The Greatest Works of Charles Carleton Coffin. Charles Carleton Coffin
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chief advisers sends him.
"Though there be as many devils in Worms as there are tiles on the roofs, I will go," is the word which Luther sends back.
He arrives in sight of the city where he is to stand up before the great men of the empire in behalf of truth and liberty. Has the boy who sung for his breakfast forgotten how to sing? Not yet. He stands up in his carriage, and his clear voice breaks forth in a hymn:
"God is a castle and defence,
When trouble and distress invade;
He'll help and free us from offence,
And ever shield us with his aid."
There is great excitement in Worms. Everybody is asking if he will come.
"He is coming!" The shout rings through the streets. A great crowd pours out from the city-gates — a multitude far greater than that which went out to meet Charles V., for he and the princes, barons, knights, archbishops, and bishops are already there. Noblemen escort Doctor Luther into the city.
The Pope's ambassadors are disappointed. They did not want Doctor Luther to come. They hoped he would be frightened, and stay away — not obey the order, and then the emperor would be obliged to seize him. The emperor did not think that he would come.
"Here he is. What shall we do?" the emperor asks.
"Pay no attention to his safe-conduct; seize him at once," is the advice of a bishop who hates Doctor Luther.
"I should not like to blush as Sigismund blushed before John Huss," Charles replies. He is young, but he has a mind of his own, and he will not outrage honor and justice by such a perfidious act.
"The council must be held," is the decision of the emperor.
It is the 17th of April. The storks have arrived from the south, and are building their nests on the chimneys. The children are never weary of seeing them, or of listening to the twittering of the swallows, wheeling in the air; but to-day they have something else to engage their attention. Never has there been such a gathering in the old town; all the great men of the realm, besides thousands of people from surrounding towns, are gathered to see the great heretic.
"He is a monster," says one.
"They say he has horns."
"And hoofs."
"And a tail."
"He is a devil in disguise."
"He is a bad man," say Luther's detractors.
"He is a good man; he tells the truth," say his friends.
So the people talk in favor of or against the man who has made such a commotion.
The bell strikes four — the hour when Doctor Luther must appear before the council. The herald of the empire comes for him, but the crowd is so great in the streets that the herald cannot proceed.
"Make way there!"
But the crowd will not make way.
"Give room!"
He may shout till he is hoarse, but the people will not stir. They cannot, for the street is full. Every window of the quaint old houses, whose upper stories jut over those below, is tilled with heads, for all want to see the man who, by his writing and preaching, has set the world in an uproar. The people will not, or cannot, move, and the herald has to take Doctor Luther through gardens and by-ways to the council-chamber.
The emperor is seated on a throne. Around him are his brother (the Archduke Ferdinand) and the electors of the empire. There are eighty dukes, thirty archbishops and bishops, the ambassadors of France and England, the Pope's ambassador — more than two hundred great dignitaries in all.
No wonder the Pope did not want the council to meet. Has he not forbidden Doctor Luther's speaking? Yet here he is about to address the greatest assembly ever seen in Germany! Has not the Pope forbidden everybody from listening to him? Yet here is an immense multitude waiting to hear what he will say. Has not the Pope declared that he is an outlaw, with no rights that any one is bound to respect? Yet here he is recognized as having rights which the emperor is bound to acknowledge. Liberty has made some progress since that evening when the young preacher, who sung for his breakfast in boyhood, nailed that paper upon the door of the Wittenberg church.
After much struggling and pushing, the marshal and Doctor Luther reach the council-hall.
"I have two questions to ask you," says the Archbishop of Treves, opening the examination, and pointing to some books on the table.
"Did you write these books?"
"I do not deny having written those books," is the answer, after the titles are read.
"Will you take back what you have written?"
"As to taking back anything in accordance with the Word of God, I must act deliberately. I will give you my answer to-morrow."
The council breaks up for the day. The crowd in the streets admire the courage of a man who dares to stand by his rights and for the truth in such an assembly — who even compels all the archbishops and the emperor to wait upon him.
Again Doctor Luther stands in the council. He is about to speak. the Archbishop of Treves cannot bear to have a man whom the Pope has forbidden to speak stand there and compel everybody to listen to him.
"Will you, or will you not, retract?" shouts the archbishop.
Doctor Luther looks around. He is in the council's hands. What shall he say? Shall he take all back? Liberty has led him; shall ho now desert her? God has walked, as it were, by his side; shall he distrust the Being who has protected him hitherto?
"I cannot and I will not retract anything. God help me! Amen!"
Leo has his answer.
"The court will meet again to-morrow to hear the emperor's judgment," is the proclamation of the marshal; and the great throng breaks up. Doctor Luther goes back to his hotel. A servant comes in with a silver tankard filled with beer, sent by the old duke, Eric of Brunswick.
"As the duke remembers me to-day, so may the Lord Jesus remember him in his kingdom," is the blessing uttered by the doctor.
Once more the council assembles. The emperor gives his decision.
"A single monk, misled by his own folly, stands up against the faith of Christendom. I will sacrifice my kingdom, my power, my treasure, my body, my blood, my mind, and my life to stop this impiety."
Then the emperor goes on forbidding any one to give Doctor Luther anything to eat or drink, or to aid him in any way. As soon as the safe-conduct expires, all officers are ordered to seize him, and hold him as a prisoner, till the emperor shall decide what shall be done with him.
So the emperor, twenty-one years of age, decides. He has made one mistake. He makes the decision himself, and does not consult the princes, dukes, and electors. It is only a few months since he was elected emperor, and now he takes all the responsibility of deciding a momentous question, affecting the interests of all his subjects. The dukes and nobles think that they are entitled to have something to say upon public affairs. Why did the emperor call them into council, if they are to have no voice in the matter? Are they dummies only? They do not altogether relish the course pursued by the young man from Spain.
Doctor Luther is on his journey homeward, riding through a dark forest, along a lonely road. Suddenly a party of horsemen make their appearance. They seize him, throw a cloak over him, compel him to mount a horse. It is the work of a moment, and then they disappear with him through the woods. He is gone almost before the men who are with him know what has happened. Have his enemies spirited him away? His friends wring their hands in despair.
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