The Life of Philip Melanchthon

by Karl Friedrich Ledderhose

In the morning of the 16th of April, at 4 o'clock, he was heard praying very earnestly. After his prayer he completed the letter to Prussia. On this day Camerarius wished to go home, intending to return at a more convenient time. All entertained hopes that the fever would leave him after the seventh attack. As Melanchthon had not eaten anything the day before, a meal was prepared earlier than usual, in order that he and his friend might eat together. Before going down, they sat on a bench surrounded by some other friends. And now Melanchthon quite unexpectedly said to Camerarius, as if giving him his blessing: "My dear Dr. Joachim, we have been joined in the bonds of friendship about forty years, and we have loved each other with a sincere and disinterested affection. We have been teachers of youth and faithful colleagues, each in his proper place, and I hope to God that our labors have not been useless, but have done much good. If it is God's will that I must die, we will perpetuate our unalterable friendship in the world to come." They then both sat down to table. Melanchthon then turned to Camerarius's son-in-law, Esrom, whose wife had died a year and a half before, and said: "I to-day dreamed of your wife, as if I had seen her die." He said of this pious and virtuous woman, that he heard her remark: "I know that God will not forsake me." "I can never forget that word," he said. When something was said of the hurtful doctrine of doubt, he said to Esrom: "Your sainted wife did not speak so." He also referred again to the hymn, which he sung in his sleep three days ago, and said that it sounded so sweetly. He ate and drank very little, and grew weaker and weaker. He expressed a wish to retire to his room, and tried to go to sleep. Camerarius felt very anxious in regard to him, and determined not to depart that day. The sick man fell asleep, lying upon his back, with his eyes half-open.

He was the very picture of a corpse. His friends were filled with fear, and tears filled their eyes as they gazed upon him. The servants wept and cried aloud, as if their master were already dead. But it had not come to this yet; and when he turned upon his side in his sleep, his countenance assumed a more natural appearance, and he slept soundly. He awoke after three hours, and said that he had slept exceedingly well. Cheerfulness and animation seemed to return. During this day, a Danish Theologian, on his way to his own country, entered his room. Melanchthon was very much pleased with the visit of this gentleman, and gave him several books, which had been printed at Wittenberg, in order that he might present them to the King of Denmark. The invalid requested him to apologize for him to the king, because he had not written; that he was prevented by illness; however, God willing, he hoped to write soon, and faithfully and humbly to thank his majesty for all his gracious favors. He also prayed that the king and his entire kingdom might continue to enjoy happiness and prosperity.

He was so refreshed by his sleep, that he wrote letters, walked through his room and the house, and was more cheerful and animated than during the whole time of his illness. All began to entertain a hope of his recovery. At the supper-table, he was very cheerful. When the conversation turned upon those men who had brought discord into the Church, and still continued to foment it, he was greatly moved, and with unusual passion remarked: "They are knaves, and will remain knaves, and God will yet make it manifest that they are knaves." He remained at table until about 8 o'clock. It was the last meal he ever received in the lower part of his house. His sleep was refreshing. In his sleep his spirit was impressed with the words of the Apostle Paul, "If God be for us, who can be against us?"

On the following day, April 17th, he sealed the letter to Prussia, wrote something upon some small pamphlets, and sent them to his friends, and a few of them to the Duke. When he felt some fatigue, and the fever was about attacking him again, Camerarius came to bid him farewell. Philip said: "The Son of God, who sitteth at the right hand of his heavenly Father, and giveth gifts to men, preserve you and yours, and all of us. Give my warmest regards to your dear wife!" This was the last interview of these affectionate friends. Camerarius mounted his horse before Melanchthon's door, and went to Leipzig to attend to some important matters, intending to return afterwards. Prince Joachim, of Anhalt, on the same day sent one of his attendants to inquire in regard to the good man's health. Melanchthon conversed with him in a very friendly manner, and expressed his affection towards the prince in such moving blessings and wishes for his welfare, that every eye was filled with tears. Several letters also arrived from Switzerland, which spoke of the prospects of a General Council, which the Pope intended to convene. He said: "It is far better for me to die, than to be obliged to attend this Council." For every one could easily imagine what shameful dissensions would arise there, even on the side of the Protestants. At 8 o'clock, the fever made its appearance for the sixth time. To some one standing at his bedside, he remarked: "I was to-night thinking of the foolish dispute that some pretend, that Christ was not afraid of death. But he understood what it is to die, far better than we do, or can do. Therefore he no doubt was more afraid of death than we are." He also said, "How does the will of the Lord Jesus Christ agree with the will of his Heavenly Father, when he was afraid of death!" But he did not give any further intimation of his views in regard to this. He again spoke of Esrom's wife: "What a fine young woman your beloved wife was! She had a strong constitution, too; and yet she died very easily, and had a disease very much like mine. For she had pains in her left side, and I have them too. But the great weakness of my body is owing to other causes, which I do not understand." And shortly before retiring, he said: "If this is not death, it is indeed a very severe scourge." A large map hung near his bed, which he regarded very attentively. He turned round, and with a smile remarked: "Virdungus once foretold to me, by astrology, that I would be shipwrecked upon the ocean, and now I am not far from it." He had reference to the painted ocean upon the map. When the heat of the fever came upon him, and he was about to uncover his extremities, a feeling of modesty led him to say to those who were surrounding his bed: "What are you standing here for? Can't you go home?" This frightened many so much that they retired, and fewer persons were present during that day. At 2 o'clock, the fever left him; it had not been as severe as before. He rose, and took some food, but his stomach would not retain it. He again retired, and slept until 5 o'clock. He was lying all night in his chamber, his slumbers being very slight and restless. His friends feared that the returning fever would consume his remaining strength. Philip himself said, "The end is not far distant;" and prayed, "O Lord, make an end!"

On the 18th of April he rose early in the morning at 4 o'clock, and was conveyed down into his study. He requested them to remove the sofa, which felt uncomfortable, and to put up his travelling-bed. When he was taken down, he said: "This is called a travelling-bed; suppose I should be obliged to travel in it?" While the physicians became convinced, from a number of signs, that he would not recover, he felt it himself, and said, "he was perfectly satisfied, if it was God's will." At 8 o'clock, pastor Paul Eber, and several other persons, entered the room, and approached the death-bed. Melanchthon frequently repeated that he had subjected his own will to the will of God, and that life and death were altogether in his hands. He would be perfectly satisfied with whatever he should do; and he also remarked, "by the blessing of God I have no particular anxieties now; for although my daughter's children, whom I tenderly love, are now passing before my eyes, I comfort myself with the thought that they are in the hands of pious and godly parents, whom I love also. They will be solicitous for their welfare, and carefully train them, as I have done hitherto, and God will also add his blessing. But I feel for the common calamities, and am greatly troubled because a cavilling and perverse world acts so wilfully, and troubles the Holy Christian Church so shamefully. However, let them do whatever they please, through the goodness of God our doctrine is correct and clear for all that." He then said to some persons present, "You are young, and have received sufficient talents through the goodness of God; but see to it that you use them aright. May Almighty God preserve you, and give you strength and wisdom, that you may be of service to him and his Church."

When, on the same day, he saw one of his granddaughters, Peucer's eldest child, passing before his bed, he called her to him, and said: "Dear daughter, I have loved you most affectionately: see that you reverence your parents, and always obey them, and fear God, who will never forsake you. May God Almighty protect you, and give you his blessing. Amen!"

He also spoke in the same friendly manner to the other children, who were younger, and exhorted them to pray and to be pious. To his daughter he said: "Dear daughter, God has given you a pious husband. Love, honor, and obey him. And raise your children in the fear of God, and God will be with you, and will not forsake you." He spoke like one who was taking leave.

Camerarius was written to on the following day, and informed that he must make haste, if he wished to find his Philip alive. But it was impossible for him to arrive before the death of his friend. At 8 o'clock on the 18th of April he had some food prepared for himself, and partook of a little broth, and a few slices of lemon. Soon after he asked his son-in-law, "What hopes he entertained in regard to him, and that he should not hide anything from him." Peucer replied: "God is your life, and the length of the days of your life. But as you request me to tell the whole truth, there is indeed very little hope, as far as I am able to judge from natural causes, for you are very weak, and your weakness is increasing every moment." Upon this he said: "Yes, I feel my weakness, and understand what it imports very well. I have commended the whole matter to God, whom I pray to deal mercifully with me!"

He had before commenced his will, which opened with a short declaration of all the articles of his doctrine and faith. He now ordered them to look for it, in order that he might finish it. But it could not be found, and it was supposed some one had stolen it. At 2 o'clock he seated himself at his desk, to write another. We will insert a part of what he wrote: "In the year 1560, on the eighteenth day of April, I have written this will in my sickness, briefly in reference to the humble possessions which God has bestowed upon me. I have twice before written the confession of my faith, and gratitude to God and our Lord Jesus Christ, but this has been lost. But I wish my answer to the Bavarian articles to be looked upon as my confession against the Papists, Anabaptists, the followers of Flacius, and others like them."

He then expressed his wishes in regard to the division of his property among his heirs; but his weakness prevented him from concluding it, which he intended to do on the following day, but it was never done. He was in full possession of all his mental faculties, and remained so to the end. As he felt no pain in his head at all, some supposed that he would die very painfully. He also conversed with his son-in-law in regard to the affairs of the University, what subjects should be taught there, and also pointed out his successor. At three o'clock, he expressed a wish to retire to his room again. He slept soundly until six. In the meantime, letters had arrived from Frankfort, in which his friends informed him how terribly the pious were being persecuted in France. He said: "Well, I am weak, and do not feel well; but all my sickness does not pain me as much as the great misery of the holy Christian Church, which arises from the unnecessary separation, wickedness, and wilfulness, of those who have departed from us without cause; and these mad people are not able to stop, but must still go on and make this misery worse than it is; for they do not spare any one. But you will see that God will punish this wantonness, and we shall be punished along with them. However, our punishment shall be that which a father inflicts. But they shall be compelled to suffer severer punishment. I deeply commiserate the poor people who are so wretchedly deceived." He continued to utter his complaints thus for a long time, and it affected him very much. His friends also read other letters to him, of more cheering character. Thus the conversation was turned into a different channel, he thought of several friends and acquaintances, and even uttered a few words in jest. His friends conversed with him until about eight o'clock, and entertained the best hopes in regard to his condition. Before retiring to rest, he ate a few preserved cherries, and drank a little wine, to strengthen himself for sleep.