A Tale of the Kloster Part 23

"Oh, thou wise, simple monk! 'Ta.s.s' was naught more than baby for 'Charles,' which his unpractised lips could not frame into other than 'Ta.s.s.' We all called him 'Ta.s.s' for a pet name."

I could not doubt 'twas so, for I could see more than one of the housefathers and the housemothers exchange nods and smiles with the nighest one as much as to say, "How stupid our Brother Jabez hath been not to see this long ago!" But how was I to know, not having any great knowledge of the little ones?

Then turning to our justice I bowed humbly, and said, "Brother Weiser thou art a justice, and if I mistake not hast power and authority to administer an oath or an affirmation."

To which our justice gravely responded, "Such power reposeth in me by virtue of my commission as justice."

"I shall ask, then, good brother, that our friend who sayeth his name is Thomas Seymour be affirmed that he will speak the truth."

And then as the stranger faced about toward the pulpit, our justice with his full, round voice that ever sounded to me like some strong, deep toned bell, said to the stranger:

"Dost thou, Thomas Seymour, solemnly and truly declare and affirm that thou wilt tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and so thou dost affirm?"

To which the stranger as solemnly replied, and yet distinctly in the breathless silence of the hall, "Yea!"

And now, after all these long years, my boy found his own, right name; and mine own reputation, often so bitterly a.s.sailed by those who held not with our mode of life, was cleansed from all stain and dishonor; for truly "a good name is better than great riches."

And thus our good brother, Thomas Seymour, whom many present with us this day vouched to be one of our most devout and influential English Sabbatarians, from Coventry, had come all this long journey merely to honor us with his presence; but in the providence of G.o.d destined to find his brother's son and to have all this dark mystery about Brother Alburtus and the witch and Sonnlein made as light as day.

Briefly, as our Brother Seymour related it to us, he and his brother David, known to us as Brother Alburtus, with his wife Elizabeth and their boy, Charles, our Brother Thomas being a bachelor, had lived together in Coventry. By the fall of a tree, which they were felling nigh their cabin, Brother Alburtus received the great gash across his brow, the hurt taking his mind from him so that one day he wandered away leaving no more trace of his departure than if he had been taken up into the sky, only that he had frequently after his hurt spoken ramblingly about joining the hermits on the Cocalico. Inquiry among the Solitary showed he was not with them; for it was not until some years after Sonnlein and I came to Ephrata that Brother Alburtus joined our community, and where and how he lived ere that no one ever knew. Some weeks after he had left his wife, she, unable longer to endure her suspense, left suddenly with the little boy, while our brother Thomas was absent from the cabin. She and the child also were swallowed up so completely by the wilderness that with all his long searching naught could he find of them, though he had visited the Conestogas, on a rumor that there was a white woman living with them, but they could not or would not tell him aught. At last, almost heartbroken and despairing of finding the lost ones, whom he now believed to be dead from the wild beasts, or starvation, or the Indians, he left Coventry, not returning again for over ten years after the loss of his brother David and his wife and child.

More we never learned, but it was clear to all that the fearsome witch was the wife of Brother Alburtus, that he was David Seymour, the brother of Thomas Seymour, and that Sonnlein was the baby. Many an eye was dimmed in the _Saal_ at the plain, unadorned recital of our brother's tale, as we thought of all the long years of darkened mind that had held our Brother Alburtus, so that he knew not his own boy though so nigh; but most of all our hearts went out in a great sorrow for that poor woman who half crazed by unwearying search and ever-recurring disappointment had suffered all these years the bitter pangs of separation from husband and child; and I know many a silent prayer arose from our hearts for those two who at last were sleeping side by side in that rude, mountain grave.

Indeed, it was a relief to our strained feelings when Johann, who long ago had forgiven the beating Sonnlein had given him, turned toward mine enemy yelling at him, "If thou leavest not at once with thy devil's grin, thou wilt be hurled into the creek," whereat mine enemy, abashed for once, slunk out of the hall like a whipped beast.

Surely there is not much else to relate of this marriage, though I shall never forget how lost and lonesome I felt, like a father bereft of his son, when our justice asked Sonnlein--and ever hath he been Sonnlein to me--"Dost thou, Charles Seymour, take this woman, our Genoveva, to be thy lawful wedded wife," my boy responded proudly, "Yea." And then, as I remember it, our justice asked our lovely Genoveva a like question if she would take him to be her husband, and upon her low "Yea," our justice p.r.o.nounced them husband and wife, and promptly saluted her with such a willing smack as made even the Sisters t.i.tter, while poor Brother Ezechial hung his head still lower, blus.h.i.+ng to his very ears.

The next day Sonnlein and Genoveva left on their honeymoon with his uncle for Coventry, and though Coventry be not to the end of the world, it seemed to me as though all the world had left me, only that she kissed me ere she left, whereat I blushed so through all my long beard, that Sonnlein laughed so heartily I liked it not; but had he known how long I cherished the memory of that kiss, the only one for many a long year, ah me, my boy had not laughed so boisterously I know.

CHAPTER XXVII

RETROSPECT

Moreo'er, the s.h.i.+elds so steady and the consecrated swords, O G.o.d, that I were worthy to join the victor lords.

Then should I like the others achieve a prize untold, Not lands that have been promised, nor king's or n.o.ble's gold, But oh, a wondrous crown, and for evermore to wear A crown which poorest soldier can win with axe and spear.

Yea, if the n.o.ble crusade I might follow o'er the sea, I evermore should sing, All's well! and nevermore, Ah me!

Nevermore, Ah me!

--Walther Von der Vogelweide.

And now, after the long lapse of many years since my boy and our Genoveva were made one--and yet how short the time hath been--one of my chiefest delights is to dwell on the past. Mine eyes are no longer turned toward the future with eager questioning as in my youth. In mine old age I am like unto an old tree standing alone, a solitary landmark of the decline of our Kloster, the setting sun casting my shadow toward the morning. The Kloster hath never survived the indomitable spirit of its founder, Brother Beissel, and his st.u.r.dy a.s.sociates. Slowly but surely its power hath diminished. Since the days our warrior, Brother Wohlforth, left us many others of our number have gone to their eternal reward. Brother Obed, our schoolmaster, with his kindly, genial soul, long ago have I missed him from his accustomed place, and the Eckerlings, of whose sad fate we heard years after they left us, they too, with their dreams of commercial conquest, have pa.s.sed away to that realm which harbors neither bargain nor sale.

The first great loss that came to us was our Brother Enoch, our justice, who died but a few years after that never to be forgotten wedding; but not many years before his death there was great rejoicing among us to know that the serious breach between our leader and our justice had been closed, and though our justice had greatly grieved us when he allowed himself to be fooled so to accept a commission from the governor, yet when we saw the door of our brother's long spiritual captivity had been opened we welcomed him gladly, so that his old acquaintances of the Kloster all told him the lost piece of silver was now found. Not long after, our congregation a.s.sembled for a love feast at which he, by partaking of the holy sacraments, was reincorporated into our spiritual community, although we willingly after his death yielded to his mother church the honor of having garnered in his body.

He died on a Sunday after a violent attack of colic, and was buried on his farm at Heidelberg, not a great distance from us to the northeast, where with his children and a number of Indians he awaits the call of the last day.

And now I come to the closing years of our beloved leader--and surely these were full of trouble. For a number of years prior to his death it became manifest to all of us that physical infirmities were fast growing upon him. But far more grave than these were the estrangements he suffered more or less from both of our Solitary Orders, though it seemeth not becoming to set forth here the false and bitter accusations made against our leader so that his cup of bitterness was pressed to the full.

All during the winter of 1767-1768, besides the distress of mind and spirit, he suffered from many diseases, chiefly a wasting cough, and at the beginning of July of 1768 his various ailments became so aggravated he was most of the time in great pain, so that he was forced to exclaim more than once to me--and I rejoice now I never deserted him--that he was nailed to the cross; but such was his stubborn will and fort.i.tude that he refused to acknowledge any physical sickness, but would often say his sufferings were mere spiritual throes preceding his new birth.

He also found great comfort in the firm persuasion, which many of his most intimate followers held with him, that he would be spared the pains of a bodily dissolution and would be translated into the realms of bliss as Enoch and Elijah of old; but in this, like his predecessor on the Wissahickon, Magister Johannus Kelpius, our leader was destined to make his exit in no wise different from ordinary mortals.

Notwithstanding his grievous infirmities our leader attended to the duties of his office to within eight days of his end, when for the last time, in his priestly robes, he officiated at a love feast, and seeing that his end was nigh he consecrated Brother Philemon and Brother Eleazer and myself to the priesthood, from which his successor should be selected. While in such suffering he received word, only three days before his death, that one of our oldest housemothers was breathing her last, and that she wished to see our leader even if he could not speak to her. So with him leaning on my arm we went to our dear sister's, thereby fulfilling her wish.

"At last," so our _Chronicon_ states, "Wednesday, the sixth day of July of the year 1768 came when he laid aside his mortal raiment."

On that morning, having rallied somewhat, he attended prayers in the Sisters' _Saal_, and sought earnestly for reconciliation with our prioress, but in vain. As he returned to his cabin, sad at heart--for with all his fiery nature he ever strove to merit his favorite name, Father Friedsam Gottrecht (Father Peaceful G.o.dright)--none of us thought his departure was so near; for the powers of darkness, as he said, could not prevail upon him to lie down.

Meanwhile the Brethren kept a constant watch, for many of our little flock looked for great happenings, feeling a.s.sured the powers of death would have no easy struggle with such an old soldier of the cross, who was neither accustomed to call on men for mercy nor to yield to the powers of darkness.

But by the time the sun had stood at midday, we could see the end was near, and all the Solitary and the near-by householders gathered about him in his little cabin, soon filling it, many standing outside the doorway. On his little bench, as hard and uncomfortable as any of ours--for he scorned any comforts denied to his disciples--sat our little ruler, gaunt, wasted, his features thin and drawn, and eyes sunken. Around him cl.u.s.tered the Brethren of Bethania, sad and silent, but not shedding any tears to annoy his stubborn spirit. Back of the Brethren stood the Sisters, some of the shorter ones on a bench, and most of them weeping quietly despite their fort.i.tude. All was silence and expectation. But though within the cabin reigned the darkness of death, outside under the glowing sun all was life and brightness, like the glorious radiance that would burst through the gates of death, for our beloved leader.

Over an hour we stood, not saying a word, but all the while our brother becoming weaker and weaker from the great heat and the stifling air in so small a cabin. At last he broke the silence and asked the Brethren to bless him and receive his memory into their fellows.h.i.+p. Then I anointed him with the holy oil, and as I spread the sacred chrism upon his forehead I gave him my blessing with the laying on of hands, after which all the Brethren in turn gave him the kiss of peace to take with him on his journey.

After this tender ceremony was over he consented, after my continued persuasion, to lie down on his bench, resting his head upon the wooden block that had served him so many years. He lay quietly for a while with eyes closed, and then as if gazing into the very depths of eternity, he partly raised himself on his elbow and exclaimed, "_O wehe! O wehe! O wunder! O wunder!_" (Oh, woe! Oh, woe! Oh, wonder! Oh, wonder!) and then fell back, his spirit soon after taking its flight peacefully from its earthly home to that still more wonderful home of which oft during his stay with us he had received such gracious visions.

Immediately upon his death messengers were sent out near and far with slips prepared by the Sisters, inviting the people to the funeral of our _Vorsteher_ which, on account of the great heat, was set but two days following his death, the Brethren meanwhile preparing the body for burial, the Sisterhood keeping vigil, five Sisters constantly watching and reciting prayers for our dead.

On the day of the funeral our usual customs were observed, such as sweeping the floor of his cabin, pouring a bucket of water over the door-sill, and the chalking of the three crosses upon the side of the doorway. And there were those who, following an old German superst.i.tion, went about and informed every hive of bees within our grounds and for a considerable distance without, of the death of our leader, it being firmly believed that the bees would swarm if this notice to them were neglected; and also every barrel, keg, and crock of wine and vinegar and pickles and sauer kraut and preserved fruits, in order not to be spoiled, had to be turned on the shelves or skids.

The funeral services were held in the great _Saal_ we had built many years before at a right angle with Bethania, where our brother had so often preached. After a sermon by me there were addresses by Brothers Philemon and Obed. We sang special hymns, and never did our Kloster music, in which our leader had ever taken such great pride, sound more sweet and heavenly. When the services were over in the _Saal_ the body of our _Vorsteher_ was carried to the graveyard close by, followed by the immense throng in spite of the short notice gathered from every direction. Before lowering him into his last resting-place, the lid of the coffin was again raised, so that according to our ritual the sun might once more s.h.i.+ne upon his body. Then his body was turned slightly to the right side, being kept in place by a piece of sod, thus ensuring perfect rest in his grave. The lid was then closed down, and the little form of our great-souled leader was lowered into the dark cell, there to repose until the trumpet of the angel shall call him forth to receive his crown.

On the same day our brother died, a Sister who lately joined the Roses of Saron pa.s.sed away, and this being joined to the death of the housemother but a few days before, gave the Solitary firm a.s.surance that the departed spirits of our sister and the housemother had been deputed to attend the spirit of our _Vorsteher_ and minister to it.

Often during his life he had promised he would return in spirit to the Kloster after leaving this world. Many of the Solitary as well as the settlers about us firmly believed this. It hath ever been a matter of much thought with me whether or not the spirits of the dead ever revisit their beloved ones on earth. It seemeth to me it should and must be so, and yet have I never been vouchsafed such visions. But only two days after his burial our leader appeared to Brother Luther and Sister Catharina, in their cells. He also appeared to our Brother Ezechial, who for some fancied grievance had been the only one of our number not to attend the funeral and gave our disgruntled brother most earnest admonitions, so that Brother Ezechial became a changed man, for the better let it be said. Later on, our leader's visits to the Solitary became nightly occurrences, and indeed he even appeared to one of our Germantown brethren.

Be these things as they may, for I record not what I saw--merely what I heard--this I know to be true, that with all his failings and short-comings our Kloster reached its greatest renown during the rule of our little leader. Naught but a poor journeyman baker had he been in his early days; of little learning, but to a man of such great talents as his, the lack of learning from books hindered him little. In his lifetime he originated, with some help from others, our wonderful Kloster music, himself composing fully one thousand pieces of music, printing over four hundred of them, and full of beauty and prophetic insight are they, so that we hold them as great treasures. And with all his fiery nature, there was in this man such tenderness and humility that in time most of the estrangements of his early Kloster life were fully reconciled, thereby confirming what he ever maintained, that he was a lover of peace.

But I shall not longer darken my story with the deaths of my beloved Brothers and Sisters. I still have my Sonnlein and his devoted Genoveva.

After that blissful day, they went with his uncle, living with him, he being a bachelor, until his death, after which, his estate having come to Sonnlein, he and Genoveva, at my earnest persuasions, took up a farm near by, which Sonnlein tilleth like a good husbandman, only that he never hath outlived his love for hunting and fis.h.i.+ng, even though he is now on toward middle age. But such hath ever been the simplicity of his life that he hath the strength and spirit of one in his thirties.

As for our beloved Genoveva, she too is of those blessed ones who never grow old--for surely time seemeth to have no influence on that fair face and graceful form. What a sweet, n.o.ble woman she is! Indeed, it is Sonnlein's oft-repeated jest, that he is exceedingly jealous of old _Vaterchen_; to which Genoveva maketh gentle retort that she never quite understandeth how she came even to think of Sonnlein while I was about.

But she is all devotion to her Sonnlein and her children; and what a brood of healthy, happy-hearted, romping, noisy boys and girls they are, so that often they are reproved for worrying so much their grandfather Jabez--to such dignity have I attained. But with all their sitting on me and sliding over me and pulling my beard and hanging to my cloak wherever I go, I would not for worlds have them otherwise.

The eldest one, a tall, grave, solemn-eyed youth, who is ever at his books, and asketh me most serious questions, hath been named Jabez, against my earnest protestations.

A second, a lively young imp, who careth for everything but books, they have called Peter, he no doubt representing my more worldly life ere I joined the Kloster, as Jabez standeth for my stricter life thereafter.

Indeed, I often aver that had I more names Sonnlein and Genoveva would make use of every one. There is too, a precious little toddler whom they consented at my request to call Sonnlein, all my names being used up.

Beside the cradle in which lieth a plump, rosy, crowing, happy baby, our little Genoveva, stands a sweet-faced little maid, with hair of gold and heaven's own blue eyes, whom, though I have ever been a great stickler for impartiality, I cannot help loving a trifle the best; for Genoveva, with that marvelous insight women seem to have above men in matters of the heart, hath named the little maid Bernice. Ah me!

As for me, I cannot help feeling that mayhap I did not use all of my few talents faithfully. I wonder sometimes whether I did not bury some here in the solitary life of the Kloster. Not that we were selfish, or mean, or lacked in love for our Father; but perhaps, aye, I fear it is so, man cannot best serve man by withdrawing from him. I see clearly now it was not the Master's way. He taught neither fasting nor feasting; neither vigils nor sluggish sleep. Even within the sacred bounds of our Kloster, sequestered from the world, things were not--it pains me e'en now to say--as holy as they should have been. Hate, spite, envy, greed, l.u.s.t, pa.s.sion, ambition, intrigue, quarrelings, bickerings, misunderstandings, false, bitter charges, prevailed within the monastery no less than without. I understand now what the deep-sighted Luther meant when he said that the world is in the heart of man and not in his surroundings.

It is even so, and because it is so, I cannot withstand the arguments of those who contend truthfully that the life of the monk and the nun, sweet and holy though it may be, is not so large and n.o.ble and useful as the life of him and her who with duty for a watchword and purity of heart for an armor and the word of G.o.d for a sword go forth to battle with sin wherever his horrid form may be seen.

But thanks to the priceless inheritance of a strong, healthy body, preserved by temperance in diet, serenity of mind, and abundance of labor in the open air close to the heart of G.o.d, mine old age hath not yet become a reproach to me. Still, like the Preacher, I feel it will not be many days ere the keepers of the house shall tremble, the grinders cease because they are few, and those that look out of the windows be darkened. I have endeavored always to bear victory and defeat, joy and sadness, with evenness of spirit. I have not complained overmuch here and surely when the silver cord is loosed for me or the golden bowl be broken and I meet Him face to face in the boundless fields of eternity, I know naught but bliss will be mine; and yet with my poor earthly sight and understanding, I shall long to meet there and be with them for evermore, father, mother, the Brothers and Sisters of the Kloster, Sonnlein and his beloved Genoveva and their dear children; but dearer than all these I want again to clasp to my breast the sweet flower cut off while still in its budding, my Bernice.