Chronicles of the Schonberg-Cotta Family, Page 3

  III.

  Else's Chronicle.

  EISENACH, 1504.

  I cannot say that things have prospered much with us since Fritz left.The lumber-room itself is changed. The piles of old books are muchreduced, because we have been obliged to pawn many of them for food.Some even of the father's beautiful models have had to be sold. It wentterribly to his heart. But it paid our debts.

  Our grandmother has grown a little querulous at times lately. And I amso tempted to be cross sometimes. The boys eat so much and wear outtheir clothes so fast. Indeed, I cannot see that poverty makes any of usbetter, except it be my mother, who needed improvement least of all.

  _September_, 1504.

  The father has actually brought a new inmate into the house, a littlegirl, called Eva von Schoenberg, a distant cousin of our mother.

  Last week he told us she was coming, very abruptly. I think he wasrather afraid of what our grandmother would say, for we all know it isnot of the least use to come round her with soft speeches. She alwayssees what you are aiming at, and with her keen eyes cuts straightthrough all your circumlocutions, and obliges you to descend direct onyour point, with more rapidity than grace.

  Accordingly, he said, quite suddenly, one day at dinner,--

  "I forgot to tell you, little mother, I have just had a letter from yourrelations in Bohemia. Your great-uncle is dead. His son, you know, diedbefore him. A little orphan girl is left with no one to take care ofher. I have desired them to send her to us. I could do no less. It wasan act, not of charity, but of the plainest duty. And besides," headded, apologetically, "in the end it may make our fortunes. There isproperty somewhere in the family, if we could get it; and this littleEva is the descendant of the eldest branch. Indeed, I do not know butthat she may bring many valuable family heirlooms with her."

  These last observations he addressed especially to my grandmother,hoping thereby to make it clear to her that the act was one of thedeepest worldly wisdom. Then turning to the mother, he concluded,--

  "Little mother, thou wilt find a place for the orphan in thy heart, andHeaven will no doubt bless us for it."

  "No doubt about the room in my daughter's heart!" murmured ourgrandmother; "the question, as I read it, is not about hearts, but aboutlarders and wardrobes. And, certainly," she added, not very pleasantly,"there is room enough there for any family jewels the young heiress maybring."

  As usual, the mother came to the rescue.

  "Dear grandmother," she said, "Heaven, no doubt, will repay us; andbesides, you know, we may now venture on a little more expense, since weare out of debt."

  "There is no doubt, I suppose," retorted our grandmother, "about Heavenrepaying you; but there seems to me a good deal of doubt whether it willbe in current coin."

  Then, I suppose fearing the effect of so doubtful a sentiment on thechildren, she added rather querulously, but in a gentler tone,--

  "Let the little creature come. Room may be made for her soon in one wayor another. The old creep out at the church-yard gate, while the youngbound in at the front door."

  And in a few days little Eva came; but, unfortunately without the familyjewels. But the saints forbid I should grow mercenary or miserly, andgrudge the orphan her crust!

  And who could help welcoming little Eva? As she lies on my bed asleep,with her golden hair on the pillow, and the long lashes shading hercheek, flushed with sleep and resting on her dimpled white hand, whocould wish her away? And when I put out the lamp (as I must very soon)and lie down beside her, she will half awake, just to nestle into myheart, and murmur in her sleep, "Sweet cousin Else!" And I shall no morebe able to wish her gone than my guardian angel. Indeed I think she issomething like one.

  She is not quite ten years old; but being an only child, and alwaysbrought up with older people, she has a quiet, considerate way, and aquaint, thoughtful gravity, which sits with a strange charm on herbright, innocent, child-like face.

  At first she seemed a little afraid of our children, especially theboys, and crept about everywhere by the side of my mother, to whom shegave her confidence from the beginning. She did not so immediately taketo our grandmother, who was not very warm in her reception; but thesecond evening after her arrival, she deliberately took her little stoolup to our grandmother's side, and seating herself at her feet, laid hertwo little, soft hands on the dear, thin, old hands, and said,--

  "You must love me, for I shall love you very much. You are like mygreat-aunt who died."

  And, strange to say, our grandmother seemed quite flattered; and eversince they have been close friends. Indeed she commands us all, andthere is not one in the house who does not seem to think her notice afavour. I wonder if Fritz would feel the same!

  Our father lets her sit in his printing-room when he is makingexperiments, which none of us ever dared to do. She perches herself onthe window-sill, and watches him as if she understood it all, and hetalks to her as if he thought she did.

  Then she has a wonderful way of telling the legends of the saints to thechildren. When our grandmother tells them, I think of the saints asheroes and warriors. When I try to relate the sacred stories to thelittle ones, I am afraid I make them too much like fairy tales. But whenlittle Eva is speaking about St. Agnes or St. Catherine, her voicebecomes soft and deep, like church music; and her face grave andbeautiful, like one of the child-angels in the pictures; and her eyes asif they saw into heaven. I wish Fritz could hear her. I think she mustbe just what the saints were when they were little children, except forthat strange, quiet way she has of making every one do what she likes.If our St. Elizabeth had resembled our little Eva in that, I scarcelythink the Landgravine-mother would have ventured to have been so cruelto her. Perhaps it is little Eva who is to be the saint among us; and byhelping her we may best please God, and be admitted at last to somehumble place in heaven.

  EISENACH, _December_.

  It is a great comfort that Fritz writes in such good spirits. He seemsfull of hope as to his prospects, and already he has obtained a place insome excellent institution, where, he says, he lives like a cardinal,and is quite above wanting assistance from any one. This is veryencouraging. Martin Luther, also, is on the way to be quite a great man,Fritz says. It is difficult to imagine this; he looked so much like anyone else, and we are all so completely at home with him, and he talks insuch a simple, familiar way to us all--not in learned words, or aboutdifficult, abstruse subjects, like the other wise men I know. Certainlyit always interests us all to hear him, but one can understand all hesays--even I can; so that it is not easy to think of him as aphilosopher and a great man. I suppose wise men must be like the saints:one can only see what they are when they are at some distance from us.

  What kind of great man will Martin Luther be, I wonder? As great as ourburgomaster, or as Master Trebonius? Perhaps even greater than these; asgreat, even, as the Elector's secretary, who came to see our fatherabout his inventions. But it is a great comfort to think of it,especially on Fritz's account; for I am sure Martin will never forgetold friends.

  I cannot quite comprehend Eva's religion. It seems to make her happy. Ido not think she is afraid of God, or even of confession. She seems toenjoy going to church as if it were a holiday in the woods; and the nameof Jesus seems not terrible, but dear to her, as the name of the sweetMother of God is to me. This is very difficult to understand. I thinkshe is not even very much afraid of the judgment-day; and this is thereason why I think so:--The other night, when we were both awakened byan awful thunder-storm, I hid my face under the clothes, in order not tosee the flashes, until I heard the children crying in the next room, androse of course, to soothe them, because our mother had been very tiredthat day, and was, I trusted, asleep. When I had sung and talked to thelittle ones, and sat by them till they were asleep, I returned to ourroom, trembling in every limb; but I found Eva kneeling by the bed-side,with her cr
ucifix pressed to her bosom, looking as calm and happy as ifthe lightning flashes had been morning sunbeams.

  She rose from her knees when I entered; and when I was once more safelyin bed, with my arm around her, and the storm had lulled a little, Isaid,--

  "Eva, are you not afraid of the lightning?"

  "I think it might hurt us, Cousin Else," she said; "and that was thereason I was praying to God."

  "But, Eva," I said, "supposing the thunder should be the archangel'svoice! I always think every thunder-storm may be the beginning of theday of wrath--the dreadful judgment-day. What should you do then?"

  She was silent a little, and then she said,--

  "I think I should take my crucifix and pray, and try to ask the LordChrist to remember that he died on the cross for us once. I think hewould take pity on us if we did. Besides, Cousin Else," she added, aftera pause, "I have a sentence which always comforts me. My father taughtit me when I was a very little girl, in the prison, before he died. Icould not remember it all, but this part I have never forgotten: '_Godso loved the world, that he gave his only Son._' There was more, which Iforgot; but that bit I always remembered, because I was my father's onlychild, and he loved me so dearly. I do not quite know all it means; butI know they are God's words, but I feel sure that it means that Godloves us very much, and that he is in some way like my father."

  "I know," I replied, "the Creed says, 'God, the Father Almighty;' but Inever thought that the Almighty Father meant anything like our ownfather. I thought it meant only that he is very great, and that we allbelong to him, and that we ought to love him. Are you sure, Eva, itmeans _he loves us_?"

  "I believe so, Cousin Else," said Eva.

  "Perhaps it does mean that he loves _you_, Eva," I answered. "But youare a good child, and always have been, I should think; and we all knowthat God loves people who are good. That sentence says nothing, you see,about God loving people who are not good. It is because I am never surethat I am doing the things that please him, that I am afraid of God andof the judgment-day."

  Eva was silent a minute, and then she said,--

  "I wish I could remember the rest of the sentence. Perhaps it mighttell."

  "Where does that sentence come from, Eva?" I asked. "Perhaps we mightfind it. Do you think God said it to your father from heaven, in avision or a dream, as he speaks to the saints?"

  "I think not, Cousin Else," she replied thoughtfully; "because my fathersaid it was in a book, which he told me where to find, when he was gone.But when I found the book, a priest took it from me, and said it was nota good book for little girls; and I never had it again. So I have onlymy sentence, Cousin Else. I wish it made you happy, as it does me."

  I kissed the darling child and wished her good night; but I could notsleep. I wish I could see the book. But perhaps, after all, it is not aright book; because (although Eva does not know it) I heard mygrandmother say her father was a Hussite, and died on the scaffold forbelieving something wrong.

  In the morning Eva was awake before me. Her large dark eyes werewatching me, and the moment I woke she said,--

  "Cousin Else, I think the end of that sentence has something to do withthe crucifix; because I always think of them together. You know the LordJesus Christ is God's only Son, and he died on the cross for us."

  And she rose and dressed, and said she would go to matins and sayprayers for me, that I might not be afraid in the next thunder-storm.

  It must be true, I am sure, that the cross and the blessed Passion weremeant to do us some good; but then they can only do good to those whoplease God, and that is precisely what it is so exceedingly difficult tofind out how to do.

  I cannot think, however, that Eva can in any way be believing wrong,because she is so religious and so good. She attends most regularly atthe confessional, and is always at church at the early mass, and manytimes besides. Often, also, I find her at her devotions before thecrucifix and the picture of the Holy Virgin and Child in our room. Sheseems really to enjoy being religious, as they say St. Elizabeth did.

  As for me, there is so very much to do between the printing, and thehouse, and our dear mother's ill health, and the baby, and the boys, whotear their clothes in such incomprehensible ways, that I feel more andmore how utterly hopeless it is for me ever to be like any of thesaints--unless, indeed, it is St. Christopher, whose legend is often acomfort to me, as our grandmother used to tell it to us, which was inthis way:--

  Offerus was a soldier, a heathen, who lived in the land of Canaan. Hehad a body twelve ells long. He did not like to obey, but to command. Hedid not care what harm he did to others, but lived a wild life,attacking and plundering all who came in his way. He only wished for onething--to sell his services to the Mightiest; and as he heard that theemperor was in those days the head of Christendom, he said, "LordEmperor, will you have me? To none less will I sell my heart's blood."

  The emperor looked at his Samson strength, his giant chest, and hismighty fists, and he said, "If thou wilt serve me for ever, Offerus, Iwill accept thee."

  Immediately the giant answered, "To serve you _for ever_ is not soeasily promised; but as long as I am your soldier, none in east or westshall trouble you."

  Thereupon he went with the emperor through all the land, and the emperorwas delighted with him. All the soldiers, in the combat as at thewine-cup, were miserable, helpless creatures compared with Offerus.

  Now the emperor had a harper who sang from morning till bed-time; andwhenever the emperor was weary with the march this minstrel had to touchhis harp-strings. Once, at eventide, they pitched the tents near aforest. The emperor ate and drank lustily; the minstrel sang a merrysong. But as, in his song, he spoke of the evil one, the emperor signedthe cross on his forehead. Said Offerus aloud to his comrades, "What isthis? What jest is the Prince making now?" Then the emperor said,"Offerus, listen: I did it on account of the wicked fiend, who is saidoften to haunt this forest with great rage and fury." That seemedmarvellous to Offerus, and he said, scornfully, to the emperor, "I havea fancy for wild boars and deer. Let us hunt in this forest." Theemperor said softly, "Offerus, no! Let alone the chase in this forest,for in filling thy larder thou mightst harm thy soul." Then Offerus madea wry face, and said, "The grapes are sour; if your highness is afraidof the devil, I will enter the service of this lord, who is mightierthan you." Thereupon he coolly demanded his pay, took his departure,with no very ceremonious leave-taking, and strode off cheerily into thethickest depths of the forest.

  In a wild clearing of the forest he found the devil's altar, built ofblack cinders: and on it, in the moonlight gleamed the white skeletonsof men and horses. Offerus was in no way terrified, but quietlyinspected the skulls and bones; then he called three times in a loudvoice on the evil one, and seating himself fell asleep, and soon beganto snore. When it was midnight, the earth seemed to crack, and on acoal-black horse he saw a pitch-black rider, who rode at him furiously,and sought to bind him with solemn promises. But Offerus said, "We shallsee." Then they went together through the kingdoms of the world, andOfferus found him a better master than the emperor; needed seldom topolish his armour, but had plenty of feasting and fun. However, one dayas they went along the high-road, three tall crosses stood before them.Then the Black Prince suddenly had a cold, and said, "Let us creep roundby the bye-road." Said Offerus, "Methinks you are afraid of thosegallows trees," and, drawing his bow, he shot an arrow into the middlecross. "What bad manners!" said Satan, softly; "do you not know that hewho in his form as a servant is the son of Mary, now exercises greatpower?" "If that is the case," said Offerus, "I came to you fettered byno promise; now I will seek further for the mightiest, whom only I willserve." Then Satan went off with a mocking laugh, and Offerus went onhis way asking every traveller he met for the Son of Mary. But, alas!few bear Him in their hearts; and no one could tell the giant where theLord dwelt, until one evening Offerus found an old pious hermit, whogave him a night's lodging in his cell, and sent him next morning to theCarthusian cloister. There the lor
d prior listened to Offerus, showedhim plainly the path of faith, and told him he must fast and pray, asJohn the Baptist did of old in the wilderness. But he replied, "Locustsand wild honey, my lord, are quite contrary to my nature, and I do notknow any prayers. I should lose my strength altogether, and had rathernot go to heaven at all in that way." "Reckless man!" said the prior."However, you may try another way: give yourself up heartily to achievesome good work." "Ah! let me hear," said Offerus; "I have strength forthat." "See, there flows a mighty river, which hinders pilgrims on theirway to Rome. It has neither ford nor bridge. Carry the faithful over onthy back." "If I can please the Saviour in that way, willingly will Icarry the travellers to and fro," replied the giant. And thereupon hebuilt a hut of reeds, and dwelt thenceforth among the water-rats andbeavers on the borders of the river, carrying pilgrims over the rivercheerfully, like a camel or an elephant. But if any one offered himferry-money, he said, "I labour for eternal life." And when now, aftermany years, Offerus's hair had grown white, one stormy night a plaintivelittle voice called to him, "Dear, good, tall Offerus, carry me across."Offerus was tired and sleepy, but he thought faithfully of Jesus Christ,and with weary arms seizing the pine trunk which was his staff when thefloods swelled high, he waded through the water and nearly reached theopposite bank; but he saw no pilgrim there, so he thought, "I wasdreaming," and went back and lay down to sleep again. But scarcely hadhe fallen asleep when again came the little voice, this time veryplaintive and touching, "Offerus, good, dear, great, tall Offerus, carryme across." Patiently the old giant crossed the river again, but neitherman nor mouse was to be seen, and he went back and lay down again, andwas soon fast asleep; when once more came the little voice, clear andplaintive, and imploring, "Good, dear giant Offerus, carry me across."The third time he seized his pine-stem and went through the cold river.This time he found a tender, fair little boy, with golden hair. In hisleft hand was the standard of the Lamb; in his right, the globe. Helooked at the giant with eyes full of love and trust, and Offerus liftedhim up with two fingers; but, when he entered the river, the littlechild weighed on him like a ton. Heavier and heavier grew the weight,until the water almost reached his chin; great drops of sweat stood onhis brow, and he had nearly sunk in the stream with the little one.However, he struggled through, and tottering to the other side, set thechild gently down on the bank, and said, "My little lord, prithee, comenot this way again, for scarcely have I escaped this time with life."But the fair child baptized Offerus on the spot, and said to him, "Knowall thy sins are forgiven; and although thy limbs tottered, fear not,nor marvel, but rejoice; thou hast carried the Saviour of the world! Fora token, plant thy pine-trunk, so long dead and leafless, in the earth;to-morrow it shall shoot out green twigs. And henceforth thou shalt becalled not Offerus, but Christopher." Then Christopher folded his handsand prayed and said, "I feel my end draws nigh. My limbs tremble; mystrength fails; and God has forgiven me all my sins." Thereupon thechild vanished in light; and Christopher set his staff into the earth.And so on the morrow, it shot out green leaves and red blossoms like analmond. And three days afterwards the angels carried Christopher toParadise.

  This is the legend which gives me more hope than any other. How sweet itwould be, if, when I had tried in some humble way to help one andanother on the way to the holy city, when the last burden was borne, andthe strength was failing, the holy child should appear to me and say,"Little Else, you have done the work I meant you to do--your sins areforgiven;" and then the angels were to come and take me up in theirarms, and carry me across the dark river, and my life were to grow youngand bloom again in Paradise like St. Christopher's withered staff!

  But to watch all the long days of life by the river, and carry theburdens, and not know if we are doing the right thing after all--that iswhat is so hard!

  Sweet, when the river was crossed, to find that in fulfilling somelittle, humble, every-day duty, one had actually been serving andpleasing the mightiest, the Saviour of the world! But if one could onlyknow it _whilst one was_ struggling through the flood, how delightfulthat would be! How little one would mind the icy water, or the achingshoulders, or the tottering, failing limbs!

  EISENACH, _January_, 1505.

  Fritz is at home with us again. He looks as much a man now as ourfather, with his moustache and his sword. How cheerful the sound of hisfirm step and his deep voice makes the house! When I look at himsometimes, as he tosses the children and catches them in his arms, or ashe flings the balls with Christopher and Pollux, or shoots with bow andarrows in the evenings at the city games, my old wish recurs that he hadlived in the days when our ancestors dwelt in the castles in Bohemia,and that Fritz had been a knight, to ride at the head of his retainersto battle for some good cause,--against the Turks, for instance, who arenow, they say, threatening the empire, and all Christendom. My littleworld at home is wide indeed, and full enough for me, but this burgherlife seems narrow and poor for him. I should like him to have to do withmen instead of books. Women can read, and learn, and think, if they havetime (although, of course, not as well as men can); I have even heard ofwomen writing books. St. Barbara and St. Catherine understood astronomy,and astrology, and philosophy, and could speak I do not know how manylanguages. But they could not have gone forth armed with shield andspear like St. George of Cappadocia, to deliver the fettered princessand slay the great African dragon. And I should like Fritz to do whatwomen can_not_ do. There is such strength in his light, agile frame, andsuch power in his dark eyes; although, certainly after all he hadwritten to us about his princely fare at the House at Erfurt, where heis a beneficiary, our mother and I did not expect to have seen his facelooking so hollow and thin.

  He has brought me back my godmother's gulden. He says he is anindependent man, earning his own livelihood, and quite above receivingany such gratuities. However, as I devoted it to Fritz I feel I have aright to spend it on him, which is a great comfort, because I canprovide a better table than we can usually afford, during the few dayshe will stay with us, so that he may never guess how pinched we oftenare.

  I am ashamed of myself, but there is something in this return of Fritzwhich disappoints me. I have looked forward to it day and night throughall these two years with such longing. I thought we should begin againexactly where we left off. I pictured to myself the old daily life withhim going on again as of old. I thought of our sitting in thelumber-room, and chatting over all our perplexities, our own and thefamily's, and pouring our hearts into each other's without reserve orfear, so that it was scarcely like talking at all, but like thinkingaloud.

  And, now, instead of our being acquainted with every detail of eachother's daily life, so that we are aware what we are feeling withoutspeaking about it, there is a whole history of new experience to benarrated step by step, and we do not seem to know where to begin. Noneof the others can feel this as I do. He is all to the children and ourparents that he ever was, and why should I expect more? Indeed, Iscarcely know what I did expect, or what I do want. Why should Fritz bemore to me than to any one else? It is selfish to wish it, and it ischildish to imagine that two years could bring no change. Could I havewished it? Do I not glory in his strength, and in his free and manlybearing! And could I wish a student at the great University of Erfurt,who is soon to be a Bachelor of Arts, to come and sit on the piles ofold books in our lumber-room, and to spend his time in gossiping withme? Besides, what have I to say? And yet, this evening, when thetwilight-hour came round for the third time since he returned, and heseemed to forget all about it, I could not help feeling troubled, and sotook refuge here by myself.

  Fritz has been sitting in the family-room for the last hour, with allthe children round him, telling them histories of what the students doat Erfurt; of their poetical club, where they meet and recite their ownverses, or translations of the ancient books which have been unburiedlately, and yet are fresher, he says, than any new ones, and set everyone thinking; of the debating meeting, and the great sing
ing partieswhere hundreds of voices join, making music fuller than any organ,--inboth of which Martin Luther seems a leader and a prince; and then of thefights among the students, in which I do not think Martin Luther hasjoined, but which, certainly, interest Christopher and Pollux more thananything else. The boys were standing on each side of Fritz, listeningwith wide open eyes; Chriemhild and Atlantis had crept close behind himwith their sewing; little Thekla was on his knee, playing with hissword-girdle; and little Eva was perched in her favourite place on thewindow-sill, in front of him. At first she kept at a distance from him,and said nothing; not, I think, from shyness, for I do not believe thatchild is afraid of any one or any thing, but from a quaint way she hasof observing people, as if she were learning them through like a newlanguage, or, like a sovereign making sure of the character of a newsubject before she admits him into her service. The idea of the littlecreature treating our Fritz in that grand style! But it is of no useresisting it. He has passed through his probation like the rest of us,and is as much flattered as the grandmother, or any of us, at beingadmitted into her confidence. When I left, Eva, who had been listeningfor some time with great attention to his student-stories, had herselfbecome the chief speaker, and the whole party were attending withriveted interest while she related to them her favourite Legend of St.Catherine. They had all heard it before, but in some way when Eva tellsthese histories they always seem new. I suppose it is because shebelieves them so fervently; it is not as if she were repeating somethingshe had heard, but quietly narrating something she has seen, much as onewould imagine an angel might who had been watching unseen while it allhappened. And, meantime, her eyes, when she raises them, with theirfringe of long lashes, seem to look at once into your heart and intoheaven.

  No wonder Fritz forgets the twilight-hour. But it is strange he hasnever once asked about our chronicle. Of that, however, I am glad,because I would not for the world show him the narrative of ourstruggles.

  Can it be possible I am envious of little Eva--dear, little, loving,orphan Eva? I do rejoice that all the world should love him. Yet, it wasso happy to be Fritz's only friend; and why should a little strangerchild steal my precious twilight-hour from me?

  Well, I suppose Aunt Agnes was right, and I made an idol of Fritz, andGod was angry, and I am being punished. But the saints seemed to find akind of sacred pleasure in their punishments, and I do not; nor do Ifeel at all the better for them, but the worse--which is another proofhow hopeless it is for me to try to be a saint.

  EISENACH, _February_.

  As I wrote those last words in the deepening twilight, two strong handswere laid very gently on my shoulders, and a voice said--

  "Sister Else, _why_ can you not show me your chronicle?"

  I could make no reply.

  "You are convicted," rejoined the same voice.

  "Do you think I do not know where that gulden came from? Let me see yourgodmother's purse."

  I began to feel the tears choking me; but Fritz did not seem to noticethem.

  "Else," he said, "you may practise your little deceptive arts on all therest of the family, but they will not do with me. Do you think you willever persuade me you have grown thin by eating sausages and cakes andwonderful holiday puddings every day of your life? Do you think thehungry delight in the eyes of those boys was occasioned by theirevery-day, ordinary fare? Do you think," he added, taking my hands inone of his, "I did not see how blue and cold, and covered withchilblains, these little hands were, which piled up the great logs onthe hearth when I came in this morning?"

  Of course I could do nothing but put my head on his shoulder and cryquietly. It was of no use denying anything. Then he added rapidly, in alow deep voice--

  "Do you think I could help seeing our mother at her old devices,pretending she had no appetite, and liked nothing so much as bones andsinews?"

  "O Fritz," I sobbed, "I cannot help it. What am I to do?"

  "At least," he said, more cheerfully, "promise me, little woman, youwill never make a distinguished stranger of your brother again, andendeavour by all kinds of vain and deceitful devices to draw the wholeweight of the family cares on your own shoulders."

  "Do you think it is a sin I ought to confess, Fritz?" I said; "I did notmean it deceitfully; but I am always making such blunders about rightand wrong. What can I do?"

  "Does Aunt Ursula know?" he asked rather fiercely.

  "No; the mother will not let me tell any one. She thinks they wouldreflect on our father; and he told her only last week, he has a planabout a new way of smelting lead, which is, I think, to turn it all intosilver. That would certainly be a wonderful discovery; and he thinks theElector would take it up at once, and we should probably have to leaveEisenach and live near the Electoral Court. Perhaps even the Emperorwould require us to communicate the secret to him, and then we shouldhave to leave the country altogether; for you know there are greatlead-mines in Spain; and if once people could make silver out of lead,it would be much easier and safer than going across the great ocean toprocure the native silver from the Indian savages."

  Fritz drew a long breath.

  "And meantime?" he said.

  "Well, meantime," I said, "it is of course, sometimes a little difficultto get on."

  He mused a little while, and then he said--

  "Little Else, I have thought of a plan which may, I think, bring us afew guldens--until the process of transmuting lead into silver iscompleted."

  "Of course," I said, "after that we shall want nothing, but be able togive to those who do want. And oh, Fritz! how well we shall understandhow to help people who are poor. Do you think that is why God lets us beso poor ourselves so long, and never seems to hear our prayers?"

  "It would be pleasant to think so, Else," said Fritz, gravely; "but itis very difficult to understand how to please God, or how to make ourprayers reach him at all--at least when we are so often feeling anddoing wrong."

  It cheered me to see that Fritz does not despair of the great inventionsucceeding one day. He did not tell me what his own plan is.

  Does Fritz, then, also feel so sinful and so perplexed how to pleaseGod? Perhaps a great many people feel the same. It is very strange. Ifit had only pleased God to make it a little plainer. I wonder if thatbook Eva lost would tell us anything!

  After that evening the barrier between me and Fritz was of course quitegone, and we seemed closer than ever. We had delightful twilight talksin our lumber-room, and I love him more than ever. So that Aunt Agneswould, I suppose, think me more of an idolater than before. But it isvery strange that idolatry should seem to do me so much good. I seem tolove all the world better for loving Fritz, and to find everythingeasier to bear, by having him to unburden everything on, so that I hadnever fewer little sins to confess than during the two weeks Fritz wasat home. If God had only made loving brothers and sisters and the peopleat home the way to please him, instead of not loving them too much, orleaving them all to bury one's self in a cold convent, like Aunt Agnes!

  Little Eva actually persuaded Fritz to begin teaching her the Latingrammar! I suppose she wishes to be like her beloved St. Catherine, whowas so learned. And she says all the holy books, the prayers and thehymns, are in Latin, so that she thinks it must be a language Godparticularly loves. She asked me a few days since if they speak Latin inheaven.

  Of course I could not tell. I told her I believed the Bible wasoriginally written in two other languages, the languages of the Greeksand the Jews, and that I had heard some one say Adam and Eve spoke theJews' language in paradise, which I suppose God taught them.

  But I have been thinking over it since, and I should not wonder if Evais right.

  Because, unless Latin is the language of the saints and holy angels inheaven, why should God wish the priests to speak it everywhere, and thepeople to say the Ave and Paternoster in it? We should understand it allso much better in German; but of course if Latin is the language of theblessed saints and angels, that is a reas
on for it. If we do not alwaysunderstand, THEY do, which is a great comfort. Only I think it is a verygood plan of little Eva's to try and learn Latin; and when I have moretime to be religious, perhaps I may try also.