CHAPTER XI

Luther’s Departure—Journey from Worms—Luther to Cranach—Luther to Charles V—Luther with the Abbot of Hirschfeld—The Curate of Eisenach—Several Princes leave the Diet—Charles signs Luther’s Condemnation—The Edict of Worms—Luther with his parents—Luther attacked and carried off—The ways of God—Wartburg—Luther a Prisoner.

Luther having thus escaped from these walls of Worms, which threatened to become his tomb, his whole heart gave glory to God. “The devil himself,” said he, “guarded the citadel of the pope. But Christ has made a large breach in it; and Satan has been forced to confess that the Lord is mightier than he.”

“The day of the Diet of “Worms,” says the pious Mathesius, the disciple and friend of Luther, “is one of the greatest and most glorious days given to the world before its final close.” The battle fought at Worms re-echoed far and wide, and while the sound travelled over Christendom, from the regions of the North to the mountains of Switzerland, and the cities of England, France, and Italy, many ardently took up the mighty weapon of the Word of God.

Luther, having arrived at Frankfort, on the evening of Saturday, (27th April,) took advantage next day of a moment of leisure, the first he had had for a long time, to write a note, in a style at once playful and energetic, to his friend, Lucas Cranach, the celebrated painter, at Wittemberg. “Your servant, dear compeer Lucas,” said he to him, “I thought his majesty would assemble at Worms some fifty doctors to confute the monk off hand. But not at all. Are these books yours? Yes. Will you retract them? No. Ah well! get you gone! Such was the whole story. O blind Germans, how like children we act in allowing ourselves to be played upon and duped by Rome!… The Jews must for once have their chant, Yo! Yo! Yo! But our passover also will come, and then we will sing Hallelujah! … There must be silence and suffering for a short time. Jesus Christ says, ‘A little while and ye shall not see me, and again a little while and ye shall see me.’ (John 16:16) I hope it will be so with me. I commend you altogether to the Eternal. May He through Christ protect us against the attacks of the wolves and dragons of Rome. Amen.”

After writing this somewhat enigmatical letter, Luther, as time was pressing, set out immediately for Friedberg, which is six leagues from Frankfort. The next day Luther again communed with himself. He was desirous to write once more to Charles V, being unwilling to confound him with guilty rebels. In his letter to the emperor he clearly expounded the nature of the obedience which is due to man, and that which is due to God, and the limit where the former must stop and give place to the latter. In reading Luther, we involuntarily call to mind the saying of the greatest autocrat of modern times: “My rule ends where that of conscience begins.” “God, who is the searcher of hearts, is my witness,” says Luther, “that I am ready with all diligence to obey your majesty, whether in honour or disgrace, whether by life or by death, and with absolutely no exception but the word of God, from which man derives life. In all the affairs of the present life my fidelity will be immutable, for as to these loss or gain cannot at all affect salvation. But in regard to eternal blessings, it is not the will of God that man should submit to man. Subjection in the spiritual world constitutes worship, and should be paid only to the Creator.

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Luther also addressed a letter, but in German, to the States of the empire. It was nearly the same in substance as that to the emperor. It contained an account of all that had taken place at Worms. This letter was repeatedly printed and circulated all over Germany; “Every where,” says Cochlœus, “it excited the popular indignation against the emperor and the dignified clergy.”

Early next day, Luther wrote a note to Spalatin, enclosing in it the two letters which he had written the evening before, and sent pack the herald Sturm, who had been won to the gospel. Having embraced him he set out in all haste for Grunberg. On Tuesday, when about two leagues from Hirschfeld, he met the chancellor of the abbot-prince of this town, who had come out to receive him. Shortly after a troop of horsemen appeared with the abbot at their head. The latter leapt from his horse, and Luther having alighted from his carriage, the prince and the Reformer embraced, and then entered Hirschfeld. The senate received them at the gates. The princes of the Church ran to meet a monk anathematised by the pope, and the most distinguished among the laity, bowed the head before an individual whom the emperor had put under the ban.

“At five in the morning we will be at the church,” said the prince, on rising in the evening from table, at which the Reformer was a guest. He even wished Luther to occupy his own bed. Next day, Luther preached, the abbot-prince accompanying him with his suite. In the evening, Luther arrived at Eisenach, the abode of his Infancy. All his friends in the town gathered round him, and begged him to preach. The next day they conducted him to the church. The curate made his appearance, attended by a notary and witnesses. He came forward in great tremor, divided between the fear of losing his place, and that of opposing the powerful man before him. At last he said, in a tone of embarrassment, “I protest against the liberty which you are going to take.” Luther mounted the pulpit, and that voice which, twenty-three years before, sung in the streets of this town for bread, caused the arches of the ancient church to ring with accents which had begun to shake the world. After the sermon, the curate, in confusion, stept softly forward to Luther. The notary had drawn up his instrument, the witnesses had signed it, and everything was in regular order to put the curate’s place in safety. “Pardon me,” said he humbly to the doctor; “I have done it from fear of the tyrants who oppress the Church.”

There was, in fact, some ground to fear them. At Worms, the aspect of affairs had changed. Aleander seemed to reign supreme. “Luther has nothing before him but exile,” wrote Frederick to his brother, Duke John. Nothing can save him. If God permits me to return, I will have things almost incredible to tell you. Not only Annas and Caiaphas, but also Pilate and Herod, have leagued against him.” Frederick, having little wish to remain longer, left Worms. The Elector-Palatine did the same, as did also the Archbishop-Elector of Cologne. Princes of less elevated rank imitated them. Deeming it impossible to avert the blow which was about to be struck, they preferred, perhaps erroneously, to abandon the place. The Spaniards, Italians, and the most Ultra-Montane of the German princes, alone remained. The field was free, and Aleander triumphed. He laid before Charles the draft of an edict, which he intended should serve as the model of that which the Diet was to issue against the monk. The nuncio’s labour pleased the irritated emperor. He assembled the remains of the Diet in his chamber, and caused Aleander’s edict to be read to them. All who were present, (so says Pallavicini,) approved it. The next day—the day of a great festival—the emperor was in the church, surrounded by the nobility of his court. The religious solemnity was finished, and a multitude of people filled the church, Then Aleander, clad in all the insignia of his rank, approached Charles V. He held in his hand two copies of the edict against Luther, the one in Latin, and the other in German, and, kneeling down before his majesty, implored him to append his signature and the seal of the empire. It was at the moment when the host had just been offered, when incense filled the temple, when music was still ringing under its arches, and, as it were, in the presence of the Divinity, that the destruction of the enemy of Rome was to be completed. The emperor, assuming the most gracious manner,² took the pen and signed. Aleander went off in triumph, put the decree immediately to press, and sent it over all Christendom. This fruit of the labour of Rome had cost the papacy some pains. Pallavicini himself informs us that this edict, though dated the 8th May, was signed later, but was antedated, to make it be supposed that it was executed during the time when all the members of the Diet were actually assembled.

“We Charles Fifth,” said the emperor, (then followed all his titles,) “to all the electors, princes, prelates, and others, whom it may concern,

“The Almighty having entrusted to us, for the defence of his holy faith, more kingdoms and power than he gave to any of our predecessors, we mean to exert ourselves to the utmost to proven any heresy from arising to pollute our holy empire.

“The Augustin monk, Martin Luther, though exhorted by us, has rushed like a madman against the holy Church, and sought to destroy it by means of books filled with blasphemy. He has, in a shameful manner, insulted the imperishable law of holy wedlock. He has striven to excite the laity to wash their hands in the blood of priests; and, overturning all obedience, has never ceased to stir up revolt, division, war, murder, theft, and fire, and to labour completely to ruin the faith of Christians.… In a word, to pass over all his other iniquities in silence, this creature, who is not a man, but Satan himself under the form of a man, covered with the cowl of a monk,⁵ has collected into one stinking pool all the worst heresies of past times, and has added several new ones of his own …

“We have, therefore, sent this Luther from before our face, that all pious and sensible men may regard him as a fool, or a man possessed of the devil; and we expect that, after the expiry of his safe-conduct, effectual means will be taken to arrest his furious rage.

“Wherefore, under pain of incurring the punishment due to the crime of treason, we forbid you to lodge the said Luther so soon as the fatal term shall be expired, to conceal him, give him meat or drink, and lend him, by word or deed, publicly or secretly, any kind of assistance. We enjoin you, moreover, to seize him, or cause him to be seized, wherever you find him, and bring him to us without any delay, or to keep him in all safety until you hear from us how you are to act with regard to him, and till you receive the recompence due to your exertions in so holy a work.

“As to his adherents you will seize them, suppress them, and confiscate their goods.

“As to his writings, if the best food becomes the terror of all mankind as soon as a drop of poison is mixed with it, how much more ought these books which contain a deadly poison to the soul to be not only rejected but also annihilated.

“You will therefore burn them, or in some other way destroy them entirely.

“As to authors, poets, printers, painters, sellers or buyers of placards, writings, or paintings, against the pope, or the Church, you will lay hold of their persons and their goods, and treat them according to your good pleasure.

“And if any one, whatever be his dignity, shall dare to act in contradiction to the decree of our imperial Majesty, we ordain that he shall be placed under the ban of the empire.

“Let every one conform hereto.”

Such was the edict signed in the Cathedral of Worms. It was more than a Roman bull which, though published in Italy, might not be executed in Germany. The emperor himself had spoken, and the Diet had ratified his decree. All the partisans of Rome sent forth a shout of triumph. “It is the end of the tragedy,” exclaimed they. “For my part,” said Alphonso Valdez, a Spaniard at the emperor’s court, “I am persuaded it is not the end but the beginning.” Valdez perceived that the movement was in the Church, in the people, in the age, and that though Luther should fall, his cause would not fall with him. But no one disguised to himself the imminent, the inevitable danger to which the Reformer was exposed, while the whole tribe of the superstitious were seized with horror at the thought of the incarnate Satan whom the emperor pointed out to the nation as disguised under a monk’s frock. The man against whom the mighty of the earth were thus forging their thunders had left the Church of Eisenach, and was preparing to separate from some of his dearest friends. He did not wish to follow the road of Gotha or Erfurt, but to repair to the village of Mora, his father’s birth place, that he might there see his grandmother, who died four months after, his uncle, Henry Luther, and other relations. Schurff, Jonas, and Suaven, set off for Wittemberg; Luther mounted his vehicle with Amsdorff who remained with him, and entered the forest of Thuringia. The same evening he reached the village of his fathers. The poor old peasant clasped in her arms this grandson who had just been showing front to the emperor Charles and pope Leo. Luther spent the next day with his family, happy in substituting this tranquil scene for the tumult at Worms. On the following day he resumed his journey, accompanied by Amsdorff and his brother James. In these lonely spots the Reformer’s lot was to be decided. They were passing along the forest of Thuringia, on the road to Wallershausen. As the carriage was in a hollow part of the road, near the old church of Glisbach, at some distance from the castle of Altenstein, a sudden noise was heard, and at that moment five horsemen, masked and in complete armour, rushed upon the travellers. Luther’s brother, as soon as he perceived the assailants, lept from the vehicle, and ran off at full speed without uttering a word. The driver was for defending himself. “Stop!” cried one of the assailants in a stern voice, and rushing upon him threw him to the ground. A second man in a mask seized Amsdorff, and prevented him from coming near. Meanwhile the three other horsemen laid hold of Luther, keeping the most profound silence. They pulled him violently from the carriage, threw a horseman’s cloak upon his shoulders, and placed him on a led horse. Then the other two quitted Amsdorff and the driver, and the whole lept into their saddles. The hat of one of them fell off, but they did not even stop to lift it, and in a twinkling disappeared in the dark forest with their prisoner. They at first took the road to Broderode, but they soon retraced their steps by a different road, and without quitting the forest, made turnings and windings in all directions, in order to deceive those who might attempt to follow their track.

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Luther, little accustomed to horseback, was soon overcome with fatigue. Being permitted to dismount for a few moments, he rested near a beech tree, and took a draught of fresh water from a spring, which is still called, Luther’s Spring. His brother James always continuing his flight arrived in the evening at Wallershausen. The driver in great alarm had got up on his vehicle, into which Amsdorff also mounted, and urging on his horses, which proceeded at a rapid pace, brought Luther’s friend as far as Wittemberg. At Wallershausen, and Wittemberg, and the interjacent country, villages, and towns, all along the road, news of Luther’s having been carried off were spread, news which, while it delighted some, filled the greater number with astonishment and indignation. A cry of grief soon resounded throughout Germany—“Luther has fallen into the hands of his enemies!”

After the violent combat which Luther had been obliged to maintain, God was pleased to conduct him to a peaceful resting place. After placing him on the brilliant theatre of Worms, where all the powers of the Reformer’s soul had been so vigorously exerted, He gave him the obscure and humiliating retreat of a prison. From the deepest obscurity He brings forth the feeble instruments by which he proposes to accomplish great things, and then, after allowing them to shine for a short time with great lustre on an elevated stage, sends them back again to deep obscurity. Violent struggles and pompous displays were not the means by which the Reformation was to be accomplished. That is not the way in which the leaven penetrates the mass of the population. The Spirit of God requires more tranquil paths. The man of whom the champions of Rome were always in pitiless pursuit, behoved for a time to disappear from the world. It was necessary that personal achievements should be eclipsed in order that the revolution about to be accomplished might not bear the impress of an individual. It was necessary that man should retire and God alone remain, moving, by his Spirit, over the abyss in which the darkness of the middle age was engulphed, and saying,—“Let there be light.”

Nightfall having made it impossible to follow their track, the party carrying off Luther took a new direction, and about an hour before midnight arrived at the foot of a mountain. The horses climbed slowly to its summit on which stood an old fortress surrounded on all sides, except that of the entrance, by the black forests which cover the mountains of Thuringia. To this elevated and isolated castle, named the Wartburg, where the Landgraves of old used to conceal themselves, was Luther conducted. The bolts are drawn, the iron bars fall, the gates open, and the Reformer clearing the threshold, the bars again close behind him. He dismounts in the court. Burkard de Hund, Lord of Allenstein, one of the horsemen, withdraws; another, John of Berlepsch, Provost of Wartburg, conducts Luther to the chamber which was to be his prison, and where a knight’s dress and a sword were lying. The three other horsemen, dependants of the provost, carry off his ecclesiastical dress, and put on the other which had been prepared for him, enjoining him to allow his hair and beard to grow, in order that none even in the castle might know who he was. The inmates of the Wartburg were only to know the prisoner under the name of Chevalier Georges. Luther scarcely knew himself in the dress which was put upon him.² At length he is left alone, and can turn in his thoughts the strange events which had just taken place at Worms, the uncertain prospect which awaits him, and his new and strange abode. From the narrow windows of his keep he discovers the dark, solitary, and boundless forests around. “There,” says Mathesius, the biographer and friend of Luther, “the doctor remained like St. Paul in his prison at Rome.”

Frederick de Thun, Philip Feilitsch, and Spalatin, had not concealed from Luther, in a confidential interview which they had with him at Worms by order of the Elector, that his liberty behoved to be sacrificed to the wrath of Charles and the pope. Still there was so much mystery in the mode of his being carried off that Frederick was long ignorant of the place of his confinement. The grief of the friends of the Reformation was prolonged. Spring passed away, succeeded by summer, autumn, and winter; the sun finished his annual course, and the walls of the Wartburg still confined their prisoner. The truth is laid under interdict by the Diet; its defender, shut up within the walls of a strong castle, has disappeared from the stage of the world, none knowing what has become of him. Aleander triumphs, and the Reformation seems lost; … but God reigns, and the blow which apparently threatened to annihilate the cause of the gospel will serve only to save its intrepid minister and extend the light of faith.

Let us leave Luther a captive in Germany on the heights of the Wartburg, and let us see what God was then doing in the other countries of Christendom.