CONVERTED 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PROFESSOR 
 
 PAUL BIGELOW SCHAEFFER 
 
 1893-I967 
 
J^ V 
 
 RECON 
 
THE LIFE 
 
 S. ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY, 
 
 DUCHESS OF THUEINGIA, 
 
 BT 
 
 C. A, JONES, 
 
 Author of *' A History of the Church," "Bible History " " Church Stories, 
 "The Saints of Old," " Our Childhood's Pattern," dtc, dbc. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 J. T. HAYES, LYALL PLACE, EATON SQUARE ; AND 
 4, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 SWIFT AND CO., REGENT PEESS, KINflt STBEET, 
 
 REGENT STREET, W. 
 
 lOAN STACK 
 
 GIFT 
 
3X'+700 
 
 THE SUPEEIOE AND COMMUNITY 
 
 OF 
 
 S. MARGAEET'S, EAST GBINSTEAD. 
 
 THIS SHORT CHRONICLE OF ONE WHO SOUGHT TO LEAD 
 
 "THE LIFE OF PEEFECTION," 
 
 IS VKET AFPECTIONATBLT 
 
 DEDICATED. 
 
 641 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Preface , . . Page xi 
 
 Introduction xv 
 
 CHAPTEE I.— 1206-1210. 
 
 The Church in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries — Andrew 
 II. of Hungary — Herrmann, Landgrave of Thuringia — The 
 Prediction of Klingsohr the Hungarian Astrologer — The Birth 
 of < the Princess Elizabeth — Her Early Piety — Duke Her- 
 mann's Embassy to the Court of Hungary — The little Princess 
 is carried to Thuringia — The Betrothal . . . Page 1 
 
 CHAPTER II.— 1210-1215. 
 
 The childish years of Elizabeth — The death of her mother, the 
 Good Queen Gertrude — How, day by day, the love for all 
 holy things grew in the young Princess' heart — S. John 
 the Evangelist becomes Elizabeth's patron Saint — Her 
 earnest self-denial, and longing to give up all for the sake 
 of Christ 10 
 
 CHAPTER III.— 1216-1220. 
 
 The death of the young Princess' father-in-law, the Landgrave 
 Hermann — Troubles come into the child's life — Her gentle- 
 ness and amiability — Her sorrow when tempted to give way 
 to impatience — Elizabeth before the Crucifix in the Church 
 of Eisenach — Her Troubles increase — Young Louis of Thu- 
 ringia — The dawning of brighter days — The Wedding in the 
 Castle of Wartburg 17 
 
vi Contents, 
 
 CHAPTER IV.— 1220-1221. 
 
 The first years of Elizabeth's married life — Her growing 
 devotion — Her austerity of life — The mutual love of the 
 young couple — Elizabeth's acts of charity to the poor and the 
 sick — Her special care for lepers — Sundry anecdotes setting 
 forth her childish zeal and faith .... Page 29 
 
 CHAPTER v.— 1221. 
 
 Elizabeth advances still further in the path of Perfection — Her 
 obedience to the rules of the Church — Her reverence for the 
 Blessed Sacrament — Her sorrow when, on one occasion, she 
 allowed the thought of earthly love to come between her and 
 her crucified Lord 41 
 
 CHAPTER VI.— 1221. 
 
 Dominic of Guzman, and S. Francis d'Assisi — The rule of the 
 Third Order of S. Francis — The Franciscans in Eisenach — 
 Elizabeth's veneration for the Saint of Assisi — She joins the 
 Penitents of the Third Order of S. Francis — The Saint's 
 present to the young Duchess — Father Conrad of Marburg is 
 appointed Elizabeth's spiritual director by the Pope — The 
 rule of life which this good man gave to his spiritual 
 daughter 46 
 
 CHAPTER VII.— 1221-1225. 
 
 King Andrew of Hungary sends an Embassy to the Court of 
 Thuringia — Elizabeth's dress, and her reception of her 
 father's friends — The young Duke and Duchess visit Hun- 
 gary — The story of Elizabeth and the importunate Beggar — 
 The new joy that came to the Husband and Wife in the birth 
 of Children — Elizabeth's dedication of her little ones to 
 Jesus 53 
 
Contents. vii 
 
 CHAPTER VIII.— 1225-1226. 
 
 The Landgrave of Thuringia leaves his home — His valiant 
 deeds and love of justice — He helps Frederick II. in Italy — 
 Famine in Thuringia —Elizabeth's great Charity and Faith — 
 Louis returns to his native land — Elizabeth's great joy — 
 , Plenty once more in the land .... Page 59 
 
 CHAPTER IX.— 1227. 
 
 The Crusades — Louis of Thuringia takes the Cross — How 
 Elizabeth found out the trial that was in store for her — Her 
 bitter grief — The Landgrave tells his people of his determina- 
 tion — The Passion- Play — The visit to Eeinhartsbrunn — The 
 scene at Schmalkald — Louis' last speech to his knights and 
 people. The Parting between the young husband and wife 
 — Elizabeth returns to Wartburg .... 69 
 
 CHAPTER X.— 1227. 
 
 The last hours of Louis of Thuringia — His dying commands to 
 his knights — The vow they took before they embarked for the 
 Holy Land 85 
 
 CHAPTER XI.— 1227-1228. 
 
 Winter in the Castle of Wartburg — The sad news is carried to 
 Thuringia — Elizabeth is told of her husband's death — Her 
 utter desolation — Hope comes at last .... 90 
 
 CHAPTER XII.— 1228. 
 
 The fresh troubles that came into Elizabeth's life — She and her 
 children are driven from the Castle of Wartburg — The walk to 
 Eisenach — The base ingratitude of the people — Elizabeth's 
 wanderings in search of shelter for herself and her little ones — 
 The Church at Eisenach — The Duchess' sufferings at the sight 
 of her children's misery — Her own deep faith and resigna- 
 tion — She sends her little ones away — The insults to which 
 she was subjected 96 
 
yiii Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER Xni,-1228. 
 
 The life of suffering and resignation — Elizabeth and her children 
 go to Kitzingen — Once moie there is peace — Elizabeth and 
 her children take up their abode at the Castle of Pottenstein — 
 Her life there — She is persuaded to marry again — Her firm 
 refusal — Her pilgrimages to Erfurt and Andechs » Page 111 
 
 CHAPTER XIV.— 1228. 
 
 The return of the knights, bearing with them the body oi the 
 Landgrave — The progress of their journey — Their arrival at 
 Bamberg — Elizabeth gazes on the mortal remains of her 
 husband — Her complete submission to God's Will — She 
 receives the knights and asks their protection for her children 
 — Their vow ,...,.... 123> 
 
 CHAPTER XY.— 1228. 
 
 The Funeral in the Monastery of Eeinhartsbrunn — The Knights 
 agree upon their course of action — The Lord of Varilla speaks 
 to the Landgrave Henry — Henry's answer — The Koyal family 
 of Thuringia ask Elizabeth's pardon — Her humility andt 
 graciousness — The return to Wartburg .... 130 
 
 CHAPTER XVI.— 1228-1229. 
 
 Elizabeth's life at Wartburg — The world's censure — The Pope's 
 messages and letters cheer her in her trouble — Elizabeth's 
 longings for the religious life — S. Francis d'Assisi — The poor 
 Clares — Elizabeth appeals to Father Conrad — He refuses tO' 
 grant her request — She asks her brother-in-law to assign her 
 another home — Her life at Marburg — Good Friday in the 
 Franciscan Chapel at Marburg — Elizabeth's triple vow — She 
 assumes the habit of the Franciscans — Her children leave 
 her 138 
 
Contents. ix 
 
 CHAPTEE XVII.— 1229. 
 
 The life at Marburg continued — Elizabeth gains her own living 
 by spinning — Her exceeding humility and charity — Her 
 life of prayer and contemplation — Her dress — Her love of 
 making others happy — The Pope's present — Elizabeth's 
 tender care of the sick — Her special devotion to lepers — 
 Father Conrad curbs her zeal — The Miracle of the Fish — 
 The Leper Boy — The care of the Early and Mediaeval 
 Church for lepers Page 154 
 
 CHAPTEE XVIII.— 1229-1230. 
 
 The King of Hungary hears of the strange life his daughter is 
 leading, and sends an Ambassador to Thuringia — Elizabeth's 
 reception of her father's friend — Her message to the King of 
 Hungary — She bestows her fortune upon the poor — The story 
 of Hildegonde — Elizabeth rejoices with those that rejoice . 169 
 
 CHAPTEE XIX.— 1230. 
 
 Father Conrad of Marburg seeks to break Elizabeth's will by for- 
 bidding her to bestow her liberal alms — The tradition of how 
 she sought to evade his orders — Father Conrad's excessive 
 severity — The visit of Eudolph of Varilla to Marburg — Eliza- 
 beth's patience and thankfulness under calumny — Her faithful 
 friends are sent away from her by her Director — Those who 
 replaced them — Elizabeth gives up her children for ever . 179 
 
 CHAPTEE XX.— 1231. 
 
 Mediaeval miracles — The deaf and dumb boy is cured — The blind 
 man receives his sight — The doubts that came into Elizabeth's 
 mind — Her life of prayer and meditation — S. Elizabeth's 
 Well — Her devotion to the Saints — Her ideas on the subject 
 of Church ornaments — The treachery of the beggar she had 
 sheltered — The visit of the Angel — Perfect peace comes into 
 the troubled life 192 
 
Contents. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI.— 1231. 
 
 Elizabeth's vision — Her great joy — Her preparations for her 
 happy journey — The last days and hours of the saintly life — 
 The last wishes — The last Sacraments — The death of infinite 
 peace — The Office of the Dead — The flight of the birds — The 
 sorrow shown by all — The burial — The Canonisation of S. 
 Elizabeth — The translation of her remains — The scene in the 
 church at Marburg Page 201 
 
 CHAPTER XXII.— 
 
 Something about those S. Elizabeth left behind Her . . 217 
 
PREFACE 
 
 The practical utility of religious biography, when 
 the objects are wisely selected and fitly treated, is 
 that it serves to show Christianity in action as a 
 life, and not merely in theory as a speculation. No 
 kind of literary composition has been more misused, 
 from the narrowness, credulity, or partisanship of 
 biographers. For they have by overloading their 
 heroes with indiscriminate praise, or by heaping up 
 gradual accretions of miracles over the simple record 
 of the original facts — as in the later lives of S. 
 Francis Xavier — or yet again by singling out for 
 admiring comment exactly the least beautiful and 
 saintlike episodes of the life, but most level to a 
 formal and unspiritual mind, caused actual repulsion 
 from the ideal they were fain to depict, and inspired 
 readers in general with the profoundest distrust of 
 their statements and conclusions. 
 
xii Preface. 
 
 And yet it is impossible to read any life of a 
 human being who had a higher ambition than mere 
 sensual enjoyment or worldly success, without coming 
 on gleams of light which irradiate dark places in our 
 thoughts, and help us to understand that hardest of 
 all problems, ourselves. It is little matter what the 
 era, the opinions, or the outward circumstances of the 
 subject of a biography may be, so long as we have the 
 facts of his life put as truthfully before us as may 
 be, and Sakya-muni, the Indian prince; Epictetus, 
 the Greek slave ; Fodheil, the Arab robber ; each 
 and all can teach us lessons as true and wholesome 
 in kind, though not in degree, as the hagiography of 
 Christian Saints. But when we can thus sit at the 
 feet of one who believed as we believe, yet with a 
 more fervid and living faith, a closer sympathy and 
 a readier imitation are likely to come of it than when 
 we read of those who are parted from us by aJmost 
 complete divergence in matters of the highest thought ; 
 and it is with the hope of kindling this sympathy and 
 rousing this spirit of imitation that the writer of this 
 series of Church Biographies has undertaken her task. 
 
Preface, xiii 
 
 They are not unfitly ushered in by the story of one 
 in whose life the elements of sober fact and fanciful 
 legend are singularly blended, and whose experiences, 
 to cite the words of one who has made her the 
 central figure of a graceful and vigorous di-amatic 
 poem : 
 
 " Tell us how of old our saintly mothers 
 Schooled themselves by vigil, fast, and prayer ; 
 Learnt to love as Jesus loved before them, 
 While they bore the Cross which poor men bear. 
 
 Tell us how our stout crusading fathers 
 Fought and died for God, and not for gold ; 
 Let their love, their faith, their boyish daring, 
 Distance-mellowed, gild the days of old." 
 
 R. F. L. 
 
INTEODUCTION. 
 
 Foremost amongst those fruits which the Spirit of 
 Eeligious revival is bringing forth in this our day, 
 stands the longing to know more than we have hitherto 
 known of the Saints of the Catholic Church. We dive 
 into ancient Martyrologies, and our hearts kindle as 
 we read of the glorious death of those holy ones of 
 old, whose " blood was indeed the seed of the Church." 
 Then we pass on from primitive to mediaeval times, 
 and in the records of the Middle Ages we find the 
 details of sacrifices as great and as noble as those 
 martyrdoms of will and of deed of the early Christians ; 
 we find strength as heroic as that strength before which 
 fierce beasts of prey quailed and trembled. 
 
 It is the story of one of these mediaeval Saints that 
 we would tell now — one who was a king's daughter, a 
 royal maiden, a holy widow. 
 
 It may be argued that in the life of S. Elizabeth of 
 Hungary there is something that savours of unreality; 
 indeed it has often been said that she forgot the duties 
 of her high station, and made herself poor and humble, 
 and took upon herself tasks which were not consistent 
 with her royal dignity. 
 
 We will not stop here to refute these arguments. 
 But there was One Who left His bright Home above, 
 
xvi Introduction, 
 
 and His Father's Throne, and who lived as the poorest 
 and most despised of the Sons of men; and she whose 
 history we are going to tell sought by a life of poverty 
 and self-abnegation to draw nearer to her Lord and 
 Saviour. Let worldlings therefore judge her as they 
 will, but let none presume to censure her. 
 
 The facts we have narrated here, are drawn from 
 various sources. Catholic and Protestant; but many 
 of the incidents we have recorded would never have 
 been brought to light had not Charles Count de 
 Montalembert sought for them amongst the old 
 chronicles of " the dear Elizabeth's" country, and in 
 his beautiful life of the Koyal Saint, given them to the 
 world. He who was a very Sir Galahad, in the purity 
 of his stainless life, was indeed strangely well fitted to 
 be the biographer of the gentle, modest lady, who was 
 the ideal of his young manhood. 
 
 *'May the perusal of this story" of S.Elizabeth 
 ** teach us to love the works in which the Saints 
 delighted " (we are here quoting the words of the revered 
 Dr. John Mason Neale, whose greatest earthly happiness 
 was the contemplation of those holy ones who had 
 given up all for Christ's sake) '' for which Queens laid 
 aside the royal attire. Abbesses the Pastoral Staff, 
 Princesses the pomp and luxury of a Court, and all 
 self." 
 
S. ELIZABETH OF HUNGARY. 
 
 CHAPTEE I.— 1206-1210. 
 
 The Chnrcli in the Twelfth and Thirteenth Centuries — Andrew 
 II. of Hungary — Hermann, Landgrave of Thuringia — The 
 Prediction of Klingsohr the Hungarian Astrologer — The Birth 
 of the Princess Elizabeth — Her Early Piety — Duke Her- 
 mann's Embassy to the Court of Hungary — The little Princess 
 is carried to Thuringia — The Betrothal. 
 
 The end of the twelfth century had closed darkly 
 enough upon the nations of Europe, and something of 
 the shadow of a cloud seemed to have fallen upon the 
 Church; the voice of the great S. Bernard had been 
 drowned amid the din and clamour of war, the Holy 
 City, for which the blood of the Crusaders had flown 
 in crimson streams, was still in the hands of the 
 infidels, the Crescent had triumphed over the Cross, 
 and fear fell upon men's minds, and hope died out of 
 many a brave heart. 
 
 The strife of nations continued during the thirteenth 
 century, but in the Church God raised up faithful 
 ones to do His work, to battle for Him against sin, the 
 world, and the devil. We hear of S. Louis of France, 
 of S. Ferdinand of Spain, of S. Francis d'Assisi, of 
 
 B 
 
The Life of 
 
 S. Dominic of Guzman, of S. Thomas Aquinas the 
 Angelic Doctor, and of many others whose names are 
 written in the Book of Life, and whose light shone 
 before men in this age of mediaeval holiness. It was 
 at this time too that S. Elizabeth of Hungary lived, 
 and loved, and suffered and died, and has left to us the 
 bright example of her short life, that we, seeing her 
 good works, may glorify our Father Which is in 
 Heaven. Since the conversion of Hungary to the 
 Christian faith, her kings and princes had in turn been 
 numbered amongst the Saints of the Church of God ; 
 and now in the dawn of the thirteenth century, 
 Andrew, the reigning monarch, well bore out the Greek 
 meaning of his name, which is rendered in that 
 language : Manhood, Fortitude, and Valour. This 
 wise and good king had married Gertrude, the daughter 
 of the Duke of Carinthia and Istria, and Lord of the 
 Tyrol, and one of her sisters was S. Hediwige of 
 Poland. 
 
 Queen Gertrude was a fitting wife for the noble king 
 of Hungary, a fitting mother for the Saint whom she 
 was destined to bring into the world. An old his- 
 torian has quaintly described her character : " She 
 being admired for her rare beauty and princely 
 parentage was yet more amiable to the world for her 
 sage prudence, and fair demeanours ; for which she 
 was more esteemed, than for the lilies and roses of her 
 cheeks, and greater lustre of her family." 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 3 
 
 Amongst the most powerful of the Grerman princes 
 contemporary with Andrew of Hungary, was Hermann, 
 Landgj-ave of Thuringia and Hesse, and Count 
 Palatine of , Saxony. Hermann was a noble Christian 
 knight and warrior, the special favourite of the Pope 
 Innocent III., the near relative of Odoacer of Bohemia, 
 and of Federick Barbarossa. His dominions extended 
 from the Lahn to the Elbe, his powerful influence 
 made itself felt throughout the whole empire. It was 
 said of him that he could make kings at his pleasure, 
 and raise or crush kingdoms by one single word. He 
 was famous for his power, but a yet more enviable 
 distinction was his ; he was renowned in aU the Courts 
 of Europe for his many virtues, and his sincere piety ; 
 whilst his noble, generous, chivalrous spirit won for 
 him the name of '' the Flower of Thuringia." He had 
 spent his youth in Paris, and from thence he carried 
 into his own country a love of learning and of poetry, 
 which he cultivated amongst his people for the rest of 
 his life. 
 
 The noblest of the poets of Germany were often 
 assembled at his Court ; and in the year 1206 it 
 chanced that ten of these learned men were there, and 
 none could determine the merits of the rival minstrels 
 or assign to any one amongst the number the palm of 
 victory. All the highest nobles of the land had come 
 together to hear the songs of the poets, and to decide 
 who amongst them aU, was entitled to take precedence 
 
 B 2 
 
The Life of 
 
 amongst his fellows ; but when they had listened to 
 the grand recitals of war, and chivalry, and religion, 
 they knew not to whom to give the poet's crown. 
 
 Now, at the Court of the King of Hungary there lived 
 one Maitre Klingsohr, an astrologer, whose fame for 
 wisdom and learning had reached Thuringia, and it 
 was agreed that he should be asked to settle the point 
 at issue. 
 
 A messenger was sent to entreat him to come to the 
 Landgrave's court, and in due time Klingsohr arrived 
 at Eisenach, where Hermann ard the nobles were 
 assembled. Crowds soon flocked around the learned 
 man, eager and anxious to hear him tell some of those 
 marvellous things, for which he was so famed. For a 
 time he was silent ; then he looked into the anxious, 
 expectant faces which were turned to him, and he said : 
 ** You want me to tell you something new. I will do 
 so, and it is joyful news that you will hear from me 
 this evening. I see a fair and beautiful star rising in 
 Hungary, shining from thence to Marburg, and from 
 Marburg over the whole earth. Know that this very 
 night there is born to my lord the King of Hungary, a 
 daughter, who shall be named Elizabeth, and who 
 shall be given in marriage to a prince of this country ; 
 she shall be a great Saint, and her holiness shall be 
 the joy and consolation of Christendom." 
 
 There was great joy amongst the people of Thuringia 
 when they heard these wonderful words of the 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 
 
 astrologer ; they were duly repeated to the Landgrave, 
 and he sent for Klingsohr to his palace, and loaded 
 him with honours, and after he had fulfilled the 
 purpose for which he came, and decided the claims of 
 the rival poets, he returned to his own country of 
 Hungary. In the meantime what he had predicted 
 had come to pass, a little daughter had been born to 
 good Queen Gertrude, and the child had been carried 
 to church with great pomp, and baptized by the name 
 of Elizabeth. 
 
 Very early in life the little one began to show signs 
 of that saintliness for which she was afterwards 
 distinguished. The sacred words of religion were 
 amongst the first words her baby lips learned to frame ; 
 the holy names of the Infant Saviour, and of His 
 Virgin Mother, were lisped by her with touching 
 reverence. Very eagerly she listened to her gentle 
 mother's first simple lessons in the great truths of the 
 Christian faith. Anxiously, as other children ask to be 
 told some amusing story, would she beg to be told of 
 all the love of the Holy Child Jesus. 
 
 At the sight of some poor beggar, tears of compassion 
 would start to the child-like, trusting eyes, and she 
 would only be comforted by being allowed to bestow 
 her alms upon '* God's own poor." 
 
 It has been rightly said of her that ''her first deed 
 was an alms, her first word a prayer ;" in every action 
 of the baby life there seemed to shine forth a promise 
 
The Life of 
 
 of that future holiness which has caused her name to 
 be enrolled amongst the Saints of the Catholic Church. 
 
 It seemed too that a special blessing came to the 
 country of Elizabeth with the first germ of the pure 
 young life into which God had breathed the spirit of 
 His own Divine Love. There had been foreign wars 
 and home troubles devastating Hungary during the 
 earlier parts of the reign of Andrew II. ; these all 
 ceased after the birth of the young Princess, and the 
 brave Hungarians looked with special veneration upon 
 the child who already had wrought such good in the 
 land they loved so well. 
 
 There were other eyes too, turned upon the little 
 Elizabeth with longing anxious gaze. Duke Hermann 
 had of course taken care to enquire whether Klingsohr's 
 prediction had been fulfilled ; and when he was told that 
 a daughter had been born to the King of Hungary, and 
 ■when he heard, moreover, of the early proofs of piety 
 which the little one had already displayed, and the 
 blessings she had brought down upon her own land, he 
 became most anxious that the remainder of the astro- 
 loger's prophecy should be accomplished, and that the 
 little Hungarian Princess should be the bride of his 
 young son Louis. 
 
 He sent an embassy consisting of noble lords 
 and ladies, into Hungary, to ask the king to 
 give his little daughter to the heir of Thuringia, 
 and he begged that Elizabeth might be sent back 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 
 
 with his messengers to the country of her future 
 husband. 
 
 The deputation arrived at Presburg, and were 
 received with every mark of esteem and honour ; they 
 laid their cause before the king and queen, they told 
 of all the child-like goodness and amiability of the 
 little Louis. 
 
 Andrew listened to all they had to say, but the heart 
 which had never quailed in moments of deepest danger, 
 trembled and shrank at the thought of parting from 
 his darling only daughter, who had brought such peace 
 to his country and his house. His wife, however, took 
 the side of the Thuringians, and urged all the wisdom 
 and advantage of such an alliance ; the king yielded to 
 her influence, and his voice trembled as he spoke those 
 words which were to send his little helpless child " far 
 away from her own people and her father's house." 
 
 All was settled ; a great feast was held, which lasted 
 for three days, and when the music and song and 
 dancing had ceased, Elizabeth, a loving, gentle little 
 maiden of scarce four years old, was clad in a silken 
 robe and laid in a silver cradle, and presented to the 
 Thuringians, to be carried by them to the country 
 of her adoption. 
 
 The king gave her into the especial charge of 
 
 Gaultier Lord of Varilla, saying: **I entrust my 
 
 greatest earthly blessing to your knightly honour ;" to 
 
 :'hich Varilla replied: " I receive her willingly into my 
 
8 The Life of 
 
 keeping, and will be faithful to her for ever;" a promise 
 which in the dark and troubled days that were to come, 
 was right loyally kept by the Thuringian noble. 
 
 The last loving kisses had been pressed upon the 
 baby cheek by her fond parents, the last words of 
 whispered blessing spoken, and then the little princess 
 journeyed with the ambassadors, and with the thirteen 
 Hungarian maidens, whom her father had given her to 
 be her companions and attendants, towards her new 
 far away home. 
 
 The Landgrave, and his wife the Duchess Sophia, 
 received their future daughter with every mark of love. 
 Hermann took the child into his arms, and thanked God 
 for having given her to his son, and then he went 
 forward to his castle of Wartburg to prepare for the 
 princess's reception, whilst the duchess spent the 
 whole night watching by her side. 
 
 The next day in the presence of the nobles and 
 burghers of Eisenach the little girl of four years old, 
 and the noble boy over whose head only eleven 
 summers had passed, were solemnly betrothed, and 
 then there were great rejoicings and f eastings through- 
 out all the land, and Elizabeth never again left him 
 whom she learned to love so tenderly, and whom in the 
 years to come she mourned so truly. 
 
 In accordance with the custom of the times the 
 children called each other "brother" and *' sister," 
 and when the childish love deepened into mor. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 9 
 
 passionate devotion, they still retained the pure 
 endearing names, mingling them at last with the sacred 
 titles of ''husband" and "wife;" thus calming and 
 sanctifying the later tie by the sweet memories of 
 those early, innocent years, upon which they ever 
 loved to dwell. 
 
 Never again did " the dear Elizabeth," as the 
 Germans still love to call her, leave the country of 
 her adoption, except when once in the years that were 
 to come she paid a short visit to her father's court 
 and her childhood's home. 
 
10 The Life of 
 
 CHAPTER II.— 1210-1215. 
 
 The childish years of Elizabeth — The death of hex mother, the 
 Good Queen Gertrude — How, day by day, the love for all 
 holy things grew in the young Princess's heart — S. John 
 the Evangelist becomes Elizabeth's' patron Saint — Her 
 earnest self-denial, and longing to give up all for the sake 
 of Christ. 
 
 Months passed on, and in the far away land of 
 Thuringia the little Elizabeth was the same gentle, 
 pious cliild who had listened so eagerly in her own 
 home in Hungary to the loving lessons which fell 
 from the lips of good Queen Gertrude. 
 
 She had, too, before her childish eyes two bright 
 examples of Christian life ; the one in her father-in-law, 
 the noble and God-fearing Duke Hermann ; the other 
 in her maternal aunt Hediwige, Duchess of Poland, 
 who was a most holy woman, and was canonized after 
 her death,' because of the fervent piety and strict 
 austerity she had practised in that high station in 
 which God had placed her. For her the young 
 Hungarian princess conceived a strange attachment ; to 
 imitate her, and be like her, became the ruling passion 
 of Elizabeth's life. Very soon trouble came to the 
 child, the greatest that can come into the life of God's 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 11 
 
 children. The good Queen Gertrude died two years 
 after Elizabeth had left her home, and the circum- 
 stances attending her death were fraught with such 
 bitter sorrow to all who loved her, that they made a 
 more than usually vivid impression upon the child's 
 mind, and from that sad day she was more thoughtful 
 and earnest than she had been before. 
 
 Gertrude had died for the sake of her husband. A 
 conspiracy was formed against the king, and to give 
 him time to fly, she stood all calm and brave before 
 his enepiies, and their cruel, dastardly blows fell upon 
 her head. 
 
 No marvel that the story of the manner of her 
 mother's death left a deep impress upon the heart of 
 the gentle child ; no marvel that she determined from 
 henceforth to live more nearly to God ; to become more 
 like the Holy Jesus, Who is the Pattern of all Christian 
 children. Her father-in-law had chosen seven noble 
 Thuringian maidens to be her companions, amongst 
 them was his own daughter Agnes. Another of them 
 was named Guta; she remained faithful to the Saint 
 amid all the vicissitudes of her short and troubled life, 
 and to her simple and touching narrative we owe the 
 knowledge of the details of the young princess' early 
 years. Very often when her companions were amusing 
 themselves with their toys and their little games, 
 Elizabeth would steal into the chapel, and although 
 she could not read, she would open a large Psalter, 
 
12 The Life of 
 
 and kneel at the Altar steps, her tiny hands clasped, 
 her pure, innocent eyes raised trustfully to heaven. 
 
 Thus, in her childish way, she would pray and 
 meditate ; and surely her Angel Guardian carried the 
 unspoken words to the Golden Gate, and laid them at 
 the Feet of Him she so faithfully strove to serve. 
 
 At other times she would propose to the other 
 children that they should all run races, and see who 
 first should reach the chapel; and if hy chance the 
 door was locked, she would kiss the locks and walls 
 which shut her out from the Holy Presence into which 
 she so longed to enter. 
 
 Her every action seemed ruled by the spirit of 
 child-like love and obedience which were ever her 
 especial characteristics, which seemed somehow to 
 be a part of the little Elizabeth's nature. To 
 serve God was the one thought of her life, and to 
 pray to Him as often as she wished, made her 
 occasionally resort to an innocent ruse, to which in 
 after-life she sometimes alluded. " Let us lie down 
 on the grass," she would say to her little companions, 
 " and see which of us is the tallest." The children of 
 course eagerly acceded to the proposal, and the little 
 princess stretched herself in turn by the side of each 
 of the little girls, and took the opportunity of worship- 
 ping God, and repeating a Patei- and an Ave. 
 
 Often the little party would wander to the church- 
 yard, and then Elizabeth would speak in her grave, 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 13 
 
 cliildish way of the uncertainty of all earthly things. 
 " Eemember that we shall all one day become dust. All 
 those who are lying here once lived as we live, and are 
 now dead just as we too must die ; it is for this reason 
 that we must love God. Let us kneel down and say, 
 * Oh, Lord, by Thy cruel death, and for the sake of 
 Thy Blessed Mother, deliver these souls from their 
 trouble ; Oh, Lord, save us by Thy Five most Sacred 
 Wounds.' " 
 
 To speak to the child of high and holy things was at 
 once to find the way to her heart. She had learned a 
 number of prayers, which she set herself to say each 
 day, and if, when night came, any of them were by 
 some unavoidable accident left unsaid, she lay awake, 
 even as the holy David of old, praying, and remember- 
 ing God in her bed. Her charity in those early years 
 was unbounded, almost lavish. All that was given 
 her she sought to bestow upon the poor ; and often the 
 little lady was to be found in the kitchen, to the great 
 annoyance of the servants, picking up scraps, which 
 she took to the Castle gates to feed the beggars who 
 waited for her there. It was the custom of those 
 times to draw a patron saint out of the number of the 
 twelve Apostles, and Elizabeth, who had already 
 placed herself under the especial protection of the 
 Blessed Virgin, hoped and prayed that to her lot 
 might fall the Disciple of Love, the holy Evangelist 
 S. John. 
 
14 The Life of 
 
 The day came upon which the trial was to be made ; 
 the names of the twelve Apostles were written upon 
 twelve wax tapers, which were mixed together, and 
 placed upon the altar, whilst each child in turn drew 
 one hap-hazard. The taper which bore the name of S. 
 John became the property of Elizabeth, and she was 
 so rejoiced at this answer to her simple prayers, that 
 she asked that she might be allowed to try again. 
 Three times the ceremony was repeated, three times 
 did the little girl draw the taper upon which the name 
 of S. John was inscribed, and then she knew indeed 
 that he who, out of the depth of his love to God, had 
 learned to love his fellow-men, was to be her patron 
 and blessed example for all her life. 
 
 To be more worthy of this sacred patronage, to be 
 more loving and gentle and charitable to all around 
 her, was now the aim of Elizabeth's life. Child 
 though she was, she began to practise voluntary 
 humiliation and austerity. On Sundays and fete 
 days, when her companions delighted to dress them- 
 selves in their best clothes, and to adorn their small 
 persons with laces and jewels, she, the highest bom 
 and the noblest amongst them all, would appear 
 simply attired, her dress devoid of all ornament, nothing 
 but a Crucifix suspended round her fair neck. There 
 were few opportunities in her luxurious life for the 
 practice of rigorous austerities ; and so it was in small 
 things that she sought to bend and break her somewhat 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 15 
 
 impetuous will, and that slie laid the seeds of that total 
 self-abnegation and submission to God in all things, 
 which in after life caused great men, ay, and great 
 Saints too, to look on and wonder. 
 
 When in the midst of her childish games she grew 
 eager and excited, and longed to go on, she would 
 suddenly stop *' for the love of God." And in the 
 giddy dance, as she whirled joyously round, the same 
 thoughts came to her mind: to stop, to give up the 
 pleasure, would be to forego something for Jesus' 
 sake ; and many and many a time she walked quietly 
 away to sit by herself and muse upon the love of God. 
 And yet, amid all this, she was ever bright and joyous, 
 she seemed to carry sunshine with her wherever she 
 went ; even when in after years sorrow came to her, 
 and that earthly love upon which she had so leaned 
 was crushed out of her heart, and she endured un- 
 told agony of soul and spirit, the sweet chastened 
 gaiety of her early years was still to be seen, it 
 could not be crushed out by anguish or bereavement, 
 for it was God's own gift of peace to His faithful 
 servant. 
 
 The troubles that came to her were from without, 
 sent to her straight from heaven. Other saints have 
 endured temptations, have had to battle against what 
 seemed almost insurmountable obstacles in their 
 spiritual life and progress. No such storms ever 
 darkened the star which had shone upon S. Elizabeth's 
 
16 The Life of 
 
 cradle, and wliicli shone witli brighter and yet brighter 
 radiance until it rested upon her grave. Hard indeed 
 was her onward way, beset with many a sorrow, but 
 she thanked God that she was counted worthy to walk 
 in the Foot -prints of her Lord, and her stedfast eyes 
 were ever fixed upon her own true country, and by 
 faith she beheld the glory that should some day be 
 revealed to her. 
 
 The thorns of adversity became as bright, sweet 
 roses — her own especial flower — in her path ; truly in 
 her life was verified the truth of that lovely proverb 
 of another land : " When thou fearest, then God is 
 nearest." 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 17 
 
 CHAPTER III.— 1216-1220. 
 
 The death of the young Princess' father-in-law, the Landgrave 
 Hermann — Troubles come into the child's life — Her gentle- 
 ness and amiability — Her sorrow when tempted to give way 
 to impatience — Elizabeth before the Crucifix in the Church 
 of Eisenach — Her Troubles increase — Young Louis of Thu- 
 ringia — The dawning of brighter days — The Wedding in the 
 Castle of Wartburg. 
 
 Elizabeth was only nine years old when, in the year 
 1216, the second great sorrow came upon her. The 
 brave and good Landgrave Hermann died; and the 
 child whom he had loved so tenderly was left to the 
 care of those who were impatient with her because 
 her wish to serve God came before all else, and who 
 were determined upon making her give up those pious 
 practices which had made her all the mbre dear and 
 precious to the kind friend who had been taken from 
 her. 
 
 Young Louis, her affianced husband, loved his ** little 
 sister " deeply and truly ; but he was still a mere boy, 
 and the guardianship of the young Hungarian princess 
 was entrusted to his mother the Duchess Sophia, who 
 took no pains to conceal the displeasure she felt at 
 witnessing the child's devotion to her religious 
 duties. 
 
18 The Life of 
 
 The Princess Agnes, Louis' sister, a maiden of sur- 
 passing beauty, was for ever reproaching Elizabeth 
 for her quiet, unassuming, gentle ways, and told her 
 in very plain language that she was fit only to be a 
 housemaid, and that she had better not aspire to be 
 her brother's wife. The companions of the two young 
 princesses were only too ready to follow the lead of 
 the lovely Agnes, and by degrees a strong party was 
 formed against the innocent Elizabeth; she was laughed 
 at, ridiculed, insulted, and she bore all patiently — only 
 she withdrew herself more and more from the society 
 of those who so misjudged her ; and she sought out 
 the poor in the neighbourhood of Eisenach, and whilst 
 she gave her alms to the mothers, she loved to gather 
 the little ragged children around her, and speak to 
 them in simple words of God and of heaven. 
 
 In her heart there was no angry feeling against her 
 persecutors ; her unhappiness only seemed to draw 
 her more closely to her Saviour ; she sought to love 
 those who had created a new link between her and her 
 Lord. But her loving gentleness failed to win their 
 hearts ; still the cruel jests and mocking taunts 
 sounded in her ears, and the hot blood would some- 
 times mount to the fair young cheek, and the light of 
 just indignation flash in the dark eye. 
 
 The indignation was but momentary, the sorrow for 
 having given way to it lasted many a long hour ; 
 for Elizabeth fixed her mind on her loving and 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 19 
 
 forgiving Saviour, and she bowed her head in very 
 shame, and acknowledged that often and often she 
 had offended against Him, Who loved her so well that 
 He died for her. 
 
 One day — it was the Feast of the Assumption of the 
 Blessed Virgin — the princesses and their young com- 
 panions accompanied the Duchess Sophia to Eisenach, 
 in order to be present at Mass. 
 
 Elizabeth and Agnes, clad in their richest attire in 
 obedience to the Duchess' orders, and with golden 
 crowns upon their heads, knelt in the beautiful church 
 before a large crucifix. 
 
 Tearfully and reverently Elizabeth gazed upon the 
 life-like Figure of her bleeding, dying Saviour; and 
 taking off her golden crown, she prostrated herself 
 upon the ground, whilst her black hair, escaping from 
 its confinement, fell in loose luxuriance around her 
 slender person. 
 
 The Duchess was very angry when she saw what the 
 young girl had done. '* What is the matter with you ?" 
 she said brusquely. " What new al^surdity are you 
 going to be guilty of ; what new folly are you going to 
 commit, so that all the world may laugh at you, and 
 turn you into ridicule ? Young ladies ought to hold 
 themselves upright, and not throw themselves upon 
 the ground like mad women, or old nuns who bend 
 about like broken reeds. Can you not behave as we 
 do, instead of as an ill-bred child ? Is your crown too 
 
 c 2 
 
20 The Life of 
 
 heavy for you to bear, that you lie there bent double 
 like a peasant ?" 
 
 Very humbly the young princess rose and stood 
 before the Duchess. '' Dear lady," she said, " be not 
 angry with me. See there before my eyes my God and 
 my King, that loving, merciful Jesus, Who is crowned 
 with sharp thorns. How then can I, His vile creature, 
 kneel before Him crowned with precious stones, and 
 gold, and pearls I My crown surely would be but a 
 mockery of His." And then the poor child cried 
 bitterly, not on account of the sharp and cruel words 
 which the Duchess had spoken to her, but at the 
 thought of those many woes which her Saviour had 
 borne for her sake. Once more she knelt before the 
 holy symbol of shame and of triumph ; and unmindful 
 of the whispered, mocking words of those around her, 
 she poured out all the love of her young heart to Him, 
 the Crucified. 
 
 Day by day things. grew worse, Elizabeth's enemies 
 were the great and powerful nobles of the Court, who 
 all tried to turn the young Landgrave against his 
 affianced bride, and to persuade him to send her back 
 to her own country. The Duchess and the Princess 
 Agnes joined their entreaties to those of the courtiers, 
 and the former sought to induce her future daughter- 
 in-law to take the veil. 
 
 But the child loved Louis truly ; from her earliest 
 infancy she had been taught to look upon herself as 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 21 
 
 his affianced bride ; she could not give him up now, 
 that " dear brother," who had ever been so good and 
 kind to her. She took her trouble to God, she laid 
 it at the foot of the Cross, and when she took up the 
 burden again it was light and easy, for she was bearing 
 it for Jesus' sake, and to His tender keeping she com- 
 mitted herself in these words : 
 
 " Sovereign Spouse of my heart, suffer me not to 
 desire that which Thou dost not desire, let all things 
 else be ungrateful and bitter to me, and Thou only 
 sweet. That Thy Will be mine, and this my desire 
 withal, that as in Heaven Thy Will is ever done, so 
 may it be done likewise here on earth, and most par- 
 ticularly by me. And since love requires an union, 
 and a most entire resignation of all things into the 
 hands of the beloved, I give myself to Thee without 
 reserving aught to myself, I renounce all the riches 
 and pomps of this world, and if I had many worlds, 
 I would leave them all for Thee and become poor, as 
 Thou wast poor for me. 0, Spouse of my heart, so 
 great is the love I bear Thee, and poverty for Thy 
 sake, that if it were possible I would leave to be what 
 I am, to be transformed into Thee. My enemies seek 
 to overthrow and to entrap me, and with their guiles 
 to draw me from Thy service. let them not prevail 
 upon my weakness, but be Thou a rampart to me 
 against the assaults and batteries they lay against 
 me, to take me from my settled purpose of following 
 
22 The Life of 
 
 Thee, as nearly as my state and condition will permit. 
 1 trust Thou wilt perfect what Thou hast begun, and 
 I shall remain victorious 'over all my adversaries : 
 This I beseech Thee, for Thy beloved servant's sake 
 S. John, my patron, for the love of Thy dearest 
 Mother, and above all for Thy Most Precious Blood, 
 wherein I put my chiefest trust." 
 
 He in Whom she trusted was ever with her; a 
 brighter day was dawning upon the girl's life ; for a 
 time, for a few brief years it was to be given her to 
 taste the full happiness of an almost perfect earthly 
 affection. 
 
 There was one who never laughed at her, who loved 
 her better as day by day he witnessed her saint-like 
 patience, her gentle submission beneath the taunts and 
 railings of her enemies ; and this one was the young 
 Landgrave, her affianced husband. His whole soul 
 was moved with pity for her ; the more he saw the 
 hatred of others showered upon her innocent head, 
 the more he determined that it should be his task to 
 chase away the dark clouds of sorrow, and to brighten 
 the young life into which so much suffering had 
 already come. 
 
 What others condemned was his greatest joy ; the 
 sweet youthful modesty, the simple attire, the retiring 
 manners of the Princess Elizabeth, all drew her more 
 closely into the brave, chivalrous young heart, which 
 sought only to imitate one so good and so pious. He 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 23 
 
 dared not openly show all his love for the gentle girl ; 
 he was afraid that to do so would only draw upon her 
 fresh indignities from his mother and sister ; it was 
 only when she sat alone, bowed down by the cruel 
 treatment she received, that he sought her out, and 
 poured into her ears the tale of his love, and bade her 
 wait but a little while and all would be well. 
 
 Often Louis had to leave the Castle of Wartburg to 
 attend to the affairs of his dominions, and he never 
 came back from these journeys without bringing 
 Elizabeth some little token of his love ; something 
 which showed her that she had been in his thoughts 
 during those long, weary days of his absence from her 
 side. Once only he returned and brought no present 
 with him; and Elizabeth, who had been more than 
 usually tormented by her enemies, resented the seeming 
 neglect, whilst the courtiers rejoiced at it, and hailed 
 it as a sign that Louis was cooling in his love towards 
 the young Hungarian ptincess. The girl heard their 
 whispered words; and meeting Gaultier, Lord of 
 Varilla, into whose keeping her father had given her, 
 and who had ever been her trusty friend and champion, 
 she confided to him the sorrow that weighed so deeply^ 
 upon her heart. 
 
 Gaultier promised to speak on the subject to his 
 young master. , 
 
 Two or three days afterwards he kept his word. He 
 went out hunting with Louis ; and when they were 
 
24 The Life oj 
 
 resting in a wood, above which towered Inselberg, the 
 highest of the Thuringian mountains, Gaultier thus 
 addressed the Landgrave : 
 
 " My lord, will you answer me a question I am 
 about to ask you ?" 
 
 " Undoubtedly," answered Louis ; ** speak as you 
 will, I will answer anything you choose to ask me." 
 
 " Then will you tell me," continued Gaultier, '' what 
 you purpose doing with the Lady Elizabeth, whom 
 I brought to you from Hungary ? Will you take her 
 for your wife, or will you break your plighted word, 
 and send her back to her father ?" 
 
 Then Louis rose hastily and indignantly, and 
 stretched out his hand towards the lofty mountain oi 
 Liselberg. 
 
 "Do you see that mountain," he said; *'know then 
 that if it were of purest gold from its base to its 
 summit, and if I were told that it should all be mine 
 on condition that I sent away my Elizabeth, I would 
 not do it. Let others say and think what they will, 
 that is naught to me ; I love her better than all else 
 on earth, and I am determined that she shall be mine. 
 Her virtue and her piety are dearer to me than all the 
 world." 
 
 " My lord," said Gaultier, ** have I your permission 
 to repeat your words to the princess." 
 
 " Tell her all," answered Louis eagerly ; " tell her 
 too that I will never listen to those who try to set me 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 25 
 
 against her, and give her this as a new pledge of my 
 faith ;" and the Landgrave put into the courtier's 
 hands a Uttle double-cased mirror, wherein was a 
 picture of our crucified Lord. 
 
 "With all speed the trusty knight sought the young 
 princess, and told her all that Louis had said, and 
 gave her the pledge of his love and faith. 
 
 Joyfully indeed did she receive it ; how could she 
 doubt him any more, when it seemed as though his 
 affection for her was based upon His love, Who loves 
 us first and best. 
 
 In 1218, the young Landgrave, having entered upon 
 his nineteenth year, received the sword of knighthood 
 in the church of S. George at Eisenach, from the 
 hands of the Bishop of Nuremburg. No foreign prince 
 was there, for Louis had declared that he would only 
 hold his knighthood from God and from his vassals. 
 The following year he engaged in his first campaign, 
 a war against the rapacious Archbishop of Mayence, 
 whom he obliged to sue for peace. On his return to 
 Thuringia he boldly announced his intention of no 
 longer delaying his marriage, and he ordered all those 
 who had sought to injure Elizabeth, by word or 
 deed, to be silent from henceforth. His firmness took 
 all by surprise, none dared disobey him, or seek to 
 turn him from his fixed purpose ; and in 1220 the 
 wedding took place with great pomp in the chapel of 
 the Castle of Wartburg, and the young bridegroom 
 
26 The Life of 
 
 received his bride from the hands of the faithful 
 Gaultier, Lord of Varilla, who nine years before had 
 sworn to the King of Hungary that he would watch 
 over and protect his child. 
 
 He to whom he resigned his trust was indeed well 
 worthy of the treasure God had given him. With the 
 exception of his noble namesake S. Louis of France, 
 the annals of the thirteenth century tell of no prince 
 who united in his person, even at the early age of 
 twenty years, all the virtues of a Christian knight and 
 prince, as did Louis of Thuringia " the good Land- 
 grave." Tall, athletic, well made, the beauty of his 
 person was but a mirror of the rare beauty of his 
 mind ; the purity of his soul shone forth in the serene 
 and sweet expression of his face. All the historians 
 of the age in which he lived agree in saying that there 
 was a striking resemblance in him to that portrait 
 which tradition has handed down to us as His, Who 
 for our sakes became Incarnate. The sweetness of 
 Louis' smile was irresistible, his bearing was noble 
 and courteous, his voice was low and soft, and yet 
 most manly ; to see him was to love him, and to 
 trust in him above all other men. Truly, he was a 
 noble, chivalrous knight, "sans peur et sans reproche," 
 he was fearless almost to recklessness ; and yet he 
 was modest and chaste as any girl, an impure word 
 would cause him to blush ; he was silent and reserved 
 in his speech, lest he should in any way commit a gin 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 27 
 
 of the tongue. To women he was strangely courteous, 
 to Httle children ever most tender and pitiful, to the 
 poor always gentle and affable. Unscathed he had 
 passed through all the temptations of youth. Left to 
 himself when he was a boy of sixteen, master of one of 
 the richest kingdoms in Germany, surrounded by all 
 that wealth and luxury could give him, he turned a 
 deaf ear to the insidious flatteries of his courtiers, and 
 he never wavered from the path in which he had 
 sworn before God that he would walk, never suffered 
 one shadow to tarnish the brightness of that device 
 which as a boy he had chosen and caused to be 
 emblazoned on his shield. " Piety, chastity, justice ;" 
 in fact, the latter virtue seems to have been his only 
 passion, and it was well that it was so ; for the love of 
 justice caused him to punish those who violated the 
 laws, whilst his natural kindness might have allowed 
 the offender to escape. 
 
 And to this model of all knightly perfection and 
 Christian chivalry, the Lord of Varilla consigned the 
 keeping of the child (even now she was but thirteen 
 years old) he had brought all those years ago from her 
 distant home. Brightly indeed was the sun shining 
 upon those two young lives. Loving each other with a 
 pure and holy love in Christ their Lord, they stand out 
 as bright examples of that mystical union between 
 Christ and His Church, of which marriage is a symbol 
 and a type. They sought to help each other on, in 
 
28 The Life of 
 
 the path of perfection ; they knew that to love God 
 first, and before all, was to sanctify, and purify their 
 love for each other, and so they started together on 
 life's journey, not seeking to avoid the sorrows and 
 troubles of the world, but learning to meet them, 
 striving amid all their happiness to bear Him ever 
 in their hearts, under Whose banner they had pro- 
 mised to serve. And they knew that that banner was 
 the banner of the Cross ; and the tale that the Cross 
 tells us is one of the direst sufferings that was ever 
 endured by man ; but God be thanked, that suffering 
 leads to joy unspeakable, which eye has never seen, of 
 which ear has never heard. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 29, 
 
 CHAPTER IV.— 1220-1221. 
 
 The first years of Elizabeth's married life — Her growing 
 devotion — Her austerity of life — The mutual love of the 
 young couple — Elizabeth's acts of charity to the poor and the 
 sick — Her special care for lepers — Sundry anecdotes setting 
 forth her childish zeal and faith. 
 
 Just as there have been great Saints to whom tempta- 
 tions have come from within, which it seemed almost 
 impossible to overcome, so there have been others who 
 have felt that if they would give their whole hearts 
 and lives to God, they must tear away all earthly 
 affection, wrench from the very fibres of their being 
 all that to them was nearest and dearest. But with 
 " the dear Elizabeth " it was not so, the love that 
 she bestowed upon all around her, was but a reflection 
 of the holier, higher love which was given with all the 
 intensity of her nature to Him Who died for her. 
 Deep and tender though the affection was which she 
 entertained for her young husband, it never interfered 
 with one single act of devotion, never cut short one 
 single prayer. She obeyed him with gentle submis- 
 sion as it beseems a wife to do ; she sought to please 
 him in all things, to ward off from him every care, 
 every annoyance, to make his home so bright and 
 
30 The Life of 
 
 happy that when his duties called him away, his one 
 wish was to get back to his young and loving wife. 
 
 Truly the life that in those few short years had 
 known so much of sorrow and of bitterness, was now as 
 one long summer's day in its gladness and its joy ; 
 and yet Elizabeth never for an instant ceased to 
 meditate upon that most sacred life of suffering which 
 had brought into the world such infinite, inestimable 
 joy. Night after night when her husband slept, she 
 would rise from her soft couch and kneel upon the 
 floor, and think of that cold winter's night when, more 
 than twelve hundred years before, the Child Jesus was 
 born in the lonely Manger at Bethlehem ; the chill 
 wind blowing around Him, the pitiless blast telling in 
 wailing tones, of the sorrows that yet must come to 
 the God Man. 
 
 Louis would sometimes seek to moderate her zeal, 
 and bid her care for her health as a precious gift given 
 her from heaven to be used to the greater glory of 
 God, but in his heart he loved his Elizabeth all the 
 better for her pious practices, and in all her works of 
 charity and deeds of love he was ever a most willing 
 helper. 
 
 Long and rigidly she fasted, so that by such discipline 
 her flesh might be subdued, and she might walk more 
 humbly before God. Always beneath her silken robe 
 she wore a shirt of hair ; every Friday of the year, and 
 every day during the holy season of Lent, she caused 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 31 
 
 her attendants to strike her with cords, in memory 
 of Him Whose sacred flesh was torn and scourged, 
 and lacerated, for our sakes. And when the cruel, 
 self-imposed discipline, had been performed, she would 
 appear, all bright and smiling, as though she had 
 endured no such pain as that which must have 
 been hers. She entered into all the amusements 
 and gaieties befitting her rank and station, it was 
 no part of her religion to make herself disagreeable 
 and morose to others. She was wont to say of those 
 who affected any undue solemnity of manner, " they 
 seem as if they wished to frighten the good God; 
 why do they not serve Him cheerfully, and with a 
 good will ?" Her Confessor at this time was Father 
 Conrad, of Marburg, to whom she had taken, with her 
 husband's permission, a vow of obedience, so long as 
 such obedience did not interfere with her wifely duties. 
 Certain taxes had been laid by the Landgrave's 
 ministers upon sundry articles of necessary food, 
 which were daily to be found upon the tables of 
 the Castle of Wartburg ; Father Conrad, who had set 
 himself against these acts of oppression, forbade the 
 Duchess to taste of the viands, which were procured, he 
 said, by robbing the poor. She obeyed most willingly, 
 although such submission often obliged her to turn 
 away fasting from the rich banquets where she pre- 
 sided at her husband's side ; a crust of dry bread was 
 many a time her only food, and yet she never mur- 
 
32 . The Life of 
 
 mured at her Confessor's decree ; only when on certain 
 occasions she was told that there was no forbidden 
 meat upon the table, she would clap her hands with 
 child-like joyousness, and say, " We shall be well off 
 to-day ; we may eat and drink without fear of doing 
 wrong." 
 
 She was never quite happy when Louis was away 
 from her ; often she would accompany him on his 
 distant journeys, and she would undergo any amount 
 of fatigue, bear the burning heat of summer and the 
 piercing cold of winter, if only she might be at her 
 ''dear brother's" side — if only she might hear the 
 sound of his loved voice. Sometimes, indeed, the young 
 Landgrave had to leave his own dominions, and go 
 into other countries where he could not take his lovely 
 young wife ; but these short absences only served to 
 show both how necessary each was to the other's 
 happiness ; of all the fair and beautiful ladies he saw 
 in the Courts of other sovereigns, there was not one 
 who in Louis' eyes would bear comparison with his 
 own Elizabeth. She, in her turn, when he was 
 obliged to leave her, laid aside the rich and costly 
 garments which she wore but to please him, and put 
 on the sober dress of a widow, spending the time he 
 was away from her in yet longer fasts and more devout 
 prayers. 
 
 One day, the old chroniclers tell us, the husband was 
 absent from his fair young wife, and she sat alone at 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 33 
 
 her solitary meal of bread and water. The Land- 
 grave returned unexpectedly, and laughingly stooped to 
 drink out of her cup. It contained, to his surprise, not 
 water, but wine more delicious than any he had ever 
 yet tasted, and he asked the steward of his household 
 from whence it came ? The man replied, in utter 
 astonishment, that his lady never drank anything but 
 pure water. Louis made no further comment, but he 
 knew that He Who had turned the water into wine 
 at the marriage feast of Cana of Galilee, had 
 blessed the cup of cold water which Elizabeth had 
 poured out for herself, that she might bestow the more 
 costly drink upon God's poor. There were those in 
 her husband's Court who looked upon that earnest, 
 watchful life of self-denial, and publicly reproached 
 Elizabeth for it, even blaming Louis for allowing such 
 extravagances. But neither of the young people cared 
 much for the world's praise or the world's blame ; they 
 had set before their minds but one duty, that of 
 pleasing God in all things, and the jests and taunts 
 of ungodly men fell all unheeded on their ears. 
 
 More stories are told us of Elizabeth's gentle charity 
 than we can find room for in this short chronicle of 
 her simple, blameless life, but a few of them must be 
 given here just as they have been handed down to us by 
 the chroniclers of the times in which she lived, who 
 have told us in quaint poetical language of her many 
 noble deeds, and of the miracles which showed how 
 
34 The Life of 
 
 acceptable her prayers and her alms-deeds were in the 
 sight of God. 
 
 Already we have seen how when she was but a little 
 girl she had refused to wear a golden crown, as she 
 knelt before the figure of her thorn-crowned Saviour ; 
 and as years went on that feeling of intense humility 
 deepened in her mind, and she resolved always to dress 
 as simply as she possibly could, only to attire herself 
 in the silken robes of state when her husband bade her 
 thus appear before his people. It chanced that one 
 day she went into the town of Eisenach richly dressed, 
 and crowned with her golden crown. As usual crowds 
 followed her, asking the charity which they knew was 
 never refused. Elizabeth had no money with her, but , 
 she took off all her ornaments and placed them in the 
 eagerly extended hands of the beggars. She had given 
 away all she had, and still one poor man was left upon 
 whom no jewels had been bestowed. The young 
 Duchess knew not what to give him, and yet she could 
 not send him away starving, and not in some way help 
 him. She quickly took off one of her gloves, which 
 was richly embroidered and ornamented with precious 
 stones, and handed it to the beggar in Jier own gracious 
 manner. A brave young knight, who had witnessed 
 the scene, followed the poor man, and gave him a sum 
 of money in exchange for the glove, which he fastened 
 upon his helmet, as a badge of Divine protection. 
 Prom that moment he was successful in all he under- 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 35 
 
 took, he triumphed over all his enemies, and was never 
 again vanquished by them. In after years he fought 
 in the Crusades, and his name ranked amongst the 
 bravest of all Christian knights. He returned to his 
 native land laden with honours, and he always said 
 that he attributed all his success to that precious 
 glove which once belonged to '' the dear Elizabeth." 
 The young duchess won for herself the proud sweet 
 name of " Patroness of the Poor." It was not because 
 of her rich and costly gifts that this title was assigned 
 to her, it was because she went day by day from her 
 luxurious palace to the dwellings of the sick and of 
 the suffering, and nursed and tended her brothers and 
 sisters in Christ, speaking to them in gentle words, 
 bidding them think of Him Who endured such 
 extremities of agony for their sakes upon the Cross. 
 In many a wretched home her bright presence was to 
 be found carrying a ray of sunshine where all had 
 been so dark before. No distance, no difficulty was ever 
 allowed to be an obstacle in her way, if there was any 
 good to be done, any sorrow to be soothed and com- 
 forted. Mothers placed their little new-born babes in 
 her arms, and the gentle lady would hold them at the 
 baptismal font, and promise to care for them so long as 
 she lived. Death had no terror for her. Often with her 
 own hands, tenderly and reverently as though they had 
 been her own loved ones, she washed and laid out the 
 corpses of the poorest of her subjects ; often she would 
 
 D 2 
 
36 The Life of 
 
 carry to the homes of the poor the food she knew they 
 so sorely needed, and thus laden she would descend the 
 steep mountain path which surrounded the Castle of 
 Wartburg. One day she was thus occupied, when 
 she came face to face with her husband, who was 
 returning from a hunting pairty. Astonished at seeing 
 her bending beneath the heavy burden she was carry- 
 ing, he said, ** Why, what have you here ?" and at the 
 same time drew aside her cloak, in order to satisfy his 
 curiosity. Not caring that her good deeds should thus 
 he made know to the courtiers who accompanied Louis, 
 Elizabeth drew her mantle more closely round her, and 
 sought to hide the food with which she was laden. It 
 was too late ; but she need not have feared, for naught 
 was to be seen beneath her cloak but the most lovelv 
 red and white roses which it was possible to behold— 
 and this in the depth of winter, when the snow lay 
 thick upon the ground. Seeing how troubled and 
 agitated his wife was, Louis sought to caress her, but 
 as he did so he drew back, for above her head he saw 
 in the heavens a bright shining light, in the form of a 
 Cross. Again he knew that this was a sign from God 
 of His especial love for His saint. He did not speak to 
 her of it, he bade her go on her errand of mercy, only he 
 carried away one of the roses with him, and kept it 
 near his heart all the rest of his life. And he ordered 
 a pillar to be built at the place where he had met 
 Elizabeth, and to be surmounted by a crucifix, in 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 37 
 
 memory of that Holy Sign which he had seen shining 
 above his wife's head. 
 
 To those who were afflicted with that most painful 
 of all diseases, leprosy, the Duchess of Thuringia 
 showed an especial compassion. It was a part of 
 Mediaeval Catholicity to treat those who were thus 
 afflicted with something approaching to veneration ; 
 as men who bore in their own person all that 
 weight of human woe which Jesus Christ had come 
 to relieve, and whom it was the duty of all His faithful 
 children to tend with more than common care. Dead 
 to the world, living their lonely life either in a hospital or 
 in some way-side hut, before the door of which was 
 placed a woodsn cross upon which hung an alms-box, 
 to which Christian men and women dropped their 
 offerings as they passed along the road, these poor 
 lepers were only allowed at the joyful Easter feast to 
 enter the towns and villages, and to rejoice for eight 
 short days in the gladness of Christendom. Then they 
 went back again to their desolate existence, the love 
 and the prayers of the faithful following them into their 
 solitude. To these poor wretches, separated from the 
 world, marked by the Hand of God, Elizabeth was 
 determined to minister with her own hand. She had 
 no fear of contagion; she sought them out, sat by 
 them, bade them be patient and trust in God, and 
 assured them that such suffering as theirs, borne for 
 Christ's sake, must win for them a sure reward here- 
 
88 The Life of 
 
 ' after. On Maundy Thursday she assembled around 
 her twelve poor lepers, washed their hands and their 
 feet, and knelt before them, and kissed their loathsome 
 sores. Day after day her proud mother-in-law, the 
 Duchess Sophia, saw all Elizabeth's gentleness, and 
 goodness, and humility, and yet she was not won over 
 by it ; she persecuted her when she could, just as she 
 had done in her childish days ; and whenever her son 
 was absent from the castle she took the opportunity of 
 laughing at the saint, and turning her into ridicule in 
 every possible way. 
 
 It happened on one occasion the Duke was away, 
 and the young Duchess, seeing a poor leper, in whom 
 she took a deep interest, deserted by all who knew 
 him, and dying for want of care, took him to the 
 castle, washed him, dressed his wounds, and then 
 laid him in her own luxurious bed. While she was 
 thus engaged Louis suddenly returned to Wartburg ; 
 his mother met him with a smile of envious triumph, 
 saying, ** Come with me, sweet son, and I will show 
 
 { you what your Elizabeth is doing now, what new 
 folly she is guilty of." " What do you mean ?" 
 asked the astonished Duke. '' Come with me," 
 answered the proud lady, ** and you will see who it is 
 that she loves better than she loves you ; " then she 
 laid her hand upon his arm, and drew him to his own 
 room, and made him stand by the side of his own 
 bed. " See, sweet son, your wife places lepers in your 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 39 
 
 bed, and I have no power to prevent it : she wishes to 
 give you the leprosy ; you can see this yourself." 
 
 Somewhat irritated at his mother's words, the Duke 
 impatiently drew back the coverHd, but God opened 
 his eyes, and instead of the poor diseased, leprous 
 form, he saw the sacred figure of Jesus upon the Cross, 
 stretched upon his bed. The Duchess Sophia saw it 
 also, and both stood there silent and stupefied, and 
 unable to utter a word. At last Louis gave way to 
 bitter tears, and rushed from the room. His wife 
 followed him, to try and turn away what she imagined 
 to be his anger against the poor leper. *' Elizabeth," 
 he said, drawing her lovingly towards him, " my dear 
 good sister, I beseech you often to give my bed to 
 such guests as this: let no one hinder you in your 
 good works." 
 
 Soon afterwards Elizabeth obtained her husband's 
 permission to found a hospital in the neighbourhood 
 of the Castle of Wartburg, and there she established 
 twenty-eight poor creatures, who had no home on 
 earth, and no one to care for their wants. She 
 visited them every day, carrying to them food and 
 drink, and nursing them tenderly and lovingly as she 
 could. 
 
 It was thus, that ere sixteen summers had passed 
 over her head, that the King of Hungary's daughter 
 spent her bright young life ; it was thus that the 
 love of earthly greatness died out of her heart, and 
 
40 The Life of 
 
 there arose there that love of holy poverty, which 
 was sanctified for ever by her blessed Lord. 
 
 Sometimes in her child-like innocence, the young 
 Duchess would take off her costly clothes, and dress 
 herself as a beggar, putting on a grey dress, and 
 covering her head with a tattered veil, and would 
 go amongst her maidens, and beg for a piece of 
 bread, saying in words that were indeed prophetic 
 of the fate that was in store for her : *' This is 
 how I shall walk when I am poor and miserable 
 for Christ's sake." Well, indeed, might the saintly 
 Bishop of Geneva say of her, the depths of whose 
 simple, yet most loving nature, he above all men, 
 perhaps, could best appreciate even at the distance 
 of more than three hundred years : " Oh, my God, 
 how poor this princess was in her riches ; how rich 
 in her poverty I " 
 
S. Elhaheth of Hungary, 41 
 
 CHAPTEE v.— 1221. 
 
 Elizabeth advances still further in the path of Perfection — Her 
 obedience to the rules of the Church — Her reverence for the 
 Blessed Sacrament — Her sorrow when, on one occasion, she 
 allowed the thought of earthly love to come between her and 
 her crucified Lord. 
 
 Day by day the young Duchess advanced in the 
 path of Christian perfection. The love which had 
 been the chief characteristic of her saintly patron, 
 " the beloved disciple," grew and overflowed in the 
 heart which, in all the freshness of youth, had been 
 given to God ; and that strange humility, which 
 had so graced her childish years, sank more deeply 
 into her soul as time passed on. Loving all around 
 her, better than she loved herself, she loved God 
 first, and before all else. She trusted in Him, with 
 simple, child-like faith, whilst she obediently followed 
 every precept and command of the Church. In 
 the Holy Sacraments . she found her greatest help 
 and comfort. She communicated frequently, but 
 always with fear and respect, mingled with reverential 
 love, for she knew what that blessing was, which 
 came to her in the sacred Eucharist. Whenever 
 she heard the sweet tones of the Chapel ^bell, calling 
 
42 The Life of 
 
 the faithful to keep the Church's hours, she would fly 
 thither with girlish delight ; and with outward gesture 
 of reverence, and inward purity of soul she would 
 worship and adore her Lord and Saviour. She 
 carefully observed all days of obligation ; and no words 
 can tell the mingled piety and fervour and veneration 
 with which she commemorated that holiest week in 
 the Church's year, when the sad and dolorous 
 tale of the Passion of Jesus is told to those souls 
 for Whom He bore all these things. Already we have 
 seen how on Maundy Thursday Elizabeth washed 
 the feet of twelve lepers ; and having done this, she 
 would assume the dress of a beggar, and with bare 
 feet she visited the different churches of the neigh- 
 bourhood, walking many miles in her lowliness and 
 humility. Then when night came, she knelt before 
 a representation of the Divine Agony, and thus in 
 prayer and contemplation waited for the dawn of that 
 most solemn day, when all was indeed " finished," — 
 the sacrifice of love completed. On Good Friday 
 morning she would say to her attendants, *' This 
 is a day of humiliation for all of us, I forbid any 
 one of you to show me the smallest respect ;" and after- 
 wards she provided herself with some little packets 
 of incense and linen, and some small tapers, and 
 clad in the simple garb she had worn the day before, 
 she would once more visit the churches, and leave 
 her poor little offerings before each altar, then she 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 43 
 
 would go into the square of the town of Eisenach and 
 distribute her alms amongst the vast crowd that 
 thronged around her. There were those at her 
 husband's Court, who marvelled at the poor offerings 
 the young Duchess made on that solemn day in the 
 house of God, but this like all else was a part of 
 her wondrous humility; the heavenly instinct which 
 guided every action of her life told her, that to be 
 humble on the day of her Lord's Agony, was to keep 
 that day with greatest honour to Him. It was a part 
 of her nature to be generous and lavish in all things ; 
 and it was a great sacrifice to offer so little, to curtail 
 her gifts to the level of the poor around her, who 
 had naught else to "lend to the Lord." During the 
 Kogation Days, which at this period were celebrated 
 with all kinds of worldly festivities, Elizabeth, clad 
 in humble garb, bare-headed and bare-footed, took 
 her place in church amongst the beggars, and walked 
 with the poorest of her subjects in the procession 
 which followed the relics of the Saints and the Cross 
 of the Saviour ; " for," says an old historian, " all her 
 glory was in the Cross and Passion of Christ ; the 
 world was crucified for her, and she was crucified 
 to the world." 
 
 On one occasion we are told, that during a solemn 
 celebration of Mass on a high festival, Elizabeth 
 for an instant forgot the holiness of the Sacrifice, and 
 allowed her eyes to rest upon Louis, who was kneeling 
 
44 The Life of 
 
 by her side. Her heart was full of love, as she gazed 
 upon his rare beauty, and thought with joy of his 
 many noble qualities, which rendered him so dear 
 to all, dearest of all to her — his cherished wife. 
 Then she turned towards the Altar, just as the priest 
 elevated the consecrated Host for the adoration of 
 the people, and it seemed to her as though he held in 
 his hands her crucified Lord, and the crimson Blood 
 was flowing from His Sacred Wounds. She knew 
 then how great was the sin of which she had been 
 guilty, in forgetting, even for an instant, the Divine 
 Spouse of her heart, and she prostrated herself to 
 the earth, and wept bitterly, and asked God to pardon 
 her. Her husband accustomed to see her thus rapt in 
 devotion, left the church, thinking that she would 
 soon follow him. The hour of dinner arrived, the 
 guests assembled, and still the Duchess did not appear, 
 and Louis went to seek her. He found her where 
 he had left her, bowed before the Altar in sorrow 
 and in penitence. " Dear sister," he said gently, 
 "why do you not come to dinner; why have you 
 kept us waiting for so long ? " At his voice she raised 
 her streaming eyes to his face, but could find no words 
 in which to answer him. *' Dear sister, why these 
 bitter tears ; will you not tell me your trouble ?" 
 
 She poured out her tale of sorrow and of self- 
 reproach, and at the simple recital the Duke's tears 
 were mingled with hers, and he said " Let us trust 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 45 
 
 in God, dear sister; I will help you to repent, and 
 to become better than you are." And then, seeing 
 that she could not join his guests that day, Louis 
 wiped away his tears and went back to the festive 
 board, to apologise for his wife's unavoidable absence. 
 Elizabeth still knelt on in the church, and wept 
 and prayed, and asked pardon for her fault. And 
 surely those bitter tears, that " blood of the soul," 
 as S. Augustine calls them, were carried by Angels 
 to the feet of the Father of Mercies, and looked 
 upon by Him as the precious fruits of repentance 
 and holy love, to be set as shining pearls in the 
 gates of Paradise. 
 
,46 The Life of 
 
 CHAPTER VI.— 1221. 
 
 S. Dominic of Gus^man, and S. Francis d'Assisi — The rale of the 
 Third Order of S. Francis— The Franciscans in Eisenach — 
 Elizabeth's veneration for the Saint of Assisi — She joins the 
 Penitents of the Third Order of S. Francis — The Saint's 
 present to the yoang Duchess — Maitre Conrad of Marburg is 
 appointed Elizabeth's spiritual director by the Pope — The 
 rule of life which this good man gave to his spiritual daughter. 
 
 For some years before this period, the eyes of all the 
 faithful in Europe were turned towards the founders of 
 two new great Orders in the Church, those of S. Dominic 
 of Guzman, and of S. Francis d'Assisi. The story of 
 the lives of these great saints is familiar to us all ; but 
 one fact, seeming strangely to connect S. Francis with 
 *' the dear Elizabeth," must not be passed unnoticed. 
 When, in 1206, the star shone over the place of the 
 Princess of Hungary's birth, the star of Divine Light 
 also passed into the heart of the young and gay 
 Italian, the Saint of Assisi. The wild and reckless 
 but most generous youth was in that year turned from 
 darkness to light — from the power of Satan to the 
 truth of God. He began that life of voluntary poverty, 
 the fire of which was to spread and kindle through the 
 whole Christian world ; and men and women longed to 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 47 
 
 give up home and country, and earthly love ; to leave 
 that state of life in which God had placed them, ahd 
 to follow the example of the gentle, blameless saint ; 
 and giving up all they had on earth become poor, and 
 despised, and persecuted. S. Francis hardly knew 
 how to deal with such souls as these ; he saw their 
 intense yearning for a higher, holier life than that 
 which they could lead in the world ; and yet to separate 
 husbands from their wives, and fathers and mothers 
 from their children, such would be to break the sacred 
 ties consecrated by God Himself ; so he formed a third 
 order in his society, which already consisted of the 
 preaching brothers and of the Sisters of S. Clare, who 
 were bound by the triple vow of poverty, chastity, and 
 obedience ; and he ruled that those men and women 
 who joined this third order should live in their own 
 homes, and that if they were married the joint consent 
 of both husband and wife must be obtained ere either 
 took the solemn step. Then they were to try and 
 make reparation for all the wrong they had ever done, 
 and to be publicly reconciled to their enemies. They 
 were to dress in grey or some such sober colour, and 
 the men were to carry no arms, except in defence of 
 the Church or of their country. They were to renounce 
 as much as lay in their power all worldly gaiety, to 
 keep all the fasts of the Church with strictness, to hear 
 Mass every day, to communicate on all days of obliga- 
 tion, to say some special prayers, to visit the sick 
 
48 The Life of 
 
 brethren and sisters of the Order, and to attend their 
 funerals. These rules had in them nothing of monastic 
 rigour, whilst they associated the penitents of the Third 
 Order of S. Francis, by a holy and sacred tie with 
 those of their brethren and sisters, whom circum- 
 stances enabled to lead the life of poverty. 
 
 In 1221 a little body of Franciscans found their way 
 into Germany, and encouraged by all they had heard 
 of the young Duchess of Thuringia, they felt that no 
 more fitting locality than the old town of Eisenach 
 could be chosen by them in which to begin their work. 
 They obtained from Elizabeth all the sympathy and 
 encouragement they had expected ; very soon she 
 founded a convent for them, and built them a church 
 in the capital, and one of their own brothers was 
 chosen by her as her spiritual director. He remained 
 at Eisenach, however, only for a short time, and then 
 it was that Father Conrad, to whom we have already 
 alluded, became the Saint's Confessor. An ardent 
 affection for S. Francis took possession of her heart ; 
 his great humility, his love of poverty, his life of hard- 
 ship all found their echo in her breast ; he seemed to 
 unite all the virtues which from her childish years she 
 had so dearly prized, and which she had striven so 
 hard and so successfully to acquire. She asked, and 
 readily obtained her husband's consent, to join the 
 penitents of the Third Oi^der of S. Francis, and she was 
 the first in Germany to assume that habit which after- 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 49 
 
 wards was worn by so many saints. The Saint of' 
 Agsisi heard of all the good deeds of Elizabeth, and 
 one day, when he was talking of the young Duchess to 
 Cardinal Ugolino (afterwards Pope Gregory IX.), the 
 patron of his Order, the latter advised him to send 
 Elizabeth some token of his love and esteem. '* I 
 should like you," said the Cardinal " since she seems 
 imbued with your spirit to send her the same heritage 
 as that which Ehjah bestowed upon Elisha ;" and so 
 saying he took off the old worn mantle from the 
 shoulders of S. Francis, and bade him send that to the 
 humble Elizabeth. The saint obeyed, and ever after- 
 wards the young Duchess prized that old mantle as her 
 most precious earthly possession, and always put it on 
 when she prayed for any special grace. Afterwards 
 when she gave up everything in the world that belonged 
 to her, she retained her " dear father's " much valued 
 present. When she died she left it as a sacred legacy 
 to a dear friend. 
 
 Elizabeth had been married only one year when she 
 joined the Third Order of the Franciscans. Very soon 
 afterwards the Confessor she had chosen was removed 
 from Eisenach, and to her great grief she was obliged 
 to seek another. Her husband wrote to the Pope and 
 asked him to recommend a learned and pious guide for 
 his young wife, and at his suggestion it was, that 
 Elizabeth became the spiritual daughter of Conrad of 
 Marburg, whose advice in all things, as we have already 
 
 E 
 
50 The Life of 
 
 seen, she so unswervingly followed. This good man 
 had renounced all worldly honours, all hope of ad- 
 vancement in the Church, and had given up his life 
 to the poor. Mounted on a little mule he rode from 
 one end of Germany to the other, whilst crowds fol- 
 lowed him to listen to the words of wisdom which fell 
 from his lips. When Elizabeth heard that Father 
 Conrad was to watch over her spiritual life, she 
 exclaimed: "Oh, poor sinner that I am, I am not 
 worthy that this great sairft should have the care of 
 my soul ; oh, my God, I thank Thee for Thy great 
 mercy." And she tried to prepare herself for what 
 she looked upon as so great a good, by additional 
 fastings and prayers. When she heard that Maitre 
 Conrad, as he was always called, was approaching the 
 Castle, she went out to meet him, and threw herself at 
 his feet, saying : " My spiritual father, deign to receive 
 me as your daughter in Christ ; I am unworthy of you, 
 but I beseech you, by the love I bear my brother, to 
 have compassion on me." Conrad, who saw at a 
 glance all the depths of Elizabeth's humility, could not 
 help exclaiming : ^' Lord Jesus, what wonders dost 
 Thou work in those souls which are really Thine." All 
 the Priest's zeal was from that time devoted to the 
 culture of that most precious flower which he was to 
 make fit to bloom in the Paradise of God. The depths 
 of spiritual life brought out by such teaching developed 
 with marvellous rapidity in the young Duchess' mind. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 51 
 
 All thoughts of earth were crushed within her ; her 
 mind seemed ever dwelling upon the things of heaven. 
 She longed to give her life to God, to let no human 
 affection come between her and the heavenly Bride- 
 groom she would fain have chosen ; and yet her love 
 for her husband was as deep and true and tender as it 
 had ever been, and he in his turn tried to help her to 
 the holiness for which she so yearned. Maitre Conrad, 
 putting aside, as was his bounden duty, all thought of 
 her high station, sought only to look upon her as a 
 spiritual daughter given into his keeping straight from 
 God; and as she had voluntarily taken the vow of 
 absolute obedience to him, he enforced that obedience 
 with all the strength and firmness of his upright, 
 unbending, somewhat stern character. One day he sent 
 for her to hear a sermon. She had some visitors at the 
 Castle, and could not conveniently get away; and Maitre 
 Conrad sent to tell her that he could no longer under- 
 take her spiritual direction. The next day she ran to 
 him covered with shame, and entreated him with many 
 tears to retract his cruel decision, and to pardon her 
 fault. She threw herself at his feet, and would not 
 leave him until she had obtained his forgiveness ; he 
 gave it her at last, coupled with a severe penance, as 
 a punishment of her disobedience. 
 
 The rule of life which this wise and rigid confessor 
 gave to Elizabeth has been carefully preserved by the 
 ancient chroniclers ; it runs as follows : — 
 
 E 2 
 
62 The Life of 
 
 1. Patiently suffer contempt in the midst of volun- 
 tary poverty. 
 
 2. Give to humility the first place in your heart. 
 
 3. Forsake all earthly consolations and all carnal 
 enjoyments. 
 
 4. In all things show mercy to your neighbour. 
 
 5. Have a perpetual recollection of the presence of 
 God. 
 
 6. Thank Jesus, Who by His death has saved you 
 from hell and death eternal. 
 
 7. Since God has suffered so much for you, bear 
 His Cross patiently. 
 
 8. Dedicate yourself entirely body and soul to God. 
 
 9. Always remember that you are the work of God's 
 Hands, and act so that you may live with Him in 
 eternity. 
 
 10. Forgive your neighbour, as you would be for- 
 given by him ; do for him all that you would wish him 
 to do for you. 
 
 11. Always remember that life is short, and that 
 the young die as well as the old. Aim ever towards 
 life eternal. 
 
 12. Deplore your sins unceasingly, and ask God to 
 forgive them. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 53 
 
 CHAPTER VII.— 1221-1225. 
 
 King Andrew of Hungary sends an Embassy to the Conrt of 
 Thuringia — Elizabeth's dress, and her reception of her 
 father's friends — The young Duke and Duchess visit Hun- 
 gary — The story of Elizabeth and the importunate Beggar — 
 The new joy that came to the Husband and Wife in the birth 
 of Children — Elizabeth's dedication of her little ones to 
 
 Soon after Elizabeth's marriage, her father, the good 
 King Andrew of Hungary, sent an embassy to his 
 daughter's far off Thuringian home to see how it fared 
 with her, and whether she was really as happy as one 
 so good and lovely and innocent deserved to be, and 
 at the same time to invite her and her young husband 
 to rejoice his heart and cheer the short remainder of 
 the days of his life, by visiting him in his own 
 dominions. The Landgrave received his guests with 
 every mark of honour and esteem, and then it struck 
 him that Elizabeth had no fit garments in which to 
 receive these magnates of the Hungarian Court. 
 Anxious to see what she would do in such an 
 extremity, he sought her out in her own chamber, and 
 said : *' Ah, dear sister, here are messengers from your 
 father come to see what kind of life you are leading 
 
64 The Life of 
 
 with nie> and if you are really a Duchess in state as 
 well as in name. How are you to appear before them ? 
 You are so occupied with the poor that you forget 
 yourself ; you never will dress but in these poor clothes 
 which shame us both. What a disgrace it will be for 
 me when they return to Hungary and say that I do 
 not clothe you properly, and that they found you in 
 such a pitiable state ; for now there is no time to get 
 other dresses made, such as would do honour to your 
 rank and to mine." Louis spoka with more than ordi- 
 nary irritation ; but Elizabeth answered him gently : 
 " My dear lord and brother, do not thus distress your- 
 self, for I have quite determined never to set my pride 
 upon my dress ; I will excuse myself to these Hun- 
 garian nobles, and I will force myself to be so gracious 
 and affable to them, that they shall be more pleased 
 with me than if I were attired in the finest clothes." 
 She then prayed that God would make her agreeable 
 in the eyes of her father's friends ; and putting on the 
 best things she had, she went down with her husband 
 to the great hall of the Castle to meet the Ambassadors. 
 She nobly kept her promise ; she charmed every one 
 by her sweet, bright gaiety, and by her excessive 
 beauty ; but to the great surprise of her husband and 
 his Court, and to the admiration of the strangers, she 
 appeared before them dressed in the rarest and most 
 costly silks, and wrapped in a mantle of azure velvet 
 studded with precious pearls. When the Hungarians 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 55 
 
 had taken their departure, Louis returned to his wife, 
 and asked her how she had possessed herself of 
 such gorgeous attire ? With a sweet, holy smile, she 
 answered him : " It is thus our dear Lord deals with 
 His servants, when it so pleases Him." 
 
 The following year, 1222, the Duke took Elizabeth 
 to the country of her birth, to which she had always 
 looked back with such loving, tender recollections. 
 King Andrew received his darling child with every 
 expression of joy, and sent her and her young husband 
 home, after some months, with words of fervent bless- 
 ing, and laden with many costly presents. Soon after 
 their return to Thuringia, Agnes, the duke's beautiful 
 sister, was married to Henry of Austria ; and great 
 fetes were held at Wartburg in honour of the nuptials, 
 to which all the chief lords and ladies of the kingdom 
 were invited. One day the banquet was ready; all 
 had assembled but the young Duchess, and they waited 
 for her appearance, but still she came not. Then the 
 Seneschal entered the hall and told Louis the cause 
 of his wife's absence. It appeared that as she was 
 hurrying from Church to the banquet, a poor miserable 
 beggar had stopped her, and would not let her go until 
 she had bestowed an alms upon him. He was ill and 
 weak, and nearly naked, and she told him she had 
 nothing to give him, but that she would send him some- 
 thing from the feast. Still he would not let her go ; 
 for Christ's dear sake he implored her not to leave him 
 
56 The Life of 
 
 without giving him some token of her charity. Her 
 heart was touched with a strange pity for the poor 
 man ; and hastily taking off her richly jewelled mantle, 
 she threw it to him and went on her way, whilst the 
 beggar wrapped up the costly garment and suddenly 
 disappeared with it. " And," continued the Sene- 
 schal, "it is thus, my lord, that the good Duchess 
 was employed ; whilst you were awaiting her here, she 
 was clothing the poor, and giving her cloak to a 
 beggar." The Landgrave laughingly answered : "I 
 must see what all this means ; she will be with us 
 directly ;" and so saying, he left the banquetmg hall. 
 In the meantime Elizabeth had ascended to her own 
 apartments; for to appear before her guests without 
 the mantle, which was the necessary covering of those 
 times, would have been an unpardonable breach of 
 decorum. " My sister," said Louis, when he reached 
 his wife's room, "will you not dine with us to-day? 
 We should have begun dinner long ago if we had not 
 waited for j^ou." "I am ready to do as you wish, 
 dearest brother," she replied. " But where," asked 
 the Duke, "is the mantle you wore at church this 
 morning ?" " I have given it away, my brother; but 
 it matters not, I will come dressed as I am." 
 
 Just as she spoke these words, one of her attendants 
 appeared, carrying the mantle Elizabeth had given to 
 the beggar, and which, she said, she had found hanging 
 in the wardrobe. For an instant the young Duchess 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 67 
 
 knelt and thanked God for His mercy ; and then she 
 joined the gay throng with her husband, and was the 
 gayest and brightest of all that courtly assembly. But 
 Louis was strangely silent and reserved that day, for 
 he was thinking of all those wonderful gifts which God 
 had bestowed upon his Elizabeth ; he knew that it was 
 a holy Angel who had brought back that mantle which 
 she had given to the beggar; and surely the beggar 
 himself was none other than our Lord Jesus Christ, 
 Who had appeared to " the dear Elizabeth," as 
 centuries before He had appeared to the holy Saint 
 Martin of Tours. 
 
 In 1223 a new joy was given to the young Duke and 
 Duchess ; a little son was born to them, and was 
 baptized by the name of his grandfather the good 
 Landgrave Hermann. In 1224 Elizabeth gave birth 
 to a daughter, named Sophia. This young Princess 
 afterwards married the Duke of Brabant, and from 
 this marriage are descended the princes of the house 
 of Hesse. The Saint had two other daughters, the 
 younger of whom was born after her father's death. 
 Both these children were dedicated to God from their 
 cradle, and became the Brides of Christ. When God 
 had thus blessed Elizabeth, by sending her those little 
 innocent pledges of married love, she did not, as was 
 the custom of the day, rejoice in her new happiness by 
 proclaiming a great feast, and gathering around her 
 the princes and nobles of the land. No ; her gratitude 
 
58 The Life of 
 
 and thankfulness took a far different expression to 
 this. On each occasion of the birth of a child, as soon 
 as she was able to get about, she took the little one in 
 her arms and left the Castle by stealth, clad in a 
 coarse woollen garment, and with bare feet she walked 
 to the church of S. Catherine outside the walls of 
 Eisenach. The way was long and wearisome, strewn 
 with sharp stones, which pierced and tore her delicate 
 feet ; but she went bravely on, and then when she had 
 reached the church, she placed her child upon the 
 Altar with a taper and a lamb, and said, *' Lord Jesus 
 Christ, I offer unto Thee, as well as to thy dear Mother 
 Mary, this dear fruit of my womb. Here I yield it to 
 Thee, my God and my Lord, as Thou hast given it 
 to me — to Thee, Who art the Sovereign and the Father 
 both of mother and child. The only prayer I make 
 unto Thee to-day, the only grace I ask of Thee, is that 
 Thou wilt receive this little infant, all bathed with 
 my tears, into the number Df Thy servants, and Thy 
 friends, and give unto it Thy heavenly benediction." 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 59 
 
 CHAPTER VIII.— 1225-1226. 
 
 The Landgrave of Thuringia leaves his home — His valiant 
 deeds and love of justice— He helps Frederick LI. in Italy — 
 Famine in Thuringia — Elizabeth's great Charity and Faith — 
 Louis returns to his native land — Elizabeth's great ioy — 
 Plenty once more in the land. 
 
 We are now fast hurrying onwards to the close of that 
 happy married life, upon which we have dwelt in the 
 preceding chapters. The brightness Jiad reached its 
 zenith ; all looked joyous and sunny enough; no cloud 
 was on the fair horizon of IS. Elizabeth's young and 
 loving existence. The earthly love that God had 
 given her was inestimably precious to her, but neither 
 husband nor children held the tirst place in her heart, 
 that was given in all its freshness and entirety to 
 Him from Whom all her happiness came ; to Him Who, 
 when all around her looked brightest, she saw with the 
 eye of faith, hanging on the Cross of Agony, bleeding, 
 dying, suffering for her sake. 
 
 It was in the year 1225, that something of sorrow 
 came to the loving wife, and with many a prayer, and 
 many a tear, she saw her brave Louis leave Thuringia 
 at the head of a vast army, and march to the banks 
 of the Elbe, on his way into Poland. 
 
60 The Life of 
 
 It was on the 15th of July, the day on which the 
 early Church celebrated the dispersion of the Apostles 
 into distant lands to convert the Gentiles, that the 
 young Landgrave set forth to redress the wrongs of 
 some of the poorest of his subjects, who had been 
 robbed and defrauded by the soldiers of the Duke 
 of Poland. Louis besieged the Castle of Lubitz, and 
 gained a signal victory over the Poles, and then 
 returned, covered with honours and laurels, to the 
 home and wife he loved so well. At the close of 
 that same year, however, he once more placed himself 
 at the head of his nobles, and marched into Franconia ; 
 this time to seek justice for a poor pedlar, whom 
 the Franconians had robbed of his pack and of his 
 donkey, and had disregarded the safe conduct given 
 him by Louis. The Prince, Bishop of Wurtzburg, 
 sent ambassadors to the Landgrave, to know why 
 he thus sought to enter his country. Louis replied, 
 that he wanted to find a donkey which belonged to 
 him, and which the Bishop's men had stolen. The 
 donkey and the pack were immediately restored, and 
 Louis returned to Thuringia, in triumph, whilst the 
 poor people showered their blessings upon him, and 
 thanked God, Who had given them a Prince who made 
 all their joys and sorrows his, and who espoused their 
 cause as warmly, ay far more warmly than he would 
 have done that of the most powerful noble in his 
 dominions. 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 61 
 
 These are but trifling incidents, hardly perhaps 
 worthy of record, but they show the young Landgrave's 
 stern uncompromising sense of justice. And in the 
 years that were to come, S. Elizabeth loved to look 
 back upon them ; and she knew that he who had done 
 what he could for the least of the brethren of the 
 Lord he so faithfully served, had his sure reward in 
 the far off land, whither God in His mercy had 
 taken him. 
 
 Ere the winter of 1225 was over, Louis had crossed 
 the Alps, and with his usual undaunted courage had 
 helped the Emperor Frederick II. to subdue the 
 insurgents in Italy ; and Frederick, as a reward for 
 his many gallant deeds, gave him permission at the 
 Diet of the Empire, which was held- at Cremona, at 
 Easter 1226, to carry his arms into Prussia and 
 Lithuania, and to conquer what he could of those 
 countries. With all the enthusiasm of his ardent 
 nature, the young Landgrave entered into the project, 
 for his most earnest desire was to carry the faith 
 of Christ into those lands where the darkness of 
 heathenism still reigned. Mais Vhomme propose, et 
 Dieu dispose f Louisr* wish was not to be fulfilled then ; 
 other events were crowding thick and fast upon him ; 
 bad news from home came upon him in the midst 
 of his triumphs ; and he hurried back to Thuringia and 
 his Elizabeth, and in after years when he lay in 
 his quiet grave, the work he had sought to do was 
 
62 . The Life of 
 
 done by others, and the banner of the Cross was raised 
 in Prussia and Lithuania, by Louis' own brother 
 Conrad, and the Teutonic knights. 
 
 The news that had come to the Landgrave of 
 Thuringia was, that a terrible famine was raging 
 throughout all Germany, falling most heavily upon 
 his own fair country. 
 
 Everywhere there was dire misery ; the poor people 
 wandered far and wide in search of food, greedily 
 devouring the wild fruits and herbs which generally 
 served as provender for the animals, and when this 
 failed, eating the carcasses of the horses and asses 
 which lay by the roadside. Hundreds and hundreds 
 ol 'poor creatures, weary and worn and exhausted, 
 laid themselves down in their despair, and died, far 
 away from their homes ; and the woods, and fields, 
 and hedges were the death-beds of many a suffering 
 one in those days of bitter trouble. 
 
 The tender heart of S. Elizabeth was deeply moved 
 when day after day tidings were brought her of all 
 these things ; and her one thought was how she might 
 help those who, like herself, were God's own children, 
 whom Jesus had called brethren, and for whom, as for 
 her. He had suffered and died. 
 
 She opened the gates of the Castle of Wartburg, and 
 to the crowds that flocked in she distributed the money 
 which she found in the ducal treasury. Then she gave 
 the corn from her husband's granaries to the poor 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 63 
 
 starving wretches, who looked upon her as an Angel 
 sent them from Heaven. She kept nothing hack ; in 
 vain did the officers of the Court remonstrate with her, 
 and threaten her with her husband's displeasure ; she 
 only smiled her own sweet smile, and went on daj' by 
 day giving to the people as much corn as was necessary 
 for their daily wants. 
 
 But in spite of the numbers who flocked to the Castle, 
 there were others, old men, and women, and little 
 children, and some worn by sickness and suffering, 
 who could not climb the steep ascent, at the top of 
 which the ducal residence was situated, and for them 
 S. Elizabeth ever showed the most tender compassion. 
 She would not run the risk of depriving the others, 
 by bestowing what they were to have, upon these. So 
 it was her own food she took to them ; every day she 
 went to the hospital she had founded at the foot of the 
 mountain, and with her own hands fed poor infirm 
 men, and women, and little helpless children, whom 
 God had made orphans. She founded two new 
 hospitals in the town of Eisenach itself, one under the 
 protection of the Holy Spirit, the other under that of 
 S. Anne. And here every morning and evening she 
 was to be found, standing by the bedside of the sick 
 and of the dying, telling them of hope when the short 
 suffering should be over, bidding them seek help in the 
 Sacraments of the Church. No office was too menial 
 for her to perform ; what others shrank from, what 
 
64 • The Life of 
 
 her attendants recoiled at, she cheerfully undertook, 
 although naturally she sickened at all sights of horror, 
 and turned faint at the foul atmosphere in which she 
 now laboured so cheerfully. Yes, naturally ; but there 
 is a help which comes to those who seek it, and the 
 natural gives place to the supernatural. '* When I 
 stand before the Judgment-seat," S. Elizabeth would 
 smilingly say, " and when God asks me whether I 
 have served His poor, I shall answer, Yes, my Lord ; so 
 much so, that my maids and servants have often been 
 sick at heart because of it." 
 
 Children were ever her especial care and delight. In 
 one of her hospitals there was a ward set apart espe- 
 cially for the orphans ; and it was the brightest spot of 
 the day in all the poor little lives, when the beautiful 
 lady came amongst them Avith her sweet voice and 
 winning ways, carrying with her some little present 
 for each of them ; soothing their sufferings, ministering 
 to their wants, and listening, with tears in her eyes, 
 to the little voices, which in chorus called her " Mutter ^ 
 Mutter^'' as the tiny arms were thrown around her as 
 though entreating her protection. 
 
 And when all was over, when the last rites of the 
 Church had been celebrated within those hospital 
 walls, when weary souls had gone from earth to 
 the unseen world, the young Duchess would perform 
 the last offices for those poor worn out bodies, would 
 dress them with loving hands in grave-clothes, and 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 65 
 
 would stand in the little quiet churchyard, sole 
 mourner sometimes, at a beggar's grave, with a 
 white veil oVer her head, with many a tear 
 flowing from her eyes, with many a prayer 
 ascending from the depths of her heart, that light 
 perpetual might shine upon those weary souls, and 
 that they might rest in peace. 
 
 To the poor prisoners too, she appeared as an 
 angel of mercy ; many a time paying for the 
 release of those who were imprisoned for debt, 
 dressing the wounds caused by the heavy chains 
 with which the criminals were bound, leading 
 them to repentance and hope, bidding them bear 
 their punishment with patience here, and ask 
 God to deliver them from eternal chastisement 
 hereafter. 
 
 And in all these good works she was simple and 
 natural as a little child, only thankful that she was 
 found worthy to do anything for that loving Jesus 
 Who had done so much for her. Often she would 
 stop in the midst of her labours of love, and throwing 
 herself upon her knees, say: "0 my God, I cannot 
 thank Thee enough, that Thou hast permitted me to 
 assemble together these poor people, who are Thy 
 dearest friends, and that Thou dost allow me thus 
 to wait upon them." It is recorded that as S. 
 Elizabeth one day said these words in the hospital, 
 the poor people she was attending thought they heard 
 
66 The Life of 
 
 a voice which said, " Eejoice, EHzabeth, for thou 
 also art the friend of the Most High, and thou shinest 
 before His eyes as the moon." 
 
 On one occasion, when she was going to distribute 
 food to some poor people, she found a much larger 
 number assembled than she had expected to meet. 
 She feared her provisions would fall short, and she 
 prayed to God to help her in her trouble. She 
 gave all she had into the eager hands that were 
 stretched out to receive her bounty, and yet the food 
 was never exhausted ; there it was until all had been 
 fed, and still there was some left. The barrel of meal 
 wasted not, neither did the cruse of oil fail, for the 
 prayer of faith had gone up to the same God Who 
 had compassion upon the poor widow and her little 
 son in the land of the Israelites of old. 
 
 In the summer of that year of terrible trouble, a 
 great joy came into S. Elizabeth's life ; her husband 
 came back to help and console her in her difficulties, 
 and to do what he could for his poor starving 
 subjects. 
 
 All through the land there was great gladness 
 and rejoicing, for it seemed as though when their 
 Prince returned to them some good must come ; he 
 was so wise and tender, and true, surely he would help 
 them now. He arrived at the Castle on a Friday, at 
 the hour of nones, and was met by the officers of 
 his household, who poured into his ear their com- 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 67 
 
 plaints against his wife's prodigality. They told him 
 how she had wasted the money from the treasury ; the 
 corn from the royal granaries ; he seemed not to heed 
 their words. *' Is my dear wife well ?" he said, ** that 
 is all I want to know, I care for nothing else ; " 
 then he added : " I want you to let my good little 
 Elizabeth bestow as many alms as she pleases, and 
 it is my desire that you should aid her, rather 
 than oppose her ; let her do all she wishes to do 
 for God ; so long as she leaves me Eisenach and 
 Wartburg I am content. God will give us back all 
 the rest, when He sees fit. Almsgiving will never 
 ruin us." 
 
 Then he hurried forward to embrace his wife, whose 
 joy at seeing him, after the longest absence from 
 him she had ever endured, knew no bounds. " Dear 
 Sister," he said; "what has become of your poor 
 people in this terrible year ?" 
 
 She looked up into his face, and answered gently: 
 ** My brother, I have given unto God what was His, 
 and God has kept for us, what is yours and mine." 
 And truly it was so ; for after all that had been 
 done, the royal granaries were still filled with corn : 
 good measure was indeed given to her, " who had 
 given alms of her goods, and never turned her face 
 from any poor man." 
 
 When autumn came there was an abundant 
 harvest in Thuringia, and the poor people went 
 
 F 2 
 
68 The Life of 
 
 back to their homes, clothed and cared for by Eliza- 
 beth, carrying with them the pleasant memory of 
 her tender parting words, and blessing God who 
 had given them such a Duke and Duchess to reign 
 over them. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 69 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 1227. 
 
 The Cra«!ades — Louis of Thuringia takes the Cross — How 
 Elizabeth found out the trial that was in store for her — Her 
 bitter grief — The Landgrave tells his people of his determina- 
 tion — The Passion- Play — The visit to Keinhartsbrunn — The 
 scene at Schmalkald — Louis' last speech to his knights and 
 people. The Parting between the young huF^and and wife 
 — Elizabeth returns to Wartburg. 
 
 Once more there was happiness in the old Castle 
 at the top of the mountain, once more the young 
 husband and wife took sweet counsel together, and 
 gave thanks to God for all the mercies and blessings 
 of their past lives, and asked Him to be near 
 them still, even as He had ever been, in the yet 
 untried path of the future. 
 
 But although in Thuringia all was peace, there 
 came from afar tales of warfare and of bloodshed, 
 of Christian heroism, and bright deeds of chivalry, 
 all mingled together in the history of the Crusades, 
 in those holy wars which moved the hearts of all 
 good men and true, in such a strange mysterious 
 manner. 
 
 Cardinal Ugolino had ascended the Papal Chair, 
 under the title of Gregory IX., and his first act was 
 
70 The Life of 
 
 to issue a proclamation to all the sovereigns of 
 Christendom, summoning them to enter on a new 
 Crusade. 
 
 The Emperor Frederick II., fresh from his con- 
 quests in Northern Italy, vowed to set sail in the 
 autumn of 1227 for the Holy Land ; all was made 
 ready for the expedition ; pilgrims flocked in from 
 all quarters. In Germany, in Sicily, and England, 
 the word went forth that Jerusalem must be saved, the 
 Holy City rescued from the hands of the Infidels. The 
 glories of the fourth Crusade were still fresh in men's 
 minds ; the noble deeds of Eichard of England were 
 set forth now as incitements to fresh deeds of valour ; 
 the Crescent must be made to yield to the Cross, 
 and all Christian nations and Christian princes must 
 join together to fight for Christ. 
 
 Then poets spoke in thrilling language of the 
 iniseries of the land which had been watered by the 
 Precious Blood of Jesus, and their words of burning 
 eloquence rang through the length and breadth of the 
 nations of Europe. 
 
 "We all know," cried the German bard, Walter 
 von der Vogelweide, " how this holy ground is 
 abandoned and left solitary ! Weep, Jerusalem, weep, 
 because thou hast been forgotten. Life is passing 
 quickly away ; death will find us sinners. It is in 
 trial and danger alone that mercy is to be found! 
 Let us go and heal the Wounds of Christ; let us 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 71 
 
 break the chains that bind this country. Queen of 
 all women, lend us thine aid ! ^It is there that Thy 
 Son was slain. It is there that He Who was so pure 
 allowed Himself to be baptized, purified for our sakes. 
 There He allowed Himself to be sold, that we might be 
 redeemed. He Who was so rich, for us who are so 
 poor. There He died the death of agony. A.11 glory 
 be to Thee, Lance, and Crown, and Thorns. Woe 
 to thee, heathens ! God wills that His insults should 
 be avenged by His chosen ones." 
 
 And in some such words too, did the Koyal Poet 
 of Navarre, Thibaut of Champagne, address his 
 knights, saying : — 
 
 " I know it well, my lords, lay the words to heart — 
 that those on this earth where God lived and died 
 who do not take the Cross will enter Paradise with 
 great trouble. Any man who has any religion, 
 any thought of the Lord Most High, should seek to 
 avenge Him, to deliver His land and His country. All 
 will flock thither, all who love God, and the honour of 
 this world, all who would serve God as He wills to be 
 served. None will stay behind but fools and cowards. 
 How blind are those, who all through their lives 
 will not help God, and who forfeit all worldly glory. 
 For that God Who died for us upon the Cross will 
 say to those who stand before Him at the last great ' 
 day, ' You who have helped me to bear my Cross 
 will go where the Angels are. You will there see 
 
72 The Life of 
 
 Me, and Mary my Mother. But you who never did 
 Me any seryice, will go to the pains of hell.' Sweet 
 Lady! crowned Queen, Holy Virgin, pray for us, 
 and then naught can harm us." 
 
 The echo of such words as these found their way 
 into the qui^t Court of the Landgrave of Thuringia, and 
 a strange, new purpose came into the heart of the 
 brave young knight. His uncle, Louis the Pious, had 
 fought with Eichard Coeur de Lion in Palestine, and 
 had been crowned with laurels. His father-in-law, 
 Andrew of Hungary, had spent many years of his 
 life beneath the burning Eastern sun, fighting against 
 the infidels. Was it not his duty to give the freshness 
 of his youth to God, to tear himself from his home, 
 and wife and children, and fight for Jesus upon 
 that holy ground, where His Blood had flown for 
 sinful men ? Louis could not decide for himself ; he 
 sought the advice of Conrad, the pious Bishop of 
 Hildesheim, and having obtained his sanction and his 
 blessing, he vowed to accompany the expedition which 
 was to sail for Palestine in the autumn, and he received 
 the Crusader's Cross, which the Germans called ** The 
 Flower of Christ,'" at the hands of the venerable Prelate. 
 But as he rode home to the castle, his courage failed 
 him; he could face dangers and difficulties innu- 
 merable, he was brave and fearless as a lion, but he 
 could not face his young wife's grief, when he should 
 tell her of the heavy trial that was in store for her. 
 
S^ Elizaheih of Hungary, 73 
 
 She was expecting the birth of her fourth child, and 
 he feared the effect such a communication might have 
 upon her health. He determined to put off the evil 
 day ; to wait until the hour of his departure came, 
 and to let her enjoy those last few weeks of happiness 
 which were still before them. 
 
 He did not wear the fiross upon his shoulder, as was 
 the custom of the Crusaders ; he carried it in the pouch 
 which was suspended from the girdle he wore round 
 his waist. 
 
 One evening the husband and wife were alone, and 
 Elizabeth, in playful mood, unfastened the girdle, 
 which dropped to the ground; the pouch flew open, 
 and there the loving girl — she was then only nineteen 
 years old — saw the Crusader's Cross, and divined in 
 an instant the heavy blow that was coming upon her. 
 She did not speak nor cry. She only looked into the 
 face she loved so well, that was bent with such pitying 
 tenderness upon her, and she fell senseless to the 
 ground. The Landgrave sought to restore her to con- 
 sciousness ; and at last she opened her eyes, and in 
 loving, gentle words he tried to comfort her, and to 
 tell her the reason of his resolve. "It is for the love 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ that I am doing this," he 
 said; "you would not wish to prevent my doing for 
 Him what I should be obliged to do for the emperor 
 if he issued his commands to me." 
 
 Still she could not answer him, could not willingly 
 
74 The Life of 
 
 pronounce what seemed to be lier own death-warrant ; 
 then at last, with many tears, she spoke : *' Oh, my 
 dear, dear brother, if it be not going against God's 
 will, I entreat you to stay with me." 
 
 " Dear sister," he answered, " let me go, for I have 
 vowed to God that I would." 
 
 There was a sharp, j&erce struggle between earthly 
 love and submission to the Will of God, and then 
 Elizabeth answered : '' If God has chosen you, I cannot 
 keep you back. May He give you His grace to serve 
 Him in all things ; I have sacrificed you to Him, and 
 I have also sacrificed myself. That His loving care 
 may ever be with you, that every blessing may attend 
 you, shall be my constant prayer. Go, then, in the 
 Name of God." Again there was silence, for the 
 hearts of both were too full for words ; and then they 
 spoke of their children, and resolved that that little 
 one who was yet unborn, should be consecrated to 
 God in the life of the cloister. 
 
 There was now no longer any occasion for secrecy ; 
 so Louis assembled his subjects and told them of his 
 decision ; he bade ,them remember that he laid no taxes 
 upon them to enable him to carry out his enterprise ; 
 he only wished to give unto the Lord a part of what 
 he had received from Him. He called a council of 
 state, and consulted with them as to the best means 
 of governing his kingdom during his absence. He 
 exhorted his ministers to govern his people with mild- 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 75 
 
 ness and equity, and to enforce justice between tlie 
 vassals and their retainers ; and then struggling man- 
 fully for firmness, lie spoke to them his farewell words : 
 " Dear brothers in arms, barons, and noble knights, 
 and you, my faithful people ; you know how in the 
 lifetime of my father, of pious memory, wars and dis- 
 turbances reigned in this our country. You know 
 how many hardships and troubles my father bore, 
 how many journeys he undertook, how many fatigues 
 he braved, to preserve his kingdom from complete ruin. 
 He succeeded in doing this through his courage and 
 generosity, and his name is renowned to all time. But 
 to me, as to Solomon the son of David, God has 
 granted quiet and peaceful days. I see around me no 
 enemy whom I need fear ; if I have had some little 
 trouble in the past, I am now at peace with all the 
 world ; thanks to Him Who gives peace to His people. 
 You should all acknowledge this great good, and 
 be grateful to God for it ; for myself — for the love of 
 that God Who has bestowed upon me so many blessings, 
 to show Him all my gratitude for them — and for the 
 salvation of my soul, I have resolved to go to the 
 East to defend that dear faith of Christ, which is there 
 so cruelly oppressed, and to protect it from the enemies 
 of the Name and the Blood of Christ. I shall take 
 this journey at my own expense, and at no cost to you. 
 I give into the Holy keeping of the Most High my 
 good and well-beloved wife, my little children, my dear 
 
76 The Life of 
 
 mother and brothers, my friends, my people, and my 
 country, all in fact that I leave behind me, of my own 
 free will, for the honour of His holy Name. I entreat 
 you to be at peace during my absence ; above all I ask 
 the lords of the land to behave as Christians should to 
 my poor people. And I beg of you to pray for me very 
 often ; to ask God to keep me safe from harm, and to 
 bring me back to you in health and safety, if such be 
 His holy Will, for before all else I surrender myself, 
 and you, and all that I have entirely to His Divine 
 Protection." Breathlessly did all the assembled people 
 listen to the Landgrave's words, as he thus spoke to 
 them of all he would have them do ; and whilst he was 
 speaking they noticed that his face shone with a 
 strange, new light, even the light of that faith and 
 love, which in those days burned in men's hearts, and 
 which mediaeval writers have aptly called the " Mystery 
 of the Crusade.'" Strong men wept when Louis' voice 
 ceased, and sighs, and tears, and broken words of love, 
 and promises that all his wishes should be fulfilled, 
 showed how deeply all felt the departure of their young 
 and beloved Prince. 
 
 Then he chose the officers who were to be 
 intrusted with the care of his houselold, and those 
 who were to be placed at the head of his pro- 
 vinces, and he specially commended his wife to 
 the protection of his mother, his brother, and his 
 courtiers. 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 77 
 
 **I am quite sure, said the treasurer, that the 
 Duchess will give away all she can find, and will bring 
 us to misery." 
 
 To which Louis replied, that he had no fear of 
 that, "for God. would replace all that she gave away." 
 
 Then the better to bring before the minds of his 
 people what that great object was, which caused 
 him to leave them for a while, and journey into that 
 distant land, he caused to be represented at his own 
 expense at Eisenach, a drama which brought forward 
 all the chief incidents in the Life and Passion and 
 Death of our Blessed Lord. The actors were chosen 
 from amongst the priests ; and step by step the scenes, 
 which had been enacted more than twelve hundred years 
 before, in the far off country of Palestine, were placed 
 before the Thuringians. They gazed upon the entry 
 into Jerusalem, upon the Saviour of the world, 
 standing all silent before his judges, upon the kiss 
 of betrayal, upon the mocking ana scourging and 
 the thorn- crowned brow, and upon that last most bitter 
 Agony, when the sun refused to throw its light upon 
 that dark hour when the Lord was crucified. Now-a- 
 days we are familiar with the Passion Play ; many of 
 us have seen that thrilling representation by the simple 
 peasants of the Ober-Amergau ; all of us have read, 
 how the scene, in its deep reverence and solemnity and 
 beauty, goes home to every heart. If such be the case 
 now, what must it have be«n then, when, the ground 
 
78 The Life of 
 
 so sacred to the memory of all this agony, when 
 the land upon which the crimson streams of Jesus' 
 blood had flown, was in the hands of the destroyer 
 and the Infidel ? The enthusiasm of the people was 
 at its height, they showered prayers and blessings 
 upon Louis, and bade him God-speed. 
 
 But ere he left his native land he had another 
 duty to perform. He visited all the monasteries and 
 convents, asking the prayers of the monks and nuns, 
 and distributing his alms amongst them. His gracious 
 manner and kindly words won all hearts, and loving 
 benedictions followed him as he went on his way, 
 and holy men and women prayed for him before the 
 Altars where the Lamb of God was offered in perpetual 
 Sacrifice for the sins of the whole world. At Eein- 
 hartsbrunn, the monastery which he had founded, and 
 which was especially dear to him, the parting scene 
 was one of peculiar interest ; his wife, his mother, his 
 brothers, and his little children accompanied him 
 thither ; and when Compline was over, and the monks 
 passed out of the choir, the prince knelt by the side of 
 the priest who was sprinkling the holy water, and as each 
 religious passed he drew him down to him and em- 
 braced him affectionately, even taking the little choir- 
 boys into his arms and imprinting a father's kiss upon 
 each innocent brow. Nothing was heard in the quiet 
 chapel but the stifled sobs of those who were so soon 
 to lose the prince who was so dear to them ; and at 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 79 
 
 last Louis himself gave way to the sad forebodings 
 which had come upon his young, hopeful spirit, he too 
 burst into tears, and said: *' It is not without just 
 cause that you thus weep, my dear friends, for I know 
 that when I have left you rapacious wolves will come 
 among you, and with their cruel teeth will persecute 
 and torment you. But I know also that the Most 
 High, remembering my pilgrimage, will open to you 
 the bowels of His Mercy, and from my heart I 
 ask that He will do this, now and for evermore." 
 They were the last words he ever spoke to them; 
 but the pleasant memory of his farewell shone with 
 inany a comforting ray into the hearts of those poor 
 monks in the dark and troubled days that were 
 at hand. 
 
 From Eeinhartsbrunn Louis and his family went to 
 Schmalkald, where he was to meet the knights and 
 nobles who were to accompany him to the Holy Land. 
 From all parts of his dominions crowds had assembled 
 to see the last of him ; and on the Feast of the Nativity 
 of S. John Baptist, when the Church puts before her 
 children the great example of holiness and self-denial 
 of the Prophet of the wilderness, Louis of Thuringia, 
 strong and brave and resolute, tore himself from the 
 arms of those he loved best on earth. To his youn^ 
 brothers' care he committed his mother, his little 
 children, and his wife. The innocent little ones 
 looked on with wonder at the strange scene. " Good- 
 
80 The Life of 
 
 night, dear father," they said in lisping, baby accents, 
 " a thousand times good-night, dear father, of the 
 golden heart." 
 
 It was too much for him to bear; he gently put 
 his darlings away from him, and turned to his weeping 
 wife. He placed one arm round her, and another 
 round his mother, and held his dear ones to him, as 
 though he would keep them there for ever, whilst the 
 hot tears, which would not be repressed, rolled from his 
 eyes down his manly sunburnt cheeks. Half an hour 
 passed in this fashion ; then in trembling tones he 
 spoke to his mother : *' My beloved mother, I must go 
 from you ; but I leave you to the care of your two 
 other sons, Conrad and Henry, and into your own charge 
 I give my wife, whose agony you even now see." But 
 neither mother nor wife would quit that loving em- 
 brace ; and every eye was turned to the sad picture, 
 and the crowds of nobles and peasants passed around 
 them weeping at the sight of those two women cling- 
 ing, in their bitter grief, to him who was leaving them to 
 fight for his God beneath the burning suns of Palestine. 
 
 And most of that vast assemblage had a private grief 
 of their own, as well as that general sorrow for the 
 family of their prince. There were husbands, and 
 fathers, and brothers, who wore upon their shoulders 
 the Crusader's Cross, the *' Flower of Christ^'' and who 
 had to leave those as dear to them as Louis' wife and 
 children, and mother, and brothers were to him. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 81 
 
 So there they all stood, a brave, bright band of 
 warriors, around that centre group, which consisted 
 of their Landgrave and his belongings ; Thuringians, 
 and Hessians, and Saxons were all knit in one 
 strange bond that day ; the community of suffering 
 had made them one with each other, and with their 
 prince. 
 
 A few there were too, who had no ties to bind them 
 to home or country, whose hearts were fixed upon the 
 Holy Land, whither they were going, with no thought 
 of earthly love to come between them and the glorious 
 aim they had in view, who stood apart, true pilgrims 
 and Crusaders, and burst into a glad hymn of praise 
 to God, Who had thought them worthy to suffer, to 
 fight, and even to die for His sake. 
 
 And so the songs of joy went up to Heaven, mingled 
 with the sighs and sobs drawn forth from many a 
 bleeding heart ; and something of peace seemed to fall 
 upon those mourning ones in that hour of trial, as 
 they heard of the love of Him Who soothes every 
 human sorrow, and sanctifies every human tear. The 
 hour of parting came at last; the Duke gently dis- 
 engaged himself from his mother's embrace, and 
 passing through the crowds who sought to touch his 
 dress, his hands, and to press near him for one last 
 word or look, he mounted his charger, and placing 
 himself at the head of the Crusaders, joined, with 
 faltering voice, in the sacred songs which rose all 
 
 G 
 
82 The Life of 
 
 clear and joyous to the bright Home of the God 
 of battle. 
 
 Elizabeth was still to be with him for a little while ; 
 she had craved so earnestly to be allowed to accompany 
 him to the frontier of Thuringia that he had not been 
 able to refuse her request ; and so, side by side, with 
 sad and mournful hearts, the young husband and wife 
 set forward upon the last earthly journey they were 
 ever to take together. 
 
 The frontier was reached; but neither could speak 
 those farewell words which seemed surging like a 
 mighty wave over their hearts. Elizabeth went 
 another day's journey, then another; and now she 
 said she did not think she could ever leave him ; she 
 must be with him to the end. But strength came 
 from heaven into the poor, loving soul ; and divine 
 love triumphed at last over the intensity of earthly 
 affection. The Lord of Varilla, the son of that true 
 knight to whom Andrew of Hungary had all those 
 years ago committed the care of his darling child, and 
 who had so nobly fulfilled his trust, approached the 
 Duke, and told him that " the time had come when 
 the Duchess must leave him." 
 
 There was silence for a few moments as the husband 
 and wife were clasped in that last fond embrace ; no 
 sound was heard but the rustling of the trees in the 
 summer breeze, and the sobs which rent those two 
 loving hearts, which must now be separated for ever 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 83 
 
 in this world. But even then, amid all their grief, and 
 all their agony, they thought of another life, bought 
 for them by the boundless love of Jesus ; and they 
 knew that they should meet again, where sorrow and 
 parting, and tears should be no more. 
 
 Louis himself gave the signal of departure ; and 
 then, taking from his finger his signet ring, he showed 
 it to his wife, and said : " Elizabeth, dearest of sisters, 
 look well at this ring, and see engraven upon the 
 sapphire, the Lamb of God carrying His banner ; let it 
 ever be to you a sure sign and token in all that con- 
 cerns me. Whoever shall bring you this ring, dear 
 and faithful sister, and shall tell you that I am alive 
 or dead, believe all that he may say, for it will be the 
 truth." 
 
 Then once more he took her into his arms, and said : 
 *' God bless and keep you, my little Elizabeth, my 
 sweetest treasure ; may the most faithful Lord guard 
 over your soul, and keep up your courage. May He 
 bless also your unborn child ; we will do with it that 
 which we agreed upon. Adieu, think ever of our life 
 together, of our tender and holy love ; never forget me 
 in one of your prayers. Adieu, once more, adieu, I 
 may not stay away longer." Tenderly he gave her to 
 the care of her ladies, and then he rode away, looking 
 back until he could see her no longer ; then he set his 
 face towards Jerusalem, for there he knew he should 
 find peace. 
 
 G 2 
 
84 The Life of 
 
 They carried his poor young wife to her desolate 
 honie at Wartburg ; and there she changed her royal 
 attire for those sombre garments of widowhood, to 
 which, ere many months had passed, she had so sad 
 a right. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 85 
 
 CHAPTER X.— 1227. 
 
 The last hours of Louis of Thuringia — His dying commands to 
 his knights — The vow they took before they embarked for the 
 Holy Land. 
 
 We can imagine how, in the long dreary days that 
 followed her husband's departure, S. Elizabeth prayed, 
 as he had bade her do, for his safety — prayed with all 
 the intense fervour of her nature, that God would keep 
 him safe from all harm. And the prayer was answered, 
 as all fervent, holy prayers are ; although, not as in 
 her blindness, the young Duchess would have asked 
 that they might be. Louis was indeed watched over, 
 and taken to the haven where he would be — taken 
 from all earth's weariness — '' to where God giveth His 
 beloved sleep." The brave, courageous soldier was 
 not allowed to fight for His Lord on earth; he laid 
 down his arms at the t^oot of the Cross, and dwelt 
 for ever with Jesus in the Paradise of Rest. 
 
 Louis at the head of his brave, bright band of 
 warriors, passed through Franconia, Suabia, and 
 Bavaria, crossed the Tyrolean Alps ; and traversing 
 Lombardy and Tuscany, at length reached Apulia, 
 where the Emperor had already assembled a powerful 
 
86 The Life 
 
 army of nearly sixty thousand men. The August sun 
 shone with fearful intensity upon the fair Italian 
 plains ; the heat was such, it is said, as might have 
 melted solid metal. Fever broke out amongst the 
 Crusaders, and delayed their embarkation. But the 
 Emperor and the Landgrave determined upon leaving 
 the sick to follow when they could, and after solemn 
 prayers and Sacraments prepared to set sail from 
 Brindisi. 
 
 Ere Louis set foot upon the vessel which was to 
 carry him to Palestine, he was seized with a shivering 
 fit, and afterwards was in a burning fever. He battled 
 manfully against his weakness ; he struggled to throw 
 off the terrible lassitude which oppressed him ; but at 
 the end of three days the Emperor landed at Otranto, 
 where the Empress was, saying that he could not bear 
 the inconvenience of the journey by sea. The Land- 
 grave of Thuringia landed also, and went with his 
 accustomed chivalrous courtesy to pay his respects to 
 the Empress ; and now the fever came on with renewed 
 violence, and when he returned to the ship he was 
 obliged to succumb to it. The malady now made 
 fearful strides, and soon all hope was at an end; it 
 was evident to all that the brave young prince could 
 never get over it. He was the first to see his danger. 
 He called his courtiers around him and told them that 
 his end was very near ; he made his will, he talked of 
 his wife and of his children, but there was no regret 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 87 
 
 in bis tone ; no wish to stay a little longer on earth. 
 The faithful, obedient soldier knew that his last orders 
 had come, and was ready and willing, and glad to 
 obey. Death had found him willing to bear all hard- 
 ships for his Lord — to fight for Him with his latest 
 breath. He was thankful that it was so; and the 
 thought of the joy to which he was going — of the Love 
 which was to be his for ever, took away the sting of 
 the grave from those last, sad, suffering days of the 
 young bright life. He knew that his wife and his 
 little, ones would not be left alone ; that " Our Father 
 in Heaven" would be with them; that the widow and 
 the orphans would be in safer, holier keeping than his 
 could ever have been. So without a shadow of regret 
 for the things of earth, he waited for the end, and 
 thought of the joy of meeting those he had best loved 
 on earth in the Paradise of Light. 
 
 He sent for the Patriarch of Jerusalem to bring him 
 the last Sacraments, and to administer to him Extreme 
 Unction. He made his last confession with that 
 wonderful humility which had characterised every 
 action of his life ; in the presence of his weeping 
 courtiers he received his Viaticum, expressing his faith 
 and hope in the Mercy of the Crucified ; his assurance 
 of pardon through the Precious Blood of Jesus. 
 
 He bade his knights announce his death to his wife 
 and his family, and gave them that ring which they 
 were to show his Elizabeth as a pledge of the truth of 
 
88 The Life of 
 
 their story. He asked them to think of him in their 
 holy enterprise ; and when they should have succeeded 
 in it, he begged them to carry his bones to Thuringia, 
 and to bury them in his own dear Monastery of 
 Eeinhartsbrunn, where he had already chosen his 
 grave ; and he entreated them, in the Name of God and 
 of His Holy Virgin Mother, ever to remember him in 
 their prayers ; then he meekly crossed his hands upon 
 his breast, and a smile of unearthly beauty was upon 
 his face. ** See, see," he said, "how white doves are 
 hovering around me waiting that I may fly away with 
 them !" And as he spoke these words he died, and 
 went to take his place in his own true country amidst 
 the saints and martyrs, and faithful soldiers of all ages 
 of the Church. 
 
 His brave knights mourned him truly, for they felt 
 that in him they had lost the light of their eyes ; the 
 enterprise in which they had embarked with such high 
 hope and courage, seemed hard and difficult now that 
 their leader was taken from them. 
 
 Some of them were not allowed to be with him they 
 loved so well, in those last sad, and yet most blessed 
 moments of his life ; the news was brought to them on 
 the wide seas, as they waited there expecting Louis' ship 
 to follow them. They retraced their way to Otranto, 
 and joined the others in a solemn oath to carry out all 
 the wishes of their beloved Prince, if they should escape 
 the perils and dangers of the Crusade. In the mean- 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 89 
 
 time they buried the brave young Landgrave with 
 every mark of love and honour, and left his body to 
 rest in that foreign land, whilst with sad and weary 
 hearts they went forward to accomplish their vow. 
 Some of them succeeded in reaching Jerusalem and 
 praying at the Holy Sepulchre for the repose of the 
 soul of their Prince ; and the next year (1228) the 
 pilgrims returned to Otranto after that inglorious 
 Crusade, which the treachery of Frederick rendered 
 almost useless, and which ended in that terrible 
 dispute between the Pope and the Emperor, which 
 for a time involved the nations of Europe in deadly 
 strife. 
 
90 The Life of 
 
 CHAPTER XI.— 1227-1228. 
 
 Winter in the Castle of Wartburg — The sad news as carried to 
 Thuringia — Elizabeth is told of her husband's death — Her 
 utter desolation — Hope comes at last. 
 
 It was dreary winter time in Thuringia ; the snow fell 
 thick and fast upon the ground, the rivers were blocked 
 by the ice, and around Elizabeth's mountain home the 
 wind whistled through the bare, leafless landscape, as 
 though it would chant a requiem over those by-gone 
 summer joys, which for her at least were never again 
 to return. 
 
 And yet amid all this there was something of hope 
 and joy within the Castle walls, for a little daughter 
 had been born to the young Duchess, and the joyous, 
 child-like nature had revived under the influence of 
 this new gift, which she and Louis had received from 
 God, to be given back again as soon as might be to 
 Him, in that life to which they had destined it. When 
 the messengers arrived at Wartburg with the sad 
 tidings of the brave young Landgrave's death, it was 
 to his mother and his young brothers that they told 
 their tale. Then throughout all the land there was 
 bitter mourning ; there was one only amongst them all 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 91 
 
 who shed no tear — who smiled as she lay and gazed 
 upon her baby, and thought of her Louis safe in a 
 distant land with God's Angels watching over him. 
 For the Duchess Sophia's first care had been to keep 
 the sad tidings from Elizabeth until she should be 
 somewhat stronger. She gave strict orders that, by 
 word nor look, no one was to betray the dread secret ; 
 a strange new tenderness seemed to have come into 
 the proud woman's heart for the gentle wife whom her 
 son had so tenderly loved. 
 
 It must have been a hard matter to hide her own 
 deep, mother's grief from those watchful eyes ; but she 
 succeeded in doing so ; no suspicion of the truth was 
 in Elizabeth's heart. 
 
 But at last there was no longer any need for delay ; 
 the time had come when the loving wife must know 
 the trouble that God had sent her, and her mother-in- 
 law undertook to tell her that she was a widow. 
 
 Some of the most trusted gentlemen and ladies of 
 the Court accompanied her to the room, where the 
 young Duchess lay upon a sofa; she received them 
 with all her accustomed grace, thanking them for thus 
 coming to congratulate her upon the birth of her child. 
 
 At last the Duchess Sophia spoke : " Take courage, 
 my dear daughter," she said, '' and do not be distressed 
 at what has happened to your husband ; for it is God's 
 will, and to that you know we must all bow, even as 
 he did." 
 
92 The Life of 
 
 Still no suspicion of the truth crossed Elizabeth's 
 mind ; her mother-in-law's calmness deceived her, or 
 perhaps she could not think of life without Louis ; 
 could not believe that God, the God of Mercy, would 
 take all joy from her at one fell stroke. The worst 
 she could think was, that he had been taken prisoner. 
 
 *' If my brother is a captive," she said, " with the 
 help of God and our friends, he shall soon be released ; 
 my father, I am sure, will help us, and soon all will 
 be well." 
 
 Then with faltering voice the Duchess spoke once 
 more: "Oh, my dearly-loved daughter, be patient; 
 take this ring which he has sent you, for a great 
 sorrow has indeed come to us. Our Louis is dead." 
 
 ** What do you mean ?" cried Elizabeth ; '' I do not 
 understand." 
 
 Again came the solemn words : " My daughter, he 
 is dead." 
 
 And this time she knew it all — realized it all ; there 
 was no further need to tell her what that sorrow was^ 
 that had come to her so suddenly and unexpectedly. 
 
 She bowed her head upon her knees in the bitter- 
 ness and abandonment of her utter desolation; then 
 she clasped her hands tightly together, and in a voice 
 strangely unlike he?* usually clear, silvery tones, she 
 said: "Oh, Lord my God, oh, Lord my God; the 
 world is indeed dead to me — the world and all its 
 sweetness." She jumped up from her couch as though 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 93 
 
 a sudden strength and energy had come to her, and 
 running through the spacious rooms and corridors, she 
 made the old walls of the Castle echo with the cry that 
 told all the bitterness of her grief: "He is dead, he is 
 dead." A.t last she fell exhausted and overcome with 
 sorrow into the arms of her faithful attendants. They 
 sought to speak to her of comfort, but she would not 
 listen, only through her tears and sobs came the heart- 
 broken words : '' Now have I indeed lost all I had ; oh, 
 my beloved brother; oh, lover of my heart; oh, my 
 good and pious husband, why are you dead, and have 
 left me alone in my misery ! How shall I live without 
 you ? Oh, poor deserted widow — poor unhappy widow 
 that I am — what shall I do ? May He Who forsakes 
 not the widow and the orphans console me ! God 
 comfort me ! Jesus strengthen me in my weakness." 
 
 It was the first ray of hope that came into the poor, 
 bruised heart— that thought of God and of Jesus. It 
 seemed as though already she had heard that loving, 
 gentle Voice, which for more than eighteen hundred 
 years has spoken out of the depths of His tender com- 
 passion to all those Whom He has seen fit to honour 
 by laying upon them the heavy burden of His own 
 sorrow. *' What I do thou knowest not now, but thou 
 shalt know hereafter." ''In your patience possess ye 
 . your souls." 
 
 But once and again there came back to her whom 
 the Lord loved so weU, that He chastened and scourged 
 
94 The Life of 
 
 lier so severely, the violence of uncontrolled anguish. 
 Times when no comfort came to her, when the waves 
 of sorrow threatened to overwhelm her, when even that 
 love of God, which had ever heen in her heart, seemed 
 to have gone from her. There was One Who suffered 
 greater sorrow than we can ever suffer. Who was 
 despised, rejected, forsaken by all on earth, and Who, 
 ere the measure of His dire agony was accomplished, 
 had yet one more trial — the most bitter of all to 
 endure — the Voice of the Son of God went up from 
 earth to Heaven in one great and exceeding sorrowful 
 cry : ** My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken 
 Me?" Can we wonder, then, that even from His 
 chosen saints the Father seems sometimes to hide, for 
 a little while, the exceeding comfort of His presence 
 and His love ? For " the servant is not greater than 
 His Lord." 
 
 To human eyes it seemed as though no further 
 sorrow could be needed to purify Elizabeth's soul ; the 
 trials of her childhood, the patiently borhe sufferings 
 of her early girlhood, had surely drawn her near to 
 God ; had detached her soul from all worldly things. 
 Had not her whole life shown it, her works of mercy, 
 her deeds of love? But He Who seeth not as 
 man sees, in His mercy judged otherwise. There 
 needed yet one thing more ere the loving, gentle girl 
 could be numbered amongst His own blessed saints. 
 Her heart must be wholly His ; none other must share 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 95 
 
 the love which He required from her. So He tried her 
 with fiercest trial, until she was dead to all earthly joys 
 and sorrows and then He poured upon her the dew of 
 His Holy Spirit, and she arose strengthened and puri- 
 fied, and victorious, and earthly sorrow had no power to 
 touch her more, for her heart and thoughts were surely 
 fixed where the only true joys are to be found. 
 
96 The Life of 
 
 CHAPTER XII.— 1228. 
 
 The fresh troubles that came into Elizabeth's life — She and her 
 children are driven from the Castle of Wartburg — The walk to 
 Eisenach — The base ingratitude of the people — Elizabeth's 
 wanderings in search of shelter for herself and her little ones — 
 The Church at Eisenach — The Duchess' sufferings at the sight 
 of her children's misery — Her own deep faith and resigna- 
 tion — She sends her little ones away — The insults to which 
 she was subjected. 
 
 Scarce twenty summers had passed over Elizabeth's 
 Hfe, when in the cold blast of that winter's day, all joy 
 seemed to be taken out of it, and hope and gladness 
 passed away never again to return, but to be succeeded 
 although she knew it not, by a greater joy and gladness 
 than any she had ever yet known, by a peace which 
 nothing should take from her. It is a sorrowful tale 
 which we have now to tell ; it is the story not of a 
 loving and beloved wife, but of a suffering woman, 
 bearing dishonour and indignity, and counting all as 
 naught for the sake of the Master in whose holy Footsteps 
 she sought to walk. We shall see the soul struggling 
 in all things to bow to the will of God ; the naturally 
 proud spirit bent and almost broken by the strange 
 mysterious power and glory of the ascetic life. And 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 97 
 
 then we shall see the end ; we shall catch a far-away 
 glimpse of the exceeding brightness which was revealed 
 to her, when at last the Master came and called her. 
 Then sight fails us ; but day by day we recognise how 
 near " the dear Elizabeth " is to us, when we say the 
 Creed of the Catholic Church, and express our belief 
 in the Communion of Saints. 
 
 For many days the people of Thuringia mourned for 
 their loved prince ; and the young widow in her great 
 affliction had the comfort of human sympathy. And 
 surely it is a comfort, in the dark hours of sorrow to 
 know that others are weeping with us ; it takes 
 something out of the sting of our bitter grief to feel 
 that the tears of others are flowing for us, that the 
 prayers of others are rising up on our behalf to 
 the Throne of Him Who wipeth all tears from all 
 faces. 
 
 But soon all was changed; and scarcely had the 
 first keen anguish died out of the hearts of Louis' 
 people, than those same voices which had spoken such 
 true words of mourning for him, such true words 
 of compassion for the Duchess, uttered hard things 
 of the widow, and turned against her who had ever 
 been their truest and most sympathising friend. It 
 was God's means of bringing His chosen Saint unto 
 Himself ; for surely the hardest trial that can come to 
 us is the ingratitude of those whom we have succoured 
 and cared for. We cannot wonder at it — we dare not 
 
9S The Life of 
 
 rebel — for Jesus went about doing good, and yet His 
 own people crucified Him. 
 
 Louis' two young brothers, Henry and Conrad, were 
 surrounded by evil counsellors, who took the oppor- 
 tunity of the Landgrave's death to carry out their 
 own long-indulged spite towards their saintly young 
 Duchess. Their first care was to represent to Henry 
 (surnamed Easpon) that by the ancient laws of Thu- 
 ringia the sovereignty must remain undivided in the 
 hands of the elder prince of the royal family, who 
 alone could be allowed to marry. If the younger sons 
 wished to marry, they would be degraded to the rank 
 of Counts of the Empire, and only be allowed to 
 hold certain provinces as vassals of the Landgrave; 
 thus Henry must at once assert his rights as sovereign, 
 or they must for ever be set aside in favour of the 
 little Hermann, Louis' eldest son. They dared not 
 go so far as to counsel him to take the boy's life, but 
 they pressed him to send Elizabeth and all her children 
 from Wartburg, from Eisenach, and from all the other 
 royal residences. When the young Duke grew up, 
 they argued, he would be thankful to receive some 
 small territory at his uncle's hands, in the meantime 
 he must be sent far away with his "bigoted and 
 prodigal mother." 
 
 Henry was not dead to all feelings of honour ; but 
 he was weak and easily led, and ambition and the love 
 of power held the first place in his heart. He listened 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 99 
 
 to the voice of the tempter, and he persuaded his young 
 brother Conrad to do the same. He forgot his promise 
 to his dead brother ; he was unmindful of the vow he 
 had made to succour and protect Elizabeth and her 
 little children, and he gave permission to his fawning, 
 flattering courtiers to tell his sister-in-law that Wart- 
 burg, the scene of all the joys of her past life, must no 
 longer be her home. 
 
 The messengers of these evil tidings found the young 
 Duchess with her mother-in-law; the fellowship of 
 grief had made those two strangely fond of each other's 
 society in those days of their bitter affliction. They 
 began by heaping reproaches upon their innocent 
 victim ; they accused her of having ruined the country, 
 of having wasted the treasures of the State, and 
 deceived and dishonoured her Husband ; and then, as 
 the punishment for her many shortcomings, they 
 announced to her that it was Henry's will that all her 
 possessions should be taken from her, and that she 
 should instantly leave the Castle. 
 
 In vain she pleaded for delay, and protested her 
 innocence ; her hard-hearted enemies stood unmoved 
 before the sight of her grief, and only reiterated their 
 stern commands. The Duchess Sophia indignantly pro- 
 tested against such cruelty; and throwing her arms 
 around Elizabeth, said : '* She shall stay with me ; no 
 one dare take her from me ; wh^are are my sons, I must 
 speak to them." 
 
 H 2 
 
100 The Life of 
 
 But all was useless ; the false courtiers would allow 
 no chance of respite to the heart-broken widow. ** She 
 must leave instantly," they said; and with rude hands 
 they separated the weeping princesses, whilst the Duchess 
 Sophia, with tears and sobs, followed her daughter-in- 
 law to the outer gate of the Castle. Elizabeth was not 
 even allowed to carry away anything with her ; but in 
 the castle-yard she found her little children, and two 
 of her maids of honour, who were likewise to be 
 expelled from Wartburg. 
 
 It was a harrowing scene, one which no pen can 
 ever describe, to which no painter can ever do justice. 
 There stood the little orphan children, the young and 
 beautiful widow, the aged mother, the little ones looking 
 on in wondering silence, the poor old Duchess weeping 
 and clinging to her loved ones. Elizabeth alone was 
 calm, asking God's help to bear this new and most 
 unexpected trial which He had been pleased to send 
 her. Once more the Duchess Sophia pleaded against 
 the stern decree, and asked to be allowed to see her 
 sons Henry and Conrad, being sure, she said, that 
 they would not resist her entreaties. She was told 
 that they were out ; the truth was, they had agreed 
 to remain in hiding whilst the cruel mandate was 
 executed, fearing lest the tears and prayers of their 
 mother and their sister-in-law might move them from 
 their stern purpose, and so draw upon them the dis- 
 pleasure of their wicked advisers. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, ' 101 
 
 The last moment came ; the old Duchess gave way 
 to the most violent grief and despair ; the sorrow she 
 had felt at her elder son's death was naught in com- 
 parison to the affliction that now had fallen upon her — 
 to the shame that this conduct of her younger sons 
 brought down upon her grey hairs ; for she could give 
 thanks for her Louis, her noble, gallant boy, safe 
 and at rest; but in thinking of Henry and Conrad, 
 cruel, perjured, disgraced, by their own fault, there 
 was nothing but misery and wretchedness. 
 
 The heavy gates of the castle closed with an ominous 
 clang, the old Duchess was left alone to weep, more 
 for the living than for the dead, and Elizabeth, the 
 King's daughter, the Duke's widow, was driven from 
 the gates of her home, with her helpless children, 
 and her two faithful attendants into the cold of that 
 piercing winter's day. 
 
 There was no one to say one pitying word to her, 
 no noble chivalrpus knight to stand up and defend 
 the cause of the oppressed lady. 
 
 Carrying her baby in her arms, followed by her 
 three other children and her maids of honour, 
 Elizabeth descended the steep and rugged path, 
 down which she had so often hurried to the relief 
 of the sick, and the poor and the afflicted ; and the 
 pitiless wind blew fiercely around her, and the snow 
 beat into her lovely face, as she pursued her way 
 bravely and courageously, in a strength not her own, 
 
102 The Life of 
 
 and at last entered the town of Eisenach, where once 
 all hearts had blessed her for her kindness and 
 her charity. Perhaps she hoped to find some comfort 
 there ; perhaps she thought that some of those for 
 whom she had done so much would help her in 
 this her extremity. She could not yet realize the 
 full measure of her desolation, could not understand 
 that such base ingratitude, as that which she was 
 so soon to experience, could exist on God's earth. 
 When at last she did know it, when it came upon 
 her in all the depth of unutterable woe, — comfort, 
 God's own comfort, came with it. For Elizabeth 
 remembered Him Whose whole life was spent in 
 one long act of self-sacrifice ; Who went about doing 
 good, healing the sick, cleansing the lepers, raising 
 the dead ; and yet He was cast out of the synagogues. 
 He was put out of the cities, " He came unto His 
 own, and His own received Him not." And when 
 the Duchess of Thuringia thought of what cruel 
 man had done to the Incarnate God, she ceased 
 to marvel at the ingratitude of those on whom she 
 had bestowed so many benefits, and only rejoiced 
 in the suffering that seemed to bring her nearer 
 to her Lord. 
 
 Yes, she journeyed on to Eisenach in the cold of that 
 winter's day, her little children following her in tears, 
 her baby clasped to her breast, and she knocked 
 at door after door, and sought in vain for admittance, 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 103 
 
 but none would take her in, for the Landgrave Henry 
 (or rather his wicked courtiers) had already issued 
 orders that whoever should receive Elizabeth or 
 her children, would incur his severest displeasure ; 
 and the people in their fear obeyed him, and were 
 guilty of the great sin of base ingratitude. 
 
 At last Elizabeth reached a miserable wayside tavern, 
 and there she almost forced the landlord to take 
 her in, declaring that an inn was open to all, and 
 that none dared thrust her from the shelter of that 
 poor door. " They have robbed me of all I had 
 in the world," she said, *' there is nothing left for 
 me but to pray to God." The man, moved by some 
 strange feeling of compassion, gave the Duchess 
 of Thuringia a place in a shed where he kept his 
 domestic utensils, and where his pigs generally found 
 their night's lodging. He drove the animals out, 
 to make room for the royal lady and her helpless 
 little ones, and there, weary and tired, they lay down, 
 and the children slept, whilst the mother watched 
 and prayed, and a strange joy came into her heart. 
 At midnight she heard the Matin bell sound through 
 the clear still air from the chapel of that Franciscan 
 monastery which she had founded during the life 
 of her husband. She rose hurriedly, awoke her 
 children, and made her way thither ; and when the 
 office had been said, she asked that a Te Beum 
 might be sung, in order to thank God for those 
 
104 The Life of 
 
 troubles which He had sent her, and which brought 
 her so much nearer to Him. The solemn joyous 
 strain ascended to heaven through the darkness of 
 that night of human anguish ; and on to the end 
 of her life the echoes of that song of praise resounded 
 in Elizabeth's heart ; she was ever giving thanks for 
 the sorrow that God had found her worthy to suffer. 
 In the bright days of her once happy life — that life 
 that now seemed so very far away — we have seen 
 how she had loved at the midnight hour to meditate 
 upon the birth of the Holy Child in the cold manger of 
 Bethlehem ; now she was bearing ever so little for 
 Him ; and, oh ! what happiness it was, what joy and 
 peace unutterable. *' Lord," she said, *' Thy 
 holy Will must be done ; yesterday I was a duchess, 
 rich and powerful, with broad lands and fair castles ; 
 to-day I am a beggar, and no one will give me shelter. 
 Lord, if in the days of my sovereignty I had 
 done more for Thee ; if I had bestowed more alms, 
 performed more deeds of love, how happy should I 
 be now ; but unfortunately I did so little for Thy 
 honour and glory." 
 
 For herself she was indeed thankful and resigned. 
 But there are some natures, the best and most unselfish, 
 to whom the keenest trials come in witnessing the 
 sufferings of others; for themselves they can bear 
 all ; for those they love they are anxious and impatient ; 
 and yet His Will must be done in all things; we 
 
S» Elizabeth of Hungary, 105 
 
 must not choose how we would suffer. Now the hardest 
 of all sorrows was to be Elizabeth's portion. Around 
 her in the chapel sat her little ones — the children 
 God had given to her and her dead Louis — who, 
 until yesterday, had been nursed in the lap of luxury, 
 who hardly knew what it was to be denied anything 
 they asked. They were cold and hungry enough, 
 poor things, and they asked their Mother for warmth 
 and food, and she could not give it them. Truly 
 a sharp and bitter sword pierced through the Mother's 
 heart, as the plaintive baby voices rose in something 
 of a murmuring chorus, through the silence and 
 stillness of the chapel. She cried aloud in her 
 woman's agony ; "I deserve to see them suffer ; I 
 repent bitterly of all my sins; my children were 
 born princes and princesses, and now they are 
 starving, and no bed even of straw is to be found 
 for them; my soul is pierced with anguish on their 
 account ; for myself Thou knowest, oh my God, that 
 I am not worthy to be promoted by Thee to the 
 grace of poverty." 
 
 There seemed to be no answer to the mother's 
 prayer; she must suffer yet a little while in God's 
 own way, and His ways are not our ways. The long, 
 weary hours of the night dragged on, and the cold 
 grey dawn of the winter's morning stole into the 
 chapel, and still that little group remained there, 
 still the hungry, worn-out children prayed to be 
 
106 The Life of 
 
 taken home. At last Elizabeth could bear it no 
 longer ; and once more the sad little procession went 
 on its way, back into the town of Eisenach, through 
 the streets where once the royal lady had bestowed 
 her alms with such liberal hand, where she had 
 spoken such words of comfort to many a suffering 
 one out of the depths of her loving heart; to and 
 fro she wandered, but none would open their doors 
 to her, until at last she came to the miserable lodging 
 of a poor Priest, who at some time or another had 
 been one of the many recipients of her bounty ; he 
 could not turn her away, he had little enough to 
 offer, but what he had, was at her service ; he prepared 
 beds of straw for her and for her children, and that 
 was all he could do. Elizabeth was very grateful 
 to the good man ; and when she had seen her tired 
 children laid upon the poor couch which the Priest 
 had made ready for them, she once more went out 
 into the streets, and then she pledged the jewels 
 which she had worn when she was turned out of 
 the castle, and carried home some food to her almost 
 starving little ones. But even the poor shelter of 
 the Priest's house was considered too good for her by 
 her stern, relentless enemies ; she was ordered to take 
 her children to the house of one of the courtiers, 
 who had always been her most rigorous persecutor; 
 and fearing that if she disobeyed, her darlings' lives 
 might be in danger, she quitted the only friendly 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 107 
 
 roof that had covered her and those she loved so 
 dearly, from the wind, and rain, and snow, and 
 went where she was bidden to go. Here fresh 
 indignities awaited her ; she and the little ones were 
 shut up in a narrow, miserable little room, whilst 
 all food and all means of warmth were denied them, 
 and insult and obloquy and scorn were heaped by the 
 lord of the castle, and his wife, and attendants upon 
 the innocent head of the saintly young Duchess. One 
 night she spent within those inhospitable walls, 
 praying for herself and for her children , then in 
 despair at the sight of their sufferings, she determined 
 at all risks to leave the place, and once more to go 
 to the poor wayside inn, which was the only place 
 of refuge her enemies did not seem to grudge her. 
 Ere she left the castle she said, " I thank you, 
 walls, that have protected me and mine this night, 
 as best you could, from the wind and the rain. I wish, 
 from the bottom of my heart, that I could thank your 
 master, but that I cannot do." So she and her 
 children and her faithful attendants, were again 
 located at the poor tavern ; but the greater part 
 of Elizabeth's time, both during the day and also 
 during the cold dark nights, was spent in one or 
 other of the churches of Eisenach. " From these 
 at least," she said, " none dare chase me away ; for they 
 belong to God, and God alone is my Host." But even 
 amid all her faith and love, her sorrows and trials 
 
108 The Life of 
 
 seemed to multiply ; the children pined beneath the 
 cold and hunger, to which they were so unaccustomed ; 
 and when at last friends from a distance, whom she 
 could thoroughly trust, offered to take them from her, 
 the poor mother's breaking heart was forced to acknow- 
 ledge that so it must be, if she would save their 
 lives. She had always dearly loved all children. When 
 a child herself, she was never happy except when 
 she was bestowing some gift upon her little companions; 
 and as she grew older we have seen how little friendless 
 orphans were her especial care and delight, how 
 those little ones, who had lost their parents, had loved 
 to call the beautiful lady by the sweet name of 
 ** Mother." And now she, in whose breast was im- 
 planted with special intensity that sweet and sacred 
 tie, which was made most holy by the mutual love 
 of the Virgin Mother and her loved Son, was to give 
 up the last of all human consolations, was to surrender 
 her children at the bidding of the Heavenly Father 
 There was a double motive in accepting the sacrifice ; 
 she knew it was for their good, but she knew also that 
 it was necessary for her that her treasures should 
 be given up, for the sight of their sufferings seemed 
 the one thing that chained her to earth, that made her 
 inclined to murmur at the will of God. 
 
 There was a struggle deep and intense, such as only 
 a mother's heart can know; and then S. Elizabeth 
 meekly bowed her head, and her little ones were taken 
 
S, Elizaheth of Hungary, 109 
 
 from her one by one, and hidden from their enemies in 
 some far away corner of their dead father's dominions. 
 
 Now she had only to think of herself ; she knew that 
 her darlings were safe, and she could bear anything 
 that God might see fit to send her. Although she 
 could hardly supply her own daily wants, she could 
 not bear to partake of a meal which was not shared by 
 some one more wretched than herself. She had parted, 
 for her children's sake, with the few treasures with 
 which she left Wartburg ; now she took to spinning, 
 that she might earn enough to be able to indulge, in 
 what to her was the luxury of almsgiving. And so 
 the long, lonely days of that sad life passed away ; and 
 although her persecutors seemed to leave her alone, 
 and to cease tormenting her, not one hand in Eisenach 
 was stretched out to help her ; not one pitying voice 
 spoke to her in tones of kindness and sympathy. On 
 the contrary, those she had helped in former days 
 taunted her now with mocking words, and this added 
 to the weight of her misery. 
 
 There was an old beggar in the town, whom the 
 Duchess had loaded with favours and benefits, who 
 was suffering from a loathsome disease, and to whom 
 she had ministered with gentle, tender pity ; one day 
 Elizabeth in her poverty was walking through one of 
 the streets, through which ran a little gurgling stream, 
 across which stones had been placed for the con- 
 venience of the passers-by. The old beggar was 
 
110 The Life of 
 
 coming from the opposite direction, and refused to 
 make way for the Duchess, and pushing rudely past, 
 threw her into the muddy water. '' There, " he cried, 
 ** that is your proper place ; you would not live as a 
 duchess when you were one ; now you are poor and 
 lying in the mud I am not going to take you out 
 of it." 
 
 The Duchess only smiled, and got up as best she 
 could, saying, *' This is a reproach for the gold and 
 jewels I once wore." " Then," an old historian says, 
 '* she went full of joy and resignation to wash her 
 soiled garments in a neighbouring stream, and her 
 patient soul in the Blood of the Lamb." 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 111 
 
 OHAPTEE XIII.— 1228. 
 
 The life of suffering and resignation — Elizabeth and her children 
 go to Kitzingen — Once moie there is peace — Elizabeth and 
 her children take up their abode at the Castle of Portenstein — 
 Her life there — She is persuaded to marry again — Her firm 
 refusal — Her pilgrimages to Erfurt and Andechs. 
 
 Fkom henceforth the suffering life became a life of 
 prayer and sacrament, and communion with God. He 
 Who had asked all her love, to Whom she had so 
 wiUingly and gratefully granted it, now came to her 
 in His Church with aU consolation, came to wipe 
 away the tears from her face, to reveal Himself to her 
 even on earth, a pledge and a foretaste of the bright 
 exceeding glory which should be her portion in the 
 heavenly Jerusalem. Day and night S. Elizabeth 
 knelt in the presence of her Lord before His holy 
 Altar ; and then to her weary soul there came bright 
 visions of love, which sent a strange thrill of joy into 
 that true heart which had borne so much for Him, and 
 would bear all, even unto the end. 
 
 In after years when the subject of her canonisation 
 was under discussion, Ysentrude, the most true and 
 faithful of her maids of honour, who had been with 
 her through all her happy days, and was with her in 
 
112 The Life of 
 
 her sorrow even to the end, told of the ecstatic joy that 
 used to come to her royal mistress as she knelt in prayer 
 and communion with God. Very humbly the Saint 
 would tell her loved companion of the reason of that 
 bright and holy light, which those who saw her at this 
 time noticed on her suffering face. She had seen her 
 Saviour come to her, telling her that He was ever 
 with her if she would ever be with Him. And when 
 in bitter ' humiliation she confessed the many sins of 
 her life, He Who described Himself as the Lord Who 
 had pardoned the many trespasses of S. Mary Magda- 
 lene, appeared to her, and absolved her one by one 
 from the offences she had committed against Him. 
 Then she would see Him in His bitter Passion, bleed- 
 ing, suffering, dying, for the sins of the whole world. 
 
 Again she would see that ever Blessed Virgin, into 
 whose keeping she had consigned herself when she 
 was but a little child, standing by her side, bidding her 
 learn all patience and meekness and gentleness from 
 the bright example of her dearly-loved Son ; bidding 
 her know that no grace could be obtained without 
 continual strife and trouble — without unceasing prayer 
 and perpetual self-mortification. And when S. Eliza- 
 beth had listened to these things, and with the eye of 
 faith had seen the glory that should be revealed to her, 
 exceeding happiness was in her heart; and clasping 
 her hands upon her breast and bowing her head, she 
 would say those words which the Blessed Virgin has 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 113 
 
 left as an heritage to all God's Saints for evermore, 
 whether joy or sorrow be their portion on earth : ** Be 
 it unto me according to Thy Word." 
 
 But although Elizabeth lived the life of poverty and 
 hardship, which to her was the Christ-like life, there 
 were those who had known her in the days of pro- 
 sperity, whose hearts bled at the recital of her cruel 
 wrongs, and who longed to redress them, and once 
 more bring something of happiness into that young and 
 chequered existence. The Duchess Sophia tried as 
 hard as she could to soften the hearts of her sons 
 Henry and Conrad, towards their unfortunate sister-in- 
 law ; but all her endeavours were of no avail, and in 
 her despair she turned to Matilda, Abbess of Kitzingen, 
 the sister of Elizabeth's mother, the good Queen 
 Gertrude, and told her of all her niece had suffered 
 and was still suffering. The good Abbess lost no time 
 in sending trusty messengers and conveyances to 
 Eisenach, in order to convey the Duchess and her 
 children to Franconia, that they might live with her in 
 peace in her quiet convent. Elizabeth was but human, 
 and her heart bounded with joy at the thought of once 
 more seeing her darlings, of watching over them, and 
 listening to their sweet baby prattle, far away from 
 those cruel enemies who had so sorely oppressed her. 
 The children were brought from their separate homes 
 and given into their mother's arms, and then the 
 whole party journeyed across the dark forests and steep 
 
 I 
 
114 The Life of 
 
 mountains whicli separated Thuringia from Franconia, 
 and arrived safely at the convent, where the Abbess 
 received them with much affection, and seemed to try 
 to make her niece forget all the sorrows and indignities 
 of the past, by paying her the honour which befitted 
 her high station. 
 
 But even now when peace had once more come into 
 her life, when once more she was loved, and obeyed, 
 and waited on, as she had been in the old days, her 
 thoughts seemed ever to be with the God Who had 
 indeed been her very present help in trouble. She was 
 gentle as ever to those around her ; thankful for the 
 most trifling service rendered to herself or to her little 
 ones ; but her greatest delight was to live as nearly as 
 she could to the religious life, to keep the rules of the 
 convent as strictly and rigidly as she could. Still it 
 seemed that she was to find no sure resting-place on 
 earth, for now in the midst of her newly-found happi- 
 ness her uncle Egbert, the Prince Bishop of Bamberg, 
 judged that the convent was not a fitting place for her 
 and for her family, and that such a home as she had 
 found there, in some way or another must distract the 
 good nuns, and put out the arrangements of their 
 quiet, holy, peaceful, daily life. She listened to the 
 advice that sent such fresh sorrow to her poor bruised 
 heart, meekly as she ever did when those whom she 
 honoured and reverenced spoke to her of her affairs 
 and those of her children. And then she obe^^ed her 
 
S» Elizabeth of Hungary, 115 
 
 uncle's wishes ; with great regret she bade farewell to 
 that first peaceful haven whither she had been led after 
 the many storms and waves of sorrow which had 
 passed over her ; and leaving her little daughter Sophia 
 in her aunt's care, she went with her three other 
 children to take up her residence in the Castle of 
 Pottenstein, in the Bishopric of Bamberg, which 
 Egbert assigned to her, and where he gave her a suite 
 of attendants befitting her rank, bidding her rule over 
 her household as she wished and thought best. Her 
 faithful maids of honour Ysentrude and Guta were with 
 her still ; and here in her quiet mountain home, amidst 
 the lovely scenery which was her especial delight, in 
 sight of blue lakes, and snow-covered hills, and lovely 
 valleys, and pleasant cornfields, Elizabeth lived with 
 her children and her tried and dearly-loved friends, 
 and praised God Who had made everything beautiful 
 in His time, a faint dim foreshadowing of the exceeding 
 loveliness of the City where no cloud or shadow of 
 sorrow should ever reach, where no darkness could 
 ever come, for " the Lamb is the light thereof." 
 
 Day and night, too, she prayed as she had done in 
 the days of her bitter affliction, keeping all the Church's 
 hours as regularly as though she had lived within 
 convent walls, visiting the poor and the sick in the 
 neighbourhood, ministering to their necessities, as she 
 had done to those who had treated her with such base 
 ingratitude in her own loved home in Thuringia. 
 
 I 2 
 
116 The Life of 
 
 Notwithstanding all the sufferings she had under- 
 gone, the widow of twenty years of age was fair and 
 lovely as a girl ; she was strangely lovely, too, exiled 
 from those who ought to have been her friends, cruelly 
 treated by those who had promised to succour and 
 defend her ; whilst the brave knights into whose care 
 Louis had consigned her on his death-bed, were far 
 away in a foreign land, fighting under the banner of the 
 Cross, and there was no telling when they would be at 
 home again, and able to fulfil their vow to their dead 
 prince. 
 
 Under these circumstances, Egbert of Bamberg 
 thought that the best and kindest thing he could do 
 for his niece would be to find her another and lawful 
 protector, and so he went to her and proposed to her 
 that she should marry again. It is said that the 
 husband he wanted to give her was one rich and 
 powerful, holding the first place in the Empire, none 
 other than Frederick II. himself. His wife, Yolande 
 of Jerusalem, had just died, and his most earnest wish 
 was to espouse the fair young Duchess of Thuringia. 
 
 With her accustomed meekness Elizabeth listened 
 to all her uncle had to say as to the advantages 
 of such a match; and then she replied that she 
 would rather be alone to the end of her life and 
 give herself up wholly to the service of God. 
 
 But the Bishop still pressed his suit ; he bade 
 her remember all she had suffered, aU she might 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 117 
 
 suffer again when God should take him from her, 
 for he was an old man now, and could not expect 
 to live much longer. Pottenstein of course was hers 
 so long as he was Prince-Bishop of Bamberg, but 
 when he was no more, even although he should 
 bequeath it to her, who was to protect her from the 
 foes who had driven her from her home, and who 
 were even now ever seeking some opportunity of 
 injuring her ? 
 
 But even the fear of suffering could not change 
 her resolution. An old French poet has told us how, 
 in simple, respectful words, she answered her uncle's 
 entreaties : " Sire, my lord and husband was one 
 who loved me tenderly, who ever was my true and 
 loyal friend ; I shared his honour and his power ; 
 I had many treasures and jewels and worldly joys ; 
 but even then I always thought, what you well know, 
 that earthly joys are worth nothing. This is why 
 I wish to leave the world and pay to God what I 
 owe Him — the debts of my soul. You know that 
 all earthly luxuries only bring grief and torment 
 and the death of the soul. Sire, I long to be with 
 my Lord and Saviour ; I ask of Him but one earthly 
 boon ; I have two children who are destined to be 
 rich and great, and I should be very happy and 
 very grateful to God if he loved me well enough 
 to take them unto Himself." She here spoke of those 
 two children who were not destined to the religious 
 
118 The Life of 
 
 life; the little Sophia was already in a convent 
 where she was ever to remain ; her baby was, as we 
 have seen, dedicated to God by its father and mother 
 ere it drew the breath of life. 
 
 She did not then bring forward the vow she had 
 taken during her husband's lifetime, that in the event 
 of his death she would never marry again, but often 
 she would speak to her maids of honour, who with 
 her had taken a similar vow of chastity, and say : 
 "I swore before God and my noble husband whilst 
 he was alive, that I should never belong to any 
 other man. I took this solemn vow in all purity, 
 sincerity, and good faith. And now I trust in His 
 mercy to defend me from the assaults and persuasions 
 of those who would speak to me once more of earthly 
 love. For my vow was not a conditional one, depend- 
 ing upon the will of my relations and friends ; but 
 it was spontaneous, free, and absolute, to consecrate 
 myself entirely after the death of my beloved husband 
 to the service of God. If against my own will I 
 am given in marriage to any man, I will protest 
 against it before the Altar ; and if I can find no other 
 means of escape, I will cut off my nose in order to 
 make myself a:^ object of horror." 
 
 But although she spoke with so much faith and 
 assurance, she was greatly troubled by the importunity 
 of her uncle; it seemed as though they still would 
 chain her to earth and earthly thoughts, whilst her 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 119 
 
 one wish and desire was to mount heavenwards. 
 Once more she was overcome with sorrow, and then 
 again she found peace. She knelt before the Altar 
 of God, and asked the Father of the fatherless, the 
 Consolation of the widow, to be with her now as He 
 had ever been ; and with tears and sobs she sought the 
 Queen of Virgins, whom she had ever called by 
 the sweet holy name of mother since that sad day, 
 all those years ago, when they had told her that 
 her own dear mother was dead. And once more 
 fear went out of her heart, and holy peace reigned 
 there, such peace as God alone vouchsafes to those 
 who worship and adore His own sweet will. It is 
 at this time of Elizabeth's life that we hear of her 
 undertaking several pilgrimages ; going alone to 
 distant places, protected by God and His holy Angels, 
 to pray at the tomb of some departed saint, to ask 
 that some blessing might be given her from above, sent 
 to her straight from heaven. Such pilgrimages were 
 very common in mediaeval times ; old men and women 
 and little children, and the sick and infirm did not 
 shrink from the fatigues which they might have to 
 encounter, whilst those who were strong and well 
 helped the others as best they could upon their way. 
 Twice the royal lady journeyed to Erfurt, a town 
 situated in the centre of her husband's dominions, 
 but belonging really to the Bishopric of Mayence. 
 It was celebrated then for its many sacred and 
 
120 The Life of 
 
 beautiful religious monuments ; in after days it became 
 famous as the place where Luther pursued his studies, 
 where first he put forth his erroneous doctrines and 
 denied the holy truths taught by the Church from 
 the beginning. 
 
 In a convent for fallen women, known then by the 
 name of " Les Dames Blanches," afterwards occupied 
 by the Ursulines, Elizabeth remained for many days in 
 absolute solitude, and when she went away she left as 
 a sole legacy to the nuns the little glass she had used 
 in her simple meals, and which now-a-days is drank 
 out of as each S. Elizabeth's day comes round by the 
 young pupils of the community. She went, too, to visit 
 the castle of her maternal ancestors at Andechs, which 
 was situated on one of the high mountains which 
 separates Bavaria from the Tyrol. This ancient and 
 venerable pile had just been converted by Henry of 
 Istria into a Benedictine monastery, and in after ages 
 it became famous as the repository of the precious 
 relics of many a saint of the Catholic Church, and 
 for the miracles which were performed within its 
 walls. 
 
 It was a lovely spot that was chosen as the site of 
 that home of the good Benedictines ; from the moun- 
 tain-top, far as the eye could reach, stretched out the 
 fair hills, and plains, and sunny valleys of Bavaria, 
 whilst, amid all that God had made so beautiful, there 
 rose the churches and monasteries built by man in 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 121 
 
 His honour ; some of them raising their lofty heads in 
 the shade of the dark forests, others reflecting their 
 glorious beauty of architecture upon the smooth surface 
 of some blue lake. Many a pilgrim found rest and 
 refreshment both for body and soul in those Bavarian 
 monasteries ; many a solemn vow was made there, 
 many a blessing bestowed upon those who sought help 
 from God. Often did Elizabeth gaze in rapture upon 
 the lovely scene, upon the range of the mountains of 
 the Tyrol, which hid Italy from view, upon the shining 
 rivers which watered the whole land, so calm and 
 steady in their onward course, telling how man's life 
 should ever flow on towards the boundless ocean of 
 eternity. 
 
 When centuries had passed away, and the errors of 
 Protestantism had crept into the land, and the Church 
 was robbed of her own, the Monastery of Andechs was 
 desecrated by sacrilegious bands. In 1806 Maximilian, 
 king of Bavaria, sold it to a Jew, having decreed that 
 all religious property was to be secularized. But the 
 Chapel was preserved, and in it a precious relic, which 
 S. Elizabeth herself had laid upon the altar, a seal and 
 a pledge that from henceforth her love should be given 
 to God alone. It was the dress she had worn on the 
 day upon which she was married to Louis, and at the 
 same time she gave to the religious a little silver cross, 
 containing the instruments of the Passion, which she 
 had worn for many years about her person. And now 
 
122 The Life of 
 
 in these days when Catholic truths are despised, and 
 when men in their worldly wisdom smile at the simple 
 faith of mediaeval days, there are still found those who 
 visit the place where S. Elizabeth prayed, and who 
 kneel where she knelt, and ask God to give them some- 
 thing of the meekness and humility of the young 
 Duchess of Thuringia. 
 
iS, Elizabeth of Hungary. 123 
 
 CHAPTER XIV.— 1228. I 
 
 The return of the knights, bearing with them the body of the 
 Landgrave — The progress of their journey — Their arrival at 
 Bamberg — Elizabeth gazes on the mortal remains of her 
 husband — Her complete submission to God's Will — She 
 receiver the knights and asks their protection for her children 
 — Their vow. 
 
 It was now more than a year since the brave knights 
 who had accompanied the Landgrave of Thuringia 
 upon the Crusade which he and they had undertaken 
 with such high hope, had stood by their brave young 
 master's death-bed at Otranto, and had sworn when 
 they had fulfilled their Crusader's vow to carry his 
 bones back to Thuringia, and bury them in the Monas- 
 tery of Reinhartsbrunn. The time had now come 
 when Louis' dying wish was to be accomplished ; the 
 Thuringian knights had done all they could do in the 
 Holy Land, and now in the year 1228 they returned to 
 Otranto, and prepared to carry Louis' body back to his 
 native land. Elizabeth had just returned from Andechs 
 to Pottenstein, braced for whatever fresh suffering 
 might be in store for her by the consolations of her 
 pious pilgrimage, when she received a message from 
 the Bishop of Bamberg, begging her to hasten thither, 
 
124 The Life of 
 
 as the pilgrims of the Cross, with their precious hurden, 
 might be daily expected there. 
 
 The historians of the middle ages tell us how 
 that sad procession traversed Italy and Southern 
 Germany on their way into Thuringia. They had 
 disinterred the corpse at Otranto, and found the bones 
 white as the driven snow, a sign of the life of purity 
 which Louis had led. They had placed the sacred 
 relics in a rich coffin, which was borne along in a car 
 drawn by the dead Landgrave's own valiant charger. 
 Before the coffin was carried a silver cross studded 
 with precious stones, a sign of the hope and faith 
 of the departed, and of the consolation of those who 
 mourned him so truly. At night they rested on their 
 way, carrying the corpse into a church and laying 
 it before the Altar, where the soft tapers gleamed, 
 and the sacred heart of Jesus beat in very love for 
 the living and the dead. Crowds thronged into the 
 House of God to chant low requiems there, and to 
 pray for themselves and for the noble pious prince 
 who had been cut off in the flower of his bright young 
 manhood ; and each morning ere the body was taken 
 away a Mass was said for the repose of Louis' soul, 
 and an offering made by the knights with the same 
 intention. 
 
 At last the day arrived when the mournful cortege 
 reached Bamberg. The bishop and priests went out 
 to meet it, the bells from every church in the cathedral 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 125 
 
 city tolled with solemn sound, funeral chants rose 
 soft and sweet into the air, in which the voices of 
 little children mingled with the sonorous tones of 
 the priests and the people ; never had anything so 
 solemn been seen, never had grief so real and true 
 found its way into every heart; the cathedral was 
 reached, and there the coffin was laid before the High 
 Altar, and all that day and all through the night, 
 the Office for the Dead rose in continued solemn strain. 
 The next day the watchers by the corpse witnessed 
 a scene which must have dwelt for ever in their 
 memories with something of soothing sanctifying 
 influence. The widow, accompanied by her faithful 
 servants Ysentrude and Guta, advanced up the long 
 aisles with eager yet half-timed steps, for she longed 
 and yet dreaded to see all that was left of him she 
 had loved with such passionate tenderness. All the 
 first grief had come back on that sad day, when 
 the stern reality of Louis' death must force itself 
 upon her. There are such moments in the lives of 
 all of us, when we stand in the solemn presence 
 of those for whom, if need be, we would have given up 
 our lives, and feel that they are gone from us indeed, 
 never more to speak to us, or tell us how dear we 
 were to them. And yet surely they are nearer than 
 they ever were before; they can love us better and 
 pray for us better, than they did when they were 
 on earth, for they are nearer Him Who died for us 
 
126 The Life of 
 
 all, nearer the saints and martyrs who are ever 
 praying for us. 
 
 But when the coffin was opened, when Elizabeth 
 gazed upon those loved remains, there was a burst 
 of violent unrestrained grief; nature asserted its 
 sway, human anguish triumphed for an instant and 
 only for an instant, then the sweet comfort of Divine 
 love re-asserted its dominion in her heart; earthly 
 affection was vanquished for ever, as that long, loud, 
 bitter cry echoed through the old cathedral walls, 
 and angels carried it to the Mercy- Seat, and offered 
 it as a sacrifice at the feet of the Lord of all love, 
 and winged their flight back again, bearing with them 
 the great gift of perfect peace. 
 
 The widow rose from that loving embrace which she 
 had imprinted upon her husband's remains, then she 
 dried her eyes, and kneeling by the side of the coffin 
 she said in calm firm tones : " I thank Thee, Lord, 
 that Thou hast deigned to listen to Thy servant, and 
 to fulfil the great desire that was in my heart once 
 more to see the remains of my beloved husband who 
 also belonged to Thee. I thank Thee that Thou hast 
 mercifully consoled my afflicted and desolated soul. 
 He offered himself, and I too offered him, to defend 
 Thy Holy Land; I do not repent this sacrifice, 
 although I loved him with all my heart. Thou 
 knowest, my God, how I loved this husband, who 
 loved Thee so much. Thou knowest that I would 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 127 
 
 have counted the delight of his presence more than 
 all earthly joy, if it had pleased Thee to grant it me. 
 Thou knowest that I would have lived all my life with 
 him in misery, he poor, and I poor, and begging with 
 him my daily bread from door to door, from one end 
 of the earth to the other, if only I might have had 
 the happiness of being with him, if Thou hadst but 
 willed it, my God ! But now I yield him, and I 
 yield myself entirely to Thy will, and I would not, 
 even if I could, ransom his life at the price of one 
 hair of my head, unless it were Thy will, Lord ! " 
 
 Once more Elizabeth leant over the coffin, once 
 more she spoke loving words to those unconscious 
 remains, then with quiet dignity she walked out of the 
 church, and found her way to a little grass-grown 
 cloister, where she begged the Thuringian knights, who 
 had accompanied her husband to the Holy Land, to 
 grant her a few moments' conversation. 
 
 They had known her deep love for Louis, they had 
 witnessed the heart-rending parting between the young 
 husband and wife, and they dreaded the sight of 
 her grief now, fresh from that trying scene in the 
 Cathedral. 
 
 They need have had no such fears ; when she saw 
 them she rose from her seat with all her old royal 
 grace and gentleness, and bowed to them humbly, as 
 though she would show her thankfulness for all they 
 had done for her husband, and consequently for her. 
 
128 The Life of 
 
 Then she begged them to be seated, as she did not feel 
 strong enough to stand ; and when she had heard all 
 she most wished to hear, all the sad and yet joyful 
 story of that peaceful deathbed at Otranto, she poured 
 into their ears the tale of her many wrongs ; she 
 entreated them in the Name of Jesus Christ to be the 
 protectors of her poor fatherless children; she cared 
 not for herself, she said, only for her little ones, for 
 Louis' little ones, she asked for help and justice at 
 their hands. The Bishop of Bamberg confirmed all 
 her statements, indeed told the knights much that 
 she in her charity, had left untold; and the story 
 was greeted with a burst of intense indignation, whilst 
 the Crusaders took a solemn vow to redress the wrongs 
 of their loved Prince's widow and children. 
 
 At their head was the noble young Lord of Varilla, 
 and they swbre to recognise no other ruler, to own 
 no other sway than that of the little Hermann, Louis' 
 young son. 
 
 They proposed to the Prince-Bishop of Bamberg 
 that he should confide Elizabeth and her children 
 to their care, and that they should take the royal party 
 into Thuringia with the body of the Landgrave. 
 They vowed that they would not rest until justice 
 had been done, and until compensation had been made 
 to the Duchess for all the injuries she had suffered 
 at the hands of her enemies. The Bishop consented 
 to the plan, and at the first dawn of the next day 
 
S. Ellzaheih of Hungary, 129 
 
 he celebrated a Pontifical Mass in his cathedral, and 
 when he had blessed his niece and her children, and 
 warmly thanked those who had so truly promised 
 to befriend them, he let them go on their way to 
 the Monastery of Eeinhartsbrunn. 
 
130 The Life of 
 
 CHAPTER XV.— 1228. 
 
 The Funeral in the Monastery of Eeinhartsbrunn — The Knights 
 agree upon their course of action — The Lord of Varilla speaks 
 to the Landgrave Henry — Henry's answer — The Eoyal family 
 of Thuringia ask Elizabeth's pardon — Her humility and 
 graciousness — The return to Wartburg. 
 
 The little qiiiet Chapel of Eeinhartsbrunn presented 
 a strange scene on that day when the body of the 
 beloved Prince of Thuringia was to be laid in the 
 resting-place which he himself had chosen. All 
 through the country the news had spread that the 
 remains of Louis were on their way to the monastery, 
 and that following them were the wife and children 
 who had been treated so cruelly by Henry and Conrad. 
 All classes were determined to do honour to him 
 they had loved so well, to try if they could to make up 
 to his fair young widow for all she had been called 
 upon to suffer ; so old and young, and rich and poor, 
 and noble and simple flocked to Eeinhartsbrunn, and 
 tears were in every eye, and sorrow in every heart, 
 when they thought of the bright brave warrior who 
 had gone in his youth and strength to fight for God 
 in a foreign land, and who there had met his death. 
 Bishops and Abbots came to do honour to the champion 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 131 
 
 of the Catholic Church ; to him -vrho, had it been 
 permitted him, would with his latest breath have 
 defended the Lord's Sepulchre ; and the monks upon 
 whom he had lavished his bounties, and of whom 
 he had taken so sad a farewell, walked before his 
 coffin, and sang solemn funeral chants and hymns, 
 broken by the tears that would flow, when they 
 remembered all his goodness, and his bright winning 
 graciousness. His mother and his brothers were there, 
 sorrowing for him they had lost ; and the Church's 
 most beautiful ritual was employed, and rich and rare 
 offerings were made, and the bones were enclosed in a 
 costly shrine, and placed in a stone tomb, and raised 
 up before the people, so that all might gaze upon 
 the sacred relics. Those who had known and loved 
 the Landgrave of Thuringia, ever called him S. Louis 
 when they spoke of him, and the historians of the 
 age have handed his name down to us with this 
 holy prefix attached to it. But the Church never 
 counted him amongst her Saints, although he has ever 
 been considered the worthy husband of her whose 
 name has been held in highest reverence for six hundred 
 years, as one of the brightest lights of the Catholic 
 Church. Now the old chapel of the Monastery 
 of Eeinhartsbrunn is in the hands of the Lutherans, 
 and the tomb of the Landgrave of Thuringia was in 
 1525 pillaged by the Protestants, who impiously 
 scattered the bones far and wide about the surrounding 
 
 K 2 
 
132 The Life of 
 
 fields. The broken stone of the tomb is still to be 
 seen, — a sad memorial of uncatholic irreverence, and 
 nncatholic want of charity. 
 
 When all the sad ceremony was at an end, and 
 the last prayer had been said, and the echoes of the 
 last dirge still rang through the vaulted roof, the Lord 
 of Varilla advanced to the Crusaders, and bade them 
 remember the promise that they had made to the 
 Prince Bishop of Bamberg, regarding the rights of his 
 niece and her children : *' We must now," he said, 
 *' keep the faith which we swore to our noble prince, and 
 to our lady Elizabeth, who has already endured so 
 many miseries ; otherwise I think we shall merit the 
 fire of hell." There was a deep and solemn silence 
 when these words were spoken, and then the knights 
 retired to deliberate upon the best course of action 
 to be pursued. 
 
 They unanimously agreed at once to present them- 
 selves before Henry, to remonstrate with him upon 
 his cruelty to his sister-in-law, to tell him that they 
 had vowed to see her righted, and that with their 
 latest breath they intended to fight for her and for 
 her children. Four knights were chosen by the others 
 to undertake this difficult mission ; the Lord of Varilla 
 was to speak in the name of his companions ; but each 
 and all promised to be staunch and firm, and not 
 to give in, in one single point, to the demands they 
 had agreed to make. 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 133 
 
 They found the young princes sitting with their 
 mother, and the Lord of Varilla stood firm and brave 
 before them, although his voice trembled with intense 
 emotion, as he turned to Henry and said : " My 
 lord ; my friends, and your vassals who are here 
 present, have deputed me to speak to you in their 
 name. We have heard both in Franconia, and here 
 in Thuringia, grave charges made against you, which 
 have troubled us very much, and made us blush to 
 think that such things could be done in our country, 
 and that our princes should have been guilty of such 
 impiety, unfaithfulness, and want of honour. Alas, 
 young Prince ! What have you done, and to what evil 
 counsellors have you listened ? What ! You have 
 driven ignominiously, even as a fallen woman, from your 
 castles and your towns your brother's wife, the poor 
 desolate widow, the daughter of an illustrious king, 
 whom it was your duty to honour and to console! 
 In defiance of all sense of honour, you have given 
 her up to misery, and have let her wander about 
 as a beggar. Whilst your brother gave up his life 
 for the love of God, his little orphans, whom you ought 
 to have nourished and protected with the affection and 
 devotion of a faithful guardian, are sent away from 
 you, and obliged to be separated from their mother, 
 to save them from dying of hunger! Is this your 
 fraternal piety ? is this the lesson you learned from 
 your brother, that virtuous prince who would not thus 
 
134 The Life of 
 
 have acted towards the meanest and poorest of his 
 subjects ? No : a rude peasant would not have been 
 such a traitor to his neighbour, as you, Prince, have 
 been to that brother who went forth to die for the 
 love of God ! How can we trust for the future in your 
 faith and your honour ? You know that as a knight 
 you are bound to protect the widows and the orphans, 
 and yet you it is who have outraged the widow and 
 the orphans of your own brother. I tell you in all 
 truth, such conduct cries to God for vengeance !" 
 
 The noble knight stopped at this point, overcome 
 by emotion ; the sobs of the Duchess Sophia (who 
 knew better perhaps than any one else how well- 
 merited 'were those bitter words of accusation) re- 
 sounded through the room ; the young duke, troubled 
 and ashamed, bent his head, but could speak no word 
 of reply; and then the Lord of Varilla spoke once 
 more : " My lord, what had you to fear from a poor 
 "broken-hearted, desolate woman, alone, without friends 
 or allies in this strange land ? What harm could this 
 saintly and virtuous lady have done you, even had she 
 remained mistress of all the castles in the country ? 
 What will be said of us now in other lands ? Oh, what 
 shame it is ; I blush to think of it. Know that you 
 have offended God, that you have dishonoured Thu- 
 ringia, that you have tarnished your own name, and 
 that of your noble race ; and I fear that the wrath of 
 God will be drawn down upon this country, unless you 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 135 
 
 repent before Him, unless you are reconciled to this 
 pious lady, and restore to your brother's children all 
 that you have taken from them." 
 
 The bold, brave speech was ended, and all marvelled 
 at the temerity with which the Lord of Varilla had 
 spoken ; he to whom it was addressed remained stand- 
 ing in his place, his head still bent in shame and 
 humiliation ; but even then God was doing His own 
 work, the Holy Spirit struggling within young Henry's 
 breast was convincing him of the sin he had com- 
 mitted. He raised his fair, boyish, tear-stained face 
 at last, and said very simply : "I repent sincerely of 
 all I have done ; I will never again listen to the advice 
 of those who thus counselled me ; restore to me your 
 confidence and your friendship ; I will do all that my 
 sister Elizabeth requires of me ; I give you authority to 
 dispose of my life and my possessions for her benefit. 
 Yet," he added in a lower tone, " if all Germany 
 belonged to her nothing of it would remain in her 
 possession ; she would give all away for the love of 
 God." 
 
 Varilla only heard, or only heeded the first part of 
 the speech. '' It is well," he said joyfully ; *^ it is the 
 only way of escaping the vengeance of God." Then 
 he and the other knights hurried to tell Elizabeth of 
 the success of their interview, and to say that Henry's 
 most earnest wish was to be reconciled to her. 
 
 But when they began to tell her of the conditions 
 
133 The Life of 
 
 she must impose upon him, she answered almost with 
 impatience : "I do not want his castles, nor his lands, 
 nor his towns ; I want nothing that can in any way 
 disturb or distract my thoughts ; but I should be very 
 grateful to my brother-in-law if he would give me the 
 money that is due to me from my marriage-portion, so 
 that I may be able to spend it for the salvation of my 
 beloved husband and for my own." 
 
 The knights knew well from past experience that it 
 was useless to reason with her, so they went and 
 brought Henry and his mother, and Conrad to her, in 
 order that the desired reconciliation might not be 
 delayed. 
 
 With tears and sobs the young Duke asked Elizabeth 
 to forgive him all the wrong he had done her, telling 
 her of his deep sorrow, and of his determination in 
 every way to atone for his evil deeds. His mother 
 and Conrad joined their prayers to his ; perhaps they 
 feared that now she was surrounded by valiant and 
 trusty friends Elizabeth would be revenged for all she 
 had suffered, and would refuse to forgive them for the 
 many and cruel wrongs they had inflicted upon her; 
 they little knew the gentle, loving nature with which 
 they had to deal. She spoke no word ; she would not 
 let it even seem as though she had anything to forgive, 
 by pronouncing their pardon. She threw her arms 
 round Henry's neck and mingled her tears with his; 
 and the Duchess Sophia and Conrad joined in that kiss 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 137 
 
 of peace, whilst the brave warriors, who had fought in 
 the Crusades, could not restrain their tears as they saw 
 the touching sight, and thought of the noble prince 
 who was the common link between them all — who 
 seemed to have spoken with loving voice, and bade 
 them bury every wrong thought in his grave. 
 
 Soon all was settled ; the duchies of Thuringia and 
 of Hesse devolved by right upon little Hermann, but 
 during his minority his uncle Henry was to be regent ; 
 Elizabeth and her children were to return to the 
 Castle of Wartburg, where the Duchess was to rule, as 
 she had ruled during the lifetime of her husband. And 
 when the Crusading knights had thus accomplished their 
 solemn vow they went to their separate homes, happy 
 that God had allowed them to redress the wrongs of 
 the widow and the fatherless, ready to serve their 
 Landgrave's widow again, even to the death, should 
 occasion offer. 
 
 All Germany had taken her part when her sufferings 
 were known, and all Germany rejoiced with her when 
 right was done, and Elizabeth once more reigned iu 
 her husband's castle. 
 
138 The Life oj 
 
 CHAPTEE XVI.— 1228-1229. 
 
 Elizabeth's life at Wartburg — The world's censure — The Pope's 
 messages and letters cheer her in her trouble — Elizabeth's 
 longings for the religious life — S. Francis d'Assisi — The poor 
 Clares — Elizabeth appeals to Maitre Conrad — He refuses to 
 grant her request — She asks her brother-in-law to assign her 
 another home — Her life at Marburg — Good Friday in the 
 Franciscan Chapel at Marburg — Elizabeth's triple vow — She 
 assumes the habit of the Franciscans — Her children leave her. 
 
 The young Duke Henry nobly kept his word ; by every 
 mark of affection and respect towards his sister-in-law 
 he sought to atone for all the injuries of the past, and 
 to show his penitence before God and man. But there 
 were others who even now wilfully misunderstood her, 
 who could not believe in the life of a saint, who would 
 not honour her because she was so immeasurably 
 superior to them. 
 
 To go back to Wartburg was to return to the old life 
 which she had led during Louis' absence from his 
 home ; to visit the poor, to nurse the sick, to protect 
 the orphan, to bestow her alms freely, almost lavishly 
 upon all around her, was the one joy and comfort of 
 her lonely existence. She could do even more than in 
 former days, for her deep mourning was a sufficient 
 excuse for absenting herself from the festivities of the 
 
S. Elizaheth of Hunfjary. 139 
 
 Court, and in silence and solitude she sought to 
 practise that voluntary poverty which she had ever 
 held in such high honour. Such a ]ife, however, did 
 not fail to bring down censure upon it from those who 
 could not enter into the pure and holy motives which 
 prompted it. The rich and the great heaped insults 
 upon her, because she despised those worldly things 
 which were their chief delight ; if they passed her 
 when she was bound on some errand of charity they 
 would remark, in a voice loud enough to be heard, that 
 she was a/ooZ and mad. And yet she was so patient 
 and so joyous, there was such a sweet and heavenly 
 calm upon her face that her enemies said she had 
 already forgotten her husband, and had ceased to 
 mourn him. Even the Duchess Sophia listened to 
 these tales, and reproached her daughter-in-law with 
 them ; but this did not distress Elizabeth ; she knew 
 that God read all that was in her heart, and the peace 
 and joy that reigned there were His own especial gifts, 
 which the things of this world could neither give nor 
 take away. 
 
 Morning and night she went forth upon her errands 
 of mercy and of love, fearing no human censure, caring 
 for no human praise, seeking only to be near Jesus in 
 poverty, near Him in acts and deeds of love. And 
 although worldly men scorned and despised her, there 
 were those who looked on and wondered, and gave 
 thanks for the bright light S. Elizabeth shed round 
 
140 The Life of 
 
 about her, and amid her troubles a glad softening ray 
 of comfort came to her from afar, and from a most 
 unexpected quarter. The fame of her holy, self- 
 denying life, of trouble so meekly borne, and hardship 
 welcomed and hailed with joy for the sake of Christ, 
 reached the Pope, Gregory IX., at Eome, and he sent 
 her several messages, and addressed to her many 
 letters in which he assured her of his interest in her 
 welfare, and of his prayers for her, and he bade her 
 persevere in the life she was now leading, not fearing 
 the taunts of her enemies, but putting all her trust 
 first in God and then in him, for as long as he lived he 
 would stand her friend, and would never fail her. He 
 gave her a church and cemetery for the new hospital of 
 S. Mary Magdalene, which she had begun building at 
 Gotha during her husband's lifetime, and the com- 
 pletion of which had been her first care and thought on 
 her return from her exile ; above all he ordered Maitre 
 Conrad of Marburg to take more especial direction of 
 the soul which God destined for such high and holy 
 things, and to defend her to the full extent of his 
 power against the temptations that came to her from 
 without. But gradually in these early days of her 
 widowhood there came into Elizabeth's mind an in- 
 creased desire for the Eeligious Life, a wish to dedicate 
 herself altogether; for the remainder of her days to 
 God, in the holy state of poverty. Even now earthly 
 cares and troubles came between her and the Bride- 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 141 
 
 groom to wbom she so longed to be united ; earthly 
 love, her yearning tender affection for her little ones, 
 sometimes took her thoughts away from the sole con- 
 templation of Jesus. 
 
 There was a long and bitter struggle ere she made 
 up her mind to leave all that was most precious to her 
 on earth, for we have seen how ardently and passion- 
 ately she could love ; how her heart clung to those 
 friends and relations whom God had given her. All 
 through her life she had tried to let the things of 
 heaven take tlie first place in her heart ; and those who 
 knew her best, who saw the holy, saintly, daily struggle, 
 the longings and strivings for perfection, would have 
 said that she had succeeded nobly — that there was 
 naught that she need give up. But she in her humility 
 and self-knowledge saw far otherwise ; and so in those 
 peaceful months, when circumstances allowed her to 
 withdraw from the gaieties of the court, she sought for 
 strength to fulfil the purpose which she felt God had 
 put into her heart. She gleaned all the information 
 she could relative to the Religious Orders then existing 
 in the Church ; and none seemed to her so likely to 
 satisfy her needs, to enable her to live that life of 
 voluntary poverty, which she had ever held in such 
 high veneration, as that Order founded by S. Francis of 
 Assisi, and to which she in some sense already belonged. 
 The three vital principles of the Franciscans were the 
 princix^les, of all religious communities; poverty, 
 
142 The Life of 
 
 chastity, aud obedience. But their poverty was not 
 only the renunciation of all worldly possessions, but 
 of all property, even in the clothes they wore, in the 
 cord which girt them, even in their Breviaries. They 
 were not to receive money in alms, except to aid a sick 
 brother ; they were literally to fulfil the precept, if 
 smitten on one cheek to offer the other : if robbed of a 
 part of their dress voluntary to give up the rest. 
 Mutual love, of the deepest, holiest kind, was to be their 
 bond of brotherhood; obedience was to spring from 
 love. The Saint of Assisi had hesitated at first between 
 the active and contemplative life-^between constant 
 prayer and praise in the seclusion of the monastery, 
 or preaching the Cross of Christ to sinners. The 
 mission of love was chosen; and the success of the 
 Franciscans, the converts they made, the love and zeal 
 they showed, never has been, never can again be 
 equalled on earth. 
 
 There were women who listened to S. Francis' 
 fervent eloquence, to his words of mystic, passionate 
 tenderness, and who felt that they too, if they would 
 be perfect, must lead the life of poverty, which he set 
 before them as the highest and best life. Clara, a 
 noble virgin of Assisi, had striven against all earthly 
 love and affection, and had entered into a convent 
 attached to the Church of S. Daman in her native city. 
 She became the mother of the Sisterhood, which still 
 numbers many a pious holy woman in the Eoman 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 143 
 
 Church —that of the poor Clares. Their life was one 
 of entire poverty — ci long, never-ending penance ; and 
 this Order it was that S. Elizabeth determined upon 
 joining with her director's approval. 
 
 She went one day to Maitre Conrad and told him 
 all that was in her mind ; but he most indignantly 
 repudiated the idea, telling her that her sex and rank 
 rendered her totally unfit for such a life. She had so 
 set her heart upon it, so believed that she was acting 
 according to the will of God, that she would not 
 believe he was in earnest, and still persisted in her 
 entreaties, which he with equal obstinacy combated; 
 and at last she left him, weeping bitterly, and saying : 
 ''You will see that I shall do something which you 
 cannot forbid." 
 
 It was a terrible disappointment to the ardent, loving 
 soul ; a lesson in that obedience to which she wished 
 to give up her life. Such lessons come to many of us 
 every day ; we long to do some great thing for God, to 
 show our love for Him by some great act of self- 
 sacrifice, and He bids us wait, and by waiting patiently, 
 show our sincerity; — " to obey is better than sacrifice." 
 He bids us gaze upon that life at Nazareth, that long, 
 long patient waiting of more than thirty years, when 
 the Saviour in His humble home saw sin and iniquity 
 rife in the world, and longed with all the love of His 
 Sacred Heart to do the work He had been sent to do — 
 to redeem those lost souls. But His hour had not yet 
 
144 The Life of 
 
 come ; and so He waited on, an example to all those 
 who are longing and yearning to do God's work. This 
 hour will come to us all ; perhaps to some of us it has 
 come already, although not in the way we would have 
 chosen. "We may be doing, we must be doing His work, 
 by our submission to that very authority which seems 
 to hold us back from Him. 
 
 S. Elizabeth returned to her daily life and to the 
 duties of her home, trying to learn the lesson of 
 submission ; but still although Maitre Conrad had 
 forbidden her to enter the Keligious Life, he could 
 not prevent her living as nearly as she could to it 
 in her own home. 
 
 So she asked her brother-in-law to assign her some 
 residence where she could give up her life wholly to 
 God, and where nothing could interfere with her 
 works of piety and charity. 
 
 Henry, who although he could not understand his 
 sister-in-law's goodness, and marvelled at it behind her 
 back, was always gentle and respectful to her, he gave 
 her the sole possession of the town of Marburg in 
 Hesse, and bestowed upon her the sum of five hundred 
 marks for the first expenses of her establishment. The 
 young Duchess thanked her husband's family most 
 warmly for their goodness to her, saying that it 
 was much more than she either deserved or had 
 expected. She left Wartburg with many tears, and 
 journeyed to Marburg, where she appointed the officers 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 145 
 
 wlio were to rule her household, and won all hearts 
 by her loving gentleness. Maitre Conrad does not 
 seem to have approved of this change in the residence 
 of his spiritual daughter, for he wrote to the Pope that 
 it was not by his advice that the Duchess left 
 Thuringia to establish herself in his native' country. 
 However he does not appear to have forbidden the 
 step, and himself accompanied Elizabeth to her new 
 home. 
 
 Whilst she was living her quiet life, and thinking 
 only how best she might serve God, her fame had 
 spread abroad throughout all Thuringia and Hesse, 
 and now the people of Marburg sought to do her 
 so much honour, and to show her how they had 
 felt for her many sufferings, that she was pained and 
 distressed by the homage she received, and she retired 
 to a little lonely village on the banks of the Lahn, 
 about three miles from the town, and there she took 
 up her abode in an old tumble-down hut; for she 
 would not be a burden upon any of the poor peasants, 
 who only longed for some opportunity of serving their 
 new mistress. The roof of her new abode had in many 
 places fallen in, and her only shelter from the rain, 
 and the wind, and the sun, were the friendly branches 
 of some noble trees which overshadowed the cottage. 
 She prepared her own food, which was of the simplest, 
 coarsest kind, and she never sat down to a meal 
 without sharing it with some poor beggar, who had 
 
 L 
 
146 The Life of 
 
 wandered from Marburg to ask the charity of the 
 noble lady, who seemed almost as poor as her guest. 
 
 In the meantime she ordered a small house to be 
 built for her in Marburg, in which she might live 
 among the poor people as one of themselves. It 
 was constructed of wood and clay, just like the 
 dwellings of the meanest of her subjects, that they 
 might see that she had come amongst them, in all 
 things to share their Hfe and poverty. 
 
 To this poor home she brought her little children 
 and her faithful servants ; and there she led a life 
 strict, rigorous, self-denying as even the Poor Clares 
 themselves within the walls of their Convent at Assisi. 
 Still there was the earnest, irrepressible longing to 
 give herself up to God, by some irrevocable vow, to be 
 acknowledged by the world as belonging to Him, so 
 that none should ever again associate her name with 
 earthly love or earthly greatness. 
 
 We have already seen that some time, before her 
 husband's death, she had become a penitent of the Third 
 Order of S. Francis, but she was bound by no vows, 
 she was only associated with the Franciscans by 
 mutual prayer and deeds of love ; this was all that was 
 required of those persons who longed for a holier life, 
 and still were unable to give up the world altogether. 
 Now, she wished to make a public profession of her 
 attachment to the Order ; to take before the Church, 
 that vow of poverty, chastity, and obedience, which 
 
S, Elizaheth of Hungary, 147 
 
 already she had taken before God. She wished to give 
 to the Franciscans herself, and all her worldly pos- 
 sessions ; all that she had was to belong to the poor. 
 
 Maitre Conrad approved of her design ; and in after 
 days this Third Order of S. Francis assumed the 
 character of an entirely Monastic Order, taking S. 
 Elizabeth as their patroness. 
 
 When all was settled, when she had received per- 
 mission to do in this matter all that she thought right, 
 she spent her time in yet closer acts of prayer, in still 
 more ascetic practices ; for she knew that she still had 
 much to give up — much that was most dear to leave 
 behind her, ere by her own act she dedicated herself 
 entirely to God. " I know," she said, " that I need 
 three great gifts from my Lord and Saviour. Firstly, 
 a complete contempt for all earthly things ; secondly, 
 courage to despise the injuries and calumnies of men ; 
 thirdly, and this is the hardest of all, to give up the 
 affection I bear my children." It was for these gifts 
 and graces she prayed, and fasted, and strove so 
 earnestly; and at last one day she went to seek her 
 companions, and a light was upon her face, which had 
 nothing of earth about it, and her voice trembled with 
 exceeding joy as she said: ** The Lord has heard my 
 prayer; all the riches and pleasures of the world, 
 which once I valued so highly, are now as nothing to 
 me. As to the calumnies of men, the stories invented 
 by the wicked, the contempt I inspire, I feel proud to 
 
 L 2 
 
148 The Life of 
 
 suffer them all. And my beloved little children whom 
 I loved so well, whom I embraced with such loving 
 tenderness, well even these are as strangers to me 
 now, I call God to witness it. I offer and confide 
 them to Him, that He may do with them as He wills. 
 I no longer love anything; I no longer love any 
 creature ; I only love my Creator." 
 
 And now Elizabeth longed only to take the vows 
 which she felt would be to her such sweet and joyous 
 servitude. *' If I could," she said, *' find a habit 
 coarser and poorer than that of the poor Clares, I 
 should adopt it, to console myself in some measure for 
 not joining that sacred Order ; but, alas, I cannot hear 
 of such an one." These events happened during Lent ; 
 Passion- Tide had dawned upon the earth, telling its 
 mingled tale of agony and of love ; and now Good 
 Friday had come, that day when the Church tells her 
 children of that steep ascent up Calvary's hill, when 
 the Lord of Glory fell three times beneath the weight 
 of the cruel Cross, when we listen to those last words 
 of Him Who hung there all those long hours for our 
 sakes, and which He left as a most precious legacy 
 to the faithful for evermore ; when the cry of human 
 agony issued from the Sacred Lips of the God-Man, 
 and then all was over, and the world was redeemed 
 from the curse of sin. On that day, in the Franciscan 
 Chapel at Marburg, the kneeling crowds, who had come 
 to adore their Lord in the Most Sacred Mystery of the 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 149 
 
 Passion, looked upon a sight such as they had never 
 seen before, but which was in strange keeping with the 
 hour, when Jesus, robbed of even the very clothes He 
 had worn, hung naked for us upon the Cross. In 
 memory of this no ornament was upon the Altar ; no 
 holy Sacrifice was offered on that one day in all the 
 Church's year. Elizabeth's children were there, and 
 many of her friends, and numbers of Franciscans, 
 and she herself knelt before the Most Holy Place ; and 
 there, in the presence of those she most loved on earth, 
 she broke the last links which bound her to the world, 
 and gave up all, to follow the Heavenly Bridegroom 
 Who had called her to Himself. The threefold vow 
 was taken ; Elizabeth of her own free will gave up her 
 friends, her children, her all, that she might serve God 
 alone. Her beautiful hair, which fell in massive raven 
 tresses almost to her feet, was cut off, and she was 
 clothed in the coarse grey habit and the girdle of cord, 
 which were the distinctive marks of the Order of S. 
 Francis. 
 
 To the day of her death she wore that sacred 
 garment; and, in addition to the rules of the com- 
 munity, she always voluntarily went bare-footed ; she, 
 the royal lady, was the most humble of them all. 
 Guta, her faithful maid of honour, who had been her 
 most trusted friend from her infancy, would not be 
 separated from her beloved mistress now in the new 
 and higher life upon which she had entered. On that 
 
150 The Life of 
 
 same Good Friday, when Elizabeth bade adieu for ever 
 to all worldly things, the young girl took the habit of 
 the Third Order of S. Francis, and renewed the vow 
 of chastity, which she had taken long before. 
 
 There was one more trial yet to undergo ere the 
 loving heart of Elizabeth could be at rest. The 
 children whom she loved so tenderly must be taken 
 away from her. Months ago the thing would have 
 seemed to her impossible, now, she saw the loving 
 Hand of Jesus, pierced with cruel nails, stretched 
 out to welcome her ; she heard a Voice more gentk 
 and tender than the voice even of her dead husband 
 or her little children, saying in softest, gentlest accents. 
 " Every one that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, 
 or sisters, or father, or mother, or wife, or children, 
 or lands, for My sake, shall receive an hundred-fold, 
 and shall inherit Everlasting Life." 
 
 She took her darhngs one by one into her arms, 
 and blessed them with choicest blessings, and prayed 
 for them with words of burning love ; then without 
 a sigh she let them go, for she knew God would be 
 ever with them. 
 
 The little Duke Hermann, his father's heir, who 
 was now six years old, was taken to the Castle of 
 €reuzburg, there to be safely watched and cared for, 
 until he should be old enough to hold the reins of 
 government which his uncle now held for him. His 
 eldest sister Sophia accompanied her brother to his 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 151 
 
 new home ; the little girl was already affianced to 
 the young Duke of Brabant ; Elizabeth's second 
 daughter, who was also named Sophia, went back to 
 the Abbey of Kitzingen, which was her home to the 
 end of her life, and where she took the veil ; the 
 little two-years-old Gertrude, her mother's especial 
 darling, was sent to a convent at Altenberg, near 
 Wetzear. It was a poor place enough, of but recent 
 foundation, and every one marvelled that Elizabeth 
 should choose such a house for the training of her 
 precious child. Some even went so far as to 
 remonstrate with her upon the subject ; but she gently 
 replied that all had been settled between herself and 
 her husband on that last day when they had bade each 
 other farewell for ever,, before the child was born. 
 *' Heaven inspired us to choose this convent," she said, 
 "for God wishes my daughter to help to advance 
 the spiritual and temporal welfare of this holy house." 
 In after years the Saint's prophecy was abundantly 
 fulfilled, for the young Gertrude became Abbess of 
 Altenberg at the age of one and twenty years, and 
 the fame of her pious life went abroad into all nations. 
 Now all was over, the sacrifice accomplished, the 
 yearning desire of a whole lifetime fulfilled at last. 
 The world sneered and wondered, and pitied the 
 mistaking zeal which had induced a princess of 
 royal birth to give up all the vain pomp and glory 
 of the world, aU that was most precious to her on 
 
152 The Life of 
 
 earth, for Christ's sake ; they held that such conduct 
 was unnecessary, wrong, unworthy of her duties as a 
 mother ; that her proper place was with her children, 
 doing her duty in that state of life in which God 
 had placed her. So the world argued then, so there 
 are many who at the distance of more than six 
 centuries will argue now. And truly it would not 
 do, if all acted as S. Elizabeth did. But there are 
 souls to whom God has spoken in all ages, souls to 
 whom He speaks now in a peculiar and special manner. 
 There are some whom He bids remain in the world, 
 doing the work He has set them to do, serving Him 
 well and rightly in the way which He has appointed 
 for them. There are others whom He calls nearer 
 to Himself even on earth, whom He bids enter the 
 solemn cloister, and live a life of poverty, and pray 
 for those who dwell in the busy haunts of men. 
 And generally He calls those with His own gentle 
 voice who have the greatest capacity for loving, whose 
 hearts are bound to those whom He has given them 
 to love. It was so with S. Elizabeth : we have seen 
 it in her passionate affection for her husband, in 
 her tender devotion to her children. And He Who 
 hallows every human tie, hallowed this ; but He is 
 a jealous God, and He wanted the heart that could 
 love so well, to love Him alone. And so step by 
 step He called the Duchess of Thuringia to Himself; 
 He made her understand that He would watch over 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 153 
 
 her little ones, but that the care of them came between 
 her and her religion, and she must needs give them 
 up. And she obeyed and triumphed at last, and 
 the loving gentle woman became one of God's own 
 chosen saints. 
 
15-i The Life of 
 
 OHAPTEE XYII— 1229. 
 
 The life at Marburg continued — Elizabeth gains her own living 
 by spinning — Her exceeding humility and charity — Her life 
 of prayer and contemplation — Her dress — Her love of making 
 others happy — The Pope's present — Elizabeth's tender care 
 of the sick — Her special devotion to lepers — Maitre Conrad 
 curbs her zeal — The Miracle of the Fish — The Leper Boy — 
 The care of the Early and Mediaeval Church for lepers. 
 
 Elizabeth was alone now with her maids of honour in 
 the hut which she had had built in Marburg ; she had 
 given her life to God, as we have seen, for many years ; 
 but worldly cares and worldly affections had taken up 
 some part of her time, she was for the first time free to 
 devote herself, and all that she had, to the service of 
 her Lord and Master. 
 
 She considered nothing her own, and although 
 Maitre Conrad had forbidden her to make a formal 
 renunciation of her property to the Church, she gave 
 away all that she had ; she never spent one penny of it 
 upon herself, indeed her care now was to seek some 
 means of gaining her own living. She took to spinning 
 wool for the Eeligious, of the Convent of Altenberg. 
 They sent her the wool, and when she had spun it she 
 sent it back to them, and they paid her for her labour. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 155 
 
 Sometimes they were not over-exact in their accounts ; 
 she on the contrary was ever most scrupulous in her 
 money transactions, and one day when she had been 
 paid beforehand for some work, and was unable to 
 finish it because she was obliged to undertake a 
 ourney to Eisenach with Maitre Conrad, she sent 
 back the piece of wool that was left, together with the 
 money, which she felt she had not earned. 
 
 In these days she suffered from extreme weakness 
 and illness ; all the hardships of the past were telling 
 upon her now, whilst her hard ascetic life must have 
 been singularly trying to a constitution which was not 
 naturally a strong one, and which had been impaired 
 by the agony of mind she had endured when her cruel 
 enemies chased her from her husband's home. 
 
 Often she was obliged, although much against her 
 will, to spend the whole day in bed, but even then she 
 insisted upon going on with her work ; and when at 
 last her companions took away her spinning wheel by 
 gentle force, she would not remain idle, but prepared 
 the wool for another occasion. 
 
 Out of her humble earnings she always deducted 
 some offering for the Church ; with the rest she pur- 
 chased the coarse food for her little household, some- 
 times indulging the others in a somewhat more 
 luxurious repast, but never herself deviating from the 
 rule she had laid down as the one she must ever 
 pursue. The good people in the town would sometimes 
 
156 The Life of 
 
 bring her some savoury little dish they had prepared 
 for her with their own hands. She would smile and 
 thank them so warmly that the poor things went 
 away quite happy, believing that for once *' the dear 
 Elizabeth " would have a good meal. But as soon as 
 they had taken their departure, the Duchess ran off to 
 her hospital, and stood over some poor sick creature 
 doing ample justice to the good cheer which had been 
 so carefully prepared to please her royal palate. In 
 fact she would have fasted with rigorous discipline, 
 had not the doctors told her that such a course 
 would be her death ; and so with her usual obedience 
 she yielded to their wishes, only taking care that 
 the food necessary for her, should be of the commonest 
 kind. 
 
 She loved to perform the most menial offices ; not 
 that she might obtain the praise of men, but that she 
 might humble herself before God, and show Him that 
 she was indeed the poorest and meanest of His 
 creatures. And yet whilst she worked as a common 
 servant, her soul was ever engaged in prayer and 
 contemplation, and often whilst she was standing 
 before the fire cooking the simple dinner for herself 
 and her attendants, she would become so al3sorbed in 
 holy things, that she often, all unconsciously, allowed 
 the coals to fall upon her dress and burn great holes 
 in it ; nor was she in the least aware of what had 
 happened, until her companions came in choked by 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 157 
 
 the smell of the burning wool, of which she, rapt 
 in meditation, had been utterly unmindful. 
 
 A.n old writer gives a somewhat quaint description 
 of S. Elizabeth's attire, which from poverty seems 
 to have assumed something of the grotesque. The 
 grey habit was much worn out, and as it does not 
 seem to have entered the Duchess's mind to procure 
 a new one, she tried to remedy the evil by patching 
 it here and there with pieces of different coloured 
 cloths ; she insisted upon doing this herself, and 
 as she was anything but a skilful workwoman, in fact 
 knew nothing at all about the management of her 
 needle, the effect of the many colours filling up the 
 holes which had been produced by rents or burning was 
 somewhat peculiar. Her cloak, which was of the same 
 material as her dress, had shrunk with the frequent 
 exposure to rain, and in order to lengthen it she added 
 on a piece of a totally different colour. She seemed to 
 see nothing peculiar in all this ; her extreme simplicity 
 and total self-forgetfulness had always been her great 
 charm, and continued to be so to the end ; men might 
 laugh and jeer at her if they pleased ; once she had 
 cared for such things ; now they had no power to hurt 
 her. Sometimes, too, she gave away one or other of 
 her coarse garments to some poor, half-clad beggar 
 whom she met in the' streets of Marburg ; and when 
 the winter was at its coldest, she would sit shivering 
 near her little, fire, or get upon her bed and lie between 
 
158 The Life of 
 
 two mattresses, saying, with something of the old 
 child-like joyousness, ''Here I am lying as if in my 
 shroud." 
 
 Amid all this simplicity of living thfe Duchess was 
 as gracious and affable to all as when she ruled within 
 the walls of her husband's castle. No tale of woe was 
 ever carried to her, but that she listened to it with 
 tender sympathy, giving what help she could, always 
 sending those who sought her advice from her presence 
 with a feeling of thankfulness in their hearts that they 
 had been to her ; if it had done nothing more for them, 
 it had shown them the exceeding beauty of a saint-like 
 soul, and for that they thanked God, whilst they called 
 down many blessings upon S. Elizabeth's head. 
 
 To those immediately about her she was always most 
 kind and courteous ; she would allow them to give her 
 no title of worldly honour ; she bade them call her by 
 her simple name of Elizabeth — the name God had 
 given her when He made her His own child in Holy 
 Baptism. She also insisted that they should use the 
 more familiar pronoun thee and thou in addressing her, 
 in preference to the formal you, which was generally 
 accorded to her. She made them sit beside her at 
 meals, herself often taking the lowest place. 
 
 Nothing ever seemed to irritate or put her out ; no 
 hardship or discomfort ever called forth one word of 
 discontent from her lips — to bear was her duty ; to 
 bear cheerfully was to bear for Jesus' sake, to be near 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 159 
 
 Him in privation and suffering. She loved to talk to 
 her companions of the goodness • of God ; she was 
 always bright and joyous, as those must be who always 
 realize His ever-abiding presence, but anything like 
 levity pained her more than all else ; she would rebuke 
 the oflfender very sweetly, but very firmly, saying : 
 " Where is the Lord now ?" 
 
 The care of the sick had always been her especial 
 delight, as we have seen in the days when she lived 
 in the world ; now she devoted herself to them more 
 than ever ; nursing them, feeding them, speaking to 
 them of the health of their souls, whilst she tried 
 with her own sweet gentleness, to soothe and allay 
 their bodily pains. She had built a hospital at 
 Marburg, which she had dedicated to the blessed 
 memory of S. Francis d'Assisi. The blameless and 
 gentle Saint had died in 1226, and had just been 
 canonized by Gregory IX. The Pontiff thought that 
 the royal lady, who sought in all things to follow the 
 bright example of the Saint, was worthy of receiving 
 some more precious gift than that old cloak which he 
 (as Cardinal Ugolino) had persuaded S. Francis to 
 send her. In the solitude of Monte Alverno the Saint 
 of Assisi had retired to hold a solemn fast in honour of 
 S. Michael the Archangel. Thrice the Scriptures had 
 opened before him as he knelt at the part of the Holy 
 Gospel which records the Passion of our Lord ; and 
 then S. Francis saw in a vision, a seraph with six 
 
160 The Life of 
 
 wings ; amidst these wings appeared the likeness of, the 
 Crucified. And as the vision disappeared there came 
 upon the body of S. Francis marks of the Crucifixion 
 like those which he had seen. There were the five 
 wounds of the Eedeemer imprinted on the person of 
 his Saint ; from his side, blood would frequently flow 
 in crimson streams. All this he sought in his humility 
 to hide from his disciples ; but at last it was discovered, 
 and Gregory IX. judged that the most precious present 
 he could send Elizabeth would be some of those drops 
 of blood which had flown from S. Francis' side when 
 he received the Divine Stigmata. He could have sent 
 iiotliing that she would have valued more ; the most 
 costly gift could not have equalled this in her eyes ; for 
 it seemed a new link to him who appeared in his life 
 of poverty most closely to have followed the despised 
 Nazarene. 
 
 The sacred relic was placed with all reverence in the 
 hospital ; and there day after day Elizabeth spent her 
 time amongst her rich and her poor. She had, as we 
 have seen, performed degrading offices in her hospitals 
 at Eisenach, but those that now came into her daily 
 life were more revolting to her nature than any she 
 had yet undertaken ; she dressed the most loathsome 
 wounds, she gazed upon the most painful sights ; and 
 although her tender heart bled with exceeding pity, and 
 ber whole nature sickened at what she had undertaken, 
 she went through it all bravely and unflinchingly ; it 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 161 
 
 was but another way she knew of breaking her own 
 will — of subduing the love of ease and luxury and 
 refinement, which she always said clung to her with 
 such strange pertinacity in spite of all her efforts to 
 the contrary. It was the last method she employed of 
 conquering the flesh, of loving what was most 
 repugnant to her, because each poor diseased body 
 contained a living soul, and for that soul *' Jesus, her 
 Love, was crucified." In each poor suffering creature 
 she saw the Divine Spouse of her heart. Who left 
 to those who would work for Him amongst His poor 
 His own Divine promise: "Inasmuch as ye have 
 done it unto one of the least of My brethren, ye have 
 done it unto Me." 
 
 The world wondered at what they saw, there were 
 even pious souls who said that the Duchess went 
 too far, that such intense self-devotion could not be 
 right. Too far. Ay, yes, surely it was so, if indeed 
 we can go too far, if we can do too much for Him 
 Who died for us. If we can limit what we owe Him, 
 then we can afford to condemn those who have served 
 Him as S. Elizabeth did. 
 
 One day the Duchess met a poor beggar in the 
 streets, as she was wending her way to church ; 
 she turned back at once, and took him to her hut, 
 and washed his hands and feet, and bade him welcome 
 here. But somehow on that particular day she 
 recoiled from her task, and a shudder passed through 
 
 M 
 
162 The Life of 
 
 her as she pursued it. She was angry with herself 
 for the feehng, and scolded herself thus : *' What poor 
 unfortunate, does this disgust you ? know that it is a 
 most wholesome drink;" and as she said the words, 
 she drank some of the water she was using, saying : 
 " My Lord, when Thou wast stretched upon Thy 
 Holy Cross, Thou didst willingly drink vinegar and 
 myrrh, I am not worthy of such a drink, help me to 
 hecome more worthy." 
 
 In past days, too, we have seen her special devotion 
 to lepers : to those pooa* outcasts of society whom the 
 Lord Jesus had healed from all their sins ; now she 
 again tended them with special care, washing and 
 clothing them, and taking them to her own poor home, 
 and honouring them as though they had been of equal 
 rank with herself. "Oh, how happy we are," she 
 would sometimes exclaim, '< thus to be able to clothe 
 and to wash our dear Lord." 
 
 But her zeal had reached such a pitch, her self- 
 abnegation had become so entire, that Maitre Conrad 
 felt his duty to interfere, and to bid her cease from 
 those holy practices which were at once her pleasure 
 and delight. He bade her not touch or kiss these poor 
 leprous creatures, for by so doing she ran the risk of 
 infection. She obeyed him, as she ever did ; but she 
 felt the deprivation so keenly, it was so hard to her 
 to give up that loving impetuosity which was a second 
 nature to her, that she became for a time seriously ill. 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 163 
 
 Although she was forbidden to do as she had done 
 before, although she was obliged to put some restraint 
 upon her works of love, she was allowed to labour as 
 much as she pleased for the salvation of the poor, 
 erring creatures whom God sent to her day by day. 
 All her care was to let them receive the Sacraments of 
 the Church, and hear of pardon and of peace from 
 God's own Priests. Sometimes they would not listen 
 to her ; they had wandered too long in the ways of sin 
 to hope for mercy now ; and they turned a deaf ear to 
 the gentle voice which pleaded with them so lovingly. 
 But with all her meekness Elizabeth was very brave in 
 her Christian zeal ; and she went on in the strength of 
 her right purpose, putting before those hopeless, de- 
 spairing souls the love and Mercy of Jesus ; and at last 
 she triumphed, and weary ones found rest in the Holy 
 Sacraments of God's own appointment. On one 
 occasion as she stood with Maitre Conrad at the door 
 of the hospital a blind man craved admittance; she 
 willingly granted it, and begged him at once to seek 
 help for his soul in the Sacrament of Penance. He 
 laughed her to scorn, telling her " that such things 
 were idle superstitions in which he did not believe." 
 She was very indignant as she listened to his words of 
 blasphemy, and for an instant she spoke sharply, for- 
 getting His blessed Example, *' Who, when He was 
 reviled, reviled not again." Then she remembered 
 the sin of which she had been guilty; even for His 
 
 M 2 
 
164 The Life of 
 
 dear sake she felt she must not be angry ; and so in all 
 humility she knelt at Maitre Conrad's feet, confessed 
 her fault, and asked for pardon. The old chroniclers 
 do not tell us the sequel of the story ; but surely we 
 may hope that the blind man was won over by that 
 sight of submission and humility. 
 
 It was not only in her hospital that she appeared 
 as a ministering angel ; in the streets and lanes of 
 Marburg, wherever sickness or sorrow were to be found, 
 there Elizabeth was ever seen, giving them all the help 
 she could ; if she had no money, distributing amongst 
 them the jewels she had worn in the short bright days 
 of her married life. 
 
 Once a sick person who had eaten nothing for many 
 days fancied some fish — there was none to be found in 
 the town ; it was the depth of winter, and no one went 
 fishing in the Lahn in such inclement weather, par- 
 ticularly as they were almost certain that they should 
 catch nothing. Elizabeth was sadly distressed at not 
 being able to gratify her patient's whim; then suddenly 
 she ran to a neighbouring fountain, and knelt down on 
 the cold ground, and said, *' Oh Lord Jesus Christ, if 
 it be Thy will, give me some fish for Thy poor sick 
 man." She let down the bucket to draw some water, 
 and when she drew it up again a large fish was there, 
 which she took with great joy to her patient. 
 
 But now once again Maitre Conrad remonstrated 
 with her, because she took the poor people whom she 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 165 
 
 met in the street, and whom she considered worthy of 
 receiving her charity, to eat at her own table, sitting 
 down by her side as though they had been her equals in 
 rank. This time, however, she seems to have combated 
 his arguments, and to have been allowed for a time at 
 least to act as she pleased. " Oh, my dear master," 
 she said, " let me have them ; think of my old life 
 spent in the pride and vain-glory of the world, evil 
 must be overcome by the practice of the contrary 
 virtue ; I must now live with the poor and humble, 
 such society bestows numberless graces upon me ; let 
 me enjoy it." 
 
 Again, however, Maitre Conrad felt that he must 
 curtail what it seems he had begun to consider the 
 superabundant zeal and charity of his spiritual 
 daughter. There was a poor leprous boy who was 
 deserted by all his friends, who had lost his father and 
 mother, and who had no one in all the wide world to 
 care for him, or to speak one word of kindness to him 
 amid all his suffering. Elizabeth found him out, took 
 him home with her, dressed his wounds, nursed him 
 tenderly as his own mother would have done, ay 
 perhaps more tenderly, for in those days we read of 
 mothers deserting the children upon whom God had 
 set His mark of suffering. She spent many hours 
 a day beside his couch, soothing his sufferings, speaking 
 to him of that other life where there would be no more 
 pam. And she loved the poor fellow with the love of 
 
166 The Life of 
 
 that large heart of hers, -which took in all who were 
 poor and afflicted for Jesus' sake. Suddenly Maitre 
 Conrad hearing of all this, sent the poor child away, 
 lest S. Elizabeth by her loving care might catch the 
 loathsome disease. 
 
 But even now her boundless charity was not to 
 be restrained. She found another poor boy, suffering 
 from a malady almost as grievous as leprosy, and 
 she took him home with her, and tended him lovingly 
 with a skill which could only be learned in the school 
 of religion and charity, of which Christ Himself was 
 the Master. Fearful as this new patient's malady was, 
 it was not considered infectious, and so Elizabeth 
 was allowed to keep him with her until her death. 
 He was one of the few allowed tc be with her in 
 the last hours of her life. Still poor lepers remained 
 the objects of her most tender compassion, she even 
 envied them their sufferings, because more than 
 anything else, those sufferings detached the poor 
 victims from all worldly things. One day when brother 
 Gerard, the Superior General of the Franciscans 
 in Germany, called to see the Duchess of Thuringia, 
 she said to him with the tears in her eyes : *' Oh, 
 my father, I wish from the bottom of my heart 
 that I might be in all things treated as a common 
 leper; I wish that I could live as they live in a 
 way-side hut, with a heap of straw for my bed, and 
 a linen sheet hung before the door, to warn the passers- 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 167 
 
 by that it is a leper's home ; and a box placed there 
 to receive their alms." When she had thus spoken 
 she fell into a trance, and the brother heard her 
 sing a sweet glad hymn, which told of the love and 
 the praise of Jesus. 
 
 In all ages of the Church we hear of the tender 
 sympathy and loving care which the saints always 
 bestowed upon those creatures whom God had visited 
 with the terrible scourge of leprosy. We cannot 
 wonder at it, for it was in the house of Simon the 
 eper that S. Mary Magdalene washed her Master's 
 feet with her tears ; it was the leper Lazarus, whose 
 soul Jesus tells us of, partaking of the joys of Paradise. 
 And in the guise of one of these poor outcasts the 
 Lord came to His people to plead their charity and to 
 test their faith. In the early Church we hear of S. 
 Martin, the Apostle of Gaul, giving up his time to 
 comfort these afficted beings, and healing them often 
 by God's mercy. In England, in the twelfth century, 
 the holy Bishop of Lincoln, S. Hugh, admitted the 
 lepers to Mass and to the kiss of peace. S. Louis of 
 France ever treated them with marked respect, whilst 
 in mediaeval days S. Catherine of Sienna, S. Francis of 
 Assisi, S. Clare of Assisi, S. Edmund of Canterbury, 
 and many others, thought that the highest service they 
 could render to God was to tend upon and care for 
 those whom all else on earth shunned and avoided. 
 Centuries later, one who in many respects followed ia 
 
168 The Life of 
 
 the footsteps of S. Elizabeth of Hungary, who like her 
 was robbed of an earthly love, and sought her sole 
 comfort in the love of God and in works of charity, 
 S. Jane Frances de Chantal gave up her life specially 
 to try and soothe those human pains which were 
 hardest of all to bear, and which had to be borne all 
 alone. 
 
 And now they wait — that blessed and glorious com- 
 pany, who on earth followed the Footsteps of their 
 Lord, and whose lives were one long act of prayer and 
 of self-sacrifice — yes, they wait for a little while in 
 peace and joy beneath the golden Altar, until the 
 Master's Voice bids them take their place at His Eight 
 Hand in glory everlasting. For the short life of 
 earthly trouble and self-mortification has bought for 
 them the life of never-ending, unceasing joys, and the 
 love that was given up for Jesus' sake on earth is 
 restored to them in full and most abundant measure 
 in the Court of the Saints who dwell in the Heavenly 
 Jerusalem, 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 169 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII.— 1229-1230. 
 
 The King of Hungary hears of the strange life his daughter is 
 leading, and sends an Ambassador to Thuringia — Elizabeth's 
 reception of her father's friend — Her message to the King of 
 Hungary — She bestows her fortune upon the poor — The story 
 of Hildegonde — Elizabeth rejoices with those that rejoice. 
 
 Just as, during her husband's lifetime, tidings had 
 reached the King of Hungary of the strange way in 
 which his royal daughter lived, and he had sent his 
 ambassadors to ascertain the truth of these reports, 
 so now again he heard from the pilgrims who returned 
 to his dominions from Aix la Chapelle and the Ehine, 
 of those seeming eccentricities of which all the people 
 of Germany were talking, which some praised and 
 some blamed, according to the light which God had 
 given them, to enable them to discern His own work 
 amongst them. 
 
 One thing, however, seemed to be quite certain . the 
 royal widow was living in a poor hut in a state of utter 
 poverty ; and when the King heard this he shed tears 
 of bitter grief, and determined to send one of his 
 ambassadors into Hesse, to bring his daughter back to 
 her native land. Probably he thought that she was 
 reduced to this dire strait by some new wiles of her 
 
170 The Life of 
 
 enemies, and determined at once to take her under his 
 all-powerful protection. 
 
 Count Banfi, the Hungarian messenger, was sent in 
 the first instance to Wartburg, to demand of the young 
 Duke Henry some explanation of the strange tales 
 which had reached the ears of his sovereign. 
 
 Henry answered that his sister had gone quite mad ; 
 that every one knew it ; and he begged the Nobleman to 
 go and see her, and to judge for himself of the utter 
 impossibility of reasoning with her. He gave a vivid 
 description of her life of poverty, and told all that he 
 had done for her, adding that riches were of no use to 
 her ; that she cared for them only to bestow them with 
 lavish hand upon every beggar who asked her charity. 
 The Count, wondering at all he heard, proceeded to 
 Marburg. Having arrived there, he asked a publican, 
 at whose bouse he alighted, to tell him something of 
 the strange life led by Elizabeth, the young Duchess 
 of Thuringia. 
 
 Those who saw the daily hfe of this Saint of God, 
 who witnessed her many works of charity, who came 
 in contact with such gentleness and humility as they 
 had never before seen, could not but speak well of her, 
 if they told the truth ; and so this poor man told the 
 Hungarian ambassador of the holy life the King's 
 daughter led in the town of Marburg ; how day by day 
 the people thanked God for having sent her amongst 
 them, for she was more like an angel in their midst 
 
6'. Elizabeth of Hungary, 171 
 
 than a human being; how they felt that it was for 
 their souls' good that she had come there ; and how 
 they all loved the merciful, gentle lady, who was more 
 humble than the poorest beggar in the place. After 
 he had thus spoken in her praise, he conducted the 
 Count to her poor house, opening the door, and saying 
 in loud tones, " Madame, I think your friends have 
 come to take you away ; in any case here is one who 
 wishes to speak to you." 
 
 Elizabeth was sitting at her spinning-wheel when 
 her father's messenger appeared before her. 
 
 He was so struck with the strange sight, his 
 master's daughter clad in that poor coarse garb, 
 and working for her daily bread, that he made the 
 sign of the Cross, and then burst into tears. " Was 
 ever the like of this seen," he exclaimed, ** a king's 
 daughter spinning wool ?" 
 
 Elizabeth welcomed him warmly, and asked him 
 many questions about her father, and her dear old 
 home; and when he had answered them, he told 
 her that he had come to take her back to Hungary, 
 where she would be loved and honoured by all. 
 
 " What do you take me for," she said ; "I am 
 but a poor sinner, who have never obeyed God's law 
 I as ought to have done." 
 
 *' Why do I find you in this miserable condition ?" 
 asked the Count, " who has dared to reduce you to it ?" 
 
 *' No one," was the gentle answer, *' unless it be 
 
172 The Life of 
 
 the infinitely rich Son of my Heavenly Father, Who 
 has taught me to despise riches, and to cherish poverty 
 above all the kingdoms of this earth." 
 
 Then she told him the one object of her life ; 
 she tried to make him understand that solemn vow 
 by which she had bound herself to God for ever. 
 He would not understand her, he could not believe 
 that any one could be so wilfully blind to their 
 own worldly interests; he entreated her, ''to return 
 with him to her own country, to receive her own 
 rightful kingdom." 
 
 She smiled as he spoke thus : "I hope, she replied, 
 that I already possess, the inheritance of My Father, 
 through the Eternal Mercy of our dear Lord Jesus 
 Christ." When the ambassador saw that nothing 
 would induce her to leave the country so dear to her, 
 because it had been her husband's, he entreated her 
 for her father's sake, to give up her present way 
 of living, and to keep up some establishment more 
 worthy of her royal birth and her high dignity. 
 
 She saw that he could not understand her ; that he 
 could not enter into the depths of that spiritual life 
 which came before all else with her ; so she gave him 
 one last message for her father, and then he went 
 away grieved to the heart at the failure of his mission, 
 leaving her at her spinning-wheel to lead that life of 
 poverty which she had voluntarily chosen ; the king- 
 doms of this world were as dross in her eyes, the love 
 
S. Ellzahctli of il angary, 173 
 
 of Christ was her all ; for having seen Him, she had 
 loved Him and believed in Him, and preferred Him 
 before all else. The good old King of Hungary, the 
 descendant of a long line of saints, knew perhaps 
 better than any one else, all that was in his daughter's 
 heart, and treasured up those words which she had 
 bade the Count say to him from her, and looked 
 forward to meeting the child he loved so well in the 
 life of the world to come, for Elizabeth had said : 
 " Tell my father that I am more happy in this life, 
 which men despise, than he can be in all his royal 
 pomp ; and that instead of fretting about me, he ought 
 to rejoice that he has a child given to the service of the 
 King of heaven and earth. I ask but one thing of him 
 in this world, that is to pray for me himself, and to 
 ask others to pray for me, and I will pray for him as 
 long as I live." 
 
 This visit of her father's ambassador to her humble 
 home was the last effort ever made by Elizabeth's 
 friends to draw her back again into that world which 
 she had renounced ; they saw that her resolve was 
 taken, that she had given herself wholly to God, and 
 that nothing would ever make her see things as they 
 wished her to see them. So she went on living at 
 Marburg, leading the life that to her with all its hard- 
 ships was a life of exceeding happiness ; able to 
 minister to the wants of others out of the dowry which 
 her brother-in-law, in spite of his opinion that she had 
 
174 The Life of 
 
 gone mad, most scrupulously paid her. Perhaps he 
 was afraid of the Pope who had constituted himself the 
 young Duchess's protector, and so did not dare go back 
 from his plighted word, or perhaps Conrad of Marburg's 
 all-powerful influence was exerted here, as it was in 
 many other quarters. However it may have been, 
 Elizabeth's dowry was always at the service of her poor 
 neighbours, whilst she worked and spun for her daily 
 bread. The riches that God had given her were indeed 
 laid up as treasure in heaven, to be given back to her 
 as lent unto the Lord after many days. She sold all 
 her jewels, even the vases of gold and silver which she 
 had brought from Hungary as her marriage portion ; 
 then when she received from the Duke the five hundred 
 marks which he had promised her, to defray the 
 expenses of her new household, she determined upon 
 distributing the money amongst all the poor within 
 seventy-five miles of Marburg, and she issued a pro- 
 clamation ordering them all to appear before her on a 
 given day, and that they should then receive what she 
 considered their due. On a great plain near Wherda 
 a strange company assembled in obedience to the 
 Duchess's command. Crowds of beggars were there ; 
 the lame, the blind, the sick, and infirm, young and 
 old, all anxious, eager, and excited, jostling against 
 each other in their haste to reach the place where their 
 benefactress stood. She, however, had given orders 
 that those who pushed before their companions were to 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 175 
 
 be punished, and the punishment was to consist in 
 having their hair closely cropped upon the spot. One 
 young girl, whose name was Hildegonde, left her place ' 
 in the ranks, and hurried away to seek her sick sister. 
 It was instantly thought by the officers whose duty it 
 was to see that the people remained where they had 
 been stationed, that she was one of the culprits, that 
 she had already received her share of the money, and 
 was trying to obtain a double portion by joining one of 
 the other ranks. On this supposition all her beautiful 
 hair, which had been her chief adornment, was cut off, 
 and she was led tearful and ashamed into the presence 
 of Elizabeth. Something in the fair young face 
 attracted the notice of the saint ; she seemed to read 
 there that Hildegonde's hopes and aspirations soared 
 above the things of earth, that in spite of her grief at 
 the loss of her hair, the seeds of a higher and better 
 life were in the girl's heart. She asked her if this was 
 not the case, if she had never thought of living for 
 something more than the things of this world ; and 
 Hildegonde answered with downcast eyes that she 
 would long ago have taken the habit of a Eeligious, but 
 that she could not bear to part with all her beautiful 
 hair. 
 
 When the Duchess heard this she joyfully exclaimed : 
 "I am happier because they have cut off your hair, 
 than I should have been, had my son been elected 
 Emperor of Eome." She took the poor girl home 
 
176 The Ufe of 
 
 with her, and she worked in Elizabeth's hospital, 
 and consecrated herself to God in the service of 
 His sick and poor. 
 
 The whole of that vast multitude assembled on 
 the plain of Wherda received Elizabeth's bounty ; she 
 passing between the ranks and giving them the money 
 with her own hands, whilst a quiet happiness was 
 on her lovely face, upon which sorrow and suffering 
 had left something of its impress ; she was so thank- 
 ful to be able to do something for God's poor, so 
 grateful to Him Who gave her this great pleasure 
 of lightening some of the sorrows and troubles which 
 He sends to the sons of men. *' The king's daughter," 
 as has been rightly said, '' was indeed in the only court 
 which pleased her ; really a Queen on that day by 
 right of her exceeding mercy, whilst her subjects were 
 the poor, and weary, and suffering ones of the earth." 
 And to those upon whom she so graciously bestowed her 
 alms she appeared to be something more than human, 
 even her poor clothes had received some strange new 
 lustre, they were white as snow as she moved amongst 
 that suffering band, whilst upon her face there shone a 
 light as though Angels had touched it with their 
 wings, and left something of their radiance there. 
 
 Night came on ; the bright moon rose in all its 
 splendour, shining upon the faces of those whom 
 Elizabeth had made so happy on that day. Band? 
 of poor creatures, talking gladly of all they should 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 177 
 
 do now that they had a little money, prepared to 
 return to their cabins, some of which were of 
 course at a great distance off; there were others 
 already tired with their long journey, who could 
 not think of returning home that night, and who 
 sought the best shelter they could find in Marburg, 
 many of them finding a night's lodging beneath the 
 hospital walls and the adjacent buildings. Elizabeth 
 looked out and saw the poor things doing the best they 
 could for themselves ; her tender heart was moved with 
 pity for them ; she would willingly have opened her 
 own doors to receive them, but her little hut was 
 hardly large enough for herself and her attendants; 
 so she went out amongst the people and distributed 
 more alms, and with her own hands gave each of 
 them a good supper. Then she caused large fires 
 to be lighted, and round these, motley groups as- 
 sembled, old men and women bowed down with age 
 and infirmity, and quaint little German children with 
 their yellow hair and bright blue eyes, revelling in 
 the unwonted good cheer. In their joy and gratitude 
 they began to shout and sing, and make merry ; and 
 when Elizabeth heard them a deep feeling of joy 
 and gratitude was in her heart, and she went out 
 amongst them once more and took part in their 
 happiness. Her own sorrows had not made her 
 forgetful of the ApostoUc command, "to rejoice with 
 those that rejoice, as well as to weep with those 
 
 N 
 
178 The Life of 
 
 that weep. " To make all around her as bright 
 and cheerful as possible, was one of the duties she 
 imposed upon herself; one of the few earthly joys 
 of that brave, unselfish nature was to cast some 
 gladness into the lives of others. And as those 
 poor people sat in the bright light of the moon that 
 night, and the flickering shadows of the fires fell upon 
 their worn, pinched faces, lit up with the strange new 
 happiness of being thought of and cared for ; perhaps 
 amongst them all, there was no heart so light as 
 her's who had given them all this pleasure, for " it is 
 better to give than to receive," 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 179 
 
 CHArTEE XIX.— 1280. 
 
 Maitre Conrad of Marburg seeks to break Elizabetli's will by for- 
 bidding her to bestow lier liberal alms — The tradition of how 
 she sought to evade his orders — Maitre Conrad's excessive 
 severity — The visit of Kudolph of Varilla to Marburg — Eliza- 
 beth's patience and thankfulness under calumny — Her faithful 
 friends are sent away from her by her Director — Those who 
 replaced them — Elizabeth gives up her children for ever. 
 
 The chequered, troubled life of which we have been 
 writing is now drawing to a close, the trials of 
 earth, the self-imposed discipline, the intense asceticism 
 have fitted the soul for the Master's garden, and from 
 afar " faint fragments of the song " seem to be falling 
 upon the ears of her who so longed to be with Christ. 
 But there was still greater discipline to be endured 
 ere the end came, more entire submission of the 
 will before the work was done, and the rest Elizabeth 
 so j^earned for, was obtained. 
 
 There were many amongst the faithful in those 
 days who judged that the means which were used 
 to break that humble child-like will, were unreasonable 
 and unjustifiable; upon this we need not enter; we are 
 not writing the life of Maitre Conrad of Marburg, 
 so we shall simply state facts as they occurred, without 
 
 N 2 
 
180 The Life of 
 
 either condemning them or justifying them. That 
 Maitre Conrad was a faithful servant of God and 
 a devout son of the Church none can douht, but 
 that his zeal sometimes carried him beyond the 
 limits of discretion must be allowed. On that very 
 occasion when he took the poor leprous boy out 
 of Elizabeth's loving care, he gave her so severe a 
 penance that he afterwards himself asked a penance 
 from the Pope for his rashness. In training S. 
 Elizabeth, he felt he was training a Saint for 
 God, and so if he strove to break her will in every 
 way, to render her entirely obedient in everything, 
 we can but believe that he was acting as he thought 
 best for the glory of God, and we know that the 
 Lord allowed His Saint to bear these new and heavy 
 trials which were imposed upon her by his Priest. 
 In the early ages of the Church we read similar 
 acts of seeming tyranny which all redounded to 
 the praise of God, and to the eternal happiness, of 
 his Saints ; and if what was her greatest eytrthly 
 joy and consolation was taken from Elizabeth by order 
 of her Confessor, although that joy was derived from 
 obeying God's own command, and giving up all that 
 she had to His poor, still the blessing of obedience 
 brought with it its own reward, and again we say : 
 ** to obey is better than sacrifice." God does not 
 bid each of us give up the same thing ; what is 
 a penance to one may be pleasure to another ; all of us 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 181 
 
 must relinquish what costs us something. He asks 
 at our hands that in which we most delight, holy 
 and pure and good though that pleasure may be. And 
 so we shall see how through his Priest He bade 
 Elizabeth resign the one joy of her life. There seemed 
 nothing else of which he could deprive her, her 
 husband was dead, her children were far away, 
 banished from her by her own free will ; she had 
 renounced all the pomps and vanities of the world, 
 there was not a single comfort or luxury of which 
 she could be robbed, but there was the (to her intense) 
 luxury of giving away ; of keeping nothing for herself 
 but of bestowing all she could upon others; and 
 now this was to be taken from her, her alms -giving 
 was to cease. Maitre Conrad forbade her not to 
 bestow more than one single farthing upon the 
 poor, only a denier, the ancient and lowest copper 
 coinage of the country, was to be given to the poor 
 beggars, who so humbly craved the charity which 
 had never yet been denied them. 
 
 There is a tradition of those times, however, (which 
 seems to receive some confirmation, from the fact 
 that some small silver coins called Elizabethan Pfennige 
 are still to be found in many Museums,) which narrates 
 that Elizabeth tried to disobey what seemed to her 
 so impossible a command, by causing some deniers 
 to be struck, not in copper but in silver, and so 
 satisfying her conscience by giving a coin which was 
 
182 The Life of 
 
 really worth a schelUng of the coinage of the realm. 
 And when the poor people who were accustomed 
 to her generous gifts received so little and appeared 
 astounded and dissatisfied by her seeming parsimony, 
 she said : "I am forbidden to give you more than 
 a denier at a time, but I am not restricted to giving 
 it you only once." They were not slow to take 
 advantage of the permission ; so they would go 
 away for a little time and then come back again, 
 numberless times during the day. Maitre Conrad 
 heard of the innocent ruse employed by Elizabeth 
 in order to obey him, and yet to help her poor people,- 
 and instead of being touched at the boundless godlike 
 charity which would not be repelled, he was very angry, 
 and is even said to l^ave struck the Duchess several 
 hard blows as a punishment for what he chose 
 to term her disobedience. 
 
 She bore it patiently, she almost rejoiced at it, 
 for she thought of One Who had never sinned and yet 
 Who meekly stood and was scourged and buffeted 
 by his enemies ; and must not she who sinned every 
 day of her life, take this little chastisement from him 
 who, hard although he appeared to be, laboured 
 only for the good of her soul ? 
 
 Still Maitre Conrad determined to achieve what he 
 had begun ; and he now strictly forbade his spiritual 
 daughter to give away any money under any form or 
 pretext whatever, allowing her still, however, to dis- 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 183 
 
 tribute bread to the people as she had been wont to 
 do. After a time he took this last pleasure from her, 
 telling her that she must not give alms of any kind ; 
 she was only to show her love to God by nursing the 
 sick and infirm ; lepers — those for whom she felt such 
 especial tenderness — were not to be tended by her 
 she must give them up into the care of others. Once, 
 and once only, she saw some poor, suffering creature 
 who sorely needed her help, and unmindful of Maitre 
 Conrad's prohibition, she did what was needful for the 
 leper ; her punishment was a severe beating, which she 
 bore with her usual gentleness. 
 
 Her grief was very bitter when little by little all 
 that she had delighted in doing for God's poor was 
 taken from her ; we can imagine what it was to her to 
 meet those who had lived upon her bounty, and whom 
 she was now forbidden to help : truly it was the 
 greatest act of self-abnegation, the most entire subjec- 
 tion of her own will that could have been imposed 
 upon her ; how hard, how difficult to endure, we leave 
 those to imagine whose greatest pleasure is to 
 give to others. And yet no impatient word ever 
 escaped her lips ; the only thing that made her angry 
 was when any one in her presence laid any blame upon 
 Maitre Conrad for his treatment of her, for she had 
 begun to see that although she had seemingly given up 
 all she had to God, she had kept one thing back, and 
 that was her will ; now that must be offered Him, bent, 
 
184 The Life of 
 
 broken, worthless, except that He might order it as He 
 would. It was the final triumph of her life of self- 
 abnegation ; it was the victory which must be learned 
 by all those who would be taught by Christ. It was 
 the end and rule of those three and thirty years of that 
 most perfect Life, beginning with the first cry of the 
 Holy Child in the Manger at Bethlehem, ending with 
 the cry when all was indeed "finished" on the dark 
 Mount of Calvary. 
 
 In all things small as well as great the Duchess of 
 Thuringia sought to obey the somewhat despotic com- 
 mands of her director. She owned she was afraid of 
 him, but only as God's minister acting thus towards 
 her. " If I thus fear a mortal man," she said to her 
 attendants, " how should I not tremble before God, 
 Who is the Lord and Judge of all men." She had 
 given her own will into the hands of Conrad, because 
 he had abjured all thought of earthly greatness and 
 advancement, and like herself had chosen the life of 
 poverty. 
 
 Her gentle obedience to all his commands did not, 
 however, seem to win the stern Priest to greater 
 indulgence towards her ; on the contrary, day after day 
 he demanded fresh sacrifices from her ; he even occa- 
 sionally placed her into temptation solely that he 
 might chastise her. On one occasion he sent for her 
 to come to him at the Convent of Altenberg, where 
 her little daughter Gertrude lived. The nuns, hearing 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 1S5 
 
 of her arrival, asked Maitre Conrad to allow her to 
 enter the cloister, so that they might see her of whom 
 they had heard such wonderful things. Now the rule 
 of the Convent was that no one was to he allowed to 
 intrude upon the privacy of the nuns under the pain of 
 severe punishment. He had told Elizaheth this ; but 
 when she heard him in answer to the nuns' solicitations 
 say, " Let her go in if she will," she took it as a per- 
 mission to enter. Conrad soon made her come away, 
 and then he showed her the hook in which was written 
 the oath by which she had promised to obey him in all 
 things, and he ordered a monk to beat her and her 
 attendant Irmengarde with a large stick which stood 
 near ; and whilst his stern order was obeyed he chanted 
 the Miserere, She bore this as she had borne all else \ 
 and afterwards in talking it over with Irmengarde, 
 whom she had so unwittingly drawn into the same 
 mistake as herself, she said : ** We must patiently 
 endure such chastisements, for we are as reeds which 
 grow on the river's bank ; when the river rises the reeds 
 bend, and the waters flow over them without breaking 
 them ; afterwards they right themselves, and rise in all 
 their strength and rejoice in new life. We also must 
 sometimes be bent to earth and humiliated, and after- 
 wards we rise with joy and confidence." 
 
 Again, one day Conrad was preaching a sermon on 
 the Passion of our Blessed Lord, which he was par- 
 ticularly anxious that Elizabeth should hear, but she 
 
186 The Life of 
 
 was occupied with the care of some sick people, and 
 did not appear. When the sermon was over he sent 
 for her, and asked the reason of her absence, and 
 before she could answer he gave her a violent blow, 
 saying, '* That is to teach you to come next time when 
 I expect you." Once more, with a sweet smile upon 
 her face, Elizabeth sought to excuse herself for her 
 seeming disobedience ; but again Maitre Conrad struck 
 her, and this time so severely that the blood began to 
 flow. Then the gentle Princess raised her eyes to 
 heaven, and said, '' Lord, I thank Thee that thou hast 
 chosen me for this." Her women gathered round her 
 in terror, and when they saw that her clothes were 
 stained with blood, they asked her how she could have 
 submitted to such harsh treatment. A.gain she smiled 
 and answered, *' So that I may bear it with patience, 
 the good God has allowed me to see Christ among His 
 angels, for Maitre Conrad's blows sent me up to the 
 third heaven." When these words were repeated to 
 the Confessor he exclaimed, "I shall always repent 
 that I did not send her up to the ninth heaven." 
 
 It seemed now as if Elizabeth's cup of bitterness 
 was full, as if no fresh trial from without could come 
 into the sad young life of three- and-twenty years ; and 
 yet one more was in store for her, one harder, more 
 startling and bitter than any she had yet endured. 
 There were those in the world still who would talk evil 
 of her; they had called her a fool and mad, now 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 187 
 
 not knowing what to say they laid a still more grievous 
 charge at her door, and accused her of a great sin. 
 The story of Maitre Conrad's chastisements had gone 
 forth exaggerated and embellished, for people in the 
 thirteenth century discussed their neighbours, and 
 threw stones at them, just as people in this nineteenth 
 century do, and they said that there was too much 
 familiarity between Elizabeth and her director, that 
 the intimacy between them was not what it ought to 
 be. The base, groundless rumour reached the Court of 
 Thuringia, and Eudolph of Yarilla, the Duchess's tried 
 and faithful friend, went to Marburg, and gently and 
 respectfully as he could told her what he had heard. 
 She did not answer him ; perhaps even now she dared 
 not trust herself to speak, lest the foul calumny should 
 betray her into saying some word of which she might 
 afterwards have repented. She raised her eyes meekly 
 to heaven, and fell upon her knees, and said, " Lord 
 Jesus Christ, I bless Thee and thank Thee that Thou 
 hast deigned to receive this poor offering at my hands ; 
 for the sake of Thy love, and to be as a servant in Thine 
 eyes, I have given up my noble birth, my rich posses- 
 sions ; I have tarnished my beauty and my youth ; I have 
 renounced my father, my country, my children, all the 
 consolations of Ufe ; I have made myself a beggar ; I 
 kept back but one thing, my honour and my reputation. 
 But Thou askest this of me also, I give it Thee with all 
 my heart, as Thou deignest to accept as an especial 
 
188 The Life of 
 
 sacrifice my good name, and makest me pleasing in 
 Thy sight by ignominy. I consent to live as a dis- 
 honoured woman, but oh, my Saviour, preserve my 
 little innocent children from any shame that may fall 
 upon them on my account." 
 
 Then she showed her old friend, so as to assure him 
 of her innocence, the marks upon her shoulders, caused 
 by Maitre Conrad's hard blows, and she told him that 
 such was the love by which the Priest was animated, 
 or rather by which he sought to make her love God. 
 Kudolph of Varilla saw and wondered, and was con- 
 vinced of Elizabeth's innocence, and went home to 
 Thuringia to tell of the saintly life of obedience which 
 Louis' widow led in her poor home. Amid all the 
 sorrows that had come 'into Elizabeth's existence there 
 had been one bright, ever-present ray of human 
 comfort. Her two faithful maids of honour, Ysentrude 
 and Guta, who had known her as a happy child, as a 
 somewhat sorrowful maiden, and then as a loved and 
 honoured wife, had been one with her in all things, 
 since that cold winter's day when the inhospitable 
 gates of the Castle of Wartburg were closed against 
 the young widow and her little helpless children. 
 Their loving care had been her only solace in all the 
 sad weary time that followed ; they had stood with her 
 by the side of her husband's coffin, and every work of 
 charity, every deed of love had been shared by them 
 and cheered by their gentle sympathy. Their life, like 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 189 
 
 hers, was given up to religion ; she felt that in loving 
 them she was not loving the world, and the thought of 
 separation from them never once entered her head ; their 
 affection had lightened her many burdens, cheered her 
 many sorrows, helped her through many a difficulty. 
 There were other faithful attendants who had followed 
 her into her life of voluntary poverty, who one by one 
 had been dismissed by Conrad, and whom she had seen 
 depart with keen regret ; but these two were left 
 her ; Ysentrude and Guta must surely be with her to 
 the end, which something now told her was not very 
 far off. But Conrad feared that their society might 
 cause her to look back upon her past life, sometimes to 
 talk of its splendours and then to regret them. It 
 was hardly likely that this would be the case, but 
 the implacable director argued otherwise. He sent 
 away Ysentrude first, the one whom Elizabeth loved 
 most dearly, from whom she had never hidden one 
 single secret either of joy or sorrow. Ysentrude 
 herself thus writes of that bitter parting : ** I was sent 
 away, I Ysentrude, whom she loved better than all 
 the others, and she parted from me with heart- 
 broken agony and with countless tears." Then 
 it was Guta's turn to go ; Guta, who had never left 
 her royal mistress since she was five years old, 
 was now wrenched from those loving arms and carried 
 away, leaving Elizabeth alone to sorrow for her 
 loved companions until the day of her death. Her 
 
190 The Life of 
 
 solitude was of short duration; all she craved 
 was to be left with God, she wanted no human care, 
 no human sympathy. But this Conrad would not 
 allow, he replaced her two faithful friends by two 
 other attendants very different to those he had 
 taken from her. One was a peasant girl, also named 
 Elizabeth, coarse, rude, and so horribly ugly that 
 she frightened all the children who came in her way. 
 The other was an old widow, deaf and soured, who 
 spent all her days and nights getting into violent 
 passions. 
 
 For the dear love of Christ, Elizabeth bore with 
 these two, asking God to help her, and to make her 
 humble with the coarse, rude peasant girl, and patient 
 and gentle with the old passionate widow. It was a 
 hard task, for both women seemed in league to humi- 
 liate her in every possible way ; they left her all the 
 coarse work of the house to do ; they ordered her to 
 cook the dinner, and upbraided her when it was not 
 done to their taste ; they delighted in acting as spies 
 upon her, and telling Maitre Conrad whenever they 
 had found her, moved by some irrepressible feeling of 
 compassion, bestowing her own poor meal upon others. 
 Nothing, however, seemed able to vex the saintly lady 
 who was so hardly used by him to whom she felt 
 bound by a solemn and irreparable vow of obedience. 
 She would never willingly transgress his slightest 
 command; and when sometimes her dear old friends 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 191 
 
 came to visit her, she would oifer them no food because 
 she could not do so — could bestow nothing on another 
 without her director's express permission. 
 
 It seems as though up to this period Elizabeth had 
 sometimes allowed herself the pleasure of having one 
 of her little ones with her for a time ; and those were 
 sunny days in her life when her children sat upon her 
 knee, and she talked to them of God and of Jesus, and 
 of their brave father who had died in that far-off land 
 on his way to fight for Christ. Now, however, her 
 darlings were to be banished from her for ever. 
 Perhaps she felt that the sight of them drew her heart 
 from God ; that she must not run the risk of letting 
 those so infinitely dear come between her, and the Holy 
 Bridegroom of her heart; perhaps Maitre Conrad 
 ordered her to forego what might be a temptation to 
 her ardent, loving, clinging nature ; be it as it may, 
 now, when Ysentrude and Guta had been taken from 
 her, her children also were sent away for ever. ♦ 
 
192 The Life of 
 
 CHAPTEE XX.— 1231. 
 
 Mediaeval miracles — The deaf and dumb boy is cured — Tbe blind 
 man receives his sight — The doubts that came into Elizabeth's 
 miud — Her life of prayer and meditation — S. Elizabeth's 
 Well — Her devotion to the Saints — Her ideas on the subject 
 of Church ornaments — The treachery of the beggar she had 
 sheltered — The visit of the Angel — Perfect peace comes into 
 the troubled life. 
 
 There are many who will receive the story of Eliza- 
 beth's patient sufferings with something of incredulity, 
 who will turn away perhaps with something of unbelief 
 from the record of those miracles, which in the last 
 year of her life it was granted her to perform, and 
 which we shall notice very briefly. But before we tell 
 theiale of those wonders which God allowed His Saint 
 to set forth before the world, ere He took her to Him- 
 self, we will quote the words of one whose name is 
 held in highest honour amongst us, (Dr. John Mason 
 Neale), and see what he says of the faithlessness which 
 rejects the miracles wrought by the servants of God in 
 these ages of the Church, which men falsely called 
 ''the dark ages." ''To disbelieve Mediaeval Miracles 
 is to reject Mediaeval history ; for whether we excuse 
 our incredulity by asserting that the biographers of 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 193 
 
 saints fabricated their actions, or were so grossly 
 credulous as to attribute not once only, but thousands 
 and thousands of times, supernatural agency to every- 
 day occurrences ; whether in short we impugn their 
 veracity or deny their common sense, we equally affect 
 their credit as historians. It may be, indeed, very 
 possible that in several instances phenomena, explicable 
 to us by our superior knowledge of second causes, may 
 be attributed by them to the direct interference of the 
 First ; but in myriads of cases a miracle cannot be 
 denied but by the supposition of an intentional false- 
 hood. And whether then is it more likely that the 
 laws of Nature should have been, in confirmation of 
 our Saviour's promise, suspended at the prayer of 
 faith, or that men famous in the Church should have 
 lied to the Holy Ghost, Whose assistance they often 
 
 begin by invoking ? Now as a matter of fact 
 
 mediaeval miracles are generally and most unhappily 
 disbelieved amongst us. To dwell upon them would 
 depreciate instead of adding to the reputation of the 
 saint of whom they were related ; we must argue not 
 from Mediaeval Miracles to Mediaeval Holiness, but 
 from Mediaeval Holiness to Mediaeval Miracles. A 
 miserable thing that we should have to argue the 
 subject at all ! A heartless consideration that works 
 written in the spirit, in which we endeavour to write, 
 must so soon become valueless, as saying either too 
 much or too little ! Till better days come we would 
 
 
 
194 The Life of 
 
 earnestly pray that the eyes of both those for whom we 
 write, and of all others, may be opened to see the 
 majesty and the loveliness of the Mediaeval Church ; so 
 to see it as to endeavour, each for himself as far as may 
 be, to restore it." 
 
 But a very few, then, of the miracles which it was 
 granted to S. Elizabeth to perform shall be written 
 here in all faith, to be received as God shall point 
 out, to those who read this simple chronicle of a holy 
 life. 
 
 One day as the Duchess of Thuringia, in her simple 
 coarse dress, was passing through /the streets of Mar- 
 burg, on her way to the hospital, she saw a poor boy 
 stretched before a door-way, his limbs so fearfully 
 contorted that he was only able to walk on his hands 
 and knees ; the poor child was, in addition to his other 
 infirmities, deaf and dumb, and his mother had left 
 him there helpless and alone, in the fond hope that 
 Elizabeth would pass by and would have pity on him. 
 She was not mistaken ; the kindness and charity that 
 never failed were brought into action now ; the Duchess 
 bent tenderly over the poor afflicted boy, and asked 
 him where his parents were, and how he came to be 
 there? There was no answer, and Elizabeth looked 
 into the pale, sad face, and saw the story of the child's 
 great affliction written there. ** In the Name of Jesus 
 Christ," she said, " I command you to tell me from 
 whence you come, and who brought you here." 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 195 
 
 The boy answered simply : " My mother brought 
 me here," and then he told her how all through his 
 life he had never spoken, never walked ; now one 
 by one his limbs were straightened and he thanked 
 God for the cure which he had wrought by the prayers 
 of S. Elizabeth ; she in her humility mingled her 
 thanksgivings with those of the happy child, and 
 bade him go home and tell his parents what God had 
 done for him, but she forbade him to mention her name, 
 only she told him ever to remember her in his prayers, 
 as she would ever remember him. But when the boy 
 reached his poor home and his parents heard him 
 speak and saw him walk as others did, they asked 
 him who had done such great things for him; and 
 he answered "A sweet lady in a grey dress ordered 
 me to speak in the name of Jesus Christ, and instantly 
 my mouth was opened." The mother knew who it 
 was that had done this for her son, and perceived 
 Elizabeth taking flight in the distance. In her great 
 joy and thankfulness she spread abroad the wonderful 
 miracle, and there were others in that poor cottage 
 who every day of their lives prayed for the " good lady 
 in the grey dress." 
 
 Another day she was alone in the little chapel of 
 the hospital which she had built. It was mid-day, 
 and every one had gone home to dinner, only a 
 poor blind man groped about helplessly, and the 
 Duchess seeing he was seeking some one, went up 
 
 o 2 
 
196 The Life of 
 
 and asked him what he wanted there. He told 
 her that he was seeking the dear lady who was 
 so good to all the poor, intending to ask an alms 
 of her, but he had first come to say a prayer in the 
 church. He recounted to her all the sad story of 
 his life, how he had never seen God's own bright sun, 
 how he had never been able to work for himself but had 
 always been poor and wretched and miserable. She 
 tried to comfort him by telling him that his sad 
 affliction had saved him from many a sin into which 
 he might have been drawn had he had the gift of sight, 
 she made him see that God had sent him this trial 
 for his own good ; but he answered that he would have 
 kept out of sin, that he would have worked hard 
 and honestly for his own living ; and she, moved with 
 compassion, said: "Pray God to restore you your 
 sight, and I will pray with you." As she said these 
 words the blind man guessed who it was that was 
 speaking to him, and he fell down at Elizabeth's 
 feet and begged her to have pity on him ; but again 
 she only bade him pray fervently, and she knelt and 
 added her supplications to his, and even as she 
 knelt God granted to the blind man the precious 
 gift of sight. He thanked her for her great goodness, 
 but she disclaimed all merit, she told him to show 
 his gratitude by avoiding sin, by working as an 
 honest man, and being humble and loyal in all he 
 undertook. 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 197 
 
 Countless more miracles might be recorded, but 
 these are enough to show how God showed to 
 the world before He took her away from it for ever, 
 the exceeding saintliness of her who like her Divine 
 Master had been despised and rejected of men. It was 
 not only to the bodies of the servants of God that 
 she showed all her love ; it was not only human ills 
 she prayed might be conquered. There were those 
 whose minds were darkened to all the truths of the 
 Christian faith, whose friends sought her pious 
 intercessions, and light dawned upon the souls that 
 never before had known the love of Jesus. 
 
 But even now, when God allowed the faith of His 
 servant to triumph so signally, her old humility never 
 deserted her, indeed sometimes she was the victim of 
 doubt and self-reproach ; she did not seem to love Him 
 enough Who did so much for her. Amid all the 
 brightness of her spiritual life there were hours of 
 darkness to be endured, at which she shrank and 
 trembled. Such temptations and doubts come to all 
 the servants of God Who seek to serve Him as they 
 ought, for there were three hours' darkness ere the 
 Lord's own Voice spoke and told that the work of 
 Bedemption was done. 
 
 Elizabeth united in a wonderful manner the active 
 and the contemplative life ; all day like Martha 
 she served her Lord in labours of charity, and when 
 night came, unmindful of fatigue, she would kneel 
 
198 The Life of 
 
 at His Feet for hours, praying for His Grace and 
 Mercy, and meditating upon His Life and Death 
 of love. Sometimes she would leave the Church, 
 where crowds flocked to see the Saint whose fame had 
 pread abroad in the world, and in some lonely fields, 
 and beneath the canopy of heaven, she would kneel 
 and pray to the Creator of the world. An old tradition 
 relates that one day, as she was thus praying, the rain 
 poured down in torrents, soaking all around ; she alone 
 escaped being wet. There is a little fountain, which 
 is called to this day " S. Elizabeth's Well," which is 
 situated in the midst of a lonely wood, at the foot of 
 a steep mountain about six miles from the town 
 of Marburg ; and there more than six hundred years 
 ago the Duchess of Thuringia retired day after day, 
 and wept, and fasted, and prayed. A steep and 
 dangerous path led to this favourite resort of her's, 
 and a tiny chapel was built by her orders near the 
 well, where she could worship God without fear of 
 interruption. Every Sacrament and Kite of the 
 Church was treasured by her beyond all else ; she loved 
 to dwell upon the lives of the Saints, and to seek to 
 imitate their bright example. Next to her own patron 
 Saint, S. John the Evangelist, all her devotion was 
 given to S. Mary Magdalene; those two held the 
 dearest place in her heart, second only to the Most 
 Holy Trinity and to the Ever Virgin Mother of God. 
 She prized ornaments as accessories to devotion, but 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 199 
 
 none knew better than herself how to render them no 
 higher place than that which faith and love assigns to 
 them. On one occasion she visited a monastery, and 
 the monks assembled around her, and pointed out to 
 her the excessive beauty of the sculptures which 
 adorned their church ; she turned to them very gently, 
 and said in her own sweet way : " Truly the money 
 you have spent on this would have been better 
 employed in clothing and feeding you, for you ought to 
 have all this sculpture engraved upon your hearts." 
 She rigidly practised the severity in these matters 
 which she preached to others ; once she was entreated 
 to buy a statue of marvellous beauty, and she answered, 
 *' I do not need the image : I carry it already in my 
 heart." And the image of God was indeed impressed 
 upon the soul of His chosen Saint. Time passed on, 
 the goal was nearly reached, and her life shone out 
 with still more beauty — even the cloudless serene 
 beauty of a summer's day, which seems more glorious 
 and perfect ere it sinks to its rest. One morning a 
 poor woman to whom to whom she had given a night's 
 shelter suddenly disappeared, carrying with her all her 
 benefactress' coarse garments. Elizabeth, having 
 literally nothing to wear, was obliged to remain in bed. 
 *' My God, I thank Thee," she exclaimed, *' that Thou 
 hast made me like unto Thyself; for Thou camest 
 naked into the world, and Thou hangedst naked upon 
 the Cross." Even as she spoke an Angel appeared to 
 
200 The Life of 
 
 her, as he had done in bygone days when she gave 
 her mantle to the poor beggar on the mountain of 
 Wartburg, and he said to her : " I do not bring you a 
 Crown now, as I did before, for God Himself will soon 
 crown you with His Glory." 
 
 And so in sweet communing with God, and with His 
 holy Angels, the last days of that life of four and 
 twenty years passed quickly away; following in the 
 blessed track of "the Disciple of Love," it seemed as 
 though some faint, far away Vision of the bright glory 
 of the Heavenly City was granted to her " who loved so 
 much." 
 
 No sorrow had power to touch her now ; no sign of 
 trouble was ever to be seen on her face. That sacred 
 gift of tears which God had bestowed upon her, and 
 which we have already noticed in her early life, was 
 her's still ; she cried very much in those last days of 
 her pilgrimage, wept perhaps for the wickedness which 
 she saw around her. But these copious tears left no 
 mark or disfigurement upon her fair face ; did not 
 disturb the calm serenity of her lustrous eyes. Those 
 tears told what she could not find words to say ; in the 
 joy that came with the thought of death, she could find 
 no other means of thanking God for all the mercies 
 that had followed her through her life. 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 201 
 
 CHAPTER XXI.— 1231. 
 
 Elizabeth's vision — Her great joy — Her preparations for lier 
 happy journey — The last days and hours of the saintly life — 
 Her last wishes — The last Sacraments — The death of infinite 
 peace — The Office of the Dead — The flight of the birds — The 
 sorrow shown by all — The burial — The Canonisation of S. 
 Elizabeth — The translation of her remains — The scene in the 
 church at Marburg. 
 
 It was the year 1231. Already S. Anthony of Padua 
 the loved disciple of S. Francis d'Assisi had been 
 called to his rest and to his sure reward, and now 
 another saint was to swell the army of Paradise 
 and to bloom in the garden of the Lord. S. Elizabeth's 
 course was wellnigh run, light, sure light was coming 
 at eventide after the short and troubled days. She 
 who had despised the kingdoms of this earth, was 
 to dwell with the Angels now. Yes she was to rest 
 from her labours, but in all ages of the Church her 
 works would follow her. 
 
 One night as she lay half asleep, half praying, for 
 even in her sleep she seemed to pray, — a bright light 
 shone around her and a sweet voice, which was the 
 Voice of the Lord, said : " Come Elizabeth my bride, 
 my friend, my beloved, come with Me to the house 
 
202 The Life of 
 
 I have prepared for you from all eternity ; I will take 
 you there." When she awoke she knew that her 
 summons to the Home for which she so pined had 
 come at last ; she made all the necessary arrangements 
 for her happy journey, she gave all directions re- 
 lative to her burial; she went to see her sick and 
 her poor for the last time. Maitre Conrad was just 
 then very seriously ill, and he sent for his beloved 
 daughter to visit him in what he believed to be his last 
 hours. True to her mission of consolation she hurried 
 to him and was received by him with all love and 
 honour and respect ; but he was very anxious to 
 know what she would do when he should have left 
 her, to what spiritual director she would go, who 
 she would trust to guide and advise her as he had 
 done. She could not but smile in her exceeding 
 joy and happiness as she answered : " Your question 
 is a useless one ; I shall die before you, I shall 
 never need another director." 
 
 Four days more passed away, and she watched and 
 prayed, and waited for the promised deliverance ; then 
 a strange lassitude came over her, her head and limbs 
 ached, and her skin burned like a coal of fire ; she could 
 not rise from her bed, she knew that she should never 
 again get up ; but that that illness would be the last 
 bodily pain she should ever feel. For a fortnight the 
 fever lasted, but Elizabeth was always bright and 
 joyous, always praying that she might bear her suffer- 
 
b, Elizabeth of Hungary, 203 
 
 ings patiently, even to the end. One day when she 
 seemed to be sleeping, her face turned towards the 
 wall, her attendant heard a sweet melody, which 
 seemed to fill the room ; and then the Duchess turned 
 round and said, " Where art thou, my beloved ?" 
 ** Here I am," replied the girl ; '' but oh, Madame, 
 how beautifully you were singing just now." " What !" 
 said Elizabeth ; " then you too heard something ; I 
 will tell you what it was. A beautiful little bird came 
 and perched between me and the wainscot, and he sang 
 to me so long and so sweetly, that my whole heart and 
 soul rejoiced, and I felt obliged to sing also." 
 
 *' Doubtless," remarks an ancient writer, ** the 
 Saint's Guardian Angel took the form of a little bird, 
 and sang to her of those eternal joys to which she was 
 hastening." 
 
 She felt that the end was very near now;, and in 
 w^[er to prepare for it, she bade farewell to all her 
 %c^aintances and friends, blessing them, and telling 
 mein that the short remainder of her time must be 
 given to God; that no earthly thought must distract 
 her from the contemplation of the Day of Judgment 
 and the great Judge of the world. So they all went 
 away from her sobbing bitterly, and left her with her 
 attendants, her Confessor, and the little boy who had 
 taken the leper's place in her love and care. With 
 many tears and prayers she besought the Mercy of 
 God; and on the Eve of the Octave of S. Martin 
 
204 The Life of 
 
 (November 13th, 1231,) after Matins, she made her last 
 confession to Maitre Conrad, who had sufficiently 
 recovered his strength to be at her bedside, and who 
 listened now with tearful eyes, as she laid bare her 
 whole soul before him, and asked for absolution for 
 her many sins. But every fault had long ago been 
 bitterly mourned for, and washed away by the most 
 sincere contrition. Her confession ended, and the 
 grace of pardon through the Precious Blood granted 
 to the dying Saint ; Conrad asked her wishes as to the 
 bestowing of her worldly goods. '* I am astonished " 
 she answered "that you should ask me such a 
 question, for you know that since I took the vow 
 of obedience I renounced all that belonged to me, 
 at the same time that I gave up my will, my children, 
 all my mortal pleasures ; I have kept nothing but what 
 was absolutely necessary in order to pay my debts and 
 to give alms, with your permission I had long ago 
 given up all, and lived in a little cell, receiving my 
 daily bread with the poorest and most despised of 
 earth. For a long time all that I have seemed to 
 possess has really belonged to the poor, give them 
 all I leave, only keep this old habit and let me be 
 buried in it. I make no will ; I have no other 
 heir than Jesus Christ." But one of her companions 
 asking her to bequeath to her some especial legacy, she 
 gave her the precious cloak which S. Francis d'Assisi 
 had sent her all those years ago. "Do not mind 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 205 
 
 its being all torn and mended and miserable ; it is 
 the most precious of my earthly possessions. I declare 
 to you that every time I have wanted some special 
 grace from God, I have gone and prayed to Him 
 covered with this mantle and He has answered my 
 desires." She asked to be buried in the chapel of 
 her own Hospital, but she said nothing more then 
 about her funeral; she was thinking too much of 
 her entrance into Paradise. 
 
 Mass was said by Maitre Conrad, and as the hour 
 of Prime drew near, the last Sacraments were brought 
 her : that Precious Food for which she longed, which 
 alone would strengthen her soul for its passage 
 through the dark valley of the shadow of death. 
 When she had received Extreme Unction, then 
 communicated (for in that age of the Church Extreme 
 Unction always preceeded the Sacred Viaticum), she 
 lay quite still and calm for the remainder of the day ; 
 meditating upon that Blessed Sacrament, which to her 
 was a pledge and a foretaste of the joys of the Land 
 of Eest. Generally she had been somewhat reserved 
 on the subject of religion ; it was seen in her daily life 
 more than by the words she spoke : her excessive 
 humility often kept her silent when others discoursed 
 of the things pertaining to the Kingdom of God. 
 Now on that last day of her mortal race her tongue 
 was suddenly loosed, she seemed to remember 
 all the sermons she had ever heard, all the good 
 
206 The Life of 
 
 books she had ever read, and she spoke of thera in 
 burning, eloquent words to her attendants as she lay 
 there with the shadow of death upon her face. She 
 repeated all the Holy Gospel that tells of the raising 
 of Lazarus from the dead, and dwelt with especial 
 delight upon that gracious condescension of Jesus in 
 visiting Mary and Martha, and consoling their bitter 
 grief, mingling His Divine Tears with their human 
 sorrow. Then she spoke of those Sacred Tears of 
 Jesus, and her words were so wonderful and beautiful, 
 that those about her wept as they listened to her, and 
 though that soon indeed they should hear her and see 
 her no more. She saw their grief, and spoke the 
 words of her Lord 'as He walked to His Death up the 
 steep ascent of Calvary: *' Daughters of Jerusalem, 
 weep not for Me, but weep for yourselves." Even in 
 that last hour she thought more of others than of 
 herself, seeking to console those who sorrowed so 
 bitterly because she was going to leave them. Then a 
 sweet and delicious harmony filled the humble httle 
 room, and when her attendants wondered from whence 
 it came, she said: *' Did you not hear those who sang 
 with me? The music was so beautiful, that I was 
 obliged to join in it as best I could." The echoes of 
 the angelic song, that for so long had sounded in her 
 ears, were truly very near now; already the bright 
 celestial beings were carolling their glad welcome to 
 the dying Saint. The whole of the evening of that 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary, 207 
 
 never-to-be-forgotten day Elizabeth remained in that 
 happy, joyous state which we have described ; and 
 when midnight came she turned to her friends, and 
 said : *' What should we do if our enemy the devil 
 appeared to us now ? " An instant afterwards her voice 
 sounded strong and clear through the little room: 
 " Away, away, wicked one ! I have denied thee." It 
 was the last of earth's temptations overcome by the 
 victory of faith. Soon she spoke again : " Now he 
 is gone, let us speak of God and of His dear Son Jesus 
 Christ ; do not let me tire you, my friends, my beloved 
 ones, it will be but for a little time." Her face shone 
 with so holy a light that those around her could 
 scarcely bear to look at her. Then again, as midnight 
 sounded from the old church tower of Marburg, she 
 cried : *' This is the hour when the Blessed Virgin gave 
 to the world the Holy Child Jesus, the Saviour of men. 
 This is the hour when Jesus became Incarnate, when 
 He lay in the humble manger, and when a new star, 
 such as had never before been seen, was brought to 
 light. This is the hour in which He came to redeem 
 the world, and He will also redeem me. This is the 
 hour when He raised the dead, and when He freed the 
 souls that were chained down by sin; He will free 
 mine also from the chains of this miserable world." 
 
 Each moment her weakness increased and so also 
 did her joy. "Yes," she said, '*I am weak but I 
 suffer no pain, I do not feel ill. ... I commend 
 
208 The Life of 
 
 you all to God." Still she lay on as though in a sweet 
 and blessed dream, ejaculating from time to time 
 fervent prayers and aspirations to God. At last 
 she exclaimed, " Oh, Mary, come and help me ! for 
 the time has come when God calls His friends to 
 the marriage. The bridegroom has come to seek 
 His bride." Another pause, broken only by the 
 tears and sobs of those who gazed upon the marvellous 
 sight, and heard the words of exceeding love poured 
 forth from the depths of Elizabeth's soul. Once 
 more she spoke : " Silence — Silence," was all she 
 said ; she could bear no sound of earth to interrupt 
 the glad melody of the heavenly song, which even then 
 sounded in her ears. Meekly she bowed her head ; 
 just as all through her life she had bowed to all 
 God sent her, so now with that last outward sign 
 of humble submission she breathed her last, she 
 received her order of release from all earth's sorrows 
 and trials. In the dark November night (it was the 
 19th day of the month), she went to where light 
 perpetual would shine upon her for evermore. The 
 poor little hut was filled with a sweet fragrant odour, 
 and those who wept and prayed beside the dead heard 
 the sound of clear voices singing that beautiful 
 response which the Church puts into the mouths of 
 those who like S. Elizabeth of Hungary, have 
 given up their lives to God. Eegnum mundi contempti 
 propter amorum, Domini mei Jesu Christi, quern vide, quern 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 209 
 
 amavi, in quern credidi qu£m dilexi. The kingdom of 
 the world and all its glory I have despised for the love 
 of our Lord Jesus Christ, Whom I have seen, Whom 
 I have loved, in Whom I have believed, and Whom 
 I have preferred." 
 
 They did her bidding, those sorrowing friends whom 
 she had left on earth to mourn her for a while ; 
 they washed the precious body with loving care, and 
 they laid her in her old grey habit as she had desired 
 they should. Ysentrude and Guta were there ; and 
 the coarse country girl, and that cross old widow 
 who had replaced them as her attendants, and whom 
 she had won over at last by her sweetness and gentle- 
 ness, mingled their bitter tears with those of her 
 tried and faithful friends. Then the Franciscan 
 brothers carried her body to the little humble chapel 
 of the hospital of S. Francis, where her days and 
 nights had been spent in prayer, where she had 
 struggled for strength to give up all to God ; where 
 she had made the sacrifice of her will to Christ, and 
 won her great and glorious triumph. 
 
 Crowds followed her body to its last resting place ; 
 and the tears and lamentations of the poor, her own 
 especial friends, almost drowned the funeral chants 
 which were sung by the Priests as they walked in 
 solemn procession from the little hut which had 
 been the Saint's home, to the hospital where she 
 had comforted and soothed many a poor sufferer. 
 
 P 
 
210 The Life of 
 
 For four days the corpse was exposed to view, whilst 
 the poor, the sick, all who had loved her so well, 
 crowded round the coffin to take one last look upon 
 that face which had never worn anything but smiles 
 for them, and which was more beautiful in death 
 than it had ever been in life. For of late years 
 there had been marks of sorrow and suffering upon the 
 young and lovely features ; now the roundness of youth 
 had come back again, death had lifted whole years 
 of grief from Elizabeth's fair brow. The calm majestic 
 loveliness had never been surpassed in the days 
 when her beauty was at its zenith. Happiness too 
 was written there, where before there had been deep 
 lines of care ; and those who looked upon the dead 
 Saint knew that for her life had indeed begun. On the 
 fourth day she was laid in her quiet grave beneath a 
 humble stone in the hospital chapel. And the grief of 
 the mourning crowds broke out afresh when they felt 
 that she was for ever hidden from their sight. Comfort 
 only came when they thought of her exceeding joy, and 
 remembered how as she had ever prayed for them on 
 earth, she would pray for them still in the Paradise of 
 the Saints. 
 
 The night before her funeral, whilst the Priests were 
 singing the office for the dead, an Abbess who had 
 come from a distance to take part in the solemn 
 rites of the Church, heard without, the most exquisite 
 melody that had ever yet fallen upon her ears. She 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 211 
 
 went accompanied by several other persons to see 
 what it could possibly be ; and on the roof of the 
 church they saw a flight of birds, of a kind hitherto 
 unknown, filling the cold wintry air with their sweet 
 glad melody, as though they too would take their part 
 in the funeral of the Saint. Writing on this subject, 
 S. Bonaventura says : *' These little birds bore witness 
 to her purity by speaking their language to her at her 
 burial, and in thus singing so sweetly over her tomb. 
 He Who once rebuked the folly of the prophet by the 
 mouth of an ass, might well proclaim the innocence of 
 a Saint by the music of these sweet birds." 
 
 Very soon her simple tomb in the hospital chapel 
 became the scene of many a miracle, of many a prayer 
 answered, of many a vow taken in all faith and 
 humility, by the simple German people who flocked 
 thither to ask the prayers of the Saint. 
 
 Five years afterwards there was a noble and goodly 
 company gathered in the little Town of Marburg, 
 where Elizabeth had spent her life of poverty. Ever 
 since her death Maitre Conrad had employed his time 
 in endeavouring to procure his dearly loved daughter's 
 canonisation. None knew as he did how she merited 
 it ; none but himself could have told all that sad 
 and glorious tale of her spiritual life. Ere he could 
 accomplish his purpose he died a cruel death, and 
 another Conrad, Elizabeth's own brother-in-law, 
 besought the Pope no longer to delay proclaiming 
 
 p 2 
 
212 The Life of 
 
 to the world the sanctity of the young Duchess of 
 Thuringia. Gregory IX. yielded to the wish of 
 the faithful, and on Whitsun Day in the year 1235 
 in the little town of Perugia, where S. Francis d'Assisi 
 seven years before had been canonized, his saintlike 
 companion's name was inscribed in the Kalendar 
 of the Catholic Church. It was a well deserved 
 honour, a public recognition of the virtues of her 
 whom the world had condemned and censured whilst 
 she lived, and whose prayers they now asked. But 
 long ere the Pope's Bull went forth to the nations 
 of the earth, S. Elizabeth's name had been written 
 in the book of life, S. Elizabeth's voice had joined 
 in the prayers of the saints. It was one year after 
 this that that goodly company to which we have 
 alluded was assembled in Marburg to do honour 
 to the Saint. The Emperor Frederick II., who at 
 last had been reconciled to the Pope, found his way 
 to the humble Hessian town. From all nations 
 pilgrims flocked to the tomb of the king of Hungary's 
 daughter. It is said that twelve hundred thousand 
 Christians inundated the town of Marburg on that 
 memorable 1st of May 1236, when the remains of 
 EHzabeth were to be translated, and laid in the rich 
 and costly shrine prepared for them. The Duchess 
 Sophia and her sons, and the four little children 
 who were so honoured as to call the Saint, Mother, 
 had come to take part in the ceremony. On the 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 213 
 
 morning of the appointed day, the Emperor passed 
 through the kneeling crowds who thronged the entrance 
 to the chapel, and with great difficulty was enabled 
 to penetrate into the interior of the building. He 
 walked bare-footed, he was clad in a coarse grey 
 garment, his. only ornament was the Imperial Crown 
 upon his head ; the princes of the empire in their rich 
 robes of state were with him, and in royal procession 
 they advanced to the tomb of her who had been the 
 most humble of the daughters of earth. The sacred 
 relics were exposed to view ; they were still entire ; no 
 trace of corruption was to be found there, after all 
 those years of interment. A sweet fragrance still 
 breathed around the tomb of the gentle lady who on 
 earth had shed abroad the gracious odour of her works 
 and deeds of love. Frederick placed a golden crown 
 upon the Saint's head, saying, in a voice choked with 
 emotion : *' As I could not crown her whilst she lived 
 as my empress, I wish at least to crown her to-day as 
 an Immortal Queen in the Kingdom of Heaven." He 
 then led the young Landgrave Hermai;in to make his 
 offering at his mother's tomb, and his empress 
 (Isabella of England) in like manner led the little 
 Princesses by the hand. The Duchess Sophia and her 
 sons then went forward and did honour to the Saint ; 
 once they had wronged her cruelly, to the end perhaps 
 they had doubted and misunderstood her ; now, full 
 justice was done her ; honoured for evermore in the 
 
214 The Life of 
 
 Catholic Church would be the name of " the dear 
 Elizabeth." 
 
 Now in Marburg we find her still honoured, brought 
 as it were daily before the minds of those who have 
 wandered from the faith of their fathers, and who 
 condemn the doctrine and truths which were so dear 
 to S. Elizabeth. Still she seems to speak to them as 
 they walk along the great streets of the picturesque 
 little town which contains S. Elizabeth's Gate, S. 
 Elizabeth's Well, S. Elizabeth's Bridge, S. Elizabeth's 
 Mill, and above all there is the church, the first stone 
 of which was laid by Duke Conrad in 1235, some 
 months after her canonisation, which is dedicated to 
 her honour, and rears its stately spire above the clear 
 bright waters of the Lahn, standing in a garden of 
 roses, which here as elsewhere seem to be the flowers 
 specially associated with S. Elizabeth. More than 
 forty years elapsed before the beautiful church was 
 completed, and now in it purity and simplicity it is 
 considered the most perfect specimen of Gothic archi- 
 tecture in Southern Germany. But the interior of 
 the noble edifice has for three centuries been sorely 
 neglected. The altars have been robbed of their 
 beauty, and Lutheran hands have defaced much that 
 Catholic piety raised to the honour and glory of God, 
 and in loving memory of S. Elizabeth. The story of 
 the short life of mingled joy and sorrow stands out in 
 bas-relief upon the walls; sadly mutilated are the 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary, 215 
 
 sculptures now, but there is depicted the scene on the 
 mountain side when Louis discovered the beautiful 
 roses in his young wife's mantle ; there is the parting 
 between the husband and wife ; her deathbed, and that 
 solemn scene in the little hospital-chapel when the 
 Emperor laid the golden crown upon her brow ; and 
 the stranger is shown the silver urn which enclosed 
 the sacred relics, until one of her descendants in his 
 Protestant zeaJ scattered them to the winds. Perhaps 
 brighter days are in store for the Church of S. 
 Elizabeth's adopted country ; perhaps the stones which 
 lead to her tomb in the chapel where it was placed, and 
 which are worn with the footprints of the many 
 pilgrims who sought comfort there, may once again be 
 trodden by those who reverence and love the one 
 Catholic and Apostolic Church which S. Elizabeth 
 would have given her life to save from false doctrine 
 and heresy. 
 
 Strange indeed does it seem that three centuries 
 after her death the Castle of the Wartburg, which had 
 been the bright home of her happy married life, 'was 
 tenanted by none other than Martin Luther, who 
 sought shelter there from his enemies. And now 
 tourists visiting the place gaze at the stains on the 
 walls made by the reformer's ink as he wrote those 
 heretical doctrines which were to go forth to the world, 
 and carry foul poison with them ; and as they look at 
 the likeness which hangs there and depicts the burly 
 
216 The Life of 
 
 form and coarse features of the heretic, they forget 
 that bright pure presence which once reigned in 
 Wartburg ; they ignore the memory of the Saint from 
 whose holy life they might learn so much. 
 
 There in her mountain home bright roses and 
 forget-me-nots — S. Elizabeth's own special flowers — 
 bloom with a strange luxuriance ; seeming as though 
 nature would even give to her now, the reverence and 
 the love which is denied her by men. 
 
S, Elizabeth of Hungary. 217 
 
 CHAPTEE XXII. 
 
 Something about those S. Elizabeth left behind her. 
 
 The story of the life which we have followed in all its 
 joys and sorrows for twenty-four years is told ; there is 
 nought more to say, except to hope that these simple 
 pages have not been written in vain, but that some of 
 those who read them, and upon whom God may have 
 been pleased to lay His chastening Hand in very love, 
 may seek strength where S. Elizabeth sought and 
 found it — even in the Sacred Heart of Jesus. And to 
 those whose lines have faUen in pleasant places, to 
 whom God has »given aU His good gifts, and into 
 whose life no great sorrow has yet fallen, the story of 
 S. Elizabeth also speaks ; for it tells them so to think 
 of Jesus's sufferings amid their joy, that when trouble 
 does come to them, (as it does unto the life of all of us,) 
 like her they may ask Him to be with them in the 
 dark days, of Whom they were ever mindful when the 
 sun shone most brightly. 
 
 A few words about those whom the Saint left on 
 earth to mourn her loss, and whom she influenced by 
 her holy example, may not be out of place here. 
 When the news of his daughter's death reached King 
 
218 . The Life of 
 
 Andrew of Hungary, he gave way to violent grief, and 
 reproached himself for not having sufficiently honoured 
 and appreciated her during her life, and not done half 
 enough for one who was so good and holy. But ere 
 he died he had the comfort of seeing S. Elizabeth's 
 sanctity recognised by the Church ; a few months after 
 her canonisation he was taken to his rest, to be with 
 her he had loved so well in the Kingdom that was not 
 of earth. In 1238 the old Duchess Sophia was called 
 to her last account ; but she too had, as we have seen, 
 been allowed to witness that solemn scene in the 
 Church at Marburg, when crowned heads bowed low 
 before the corpse of her, who on earth had led the life 
 of voluntary poverty, and when the Church's hymns 
 had mingled with the simple name of EHzabeth the 
 word She puts into the mouths of her children in token 
 of praise, Alleluia ! Alleluia ! Those little ones, in 
 whom Elizabeth's loving heart had been so bound up, 
 were one and all worthy of their mother. Their 
 greatest boast ever was that they were her children ; 
 and when they signed their names they always affixed 
 the title of which they were so justly proud sons and 
 daughters of S. Elizabeth. Sophia and Gertrude each 
 died abbesses of the respective convents in which they 
 had, humbly and faithfully served their noviciate. 
 
 Young Hermann, at the age of sixteen, took posses- 
 sion of his father's dominions, which his uncle Henry 
 had up to this time governed for him. Then he went 
 
^S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 219 
 
 on a journey to France to serve as a page in the court, 
 as the custom of the age was, before young men were 
 vested with the honour of knighthood. Whilst he was 
 there, Blanche of Castile, the mother of S. Louis, 
 noticed the boy, who was conspicuous amongst his 
 companions by his fair beauty and long golden hair. 
 She asked who he was, and was told that he was the 
 eldest son of S. Elizabeth of Hungary. She went up 
 to him and said: "Fair youth, thou hadst a blessed 
 mother, where did she kiss thee ?" The young Duke 
 blushed, and pointed to a place on his forehead between 
 his eyes. The Queen reverently pressed her lips to the 
 spot, and often afterwards repeated the embrace ; and 
 thus the mother of a Saint honoured with touching 
 devotion the son of a Saint. 
 
 The young and virtuous Prince of Thuringia married 
 Helena, the daughter of Otho Duke of Brunswick. A 
 long and honourable career seemed to be open to him, 
 but he died in 1241 at the early age of sixteen ; and it 
 is said that his death was caused by poison adminis- 
 tered by order of his uncle the Landgrave Henry. On 
 his deathbed he asked that he might be buried by the 
 side of his sainted mother ; but the cruel Henry would 
 not even grant this request, and young Hermann was 
 laid in the Chapel of Eeinhartsbrunn, in the tomb of 
 his royal father. 
 
 Henry, now the sole inheritor of the broad lands of 
 Thuringia, was proclaimed king of the Romans in 
 
220 The Life of 
 
 1246, the Pope (Innocent IV.) having excommunicated 
 Frederick II. for his opposition to the rights and 
 privileges of the Church. But Henry's power was of 
 short duration ; he died in 1248, and, although he had 
 been married three times, he left no children. And in 
 this judgment of God, the faithful saw the just punish- 
 ment of his perfidy towards S. Elizabeth, and of that 
 terrible crime of which he had been guilty towards her 
 son. Perhaps at the last he may have repented of the 
 many sins of his life, for his last request was that he 
 might be buried in the Dominican Convent at Eisenach, 
 which he had founded in expiation of the evil he had 
 done to his sister-in-law. 
 
 Duke Conrad during his early life had given himself 
 up to every kind of dissipation, but at last God called 
 him to repentance, and we have already seen how he' 
 laboured for the canonisation of S. Elizabeth. He 
 became grand master of the Teutonic knights, and his 
 piety, justice, and modesty made him the brightest 
 ornament of that Order. He lived a life of great self- 
 denial, and did public penance for all the wrong he had 
 done. He died in 1243, and his tomb is still to be 
 seen in the Church at Marburg, the first stone of 
 which he had laid in honour of his sister-in-law. 
 
 Thuringia was now distracted by civil war. S. 
 Elizabeth's eldest slaughter, Sophia, who had married 
 the Duke of Brabant, claimed the sovereignty for her- 
 self and her little son. Bravely and nobly she fought 
 
S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 221 
 
 for the inheritance of her fathers, but she was obliged 
 to forego her claim to Thuringia, whilst she was 
 allowed to retain the rule of Hesse, which has descended 
 in a direct line to the posterity of S. Elizabeth of 
 Hungary to this day. Sophia died in 1281, at the age 
 of sixty, after a life spent in watching with tender care 
 over her family and her dominions. She too sleeps in 
 the church at Marburg, sacred to the memory of her 
 mother. 
 
 And now it only remains for us to speak of him who 
 perhaps more than all others helped to make S. 
 Elizabeth all that we have seen her during the last 
 days of her life, helped her to give up the last remnants 
 of self-will which still clung to her, and to bear all the 
 indignities he chose to lay upon her on earth, so that 
 her reward in heaven might be greater, her crown 
 brighter and more radiant. Conrad of Marburg was 
 called to his rest on the 30th of July, 1233, as he was 
 travelling from Mayence to Marburg. 
 
 That same impetuosity which had ever been his 
 chief characteristic was the immediate cause of his 
 death. On his journey he was surprised by several 
 knights and vassals of the Count of Sayn, whom, 
 in his excessive zeal for the faith, he had denounced 
 for heresy. A good Franciscan monk was his sole 
 attendant, and when the knights attacked Maitre 
 Conrad, he put his arm round him in order to defend 
 him from the cowardly blows which were falling fast 
 
222 The Life of S. Elizabeth of Hungary. 
 
 and thick upon him. But their adversaries were too 
 strong for them ; both priests were killed, praising 
 God to the last that they had been allowed to die 
 for the faith of the Church. 
 
 Maitre Conrad's body was buried in the chapel of 
 the hospital of his native town, near the tomb of the 
 gentle lady whose true interests, in spite of much that 
 may be censured in his conduct, ever lay very near his 
 heart. 
 
LONDON : 
 
 SWI?T AND CO., RB6BNT PEESS, KINO 8TRBBT, 
 
 REGBNT STREET, ^T. 
 
RETURN TO the circulation desk of any 
 
 University of California Library 
 
 or to the 
 
 NORTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 
 BIdg. 400, Richmond Field Station 
 University of California 
 Richmond. CA 94804-4698 
 
 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 
 2-month loans may be renewed by calling 
 
 (510)642-6753 
 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing books 
 
 to NRLF 
 Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days 
 
 prior to due date 
 
 DUE AS STAMPED BELOW 
 
 JUL'^6199S 
 
 NOV Z 1999 
 
 >^ m 2 1 ^003 
 
 20,000 (4/94) 
 
 ^'**™¥^8837sl ) 476— A^ 
 
 Universi 
 
 Berkeley