Luther frequently assisted his wife in her household. He was very fond of gardening and agriculture, and we have seen how he sent commissions to friends for stocking his garden at Wittenberg. On one occasion, when going to fish with his wife in their little pond, he noticed with joy how she took more pleasure in her few fish than many a nobleman did in his great lakes with many hundred draughts of fishes. In 1539 he had to order a chest at Torgau for his 'lord Katie,' for their store of house-linen. Of the handsome and elaborate way in which Catharine thought of ornamenting the exterior of their house—the home of her illustrious husband—a fine specimen remains in the door of the Luther-haus at Wittenberg. Luther wrote, by her wish, to a friend at Pirna in 1539, pastor Lauterbach, about a 'carved house-door,' for the width of which she sent the measurement. The door, carved in sandstone, and bearing the date 1540, has on one side Luther's bust and on the other his crest, and below are two small seats, built there according to the custom of the times.



In view of his approaching death, Luther wished, in 1542, to provide for his devoted wife by a will. He left her for her lifetime and absolute property the little farm of Zulsdorf, the small house at Wittenberg (already mentioned), and his goblets and other treasures, such as rings, chains, &c, which he valued at about 1,000 gulden. In doing so, he thanked her for having been to him a 'pious, true wife at all times, full of loving, tender care towards him, and for having borne to him and trained, by God's blessing, five children surviving.' And he wished to provide therewith that she 'must not receive from the children, but the children from her; that they must honour and obey her, as God hath commanded.' He further bade her pay off the debt which was still owing (probably for the house), amounting to about 450 gulden, because, with the exception of his few treasures, he had no money to leave her. In making this provision he no doubt considered that, according to the law, the inheritance of a married woman who had formerly been a nun might be disputed, together with the legitimacy of her marriage. Luther did not wish to bind himself in his will to legal forms. He besought the Elector graciously to protect his bequest, and concluded his will with these proud words:

'Finally, seeing I do not use legal forms, for which I have my own reasons, I desire all men to take these words as mine—a man known openly in heaven, on earth, and in hell also, who has enough reputation or authority to be trusted and believed better than any notary. To me, a poor, unworthy, miserable sinner, God, the Father of all mercy, has entrusted the Gospel of His dear Son, and has made me true and faithful therein, and has so preserved and found me hitherto, that through me many in this world have received the Gospel, and hold me as a teacher of the truth, despite of the Pope's ban, of emperor, king, princes, priests, and all the wrath of the devil. Let them believe me also in this small matter, especially as this is my hand, not altogether unknown. In hope that it will be enough for men to say and prove that this is the earnest, deliberate meaning of Dr. Martin Luther, God's notary and witness in his Gospel, confirmed by his own hand and seal.'

The will is dated the day of the Epiphany, January 6, 1542, and was witnessed by Melancthon, Cruciger, and Bugenhagen, whose attestations and signatures appear below. After Luther's death, John Frederick immediately ratified it.

As regards his servants, Luther was particularly careful that they should have nothing to complain of against him, for the devil, he said, had a sharp eye upon him, to be able to cast a slur upon his teaching. To those who served him faithfully, he was ever gentle, grateful, and even indulgent. There was a certain Wolfgang, or Wolf Sieberger, whom he had taken as early as 1517 into his service at the convent—an honest but weak man, who knew of no other means of livelihood. Him Luther retained in his service throughout his life, and tried to make some provision for his future. He once sought, as we have seen, to practise turning with him, but of this nothing further is related. He loved, too, to joke with him in his own hearty manner. When, in 1534, Wolf built a fowling-floor or place for catching birds, he reprimanded him for it in a written indictment, making the 'good, honourable' birds themselves lodge a complaint against him. They pray Luther to prevent his servant, or at least to insist upon Wolf (who was a sleepy fellow), strewing grain for them in the evening, and then not rising before eight o'clock in the morning; else, they would pray to God to make him catch in the day-time frogs and snails in their stead, and let fleas and other insects crawl over him at night; for why should not Wolf rather employ his wrath and vindictiveness against the sparrows, daws, mice, and such like? When a servant named Rischmann parted from him, in 1532, after several years of hard work, Luther sent word to his wife from Torgau, where he was then staying with the Elector, to dismiss him 'honourably,' and with a suitable present. 'Think,' he wrote, 'how often we have given to bad men, when all has been lost; so be liberal, and do not let such a good, fellow want..... Do not fail; for a goblet is there. Think from whom you got it. God will give us another, I know.'

His guests valued highly his company and conversation, especially those men who came from far and near to visit him. Several of them have recorded sayings from his lips on these occasions. Luther's 'Table Talk,' which we possess now in print, is founded for the most part on records given by Viet Dietrich and Lauterbach just mentioned, who before his call to Pirna in 1539, when deacon at Wittenberg, was one of Luther's closest friends and his daily guest. These memorials, however, have been elaborated and recast many times, by a strange hand, in an arbitrary and unfortunate manner. A publication of the original text, from which recently a diary of Lauterbach, of the year 1538, has already appeared, may now be looked for. Last, but not least, we have to mention John Mathesius, who, after having been a student at Wittenberg in 1529, and then rector of the school at Joachimsthal, returned to study at Wittenberg from 1540 to 1542, and obtained the honour which he sought for, of being a guest at Luther's table. Deeply impressed as he was by his intercourse with the Reformer, he described his impressions to his congregation at Joachimsthal, when afterwards their pastor, in addresses from the pulpit, which were printed, and gave them a sketch of Luther's life, with numerous anecdotes about him. He thus became Luther's first biographer, and, from his personal intimacy with his friend, and his own true-heartedness, fervour, and genuineness of nature, he must ever remain endeared to the followers and admirers of the great Reformer.



Mathesius tells us, indeed, how Luther used often to sit at table wrapt in deep and anxious thought, and would sometimes keep a cloister-like silence throughout the meal. At times even he would work between the courses, or at meals or immediately after, dictate sermons to friends who had to preach, but who wanted practice in the art. But when once conversation was opened, it flowed with ease and freedom, and, as Mathesius says, even merrily. The friends used to call Luther's speeches their 'table-spice.' His topics varied according to circumstances and the occasion—things spiritual and temporal; questions of faith and conduct; the works of God and the deeds of man; events past and present; hints and short practical suggestions for ecclesiastical life and office; and apophthegms of worldly wisdom; all enriched with proverbs of every kind and German rhymes, which Luther had a great aptitude in composing. Jocular moods were mingled with deep gravity and even indignation. But in all he said, as in all he did, he was guided constantly by the loftiest principles, by the highest considerations of morality and religious truth, and that in the simple and straightforward manner which was his nature, utterly free from affectation or artificial effort.

In these his discourses, it is true, as in his writings and letters, nay, sometimes in his addresses from the pulpit, expressions and remarks fell occasionally from his lips which sound to modern ears extremely coarse. His was a frank, rugged nature, with nothing slippery, nothing secretly impure about it. His friends and guests spoke of the 'chaste lips' of Luther: 'He was,' says Mathesius, 'a foe to unchastity and loose talk. As long as I have been with him I have never heard a shameful word fall from his lips.' It was a great contrast to the coarse indecencies which he denounced with such fierce indignation in the monks, his former brethren, as also to the more subtle indelicacies which were practised in those days by so many elegant Humanists of modern culture, both ecclesiastics and laymen.

Luther's conversation was also remarkable for its freedom from any spiteful or frivolous gossip, of which even at Wittenberg there was then no lack. Of such scandal-mongers, who sought to pry out evil in their neighbours, Luther used frequently to say, 'They are regular pigs, who care nothing about the roses and violets in the garden, but only stick their snouts into the dirt.'

After dinner there was usually music with the guests and children; sacred and secular songs were sung, together with German and sometimes old Latin hymns.

Luther also had a bowling-alley made for his young friends, where they would disport themselves with running and jumping. He liked to throw the first ball himself, and was heartily laughed at when he missed the mark. He would turn then to the young folk, and remind them in his pleasant way that many a one who thought he would do better, and knock down all the pins at once, would very likely miss them all, as they would often have to find in future their life and calling.

In his own personal relations towards God, Luther followed persistently the road which he saw revealed by Christ, and which he pointed out to others. He never lost the consciousness of his own unworthiness, and therefore unholiness. In this consciousness he sought refuge, with simple and childlike faith, in God's love and mercy, which thus assured him of forgiveness and salvation, of victory over the world and the devil, and of the freedom wherewith a child of God may use the things of this world. He clung fondly to simple, childlike forms of faith, and to common rites and ordinances. Every morning he used to repeat with his children the Ten Commandments, the Creed, the Lord's Prayer, and a psalm. 'I do this,' he says in one of his sermons, 'in order to keep up the habit, and not let the mildew grow upon me.' He took part faithfully in the church services; he who was wont to pray so unceasingly and fervently in his own chamber declared that praying in company with others soothed him far more than private prayer at home.

Lofty, nay proud as was the self-assurance he expressed in his mission, and though possessed, as Mathesius says, of all the heart and courage of a true man, yet he was personally of a very plain and unasserting manner: Mathesius calls him the most humble of men, always willing to follow good advice from others. Like a brother he dealt with the lowliest of his brethren, while mixing at the same time with the highest in the land with the most perfect and unconscious simplicity. Troubled souls, who complained to him how hard they found it to possess the faith he preached, he comforted with the assurance that it was no easier matter for himself, and that he had to pray God daily to increase his faith. His saying, 'A great doctor must always remain a pupil,' was meant especially for himself. The modesty which made him willing, even in the early days of his reforming labours, to yield the first place to his younger friend Melancthon, he displayed to the end, as we have seen in reference to Melancthon's principal work, the 'Loci Communes.' Whenever he was asked for a really good book for theological studies and the pure exposition of the gospel, he named the Bible first and then Melancthon's book. During the Diet at Augsburg we heard how highly he esteemed the words even of a Brenz, in comparison with his own. Touching Melancthon, we must add an earlier public utterance of Luther's, dating from 1529: 'I must root out,' he said, 'the trunks and stems.... I am the rough woodman who has to make a path, but Philip goes quietly and peacefully along it, builds and plants, sows and waters at his pleasure.' He said nothing of how much others depended on his own power and independence of mind, not only as regarded the task of making the path, but in the whole business of planting and working, and how Melancthon only stamped the gold which Luther had dug up and melted in the furnace. The later years of his life were embittered by the conviction, gradually forced upon him, that his former strength and energy had deserted him. His remarks on this subject seem often exaggerated, but they were certainly meant in all seriousness: he felt as he did, because the urgent need of completing his task remained so vividly impressed upon his mind. He wished and hoped that God would suffer him—the now useless instrument of His Word—to stand at least behind the doors of His kingdom. He wrote to Myconius, when the latter was dangerously ill, saying that his friend must really survive him: 'I beg this; I will it, and let my will be done, for it seeks not my own pleasure, but the glory of God.'

With childlike joy he recognised God's gifts in nature, in garden and field, plants and cattle. This joy finds constant expression in his 'Table Talk,' and even in his sermons. It was chiefly awakened by the beauties of spring. With sorrow he declares it to be the well-earned penalty of his past sins that in his old age he should not be able, as he might do and had need of doing, on account of the burdens of business, to enjoy the gardens, the bud and bloom of tree and flower, and the song of the birds. 'We should be so happy in such a Paradise, if only there were no sin and death.' But he looks beyond this to another and a heavenly world, where all would be still more beautiful, and where an everlasting spring would reign and abide.

Among all the gifts which God has bestowed upon us for our use and enjoyment, music was to him the most precious; he even assigned to it the highest honour next to theology. He himself had considerable talent for the art, and not only played the lute, and sang melodiously with his seemingly weak but penetrating voice, but was able even to compose. He valued music particularly as the means of driving away the devil and his temptations, as well as for its softening and refining influence. 'The heart,' he said, 'grows satisfied, refreshed, and strengthened by music.' He noticed, as a wonder wrought by God, how the air was able to give forth, by a slight movement of the tongue and throat, guided by the mind, such sweet and powerful sounds; and what an infinite variety there was of voice and language among the many thousand birds, and still more so among men. Luther's best and most valued means of natural refreshment, and the recreation of his mind and body, remained always his intercourse and friendship with others—with wife and children, with his friends and neighbours. Such was his own experience, and so he would advise the sorrowful who sought his counsel in like manner to come out of their solitude. He saw in this intercourse also an ordinance of Divine wisdom and love. A friendly talk and a good merry song he often declared to be the best weapon against evil and sorrowful thoughts.

About his own bodily care and enjoyment, even with all his conviction of Christian liberty and his hostility to monkish scruples and sanctity, he cared very little. He was content with simple fare, and he would forget to eat and drink for days amid the press of work. His friends wondered how such a portly frame could be consistent with such a very meagre diet, and not one of his hostile contemporaries has ever been able to allege against him that he had belied by his own conduct the zeal with which he inveighed against the immoderate eating and drinking of his fellow-Germans; but he preserved his Christian liberty in this matter. In the evenings he would say to his pupils at the supper-table, 'You young fellows, you must drink the Elector's health and mine, the old man's, in a bumper. We must look for our pillows and bolsters in the tankard.' And in his lively and merry entertainments with his friends the 'cup that cheers' was always there. He could even call for a toast when he heard bad news, for next to a fervent Lord's Prayer and a good heart, there was no better antidote, he used to say, to care.

His physical sufferings were chiefly confined to the pains in his head, which never wholly left him, and which increased from time to time, with fresh attacks of giddiness and fainting. The morning was always his worst time. His old enemy, moreover—the stone—returned in 1548 with alarming severity. Some time since an abscess had appeared on his left leg, which seemed at the time to have healed. Finding that a fresh breaking out of it seemed to relieve his head, his friend Ratzeberger, the Elector's physician, induced him to have a seton applied, and the issue thus kept open. His hair became white. He had long been speaking of himself as a prematurely old man, and quite worn out.

In spite of his sufferings he retained his peculiar bearing with head thrown back and upturned face. His features, especially the mouth, now showed more plainly even than in earlier life the calm strength acquired by struggles and suffering. The pathos which later portraits have often given to his countenance is not apparent in the earlier ones, but rather an expression of melancholy. The deep glow and energy of his spirit, which even Cranach's pencil has failed wholly to represent, seems to have found chief expression in his dark eyes. These evidently struck the old rector of Wittenberg, Pollich, and the legate Caietan at Augsburg; it was with these that, on his arrival at Worms, the legate Aleander saw him look around him 'like a demon'; it was these that 'sparkled like stars' on the young Swiss Kessler, so that he could 'hardly endure their gaze.' After his death, another acquaintance of his called them 'falcon's eyes'; and Melancthon saw in the brown pupils, encircled by a yellow ring, the keen, courageous eye of a lion.

This fire in Luther never died. Under the pressure of suffering and weakness, it only burst forth when stirred by opposition into new and fiercer flames. It became, indeed, more easily provoked in later life, and produced in him an irritation and restless impatience with the world and all its doings. His full and clear gaze was fixed on the Hereafter.



CHAPTER VIII.

LUTHER'S LAST YEAR AND DEATH.

The Emperor Charles, after concluding the peace of Crespy with King Francis, turned his policy entirely to ecclesiastical affairs. The Pope could no longer resist his urgent demand for a Council, and accordingly a bull, of November 1544, summoned one to assemble at Trent in the following March. With regard to the Turks, the Emperor sought to liberate his hands by means of a peaceful settlement and concessions. He entered into negotiations with them in 1545, in which he was supported by an ambassador from France. These led ultimately to the result that the Turks left him in possession, on payment of a tribute, of those frontier fortresses which he still occupied, and which they had previously demanded from him, and agreed to a truce for a year and a half. 'This is the way,' exclaimed Luther, 'in which war is now waged against those who have been denounced so many years as enemies to the name of Christ, and against whom the Romish Satan has amassed such heaps of gold by indulgences and other innumerable means of plunder.'

Meanwhile the Elector John had commissioned his theologians to prepare the scheme of reformation which was to be submitted according to the decree of the Diet at Spires. On January 14,1545, they sent him a draft compiled by Melancthon. Luther headed with his own the list of signatures. It was a last great message of peace from his hand. The draft set forth clearly and distinctly the principles of the Evangelical Church; but expressed a hope that the bishops of the Catholic Church would fulfil the duties of their office, and promised them obedience if they accepted and furthered the preaching of the gospel in its purity. This was too moderate for the Elector. His chancellor Bruck, however, assured him that Luther and the others were agreed with Melancthon, though the document bore no evidence of 'Doctor Martin's restless spirit.'

Nor did Luther even here insist on that strong expression of opinion with regard to the Lord's Supper which he himself gave to the doctrine of Christ's Bodily Presence in the Sacrament. They only spoke briefly of the 'receiving the true Body and Blood of Christ,' and of the object and benefit of this reception for the soul and for faith.

But Luther now unburdened his heart with redoubled energy and passion against the Pope and the Popedom, of which no mention had been made in the draft. In January 1545 he learned of that Papal letter in which the Holy Father had protested to his son the Emperor, with pathetic indignation, against the decrees of the Diet at Spires. Luther at first took it seriously for a forgery—a mere pasquinade—until he was assured by the Elector of the genuineness of this and another and similar letter, and thus provoked to take public steps against it. He thought that, if the brief was genuine, the Pope would sooner worship the Turks—nay, the devil himself—than ever dream of consenting to a reform in accordance with God's Word. Accordingly, he composed his pamphlet 'Against the Popedom at Rome, instituted by the Devil.' In this his 'restless spirit' spoke out once more with all its strength; he poured out the vials of his wrath in the plainest and most violent language—more violent than in any of his earlier writings—against the Antichrist of Rome. The very first word gives the Pope the title of 'the most hellish Father.' Luther is not surprised that to him and his Curia the words 'free Christian German Council' are sheer poison, death, and hell. But he asks him, what is the use of a Council at all if the Pope arrogates to himself beforehand, as his decrees fulminate, the right of altering and tearing up its decisions. Far better to spare the expense and trouble of such a farce, and say, 'We will believe and worship your hellship without any Councils.' The piece of arch-knavery practised by the Pope in himself announcing a Council against Emperor and Empire was, in fact, nothing new. The Popes from the very first had practised all kinds of devilish wickedness, treachery, and murder against the German Emperors. Luther recalls to mind how a Pope had caused the noble Conradin to be executed with the sword. Paul III., in his admonition to his 'son' the Emperor Charles, referred in pious strain to the example of Eli, the high-priest, who had been punished for not rebuking his sons for their sins. Luther now points him to his own, the Pope's natural son, whom the Pope was so anxious to enrich; he asks if Father Paul then had nothing to punish in him. It was well known what tricks Paul himself, with his insatiable maw, was playing together with his son with the property of the Church. Further, he puts before the Pope his cardinals and followers, who forsooth needed no admonition for their detestable iniquities. But his dear son Charles, it seemed, had wished to procure for the German Fatherland a happy peace and unity in religion, and to have a Christian Council, and, finding he had been made a fool of by the Pope for four-and-twenty years, sat last to convene a national Council. This was his sin in the eyes of the Pope, who would like to see all Germany drowned in her own blood: the Pope could not forgive the Emperor for thwarting his horrible design. Luther dwells at length on such reflections in his introduction, and then says 'I must now stop, for my head is too weak, and I have not yet come to what I meant to say in this treatise.' This was the three points, as follow: Whether, indeed, it was true that the Pope was the head of Christendom; that none could judge and depose him; and that he had brought the Holy Roman Empire to the Germans, as he boasted so arrogantly he had done. On these points he then proceeds to enlarge once more with a wealth of searching proof. On the last point we hear him speak once more as a true German. He wished that the Emperor had left the Pope his anointing and coronation, for what made him truly Emperor was not these ceremonies, but the election of the princes. The Pope had never yielded a hairsbreadth to the Empire, but, on the contrary, had plundered it immoderately by his lying and deceit and idolatry. The book concludes thus: 'This devilish Popery is the supreme evil on earth, and the one that touches us most closely; it is one in which all the devils combine together. God help us! Amen.'

Cranach published a series of sketches or caricatures, controversial and satirical, against the Popedom, some of which are cynically coarse, one of them representing to his countrymen the murder of Conradin, the Pope himself beheading him, and another a German Emperor with the Pope standing on his neck. Luther added short verses to these pictures. But he disapproved of one of Cranach's caricatures, as insulting to woman.

We have seen already what degree of importance Luther attached to a Council appointed by the Pope. The Protestants could not, of course, consent to submit to the one at Trent. On the other hand, their demand that the Council must be a 'free' and a 'Christian' one in their sense of the terms was an impossibility for the Emperor and the Catholics; for it meant not only their independence of the Pope—which he could never assent to—but also a free reversion to the single rule and standard of Holy Scripture, with a possible rejection of tradition and the decrees of previous Councils. The Emperor thereupon granted something for appearance sake to the Protestant States by arranging another conference on religion to be held at Ratisbon in January 1546. He told the Pope, in June 1545, that he could not engage to make war on the Protestants for at least another year. The Council was opened in December 1545, without the Protestants taking any part in it.

While all this was going on, the newly-opened rupture between Luther and the Swiss remained unhealed. In the spring of 1545 Bullinger published a clever reply to his 'Short Confession.' It could, however, effect no reconciliation, for, mild as was its language in comparison with the violence of Luther's, it made too much merit of this mildness, while, as Calvin, for example, accused the author, it imputed more to Luther than common fairness justified, took him to task for his manner of speaking, and contributed nothing to an understanding in point of dogma. From the impression produced by this letter upon Luther, fears were entertained again for Melancthon, who had continued to maintain a friendly correspondence with Bullinger; and Melancthon himself felt very anxious about the result. But not one harsh or suspicious or unkind word was uttered by Luther. He only wished to answer the Zurichers briefly and to the point, for he had written, he said, quite enough on the subject against Zwingli and Oecolampadius, and did not want to spoil the last years of his life with arrogant and idle chatter. He only inserted afterwards in a series of theses, with which he replied in the late summer of that year to a fresh condemnation pronounced against him by the theologians of Louvain, an article against the Zwinglians, declaring that they and all those who disgraced the Sacrament by denying the actual bodily reception of the true Body of Christ were undoubtedly heretics and schismatics from the Christian Church. This doctrinal antagonism was sufficient even now, when the test of actual war was imminent, to keep the Swiss excluded from the League of Schmalkald.

Luther still continued, in the face of menaces, to trust in God, his Helper hitherto, and he found in the latest signs of the times still more convincing proof of the End, which seemed to be at hand. In the miserable oppression of the Germano-Roman Empire by the Turks he saw a sign of its approaching downfall, as also in the impotence displayed by the Imperial Government even in small matters of administration. There was no longer any justice, any government; it was an Empire without an Empire; and he rejoiced to believe that with the end of this Empire the last day—the day of salvation—was approaching.

But more painful and harassing to him than even the threats of the Romanists and the attacks upon his teaching, which his own words, he was convinced, had long since refuted, was the condition of Wittenberg and the university. It was a favourite reproach against him of the Catholics that his doctrine yielded no fruits of strict morality. Notwithstanding all the rebukes which he had uttered for years, we hear of the old vices still rampant at Wittenberg—the vices of gluttony, of increasing intemperance and luxury, especially at baptisms and weddings; of pride in dress and the low-cut bodices of ladies; of rioting in the streets; of the low women who corrupted the students; of extortion, deceit, and usury in trade; and of the indifference and inability of the authorities and the police to put down open immorality and misdemeanours. Things of which there were growing complaints at that time in the German towns and universities became intolerable to the aged Reformer, who had no longer the power to bring his whole influence to bear upon his own fellow-townsmen.

In the summer of 1545 he was tortured again by his old enemy the stone. On Midsummer day his tormentor—as he wrote to a friend—would have done for him had God not willed it otherwise. 'I would rather die,' he adds, 'than be at the mercy of such a tyrant.'

A few weeks later he sought refreshment for mind and body in a journey. He first travelled with his colleague Cruciger by way of Leipzig to Zeitz, where Cruciger had to settle a dispute between two clergymen. On the road he was cordially received by several acquaintances, and that did him good. At Zeitz he took part in the proceedings. He was anxious to proceed farther, to Merseburg, for his friend there, George of Anhalt, had seized the opportunity to send him a pressing invitation, in order to receive from him his consecration. But the painful experiences he had made at Wittenberg pursued him on his travels, and were aggravated by much that he heard about his own town. On July 28 he wrote from Zeitz to his wife, saying, 'I should be so glad not to return to Wittenberg; my heart is grown cold, so that I don't care about being there any longer.... So I will roam about and rather beg my bread than vex my poor remaining days with the disorderly doings at Wittenberg, with my hard and precious labour all lost.' He actually wished that they should sell the house and garden at Wittenberg, and go and live at Zulsdorf. The Elector, he said, would surely leave him his salary at least for one year more, near as he was to the close of his fast-waning life, and he would spend the money in improving his little farm. He begged his wife, if she would, to let Bugenhagen and Melancthon know this.

The excitement, however, as might be hoped, was only temporary. To quiet his emotion, the university at once sent Bugenhagen and Melancthon to him, the Wittenberg magistrate sent the burgomaster, and the Elector his private physician Ratzeberger. The Elector also reminded him in a friendly manner that he ought to have apprised him beforehand of his intention to take this journey, to enable him to provide an escort and defray his expenses. The Wittenberg theologians, sent as deputies to Merseburg, had now arrived there, and met Luther on August 2, at the solemn consecration of George. Luther stayed with his host for a couple of days, during which he preached in the neighbouring town of Halle, and was here presented by the town-council with a cup of gold. This journey improved his health. After having paid a visit to the Elector, at his desire, at Torgau, he returned on the l6th of the month to Wittenberg, where an attempt was now being made to put down, by an ordinance of police, the immorality he had denounced.

He now resumed his lectures, in which he was still busily engaged with the Book of Genesis, and which he brought at length to an end on November 17. He also preached at Wittenberg several times in the afternoons, it being unadvisable for him to do so any longer in the mornings on account of his health. He further occupied himself in writing a sequel to his first book against the Papacy, and at the same time meditated a letter against the Sacramentarians.

The autumn of this year brought with it a matter from Mansfeld, having nothing indeed to do with religion or doctrine, but which called him away from Wittenberg. The Counts of Mansfeld had long been quarrelling among themselves about certain rights and revenues, especially in connection with Church patronage. Luther had already entreated them earnestly in God's name to come to a peaceful agreement. They now at length agreed so far as to invite his mediation, and obtained permission from the Elector, who, however, would rather have seen Luther spared this trouble. Luther all his life had cherished a warm and grateful affection for this his early home; whilst labouring for his great Fatherland of Germany, he called Mansfeld his own special fatherland. Wearied as he was, he resolved to serve his home once more.

At the beginning of October, accordingly, he journeyed thither with Melancthon and Jonas, but his visit proved in vain, since the Counts, before he could do anything for them, were called away to war. He held himself in readiness, however, to make a second attempt.

In the meantime Luther quickly composed another pamphlet, with reference to the Duke of Brunswick, who three years before had been driven from his country by the Landgrave Philip and the Saxon princes, and had now suddenly invaded it again, but was defeated and taken prisoner by the combined forces of the allied princes, assisted also by the Counts of Mansfeld. At the instigation of the chancellor Bruck, and with the consent of his Elector, Luther addressed a public letter to the princes and the Landgrave, and had it printed. In it he warned them not to allow—as Philip for various reasons seemed inclined to do—so dangerous a prisoner to go free, and thereby to tempt God. Behind the Duke he saw the Pope and the Papists, without whom he would never have been able to carry on his campaign. They should at any rate wait and see until the thoughts of hearts should be further revealed. None the less did he warn the victors against self-exaltation and arrogance.

Once more he celebrated his birthday in the circle of his friends, Melancthon, Bugenhagen, Cruciger, and some others. Just before that day a rich present of wine and fish had arrived from the Elector. Luther was very merry with his friends, but could not restrain sad thoughts of an apostasy from the gospel which might follow with many after his death.

At the conclusion of his lecture on November 17 he said: 'This is the beloved Genesis; God grant that after me it may be better done. I can do no more—I am weak. Pray God that He may grant me a good and happy end.' He began no new lectures.

At Christmas time, then, and in the depth of cold, Luther journeyed to Mansfeld with Melancthon. He wished, as he wrote to Count Albert, to risk the time and effort, notwithstanding the pressing work he had on hand, in order to lay himself in peace in his coffin in the place where he had previously reconciled his beloved masters. But his wish was not to be fulfilled. Anxiety for Melancthon, who was ill, urged him home, though he promised to return. On his homeward journey, in spite of the continued severity of the cold, he preached at Halle, concluding his sermon with the words, 'Well, since it is very cold, I will now end. You have other good and faithful preachers.'

He had carefully brought his Melancthon home. When now the new conference on religion was to be held at Ratisbon, and a Wittenberg theologian was to be sent to it, he begged the Elector not to employ his friend again for the 'useless and idle colloquy,' especially as there was not a man among his opponents who was worth anything. 'What would they do,' he wrote, 'if Philip were dead or ill, as indeed he is—so ill that I rejoice to have brought him home from Mansfeld. It is his duty henceforth to spare himself; he is better employed in his bed than at the Conference. The young doctors must come to the fore and take up the word after us.' Of his opponents and their designs, he said 'They take us for asses, who don't understand their vulgar and foolish attacks.'

He described his own condition, in a letter of January 17, in these words: 'Old, spent, worn, weary, cold, and with but one eye to see with.' He must have lost therefore the sight of one of his eyes, but we know nothing definite beyond this. He adds, however, that for his age his health was fairly good.

Melancthon was spared a journey to Ratisbon, as also a third visit to Mansfeld. Luther ventured the latter, however, in January. He took with him his three sons, together with their tutor, and his own servant, that they might become acquainted with his beloved native home. When, shortly before, some students at his table heard of a strange and ominous fall of a large clock at midnight, he said, 'Do not fear; this means that I shall soon die. I am weary of the world, so let us rather part like well-filled guests at a common inn.'



On the 23rd of the month he left Wittenberg, where on the previous Sunday, the 17th, he had preached for the last time.

He reached Halle on the 25th, and stayed with Jonas. It was probably then that he brought Jonas as a present the beautiful white Venetian glass, which is still preserved at Nuremberg. The Latin couplet is to this effect:

Luther this glass, himself a glass, doth on his friend bestow, That each himself a brittle glass may by this token know.



The breaking up of the ice, followed by heavy floods, detained him at Halle for three days. The very day after his arrival he preached again. He wrote to his wife telling her he was cheering himself with good Torgau beer and Rhine-wine, till the Saale had done raging. To his friends, however, in company he said, 'Dear friends, we are mighty good comrades, we eat and drink together; but we must all die one day. I am now going to Eisleben to help my masters, the Counts of Mansfeld, to come to terms. Now I know how the people are disposed; when Christ wished to reconcile His heavenly Father with mankind, He undertook to die for them. God grant that it may be so with me!'

On the 28th the travellers, who were joined by Jonas, crossed the dangerous rapids formed by the narrow part of the river Saale below the Castle of Giebichenstein, near the town, and thus on the same day reached Eisleben, where the Counts of Mansfeld, with several other nobles, were waiting for Luther. An escort of more than a hundred horsemen in heavy armour accompanied him from the frontier between the territories of Halle and Mansfeld. Just before entering the town, however, he was seized with alarming giddiness and faintness, together with a sharp constriction of the heart, and much difficulty of breathing. He himself ascribed this to a chill, having shortly before walked some distance and then re-entered his carriage in a perspiration. At the village of Rissdorf, near Eisleben, so he wrote to his wife on February 1, such a bitter wind pierced his cap at the back of his head, that he felt as if his brain were freezing. It was in this letter that he spoke of her laughingly as Lady Zulsdorf, &c. 'But now,' he added, 'thank God, I am pretty well again, except for the heartache caused by the beautiful women.' Only three days after this attack he preached at Eisleben.

Luther was comfortably quartered at the Drachstedt, a house which had been bought by the town-council, and was inhabited by the town-clerk Albert.

The business was commenced at once, in the very house where he was staying. But it was a work of much trouble and difficulty for Luther. He sought one way after another to effect a reconciliation. On February 6 he begged the Elector through Melancthon to send him a summons back to Wittenberg, in order to put pressure on the Counts to settle their dispute; and a few days after he wrote to his wife, saying that he should like to grease his carriage-wheels and be off in sheer anger, but concern for his native town prevented him. He was shocked at the avarice, so ruinous to the soul, which either party displayed. He was angry also with the lawyers, for backing up each party to stand so stubbornly on his imagined rights. He who now ought to have been a lawyer himself, came among them as a hobgoblin, who checked their pride by the grace of God.

The multitude of Jews whom Luther met at Eisleben and thereabouts were also an annoyance and vexation to him. He disliked to see the Counts give room so far to men who blasphemed Jesus and Mary, who called the Christians changelings, and sucked them dry, nay, would gladly kill them all, if they could. He warned even his congregation, as a child of their country, not to fall into their meshes.

Amidst all this business, he found time to preach four sermons. He partook twice of the sacrament, and confessed and ordained two clergymen.

To his wife, who worried herself constantly about him and his health, he wrote from Eisleben five times in fourteen days. His language to her, even when he has unpleasant news to tell, is always full of affection, heartiness, and comfort. The humorous way in which he addressed her we have noticed before. He told her how well he fares with eating and drinking. He referred her to her God, in Whose stead she wished to care for him, to the Bible and the small Catechism, of which she had once declared that all it contained had been said by her. He had also dangers to tell her of, which had assailed him even while thus under her care. A fire chanced to break out in a chimney near his room; and on February 9, so he writes to her, notwithstanding all her care, a stone as long as a pillow and as thick as two hands, had nearly toppled down upon his head and crushed him. So he now takes care to say, 'While you cease not to care for us, the earth at length might swallow us up, and all the elements destroy us.' [Footnote: A facsimile of the longest of these letters, bearing date February 7, appears at the end of the volume. It runs as follows: 'Mercy and peace in the Lord. Pray read, dear Katie, the Gospel of St. John and the' [marginally 'little'] 'Catechism, of which you once declared that you yourself had said all that it contained. For you wish to disquiet yourself about your God, just as if He were not Almighty, and able to create ten Martin Luthers for one old one drowned perhaps in the Saale, or fallen dead by the fireplace, or on Wolf's fowling-floor. Leave me in peace with your cares; I have a better protector than you and all the angels. He—my Protector—lies in the manger, and hangs upon a Virgin's breast. But He sits also at the right hand of God, the Father Almighty. Best, therefore—in peace. Amen.

'I think that hell and all the world must now be free of all the devils who have come together here to Eisleben, for my sake it seems. So hard and knotty is this business. There are fifty Jews here too' [marginally 'in one house'], 'as I wrote to you before. It is now said that at Rissdorff, hard by Eisleben, where I fell ill before my arrival, more than four hundred Jews were walking and riding about. Count Albert, who owns all the country round Eisleben, has seized them upon his property, and will have nothing to do with them. No one has done them any harm as yet. The widowed Countess of Mansfeld (the Countess Dorothea, widow of Count Ernest, born Countess of Solms), is thought to be the protectress of the Jews. I don't know whether it is true, but I have given my opinion in quarters where I hope it will be attended to. It is a case of Beg, Beg, Beg, and helping them. For I had it in my mind to-day to grease my carriage wheels in ira mea. But I felt the misery of it too much; my native home held me back. I have been made a lawyer, but they will not gain by it. They had better have let me remain a theologian. If I live and come among them, I might become a hobgoblin, who would comb down their pride by the grace of God. They behave as if they were God Himself, but must take care to shake off these notions in good time before their godhead becomes a devilhead, as happened to Lucifer, who could not remain in heaven for pride. Well, God's will be done. Let Master Philip see this letter, for I had no time to write to him; and you may comfort yourself with the thought how much I love you, as you know. And Philip will understand it all.

'We live here very well, and the town-council gives me for each meal half a pint of "Reinfall"' [marginally, 'which is very good']. 'Sometimes I drink it with my friends. The wine of the country here is also good, and Naumburg beer is very good, though I fancy its pitch fills my chest with phlegm. The devil has spoilt all the beer in the world with his pitch, and the wine with his brimstone. But here the wine is pure, such as the country gives.

'And know that all letters you have written have arrived, and to-day those have come which you wrote last Friday, together with Master Philip's letters, so you need not be angry.

Sunday after St. Dorothea's Day (7 February) 1546.

'Your loving

'MARTIN LUTHER, D.']



Luther kept up also at Eisleben his correspondence with Melancthon. He wrote to him three letters, the last testimony of his friendship. A letter to his 'kind, dear housewife,' and one to Melancthon, his 'most worthy brother in Christ,' both of February 14, are without doubt the last he ever wrote. His sick body was well nursed and tended at Eisleben. He went to bed early every night, after he had stood before his window, according to his old habit, in fervent prayer. The stone no longer troubled him, but he was very weary and worn. His last sermon, on Sunday, February 14, he broke off with the words: 'This and much more is to be said about the Gospel; but I am too weak, we will leave off here.' Most unfortunately for him, he had omitted to bring with him to Eisleben the applications used for keeping his issue open, and now it was nearly closed. He knew that the physicians considered this extremely dangerous.

At length his efforts to mediate between his masters the Counts were crowned with success beyond all expectation. On February 14 a reconciliation was effected upon the chief points, and the various members of the Counts' families rejoiced, while the young lords and ladies made merry all together. 'Therefore,' wrote Luther to Kathe, 'it must be seen that God is Exauditor precum.' He sent her some trout as a thankoffering from Countess Albert. He wrote to her: 'We hope to return home this week, if God will.'

On the 16th and 17th of that month the reconciliation upon all the points of dispute was formally concluded. The revenues of churches and schools were fixed upon, and the latter to this day owe a rich endowment to the arrangements there made. On the 16th Luther says in his 'Table Talk': 'I will now no longer tarry, but set myself to go to Wittenberg and there lay myself in a coffin and give the worms a fat doctor to feed upon.'

On the morning of the 17th, however, the Counts found themselves compelled, by Luther's state of health, to entreat him not to exert himself any longer with their affairs; and so he only added his signature where required. To Jonas and the Counts' court-preacher Colius, who were staying, with him, he said he thought he should remain at Eisleben, where he was born. Before supper he complained of oppression of the chest, and had himself rubbed with warm cloths. This relieved him, and he left his little room, going down the staircase into the public room to join the party at supper. 'There is no pleasure,' he said, 'in being alone.' At supper he was merry with the rest, and talked with his usual energy on various subjects—now jocular or serious, now intellectual and pious. But no sooner had he returned to his chamber and finished his usual evening prayer than he again became anxious and troubled. After being rubbed again with warm cloths and having taken a medicine which Count Albert himself had brought him, he laid himself down about nine o'clock on a leathern sofa and slept gently for an hour and a half. On awakening, he arose, and with the words (spoken in Latin) 'Into Thy hands I commend my spirit, for Thou hast redeemed me, Thou God of truth,' went to his bed in the adjoining room, where he again slept, breathing quietly, till one o'clock. He then awoke, called his servant, and begged him to heat the room, though it was quite warm already, and then exclaimed to Jonas, 'O Lord God, how ill I am! Ah! I feel I shall remain here at Eisleben, where I was born and baptized.' In this state of pain he arose, walked without assistance into the room which he had left a few hours before, again commending his soul to God; and then, after pacing once up and down the room, lay down once more on the sofa, complaining again of the oppression on his chest. His two sons, Martin and Paul, remained with him all night. They had spent most of the time at Mansfeld with their relations there, but had now returned to their father (Hans was still absent), and his servant and Jonas. Colius also hastened to him, and the young theologian John Aurifaber, a friend of the two Counts who used to associate with Luther together with Jonas and Colius. The town-clerk was there, too, with his wife, also two physicians, and Count Albert and his wife, who busied herself zealously with nursing the sick man; and later on came a Count of Schwarzburg with his wife, who were staying on a visit with the Count of Mansfeld. The rubbing and application of warm clothes and the medicines were now of no avail to ease Luther's anguish. He broke out into a sweat. His friends began to feel more happy about him, hoping that this would relieve him; but he replied, 'It is the cold sweat of death; I shall yield up my spirit.' Then he began to give thanks aloud to God, Who had revealed to him His Son, Whom he had confessed and loved, and Whom the godless and the Pope blasphemed and insulted. He cried aloud to God and to the Lord Jesus: 'Take my poor soul into Thy hands! Although I must leave this body, I know that I shall be ever with Thee.' He then spoke words of the Bible, three times uttering the text of St. John iii: 'God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in Him should not perish, but have everlasting life.' After Colius had given him one more spoonful of medicine, he said again, 'I am going, and shall render up my spirit,' and three times rapidly in succession he said in Latin, 'Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit, for Thou hast redeemed me, O Lord God of truth.' From that time he remained quite still, and closed his eyes, without making any answer when spoken to by those around him, who were busy with restoratives. Jonas and Colius, however, after his pulse had been rubbed with strengthening waters, said aloud in his ear: 'Reverend father (_Reverende pater), wilt thou stand by Christ and the doctrine thou hast preached?' He uttered an audible 'Yes.' He then turned upon his right side and fell asleep. He lay thus for nearly a quarter of an hour, when his feet and nose grew cold; he fetched one deep, even breath, and was gone. It was between two and three o'clock in the morning of February 18—a Thursday.

The body was laid in a white garment, first upon a bed, and then in a hastily-made leaden coffin. Many hundreds, high and low, came to see it. The next morning the face was painted by an Eisleben artist, and the morning after that by Lucas Fortenagel of Helle. Fortenagel's portrait is no doubt a foundation of all those which we find in several places under Cranach's name, and which no doubt really came from Cranach's studio.



The Elector John Frederick at once insisted that the mortal remains of Luther should rest at Wittenberg. The Counts of Mansfeld wished at least to pay them the last honours. After they had been brought, on the afternoon of the 19th, into the Church of St. Andrew, where a sermon was preached by Jonas that day, and another by Colius on the following morning, a solemn procession started at noon on the 20th, with the coffin, for its destination. In front rode a troop of about fifty light-armed cavalry, with sons of both the Counts, to accompany the body to its last resting-place. All the Counts and Countesses, with their guests, followed as far as the gates of Eisleben, and among them was a Prince of Anhalt, the magistrates, the school-children, and the whole population of the surrounding country.



In all the villages on the road the bells tolled, and old and young flocked to join the procession. At Halle the coffin was received with great solemnity, and placed for the night of the 20th in the principal church of the town. There a cast was taken in wax, which is preserved in the library of the church; the original features, however, having been altered by putting in the eyes and improving the shape of the mouth. To complete our picture of Luther's outward appearance, we have in this cast the remarkably strong brow, which in Cranach's portraits of Luther often recedes out of all proportion in his upturned face. The two representations of Luther when dead are of great value, deeply as it must be lamented that no more skilful hands than those of the painter of Halle and the wax-modeller have had the privilege of working upon them.

On the 21st the corpse was taken to Kemberg, after being received at the frontier of the Electorate by deputies from the Elector. On the morning of the 22nd it reached Wittenberg, where it was at once taken to the Castle Church in solemn procession through the whole length of the town. It was a long, sad procession. First went the nobles representing the Elector, then the horsemen from Mansfeld and their young Counts, and immediately after the coffin the widow in a little carriage with some other gentlewomen. Then followed Luther's sons and his brother James, with other relatives from Mansfeld; then the University, the members of the Town Council, and all the citizens of Wittenberg. In the church Bugenhagen preached a sermon, and Melancthon, who, on the arrival of the sad news, had expressed his grief in a charge to the students, gave a Latin oration as representative of the University. Then, near the spot where the great Reformer had once nailed up his theses, the body was lowered into the grave.

Throughout the whole Evangelical Church arose a cry of lamentation. Luther was mourned as a prophet of Germany—as an Elijah who had overthrown the worship of idols and set up again the pure Word of God. Like Elisha to Elijah, so Melancthon called out after him, 'Alas! the chariot of Israel and the horsemen thereof!' On the other hand, fanatical Papists were not ashamed to insult his very deathbed with slanders and falsehoods; even a year before he died a silly, sensational story of his death was spread about by them.

Luther throughout his life and labours had never troubled himself much about the praise or the abuse of men. After the example of his great teacher St. Paul, he went his way in honour and dishonour, through evil report and good report, along the road which he knew to be pointed out from above. The portrait of his life, plain and unadorned as it is presented to the present age, will at any rate testify to the worth of this great man, and thus do something towards that eternal end for which he was ready to sacrifice his life and, in the eyes of the world, his honour and his fame.

THE END