THE POPE.

The people now at length believe

That priests can all their sins reprieve

At pleasure--that to them is given

Full power to shut or open heaven.

Preach loudly, every high decree,

Of him, the conclave's majesty.

Then, we are kings, the laity slaves:

But if the gospel standard waves

We're lost; for no where does it say,

Make sacrifice, let priests have pay.

The gospel course for us would be,

To live and die in poverty.

Instead of steeds to mark my state,

And chariots on my sons to wait,

A paltry ass must needs supply[862]

A seat for sacred majesty.

No, I cannot take such legacy,

I'll thunder at such temerity;

Let us but will--the world will nod,

And nations adore us as God.

Slighting their rights I mount my throne,

And partition the world among my own;

Vile laity must keep far aloof,

Nor dare to enter our blest roof,

To touch our tribute, or our gold.

Holy water e'en let them hold.

[862] Wir möchten fast kaum Eselein ha'n. (Bern Mausol. iv, Wirz, K.

Gesch. i, 383.)

We will not continue this literal translation of Manuel's drama. The

agony of the clergy on learning the efforts of the Reformers, and

their rage against those who threaten to interfere with their

irregularities, are painted in lively colours. The dissolute manners

of which this piece gave so vivid a representation were too common not

to strike the spectator with the truth of the picture. The people were

excited. Many jibes were heard as they retired from the play in the

street of La Croix; but some who took the matter more seriously, spoke

of Christian liberty and papal despotism, and contrasted the

simplicity of the gospel with the pomp of Rome. The contempt of the

people was soon displayed in the public streets. On Ash Wednesday, the

indulgences were promenaded through the town amid satirical songs. In

Berne, and throughout Switzerland a severe blow had been given to the

ancient edifice of the papacy.

[Sidenote: WALTER KLARER. JAMES BURKLI.]

Sometime after this representation, another comedy was acted at Berne,

but there was no fiction in it. The clergy, council, and corporation

had assembled in front of the Upper Gate, waiting for the skull of St.

Anne, which the famous knight, Albert of Stein, had gone to fetch from

Lyons. At length Stein appeared, holding the holy relic wrapt in a

covering of silk. As it passed, the Bishop of Lausanne knelt down

before it. This precious skull, the skull of the Virgin's mother, is

carried in procession to the church of the Dominicans, and, amid the

ringing of bells, enters the church, where it is placed with great

solemnity on the altar consecrated to it, behind a splendid grating.

But amid all this joy, a letter arrives from the abbot of the convent

of Lyon, where the relics of the saint were deposited, intimating that

what the monks had sold to the knight was a profane bone taken at

random from the burying ground. The trick thus played off on the

illustrious city of Berne filled its citizens with deep indignation.

The Reformation was making progress in other parts of Switzerland. In

1521, Walter Klarer, a young man of Appenzel, returned to his native

canton from the university of Paris. Luther's writings fell into his

hands, and, in 1522, he preached the evangelical doctrine with all the

ardour of a young convert. An innkeeper, named Rausberg, a wealthy and

pious man, and a member of the council of Appenzel, opened his house

to all the friends of truth. Bartholomew Berweger, a famous captain,

who had fought for Julius II and for Leo X, having at this time

returned from Rome, began forthwith to persecute the evangelical

ministers. One day, however, remembering how much vice he had seen at

Rome, he began to read the Bible, and to attend the sermons of the new

preachers; his eyes were opened, and he embraced the gospel. Seeing

that the crowds could not be contained in the churches, he proposed

that they should preach in the fields and the public squares, and,

notwithstanding of keen opposition, the hills, meadows, and mountains

of Appenzel, thenceforward often echoed with the glad tidings of

salvation.

[Sidenote: MURDER AND ADULTERY.]

The reformed doctrine, ascending the Rhine, made its way as far as

ancient Rhætia. One day, a stranger from Zurich crossed the river, and

waited on the saddler of Flasch, the frontier village of the Grisons.

Christian Anhorn, the saddler, listened in astonishment to the

language of his visitor. "Preach," said the whole village to the

stranger, who was called James Burkli. He accordingly took his station

in front of the altar. A number of persons arrived, with Anhorn at

their head, and stood round to defend him from a sudden attack while

he preached the gospel. The rumour of this preaching spread far and

wide; and, on the following Sunday, an immense crowd assembled.

Shortly after, a great proportion of the inhabitants of the district

desired to have the Lord's Supper dispensed to them according to its

original institution. But one day the tocsin suddenly sounded in

Mayenfield; the people ran in alarm; and the priests, after pointing

out the danger which threatened the Church, hastened at the head of

the fanatical population to Flasch. Anhorn, who was working in the

field, astonished at hearing the sound of bells at so unusual an hour,

hastened home and concealed Burkli in a deep hole dug in his cellar.

The house was by this time surrounded; the door was forced open, and

the heretical preacher everywhere searched for in vain. At length the

persecutors withdrew.[863]

[863] Anhorn, Wiedergeburt der Ev. Kirchen in den 3 Bündten. Chur,

1680. Wirz i, 457.

The Word of God spread over the extent of the ten jurisdictions. The

curate of Mayenfield, on returning from Rome, to which he had fled

infuriated at the success of the gospel, exclaimed, "Rome has made me

evangelical," and became a zealous reformer. The Reformation soon

extended to the league of "the House of God." "Oh!" exclaimed

Salandronius to Vadian, "if you but saw how the inhabitants of the

mountains of Rhætia cast far from them the yoke of the Babylonish

captivity!"

Shocking disorders hastened the day when Zurich and the neighbouring

districts were to shake off the yoke. A married schoolmaster wishing

to become a priest, obtained his wife's consent, and they separated.

The new curate was unable to keep his vow of celibacy, but not to

outrage his wife's feelings quitted the place where she lived, and,

having taken up his residence in the diocese of Constance, formed a

licentious connection. His wife hastened to the place. The poor priest

took compassion on her, and dismissing the person who had usurped her

rights, took back his lawful spouse. The procurator-fiscal forthwith

drew up a charge against him: the vicar-general began to move; the

council of the consistory deliberated ... and the curate was ordered

to abandon his wife or his benefice. The poor wife left the house

weeping bitterly, and her rival returned in triumph. The Church

declared itself satisfied, and thenceforth let the adulterous priest

alone.[864]

[864] Simml. Samml. vi.--Wirz, K. Gesch. i, 275.

[Sidenote: THE MARRIAGE OF ZUINGLIUS.]

Shortly after a curate of Lucerne eloped with a married woman, and

lived with her. The husband went to Lucerne and taking advantage of

the priest's absence brought away his wife. While returning they were

met by the seducer, who immediately attacked the injured husband, and

gave him a wound of which he died.[865] All good men felt the

necessity of re-establishing the divine law, which declares _marriage

honorable in all_.[866] The evangelical ministers had taught that the

law of celibacy was of merely human origin, imposed by Roman pontiffs

in opposition to the Word of God, which, when describing a true

bishop, represents him as a husband and father. (1 Tim. iii, 2 and 4.)

They saw at the same time, that of all the abuses which had crept into

the Church none had caused more numerous vices and scandals. They

considered it not only as a thing lawful but as a duty in the sight of

God to withdraw from its authority. Several of them at this time

returned to the ancient practice of apostolic times. Xylotect was

married. Zuinglius also married at this period. No lady was more

respected in Zurich than Anna Reinhard, widow of Meyer of Knonau, the

mother of Gerold. From the arrival of Zuinglius she had been one of

his most attentive hearers: she lived in his neighbourhood, and he

observed her piety, modesty, and fondness for her children. Young

Gerold, who had become as it were his adopted son, brought him into

closer connection with his mother. The trials already endured by this

Christian woman, who was one day to be the most cruelly tried of all

the women whose history is on record, had given her a gravity which

made her evangelical virtues still more prominent.[867] She was now

about thirty-five years of age, and her own fortune amounted only to

four hundred florins. It was on her that Zuinglius, on looking out for

a companion for life, turned his eye. He felt how sacred and intimate

the conjugal union is. He termed it "a most holy alliance."[868] "As

Christ," said he, "died for his people, and gave himself to them

entirely, so ought husband and wife to do and suffer every thing for

each other." But Zuinglius, when he took Anna Reinhard to wife, did

not immediately publish his marriage. This was undoubtedly a culpable

weakness in a man otherwise so resolute. The light which he and his

friends had acquired on the subject of celibacy was not generally

diffused. The weak might have been offended. He feared that his

usefulness in the Church might be paralysed if his marriage were made

public.[869] He sacrificed part of his happiness to these fears--fears

to which, though respectable perhaps, he should have been

superior.[870]

[865] Hinc cum scorto redeuntem in itinere deprehendit, adgreditur,

lethiferoque vulnere cædit et tandem moritur. (Zw. Ep. p. 206.)

[866] Hebrews, xiii, 4.

[867] Anna Reinhard, von Gerold Meyer von Knonau, p. 25.

[868] Ein hochheiliges Bündniss. (Ibid.)

[869] Qui veritus sis, te marito non tam feliciter usurum Christum in

negotio verbi sui. (Zw. Ep. p. 335.) Who feared that Christ would not

use you as a husband so advantageously in the ministry of his Word.

[870] Biographers, most respectable historians, and all the authors

who have copied them, place Zuinglius' marriage two years later, viz.,

in April 1524. Without going at length into the reasons which satisfy

me that this is a mistake, I will merely indicate the most decisive

proofs. A letter from Zuinglius' friend Myconius, 22nd July, 1522,

says, "_Vale cum uxore quam felicissime_." "All happiness to you and

your wife." Another letter from the same friend, written towards the

close of this year, has the words, "_Vale cum uxore_." The contents of

the letters prove that they are correctly dated. But what is still

stronger is, a letter of Bucer, from Strasburg, at the time when the

marriage was made public, 14th April, 1524, (the date of the year is

wanting, but it is clearly 1524.) This letter contains several

passages which show that Zuinglius had been for some time married. In

addition to the one given in the previous note, we quote the

following:--"Professum _palam_ te maritum legi. Unum hoc desiderabam

in te." I read that you openly professed to be a husband. This was the

only thing in you I regretted the want of. "Quæ multum facilius quam

_connubii tui confessionem_. Antichristus posset ferre." These things

Antichrist could bear more easily than _the confession of your

marriage_.--"Αγαμον ab eo, quod cum fratribus ... episcopo

Constantiensi congressus es, nullus credidi." That you were unmarried

I did not believe from your disputes with the friars ... the Bishop of

Constance. "Qua ratione id _tam diu celares_ ... non dubitarim,

rationibus hue adductum, quæ apud virum evangelicum non queant omnino

repudiari" ... etc. On what account you concealed it so long ... I

doubt not you were influenced by reasons which ought not to be

entirely rejected by a Christian man. (Zw. Ep. p. 335.) In 1524, then,

Zuinglius did not marry, but publish his marriage contracted two years

before. The learned editors of the letters of Zuinglius ask, "Num

forte jam Zuinglius Annam Reinhardam, clandestino in matrimonio

habebat?" May not Zuinglius have already been secretly married to Anna

Reinhard? p. 210. This seems to me not a matter of doubt, but a well

ascertained historical fact.

[Sidenote: HOW TRUTH TRIUMPHS.]

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