About an hour before midnight—Sonnlein having gone to sleep soon after dark—I bethought me to go to our brother'sKammerand give him such comfort as he might need. I found him alone in his little cell sitting feebly on his wooden bench, so that I could see he was suffering great weakness. At first he resisted my gentle persuasions to lie down and rest, but finally consented thereto, even, after much coaxing, letting me spread my robe under him and rest his head on it; for he was so thin I could not bear to see his poor frame with nothing between it and the hard board's.
I rejoiced to see him drop off into a deep sleep that I fondly hoped would last until the morning; but there was a something about his sleep so unnaturallydeep and profound I feared it might be the forerunner of his speedy dissolution.
It was close now to the midnight hour and soon there rang out from the darkness the clear notes of our bell calling the Brothers and Sisters to their wonted devotions. Scarcely had the first stroke died away when I was startled almost out of my wits to see Brother Agonius sit up straight on his bench, looking ahead with a fixed, steady stare.
"What seest thou, brother?" I asked softly and I know my voice trembled, for I understood not his strange gazing.
But he heeded me not in the least only that he appeared to be muttering to himself. Then his voice, becoming more firm, he said, still as though to himself, "Ye foolish Eckerlings; flee ye from the wrath to come!"
"What meanest thou?" I asked wonderingly; but still he heeded not, only muttering as before something about the Eckerlings of which now and then I would catch some few words, which seemed to me like, "O ye Eckerlings; ye poor Eckerlings; driven away—alone—captured—tortured—separated—persecuted—homeless"; and then my brother sighed as though a world of woe oppressed him and murmured, "Repent ye; repent ye"; all this time my flesh creeping with dread as the low tone of the dying man uttered this marvelous prophecy; for such, in truth, it was.
Finally he lay down again, but still muttering and mumbling, only lower than before. Once he mentioned my name and it seemed to me he said pityingly, "Poor Brother Jabez," and then after a long pause, "Poor Sister Bernice," and then after a still longer pause, during which I waited anxiously for what might follow he said more clearly, "The fight will not be long; comfort thou him, Lord"; so that I could not keep out a great fear for that he should couple my name with my dear sister's so strangely; for I had oft heard that dying ones see not only the past but even the future with great clearness, and I could not help the dread that held my heart as though with a hand of ice.
When the Brethren dropped in after their devotions our brother was again suffering such agony that he declared—being in his senses again—his sacrifice on the cross was now complete, wherefore he did not know whether any saint had ever suffered such martyrdom, and while the Brethren were singing at his request the hymn, "The time is not yet come," he asked that they intercede with God that he might open to him his prison door.
As his end drew near he asked that certain psalms and parts of Tauler's "Last Hours" be repeatedly read to him, after which he asked to be anointed in the manner of the first Christians. This was done, Brother Beissel applying thechrism. On the Wednesday following, Brother Agonius kept looking keenly toward the hour-glass, for it had been revealed to him that his end was to come at the ninth hour of that day. And so when the ninth hour came he sat up straight on his wooden bench, but immediately fell over scarce breathing; but he revived again and asked feebly whether he had not died. With the end of the ninth hour he passed away with the senseless sands of the hour-glass.
The next day his mortal remains were placed in a neat coffin where the Brethren and Sisters and the settlers of all denominations for miles around could gaze once more upon the face and form of this unconquerable Christian soldier and martyr and pay their last respects to the memory of our eloquent exhorter. I shall not dwell upon the rites and ceremonies that made his burial so solemn and memorable. As his body was lowered into its resting-place in the meadow a little to the east of Brother Beissel's cabin, a special funeral hymn was sung by the Sabbatarians, composed for the occasion by his lifelong friend, our superintendent.
After the singing of the hymn the Brotherhood of Zion, being nearest about the grave, closed with its mystic rites the funeral ceremonies, the Sisters in a tearful group standing beyond us, and all being surrounded by the sincere friends of ourdeparted brother, and the curious ones who ever attend such sad occasions.
A modest tombstone marks his sleeping-place, bearing the following German inscription by Brother Beissel, which I translate freely thus:
Victory brings the crownIn the fight for faith, grace, and renown.Thus blessings crown the warrior trueWho bravely sin and Belial slew.Peacefully he passed to his chamber of restWhere now he is free of all pain and distress.
Victory brings the crownIn the fight for faith, grace, and renown.Thus blessings crown the warrior trueWho bravely sin and Belial slew.Peacefully he passed to his chamber of restWhere now he is free of all pain and distress.
Girls and gold are the softer the purer they are.—Jean Paul Richter.
Girls and gold are the softer the purer they are.
—Jean Paul Richter.
The beautiful flowers that grew down in the meadow where we laid our Brother Agonius in his chamber of rest, like him were soon gathered up into the arms of the Master Reaper. The enchantments of the long, hot, summer days had worked silently but surely the entrancing spells that now spread over field and forest the glowing vestments of the early fall.
But one day as I was resting at the foot of the venerable oak where Brother Martin had been hastened to his death by that strange woman not many years before, suddenly I heard a piercing shriek from the thick woods back of me and a wild, terrified rush toward the little clearing where I was standing erect, fairly astounded. In amoment more Sister Bernice fell almost headlong at my feet, whence I lifted her unconscious with fright and terror into my arms.
Hardly knowing what to do I stood there helplessly gazing at her sweet face and then at the crown of hair that lay like a golden fleece over my arm, her hood having fallen to the ground, so that I was thankful some remnant of womanly vanity had saved her from the hideous tonsure. But I bethought myself to lay her gently on the ground, her head, a dear burden, in my lap, fanning her face as best I might with my large, toil-stained hands. At last the fluttering eyelids and the gasping breath told me of returning consciousness. At first she opened her eyes and gazed at me wonderingly, vaguely, and once she closed them as if to shut out some awful sight. I rubbed her hands, her wrists, softly smoothed her brow, and spake to her gently, "'Tis naught but Brother Jabez; thou needst not fear him. What hath he done?" and by such soft entreaties and with tender pressures of the hands I sought to soothe her to herself again.
Finally, she sat up weakly, but leaning so sweetly and helplessly against me—it being necessary to hold her safe with mine arms for great fear she might faint again—that I longed to sit there forever. She, however, after a while freed herself somewhat from my too careful protection and said "Nay, my dear sister, my—Bernice, I never had much faith in such wild tales," said I, as she lifted those clear, trusting eyes to mine. And may I be forgiven for this unblushing, unscrupulous lie; for did I not know of the witch of Endor? Many a tale had I heard in theVaterlandof the malign influences of the evil eye, so that now I felt a vague dread I dared not make known to my poor little sister, who had flown to my arms as a birdling to its nest.
Illustration."In a moment more Sister Bernicefell almost headlong at my feet."Page 128.
"Think not of her more, my sister; she cannot harm thee now, dear Bernice." Upon which boastful assurance she smiled confidently enough and said with a look I would not have changed for a kingdom, "That I know quite well, thou great giant; wast thou ever afraid, Brother Jabez?"
"Never," I responded valiantly, recklessly adding another lie to the record I this day seemed bound to cover with falsehoods.
"Oh, that I could be so brave, Brother Jabez; but I have ever been weak, such a coward; theVaterchenand theMutterchenalways shielded me as though I were in all truth a baby." Here she paused as if to catch her breath, and then slowly again as with difficulty she said quietly, "I have been growing so weak lately, I wonder what ails me?"
And now my selfish joy, after all these gloomy months without sight of her, gave way to a pain that shot through me like an arrow as I saw how much more delicate and ethereal she had become since that blissful love feast. For a moment my soul was in hot rebellion at all the hardships and privations that made our Kloster life almost unbearable to the strongest and which were so heavy on the frail shoulders of this sweet angel at my side. Something of my wicked wrath must have expressed itself against my will, for she suddenly looked up at me alarmed, crying out, "What iswrong, Brother Jabez? Thou hast such a hard, angry look in thy eyes, such as I have never seen there before."
"I am not in anger, Sister Bernice" replied I, softening my evil looks to fit my words, "merely thinking hard—exceeding hard."
"And dost thou look so stern and fierce and frown so, when thou art lost in great thoughts?" she asked looking up so innocently I felt myself an unregenerate and abandoned soul for such shameless lying. "If thou dost," she went on slowly, "I shall be afraid of thee."
"Yea, sister," I lied again unhesitatingly, "thou hast yet to learn that like many other silly men and women I save my smiles and cheerfulness for those whom I know the least and am sternest and coldest to those that know me and love me best."
"That I know to be false," she cried out, smiling up at me brightly, in such a way I thought I never could let her go; "thou art not a hypocrite. Who in all our Kloster does not know and love our big brother, Brother Jabez, for his kindness, his patience, his tenderness, his charity, for every one, good or bad, and most of all for that mischievous Sonnlein?"
All this sweet-sounding anthem to my unmerited exaltation made me so sinfully happy and irreligiously proud I fairly forgot myself in my foolishjoy, so that I pressed the gently resisting girl—for a mere girl she was—to my breast, and was about to insult her trust and purity by an unhallowed kiss, and doubt not I had done this great wickedness, had I not seen too near for me to venture on such indulgence, the form of some Sister straying our way.
I hurriedly urged Sister Bernice—who not seeing the approaching Sister, marveled much at my sudden coldness and failure to complete the sweet enterprise on which I had embarked: "Go thy way, my best beloved sister; think no more of witches; I shall not let them harm thee." And with that she smiled more heavenly than before, but obeyed my will and betook herself to herKammer, while I passing on in the opposite direction, went straight for that accursed spot where Brother Martin had been the first ill-fated one to see that grisly shape.
But though I searched most diligently, scrutinizing the vines, the brush, the ground, I saw no sign of her, and I was making my way back, sorely puzzled, to the oak, when suddenly I heard a quick rustling among the leaves, such as a bird might make, and turning sharply, beheld, not more than a child's throw, in the gloomy shades of that thick, dark forest, the bent, crouching form of that hideous hag, a wild-eyed, savage-featured she-fiend!
The memory of poor Brother Martin, the terrorof my harmless, innocent Bernice, moved me to such anger as never before or since overcame my patience and moderation.
"Thou witch, or devil, whatever thou art," I yelled at her in my passion as I pulled out of the ground a stone as large as my clenched fists, "it is in mine temper to crush thee where thou standest, polluting these holy grounds, thou pestilence!"
With that she rushed forward fiercely for a few steps as though with clawlike hands and fanglike teeth she would rend me to pieces; but now that my blood was on fire, I quailed not, whereat she suddenly stopped, the more especially as my hand was drawn back ready to hurl the stone should she come any nigher.
As she stood there glowering and glaring at me, snarling and choking for the world like some angry beast, I marveled not that the others had been terror-stricken at such a forbidding shape. Again I commanded, drawing up my figure to its full height, "Begone thou vile beast ere I forget myself and slay thee as I would a snake!" and with that I advanced on her, my face distorted with such anger—for the passions are ever destroyers of comeliness—I doubt not she knew, if, indeed she had a mind for knowing, that I meant my threats.
I was but a few paces from her, when she made a spiteful sweep at my face with one of her talons that would have sadly marred me had I beenreached, and then, bent and crouching, she slunk away sullenly, still snarling and muttering inarticulate sounds. I stood there until her evil shape was swallowed up by the woods, and then I first knew I was shaking like a leaf and that I was as wet as though I had just come out of the Cocalico.
In this frame I walked back slowly to myKammer, so sick at heart with forebodings of evil I dared not think of, which not all the joy of having had Bernice in my arms could make me forget.
Night's curtains now are closingRound half a world reposingIn calm and holy trust;All seems one vast, still chamber,Where weary hearts rememberNo more the sorrows of the dust.—Mathias Claudius.
Night's curtains now are closingRound half a world reposingIn calm and holy trust;All seems one vast, still chamber,Where weary hearts rememberNo more the sorrows of the dust.
—Mathias Claudius.
Hardly had Peniel been completed and dedicated, when there occurred an event that wrought great consternation, not only in our little community but among all the settlers in the province. This was nothing less than a comet. Many firmly believed this celestial visitant to be the precursor of war and its kindred evils, famine and pestilence; for full many of our German settlers had still fresh in their minds the fiery comet that had appeared in the sky of theVaterlandimmediately before theThirty Years' War, when the Palatinate was devastated from end to end and almost depopulated. Thus it was feared this fiery, flaming star foretold similar bloodshed and disaster in this hitherto peaceful New World. Many of our Brotherhood thought the flaming tail was a bundle of switches, with which the Almighty was about to punish the unrepentant and unregenerate.
To our brother hermits of the Wissahickon the comet was looked upon as a harbinger of the celestial Bridegroom, for whose coming they had so long devoutly waited.
I remember well the night this wonderful star appeared. It was early in the year 1742. The Kloster bell with its sweet tones was calling the Brotherhood of Zion to their midnight devotions. I still see our long slender line in cloaks and cowls file out of the narrow corridors, and silently and reverently take up our march toward the Hall of Prayer on Mount Sinai. There was no moon, but through the clear, frosty air was spread the light of a multitude of stars that twinkled brightly over head. Not a twig stirred on the leafless trees. Everything was quiet, Kedar and Zion looming up distinctly on the hillside, and the sharp roof of Peniel, down in the meadow, seemed wrapt in deep slumber.
As the notes of the bells died away there was absolute stillness, save for the creaking and crunchingof our wooden shoes on the frozen ground. We had passed over half the distance to the prayer house, when suddenly we saw in the eastern heavens a blazing star, with its bright, fiery tail flashing upon the face of the sky. I shall never forget the awe that took possession of us so that we trembled with fear, Brother Obed who was next to me, his teeth chattering violently, whispering hoarsely it was the judgment day and Gabriel would blow his horn. I myself was not without a feeling that something dreadful was about to happen, for it was the first comet I had ever seen, and I knew not what it portended. Still, I am glad to say I was not so utterly bereft of my senses as most of my poor brethren seemed to be.
Brother Alburtus, however, was least concerned of all, a peaceful smile lighting up his face as though the celestial Bridegroom were coming on some fiery chariot to take him to heaven; but Brother Onesimus fell on his knees on the hard ground, and prayed for mercy and that the great evil and calamities foreshadowed by the fiery messenger in the heavens might be turned aside and that the Almighty would hear our prayers.
And then I felt moved to quote the sublime words of Job:
Is not God in the height of heavens?And behold the height of the stars,How high they are.
Is not God in the height of heavens?And behold the height of the stars,How high they are.
After the first shock of this sudden apparition was somewhat abated, Brother Beissel ordered the bells rung throughout the community, and deputed me to order all out for religious services in Peniel, where we prayed and sang until the dawn, some of us fondly hoping as the daylight appeared and the glare of the comet died away our prayers had been answered, only to find the direful visitant in the sky on the following night and many nights thereafter.
Brother Obed held that the comet augured the end of the world and Brother Philemon agreed thereto; for he recollected, which we all remembered now, that Brother Agonius some weeks before his death, had earnestly prophesied the long-looked-for millennium was at hand.
Special prayers as provided for in our ritual were said, and certain Brothers, detailed for that office, read these prayers at the services of the Sisterhood and the congregations of the households at Peniel. This liturgy consisted of the reading of the fourth Psalm, closing with a special invocation, these being changed each day according to the secret ritual of the Zionites. The sign for Sunday being the Lion; the corresponding angel Raphael, and the planet Chamma, the Sun. For Monday the sign was the Crab, the angel Gabriel; and the planet Lewanna, the Moon, and so on, a different sign and angel and planet for each day of theweek, the sign for the Sabbath being the Waterman and the Goat, the angel Chephziel; the planet Sabbathai, or Saturn.
Brother Jephune, who was skilled in astronomy and astrology, informed us the comet was near the equinoxes of the heavens the first night and in the tail of the Eagle the following night. For a few nights the heavens were so hidden by heavy clouds and fogs we did not see the comet again until the following Saturday, when the star stood near Lyra, having taken a northward course; by the next night the comet had flown to the tip of the Swan's wing, and so rapid was the wanderer's flight it traveled five degrees north within twenty-four hours. The next night the comet entered the head of the Dragon, after which the awesome visitor vanished again into space, many of the Brethren stoutly maintaining it had been swallowed up by the Dragon.
But the long-looked-for millennium did not come either with the comet or its vanishing, but happily, on the other hand, neither did those dire disasters and calamities fall upon us which many had predicted; and though it was a long time before we outlived the fear inspired by this erratic body, if another had come shortly after there is little doubt in my mind our terror would not have been quite so great, for this is the nature of man.
Nevertheless, the star made a wonderful andmore or less lasting impression upon all of our community, and from this time a number of our hymns date, which afterward were incorporated in the collection named by our superintendent, "Paradisches Wunderspiel" (Paradise Wonder Music). These hymns were full of prophetic insight and represented the mysteries of the last days so clearly it seemed to many of us as though the kingdom of heaven were already at hand.
But what troubled me far more than this flaming star was that which occurred the very next day after the comet disappeared. A few years after Sonnlein and I came to Ephrata, there joined the Solitary one whom I have already mentioned as Brother Alburtus, that being his Kloster name. What his real name was no one in our community seemed to know. And lest it be thought strange that we knew not who he was, it behooveth me to enlighten the reader by explaining that at Ephrata we seldom, if ever, demanded of man or woman desiring to join us, other than whether they had renounced the world and were willing to serve God in the simple manner we had agreed upon as being the best for our Master's cause.
And thus it came about that in our tolerant little republic all were welcome, no matter what their previous faith, Protestant or Catholic, or what their condition, high or low, rich or poor. Nor did we inquire overmuch into the past life ofany who desired to join us; for what concerned us more than the past was the manner of life our brethren and sisters lead after joining us, and in this were we exceedingly strict.
But our Brother Alburtus was always a puzzle to me as, indeed, he was a great mystery to the rest of the Brotherhood and Sisterhood, though we all were regarded as peculiar by outsiders. He was very tall, even taller than I, and broad-shouldered, so that even with his habit of walking humbly, with bowed form, he yet towered a veritable giant above all the rest of the Brotherhood. A pronounced roll in his gait, such as men receive who have served long on the sea, inclined many of us to believe such had been the greater part of his life, and there were rumors current in the neighborhood that our Brother Alburtus had been captain of a vessel; while still others—especially the busybodies, who always imagine evil of others—gravely asserted he had been a pirate and had sought refuge among us from those who sought his capture; but the only thing I ever saw as supporting the charge of piracy was a long, livid scar across our brother's brow, giving his otherwise gentle and benign countenance a rather forbidding aspect. Whether or not he had been a rover of the seas I never learned; from his face I could not believe he had been a bloodthirsty pirate, though I know full well that oft beneath the formand features of a saint dwell the thoughts and passions of the Evil One; for the Scriptures say the human heart is a deceitful thing.
But this I do know, and in later years it was a great comfort to me, that in all the twenty or more years our brother was with us he lived a life of such saintly peace and gentleness as put to shame many a Brother who professed more but acted not so well. Whatever his past life, I felt sure with us he lived a true Christian; for a man cannot well live a hypocrite long with his fellow-men and not be found out.
Yet he had two great peculiarities we often marveled at and of which one was, that no matter where or when one saw him, he would ever be clasping and rubbing his hands together. Day after day, month after month, year after year, all the time I knew him, I believe I never saw him but that he was clasping and rubbing those hands and looking at them in a strange, abstracted sort of way, and even when the Brotherhood were at their meals, if he was not attending to the needs of the inner man, he would be still rubbing and clasping those hands, which looked white and peaceful enough to me, so far as I could see; but the suspicious ones—and they are ever a plenty—in our community and in the country round about were firm in the belief that those hands had been stained with the blood of men and even fair womenand dear little children, and for whose deaths he was doomed for the rest of his life to imagine he saw the blood there which he must ever be trying to rub off.
Mine own opinion was that our Brother Alburtus, who was one of those absent-minded ones who never know what they are doing, had simply fallen into this habit, which, as is the nature of habits, became a very part of him.
His other peculiarity was that often without leaving word with any of us he would wander off, or as I have often thought, lose himself in the woods, sometimes being absent weeks at a time; but as he always returned safely, albeit his body and his cloak a trifle the worse for his ramblings, we never attempted to restrain his freedom. He and Sonnlein seemed to have great regard for each other and this too made me love our harmless brother, and often I saw the two, Sonnlein leading the way, tramp off to the woods on some wonderful trip of discovery.
As I have said, this matter which I wish to relate came upon us the day after the comet left. I was walking in the Brother woods not far from the old oak that had witnessed more than once the manifestations of the old witch. It was a cold, raw day so that I felt it needful to have my cowl over my head and I was greatly surprised and yet not entirely so—for he always walked about as if heregarded not the weather—when Brother Alburtus meandering bareheaded in the woods walked past me, clasping and rubbing his hands as ever, looking abstractedly at them and I felt sure never seeing me though his cloak almost brushed mine.
He had gone but a few steps beyond me when suddenly from out of a thicket there flew at him what for the instant I could not tell whether it was wild beast or human being; but as something bright flashed in the air like a knife or dagger I saw it was that horrible old hag, who in another moment would have surely killed our brother, standing there simple and helpless, had I not despite all the scratching and clawing, torn the vile form from him and hurled her crashing to the earth so that she rolled for a few yards from me.
I was too much startled and in such passionate anger at this assault upon our gentle, unoffending brother to say aught as the foul shape lay writhing and twisting but a second or two where I had hurled her. Then as she arose slowly from the ground as in pain—though I had heard one could not hurt a witch—and hobbled off into the forest I bawled after her: "Again have I let thee go, but 'tis the last. The next time thou dost assail any of us I shall surely kill thee"; for I was so beside myself with cruel, wicked rage I knew not what murderous threats were coming from my unbridled tongue.
And then I turned to Brother Alburtus and was surprised to see him standing there looking vacantly into space as if naught had happened, not even asking me what it was that had so violently attacked him, so that I wondered whether he even realized that I had saved his life. Thus I thought it not worth while to ask him why it was this strange woman had tried to kill him, as with all her violence she had never attempted actual harm to the others of us to whom she had appeared.
But what I failed that day to understand and for many long years was a riddle to me, came out clearly in the end.
O death, where is thy sting?O grave, where is thy victory?—New Testament.
O death, where is thy sting?O grave, where is thy victory?
—New Testament.
Well hath he of great afflictions said, "Man is born unto trouble as the sparks fly upward." Thus I said unto myself the night following the fright of my Sister Bernice as I sought in vain for sleep, for I felt the shadow of some heavy sorrow hanging over us. Not even the prattle of Sonnlein, or my unremitting daily toil, God's antidote for corroding care, could efface from my mind the wan features of Sister Bernice, the extreme delicacy of her fragile form, and the shock she had received from the witch.
And yet, for so He hath ordained, as time dragged its slow length away, my forebodings almost vanished, and the days were beginning topass "swifter than a weaver's shuttle," so I was not without hope that, after all, my fears had been the result of a too tender solicitude for my dear sister.
Thus almost a year passed away in which I saw her in fleeting glimpses, but not to hold sweet converse with her or once again to feel the touch of that hand I longed to harbor in mine and shelter from all the storms of life. How my poor human nature struggled with me those days, so that at times I thought I must take her in mine arms and with Sonnlein flee to some retreat where we could pass the rest of our days in perfect love and peace!
But "happy is the man whom God correcteth," for after all we are not fit for heaven until all the dross hath been tormented out of us, leaving the pure gold for his kingdom.
Whether my sister was enduring all these pangs of unspoken, forbidden love I knew not; I only knew that if by chance our eyes met, which was all too seldom, I thought I could see in their pure depths a tender, beseeching longing for me.
And now the glory of autumn had passed away. The fields about the Kloster lay cold and bare. The naked branches of the trees shivered in the chilling airs. How bleak and cheerless the world seemed in these early days of winter before the touch of ice and snow had transformed the fields and the forests into fairyland!
The last day of November was drawing to its close. The Brethren had partaken, in solemn thankfulness, of our simple evening meal and I had gone to myKammer, first putting Sonnlein to rest, after having recounted to me all the marvelous happenings of the day, and was about myself to lie down to sleep, when hearing a step near, I looked up and saw Brother Beissel, even graver and sadder than usual. "Brother Jabez, Mother Maria hath come saying she would see thee and me." At once a great fear gripped my heart—something about Bernice.
"I am ready to see her, brother," said I quietly, rising to my feet. Just outside the door of Zion, for she would not come in, stood our prioress, a deep sadness in her usually hard and inscrutable features.
When she saw us, she waited first for Brother Beissel to bid her speak, and then she said quietly, with tears in her voice, for which I ever felt grateful to her: "Sister Bernice is leaving us; she is dying." And then duty overcame grief and pity, and looking up steadfastly into our faces, Mother Maria said, almost sternly, I thought: "Our Sister Bernice doth entreat us that before she die Brother Jabez may see her. I told her gently 'twas 'gainst the rules of our order for Sister to be in Zion or Brother in Kedar."
We stood silent for a few moments, and then,looking at me as though he would read my very soul, Brother Beissel said to me softly: "Art thou and our Sister Bernice aught to each other?"
"But for our vows the world would know we loved each other," I said humbly, but looking not unsteadily into those eyes that seemed to read men's hearts like open books.
"Now I know for a surety that which thy troubled face hinted to me of late, my Brother Jabez. I know thou hast fought a hard fight. I command thee go see our sister, thy Bernice; no fear of idle tongue or hard letter of the law shall keep us from the true promptings of the spirit." And then, pushing me gently along, he said: "Go, haste. Mother Maria, it is my wish that thou take our brother to our sister; be thou the only one present."
And thus this wonderful man, who had in him all the fiery, unyielding hatred of sin of a Jeremiah, and yet a woman's tender sympathy, bound me to him, though oft we differed in opinion, for life.
When Mother Maria and I entered the narrow doorway leading from the corridor into the cell where Bernice lay, the Sisters gathered there were sent obediently to their cells, though the hearts of each of the gentle nuns longed to be present to soften the last moments of their young sister who for so many years had been a dear companion. Only Mother Maria and I remained with Bernice. At first, in the dim light of the little paper lantern,she did not seem to notice me as I knelt down beside her, Mother Maria standing in the doorway and so thoughtfully filling it that no one could see into this little chamber already hallowed by the presence of the angel of death.
As I knelt there I took one of my sister's dear, white, wasted hands into mine, and lifting into my arm her head, from which flowed the golden masses of hair that gilded the hard, wooden pillow, I murmured to her, "Bernice"; and as she opened those eyes that had ever the look of heaven in them, I breathed softly to her, "Tis thy Brother Jabez; dost not know me?"
And then she looked at me with understanding in her gaze and whispered so weakly I thought my heart would burst with love and grief: "I know thee; I am so happy." And as she said this, she smiled so sweetly I held her closer in my arms, our souls meeting in our first kiss.
For many moments I knelt sheltering her dear head in mine arms, each of us unspeakably happy that now even, though in the hour of death, we could say freely with our lips that which our hearts had told each other long ago. Outside was stillness, and so inside the hall. Mother Maria still kept her watch in the doorway, grim and sad, as though she neither saw nor heard my sister and me.
"I could not leave thee without telling how I loved thee," she whispered, lifting up the hand Ihad not imprisoned in mine, and resting it on my shoulder, where it lay like a lily. "I tried so hard to forget thee, but since that love feast—thou knowest which one—thou wast ever with me."
"That love feast was paradise, my beloved sister; but thou must not talk so much, I fear."
"Nay, I know my end is near; I am not afraid now."
In a few moments she whispered shyly, "Dost remember the witch?"
"Yea, I could have slain her for frightening thee so."
"But when thou didst take me into thy great arms and soothe and pity me like some little child, I was almost glad I had seen the witch."
"Thou foolish girl, how canst care so for such a great, clumsy, stupid brother like me?"
She lay a few minutes as if she could not whisper more, and then, after I thought she had forgotten what I had just said, she whispered, but more feebly than before, "Thou'rt not clumsy or stupid; thou art so strong but so tender—I love thee better than life." And then she seemed so exhausted I was obliged to lay her head off my breast to her pillow thinking she could breathe more easily, but the gentle pressure of her hand on my shoulder and the nestling touch of the one on my own told me she preferred it thus.
I know not how long I held her in mine embrace,but she again opened her eyes and whispered, pausing between each word, "Thou wilt be with me in heaven?"
"Yea,mein Liebchen, forever and forever," I murmured holding her to me still more closely, whereat she smiled and whispered, but so low and broken I could hardly hear it, "I am so happy," and then I felt a shudder pass through the dear frame in mine arms; her head fell limp and lifeless from my shoulder, and I knew that from within the narrow walls of the bare, cold cell, and out through the dark night, there was winging its way to heaven the soul of my sister, my Bernice.
For a long while I knelt holding her in mine arms, the tears raining down my face as never since childhood. Then I laid her down on the bench which could no longer crucify the earthly habitation of my Bernice; I kissed the dear face for the last time, and then rising, I said as calmly as I could to Mother Maria, "Our sister hath gone to her home," and then I left the "House of Sorrow" with the light of a great peace in mine heart, for though I knew that earth had lost much of its sweetness, yet the bitterness of my short sojourn here was as naught compared with the added bliss heaven now held for me.
Thus Sister Bernice was the first flower to die of the Roses of Saron and the first of the Solitary to be laid away in the little God's Acre down inthe meadow by the roadside. Mine own wish, had it been expressed, would have been that our sister be buried in the simplicity which marked her gentle life, but those in authority thought it best to make her burial an occasion for all the imposing honors and ceremonies of our Order.
At midnight, while earth and sky were held in intense darkness—the chill, wintry winds sighing a mournful requiem more sad and mournful even than the chanting by the heavy-hearted Sisters and Brothers, of the dirge composed in loving memory by Sister Foeben—six of the Brothers clad in their long cowls tenderly and reverently carried the body of our dear Bernice from Mount Sinai down to the narrow littleKammerwhere all that was of earth of her could rest in peace until the call of the last day.
My heart was too full to note all this but dimly and to hear but faintly our footfalls upon the hard ground and the solemn tolling of the convent bells, the flickering rushlights shedding a weird, ghostly light over the sad, thin line of mourners.
Tenderly as a fond mother lays her child to sleep at evenfall we laid our sister to rest with all the symbolic beauty of the ritual of the Brotherhood of Zion and then having performed our last sacred offices for our departed one, we filed slowly back to our cells. The room Sister Bernice had occupied in Kedar was now closed to remain sofor some time, and upon the walls of herKammerwas hung a legend, orSegenspruch, composed by our Brother Beissel, and lovingly executed by the Sisters in their beautiful Gothic penwork:
"Bernice, Freue dich in ihrem gang unter der Schafweide, und sey freundlich u. huldreich unter den Liebhabern."
Which meaneth: "Bernice, enjoy yourself in your sojourn among the sheep pastures and be affable and gracious among the suitors."
Ah me, ah me!
The Lord his signs makes to appear,To call us to repentance:A monstrous comet standeth thereThat we our sins shall flee from,But we, alas! scarce give it a thoughtFor each one thinks it cometh not,The punishment and danger.
The Lord his signs makes to appear,To call us to repentance:A monstrous comet standeth thereThat we our sins shall flee from,But we, alas! scarce give it a thoughtFor each one thinks it cometh not,The punishment and danger.
The winter winds had swept o'er the grave of our dear sister not a month, and hardly had our little camp on the Cocalico been restored to its usual evenness of temper after the wordy warfare Brother Hildebrand and I, under the leadership of Brother Beissel, had waged against our ancient foes, the Moravians at Bethlehem—for they believed not in celibacy—when we were again roused to a high pitch of excitement by that which was no less than a second comet which, following closely upon the one that flashed so suddenly upon us thepreceding February, left no longer any doubts even in the minds of the most skeptical and unbelieving, that we were within the portent of some great crisis.
It was on the evening of Christmas a number of the Brotherhood, among them the Eckerlings and Brother Weiser—for though he had gone back to the world he oft revisited us—our superintendent and Sonnlein and I, were gathered on the highest point of Mount Sinai, nigh to the Brother woods. The sun had hardly sunk from view and the twilight begun to deepen over the unbroken expanse of forest and upon the slopes of the distant hills to the west, when suddenly Brother Jephune, our astronomer, clutched Brother Weiser by the arm, and exclaimed in awe-struck tones, "See, look, the comet!" as he pointed all in a tremble to where the sun had just disappeared.
Startled by his voice and his intense gaze, we turned sharply. I could see naught but a single small star, shining dimly, but I held my peace.
Brother Weiser was the first to break the strain in a cold, calm, judge-like tone, "I see naught but a small star; Brother Jephune, thou seest ever visions."
"It were better for thee, our Brother Enoch, didst thou see more visions instead of having thine eyes stubbornly sealed against the mysteries of God," quietly interrupted Brother Onesimus.
"Brother Jephune, mine eyes are yet strong. I see naught but a star, nor do our brethren see thy comet," said our leader.
Brother Jephune apparently heard not his critics, for he still stood motionless and gazed most intensely upon what appeared to us an innocent star.
Suddenly he turned to us again and whispered, "'Tis the very comet of last winter. I told ye the sun had swallowed it and now the sun hath spit out again the fiery monster," and then he wailed, "Woe, woe, be unto all the ungodly who shall be destroyed by this fiery serpent!"
Because I did not always agree with the many foolish and unscriptural speculations of the Eckerlings, they oft accused me of irreverence and lacking in spirituality. Be that as it may, and although I knew many comets had appeared to the eyes of men since the creation without any apparent change in the rules and order of the universe, yet I felt the same awe that enveloped our little group. Calling Sonnlein to me I said to him as we all clustered about him, "I have taught thee somewhat of the stars; thine are the youngest eyes here. Look thou carefully. Is that yonder pale star such as thou seest at night?"
And then with our awe reflected in his childish face he gazed steadily at the star, and then turning as in doubt, he said to me as though the others were not present, "'Tis a star,Vaterchen."
"What knoweth such a child?" exclaimed our astrologer peevishly.
"Have patience, my good brother; look again, my son; make a funnel of thy hands; thou knowest how I taught thee to," I said gently to Sonnlein, who in loving obedience put his hand rounded like a spyglass to his eye, and again he looked steadily at the apparition. Then my boy turned again to me and said simply, "It is but a little star,Vaterchen," and as if it were of no importance he added, "There is something like smoke behind it."
"Smoke! What nonsense is this?" cried Brother Enoch in disgust.
"Smoke," shouted Brother Jephune, "the child seeth that which I tell ye I see, ye blind scoffers. Was the smoke like a tail or a bundle of switches—had it shape?" he cried eagerly.
"Like a tail," said Sonnlein timidly.
"Oh, wondrous sight of innocent childhood," murmured the astrologer, "to see what world-blinded eyes cannot see!"
And indeed a comet it was, for it rapidly increased to great size and brilliancy, and for two months from early evening until after midnight flamed fiercely across the northwestern sky, a fearful, awesome sight, even to the least superstitious among us.
Brother Jephune, and many with him, acceptedthe star, since it had appeared on the twenty-fifth day of the month, as the one prophesied in the Zohar, which was to hang in the heavens for seventy days, to be seen of all men as a warning, at the end of which time there would arise a great tumult and confusion upon the earth, to be followed by the universal peace of God's kingdom. The settlers in the country round about us relying upon Num. 24 : 17, 18, fully believed this was the "Star out of Jacob," and that a sceptre should arise to smite the evil in the earth; that the millennium was nigh, and Brother Beissel taught with his usual fiery zeal that when the fulfillment of the prophecy finally came, our Mount Sinai would be the center of the New Jerusalem in this evening land; that the Brotherhood of Zion would be chosen as the Priests of the Temple, and many there were who though hitherto they had hardened their hearts against our preaching and our charity, now through fear and superstition hastened to be gathered under the protecting wings of our community.
In this perturbed state we were for over two months, when on an evening a number of the Solitary Brethren were again gathered at almost the same elevated spot on Mount Sinai, hard by the Brother woods that we had occupied the evening Brother Jephune and Sonnlein had been the first to see the comet.
We had been standing in utter silence for a long while, when Brother Gabriel turned to Brother Weiser, and said as though in reproof, "And still thou believest this strange vision in the sky foretelleth naught?"
"It speaketh to me of the wondrous power and majesty of God," replied Brother Enoch reverently, "naught else."
"And yet thou knowest in 1680 there appeared a comet in theVaterland—oft have I heard my father tell of it—not so great as this, nor with so long a tail. After that comet there followed a long and weary war, from which our belovedVaterlandhath never recovered. Dost thou not fear this fiery star, so much greater than the other, portendeth war and famine and pestilence to this New World?"
"Nay," I heard Brother Enoch say, "the holy word promiseth all such dire calamities because of man's wickedness, not because of comets."
"But comets may be the sign of His displeasure, as the rainbow is the sign of his covenant with Noah," persisted Brother Gabriel.
"I only know the holy book sayeth naught of comets."
"The comet is the fiery sword of the Lord whereby he shall cut down all the scoffers and the ungodly," interrupted Brother Jephune warningly. "I tell thee there will be much sickness and death,and as the comet will disappear in Pisces, so I read its course, it presages misfortune to all the fish within the waters, and in this our Brother Christopher Sauer, of Germantown, agreeth."
"And yet, Brother Jephune," rejoined Brother Weiser with a faint smile, "the innocent fish have not sinned."
"Brother Sauer also reporteth," continued our astronomer, unheeding the mockery in Brother Weiser's voice, "the good people in New England take it seriously to heart that God is threatening a great judgment upon the evil ones of earth."
"And heed thou, Brother Weiser," enjoined Brother Gabriel, "thou sittest not in the seat of the scornful when the judgment cometh."
"Nor thou with the sorcerers and those who practise enchantments!" retorted Brother Enoch.
"What else doth our Brother Christopher say of this glaring visitant?" asked Brother Beissel in the hope of pouring oil upon the troubled waters.
"The printer sayeth that while the star first appeared in Aries, the habitation of Mars, and set in Pisces there shall come great changes, disturbances, wrath, confusion, and disorder, upon the nations of the earth. This cometh from Mars. As Pisces is the dwelling-place of Jupiter it foreshadoweth equal disturbances in spiritual things; there will be many changes and great confusion followed by dreadful quick-coming judgments. Asthe star latterly hath so rapid a course, and burns like unto a great flaming torch with a long, fiery tail, he holdeth that the destruction of the religious Babylonian order is near at hand."
"Sayeth he no more—what cometh after all this destruction of evil? Surely light must follow darkness!" inquired our leader eagerly.
"Even so; for our learned Christopher sayeth, and I agree with him, that a newer, better order will follow. The comet seemeth again to be moving toward the sun as if to effect conjunction with it in the middle line. This foretelleth that the comet, the evil, shall be swallowed up by the sun, the source of light and life. Thus the darkness of sin shall disappear from the face of the earth and the light of His grace, and mercy shall shine forever from the hearts of men."
"Even so, Lord, let it be," said our leader most solemnly, "let thy kingdom come quickly."
To which we all responded in equal solemnity, "Amen."
And then just as we were about to take our way back to ourKammers, there arose without the slightest warning such a savage, blood-freezing, wailing cry from the woods hard by us, that by one accord each gripped the other by the arm as if in the presence of some awful, common danger, my poor Sonnlein rushing into mine arms almost speechless with terror.
In truth, each for the time was paralyzed with that cry that sounded like the wail of a soul in the torments of the damned. Finally, Brother Gabriel whispered, his teeth chattering so that he could scarcely utter a word, "'Twas the Evil One, he knoweth his end is nigh."
"Doth not Revelation say Satan is to be bound and thrust into the bottomless pit?" gasped Brother Beissel.
"Heard ye not the clanking of the chains?" whispered Brother Onesimus.
"What was't,Vaterchen?" whispered Sonnlein, who was still shivering in my embrace.
"Some wild beast that hath strayed nigh;" for in my hermit days I had more than once heard the panther's terrifying howl, in the darkness of the night.
"Was't an Indian,Vaterchen?"
"Nay, my son," replied Brother Enoch for me, "the Indians are at peace with us. 'Twas no human voice."
"Was't some wild beast, thinkest thou?" asked Brother Gabriel.
"Nay, it sounded not so to me; I know not what it was. It is a great mystery to me," replied Brother Enoch slowly, which was a great deal for our clear-headed brother to admit.
"'Twas the cry of the Evil One, naught else," declared Brother Jephune.
"And in this I agree with thee," solemnly spake our leader; "great and gracious is our Lord to show us these marvelous signs of his coming. Let us go to our rest in peace and gladness, and await the dawn of his kingdom in the earth."
And so we went full of such devout hopes to our narrow cells; but somehow I could not shake from my mind that the cry came from our old enemy, the witch.