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 that the listener had had difficulty to restrain himself from rushing into the room and spitting in Luther’s face.  At that first meeting with Cajetan Luther still prostrated himself humbly at the feet of the prince of the Church; after the second he allowed himself to express the view that the cardinal was as fit for his office as an ass to play the harp.  He treated the polite Miltitz with fitting politeness.  The Roman had hoped to tame the German bear, but soon the courtier came of his own accord into the position which was appropriate for him—­he was used by Luther.  And in the Leipzig disputation against Eck the favorable impression which the self-possessed, honest, and sturdy nature of Luther produced was the best counterpoise to the self-satisfied assurance of his clever opponent.