From D’Aubigne’s “History of the Great Reformation of the Sixteenth Century, in Germany, Switzerland.”—Editor.
AND now the doors of the hall were thrown open—Luther entered, and many who made no part of the Diet gained admission with him. Never had any man appeared before so august an assembly. The Emperor Charles V., whose kingdoms extended across both hemispheres; his brother, the Archduke Ferdinand; six electors of the empire, most of whose successors are now crowned heads; twenty-four dukes, many of them territorial sovereigns, and among whom were some who bore a name in after times held in fear and horror by the nations who accepted the Reformation—the Duke of Alva and his two sons; eight margraves; thirty archbishops, bishops, and prelates; seven ambassadors, including those of France and of England; the deputies of ten free cities; a number of princes, counts, and barons of rank; the Pope’s nuncios—in all two hundred persons. Such was the imposing assemblage before which stood Martin Luther.
His appearance there was of itself a signal victory over the Papacy. The man whom the Pope had condemned stood before a tribunal raised by that very fact above the Pope’s authority. Placed under interdict, and struck out from human fellowship by the Pope, he was cited in respectful terms, and received before the noblest of human auditories. The Pope had decreed that his lips should be closed for ever—and he was about to unclose them in presence of thousands assembled from the remotest countries of Christendom. Thus had an immense revolution been effected by his means: Rome was brought down from her seat, and the power that thus humbled her was the word of a monk!
Some princes who were near him, observing the humble son of the miner of Mansfield awed and affected in this assembly of sovereigns, approached him kindly. One of them whispered, “Fear not them who are able to kill the body, and cannot destroy the soul.” Another whispered to him, “When you are brought before kings, it shall be given to you by the Spirit of your Father what you shall say.” Thus was the monk strengthened with his Master’s words by the great ones of this world.
Meanwhile the guards made way for Luther. He stepped forward, and found himself in front of the throne of Charles V. All eyes were turned upon him. The confusion was stilled, and there was a profound silence. “Say nothing until a question is put to you,” said the marshal of the empire, as he quitted him.
After a moment’s solemn pause, John Eck, the chancellor of the Archbishop of Treves, rose, and, in a clear and sonorous accent, first in Latin and then in German, said:—”Martin Luther, his Sacred and Invincible Majesty has cited you before his throne, acting on the opinion and advice of the states of the holy Roman Empire, to require you to answer to these two questions:—First, Do you acknowledge these writings to have been composed by you?”—at the same time the speaker pointed with his finger to about twenty volumes placed on a table in the centre of the hall, immediately before Luther. “Secondly, Are you prepared to retract these works, and the propositions contained therein, or do you persist in what you have therein advanced?”
Luther, without faltering, was about to answer the first question in the affirmative, when Jerome Schurff, hastily interrupting him, exclaimed aloud, “Let their titles be read.” The chancellor, advancing to the table, read the titles. There were in the number several works of a devotional character, and altogether unconnected with the controverted points.
The enumeration being gone through, Luther spoke as follows, first in Latin, then in German:—”Most gracious Emperor, Princes, and Lords!—His Imperial Majesty puts to me two questions. As to the first, I acknowledge the books, the names of which have been read, to be of my writing; I cannot deny them. As to the second, seeing that it is a question which has reference to faith and the salvation of souls—a question which concerns the Word of God, the greatest and most precious treasure of heaven or earth—I should act rashly if I were to answer without reflection. I might say less than the circumstance demands, or more than truth requires, and so sin against that word of Christ, ‘Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I deny before my Father who is in heaven.’ Therefore it is that I most humbly desire his Imperial Majesty to allow me time, that I may answer without offending against the Word of God.”
This reply, far from countenancing the supposition of indecision in Luther, was worthy of the Reformer and of the assembly. It was fit that he should act calmly and circumspectly in a question of such grave importance, that this solemn moment of his life might be clear from the suspicion of passion or precipitancy. Besides, by taking reasonable time, the deliberate firmness of his resolution would be the more strikingly apparent. Many men, in the history of the world, have brought great evils on themselves and their contemporaries, by a hasty word. Luther restrained his own naturally impetuous temper—he suppressed the words that were on his tongue, and kept silence when all the feelings that inspired him struggled to find utterance. This self-command and calmness, so unusual in such a man, increased his power a hundredfold, and enabled him afterwards to answer with a prudence, a force, and a dignity, which baulked the expectations of his enemies, and confounded their pride and malice.
Nevertheless, as his tone had been respectful, many thought he was wavering. A ray of hope appeared for the Roman courtiers. Charles, eager to know more of a man whose teaching had disturbed the empire, had observed him narrowly. Turning to one of his courtiers, he remarked, contemptuously, “Certainly that man will never induce me to turn heretic.” Then rising from his seat, the young emperor, attended by his ministers, withdrew to the council-chamber; the electors assembled in another apartment, together with the princes; the deputies of the free cities in a third. The Diet, on re-assembling, agreed to grant the request. It was a notable blunder in men actuated by passion and prejudice.
“Martin Luther,” said the chancellor of Treves, “his Imperial Majesty, acting in the goodness of his nature, consents to allow you one day’s delay; but on condition that you make answer by word of mouth, and not in writing.” Immediately the imperial herald came forward, and conducted Luther back to the hotel. Threats and shouts accompanied him through the crowd—alarming reports reached his friends. “The Diet is displeased,” it was said; “The Pope’s envoys triumph!—the Reformer will fall a victim.” Men’s passions were roused. Some gentlemen repaired in haste to Luther. “Doctor,” said they, in agitation, “what is all this? They say they are resolved to bring you to the stake . . . If they dare attempt it,” they added, “it shall be at the peril of their lives.” “And it would have been so,” said Luther, repeating their words at Eisleben twenty years later.
On the other hand, Luther’s enemies were all confidence. “He has begged for time,” said they; “he is going to retract. At a distance, his speech was arrogant: but now his courage forsakes him. He is conquered.” Luther was perhaps the only person at Worms perfectly undisturbed. A few minutes after his return from the Diet, he wrote to the counsellor Cuspiamus: “I am writing to you from the very midst of a tempest. (Perhaps he alluded to the noise of the crowd outside his hotel.) An hour ago I appeared before the emperor and his brother . . . I avowed myself the author of my books, and I have promised to give my answer to-morrow as to recantation. By the help of Jesus Christ, I will not retract a single letter of my writings.”
Some politic persons thought they had hit upon an expedient to rescue Luther. “Retract,” said they, “your errors in doctrine, but adhere to all you have said concerning the Pope and his court, and you will be safe.” Aleander trembled at the suggestion; but Luther, not to be moved from his purpose, declared that he cared little for a political reformation, if it were not based upon faith. Luther composed his thoughts. He felt that tranquillity of soul without which man can do nothing truly great. He prayed, he read the Word of God, he glanced over his own writings, and endeavoured to give a suitable form to his answer. The thought that he was about to bear testimony for Jesus Christ and his Word in the face of the emperor, and of the whole empire, dilated his heart with joy. The moment when he was to make his appearance was approaching. He drew near the table on which the volume of the Holy Scriptures lay open, placed his left hand upon it, and raising the other towards heaven, he vowed to adhere constantly to the Gospel, and to confess his faith freely, even though he should be called to seal his confession with his blood. This done, he felt the peace of his soul increased.
At four o’clock (18th April) the herald presented himself, and conducted Luther to the hall of the Diet. The general curiosity was extreme, for the answer was to be decisive. The Diet being engaged in deliberation, Luther was obliged to wait in the court, surrounded by a dense crowd, eagerly moving to and fro, and resembling a sea of heads. For two hours the Reformer was hemmed in by the multitude pressing to see him. “I was not used,” said he, “to such ways and noises.” To an ordinary man this would have been a grievous hindrance to preparedness of mind; but Luther was walking with God; his look was serene; his features unruffled—the Eternal was placing him on a rock. Evening began to close in, and the torches were lighted in the hall. Their light gleamed through the ancient painted glass to the court beyond, and the whole scene wore an aspect of more than common solemnity. At length the Doctor was admitted. Many persons obtained admission with him; for every one was desirous to hear his answer. The princes having taken their seats, and Luther being again in presence of Charles V., the chancellor of the Elector of Treves broke silence, and said—”Martin Luther, you requested yesterday a delay which is now expired. Certainly the Diet was not bound in justice to accede to your desire, since every man should be so grounded in his faith as to be able at all times to give an answer to those who ask him, much more one who is an eminent and learned doctor in the Scriptures . . . Now, therefore, answer the inquiry if his Majesty, who has manifested so much indulgence. Are you prepared to defend all that your writings contain, or do you wish to retract any part of them?”
After having spoken these words, the chancellor repeated them in German. “Hereupon,” say the Acts of Worms, “Doctor Martin Luther made answer in a low and humble tone, without any vehemence or violence, but with gentleness and mildness, and in a manner full of respect and diffidence, yet with joy and Christian firmness—Most Serene Emperor, and you illustrious Princes and gracious Lords,” said Luther, turning towards Charles, and looking round the assembly, “I this day appear before you in all humility, according to your command, and I implore your Majesty and your august Highnesses, by the mercies of God, to listen with favour to the defence of a cause which I am well assured is just and right. I ask pardon, if, by reason of my ignorance, I am wanting in the manners that befit a court; for I have not been brought up in kings’ palaces, but in the seclusion of a cloister. Two questions were yesterday put to me by his Imperial Majesty—the first, Whether I was the author of the books whose titles were read? the second, Whether I wished to revoke or defend the doctrine I have taught? I answered the first, and I adhere to that answer. As to the second, I have composed writings on very different subjects. In some I have discussed faith and good works, in a spirit at once so pure, clear, and Christian, that even my adversaries themselves, far from finding any thing to censure, confess that these writings are profitable, and deserve to be perused by devout persons. The Pope’s Bull, violent as it is, acknowledges this. What, then, should I be doing if I were now to retract these writings? Wretched man! I alone, of all men living, should be abandoning truths approved by the unanimous voice of friends and enemies, and opposing doctrines that the whole world glorifies in confessing.
“I have composed, secondly, certain works against Popery, wherein I have attacked such as by false doctrines, irregular lives, and scandalous examples, afflict the Christian world, and ruin the bodies and souls of men. And is not this confirmed by the grief of all who fear God? Is it not manifest that the laws and human doctrines of the Popes entangle, vex, and distress the consciences of the faithful, whilst the crying and endless extortions of Rome engulf the property and wealth of Christendom, and more particularly of this illustrious nation? If I were to revoke what I have written on that subject, what should I do, but strengthen this tyranny, and open a wider door to so many flagrant impieties? Bearing down all resistance with fresh fury, we should behold these proud men swell, foam, and rage more than ever! And not merely would the yoke which now weighs down Christians be made more grinding by my retraction—it would thereby become, so to speak, lawful; for by my retraction, it would receive confirmation from your most Serene Majesty, and all the states of the empire. Great God! I should thus be like to an infamous cloak, used to hide and cover over every kind of malice and tyranny.
“In the third and last place, I have written some books against private individuals, who had undertaken to defend the tyranny of Rome by destroying the faith. I freely confess that I may have attacked such persons with more violence than was consistent with my profession as an ecclesiastic. I do not think of myself as a saint; but neither can I retract these books, because I should, by so doing, sanction the impieties of my opponents, and they would thence take occasion to crush God’s people with still more cruelty. Yet, as I am a mere man, and not God, I will defend myself after the example of Jesus Christ, who said, ‘If I have spoken evil, bear witness against me’ John xviii. 23. How much more should I, who am but dust and ashes, and so prone to error, desire that every one should bring forward what he can against my doctrine! Therefore, most Serene Emperor, and you illustrious Princes, and all, whether high or low, who hear me, I implore you, by the mercies of God, to prove to me by the writings of the prophets and apostles that I am in error. As soon as I shall be convinced, I will instantly retract all my errors, and will myself be the first to seize my writings, and commit them to the flames.
“What I have just said, I think, will clearly show that I have well considered and weighed the dangers to which I am exposing myself; but far from being dismayed by them, I rejoice exceedingly to see the Gospel this day, as of old, a cause of disturbance and disagreement. It is the character and destiny of God’s Word. ‘I came not to send peace upon the earth, but a sword,’ said Jesus Christ. God is wonderful and awful in His counsels. Let us have a care, lest in our endeavours to arrest discords, we be found to fight against the Holy Word of God, and bring down upon our heads a frightful deluge of inextricable dangers—present disaster, and everlasting desolations . . . Let us have a care, lest the reign of the young and noble Prince, the Emperor Charles, on whom, next to God, we build so many hopes, should not only commence, but continue and terminate its course under the most fatal auspices. I might cite examples drawn from the Oracles of God,” continued Luther, speaking with noble courage in the presence of the mightiest monarch of the world; “I might speak of Pharaohs—of kings of Babylon or of Israel—who were never more contributing to their own ruin, than when, by measures in appearance most prudent, they thought to establish their authority! ‘God removeth the mountains, and they know not’ (Job ix. 5). In speaking thus, I do not suppose that such noble Princes have need of my poor judgment; but I wish to acquit myself of a duty that Germany has a right to expect from her children. And so, commending myself to your August Majesty, and your most Serene Highnesses, I beseech you, in all humility, not to permit the hatred of my enemies to rain upon me an indignation I have not deserved.”
Luther had pronounced these words in German, with modesty, and yet with much earnestness and resolution; he was desired to repeat them in Latin (the Emperor was not fond of German). The splendid assembly which surrounded the Reformer, its noise and excitement had exhausted him. “I was bathed in sweat,” said he, “and standing in the centre of the princes.” Frederic of Thun, confidential counsellor of the Elector of Saxony, who by his master’s orders had taken his stand at the Reformer’s side, to guard him against surprise or violence, seeing the exhaustion of the poor monk, said, “If you are not equal to the exertion of repeating your speech, what you have said will suffice.” But Luther, having taken a moment’s breathing time, began again, and repeated his address in Latin with undiminished power.
As soon as he stopped speaking, the chancellor of Treves, spokesman of the Diet, said angrily:—“You have not given any answer to the inquiry put to you. You are not to question the decisions of the Councils—you are required to return a clear and distinct answer. Will you, or will you not, retract?” Luther then answered unhesitatingly, “Since your most Serene Majesty and your High Mightinesses require of me a simple, clear, and direct answer, I will give one, and it is this—I cannot submit my faith either to the Pope or to the Councils, because it is as clear as noon-day that they have often fallen into error, and even into glaring inconsistency with themselves. If, then, I am not convinced by proof from Holy Scriptures, or by cogent reasons—if I am not satisfied by the very texts that I have cited—and if my judgment is not in this way brought into subjection to God’s Word, I neither can nor will retract any thing; for it cannot be right for a Christian to speak against his conscience.” Then turning a look on that assembly before whom he stood, and which held in its hands his life or death, “I stand here, and can say no more. God help me. Amen.”