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Title: History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century, Volume 1

Author: J. H. Merle d'Aubigné

Translator: Henry Beveridge

Release date: September 25, 2012 [eBook #40858]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024

Language: English

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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORY OF
THE REFORMATION IN THE SIXTEENTH CENTURY, VOLUME 1
***

MARTIN LUTHER.
WILLM COLLINS, GLASGOW.

HISTORY

OF

THE REFORMATION

IN THE

SIXTEENTH CENTURY.
BY

J. H. MERLE D'AUBIGNÉ, D.D.
J'appelle accessoire, l'estat des affaires de ceste vie caduque et transitoire.
J'appelle principal, le gouvernement spirituel auquel reluit souverainement
la providence de Dieu.—Theodore De Beze.

By accessory I mean the state of affairs in this fading and transitory life. By
principal I mean the spiritual government in which the providence of God is
sovereignly displayed.

A NEW TRANSLATION:

(CONTAINING THE AUTHOR'S LAST IMPROVEMENTS,)

BY HENRY BEVERIDGE, ESQ. ADVOCATE.

VOLUME FIRST.

GLASGOW:
PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM COLLINS.
LONDON: R. GROOMBRIDGE AND SONS.
1845.

GLASGOW:
WILLIAM COLLINS AND CO.,
PRINTERS.

TRANSLATOR'S ADVERTISEMENT.
D'Aubigné's History of the Reformation is so well known and so highly
appreciated as to make it not only unnecessary, but almost presumptuous,
for a mere Translator to say any thing in commendation of it. The public
feeling unquestionably is, that of the works which have recently appeared, it
is one of the most talented, interesting, important, and seasonable. The mere
lapse of time, aided by the active misrepresentations of the Romish party,
had begun to make an impression in some degree unfavourable to the
principles of the Reformation. This admirable work has again placed these
principles in their true light. By its vivid display of what Rome was and did,
it has impressively reminded us of what she still is, and is prepared to do.
Her great boast is, that she has never changed. If so, she longs to return to
her former course, and will return to it the first moment that circumstances
enable her to do so. Being thus warned, our duty is plain. We must prepare
for the combat; and of all preparations, none promises to be more effectual
than that of thoroughly embuing the public mind with the facts so
graphically delineated, and the principles so luminously and forcibly
expounded in this work of D'Aubigné.
But, it may be asked, Has not this purpose been effected already, or at least
may it not be effected without the instrumentality of a new translation?
To this question the Translator answers, First, The form of the present
translation and the price at which it is published place the work within the
reach of thousands to whom it might otherwise be a sealed book. Second,
While this Translation is the cheapest in existence, it is also the only one
which can, in strict truth, be regarded as genuine. The edition from which
this translation is made was published in 1842. The date would have been of
little consequence if the work had continued the same; but the fact is, that
the edition of 1842 is not a reprint, but a complete revision of the one which
preceded it. Numerous passages of considerable length and great
importance have been introduced, while others which had, on a careful
examination, been deemed redundant or inaccurate, have been expunged.
Surely, after all the pains which the distinguished author has expended on

the improvement of his work, it is scarcely doing justice either to him or to
the English reader to leave his improvements unknown. In another respect
the present Translation exclusively contains what is conceived to be a very
decided improvement. All the Notes, the meaning of which is not given in
the Text, have been literally translated. It seemed somewhat absurd while
translating French for the benefit of the English reader, to be at the same
time presenting him with a large number of passages of untranslated Latin.
While the work has been printed in a form to which the most fastidious
cannot object, it has been issued at a price which makes it accessible to all.
The result, it is hoped, will be, that D'Aubigné's History of the Reformation
will obtain a circulation somewhat adequate to its merits, and by its
introduction into every family become what it well deserves to be—a
household book.

CONTENTS.
BOOK I.
STATE OF MATTERS BEFORE THE REFORMATION.
PAGE
CHAP. I.
Christianity—Formation of the Papacy—Unity of the
Church—The Decretals—Hildebrand—Corruption of 13
Doctrine,

CHAP. II.
Grace and Works—Pelagianism—Penances—Indulgences
27
—Supererogation—Purgatory—Taxation—Jubilee,

CHAP. III.
Relics—Easter Merriment—Corruption of the Clergy—A
34
Priest's Family—Education—Ignorance,

CHAP. IV.
Christianity Imperishable—Opposition to Rome—Frederick
42
the Wise—His Character—His Anticipation,

CHAP. V.
The Empire—National Character—Switzerland—Italy—
Spain—Portugal—France—Netherlands—England—
48
Scotland—The North—Russia—Poland—Bohemia—
Hungary,

CHAP. VI.
State of Theology—Witnesses for the Truth—The Vaudois
58
—Wickliffe—-Huss—Savonarola—John Wessel—Prolés,

CHAP. VII.

Literature—Dante—Printing—Reuchlin—His Struggle with
71
the Dominicans,

CHAP. VIII.
Erasmus—His Genius—His 'Praise of Folly'—His Greek
82
Testament—His Influence—His Failings,

CHAP. IX.
The Nobles—Hütten—'Letters of some Obscure Men'—
Seckingen—Cronberg—Hans Sachs—General 94
Fermentation,

BOOK II.
YOUTH, CONVERSION, AND FIRST LABOURS, OF LUTHER.

CHAP. I.
Luther—His Parentage—The Paternal Roof—Strict
Discipline—School—The Shunammite—His Studies— 103
University,

CHAP. II.
Scholasticism and the Classics—Luther's Piety—His
Discovery of a Bible—His Sickness—The Thunderstorm— 112
His Entrance into a Convent,

CHAP. III.
His Father's Anger—Servile Employments—His Studies—
The Bible—Hebrew and Greek—His Agony during Mass— 118
Faints,

CHAP. IV.
Staupitz—His Piety—His Visitation—His Conversation—
Presents Luther with a Bible—The Old Monk—Luther's 126
Consecration—His Call to Wittemberg,

CHAP. V.

The University of Wittemberg—Luther's First Employment
—Biblical Lectures—Preaching at Wittemberg—The Old 136
Chapel,

CHAP. VI.
Luther's Journey to Rome—A Convent on the Po—Luther's
Behaviour at Rome—Corruption of the Romish Clergy— 140
Prevailing Immorality—Pilate's Staircase,

CHAP. VII.
Doctor's Degree—Carlstadt—Luther's Oath—First Views of
149
Reformation—The Schoolmen—Spalatin,

CHAP. VIII.
'Popular Declamations'—Moral Purity of Luther—
Mysticism—Spenlein—Justification by Faith—Necessity of 156
Works,

CHAP. IX.
First Theses—Visit to the Convents—Dresden—Erfurt—
163
Tornator Peace and the Cross—Labours—The Plague,

CHAP. X.
Luther and the Elector—Duke George—Luther at Court—
167
Dinner Emser's Supper,

CHAP. XI.
Theses—Human Nature—Rationalism—Eck—Urban
172
Regius—Luther's Modesty,

Book III.
THE INDULGENCES AND THESES.

CHAP. I.
Cortège—Tezel—His Discourse—Sale of Indulgences— 180
Public Penance—Letter of Indulgence—Feasting and

Debauchery,

CHAP. II.
The Soul in the Burying-Ground—Shoemaker of Hagenau
187
—Myconius—Stratagem—Miner of Schneeberg,

CHAP. III.
Leo X—His Necessities—Albert—His Character—
193
Franciscans and Dominicans,

CHAP. IV.
Tezel Approaches—Luther in the Confessional—Tezel's
197
Rage—Luther's Discourse—The Elector's Dream,

CHAP. V.
Luther's Theses—Letter to Albert—Dissemination of the
203
Theses,

CHAP. VI.
Reuchlin—Erasmus—Flek—Bibra—The Emperor—The
Pope—Myconius—The Monks—Adelman—An Old Priest 213
—Bishop of Brandenburg—Luther's Moving Principle,

CHAP. VII.
Tezel's Attack—Luther's Reply—Luther and Spalatin—
Study of Scripture—Scheurl and Luther—Luther pleads for 221
the People—A new Suit,

CHAP. VIII.
Disputation at Frankfort—Tezel's Theses—Knipstrow—
227
Luther's Theses burnt—Tezel's Theses burnt,

CHAP. IX.
Prierio—His Dialogue—Luther's Reply—Hochstraten—
235
Eck—'The Obelisks'—'The Asterisks,'

CHAP. X.

Popular Writings—Lord's Prayer—Sermon on Repentance, 244

CHAP. XI.
Apprehensions of Luther's Friends—Journey to Heidelberg
—Bibra—The Palatinate Castle—The Paradoxes—Bucer— 249
Brentz—Snepf—The Old Professor,

BOOK FOURTH.
LUTHER BEFORE THE LEGATE.

CHAP. I.
'Solutions'—Leo X—Luther to the Bishop—To the Pope—
To the Vicar-General—Rovere to the Elector—Discourse on 258
Excommunication,

CHAP. II.
Diet of Augsburg—The Emperor to the Pope—Luther cited
to Rome—Luther's Peace—Intercession of the University— 266
Papal Brief—The Pope to the Elector,

CHAP. III.
Schwarzerd—His Wife—Philip Melancthon—His Genius—
His Studies—Call to Wittemberg—Leipsic—Parallel 273
between Luther and Melancthon—Education,

CHAP. IV.
Luther and Staupitz—Order to Appear—Luther's Departure
280
for Augsburg—Weimar—Nuremberg,

CHAP. V.
Arrival at Augsburg—De Vio—Serra-Longa—Safe-
285
Conduct—Luther to Melancthon,

CHAP. VI.
First Appearance—Conditions of Rome—Propositions to 293
Retract—Luther's Reply—Impressions on both Sides—

Arrival of Staupitz,

CHAP. VII.
Communication to the Legate—Second Appearance—
Luther's Declaration—The Legate's Reply—The Legate's 299
Volubility—Luther's Request,

CHAP. VIII.
Third Appearance—Treasury of Indulgences—Humble
303
Request—Legate's Rage—Luther Retires,

CHAP. IX.
De Vio and Staupitz—Staupitz and Luther—Luther and
Spalatin Communion—Departure of Staupitz and Link—
307
Luther to Cajetan—Luther's Departure—Appeal to the
Pope,

CHAP. X.
Luther's Flight—Luther's Wish—The Legate to the Elector
316
—The Elector to the Legate—Prosperity of the University,

CHAP. XI.
Thoughts of Departure—Adieus to the Church—Critical
Moment—Luther's Courage—Discontentment at Rome— 321
Papal Bull—Appeal to a Council,

PREFACE TO THE LAST EDITION.
My purpose is not to write the history of a party, but that of one of the
greatest revolutions which has taken place among men—the history of a
mighty impulse which was given to the world three centuries ago, and the
influence of which is still, in our day, every where perceived. The history of
the Reformation is different from the history of Protestantism. In the
former, every thing bears testimony to a revival of human nature, to a
transformation, social and religious, emanating from God. In the latter are
too often seen a remarkable degeneracy from primitive principles, party
intrigue, a sectarian spirit, and the impress of petty private feelings. The
history of Protestantism might interest none but Protestants; the history of
the Reformation is for all Christians, or rather all men.
The historian has a choice in the field in which he is to labour. He may
describe the great events which change the face of a people, or the face of
the world; or he may narrate the calm and progressive course, whether of a
nation, the Church, or mankind, which usually follows great social changes.
Both fields of history are highly important; but the preference, in point of
interest, seems due to those epochs which, under the name of Revolutions,
introduce a nation or society at large to a new era and a new life.
Such a transformation I have attempted to describe with very humble
powers, hoping that the beauty of the subject will compensate for my want
of ability. In styling it a Revolution, I give it a name which in our day is in
discredit with many, who almost confound it with revolt. This is a mistake.
A revolution is a change which takes place in the world's affairs. It is
something new evolved (revolvo) from the bosom of humanity; and, indeed,
before the end of the last century, the term was oftener used in a good than a
bad sense. They spoke of "a happy," a "marvellous" revolution. The
Reformation being a re-establishment of the principles of primitive
Christianity, is the opposite of a revolt. For that which behoved to revive it
was a regenerating—for that which must always subsist, a conservative
movement. Christianity and the Reformation, while establishing the grand
principle that all souls are equal in the sight of God, and overthrowing the

usurpations of a haughty priesthood, which presumed to place itself
between the Creator and his creature, lay it down as a fundamental principle
of social order, that all power is of God, and cry aloud to all, "Love your
brethren, fear God, honour the king."
The Reformation differs essentially from the revolutions of antiquity, and
from the greater part of those of modern times. In these, political changes
are in question, and the object is to establish or overthrow the ascendancy
of one, or it may be of many. The love of truth, of holiness, and eternity,
was the simple, yet powerful, spring by which our Reformation was
effected. It marks a step which human nature has taken in advance. In fact,
if man, instead of pursuing only material, temporal, earthly interests,
proposes to himself a higher aim, aspiring to immaterial and immortal
blessings, he advances and makes progress. The Reformation is one of the
brightest days of this glorious advance. It is a pledge that the new struggle,
which is now being decided, will terminate in favour of truth, with a
triumph still more pure, spiritual, and splendid.
Christianity and the Reformation are the two greatest revolutions on record.
Unlike the different political movements of which we read, they took place
not in one nation merely, but in several nations, and their effects must be
felt to the end of the world.
Christianity and the Reformation are the same revolution, effected at
different times, and under different circumstances. They vary in secondary
features, but are identical in their primary and principal lineaments. The one
is a repetition of the other. The one ended the old, the other began the new
world; the middle ages lie between. The one gave birth to the other, and if,
in some respects, the daughter bears marks of inferiority, she on the other
hand has her own peculiar properties.
One of these is the rapidity of her action. The great revolutions which have
issued in the fall of a monarchy, and the change of a whole political system,
or which have thrown the human mind on a new course of development,
were slowly and gradually prepared. The old power had long been
undermined, and its principal buttresses had one after another disappeared.
It was so on the introduction of Christianity. But the Reformation is seen, at
the first glance, to present a different aspect. The Church of Rome appears,

under Leo X, in all its power and glory. A monk speaks, and over the half of
Europe this power and glory crumble away, thus reminding us of the words
in which the Son of God announces his second advent: "As the lightning
cometh out of the east, and shineth even unto the west, so shall also the
coming of the Son of man be." (Matth., xxiv, 27.)
This rapidity is inexplicable to those who see, in this great event, only a
reform, and regard it as simply an act of criticism, which consisted in
making a choice among doctrines, discarding some, retaining others, and
arranging those retained, so as to form them into a new system.
How could a whole nation, how could several nations, have so quickly
performed an operation so laborious? How could this critical examination
have kindled that fire of enthusiasm which is essential to great, and, above
all, to rapid revolutions? The Reformation, as its history will show, was
altogether different. It was a new effusion of the life which Christianity
brought into the world. It was the triumph of the greatest of doctrines, that
which animates those who embrace it with the purest and strongest
enthusiasm—the doctrine of faith, the doctrine of grace. Had the
Reformation been what many Catholics and many Protestants in our day
imagine,—had it been that negative system of negative reason, which
childishly rejects whatever displeases it, and loses sight of the great ideas
and great truths of Christianity, it had never passed the narrow limits of an
academy, a cloister, or a cell. It had nothing in common with what is
generally understood by Protestantism. Far from being a worn-out,
emaciated body, it rose up like a man of might and fire.
Two considerations explain the rapidity and the extent of this revolution.
The one must be sought in God, the other among men. The impulse was
given by a mighty and invisible hand, and the change effected was a Divine
work. This is the conclusion at which an impartial and attentive observer,
who stops not at the surface, necessarily arrives. But the historian's task is
not finished; for God works by second causes. A variety of circumstances,
many of them unperceived, gradually prepared men for the great
transformation of the sixteenth century, and, accordingly, the human mind
was ripe when the hour of its emancipation pealed.

The task of the historian is to combine these two great elements in the
picture which he presents, and this has been attempted in the present
history. We shall be easily understood, when we come to trace the second
causes which contributed to the Reformation, but some perhaps will not
understand us so well, and will even be tempted to tax us with superstition,
when we attribute the accomplishment of the work to God. The idea,
however, is particularly dear to us. This history, as indicated by the
inscription on its title-page, places in front and over its head the simple and
prolific principle, God in History. But this principle being generally
neglected, and sometimes disputed, it seems necessary to expound our
views with regard to it, and thereby justify the method which we have seen
it proper to adopt.
History cannot, in our day, be that lifeless series of events which the greater
part of previous historians deemed it sufficient to enumerate. It is now
understood that in history as in man are two elements, matter and spirit. Our
great historians, unable to satisfy themselves with a detail of facts,
constituting only a barren chronicle, have sought for a principle of life to
animate the materials of past ages.
Some have borrowed this principle from art, aiming at vivid, faithful, and
graphic description, and endeavouring to make their narrative live with the
life of the events themselves.
Others have applied to philosophy for the spirit which should give fruit to
their labours. To facts they have united speculative views, instructive
lessons, political and philosophical truths, enlivening their narrative by the
language which they have made it speak, and the ideas which it has enabled
them to suggest.
Both methods doubtless are good, and should be employed within certain
limits. But there is another source to which, above all others, it is necessary
to apply for the spirit and life of the past—I mean Religion. History should
be made to live with its own proper life. God is this life. God must be
acknowledged—God proclaimed—in history. The history of the world
should purport to be annals of the government of the Supreme King.
I have descended into the field to which the narratives of our historians
invited me, and there seen the actions of men and of states in energetic

development and violent collision: of the clang of arms, I have heard more
than I can tell; but no where have I been shown the majestic form of the
Judge who sits umpire of the combat.
And yet in all the movements of nations, there is a living principle which
emanates from God. God is present on the vast stage on which the
generations of men successively appear. True! He is there a God invisible;
but if the profane multitude pass carelessly by, because He is concealed,
profound intellects, spirits which feel a longing for the principle of their
existence, seek him with so much the more earnestness, and are not
satisfied until they are prostrated before Him. And their enquiries are
magnificently rewarded. For, from the heights which they must reach in
order to meet with God, the history of the world, instead of exhibiting to
them, as to the ignorant crowd, a confused chaos, is seen like a majestic
temple, on which the invisible hand of God himself is at work, and which,
from humanity, as the rock on which it is founded, is rising up to his glory.
Shall we not see God in those great phenomena, those great personages,
those great states, which rise, and suddenly, so to speak, spring from the
dust of the earth, giving to human life a new impulse, form, and destiny?
Shall not we see Him in those great heroes who start up in society, at
particular epochs, displaying an activity and a power beyond the ordinary
limits of man, and around whom individuals and nations come without
hesitation, and group themselves as around a higher and mysterious nature?
Who flung forward into space those comets of gigantic form and fiery tail,
which only appear at long intervals, shedding on the superstitious herd of
mortals either plenty and gladness, or pestilence and terror? Who, if not
God?... Alexander seeks his origin in the abodes of Divinity; and in the
most irreligious age there is no great renown which strives not to connect
itself in some way with heaven.
And do not those revolutions, which cast down dynasties, or even whole
kingdoms into the dust; those huge wrecks which we fall in with in the
midst of the sands; those majestic ruins which the field of humanity
presents, do not those cry loud enough, God in History? Gibbon, sitting
amid the wrecks of the Capitol, and contemplating the venerable ruins,
acknowledges the intervention of a higher power. He sees, he feels it, and in
vain would turn away from it. This spectre of a mysterious power reappears

behind each ruin, and he conceives the idea of describing its influence in
the history of the disorganisation, the decline and fall of this Roman power,
which had subjugated the nations. This powerful hand, which a man of
distinguished genius, one, however, who had not bent the knee before Jesus
Christ, perceives athwart scattered fragments of the tomb of Romulus,
reliefs of Marcus Aurelius, busts of Cicero and Virgil, statues of Cæsar and
Augustus, trophies of Trajan, and steeds of Pompey, shall not we discover
amid all ruins, and recognise as the hand of our God?
Strange! this interposition of God in human affairs, which even Pagans had
recognised, men reared amid the grand ideas of Christianity treat as
superstition.
The name which Grecian antiquity gave to the Sovereign God, shows us
that it had received primitive revelations of this great truth of a God, the
source of history, and of the life of nations. It called him Zeus,[1] that is to
say, He who gives life to all that lives, to individuals and nations. To his
altars kings and subjects come to take their oaths, and from his mysterious
inspirations Minos and other legislators pretend to have received their laws.
Nay more, this great truth is figured by one of the most beautiful myths of
Pagan antiquity. Even Mythology might teach the sages of our day. This is a
fact which it may be worth while to establish; perhaps there are individuals
who will oppose fewer prejudices to the lessons of Paganism than to those
of Christianity. This Zeus, then, this Sovereign God, this Eternal Spirit, the
principle of life, is father of Clio, the Muse of History, whose mother is
Mnemosyne or Memory. Thus, according to antiquity, history unites a
celestial to a terrestrial nature. She is daughter of God and man. But, alas!
the short-sighted wisdom of our boasted days is far below those heights of
Pagan wisdom. History has been robbed of her divine parent, and now an
illegitimate child, a bold adventurer, she roams the world, not well knowing
whence she comes, or whither she goes.
But this divinity of Pagan antiquity is only a dim reflection, a flickering
shadow of the Eternal Jehovah. The true God whom the Hebrews worship,
sees meet to imprint it on the minds of all nations that he reigns perpetually
on the earth, and for this purpose gives, if I may so express it, a bodily form
to this reign in the midst of Israel. A visible Theocracy behoved for once to

exist on the earth, that it might incessantly recall the invisible Theocracy
which will govern the world for ever.
And what lustre does not the great truth—God in History—receive from the
Christian Dispensation? Who is Jesus Christ, if he be not God in History? It
was the discovery of Jesus Christ that gave John Müller, the prince of
modern historians, his knowledge of history. "The Gospel," he says, "is the
fulfilment of all hopes, the finishing point of all philosophy, the explanation
of all revolutions, the key to all the apparent contradictions of the physical
and moral world; in short, life and immortality. Ever since I knew the
Saviour, I see all things clearly; with him there is no difficulty which I
cannot solve."[2]
So speaks this great historian; and, in truth, is not the fact of God's
appearance in human nature the key-stone of the arch, the mysterious knot
which binds up all the things of earth, and attaches them to heaven? There
is a birth of God in the history of the world, and shall God not be in history?
Jesus Christ is the true God in the history of men. The very meanness of his
appearance proves it. When man wishes to erect a shade or shelter on the
earth, you may expect preparations, materials, scaffolding, workmen, tools,
trenches, rubbish. But God, when he is pleased to do it, takes the smallest
seed, which a new-born babe could have clasped in its feeble hand, deposits
it in the bosom of the earth, and, from this grain, at first imperceptible,
produces the immense tree under which the families of the earth recline. To
do great things by imperceptible means is the law of God.
In Jesus Christ this law receives its most magnificent fulfilment. Of
Christianity, which has now taken possession of the portals of nations,
which is, at this moment, reigning or wandering over all the tribes of the
earth from the rising to the setting sun, and which incredulous philosophy
herself is obliged to acknowledge as the spiritual and social law of the
world—of this Christianity, (the greatest thing under the vault of heaven,
nay, in the boundless immensity of Creation,) what was the
commencement? An infant born in the smallest town of the most despised
nation of the earth—an infant whose mother had not what the poorest and
most wretched female in any one of our cities has, a room for birth—an
infant born in a stable and laid in a manger!... There, O God, I behold and I
adore Thee!

The Reformation knew this law of God, and felt she had a call to
accomplish it. The idea that God is in history was often brought forward by
the Reformers. In particular, we find it on one occasion expressed by
Luther, under one of those grotesque and familiar, yet not undignified
figures which he was fond of employing in order to be understood by the
people. "The world," said he one day at table among his friends; "the world
is a vast and magnificent game at cards, consisting of emperors, kings, and
princes. For several ages the pope has beaten the emperors, princes, and
kings, who stooped and fell under him. Then our Lord God came and dealt
the cards, taking to himself the smallest, [Luther,] and with it has beaten the
pope, who beat the kings of the earth.... God used it as his ace. 'He hath put
down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree,' says
Mary." (Luke, i, 52.)
The period whose history I am desirous to trace, is important with reference
to the present time. Man, on feeling his weakness, is usually disposed to
seek for aid in the institutions which he sees existing around him, or in
devices, the offspring of his own imagination. The history of the
Reformation shows that nothing new is done with what is old, and that if,
according to our Saviour's expression, there must be new vessels for new
wine, there must also be new wine for new vessels. It directs man to God,
the sole actor in history—to that divine Word—always ancient, from the
eternity of the truths which it contains—always new, by the regenerating
influence which it exerts, which three centuries ago purified society,
restoring faith in God to those whom superstition had enfeebled; and which,
at all epochs in the world's history, is the source from which salvation
proceeds.
It is singular to see a great number of individuals under the agitation
produced by a vague longing for some fixed belief, actually applying to old
Catholicism. In one sense, the movement is natural. Religion being so little
known, they imagine the only place to find it is where they see it painted, in
large characters, on a banner, which age makes respectable. We say not that
every kind of Catholicism is incapable of giving man what he wants. Our
belief is, that a distinction should be carefully drawn between Catholicism
and the Papacy. The Papacy we hold to be an erroneous and destructive
system; but we are far from confounding Catholicism with it. How many
respectable men, how many true Christians has not the Catholic Church

contained! What immense services did not Catholicism render to existing
states on their first formation, at a time when it was still strongly
impregnated with the Gospel, and when the Papacy was only sketched
above it in faint outline! But we are far away from those times. In our day
an attempt is made to yoke Catholicism to the Papacy; and if catholic
Christian truths are presented, they are little else than baits to allure men
into the nets of the hierarchy. There is nothing to be expected from that
quarter. Has the papacy abandoned one of its practices, its doctrines, its
pretensions? Will not this religion, which other ages were unable to bear, be
still less tolerable to ours? What revival was ever seen to emanate from
Rome? Is it from the Papal hierarchy, all engrossed by earthly passions, that
the spirit of faith, hope, and charity, which alone will save us, can proceed?
Is it an effete system, which has no life for itself, which is everywhere
struggling with death, and exists only by aid borrowed from without, that
will give life to others, and animate Christian society with the heavenly
breath for which it sighs?
Or will this void in heart and soul, which some of our contemporaries begin
to feel, dispose others of them to apply to the new Protestantism which has
in several places supplanted the principal doctrines taught in the days of the
Apostles and Reformers? A great vagueness of doctrine reigns in many of
those Reformed Churches whose original members gave their blood as a
seal of the living faith which animated them. Men of distinguished talents,
alive to all that is beautiful in creation, have fallen into singular aberrations.
A general faith in the divinity of the Gospel is the only standard which they
are willing to follow. But what is this Gospel? This is the essential question;
and yet all are silent on it, or, rather, each speaks in his own way. What
avails it to know that in the midst of the people stands a vessel placed there
by God in order to cure them, if none care for its contents, if none
endeavour to appropriate them? This system cannot fill up the existing void.
While the faith of the Apostles and Reformers is now in all quarters
displaying its activity and power in the conversion of the world, this vague
system does nothing, gives no light, no life.
But let us not be without hope. Does not Roman Catholicism confess the
great doctrines of Christianity, God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit,
Creator, Saviour, and Sanctifier, the Truth? Does not vague Protestantism
hold in its hand the Book of Life, which is "profitable for doctrine, for

reproof, for correction, and for instruction in righteousness?" And how
many upright spirits, honourable in the eyes of men, and pleasing in the
sight of God, are found among the followers of these two systems! How
shall we not love them?—how shall we not ardently desire their complete
emancipation from the elements of the world? Charity is of vast extent; she
takes the most opposite opinions into her embrace, that she may bring them
to the feet of Jesus Christ.
Already there are signs which show that these two extreme opinions are in
course of approximating to Jesus Christ, who is the centre of truth. Are
there not some Roman Catholic churches in which the reading of the
Scriptures is recommended and practised? And, in regard to Protestant
rationalism, how great the advance which it has already made! It did not
originate in the Reformation, for the history of this great revolution will
prove that it was a time of faith; but may we not hope that it is tending
towards it? May not the force of truth reach it through the Word of God,
and, reaching, transform it? Even now it gives signs of religious sentiment,
inadequate, no doubt, but still forming an approach towards sound doctrine,
and giving hopes of decisive progress.
Both Protestantism and old Catholicism are in themselves out of the
question, and off the field; and it must be from some other source that the
men of our day are to derive a saving power. There must be something
which comes not of man, but of God. "Give me," said Archimedes, "a point
outside the world, and I will lift it from its poles." True Christianity is this
point outside the world. It lifts the human heart from the double pivot of
egotism and sensuality, and will one day lift the whole world from its evil
course, and make it turn on a new axis of righteousness and peace.
Whenever religion is in question, three objects engage the attention—God,
man, and the priest. There can only be three religions on the earth,
according as God, man, or the priest, is the author and head. By the religion
of the priest, I mean that which is invented by the priest for the glory of the
priest, and is ruled over by a sacerdotal caste. By the religion of man, I
mean those systems, those various opinions which human reason forms, and
which, created by man under disease, are, in consequence, utterly devoid of
power to cure him. By the religion of God, I mean the truth as God himself

has given it, having for its end and result the glory of God and the salvation
of men.
Hierarchism, or the religion of the priest, Christianity, or the religion of
God, rationalism, or the religion of man, are the three systems which in our
days share Christendom among them. There is no safety either for man or
for society in hierarchism and rationalism. Christianity alone will give life
to the world; but, unhappily, of the three dominant systems it is not the one
which counts the greatest number of followers.
Followers, however, it has. Christianity is doing its work of regeneration
among many Catholics in Germany, and, doubtless, in other countries also.
In our opinion, it is accomplishing it more purely and efficaciously among
the evangelical Christians in Switzerland, France, Great Britain, the United
States, etc. Blessed be God, the revivals, individual or social, which the
Gospel produces, are no longer in our day rare events, for which we must
search in ancient annals!
What I design to write, is a general history of the Reformation. I purpose to
follow its course among the different nations, and to show that the same
truths have everywhere produced the same results; at the same time,
pointing out the diversities occasioned by differences of national character.
And, first, it is in Germany especially that we find the primitive type of
reform. There it presents the most regular development, there, above all, it
bears the character of a revolution not limited to this or that people, but
embracing the whole world. The Reformation in Germany is the
fundamental history of reform. It is the great planet; the other Reformations
are secondary planets, which turn with it, lighted by the same sun, and
adapted to the same system, but still having a separate existence, each
shedding a different light, and always possessing a peculiar beauty. To the
Reformation of the sixteenth century we may apply the words of St. Paul,
"There is one glory of the sun, and another glory of the moon, and another
glory of the stars; for one star differeth from another star in glory." (1 Cor.,
xv, 41.) The Swiss Reformation took place at the same time with that of
Germany, and independently of it, and presented, more especially at an after
period, some of the grand features which characterise the German
Reformation. The Reformation in England has very special claims on our
attention, from the powerful influence which the Church of that kingdom is

now exercising over the whole world. But recollections of family and of
flight, the thought of battles, sufferings, and exile endured for the cause of
the Reformation in France, give it, in my eyes, a peculiar attraction.
Considered in itself, and also in the date of its commencement, it presents
beauties of its own.
I believe that the Reformation is a work of God; this must have been
already seen. Still, I hope to be impartial in tracing its history. Of the
principal Roman Catholic actors in this great drama—for example, of Leo
X, Albert of Magdeburg, Charles V, and Doctor Eck—I believe I have
spoken more favourably than the greater part of historians have done. On
the other hand, I have not sought to hide the faults and failings of the
Reformers.
Since the winter of 1831-32, I have delivered public lectures on the period
of the Reformation, and I then published my opening Address.[3] These
lectures have served as a preparative for the work which I now offer to the
public.
This history has been drawn from sources made familiar to me by long
residence in Germany, the Netherlands, and Switzerland, and by the study,
in the original tongues, of documents relating to the religious history of
Great Britain, and some other countries besides. These sources are indicated
by notes throughout the work, and therefore require not to be mentioned
here.
I could have wished to authenticate the different parts of my narrative by
numerous original notes, but found that, if long and frequent, they might
interrupt the course of the narrative in a manner disagreeable to the reader. I
have, therefore, confined myself to certain passages which seemed fitted to
make him more thoroughly acquainted with subject.
I address this history to those who love to see past events simply as they
were, and not by the help of the magic mirror of genius, which magnifies
and gilds, but sometimes also diminishes and distorts them. Neither the
philosophy of the eighteenth, nor the romance of the nineteenth century,
will furnish my opinions or my colours. I write the history of the
Reformation in its own spirit. Principles, it has been said, have no modesty.
Their nature is to rule, and they doggedly insist on the privilege. If they

meet in their path with other principles which dispute their ascendancy, they
give battle instantly; for a principle never rests till it has conquered. Nor can
it be otherwise. To reign is its life; if it reigns not, it dies. Hence, while
declaring that I am not able, and that I have no wish to rival other historians
of the Reformation, I make a reservation in favour of the principles on
which this history rests, and fearlessly maintain their superiority.
I cannot help thinking that as yet no history of the memorable epoch which
I am about to describe exists in French. When I commenced my work, I saw
no indication that the blank was to be filled up. This circumstance alone
could have induced me to undertake the work, and I here bring it forward as
my excuse. The blank exists still; and I pray Him from whom every good
gift "cometh down" to grant that this humble attempt may not be without
benefit to some of its readers.
J. H. M. D'AUBIGNÉ.
Eaux-Vives, near Geneva.

HISTORY OF THE REFORMATION
IN THE
SIXTEENTH CENTURY.

BOOK I.

CHAP. I.
STATE OF MATTERS BEFORE THE REFORMATION.

Christianity—Two distinguishing Principles—Formation of the Papacy
—First encroachments—Influence of Rome—Co-operation of
Bishops and Factions—External Unity of the Church—Internal
Unity of the Church—Primacy of St. Peter—Patriarchates—Co-
operation of Princes—Influence of the Barbarians—Rome
invokes the Franks—Secular Power—Pepin and Charlemagne—
The Decretals—Disorders of Rome—The Emperor the Pope's
Liege Lord—Hildebrand—His character—Celibacy—Struggle
with the Emperor—Emancipation of the Pope—Hildebrand's
Successors—The Crusades—The Church—Corruption of
Doctrine.

The enfeebled world was rocking on its base when Christianity appeared.
National religions which had sufficed for the fathers, could no longer satisfy
the children. The new generation could not be moulded in the ancient
forms. The gods of all nations transported to Rome, had there lost their
oracles, as the nations had there lost their liberty. Brought face to face in the
Capitol, they had mutually destroyed each other, and their divinity had
disappeared. A great void had been made in the religion of the world.
A kind of deism, destitute of spirit and life, kept floating, for some time,
over the abyss in which the vigorous superstitions of the ancients were
engulfed. But, like all negative beliefs, it was unable to build. Narrow
national distinctions fell with the gods, and the nations melted down into
one another. In Europe, Asia, and Africa, there was now only one empire,
and the human race began to feel its universality and its unity.
Then the Word was made flesh.
God appeared among men, and as a man, "to save that which was lost." In
Jesus of Nazareth "dwelt all the fulness of the Godhead bodily."

This is the greatest event in the annals of the world. Ancient times had
prepared it,—new times flow from it. It is their centre, their bond, and their
unity.
Thenceforth all the popular superstitions were without meaning, and the
slender remains which they had saved from the great shipwreck of infidelity
sank before the Majestic Sun of eternal truth.
The Son of man lived thirty-three years here below, curing the sick,
instructing sinners, having no place where to lay his head, yet displaying, in
the depth of this humiliation, a grandeur, a holiness, a power, and divinity,
which the world had never known. He suffered, died, rose again, and
ascended to heaven. His disciples, beginning at Jerusalem, traversed the
empire and the world, everywhere proclaiming their Master "the Author of
eternal salvation." From the heart of a nation, which stood aloof from all
nations, came forth a mercy which invited and embraced all. A great
number of Asiatics, Greeks, and Romans, till then led by priests to the feet
of dumb idols, believed the Word which suddenly illumined the earth "like
a sunbeam," as Eusebius expresses it.[4] A breath of life began to move over
this vast field of death. A new people, a holy nation, was formed among
men, and the astonished world beheld, in the disciples of the Galilean, a
purity, a self-denial, a charity, a heroism, of which it had lost even the idea.
Two principles, in particular, distinguished the new religion from all the
human systems which it drove before it. The one related to the ministers of
worship, the other to doctrine.
The ministers of Paganism were in a manner the gods whom those human
religions worshipped. The priests of Egypt, Gaul, Scythia, Germany,
Britain, and Hindostan, led the people so long, at least, as the eyes of the
people were unopened. Jesus Christ, no doubt, established a ministry, but he
did not found a particular priesthood. He dethroned the living idols of the
nations, destroyed a proud hierarchy, took from man what man had taken
from God, and brought the soul again into immediate contact with the
divine source of truth, proclaiming himself sole Master and sole Mediator.
—"One is your Master, even Christ," said he; "and all ye are brethren."
(Matt., xxiii, 8.)

In regard to doctrine, human religions had taught that salvation was of man.
The religions of the earth had framed an earthly religion. They had told man
that heaven would be given him as a hire—they had fixed its price, and
what a price! The religion of God taught that salvation came from God, was
a gift from heaven, the result of an amnesty, of an act of grace by the
Sovereign. "God," it is said, "has given eternal life."
It is true, Christianity cannot be summed up under these two heads, but they
seem to rule the subject, especially where history is concerned; and as we
cannot possibly trace the opposition between truth and error, in all points,
we must select those of them which are most prominent.
Such, then, were two of the constituent principles of the religion which at
that time took possession of the empire, and of the world. With them we are
within the true land-marks of Christianity—out of them Christianity
disappears. On the preservation or the loss of them depended its greatness
or its fall. They are intimately connected; for it is impossible to exalt the
priests of the church, or the works of believers, without lowering Jesus
Christ in his double capacity of Mediator and Redeemer. The one of these
principles should rule the history of religion, the other should rule its
doctrine. Originally, both were paramount; let us see how they were lost.
We begin with the destinies of the former.
The Church was at first a society of brethren, under the guidance of
brethren. They were all taught of God, and each was entitled to come to the
Divine fountain of light, and draw for himself. (John, vi, 45.) The Epistles,
which then decided great questions of doctrine, were not inscribed with the
pompous name of a single man—a head. The Holy Scriptures inform us,
that the words were simply these, "The apostles, elders, and brethren, to our
brethren." (Acts, xv, 23.)
But even the writings of the apostles intimate, that from the midst of these
brethren a power would rise and subvert this simple and primitive order. (2
Thess., ii, 2.)
Let us contemplate the formation, and follow the development of this power
—a power foreign to the Church.

Paul of Tarsus, one of the greatest apostles of the new religion, had arrived
at Rome, the capital of the empire and of the world, preaching the salvation
which comes from God. A church was formed beside the throne of the
Cæsars. Founded by this apostle, it consisted at first of some converted
Jews, some Greeks, and some citizens of Rome. For a long time it shone
like a pure light on a mountain top. Its faith was everywhere spoken of; but
at length it fell away from its primitive condition. It was by small
beginnings that the two Romes paved their way to the usurped dominion of
the world.
The first pastors or bishops of Rome early engaged in the conversion of the
villages and towns around the city. The necessity which the bishops and
pastors of the Campagna di Roma felt of recurring in cases of difficulty to
an enlightened guide, and the gratitude which they owed to the Church of
the metropolis, led them to remain in close union with it. What has always
been seen in analogous circumstances was seen here; this natural union
soon degenerated into dependence. The superiority which the neighbouring
churches had freely yielded, the bishops of Rome regarded as a right. The
encroachments of power form one large part of history, while the resistance
of those whose rights were invaded forms the other. Ecclesiastical power
could not escape the intoxication which prompts all those who are raised to
aim at rising still higher. It yielded to this law of humanity and nature.
Nevertheless, the supremacy of the Roman bishop was at this time limited
to oversight of the churches within the territory civilly subject to the prefect
of Rome.[5] But the rank which this city of the Emperors held in the world,
presented to the ambition of its first pastor a larger destiny. The respect paid
in the second century to the different bishops of Christendom was
proportioned to the rank of the city in which they resided. Now Rome was
the greatest, the richest, and the most powerful city in the world. It was the
seat of Empire,—the mother of nations; "All the inhabitants of the earth
belong to it," says Julian;[6] and Claudian proclaims it "the fountain of law."
[7]

If Rome is queen of the cities of the world, why should not its pastor be the
king of bishops? Why should not the Roman Church be the mother of
Christendom? Why should not the nations be her children, and her authority

their sovereign law? It was easy for the ambitious heart of man to reason in
this way. Ambitious Rome did so.
Thus Pagan Rome, when she fell, sent the proud titles which her invincible
sword had conquered from the nations of the earth to the humble minister of
the God of peace seated amidst her ruins.
The bishops in the different quarters of the empire, led away by the charm
which Rome had for ages exercised over all nations, followed the example
of the Campagna di Roma, and lent a hand to this work of usurpation. They
took pleasure in paying to the Bishop of Rome somewhat of the honour
which belonged to the Queen city of the world. At first there was no
dependence implied in this honour. They treated the Roman pastor as equal
does equal;[8] but usurped powers grow like avalanches. What was at first
mere brotherly advice soon became, in the mouth of the Pontiff, obligatory
command. In his eyes a first place among equals was a throne.
The Western bishops favoured the designs of the pastors of Rome, either
from jealousy of the Eastern bishops or because they preferred the
supremacy of a pope to the domination of a temporal power.
On the other hand, the theological factions which rent the East sought, each
in its turn, to gain the favour of Rome, anticipating their triumph from the
support of the principal Church of the West.
Rome carefully registered these requests, these mediations, and smiled
when she saw the nations throwing themselves into her arms. She let slip no
occasion of increasing and extending her power. Praise, flattery, extravagant
compliments, consultation by other churches, all became, in her eyes, and in
her hands, titles and evidents of her authority. Such is man upon the throne;
incense intoxicates him, and his head turns. What he has he regards as a
motive to strive for more.
The doctrine of the Church, and of the necessity of her external unity, which
began to prevail so early as the third century, favoured the pretensions of
Rome. The primary idea of the Church is, that it is the assembly of the
saints, (1 Cor., i, 2,) the assembly of the first-born whose names are written
in heaven. (Heb., xii, 23.) Still, however, the Church of the Lord is not
merely internal and invisible. It must manifest itself outwardly, and it was

with a view to this manifestation that the Lord instituted the Sacraments of
Baptism and the Eucharist. The Church considered as external, has
characteristics different from those which distinguish her as the Church
invisible. The internal Church, which is the body of Christ, is necessarily
and perpetually one. The visible Church, doubtless, has part in this unity,
but considered in herself, multiplicity is a characteristic attributed to her in
the Scriptures of the New Testament. While they speak to us of a Church of
God,[9] they mention, when speaking of the Church, as externally
manifested, "the Churches of Galatia," "the Churches of Macedonia," "the
Churches of Judea," "all the Churches of the Saints."[10] These different
Churches, unquestionably, may to a certain extent cultivate external union;
but though this tie be wanting, they lose none of the essential qualities of
the Church of Christ. In primitive times, the great tie which united the
members of the Church was the living faith of the heart, by which all held
of Christ as their common Head.
Various circumstances early contributed to originate and develop the idea of
the necessity of an external unity. Men accustomed to the ties and political
forms of an earthly country, transferred some of their views and customs to
the spiritual and eternal kingdom of Jesus Christ. Persecution, powerless to
destroy, or even to shake this new society, drew its attention more upon
itself, and caused it to assume the form of a more compact incorporation. To
the error which sprung up in deistical schools, or among sects, was opposed
the one universal truth received from the Apostles, and preserved in the
Church. This was well, so long as the invisible and spiritual Church was
one with the visible and external Church. But a serious divorce soon took
place; the form and the life separated from each other. The semblance of an
identical and external organisation was gradually substituted for the internal
and spiritual unity which forms the essence of genuine religion. The
precious perfume of faith was left out, and then men prostrated themselves
before the empty vase which had contained it. The faith of the heart no
longer uniting the members of the Church, another tie was sought, and they
were united by means of bishops, archbishops, popes, mitres, ceremonies,
and canons. The living Church having gradually retired into the hidden
sanctuary of some solitary souls, the external Church was put in its place,
and declared to be, with all its forms, of divine institution. Salvation, no
longer welling up from the henceforth hidden Word, it was maintained that

it was transmitted by means of the forms which had been devised, and that
no man could possess it if he did not receive it through this channel. None,
it was said, can, by his own faith, attain to eternal life. Christ communicated
to the Apostles, and the Apostles communicated to the Bishops, the unction
of the Holy Spirit; and this Spirit exists nowhere but in that order!
Originally, whosoever had the Spirit of Jesus Christ was a member of the
Church, but the terms were now reversed, and it was maintained that none
but members of the Church received the Spirit of Jesus Christ.[11]
In proportion as these ideas gained ground, the distinction between clergy
and people became more marked. The salvation of souls no longer
depended solely on faith in Christ, but also, and more especially, on union
with the Church. The representatives and heads of the Church obtained a
part of the confidence due only to Jesus Christ, and in fact became
mediators for the flock. The idea of the universal priesthood of Christians
accordingly disappeared step by step; the servants of the Church of Christ
were likened to the priests under the Old Dispensation; and those who
separated from the bishop were put in the same class with Korah, Dathan,
and Abiram. From an individual priesthood, such as was then formed in the
Church, to a sovereign priesthood, such as Rome now claims, the step was
easy.
In fact, as soon as the error as to the necessity of a visible unity of the
Church was established, a new error was seen to arise, viz., that of the
necessity of an external representative of this unity.
Although we nowhere find in the gospel any traces of a pre-eminence in St.
Peter over the other apostles; although the very idea of primacy is opposed
to the fraternal relations which united the disciples, and even to the spirit of
the gospel dispensation, which, on the contrary, calls upon all the children
of the Father to be servants one to another, recognising one only teacher,
and one only chief; and although Jesus Christ sharply rebuked his disciples,
as often as ambitious ideas of pre-eminence arose in their carnal hearts, men
invented, and by means of passages of Scripture ill understood, supported a
primacy in St. Peter, and then in this apostle, and his pretended successors
at Rome, saluted the visible representatives of visible unity—the heads of
the Church!

The patriarchal constitution also contributed to the rise of the Roman
Papacy. So early as the three first centuries, the churches of metropolitan
towns had enjoyed particular respect. The Council of Nice, in its Sixth
Canon, singled out three cities, whose churches had, according to it, an
ancient authority over those of the surrounding provinces; these were
Alexandria, Rome, and Antioch. The political origin of this distinction is
betrayed by the very name which was at first given to the bishop of these
cities. He was called Exarch, in the same way as the civil governor.[12] At a
later period, the more ecclesiastical name of Patriarch was given to him.
This name occurs for the first time in the Council of Constantinople, but in
a different sense from that which it received at a later period; for it was only
a short time before the Council of Chalcedon, that it was applied
exclusively to the great metropolitans. The second ecumenical Council
created a new patriarchate, that of Constantinople itself, the new Rome, the
second capital of the empire. The Church of Byzantium, so long in
obscurity, enjoyed the same privileges, and was put by the Council of
Chalcedon in the same rank as the Church of Rome. Rome then shared the
patriarchate with these three churches; but when the invasion of Mahomet
annihilated the sees of Alexandria and Antioch—when the see of
Constantinople decayed, and later, even separated from the west, Rome
remained alone, and circumstances rallied all around her see, which from
that time remained without a rival.
New accomplices, the most powerful of all accomplices, came also to her
aid. Ignorance and superstition seized upon the Church, and gave her up to
Rome with a bandage on her eyes, and chains on her hands. Still this
slavery was not completed without opposition. Often did the voice of the
churches protest their independence: This bold voice was heard especially
in proconsular Africa and the East.[13]
But Rome found new allies to stifle the cry of the Churches. Princes, whom
tempestuous times often caused to totter on the throne, offered her their
support if she would in return support them. They offered her spiritual
authority, provided she would reinstate them in secular power. They gave
her a cheap bargain of souls, in the hope that she would help them to a
cheap bargain of their enemies. The hierarchical power which was rising,
and the imperial power which was declining, thus supported each other,
and, by this alliance, hastened their double destiny.

Here Rome could not be a loser. An edict of Theodosius II, and of
Valentinian III, proclaimed the bishop of Rome "Rector of the whole
Church."[14] Justinian issued a similar edict. These decrees did not contain
all that the popes pretended to see in them; but in those times of ignorance it
was easy for them to give prevalence to the interpretation which was most
in their favour. The power of the emperors in Italy becoming always more
precarious, the Bishops of Rome failed not to avail themselves of the
circumstance to shake off their dependence.
But energetic promoters of the Papal power had by this time emerged from
the forests of the North. The barbarians, who had invaded the West, and
there fixed their abode, after intoxicating themselves with blood and rapine,
behoved to lower their fierce sword before the intellectual, power which
they encountered. Altogether new to Christianity, ignorant of the spiritual
nature of the Church, and requiring in religion a certain external show, they
prostrated themselves, half savages, and half Pagans, before the High Priest
of Rome. With them the West was at his feet. First, the Vandals, then the
Ostrogoths, a little later the Burgundians, afterwards the Visigoths, lastly,
the Lombards and Anglo-Saxons, came to do obeisance to the Roman
Pontiff. It was the robust shoulders of the sons of the idolatrous North
which finished the work of placing a pastor of the banks of the Tiber on the
supreme throne of Christendom.
These things took place in the West at the beginning of the seventh century,
precisely at the same period when the power of Mahomet, ready also to
seize on a portion of the globe, was rising in the East.
From that time the evil ceases not to grow. In the eighth century we see the
Bishops of Rome with one hand repulsing the Greek Emperors, their lawful
sovereigns, and seeking to chase them from Italy, while, with the other, they
caress the Mayors of France, and ask this new power, which is beginning to
rise in the West, for a share in the wrecks of the empire. Between the East,
which she repels, and the West, which she invites, Rome establishes her
usurped authority. She rears her throne between two revolts. Frightened at
the cry of the Arabs, who, become masters of Spain, vaunt that they will
soon arrive in Italy by the passes of the Pyrennees and the Alps, and
proclaim the name of Mahomet on the seven hills—amazed at the
audacious Astolphus, who, at the head of his Lombards, sends forth his

lion-roar, and brandishes his sword before the gates of the eternal city,
threatening massacre to every Roman,[15]—Rome, on the brink of ruin,
looks around in terror, and throws herself into the arms of the Franks. The
usurper Pepin asks a pretended sanction to his new royalty; the Papacy
gives it to him, and gets him in return to declare himself the defender of the
"Republic of God." Pepin wrests from the Lombards what they had wrested
from the emperor; but, instead of restoring it to him, he deposits the keys of
the towns which he has conquered on the altar of St. Peter, and, swearing
with uplifted hand, declares that it was not for a man he took up arms, but
to obtain the forgiveness of his sins from God, and do homage to St. Peter
for his conquests.
Charlemagne appears. The first time, he goes up to the Cathedral of St.
Peter devoutly kissing the steps. When he presents himself a second time, it
is as master of all the kingdoms which formed the empire of the West, and
of Rome herself.
Leo III deems it his duty to give the title to him who already has the power,
and, in the year 800, at the feast of Noel, places on the head of the son of
Pepin the crown of the Emperor of Rome.[16] From that time the pope
belongs to the empire of the Franks, and his relations with the East are
ended. He detaches himself from a rotten tree which is about to fall, in
order to engraft himself on a vigorous wild stock. Among the Germanic
races, to which he devotes himself, a destiny awaits him to which he had
never ventured to aspire.
Charlemagne bequeathed to his feeble successors only the wrecks of his
empire. In the ninth century civil power being everywhere weakened by
disunion, Rome perceived that now was the moment for her to lift her head.
When could the Church better make herself independent of the State than at
this period of decline, when the crown which Charles wore was broken, and
its fragments lay scattered on the soil of his ancient empire?
At this time the spurious Decretals of Isidore appeared. In this collection of
pretended decrees of the popes, the most ancient bishops, the
contemporaries of Tacitus and Quintilian, spoke the barbarous Latin of the
ninth century. The customs and constitutions of the Franks were gravely
attributed to the Romans of the time of the emperors; popes quoted the

Bible in the Latin translation of St. Jerome, who lived one, two, or three
centuries after them; and Victor, Bishop of Rome, in the year 192, wrote to
Theophilus, who was Archbishop of Alexandria, in 395. The impostor, who
had forged this collection, strove to make out that all the bishops derived
their authority from the Bishop of Rome, who derived his immediately from
Jesus Christ. Not only did he record all the successive conquests of the
pontiffs, but he, moreover, carried them back to the remotest periods. The
popes were not ashamed to avail themselves of this despicable invention.
As early as 865, Nicholas I selected it as his armour[17] to combat princes
and bishops. This shameless forgery was for ages the arsenal of Rome.
Nevertheless, the vices and crimes of the pontiffs were for some time to
suspend the effects of the Decretals. The Papacy celebrates its admission to
the table of kings, by shameful libations. It proceeds to intoxicate itself, and
its head turns amidst the debauch. It is about this time that tradition places
upon the Papal throne a damsel named Joan, who had fled to Rome with her
lover, and, being taken in labour, betrayed her sex in the middle of a solemn
procession. But let us not unnecessarily aggravate the disgrace of the Court
of the Roman Pontiffs. Abandoned females did reign in Rome at this period.
A throne, which pretended to exalt itself above the majesty of kings,
grovelled in the mire of vice. Theodora and Marozia, at will, installed and
deposed the pretended Masters of the Church of Christ, and placed upon the
throne of Peter their paramours, their sons, and their grandsons. These
scandalous proceedings, which are but too true, perhaps, gave rise to the
tradition of Popess Joan.
Rome becomes a vast theatre of disorder, on which the most powerful
families in Italy contend for ascendancy—the Counts of Tuscany usually
proving victorious. In 1033, this house dares to place upon the pontifical
throne, under the name of Benedict the Ninth, a young boy brought up in
debauchery. This child of twelve, when pope, continues his ineffable
turpitude.[18] A faction elects Sylvester in his stead, and at length Pope
Benedict, with a conscience loaded with adultery, and a hand dyed with the
blood of murders,[19] sells the popedom to an ecclesiastic of Rome.
The Emperors of Germany, indignant at so many disorders, cleansed Rome
with the sword. The empire, exercising its rights of superiority, drew the
triple crown out of the mire into which it had fallen, and saved the degraded

popedom by giving it decent men for heads. Henry III, in 1046, deposed
three popes, and his finger, adorned with the ring of the Roman Patricians,
pointed out the bishop to whom the keys of the confession of St. Peter were
to be remitted. Four popes, all Germans, and nominated by the emperor,
succeeded each other. When the pontiff of Rome died, deputies from that
Church appeared at the imperial court, like the envoys from other dioceses,
to request a new bishop. The emperor was even glad to see the pope
reforming abuses, strengthening the Church, holding councils, inducting
and deposing prelates, in spite of foreign monarchs; the Papacy, by these
pretensions, only exalted the power of the emperor, its liege lord. But there
was great danger in allowing such games to be played. The strength which
the popes were thus resuming, by degrees, might be turned, all at once,
against the emperor himself. When the viper recovered, it might sting the
bosom which warmed it. This was what actually happened.
Here a new epoch in the Papacy begins. It starts up from its humiliation,
and soon has the princes of the earth at its feet. To exalt it is to exalt the
Church, is to aggrandise religion, is to secure to the mind its victory over
the flesh, and to God his triumph over the world. These are its maxims, and
in these ambition finds its profit, fanaticism its excuse.
The whole of this new tendency is personified in one man,—Hildebrand.
Hildebrand, by turns unduly extolled or unjustly stigmatised, is the
personification of the Roman pontificate in its power and glory. He is one
of those master spirits of history, which contain in them an entire order of
new things, similar to those presented in other spheres by Charlemagne,
Luther, and Napoleon.
Leo IX took up this monk in passing through Clugny, and carried him to
Rome. From that time Hildebrand was the soul of the popedom, until he
became the popedom itself. He governed the Church in the name of several
pontiffs before his own reign under that of Gregory VII. One great idea took
possession of this great genius. He wishes to found a visible theocracy of
which the pope, as vicar of Jesus Christ, will be head. The remembrance of
the ancient universal dominion of Pagan Rome haunts his imagination, and
animates his zeal. He wishes to restore to Papal Rome all that the Rome of

the Emperors had lost. "What Marius and Cæsar," said his flatterers, "could
not do by torrents of blood, thou performest by a word."
Gregory VII was not led by the Spirit of the Lord. To this Spirit of truth,
humility, and meekness, he was a stranger. He sacrificed what he knew to
be true, when he judged it necessary to his designs. In particular, he did so
in the affair of Berenger. But a spirit far superior to that of the common run
of pontiffs, a deep conviction of the justice of his cause, undoubtedly did
animate him. Bold, ambitious, and inflexible in his designs, he was, at the
same time, dexterous and supple in the employment of means to ensure
their success.
His first labour was to embody the militia of the Church, for he behoved to
make himself strong before he attacked the empire. A Council held at Rome
cut off pastors from their families, and obliged them to belong entirely to
the hierarchy. The law of celibacy, conceived and executed under popes
who were themselves monks, changed the clergy into a kind of monastic
order. Gregory VII pretended to have over all the bishops and priests of
Christendom the same power which an abbot of Clugny had over the order
over which he presided. The legates of Hildebrand, comparing themselves
to the proconsuls of ancient Rome, traversed the provinces to deprive
pastors of their lawful wives, and if need were, the pope himself stirred up
the populace against married ministers.[20]
But Gregory's main purpose was to shake Rome free of the empire. This
bold design he never would have ventured to conceive, had not the
dissensions which troubled the minority of Henry IV, and the revolt of the
German princes, favoured its execution. The pope was then like one of the
grandees of the empire. Making common cause with the other great vassals,
he forms a party in the aristocratic interest, and then forbids all
ecclesiastics, under pain of excommunication, to receive investiture to their
benefices from the Emperor. He breaks the ancient ties which unite
churches and their pastors to the authority of the prince, but it is to yoke all
of them to the pontifical throne. His aim is by a powerful hand to enchain
priests, kings, and people, and make the pope a universal monarch. It is
Rome alone that every priest must fear, in Rome alone that he must hope.
The kingdoms and princedoms of the earth are his domain, and all kings
must tremble before the thunder of the Jupiter of modern Rome. Woe to him

who resists! Subjects are loosed from their oath of allegiance, the whole
country is smitten with interdict, all worship ceases, the churches are shut,
and their bells are mute; the sacraments are no longer administered, and the
word of malediction reaches even to the dead, to whom the earth, at the
bidding of a haughty pontiff, refuses the peace of the tomb.
The pope, who had been subject from the earliest days of his existence, first
to the Roman Emperors, then to the Frank Emperors, and, lastly to the
German Emperors, was now emancipated, and walked, for the first time,
their equal, if not, indeed, their master. Gregory VII was, however, humbled
in his turn; Rome was taken, and Hildebrand obliged to flee. He died at
Salerno, saying, "I have loved righteousness and hated iniquity, therefore
die I in exile."[21] Words thus uttered at the portals of the grave who will
presume to charge with hypocrisy?
The successors of Gregory, like soldiers who arrive after a great victory,
threw themselves, as conquerors, on the subjugated churches. Spain,
rescued from Islamism, Prussia, delivered from idols, fell into the hands of
the crowned priest. The crusades, which were undertaken at his bidding,
every where widened and increased his authority. Those pious pilgrims,
who had thought they saw saints and angels guiding their armies, and who,
after humbly entering the walls of Jerusalem barefoot, burned the Jews in
their synagogue, and, with the blood of thousands of Saracens, deluged the
spots to which they had come, seeking the sacred footsteps of the Prince of
Peace, carried the name of pope into the East, where it had ceased to be
known from the time when he abandoned the supremacy of the Greeks for
that of the Franks.
On the other hand, what the armies of the Roman republic and of the empire
had not been able to do, the power of the Church accomplished. The
Germans brought to the feet of a bishop the tribute which their ancestors
had refused to the most powerful generals. Their princes, on becoming
emperors, thought they had received a crown from the popes, but the popes
had given them a yoke. The kingdoms of Christendom, previously subjected
to the spiritual power of Rome, now became its tributaries and serfs.
Thus every thing in the Church is changed.

At first it was a community of brethren, and now an absolute monarchy is
established in its bosom. All Christians were priests of the living God, (1
Peter, ii, 9,) with humble pastors for their guides; but a proud head has risen
up in the midst of these pastors, a mysterious mouth utters language full of
haughtiness, a hand of iron constrains all men, both small and great, rich
and poor, bond and slave, to take the stamp of its power. The holy and
primitive equality of souls before God is lost, and Christendom, at the
bidding of a man, is divided into two unequal camps—in the one, a caste of
priests who dare to usurp the name of Church, and pretend to be invested in
the eyes of the Lord with high privileges—in the other, servile herds
reduced to blind and passive submission, a people gagged and swaddled,
and given over to a proud caste. Every tribe, language, and nation of
Christendom, fall under the domination of this spiritual king, who has
received power to conquer.

CHAP. II.
Grace—Dead Faith—Works—Unity and Duality—Pelagianism—
Salvation at the hands of Priests—Penances—Flagellations—
Indulgences—Works of Supererogation—Purgatory—Taxation—
Jubilee—The Papacy and Christianity—State of Christendom.

But, along with the principle which should rule the history of Christianity
was one which should rule its doctrine. The grand idea of Christianity was
the idea of grace, pardon, amnesty, and the gift of eternal life. This idea
supposed in man an estrangement from God, and an impossibility on his
part to reenter into communion with a Being of infinite holiness. The
opposition between true and false doctrine cannot, it is true, be entirely
summed up in the question of salvation by faith, and salvation by works.
Still it is its most prominent feature, or rather, salvation considered as
coming from man is the creating principle of all error and all abuse. The
excesses produced by this fundamental error led to the Reformation, and the
profession of a contrary principle achieved it. This feature must stand
prominently out in an introduction to the history of the Reformation.
Salvation by grace, then, is the second characteristic which essentially
distinguished the religion of God from all human religions. What had
become of it? Had the Church kept this great and primordial idea as a
precious deposit? Let us follow its history.
The inhabitants of Jerusalem, Asia, Greece, and Rome, in the days of the
first emperors, heard the glad tidings, "By grace are ye saved through faith
—it is the gift of God." (Ephes., ii, 8.) At this voice of peace—at this gospel
—at this powerful word—many guilty souls believing were brought near to
Him who is the source of peace, and numerous Christian churches were
formed in the midst of the corrupt generation then existing.
But a great misapprehension soon arose as to the nature of saving faith.
Faith, according to St. Paul, is the means by which the whole being of the
believer—his intellect, his heart, and his will—enter into possession of the
salvation which the incarnation of the Son of God has purchased for him.

Jesus Christ is apprehended by faith, and thenceforth becomes every thing
for man, and in man. He imparts a divine life to human nature; and man
thus renewed, disengaged from the power of selfishness and sin, has new
affections, and does new works. Faith (says Theology, in order to express
these ideas) is the subjective appropriation of the objective work of Christ.
If faith is not an appropriation of salvation, it is nothing; the whole
Christian economy is disturbed, the sources of new life are sealed up, and
Christianity is overturned at its base.
Such was the actual result. The practical view being gradually forgotten,
faith soon became nothing more than what it still is to many—an act of the
understanding—a simple submission to superior authority.
This first error necessarily led to a second. Faith being stripped of its
practical character, could not possibly be said to save alone. Works no
longer coming after it, behoved to be placed beside it, and the doctrine that
man is justified by faith and by works gained a footing in the Church. To
the Christian unity, which includes under the same principle justification
and works, grace and law, doctrine and duty, succeeded the sad duality,
which makes religion and morality to be quite distinct,—a fatal error, which
separates things that cannot live unless united, and which, putting the soul
on one side, and the body on the other, causes death. The words of the
apostle, echoing through all ages, are, "Having begun in the Spirit, are ye
now made perfect by the flesh?" (Gal., iii, 3.)
Another great error arose to disturb the doctrine of grace. This was
Pelagianism. Pelagius maintained that human nature is not fallen—that
there is no hereditary corruption—and that man, having received the power
of doing good, has only to will it in order to perform it.[22] If goodness
consists in certain external actions, Pelagius is right. But if we look to the
motives from which those external actions proceed, we find in every part of
man selfishness, forgetfulness of God, pollution, and powerlessness. The
Pelagian doctrine, driven back from the Church by Augustine, when it
advanced with open front, soon presented a side view in the shape of semi-
Pelagianism, and under the mask of Augustinian formulæ. This heresy
spread over Christendom with astonishing rapidity. The danger of the
system appeared, above all, in this—by placing goodness, not within, but
without, it caused a great value to be set on external works, on legal

observances, and acts of penance. The more of these men did, the holier
they were; they won heaven by them, and individuals were soon seen (a
very astonishing circumstance, certainly) who went farther in holiness than
was required. Pelagianism, at the same time that it corrupted doctrine,
strengthened the hierarchy; with the same hand with which it lowered grace
it elevated the Church; for grace is of God, and the Church is of man.
The deeper our conviction that the whole world is guilty before God, the
more will we cleave to Jesus Christ as the only source of grace. With such a
view, how can we place the Church on a level with him, since she is nothing
but the whole body of persons subject to the same natural misery? But, so
soon as we attribute to man a holiness of his own, all is changed, and
ecclesiastics and monks become the most natural medium of receiving the
grace of God. This was what happened after Pelagius. Salvation, taken out
of the hands of God, fell into the hands of priests, who put themselves in the
Lord's place. Souls thirsting for pardon behoved no longer to look towards
heaven, but towards the Church, and, above all, towards its pretended head.
To blinded minds, the Pontiff of Rome was instead of God. Hence the
greatness of the popes and indescribable abuses. The evil went farther still.
Pelagianism, in maintaining that man may attain perfect sanctification,
pretended, likewise, that the merits of saints and martyrs might be applied
to the Church. A particular virtue was even ascribed to their intercession.
They were addressed in prayer, their aid was invoked in all the trials of life,
and a real idolatry supplanted the adoration of the true and living God.
Pelagianism, at the same time, multiplied rites and ceremonies. Man
imagining that he could, and that he ought, by good works, to render
himself worthy of grace, saw nothing better fitted to merit it than outward
worship. The law of ceremonies becoming endlessly complicated, was soon
held equal at least to the moral law, and thus the conscience of Christians
was burdened anew with a yoke which had been declared intolerable in the
times of the apostles. (Acts, xv, 10.)
But what most of all deformed Christianity was the system of penance
which rose out of Pelagianism. Penance at first consisted in certain public
signs of repentance, which the Church required of those whom she had
excluded for scandal, and who were desirous of being again received into
her bosom.

By degrees, penance was extended to all sins, even the most secret, and was
considered as a kind of chastisement to which it was necessary to submit, in
order to acquire the pardon of God through the absolution of priests.
Ecclesiastical penance was thus confounded with Christian repentance,
without which there cannot be either justification or sanctification.
Instead of expecting pardon from Christ only by faith, it was expected
chiefly from the Church by works of penance.
Great importance was attached to the outward marks of repentance, tears,
fastings, and macerations, while the internal renewal of the heart, which
alone constitutes true conversion, was forgotten.
As confession and works of penance are easier than the extirpation of sin,
and the abandonment of vice, many ceased to struggle against the lusts of
the flesh, deeming it better to supply their place by means of certain
macerations.
Works of penance substituted in lieu of the salvation of God kept
multiplying in the Church from the days of Tertullian in the third century.
The thing now deemed necessary was to fast, go barefoot, and wear no
linen, etc., or to quit house and home for distant lands, or, better still, to
renounce the world and embrace the monastic state!
To all this were added, in the eleventh century, voluntary flagellations.
These, at a later period, became a real mania in Italy, which at that time was
violently agitated. Nobles and peasants, young and old, even children of
five, go two and two by hundreds, thousands, and tens of thousands,
through villages, towns and cities, with an apron tied round their waist,
(their only clothing,) and visit the churches in procession in the dead of
winter. Armed with a whip, they flagellate themselves without mercy, and
the streets resound with cries and groans, such as to force tears from those
who hear them.
Still long before the evil had reached this height, men felt the oppression of
the priests and sighed for deliverance. The priests themselves had
perceived, that if they did not apply a remedy, their usurped power would
be lost, and, therefore, they invented the system of barter, so well known
under the name of Indulgences. What they said was this:—"You penitents

are not able to fulfil the tasks which are enjoined you? Well, then, we,
priests of God, and your pastors, will take the heavy burden on ourselves.
For a fast of seven weeks," says Regino, Abbot of Prum, "there will be paid
by a rich man twentypence, by one less so tenpence, by the poor
threepence, and so in like proportion for other things."[23] Bold voices were
raised against this traffic, but in vain.
The pope soon discovered the advantages which he might draw from these
indulgences. In the thirteenth century, Alexander Hales, the irrefragable
doctor, invented a doctrine well fitted to secure this vast resource to the
Papacy, and a bull of Clement VII declared it an article of faith. Jesus
Christ, it was said, did far more than was necessary to reconcile God to
men; for that a single drop of his blood would have sufficed; but he shed
much blood in order to found a treasury for his church, a treasury which
even eternity should not be able to exhaust. The supererogatory merits of
the saints, i. e. the value of the works which they did beyond their
obligation, served also to augment this treasury, the custody and
administration of which have been intrusted to Christ's vicar upon earth,
who applies to each sinner for the faults committed after baptism these
merits of Jesus Christ and the saints according to the measure and quantity
which his sins render necessary. Who will venture to attack a practice
whose origin is so holy?
This inconceivable traffic soon extends, and becomes more complex. The
philosophers of Alexandria speak of a fire in which souls are to be made
pure. This philosophical opinion, which several ancient doctors had
adopted, Rome declared to be a doctrine of the Church. The pope, by a bull,
annexed purgatory to his domain. He decreed that man should there expiate
what he might not be able to expiate here below, but that indulgences could
deliver souls from that intermediate state in which their sins must otherwise
detain them. This dogma is expounded by Thomas Aquinas in his famous
theological Summa. Nothing was spared to fill the mind with terror. The
torments which the purifying fire inflicts on those who become its victims
were painted in dreadful colours. Even at the present day, in many Catholic
countries, we see pictures exhibited in churches, or in the public streets, in
which poor souls in the midst of burning flames are calling in agony for
relief. Who could refuse the redemption money which, on falling into the
treasury of Rome, was to ransom the soul from such sufferings?

In order to give regularity to this traffic, there was shortly after drawn up
(probably by John XXII,) the famous and scandalous taxation of
indulgences, of which there have been more than forty editions.
Ears the least delicate would be offended were we to repeat all the horrible
things contained in it.
Incest will cost, if it is not known, five groschen, if known, six; so much
will be paid for murder, so much for infanticide, adultery, perjury, house-
breaking, etc. "Shame upon Rome," exclaims Claudius Esperse, a Roman
theologian, and we add, Shame upon human nature! for we cannot reproach
Rome with anything which does not recoil upon man himself. Rome is
humanity magnified in some of its evil propensities. We say this for the
sake of truth, and we also say it for the sake of justice.
Boniface VIII, the boldest and most ambitious of the popes after Gregory
VII, outstripped all his predecessors.
In the year 1300 he published a bull, by which he announced to the Church,
that every hundred years all persons repairing to Rome would there obtain a
plenary indulgence. Crowds flocked from Italy, Sicily, Sardinia, Corsica,
France, Spain, Germany, Hungary, and all quarters. Old men of sixty and
seventy set out, and there was counted at Rome in one month to the number
of two hundred thousand pilgrims. All these strangers bringing rich
offerings, the pope and the Romans saw their treasury filled.
Roman avarice soon fixed each jubilee at fifty years, next at thirty-three,
and at last at twenty-five. Then for the greater convenience of buyers, and
the greater profit of sellers, the jubilee and its indulgences were transported
from Rome to all parts of Christendom. There was no occasion to leave
home. What others had gone to seek beyond the Alps, each might purchase
at his own door.
The evil could not go farther.
Then the Reformer arose.
We formerly saw what became of the principle which should rule the
history of Christianity, and we have now seen what became of that which
should rule its doctrine; both were lost.

To establish a mediating caste between man and God, and insist that the
salvation which God gives shall be purchased by works, penances, and
money, is the Papacy.
To give to all by Jesus Christ without a human mediator, and without that
power, which is called the Church, free access to the great gift of eternal
life, which God bestows on man, is Christianity and the Reformation.
The Papacy is an immense wall raised between man and God by the labour
of ages. Whosoever would pass it must lay his account with paying or
suffering. And yet will it not be passed?
The Reformation is the power which threw down this wall, restored Christ
to man, and levelled the path by which he may come to his Creator.
The Papacy interposes the Church between God and man. Christianity and
the Reformation make them meet face to face. The Papacy separates—the
Gospel unites them.
Having thus traced the history of the decay and extinction of the two great
principles which distinguish the religion of God from all the religions of
man, let us attend to some of the results of this vast alteration.
First, however, let us pay some tribute of respect to this Church of the
middle ages which succeeded that of the Apostles and Fathers, and
preceded that of the Reformers. The Church, although decayed, and always
more and more enslaved, still was the Church, that is to say, still remained
the most powerful friend that man possessed. Her hands, though tied, could
still bless. During those ages, great servants of Jesus Christ, men, who in
essential doctrines were true Protestants, shed a benign light, and in the
most humble convent or the most obscure parish, were found poor monks
and poor priests to solace deep griefs. The Catholic Church was not the
Papacy. The latter acted the part of oppressor, the former that of the
oppressed. The Reformation, which declared war on the one came to deliver
the other. And yet, truth to tell, the Papacy itself was sometimes, in the
hands of God, who brings good out of evil, a necessary counterpoise to the
power and ambition of princes.

CHAP. III.
Religion—Relics—Easter Merriment—Manners—Corruption—
Dissorderly Lives of Priests, Bishops, and Popes—A Priest's
Family—Education—Ignorance—Ciceronians.

Let us now attend to the State of the Church before the Reformation.
The people of Christendom no longer expecting the gratuitous gift of
eternal life from the true and living God, it was necessary, in order to obtain
it, to have recourse to all the methods which a superstitious, timid, and
frightened conscience could invent. Heaven is full of saints and mediators
who can solicit the favour. Earth is full of pious works, sacrifices,
observances, and ceremonies, which can merit it. Such is the picture of the
religion of this period, as drawn by one who was long a monk, and
afterwards a fellow-worker with Luther.
Myconius says, "The sufferings and merits of Christ were as a vain tale, or
as the Fables of Homer. Not a word was said of the faith by which the
righteousness of the Saviour, and the inheritance of eternal life, are secured.
Christ was a severe judge, ready to condemn all who did not recur to the
intercession of saints, or the indulgences of popes. Instead of him there
figured as intercessors, first the Virgin Mary, like the Diana of Paganism,
and after her saints, of whom the popes were continually enlarging the
catalogue. These mediators gave the benefit of their prayers only to those
who had deserved well of the orders founded by them. For this it was
necessary to do not what God commands in his word, but a great number of
works which monks and priests had devised, and which brought in large
sums of money. These were, Ave-Marias, prayers of St. Ursula, and St.
Bridget. It was necessary to chant and cry night and day. There were as
many places of pilgrimage as there were mountains, forests, or valleys. But
these toils might be bought off with money. Money, therefore, and every
thing that had any value, chickens, geese, ducks, eggs, wax, straw, butter,
and cheese, were brought to the convents and to the priests. Then chants
resounded, and bells were rung, perfumes filled the sanctuary, and sacrifices

were offered; kitchens were stuffed, glasses rattled, and masses winding up
threw a cover over all these pious works. The bishops did not preach, but
they consecrated priests, bells, monks, churches, chapels, images, books,
cemeteries, all these things yielding large returns. Bones, arms, and feet,
were presented in gold and silver boxes. They were given out to be kissed
during mass, and this too yielded a large profit."
"All these folks maintained, that the pope being in the place of God, (2
Thess., ii, 4,) could not be deceived, and they would not hear of any thing to
the contrary."[24]
In the Church of All Saints at Wittemberg were shown a piece of Noah's
Ark, a small portion of soot from the furnace of the Three Young Men, a bit
of the manger in which our Saviour was laid, hair from the beard of the
great Christopher, and nineteen thousand other relics of greater or less
value. At Schaffhausen was shown the breath of St. Joseph, which
Nicodemus had received into his glove. In Wurtemberg, a vender of
indulgences was seen selling his wares, and having his head adorned with a
large feather, plucked from the wing of the archangel Michael.[25] But there
was no occasion to go to a distance in quest of these precious treasures.
Persons with hired relics travelled the country, and hawked them about, as
has since been done with the Holy Scriptures. The faithful, having them
thus brought to their houses, were spared the trouble and expence of
pilgrimage. Relics were exhibited with great ceremony in the churches,
while those travelling hawkers paid a fixed sum to the owners, and also
gave them so much per centage on their returns. The kingdom of heaven
had thus disappeared, and men, to supply its place on the earth, had opened
a disgraceful traffic.
In this way, a profane spirit had invaded religion, and the most sacred
seasons of the Church, those which, most forcibly and powerfully invited
the faithful to self-examination and love, were dishonoured by buffoonery
and mere heathen blasphemies. The "Easter Drolleries" held an important
place in the acts of the Church. As the festival of the resurrection required
to be celebrated with joy, every thing that could excite the laughter of the
hearers was sought out, and thrust into sermons. One preacher imitated the
note of the cuckoo, while another hissed like a goose. One dragged forward
to the altar a layman in a cassock; a second told the most indecent stories; a

third related the adventures of the Apostle Peter, among others, how, in a
tavern, he cheated the host by not paying his score.[26] The inferior clergy
took advantage of the occasion to turn their superiors into ridicule. The
churches were thus turned into stages, and the priests into mountebanks.
If such was the state of religion, what must that of morals have been? It is
true, and equity requires we should not forget, that, at this time, corruption
was not universal. Even when the Reformation took place, much piety,
righteousness, and religious vigour, were brought to light. Of this, the mere
sovereignty of God was the cause; but still, how can it be denied, that He
had previously deposited the germs of this new life in the bosom of the
Church? In our own day, were all the immoralities and abominations which
are committed in a single country brought together, the mass of corruption
would undoubtedly fill us with alarm. Still it is true, that, at this period, evil
presented itself in a form, and with a universality, which it has never had
since. In particular, the abomination of desolation was seen standing in the
holy place, to an extent which has not been permitted since the period of the
Reformation.
With faith morality had decayed. The glad tidings of eternal life is the
power of God for the regeneration of man. But take away the salvation
which God gives, and you take away purity of heart and life. This was
proved by the event.
The doctrine and the sale of indulgences operated on an ignorant people as
a powerful stimulus to evil. It is no doubt true, that, according to the
doctrine of the Church, indulgences were of use only to those who promised
to amend, and actually kept their promise. But what was to be expected of a
doctrine which had been invented with a view to the profit which it might
be made to yield? The venders of indulgences, the better to dispose of their
wares, were naturally disposed to present them in the most winning and
seductive form. Even the learned were not too well informed on the subject,
while the only thing seen by the multitude was, that indulgences gave them
permission to sin. The merchants were in no haste to disabuse them of an
error so greatly in favour of the trade.
In those ages of darkness, what disorders and crimes must have prevailed
when impunity could be purchased with money! What ground could there

be for fear when a trifling contribution to build a church procured
exemption from punishment in the world to come! What hope of
renovation, when all direct communication between men and their God had
ceased—when, estranged from him, their spirit and life, they moved to and
fro among frivolous ceremonies and crude observances in an atmosphere of
death!
The priests were the first to yield to the corrupting influence. In wishing to
raise, they had lowered themselves. They had tried to steal from God a ray
of his glory, that they might place it in their own bosom; but, instead of this,
had only placed in it some of the leaven of corruption, stolen from the Evil
one. The annals of the period teem with scandalous stories. In many places
people were pleased to see their priest keeping a mistress, in the hope that it
might secure their wives from seduction.[27] How humbling the scene which
the house of such a priest must have presented! The unhappy man
maintained the woman and the children she might have borne him, out of
tithes and alms.[28] His conscience upbraided him. He blushed before his
people, his servants, and his God. The woman fearing, that, in the event of
the priest's death, she might become destitute, sometimes made provision
beforehand, and played the thief in her own house. Her honour was gone,
and her children were a living accusation against her. Objects of universal
contempt, both parties rushed into quarrelling and dissipation. Such was the
home of a priest!... In these fearful scenes, the people read a lesson of
which they were not slow to avail themselves.[29]
The rural districts became the theatre of numerous excesses. The places
where priests resided were often the abodes of dissoluteness. Corneille
Adrian at Bruges,[30] and Abbot Trinkler at Cappel,[31] imitated the manners
of the East, and had their harems. Priests associating with low company,
frequented taverns and played at dice, crowning their orgies with quarrels
and blasphemy.[32] The Council of Schaffhausen issued an order forbidding
priests to dance in public except at marriages, or to carry more than one
kind of weapon. They, moreover, ordered that such priests as were found in
houses of bad fame should be stript of their cassocks.[33] In the
archbishopric of Mayence, they leapt the walls at night, and then shouted
and revelled in all sorts of debauchery within taverns and inns. Doors and
locks were not secure from their attacks.[34] In several places, each priest

was liable to the bishop in a certain tax for the female he kept, and for every
child she bore him. One day, a German bishop, who was attending a great
festival, openly declared that in a single year, the number of priests who had
been brought before him for this purpose amounted to eleven thousand.
This account is given by Erasmus.[35]
Among the higher orders of the priesthood, the corruption was equally
great. The dignitaries of the Church preferred the turmoil of camps to
chanting at the altar, and to take lance in hand, and reduce those around
them to obedience, was one of the first qualities of a bishop. Baldwin of
Tours, who was constantly warring with his vassals and neighbours, razed
their castles, built others of his own, and thought of nothing but enlarging
his territory. It is told of a certain bishop of Eichstadt, that when he sat in
his court, he had a coat-of-mail under his gown, and a large sword in his
hand. One of his sayings was, that in fair fight he was not afraid of five
Bavarians.[36] The bishops and the inhabitants of the towns where they
resided were perpetually at war. The burghers demanded freedom, while the
priests insisted on absolute obedience. When the latter proved victorious,
they punished revolt, and satiated their vengeance with numbers of victims;
but the flame of insurrection burst forth at the very moment when they
imagined they had suppressed it. And what a spectacle was presented by the
pontifical throne at the period immediately preceding the Reformation! To
say the truth, even Rome was not often witness to such infamy.
Roderigo Borgia, after he had lived with a lady of Rome, continued the
same illegitimate intercourse with her daughter, Rosa Vanozza, and had five
children by her. This man, a cardinal and an archbishop, was living at Rome
with Vanozza, and other females besides, frequenting churches and
hospitals, when the pontifical chair became vacant by the death of Innocent
VIII. Borgia secured it by buying each cardinal for a regular price. Four
mules loaded with gold publicly entered the palace of Cardinal Sforza, the
most influential among them. Borgia became Pope under the name of
Alexander VI, and was delighted at having thus reached the pinnacle of
pleasure.
On his coronation-day, he appointed his son Cæsar, a youth of ferocious
temper and dissolute habits, Archbishop of Valentia and Bishop of
Pampeluna. Then, when his daughter Lucretia was married, he celebrated

the occasion in the Vatican with fêtes which were attended by his mistress,
Julia Bella, and enlivened by comedies and obscene songs. "All the
ecclesiastics," says a historian,[37] "had mistresses, and all the convents of
the capital were houses of bad fame." Cæsar Borgia espoused the faction of
the Guelphs, and when, by their assistance, he had destroyed the Ghibelins,
he turned round upon the Guelphs, and, in like manner, destroyed them. But
he was unwilling that any should share the spoil with him, and, therefore,
after Alexander had, in 1497, made his eldest son Duke of Benevento, the
Duke disappeared. George Schiavoni, a dealer in wood on the banks of the
Tiber, one night saw a dead body thrown into the river, but said nothing;
such occurrences were common. The dead body proved to be that of the
Duke, who had been murdered by his brother Cæsar.[38] Nor was this
enough. Having taken offence at his brother-in-law, he made him be stabbed
on the stair of the pontifical palace. The wounded man, covered with blood,
was carried to his apartment, where he was constantly watched by his wife
and sister, who, dreading Cæsar's poison, prepared his food with their own
hands. Alexander placed sentinels at his door, but Cæsar laughed at their
precautions, and as the pope was going to see his son-in-law, Cæsar said to
him, "What is not done at dinner will be done at supper." In short, he one
day forced his way into the room, drove out the wife and sister, and calling
in his executioner, Michilotto, the only person to whom he showed any
confidence, looked on while his brother-in-law was strangled.[39] Alexander
had a favourite, named Peroto. The pope's partiality for him offended the
young Duke. He pursued him, and Peroto, taking refuge under the pontifical
mantle, clasped the pope in his arms. Cæsar stabbed him, and the blood of
his victim sprung into the pontiffs face.[40] "The pope," adds a
contemporary witness to these scenes, "loves his son the Duke, and is much
afraid of him." Cæsar was the handsomest and most powerful man of his
age. He fought with six wild bulls, and despatched them with ease. Every
morning at Rome persons were found who had been assassinated during the
night, while poison carried off those whom the sword could not reach. Men
dared not to move or breathe in Rome, every one trembling till his own turn
should arrive. Cæsar Borgia was the hero of crime. The spot of earth where
iniquity attained this dreadful height was the pontifical throne. When once
man has given himself over to the powers of darkness, the higher the station
he pretends to occupy in the sight of God, the deeper he sinks into the
abysses of hell. The dissolute fêtes which were given in the pontifical

palace by the pope, his son Cæsar, and his daughter Lucretia, cannot be
described, or even thought of, without horror. The impure groves of
antiquity, perhaps, never saw the like. Historians have accused Alexander
and Lucretia of incest, but the proof seems defective. The pope had
prepared poison for a rich cardinal, in a small box of comfits which were to
be served after a sumptuous repast. The cardinal being put on his guard,
bribed the steward, and the poisoned box was placed before Alexander, who
ate of it and died.[41] The whole city ran to see the dead viper, and could not
get enough of the sight.[42]
Such was the man who occupied the pontifical see at the beginning of the
century in which the Reformation commenced.
The clergy having thus brought religion and themselves into disrepute, a
powerful voice might well exclaim, "The ecclesiastical state is opposed to
God and to his glory. The people well know this, and but too well do they
show it, by the many songs, proverbs, and jests, against priests, which are
current among the lower classes, and by all those caricatures of monks and
priests which we see on all the walls, and even on playing cards. Every man
feels disgust when he sees or when he hears of an ecclesiastic." These are
Luther's words.[43]
The evil had spread through all ranks. A spirit of error had been sent to men,
corruption of manners kept pace with corruption of faith, and a mystery of
iniquity lay like an incubus on the enslaved Church of Jesus Christ.
There was another consequence which necessarily resulted from the
oblivion into which the fundamental doctrine of the gospel had fallen.
Ignorance was the companion of corruption. The priests having taken into
their own hands the distribution of a salvation which belongs only to God,
deemed this a sufficient title to the respect of the people. What occasion had
they to study sacred literature? Their business was not to expound the
Scriptures, but to give diplomas of indulgence—a ministry which called not
for the laborious acquisition of extensive knowledge.
In the rural districts, says Wimpheling, the persons selected for preachers
were miserable creatures, who had been previously raised from beggary,
cast-off cooks, musicians, huntsmen, grooms, and still worse.[44]

The higher clergy were often sunk in deep ignorance. A Bishop of Dunfeld
congratulated himself that he had never learned either Greek or Hebrew,
while the monks contended that all heresies sprung out of these languages,
and especially out of the Greek. "The New Testament," said one of them, "is
a book full of briers and serpents. "The Greek," continued he, "is a new
language recently invented, and of it we ought specially to beware. As to
Hebrew, my dear brethren, it is certain that all who learn it, that very instant
become Jews." We quote from Heresbach, a friend of Erasmus, and a
respectable writer. Thomas Linacer, a learned and celebrated ecclesiastic,
had never read the New Testament. In the last days of his life, (in 1524,) he
caused a copy of it to be brought, but immediately dashed it from him with
an oath, because, on opening it, he had lighted on these words, "I say unto
you, Swear not at all." Now he was a great swearer. "Either this is not the
gospel," said he, "or we are not Christians."[45] Even the Theological
Faculty of Paris did not hesitate at this time to say, in presence of the
Parliament, "It is all over with religion if the study of Greek and Hebrew is
allowed." If, among ecclesiastics, there were a scattered few who had made
some attainments, it was not in sacred literature. The Ciceronians of Italy
affected great contempt for the Bible because of its style. Men calling
themselves priests of the Church of Jesus Christ, translated the writings of
holy men inspired by the Spirit of God into the style of Virgil and Horace,
in order to adapt them to the ears of good society. Cardinal Bembo, instead
of the Holy Spirit, wrote the breath of the heavenly zephyr; instead of to
forgive sins,—to bend the manes and the Sovereign God; and instead of
Christ the Son of God,—Minerva sprung from the forehead of Jupiter.
Having one day found the respectable Sadolet engaged in translating the
Epistle to the Romans, he said to him, "Leave off this child's play; such
trifling ill becomes a man of gravity."[46]
Such are some of the consequences of the system under which Christendom
then groaned. Our picture, undoubtedly, proves both the corruption of the
Church and the necessity of a Reformation; and it was this we proposed in
sketching it. The vital doctrines of Christianity had almost entirely
disappeared, and with them the light and life which constitute the essence of
genuine religion. The strength of the Church had been wasted, and its body,
enfeebled and exhausted, lay stretched almost without life, over the whole
extent which the Roman empire had occupied.

CHAP. IV.
Imperishable nature of Christianity—Two Laws of God—Apparent
Power of Rome—Hidden Opposition—Decay—Threefold
Opposition—Kings and Subjects—The Pope judged in Italy—
Discoveries by Kings and Subjects—Frederick the Wise—His
Moderation—His Anticipation.

The evils which then afflicted Christendom, viz., superstition, infidelity,
ignorance, vain speculation, and corruption of manners—all natural fruits of
the human heart—were not new upon the earth. Often had they figured in
the history of states. In the East, especially, various religions which had had
their day of glory, but had become enervated, had been attacked by them,
and, yielding to the assault, had fallen under it, never again to rise. Is
Christianity to experience the same fate? Will she be destroyed like these
ancient popular religions? Will the blow which gave them death be strong
enough to deprive her of life? Is there nothing that can save her? Will those
hostile powers that now oppress her, and which have already overthrown so
many other forms of worship, be able to seat themselves without opposition
on the ruins of the Church of Jesus Christ?
No! There is in Christianity what there was not in any of those popular
religions. It does not, like them, present certain abstract ideas, interwoven
with traditions and fables, destined to fall, sooner or later, under the attacks
of human reason. It contains pure truth, founded on facts capable of
standing the scrutiny of every upright and enlightened mind. Christianity
does not aim merely at exciting certain vague religious sentiments, which,
when they have once lost their charm, cannot be again revived. Its end is to
satisfy, and it, in fact, does satisfy, all the religious wants of human nature,
whatever the degree of refinement to which it may have attained. It is not
the work of man, whose labours fade and are effaced; it is the work of God,
who sustains what he creates; and the pledge of its duration is the promise
of its divine Head.

It is impossible that human nature can ever rise so high as to look down on
Christianity, or if, for a time, human nature do think herself able to dispense
with it, it soon appears with renewed youth and life, as alone fit for curing
souls. Degenerate nations then return with new ardour to those ancient,
simple, and powerful truths, which, in the hour of their infatuation, they had
turned from with disdain.
Christianity, in fact, displayed in the sixteenth century the same
regenerating power which it had exerted in the first. After fifteen centuries
the same truths produced the same results. In the days of the Reformation,
as in those of Paul and Peter, the Gospel, with invincible force, overthrew
the mightiest obstacles. Its sovereign power was manifested from north to
south among nations differing most widely from each other in manners,
character, and intellectual development. Then, as in the days of Stephen and
James, it lighted up the fire of enthusiasm and devotedness in nations which
seemed almost extinguished, and exalted them even to the height of
martyrdom.
How was this revival of the Church and of the world accomplished?
The observer might then have seen the operation of two laws by which God
governs the world at all times.
First, as He has ages to act in, he begins his preparations leisurely, and long
before the event which He designs to accomplish.
Then, when the time is come, he produces the greatest results by the
smallest means. It is thus he acts in nature and in history. When he wishes
an immense tree to grow, he deposits a little grain in the earth; and, when he
wishes to renew his Church, he employs the humblest instrument to
accomplish what emperors and all the learned and eminent in the Church
were unable to perform. By and by we will search for and we will discover
this little seed which a Divine hand deposited in the earth in the days of the
Reformation; but at present, let us endeavour to ascertain the various means
by which God prepared this great event.
At the period when the Reformation was ready to burst forth, Rome
appeared to be in peace and safety. One would even have said that nothing
could disturb her triumph after the great victories which she had gained.

General Councils—those Upper and Lower Houses of Catholicity—had
been subdued. The Vaudois and the Hussites had been suppressed. No
University, with the exception, perhaps, of that of Paris, which sometimes
raised its voice when its kings gave the signal, doubted the infallibility of
the oracles of Rome. Each seemed to have accepted his alloted share in her
power. The higher clergy deemed it better to give a distant chief the tenth
part of their revenues, and quietly consume the other nine, than to hazard all
for an independence which would cost much and yield little. The lower
clergy, decoyed by the perspective of rich benefices, which ambition made
them fancy and discover in the distance, were willing, by a little slavery, to
realise the flattering hopes which they entertained. Besides, they were
almost everywhere so oppressed by the chiefs of the hierarchy, that they
could scarcely struggle under their powerful grasp, far less rise boldly and
hold up their heads. The people knelt before the Roman altar, and kings
themselves, though they began in secret to despise the Bishop of Rome,
durst not venture to attack his power with a hand which the age would have
deemed sacrilegious.
But opposition, if it seemed externally to have slackened, or even ceased,
when the Reformation burst forth, had more inward strength. A nearer view
of the edifice will disclose to us more than one symptom which presaged its
downfall. General Councils, though vanquished, had diffused their
principles throughout the Church, and carried division into the enemy's
camp. The defenders of the hierarchy were divided into two parties, viz.,
those who maintained the system of absolute Papal domination, on the
principles of Hildebrand, and those who were desirous of a constitutional
Papal government, offering guarantees and giving liberty to the churches.
Nor was this the whole. Faith in the infallibility of the Roman bishop was
greatly shaken among all parties; and, if no voice was raised in opposition
to it, it was because every one rather desired anxiously to retain the little
faith in it which he still had. The least shock was dreaded, because it might
overturn the edifice. Christendom held in its breath; but it was to prevent a
disaster by which its own existence might have been endangered. From the
moment when man trembles at the thought of abandoning a long venerated
belief, it has lost its influence over him, and even the appearance of respect
which he may be desirous to keep up will not be long maintained. The
Reformation had been gradually prepared in three different worlds—the

political, the ecclesiastical, and the literary. Political bodies, private
Christians, and theologians, the literary and the learned, all contributed to
the revolution of the sixteenth century. Let us take a survey of this triple
opposition, concluding with the literary class, though, at the period
immediately preceding the revolution, it was perhaps the most powerful of
all.
First, among political bodies, Rome had lost much of its ancient credit. Of
this the Church herself was the primary cause; for, properly speaking, it was
not the errors and superstitions which she had introduced into Christianity
that gave the fatal blow. Before Christendom could have been able to
condemn her on this account, it must have stood higher than the Church, in
respect of intellectual and religious development. But there was a class of
things which the laity well understood, and it was by these they judged the
Church. She had become of the "earth, earthy." The sacerdotal empire,
which tyrannised over the nations, existed solely by the illusions of its
subjects; and having a halo for its crown, had forgotten its nature, and left
heaven, with his spheres of light and glory, to plunge into the vulgar
interests of burghers and princes. Though representing those who are born
of the Spirit, the priests had exchanged the Spirit for the flesh. They had
abandoned the treasures of knowledge, and the spiritual power of the Word,
for the brute force and tinkling of the age.
The thing happened naturally enough. At first the Church pretended that her
object was to defend spiritual order. But in order to protect it from the
opposition and assaults of the people, she had resorted to earthly means, to
vulgar weapons, which a false prudence had induced her to take up. When
the Church had once begun to handle such weapons, her spirituality was at
an end. Her arm could not become temporal without rendering her heart
temporal also. The appearance presented soon became the reverse of what it
had been at the outset. At first she had thought proper to employ the earth in
defending heaven; now she employed heaven to defend the earth.
Theocratic forms became in her hands merely a mean of accomplishing
worldly interests. The offerings which the people laid at the feet of the
sovereign pontiff of Christendom were expended in maintaining the luxury
of his court and the soldiers of his armies. His spiritual power served him as
a ladder on which to climb, and then put the kings and nations of the earth

under his feet. The charm broke, and the power of the Church was lost as
soon as the men of the world could say, "She is become as one of us."

The great were the first to examine the titles of this imaginary power.[47]
This examination might, perhaps, have been sufficient to overthrow Rome;
but, happily for her, the education of princes was everywhere in the hands
of her adepts. These inspired their august pupils with sentiments of
veneration for the Roman pontiff. The rulers of the people grew up within
the sanctuary, and princes of ordinary capacity could never entirely quit it.
Several even had no other ambition than to be found in it at the hour of
death. They preferred to die under a cassock rather than a crown.
Italy, that apple of discord in Europe, perhaps contributed most to open the
eyes of kings. Having occasion to communicate with popes on matters
which concerned the temporal prince of the States of the Church, and not
the Bishop of bishops, they were greatly astonished when they saw them
ready to sacrifice rights which appertained to the pontiff, in order to secure
certain advantages to the prince. They discovered that these pretended
organs of truth had recourse to all the petty wiles of politics, to deceit,
dissimulation, and perjury.[48] Then, at length, the bandage, which
education had tied upon the eyes of princes, fell off. Then wily Ferdinand of
Arragon tried stratagem against stratagem. Then the impetuous Louis XII
caused a medal to be struck with this inscription, "Perdam Babylonis
nomen."[49] And honest Maximilian of Austria, grieved to the heart on
learning the treachery of Leo X, declared openly, "Henceforth this pope,
too, is to me nothing better than a villain; now I can say that throughout my
life not one pope has kept faith with me, or been true to his word. If it
please God, I hope that this one will be the last."[50]
Kings and states began, moreover, to feel impatient under the heavy burden
which the popes imposed on them, and to demand that Rome should free
them from contributions and annats which wasted their resources. Already
had France opposed Rome with the pragmatic sanction, and the heads of the
empire claimed to share in it. In 1511 the emperor took part in the Council
of Pisa, and had even at one time an idea of seizing the popedom for
himself. But, among the rulers of the people none were so useful to the
Reformation as the prince in whose states it was to commence.

Of all the Electors of that period, the most powerful was Frederick of
Saxony, surnamed the Wise. Having succeeded, in 1487, to the hereditary
states of his family, he had received the electoral dignity from the emperor,
and in 1493 undertook a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, where he was dubbed
"Knight of the Holy Sepulchre." His power and influence, his riches and
liberality, raised him above all his equals. God chose him to be the tree
under whose shelter the seed of truth might be able to push forth its first
blade, without being uprooted by storms from without.[51]
No man was better fitted for this noble service. Frederick possessed the
general esteem, and, in particular, had the entire confidence of the emperor,
whom he even represented in his absence. His wisdom consisted not in the
dexterous arts of a wily politician, but in an enlightened and foreseeing
prudence, the first maxim of which was never to offer violence, from
interested motives, to the laws of honour and religion.
At the same time, he felt in his heart the power of the word of God. One day
when Staupitz, the Vicar-General, was with him, the conversation turned
upon those who entertained the people with vain declamation. "All
discourses," said the Elector, "which are filled only with subtleties and
human traditions, are wondrously cold, nerveless, and feeble. It is
impossible to advance one subtlety which another subtlety cannot destroy.
The Holy Scriptures alone are clothed with such power and majesty, that,
destroying all our learned logical contrivances, they press us home, and
constrain us to exclaim, 'Never man so spake.'" Staupitz having signified
that he was entirely of this opinion, the Elector shook him cordially by the
hand, and said, "Promise me that you will always think so."*
Frederick was just the prince required at the outset of the Reformation. Too
much feebleness on the part of its friends might have allowed it to be
strangled, while too much haste might have caused the storm, which at the
very first began with hollow murmuring sound to gather against it, to burst
too soon. Frederick was moderate but strong. He had that Christian virtue
which God always requires in those who would adore his ways—he waited
upon God. He put in practice the wise counsel of Gamaliel, "If this counsel
or this work be of men, it will come to nought; but if it be of God ye cannot
overthrow it." Acts, v, 38, 39. "Matters," said this prince to Spengler of
Nuremberg, one of the most enlightened men of his time; "matters are come

to such a point, that there is nothing more which men can do in them; God
alone must act. To His mighty hand, therefore, we commit these great
events, which are too difficult for us." Providence made an admirable
choice in selecting such a prince to protect his work in its infancy.

CHAP. V.
The People—The Empire—Providential Preparations—Impulse of the
Reformation—Peace—Middle Classes—National Character—
Yoke of the Pope—State of the Empire—Opposition to Rome—
The Burghers—Switzerland—Valour—Liberty—Small Cantons
—Italy—Obstacles to Reform—Spain—Obstacles—Portugal—
France—Preparations—Hopes Deceived—Netherlands—England
—Scotland—The North—Russia—Poland—Bohemia—Hungary.

The discoveries made by kings had gradually extended to their subjects.
The wise began to habituate themselves to the idea that the Bishop of Rome
was only a man, and sometimes even a very bad man. They had a suspicion
that he was no holier than the bishops, whose reputation was very
equivocal. The licentiousness of the popes roused the indignation of
Christendom, and hatred of the Roman name rankled in the heart of the
nations.[52]
Numerous causes concurred in facilitating the deliverance of the different
countries of the West. Let us glance at these countries.
The empire was a confederation of different states, with an emperor at their
head, each state having supreme authority within its own territory. The
Imperial Diet, composed of all the princes or sovereign states, legislated for
the whole Germanic body. It belonged to the emperor to ratify the laws,
decrees, or resolutions of the assembly, and to see them applied and carried
into execution, while the seven most powerful princes under the title of
Electors, had the disposal of the imperial crown.
The north of Germany, inhabited chiefly by the ancient Saxon race, had
acquired the greatest degree of freedom. The emperor, incessantly attacked
by the Turks in his hereditary possessions, was obliged to court those
princes and bold nations whose aid was then necessary to him. Free towns
in the north, west, and south of the empire, had, by their trade, their
manufactures, and exertions of every description, risen to a high degree of

prosperity, and thereby of independence, but the powerful house of Austria,
then invested with the imperial crown, held the greater part of the southern
states of Germany under its control, and closely watched their movements.
It was preparing to extend its dominion over the whole empire, and even
beyond it, when the Reformation interposed a mighty barrier to its
encroachments, and saved the independence of Europe.
As Judea, when Christianity arose, was in the centre of the ancient world,
so Germany was in the centre of Christendom, looking at once toward the
Netherlands, England, France, Switzerland, Italy, Hungary, Bohemia,
Poland, Denmark, and all the North. It was in the heart of Europe that the
principle of life was to be developed, and the beatings of this heart were to
circulate through all the arteries of the body the noble blood which was to
give animation to all its members.
The particular constitution which the empire had received conformably to
the dispensation of Providence, favoured the propagation of new ideas. Had
Germany been a monarchy properly so called, like France or England, the
arbitrary will of the monarch might have been able long to arrest the
progress of the gospel. But it was a confederation. Truth attacked in one
state might be received with favour in another.
The internal peace which Maximilian had just secured for the empire was
not less favourable to the Reformation. For a long time the numerous
members of the Germanic body had taken pleasure in tearing each other.
Nought had been seen but trouble and discord, war incessantly renewed,
neighbour against neighbour, town against town, and noble against noble.
Maximilian had given a solid basis to public order, by erecting the Imperial
Chamber, with power to decide in all questions between different states.
The inhabitants of Germany, after all their troubles and disquietudes, saw
the commencement of a new era of security and repose. Nevertheless, when
Luther appeared, Germany still presented to the observing eye that kind of
motion which agitates the sea after long protracted storms. The calm was
uncertain. More than one example of this will be seen as we proceed. By
giving an entirely new impulse to the Germanic nations, the Reformation
put an end for ever to all the former causes of agitation. Destroying the
system of barbarism, which had till then been paramount, it put Europe in
possession of a new system.

Christianity had, at the same time, exercised a peculiar influence on
Germany. The middle classes had made rapid improvement. Throughout the
different quarters of the empire, and more especially in the free towns, were
numerous institutions well fitted to improve the great mass of the
population. In these arts flourished. The burghers, devoting themselves in
security to the calm toils and sweet relations of social life, became more
and more accessible to knowledge, and in this way were continually
acquiring new influence and authority. The foundation of the Reformation
in Germany was not to be laid by magistrates, who must often shape their
conduct according to political exigencies, nor by nobles fired with the love
of military glory, nor by a greedy and ambitious clergy, working religion for
profit, as if it were their exclusive property. The task was reserved for the
citizens, the commonalty, the great body of the people.
The national character of the Germans was specially fitted to adapt itself to
a religious Reformation. No spurious civilisation had enervated it. The
precious seed, which the fear of God deposits in the bosom of a people, had
not been thrown to the winds. Ancient manners yet existed, displaying
themselves in that integrity and fidelity, that love of labour, that
perseverance, that serious temper, which is still to be seen, and gives
presage of greater success to the gospel, than the jeering levity, or boorish
temper of some other European nations.
The people of Germany were indebted to Rome for the great instrument of
modern civilisation, viz., faith, polish, learning, laws, all save their courage
and their arms, had come from the sacerdotal city, and, in consequence,
Germany had ever after been in close alliance with the Papacy. The one was
a kind of spiritual conquest by the other, and we all know to what purposes
Rome has invariably applied her conquests. Nations which were in
possession of faith and civilisation before a Roman pontiff existed, always
maintained in regard to him, a greater measure of independence. Still the
more thorough the subjugation of the German, the more powerful will the
reaction be when the period of awakening shall arrive. When Germany does
open her eyes, she will indignantly break loose from the chains which have
so long held her captive. The bondage she has had to endure will make her
more sensible of her need of deliverance; and freedom, and bold champions
of the truth, will come forth from this house of hard labour and bondage, in
which all her people have, for ages, been confined.

There was, at that time, in Germany, what the politicians of our days call a
"see-saw system." When the emperor was of a resolute character, his power
increased; when, on the contrary, he was of a feeble character, the influence
and power of the princes and electors were enlarged. Never had these felt
themselves stronger in regard to their chief than in the time of Maximilian,
at the period of the Reformation; and as he took part against it, it is easy to
understand how favourable the circumstance of his comparative weakness
must have been to the propagation of the gospel.
Moreover, Germany was tired of what the Romans derisively styled "the
patience of the Germans." They had indeed, shown much patience from the
days of Louis of Bavaria, when the emperors laid down their arms, and the
tiara was placed, without opposition, above the crown of the Cæsars.
The contest, however, had done little more than change its place, by
descending several steps. The same struggles which the emperors and popes
had exhibited to the world were soon renewed on a smaller scale, in all the
towns of Germany, between the bishops and the magistrates. The burghers
took up the sword which the emperors had allowed to drop from their
hands. As early as 1329 the burghers of Frankfort on the Oder had
intrepidly withstood all their ecclesiastical superiors. Excommunicated for
having continued faithful to the Margrave Louis, they had been left for
twenty-eight years without mass, baptism, marriage, or Christian burial;
and, when the monks and priests made their re-entry, they laughed at it as a
comedy or farce,—sad symptoms, doubtless, but symptoms of which the
clergy were the cause. At the period of the Reformation this opposition
between the magistrates and ecclesiastics had increased. The privileges of
the former, and the temporal pretensions of the latter, were constantly
causing jostling and collision between the two bodies.
But burgomasters, councillors, and secretaries of towns, were not the only
persons among whom Rome and the clergy found opponents. Wrath was at
the same time fermenting among the people, and broke out as early as 1502,
when the peasantry, indignant at the grinding yoke of their ecclesiastical
sovereigns, entered into a combination which goes under the name of the
Shoe-Alliance.

Thus everywhere, both in the upper and lower regions of society, a
grumbling sound was heard,—a precursor of the thunder which was soon to
burst. Germany seemed ripe for the work which the sixteenth century had
received as its task. Providence, which moves leisurely, had every thing
prepared, and the very passions which God condemns were to be overruled
by his mighty hand for the accomplishment of his designs.
Let us see how other nations were situated.
Thirteen small republics, placed with their confederates in the centre of
Europe among mountains, forming, as it were, its citadel, contained a brave
and simple people. Who would have gone to those obscure valleys in quest
of persons who, with the sons of Germany, might be the deliverers of the
Church? Who would have thought that petty unknown towns, just emerging
from barbarism, hid behind inaccessible mountains, at the extremity of
nameless lakes, would, in point of Christianity, take precedence of
Jerusalem, Antioch, Ephesus, Corinth, and Rome? Nevertheless, it so
pleased Him who wills that one spot of earth be watered with dew, and that
another spot on which the rain has not descended shall remain parched,
(Amos.)
There were other circumstances besides which might have been expected to
throw numerous obstacles in the way of the Reformation among the
Helvetic Republics. If, in a monarchy, the impediments of power were to be
dreaded, the thing to be feared in a democracy was the precipitation of the
people.
But Switzerland had also had its preparations. It was a wild but noble tree,
which had been preserved in the bosom of the valleys, in order that a
valuable fruit might one day be engrafted on it. Providence had diffused
among this new people principles of independence and freedom, destined to
display their full power whenever the signal for contest with Rome should
be given. The pope had given the Swiss the title of Protectors of the Liberty
of the Church; but they seem to have taken the honourable appellation in a
very different sense from the pontiff. If their soldiers guarded the pope in
the vicinity of the ancient Capitol, their citizens, in the bosom of the Alps,
carefully guarded their religious liberties against the assaults of the pope
and the clergy. Ecclesiastics were forbidden to apply to a foreign

jurisdiction. The "Letter of the Priests" (Pfaffenbrief, 1370) was an
energetic protestation of Swiss liberty against the abuses and power of the
clergy. Amongst these states, Zurich was distinguished for its courageous
opposition to the pretensions of Rome. Geneva, at the other extremity of
Switzerland, was at war with its bishop. These two towns particularly
signalised themselves in the great struggle which we have undertaken to
describe.
But if the Swiss towns, accessible to every kind of improvement, were
among the first to fall in with the movement of reform, it was otherwise
with the inhabitants of the mountains. The light had not yet travelled so far.
These cantons, the founders of Swiss freedom, proud of the part which they
had performed in the great struggle for independence, were not readily
disposed to imitate their younger brethren of the plains. Why change the
faith with which they had chased Austria, and which had by its altars
consecrated all the scenes of their triumph? Their priests were the only
enlightened guides to whom they could have recourse. Their worship and
their festivals gave a turn to the monotony of their tranquil life, and
pleasantly broke the silence of their peaceful retreats. They remained
impervious to religious innovation.
On crossing the Alps, we find ourselves in that Italy which was in the eyes
of the majority the Holy Land of Christendom. Whence should Europe have
expected the good of the Church if not from Italy, if not from Rome? Might
not the power which by turns raised so many different characters to the
pontifical chair, one day place in it a pontiff who would become an
instrument of blessing to the heritage of the Lord? Or if pontiffs were to be
despaired of, were there not bishops and councils, who might reform the
Church? Nothing good comes out of Nazareth; but out of Jerusalem, out of
Rome!... Such might be the thoughts of men, but God thought otherwise.
He said, "Let him who is filthy, be filthy still," (Rev., xxii,) and abandoned
Italy to her iniquities. This land of ancient glory was alternately a prey to
intestine wars and foreign invasion. The wiles of politics, the violence of
faction, the turmoil of war, seemed to have sole sway, and to banish far
away both the gospel and its peace.
Besides, Italy, broken, dismembered, and without unity, seemed little fitted
to receive a common impulse. Each frontier was a new barrier where truth

was arrested.
And if the truth was to come from the North, how could the Italians, with a
taste so refined, and a society in their eyes so exquisite, condescend to
receive any thing at the hands of barbarous Germans? Were men who
admired the cadence of a sonnet more than the majesty and simplicity of the
Scriptures, a propitious soil for the seed of the divine word? But be this as it
may, in regard to Italy, Rome was still to continue Rome. Not only did the
temporal power of the popes dispose the different Italian factions to
purchase their alliance and favour at any price, but in addition to this, the
universal ascendancy of Rome presented various attractions to the avarice
and vanity of the ultramontane states. The moment that the question of
emancipating the rest of the world from Rome should be raised, Italy would
again become Italy; domestic quarrels would not prevail to the advantage of
a foreign system. Attacks on the head of the Peninsular family would at
once revive affections and common interests which had long been in
abeyance.
The Reformation had therefore little chance in that quarter. And yet there
did exist, beyond the mountains, individuals who had been prepared to
receive the gospel light, and Italy was not entirely disinherited.
Spain had what Italy had not—a grave, noble, and religiously-disposed
people. At all times has it numbered men of piety and learning among its
clergy, while it was distant enough from Rome to be able easily to shake off
the yoke. There are few nations where one might have more reasonably
hoped for a revival of that primitive Christianity which Spain perhaps
received from St. Paul himself. And yet Spain did not raise her head among
the nations. She was destined to fulfil the declaration of Divine wisdom,
"The first shall be last." Various circumstances led to this sad result.
Spain, in consequence of its isolated position, and its distance from
Germany, must have felt only slight shocks of the great earthquake which
so violently heaved the empire. It was moreover, engrossed with treasures
very different from those which the word of God then offered to the nations.
The new world eclipsed the eternal world. A land altogether new, and
apparently silver and gold, inflamed all imaginations. An ardent desire for
riches left no room in a Spanish heart for nobler thoughts. A powerful

clergy, with scaffolds and treasures at its disposal, ruled the Peninsula. The
Spaniard willingly yielded a servile obedience to his priests, who,
disburdening him of the prior claims of spiritual occupation, left him free to
follow his passions, and to run the way of riches, discoveries, and new
continents. Victorious over the Moors, Spain had, at the expence of her
noblest blood, pulled down the crescent from the walls of Grenada, and
many other cities, and, in its place, planted the cross of Jesus Christ. This
great zeal for Christianity, which seemed to give bright hopes, turned
against the truth. Why should Catholic Spain, which had vanquished
infidelity, not oppose heresy? How should those who had chased Mahomet
from their lovely country allow Luther to penetrate into it? Their kings did
even more. They fitted out fleets against the Reformation, and in their
eagerness to vanquish it, went to seek it in Holland and England. But these
attacks aggrandised the nations against which they were directed, and their
power soon crushed Spain. In this way, these Catholic regions lost, through
the Reformation, even that temporal prosperity which was the primary
cause of their rejection of the spiritual liberty of the gospel. Nevertheless, it
was a brave and generous people that dwelt beyond the Pyrenees. Several of
their noble sons with the same ardour, but with more light than those who
had shed their blood in Moorish dungeons, came to lay their life, as an
offering, on the faggot piles of the Inquisition.
It was nearly the same with Portugal as with Spain. Emmanuel the Happy
gave it an age of gold, which must have unfitted it for the self-denial which
the gospel demands. The Portuguese, rushing into the recently discovered
routes to the East Indies and Brazil, turned their backs on Europe and the
Reformation.
Few nations might have been thought more disposed than France to receive
the gospel. Almost all the intellectual and spiritual life of the middle ages
centred in her. One would have said that the paths were already beaten for a
great manifestation of the truth. Men who were the most opposed to each
other, and who had the greatest influence on the French people, felt that
they had some affinity with the Reformation. St. Bernard had given an
example of that heart-felt faith, that inward piety, which is the finest feature
of the Reformation, while Abelard had introduced into the study of theology
that reasoning principle, which, incapable of establishing truth, is powerful
in destroying falsehood. Numerous heretics, so called, had rekindled the

flames of the word of God in the French provinces. The University of Paris
had withstood the Church to the face, and not feared to combat her. At the
beginning of the fifteenth century, the Clemangis and the Gersons had
spoken out boldly. The pragmatic sanction had been a great act of
independence, and promised to prove the palladium of the Gallican
liberties. The French nobility, so numerous and so jealous of their
precedence, and who, at this period, had just seen their privileges gradually
suppressed to the extension of the influence of the crown, must have felt
favourably disposed towards a religious revolution, the effect of which
might be to restore a portion of the independence which they had lost. The
people, lively, intelligent and open to generous emotions, were accessible to
the truth in a degree as great, if not greater, than any other people. The
Reformation might have promised to be, in this nation, the birth that was to
crown the long travail of many ages. But the Church of France, which
seemed for so many generations to have been rushing in the same direction,
turned suddenly round at the moment of the Reformation, and took quite a
contrary direction. Such was the will of Him who guides nations and their
rulers. The prince who then sat in the chariot and held the reins, and who, as
a lover of letters, might have been thought likely to be the first to second
reform, threw his people into another course. The symptoms of several
centuries proved fallacious, and the impulse given to France struck and
spent itself on the ambition and fanaticism of its kings. The Valois took the
place which she ought to have occupied. Perhaps, if she had received the
gospel, she would have become too powerful. God was pleased to take the
feeblest nations, nations that as yet were not, to make them the depositaries
of his truth. France, after having been almost reformed, ultimately found
herself again become Roman Catholic. The sword of princes thrown into
the scale, made it incline towards Rome. Alas! another sword, that of the
reformed themselves, completed the ruin of the Reformation. Hands
habituated to the sword, unlearned to pray. It is by the blood of its
confessors, and not by that of its enemies, that the gospel triumphs.
At this time the Netherlands was one of the most flourishing countries in
Europe. It contained an industrious population, enlightened by the
numerous relations which it maintained with the different quarters of the
world, full of courage, and zealous to excess for its independence, its
privileges, and its freedom. Placed on the threshold of Germany, it must

have been one of the first to hear the sound of the Reformation. Two parties,
quite distinct from each other, occupied these provinces. The more Southern
one was surfeited with wealth, and submitted. How could all those
manufactures, carried to the highest perfection—how could that boundless
traffic by land and sea—how could Bruges, the great entrepot of the trade of
the North—how could Antwerp, that queen of commercial cities,
accommodate themselves to a long and sanguinary struggle for points of
faith? On the contrary, the northern provinces defended by their sands, the
sea, and their inland waters, and still more, by the simplicity of their
manners, and their determination to lose all sooner than the gospel, not only
saved their franchises, their privileges, and their faith, but also conquered
their independence, and a glorious national character.
England scarcely seemed to promise what she has since performed.
Repulsed from the Continent, where she had so long been obstinately bent
on conquering France, she began to throw her eye towards the ocean, as the
domain which was to be the true scene of her conquests, and which was
reserved for her inheritance. Twice converted to Christianity, once under the
ancient Britons, and the second time under the Anglo-Saxons, she very
devoutly paid to Rome the annual tribute of St. Peter. But she was reserved
for high destinies. Mistress of the ocean, and present at once in all the
different quarters of the globe, she, with the nations that were to spring
from her, was one day to be the hand of God in shedding the seeds of life
over the remotest islands and the largest continents. Already several
circumstances gave a presentiment of her destiny. Bright lights had shone in
the British Isles, and some glimmerings still remained. A multitude of
foreigners, artists, merchants, and mechanics, arriving from the
Netherlands, Germany, and other countries, filled their cities and their sea-
ports. The new religious ideas must have been conveyed easily and rapidly.
In fine, the reigning monarch was an eccentric prince, who, possessed of
some knowledge and great courage, was every moment changing his
projects and ideas, and turning from side to side, according to the direction
in which his violent passions blew. It was possible that one of the
inconsistencies of Henry VIII might prove favourable to the Reformation.
Scotland was at this time agitated by factions. A king five years old, a queen
regent, ambitious nobles, and an influential clergy, kept this bold nation in

constant turmoil. It was, nevertheless, one day to hold a first place among
those that received the Reformation.
The three kingdoms of the North, Denmark, Sweden, and Norway, were
united under a common sceptre. These rude and warlike nations seemed to
have little in common with the doctrine of love and peace. And yet, by their
very energy, they were, perhaps, more disposed than the people of the South
to receive the evangelical doctrine in its power. But, the descendants of
warriors and pirates, they brought, it would seem, too warlike a character to
the Protestant cause; at a later period, their sword defended it with heroism.
Russia, retired at the extremity of Europe, had few relations with other
states, and belonged, moreover, to the Greek communion. The Reformation
effected in the Western exerted little or no influence on the Eastern Church.
Poland seemed well prepared for a reform. The vicinity of the Christians of
Bohemia and Moravia had disposed it to receive, while the vicinity of
Germany must have rapidly communicated, the evangelical impulse. So
early as 1500, the nobility of Poland Proper had demanded the cup for the
laity, appealing to the usage of the primitive Church. The liberty enjoyed by
its towns, and the independence of its nobles, made it a safe asylum for
Christians persecuted in their own country, and the truth which they brought
thither was received with joy by a great number of its inhabitants. In our
days, however, it is one of the countries which has the smallest number of
confessors.
The flame of reformation, which had long gleamed in Bohemia, had been
almost extinguished in blood. Nevertheless, precious remains which had
escaped the carnage, still survived to see the day of which John Huss had a
presentiment.
Hungary had been torn by intestine wars under the government of princes
without character and without experience, and who had at last yoked the
fate of their people to Austria, by giving this powerful House a place among
the heirs of the crown.
Such was the state of Europe at the beginning of the sixteenth century,
which was destined to produce so mighty a transformation in Christian
society.

CHAP. VI.
Roman Theology—Remains of Life—Justification by Faith—
Witnesses for the Truth—Claude—The Mystics—The Vaudois—
Valdo—Wickliffe—Huss—Prediction—Protestantism before the
Reformation—Arnoldi—Utenheim—Martin—New Witnesses in
the Church—Thomas Conecte—The Cardinal of Crayn—
Institoris—Savonarola—Justification by Faith—John Vitraire—
John Laillier—John of Wessalia—John of Goch—John Wessel—
Protestantism before the Reformation—The Bohemian Brethren
—Prophecy of Proles—Prophecy of the Franciscan of Isenach—
Third Preparative—Literature.

Having pointed out the state of nations and princes, we now proceed to the
preparation for Reform, as existing in Theology and in the Church.
The singular system of Theology which had been established in the Church
must have powerfully contributed to open the eyes of the rising generation.
Made for an age of darkness, as if such an age had been to exist for ever, it
seemed destined to become obsolete and defective in all its parts as soon as
the age should have improved. Such was the actual result. The popes had
from time to time made various additions to Christian doctrine. They had
changed or taken away whatever did not accord with their hierarchy, while
any thing not contrary to their system was allowed to remain till further
orders. This system contained true doctrines, such as redemption, and the
influence of the Holy Spirit; and these an able theologian, if any such then
existed, might have employed to combat and overthrow all the rest. The
pure gold, mingled with the worthless lead in the treasury of the Vatican,
made it easy to detect the imposition. It is true, that when any bold
opponent called attention to it, the fanner of Rome immediately threw out
the pure grain. But these very proceedings only increased the confusion.
This confusion was unbounded, and the pretended unity was only a heap of
disunion. At Rome there were doctrines of the Court, and doctrines of the
Church. The faith of the metropolis differed from the faith of the provinces;

while in the provinces, again, the variation was endless. There was a faith
for princes, a faith for the people, and a faith for religious orders. Opinions
were classed as belonging to such a convent, such a district, such a doctor,
such a monk.
Truth, in order to pass peacefully through the time when Rome would have
crushed her with an iron sceptre, had done, like the insect which with its
threads forms the chrysalis in which it shuts itself up during the cold
season. And strange enough, the instruments which divine truth had
employed for the purpose were the so much decried schoolmen. These
industrious artisans of thought had employed themselves in unravelling all
theological ideas, and out of the numerous threads had made a veil under
which the ablest of their contemporaries must have found it difficult to
recognise the truth in its original purity. It seems a sad thing, that an insect
full of life, and sometimes glowing with the most brilliant colours, should
enclose itself, apparently without life, in its dark cocoon; and yet it is the
shroud that saves it. It was the same with truth. Had the selfish and sinister
policy of Rome, in the days of her ascendancy, met the truth in naked
simplicity, she would have destroyed, or at least tried to destroy it, but
disguised as it was, by the theologians of the time, under subtleties and
endless distinctions, the popes either saw it not, or thought that, in such a
state, it could not do them harm. They accordingly patronised both the
workmen and their work. But spring might come, and then forgotten truth
might lift her head, and throw aside her shroud. In her seeming tomb,
having acquired new strength, she might now again prove victorious over
Rome and all its errors. This spring arrived. At the moment when the absurd
trappings of the schoolmen were falling off under the attack of skilful
hands, and amid the jeers of the new generation, truth made her escape, and
came forth all young and beautiful.
But not merely did the writings of the schoolmen bear powerful testimony
in favour of truth. Christianity had everywhere imparted a portion of her
own life to the life of the people. The Church of Christ was like a building
which had fallen into ruin; in digging among its foundations, a portion of
the solid rock on stitutions, which dated from the pure times of the Church,
were still existing, and could not fail to suggest to many minds evangelical
ideas utterly at variance with the prevailing superstitions. Moreover, the
inspired writers and ancient doctors of the Church, whose writings were

extant in many libraries, occasionally sent forth a solitary voice; and may
we not hope that this voice was listened to in silence by more than one
attentive ear? Let us not doubt, (and how sweet the thought!) Christians had
many brothers and many sisters in those monasteries, in which we are too
ready to see nothing but hypocrisy and dissoluteness.
The Church had fallen in consequence of having lost the grand doctrine of
Justification by faith in the Saviour; and hence, before she could rise, it was
necessary that this doctrine should be restored. As soon as it was re-
established in Christendom, all the errors and observances which had been
introduced, all that multitude of saints, pious works, penances, masses,
indulgences, etc., behoved to disappear. As soon as the one Mediator and
his one sacrifice were recognised, all other mediators and other sacrifices
were done away. "This article of justification," says one whom we may
regard as divinely illumined on the subject,[53] "is that which creates the
Church, nourishes, builds up, preserves, and defends her. No man can teach
well in the Church, or successively resist an adversary, unless he hold fast
by this truth. This," adds the writer from whom we quote, "is the heel which
bruises the Serpent's head."
God, who was preparing his work, raised up during the revolution of ages a
long series of witnesses to the truth. But the truth to which those noble men
bore testimony, they knew not with sufficient clearness, or at least were
unable to expound with sufficient distinctness. Incapable of accomplishing
the work, they were just what they should have been in order to prepare it.
We must add, however, that if they were not ready for the work, the work
was not ready for them. The measure was not yet filled up. Ages had not
accomplished their destined course, and the need of a true remedy was not
generally felt.
No sooner had Rome usurped power than a powerful opposition was
formed against her,—an opposition which extended across the middle ages.
In the ninth century, Archbishop Claude of Turin, and in the twelfth century,
Peter of Bruges, his disciple Henry, and Arnold of Brescia, in France and in
Italy endeavour to establish the worship of God in spirit and in truth.
Generally, however, in searching for this worship, they confine it too much
to the exclusion of images and external observances.

The Mystics, who have existed in almost all ages, seeking in silence for
holiness of heart, purity of life, and tranquil communion with God, cast
looks of sadness and dismay on the desolation of the Church. Carefully
abstaining from the scholastic brawls and useless discussions under which
true piety had been buried, they endeavoured to withdraw men from the
vain mechanism of external worship, and from the mire and glare of
ceremonies, that they might lead them to the internal repose enjoyed by the
soul which seeks all its happiness in God. This they could not do without
coming at every point into collision with accredited opinions, and without
unveiling the sores of the Church. Still they had no clear view of the
doctrine of justification by faith.
The Vaudois, far superior to the Mystics in purity of doctrine, form a long
chain of witnesses to the truth. Men enjoying more freedom than the rest of
the Church, appear to have inhabited the heights of the Alps in Piedmont
from ancient times; and their numbers were increased, and their doctrine
purified, by the followers of Valdo. From their mountain tops the Vaudois,
during a long series of ages, protest against the superstitions of Rome.[54]
"They contend for the living hope which they have in God through Christ,
for regeneration, and inward renewal by faith, hope, and charity, for the
merits of Jesus Christ, and the all-sufficiency of his righteousness and
grace."[55]
Still, however, this primary truth of a sinner's justification, this capital
doctrine, which ought to have risen from the midst of their doctrines, like
Mont Blanc from the bosom of the Alps, has not due prominence in their
system. Its top is not high enough.
In 1170, Peter Vaud, or Valdo, a rich merchant of Lyons, sells all his goods
and gives to the poor. He, as well as his friends, seem to have had it in view
practically to realise the perfection of primitive Christianity. He,
accordingly, begins in like manner with the branches, and not the root.
Nevertheless, his word is powerful, because of his appeal to Scripture, and
shakes the Roman hierarchy to its very foundations.
In 1360, Wickliffe appears in England, and appeals from the pope to the
word of God, but the real internal sore of the Church is, in his eyes, only
one of the numerous symptoms of disease.

John Huss lifts his voice in Bohemia, a century before Luther lifts his in
Saxony. He seems to penetrate farther than his predecessors into the essence
of Christian truth. He asks Christ to give him grace to glory only in his
cross, and in the inestimable weight of his sufferings, but his attention is
directed less against the errors of the Roman Church, than the scandalous
lives of its clergy. He was, however, if we may so speak, the John Baptist of
the Reformation. The flames of his martyrdom kindled a fire in the Church,
which threw immense light on the surrounding darkness, and the rays of
which were not to be so easily extinguished.
John Huss did more; prophetic words came forth from the depth of his
dungeon. He had a presentiment, that the true Reformation of the Church
was at hand. So early as the period when chased from Prague, he had been
forced to wander in the plains of Bohemia, where his steps were followed
by an immense crowd of eager hearers, he had exclaimed, "The wicked
have begun to lay perfidious nets for the Bohemian goose;[56] but if even
the goose, which is only a domestic fowl, a peaceful bird, and which never
takes a lofty flight into the air, has, however, broken their toils, other birds
of loftier wing will break them with much greater force. Instead of a feeble
goose, the truth will send eagles and falcons, with piercing eye."[57] The
Reformers fulfilled this prediction.
And after the venerable priest had been summoned before the Council of
Constance, after he had been thrown into prison, the chapel of Bethlehem,
where he had proclaimed the Gospel and the future triumphs of Jesus
Christ, occupied him more than his defence. One night, the holy martyr
thought he saw, in the depth of his dungeon, the features of Jesus Christ,
which he had caused to be painted on the walls of his study, effaced by the
pope and the bishops. The dream distresses him, but next day he sees
several painters employed in restoring the pictures in greater number and
splendour. Their task finished, the painters, surrounded by a great multitude,
exclaim, "Now, let popes and bishops come, they never shall efface them
more." John Huss adds, "Many people in Bethlehem rejoiced, and I among
them." "Think of your defence, rather than of dreams," said his faithful
Friend, Chevalier de Chlum, to whom he had communicated the dream. "I
am not a dreamer," replied Huss; "but this I hold for certain—the image of
Christ will never be effaced. They wished to destroy it, but it will be painted
anew in men's hearts by far abler preachers than I. The nation which loves

Jesus Christ will rejoice; and I, awaking among the dead, and, so to speak,
rising again from the tomb, will thrill with joy."[58]
A century elapsed, and the torch of the Gospel, rekindled by the Reformers,
did, in fact, illumine several nations which rejoiced in its light.
But in those ages, a word of life is heard not only among those whom Rome
regards as its adversaries; Catholicity itself—let us say it for our comfort—
contains in its bosom numerous witnesses to the truth. The primitive edifice
has been consumed; but a noble fire is slumbering under its ashes, and we
see it from time to time throwing out brilliant sparks.
It is an error to suppose that, up to the Reformation, Christianity existed
only under the Roman Catholic form, and that, at that period only, a part of
that church assumed the form of Protestantism.
Among the doctors who preceded the sixteenth century, a great number,
doubtless, inclined to the system which the Council of Trent proclaimed in
1562, but several also inclined to the doctrines professed at Augsburgh in
1530 by the Protestants; the majority, perhaps, vibrated between the two.
Anselm of Canterbury lays down the doctrines of the incarnation and
expiation as of the essence of Christianity.[59] And in a treatise in which he
teaches how to die, he says to the dying person, "Look only to the merits of
Jesus Christ." St. Bernard with powerful voice proclaims the mystery of
redemption. "If my fault comes from another," says he, "why should not my
righteousness also be derived? Certainly, it is far better for me to have it
given me, than to have it innate."[60] Several schoolmen, and after them
chancellor Gerson, forcibly attack the errors and abuses of the Church.
But, above all, let us think of the thousands of obscure individuals unknown
to the world, who, however, possessed the true life of Christ.
A monk named Arnoldi, daily in his quiet cell utters this fervent
exclamation, "O Jesus Christ my Lord! I believe that thou alone art my
redemption and my righteousness."[61]
Christopher of Utenheim, a pious bishop of Bâsle, causes his name to be
written on a picture painted on glass, and surrounds it with this inscription,

that he may have it always under his eye, "The cross of Christ is my hope; I
seek grace, and not works."[62]
Friar Martin, a poor Carthusian, wrote a touching confession, in which he
says, "O most loving God! I know there is no other way in which I can be
saved and satisfy thy justice, than by the merit, the spotless passion, and
death of thy well-beloved Son. Kind Jesus! All my salvation is in thy hands.
Thou canst not turn the arms of thy love away from me, for they created,
shaped, and ransomed me. In great mercy, and in an ineffable manner, thou
hast engraved my name with an iron pen on thy side, thy hands, and thy
feet," etc. Then the good Carthusian places his confession in a wooden box,
and deposits the box in a hole which he had made in the wall of his cell.[63]
The piety of Friar Martin would never have been known had not the box
been found, 21st December, 1776, in taking down an old tenement which
had formed part of the Carthusian Convent at Bâsle.
But this touching faith these holy men had only for themselves, and knew
not how to communicate to others. Living in retreat, they might more or
less say, as in the writing which Friar Martin put into his box, "Et si hæc
prædicta confiteri non possim lingua, confiteor tamen corde et scripto."
"And these things aforesaid, if I cannot confess with the tongue, I, however,
confess with the heart and in writing." The word of truth was in the
sanctuary of some pious souls, but, to use a Scripture expression, it had not
"free course" in the world. Still, if the doctrine of salvation was not always
confessed aloud, there were some in the very bosom of the Church of Rome
who, at least, feared not to declare openly against the abuses which
dishonoured it.
Scarcely had the Councils of Constance and Bâsle, which condemned Huss
and his followers, been held, than the noble series of witnesses against
Rome, to which we have been pointing, again appears with greater lustre.
Men of a noble spirit, revolting at the abominations of the Papacy, rise up
like the prophets under the Old Testament, like them sending forth a voice
of thunder, and with a similar fate. Their blood reddens the scaffold, and
their ashes are thrown to the wind.
Thomas Conecte, a Carmelite, appears in Flanders, and declares, "that
abominations are done at Rome, that the Church has need of reformation,

and that, in the service of God, one must not fear the excommunications of
the pope."[64] Flanders listens with enthusiasm, but Rome burns him in
1432, and his contemporaries exclaim that God has exalted him to heaven.
[65]

André, Archbishop of Crayn, and a Cardinal, being at Rome as the
ambassador of the emperor, is amazed when he sees that the holiness of the
pope, in which he had devoutly believed, is only a fable; and in his
simplicity he addresses evangelical representations to Sextus IV. He is
answered with mockery and persecution. Then (1482) he wishes a new
Council to be assembled at Bâsle. "The whole Church," exclaims he, "is
shaken by divisions, heresies, sins, vices, iniquities, errors, and innumerable
evils, so much so, that it is on the eve of being swallowed up by the
devouring abyss of condemnation.[66] This is my only reason for proposing
a General Council for the Reformation of the Catholic faith, and the
amendment of manners." The Archbishop of Bâsle was thrown into the
prison of that town, and there died. Henry Institoris, the inquisitor, who first
moved against him, used these remarkable words, "The whole world is
crying out and demanding a council; but no human power can reform the
Church by means of a Council. The Almighty will find another method,
which is now unknown to us, though it is at the door; and, by this method
the Church will be brought back to its primitive condition."[67] This
remarkable prophecy, pronounced by an inquisitor, at the very period of
Luther's birth, is the finest apology for the Reformation.
The Dominican, Jerome Savonarola, shortly after he had entered the order
at Bologna in 1475, devotes himself to constant prayer, fasting, and
macerations, and exclaims, "O thou who art good, in thy goodness teach me
thy righteousness."[68] Translated to Florence in 1489, he preaches with
effect; his voice is thrilling, his features animated, his action beautifully
attractive. "The Church," exclaims he, "must be renewed." And he professes
the grand principle which alone can restore life to it. "God," says he,
"forgives man his sin, and justifies him in the way of mercy. For every
justified person existing on the earth, there has been an act of compassion in
heaven; for no man is saved by his works. None can glory in themselves;
and if in the presence of God, the question were put to all the righteous,
'Have you been saved by your own strength?' they would all with one voice

exclaim, 'Not unto us, O Lord, but unto thy name be the glory.' Wherefore,
O God, I seek thy mercy, and I bring thee not my own righteousness: the
moment thou justifiest me by grace, thy righteousness belongs to me; for
grace is the righteousness of God. So long, O man, as thou believest not,
thou art, because of sin, deprived of grace. O God, save me by thy
righteousness, that is, by thy Son, who alone was found righteous among
men."[69] Thus the great and holy doctrine of justification by faith gladdens
the heart of Savonarola. In vain do the prelates of the Church oppose him;
[70]
he knew that the oracles of God are superior to the visible church, and
that he must preach them with her, without her, or in spite of her.—"Fly far
from Babylon," exclaims he. It is Rome he thus designates. Rome soon
answers him in her own way. In 1497 the infamous Alexander launches a
brief at him, and in 1498 torture and faggot do their work on the Reformer.
A Franciscan, named John Vitraire, of Tournay, whose monastic spirit
seems not of a very elevated description, nevertheless, declaims forcibly
against the corruption of the Church. "It were better for a man," says he,[71]
"to cut his child's throat than put it into a religion not reformed. If your
curate, or any other priest, keep women in his house, you ought to go and
drag the women by force, or in any other way, pell-mell, out of the house.
There are some persons who say prayers to the Virgin Mary, in order that, at
the hour of death, they may see the Virgin Mary. Thou shalt see the devil,
and not the Virgin Mary." The monk was ordered to retract, and he did so in
1498.
John Laillier, a Doctor of Sorbonne, declares, in 1484, against the tyrannical
domination of the hierarchy. "All ecclesiastics," says he, "have received
equal power from Christ. The Roman Church is not the head of other
churches. You ought to keep the commandments of God and the Apostles;
and, in regard to the command of all the bishops and other lords of the
Church, care no more for it than you would for a straw; they have destroyed
the Church by their tricks.[72] The priests of the Eastern Church sin not in
marrying; and, believe me, neither shall we in the Western Church if we
marry. Since St. Sylvester the Church of Rome has been, not a church of
Christ, but a church of State and money. We are no more bound to believe
the legends of the saints than the Chronicles of France."

John of Wessalia, a doctor of theology at Erfurt, a man of great spirit and
intellect, attacks the errors on which the hierarchy rests, and proclaims the
holy Scriptures to be the only source of faith. "It is not religion" (that is, the
monastic state) "that saves us," says he to some monks, "but the grace of
God. God has from all eternity kept a book in which he has entered all his
elect. Whosoever is not entered there will not, through eternity; and
whosoever is, will never see his name erased. It is solely by the grace of
God that the elect are saved. He whom God is pleased to save, by giving
him grace, will be saved, though all the priests in the world were to
condemn and excommunicate him. And he whom God sees meet to
condemn, though these should all wish to save him, will be made to feel his
condemnation.[73] How audacious in the successors of the apostles to order,
not what Christ has prescribed in his holy books, but what they themselves
devised, when carried away, as they now are, by a thirst for money, or a
rage for power. I despise the pope, the Church, and the Councils, and I extol
Jesus Christ." Wessalia, who had gradually arrived at those convictions,
boldly announces them from the pulpit, and enters into communication with
deputies from the Hussites. Feeble, bent with age, and wasted by disease,
the courageous old man, with tottering step, appears before the Inquisition,
and, in 1482, dies in its dungeons.
About the same time, John de Goch, prior at Malines, extolled Christian
liberty as the soul of all the virtues. He charged the received doctrine with
Pelagianism, and surnamed Thomas Aquinas the "Prince of Error."
"Canonical Scripture alone," said he, "deserves full faith, and has an
irrefragable authority. The writings of the ancient fathers are of authority
only in so far as they are conformable to canonical truth.—There is truth in
the common byword, 'What a monk dares undertake, Satan would blush to
think.'"
But the most remarkable of the forerunners of the Reformation was
undoubtedly John Wessel, surnamed "The Light of the World," a man full of
courage and love for the truth, who taught theology successively at
Cologne, Louvain, Paris, Heidelberg, and Gröningen. Luther said of him,
"Had I read his works sooner, it might have been said, Luther has drawn
everything from Wessel; so much do his spirit and mine accord."[74] "St.
Paul and St. James," says Wessel, "say different but not contrary things.
Both hold that the just live by faith, but a faith which works by love. He

who understanding the gospel believes, desires, hopes, confides in the good
news, and loves Him who justifies and blesses him, gives himself entirely
to Him whom he loves, and attributes nothing to himself, knowing that in
himself he has nothing.[75] The sheep should distinguish between the things
on which they feed, and avoid a hurtful food, though it should be offered by
the shepherd. The people ought to follow their shepherds to the pastures,
but when they lead them to what is not pasture, they are no more shepherds;
and because they are not in their duty, the flock is no longer bound to obey
them. Nothing is more effectual in destroying the Church than a corrupt
clergy. All Christians, even the meanest and simplest, are bound to resist
those who destroy the Church.[76] The commands of prelates and doctors
ought to be performed only in the manner prescribed by St. Paul, (1 Thess.,
v, 21;) namely, in so far as, sitting in the chair of Moses, they speak
according to Moses. We are the servants of God, and not of the pope,
according as it is said, 'Thou shalt worship the Lord thy God, and him only
shalt thou serve.' The Holy Spirit has reserved to himself to foster, quicken,
preserve, and enlarge the unity of the Church, and not abandoned it to the
Roman Pontiff, who often gives himself no concern about the matter. Even
sex does not hinder a woman, if she is faithful and prudent, and has love
shed abroad in her heart, from feeling, judging, approving, and concluding,
by a judgment which God ratifies."
Thus, as the Reformation approaches, the voices which proclaim the truth
are multiplied. One would say the Church is bent on demonstrating that the
Reformation had an existence before Luther. Protestantism was born into
the Church, the very day that the germ of the Papacy appeared in it, just as
in the political world conservative principles began to exist the very
moment that the despotism of the great or the disorders of the factious
showed open front. Protestantism was even sometimes stronger than the
Papacy in the ages preceding the Reformation. What had Rome to oppose to
all these witnesses for the truth at the moment when their voice was heard
through all the earth?
But this was not all. The Reformation existed not in the teachers only; it
existed also among the people. The doctrines of Wickliffe, proceeding from
Oxford, had spread over Christendom, and had preserved adherents in
Bavaria, Swabia, Franconia, and Prussia. In Bohemia, from the bosom of
discord and war, ultimately came forth a peaceful Christian community,

which resembled the primitive Church, and bore lively testimony to the
great principle of Evangelical opposition, viz., "That Christ himself, not
Peter and his successor, is the rock on which the Church is built."
Belonging equally to the German and Slavonian races, these simple
Christians had missionaries among the different nations who spoke their
tongues, that they might without noise gain adherents to their opinions. At
Rostoch, which had been twice visited by them, Nicolas Kuss began in
1511 to preach publicly against the pope.[77]
It is important to attend to this state of things. When wisdom from above
will with loud voice deliver her instructions, there will everywhere be
intellects and hearts to receive it. When the sower, who has never ceased to
walk over the Church, will come forth for a new and extensive sowing, the
earth will be ready to receive the grain. When the trumpet, which the Angel
of the covenant has never ceased to blow, will cause it to sound louder and
louder, many will make ready for battle.
The Church already feels that the hour of battle is approaching. If, during
the last century, more than one philosopher gave intimation of the
revolution with which it was to close, can we be astonished, that, at the end
of the fifteenth century, several doctors foresaw the impending Reformation
which was to renovate the Church?[78]
André Prolés, provincial of the Augustins, who, for more than half a
century, presided over this body, and with unshaken courage maintained the
doctrines of Augustine within his order, when assembled with his friars in
the Convent of Himmelspforte, near Wernigerode, often stopped during the
reading of the word of God, and addressing the listening monks, said to
them "Brethren, you hear the testimony of holy Scripture. It declares, that
by grace we are what we are—that by it alone we have all that we have.
Whence, then, so much darkness, and so many horrible superstitions?... Oh!
brethren, Christianity has need of a great and bold reformation, and I
already see its approach." Then the monks exclaimed, "Why don't you
yourself begin this reformation, and oppose all their errors?" "You see, my
brethren," replied the old provincial, "that I am weighed down with years,
and feeble in body, and possess not the knowledge, talent, and eloquence,
which so important a matter requires. But God will raise up a hero, who, by
his age, his strength, his talents, his knowledge, his genius, and eloquence,

will occupy the first rank. He will begin the reformation, he will oppose
error, and God will give him such courage that he will dare to resist the
great."[79] An old monk of Himmelspforte, who had often heard these
words, related them to Flacius. In the very order of which Prolés was
provincial, the Christian hero thus announced by him was to appear.
In the Franciscan Convent at Isenach, in Thuringia, was a monk named
John Hilten. He was a careful student of the Prophet Daniel, and the
Apocalypse of St. John; he even wrote a Commentary on these Books, and
censured the most crying abuses of monastic life. The enraged monks threw
him into prison. His advanced age, and the filthiness of his dungeon,
bringing on a dangerous illness, he asked for the friar superintendant, who
had no sooner arrived, than, without listening to the prisoner, he began to
give vent to his rage, and to rebuke him harshly for his doctrine, which
(adds the chronicle) was at variance with the monk's kitchen. The
Franciscan, forgetting his illness, and fetching a deep sigh, exclaims, "I
calmly submit to your injustice for the love of Christ; for I have done
nothing to shake the monastic state, and have only censured its most
notorious abuses. But," continued he, (this is the account given by
Melancthon in his Apology for the Confession of Augsburg,) "another will
come in the year of the Lord one thousand five hundred and sixteen; he will
destroy you, and you will not be able to resist him."[80] John Hilten, who
had announced the end of the world in the year 1651, was not so much
mistaken in the year in which the future Reformer was to appear. He was
born not long after at a short distance from Hilten's dungeon, commenced
his studies in the same town where the monk was prisoner, and publicly
engaged in the Reformation only a year later than the Franciscan had
mentioned.

CHAP. VII.
Letters—Revival—Remembrance of Antiquity in Italy—Influence of
the Humanists—Christianity of Dante—Valla—Infidelity in Italy
—Platonic Philosophy—Rise of Literature in Germany—Youth in
Schools—Printing—Character of German Literature—Literati
and Schoolmen—A New World—Reuchlin—Reuchlin in Italy—
His Works—His Influence in Germany—Mystics—Struggle with
the Dominicans.

Thus princes and people, the living members of the Church, and the
theologians, laboured, each in their sphere, to prepare the work which the
sixteenth century was about to carry into effect. But there was another
auxiliary which was to lend its aid to the Reformation,—I mean Literature.
The human mind was expanding—a circumstance which must of itself have
led to its emancipation. If a small seed fall close to an old wall, as it grows
into a tree it will push down the wall.
The Pontiff of Rome had become tutor to the nations, and his superior
intelligence had made the task easy to him. He had long kept them in a state
of minority, but resistance now broke forth on all sides. This venerable
tutelage, which had been primarily established by the principles of eternal
life, and of civilisation which Rome had imparted to barbarous nations,
could no longer be exercised without opposition. A formidable adversary
had met her in the face, and was prepared to control her. The natural
tendency of the human mind to expand, to investigate, and acquire
knowledge, had given birth to this new power. Man opened his eyes, and at
every step questioned the proceedings of that long respected guide under
whose direction, while blindfolded, he had moved on without saying a
word. In regard to the nations of new Europe, the age of infancy had passed
away, and that of manhood had begun. To the childlike simplicity, which
believed everything, had succeeded a spirit of curiosity, an intellect not to
be satisfied without sifting everything to the utmost. It was asked for what

end God had spoken to the world, and whether men had a right to station
themselves as mediators between God and their brethren.
There was only one thing which could have saved the Church, and this was
to raise herself still higher above the people. To keep on a level with them
was not enough. But so far from this, she was even found to be far beneath
them, having begun to descend at the same time that they began to rise. At
the period when mankind began to ascend to the regions of intellect, the
priesthood was grovelling below among earthly pursuits and worldly
interests. This phenomenon has repeatedly appeared in history. The wings
of the eaglet were full fledged, and what hand was high enough to prevent it
from taking its flight?
The human mind made its first start in Italy.
Scholasticism and romantic poetry had at no time reigned unopposed. Italy
never entirely lost the remembrance of antiquity; and this remembrance
having been strongly awakened towards the end of the middle ages, soon
gave the mind a new impulse.
Even in the fourteenth century, Dante and Petrarch restored the honour of
the ancient Roman poets, at the same time that the former gave the most
powerful popes a place in his hell, and the latter boldly protested for the
primitive constitution of the Church. At the beginning of the fifteenth
century, John of Ravenna taught Latin literature with applause at Padua and
Florence, while Chrysoloras, at Florence and Pavia, interpreted the
beautiful writers of Greece.
While in Europe light was thus coming forth from the prisons in which it
had been confined, the East was sending new beams to the West. The
standard of the Osmanlis, planted in 1453 on the walls of Constantinople,
had put the learned to flight. They had, in consequence, transported the
literature of Greece into Italy, where the torch of the ancients rekindled
minds which had lain smothered for so many ages. George of Trebisond,
Argyropolos, Bessarion, Lascaris, Chalcondylas, and many others, inspired
the West with their love of Greece and its noblest productions. The patriotic
feelings of the Italians were thus stimulated, and a great number of learned
men appeared in Italy. Of these, the most illustrious were Gasparino, Aretin,
Poggio, and Valla, who strove to restore the honour of Roman antiquity, and

place it on a footing with that of Greece. In this way, a great flood of light
had appeared, and Rome could not but suffer by it.
The passion for antiquity, which took possession of the Humanists, had a
great effect in weakening the attachment to the Church in minds of the
highest order; for "no man can serve two masters." At the same time, the
studies in which the learned were engaged put them in possession of a new
class of instruments, which were unknown to the schoolmen, and by means
of which they could test and decide upon the lessons of the Church. Finding
that beauties which charmed them in classical authors existed in profusion
in the Bible, and not in the works of theologians, the Humanists were quite
prepared to give the Bible precedence before the Doctors. By reforming
taste, they prepared a reformation in faith.
The Literati, it is true, loudly protested that their pursuits were not at
variance with the belief of the Church; but yet they had assailed the
schoolmen long before the Reformers began to do it, and played off their
wit on these barbarians—those "Teutons who living, lived not."[81] Some
even proclaimed doctrines of the gospel, and assailed Rome in the objects
of her dearest affection. Already Dante, while adhering to many Roman
dogmas, had proclaimed the power of faith in terms similar to those which
the first Reformers employed. "It is true faith," he said, "that makes us
citizens of heaven.[82] Faith, according to the gospel doctrine, is the
principle of life; it is the feeble spark which, spreading always wider and
wider, at length becomes a living flame, and shines within us like a star in
heaven. Without faith, no good works, no honesty of life, can give us aid.
How great soever our sins may be, the arms of divine grace are greater still,
and wide enough to embrace whatever turns towards God.[83] The soul is
not lost by the anathema of the pontiffs; and eternal love can always reach
it, so long as there remains one bloom of hope.[84] From God, from God
alone, through faith our justice comes." And speaking of the Church, Dante
exclaims, "O my bark! how ill loaded thou art! O Constantine! what mighty
evil was engendered, I will not say by thy conversion, but by that offering
which the rich father then received from thee!"
At a later period, Laurentius Valla, applying the study of antiquity to the
opinions of the Church, denies the authenticity of the correspondence
between Christ and King Abgarus, rejects the tradition as to the origin of

the Apostles' Creed, and saps the foundation of the pretended inheritance
which the popes held of Constantine.[85]
Still, however, the great light which the study of antiquity threw out in the
fifteenth century, was fitted only to destroy, and not to build up. The honour
of saving the Church could not be given either to Homer or Virgil. The
revival of letters, sciences, and arts did not found the Reformation. The
Paganism of the poets, on reappearing in Italy, rather strengthened the
Paganism of the heart. The scepticism of the school of Aristotle, and a
contempt of everything not connected with philology, took possession of
many of the Literati, and engendered an infidelity which, while it affected
submission to the Church, in reality attacked the most important truths of
religion. Peter Pomponatius, the most famous representative of this impious
tendency, taught at Bologna and Padua, that the immortality of the soul and
providence are only philosophical problems.[86] John Francis Pica, nephew
of Pica de la Mirandôla, tells of a pope who did not believe a God,[87] and
of another who, having confessed to one of his friends, that he did not
believe in the immortality of the soul, appeared one night after his death to
the same friend, and said to him, "Ah! the eternal fire that consumes me,
makes me but too sensible of the immortality of that soul, which, according
to the view I held, was to die with the body." This reminds us of the
celebrated words which Leo X is alleged to have said to his Secretary
Bembo, "All ages know well enough of what advantage this fable about
Christ has been to us and ours."[88]... Frivolous superstitions were attacked,
but their place was supplied by infidelity, with its disdainful sneering laugh.
To laugh at things, however sacred, was fashionable, and a proof of wit; and
if any value was set on religion, it was merely as a mean of governing the
people. "I have a fear," exclaimed Erasmus in 1516, "and it is, that, with the
study of ancient literature, ancient Paganism will re-appear."
It is true that then, as after the sarcasms of the age of Augustus, and as in
our own times, after those of the last century, a new Platonic philosophy
sprung up and attacked that irrational incredulity, seeking, like the
philosophy of the present day, to inspire some respect for Christianity, and
restore the religious sentiment to the heart. The Medici at Florence favoured
these efforts of the Platonics. But no philosophical religion will regenerate
the Church and the world. Proud, disdaining the preaching of the cross, and

pretending to see nothing in Christian doctrines but figures and symbols,
which the majority of men cannot comprehend, it may bewilder itself in a
mystical enthusiasm, but will always prove powerless, either to reform or to
save.
What then must have happened, had not true Christianity re-appeared in the
world, and had not faith filled the hearts of men anew with its power and its
holiness? The Reformation saved religion, and with it society, and,
therefore, if the Church of Rome had had the glory of God and the good of
the people at heart, it would have welcomed the Reformation with delight.
But what were such things as these to Leo X?
However, a torch could not be lighted in Italy without sending its beams
beyond the Alps. The affairs of the Church established a constant
intercourse between the Italian Peninsula and the other parts of
Christendom, and the barbarians being thus soon made to feel the
superiority and pride of the Italians, began to blush for the imperfection of
their language and their style. Some young noblemen, a Dalberg, a Langen,
a Spiegelberg, inflamed with an eager desire of knowledge, passed over into
Italy, and on their return to Germany, brought back learning, grammar, and
the classics, now so eagerly sought after, and communicated them to their
friends.[89] Shortly after, Rodolph Agricola, a man of distinguished genius,
appeared, and was held in as high veneration for his learning and genius, as
if he had lived in the age of Augustus or Pericles. The ardour of his mind,
and the fatigues of the school, wore him out in a few years; but not till
noble disciples had been trained, through intimate intercourse with him, to
carry their master's fire all over Germany. Often, when assembled around
him, they had together deplored the darkness of the Church, and asked why
Paul so often repeats that men are justified by faith and not by works.[90]
Around the feet of these new teachers soon gathered rustic youths, who
lived by alms and studied without books, and who, divided into sections of
priests of Bacchus, arquebusiers, and many more besides, moved in
disorderly bands from town to town, and school to school. No matter; these
strange bands were the commencement of a literary public. The
masterpieces of antiquity began gradually to issue from the presses of
Germany, supplanting the schoolmen; and the art of printing, discovered at
Mayence in 1440, multiplied the energetic voices which remonstrated

against the corruption of the Church, and those voices, not less energetic,
which invited the human mind into new paths.
The study of ancient literature had, in Germany, very different effects from
those which it had in Italy and France. Her study was combined with faith.
In the new literary culture, Germany turned her attention to the advantage
which religion might derive from it. What had produced in some a kind of
intellectual refinement, of a captious and sterile nature, penetrated the
whole life of others, warmed their hearts, and prepared them for a better
light. The first restorers of letters in France were characterised by levity,
and often even by immorality of conduct. In Germany, their successors,
animated by a spirit of gravity, zealously devoted themselves to the
investigation of truth. Italy offering her incense to profane literature and
science, saw an infidel opposition arise. Germany, occupied with a
profound theology, and turned inwardly upon herself, saw the rise of an
opposition based on faith. The one sapped the foundations of the Church,
and the other repaired them. Within the empire was formed a remarkable
union of free, learned, and noble-minded men, among whom princes were
conspicuous, who endeavoured to render science useful to religion. Some
brought to their studies the humble faith of children, while others brought
an enlightened and penetrating intellect, disposed, perhaps, to exceed the
bounds of legitimate freedom and criticism; both, however, contributed to
clear the pavement of the temple from the obstructions produced by so
many superstitions.
The monkish theologians perceived their danger, and began to clamour
against the very studies which they had tolerated in Italy and France,
because in those countries they had gone hand in hand with levity and
dissoluteness. They entered into a conspiracy to oppose the study of
language and science, because they had caught a glimpse of faith following
in their rear. A monk was putting some one on his guard against the heresies
of Erasmus. "In what," it was asked, "do they consist?" He confessed that
he had not read the work of which he was speaking, but one thing he knew,
viz., that Erasmus had written in too good Latin.
The disciples of literature, and the scholastic theologians, soon came to an
open rupture. The latter were in dismay when they saw the movement
which was taking place in the domain of intellect, and thought that

immobility and darkness were the best safeguards of the Church. Their
object in contending against the revival of letters was to save Rome, but
they helped to ruin it. Here Rome had much at stake. Forgetting herself for
an instant under the pontificate of Leo X, she abandoned her old friends,
and clasped her young adversaries in her arms. The papacy and letters
formed an intimacy which seemed destined to break up the ancient alliance
between monasticism and the hierarchy. At the first glance the popes
perceived not that what they had taken for a whip was a sword capable of
inflicting a mortal wound. In the same way, during the last century, princes
were seen receiving at their court political and philosophic systems, which,
if carried into full effect, would have overturned their thrones. The alliance
was not of long duration. Literature advanced without troubling itself about
the injury which it might do to the power of its patron. The monks and
schoolmen were aware that to abandon the pope was just to abandon
themselves; and the pope, notwithstanding of the passing patronage which
he gave to the fine arts, was not the less active when he saw the danger, in
adopting measures, how much opposed soever they might be to the spirit of
the time.
The universities defended themselves as they best could against the
invasion of new light. Cologne expelled Rhagius; Leipsic, Celtes; Rostoch,
Herman von dem Busch. Still the new doctors, and with them the ancient
classics, gradually and often even by the aid of princes, made good their
footing in these public schools. Societies of grammarians and poets were
soon established in spite of the schoolmen, and every thing, even to the
name of the Literati, behoved to be converted into Latin and Greek; for how
could the friends of Sophocles and Virgil have such names as
Krachenberger or Schwarzerd? At the same time, a spirit of independence
breathed in all the universities. Students were no longer seen in schoolboy
fashion, with their books under their arms, walking sagely and demurely
with downcast eye behind their masters. The petulance of a Martial and an
Ovid had passed into the new disciples of the Muses. It was transport to
them to hear the sarcasms which fell in torrents on the dialectical
theologians, and the heads of the literary movement were sometimes
accused of favouring, and even of exciting, the disorderly proceedings of
the students.

Thus a new world, emerging out of antiquity, was formed in the very heart
of the world of the middle ages. The two parties could not avoid coming to
blows, and the struggle was at hand. It began with the greatest champion of
literature, with an old man on the eve of finishing his peaceful career.
To secure the triumph of truth, the first thing necessary was to bring forth
the weapons by which she was to conquer, from the arsenals where they had
lain buried for ages. These weapons were the holy Scriptures of the Old and
New Testaments. It was necessary to revive in Christendom a love and
study of sacred literature, both Greek and Hebrew. John Reuchlin was the
individual whom divine Providence selected for this purpose.
A very fine boy's voice was remarked in the choir of the church of
Pforzheim, and attracted the attention of the Margrave of Baden. It was that
of John Reuchlin, a young boy of agreeable manners and a lively
disposition, son of an honest burgher of the place. The Margrave soon took
him entirely under his protection, and in 1473 made choice of him to
accompany his son Frederick to the University of Paris.
The son of the bailiff of Pforzheim arrived with the prince, his heart
exuberant with joy at being admitted to this school, the most celebrated of
all the West. Here he found the Spartan Hermonymos and John Wessel,
surnamed "The Light of the World," and had an opportunity of engaging
under skilful masters in the study of Greek and Hebrew, which had not then
a single professor in Germany, and of which he was one day to be the
restorer in the country of the Reformation. The poor young German made
copies of the poems of Homer, and the speeches of Isocrates, for wealthy
students, and in this way gained the means of continuing his studies and
buying books.
But what he hears from the mouth of Wessel is of a different nature, and
makes a deep impression on his mind. "The popes may be mistaken. All
human satisfactions are blasphemy against Christ, who has perfectly
reconciled and justified the human race. To God alone belongs the power of
giving full absolution. There is no necessity for confessing our sins to a
priest. There is no purgatory, at least if it be not God himself, who is a
devouring fire, and purges away every defilement." Reuchlin, when

scarcely twenty, teaches Philosophy, Greek, and Latin, at Bâsle, and a
German (a thing then regarded as a wonder) is heard speaking Greek.
The partizans of Rome begin to feel uneasy on seeing noble spirits at work
among these ancient treasures. "The Romans," says Reuchlin, "are making
mouths and raising an outcry, pretending that all these literary labours are
hostile to Roman piety, inasmuch as the Greeks are schismatics. Oh! what
toils and sufferings must be endured to bring Germany back to wisdom and
knowledge!"
Shortly afterward, Eberhard of Wurtemberg invited Reuchlin to Tubingen,
that he might be the ornament of this rising university, and in 1483 took him
with him into Italy. At Florence his companions and friends were
Chalcondylas, Aurispa, and John Pica de Mirandola. At Rome, when
Eberhard received a solemn audience of the pope, surrounded by his
cardinals, Reuchlin delivered an address in such pure and elegant Latin, that
the assembly, who expected nothing of the kind from a barbarous German,
were filled with the greatest astonishment, while the pope exclaimed,
"Assuredly this man deserves to take his place beside the best orators of
France and Italy."
Ten years later Reuchlin was obliged to take refuge in Heidelberg, at the
court of the Elector Philip, to escape the vengeance of Eberhard's successor.
Philip, in concert with John of Dalberg, Bishop of Worms, his friend and
chancellor, exerted himself to spread the light which was beginning to peep
forth from all parts of Germany. Dalberg had founded a library, to which all
the learned had free access, and Reuchlin, in this new sphere, made great
efforts to remove the barbarism of his countrymen.
Having been sent to Rome by the elector in 1498, on an important mission,
he availed himself of all the time and all the money he could spare to make
new progress in Hebrew, under the learned Israelite, Abdias Sphorne, and
purchased all the Greek and Hebrew manuscripts which he could find, with
the view of employing them as so many torches to increase the light which
was beginning to dawn in his native country.
Argyropolos, a distinguished Greek, was at this time in the metropolis
explaining the ancient marvels of the literature of his country to a numerous
audience. The learned ambassador repairs with his suite to the hall where

the teacher was lecturing, and, after bowing to him, deplores the misery of
Greece, expiring under the blows of the Ottomans. The astonished Hellenist
asks the German, "Who are you? Do you understand Greek?" Reuchlin
replies, "I am a German, and know something of your tongue." At the
request of Argyropolos he reads and explains a passage of Thucydides,
which the professor had at the moment before him. Then Argyropolos,
filled with astonishment and grief, exclaims, "Alas! Alas! Greece,
oppressed and obliged to flee, has gone and hid herself beyond the Alps!"
Thus the sons of rude Germany, and those of ancient learned Greece, met in
the palaces of Rome, and the East and West shook hands in this rendezvous
of the world—the one pouring into the lap of the other those intellectual
treasures which had with difficulty been saved from the barbarism of the
Ottomans. God, when his designs require it, employs some great
catastrophe to break down the barrier, and instantly bring together those
who seemed to be for ever parted.
Reuchlin, on his return to Germany, was able to go back to Wurtemberg,
and proceeded, at this time especially, to execute those works which proved
so useful to Luther and the Reformation. This individual, who, as Count
Palatine, held an eminent station in the empire, and who as a philosopher,
contributed to humble Aristotle and exalt Plato—made a Latin Dictionary,
which supplanted those of the Schoolmen—composed a Greek Grammar,
which greatly facilitated the study of that language—translated and
expounded the penitential Psalms—corrected the Vulgate, and was the first
in Germany (this constitutes his highest merit and glory) who published a
Hebrew Grammar and Dictionary. By this work Reuchlin opened the long
sealed books of the Old Testament, and reared "a monument," as he himself
expresses it, "more durable than brass."
It was not merely by his writings, but also by his life, that Reuchlin sought
to advance the reign of truth. Tall in stature, of commanding appearance,
and affable address, he instantly gained the confidence of all with whom he
had any intercourse. His thirst for knowledge was equalled only by his zeal
in communicating it. He spared neither money nor labour to introduce the
editions of the classics into Germany as they issued from the presses of
Italy; and in this way the son of a bailiff did more to enlighten his
countrymen than rich municipalities or powerful princes. His influence over

youth was great; and, in this respect, who can calculate how much the
Reformation owes to him? We will give only one example. His cousin, a
young man named Schwarzerd, son of an artisan, who had acquired
celebrity as an armourer, came to lodge with his sister, Elizabeth, in order to
study under his direction. Reuchlin, delighted at the genius and application
of his young pupil, adopted him. Advice, presents of books, examples,
nothing, in short, he spared to make his relative useful to the Church and to
his country. He rejoiced to see his work prospering under his eye; and,
thinking the name Schwarzerd too barbarous, translated it into Greek, and
named the young student Melancthon. It was Luther's illustrious friend.
But grammatical studies did not satisfy Reuchlin. Like his masters, the
Jewish doctors, he began to study the hidden meaning of the Word; "God,"
said he, "is a Spirit, the Word is a breath,—man breathes, God is the Word.
The names which he has given himself are an echo of eternity."[91] Like the
Cabalists, he hoped to "pass from symbol to symbol, from form to form, till
he arrived at the last and purest of all forms—that which regulates the
power of the Spirit."[92]
While Reuchlin was bewildering himself in these quiet and abstruse
researches, the enmity of the Schoolmen forced him suddenly, and much
against his will, into a fierce war, which was one of the preludes of the
Reformation.
There was at Cologne a baptized Rabbin, named Pfefferkorn, who was
intimately connected with the inquisitor Hochstraten. This man and the
Dominicans solicited and procured from the emperor, Maximilian, (it may
have been with good intentions,) an order, in virtue of which the Jews were
to bring all their Hebrew books (the Bible excepted) to the town-house of
the place where they resided. There the books were to be burned. The
motive alleged was, that they were full of blasphemies against Jesus Christ.
It must be confessed that they were, at least, full of absurdities, and that the
Jews themselves would not have lost much by the intended execution.
The emperor desired Reuchlin to give his opinion of the books. The learned
doctor expressly singled out all the books which were written against
Christianity, leaving them to their destined fate, but he tried to save the
others. "The best method of converting the Israelites," added he, "would be

to establish two Hebrew professors in each University, who might teach
theologians to read the Bible in Hebrew, and thus refute the Jewish
doctors." The Jews, in consequence of this advice, obtained restitution of
their books.
The proselytes and the inquisitors, like hungry ravens which see their prey
escape, sent forth cries of fury. Picking out different passages from the
writings of Reuchlin, and perverting their meaning, they denounced the
author as a heretic, accused him of a secret inclination to Judaism, and
threatened him with the fetters of the Inquisition. Reuchlin was at first taken
by surprise; but these men always becoming more and more arrogant, and
prescribing dishonourable terms, he, in 1513, published a "Defence against
his Detractors of Cologne," in which he painted the whole party in vivid
colours.
The Dominicans vowed vengeance, and hoped, by an act of authority, to re-
establish their tottering power. Hochstraten, at Mayence, drew up a charge
against Reuchlin, and the learned works of this learned man were
condemned to the flames. The Innovators, the masters and disciples of the
new school, feeling that they were all attacked in the person of Reuchlin,
rose as one man. Times were changed,—Germany and literature were very
different from Spain and the Inquisition.
The great literary movement had created a public opinion. Even the
dignified clergy were somewhat influenced by it. Reuchlin appeals to Leo
X, and that pope, who had no great liking for ignorant monks and fanatics,
remits the whole affair to the Bishop of Spires, who declares Reuchlin
innocent, and condemns the monks in the expences of process. The
Dominicans, those props of the papacy, filled with rage, recur to the
infallible decision of Rome, and Leo, not knowing how to act between the
two hostile powers, issues a mandate superseding the process.
The union of letters with faith forms one of the characteristic features of the
Reformation, and distinguishes it, both from the introduction of
Christianity, and the religious revival of the present day. The Christians,
who were contemporary with the Apostles, had the refinement of their age
against them, and, with some few exceptions, it is the same now; but the
majority of literary men were with the Reformers. Even public opinion was

favourable to them. The work thereby gained in extent, but perhaps it lost in
depth.
Luther, sensible of all that Reuchlin had done, wrote to him shortly after his
victory over the Dominicans, "The Lord has acted through you, in order that
the light of Holy Scripture may again begin to shine in this Germany,
where, for many ages, alas! it was not only smothered, but almost
extinguished."[93]

CHAP. VIII.
Erasmus—Erasmus a Canon—At Paris—His Genius—His Reputation
—His Influence—Popular Attack—Praise of Folly—Tatters—
Church People—Saints—Folly and the Popes—Attack on
Science—Principle—The Greek New Testament—His Profession
of Faith—His Writings and Influence—His Failings—A Reform
without Shocks—Was it possible—The Church without Reform
—His timidity—His Indecision—Erasmus loses himself with all
Parties.

But a man had now appeared, who regarded it as the great business of his
life to attack the scholasticism of the universities and convents, and was the
great writer of the opposition at the commencement of the sixteenth
century.
Reuchlin was not twelve years old when this first genius of the age was
born. A man of great vivacity and talent, by name Gerard, a native of
Gouda, in the Netherlands, loved a physician's daughter, named Marguerite.
The principles of Christianity did not regulate his life, or at least passion
silenced them. His parents, and nine brothers, would have constrained him
to embrace the monastic state. He fled, leaving the object of his affection
about to become a mother, and repaired to Rome. Frail Marguerite gave
birth to a son. Gerard heard nothing of it, and some time after having
received intimation from his parents, that the object of his affection was no
more, he, in a paroxysm of grief, turned priest, and consecrated himself for
ever to the service of God. On his return to Holland, she was still alive!
Marguerite would not marry another, and Gerard, remaining faithful to his
sacerdotal vows, their affection became concentrated on their little son. His
mother had tended him with the greatest care, and his father, after his
return, sent him to school, though he was only four years of age. He was not
thirteen, when his teacher, Sinthemius, of Deventer, clasping him
rapturously in his arms, exclaimed, "This child will reach the highest
pinnacles of science." It was Erasmus of Rotterdam.[94]

About this time his mother died, and his father, broken-hearted, was not
long in following her to the grave.
Young Erasmus, left alone in the world, showed the greatest aversion to
become a monk, a state of life which his guardians were for compelling him
to adopt, but to which, from the circumstances of his birth, he may be said
to have been always opposed. Ultimately he was prevailed upon to enter a
convent of canons regular, but he had no sooner done it than he felt, as it
were, borne down by the weight of his vows. Recovering a little liberty, he
is soon seen, first at the Court of the Archbishop of Cambray, and
afterwards at the University of Paris, where he prosecuted his studies in
extreme poverty, but with the most indefatigable diligence. As soon as he
could procure any money, he employed the first part of it in the purchase of
Greek books, and the remainder in the purchase of clothes. Often did the
poor Dutchman make fruitless application to his guardians, and to this
probably it was owing, that, in after life, one of his greatest pleasures was to
give assistance to poor students. Engaged without intermission in the
pursuit of truth and knowledge, he gave a reluctant attendance on scholastic
disputes, and revolted from the study of theology, afraid that he might
discover some errors in it, and be, in consequence, denounced as a heretic.
It was at this time Erasmus began to feel his strength. By the study of the
ancients, he acquired a perspicuity and an elegance of style, which placed
him far above the most distinguished Literati of Paris. His employment as a
teacher procured him powerful friends, while the works which he published
attracted general admiration and applause. He well knew how to please the
public, and shaking off the last remnants of the school and the cloister,
devoted himself entirely to literature, displaying in all his writings those
ingenious observations, and that correct, lively, and enlightened spirit,
which at once amuse and instruct.
The laborious habits which he acquired at this period he retained through
life. Even in his journeys, which were usually made on horseback, he was
never idle. He composed while he was rambling across the fields, and, on
arriving at his inn, committed his thoughts to writing. It was in this way,
while travelling from Italy to England, he composed his Praise of Folly.[95]

Erasmus, early in life, acquired a high reputation among the learned, but the
enraged monks owed him a grudge, and vowed vengeance. He was much
courted by princes, and was inexhaustible in finding excuses to evade their
invitations, liking better to gain his livelihood in correcting books with the
printer Frobenius, than to live surrounded by luxury and honour, at the
magnificent courts of Charles V, Henry VIII, and Francis I, or to encircle
his head with the Cardinal's hat which was offered him.[96]
He taught in Oxford from 1509 to 1516, and then left it for Bâsle, where he
fixed his residence in 1521.
What was his influence on the Reformation?
It has been overrated by some and underrated by others. Erasmus never
was, and never could have been, a Reformer, but he paved the way for
others. Not only did he diffuse among his contemporaries a love of science,
and a spirit of research and examination, which led others much farther than
he went himself, but he was also able, through the protection of
distinguished prelates and mighty princes, to expose the vices of the
Church, and lash them with the most cutting satire.
Erasmus, in fact, attacked monks and abuses in two ways. First, there was
his popular attack. That little fair-haired man, whose peering blue eyes
keenly observed whatever came before him, and on whose lips a somewhat
sarcastic smile was always playing, though timid and embarrassed in his
step, and apparently so feeble that a breath of air might have thrown him
down, was constantly pouring out elegant and biting sarcasms against the
theology and superstition of his age. His natural character and the events of
his life had made this habitual to him. Even in writings where nothing of the
kind was to have been expected, his sarcastic humour is ever breaking out,
and, as with needle points, impaling those schoolmen and ignorant monks
against whom he had declared war. There are many features of resemblance
between Erasmus and Voltaire. Previous authors had given a popular turn to
that element of folly which mingles with all the thoughts and all the actions
of human life. Erasmus took up the idea, and personifying Folly, introduces
her under the name of Moria, daughter of Plutus, born in the Fortunate
Islands, nursed on intoxication and impertinence, and swaying the sceptre
of a mighty empire. Giving a description of it, she paints, in succession, all

the states of the world which belong to her, dwelling, especially, on church
folks, who refuse to own her kindness, although she loads them with her
favours. She directs her jibes and jests against the labyrinth of dialectics, in
which the theologians wander bewildered, and the grotesque syllogisms by
which they pretend to support the Church. She also unveils the disorders,
the ignorance, the impurity, and absurd conduct of the monks.
"They are all mine," says she, "those people who have no greater delight
than to relate miracles, or hear monstrous lies, and who employ them to
dissipate the ennui of others, and, at the same time, to fill their own purses,
(I allude, particularly, to priests and preachers.) Near them are those who
have adopted the foolish, yet pleasing persuasion, that if they cast a look at
a bit of wood or a picture representing Polyphemus or Christopher, they
will, at least, outlive that day."—"Alas! what follies," continues Moria,
"follies at which even I myself can scarcely help blushing! Do we not see
each country laying claim to its particular saint? Each misery has its saint
and its candle. This one relieves you in toothache, that one gives assistance
at childbirth, a third restores your stolen goods, a fourth saves you in
shipwreck, and a fifth keeps watch over your flocks. Some of these are all-
powerful in many things at once. This is particularly the case with the
Virgin, the mother of God, to whom the vulgar attribute almost more than to
her Son.[97] In the midst of all these follies, if some odious sage arise, and,
giving a counternote, exclaim, (as in truth he may,) 'You will not perish
miserably if you live as Christians.[98] You will redeem your sins, if to the
money which you give you add hatred of the sins themselves, tears, vigils,
prayers, fastings, and a thorough change in your mode of life. Yon saint will
befriend you if you imitate his life.'—If some sage, I say, charitably duns
such words into their ears, Oh! of what felicity does he not deprive their
souls, and into what trouble, what despondency, does he not plunge them!
The mind of man is so constituted that imposture has a much stronger hold
upon it than truth.[99] If there is any saint more fabulous than another, for
instance, a St. George, a St. Christopher, or a St. Barbara, you will see them
adored with much greater devotion than St. Peter, St. Paul, or Christ
himself."[100]
Folly, however, does not stop here; she applies her lash to the bishops
themselves, "who run more after gold than after souls, and think they have

done enough when they make a theatrical display of themselves, as Holy
Fathers, to whom adoration is due, and when they bless or anathematise."
The daughter of "the Fortunate Isles" has the hardihood even to attack the
Court of Rome, and the pope himself, who, spending his time in diversion,
leaves Peter and Paul to perform his duty. "Are there," says she, "more
formidable enemies of the Church than those impious pontiffs, who, by
their silence, allow Jesus Christ to be destroyed, who bind him by their
mercenary laws, falsify him by their forced interpretations, and strangle him
by their pestilential life?"[101]
Holbein appended to the Praise of Folly, most grotesque engravings, among
which the pope figures with his triple crown. Never, perhaps, was a work so
well adapted to the wants of a particular period. It is impossible to describe
the impression which it produced throughout Christendom. Twenty-seven
editions were published in the lifetime of Erasmus; it was translated into all
languages, and served more than any other to confirm the age in its
antisacerdotal tendency.
But to this attack by popular sarcasm, Erasmus added the attack of science
and erudition. The study of Greek and Latin literature had opened up a new
prospect to the modern genius which began to be awakened in Europe.
Erasmus entered with all his heart into the idea of the Italians, that the
school of the ancients was that in which the sciences ought to be studied,
that, abandoning the inadequate and absurd books which had hitherto been
used, it was necessary to go to Strabo for geography, to Hippocrates for
medicine, to Plato for philosophy, to Ovid for mythology, and to Pliny for
natural history. But he took a farther step, the step of a giant, destined to
lead to the discovery of a new world, of more importance to humanity than
that which Columbus had just added to the old world. Following out his
principle, Erasmus insisted that men should no longer study theology in
Scotus and Thomas Aquinas, but go and learn it from the Fathers of the
Church, and, above all, from the New Testament. He showed that it was not
even necessary to keep close to the Vulgate, which swarmed with faults,
and he rendered an immense service to truth, by publishing his critical
edition of the Greek text of the New Testament, a text as little known in the
West as if it never had existed. This edition appeared at Bâsle in 1516, the
year before the Reformation. Erasmus thus did for the New Testament what
Reuchlin had done for the Old. Theologians were thenceforth able to read

the word of God in the original tongues, and at a later period to recognise
the purity of doctrine taught by the Reformers.
"I wish," said Erasmus on publishing his New Testament, "to bring to its
level that frigid, wordy, disputatious thing, termed Theology. Would to God
the Christian world may derive advantage from the work, proportioned to
the pain and toil which it has cost." The wish was accomplished. It was in
vain for the monks to exclaim, "He is trying to correct the Holy Spirit." The
new Testament of Erasmus sent forth a living light. His paraphrases on the
Epistles and Gospels of St. Matthew and St. John; his editions of Cyprian
and Jerome; his translations of Origen, Athanasius, and Chrysostom; his
"True Theology;"[102] his "Preacher;"[103] his Commentaries on several of
the Psalms, contributed greatly to spread a taste for the word of God and
pure theology. The effect of his labours even went farther than his
intentions. Reuchlin and Erasmus restored the Bible to the learned; Luther
restored it to the people. We have not yet described all that Erasmus did.
When he restored the Bible, he called attention to its contents. "The highest
aim of the revival of philosophical studies," said he, "should be to give a
knowledge of the pure and simple Christianity of the Bible." An admirable
sentiment! Would to God the organs of philosophy, in our day, were as well
acquainted with their calling! "I am firmly resolved," continued he, "to die
studying the Scriptures; it is my joy and my peace."[104] "The sum of all
Christian philosophy," he elsewhere says, "is reduced to this: To place all
our hope in God, who through grace without our merits, gives us everything
by Jesus Christ: To know that we are ransomed by the death of his Son: To
die to worldly lusts, and walk conformably to his doctrine and his example,
not only doing no injury to any, but, on the contrary, doing good to all: To
bear trials patiently, in the hope of future recompence: in fine, to claim no
credit to ourselves because of our virtues, but give thanks to God for all our
faculties, and all our works. These are the feelings which ought to pervade
the whole man, until they have become a second nature."[105]
Then raising his voice against the great mass of ecclesiastical injunctions,
regarding dress, fasts, feast-days, vows, marriage, and confessions, by
which the people were oppressed, and the priest was enriched, Erasmus
exclaims, "In churches, the interpretation of the gospel is scarcely thought
of.[106] The better part of sermons must meet the wishes of the

commissaries of indulgences. The holy doctrine of Christ must be
suppressed, or interpreted contrary to its meaning, and for their profit. Cure
is now hopeless, unless Christ himself turn the hearts of kings and pontiffs,
and awaken them to enquire after true piety."
The works of Erasmus rapidly succeeded each other. He laboured
incessantly, and his writings were read just as they came from his pen. That
spirit, that native life, that rich, refined, sparkling and bold intellect, which,
without restraint, poured out its treasures before his contemporaries, carried
away and entranced vast numbers of readers, who eagerly devoured the
works of the philosopher of Rotterdam. In this way he soon became the
most influential man in Christendom, and saw pensions and crowns raining
down upon him from all quarters.
When we contemplate the great revolution, which, at a later period,
renewed the Church, it is impossible not to own that Erasmus was used by
many as a kind of bridge, over which they passed. Many who would have
taken alarm at evangelical truths, if presented in all their force and purity,
yielded to the charm of his writings, and ultimately figured among the most
zealous promoters of the Reformation.
But the very circumstance of his being good in preparing, prevented him
from being good at performing. "Erasmus knows very well how to expose
error," says Luther, "but he knows not how to teach the truth." The gospel
was not the fire which warmed and sustained his life, the centre around
which his activity radiated. He was, first of all, a learned, and, in the second
place only, a Christian man. He was too much under the influence of vanity
to have a decided influence on his age. He anxiously calculated the effect
which every step he took might have on his reputation, and there was
nothing he liked so much to talk of as himself and his fame. "The pope,"
wrote he to an intimate friend with puerile vanity, at the period when he
became the declared opponent of Luther, "the pope has sent me a letter full
of kindness and expressions of respect. His secretary solemnly vows that
the like was never heard of, and that it was written word for word at the
pope's own dictation."
Erasmus and Luther are the representatives of two great ideas on the subject
of reform, and of two great parties of their own age, and of all ages. The

one is composed of men, whose leading characteristic is a prudential
timidity; the other of men of courage and resolution. These two parties
were, at this period, personified in these two distinguished heads. The men
of prudence thought that the cultivation of theological science might lead
gradually, and without disruption, to the reformation of the Church. The
men of action thought that the diffusion of more correct ideas among the
learned would not put a stop to the superstitions of the people, and that the
correction of particular abuses was of little avail, unless the whole life of
the Church were renewed.
"A disadvantageous peace," said Erasmus, "is far better than the justest
war."[107] He thought (and how many Erasmuses have been and still are in
the world?) that a Reformation which shook the Church might run a risk of
overturning it; and he was therefore terrified when, on looking forward, he
saw the passions of men excited, saw evil everywhere mingling itself with
any little good that could be accomplished, existing institutions destroyed in
the absence of others to supply their place, and the vessel of the Church
leaking in every part, and at length engulfed amid the storm. "Those who
bring the sea into new lagoons," said he, "are often deceived in the result;
the formidable element, once introduced, does not take the direction which
they wished to give it, but rushes where it pleases, and causes great
devastation.[108] "Be this as it may," continued he, "let disturbances be by
all means avoided. Better put up with wicked princes than by innovations
enthrone evil."[109]
But the courageous among his contemporaries were prepared with their
answer. History had clearly enough demonstrated, that a frank exposition of
the truth, and a mortal struggle with falsehood, could alone secure the
victory. Had temporising and politic artifices been resorted to, the wiles of
the papal court would have extinguished the light in its first glimmerings.
Had not all sorts of mild methods been tried for ages? Had not Council been
held after Council, with the view of reforming the Church? Yet all had been
useless. Why pretend to repeat an experiment that had so often failed?
No doubt a fundamental reform might be effected without disruption. But
when did anything great and good make its appearance among men without
causing agitation? This fear of seeing evil mingle with good, if legitimate,
would arrest the noblest and holiest enterprises. We must not fear the evil

which may be heaved up in the course of great agitation, but be strong in
combating and destroying it.
Besides, is there not an entire difference between the commotion which
human passions produces and that which emanates from the Spirit of God?
The one shakes society, the other consolidates it. How erroneous to
imagine, like Erasmus, that in the state in which Christianity then was, with
that mixture of opposite elements, truth and falsehood, life and death,
violent shocks might still be prevented! As well might you try to shut the
crater of Vesuvius, when the angry elements are actually at war in its
bosom! The middle ages had seen more than one violent commotion in an
atmosphere less loaded with storms than at the period of the Reformation.
The thing wanted at such a time is not to arrest and suppress, but to direct
and guide.
If the Reformation had not burst forth, who can tell the fearful ruin by
which its place might have been supplied? Society, a prey to a thousand
elements of destruction, and destitute of regenerating and conservative
elements, would have been dreadfully convulsed. Assuredly it would not
have been a reform to the taste of Erasmus, or such an one as many
moderate but timid men in our day dream of, that would then have
overtaken society. The people, devoid of that light and piety which the
Reformation carried down into the humblest ranks, giving themselves up to
the violence of their passions, and to a restless spirit of revolt, would have
burst forth like a wild beast broken loose from its chain, after having been
goaded to madness.
The Reformation was nothing but an interposition of the Spirit of God
among men, a setting of the world in order by the hand of God. No doubt, it
might stir up the fermenting elements which lie hidden in the human heart;
but God was there to overrule them. Evangelical doctrine, heavenly truth,
penetrating the masses of the population, destroyed what deserved to perish,
but, at the same time, gave new strength to all that deserved to remain. The
Reformation exerted itself in building up, and it is mere prejudice to allege
that it destroyed. "The ploughshare, too," it has been truly said, in speaking
of the Reformation, "might think it hurts the earth, because it cuts it
asunder, whereas it only makes it productive."

The great principle of Erasmus was, "Give light, and the darkness will
disappear of itself." The principle is good, and Luther acted on it. But when
the enemies of the light strive to extinguish it, or to force the flambeau out
of the hand which carries it is it necessary, from a love of peace, to let them
do so? ought not the wicked to be resisted?
Erasmus was deficient in courage. Now, courage is indispensable, whether
it be to effect a Reformation, or to storm a town. There was much timidity
in his character. From a boy the very name of death made him tremble. He
was excessively anxious about his health, and would grudge no sacrifice in
order to escape from a place where some contagious malady prevailed. His
love of the comforts of life was greater even than his vanity, and hence his
rejection, on more than one occasion, of the most brilliant offers.
Accordingly, he made no pretensions to the character of a Reformer. "If the
corruptions of the Court of Rome demand some great and prompt remedy,"
said he, "it is no affair of mine, or of those like me."[110] He had not the
strong faith which animated Luther. While the latter was always prepared to
yield up his life for the truth, Erasmus candidly declared, "Others may
aspire to martyrdom; as for me, I deem not myself worthy of the honour.
Were some tumult to arise, I fear I would play the part of Peter."[111]
Erasmus, by his writings and his sayings, had done more than any other
man to prepare the Reformation; but, when he saw the tempest, which he
himself had raised, actually come, he trembled. He would have given
anything to bring back the calm of other days, even though accompanied
with its dense fogs. It was no longer time. The embankment had burst, and
it was impossible to arrest the flood which was destined at once to purify
and fertilise the world. Erasmus was powerful as an instrument of God, but
when he ceased to be so, he was nothing.
Ultimately, Erasmus knew not for which party to declare. He was not
pleased with any, and he had his fears of all. "It is dangerous to speak," said
he, "and it is dangerous to be silent." In all great religious movements we
meet with those irresolute characters, which, though respectable in some
points of view, do injury to the truth, and, in wishing not to displease any,
displease all.

What would become of the truth did not God raise up bolder champions to
defend it? The following is the advice which Erasmus gave to Viglius
Zuichem, (afterwards President of the Supreme Court at Brussels,) as to the
manner in which he ought to conduct himself towards the sectaries—(this
was the name by which he had already begun to designate the Reformers)
—"My friendship for you makes me desirous that you should keep far aloof
from the contagion of the sects, and not furnish them with any pretext for
saying, 'Zuichem is ours.' If you approve their doctrine, at least disguise it,
and, above all, do not enter into discussion with them. A lawyer should
finesse with these people as a dying man once did with the devil. The devil
asked him, 'What believest thou?' The dying man, afraid that if he made a
confession of his faith, he might be surprised into some heresy, replied,
'What the Church believes.' The devil rejoined, 'What does the Church
believe?' The man again replied, 'What I believe.' The devil, once more,
'And what dost thou believe?'—'What the Church believes.'"[112] Duke
George of Saxony, a mortal enemy of Luther, receiving an equivocal answer
from Erasmus to a question which he had put to him, said, "My dear
Erasmus, wash the fur for me, and do not merely wet it." Secundus Curio,
in one of his works, describes two heavens—the Papistical and the
Christian heaven. He does not find Erasmus in either, but discovers him
moving constantly between them in endless circles.
Such was Erasmus. He wanted that internal liberty which makes a man truly
free. How different he would have been if he had abandoned himself, and
sacrificed all for truth! But after trying to effect some reforms with the
approbation of the Church, and for Rome deserting the Reformation when
he saw the two to be incompatible, he lost himself with all parties. On the
one hand, his palinodes could not suppress the rage of the fanatical
partisans of the Papacy. They felt the mischief which he had done them, and
they did not forgive it. Impetuous monks poured out reproaches on him
from the pulpit,—calling him a second Lucian,—a fox, which had laid
waste the vineyard of the Lord. A doctor of Constance had the portrait of
Erasmus hung up in his study, that he might have it in his power at any
moment to spit in his face. On the other hand, Erasmus, by deserting the
standard of the gospel, deprived himself of the affection and esteem of the
noblest men of the period in which he lived, and must, doubtless, have
forfeited those heavenly consolations which God sheds in the hearts of

those who conduct themselves as good soldiers of Jesus Christ. At least we
have some indication of this in his bitter tears—his painful vigils, and
troubled sleep—his disrelish for his food—his disgust with the study of the
muses, once his only solace—his wrinkled brow—his pallid cheek—his sad
and sunken eye—his hatred of a life to which he applies the epithet of cruel
—and those longings for death which he unbosoms to his friends.[113] Poor
Erasmus!
The enemies of Erasmus went, we think, somewhat beyond the truth when
they exclaimed, on Luther's appearance, "Erasmus laid the egg, and Luther
has hatched it."[114]

CHAP. IX.
The nobles—Different Motives—Hütten—Literary League—Letters
of some Obscure Men—Their Effect—Luther's Opinion—Hütten
at Brussels—His Letters—Seckingen—War—His Death—
Cronberg—Hans Sachs—General Fermentation.

The same symptoms of regeneration, which we have seen among princes,
bishops, and the learned, existed among the men of the world, among
nobles, knights, and warriors. The German nobility performed an important
part in the Reformation. Several of the most illustrious sons of Germany
entered into close alliance with the Literati, and inflamed with an ardent,
sometimes even an excessive zeal, laboured to deliver their countrymen
from the yoke of Rome.
Various causes must have contributed to procure friends for the
Reformation among the ranks of the nobility. Some, by their attendance at
the universities, had been warmed with the same flame that animated the
learned. Others, whose education had trained them to generous feelings, had
their minds predisposed in favour of the beautiful doctrines of the gospel.
To several, the Reformation seemed to present something of a chivalrous
character, which fascinated them, and bore them along in its train. Lastly, it
must be acknowledged, that not a few had a grudge at the clergy, who had
powerfully contributed in the reign of Maximilian, to deprive the nobles of
their ancient independence, and bring them under subjection to their
sovereigns. They, in their enthusiasm, considered the Reformation as the
prelude of a great political renovation. They thought they saw the empire
emerging from this crisis with new splendour, and hailed the better state,
brilliant with the purest glory, which was on the eve of being established in
the world by chivalrous swords, not less than by the word of God.

Ulrich de Hütten,[115] who, on account of his philippics against the Papacy,
has been surnamed the Demosthenes of Germany, forms, as it were, the link
which united the chevaliers and men of letters. He distinguished himself by
his writings, as much as by his sword. Descended from an ancient family in

Franconia, he was sent at eleven years of age, to the Convent of Foulda,
with the view of his becoming a monk. But Ulrich, who had no inclination
for this state, ran off from the convent when he was sixteen, and repaired to
the University of Cologne, where he devoted himself to the study of
languages. Afterwards leading an unsettled life, he was in the ranks as a
common soldier at the siege of Padua, in 1513, saw Rome in all its disorder,
and there sharpened the arrows which he afterwards shot at her.
On his return to Germany, Hütten wrote a pamphlet against Rome, entitled
"The Roman Trinity," in which he unveils all the disorders of that court, and
shows the necessity of pulling down her tyranny by main force. A traveller
named Vadiscus, who figures prominently in the piece, says, "There are
three things which are usually brought back from Rome,—a sore
conscience, a disordered stomach, and an empty purse. There are three
things which Rome does not believe,—the immortality of the soul, the
resurrection of the dead, and hell. There are three things in which Rome
carries on a trade,—the grace of Christ, ecclesiastical benefices, and
women." The publication of this work obliged Hütten to quit the court of
the Archbishop of Mayence, where he was residing when he composed it.
The affair of Reuchlin with the Dominicans was the signal which brought
forward all the literati, magistrates, and nobles, who were opposed to the
monks. The defeat of the inquisitors, who, it was said, had only saved
themselves from a regular and absolute sentence of condemnation by
money and intrigue, gave encouragement to all their adversaries.
Counsellors of the empire, and magistrates of the most considerable towns
—Pirckheimer of Nuremberg, Peutinger of Augsburg, Stuss of Cologne,
distinguished preachers, such as Capito and Œcolampadius, doctors of
medicine, historians, all the literati, orators, and poets, at the head of whom,
Ulrich de Hütten was conspicuous, formed the army of Reuchlinists, of
whom a list was even published.[116] The most remarkable production of
this league was the famous popular satire, entitled, "Letters of some
Obscure Men." This production was principally written by Hütten, and one
of his university friends, Crotus Robianus, but it is difficult to say with
which of the two the idea originated, if, indeed, it was not with the learned
printer, Angst. It is even doubtful if Hütten had any hand in the first part of
the work. Several Humanists, who had met in the fortress of Ebernbourg,
appear to have contributed to the second part. It is a picture in bold

characters, a caricature sometimes coarsely painted, but full of truth and
vigour, a striking likeness in colours of fire. The effect was immense.
Monks, who are adversaries of Reuchlin, and the supposed authors of the
letters, discourse on the affairs of the time, and on theological subjects after
their own manner, and in their barbarous Latin. They address to their
correspondent, Ortuin Gratius, professor at Cologne, and friend of
Pfefferkorn, the silliest and most useless questions. They give the most
amusing proof of the excessive ignorance and incredulity, their superstition,
their low and vulgar spirit, their coarse gluttony in making a god of their
belly, and, at the same time, their pride, their fanatical and persecuting zeal.
They inform him of several of their droll adventures, their escapes, their
dissoluteness, and a variety of scandals in the lives of Hochstraten,
Pfefferkorn, and other leaders of their party. The tone of these letters,
sometimes hypocritical and sometimes childish, gives them a very comic
effect, and yet the whole is so natural, that the Dominicans and Franciscans
of England received the work with high approbation, believing that it really
was composed on the principles of their order, and in defence of it. A prior
of Brabant, in his credulous simplicity, purchased a great number of copies,
and presented them to the most distinguished among the Dominicans. The
monks, irritated more and more, applied to the pope for a stringent bull
against all who should dare to read these epistles, but Leo X refused to
grant it. They were accordingly obliged to put up with the general laugh,
and gulp down their rage. No work gave a stronger blow to these pillars of
Papism. But it was not by jesting and satire that the gospel was to triumph.
Had this course been persisted in; had the Reformers, instead of attacking
the Reformation with the weapons of God, had recourse to the jeering spirit
of the world, the cause had been lost. Luther loudly condemned these
satires. A friend having sent him one of them, entitled, "The Tenor of the
Supplication of Pasquin," he wrote in answer, "The foolish things you sent
me appear to be written by a mind which is under no control. I submitted
them to a meeting of friends, and they have all given the same opinion."[117]
And speaking of the same work, he writes to another of his correspondents,
"This Supplication appears to me to be by the same hand as the Letters of
some Obscure Men. I approve of his wishes, but I approve not of his work,
for he does not refrain from injury and insult."[118] This sentence is severe,
but it shows what kind of spirit was in Luther, and how superior he was to

his contemporaries. It must be added, however, that he was not at all times
observant of these wise maxims.
Ulrich having been obliged to renounce the protection of the Archbishop of
Mayence, applied for that of Charles V, who had at this time quarrelled with
the pope, and accordingly repaired to Brussels, where Charles was holding
his court. But so far from obtaining anything, he learned that the pope had
required the emperor to send him to Rome bound hand and foot. The
inquisitor, Hochstraten, Reuchlin's persecutor, was one of those whom
Rome had charged to pursue him. Ulrich, indignant that such a demand
should have been made to the emperor, quitted Brabant. When a short way
from Brussels, he met Hochstraten on the highroad. The inquisitor,
frightened out of his wits, falls on his knees, and commends his soul to God
and the saints. "No," said the knight, "I will not soil my sword with such
blood as yours!" and giving him several strokes with the flat of his sword,
allowed him to depart.
Hütten took refuge in the castle of Ebernbourg, where Francis de Seckingen
offered an asylum to all who were persecuted by the Ultramontanists. It was
here that his ardent zeal for the emancipation of his country dictated the
remarkable letters which he addressed to Charles V, Frederick Elector of
Saxony, Albert Archbishop of Mayence, and the princes and nobles, and
which entitle him to a place among the most distinguished authors. Here
too, he composed all those works[119] which, being read and comprehended
by the people, inspired Germany with a hatred of Rome and a love of
freedom. Devoted to the cause of the Reformers, his object was to induce
the nobility to take up arms in favour of the gospel, and fall with the sword
on that Rome which Luther only wished to destroy by the Word, and by the
invincible force of truth.
Still, amid all this fondness for war, we are pleased at finding tenderness
and delicacy of sentiment in Hütten. On the death of his parents, though he
was the eldest son, he gave up all the family property to his brothers, and
prayed them not to write him or send him any money, lest, notwithstanding
their innocence, they might be brought into trouble by his enemies, and fall
into the ditch along with him.

If the truth cannot own Hütten for one of her children, (for her companions
are ever holiness of life and purity of heart,) she will, at least, make
honourable mention of him, as one of the most readoubtable adversaries of
error.
A similar testimony may be borne to François de Seckingen, his illustrious
friend and patron. This noble chevalier, whom several of his contemporaries
deemed worthy of the imperial crown, holds first place among the warriors
who were the antagonists of Rome. While delighting in the noise of arms,
he had an ardent love of science, and a high veneration for its professors.
When at the head of an army which threatened Wurtemberg, he gave orders,
in the event of Stuttgard being taken by assault, to spare the property and
house of the celebrated scholar, John Reuchlin. He afterwards invited him
to his camp, and, embracing him, offered to assist him in his quarrel with
the monks of Cologne. For a long time chivalry had gloried in despising
literature, but this period presents us with a different spectacle. Under the
massy cuirass of the Seckingens and Hüttens, we perceive the intellectual
movement which is beginning to be everywhere felt. The first fruits which
the Reformation gives to the world are warriors enamoured with the arts of
peace.
Hütten, who, on his return from Brussels, had taken refuge in the castle of
Seckingen, invited the valorous knight to study the evangelical doctrine,
and made him acquainted with the foundations on which it rests. "And is
there any one," exclaimed Seckingen in astonishment, "who dares to
overturn such an edifice? Who could do it?"
Several individuals, who afterwards became celebrated as Reformers, found
an asylum in this castle; among others, Martin Bucer, Aquila, Schwebel,
and Œcolampadius, so that Hütten justly styled Ebernbourg "the hotel of the
just." Œcolampadius had to preach daily in the castle, but the warriors there
assembled began to weary hearing so much of the meek virtues of
Christianity, and the sermons of Œcolampadius, though he laboured to
shorten them, seemed too long. They, indeed, repaired to the church almost
every day, but, for the most part, only to hear the blessing and offer a short
prayer. Hence Œcolampadius exclaimed, "Alas! the Word is here sown on
stony ground."

Seckingen, longing to serve the cause of truth in his own way, declared war
on the Archbishop of Treves, "in order," as he said, "to open a door for the
gospel." In vain did Luther, who had by this time appeared, endeavour to
dissuade him; he attacked Treves with five thousand knights and a thousand
common soldiers, but the bold archbishop, aided by the Elector Palatine and
the Landgrave of Hesse, forced him to retreat. The following spring, the
allied princes attacked him in his castle of Landstein. After a bloody assault,
Seckingen, having been mortally wounded, was forced to surrender. The
three princes, accordingly, make their way into the fortress, and, after
searching through it, at last find the indomitable knight on his death-bed, in
a subterraneous vault.
He stretches out his hand to the Elector Palatine, without seeming to pay
any attention to the other princes, who overwhelm him with questions and
reproaches: "Leave me at rest," said he to them; "I am now preparing to
answer a mightier than you!..." When Luther heard of his death he
exclaimed, "The Lord is just, yet wonderful! It is not with the sword that he
means to propagate the gospel!"
Such was the sad end of a warrior, who, as emperor or elector, might,
perhaps, have raised Germany to high renown, but who, confined within a
limited circle, wasted the great powers with which he was endowed. It was
not in the tumultuous spirit of these warriors that Divine truth, which had
come down from heaven, was to take up her abode. Theirs were not the
weapons by which she was to conquer; God, in annihilating the mad
projects of Seckingen, gave a new illustration of the saying of St. Paul,
"The weapons of our warfare are not carnal, but mighty through God."
Another chevalier, Harmut of Cronberg, a friend of Hütten and Seckingen,
appears to have had more wisdom and more knowledge of the truth. He
wrote with great moderation to Leo X, beseeching him to give up his
temporal power to its rightful possessor, viz., the emperor. Addressing his
dependants like a father, he endeavoured to make them comprehend the
doctrines of the gospel, and exhorted them to faith, obedience, and
confidence in Jesus Christ, "who," added he, "is the sovereign Lord of all."
He resigned a pension of two hundred ducats into the hands of the emperor,
"because he was unwilling," as he expressed it, "to continue in the service
of one who lent his ear to the enemies of the truth." I have somewhere met

with a beautiful saying of his, which seems to place him far above Hütten
and Seckingen. "The Holy Spirit, our heavenly Teacher, is able, when he
pleases, to teach us more of the faith of Christ in one hour than we could
learn in ten years at the University of Paris."
Those who look for the friends of reformation only on the steps of thrones,
[120]
or in cathedrals and academies, and maintain that no such friends exist
among the people, are under a serious mistake. God, while preparing the
heart of the wise and powerful, was also preparing, in retirement, many
simple and humble-minded men, who were one day to become obedient to
the Word. The history of the period gives evidence of the fermentation
which was then going on among the humbler classes. The popular literature,
previous to the Reformation, had a tendency directly opposed to the spirit
which was prevalent in the Church. In the "Eulenspiegel," a celebrated
popular poetical collection of the period, the laugh is incessantly kept up at
priests, beasts, and gluttons, who keep full-stocked cellars, fine horses, and
well-lined pantries. In the "Renard Reinecke," the households of priests,
with their little children, play an important part. Another popular writer
thunders with all his might against those ministers of Christ who ride
splendid horses, but won't fight the infidels; and John Rosenblut, in one of
his carnival games, brings the Grand Turk upon the stage, to preach a
seasonable sermon to all the states of Christendom.
It was unquestionably in the bowels of the people that the Reformation,
which was soon to break out, was fermenting. Not only from this class were
youths seen coming forth, who were afterwards to occupy the first stations
in the Church, but even individuals, who continued all their lives to labour
in the humblest professions, contributed powerfully to the great awakening
of Christendom. It may be proper to give some traits in the life of one of
them.
On the 5th November 1494, a tailor of Nuremberg, by name Hans Sachs,
had a son born to him. The son, named Hans (John) like his father, after
having received some schooling, was apprenticed to a shoemaker. Young
Hans availed himself of the liberty of thought, which this humble
profession afforded, to penetrate into the higher world, in which his soul
delighted. Songs, after they ceased in the castles of chivalry, seem to have
sought, and to have found, an asylum among the burghers of the joyous

cities of Germany. A singing-school was held in the Church of Nuremberg.
The performances which took place there, and in which young Hans was
accustomed to join, opened his heart to religious impressions, and helped to
awaken a taste for poetry and music. The genius of the youth could not long
brook confinement within the walls of his workshop. He wished to see with
his own eyes that world of which he had read so much, and been told so
many stories by his comrades, and which his imagination peopled with
wonders. In 1511 he bundles up his effects, and sets out in the direction of
the South. The young traveller, falling in with gay comrades, students
roaming the country, and many dangerous temptations soon feels a serious
struggle within. The lusts of the world and his pious resolutions war with
each other. Trembling for the result, he takes flight, and, in 1513, hides
himself in the little town of Wels in Austria, where he lives in retirement,
devoting himself to the study of the fine arts. The emperor, Maximilian,
happens to pass through the town with a brilliant suite, and the young poet
is quite fascinated with the splendour of the court. The prince receives him
into his hunting train, and Hans once more forgets himself, under the noisy
vaults of the palace of Insprüch. But his conscience again sounds the alarm,
and the young huntsman, immediately throwing aside his brilliant uniform,
takes his departure, and arrives at Schwatz near Munich. There, in 1514, at
the age of twenty, he composed his first hymn, "In Honour of God," setting
it to a remarkable air. It was received with great applause. In the course of
his journeys, he was witness to many sad proofs of the abuses under which
religion groaned.
On his return to Nuremberg, Hans commences business, marries, and
becomes the father of a family. When the Reformation breaks out he turns a
listening ear. He cordially welcomes the Holy Scripture, which had already
endeared itself to him as a poet, and he no longer searches it for images and
hymns, but for the light of truth. To this truth he consecrates his lyre. From
a humble stall in front of one of the gates of the imperial city of Nuremberg,
come forth notes which re-echo over Germany, and everywhere excite a
deep interest in the great revolution which is going forward. The spiritual
songs of Hans Sachs, and his Bible turned into verse, greatly aided the
work. Indeed, it would be difficult to say which of the two did most for it—
the elector of Saxony, vicegerent of the empire, or the shoemaker of
Nuremberg.

Thus, then, there was something in all classes which announced a
Reformation. On all sides signs appeared, and events pressed forward
threatening to overthrow the work of ages of darkness, and introduce men
to a period in which "all things were to become new." The hierarchical
form, which several ages had been employed in stamping upon the world,
was on the eve of being effaced. The light which had just been discovered
had, with inconceivable rapidity, introduced a number of new ideas into all
countries, and all classes of society gave signs of new life. "O age!"
exclaims Hütten, "studies flourish, and minds awake: Mere life is joy!"...
The human intellect, which had been slumbering for so many generations,
seemed desirous, by its activity, to redeem the time which it had lost. To
have left it in idleness, without nourishment, or to have given it no better
food than that which had long maintained its languid existence, would have
been to mistake the nature of man. The human mind having at length
perceived what it was, and what it ought to be, looked boldly at these two
states, and scanned the immense abyss which lay between them. Great
princes were on the throne, the ancient colossus of Rome was tottering
under its own weight, and the old spirit of chivalry was taking leave of the
earth to make way for a new spirit, which breathed at once on the
sanctuaries of knowledge, and on the dwellings of the poor. The printed
Word had taken wing, and been carried, as the wind does certain seeds, to
the most distant regions. The discovery of the two Indies had enlarged the
world.... Every thing announced that a great revolution was at hand.
But whence will the blow come which is to strike down the ancient edifice,
that a new edifice may arise out of its ruins? Nobody could say. Who had
more wisdom than Frederick? More science than Reuchlin? More talent
than Erasmus? More spirit and versatility than Hütten? More valour than
Seckingen? More virtue than Cronberg? And yet, neither Frederick, nor
Reuchlin, nor Erasmus, nor Seckingen, nor Hütten, nor Cronberg....
Learned men, princes, warriors, the Church herself, had sapped some of the
foundations: but there they had stopped. The powerful hand which God had
designed to employ was nowhere to be seen.

All, however, felt that it must soon make its appearance, while some even
pretended to have seen indications of it in the stars. One class, seeing the
miserable state of religion predicted the near approach of Antichrist.
Another class, on the contrary, predicted a speedy Reformation. The world
was waiting.... Luther appeared.

BOOK SECOND.

CHAP. I.
YOUTH, CONVERSION, AND FIRST LABOURS OF
LUTHER.

1483-1517.

Luther's Descent—His Parents—His Birth—Poverty—The Paternal
Roof—Strict Discipline—First Lessons—The School of
Magdebourg—Wretchedness—Isenach—The Shunammite—The
House of Cotta—The Arts—Remembrance of those Times—His
Studies—Trebonius—The University.

All was ready. God takes ages to prepare his work, but when the hour is
come, accomplishes it by the feeblest instruments. To do great things by
small means, is the law of God. This law, which appears in every
department of nature, is found also in history. God took the Reformers of
the Church, where he had taken the Apostles. He selected them from that
humble class which, without containing the meanest of the people, is
scarcely the length of citizenship. Every thing must manifest to the world
that the work is not of man, but of God. The Reformer Zuinglius comes
forth from the hut of a shepherd of the Alps, Melancthon, the Theologian of
the Reformation, from the workshop of an armourer, and Luther from the
cottage of a poor miner.
The first stage in a man's life, that in which he is formed and moulded under
the hand of God, is always important, and was so especially in the case of
Luther. There, even at that period, the whole Reformation existed. The
different phases of that great work succeeded each other in the soul of him
who was the instrument of accomplishing it, before it was actually
accomplished. The knowledge of the Reformation which took place in
Luther's heart is the only key to the Reformation of the Church. We must
study the particular work, if we would attain to a knowledge of the general
work. Those who neglect the one will never know more than the form and
exterior of the other. They may acquire a knowledge of certain events and

certain results, but the intrinsic nature of the revival they cannot know,
because the living principle which formed the soul of it, is hidden from
them. Let us then study the Reformation in Luther, before studying it in
events which changed the face of Christendom.
In the village of Mora, towards the forests of Thuringia, and not far from
the spot where Boniface, the Apostle of Germany, began to proclaim the
gospel, there existed, and, undoubtedly, had existed for ages, an ancient and
numerous family of the name of Luther.[121] The eldest son, as usual with
the peasantry of Thuringia, always succeeded to the house and the paternal
plot, while the younger members of the family set out in quest of a
livelihood. John Luther having married Margaret Lindemann, daughter of
an inhabitant of Neustadt, in the bishopric of Warzburg, the married couple
removed from the plains of Isenach, and fixed their residence in the little
town of Eisleben, in Saxony, in order to gain their bread by the sweat of
their brow.
Seckendorff relates, on the testimony of Robhan, superintendant of Isenach
in 1601, that Luther's mother, thinking she was still far from her time, had
gone to the fair of Eisleben, and there, unexpectedly, gave birth to a son.
Notwithstanding of the credit due to such a man as Seckendorff, this
account appears not to be correct. In fact, none of the older biographers of
Luther make any mention of it. Besides, Mora is more than twenty-four
leagues distant from Eisleben, and persons in the circumstances in which
Luther's mother then was seldom are disposed to take such long journeys to
go to the fair. In fine, the account seems quite at variance with Luther's own
statement.[122]
John Luther was an upright, straightforward, hard-working man, with a
firmness of character bordering on obstinacy. Of a more cultivated mind
than usual with persons of his class, he was a great reader. Books were then
rare. But he never let pass any opportunity of procuring them. They were
his relaxation in the intervals of repose from hard and long-continued
labour. Margaret possessed the virtues which adorn honest and pious
women. She was remarked, in particular, for her modesty, her fear of God,
and her spirit of prayer. The mothers of the place regarded her as a model
whom they ought to imitate.[123]

It is not exactly known how long this couple had been fixed at Eisleben,
when, on the 10th November, an hour before midnight, Margaret gave birth
to a son. Melancthon often questioned the mother of his friend as to the
period of his birth. "I remember the day and the hour very well," would she
reply; "but for the year, I am not certain of it." Luther's brother, James, an
honest and upright man, has stated, that, in the opinion of all the family,
Martin was born in the year of Christ 1483, on the 10th November, being
St. Martin's eve.[124] The first thought of the pious parents was to take the
infant which God had given them, and dedicate it to God in holy baptism.
On the following day, which happened to be a Tuesday, the father, with
gratitude and joy, carried his son to St. Peter's church, where he received the
seal of his dedication to the Lord. He was named Martin in honour of the
day.
Young Martin was not six months old when his parents quitted Eisleben for
Mansfeld, which is only five leagues distant. The mines of Mansfeld were
then much famed, and John Luther, a labouring man, feeling that he might
perhaps be called to rear a numerous family, hoped he might there more
easily gain a livelihood. It was in this town that the intellect and powers of
young Luther received their first development; here his activity began to be
displayed, and his disposition to be manifested by what he said and did. The
plains of Mansfeld, the banks of the Wipper, were the scenes of his first
sports with his playmates.
The commencement of their residence at Mansfeld was attended with
painful privations to honest John and his wife; for they lived some time in
great poverty. "My parents," says the Reformer, "were very poor. My father
was a poor wood-cutter, and my mother often carried his wood on her back
to procure subsistence for us children. The toil they endured for us was
severe, even to blood." The example of parents whom he respected, and the
habits in which they trained him, early accustomed Luther to exertion and
frugality. Often, doubtless, he accompanied his mother to the wood, and
made up his little faggot also.
Promises are given to the just man's labour, and John Luther experienced
the reality of them. Having become somewhat more easy in his
circumstances, he established two smelting furnaces at Mansfeld. Around
these furnaces young Martin grew up; and the return which they yielded

enabled his father, at a later period, to provide for his studies. "The spiritual
founder of Christendom," says worthy Mathesius, "was to come forth from
a family of miners, an image of what God purposed, when he employed him
to cleanse the sons of Levi, and purify them in his furnaces like gold."[125]
Universally respected for his integrity, his blameless life, and good sense,
John Luther was made a counsellor of Mansfeld, the capital of the county of
that name. Too great wretchedness might have weighed down the spirit of
the child, but the easy circumstances of the paternal roof expanded his
heart, and elevated his character.
John availed himself of his new situation to cultivate the society which he
preferred. He set great value on educated men, and often invited the
clergymen and teachers of the place to his table. His house presented an
example of one of those societies of simple citizens which did honour to
Germany at the commencement of the sixteenth century, and, as a mirror,
reflected the numerous images which succeeded each other on the troubled
stage of that time. It was not lost on the child. The sight of men to whom so
much respect was shown in his father's house must, doubtless, on more than
one occasion, have awakened in young Martin's heart an ambitious desire
one day to become a school-master or a man of learning.
As soon as he was of an age to receive some instruction, his parents sought
to give him the knowledge and inspire him with the fear of God, and train
him in Christian virtues. Their utmost care was devoted to his primary
domestic education.[126] This, however, was not the sole object of their
tender solicitude.
His father, desirous of seeing him acquire the elements of knowledge for
which he himself had so much esteem, invoked the Divine blessing on his
head, and sent him to school. As Martin was still a very little boy, his father
or Nicolas Emler, a young man of Mansfeld, often carried him in their arms
to the house of George Emilius, and went again to fetch him. Emler
afterwards married one of Luther's sisters.
The piety of the parents, their activity and strict virtue, gave a happy
impulse to the boy, making him of a grave and attentive spirit. The system
of education which then prevailed employed fear and punishment as its
leading stimulants. Margaret, though sometimes approving the too strict

discipline of her husband, often opened her maternal arms to Martin, to
console him in his tears. She herself occasionally carried to excess that
precept of Divine wisdom, which says, "He that spareth the rod hateth his
son." The impetuous temper of the child often led to frequent reproof and
correction. "My parents," says Luther, in after life, "treated me harshly, and
made me very timid. My mother one day chastised me about a filbert till the
blood came. They believed with all their heart they were doing right, but
they could not discriminate between dispositions, though this is necessary
in order to know when and how punishments should be inflicted."[127]
The poor child's treatment at school was not less severe. His master one
morning beat him fifteen times in succession. "It is necessary," said Luther,
when mentioning the fact, "it is necessary to chastise children; but it is
necessary, at the same time, to love them." With such an education, Luther
early learned to despise the allurements of a sensual life. "He who is to
become great must begin with little,"[128] justly remarks one of his earliest
biographers; "and if children are brought up with too much delicacy and
tenderness, it does them harm all the rest of their life."
Martin learned something at school. He was taught the heads of the
Catechism, the Ten Commandments, the Apostles' Creed, the Lord's Prayer,
hymns, forms of prayer, and the Donat. This last was a Latin grammar,
composed in the fourth century by Donatus, St. Jerome's master; and having
been improved in the eleventh century by a French monk, named Remigius,
was long in high repute as a school-book. He moreover conned the Ciseo-
Janus, a very singular almanac, composed in the tenth or eleventh century.
In short, he learned all that was taught in the Latin school of Mansfeld.
But the child seems not to have been brought to God. The only religious
sentiment which could be discovered in him was that of fear. Whenever he
heard Jesus Christ mentioned he grew pale with terror; for the Saviour had
been represented to him as an angry Judge. This servile fear, so foreign to
genuine religion, perhaps predisposed him for the glad tidings of the gospel,
and for the joy which he afterwards experienced when he became
acquainted with him who is meek and lowly in heart.
John Luther longed to make his son a learned man. The new light, which
began to radiate in all directions, penetrated even the cottage of the miner of

Mansfield, and there awakened ambitious thoughts. The remarkable
disposition, and persevering application of his son, inspired John with the
most brilliant hopes. Accordingly, in 1497, when Martin had completed his
fourteenth year, his father resolved to part with him, and send him to a
school of the Franciscans at Magdebourg. Margaret behoved, of course, to
consent, and Martin prepared to quit the paternal roof.
Magdebourg was like a new world to Martin. Amid numerous privations,
(for he had scarcely the means of subsistence,) he read and attended
lectures; André Prolés, provincial of the Augustine Order, was then
preaching with great fervour on the necessity of reforming religion and the
Church. He, however, was not the person who deposited in the young man's
soul the first germ of those ideas which afterwards expanded in it.
This period was a kind of severe apprenticeship to Luther. Launched upon
the world at fourteen, without friend or patron, he trembled in presence of
his masters, and, during the hours of recreation, painfully begged his food
with children as poor as himself. "I and my comrades," says he, "begged a
little food for our subsistence. One day, at the season when the Church
celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ, we were in a body scouring the
neighbouring villages, going from house to house, and, in four parts,
singing the ordinary hymns on the Babe at Bethlehem. We stopped before a
peasant's cottage, which stood by itself at the extremity of a village. The
peasant, hearing us singing our Christmas carols, came out with some
provisions which he meant to give us, and asked, in a gruff voice, and a
harsh tone, 'Where are you, boys?' His tones frightened us, and we took to
our heels. We had no cause for fear; for the peasant was sincere in his offer
of assistance: but our hearts were, no doubt, made timid by the menaces and
tyranny with which masters at this period oppressed their scholars; hence
the sudden fright which seized us. At last, however, the peasant still
continuing to call us, we stopped, laid aside our fear, and, running up to
him, received the food which he intended for us." "In the same way," adds
Luther, "are we wont to tremble and flee when our conscience is guilty and
alarmed. Then we are afraid even of the assistance which is offered to us,
and of those who are friendly to us, and would do us all sorts of kindness."
[129]

A year had scarcely passed, when John and Margaret, on being made aware
of the difficulties which their son had in living in Magdebourg, sent him to
Isenach, where there was a celebrated school, and they had a number of
relations.[130] They had other children; and though their circumstances had
improved, they were unable to maintain their son in a strange town. The
forges and late hours of John Luther did no more than keep the family at
Mansfield. It was hoped that Martin would find a livelihood more easily at
Isenach, but he was not more successful. His relations in the town did not
trouble themselves about him. Perhaps their own poverty made them unable
to give him any assistance.
When the scholar felt the gnawings of hunger he had no resource but to do
as at Magdebourg,—to join his fellow-students, and sing with them before
the houses for a morsel of bread. This custom of the time of Luther has been
preserved, even to our day, in several towns of Germany, where the voices
of the boys sometimes produce a most harmonious chant. Instead of bread,
poor modest Martin often received only hard words. Then, overcome with
sadness, he shed many tears in secret, unable to think of the future without
trembling.
One day, in particular, he had been repulsed from three houses, and was
preparing, without having broken his fast, to return to his lodging, when, on
arriving at St. George's Square, he halted, and, absorbed in gloomy
thoughts, stood motionless before the house of an honest burgher.
Will it be necessary, from want of bread, to give up study, and go and work
with his father in the mines of Mansfeld? Suddenly a door opens, and a
female is seen on the threshold,—it was the wife of Conrad Cotta, the
daughter of the burgomaster of Ilefeld.[131] Her name was Ursula. The
Chronicles of Isenach call her "the pious Shunammite," in allusion to her
who so earnestly pressed the prophet Elisha to eat bread with her. Previous
to this the Christian Shunammite had more than once observed young
Martin in the assemblies of the faithful, and been touched by the sweetness
of his voice, and his devout behaviour.[132] She had just heard the harsh
language addressed to the poor scholar, and seeing him in sadness before
her door, she came to his assistance, beckoned him to enter, and set food
before him to appease his hunger.

Conrad approved of the benevolence of his wife, and was even so much
pleased with the society of young Luther, that some days after he took him
home to his house. From this moment his studies were secure. He will not
be obliged to return to the mines of Mansfeld, and bury the talent with
which God has entrusted him. When he no longer knew what was to
become of him God opened to him the heart and the home of a Christian
family. This event helped to give him that confidence in God which in after
life the strongest tempests could not shake.
In the house of Cotta, Luther was introduced to a mode of life very different
from that which he had hitherto known. He there led an easy existence,
exempt from want and care. His mind became more serene, his disposition
more lively, and his heart more open. His whole being expanded to the mild
rays of charity, and began to beat with life, joy, and happiness. His prayers
were more ardent, and his thirst for knowledge more intense. He made rapid
progress.
To literature and science he added the charms of art. Those who are
designed by God to act upon their contemporaries are themselves, in the
first instance, seized and carried along by all the tendencies of their age.
Luther learned to play on the flute and the lute. The latter instrument he
often accompanied with his fine counter voice, thus enlivening his heart in
moments of sadness. He took pleasure also in employing his notes to testify
his gratitude to his adopted mother, who was very fond of music. His own
love of it continued to old age, and both the words and the music of some of
the finest anthems which Germany possesses are his composition. Some
have even been translated into our language.
Happy time for the young man! Luther always remembered it with emotion.
Many years after, a son of Conrad having come to study at Wittemberg,
when the poor scholar of Isenach had become the doctor of his age, he
gladly received him at his table and under his roof. He wished to pay back
to the son part of what he had received from the parents. It was while
thinking of the Christian woman who gave him food when all besides
repulsed him, that he gave utterance to this fine expression, "Earth has
nothing gentler than the female heart in which piety dwells."

Luther was never ashamed of the days when, pressed by hunger, he was
under the necessity of begging for his studies and his maintenance. So far
from this, he, on the contrary, reflected with gratitude on the great poverty
of his youth. He regarded it as one of the means which God had employed
to make him what he afterwards became, and he felt thankful for it. The
poor youths who were obliged to follow the same course touched his heart.
"Do not," said he, "despise the boys who sing before your houses, and ask
'panem propter Deum,' bread for the love of God; I have done it myself. It is
true that at a later period, my father, with great love and kindness, kept me
at the University of Erfurt, maintaining me by the sweat of his brow; still I
once was a poor beggar. And now by means of my pen, I am come thus far,
that I would not change situations with the Grand Turk himself. Nay, more,
were all the goods of the world piled up one above another, I would not take
them in exchange for what I have. And yet, I should not be where I am, if I
had not been at school and learned to write." Thus, in these first humble
beginnings this great man traced the origin of his fame. He fears not to
remind us that that voice whose accents made the empire and the world to
tremble, had once begged a morsel of bread in the streets of a poor city. The
Christian takes pleasure in such recollections, as reminding him that it is in
God he must glory.
The strength of his intellect, and the liveliness of his imagination, soon
enabled him to outstrip all his fellow-students.[133] His progress was
particularly rapid in ancient languages, eloquence, and poetry. He wrote
essays and made verses. Lively, complaisant, and what is called good-
hearted, he was a great favourite with his masters and his comrades.
Among the professors, he attached himself particularly to John Trebonius, a
learned man of pleasing manners, who showed youth those attentions which
are so well fitted to encourage them. Martin had remarked, that when
Trebonius entered the class, he took off his hat, and bowed to the students;
—great condescension in those pedantic times! This had pleased the young
man, and made him feel that he was not a mere cipher. The respect of the
master had made the pupil rise in his own estimation. The colleagues of
Trebonius, who had not the same custom of taking off their hats, having one
day expressed their astonishment at his extreme condescension, he replied,
(and the reply made no less impression on young Luther,) "Among these
youths are men whom God will one day make burgomasters, chancellors,

doctors, and magistrates; and though you do not yet see them with their
badges of office, it is right, however, to show them respect." No doubt, the
young student listened with pleasure to these words, and even then,
perhaps, saw himself with a doctor's cap on his head.

CHAP. II.
Scholasticism and the Classics—Luther's Piety—Discovery—The
Bible—Sickness—Master of Arts—Conscience—Death of Alexis
—Thunderstorm—Providence—Adieus—Entrance into a
Convent.

Luther had attained his eighteenth year. He had tasted the pleasures of
literature, and burning with eagerness to learn, he sighed after a university,
and longed to repair to one of those fountains of science, at which he might
quench his thirst for knowledge.[134] His father wished him to study law,
and already saw him filling an honourable station among his fellow-
citizens, gaining the favour of princes, and making a figure on the theatre of
the world. It was resolved that the young student should repair to Erfurt.
Luther arrived at this university in the year 1501. Jadocus, surnamed the
Doctor of the Isenach, was then teaching the scholastic philosophy with
much success. Melancthon regrets that the only thing then taught at Erfurt
should have been a dialectics bristling with difficulties. He thinks that if
Luther had found other professors there, if he had been trained in the milder
and calmer discipline of true philosophy, it might have moderated and
softened the vehemence of his nature.[135] The new scholar began to study
the philosophy of the middle ages in the writings of Occam, Scotus,
Bonaventura, and Thomas Aquinas. At a later period he had a thorough
disgust for all this scholasticism. The very name of Aristotle, pronounced in
his hearing, filled him with indignation; and he even went the length of
saying, that if Aristotle was not a man, he would have no hesitation in
taking him for the devil. But his mind, in its eagerness for learning, stood in
need of better nourishment, and he began to study the splendid monuments
of antiquity, the writings of Cicero and Virgil, and the other classics. He
was not contented, like the common run of students, with committing the
productions of these writers to memory. He endeavoured, above all, to enter
into their thoughts; to imbue himself with the spirit which animated them;
to appropriate their wisdom; to comprehend the end of their writings; and
enrich his understanding with their weighty sentiments and brilliant images.

He often put questions to his professors, and soon outstripped his fellow
students.[136] Possessed of a retentive memory and a fertile imagination,
whatever he read or heard remained ever after present to his mind, as if he
had actually seen it. "So shone Luther in his youth. The whole university,"
says Melancthon, "admired his genius."[137]
But even at that period this young man of eighteen did not confine his
labours to the cultivation of his intellect. He had that serious thought, that
uplifted heart, which God bestows on those whom he destines to be his
most faithful servants. Luther felt that he was dependent on God—a simple,
yet powerful, conviction—the source at once of profound humility and
great achievements. He fervently invoked the Divine blessing on his
labours. Each morning he began the day with prayer, then he went to
church, and on his return set to study, losing not a moment during the
course of the day. "To pray well," he was wont to say, "is more than the half
of my study."[138]
Every moment which the young student could spare from his academical
labours was spent in the library of the university. Books were still rare, and
he felt it a great privilege to be able to avail himself of the treasures
amassed in this vast collection. One day (he had then been two years at
Erfurt, and was twenty years of age) he opens several books of the library,
one after the other, to see who their authors were. One of the volumes
which he opens in its turn attracts his attention. He has never before seen
one like it. He reads the title, ... it is a Bible! a rare book, at that time
unknown.[139] His interest is strongly excited; he is perfectly astonished to
find in this volume any thing more than those fragments of gospels and
epistles which the Church has selected to be read publicly in the churches
every Sabbath day. Hitherto he had believed that these formed the whole
word of God. But here are so many pages, chapters, and books, of which he
had no idea! His heart beats as he holds in his hand all this divinely-inspired
Scripture, and he turns over all these divine leaves with feelings which
cannot be described. The first page on which he fixes his attention tells him
the history of Hannah and young Samuel. He reads, and his soul is filled
with joy to overflowing. The child whom his parents lend to Jehovah for all
the days of his life; the song of Hannah, in which she declares that the Lord
lifts up the poor from the dust, and the needy from the dunghill, that he may

set him with princes; young Samuel growing up in the presence of the Lord;
the whole of this history, the whole of the volume which he has discovered,
make him feel in a way he has never done before. He returns home, his
heart full. "Oh!" thinks he, "would it please God one day to give me such a
book for my own!"[140] Luther as yet did not know either Greek or Hebrew;
for it is not probable that he studied these languages during the first two or
three years of his residence at the university. The Bible which had so
overjoyed him was in Latin. Soon returning to his treasure in the library, he
reads and re-reads, and in his astonishment and joy returns to read again.
The first rays of a new truth were then dawning upon him.
In this way God has put him in possession of His word. He has discovered
the book of which he is one day to give his countrymen that admirable
translation in which Germany has now for three centuries perused the
oracles of God. It was perhaps the first time that any hand had taken down
this precious volume from the place which it occupied in the library of
Erfurt. This book, lying on the unknown shelves of an obscure chamber, is
to become the book of life to a whole people. The Reformation was hid in
that Bible.
This happened the same year that Luther obtained his first academical
degree, viz., that of Bachelor. The excessive fatigue which he had
undergone in preparing for his trials brought on a dangerous illness. Death
seemed to be approaching, and solemn thoughts occupied his mind. He
believed that his earthly course was about to terminate. There was a general
lamentation for the young man. What a pity to see so many hopes so soon
extinguished! Several friends came to visit him in his sickness; among
others a priest, a venerable old man, who had with interest followed the
student of Mansfeld in his labours and academic life. Luther was unable to
conceal the thought which agitated him. "Soon," said he, "I will be called
away from this world." But the old man kindly replied, "My dear bachelor,
take courage; you will not die of this illness. Our God will yet make you a
man, who, in his turn, will console many other men. For God lays his cross
on him whom he loves, and those who bear it patiently acquire much
wisdom."[141] These words made a deep impression on the sick youth.
When so near death he hears the lips of a priest reminding him that God, as
Samuel's mother had said, lifts up the miserable. The old man has poured
sweet consolation into his heart and revived his spirits; he will never forget

him. "This was the first prediction the Doctor heard," says Mathesius,
Luther's friend, who relates the fact; "and he often mentioned it." It is easy
to understand what Mathesius means by calling it a prediction.
When Luther recovered, something within him had undergone a change.
The Bible, his illness, and the words of the old priest, seemed to have made
a new appeal to him. As yet, however, there was nothing decided in his
mind. He continued his studies, and, in 1505, took his degree of Master of
Arts, or Doctor in Philosophy. The University of Erfurt was then the most
celebrated in Germany,—the others in comparison with it being only
inferior schools. The ceremony was, as usual, performed with great pomp.
A procession with torches came to do homage to Luther.[142] The fête was
superb, and all was joy. Luther, encouraged, perhaps, by these honours, was
disposed to devote himself entirely to law, agreeably to his father's wish.
But God willed otherwise. While Luther was occupied with other studies,
while he began to teach the physics and ethics of Aristotle, and other
branches of philosophy, his heart ceased not to cry to him that piety was the
one thing needful, and that he ought above all to make sure of his salvation.
He was aware of the displeasure which God testifies against sin; he
remembered the punishments which he denounces against the sinner; and
he asked himself in fear, whether he was sure of possessing the Divine
favour. His conscience answered, No! His character was prompt and
decided; he resolved to do all that might be necessary to give him a sure
hope of immortality. Two events, which happened in succession, shook his
soul, and precipitated his determination.
Among his friends at the university was one named Alexis, with whom he
was very intimate. One morning it was rumoured in Erfurt that Alexis had
been assassinated. Deeply moved at the sudden loss of his friend, he puts
the question to himself—What would become of me were I called thus
suddenly? The question fills him with the greatest dismay.[143]
This was in the summer of 1505. Luther, left at liberty by the ordinary
recess of the university, resolved on a journey to Mansfeld, to revisit the
loved abodes of his infancy, and embrace his parents. Perhaps he also
wished to open his heart to his father, and sound him as to the design which
was beginning to form in his mind, and obtain a consent to his embracing

another calling. He foresaw all the difficulties which awaited him. The
indolent habits of the majority of priests displeased the active miner of
Mansfeld. Besides, ecclesiastics were little esteemed in the world; most of
them had but scanty incomes, and the father, who had made many sacrifices
to maintain his son at the university, and who saw him at twenty a public
teacher in a celebrated school, was not disposed to renounce the hopes
which his pride was cherishing.
We know not what passed during Luther's visit at Mansfeld. Perhaps the
decided wish of his father made him afraid to open his heart to him. He
again quitted the paternal roof to go and take his seat on the benches of the
university, and had reached within a short distance of Erfurt, when he was
overtaken by one of those violent storms which are not unfrequent among
these mountains. The thunder bursts, and strikes close by his side. Luther
throws himself on his knees. It may be his hour is come, Death, judgment,
and eternity, surround him with all their terrors, and speak to him with a
voice which he can no longer resist. "Wrapt in agony, and in the terror of
death," as he himself describes it,[144] he makes a vow, if he is delivered
from this danger to abandon the world, and give himself entirely to God.
After he had risen from the ground, still continuing to see that death which
must one day overtake him, he examines himself seriously, and asks what
he ought to do.[145] The thoughts which formerly agitated him return with
full force. He has endeavoured, it is true, to fulfil all his duties. But in what
state is his soul? Can he appear with a polluted heart before the tribunal of a
God so greatly to be feared? He must become holy, and, accordingly, he
now thirsts for holiness as he had thirsted for science. But where is it to be
found? How shall he acquire it? The university has furnished him with the
means of satisfying his desire of knowledge. Who will extinguish the
agony, the flame which is consuming him? To what school of holiness must
he bend his steps? He will go into a cloister; the monastic life will save him.
How often has he heard tell of its power to transform a heart, to sanctify a
sinner, to make a man perfect! He will enter a monastic order. He will then
become holy, and in that way secure eternal life.[146]
Such was the event which changed the calling and all the destinies of
Luther. We here recognise the finger of God. It was his mighty hand which
threw down on the high road this young Master of Arts, this candidate for

the bar, this future lawyer, in order to give an entirely new direction to his
life. Rubianus, one of Luther's friends, wrote to him at a later period:
—"Divine Providence had a view to what you were one day to become,
when, as you were returning from your parents, the fire of heaven made you
fall to the ground like another Paul, near the town of Erfurt, and carrying
you off from our society, threw you into the Order of Augustine."
Analogous circumstances thus signalised the conversion of Paul and Luther,
the two greatest instruments which Divine Providence has employed in the
two greatest revolutions which have taken place upon the earth.[147]
Luther again enters Erfurt. His resolution is immovable, and yet it is not
without a pang he is going to break ties which are dear to him. He gives no
hint to any one of his intentions. But one evening he invites his friends in
the university to a cheerful and frugal repast. Music once more enlivens
their social intercourse. It is Luther's adieu to the world. Henceforth, instead
of those loved companions of pleasure and toil—monks; instead of those
cheerful and intellectual conversations—the silence of the cloister; instead
of that enchanting music—the grave notes of the tranquil chapel. God
demands it; all must be sacrificed. Yet, for this last time, once more the joys
of youth. His friends are full of glee. Luther even leads them on. But at the
moment when they are abandoning themselves to mirth and frolic, the
young man becomes unable any longer to restrain the serious thoughts
which occupy his heart. He speaks.... He makes known his intention to his
astonished friends, who endeavour, but in vain, to combat it. That same
night, Luther, afraid perhaps of importunate solicitation, quits his lodgings,
leaving behind him all his effects and all his books, with the exception of
Virgil and Plautus, (as yet he had no Bible.) Virgil and Plautus! Epic and
Comedy! singular representation of Luther's mind. In fact, there was in him
a whole epic, a beautiful, splendid, and sublime poem; but being naturally
inclined to gayety, pleasantry, and broad humour, he mingled more than one
familiar trait with the solemn and magnificent groundwork of his life.
Furnished with these two books he proceeds alone, in the dark, to the
convent of the Eremites of St. Augustine, and asks to be received. The door
opens and closes, and he is separated for ever from his parents, his fellow-
students, and the world. This took place on the 17th August 1505, when
Luther's age was twenty-one years and nine months.

CHAP. III.
His Father's Anger—Pardon—Servile Employments—The Bag and the
Cell—Courage—St. Augustine—D'Ailly—Occam—Gerson—
The Bible—Hebrew and Greek—The Hours—Asceticism—
Agony—Luther during Mass—Agony—Useless Observances—
Luther in a Faint.

At length he was with God. His soul was in safety. This holiness, so
earnestly longed for, he was now to find. At the sight of this young doctor,
the monks were all admiration, and extolled him for his courage and
contempt of the world.[148] Luther, meanwhile, did not forget his friends. He
wrote to take leave of them and the world, and the next day despatched
these letters, with the clothes he had hitherto worn, and his diploma of
Master of Arts, which he returned to the university, that nothing might in
future remind him of the world which he had abandoned.
His friends at Erfurt were thunderstruck. Must so distinguished a genius go
and hide himself in this monastic life—more properly, a kind of death?[149]
In deep sorrow they hastened to the convent, in the hope of inducing Luther
to retrace the distressing step which he had taken; but all was useless. The
gates were closed, and a month passed before any one was permitted to see
or speak to the new monk.
Luther had hastened to acquaint his parents with the great change which
had just occurred in his life. His father was thunderstruck. He trembled for
his son,—so Luther himself informs us in his book on Monastic Vows,
which he dedicated to his father. His weakness, his youth, the ardour of his
passions, everything, in short, made him fear that after the first moment of
enthusiasm, the indolence of the cloister would make the youth fall either
into despair, or into grievous faults. He knew that this mode of life had
proved fatal to many. Besides, the counsellor-miner of Mansfield had other
views for his son. He was proposing a rich and honourable marriage for him
—and, lo! all his ambitious projects are in one night overthrown by this
imprudent action.

John wrote his son a very angry letter, in which, as Luther himself tells us,
he thou'd him whereas he had you'd him ever since he had taken his degree
of Master of Arts. He withdrew all his favour from him, and declared him
disinherited of a father's affection. In vain did the friends of John Luther,
and doubtless his wife also, endeavour to mollify him; in vain did they say
to him, "If you are willing to make some sacrifice to God, let it be the best
and dearest thing that you have—your son—your Isaac." The inexorable
counsellor of Mansfeld would hear nothing.
Some time after, (the statement is given by Luther in a sermon which he
preached at Wittemberg, 20th January 1544,) the plague broke out, and
deprived John Luther of two of his sons. On the back of these
bereavements, while the father's heart was torn with grief, some one came
and told him, "The monk of Erfurt also is dead!" His friends took advantage
of the circumstance to bring back the father's heart to the novice. "If it is a
false alarm," said they, "at least sanctify your affliction by consenting
sincerely to your son's being a monk." "Well, well!" replied John Luther, his
heart broken, and still half rebellions; "and God grant him all success." At a
later period, when Luther, who had been reconciled to his father, told him of
the event which had led him to rush into monastic orders,—"God grant,"
replied the honest miner, "that what you took for a sign from heaven may
not have been only a phantom of the devil!"[150]
At this time Luther was not in possession of that which was afterwards to
make him the Reformer of the Church. His entrance into the convent proves
this. It was an action done in the spirit of an age out of which he was soon
to be instrumental in raising the Church. Though destined to become the
teacher of the world, he was still its servile imitator. A new stone was
placed on the edifice of superstition by the very hand which was soon to
overturn it. Luther was seeking salvation in himself, in human practices and
observances, not knowing that salvation is wholly of God. He was seeking
his own righteousness and his own glory, and overlooking the righteousness
and glory of the Lord. But what he as yet knew not he soon afterwards
learned. That immense change which substituted God and His wisdom in
his heart for the world and its traditions, and which prepared the mighty
revolution of which he was the most illustrious instrument, took place in the
cloister of Erfurt.

Martin Luther, on entering the convent, changed his name to that of
Augustine.
The monks had received him with joy. It was no small satisfaction to their
self-love to see the university abandoned for a house of their order, and that
by one of the most distinguished teachers. Nevertheless, they treated him
harshly, and assigned him the meanest tasks. They wished to humble the
doctor of philosophy, and teach him that his science did not raise him above
his brethren. They thought, moreover, they would thus prevent him from
spending his time in studies from which the convent could not reap any
advantage. The ci-devant Master of Arts behoved to perform the functions
of watchman, to open and shut the gates, wind up the clocks, sweep the
church, and clean up the rooms.[151] Then when the poor monk, who was at
once porter, sacristan, and house-hold servant to the cloister, had finished
his task—"Cum sacco per civitatem"—"To the town with the bag,"
exclaimed the friars; and then, with his bread-bag on his shoulders, he
walked up and down over all the streets of Erfurt, begging from house to
house, obliged, perhaps, to present himself at the doors of those who had
been his friends or inferiors. On his return, he had either to shut himself up
in a low narrow cell, looking out on a plot only a few yards in extent, or to
resume his menial offices. But he submitted to all. Disposed by
temperament to give himself entirely to whatever he undertook, when he
turned monk he did it with his whole soul. How, moreover, could he think
of sparing his body, or of having regard to what might satisfy the flesh?
That was not the way to acquire the humility and holiness in quest of which
he had come within the walls of the cloister.
The poor monk, worn out with fatigue, was eager to seize any moment
which he could steal from his servile occupations, and devote it to the
acquisition of knowledge. Gladly did he retire into a corner, and give
himself up to his beloved studies. But the friars soon found him out,
gathered around him, grumbled at him, and pushed him away to his labours,
saying, "Along! along! it is not by studying, but by begging bread, corn,
eggs, fish, flesh, and money, that a friar makes himself useful to his
convent."[152] Luther submitted, laid aside his books, and again took up his
bag. Far from repenting of having subjected himself to such a yoke, his
wish was to bring it to a successful result. At this period, the inflexible
perseverance with which he ever after followed out the resolutions which he

had once formed, began to be developed. The resistance which he made to
rude assaults gave strong energy to his will. God exercised him in small
things that he might be able to stand firm in great things. Besides, in
preparing to deliver his age from the miserable superstitions under which it
groaned, it was necessary that he should feel the weight of them. In order to
empty the cup he behoved to drink it to the dregs.
This severe apprenticeship, however, did not last so long as Luther might
have feared. The prior of the convent, on the intercession of the university
of which Luther was a member, relieved him from the mean functions
which had been imposed on him, and the young monk resumed his studies
with new zeal. The writings of the Fathers, particularly those of Augustine,
engaged his attention; the Commentary of this illustrious doctor on the
Psalms, and his treatise "On the Letter and the Spirit," being his special
favourites. Nothing struck him more than the sentiments of this Father on
the corruption of the human will, and on Divine grace. His own experience
convincing him of the reality of this corruption, and the necessity of this
grace, the words of Augustine found a ready response in his heart; and
could he have been of any other school than that of Jesus Christ, it had
doubtless been the school of the doctor of Hippo. The works of Peter
D'Ailly and Gabriel Biel he almost knew by heart. He was struck with a
remark of the former—that had not the Church decided otherwise, it would
have been much better to admit that in the Lord's Supper bread and wine are
truly received, and not mere accidents.
He likewise carefully studied the theologians, Occam and Gerson, who both
express themselves so freely on the authority of the popes. To this reading
he joined other exercises. In public discussions he was heard unravelling
the most complicated reasonings, and winding his way through labyrinths
where others could find no outlet. All who heard him were filled with
admiration.[153]
But he had entered the cloister, not to acquire the reputation of a great
genius, but in quest of the food of piety.[154] These labours he accordingly
regarded as supernumerary.
But the thing in which he delighted above all others was to draw wisdom at
the pure fountain of the word of God. In the convent he found a Bible

fastened to a chain, and was ever returning to this chained Bible. He had a
very imperfect comprehension of the Word, but still it was his most pleasant
reading. Sometimes he spent a whole day in meditating on a single passage;
at other times he learned passages of the Prophets by heart. His great desire
was, that the writings of the apostles and prophets might help to give him a
knowledge of the will of God, increase the fear which he had for his name,
and nourish his faith by the sure testimony of the Word.[155]
Apparently at this period he began to study the Scriptures in the original
tongues, and thereby lay the foundation of the most perfect and the most
useful of his labours, the translation of the Bible. He used a Hebrew
Lexicon which Reuchlin had just published. His first guide was probably
John Lange, a friar of the convent, versed in Greek and Hebrew, and with
whom he always maintained a close intimacy.[156] He also made great use
of the learned Commentaries of Nicolas Lyra, who died in 1340, and hence
the saying of Pflug, afterwards Bishop of Naumbourg, "Had not Lyra
played the lyre, Luther had never danced. Si Lyra non lyrasset, Lutherus
non saltasset."
The young monk studied so closely and ardently that he often omitted to
say his Hours during two or three weeks. Then becoming alarmed at the
thought of having transgressed the rules of his order, he shut himself up to
make amends for his negligence, and commenced conscientiously repeating
all the omitted Hours, without thinking of meat or drink. On one occasion
his sleep went from him for seven weeks.
Earnestly intent on acquiring the holiness in quest of which he had entered
the cloister, Luther addicted himself to the ascetic life in its fullest rigour,
seeking to crucify the flesh by fastings, macerations, and vigils.[157] Shut up
in his cell as in a prison, he struggled without intermission against the evil
thoughts and evil propensities of his heart. A little bread and a herring were
often all his food. Indeed, he was naturally very temperate. Often when he
had no thought of purchasing heaven by abstinence, have his friends seen
him content himself with the coarsest provisions, and even remain four days
in succession without eating or drinking.[158] We have this on the testimony
of a very credible witness, Melancthon, and we may judge from it what
opinion to form of the fables which ignorance and prejudice have circulated
concerning Luther's intemperance. At the period of which we treat there is

no sacrifice he would have declined to make, in order to become holy and
purchase heaven.[159] When Luther, after he had become Reformer, says
that heaven is not purchased, he well knew what he meant. "Truly," wrote
he to George, Duke of Saxony, "truly I was a pious monk, and followed the
rules of my order more strictly than I can tell. If ever monk had got to
heaven by monkery, I had been that monk. In this all the monks of my
acquaintance will bear me witness. Had the thing continued much longer I
had become a martyr unto death, through vigils, prayer, reading, and other
labours."[160]
We are touching on the period which made Luther a new man, and which,
revealing to him the immensity of the Divine love, fitted him for
proclaiming it to the world.
The peace which Luther had come in search of he found neither in the
tranquillity of the cloister nor in monastic perfection. He wished to be
assured of his salvation; it was the great want of his soul, and without it he
could have no repose. But the fears which had agitated him when in the
world, followed him into his cell. Nay, they were even increased; the least
cry of his heart raising a loud echo under the silent vaults of the cloister.
God had brought him thither that he might learn to know himself, and to
despair of his own strength and virtue. His conscience, enlightened by the
Divine word, told him what it was to be holy; but he was filled with alarm
at not finding, either in his heart or his life, that image of holiness which he
had contemplated with admiration in the word of God; a sad discovery
made by every man who is in earnest! No righteousness within, no
righteousness without, everywhere omission, sin, defilement.... The more
ardent Luther's natural disposition was the more strongly he felt the secret
and unceasing resistance which human nature opposes to goodness. This
threw him into despair.
The monks and theologians of the day invited him to do works in order to
satisfy the Divine justice. But what works, thought he, can proceed from
such a heart as mine! How should I be able with works polluted in their
very principle, to stand in presence of my holy Judge? "I felt myself," says
he, "to be a great sinner before God, and deemed it impossible to appease
him by my merits."

He was agitated, and, at the same time, gloomy, shunning the silly and
coarse conversation of the monks, who, unable to comprehend the tempests
of his soul, regarded him with astonishment,[161] and reproached him for his
gloom and taciturnity. It is told by Cochlœus, that one day, when they were
saying mass in the chapel, Luther had come with his sighs, and stood amid
the friars in sadness and anguish. The priest had already prostrated himself,
the incense had been placed on the altar, the Gloria had been chanted, and
they were reading the Gospel, when the poor monk, no longer able to
contain his agony, exclaimed, in a piercing tone, while throwing himself on
his knees, "Not I! not I!"[162] Every one was in amazement, and the service
was for a moment interrupted. Perhaps Luther thought he had heard himself
reproached with something of which he knew he was innocent; perhaps he
meant to express his unworthiness to be one of those to whom the death of
Christ brought eternal life. Cochlœus says that they were reading the
passage of Scripture which tells of the dumb man out of whom Christ
expelled a demon. If this account is correct, Luther's cry might have a
reference to this circumstance. He might mean to intimate that though dumb
like the man, it was owing to another cause than the possession of a demon.
In fact, Cochlœus informs us that the friars sometimes attributed the
agonies of their brother to occult commerce with the devil,[163] and he
himself is of the same opinion.
A tender conscience led Luther to regard the smallest fault as a great sin. No
sooner had he discovered it than he strove to expiate it by the severest
mortifications. This, however, had no other effect than to convince him of
the utter inefficacy of all human remedies. "I tormented myself to death,"
says he, "in order to procure peace with God to my troubled heart and
agitated conscience; but, surrounded with fearful darkness, I nowhere found
it."
The acts of monastic holiness which lulled so many consciences, and to
which he himself had recourse in his agony, soon appeared to Luther only
the fallacious cures of an empirical and quack religion. "At the time when I
was a monk, if I felt some temptation assail me, I am lost! said I to myself,
and immediately resorted to a thousand methods, in order to suppress the
cries of my heart. I confessed every day, but that did me no good. Thus
oppressed with sadness, I was tormented by a multiplicity of thoughts.

'Look!' exclaimed I, 'there you are still envious, impatient, passionate! It is
of no use then, for you, O wretch, to have entered this sacred order.'"
And yet Luther, imbued with the prejudices of his day, had from his youth
up considered the acts, whose impotence he now experienced, as sure
remedies for diseased souls. What was he to think of the strange discovery
which he had just made in the solitude of the cloister? It is possible, then, to
dwell in the sanctuary, and still carry within oneself a man of sin! He has
received another garment, but not another heart. His hopes are disappointed.
Where is he to stop? Can it be that all these rules and observances are only
human inventions? Such a supposition appears to him at one time a
suggestion of the devil, and at another time an irresistible truth. Struggling
alternately with the holy voice which spoke to his heart, and with venerable
institutions which had the sanction of ages, Luther's life was a continual
combat. The young monk, like a shade, glided through the long passages of
the cloister, making them echo with his sad groans. His body pined away
and his strength left him; on different occasions he remained as if he were
dead.[164]
Once, overwhelmed with sadness, he shut himself up in his cell, and for
several days and nights allowed no one to approach him. Lucas
Edemberger, one of his friends, feeling uneasy about the unhappy monk,
and having some presentiment of the state in which he actually was, taking
with him several boys, who were accustomed to chant in choirs, went and
knocked at the door of his cell. No one opens or answers. Good
Edemberger, still more alarmed, forces the door. Luther is stretched on the
floor insensible, and showing no signs of life. His friend tries in vain to
revive him, but he still remains motionless. The young boys begin to chant
a soft anthem. Their pure voices act like a charm on the poor monk, who
had always the greatest delight in music, and he gradually recovers
sensation, consciousness, and life.[165] But if music could for some
moments give him a slight degree of serenity, another and more powerful
remedy was wanted to cure him effectually—that soft and penetrating
sound of the gospel, which is the voice of God himself. He was well aware
of this, and, accordingly, his sorrows and alarms led him to study the
writings of the apostles and prophets with renewed zeal.[166]

CHAP. IV.
Pious Men in Cloisters—Staupitz—His Piety—His Visitation—
Conversation—The Grace of Christ—Repentance—Power of Sin
—Sweetness of Repentance—Election—Providence—The Bible
—The Old Monk—The Remission of Sins—Consecration Dinner
—The Fête Dieu—Call to Wittemberg.

Luther was not the first monk who had passed through similar struggles.
The cloisters often shrouded within the obscurity of their walls abominable
vices, at which if they had been brought to light, every honest mind would
have shuddered; but they often also concealed Christian virtues which were
there unfolded in silence, and which, if they had been placed before the
eyes of the world, would have excited admiration. These virtues, possessed
by those who lived only with themselves and with God, attracted no
attention, and were often even unknown to the modest convent within
which they were contained. Leading a life known to God only, these
humble solitaries fell occasionally into that mystical theology, sad malady
of noblest minds, which formerly constituted the delight of the first monks
on the banks of the Nile, and which uselessly consumes those who fall
under its influence.
Still, when one of these men happened to be called to an eminent station, he
there displayed virtues whose salutary influence was long and widely felt.
The candle being placed on the candlestick gave light to all the house.
Several were awakened by this light, and hence those pious souls,
propagated from generation to generation, kept shining like solitary torches
at the very time when cloisters were often little better than impure
receptacles of the deepest darkness.
A young man had in this way attracted notice in one of the convents of
Germany. He was named John Staupitz, and was of a noble family in
Misnia. From his earliest youth, having a taste for science and a love of
virtue, he longed for retirement, in order to devote himself to literature;[167]
but soon finding that philosophy and the study of nature could do little for

eternal salvation, he began to study theology, making it his special object to
join practice with knowledge. For, says one of his biographers, it is vain to
deck ourselves with the name of theologian, if we do not prove our title to
the honourable name by our life.[168] The study of the Bible, and of the
theology of St. Augustine, the knowledge of himself, and the war which he,
like Luther, had to wage against the wiles and lusts of his heart, led him to
the Redeemer, through faith in whom he found peace to his soul. The
doctrine of the election of grace had, in particular, taken a firm hold of his
mind. Integrity of life, profound science and eloquence, combined with a
noble appearance and a dignified address, recommended him to his
contemporaries.[169] The Elector of Saxony, Frederick the Wise, made him
his friend, employed him on different embassies, and under his direction
founded the University of Wittemberg. This disciple of St. Paul and St.
Augustine was the first Dean of the Faculty of Theology in that school
which was one day to send forth light to enlighten the schools and churches
of so many nations. He attended the council of Lateran, as deputy from the
Archbishop of Salzbourg, became provincial of his order in Thuringia and
Saxony, and ultimately vicar-general of the Augustins all over Germany.
Staupitz lamented the corruption of manners and the errors in doctrine
which were laying waste the Church. This is proved by his writings on the
love of God, on Christian faith, on resemblance to Christ in his death, and
by the testimony of Luther. But he considered the former of these evils as
greatly the worse of the two. Besides, the mildness and indecision of his
character, and his desire not to go beyond the sphere of action which he
thought assigned to him, made him fitter to be the restorer of a convent than
the Reformer of the Church. He could have wished to confer important
stations only on distinguished men, but not finding them, he was contented
to employ others. "We must plough with horses," said he, "if we can find
them; but if we have no horses, we must plough with oxen."[170]
We have seen the anguish and inward wrestlings to which Luther was a
prey in the convent of Erfurt. At this time a visit from the vicar-general was
announced, and Staupitz accordingly arrived to make his ordinary
inspection. The friend of Frederick, the founder of the University of
Wittemberg, the head of the Augustins, took a kind interest in the monks
under his authority. It was not long ere one of the friars of the convent

attracted his attention. This was a young man of middle stature, whom
study, abstinence, and vigils, had so wasted away, that his bones might have
been counted.[171] His eyes, which at a later period were compared to those
of the falcon, were sunken, his gait was sad, and his looks bespoke a
troubled soul, the victim of numerous struggles, yet still strong and bent on
resisting. His whole appearance had in it something grave, melancholy, and
solemn. Staupitz, whose discernment had been improved by long
experience, easily discovered what was passing in the soul of the young
friar, and singled him out from those around him. He felt drawn towards
him, had a presentiment of his high destiny, and experienced the interest of
a parent for his subaltern. He, too, had struggled like Luther, and could
therefore understand his situation. Above all, he could show him the way of
peace, which he himself had found. The information he received of the
circumstances which had brought the young Augustin to the convent
increased his sympathy. He requested the prior to treat him with great
mildness, and availed himself of the opportunities which his office gave
him to gain the young friar's confidence. Going kindly up to him, he took
every means to remove his timidity, which was moreover increased by the
respect and reverence which the elevated rank of Staupitz naturally
inspired.
The heart of Luther, till then closed by harsh treatment, opened at last, and
expanded to the mild rays of charity. "As in water face answereth to face, so
the heart of man to man."[172] The heart of Staupitz answered to the heart of
Luther. The vicar-general understood him; and the monk, in his turn, felt a
confidence in Staupitz which no one had hitherto inspired. He revealed to
him the cause of his sadness, depicted the fearful thoughts which agitated
him, and then in the cloister of Erfurt commenced a conversation full of
wisdom and instruction.
"In vain," said Luther despondingly to Staupitz; "in vain do I make
promises to God; sin has always the mastery."
"O my friend," replied the vicar-general, thinking how it had been with
himself, "more than a thousand times have I sworn to our holy God to live
piously, and I have never done so. Now I no longer swear; for I know I
should not perform. Unless God be pleased to be gracious to me for the love
of Christ, and to grant me a happy departure when I leave this world, I shall

not be able with all my vows and all my good works to stand before him. I
must perish."[173]
The young monk is terrified at the thought of the Divine justice, and lays all
his fears before the vicar-general. The ineffable holiness of God, and his
sovereign majesty, fill him with alarm. Who will be able to support the day
of his advent—who to stand when he appeareth?
Staupitz resumes. He knows where he has found peace, and his young
friend will hear it. "Why torment thyself," said he to him, "with all these
speculations and high thoughts? Look to the wounds of Jesus Christ, to the
blood which he has shed for thee; then thou shalt see the grace of God.
Instead of making a martyr of thyself for thy faults, throw thyself into the
arms of the Redeemer. Confide in him, in the righteousness of his life, and
the expiation of his death. Keep not back; God is not angry with thee; it is
thou who art angry with God. Listen to the Son of God, who became man in
order to assure thee of the Divine favour. He says to thee, 'Thou art my
sheep; thou hearest my voice; none shall pluck thee out of my hand.'"[174]
But Luther does not here find the repentance which he believes necessary to
salvation. He replies, and it is the ordinary reply of agonised and frightened
souls, "How dare I believe in the favour of God, while there is nothing in
me like true conversion? I must be changed before he can receive me."
His venerable guide shows him that there can be no true conversion while
God is dreaded as a severe Judge. "What will you say then," exclaims
Luther, "of the many consciences, to which a thousand unsupportable
observances are prescribed as a means of gaining heaven?"
Then he hears this reply from the vicar-general, or rather his belief is, that it
comes not from man, but is a voice sounding from heaven.[175] "No
repentance," says Staupitz, "is true, save that which begins with the love of
God and of righteousness.[176] What others imagine to be the end and
completion of repentance is, on the contrary, only the commencement of it.
To have a thorough love of goodness, thou must, before all, have a thorough
love of God. If thou wouldest be converted, dwell not upon all these
macerations and tortures; 'Love him who first loved thee.'"

Luther listens and listens again. These consoling words fill him with
unknown joy, and give him new light. "It is Jesus Christ," thinks he in his
heart. "Yes, it is Jesus Christ himself who consoles me so wonderfully by
these sweet and salutary words."[177]
These words, in fact, penetrated to the inmost heart of the young monk, like
the sharp arrow of a mighty man.[178] In order to repent, it is necessary to
love God. Illumined with this new light, he proceeds to examine the
Scriptures, searching out all the passages which speak of repentance and
conversion. These words, till now so much dreaded, become, to use his own
expressions, "an agreeable sport, and the most delightful recreation. All the
passages of Scripture which frightened him seem now to rise up from all
sides, smiling, and leaping, and sporting with him."[179]
"Hitherto," exclaims he, "though I carefully disguised the state of my heart,
and strove to give utterance to a love which was only constrained and
fictitious, Scripture did not contain a word which seemed to me more bitter
than that of repentance. Now, however, there is none sweeter and more
agreeable.[180] Oh! how pleasant the precepts of God are, when we read
them not only in books, but in the precious wounds of the Saviour."[181]
Meanwhile, Luther, though consoled by the words of Staupitz was still
subject to fits of depression. Sin manifested itself anew to his timorous
conscience, and then the joy of salvation was succeeded by his former
despair. "O my sin! my sin! my sin!" one day exclaimed the young monk in
presence of the vicar-general, in accents of the deepest grief. "Ah!" replied
he, "would you only be a sinner on canvass, and also have a Saviour only
on canvass?" Then Staupitz gravely added, "Know that Jesus Christ is the
Saviour even of those who are great, real sinners, and every way deserving
of condemnation."
What agitated Luther was not merely the sin which he felt in his heart. The
upbraidings of his conscience were confirmed by arguments drawn from
reason. If the holy precepts of the Bible frightened him, some of its
doctrines likewise increased his terror. Truth, which is the great means by
which God gives peace to man, must necessarily begin by removing the
false security which destroys him. The doctrine of election, in particular,
disturbed the young man, and threw him into a field which it is difficult to

traverse. Must he believe that it was man who, on his part, first chose God?
or that it was God who first chose man? The Bible, history, daily
experience, and the writings of Augustine, had shown him that always, and
in every thing, in looking for a first cause, it was necessary to ascend to the
sovereign will by which every thing exists, and on which every thing
depends. But his ardent spirit would have gone farther. He would have
penetrated into the secret counsel of God, unveiled its mysteries, seen the
invisible, and comprehended the incomprehensible. Staupitz interfered,
telling him not to pretend to fathom the hidden purposes of God, but to
confine himself to those of them which have been made manifest in Christ.
"Look to the wounds of Christ," said he to him, "and there see a bright
display of the purposes of God towards man. It is impossible to comprehend
God out of Jesus Christ. In Christ you will find what I am, and what I
require, saith the Lord. You can find him nowhere else, either in heaven or
on the earth."[182]
The vicar-general went farther. He convinced Luther of the paternal designs
of Providence, in permitting the various temptations and combats which the
soul has to sustain. He exhibited them to him in a light well fitted to revive
his courage. By such trials God prepares those whom he destines for some
important work. The ship must be proved before it is launched on the
boundless deep. If this education is necessary for every man, it is so
particularly for those who are to have an influence on their generation. This
Staupitz represented to the monk of Erfurt; "It is not without cause," said he
to him, "that God exercises you by so many combats; be assured he will
employ you in great things as his minister."
These words, which Luther hears with astonishment and humility, fill him
with courage, and give him a consciousness of powers, whose existence he
had not even suspected. The wisdom and prudence of an enlightened friend
gradually reveal the strong man to himself. Nor does Staupitz rest here. He
gives him valuable directions as to his studies, exhorting him in future to
lay aside the systems of the school, and draw all his theology from the
Bible. "Let the study of the Scriptures," said he, "be your favourite
occupation." Never was good advice better followed. But what, above all,
delighted Luther, was the present of a Bible from Staupitz. Perhaps it was
the Latin Bible bound in red leather, which belonged to the convent, and
which it was the summit of his desire to possess, that he might be able to

carry it about with him wherever he went, because all its leaves were
familiar to him, and he knew where to look for every passage.[183] At length
this treasure is his own. From that time he studies the Scriptures, and
especially the Epistles of St. Paul, with always increasing zeal. The only
author whom he admits along with the Bible is St. Augustine. Whatever he
reads is deeply imprinted on his soul, for his struggles had prepared him for
comprehending it. The soil had been ploughed deep, and the incorruptible
seed penetrates far into it. When Staupitz left Erfurt, a new day had dawned
upon Luther.
Nevertheless, the work was not finished. The vicar-general had prepared it,
but its completion was reserved for a humbler instrument. The conscience
of the young Augustin had not yet found repose, and, owing to his efforts
and the stretch on which his soul had been kept, his body at length gave
way. He was attacked by an illness which brought him to the gates of death.
This was in the second year of his residence in the convent. All his agonies
and terrors were awakened at the approach of death. His own pollution and
the holiness of God anew distracted his soul. One day, when overwhelmed
with despair, an old monk entered his cell, and addressed him in consoling
terms. Luther opened his heart to him, and made him aware of the fears by
which he was agitated. The respectable old man was incapable of following
him into all his doubts as Staupitz had done; but he knew his Credo, and
having found in it the means of consoling his own heart, he could apply the
same remedy to the young friar. Leading him back to the Apostles' Creed,
which Luther had learned in infancy at the school of Mansfield, the old
monk good-naturedly repeated the article, "I believe in the forgiveness of
sins." These simple words, which the pious friar calmly repeated at this
decisive moment, poured great consolation into the soul of Luther. "I
believe," oft repeated he to himself on his sick-bed, "I believe in the
forgiveness of sins." "Ah!" said the monk, "the thing to be believed is not
merely that David's or Peter's sins are forgiven; this the devils believe:
God's command is, to believe that our own sins are forgiven."[184] How
delightful this command appeared to poor Luther! "See what St. Bernard
says in his sermon on the annunciation," added the old friar; "the witness
which the Holy Spirit witnesseth with our spirit is, 'Thy sins are forgiven
thee.'"

From this moment light sprung up in the heart of the young monk of Erfurt.
The gracious word has been pronounced, and he believes it. He renounces
the idea of meriting salvation, and puts implicit confidence in the grace of
God through Jesus Christ. He does not see all the consequences of the
principle which he has admitted; he is still sincere in his attachment to the
Church, and yet he has no longer need of her. He has received salvation
immediately from God himself; and from that moment Roman Catholicism
is virtually destroyed in him. He goes forward and searches the writings of
the apostles and prophets, for every thing that may strengthen the hope
which fills his heart. Each day he invokes help from above, and each day
also the light increases in his soul.
The health which his spirit had found soon restores health to his body, and
he rises from his sick-bed, after having, in a double sense, received a new
life. During the feast of Noel, which arrived shortly after, he tasted
abundantly of all the consolations of faith. With sweet emotion he took part
in the holy solemnities, and when in the middle of the gorgeous service of
the day, he came to chant these words:—"O beata culpa, quæ talem
meruisti Redemptorem!"[185] his whole being said Amen, and thrilled with
joy.
Luther had been two years in the cloister, and must now be consecrated
priest. He had received much, and he looked forward with delight to the
prospect which the priesthood presented of enabling him freely to give what
he had freely received. Wishing to avail himself of the occasion to be fully
reconciled to his father, he invited him to be present, and even asked him to
fix the day. John Luther, though not yet entirely appeased, nevertheless
accepted the invitation, and named Sabbath the 2nd May, 1507.
In the list of Luther's friends was the vicar of Isenach, John Braun, who had
been his faithful adviser when he resided in that town. Luther wrote him on
the 22nd April. It is the Reformer's earliest letter, and bears the following
address:—"To John Braun, Holy and Venerable Priest of Christ and Mary."
It is only in the two first letters of Luther that the name of Mary occurs.
"God, who is glorious and holy in all his works," says the candidate for the
priesthood, "having designed to exalt me exceedingly,—me, a miserable
and every way unworthy sinner, and to call me solely out of his abundant

mercy, to his sublime ministry, it is my duty in order to testify my gratitude
for a goodness so divine and so magnificent, (as far at least as dust can do
it,) to fulfil with my whole heart the office which is entrusted to me."
At length the day arrived. The miner of Mansfield failed not to be present at
the consecration of his son.... He even gave him an unequivocal mark of his
affection and generosity, by making him a present of twenty florins on the
occasion.
The ceremony took place, Jerome, Bishop of Brandebourg, officiating. At
the moment of conferring on Luther the right to celebrate mass, he put the
chalice into his hand, uttering these solemn words, "Accipe potestatem
sacrificandi pro vivis et mortuis"—"Receive power to sacrifice for the
living and the dead." Luther then listened complacently to these words,
which gave him the power of doing the very work appropriated to the Son
of God; but they afterwards made him shudder. "That the earth did not
swallow us both," said he, "was more than we deserved, and was owing to
the great patience and long-suffering of the Lord."[186]
The father afterwards dined at the convent with his son, the friends of the
young priest and the monks. The conversation turned on Martin's entrance
into the cloister, the friars loudly extolling it as one of the most meritorious
of works. Then the inflexible John, turning towards his son, said to him,
"Hast thou not read in Scripture to obey thy father and thy mother?"[187]
These words struck Luther; they gave him quite a different view of the
action which had brought him into the convent, and for a long time
continued to echo in his heart.
By the advice of Staupitz, Luther, shortly after his ordination, made short
excursions on foot into the neighbouring parishes and convents, both for
relaxation, to give his body the necessary exercise, and to accustom himself
to preaching.
The Fête Dieu was to be celebrated with splendour at Eisleben, where the
vicar-general was to be present. Luther repaired thither. He had still need of
Staupitz, and missed no opportunity of meeting with this enlightened
conductor who was guiding him into the way of life. The procession was
numerous and brilliant. Staupitz himself carried the holy sacrament, and
Luther followed in his sacerdotal dress. The thought that it was truly Jesus

Christ that the vicar-general was carrying—the idea that Christ was there in
person actually before him—suddenly struck Luther's imagination, and
filled him with such amazement that he could scarcely move forward. The
perspiration fell from him in drops; he shook, and thought he would have
died with agony and terror. At length the procession ceased. This host which
had so awakened the fears of the monk was solemnly deposited in the
sanctuary, and Luther, as soon as he was alone with Staupitz, threw himself
into his arms, and told him of his consternation. Then the worthy vicar-
general, who had long known that Saviour who breaketh not the bruised
reed, said to him mildly, "It was not Jesus Christ, my brother. Jesus Christ
does not alarm—he consoles merely."[188]
Luther was not to remain hid in an obscure convent. The time had arrived
for his being transported to a larger theatre. Staupitz, with whom he was in
constant correspondence, was well aware that the soul of the young monk
was too active to be confined within so narrow a circle. He mentioned him
to Frederick of Saxony, and this enlightened prince, in 1508, probably
towards the close of the year, invited him to a chair in the university of
Wittemberg. Wittemberg was a field on which he was to fight hard battles;
and Luther felt that his vocation was there. Being required to repair
promptly to his new post, he answered the appeal without delay; and, in the
hurry of his removal, had not even time to write him whom he called his
master and beloved father—John Braun, curate of Isenach. Some months
after, he wrote—"My departure was so sudden, that those I was living with
scarcely knew of it. I am far away, I confess: but the better part of me is still
with you."[189] Luther had been three years in the cloister of Erfurt.

CHAP. V
The University of Wittemberg—First Employment—Biblical Lectures
—Sensation—Preaching at Wittemberg—The Old Chapel—
Impression.

In the year 1502, the Elector Frederick had founded a new university at
Wittemberg, declaring, in the act by which he confirmed it, that he and his
people would turn to it as towards an oracle. He thought not at the time that
these words would be so magnificently realised. Two men belonging to the
opposition which had been formed against the scholastic system, viz.,
Pollich of Mellerstadt, doctor of medicine, law, and philosophy, and
Staupitz, had great influence in founding this school. The university
declared St. Augustine its patron; and even this choice was a presage of
good. In possession of great freedom, and regarded as a tribunal to which,
in cases of difficulty, the supreme decision belonged, this new institution,
which was in every way fitted to become the cradle of the Reformation,
powerfully contributed to the development of Luther and his work.
On his arrival at Wittemberg, Luther repaired to the convent of Augustins,
where a cell was alloted him; for though professor, he ceased not to be
monk. He was appointed to teach philosophy and dialectics. In assigning
him these departments, regard had, no doubt, been had to the studies which
he had prosecuted at Erfurt, and to his degree of Master of Arts. Thus
Luther, who was hungering and thirsting for the word of life, saw himself
obliged to give his almost exclusive attention to the scholastic philosophy
of Aristotle. He had need of the bread of life which God gives to the world,
and he must occupy himself with human subtleties. How galling! How
much he sighed! "I am well, by the grace of God," wrote he to Braun, "were
it not that I must study philosophy with all my might. Ever since I arrived at
Wittemberg, I have eagerly desired to exchange this study for that of
theology: but," added he, lest it should be thought he meant the theology of
the time, "the theology I mean is that which seeks out the kernel of the nut,
the heart of the wheat, and the marrow of the bone.[190] Howbeit God is
God," continues he, with that confidence which was the soul of his life,

"man is almost always deceived in his judgment; but he is our God, and will
conduct us by his goodness for ever and ever." The studies in which Luther
was at this time obliged to engage were afterwards of great service to him
in combating the errors of the schoolmen.
Here, however, he could not stop. The desire of his heart must be
accomplished. The same power which formerly pushed him from the bar
into the monastic life now pushed him from philosophy towards the Bible.
He zealously commenced the study of ancient languages, especially Greek
and Hebrew, that he might be able to draw science and learning at the
fountain-head. He was all his life an indefatigable student.[191] Some
months after his arrival at the university he applied for the degree of
Bachelor in Divinity, and obtained it in the end of March 1509, with a
special injunction to devote himself to biblical theology, ad Biblia.
Every day at one, Luther had to lecture on the Bible,—a precious
employment both for the professor and his pupils—giving them a better
insight into the divine meaning of those oracles which had so long been lost
both to the people and the school.
He began his lectures with an exposition of the Psalms, and shortly after
proceeded to the Epistle to the Romans. It was especially when meditating
upon it that the light of truth entered his heart. After retiring to his quiet cell
he spent hours in the study of the Divine Word—the Epistle of St. Paul
lying open before him. One day, coming to the seventeenth verse of the first
chapter, he read these words of the prophet Habakkuk, "The just shall live
by faith." He is struck with the expression. The just, then, has a different life
from other men, and this life is given by faith. These words, which he
receives into his heart as if God himself had there deposited them, unveils
the mystery of the Christian life to him, and gives him an increase of this
life. Long after, in the midst of his numerous labours, he thought he still
heard a voice saying to him, "The just shall live by faith."[192]
Luther's lectures, thus prepared, had little resemblance to those which had
hitherto been delivered. It was not a declamatory rhetorician, or a pedantic
schoolman that spoke; it was a Christian who had felt the power of revealed
truth—truth which he derived from the Bible, and presented to his

astonished hearers, all full of life, as it came from the treasury of his heart.
It was not a lesson from man, but a lesson from God.
This novel exposition of the truth was much talked of. The news spread far
and wide, and attracted a great number of foreign students to the recently
founded university. Even some of the professors attended the lectures of
Luther, among others, Mellerstadt, often surnamed, "The Light of the
World." He was the first rector of the university, and had previously been at
Leipsic, where he had vigorously combated the ridiculous lessons of the
schoolmen, and denying that "the light of the first day of creation could be
theology," had maintained that this science ought to be based on the study
of literature. "This monk," said he, "will send all the doctors to the right
about. He will introduce a new doctrine, and reform the whole Church, for
he founds upon the word of God; and no man in the world can either
combat or overthrow this word, even though he should attack it with all the
weapons of philosophy, the sophists, Scotists, Albertists, Thomists, and the
whole fraternity."[193]
Staupitz, who was the instrument in the hand of Providence to unfold the
gifts and treasures hidden in Luther, invited him to preach in this church of
the Augustins. The young professor recoiled at this proposal. He wished to
confine himself to his academic functions, and trembled at the thought of
adding to them that of preacher. In vain did Staupitz urge him. "No, no,"
replied he, "it is no light matter to speak to men in the place of God."[194]
Touching humility in this great Reformer of the Church! Staupitz insisted;
but the ingenious Luther, says one of his biographers, found fifteen
arguments, pretexts, and evasions, to excuse himself from this calling. The
chief of the Augustins, still continuing his attack, Luther exclaimed, "Ah!
doctor, in doing this, you deprive me of life. I would not be able to hold out
three months." "Very well," replied the vicar-general, "so be it in God's
name. For up yonder, also, our Lord has need of able and devoted men."
Luther behoved to yield.
In the middle of the public square of Wittemberg was a wooden chapel,
thirty feet long by twenty wide, whose sides, propped up in all directions,
were falling to decay. An old pulpit made of fir, three feet in height,
received the preacher. In this miserable chapel the preaching of the
Reformation commenced. God was pleased that that which was to establish

his glory should have the humblest origin. The foundation of the church of
the Augustins had just been laid, and until it should be finished this humble
church was employed. "This building," adds the contemporary of Luther
who relates these circumstances, "may well be compared to the stable in
which Christ was born. It was in this miserable inclosure that God was
pleased, so to speak, to make his beloved Son be born a second time.
Among the thousands of cathedrals and parish churches with which the
world abounded, there was then one only which God selected for the
glorious preaching of eternal life."[195]
Luther preaches, and every thing is striking in the new preacher. His
expressive countenance, his noble air, his clear and sonorous voice,
captivate the hearers.
The greater part of preachers before him had sought rather to amuse their
auditory than to convert them. The great seriousness which predominates in
Luther's preaching, and the joy with which the knowledge of the gospel has
filled his heart, give to his eloquence at once an authority, a fervour, and an
unction which none of his predecessors had. "Endowed," says one of his
opponents,[196] "with a keen and acute intellect, and a retentive memory,
and having an admirable facility in the use of his mother tongue, Luther, in
point of eloquence, yielded to none of his age. Discoursing from the pulpit
as if he had been agitated by some strong passion, and suiting his action to
his words, he produced a wonderful impression on the minds of his hearers,
and like a torrent, carried them along whithersoever he wished. So much
force, gracefulness, and eloquence, are seldom seen in the people of the
north." "He had," says Bossuet, "a lively and impetuous eloquence, which
hurried people away and entranced them."[197]
In a short time the little chapel could not contain the hearers who crowded
to it. The council of Wittemberg then made choice of Luther for their
preacher, and appointed him to preach in the town church. The impression
which he produced here was still greater. The power of his genius, the
eloquence of his diction, and the excellence of the doctrines which he
announced, equally astonished his hearers. His reputation spread far and
wide, and Frederick the Wise himself once came to Wittemberg to hear him.

Luther had commenced a new life. The uselessness of the cloister had been
succeeded by great activity. The liberty, the labour, the constant activity to
which he could devote himself at Wittemberg, completely restored his
internal harmony and peace. He was now in his place, and the work of God
was soon to exhibit its majestic step.

CHAP. VI.
Journey to Rome—A Convent on the Pô—Sickness at Bologna—
Remembrances in Rome—Superstitious Devotion—Profaneness
of the Clergy—Conversation—Disorders in Rome—Biblical
Studies—Pilate's Stair—Influence on his Faith and on the
Reformation—The Gate of Paradise—Luther's Confession.

Luther was teaching both in his academic chair and in the church, when his
labours were interrupted. In 1510, or, according to some, not till 1511 or
1512, he was sent to Rome. Seven convents of his order having differed on
certain points with the vicar-general,[198] the activity of Luther's mind, the
power of his eloquence, and his talent for discussion, made him be selected
to plead the cause of these seven monasteries before the pope.[199] This
Divine dispensation was necessary to Luther, for it was requisite that he
should know Rome. Full of the prejudices and illusions of the cloister, he
had always represented it to himself as the seat of holiness.
He accordingly set out and crossed the Alps, but scarcely had he descended
into the plains of rich and voluptuous Italy, than he found at every step
subjects of astonishment and scandal. The poor German monk was received
in a rich convent of Benedictines, situated upon the Pô in Lombardy. This
convent had thirty-six thousand ducats of revenue. Of these, twelve
thousand were devoted to the table, twelve thousand to the buildings, and
twelve thousand to the other wants of the monks.[200] The gorgeousness of
the apartments, the beauty of the dresses, and the rarities of the table, all
astonished Luther. Marble and silk, and luxury under all its forms! How
new the sight to the humble friar of the poor convent of Wittemberg! He
was astonished and said nothing, but when Friday came, how surprised was
he to see abundance of meat still covering the table of the Benedictines!
Then he resolved to speak out. "The Church and the pope," said he to them,
"forbid such things." The Benedictines were indignant at this reprimand
from the rude German, but Luther having insisted, and perhaps threatened
to make their disorders known, some of them thought that the simplest plan

was to get rid of their troublesome guest. The porter of the convent having
warned him that he ran a risk in staying longer, he made his escape from
this epicurean monastery, and arrived at Bologna, where he fell dangerously
sick.[201] Some have seen in this sickness the effects of poison, but it is
simpler to suppose that it was the effect which a change of living produced
in the frugal monk of Wittemberg, whose principal food was wont to be
bread and herrings. This sickness was not to be unto death, but for the glory
of God. Luther's constitutional sadness and depression again overpowered
him. To die thus far from Germany, under this burning sky in a foreign land,
what a fate! The agonies which he had felt at Erfurt returned with all their
force. The conviction of his sins troubled, while the prospect of the
judgment-seat of God terrified him. But at the moment when these terrors
were at the worst, the passage of St. Paul which had struck him at
Wittemberg, "The just shall live by faith," (Rom., i, 17,) presented itself to
his mind, and illumined his soul as with a ray of light from heaven. Revived
and comforted, he soon recovered his health, and resumed his journey to
Rome, expecting he should there find quite a different life from that of the
Lombard convents, and impatient by the sight of Roman holiness to efface
the sad impressions which had been left upon his mind by his residence on
the Pô.
At length, after a painful journey under the burning sky of Italy in the
beginning of summer, he drew near to the city of the seven hills. His heart
was moved, and his eyes looked for the queen of the world, and of the
Church. As soon as he obtained a distant view of the eternal city, the city of
St. Peter and St. Paul, and the metropolis of Catholicism, he threw himself
on the ground, exclaiming, "Holy Rome, I salute thee."
Luther is in Rome; the professor of Wittemberg is in the midst of the
eloquent ruins of the Rome of the consuls and emperors—the Rome of the
confessors and martyrs. Here lived that Plautus and Virgil, whose works he
had taken with him into the cloister, and all those great men whose exploits
had always caused his heart to beat. He perceives their statues, and the
wrecks of monuments which attest their glory. But all this glory and all this
power are past, and his foot treads on their dust. At every step he calls to
mind the sad forebodings of Scipio shedding tears at the sight of Carthage
in ruins, its burned palaces and broken walls, and exclaiming, "Thus, too,
will it be with Rome!" "And in fact," says Luther, "the Rome of the Scipios

and Cæsars has been changed into a corpse. Such is the quantity of ruins,
that the foundations of the modern houses rest upon the roofs of the old.
"There," added he, casting a melancholy look on the ruins, "there were the
riches and treasures of the world."[202] All this rubbish, which he strikes
with his foot, tells Luther, within the walls of Rome herself, that what is
strongest in the eyes of men is easily destroyed by the breath of the Lord.
But he remembers that with profane ashes holy ashes are mingled. The
burial-place of the martyrs is not far from that of the generals and
triumphing heroes of Rome, and Christian Rome, with her sufferings, has
more power over the heart of the Saxon monk than Pagan Rome with her
glory. It was here the letter arrived in which Paul wrote, "The just is
justified by faith," and not far off is the Appii Forum and the Three Taverns.
There was the house of Narcissus—here the palace of Cæsar, where the
Lord delivered the apostle from the mouth of the lion. Oh, what fortitude
these recollections give to the heart of the monk of Wittemberg!
Rome then presented a very different aspect. The pontifical chair was
occupied by the warlike Julius II, and not by Leo X, as it has been said by
some distinguished historians of Germany, no doubt through oversight.
Luther often told an anecdote of this pope. When news was brought him of
the defeat of his army by the French before Ravenna, he was reading his
Hours. He dashed the book upon the ground, and said, with a dreadful oath,
"Very well, so you have turned Frenchman. Is this the way in which you
protect your Church?" Then turning in the direction of the country to whose
aid he meant to have recourse, he exclaimed, "Holy Switzer, pray for us."
[203]
Ignorance, levity, and dissoluteness, a profane spirit, a contempt of all
that is sacred, and a shameful traffic in divine things; such was the spectacle
which that unhappy city presented, and yet the pious monk continued for
some time in his illusions.
Having arrived about the feast of St. John, he hears the Romans about him
repeating a proverb which was then common among the people: "Happy,"
said they, "is the mother whose son says a mass on the eve of St. John."
"Oh! how I could like to make my mother happy!" said Luther. The pious
son of Margaret accordingly sought to say a mass on that day, but could not;
the press was too great.[204]

Ardent and simple-hearted, he went up and down, visiting all the churches
and chapels, believing all the lies that were told him, and devoutly
performing the requisite acts of holiness; happy in being able to do so many
pious works, which were denied to his countrymen. "Oh! how much I
regret," said the pious German to himself, "that my father and mother are
still alive. What delight I should have had in delivering them from the fire
of purgatory, by my masses, my prayers, and many other admirable works."
[205]
He had found the light, but the darkness was still far from being
entirely banished from his understanding. His heart was changed, but his
mind was not fully enlightened. He possessed faith and love, but not
knowledge. It was work of no small difficulty to escape from the dark night
which had for so many ages covered the earth.
Luther repeatedly said mass at Rome, taking care to do it with all the
unction and dignity which the service seemed to him to require. But how
grieved was the heart of the Saxon monk, at seeing the profane formality of
the Roman priests in celebrating the sacrament of the altar. The priests, on
their part, laughed at his simplicity. One day when he was officiating, he
found that at the altar next to him seven masses had been read before he got
through a single one. "Get on, get on," cried one of the priests to him;
"make haste, and send Our Lady back her Son," making an impious allusion
to the transubstantiation of the bread into the body and blood of Jesus
Christ. On another occasion, Luther had only got as far as the Gospel, when
the priest beside him had finished the whole mass. "On, on," said his
companion; "make haste, make haste; are ye ever to have done?"[206]
His astonishment was still greater when, in the dignitaries of the Church, he
discovered the same thing that he had found in common priests. He had
hoped better of them.
It was fashionable at the papal court to attack Christianity, and, in order to
pass for a complete gentleman, absolutely necessary to hold some erroneous
or heretical opinion on the doctrines of the Church.[207] When Erasmus was
at Rome, they had attempted to prove to him, by passages from Pliny, that
there was no difference between the soul of man and that of the brutes;[208]
and young courtiers of the pope maintained that the orthodox faith was
merely the result of crafty inventions by some saints.[209]

Luther's employment, as envoy of the Augustins of Germany, caused him to
be invited to several meetings of distinguished ecclesiastics. One day, in
particular, he happened to be at table with several prelates, who frankly
exhibited themselves to him in their mountebank manners and profane
conversation, and did not scruple to commit a thousand follies in his
presence, no doubt believing him to be of the same spirit as themselves.
Among other things they related, in presence of the monk, laughing and
making a boast of it, how when they were saying mass, instead of the
sacramental words, which should transform the bread and wine into the
Saviour's flesh and blood, they parodied them, and said, "Panis es, et panis
manebis; vinum es, et vinum manebis:" Bread thou art, and bread wilt
remain; wine thou art, and wine wilt remain. Then, continued they, we raise
the ostensorium, and all the people worship it. Luther could scarcely believe
his ears. His spirit, which was lively and even gay in the society of his
friends, was all gravity when sacred things were in question. He was
scandalised at the profane pleasantries of Rome. "I was," said be, "a young
monk, grave and pious, and these words distressed me greatly. If they speak
thus in Rome at table, freely and publicly, thought I to myself, what will it
be if their actions correspond to their words, and if all, pope, cardinals,
courtiers, say mass in the same style? And I, who have devoutly heard so
large a number read, how must I have been deceived!"[210]
Luther often mingled with the monks and the citizens of Rome. If some
extolled the pope and his court, the great majority gave free utterance to
their complaints and their sarcasms. What tales they told of the reigning
pope, of Alexander VI, and of many others! One day his Roman friends told
him how Cæsar Borgia, after having fled from Rome, was apprehended in
Spain. When they were going to try him he pleaded guilty in prison, and
requested a confessor. A monk having been sent, he slew him, and,
wrapping himself up in his cloak, made his escape. "I heard that at Rome,
and it is quite certain,"[211] said Luther. One day passing through a public
street which led to St. Peter's, he stopped in amazement before a statue,
representing a pope under the form of a woman holding a sceptre, clad in
the papal mantle, and carrying an infant in her arms. It is a girl of Mentz,
said they to him, whom the cardinals chose for pope, and who had a child at
this spot. Hence no pope ever passes through this street. "I am astonished,"
said Luther, "how the popes allow the statue to remain."[212]

Luther had expected to find the edifice of the church in strength and
splendour, but its gates were forced, and its walls consumed with fire. He
saw the desolations of the sanctuary, and started back in dismay. He had
dreamed of nothing but holiness, and he discovered nothing but
profanation.
He was not less struck with the disorders outside the churches. "The Roman
police," says he, "is strict and severe. The judge or captain every night
makes a round of the town on horseback, with three hundred attendants, and
arrests every person he finds in the streets. If he meets any one armed he
hangs him up, or throws him into the Tiber; and yet the city is full of
disorder and murder, whereas, when the word of God is purely and rightly
taught, peace and order are seen to reign, and there is no need of law and its
severities."[213] "It is almost incredible what sins and infamous actions are
committed at Rome," says he, on another occasion; "one would require to
see it and hear it in order to believe it. Hence, it is an ordinary saying, that if
there is a hell, Rome is built upon it. It is an abyss from whence all sins
proceed."[214]
This sight made a strong impression on Luther's mind at the time, and the
impression was deepened at a later period. "The nearer we approach Rome
the more bad Christians we find," said he several years after. "There is a
common saying, that he who goes to Rome, the first time seeks a rogue, the
second time finds him, and the third time brings him away with him in his
own person; but now people are become so skilful, that they make all the
three journeys in one." A genius, one of the most unhappily celebrated, but
also one of the most profound of Italy, Machiavelli, who was living at
Florence when Luther passed through it on his way to Rome, has made the
same remark: "The strongest symptom," says he, "of the approaching ruin
of Christianity, (he means Roman Catholicism,) is, that the nearer you come
to the capital of Christendom the less you find of the Christian spirit. The
scandalous examples and crimes of the court of Rome are the cause why
Italy has lost every principle of piety and all religious sentiment. We
Italians," continues the great historian, "are chiefly indebted to the Church
and the priests for our having become a set of profane scoundrels."[215] At a
later period Luther was fully aware how much he had gained by his journey

"I would not take a hundred thousand florins," said he, "not to have seen
Rome."[216]
The journey was also of the greatest advantage to him in a literary view.
Like Reuchlin, Luther availed himself of his residence in Italy to penetrate
farther into the knowledge of the Holy Scriptures. He took lessons in
Hebrew from a celebrated rabbi named Elias Levita; and thus, at Rome,
partly acquired the knowledge of that Divine word under whose blows
Rome was destined to fall.
But there was another respect in which the journey was of great importance
to Luther. Not only was the veil torn away and the sardonic smile, and
mountebank infidelity which lurked behind the Roman superstitions,
revealed to the future Reformer, but, moreover, the living faith which God
had implanted in him was powerfully strengthened.
We have seen how he at first entered devotedly into all the vain
observances, to which, as a price, the Church has annexed the expiation of
sins. One day, among others, wishing to gain an indulgence which the pope
had promised to every one who should on his knees climb up what is called
Pilate's Stair, the Saxon monk was humbly crawling up the steps, which he
was told had been miraculously transported to Rome from Jerusalem. But
while he was engaged in this meritorious act, he thought he heard a voice of
thunder which cried at the bottom of his heart, as at Wittemberg and
Bologna, "The just shall live by faith." These words, which had already on
two different occasions struck him like the voice of an angel of God,
resounded loudly and incessantly within him. He rises up in amazement
from the steps along which he was dragging his body. Horrified at himself,
and ashamed to see how far superstition has abased him, he flies far from
the scene of his folly.[217]
In regard to this mighty word there is something mysterious in the life of
Luther. It proved a creating word both for the Reformer and for the
Reformation. It was by it that God then said, "Let light be, and light was."
It is often necessary that a truth, in order to produce its due effect on the
mind, must be repeatedly presented to it. Luther had carefully studied the
Epistle to the Romans, and yet, though justification by faith is there taught,
he had never seen it so clearly. Now he comprehends the righteousness

which alone can stand in the presence of God; now he receives from God
himself, by the hand of Christ, that obedience which he freely imputes to
the sinner as soon as he humbly turns his eye to the God-Man who was
crucified. This is the decisive period in the internal life of Luther. The faith
which has saved him from the terrors of death becomes the soul of his
theology, his fortress in all dangers, the stamina of his discourse, the
stimulant of his love, the foundation of his peace, the spur of his labours,
his consolation in life and in death.
But this great doctrine of a salvation which emanates from God and not
from man, was not only the power of God to save the soul of Luther, it also
became the power of God to reform the Church; a powerful weapon which
the apostles wielded, a weapon too long neglected, but at length brought
forth in its primitive lustre from the arsenal of the mighty God. At the
moment when Luther stood up in Rome, all moved and thrilling with the
words which Paul had addressed fifteen centuries before to the inhabitants
of this metropolis, truth, till then a fettered captive within the Church, rose
up also, never again to fall.
Here we must let Luther speak for himself. "Although I was a holy and
irreproachable monk, my conscience was full of trouble and anguish. I
could not bear the words, 'Justice of God.' I loved not the just and holy God
who punishes sinners. I was filled with secret rage against him and hated
him, because, not satisfied with terrifying us, his miserable creatures,
already lost by original sin, with his law and the miseries of life, he still
further increased our torment by the gospel.... But when, by the Spirit of
God, I comprehended these words; when I learned how the sinner's
justification proceeds from the pure mercy of the Lord by means of faith,
[218]
then I felt myself revive like a new man, and entered at open doors into
the very paradise of God.[219] From that time, also, I beheld the precious
sacred volume with new eyes. I went over all the Bible, and collected a
great number of passages which taught me what the work of God was. And
as I had previously, with all my heart, hated the words, 'Justice of God,' so
from that time I began to esteem and love them, as words most sweet and
most consoling. In truth, these words were to me the true gate of paradise."
Accordingly, when called on solemn occasions to confess this doctrine,
Luther always manifested his enthusiasm and rude energy. "I see," said he

on a critical occasion, "that the devil is incessantly attacking this
fundamental article[220] by the instrumentality of his doctors, and that, in
this respect, he cannot rest or take any repose. Very well, I, Doctor Martin
Luther, unworthy evangelist of our Lord Jesus Christ, hold this article—that
faith alone, without works, justifies in the sight of God; and I declare that
the emperor of the Romans, the emperor of the Turks, the emperor of the
Tartars, the emperor of the Persians, the pope, all the cardinals, bishops,
priests, monks, nuns, princes, and nobles, all men and all devils, must let it
stand, and allow it to remain for ever. If they will undertake to combat this
truth, they will bring down the flames of hell upon their heads. This is the
true and holy gospel, and the declaration of me, Doctor Luther, according to
the light of the Holy Spirit.... Nobody," continues he, "has died for our sins
but Jesus Christ the Son of God. I repeat it once more; should the world and
all the devils tear each other, and burst with fury, this is, nevertheless, true.
And if it be He alone who takes away sin, it cannot be ourselves with our
works; but good works follow redemption, as the fruit appears on the tree.
This is our doctrine; and it is the doctrine which the Holy Spirit teaches
with all true Christians. We maintain it in the name of God. Amen."
It was thus Luther found what all doctors and reformers, even the most
distinguished, had, to a certain degree at least, failed to discover. It was in
Rome that God gave him this clear view of the fundamental doctrine of
Christianity. He had come to the city of the pontiffs seeking the solution of
some difficulties relative to a monastic order, and he carried away in his
heart the safety of the Church.

CHAP. VII.
Return—Doctor's Degree—Carlstadt—Luther's Oath—Principle of
Reform—Luther's Courage—First Views of Reformation—The
Schoolmen—Spalatin—Affair of Reuchlin.

Luther quitted Rome and returned to Wittemberg, his heart full of sadness
and indignation. Turning away his eyes in disgust from the pontifical city,
he directed them in hope to the Holy Scriptures, and to that new light of
which the word of God seemed then to give promise to the world. This
word gained in his heart all that the Church lost in it. He detached himself
from the one and turned towards the other. The whole Reformation was in
that movement. It put God where the priest had hitherto been.
Staupitz and the elector did not lose sight of the monk whom they had
called to the university of Wittemberg. It would seem that the vicar-general
had a presentiment of the work that was to be done in the world, and,
feeling it too much for himself, wished to urge on Luther. There is nothing
more remarkable, and perhaps more mysterious, than this personage, who is
ever found hurrying on the monk into the path to which God calls him; and
who himself ultimately goes and sadly ends his days in a convent. The
preaching of the young professor had made an impression on the prince. He
had admired the vigour of his intellect, the nervousness of his eloquence,
and the excellence of his expositions.[221] The elector and his friend,
wishing to advance a man who gave such high hopes, resolved to make him
take the honourable degree of Doctor of Divinity. Staupitz repairing to the
convent, led Luther into the garden, and there alone with him, under a tree
which Luther was afterwards fond of showing to his disciples,[222] the
venerable father said to him—" It is now necessary, my friend, that you
become a doctor of the Holy Scriptures." Luther recoiled at the idea; the
high honour frightened him. "Look out," replied he, "for a more worthy
person; as for me, I cannot consent to it." The vicar-general insisted, "The
Lord God has much to do in the Church, and has need at present of young
and vigorous doctors." These words, adds Melancthon, were perhaps used
half in jest, and yet the event realised them. Many omens ordinarily precede

great revolutions.[223] It is not necessary to suppose that Melancthon here
speaks of miraculous predictions. The most incredulous age—that which
preceded our own—saw this sentiment verified. There was no miracle; and
yet how many presages announced the revolution with which it closed?
"But I am weak and sickly," replied Luther, "and have not long to live. Seek
a strong man." "The Lord," replied the vicar-general, "has work in heaven
as well as on the earth; dead or alive, God has need of you in his counsel."
[224]

"None but the Holy Spirit can make a doctor of theology,"[225] exclaimed
the monk, still more alarmed. "Do what your convent asks," said Staupitz,
"and what I, your vicar-general, command. You promised to obey us." "But
my poverty," replied the friar. "I have no means of paying the expences
attendant on such promotion." "Give yourself no trouble about them," said
his friend. "The prince has been graciously pleased to take all the expences
on himself." Luther, thus urged, saw it his duty to yield.
This was towards the end of the summer of 1512. Luther set out for Leipsic
to receive the money necessary for his promotion from the elector's
treasures. But according to the usages of courts, the money came not. The
friar getting impatient would have left, but monastic obedience detained
him. At length, on the 4th of October, he received fifty florins from
Pfeffinger and John Doltzig, and gave them his receipt for it, in which he
designates himself merely as a monk. "I, Martin," says he, "friar of the
order of Eremites."[226] Luther hastened back to Wittemberg.
Andrew Bodenstein was then Dean of the Faculty of Theology, and is best
known under the name of Carlstadt, being that of his native town. He was
also called A. B. C. It was Melancthon who first gave him this designation,
which is taken from the three initial letters of his name. Bodenstein
acquired the first elements of literature in his native place. He was of a
grave and gloomy temper, perhaps inclined to jealousy, and of a restless
intellect, eagerly bent, however, on acquiring knowledge, and endowed with
great ability. He attended different universities in order to increase his
acquirements, and studied theology even at Rome. On his return from Italy
into Germany he established himself at Wittemberg, and became doctor in
divinity. "At this period," says he himself afterwards, "I had not read the

Holy Scriptures."[227] This account gives a very just idea of what the
theology of that day was. Carlstadt, besides being a professor, was a canon
and archdeacon. This is the person who was at a later period to make a rent
in the Reformation. In Luther at that time, he only saw an inferior, but the
Augustin soon became an object of jealousy to him. "I am not willing," said
he one day, "to be a smaller man than Luther."[228] When Carlstadt
conferred the highest university degree on his future rival, he was far from
foreseeing the celebrity which the young professor was destined to obtain.
On the 18th of October, 1512, Luther was admitted a licentiate in theology,
and took the following oath:—"I swear to defend evangelical truth by every
means in my power."[229] The following day, Bodenstein, in presence of a
numerous assembly, formally delivered to him the insignia of doctor of
theology. He was made Biblical doctor, not doctor of sentences, and in this
way was called to devote himself to the study of the Bible, and not to that of
human tradition.[230] The oath, then, which he took was, as he relates,[231] to
his well-beloved Holy Scripture. He promised to preach it faithfully, to
teach it purely, to study it during his whole life, and to defend it by
discussion and by writing, as far as God should enable him to do so.
This solemn oath was Luther's call to be the Reformer. In laying it upon his
conscience freely to seek, and boldly to announce Christian truth, this oath
raised the new doctor above the narrow limits to which his monastic vow
might perhaps have confined him. Called by the university and by his
sovereign, in the name of the emperor, and of the See of Rome itself, and
bound before God, by the most solemn oath, he was thenceforth the intrepid
herald of the word of life. On this memorable day, Luther was dubbed
knight of the Bible.
Accordingly, this oath taken to the Holy Scriptures, may be regarded as one
of the causes of the renovation of the Church. The infallible authority of the
word of God alone was the first and fundamental principle of the
Reformation. All the reformations in detail which took place at a later
period, as reformations in doctrine, in manners, in the government of the
Church, and in worship, were only consequences of this primary principle.
One is scarcely able at the present time to form an idea of the sensation
produced by this elementary principle, which is so simple in itself, but
which had been lost sight of for so many ages. Some individuals of more

extensive views than the generality, alone foresaw its immense results. The
bold voices of all the Reformers soon proclaimed this powerful principle, at
the sound of which Rome is destined to crumble away:—"Christians,
receive no other doctrines than those which are founded on the express
words of Jesus Christ, his apostles, and prophets. No man, no assembly of
doctors, are entitled to prescribe new doctrines."
The situation of Luther was changed. The call which the Reformer had
received became to him like one of these extraordinary calls which the Lord
addressed to the prophets under the Old Dispensation, and to the apostles
under the New. The solemn engagement which he undertook made so deep
an impression on his mind, that, in the sequel, the remembrance of this oath
was sufficient to console him amid the greatest dangers and the sharpest
conflicts. And when he saw all Europe agitated and shaken by the word
which he had announced; when it seemed that the accusations of Rome, the
reproaches of many pious men, and the doubts and fears of his own easily
agitated heart, would make him hesitate, fear, and give way to despair, he
called to mind the oath which he had taken, and remained firm, tranquil,
and full of joy. "I have advanced in the name of the Lord," said he, on a
critical occasion, "and I have put myself into his hands. His will be done.
Who asked him to make me a doctor? If He made me, let him sustain me; or
if he repents of having made me, let Him depose me!.... This tribulation
terrifies me not. I seek one thing only, and it is to have the Lord favourable
to me in all that he calls me to do." Another time he said, "He who
undertakes any thing without a divine call, seeks his own glory; but I,
Doctor Martin Luther, was compelled to become a doctor. Papism sought to
stop me in the discharge of my duty, and you see what has happened to it;
and still worse will happen. They will not be able to defend themselves
against me. I desire, in the name of the Lord, to tread upon the lions, and
trample under foot the dragons and vipers. This will commence during my
life, and be finished after my death."[232]
From the hour when he took the oath Luther sought the truth solely for
itself and for the Church. Still deeply impressed with recollections of Rome,
he saw indistinctly before him a course which he determined to pursue with
all the energy of his soul. The spiritual life which had hitherto been
manifested within him was now manifested outwardly. This was the third
period of his development. His entrance into the convent had turned his

thoughts towards God: the knowledge of the forgiveness of sins and of the
righteousness of faith, had emancipated his soul; and his doctor's oath gave
him that baptism of fire by which he became the Reformer of the Church.
His thoughts were soon directed in a general way to the subject of
reformation. In a discourse which he had written apparently with a view to
its being announced by the Provost of Litzkan, at the Council of Lateran, he
affirmed that the corruption of the world was occasioned by the priests,
who, instead of preaching the pure word of God, taught so many fables and
traditions. According to him the word of life alone had power to accomplish
the spiritual regeneration of man. Hence, even at this period, he made the
salvation of the world depend on the re-establishment of sound doctrine,
and not on a mere reformation of manners. Luther was not perfectly
consistent with himself; he entertained contradictory opinions; but a
powerful intellect was displayed in all his writings. He boldly broke the
links by which the systems of the schools chained down human thought,
passed beyond the limits to which past ages had attained, and formed new
paths for himself. God was in him.
The first opponents whom he attacked were those famous schoolmen whom
he had so thoroughly studied, and who then reigned as sovereigns in all
universities. He accused them of Pelagianism; and, forcibly assailing
Aristotle, the father of the school, and Thomas Aquinas, undertook to
tumble both of them from the throne on which they sat, the one ruling
philosophy, and the other theology.[233] "Aristotle, Porphyry, the
theologians of sentences," (the schoolmen,) wrote he to Lange, "are the lost
studies of our age.[234] There is nothing I more ardently long for than to
expose this player, who has sported with the Church by wrapping himself
up in a Greek mask, and to make his disgrace apparent to all." In all public
disputations he was heard to say, "the writings of the apostles and prophets
are more certain and more sublime than all the sophisms and all the
theology of the school." Such sayings were new, but people gradually
became accustomed to them. About a year after he could triumphantly write
—"God works. Our theology and St. Augustine make wonderful progress,
and reign in our university. Aristotle is on the decline, and is already
tottering to his speedy and eternal overthrow. The lessons on the sentences
are admirable for producing a yawn. No man can hope to have an audience

if he does not profess Biblical theology."[235] Happy the university to which
such a testimony can be given.
At the same time that Luther attacked Aristotle, he took the part of Erasmus
and Reuchlin against their enemies. He entered into communication with
these great men and others of the learned, such as Pirckheimer, Mutian, and
Hütten, who belonged more or less to the same party. At this period he
formed another friendship also, which was of great importance to him
during his whole life.
There was then at the court of the elector a man distinguished for wisdom
and candour, named George Spalatin. Born at Spalatus or Spalt, in the
bishopric of Eichstadt, he had at first been curate of the village of
Hohenkirch, near the forest of Thuringia, and was afterwards selected by
Frederick the Wise to be his secretary and chaplain, and also tutor to his
nephew, John Frederick, who was one day to wear the electoral crown.
Spalatin retained his simplicity in the midst of the court. He appeared timid
on the eve of great events, circumspect and prudent like his master,[236]
when contrasted with the impetuous Luther, with whom he was in daily
correspondence. Like Staupitz he was made for peaceful times. Such men
are necessary, somewhat resembling those delicate substances in which we
wrap up jems and trinkets to protect them from injury in travelling. They
seem useless, and yet without them the precious jewels would have been
broken and destroyed. Spalatin was not fitted to do great things, but he
faithfully and unostentatiously acquitted himself of the task which had been
assigned to him.[237] He was at first one of the principal assistants of his
master in collecting those relics of saints, of which Frederick was long an
amateur, but gradually, along with the prince, turned toward the truth. The
faith which was then re-appearing in the Church did not take the firm hold
of him that it did of Luther. He proceeded at a slower pace. He became
Luther's friend at court, the minister through whom all affairs between the
Reformer and the princes were transacted, the mediator between the Church
and the State. The elector honoured Spalatin with his friendship; when on a
journey they always travelled in the same carriage.[238] In other respects, the
air of the court often half suffocated the good chaplain. He took fits of
melancholy, and would have liked to quit all his honours, and be again a
simple pastor in the woods of Thuringia; but Luther consoled him, and

exhorted him to remain firm at his post. Spalatin acquired general esteem;
the princes and the learned of his time testifying the sincerest regard for
him. Erasmus said, "I inscribe the name of Spalatin not only among those of
my principal friends, but also amongst those of my most venerated patrons;
and this not on paper but on my heart."[239]
The affair of Reuchlin and the monks was then making a great noise in
Germany. The most pious men were often at a loss as to the party which
they ought to embrace; for the monks wished to destroy Jewish books
which contained blasphemies against Christ. The doctor of Wittemberg
being now in high repute, the elector ordered his chaplain to consult him on
this subject. The following is Luther's reply. It is the first letter which he
addressed to the preacher of the court.
"What shall I say? These monks pretend to drive out Beelzebub, but not by
the finger of God. For this I cease not to lament and groan. We Christians
begin to be wise abroad, and we are void of sense at home.[240] On all the
places of Jerusalem are blasphemies a hundred times worse than those of
the Jews. The world is filled with spiritual idols. Inspired with a holy zeal,
we should put away and destroy these internal enemies, whereas we leave
the matter which is most pressing; the devil himself persuading us to
abandon our own business at the same time that he prevents us from
amending what belongs to others."

CHAP. VIII.
Faith—Popular Declamations—Academical Instruction—Moral Purity
of Luther—German Theology or Mysticism—The Monk Spenlein
—Justification by Faith—Luther on Erasmus—Faith and Works
—Erasmus—Necessity of Works—Practice of Works.

Luther did not lose himself in this quarrel. Living faith in Christ filled his
heart and his life. "In my heart," said he, "faith in my Lord Jesus Christ
reigns sole, and sole ought to reign. He alone is the beginning, the middle,
and the end, of all the thoughts which occupy my mind night and day."[241]
He was always heard with admiration when he spoke of this faith in Christ,
whether in the professor's chair or in the church. His lessons diffused light,
and men were astonished at not having sooner perceived truths which in his
mouth appeared so evident. "The desire of justifying ourselves," said he, "is
the source of all anguish of heart, whereas he who receives Jesus Christ as a
Saviour has peace, and not only peace, but purity of heart. Sanctification of
the heart is entirely a fruit of faith; for faith is in us a Divine work, which
changes us, and gives us a new birth, emanating from God himself. It kills
Adam in us by the Holy Spirit, which it communicates to us, giving us a
new heart, and making us new men. "It is not by hollow speculation,"
exclaimed he again, "but by this practical method that we obtain a saving
knowledge of Jesus Christ."[242]
At this time Luther preached discourses on the Ten Commandments, which
have come down to us under the name of Popular Declamations.
Undoubtedly there are errors in them; for Luther himself was enlightened
only by degrees. "The path of the just is like the shining light, which shineth
more and more unto the perfect day." But in these discourses what truth!
what simplicity! what eloquence! How easy to conceive the effect which
the new preacher must have produced upon his audience and his age! We
will quote only one passage taken from the commencement.
Luther goes up into the pulpit of Wittemberg, and gives out these words,
"Thou shalt have no other god before me." Then addressing himself to the

people who filled the church, he says, "All the sons of Adam are idolaters,
and guilty of violating this First Commandment."[243] This strange assertion
no doubt surprises his hearers. He must therefore justify it, and accordingly
proceeds:—"There are two kinds of idolatry, the one without, the other
within.
"The one without is, when man worships wood and stone, beasts and stars.
"The one within is, when man, fearing punishment or seeking his ease, does
not give worship to the creature, but loves it internally, and confides in it.
"What religion is this? You do not bend the knee before riches and honours,
but you offer them your heart, the noblest part of you. Ah! you worship God
with the body, and with the spirit you worship the creature.
"This idolatry reigns in every man until he is cured of it freely by the faith
which is in Jesus Christ.
"And how is this cure performed?
"In this way. Faith in Christ strips you of all confidence in your own
wisdom, your own righteousness, your own strength. It tells you that if
Christ had not died for you, and so saved you, neither yourself nor any
creature could have done it.[244] Then you learn to despise all those things
which remained useless to you.
"There now remains to you only Jesus; Jesus alone; Jesus fully sufficient
for your soul. No longer having any hopes in the creatures, you have now
Christ only, in whom you hope all, and whom you love above all. Now
Jesus is the sole, the only, the true God. When you have him for God you
have no longer other gods."[245]
It is thus Luther shows how, by the gospel, the soul is brought back to God
its sovereign good, agreeably to the words of Jesus Christ, "I am the way;
no man cometh unto the Father but by me." The man who speaks thus to his
age is not merely desirous to overthrow some abuses; he is first of all
desirous to establish true religion. His work is not negative merely—it is
primarily positive.

Luther afterwards directs his discourse against the superstitions with which
Christendom then abounded, against signs and mysterious characters,
observations of certain days and certain months, familiar demons, ghosts,
the influence of the stars and wizards, metamorphoses, incubuses and
succubuses, the patronage of saints, etc., etc. He attacks these idols one
after the other, and vigorously casts down these false gods.
But it was at the university especially, in presence of enlightened youths,
eager for truth, that Luther laid open all the treasures of the word of God.
"His mode of explaining the Scriptures," says his illustrious friend,
Melancthon, "was such, that in the judgment of all pious and enlightened
men it was as if a new light had risen upon doctrine after a long dark night.
He pointed out the difference between the Law and the Gospel. He refuted
the error then prevalent in churches and schools, that men merit the
forgiveness of sins by their own works, and are rendered righteous before
God by means of external discipline. He thus brought back the hearts of
men to the Son of God.[246] Like John the Baptist, he pointed to the Lamb
of God, who had taken away the sins of the world. He explained how sins
are pardoned freely for the sake of the Son of God, and how man receives
the blessing through faith. He made no change in ceremonies; on the
contrary, the established discipline had not, in his order a more faithful
observer and defender. But he laboured more and more to make all
comprehend the great and essential doctrines of conversion, of the
forgiveness of sins, of faith, and the true consolation which is to be found in
the cross. The pious were charmed and penetrated with the sweetness of this
doctrine, while the learned received it gladly.[247] One would have said that
Christ, the apostles and prophets, were coming forth from darkness and a
loathsome dungeon."[248]
The firmness with which Luther fortified himself by Scripture gave great
authority to his teaching, while other circumstances added to his power. His
life corresponded to his words—his discourses were not merely from the
life,[249] they came from the heart, and were exemplified in all his conduct.
And when the Reformation burst forth many influential men, who were
much grieved at seeing the rents that were made in the Church, won over by
the Reformer's purity of conduct, and his admirable talents, not only did not
oppose him, but even embraced the doctrine to which his works bore

testimony.[250] The more they loved Christian virtue the more they inclined
to the Reformer. All honest theologians were in his favour.[251] Such is the
testimony of those who knew him, in particular of Melancthon, the wisest
man of his age, and Erasmus, Luther's celebrated opponent. Yet prejudice
has dared to speak of his debauchery. Wittemberg was changed by this
preaching of faith, and became the focus of a light which was soon to
illumine Germany, and diffuse itself over all the Church.
In 1516, Luther published a treatise by an anonymous mystic theologian,
(probably Ebland, priest at Frankfort,) entitled German Theology, wherein
the author shows how man may attain perfection by the three methods of
purification, illumination, and communion. Luther never plunged into
mystical theology, but he received a salutary impression from it. It
confirmed him in the disgust which he felt for dry scholastics—in his
contempt for the works and observances so much dwelt upon by the Church
—in his conviction of man's spiritual impotence, and of the necessity of
grace, and in his attachment to the Bible. "To the schoolmen,"[252] wrote he
to Staupitz, "I prefer the Mystics and the Bible;" thus placing the Mystics
by the side of the inspired writers. Perhaps the German Theology also
assisted him in forming a sounder idea of the sacraments, and especially of
the mass. For the author of that work insists that the Eucharist gives Christ
to man, but does not offer Christ to God. Luther accompanied this
publication with a preface, in which he declared, that next to the Bible and
St. Augustine, there was no book he had ever met with, from which he had
learned more respecting God, Christ, man, and all things. Already several
doctors had begun to inveigh against the Professors of Wittemberg, and to
accuse them of innovation. "One would suppose," continues Luther, "that
there never were men before us who taught as we do; yea, verily, there
were. But the wrath of God, which our sins have deserved, did not permit us
to see them, and to hear them. For a long time the universities kept the word
of God lying in a corner. Let them read this book, and then tell me if our
theology is new; for this book is not new."[253] But if Luther took all the
good that was in mystical theology, he took not the bad that was in it. The
great error in mysticism is, to overlook a free salvation. We are going to see
a remarkable example of the purity of Luther's faith.

Luther, possessed of a tender and affectionate heart, was desirous to see
those whom he loved in possession of the light which had guided him into
the paths of peace; and availed himself of all the opportunities which he
had, as professor, preacher, and monk, as well as of his extensive
correspondence, to communicate his treasure to others. One of his old
brethren of the convent of Erfurt, the monk George Spenlein, was then in
the convent of Memmingen. After having spent some time at Wittemberg,
Spenlein had asked the doctor to sell different articles which he had left,
viz., a tunic of Brussels cloth, a work of a doctor of Isenach, and a monk's
frock. Luther carefully executed this commission. "I have received," said he
to Spenlein, in a letter, 7th April 1516, "a florin for the tunic, half a florin
for the book, and a florin for the frock, and have remitted the whole to the
father-vicar," to whom Spenlein owed three florins. But Luther passes
quickly from this account of monastic spoils to a more important subject.
"I should like much," says he to friar George, "to know how it is with your
soul. Is it not weary of its own righteousness? does it not breathe at length
and confide in the righteousness of Christ? In our day pride seduces many,
especially those who do their utmost to become righteous. Not
comprehending the righteousness which is freely given us of God in Christ
Jesus, they would stand before him by their merits. But that cannot be.
When you lived with us you were in this error, as I also was. I am still
constantly fighting with it; and have not yet completely triumphed.
"O my dear brother, learn to know Christ and Christ crucified. Learn to sing
unto him a new song; to despair of thyself, and say, 'Thou, O Lord Jesus!
thou art my righteousness, and I am thy sin! Thou hast taken what is mine,
and given me what is thine.[254] What thou wert not thou hast become, in
order that what I was not I might become.' Take care, O my dear George,
not to pretend to such a purity as will make you unwilling to acknowledge
yourself a sinner; for Christ dwells in sinners only. He came down from
heaven, where he dwelt among the righteous, that he might dwell also
among sinners. Meditate carefully on this love of Christ, and thou wilt
derive ineffable blessing from it. If our labours and our afflictions could
give us peace of conscience, why should Christ have died? Thou wilt find
peace only in him, by despairing of thyself and of thy works, and learning
with what love he opens his arms to thee, takes upon him all thy sins, and
gives thee all his righteousness."

Thus the powerful doctrine which had already saved the world in the days
of the Apostles, and which was to save it a second time in the days of the
Reformers, was expounded by Luther with force and clearness. Stretching
over numerous ages of ignorance and superstition, he here shook hands
with St. Paul.
Spenlein was not the only person whom he sought to instruct in this
fundamental doctrine. He felt uneasy at the little truth which he discovered
in this respect in the writings of Erasmus. It was of importance to enlighten
a man whose authority was so great, and whose genius was so admirable.
But how was he to do it? His friend at court, the elector's chaplain, was
respected by Erasmus; and it is to him Luther addresses himself. "My dear
Spalatin, the thing which displeases me in Erasmus, that man of vast
erudition, is, that by the righteousness of works or of the law, of which the
apostle speaks, he understands the fulfilment of the ceremonial law. The
justification of the law consists not in ceremonies only, but in all the works
of the Decalogue. When these works are performed without faith in Christ,
they may, it is true, make Fabriciuses, Reguluses, and other men of strict
integrity in the eyes of the world, but then they as little deserve to be called
righteousness, as the fruit of a medlar to be called a fig. For we do not
become righteous, as Aristotle pretends, by doing works of righteousness;
but when we have become righteous we do such works.[255] The man must
first be changed, and then the works. Abel was first pleasing to God, and
then his sacrifice." Luther continues, "I pray you, fulfil the duty of a friend
and of a Christian, by making Erasmus acquainted with those things." This
letter is dated "In haste, from the corner of our convent, 19th Oct., 1516." It
gives a true view of the footing on which Luther stood with Erasmus, and
shows the sincere interest which he felt in whatever he thought truly
advantageous to this distinguished writer. No doubt, at a later period, the
opposition of Erasmus to the truth forced Luther to combat him openly, but
it was only after he had sought to enlighten his opponent.
At length those views on the nature of goodness were propounded which
were at once clear and profound, and the great truth was distinctly
proclaimed, that the real goodness of a work consists not in its external
form, but in the spirit in which it is done. Thus giving a mortal blow to all
the superstitious observances, which had for ages choked the Church, and
prevented Christian virtues from growing and flourishing in it.

"I read Erasmus," again writes Luther, "but he is every day losing his credit
with me. I like to see him, with so much skill and firmness, rebuking priests
and monks for their loathsome ignorance, but I fear he will not do great
service to the doctrine of Jesus Christ. What is of man has more hold on his
heart than what is of God.[256] We live in dangerous times. A man is not a
good and judicious Christian because he understands Greek and Hebrew.
Jerome, who knew five languages, is inferior to Augustine, who only knew
one, though Erasmus thinks differently. I am very careful to conceal my
sentiments concerning Erasmus, lest I should give an advantage to his
opponents. It may be the Lord will give him understanding in his own
time."[257]
The impotence of man, and the omnipotence of God, were the two truths
which Luther wished to re-establish. It is a sad religion and a sad
philosophy which throws man back upon his natural powers. Ages have
made trial of these boasted powers, and while man has of himself succeeded
wonderfully in things which concern his earthly existence, he has never
been able to dissipate the darkness which hides the true knowledge of God
from his mind, nor to change a single inclination of his heart. The highest
degree of wisdom attained by ambitious intellects, or minds inflamed with
ardent longings after perfection, has only plunged them into despair.[258]
The doctrine, therefore, which unveils to us our impotence, in order to
acquaint us with a Divine power, which shall enable us to do all things, is a
generous, consoling, and perfectly true doctrine; and the reformation which
exhibits the glory of heaven on the earth, and pleads the rights of Almighty
God with men, is a great reformation.
But nobody was better aware than Luther of the intimate and indissoluble
tie which unites the gratuitous salvation of God with the free works of man.
Nobody showed better than he that it is only by receiving all from Christ
that man can give much to his brethren. He always presented the two acts,
that of God and that of man, in the same picture. Thus, after having
explained to friar Spenlein wherein saving righteousness consists, he adds
"If you believe these things firmly as you ought to do, (for cursed is he who
believeth not,) receive thy still ignorant and erring brethren as Jesus Christ
has received thee. Bear with them patiently, make their sins thy own, and if
thou hast any thing good, communicate it unto them. Receive one another,

saith the Apostle, as Christ hath received us to the glory of God. It is a sad
righteousness which will not bear with others, because it finds them wicked,
and which thinks only of seeking the solitude of the desert, instead of doing
them good by patience, prayer, and example. If thou art the lily and the rose
of Christ, know that thy dwelling is among the thorns. Only take care that
thou do not by thy impatience, thy rash judgments, and thy hidden pride,
become thyself a thorn. Christ reigns in the midst of his enemies. Had he
been pleased to live only among the good, and to die only for those who
loved him, for whom, I ask, would he have died, and among whom would
he have lived?"
It is touching to see how Luther himself carried these precepts of charity
into practice. An Augustin of Erfurt, named George Leiffer, was subjected
to severe trials. Luther learned it, and eight days after he had written the
letter to Spenlein, went up to him kindly, and said—"I learn that you are
agitated by many tempests, and that your spirit is tossed up and down upon
the billows.... The cross of Christ is portioned out over all the earth, and
each one receives his part. Do not you, then, reject that which is fallen to
you. Rather receive it as a holy relic, not in a vessel of gold and of silver,
but what is far better, in a heart of gold—a heart full of meekness. If the
wood of the cross has been so sanctified by the blood and flesh of Christ,
that we consider it to be the most venerable relic, how much more ought we
to regard the injuries, persecutions, inflictions, and hatred of men as holy
relics, since they have not only been touched by the flesh of Christ, but
embraced, kissed, and blessed by his boundless love?"[259]

CHAP. IX.
First Theses—The Old Man and Grace—Visit to the Convents—
Dresden—Erfurt—Tornator—Peace and the Cross—Results of
the Journey—Labours—The Plague.

The instructions of Luther bore fruit. Several of his disciples already felt
themselves urged publicly to profess the truths which the lessons of their
master had revealed to them. Among his hearers was a learned youth,
named Bernard of Feldkirchen, professor of the physics of Aristotle in the
university, and who, five years afterwards, was the first of the evangelical
ecclesiastics who entered into the bond of matrimony.
Luther, while he was presiding, desired Feldkirchen to maintain theses in
which his principles were expounded. The doctrines professed by Luther
thus acquired new publicity. The disputation took place in 1516, and was
Luther's first attack on the reign of the sophists and the Papacy. However
feeble it was, it gave him considerable uneasiness. "I allow these
propositions to be printed," said he, many years after, on publishing them in
his works, "principally in order that the greatness of my cause, and the
success with which God has crowned it, may not puff me up. For they fully
manifest my shame; that is to say, the infirmity and ignorance, the fear and
trembling, with which I commenced this struggle. I was alone, and had
imprudently plunged into this affair. Not being able to draw back, I
conceded several important points to the pope, and even adored him."[260]

The following are some of these propositions:[261]—
"The old man is vanity of vanities—he is wholly vanity, and renders all
other creatures vain, how good soever they be.
"The old man is called the flesh, not only because he is led by sensual lusts,
but also because, even though he were chaste, prudent, and just, he is not
born anew of God by the Spirit.

"A man who is without the grace of God cannot observe the commands of
God, nor prepare himself, in whole or in part, to receive grace, but
necessarily remains under sin.
"The will of man without grace is not free, but enslaved, and that
voluntarily.
"Jesus Christ, our strength and our righteousness, who trieth the hearts and
reins, is alone the Searcher and Judge of our merits.
"Since everything is possible through Christ to him who believeth, it is
superstitious to seek other aid, whether in the will of man or in the saints."
[262]

This disputation made a great noise, and has been considered as the
commencement of the Reformation.
The moment approached when this reformation was to burst forth. God was
hastening to prepare the instrument which he meant to employ. The elector
having built a new church at Wittemberg, to which he gave the name of
"All-Saints," sent Staupitz into the Netherlands to collect the relics with
which he was desirous to enrich it. The vicar-general ordered Luther to take
his place during his absence, and in particular to pay a visit to forty
monasteries in Misnia and Thuringia.
Luther repaired first to Grimma, and thence to Dresden, everywhere
labouring to establish the truths which he had ascertained, and to enlighten
the members of his own order. "Don't attach yourself to Aristotle, or to
other teachers of a deceitful philosophy," said he to the monks, "but
diligently read the word of God. Seek not your salvation in your own
strength, and your own good works, but in the merits of Christ, and in
Divine grace."[263]
An Augustin monk of Dresden had run off from his convent, and was living
at Mayence, where the prior of the Augustins had received him. Luther
wrote to the prior[264] to demand restitution of the lost sheep, and added
these words, which are full of truth and charity, "I know that offences must
come. It is no wonder that man falls; but it is a wonder he rises again, and
stands erect. Peter fell, in order that he might know that he was a man; and

we still see the cedar of Lebanon fall. Angels even (a thing which surpasses
our comprehension) fell in heaven, and Adam fell in paradise. Why then be
astonished when a reed is shaken by the wind, and the smoking flax is
quenched?" From Dresden, Luther proceeded to Erfurt, to do the duties of
vicar-general in the very convent where, eleven years before, he had wound
up the clock, opened the door, and swept the Church. He appointed his
friend, bachelor John Lange, a learned and pious, but austere man, prior of
the convent, exhorting him to affability and patience. Shortly after he wrote
him, "Show a spirit of meekness towards the prior of Nuremberg. This is
fitting, inasmuch as the prior has put on a sour and bitter spirit. Bitter is not
expelled by bitter, that is to say, devil by devil; but sweet expels bitter, that
is to say, the finger of God casts out demons."[265]
It must perhaps be regretted, that on different occasions Luther did not
remember this excellent advice.
At Neustadt on Orla there was nothing but division. Quarrelling and
disturbance reigned in the convent. All the monks were at war with the
prior, and assailed Luther with their complaints. The prior, Michael Dressel,
or Tornator, as Luther calls him, translating his name into Latin, on his part
explained all his grievances to the doctor. "Peace! peace!" said he. "You
seek peace," replied Luther, "but you seek the peace of the world, and not
that of Christ. Know you not that our God has placed his peace in the midst
of war? He whom nobody troubles has no peace. But he who, troubled by
all men, and by all the things of life, bears all calmly and joyfully, possesses
true peace. You say, with Israel, Peace, peace; and there is no peace. Say
rather with Christ, The cross, the cross; and there will be no cross. For the
cross ceases to be a cross as soon as we can sincerely say with joy, O
blessed cross, there is no wood like thine!"[266] After his return to
Wittemberg, Luther, wishing to put an end to these divisions allowed the
monks to elect another prior.
Luther returned to Wittemberg after an absence of six weeks. He was
grieved at all that he had seen, but the journey gave him a better
acquaintance with the Church and the world; gave him more confidence in
his intercourse with men and furnished him with numerous opportunities of
founding schools, and urging this fundamental truth, that "the Holy
Scripture alone shows us the way to heaven," and to exhort the brethren to

live together holily, chastely, and peacefully.[267] Doubtless, much seed was
sown in the different Augustin convents during this journey of the
Reformer. The monastic orders, which had long been the stay of Rome,
perhaps did more for the Reformation than against it. This is true especially
of the order of Augustins. Almost all pious men of a free and exalted spirit
who were in cloisters, turned to the gospel, and a new and noble blood soon
circulated in their orders, which were in a manner the arteries of German
Catholicity. The world knew nothing of the new ideas of the Augustin of
Wittemberg, after they had become the great subject of conversation in
chapters and monasteries. In this way, more than one cloister was a
seminary of reformers. At the moment when the great blow was struck,
pious and brave men came forth from their obscurity, and abandoned the
retreat of the monastic life, for the active career of ministers of the word of
God. Even during the inspection of 1516, Luther by his words awoke many
slumbering spirits, and hence this year has been called "the morning star of
the gospel day."
Luther resumed his ordinary avocations. At this period he was oppressed
with work; it was not enough that he was professor, preacher, and
confessor; he had, moreover, a variety of temporal business connected with
his order and his convent. "I almost constantly require two clerks," wrote
he; "for I do little else the whole day than write letters. I am preacher to the
convent, chaplain at table, pastor and parish minister, director of studies,
vice-prior, which means prior eleven times over, inspector of the ponds of
Litzkau, advocate of the inns of Herzberg at Torgau, reader of St. Paul,
commentator on the Psalms.... I have seldom time to say my Hours and
chant,—to say nothing of my combat with flesh and blood, the devil and the
world.... See how lazy a man I am."[268]
About this time the plague broke out in Wittemberg, and a great part of the
students and teachers left the town. Luther remained. "I don't well know,"
wrote he to his friend at Erfurt, "if the plague will allow me to finish the
Epistle to the Galatians. Prompt and brisk, it makes great ravages,
especially among the young. You advise me to flee. Whither shall I flee? I
hope the world will not go to wreck though friar Martin fall.[269] If the
plague makes progress, I will disperse the friars in all directions, but for
myself I am stationed here, and obedience permits me not to flee, till he

who has called me recall me. Not that I do not fear death, (for I am not the
Apostle Paul, I am only his commentator;) but I hope the Lord will deliver
me from fear." Such was the firmness of the doctor of Wittemberg. Will he,
whom the plague could not force to recoil one step, recoil before Rome?
Will he yield to the power of the scaffold?

CHAP. X.
Relations of Luther with the Elector—Luther and the Elector—
Counsels to the Chaplain—Duke George—His Character—
Luther before the Court—Dinner at Court—Emser's Supper.

The same courage which Luther displayed in presence of most formidable
evils, he displayed in presence of the great. The elector was much pleased
with the vicar-general, who had made a good collection of relics in the
Netherlands. Luther gives an account of it to Spalatin. There is something
curious in this affair of relics occurring at the moment when the
Reformation is about to commence. Assuredly the Reformers had little idea
of the point at which they were to arrive. A bishopric seemed to the elector
only a fit recompence to the vicar-general. Luther, to whom Spalatin wrote
on the subject, strongly disapproved of it. "Many things," replied he,
"please your prince, which, however, displease God. I deny not his ability in
the affairs of the world, but in what concerns God and the salvation of
souls, I account him seven-fold blind as well as his counsellor Pfeffinger. I
say not this behind their backs like a slanderer; don't hide it from them, for I
am ready to say it personally to both. Why," continues he, "would you
environ this man with all the whirlwinds and tempests of episcopal cares?"
[270]

The elector did not take Luther's frankness in bad part. "The prince," says
Spalatin in a letter to him, "often speaks of you, and with much respect."
Frederick sent the monk stuff to make a cassock of very fine cloth. "It
would be too fine," said Luther, "were it not the gift of a prince. I am
unworthy that any man should think of me, far less that a prince should, and
so great a prince. The most useful persons to me are those who think the
most ill of me.[271] Return thanks to our prince for his favour; but know that
I desire not to be praised by you, or by any man—all praise of man being
vain, and the praise which cometh from God alone being true."
The excellent chaplain did not wish to confine himself to his court
functions. He desired to render himself useful to the people; but, like many

of all times, he wished to do it without giving offence. He not only wished
not to irritate any one, but, on the contrary, to conciliate general favour.
"Point out," says he to Luther, "some work which I may translate into our
mother tongue, a work which will please generally, and at the same time be
useful." "Agreeable and useful!" replies Luther; "the request is beyond me.
The better things are, the less they please. What is more salutary than Jesus
Christ? And yet to most he is a savour of death. You will tell me that you
wish to be useful to those who love what is good. In that case, just let the
voice of Christ be heard. You will be agreeable and useful, depend upon it;
but it will be to a very small number: for the sheep are rare in this region of
wolves."[272]
Luther, however, recommended to his friend the sermons of Tauler. "I have
never seen," said he, "either in Latin or our own tongue a sounder theology,
or one more agreeable to the gospel. Taste and see how sweet the Lord is;
but be it after you have tasted and seen how bitter every thing is that is
ours."[273]
It was in the course of the year 1517 that Luther entered into
communication with Duke George of Saxony. The House of Saxony had
then two heads. The princes, Ernest and Albert, carried off in their youth
from the castle of Altenbourg by Kunz of Kaufungen, had, by the treaty of
Leipsic, become the founders of the two houses which still bear their name.
The Elector Frederick, the son of Ernest, at the period of which we write,
was the chief of the Ernestine branch, while his brother, Duke George, was
chief of the Albertine branch. Dresden and Leipsic were in the states of the
duke, who had his residence in the former of these cities. His mother,
Sidonia, was daughter of George Podiebrad, King of Bohemia. The long
struggle which Bohemia had maintained with Rome, from the days of John
Huss, had had some influence on the prince of Saxony, and he had often
shown a desire for a reformation. "He has sucked it from his mother," it was
said: "he is by birth an enemy of the clergy."[274] He in various ways
annoyed the bishops, abbots, canons, and monks, in so much that his
cousin, the elector, was more than once obliged to interpose in their behalf.
It might have been supposed that Duke George would be a warm partisan of
the Reformation. Devout Frederick, on the contrary, who had once put on
the spurs of Gregory in the Holy Sepulchre, girt himself with the great

ponderous sword of the conqueror of Jerusalem, and taking an oath to
combat for the Church, like a bold knight, might have been expected to
prove one of the most eager champions of Rome. But when the gospel is in
question, the anticipations of human wisdom are often at fault. The result
was the opposite of what might have been supposed. The duke would have
taken pleasure in humbling the Church, and those connected with it, and
lowering the bishops, whose princely train far surpassed his own; but to
receive into his heart the evangelical doctrine which must have humbled it,
to acknowledge himself a guilty sinner, incapable of being saved, unless
through grace, was quite a different matter. He would willingly have
reformed others, but he had no desire to reform himself. He would, perhaps,
have assisted in obliging the bishop of Mentz to be contented with a single
bishopric, and have no more than fourteen horses in his stable, as he himself
repeatedly expressed it;[275] but when he saw another than himself appear as
reformer,—when he saw a mere monk undertake the work,—and the
Reformation gaining numerous adherents among the humbler classes,—the
haughty grandson of the Hussite king became the most violent adversary of
the reform of which he had at first promised to be a partisan.
In July 1517, Duke George asked Staupitz to send him a learned and
eloquent preacher. Staupitz sent Luther representing him as a man of great
learning and irreproachable character. The prince invited him to preach at
Dresden, in the chapel of the castle on the feast of St. James the Elder.
On the day fixed the duke and his court proceeded to the chapel to hear the
preacher of Wittemberg.
Luther gladly seized the occasion to bear testimony to the truth before such
an assembly. He took for his text the gospel of the day, "Then came to him
the mother of Zebedee's children with her sons." (Matth., xx, 20-25.) He
preached on the wishes and rash prayers of men; then dwelt strongly on the
assurance of salvation, making it rest on this foundation, viz., That those
who hear the word of God with faith are the true disciples, whom Jesus
Christ has elected unto eternal life. He next treated of eternal election,
showing that this doctrine, when exhibited in connection with the work of
Christ, is well fitted to calm the terrors of conscience, and so, instead of
disposing men to flee from God, allures them to seek their refuge in Him. In

conclusion, he brought forward a parable of three virgins, and drew a very
instructive improvement from it.
The word of truth made a deep impression on the hearers. Two in particular
appeared to give earnest attention to the discourse of the monk of
Wittemberg. The one was a respectable looking lady who sat in one of the
court pews, and whose features bespoke deep emotion. It was Madam de la
Sale, grand mistress to the duchess. The other was Jerome Emser, a
licentiate in canon law, and secretary and counsellor to the duke. Emser was
a man of talent and extensive information. A courtier and able politician, his
wish would have been to please both parties at once; to pass at Rome for a
defender of the papacy, and at the same time figure in Germany among the
learned men of the age. But under this flexible spirit a violent temper lay
concealed. Thus Luther and Emser, who were afterwards repeatedly to
break a lance, met for the first time in the chapel of the castle of Dresden.
The dinner-bell having rung for the inmates of the castle, the ducal family
and the persons attached to the court were soon seated at the table. The
conversation naturally turned on the preacher of the morning. "How did you
like the sermon?" said the duke to Madam de la Sale. "Could I again hear
such another discourse," replied she, "I could die in peace." "And I," replied
George, angrily, "would give a good sum not to have heard it. Such
discourses are good only to make people sin with confidence."
The master having thus stated his opinion, the courtiers proceded without
restraint to express their dissatisfaction. Every one was ready with his
remark. Some alleged, that in the parable of the three virgins, Luther had
had three ladies of the court in his eye. On this the talk was endless. They
rallied the three ladies whom they affirmed that Luther had intended.[276]
He is an ignorant blockhead, said one. He is a proud monk, said another.
Each had his comment on the sermon, making the preacher say whatever he
pleased. The truth had fallen into the midst of a court ill prepared to receive
it. Every one tore it at pleasure. But while the word of God was to many an
occasion of stumbling, to the grand mistress it was a stone "elect and
precious." Falling sick about a month after, she confidently embraced the
grace of the Saviour, and died rejoicing.[277]

In regard to the duke, perhaps the testimony which he had heard given to
the truth was not in vain. However much he opposed the Reformation
during his life, it is known that in his last moments he declared, that his
only hope was in the merits of Jesus Christ.
It naturally fell to Emser to do the honours to Luther in his master's name.
He accordingly invited him to supper. Luther refused; but Emser insisted
and constrained him to come. Luther only expected to meet a few friends,
but he soon perceived that a trap had been laid for him.[278] A master of arts
from Leipsic, and several Dominicans, were with the prince's secretary. The
master of arts, who had an overweening opinion of himself, and a deep
hatred of Luther, accosted him with a bland and friendly air; but he soon
broke out, and screamed at full pitch.[279] The battle began. "The
discussion," says Luther, "turned on the absurdities of Aristotle and St.
Thomas."[280] At last Luther challenged the master of arts, with all the
erudition of the Thomists, to define what it was to fulfil the commandments
of God. The master of arts, though embarrassed, put on a good countenance.
"Pay me my fees," says he, stretching out his hand, "da pastum." One
would have said, he was going to give a lesson in form, mistaking the
guests for his pupils. "At this foolish reply," adds the Reformer, "we all
burst a laughing, and the party broke up."
During the conversation, a Dominican had been listening at the door, and
would fain have come in to spit in Luther's face.[281] He refrained, however,
though he afterwards made a boast of it. Emser, who had been delighted at
seeing his guests battling, while he seemed to hold a due medium, hastened
to apologise to Luther for the manner in which the party had gone off.[282]
Luther returned to Wittemberg.

CHAP. XI
Return to Wittemberg—Theses—Nature of Man—Rationalism—
Demand at Erfurt—Eck—Urban Regius—Luther's Modesty.

Luther zealously resumed his labours. He was preparing six or seven young
theologians, who were forthwith to undergo an examination in order to
obtain a licence to teach. And what most delighted him was, that their
promotion was to be to Aristotle's disgrace. "I should like," said he, "to
multiply his enemies as fast as possible."[283] With that view, he at this time
published Theses, which deserve attention.
The leading topic which he discussed was liberty. He had already glanced at
it in the theses of Feldkirchen, but now went deeper into it. Ever since
Christianity began, there has been a struggle, more or less keen, between
the opposite doctrines of the freedom and the slavery of man. Some
schoolmen had taught, like Pelagius and others, that man possessed in
himself the liberty or power of loving God and doing good. Luther denied
this liberty, not to deprive man of it, but, on the contrary, to make him
obtain it. The struggle, then, in this great question, is not, as is usually said,
between liberty and servitude; but between a liberty proceeding from man,
and a liberty proceeding from God. Some who call themselves the
advocates of liberty, say to man, "You have the power of doing good, and
require a greater liberty." Others, who have been called advocates of
slavery, say to him, on the contrary, "You have no true liberty; but God
offers it to you in the gospel." The one party speaks of liberty, but a liberty
which must end in slavery; while the other speaks of slavery, in order to
give liberty. Such was the struggle in the time of St. Paul, in the time of
Augustine, and in the time of Luther. Those who say "Change nothing!" are
champions of slavery. Those who say "Let your fetters fall!" are champions
of liberty.
It would be a mistake, however, to suppose that the whole Reformation can
be summed up in this particular question. It is one of the many doctrines
which the Wittemberg doctor maintained—that is all. It would, above all, be

a strange illusion to hold, that the Reformation was fatalism, or an
opposition to liberty. It was a magnificent emancipation of the human mind.
Bursting the numerous bands with which thought had been bound by the
hierarchy, and reviving the ideas of liberty, right, and examination, it
delivered its own age, and with it ours also, and the remotest posterity. And
let it not be said that the Reformation, while it freed man from human
despotism, enslaved him by proclaiming the sovereignty of grace. No
doubt, it wished to bring back the human will to the Divine, to subordinate
the one, and completely merge it in the other; but what philosopher knows
not that entire conformity to the will of God alone constitutes sovereign,
perfect freedom; and that man will never be truly free, until supreme
righteousness and truth have sole dominion over him?
The following are some of the Ninety-nine Propositions which Luther sent
forth into the Church, in opposition to the Pelagian rationalism of scholastic
theology.
"It is true that man, who is become a corrupt tree, can only will and do what
is evil.
"It is not true that the will, when left to itself, can do good as well as evil;
for it is not free but captive.
"It is not in the power of the will of man to choose or reject whatever is
presented to it.
"Man cannot naturally wish God to be God. His wish is that he himself
were God, and that God were no God.
"The excellent, infallible, and sole preparation for grace, is the eternal
election and predestination of God.[284]
"It is false to say that when man does all he can, he clears away the
obstacles to grace.

"In one word, nature possesses neither a pure reason nor a good will.[285]
"On the part of man, there is nothing which precedes grace, unless it be
impotence and even rebellion.

"There is no moral virtue without pride or sullenness, that is to say, without
sin.
"From the beginning to the end we are not the masters of our actions, but
the slaves of them.
"We do not become righteous by doing what is righteous, but having
become righteous we do what is righteous.
"He who says that a theologian who is not a logician is a heretic and an
adventurer, maintains an adventurous and heretical proposition.
"There is no form of reasoning (syllogism) which accords with the things of
God.[286]
"If the form of the syllogism could be applied to divine things, we should
know the article of the Holy Trinity, and should not believe it.
"In one word, Aristotle is to theology as darkness to light.
"Man is more hostile to the grace of God than he is to the law itself.
"He who is without the grace of God sins incessantly, even though he
neither kills, nor steals, nor commits adultery.
"He sins, for he does not fulfil the law spiritually.
"Not to kill, and not to commit adultery, externally, and in regard to action,
merely, is the righteousness of hypocrites.
"The law of God and the will of man are two adversaries, who, without the
grace of God, can never agree.[287]
"What the law wishes the will never wishes; only from fear it may make a
show of wishing.
"The law is the hangman of the will, and is subject only to the Child who
has been born unto us.[288] (Isaiah, ix, 6.)
"The law makes sin abound; for it irritates and repulses the will.

"But the grace of God makes righteousness abound, through Jesus Christ,
who makes us love the law.
"Every work of the law appears good externally, but internally is sin.
"The will, when it turns toward the law without the grace of God, does so
only for its own interest.
"Cursed are those who do the works of the law.
"Blessed are all those who do the works of the grace of God.
"The law, which is good, and in which we have life, is the law of the love of
God, shed abroad in our hearts by the Holy Spirit, (Rom., v, 5.)
"Grace is not given in order that works may be done more frequently and
more easily, but because without grace there cannot be any work of love.

"To love God is to hate oneself, and know nothing out of God."[289]
In this way Luther attributes to God all the good that man can do. The thing
to be done is not to repair, or, so to speak, to patch up the will of man; an
entirely new will must be given him. God alone could say this; for God
alone could perform it. This is one of the greatest and most important truths
that the will of man can acknowledge.
But Luther, while proclaiming the impotence of man, did not fall into the
opposite extreme. He says in the eighth thesis, "It follows not that the will is
naturally bad, that is to say, that its nature is of the essence of evil, as the
Manichees taught."[290] Originally the nature of man was essentially good;
but it turned aside from goodness, that is, God, and is inclined to evil. Still
its origin remains holy and glorious, and is capable, by the power of God, of
regaining its original. The object of Christianity is to restore it. The gospel,
it is true, exhibits man in a state of degradation and impotence, but as
placed between two glories and two grandeurs,—a past glory, from which
he has been precipitated, and a future glory, to which he is called. This is
the truth, and man knows it to be the truth; and how little soever he thinks
of it, he easily discovers that all which is told him of his actual purity,
power, and glory, is only a lie, designed to cradle his pride and rock it
asleep.

Luther, in his theses, attacked not only the pretended goodness of man's
will, but also the pretended light of his understanding in regard to divine
things. In fact, scholasticism had exalted reason as well as the will. This
theology, in the hands of some of its teachers, was, at bottom, only a species
of rationalism. The propositions which we have enumerated indicate this;
for they look as if directed against the rationalism of our own day. In the
theses, which were the signal of the Reformation, Luther attacked the
Church and the popular superstitions which to the gospel had added
indulgences, purgatory, and numberless abuses. In those which we have just
given he attacked the school and the rationalism which had robbed the
gospel of the doctrine of the sovereignty of God, his revelation and his
grace. The Reformation attacked rationalism before it attacked superstition.
It proclaimed the rights of God before lopping off the excrescences of man.
It was positive before it was negative. This has not been sufficiently
attended to, and yet, without attending to it, it is impossible duly to
appreciate the character of this religious revolution.
Be this as it may, the truths which Luther thus expressed with so much
energy were quite new. To maintain these theses at Wittemberg had been an
easy matter. There his influence was paramount, and it would have been
said that he had chosen a field of battle where he knew no combatant could
appear. In offering battle in another university he gave them a greater
publicity; and it was by publicity that the Reformation was effected. He
turned his eyes towards Erfurt, where the theologians had shown
themselves so exasperated against him.
He, accordingly, sent his theses to John Lange, prior of Erfurt, and wrote
him as follows: "My anxiety for the decision which you will give as to these
theses is great, extreme, too great, perhaps, and keeps me on the rack. I
much suspect that your theologians will consider as paradoxical and
kakodoxical,[291] what I must henceforth regard as most orthodox. Tell me
how it is, and as soon as you possibly can. Have the goodness to make
known to the Faculty of Theology, and to all, that I am ready to come and
publicly maintain these propositions either in the university or the
monastery." It does not seem that Luther's challenge was accepted. The
monks of Erfurt contented themselves with intimating that his theses had
incurred their high displeasure.

But he was desirous to send them to some other part of Germany; and with
that view bethought him of a man who plays an important part in the history
of the Reformation, and with whom the reader must be made acquainted.
A distinguished professor, named John Meyer, was then teaching in the
university of Ingolstadt, in Bavaria. He was a native of Eck, a village in
Swabia, and was commonly called Doctor Eck. He was a friend of Luther,
who respected his talents and acquirements. Full of intellect, he had read
much, and was possessed of a very retentive memory. To erudition he added
eloquence. His voice and gesture bespoke the vivacity of his genius. In
regard to talent, Eck was in the south of Germany what Luther was in the
north. They were the two most distinguished theologians of the period,
though of very different views. Ingolstadt was almost the rival of
Wittemberg. The reputation of these two doctors attracted crowds of eager
students from all quarters to the universities in which they taught; their
personal qualities not less than their abilities endearing them to their pupils.
The character of Doctor Eck has been assailed, but an anecdote in his
history will show that at this period, at least, his heart was not closed
against generous impressions.
Among the students whom his fame had attracted to Ingolstadt was a young
man, named Urban Regius, from the banks of an Alpine lake. He had first
studied at the university of Fribourg in Brisgau. On his arrival at Ingolstadt,
to which he had been attracted by the fame of Doctor Eck, Urban engaged
in his course of philosophy, and gained the favour of his master. Requiring
to provide for his maintenance, he was under the necessity of taking charge
of some young noblemen, and had not only to superintend their studies and
their conduct, but also to purchase on his own account whatever books and
clothes they required. The youths dressed in style, and kept a good table.
Regius becoming embarrassed prayed the parents to recall their sons.
"Never fear," was the answer. His debts increased, his creditors became
pressing, and he was at his wit's end. The emperor was raising an army
against the Turks, and a recruiting party having arrived at Ingolstadt, Urban
in despair enlisted. Clothed in military attire, he appeared in the ranks at the
time when the review took place, previous to their departure. Doctor Eck
coming up at that instant with several of his colleagues, was greatly
surprised to discover his student among the recruits. "Urban Regius!" said
he, fixing his keen eye on him. "Here," replied the recruit. "What, pray, is

the cause of this?" The young man told his story. "I take the matter upon
myself," replied Eck, and setting his halberd aside, bought him off from the
recruiting party. The parents, threatened by the Doctor with the displeasure
of the prince, sent the necessary funds to defray the expences of their
children, and Urban Regius was saved to become at a later period one of the
pillars of the Reformation.
Doctor Eck occurred to Luther as the proper person to publish his theses on
Pelagianism and scholastic rationalism in the south of the empire. He did
not, however, send them to the professor of Ingolstadt directly, but
employed a mutual friend, the excellent Christopher Scheurl, secretary to
the town of Nuremberg, praying him to send them to Eck at Ingolstadt,
which is at no great distance from Nuremberg. "I send you," says he, "my
paradoxical, and even kakistodoxical (κακιστοδοξας) propositions, as many
think them. Communicate them to our dear friend, the very learned and
talented Eck, that I may learn and know what he thinks of them."[292] These
were the terms in which Luther then spoke of Doctor Eck; such was the
friendship then subsisting between them. It was not Luther who broke it off.
Ingolstadt, however, was not the field on which the battle was to be fought.
The doctrines on which these theses turned were perhaps of greater
importance than those which, two months after, set the Church in a blaze;
and yet, notwithstanding of Luther's challenges, they passed unnoticed. At
most, they were read within the circle of the school, and produced no
sensation beyond it. The reason was, because they were only university
propositions and theological doctrines, whereas the subsequent theses
related to an evil which had grown up in the midst of the people, and was
then causing devastation in all parts of Germany. So long as Luther was
contented with reviving forgotten doctrines, all was silence; but when he
attacked abuses which were universally felt, every one turned to listen.
Nevertheless, all that Luther proposed in either case was to produce one of
those theological discussions which were then so common in universities.
To this circle his views were confined. He was humble, and his humility
amounted even to distrust and anxiety. "Considering my ignorance," said
he, "all I deserve is to be hid in a corner, without being known by any one
under the sun."[293] But a mighty hand drew him out of this corner in which
he wished to remain unknown to the world. A circumstance, independent of

Luther's will, threw him into the field of battle, and the war commenced.
This providential circumstance we are now called upon to relate.

BOOK THIRD.

CHAP. I.
THE INDULGENCES AND THESES.

1517, 1518.

Cortège—Tezel—Tezel's Discourse—Confession—Four Graces—Sale
—Public Penance—A Letter of Indulgence—Exceptions—
Feasting and Debauchery.

At this period the people of Germany were all in motion. The Church had
opened a vast market on the earth. From the crowd of customers, and the
noise and pleasantry of the sellers, one would have thought it a fair, only a
fair held by monks. The merchandise which they were showing off, and
selling a bargain, was, as they said, the salvation of souls.
The merchants travelled the country in a fine carriage, accompanied by
three mounted attendants, journeying in grand style, and living at great
expence. One would have said it was some high Mightiness with his suite
and officers, and not a vulgar dealer or mendicant monk. When the cortège
approached a town, a messenger was despatched to the magistrate to say,
"The grace of God and of St. Peter is at your gates." Immediately the whole
place was in motion. Clergy, priests, nuns, the council, school-masters and
their scholars, the incorporations with their colours, men and women, old
and young, went out to meet the merchant with lighted tapers in their hand,
amid the sound of music and the ringing of bells, "insomuch," says a
historian, "that God himself could not have been received with greater
honour." After the formalities were over the whole body proceeded to the
church. The Bull of Grace by the pontiff was carried in front, on a velvet
cushion or cloth of gold. Next came the chief of the indulgence merchants,
carrying a large wooden cross, painted red. The whole procession moved
forward, amid hymns, prayers, and the smoke of incense. The merchant
monk and his attendants were received at the church by the pealing organ
and thrilling music. The cross was placed in front of the altar, and over it
the pope's arms were suspended. All the time it remained there the clergy of

the place, the penitentiaries and sub-commissaries, came each day after
vespers or before the salute, to do obeisance to it with white wands in their
hands.[294] This grand affair produced a lively sensation in the quiet cities of
Germany.
At these sales one personage in particular drew the attention of the
spectators. It was he who carried the great red cross, and played the
principal character. He was clothed in the dress of a Dominican, and had an
arrogant air. His voice was Stentorian, and though in his sixty-third year,
[295]
he seemed still in full vigour. This man, the son of one Diez, a jeweller
of Leipsic, was called John Diezel, or Tezel. He had studied in his native
town, became bachelor in 1487, and two years after entered the Dominican
order. Numerous honours had accumulated on his head. Bachelor in
theology, prior of the dominicans, apostolic commissary, inquisitor,
hæreticæ pravitatis inquisitor, he had discharged the office of commissary
of indulgences, without intermission, from 1502. The skill which he had
acquired as subaltern soon raised him to the office of commissary-in-chief.
He had eighty florins a month, and all his expences paid, together with a
carriage and three horses; but his perquisites (it is easy to comprehend what
they were) far exceeded his salary. In 1507 at Freiberg he gained two
thousand florins in two days. If he discharged the functions, he had also the
manners of a quack. Convicted of adultery and shameful misconduct at
Inspruck, his vices had almost cost him his life. The Emperor Maximilian
had ordered him to be put into a sack and thrown into the river; but the
Elector Frederick happening to arrive, obtained his pardon.[296] The lesson
which he thus received had not given him more modesty; for he had two of
his children along with him.

Miltitz, the pope's legate, mentions the fact in one of his letters.[297] It
would have been difficult to find in all the cloisters of Germany a man
better fitted for the traffic with which he was entrusted. To the theology of a
monk, to the zeal and temper of an inquisitor, he united the greatest
effrontery; but the thing which, above all, made the task easy to him, was
his skill in inventing extraordinary stories to captivate the minds of the
people. To him all means were good that filled his coffers. Raising his
voice, and giving free vent to his vulgar eloquence, he offered his

indulgences to every comer, and knew better than any dealer at a fair how to
set off his merchandise.[298]
After the cross was erected, and the arms of the pope suspended over it,
Tezel mounted the pulpit, and with a tone of assurance began to extol the
value of the indulgences in presence of the crowd who had been attracted to
the church by the ceremony. The people listened and stared on hearing the
wondrous virtues of which he told them. A Jesuit historian, speaking of the
Dominicans with whom Tezel was associated, says, "Some of these
preachers failed not, as usual, to outrage the subject which they treated, and
so to exaggerate the value of the indulgences as to make people suppose
they were certain of their own salvation, and of the deliverance of souls
from purgatory as soon as the money was paid."[299] If such were the
scholars, we may judge what the master was. Let us listen to one of his
harangues after setting up the cross.
"Indulgences are the most precious and most sublime gift of God.
"This cross (pointing to the red cross) has the very same efficacy as the
actual cross of Jesus Christ.[300]
"Come, and I will give you letters under seal, by which even the sins which
you may have a desire to commit in future will all be forgiven.
"I would not exchange my privileges for that of St. Peter in heaven; for I
have saved more souls by my indulgences than the apostle by his sermons.
"There is no sin too great for an indulgence to remit; and even should any
one (the thing, no doubt, is impossible) have done violence to the Holy
Virgin Mary, mother of God, let him pay, let him only pay well, and it will
be forgiven him.[301]
"Think, then, that for each mortal sin you must, after confession and
contrition, do penance for seven years, either in this life or in purgatory.
Now, how many mortal sins are committed in one day, in one week? How
many in a month, a year, a whole life?[302] Ah! these sins are almost
innumerable, and innumerable sufferings must be endured for them in
purgatory. And now, by means of these letters of indulgence, you can at
once, for life, in all cases except four, which are reserved to the Apostolic

See, and afterwards at the hour of death, obtain a full remission of all your
pains and all your sins."
Tezel even made financial calculations on the subject.
"Do you not know," said he, "that when a man proposes to go to Rome, or
to any other country where travellers are exposed to danger, he sends his
money to the bank, and for every five hundred florins that he means to
have, gives five, or six at most, in order that, by means of letters from the
bank, he may receive the money safely at Rome or elsewhere.... And, you,
for the fourth of a florin, will not receive these letters of indulgence, by
means of which you might introduce into the land of paradise, not worthless
money, but a divine and immortal soul, without exposing it to the smallest
risk."[303]
Tezel next passed to another subject.
"But more than this," said he; "indulgences not only save the living: they
also save the dead.
"For this repentance is not even necessary.
"Priest! noble! merchant! wife! young girls! young men! hear your departed
parents and your other friends, crying to you from the bottom of the abyss,
'We are enduring horrible torments! A little alms would deliver us; you can
give it, and yet will not!'"
These words, uttered by the formidable voice of the charlatan monk, made
his hearers shudder.
"At the very instant," continued Tezel, "when the piece of money chinks on
the bottom of the strong box, the soul comes out of purgatory, and, set free,
flies upward into heaven."[304]
"O imbecile and brutish people, who perceive not the grace which is so
richly offered to you!... Now heaven is everywhere open!... Do you refuse
at this hour to enter? When, then, will you enter? Now you can ransom so
many souls! Hard-hearted and thoughtless man, with twelve pence you can
deliver your father out of purgatory, and you are ungrateful enough not to
save him! I will be justified on the day of judgment, but you, you will be

punished so much the more severely, for having neglected so great
salvation. I declare to you, that though you had only a single coat, you
would be bound to take it off and sell it, in order to obtain this grace.... The
Lord our God is no longer God. He has committed all power to the pope."
Then, trying to avail himself of other weapons still, he added, "Know you
why our most holy Lord is distributing so great a grace? His object is to
raise up the ruined church of St. Peter and St. Paul, so that it may not have
its equal in the universe. That church contains the bodies of the holy
apostles St. Peter and St. Paul, and of a multitude of martyrs. Owing to the
actual state of the building, these holy bodies are now, alas! beaten, flooded,
soiled, dishonoured, and reduced to rottenness, by the rain and the hail....
Ah! are these sacred ashes to remain longer in mud and disgrace?"[305]
This picture failed not to make an impression on many who felt a burning
desire to go to the help of poor Leo X, who had not wherewith to shelter the
bodies of St. Peter and St. Paul from the rain.
Then the orator opened on the arguers and traitors who opposed his work. "I
declare them excommunicated," exclaimed he.
Afterwards addressing docile souls, and making a profane use of Scripture,
"Happy are the eyes which see what you see; for I tell you, that many
prophets and many kings have desired to see the things which you see, and
have not seen them; and to hear the things which you hear, and have not
heard them." And at last, showing the strong box in which the money was
received, he usually concluded his pathetic discourse with this triple appeal
to the people, "Bring! bring! bring!" "These words," says Luther, "he
uttered with such horrible bellowing, that one might have thought it was a
mad bull making a rush at people, and striking them with his horns."[306]
When his discourse was ended, he came down from the pulpit, ran towards
the chest, and in presence of the people chucked a piece of money into it,
taking care to make it give a very loud tinkle.[307]
Such were the discourses which astonished Germany, heard in the days
when God was preparing Luther.
At the termination of the discourse, the indulgence was understood "to have
established its throne in the place in due form." Confessionals were set up

adorned with the pope's arms. The sub-commissaries, and the confessors
whom they selected, were considered to represent the apostolical
penitentiaries of Rome at the jubilee, and on each of these confessionals
were posted, in large characters, their names, surnames, and designations.
Then a crowd pressed forward to the confessor, each coming with a piece of
money in his hand. Men, women, and children, the poor, even those who
lived on alms, all found means of procuring money. The penitentiaries, after
having anew explained the greatness of the indulgence to each individual,
asked, "How much money can you afford to part with, in order to obtain so
complete a forgiveness?" "This question," says the Instruction of the
Archbishop of Mentz to the commissaries; "this question ought to be put at
this moment, that the penitents may thereby be the better disposed to
contribute."[308]
Four valuable graces were promised to those who aided in building the
basilisk of St. Peter. "The first grace which we announce to you," said the
commissaries, according to their Letter of Instruction, "is the complete
pardon of all sins."[309] After this came three other graces,—first, the right
of choosing a confessor, who, whenever the hour of death should seem to be
at hand, would give absolution from all sins, and even from the greatest
crimes reserved for the Apostolic See;[310] second, a participation in all the
blessings, works, and merits of the Catholic Church, in prayers, fastings,
alms, and pilgrimages; and, third, the redemption of the souls which are in
purgatory.[311]
To obtain the first of these graces, it was necessary to have contrition of
heart and confession of the lips, or, at least, the intention of confessing. But
for the three others, they could be obtained without contrition or confession,
merely by paying. Previous to this, Christopher Columbus, extolling the
value of gold, had said quite gravely, "He who possesses it may introduce
souls into paradise." Such was the doctrine taught by the Archbishop-
Cardinal of Mentz, and the commissaries of the pope. "As to those," said
they, "who would deliver souls from purgatory, and procure for them
pardon of all their offences, let them throw money into the chest. It is not
necessary for them to have contrition of the heart or confession of the lips.
[312]
Let them only hasten with their money; for they will thus do a work

most useful to the souls of the departed, and to the erection of the Church of
St. Peter." Greater blessings could not be offered at a cheaper rate.
When the confession was over, and it did not take long, the faithful
hastened towards the seller. One only had charge of the sale, and kept his
counter near the cross. He carefully eyed those who approached him,
examining their air, bearing, and dress, and asked a sum proportioned to the
appearance which each presented. Kings, queens, princes, archbishops,
bishops, were, according to the regulation, to pay twenty-five ducats for an
ordinary indulgence. Abbots, counts, and barons, paid ten. Others of the
nobility, rectors, and all who had an income of five hundred florins, paid
six. Those who had two hundred florins a-year paid one; others, only a half.
Moreover, when the tax could not be followed to the letter, full powers were
given to the commissary-apostolic, who was to arrange everything in
accordance with the dictates of "sound reason," and the generosity of the
donor.[313] For particular sins, Tezel had a particular tax. Polygamy paid six
ducats; theft in a church, and perjury, nine ducats; murder, eight ducats;
magic, two ducats. Samson, who carried on the same traffic in Switzerland
as Tezel in Germany, had a somewhat different tax. For infanticide he
charged four livres tournois; for parricide or fratricide, a ducat.[314]
The apostolic commissaries sometimes encountered difficulties in carrying
on their trade. It often happened, both in towns and villages, that husbands
were opposed to the whole concern, and prohibited their wives from giving
any thing to these merchants. What, then, were devout spouses to do?
"Have you not your dowry, or some other property, at your own disposal?"
asked the dealers. "In that case we may dispose of part for so sacred a
purpose, even against the will of your husbands."[315]
The hand which had given the indulgence could not receive the money. This
was prohibited under the severest penalties; for there might be good reason
to suspect that that hand would not have been faithful. The penitent himself
behoved to deposit the price of his pardon in the chest.[316] Angry looks
were given to those who were audacious enough not to open their purses.
[317]

If among those who pressed forward to the confessionals, there happened to
be any one whose crime was publicly known, though of a kind which the

civil law could not reach, he behoved, first of all, to do public penance. For
this purpose they first led him to a chapel or sacristy, where they stripped
him of his clothes, and took off his shoes, leaving him nothing but his shirt.
His arms were crossed upon his breast, a light placed in one hand, and a rod
in the other. Then the penitent walked at the head of the procession which
proceeded to the red cross. He remained on his knees till the chant and the
collect was finished. Then the commissary gave out the Psalm, Miserere
mei. The confessors immediately approached the penitent, and led him
across the church towards the commissary, who, taking the rod from his
hand, and gently striking him thrice on the back with it,[318] said to him,
"The Lord have pity on thee, and forgive thy sin." He then gave out the
Kyrie Eleison. The penitent was led back to the front of the cross, and the
confessor gave him the apostolic absolution, and declared him restored to
the company of the faithful. Sad mummery, concluded with a holy
expression, which, at such a moment, was mere profanation!
It is worth while to know the contents of one of those diplomas of
absolution which led to the Reformation of the Church. The following is a
specimen:—"May our Lord Jesus Christ have pity on thee, N. N., and
absolve thee by the merit of his most holy passion. And I, in virtue of the
apostolic power entrusted to me, absolve thee from all ecclesiastical
censures, judgments, and penalties, which thou mayest have deserved;
moreover, from all the excesses, sins, and crimes, which thou mayest have
committed, how great and enormous soever they may have been, and for
whatever cause, even should they have been reserved to our most holy
Father the pope, and to the apostolic see. I efface all the marks of disability,
and all the notes of infamy which thou mayest have incurred on this
occasion. I remit the pains which thou shouldest have to endure in
purgatory. I render thee anew a partaker in the sacraments of the church. I
again incorporate thee into the communion of saints, and re-establish thee
in the innocence and purity in which thou wert at the hour of thy baptism;
so that, at the moment of thy death, the gate of entrance to the place of
pains and torments will be shut to thee, and, on the contrary, the gate which
leads to the heavenly paradise, will be opened to thee. If thou art not to die
soon, this grace will remain unimpaired till thy last hour arrive. In the name
of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
"Friar John Tezel, commissary, has signed it with his own hand."

How dexterously presumptuous and lying words are here intermingled with
holy Christian expressions!
All the faithful required to come and confess at the place where the red
cross was erected. The only exceptions were the sick, the aged, and
pregnant women. If, however, there happened to be in the neighbourhood
some noble in his castle, or some great personage in his palace, there was
an exemption for him;[319] for he might not care to mingle with the crowd,
and his money was worth the going for.
If there happened to be a convent whose heads were opposed to the traffic
of Tezel, and prohibited their monks from visiting the places where the
indulgence had erected its throne, means were still found to remedy the evil
by sending them confessors, who were commissioned to absolve them
against the will of their order and the will of their heads.[320] There was not
a vein in the mine, however small, which they did not find means of
working.
At length they arrived at the object and end of the whole affair, the
summing up of the cash. For greater security, the strong box had three keys
—one in the hands of Tezel, the second in those of the treasurer, appointed
by the firm of Fugger of Augsburg, who had been appointed agents in this
vast enterprise, while the third was entrusted to the civil authority. When the
moment arrived, the counters were opened in the presence of a notary-
public, and the whole was duly counted and recorded. Must not Christ arise
and drive these profane sellers from the temple?
The mission being closed, the dealers relaxed from their labours. It is true
the instructions of the commissary-general forbade them to frequent taverns
and suspicious places;[321] but they cared little for this prohibition. Sin must
have appeared a very trivial matter to people who had such an easy trade in
it. "The mendicants," says a Roman Catholic historian, "led a bad life,
expending in taverns, gaming-houses, and places of infamy, what the people
retrenched from their necessities."[322] It is even averred, that in taverns
they sometimes played at dice for the salvation of souls.[323]

CHAP. II.
The Franciscan Confessor—The Soul in the Burying-Ground—The
Shoemaker of Hagenau—The Students—Myconius—
Conversation with Tezel—Stratagem by a Gentleman—
Conversation of the Wise and of the People—A Miner of
Schneeberg.

But let us look at some of the scenes which then took place in Germany
during this sale of the pardon of sins; for we here meet with anecdotes
which, by themselves alone, give a picture of the times. As we proceed with
our narrative we deem it best to let men speak for themselves.
At Magdebourg Tezel refused to absolve a wealthy female, unless she
would pay him one hundred florins in advance. She consulted her ordinary
confessor, who was a Franciscan. "God," replied he, "gives the remission of
sins freely, and does not sell it." However, he begged her not to tell Tezel
what advice he had given her. But the merchant having somehow or other
heard of words so injurious to his interest, exclaimed, "Such an adviser
deserves to be banished or burned."[324]
Tezel rarely found men enlightened enough, and still more rarely men bold
enough, to resist him. For the most part he had a good market from the
superstitious crowd. He had erected the red cross of indulgences at
Zwickau, and the good parishioners had hastened to make the money which
was to deliver them chink on the bottom of the chest. He was going away
with a well-filled purse. The evening before his departure the chaplains and
their attendants applied to him for a farewell entertainment. The request was
reasonable; but how was it possible to comply with it? the money was
already counted and sealed up. The next morning he orders the large bell to
be rung. Crowds hastened to the church, every one thinking that something
extraordinary must have happened, as the station was closed. "I had
resolved," said he, "to depart this morning, but last night was awoke by
groans. On listening I found they came from the burying-ground. Alas! it
was a poor soul calling and entreating me instantly to deliver it from the

torment by which it was consumed. I have, therefore, remained one day
more, in order to stir up the compassion of Christian hearts in favour of this
unhappy soul. I am willing myself to be the first to give, and whosoever
does not follow my example will deserve damnation." What heart would
not have responded to such an appeal? Who knew, moreover, whose soul it
was that was crying in the burying-ground? The people contributed freely,
and Tezel gave the chaplains and their attendants a jovial entertainment,
defraying the expence by the offerings which he had received in favour of
the soul of Zwickau.[325]
The indulgence merchants had fixed their station at Hagenau in 1517. A
shoemaker's wife, taking advantage of the authority of the instruction of the
commissary-general, had, contrary to the will of her husband, procured a
letter of indulgence, and paid a gold florin for it. She died shortly after. The
husband not having caused mass to be said for the repose of her soul, the
curate charged him with contempt of religion, and the judge of Hagenau
summoned him to appear. The shoemaker put his wife's indulgence in his
pocket and repaired to the court. "Is your wife dead?" asked the judge.
"Yes," replied he. "What have you done for her?" "I have buried her body,
and commended her soul to God." "But have you caused a mass to be said
for the salvation of her soul?" I have not; it was unnecessary. She entered
heaven the moment of her death." "How do you know that?" "Here is the
proof." So saying, he takes the indulgence out of his pocket, and the judge,
in presence of the curate, reads in as many words that the woman who
received it would not enter purgatory, but go straight to heaven. "If the
reverend curate maintains that a mass is still necessary, my wife has been
cheated by our most holy father the pope. If she was not cheated, then it is
the reverend curate who is cheating me." This was unanswerable, and the
accused was acquitted. Thus the good sense of the people did justice to
these pious frauds.[326]
One day when Tezel was preaching at Leipsic, and introducing into his
sermons some of those stories of which we have given a sample, two
students feeling quite indignant, rose up and left the church, exclaiming, "It
is impossible for us to listen longer to the drolleries and puerilities of this
monk."[327] One of them, it is said, was young Camerarius, afterwards the
intimate friend of Melancthon, and his biographer.

But of all the young men of the period, he on whom Tezel made the
strongest impression unquestionably was Myconius, afterwards celebrated
as a Reformer, and historian of the Reformation. He had received a
Christian education. His father, a pious man of Franconia, was wont to say
to him, "My son, pray frequently, for all things are freely given to us by
God alone. The blood of Christ," added he, "is the only ransom for the sins
of the whole world. O, my son! were there only three men that could be
saved by the blood of Christ, believe, and believe with confidence, that thou
art one of the three. It is an insult to the blood of the Saviour to doubt if it
saves."[328] Then cautioning his son against the traffic which was beginning
to be established in Germany—"The Roman indulgences," said he to him,
"are nets which fish for money, and deceive the simple. The forgiveness of
sins and of eternal life are not things for sale."
At the age of thirteen Frederick Myconius was sent to the school of
Annaberg to finish his studies. Shortly after, Tezel arrived in the town, and
remained in it for two years. The people flocked in crowds to his sermon.
"There is no other method," exclaimed Tezel in his voice of thunder; "there
is no other method of obtaining eternal life than the satisfaction of works;
but this satisfaction is impossible for man, and, therefore, all he can do is to
purchase it from the Roman pontiff."[329] When Tezel was about to quit
Annaberg, his addresses became more urgent. "Soon," exclaimed he, in a
threatening tone, "soon will I take down the cross, shut the gate of heaven,
[330]
and quench the lustre of that sun of grace which is now shining in your
eyes." Then resuming the gentle accent of persuasion, "Now," said he, "is
the accepted time, now is the day of salvation." Then raising his voice
anew, the pontifical Stentor,[331] who was addressing the inhabitants of a
rich mineral district, loudly exclaimed, "Bring your money, burghers of
Annaberg, contribute largely in behalf of the indulgences, and your mines
and your mountains will be filled with pure silver." In conclusion, he
declared that at Pentecost he would distribute his letters to the poor
gratuitously, and for the love of God.
Young Myconius being among the number of Tezel's hearers, felt an eager
desire to avail himself of this offer. Going up to the commissaries, he said to
them in Latin, "I am a poor sinner, and need a gratuitous pardon!" The
merchants replied, "Those alone can have part in the merits of Jesus Christ

who lend a helping hand to the Church, in other words, who give money."
"What is the meaning then," said Myconius, "of those promises of free gift,
which are posted up on the walls and doors of the churches?" "Give at least
a shilling," said Tezel's people who had gone to their master, and interceded
with him for the young man, but without effect. "I am not able." "Only
Sixpence." "I have not even so much." The dominicans then began to fear
that he wished to entrap them. "Listen," said they to him, "we will make
you a present of the sixpence." The young man, raising his voice in
indignation, answered, "I want no indulgences that are purchased. If I
wished to purchase, I would only have to sell one of my school-books. I
want a free pardon, given purely for the love of God, and you will have to
give account to God for having allowed the salvation of a soul to be lost for
a sixpence." "Who sent you to entrap us?" exclaimed the merchants.
"Nothing but the desire of receiving the grace of God could have tempted
me to appear before such mighty lords," replied the young man, and
withdrew.
"I was much grieved," said he, "at being sent thus pitilessly away; but I still
felt within myself a Comforter, who told me that there was a God in heaven,
who, without money and without price, pardons repenting sinners for the
love of his Son Jesus Christ. As I was taking leave of those people, I melted
into tears, and, sobbing, prayed, 'O God! since these men have refused me
the forgiveness of my sins, because I had no money to pay for it, do thou, O
Lord, have pity on me, and forgive my sins in pure mercy!' I went to my
lodging, and taking up my crucifix, which was lying on my desk, laid it on
my chair, and prostrated myself before it. I cannot describe what I felt. I
asked God to be my Father, and to do with me whatsoever he pleased. I felt
my nature changed, converted, and transformed. What formerly delighted
me now excited my disgust. To live with God, and please him, was my
strongest, my only desire."[332] Thus Tezel himself contributed to the
Reformation. By crying abuses he paved the way for a purer doctrine, and
the indignation which he excited in a generous youth was one day to break
forth mightily. We may judge of this by the following anecdote.
A Saxon gentleman, who had heard Tezel at Leipsic, felt his indignation
aroused by his falsehoods, and going up to the monk, asked him whether he
had power to pardon the sins which were intended to be committed?
"Assuredly," replied Tezel. "I have full power from the pope to do so."

"Well then," resumed the knight, "there is one of my enemies on whom I
should like to take a slight revenge without doing him any deadly injury,
and I will give you ten crowns in return for a letter of indulgence, which
will completely acquit me." Tezel made some objections; at last, however,
they came to an agreement for thirty crowns. Soon after the monk quits
Leipsic. The gentleman accompanied by his servants, waited for him in a
wood between Jüterboch and Treblin, and rushing out upon him, and giving
him some blows with a stick, carried off the rich indulgence chest, which
the inquisitor had with him. Tezel cries out robbery, and carries his
complaint before the judges, but the gentleman shows the letter with Tezel's
own signature, exempting him beforehand from all punishment. Duke
George, who had at first been very angry, on seeing the document ordered
the accused to be acquitted.[333]
This traffic everywhere occupied men's thoughts, and was everywhere
talked of. It was the subject of conversation in castles, in academies, and at
the firesides of the citizens, as well as in inns and taverns, and all places of
public resort.[334] Opinions were divided, some believing, and others
expressing indignation. The sensible portion of the community rejected the
whole system of indulgences with disgust. It was so contrary to Scripture
and to morality, that all who had any knowledge of the Bible, or any natural
light, condemned it in their hearts, and only waited for a signal to declare
their opposition to it. On the other hand, scoffers found ample materials for
raillery. The people, who had for many years been irritated by the
misconduct of the priests, and whom nothing but the fear of punishment
induced to keep up a certain show of respect, gave free vent to their hatred.
Complaints and sarcasms were everywhere heard on the avarice of the
clergy.
Nor did they stop here. They even attacked the power of the keys, and the
authority of the sovereign pontiff. "Why," said they, "does not the pope
deliver all souls from purgatory at once from a holy charity, and in
consideration of the sad misery of these souls, seeing he delivers so great a
number for the love of perishable money, and of the cathedral of St. Peter?
Why do feasts and anniversaries of the dead continue to be celebrated? Why
does not the pope restore or allow others to resume the benefices and
prebends which have been founded in favour of the dead, since it is now
useless, and even reprehensible, to pray for those whom indulgences have

for ever delivered?" "What kind of new holiness in God and the pope is this
—from a love of money to enable a wicked profane man to deliver a pious
soul beloved of the Lord from purgatory, rather than deliver it themselves
gratuitously from love, and because of its great wretchedness."[335]
The gross and immoral conduct of the traffickers in indulgences was much
talked of. "In paying carriers for transporting them with their goods, the
innkeepers with whom they lodge, or any one who does any piece of work
for them, they give a letter of indulgence for four, five, or any number of
souls, as the case may be." In this way, the diplomas of salvation were
current in inns and in markets like bank bills or paper money. "Bring!
Bring!" said the common people, "is the head, the belly, the tail, and the
whole body of the sermon."[336]
A miner of Schneeberg, meeting a seller of indulgences, asked, "Must we
indeed give credit to what you have often said of the power of the
indulgence, and of the authority of the pope, and believe it possible, by
throwing a penny into the box, to ransom a soul from purgatory?" The
merchant assured him it was true. "Ah!" resumed the miner, "what an
unmerciful man the pope must be, for a paltry penny to leave a miserable
soul so long crying in the flames. If he has no ready money, let him borrow
some hundred thousand crowns, and deliver all these people at once. We
poor folks will willingly pay him both the interest and the capital." Thus
Germany was weary of the shameful traffic which was going on in the
midst of her, and could no longer tolerate the impostures of these master-
swindlers of Rome, as Luther calls them.[337] Yet no bishop, no theologian,
durst oppose their quackery and their fraud. The minds of men were in
suspense, and asked whether God would not raise up some mighty man for
the work which required to be done? This man nowhere appeared.

CHAP. III.
Leo X—Necessities of the Pope—Albert—His Character—Favours
the Indulgences—The Franciscans and the Dominicans.

The pope then on the pontifical throne was not a Borgia but Leo X, of the
illustrious house of Medici. He was able, frank, kind, and gentle. His
address was affable, his liberality without bounds, and his morals, superior
to those of his court. Cardinal Pallavicini, however, acknowledges that they
were not altogether irreproachable. To this amiable character he joined
several of the qualities of a great prince. He showed himself friendly to
science and art. The first Italian comedies were represented in his presence;
and there are few of his day which he did not see performed. He was
passionately fond of music. Musical instruments resounded every day in his
palace; and he was often heard humming the airs which had been performed
before him. He was fond of magnificence, and spared nothing when fêtes,
games, theatricals, presents or rewards, were in question. No court
surpassed that of the sovereign pontiff in splendour and gayety.
Accordingly, when it was learned that Julian Medicis was proposing to
reside at Rome with his young bride, "God be praised," exclaimed Cardinal
Bibliena, the most influential counsellor of Leo X, "the only thing we
wanted was a female court."[338] A female court was necessary to complete
the court of the pope. To religious sentiment Leo was completely a stranger.
"His manners were so pleasing," says Sarpi, "that he would have been
perfect if he had had some acquaintance with religious matters, and been
somewhat more inclined to piety, which seldom, if ever, gave him any
concern."[339]
Leo was greatly in want of money. He had to provide for his immense
expenditure, supply all his liberalities, fill the purse of gold which he daily
threw to the people, keep up the licentious exhibitions of the Vatican, satisfy
the numerous demands of his relations and voluptuous courtiers, give a
dowry to his sister, who had been married to Prince Cibo, a natural son of
Pope Innocent VIII, and meet the expenditure occasioned by his taste for
literature, arts, and pleasure. His cousin, Cardinal Pucci, as skilful in the art

of hoarding as Leo in that of lavishing, advised him to have recourse to
indulgences. Accordingly, the pope published a bull, announcing a general
indulgence, the proceeds of which were, he said, to be employed in the
erection of the church of St. Peter, that monument of sacerdotal
magnificence. In a letter, dated at Rome, under the seal of the Fisherman, in
November, 1517, Leo applies to his commissary of indulgences for one
hundred and forty-seven gold ducats, to pay a manuscript of the thirty-third
book of Livy. Of all the uses to which he put the money of the Germans,
this was, doubtless, the best. Still it was strange to deliver souls from
purgatory in order to purchase a manuscript history of the wars of the
Roman people.
There was at this time in Germany a young prince who might be regarded
as in many respects a living image of Leo X. This was Albert, a younger
brother of the elector, Joachim of Brandenburg. At twenty-four years of age
he had been appointed Archbishop and Elector of Mentz and of Magdeburg,
and two years after made a cardinal. Albert had neither the virtues nor the
vices which are often met with in the high dignitaries of the church. Young,
fickle, worldly, but not without some generous feelings, he was perfectly
aware of many of the abuses of Catholicism, and cared little for the
fanatical monks by whom he was surrounded. His equity disposed him, in
part at least, to acknowledge the justice of what the friends of the gospel
demanded. In his secret heart he was not much opposed to Luther. Capito,
one of the most distinguished Reformers, was long his chaplain, counsellor,
and confidant. Albert regularly attended his sermons. "He did not despise
the gospel," says Capito; "on the contrary, he highly esteemed it, and for a
long time would not allow the monks to attack Luther." But he would have
liked Luther not to compromise him, and to take good care while exposing
the doctrinal errors and vices of the inferior clergy, not to disclose the faults
of bishops and princes. In particular, he was most anxious that his name
should not be mixed up with the affair. His confidant, Capito, who had
imposed upon himself, as men often do in situations similar to his, thus
addressed Luther: "Look to the example of Jesus Christ and the apostles;
they rebuked the Pharisees and the incestuous man of Corinth, but they
never expressly named them. You know not what is passing in the hearts of
the bishops; and, perhaps, there is more good in them than you suppose."
But the fickle and profane spirit of Albert, still more than the susceptibilities

and fears of his self-love, estranged him from the Reformation. Affable,
clever, handsome, extravagant, and wasteful, delighting in the pleasures of
the table, in rich equipages, splendid buildings, licentious pleasures, and
literary society, this young Archbishop-Elector was in Germany what Leo X
was at Rome. His court was one of the most magnificent in the empire, and
he was prepared to sacrifice to pleasure and grandeur all the sentiments of
truth which, perhaps, might have insinuated themselves into his heart.
Nevertheless, his better convictions continued even to the last to exercise
some degree of influence over him, and he repeatedly gave indications of
moderation and equity.
Albert, like Leo, was in want of money. The Fuggers, rich merchants in
Augsburg, had made him advances which he behoved to repay, and hence,
though he had managed to secure two archbishoprics and a bishopric, he
was unable to pay Rome for his Pallium. This ornament of white wool,
bespangled with black crosses and blessed by the pope, who sent it to the
archbishops as a token of their dignity, cost them twenty-six, or, some say,
thirty thousand florins. In order to obtain money, Albert, naturally enough,
bethought himself of having recourse to the same methods as the pope. He
accordingly applied to him for the general farming of the indulgences, or, as
they expressed it at Rome, "of the sins of the Germans."
The popes sometimes kept the indulgences in their own hands, and at other
times farmed them out, in the same way as some governments still do
gaming-houses. Albert made an offer to Leo to share the profit with him,
and Leo, in agreeing to the bargain, stipulated for immediate payment of the
Pallium. Albert had been counting on paying it out of the indulgences, and
therefore applied anew to the Fuggers, who, thinking the security good,
agreed, on certain conditions, to make the advance required, and were
appointed bankers to the concern. They were the bankers of the princes of
this period, and were afterwards made counts in return for the services
which they had rendered.
The pope and the archbishop having thus, by anticipation, shared in the
spoils of the good souls of Germany, the next matter was to select the
persons who were to carry the affair into effect. It was first offered to the
Franciscan order, whose guardian was conjoined with Albert. But, as it was
already in bad odour with honest people, these monks were not anxious to

have anything to do with it. The Augustins, who were more enlightened
than the other religious orders, would have been less inclined to undertake
it. The Franciscans, however, being afraid of offending the pope, who had
just sent their chief, De, Forli, a cardinal's hat, a hat which had cost this
poor mendicant order thirty thousand florins, the guardian deemed it more
prudent not to refuse openly, but, at the same time, threw all sorts of
difficulties in Albert's way. They could never understand each other, and,
accordingly, when the proposal was made to the Elector to undertake the
whole charge, he eagerly closed with it. The Dominicans, on the other hand,
longed for a share in the general collection which was about to commence.
Tezel, who was already famous in the trade, hastened to Mentz to offer his
services to the Elector. In consideration of the talent which he had displayed
in publishing the indulgences for the knights of the Teutonic order of
Prussia and Livonia, his proposals were accepted, and in this way, the
whole traffic passed into the hands of his order.[340]

CHAP. IV.
Tezel approaches—Luther at the Confessional—Tezel's Rage—Luther
without a Plan—Jealousy among the Orders—Luther's Discourse
—The Elector's Dream.

In so far as we know, Luther heard of Tezel, for the first time, at Grimma, in
1516, when he was on the eve of beginning his visit to the churches. While
Staupitz was still with Luther, it was told him that an indulgence merchant
was making a great noise at Vürzen. Even some of his extravagant sayings
were quoted. Luther's indignation was roused, and he exclaimed, "Please
God, I'll make a hole in his drum."[341]
Tezel, on his return from Berlin, where he had met with a most friendly
reception from the elector Joachim, brother of the farmer-general, took up
his head-quarters at Juterboch. Staupitz, availing himself of his influence
with the elector Frederick, had often represented to him the abuses of the
indulgences, and the scandalous proceedings of the mendicants,[342] and the
princes of Saxony feeling indignant at the shameful traffic, had forbidden
the merchant to enter their territory. He was, accordingly, obliged to remain
on those of the Archbishop of Magdeburg, but at the same time came as
near to Saxony as he could, Juterboch being only four miles from
Wittemberg. "This great thresher of purses," says Luther, "set about
threshing[343] the country in grand style, so that the money began to leap,
tumble, and tinkle, in his chest." The people of Wittemberg went in crowds
to the indulgence market of Juterboch.
At this period Luther had the highest respect for the church and for the
pope. "I was then," said he, "a monk, a most bigoted Papist, so intoxicated
and imbued with the doctrines of Rome, that if I had been able I would
willingly have lent a hand in killing any one audacious enough to refuse
obedience to the pope in the minutest matter.[344] I was a real Saul, as many
still are." But, at the same time, his heart was ready to declare in favour of
all that he believed to be truth, and against all that he believed to be error. "I

was a young doctor just of the irons, ardent and rejoicing in the word of the
Lord."[345]
One day when Luther had taken his seat in the confessional at Wittemberg,
several citizens of the town came before him, and one after another
confessed the grossest immoralities. Adultery, libertinism, usury, ill-gotten
wealth, were the crimes with which the minister of the word was
entertained by persons of whose souls he was one day to give account. He
rebukes, corrects, and instructs them; but what is his astonishment when
these people tell him that they don't choose to abandon their sins?... Quite
amazed, the pious monk declares, that since they refuse to promise
amendment, he cannot give them absolution. The wretched creatures then
appealed to their letters of indulgence, exhibiting them and extolling their
virtues. But Luther replied, that he cared little for the paper which they had
shown him, and added, unless you repent, you will all perish. They made an
outcry, and expostulated, but the doctor was immovable; "they must cease
to do evil, and learn to do well, ... otherwise no absolution." "Beware,"
added he, "of lending an ear to the harangues of the venders of indulgences;
you might be better employed than in buying those licences which are sold
you for the most paltry sum."[346]
Much alarmed, these inhabitants of Wittemberg hastened back to Tezel to
tell him how his letters were disregarded by an Augustin monk. Tezel, on
hearing this, became red with fury, crying, and stamping, and cursing in the
pulpit.[347] To strike a deeper terror into the people, he repeatedly kindled a
fire in the market-place, declaring he had received orders from the pope to
burn all heretics who should dare to oppose his holy indulgences.
Such is the circumstance, which was not the cause, but the first occasion of
the Reformation. A pastor seeing the sheep of his flock in a path which must
lead them to destruction, makes an effort to deliver them. As yet, he has no
thought of reforming the church and the world. He has seen Rome and its
corruptions, but he declares not against Rome. He perceives some of the
abuses under which Christianity is groaning, but has no thought of
correcting these abuses. He has no desire to become Reformer.[348] He has
no plan for the reformation of the Church any more than he had had one for
himself. God intends reform, and for reform selects Luther. The same
remedy which had proved so powerful in curing his own wretchedness, the

hand of God will employ by him to cure the miseries of Christendom. He
remains quiet in the sphere which is assigned to him, walking merely where
his Master calls him, and fulfilling his duties as professor, preacher, and
pastor, at Wittemberg. While seated in the church, his hearers come and
open their hearts to him. Evil makes an assault upon him, and error seeks
him out, of her own accord. He is interfered with in the discharge of his
duty, and his conscience, which is bound to the word of God, resists. Is it
not God that calls him? To resist is a duty, and being a duty, is also a right.
He has no alternative but to speak. In this way were events ordered by that
God who was pleased, says Mathesius, "to restore Christendom by means
of the son of a forge master, and to purify the impure doctrine of the church,
by making it pass through his furnaces.[349]
Having given this detail, it must be unnecessary to refute a false imputation
invented by some of Luther's enemies, but not till after his death. Jealousy
for his order, it has been said, grief at seeing a shameful and condemned
traffic entrusted to the Dominicans in preference to the Augustins, who had
hitherto enjoyed it, led the doctor of Wittemberg to attack Tezel and his
doctrines. The well known fact that this traffic was first offered to the
Augustins, who refused it, is sufficient to refute this fable, which has been
repeated by writers who have copied each other; even Cardinal Pallavicini
states that the Augustins never had discharged this office.[350] Besides, we
have seen the travail of Luther's soul. His conduct needs no other
explanation. It was impossible for him not to make open profession of the
doctrine to which he owed his happiness. In Christianity, every man who
finds a blessing longs to make others partakers in it. In our day it is time to
abandon those puerile explanations which are unworthy of the great
revolution of the sixteenth century. To lift a world, a more powerful lever
was required. The Reformation existed not in Luther only; it was the
offspring of his age.
Luther impelled equally by obedience to the truth of God, and by charity
towards men, mounted the pulpit. He forewarned his hearers; but, as he
himself says, he did it gently.[351] His prince had obtained particular
indulgences from the pope for the church of the castle of Wittemberg, and it
was possible that some of the blows which he was going to level at the
indulgences in question might fall on those of the Elector. No matter; he

will run the risk. If he sought to please men, he would not be the servant of
Christ.
"No man can prove by Scripture," says the faithful minister of the Word to
the people of Wittemberg, "that the justice of God exacts a penalty or
satisfaction from the sinner; the only duty which it imposes upon him is true
repentance, sincere conversion, a resolution to bear the cross of Jesus
Christ, and to be diligent in good works. It is a great error to think we can
ourselves satisfy the justice of God for our sins. He always pardons them
gratuitously by his inestimable grace.
"The Christian Church, it is true, requires something from the sinner, and
consequently has the power of remitting what she so requires, but that is all.
Even these indulgences of the Church are tolerated, only on account of
indolent and imperfect Christians, who will not zealously exercise
themselves in good works. For they stimulate none to sanctification, but
leave all in imperfection."
Then adverting to the pretext under which the indulgences were published,
he continues:—"It would be much better to contribute to the erection of St.
Peter's church from love to God, than to purchase indulgences in this
view.... But you ask, Are we then never to purchase them? I have already
said, and I repeat it; my advice is, Don't purchase. Leave them to sleepy
Christians, but do you walk apart in your own path. The faithful must be
diverted from indulgences, and urged to do the works which they neglect."
At last, glancing at his adversaries, Luther concludes thus:—"If some cry
out that I am a heretic, (for the truth which I preach is very hurtful to their
strong box,) their clamour gives me little concern. They are dull and sickly
brains, men who never felt the Bible, never read Christian doctrine, never
comprehended their own teachers, and who turn to rottenness, wrapped up
in the tatters of their vain opinions,[352] ... God grant them and us a sound
mind. Amen." After these words, the doctor descended from the pulpit,
leaving his hearers in astonishment at his bold language.
This sermon was printed, and made a deep impression on all who read it.
Tezel answered it, and Luther replied; but these discussions did not take
place till a later period, (1518).

The feast of All Saints drew near. The chronicles of that day here relate a
circumstance, which, though not important to the history of the period, may,
however, serve to characterise it. It is a dream of the Elector, which in
substance is unquestionably authentic, though several circumstances may
have been added by those who have related it. It is mentioned by
Seckendorf,[353] who observes, that the fear of giving their adversaries
ground to say that the doctrine of Luther was founded upon dreams, has
perhaps prevented several historians from speaking of it.
The Elector Frederick of Saxony, say the chronicles of the time, was at his
castle of Schweinitz, six leagues from Wittemberg. On the morning of the
31st October, being in company with his brother Duke John, who was then
co-regent, and became sole elector after his death, and with his chancellor,
the Elector said to the Duke,
"Brother, I must tell you a dream which I had last night, and the meaning of
which I should like much to know. It is so deeply impressed on my mind,
that I will never forget it, were I to live a thousand years. For I dreamed it
thrice, and each time with new circumstances."
Duke John.—"Is it a good or a bad dream?"
The Elector.—"I know not; God knows."
Duke John.—"Don't be uneasy at it; but be so good as tell it to me."
The Elector.—"Having gone to bed last night, fatigued and out of spirits, I
fell asleep shortly after my prayer, and slept quietly for about two hours and
a half; I then awoke, and continued awake till midnight, all sorts of thoughts
passing through my mind. Among other things, I thought how I was to
observe the feast of All Saints. I prayed for the poor souls in purgatory, and
supplicated God to guide me, my counsels, and my people, according to
truth. I again fell asleep, and then dreamed that Almighty God sent me a
monk, who was a true son of the Apostle Paul. All the saints accompanied
him by order of God, in order to bear testimony before me, and to declare
that he did not come to contrive any plot, but that all that he did was
according to the will of God. They asked me to have the goodness
graciously to permit him to write something on the door of the church of the
castle of Wittemberg. This I granted through my chancellor. Thereupon the

monk went to the church, and began to write in such large characters, that I
could read the writing at Schweinitz. The pen which he used was so large
that its end reached as far as Rome, where it pierced the ears of a lion that
was couching there,[354] and caused the triple crown upon the head of the
pope to shake. All the cardinals and princes running hastily up, tried to
prevent it from falling. You and I, brother, wished also to assist, and I
stretched out my arm ... but at this moment I awoke, with my arm in the air,
quite amazed, and very much enraged at the monk for not managing his pen
better. I recollected myself a little: it was only a dream.
"I was still half asleep, and once more closed my eyes. The dream returned.
The lion, still annoyed by the pen, began to roar with all his might, so much
so that the whole city of Rome and all the states of the holy empire, ran to
see what the matter was. The pope requested them to oppose this monk, and
applied particularly to me, on account of his being in my country. I again
awoke, repeated the Lord's Prayer, entreated God to preserve his Holiness,
and once more fell asleep.
"Then I dreamed that all the princes of the empire, and we among them,
hastened to Rome, and strove one after another to break the pen; but the
more we tried the stiffer it became, sounding as if it had been made of iron.
We at length desisted. I then asked the monk (for I was sometimes at Rome
and sometimes at Wittemberg) where he got this pen, and why it was so
strong. 'The pen,' replied he, 'belonged to an old goose of Bohemia, a
hundred years old.[355] I got it from one of my old school-masters. As to its
strength, it is owing to the impossibility of depriving it of its pith or
marrow, and I am quite astonished at it myself.' Suddenly I heard a loud
noise; a large number of other pens had sprung out of the long pen of the
monk.... I awoke a third time; it was daylight...."
Duke John.—"Chancellor, what is your opinion? Would we had a Joseph or
a Daniel enlightened by God!"
Chancellor.—"Your Highnesses know the common proverb, that the dreams
of young girls, learned men, and great lords, have usually some hidden
meaning. The meaning of this dream, however, we will not be able to know
for some time; not till the things to which it relates have taken place.

Wherefore, leave the accomplishment to God, and place it wholly in his
hand."
Duke John.—"I am of your opinion, Chancellor; 'tis not fit for us to annoy
ourselves in attempting to discover the meaning; the God will overrule all
for his glory."
Elector.—"May our faithful God do so; yet I will never forget this dream. I
have indeed thought of an interpretation, but I keep it to myself. Time,
perhaps, will show if I have been a good diviner."
Thus, according to the manuscript of Weimar, the morning of 31st of
October was spent at Schweinitz. Let us see how the evening was spent at
Wittemberg. We again return to the province of History.

CHAP. V.
Feast of All Saints—The Theses—Their Force—Moderation—
Providence—Letter to Albert—Indifference of the Bishops—
Dissemination of the Theses.

The words of Luther had produced little effect. Tezel, without troubling
himself, continued his traffic and his impious harangues.[356] Will Luther
submit to these crying abuses, and keep silence? As a pastor, he has
earnestly exhorted those who have had recourse to his ministry, and, as a
preacher, he has lifted his warning voice in the pulpit. It still remains for
him to speak as a theologian—to address, not individuals in the
confessional, not the assembly of the faithful in the church of Wittemberg,
but all who, like himself, are teachers of the word of God. His resolution is
taken.
He has no thought of attacking the Church, or of putting the pope on his
defence. On the contrary, it is his respect for the pope that will not allow
him to be any longer silent with regard to claims by which he is injured. He
must take the part of the pope against audacious men, who dare to associate
his venerable name with their disgraceful traffic. Far from thinking of a
revolution which is to destroy the primacy of Rome, Luther expects to have
the pope and Catholicism for his allies against impudent monks.[357]
The feast of All Saints was an important day for Wittemberg, and especially
for the church which the Elector had there erected and filled with relics. On
that day these relics, adorned with silver and gold, and precious stones,
were brought out and exhibited to the eyes of the people, who were
astonished and dazzled by their magnificence.[358] Whoever on that day
visited the church and confessed in it obtained a valuable indulgence.
Accordingly, on this great occasion, pilgrims came in crowds to
Wittemberg.
On the 31st of October, 1517, Luther, who had already taken his resolution,
walks boldly towards the church to which the superstitious crowds of

pilgrims were repairing, and puts up on the door of this church ninety-five
Theses or propositions against the doctrine of indulgences. Neither the
Elector, nor Staupitz, nor Spalatin, nor any, even the most intimate of his
friends, had been previously informed of this step.[359] In these theses,
Luther declares, in a kind of preamble, that he had written them with the
express desire of setting the truth in the full light of day. He declares
himself ready to defend them on the morrow at the university, against all
and sundry. The attention which they excite is great; they are read and
repeated. In a short time the pilgrims, the university, the whole town is
ringing with them. The following are some of these Propositions, written
with the pen of the monk, and fixed on the door of the church of
Wittemberg.
1. "When our Lord and Master Jesus Christ says 'repent,' he means that the
whole life of his followers on the earth is a constant and continual
repentance.
2. "This expression cannot be understood of the sacrament of penitence,
(that is to say, of confession and satisfaction,) as administered by the priest.
3. "Still the Lord intends not to speak merely of internal repentance.
Internal repentance is null, if it does not manifest itself externally by the
mortification of the flesh.
4. "Repentance and sorrow—that is to say, true penitence—continue so long
as a man is displeased with himself—that is, until he passes from this life
into life eternal.
5. "The pope is not able, and does not wish to remit any other penalty than
that which he has imposed of his own good pleasure, or conformably to the
canons, that is to say, the papal ordinances.
6. "The pope cannot remit any condemnation, but only declare and confirm
the remission which God himself has given. At least he can only do it in
cases which belong to him. If he does otherwise, the condemnation remains
exactly as before.
8. "The laws of ecclesiastical penance ought to be imposed on the living
only, and have nothing to do with the dead.

21. "The commissaries of indulgence are mistaken when they say that the
pope's indulgence delivers from all punishment and saves.
25. "The same power which the pope has over purgatory throughout the
Church, each bishop has individually in his own diocese, and each curate in
his own parish.
27. "It is the preaching of human folly to pretend, that at the very moment
when the money tinkles in the strong box, the soul flies off from purgatory.
28. "This much is certain; as soon as the money tinkles, avarice and the love
of gain arrive, increase, and multiply. But the aids and prayers of the
Church depend only on the will and good pleasure of God.
32. "Those who imagine they are sure of salvation by means of indulgences
will go to the devil, with those who teach them so.
35. "It is an antichristian doctrine to pretend, that, in order to deliver a soul
from purgatory, or to purchase an indulgence, there is no need of either
sorrow or repentance.
36. "Every Christian who truly repents of his sins has entire forgiveness of
the penalty and the fault, and, so far, has no need of indulgence.
37. "Every true Christian, dead or alive, participates in all the blessings of
Christ and of the Church by the gift of God and without a letter of
indulgence.
38. "Still the dispensation and pardon of the pope must not be despised; for
his pardon is a declaration of the pardon of God.
40. "Genuine sorrow and repentance seek and love punishment; but the
mildness of indulgence takes off the fear of punishment, and begets hatred
against it.
42. "Christians must be told that the pope has no wish and no intention that
they should in any respect compare the act of purchasing indulgences with
any work of mercy.
43. "Christians must be told that he who gives to the poor, or lends to the
needy, does better than he who buys an indulgence:

44. "For the work of charity makes charity increase, and renders a man
more pious; whereas the indulgence does not make him better, but only
gives him more self-confidence, and makes him more secure against
punishment.
45. "Christians must be told that he who sees his neighbour want, and,
instead of helping him, purchases an indulgence, purchases not the
indulgence of the pope, but incurs the Divine displeasure.
46. "Christians must be told that if they have no superfluity, they are bound
to keep what they have, in order to procure necessaries for their families,
and not to lavish it on indulgences.
47. "Christians must be told that to purchase an indulgence is optional, not
obligatory.
48. "Christians must be told that the pope having more need of prayer
offered up in faith than of money, desires the prayer more than the money
when he dispenses indulgences.
49. "Christians must be told that the indulgence of the pope is good
provided they do not place their confidence in it, but that nothing is more
hurtful if it diminishes piety.
50. "Christians must be told that if the pope knew of the extortions of the
preachers of indulgences, he would rather that the metropolis of St. Peter
were burned and reduced to ashes, than see it built with the skin, flesh, and
bones, of his sheep.
51. "Christians must be told that the pope, as is his duty, would dispense his
own money to the poor people whom the preachers of indulgences are now
robbing of their last penny, were he, for that purpose, even to sell the
metropolis of St. Peter.
52. "To hope to be saved by indulgences is an empty and lying hope even
should the commissary of indulgences, nay, the pope himself, be pleased to
pledge his own soul in security of it.
53. "Those who, on account of the preaching of indulgences, forbid the
preaching of the word of God, are enemies of the pope and of Jesus Christ.

55. "The pope cannot have any other thought than this:—If the indulgence,
which is the lesser matter, is celebrated with bell, pomp, and ceremony, it is
necessary, à fortiori, to honour and celebrate the gospel, which is the
greater matter, with a hundred bells, a hundred pomps, and a hundred
ceremonies.
62. "The true and precious treasure of the Church is the holy gospel of the
glory and grace of God.
65. "The treasures of the gospel are nets, which once caught the rich, and
those who were at ease in their circumstances:
66. "But the treasures of indulgence are nets, in which, now-a-days, they
catch, not rich people, but the riches of people.
67. "It is the duty of bishops and pastors to receive the commissaries of
apostolic indulgences with all respect:
68. "But it is still more their duty to use their eyes and their ears, in order to
see that the said commissaries do not preach the dreams of their own
imaginations instead of the orders of the pope.
71. "Cursed be he who speaketh against the indulgence of the pope.
72. "But blessed be he who speaks against the foolish and impudent words
of the preachers of indulgences.
76. "The indulgence of the pope cannot take away the smallest daily sin, in
regard to the fault or delinquency.
79. "To say that a cross adorned with the arms of the pope is as powerful as
the cross of Christ is blasphemy.
80. "Bishops, pastors, and theologians, who allow such things to be said to
the people, will be called to account for it.
81. "This shameful preaching, these impudent eulogiums on indulgences
make it difficult for the learned to defend the dignity and honour of the
pope against the calumnies of the preachers, and the subtile and puzzling
questions of the common people.

86. "Why, say they, does not the pope, whose wealth is greater than that of
rich Crœsus, build the metropolis of St. Peter with his own money rather
than with that of poor Christians?
92. "Would, then, that we were discumbered of all the preachers who say to
the church of Christ, Peace! Peace! when there is no peace!
94. "Christians should be exhorted to diligence in following Christ their
head through crosses, death, and hell.
95. "For it is far better to enter the kingdom of heaven through much
tribulation, than to acquire a carnal security by the flattery of a false peace."
Here, then, was the commencement of the work. The germ of the
Reformation was contained in these theses of Luther. The abuses of
indulgence were attacked in them, (and this was their most striking feature,)
but behind those attacks there was, moreover, a principle which although it
attracted the attention of the multitude far less, was destined one day to
overthrow the edifice of the papacy. The evangelical doctrine of a free and
gratuitous remission of sins was here publicly professed for the first time.
Henceforth the work must grow. In fact, it was evident that any man who
had faith in the remission of sins as preached by the doctor of Wittemberg;
any one who had this conversion and sanctification, the necessity of which,
he urged, would no longer concern himself about human ordinances, but
would escape from the swaddling-bands of Rome, and secure the liberty of
the children of God. All errors behoved to give way before this truth. By it
light had at first entered Luther's own mind, and by it, in like manner, light
is to be diffused in the Church. What previous reformers wanted was a clear
knowledge of this truth; and hence the unfruitfulness of their labours.
Luther himself was afterwards aware that, in proclaiming justification by
faith, he had laid the axe to the root of the tree. "This is the doctrine," said
he, "which we attack in the followers of the papacy. Huss and Wickliff only
attacked their lives, but in attacking their doctrine, we take the goose by the
neck. All depends on the Word which the pope took from us and falsified. I
have vanquished the pope, because my doctrine is according to God, and
his is according to the devil.[360]
We too have in our day forgotten the capital doctrine of justification by
faith, though, in a sense, the reverse of that of our fathers. "In the time of