Since Luther's return to Wittenberg a democratic agitation had been fermenting amongst the people. Luther had opened the cloisters, and now people desired to be delivered from many other social evils, such as the destitution of the peasants, the ecclesiastical imposts, the malversation of the benefices, and the bad administration of justice. The honest heart of Luther sympathized with this movement, and he exhorted and reproved the landed proprietors and princes; but when the wild waves of the Peasant war poured over his own country, when deeds of bloody violence wounded his spirit, and he found that factious men and enthusiasts exercised a dominion over the multitudes which threatened his doctrines with destruction, he threw himself with the deepest indignation into the struggle against the rough masses. Wild and warlike was his appeal to the princes; he was horrified at what had taken place: the gospel of love had been disgraced by the headstrong wilfulness of those who had called themselves its followers. His policy was right; there was in Germany, unfortunately, no better power than that of the princes; on them, in spite of everything, rested the future of the father-land, for which neither the peasant serfs, nor the rapacious noblemen, nor the dispersed cities of the empire, which stood like islands in the midst of the surging sea, could give a guarantee: he was entirely in the right; but in the same headstrong unbending way, which had hitherto made his struggle against the hierarchy so popular, he now turned against the people. A cry of dismay and horror was raised among the masses. He was a traitor. He, who for eight years had been their hero and darling, suddenly became the most unpopular of men: again his life and liberty were threatened; even five years afterwards it was dangerous for him to visit his sick father at Mansfeld, on account of the peasants. The anger of the multitude worked also against his teaching; the field preachers and new apostles treated him as a lost, corrupt man.
He was excommunicated and outlawed by the higher powers, and cursed by the people; even many well-meaning men had been displeased with his attack on celibacy and monastic life. The nobility of the country threatened to waylay the outlaw on the high-roads, because he had destroyed the convents in which, as in foundling hospitals, the respectable daughters of poor nobles were thrown in early childhood. The Romish party triumphed; the new heresy was deprived of that which had hitherto made it powerful; Luther's life and doctrines seemed doomed to destruction.
It was at this time that Luther determined to marry. Catherine von Bora had lived at Wittenberg for two years in the house of Reichenbach, the town clerk, afterwards burgomaster. She was a fine young woman of stately manners, the deserted daughter of a noble family of Meissen. Twice had Luther endeavoured to obtain a husband for her, as with fatherly care he had already done for many of her companions; at last Catherine declared that she would not marry any man, unless it were Luther himself, or his friend Amsdorf. Luther was astonished, but he came to a rapid decision. Accompanied by Lucas Kranach, he went to woo her, and was married to her on the spot. He then invited his friends to his marriage feast, begged for venison from the court, which it was the habit of the prince to present to the professors on their wedding days, and received from the city of Wittenberg, as a bridal present, wine for the feast. We would fain understand what passed through Luther's soul at that time; his whole being was strained to the uttermost; his strong and wild primitive nature was excited on all sides; he was deeply shaken by the evils arising up everywhere around him, the burning villages and slaughtered men. If he had been a mere fanatic he would have ended in despair; but above the stormy disquiet, which is perceptible in him up to his marriage, a bright light shone; the conviction that he was the guardian of the divine law amongst the Germans, and that in order to protect social order and morals, he was bound to guide and not to follow the opinions of men. However eagerly and warmly he might declaim in individual cases, he appears now decidedly conservative and more firmly self-contained than ever. He had, moreover, the impression that it was ordained that he should not live much longer, and many were the hours in which he looked forward with a longing to martyrdom. He concluded his marriage in full harmony with his convictions. He had entered fully into the necessity of marriage and its conformity with Scripture, and he had for some years pressed all his acquaintances to marry, at last even his own opponent the Archbishop of Mentz. He himself gives two reasons for his decision. He had robbed his father for many years of his son; it would be to him a kind of expiation, in case he should die first, to leave old Hans a grandson. Besides this, it was also an act of defiance; his opponents triumphed that Luther was humbled, all the world was offended with him, and by this he would give them still more offence.
He was a man of strong passions, but there was no trace of coarse sensuality; and we may assume that the best reason, which he did not, however, avow to any of his friends, was yet the most decisive, and that was, that there had long been gossip amongst people, and he himself knew that Catherine was favourably disposed towards him. "I am not passionately in love, but am very fond of her," he writes to one of his dearest friends. And this marriage, concluded contrary to the opinion of his cotemporaries, and amidst the derision of his opponents, was an act to which we Germans owe as much, as we do to all the years in which, as an ecclesiastic of the old Church, he had by deeds supported his theology. For from henceforth the father, husband, and citizen became also the reformer of the domestic life of his nation; and that which was the blessing of his earthly life, in which Roman Catholics and Protestants to this day have an equal interest, arose from a marriage contracted between an outcast monk and a fugitive nun. He had still, for one-and-twenty laborious years, to carry out the moulding of his nation. His greatest work, the translation of the Bible, which he had now brought to a conclusion, in union with his Wittenberger friends, gave him an entire mastery over the language of the people, a language, the richness and power of which first became practically known by this book. We know in how noble a spirit he undertook the work: he wished to produce a book for the people, for that purpose he studied assiduously the forms of speech, proverbs, and technical expressions used by them. The Humanitarians still continued to write clumsy and involved German, a bad resemblance to the Latin style. The nation now obtained for its daily reading a work which in simple words and short sentences gave expression to the deepest wisdom and the highest spiritual treasures. The German Bible, together with Luther's other writings, became the groundwork of the new German language; and this language, in which our whole literature and spiritual life have found expression, is an indestructible possession, which, though marred and spoilt, has even in the worst times reminded the different branches of the German race that they belong to one family. Individuals are now discarding their native dialects, and the language of education, poetry, and science which was created by Luther is the bond by which the souls of all Germans are united. Not less was done by this same man for the social life of Germany. Private devotion, marriage, the education of children, corporate life, school life, manners, amusements, all feelings of the heart, all social pleasures were consecrated by his teachings and writings; everywhere he endeavoured to place new boundary stones and to dig deeper foundations. There was no sphere of human duty over which he did not constrain his countrymen to meditate. By his numerous sermons and essays he worked on the public; by countless letters in which he gave counsel and comfort to inquirers he worked on individuals. He urged incessantly upon all the necessity of self-examination, and the duty of being well assured what was owing from the father to the child, from the subject to the sovereign, and from the chief magistrate to his community; the progress he thus made was important in this respect, that he freed the consciences of people; and in the place of outward pressure, against which egotism had haughtily rebelled, he substituted everywhere a genial self-control. How beautifully he comprehended the necessity of cultivating the minds of children by school instruction, especially in the old languages! How he recommended his beloved music to be introduced into the schools! How great his views were when he advised the magistrates to establish city libraries; and, again, how conscientiously he endeavoured to secure freedom of choice in matrimony! He had overthrown the old sacrament of marriage; but higher, nobler, and freer, he established the inward relation of man and wife. He had attacked the unwieldy monastic schools; everywhere in village and city, as far as his influence reached, flourished better institutions for the education of youth; he had removed the mass and the Latin chantings; he gave instead, to both disciples and opponents, regular preaching and the German chorale.
His desire to find something divine in all that was lovely, good, and amiable, which the world presented to him, always kept increasing. With this feeling he was ever pious and wise, whether in the fields, or in decorous gaiety among his companions, in his playfulness with his wife, or when holding his children in his arms. He rejoiced when standing before a fruit tree at the splendour of the fruit: "If Adam had not fallen, we might thus have admired all trees." He would take a large pear admiringly in his hands, and exclaim: "See, six months ago it was deeper under the earth than its own length and breadth, and has come from the extreme end of the roots; these smallest, and least thought of things are the most wonderful of God's works. He is in the smallest of his creations, even to the leaf of a tree or a blade of grass." Two little birds had made a nest in his garden, and flew about in the evening, being frightened by the passersby: he thus addressed them: "Ah, you dear little birds, do not fly away. I wish you well from my heart, if you could only trust me--though I own we do not thus trust our God." He had great pleasure in the companionship of true-hearted men; he enjoyed drinking wine with them, and conversation flowed pleasantly on both great and small matters; he sang, or played the lute, and arranged singing-classes. He delighted in the art of music, as it yielded innocent enjoyment. He was lenient in his judgment about dancing, and spoke with indulgence--fifty years before Shakespeare--of plays: "For they teach," said he, "like a mirror how every one should behave himself."[[41]]
Once when sitting with Melancthon, the mild and learned master Philip prudently moderated the too bold assertions of his vehement friend. Rich people were the subject of conversation, and Frau Kate could not resist remarking, eagerly, "If my husband had held such opinions he would have become very rich." Then Melancthon replied decidedly: "That is impossible, for those who thus strive after the good of the community cannot attend to their own interest." There was one subject, however, on which both men liked to argue. Melancthon was a great lover of astrology; Luther looked on this science with sovereign contempt; on the other hand, by his method of Biblical exegesis, and also by his secret political views, he had come to the conviction that the end of the world was near; and that appeared very doubtful to the sagacious Melancthon. When therefore the latter began with his signs and aspects of the heavens, and explained that Luther's success was owing to his having been born under the sign of the sun, Luther exclaimed: "I have no faith in your Sol. I am the son of a peasant; my father, grandfather, and ancestors have all been thorough peasants." "Yes," answered Melancthon, "but even in a village you would have become the leader, the magistrate, or the head labourer over all others." "But," exclaimed Luther, triumphantly, "I became a Baccalaureus, a master, and a monk; that was not written in the stars: after that, I quarrelled with the Pope, and he with me. I have taken a nun for my wife, and have had children by her; who has seen that in the stars?" Again Melancthon--continuing his astrological exposition--began to explain about the Emperor Charles; how he was destined to die in the year 1584. Then Luther broke out vehemently: "The world will not last so long, for when we have driven away the Turks, the prophecy of Daniel will be fulfilled, and the end of all things come, then assuredly the last day is at hand."
How amiable he was as the father of a family! When his little children were standing at the table watching eagerly the peaches and other fruit, he said, "Whoever wishes to see a picture of one who rejoices in hope, will see it truly portrayed here. Oh, that we could look as joyfully for the last day. Adam and Eve must have had far better fruits: ours are in comparison only like crabs. The serpent was then, I have no doubt, the most beautiful of creatures, amiable and lovely; it still has its crest, but after the curse it lost its feet and beautiful body." Looking at his little son, just three years old, who was playing and talking to himself, he said, "This child is like a drunken man; he does not know that he lives, and yet he enjoys life in security, jumping and skipping about." He drew the child towards him, and thus addressed him: "Thou art our Lord's little innocent, not under the law, but under the covenant of grace and forgiveness of sins; thou fearest nothing, but art secure and without cares, and what thou doest is pure." He then continued: "Parents always love their youngest children best; my little Martin is my dearest treasure: the little ones have most need of care and love, therefore the love of parents naturally descends. What must have been the feeling of Abraham when he had to sacrifice his youngest and dearest son? he could not have told Sarah about it; this journey must have been a bitter one to him." His beloved daughter Magdalen lay dying; he laments thus: "I love her very much, but, dear Lord, as it is thy will to take her to thee, I am content to know that she is with thee. Magdalen, my little daughter, thou wouldst willingly remain with thy father here, yet gladly goest to thy Father yonder." The child then said, "Yes, dear father, as God wills it." As she was dying, he fell on his knees by the bed, weeping bitterly, and praying that God would redeem her. She then passed away in her father's arms. When the people came to bury her, he addressed them as was usual, saying, "I am joyful in spirit, but the flesh is weak; parting is beyond measure grievous. It is a wonderful thing, that, though feeling assured of all being well with her, and that she is at peace, one should yet feel so sorrowful." His dominus, or Herr Kate, as he used to call his wife in his letters to his friends, had soon become an apt and thrifty housewife. She had great troubles; many children, her husband frequently an invalid, a number of boarders (masters and poor students), always open house--as it seldom happened that they were without learned or distinguished guests, and in addition to all, a scanty income and a husband who preferred giving to taking; and who once during his wife's confinement got hold in his zeal of the baby's christening plate to give in alms.[[42]] From the way in which Luther treated her, we see how happy his family life was, and when he made allusions to the glib chattering of women, he had no right to do so, for he was by no means a man who was himself scanty in words. Once, when his wife appeared much delighted at being able to serve up different kinds of fish from the pond in their little garden, the doctor was heartily pleased to see her joy, and did not fail to take the opportunity of making a pleasant remark upon the happiness of contentment. Another time, when he had been reading to her too long in the Psalter, and she said that she heard enough upon sacred subjects, that she read much daily, and could talk about them, "God only grant that she might live accordingly," the doctor sighed at this sensible answer, and said, "Thus begins a weariness of the word of God; new trifling books will come in the place of the Scriptures, which will again be thrown into a corner." But this close union between these two excellent persons was still for many years disturbed by a secret sorrow. We only learn what was gnawing at the soul of the wife, by finding, that when as late as the year 1527, Luther, being dangerously ill, took a last leave of her, he spoke these words:--"You are my true wedded wife, of that you may feel certain."
Luther's spiritual life was as much a reality to him as his earthly one. All the holy personages of the Bible were to him as true friends; through his lively imagination he saw them in familiar forms, and with the simplicity of a child he liked to picture to himself the various circumstances of their life. When Veit Dietrich asked him what kind of person he thought the Apostle Paul was, Luther answered quickly, "He was an insignificant, lean little man, like Philip Melancthon." He formed a pleasing image of the Virgin Mary: he used to say, admiringly, "She was a pretty, delicate maiden, and must have had a charming voice."
He preferred thinking of the Redeemer as a child with his parents; how he took his father's dinner to the timber-yard, and how when he had been absent too long, Mary asked him, "Where have you been so long, little one?"
The Saviour should be thought of, not as in his glory, nor as the fulfiller of the law, conceptions too high and terrible for man; but only as a poor sufferer, who lived among and died for sinners.