[Illustration: Permission F. Bruckmann, A.-G., Munich
COURT BALL AT RHEINSBERG Adolph von Menzel]
He was outlawed, banned, and cursed by the populace. Many well-meaning men, too, had not approved of his attack on celibacy and monastic life. The country gentry threatened to seize the outlaw on the highways because he had destroyed the nunneries into which, as into foundling asylums, the legitimate daughters of the poverty-stricken gentry used to be cast in earliest childhood. The Roman party was triumphant; the new heresy had lost what so far had made it powerful. Luther's life and his doctrine seemed alike near their end.
Then Luther determined to marry. For two years Catherine von Bora had lived in the house of Reichenbach, the city clerk, afterward mayor of Wittenberg. A healthy, good looking girl, she was, like many others, the abandoned daughter of a family of the country gentry of Meissen. Twice Luther had tried to find her a husband, as in fatherly care he had done for several of her companions. Finally Catherine declared that she would marry no one but Luther himself, or his friend Amsdorf. Luther was surprised, but he reached a decision quickly. Accompanied by Lucas Kranach, he asked for her hand and married her on the spot. Then he invited his friends to the wedding feast, asked at Court for the venison which the Prince was accustomed to present to his professors when they married, and received the table wine as a present from the city of Wittenberg. How things stood in Luther's soul at that time we should be glad to know. His whole being was under the highest tension. The savage vigor of his nature struck out in all directions. He was deeply shocked at the misery which arose about him from burned villages and murdered men. If he had been a fanatic in his ideas, he would probably have perished now in despair; but above the stormy restlessness which could be perceived in him up to his marriage, there shone now, like a clear light, the conviction that he was the guardian of divine right among the Germans, and that to protect civil order and morality, he must lead public opinion, not follow it. However violent his utterances are in particular cases, he appears just at this time preëminently conservative, and more self-possessed than ever. He also believed, it is true, that he was not destined to live much longer, and often and with longing awaited his martyrdom. He entered wedlock, perfectly at peace with himself on this point, for he had fully convinced himself of the necessity and the scriptural sanction of the married state. In recent years he had urged all his acquaintances to marry—finally even his old adversary, the Archbishop of Mainz. He himself gave two reasons for his decision. For many years he had deprived his father of his son; and it would be like an atonement if he should leave to old Hans a grandson in case of his own death. There was also some defiance in it. His adversaries were saying in triumph that Luther was humiliated, and since all the world now took offense at him, he proposed to give them still greater offense in his good cause. He was of vigorous nature, but there was no trace of coarse sensuality in him, and we may assume that the best reason, which he confessed to no friend, was, after all, the decisive one: Gossip had known for a long time more than he did, but now he also knew that Catherine was dear to him. "I am no passionate lover, but I am fond of her," he wrote to one of his closest friends.
And this marriage, performed in opposition to the judgment of his contemporaries, and amid the shouts of scorn of his adversaries, became the bond to which we Germans owe as much as to the years in which he, a priest of the ancient Church, bore arms in behalf of his theology. For henceforth the husband, the father, and the citizen, became the reformer also of the domestic life of his nation; and the very blessing of their earthly life which Protestants and Catholics share alike today is due to the marriage of an excommunicated monk with a runaway nun.
For twenty more busy years he was destined to work as an educator of his nation. During this time his greatest work, the translation of the Bible, was completed, and in this work, which he accomplished in coöperation with his Wittenberg friends, he acquired a complete control of the language of the people—a language whose wealth and power he first learned to realize through this work. We know the lofty spirit which he brought to this undertaking. His purpose was to create a book for the people, and for this he studied industriously turns of phrases, proverbs, and special terms which made up the people's current language. Even Humanists had written an awkward, involved German, with clumsy sentences in unfortunate imitation of the Latin style. Now the nation acquired for daily reading a work which, in simple words and short sentences, gave expression to the deepest wisdom and the best intellectual life of the time. Along with Luther's other works, the German Bible became the foundation of the modern German language, and this language, in which our whole literature and intellectual life has found expression, has become an indestructible possession which, in the gloomiest times, even corrupted and distorted, has reminded the various German strains that they have common interests. Every individual in our country still rises superior to the dialect of his native place, and the language of culture, poetry, and science which Luther created is still the tie which binds all German souls in unity.
And what he did for the social life of the Germans was no less; for by his precepts and his writings he consecrated family prayers, marriage and the training of children, the daily life of the community, education, manners, amusements, whatever touches the heart, and all social pleasures. He was everywhere active in setting up new ideals, in laying deeper foundations. There was no field of human duty upon which he did not force his Germans to reflect. Through his many sermons and minor writings he influenced large groups of people, and by his innumerable letters, in which he gave advice and consolation to those who asked for them, he influenced individuals. When he incessantly urged his contemporaries to examine for themselves whether a desire was justified or not, or what was the duty of a father toward his child, of the subject toward the authorities, of the councillor toward the people, the progress which was made through him was so important because here too he set free the conscience of the individual and put everywhere in the place of compulsion from without, against which selfishness had defiantly rebelled, a self-control in harmony with the spirit of the individual. How beautiful is his conception of the necessity of training children by schooling, especially in the ancient languages! How he recommends the introduction of his beloved music into the schools! How large is his vision when he advises the city-councils to establish public libraries! And again, how conscientiously he tried, in matters of betrothal and marriage, to protect the heart of the lovers against stern parental authority! To be sure, his horizon is always bounded by the letter of the Scriptures, but everywhere there sounds through his sermons, his advice, his censure, the beautiful keynote of his German nature, the necessity of liberty and discipline, of love and morality. He had overthrown the old sacrament of marriage, but gave a higher, nobler, freer form to the intimate relation of man and wife. He had fought the clumsy monastery schools; and everywhere in town and hamlet, wherever his influence was felt, there grew up better educational institutions for the young. He had done away with the mass and with Latin church music; he put in its place, for friends and foes alike, regular preaching and German chorals.
As time advanced, it became ever more apparent that it was a necessity for Luther to perceive God in every gracious, good and tender gift of this world. In this sense he was always pious and always wise—when he was out-of-doors, or among his friends, in innocent merriment, when he teased his wife, or held his children in his arms. Before a fruit-tree, which he saw hanging full of fruit, he rejoiced in its splendor, and said, "If Adam had not fallen, we should have admired all trees as we do this one." He took a large pear into his hands and marveled: "See! Half a year ago this pear was deeper under ground than it is long and broad, and lay at the very end of the roots. These smallest and least observed creations are the greatest miracles. God is in the humblest things of nature—a leaf or a blade of grass." Two birds made their nest in the Doctor's garden and flew up in the evening, often frightened by passers-by. He called to them, "Oh, you dear birds! Don't fly away. I am very willing to have you here, if you could only believe me. But just so we mortals have no faith in our God." He delighted in the companionship of whole-souled men; he drank his wine with satisfaction, while the conversation ran actively over great things and small. He judged with splendid humor enemies and good acquaintances alike, and told jolly stories; and when he got into discussion, passed his hand across his knee, which was a peculiarity of his; or he might sing, or play the lute, and start a chorus. Whatever gave innocent pleasure was welcome to him. His favorite art was music; he judged leniently of dancing, and, fifty years before Shakespeare, spoke approvingly of comedy, for he said, "It instructs us, like a mirror, how everybody should conduct himself."
When he sat thus with Melanchthon, Master Philip was the charitable scholar who sometimes put wise limitations upon the daring assertions of his lusty friend. If, at such times, the conversation turned upon rich people, and Frau Käthe could not help remarking longingly, "If my man had had a notion, he would have got very rich," Melanchthon would pronounce gravely, "That is impossible; for those who, like him, work for the general good cannot follow up their own advantage." But there was one subject upon which the two men loved to dispute. Melanchthon was a great admirer of astrology, but Luther looked upon this science with supreme contempt. On the other hand, Luther, through his method of interpreting the Scriptures—and alas! through secret political cares also—had arrived at the conviction that the end of the world was near. That again seemed to the learned Melanchthon very dubious. So if Melanchthon began to talk about the signs of the zodiac and aspects, and explained Luther's success by his having been born under the sign of the Sun, then Luther would exclaim, "I don't think much of your Sol. I am a peasant's son. My father, grandfather, and great-grandfather were thorough peasants." "Yes," replied Melanchthon, "even in a hamlet, you would have become a leader, a magistrate, or a foreman over other laborers." "But," cried Luther, victoriously, "I have become a bachelor of arts, a master, a monk. That was not foretold by the stars. And after that I got the Pope by the hair and he in turn got me. I have taken a nun to wife and got some children by her. Who saw that in the stars?" Melanchthon, continuing his astrological prophecies and turning to the fate of the Emperor Charles, declared that this prince was destined to die in 1584. Then Luther broke out vehemently—"The world will not last as long as that, for when we drive out the Turks the prophecy of Daniel will be fulfilled and completed; then the Day of Judgment is certainly at our doors."
How lovable he was as father in his family! When his children stood before the table and looked hard at the fruit and the peaches, he said, "If anybody wants to see the image of one who rejoiceth in hope, he has here the real model. Oh, that we might look forward so cheerfully to the Judgment Day! Adam and Eve must have had much better fruit! Ours are nothing but crab-apples in contrast. And I think the serpent was then a most beautiful creature, kindly and gracious; it still wears its crown, but after the curse it lost its feet and beautiful body." Once he looked at his three-year-old son who was playing and talking to himself and said, "This child is like a drunken man. He does not know that he is alive, yet lives on safely and merrily and hops and jumps. Such children love to be in spacious apartments where they have room," and he took the child in his arms. "You are our Lord's little fool, subject to His mercy and forgiveness of sins, not subject to the Law. You have no fear; you are safe, nothing troubles you; the way you do is the uncorrupted way. Parents always like their youngest children best; my little Martin is my dearest treasure. Such little ones need their parents' care and love the most; therefore the love of their parents always reaches down to them. How Abraham must have felt when he had in mind to sacrifice his youngest and dearest son! Probably he said nothing to Sarah about it. That must have been a bitter journey for him." His favorite daughter Magdalena lay at the point of death and he lamented, "I love her truly, but, dear God, if it be Thy will to take her away to Thee, I shall gladly know that she is with Thee. Magdalena, my little daughter, you would like to stay here with your father, and yet you would be willing to go to the other Father?" Then the child said, "Yes, dear father, as God wills." When she was dying he fell on his knees before the bed and wept bitterly, and prayed that God would redeem her; and so she fell asleep under her father's hands, and when the people came to help lay out the corpse and spoke to the Doctor according to custom, he said, "I am cheerful in my mind, but the flesh is weak. This parting is hard beyond measure. It is strange to know she is certainly in peace and that it is well with her, and yet to be so sorrowful all the time."
His Dominus, or Lord Käthe, as he liked to call his wife in letters to his friends, had soon developed into a capable manager. And she had no slight troubles: little children, her husband often in poor health, a number of boarders—teachers and poor students—her house always open, seldom lacking scholarly or noble guests, and, with all that, scanty means and a husband who preferred giving to receiving, and who once, in his zeal, when she was in bed with a young child, even seized the silver baptismal presents of the child in order to give alms. Luther, in 1527, for instance, could not afford even eight gulden for his former prior and friend Briesger. He writes to him sadly: "Three silver cups (wedding presents) are pawned for fifty gulden, the fourth is sold. The year has brought one hundred gulden of debts. Lucas Kranach will not go security for me any more, lest I ruin myself completely." Sometimes Luther refuses presents, even those which his prince offers him: but it seems that regard for his wife and children gave him in later years some sense of economy. When he died his estate amounted to some eight or nine thousand gulden, comprising, among other things, a little country place, a large garden, and two houses. This was surely in large part Frau Käthe's doing. By the way in which Luther treats her we see how happy his household was. When he made allusions to the ready tongue of women he had little right to do so, for he himself was not by any means a man who could be called reticent. When she showed her joy at being able to bring to table all kinds of fish from the little pond in her garden, the Doctor, for his part, was deeply pleased but did not fail to add a pleasant discourse on the happiness of contentment. Or when on one occasion she became impatient at the reading of the Psalter, and gave him to understand that she had heard enough about saints—that she read a good deal every day and could talk enough about them too—that God only desired her to act like them; then the Doctor, in reply to this sensible answer, sighed and said, "Thus begins discontent at God's word. There will be nothing but new books coming out, and the Scriptures will be again thrown into the corner." But the firm alliance of these two good people was for a long time not without its secret sorrow. We can only surmise the suffering of the wife's soul when, even as late as 1527, Luther in a dangerous illness took final farewell from her with the words: "You are my lawful wife, and as such you must surely consider yourself."