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.