ain in his nature revolted against the hasty and
superficial manner in which Carlstadt reasoned.

It may be assumed that much in his own feelings, at that particular
time, made him suspicious that the Devil might be using this dubious
question to tempt the children of God, and yet at this very moment, in
his confinement, he had special sympathy for the poor monks behind
monastery walls. He searched the Scriptures. He had soon disposed of
the marriage of priests, but there was nothing in the Bible about
monks. "The Scripture is silent; man is uncertain." And then he was
struck by the ridiculous idea that even his nearest friends might
marry. He writes to the cautious Spalatin, "Good Lord! Our
Wittenbergers want to give wives to the monks too. Well, they are not
going to hang one on my neck;" and he gives the ironical warning,
"Look out that you do not marry too." But the problem still occupied
him incessantly. Life is lived rapidly in such great times. Gradually,
through Melanchthon's reasoning, and, we may assume, after fervent
prayer, he found certainty. What settled the matter, unknown to
himself, must have been the recognition that the opening of the
monasteries had become reasonable and necessary for a more moral
foundation of civil life. For almost three months he had struggled
over the question. On the first of November, 1521, he wrote the letter
to his father already cited.

The effect of his words upon the people was incalculable. Everywhere
there was a stir in the cloisters. From the doors of almost all the
monasteries and convents monks and nuns stole out--at first singly and
in secret flight; then whole convents broke up. When Luther with
greater cares weighing upon him returned the next spring to
Wittenberg, the runaway monks and nuns gave him much to do. Secret
letters were sent to him from all quarters, often from excited nuns
who, the children of stern parents, had been put into convents, and
now, without money and without protection, sought aid from the great
reformer. It was not unnatural that they should throng to Wittenberg.
Once nine nuns came in a carriage from the aristocratic establishment
at Nimpfschen--among them a Staupitz, two Zeschaus, and Catherine von
Bora. At another time sixteen nuns were to be provided for, and so on.
He felt deep sympathy for these poor souls. He wrote in their behalf
and traveled to find them shelter in respectable families. Sometimes
indeed he felt it too much of a