Philanthropy stands in intimate relations to revived christian faith. Sometimes it is its forerunner, at others its co-operator, and always its follower. Whenever a land is morally prostrate and helpless, the ministry skeptical or indifferent, and the sects arrayed against each other, if humane efforts can be discovered, there is hope of better times. Love of the body of man is the unfailing Baptist-herald announcing the speedy care of his soul. The only indications of evangelical faith in Germany at the closing period of the eighteenth century were the quiet labors of such devoted friends of humanity as Oberlin, Hamann, Lavater, and Claudius. And philanthropy assumed a more stalwart form in the same ratio as religion gained strength over the popular mind.
We have already spoken of the celebrities of Weimar. Students and aspirants to fame from all parts of the Continent went thither, hoping to enjoy at least a few conversations or perhaps a subsequent correspondence with one of the ruling literary divinities. To have a word of advice from Goethe, and to hear Schiller read an ode in his own study was a memory of life-long value. Among the most venturesome of this class was John Falk, once the humble son of a poor wig-maker of Dantzic, but afterwards the Halle student, the novelist, satirist, and poet.[85] He received high compliments from Wieland, and was admitted into an intimacy with Goethe which resulted in his publication of the latter's Conversations. He gradually gained public favor, and his elevation to the society and attention of the literary regency of Weimar was no ordinary testimonial to capacity and prospects.
By and by the sound of war was heard in that town, and with war came its many evils. Napoleon having proved victorious at Jena, his legions were quartered on the poor and rich through all the surrounding country. The Duchy of Weimar, with its population of only one hundred thousand, were required to support for five months nine hundred thousand of the enemy's soldiers, and five hundred thousand horses. The air was rent with the cries of orphans and poverty-stricken widows. Sorrow reigned in every household, and the town of Weimar became a prominent part of the funeral scene. But, unaccountable as it may appear, the resident literati were not much disturbed. Living so near the top of Parnassus, they would not listen to the storms below. Goethe, the acknowledged prince, wrote as zealously as ever in his villa-garden, and it will be a lasting stigma on his fame in his own fatherland that he chose "the moment of his country's deepest ruin to write an exquisite classic story."
But Falk was touched by what he saw. He could not be contented with literary dreams while widows were dying around him of starvation, and children were growing up in wickedness. He remembered some words said to him by the burgomasters of Dantzic when they met one day in the town hall, and an old member arose and told him that they had concluded to send him to the University and pay his own expenses, adding at the close of his remarks: "One thing only, if a poor child should ever knock at your door, think it is we, the dead, the old, gray-headed burgomasters and councilors of Dantzic, and do not turn us away." At last the poor child was at his door. Henceforth Falk's life was spent in reforming criminal youth. "Come in," said he to the vagrants, "come in; God has taken my four angels, and spared me that I might be your father."
Falk established his Reformatory from a pure love of humanity, and of Him who came to seek and save the lost. His method was simple. The lads whom he sought out and who came to him were desperately wicked. No sooner were they within his institute than he treated them as his own children. The two words so often on his lips reveal the principle of his discipline: "Love overcometh." He used no harshness, and would have no locks on his doors. He said, "We forge all our chains on the heart, and scorn those that are laid on the body; for it is written 'If the Son shall make you free ye shall be free indeed.'" "His mind was hung all around with pictures," says Mr. Stevenson, who has furnished us with the following beautiful specimen of Falk's picturesque manner of teaching great truths to those who fell under his care.
When one of the boys, on a certain evening, had invoked this divine blessing on their supper, "Come, Lord Jesus, be our guest, and bless what thou hast provided," another boy looked up and asked,
"Do tell me why the Lord Jesus never comes? We ask Him every day to sit with us, and he never comes."
"Dear child," replied Father Falk, "only believe and you may be sure he will come, for he does not despise our invitation."
"I shall set him a seat," said the boy; and just then, a knock being heard at the door, a poor apprentice came for admission. He was received, and invited to take the vacant chair at the table.