It only stands a poor, ungainly relic of the
past; the inspiring angel is gone upward.
Catharine's nicely-carved cabinet, with its huge bunches of oaken
flowers hanging down between its glass panels, shows Luther's drinking
cup. There is also his embroidered portrait, on which, doubtless, she
expended much thought, as she evidently has much gold thread. I seem
to see her conceiving the bold design - she will work the doctor's
likeness. She asks Magdalen Cranach's opinion, and Magdalen asks
Lucas's, and there is a deal of discussion, and Lucas makes wise
suggestions. In the course of many fireside chats, the thing grows.
Philip and his Kate, dropping in, are shown it. Little Jacky and
Magdalen, looking shyly over their mother's shoulder, are wonderfully
impressed with the likeness, and think their mother a great woman.
Luther takes it in hand, and passes some jests upon it, which make
them laugh all round, and so at last it grows to be a veritable
likeness. Poor, faded, tarnished thing! it looks like a ghost now.
In one corner is a work of art by Luther - no less than a stove planned
after his own pattern. It is a high, black, iron pyramid, panelled,
each panel presenting in relief some Scripture subject. Considering
the remote times, this stove is quite an affair; the figures are, some
of them, spirited and well conceived, though now its lustre, like all
else here, is obscured by dust and dirt. Why do the Germans leave this
place so dirty? The rooms of Shakspeare are kept clean and in repair;
the Catholics enshrine in gold and silver the relics of their saints,
but this Protestant Mecca is left literally to the moles and the bats.
I slipped aside a panel in the curious old windows, and looked down
into the court surrounded by the university buildings. I fancied the
old times when students, with their scholastic caps and books, were
momently passing and repassing. I thought of the stir there was here
when the pope's bull against Luther came out, and of the pattering of
feet and commotion there were in this court, when Luther sallied out
to burn the pope's bull under the oak, just beyond the city wall near
by. The students thought it good fun; students are always progressive;
they admired the old boy for his spirit; they threw up caps and
shouted, and went out to see the ceremony with a will. Philip
Melanchthon wondered if brother Martin was not going a little too
fast, but hoped it would be overruled, and that all would be for the
best! So, coming out, I looked longingly beyond the city gate, and
wanted to go to the place of the oak tree, where the ceremony was
performed, but the party had gone on.
[Illustration: _of Melanchthon's house._]
Coming back, I made a pause opposite the house on which is seen the
inscription, "Here Melanchthon lived, labored, and died." A very good
house it was, too, in its day; in architecture it was not unlike this.
I went across the street to take a good look at it; then I came over,
and as the great arched door stood open, I took the liberty of walking
in.
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