CHAPTER X

Conference with the Archbishop of Trêves—Wehe’s advice to Luther—Luther’s Replies—Private Conversation—Visit of Cochlœus—Supper at the Archbishop’s—Attempt on the Hôtel of Rhodes—A Council proposed—Last interview between Luther and the Archbishop—Visit to a sick friend—Luther ordered to quit Worms. That day the chaplain and the imperial herald, Sturm, were both at Luther’s before six oʹclock in the morning. Aleander had caused Cochlœus to be called at four. The nuncio had not been slow in discovering in the man who had been presented to him by Capito, a devoted servant of Rome, on whom he could calculate as on himself. Not being able to be present at this interview, Aleander wished to have a substitute at it. “Be present at the Archbishop’s of Trêves,” said he to the Dean of Frankfort. “Do not enter into discussion with Luther, but content yourself with paying the closest attention to every thing that is said, so as to be able to bring me back a faithful report.” The Reformer on arriving with some friends at the house of the archbishop, found him surrounded by the margrave, Joachim of Brandenburg and Augsburg, several nobles, deputies from free towns, lawyers, and theologians, among, whom were Cochlœus and Jerome Wehe, chancellor of Baden The latter, an able lawyer, wished a reformation in manners and discipline. He went even further. “The Word of God,” said he, “which has so long been hid under the bushel, must reappear in all its lustre.”² This conciliatory individual was entrusted with the conference. Turning kindly towards Luther, he said to him, “We did not make you come in order to dispute with you, but in order to give you brotherly advice. You know how carefully the Scripture requireth us to guard against the flying, arrow, and the devil that walketh at noon-day. This enemy of the human race has instigated you to publish things contrary to religion. Think of your own safety, and that of the empire. Take care that those whom Jesus Christ has ransomed by his own death, from death eternal, be not seduced by you and perish for ever.… Do not set yourself up against holy councils. If we do not maintain the decrees of our fathers, there will be nothing but confusion in the Church. The distinguished princes now listening to me take a particular interest in your safety. But if you persist, the emperor will banish you from the empire, and no place in the world will be able to offer you an asylum … Reflect on the fate which awaits you.”

“Most Serene Princes!” replied Luther, “I give you thanks for your solicitude, for I am only a poor man, and am too humble to be exhorted by such high lords.” Then he continued, “I have not blamed all the councils, but only that of Constance; because, in condemning this doctrine of John Huss, viz.—that the Christian Church is the assembly of those who are predestinated to salvation⁵—it condemned this article of our creed, I believe in the holy Catholic Church; and the Word of God itself. My lessons, it is said, give offence,” added he. “I answer that the gospel of Christ cannot be preached without offence. How then should this fear or apprehension of danger detach me from the Lord, and from this divine Word, which is the only truth? No, rather give my body, my blood, and my life!!… The princes and doctors having deliberated, Luther was recalled, and Wehe mildly resumed, “It is necessary to honour princes, even when they are mistaken, and to make great sacrifices to charity.” Then he said, in a more urgent tone, “Cast yourself upon the judgment of the emperor, and have no fear.”

Luther.—“I consent, with all my heart, that the emperor, the princes, and even the humblest Christian, shall examine and judge my books; but on one condition, and it is, that they take the Word of God for their standard. Men have nothing else to do but to obey. My conscience is dependent upon it, and I am captive under its authority. The Elector of Brandenburg.—“I understand you perfectly, doctor. You will not acknowledge any judge but the Holy Scripture?”

Luther.—“Yes, my lord, exactly. That is my last word.”

Then the princes and doctors withdrew, but the worthy Archbishop of Trêves could not resolve to abandon his undertaking. “Come,” said he to Luther, as he passed into his private room, and, at the same time, ordered John Eck and Cochlœus, on the one side, and Schurff and Amsdorff, on the other, to follow them. “Why appeal incessantly to the Holy Scriptures?” said Eck keenly; “out of it all heresies have sprung.” But Luther, says his friend Mathesins, remained immovable, like a rock resting on the true rock, the Word of the Lord. “The pope,” replied he, “is no judge in things pertaining to the Word of God. Every Christian must see and understand for himself how he ought to live and die.” The parties separated. The partisans of the papacy felt Luther’s superiority, and attributed it to there being nobody present who could answer him. “If the emperor,” says Cochlœus, “had acted wisely in calling Luther to Worms, he would also have called theologians who might have refuted his errors.” The Archbishop of Trêves repaired to the Diet, and announced the ill success of his mediation. The surprise of the young emperor equalled his indignation. “It is time,” said he, “to put an end to this affair.” The archbishop asked two days more, and the whole Diet seconded him, Charles V yielded. Aleander, transported with rage, uttered the bitterest invectives.

While these things were passing at the Diet, Coehlœus was burning with eagerness to gain a victory denied to prelates and kings. Though he had, from time to time, thrown in a few words at the archbishop’s, the order which he had received from Aleander had laid him under restraint. He resolved to compensate himself, and had no sooner given an account of his mission to the papal nuncio, than he presented himself at Luther’s lodging. He accosted him as a friend, and expressed the grief which he felt at the emperor’s resolution. After dinner, the conversation grew animated. Cochlœus pressed Luther to retract. He declined by a nod. Several nobles, who were at table, had difficulty in restraining themselves. They were indignant that the partisans of Rome should wish not to convince the Reformer by Scripture, but constrain him by force. Cochlœus, impatient under these reproaches, says to Luther, “Very well, I offer to dispute publicly with you, if you renounce the safe-conduct.”² All that Luther demanded was a public debate. What ought he to do? To renounce the safe-conduct was to be his own destroyer; to refuse the challenge of Cochlœus was to appear doubtful of his cause. The guests regarded the offer as a perfidious scheme of Aleander, whom the Dean of Frankfort had just left. Vollrat of Watzdorff, one of the number, freed Luther from the embarrassment of this puzzling alternative. This baron, who was of a boiling temperament, indignant at a snare which aimed at nothing less than to give up Luther into the hands of the executioner, started up, seized the terrified priest, and pushed him to the door. There would even have been bloodshed had not the other guests risen up from the table, and interposed their mediation between the furious baron and the trembling Cochlœus,⁴ who withdrew in confusion from the hotel of the Knights of Rhodes. The expression had no doubt escaped the dean in the heat of discussion, and was not a premeditated scheme between him and Aleander to make Luther fall into a perfidious snare. Cochlœus denies that it was, and we have pleasure in giving credit to his testimony, though it is true he had come to Luther’s from a conference with the nuncio. In the evening, the Archbishop of Trêves entertained those who had been present at the morning conference. He thought it might be a means of calming down their minds, and bringing them nearer each other. Luther, who was so intrepid and immovable before arbiters or judges, had, in private society, a good humour and gayety which seemed to promise anything that might be asked of him. The archbishop’s chancellor, who had shown so much sternness in his official capacity, joined in the attempt, and, towards the end of the repast, drank Luther’s health. He was preparing to return the honour, the wine was poured out, and he was, according to his custom, making the sign of the cross on his glass, when suddenly the glass burst in his hands, and the wine was spilt upon the table. The guests were in consternation. “There must be poison in it,” said some of Luther’s friends, quite loud. But the doctor, without being moved, replied, with a smile, “Dear friends, either this wine was not destined for me, or it would have been hurtful to me.” Then he calmly added, “The glass burst, no doubt, because in washing it had been too soon plunged in cold water.” These simple words, in the circumstances in which they were uttered, have some degree of grandeur, and bespeak unalterable peace. We cannot suppose that the Roman Catholics could have wished to poison Luther, especially at the house of the Archbishop of Trêves. This repast neither estranged nor approximated the parties. The Reformer’s resolution came from a higher source, and could not be influenced either by the hatred or the favour of men. On Thursday morning (25th April) Chancellor Wehe and doctor Peutinger of Augsburg, imperial counsellor, who had shown great affection for Luther ever since his interview with de Vio, repaired to the hotel of the Knights of Rhodes. The Elector of Saxony sent Frederick De Thun, and another of his counsellors, to be present at the conference. “Put yourself in our hands,” earnestly said Wehe and Peutinger, who would willingly have sacrificed every thing to prevent the division which was about to rend the Church. “This affair will be terminated in a Christian manner; we give you our word for it.” “In two words,” said Luther to them, “here is my answer: I renounce the safe-conduct. I place in the hands of the emperor my person and my life; but the Word of God … never!” Frederick de Thun affected rose and said to the deputies, “Is it not enough? Is not the sacrifice great enough?” Then declaring that he would hear nothing more, he took his leave. Wehe and Peutinger, hoping to have better success with the doctor, came and sat down on each side of him. “Throw yourself upon the Diet,” said they to him. “No,” replied Luther, for cursed be the man that trusteth in man.” (Jeremiah 17:5) Wehe and Peutinger redoubled their counsels and attacks, pressing more closely on the Reformer. Luther worn out, rose up and put an end to the interview, saying, “I will not allow any man to set himself above the word of God.” “Reflect once more,” said they to him on retiring, “we will return after mid-day.”

They, in fact, did return; but convinced that Luther would not yield, they brought a new proposal. Luther had refused to be judged first by the pope, then by the emperor, then by the Diet. There remained one judge to whom he himself had once appealed—a general council. No doubt such a proposal would have been scouted by Rome; but it was the last plank for escape. The delegates offered Luther a Council; and he had it in his power to accept it unfettered by any precise definition. Years might have elapsed before the difficulties which the calling of a Council would have encountered on the part of the pope could have been obviated. To the Reformation and the Reformer a gain of years would have gained every thing. God and time would then have done the rest. But Luther preferred the straight course to every other: he would not save himself at the expense of truth though all that might have been necessary was to disguise it by keeping silence. “I consent,” replied he, “but (this was equivalent to a refusal of the Council) on condition that the Council will judge only according to the Holy Scriptures.”

Peutinger and Wehe, thinking that a Council could not judge otherwise, hastened overjoyed to the archbishop. “Dr. Martin,” said they, “submits his books to a Council.” The archbishop was going to carry the good news to the emperor, when some doubt occurring to him, he sent for Luther

Richard of Grieffenklau was alone when the doctor arrived. “Dear doctor,” said the archbishop, with much cordiality and kindness, “my doctors assure me that you consent without reservation to submit your cause to a Council.” “My Lord,” replied Luther, “I can bear every thing, but cannot abandon the Holy Scriptures.” The archbishop then perceived that Wehe and Peutinger had not explained themselves properly. Never could Rome consent to a Council bound to decide according to Scripture. “It was just,” says Pallavicini, “to insist that a weak eye should read very small writing, and at the same time deny the use of spectacles.”³ The good archbishop sighed. “It was well,” said he, “I made you come. What would have become of me had I immediately gone to the emperor with the news?” The immovable firmness, the stern rectitude of Luther, are, no doubt, astonishing, but they will be comprehended and respected by all who know the claims of God. Seldom has a nobler homage been paid to the immutable word of Heaven, and that at the risk of life and liberty by the man who paid it.

“Well,” said the venerable prelate to Luther, “do you yourself then point out a remedy.”

Luther, (after a moment’s silence).—“My Lord, I know no other than that of Gamaliel: ‘If this counsel or this work be of men it will come to nought, but if it be of God ye cannot overthrow it, lest haply ye be found even to fight against God.’ Let the emperor, the electors, the princes, and the states of the empire, deliver this answer to the pope.”

Archbishop.—“At least retract some articles.”

Luther.—“Provided it be not those which the Council of Constance condemned.”

Archbishop.—“Ah, I fear they are the very ones which will be asked.”

Luther.—“Then sooner sacrifice my body and my life—better allow my legs and arms to be cut off than abandon the clear and genuine word of God.” The archbishop at length understood Luther. “You may withdraw,” said he to him, always with the same gentleness. “Your Lordship,” resumed Luther, “will be so good as to see that his Majesty cause the safe-conduct necessary for my return to be expedited.” “I will see to it,” replied the good archbishop, and they parted. So ended these negotiations. The whole empire had assailed this man with the most urgent entreaties and the most fearful menaces, and this man had never flinched. His refusal to bend under the iron arm of the pope emancipated the Church, and commenced a new era. The intervention of Providence was evident, and the whole presents one of those grand historical scenes in which the majestic form of the Divinity appears conspicuously displayed.

Luther withdrew in company with Spalatin who had arrived at the archbishop’s during the course of the visit. John von Minkwitz, one of the Elector of Saxony’s counsellors, had fallen sick at Worms. The two friends repaired to his lodging, and Luther administered the tenderest consolation to the sick man. “Adieu,” said he to him on leaving, “to-morrow I shall quit Worms.”

Luther was not mistaken. He had not been three hours returned to the hotel of the Knights of Rhodes when chancellor Eck and the chancellor of the emperor, with a notary, made their appearance. The chancellor said to him, “Martin Luther, his imperial Majesty, the Electors, Princes, and States of the empire, having exhorted you to submission again and again, and in various manners, but always in vain, the emperor, in his quality of advocate and defender of the Catholic faith, sees himself obliged to take other steps. He therefore orders you to return to your home in the space of twenty-one days, and prohibits you from disturbing the public peace by the way, either by preaching or writing.

Luther was well aware that this message was the first step in his condemnation. “It has happened as Jehovah pleased,” said he meekly. “Blessed be the name of Jehovah!” Then he added. “Before all things, very humbly and from the bottom of my heart, I thank his Majesty, the Electors, Princes, and other States of the empire, for having listened to me with so much kindness. I have desired, and do desire one thing only—a reformation of the Church agreeably to Holy Scripture. I am ready to do every thing and suffer every thing in humble submission to the will of the emperor. Life and death, honour and disgrace, are all alike to me: I make only one reservation—the preaching of the gospel; for, says St. Paul, ‘The word of God cannot be bound.’ ” The deputies withdrew. On the morning of Friday (26th April) the Reformer’s friends and several nobles met at his lodgings. They were gratified at seeing the Christian constancy which he had opposed to Charles and the empire, and to recognise in him the features of the ancient portrait:

“Justum ac tenacem propositi virum, Non civium ardor prava jubentium, Non vultus instantis tyranni, Mente quatit solida.…”

They wished once more, perhaps for ever, to bid adieu to this intrepid monk. Luther took a frugal meal. Now he must take leave of his friends, and flee far from them under a sky surcharged with storms. He wished to pass this solemn moment in the presence of God. He lifted up his soul and blessed those who were around him. Ten in the morning having struck, Luther quitted the hotel with the friends who had accompanied him to Worms. Twenty gentlemen on horseback surrounded his carriage. A great crowd accompanied him beyond the walls. The imperial herald, Sturm, rejoined him some time after at Oppenheim, and the following day they reached Frankfort.