The following year almost all who honored Luther united in the endeavor to bring about a reconciliation.  Staupitz and Palatin, and the Elector through them, scolded, besought, and urged; the papal chamberlain, Miltitz himself, praised Luther’s attitude, and whispered to him that he was entirely right, implored him, drank with him, and kissed him.  Luther, to be sure, thought he knew that the courtier had a secret mission to make him a captive, if possible, and bring him to Rome.  But the peacemakers successfully hit upon the point in which the stubborn man heartily agreed with them—­that respect for the Church must be maintained, and its unity must not be destroyed.  Luther promised to keep quiet and to submit the decision of the contested points to three worthy bishops.  While in this position he was urged to write a letter of apology to the Pope.  But even this letter of March 3, 1519, though approved by the mediators and written under compulsion, is characteristic as showing the advance Luther had made.  Humility, such as our theologians see in it, is hardly present, but a cautious diplomatic attitude throughout.  Luther regrets that what he has done to defend the honor of the Roman Church should have been interpreted as lack of respect in him.  He promises henceforth to say nothing more about indulgences—­if, that is, his opponents will do the same; he offers to address a manifesto to the people in which he will advise them to give proper obedience to the Church and not to be estranged from her because his adversaries have been insolent and he himself harsh.  But all these submissive words do not conceal the rift which already separates his mind from the essential basis of the Church of Rome.  It sounds like cold irony when he writes:  “What shall I do, Most Holy Father?  I am at a complete loss.  I cannot endure the weight of your anger, and yet I do not know how to escape it.  They demand a recantation from me.  If it could accomplish what they propose by it, I would recant without hesitation, but the opposition of my adversaries has spread my writings farther than I had ever hoped; they have taken hold too deeply on the souls of men.  In Germany today talent, learning, freedom of judgment are flourishing.  If I should recant, I should cover the Church, in the judgment of my Germans, with still greater disgrace.  It is they—­my adversaries—­who have brought the Church of Rome into disrepute with us in Germany.”  He finally closes politely:  “If I should be able to do more, I shall without doubt be very ready.  May Christ preserve your Holiness!  Martin Luther.”

Much is to be read between the lines of this studied reserve.  Even 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.