We now come to the grandest scene in Luther’s life — his appearance before the Diet of Worms. Nuremberg, where the Diet should have been held, was suffering from the plague, so it was summoned to meet at Worms on January 6, 1521.
All the princes wished to be present, and as they journeyed along the roads leading to the city, the chief topic of conversation was the cause of the monk of Wittenberg. Important business connected with the empire was to be transacted; but the principal subject for discussion, it was understood, would be the Reformation.
In his desire to please both the Pope and the Elector, the Emperor requested Frederick to bring Luther with him to the Diet. This request perplexed the Elector, who feared that at any moment the alliance of the Pope might become necessary to Charles V and then the reformer would be sacrificed. Spalatin communicated the contents of the letter to Luther. His friends were alarmed, but he did not tremble. His health was very weak, but that did not matter. He looked upon the call as coming from God. “If I cannot go to Worms in good health,” he wrote to the Elector, “I will be carried there weak as I am. If they desire to use violence against me, which is very probable, I place the matter in the Lord’s hands. He still lives and reigns who preserved the three young men out of the burning fiery furnace. If He will not save me, my life is of very little consequence. You may expect anything from me except flight and recantation. Fly, I cannot, and still less retract.”
Before this letter reached him Frederick had set out for Worms without the reformer.
The Diet was opened on January 28, 1521. The papal nuncios did not want Luther at Worms. What evils might not arise to the papacy from the presence of the monk, with his powerful eloquence! A second bull was therefore issued by the Pope; the former threatened Luther with excommunication, this pronounced the sentence against him and his adherents. Every nerve was strained, and intrigues resorted to by the papal party, to prevail upon the Emperor to issue a stringent edict enforcing this bull; and Charles V prepared one, which he laid before the assembled princes.
It was, however, necessary to gain over the Diet. Aleander undertook the task. For three hours he pleaded, with all the eloquence of which he was master; he even offered himself to be burned if only the monster Luther could be burned with him. “Fear not,” he said; “in Luther’s errors there is enough to burn a hundred thousand heretics. Let the ax be laid to the root of this poisonous tree.”
The effect upon the assembly was great, but it quickly passed away. It was resolved that the reformer should appear before the Diet; and safe-conducts were eventually granted to him by the Emperor and by those princes through whose territories he would have to pass.
The summons to appear was handed to Luther by the imperial herald on March 24. Would he obey it?
The Elector wrote to his brother: “Doctor Martin has been summoned here, but I do not know whether he will come. I cannot augur any good from it.”
But Luther had been called, and he would go!
On April 2 he took leave of his friends. Turning to Melancthon he said, “My dear brother, if I do not return, and should my enemies put me to death, continue to teach, and stand fast in the truth.” Then, commending himself to God, he got into the car provided for him by the town council, and, amid the prayers and tears of friends and citizens, set out upon his perilous journey.
Preceded by the herald, carrying the imperial eagle, and accompanied by his friends Schurff, Amsdorff, and Suaven, he pressed onward. Gloomy fears filled the hearts of all whom he met. At Naumburg, a priest held before him a portrait of Savonarola, who had been burned a few years previously. At Weimar his ears were greeted with the cries of the people as they watched the messenger posting up an edict which the Emperor had issued, commanding that his writings should be given up to the magistrates.
From Weimar, where he preached, he proceeded to Erfurt: As he was approaching that town he was received by a body of senators and distinguished friends, who escorted him within its walls. Passing onward, now accompanied by Justus Jonas, a most powerful preacher, as well as by his other friends, he reached Eisenach, where he was taken seriously ill. A night’s rest, however, restored him, and he was able on the following day to continue his journey.
As he went along, crowds of people flocked around him. They gazed with emotion upon the intrepid monk. “Ah!” said some, “there are so many bishops and cardinals at Worms, they will burn you as they did John Huss.” Nothing daunted, he replied, “Though they should kindle a fire all the way from Worms to Wittenberg, the flames of which reached to Heaven, I would walk through it, in the name of the Lord, and would appear before them.”
On Sunday, April 14, he entered into Frankfort, from which place he wrote to Spalatin desiring that a lodging might be prepared for him.
A plot was now devised by the papal party to draw him aside to Ebernburg until the safe-conduct expired; but through his firm determination to keep straight onward, it was foiled.
Spalatin, who was with the Elector at Worms, trembling for the result of the reformer’s appearance in that city, sent a special messenger entreating him to beware of proceeding farther. To this messenger he answered, “Go and tell your master, that even should there be as many devils in Worms as tiles upon the house tops, still I would enter it!”
At length, on the morning of April 16, Luther saw the walls of the ancient city. The people were anxiously expecting him. An escort, composed of young nobles, knights, and gentlemen, rode out to meet him. A great crowd was waiting at the gates of the city, and two thousand persons accompanied him through its streets.
The news of his arrival filled both the Emperor and the papal nuncios with alarm. Charles V immediately summoned his council. “Luther is come,” said he, “what must we do?” Rome gave an answer. She gave advice which had already been tried. “Let your Imperial Majesty get rid of the man at once,” said the Bishop of Palermo. “Did not Sigismund cause John Huss to be burned? We are not bound either to give or to observe the safe-conduct of a heretic.” “No!” said Charles, “we must keep our promise.”
The next morning, Luther was summoned to appear at four o’clock in the afternoon before his Imperial Majesty and the States of the Empire. The hour approached. For a moment this intrepid soldier of Christ felt dismayed, as he thought of the august assembly before which he had to appear; but he pleaded with God, and strength was given. At four o’clock he followed the imperial herald and the marshal of the empire to the Town Hall. Crowds thronged the streets, all the windows were occupied and the tops of the houses covered with spectators; the people completely blocked the way, and the herald, seeing the difficulty of advancing, led Luther through some private houses and gardens to the place where the Diet was sitting.
He stood before the door which was to admit him into the presence of his judges. As he was about to pass through, a kindly hand tapped him on the shoulder, and the valiant old knight — the hero of many battles — George Freundsberg, said, “Poor monk, poor monk! thou art now going to make a nobler stand than I or any other captains have ever made in the fiercest of our battles. But if thy cause is just, and thou art sure of it, go forward in God’s name, and fear nothing. God will not forsake thee!”
The doors were passed, and Luther stood in the presence of the Diet. Never had man appeared before a more imposing assembly. Seated upon the throne was Charles V. Surrounding him were the Archduke Ferdinand, six electors, dukes, margraves, archbishops and bishops, princes, the papal nuncios, and ambassadors — in all above two hundred. Such was the court before which the reformer stood.
For a moment he was somewhat awed. One of the princes, seeing this, whispered kindly, “Fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul.”
He approached and stood before the throne of the Emperor. Silence prevailed for a moment. Then the chancellor to the Archbishop of Treves said, in a clear loud voice, “Martin Luther! his Sacred Majesty has cited you before his throne to require you to answer two questions: First, Do you acknowledge these books,” pointing to about twenty volumes placed on a table, “to have been written by you? Second, Are you prepared to retract these books and their contents; or do you persist in what you have advanced in them?”
After the titles of the books had been read, Luther made answer to the first question by stating that the books named were his. As to the second question concerned faith and the salvation of souls, he entreated that his Imperial Majesty would allow him time so that he might answer without offending against the Word of God.
As the reformer had spoken in a respectful manner and in a low tone of voice, many thought that he hesitated, and even that he was dismayed. Charles V, who had never taken his eyes off him, turned to one of his courtiers and said with disdain, “Certainly this man will never make a heretic of me.”
Luther’s request was granted on the condition that he make his reply on the following day, orally and not in writing.
The Imperial herald conducted him back to his hotel.
The early part of the following day was spent in earnest prayer and in reading the Scriptures. As the hour approached for him to appear again in the presence of the Diet, he drew near the Word of God, which lay open upon the table. With deep emotion, placing his left hand upon the sacred volume and raising his right toward Heaven, he swore to remain faithful to the gospel, and freely to confess his faith, even should he seal his testimony with his blood.
At four o’clock the herald appeared to conduct him to the Diet. After waiting for two hours, surrounded by a dense crowd, which rocked back and forth like the sea in a storm, he was admitted, and again stood before the throne of the Emperor, calm and confident.
The chancellor having asked for a reply, Luther answered in a speech which lasted two hours. Speaking in German, he stated that he was the author of the books attributed to him. Modestly, but with energy and firmness, he declared that as soon as it could be proved by the writings of the prophets and apostles that he had erred, he would retract every error and cast his books into the fire. But unless he was thus convinced of error, he could not retract. This speech he repeated in Latin.
When he had ceased speaking, the chancellor of Treves said indignantly, “You have not answered the question put to you. You are required to give a clear and precise answer; will you, or will you not retract?”
“Since your most Serene Majesty and your High Mightinesses require from me a clear, simple, and precise answer,” replied Luther, “I will give you one, and it is this: I cannot submit my faith either to the Pope or to the Councils, because it is clear as the day that they have frequently erred and contradicted each other. Unless, therefore, I am convinced by the testimony of Scripture, or by the clearest reasoning — unless I am persuaded by means of the passages I have quoted — and unless they thus render my conscience bound by the Word of God, I cannot, and I will not retract, for it is unsafe for a Christian to speak against his conscience.” And looking round upon the assembly which held his life in its hands, he said: “Here I stand, I can do no other; may God help me! Amen!”
The assembly was motionless with amazement. The Emperor, recovering himself, exclaimed, “This monk speaks with an intrepid heart and unshaken courage.”
As soon as the Diet had recovered from the impression produced, the chancellor said: “If you do not retract, the Emperor, and the States of the Empire, will consult what course to adopt against an incorrigible heretic.”
Luther repeated: “May God be my helper; for I can retract nothing.”
He then withdrew, but was soon called back again, and another effort was made to induce him to retract. But firm as a rock he stood, while all the waves of human power dashed ineffectually against him. “I have no other reply to make than that which I have already made,” was his final answer.
It was now night, and Luther was conducted back to his hotel. As he went along the streets, escorted by two officers, some friends exclaimed, “Are they taking him to prison?” “No,” said Luther, “they are conducting me to my hotel.”
When he arrived at the hotel, the weary monk, surrounded by Spalatin and other friends, gave thanks to God. As they were conversing, a servant entered.
“My master,” said he “invites you to refresh yourself.”
Luther was affected by this kindness. He said, “As this day Duke George has remembered me, so may our Lord Jesus Christ remember him in the hour of his last struggle.”
The servant repeated the words to his master, and, when dying, Duke George remembered them.
Calling to a young page, he said, “Take the Bible and read to me.” The page read those beautiful words of the Saviour, “Whosoever shall give you a cup of water to drink in my name, because ye belong to Christ, verily I say unto you, he shall not lose his reward.” The dying prince was comforted.
The Elector was greatly delighted by the noble courage of the reformer, and he determined to protect him more openly in the future.
The next day, April 19, the Emperor ordered a message to be read to the Diet, which he had written in French with his own hand. In this he said: “A single monk, misled by his own folly, has risen against the faith of Christendom. To stay such impiety, I will sacrifice my kingdoms, my treasures, my friends, my body, my blood, my soul, and my life. I am about to dismiss the Augustine Luther, forbidding him to cause the least disorder among the people. I shall then proceed against him and his adherents as contumacious heretics, by excommunication, by interdict, and by every means calculated to destroy them.”
Yet another attempt was made to get Luther to retract. This was undertaken in a kindly manner by the Archbishop of Treves, and by several princes who felt deeply interested in him; but he remained firm, and professed himself ready rather to lose his life than forsake the Word of God.
The Emperor was very indignant when he heard that this effort had proved useless, and exclaimed, “It is time to put an end to this business.” He gave Luther twenty-one days, in which he was to return home, and forbade him to disturb the public peace on his road, either by preaching or writing.
Having taken leave of his friends, the reformer left Worms, on Friday, April 26. Twenty gentlemen on horseback surrounded the car, and a large crowd of people accompanied him beyond the walls of the city.
Luther’s account of the proceedings at Worms is very brief. He wrote to his friend Lucas Cranach — “I thought his Majesty would have assembled some fifty doctors at Worms to convict the monk outright. But not at all. ‘Are these your books?’ Yes! ‘Will you retract them?’ No! ‘Well, begone!’ That is the whole history.”
Though numerous hosts of mighty foes,
Though earth and hell my way oppose;
He safely leads my soul along,
His loving-kindness, oh, how strong!
When troubles, like a gloomy cloud,
Have gathered thick, and thunder’d loud;
He near my soul has always stood,
His loving-kindness, oh, how good!