The reluctance which John XXII. felt at the proposal of his authorizing
the meeting of a general council, was increased by the importunity of
his relations and dependants, who prophetically warned him to take
care, lest, though he went to such an assembly as a pope, he should
return as a private man.[56] The death of his enemy Ladislaus, who was
cut off by a violent distemper as he was on his march to besiege the
pontiff in Bologna, seemed also to relieve him from the necessity of
submitting to the requisitions of Sigismund. But the Christian world was
weary of the schism which had for so long a period tarnished the lustre
of the church. The zeal of Sigismund had accelerated every necessary
preparation for the assembling of the council. Sanguine expectations had
been awakened throughout Europe, of the blessed consequences which were
likely to result from the labours of an assemblage of the most dignified
and learned members of the Catholic community. The intrepidity of John
shrunk from the idea of encountering the obloquy which would be poured
upon his character, should he, by refusing to fulfil the engagements
into which he had entered with Sigismund, disappoint the reasonable
hopes of the friends of union and of peace. Poggio has recorded it to
the praise of Zabarella, cardinal of Florence,[57] who seems to have
enjoyed much of the pontiff’s favour and confidence, that he faithfully
impressed these considerations upon the hesitating mind of the father of
the faithful.[58] Impelled by that prelate’s arguments and in treaties,
John took the decisive step and set out for Constance, in which city he
arrived on the 28th of October, 1414. He was accompanied on his journey
by the greater part of his court, and among the rest by Poggio, whom
he had promoted, from the office of apostolic scribe to the still more
confidential employment of secretary.[59] In the course of a few weeks
after his arrival, Poggio had the pleasure of welcoming his friend
Leonardo, who after a dreary journey over the Alps, of which he has left
an interesting description in a letter to Niccolo Niccoli, embarked on
the lake of Constance, and landed at that city towards the latter end of
December.[60]
Three principal objects demanded the utmost exertion of the wisdom of the
council—the termination of the schism—the reformation of the church—and
the extirpation of heresy. The pontiff earnestly wished to confine the
attention of the assembled fathers to the last of these points. He
accordingly availed himself of the earliest opportunity to engage them in
prosecuting the enemies of the orthodox faith. John Huss, a celebrated
Bohemian reformer, had repaired to Constance with an avowed intention of
vindicating the correctness of his creed, and of retracting any errors,
of which he might be convinced by the learning of his opponents. Aware
of the danger to which he would be exposed in defending his cause in
the midst of his prejudiced adversaries, he had taken the precaution
of procuring from the emperor a safe conduct, by which all princes,
as well ecclesiastical as secular, were strictly enjoined “to let him
freely and securely pass, sojourn, stop, and repass.”[61] But the
unfortunate Bohemian soon found to his cost, that the imperial mandate
was insufficient to protect a reputed heretic. He had not resided at
Constance many days, before he was taken into custody, and imprisoned
in the monastery of the Dominicans. Whilst he was there labouring under
the aggravated evils of severe sickness, and uneasiness of mind, his
enemies were employed in making preparations for his trial, and his
friends in vain protested against the violation of the law of nations,
which had been committed in his imprisonment. In consequence of their
remonstrances, Sigismund had indeed given positive orders for Huss’s
release: but these orders were disobeyed: and when the emperor arrived
at Constance, on Christmas day, sufficient reasons were alleged by the
pope, to induce him to pardon this act of resistance to his authority,
and to resign the too credulous prisoner to the jurisdiction of an
ecclesiastical tribunal.
But though Sigismund consented to sacrifice a defenceless individual to
the religious zeal, or to the crooked policy of the pontifical court, he
entertained designs by no means friendly to the interests of John XXII.
As the jealous suspicion of the partizans of the pontiff had foreseen,
the emperor, with the concurrence of the council, proposed to his
holiness, that, in order to put an end to the schism, he should solemnly
engage to resign the tiara, in case his competitors, Gregory XII. and
Benedict XIII. could be persuaded to concur with him, by taking a similar
step. John with difficulty smothered the indignation which this proposal
excited within his ardent mind. Professing however his readiness to
comply with the wishes of the assembled representatives of the Christian
church, he threw every possible obstacle in the way of their completion.
Being at length pushed to extremity by the importunity of Sigismund, who
had in a manner compelled him to read the instrument of his resignation
in open council, he meditated the desperate design of withdrawing from
Constance. By the assistance of the duke of Austria he was enabled to put
this design into execution. That prince, in order to favour the flight
of the pontiff, instituted a grand tournament on the 20th day of March,
which was the eve of the festival of St. Benedict. While the attention of
all orders of men was absorbed by this magnificent spectacle, John easily
found an opportunity of passing through the city gates in the disguise of
a postillion.
The fugitive pontiff withdrew first to Schaffausen, and afterwards to
Lauffenbourg. Not thinking himself sufficiently secure even in this
latter place, he took shelter in Fribourg. Here he at length deemed
himself beyond the reach of his adversaries; and in the pride of
confidence, he sent to the council certain extravagant demands, which
that assembly treated with contempt. In the mean time the duke of
Austria had been put under the ban of the empire; his territories had
been invaded on all sides; many of his towns had been taken; and he was
given to understand, that nothing less than the most unequivocal acts of
humiliation, and the delivering up of the contumacious pontiff, could
reconcile him to his imperial sovereign. He accordingly repaired to
Constance, and in a most solemn assembly of the council, craved pardon of
Sigismund, and surrendered to him the remnant of his dominions.
The council now proceeded to summon John to appear and answer to divers
articles of impeachment, which had been preferred against him; and on his
refusing to attend, either in person or by proxy, the members of that
assembly proceeded to exercise a memorable act of supremacy, [May 14th,
A. D. 1415.] by first suspending him from the discharge of the pontifical
functions, and afterwards decreeing and proclaiming his deposition. John,
finding himself deserted by the duke of Austria, and at the absolute
disposal of the emperor, submitted to the ordinance of the council. After
the annunciation of his sentence, the officers of his household were
discharged from their customary attendance on his person, and he was sent
a prisoner to the fortress of Gotleben, whence he was soon afterwards
transferred to Heidleberg. The articles of impeachment, declared by the
council to have been proved against John, charged him with the most
atrocious vices incident to the vilest corruption of human nature.
Influenced however by the consideration of the exalted rank which he had
lately held, and perhaps mollified by the meekness of his submission,
his judges were satisfied with the measure of punishment which they had
already inflicted, in degrading him from his dignity, and depriving him
of liberty.
Whilst the council was thus occupied in contention with the head of the
church, it was deprived of an illustrious member by the death of Manuel
Crysoloras. It has been already observed, that this eminent scholar, by
his assiduous labours, diffused a knowledge and admiration of Grecian
literature, amongst a numerous assemblage of pupils in the university
of Florence. After a residence of three years in the Tuscan capital,
Manuel was summoned to Milan by his sovereign, the eastern emperor,
who, in the course of his progress through Italy, was then paying a
visit to Giovanni Galeazzo.[62] Having received advantageous proposals
from the latter prince, and being deterred from returning to Florence,
by the violence of Niccolo Niccoli, who had become his bitter enemy,
he undertook to read lectures on the Greek language in the academy of
Ticino, an institution which had been just founded by the late duke of
Milan, the father of Giovanni.[63] The tumult and anarchy which ensued
after the death of his patron, compelled Manuel to quit the Milanese,
and take shelter in Venice, whence, at the recommendation of his pupil
Leonardo Aretino, he was invited to Rome. In this city his talents and
his virtues raised him to such a degree of respectability, that in 1413
John XXII. empowered him, jointly with Zabarella, cardinal of Florence,
to treat with Sigismund upon the choice of a place proper for the holding
of the approaching council; and it was with his concurrence that the city
of Constance was fixed upon as being well adapted for that purpose.[64]
Having faithfully executed this important commission, he returned to
Constantinople, where he was appointed by the emperor of the east to
attend the council as one of the representatives of the Greek church. He
accordingly repaired to Constance, where the delicacy of his constitution
sinking under the fatigues of business, he died on the 15th of April,
1415.[65] His remains were deposited in the Dominican monastery, and a
monument was erected to his memory, on which was engraven the following
inscription, said to have been composed by his disciple Pietro Paulo
Vergerio.[66]
“Ante aram situs est D. Emanuel Crysoloras, eques Constantinopolitanus,
ex vetusto genere Romanorum, qui cum Constantino Imperatore migrarunt,
Vir doctissimus, prudentissimus, optimus, qui tempore Generalis Concilii
diem obiit, eâ existimatione, ut ab omnibus summo sacerdotio dignus
haberetur, die XV. Aprilis, MCCCCXV.”[67]
Poggio also, availing himself of this last opportunity of testifying his
sense of the merits of Crysoloras, dedicated to his memory the following
epitaph:
“Hic est Emanuel situs
Sermonis decus Attici:
Qui dum quærere opem patriæ
Afflictæ studeret huc iit.
Res belle cecidit tuis
Votis, Italia; hic tibi
Linguæ restituit decus
Atticæ, ante reconditæ.
Res belle cecidit tuis
Votis, Emanuel; solo
Consecutus in Italo
Æternum decus es, tibi
Quale Græcia non dedit,
Bello perdita Græcia.”[68]
In the mildness of the sentence passed by the council upon the delinquent
pontiff, the members of that assembly seem to have exhausted their stock
of leniency. Their mercy was reserved for dignified offenders; and it
appears by their subsequent conduct, that however tender and gentle they
might be in punishing immorality of practice, the unrelenting fury of
their vengeance was excited by errors in matters of opinion. The process
against John Huss was expedited with all the ardour of ecclesiastical
zeal. The unfortunate reformer was at various times brought in chains
before a tribunal, on which his enemies sat in quality of judges; and,
surrounded by a military guard, he was called upon to answer to a long
series of articles of accusation, the greater part of which related to
the most mysterious and subtile points of doctrine. To some of these
articles he pleaded not guilty. Many of the propositions which were
imputed to him as errors in faith, he defended as true; at the same time
declaring his readiness to retract any doctrine, of the erroneousness of
which he should be convinced. His judges having in vain endeavoured to
enlighten his understanding by argument, had recourse to the terrors of
authority. They declared him guilty of heresy, and attempted to overawe
him to a recantation, by the dread of a painful death. But the constancy
of Huss was unshaken. He firmly refused to purchase life at the expence
of truth and honour. After various unsuccessful efforts to persuade him
to make his peace with the church, by timely submission, the council
proceeded to degrade him from his priestly office, and after proclaiming
the awful sentence which condemned him as an obstinate heretic, delivered
him over to the secular power. [July 6th, A. D. 1415.] On the sixth day
of July, 1415, Huss was led to the fatal pile, where he suffered death
with the intrepidity of a resolute mind, supported by the consciousness
of rectitude, and by the firm conviction of sincere religious faith,
which, happily for the oppressed, are not the exclusive privileges of any
sect, but bestow their animating influence on the persecuted advocates of
every varying shade of theological belief.
On the dispersion of the pontifical household, consequent upon the
deposition of John XXII., Leonardo Aretino returned to Italy, where he
resumed his literary pursuits with great assiduity. Poggio remained at
Constance, for the purpose of improving any opportunity which might
there occur, of promoting his own interest, or that of his friend. As
he had now a good deal of leisure, he employed his vacant hours in
studying the Hebrew language, under the direction of a Jew who had been
converted to the Christian faith.[69] His continuance in Germany was
not however productive either of immediate pleasure, or of present
emolument. He was wearied and disgusted by the tedious protraction
of the debates of the council. He regarded the proceedings of that
assembly, with the prejudices which naturally rendered them odious to
the members of the papal court; and the mortifications experienced at
Constance by several of his friends, excited in his breast sentiments
of sorrow and indignation.[70] His hopes of preferment became more and
more faint, as the power of his patrons was diminished by the intrigues
of their adversaries; and in short, wheresoever he turned his eyes, his
prospect was gloomy and discouraging. The study of Hebrew does not seem
to have possessed sufficient charms to beguile the uneasiness which he
experienced, in consequence of these various distresses. The rudiments
of that language are peculiarly intricate; and Poggio was not stimulated
by incentives sufficiently powerful, to induce him to surmount the
difficulties which presented themselves at the commencement of this new
pursuit. For all the purposes of the Christian faith he had been taught,
and in all probability believed, that St. Jerome’s translation of the
Jewish scriptures was amply sufficient. As he was not disposed to call in
question the prevailing creed, he did not wish to make himself master of
the oriental tongues, with a view of providing himself with the weapons
of religious controversy. In the brief and authoritative precepts of
the Israelitish moralists, he looked in vain for the flow of eloquent
argument, which had captivated his attention in the ethic disquisitions
of Cicero. The abrupt transitions, and swelling metaphors of the Hebrew
poets, though, in a variety of individual instances, striking in effect,
generally shrunk from the severe test of the rules of Aristotle and
Quintilian.[71] The Hebrew language was not, like the Latin tongue, of
practical use in the daily affairs of a literary or political life; and
finally, his instructor was a man of no talents or respectability of
character, and soon became the butt of his ridicule, and the object of
his sovereign contempt. These causes concurred to check his progress in
biblical studies, in which he does not appear to have made any great
proficiency.
The amusement which he in vain sought for in the extension of his
literary attainments, he found in a total suspension of his studies.
[A. D. 1416.] In the spring of the year 1416, he took advantage of
the leisure time afforded him, by the termination of his functions as
secretary to the deposed pontiff, to make an excursion to the baths of
Baden.[72] Of these baths he gave a description in the following letter,
which he addressed to Niccolo Niccoli; and which, whilst it exhibits an
interesting picture of a fashionable watering place of the fifteenth
century, displays a sportiveness of fancy, and an expansion of good
humour, which were characteristic and attractive features of Poggio’s
mind.
“I wrote to you from Constance, on the first of March, if my memory
be correct, a letter, which, if it came to hand, I imagine made you
tolerably merry. It was rather long, and pregnant with wit. I gave
you in it a long account of my Hebrew studies, and passed many jokes
upon my tutor, a stupid, unsteady, and illiterate man; which indeed
is the general character of those who are converted from Judaism to
Christianity. But I am inclined to suspect, that this letter, and another
which I addressed to Leonardo Aretino, did not reach their destination.
Had you received my epistle, you would surely have answered it, were it
only with the view of congratulating me on my new course of study, which
you have so frequently exhorted me to undertake. I cannot find that
the study of Hebrew adds to my stock of philosophical knowledge; but
it so far promotes my acquaintance with literature, that I am thereby
enabled to investigate the principles upon which St. Jerome founded his
translation of the scriptures. But I write to you from these baths, (to
which I am come to try whether they can remove an eruption which has
taken place between my fingers) to describe to you the situation of the
place, and the manners of its inhabitants, together with the customs of
the company who resort hither for the benefit of the waters. Much is said
by the ancients of the pleasant baths of Puteoli, which were frequented
by almost all the people of Rome. But in my opinion, those boasted
baths must, in the article of pleasure, yield the palm to the baths of
Baden. For the pleasantness of the baths of Puteoli was founded more
on the beauty of the circumjacent country, and the magnificence of the
neighbouring villas, than on the festive manners of the company by which
they were frequented. The scenery of Baden, on the contrary, has but
few attractions: but every other circumstance relating to its medicinal
springs, is so pregnant with delight, that I frequently imagine that
Venus, and all her attendant joys, have migrated hither from Cyprus. The
frequenters of these waters so faithfully observe her institutes, so
accurately copy her manners, that though they have not read the discourse
of Heliogabalus, they seem to be amply instructed by simple nature. But
I must in the first place give you an account of my journey hither. On
the first day I sailed down the Rhine twenty-four miles to Schaffausen.
Here we were obliged to pass the falls by land; and at the distance of
ten miles from Schaffausen we arrived at a fortress, situated on the
Rhine, and known by the name of Keisterstul, that is, Cæsar’s seat. From
the name of this place, and from its commanding situation, (for it is
built on a high hill overhanging the river, across which is thrown a
small bridge, which effects a communication between France and Germany) I
conjecture it was formerly a Roman station. In this day’s journey we saw
the Rhine precipitating itself from a considerable height, over craggy
rocks, with a sound which seemed to express the indignation of the river
at being thus impeded in its course. When I contemplated this sight, I
recollected the stories which are related concerning the cataracts of
the Nile, and I did not wonder that the people who live in the vicinity
of those waterfalls, were deprived of their hearing by their noise, when
a river of so comparatively small a magnitude, that with respect to the
Nile it may be denominated a torrent, may be heard to the distance of
half a mile. The next town is Baden, which word, in the German language,
signifies a bath. Baden is a place of considerable opulence, situated in
a valley surrounded by mountains, upon a broad and rapid river, which
forms a junction with the Rhine, about six miles from the town. About
half a mile from Baden, and on the bank of the river, there is a very
beautiful range of buildings, constructed for the accommodation of the
bathers. These buildings form a square, composed of lodging houses, in
which a great multitude of guests are commodiously entertained. Each
lodging house has its private bath, appropriated to its tenants. The
baths are altogether thirty in number. Of these, two only are public
baths, which are exposed to view on every side, and are frequented by the
lower orders of people, of all ages, and of each sex. Here the males and
females, entertaining no hostile dispositions towards each other, are
separated only by a simple railing. It is a droll sight to see decrepit
old women and blooming maidens, stepping into the water, and exposing
their charms to the profane eyes of the men. I have often laughed at this
exhibition, which reminded me of the Floral games of Rome. And I have at
the same time admired the simplicity of these people, who take no notice
of these violations of propriety, and are totally unconscious of any
indecorum. The baths belonging to the private houses are very neat. They
too are common to males and females, who are separated by a partition. In
this partition, however, there are low windows, through which they can
see and converse with, and touch each other, and also drink together; all
which circumstances are matters of common occurrence. Above the baths
are a kind of galleries, on which the people stand who wish to see and
converse with the bathers; for every one has free access to all the
baths, to see the company, to talk and joke with them. As the ladies go
in and out of the water, they expose to view a considerable portion of
their persons; yet there are no door-keepers, or even doors, nor do they
entertain the least idea of any thing approaching to indelicacy. Many of
the baths have a common passage for the two sexes, which circumstance
very frequently occasions very curious rencounters. The men wear only a
pair of drawers. The women are clad in linen vests, which are however
slashed in the sides, so that they neither cover the neck, the breast,
nor the arms of the wearer. The ladies frequently give public dinners
in the baths, on a table which floats on the water; and the men often
partake of these entertainments. Our party received several invitations.
I paid my share of the reckoning; but though I was frequently requested
to favour them with my company, I never accepted the summons; not through
modesty—which would, on these occasions, be mistaken for rudeness, and
want of good breeding, but on account of my ignorance of the language.
For it seemed to me an act of folly in an Italian, who could not take
any part in conversation, to spend all the day in the water, employed
in nothing but eating and drinking. But two of my companions were not
so scrupulous. They visited the ladies in the baths, and assisted at
their entertainments. They conversed with them, by the medium of an
interpreter; and when their fair hostesses were incommoded by the heat,
they had the honour of fanning them. On their return they spoke with
great pleasure of the kind reception which they had experienced. When
they thus visited the ladies, they were clothed in linen gowns. From the
gallery which I have mentioned above, I was a witness of this scene;
and I was astonished to behold, with what unsuspecting simplicity they
conducted themselves, and with what full confidence the husbands suffered
their wives to be handed about in their dishabille by strangers. They
were not uneasy; they did not even attend to the circumstance, but saw
every transaction in the most favourable light. They are well prepared
to embrace the doctrine of Plato, who would have all things in common;
for without instruction, they are already in a great measure converts to
his principles. In some of the private baths, the men mix promiscuously
with their female relatives and friends. They go into the water three or
four times in a day; and they spend the greater part of their time in the
baths, where they amuse themselves with singing, drinking and dancing.
In the shallower part of the water they also play upon the harp. It is
a pleasant sight to see young lasses tuning their lyres, like nymphs,
with their scanty robes floating on the surface of the waters. They look
indeed like so many Venuses, emerging from the ocean. The women have a
custom of playfully begging from the men who come to see them bathe. The
latter throw down small pieces of money, which they direct to the fairer
damsels. The ladies below stretch out their hands, and spread their
bathing gowns, to receive these gifts, which frequently give rise to a
general scramble. This scramble, you will easily conceive, occasions
very laughable incidents. Besides money, garlands and crowns of flowers
are thrown down, with which the ladies ornament their heads while they
remain in the water. As I only bathed twice a day, I spent my leisure
time in witnessing this curious spectacle, visiting the other baths,
and causing the girls to scramble for money and nosegays; for there
was no opportunity of reading or studying. The whole place resounded
with songs and musical instruments, so that the mere wish to be wise,
were the height of folly; in me especially, who am not like Menedemus,
in the play, a morose rejecter of pleasure, but one of those who take
a lively interest in every thing which concerns their fellow mortals.
My pleasure was however much less than it would have been, had I been
able to converse with my new acquaintance. Circumstanced as I was, I
could only feast my eyes, wait on the ladies, and attend them to the
rendezvous of amusement. I had also an opportunity of paying my court
to them, as against this there was no prohibitory law. Besides these
various pastimes, there is also another, which is a source of no small
gratification. There is a large meadow behind the village, near the
river. This meadow, which is shaded by abundance of trees, is our usual
place of resort after supper. Here the people engage in various sports.
Some dance, others sing, and others play at ball, but in a manner very
different from the fashion of our country. For the men and women throw,
in different directions, a ball, filled with little bells. When the ball
is thrown, they all run to catch it and whoever lays hold of it is the
conqueror, and again throws it at somebody for whom he wishes to testify
a particular regard. When the thrower is ready to toss the ball, all
the rest stand with outstretched hands, and the former frequently keeps
them in a state of suspense, by pretending to aim, sometimes at one, and
sometimes at another. Many other games are here practised, which it would
be tedious to enumerate. I have related enough to give you an idea what
a numerous school of Epicureans is established at Baden. I think this
must be the place where the first man was created, which the Hebrews call
the garden of pleasure. If pleasure can make a man happy, this place is
certainly possessed of every requisite for the promotion of felicity.
“But you will perhaps wish to know what are the virtues of the waters.
Their virtues are various and manifold; but they have one quality, which
is truly wonderful, and in a manner divine. I believe there are no
baths in the world more efficacious in promoting the propagation of the
human species. This may indeed be in some measure accounted for by the
following circumstance.—An innumerable multitude of persons of all ranks
repair to this place from the distance of two hundred miles; not with a
view of recruiting their health, but of enjoying life. These baths are
the general resort of lovers and their mistresses, of all, in short, who
are fond of pleasure. Many ladies pretend to be sick, merely with a view
of being sent for cure to this watering place. You consequently see
here a great number of handsome females without their husbands, and not
protected by any male relations, but attended by a couple of maids and a
man servant, or some elderly cousin, who is very easily imposed upon. And
they come adorned with such costly apparel, that you would suppose they
were coming to a wedding, rather than to a watering place. Here we find
Vestal, or to speak more correctly, Floral virgins. Here we meet with
abbots, monks, friars, and priests, who live with greater license than
the rest of the company. These ecclesiastics, forgetting the gravity of
their profession, sometimes bathe with the ladies, and adorn their hair
with silken ribbons. For all people here concur in banishing sorrow, and
courting mirth. Their object is, not to divide that which is common,
but to communicate that which is appropriated. It is an astonishing
circumstance, that in so great a multitude (nearly a thousand persons) of
various dispositions, and so much given to riot, no discord or dissension
ever arises. The husbands see their wives gallanted, and even attended
tête à tête by strangers, and yet they are not disturbed or rendered
uneasy. Hence it happens, that the name of jealousy, that plague, which
is elsewhere productive of so much misery, is here unknown. How unlike
are the manners of these people to ours, who always see things on the
dark side, and who are so much given to censoriousness, that in our minds
the slightest suspicion instantly grows into full proof of guilt. I often
envy the apathy of these Germans, and I execrate our perversity, who are
always wishing for what we have not, and are continually exposed to
present calamity by our dread of the future. But these people, content
with little, enjoy their day of life in mirth and merriment; they do
not hanker after wealth; they are not anxious for the morrow; and they
bear adversity with patience. Thus are they rich by the mere disposition
of their minds. Their motto is, “_live while you live_.” But of this
enough—it is not my object to extol my new friends at the expense of my
countrymen. I wish my epistle to consist of unqualified good humour, that
I may impart to you a portion of the pleasure I derived from the baths of
Baden.”
Soon after Poggio’s return from Baden to Constance the Council proceeded
to the trial of Jerome of Prague, an intimate friend and associate of
John Huss. When Jerome was apprized of the arrest and imprisonment of
his brother reformer, he deemed himself bound in honour to repair to
Constance, to administer to him comfort and assistance. He accordingly
arrived in that city on the 24th of April, 1415.[73] But alarmed by
the violence of spirit which seemed to rage against reputed heretics,
he soon fled from Constance, and went to Uberlingen, whence he sent to
the council to demand a safe conduct. Instead of this instrument of
protection, the members of that assembly addressed to him a citation to
appear before them, and answer to a charge of heresy.[74] Justly dreading
the consequences of encountering the prejudices of the ecclesiastical
dignitaries, whose morals and principles he had so often branded with
infamy, he refused to obey this citation, and set off on his return to
Bohemia. He proceeded without molestation as far as Hirsaw; but there
he was arrested by the officers of the duke of Sultzbach, who sent him
in chains to Constance.[75] Immediately after his arrival in that city,
he underwent an examination, after which he was committed to prison.
The severity which he there experienced, the importunity of some of his
prosecutors, and his solitary meditations on the dreadful catastrophe
of Huss, at length shook his constancy, and on the 15th of September,
1415, he read in open Council, a recantation of his errors.[76] At this
price he purchased a relaxation of the rigour of his confinement: but,
notwithstanding the remonstrances of Zabarella, and of three other
cardinals, who contended, that by his renunciation of error, he had
satisfied public justice, he was detained in custody. In the course of
a few months after his recantation, new articles of impeachment were
exhibited against him. To these he pleaded in a solemn assembly of the
council, held for that purpose, on the 26th May, 1416.[77] Poggio,
who was present at this second trial of Jerome, gave the following
interesting account of it to his friend Leonardo Aretino.[78]
“Soon after my return from Baden to Constance, the cause of Jerome of
Prague, who was accused of heresy, came to a public hearing. The purport
of my present letter is to give you an account of this trial, which must
of necessity be a matter of considerable interest, both on account of
the importance of the subject, and the eloquence and learning of the
defendant. I must confess that I never saw any one who in pleading a
cause, especially a cause on the issue of which his own life depended,
approached nearer to that standard of ancient eloquence, which we so
much admire. It was astonishing to witness with what choice of words,
with what closeness of argument, with what confidence of countenance he
replied to his adversaries. So impressive was his peroration, that it is
a subject of great concern, that a man of so noble and excellent a genius
should have deviated into heresy. On this latter point however, I cannot
help entertaining some doubts. But far be it from me to take upon myself
to decide in so important a matter. I shall acquiesce in the opinion of
those who are wiser than myself.
“Do not however imagine that I intend to enter into the particulars of
this cause. I shall only touch upon the more remarkable and interesting
circumstances, which will be sufficient to give you an idea of the
learning of the man.
“Many things having been alleged against the prisoner as proofs of his
entertaining heretical notions, and the council being of opinion, that
the proof was sufficiently strong to warrant further investigation, it
was ordered that he should publicly answer to every particular of the
charge. He was accordingly brought before the council. But when he was
called upon to give in his answers, he for a long time refused so to
do; alleging, that he ought to be permitted to speak generally in his
defence, before he replied to the false imputations of his adversaries.
This indulgence was however denied him. Upon which, standing up in the
midst of the assembly—What gross injustice is this! exclaimed he, that
though for the space of three hundred and forty days, which I have spent
in filth and fetters, deprived of every comfort, in prisons situated at
the most remote distances from each other, you have been continually
listening to my adversaries and slanderers, you will not hear me for a
single hour! The consequence of this is, that while on the one hand,
every one’s ears are open to them, and they have for so long a time been
attempting to persuade you that I am a heretic, an enemy of the true
faith, a persecutor of the clergy; and on the other hand, I am deprived
of every opportunity of defending myself; you have prejudged my cause,
and have in your own minds condemned me, before you could possibly
become acquainted with my principles. But, says he, you are not Gods,
but men, not immortals, but mortals, liable to error, and subject to
imperfection. We are taught to believe that this assembly contains the
light of the world, the prudent men of the earth. You ought therefore
to be unremittingly careful not to do any thing rashly, foolishly or
unjustly. I indeed, who am pleading for my life, am a man of little
consequence; nor do I say what I do say through anxiety for myself (for I
am prepared to submit to the common lot of mortality)—but I am prompted
by an earnest desire, that the collective wisdom of so many eminent men
may not, in my person, violate the laws of justice. As to the injury
done to myself, it is comparatively of trifling consequence; but the
precedent will be pregnant with future mischief. These and many other
observations he made with great eloquence; but he was interrupted by the
murmurs and clamours of several of his auditors. It was decreed, that he
should first answer to the charges exhibited against him, and afterwards
have free liberty of speech. The heads of the accusation were accordingly
read from the desk. When, after they had been proved by testimony, he was
asked whether he had any remarks to make in his defence, it is incredible
with what skill and judgment he put in his answers. He advanced nothing
unbecoming a good man; and if his real sentiments agreed with his
professions, he was so far from deserving to die, that his principles did
not even give just ground for the slightest offence. He denied the whole
impeachment, as a fiction invented by the malice of his enemies. Amongst
others an article was read, which accused him of being a detractor of
the apostolic see, an oppugner of the Roman pontiff, an enemy of the
cardinals, a persecutor of prelates, and an adversary of the Christian
clergy. When this charge was read, he arose, and stretching out his
hands, he said in a pathetic tone of voice, Fathers! to whom shall I
have recourse for succour? Whose assistance shall I implore? Unto whom
shall I appeal, in protestation of my innocence?—Unto you?—But these my
persecutors have prejudiced your minds against me, by declaring that
I entertain hostility against all my judges. Thus have they artfully
endeavoured, if they cannot reach me by their imputations of error, so
to excite your fears, that you may be induced to seize any plausible
pretext to destroy your common enemy, such as they most falsely represent
me to be. Thus, if you give credit to their assertion, all my hopes of
safety are lost. He caused many to smart by the keenness of his wit, and
the bitterness of his reproaches. Melancholy as the occasion was, he
frequently excited laughter, by turning to ridicule the imputations of
his adversaries. When he was asked what were his sentiments concerning
the sacrament, he replied, that it was by nature bread; but that at the
time of consecration, and afterwards, it was the true body of Christ,
&c. according to the strictest orthodoxy. Then someone said, but it
is reported that you have maintained, that there remains bread after
consecration.—True, said Jerome, there remains bread at the baker’s.
When one of the order of preaching friars was railing against him with
uncommon asperity, he said to him—Hold thy peace, hypocrite! When
another swore by his conscience, this, said he, is a very safe mode of
deceiving. One man, who was particularly inveterate against him, he
never addressed but by the title of ass or dog. As, on account of the
number and importance of the articles exhibited against him, the cause
could not be determined at that sitting, the court was adjourned to
another day, on which the proofs of each article of impeachment were read
over, and confirmed by more witnesses. Then he arose and said, since
you have attended so diligently to my adversaries, I have a right to
demand that you should also hear me with patience. Though many violently
objected to this demand, it was at length conceded to him that he should
be heard in his defence. He then began by solemnly praying to God, so
to influence his mind, and so to inspire his speech, that he might be
enabled to plead to the advantage and salvation of his soul. He then
proceeded thus—I know, most learned judges, that many excellent men
have been most unworthily dealt with, overborne by false witnesses, and
condemned by the most unjust judgments. Illustrating this position by
particular instances, he began with Socrates, who was unjustly condemned
by his countrymen, and who could not be persuaded by the dread of the
most formidable evils, imprisonment or death, to avail himself of an
opportunity which was presented to him of escaping out of custody. He
then proceeded to mention the captivity of Plato, the torments endured
by Anaxagoras and Zeno, and the unjust condemnations of many other
gentiles—the banishment of Rutilius, the unmerited death of Boetius,
and of others mentioned in the writings of that author. He then passed
on to the instances which are recorded in the Jewish history—and in the
first place, he observed, that Moses, the deliverer and legislator of
the Jews, was frequently calumniated by his own countrymen, as a seducer
and contemner of the people. He also instanced Joseph, who was sold to
slavery, in consequence of the envy of his brethren, and afterwards
imprisoned under a groundless suspicion of incontinence. Besides
these, he enumerated Isaiah, Daniel, and almost all the prophets, who
were calumniated and persecuted, as despisers of God and sowers of
sedition. He also alluded to the trial of Susannah, and of many others,
who, notwithstanding the integrity of their lives, perished by unjust
sentences. Coming down to the time of John the Baptist and our Saviour,
he observed, that all are agreed that they were unjustly condemned,
upon false charges, supported by false witnesses. He next quoted the
case of Stephen, who was put to death by the priests; and reminded the
assembly that all the apostles were condemned to die, as seditious
movers of the people, contemners of the gods, and workers of iniquity.
He maintained that it was a scandalous thing that one priest should
be unjustly condemned by another; that it was still more scandalous,
that a college of priests should be guilty of this crime; and that it
was most scandalous of all, that it should be perpetrated by a general
council. Nevertheless he proved from history that these circumstances
had actually occurred. Upon these topics he enlarged in so impressive a
manner, that every body listened to him with fixed attention. But as the
weight of every cause rests upon the evidence by which it is supported,
he proved, by various arguments, that no credit was due to the witnesses
who deposed against him, more especially as they were instigated to
give evidence against him by hatred, malevolence, and envy. He then so
satisfactorily detailed the causes of the hatred which he imputed to his
prosecutors, that he almost convinced his judges of the reasonableness
of his objections against their testimony. His observations were so
weighty, that little credit would have been given to the depositions
of the witnesses for the prosecution, in any other cause except in a
trial for heresy. He moreover added, that he had voluntarily come to the
council, in order to defend his injured character; and gave an account
of his life and studies, which had been regulated by the laws of duty
and of virtue. He remarked, that holy men of old were accustomed to
discuss their differences of opinion in matters of belief, not with a
view of impugning the faith, but of investigating the truth—that St.
Augustine and St. Jerome had thus differed in opinion, and had upon some
points even held contrary sentiments, without any suspicion of heresy.
All the audience entertained hopes that he would either clear himself
by retracting the heresies which were objected to him, or supplicate
pardon for his errors. But he maintained that he had not erred, and that
therefore he had nothing to retract. He next began to praise John Huss,
who had been condemned to the flames, calling him a good, just, and holy
man, a man who had suffered death in a righteous cause. He professed that
he himself also was prepared to undergo the severest punishment with an
undaunted and constant mind, declaring that he submitted to his enemies,
and to witnesses who had testified such shameful falsehoods; who would
however, on some future day, give an account of what they had said, to
a God who could not be deceived. When Jerome made these declarations,
the assembly was affected with the greatest sorrow; for every body
wished, that a man of such extraordinary talents should repent of his
errors and be saved. But he persisted in his sentiments, and seemed
to court destruction. Dwelling on the praises of John Huss, he said,
that he entertained no principles hostile to the constitution of the
holy church, and that he only bore testimony against the abuses of the
clergy, and the pride and pomp of prelates: for that since the patrimony
of the church was appropriated first to the poor, then to strangers, and
lastly to the erection of churches, good men thought it highly improper
that it should be lavished on harlots, entertainments, dogs, splendid
garments, and other things unbecoming the religion of Christ. It may be
mentioned as the greatest proof of Jerome’s abilities, that though he was
frequently interrupted by various noises, and was teased by some people
who cavilled at his expressions, he replied to them all, and compelled
them either to blush or to be silent. When the clamour incommoded him, he
ceased speaking, and sometimes reproved those who disturbed him. He then
continued his speech, begging and entreating them to suffer him to speak,
since this was the last time they would hear him. He was never terrified
by the murmurs of his adversaries, but uniformly maintained the firmness
and intrepidity of his mind. It was a wonderful instance of the strength
of his memory, that though he had been confined three hundred and forty
days in a dark dungeon, where it was impossible for him to read, and
where he must have daily suffered from the utmost anxiety of mind, yet he
quoted so many learned writers in defence of his opinions, and supported
his sentiments by the authority of so many doctors of the church, that
any one would have been led to believe, that he had devoted all the time
of his imprisonment to the peaceful and undisturbed study of philosophy.
His voice was sweet, clear and sonorous; his action dignified, and well
adapted either to express indignation, or to excite compassion, which
however he neither asked nor wished for. He stood undaunted and intrepid,
not merely contemning, but like another Cato longing for death. He was
a man worthy to be held in everlasting remembrance. I do not commend
him for entertaining sentiments hostile to the constitution of the
church; but I admire his learning, his extensive knowledge, the suavity
of his eloquence, and his ability in reply. But I am afraid that all
these endowments were bestowed on him by nature, in order to effect his
destruction. As he was allowed two days for repentance, several learned
men, and amongst the rest the cardinal of Florence, visited him, with a
view of persuading him to change his sentiments, and turn from the error
of his ways. But as he pertinaciously persisted in his false notions, he
was condemned as guilty of heresy, and consigned to the flames. No stoic
ever suffered death with such constancy of mind. When he arrived at the
place of execution, he stripped himself of his garments, and knelt down
before the stake, to which he was soon after tied with wet ropes and a
chain. Then great pieces of wood, intermixed with straw, were piled as
high as his breast. When fire was set to the pile, he began to sing a
hymn, which was scarcely interrupted by the smoke and flame. I must not
omit a striking circumstance, which shows the firmness of his mind. When
the executioner was going to apply the fire behind him, in order that he
might not see it, he said, come this way, and kindle it in my sight, for
had I been afraid of it, I should never have come to this place. Thus
perished a man, in every respect exemplary, except in the erroneousness
of his faith. I was a witness of his end, and observed every particular
of its process. He may have been heretical in his notions, and obstinate
in perservering in them, but he certainly died like a philosopher. I have
rehearsed a long story, as I wished to employ my leisure in relating a
transaction which surpasses the events of ancient history. For neither
did Mutius suffer his hand to be burnt so patiently as Jerome endured
the burning of his whole body; nor did Socrates drink the hemlock as
cheerfully as Jerome submitted to the fire.”[79]
They who are admitted within the veil which hides the daily transactions
of the great from the profane eyes of the vulgar, rarely entertain an
excessive reverence for dignities. From a variety of passages which occur
in the works of Poggio, it is evident, that he was by no means insensible
of the corruptions of the pontifical court; and on more occasions than
one, he drew upon himself the severity of reproof, by the freedom with
which he exposed the vices of the clergy.[80] Whether his indignation
against the disgraceful conduct of the teachers of the Catholic doctrine
had shaken his belief in the Catholic creed, his prudence has rendered
it impossible to ascertain. It is certain, that he thought a reformation
of the manners of ecclesiastics absolutely necessary to the credit of
the church; and though he was not inspired by the zeal which prompted
John Huss, and Jerome of Prague, publicly to arraign the conduct of their
ecclesiastical superiors, let it be recorded to his honour, that he did
not, as many have done, reprove and ridicule prevailing corruptions in
private, and at the same time join in the persecution of those who had
sufficient courage to impugn the same corruptions by open hostility.
The feeling manner in which he describes the trial and execution of
Jerome, evinces a heart which daily intercourse with bigoted believers
and licentious hypocrites could not deaden to the impulses of humanity.
Indeed the manifest interest which he took in the fate of a man, who was
held by the church as an object of unqualified abhorrence,[81] awakened
the fears of Leonardo Aretino on his behalf. Leonardo was undoubtedly
apprehensive, lest his admiration of the abilities, and his compassion
for the fate of the heretic, should be attributed to a latent love of
heresy. He therefore thought it requisite to admonish his friend in the
following terms. “I received the day before yesterday, by the medium of
Barbaro, your letter on the subject of the execution of Jerome of Prague.
I very much admire its elegance; but you seem to give a more ample
testimony to the merits of the heretic than I could wish. You take care
indeed frequently to put in proper caveats; but upon the whole, you show
too great an affection for his cause. I must advise you henceforth to
write upon such subjects in a more guarded manner.”[82]
The cold caution of Leonardo may be a quality conducive to the
insurance of personal safety; but the generous warmth of Poggio lays an
irresistible claim to the applause of every ingenuous mind.