IN a narrow opening of a chain of mountains in Upper Silesia, through which the wild River Neisse has forced itself a passage to the Oder, rises the impregnable Prussian fortress of Glatz. Scarcely with an equal in the world in natural strength, by virtue of the wall of mountain peaks which encircle it, man’s art has still more strengthened it. Besides, the valley itself is so separated from the rest of the world, that the man who finds himself shut up behind the thick walls and iron bars of the castle is as much exiled from the world as if he were buried alive. Woe to the prisoner of Glatz: everything says to him, “There is no hope, no hope for thee.”
In the first years of the nineteenth century, the fortress held a prisoner of high birth, the Count of M―, formerly feted and admired in the world, now hopeless behind those bolts and bars, condemned to solitary imprisonment for life for high treason against Frederick William III. of Prussia.
For a whole year he lived in this dreadful dungeon, without a ray of hope to lighten his soul. He was a sceptic. The only Book which had been left him was a Bible. For a long time he would not open it, and, when forced to it, so to speak, to kill time and forget the loneliness which consumed him, it was with a feeling of anger, and motions of impatience against the God Whom it revealed.
But the bitter “chastening”— that blessed instrument which has served to bring many a soul to the Good Shepherd — bore its fruit with the Bible, the more he realized the Hand of God upon his lost and desolate soul.
On a dismal November night, a storm was howling around-the fortress: the rain fell in torrents, and the Neisse, swelling and raging, hurried along the valley. The Count, stretched on his couch, could not sleep—for the storm which swept his soul was no less than the one that swept the castle. His whole life of sin had risen before him, and he saw that forgetfulness of God was the root of it all.
For the first time, his heart grew tender, and his eyes filled with tears of repentance. Then, rising to his feet, he opened his Bible, and in the Fiftieth Psalm read these words: “Call upon Me in the day of trouble: I will deliver thee, and thou, shalt glorify Me.” They reached the depths of his soul, and, falling upon his knees he sought God’s mercy.
Is it needful to say he found it? Could the God Who loved sinners enough to give His only Son for them, ever turn a deaf ear to the cry of one of them in need? In this case, as in many others, He even gave more than was sought for: the prisoner sought mercy for his soul, and God added to it further mercy and deliverance.
That night, in his palace at Berlin, Frederick William, in great suffering, was seeking in vain for a little rest. Utterly exhausted, he asked God to grant him one hour of refreshing sleep. His prayer was granted; and when he woke up, he said to his wife, the generous Louise, “God has been so, merciful to me that I have reason to be thankful. Who is the man in my kingdom that has most offended me? I will forgive him.”
“The Count of M―, who is at Glatz,” answered the Queen.
“You are right: let him be free.”
Before the sun had risen upon Berlin the morning of that night, a messenger had started bearing with him the freedom of the prisoner of Glatz.
Thus it is the Good Shepherd works to gather His sheep to Himself. He works quietly, in spite of all difficulties, and beyond all power to oppose; so that the soul which He has delivered can say, “This is of God.”
The heart of the poor Count was harder to open than the gates of Glatz. Both cried alike, “No hope! No hope!” but in one night both had to yield to the loving Power that was at work. That the purpose of God to bring to Himself this rebellious man might be accomplished, He had to let him be shut within these dismal walls, there to break his proud will. This done, all is now easy, circumstances may now be changed, to his good, and they are accordingly changed, though not a whit more according to love than those before.
Oh that men would believe and learn the true character of God, and cease from that enmity which blinds them, and keeps them shut up within walls worse than the walls of Glatz!
Is the surgeon a cruel man because he must reach the root of the disease? Shall we refuse to be searched to the core by the eye of God, and to be brought down upon our faces at the feet of Jesus to be washed from our sins? Nay, but―
“Just as I am, and waiting not
To rid my soul of one dark blot,
To Thee, Whose blood can cleanse each spot,
O Lamb of God! I come.”