CHAPTER XVI

THE GREAT WORD AT LEIPZIG

All things mundane will end, and so at last did that winter. As never before I enjoyed the springtime, the return of leaf and greenery, the singing of the brooks, the pine-laden breezes down the hills, a northern springtime incomparably superior to the milder contrasts of like seasons in Italy.

The new life and color put me in a better mind. If Marianna and Ilsa were no more for me, at least the larks were climbing upward in the deepening blue of the sky, and life had still its recompenses. At five-and-twenty few men are willing to cry out on life as “failure.” As assuagement for my troubles I had sought to throw myself into the life of my Regensteiners, studying their problems, and seeking their betterment. That winter and spring I won their esteem, and I hoped I was winning their affection. “The kind Graf!” I once heard little children calling me in the hamlet below the castle; and all that day I thought less bitterly touching Ilsa.

I tarried the more at the Regenstein because I believed Dr. Luther needed no more help. A smooth-spoken envoy from Rome, Miltitz, a Saxon by birth, had come out of the South. He had reproved Tetzel so bitterly for his sins that the wretch had slunk away to his cloister to die. He had glossed over difficulties with Luther, and by fine words gotten a promise to drop the dispute on both sides, “so that it might soon bleed itself to death.” A hollow truce it proved, but for a little I honestly thought the battle had ended almost ere its fair beginning.

Meantime pilgrim or pedlar brought much news to the Regenstein. Old Kaiser Maximilian was dead, and Europe was buzzing over the succession. Prince Charles of Spain and the Netherlands, and King Francis of France were draining their coffers to find money to bribe the seven prince electors who had the imperial gift in their keeping. Many a good German wagged his beard with an “Oh that Frederick of Saxony would take the power!” but that canny elector foresaw the storms and shrank back modestly. Every day brought new rumors of new intrigues, and I was vastly in doubt whither in the political world I could turn myself with the most hope of advancement and honor, when fresh tidings from Wittenberg called me back to the thing whereon my heart had really been fixed the longest. The truce betwixt Luther and his monkish opponents had been broken by the furious onslaughts of Johann Eck, Professor at Ingolstadt; then, after the usual thrust and parry by pamphlets, the contest had reached a climax. Eck was to hold a public disputation on the moot points of theology with Luther and his now ardent champion Carlstadt. Duke George of Ducal Saxony[7] had consented to allow his city of Leipzig to be the scene of encounter, and toward this intellectual tournament a vast multitude of scholars and students were not ashamed to hasten.

The tidings left me only one thing to do. The pretext of pushing my interest at the ducal court was sufficient to bring me to Leipzig, and the following excerpt from a letter to Moritz (whose friendship was ever tightening) tells its own story.

* * * * *

“Why has my life become thus blended with the Augustinian friar of Wittenberg? Why do I feel that for woe or for weal his destiny and my own have become as one? At his summons I have been transported from Italy to the Harzland. At the news of his going to Leipzig I hasten there also. And wherefore--O Moritz? We have talked this matter full often, I know, sitting before the roaring logs by the great fireplace in the Regenstein. And my answer came not then. It does not come now. Only I am become more certain than ever that in following Martin Luther I am following the high destiny not of wide Germany merely (daily I grow more convinced of that), but likewise my own. Do I attain to the mountain summit with the dawn, or the black precipice and the deadly chaos beyond? I cannot answer. I can only follow my guide.

“I have had no words with him as yet. He has been too busy with the theologians, friendly and hostile. I reached this busy, stately Saxon city in its hot plain beside the winding Pleisse several days before him. Already the place swarmed with visitors from distant parts of Germany; not fur-gowned _Magistri Theologiae_ simply, but intelligent merchants, the better class of monks and friars, and not a few noblemen like myself, as well as a horde of itinerant scholars and alleged students. Duke George the local prince is a bluff, honest-hearted ruler, whose mind I fear has been prejudiced against Luther by the fanatically minded professors of the local university, but who through all has striven to give fair play. I was offered hospitality at the ducal schloss, the lofty towered Pleissenburg; but I preferred the greater freedom of comfortable quarters at the Erbprinz, which rejoices in a very clean and friendly landlord.

“Sometimes I wonder what future generations will think of us; whether they will imagine that all Germans of the summer of this 1519 were wholly given over to the quips and small coin of theology. Indeed, it has been passing marvellous to hear the learned debates on ‘Release from Purgatory,’ or ‘The Authority of Papal Bulls,’ which are bandied about almost by cobblers and tapsters. For the matter is far beyond any small question of castigating poor Tetzel now. ‘The fountains of the great deep are broken up’ even as I heard an angry monk protesting; it is no longer a matter of mere indulgences: everything ecclesiastical down to the nicest questions of Papal prerogative has been cast into the hopper of debate. But I am rambling: let me particularize in greater order.

“On June 27th the Wittenberg disputants entered Leipzig. Carlstadt was in the first wagon, Luther in the second with his new friend and protégé, young Professor Philip Melanchthon, whom, they say, is the greatest classical scholar of Germany. The learned travellers seemed dusty and shaken, thanks to the springless, open wagons. As escort marched some two hundred fantastically arrayed Wittenberg students, all carrying pikes, come to win fair play for their university champions. A mandate of the local bishop was posted on the church doors, forbidding the whole debate, but no one heeded it. Bishops do well to walk warily in Germany just now.

“The disputation did not actually begin until the 27th, the interval being consumed in much preliminary wrangling over details. Officialdom in Leipzig was only coldly courteous to Dr. Luther, for the place had been too long a ‘Dominican town.’ Merely a few ‘Nicodemuses’ called on him in the evenings, while the university professors gave great feasts, with plenty of Torgau beer, for Eck, his opponent: but everywhere men’s tongues went buzzing, morning, noon, and night. I am told that several learned ‘doctors’ lodging together even fell into such violent disputes that their good host was fain to station a police sergeant at the head of the table, with a halberd, to ensure peace during the meals.

“Distinguished guests, too, entered the city: Duke Barnim of Pomerania, then Rector Magnificus of Wittenberg University, also the young Prince George of Anhalt, and a privy councillor to Elector Frederick. The night before the disputation I found myself in a cool, dungerous, underground wine-room on the Grimmaische-Strasse, known as Auerbach’s Keller. The wine was excellent. The crowd of tippling students and well-to-do burghers varied and interesting. I was sitting a little alone, meditating over my beaker, when I saw at the long black table before me a capped and gowned doctor I knew by description must be Magister Eck, Luther’s adversary; and I was curious to observe this self-appointed champion of the Vatican. I believe it was not mere partiality that prevents me from praising him highly. He is a tall, broad-shouldered fellow; his voice strong, even strident, and with a southern brogue that betrays his Suabian birth. I can best describe his face by saying he seemed to possess the mouth, eyes, and cheeks of a butcher rather than of a divine; nevertheless I easily gathered he was of no mean acuteness and learning, and the event proved that he was not an unworthy champion in the lists against Dr. Martin.

“Before one or two Dominican companions Eck was delivering himself as to the approaching debate. Perhaps the good cheer had loosened his tongue a little. At least his opinions were not cautious.

“‘You say that Luther carries the devil around with him like a wizard in a little box. Well--I don’t know whether he’s in Luther’s box or under his frock, but _liebe Gott_, he is in one or the other, and I will smoke him out.’

“‘What do you mean, Magister Doctor?’ asked one of the satellites respectfully.

“‘I mean this fellow from Wittenberg has played the two-faced Janus long enough. With one tongue he still cries out his personal respect and loyalty to the Pope; with the other he denounces all the props and stays of Papal prerogative. I’ll unmask his heresy. It will look like a case for faggots and fire when I am done with him.’

“Hereupon with a rustle and sweep of his gown Doctor Eck started up the stairs. An intelligent student, who sat near by cast a sidling glance at me, then asked:

“‘What does your nobility think of this gentleman and his adversary?’

“‘What do you?’ I retorted, always glad to draw out another.

“‘I remember Gregory von Heimburg’s saying, “Safer is it to discuss the powers of God than of the Pope”; but I will venture this: Eck will succeed in his wish. He will make Luther draw the sword and fling afar the scabbard--and then,’ he added with a laugh,--‘the war of the gods and the giants!’

“And with that he went out also: but it makes one’s heart beat quicker to know that others than oneself recognize that these are strange and marvellous times; that old things seem passing away, that church, belief, everything seem about to become new. Yet again I digress. Let me return.

“On the morning of the 27th, in the great hall of the Pleissenburg, under the shadow of its tall gray turret, began the disputation. The preliminaries were solemn, important, and unspeakably tedious. An address of welcome by Professor Pistoris, a mass in the church of St. Thomas, a longer address on ‘the right way of disputing’ by Professor Mosellanus, who evidently had persuaded himself he was a master of Latin eloquence, then a threefold chanting of the ‘Veni Sancte Spiritus,’ the whole assembly kneeling. Seventy-five armed citizens stood guard, and four notaries and thirty assistants took down the discussion. The festally arrayed hall was graced by the presence of Duke George and a great company of his princely and noble guests. In the front rows sat many of the Leipzig priests, Eck’s loyal supporters; but I grieve to say they slept soundly much of the time, and it was needful to awaken them when the discussions ended, lest they should lose their dinners. Small pulpits were set, suitably facing each other, for the use of the disputants, and so you can imagine the scene.

“You are no theologian, Moritz, nor am I; therefore I will not weary you with the dry straw of much of this debate. Esteem Eck as you may, at least praise him for having a prodigious memory--able to cite innumerable books--and a leathern set of lungs, absolutely tireless. A _whole week_, believe me, did Eck and Carlstadt dispute together on ‘free will’ and the manner by which God exercised His saving grace. And the spider webs of theology were wound on and on, until we layman were fain to curse the disputation and all its hair-splitting, and bid Pope, Church, heretics, and sacred books all cheerfully go to the devil. But on July 4th Carlstadt had spent his wit and subtlety, and retired, and Dr. Luther rose to do combat with Eck.

“Ah! the change! For this world of ours loves a Man, be he called Pope or peasant; and Martin Luther, I will maintain before kings and emperors, _is_ a Man. His tall frame seemed a little more spare and lean than formerly; a little deeper and more ‘other-worldly’ the light in his wonderful eyes: but his voice had the old-time power and ring, and from his first sentence men hung on his utterance as never on the choicely turned Latin of Carlstadt. But how shall I summarize for you the debate? Though it is scarce needful, for twenty printing presses will soon fling it all to wide Germany. The combatants came to grips at once as to the nature of the Papal power. All the first day of their duel they feinted over questions of Scripture, over the condition of the Eastern Christians who denied the authority of Rome, and the like. Eck was fluent and nimble. He was Luther’s peer in adroitness if not in earnestness. Then on their second day, Eck brought to bear his most potent demicannon: we all sat upright when we heard a malignant word--Hus.

“‘Forasmuch, Magister Doctor,’ spoke the Papalist champion with emphatic emphasis, ‘in my own judgment--be it however humble and frail, your theses at Wittenberg do favor the errors of Wyclif, the English heretic, and more particularly those of the Bohemian John Hus and his followers, whose evil doctrines the Church has most righteously condemned; I cannot but call this grievous fact to the knowledge of his Ducal Grace here, and this noble assembly. Nay, I am well informed that the Hussite heretics still persisting in Bohemia have wished you prosperity. Do I not justly demand your opinion of them?’

“I saw the tall form of Dr. Luther straighten. The fire in his eye seemed to kindle brighter, answering the insinuating smile with which Eck opposed him.

“‘You do ill, learned Doctor, to cast this in my teeth. I have ever opposed and do now oppose the Bohemian schismatics who have cut themselves off from the Church. Their unbrotherly conduct has violated God’s precept of love: nevertheless as to their doctrines, and those of Hus, their chief, some, I confess, seem to me Christian and Scriptural; as, for example,--that to believe in the supremacy of the Church of Rome is not necessary for salvation.’

“‘Not necessary for salvation?’ reiterated Eck with well-feigned astonishment. ‘Do I hear you, Reverendissime, entirely aright?’

“‘Entirely so.’ Luther spoke as calmly as though he did not realize that absolute silence held the long hall, and every man could hear his own breathing. ‘I repeat, this article seems to me evangelical and unheretical.’

“‘But the learned Doctor forgets,’ pressed the interlocutor blandly. ‘This is not a matter for settlement by the Vatican. Hus’s doctrines were not condemned by the Pope merely. He was banned and anathematized by the famous Council of Constance, the assembly of the piety and wisdom of Christendom.’

“‘I understand that clearly, reverend Sir,’ replied the unmoved Wittenberger dryly.

“‘And yet even you have formerly pronounced Councils a fit appeal on matters of faith from the Pope.’

“‘So I have: but I am mortal. I can change.’

“‘Where, then, have you any final authority in matters of faith? For authority one must have--else how may man shun damnation?’

“‘We have authority.’

“‘Will the learned Doctor name it?’

“I saw Luther’s long lean finger go out towards the ponderous book that chanced to lie on the table before Duke George.

“‘Behold it, Magister Eck: God’s Word.’

“‘And who shall interpret it, if not Pope or Council?’

“‘You, I, any pure-minded, believing Christian.’

“The retort shook Eck out of his sneering complacence.

“‘Saints and angels! Do you say the apostolic Popes and holy Councils of all the prelates of the Church are not to be regarded as against the interpretation _you_ would put upon any utterance of Scripture?’

“‘Yes.’ Luther was still calm, but a visible agitation was running through the assembly. Men leaned forward, tugged at their beards, and felt their hearts beat.

“‘And you set _your_ judgment in matters of faith against the mighty and universal Council of Constance? You dare assert that _you_ are right,--that in the matter of the Hussites the Council was wrong?’

“For a good half minute they faced one another in silence. No duel or tourney could have been more tense. Then slowly Luther spoke: his noble voice was not strained, but it rang clearly down the hall.

“‘Touching the Council of Constance, I say it was not participated in nor assented to by the Eastern Christians, yet God forbid that I should call them unsaved heretics for that. But this I also assert, that no man may rightly impose on another an article of belief which is contrary to Scripture: and I say more; _the judgment of one poor Christian is worth more than that of Pope or assembled Council--if that he has but the better ground for it_!’

“Spoken out at last! Martin Luther had indeed borrowed the prudence of valor and cast away the scabbard. A suppressed outcry sounded all over the hall. I heard Duke George mutter, ‘A plague upon it!’ Many heads shook ominously. The Dominicans present were open-eyed with horror. But John Eck’s horror was, I think, hiding a smile. He had indeed accomplished his desire and boast. He had smoked the heretic out.

“With a great clap Eck brought his hands together the moment Luther’s words seemed to have sunk into the assembly.

“‘If the Reverend Father,’ he spoke bitingly, ‘believes that even a Council can err, he is to me as a heathen and a publican.’

“Luther attempted some rejoinder, but it was lost on us. We had heard that for which we had waited wearily. The Wittenberg friar had finally spoken his true mind. Not prelate nor Pope; not learned doctor nor Council, to Luther’s thinking, can solve the relation of man to his Maker; but the man himself, aided only by the light he gathers in humility from the Scripture. A strange doctrine. The like has really not been since Christianity began. Will the present world bear it? I will waste no ink on the answer. I only believe that we shall all behold great and marvellous things.

“The climax of the disputation came then, but not the end. To the 13th of July the debate kept up, Luther amplifying and defending his first strong statement, that even a Council could err, and that no man should believe aught contrary to Scripture. Marvellous learning he displayed, casting at Eck not the later schoolmen, but the weighty authority of St. Augustine and the other early ‘Fathers’: but the end was all the same. It is not at Leipzig this disputation will be settled, but in all Germany: nay--I think--in broad Christendom. For two days more Carlstadt resumed the colloquy. Finally, on the 16th, the disputation ended with due ceremony, and a solemn blowing by the city pipers. The formal decision has been referred to the universities of Paris and Erfurt. In a few days I hope to join you, Moritz, in the Harzland; but I know your eagerness for news, and I send you this letter by a prompt messenger.”

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Saxony was then divided into “Electoral Saxony” under Frederick, and “Ducal Saxony” under George.--EDITOR.