“You make many words, Herr Doctor, but your answers are not complete. Likewise you do grievously abuse the high clemency of his Majesty and the noble Estates in adding to your evil deeds these attacks upon the Lord Pope and his defenders. You are here to defend your books and teachings, not to defame others. Again in your arguments you advance nothing new. Long debate there might be if any of your heresies were novel, but such they are not. Long since like heresies have been uttered by the ‘Poor Men of Lyons,’ by Wyclif of England, by John Hus of Bohemia. Nor need I tell you that these heresies were condemned at the great and ecumenical Council of Constance with the consent of entire Germany. How then do you set your judgment, confessedly prone to err, against the wisdom of that most holy Council?” “Worshipful Magister von Eck,” retorted Luther, with the least tinge of scorn in his voice, “I must answer you now as I have answered at Leipzig. General Councils can err. The Council of Constance erred. My conscience forbids me to retract.” None who knew Luther marvelled at these words, but this clear assertion of personal judgment over the authority of a universal Council, a Council to which most good Catholics ascribed a power even above a Pope’s, this, I say, set many a prince and prelate writhing in his seat. Some even rose and cried out. There were mingled cheers and hisses. The great prelates were gnashing with their teeth, as the Jews over Stephen. Great beads of sweat stood on the friar’s brow, but he held his ground, and faced unflinchingly the lowering Official and the frowning Emperor. “Holy God, Martin,” cried Von Eck, driven from his composure by the calm audacity of the reply, “do you assert that Councils can err,--can teach veritable heresy?” “Even so,” the answer was less yielding than ever; “not once but many times. I can prove it.” “Prove it? Impossible!” “In nowise. I can quote many passages of Scripture. My conscience will not suffer me to go against them.” Von Eck smote his hands together in rising anger. “Martin,” he admonished, “let your conscience alone. Recant your errors, and you will be safe and sound. Never can you prove that Councils have erred.” My master shook his head in silent negative. The hall, unsupportably hot, was becoming noisy. High dignitaries were casting at Luther now encouragements, now execrations. The Emperor stirred uneasily, as if fain to bring the stormy audience to termination. For the last time the Official faced his stubborn witness. His voice was sharp with menace. “Hearken then and make an end. His Imperial Majesty grows weary of your stubbornness. The question set has been plain. Yes? or no? Omit the classifications of your books, and the matter of Councils. The Emperor demands a clear answer without horns. Will you or will you not recant?”