Chapter XXIX: The Witness Before Cæsar

It was April 18, 1521 A.D., the day looked forward to by millions throughout broad Germany. Would the friar, the peasant’s son, recant before the princes, bishops, and Emperor, or would he stand fast? Worms was divided into two hostile camps. Men almost came to blows on the street corners. “He will retract.” “He will not.” I found even the horseboys arguing it, when I made a chance visit to our stables.

We had not deemed it necessary to inform Dr. Luther of our little adventure in the night time, but I communicated enough to Deutschland, the imperial herald, so that he caused two or three reliable men-at-arms to be stationed around the house of the Knights to scrutinize all visitors, and I knew well enough that Emperor Charles, little as he might love heretics, would fight against them as became a lion and not a snake, and would visit condign punishment on any would-be assassins. If Luther had wished any time for deliberation it was well he spent the night at his vigils; he had small peace all that day. His apartments literally swarmed with well-meaning friends. Bucer had ridden over from the Ebernberg with more letters and promises of military succour from Franz von Sickengen. Saxon noblemen flocked to see Luther all the morning long, greeting him with bluff heartiness and proffering much homely cheer. “Herr Doctor,” ran their honest talk, “how are you? People say you are going to be burned. That will never do. That would ruin everything.” And my master, with untroubled brow and a fresh and steady voice (as if he had had a peaceful sleep), answered them in kind; never downcast, never boastful, but wholly cheerful, until, as one visitor said to me when leaving, “You would think he was going to a hair-splitting debate of harmless theologians to-day, and not before the Estates and Emperor.” Only Amsdorf and I, who had heard that prayer flung out into the garden, knew _whence_ came the noble equanimity which set all the rest marvelling.

Out in the streets of the city the folk were elbowing and jostling by thousands, and the tall houses had every window lined, man and maid waiting, elbowing, craning to see “Him,” as he went to his great ordeal. As for Amsdorf and myself, with a great effort we gained Dr. Luther enough peace for us to sit down beside him, spread the cloth, and force upon him the leg of a capon and a few tarts, that he might not go before the Diet absolutely faint and fasting. We had expected him to be summoned shortly after noon, but it was after four o’clock when Ulrich von Pappenheim, hereditary marshal of the Empire, and a file of twenty Swiss halberdiers in gorgeous scarlet surcoats, came to escort the distinguished friar before his judges. Dr. Luther needed no tarrying. Drawing his well-worn black habit about him, casting upon the table the papers he had been conning, he arose to go. I could see his lips were a little pale; possibly his steps were short and nervous, otherwise he was perfectly natural. Amsdorf and I each gave him a hand, and he returned the grasp warmly. We had long since passed the time when many words were needed. The halberdiers closed around him as if he were a prisoner. We followed at their heels, and so out into the street.

But despite the imperial banner boldly fluttered before us by Deutschland, despite sundry injunctions by the men-at-arms, and even thrustings with their pike staves, so dense was the multitude that we won a tardy progress; until at last Pappenheim, loath to keep the Diet waiting, flung dignity to the winds, and turning us down a side alley brought us by back ways to the privy gate in the garden wall of the bishop’s palace, and so at last into the vast rambling structure itself, and to the hall of audience.

Even within the palace every doorway, corridor, and overlooking gallery was packed. Spaniards, Italians, French, Flemings, all were there to stare at “_le grand heretique_,” as many whispered in our hearing, though once or twice I caught a friendly word cast in some tongue quite other than German. I saw not a few serving-men in the livery of the Forlis, and once I believed I caught the serpent-like eyes of Orosi peering out of a dark passageway, though of this I could not be certain. Onward we went, until our way was blocked by the guarded doors of the hall of the Diet; and while Pappenheim went before to announce our coming, and we stood waiting in tense expectancy, something occurred which heartened me at least not a little. For, from his post as guards-captain at the entrance, came Georg von Frundsberg, hardest-handed and most famous of the Kaiser’s Lanzknecht generals, a man of more battles than he had surviving hairs, and he smote his great fist on Dr. Luther’s shoulder, then spoke with the voice of a bull.

“Little monk, little monk, now go your way, to take a stand which neither I, nor any other commander in our sharpest battles, have taken; yet if you be of good intent, and certain of your business, go on in God’s name and be comforted. Never will God forsake you!”

Ere my master could answer him, Pappenheim was whispering “Enter.” We passed inside before the Diet.

* * * * *

Begging friar and peasant’s son, no doubt, but judged by what a court! The room used for Luther’s first hearing had proved too small; the largest hall in the palace had been taken. Even this was packed to the great impairment of imperial dignity. From high windows the light of the afternoon sun was streaming in long golden panels over an august array of ducal caps and electoral “hats of presence.” At one end of the hall, upon a purple-covered dais, and under a like colored canopy, sat a young man with pale and somewhat vacant countenance, clothed all in black save for a wide collar of white lace, while on his head perched a wide black hat. This was Charles V, Emperor of the Holy Roman Empire, King of Spain and of Naples, Archduke of Austria, Prince of the Netherlands, Dominator of the golden Indies of the Western Seas,--the greatest monarch since Charlemagne. At his left side, on a lower chair, was Prince Ferdinand, his brother, destined soon to share in many of his thrones. On his right side was a vacant seat, reserved for either one of the Monsignori, the two Papal Legates; but they both were absent, utterly outraged at the mere thought of seeming to parley with a convicted heretic. To right and to left, on close-set benches, the greater princes to the front, were the Electors, Landgrafs, and Dukes of the Empire, by the score; and among them sprinkled the lordly mitres of the prince-bishops whose temporal power made them mighty potentates.

As I ran my eye over the array one and another familiar face flashed before me: here was the handsome, sensual countenance of Albert of Mainz, the first patron of Tetzel; here was the hard and cynical face of his kinsman Joachim of Brandenburg, most venal and profligate of all the Electors; and on the rear benches was many a prince temporal or prince spiritual whom I knew wished Luther every ill. But I saw not enemies only. From the lords of Brunswick, Pomerania, Mecklenburg, Hesse, Lüneburg, there came friendly smiles; and on the Electors’ bench, closest to the dais, sat the man whose rugged bearded countenance lit up as my master entered--Frederick the Wise of Saxony, the prince of the pure heart, who had been Luther’s best friend, despite the fact that these days in Worms were the only times he saw him.

Time would fail me to tell of the throng behind these princes. Counts and Freiherrs were there, and all the deputies of the imperial cities, all manner of captains, canons, doctors, and consequential burghers, ambassadors of France, England, Venice, noble foreigners and ignoble interlopers. It was hard for the Imperial ushers to keep a decent space cleared around the very throne of majesty. Glancing upward as I entered, I saw a lattice-work above the hall, and behind it were moving the garments, and at times flashing the eyes of women. Could I distinguish the face of Marianna? or the sombre robes of a nun? Conjectures were vain at that moment. Amsdorf and I stood with the other late comers near the doorway. The halberdiers opened their ranks, Pappenheim went forward, and following him moved the friar of Wittenberg--alone.

Standing on the first step of the dais, and facing the defendant, was a man of imposing presence, clad in black, Johann von Eck,[13] the “Official” of the Bishop of Worms and appointed as imperial interrogator in the hearings. Hardly had the first whisper and rustle caused by our coming passed, hardly had Luther ended his dutiful reverence before the throne, when I saw the pale young Kaiser nod to his spokesman. Silent enough was that hall when Eck began his questioning. Speaking first in Latin for the learned, then in German for the less lettered, he recapitulated what had befallen at the former audience: how Dr. Luther had been given ample time now for a final answer touching the charges against him. Every Christian should give a reason for his faith, much more a learned theologian like Luther; and now was the time for “the Herr Doctor to answer plainly whether he stood by the contents of his books, or whether he was ready to recant them.”

You could have heard a hair fall in that assembly when Luther began his reply. Well though I knew him, I marvelled at his calmness. He answered as deliberately as when he spoke to his students in Wittenberg. His voice was clear, not shrill, and through it rang strength and sweetness. He looked from Emperor upon princes; from princes upon Emperor, as upon his peers, yet bravado was not in him. Ere he had spoken three sentences I said in my heart, and hundreds said with me, “It is well. God is with him. He will triumph.”

A second time he bowed to the Emperor, then likewise to the closely packed Estates.

“Gracious Lord Emperor, and most serene Electors and Princes,” I give his words as I recall them, “I crave your mercy if by my uncourtly speech I do offend. For I am peasant-born and peasant-bred, and untaught to stand before those whom God has set over the nations. Nevertheless, since this is a matter of conscience, and touches even the salvation of many souls, I will make bold to speak before you, and I know that in your benignity you will pardon my rude tongue.”

So far the peasant’s son to the Emperor, then he fixed his eyes right steadily on the Official.

“Worshipful Magister von Eck, you have asked me touching my books, and now I will make answer. In my day I have written many books (with a gesture to the volumes piled on a table below the dais), and much do they differ in kind. For the first kind, they are books of pure edification, nor has the bitterest foe found aught in them amiss. How therefore dare I condemn the good words which they contain by retracting them?”

(“A skilful retreat,” I heard a prince-bishop whisper; “he will save a part of his writings by sacrificing the rest.”)

“Touching a second part, in them I have attacked that tyranny of the Pope beneath which all Germany groans. And what man not blinded by gold or the devil can deny that the whole land is most miserably ensnared and vexed by these doctrines of the Papalists, to the casting away of many souls. If therefore I should revoke these books, would I not but add force to the former tyranny, yea, open not merely the doors but the windows to destroying sin. In that case--holy God! what a cover to wickedness would I not become! How may I recant them?”

“This sounds little like retreating,” a magnate under a ducal cap whispered back to the bishop, but Emperor, prince, and prelate, all kept silence while on spoke Luther.

“Finally, noble Sovereign and princes, I come to the third order of my books. In these I have assailed divers persons who have sprung to the defence of the Papal tyranny. Here I deny not I have perchance shown frailty. Doubtless I have sometimes written over-harshly of certain persons. A God I am not, but only a man, and prone to err, through lack of charity, ill becoming the name of Christ, which I do bear. Nevertheless I cannot retract even these books, lest in recalling the harsh words against the Papalists I seem to soften my attacks upon the tyranny and impiety itself, and thereby work greater harm than that which I would fain undo.”

“He will not retract! The fiend curse him!” burst between the teeth of the aforementioned bishop, but I could see his ducal companion smiling broadly. The scene was desperately tense.

“Inasmuch, my Lord Emperor,” the friar’s voice still sounded, “as I am charged with direful heresies, my books burned in many cities, even my poor body threatened with the flames, I do remember in this hour the word of my Master, even Christ, when the Jews haled him before Annas, accusing him falsely of many crimes, ‘If I have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil.’ For I am here not in my own pride, but in the name of God and His Gospel; and I do assure your Majesty and you noble lords that the moment I am proved to have written or said aught against the Holy Scriptures, in that same moment I am the first to cast my books upon the fire.”

“Blasphemer,” snarled the bishop. “Has not Rome spoken already against him? Wherefore does he prate thus of ‘the Gospel’?”

“Because, Reverend Father,” spoke back the Duke, “a few of us sinners are impiously preferring the Word of God to the word of Leo.”

The hall was filled with murmurs now, even from the princes’ benches. The keepers at the door pounded for silence with their pikestaves. Luther paused momentarily as they brought in tall red torches and set them in the sockets around the high chamber. Presently the Emperor nodded; and friar resumed.

“In days of old, and even in these present, it has been manifested that the word of God would most assuredly prevail, as I am well able to testify out of the Scripture; witness Pharaoh, the King of Babylon, and Kings of Israel who were smitten down in the plenitude of their power when they strove against the mandate of God. For it is He who taketh the wise in their own craftiness and overturneth even the mountains. Therefore it behooveth me to fear God. And this I say, not because my admonition is needful to such noble lords, but because the duty I owe to _my Germany_ (ah! the ring of those words!) will not suffer me to recant. With this I do commend myself to your Majesty and to your Lordships, humbly asking that you will not suffer my accusers to triumph over me without fair cause. I have spoken.”

By this time I think that every man within that close-packed hall was in one of two camps--those who believed they gazed on a fiend, and those who believed they gazed on an angel. The black figure on the dais stirred nervously. The Electors were leaning forward, twisting their beards or knitting their fingers. It had grown dark suddenly, and the torches sent an unsteady glare over us all. The room was oppressively hot. Unpent emotions were venting themselves in smothered oaths or praises. Was the Diet confronting Anti-Christ or a new Apostle? Hardly a man but was ready with his certain answer, and ready to defend it even to the shedding of blood.

Von Eck stood by the dais in silence, evidently at a loss for a moment how to proceed. Then in a somewhat unsteady voice he directed Dr. Luther to repeat the substance of his words in German, for the sake of those who could not follow his Latin. This relieved the tense situation for a little. But I could see my master’s forehead bathed with perspiration. He stood steadfast, his voice was as calmly strong as ever, but his face shone very wan under the hot torchlight. Willing indeed was his spirit, but the flesh was weak. For a moment fearing lest he was close to fainting, and himself sorely excited, the Saxon Councillor Von Thun cast etiquette to the winds, and called loudly across the press, “If you cannot go on, you have done enough, Herr Doctor.”

But enough had not been done, either for foe or friend, and Luther knew it. Completing his repetition in German, at the mandate of the firmest will in the world his form seemed to straighten. Once more he confronted the Official, and Von Eck, mindful of his part, returned to the charge.

“You make many words, Herr Doctor, but your answers are not complete. Likewise you do grievously abuse the high clemency of his Majesty and the noble Estates in adding to your evil deeds these attacks upon the Lord Pope and his defenders. You are here to defend your books and teachings, not to defame others. Again in your arguments you advance nothing new. Long debate there might be if any of your heresies were novel, but such they are not. Long since like heresies have been uttered by the ‘Poor Men of Lyons,’ by Wyclif of England, by John Hus of Bohemia. Nor need I tell you that these heresies were condemned at the great and ecumenical Council of Constance with the consent of entire Germany. How then do you set your judgment, confessedly prone to err, against the wisdom of that most holy Council?”

“Worshipful Magister von Eck,” retorted Luther, with the least tinge of scorn in his voice, “I must answer you now as I have answered at Leipzig. General Councils can err. The Council of Constance erred. My conscience forbids me to retract.”

None who knew Luther marvelled at these words, but this clear assertion of personal judgment over the authority of a universal Council, a Council to which most good Catholics ascribed a power even above a Pope’s, this, I say, set many a prince and prelate writhing in his seat. Some even rose and cried out. There were mingled cheers and hisses. The great prelates were gnashing with their teeth, as the Jews over Stephen. Great beads of sweat stood on the friar’s brow, but he held his ground, and faced unflinchingly the lowering Official and the frowning Emperor.

“Holy God, Martin,” cried Von Eck, driven from his composure by the calm audacity of the reply, “do you assert that Councils can err,--can teach veritable heresy?”

“Even so,” the answer was less yielding than ever; “not once but many times. I can prove it.”

“Prove it? Impossible!”

“In nowise. I can quote many passages of Scripture. My conscience will not suffer me to go against them.”

Von Eck smote his hands together in rising anger.

“Martin,” he admonished, “let your conscience alone. Recant your errors, and you will be safe and sound. Never can you prove that Councils have erred.”

My master shook his head in silent negative. The hall, unsupportably hot, was becoming noisy. High dignitaries were casting at Luther now encouragements, now execrations. The Emperor stirred uneasily, as if fain to bring the stormy audience to termination. For the last time the Official faced his stubborn witness. His voice was sharp with menace.

“Hearken then and make an end. His Imperial Majesty grows weary of your stubbornness. The question set has been plain. Yes? or no? Omit the classifications of your books, and the matter of Councils. The Emperor demands a clear answer without horns. Will you or will you not recant?”

Instantly the tumult was quieted. The great hall was absolutely still. Every man looked on Luther with bated breath, while he very deliberately squared himself before Von Eck. Then down the chamber bore his voice, not shrill, not shouting, simply deep with the depths of the mighty spirit within.

“Well, then, since your Serene Majesty and your Lordships ask for a plain answer, I will give it without horns or teeth, and here it is: Unless I am convinced by Scripture or by plain reason, seeing that Popes and Councils have often erred and contradicted, I cannot recant. I neither will nor can recant anything, because it is neither safe nor right to act against one’s conscience. For my conscience is caught in the Word of God.” Then he threw his arms wide, like some warrior grappling the innumerable foe. “HERE I STAND. I CAN DO NO OTHER. GOD HELP ME. AMEN!”

A great cry, hostile, friendly, broke from hundreds of throats. The Emperor rose from his seat, and vanished by a rear entrance without a word, while around Luther swirled a multitude that almost bore him from his feet.

I elbowed my way to my master. Many friends were there before me, for a score of high nobles and deputies of the towns had ringed him around. They were pressing his hand, stamping, laughing, shouting, even trying to kiss him. Good Elector Frederick did not tarry, but as I passed him I heard him saying to the Duke of Pomerania, “Ah! how well Dr. Luther spoke this day. Never now will I believe him a heretic.”

At last the whole mass of us had my master out the door. As we went, we saw the Italian and Spanish soldiers and prelates crowding around, moving their dark lips, flashing malignity from their eyes, and crying in their own tongues, “To the fire! To the fire! Burn the heretic!” But the German nobles closed about him as a guard of honor, and their swords flashed out and tossed wildly in the darkened streets. Just as we reached the portal, and the cold air smote us, Luther threw his hands high above his head, as would a ritter returning victorious from the lists.

“I am through!” he cried, with feverish laughter, “I am through! _I am through!_”

So back to the house of the Knights of St. John. Outside in the streets we heard a true whirlwind raging; a concourse of all the wild spirits in Worms was loose, drinking deep, shouting loud, clashing its swords and bawling its “_vivats!_” for the peasant’s son who had made even Emperor and Electors hear the cry of the Fatherland against the tyrant of Italy. At our quarters there were other tokens of the general favor, heartening messages from princes, city deputies, and even high ecclesiastics, and Duke Erik of Brunswick sent Luther a true German present, a mighty can of Einbecker beer from his own table. Spalatin, Elector Frederick’s confessor, was there, with cheering words from his sovereign, and a host of humbler friends who had not been able to enter the hall, but who now caught as it were for the hem of their leader’s garment.

Dr. Luther cast himself upon the bench and sat for long in silence. He was terribly pale. His forehead was bathed with sweat. At times he would tremble all over. But his eyes shone with a light almost supernatural. He was very happy.

* * * * *

Years have passed over me since that afternoon in Worms. What I thought then, is my thought even to this day,--that since the hour when Jesus Christ cried, “It is finished,” on the Cross, and by His sacrifice redeemed this world, mankind have seen few or no hours greater, more potent for the far hereafter, than that scene in the hall before princes and Emperor.

_He_ had done it. He, the peasant’s son, the begging friar. Against him had been Roman Law and Canon Law, the authority of Councils, the mandate of Popes, the tradition of the Church, the frowns of prince prelates and Kaiser, the manifest warnings of a fiery death. He had carried to the ordeal only the good wishes of those who trusted him, and his own clear conscience. He had braved everything, Church, and State, and physical terrors, and threatenings of hell. Where others, the wisest and noblest, would have recanted, he had refused. Where the bravest might have quailed, he had stood steadfast. He had been true to himself, despite the scorn and thunder and fury of nigh all the great ones of the world.

And I think it of little account whether in days to come men shall say Martin Luther did well or ill in his exact doctrines, of “Grace,” or “Faith,” or “Redemption.” Doctrines change, the shifting prism of truth can find new colors, but the right of a man to stand before his God and to avow, “This I hold to be Truth, for with the powers Thou hast given, I see it so,” such a right, I say, is what Luther defended at Worms. And till mornings and evenings cease, and summer be confounded with winter, shall the fruits of this victory abide; priest, and dogma, and human tradition and human law shall no more stand betwixt the vision of Truth and him who shall seek it reverently.

FOOTNOTES:

[13] He was no connection of the Eck who had confronted Luther at Leipzig.