“Thomas Platter,” was the answer. “I come from Switzerland, and have for long been wandering about, finding it hard to live in one place for want of food.”
“Then, Thomas Platter, know that I am going to Wittemburg, where there is a good school; and, if you desire it, you shall remain with me and pursue your studies, and if you ever have to beg for bread, it shall be for yourself alone. Are you willing to accept my offer?”
“Gladly, most noble sir,” answered the boy, throwing down the goose and springing out of the way of the big bacchante, who sought to detain him. Hans, who once had a little boy who died when he was of the age of Thomas Platter, approved of his young master’s generous offer, and undertook to carry the lad behind him on his horse to Wittemburg. The bacchante grumbled and looked very angry at this, and threatened to come after Thomas and carry him off; but Eric advised him to make no attempt of the sort as the boy was now under his protection. They rode on and left him grumbling and threatening as before. Thomas seemed highly pleased at the change. He was evidently a sharp, clever little fellow, though simple-minded and ignorant of the world. He was the son of a poor shepherd, but the desire to gain knowledge induced him to quit his father’s cottage and to go forth in search of that education which he could not gain at home. He had met with all sorts of adventures, often very nearly starving, now beaten and ill-used by his bacchante, a big student, from whom he received a doubtful sort of protection, now escaping from him and being taken care of by humane people, wandering from school to school, picking up a very small amount of knowledge, being employed chiefly in singing and begging through the towns to obtain food. Such was the type of a travelling student in those days. Frequently he had companions, three or four schützen and twice as many bacchantes, the former performing, in fact, in rough style, the part of fags to the older students. The big bacchante, from whom Thomas had escaped, was a relative who had promised to befriend him. It was in the unsatisfactory manner described that he had performed his part.
The next day, as Eric and his companions approached the town of Jena in Thuringia, they overtook a solitary horseman. From his appearance he seemed a knight, as he had a long sword by his side, and a red cap on his head, and was habited in hosen and jerkin, with a military cloak over his shoulders, though he was without armour. He exchanged courteous salutations with the young noble, and enquired whither he was going. On hearing that it was Wittemburg he seemed well pleased.
“Yes, I am migrating thither from Erfurth, for I desire to study under one whom I consider the great light of the age, Dr Martin Luther,” answered Eric.
“Then you have never met Dr Martin,” said the stranger.
“Not personally, but I know him by his works,” answered Eric. “That way methinks we may know a man far better than those we may see every day who have written nothing for our instruction. Still I desire to go to Wittemburg that I may drink at the fountain’s head, and listen to the words which fall from the Doctor’s own lips.”
“Young man,” said the stranger, turning a pair of dark, flashing eyes upon Eric, “be assured that if you drink at the Fountain Head—the pure spring from which Dr Martin is wont to drink, you will do well—that is, the Word of God, the Holy Scriptures. Of them you can never drink too much, and yet no fountain can afford so satisfactory a draught. But beware how you imbibe knowledge from other sources; from
the traditions of men; from mere human learning. It is the too common want of caution in that respect which leads so many men astray. Seek for the enlightenment and guidance of the Holy Spirit, and give your whole heart and soul to the study of the Scriptures. In that way you will most assuredly gain the best of all knowledge.”