ven if
the vain Eck had not immediately set all Wittenberg University by the
ears, this letter could hardly have been considered at Rome as a token
of repentant submission.

The thunderbolt of excommunication had been hurled; Rome had spoken.
Now Luther, again completely his old self, wrote once more to the Pope
that great and famous letter which, at the request of the untiring
Miltitz, he dated back to September 6, 1520, that he might be able to
ignore the bull of excommunication. It is a beautiful reflection of a
resolute mind which from a lofty standpoint calmly surveys its
opponent, and at the same time is magnificent in its sincerity, and of
the noblest spirit. With sincere sympathy he speaks of the personality
and of the difficult position of the Pope; but it is the sympathy of a
stranger. He still laments with melancholy the condition of the
Church, but it is plain that he himself has already outgrown it. It is
a farewell letter. With the keenest severity there is still a firm
attitude and silent sorrow. Such is the way a man parts from what he
has once loved and found unworthy. This letter was to be the last
bridge for the peacemakers. For Luther it was the liberation of his
soul.

In these years Luther had become a different man. In the first place
he had acquired prudence and self-reliance in his intercourse with the
most exalted personages, and at heavy cost had won insight into the
policies and the private character of the rulers. Nothing was at heart
more painful to the peaceable nature of his sovereign than this bitter
theological controversy, which sometimes furthered his political ends
but always disturbed his peace of mind. Constant efforts were made by
his court to keep the Wittenberg people within bounds, and Luther
always saw to it that they were made too late. Whenever the faithful
Spalatin dissuaded him from the publication of a new polemic, he
received the answer that there was no help for it, that the sheets
were printed and already in the hands of many and could not be
suppressed. And in his dealings with his adversaries Luther had
acquired the assurance of a seasoned warrior. He was bitterly hurt
when Hieronymus Emser, in the spring of 1518, craftily took him to a
banquet in Dresden where he was forced to argue with angry enemies,
especially when he learned that a Dominican friar had listened at the
door and the next day had spread it in the town that Luther had been
completely silenced, and