Dangers had gathered round Luther and the Reformation. The doctor of Wittemberg's appeal to a General Council was a new attack on papal authority. By a bull of Pius II, the greater excommunication had been denounced even against emperors who should dare to incur the guilt of such a revolt. Frederick of Saxony, as yet imperfectly confirmed in evangelical doctrine, was prepared to send Luther away from his states;[1] and hence a new message from Leo might have thrown the Reformer among strangers, who would be afraid to compromise themselves by receiving a monk whom Rome had anathematised. And even should the sword of some noble be drawn in his defence, mere knights, unable to cope with the powerful princes of Germany, must soon have succumbed in the perilous enterprise.
GOD SAVES LUTHER. MILTITZ.
But at the moment when all the courtiers of Leo X were urging him to rigorous measures, and when one blow more might have placed his adversary in his hands, the pope suddenly changed his course to one of conciliation and apparent mildness.[2] It may be said, no doubt, that he was under a delusion as to the Elector's feelings, and deemed them more decided in Luther's favour than they really were. It may also be admitted that the public voice and the spirit of the age, powers which at this time were altogether new, seemed to throw an impregnable barrier around the Reformer. It may even be supposed, with one of Leo's biographers,[3] that he followed the promptings of his mind and heart which inclined to gentleness and moderation. Still this new mode of action on the part of Rome, at such a moment, is so extraordinary that it is impossible not to recognise in it a higher and mightier hand.
There was then at the Court of Rome a Saxon noble who was chamberlain to the pope and canon of Mentz, Trèves, and Meissen. He had turned his talents to advantage. As he boasted of being, in some degree, allied to the Saxon princes, the Roman courtiers sometimes designated him by the title of Duke of Saxony. In Italy he made an absurd display of his German nobility, while in Germany he aped the manners and polish of the Italians. He was given to wine[4]—a vice which his residence at the Court of Rome had increased. Still the Roman courtiers hoped great things from him. His German extraction—his insinuating address—and his ability in negotiation—all led them to expect that Charles de Miltitz (this was his name) would, by his prudence, succeed in arresting the mighty revolution which was threatening to shake the world.
It was of importance to conceal the true object of the chamberlain's mission, and in this there was no difficulty. Four years before, the pious Elector had applied to the pope for the golden rose. This rose, the fairest of flowers, was emblematic of the body of Jesus Christ, and being annually consecrated by the sovereign pontiff, was presented to one of the first princes in Europe. On this occasion it was resolved to send it to the Elector. Miltitz set out with a commission to examine into the state of affairs, and to gain over the Elector's counsellors, Spalatin and Pfeffinger, for whom he had special letters. Rome hoped that, by securing the favour of the persons about the prince, she would soon become mistress of her formidable adversary.
MILTITZ. LUTHER'S DANGER.
The new legate, who arrived in Germany in December 1518, was careful as he came along to ascertain the state of public opinion. To his great astonishment he observed, at every place where he stopped, that the majority of the inhabitants were friendly to the Reformation,[5] and spoke of Luther with enthusiasm. For one person favourable to the pope, there were three favourable to the Reformer.[6] Luther has preserved an anecdote of the journey—"What think you of the see (seat) of Rome?" frequently asked the legate at the mistresses of the inns and their maidservants. One day, one of these poor women, with great simplicity, replied—"How can we know what kind of seats you have at Rome, and whether they are of wood or stone?"[7]
The mere rumour of the new legate's arrival filled the Elector's court, the university, the town of Wittemberg, and all Saxony, with suspicion and distrust. "Thank God," wrote Melancthon, in alarm,[8] "Martin still breathes." It was confidently stated that the Roman chamberlain had received orders to possess himself of Luther's person, by force or fraud; and the doctor was advised, on all hands, to be on his guard against the stratagems of Miltitz. "His object in coming," said they, "is to seize you and give you up to the pope. Persons worthy of credit have seen the briefs of which he is the bearer." "I await the will of God," replied Luther.[9]
In fact, Miltitz brought letters addressed to the Elector and his counsellors, to the bishops and to the burgomaster of Wittemberg. He was also provided with seventy apostolic briefs. Should the flattery and the favours of Rome attain their object, and Frederick deliver Luther into her hands, these seventy briefs were to serve as a kind of passports. He was to produce and post up one of them in each of the towns through which he had to pass, and hoped he might thus succeed in dragging his prisoner, without opposition, all the way to Rome.[10]
The pope seemed to have taken every precaution. The electoral court knew not well what course to take. Violence would have been resisted, but the difficulty was to oppose the chief of Christianity, when speaking with so much mildness, and apparently with so much reason. Would it not be the best plan, it was said, to place Luther somewhere in concealment until the storm was over?... An unexpected event relieved Luther, the Elector, and the Reformation, from this difficult situation. The aspect of affairs suddenly changed.