Katharine von Bora: Dr. Martin Luther's Wife
9781465653000
213 pages
Library of Alexandria
Overview
It was the evening of a clear, warm March day. The sun, sinking behind the distant hills, sent its parting rays over the earth, tinting hills and valleys, forests and meadows, with golden light. The evening mist was rising, and covering with a filmy veil the tender spring flowers—the snow-drops and violets—from the chilly night air. The windows in the western wing of the convent of Nimptschen shone with a ruddy glow; and the face of the young nun, who stood by an open casement, seemed transfigured by the strange light, while the tears in her eyes quivered like drops of liquid gold. With longing sadness, her glance rested upon the landscape; upon the peasants, returning to their homes, after the day's work; and upon the children, playing their merry games on the village green. The young nun was of pleasing, graceful figure. Her features were too irregular to be strictly beautiful, and the pallor of her skin made her appear older than she was. But her face possessed the rare charm of sympathy. Clear, thoughtful eyes and delicately curved lips betrayed a deep, rich inner life, and a sensitive heart; while the firmly rounded chin bespoke self-respect and decision of character. An expression of gentle dignity lay upon the arched forehead. There was in her manner a certain highbred nobility, the stamp of true womanliness, and her movements were full of grace. Her cell was narrow and gloomy; yet the skillful hands of its occupant had so disposed the scanty furniture, and the saints' pictures upon the walls, adding here and there little touches of color, that the room had lost its bare appearance. The abbess herself was fond of visiting this cell, and often said: "I cannot understand, Sister Katharine, why your cell is so home-like. One feels here, that it is far pleasanter to come, than to go." As the nun stood by the window, her tearful eyes rested upon the calm beauty of the early Springtime, while her mind was lost in gloomy reveries. At her feet lay a piece of costly violet-colored velvet, which had dropped from her hands, and upon the window ledge were tangled masses of white and yellow silk. Rousing herself from her dreams, she hastily gathered up the velvet, sat down upon a stool, and resumed her embroidery. It was an altar-cloth for the convent-church. The design was, two palm branches crossed, and above, the legend "Ave Maria." The words were already finished; but the branches were merely outlined in coarse stitches. Her slender fingers moved wearily over the velvet, and her head bent low over her work, for the last scant rays of daylight were falling into the cell. Suddenly, the heavy, iron-mounted door was opened, and a younger nun appeared. "What is this, Sister Katharine?" she exclaimed, in surprise. "Still at your work? Pray spare your eyes! But," she continued, coming nearer, "why are you so far behindhand? What will the abbess say? To-morrow, at High Mass, the altar was to wear its new draperies." Katharine looked up with a dreary smile. "I am angry with my own heart, because it is so reluctant to obey the commands of our Superior. My needle moves slowly; and what was once a pleasure, has become a burden. O Sister Elizabeth, a change has come over my soul, since the voice of the Monk of Wittenberg penetrated these walls!"
