The rapid diffusion of Luther's New Testament, and the immense effect which it produced in the homes of the people, awakened the deepest apprehensions of the papal party. The temporal powers, influenced by the ecclesiastics, prohibited, under the most severe penalties, the circulation of the condemned book. One of the greatest kings of Christendom now rose up against the audacious monk of Wittemberg. The gallant Henry VIII. of England, who had been destined by his father for the church, thought the present a good opportunity to show his talent, and wrote a book on the seven sacraments, in answer to Luther's treatise on the "Babylonish Captivity." None of the Reformer's compositions so excited the indignation of the papists as his "Babylonish Captivity." Need we wonder, then, that such an advocate was flattered and caressed by the pope, and complimented with the name, "Defender of the Faith," which is still one of the titles of the English crown? In reply to his royal assailant, Luther was not remarkable for his moderation, but betrayed by his irritable temper to use an abusive style of language which would have been better repressed.
Towards the close of the year 1521, an important change took place in the policy of the Vatican. Pope Leo died. Yes, the brilliant but notoriously immoral Leo died—died, no longer to judge, but to be judged; no longer to roll out his thunders against heretics, but to be himself measured by the standard of eternal truth, and weighed in the balances of the sanctuary. He died denouncing the doctrine of justification by faith, as destructive of all moral obligations, while he and his dissolute cardinals were dissipating their time and health in prodigal and luxurious pleasures, and in promoting expensive and licentious spectacles at the theater. He was succeeded by Adrian VI., a man more rigid in his morals than Leo, but no less opposed to the truth of the gospel.