Q, Luther Blissett [children's ebooks online .txt] 📗
- Author: Luther Blissett
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I have nothing more to say but to kiss Your Lordship’s hand, and take my leave in all sincerity.
Worms, 14th May 1521
The faithful servant of Your Most Illustrious lordship
Q.
Letter sent to Rome from the Saxon city of Wittenberg, addressed to Gianpietro Carafa, dated 27thOctober 1521.
To the most illustrious and most reverend lord and the most honourable patron Giovanni Pietro Carafa, in Rome.
My most illustrious and most reverend lord and my most honourable patron,
I am writing to Your Lordship to inform You that no doubt remains concerning Prince Frederick’s abduction of Luther. Here in Wittenberg, some rumours refer to voluntary imprisonment of the monk in one of the Elector’s castles in the north of Thuringia. If the rumours bearing out this truth, which are mounting daily, were not enough to dispel any remaining doubts, one would need only to read the message in the serene face of the effeminate and most learned Melanchthon, or in the daily tasks of education and training performed quite calmly by his disciples, or even more so in the frantic activity of Rector Karlstadt. So we may conclude that Luther has not been kidnapped, but brought to safety by his protector.
But I must reply to the question Your Lordship raised in your last letter. It may be true that the Emperor’s forces have turned their attention towards the war on France, and it might be a propitious moment for Luther’s followers to reveal themselves. But I do not believe that this will happen soon. If these eyes are fit for anything, they are confident that Prince Frederick and his allies will take their time. It is not in his interest to foment rebellion against the Pope, because he knows he might lose control of it, and might be defeated. The Emperor, in fact, would fight in defence of Catholicism, and he is still too strong to be challenged on the battlefield.
But there is another reason for the Elector’s prudence. The minor landless nobility has gathered around two impoverished noblemen, sympathisers of Luther, by the name of Hutter and Sickingen, who might attempt an insurrection in the coming year. For this reason I believe that the princes, with Frederick at their head, will not wish to leave the way open for these tumultuous subordinates, and will unite in destroying them, so that they alone remain in control of all reform.
But there is one more reason why the Elector is taking his time. The reason that I have not yet mentioned to Your Lordship is the popular mood which has been gathering in the air for some months in these parts. In particular, events in Wittenberg, in Luther’s absence, are exerting pressure upon the Elector. The rector of the University, Andreas Karlstadt, is actually at the head of a reform movement of his own that is finding a large following among the population. He has abolished monastic votes and celibacy for the men of the Church. Aural confession, the canon of the mass and the holy images have been subject to the same fate. He has unleashed popular fury against the pictures of the saints, and episodes of violence that have involved the despoliation of churches and chapels. He himself has promptly married a young lady barely fifteen years of age. He dresses in sack-cloth and preaches in German in the street, talking of humility and the abolition of all ecclesiastical privileges. He has no scruples about maintaining that the Scriptures must be givento the people, who must be free to appropriate them and interpret them as they see fit. Not even Luther would have dared do as much. As regards civil administration, Karlstadt has installed an elected municipal council to rule the city on a par with the Prince, and this alarms Frederick to a quite considerable degree. Something he thought he would turn to his own advantage risks rebounding upon him: reform of the Church and independence from Rome could turn into reform of authority and independence from the Princes.
For that reason I believe that it will not be long before the Elector has fetched Luther out of the lair where he has him hidden, in order to get rid of Karlstadt. I can also assure Your Lordship that if Luther were finally to return to Wittenberg. Karlstadt would be obliged to leave. He could not survive a clash with the prophet of the German reformation: he is still a little university rector, and, after Worms, Luther is now the German Hercules as far as everyone in the country is concerned. So, my lord, I am sure that this Hercules will bring down his club upon Karlstadt, and on anyone who threatens to obscure his fame, as long as the Elector allows him to do so. Frederick, for his part, knows very well that Luther alone is capable of guiding reforms in the direction most useful to him; they need each other just as the navigator and the oarsman need one another to steer a boat. I am sure that Luther will soon be back in Wittenberg, and he will ridthe field of all who have usurped his throne.
So, for all these reasons, Prince Frederick and his allies have not yet openly confronted the Church and the Empire.
Now, if ever a servant had been permitted to give advice to his own master, I am sure he would speak as follows: ‘ It seems to me, my lord, that in order to strike the Elector and the princes who wish to rebel against the authority of the Roman church all at at once, one would have to strike the German Hercules himself, the one they are using as a shield. The people, the peasants, are discontented and troublesome, they want more advanced reforms than those that Prince Frederick and perhaps this same Luther are disposed to grant them. The truth is that the portal that Luther has opened is one that he himself would now wish to be closed. Now, this Karlstadt isn’t terribly important, he will not live long. But the fact that so many people here in Wittenberg have followed him is a clear sign of popular feeling. So, if from the waves of this stormy German ocean another Luther should emerge, more diabolical than the devil’s friar, someone who would eclipse his fame and give voice to the desires of the mob… someone whose words would lay waste the whole of Germany, forcing Frederick and all the princes into war, forcing them to ask the Emperor and Rome for support to quell the rebellion… Someone, my lord, who would take his hammer and strike Germany with such strength as to shake it from the Alps to the North Sea. If such a man existed somewhere, he would have to be held more precious than gold, because he would be the most powerful weapon against Frederick of Saxony and Martin Luther’.
If God, in his infinite providence, sent us such a prophet, it would only be to remind us that His ways are infinite, as his glory is infinite, which is why these humble eyes will continue in their work, and forever serve Your Lordship, whose munificence I implore, and kiss your hands.
Wittenberg 27th October 1521
Your Lordship’s faithful servant
Q.
Wittenberg, January 1522
The door is barely hanging from its hinges. I push it and slip inside. It’s darker than it is outside, and just as bitterly cold. Only splinters remain of the windows, the statues are mutilated in several places. The iconoclastic fury didn’t spare the church. I can’t understand why Cellarius arranged to meet me here, he just said he wanted to talk to me. He’s been very agitated for some time. Everyone here in Wittenberg has. Preachers are going around the place, coming from Zwickau and being called prophets. We know one of them: St�bner, he studied here a few years ago. Their sermons stir people’s indignation and win them widespread sympathy. Ideas both new and extreme: a mixture that Cellarius is unable to resist. The creak of the old bench as I sit down mingles with the creak of the door opening behind me. Cellarius, panting his way through the columns of the nave. He joins me, shaking the mud from his boots.
A glance around: we’re alone.
‘Great things are afoot. That argument with Melanchthon was spectacular. Heavyweight stuff: things like how baptising a child is like washing a dog, to take one example. The sight of Melanchthon! He was purple in the face! He managed to fight back, but he sure as hell wasn’t expecting an attack like that. Now they’re hoping that Luther will come back to confront him as well…’
‘Well they’ll have a fair old wait. Luther won’t be showing his face for a while, he’s staying well hidden. The Elector’s keeping Luther’s arse nice and warm in one of his castles. As far as I’m concerned, all that business about Worms and the kidnapping sounds like a comedy written by Spalatin. Luther, the German Hercules… a mastiff on the Elector’s leash.’
He growls and smiles. ‘They won’t have much trouble lengthening the leash, you’ll see. It’ll be just long enough for him to get here and bark at our friend Karlstadt and put him back in his place.’
‘That’s for sure. Karlstadt’s been exaggerating just a bit too much.’
He nods. ‘But he’s not on his own any more. There are those prophets. Then St�bner talked to me about that man M�ntzer, you remember? He stayed with them in Zwickau and in Bohemia. It seems he inflamed the people and started riots with the mere force of his words. Everything thta Karlstadt has done won’t necessarily be lost…’
‘As regards priestly marriage, preaching in German and that kind of thing there’ll be no turning back, but the municipal order of the city won’t survive Luther’s return. Karlstadt isn’t the kind who appreciates conflict. You’ll see: rather than stand up to Luther, he’ll pack his bags and go. You’d really need someone like M�ntzer. When he was here he was more like Luther than Luther himself, and now that Luther’s finished he might be our only hope. We should track him down.
‘We’ll have to ask St�bner. He’s bound to know more.’
*
Ankle-deep in snow and mud, the cold entering my bones. Cellarius says that St�bner usually stays with the brewer Klaus Schacht: ideal sanctuary for a German Isaiah. The incense a dense steam smelling of cooking and beer, the psalms the drawling songs and curses of the regulars.
Around a table about a dozen people, three or four students in a group of unkempt-looking workers. The centre of everyone’s attention is a big man with a red beard and curly hair. He speaks without interruption, waving the air with his hand.
‘Give up your fasting, and let the noise you make be heard aloft. Do you think that’s the fast the Lord desires, the day when man mortifies himself? Letting your heads droop like rushes, sleeping on sack-cloth and ashes, is that what you call fasting, is that what the Lord really wants? God wants fasting of another kind: he wants you to melt the iniquitous chains, break the bonds of the yoke and free the oppressed. That is true fasting: sharing your bread with the hungry, bringing the poor, the homeless into your house, clothing the naked, without taking your eyes off the people. Tell that servant Melanchthon…’
He’s clearly the worse for wear. A tirade against everyone and no one, but applauded by the regulars who may be even drunker than the prophet. When the orator sits down again the chattering resumes more quietly.
I approach him. The table-top is covered with carved graffiti. The
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