Shortly after his arrival, happening to _History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century, Volume 5 The Reformation in England

Erasmus noticed on the other side of the table a young man of

nineteen, slender, fresh-coloured, with blue eyes, coarse hands, and

the right shoulder somewhat higher than the other. His features

indicated affability and gaiety, and pleasant jests were continually

dropping from his lips. If he could not find a joke in English, he

would in French, and even in Latin or Greek. A literary contest soon

ensued between Erasmus and the English youth. The former, astonished

at meeting with any one that could hold his own against him,

exclaimed: _Aut tu es Morus aut nullus!_ (you are either More or

nobody); and his companion, who had not learnt the stranger's name,

quickly replied: _Aut tu es Erasmus aut diabolus!_ (you are either the

devil or Erasmus).[220] More flung himself into the arms of Erasmus,

and they became inseparable friends. More was continually joking, even

with women, teasing the young maidens, and making fun of the dull,

though without any tinge of ill-nature in his jests.[221] But under

this sportive exterior he concealed a deep understanding. He was at

that time lecturing on Augustine's '_City of God_' before a numerous

audience composed of priests and aged men. The thought of eternity had

seized him: and being ignorant of that internal discipline of the Holy

Ghost, which is the only true discipline, he had recourse to the

scourge on every Friday. Thomas More is the ideal of the catholicism

of this period. He had, like the Romish system, two poles--worldliness

and asceticism; which, although contrary, often meet together. In

fact, asceticism makes a sacrifice of _self_, only to preserve it;

just as a traveller attacked by robbers will readily give up a portion

of his treasures to save the rest. This was the case with More, if we

rightly understand his character. He sacrificed the accessories of his

fallen nature to save that same nature. He submitted to fasts and

vigils, wore a shirt of hair-cloth, mortified his body by small chains

next his skin--in a word, he immolated every thing in order to

preserve that _self_ which a real regeneration alone can sacrifice.

[220] Life of More by his Great-grandson, (1828), p. 93.

[221] Cum mulieribus fere atque etiam cum uxore nonnisi lusus jocos ne

tractat. Erasm. Ep. i. p. 536.

[Sidenote: A ROYAL SCHOOL-ROOM.]

From London Erasmus went to Oxford, where he met with John Colet, a

friend of More's, but older, and of very dissimilar character. Colet,

the scion of an ancient family, was a very portly man, of imposing

aspect, great fortune, and elegance of manners, to which Erasmus had

not been accustomed. Order, cleanliness, and decorum prevailed in his

person and in his house. He kept an excellent table, which was open to

all the friends of learning, and at which the Dutchman, no great

admirer of the colleges of Paris with their sour wine and stale eggs,

was glad to take a seat.[222] He there met also most of the classical

scholars of England, especially Grocyn, Linacre, Thomas Wolsey, bursar

of Magdalene College, Halsey, and some others. "I cannot tell you how

I am delighted with your England," he wrote to Lord Montjoy from

Oxford. "With such men I could willingly live in the farthest coasts

of Scythia."[223]

[222] Quantum ibi devorabatur ovorum putrium, quantum vini putris

hauriebatur. Erasm. Colloq. p. 564.

[223] Dici non potest quam mihi dulcescat Anglia tua . . . . vel in

extrema Scythia vivere non recusem. Erasm. Ep. i. p. 311.

[Sidenote: ARTHUR AND CATHERINE.]

But if Erasmus on the banks of the Thames found a Mæcenas in Lord

Montjoy, a Labeo and perhaps a Virgil in More, he nowhere found an

Augustus. One day as he was expressing his regrets and his fears to

More, the latter said: "Come, let us go to Eltham, perhaps we shall

find there what you are looking for." They set out, More jesting all

the way, inwardly resolving to expiate his gaiety by a severe

scourging at night. On their arrival they were heartily welcomed by

Lord and Lady Montjoy, the governor and governess of the king's

children. As the two friends entered the hall, a pleasing and

unexpected sight greeted Erasmus. The whole of the family were

assembled, and they found themselves surrounded not only by some of

the royal household, but by the domestics of Lord Montjoy also. On the

right stood the Princess Margaret, a girl of eleven years, whose

great-grandson under the name of Stuart was to continue the Tudor line

in England; on the left was Mary, a child four years of age; Edmund

was in his nurse's arms; and in the middle of the circle, between his

two sisters, stood a boy, at that time only nine years old, whose

handsome features, royal carriage, intelligent eye, and exquisite

courtesy, had an extraordinary charm for Erasmus.[224] That boy was

Henry, Duke of York, the king's second son, born on the 28th June

1491. More, advancing towards the young prince, presented to him some

piece of his own writing; and from that hour Erasmus kept up a

friendly intercourse with Henry, which in all probability exercised a

certain influence over the destinies of England. The scholar of

Rotterdam was delighted to see the prince excel in all the manly

sports of the day. He sat his horse with perfect grace and rare

intrepidity, could hurl a javelin farther than any of his companions,

and having an excellent taste for music, he was already a performer on

several instruments. The king took care that he should receive a

learned education, for he destined him to fill the see of Canterbury;

and the illustrious Erasmus, noticing his aptitude for every thing he

undertook, did his best to cut and polish this English diamond that it

might glitter with the greater brilliancy. "He will begin nothing that

he will not finish," said the scholar. And it is but too true, that

this prince always attained his end, even if it were necessary to

tread on the bleeding bodies of those he had loved. Flattered by the

attentions of the young Henry, attracted by his winning grace, charmed

by his wit, Erasmus on his return to the continent everywhere

proclaimed that England at last had found its Octavius.

[224] Erasm. Ep. ad Botzhem. Jortin. Appendix, p. 108.

As for Henry VII he thought of everything but Virgil or Augustus.

Avarice and ambition were his predominant tastes, which he gratified

by the marriage of his eldest son in 1501. Burgundy, Artois, Provence,

and Brittany having been recently united to France, the European

powers felt the necessity of combining against that encroaching state.

It was in consequence of this that Ferdinand of Aragon had given his

daughter Joanna to Philip of Austria, and that Henry VII asked the

hand of his daughter Catherine, then in her sixteenth year and the

richest princess in Europe, for Arthur prince of Wales, a youth about

ten months younger. The catholic king made one condition to the

marriage of his daughter. Warwick, the last of the Plantagenets and a

pretender to the crown, was confined in the Tower. Ferdinand, to

secure the certainty that Catherine would really ascend the English

throne, required that the unhappy prince should be put to death. Nor

did this alone satisfy the king of Spain. Henry VII, who was not a

cruel man, might conceal Warwick, and say that he was no more.

Ferdinand demanded that the chancellor of Castile should be present at

the execution. The blood of Warwick was shed; his head rolled duly on

the scaffold; the Castilian chancellor verified and registered the

murder, and on the 14th November the marriage was solemnized at St.

Paul's. At midnight the prince and princess were conducted with great

pomp to the bridal-chamber.[225] These were ill-omened nuptials--fated

to set the kings and nations of Christendom in battle against each

other, and to serve as a pretext for the external and political

discussions of the English Reformation. The marriage of Catherine the

Catholic was a marriage of blood.

[225] Principes summa nocte ad thalamum solemni ritu deducti sunt.

Sanderus, de schismate Angl. p. 2.

[Sidenote: DEATH OF PRINCE ARTHUR.]

In the early part of 1502 Prince Arthur fell ill, and on the 2nd of

April he died. The necessary time was taken to be sure that Catherine

had no hope of becoming a mother, after which the friend of Erasmus,

the youthful Henry, was declared heir to the crown, to the great joy

of all the learned. This prince did not forsake his studies: he spoke

and wrote in French, German, and Spanish with the facility of a

native; and England hoped to behold one day the most learned of

Christian kings upon the throne of Alfred the Great.

A very different question, however, filled the mind of the covetous

Henry VII. Must he restore to Spain the two hundred thousand ducats

which formed Catherine's dowry? Shall this rich heiress be permitted

to marry some rival of England? To prevent so great a misfortune the

king conceived the project of uniting Henry to Arthur's widow. The

most serious objections were urged against it. "It is not only

inconsistent with propriety," said Warham, the primate, "but the will

of God himself is against it. It is declared in His law that _if a man

shall take his brother's wife, it is an unclean thing_, (Lev. xx. 21);

and in the Gospel John Baptist says to Herod: _It is not lawful for

thee to have thy brother's wife_," (Mark vi. 18.) Fox, bishop of

Winchester, suggested that a dispensation might be procured from the

pope, and in December 1503 Julius II granted a bull declaring that for

the sake of preserving union between the catholic princes he

authorized Catherine's marriage with the brother of her first husband,

_accedente forsan copula carnali_. These four words, it is said, were

inserted in the bull at the express desire of the princess. All these

details will be of importance in the course of our history. The two

parties were betrothed, but not married in consideration of the youth

of the prince of Wales.

The second marriage projected by Henry VII was ushered in with

auspices still less promising than the first. The king having fallen

sick and lost his queen, looked upon these visitations as a divine

judgment.[226] The nation murmured, and demanded whether it was in the

pope's power to permit what God had forbidden.[227] The young prince,

being informed of his father's scruples and of the people's

discontent, declared, just before attaining his majority (27th June

1505), in the presence of the bishop of Winchester and several royal

counsellors, that he protested against the engagement entered into

during his minority, and that he would never make Catherine his wife.

[226] Morysin's Apomaxis.

[227] Herbert, Life of Henry VIII, p. 18.

[Sidenote: PROCLAMATION OF HENRY VIII.]

His father's death, which made him free, made him also recall this

virtuous decision. In 1509, the hopes of the learned seemed about to

be realized. On the 9th of May, a hearse decorated with regal pomp,

bearing on a rich pall of cloth of gold the mortal remains of Henry

VII with his sceptre and his crown, entered London, followed by a long

procession. The great officers of state, assembled round the coffin,

broke their staves and cast them into the vault, and the heralds cried

with a loud voice: "God send the noble King Henry VIII long

life."[228] Such a cry perhaps had never on any previous occasion been

so joyfully repeated by the people. The young king gratified the

wishes of the nation by ordering the arrest of Empson and Dudley, who

were charged with extortion; and he conformed to the enlightened

counsels of his grandmother, by choosing the most able ministers, and

placing the archbishop of Canterbury as lord-chancellor at their head.

Warham was a man of great capacity. The day was not too short for him

to hear mass, receive ambassadors, consult with the king in the royal

closet, entertain as many as two hundred guests at his table, take his

seat on the woolsack, and find time for his private devotions. The joy

of the learned surpassed that of the people. The old king wanted none

of their praises or congratulations, for fear he should have to pay

for them; but now they could give free course to their enthusiasm.

Montjoy pronounced the young king "divine;" the Venetian ambassador

likened his port to Apollo's, and his noble chest to the torso of

Mars; he was lauded both in Greek and Latin; he was hailed as the

founder of a new era, and Henry seemed desirous of meriting these

eulogiums. Far from permitting himself to be intoxicated by so much

adulation, he said to Montjoy: "Ah! how I should like to be a

scholar!"--"Sire," replied the courtier, "It is enough that you show

your regard for those who possess the learning you desire for

yourself."--"How can I do otherwise," he replied with earnestness;

"without them we hardly exist!" Montjoy immediately communicated this

to Erasmus.

[228] Leland's Collectanea, vol. iv. p. 309.

[Sidenote: ENTHUSIASM OF THE LEARNED.]

Erasmus!--Erasmus!--the walls of Eltham, Oxford, and London resounded

with the name. The king could not live without the learned; nor the

learned without Erasmus. This scholar, who was an enthusiast for the

young king, was not long in answering to the call. When Richard Pace,

one of the most accomplished men of that age, met the learned Dutchman

at Ferrara, the latter took from his pocket a little box which he

always carried with him: "You don't know," he said, "what a treasure

you have in England: I will just show you;" and he took from the box a

letter of Henry's expressing in Latin of considerable purity the

tenderest regard for his correspondent.[229] Immediately after the

coronation Montjoy wrote to Erasmus: "Our Henry _Octavus_, or rather

_Octavius_, is on the throne. Come and behold the new star.[230] The

heavens smile, the earth leaps for joy, and all is flowing with milk,

nectar, and honey.[231] Avarice has fled away, liberality has

descended, scattering on every side with gracious hand her bounteous

largesses. Our king desires not gold or precious stones, but virtue,

glory, and immortality."

[229] Scripsit ad me suapte manu litteras amantissimas. Erasm. Vita ad

Ep.

[230] Ut hoc novum sidus aspicias. Ibid. p. 277: an expression of

Virgil, speaking of the deified Augustus.

[231] Ridet æther, exultat terra, omnia lactis, omnia mellis, omnia

nectaris sunt plena. Ibid.

In such glowing terms was the young king described by a man who had

seen him closely. Erasmus could resist no longer: he bade the pope

farewell, and hastened to London, where he met with a hearty welcome

from Henry. Science and power embraced each other: England was about

to have its Medici; and the friends of learning no longer doubted of

the regeneration of Britain.

[Sidenote: CROMWELL AND THE POPE.]

Julius II, who had permitted Erasmus to exchange the white frock of

the monks for the black dress of the seculars,[232] allowed him to

depart without much regret. This pontiff had little taste for letters,

but was fond of war, hunting, and the pleasures of the table. The

English sent him a dish to his taste in exchange for the scholar.

Sometime after Erasmus had left, as the pope was one day reposing from

the fatigues of the chase, he heard voices near him singing a strange

song. He asked with surprise what it meant.[233] "It is some

Englishmen," was the answer, and three foreigners entered the room,

each bearing a closely-covered jar, which the youngest presented on

his knees. This was Thomas Cromwell, who appears here for the first

time on the historic scene. He was the son of a blacksmith of Putney;

but he possessed a mind so penetrating, a judgment so sound, a heart

so bold, ability so consummate, such easy elocution, such an accurate

memory, such great activity, and so able a pen, that the most

brilliant career was foreboded him. At the age of twenty he left

England, being desirous to see the world, and began life as a clerk in

the English factory at Antwerp. Shortly after this two fellow-countrymen

from Boston came to him in their embarrassment. "What do you want?" he

asked them. "Our townsmen have sent us to the pope," they told him,

"to get the renewal of the _greater_ and _lesser pardons_, whose term

is nearly run, and which are necessary for the repair of our harbour.

But we do not know how to appear before him." Cromwell, prompt to

undertake everything, and knowing a little Italian, replied, "I will

go with you." Then slapping his forehead, he muttered to himself:

"What fish can I throw out as a bait to these greedy cormorants?" A

friend informed him that the pope was very fond of dainties. Cromwell

immediately ordered some exquisite jelly to be prepared, after the

English fashion, and set out for Italy with his provisions and his two

companions.

[232] Vestem albam commutavit in nigram. Epp. ad Servat.

[233] The pope suddenly marvelling at the strangeness of the song.

Fox. Acts, v. 364, ed. Lond. 1838.

This was the man who appeared before Julius after his return from the

chase. "Kings and princes alone eat of this preserve in England," said

Cromwell to the pope. One cardinal, who was a greedier "cormorant"

than his master, eagerly tasted the delicacy. "Try it," he exclaimed,

and the pope, relishing this new confectionary, immediately signed the

pardons, on condition however that the receipt for the jelly should be

left with him. "And thus were the _jelly-pardons_ obtained," says the

annalist. It was Cromwell's first exploit, and the man who began his

busy career by presenting jars of confectionary to the pope was also

the man destined to separate England from Rome.

[Sidenote: HENRY'S COURT.]

The court of the pontiff was not the only one in Europe devoted to

gaiety. Hunting parties were as common in London as at Rome. The young

king and his companions were at that time absorbed in balls, banquets,

and the other festivities inseparable from a new reign. He recollected

however that he must give a queen to his people: Catherine of Aragon

was still in England, and the council recommended her for his wife. He

admired her piety without caring to imitate it;[234] he was pleased

with her love for literature, and even felt some inclination towards

her.[235] His advisers represented to him that "Catherine, daughter of

the illustrious Isabella of Castile, was the image of her mother. Like

her, she possessed that wisdom and greatness of mind which win the

respect of nations; and that if she carried to any of his rivals her

marriage-portion and the Spanish alliance, the long-contested crown

of England would soon fall from his head.... We have the pope's

dispensation: will you be more scrupulous than he is?"[236] The

archbishop of Canterbury opposed in vain: Henry gave way, and on the

eleventh of June, about seven weeks after his father's death, the

nuptials were privately celebrated. On the twenty-third the king and

queen went in state through the city, the bride wearing a white satin

dress with her hair hanging down her back nearly to her feet. On the

next day they were crowned at Westminster with great magnificence.

[234] Admirabatur quidem uxoris sanctitatem. Sanders. p. 5.

[235] Ut amor plus apud regem posset. Morysin Apom. p. 14.

[236] Herbert's Henry VIII, p. 7. Fuller's Church Hist. Book V. p.

165. Erasm. Ep. ad Amerb. p. 19.

Then followed a series of expensive entertainments. The treasures

which the nobility had long concealed from fear of the old king, were

now brought out; the ladies glittered with gold and diamonds; and the

king and queen, whom the people never grew tired of admiring, amused

themselves like children with the splendour of their royal robes.

Henry VIII was the forerunner of Louis XIV. Naturally inclined to pomp

and pleasure, the idol of his people, a devoted admirer of female

beauty, and the husband of almost as many wives as Louis had

adulterous mistresses, he made the court of England what the son of

Anne of Austria made the court of France,--one constant scene of

amusements. He thought he could never get to the end of the riches

amassed by his prudent father. His youth--for he was only

eighteen--the gaiety of his disposition, the grace he displayed in all

bodily exercises, the tales of chivalry in which he delighted, and

which even the clergy recommended to their high-born hearers, the

flattery of his courtiers[237]--all these combined to set his young

imagination in a ferment. Wherever he appeared, all were filled with

admiration of his handsome countenance and graceful figure: such is

the portrait bequeathed to us by his greatest enemy.[238] "His brow

was made to wear the crown, and his majestic port the kingly mantle,"

adds Noryson.[239]

[237] Tyndale, Obedience of a Christian man (1528).

[238] Eximia corporis forma præditus, in qua etiam regiæ majestatis

augusta quædam species elucebat. (Sanderus de Schism., p. 4.) He was

endowed with uncommon gracefulness of person, in which there shone

forth a certain august air even of kingly majesty.

[239] Turner. Hist. Engl. i. p. 28.

[Sidenote: HENRY'S DANGER.]

Henry resolved to realize without delay the chivalrous combats and

fabulous splendours of the heroes of the Round Table, as if to prepare

himself for those more real struggles which he would one day have to

maintain against the papacy. At the sound of the trumpet the youthful

monarch would enter the lists, clad in costly armour, and wearing a

plume that fell gracefully down to the saddle of his vigorous courser;

"like an untamed bull," says an historian, "which breaks away from its

yoke and rushes into the arena." On one occasion, at the celebration

of the queen's churching, Catherine with her ladies was seated in a

tent of purple and gold, in the midst of an artificial forest, strewn

with rocks and variegated with flowers. On a sudden a monk stepped

forward, wearing a long brown robe, and kneeling before her, begged

permission to run a course. It was granted, and rising up he threw

aside his coarse frock, and appeared gorgeously armed for the tourney.

He was Charles Brandon, afterwards Duke of Suffolk, one of the

handsomest and strongest men in the kingdom, and the first after Henry

in military exercises. He was followed by a number of others dressed

in black velvet, with wide-brimmed hats on their heads, staffs in

their hands, and scarfs across their shoulders ornamented with cockle

shells, like pilgrims from St. James of Compostella. These also threw

off their disguise, and stood forth in complete armour. At their head

was Sir Thomas Boleyn, whose daughter was fated to surpass in beauty,

greatness, and misfortune, all the women of England. The tournament

began. Henry, who has been compared to Amadis in boldness, to the lion

hearted Richard in courage, and to Edward III in courtesy, did not

always escape danger in these chivalrous contests. One day the king

had forgotten to lower his vizor, and Brandon, his opponent, setting

off at full gallop, the spectators noticed the oversight, and cried

out in alarm. But nothing could stop their horses: the two cavaliers

met. Suffolk's lance was shivered against Henry, and the fragments

struck him in the face. Every one thought the king was dead, and some

were running to arrest Brandon, when Henry, recovering from the blow

which had fallen on his helmet, recommenced the combat, and ran six

new courses amid the admiring cries of his subjects. This intrepid

courage changed as he grew older into unsparing cruelty; and it was

this young tiger, whose movements were then so graceful, that at no

distant day tore with his bloody fangs the mother of his children.

CHAPTER XI.

The Pope excites to War--Colet's Sermon at St. Paul's--The

Flemish Campaign--Marriage of Louis XII and Princess

Mary--Letter from Anne Boleyn--Marriage of Brandon and

Mary--Oxford--Sir Thomas More at Court--Attack upon the

Monasteries--Colet's Household--He preaches Reform--The

Greeks and Trojans.

[Sidenote: THE POPE EXCITES TO WAR.]

A message from the pope stopped Henry in the midst of these

amusements. In Scotland, Spain, France, and Italy, the young king had

nothing but friends; a harmony which the papacy was intent on

disturbing. One day, immediately after high-mass had been celebrated,

the archbishop of Canterbury, on behalf of Julius II laid at his feet

a golden rose, which had been blessed by the pope, anointed with holy

oil, and perfumed with musk.[240] It was accompanied by a letter

saluting him as head of the Italian league. The warlike pontiff having

reduced the Venetians, desired to humble France, and to employ Henry

as the instrument of his vengeance. Henry, only a short time before,

had renewed his alliance with Louis XII; but the pope was not to be

baffled by such a trifle as that, and the young king soon began to

dream of rivalling the glories of Crecy, Poitiers, and Agincourt. To

no purpose did his wisest councillors represent to him that England,

in the most favourable times, had never been able to hold her ground

in France, and that the sea was the true field open to her conquests.

Julius, knowing his vanity, had promised to deprive Louis of the title

of Most Christian king, and confer it upon him. "His holiness hopes

that your grace will utterly exterminate the king of France," wrote

the king's agent.[241] Henry saw nothing objectionable in this very

unapostolic mission, and decided on substituting the terrible game of

war for the gentler sports of peace.

[240] Odorifico musco aspersam. Wilkins, Concilia, iii. p. 652.

[241] Letter of Cardinal Bembridge. Cotton MSS. Vitell. B. 2, p. 8.

[Sidenote: DEAN COLET'S SERMON.]

In the spring of 1511, after some unsuccessful attempts by his

generals, Henry determined to invade France in person. He was in the

midst of his preparations when the festival of Easter arrived. Dean

Colet had been appointed to preach before Henry on Good Friday, and in

the course of his sermon he showed more courage than could have been

expected in a scholar, for a spark of the Christian spirit was glowing

in his bosom. He chose for the subject of his discourse Christ's

victory over death and the grave. "Whoever takes up arms from

ambition," said he, "fights not under the standard of Christ, but of

Satan. If you desire to contend against your enemies, follow Jesus

Christ as your prince and captain, rather than Cæsar or Alexander."

His hearers looked at each other with astonishment; the friends of

polite literature became alarmed; and the priests, who were getting

uneasy at the uprising of the human mind, hoped to profit by this

opportunity of inflicting a deadly blow on their antagonists. There

were among them men whose opinions we must condemn, while we cannot

forbear respecting the zeal for what they believed to be the truth: of

this number were Bricot, Fitzjames, and above all Standish. Their

zeal, however, went a little too far on this occasion: they even

talked of _burning_ the dean.[242] After the sermon, Colet was

informed that the king requested his attendance in the garden of the

Franciscan monastery, and immediately the priests and monks crowded

round the gate, hoping to see their adversary led forth as a criminal.

"Let us be alone," said Henry; "put on your cap, Mr. Dean, and we will

take a walk. Cheer up," he continued, "you have nothing to fear. You

have spoken admirably of Christian charity, and have almost reconciled

me to the king of France; yet, as the contest is not one of choice,

but of necessity, I must beg of you in some future sermon to explain

this to my people. Unless you do so, I fear my soldiers may

misunderstand your meaning." Colet was not a John Baptist, and,

affected by the king's condescension, he gave the required

explanation. The king was satisfied, and exclaimed: "Let every man

have his doctor as he pleases; this man is my doctor, and I will drink

his health!" Henry was then young: very different was the fashion with

which in after-years he treated those who opposed him.

[242] Dr. Colet was in trouble and should have been burnt. Latimer's

Sermons. Parker edition, p. 440.

At heart the king cared little more about the victories of Alexander

than of Jesus Christ. Having fitted out his army, he embarked at the

end of June, accompanied by his almoner, Wolsey, who was rising into

favour, and set out for the war as if for a tournament. Shortly after

this, he went, all glittering with jewels, to meet the Emperor

Maximilian, who received him in a plain doublet and cloak of black

serge. After his victory at the battle of Spurs, Henry, instead of

pressing forward to the conquest of France, returned to the siege of

Teronenne, wasted his time in jousts and entertainments, conferred on

Wolsey the bishopric of Tournay which he had just captured, and then

returned to England, delighted at having made so pleasant an

excursion.

[Sidenote: MARRIAGE OF PRINCESS MARY.]

Louis XII was a widower in his 53rd year, and bowed down by the

infirmities of a premature old age; but being desirous of preventing,

at any cost, the renewal of the war, he sought the hand of Henry's

sister, the Princess Mary, then in her 16th year. Her affections were

already fixed on Charles Brandon, and for him she would have

sacrificed the splendour of a throne. But reasons of state opposed

their union. "The princess," remarked Wolsey, "will soon return to

England a widow with a royal dowry." This decided the question. The

disconsolate Mary, who was an object of universal pity, embarked at

Dover with a numerous train, and from Boulogne, where she was received

by the duke of Angoulême, she was conducted to the king, elated at the

idea of marrying the handsomest princess in Europe.

Among Mary's attendents was the youthful Anne Boleyn. Her father, Sir

Thomas Boleyn, had been charged by Henry, conjointly with the bishop

of Ely, with the diplomatic negotiations preliminary to this marriage.

Anne had passed her childhood at Hever Castle, surrounded by all that

could heat the imagination. Her maternal grandfather, the earl of

Surrey, whose eldest son had married the sister of Henry the Seventh's

queen, had filled, as did his sons also, the most important offices of

state. At the age probably of fourteen, when summoned by her father to

court, she wrote him the following letter in French, which appears to

refer to her departure for France:--

"SIR,--I find by your letter that you wish me to appear at

court in a manner becoming a respectable female, and

likewise that the queen will condescend to enter into

conversation with me; at this I rejoice, as I do to think,

that conversing with so sensible and elegant a princess will

make me even more desirous of continuing to speak and to

write good French; the more as it is by your earnest advice,

which (I acquaint you by this present writing) I shall

follow to the best of my ability.... As to myself, rest

assured that I shall not ungratefully look upon this

fatherly office as one that might be dispensed with; nor

will it tend to diminish my affection, quest [wish], and

deliberation to lead as holy a life as you may please to

desire of me; indeed my love for you is founded on so firm a

basis that it can never be impaired. I put an end to this my

lucubration after having very humbly craved your good will

and affection. Written at Hever, by

"Your very humble and obedient daughter,

ANNA DE BOULLAN."[243]

[243] The French original is preserved among Archbishop Parker's MSS.

at Corpus Christi College, Cambridge. The translation in the text is

(with a slight variation) from Sir H. Ellis's Collection of royal and

other letters. vol. ii. second series.

[Sidenote: MARY MARRIES BRANDON.]

Such were the feelings under which this young and interesting lady, so

calumniated by papistical writers, appeared at court.

The marriage was celebrated at Abbeville on the 9th of October 1514,

and after a sumptuous banquet, the king of France distributed his

royal largesses among the English lords, who were charmed by his

courtesy. But the morrow was a day of trial to the young queen. Louis

XII had dismissed the numerous train which had accompanied her, and

even Lady Guildford, to whom Henry had specially confided her. Three

only were left,--of whom the youthful Anne Boleyn was one. At this

separation, Mary gave way to the keenest sorrow. To cheer her spirits,

Louis proclaimed a grand tournament. Brandon hastened to France at its

first announcement, and carried off all the prizes; while the king,

languidly reclining on a couch, could with difficulty look upon the

brilliant spectacle over which his queen presided, sick at heart yet

radiant with youth and beauty. Mary was unable to conceal her emotion,

and Louisa of Savoy, who was watching her, divined her secret. But

Louis, if he experienced the tortures of jealousy, did not feel them

long, for his death took place on the 1st January 1515.

Even before her husband's funeral was over, Mary's heart beat high

with hope. Francis I, impatient to see her wedded to some unimportant

political personage, encouraged her love for Brandon. The latter, who

had been commissioned by Henry to convey to her his letters of

condolence, feared his master's anger if he should dare aspire to the

hand of the princess. But the widowed queen, who was resolved to brave

every thing, told her lover: "Either you marry me in four days or you

see me no more." The choice the king had made of his ambassador

announced that he would not behave very harshly. The marriage was

celebrated in the abbey of Clugny, and Henry pardoned them.

[Sidenote: OXFORD.]

While Mary returned to England, as Wolsey had predicted, Anne Boleyn

remained in France. Her father, desiring his daughter to become an

accomplished woman, intrusted her to the care of the virtuous Claude

of France, _the good queen_, at whose court the daughters of the first

families of the kingdom were trained. Margaret, duchess of Alencon,

the sister of Francis, and afterwards queen of Navarre, often charmed

the queen's circle by her lively conversation. She soon became deeply

attached to the young Englishwoman, and on the death of Claude took

her into her own family. Anne Boleyn was destined at no very remote

period to be at the court of London a reflection of the graceful

Margaret, and her relations with that princess were not without

influence on the English Reformation.

And indeed the literary movement which had passed from Italy into

France appeared at that time as if it would cross from France into

Britain. Oxford exercises over England as great an influence as the

metropolis; and it is almost always within its walls that a movement

commences whether for good or evil. At this period of our history, an

enthusiastic youth hailed with joy the first beams of the new sun, and

attacked with their sarcasms the idleness of the monks, the immorality

of the clergy, and the superstition of the people. Disgusted with the

priestcraft of the middle ages, and captivated by the writers of

antiquity and the purity of the Gospel, Oxford boldly called for a

reform which should burst the bonds of clerical domination and

emancipate the human mind. Men of letters thought for a while that

they had found the most powerful man in England in Wolsey, the ally

that would give them the victory.

He possessed little taste for learning, but seeing the wind of public

favour blow in that direction, he readily spread his sails before it.

He got the reputation of a profound divine, by quoting a few words of

Thomas Aquinas, and the fame of a Mæcenas and Ptolemy, by inviting the

learned to his gorgeous entertainments. "O happy cardinal," exclaimed

Erasmus, "who can surround his table with such torches!"[244]

[244] Cujus mensa talibus luminibus cingitur. Erasm. Ep. 725.

At that time the king felt the same ambition as his minister, and

having tasted in turn the pleasures of war and diplomacy, he now bent

his mind to literature. He desired Wolsey to present Sir Thomas More

to him.--"What shall I do at court?" replied the latter. "I shall be

as awkward as a man that never rode sitteth in a saddle." Happy in his

family circle, where his father, mother, and children, gathering round

the same table, formed a pleasing group, which the pencil of Holbein

has transmitted to us, More had no desire to leave it. But Henry was

not a man to put up with a refusal; he employed force almost to draw

More from his retirement, and in a short time he could not live

without the society of the man of letters. On calm and starlight

nights they would walk together upon the leads at the top of the

palace, discoursing on the motions of the heavenly bodies. If More did

not appear at court, Henry would go to Chelsea and share the frugal

dinner of the family with some of their simple neighbours. "Where,"

asked Erasmus, "where is the Athens, the Porch, or the Academe, that

can be compared with the court of England?... It is a seat of the

muses rather than a palace.... The golden age is reviving, and I

congratulate the world."

[Sidenote: THE MONASTERIES ASSAILED.]

But the friends of classical learning were not content with the

cardinal's banquets or the king's favours. They wanted victories, and

their keenest darts were aimed at the cloisters, those strong

fortresses of the hierarchy and of uncleanness.[245] The abbot of

Saint Albans, having taken a married woman for his concubine, and

placed her at the head of a nunnery, his monks had followed his

example, and indulged in the most scandalous debauchery. Public

indignation was so far aroused, that Wolsey himself--Wolsey, the

father of several illegitimate children, and who was suffering the

penalty of his irregularities[246]--was carried away by the spirit of

the age, and demanded of the pope a general reform of manners. When

they heard of this request, the priests and friars were loud in their

outcries. "What are you about?" said they to Wolsey. "You are giving

the victory to the enemies of the church, and your only reward will be

the hatred of the whole world." As this was not the cardinal's game,

he abandoned his project, and conceived one more easily executed.

Wishing to deserve the name of "Ptolemy" conferred on him by Erasmus,

he undertook to build two large colleges, one at Ipswich, his native

town, the other at Oxford; and found it convenient to take the money

necessary for their endowment, not from his own purse, but from the

purses of the monks. He pointed out to the pope twenty-two monasteries

in which (he said) vice and impiety had taken up their abode.[247] The

pope granted their secularization, and Wolsey having thus procured a

revenue of £2000 sterling, laid the foundations of his college, traced

out various courts, and constructed spacious kitchens. He fell into

disgrace before he had completed his work, which led Gualter to say

with a sneer: "He began a college and built a cook's shop."[248] But a

great example had been set: the monasteries had been attacked, and the

first breach made in them by a cardinal. Cromwell, Wolsey's secretary,

remarked how his master had set about his work, and in after-years

profited by the lesson.

[245] Loca sacra etiam ipsa Dei templa monialium stupro et sanguinis

et seminis effusione profanare non verentur. Papal bull. Wilkins,

Concilia, p. 632.

[246] Morbus venereus. Burnet.

[247] Wherein much vice and wickedness was harboured. Strype, i. 169.

The names of the monasteries are given. Ibid. ii. 132.

[248] Instituit collegium et absolvit popinam. Fuller, cent. xvi. p.

169.

[Sidenote: COLET PREACHES THE REFORMATION.]

It was fortunate for letters that they had sincerer friends in London

than Wolsey. Of these were Colet, dean of St. Paul's, whose house was

the centre of the literary movement which preceded the Reformation,

and his friend and guest Erasmus. The latter was the hardy pioneer who

opened the road of antiquity to modern Europe. One day he would

entertain Colet's guests with the account of a new manuscript; on

another, with a discussion on the forms of ancient literature; and at

other times he would attack the schoolmen and monks, when Colet would

take the same side. The only antagonist who dared measure his strength

with him was Sir Thomas More, who, although a layman, stoutly defended

the ordinances of the church.

But mere table-talk could not satisfy the dean: a numerous audience

attended his sermons at St. Paul's. The spirituality of Christ's

words, the authority which characterizes them, their admirable

simplicity and mysterious depth, had deeply charmed him: "I admire the

writings of the apostles," he would say, "but I forget them almost,

when I contemplate the wonderful majesty of Jesus Christ."[249]

Setting aside the tests prescribed by the church, he explained, like

Zwingle, the Gospel of St. Matthew. Nor did he stop here. Taking

advantage of the Convocation, he delivered a sermon on _conformation_

and _reformation_, which was one of the numerous forerunners of the

great reform of the sixteenth century. "We see strange and heretical

ideas appear in our days, and no wonder," said he. "But you must know

there is no heresy more dangerous to the church than the vicious lives

of its priests. A reformation is needed; and that reformation must

begin with the bishops and be extended to the priests. The clergy once

reformed, we shall proceed to the reformation of the people."[250]

Thus spoke Colet, while the citizens of London listened to him with

rapture, and called him a new Saint Paul.[251]

[249] Ita suspiciebat admirabilem illam Christi majestatem. Erasm.

Epp. 707.

[250] Colet, Sermon to the Convocation.

[251] Pene apostolus Paulus habitus est. (Polyd. Virg. p. 618.) He was

accounted almost an apostle Paul.

Such discourses could not be allowed to pass unpunished. Fitzjames,

bishop of London, was a superstitious obstinate old man of eighty,

fond of money, excessively irritable, a poor theologian, and a slave

to Duns Scotus, the _subtle doctor_. Calling to his aid two other

bishops as zealous as himself for the preservation of abuses, namely,

Bricot and Standish, he denounced the dean of St. Paul's to Warham.

The archbishop having inquired what he had done: "What has he done?"

rejoined the bishop of London. "He teaches that we must not worship

images; he translates the Lord's Prayer into English; he pretends that

the text _Feed my sheep_, does not include the temporal supplies the

clergy draw from their flock. And besides all this," he continued with

some embarrassment, "he has spoken against those who carry their

manuscripts into the pulpit and read their sermons!" As this was the

bishop's practice, the primate could not refrain from smiling; and

since Colet refused to justify himself, Warham did so for him.

[Sidenote: GREEKS AND TROJANS.]

From that time Colet laboured with fresh zeal to scatter the darkness.

He devoted the larger portion of his fortune to found the celebrated

school of St. Paul, of which the learned Lilly was the first master.

Two parties, the _Greeks_ and the _Trojans_, entered the lists, not to

contend with sword and spear, as in the ancient epic, but with the

tongue, the pen, and sometimes the fist. If the _Trojans_ (the

obscurants) were defeated in the public disputations, they had their

revenge in the secret of the confessional. _Cave a Græcis ne fias

hereticus_,[252] was the watchword of the priests--their daily lesson

to the youths under their care. They looked on the school founded by

Colet as the monstrous horse of the perjured Sinon, and announced that

from its bosom would inevitably issue the destruction of the people.

Colet and Erasmus replied to the monks by inflicting fresh blows.

Linacre, a thorough literary enthusiast,--Grocyn, a man of sarcastic

humour but generous heart,--and many others, reinforced the _Grecian_

phalanx. Henry himself used to take one of them with him during his

journeys, and if any unlucky _Trojan_ ventured in his presence to

attack the tongue of Plato and of Saint Paul, the young king would set

his Hellenian on him. Not more numerous were the contests witnessed in

times of yore on the classic banks of Xanthus and Simois.

[252] Beware of the Greeks, lest you should become a heretic.

CHAPTER XII.

Wolsey--His first Commission--His complaisance and

Dioceses--Cardinal, Chancellor, and Legate--Ostentation and

Necromancy--His Spies and Enmity--Pretensions of the Clergy.

[Sidenote: WOLSEY.]

Just as everything seemed tending to a reformation, a powerful priest

rendered the way more difficult.

One of the most striking personages of the age was then making his

appearance on the stage of the world. It was the destiny of that man,

in the reign of Henry VIII, to combine extreme ability with extreme

immorality; and to be a new and striking example of the wholesome

truth that immorality is more effectual to destroy a man than ability

to save him. Wolsey was the last high-priest of Rome in England, and

when his fall startled the nation, it was the signal of a still more

striking fall--the fall of popery.

Thomas Wolsey, the son of a wealthy butcher of Ipswich, according to

the common story, which is sanctioned by high authority, had attained

under Henry VII the post of almoner, at the recommendation of Sir

Richard Nanfan, treasurer of Calais and an old patron of his. But

Wolsey was not at all desirous of passing his life in saying mass. As

soon as he had discharged the regular duties of his office, instead of

spending the rest of the day in idleness, as his colleagues did, he

strove to win the good graces of the persons round the king.

Fox, Bishop of Winchester, keeper of the privy-seal under Henry VII,

uneasy at the growing power of the earl of Surrey, looked about for a

man to counterbalance them. He thought he had found such a one in

Wolsey. It was to oppose the Surreys, the grandfather and uncles of

Anne Boleyn, that the son of the Ipswich butcher was drawn from his

obscurity. This is not an unimportant circumstance in our narrative.

Fox began to praise Wolsey in the king's hearing, and at the same time

he encouraged the almoner to give himself to public affairs. The

latter was not deaf,[253] and soon found an opportunity of winning his

sovereign's favour.

[253] Hæc Wolseius non surdis audierit auribus. (Polyd. Virg. 622.)

Wolsey heard these words, not with deaf ears.

[Sidenote: HIS FIRST SERVICES UNDER HENRY VII.]

The king having business of importance with the emperor, who was then

in Flanders, sent for Wolsey, explained his wishes, and ordered him

to prepare to set out. The chaplain determined to show Henry VII how

capable he was of serving him. It was long past noon when he took

leave of the king at Richmond--at four o'clock he was in London, at

seven at Gravesend. By travelling all night he reached Dover just as

the packet-boat was about to sail. After a passage of three hours he

reached Calais, whence he travelled post, and the same evening

appeared before Maximilian. Having obtained what he desired, he set

off again by night, and on the next day but one reached Richmond,

three days and some few hours after his departure. The king, catching

sight of him just as he was going to mass, sharply inquired, why he

had not set out. "Sire, I am just returned," answered Wolsey, placing

the emperor's letters in his master's hands. Henry was delighted, and

Wolsey saw that his fortune was made.

The courtiers hoped at first that Wolsey, like an inexperienced pilot,

would run his vessel on some hidden rock; but never did helmsman

manage his ship with more skill. Although twenty years older than

Henry VIII the almoner danced, and sang, and laughed with the prince's

companions, and amused his new master with tales of scandal and

quotations from Thomas Aquinas. The young king found his house a

temple of paganism, a shrine of voluptuousness;[254] and while Henry's

councillors were entreating him to leave his pleasures and attend to

business, Wolsey was continually reminding him that he ought to devote

his youth to learning and amusement, and leave the toils of government

to others. Wolsey was created bishop of Tournay during the campaign in

Flanders, and on his return to England, was raised to the sees of

Lincoln and of York. Three mitres had been placed on his head in one

year. He found at last the vein he so ardently sought for.

[254] Domi suæ voluptatum omnium sacrarium fecit. (Polyd. Virg. 623.)

He made his house a shrine of all voluptuousness.

[Sidenote: OSTENTATION AND NECROMANCY.]

And yet he was not satisfied. The archbishop of Canterbury had

insisted, as primate, that the cross of York should be lowered to his.

Wolsey was not of a disposition to concede this, and when he found

that Warham was not content with being his equal, he resolved to make

him his inferior. He wrote to Paris and to Rome. Francis I, who

desired to conciliate England, demanded the purple for Wolsey, and the

archbishop of York received the title of Cardinal St. Cecilia beyond

the Tiber. In November 1515, his hat was brought by the envoy of the

pope: "It would have been better to have given him a Tyburn tippet,"

said some indignant Englishmen; "these Romish hats never brought good

into England"[255]--a saying that has become proverbial.

[255] Latimer's Sermons (Parker Society), p. 119.

This was not enough for Wolsey: he desired secular greatness above all

things. Warham, tired of contending with so arrogant a rival, resigned

the seals, and the king immediately transferred them to the cardinal.

At length a bull appointed him legate _a latere_ of the holy see, and

placed under his jurisdiction all the colleges, monasteries, spiritual

courts, bishops, and the primate himself (1519). From that time, as

lord-chancellor of England and legate, Wolsey administered every thing

in church and state. He filled his coffers with money procured both at

home and from abroad, and yielded without restraint to his dominant

vices, ostentation and pride. Whenever he appeared in public, two

priests, the tallest and comeliest that could be found, carried before

him two huge silver crosses, one to mark his dignity as archbishop,

the other as papal legate. Chamberlains, gentlemen, pages, sergeants,

chaplains, choristers, clerks, cupbearers, cooks, and other domestics,

to the number of more than 500, among whom were nine or ten lords and

the stateliest yeomen of the country, filled his palace. He generally

wore a dress of scarlet velvet and silk, with hat and gloves of the

same colour. His shoes were embroidered with gold and silver, inlaid

with pearls and precious stones. A kind of papacy was thus forming in

England; for wherever pride flourishes there popery is developed.

One thing occupied Wolsey more than all the pomp with which he was

surrounded: his desire, namely, to captivate the king. For this

purpose he cast Henry's nativity, and procured an amulet which he wore

constantly, in order to charm his master by its magic properties.[256]

Then having recourse to a still more effectual necromancy, he selected

from among the licentious companions of the young monarch those of the

keenest discernment and most ambitious character; and after binding

them to him by a solemn oath, he placed them at court to be as eyes

and ears to him. Accordingly not a word was said in the presence of

the monarch, particularly against Wolsey, of which he was not informed

an hour afterwards. If the culprit was not in favour, he was expelled

without mercy; in the contrary case, the minister sent him on some

distant mission. The queen's ladies, the king's chaplains, and even

their confessors, were the cardinal's spies. He pretended to

omnipresence, as the pope to infallibility.

[256] He calked [calculated] the king's nativity ... he made by craft

of necromancy graven imagery to bear upon him, wherewith he bewitched

the king's mind. Tyndale's Expositions (Parker Soc.) p. 308.

Wolsey was not devoid of certain showy virtues, for he was liberal to

the poor even to affectation, and as chancellor inexorable to every

kind of irregularity, and strove particularly to make the rich and

high-born bend beneath his power. Men of learning alone obtained from

him some little attention, and hence Erasmus calls him "the Achates of

a new Æneas." But the nation was not to be carried away by the

eulogies of a few scholars. Wolsey--a man of more than suspected

morals, double-hearted, faithless to his promises, oppressing the

people with heavy taxes, and exceedingly arrogant to every

body--Wolsey soon became hated by the people of England.

[Sidenote: A CLAIM OF THE CLERGY.]

The elevation of a prince of the Roman church could not be favourable

to the Reformation. The priests, encouraged by it, determined to make

a stand against the triple attack of the learned, the reformers, and

the state; and they soon had an opportunity of trying their strength.

Holy orders had become during the middle ages a warrant for every sort

of crime. Parliament, desirous of correcting this abuse and checking

the encroachments of the church, declared in the year 1513 that any

ecclesiastic, accused of theft or murder, should be tried before the

secular tribunals. Exceptions, however, were made in favour of

bishops, priests, and deacons--that is to say, nearly all the clergy.

Notwithstanding this timid precaution, an insolent clerk, the abbot of

Winchelcomb, began the battle by exclaiming at St. Paul's: "_Touch not

mine anointed_, said the Lord." At the same time Wolsey, accompanied

by a long train of priests and prelates, had an audience of the king,

at which he said with hands upraised to heaven: "Sire, to try a clerk,

is a violation of God's laws." This time, however, Henry did not give

way. "By God's will, we are king of England," he replied, "and the

kings of England in times past had never any superior but God only.

Therefore know you well that we will maintain the right of our crown."

He saw distinctly that to put the clergy above the laws was to put

them above the throne. The priests were beaten, but not disheartened:

perseverance is a characteristic feature of every hierarchical order.

Not walking by faith, they walk all the more by sight; and skilful

combinations supply the place of the holy aspirations of the

Christian. Humble disciples of the Gospel were soon to experience

this, for the clergy by a few isolated attacks were about to flesh

themselves for the great struggles of the Reformation.

CHAPTER XIII.

The Wolves--Richard Hun--A murder--Verdict of the Jury--Hun

condemned, and his Character vindicated--The Gravesend

Passage-boat--A festival disturbed--Brown tortured--Visit

from his Wife--A Martyr--Character of Erasmus--1516 and

1517--Erasmus goes to Basle.

[Sidenote: THE WOLVES--RICHARD HUN.]

It is occasionally necessary to soften down the somewhat exaggerated

colours in which contemporary writers describe the Romish clergy; but

there are certain appellations which history is bound to accept. The

_wolves_, for so the priests were called, by attacking the Lords and

Commons had attempted a work beyond their reach. They turned their

wrath on others. There were many shepherds endeavouring to gather

together the sheep of the Lord beside the peaceful waters: these must

be frightened, and the sheep driven into the howling wilderness. "The

wolves" determined to fall upon the Lollards.

There lived in London an honest tradesman named Richard Hun, one of

those witnesses of the truth who, sincere though unenlightened, have

often been found in the bosom of Catholicism. It was his practice to

retire to his closet and spend a portion of each day in the study of

the Bible. At the death of one of his children, the priest required of

him an exorbitant fee, which Hun refused to pay, and for which he was

summoned before the legate's court. Animated by that public spirit,

which characterizes the people of England, he felt indignant that an

Englishman should be cited before a foreign tribunal, and laid an

information against the priest and his counsel under the act of

_præmunire_. Such boldness--most extraordinary at that time--

exasperated the clergy beyond all bounds. "If these proud

citizens are allowed to have their way," exclaimed the monks, "every

layman will dare to resist a priest."

[Sidenote: RICHARD HUN'S MURDER.]

Exertions were accordingly made to snare the pretended rebel in the

trap of heresy;[257] he was thrown into the Lollards' tower at St.

Paul's, and an iron collar was fastened round his neck, attached to

which was a chain so heavy that neither man nor beast (says Foxe)

would have been able to bear it long. When taken before his judges,

they could not convict him of heresy, and it was observed with

astonishment "that he had his beads in prison with him."[258] They

would have set him at liberty, after inflicting on him perhaps some

trifling penance--but then, what a bad example it would be, and who

could stop the reformers, if it was so easy to resist the papacy?

Unable to triumph by justice, certain fanatics resolved to triumph by

crime.

[257] Foxe, Acts and Mon. ii. p. 8. Folio, 1684, London.

[258] Foxe, Acts and Mon. ii. p. 8. Folio. 1684, London.

At midnight on the 2nd December--the day of his examination--three men

stealthily ascended the stairs of the Lollards' tower: the bellringer

went first carrying a torch; a sergeant named Charles Joseph followed,

and last came the bishop's chancellor. Having entered the cell, they

went up to the bed on which Hun was lying, and finding that he was

asleep, the chancellor said: "Lay hands on the thief." Charles Joseph

and the bellringer fell upon the prisoner, who, awaking with a start,

saw at a glance what this midnight visit meant. He resisted the

assassins at first, but was soon overpowered and strangled. Charles

Joseph then fixed the dead man's belt round his neck, the bellringer

helped to raise his lifeless body, and the chancellor slipped the

other end of the belt through a ring fixed in the wall. They then

placed his cap on his head, and hastily quitted the cell.[259]

Immediately after, the conscience-stricken Charles Joseph got on

horseback and rode from the city; the bellringer left the cathedral

and hid himself: the crime dispersed the criminals. The chancellor

alone kept his ground, and he was at prayers when the news was brought

him that the turnkey had found Hun hanging. "He must have killed

himself in despair," said the hypocrite. But every one knew poor Hun's

Christian feelings. "It is the priests who have murdered him," was the

general cry in London, and an inquest was ordered to be held on his

body.

[259] Ibid. p. 13. "And so all we murdered Hun ... and so Hun was

hanged." (Evidence of Charles Joseph.)

[Sidenote: HUN CONDEMNED.]

On Tuesday, the 5th of December, William Barnwell the city coroner,

the two sheriffs, and twenty-four jurymen, proceeded to the Lollards'

tower. They remarked that the belt was so short that the head could

not be got out of it, and that consequently it had never been placed

in it voluntarily, and hence the jury concluded that the suspension

was an after-thought of some other persons. Moreover they found that

the ring was too high for the poor victim to reach it,--that the body

bore marks of violence--and that traces of blood were to be seen in

the cell: "Wherefore all we find by God and all our consciences (runs

the verdict), that Richard Hun was murdered. Also we acquit the said

Richard Hun of his own death."[260]

[260] For particulars of the Inquest, see Foxe, Acts and Mon. ii. 14.

It was but too true, and the criminals themselves confessed it. The

miserable Charles Joseph having returned home on the evening of the

6th December, said to his maid-servant: "If you will swear to keep my

secret, I will tell you all."--"Yes, master," she replied, "if it is

neither felony nor treason."--Joseph took a book, swore the girl on

it, and then said to her: "I have killed Richard Hun!"--"O master!

how? he was called a worthy man."--"I would lever [rather] than a

hundred pounds it were not done," he made answer; "but what is done

cannot be undone." He then rushed out of the house.

The clergy foresaw what a serious blow this unhappy affair would be to

them, and to justify themselves they examined Hun's Bible (it was

Wickliffe's version), and having read in the preface that "poor men

and idiots [simple folks] have the truth of the holy Scriptures more

than a thousand prelates and religious men and clerks of the school,"

and further, that "the pope ought to be called Antichrist," the bishop

of London, assisted by the bishops of Durham and Lincoln, declared Hun

guilty of heresy, and on the 20th December his dead body was burnt at

Smithfield. "Hun's bone's have been burnt, and therefore he was a

heretic," said the priests; "he was a heretic, and therefore he

committed suicide."

The triumph of the clergy was of short duration; for almost at same

time William Horsey, the bishop's chancellor, Charles Joseph, and John

Spalding the bellringer, were convicted of the murder. A bill passed

the Commons restoring Hun's property to his family and vindicating his

character; the Lords accepted the bill, and the king himself said to

the priests: "Restore to these wretched children the property of their

father whom you so cruelly murdered to our great and just

horror."[261]--"If the clerical theocracy should gain the mastery of

the state," was the general remark in London, "it would not only be a

very great lie, but the most frightful tyranny!" England has never

gone back since that time, and a theocratic rule has always inspired

the sound portion of the nation with a just and insurmountable

antipathy. Such were the events taking place in England shortly before

the Reformation. This was not all.

[261] Verdict on the Inquest; Foxe, 12.

[Sidenote: THE GRAVESEND BOAT.]

The clergy had not been fortunate in Hun's affair, but they were not

for that reason unwilling to attempt a new one.

In the spring of 1517--the year in which Luther posted up his

_theses_--a priest, whose manners announced a man swollen with pride,

happened to be on board the passage-boat from London to Gravesend with

an intelligent and pious Christian of Ashford, by name John Brown. The

passengers, as they floated down the stream, were amusing themselves

by watching the banks glide away from them, when the priest, turning

towards Brown, said to him insolently: "You are too near me, get

farther off. Do you know who I am?"--"No, sir," answered

Brown.--"Well, then, you must know that I am a priest."--"Indeed, sir;

are you a parson, or vicar, or a lady's chaplain?"--"No; I am a

_soul-priest_," he haughtily replied; "I sing mass to save

souls."--"Do you, sir," rejoined Brown somewhat ironically, "that is

well done; and can you tell me where you find the soul when you begin

the mass?"--"I cannot," said the priest.--"And where you leave it when

the mass is ended?"--"I do not know."--"What!" continued Brown with

marks of astonishment, "you do not know where you find the soul or

where you leave it ... and yet you say that you save it!"--"Go thy

ways," said the priest angrily, "thou art a heretic, and I will be

even with thee." Thenceforward the priest and his neighbour conversed

no more together. At last they reached Gravesend, and the boat

anchored.

As soon as the priest had landed, he hastened to two of his friends,

Walter and William More, and all three mounting their horses, set off

for Canterbury, and denounced Brown to the archbishop.

[Sidenote: BROWN PUT TO THE TORTURE.]

In the meantime John Brown had reached home. Three days later, his

wife, Elizabeth, who had just left her chamber, went to church,

dressed all in white, to return thanks to God for delivering her in

the perils of childbirth. Her husband, assisted by her daughter Alice

and the maid-servant, were preparing for their friends the feast usual

on such occasions, and they had all of them taken their seats at

table, joy beaming on every face, when the street-door was abruptly

opened, and Chilton, the constable, a cruel and savage man,

accompanied by several of the archbishop's apparitors, seized upon the

worthy townsman. All sprang from their seats in alarm; Elizabeth and

Alice uttered the most heart-rending cries; but the primate's

officers, without showing any emotion, pulled Brown out of the house,

and placed him on horseback, tying his feet under the animal's

belly.[262] It is a serious matter to jest with a priest. The

cavalcade rode off quickly, and Brown was thrown into prison, and

there left forty days.

[262] Foxe, Acts, ii, p. 7. His feet bound under his own horse.

At the end of this time, the archbishop of Canterbury and the bishop

of Rochester called before them the impudent fellow who doubted

whether a priest's mass could save souls, and required him to retract

this "blasphemy." But Brown, if he did not believe in the mass,

believed in the Gospel: "Christ was once offered," he said, "to take

away the sins of many. It is by this sacrifice we are saved, and not

by the repetitions of the priests." At this reply the archbishop made

a sign to the executioners, one of whom took off the shoes and

stockings of this pious Christian, while the other brought in a pan of

burning coals, upon which they set the martyr's feet.[263] The English

laws in truth forbade torture to be inflicted on any subject of the

crown, but the clergy thought themselves above the laws. "Confess the

efficacity of the mass," cried the two bishops to poor Brown. "If I

deny my Lord upon earth," he replied, "He will deny me before his

Father in heaven." The flesh was burnt off the soles of the feet even

to the bones, and still John Brown remained unshaken. The bishops

therefore ordered him to be given over to the secular arm that he

might be burnt alive.

[263] His bare feet were set upon hot burning coals. The Lollards

(edit. Tract Soc.), p. 149.

On the Saturday preceding the festival of Pentecost, in the year 1517,

the martyr was led back to Ashford, where he arrived just as the day

was drawing to a close. A number of idle persons were collected in the

street, and among them was Brown's maid-servant, who ran off crying to

the house, and told her mistress: "I have seen him!... He was bound,

and they were taking him to prison."[264] Elizabeth hastened to her

husband and found him sitting with his feet in the stocks, his

features changed by suffering, and expecting to be burnt alive on the

morrow. The poor woman sat down beside him, weeping most bitterly,

while he, being hindered by his chains, could not so much as bend

towards her. "I cannot set my feet to the ground," said he, "for

bishops have burnt them to the bones; but they could not burn my

tongue and prevent my confessing the Lord.... O Elizabeth! ...

continue to love him for He is good; and bring up our children in his

fear."

[264] A young maid of his house coming by saw her master; she ran

home. Ibid. p. 50.

[Sidenote: MARTYRDOM.]

On the following morning--it was Whitsunday--the brutal Chilton and

his assistants led Brown to the place of execution, and fastened him

to the stake. Elizabeth and Alice, with his other children and his

friends, desirous of receiving his last sigh, surrounded the pile,

uttering cries of anguish. The fagots were set on fire, while Brown,

calm and collected, and full of confidence in the blood of the

Saviour, clasped his hands, and repeated this hymn, which Foxe has

preserved:--[265]

O Lord, I yield me to thy grace,

Grant me mercy for my trespass;

Let never the fiend my soul chase.

Lord, I will bow, and thou shalt beat,

Let never my soul come in hell-heat.

[265] Foxe, Acts and Mon. ii. p. 8 (folio 1684), iv. p. 132 (Lond.

1838). We shall in future refer to the latter edition, as being more

accessible.

The martyr was silent: the flames had consumed their victim. Then

redoubled cries of anguish rent the air. His wife and daughter seemed

as if they would lose their senses. The bystanders showed them the

tenderest compassion, and turned with a movement of indignation

towards the executioners. The brutal Chilton perceiving this, cried

out:--"Come along; let us toss the heretic's children into the flames,

lest they should one day spring from their father's ashes."[266] He

rushed towards Alice, and was about to lay hold of her, when the

maiden shrank back screaming with horror. To the end of her life, she

recollected the fearful moment, and to her we are indebted for the

particulars. The fury of the monster was checked. Such were the scenes

passing in England shortly before the Reformation.

[266] Bade cast in his children also, for they would spring of his

ashes. Ibid.

The priests were not yet satisfied, for the scholars still remained in

England: if they could not be burnt, they should at least be banished.

They set to work accordingly. Standish, bishop of St. Asaph, a sincere

man, as it would seem, but fanatical, was inveterate in his hatred of

Erasmus, who had irritated him by an idle sarcasm. When speaking of

_St. Asaph's_ it was very common to abbreviate it into _St. As's_; and

as Standish was a theologian of no great learning, Erasmus, in his

jesting way, would sometimes call him _Episcopus a Sancto Asino_. As

the bishop could not destroy Colet, the disciple, he flattered himself

that he should triumph over the master.

[Sidenote: 1516 and 1517.]

Erasmus knew Standish's intentions. Should he commence in England that

struggle with the papacy which Luther was about to begin in Germany?

It was no longer possible to steer a middle course: he must either

fight or leave. The Dutchman was faithful to his nature--we may even

say, to his vocation: he left the country.

Erasmus was, in his time, the head of the great literary community. By

means of his connexions and his correspondence, which extended over

all Europe, he established between those countries where learning was

reviving, an interchange of ideas and manuscripts. The pioneer of

antiquity, an eminent critic, a witty satirist, the advocate of

correct taste, and a restorer of literature, one only glory was

wanting: he had not the creative spirit, the heroic soul of a Luther.

He calculated with no little skill, could detect the smile on the lips

or the knitting of the brows; but he had not that self-abandonment,

that enthusiasm for the truth, that firm confidence in God, without

which nothing great can be done in the world, and least of all in the

church. "Erasmus _had_ much, but _was_ little," said one of his

biographers.[267]

[267] Ad. Muller.

In the year 1517 a crisis had arrived: the period of the revival was

over, that of the Reformation was beginning. The restoration of

letters was succeeded by the regeneration of religion: the days of

criticism and neutrality by those of courage and action. Erasmus was

then only forty-nine years old; but he had finished his career. From

being first, he must now be second: the monk of Wittemberg dethroned

him. He looked around himself in vain: placed in a new country, he had

lost his road. A hero was needed to inaugurate the great movement of

modern times: Erasmus was a mere man of letters.

[Sidenote: ERASMUS GOES TO BASLE.]

When attacked by Standish in 1516, the literary king determined to

quit the court of England, and take refuge in a printing-office. But

before laying down his sceptre at the foot of a Saxon monk, he

signalized the end of his reign by the most brilliant of his

publications. The epoch of 1516-17, memorable for the theses of

Luther, was destined to be equally remarkable by a work which was to

imprint on the new times their essential character. What distinguishes

the Reformation from all anterior revivals is the union of learning

with piety, and a faith more profound, more enlightened, and based on

the word of God. The Christian people was then emancipated from the

tutelage of the schools and the popes, and its charter of

enfranchisement was the Bible. The sixteenth century did more than its

predecessors: it went straight to the fountain (the Holy Scriptures),

cleared it of weeds and brambles, plumbed its depths, and caused its

abundant streams to pour forth on all around. The Reformation age

studied the Greek Testament, which the clerical age had almost

forgotten,--and this is its greatest glory. Now the first explorer of

this divine source was Erasmus. When attacked by the hierarchy, the

leader of the schools withdrew from the splendid halls of Henry VIII.

It seemed to him that the new era which he had announced to the world

was rudely interrupted: he could do nothing more by his conversation

for the country of the Tudors. But he carried with him those precious

leaves, the fruit of his labours--a book which would do more than he

desired. He hastened to Basle, and took up his quarters in Frobenius's

printing-office,[268] where he not only laboured himself, but made

others labour. England will soon receive the seed of the new life, and

the Reformation is about to begin.

[268] Frobenio, ut nullius officinæ plus debeant sacrarum studia

literarum. (Erasm. Ep. p. 330.) The study of sacred literature was

more indebted to no printing-office than to that of Frobenius.

BOOK XVIII

THE REVIVAL OF THE CHURCH.

CHAPTER I.

Four reforming Powers--Which reformed England?--Papal

Reform?--Episcopal Reform?--Royal Reform?--What is required

in a legitimate Reform--The Share of the Kingly Power--Share

of the Episcopal Authority--High and Low Church--Political

Events--The Greek and Latin New Testament--Thoughts of

Erasmus--Enthusiasm and anger--Desire of Erasmus--Clamours

of the Priests--Their Attack at Court--Astonishment of

Erasmus--His Labours for this Work--Edward Lee; his

Character--Lee's _Tragedy_--Conspiracy.

It was within the province of four powers in the sixteenth century to

effect a reformation of the church: these were the papacy, the

episcopate, the monarchy, and Holy Scripture.

The Reformation in England was essentially the work of Scripture.

The only true reformation is that which emanates from the word of God.

The Holy Scriptures, by bearing witness to the incarnation, death, and

resurrection of the Son of God, create in man by the Holy Ghost a

faith which justifies him. That faith which produces in him a new

life, unites him to Christ, without his requiring a chain of bishops

or a Roman mediator, who would separate him from the Saviour instead

of drawing him nearer. This Reformation _by the word_ restores that

spiritual Christianity which the outward and hierarchical religion had

destroyed; and from the regeneration of individuals naturally results

the regeneration of the church.

[Sidenote: THE REFORMATION, NOT ROYAL.]

The Reformation of England, perhaps to a greater extent than that of

the continent, was effected by the word of God. This statement may

appear paradoxical, but it is not the less true. Those great

individualities we meet with in Germany, Switzerland, and France--men

like Luther, Zwingle, and Calvin--do not appear in England; but Holy

Scripture is widely circulated. What brought light into the British

isles subsequently to the year 1517, and on a more extended scale

after the year 1526, was the word--the invisible power of the

invisible God. The religion of the anglo-Saxon race--a race called

more than any other to circulate the oracles of God throughout the

world--is particularly distinguished by its biblical character.

The Reformation of England could not be papal. No reform can be hoped

from that which ought to be not only reformed but abolished; and

besides, no monarch dethrones himself. We may even affirm that the

popedom has always felt a peculiar affection for its conquests in

Britain, and that they would have been the last it would have

renounced. A serious voice had declared in the middle of the fifteenth

century: "A reform is neither in the will nor in the power of the

popes."[269]

[269] James of Juterbock, prior of the Carthusians: De septem ecclesiæ

statibus opusculum.

The Reformation of England was not episcopal. Roman hierarchism will

never be abolished by Roman bishops. An episcopal assembly may

perhaps, as at Constance, depose three competing popes, but then it

will be to save the papacy. And if the bishops could not abolish the

papacy, still less could they reform themselves. The then existing

episcopal power being at enmity with the word of God, and the slave of

its own abuses, was incapable of renovating the church. On the

contrary, it exerted all its influence to prevent such a renovation.

The Reformation in England was not royal. Samuel, David, and Josiah

were able to do something for the raising up of the church, when God

again turned his face towards it; but a king cannot rob his people of

their religion, and still less can he give them one. It has often been

repeated that "the English Reformation derives its origin from the

monarch;" but the assertion is incorrect. The work of God, here as

elsewhere, cannot be put in comparison with the work of the king; and

if the latter was infinitely surpassed in importance, it was also

preceded in time by many years. The monarch was still keeping up a

vigorous resistance behind his intrenchments, when God had already

decided the victory along the whole line of operations.

[Sidenote: TWO PARTIES IN THE CHURCH.]

Shall we be told that a reform effected by any other principle than

the established authorities, both in _church_ and _state_, would have

been a revolution? But has God, the lawful sovereign of the church,

forbidden all revolution in a sinful world? A _revolution_ is not a

revolt. The fall of the first man was a great revolution: the

restoration of man by Jesus Christ was a counter-revolution. The

corruption occasioned by popery was allied to the fall: the

reformation accomplished in the sixteenth century was connected

therefore with the restoration. There will no doubt be other

interventions of the Deity, which will be revolutions in the same

direction as the Reformation. When God creates a new heaven and a new

earth, will not that be one of the most glorious of revolutions? The

Reformation by the word alone gives truth, alone gives unity; but more

than that, it alone bears the marks of true _legitimacy_; for the

church belongs not unto men, even though they be priests. God alone is

its lawful sovereign.

And yet the human elements which we have enumerated were not wholly

foreign to the work that was accomplishing in England. Besides the

word of God, other principles were in operation, and although less

radical and less primitive, they still retain the sympathy of eminent

men of that nation.

And in the first place, the intervention of the king's authority was

necessary to a certain point. Since the supremacy of Rome had been

established in England by several usages which had the force of law,

the intervention of the temporal power was necessary to break the

bonds which it had previously sanctioned. But it was requisite for the

monarchy, while adopting a negative and political action, to leave the

positive, doctrinal, and creative action to the word of God.

Besides the Reformation _in the name of the Scriptures_, there was

then in England another _in the name of the king_. The word of God

began, the kingly power followed; and ever since, these two forces

have sometimes gone together against the authority of the Roman

pontiffs--sometimes in opposition to each other, like those troops

which march side by side in the same army, against the same enemy, and

which have occasionally been seen, even on the field of battle, to

turn their swords against each other.

Finally, the episcopate, which had begun by opposing the Reformation,

was compelled to accept it in despite of its convictions. The majority

of the bishops were opposed to it; but the better portion were found

to incline, some to the side of outward reform, of which separation

from the papacy was the very essence, and others to the side of

internal reform, whose mainspring was union with Jesus Christ. Lastly,

the episcopate took up its ground on its own account, and soon two

great parties alone existed in England: the scriptural party and the

clerical party.

[Sidenote: POLITICAL EVENTS.]

These two parties have survived even to our days, and their colours

are still distinguishable in the river of the church, like the muddy

Arve and the limpid Rhone after their confluence. The royal supremacy,

from which many Christians, preferring the paths of independence, have

withdrawn since the end of the 16th century, is recognised by both

parties in the establishment, with some few exceptions. But whilst

the High Church is essentially hierarchical, the Low Church is

essentially biblical. In the one, the Church is above and the word

below; in the other, the Church is below and the Word above. These two

principles, evangelism and hierarchism, are found in the Christianity

of the first centuries, but with a signal difference. Hierarchism then

almost entirely effaced evangelism; in the age of protestantism, on

the contrary, evangelism continued to exist by the side of

hierarchism, and it has remained _de jure_, if not always _de facto_,

the only legitimate opinion of the church.

Thus there is in England a complication of influences and contests,

which render the Work more difficult to describe; but it is on that

very account more worthy the attention of the philosopher and the

Christian.

* * * * *

Great events had just occurred in Europe. Francis I had crossed the

Alps, gained a signal victory at Marignano, and conquered the north of

Italy. The affrighted Maximilian knew of none who could save him but

Henry VIII. "I will adopt you; you shall be my successor in the

empire," he intimated to him in May 1516. "Your army shall invade

France; and then we will march together to Rome, where the sovereign

pontiff shall crown you king of the Romans." The king of France,

anxious to effect a diversion, had formed a league with Denmark and

Scotland, and had made preparations for invading England to place on

the throne the "white rose,"--the pretender Pole, heir to the claims

of the house of York.[270] Henry now showed his prudence; he declined

Maximilian's offer, and turned his whole attention to the security of

his kingdom. But while he refused to bear arms in France and Italy, a

war of quite another kind broke out in England.

[270] A private combination, etc. Strype's Memorials, i. part ii. p.

16.

[Sidenote: ARRIVAL OF THE NEW TESTAMENT.]

The great work of the 16th century was about to begin. A volume fresh

from the presses of Basle had just crossed the Channel. Being

transmitted to London, Oxford, and Cambridge, this book, the fruit of

Erasmus's vigils, soon found its way wherever there were friends of

learning. It was the _New Testament_ of our Lord Jesus Christ,

published for the first time in Greek with a new Latin translation--an

event more important for the world than would have been the landing of

the pretender in England, or the appearance of the chief of the Tudors

in Italy. This book, in which God has deposited for man's salvation

the seeds of life, was about to effect alone, without patrons and

without interpreters, the most astonishing revolution in Britain.

When Erasmus published this work, at the dawn, so to say, of modern

times, he did not see all its scope. Had he foreseen it, he would

perhaps have recoiled in alarm. He saw indeed that there was a great

work to be done, but he believed that all good men would unite to do

it with common accord. "A spiritual temple must be raised in desolated

Christendom," said he. "The mighty of this world will contribute

towards it their marble, their ivory, and their gold; I who am poor

and humble offer the foundation stone," and he laid down before the

world his edition of the Greek Testament. Then glancing disdainfully

at the traditions of men, he said: "It is not from human reservoirs,

fetid with stagnant waters, that we should draw the doctrine of

salvation; but from the pure and abundant streams that flow from the

heart of God." And when some of his suspicious friends spoke to him of

the difficulties of the times, he replied: "If the ship of the church

is to be saved from being swallowed up by the tempest, there is only

one anchor that can save it: it is the heavenly word, which, issuing

from the bosom of the Father, lives, speaks, and works still in the

Gospel."[271] These noble sentiments served as an introduction to

those blessed pages which were to reform England. Erasmus, like

Caiaphas, prophesied without being aware of it.

[271] In evangelicis litteris, sermo ille cœlestis, quondam e corde

Patris ad nos profectus. (Erasm. Leoni, Ep. p. 1843) That heavenly

word in the Gospel, formerly sent to us from the bosom of the Father.

[Sidenote: DEMAND OF ERASMUS.]

The New Testament in Greek and Latin had hardly appeared when it was

received by all men of upright mind with unprecedented enthusiasm.

Never had any book produced such a sensation. It was in every hand:

men struggled to procure it, read it eagerly, and would even kiss

it.[272] The words it contained enlightened every heart. But a

reaction soon took place. Traditional catholicism uttered a cry from

the depths of its noisome pools, (to use Erasmus's figure).

Franciscans and Dominicans, priests and bishops, not daring to attack

the educated and well-born, went among the ignorant populace, and

endeavoured by their tales and clamours to stir up susceptible women

and credulous men. "Here are horrible heresies," they exclaimed, "here

are frightful antichrists! If this book be tolerated it will be the

death of the papacy!"--"We must drive this man from the university,"

said one. "We must turn him out of the church," added another. "The

public places re-echoed with their howlings," said Erasmus.[273] The

firebrands tossed by their furious hands were raising fires in every

quarter; and the flames kindled in a few obscure convents threatened

to spread over the whole country.

[272] Opus avidissime rapitur ...... amatur, manibus teritur (Er. Ep.

557.) The work is most eagerly seized.... it is embraced, it is

clasped in the hands.

[273] Oblatrabant sycophantæ. (Erasm. Ep. p. 329.) The slanderers

howled.

This irritation was not without a cause. The book, indeed, contained

nothing but Latin and Greek; but this first step seemed to augur

another--the translation of the Bible into the vulgar tongue. Erasmus

loudly called for it.[274] "Perhaps it may be necessary to conceal the

secrets of kings," he remarked, "but we must publish the mysteries of

Christ. The Holy Scriptures, translated into all languages, should be

read not only by the Scotch and Irish, but even by Turks and Saracens.

The husbandman should sing them as he holds the handle of his plough,

the weaver repeat them as he plies his shuttle, and the wearied

traveller, halting on his journey, refresh him under some shady tree

by these godly narratives." These words prefigured a golden age after

the iron age of popery. A number of Christian families in Britain and

on the continent were soon to realize these evangelical forebodings,

and England after three centuries was to endeavour to carry them out

for the benefit of all the nations on the face of the earth.

[274] Paraclesis ad lectorem pium. Consolation to the pious reader.

The priests saw the danger, and by a skilful manœuvre, instead of

finding fault with the Greek Testament, attacked the translation and

the translator. "He has corrected the Vulgate," they said, "and puts

himself in the place of Saint Jerome. He sets aside a work authorized

by the consent of ages and inspired by the Holy Ghost. What audacity!"

And then, turning over the pages, they pointed out the most odious

passages: "Look here! this book calls upon men to _repent_, instead of

requiring them, as the Vulgate does, _to do penance_!" (Matt. iv. 17.)

The priests thundered against him from their pulpits:[275] "This man

has committed the unpardonable sin," they asserted; "for he maintains

that there is nothing in common between the Holy Ghost and the

monks--that they are logs rather than men!" These simple remarks were

received with a general laugh; but the priests, in no wise

disconcerted, cried out all the louder: "He's a heretic, an

heresiarch, a forger! he's a goose[276] ... what do I say? he's a very

antichrist!"

[275] Quam stolide debacchati sunt quidam e suggestis ad populum.

(Erasm. Ep. p. 1193.) How stupidly some of them raved to the people

out of their pulpits.

[276] Nos clamitans esse grues (_cranes_) et bestias. (Ibid. p. 914.)

Calling out that we are cranes and brutes.

[Sidenote: THE PRIEST'S ATTACK AT COURT.]

It was not sufficient for the papal janissaries to make war in the

plain, they must carry it to the higher ground. Was not the king a

friend of Erasmus? If he should declare himself a patron of the Greek

and Latin Testament, what an awful calamity!... After having agitated

the cloisters, towns, and universities, they resolved to protest

against it boldly, even in Henry's presence. They thought: "If he is

won, all is won." It happened one day that a certain theologian (whose

name is not given) having to preach in his turn before the king, he

declaimed violently against the _Greek_ language and its new

interpreters. Pace, the king's secretary, was present, and turning his

eyes on Henry, observed him smiling good humouredly.[277] On leaving

the church, every one began to exclaim against the preacher. "Bring

the priest to me," said the king; and then turning to More, he added:

"You shall defend the Greek cause against him, and I will listen to

the disputation." The literary tribunal was soon formed, but the

sovereign's order had taken away all the priest's courage. He came

forward trembling, fell on his knees, and with clasped hands

exclaimed: "I know not what spirit impelled me." "A spirit of

madness," said the king, "and not the spirit of Jesus Christ."[278] He

then added: "Have you ever read Erasmus?" "No, Sire." "Away with you

then, you are a blockhead." "And yet," said the preacher in confusion,

"I remember to have read something about _Moria_," (Erasmus's treatise

on _Folly_).--"A subject, your majesty, that ought to be very familiar

to him," wickedly interrupted Pace. The _obscurant_ could say nothing

in his justification. "I am not altogether opposed to the Greek," he

added at last, "seeing that it is derived from the Hebrew."[279] This

was greeted with a general laugh, and the king impatiently ordered the

monk to leave the room, and never appear before him again.

[277] Pacæus in regem conjecit oculos.....Is mox Pacæo suaviter

arrisit. Erasm. Ep. p. 914.

[278] Tum rex: ut qui inquit, spiritus iste non erat Christi sed

stultitiæ. Ibid.

[279] Græcis, inquit, literis non perinde sum infensus, quod originem

habeant ex lingua hebraica. Ibid. p. 347.

[Sidenote: LABOURS OF ERASMUS.]

Erasmus was astonished at these discussions. He had imagined the

season to be most favourable. "Every thing looks peaceful," he had

said to himself; "now is the time to launch my Greek Testament into

the learned world."[280] As well might the sun rise upon the earth,

and no one see it! At that very hour God was raising up a monk at

Wittemberg who would lift the trumpet to his lips, and proclaim the

new day. "Wretch that I am!" exclaimed the timid scholar, beating his

breast, "who could have forseen this horrible tempest!"[281]

[280] Erant tempora tranquilla. (Erasm. Ep. 911.) The times were

tranquil.

[281] Quis enim suspicaturus erat hanc fatalem tempestatem exorituram

in orbe? Erasm. Ep. 911.

Nothing was more important at the dawn of the Reformation than the

publication of the Testament of Jesus Christ in the original language.

Never had Erasmus worked so carefully. "If I told what sweat it cost

me, no one would believe me."[282] He had collated many Greek MSS. of

the New Testament,[283] and was surrounded by all the commentaries and

translations, by the writings of Origen, Cyprian, Ambrose, Basil,

Chrysostom, Cyril, Jerome, and Augustine. _Hic sum in campo meo!_ he

exclaimed as he sat in the midst of his books. He had investigated the

texts according to the principles of sacred criticism. When a

knowledge of Hebrew was necessary, he had consulted Capito and more

particularly Œcolampadius. _Nothing without Theseus_, said he of the

latter, making use of a Greek proverb. He had corrected the

amphibologies, obscurities, hebraisms, and barbarisms of the Vulgate;

and had caused a list to be printed of the errors in that version.

[282] Quantis mihi constiterit sudoribus. Ibid. 329.

[283] Collatis multis Græcorum exemplaribus. Ibid.

"We must restore the pure text of the word of God," he had said; and

when he heard the maledictions of the priests, he had exclaimed: "I

call God to witness I thought I was doing a work acceptable to the

Lord and necessary to the cause of Christ."[284] Nor in this was he

deceived.

[284] Deum testor simpliciter existimabam me rem facere Deo gratam ac

rei christianæ necessariam. Ibid. 911.

[Sidenote: EDWARD LEE.]

At the head of his adversaries was Edward Lee, successively king's

almoner, archdeacon of Colchester, and archbishop of York. Lee, at

that time but little known, was a man of talent and activity, but also

vain and loquacious, and determined to make his way at any cost. Even

when a school-boy he looked down on all his companions.[285] As child,

youth, man, and in mature years, he was always the same, Erasmus tells

us;[286] that is to say, vain, envious, jealous, boasting, passionate,

and revengeful. We must bear in mind, however, that when Erasmus

describes the character of his opponents, he is far from being an

impartial judge. In the bosom of Roman-catholicism, there have always

existed well-meaning, though ill-informed men, who, not knowing the

interior power of the word of God, have thought that if its authority

were substituted for that of the Romish church, the only foundation of

truth and of Christian society would be shaken. Yet while we judge

Lee less severely than Erasmus does, we cannot close our eyes to his

faults. His memory was richly furnished, but his heart was a stranger

to divine truth: he was a schoolman and not a believer. He wanted the

people to obey the church and not trouble themselves about the

Scriptures. He was the Doctor Eck of England, but with more of outward

appearance and morality than Luther's adversary. Yet he was by no

means a rigid moralist. On one occasion, when preaching at the palace,

he introduced ballads into his sermon, one of which began thus:--

"Pass time with good company."

And the other:--

"I love unloved."

[285] Solus haberi in pretio volebat. (Ibid. 593) He wished that

himself alone should be esteemed.

[286] Talis erat puer, talis adolescens, talis juvenis, talis nunc

etiam vir est. Ibid. 594.

We are indebted to Secretary Pace for this characteristic trait.[287]

[287] State Papers, Henry VIII. etc. i. p. 10, pub. 1830.

During the sojourn of Erasmus in England, Lee, observing his

influence, had sought his friendship, and Erasmus, with his usual

courtesy, had solicited his advice upon his work. But Lee, jealous of

his great reputation, only waited for an opportunity to injure it,

which he seized upon as soon as it occurred. The New Testament had not

been long published, when Lee turned round abruptly, and from being

Erasmus's friend became his implacable adversary.[288] "If we do not

stop this leak," said he, when he heard of the New Testament, "it will

sink the ship." Nothing terrifies the defenders of human traditions so

much as the word of God.

[288] Subito factus est inimicus. (Erasm. Ep. 746.) Suddenly he became

unfriendly.

[Sidenote: LEE'S MANIFESTO.]

Lee immediately leagued himself with all those in England who abhorred

the study of Scripture, says Erasmus. Although exceedingly conceited,

he showed himself the most amiable of men, in order to accomplish his

designs. He invited Englishmen to his house, welcomed strangers, and

gained many recruits by the excellence of his dinners.[289] While

seated at table among his guests, he hinted perfidious charges against

Erasmus, and his company left him "loaded with lies."[290]--"In this

New Testament," said he, "there are three hundred dangerous, frightful

passages ... three hundred did I say? ... there are more than a

thousand!" Not satisfied with using his tongue, Lee wrote scores of

letters, and employed several secretaries. Was there any convent in

the odour of sanctity, he "forwarded to it instantly wine, choice

viands, and other presents." To each one he assigned his part, and

over all England they were rehearsing what Erasmus calls _Lee's

tragedy_.[291] In this manner they were preparing the catastrophe: a

prison for Erasmus, the fire for the Holy Scriptures.

[289] Excipiebat advenas, præsertim Anglos, eos conviviis faciebat

suos. (Ibid. 593.) He received strangers, especially Englishmen, and

attached them to himself by his banquets.

[290] Abeuntes omni mendaciorum genere dimittebat onustos. (Ibid.) He

sent them away loaded with every kind of lies.

[291] Donee Leus ordiretur suam _tragædiam_. (Erasm. Ep. 913.) Until

Lee should begin his tragedy.

When all was arranged, Lee issued his manifesto. Although a poor Greek

scholar,[292] he drew up some _Annotations_ on Erasmus's book, which

the latter called "mere abuse and blasphemy;" but which the members of

the league regarded as _oracles_. They passed them secretly from hand

to hand, and these obscure sheets, by many indirect channels, found

their way into every part of England, and met with numerous

readers.[293] There was to be no publication--such was the watchword;

Lee was too much afraid. "Why did you not publish your work," asked

Erasmus, with cutting irony. "Who knows whether the holy father,

appointing you the Aristarchus of letters, might not have sent you a

birch to keep the whole world in order!"[294]

[292] Simon, Hist. crit. du. N. Test. p. 246.

[293] Liber volitat inter manus conjuratorum. (Erasm. Ep. p. 746.) The

book flitted to and fro among the hands of the conspirators.

[294] Tibi tradita virgula totius orbis censuram fuerit mandaturus.

Ibid. p. 742.

The _Annotations_ having triumphed in the convents, the _conspiracy_

took a new flight. In every place of public resort, at fairs and

markets, at the dinner-table and in the council-chamber, in shops, and

taverns, and houses of ill-fame, in churches and in the universities,

in cottages and in palaces, the league blattered against Erasmus and

the Greek Testament.[295] Carmelites, Dominicans, and Sophists,

invoked heaven and conjured hell. What need was there of Scripture?

Had they not the apostolical succession of the clergy? No hostile

landing in England could, in their eyes, be more fatal than that of

the New Testament. The whole nation must rise to repel this impudent

invasion. There is, perhaps, no country in Europe, where the

Reformation was received by so unexpected a storm.

[295] Ut nusquam non blaterent in Erasmum, in compotationibus, in

foris, in conciliabulis, in pharmacopoliis, in curribus, in

tonstrinis, in fornicibus......Ibid. p. 746.

CHAPTER II.

Effects of the New Testament in the

Universities--Conversations--A Cambridge Fellow--Bilney buys

the New Testament--The first Passage--His

Conversion--Protestantism, the Fruit of the Gospel--The Vale

of the Severn--William Tyndale--Evangelization at

Oxford--Bilney teaches at Cambridge--Fryth--Is Conversion

Possible?--True Consecration--The Reformation has begun.

[Sidenote: THE NEW TESTAMENT IN THE UNIVERSITIES.]

While this rude blast was rushing over England, and roaring in the

long galleries of its convents, the still small voice of the Word was

making its way into the peaceful homes of praying men and the ancient

halls of Oxford and Cambridge. In private chambers, in the

lecture-rooms and refectories, students, and even masters of arts,

were to be seen reading the Greek and Latin Testament. Animated groups

were discussing the principles of the Reformation. When Christ came on

earth (said some) He gave the word, and when He ascended up into

heaven He gave the Holy Spirit. These are the two forces which created

the church--and these are the forces that must regenerate it.--No

(replied the partizans of Rome), it was the teaching of the apostles

at first, and it is the teaching of the priests now.--The apostles

(rejoined the friends of the Testament of Erasmus)--yes, it is

true--the apostles were during their ministry a living Scripture; but

their oral teaching would infallibly have been altered by passing from

mouth to mouth. God willed, therefore, that these precious lessons

should be preserved to us in their writings, and thus become the

ever-undefiled source of truth and salvation. To set the Scriptures in

the foremost place, as your pretended reformers are doing (replied the

schoolmen of Oxford and Cambridge); is to propagate heresy! And what

are the reformers doing (asked their apologists) except what Christ

did before them? The sayings of the prophets existed in the time of

Jesus only as _Scripture_, and it was to this written Word that our

Lord appealed when he founded his kingdom.[296] And now in like manner

the teaching of the apostles exists only as Scripture, and it is to

this written word that we appeal in order to re-establish the kingdom

of our Lord in its primitive condition. The night is far spent, the

day is at hand; all is in motion--in the lofty halls of our colleges,

in the mansions of the rich and noble, and in the lowly dwellings of

the poor. If we want to scatter the darkness, must we light the

shrivelled wick of some old lamp? Ought we not rather to open the

doors and shutters and admit freely into the house the great light

which God has placed in the heavens?

[296] Matth. xxii. 29; xxvi. 24, 54; Mark, xiv. 49; Luke, xviii. 31;

xxiv. 27, 44, 45; John, v. 39, 46; x. 35; xvii. 12, etc.

[Sidenote: THOMAS BILNEY.]

There was in Trinity Hall, Cambridge, a young doctor much given to the

study of the canon law, of serious turn of mind and bashful

disposition, and whose tender conscience strove, although

ineffectually, to fulfil the commandments of God. Anxious about his

salvation, Thomas Bilney applied to the priests, whom he looked upon

as physicians of the soul. Kneeling before his confessor, with humble

look and pale face, he told him all his sins, and even those of which

he doubted.[297] The priest prescribed at one time fasting, at another

prolonged vigils, and then masses and indulgences which cost him

dearly.[298] The poor doctor went through all these practices with

great devotion, but found no consolation in them. Being weak and

slender, his body wasted away by degrees;[299] his understanding grew

weaker, his imagination faded, and his purse became empty. "Alas!"

said he with anguish, "my last state is worse than the first." From

time to time an idea crossed his mind: "May not the priests be seeking

their own interest, and not the salvation of my soul."[300] But

immediately rejecting the rash doubt, he fell back under the iron hand

of the clergy.

[297] In ignaros medicos, indoctos confessionum auditores. (Th.

Bilnæus Tonstallo Episcopo; Foxe, iv. p. 633.) To ignorant physicians,

unlearned confessors.

[298] Indicebant enim mihi jejunia, vigilias, indulgentiarum et

missarum emptiones. Ibid.

[299] Ut parum mihi virium (alioqui natura imbecilli) reliquum fuerit.

(Ibid.) So that being naturally weak at any rate, too little strength

was left to me.

[300] Sua potius quærebant quam salutem animæ meæ languentis. (Ibid.)

They were seeking their own interest, rather than the salvation of my

fainting soul.

[Sidenote: BEGINNING OF THE REFORMATION.]

One day Bilney heard his friends talking about a new book: it was the

Greek Testament printed with a translation which was highly praised

for its elegant Latinity.[301] Attracted by the beauty of the style

rather than by the divinity of the subject,[302] he stretched out his

hand; but just as he was going to take the volume, fear came upon him

and he withdrew it hastily. In fact the confessors strictly prohibited

Greek and Hebrew books, "the sources of all heresies;" and Erasmus's

Testament was particularly forbidden. Yet Bilney regretted so great a

sacrifice; was it not the Testament of Jesus Christ? Might not God

have placed therein some word which perhaps might heal his soul? He

stepped forward, and then again shrank back.... At last he took

courage. Urged, said he, by the hand of God, he walked out of the

college, slipped into the house where the volume was sold in secret,

bought it with fear and trembling, and then hastened back and shut

himself up in his room.[303]

[301] Cum ab eo latinius redditum accepi. Ibid.

[302] Latinitate potius quam verbo Dei, allectus. Ibid.

[303] Emebam providentia (sine dubio) divina. (Foxe, iv. p. 633.) I

bought it doubtless, under the guidance of divine providence.

He opened it--his eyes caught these words: _This is a faithful saying,

and worthy of all acceptation, that Christ Jesus came into the world

to save sinners; of whom I am chief_.[304] He laid down the book, and

meditated on the astonishing declaration. "What! St. Paul the chief of

sinners, and yet St. Paul is sure of being saved!" He read the verse

again and again. "O assertion of St. Paul, how sweet art thou to my

soul!" he exclaimed.[305] This declaration continually haunted him,

and in this manner God instructed him in the secret of his heart.[306]

He could not tell what had happened to him;[307] it seemed as if a

refreshing wind were blowing over his soul, or as if a rich treasure

had been placed in his hands. The Holy Spirit took what was Christ's,

and announced it to him. "I also am like Paul," exclaimed he with

emotion, "and more than Paul, the greatest of sinners!... But Christ

saves sinners. At last I have heard of Jesus."[308]

[304] 1 Tim. i, 15.

[305] O mihi suavissimam Pauli sententiam! Foxe, iv, p. 633.

[306] Hac una sententia, Deo intus in corde meo docente. (Ibid.) By

this one sentence, God teaching inwardly in my heart.

[307] Quod tunc fieri ignorabam. (Ibid.) Because then I knew not what

was being done.

[308] Tandem de Jesu audiebam. Ibid.

His doubts were ended--he was saved. Then took place in him a

wonderful transformation. An unknown joy pervaded him;[309] his

conscience until then sore with the wounds of sin was healed;[310]

instead of despair he felt an inward peace passing all understanding.[311]

"Jesus Christ," exclaimed he, "Yes, Jesus Christ saves!"... Such is

the character of the Reformation: it is Jesus Christ who saves and not

the church. "I see it all," said Bilney; "my vigils, my fasts, my

pilgrimages, my purchase of masses and indulgences, were destroying

instead of saving me.[312] All these efforts were, as St. Augustine

says, a hasty running out of the right way."[313]

[309] Sic exhilaravit pectus meum. Ibid.

[310] Peccatorum conscientia saucium ac pene desperabundum. Ibid.

[311] Nescio quantam intus tranquillitatem sentire. Ibid.

[312] Didici omnes meos conatus, etc. Ibid.

[313] Quod ait Augustinus, celerem cursum extra viam. Ibid.

Bilney never grew tired of reading his New Testament. He no longer

lent an attentive ear to the teaching of the schoolmen; he heard Jesus

at Capernaum, Peter in the temple, Paul on Mars' hill, and felt within

himself that Christ possesses the words of eternal life. A witness to

Jesus Christ had just been born by the same power which had

transformed Paul, Apollos, and Timothy. The Reformation of England was

beginning. Bilney was united to the Son of God, not by a remote

succession, but by an immediate generation. Leaving to the disciples

of the pope the entangled chain of their imaginary succession, whose

links it is impossible to disengage, he attached himself closely to

Christ. The word of the first century gave birth to the sixteenth.

Protestantism does not descend from the Gospel in the fiftieth

generation like the Romish church of the Council of Trent, or in the

sixtieth like some modern doctors: it is the direct legitimate

son--the son of the master.

[Sidenote: THE VALE OF THE SEVERN.]

God's action was not limited to one spot. The first rays of the sun

from on high gilded with their fires at once the gothic colleges of

Oxford and the antique schools of Cambridge.

Along the banks of the Severn extends a picturesque country, bounded

by the forest of Dean, and sprinkled with villages, steeples, and

ancient castles. In the sixteenth century it was particularly admired

by priests and friars, and a familiar oath among them was: "As sure as

God's in Glo'ster!" The papal birds of prey had swooped upon it. For

fifty years, from 1484 to 1534, four Italian bishops, placed in

succession over the diocese, had surrendered it to the pope, to the

monks, and to immorality. Thieves in particular were the objects of

the tenderest favours of the hierarchy. John de Giglis, collector of

the apostolical chamber, had received from the sovereign pontiff

authority to pardon murder and theft, on condition that the criminal

shared his profits with the pontifical commissioners.[314]

[314] Annals of the English Bible, i. p. 12.

[Sidenote: EVANGELIZATION AT OXFORD.]

In this valley, at the foot of Stinchcomb hill, to the south-west of

Gloucester, there dwelt, during the latter half of the fifteenth

century, a family which had taken refuge there during the wars of the

Roses, and assumed the name of Hutchins. In the reign of Henry VII,

the Lancasterian party having the upper hand, they resumed their name

of Tyndale, which had been borne of yore by many noble barons.[315] In

1484, about a year after the birth of Luther, and about the time that

Zwingle first saw light in the mountains of the Tockenburg, these

partisans of the _red rose_ were blessed with a son, whom they called

William. His youth was passed in the fields surrounding his native

village of North Nibley, beneath the shadows of Berkeley Castle, or

beside the rapid waters of the Severn, and in the midst of friars and

pontifical collectors. He was sent very early to Oxford,[316] where

he learnt grammar and philosophy in the school of St. Mary Magdalene,

adjoining the college of that name. He made rapid progress,

particularly in languages, under the first classical scholars in

England--Grocyn, W. Latimer, and Linacre--and took his degrees.[317] A

more excellent master than these doctors--the Holy Spirit speaking in

Scripture--was soon to teach him a science which it is not in the

power of man to impart.

[315] Bigland's Glo'ster, p. 293. Annals of the English Bible, i. p.

19.

[316] From a child. Foxe, Acts and Mon. v. p. 115.

[317] Proceeding in degrees of the schools. Ibid.

Oxford, where Erasmus had so many friends, was the city in which his

New Testament met with the warmest welcome. The young Gloucestershire

student, inwardly impelled towards the study of sacred literature,

read the celebrated book which was then attracting the attention of

Christendom. At first he regarded it only as a work of learning, or at

most as a manual of piety, whose beauties were calculated to excite

religious feelings; but erelong he found it to be something more. The

more he read it, the more was he struck by the truth and energy of the

word. The strange book spoke to him of God, of Christ, and of

regeneration, with a simplicity and authority which completely subdued

him. William had found a master whom he had not sought at Oxford--this

was God himself. The pages he held in his hand were the divine

revelation so long mislaid. Possessing a noble soul, a bold spirit,

and indefatigable activity, he did not keep this treasure to himself.

He uttered that cry, more suited to a Christian than to Archimedes:

eὕrêka, _I have found it_. It was not long before several of

the younger members of the university, attracted by the purity of his

life and the charms of his conversation,[318] gathered round him, and

read with him the Greek and Latin gospels of Erasmus.[319] "A certain

well-informed young man," wrote Erasmus in a letter wherein he speaks

of the publication of his New Testament, "began to lecture with

success on Greek literature at Oxford."[320] He was probably speaking

of Tyndale.

[318] His manners and conversation being correspondent to the

Scriptures. Ibid.

[319] Read privily to certain students and fellows, instructing them

in the knowledge and truth of the Scriptures. Ibid.

[320] Oxoniæ cum juvenis quidam non vulgariter doctus. (Erasm. Ep. p.

346.) A certain youth at Oxford of uncommon learning.

[Sidenote: BILNEY TEACHES AT CAMBRIDGE.]

The monks took the alarm. "_A barbarian_," continues Erasmus, "entered

the pulpit and violently abused the Greek language."--"These folk,"

said Tyndale, "wished to extinguish the light which exposed their

trickery, and they have been laying their plans these dozen

years."[321] This observation was made in 1531, and refers therefore

to the proceedings of 1517. Germany and England were beginning the

struggle at nearly the same time, and Oxford perhaps before

Wittemberg. Tyndale, bearing in mind the injunction: "When they

persecute you in one city, flee ye into another," left Oxford and

proceeded to Cambridge. It must needs be that souls whom God has

brought to his knowledge should meet and enlighten one another: live

coals, when separated, go out; when gathered together, they brighten

up, so as even to purify silver and gold. The Romish hierarchy, not

knowing what they did, were collecting the scattered brands of the

Reformation.

[321] Which they have been in brewing as I hear this dozen years.

Tyndale's Expositions (Park. Soc.) p. 225

Bilney was not inactive at Cambridge. Not long had the "sublime lesson

of Jesus Christ" filled him with joy, before he fell on his knees and

exclaimed: "O Thou who art the truth, give me strength that I may

teach it; and convert the ungodly by means of one who has been ungodly

himself."[322] After this prayer his eyes gleamed with new fire; he

had assembled his friends, and opening Erasmus's Testament, had placed

his finger on the words that had reached his soul, and these words had

touched many. The arrival of Tyndale gave him fresh courage, and the

light burnt brighter in Cambridge.

History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century, Volume 5 The Reformation in England · 第 19 / 26 章

Shortly after his arrival, happening to dine with the lord-mayor,