While these words were passing, Zwingle was silent, motionless, and deeply moved; and the liveliness of his affections, of which he had given more than one proof during the conference, was then manifested in a very different manner. He burst into tears in the presence of all.
The conference was ended. It had been in reality more tranquil than the documents seem to show, or perhaps the chroniclers appreciated such matters differently from ourselves. "With the exception of a few sallies, all had passed off quietly, in a courteous manner, and with very great gentleness," says an eye-witness.[259] "During the colloquy no other words than these were heard: 'Sir, and very dear friend, your charity,' or other similar expressions. Not a word of schism or of heresy. It might have been said that Luther and Zwingle were brothers, and not adversaries."[260] This is the testimony of Brenz. But these flowers concealed an abyss, and Jonas, also an eye-witness, styles the conference "a very sharp contest."[261]
THE LANDGRAVE MEDIATES.
The contagion that had suddenly broken out in Marburg was creating frightful ravages, and filled everybody with alarm.[262] Each one was anxious to leave the city. "Sirs," remarked the Landgrave, "you cannot separate thus." And desirous of giving the doctors an opportunity of meeting one another with minds unoccupied by theological debates, he invited them all to his table. This was Sunday night.
Philip of Hesse had all along shown the most constant attention, and each one imagined him to be on his side. "I would rather place my trust in the simple words of Christ, than in the subtle thoughts of man," was a remark he made, according to Jonas;[263] but Zwingle affirmed that this prince thought now as he did, although with regard to certain persons he dissembled his opinions. Luther, sensible of the weakness of his defence as to the declarations of the Fathers, transmitted a note to Philip, in which several passages were pointed out from Hilary, Chrysostom, Cyprian, Irenæus, and Ambrose, which he thought were in his favour.
The time of departure drew near, and nothing had been done. The Landgrave toiled earnestly at the union, as Luther wrote to his wife.[264] He invited the theologians one after another into his closet;[265] he pressed, entreated, warned, exhorted, and conjured them. "Think," said he, "of the salvation of the christian republic, and remove all discord from its bosom."[266] Never had general at the head of an army taken such pains to win a battle.
ZWINGLE'S EMOTION.
A final general meeting took place and undoubtedly the Church has seldom witnessed one of greater solemnity. Luther and Zwingle, Saxony and Switzerland, met for the last time. The Sweating Sickness was carrying off men around them by thousands;[267] Charles the Fifth and the Pope were uniting in Italy; Ferdinand and the Roman-catholic princes were preparing to tear in pieces the Protest of Spire; the thunder-cloud became more threatening every day; union alone seemed capable of saving the Protestants, and the hour of departure was about to strike—an hour that would separate them perhaps for ever.
"Let us confess our union in all things in which we agree," said Zwingle; "and as for the rest, let us remember that we are brothers. There will never be peace between the Churches if, while we maintain the grand doctrine of salvation by faith, we cannot differ on secondary points."[268] Such is, in fact, the true principle of christian union. The sixteenth century was still too deeply sunk in scholasticism to understand this: let us hope that the nineteenth century will comprehend it better.
"Yes, yes!" exclaimed the Landgrave; "you agree! Give then a testimony of your unity, and recognise one another as brothers."—"There is no one upon earth with whom I more desire to be united, than with you," said Zwingle, approaching the Wittemberg doctors.[269] Œcolampadius, Bucer, and Hedio said the same.