Luther (1974) Movie Script | Subs like Script

[bell ringing]

[cart rumbling]

Ah, Brother Martin.

There's the man who did in

four of the seven sacraments,

denied the miracle of the Mass,

crippled the Pope,

raised the Holy Scriptures

over the authority of Rome

and the individual conscience

over Mother Church herself.

I plead guilty to those charges.

And who tried to make the Church

conform to him,

because he could not conform

to the Church.

And that.

It doesn't matter why I did it,

only what came out of it.

Doesn't it now?

And do you also plead guilty

to abandoning we who got

your reformation for you?

I abandon those

who would reform by force

in the very name of

the Prince of Peace.

Only after that force

had got you what you wanted.

I am bleeding,

he has bled,

and you're alive and well

and cuddling in the arms

of your nun.

[no audio]

Now you even look

like a butcher.

[distant singing]

[singing in Latin]

[singing continues]

Amen

[no audio]

[soft clumping]

[footfalls]

[no audio]

Now you must choose

one of two ways:

Either to leave us now

or give up this world

and devote yourself

entirely to God

and our Order.

But I must add this:

Once you have

committed yourself,

you are not free,

for whatever reason,

to throw off the yoke

of obedience,

for you will have

accepted it freely,

while you were able

to discard it.

[singing in Latin]

[singing continues]

He whom it was Your will

to dress

in the garb of the Order,

O Lord,

invest him also

with eternal life.

The Lord divest you

of the former man

and of all his works.

The Lord invest you

with the new man.

[singing in Latin]

[singing continues]

[in unison]Amen

I, Brother Martin,

do make profession

and promise obedience

to Almighty God,

to Mary the Sacred Virgin,

and to you, my Brother Prior

of this cloister,

in the name of

the Order of Eremites

of St. Augustine

and his successors,

to live without property

and in chastity

according to the Rule of

our Venerable Father Augustine

until death.

Lord Jesus Christ,

our leader and our strength,

by the fire of humility

You have set aside

this servant, Martin,

from the rest of Mankind.

We humbly pray that this fire

will also cut him off

from carnal intercourse

and from the community

of those things

done on Earth by men,

through the sanctity shed

from Heaven upon him.

[speaking in Latin]

Amen.

[fanfare music]

In the year of our Lord 1506,

Martin Luther,

like many another medieval monk,

sought, by the adoption

of the cowl,

to protect his immortal soul

against the attacks of demons,

fiends, and devils,

so terrifyingly real

to the men of his time.

At this time, of course,

we'd never even heard

of Martin Luther.

He was just another monk.

Germany was carpeted with them.

But this one sought

to outdo his brothers

in practicing

the counsels of perfection,

hoping by mortification

of the flesh

and the performance

of good works

to subdue the first

agonized murmurings of doubt.

What are the tools

of good works?

First, to love Lord God

with all one's soul.

Then, one's neighbor

as oneself.

Then, not to kill,

not to commit adultery,

not to steal, not to covet,

not to bear false witness.

To honor all men.

To deny yourself

in order to follow Christ.

Not to yield to anger,

not to nurse a grudge.

To keep death daily

before your eyes,

to know for certain

that God sees you everywhere.

When evil thoughts come

into your heart,

to dash them at once

on the love of Christ.

To desire eternal life with

all your spiritual longing.

To keep constant vigilance

over the actions of your life.

To keep your mouth from evil

and depraved talk.

To fear the Day of Judgment,

to dread hell.

To confess your past sins to God

that you may be steadfast

against the desires

of the flesh.

To chastise the body.

To love fasting,

to clothe the naked,

to visit the sick,

to bury the dead.

To prefer nothing

to the love of Christ.

Behold, these are the tools

of the spiritual craft.

If we employ these unceasingly,

and render account of them

on the Day of Judgment,

then we shall receive

from the Lord in return

that reward that

He Himself has promised:

Eye hath not seen

nor ear heard

what God hath prepared

for those that love Him.

[soft music]

[muttering indistinct prayer]

I lost the body of a child,

a child's body,

eyes of a child,

and at the first sound

of my own childish voice.

I lost the body of a child.

And I was afraid,

and I went back to find it.

And I'm still afraid.

I'm afraid,

and there's an end of it.

But I mean...

...continually.

For instance, of the noise

the Prior's dog makes

on a still evening

when he rolls over on his side

and licks his teeth.

I'm afraid of the darkness,

and the hole in it.

And I see it

sometime of every day,

and some days

more than once even.

And there's no bottom to it,

there's no bottom to my breath,

and I can't reach it.

Why?

Why, do you think?

The lost body of a child,

hanging on a mother's breast

and close to the big,

warm body of a man.

And I can't find it.

I confess to God,

to Blessed Mary,

our holy Father Augustine,

to all the saints,

and all present

that I have sinned exceedingly

in thought, word,

and deed by my own fault.

I confess I did leave my cell

for the night office

without the scapular

and had to return for it.

For this failure to Christ

I abjectly seek forgiveness

and whatever punishment

the Prior and community

is pleased to impose on me.

I confess I did omit

to have a candle ready

at the Mass.

Twice in my sloth,

I have omitted to shave,

and even excused myself,

pretending to believe my skin

to be fairer than that

of my Brothers.

I confess I did ask for a bath,

pretending to myself that

it was necessary for my health,

but as I lowered my body

into the tub,

it came to me that

it was inordinate desire

and that it was my soul

that was soiled.

I am alone.

I am alone and against myself.

I am a worm and no man.

Crush out the worminess in me.

Stamp on me.

If my flesh would leak

and dissolve

and I could live as bone...

If I were all bone,

plucked bone and brain,

warm hair and a bony heart.

If I were all bone,

I could brandish myself

without terror,

without any terror at all.

I could be indestructible!

Let Brother Paulinus remember

our visit to

our near sister house,

and lifting his eyes repeatedly

at a woman in the town

who dropped alms into his bag.

I remember

and I beg forgiveness.

Then let him remember also

that though

our dear Father Augustine

does not forbid us

to see women,

he blames us

if we should desire them.

I confess that while

I was bottling wine, I sipped--

I confess that

I have offended grievously

against humility,

sometimes failing to be content

with the meanest

and worst of everything.

I have declared myself to myself

lower and lower

and of less account

than all other men,

but I have failed

in my most inmost heart

to believe it.

For many weeks,

many weeks it seems to me,

I was put to cleaning

the latrines.

I did it,

and I did it vigorously,

not tepidly,

with all my poor strength,

without whispering

or objections to anyone.

But although

I fulfilled my task,

and I did it well,

sometimes there were murmurings

in my heart.

I prayed that they would cease,

knowing that God,

seeing my murmuring heart,

must reject my work,

and it was as good as not done.

I sought out my master

and he punished me,

telling me to fast for two days.

I've fasted for three,

but even so,

I can't tell if the murmurings

are really gone,

and I ask for your prayers!

And I ask for your prayers

that I may be able to go on

fulfilling the same task.

Let Brother Martin remember

all the degrees of humility,

and let him go on

cleaning the latrines.

[speaking in Latin]

[singing in Latin]

[coughing]

[singing continues]

[gasping]

[singing continues]

[choking]

[singing continues]

[gasping]

[yelling]

[singing continues]

[crying]

[slapping]

[singing continues]

[gasping]

[singing continues]

Not me!

I am not!

[monks continue singing]

He suffered that way for months,

his mind desperately

trying to avoid

the nameless horror

that constantly assailed it.

Any other man

would have been done for,

but not Martin.

He learned to protect his mind

by dropping his fearful

murmurings out of his head

and into his bowels.

Meanwhile, he buried himself

in an orgy of ritual and study,

preparing himself

for his first Mass.

Brother Martin!

Brother Martin?

Brother Martin,

your father's here.

My father?

Mm, yes, he asked to see you,

but I told him

it would be better

to wait until afterwards.

What did he have to come for?

I should have told him

not to come.

It'd be a strange father

who didn't want to be present

when his son celebrated

his first Mass.

You're running all over

with sweat again.

-Are you sick?

-No.

-Are you?

-No.

Let me wipe your face,

you haven't much time.

You're sure you're not sick?

My bowels won't move,

that's all.

That's nothing out of the way.

Have you shaved?

Yes, before I went

to confession.

Why, do you think

I should shave again?

A few overlooked

little bristles

won't make much difference,

any more than

a few imaginary sins.

There, that's better.

What do you mean,

"imaginary sins"?

I mean there are plenty of

priests with dirty ears

administering the sacraments,

but this isn't the time

to talk about that.

Come on, Martin,

you've got nothing

to be afraid of.

How do you know?

You always talk

as though lightning

were just about to strike

behind you.

Tell me what you meant.

I only meant

the whole convent knows

you're always making up sins

you've never committed.

What's the use of

all this talk of penitence

-if I can't feel it?

-The moment you've confessed,

turned to the altar,

you're beckoning

for a priest again.

Why, every time you break wind

they say you rush

to a confessor.

They say that?

It's their favorite joke.

They say that, do they?

Martin, you're protected

from many of

the world's evils in here.

You're expected to master them,

not be obsessed by them.

God bids us hope

in His everlasting mercy.

Try to remember that.

What have I gained from coming

into this sacred Order?

Am I not still the same?

I'm still envious,

I'm still impatient,

-I'm still passionate?

-How can you ask a question

-like that?

-I do ask and I'm asking you,

what have I gained?

In any of this,

all we can ever learn

is how to die.

That's no answer.

It's the only one

I can think of at the moment.

All you can teach me

in this sacred place

is how to doubt.

That's all you've taught me.

That's really all

you've taught me.

And all the while I'm living

in the Devil's worm bag.

It hurts me

to see you like this,

sucking up cares like a leech.

You will be there beside me,

won't you?

Yes, of course.

And if anything goes wrong

or you forget anything,

we'll see to it.

But you won't,

you'll be all right.

You won't make any mistakes.

What if I do?

Just one mistake,

one word, one sin...

Martin, kneel down.

Forgive me, Brother Weinand,

but the truth is this...

-Kneel.

-...it's just this.

All I can feel is God's hatred.

-Repeat the Apostles' Creed.

-He's like a glutton,

the way He gorges me,

He's a glutton.

He gorges me

and spits me out in lumps.

After me: "I believe in God

the Father Almighty,

maker of Heaven and Earth..."

I'm a trough, I tell you.

He's swilling about in me

all the time.

"And in Jesus Christ,

His only Son Our Lord..."

In Jesus Christ,

His only Son Our Lord.

"Who was conceived

by the Holy Ghost,

born of the Virgin Mary,

suffered under

Pontius Pilate..."

Was crucified, dead and buried.

He descended into Hell.

The third day

He rose again from the dead,

He ascended into Heaven,

and sitteth on the right hand

of God the Father Almighty.

From thence He shall come

to judge the quick and the dead.

And every sunrise

sings a song of death.

"I believe..."

I believe...

Go on.

I believe in the Holy Ghost,

the holy Catholic Church,

the Communion of Saints,

the forgiveness of sins.

Again.

-Forgiveness of sins.

-What was that again?

I believe in

the forgiveness of sins.

Do you? Do you?

Then remember this:

When we say

in the Apostles' Creed,

"I believe in the forgiveness

of sins,"

each one of us must believe

that his sins are forgiven.

Well?

I wish my bowels would open.

I'm blocked up

like an old crypt.

[calm music]

Try to remember that, Martin.

Yes, I'll try.

Better get ready now.

I'll help you.

[calm music]

Is my father alone?

No, he's brought at least

a dozen friends, I should say.

My mother with him?

No.

[calm music]

[sighing]

[organ music]

I never thought he'd come.

Why didn't he tell me?

Well, he's-- here now anyway.

He's also given 20 guilden

to the chapel as a present,

so he can't be

too displeased with you.

-Twenty guilden?

-Mm!

[organ music]

That's a lot of money

to my father.

That's three times

what it cost him

to send me to the university

for a year.

[organ music]

Twenty guilden.

[calm music]

He works in the mines, you know.

Yes, he told me.

As tough as you can think of.

Thank you, Brother Weinand.

For what?

Today would be an ordeal

for any kind of man.

In a short while,

you'll be handling,

for the first time,

the body and blood of Christ.

God bless you.

Somewhere,

in the body of a child,

Satan foresaw in me

what I'm suffering now.

That's why he prepares

open pits for me,

and all kinds of tricks

to bring me down,

so that I keep wondering

if I'm the only man living

who's baited

and surrounded by dreams

-and afraid to move.

-You're a fool.

You're really a fool.

God isn't angry with you,

it's you who are angry with Him.

[somber music]

[music continues]

Oh, Mary.

Dear Mary.

All I see of Christ is aflame

and raging on a rainbow.

Pray to your Son,

ask Him to still His anger,

for I cannot look upon Him.

[serene pipe music]

[music continues]

[indistinct remarks]

[music continues]

Let not the partaking

of Thy body, Lord Jesus Christ,

which I, unworthy as I am,

make bold to receive,

turn against me into judgment

and damnation,

but through Thy loving kindness,

let it safeguard me

body and soul

and bring me healing.

Thou, who art God,

living and reigning

with God the Father

in the name and the unity

of the Holy Spirit,

world without end.

Amen.

[music continues]

I will take the bread of Heaven

and will call upon

the name of the Lord.

[serene music]

[music continues]

Lord, I am not worthy

that Thou shouldst enter

beneath my roof,

but say only the word

and my soul shall be healed.

Lord, I am not worthy

that Thou shouldst enter

beneath my roof,

but say only the word

and my soul shall be healed.

[bell ringing]

Lord, I am not worthy

that Thou shouldst enter

beneath my roof...

"Say only..."

"Say only the word..."

Say only the word

and my soul shall be healed.

The body of

our Lord Jesus Christ.

Preserve my soul

into everlasting life.

Amen.

What return shall I make

to the Lord

for all that He has given me?

I will take

the Chalice of Salvation

and will invoke

the name of the Lord.

[sighing]

"Praised be the Lord."

Praised be the Lord.

When I invoke His name,

I shall be secure

from all my enemies.

Body of our Lord, Jesus Christ.

Preserve my soul

into everlasting life.

Amen.

[laughing]

What about

some more of this, eh?

Don't think you can

get away with it.

I'm getting

my 20 guildens' worth

before the day is out.

After all, it's a proud day

for all of us.

It certainly is.

Forgive me, I wasn't looking.

Don't give me that,

you monks don't miss much.

Eyes like gimlets,

ears like open drains.

Tell me, what's your opinion

of Brother Martin?

He's a good, devout monk.

Yes.

Yes, well, I suppose you can't

say much about each other.

Tell me, would you say

that in this monastery

or any monastery alike,

you're as strong as

the weakest member of the team?

No, I don't think that's so.

Well, wouldn't you say--

I don't mean this

as any criticism, mind,

but if one bad monk,

one really monster-sized,

roaring great bitch of a monk,

if he got going, really going,

he could give the Order

such a reputation

it might even have to go

into liquidation.

Liquidation.

You're a learned man,

you know Latin

and Greek and Hebrew.

Only Latin, I'm afraid,

and very little Greek.

-Really?

-Mm.

Martin knows Latin and Greek.

Halfway through Hebrew, too.

Yes, Martin is a brilliant man.

We're not all

as gifted as he is.

No.

Well, what would be

your opinion about this?

I think my opinion would be

that the Church is bigger

than those who are in her.

Don't let him get you

into an argument.

He'll argue about anything,

especially if he doesn't know

what he's talking about.

I do know something about it!

I was merely asking a question.

You shouldn't be asking

such questions

on a day like today.

It's a really

once-only occasion,

like a wedding.

Or a funeral.

By the way, what's happened

to the corpse?

Where's Brother Martin?

I expect he's still in his cell.

Should have thought

he'd had enough

of being on his own by now.

The boy's probably a bit,

well, you know,

anxious about

seeing you again, too.

What's he got

to be anxious about?

Well, apart from

everything else,

it's nearly three years

since he last saw you.

There you are, my boy!

We were wondering

what had happened to you!

Come and sit down,

there's a good lad.

Your father and I

have been punishing

the convent wine cellar,

I'm afraid.

Bit early in the day

for me, too.

Speak for yourself.

I haven't even started.

My dear boy, are you all right?

You look so pale!

Brother Martin.

Brother Lazarus,

they should call you.

I'm much better, thank you.

Been sick, have you?

Much better, thank you, Father.

Stomach upset, that what it was?

You look like death warmed up,

all right.

Have a little wine,

it'll make you feel better!

I know that milky look.

Seen it too many times.

Drop of wine will put the color

back in there.

You're all right,

aren't you, lad?

Vomit all over your cell,

I expect.

He'll have to clean it up

himself, won't he?

Can't have your mother

running in,

getting down on her knees

to mop it all up.

I managed to clean it up

all right.

How are you, Father?

Me?

I'm all right.

I'm all right, aren't I, Lucas?

Never anything wrong with me.

Your old man's

strong enough.

We--we have to be strong.

If we're not strong,

it won't take any time at all

before we're knocked flat

on our backs,

flat on our backs and finished.

And we can't afford

to be finished,

because if we're finished,

that's it,

that's the end.

Your father's doing

very well indeed, Martin.

He's got his own investment

in the mine now.

He's beginning to work

for himself.

That's the way things are going

everywhere now.

You must be pleased.

Well, I'm pleased to make money.

Not pleased

to break my back doing it.

How's Mother?

Um, I'm sorry she couldn't come,

but it's a bad journey,

as you know,

so she sends her love.

Well, there's nothing wrong!

There's too much work,

too many kids, too long.

Still, there's only one way

of going "up you"

to Old Nick

when he comes for you,

and that's to show him

your kids.

One thing, if you've been lucky

and the plague's

kept away from you,

you can pop it out

from under the counter at him.

That to you.

Then you've done something

for yourself forever.

Forever and ever.

Amen.

Father...

why do you hate me being here?

What do you mean?

I don't hate you being here.

Try to give me

a straight answer, if you can.

I'd like to know.

What are you talking about?

I don't know

what you're talking about.

I should like you to tell me.

And don't say

I could have been a lawyer.

So you could've been.

You could've been

better than that.

You could've been

a burgomaster,

you could have been

a magistrate, chancellor.

You could have been anything!

So what?

I don't want to talk about it,

certainly not in front of

complete strangers.

You're drinking too much wine.

I could drink this convent piss

from now till Gabriel's horn.

And from all accounts,

that'll blow next Thursday,

so what's the difference?

This the wine you use

in the Mass?

I'm asking

a straight question now.

Is this the wine you use?

Here, have some.

You know what they say?

No, what do they say?

I'll tell you.

Bread thou art

and wine thou art

and always shall remain so.

[scuffling and banging]

My father didn't mean that.

He's a very devout man, I know.

[bell ringing]

Brother Weinand will show you

over the convent.

-Yes, yes, I'd like that.

-If you're finished, that is?

Oh, yes, I've had more

than enough, thank you.

Right, well, shall we go then,

Brother Weinand?

I'll come back for you, shall I?

Hans, you'll stay here?

-Just as you like.

-Goodbye, my boy,

but I'll see you before I go,

won't I?

Yes, of course.

[bell ringing continues]

Martin.

I didn't mean to embarrass you.

No, it was my fault.

Not in front of everyone.

I shouldn't have asked you

a question like that.

It's just that it was a shock

to see you suddenly.

I had almost forgotten

what your voice sounded like.

Why did you get all snarled up

like that during the Mass?

You're disappointed,

aren't you?

No, I just want to know.

Young men like you

just don't forget the words.

I don't understand

what happened.

I lifted up my head

at the host,

and, as I was speaking

the words,

I heard them

as if it were the first time,

and suddenly

they struck at my life.

I don't know.

I really don't.

Maybe your father and mother

are wrong after all

and God's right.

Whatever it is you had to find,

you could only find it

by becoming a monk.

You don't believe that, do you?

No, no, I don't.

Then say what you mean.

Very well.

If that's what you want,

I'll say exactly what I mean.

I think a man murders himself

in these places.

I kill no one but myself.

I don't care.

It gives me the shivers.

That's why I couldn't bring

your mother,

if you want to know.

The Gospels are the only mother

I've ever had.

Haven't you ever read

in the Gospels?

Haven't you read

what's written in there?

"Thou shalt honor

thy father and thy mother."

You're not understanding me,

because you don't want to.

Oh, that's fine talk, Martin.

Fine, holy talk.

But it won't wash,

it won't wash, Martin,

because you can't ever,

however you try,

you can't ever get away

from your body.

It's what you live in,

it's all you have to die in,

the body of your father

and your mother!

We're bodies, Martin,

we're bound together for always.

You're like any man who was

ever born into this world,

but you'd like to pretend

that it was you made you.

Not the body of a woman

and another man.

Churches, kings, and fathers.

Why do they ask so much

and why do they get

so much more than they deserve?

I think I deserve more

than you've given me.

I've given you?

I don't have to give you, I am.

That's all I need to give you,

that's all you're going to get.

You wanted me to be a lawyer,

learn Latin,

be a master of arts.

All you want is me

to justify you.

Well, I can't,

and what's more, I won't.

I can't even justify myself.

So just stop asking me

what have I accomplished,

what have I done for you?

I've done for you

all I'll ever do

and that's live

and wait to die.

Why do you blame me

for everything?

I don't blame you!

I'm just not grateful,

that's all.

[no audio]

I'm not a specially good man,

I know,

but I believe in God

and in Jesus Christ, His Son,

that the Church

will take care of me,

and that I can make

some sort of life for myself

with a little joy in it

somewhere.

Where's your joy?

You wrote to me once

when you were at the university

that only Christ would

light up the place you live in.

What's the point?

What's the point

if the place you live in

turns out to be a hovel?

Don't you think

it mightn't be better

not to be able to see at all?

I'd rather be able to see.

I see a young man,

learned and full of life,

abusing his youth

with fear and humiliation.

You think you're facing

up to it in here,

but you're not.

You're running away.

You're running away

and you can't help it.

If it's so easy in here,

why do you think

the rest of the world

isn't knocking the gates down

to get in?

Because they haven't given up,

that's why.

Well, there it is:

you think I've given up.

Yes, there it is.

[no audio]

This damned monk's wine

has given me a headache.

I'm sorry.

Oh, yes, you're all sorry.

A lot of good

it does any of us.

I suppose fathers and sons

always disappoint each other.

I worked for you,

I went without for you.

Well?

Well!

And if I beat you fairly often

and pretty hard sometimes,

it was no more

than any other boy, was it?

No.

What do you think it is

makes you different?

Other men are all right.

Stubborn,

you were always stubborn,

you've always had to resist,

haven't you?

You disappointed me too,

and not just a few times,

but at some time of every day

I ever remember hearing

or seeing you,

but, as you say,

maybe that was no more

than any other boy.

But I loved you,

I loved you the best.

I remember Mother

beating me once

for stealing a nut.

On that day, it seemed to me

that the pain belonged to me

and to no one else.

It went no further

than my body,

between my knees and my chin.

But always before,

when you beat me for something,

it seemed we shared the pain,

you and I,

and the rest of the world.

Anyway...

I wanted your love

more than anyone's.

You never said so.

You never even gave me

that feeling.

You were afraid, weren't you?

You know, Martin, I think

you were always scared

ever since you could

get off your knees and walk.

You were scared

for the good reason

that that's what

you most wanted to be.

I'll tell you.

I'll tell you what,

like that day,

that day coming home

from Erfurt,

and the thunderstorm broke,

you were so scared,

you lay on the ground

and cried out to St. Anne

because you'd seen

a bit of lightning

and thought

you'd seen a vision.

I saw it all right.

You went and asked her

to save you

on condition you became a monk.

I saw it.

Did you?

So it's still St. Anne, is it?

Sometime you should have

another little think

about that heavenly vision

that wangled you away

into the cloister.

I hope it was a vision,

not some delusion

or trick of the devil.

I really hope so,

because I couldn't bear

to think of it otherwise.

Sorry we had to quarrel.

It shouldn't have turned out

like this at all today.

[somber music]

Goodbye, Martin.

Here.

Have a drink of holy wine.

[somber music]

So the praising ended

and the blasphemy began.

Though it was ten years

before we began to realize it.

During those years,

our troubled young priest

became a brilliant theologian.

He left the cloister to teach

at the University of Wittenberg

and his doubts became

academic controversy.

Brilliant stuff of that.

Then something happened.

The consequences of which

none of us could've imagined,

least of all, Martin.

[spirited music]

[indistinct lyrics]

[spirited music]

[goose honking]

[indistinct lyrics]

[clucking]

[spirited music]

[indistinct chatter]

[spirited music]

[indistinct shouting]

[spirited music]

[shouting]

Are you wondering who I am,

or what I am?

Is there anyone here

who hasn't heard of me,

and doesn't know why I am here?

No?

Good.

[drumming]

But just in case,

just in case, mind,

there happens to be among you

one blind, maimed midget

who hasn't heard of me,

I'll open his ears for him

and wash them out

with sacred soap

so that he and all of you

may hear the good news

I bring you

on this bright and sunny day.

I am John Tetzel,

Dominican, inquisitor,

sub-commissioner

to the Archbishop of Mainz,

and what I bring you

is indulgences.

Indulgences made possible

by the red blood

of Jesus Christ,

and this red cross

you see standing here

behind me

is the standard

of those who carry them.

What else do you see up here?

Why, the arms of his holiness.

His holiness, Pope Leo X.

Friends of the Medici,

an old and noble

and charitable Italian family.

It's him who sent me

with indulgences for you.

Look at them.

All properly sealed.

An indulgence in every envelope,

and one of these

can be yours today,

now, before it's too late!

Look at them.

Take a good look.

There isn't a sin so big

that one of these letters

can't remit it.

I don't care what it is.

I can settle it for you

here and now.

Why, if anyone

ever offered violence

to the blessed Virgin Mary,

Mother of God herself,

if he'd only pay up,

as long as he paid up

all he could,

he'd find himself forgiven.

Now then,

how many mortal sins

are committed by you,

by you in a single day?

Just think for a moment.

In one single day

of your life.

Can you find the answer?

"Oh," you say,

"not so many as one a day.

Oh, no."

Very well then.

How many in a month?

How many in six months?

How many in a year?

How many in a whole lifetime?

Yes, you needn't fidget

and shuffle your feet.

It doesn't bear

thinking about it.

Try to count up

all the years of torment

hiding out.

So why won't you,

for as little as a quarter

of a florin,

buy yourself

one of these letters

so that in the hour of death,

the gates of paradise

be flung open to you?

And furthermore, my friends,

these letters are not only

for the living,

but for the dead, too!

So don't hold back!

Think of your dear ones!

Think of yourselves!

For 12 groats,

you can rescue your father

from agony

and yourself

from certain disaster!

So if you only have a coat

on your back,

then strip it off.

For, remember,

as soon as your money

rattles in this box

and the cash bell rings,

the soul flies out of purgatory

and sings!

So come on then.

Get your money out!

[clinking]

[dark music]

Well, all this

was accepted practice.

We'd seen it all our lives.

Been going on

since the Crusades,

not perhaps in quite

such a mercenary fashion.

But Martin,

outraged at the mockery,

felt obliged to warn us all

of its spiritual dangers,

and many began to listen

and to murmur.

And so he posed a problem

for his friend and mentor

Johann von Staupitz,

Vicar General

of the Augustinian order,

of whom he was to say,

"Without him,

I would've sunk into hell."

[birds chirping]

[no audio]

[soft music]

The birds always seem

to fly away

the moment I come out here.

Birds, unfortunately,

have no faith.

Perhaps it's simply

they don't like me.

They haven't learned yet

that you mean them no harm,

that's all.

Are you treating me

to one of your allegories?

-You've recognized it anyway.

-I ought to.

Ever since I came

to the cloister,

I became a craftsman

allegory maker myself.

Only last week, I was lecturing

on Galatians Three,

verse three,

and I allegorized

going to the lavatory.

"Are ye so foolish,

that what ye have begun

in the spirit, you would

now end in the flesh."

That's right.

But allegories aren't much help

in theology

except to decorate a house

that's already been built

by argument.

Well, it's a house

you've been able to unlock

for a great many of us.

I never dreamed when I first

came here to Wittenberg

that the University's reputation

would ever become what it has,

and in such a short time,

-and it's mostly due to you.

-Mm.

If ever a man could get

to heaven through monkery,

that man would be me.

You know quite well

what I mean.

I'm talking

about your scholarship,

and what you manage

to do with it,

not your monkery,

as you call it.

The only wonder is

you haven't killed yourself

with your prayers

and watchings.

All these trials

and tribulations you go through,

they're meat and drink to you.

Will you ever stop lecturing me

about this?

Of course not.

Why do you think you come here

to see me in the garden

when you could be inside

working?

Well, if it'll please you,

I've so little time,

what with my lectures

and study,

I'm scarcely able to carry out

even the basic requirements

of the Rule.

I'm delighted to hear it.

You've always been obsessed

with the Rule

because it serves very nicely

as a protection for you.

-What protection?

-Oh, Brother Martin,

don't pretend to look innocent.

Protection against the demands

of your own instincts,

that's what.

You see, you think

you admire authority,

and you do, but unfortunately,

you can't submit to it.

So, what you do,

by your exaggerated attention

to the Rule is to make

that authority ridiculous.

And the reason you do that

is because you're determined

to substitute

for that authority

something else yourself.

-Myself?

-Oh, come along, Martin,

I've been Vicar General

too long

not to have made

that little discovery.

Did you know the Duke had been

complaining about you?

Why? What have I done?

Preaching against indulgences

again.

Oh, that.

Well, I was very mild.

Yes, well, I've heard

your mildness in the pulpit.

Remember, the Duke paid

all the expenses

of your promotion for you.

He was very cross

when he spoke to me.

He said you even made

some reference

to the collection

of holy relics

in the Castle Church.

Most of those were paid for

by the sale of indulgences,

as you know.

Did you say anything

about them?

Well...

Yes, but not about those

in his Castle Church.

I did make some point

in passing about someone

who claimed to have a feather

from the wing

of the angel Gabriel.

Oh, yes, I heard about him.

I just finished off

by saying how it is

that Christ had 12 apostles

and 18 of them

are buried in Germany?

Anyway, the Duke is coming

to hear your next sermon

for himself, so try

and keep off the subject.

It's All Saints' Day soon,

remember,

and all those relics

will be out on show

for everyone to gawk at.

The Duke's a good fellow.

He's very proud

of his collection.

It doesn't help

to be rude about it.

What are you making faces for?

Oh, it's nothing, just

a slight discomfort, Father.

You can't strike bargains

with God, am I right?

-Yes.

-Well, that's all I've said.

The Lord our God

reigns here no longer.

He has resigned all power

to the Pope.

I actually heard

John Tetzel say that.

Well, hear him,

write about him, attack him

theologically, intellectually,

scholastically,

but to the select few

of your peers in Latin,

not from the pulpit to shape

the face of the peasant,

the shopkeepers,

and the young knights.

If you give the common man

an idea

that will excuse his greed

and his natural resistance

to authority,

he'll take it

and run with it.

I don't look to whom I speak.

I'll leave you to deal with it.

You will anyway.

Try and be careful.

Remember, I agree

with what you say,

but the moment

someone disagrees

or objects

to what you're saying,

that will be the moment

when you'll have to measure

the strengths of your belief.

Father...

I'm never sure of the words

till I hear them out loud.

Perhaps that's the meaning

of the Word.

The Word is me,

and I am the Word.

Anyway, try and be

a little prudent.

Look at Erasmus.

He never really gets

into any serious trouble,

but he still manages

to make his point.

People like Erasmus get upset

because I talk of pigs

and Christ in the same breath.

Ah, you may be right.

Erasmus is a fine scholar,

but there are too many scholars

who think they're better

because they insinuate in Latin

what you'll say

in plain German.

Don't forget,

you began this affair

in the name

of our Lord Jesus Christ.

You must do as God commands you,

of course,

but remember,

St. Jerome once wrote

about a philosopher

who destroyed his own eyes

so that it would give him

more freedom to study.

Take care of your eyes, my son.

And do something

about those damned bowels.

I will.

Who knows? If I break wind

in Wittenberg,

they might smell it in Rome.

[no audio]

[monks singing]

[melancholy music]

My text is from the Epistle

of Paul the Apostle

to the Romans...

chapter one, verse 17:

"For therein

is the righteousness

of God revealed

from faith to faith."

[no audio]

We are living

in a dangerous time.

You may not think so,

but it could be that this is

the most dangerous time

since the light first broke

upon the earth.

We Christians

seem to be wise outwardly

and mad inwardly,

and in this Jerusalem

we have built,

there are blasphemies

flourishing

that make the pagan Egyptians

and Romans no worse

than giggling children.

A man is not a good Christian

because he understands Greek

and Hebrew.

Jerome knew five languages,

but he's inferior

to Augustine,

who knew only one.

Of course, Erasmus

wouldn't agree with me,

but then perhaps

one day the Lord

will open his eyes for him.

But listen.

A man without Christ

becomes his own shell.

Shall we be content

to be shells?

Shells filled

with small trinkets.

And what are the trinkets?

Today is the eve

of All Saints,

and the holy relics

will be on show to you all;

to the hungry ones whose lives

are made satisfied by trinkets,

by an imposing procession

and the dressings up

of all kinds of dismal things.

You'll mumble for magic

with lighted candles

to St. Anthony

for your erysipelas;

to St. Valentine

for your epilepsy;

to St. Apollonia

if you've got the toothache,

and to St. Louis to stop

your beer from going sour.

And tomorrow you'll wait

outside the Castle Church

so that you can get

a cheap-rate glimpse

of St. Jerome's tooth,

or four pieces each

of St. Chrysostom

and St. Augustine,

and six of St. Bernard.

The deacons will

have to link hands

to hold you back

while you struggle to gawk

at four hairs

from Our Lady's head

and at her veil stained

with her Son's blood.

You'll sleep outside

in the street

with the garbage all night

so that you can stuff your eyes

like roasting birds

on a scrap of swaddling clothes,

at eleven pieces of wood

from the original crib,

one wisp of straw

from the manger,

and a gold coin

specially minted

by the three wise men

for the occasion.

Your emptiness

will be frothing over

at the sight

of a strand of Jesus' beard,

at one of the nails

driven into His hands,

and at the remains of the loaf

from the Last Supper.

Shells for shells...

empty things for empty men.

Now there are some who complain

of these things,

but they write in Latin

for scholars.

But, now, who'll speak out

so that everyone

can understand?

Here it is.

Someone's got to bell the cat!

For you must be made to know

that there's no security,

there's no security at all,

either in indulgences,

holy busywork,

or anywhere in this world.

It came to me

while I was in my tower,

what they call

the monk's sweathouse,

the jakes, the John,

whatever you're pleased

to call it.

I was struggling

with the text I've given you:

"For therein

is the righteousness

of God revealed,

from faith to faith."

I say "struggling"

because it is as hard

for me to do what I must do

as it is for a man

to truthfully call

his own mother a whore.

And I was sitting there,

I seemed to sense beneath me

a large rat...

...a heavy, wet, plague rat,

ready to slash at my privates

with its death's teeth.

And I sat in my pain

fumbling with the Scripture

until like light itself

the words emerged:

"The just shall live by faith."

And at that moment,

my pain vanished.

The rat was gone.

And I could see

the waste of my life till now.

No man is just

because he does just works.

The works are just

if the man is just.

If a man doesn't believe

in Christ,

not only are his sins mortal,

but his good works.

This I know;

reason is the devil's whore,

born of one stinking goat

called Aristotle,

which holds that good works

make a good man,

but the truth is

the just shall live

by faith alone.

By faith alone!

[echoing]

I need no more than

my sweet redeemer, Jesus Christ,

and I shall go on praising Him

as long as I have voice

to sing;

and if anyone doesn't care

to sing with me,

then he can howl on his own.

If we're going to be deserted,

let's follow

the deserted Christ.

[speaking Latin]

Amen.

[dramatic music]

We'd all been waiting there,

wondering and guessing

if he really meant

what we hoped he meant,

that somehow,

his fancy new theology

would help us to stop Rome

from bleeding taxes out of us

for the use of our German land.

We were just hoping,

but then, to the joy

of the common people

and to young fellows

like myself

seeking a cause

as young men do,

he nailed his heresy

to the door.

That single act started

a conflagration

which could not be extinguished.

Whether he meant to or not,

he had given us a weapon

against the Pope

and we began to use it.

Of course,

they didn't waste any time.

The Pope ordered Martin

to appear in Augsburg

before his ambassador

to Germany,

Cardinal de Vio.

He's here.

So I see.

What do you mean?

Well, you look so cross.

What's he got to say

for himself?

Too much.

I said to him, "If our Lord

the Pope would offer you

a good bishopric

and a plenary indulgence

for repairing your church,

you'll soon start singing

a different song."

What did he say to that?

-He asked me...

-Well...

He asked me

how my mother's syphilis was.

It's a fair question

in the circumstances.

You Germans,

you're a crude lot.

That's what I said to him.

"The Italians," I said,

"they're different.

They're not just learned.

They're subtle,

experienced antagonists.

You'll be flung into the fire

after five minutes."

-And...

-He said,

"I've only been to Italy once

and they didn't look

very subtle to me.

They were lifting their legs

on street corners like dogs."

Well, I hope he didn't see

any cardinals at it.

Knowing some of them,

it's not impossible.

Let's have a look at him.

[somber music]

Please stand up, Dr. Luther.

So you're the one they call

the excessive doctor.

You don't look excessive to me.

Do you feel very excessive?

It's one of those words

which can be used

-like a harness on a man.

-How do you mean?

I mean it has

very little meaning

beyond traducing him.

Quite.

There's never been

any doubt in my mind

that you've been misrepresented

all round,

and, as you say, traduced.

Well, well, well,

what a surprise you are!

Here I was expecting to find

some doddering old theologian

with dust in his ears

who could be bullied

into a heart attack

by Tetzel here in 30 minutes.

And there you are, gay

and sprightly as a young bull.

How old are you, my son?

Thirty-four, most worthy father.

Tetzel, he's a boy.

And you never told me.

And how long

have you been wearing

-your doctor's ring?

-Five years.

So you were only 29.

Well, obviously, everything

I've heard about you is true.

You really must be

a very remarkable young man.

I wouldn't have believed

there was one doctor

in the whole of Germany

under 50.

Would you, Brother John?

I hadn't thought of it,

Your Eminence.

Well, to business.

Now I don't think this matter

need take up

very much of our time.

But before we do start,

there is just one thing

I would like to say

and that is that I was sorry

you decided to ask the Duke

for safe conduct.

Now that was hardly necessary,

my son.

And it was a little,

well, distressing

to feel that you have

such an opinion of us,

such a lack of trust

in your Mother Church

and in those who,

I can assure you,

have your dearest interests

at heart.

I simply thought

that considering

-the present situation...

-Oh, my dear, dear son,

this is such a ridiculous,

unnecessary business

for us all to be mixed up in.

But it's such a tedious

and upsetting affair,

and what purpose

is there in it?

Your entire order in Germany

has been brought into disgrace.

I have my job to do.

And, believe me,

it isn't all honey

being an Italian legate

in your country.

Well, you know how it is,

people are inclined

to resent you.

Nationalist feelings

and all that,

which I respect,

but it does complicate

one's task to the point

when an issue such as this

thrown in for good measure

makes the whole operation

absolutely impossible.

You see what I mean?

So you see, my dear son,

what a mess we're in.

Now, what are we going to do?

I am unhappy.

His holiness is unhappy,

the Duke is unhappy,

and, you, my dear son,

you are very unhappy.

Most worthy father,

in obedience to the summons

of his papal holiness,

and in obedience to the orders

of my gracious lord,

Duke Frederick,

Elector of Saxony,

I come before you

as a submissive and dutiful son

of the holy Catholic church,

and if I have been wrong,

to submit to your instruction

in the truth.

My dear son, you've upset

the whole of Germany

with your dispute

about indulgences.

I know you're

a very learned doctor

of the Holy Scriptures,

and that you've already aroused

considerable support

among the peasants.

But if you wish to remain

a member of the Church,

and to find a gracious father

in the Pope,

you had better listen.

I have here in front of me

three propositions

which, by the command

of our holy father, Pope Leo X,

I will put to you now.

First, you must

admit your faults,

and retract all your errors

and sermons.

Secondly, you must promise

to abstain

from propagating your opinions

at all times in the future.

And, thirdly,

you must behave generally

with greater moderation,

and avoid anything

which might cause offense

and grieve and disturb

the Church.

May I see

the Pope's instruction?

No, my dear son, you may not.

All you have to do

is to confess your errors

and keep a strict watch

on your words in the future.

And once you have done that,

I've been authorized

by our most holy father

to put everything

to rights again.

I understand all that.

But I'm asking you to tell me

where I have erred.

If you insist.

Just to begin with,

here are two propositions

which you advanced,

which you will have to retract

before anything else.

First, you say

that the treasure of indulgences

does not consist

of the sufferings and torments

of our Lord Jesus Christ,

which is only a temporal item

for sale.

Second, you claim

that those who receive

the holy sacrament

must have faith in the grace

that is presented to them,

otherwise it is ineffective.

Enough?

I rest my case entirely

on Holy Scripture.

The Pope alone has power

and authority

-over all those things.

-Except Scripture.

Including Scripture.

What do you mean?

-I mean that...

-Only the Pope has the right

to interpret the meaning

of Scripture.

The Pope's judgment cannot err,

whether it concerns

the Christian faith

or anything that has to do

with the salvation

of the human race.

There's nothing in the Scripture

that says that.

The time will come

when you'll have to defend

yourself against the world.

Even though

you always go too far,

thank heavens.

I give you a month,

Brother Martin,

to roast yourself.

You've had your 30 pieces

of silver.

For the sake of Christ,

why don't you go

and betray someone?

-How dare you.

-Tetzel,

perhaps in the interest

of peace and harmony,

you had better go for a walk.

Very well, Your Eminence.

In point of fact,

he gets 80 guilder a month,

plus expenses.

What about his vow of poverty?

Like most brilliant men,

my son,

you have an innocent spirit.

I've also learned

that he's managed

to father two children.

So there goes another vow. Bang!

Most holy father,

I honor the Holy Roman Church

and shall go on doing so.

I have sought the truth,

and everything I have said

I still believe

to be right and true

and Christian.

But I am a man,

and I may be deceived,

so I am willing

to receive instruction

where I have been mistaken.

Save your arrogance, my son.

There'll be a better place

to use it.

I can have you sent to Rome

and let any of your German

princes try to stop me.

He'll find himself

standing outside

the gates of heaven

like a leper.

I repeat, I am here to reply

to all the charges

you may bring against me.

I'm afraid you have

misunderstood the position.

I'm not here to enter

into a disputation with you.

The Roman Church

is the apex of the world,

spiritual and temporal,

and it may constrain

with its secular arm

any of those who once received

the faith and gone astray.

Surely I don't

have to remind you

that it is not bound

to use reason

to fight and destroy rebels.

My son, it's late.

You must retract.

Believe me, I simply want

to see this matter ended

as quickly as possible.

Some interests are furthered

by finding truth,

others by destroying it.

I don't care what pleases

or displeases the Pope.

He is a man.

Ah! Is that all?

He seems a good man,

as Popes go.

But that's not much for a world

that cries out for reformation.

All right, Martin,

I will argue with you.

Or, rather,

I will put something to you,

because there is

something more

than your safety

and you life involved.

Something more important

than you and me

just talking together

here in this room.

It's fine for someone like you

to criticize

and start tearing down

Christendom,

but tell me this:

What will you build

in its place?

An infected place is

best scoured out,

and so you pray

for healthy tissue

and something sturdy and clean

for what was crumbling

and full of filth.

But my dear son,

don't you see?

You'll destroy the perfect unity

of the world.

Suppose you did get rid

of the Pope.

What do you suppose

would become of you?

-I don't know.

-Exactly!

You wouldn't know what to do

because you need him, Martin.

There have always been Popes,

and there always will be,

even though they're called

something else.

They'll have them

for people like you,

because you need him to fight.

Oh, not because he's too big,

but for your needs,

he's not big enough.

Why, some poor, deluded creature

might even come to you

as a leader of their revolution,

but you don't want

to break rules.

You want to make them.

I've read some of your

sermons on faith.

Do you know all they say to me?

No.

They say, "I am a man

struggling for certainty,

struggling insanely

like a man in a fit,

an animal trapped to the bone

with doubt."

[tense music]

Forgive me, Your Eminence.

I'm tired after my journey,

I feel faint.

But don't you see

what could happen

out of all this?

Men could be cast out forever

and left to themselves,

helpless and frightened.

That's what would

become of them

without their mother Church

with all its imperfections.

Peter's rock.

Without it, they'd be

helpless and unprotected.

Allow them their sins,

my son,

their petty indulgences.

They're unimportant,

compared to the comfort

we receive.

Comfort?

It doesn't concern me.

We live in thick darkness

and it grows thicker.

How are men to find God

if they're left to themselves,

each man abandoned

and only known to himself?

They'll have to try.

I beg of you, my son,

I beg of you.

Retract.

Most worthy father, I cannot.

You do look ill.

You'd better go and rest.

Naturally, you will be

released from your order.

I, uh...

Yes?

As you say, Your Eminence.

Will you refer this matter

to the Pope for his decision?

Assuredly.

[solemn music]

You know, Martin,

a time will come

when a man will no longer

be able to say,

"I speak Latin

and am a Christian"

and go his way in peace

in a Catholic world

without frontiers.

But because of men like you,

frontiers will come.

Barriers of all kinds

between men,

and there'll be

no end of them.

[sighs deeply]

Did he retract?

No, of course he didn't.

That man hates himself.

And if he goes to the stake,

Tetzel,

you shall have the pleasure

of inscribing it:

"He could only love others."

[flames roaring]

[bell tolling]

I have been served

with a piece of paper!

Let me tell you about it.

It has come from a latrine

called Rome,

and it claims to excommunicate

me, Dr. Martin Luther.

These lies rise up like fumes

from the bog of Europe,

because papal decretals

are the devil's excretals.

I'll hold it up

for you to see properly.

You see the signature?

Signed beneath the seal

of the Fisherman's Ring

by one certain midden cock

called Leo,

Prince of the Medici,

an overindulged jakes attendant

to Satan himself,

a glittering worm in excrement,

known to you

as His Holiness the Pope.

You may know him

as the head of the Church,

which he may still be,

like a fish is the head

of a cat's dinner,

eyes without sight clutched

to a stick of sucked bones.

God has told me:

There can be no dealings between

this cat's dinner and me.

And, as for this bull,

it's going to roast,

and so are the balls

of the Medici!

[flames roaring]

[dramatic music]

[heavy thud]

Oh, God!

Oh, thou my God!

Breathe into me.

Help me against the reason

and wisdom of the world

You must, there's only

You to do it.

[labored breathing]

This cause is not mine

but Yours.

For myself,

I've no reason to be dealing

with the great lords

of this world.

I want to be still

in peace and alone.

God!

God, do you hear me?

Are You dead?

No, You can't die;

You can only hide Yourself,

can't You?

Lord, I'm afraid.

I'm a child,

the lost body of a child.

Breathe into me,

in the name of Thy Son,

Jesus Christ,

Give me life, oh Lord.

Give me life.

[murmuring]

[three sharp raps]

Johan von Eck,

interrogator

to the Archbishop of Trier.

[fanfare-like music]

His Grace, Lord Frederick,

Duke of Saxony.

[fanfare-like music continues]

His Imperial Majesty,

the Emperor Charles V.

[fanfare-like music continues]

[no audio]

[murmuring]

[sharp rap]

By command of

His Imperial Majesty,

this plenary session

of the Diet

held in the city of Worms

in the year of our Lord 1521

may now proceed.

Martin Luther,

you were been brought here

by His Imperial Majesty

so that you may answer

two questions.

When I asked you yesterday

if you would

publicly acknowledge

being the author

of the books,

you agreed immediately

that the books were indeed

your own.

Is that right?

When I asked you

the second question,

you asked

if you might be allowed

time in which to consider it.

Although such time should

have been quite unnecessary

for an experienced debater

and distinguished

doctor of theology

like yourself,

His Imperial Majesty

was graciously pleased

to grant your request.

Well,

you have had your time now,

a whole day and a night,

and so I will repeat

the question to you.

Do you mean to defend

all these books,

or will you retract any of them?

Your Serene Majesty,

most illustrious princes

and gracious lords,

I appear before you

by the mercy of God,

and I beg that

you will listen patiently.

If, through my ignorance,

I have not given anyone

his proper title

or have offended in any way

against the etiquette

of such a place as this,

I ask your pardon in advance

for a man who finds it

hard to know his way

outside the few steps

from wall to wall

of a monk's cell.

[murmuring]

I ask Your Serene Majesty

and Your Gracious Lordships

to take note

that not all of my books

are of the same kind.

For instance,

in the first group,

I have dealt quite simply

with the values

of faith and morality,

and even my enemies have agreed

that all this is quite harmless

and can be read without damaging

the most fragile Christian.

If I'm to begin

by withdrawing these books,

what should I be doing?

I should be condemning

those very things

my friends and enemies

are agreed on.

I have also written

a second group of books,

and these all attack

the power of the papacy,

which has ravaged Christendom.

No one can deny this,

the evidence is everywhere

and everyone complains of it.

And no one has suffered

Luther (1974) - full transcript