" IN the world ye shall have tribulation:"
Lord Jesus, Thou saidst it of old.
There dark are the desolate mountains,
The night winds are cold.
But safe from the storm and the tempest
My soul bath a cell;
There ever, beside the still waters,
With Jesus I dwell;
There, hushed from the strife and the sorrow,
Alone and apart,
In chambers of peace and of stillness—
That Home is His heart.
—G. TERSTEEGEN.
If we look back to the days when Labadie lived at Amsterdam, we may recall the missionary journeys made amongst the Dutch and German towns by Yvon and other Labadists. Amongst other places they had visited Mulheim, and Schluter had for some time held meetings there, assisted by a tailor, John Backhaus, who had joined the community, and who settled down at Mülheim as a schoolmaster.
The young Countess Charlotte had been left to keep house in the absence of her father, who lived most of his time upon his estates in other parts of Germany. Charlotte and her maids went to the meetings, and became not only Labadists, but earnest believers in Jesus. The conventicles increased in numbers, and were marked by many conversions.
Suddenly, in the year 1670, the old Count returned quite unexpectedly. He was nominally a Lutheran, but has no claim to be regarded as a Christian. He was the last of his race and name—none but daughters were left to him, of whom Charlotte alone remained unmarried.
Great was his horror to find that his daughter had become not only a Calvinist, but, as he described it, "a Quaker, and a Brownist." He was not aware of the difficulty of being all these three heretics in one.
He concealed his fury, however, lest Charlotte should interfere with his proceedings. Before she was aware, Backhaus and a fellow labourer were dragged out of their beds, and cast into prison. A notice was posted up in the church, and read aloud from the pulpit, that all followers of this new sect should be banished, and their goods confiscated, " as from them proceeded all manner of rebellion, disturbance, revolt, and sedition."
Poor Charlotte, as may be believed, led a weary life after this outbreak of her father's fury. She was closely watched and guarded, and deprived of all intercourse with her friends. It was this which awakened the compassion of Elizabeth, who, no doubt, often heard from Pastor Copper of the young Countess's sad life. A letter remains, written by Charlotte to Backhaus, just after his release from prison:
"I cannot refrain, my much loved brother in Christ, from writing you a poor little letter, to tell you of the joy and delight which are given to me in the beautiful heavenly feast, of which I have become a partaker through your means, and for which I cannot sufficiently thank you. But the rich Recompenser will reward you. I pray to God my Father that I too may be able to share with others the treasures He has given to my heart.
For awhile He filled my cup with tears, but now He gives me the wine of joy. I went to Herr Schluter's preaching, and it gave me such happiness that I cannot help writing to you to tell you. My soul was spent with hunger and thirst, but my Father has restored me with the wine of gladness. My beloved, Father gives me all that I ask for.
"Oh that I could be with my dear brothers and sisters in Christ, that I might tell them of my joy ! I have to keep it all to myself amongst the dead souls around me. That grieves me ; and the time appears very long that I have to spend amongst the dead, when I cannot speak my Father's praise, of which my heart is so full that it is impossible to be silent. Oh that I could be always with godly people, that I might always be free to speak of my Father and Redeemer !
"I cannot tell you in writing how it pained me, that you, dear brethren, came to see me, and I was not allowed to speak to you. It seemed to me for a time that I was now the prisoner. I could not go to see any godly people, nor see them at home either. Because I cling to them is the reason I am hated. But the more the ungodly hate me the more I turn to my Father, who hears my sighs, and how often has He helped me !"
For seven years after writing this letter had poor Charlotte remained under the iron yoke of her father, Occasionally she stole out to hear one of the preachers, and sometimes could even spend a Sunday at the pastor's house at MUlheim. But all had to be done without her father's knowledge ; and the time seemed very long, and her life, except for the love and comfort of her Father in heaven, very lonely,
The Friends hoped they might by some means get an opportunity of seeing and comforting her. Accordingly, next morning they set off for Duisburg, and arrived there about noon, being the first day of the week.
"The first thing," says friend William, "we did after we came to our inn was to enquire out one Dr. Maestricht, for whom we had a letter to introduce us from a merchant of Cullen, whom, quickly finding, we informed him what we came about, desiring his assistance ; namely, in procuring us access to the Countess of Falchensteyn and Bruch. He told us she was an extraordinary woman, one in whom we should find things worthy of our love ; that he would write to her, to give us an opportunity with her ; that the fittest time was the present time, in that we might find her at the minister's of Mulheim, on the other side of the river from her father's castle ; for that she used to come out the first day morning, and not return till night ; that we must be very shy of making ourselves publick, not only for our own sakes, but for hers."
The three Friends therefore set off, accompanied for a part of the way by the doctor, to walk to Millheim, a distance of six English miles.
" Being on foot," says friend William, " we could not compass the place before the meeting was over ; and following that way which led to the backside of the count's castle and orchard, we met one Henry Smith, schoolmaster of Speldorp, to whom we imparted our business, and gave the letter of Doctor Maestricht to introduce us to the countess,
" He told us he had just left her, being come over the water from worship, but he would carry the letter to her, and bring an answer suddenly, but, notwithstanding, stayed near an hour. When he came he gave us this answer ; viz., ' That she would be glad to meet us, but she did not know where, but rather inclined that we should go over the water to the minister's house, whither, if she could, she would come to us, but that a strict hand was held over her by her father.' "
The Friends therefore went on to the town of Mülheim.
"But," continues friend William, "being necessitated to pass by her father's castle, who is seignior or lord of that country, it so fell out that at that very instant he came forth to walk ; and seeing us in the habit of strangers, sent one of his attendants to demand who and from whence we were, and whither we went.
" We answered that we were Englishmen, come from Holland, and going no further in these parts than his own town of Mülheim. But not showing him or paying him that worldly homage and respect which was expected from us, some of his gentlemen asked us if we knew whom we were before, and if we did not use to deport ourselves after another manner before noblemen and in the presence of princes.
" We answered, we were not conscious to ourselves of any disrespect or unseemly behaviour.
" One of them sharply replied, ' Why don't you pull off your hats then ? Is it respect to stand covered in the presence of the sovereign of the country ? ' "
We told them, it was our practice in the presence of our prince, who is a great king, and that we uncovered not our heads to any, but in our duty to Almighty God.
Upon which the count called us Quakers, saying unto us, " We have no need of Quakers here ; get you out of my dominions, you shall not go to my town,"
In vain did friend William represent that they were an innocent people, who feared God, and had good-will towards all men, and had moreover true respect in their hearts towards him, the count, but that "the Lord had made it a matter of conscience to them not to conform themselves to the vain and fruitless customs of this world."
The count commanded some of his soldiers who were at hand to see the Quakers out of his territories, and "thus," says friend William, "we parted from the soldiers after awhile, with much peace and comfort in our hearts."
Never for a moment would it have occurred to the worthy Friends to ask themselves whether the matter of conscience which had prevented them from speaking a word of comfort to the poor young countess, was really according to the mind of God.
They returned to visit the schoolmaster, and after conversing with him they took leave, desiring him to remember them with true love and kindness to the countess, and to desire her not to be dismayed at the displeasure of her father, " seeing that the Lord had visited her soul with His holy light, by which she had seen the vanity of the world, and in some measure the emptiness and deadness of the religions that are in it."
"It was now getting dark," he continues ; "but the Lord comforted our hearts with the joy of His salvation as we walked without any outward guide through a tedious and solitary wood, about three miles long, giving us to remember and to speak one unto another of His blessed witnesses in the days past, who wandered up and down like poor pilgrims and strangers upon earth, their eye being to a city in the heavens that had foundations, whose builder and maker is God."
But when the Friends arrived at the town of Duisburg, whence they had started, they found the gates shut for the night, and there being no houses outside the walls, they lay down to sleep in the fields, receiving " both natural and spiritual refreshment. And about three in the morning we rose, sanctifying God in our hearts that had kept us that night, and walked till five, often speaking one to another of the great and notable day of the Lord dawning on Germany, and on several places of that land that were almost ripe unto harvest."
At five the gates of the town were opened, and friend William went to his inn, where, he says, "it came upon me, with a sweet but fervent power, to visit this persecuted countess by means of an epistle."
A letter of those days, and written moreover in the peculiar dialect of the Friends, would probably be less welcome to the reader now than it was to the lonely young countess.
Friend William had finished it, and was about to seal it up, when there came to him a " sweet and loving" message and salutation from the countess herself; " which," he writes in a postcript, " hath exceedingly refreshed and revived us."
Having finished this epistle, he proceeded to write a longer one to the count her father, contrary to the advice of Dr. Maestricht, " who," says friend William, "though of a kind disposition, and very friendly to us, yet seemed surprised with fear (the common disease of this country), crying out, What will become of this poor countess ? Her father hath called her Quaker a long time, behaving himself very severely to her ; but now he will conclude she is one indeed, and he will lead her a lamentable life. I know you care not for suffering, but she is to be pitied.'
" We answered with an earnestness of spirit, that the serious and enquiring people of Germany had minded the incensings and wrath of men too much already, and that true religion would never spring or grow under such fears, and that it was time for all that felt anything of the work of God in their hearts to cast away the slavish fear of man, and to come forth in the boldness of the true Christian life. Yea, that sufferings break and make way for greater liberty, and that God was wiser and stronger than man."
Dr. Maestricht, however, was not convinced by this reasoning, and from what followed, it appeared that he determined in his mind that these mad Quakers should be kept as far as possible out of the way of the countess and her father.
When they had, as they believed, sufficiently exhorted the poor doctor, they returned from his house to their lodging.
"In the way," says friend William, "we met a messenger from the young countess—a pretty, young, tender man, near to the kingdom, who saluted us in her name with much love, telling us `that she was much grieved at the entertainment of her father towards us, advising us not to expose ourselves to such difficulties and hardships, for it would grieve her heart that any that came in the love of God to visit her should be so severely handled, for at some he sets his dogs, and upon others he puts his soldiers to beat them.'
"But what shall I say ? That itself must not hinder you from doing good,' said the Countess.
" We answered him that his message was joyful to us, that she had any regard to us, and that she was not offended with us. We desired the remembrance of our kind love unto her, and that he would let her know that our concern was not for ourselves, but for her.
"We invited him to eat with us ; but he told us he was an inhabitant of Meurs, and was in haste to go home. So we went home to dinner, having neither eaten nor drank since first-day morning, and having lain out all night in the field."