Luther Before the Diet
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to overcome these ministers of Satan. I despise them while I live; I
will triumph over them by my death. They are busy at Worms about
compelling me to recant. My recantation shall be this: I said formerly
that the pope was Christ’s vicar; now I say that he is the adversary of
the Lord, and the apostle of the devil.”
Luther was not to make his perilous journey alone. Besides the im-
perial messenger, three of his firmest friends determined to accompany
him. Melancthon earnestly desired to join them. His heart was knit
to Luther’s, and he yearned to follow him, if need be, to prison or to
death. But his entreaties were denied. Should Luther perish, the hopes
of the Reformation must center upon his youthful co-laborer. Said
the reformer as he parted from Melancthon, “If I do not return, and
my enemies put me to death, continue to teach; stand fast in the truth.
Labor in my stead; ... if thy life be spared, my death will matter little.”
Students and citizens who had gathered to witness Luther’s departure
were deeply moved. A multitude whose hearts had been touched by
the gospel, bade him farewell with weeping. Thus the reformer and
his companions set out from Wittenberg.
On the journey they saw that the minds of the people were op-
pressed by gloomy forebodings. At some towns no honors were prof-
fered them. As they stopped for the night, a friendly priest expressed
his fears by holding up before Luther the portrait of an Italian reformer
who had suffered martyrdom. The next day they learned that Luther’s
writings had been condemned at Worms. Imperial messengers were
proclaiming the emperor’s decree, and calling upon the people to
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bring the proscribed works to the magistrates. The herald, fearing for
Luther’s safety at the council, and thinking that already his resolution
might be shaken, asked if he still wished to go forward. He answered,
“I will go on, though I should be put under interdict in every town.”
At Erfurt, Luther was received with honor. Surrounded by admiring
crowds, he passed through the streets that he had often traversed with
his beggar’s wallet. He visited his convent cell, and thought upon the
struggles through which the light now flooding Germany had been shed
upon his soul. He was urged to preach. This he had been forbidden to
do, but the herald granted him permission, and the friar who had once
been made the drudge of the convent, now entered the pulpit.
To a crowded assembly he spoke from the words of Christ, “Peace
be unto you.” “Philosophers, doctors, and writers,” he said, “have