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Luther Before the Diet
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decree. The Romanists were jubilant. Now they considered the fate
of the Reformation sealed.
God had provided a way of escape for his servant in this hour
of peril. A vigilant eye had followed Luther’s movements, and a
true and noble heart had resolved upon his rescue. It was plain
that Rome would be satisfied with nothing short of his death; only
by concealment could he be preserved from the jaws of the lion.
God gave wisdom to Frederick of Saxony to devise a plan for the
Reformer’s preservation. With the co-operation of true friends, the
elector’s purpose was carried out, and Luther was effectually hidden
from friends and foes. Upon his homeward journey, he was seized,
separated from his attendants, and hurriedly conveyed through the
forests to the castle of Wartburg, an isolated mountain fortress. Both
his seizure and his concealment were so involved in mystery that
even Frederick himself for a long time knew not whither he had
been conducted. This ignorance was not without design: so long as
the elector knew nothing of Luther’s whereabouts, he could reveal
nothing. He satisfied himself that the Reformer was safe, and with
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this knowledge he was content.
Spring, summer, and autumn passed, and winter came, and
Luther still remained a prisoner. Aleander and his partisans rejoiced
that the light of the gospel seemed about to be extinguished. But in-
stead of this, the Reformer was filling his lamp from the store-house
of truth, to shine forth in due time with brighter radiance.
In the friendly security of the Wartburg, Luther for a time rejoiced
in his release from the heat and turmoil of battle. But he could not
long find satisfaction in quiet and repose. Accustomed to a life of
activity and stern conflict, he could ill endure to remain inactive. In
those solitary days, the condition of the church rose up before him,
and he cried in despair, “Alas! there is no one in this latter day of His
anger to stand like a wall before the Lord, and save Israel!” Again,
his thoughts returned to himself, and he feared being charged with
cowardice in withdrawing from the contest. Then he reproached
himself for his indolence and self-indulgence. Yet at the same time
he was daily accomplishing more than it seemed possible for one
man to do. His pen was never idle. While his enemies flattered
themselves that he was silenced, they were astonished and confused
by tangible proof that he was still active. A host of tracts, issuing