Superintendent Petersen; therefore, he sent herewith his fatherly yes. This letter was sent me by my love, Johanna, and Doctor Spener congratulated me. Who could be more joyful than I when I found that my prayer had been heard? for I had knelt in prayer to my God, that he might interpose to prevent the marriage if it were not his will, but if it were, that he would so trouble the father's mind that he could not withstand it. When, therefore, I read in the father's letter that he had been thus troubled, I perceived that this was what God had intended from all eternity. Then did I travel joyfully by Hamburg to Frankfort, where the bans were published, and I was afterwards married by Herr Doctor Spener.

"In 1685, the holy Revelation which God made through his angel in certain visions to the Apostle and Evangelist John was disclosed in a wonderful way to me and my love. Formerly I had always feared to read such a book, because it was generally considered that it was a sealed book, which no one could understand. But on a certain day I was powerfully moved, and led by my God to read this book, and on the same day and at the same hour, without my knowing it, my love felt the same impulse, and began to read the book, equally not knowing that I had felt a like impulse. Now, when I had gone to my study to note down something that I had discovered, from the accordance of the prophet Daniel with the thirteenth chapter of the Book of Revelation--what the beast and the little horn were--behold, my love came there and told me how she had seriously undertaken to read the holy book, and what she had found therein, and this harmonised with mine, which I showed her, as I had written it down, and the ink was not dry. Then were we mutually amazed, and agreed we would confer together at the end of a month, and observe what we had further found; but we could not withhold it, when we discovered anything singular and of undoubted truth; and it so happened that what she and I found was always precisely the same. We rejoiced much thereat, and thanked God in all simplicity that He had so invigorated us both by his enlightening spirit, as to be able to know the future fate of the church, and to bear witness thereof. For a long time we kept it to ourselves, till we made acquaintance with the Fraulein Rosamunda Juliana von der Asseburg, who, in her testimony, had borne witness to the same, yet not from searching the Holy Scriptures, but by extraordinary grace vouchsafed her from above. Herewith I must also note what happened to my love when she was eighteen, which I here set down in her own words:--'I dreamt that the numerals 1685 were written in golden ciphers on the heaven; on my right I saw a man who pointed to the numbers and said to me, "See at that time will great things happen, and somewhat shall be revealed unto you." Now, it was in this year, 1685, that the great persecution took place in France, and in the same year was the blessed millennial kingdom of the Apocalypse revealed to me and my dear husband, at the same hour; and, without one knowing of the other, did both our treatises so coincide, that we were ourselves amazed at it We were therefore, by divine guidance, convinced of the truth of what we had discovered in Holy Scripture concerning the kingdom of our King. And later we imparted to others in all simplicity our discovery, not caring when learned and unlearned alike gainsaid it.'"

Here we end the narrative of Petersen. They passed the first years of their marriage in peace. He had once accidentally placed his thumb on the passage--"Sarah shall bear a son;" the year following he was made happy by Johanna Eleonora bringing a son into the world, who was, indeed, small at his birth, but who shortly afterwards raised his head in a wonderful way out of his little bed and gave other delightful signs that he would become something remarkable and pleasing in the sight of the Lord. He did actually become, later, a Royal Russian Councillor, and was able to protect his dear parents when the millennial kingdom made their life full of cares; for, alas! it was not granted to them to keep the great light which had been kindled at the same time in both, under a bushel. It would have been better for their earthly comfort had they done so.

What the worthy couple learned from the Revelation, combined with numerous passages from the Bible--in reading which they were assisted by earnest prayer, followed by divine inspiration--was remarkable. The Millennium was not already come, but was approaching. It was to begin, at no very distant time, by the return of Christ on earth; when this should take place, a portion of the dead would rise; in great periods of thousands of years, the whole human race, living and dead, were to attain salvation; the Calvinists and Lutherans were to be united, and all Jews and heathen converted; then all even the worst sinners would be redeemed from hell; and, last of all, the devil himself brought out of his miserable condition, and, through repentance and penance, changed again into an angel; but this last would only be at the end of 50,000 years: from that time there would be endless bliss, love and joy. They were inclined to think that the beginning of this glorious time would be from 1739 to 1740.

In the year 1688, Petersen accepted the appointment of Superintendent at Luneburg. They considered it as a special providence that he had been called there, because once, in passing through on a journey, he had preached a beautiful sermon which had given much satisfaction; but in Luneburg he found many orthodox opponents who vexed and irritated him, and some mocked him on account of the opinions which he held concerning the millennial kingdom. They were, besides, injured by the intimacy with the Fraulein Rosamunda von der Asseburg, whose violent excitement and nervous exaltation had created a great sensation. The tender and innocent character of the maiden captivated both the Petersens; they supported the divine nature of her revelations, and defended her in the press, especially as the dear maiden revealed exactly the same concerning the already-mentioned return of the Lamb of God which had been disclosed to them. The private devotions which they held with the sick maiden gave great offence to the worldly-minded, and they were maliciously calumniated. When Petersen once was in great danger of drowning on the Elbe, he thought himself like the prophet Jonas, who was cast by the Lord into the body of a whale because he would not proclaim the secret of the Lord's word; and in this hour of danger he vowed that henceforth he would no longer conceal from the world his great secret. And he honestly kept his word. The millennial kingdom, and the return of the Lamb, were brought forward incessantly in his sermons. His hearers were amazed, his opponents denounced him, and he was removed from his office in 1692. They both bore this misfortune with love and trust in God.

From that time they passed their life in travelling about and writing books, in visits to those who were like-minded, and in constant disputes with the orthodox. They became to the multitude like persons of evil repute, to whom calumny and ill-natured gossip seemed to cling; they were obliged usually to keep their names secret on their journeys; but never were they wanting in warm patrons and friends. In the castles of princes, in the houses of the nobles, among the city authorities, and in the rooms of artisans, they found admirers. More than all others was Kniphausen, the President of the Supreme Court of Justice, their protector. The year Petersen was dismissed, he obtained for them a pension from the court of Berlin, and granted them a house at Magdeburg; other patrons also sent them money, and gave them recommendations, so that they were in a position to buy a small property at Magdeburg. They were, nevertheless, annoyed by the peasants and the clergymen of the place, and by denunciations in Berlin; but the Queen herself maintained intercourse with the proclaimer of a revelation so full of hope, and rejoiced that he promised salvation finally to the wicked. Thus he remained safe, though, indeed, the harmless proclaimer of a coming kingdom of glory was in danger of being deceived by wolves in sheep's clothing for among the pious people travelling about there were many deceivers. Once there came a troop of mendicant students, who maintained that they were Pietists, and demanded donations; then an adventurer desired instruction, having heard that every one who allowed himself to be converted would receive ten thalers. At last there came a false officer, who, in the absence of the husband, under the pretence of being a follower of the Lamb, insinuated himself into the confidence of the Frau Doctorin, who, probably from an indelible recollection of her noble birth, was disposed to bear special goodwill to the distinguished believer; but the husband returned home, just in time to prevent the foreign deceiver persuading his guileless wife to give him a letter of recommendation. On a journey to Nuremberg, they were received into the Pegnitzer Blumen order--he as Petrophilus, she as Phœbe. Such success comforted them amid the flood of flying sheets that surged up against them. The true-hearted Petersen complained that every one rose up in controversy against him, to prove themselves orthodox, and be made doctors of theology; and when even the pious stumbled at his doctrine of the seven trumpets, or if they reproached him, that he had once, when the opportunity offered, reappeared in the character of the old professor of poetry, and had celebrated the coronation of Frederick I. of Prussia and other worldly events in Latin verses which flowed from him like water, he bore it with resignation. The last years of their life they dwelt in the pious district of Zerbst at Thymern, where they had obtained a property, as their former property at Nieder-Dodeleben had been too unquiet for them, and the peasants had become too hostile. In 1718, Petersen succeeded, by victorious disputations, in restoring to the Evangelical communion the Duke Moritz Wilhelm von Sachsen-Zeitz. They died at a great age--she in 1724, he in 1727.

After Spener had been removed to Berlin, the University of Halle became the intellectual centre of Pietism; it was there that the impassioned Franke, with his companions Breithaupt and Anton, led the theological party. Henceforth the youth were systematically trained in the faith of the Pietists; immense was the concourse of students; only Luther had collected a greater number at Wittemberg. At Halle the dangers of the new tendency were evident: the colleges became mere schools for the propagation of their views; industrious, patient labour in the paths of human science appeared almost superfluous; not only the controversial points of the orthodox, but all the dogmas of the Church were treated by many with indifference and contempt. The mind was overstrained by intense prayer and spiritual exercises. Instead of unruly lads who sharpened their backswords on a stone, and drank immense glasses of beer, "fioricos or hausticos," in one draught, pale fellows crept through the streets of the city in a state of inward abstraction, with vehement movements of the hands, and loud outcries. All the believers rejoiced over this wonderful manifestation of divine grace; but their opponents complained of the increasing melancholy, and of distractions of the spirit, and of nefarious proceedings of the worst kind. Vain were the warnings of the moderate Spener.

From Halle, Pietism spread to the other Universities. Wittemberg and Rostock withstood it long, and were for many years the last bulwarks of orthodoxy. Even at the courts this faith gained influence: it forced its way among the governments, and after 1700 filled the country churches of most of the German territories. And its dominion was not confined to Germany: an active intercourse with the pious of Denmark and Sweden, and the Sclavonian East, contributed to maintain the inward communion of these countries with the spiritual life of Germany, which lasted till the end of the century. Even the orthodox opponents were, without knowing it, transformed by this Pietism; the old scholastic disputes were silenced, and they endeavoured to defend their own point of view with greater dignity and learning.

Meanwhile the defects in the faith of the Pietists became greater, the deterioration more striking. Since the process of spiritual regeneration had become the secret act of a man's life, after which the whole soul morbidly strained, all the bliss of salvation depended on his admittance into the community of the pious. He who by a special act of God's grace was brought into the condition of regeneration, lived in a state of grace; his soul was guarded from all sin by the Lord; he breathed a purer and more heavenly atmosphere, secure of the mercy of the Lamb, already redeemed from sin here. But it was difficult for the more cultivated minds to go through this spiritual process: it did not prosper with all conscientious men, as it did with the jurist Johann Jacob Moser. Touching are the accounts delivered to us of the strivings of individuals, of the anguish and self-torture which fruitlessly ground down body and soul. Among the weaker we find every kind of self-delusion and hypocrisy. Very soon it became doubtful whether the regenerate was an enthusiast or a deceiver: occasionally he was both at the same time.

After Pietism had won the favour of persons of distinction and the governing powers, it became a remunerative concern, a fashionable thing, an assistance to very worldly objects. Generally those who received the holiest revelations were tender, weak natures, whom one could not suppose capable of the strenuous work which is necessary for worldly service; they lived at the cost of their patrons. The artisans were received into the society of the upper classes in order to assure their spiritual progress, and whoever desired protection, hastened as penitents to attend the meetings for edification, of some great lord, which they preferred holding in special chambers prepared for the purpose, rather than in the chapels of their castles. Sighs, groans, wringing the hands, and talk about illumination, became now here and now there a lucrative speculation. In the regenerate clergy, who held the souls of weak nobles and gentry in their hands, might be found all the faults peculiar to ambitious favourites, pride and mean selfishness. Soon also the morality of many came into ill repute, and when, after the decease of a devout lord, a society of ambitious Pietists were expelled, a feeling of malicious pleasure was generally excited.

Thus an opposition to Pietism arose on all sides, equally among the orthodox, the worldly, and the learned, and finally in the sound common sense of the people. How the judgment of the thoughtful against it was expressed in the first half of the eighteenth century shall here be shown by a short example.

The worthy Semler, of whom more details will be given later, relates among his youthful reminiscences the sorrowful fate of his brother Ernst Johann, who returned in a distracted state to his parental home, from the regenerate circle of Magister Brumhardt and of Professor Buddeus at the University of Jena. The passage gives such a good insight into the period of decaying Pietism, that it shall be given here with a few abbreviations.

"My brother was so habitually upright that he even mistrusted his own feelings. Easy though it was to many of the brotherhood to declare the day and the hour of their being sealed to redemption, which warranted their living in a state of pure, spiritual, heavenly joyfulness, and raised them to the rank of God's children, yet little could my brother forgive himself this spiritual falsehood; he could not coincide in what was so lightly and so repeatedly spoken of by others. He therefore fell into immoderate grief over the greatness of his sins, which were alone his hindrance; he not only prayed, but he moaned half the night before the Lord, but there was no change in his feelings. He seldom eat meat, no white or wheaten bread; he considered himself quite unworthy even of existence. Every night, when I had gone to sleep, he stole secretly out of bed, crept into the small adjoining library, knelt or lay down on the floor, and gradually lost, in his passionate emotions, all caution as to speaking softly and gently. His moaning and lamenting awoke me. I sought him out, and small confidence as I had in myself to produce any great effect--being as yet little advanced in conversion,--yet I repeated to him at intervals such beautiful lines and verses, both Greek and Hebrew, that he often embraced me and sighed, Haying, 'Ah, if this would but begin in me.' I answered sometimes hastily, that this was perversion instead of conversion, and how impossible it was for that way to be right and true, wherein one acted contrary to the intentions of God, and made one's-self into an utterly useless, helpless creature. 'Yes,' he said, 'that is what I am, and cannot sufficiently acknowledge it.' I talked with my mother, who wept over her son, who might now have been our mainstay, if he had not been spoilt by these false ideas. My father disapproved of all this still more strongly, and expatiated at such length from dogmatic and polemical divinity, that I could well see in what account he held these new spiritual institutions. Meanwhile he was obliged to be on his guard, for the whole Court were in favour of this party; many were undoubtedly very well-meaning Christians, but there were also undeniably many idlers and adventurers, who entered these institutions, and found their good, comfortable life very easy. All the evidence of their life in the flesh--which evidence was not rare nor imperceptible--was of no avail; who could succeed here? Occasionally there was a convert who lived in shame with his maidservant; it was not investigated, it was a calumny, and in case of necessity they placed him elsewhere, if his peasants were too Lutheran. By degrees my brother insinuated that my father also had not yet entered the narrow way, and that he could not be helped to it. They roamed about the woods day and night, so that moonlight devotion, which many now again recommend, is nothing new. They sang the new hymns together; the Duke often indeed gave the conveyances for these meetings, together with refreshments; nay, he often himself was the coachman, when he wished publicly to do honour to some old shoemakers' wives who had much faith, for the Saviour's sake. I am so far from wishing to exaggerate the state of things, that indeed I have not said all. The period for the annual pilgrimage came, for this custom had been retained from the old times and institutions of the monks. In many places the grace of the Saviour was supposed to dwell abundantly, almost visibly, and thither did the brothers and sisters make their pilgrimages, in reality contrary to the principle laid down by Christ, that neither Jerusalem nor Samaria was the special abiding-place of His spirit. Many of them brought their provisions with them. My brother assuredly did not travel to Ebersdorf without money, but brought nothing back, for he had bought this or that little book to give to the brothers as a memento. This enthusiasm had its real views, that aspired to great ends, although directly afterwards they were moderated, because the Philadelphian reckoning did not coincide with them. During these my brother's pious journeys, my mother died, for the remembrance of whom I daily bless my God. My brother found her in her coffin when he returned; he felt all the grief of a son, threw himself upon her, and lay there long, crying aloud, 'Ah, if I, useless creature, had but died in my mother's stead!' Now we obtained an entrance to his heart; this journey on foot had much weakened his hypochondria; the exhortations of the brotherhood called forth some ideas which he could not himself realize; he was to a certain extent calmed, or began to believe himself so. We represented to him that he must make his gifts serviceable to his fellow-men, however small they might be. He first took a situation as preceptor in a small orphan-house, and afterwards with Herr von Dieskau, who dwelt in a castle of that name, in the most beautiful country that one could select for oneself One portion of this old castle stands upon the city wall; under the wall there is a small footpath with a hedge planted as a protection against slipping, but just under this fragment of rock flows the Saale, sometimes very full and broad, but always deep enough to allow the passage of rafts and boats; from the castle the eye falls upon a half circle of wood and hills. Here my brother might perhaps have found rest and refreshment, but he did not live much longer."

Here we close Sender's narrative. He himself became infected later by the prevailing spiritual tendency, and he strove, whilst still a youth, after regeneration, but the powerful tone of his mind enabled him to recover. The state of the times also helped to bring this about.

The year 1740 was fatal to Pietism. The new King of Prussia was as averse to the Pietists, as his father had been favourable to them. Almost at the same time they ceased to prevail in the Saxon courts. The time of enlightenment now began; the nation pursued another path; the "Stillen im lande" only existed as an isolated community. The association of brothers, of Count Zinzendorf, for a longer period developed a praiseworthy missionary activity in foreign countries, but they ceased to influence the stream of German life, which now began to flow on with a deeper and more powerful current.

Pietism had drawn together large numbers of individuals; it had raised them from the narrowness of mere family life, it had increased in the soul the longing after a deeper spiritual aim, it had introduced new forms of intercourse; here and there the strong distinctions of classes had been broken through, and it had called forth greater earnestness and more outward propriety in the whole nation, but it had not strengthened national union. He who gave himself up to it with zeal, was in great danger of withdrawing himself, with those who were like-minded, from the great stream of life, and of looking down from his solitude, like the shipwrecked man from his island, on the great waste of waters around him.

The new scientific development also produced, at first, only individual men of learning; then a free culture; after that a nation, which dared to struggle and to die, and finally to live, for its independence.