Anna and the two young ladies, soon discovering pretty points of view, settled themselves to sketch, while Mrs. C—— and I took a ramble through the village. Though without any pretension to an Alpine character, none is more genuinely Swiss than Sachslen. Leaving the square, we wandered among the detached houses, scattered here and there in the most capricious manner on the slope of a hill that rises gently behind, and which, dotted with timber throughout its fresh pastures, forms a most beautiful background to the picture. The wood-work, delicately, nay elaborately, carved, the windows glazed in many instances with bull’s-eye glass, the low rooms with heavy cross-beams, are all many centuries old, perhaps from the very days of Blessed Nicholas; but beyond all doubt the “Holy Cross,” “Engel,” and other hostelries, of which the place is chiefly composed, owe their origin to his memory. Photographs of the church and the hermitage hung in the window of the “library” of the village, which was opened for us, after some delay, by an active, tidy matron. “These are quiet days and few purchasers,” she said in an apologetic tone. “But the ladies would find it very different on feast days; on the 21st of March above all. Then ten and twelve thousand people often come from all quarters; every house far and near is full, stalls are erected in the square, and the church is crowded from morning till night. This is the Litany chanted during the processions,” she added, handing us a small book, which also contained “Prayers by Brother Klaus,” collected from old writings by a priest. Nothing could be more beautiful or simple than the latter; but the Litany in particular was a pre-eminently striking composition, every sentence showing that remarkable union of patriotism and piety which runs through the whole being of every Swiss Catholic. It begins by invoking the hermit, simply as “Blessed Brother Klaus,” to “Pray for us,” and, going on through every phase of his life, implores his intercession in a more emphatic manner wherever his love of country or of justice had been most conspicuous. And here it must be remembered that Blessed Nicholas has as yet only been beatified. Hence those who style him “saint” transgress the proper limits, which are never forgotten by the Swiss themselves. For this reason it is that in no prayer is he ever addressed except as “Blessed Nicholas,” and in popular parlance ranks no higher than their “dear Bruder Klaus.” But that he may some day be canonized is the fond hope of every Swiss Catholic, and one, it is said, which can be justified by many miracles.
Mrs. C—— and I carried off the Litany, etc., and, sitting down on a bench near the church, drew out other books we had with us, determined to refresh our memories regarding this great servant of our Lord.
Of these, two small documents, written during his lifetime, are the most interesting. One is a Memoir by John von Waldheim, a gentleman from Halle in Germany, giving an account of his visit to Brother Nicholas in February, 1474, and found in the Wolfenbüttel Library; the other a similar report of his pilgrimage to the Hermit of Ranft, addressed to the clergy and magistrates of the town of Nuremberg, by Albert von Bonstetten, canon of Einsiedeln, whom the historian, J. von Müller, calls “the most learned Swiss of his age,” and found in the archives of the town of Nuremberg in 1861, and wherein he states that, “as so many fables had been circulated about the hermit, he felt convinced they would be glad to know what he had himself seen.” Other contemporaries also allude to their visits; but these two, though short, bear such internal evidence of truth in the quaint freshness of their style and language, place us so completely face to face with all concerned, give such a picture of Blessed Nicholas’ humility and unsophisticated nature, and such an insight into the habits of thought of that period, that no others equal them, and we can only regret that space does not permit of more than merely a passing quotation.
All authorities agree that Blessed Nicholas was born in this then obscure hamlet on March 21, 1417. Zschokke, however, alone mentions that his family name was Löwenbrugger—a fact ignored by others, so completely had “Von der Flüe,” or “of the Rocks,” become his own, even during his lifetime. Yet all his biographers begin by explaining that this cognomen “came from his living at the rocks of Ranft.” Bonstetten also naïvely asks “how any inhabitant of this region can avoid coming into the world except under some one rock or another.” His parents were very poor, and Nicholas labored hard, in the fields especially, from his tenderest years. Grown to manhood, he married young, had ten children, and became distinguished above his fellows, in his public and private capacity, as “a model son, husband, father, and citizen.” He even served as soldier, like others, in the Thurgau war, where he was equally noted for deeds of valor and for compassion towards the sick and wounded. So high was his reputation amongst his neighbors that they several times elected him Landamman and resorted to him as arbitrator in their disputes. “The virtues he displayed to all around him,” writes Bonstetten, “were quite marvellous. For a long time he continued to lead this honorable existence, considerate, affectionate, true to every one, importunate to none.” At length a yearning for greater perfection became stronger than all else, and at fifty years of age he determined to seek for closer union with his Lord. Several of his children were already married and settled in the neighborhood. To those that remained and to his wife he handed over the house that he had built and the fields he had cultivated from early youth upwards, and, taking leave of his family and of all that he held most dear, he left his home for ever. Von Waldheim states that he at first intended merely to wander as a pilgrim from one holy place to another, but that, “on reaching Basel, he had a revelation, which made him choose a hermit’s life in preference, and in consequence of which he turned back to Unterwalden and to his own house. He did not, however, allow himself to be seen by wife, children, or any one, but, passing the night in his stables, he started again at dawn, penetrated for about a quarter of a mile into the forest behind Sachslen, gathered some branches of trees, roofed them with leaves, and there took up his abode.” At all events, it was in this spot, known as “the solitude of Ranft,” at the opening of the Melchthal, that he passed the remaining twenty years of his saintly life.
But although he had withdrawn from the world, that world soon followed him. Before long the fame of his sanctity spread abroad; above all, rumors were circulated that he never tasted earthly food, and that his life was sustained solely by the Blessed Eucharist, which some authorities say he received once a month, others on every Friday. This celestial favor, however, was at first the cause of great suffering to Blessed Nicholas. Calumnies were heaped upon him, insults offered. Still, he remained impassive, taking no heed of men. Some would not doubt him. “Why should they suppose that a man who had so long lived amongst them, whose honor had been so well tried and recognized, and who had abandoned the world merely to lead a hard life in the desert, would now try to deceive them?” But others declared that he only wanted to impose on the vulgar, and that he had food brought to him secretly. “What did the landamman and elders do,” says Bonstetten, “in order to prevent their being accused of playing the part of dupes? They selected trusty men, made them take an oath to speak the truth, and placed them as guards round the hermitage, to watch whether food was brought to Nicholas from any quarter, or whether he procured any for himself.” For a whole month this severe surveillance was maintained; but in the end it only proved in a most convincing manner that the hermit neither ate nor drank anything except that nourishment with which our Lord himself provided him. Two Protestant writers, J. von Müller and Bullinger, give details of this inquiry, of which they raise no doubt; and some years after it took place, during the lifetime of Blessed Nicholas, the following entry was made in the public archives of Sachslen:
“Be it known to all Christians, that in the year 1417 was born at Sachslen, Nicholas von der Flüe; that, brought up in the same parish, he quitted father, mother, brother, wife, and children to come to live in the solitude called Ranft; that there he has been sustained by the aid of God, without taking any food, for the last eighteen years, enjoying all his faculties at this moment of our writing, and leading a most holy life. This we have ourselves seen, and this we here affirm in all truth. Let us, then, pray the Lord to give him eternal life whenever he shall deign to call him from this world.”
As a natural consequence of this investigation, a strong reaction at once occurred. The villagers built him a chapel with a cell adjoining, and soon the Bishop of Constance came to consecrate it.
But the bishop was also determined to test the fact of his total abstinence, and ordered him to eat in his presence. Various are the versions concerning this event, the majority asserting that Blessed Nicholas was seized with convulsions the instant he swallowed the first mouthful. But J. von Waldheim, who seems to have experienced no difficulty in asking direct questions, gives us the hermit’s own words on the subject, brimful of truthfulness and humility. After stating that he had been entertaining Nicholas by an account of his own pilgrimages to holy places, and amongst others to the sanctuary of Blessed Mary Magdalen, in whose honor the Ranft chapel was dedicated, and having brought tears into the eyes of the venerable hermit by the beautiful legends regarding her which he told him, Waldheim proceeds:
“I said: ‘Dear Brother Nicholas! in my own country, as well as here, I have heard it maintained that you have neither eaten nor drunk anything for many years past. What may I believe?’ ‘God knows it!’ he answered, and then continued: ‘Certain folk asserted that the life I lead proceeds not from God, but from the evil spirit. In consequence my Lord the Bishop of Constance blessed three pieces of bread and a drop of wine, and then presented them to me. If I could eat or drink, he thought I should be justified; if not, there could no longer be any doubt that I was under the influence of the devil. Then my Lord the Bishop of Constance asked me what thing I considered the most estimable and meritorious in Christianity. ‘Holy obedience,’ I answered. Then he replied: ‘If obedience be the most estimable and meritorious thing, then I command you, in the name of that holy virtue, to eat these three pieces of bread and to drink this wine.’ I besought my lord to dispense me from this, because this act would grieve me to excess. I implored him several times, but he continued inflexible, and I was obliged to obey, to eat and to drink.’ I then asked Brother Nicholas,” continued Waldheim: ‘And since that time you have neither eaten nor drunk any thing?’ But I could extract no other answer from him save the three words, ‘God knows it.’”
Numberless were the reports concerning his mysterious ways. He often went to Einsiedeln, yet it was said that no one ever met him on the road!