The work of union to which Francis I. invited Melancthon, had struck

deep root in the doctor’s mind. Sadolet, Bishop of Carpentras (who was

raised to the cardinalate the year after), having published a treatise

on the matter under discussion, the reformer wrote to Sturm that Sadolet

advocated the very points he was resolved to defend, but he regretted to

see him indulge in such bitter attacks upon the protestants.[765] A

little later, when the illustrious Budæus, on whom he had counted,

praised Francis for his zeal in expiating and punishing the assaults of

the heretics,[766] Melancthon was hurt, but not disconcerted. ‘I have

read his treatise,’ he said to Sturm, ‘but what does it matter? All

these things inflame rather than cool me; they fan my desire to go to

you, to make my ideas known to all those learned men, those friends of

what is good, and to learn theirs. Let us unite all our forces to save

the Church: no injustice of man shall check my zeal.’[767]

[Sidenote: Motives Of Francis.]

In this respect Melancthon did not stand alone: Francis I. showed no

less energy, and was careful not to be offended at the elector’s

refusal. The alliance of the protestants became more necessary to him

every day. The prince who did so much in France for the arts, and who,

as the patron of scholars, received the title of _Father of Letters_,

desired a reform after Erasmus’s pattern. There was a very marked

distinction, which it is impossible to overlook, between Francis I. and

his son Henry II.; but the love of knowledge was not the king’s chief

motive: he entertained certain political designs which greatly increased

his eagerness for an alliance with the protestants. The Duke of Milan

was just dead, and the ambitious Francis desired to conquer the duchy

for his second son. Moreover, the evangelical party was not without

influence at court: Margaret, Queen of Navarre, Admiral Chabot, and many

noblemen favored the Gospel; and they were supported by the Du Bellays

and others of the moderate party. The men of the Romish faction rallied

round Diana of Poitiers and Catherine of Medicis.

The king had discovered that John Frederick had felt hurt at seeing a

foreign monarch address one of his subjects on a matter touching the

cause of which the elector was regarded as the head. Francis probably

thought the prince’s susceptibility to be very natural, and therefore,

instead of breaking with him, determined to profit by the lesson he had

received. He would resume his plans, but he would write no more to

Melancthon: he would address the elector in person, or rather all the

protestant princes united, according to the usual forms; and to avoid

reminding them of his first fault, the name of Melancthon should not be

mentioned. The zeal of the learned professor and of the powerful monarch

came, we may be sure, from different sources; one proceeded from on

high, the other from below; but the same desire animated both of them.

The Romish party were greatly agitated when they heard of the king’s

intentions, and again attempted to thwart a project they regarded as

highly pernicious. The Sorbonne represented to Francis I. that no

concession ought to be made, and proceeded to demonstrate, after an

extraordinary fashion, the articles rejected by the Lutherans. ‘They

deny the power of the saints to heal the sick,’ said the theologians;

‘but is not this miraculous power proved by the virtue the kings of

France possess of healing the _evil_ by a touch?’ Francis I. was an

extraordinary saint, and such an argument probably amused him more than

it convinced him. The Cardinal De Tournon proceeded more wisely, by

reiterating to the monarch that he could not have Milan without the help

of the pope. But even this argument did not shake Francis I.: he highly

appreciated the pope’s friendship, but he valued still more highly the

spears of the lansquenets.

[Sidenote: Mission Of Du Bellay.]

The protestants were about to assemble at Smalcalde; two powerful

princes, the Dukes of Wurtemberg and Pomerania, had joined the

evangelical alliance, and steps had been taken by the confederates to

have a large army constantly on foot. When he heard of this, the King of

France felt new hopes, and began a second campaign, which he planned

better than the first. Instead of employing an obscure gentleman like

Voré de la Fosse, he selected the most illustrious of his diplomatists,

and ordered William du Bellay to start for Germany. The latter was still

more zealous than his master, and fearing he should arrive too late,

wrote from Lorraine (where he happened to be staying) to the Elector of

Saxony, praying him to prolong the meeting for a few days, ‘as the King

of France had intrusted him with certain propositions touching the peace

of Christendom.’[768] The news of such a mission delighted the friends

of the Reformation, and filled the Roman party with indignation.

‘Never,’ said Sturm, ‘never before now has the cause of the Gospel been

in such a favorable position in France.’[769] The elector, Melancthon,

and Du Bellay arrived at Smalcalde in the middle of December.

The ambassador of Francis I. immediately demanded a private audience of

the elector, and on the 16th December handed him the letters in which

the king, with many professions of zeal for the pacification of the

Christian Church, besought the elector to co-operate earnestly ‘in so

pious and holy a work.’[770] John Frederick was not convinced; he always

set religion before policy, but he knew that Francis I. adopted the

contrary order. Fearing, accordingly, that behind this _pious work_, the

king concealed war with the emperor, he immediately pointed to the

insurmountable barrier which separated them: ‘Our alliance,’ he said,

‘has been formed solely to maintain the pure Word of God, and propagate

the holy doctrine of faith.’ The diplomatist was not to be baffled:

there were two pockets in his portfolio—one containing religious, the

other political matters. Opening the former, he said: ‘We ask you to

send us doctors to deliberate on the union of the Churches.’ Germany

spoke of the _Word_ and _doctrine_: France of _union_ and of the

_Church_: this was characteristic. John Frederick replied that he would

consult his allies. The audience came to an end, and the 19th December

was appointed by the princes and deputies of the cities to receive the

ambassador of France.

[Sidenote: Intercession.]

To gain this assembly was the essential thing, and this the king had

felt. Accordingly, in the letter he addressed to that body, he made use

of every plea, and spoke ‘of the ancient, sacred, and unbroken

friendship which united France and Germany, and of the unalterable

affection and good-will he entertained towards the princes.’[771]

Francis I. hoped that these worthy Germans would allow themselves to be

caught by his words; but they were more clear-sighted than he imagined.

Du Bellay had observed this; he had ascertained the unfavorable

prepossessions of Germany, and when he rose to speak, he described the

pious and peaceable evangelicals put to death by Francis as seditious

persons who desired to stir up the people. ‘Most illustrious and most

excellent princes,’ he continued, ‘certain persons, moved by hatred,

pretend that the states of the empire ought to be on their guard when

foreign kings send them embassies, seeing that those monarchs speak in

one way and act in another.[772] The French have not been named, I must

confess; but they are clearly pointed at. Who has been more strictly

faithful to his friendships than the King of France? Who has been more

prompt to brave danger for the good of Germany? What nations have ever

been more united than the Germans and the French? The king is convinced

that you think very soundly on many things; but he could have desired a

little more moderation in some of them. Like yourselves, he feels that

the negligence and superstition of men have introduced many useless

ceremonies into the Church; but he does not approve of their suppression

without a public decree.[773] He fears lest a diversity of rites should

engender dissension of minds, and be the cause of civil strife

throughout Christendom. Reconciliation is the dearest of his wishes. If

you are willing to receive him into your association, you will find him

a sure friend. Diversity of opinion has separated you from him hitherto,

but similitude of doctrine will henceforward unite him.’[774] In

conclusion, Du Bellay renewed his demand for a congress of French and

German doctors, to confer on the matters in dispute.

This clever oration did not convince the protestants; they had remained

cold, while Du Bellay was pleading his cause so warmly. The point on

which Francis I. and his ambassador wished to touch lightly was that

which the Germans had most at heart. They could not forget what they had

heard about Du Bourg and the cripple and other martyrs, prisoners, and

fugitives. They were shocked at the idea of entering into alliance with

the man who had shed the blood of their brethren. They determined to

‘open their mouths for the dumb, and to support the cause of all such as

were appointed to destruction.’ ‘We will not suffer in our states,’ they

answered, ‘any stirrers-up of sedition, and we cannot, therefore,

condemn the King of France for putting them down in his kingdom. But we

beseech him not to punish all without distinction. We ask him to spare

those who, having been convinced of the errors with which religion is

infected, have embraced the pure doctrine of the Gospel, which we

ourselves possess. Merciless men, who wish to save their interests and

their power, have cruelly defended their impious opinions, and, in order

to exasperate the king’s mind, have supposed false crimes, which they

impute to innocent and pious Christians. It is the duty of princes to

seek God’s glory, to cleanse the Church from error, and to stop

iniquitous cruelties; and we earnestly beseech the mighty King of France

to give his most serious attention to this great duty only.’[775]

This noble answer was not encouraging. The ambassador was not

disconcerted, but, dexterously eluding the subject, merely assured the

assembly once more of his master’s firm resolution to labor at the

reformation of the Church. The great point was to know what would be the

nature of this reformation. Why assemble a congress of learned men to

discuss it, if it was certain beforehand that they could not come to an

understanding? The protestants present did not all think alike. The

religious men, who were very incredulous on the subject of the king’s

evangelical piety, thought that nothing ought to be done; on the other

hand, the men of expediency said it was worth looking into; and, the

proposition having been made to hold a preliminary consultation (at

Smalcalde), it was resolved that next day (20th of December) there

should be a meeting between Du Bellay, Bruck the electoral chancellor,

Melancthon, John Sturm, deputy from Strasburg,[776] the delegates of the

Landgrave of Hesse,—in whose states the conference was held,—and

Spalatin, the elector’s chaplain, who was appointed secretary. The

opposing parties were now to try if they could come to some arrangement.

It was no slight task assumed by the minister of Francis I., who came

forward, according to his master’s instructions, as the representative

of the catholic party; but no one knew better than Du Bellay how far, in

the king’s opinion, France could then be reformed, if the protestants

consented to enter into alliance with her. This explanation is

important: it is worth our while to learn the plan conceived by the

French government.

[Sidenote: Du Bellay’s Propositions.]

At daybreak[777] on the 20th of December the members of the conference

assembled. They had chosen that early hour, probably, because important

business still demanded their attention. An ambassador from the pope,

the famous legate Vergerio, who afterwards came over to the side of the

reformers, was then in the town. He had been sent to propose a council,

and was to receive the answer of the protestants on the following

morning. The delegates having taken their seats, the French ambassador

explained what was the nature of the reform to which the kingdom of

France would lend a helping hand. ‘Firstly,’ he said, ‘with regard to

the primacy of the Roman pontiff, the King of France thinks, as you do,

that he possesses it by human, and not by divine, right. We are not

inclined to loose the rein too much in this respect. Hitherto the popes

have employed the power they claim in making and unmaking kings, which

is certainly going too far. True, some of our theologians maintain that

the papacy is of divine right; but, when the king asked for proofs, they

could not give him any.’ Melancthon was satisfied; the chancellor less

so; Bruck shared the opinion of the King of England, who, says Du

Bellay, ‘would not concede any authority to the pope, whether coming

from God or from man.’

‘As for the sacrament of the Eucharist,’ continued the ambassador, ‘your

opinions on the matter please the king, but not his theologians, who

support transubstantiation with all their might. His Majesty seeks for

arguments to justify your way of thinking, and is ready to profess it,

if you will give him sound ones. Now you know that the king is the only

person who commands in his realm.’[778]

‘As for the mass,’ continued Du Bellay, a little uneasy, like a man

walking over a quicksand, ‘there are great disputes about it. The king

is of opinion that many prayers and silly, impious legends have been

foisted into that portion of divine worship, and that those absurd and

ridiculous passages must be expurgated, and the primitive order

restored.’[779] As Francis I. was particularly averse to masses

celebrated in honor of the saints to obtain their intercession with God,

Du Bellay repeated one or two of the king’s expressions on that point.

‘One day the king said: “I have a prayer-book, written many years ago,

in which there is no mention of the intercession of saints. I am assured

that Bessarion[780] himself said: ‘As for me, I am more concerned about

live saints than dead ones.’”’

‘The king thinks, however,’ added Du Bellay, ‘that we preserve the

celebration of mass; only there must not be more than three a day in

every parish church; one before daybreak, for working men and servants;

the second and third for the other worshippers,’ If transubstantiation

and the _silly legends_ were rejected, the moderate protestants were

ready to concede the daily celebration of the Eucharist. Du Bellay

continued:—

‘As for the images of the saints, the king thinks, with you, that they

are not set up to be worshipped, but to remind us of the faith and works

of those whom they represent; and that is what the people ought to be

taught.

‘His Majesty is also pleased with your opinions on free-will.’

The discussion—the great struggle in France—turned on purgatory; the

ambassador slyly pointed out the reason: ‘Our divines obstinately defend

it,’ he said, ‘for upon that doctrine depends the payment of masses,

indulgences, and pious gifts. Put down purgatory, and you take away from

them all opportunity of acquiring wealth and honor;[781] you cut off the

limbs that supply their very life-blood! The king gave them some months

to prove their doctrine by Scripture; they accepted the terms, but made

no answer, and when the king pressed them, they exclaimed: “Ah, Sire, do

not furnish our adversaries with weapons that they will afterwards turn

against us.” It therefore appears to me that it would be proper for one

of your doctors to write a treatise on the subject and present it to his

Majesty.

‘As for good works, our theologians stoutly maintain their opinion;

namely, that they are necessary. I told them that you thought the same,

and that all you assert is, that the necessity of works cannot be

affirmed so as to mean that we are justified and saved by them. An

inquisitor of the faith has declared his agreement with Melancthon on

this point.[782] I think, therefore, that we may come to an

understanding on that matter.

[Sidenote: Monasteries And Celibacy.]

‘You do not like monasteries: well! The king hopes to obtain from the

Roman party that no one shall be at liberty to take monastic vows before

the age of thirty or forty; and that the monks shall be free henceforth

to leave their convents and marry, if opportunity offers. The king

thinks that not only the good of the Church requires it, but also the

good of the State, for there are many capable men in the cloisters who

might be usefully employed in divers functions and duties. His Majesty

is therefore of opinion, not that monasteries should be destroyed, but

that vows should be no longer obligatory. It is by taking one step after

another that we shall come to an understanding.... It is not convenient

to pluck off a horse’s tail at one pull.[783] Monasteries ought to be

places of study, set apart for the instruction of those who are to teach

the young. It is useful and even necessary to proceed with

moderation.... His Majesty hopes to bring the Roman pontiff himself

gradually to this idea.

‘As for the marriage of priests, the French theologians do not approve

of it; but here the king holds a certain medium. He desires the

toleration of those of your ecclesiastics who have wives; as for the

others, he wishes they should remain in celibacy. If, however, there are

any priests who desire to be married, let them marry; only they must at

the same time quit holy orders.

‘As for the communion, the king hopes to obtain from the pope permission

for every man to take the sacrament under one or both kinds, as his

conscience may dictate. He declares that he has heard old men say that

both kinds used to be given to the laity in France a hundred and twenty

years ago; not indeed in the churches but in private chapels. And even

to this day, the kings of France communicate under both kinds.’

This explanation of the reform projected for France, and the exchange of

ideas which it had occasioned, occupied some time. The day was already

advanced, and the protestant delegates were making ready to depart.[784]

The ambassador hastened to add a few words to prove the sincerity of his

proposals. ‘Cardinal Santa Croce,’ he said, ‘has already substituted

psalms for the silly and ungodly hymns in the liturgy. True, the

theologians of Paris have condemned the change. You see the Sorbonne

claims such authority that it not only calls you heretics, but does not

fear to condemn the cardinals and the pope himself.’[785] Thus,

according to Du Bellay, protestants, king, cardinals, and pope were on

one side, and the Sorbonne on the other. The Lutherans, being in such

good company, had nothing to fear. To encourage them still more, he

informed them that Francis I. admitted the point which they put forward

as the very life-spring of their doctrine. ‘The king,’ he continued,

‘thinks highly of the doctrine of justification, as you explain it. It

would please him much, if two or three of your learned men were sent to

France to discuss these several points in his presence. We must take

precautions that the best and soundest part of the Church be not

conquered and crushed by numbers.[786] Lastly, it would be very

beneficial,’ Du Bellay adroitly added, as he finished his speech, ‘if

the princes and deputies of the cities here assembled were to intercede

in behalf of those who are exiled on account of religion, and to ask

that no one should hereafter suffer any injury for what he thinks, says,

or does with respect to his faith.’[787] How could the protestants,

after such a compassionate solicitation, speak any more of the scaffolds

of the 21st of January?

[Sidenote: Reformation Of Francis I.]

Such was the Reformation which Francis I. declared him-self willing to

give France. As concerns doctrine, it was much more complete than the

hybrid system which Henry VIII. was at that time endeavoring to set up

in England. The protestants found these propositions acceptable enough

in general, with some modifications, doubtless, which could not fail to

be introduced: the imperfect reform of the French king would be

completed by degrees. Had not his ambassador just said that it was

dangerous to pull out a horse’s tail at once, giving them to understand

that it would be pulled out hair by hair? The Reformation proclaimed,

the evangelical doctrine professed, the frivolities of public worship

put away, the Sorbonne placed under ban, the sounder part of Christendom

preponderating over the more numerous part,—the cardinals and the pope

himself (as Du Bellay hinted) aiding in this transformation,—what

important advantages! One thing, however, was still wanting: many asked

not only whether the catholics would carry out the Reformation to an

end, as they hinted, but even whether they would maintain the

concessions they had made.

This thought engrossed the attention of the protestant delegates. They

made their report, however, to their principals, and amid the doubts by

which they were agitated one thing only appeared urgent to the men of

the Augsburg Confession—the duty of interceding in favor of their

brethren in France. They commissioned Melancthon to draw up the answer

to Du Bellay, and on the 22d of December, the French envoy having been

once more admitted into the assembly of the princes and deputies, the

vice-chancellor said to him: ‘That the most puissant king of France by

sending them an ambassador as illustrious by his virtues as eminent by

his rank, and the duty imposed on him to treat concerning matters of

faith, the importance of which was paramount in their eyes, manifestly

showed them the Christian zeal with which the king was animated—a zeal

most worthy of so good a prince: that the reports circulated with

respect to certain punishments that had taken place in France could not

in truth authorize the States of Germany to form a judgment on the

puissant monarch of that kingdom; however, they besought him not to

allow himself to be carried away by the cruelty of men who, ignorant of

the truth, desire to act severely against good and bad without

distinction; that idle opinions having crept into the Church, it was

necessary to apply a remedy, but those who endeavored to do so became

objects of the bitterest hatred—the papists, who clung to their abuses,

striving by a thousand artifices to inflame the hearts of kings and to

arm them against the innocent.[788] For this reason the States assembled

at Smalcalde conjured his Majesty to prohibit such iniquitous cruelty,

and to advance the good of the Church and the glory of God.’

The evangelicals having discharged this duty passed rapidly over the

rest. They represented to the ambassador that the proposal to send

learned men into France was of such importance, that it was impossible

to give him an immediate answer, but that the deputies would report

thereon to the chiefs as soon as they returned home. ‘We assure you,

however,’ they said in conclusion, ‘that nothing would please us more

than to see the doctrine of piety and the concord of nations propagated

more and more by means in conformity with the Word of God.’[789]

After a postponement, which seemed almost a refusal, Du Bellay felt

embarrassed, for he had still to discharge the principal mission that

his master had entrusted to him. He could not, however, leave Smalcalde

without fulfilling it. He did not make it known distinctly in his public

speeches, but solicited the protestants in private conversations to make

an alliance with the king his master. The latter answered that the first

condition of such a union would be that the allies should undertake

nothing against the emperor, the head of the Germanic Confederation. Now

it was precisely for the purpose of acting against Charles V. that

Francis I. sought the friendship of evangelical Germany. Du Bellay left

Smalcalde dissatisfied.

[Sidenote: Francis Plays Two Parts.]

The distrust of the Lutheran princes was not unreasonable. While the

king was acting the protestant beyond the Rhine, he was acting the

papist beyond the Alps; if the emperor would consent to yield Milan to

him, Francis I. would bind himself to reduce Germany under the yoke of

the house of Austria. ‘I will spare nothing,’ he said, ‘for the

greatness of the said emperor and his brother the king of the

Romans.’[790] He went further than this: ‘Let the pope say the word, and

I will constrain England by force of arms to submit to the Church.’ The

cruel paw peeped out from beneath the skin of the lamb, and the lion

suddenly appeared, ready to attack, seize, and devour, as a delicate

morsel, those whom he treated as friends and companions.

The cause of truth and unity was not to triumph by means of a congress

at Smalcalde, by diplomatic negotiations, or by the instrumentality of

Francis I. He who said, _My kingdom is not of this world_, did not

choose men of the world to establish his kingdom, and will not permit a

monotonous uniformity to take the place of unity in his empire.

Treaties, constitutions, and forms prescribed by monarchs are human

elements which the kingdom of heaven repudiates. True unity does not

proceed from an identical administration, a clerical organization, or a

pompous hierarchy: it is essentially moral and spiritual, and consists

in community of thoughts, faith, affections, works, and hopes. Diversity

of forms, far from injuring it, gives it more intensity. In the

sixteenth century the world was far, and is still far, from seeing the

realization of this divine unity. Some steps, however, have been taken,

and the time no doubt will come when, according to the scriptural

prophecy, all the families of the earth will be blessed in Christ

Jesus.[791] But there will be no real, free, evangelical catholicity

until Christians understand and realize those elementary words of the

primitive Church: _I believe in the communion of saints_.

Footnote 715:

_Supra_, vol. ii. ch. xxi. bk. 2.

Footnote 716:

_Historia belli Anabaptistarum monasteriensis_, by H. von

Kerssenbroeck.

Footnote 717:

‘Viri optimi et fidelissimi Voræi testimonium.’—Melancthon G. Bellaio,

_Corp. Ref._ ii. 315.

Footnote 718:

‘Cum eo locutus de profectione ad Regem.’,—Camerarius, _Vita

Melancthonis_, p. 148. Camerarius was an intimate friend of

Melancthon’s.

Footnote 719:

‘Obsides qui darentur dum abesset..... Præsidia quibus

deduceretur.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 720:

‘Pæne orbis terrarum fortunam esse positam.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 721:

‘In illis fluctibus et sævissimis tempestatibus, jam portum et

tutissimam stationem.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 722:

‘Sopiti ignes rursum suscitarentur, et suppliciorum immanitas

recrudesceret.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 723:

‘Advocari ipsum Dei Christique Jesu voce.’—Camerarius, _Vita

Melancthonis_, p. 148.

Footnote 724:

‘Afficiebatur atque perturbabatur.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 725:

‘Non respectus ad se aut suos, non longiquitas loci, non periculorum

metus.’—_Ibid._ p. 149.

Footnote 726:

‘In quibus potissimum falsitas impietatis resideret.’—Camerarius,

_Vita Melancthonis_, p. 150.

Footnote 727:

‘Quid ipse tamen rex posset efficere—non sine causa

dubitabat.’—_Ibid._ p. 150.

Footnote 728:

‘Nullam enim rem unquam majore Regem cura, studio, sollicitudine animi

complectendam duxisse.’—Camerarius, _Vita Melancthonis_, p. 151.

Footnote 729:

‘Neque se abduci ullius persuasione sineret ex tam pio sanctoque

instituto.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 730:

‘Er wollte nicht in Frankreich wiederkommen, so ich nicht mit

zöge.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 905.

Footnote 731:

Bossuet, _Hist. des Variations_, t. i. liv. v. ch. ii. et xix.

Footnote 732:

_Loci communes theologici._ They went through sixty-seven editions,

and were translated into several languages.

Footnote 733:

‘Non puto contendendum esse, nisi de magnis et necessariis

rebus.’—Melancthon Sturmio, _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 917.

Footnote 734:

‘Ich wollte einen Ritt in Frankreich thun.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 904.

Footnote 735:

_Ibid._ ii. pp. 903-905.

Footnote 736:

‘Aulica quædam μυοτήρια vel potius odia sunt.’—_Corp. Reform._ ii. p.

903.

Footnote 737:

‘Zerrüttung, unwiederbringlicher Nachtheil, Beschwerung und Schade zu

erfolgen.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 908.

Footnote 738:

‘Subindignabundus hinc discessit,’ said Luther. _Ep._ iv. p. 621.

Footnote 739:

‘Philippus . . . . me consule libens proficisceretur.’—Lutheri _Ep._

iv. p. 621.

Footnote 740:

‘Bluthünde,’ bloodhounds. _Ibid._ p. 620.

Footnote 741:

‘Ego non annis, sed viribus, decrepitus fio, ad labores antemeridianos

pene totus inutilis factus.’—Lutheri _Ep._ iv. p. 623 (23d August,

1535).

Footnote 742:

‘Nachdem aber Dr. Martinus bey uns zu Torgau auch gewest, so haben wir

Ihm solches ungefährlich vermeldet.’ This declaration of the elector

incontestably proves the fact of Luther’s journey to Torgau with this

object. The time cannot be fixed, but the elector speaks of it in a

paper addressed to Bruck on the 19th of August. _Corp. Ref._ ii. p.

908.

Footnote 743:

Seckendorf, _Historie des Lutherthums_, p. 1497.

Footnote 744:

_Ibid._ p. 1498.

Footnote 745:

Luther to Jonas, 1 Sept. 1535. _Ep._ iv. p. 628.

Footnote 746:

_Corpus Reformat._ ii. p. 909. Seckendorf, _Historie des Lutherthums_,

p. 1458.

Footnote 747:

‘Ego suspectos cœpi habere istos legatos tuos.’—Lutheri _Ep._ iv. p.

627.

Footnote 748:

‘Invenirent loca in quibus viverent.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 749:

‘Wir viel mehr fördern wollten dasz fremde _nationes zu_ dem Evangelio

gebracht wurden.’—_Corpus Reform._ ii. p. 911.

Footnote 750:

‘Propter hæc verba nolui proficisci.’—_Corpus Ref._ ii. p. 911, in

note. The italics in the text indicate the lines underscored by

Melancthon.

Footnote 751:

The passage is found in Bruck’s copy (Weimar Archives), but not in

Melancthon’s.

Footnote 752:

‘Nunquam sensi asperiorem principem.’—_Corpus Reform._ ii. p. 915.

Footnote 753:

‘Nunc autem est democratia aut tyrannis indoctorum.’—_Ibid._ p. 917.

Footnote 754:

‘Plane fatum mihi Theramenis impendere videtur.’—_Ibid._ p. 918.

Footnote 755:

‘Cogito varia, quæ utinam non cogitarem.’—Lutheri _Ep._ iv. p. 626.

Footnote 756:

‘An devoraveris litteras istas principis.’—_Ibid._ p. 627.

Footnote 757:

‘Incipio enim unice gaudere, nos ab aula contemni et excludi.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 758:

‘Scilicet ne ad rempublicam adhibeamur.’—_Ibid._ p. 628.

Footnote 759:

Lutheri _Ep._ iv. p. 627.

Footnote 760:

‘Ad insignem propagationem, uberrimum et amplissimum fructum

Evangelii.’—Johannes Fredericus ad Franciscum regem Galliæ. _Corpus

Reform._ ii. p. 906.

Footnote 761:

_Corpus Reform._ ii. p. 903.

Footnote 762:

‘Pro religionis christianæ defensione præcipue velut in statione

perpetuo fuit.’—_Ibid._ p. 913.

Footnote 763:

‘Suscipit curam sanandæ doctrinæ christianæ; non tamen violentis

remediis, sed vera ratione.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 764:

‘Ut potius (rex) det operam, ut illustretur gloria Christi.’—_Corpus

Reform._ ii. p. 916.

Footnote 765:

‘Sadoleti scriptum . . . . . eadem dicit quæ nos defendimus.’—_Ibid._

p. 917.

Footnote 766:

See his treatise: _De transitu Hellenismi ad Christianismum_,

dedicated to the king in 1535.

Footnote 767:

‘Hoc studium nulla mihi eripiet hominum iniquitas.’—_Corp. Ref._

Footnote 768:

‘Ad publicam christianæ, reipublicæ pacem spectantibus.’ 2d Dec.,

1535. _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1015.

Footnote 769:

‘Nunquam in meliori loco fuit res Evangelii, quam sit hoc tempore in

Gallia.’ Sturm to Bucer.

Footnote 770:

‘Maximopere obtestantes ut pro virili nobiscum incumbatis in tam pium

sanctumque opus.’ _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1010. Seckendorf says (_Hist.

Luth._ p. 1146) that this letter had been sent to the Elector

beforehand; but in the documents of the State Paper Office at Weimar

we read: ‘Hæc locutus reddidit principi litteras quas vocant

credentiales.’ And the _Corpus_ gives in a note the letter we have

just quoted.

Footnote 771:

‘Quæ voluntas, quam amica, quam benevola, quam constans.’—_Corp. Ref._

ii. p. 1010.

Footnote 772:

‘Ut aliud agentibus et aliud significantibus.’ Bellaii ad principes

Oratio.—_Ibid._ p. 1012.

Footnote 773:

Sleidan, _Mémoires sur l’État de la Religion et de la République_, i.

p. 389.

Footnote 774:

‘Ut quos diversitas opinionum sejunxerit, similitudo doctrinæ

conjungat.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1013.

Footnote 775:

Sleidan, i. p. 392.

Footnote 776:

He must not be confounded with Professor Sturm, who was then in Paris.

Footnote 777:

‘Sub diluculum.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1014.

Footnote 778:

‘Esse enim solum qui in suo regno imperet.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1015.

Footnote 779:

‘Orationes et legendas multas ut ineptas et impias abrogandas, aut

saltem emendandas; multa enim in his absurda, multa ridicula.’—_Ibid._

p. 1015.

Footnote 780:

Bessarion, born at Trebizond in 1395, Greek bishop of Nicæa, and

afterwards Cardinal of the Roman Church, endeavored to unite the two

Churches, and was on the point of being elected pope.

Footnote 781:

‘Videre enim eos, alioqui sibi tolli omnes occasiones acquirendi opes,

honores, et omnia.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1015.

Footnote 782:

‘De fide quoque inquisitorem fidei recte sentire.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p.

1016.

Footnote 783:

‘Sicut etiam cauda equina non statim et commode tota evelli

possit.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1016.

Footnote 784:

‘Nobis jam abituris.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1017.

Footnote 785:

‘Sed etiam cardinales, papam quoque ipsum, condemnare non

dubitant.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1017.

Footnote 786:

‘Melior et sanior pars a majore vincatur et opprimatur.’—_Corp. Ref._

ii. p. 1018.

Footnote 787:

‘Nequid fraudi sit, quod quisque senserit, dixerit, egerit.’—_Corp.

Ref._ ii. p. 1018.

Footnote 788:

‘Variis artificiis regum animos incendunt atque armant adversus eos.’

_Corp. Ref_. ii. p. 1024.

Footnote 789:

‘Nihil enim optatius quam ut latissime propagetur pia doctrina et

multarum gentium concordia.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 1026.

Footnote 790:

Mémoires de Du Bellay, p. 243.

Footnote 791:

Genesis xii. 3.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE GOSPEL IN THE NORTH OF ITALY.

(1519 TO 1536.)

[Sidenote: Condition Of Italy.]

The Reformation had also commenced in Italy.

As the knowledge of the ancient languages, literary pursuits, and

cultivation of the intellect flourished more in that country than

elsewhere, it seemed natural that it should be among the first to open

itself to the light of the Gospel. In the midst of superstition, many

elevated minds were to be found whom the formalism of the Roman Church

could not satisfy. The corruption of the clergy and of religion had sunk

deeper in Italy than in the rest of Christendom, so that the magnitude

of the evil made the necessity of a remedy more keenly felt.

Accordingly, although many obstacles appeared to close the peninsula

against the entrance of evangelical doctrine; although national pride,

the interest which the Italians of every class seemed to have in the

continuance of the papacy, the hostility of the governments, and above

all the overwhelming power of the pontifical hierarchy, erected barriers

everywhere, which seemed more insurmountable than the Alps, there was at

that time an electric current between Italy and the reformed countries

that nothing could stop. The Reformation had hardly sent forth its first

beams of light, the flame had hardly risen over Germany and Switzerland,

when, in the regions beyond the mountains, from Venice and Turin to

Naples, isolated spots of light gleamed out amidst the darkness. The

evangelical doctrine, in general not much appreciated by the people,

found an easy access to the hearts of many cultivated men. Italy was a

vast plain, in which were numerous uncultivated fields and barren

heaths: but a liberal hand having been opened over it, the seeds of life

which fell from it found here and there good soil, and, at the breath of

spring, the blade and the ear sprang forth. A fierce storm, mingled with

thunder and lightning, afterwards burst upon those fields; the light of

day was hidden, and the obscurity of darkness once more covered the

country. But the light had been beautiful, and its appearance, although

fugitive, deserves to be remembered, if only as a pledge to make us hope

for better days. The positive results of the Italian Reformation seem to

escape us entirely; and yet it possesses quite as many of those

characteristics which charm the mind, captivate the imagination, and

touch the heart, as other Reformations do. The new and varied plants

which that ancient land began to produce, the brilliant flames which for

a moment shed such beautiful light, the men of God at that time

scattered all over Italy, deserve to be known, and we must now turn to

them.

At Pavia, on the Ticino, there lived a bookseller named Calvi, ‘who

cultivated the muses.’ Frobenius, the celebrated printer of Basle,

having as early as 1519 sent him Erasmus’s Testament and the early

writings of Luther, he began to study the Gospel more than the poets.

Wishing to help, in proportion to his ability, in ‘the revival of

piety,’[792] he undertook to circulate the writings of the reformers not

only in his immediate neighborhood, but through all the cities of

Italy.[793] Pavia possessed a celebrated university, and the precious

volumes were first distributed among its professors and their pupils.

The students might often be seen reading these absorbing pages under the

porticos of the university and beneath the walls of the cathedral or of

the old castle. Other printers and booksellers joined with Calvi in the

work of dissemination, and before long a book entitled _Il principii

della Theologia di Ippolito di Terranigra_ was read all over Italy, even

in Rome. _Terranigra_ was Melancthon, and these _Principles of Divinity_

were his _Theological Commonplaces_. This admirable book was to be found

even in the Vatican, along with the works of _Coricius Cogelius_

(Zwingle) and _Aretius Felinus_ (Bucer). Bishops and cardinals pompously

extolled them; none of them suspecting that the breath of evangelical

piety which animated those writings must necessarily dissipate the false

piety of the confessional. _Terranigra’s_ book was read with such

eagerness at Rome, that it soon became necessary to ask for a fresh

supply. A learned Franciscan of the metropolis, who possessed the Latin

edition, struck with the unknown name _Terranigra_,[794] desired to

procure the Italian work so much talked of. It soon began to call up

certain recollections: he fancied he had seen the work before. He rose

from his seat, took down his Latin _Melancthon_, compared it with the

Italian, and to his great horror found the two works were the same.

Without delay he made known the stratagem of the booksellers, and the

volume, which the cardinals had extolled to the skies one day, was

condemned to the flames on the next.

[Sidenote: Enthusiasm For Luther.]

But the propaganda did not cease. The young Germans who came to study

law and medicine at Bologna, Padua, and other universities of the

peninsula, the young Italians who began to frequent the schools of

Germany and Switzerland, helped alike to diffuse evangelical faith

beyond the Alps. Many of the Lutheran lansquenets whom Charles V.

marched into Italy, and of the Swiss soldiers whom Francis I. drew

thither, professed in the houses where they lodged the doctrines of the

Reformation, and did so with thorough military frankness. Some praised

Luther, others Zwingle, and all contrasted the purity of the reformers’

lives and the simplicity of their manners with the irregularities,

luxury, and pride of the Roman prelates.

The Italians have an open and quick understanding, precision in their

ideas, clearness of expression, an instinct of the beautiful, and great

independence of character; and hence they were tired of living in

ignoble subjection to ignorant, lazy, and dissolute priests.

Conscientious men of eminent mind joyfully welcomed a doctrine which put

God’s Word in the place of papal bulls, briefs, and decretals, and

substituted the spirit and the life for the ecclesiastical mechanism of

the Latin ritual. Italy was charmed with Luther’s character and work. In

1521 a voice from Milan exclaimed: ‘O mighty Luther! who can paint thy

features so full of animation, the godlike qualities of thy mind, thy

soul inspired with a will so pure? Thy voice, which rings through the

universe and utters unaccustomed sounds, terrifies the vile hearts of

the wicked,[795] and bears an unexpected balm to diseases which appeared

beyond remedy. Take courage, then, venerable father, whose mouth makes

salvation known to all, and whose word destroys more monsters than ever

Hercules rent in pieces.’

The dignitaries of Rome were alarmed at this enthusiasm. At the diet of

Nuremberg in 1524, Cardinal Campeggi exclaimed: ‘The Germans take up a

new opinion quickly, but they soon abandon it; while the Italians

obstinately persist in what they have once adopted.’[796] It was rather

the contrary that was to take place. The Italians showed themselves

still more prompt than the Germans: the number of Lutherans increased

every day.[797] The converted catholics began by degrees to explain the

Gospel and to refute the errors of the Roman Church in private houses:

this was done even in the Papal States. Before long, several priests and

monks were enlightened, and the Reformation took a new step: its

principles were taught in the churches. Clement VII. felt great alarm,

when all of a sudden the doctrine, attacked by him and his legates in

distant countries, broke out all over his dear Italy and threatened the

walls of the papacy. He uttered a cry of terror: ‘To our exceeding

sorrow,’ he said, ‘Luther’s pestilential heresy has been spread among

us, not only among the laity, but also among the priests and monks.[798]

Heresy is increasing, and in every place the catholic faith has to

suffer the cruellest assaults.’ The cry was useless. In that very year

(1530) the New Testament was translated by Bruccioli, printed at Venice,

and the much dreaded contagion thenceforward made still more rapid

progress.

[Sidenote: Rosselli To Melancthon.]

It was in this latter city, on the hundred islets and amid the lagunes

of the queen of the Adriatic, that the doctrine of the Gospel first

raised its standard. There was no power in Europe more jealous of its

independence and authority than Venice; the winged lion of St. Mark

braved the priest of Rome; the senate rejected the Inquisition,

practised freedom of inquiry, and did not license the pope’s edicts

until after serious study and strict examination. Protestants were soon

to be found at Venice who, strange to say, were more protestant than

those of Augsburg. ‘I am delighted,’ said Luther, on the 7th of March,

1528, ‘to hear that they have received the Word of God at Venice.’[799]

A report having got abroad that Melancthon appeared inclined, at the

diet of 1530, to recognize the primacy of the Bishop of Rome, the new

evangelicals of Venice were troubled and alarmed: one of them, Lucio

Paolo Rosselli, although only a beginner in the Christian doctrine,

determined to write, respectfully but frankly, to the illustrious doctor

of Germany: ‘There are no books by any author,’ he said to Melancthon,

‘which please me more than those you have published. But if the reports

which the papists circulate about you are true, the cause of the Gospel

and those who, taught by the writings of yourself and Luther, have

embraced it, are in great danger. All Italy awaits the result of your

meeting at Augsburg.[800] O Melancthon! let neither threats, nor fears,

nor prayers, nor promises make you desert the standard of Jesus Christ!

Even if you must suffer death to maintain his glory, do not hesitate. It

is better to die with honor than to live with ignominy.’

It was much worse when the Venetian ambassador at the court of Charles

V. forwarded to the senate the letter which Melancthon had written on

the 6th of July to Cardinal Campeggi, and in which he went so far as to

say that the protestants did not differ from the Roman Church in any

important dogma, and were disposed to acknowledge the papal

jurisdiction.[801] The evangelical Christians of Venice, who wanted a

decided position, were dismayed. Most of them denied that the letter was

Melancthon’s; Rosselli, in particular, with generous enthusiasm, took up

the doctor’s defence, and on the 1st of August sent him a copy of the

letter, ‘to the end that he might carefully scrutinize the wickedness of

those who ascribed to him words calculated to disgrace the true

defenders of the cause of Christ and Christ himself.[802] Now that we

have discovered their malice,’ added the Venetian, ‘resist their

iniquity with greater zeal, and let the emperor and all Christian

princes know the shameless practices of the enemy.’

What seemed impossible to the Italians was but too true: Melancthon had

carried his concessions too far. When he declared, however, that he

would not recognize the Bishop of Rome until he became evangelical, he

had put a stipulation to his compact which rendered it impossible.

From Venice we pass to Turin. The Italian revival did not present that

simple historical and continuous advance which we meet with in other

European countries. It was not like a single river whose deep and mighty

waters, as they flowed along, ran calmly in the same channel; but like

little streams, issuing from the earth in various places, whose bright

and limpid waters glittered in the sunbeam and fertilized the soil

around them. They disappeared; they were lost in the ground, oftentimes,

alas! imparting to it a sanguine hue, and the earth returned to its

former barrenness. Yet many a plant had been revived by them, and their

sweet remembrance may still cause joy to others.

[Sidenote: Celio Curione.]

The works of the reformers had reached Turin. Piedmont, from its

vicinity to Switzerland, France, and Germany, was among the first to

receive a glimpse of the sun which had just risen beyond the Alps. The

Reformation had already appeared in one of its cities,—at Aosta,—and

most of its doctrines had for ages been current among the Waldensian

valleys. Monks of the Augustine convent at Turin, Hieronimo Nigro

Foscianeo in particular, were among the number of those who first became

familiar with the evangelical writings. Celio Secundo Curione, a young

man still at college, received them from their hands in 1520.

About three leagues and a half from Turin, and at the foot of the Alps,

was situated the town of Cirié, with its two parochial churches and an

Augustine monastery. Higher up there stood an old castle named Cuori,

and the family to which it belonged was called from it Curione or

Curioni.[803] One of its members, Giacomino Curione, who lived at Cirié,

had married Charlotte de Montrotier, lady of honor to Blanche, Duchess

of Savoy, and sister to the chief equerry of the reigning duke. On the

1st of May, 1503, a son was born to them at Cirié; he was named Celio

Secundo,[804] and was their twenty-third child.[805] He lost his mother

as he came into the world, and his father, who had removed to Turin, and

afterwards to Moncaglieri, where he had property, died when Celio was

only nine years old.

The elder Curione possessed a Bible, which in the hour of death he put

into his son’s hands. That act was perhaps the cause of the love for

Scripture by which the heir of the Curiones was afterwards

distinguished: the depth of his filial piety made him look upon the book

as a treasure before he knew the value of its contents. Celio having

begun his education at Moncaglieri, went to Turin, where his maternal

grandmother, Maddalena, lived. She received him into her house, where

the anxious love of the venerable lady surrounded him with the tenderest

care.[806] He is said to have dwelt on that pleasant hill which

overlooks Turin, whence the summits of the Alps are visible, and whose

base is washed by the slow and majestic waters of the Po.[807] Celio had

applied with his whole heart to the study of the classical orators,

poets, historians, and philosophers; when he reached his twentieth year

he felt deeper longings, which literature was incapable of satisfying.

The old Bible of his father could do this: a new world, superior to that

of letters and philosophy,—the world of the spirit,—opened before his

soul.

There was much talk just then, both in university and city, of the

Reformation and the reformers. Curione had often heard certain priests

and their partisans bitterly complaining of the ‘false doctrines’ of

those _heretics_, and making use of the harshest language against Luther

and Zwingle. He listened to their abuse, but was not convinced. He

possessed a nobler soul than the majority of the people around him, and

his generous independent spirit was more disposed in favor of the

accused than of the accusers. Instead of joining in this almost

unanimous censure, Celio said to himself: ‘I will not condemn those

doctors before I have read their works.’[808] It would appear that he

was already known in the Augustine convent, in which, as in that of

Wittemberg, some truly pious men were to be found. The grace of his

person, the quickness of his intellect, and his ardent thirst for

religious knowledge, interested the monks. Knowing that they possessed

some of the writings of the reformers, Curione asked for them, and

Father Hieronimo lent him Luther’s _Babylonian Captivity_, translated

into Italian under a different title. The young man carried it away

eagerly to his study. He read those vigorous pages in which the Saxon

doctor speaks of the lively faith with which the Christian ought to

cling to the promises of God’s Word; and those in which he asserts that

neither bishop nor pope has any right to command despotically the

believer who has received Christian liberty from God. But Celio had not

yet obtained light enough; he carried the book back to the convent, and

asked for another. Melancthon’s _Principles of Theology_ and Zwingle’s

_True and False Religion_ were devoured by him in turn.

[Sidenote: Curione’s Spiritual Wants.]

A work was then going on in his soul. The truths he had read in his

Bible grew clearer and sank deeper into his mind; his spirit thrilled

with joy when he found his faith confirmed by that of these great

doctors, and his heart was filled with love for Luther and Melancthon.

‘When I was still young,’ he said to the latter afterwards, ‘when first

I read your writings, I felt such love for you that it seemed hardly

capable of increase.’[809]

Curione was not satisfied with the writings merely of these men of God:

his admiration for them was such that he longed to hear them: an ardent

desire to start immediately for Germany was kindled in his heart.[810]

He talked about it with his friends, especially with Giovanni and

Francesco Guarino, whom the Gospel had also touched, and who declared

their readiness to depart with him.

The three young Italians, enthusiastic admirers of Luther and

Melancthon, quitted Turin and started for Wittemberg. They turned their

steps towards the valley of Aosta, intending to cross the St.

Bernard,[811] where for more than five centuries a house of the

Augustine order had existed for the reception of the travellers who made

use of that then very frequented pass. They conversed about their

journey, their feelings, and their hopes; and not content with this,

they spoke of the truth with simple-hearted earnestness to the people

they met with on the road or at the inns. In the ardor of their youthful

zeal, they even allowed themselves to enter into imprudent discussions

upon the Romish doctrines.[812] They were ‘bursting to speak’—they could

not wait until they had crossed the Alps: the spirit with which they

were filled carried them away. They had been cautioned, and had resolved

to be circumspect; but ‘however deep the hiding-places in the hearts of

men,’ said a reformer, ‘their tongues betray their hidden

affections.’[813] One of those with whom these Piedmontese youths had

debated went and denounced them to Boniface, Cardinal-bishop of Ivrea,

and pointed out the road they were to take. The prelate gave the

necessary orders, and just as the three students were entering the

valley of Aosta,[814] the cardinal’s satellites, who were waiting for

them, laid hold of them and carried them to prison.

What a disappointment! At the very time they were anticipating the

delights of an unrestrained intercourse with Melancthon and Luther, they

found themselves in chains and solitary imprisonment. Curione possessed

friends in that district who belonged to the higher nobility; and

contriving to inform them of his fate, they exerted themselves in his

behalf. The cardinal having sent for him, soon discovered that his

prisoner was not an ordinary man. Struck with the extent of his

knowledge and the elegance of his mind, he resolved to do all he could

to attach him to the Roman Church. He loaded him with attentions,

promised to bear the necessary expenses for the continuation of his

studies, and with that intent placed him in the priory of St. Benignus.

It is probable that Cornelio and Guarino were soon released: although

less celebrated than their fellow-traveller, they afterwards became

distinguished by their evangelical zeal.

[Sidenote: Relics And The Bible.]

Although shut up in a monastery, Curione’s soul burnt with zeal for the

Word of God. He regretted that Germany on which he had so much reckoned,

and unable to increase his light at the altar of Wittemberg, he wished

at least to make use of what he had for the benefit of the monks

commissioned to convert him. He was grieved at the superstitious

practices of their worship, and would have desired to enfranchise those

about him. A shrine, put in a prominent place on the altar, enclosed a

skull and other bones reported to be those of St. Agapetus and St. Tibur

the martyr, and which during certain solemnities were presented to the

adoration of the people. Why set dry bones in the place which should be

occupied by the living Word of God? Are not their writings the only

authentic remains of the apostles and prophets? Curione refused to pay

the slightest honor to these relics, and in his private conversation he

went so far as to speak to some of the monks against such idolatrous

worship, instructing them in the true faith.[815] He resolved to do

something more. In the convent library he had found a Bible, to which no

one paid any attention; he had, moreover, noticed the place where the

monks kept the key of the shrine they held so dear.[816] One

day—probably in 1530—taking advantage of a favorable opportunity when

the monks were occupied elsewhere,[817] he went into the library, took

down the holy Word of which David said it was _more to be desired than

gold_, carried it into the church, opened the mysterious coffer, removed

the relics, put the Bible in their place, and laid this inscription upon

it: ‘_This is the ark of the covenant, wherein a man can inquire of the

true oracles of God, and in which are contained the true relics of the

saints_.’ Curione, with emotion and joy, closed the shrine and left the

church without being observed. The act, rash as it was, had a deep and

evangelical meaning: it expressed the greatest principles of the

Reformation. Some time after, at one of the festivals when the relics

were to be presented to the adoration of the worshippers, the monks

opened the shrine. Their surprise, emotion, and rage were boundless, and

they at once accused their young companion of sacrilege. Being on the

watch, he made his escape, and, quitting Piedmont, took refuge at Milan.

In that city Curione zealously devoted himself to lecturing; but, being

at the same time disgusted with the unmeaning practices of the monks, he

gave himself with his whole heart to works of Christian charity. As

famine and pestilence were wasting the country, he soon after occupied

himself wholly in succoring the poor and the sick; he solicited the

donations of the nobility, prevailed on the priests to sell for the

relief of the wretched the precious objects which adorned their

churches, consoled the dying, and even buried the dead.[818] In the

convent, he had appeared to be struggling for faith only; in the midst

of the pestilence, he seemed to be living for works only. He remembered

that Jesus had come _to serve_, and following his Master’s example, he

was eager to console every misery. ‘Christ having become the living root

of his soul, had made it a fruitful tree.’ As soon as the scourge

abated, every one was eager to testify a proper gratitude to Celio, and

the Isacios, one of the best families in the province, gave him the hand

of one of their daughters, Margarita Bianca, a young woman of great

beauty, who became the faithful and brave companion of his life.[819]

[Sidenote: Papal Preachers.]

Some time after this, Curione, believing that he had nothing more to

fear, and desiring to receive his patrimony, to revisit his native

country, and to devote his strength and faith to her service, returned

to Piedmont. His hopes were disappointed. Cruel family vexations and

clerical persecutions assailed a life that was never free from

agitation. He had lost all but one sister, whose husband, learning that

he intended claiming his inheritance, determined to ruin him. A

Dominican monk was making a great noise by his sermons in a neighboring

city.[820] Celio took a book from his library, and went with some

friends to hear him. He expected that the monk, according to the custom

of his class, would draw a frightful picture of the reformers. Curione

knew that the essence of the preaching of the evangelical ministry was

Christ, justification by faith in his atoning work, the new life which

He imparts, and the new commandments which He gives. According to him,

the task of the servant of God, now that all things were made new, was

to exalt, not the Church, but the Saviour; and to make known all the

preciousness of Christ rather than to stun his hearers by furious

declamations against their adversaries. Such were not the opinions

entertained at that time—we will not say by the great doctors of the

Romish Church, but by the vulgar preachers of the papacy. Laying down as

a fundamental principle that _there was no salvation out of the Church_,

they naturally believed themselves called to urge the necessity of

union—not with Christ, but—with Rome; to extol the beauties of its

hierarchy, its worship, and its devout institutions. Instead of feeding

the sheep, by giving them the spiritual nourishment of faith, they

thought only of pronouncing declamatory eulogies of the fold and drawing

horrible pictures of the devouring wolves that were prowling about it.

If there had been no protestants to combat, no Luther or Calvin to

calumniate, many popish preachers would have found the sermon a

superfluous part of the service, as had been the case in the Middle

Ages.

The _good monk_, whom Curione and his friends had gone to hear, preached

according to the oratorical rules of vulgar preachers. ‘Do you know,’ he

exclaimed, ‘why Luther pleases the Germans?... Because, under the name

of Christian liberty, he permits them to indulge in all kinds of

excess.[821] He teaches, moreover, that Christ is not God, and that He

was not born of a virgin.’ And continuing this monkish philippic with

great vehemence, he inflamed the animosity of his hearers.

When the sermon was over, Curione asked the prelate who was present for

permission to say a few words. Having obtained it, and the congregation

being silent and expectant, he said: ‘Reverend father, you have brought

serious charges against Luther: can you tell me the book or the place in

which he teaches the things with which you reproach him?’ The monk

replied that he could not do so then, but if Curione would accompany him

to Turin, he would show him the passages. The young man rejoined with

indignation: ‘Then I will tell you at once the page and book where the

Wittemberg doctor has said the very contrary.’ And opening Luther’s

_Commentary on the Galatians_, he read aloud several passages which

completely demonstrated the falseness of the monk’s calumnies. The

persons of rank present at the service were disgusted; the people went

still further; some violent men, exasperated by the Dominican’s having

told them such impudent lies, rushed upon him and struck him. The more

reasonable had some trouble to rescue him and send him home safe and

sound.[822]

[Sidenote: Curione Again Imprisoned.]

This scene made a great noise. The bishop and the inquisitors looked

upon it as a revolt against the papacy. Curione was a firebrand flung by

Satan into the midst of the Church, and they felt that if they did not

quench it instantly, the impetuous wind which, crossing the Alps, was

beginning to blow in the peninsula, would scatter the sparks far and

wide, and spread the conflagration everywhere. The valiant evangelist

was seized, taken to Turin, thrown into prison, and in a moment, as soon

as the news circulated, all his old enemies set to work. His covetous

brother, and even his sister, as it would appear, made common cause with

the priests to destroy him.[823] Fanaticism and avarice joined together;

one party wished to deprive him of his property only, but the others

wanted his life. It was not the first time Curione had been in prison

for speaking according to the truth: he did not lose courage, he

preserved all the serenity of his mind, and remained master of himself.

The ecclesiastic charged with the examination overwhelmed him with

questions.[824] He was reminded of the relics taken away from the

monastery of St. Benignus, the journey he had wished to take to Germany,

and the conversations he had held on the road, and was threatened with

the stake.[825]

The bishop, knowing that Curione had protectors among the first people

in the city, started for Rome, in order to obtain from the pope in

person his condemnation to death. Before leaving, he transferred the

prisoner to his coadjutor David, brother of the influential cardinal

Cibo. David, wishing to make sure of his man, and to prevent its being

known where he was detained, removed him by night from the prison in

which he had been placed, took him to one of those mansions, not very

unlike castles, that are often to be found in Italy, and locked him up

in a room enclosed by very thick walls.[826] His officers attached heavy

chains to poor Celio’s feet, riveted them roughly, and fastened them

into the wall; and finally, two sentries were placed inside the door of

the house. When that was done, David felt at ease, sure of being able to

produce his prisoner when the condemnation arrived from Rome. There was

no hope left the wretched man of being saved. Curione felt that his

death could not be far off; but though in great distress he still

remained full of courage.

The different operations by which David had secured his prisoner had

been carried on during the night; when the day came, Curione looked

round him: the place seemed to bring to his memory certain half-effaced

recollections. He began to examine everything about him more carefully,

and by degrees remembered that once upon a time, when a boy, he had been

in that house, in that very room—it had probably been the house of some

friend. He called to remembrance exactly the arrangement of the

building, the galleries, the staircase, the door, and the windows.[827]

But ere long he was recalled from these thoughts by a feeling of pain:

his jailers had riveted the fetters so tightly that his feet began to

swell and the anguish became intolerable. When his keeper came as usual

to bring him food, Curione spoke to him of his pain, and begged him to

leave one of his feet at liberty, adding that, when that was healed, the

jailer could chain it up again and set the other free. The man

consented, and some days passed in this way, during which the prisoner

experienced by turns severe pain and occasional relief.

This circumstance did not prevent him from making the most serious

reflections. He should never see his wife, his children, or his friends

again; he could no longer take part in that great work of revival which

God was then carrying on in the Church. He knew what sentence would be

delivered at Rome. When St. John saw the woman seated on the seven

hills, he exclaimed: ‘_Babylon! ... drunken with the blood of the saints

and martyrs of Jesus_.’ Death awaited Curione on the bishop’s return: of

that he had not a doubt. But was it not lawful to defend one’s life

against the violence of murderers? An idea suddenly crossed his

inventive mind; the hope of escaping, of seeing his dear ones again, of

again serving the cause of the Gospel, flashed upon him. He reflected

and planned; the expedient which occurred to his mind was singular:

possibly it might not succeed, but it might also be the means of saving

him from the hands of his persecutors. When Peter was in prison the

angel of the Lord opened the door and led him out. Celio did not expect

a miracle; but he thought it was man’s duty to do all in his power to

thwart the counsels of the ungodly. He was not, however, very sanguine

of success. God holds the lives of his children in his hand; the Lord

will restore him to liberty or send him to the scaffold, as He shall

judge best.

[Sidenote: Curione’s Escape.]

Curione delayed no longer: he proceeded at once to carry out the curious

and yet simple expedient which had occurred to his lively imagination.

He took the boot off his free leg and stuffed it with rags;[828] he then

broke off the leg of a stool that was within his reach, fastened the

sham foot to it, and contrived a wooden leg which he fixed to his knee,

in such a way that he could move it as if it were a real leg. His

Spanish robe, reaching down to his heels, covered everything, and made

the matter easier. Presently he heard the footsteps of his jailers:

luckily, everything was ready. They entered, did what they were

accustomed to do every day, loosed the chained foot, and then, without

examining too closely—for they had no suspicions—they put the fetters on

the sham leg, and went away.

Celio was free; he rose, he walked; surprised at a deliverance so little

expected, he was almost beside himself ... he was rescued from death.

But all was not over; he had still to get out of that strong mansion,

where so close a watch was kept over him. He waited until night, and

when darkness brooded over the city and his keepers were sunk in sleep,

he approached the door of the chamber. The jailers, knowing that the

prisoner was chained to the wall, and that sentinels were posted at the

outer gate, had only pushed it to without locking it. Curione opened it,

and moved along with slow and cautious steps, avoiding the slightest

noise for fear of giving the alarm. Although it was quite dark, he

easily found his way by the help of his memory: he groped his course

along the galleries, descended the stairs; but on reaching the door of

the house, he found it closely shut. What was to be done now? The

_sbirri_ were asleep, but he dared not make any noise lest he should

wake them. Recollecting that there was a window placed rather high on

one side of the door, he contrived to reach it, leapt into the

court-yard, scaled the outer wall, fell into the street, and began to

seek for a hiding-place as fast as his wounded feet would permit

him.[829] When the morning came, there was great surprise and agitation

in the house. The fidelity of the jailers was not suspected: and as no

one could explain the prisoner’s flight, his enemies circulated the

report that he had had recourse to magic to save himself from death.

Curione himself was surprised. The thought that he had escaped not only

from the hands of his guards, but also from the terrible condemnation of

the sovereign pontiff, whose support the bishop had gone to solicit,

still further magnified in his eyes the greatness of his deliverance. He

had felt, and severely too, the power of his enemies; but he saw that

however keen the hatred of the world, a breath of heaven was sufficient

to frustrate its plots. He hastened to leave Turin, and took refuge in a

secluded village in the duchy of Milan, where his family joined him. His

reputation as a man of letters had spread through that country, and

certain Milanese gentlemen who came to pass the summer in the villas

near the lonely house which he inhabited, entertained a high opinion of

him. One of them, happening to meet him, recognized him; he spoke of him

to others of his friends, who made his acquaintance, and all of them,

delighted with his amiable character and cultivated mind, were unwilling

that such fine talents should remain buried in a sequestered village.

They got him invited to the university of Pavia, where he was soon

surrounded by an admiring audience. The inquisition, for a time at

fault, discovered at last that the daring heretic who had escaped from

his prison at Turin was teaching quietly at Pavia; it issued an arrest

against him, being determined to put an end to the harassing warfare

which this independent man was waging against the darkness of the Middle

Ages. The familiars of the Holy Office lay in ambush with the intention

of seizing the Piedmontese professor as he was leaving his house to go

to the lecture-room. But the plot got wind; the students, who were very

numerous, supported by some of the chief people of the town, formed a

battalion which surrounded Curione as he left his house, conducted him

to the Academy, and when the lecture was over, escorted him home

again.[830] Public opinion declared itself so strongly in favor of

liberty of teaching and against Romish tyranny, that three years elapsed

without the inquisitors being able to seize the professor, which caused

great joy all over the city. The pope, irritated at such resistance,

threatened to excommunicate the senate of Pavia; and Curione, unwilling

to imperil his friends, quitted that town for Venice, whence he

proceeded to Ferrara to live under that enlightened protection which the

Duchess Renée extended to all who loved the Gospel.

[Sidenote: Renée Of France.]

Ferrara was in truth a centre where the Gospel found a firm support.

Renée, who was daughter of Louis XII., and would have succeeded him if

(as she used to say) ‘she had had a beard on her chin,’ had inherited,

not the catholic ardor of her mother, Anne of Brittany, but the

reforming and anti-popish spirit of her father, who had taken for his

device: _Perdam Babylonis nomen_. Deprived of the throne by ‘that

accursed Salic law’—to use her own words—but brought up at the court of

Francis I., she was closely attached to her cousin Margaret, and

although her junior by eighteen years, had eagerly embraced the Gospel

which that ‘elder sister’ had preached to her with so much earnestness.

Renée was not one of those people who are simply the disciples of

others. Less beautiful than Margaret, she resembled her in possessing a

great soul, a generous heart, and, more than that, a sound judgment and

firm will. While clouds gathered round the mild and brilliant luminary

which presided over the destinies of Navarre and obscured the end of its

course, hardly a passing vapor dimmed for an instant the pure star of

Ferrara and Montargis.

There had been a talk of marrying Renée, as there had been of marrying

Margaret, to Charles V., and also to Henry VIII.; but the politic

Francis had preferred giving his predecessor’s daughter to a prince who

would cause him no umbrage. She was therefore married to Hercules of

Este, Duke of Ferrara, grandson of pope Alexander VI. by Lucrezia

Borgia, and vassal of the Holy See. Such gloomy antecedents did not

promise a sympathetic union to the friend of Margaret of Valois.

Although surrounded at Ferrara with all the splendors of a court, Renée

delighted in the associations of literature and art, and loved above

everything to retire to her closet and seek ‘the one thing needful.’

There was in her piety at this period of her life a slight trace of

Margaret’s mystical spirit. A contemplative life, however, was not in

keeping with her active character; she had rather a practical turn; she

loved to attract to her small court the learned men of Italy, and

particularly welcomed the evangelicals who had been driven out of

France. She was thus beginning to be the object of the most opposite

remarks. All were agreed as to her extreme beneficence; but the

adherents of the papacy complained that her intellect, which enabled her

to excel in philosophy, inclined her, unfortunately, to investigate

religious questions; they added, however, that if she came to the aid of

certain persons in bad odor among Roman catholics, it was because her

inexhaustible goodness filled her with compassion for those whom she

thought unjustly treated.[831] ‘She desires to do good to everybody,’ it

was said; ‘in one year she assisted ten thousand of her

fellow-countrymen. And when the stewards of her household represented to

her the excessive expense of this, she only answered: “What would you

have?—they are poor people of my own country, all of whom would be my

subjects but for that wicked Salic law!”’[832] She was at once a Mæcenas

and a Dorcas.

[Sidenote: Resurrection Of Christianity.]

The time had gone by in Italy when the fanaticism of pagan antiquity had

misled the mind, and preachers were to be heard speaking from the pulpit

of Minerva, Christ, and Jupiter in the same breath. At the very moment

when celebrated professors, commissioned to teach philosophy even at the

university of Ferrara, were exclaiming, as Voltaire and others did after

him: ‘Christianity is dying out, and its end is near!’ Christianity on

the contrary was reviving at Wittemberg, Zurich, Cambridge, and even in

France, and the cry which it uttered as it issued from the tomb,

re-echoed through Italy and awoke many souls there. In 1528, and perhaps

earlier, the evangelical doctrines had been professed at Ferrara. In

1530, the inquisition of that city wrote to the pope, that there were

many Lutherans, both laymen and ecclesiastics, within its walls.[833] In

fact, the duchess was calling round her, either for the education of her

children, or simply for love of learning and the Gospel, professors

skilled in the study of the classics, among whom were men enlightened

about the superstitions of the Roman Church, and often sincerely

attached to the Gospel. Of their number were Celio Calcagnini, Lilio

Giraldi Bartholomeo Riccio, Marzello Palingenio, and the two brothers

Sinapi. Giovanni Sinapi in particular was full of zeal to spread around

him the doctrine of the Scriptures. Many of the most eminent men of

Italy, such as Curione, Occhino, Peter Martyr, and the famous poet

Flaminio, lived for a time at Ferrara. From that centre evangelical

doctrines were propagated in the neighbouring cities; and particularly

in Modena, where they spread so widely in the university and among the

townspeople, that it was soon called _the Lutheran city_.[834]

Footnote 792:

‘Cupit renascenti pietati suppetias ferre.’—Frobenius to Luther,

February 14, 1519.

Footnote 793:

‘Per omnes civitates sparsum.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 794:

Gerdesius, _Specimen Ital. Ref._ ii. p. 11. The words _Schwarzerd_,

_Melancthon_, and _Terranigra_ have the same meaning in German, Greek,

and Italian, namely, _black earth_.

Footnote 795:

‘Vocis, quæ totum penitus diffusa per orbem,

Terruit insolito pectora tetra sono.’

These verses have been preserved by Schelhorn in his _Amœnitates

Eccl._ ii. p. 624.

Footnote 796:

Seckendorf, _Hist. du Luthéranisme_, p. 613.

Footnote 797:

Sarpi, _Hist. du Concile de Trente_, i. p. 85.

Footnote 798:

‘Pestifera hæresis Lutheri non tantum apud sæculares personas, sed

etiam ecclesiasticas et regulares, tam mendicantes quam non

mendicantes.’ _Brief to the Inquisitors_, Raynald _ad annum_.

Footnote 799:

‘Læte audio de Venetis quod Verbum Dei receperint.’—Luther, _Ep._ iii.

p. 289.

Footnote 800:

‘Scias igitur Italos omnes expectare Augustensis hujus vestri

decreta.’ Venetiis, 3 calend. Aug. anno 1530. _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 227.

Footnote 801:

_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 170.

Footnote 802:

‘Tibi ea adscribent, quæ Christo, verisque Christi defensoribus,

dedecori sunt.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 243.

Footnote 803:

Celio Secundo writes his name both ways, but more frequently

_Curioni_.

Footnote 804:

‘Natus anno MDIII. calendis Maii, Cyriaci Taurinorum.’—_Curionis

Historia_ a Professore Stupano, 1570, in Schelhorn, _Amœnitates

Litterariæ_, xiii. p. 330.

Footnote 805:

‘Vicenos ternosque liberos suscepit, ex quibus Cœlius ultimus natus

fuit.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 329.

Footnote 806:

‘Taurinum se contulit, ubi per aliquos annos apud Magdalenam proavam

suam agens.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 330.

Footnote 807:

Bonnet, _Récits du seizième Siècle_, p. 248.

Footnote 808:

‘Non esse sibi damnandos hosce, priusquam illorum horos

legisset.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 331.

Footnote 809:

‘Adolescens adhuc, cum prima tua monimenta legissem, te ita amavi ut

vix ulterius progredi meus in te amor posse videretur.’—_C. S.

Curionis, Epist._ i. p. 71.

Footnote 810:

‘Ita est illa (opera) admiratus ut statim decreverit in Germaniam

transire.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 331.

Footnote 811:

‘Institutum iter per Salassorum regionem ingreditur.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 812:

‘Cum juvenes in itinere, minus caute, de rebus ad religionem

pertinentibus disputarent.’—_Ibid._ p. 332.

Footnote 813:

Calvin.

Footnote 814:

‘Cum essent vallem prætoriam ingressuri.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 332.

Footnote 815:

‘Privatim multos contraria hisce docebat et in vera fide

erudiebat.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 332.

Footnote 816:

‘Itaque, observato clavium loco, capsam aperit.’—_Ibid._ p. 333.

Footnote 817:

‘Cum cæteri aliis rebus intenti essent.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 818:

‘Ipse omnibus aderat, consolabatur, atque etiam mortuos ipsos

sepeliebat.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 335.

Footnote 819:

‘Ei uxorem dederunt Margaritam Biancam, puellam

elegantissimam.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 335.

Footnote 820:

‘In vicinum locum, Castelleviolonem nomine.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 821:

‘Lutherum Germanis placere, quod sub libertate christiana omnis

generis libidines concederet.’—_Curionis Historia._

Footnote 822:

‘Ut vix intercedente Præfecto, vivus Taurinum redire

potuerit.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 339.

Footnote 823:

‘In causa propemodum ipsi fuerunt (soror et maritus) quod captus

fuerit, vitam quoque fere amiserit.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 336.

Footnote 824:

‘Hic examinatur, quæstiones adhibentur.’—_Ibid._ p. 339.

Footnote 825:

‘Ignem flammasque minantur.’—_Ibid._ p. 339.

Footnote 826:

‘Ex prioribus carceribus noctu deducit, et in conclavi quodam

fortissimis parietibus munito ... asservari curat.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 827:

‘Recreatque in memoriam singularum domus partium situm.’—_Curionis

Historia._

Footnote 828:

‘Extrahit caligam pedis liberi, eamdem lineis quibusdam pannis

infarcit.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 341.

Footnote 829:

His feet never recovered their strength.

Footnote 830:

‘Magna studiosorum caterva, eum a sua domo in auditorium deducebat, et

ex eo iterum domum comitabatur.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 343.

Footnote 831:

Maimbourg, _Histoire du Calvinisme_, liv. i. p. 61.

Footnote 832:

Varillas, _Histoire des Hérésies_, ii. p. 499. Brantôme, _Dames

Illustres_.

Footnote 833:

_P. Martyr Vermigli_, par C. Schmidt, p. 11.

Footnote 834:

‘Città lutherana.’—Poli, _Epist._ iii. p. 84.

CHAPTER XIX.

THE GOSPEL IN THE CENTRE OF ITALY.

(1520 TO 1536).

While Venice, Turin, Milan, Ferrara, Modena, and other cities of Upper

Italy were listening to the voice of the Gospel, the centre and south of

the peninsula had also their witnesses to the truth.

[Sidenote: Character Of Occhino.]

Bernardino Occhino, born at Sienna in 1487, four years younger than

Luther and Zwingle, and twenty-one years older than Calvin, was the most

famous preacher of the age. In his sermons were to be found that

elegance, that choice of words and those turns of expression which

produce clearness, grace, and facility of style; but at the same time he

was not void of imagination or enthusiasm, and possessed a boldness of

language which surprises and carries away those who listen to it.

Without being one of those firm, solid spirits who search into all

knowledge, and weigh and measure all thoughts, he had strong religious

cravings, and as he was moved himself, he moved his hearers. ‘From the

very beginning of my life,’ he said, ‘I had a great longing for the

heavenly paradise.’ He determined to win it, but went astray on the

road. His studies were imperfect; he knew little Greek and no Hebrew:

his knowledge of Christian doctrine was neither deep nor extensive; he

sometimes allowed himself to descend to trifles and even to

contradictions; and without denying the essential doctrines of faith, he

was found in the latter part of his life employing obscure and equivocal

expressions concerning them. He inopportunely defended customs tolerated

under the old covenant, but manifestly forbidden under the new, and thus

drew down much affliction on his old age. Occhino was a great orator,

but not a great divine.

Sienna, the rival of Florence in the Middle Ages, still possessed

sufficient attractions to induce a young man to follow the career of

letters or of honors; but Occhino’s mind took another direction. From

his earliest youth, his religious feelings had inclined him to an

ascetic life, and he sought peace for his soul in exercises of devotion.

‘I believe in salvation through works,’ he said, ‘through fasting,

prayer, mortifications, and vigils. With the help of God’s grace we can,

by means of these practices, satisfy the justice of God, obtain pardon

for our sins, and merit heaven.’[835] Erelong his private macerations

proved insufficient for him, and he became a monk. Every religious

society approved of by Rome was holy in his eyes; but he joined the

Observantine Franciscans, because that order was reputed to be stricter

than the others. The youthful Bernardino soon found, like Luther, that

the life of the cloister could not satisfy his need of holiness. He was

discouraged, and, renouncing the pursuit of an object which he seemed

unable to attain, he turned to the study of medicine, without however,

leaving the convent. Some Franciscans, having separated from the order

with the intention of forming a still stricter rule, under the name of

Capuchins, Occhino thought he had found what he wanted, and, having

joined them, gave himself up with all his strength to voluntary

humiliation and the mortification of the senses. _Eat not, touch not,

taste not._ If any new and stricter laws were drawn up by the chiefs of

the order, he hastened to conform to them. He threw himself blindfold

into a complicated labyrinth of traditions, disciplines, fastings,

mortifications, austerities, and ecstasies. And when they were over, he

would ask himself whether he had gained anything? Remaining ill at ease

and motionless in his cell, he would exclaim: ‘O Christ! if I am not

saved now, I know not what I can do more!’ The moment was approaching

when he would feel that all these macerations were but ‘running knots,

which bind at first and strangle at last.’[836]

This was in 1534, when Occhino was forty-seven years old. The agitations

of his soul often inspired him, during his sermons, with those pathetic

impulses which touch the heart; his superiors, wishing to turn his gifts

to account, called him to the functions of the pulpit, and as he thus

entered upon a new phase of life, a revolution was also effected in his

thoughts. He turned away from the superstitious practices and paltry

bonds of the monks and devotees, and approached the Holy Scriptures.

Monastic discipline had increased his darkness: the Word was to bring

him light. He felt the necessity of conscientiously preparing his

sermons, and began to study the Bible. But, strange to say, Scripture,

instead of making his work easier, embarrassed him at the very outset,

made him uneasy, and even paralyzed him. A striking contrast presented

itself to his mind. ‘I believe,’ he said, ‘that we must merit heaven by

our works, while Scripture tells me that heaven is given by grace,

because of the redemption through Jesus Christ.’ He tried for some time

to reconcile these contradictory views; but, do what he would, Rome and

the Bible remained diametrically opposed to each other; he determined in

favour of Rome. To doubt that the pope’s teaching was divine would have

been a crime. ‘The authority of the Church,’ he said in after years,

‘silenced my scruples.’ He applied again to his mortifications. It was

all in vain: peace was a stranger to his soul.

Then he turned once more to what he had abandoned. He said to himself

that, according to the universal opinion of Christendom, the Scriptures

were given by God to show the path to heaven; and that if there was

anywhere a remedy for the disease under which he felt himself suffering,

it must be in God’s Book. He read its holy pages with entire confidence,

and made every exertion to understand them. Erelong a new light broke

upon him; a heavenly brightness was poured upon the mystery of Golgotha,

and he was filled with unutterable joy. ‘Certainly,’ he said, ‘Christ by

his obedience and death has fully satisfied the law of God and merited

heaven for his elect. That is true righteousness, that is the true

salvation.’[837] He did not advance any farther just then; for some time

longer the Roman-Catholic Church was in his eyes the true Church, and

the religious orders were holy institutions. He had found that peace

which he had sought so long, and was satisfied.

[Sidenote: Occhino’s Popularity.]

The activity of his life increased, the fervor of his zeal augmented,

his preaching became more spiritual and more earnest. He continued his

itinerant ministry, and attracted still more the attention of the people

of Italy. He always went on foot, though weak in body. His name filled

the peninsula, and when he was expected in any city a multitude of

people and even nobles and princes would go out to meet him. The

principal men of the city would display a deep affection for him, pay

him every honor, and not permit him to go and lodge in the wretched cell

of a monastery, but force him to accept the brilliant hospitality of

their mansions. The magnificence of these dwellings, the costly dresses

of their inhabitants, and ‘all the pomp of the age,’ made no change in

his humble and austere life. Sitting at the luxurious banquets of the

great ones of this world, he would drink no wine and eat but of one

dish, and that the plainest. Being conducted to the best chamber, and

invited to repose in a soft and richly-furnished bed, in order to

recruit himself after the fatigue of his journey, he would smile,

stretch his threadbare mantle on the floor, and lie down upon it.

As soon as the news of his arrival became known, crowds of people would

throng round him from all parts. ‘Whole cities went to hear him,’ says

the Bishop of Amelia, ‘and there was no church large enough to contain

the multitude of hearers.’[838] All eyes were fixed on him as soon as he

entered the pulpit. His age, his thin pale face, his beard falling below

the waist, his gray hair and coarse robe, and all that was known of his

life, made the people regard him as an extraordinary man, indeed as a

saint. Was there any affectation in these strange manners? Probably

there was, for though a new creation had begun in him, the old nature

was still very strong. He was not insensible to the glory that comes

from man, and perhaps did not seek alone that which comes from God.

At length the great orator began to speak, and all the congregation hung

upon his lips. He explained his ideas with such ease and grace, that

even from the very beginning of his ministry, he charmed all who heard

him. But after he had studied Scripture, there was more elegance,

originality, and talent in his discourses. He made use of evangelical

language, which penetrated the heart; and yet no one, unless he were a

very subtle theologian, would dare ascribe new doctrines to him. The

inward power which he had received touched their hearts; the movements

of his eloquence carried away his hearers, and he led them where he

pleased.[839] At Perugia, enemies embraced one another as they left the

church, and renounced the family feuds which had been handed down

through several generations. At Naples, when he preached for some work

of charity, every purse was opened: one day he collected five thousand

crowns—an enormous sum for those times. Even princes of the Church, such

as Cardinal Sadolet and Cardinal Bembo, adjudged him the palm of popular

eloquence: all voices hailed him as the first preacher of Italy.[840] We

shall see him presently producing a religious revival at Naples. He was

preceded and aided in that work by men who, although inferior to him in

eloquence, were his superiors in knowledge and faith.

[Sidenote: Character Of Peter Martyr.]

At the time when the Word was thus sown, and was everywhere bearing

fruit more or less, Florence, the land of the Medici, so illustrious

from its attachment to letters and liberty, was not to be a barren soil.

In the year 1500, the year in which Charles V. was born, a rich

patrician named Stephen Vermigli had a son whom he named Peter Martyr in

honor of Peter of Milan whom the Arians are said to have put to death

for maintaining the orthodox faith, and to whom a church was dedicated

near the house in which the child was born.[841] His mother, Maria

Fumantina, an educated woman of meek and tranquil piety, devoted herself

to her only son, taught him Latin in his earliest years, and poured into

his heart that incorruptible spirit, which is of such great value before

God. The boy early attended the public schools established for the

Florentine youth, and was distinguished for the quickness of his

understanding, the extent of his powers, the strength of his memory, and

above all by such a thirst for learning that no difficulties could stop

him. If Occhino possessed liveliness of feeling and imagination, Peter

Martyr possessed solidity of judgment and depth of mind.

Before long the youth was involved in a painful struggle. His

father,—either because he disapproved of a monastic life, the abuses of

which, even at Florence, had been exposed by Dante and afterwards by

Savonarola; or because he was ambitious and desired to see his son

attain a brilliant position—intended giving him an education calculated

to advance him in the service of the State. Peter Martyr, on the

contrary, inspired by the pious feelings which he had inherited from his

mother, wished to dedicate himself to God. His greatest ambition was to

learn; his glory was to know; knowledge, and especially the knowledge of

divine things, was in his eyes superior to all the world besides. His

father commanded in vain and disinherited him in vain; in 1516 the young

man entered the monastery of regular canons of St. Augustine at Fiesole,

near Florence. After a certain interval of time Peter Martyr felt that

he did not learn much in the cloister. He was penetrated with the

thought that man ought to make it his object to propagate around him

solid knowledge and true light, especially in all that relates to the

immortal soul; but to propagate them, he must first possess them. He

obtained permission to visit Padua, the seat of a celebrated university.

Quiet, steady, diligent, affectionate, and respectful, he was loved and

esteemed by all. He venerated the aged as if they were his fathers, and

displayed such modesty, affection, and eagerness to do what was pleasing

to his comrades, that he always found them, in times of trial, his

surest friends.[842] Although he was in the age of passions, and lived

in cities where temptations were numerous, he was able to preserve that

chastity of thought and that purity of conduct so necessary to the

happiness and real success of a young man. He studied philosophy, and in

the public disputations acquired a singular dialectic skill, of which he

afterwards gave striking proofs. But he was in search of something

better, namely, divine truth; and therefore began to attend the lectures

of the theological professors. He was soon disgusted with them, for they

taught nothing but scholastics, and he resolved to seek the road by

himself. He frequently spent the greater part of the night in the

library of his monastery; he read the Greek authors, and then took up

the Fathers of the Church, Tertullian, Athanasius, and Augustine, and

began to have a perception that the theology of primitive catholicism

was quite different from that of the papacy.

In 1526, his superiors, struck with his talents, called him to the

ministry. Peter Martyr preached at Rome, Bologna, Pisa, Venice, Mantua,

Bergamo, and other cities. At the same time he gave public lessons in

literature and philosophy, particularly on Homer. But he determined to

go farther, and, no longer contenting himself with the poets,

philosophers, and Fathers of the Church, he desired to know the Holy

Scriptures. He was enraptured with them; as the Latin text was not

sufficient for him, he read the New Testament in Greek; he next resolved

to read the Old Testament also in the original, and meeting with a

Jewish doctor named Isaac, at Bologna, he learnt Hebrew of him. Then it

was that a new light illumined his fine genius. While he was studying

the letter of the Holy Scriptures, _the Spirit of God opened his

understanding_, and displayed before him the mysteries concealed within

them.[843] His learning, labors, and administrative ability had already

attracted general consideration; and the pious sentiments he now

displayed helped to increase it. He was appointed Abbot of Spoleto, and

in 1530 was summoned to a larger theatre, to Naples, as Prior of St.

Peter’s _ad Aram_, where we shall meet him erelong.

[Sidenote: Aonio Paleario.]

In 1534 there lived in Sienna a friend of Greek and Latin literature, an

enthusiast for Cicero, whose elegant and harmonious periods he

translated better than any other scholar, and who was particularly

distinguished among the professors of the university for his elevation

of soul, love of truth, boldness of thought, and the courage with which

he attacked false doctors and sham ascetics. He made a sensation in the

world of schools, and, though he had no official post, the students

crowded to his lectures. His name was Antonio della Paglia, which he

latinized, according to the fashion of the age, into Aonius Palearius.

This, again, was Italianized into Aonio Paleario. Among the hills which

bound the Roman Campagna, near the source of the Garigliano, stands the

ancient city of Veroli; here he was born in 1503, of an old patrician

house according to some, of the family of an artisan according to

others. In 1520 he went to Rome, where the love of art and antiquity was

then much cultivated, and, from the lessons of illustrious teachers, he

learnt to admire Demosthenes, Homer, and Virgil. A rumor of war

disturbed his peaceful labors. In 1527 the imperial army descended the

Alps, and, like an avalanche which, slipping from the icy mountain-tops,

rushes down into the valley, it overthrew and destroyed everything in

its course. Milan had been crushed, and, when the news reached Rome at

the same time with the furious threats uttered by the imperialists

against the city of the pontiffs, the young student exclaimed, ‘If they

come near us, we are lost!’ Paleario hastily took refuge in the valley

where he was born; but even there the spray of the avalanche reached

him. When he returned to the papal city, alas! the houses were in ruins,

the men of letters had fled. He turned his eyes towards Tuscany, quitted

Rome in the latter part of 1529, and after spending some time at

Perugia, went on to Sienna, where he arrived in the autumn of 1530.

That ancient city of the Etruscans, transformed into a city of the

Middle Ages, at first delighted the friend of letters. Its position in

the midst of smiling hills,[844] the fertility of its fields, the

abundance of everything, the beauty of the buildings, the cultivated

minds of its inhabitants—all enraptured him. But erelong he discovered a

wound which wrung his heart: the State was torn by factions; an

ignorant, impetuous, turbulent democracy had the upper hand; the

strength of a people who might have done great things was wasted in idle

and barren disputes. The most eminent men wept over the sorrows of their

country, and fled with their wives and children from the desolated land.

‘Alas!’ exclaimed Paleario, ‘the city wants nothing but concord between

the citizens.’[845] He met, however, with an affectionate welcome in the

families of a few nobles; and, after visiting Florence, Ferrara, Padua,

and Bologna, he returned in 1532 to Sienna, to which his friends had

invited him.

[Sidenote: Poem On Immortality.]

Paleario was a poet: his fancy was at work wherever he went; and, either

during his travels or on his return to the Ghibeline city, he composed a

Latin poem on the immortality of the soul.[846] We find traces of the

Roman doctrine in it, especially of purgatory[847] and of the queenship

of the Virgin.[848] His eyes, however, were already turned towards the

Reformation. He desired to have readers like Sadolet, and also the

sympathy of Germany.[849] The poem evidences a soul which, without

having yet found God and the peace he gives, sighs after a new earth, a

rejuvenated humanity, and a happiness which consists in contemplating

the Almighty, the King of men, as the eternal and absolute goodness and

supreme happiness.[850]

Ere long Paleario took another step. The religious questions by which

Italy was so deeply agitated engrossed that eminent mind. He commenced

reading not only Saint Augustine but the Reformers and the Holy

Scriptures, and began to speak in his lectures with a liberty that

enraptured his hearers, but so exasperated the priests that his friend

and patron Sadolet recommended him to be more prudent. Paleario,

however, boldly crossed the threshold which separates the literary from

the Christian world. He received thoroughly the doctrine of

justification by faith, and found in it a peace which was to him a

warrant of its truth. ‘Since he in whom the Godhead dwells,’ he said,

‘has so lovingly poured out his blood for our salvation, we must not

doubt of the favor of Heaven. All who turn their souls towards Jesus

crucified, and bind themselves to him with thorough confidence, are

delivered from evil and receive forgiveness of their sins.’

Paleario loved the country. Having noticed a villa which had belonged to

Aulus Cecina, the friend of Cicero, situated between Colle and Volterra,

at the summit of a plateau, whence flowed a stream, watering the slopes,

and where a pure air and the tranquility of the fields could be

enjoyed,[851] the Christian poet bought it, and there, in his beloved

_Cecignana_, on the terrace before the house or among the forest oaks,

he passed many a peaceful day, consecrated to serious meditation. He

knew that the world on which he fixed his eyes was the creation of the

Supreme, the free will of God; that an inward and uninterrupted bond

existed between the Creator and his creatures; and rejoiced that, owing

to the redemption of Jesus Christ, there would be formed out of its

inhabitants a kingdom of God, from which evil would be forever banished.

[Sidenote: Paleario’s Love Of Nature.]

Paleario’s tender soul needed domestic affections, and at Sienna he was

alone. He married Marietta Guidotti, a young person of respectable

parentage, who had been brought up with holy modesty.[852] She bore him

two sons, Lampridius and Phædrus, and two daughters, Aspasia and

Sophonisba, whom he loved tenderly, and who were, after God, the

consolation of a life agitated by the injustice of his enemies. Family

affections and a love for the beauties of nature were in Paleario, as

they often are, the marks of an elevated soul. At a later period, when

his life had become still more bitter; when he had lost his health, and

his faith had made him an object of horror to the fanatical; when he

exclaimed, ‘All men are full of hatred and ill-will toward me;’[853]

when he foresaw that he must ere long succumb beneath the blows of his

adversaries; even then he sighed after the country, and wrote to one of

his friends, with a simplicity reminding us of ancient times:—‘I am

weary of study; fain would I fly to you and pass my days under the warm

bright sky of your fields. At early morn, or when the day begins to

wane, we will wander through the country, around the cottages, with

Lampridius and Phædrus my darling boys, and with your wife and

mine.[854] Get ready the garden, that we may live on herbs, for I am

utterly disgusted with the luxurious tables of our cities. The farm

shall supply us with eggs and poultry, the river with fish. Oh! how

sweet are the repasts at which we eat the fruit we gather from our own

garden, the fowls fed by our own hands, the birds caught in our

nets,—sweeter far than those where you see nothing on the table but

provisions bought in the market! We will work in the fields; we will

tire ourselves. Make your preparations; get ready a saw, a hatchet, a

wedge to cleave the wood, pruning-shears, a harrow, and a hoe. If these

implements fail us, we will be content with planting trees, that shall

serve for ages yet to come.’ It is pleasing to see the disciple of

Cicero and especially of the Bible, at a time when he was tormented by

sickness and the hatred of the wicked, rejoicing like a child at the

thought of planting trees that should give a cool shade and welcome

fruit to coming generations. We shall now describe the end of his stay

at Sienna, and what brought his great sorrow upon him, although it will

lead us beyond the limits of time we have prescribed for ourselves.

The best friend Paleario possessed was Antonio Bellantes, president of

the Council of Nine, a grave and benevolent man, generally loved and

respected; in a time of difficulty he had assisted the State by the gift

of two million golden crowns. Bellantes esteemed Paleario very highly,

and Paleario loved him above all other men. In the course of the popular

disturbances, the members of the Council of Nine had been banished; but

the senate and people had entreated Bellantes to remain at Sienna—a

circumstance which had greatly enraged his enemies. Ruffians broke into

his house one night and plundered it. Somewhat later Bellantes died,

leaving all his ready money to his mother, that she might deliver it to

his sons when they came of age. The good lady was a great friend of the

monks; every day the capuchins used to visit her,[855] and when she felt

sick they crowded round her bed. After her death, no property could be

found in her house, except some torn bags which appeared to have held

money. The sons of Bellantes accused the monks of having stolen their

inheritance, and Paleario supported them with his eloquence. The monks

denied the fact, and were acquitted upon their solemn oath. Inflamed

with anger against Paleario, they resolved upon his destruction.

[Sidenote: Plot Against Paleario.]

At the head of his adversaries was the senator Otto Melio Cotta, a rich,

powerful, and ambitious man of a domineering spirit. At first he had

been mixed up in political affairs, but he afterwards enlisted under the

banners of the clergy, and made common cause with the monks. A plot was

formed in the Observantine convent, situated about a mile from Sienna,

in the midst of woods, grottos, and holy places. Three hundred members

of the Joanelli, a brotherhood formed for certain exercises of piety,

swore upon the altar to destroy Paleario. Not confining themselves to

attacks upon his teaching, Cotta and his other adversaries began to pry

into his private life, to watch all his movements, and to catch up every

word. They soon found fresh subjects of complaint against him. Paleario

had ridiculed a wealthy priest, who was to be seen every morning

devoutly kneeling before the shrine of a saint, but who refused to pay

his debts; and the keen irony with which he had spoken of him had

occasioned a great scandal among the clergy. That however, was not

enough; they must have a palpable mark of heresy. His adversaries

endeavored, therefore, to entrap him, and some of them, presenting

themselves as if they wanted to be instructed, put questions to him

calculated to lead him into the snare. ‘What,’ they asked, ‘is the first

means of salvation given by God to man?’ He answered ‘_Christ_.’ That

might pass; but, continuing their questions, Paleario’s enemies added:

‘What is the second?’ In their opinion, he should have indicated

meritorious works; but Paleario replied: ‘_Christ_.’ Continuing their

inquiry, they said: ‘And what is the third?’ They thought that Paleario

should answer, The Church; out of the Church there is no salvation; but

he still replied, ‘_Christ_.’[856] From that moment he was a lost man.

The monks and their friends reported to Cotta the answer which they

deemed so heretical.

Paleario had no suspicion of danger. Cardinal Sadolet and some other

friends invited him to come and see them at Rome, and he went. He had

not been there long before he received a very excited letter from

Faustus Bellantes. ‘There is a great agitation in the city,’ he said;

‘an astounding conspiracy has been formed against you by the most

criminal of men.[857] We do not know upon what the accusation is

founded; we are ignorant of the names of your adversaries. The report

runs that the chiefs of the state have been excited against you in

consequence of calumnious charges concerning religion. It is said that

some wretched monks have sworn your ruin; but the plot must have deeper

roots. I shall go to Sienna to-morrow, and shall speak to my friends and

relations about it. I am ready for everything, even to lose my life in

your defence. Mean-time I conjure you, let your mind be at peace.’

Bellantes was not deceived. Cotta, without loss of time, appeared in the

senate and reported to his colleagues the monstrous language of

Paleario, and exclaimed, that if they suffered him to live, ‘there would

be no vestige of religion left in the city.’[858] Every man was silent:

such was the alarm caused by a charge of heresy, that no one dared take

up the defence of that courageous Christian.

Paleario heard of this, and was distressed but not surprised. One truth

was deeply engraved in his heart: All power of salvation is given to

Jesus Christ; He is the only source whence the new life can be drawn. It

seemed to him that the priests had forged so many means of acquiring

pardon, that they hardly left Christ the hundredth part. He could well

understand how irritated the clergy must be against a man who set so

little store by all their paltry contrivances; but although he saw

clearly the danger that threatened him, he remained firm. ‘The power of

the conspirators is immense,’ he said; ‘the more fiercely a man attacks

me, the more pious he is reckoned. But what matters it? Jesus Christ,

whom I have always sincerely and religiously adored, is my hope.[859]...

I despise the cabals of men, and my heart is full of courage.’[860]

Christ was his king. He knew that that great Sovereign, who is achieving

the conquest of the world, preserves at the same time all those who have

found reconciliation with God through him.