20 Chapter 20.Martin Luther and the German Reformation..A.D. 1483-1522.

Chapter 20.

Martin Luther and the German Reformation..

A.D. 1483-1522. At the beginning of the sixteenth century, the doctrine of justification by faith had been almost lost sight of in the church; and this was the one great fact which made the Reformation a necessity. No sooner had the power of this truth been weakened in the souls of the faithful, than a doctrine of salvation by works had been introduced, and penances and outward mortifications had been substituted for that repentance toward God and inward sanctification which are the signs of true conversion. These works of penance, which began as early as the time of Tertullian were multiplied as years rolled on; until at length the superstition of the people could carry them no farther, and the darkness of the Middle Ages gave birth to the Flagellants.

These were a sect of fanatics which arose in the thirteenth century, and spread over a large part of Europe. They went about the streets in a half-naked condition, and flogged each other twice a day with scourges. The severity of their chastisements (which were supposed to atone not only for their own sins, but also for the sins of others) though at first exciting persecution, presently aroused the sympathies of the people, who began to turn away from the licentious priests, and to carry their sins and sorrows to the groaning flagellants. How to retain the influence of their usurped dominion was now the question with the priests, and "therefore," says D’Aubigne, "they invented the novel system of exchange, distinguished by the name of indulgences." For the payment of twenty, ten, or three sous, according to the rank and condition of the applicant, the benefit of a fast of seven weeks was granted, with proportionate amounts for longer terms: and so the disgraceful traffic began. The pope was not slow to perceive the advantages that might be derived from so lucrative a system of exchange; and in due time Clement VII. advanced the startling dogma, that a belief in indulgences was a necessary article of faith. He asserted that one drop of Christ’s blood had been sufficient to reconcile man to God; the rest was shed to ensure a sinking fund for the treasury of the church. Moreover, there was a balance of good works to the account of the saints, works which "they had finished over and above what was requisite for their own salvation," and these also became a marketable commodity. Nor were the indulgences of Rome confined to the living: they were carried beyond the grave, and the wailing souls in purgatory were supposed to be delivered by their means.

Then there were the indulgences belonging to the year of Jubilee, of which we have spoken in an earlier chapter,* indulgences which were granted to all who made pilgrimages to Rome during the specified time. According to the bull of Boniface VIII., this Jubilee was to be celebrated once every hundred years; but the success of the first celebration had so excited the avarice of the popes that they had changed the interval to fifty years. This also, however, was found a weary while to wait, and an interval of thirty-three years was decided upon. But even thirty-three years was a long period the third of a century — and, before long, the figure was definitely fixed at twenty-five. Once every twenty-five years then, the plenary indulgence was granted; and at the same time the conditions of the indulgence were also modified, to suit the circumstances of all classes. A journey to Rome was declared no longer necessary, and the benefits might be procured of the intending pilgrim’s own priest in his native town or village.

{*See Chapter 15.} The sale of indulgences was of necessity a great encouragement to sin; and indeed, the more ignorant of the people could see nothing in the doctrine but a positive permission to do evil; while the priests, who profited so much the more by this distorted view of their doctrine, were in no haste to set the people right. By by whom were these indulgences granted? It is interesting to note this. Who were the approved instruments in this strange work? Who were these valuers of sin — these disposers of indulgences? Surely men of approved morality and keen spiritual perception — alas! the delusion. We will sketch for the reader a picture which might be often seen during the period of which we write; and the answer will be found there.

Yonder is the market-place of a medival town, A man is crossing the open space on his way to the cathedral; and as he passes yonder group, the voices of the speakers sink lower, and they smile significantly at each other. The man seems half ashamed and returns their respectful salutations with an embarrassed air. Presently his form is lost among the gothic arches of the cathedral and the voices of the speakers grow loud again. Their conversation is drawing to a close, and one of them repeats with a laugh a familiar proverb, often quoted in those days, "Ah well, the priest will do what the devil would be ashamed to think of." But who is the man whose retreating figure we have watched as far as the cathedral porch? He is the most notorious debauchee of the town; a daring blasphemer and a reckless gambler; his concubines and children are supported out of the revenues of the church. But why this reverence towards him? Is he nothing more than we describe? Oh yes; he is a priest of Rome, and a notorious trafficker in indulgences. This picture is not overdrawn, nor was the evil which it describes peculiar only to an isolated few; it was as widespread as the doctrines of Rome, by which, indeed, the corruption had been bred. Robert Bellarmine, a learned controversialist of this century, and withal, a Romish cardinal, acknowledges as much when he says, "For some years before the Lutheran and Calvinistic heresies were published, there was not any severity in ecclesiastical judicatories, any discipline with regard to morals, any knowledge of sacred literature, any reverence for divine things; there was scarcely any religion remaining."

Such then was the condition of the church at the beginning of the sixteenth century. Corrupt in doctrine — corrupt in practice — it was impossible that things should continue much longer as they were.

Nevertheless, Rome was boastful and self-confident, for she had few open enemies to trouble her. The Hussites had either been scattered by persecution, or gathered back into the fold of the church; and the testimony of the Vaudois Christians had been almost suppressed. But there was still a feeling of disaffection in the hearts of men of all classes, which the smoke of Rome’s burnings could not stifle, or its deceitful promises allay. Kings and nobles, citizens and peasants, theologians and men of letters, politicians and soldiers, all had their ground of complaint, and were morally prepared for the work of the Reformation. Europe had roused from the long nightmare of the Middle Ages, and was now peering, though with dreamy eyes, through the haze of a lingering superstition in quest of light. An important change a re-action nay, a revolution was inevitable; and a leader only was wanted. Men’s minds were ripe for such a revolution, and all that was needed was a master-mind — a mind to sustain the burden of the strife — to lead, to counsel, to control.

God had seen the want, and gave to the church and Europe, Martin Luther.

Leaders for individual sections and parties were not wanting, but Luther was to be the leader of leaders. Princes and nobles, long disgusted with the encroachments of successive popes on their dominions, found a true-hearted though timid representative in the elector Frederick of Hanover: politicians and men of letters, bound by the restraint of the canon laws, found a mouth-piece for their grievances in the person of Ulrich von Hutten: but all classes and conditions of men, from kings downwards, found the charter of their liberties in the life work of the great Augustine, Martin Luther. The reformer was born of humble parents, at Eisleben, in the province of Mansfeld, on November the l0th, 1483. "I am a peasant’s son," we find him saying in after life, "my father, grandfather, and all my forefathers were simple peasants." It was from his parents that he inherited that sturdy simplicity, and frank, joyous temperament which is peculiar to the Thuringian peasant. His home education was strait and strict, and the treatment he received at school was harsh in the extreme: yet all this was necessary to prepare the future reformer for his great and perilous work. When fourteen years of age he was sent to the Franciscan school at Magdeburg, where his youthful sufferings were much increased. He tells us he was half starved, and frequently went singing through the adjacent towns and villages in order to get bread. "Do not despise the boys who go singing through the streets, begging a little bread for the love of God," was his pathetic appeal many years later; "I also have done the same." He was afterwards removed to Eisenach, where he had relatives, but they afforded him little or no relief. He still had to wander, hungry and miserable, through the pitiless streets, singing hymns, and to say ’panem propter Deum’ at the doors of strangers, thankful even for the crumbs which were sometimes thrown to him. But relief came at last. What relatives had denied him, strangers supplied: and one evening, having begged at many doors without success, he came to one from which he was not repulsed. Christians will always remember with affection and gratitude the name of Ursula Cotta; for she it was who opened her house to the hungry lad, and gave him not only the food he needed, but a home and a mother’s love. Luther had an opportunity later on of requiting her kindness, when he received her son into his own house at Wittenberg. At the age of eighteen his father removed him to the University of Erfurt, to study law; and here his mind received a serious bent, by the sudden death of his fellow-collegian and intimate friend, Alexis. This occurred during a short vacation, while they were out walking together. Passing through the Thueringenwald, they were overtaken by a great storm, and a flash of lightning stretched the light-hearted Alexis a corpse at Luther’s feet. Falling upon his knees on the impulse of the moment, Luther vowed that if God would spare him, he would henceforth consecrate his life to His service. From that hour he became a changed person. It was long before his inclination for study returned to him, and day after day he might be seen wandering moodily about the library and hall of the university, like one unable to find rest. At length a Latin Bible fell into his hands, and, having a thorough knowledge of the language, he began to read it. This was the first time he had looked into the sacred volume, and his surprise was great. Here were depths of wisdom which he had never expected to find, precious pearls of truth which none of the missals or breviaries could shew; and he bent over his new treasure with tremulous in fatuation. As he read on he became more and more persuaded of the divine authority of the sacred volume, and a deep conviction of his own sinfulness was borne in upon him. As yet a sense of mystery surrounded the inspired words, and he was like a blind man groping his way in the broad sunlight. He felt that the darkness was in himself; and not in what he read; and the more the external light was perceived, the more was the inward darkness realised. Perplexed and trembling, he closed the volume, and remained in meditation for some minutes. Then, one after another, the long catalogue of his sins rose up before his mind, and filled him with a vague alarm. He had never seriously thought upon his sins till now, he had never seen them in so foul a light. Such a black catalogue as that had surely shut the gates of heaven against him for ever; there could not possibly be hope for one so vile as he. Then Luther suddenly remembered his vow, and he rose to his feet with a new purpose before his heart. Yes there was one hope yet remaining he would quit the university and become a monk. When we next look at him it is in the monastery of the Augustines, at Erfurt; and how changed is everything now! When we left him he was the great law student, a Master of Arts, and the idol of the university; now he is a monk, and the lowest in the grade of monks. The one who before had delivered lectures and engaged in learned discussions, has become the menial of his order, and must cleanse the cells, and wind the clock, and sweep out the chapel of the monastery! Yet Luther submitted to his task, and performed all the painful drudgeries which belonged to his new position without complaint; while the conflict of mind through which he was passing made him almost forget the degradation. Often, when the deep needs of his soul were pressing upon him, he would steal away from his work to the monastery chapel, where the chained Bible was kept, and there would seek that spiritual food for which he was hungering. At present this was his only opportunity for studying the word of God.

Eventually, however, new facilities were afforded him, and he was appointed to the vacant chair of theology and philosophy at Wittenberg. The appointment was made by Staupitz, the vicar-general of the Augustine order of Saxony, who acted under the advice of Frederick the Wise, elector of Hanover. The elector had heard of Luther’s proficiency in the scriptures, and his great scholarly attainments, and had grown interested in the neglected monk. Luther was now, in a certain sense, master of his own time, and could devote long hours to the study of the Bible. The seclusion of his cell was very convenient for that purpose, and he applied himself to the study with unusual zeal. He began to make extraordinary efforts to reform his life, and by prayers and mortifications to atone for the past; and many were the vows he offered up to abstain from sin: but his efforts never gave him satisfaction, and his vows were always broken. "It is in vain," said Luther sadly to Staupitz, "that I make many promises to God; the sin is always the strongest." Staupitz reasoned gently with him, and told him of the love that was in the heart of God, who was not angry with him, as Luther thought: but the monk was still unsatisfied. "How dare I believe in the favour of God," he said, "if so be that there is not in me a real and thorough conversion? I must needs change to be accepted by Him." His agony became deeper than ever, and his efforts to propitiate the divine Justice were continued with untiring zeal. "I was indeed a pious monk," we find him writing in after years, "and followed the rules of my order more strictly than I can express. If ever monk could obtain heaven by his monkish works, I should certainly have been entitled to it. Of this, all the friars who have known me can testify. If I had continued much longer, I should have carried my mortifications even to death, by watchings, prayers, readings and other labours." The monk had yet to learn the meaning of those words, "by grace ye are saved, through faith, and that not of yourselves, it is the gift of god: not of works lest any man should boast."

Further conversation with Staupitz brought a measure of hope, and at times a thrill of inexplicable joy would pass through him, and his heart would gain confidence to say, "This is Jesus Christ, yes, it is Jesus Christ Himself, who consoles me thus admirably with His mild and saving words." But the memory of his sins would return upon him, and his distracted soul would shrink in horror at the thought of the judgment with which they must be visited. "Oh my sins! my sins! my sins!" he exclaimed one day, in the presence of the vicar-general; and when Staupitz pointed him to the Fountain opened up for sin and uncleanness, the words seemed like a sealed mystery to the poor monk. At last his health broke down by reason of his repeated watchings and mortifications, and he was brought to the very door of death. And now the dread of approaching dissolution was added to his other fears, and the anticipation of the coming judgment plunged him in deeper depths than before. What if he should die unsaved? What if he should be buried in his sins? As yet he had no satisfying assurances of the divine mercy; those sins had not yet been put away, and he feared to go down to his grave with their burden still upon him.

While in this condition, he was visited in his cell one day, by an old monk, who spoke some words of consolation to the despairing invalid. Luther was won by the kindness of his words, and, little expecting what the act would bring about, opened his heart to him. The aged father was unable to follow him through all the mazes of his doubts, but repeated in his ear a sentence from the Apostles’ Creed; which had often given rest and comfort to himself, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." This was the message of God to Luther’s soul, and he caught at the words with all the energy which his need awakened. "believe," he quickly repeated to himself, "I believe in the forgiveness of sins." Hearing him repeat the words the monk reminded him that the belief must be a personal and not a general belief; that it was not sufficient to believe merely in the forgiveness of David’s sins or of Peter’s sins, but that there must be the appropriating faith which says, "my sins." All this was heaven’s music in the ear of the trembling listener; and when the worthy old man added, "Hear what St. Bernard says, The testimony which the Holy Spirit produces in your heart is this, Thy sins are forgiven thee," the light broke in upon the troubled heart, and Luther thanked God that those words were true of him. But though truly converted to God, Luther was still a slave of Rome; and it was not till he paid a visit to the papal city, that he began to detect her corruptions, and to be shaken in his allegiance towards her. A visit of this kind became necessary in an official capacity, in consequence of a dispute which had arisen between the vicar-general and seven of the convents; and in due course Luther set out upon his journey. When he got within sight of Rome he threw himself on the ground, and exclaimed with pious enthusiasm, "Holy Rome, I pay you homage." He looked upon it as the labour-field of St. Peter and St. Paul; and was not yet familiar with the proverb of its citizens, "If there be a hell, Rome is built over it: it is an abyss out of which every sin issues forth." But when he got within the city his eyes were opened. Then he began to realise what a sink of corruption the metropolis of catholicism really was, and for a time he was stunned. Wherever he went the evil was the same, and among the inhabitants of the city, none were more loud in their blasphemies, or more conspicuous for their infidelity than the priests themselves. He attended mass at one of the churches, and heard seven masses read at the neighbouring altar while he was reading one. A priest would even have hurried him in the same manner."Quick, quick," he said, "and send our Lady back her Son!" — making an impious illusion to the transubstantiation of the bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. Then he heard stories from the monks’ own lips which filled him with horror and bewilderment. They related, amid shouts of laughter, how that when repeating mass, instead of pronouncing the sacramental words over the bread and wine, which were supposed to transform them into the body and blood of Christ, they frequently repeated the words, "Panis es et panis manebis, vinum es et vinum manebis" — "bread thou art and bread shalt thou remain, wine thou art and wine shalt thou remain."

These are only instances of the shocking profanity which Luther met with during his brief sojourn at Rome; we might mention many more. His friend, Ulrich von Hutten, has left a speaking picture of the city during this period of its history, which we cannot withhold. "There are three things," says this writer, "which a traveller commonly brings away from Rome, a guilty conscience, a disordered stomach, and an empty purse. There are three things which are not believed in at Rome, the immortality of the soul, the resurrection of the dead, and hell. There are three things which are traded in at Rome: The grace of Christ, ecclesiastical dignities, and women." With these appalling facts before his soul, Luther left the city and turned his steps once more towards his native land. On his return he was made a doctor of divinity; and began to attract great attention by his sermons in the Augustine church at Wittenberg, where immense crowds flocked to hear him. His fluency of thought, his eloquence, his wonderful memory, and above all, the evident intensity of his convictions, captivated all who heard him; and Dr. Martin Luther became the topic of conversation in no small or unenlightened circle. But what brought him into general notice more than anything else, was his dispute with John Tetzel, the Dominican and mountebank monk of Leipsic. Tetzel had come, peddling his indulgences, to the very place where Luther was fulfilling his duties as confessor to the good people of Wittenberg. A collision was inevitable.

Mounting the pulpit, near which was placed a large red cross, surmounted by the papal arms, Tetzel began his discourse. His speech was loud and animated, and his descriptions of purgatory were marked by a hideous picturesqueness, which fascinated his hearers, while it roused in them the liveliest solicitude after their departed friends. He touched upon the immense advantages of his commodity even to themselves; for there was no sin which they had committed, which an indulgence could not wipe away. Nay, not only were these indulgences efficacious with regard to past sins, but sins of the future, sins which his hearers had a desire to commit, might be covered by his letters of absolution,"I would not exchange my privilege," said the loquacious monk, "for those of St. Peter in heaven, because I have saved more souls by my indulgences than the apostle by his discourses."

These remarks were listened to with rapt attention, but his appeals for the departed produced the more stirring and profitable results."Priest, noble, merchant, wife, youth, maiden," he cried, "listen to your parents and other friends who are dead, and who cry to you from the bottom of the deep abyss ’We are suffer ing a horrible martyrdom! A small pittance by way of alms will deliver us; you are able to give it, and yet you do not wish to do so!’ at the very moment when the piece of money tinkles at the bottom of the chest, the soul takes its departure from purgatory, and directs its free flight towards heaven.... Deaf and heedless man! with twelve drachms you can release your father from purgatory, and yet you are so ungrateful as not to purchase his deliverance! I shall be justified in the day of judgment; but as for you, you shall be punished so much the more severely for having neglected so great salvation."*

{*Several rate-tables of indulgences were drawn up, in one of which the price of a general letter of absolution was thus apportioned. To princes and bishops, twenty-five ducats; to abbots, counts, and barons, ten ducats; to other classes of the nobility and rectors, six ducats; to the poor and middle-classes from one to half-a-ducat, according to the purchaser’s means. Another table valued sacrilege and perjury at nine ducats; murder at eight; adultery at six; and magic at two.} The discourse concluded, the faithful hurried up the aisles to the counter where the deputy indulgence-monger was seated, and made their purchases. Most of them, doubtless, were well satisfied with their bargains: and when they went to the confessional next day it was with no thought of turning from their sins. Did not they hold in their possession a document signed by brother John Tetzel, in the name of Peter, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost,* which re-established them in the innocence and purity in which they were at the hour of their baptism, as well as declared their immunity from the consequences of future sins, right up to the day of their decease? But father-confessor Martin Luther had nothing to do with brother Tetzel and his documents. It was his duty to tell the people that the holy God was a hater of sin; that perdition and not paradise was the destined abode of the wicked, and that unless there was true repentance towards God, they would be for ever lost."If you do not turn away from your sins," he said,"you shall all likewise perish." It was in vain for Tetzel to storm, and the people to object to these sweeping declarations; Luther was firm."Take heed to yourselves," was their pastor’s warning word,"and do not listen to the clamours made by these vendors of indulgences. You have better things to mind than the purchase of such licences as they sell to you at the most villainous prices." In the pulpit he was not less emphatic. In plain words he counselled the people to discontinue the iniquitous traffic."I have already said, and now repeat it, my advice is, that no person should purchase these letters.... And should some individuals assert that I am a heretic (for the truths which I preach are very hurtful to the interests of their strong box) I am little affected by their abuse. Such persons are affected with sickly and cloudy brains, men who have never felt the spirit of the Bible, who have never studied the doctrine of Christianity, never understood their own teachers, and who are rotting, enveloped in the torn rags of their vain opinions May God grant unto them and us a right judgment! . . . . Amen."

{*The concluding words of one form of absolution ran thus:"In the name of Peter, of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen. Brother John Tetzel, commissioner, has signed this letter with his own hand."} This sermon left his hearers in astonishment. It became the subject of general discussion at Wittenberg; and before the sensation which it caused had passed away, the famous Theses appeared. None of Luther’s friends, even the most intimate, knew that he had written them; and the good people of Wittenberg were electrified one morning, to see them posted on the church doors. The deceitful nature of the horrid traffic was therein plainly exposed; and men presently began to feel that a voice had spoken, such as had not been heard in Europe for many a day. A copy of the Theses fell into Tetzel’s hands, and the mountebank Dominican became frantic with rage. He even had recourse to oaths. To write some theses of his own, and then to burn those of his antagonist was merely to prepare additional gall for his own cup; for the students of Wittenberg gathered round their professor, and replied by burning eight hundred copies of Tetzel’s brochure.

Meanwhile the Theses passed from hand to hand, and the news of Luther’s bold act spread rapidly. The pope heard of it in due course, and summoned the indomitable monk to Rome: but through the counsel of the elector of Hanover — Luther’s true friend from first to last — the summons was evaded. The elector remembered the fate of John Huss, and was naturally suspicious of Leo’s intentions.

Luther was now declared a heretic, and the pope forthwith issued a bull fulminating anathemas against him. But during all this commotion the doctor had been steadily advancing in the truth, and when the form of excommunication reached him, he had so far shaken off the fetters of Rome, as to make his next great stand as a reformer. God’s time for the announcement having come, Luther publicly declared that the pope was Antichrist! Beyond doubt this was a bold declaration, but it was followed by an act equally bold. In the public square, surrounded by the professors and students of the university and several members of the municipality, Luther burned the pope’s bull!

Rome heard of it in due time, and waking to a confused sense of her danger, declared that the monk should die. Charles V., a youthful prince of great promise, was now upon the throne of Germany. He was a Roman Catholic, but by no means unconditionally submissive to the authority of the church. Notwithstanding, the nuncio Aleander, then the papal legate to Germany, induced him to take some steps with regard to Luther. Rome had now exhausted her weapons, and unless the temporal power could be won over to her side, all would be lost. A Diet that was to be held at Worms to welcome the young emperor to the throne and to arrange the details of the election contract, must be made the opportunity for speaking the decisive word, and crushing the troublesome heretic. This was the general thought, and the pope endorsed it, and expressed a desire that Aleander should be present at the Diet, in order to demand the carrying out of his bull.

It was a moment for action. The danger was spreading, and the sovereign pontiff of Christendom had begun to realise the strength and courage of his adversary. The mind of Europe was awake, and there was no possibility of rocking it to sleep again, unless the audacious monk was silenced. To withdraw from the struggle was simply useless, for the voice from Wittenberg had already rolled its thunders through Europe, and all were eagerly waiting for the next word. The exclusive service of three printing presses had not been able to supply his writings quickly enough to the people; the lecture hall of the university and the church of the Augustines, had failed to contain the crowds which flocked to hear him. Princes and peasants, poets and statesmen, learned professors and theological students, were alike aroused; and the anxious attention of every class and of every nation was directed towards him. A solitary monk of Wittenberg had sounded the trump of defiance, and all Europe was waiting with breathless interest the issues of the coming struggle. For Luther it was a time of peril, but his confidence in God was strong. He determined to go to Worms, and there answer to the charges which had been brought against him, be the dangers what they might: and when his purpose was known, he again found a true friend in the elector of Hanover. This christian prince obtained for him safe-conducts from the emperor and all the German princes through whose states he would have to travel; and thus protected, Luther was ready to set out. But his friends were fearful and apprehensive, and the well-known tenet of the Romish church that "no faith should be kept with heretics," was urged by them to induce him to abandon the journey. Huss, said they, had gone to Constance with a safe-conduct not a century before, and who did not know the result? But Luther’s confidence was in something more than his safe-conducts, and the appeals of his friends were disregarded. "If Jesus Christ do but aid me," he said, "I am determined never to fly from the field, nor desert the word of God." On his way to Worms his coach was frequently surrounded, and many an earnest prayer and warning word fell on his ear. "Ah," said one, "there are at Worms so many cardinals and bishops, and they will burn you as they burnt John Huss." Luther answered, "Though they kindle a fire which shall reach from Worms to Wittenberg, and blaze as high as heaven, I will walk through it in the name of the Lord; I will appear before them, I will enter the mouth of this Behemoth, I will break his teeth, and I will confess the Lord Christ." Arrived at Frankfort he wrote to his friend Spalatin, who was then staying at Worms, to prepare him lodgings, and his letter contains the following characteristic passage: "I hear that Charles has published an edict with a view to terrify me. But Christ lives, and we shall enter Worms, though all the gates of hell or all the powers of darkness oppose us." Spalatin, troubled in mind, still endeavoured to dissuade Luther from entering the city, and sent an envoy with the warning message, "Do not enter Worms;" but Luther, strong in God, sent back answer, "Tell your master that though there were as many devils in Worms, as there are tiles upon the house-tops, I would go!" His entrance into that city, on the 16th of April 1521, was like a public ovation; and many a pious word of encouragement, and many a blessing fell upon his ear as he was borne along the streets to his lodgings. On the day following, the marshal of the empire appeared, to conduct him to the Diet; and as the monk pressed his way through the throng of people to the council chamber, he was greeted with friendly words of encouragement by several of the knights and nobles there present. One old veteran, General George of Freundsberg, pressed up to him and said,"Pluck up thy spirit, little monk; some of us here have seen warm work in our time; but neither I nor any knight in this company ever needed a stout heart more than thou needest it now. If thy cause is just, and thou hast confidence therein, advance in the name of God, and fear nothing." "Yes, in the name of God," said Luther, taking up his words, "in the name of God — forward!"

Upon entering the council-room, the reformer was at first somewhat disconcerted by the unusual sight which met his gaze. Immediately before him, robed in purple and ermine, sat Charles V., king of Spain and emperor of Germany; and beside the throne sat his brother, the arch-duke Ferdinand. At suitable distances from these were ranged, six electors of the empire, twenty-four dukes, eight margraves, thirty archbishops, bishops or prelates, seven ambassadors, besides deputies, princes, counts, sovereign barons and others. Such a spectacle might well have troubled the spirit of the lonely monk, whose days, for the most part, had been spent in the seclusion of the peasant’s cottage, or the monastery cell: but One was standing by his side who was more than sufficient for these things, One who had said to Ezekiel of old, Be not afraid of them, neither be afraid of their words, though briars and thorns be with thee, and thou dost dwell among scorpions; be not afraid of their words, nor be dismayed at their looks." In that One was Luther’s trust. The business of the day was opened by the Chancellor of Treves, a friend of Aleander. In the midst of an impressive silence, he rose in his place, and addressed himself to Luther in the following questions: "In the first place, do you acknowledge that these books" — pointing to a pile of Luther’s works on the table before him — "are composed by you? Secondly, are you willing to retract from these books and their contents, or do you persist in the opinions which you have advanced?" After a few words had passed between Luther and his counsel, he gave an affirmative answer to the first question, but requested time to consider his answer to the second. His request was acceded to, and it was arranged that he should have till the following day to think over it. The interval, save for the few moments that were devoted to his friends, was spent by Luther in earnest wrestlings with God; and it was during this anxious period that he offered up the following prayer, without doubt one of the most precious documents of the Reformation: —

"Almighty and everlasting God, how terrible is the world before me; behold it openeth its mouth to swallow me up, and I have so little trust in. Thee. . . . How weak is the flesh, and Satan how strong. If it be in what the world counts powerful I must put my trust, I am undone. . . . . The steeple has fallen down, and judgment is pronounced O God! O God! . . . . O my God! . . . help me against all the wisdom of this world! Do this; Thou must do it — Thou alone — for it is not my work, but Thine. I have nothing to do here; I have nothing to contend for with these great ones of the earth. For me, truly I would wish but happy and peaceful days. But the cause is Thine . . . . and it is just and eternal! O Lord, help me, Faithful God, unchangeable God! I put no confidence in man. That were vain. All that comes from man changes: all that comes from man fails. O God! O God! Dost Thou not hear? . . . . Thou hidest Thyself! Thou hast chosen me for this work I know . . . . Ah! well, then do Thou work, O God! . . . . Be Thou at my right hand, for the sake of Thy well-beloved Son Jesus Christ, who is my defence, my shield, and my buckler."

There was a pause; the listener at his door thought he had done speaking, but presently his voice broke forth again. "Lord where dost Thou dwell? O my God! Where art Thou? . . . . Come! come! I am ready. . . . . I am ready to yield up my life for Thy truth . . . . patient as a lamb; for the cause is just, and it is Thine own . . . . I will not detach myself from Thee, neither now, nor throughout eternity . . . . And although the world should be filled with demons, although my body, which is still the work of Thy hands, should be made to bite the dust, and to be extended on the ground, cut in pieces . . . . and reduced to ashes . . . . my soul is Thine. . . . Yes, Thy word is my assurance of it . . . . my soul belongs to Thee, it shall eternally dwell with Thee . . . . Amen Help me, O God! . . . . Amen!" In the power of the Spirit which dictated this marvellous utterance, Luther went forth to stand a second time before the tribunal of man. Can we wonder at the result? No longer timorous and shrinking; when the question was again put to him by the chancellor he spoke with ease and eloquence; and his reply drew forth admiring exclamations from his friends and confounded his enemies. His denunciations of the whole system of popery were scathing and unanswerable. The following may serve as an example: "Is it not evident," he exclaimed, "that the human laws and doctrines of the pope perplex, torment, and martyrize the consciences of the faithful, whilst the crying and perpetual extortions of Rome swallow up the property and the riches of Christendom, and more particularly of this very illustrious nation? . . . . Were I to revoke all that I have written on this subject, what should I do but fortify this fearful tyranny, and open wide, for so much and so gross impiety, a door of yet larger dimensions. Overflowing, then, with more fury than ever, we should see them, these proud men, to increase, to rise in their passions, and to storm continually the more. And not only would the yoke which now presses on the Christian people be rendered more irksome on account of my retractation, but it would become, so to speak, more legitimate, because it would receive, by means of this very retractation, the confirmation of your serene Majesty, and of all the States of the holy empire. Great God! I would thus be converted into a vile cloak, destined to conceal and encourage every description of malice and tyranny!"

Luther closed his address with a vigorous word of warning to the emperor Charles, and a solemn appeal to him for that protection which the malice of his enemies rendered necessary. Being pressed for a more explicit answer to the chancellor’s question, he promptly replied: "Since your most serene Majesty and you exalted powers require from me a simple answer, clear and precise, I will give it you, and this it is — I cannot submit my faith, neither to the pope nor to councils, because it is clear as the day, that they have often fallen into error, and even into the most palpable contradictions with themselves. If, therefore, I am not convinced by the testimony of the scriptures or by manifest reason, if I am not persuaded by the very passages which I have quoted, and if thus my captive conscience be not delivered from the word of God, I neither can nor will retract, for it is not safe for a Christian to speak against his conscience." "Then," says D’Aubigne, "looking round on that assembly, in the midst of which he stood upright, and which held in its hand the power of death, he said ’Here I take my stand. I cannot do otherwise — God help me! Amen.’" The fears of Luther’s friends that Rome would act treacherously in the matter of his safe-conducts, were now shewn to be well founded; and had the emperor Charles been another Sigismund, all would have been over with the reformer. But the treacherous efforts of the papists to procure the violation of his safe-conduct were lost upon Charles, and each new suggestion of their treachery was met with the unflinching answer, "Though good faith were banished from the whole earth, it should still find a refuge in the courts of kings." The emperor, notwithstanding, consented to an edict of banishment; but this so little satisfied the rapacious demands of Rome, that they fell back upon their last and most desperate resource — assassination. Plans were laid to murder the reformer on his return to Saxony; but his good friend, the Elector, got timely warning of the plot, and was able to frustrate it. As Luther was returning home, he was suddenly surrounded by a party of horse, with masked faces, who after dismissing his attendants, conveyed him at dead of night to the ancient castle of Wartburg, near Eisenach, and there left him. This was the Elector’s ruse for getting Luther to a place of safety; and during the interval of rest afforded by his incarceration in Wartburg castle, and in calm defiance of imperial decrees and papal bulls, the reformer produced some of his most powerful controversial works, and commenced his favourite — perhaps his greatest work, the translation of the Bible.