The diet met on January 22, 1521, and on February 10th there came a brief from Rome making final Luther’s excommunication, urging his condemnation by the diet and emperor. But there was evident reluctance to proceed against him; something might be accomplished by negotiations. The pope had selected Marino Carraccioli and Jerome Aleander to wait on the young emperor and to represent his case before the diet. Aleander was a clearsighted, courageous and indefatigable diplomatist, a pure worldling, a man of indifferent morals, who believed that every man had his price, and that law and selfish motives were alone to be reckoned with. The defeat of the papacy at Worms was not due to any lack of thoroughness of his work. He had spies everywhere—in the households of the emperor and of the leading princes, and among the population of Worms. He did not hesitate to lie when he thought it useful to the Roman Church. The Roman court had put upon him the difficult task of putting Luther under the ban of the empire at once and unheard.
His speech before the diet was long and eloquent, but weakened by his bitterness and vehemence. He said he spoke in defense of the papal throne, which was so dear to them all. He enumerated the heresies taught in Luther’s works. Luther was obstinate, disobedient to the pope’s summons, refused to be instructed; the pope had condemned him, and it was the emperor’s duty to enforce the condemnation; the laity had nothing to do with such questions except to carry out the pope’s decrees; ruin would follow if Luther was not condemned; a decree from the diet and the emperor would restore quiet, and preserve the Church and empire. Such were the considerations urged by Aleander. He sat down amid murmurs of approbation, but he had made no new points, given no fresh reasons.
A few days afterward a representative German, Duke George of Saxony, already Luther’s enemy, presented the case of Germany against the pope. There were many things of which he complained, exactions and usurpations, the growth and accumulation of years. A committee of the diet was appointed to draft the grievances, and brought in a long list. With so many grievances against the pope already the diet was in no hurry to take the pope’s part against a popular German; the condemnation of Luther, and especially the manner of condemnation, was itself another grievance.
The law required the execution of the pope’s bull, and was against granting to a condemned heretic a new hearing before a secular tribunal. It was a case in which the law demanded one thing and expediency and justice another. After a long discussion in the diet it was “held stoutly that no countryman of theirs should be placed under the ban of the empire without being heard in his defense, and that they and not the pope of Rome were to be the judges in the matter.”
There was open opposition between the emperor and the diet, and abundant secret intrigue—“an edict proposed against Luther, which the diet refused to accept; an edict proposed to order the burning of Luther’s books, which the diet also objected to; this edict revised and limited to seizure of Luther’s writings, which was also found fault with by the diet; and, finally, the emperor issuing this revised edict of his own authority and without the consent of the diet.”
The command to appear before the diet on April 16, 1521, and the safe conduct were delivered to Luther on March 26th. He was to face in a practical way the question of going to the diet, and for him and his friends the crisis had come. Many of Luther’s associates at Wittenberg endeavored to dissuade him from obeying the emperor’s mandate. Well it was for his fame, work and cause that he refused to heed their advice. These good-intentioned, but faint-hearted, colleagues were advising him to take a fatal step, one that would have been more damaging to his work than all the machinations of his foes; that would, in fact, have been playing his enemies’ game, and bringing the Reformation in Germany to a sudden close. A crisis had been reached where a failure in moral courage in Luther would have ruined everything. He rose to the occasion, and his moral stature was disclosed to the whole world.
The journey seemed to the indignant papists like a royal progress; crowds came to bless the man who had stood for the people against the pope, and they believed he was going to his death for his courage. The nearer he came to Worms, the fiercer became the disputes there. Friends and foes found that his presence would prove oil thrown into the flames. The emperor regretted having sent the summons. Messengers were dispatched secretly to endeavor to prevent his coming. Just as he was approaching the city a messenger from one of his best friends in great alarm said: “Do not enter Worms!” But Luther, undismayed, turned to him and said: “Go and tell your master that even should there be as many devils in Worms as tiles on the housetops, still I would enter it.”
On the morning of April 16th Luther entered the city, accompanied by fully two thousand persons. The citizens eagerly pressed forward to see him, and every moment the crowd was increasing. It was much greater than the public entry of the emperor. The news of his arrival filled both friend and foe with great alarm. On the next morning the “marshal of the empire cited him to appear at four o’clock before his imperial majesty and the states of the empire.” Luther received this summons with profound respect. Thus everything was arranged. At four o’clock the marshal appeared, and Luther set out with him. He was agitated at the thoughts of the solemn congress before which he was about to appear. The streets were so densely crowded that they advanced with great difficulty. At length they reached the doors of the hall, which were opened to them. Luther went in, and with him entered many persons who formed no portion of the diet. And now was enacted “the most splendid scene in history.” As has been aptly said:
Never had man appeared before so imposing an assembly. The Emperor Charles V, whose sovereignty extended over a great part of the old and new world; his brother, Archduke Ferdinand; six electors of the empire, most of whose descendants now wear the kingly crown; twenty-four dukes, the majority of whom were independent sovereigns over countries more or less extensive, and among whom were some whose names afterward became formidable to the Reformation—the Duke of Alva and his two sons; eight margraves, thirty archbishops, bishops, and abbots; seven ambassadors, including those from the kings of France and England; the deputies of ten free cities; a great number of princes, counts, and sovereign barons; the papal nuncios—in all two hundred and four persons. Such was the imposing court before which appeared Martin Luther. The appearance was of itself a signal victory over the papacy. The pope had condemned the man, and yet there he stood before a tribunal which by this very act, set itself above the pope. The pope had laid him under an interdict, and cut him off from all human society; and yet he was summoned in respectful language, and received before the most august assembly in the world. The pope had condemned him to perpetual silence, and yet he was now about to speak before thousands of attentive hearers drawn together from the farthest parts of Christendom. An immense revolution had thus been effected by Luther’s instrumentality. Rome was already descending from her throne, and it was the voice of a monk that caused this humiliation. (D’Aubigne’s History of the Reformation, p. 240.)
Into the presence of this august body Luther was led, and the sight of this great assemblage of dignitaries almost paralyzed him. The marshal commanded him not to speak unless he was spoken to, and to answer promptly and truly all questions put to him. The court was conducted with great pomp, but all its solemn apparatus was an empty pageant; for however Luther might defend himself, the sentence had been already arranged with Rome. Aleander had arranged the procedure. After a moment of solemn silence John Eck rose and said in a loud and clear voice: