HISTORY
OF THE
REFORMATION IN EUROPE
IN THE TIME OF CALVIN.

BY

J. H. MERLE D’AUBIGNE, D.D.

TRANSLATED BY

WILLIAM L. B. CATES,

JOINT AUTHOR OF WOODWARD AND CATES’S ‘ENCYCLOPÆDIA OF CHRONOLOGY,’ EDITOR OF ‘THE DICTIONARY OF GENERAL BIOGRAPHY,’ ETC.

‘Les choses de petite durée ont coutume de devenir fanées, quand elles ont passé leur temps.

‘Au règne de Christ, il n’y a que le nouvel homme qui soit florissant, qui ait de la vigueur, et dont il faille faire cas.’

Calvin.

VOL. VI.
SCOTLAND, SWITZERLAND, GENEVA.

NEW YORK:
ROBERT CARTER & BROTHERS,
530 BROADWAY
1877.

PREFACE.

The author of the History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century died at Geneva, 21 October, 1872, when only a few chapters remained to be written to complete his great work. Feeling, as he often said, that time was short for him now (he was not far from his eightieth year), and stimulated by the near prospect of the end towards which he had been incessantly straining for fifty years, he worked on with redoubled ardor. ‘I count the minutes,’ he used to say; and he allowed himself no rest. Unhappily the last minutes were refused him, and the work was not finished. But only a small portion is wanting; and the manuscripts of which the publication is continued in the present volume will bring the narration almost to its close.

Ten volumes have appeared. It was the author’s intention to comprise the remainder of his history in two additional volumes. He had sketched his programme on a sheet of paper as follows:—

‘WITH GOD’S HELP.

‘Order of subjects, saving diminution or enlargement, according to the extent of each.

‘Vol. XI. to the death of Luther.

• ‘Scotland down to 1546.
• ‘Denmark.
• ‘Sweden.
• ‘Bohemia and Moravia.[iv]
• ‘Poland.
• ‘Hungary.
• ‘Geneva, Switzerland, and Calvin.
• ‘Germany, to death of Luther, 1546.

‘Vol. XII. to the death of Calvin.

• ‘Netherlands, 1566.
• ‘Spain.
• ‘Italy.
• ‘Scotland down to 1560.
• ‘England, to the Articles of 1552.
• ‘Germany, 1556.
• ‘France, 1559.
• ‘Calvin and his work in Geneva and in Christendom to his death, 1564.

The numerous manuscripts left by M. Merle d’Aubigné include all the articles set out in the programme as intended to form Vol. XI. (VI. of the second series), and three of the articles destined for Vol. XII., the first two and the fifth.

The work will undoubtedly present important gaps. Nevertheless, the great period, the period of origination, will have been described almost completely. But there is one chapter which it is very much to be regretted that he has not written. That is the last, relating to the work and the influence of Calvin in Christendom. The man who for fifty years had lived in close intercourse with Calvin, who had made his writings, his works, and his person the objects of his continual study, and had become impregnated with his spirit more, perhaps, than any one in our age; the man who was the first to hold in his hand, to read without intermission, and to analyze almost all the innumerable pieces that proceeded from the pen of the reformer, would have been able to trace for us with unrivalled authority the grand figure of his hero, and to describe the immense influence which he had on the sixteenth century, in distant regions as well as in his immediate circle. The absence of this concluding chapter, which the author had pro[v]jected and which he long meditated but still delayed to write, remains an irreparable loss.

The editors (M. le pasteur Adolphe Duchemin, son-in-law of the eminent historian, and M. E. Binder, Professor of Exegesis at the Theological College of Geneva, colleague and friend of M. Merle d’Aubigné) have confined themselves to verifying the numerous quotations scattered through the text, to testing the accuracy of the references given in the notes, and to curtailing here and there developments which the author would assuredly have removed if he had edited the work himself. As the matters proposed to form Vol. XI. are sufficient to form two volumes and even to commence a third, it has been necessary to alter the arrangement indicated above.

The division of the narrative into chapters, and the titles given to the chapters, are for the most part the work of the editors.

Two other volumes are to follow the one now presented to the public.

Geneva April, 1875.

CONTENTS
OF
THE SIXTH VOLUME.

HISTORY

OF THE

REFORMATION IN EUROPE

IN THE TIME OF CALVIN.

BOOK X.

THE REFORMATION IN SCOTLAND.

CHAPTER I.
PREPARATION OF REFORM.
(From the 2nd Century to the Year 1522.)

History is of various kinds. It may be literary, philosophical, political, or religious; the last entering most deeply into the inmost facts of our being. The political historian will sometimes disclose the hidden mysteries of the cabinets of princes, will fathom their counsels, unveil their intrigues, and snatch their secrets from a Cæsar, a Charles V., a Napoleon, while human nature in its loftiest aspects remains inaccessible to them. The inward power of conscience, which not seldom impels a man to act in a way opposed to the rules of policy and to the requirements of self-interest, the great spiritual evolutions of humanity, the sacrifices of missionaries and of martyrs, are for them covered with a veil. It is the Gospel alone which gives us the key of these mysteries, so that there remain in history, even for the[2] most able investigators, enigmas which appear insoluble. How is it that schemes conceived with indisputable cleverness fail? How is it that enterprises which seem insane succeed? They cannot tell. No matter, they keep on their way, they pass into other regions and leave behind them territories which have not been explored.

This is to be regretted, for the historian ought to embrace in his survey the whole field of human affairs. He must, of course, take into consideration the earthly powers which bear sway in the world, ambition, despotism, liberty; but he ought to mark also the heavenly powers which religion reveals. The living God must not be excluded from the world which He created. Man must not stop in his contemplations at elementary molecules, nor even at political influences, but must raise himself to this first principle, as Clement of Alexandria named it,—this existence, the idea of which is immediate, original, springs from no other, but is necessarily presupposed in all thought.

God, who renews the greenness of our pastures, who makes the corn come forth out of the bosom of the earth, and covers the trees with blossoms and with fruit, does not abandon the souls of men. The God of the whole visible creation is much more the light and the strength of souls, for one of these is more precious in his sight than all the universe. The Creator, who every spring brings forth out of the winter’s ice and cold a nature full of life, smiling with light and adorned with flowers, can assuredly produce, when it pleases Him, a spiritual springtide in the heart of a torpid and frozen humanity. The Divine Spirit is the sap which infuses into barren souls the vivifying juices of heaven. The world has not seldom been like a desert in which all life seemed to be extinct; and yet, in those periods apparently so arid, subterranean currents were yielding sustenance here and there to solitary plants;[3] and at the hour fixed by Divine providence the living water has gushed forth abundantly to reanimate perishing humanity. Such was the case in the two greatest ages of history, that of the Gospel and that of the Reformation.

Such epochs, the most important in human history, are for that reason the worthiest to be studied. The new life which sprang up in the 16th century was everywhere the same, but nevertheless it bore a certain special character in each of the countries in which it appeared; in Germany, in Switzerland, in England, in Scotland, in France, in Italy, in the Netherlands, in Spain, and in other lands. At Wittenberg it was to man that Christian thought especially attached itself, to man fallen, but regenerated and justified by faith. At Geneva it was to God, to His sovereignty and His grace. In Scotland it was to Christ—Christ as expiatory victim, but above all Christ as king, who governs and keeps his people independently of human power.

Scotland is peopled by a vigorous race, vigorous in their virtues and vigorous, we may add, in their faults. Vigor is also one of the distinguishing features of Scottish Christianity, and it is this quality perhaps which led Scotland to attach itself particularly to Christ as to the king of the Church, the idea of power being always involved in the idea of king.

This country is now to be the subject of our narrative. It deserves to be so; for although of small extent and situated on the confines of the West, it has by nature and by faith a motive force which makes itself felt to the ends of the earth.

Two periods are to be noted in the Scottish Reformation, that of Hamilton and that of Knox. It is of the first of these only that we are now to treat. The study of the beginnings of things attracts and interests the mind in the highest degree. Faithful to our plan, we shall ascend to the generative epoch of Caledonian re[4]form, an epoch which Scotland herself has perhaps too much slighted, and we shall exhibit its simple beauty.

Before the days of the Reformation, Scotland received three great impulses in succession from the Christian countries of the south.

The persecutions which at the close of the second century, during the course of the third, and at the beginning of the fourth, fell on the disciples of the Gospel who dwelt in the southern part of Great Britain, drove a great number of them to take refuge in the country of the Scots. These pious men built for themselves humble and solitary hermitages, in green meadows or on steep mountains, and in narrow valleys of the glens; and there, devoting themselves to the service of God, they shed a soft gleam of light in the midst of the fogs of every kind which encompassed them, teaching the ignorant and strengthening the weak. They were called in the Gaelic tongue gille De, servants of God, in Latin cultores Dei; and in these phrases we find the origin of the name by which they are still known—Culdees. Such was the respect which they inspired that, after their death, their cells were often transformed into churches.[1] From them came the first impulse.

Several centuries passed away; the feudal system was established in Scotland. The mountainous nature of the country, which made of every domain a sort of fortress, the fewness of the large towns, the absence of any influential body of citizens, the institution of clans, the limited number of the nobles,—all these circumstances combined to make the power of the feudal lords greater than in any other European country; and this power at a later period protected the Reformation from the despotism of the kings. But the influence of the[5] Culdees, though really perceptible in the Middle Ages, was very feeble. It may be said of the things of grace in Scotland as of the works of Creation, that the sun did not come to scatter the mists which brooded over a nature melancholy and monotonous, and that the influence of the winds which, rushing forth from the neighboring seas, roared and raged over the barren heaths or over the fertile plains of Caledonia, was not softened by the breath divine which comes from heaven.

But in the days of the revival a sweet and subtile sound was heard, and the surface of the lochs seemed to become animated. Wickliffe, having given to England the Word of God, some of his followers, and particularly John Resby, came into Scotland. ‘The pope is nothing,’ said Resby in 1407,[2] and he taught at the same time that Christ is everything. He was burnt at Perth.... Thus it was from the disciples of Wickliffe, the Lollards, that the second impulse came.

The reveillé of Wickliffe was echoed in Eastern Europe by that of John Huss. In 1421, a Bohemian, one Paul Crawar, arriving from Prague, expounded at St. Andrews the Word of God, which he cited with a readiness and accuracy that astonished his hearers.[3] When led away to execution and bound to the stake, the bold Bohemian said to the priests who stood round him, ‘Generation of Satan, you, like your fathers, are enemies of the truth.’ The priests, not relishing such speeches in the presence of the crowd, had a ball of brass put into his mouth,[4] and the martyr thus silenced was burnt alive without any further protest on his part.

However, Patrick Graham, archbishop of St. Andrews and primate of Scotland, nephew of James I., and[6] a man distinguished for his abilities and his virtues, had heard Crawar. If the heart of the priest had been hard as a stone the heart of the archbishop was like a fertile field. The Word of the Lord took deep root in him. He formed the project of reformation of the Church; but the clergy were indignant; the primate was deprived, was condemned to imprisonment for life, and died in prison.

Then began that struggle between royalty and the nobility which was afterwards to become one of the characteristic features of the time of reform. Kings, instigated by ambitious priests, sought to humble the nobles; the latter were thus predisposed to promote the Reformation. James II. (1437–1460) fought against the nobles both with the sword and by severe laws. James III. (1460–1488) removed them with contempt from his Court and gave himself up to unworthy favorites. James IV. (1488–1503), a man of a nobler spirit, esteemed the aristocracy the ornament of his Court and the strength of his kingdom. During the reign of this prince appeared the first glimmerings of the Reformation. Some pious men, dwellers most of them in the districts of Hill and Cunningham, were enlightened by the Gospel, and, confronting the Roman papacy, boldly declared that all true Christians receive every day spiritually the body of Jesus Christ by faith; that the bread remains bread after consecration, and that the natural body of Christ is not present; that there is a universal priesthood, of which every man and woman who believes in the Saviour is a member; that the pope, who exalts himself above God, is against God; that it is not permissible to take up arms for the things of faith; and that priests may marry.

Among the protectors of these brave folk was John Campbell, laird of Cessnock, a man well grounded in the evangelical doctrine, modest even to timidity, but abounding in works of mercy, and who received with[7] goodwill not only the Lollards but those even whose opinions were opposed to his own. His partner, with a character of greater decision than his own, was a woman well versed in the Bible, and being thoroughly acquainted with the Scriptures was safe against intimidation. Every morning the family and the servants assembled in a room of the mansion, and a priest, the chaplain, opened in the midst of them a New Testament, a very rare book at that period, and read and explained it.[5] When this family worship and the first meal were over, the Campbells would visit the poor and the sick. At the dinner hour they called together some of their neighbors: monks as well as gentlefolk would come and sit at their table. One day the conversation turning on the conventual life and the habits of the priests, Campbell spoke on the subject with moderation but also with freedom. The monks, exasperated, put crafty questions to him, provoked him, and succeeded in drawing from him words which in their eyes were heretical. Forgetting the claims of hospitality they hastened to the house of the bishop and denounced their host and the lady of the house. Inquiry was set on foot; the crime of heresy was proved. Campbell saw the danger which threatened him and appealed to the king.

James IV., who had married Margaret Tudor, daughter of Henry VII., was then reigning in Scotland. His life had not been spotless: he was often tormented with remorse, and in his fits of melancholy he resolved to make up for his sins by applying himself to the administration of justice. He had the two parties appear before him; the monks cited decisions of the Church sufficient to condemn the prisoner. The weak and simple-minded Campbell was somewhat embarrassed;[6] his[8] answers were timid and inadequate. He could talk with widows and orphans, but he could not cope with these monks. But his wife was full of decision and courage. When requested by the king to speak, she took up one by one the accusations of the monks, and setting them face to face with the Holy Scriptures, showed their falsehood. Her speech was clear, serious, and weighty with conviction. The king, persuaded by her eloquence, declared to the monks that if they should again persecute honest people in that way, they should be severely punished. And then, touched by the piety of this eminent woman and wishing to give her a token of his respect, he rose from his seat, went up to her and embraced her.[7] Turning to her husband, ‘As for you,’ said he, ‘I give you in fee such and such villages, and I intend them to be testimonies for ever of my good will towards you.’ The husband and wife withdrew full of joy, and the monks full of vexation and shame. Thirty other evangelicals, professing the same doctrines as the laird of Cessnock, were cited, but they were dismissed with the request to be satisfied with the faith of the Church. This took place about the year 1512, the year in which Zwingle began to search the Scriptures and in which Luther on Pilate’s Staircase at Rome heard that word which went on resounding in his heart, ‘The just shall live by faith.’ The brave Scotchwoman had fought a battle at an outpost and sounded the prelude to the Reformation.

Unhappily the accession of Henry VIII. to the throne of England turned the thoughts of the King of Scotland in another direction. Henry VII., as long as he lived, had striven to keep on good terms with his son-in-law; but Henry VIII., a monarch haughty, sensitive, and impatient, and who in mere wilfulness would quarrel with his neighbors, was far less friendly with his sister’s husband. He even delayed for a long time the payment of[9] the legacy which her father had left her. The frequent attacks of the English, and the necessity thereby imposed on the Scots of constantly keeping watch on the borders, had given rise to distrust and hatred between the two nations. At the same time the ancient rivalry of France and England had thrown Scotland on the side of the French. When the English eagle pounced on unguarded France, ‘the weasel Scot’ came sliding into its nest and devoured the royal brood.[8] Henry VIII. revived those ancient traditions; and France took advantage of them to enfeoff Scotland still further to herself at the very moment when the Medici and the Guises were on the point of seizing at Paris the reins of government. Insulted by Henry VIII., James IV. resolved, in spite of the wise remonstrance of the old earl of Angus, to attack England. Scotland gave him the élite of her people. He fought at Flodden with intrepid courage, but hit by two arrows and struck by a battle-axe he fell on the field, while round him lay the corpses of twelve earls, thirteen lords, two bishops, two mitred abbots, a great number of gentlemen, and more than ten thousand soldiers. Several students, and among them one named Andrew Duncan, son of the laird of Airdrie, whom we shall meet again, were either killed or made prisoners on that fatal day.

The king’s son, James V. (afterwards father of Mary Stuart), was scarcely two years old at the time of his father’s death. His mother, sister of Henry VIII., assumed the regency, and during his minority the nobles exercised an influence which was to be one day favorable to liberty, and thereby to the Gospel. The king and the priests, both driving at absolute power, the former in the State, the latter in the Church, now made[10] common cause against the nobles. Strange conflicts then took place between the various powers of Scotland. One of these conflicts had just disturbed the first city of the kingdom, St. Andrews, and had mingled with the noise of the stormy sea, which roared at the foot of the rocks, the voices of priests struggling around the Cathedral, the cries of soldiers and the reverberations of cannon. Alexander Stuart, archbishop of St. Andrews, primate of Scotland, having fallen on the field of Flodden, three competitors appeared for the possession of his primatial see. These were John Hepburn, prior of St. Andrews, the candidate of the canons; Gavin Douglas, brother of the earl of Angus, candidate of the nobles; and Andrew Forman, bishop of Murray, candidate of the pope. Douglas had already been put by the queen in possession of the castle of St. Andrews; but Hepburn, an ambitious man of high spirit, with the aid of the canons, took it by assault, fortified himself in it,[9] and then set out for Rome to secure the pontifical investiture. Forman, the pope’s candidate, taking advantage of his rival’s absence, seized the castle and the monastery, and placed there a strong garrison. Hepburn was pacified by the gift of a pension of 3,000 crowns; while Douglas, candidate of the nobles, finding that there was neither money nor mitre for him, cannonaded and captured the cathedral of Dunkeld.[10] In such fashion was the election of a bishop made in Scotland before the Reformation.

The elections of priests were conducted after somewhat different methods. The lesser benefices were put up to auction and sold by wandering bards, diceplayers, or minions of the Court. The bishops, who gave their illegitimate daughters to the nobles, kept the best places in the Church for their bastards. These young world[11]lings, hurrying off to their pleasures, abandoned their flocks to monks, who retailed in the pulpit absurd legends of their saint, of his combats with the devil and of his flagellations, or amused the people with low jesting. This system, which passing for a representation of Christianity was merely its parody, destroyed not only Christian piety and morality, but the peace of families, the freedom of the people, and the prosperity of the kingdom.[11]

While ambition, idleness and licentiousness thus prevailed among the clergy, God was preparing ‘new vessels’ into which to pour the new wine which the old vessels could no longer hold. Some simple-minded men were on the point of achieving by their Christian faith and life a victory over the rich, powerful, and worldly pontiffs. Three young men, born almost with the century, were just beginning a career, the struggles and trials of which were as yet unknown to them. These men were to become the reformers of the Church of Scotland.

On April 23, 1500, the wife of an honest citizen of Edinburgh gave birth to a son who was afterwards called by some Alane, and by others Ales, but who signed his own name Alesius, the form which we shall adopt. Alexander—that was his baptismal name—was a child remarkable for liveliness, and the anxiety of his devoted parents lest any accident should befall him led them to hang round his neck, as a safeguard against every danger, a paper on which a priest had written some verses of St. John. Alesius was fond of going, with other boys of his own age, to the heights which environ Edinburgh. The great rock on the summit of which the castle stands, the beautiful Calton Hill, and the picturesque hill called Arthur’s Seat, in turn attracted them. One day—it was in 1512—Alexander and some friends, having betaken themselves to the last-named hill, amused themselves by rolling over and over[12] down a slope which terminated in a precipice. Suddenly the lad found himself on the brink: terror deprived him of his senses: some hand grasped him and placed him in safety, but he never knew by whom or by what he had been saved. The priests gave the credit of this escape to the paper with which they had provided him, but Alexander himself attributed it to God and his father’s prayers. ‘Ah!’ said he, many years afterwards, ‘I never recall that event without a great shudder through my whole body.’[12] Some time after he was sent to the University of St. Andrews to complete his education.

Another young boy, of more illustrious birth, gave promise of an eminent manhood; he belonged to the Hamilton family which, under James III., had taken the highest position in Scotland. Born in the county of Linlithgow, westward of Edinburgh, and somewhat younger than Alesius, he was to inaugurate the Reformation. Linlithgow was at that time the Versailles of the kingdom, and could boast of a more ancient origin than the palace of Louis XIV. Its projecting porticoes, its carvings in wood, its wainscot panelings, its massive balustrades, its roofs over-hanging the street, produced the most picturesque effect. The castle was at once palace, fortress, and prison; it was the pleasure-house to which the Court used to retire for relaxation, and within its walls Mary Stuart was born.

Near Linlithgow was the barony of Kincavil, which had been given by James IV., in 1498, to Sir Patrick Hamilton. Catherine Stuart, the wife of the latter, was daughter of the duke of Albany, son of King James II. Sir Patrick, on his side, was second son of Lord Hamilton, and, according to trustworthy charters, of the princess Mary, countess of Arran, also a daughter of James[13] II.[13] Sir Patrick had two sons and one daughter, James, Patrick, and Catherine.

Patrick, the young man of whom we speak, was therefore of the blood royal, both by the father’s and the mother’s side. He was born probably at the manor of Kincavil, and was there brought up. He grew up surrounded with all the sweetnesses of a mother’s love, and from his childhood the image of his mother was deeply engraven on his heart. This tender mother, who afterwards engaged his latest thoughts on the scaffold, observed with delight in her son a craving for superior culture, a passion for science, a taste for the literature of Greece and Rome, and above all, lively aspirations after all that is elevated, and movements of the soul towards God.

As for his father, Sir Patrick, he had the reputation of being the first knight of Scotland, and as cousin-german of King James IV. he had frequent occasions for displaying his courage. One day a German knight arriving in Scotland to challenge her lords and barons, Sir Patrick encountered and overthrew him. At the marriage of Margaret of England with the King of Scotland, it was once more Sir Patrick who most distinguished himself at the tournament. And at a later time, when sent ambassador to Paris with an elder brother, the earl of Arran, he won fresh honors in London on his way.[14] People were fond of recounting these[14] exploits to his two boys, James and Patrick, and nothing appeared to them more magnificent than the glittering armor of their father hung upon the walls of the banqueting hall. Ambition awoke in the heart of the younger of the sons; but he was destined to seek after another glory, holier and more enduring.

The Hamiltons having many relations at Paris, Sir Patrick determined to send thither his second son, and at the age of fourteen the lad set out for that celebrated capital.[15] His father, who destined him for the great offices of the Church, had already procured for him the title and the revenues of abbot of Ferne, in the county of Ross, and from that source the expenses of the young man’s journey and course of studies were to be defrayed. It was the moment at which the fire of the Reformation, which was just kindled on the Continent, began to throw out sparks on all sides. One of these sparks was to light on the soul of Patrick. But if Hamilton were destined to bring from Paris to Scotland the first stone of the building, another Scotchman, one year younger than he, was destined to bring the top-stone from Geneva.

In one of the suburbs of Haddington, near Edinburgh, called Gifford-gate, dwelt an honorable citizen, member of an ancient family of Renfrewshire, named Knox, who had borne arms, like his father and his grandfather, under the earl of Bothwell. Some members of this family had died under the colors.[16] In 1505 Knox had a son who was named John. The blood of warriors ran in the veins of the man who was to become one of the most[15] intrepid champions of Christ’s army. John, after studying first at Haddington school, was sent at the age of sixteen to Glasgow University.[17] He was active, bold, thoroughly upright and perfectly honest, diligent in his duties, and full of heartiness for his comrades. But he had in him also a firmness which came near to obstinacy, an independence which was very much like pride, a melancholy which bordered on prostration, a sternness which some took for insensibility, and a passionate force sometimes mistakenly attributed to a vindictive temper. An important place was reserved for him in the history of his country and of Christendom.

While God was thus preparing these young contemporaries, Alesius, Hamilton, and Knox, and others besides, to diffuse in Scotland the light of the Gospel, ambitious nobles were engaged in conflict around the throne of the king. The old earl of Angus, who had lost his two sons at the battle of Flodden, and had not long survived them, had left a grandson, a handsome young man, not very wise nor experienced, but with plenty of ambition, cleverness, liveliness, and courage. The widow of James IV., regent of the kingdom, married this youth, and by this rash step displeased the nobles. In the fierce encounters which took place between the Angus and Douglas parties on one side, and the Hamiltons on the other, pillage, murder, and arson were not seldom perpetrated. Another regency became necessary. John Stuart, duke of Albany, who was born in France of a French mother, and was residing at the court of Saint-Germain, but was the nearest relation of the King of Scotland, was summoned. He banished Angus, who withdrew with the queen to England. But Albany had soon to return to France, and Queen Margaret and her husband went back to Edinburgh.

[16]

The old rivalries were not slow to reappear. When the parliament assembled at Edinburgh in April 1520, the Hamiltons gathered in great numbers in the palace of the primate Beatoun. The primate ran hither and thither, armed from head to foot, brandishing the torch of discord.[18] The bishop of Dunkeld entreated him to prevent a collision. When the primate, laying his hand on his heart, said: ‘On my conscience I am not able to prevent it,’ the sound of his coat mail was heard. ‘Ah, my lord,’ exclaimed Dunkeld, ‘that noise tells me that your conscience is not good.’ Sir Patrick Hamilton, the father of the reformer, counselled peace; but Sir James Hamilton, a natural son of the earl of Arran, a violent and cruel young man, cried out to him: ‘You are afraid to fight for your friend.’ ‘Thou liest, impudent bastard;’ retorted the haughty baron; ‘I will fight to-day in a place in which thou wilt not dare to set thy foot.’ The speaker immediately quitted the palace, and all the Hamiltons followed him.

The earl of Angus then occupied the High Street, and his men, drawn up behind barricades, vigorously repulsed their adversaries with their pikes. Sir Patrick, with the most intrepid of his followers, cleared the entrenchments, threw himself into the High Street, and striking out vigorously all round him with his sword, fell mortally wounded, while the rash young man who had insulted him fled at full speed.

His son Patrick was no longer present in the manor-house of Kincavil, to mingle his tears with those of his mother. Escaping from the gloomy atmosphere of Caledonia, he had gone to enjoy in Paris the splendid light of civilization, almost at the same time at which the famous George Buchanan arrived there. ‘All hail!’ exclaimed these young Scotchmen, as they landed in France; ‘all hail! oh, happy Gaul! kind nurse of letters! Thou whose atmosphere is so healthful, whose soil[17] is so fertile, whose bountiful hospitality welcomes all the universe, and who givest to the world in return the riches of thy spirit; thou whose language is so elegant, thou who art the common country of all peoples, who worshippest God in truth and without debasing thyself in outward observances! Oh! shall I not love thee as a son? shall I not honor thee all my life? All hail, oh, happy Gaul!’[19]

It is probable that Hamilton entered the Collège de Montaigu, the same to which Calvin was admitted four or five years later. At the time of Hamilton’s arrival Mayor (Major), who soon after removed to St. Andrews, was teacher of philosophy there.

To a strong dislike of the writings of the sophists Hamilton joined a great love for those of the true philosophers. But presently a light more pure than that of Plato and Aristotle shone in his eyes. As early as 1520 the writings of Luther were read with eager interest by the students of the schools of Paris; some of whom took part with, others against the Reformation. Hamilton was listening to these disputations and reading the books which came from Germany, when suddenly he learnt the tragical death of Sir Patrick. He was profoundly affected by the tidings, and began to seek God with yet more ardor than before. He was one more example of the well-known fact, that at the very moment when all the sorrows of the earthly life overwhelm the soul, God gives to it the heavenly life. Two great events—the death of Sir Patrick, and the beginning of the Reformation in Paris—occurring simultaneously—occasioned in the soul of the young Scotchman a collision by which a divine spark was struck out. The fire once kindled in his heart, nothing could thenceforth extinguish it.

[18]

Hamilton took the degree of Master of Arts about the close of 1520, as still appears in the registers of the University. He may possibly have visited Louvain, where Erasmus then dwelt; he returned to Scotland probably in 1522.

The Reformation seems to have begun in Scotland with the profession of those principles, Catholic but antipapal, which had been maintained a century earlier at the Council of Constance. There were doctors present there who set out from the thought that from the age of the Apostles there always had been, and that there always will be, a church one and universal, capable of remedying by its own action all abuses in its forms of worship, dissensions among its members, the hypocrisy of its priests, and the despotic assumptions of the first of its pontiffs. John Mayor had been recently called to Glasgow University. Among his audience there John Knox distinguished himself by his passion for study; and not far from him was another young Scotchman, of a less serious turn, Buchanan. ‘The church universal,’—so were they taught by the disciple of d’Ailly and of Gerson—‘when assembled in council, is above the pope, and may rebuke, judge, and even depose him. The Roman excommunications have no force at all if they are not conformed to justice. The ambition, the avarice, the worldly luxury of the Roman court and of the bishops are to be sharply censured.’ On another occasion, the professor, passing from theology to politics, avowed doctrines far in advance of his age. He taught that a[19] people, in its entirety, is above the monarch; that the power of the king is derived from the people, and that if a prince acts in opposition to the interests of his subjects, the latter have the right to dethrone him. Mayor went further still, even to the blameworthy extreme of asserting that in certain cases the king might be put to death.[20] These political principles, professed by one who occupied a Roman Catholic chair, thoroughly scholastic and superstitious, must have influenced the convictions of Buchanan, who afterwards, in his dialogue De Jure Regni apud Scotos, professed opinions which were energetically controverted, even by Protestants. ‘In the beginning,’ said he, ‘we created legitimate kings, and we established laws binding equally on them and on ourselves.’[21] These political heresies of the sixteenth century are the truths of our days. The principles of Mayor were certainly not received without exception by Knox, but they had probably something to do with the firmness with which he maintained the rights of the Word of God in the presence of Mary Stuart. For the moment, Knox, disgusted with the barren theology of his master—a stanch scholastic on many points—forsook the wilderness of the schools and applied himself to the quest of the living fountains of the Word of God. In 1523 Mayor removed from Glasgow to St. Andrews.

It was to St. Andrews that Patrick Hamilton betook himself on his return from the Continent, after a visit to the bereaved family of Kincavil. He was admitted on June 9 of the same year into the University of the metropolitan city, and on October 3 of the following year he was received member of the faculty of letters. St. Andrews had powerful attractions for him. No other university in the kingdom had on its staff[20] so many enlightened men; and the college of St. Leonard’s, which he entered, was the one whose teaching had the most liberal tendencies. The studies which he had pursued, the knowledge which he had acquired, and the rank which he held, gave him distinction among his fellow-disciples. Buchanan, a severe judge, looked on him as a ‘young man of great intellect and of astonishing learning.’[22] Hamilton held the hypocrisy of the monks in such abomination that he never would adopt either their dress or their way of life; and although he was abbot of Ferne he never took up his residence in his monastery. Skilled in the musical art, he composed a chant in parts, which was performed in the cathedral, and delighted the hearers. He did more: he dreamed, as all reformers do at the outset of their career, of the transformation of the Catholic Church; he resolved to seek the imposition of hands, ‘in order,’ says Fryth, ‘that he might preach the pure Word of God.’ Hamilton did not, to be sure, preach at that time with the boldness and the power of a Luther or a Farel. He loved the weak; he felt himself weak; and being full of lowly-mindedness, he was content to impart faithfully the truth which he had received.

About a year after the combat in which Sir Patrick was killed, the duke of Albany returned, with the intention of bringing about an intimate alliance between Scotland and France. Margaret Tudor, who wished for an alliance with England, and who found herself deprived of power by the arrival of Albany, wrote on September 13, 1523, to her brother Henry VIII.: ‘The person and the kingdom of my son are exposed to very great danger; come to our aid, come in all haste, or it is all over with my son!’[23] It might perhaps have been all over with the Reformation too—a far more important[21] matter. But Albany, although he was at the head of a fine army, fled on two occasions before the English, and being despised by everybody, quitted Scotland forever at the close of May 1524.[24]

He had only just set sail when the cause of the Reformation, threatened by his presence, received a powerful reinforcement. In 1524, and at the beginning of 1525, some books of Luther and of other Reformers were brought into Scotland by merchant-ships, and getting dispersed over the country, produced there the same effect as they had in France and in Italy. Gawin Dunbar, the old bishop of Aberdeen, was the first to become aware of this. He discovered one day a volume of Luther in his own town. He was in consternation when he saw that the fiery darts hurled by the hand of the heretic were crossing the sea. As like discoveries were made in Linlithgow, St. Andrews, and other places, the affair was brought before Parliament. ‘Damnable heresies are spread abroad in various countries,’ said the partisans of Rome. ‘This kingdom of Scotland, its sovereigns and their subjects, have always stood fast in the holy faith since they received it in the primitive age; attempts are being made at this moment to turn them away from it. Let us take all needful steps to repulse the attack.’ Consequently, on July 17, 1525, parliament enacted that no person arriving in any part of the kingdom should introduce any book of Luther or of his disciples, or should publish the opinions of that German except for the purpose of refuting them, ‘Scotland having always bene clene of all filth and vice.’[25]

This act was immediately published throughout the country, and particularly at all ports, in order that no one might be able to pretend ignorance of it. About four days after the closing of parliament the sheriffs[22] received orders from the king’s council to set on foot without delay the necessary inquiries for the discovery of persons who might possess any books of Luther, or who should profess his errors. ‘You will confiscate their books,’ the order ran, ‘and transmit them to us.’ The Reformation, which till that time had been almost unknown in those regions, became suddenly a public fact, proclaimed by the highest body in the realm, and was on the point of preoccupying all minds. The enemies of the truth were preparing its triumph.

However, the question was whether the young king would lean towards the side of Rome or the side of the Gospel. James V., in whose name the decree against the Reformation had been issued, had in reality nothing at all to do with it. Amiable and generous, but a weakling and lover of pleasure, he was so backward in his learning that for want of knowing English he could not read the letters of his uncle Henry VIII.[26] He was a child under tutelage; he spoke to no one except in the presence of some member of the council, and Angus took care to foster in him the taste for pleasure in order to turn away his attention from public affairs. That taste was moreover quite natural to the young prince. His life was devoted to games, to arms, to the chase; he made request to Henry VIII. to send him swords and bucklers, the armor made in London being far more beautiful than that of Edinburgh. He sacrificed business to pleasure all the more readily because those who were about him were living in a state of entire disunion. The three chief personages of the realm, archbishop Beatoun, head of the priests, Angus, leader of the nobles, and the queen-mother who intrigued with both parties, were at open war.[27] Margaret desired both to get a divorce from Angus and to avenge herself on the arch[23]bishop who thwarted her in her projects.[28] In the midst of all these ambitious ones the young king was like a prey over which the vultures fight.

In May 1525, James having reached his fourteenth year, had been declared of age, in conformity with the law of Scotland. It had been a mere matter of form. Angus, supported by the most powerful of the nobles and by the parliament, verified the fears of the queen; he gave all places to the Douglases, and taking the Great Seal from archbishop Beatoun, kept it himself. The queen-mother indignantly entreated her very dear brother to secure the intervention of the pope on behalf of her son.[29] All was useless: the authority of the bold and ambitious Angus remained unimpaired.

The young prince, then, wearied with the yoke, threw himself, after the tradition of his fathers, into the arms of the priests, and in order to escape the aristocracy submitted himself to the clergy. This was a grievous prognostic for Reform. At the end of the summer of 1526, the queen, archbishop Beatoun, and other members of the priestly and royal party, assembled at Stirling Castle, and a plan was there considered and determined on which was to take away the chief power from the nobles and give it to the bishops. John Stuart, earl of Lennox, a friend of James V., set out from that fortress on September 4, at the head of from ten to twelve thousand men, and marched on Edinburgh. But Angus was already informed of what was in preparation, and Arran, who had made his peace with him, was ready. The same day, in the morning, the trumpet sounded in the capital, and the chief of the Douglases set forth at the head of his army, dragging after him the young monarch. The latter was in hope that the hour of his de[24]liverance was come: he advanced slowly in the rear of the army, in spite of the brutal threats of Sir G. Douglas, his guardian. Presently the report of cannons was heard: the king stopped. George Douglas, fancying that he would attempt to escape, cried out, ‘Don’t think of running away, for if our enemies had hold of you on one side and we on the other, we would pull you in two rather than let you go.’ The King never forgot that word. Angus won the day. Lennox had been killed by the savage James Hamilton, and the father of the latter, when he heard it, had thrown his scarlet cloak over the body of Lennox, exclaiming: ‘Here lies a man, the boldest, the mightiest, and the wisest that Scotland ever possessed!’ At the tidings of this great disaster all was confusion in Stirling Castle. The queen fled in disguise and concealed herself: archbishop Beatoun put off his pontifical robes, took the dress of a shepherd, and went into retirement among the herdsmen of the Fifeshire hills, where for nearly three months he kept a flock, no one the while suspecting that he was the lord chancellor of the realm. Thus the anticipated triumph of the primate and the priests, which would have been fatal to the Reformation, was changed into a total rout, and greater religious freedom was given to Scotland.[30]

But this was not enough. The reform of the Church by the Church itself would not suffice; nor would reform by the writings of the reformers; there was need of a mightier principle,—the Word of God. This Word does not merely communicate a bare knowledge; it works a transformation in the will and in the life of man, and as soon as such a change is accomplished in two or three individuals in any place whatsoever, there exists a church. The increased liberty enjoyed in Scotland after the flight of the primate favored the introduction[25] of this mighty Word, to which it was reserved to effect the complete enfranchisement of the nation.

Early in the summer, merchants of Leith, Dundee, St. Andrews, Montrose, and Aberdeen, sent out their ships laden with the productions of Scotland to the ports of the Netherlands, Middelburg, Antwerp, and other towns, there to procure commodities for which there was a demand among the Scotch. At that time there was no prohibition against the introduction of the New Testament into Scotland: only the books of Luther and other reformers were proscribed. These good Scottish seamen took advantage of this; and one day Hacket, who had received orders from Henry VIII. to burn all the Testaments translated by Tyndale (and this ‘for the preservation of the Christian faith’), learnt at Berg-op-Zoom, where he then was, that the Scottish traders had put on board many copies of the Gospels as they were on the point of setting sail for Edinburgh and St. Andrews. He started with all speed for the ports which had been named to him: ‘I will seize those books,’ said he, ‘even though they be already on board the ships, and I will make a good fire of them.’[31] He got there: but alas! no more Scottish vessels; they had sailed one day before his arrival. ‘Fortune,’ said he, ‘did not allow me to get there in time; ah, well, have patience.’ And he gave good instructions on the matter to M. de Bever, admiral of Flanders, and to Mr. Moffit, conservator of the Scottish nation in that country.[32]

It was during the time that archbishop Beatoun, arch-foe of the Reformation, was feeding his sheep on the Fifeshire hills in September, October, and November 1526, that the New Testaments arrived and were distributed in the towns and neighboring districts. Scotland and England received the Holy Scriptures from the[26] same country and almost at the same time. The citizens of Edinburgh and the canons of St. Andrews were reading that astonishing book as well as the citizens of London and the canons of Oxford. There were monks who declared that it was a bad book ‘recently invented by Martin Luther,’ but the reading of it was not forbidden. At St. Andrews especially these sacred writings soon shed the evangelical light over the souls of men.[33]

There was in that town a young man who was already acquainted with the great facts of salvation announced in this book, and who was well qualified to circulate and explain it. Patrick Hamilton, gifted with keen intelligence and a Christian heart, knew how to set forth in a concise and natural manner the truths of which he was convinced. He knew that there is in the Scriptures a wisdom superior to the human understanding, and that in order to comprehend them there is need of the illumination of the Holy Spirit. He believed that with the written it is necessary to combine oral teaching; and that as Testaments were come from the Netherlands, Scotland needed the spoken word which should call restless and degenerate souls to seek in them the living water which springs up unto life eternal. God was then preparing His witnesses in Scotland, and the first was Patrick Hamilton. He laid open the New Testament; he set forth the facts and the doctrines contained in it; he defended the evangelical principles. His father, the foremost of Scottish knights, had not broken so many lances in the tournament as Patrick now broke in his college, at the university, with the canons, and with all who set themselves against the truth.[34] At the begin[27]ning of Lent 1527, he publicly preached in the cathedral and elsewhere the doctrines (heresies, said his sentence) taught by Martin Luther.[35] We have no further particulars of his preaching; but these are sufficient to show us that at this period the people who gathered together in the ancient churches of Scotland heard this faithful minister announce that ‘it is not the law, that terrible tyrant, as Luther said, that is to reign in the conscience, but the Son of God, the king of justice and of peace, who, like a fruitful rain, descends from heaven and fertilizes the most barren soil.’[36]

Circumstances were by no means favorable to the Reformation. Archbishop Beatoun had soon thrown off his shepherd’s dress and left the flocks which he was feeding in the solitary pastures of Bogrian in Fifeshire. The simple, rude, and isolated life of the keeper of sheep was a sufficiently severe chastisement for an ambitious, intriguing, and worldly spirit: day and night, therefore, he was looking for some means of deliverance. Although he was then sleeping on the ground, he had plenty of gold and great estates: this wealth, the omnipotence of which he knew well, would suffice, said he to himself, to ransom him from the abject service to which a political reverse had reduced him. Since the victory of Linlithgow, Angus had exercised the royal power without opposition. It was needful then that Beatoun should gain over that terrible conqueror. The queen-mother, who had also fled at first, having ventured two months later to approach Edinburgh, her son had re[28]ceived her and conducted her to Holyrood palace. This encouraged the archbishop. His nephew, David Beatoun, abbot of Arbroath, was as clever and as ambitious as his uncle, but he hated still more passionately all who refused to submit to the Roman Church. The archbishop entreated him to negotiate his return; the party of the nobles was hard to win; but the abbot, having gained over the provost of Edinburgh, Sir Archibald Douglas, uncle of Angus, the bargain was struck. The archbishop was to pay two thousand Scottish marks to Angus, one thousand to George Douglas, the king’s gaoler, one thousand to cruel James Hamilton, the assassin of Lennox, and to make a present of the abbey of Kilwinning to the earl of Arran. Beatoun, charmed, threw away his crook, started for Edinburgh, and resumed his episcopal functions at St. Andrews.

It was some time after the return of Beatoun that the king’s cousin began to preach at St. Andrews the glad tidings of free salvation through faith in Christ. Such doctrines could not be taught without giving rise to agitation. The clergy took alarm, some priests and monks went to the castle and prayed the archbishop to chastise the young preacher. Beatoun ordered an inquiry: it was carried out very precisely. The persons with whom Hamilton had engaged in discussion were heard, and some of his hearers gave evidence as to the matter of his discourses. He was declared a heretic. Beatoun was not cruel; he would perhaps have been content with seeking to bring back by fatherly exhortations the young and interesting Hamilton into the paths of the Church. But the primate had by his side some fanatical spirits, especially his nephew David, and they redoubled their urgency to such a degree that the archbishop ordered Hamilton to appear before him to give an account of his faith.[37]

The inquiry could not be made without this noble[29] Christian hearing of it. He perceived the fate that awaited him; his friends perceived it too. If he should appear before the archbishop, it was all up with him. Everyone was moved with compassion; some of his enemies even, touched by his youth, the loveliness of his character, and his illustrious birth, wished to see him escape death. There was no time to lose, for the order of the archiepiscopal court was already signed; several conjured him to fly. What should he do? All his desire was to show to others the peace that filled his own soul; but at the same time he knew how much was still wanting to him. Who could better enlighten and strengthen him than the reformers of Germany? Who more able to put him in a position to return afterwards to preach Christ with power? He resolved to go. Two of his friends, Hamilton of Linlithgow and Gilbert Wynram of Edinburgh, determined to accompany him. Preparations for their departure were made with the greatest possible secrecy. Hamilton took with him one servant, and the three young Scotchmen, finding their way furtively to the coast, embarked on board a merchant-ship. It was in the latter half of the month of April 1527. This unlooked-for escape greatly provoked those who had set their minds on taking the life of the evangelist. ‘He, of evil mind, as may be presumed, passed forth of the realm,’[38] said the archbishop’s familiars. No: his intention was to be instructed, to increase in spiritual life from day to day. He landed at the beginning of May in one of the ports of the Netherlands.

CHAPTER III.

HAMILTON PREPARES HIMSELF IN GERMANY FOR THE REFORMATION OF SCOTLAND.

(Spring, Summer, Autumn, 1527.)

At the time of Hamilton’s arrival on the Continent, the germ of the Reformation of Scotland already lay in his heart. His association with the doctors of Germany would prove the identity of this great spiritual movement, which everywhere was overthrowing the same abuses, and bringing anew to the surface the same truths. In which direction should the young Christian hero of Scotland now turn his footsteps? All his ambition was to go to Wittenberg, to hear Luther, Melanchthon, and the other reformers; but circumstances led him to go first to Marburg. This town lay on his way, and a renowned printer, Hans Luft, was then publishing there the works of Tyndale. In fact, on May 8, 1527, at the moment of Patrick’s arrival on the Continent, there appeared at Marburg the Parable of the Wicked Mammon; and seven months later, December 11, Luft published The Veritable Obedience of a Christian Man. But Hamilton flattered himself that he should find at Marburg something more than Tyndale’s writings—Tyndale himself. English evangelical works had at that time to get printed in Germany, and, as far as possible, under the eye of the author. The young Scotchman had hopes then of meeting at Marburg the translator of the New Testament, the reformer of England, and even Fryth, who might be with him. One reason more positive still influenced Hamilton. He was aware that Lambert[31] d’Avignon, the one man of all the reformers whose views most nearly approached those which prevailed afterwards in Scotland, had been called to Marburg by the landgrave. Philip of Hesse himself was the most determined, the most courageous of all the Protestant princes. How many motives were there inclining him to stay in that town! An extraordinary circumstance decided the young Scotchman. The landgrave, defender of piety and of letters,[39] was about to found there the first evangelical university, ‘for the restoration of the liberal sciences.’[40] Its inauguration was fixed to take place on May 30. Hamilton and his friends might arrive in time. They bent their course towards Hesse, and reached the banks of the Lahn.

At the time of their arrival the little town was full of unaccustomed movement. Undiverted by this stir, Hamilton hastened to find out the Frenchman whose name had been mentioned to him and other learned men who were likely also to be at Marburg. He found the sprightly, pious, and resolute Lambert, an opponent, like the landgrave, of half-measures, and a man determined to take action in such wise that the Reformation should not be checked halfway. The young abbot of the North and the aged monk of the South thus met, understood each other, and soon lived together in great familiarity.[41] Lambert said to him that the hidden things had been revealed by Jesus Christ; that what distinguishes our religion from all others is the fact that God has spoken to us; that the Scriptures are sufficient to make us perfect. He did not philosophize much, persuaded that by dint of philosophizing one swerves from the truth. He set aside with equal energy the superstition which invents a marvellous mythology,[32] and the incredulity which denies divine and supernatural action. ‘Everything which has been perverted [déformé] must be reformed [réformé],’ said Lambert, ‘and all reform which proceeds otherwise than according to the Word of God, is nothing.[42] All the inventions of human reason are, in the matter of religion, nothing but trifling and rubbish.’

The commotion which then prevailed amongst the population of Marburg was occasioned by the approaching inauguration of the university founded by the landgrave. On May 30 the chancellor presided at that ceremony. No school of learning had ever been founded on such a basis; one must suppose that the union which ought to exist between science and faith was in this case unrecognized. There is nothing in Hamilton’s writings to show that in this matter he shared the opinions of Lambert. With great evangelical simplicity as to the faith, the Scotchman had rather, in his manner of setting it forth, a metaphysical, speculative tendency, which is a marked feature of the Scottish mind. The principles which were to characterize the new university were these: ‘The Holy Scriptures,’ says a document of Marburg which has been preserved, ‘ought to be purely and piously interpreted, and no one who fails to do so is to teach in the school. From the science of law must be cut off everything which is either unchristian or impious.[43] It is not mere scholars who are to be appointed in the faculties of law, of medicine, of the sciences, and of letters, but men who shall combine with science the knowledge of the Holy Scriptures and piety.’

Thus we see that the opposition between science and faith was already attracting attention, and the landgrave settled the question by excluding science and those learned in it, since they were not in agreement with the Scriptures; just as in other ages men would have the[33]ology and theologians set aside, since they were not in agreement with human learning. No one ought to teach in the schools of theology except in conformity with the Scriptures of God, the supreme authority in the Church. To disregard this principle is to take in hand to destroy the flock of God. The fanaticism of the School, however, cannot justify the fanaticism of the Church. It is a grave matter to banish science on account of the dangers to which it exposes us. To exclude the fire from the hearth for fear of conflagration would not be reasonable; far better to take the precautions which good sense points out for preventing the evil. If science and faith are to advance together without peril, it can only be brought about by the intervention of the moral principle. The existence of so-called freethinkers arises from a moral decay; certain excesses of an exaggerated orthodoxy may perhaps proceed from the same cause. A presumptuous and passionate haste, affirming and denying to the first comer, is a grave fault. How many times has it happened that some law, some fact proclaimed by science at one period as sufficient to convict the Scriptures of error, has had to be given up soon after by science herself as a mistake. But let religious men be on their guard against the indolence and the cowardice which would lead them to repulse science, out of fear lest she should remain mistress of the field of battle. By so doing they would deprive themselves of the weapons most serviceable for the defence of their treasures as well as of the most fitting occasions for spreading them abroad. Lambert did not go to such a length; but he was persuaded that unless a breath divine, coming from on high, give life to academical teaching, the university would be nothing more than a dead mechanism, and that science, instead of propagating a healthy and enlightened cultivation, would only darken and pervert men’s minds. This is surely a very reasonable and very practical thought, and it is to be[34] regretted that it has not always regulated public instruction.

After the delivery of the inaugural discourses, the rector, Montanus, professor of Civil Law, opened the roll of the university, to enter in it the names of its members. Professors, pastors, state functionaries, nobles, foreigners, students, one hundred and ten persons in all, gave their names. The first to sign was the rector, the second was Lambert; then came Adam Crato, professor Ehrard Schnepf, one of the first Germans converted by Luther, Enricius Cordus, who had accompanied Luther to Worms, and Hermann von dem Busche, professor of Poetry and Eloquence. In a little while three young men of foreign aspect approached. The first of them signed his name thus: Patricius Hamilton, a Litgovien, Scotus, magister Parisiensis;[44] his two friends signed after him.

From that time the Frenchman and the Scotchman frequently studied the Holy Scriptures together, and with interest always new. The large acquaintance with the Word of God which Hamilton possessed, astonished Lambert: the freshness of his thoughts and of his imagination charmed him; the integrity of his character inspired a high esteem for him; his profound remarks on the Gospel edified him. A short time after this, the Frenchman, speaking to the landgrave Philip, said:—‘This young man, of the illustrious family of the Hamiltons, which is closely allied, by the ties of blood, to the king and the kingdom of Scotland,[45] who although hardly twenty-three years of age, brings to the study of Scripture a very sound judgment, and has a vast store[35] of knowledge, is come from the end of the world, from Scotland, to your academy, in order to be more fully established in God’s truth. I have hardly ever met a man who expresses himself with so much spirituality and truth on the Word of the Lord.’ Such is the testimony given in Germany, by a Frenchman, to the young reformer of Scotland.

Will Hamilton remain at Marburg? Shall he not see Luther, Melanchthon, and the other doctors of the Reformation? It has been generally supposed that he did go to Wittenberg; but there is no evidence of this, either in the University registers or in Luther’s or Melanchthon’s letters. This tradition, therefore, appears to us to be unfounded. As Hamilton had, however, formed the intention of visiting Luther when he left Scotland, what motive led him to relinquish his design? It was this. Early in July, at the very time when the young Scotchman might have gone to Wittenberg, a report was spread abroad that Luther had suddenly fallen ill. On July 7 he had lost the use of his senses, his body lay motionless, the heart scarcely beating, while his wife and his weeping friends stood round the bed, on which he was stretched as if dead. He came to himself, however, and, persuaded that he was at the point of death,[46] he resigned himself entirely to the hand of God and prayed with much fervency. At the same time the report ran in Germany that the plague was raging at Wittenberg. When Luther had recovered a little strength, he wrote to Spalatin:—‘May the Lord have pity on me and not forsake his sinner!’[47] Soon after, he had fresh attacks. ‘Ah,’ said he to his friends, ‘people fancy, because joy usually brightens my countenance, that I walk on roses, but God knows how rugged life is for me!’ One day, when Jonas had come[36] to take supper with him, Luther, feeling ill during the meal, suddenly rose, and after taking a few steps fell in a fainting fit. ‘Water, water,’ cried he, ‘or I die.’ As he lay on the bed, he lifted up his eyes and said: ‘O my beloved Lord, thou art master of life and of death, do as it pleaseth thee. Only remember that it is thou who didst bid me undertake this work, and that it is for thy truth, for thy Word, that I have fought.’

On the following day, at six o’clock in the evening, as Jonas again stood by the bedside of his friend, he heard him calling on the Lord, sometimes in German, sometimes in Latin. The thought that he had not done enough, nor suffered enough for his Saviour, distressed him. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘I have not been judged worthy to shed my blood for the love of Christ, as several of my brethren have done.’ Presently a thought consoled him: ‘St. John the Evangelist also,’ said he, ‘had not that honor—he who nevertheless wrote a book (Apocalypse) against the papacy, far more severe than any that I could ever write.’[48] After that he had his little John brought to him, and looking at the mother of the boy, he said, ‘You have nothing; but God will provide for you.’

The plague, as we have said, was at Wittenberg. Two persons died of it in Melanchthon’s house; one of his sons was attacked, and one of the sons of Jonas lost his life. Hans Luft, the printer of Marburg, who was at Wittenberg on business, fell ill, and his mind wandered.[49] He was removed to Marburg, where Hamilton was.

Terror became general at Wittenberg. All who could do so, and especially the students, quitted the town; the university was transferred to Jena. Luther pressed the elector to go thither with his family, but, he[37] added, in such calamities pastors must bide at their post. He remained therefore, and Melanchthon, who was visiting the churches in Saxony, received orders to go to Jena and resume his lectures there. During this period Luther, having regained some little strength, was visiting the sick and consoling the dying. In the course of a few days he had about him eighteen dead, some of whom even expired almost in his arms.[50] He received into his house the poor, widows, orphans, and even the plague-stricken; his house become a hospital.[51] His wife and his son were attacked. ‘What conflicts!’ cried he, ‘what terrors! No matter; though the malady waste the body, the Word of God saves the soul.’ He again fell ill himself, and thinking that he was nigh to death, he wrote to Melanchthon: ‘Pray for me, vile and miserable worm. I have only one glory, and that is that I have taught purely the word of God.[52] He who has begun the work will complete it. I seek only Him; I thirst for nothing but his grace.’

Such, doubtless, were the circumstances which detained Hamilton at Marburg. On hearing that in consequence of the plague the courses of lectures had partly at least been transferred to Jena, he gave up Wittenberg; and thus is explained quite naturally the want of original documents respecting his alleged sojourn at the Saxon university. A very painful sacrifice was thus demanded of him. Lambert resolved to turn the disappointment to good account. Having a high idea of the faith, the judgment, and abilities of Hamilton, he begged him to compose some theses on the evangelical doctrine, and to defend them publicly. Everyone supported this request; for an academical solemnity, at which a foreign theologian belonging to the royal family[38] of Scotland should hold the chief place, could not fail to throw a certain éclat over the new university. Hamilton consented.[53] His subject was quickly chosen. In his eyes a man’s religion was not sound unless it had its source in the Word of God and in the inmost experience of the soul which receives that Word, and is thereby led into the truth. He deemed it necessary to present the doctrine in this practical aspect, rather than to lose himself in the speculative theorems of an obscure scholasticism.

On the appointed day Hamilton entered the great hall of the university, in which were gathered professors, students, and a numerous audience besides. He announced that he was about to establish a certain number of truths respecting the law and the Gospel, and that he would maintain them against all comers. These theses, all of a practical character, had however somewhat of that dialectical spirit which distinguished at a subsequent period the philosophical schools of Scotland, and were drawn up in a pure and lapidary style which secures for this theologian of three-and-twenty a noteworthy place among the doctors of the sixteenth century.

‘There is a difference, and even an opposition, between the law and the Gospel,’ said Hamilton. ‘The law showeth us our sin; the Gospel showeth us remedy for it. The law showeth us our condemnation; the Gospel showeth us our redemption. The law is the word of ire; the Gospel is the word of grace. The law is the word of despair; the Gospel is the word of comfort. The law is the word of unrest; the Gospel is the word of peace.[54] The law saith, Pay thy debt; the Gospel saith, Christ hath paid it. The law saith, Thou art a sinner—despair, and thou shalt be damned; the Gospel[39] saith, Thy sins are forgiven thee: be of good comfort, thou shalt be saved. The law saith, Make amends for thy sins; the Gospel saith, Christ hath made it for thee. The law saith, The Father of heaven is angry with thee; the Gospel saith, Christ hath pacified him with his blood. The law saith, Where is thy righteousness, goodness, and satisfaction? the Gospel saith, Christ is thy righteousness, thy goodness, thy satisfaction. The law saith, Thou art bound and obliged to me, to the devil and to hell; the Gospel saith, Christ hath delivered thee from them all.’[55]

The attack began, and the defence of the young Master of Arts was as remarkable as his exposition. Even though he made use of the syllogism, he shook off the dust of the school, and put something perspicuous and striking in its place. When one opponent maintained that a man is justified by the law, Hamilton replied by this syllogism:—

‘That which is the cause of condemnation cannot be the cause of justification.

‘The law is the cause of condemnation.

‘Therefore the law is not the cause of justification.’

His phraseology, clear, concise, and salient—rare qualities in Germany, except perhaps in Luther—his practical, transparent, conscientious Christianity—struck the minds of his hearers. Certainly, said Lambert, Hamilton has put forward thoroughly Christian axioms, and has maintained them with a great deal of learning.[56]

Hamilton engaged in other public disputations besides this. As faith in Christ and justification by faith is the principle which distinguishes Protestantism from other Christian systems, he felt bound to establish the nature, importance, and influence of that doctrine. He believed that faith is born in a man’s heart when, as he hears[40] or reads the Word of God, the Holy Spirit bears witness in his heart to the main truth which is found in it, and shows him with clear proof that Jesus is really an almighty Saviour. Faith was for the young Scotchman a divine work, which he carefully distinguished from a faith merely human. On this subject he laid down and defended the following propositions:—‘He who does not believe the Word of God, does not believe God himself. Faith is the root of all that is good; unbelief is the root of all evil. Faith makes friends of God and of man; unbelief makes enemies of them. Faith lets us see in God a father full of gentleness; unbelief presents him to us as a terrible judge. Faith sets a man steadfast on a rock; unbelief leaves him constantly wavering and tottering. To wish to be saved by works is to make a man’s self his saviour, instead of Jesus Christ. Wouldst thou make thyself equal with God? Wouldst thou refuse to accept the least thing from him without paying him the value of it?’

Fryth, who doubtless took part in the discussion, was so much struck with these theses that he translated them into English, and by that means they have come down to us. ‘The truths which Hamilton expounded are such,’ said he, ‘that the man who is acquainted with them has the pith of all divinity.’[57] ‘This little treatise is short,’ said others who listened to him, ‘but in effect it comprehendeth matter able to fill large volumes.’[58] Yes, Christ is the author of redemption, and faith is the eye which sees and receives him. There are only these two things: Christ sacrificed and the eye which contemplates him. The eye, it is true, is not man’s only organ; we have besides hands to work, feet to walk, ears to hear, and other members more for our service. But none of all these members can see, but only the eye.[59]

[41]

In the midst of all these labors, however, Hamilton was thinking of Scotland. It was not of the benefices which had been conferred on him, not of St. Andrews, nor of the misty lochs or picturesque glens; it was not even of his family, or of his friends that he thought the most. What occupied his mind night and day was the ignorance and superstition in which his countrymen were living. What powerfully appealed to him was the necessity of giving glory to God and of doing good to his own people. And yet would it not be madness to return to them? Had he not seen the animosity of the Scottish clergy? Did he not know well the power of the primate Beatoun? Had he not, only six or seven months before, left his country in all haste? Why then these thoughts of returning? There was good reason for them. Hamilton had been fortified in spirit during his sojourn at Marburg; his faith and his courage had increased; by living with decided Christians, who were ready to give their lives for the Gospel, he had been tempered like steel and had become stronger. It could not be doubted that extreme peril awaited him in Scotland; his two friends, John Hamilton and Wynram, did not understand his impatience and were resolved to wait. But neither their example nor the urgency of Lambert could quench the ardor of the young hero. He felt the sorrow of parting with Lambert and of finally giving up the hope of seeing Luther and Melanchthon; but he had heard God’s call; his one duty was to answer to it. About the end of autumn 1527 he embarked with his faithful servant and sailed towards the shores of Caledonia.

CHAPTER IV.

EVANGELIZATION, TRIBULATIONS, AND SUCCESS OF HAMILTON IN SCOTLAND.

(End of 1527 to the end of February 1528.)

The Church of Rome, in the sixteenth century, especially in Scotland, was far from being apostolic, although it assumed that title: nothing was less like St. John or St. Peter than its primates and its prelates, worldlings and sometimes warriors as they were. The real successors of the apostles were those reformers, who taught the doctrines of the apostles, labored as they did, and like them were persecuted and put to death. The theocratic and political elements combined in Rome have, with certain exceptions, substituted the law, that is, outward worship, ceremonial ordinances, pilgrimages and the exercises of ascetic life for the Gospel. The Reformation was a powerful reaction of the evangelical and moral element against the legal, sacerdotal, ascetic and ritualistic elements which had invaded the Church. This reaction was about to display its energy in Scotland, and Hamilton was to be at first its principal organ.

Already, before his return, the sacred books had arrived in large numbers in the principal ports of the kingdom. Attention had been awakened; but at the same time ignorance, dishonesty, and fanaticism had risen in revolt against the Evangelical Scriptures. The priests said that the Old Testament was the only true one, and pretended that the New had been recently invented by[43] Martin Luther.[60] Consequently, in August 1527, the earl of Angus, at the instigation of Dunbar, bishop of Aberdeen, had confirmed the ordinance of 1525, and had decreed that the king’s subjects who circulated the sacred books should be visited with the same penalties as people from abroad. If, therefore, a vessel arrived at Leith, Dundee, St. Andrews, or Aberdeen, the king’s officers immediately went on board, and if any copies of the New Testament were found there, the ship and the cargo were confiscated and the captain was imprisoned.

Some time after this ordinance, the ship which carried Hamilton reached port, and although this young Christian always had his New Testament in his pocket, he landed without being arrested and went his way to Kincavil. It was about the end of 1527. Patrick tenderly loved his mother and his sister; everybody appreciated his amiable character; the servants and all his neighbors were his friends. This gentleness made his work easier. But his strength lay above all in the depth and the sincerity of his Christian spirit. ‘Christ bare our sins on his back and bought us with his blood’;[61] this was the master chord which vibrated in his soul. In setting forth any subject he silenced his own reasonings and let the Bible speak. No one had a clearer perception of the analogies and the contrasts which characterize the evangelical doctrine. With these intellectual qualities were associated eminent moral virtues; he practised the principles which he held to be true with immovable fidelity; he taught them with a touching charity; he defended them with energetic decision. Whether he approached a laborer, a monk, or a noble, it was with the desire to do him good, to lead[44] him to God. He taxed his ingenuity to devise all means of bearing witness to the truth.[62] His courage was firm, his perseverance unflagging, and in his dignified seriousness his youth was forgotten. His social position added weight to his influence. We have seen that the aristocracy played a far larger part in Scotland than in any other European country. It would have seemed a strange thing to the Scots for a man of the people to meddle with such a matter as reform of the Church; but if the man that spoke to them belonged to an illustrious family, the position which he took appeared to them legitimate, and they were all inclined to listen to his voice. Such was the reformer whom God gave to Scotland.

Patrick’s elder brother, Sir James Hamilton, on succeeding to the estates and titles of his father, had been appointed sheriff of Linlithgowshire. James had not the abilities of his brother, but he was full of uprightness and humility. His wife, Isabella Sempill, belonged to an ancient Scottish family, and ten young children surrounded this amiable pair. Catherine, Patrick’s sister, bore some resemblance to him; she had much simplicity of character, sense, and decision. But it was most of all in the society of his mother, the widow of the valiant knight, that Patrick sought and enjoyed the pure and keen delight of domestic life. He opened his heart to all these beloved ones; he made known to them the peace which he had found in the Gospel, and by degrees his relations were brought to the faith, of which they afterwards gave brilliant evidence.

The zeal which was consuming him could not long be confined within the limits of his own family. His love for the Gospel silenced within him all fear and, full of courage, he was ready to endure the insults which his faith might bring on him. ‘The bright beams of the true light, which by God’s grace were[45] planted in his heart, began most abundantly to burst forth, as well in public as in secret.’[63] Hamilton went about in the surrounding country, his name securing for him everywhere a hearty welcome. When the young laird was seen approaching, laborers left the field which they were cultivating, women came out of every poor cottage, and all gathered about him respectfully and lent him an attentive ear.[64] Priests, citizens from the neighboring town, women of rank, lords quitting their castles, people of all classes, met together there.[65] Patrick received them with a kindly smile and a graceful bearing. He addressed to souls that first word of the Gospel, Be converted! but he also pointed out the errors of the Romish Church.[66] His hearers returned, astonished at his knowledge of the Scriptures, and the people touched by the salvation which he proclaimed increased in number from day to day. Southward of the manor-house of Kincavil extends a chain of rocky hills, whose lofty peaks and slopes, dotted with clumps of trees, produced in the midst of that district a most picturesque effect. There more than once he talked freely about the Gospel with the country-folk, who in the heat of the day came to rest under the shadow of the rocks. Sometimes he climbed the hills, and from their tops contemplated the whole range of country in which he announced the good news. That Craig still exists, a picturesque monument of Hamilton’s Gospel mission.[67]

He began soon to set forth the Gospel in the lowly churches of the neighboring villages; then he grew bolder and preached even in the beautiful sanctuary of[46] St. Michael, at Linlithgow, in the midst of numerous and rich altars. No sooner had the report of his preaching begun to get abroad than everyone wanted to hear him. The name which he bore, his gracious aspect, his learning, his piety, drew about him day by day a larger number of hearers; for a long time such a crowd had not been seen flocking into the church.[68] Linlithgow, the favorite abode of the court, was sometimes bright with unaccustomed splendor. The members of the royal family, and the most illustrious nobles of the kingdom, came to unite with the citizens and the people in the church. This fashionable auditory, whose looks were fixed on the reformer of three-and-twenty, did not at all intimidate him; the plainness, clearness, and conciseness which characterized Hamilton’s style were better adapted to act on the minds of the great than pompous declamation. ‘Knowest thou what this saying means,’ said he, ‘Christ died for thee? Verily that thou shouldest have died perpetually: and Christ, to deliver thee from death, died for thee, and changed thy perpetual death into his own death; for thou madest the fault and He suffered the pain.... He desireth nought of thee but that thou wilt acknowledge what He hath done for thee and bear it in mind: and that thou wouldst help others for his sake, even as He hath holpen thee for nought and without reward.’[69]

Among his hearers was a young maiden of noble birth who with joy received the good news of salvation. Hamilton recognized in her a soul akin to his own. He had adopted the principles of Luther on marriage; he was familiar with the conversations which the reformer had with his friends on the subject and which were reported all over Germany. ‘My father and mother,’ said Luther one day, ‘lived in the holy state of marriage, even the patriarchs and prophets did the same;[47] why should not I do so? Marriage is the holiest state of all, and the celibacy of priests has been the cause of abominable sins. We must marry and thus defy the pope, and assert the liberty which God gives us and which Rome presumes to steal away.’[70] However, to marry was a daring step for Hamilton to take, considering the present necessity, as speaks the apostle Paul. As abbot of Ferne, and connected with the first families of Scotland, his marriage must needs excite to the highest degree the wrath of the priests. Besides which, it would call for great decision on the part of Patrick and genuine sympathy on the part of the young Christian maiden, to unite themselves as it were in sight of the scaffold. The marriage however took place, probably at the beginning of 1528. ‘A little while before his death,’ says Alesius, ‘he married a noble young maiden.’[71] It is possible that the knowledge of this union did not pass beyond the family circle. It remained unknown to his biographers till our own time.[72]

While Hamilton was preaching at Linlithgow, archbishop Beatoun was at the monastery of Dunfermline, about four leagues distant, on the other side of the Forth. The prelate, when he learnt the return of the young noble who had so narrowly escaped him, saw clearly that a missionary animated with Luther’s spirit, thoroughly familiar with the manners of the people, and supported by the powerful family of the Hamiltons, was a formidable adversary. News which crossed the Forth or came from Edinburgh, did but increase the apprehensions of the archbishop. Beatoun was a determined enemy of the Gospel.[73] Having governed Scotland dur[48]ing the minority of the king, he was indignant at the thought of the troubles with which Hamilton’s preaching menaced the Church and the realm. The clergy shared the alarm of their head; the city of St. Andrews, especially, which one Scottish historian has called ‘the metropolis of the kingdom of darkness’,[74] was in a state of great agitation. The dean Spence, the rector Weddel, the official Simson, the canon Ramsay and the heads of various monasteries consulted together and exclaimed that peril was imminent, and that it was absolutely necessary to get rid of so dangerous an adversary.

The archbishop, therefore, took counsel with his nephew and some other clerics as to the best means of making away with Hamilton. Great prudence was needful. They must make sure of the inclinations of Angus; they must divert the attention of the young king who, with his generosity of character, might wish to save his relation; they must in some way ensnare the evangelist, for Beatoun did not dream of sending men-at-arms to seize Patrick at Kincavil in the house of his brother the sheriff. So the archbishop resolved to have recourse to stratagem. In pursuit of the scheme, Hamilton, only a few days after his marriage, received an invitation to go to St. Andrews for the purpose of a friendly conference with the archbishop concerning religion. The young noble, who the year before had divined the perfidious projects of the clergy, knew well the import of the interview which was proposed to him, and he told those who were dear to him that in a few days he should lose his life.[75] His mother, his wife, his brother, his sister, exerted all their influence to keep him from going; but he was determined not to flee a second time; and he asked himself whether the moment was not come in which a great blow might be struck,[49] and the triumph of the Gospel be attained. He declared therefore that he was ready to go to the Scottish Rome.

On his arrival at St. Andrews the young reformer presented himself before the archbishop, who gave him the most gracious reception. Is it possible that these good graces were sincere, and not treacherous as was generally supposed? Did Beatoun hope to win him back by such means to the bosom of the Church? Every one in the palace testified respect to Hamilton. The prelate had provided for him a lodging in the city, to which he was conducted. Patrick, when he saw the respect with which he was treated, felt still more encouraged to set forth frankly the faith that was in his heart. He went back to the castle where the conference with the archbishop and the other doctors was to be held. All of them displayed a conciliatory spirit: all appeared to recognize the evils in the church; some of them seemed even to share on some points the sentiments of Hamilton. He left the castle full of hope. He thought that he could see in the dense wall of Romish prejudices a small opening which by the hand of God might soon be widened.

He lost no time. Left perfectly free he went and came whithersoever he would, and was allowed to defend his opinions without any obstacle being thrown in his way. This was part of the plot. If the archbishop himself were capable of some kindly feeling, his nephew David and several others were pitiless. They wished Hamilton to speak, and to speak a good deal; he must be taken in the very fact, that they might dare to put him to death. Among those who listened to him there were present, without his being aware of it, some who took notes of his sayings and immediately made their report. His enemies were not satisfied with letting him move about freely in private houses, but even the halls of the university were opened to him; he might ‘teach there and discuss there openly,’ as an eyewitness tells[50] us,[76] respecting the doctrines, the sacraments, the rites and the administration of the Church. Many people were pleased to hear this young noble announce, with the permission of the primate of Scotland, dogmas so strange. ‘They err,’ said Hamilton to his audience, ‘whose religion consists in men’s merits, in traditions, laws, canons, and ceremonies, and who make little or no mention of the faith of Christ. They err who make the Gospel to be a law, and Christ to be a Moses. To put the law in the place of the Gospel is to put on a mourning gown in the feast of a marriage.’[77] Then he repeated what he had already asserted at Marburg, what Luther had said, what Jesus Christ had said:—‘It is not good works which make a good man; but it is a good man who makes good works.’[78] It was above all for this proposition, so Christian, so clear, that he was to be attacked.

The enemies of the young reformer exulted when they heard him avow principles so opposed to those of Rome; but desirous of compromising him still further, they engaged him in private conversations, in which they tried hard to draw him to the extreme of his anti-Romish convictions. Nevertheless, there were among his hearers righteous men who loved this young Scotchman, so full of love for God and for men, who went to his house, confided to him their doubts, and desired his guidance. He received them with kindliness, frequently invited them to his table, and sought to do good to them all.

Among the canons of St. Andrews was Alexander Alane, better known under the Latin name of Alesius, who in his boyhood had narrowly escaped death on Arthur’s Seat. This young man, of modest character, with a tender heart, a moderate yet resolute spirit, and[51] a fine intelligence which had been developed by the study of ancient languages, had made great progress in scholastic divinity, and had taken his place at an early age among the adversaries of the Reformation.[79] His keenest desire was to break a lance with Luther; controversy with the reformer was at that time the great battle-field on which the doctors, young and old, aspired to give proof of their valor. As he could not measure himself personally with the man whom he named arch-heretic, Alesius had refuted his doctrine in a public discussion held at the university. The theologians of St. Andrews had covered him with applause.[80] ‘Assuredly,’ said they, ‘if Luther had been present, he would have been compelled to yield.’ The fairest hopes, too, were entertained respecting the young doctor. Alesius, alive to these praises, and a sincere Catholic, thought that it would be an easy task for him to convince young Hamilton of his errors. He had been acquainted with him before his journey to Marburg; he loved him; and he desired to save him by bringing him back from his wanderings.

With this purpose he visited the young noble. Conversation began. Alesius was armed cap-à-pié, crammed with scholastic learning,[81] and with all the formulæ quomodo sit, quomodo non sit. Hamilton had before him nothing but the Gospel, and he replied to all the reasonings of his antagonist with the clear, living, and profound word of the Scriptures. It has happened more than once that sincere men have embraced the truth a little while after having pronounced against it. Alesius, struck and embarrassed, was silenced, and felt as if ‘the morning-star were rising in his heart.’ It was not merely his understanding that was convinced. The[52] breath of a new life penetrated his soul, and at the moment when the scaffolding of his syllogisms fell to the ground, the truth appeared to him all radiant with glory. He did not content himself with that first conference, but frequently came again to see Hamilton, taking day by day more and more pleasure in his discourse. His conscience was won, his mind was enlightened. On returning to his priory cell, he pondered with amazement on the way he had just gone. ‘The result of my visit has been contrary to all my expectation,’ said he; ‘I thought that I should bring Hamilton back to the doctrine of Rome, and instead of that he has brought me to acknowledge my own error.’[82]

One day another speaker came to Hamilton. This was a young ecclesiastic, Alexander Campbell, prior of the Dominicans, who like Alesius had a fine genius, great learning,[83] and a kindly disposition.[84] The archbishop, who knew his superiority, begged him to visit Hamilton frequently, and to spare no efforts to win him back to the Roman doctrine. Campbell obeyed his chief; but while certain priests or monks craftily questioned the young doctor with the intention of destroying him, the prior of the Dominicans had it in mind to save him. It is a mistake to attribute to him from the first any other intention. Campbell, like Alesius, was open to the truth, but the love of the world and its favors prevailed in him, and therein lay his danger. He frequently conversed with Hamilton on the true sense of the Scriptures, and acknowledged the truth of Patrick’s words. ‘Yes,’ said the prior, ‘the Church is in need of reformation in many ways.’[85] Hamilton, pleased with[53] this admission, hoped to bring him to the faith, like Alesius, and having no fear of a friend whom he already looked on almost as a brother, he kept back none of his thoughts, and attached himself to him with all sincerity. But after several interviews, Campbell received orders from the archbishop to go to him to give an account of the result of his proceedings. This request astonished and disturbed the prior; and when he stood before Beatoun and his councillors, he was intimidated, overpowered by fear at the thought of offending the primate, and of incurring the censures of the Church. He would fain have obeyed at the same time both the Lord and the bishop,—he would fain have served God and sucked-in honors; but he saw no means of reconciling the Gospel and the world. When he saw all looks turned on him he was agitated, he wavered, and told everything which the young noble of Kincavil had said to him in the freedom of brotherly confidence. He appeared to condemn him, and even consented to become one of his judges. Choosing ease, reputation, and life rather than persecution, opprobrium, and death, Campbell turned his back on the truth and abandoned Hamilton.

When the young reformer heard of Campbell’s treachery, it was a great sorrow to him; but he was not disheartened. On the contrary, he went on teaching with redoubled zeal, both at his own lodging and in the university. He bore witness, ‘with hand and with foot,’ as used to be said at that time (that is to say, with all his heart and with all his might), to the Word of God. For making a beginning of the work of reformation there was no place in the kingdom more important than St. Andrews. Hamilton found there students and professors, priests, monks of the orders of St. Augustine, St. Francis, and St. Dominic, canons, deans, members of the ecclesiastical courts, nobles, jurisconsults, and laymen of all classes. This was the wide and apparently favorable[54] field on which for one month he scattered plentifully the divine seed.[86]

The adversaries of the New Testament, when they saw the success of Hamilton’s teachings, grew more and more alarmed every day. There must be no more delay, they thought; all compliance must cease, and the great blow must be struck. Patrick was cited to appear at the archiepiscopal palace, to make answer to a charge of heresy brought against him. His friends in alarm conjured him to fly: it seemed that even the archbishop would have been glad to see him set out once more for Germany. Lord Hamilton, earl of Arran, was at once Patrick’s uncle and the primate’s nephew by marriage. The primate would naturally show some consideration for a young man whose family he respected;[87] but the obstacle was to be raised on the part of Hamilton himself. When he crossed the North Sea to return to Scotland, he had resolved to lay down his life, if need be, if only by his death Christ should be magnified. The joy of a good conscience was so firmly established in his soul that no bodily suffering could take it away.

As Patrick was not minded to fly from the scaffold, his enemies determined to rid themselves of so formidable an antagonist.

One obstacle, however, lay in their way. Would the king, feeble and thoughtless, but still humane and generous, permit them to sacrifice this young member of his family, who excited the admiration even of his adversaries? James V. felt really interested in Patrick: he wished to see him, and had urged him to be reconciled with the bishops.[88] If at the last moment the Hamiltons should entreat his pardon, how could he refuse it? To evade this difficulty, the Roman clergy resolved to get[55] the young monarch removed out of the way. His father, James IV., used to make a yearly pilgrimage to the chapel of St. Duthac, founded by James III., in Ross-shire, in the north of Scotland. The bishops determined to persuade this prince, then only seventeen, to undertake this long journey although it was then the depth of winter.[89] The king consented, either because he was artfully misled by the priests, or because, seeing that they were determined to get rid of Hamilton, he would rather let them alone, and wash his hands of it. He set out for St. Duthac,[90] and the priests immediately applied themselves to their task.

The tidings of the imminent danger which threatened Patrick brought anxiety into the manor-house of Kincavil. His wife, his mother, and his sister were deeply moved: Sir James was determined not to confine himself to useless lamentation, but to snatch his brother out of the hands of his enemies. As sheriff of Linlithgow and captain of one of the king’s castles, he could easily assemble some men-at-arms, and he set out for St. Andrews at the head of a small force, confident that in case of success James V., on his return from Duthac, would grant him a bill of indemnity.[91] But when he reached the shores of the Forth, which had to be crossed on his way into Fifeshire, he found the waters in agitation from a violent storm, so that he could not possibly make the passage.[92] Sir James and his men-at-arms stopped on the coast, watching the waves with mournful hearts,[56] and listening in anguish to the roar of the storm. When the archbishop heard of the appearance of a troop on the other side the Forth, he collected a large body of horsemen to repulse the attack.[93] Those who were bent on rescuing Hamilton were as full of ardor as those who were bent on his destruction. Which of the two parties would win the day?

The Word of God, when heard among men, has a twofold effect. The first, as we have seen, is to win souls for God by the charm of the divine love which it reveals; but that is not all. It not only gives but demands: it insists on a new heart and a new life. The pride of man revolts against the commandments of God: the heart incensed is bitter against those who announce them, and impels to persecution. The evangelical word, like the creative, separates light from darkness, those who are obedient from those who rebel. This is what was then taking place in Scotland.

Hamilton rose early on the day on which he was to appear before the bishop’s council.[94] Calm and yet fervent in spirit, he burned with desire to make confession of the truth in the presence of that assembly. Without waiting for the hour which had been fixed, he left his abode and presented himself unexpectedly at the[57] archbishop’s palace, between seven and eight o’clock not long after sunrise. Beatoun was already at his task, wishing to confer with the members of his council before the sitting. They went and told him that Hamilton was come and was asking for him. The archbishop took good care not to give him a private interview. The several heresies of which Hamilton was accused had been formulated. All who took part in the affair were agreed as to the heads of the indictment. Beatoun resolved at once to take advantage of Hamilton’s eagerness, and to advance the sitting. The archbishop directed the court to constitute itself: each member took his place according to his rank, and they had the accused before them. One of the members of the council was commissioned to unfold before the young doctor the long catalogue of heresies laid to his charge. Hamilton was brought in. He had expected to converse with Beatoun in private, but he found himself suddenly before a tribunal of sombre and inquisitorial aspect; the lion’s jaws were open before him. However, he remained gentle and calm before the judges, although he knew that they had resolved to take away his life.

‘You are charged,’ said the commissioner, ‘with teaching false doctrines: 1st, that the corruption of sin remains in the child after baptism; 2nd, that no man is able by mere force of free will to do any good thing; 3rd, that no one continues without sins so long as he is in this life; 4th, that every true Christian must know if he is in the state of grace; 5th, that a man is not justified by works but by faith alone; 6th, that good works do not make a good man, but that a good man makes good works; 7th, that faith, hope and charity are so closely united that he who has one of these virtues has also the others; 8th, that it may be held that God is cause of sin in this sense, that when he withholds his grace from a man, the latter cannot but sin; 9th, that it is a devilish doctrine to teach that remission of sins can[58] be obtained by means of certain penances; 10th, that auricular confession is not necessary to salvation; 11th, that there is no purgatory; 12th, that the holy patriarchs were in heaven before the passion of Jesus Christ; and 13th, that the pope is Antichrist, and that a priest has just as much power as a pope.’[95]

The young reformer of Scotland had listened attentively to this long series of charges, drawn up in somewhat scholastic terms. In the official indictment of the priests were included some doctrines for the maintenance of which Hamilton was willing to lay down his life; others which, he admitted, were fair subjects for discussion; but the primate’s theologians had, in their zeal, piled up all that they could find, true or false, essential or accidental, and had flung the confused mass at the young man in order to crush him. One of the clergy, who had visited him for the purpose of catching him unawares in some heresy, had given out that the reformers made God the author of sin. Patrick had denied it, saying,—and this was matter of reproach in the 8th article,—that a sinner may get to such a pitch of obduracy that God leaves him because he will no longer hear him. Hamilton, therefore, made a distinction between the various heads of the indictment. ‘I declare,’ said he, ‘that I look on the first seven articles as certainly true, and I am ready to attest them with a solemn oath. As for the other points they are matter for discussion; but I cannot pronounce them false until stronger reasons are given me for rejecting them than any which I have yet heard.’

The doctors conferred with Hamilton on each point; and the thirteen articles were then referred to the judgment of a commission of divines nominated by the primate. A day or two later, the commissioners made their report, and declared all the articles, without exception, to be heretical. The primate then, in order[59] that the judgment might be invested with special solemnity, announced that sentence would be delivered in the cathedral on the last day of February, before an assembly of the clergy, the nobility, and the people.[96]

While the priests were making ready to put to death one of the members of the illustrious family of the Hamiltons, some noble-hearted laymen were preparing to rescue him. The men of Linlithgow were not the only ones to stir in the matter. John Andrew Duncan, laird of Airdrie, who, as we have seen, was taken prisoner by the English at the battle of Flodden, had, during his captivity, found friends in England, whom he gained for the Gospel. On his return to Scotland, he had opened his house as an asylum for the gospellers, and had become intimate with the Hamiltons. Hearing of the danger that beset Patrick, indignant at the conduct of the bishops and burning with desire to save the young reformer, Duncan had armed his tenants and his servants, and then marching towards the metropolitan city, intended to enter it by night, to carry off his friend and conduct him to England. But the archbishop’s horsemen, warned of the enterprise, set out and surrounded Duncan’s feeble troop, disarmed them and made Duncan prisoner. The life of this noble evangelical Christian was spared at the intercession of his brother-in-law, who was in command of the forces which captured him, but he had once more to quit Scotland.[97]

This attempt had been frustrated just at the moment when the commissioners presented their report on the alleged heresies of Hamilton. There was no longer any need for hesitation on the part of the archbishop; he therefore ordered the arrest of the young evangelist. Wishing to prevent any resistance, the governor of the castle of St. Andrews, who was to carry out the order, waited till night; and then putting himself at the head[60] of a well-armed body of men, he silently surrounded the house in which Hamilton dwelt.[98] According to one historian, he had already retired to rest; according to others, he was in the society of pious and devoted friends and was conversing with them. The young reformer, while he appreciated the affection and the eagerness of his friend Duncan, had no wish that force should be employed to save him. He knew that of whatever nature the war is, such must the weapons be; that for a spiritual war the weapons must be spiritual; that Christ’s soldiers must fight only with the sword of the holy Word. He remained calm in the conviction that God disposes all that befalls his children in such wise that what the world thinks an evil turns out for good to them. At the very moment when the soldiers were surrounding his house, he felt himself encompassed with solid ramparts, knowing that God marshals his forces around his people, as if for the defence of a fortress. At that moment there were knocks at the door: it was the governor of the castle. Hamilton knew what it meant. He rose, went forward accompanied by his friends, and opening the door asked the governor whom he wanted;[99] the latter having answered, Hamilton said, ‘It is I!’ and gave himself up. Then pointing to his friends he added, ‘You will allow them to retire;’[100] and he entreated them not to make any resistance to lawful authority. But these ardent Christians could not bear the thought of losing their friend. ‘Promise us,’ they said to the governor, ‘promise us to bring him back safe and sound.’ The officer only replied by taking away his prisoner. On the summit of huge rocks which rise perpendicularly from the sea,[61] and whose base is ceaselessly washed by the waves, stood at that time the castle whose picturesque remains serve still as a beacon to the mariner. It was within the walls of this feudal stronghold that Hamilton was taken and confined.

The last day of February at length arrived, the day fixed by the archbishop for the solemn assembly at which sentence was to be pronounced. The prelate, followed by a large number of bishops, abbots, doctors, heads of religious orders, and the twelve commissioners, entered the cathedral—a building some centuries old, which was to be cast down in a day by a word of Knox, and whose magnificent ruins still astonish the traveller.[101] Beatoun sat on the bench of the inquisitorial court, and all the ecclesiastical judges took their places round him. Among these was observed Patrick Hepburn, prior of St. Andrews, son of the earl of Bothwell, a worthless and dissolute man, who had eleven illegitimate children, and who gloried in bringing distress and dishonor into families. This veteran of immorality—who ought to have been on the culprit’s seat, but whose pride was greater even than his licentiousness—took his place with a shameless countenance on the judges’ bench. Not far from him was David Beatoun, abbot of Arbroath, an ambitious young man, who was already coveting his uncle’s dignity, and who, as if to prepare himself for a long work of persecution, vigorously pressed on the condemnation of Patrick. In the midst of these hypocrites and fanatics sat one man in a state of agitation and distress—the prior of the Dominicans, Alexander Campbell—with his countenance gloomy and fallen. A great crowd of canons, priests, monks, nobles, citizens, and the common people, filled the church; some[62] of them greedy for the spectacle which was to be presented to them, others sympathizing with Hamilton. ‘I was myself present,’ said Alesius, ‘a spectator of that tragedy.’[102]

The tramp of horses was presently heard: the party of troops sent to seek Hamilton were come. The young evangelist passed into the church, and had to mount a lofty desk, from which he could be easily seen and heard by the assembly. All eyes were turned towards him. ‘Ah,’ said pious folk, ‘if this young Christian had been a worldling, and had given himself up, like the other lords of the court, to a life of dissipation and rioting,[103] he would doubtless have been loved by everybody; and this flower of youth which we now look on would have blown amidst flatteries and delights. But because to his rank he has added piety and virtue, he must fall under the blows of the wicked.’

The proceedings began. The commissioners presented their report to the court, duly signed. Then Alexander Campbell rose, for the archbishop had charged him to read the indictment, and the unfortunate man had not dared to refuse the horrible task. Hamilton was affected at seeing that man whom he took for his friend appear as his accuser. However, he listened with calmness to the address. His quietude, his noble simplicity, his frankness, his trust in the Lord, impressed every one. ‘Truly,’ said Alesius, ‘no man ever more fully realized that saying, ‘Trust in the Lord and do good.’[104] A contest began between the prior of the Dominicans and the young reformer. The latter, determined to defend his faith in the presence of that great assembly, pointed out the sophistry of his accusers, and[63] established the truth by the testimony of the Holy Scriptures. Campbell replied; but Hamilton, always armed with the Word of God, rejoined, and his adversary was silenced. Campbell, unhappy and distressed, inwardly convinced of the doctrine professed by his old friend, could do no more. He approached the tribunal and asked for instructions. The bishops and the theologians, having no mind for a public debate, directed Campbell to enumerate with a loud voice certain errors which had not yet been reduced to formal articles, and to call Hamilton heretic.[105] This was putting the poor Dominican to fresh torture; but he must hold on to the end. He turned therefore towards Hamilton and said aloud—‘Heretic! thou hast said that all men have the right to read the Word of God. Thou hast said that it is against the divine law to worship images. Thou hast said that it is idle to invoke the saints and the Virgin. Thou hast said that it is useless to celebrate masses to save souls from purgatory....’ Here the unfortunate Campbell stopped. ‘Purgatory!’ exclaimed Patrick; ‘nothing purifies souls but the blood of Jesus Christ.’[106] At these words, Campbell turned to the archbishop and said, ‘My lords, you hear him; he despises the authority of our holy father the pope.’ Then, as if he meant to stifle by insults the voice of the noble and courageous Christian, ‘Heretic,’ cried he, ‘rebel! detestable! execrable! impious!...’ Hamilton, turning towards him, said, in accents full of kindness, ‘My brother, thou dost not in thy very heart believe what thou art saying.’[107] This was too much. The word of tender reproof pierced like a dart the soul of the unhappy Dominican. To find himself treated with so much gentleness by the man whose death he was urging rent his heart, and an accusing cry[64] was heard in the depths of his soul.[108] Campbell was embarrassed and silenced. Hamilton’s charity had heaped coals of fire on his head.[109]

Then began the taking of votes. The members of the court unanimously condemning the innocent man, the primate rose and said,—‘Christi nomine invocato,—We, James, by the grace of God archbishop of St. Andrews, primate of Scotland, sitting in judgment in our metropolitan church, have found Patrick Hamilton infected with divers heresies of Martin Luther, which have been already condemned by general councils. We therefore declare the said Hamilton a heretic; we condemn him; we deprive him of all dignities, orders, and benefices, and we deliver him over to the secular arm to be punished.’[110]

Having thus spoken, the primate laid on the table the sentence which he had just read, and the bishops, priors, abbots, and doctors present came and signed the document one by one. The primate next, with the view of investing the act with more authority, invited such persons as had a certain rank in the university to set their hands likewise to it. Young boys—the earl of Cassilis, for example, who was only thirteen—were of the number. The priests persuaded them that they thereby did God service, and this was very flattering to such children. The court rose, and an escort of some thousands of armed men conducted Hamilton back to the castle.[111]

This numerous escort showed the fears which the clergy entertained. Duncan’s attempt had failed, but Sir James Hamilton was still at the head of his soldiers, and many other persons in Scotland were interested[65] about this young man. But nothing short of the death of their victim could pacify the priests. They decided that the sentence should be executed the same day. The primate was sure of the coöperation of the government. Angus offered no opposition to this iniquitous proceeding. Thus condemnation had hardly been pronounced when the executioner’s servants were seen before the gate of St. Salvator’s College, raising the pile on which Hamilton was to be burnt.

While they were heaping up the wood and driving in the stake, Patrick was taking his last meal in one of the rooms of the castle; he ate moderately, as his custom was, but without the slightest agitation; his countenance was perfectly serene. He was going to meet death with good courage, because it would admit him into his Father’s house; he hoped, too, that his martyrdom would be gain to the Church of God. The hour of noon struck: it was the time appointed for the execution. Hamilton bade them call the governor of the castle. That officer appeared; he was deeply affected. Hamilton, without leaving the table, inquired of him whether all was ready?[112] The governor, whose heart was breaking to see such innocence and nobleness requited with a cruel death, could not find courage to pronounce a single word which would point to the scaffold, and he answered with emotion, Dii meliora, ‘God give you a better fate!’ Hamilton understood him, got up, took the Gospel in one hand, grasped affectionately with the other the hand of the sympathizing governor, and went like a lamb to execution.[113] He was accompanied by a few friends, his faithful servant followed, and a numerous guard escorted him. He set the cross of Christ, which he then bore, above all the delights of[66] life.[114] His soul was full of a glorious and solid joy, which was worth more than the joy of the world.

He arrived at the spot. All was ready—wood, coal, powder, and other combustible material. Standing before the pile, he uncovered his head, and lifting up his eyes to heaven, remained motionless for some moments in prayer.[115] Then he turned to his friends and handed to one of them his copy of the Gospels. Next, calling his servant, he took off his cloak, his coat, and his cap, and with his arms stretched out presented them to him and said—‘Take these garments, they can do me no service in the fire, and they may still be of use to thee. It is the last gift thou wilt receive from me, except the example of my death, the remembrance of which I pray thee to bear in mind. Death is bitter for the flesh ... but it is the entrance into eternal life, which none can possess who deny Jesus Christ.’[116] The archbishop, wishing to ingratiate himself with the powerful family of the Hamiltons, had ordered some of his clergy to offer the young reformer his life on condition of his submitting to the absolute authority of the pope. ‘No,’ replied Hamilton, ‘your fire will not make me recant the faith which I have professed. Better that my body should burn in your flames for having confessed the Saviour, than that my soul should burn in hell for having denied him. I appeal to God from the sentence pronounced against me, and I commit myself to his mercy.’[117]

The executioners came to fulfil their part. They passed an iron chain round the victim’s body, and thus fastened him to the stake which rose above the pile.[67] Conscious that acute pains might lead him to err, Hamilton prayed to God that the flames might not extort from him the least word which should grieve his divine master. ‘In the name of Jesus,’ he added, ‘I give up my body to the fire, and commit my soul into the hands of the Father.’ Three times the pile was kindled, and three times the fire went out because the wood was green.[118] Suddenly the powder placed among the faggots exploded, and a piece of wood shot against Hamilton flayed part of his body; but death was not yet come. Turning to the deathsman, he said mildly, ‘Have you no dry wood?’ Several men hastened to get some at the castle. Alexander Campbell was present, struggling with his evil conscience, and in a state of violent agitation which rose with his distress and misery. The servants of the executioner brought some dry wood and quickened the fire. ‘Heretic,’ said Campbell, ‘be converted! recant! call upon Our Lady; only say, Salve Regina.’ ‘If thou believest in the truth of what thou sayest,’ replied Patrick, ‘bear witness to it by putting the tip only of thy finger into the fire in which my whole body is burning.[119]’ The unhappy Dominican took good care to do no such thing. He began to insult the martyr. Then Hamilton said to him, ‘Depart from me, messenger of Satan.’ Campbell, enraged, stormed round the victim like a roaring lion. ‘Submit to the pope,’ he cried; ‘there is no salvation but in union with him.’ Patrick was broken-hearted with grief at seeing to what a pitch of obduracy his old friend had come. ‘Thou wicked man,’ said he to him, ‘thou knowest the contrary well enough; thou hast told me so thyself.’ This noble victim, then, chained to the post and already half-burnt, feeling himself to be superior to the wretched man who was vexing him,[68] spoke as a judge, commanded as a king, and said to the Dominican, ‘I appeal thee before the tribunal seat of Christ Jesus.’[120] At these words Campbell, ceasing his outcries, remained mute, and leaving the place, fled affrighted into his monastery. His mind wandered; he was seized with madness; he was like one possessed by a demon, and in a little while he died.[121]

The tenderest affections succeeded these most mournful emotions in Hamilton’s heart. He was drawing near to the moment of heart-rending separations: but his thoughts, though turning heavenward, were not turned away from his home at Kincavil. He had cherished the hope of becoming a father; and some time afterwards his wife gave birth to a daughter who was named Issobel. She lived at court in later years, and received on more than one occasion tokens of the royal favor.[122] Hamilton, who had always felt the tenderest respect for his mother, did not forget her at the stake, but commended her to the love of his friends.[123] After his wife and his mother, he was mindful of his native place. ‘O God,’ said he, ‘open the eyes of my fellow-citizens, that they may know the truth!’

While the martyr’s heart was thus overflowing with love, several of the wretches who stood round him aggravated his sufferings. A baker took an armful of straw and threw it into the fire to increase its intensity; at the same moment a gust of wind from the sea quickened the flames, which rose above the stake. The chain round Patrick’s body was red-hot, and had by this time almost burnt him in two.[124] One of the bystanders, prob[69]ably a friend of the Gospel, cried to him, ‘If thou still holdest true the doctrine for which thou diest, make us a sign.’ Two fingers of his hand were consumed; stretching out his arm, he raised the other three, and held them motionless in sign of his faith.[125] The torment had lasted from noon, and it was now nearly six o’clock. Hamilton was burnt over a slow fire.[126] In the midst of the tumult he was heard uttering this cry, ‘O God, how long shall darkness cover this realm, how long wilt thou permit the tyranny of men to triumph?’ The end was drawing nigh. The martyr’s arm began to fail: his three fingers fell. He said, ‘Lord Jesus! receive my spirit.’ His head drooped, his body sank down, and the flames completed their ravage and reduced it to ashes.

The crowd dispersed, thrilled by this grand and mournful sight, and never was the memory of this young reformer’s death effaced in the hearts of those who had been eyewitnesses of it. It was deeply engraven in the soul of Alesius. ‘I saw,’ said he, several years afterwards in some town in Germany, ‘I saw in my native land the execution of a high-born man, Patrick Hamilton.’[127] And he told the story in brief and penetrating words. ‘How singular was the fate of the two Hamiltons! Father and son both died a violent death: the former died the death of a hero; the latter, that of a martyr. The father had been in Scotland the last of the knights of the Middle Ages; the son was in the same land the first of the soldiers of Christ in the new time. The father brought honor to his family by winning many times the palm of victory in tournaments and combats; the son,’ says an illustrious man, Théodore[70] Beza, ‘ennobled the royal race of the Hamiltons, sullied afterwards by some of its members, and adorned it with that martyr’s crown which is infinitely more precious than all kingly crowns.’[128]

That saying of Christian antiquity, ‘The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the church,’ was perhaps never verified in a more striking manner than in the case of Hamilton. The rumor of his death, reverberating in loud echoes from the Highlands, ran over the whole land. It was much the same as if the famous big cannon of Edinburgh Castle, Mons Meg, had been fired and the report had been re-echoed from the Borders to Pentland Frith. Nothing was more likely to win feudal Scotland to the Reformation than the end, at once so holy and so cruel, of a member of a family so illustrious. Nobles, citizens, and the common people, nay, even priests and monks, were on the point of being aroused by this martyrdom. Hamilton, who by his ministry was reformer of Scotland, became still more so by his death. For God’s work, a life long and laborious would have been of less service than were his trial, condemnation, and execution, all accomplished on one day. By giving up his earthly life for a life imperishable, he announced the end of the religion of the senses, and began the worship in spirit and in truth. The pile to which the priests had sent him became a throne, his torture[71] was a triumph, and when the Crowns of the Martyrs were celebrated in Scotland, voices were heard exclaiming:—

People everywhere wanted to know the cause for which this young noble had given his life, and everyone took the side of the victim. ‘Just at the time when those cruel wolves,’ said Knox, ‘had, as they supposed, clean devoured their prey, a great crowd surrounded them and demanded of them an account for the blood which they had shed.’ ‘The faith for which Hamilton was burnt,’ said many, ‘is that which we will have.’ In vain was it that the guilty men, convicted by their own consciences, were inflamed with wrath, and uttered proud threats;[130] for everywhere the abuses and errors which up to that time had been venerated were called in question.[131] Such were the happy results of Hamilton’s death.

As the news spread, however, in foreign lands, very different feelings were aroused. The doctors of Louvain, writing to the clergy of Scotland, said, ‘We are equally delighted with the work which you have done and with the way in which you have done it.’[132] Others[72] showed themselves not so much charmed with such hatred, stratagem, and cruelty. A Christian man in England wrote to the Scottish nobles, ‘Hamilton is now living with Christ whom he confessed before the princes of this world, and the voice of his blood, like the blood of Abel, cries to heaven.’[133] Francis Lambert, especially his friend and companion, was a prey to intense grief: he said to the landgrave, ‘Hamilton has offered up to God and to the Church, as a sacrifice, not only the lustre of his rank, but also his youthful prime.’[134]

Some days after, the king returned from the north of Scotland, whither the priests had sent him to worship some relics. Hamilton was no more. What were the feelings of James V. when he learnt the death of this noble scion of the royal house? We have no means of ascertaining them. The young prince seemed to be more alive to the humiliation to which the nobles subjected him than to the cruelty of the priests. Fretted by the state of dependence in which Angus kept him, he made complaint of it to Henry VIII.[135] Hunting was his only amusement, and for the sake of enjoying it he had taken up his abode at Falkland Castle. On a sudden, caring no more for hounds, foxes, or deer, he conceived the project of regaining his freedom and his authority. This might be fraught with grave consequences for the Reformation. If at a time when the nobles kept a tight hand over the priestly party Hamilton had been put to death, what might happen in Scotland when the priests, on whom James leaned for support, should have once more seized the chief power? The deliverance of the young king, however, was no easy matter. A hundred men, selected by Angus, were about him night and day; and the captain of his guards, the minister of the royal house and the lord treasurer[73] of the kingdom, had orders to keep their eyes constantly upon him. He determined to resort to stratagem. He said one evening to his courtiers, ‘We will rise very early to-morrow to go stag-hunting; be ready.’ Everyone retired early to rest; but no sooner had the prince entered his chamber than he called one of his pages in whom he had full confidence. ‘Jockie,’ said he to him; ‘dost thou love me?’ ‘Better than myself, Sire.’—‘Wilt thou run some risk for my sake?’ ‘Risk my life, Sire.’ James explained to him his design; and then, disguising himself as a groom, he went into his stables with the page and a valet. ‘We are come to get the horses ready for the hunt to-morrow,’ said the three grooms. Some moments elapsed; they went noiselessly out of the castle, and set off at a gallop for Stirling Castle, where the queen-mother was residing. The king arrived there in the early morning. ‘Draw up the bridges,’ said he, so fearful was he of his pursuers. ‘Let down the portcullises, set sentinels at all points.’ He was worn out with fatigue, having been on horseback all night; but he refused to lie down until the keys of all the gates had been placed under his pillow; then he laid down his head upon them and went to sleep. On the morning after this flight, Sir George Douglas, the king’s guardian, rose without suspicion, thinking only of the hunt which James had appointed. While he was taking certain precautions against the escape of the prince, a stranger arrived and asked to speak to Sir George. It was the bailiff of Abernethy. He entered the apartment of the royal gaoler, and announced to him that in the course of the night the king had crossed the bridge at Stirling. Sir George, startled at this unlooked-for news, ran to the apartment of the king; he knocked, and as no one answered, he had the door burst open. He looked round on all sides and exclaimed, ‘Treachery! the king is fled!’ He gave instant notice to his brother, the earl of Angus, and sent messengers in all directions[74] with orders to arrest the king wheresoever he might be found. All was useless. The tidings of this event being spread abroad, the enemies of the Douglases hastened in crowds to Stirling. Without loss of time the king called together the parliament and got a decree of banishment issued against Angus. The latter, cast down suddenly from the height of greatness, made his escape into England, passing safely through many difficulties and dangers.

From that time James V. bore rule himself, so far at least as the priests would allow him. In the character of this strange prince were combined insatiable ambition and unparalleled feebleness, kindliness full of affability and implacable resentment, a great regard for justice and violent passions, an eager desire to protect the weak from the oppression of the powerful and fits of rage which did not spare even the lowly. The king reigned, but the clergy governed. As the aim of James V. was to humble the nobles, a close alliance with the clergy was a necessity for him, and once having taken the side of the priests, he went to great lengths. The archbishops of St. Andrews and Glasgow, the bishop of Dunkeld, and the abbot of Holyrood were placed at the head of the government, and the most distinguished members of the aristocracy were immediately imprisoned or sent into exile. No Douglas, and no partisan even of that house, was allowed to come within twelve miles of the court. Persecution attacked at the same time the evangelical Christians; men who might have elevated their country perished on the scaffold. The course pursued by the priests tended to defeat their own end. The nobles, exasperated by the tyranny of the bishops, began to feel the aversion for the Church of Rome which they felt for its leading men. It was not indeed from the Romish religion that they broke off, but only from an ambitious and merciless hierarchy. But erelong we shall find the nobles, ever more and[75] more provoked by the clergy, beginning to lend a willing ear to the evangelical doctrine of those who opposed the clergy.

Before that moment arrived, the conquests of the Reformation in Scotland had begun. It counted already many humble but devout adherents in convents, parsonage houses and cottages. At the head of the canons of St. Augustine at St. Andrews was an immoral man, an enemy of the Gospel, prior Hepburn; nevertheless, it was among them that the awakening began. One of the canons, Alesius, had been confirmed in the faith of the Gospel by the testimony which Hamilton had borne to the truth during his trial, and by the simple and heroic beauty of his death, which he had witnessed. On returning to his priory he had felt more deeply the need of reformation. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘how wretched is the state of the Church! Destitute of teachers competent to teach her, she finds herself kept far away from the Holy Scriptures,[136] which would lead her into all truth.’ Alesius gave utterance at the same time to the love which he felt even for the persecutors. ‘I do not hate the bishops,’ he said; ‘I do not hate any of the religious orders; but I tremble to see Christ’s doctrine buried under thick darkness, and pious folk subjected to horrible tortures. May all learn what power religion displays in men’s souls, by examining with care its divine sources.’[137] The death of Hamilton was day after day the subject of the canons’ conversation, and Alesius steadily refused to condemn him.

The worthless Hepburn and his satellites could not endure this. They denounced Alesius to the archbishop as a man who had embraced the faith for which Hamilton had been burnt, and they added that other canons seemed likely to take the same path. In order to ascertain the sentiments of the young man, the primate[76] resolved to lay a snare for him; and when a provincial synod met at St. Andrews, he appointed Alesius to preach the sermon at its opening. Alesius entered the pulpit, and, while avoiding anything which might uselessly offend his hearers, he brought forward the doctrines of the truth, and boldly urged the clergy to give an example of holy living, and not to be stumbling-blocks to the faithful by scandalous licentiousness.

As they went out of the church, many expressed approval. The archbishop was grave, and did not say a word; but Hepburn, a proud, violent, and domineering man, whose shameless connexions, says Bayle,[138] were known to everybody, thought that Alesius meant to point him out and to excite his superiors against him, and he resolved to take vengeance on him. His fears were not unfounded. The discourse of Alesius had impressed the best men among the canons, and these, convinced of the necessity of putting an end to public scandals, joined together, and decided to carry to the king a complaint against the prior. Hepburn was immediately informed of their purpose, and, being constitutionally more fit for a soldier than for a canon, he took some armed men and entered suddenly into the hall in which the conference was held, to the great astonishment of the assembly. ‘Seize that man!’ said he to his men-at-arms, pointing to Alesius. The young canon begged the prior to keep his temper; but at these words the proud Hepburn, no longer master of himself, drew his sword, advanced towards Alesius, and was going to attack him, when two canons thrust themselves in front of their chief, and turned the blow aside.[139] The impetuous prelate, however, was not pacified, and, calling his men to his aid, he followed up Alesius, in order to strike[77] him. The latter, in confusion and terror, finding himself within an inch of death, fell at the prior’s feet, and implored him not to shed innocent blood. Hepburn, to show his contempt for him, would not honor him so much as to pierce him with his sword, but gave him several kicks, and this with such force that the poor canon fainted away, and lay stretched on the floor before his enemy.[140] When he came to himself, the fierce prior ordered the soldiers to take him to prison, as well as the other canons; and they were all cast into a foul and unwholesome dungeon.

These deeds of violence were noised abroad in the whole city, and men’s feelings were divided between contempt and horror. Some of the nobles, however, who had esteemed Hamilton, were profoundly indignant; and they betook themselves to the king, and implored him to check the intolerable tyranny of the prior. The young king gave orders that all the canons should be set at liberty, and kindly added, that ‘he would go himself and deliver them with his own hand if he did not know that the place in which they were confined was infected with the plague.’[141] The prior obeyed the royal command, but only in part; he had Alesius thrust into a place that was fouler still.[142] And now he was alone; had no longer a friend to clasp his hand; saw only hostile faces. He knew that God was with him; but the sufferings inflicted on him by the cruel prior, the filth, the bad smells, the vermin that began to prey on him, the dark and perpetual night which filled that frightful sink, endangered his life. It was known in the city that he was ill; it was even reported one day that he was dead. James V. had the prior of St. Augustine’s called before him, and com[78]manded him to liberate Alesius. The hypocritical prior swore by the saints that the canon was free; and returning immediately to the priory, he gave orders to bring out of the frightful dungeon the wretched man, who had languished there for twenty days. Alesius came out, covered with filth, and horrible to look on.[143] It was some comfort to him to once more see the light of day. Some of the servants took him; they put off his filthy garments, washed him carefully, and then put on him clean and even elegant clothes.[144] Thus attired, the victim was led before Hepburn, who forbade him to tell anyone how he had been treated. The prior then summoned the city magistrates, and showing them, with an air of triumph, Alesius, clean and well dressed, said—‘There is the man who is reported to be kept in prison by me, and even to be dead. Go, sirs, and give the lie to these calumnies.’ The wretch added to his cruelty, falsehood, stratagem, and shamelessness.

The magistrates then turning with kind looks to the prisoner, required him in the king’s name to tell the whole truth; and Alesius related the shameful treatment which he had suffered. The prior, embarrassed, could not deny the fact, but assured the provost and his colleagues that from that moment the prisoner was and would remain free; on which the council withdrew. The door had hardly closed before the enraged prior loaded Alesius with reproaches, and ordered him to be taken back to prison. A year passed, and neither king nor magistrate had snatched from that savage beast the prey on which he set his mind. In vain was it that Alesius had his complaint laid before the archbishop; the latter replied that he had noticed in his discourse a leaning to Lutheranism, and that he deserved the penalty which had fallen on him. His deliverance seemed impossible.

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One day, however, it became known in the monastery that the prior was going out, and would be absent for several days. The canons, immediately hastening to their unhappy friend, took him out of the prison, conducted him into the open air, and paid him the most affectionate attentions. By degrees his strength was restored; he took courage, and one day he undertook to perform divine service at the altar. But this act of devotion was suddenly interrupted. The prior came back sooner than he was expected; he entered the church, and saw Alesius officiating, and the chapter around him. The blood rose to his face, and, without the slightest hesitation about interrupting divine service, he ordered the prisoner to be carried off from the altar, and again cast into his foul dungeon.[145] The canons, scandalized at this order, rose from their stalls, and represented to their superior that it was not lawful to interrupt the worship. Hepburn then allowed Alesius to go on with the service; but as soon as it was finished, he had him again confined in the place from which his colleagues had rescued him.

In order to prevent the canons taking such liberties again, the prior appointed as keeper of the prison one John Hay, a cruel and fanatical priest, a man who would servilely carry out his master’s orders. The canons, friends of Alesius, had no doubt that the prior had given the office to that scoundrel with the intention of making away with the prisoner. They said to one another, that if they did not bring about his escape immediately, his life would be taken. The same day, before Hay had entered upon his office, the first shades of night had scarcely spread their veil over the ancient city when a few of them bent their way secretly to the dungeon. They succeeded, though not without difficulty, in penetrating to the place where the prisoner lay, and told[80] him that Hay had been named his keeper, and that consequently he had nothing to look for but horrible tortures and certain death. They added, that the king being absent, the opportunity would assuredly be taken to get rid of him, as it had been in Hamilton’s case; and that he could therefore only save his life by taking flight and quitting Scotland.[146] Alesius was in amazement; to forsake his country and his friends seemed to him an extreme course. He proposed to go first to those with whom he was most closely connected, to take counsel with them as to what he ought to do. ‘Take care not to do that,’ replied the canons; ‘leave the country immediately without a word to anybody, for as soon as the prior finds that you are no longer in your dungeon, he will send horsemen to seize you on the road, or to carry you off from your friends’ house.’

Alesius could not make up his mind to follow this advice. The thought of bidding adieu to Scotland, perhaps for ever, filled him with the keenest sorrow.[147] His dream had been to consecrate all his energies to the salvation of his fellow-citizens, and to do good even to those who wronged him; and now he was to be condemned never again to see Scottish faces, Edinburgh, its valleys, its lofty houses, its narrow streets, its castle, Holyrood, the fertile plains of Caledonia, its low hills covered with pasture, its heaths wrapped in mists, and its marsh-lands, monotonous and yet poetic, which a gloomy sea environs with its waters, now mournful and still, now agitated by the violence of the winds. All these he must quit, though he had loved them from childhood. ‘Ah!’ exclaimed he, ‘what is there more dear to souls happily born than their native land?’[148][81] But presently he corrected himself. ‘The Church,’ said he, ‘is the Christian’s country far more than the place which gave him birth.[149] Assuredly the name of one’s native land is very dear, but that of the Church is dearer still.’ He perceived that if he did not go away, it was all over with him; and that if he did go away, he might contribute, even from afar, towards the triumph of the truth in the land of his fathers, and possibly might return thither at a later day. ‘Go!’ repeated the noble canons, who would fain save at any cost a life so precious; ‘all honest people desire it.’ ‘Well,’ said Alesius, ‘I bend to the yoke of necessity; I will go.’ The canons, who had everything ready, immediately got him secretly out of the priory, conducted him beyond the city, and gave him the money needful for his voyage. These generous men, less advanced than their friend in knowledge of the Scriptures, perceived that by his departure they would lose an inestimable treasure; but they thought rather of him than of themselves—they strove to dissipate his melancholy, and they called to his recollection the illustrious men and the saints who had been compelled, like him, to fly far from the wrath of tyrants. At length the solemn moment of farewell was come, and all of them, deeply affected at the thought that perhaps they would never meet again, burst into tears.[150] They paid the tribute due to nature; for, as Calvin says, ‘The perfection of the faithful does not lie in throwing off every affection, but in cherishing them for worthy causes.’[151]

It was midnight. Alesius had to pass on foot across the north of Fifeshire, then to cross the Firth of Tay and go on to Dundee, whence a ship was on the point of sailing. He set out alone, and travelled on[82]wards in the thick darkness.[152] He directed his steps towards the Tay, having the sea at a certain distance on his right; traversed Leuchars, and arrived at Newport, opposite Dundee, where he had to take a boat to cross the Firth. During this night-journey he was beset with the saddest thoughts. ‘Oh!’ said he to himself, ‘what a life full of bitterness is offered me—to forsake one’s kinsfolk and one’s country;[153] to be exposed to the greatest dangers so long as the vessel is not reached; to fly into foreign lands, where no hospitable roof is ready to receive me; to have in prospect all the ills of exile; to live among foreign peoples, where I have not a single friend; to be called to converse with men speaking unknown languages; to wander to and fro on the Continent at a time when so many vagabonds, driven from their own country for fanatical or seditious opinions, are justly looked on with suspicion. Oh! what anxieties, what griefs.’ His soul sank within him; but having lifted up his eyes to Christ with full trust, he was suddenly consoled, and after a rude conflict, he came victorious out of the trial.[154]

His fears, however, were only too well founded. No sooner had the violent Hepburn learnt the flight of the prisoner than he assembled some horsemen, set off in pursuit of him,[155] and reached Dundee, from which port he knew that a vessel was sailing for Germany. Alesius was expecting every moment to see him appear. ‘How shameful in a dignitary of the Church,’ said he, ‘is this man’s cruelty! What rage moved him when he drew his sword against me! To what sufferings has he exposed me, and with what perils has he threatened me! It is a complete tragedy!...’

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In the morning Alesius entered the town of Dundee. Fearing that, in case of being arrested, he should fall into the hands of the prior, he went immediately on board the ship, which was going to sail; and the captain, who was a German and probably a Protestant, received him very kindly.[156]

The prior and the horsemen, who had set out from St. Andrews, arrived a little later at Dundee, and, alighting from their horses, began to search for Alesius. He was nowhere to be found; the vessel had already cleared the port. The prior, enraged to find that his prey had escaped him, must needs vent his wrath on some one. ‘It is you,’ said he to a citizen well known for his attachment to the Reformation, ‘it is you who furnished the canon with the means of escape.’ This man denied the charge, and then the provost or mayor, Sir James Scrymgeour of Dornlope, avowed to the prior that he would with all his heart have provided a vessel for Alesius; and, he added, ‘I would have given him the necessary funds for the purpose of rescuing him from the perils to which your cruelty exposed him.’ The Scrymgeours, whose chief was the provost of Dundee, formed a numerous and powerful family, connected with several other noble houses of the realm. They were not the only family among the aristocracy which was favorable to the Gospel; several illustrious houses had from the first welcomed the Reformation—the Kirkaldys and the Melvilles of Fifeshire, the Scrymgeours and the Erskines of Angus, the Forresters and Sandilands of Stirlingshire and the Lothians, and others besides. The prior, who had not at all looked for such a remonstrance as he had just received, went back, annoyed and furious, to St. Andrews.

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While the ship on which Alesius had embarked sailed towards France, the refugee felt his own weakness, and found strength in the Lord. ‘O God,’ said he, ‘thou dost put the oil of thy compassion only into the vessel of a steadfast and filial trust.[157] I must assuredly have gone down to the gates of hell unless all my hope had been in thy mercy alone.’ The ship had not long been on her way when a westerly wind, blowing violently, carried her eastward, drove her into the Sound, and made it necessary to go ashore at Malmoe, in Sweden, in order to refit her. Alesius was very lovingly welcomed there by the Scots who had settled in the town.[158] At length he reached France, traversed part of the coast of that kingdom,[159] then betook himself to Cologne, where he was favorably received by archbishop Hermann, count of Wied.

CONFESSORS OF THE GOSPEL AND MARTYRS ARE MULTIPLIED IN SCOTLAND.

(End of 1531 to 1534.)

The bishops of Scotland appeared to triumph. Hamilton was dead, Alesius in exile, and not one evangelical voice was any longer heard in the realm. They now turned their thoughts to the destruction of that proud aristocracy which assumed that the functions of the state belonged to the nobles and not to the priests. The estates of the earl of Crawford had already been confis[85]cated; the earls of Argyle and Bothwell and several others had been imprisoned, and insults had been offered to the earl of Murray, Lord Maxwell, Sir James Hamilton, and their friends.[160] The archbishop of Glasgow, chancellor of Scotland, went still further; he deprived the nobles of their ancient jurisdiction, and set up in its place a College of Justice, composed exclusively of ecclesiastics. The nobles thought now only of delivering Scotland from the yoke of the clergy, and determined to invite the aid of Henry VIII. Some of them were beginning even to feel interested in those humble evangelical believers who were, like themselves, the object of the priests’ hatred. This interest was one day to contribute to the triumph of the Reformation. It was resolved that the earl of Bothwell should open negotiations with Henry VIII., and this at the very time that that prince was separating from Rome. This alliance might lead a long way.

The earl of Northumberland was then at Newcastle, charged by the King of England to watch over affairs in the north. It was to him that Bothwell addressed himself. Northumberland having referred to Henry on the subject, it was agreed that the two earls should meet by night at Dilston, a place almost equally distant from Newcastle and from the Scottish frontier. At the mid-hour of the long night of December 21, 1531, Bothwell, accompanied by three of his friends, arrived at the appointed place, where Northumberland was awaiting him.[161] They entered immediately on the conference. The English lord was struck with the intelligence, the acquirements, and the refined manners of Bothwell. ‘Verily,’ said he to Henry VIII., ‘I have never in my[86] life met a lord so agreeable and so handsome.’ Bothwell, angered by the pride of the priests, reported their conduct with respect to Angus, Argyle, and Murray. ‘They kept me, too, confined in Edinburgh Castle for six months,’ said he, ‘and but for the intervention of my friends they would have put me to death. I know that such a fate is still impending over me.’ Bothwell added, that if the King of England would deliver the Scottish nobles from the evils which they had reason to dread, he himself (Bothwell) was ready to join Henry VIII. with one thousand gentlemen and six thousand men-at-arms. ‘We will crown him in a little while,’ he added, ‘in the town of Edinburgh.’[162] The enraged nobles were actually giving themselves up to strange fancies: according to their view, the only remedy for the ills of their country was the union of Scotland with England under the sceptre of Henry VIII. Scotland would in that case have submitted to a reform at the king’s hand; but she was reserved for other destinies, and her reform was to proceed from the people, and to be effected by the Word of God.

The King of England was in no lack of motives for intervention in Scotland. James V. had just concluded an alliance for a hundred years with Charles V., the mortal enemy of Henry VIII., and had even asked for the hand of the emperor’s sister, the ex-queen of Hungary. This princess had rejected the match, and the emperor had proposed to James his niece Dorothea, daughter of the King of Denmark.

Bothwell was able even to tell Northumberland, in this night-conference, of matters graver still. A secret ambassador from Charles V., said he, Peter von Rosenberg, has recently been at Edinburgh and, in a long conversation which he had with the king in his private apartments, has promised him that the emperor would[87] put him in a position, before Easter, to assume the title of prince of England and duke of York.[163] The Roman party, despairing of Henry VIII., were willing to transmit the crown to his nephew, the King of Scotland. Bothwell added that James, as he left the conference, met the chancellor of the kingdom and several nobles, and made haste to communicate to them the magnificent promise of Charles V. The chancellor contented himself with saying, ‘Pray God I may live to see the day on which the Pope will confirm it.’ The king replied, ‘Only let the emperor act; he will labor strenuously for us.’ It was not James V., but his grandson, who was to ascend the throne of the Tudors.

The project formed by the Scottish nobles of placing Scotland under the sceptre of England was not so easy to carry out as they imagined. The priests, who supposed that they had surmounted the dangers proceeding from reform, undertook to remove in like manner those with which they were threatened by the nobility. But they were mistaken when they believed that the fire kindled by the Word of God was extinguished. Flames shot up suddenly even in places where it was least of all expected to see them.

A monk of the Dominican order, the order so devoted to the Inquisition, Alexander Seaton, confessor to the king—a man of lofty stature, downright, ready-witted and bold even to audacity[164]—was held in great esteem at the court. The state of the Church profoundly grieved him, and therefore, having been appointed to preach in Lent (1532) in the cathedral of St. Andrews, he resolved courageously to avow in that Scottish Rome the heavenly doctrine which was making exiles and martyrs. Preaching before a large congregation, he said—‘Jesus Christ is the end of the law, and no one is[88] able by his works to satisfy divine justice. A living faith which lays hold of the mercy of God in Christ, can alone obtain for the sinner the remission of sins. But for how many years has God’s law, instead of being faithfully taught, been darkened by the tradition of men?’ People were astonished at this discourse: some wondered why he did not say a word about pilgrimages and other meritorious works; but the priests themselves were afraid to lay a complaint against him. ‘He is confessor to the king,’ they said, ‘and enjoys the favor both of prince and people.’[165]

In the absence of Seaton, after Lent, the archbishop and the clergy took courage, condemned the doctrine which he had preached, and appointed another Dominican to refute him. Seaton immediately returned from Dundee, whither he had gone, had the cathedral bells rung, and, ascending the pulpit, repeated with more energy and clearness still what he had previously said. Then, recalling to mind all that a bishop ought to be according to St. Paul, he asked, where are such bishops to be found in Scotland? The primate, when informed of this discourse, summoned him before him, and rebuked him for having asserted that the bishops were only dumb dogs. Seaton replied that it was an unfounded accusation. ‘Your answer pleases me well,’ exclaimed Beatoun. But the witnesses confirmed their deposition. ‘These are liars,’ said again the king’s confessor to the archbishop; ‘consider what ears these asses have, who cannot decern Paul, Isaiah, Zechariah and Malachi, and friar Alexander Seaton. In very deed, my lord, I said that Paul says it behoves a bishop to be a teacher. Isaiah said that they that fed not the flock are dumb dogs. And Zechariah says, they are idle pastors. I of my own head affirmed nothing, but declared what the Spirit of God before had pronounced.’

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Beatoun did not hesitate: this bold preacher was evidently putting to his mouth the trumpet of Hamilton and Alesius. The primate undertook to obtain authority from the king to proceed against his confessor, and it was an easier task than he imagined. Seaton, like John the Baptist, had no dread of incurring the king’s displeasure, and had rebuked him for his licentiousness. James had said nothing at the time, thinking that the confessor was only doing his duty. But when he saw the archbishop denouncing Seaton, ‘Ah,’ said this young prince, who was given up to a loose life,[166] ‘I know more than you do of his audacity;’ and from that time he showed great coolness towards Seaton. The latter perceiving what fate awaited him, quitted the kingdom, and took refuge at Berwick. It was about two years after the Lent sermon preached by him in 1532.

He did not remain idle. He had a last duty to discharge to his master the king. ‘The bishops of your kingdom,’ he wrote to him, ‘oppose our teaching the Gospel of Christ. I offer to present myself before your majesty, and to convince the priests of error.’[167] As the king made him no answer, Seaton went to London, where he became chaplain to the duke of Suffolk, brother-in-law of Henry VIII., and preached eloquently to large audiences.

The King of England liked well enough to receive the friends of the Gospel who were banished from Scotland. One priest, more enlightened than the rest, Andrew Charteris, had called his colleagues children of the devil; and he said aloud—‘If anyone observes their cunning and their falsehood, and accuses them of impurity, they immediately accuse him of heresy. If Christ himself were in Scotland, our priestly fathers would heap on him more ignominy than the Jews themselves in old[90] time did.’ Henry desired to see the man, talked with him at great length, and was much pleased with him. ‘Verily,’ said the king to him, ‘it is a great pity that you were ever made a priest.’[168]

The clergy had now got rid of Hamilton, Seaton, and Alesius; but they were nevertheless disquieted because they knew that the Holy Scriptures were in Scotland. Notice was therefore given in every parish that ‘it is forbidden to sell or to read the New Testament.’ All copies found in the shops were ordered to be burnt.[169] Alesius, who was in Germany at that time, was greatly afflicted, and resolved to speak.

‘I hear, sire,’ he wrote to the king, ‘that the bishops are driving souls away from the oracles of Christ. Could the Turks do anything worse? Would morality exist in independence of the Holy Scriptures?[170] Would religion itself be anything else than a certain discipline of public manners? That is the doctrine of Epicurus; but what will become of the Church if the bishops propagate Epicurean dogmas? God ordains that we should hear the Son, not as a doctor who philosophizes on the theory of morals, but as a prophet who reveals holy things unknown to the world. If the bishops promote the infliction of the severest penalties on those who hear his word, the knowledge of Jesus Christ will become extinct, and the people will take up pagan opinions.[171]

‘Most serene king, resist these impious counsels! Those who are in the fulness of age, infancy, and the generation to come, unite in imploring you to do so. We are punished, we are put to death.... Eurybiades[91] of Sparta, commander-in-chief, having in the course of a debate raised his staff against Themistocles while forbidding him to speak, the Athenian replied, “Strike, but hear!” We shall say the same. We shall speak, for the Gospel alone can strengthen souls amidst the infinite perils of the present time.’

Neither king nor priests replied to the Letter of Alesius; but a famous German, Cochlæus, the opponent of Luther, undertook to induce James V. to pay no attention to that discourse. ‘Sire,’ he wrote to him, ‘the calamities which the New Testaments disseminated by Luther have brought down upon Germany are so great, that the bishops, in turning their sheep away from that deadly pasture, have shown themselves to be faithful shepherds. Incalculable sums have been thrown away on the printing of a hundred thousand copies of that book. Now, what advantage have its readers drawn from it, unless it be an advantage to be cast into prison, to be banished, and made to suffer other tribulations? A decree is not enough, sire; it is necessary to act. The bishop of Treves has had the New Testaments thrown into the Rhine, and with them the booksellers who sold them. This example has frightened others, and happily so, for that book is the Gospel of Satan, and not of Jesus Christ.’[172] This was the model proposed to King James.

At the same time the Romish party was endeavoring to embroil Scotland with England, and James was already engaging in several skirmishes. One day, under the pretext of the hunt, he threw himself, with ‘a small company’ of three hundred persons, on the estates the possession of which was disputed by his uncle.[173] Shortly afterwards, four hundred Scots invaded the Marches[92] (frontier districts) at sunrise, and were carrying off what they found there. Northumberland repulsed them, and put to death the prisoners which fell into his hands. The Scots took and burnt some English towns; the English invaded Scotland, and ravaged its towns and country districts. The King of Scotland, intimidated, applied to the pope and the King of France, and cried out for aid with all his might. And then, in order to please at the same time the priests, the pope, and Francis I., he took the advice of Cochlæus; with the exception, that in Scotland the fire at the stake was substituted for the waters of the Rhine.

A young monk, named Henry Forrest, who was in the Benedictine monastery at Linlithgow, a man equally quick in his sympathies and his antipathies, had been touched by Hamilton’s words, and uttered everywhere aloud his regret for the death of that young kinsman of the king, calling him a martyr. This monk was presently convicted of a crime more enormous still: he was a reader of the New Testament. The archbishop had him imprisoned at St. Andrews. One day a friar (sent by the prelate) came to him for the purpose, he said, of administering consolation; and offering to confess him, he succeeded by crafty questions in leading the young Benedictine to tell him all he thought about Hamilton’s doctrines. Forrest was immediately condemned to be delivered over to the secular authorities to be put to death, and a clerical assembly was called together for the purpose of degrading him. The young friend of the Gospel had hardly passed the door where the assembly was sitting, when, discovering the archbishop and the priests drawn up in a circle before him, he became aware of what awaited him, and cried out with a voice full of contempt, ‘Fie on falsehood! fie on false friars, revealers of confession!’[174] When one of the clerks came up to him to degrade him, the Benedictine, weary of so[93] much perfidy, exclaimed, ‘Take from me not only your own orders but also your own baptism.’ He meant by that, says an historian, the superstitious practices which Rome has added to the institutions of the Lord. These words provoked the assembly still more. ‘We must burn him,’ said the primate, ‘in order to terrify the others.’ A simple-minded and candid man who was by the side of Beatoun said to him in a tone of irony, ‘My lord, if you burn him, take care that it be done in a cave, for the smoke of Hamilton’s pile infected with heresy all who caught the scent of it.’

This advice was not taken. To the northward of St. Andrews, in the counties of Forfar and Angus, there were a good many people who loved the New Testament which was come from Germany. There still exist in that district a village named Luthermoor, Luther’s torrent, which falls into the North Esk, Luther’s Bridge, and Luther’s Mill.[175] Forrest’s persecutors determined to erect his funeral pile in such a situation that the population of Forfar and Angus might see the flames,[176] and thus learn the danger which threatened them if they should fall into Protestantism. The pile was therefore placed to the north of the abbey church of St. Andrews, and the fire was visible in those districts of the north which were afterwards to bear Luther’s name. Henry Forrest was Scotland’s second martyr.

In the same neighborhood there soon after appeared one who was to be the third to lay down his life for the Reformation in Scotland. A small country seat, situated on the sea-coast near the mouth of the North Esk, was inhabited by one of the Straitons of Lauriston, a family which had held the estate of that name from the sixth century. The members of this family were for[94] the most part distinguished for their tall stature, their bodily strength, and their energy of character. David, a younger son (the eldest resided in Lauriston Castle), a man worthy of his ancestors, was of rude manners and obstinate temper. He displayed great contempt for books, especially for religious books, and found his chief pleasure in launching his boat on the sea, giving the sails to the wind, casting his nets, and struggling hand to hand with the winds and the waves. He had soon to engage in struggles of another kind. The prior of St. Andrews, Patrick Hepburn, afterwards bishop of Murray, a very avaricious man, hearing that David had great success in his fishing, demanded tithe of his fish. ‘Tell your master,’ said the proud gentleman, ‘that if he wants to have it, he may come and take it on the spot.’ From that time, every day as he drew up his nets, he exclaimed to the fishermen, ‘Pay the prior of St. Andrews his tithe,’ and the men would straightway throw every tenth fish into the sea.

When the prior of St. Andrews heard of this strange method of satisfying his claim, he ordered the vicar of Eglesgreg to go to take the fish. The vicar went; but as soon as the rough gentleman saw the priest and his men set to work without ceremony on their part, he cast the fish to him, and so sharply that some of them fell into the sea.[177]

The prior then instituted proceedings against Straiton for the crime of heresy. Never had a council applied that name to a man’s method of paying his tithe. No matter; the word heretic at that time inspired such terror that the stout-hearted gentleman began to give way; his pride was humbled, and, confessing his sins, he felt the need of a forgiving God. He sought out therefore all those who could tell him of the Gospel or could read it to him, for he could not read himself.

Not far from his abode was Dun Castle, whose lord,[95] John Erskine, provost of Montrose, a descendant of the earls of Mar, had attended several universities in Scotland and abroad, and had been converted to the evangelical faith.

‘God,’ says Knox, ‘had miraculously enlightened him.’ His castle, in which the words of prophets and apostles were heard, was ever open to those who were athirst for truth; and thus the evangelical Christians of the neighborhood had frequent meetings there. Erskine detected the change which was taking place in the soul of his rude neighbor; he went to see him, conversed with him, and exhorted him to change his life. Straiton soon became a regular attendant at the meetings in the castle, ‘and he was,’ says Knox, ‘transformed as by a miracle.’[178]

His nephew, the young baron of Lauriston, possessed a New Testament. Straiton frequently went to the castle to hear portions of the Gospels read. One day the uncle and his nephew went out together, wandered about in the neighborhood, and then retired into a lonely place to read the Gospels. The young laird chose the tenth chapter of St. Matthew. Straiton listened as attentively as if it were to himself that the Lord addressed the discourse which is there reported. When they came to this declaration of Jesus Christ, ‘Whosoever shall deny me before men, him will I also deny before my Father which is in heaven,’ Straiton, affected and startled, fell on his knees, stretched his hands upwards, and turned for a long time a humble and earnest gaze towards heaven, but without speaking the while; he appeared to be in an ecstasy.[179] At last, no longer able to restrain the feelings which crowded on him, he exclaimed—‘I have been sinful, O Lord, and thou wouldst be only just wert thou to withhold thy grace from me! Nevertheless, for the sake of thy mercy, suf[96]fer not the dread of pain or of death to lead me ever to deny thee or thy truth.’[180] Thenceforward he set himself to serve zealously the master whose mighty love he had felt. The world appeared to him like a vast sea, full of movement, on which men are ever rudely tossed until they have entered into the haven of the Gospel. The fisherman became a fisher of men. He exhorted his friends and acquaintances to seek God, and he replied to the priests with firmness. On one occasion, when they urged him to do some pious works which deliver from purgatory, he answered, ‘I know of no other purgatory than Christ’s passion and the tribulations of this life.’ Straiton was carried off to Edinburgh, and cast into prison.

There was another Scotchman, Norman Gourlay, who after taking holy orders had travelled on the continent, and had there been enlightened by the word of the Gospel. Convinced that ‘marriage is honorable in all,’ Gourlay had married on his return to Scotland; and when a priest reminded him of the prohibition by Rome, ‘The pope,’ replied he, ‘is no bishop, but an Antichrist, and he has no jurisdiction in Scotland.’

On August 26, 1534, these two servants of God were led into a hall of Holyrood Abbey. The judges were seated, and with them the king, who, appareled in red from head to foot, seemed to be there for the purpose of assisting them. James V. pressed these two confirmed Christians to abjure their doctrines. ‘Recant; burn your bill,’[181] he said to them; but Straiton and Gourlay chose rather to be burnt themselves. The king, affected and giving way, would fain have pardoned them; but the priests declared that he had no authority to do so, since these people were condemned by the Church. In the afternoon of August 27 a huge pile was lit on the sum[97]mit of Calton Hill, in order that the flames might be visible to a great distance; and the fire devoured these two noble Christians. If the Reform was afterwards so strong in Scotland it was because the seed was holy.

Enough however was not done yet. All these heresies, it was thought, proceed from Hamilton; his family must therefore be extirpated from the Scottish soil. But Sir James, a good-natured man, an upright magistrate and a lover of the Gospel, was for all that not in the humor to let himself be burnt like his brother. So, having received one day an order to appear before the tribunal, he addressed himself immediately to the king, who had him privately told not to appear. Sir James therefore quitted the kingdom; he was then condemned, excommunicated, banished, and deprived of his estates, and he lived for nearly ten years in London in the utmost distress.

His sister Catherine was both a warm-hearted Scotchwoman and a decided Huguenot. She would not make her escape, but appeared at Holyrood in the presence of the ecclesiastical tribunal and of the king himself. ‘By what means,’ they said to her, ‘do you expect to be saved?’—‘By faith in the Saviour,’ she replied, ‘and not by works.’ Then one of the canonists, Master John Spence, said at great length—‘It is necessary to distinguish between various kinds of works. In the first place, there are works of congruity, secondly, there are works of condignity. The works of the just are of this latter category, and they merit life ex condigno. There are also pious works; then works of supererogation;’ and he explained in scholastic terms what all these expressions meant. These strange words sounded in Catherine’s ears like the noise of a false-bass (faux-bourdon). Wearied with this theological babbling, she got excited, and exclaimed—‘Works here, works there.... What signify all the works?... There is one thing alone which I know with certainty, and that is that no[98] work can save me, except the work of Christ my Saviour.’ The doctor sat amazed and made no answer, while the king strove in vain to hide a fit of laughter. He was anxious to save Catherine, and made a sign for her to come to him; he then entreated her to declare to the tribunal that she respected the Church. Catherine, who had never had a thought of setting herself in rebellion against the higher powers, gave the king leave to say what he wished, and withdrew first into England, then to France. She probably entered the family of her husband,[182] who, during his lifetime, was a French officer in the suite of the duke of Albany.

But these punishments and banishments did not put an end to the storm. Several other evangelical Christians were also obliged at that time to leave Scotland. Gawin Logie, a canon of St. Andrews, and principal regent of St. Leonard’s College, at which Patrick Hamilton had exercised so powerful an influence, had diffused scriptural principles among the students to such an extent that people were accustomed to say, when they would make you understand that anyone was an evangelical Christian, ‘He has drunk at the well of St. Leonard’s.’ Logie quitted Scotland in 1534. Johnston, an Edinburgh advocate, Fife, a friend of Alesius, M’Alpine, and several others had to go into exile at the same time. The last-named, known on the continent by the name of Maccabæus, won the favor of the King of Denmark, and became a professor at the university of Copenhagen.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE KING OF SCOTLAND BREAKS WITH ENGLAND, AND ALLIES HIMSELF WITH FRANCE AND THE GUISES.

(1534–1539.)

Notwithstanding the literary and liberal pretensions of Francis I., the ultramontane spirit seemed secure of a triumph in France. There doubtless existed freer and holier aspirations, but certain of the bishops were more popish than the pope, and kings found it convenient to show themselves very indulgent to the licentiousness of the clergy, provided that they in return would lend a hand in support of their despotism. The priests of Scotland therefore redoubled their efforts to make a breach between James and his uncle of England, and to ally him with the eldest daughter of the papacy.

Henry VIII., who received into his realm many of the exiles who were driven from their own country, was troubled at seeing his nephew throw himself into the arms of the Roman pontiff. It was for the interest of England that Scotland should not take a course opposed to her own: the whole of Great Britain ought to cast off the authority of the pope at the same time. The Tudor, impatient to reach this end, conceived the project of giving his daughter Mary in marriage to the King of Scotland; and in order to bring about by degrees a reconciliation, he determined to send Lord William Howard to Scotland. To this intent he had instructions drawn up in full detail to the effect following:[183]—First after your arrival at the court of the king[100] my nephew, you will offer on our part the most friendly greetings, you will thank him for his noble present of falcons, and you will assure him that the ties of blood which unite us lead me to rejoice at every piece of good fortune that befalls him. You will then practise with the lord treasurer by some means to get you the measure of the king’s person, and you will cause to be made for him the richest and most elegant garments possible, by the tailor whom you will have at hand for that intent. Then you will tell him that I am greatly desirous to have conference with him.

Henry VIII., full of hatred for the papacy, and anxious to see other kingdoms strengthen his position by following his example, urged his nearest neighbors to found, as he had done, national churches acknowledging no other head than the king. He had seen his endeavors fail in France, and was all the more desirous of succeeding in Scotland. As uncle to the king, the task seemed easy to him. To accomplish it he was resolved to use all means, and among others he sought to gain over the king by fine clothes made after the London fashion. He sent to him at the same time some books against the usurped authority of the pope.

In October, Dr. Barlow, prior of Bisham, one of the king’s councillors, ‘a man sufficiently instructed,’ wrote Henry to James, ‘in the specialities of certain great and weighty causes,’[184] arrived in Scotland, and the queen-dowager Margaret procured him a private conversation with her son.[185] The pope’s partisans at once took the alarm, and conjured James not to read the books which Henry VIII. had sent to him; they depicted the[101] unheard-of dangers to which he would expose his person, his crown, and his kingdom by following his uncle’s example. They had the best of it, and James commanded a reply to be written to Cromwell, that assuredly no means would be neglected of strengthening the bonds of friendship between the two sovereigns; but that, in Scotland, there could be no agreement with the King of England ‘in the opinions concerning the authority of the pope and kirkmen.’[186] ‘Here be,’ wrote Barlow to Cromwell, ‘plenty of priests, sundry sorts of religions, multitudes of monks, flocking companies of friars, yet among them all so many is there not a few, no not one, that sincerely preacheth Christ.’

‘It shall be no more dyspleasant for me to depart,’ he wrote on May 23, 1536, ‘than it was for Lot to pass out of Sodom.’[187]

Henry was not discouraged, and he sent Lord William Howard a second time, in February, 1535. At a solemn session which was held at Holyrood with great pomp, Howard delivered to James V., at one and the same time, the order of the Garter, which Charles V., Francis I., and King Ferdinand had already received, and a declaration touching the ecclesiastical supremacy. The king accepted the order with respect, and handed over the declaration to his bishops to do what they wished with it.[188] In vain had Henry given James a glimpse of the prospect of sitting on the throne of England by marrying his daughter Mary; the priests, and especially Beatoun, got the proposals rejected, from which they anticipated nothing but evil. They represented to him the risk which he would run if he went to London and put his head at the disposal of so treacherous and cruel a prince; and what admiration posterity would cherish[102] for him, if at the time when all Europe was threatening the Church, he should remain true to the faith of his forefathers.

Among the Scottish people there were earnest aspirations after the Gospel: but in that country, as in France, the priesthood and the government forcibly repressed them. The more the state separated itself from the pope in the south of Britain, the more it clung to him in the north. The king, now become the direct instrument of the clergy, required the parliament to check the progress which the Bible seemed to be making in Scotland; and on June 8 this body, adding severity to the former laws, enacted that whosoever possessed a New Testament should deliver it to his bishop under pain of confiscation and imprisonment, and that all discussion about religious opinions was prohibited. It gave permission, however, to clerks of the schools to read that book, in order that they might the more efficiently contend against its adherents. Many priests, monks, and students therefore read the New Testament; but this reading produced a quite contrary effect, for it led them to receive and to defend the Gospel. This could not but irritate the king and his priests, and make them feel still more the necessity of an alliance with some ultramontane power. The conversion of a Churchman who, through his family, was connected with the court, especially attracted their attention.

In a small island in the Firth of Forth, not far from Edinburgh, stood the ancient abbey of St. Colme, occupied by Augustinian canons. Distinguished among them was the son of the master of the stables to King James IV. His name was Thomas Forrest, and he is not to be confounded with the Benedictine, Henry Forrest, of whom we have already spoken. A quarrel had broken out between the abbot and the canons; the latter, in order to support their claims, seized the deeds of foundation of the monastery. The abbot came in, scolded them[103] sharply, recovered the volume, and gave them in its place an old folio of St. Augustine. The canons scornfully turned their backs on the book and went back to their cells.

Forrest, left alone, looked at the volume. A work of the great Augustine interested him. He took it into his cell, read it, and ere long was able to say, with the bishop of Hippo—‘That which the dispensation of works commands, is accomplished by the dispensation of grace. O happy and blessed book!’ he would often say, ‘God has made use of thee to enlighten my soul.’[189] St. Augustine led Forrest to the Gospel, and he was not long in making known to his brethren the treasure which he had found in the writings of this Father and in the New Testament. Aged men stopped their ears. ‘Alas,’ said the son of the king’s master-stabler, ‘the old bottles will not receive the new wine.’[190] The old canons complained to the abbot, and the abbot said to Forrest, ‘Look after your own salvation, but talk as other men do.’

‘Before I will recant,’ he replied, laying his hand on his breast, ‘this body shall be burnt and the wind shall scatter its ashes.’ The abbot, anxious to be rid of this innovator, gave him the parish of Dollar.

Forrest was one of those men who receive the grace which is offered them not only lovingly but with a vehement impetuosity. While many lay sleeping he was vigorously going forward to take the kingdom of God. There were in him those marvellous impulses, that grand earnestness, which the Gospel denotes in the saying, ‘the violent take it by force.’ He used to study from six in the morning till midday: he learnt every day three chapters of the Bible: in the afternoon visited families, instructed his parishioners, and endeavored to bring souls to God. When he returned in the evening to his vicarage, wearied with his labors, he used to say to his[104] servant, ‘Come, Andrew,’ and making him sit down beside him, piously recited the three chapters of the Word of God which he had learnt in the morning, hoping thus to fix them in his own memory and to impress them on the soul of his servant.[191] A party of monks having invaded his parish to sell indulgences there, Forrest went into the pulpit and said, like Luther, ‘You cannot receive pardon for your sins either from the pope or from any created being in the world, but only by the blood of Jesus Christ.’

His enemies hastened to denounce him to the bishop of Dunkeld, calling upon him to put a stop to conduct so strange. ‘My joy dean Thomas,’ said the bishop to him, ‘I am told that you preach every Sunday. That is too much. Take my advice, and don’t preach unless you find any good gospel or any good epistle that setteth forth the liberty of Holy Church.’—‘My lord,’ replied Forrest, ‘I would wish that your lordship preach also every Sunday.’ ‘Nay, nay, dean Thomas,’ said the bishop, alarmed, ‘let that be.’—‘Whereas your lordship biddeth me preach,’ continued Forrest, ‘when I find any good epistle, or a good gospel, truly, my lord, I have read the New Testament and the Old, all the gospels, all the epistles, and among them all I could never find an evil epistle or an evil gospel; but if your lordship will shew me the good and the evil ones, I will preach the former and pass over the latter.’ The bishop, more and more affrighted, exclaimed with all his might,[192] ‘Thank God, I never knew what the Old and New Testament was, and I will to know nothing but my portuese[193] and my pontifical!’

[105]

For the moment Forrest escaped death. The bishop’s saying got abroad in Scotland, and people used for a long time to say to any ignorant person, ‘Ye are like the bishop of Dunkeldene that knew neither new nor old law.’[194]

The discontent of the people with the clergy went on increasing, and at a provincial council which met at Edinburgh in March, 1536, Sir James Hamilton, in the king’s name, demanded various reforms. The men of the kirk were indignant. ‘Never had they been so ill content,’ said Angus.[195]

The monks, in alarm, began to attack the Reformation from their pulpits.

Bishop Barlow, the English envoy, thought the moment a favorable one for reform in Scotland. ‘If I may obtain the king’s license,’ he wrote to Cromwell, then first secretary of state to Henry VIII., ‘otherwise shall I not be suffered to preach, I will not spare for no bodily peril, boldly to publish the truth of God’s Word among them. Whereat though the clergy shall repine, yet many of the lay people will gladly give hearing. And until the Word of God be planted among them, I suppose their feigned promises shall be finally found frustrate without any faithful effect.’[196]

It seemed as if the hopes of the Anglican bishop were beginning to be realized. It was rumored that the King of Scotland, offended at the reception which his demands had met in the council, was going to have a conference with his uncle. The prelates thought that if that project were carried out they were undone. ‘Pray do not allow,’ they said to the king, ‘a single word to be spoken by the King of England to induce you to adopt his new constitutions of the Scripture.’[197] James was willing and[106] unwilling: but he yielded, and the interview with the terrible Tudor was given up. But the bishops were not yet freed from their alarm; they dreaded the influence of the English ambassadors, and that of the queen-mother, and they feared that they might not be strong enough another time. In order to confirm the prince in his resolution, they conceived the plan of getting him to request a brief from the pope to forbid his holding intercourse with Henry VIII. Thompson, the apostolic prothonotary, was secretly charged with this strange mission, and the priests thought it a capital stroke to ask the King of England to grant this agent a passport, taking good care to conceal from him the object of the mission. Henry, not at all suspicious, agreed to their request, and these cunning clerks could laugh together at their paltry trick. But the queen-mother, when she became acquainted with all these intrigues, sharply rebuked her son. Sensitive and violent, as weak men frequently are, James forgot all respect, and accused his mother of accepting gifts from the king her brother to betray the king her son. Margaret indignantly declared that she would return to London,[198] and the two English envoys hastened their departure from Scotland. The Scottish clergy had been very much alarmed at the project formed by Henry VIII. of giving his daughter Mary to his nephew; but the daughter of Catherine of Aragon would not have been wanting in submissiveness to the pope. The clerical party, having succeeded in stirring up quarrels in the royal family, between the mother and the son and between the uncle and the nephew, and anxious to make the proposed union forever impossible, hinted to the young prince that the eldest daughter of the King of France, the sister-in-law of Catherine de’ Medici, would be for him a far more glorious and advantageous alliance. This scheme pleased James, and when the rumor ran that the emperor was[107] on the point of invading France, the King of Scotland, in order to win the favor of the father of the bride whom he desired, offered to him the aid of his army.[199] Then he set sail, September 1, with six vessels, accompanied by a suite of five hundred persons, all of noble or gentle birth. In ten days he reached Dieppe,[200] and without consulting the opinion of his uncle, he asked for and obtained the hand of Madame Madeleine, who had been very tenderly brought up by her aunt, Margaret of Valois.[201] The Scottish priests were in high glee, because in their view this alliance with France tended to strengthen the papacy in Scotland; but their joy was premature. The kings of France were beginning to assume an air of superiority towards Scotland, which was offensive to a nation proud though small. It was far worse afterwards, when Henry II., king of France, marrying his son to Mary Stuart, required that princess to sign contracts which were humiliating to ancient Caledonia.

James had found in Madeleine an accomplished princess. Her health was frail, but her heart was virtuous and her soul was no stranger to the piety of her aunt. How great a gain for the Reformation if there should be seated on the throne of Scotland a queen who was a lover of the Word of God! James embarked with his young wife on a fleet of seventeen sail. On reaching Leith, the amiable queen, who was of noble bearing though of unhealthy aspect, set foot on land, knelt down on the shore, and taking up a handful of the sand of Scotland, kissed it with deep feeling, and implored God’s blessing on her beloved husband and on her new country. Madeleine was received at Edinburgh with great enthusiasm by the people and the nobles; but the[108] churchmen, better informed than they were at first, were disquieted, and were afraid that this princess would diffuse around her the evangelical opinions of the sister of Francis I. This happiness was not in store for Scotland. The flower transplanted into that rough climate withered and fell. On July 2 [1537] the queen breathed her last. All who had known her, except the priests, deeply regretted her. Buchanan, struck with such glory and such mourning, composed an epitaph on her in Latin verse, to the following effect:—‘I was wife of a king, daughter of a king, niece of a king, and, according to my wish and my hope, I was to become mother of a king. But cruel death, unwilling that I should stand on the highest pinnacle of honor that a mortal creature can attain to, has laid me in this tomb before that bright day dawned.’[202]

The prelates began to bestir themselves immediately to negotiate another French marriage, but one which should be at the same time what the first had not been,—a Romish marriage. They did not intend to be taken in a second time. The ardent David Beatoun, the primate’s nephew, who had accompanied the king to Paris, returned to France immediately after the death of the young queen, in order to seek for James V. a new alliance agreeable to the priests. David, who was very well liked at the court of St. Germain, was made bishop of Mirepoix, by Francis I., and through his intervention was afterwards created cardinal. His whole life was to be consecrated to a conflict with the Gospel in Scotland. Now for this end he needed a fanatical queen, and it was not difficult to find one.

There was at that time at the court of France a family which was beginning to be known for its zeal for the papacy. Claude de Lorraine, Duke of Guise, who had[109] married Antoinette de Bourbon, had distinguished himself on several occasions, and particularly at the battle of Marignano. Surrounded by six sons and four daughters, he founded a powerful house, which at a later period was near taking the throne from the Valois and the Bourbons. Hence, the last word of Francis I. to his son was this, ‘Beware of the Guises!’ It appears that James, during his visit to France, had seen and observed the eldest of the duke’s children, Mary, a young woman of three-and-twenty, widow of Louis of Orléans.[203] To her Beatoun addressed himself. The alliance was promptly concluded. The Scottish clergy triumphed; but the evangelical Christians saw with sorrow ‘this egg taken from the bloody nest of the Guises’[204] brought into their native land.

The young queen, having arrived at St. Andrews on June 16, 1538, strove to gain the affection of the king and of her mother-in-law. She failed to win the favor of the people; but the priests were enamored of her, and feeling themselves thenceforth sure of the victory, they began to set the authority of the pope higher than ever in their discourses.[205]

The pope then, through cardinal Pole, proposed an alliance between the emperor and the kings of France and Scotland for the invasion of England; and at the same time he withdrew from Henry VIII. and his successors the title of Defender of the Faith, and transferred it to the crown of Scotland.

James V., the slave at once of his wife and his bishops, seemed to be positively chained to the chariot of the Roman pontiff.

CHAPTER IX.

DAVID BEATOUN ESTABLISHES HIS INFLUENCE: PERSECUTION REVIVES.

(1539.)

A man with whom we have already made acquaintance was now for eight years to play a prominent part in Scotland, and to contend energetically against the Reformation. This was David Beatoun, one of the members of the Fifeshire family, and nephew of archbishop James. He belonged to the class of minds which take their place with enthusiasm under an absolute government, and become its most formidable instruments. Thoroughly at home and highly esteemed at the court of France, it was he who had conducted the negotiations for the king’s marriage, first with Madeleine of Valois, afterwards with Mary of Lorraine. But his intent was to devote his life to a union more sublime—that of Scotland and the papacy. Animated with hearty sympathy for Gregory VII., Boniface VIII., and Innocent III., he believed, as they did, that Rome, formerly mistress of the pagan world, should now be mistress of the Christian world. In his eyes all authority emanated from her, and he was resolved to consecrate to her his life, his energies, and everything that he possessed. As he meant to fight with carnal weapons, he must attain some dignity which would invest him with authority to make use of them. He speedily attained his end. Paul III., alarmed at seeing the separation of England from Rome, and fearing lest Scotland, as she had a nephew of Henry VIII. for[111] her king, should follow her example, was anxious to have in that country one man who would be absolutely devoted to him. David Beatoun offered himself. The pope created him cardinal in December 1538, and thenceforth the red, a color thoroughly congenial with him, became his own, and as it were his symbol. Not that he was by any means a religious fanatic; he was versed neither in theology nor in moral philosophy. He was a hierarchical fanatic. Two points above all were offensive to him in evangelical Christians: one that they were not submissive to the pope; the other, that they censured immorality in the clergy, for his own licentiousness drew on himself similar rebukes. He aimed at being in Scotland a kind of Wolsey, only with more violence and bloodshed. The one thing of moment in his eyes was that everything in church and state should bend under a twofold despotism. Endowed with large intelligence, consummate ability, and indomitable energy, he had all the qualities needed to insure success in the aim on which his mind was perpetually bent without ever being diverted from it. Passionately eager for his projects, he was insensible to the ills which must result from them. One matter alone preoccupied him: the destruction of all liberty. The papacy divined his character, and created him cardinal.

For the suppression of evangelical Christianity, which upheld the supreme authority of the Divine Word in the presence of the tiara and its oracles, Beatoun needed the royal support. His first step therefore must be to make himself master of the king. This was not difficult. The nobility had rights which they meant to make respected, and which the crown wished to take away. The king and the cardinal were naturally impelled to unite against the Gospellers and the nobles. In addition, James V., a prince of good natural endowments both of body and of mind, and of a frank and amiable disposition, was strongly inclined to sensual pleasures.[112] In order to keep him out of the way of state affairs, the courtiers and the regent had fostered in him the taste for intrigues and adventures of gallantry, a vice which he never got rid of even after his marriage.[206] Dissolute as a man, prodigal as a king, and superstitious as a Catholic, he could not but easily fall under the sway of superior minds,[207] especially if they promised him money, and that Beatoun could do.

Henry VIII., who, like his nephew, was habitually in want of money, had sought it in the treasures of the monasteries and other ecclesiastical institutions. The King of Scotland might be tempted to follow that example. Beatoun, and the other ecclesiastical dignitaries who were about the prince, discovered a certain means of preventing it. Instead of taking the money of the clergy, they said, let the king take that of the Gospellers; let the property of those who may be condemned to death for their faith, and even that of those who, after having embraced the Reform, may abjure it, be confiscated for his majesty’s benefit. This scheme was all the more seductive in that, while it secured their wealth to the clergy, it at the same time deprived the friends of the Reformation of theirs. This was killing two birds with one stone. The plan gives a special character to the Scottish persecutions. The cruel Gardiner said in England, that when people went stag-hunting they must fire at the leader of the herd, and that the same course must be pursued in hunting the Gospellers. In Scotland it was agreed not to harass those poor Christians who had nothing to leave at their death. Why seize these lean sheep? The knife must be laid on the big fat ones—on those which have a rich[113] fleece. War on the rich! This was the cry raised by the party of the persecutors. For about four years the sword had not been drawn from its scabbard, and the horror excited by the persecution of 1534 had, as it seemed, subsided. The Gospel had reaped advantage from the lull: the number of those who confessed Christ as their only Saviour had increased, and thus the irritation of the priests was soon aroused again.

Martin Balkerley, a wealthy citizen of Edinburgh, was confined in the castle at the time when David Beatoun was going to be made cardinal at Rome. The latter had already acquired great influence. As coadjutor to his uncle, the archbishop of St. Andrews, who was then advanced in years and in ill health, and whom he was to succeed, the administration of all ecclesiastical affairs was even then in his hands.[208] Balkerley, who was imprisoned for reading the prohibited books, complained as follows: ‘I have done nothing,’ said he, ‘but refuse to give up my book of matins to the officer.’ The king sent him back to Beatoun, who then referred the case to the privy council. The lords composing the council promised the accused his liberty on condition of his giving a ransom of one thousand pounds sterling, an enormous sum according to the value of money at that period. This ransom was paid on February 27, 1539, but Balkerley remained in prison. It was not enough. Beatoun, who had then been cardinal for a month or two, demanded an additional ransom of double the amount. Three rich Scotchmen offered themselves as bail on March 7, pledging themselves that the prisoner would do the king’s will. Five days later he was set at liberty. Thus the sum of three thousand pounds, paid down, was at length thought sufficient to expiate the crime of reading the New Testament.

Beatoun did not think it necessary thenceforward to have recourse to the privy council. His arrogance had[114] increased, and he assumed a haughty air. As the consuls of ancient Rome had their lictors, who bore the fasces before them as the symbol of their power, so the cardinal, whithersoever he went, had the cross carried before him; and this symbol of the love of God, which signifies pardon, signified, when it preceded Beatoun, condemnation, and spread terror everywhere. The cardinal claimed to be master of souls, and to dispose of the lives of men. The money which he had so shamefully acquired served only to stimulate his desire to get more by the same means. Several eminent and wealthy citizens—Walter Stewart, son of Lord Ochiltree, Robert Forester, brother of the laird of Arngibbon, David Graham, John Steward, son of Lord Methven, with others belonging to the élite of Scotland—were thrown into prison. In the castles, and in the towns of Stirling, Edinburgh, Perth, and Dundee, numerous families were left desolate.[209]

Henry VIII. saw in these acts of the government of his nephew the signal of an impending attack, and he sent one of the greatest lords of his court, the duke of Norfolk, to Berwick and to Carlisle to watch Scotland. Norfolk attentively investigated the condition of that country, and perceived there two opposite currents. ‘The clergy of Scotland,’ he wrote to London, ‘be in such fear that their king should do there as the king’s highness hath done in this realm, that they do their best to bring their master to the war; and by many ways I am advertised that a great part of the temporalty there would their king should follow our example, which I pray God give him grace to come unto.’[210] Presently Norfolk learnt that James V. was making his cannon ready; that a proclamation was published at Edinburgh and in all parts of Scotland, enjoining every man between the ages of sixteen and sixty to be in readiness[115] to set out; and that the fanatic cardinal was gone to the continent to make sure of the aid which Scotland might hope for, both from the king of France and from the pope. Norfolk ere long saw with his own eyes the sad effects of the intrigues of the clergy. Not a day passed but some gentlemen and priests, who were compelled to flee the country because they had had the audacity to read the Holy Scriptures in English, came to him to seek a refuge. ‘Ah,’ they to said him, ‘if we should be captured we should be put to execution.’[211] In the midst of these persecutions and preparations for war, James, initiated in the art of Roman policy, feigned the most pacific sentiments. ‘You may be sure,’ he said to one of the English agents, ‘that I shall never break with the king, my uncle.’ But Norfolk was not deceived: he felt the greatest distrust of the influence of Mary of Guise. ‘The young queen,’ he wrote to Cromwell, ‘is all papist.’[212] That ill-starred marriage linked in his eyes the family and the realm of the Stuarts with France and the papacy.

Norfolk was not wrong. The cardinal, having won over the king by flattery and by the heavy fines extorted from the evangelical Christians, was eager to take advantage of the circumstance for the destruction of the Reform and the satisfaction of some grudges of long standing. A monk named Killon, possessing some poetic talent, had composed, after the fashion of the age, a tragedy on the death of Christ. On the morning of Good Friday, probably in 1536, a numerous audience had assembled at Stirling to hear it. The king himself and the court were present. The piece presented a lively picture of the spirit and the conduct of the Romish clergy. The action was animated, the characters well marked, and the words vigorous and sometimes rude. Fanatical priests and hard-hearted Pharisees instigated[116] the people to demand the death of Jesus, and procured from Pilate his condemnation. The design of this work was so marked that the simplest folk said to one another, ‘It is just the same with us: the bishops and the monks get those persecuted who love Jesus Christ.’[213] The clergy abstained for the moment from molesting Killon, but they took note of his daring drama.

Another Gospeller had left very unpleasant memories in Beatoun’s mind. This was the good dean Forrest, who had boldly said that he had never found either a bad epistle or a bad gospel. The cardinal was only waiting for an opportunity to arrest him, Killon, and others. He had not long to wait. When the vicar of Tullybody, near Stirling, was married, Forrest and Killon had attended the ceremony, as well as a monk named Beverage, Sir Duncan Sympson, a priest, a gentleman named Robin Forrester, and three or four other people of Stirling.[214] At the marriage feast, at the beginning of Lent, they had eaten flesh, according to that word of St. Paul, ‘Whatsoever is sold in the shambles, that eat.’ On March 1, 1539, or according to some authorities, on the last day of February,[215] they were all seized and taken before the cardinal and the bishops of Glasgow and Dunkeld, who indulged in practices far more criminal than the eating of what God made for that purpose.

The official accuser, John Lauder, one of Beatoun’s creatures, addressing Forrest rudely, said to him—‘False heretic! thou sayest it is not lawful to kirkmen to take their teinds [tithes] and offerings and corpse[117] presents.’ And the dean Forrest replied, ‘Brother, I said not so: but I said it was not lawful to kirkmen to spend the patrimony of the kirk as they do, as on riotous feasting and on fair women, and at playing at cards and dice: and neither the kirk well maintained nor the people instructed in God’s Word, nor the sacraments duly administered to them as Christ commanded.’

Accuser: ‘Dare thou deny that which is openly known in the country? that thou gave again to thy parishioners the cow and the upmost cloths, saying you had no right to them? ’

Dean: ‘I gave them again to them that had more mister [need] than I’

Accuser: ‘Thou false heretic! thou learned all thy parishioners to say the Paternoster, the creed, and the Ten Commandments in English.’

Dean: ‘Brother, my people are so rude and ignorant they understand no Latin, so that my conscience provoked me to learn them the words of their salvation in English, and the Ten Commandments which are the law of God, whereby they might observe the same. I teached the belief, whereby they might know their faith in God and Jesus Christ his Son, and of his death and resurrection. Moreover I teached them and learned them the Lord’s own prayer in the mother-tongue, to the effect that they might know how they should pray.’

Accuser: ‘Why did you that? By our acts and ordinances of our holy father the pope?’

Dean: ‘I follow the acts of our master and Saviour Jesus Christ, and of the apostle Paul, who saith that he had rather speak five words to the understanding and edifying of his people than ten thousand in a strange tongue which they understand not.’

Accuser: ‘Where finds thou that?’

Dean: ‘In my book here, in my sleeve.’

At these words the accuser, rushing at a bound on the[118] dean, snatched from his hands the New Testament, and holding it up, said with a loud voice, ‘Behold, sirs, he has the book of heresy in his sleeve that makes all the din and play in our kirk.’

Dean: ‘Brother, ye could say better if ye pleased, nor to call the book of the Evangel of Jesus Christ the book of heresy.’

‘It is enough to burn thee for,’ said the accuser, coolly.[216]

Five of these pious men were immediately condemned to death and were taken the same day to the castle hill, where the piles were ready; and the king, following the example of Francis I., was present with his court at this cruel execution.[217] Those who went first to the stake piously and wonderfully consoled those who were to follow them. ‘At the beginning of 1539,’ says Buchanan, ‘many suspected of Lutheranism were arrested; five were burnt at the end of February, nine recanted, and others were sentenced to banishment.’[218] The same day orders were issued to confiscate the property of those who had been declared heretics.[219] The king, the cardinals, and their subordinates took their reward out of the penalties.

The illustrious Buchanan was himself in prison at that time. He was thirty-two years of age, and after a residence at the university of Paris, he had returned to Scotland and had been named preceptor to the earl of Murray, a natural son of James V. He was a poet as well as a historian, and his genius grew and developed itself under the influence of the classical poetry which charmed his leisure hours. There was something sharp[119] and biting in his temperament, peculiarly apt for satire; and he had not spared the clergy in his Somnium, his Palinode, and above all in his satire against the Franciscans. It was for this last poem he was imprisoned. The companies of monks had keenly resented his sarcasm, and there was not a man in all Scotland whose death was more eagerly desired by the Romish party. It was said that the cardinal offered the king a considerable sum of money in order to compass it. However that may be, Buchanan was at that time a prisoner and was carefully watched in the prison of St. Andrews, some of the guards even spending the night in his room. The young man, already an illustrious writer, knew that they were seeking his life; the death of five martyrs showed him clearly enough the fate which awaited himself. One night he perceived that his keepers had fallen asleep.[220] He went on tiptoe towards the window, and climbing up the walls, succeeded, although with difficulty, in getting out. He then passed on and surmounted other obstacles as great;[221] and thus by the aid of God, and stimulated by the desire of saving his life, ‘he escaped the rage of those that sought his blood.’[222] He betook himself to France, taught for several years in the Collège de Guienne at Bordeaux, and afterwards in a college at Paris. Henry Stephens, when he published at Paris the first edition of Buchanan’s Paraphrase of the Psalms, calls him on the title-page of the book, ‘Poetarum nostri sæculi facile princeps.’ His escape took place, as nearly as we can learn, in March 1539. Many Gospellers, as we have said, followed the example of Buchanan that same month. As for himself, he appears at that period of his life to have been nothing more than one of the numerous poets and prose-writers who were then attacking the vices and the follies of the Romish[120] clergy. But while attacking superstition, Buchanan did not fall as many did into infidelity: he adhered heartily at a later period to the evangelical reform, and Knox bears noble witness to him.[223]

Beatoun, while sacrificing many victims, had lit a fire on elevated ground, ‘to the effect that the rest of the bischoppes myght schaw thame selfis no less fervent to suppress the light of God.’[224] That signal was not made in vain. In the town of Ayr, in the midst of the rich plains of that fertile county, was a young gentleman named Kennedy, about eighteen years of age, who had received a liberal education, and had tasted of the Gospel, without however attaining a well-grounded faith; a state sufficiently accounted for by his years. Gifted with some poetic faculty he had not spared the ignorance of the priests. Kennedy was seized and cast into prison.

In the same diocese, that of Glasgow, there lived in a convent of the Cordeliers one of those enlightened and pious monks who shone like stars in the deep night of the age. His name was Jerome Russel; his character was good, his wit ready, and his mind enriched with literary acquirements. Wharton, writing to Lord Cromwell in November 1538, speaks of a friar John, a well-informed man who was imprisoned at Dumfries at the instance of the bishops, and who had been loaded with chains because he professed respecting the law of God the same opinions which were held in England.[225] It is not to be doubted that he speaks of Russel. Dumfries is not far from Ayr.

The archbishop of Glasgow, Gawin Dunbar, was not of so persecuting a spirit as Beatoun, and as lord chancellor he was invested with the highest authority in the state. It was then the summer of 1539, and as Beatoun,[121] although named cardinal, had not yet received the pontifical act which conferred on him that dignity, he could not have dared to appear in the diocese of Glasgow with his cross borne before him. But it was not enough for him to know that the learned Russel and the young Kennedy were in prison, he must get them burnt. Consequently he sent to Glasgow his favorite agent Lauder, who could affect insinuating manners and put on exaggerated pretensions to compass his ends. The clever notary Andrew Oliphant and the ardent monk Mortman accompanied him, charged to obtain from the archbishop the promise ‘that he would imbrue his hands in the blood of the friends of God.’ Knox therefore calls these three men Satan’s sergeants.

Having reached Glasgow the three men got round the chancellor-prelate, and demanded of him far more than he could lawfully grant: he was not only to have the two evangelical Christians examined, he must put them to death. What reproaches he would incur if he protected heretics! what praises would he not win if he were ardent in serving the Church! Gawin yielded, and Russel and Kennedy were put on their trial. They appeared before the court, over which the archbishop himself presided, and the proceedings began. Thanks to the inventive zeal of Lauder and his colleagues, numerous charges were brought forward against the accused. Kennedy had an upright soul, but had rather an inclination to the faith than faith itself. The imposing display of judicial pomp, the gravity of the accusations, the severity of the punishment which was preparing, and the horrible agony which was to precede it, all disturbed the young man; he was distressed, and being sharply pressed to retract what he had written, he was intimidated and went astray.

Russel, on the other hand, whose faith, the fruit of close examination of the Word of God, was developed and established by long-continued studies, appeared full[122] of decision. He replied with wisdom to his accusers, defended by powerful proofs the doctrines which he professed, and repulsed with calmness, dignity, and intrepidity the false accusations of his enemies. His words had an unlooked-for result: they reawakened the conscience of his young companion. The Spirit of God, the Spirit of all consolation, worked in him. The Christian life, which had scarcely begun in his heart, now expanded itself. ‘He felt himself as it were a new creature; his mind was changed;’ a living faith filled his heart; he was confirmed in his resolution.[226] From that time he no longer hesitated to give up his life for the truth. The happiness which he had lost came back to him; his countenance brightened, his tongue was loosed, there was a radiance in his whole person; and, falling on his knees, he exclaimed with joy—‘O eternal God, how wondrous is that love and mercy that thou bearest unto mankind, and unto me the most caitiff and miserable wretch above all others; for even now, when I would have denied thee and thy Son, our Lord Jesus Christ, my only Saviour, and so have casten myself in everlasting damnation, thou by thine own hand hast pulled me from the very bottom of hell, and makest me to feel that heavenly comfort which takes from me that ungodly fear wherewith before I was oppressed. Now I defy death.’ Then, rising, he turned towards his persecutors and said, ‘Do what ye please; I praise God I am ready.’[227]

The prayer of Kennedy touched the archbishop of Glasgow. He was disturbed. ‘It is better to spare these men,’ said he; ‘executions such as those which have taken place only do harm to the cause which they are meant to serve.’ The cardinal’s agents resolved to frighten the prelate, whose weakness they well knew,[123] and they cried out lustily—‘Take care what ye are doing, my lord. Will ye condemn all that my lord cardinal and the other bishops and we have done? If so ye do, ye show yourself enemy to the kirk.’ Fear fell on the archbishop. Repressing the pity which had touched him, and silencing his conscience for the sake of preserving his reputation and his comfortable and easy life, he gave way.

Russel had remained calm till then, but exasperated by the calumnies of his enemies, indignant at the weakness of the archbishop, and confident in his own innocence, he said with dignity—‘This is your hour and power of darkness; now sit ye as judges, we stand wrongously accused, and more wrongously to be condemned; but the day shall come when our innocency shall appear, and that ye shall see your own blindness, to your everlasting confusion. Go forward, and fulfil the measure of your iniquity.’ Russel and Kennedy, condemned to the flames, were immediately handed over to the secular power.

The day following, as they passed to the place of execution, Russel thought that he perceived some apprehension in his friend. ‘Brother,’ said he, ‘fear not: more potent is he that is in us than is he that is in the world. The pain that we shall suffer is short and shall be light, but our joy and our consolation shall never have end.’ They who heard it were wonderfully affected. When the two martyrs arrived at the pile, they fell on their knees and prayed; then, rising, they were bound to the stake without uttering a word, and supported the fire with patience, making no sign of fear. ‘They won the victory over death, looking with faith,’ says a historian, ‘for everlasting habitations.’

CHAPTER X.

TERGIVERSATIONS OF KING JAMES V.—NEGOTIATIONS WITH HENRY VIII.—THEY FAIL.

(1540–January, 1542.)

The Romish party was not yet satisfied. ‘These cruel beasts,’ says Knox, ‘did intend nothing but murder in all quarters of the realm.’ James was surrounded with men who urged him on in that direction. Many of his courtiers, associates of his dissipation, instigated him to persecution because they were pensioners to priests for that purpose.[228] Oliver Sinclair was the foremost of these secret tools of the clergy. The cardinal’s influence was increased by circumstances which occurred at this time. Archbishop James Beatoun died in the autumn of 1539, after having attended as a witness at the baptism of the king’s eldest son. By his last will he left his archbishopric of St. Andrews to his nephew David, who, when confirmed by the king, was thenceforth both cardinal and primate of Scotland.

Henry VIII. was induced by these changes to take fresh steps towards gaining over his nephew. He was acquainted with the cardinal, and knew his relations with France and the papacy. At the beginning of 1540 Sir R. Sadler was sent to Scotland.[229] The moment was well chosen. James V. was just then fully disposed to make peace with his uncle. The Lords Murray, Huntley, and[125] Bothwell were in disgrace, and James wrote to Henry VIII. as his ‘dearest brother and uncle,’ and commended himself to him in his most hearty and affectionate manner. Henry sent him presents and the most gracious messages, inquiring earnestly after his health; and all this courtesy James received in the most amiable manner imaginable. Henry however meant to go to the main point, and Thomas Eure, one of his envoys, strove to discover what were the purposes of the King of Scotland respecting the bishop of Rome and the Reformation. One of the councillors, Ballenden, replied to him with great politeness, ‘The King of Scottes himself, with all his temporall counsaile, was gretely geven to the reformation of the mysdemeanors of busshops, religious personnes, and priests within the realme.’[230] James gave even then some proofs of this disposition. On the day of the Epiphany, January 6, 1540, there was a grand feast at the court, and a dramatic spectacle was given in the palace of Linlithgow. The king, the queen, and all the councillors spiritual and temporal were present; and the purport of the piece was to exhibit the presumption of the bishops, the iniquities of the courts spiritual, the evil ways of the priests, and in one word, the ‘noughtines’ of such religion as then existed. Perhaps the king was minded to let the bishops hear a sermon in that shape. It is very unlikely that anyone would have dared to give such a spectacle without his authority. However that may be, James was struck with it; and when the piece was finished, he had the archbishop in Glasgow, chancellor of the realm, called to him, as well as the other bishops, whose thoughts and fears during the representation may be imagined. ‘I exhort you,’ said the king to them, ‘to reform your fashions and manners of living. If you do not, I will send six of the proudest of you unto my uncle of England,[231] and after he has put them in order, I will do the same with the rest if they[126] will not amend.’ The chancellor, in consternation, humbly answered, ‘One word of your grace’s mouth shall suffice them to be at commandment.’ James rejoined immediately and angrily, ‘I shall gladly bestow any words of my mouth that can amend them,’ The notion of applying to Henry VIII. to set his bishops right was original; and the prelates of Scotland, knowing that that preceptor did not spare the rod nor even the sword, trembled to the very marrow of their bones. Ballenden, in confirmation of these new intentions of James, said to Thomas Eure, ‘The king is fully minded to expel all spiritual men from having any authority by office under his grace, either in household or elsewhere.’ It appears that the author of the drama, author also in part of the change wrought in the prince, was Sir David Lyndsay, who had been the king’s guardian and companion during his minority. This bold man of letters composed many satires against the superstitions of the age, and above all against the ignorance and licentiousness of the clergy; but the king never allowed the cardinal to lift a finger to harm him.

The convictions of James were not very deep, and his own life was not such as to give him the right to criticise the lives of the bishops. So long as this liberal humor of the prince lasted, the cardinal seems to have abstained from demonstrations hostile to the reform of the Church. He was sure of getting him to change his mind, and he did not trouble himself about comedies to which he was bent on replying by tragedies. He was not long in showing his inflexibility, and the capricious humor of the king again bent under his immovable firmness. Other men have been named great, just, or well-bred. Beatoun deserved to be called persecutor. This surname, which history inflicts on him as a disgrace, he seems to have aspired to as a glory.

Beatoun assembled at St. Andrews the prelates and the nobles who enjoyed his confidence. An elevated[127] seat was provided for him in the cathedral, and he sat there in his twofold character of primate and of cardinal. The earls of Huntley, Arran, and Montrose, the earl Marshall, and Lords Erskine, Lyndsay, Fleming, Seaton, and many other barons and men of rank, Gawin, archbishop of Glasgow and chancellor, the bishops of Aberdeen, Galloway, and others besides, abbots and priors, deans and doctors of theology, were around him. David Beatoun, proud to see beneath him that illustrious and brilliant assembly, began to speak. He set forth with warm feeling the dangers to which the multiplication of heretics was exposing the Roman faith: the audacity with which they avowed their opinions, even at the court, where they found too much support, he added, alluding thus to the famous dramatic representation with which James had been so struck. Then impatient to show the serious import of his words, he announced that he had cited before that assembly Sir John Borthwick, brother of the lord of the same name, provost of Linlithgow, who had probably had a hand in the satirical drama. ‘This heretic gives out,’ he said, ‘that the pope has no more authority than other bishops, that his indulgences have no other effect than to deceive the people, that the religious orders ought to be abolished, that all ecclesiastics are at liberty to marry, and in short, that the Scots, blinded by their clergy, do not profess the true faith. He reads and circulates the New Testament in English, and divers treatises of Melanchthon, Œcolampadius, and Erasmus, and refuses to submit to the see of Rome.’

Borthwick, instead of going to St. Andrews, set out in all haste for England, where he was well received by Henry VIII., and was afterwards employed by him as one of his commissioners to the princes of Germany. But although Beatoun could not send the lamb to the slaughter, he could at least find the way to possess himself of the fleece. On May 28 the confiscation of Sir[128] John’s property was pronounced and his effigy was burnt, first at St. Andrews and two days after at Edinburgh. The fire did him no great harm, but it served to give a certain point to the cardinal’s discourse.[232]

The king had now again returned, under the influence of the cardinal, to the side of Rome. This prince, so thoughtless, hasty, violent, and unprincipled, bent before every breeze and changed his opinion and his will at a word from those who were about him. Money he wanted, and he would have received it from one party as readily as from another, from the nobles as well as from the priests: but the latter were more persevering and more skilful in finding out the crowns of which he had need. ‘They are always at the king’s ear,’ said Sadler, one of the envoys of Henry VIII. Sir James Hamilton, his treasurer, was at his left ear, and Beatoun, the cardinal, at his right. The treasurer had at that time received large sums from the cardinal for the king, and James, won by that argument, pronounced himself against the friends of the Reformation with the passion which he had before shown towards the prelates. Sir James Hamilton, brother of the earl of Arran, a man of dishonorable character, cruel, and the murderer of the earl of Lennox, was then invested by command of the king with functions resembling those of an inquisitor. ‘I charge you,’ said James, ‘to seize all persons suspected of heresy, and to inflict on them after judgment such penalties as they have deserved.’ In the excess of his popish zeal he exclaimed,’Not a man of that sort shall find any mercy at my hands, not even my own son, if it were proved that he was in the number of the guilty.’ This declaration alarmed many. It was plain that an inquisitorial court was to be set up, and Hamilton was already preparing everything for that end. But on a sudden he was himself thrown into the prison in which he meant to confine the friends of[129] the Reformation. Accused either justly or unjustly of treason, even of a conspiracy against the life of the king, he was arrested, and James, in his wrath, had him put to death in August 1540.

James spoke of his son. He had indeed a son, but one not old enough to excite any fears with respect to what he called heresy. The child was born on May 22, 1540, and had been named James after his father. ‘He is fair and lively,’ wrote the king to his uncle Henry VIII., ‘and will succeed to us and this our realm.’[233] Very proud of this son and of having an heir, he felt his crown to be more secure than ever,[234] and began to contemn the nobles. ‘They will no longer dare,’ said he, ‘to attempt anything against my house.’

The baptism of the boy took place May 28, and on the next day the king embarked on some voyage. Nobody could give an explanation of this abrupt departure. Some said that the king was going to France, others said to Ireland, where the leading men, it was reported, would take him for their king.[235] ‘I am only going to visit the isles, to put everything in order,’ he wrote to Henry VIII. The cardinal and the prelates resolved to take advantage of his absence. The king, they saw, was in ill humor with the nobles, and all those who were suspected in the matter of doctrine must be got rid of. But one discreet man, James Kirkcaldy of Grange, the lord treasurer, having received information of this project, made it known to the king, and set before him all the calamities to which he would expose himself if he gave his support to the conspiracy. James, once more turning about, was enraged at this intrigue hatched in his absence. The cardinal, attended by many bishops, came to Holyrood palace to greet him, and presented to[130] him a paper on which were inscribed the names of nobles suspected of heresy and of whom it would be well to get rid. He dwelt even on the gain which would flow to the crown from that course. James said sharply—‘Pack, you jefwellis![236] Get ye to your charges and reform your own lives: be not instruments of discord betwixt my nobility and me: or else I vow to God I shall reform you by sharp whingers if ever I hear such motion of you again.’

The prelates, astounded at this rebuke, withdrew in confusion, and gave up their scheme for a time.

A second son was born to James in the town of Stirling in April 1541, and this event both heightened his joy and increased his pride. His happiness however was frequently disturbed. Certain people were incessantly endeavoring to deceive him. Hateful informers denounced to him one or other of his earls, his barons, and other subjects, as bent on taking his life, and thus threw him into a state of great alarm. In another direction some of his favorites were leading him to blameworthy acts. He had to pay dearly for his errors, and was punished by his very crimes. His mind was often in a state of gloomy reverie. Thomas Scott of Pitgorno, a courtier who had enjoyed his good graces and had been named by him lord of Lefries, and afterwards promoted to a higher office in the administration of justice,[237] had been guilty of many misdeeds. He was[131] accused, among other things, of having plundered pretended Lutherans, and it was added that the king had gained something by it. Remorse tormented these two wretched men. One night, while James was at Linlithgow, he dreamed that he saw Scott coming towards him surrounded by a company of devils, and that he heard him say in a sepulchral tone—‘Woe to the day that ever I knew thee or thy service. For, for serving of thee against God, against his servants, and against justice I am adjudged to endless torment.’ The king awoke in terror. With a loud voice he called for torches (it was midnight), and he made all who were in the palace get up, and said to them—‘Thomas Scott is dead! He has appeared to me.’ He then related his horrible dream. That same night Thomas Scott, then at Edinburgh, was stricken with a terrible agony. ‘I am damned,’ said he, ‘I am damned! It is by the just judgment of God—justo Dei judicio condemnatus sum.’ He died in the midst of these torments. James heard of this death the next morning and was still more terrified. Such is the tale of the chroniclers and historians of Scotland.[238] It is certainly wonderful, but stranger coincidences have been known.

James had yet other causes of uneasiness. His sleepless nights were disturbed, gloomy, and agitated; and even the light of morning did not disperse his inward darkness. The death of Hamilton, whose execution he had hastily ordered on mere suspicion, frequently gave him bitter pain. That unfortunate lord had done for the prince all that he had wished; and the latter now asked himself whether he had done well to deprive himself of so devoted a secretary. Perhaps he was innocent. He might have been calumniated. One night, at Linlithgow, James saw Hamilton in a dream, with his sword drawn, rush upon him and cut off first his right then his[132] left arm,[239] saying to him, ‘Take that! while thou receive a final payment for all thine impiety.’ James awoke trembling, and asked himself what this dream could mean. His imagination was impressed by it. He mused mournfully on the strange vision, and expected that some heavy blow was about to fall on him. It was in this state of mind that a message reached him from Stirling that his son Arthur has just died. Shortly after, another message came from St. Andrews to announce to him that his son James was dead. These two young princes, his hope, his joy, and his glory, were no more. Within twenty-four hours of each other (some say at the same hour), they had been taken from him. He now comprehended his dream. His two arms were already cut off: it only remained for him to lose his own life, and all would be accomplished. Nothing could divert this prince, who was guilty at once of profligacy and of persecution: nothing could beguile his grief. His heart was broken, his mind was disordered.

He shut himself up, and the only person whom he would see was his mother. Unhappy father! unhappy king! The queen-dowager did all she could to console her son and her daughter-in-law. ‘I am never from them,’ she wrote to her brother, Henry VIII., May 12, 1541, ‘but ever in their company.’ It appears that by this large sorrow the natural affections were reawakened in the king. He wrote to his uncle that he desired to see good will and the most perfect friendship and peace prevail between them.[240]

While James was thus taken up with his sorrows alone, the doctrine of the Reformation made progress, and, if only liberty were accorded to it, its triumph in Scotland appeared to be at hand. A great multitude of the common people, both in the country districts and in the towns, held meetings more or less secretly at[133] which they heard the Holy Word read and even explained. By 1540 many eminent men had received the evangelical doctrine. The earls of Errol and of Glencairn, the Lords Ruthven and Kilmaurs and their children, Sir David Lyndsay, Sir James Sandilands, Melville of Raith, and a large number of other influential persons appeared to be attached to the Gospel by genuine conviction.

Henry VIII., when informed of this state of things, thought that he ought to avail himself of it for his own advantage. His favorite notion was to engage the King of Scotland to make his country independent of Rome, and as James was his nephew he did not despair of success. As long ago as 1535 he had sent Barlow to him with books against the authority of the pope. That measure failed. Next he had despatched Lord Howard to James, who was still unmarried, to offer to him the hand of his daughter Mary, and with her the prospect of the crown of England, if he would establish the royal supremacy in the Church. Another failure. In 1540 Henry had charged Sir Ralph Sadler to set before James the advantages which he would obtain from a Reformation, and to propose an interview with him. Sadler, in order to counteract beforehand the cardinal’s influence, communicated to the King of Scotland some letters from that prelate to the pope, which had been intercepted by the English, and from which it was manifest that Beatoun’s aim was to place the state in subjection to the Romish Church. The prince answered with a smile that the cardinal had already shown him those letters.[241]

All the endeavors of the English envoy had proved futile. At bottom, the end which Beatoun was pursuing was the ruin of Henry VIII.; and in order the more surely to attain it, he was ambitious to be appointed legate a latere, a dignity which would invest him in Scotland with the extraordinary powers which he did actually[134] obtain. He did everything to conduct to a happy issue the alliance against England which had been previously projected by the pope. The English Council of the North wrote to Cromwell—‘We think that the cardinal of Scotland intendeth to take his journey towards Rome in Lent next coming, and we think it should appear by the schedule of instructions herein inclosed, which was taken on a ship lost at Bamborough, that the Scots intend some mystery with some of their allies.’[242] Henry, alarmed at this news, caused fresh entreaties to be pressed on his nephew. His ambassadors promised James that if he would go to York to confer with his uncle, the meeting would have the happiest consequences for him, and would afford him the most unanswerable proof of the love which Henry bore him.[243] It appears even that one of them, speaking of the feeble health of prince Edward, held before the eyes of James Stuart the brilliant prospect of the crown of England, leaving Mary and Elizabeth entirely out of sight. The nobles of Scotland, natural enemies of the priests, urged the king to agree to the interview with his uncle. Articles were drawn up at the beginning of December 1541, by the commissioners of Scotland and England. They purported that King James would meet his dear uncle, the King of England, on January 15, 1542, at the city of York, for the purpose of mutual communications tending to increase their cordial love, to draw closer the ties of blood, and to promote the prosperity of their kingdoms.[244] These articles raised Henry to the summit of his wishes, and he took measures immediately for imparting to this interview extraordinary solemnity and brilliancy. This conference of the two kings made a great noise in Scotland, and preparations were also made[135] there. Henry VIII. set out and went to York full of hope. Uncle and nephew were at last to see each other, and to talk together, and every one saw that this meeting would have weighty consequences. Never was Scotland nearer having a reform after the fashion of Henry VIII.

No one understood this better than Beatoun. What he feared more than all besides was that the power of the Romish hierarchy would be abolished, and the Gospel be put in its place. The cardinal, for the first time in his life, had been anticipated, surpassed in cleverness and in influence. He did not however lose courage, but with all the adherents of his party applied himself to the task with all his soul. They sowed hatred between the king and the nobles. They employed all imaginable means to dissuade the king from the fatal meeting. At first they sought to alarm him. ‘By going to York,’ said the cardinal to him, ‘you will expose yourself to the suspicions of the emperor, you will make an enemy of your old ally the King of France, and you will bring down on yourself the disgrace of the pope. In short’ (and it was this which most terrified James), ‘you will expose yourself to the greatest dangers. This treacherous king will keep you prisoner in England as James I. was kept in former days.’ James replied that he had given his word, and that the king was awaiting him, that to absent himself from the rendezvous would lead to war with England, and that he had not the means of carrying it on. The cardinal was amazed at this independence of the king, for he was not accustomed to it. Discerning more and more clearly the greatness of the peril, his bishops and he agreed that there was but one means available for inducing James to renounce his purpose. As this prince was always in want of money, they sought to gain him by gifts of large sums.[245] This[136] argument did not miss the mark. They then appealed to him anew and said—‘Sire, there is a good deal of money in Scotland, and it is easy to get possession of it. If war should break out, the clergy will give you thirty thousand crowns per annum, and you will be able to get a hundred thousand more by confiscating the property of heretics, if you will only authorize proceedings against them by a judge whom we will name to you and who is well qualified for the purpose. Will you spare this wicked people? Do they not read the Old and New Testaments? Are they not in rebellion against the authority of the pope and against the king’s majesty? Have they not, by new and detestable errors, troubled the churches, destroyed piety, and overthrown institutions established for many centuries? They refuse to the priests whom God has consecrated all obedience and respect. But there must be no delay.’ James yielded. He conceded to the bishops the inquisition which they claimed, and sent Sir James Learmont, one of the officers of his court, to offer his excuses to his uncle. Of all James’s proceedings this was the most perilous.

WAR BETWEEN ENGLAND AND SCOTLAND—DEATH OF JAMES V.

(1542.)

It is easy to imagine the wrath of Henry VIII. when he found himself alone at York. He had made an agreement with his nephew; he had left London to have a conference with him; he had made great preparations;[137] he had gone to the north; and then the young man was missing at the rendezvous! He was beside himself with anger. His sister, the mother of James, had died at the end of November 1541. But even if she had lived it was hardly likely that her influence would have appeased the rage of the king. He was provoked not only because his favorite project broke down just at the moment when he expected to see it carried out, but still more by the intolerable affront which the King of Scotland had just offered him. He could not endure it, and he swore that he would wash his name and his memory of that insult by a startling act of vengeance. He wrote to James letters full of the sharpest reproaches and the most violent menaces. ‘I have still in my hand,’ said he, ‘the very rod which chastised your father.’ That rod was the duke of Norfolk, who while earl of Surrey had commanded at Flodden, where James IV. was killed. Henry immediately authorized piratical expeditions by sea, and invasions on the Scottish borders; but these pirates and marauders were only the precursors of the chastisements which he was preparing.

James was frightened; and as it was to please his prelates that he had failed to keep his promise, it was his wish that the expenses of the war should fall on them. He told them that, thanks to them, he was going to war with the King of England, and demanded the subsidies which they had promised. ‘If you do not furnish me with them,’ he added, ‘I shall have no choice but to confer with my uncle and satisfy his wishes.’ This menace terrified the prelates; ‘for rather would they have gone to hell.’[246] What would France say? What would the pope say? thought the cardinal. The bishops promised mountains of gold. After deliberation on the matter, they agreed to give the king fifty thousand crowns a year so long as the war lasted. They added, that their servants and other dependents who were exempt from[138] military service would take up arms. These promises filled the heart of the rash young monarch with confidence and pride. Troops were sent to Jedburgh and to Kelso, and the priests and all their party were pluming themselves on their wealth and their power, and talking of nothing but their victory. They were mad with joy, and were already dreaming of again bringing England under the papal sway. It was possible for an instant to suppose that they were right. The parliament of England had not shown itself so forward as the clergy of Scotland; its members had closed their ears to Henry’s demands for money. This slackened his preparations for war. There were, however, some troops on the frontier, and they formed the design of seizing Jedburgh. The earl Angus and Sir George Douglas, his brother, who had been banished from Scotland for some years, joined these troops, which numbered four thousand men. But the Scots had taken their measures. Lord Huntley, at the head of a large force, encountered the English troops at Halidon on August 24. The fight was already begun, when another Scottish party appeared. The English, perceiving that they were in danger of being surrounded, retreated. Only a few were killed, but very many were taken prisoners.[247]

There was no longer any limit to the joy of prelate and priest. They encouraged the king; they vaunted themselves as if they had in person gained a victory. In bishops’ palaces, in the parsonages of priests, and in the convents of monks, nothing was heard but shouts of triumph. ‘All is ours,’ said they; ‘they are but heretics. If we be a thousand and they ten thousand, they dare not fight. France shall enter the one part and we the other, and so shall England be conquered within a year.’[248]

James, notwithstanding his imprudence, did not indulge in these foolish illusions. He knew that Henry VIII.[139] was much stronger than himself. The blow which the wrath of his uncle had inflicted on him made him turn from left to right. He wished to take advantage of the petty victory of Halidon for making peace with England. Persecution ceased in Scotland, and liberty of conscience was more liberally granted. On the day after the engagement, and before James was informed of the result, he had already written to Henry, and had asked him for passports for his plenipotentiaries. On September 1 he wrote to him again: ‘We assure you, dearest uncle,’ said he, ‘there is within our realm neither of spiritual nor temporal state that may or shall change our favor and kindness toward you.’[249] But Henry was not of such an easy temper: he bore in mind the affront at York, and he intended to avenge it. He forbade the ambassadors of his nephew to pass beyond that city. During this time he was collecting all kinds of munitions of war, and in very large quantities. He assembled an army such as Scotland had not for a long time seen at her borders, and gave the command of it to that duke of Norfolk who was to defeat the son as he had defeated the father. The King of England wanted also to be the king of Scotland, and wished that the whole of Great Britain should belong to the same prince. This dream was one day to be realized, but with this great difference, that it would not be the King of England who should become king of Scotland, but the King of Scotland who should become king of England. We find in the State Papers the following despatch, addressed by the English privy council to the archbishop of York:—‘Minding to have the king’s majesty’s title to the realm of Scotland more fully, plainly, and clearly set forth to all the world, that the justness of our quarrel and demand may appear, we have appointed certain learned men to travail in the same. And for because we knew that your lordship in times past hath taken some pains in the same thing,[140] we pray you not only to cause all your old registers and ancient places to be sought, where you think anything may be found for the more clear declaration to the world of his majesty’s title to that realm, and so what shall be found to certify us thereof accordingly; but also to signify unto us what ancient charters and monuments for that purpose you have seen, and where the same are to be sought for.’ For having failed to make the promised visit, James must lose his crown. Once let the King of England have possessed himself of Scotland (thanks to his soldiers, without doubt, more than to his charters and muniments), he would banish popery and establish his own bishops in its place, and above all his own papacy.

Henry published a manifesto in which he declared that his nephew had been the aggressor. He claimed for the Tudors the crown of the Stuarts. He resented as bitterly as ever the wound received at York; and the vengeance which he reckoned on taking was to be cruel, memorable, and revolutionary. The energy of the uncle was as conspicuous as the feebleness of the nephew; and when James wrote again with all naïveté, ‘I love you,’ Henry replied savagely, ‘I hate you.’

Norfolk, impatient to avenge the retreat from Halidon, determined to make an inroad into Scotland before the whole of the army was mustered. He therefore marched from Berwick, at the northeastern extremity of England, ravaged the country districts, took several unimportant places, got himself into various scrapes, and announced that he should immediately appear at Edinburgh. But within eight or ten days after passing the Borders he withdrew. He had merely paid an unceremonious visit, preliminary to one official and in state.

Meanwhile James was putting himself into a position to receive that visit gallantly, and was assembling his army before Edinburgh. He had there about twenty thousand men, besides ten thousand more on the frontier, under[141] the command of the earl of Huntley. But dissension prevailed in his camp. There were some who cared little for the old doctrine, but who were eager above everything to break the iron yoke of the cardinal. Others there were, attached to the Douglases and the Anguses, who were in the English army, and who had no mind to fight against them. Others, again, feeling the inferiority of the Scottish army, steadily insisted that they ought to remain strictly on the defensive. On a sudden, the Scots encamped at Fala learnt that for want of supplies the English were retreating on the Tweed. James, who was easily excited, immediately called together his lords, and exclaimed, ‘Forward! follow me into England!’ His words were received in a gloomy silence. ‘We are ready, sire,’ said some of the lords to him, ‘to risk life and whatsoever we have to defend your person and your realm, but we do not see any sufficient reason for invading England. Our provisions are spent, our horses wearied; and as for ourselves, we have so long been absent from our homes, that we think it high time to return.’

James dissembled his chagrin, and even assumed an air of approval of the discretion of his lords. But he trembled to see his kingly authority trampled under foot by his subjects. He was plainly master no longer. His subservience to the priests had ruined him. The nobles and the common soldiers, instead of falling upon the English, returned every man to his own home, and the king, abandoned and left almost alone, consumed by the profound vexation which was gradually wearing him away, returned mournfully to Edinburgh.

It was now November 2 or 3. He immediately convoked a council at Holyrood palace. But in his rage against the nobles, he summoned only the bishops, the priests, and their partisans; all those who made a trade of pandering to the passions of the prince and who had no other aim but to secure the triumph of the clergy.[142] When they saw the king’s discouragement, and his anger against the nobles, they persuaded themselves that the moment was come for them to make an end of their enemies. That, they thought, would not be very difficult. These men, branded by public opinion, did not care to furnish evidence in support of their denunciations. The only trouble they took was to deprive the innocent of all means of clearing themselves. They thought that it would for the moment suffice them to obtain a hearing, to accuse some noble of heresy and to call as witnesses certain men of infamous character in their own pay. With one accord, therefore, they all strove to inflame the king against the Reformation and its friends. Oliver Sinclair, among the laymen, distinguished himself in these proceedings, and among the churchmen, Beatoun. ‘The cardinal and the priests,’ it was said, ‘cast fagots in the fire with all their force.’[250] They drew up a list containing the names of all of whom they wished to be rid. There were the names of about one hundred nobles, among whom were Lord Hamilton, the first person of the realm after the king, the earls of Cassilis and Glencairn, the earl Marshal, and other nobles, all well disposed towards the Word of God.[251] This fact shows what progress the Reformation had made in Scotland. The majority of these suspects, to be sure, were not decided evangelical Christians, but they had leanings that way. Once already James had refused to accept such a list. But the case was different now, and he accepted it at once, and expressed to the prelates his regret that he had so long set their counsels aside. ‘I see clearly at this moment that you are right,’ he said; ‘the nobles neither desire my honor nor my continuance; for they would not ride a mile for my pleasure to follow enemies. Will ye therefore find me the means that I may have raid made in England without[143] their knowledge and consent, that may be known to be my own raid, and I shall bind me to your counsel forever.’

The joy of the cardinal and his friends was unbounded. They congratulated each other, they clapped their hands;[252] the game was won. They made promises one to another of diligent service, discretion, and fidelity. They encountered however some few difficulties. The king required before all else an invasion, and he wanted to be able to say to the nobles, ‘Where you fell back I advanced and have conquered.’ How proceed so as to insure success in the enterprise? They resolved to select as the battle-field not the east, in the direction of Berwick, where the forces of Henry VIII. lay, but the northwestern quarter, which was stripped, left without an army, almost without a garrison. Carlisle would presently be taken, and James would triumph at the same time over the nobles and the king of England.

He attached the utmost importance to this deed of arms. The royal banner was secretly brought out, letters were addressed to the men selected by the priests, inviting them to meet the king on such a day, at such a place. The bishops undertook to bear the expenses of this affair. The cardinal and the earl of Arran, by way of diversion, went eastward, as if the Scots purposed to pass the frontier in that quarter, where frequent combats had taken place between them and the English. The king, satisfied with all these preparations, and entertaining no doubt of success, accepted the fatal list presented by the cardinal and put it into his pocket. Immediately after his triumph and in the very midst of his glory, all those suspected should be seized and executed. The Reformation should be extinguished, and Rome should definitively reign. Everything was to be done with the strictest secrecy.

On the night before the day appointed for setting out, James slept at Lochmaben,[253] where stood one of the[144] royal castles. There, without incurring any danger, he was as near as possible to the scene of the exploits all the honor of which he wished to reap. Troops arrive from all sides, without any knowledge of what was wanted with them. On the day fixed, at midnight, the trumpets sound, the companies are formed, and the command is given to march forward ‘in the suite of the king,’ who was supposed to be with the expedition. At daybreak begins the campaign which is to deliver up Scotland into the cruel hands of the cardinal. The Scots approach the territory of England and pass the water without meeting any resistance. They set fire to the houses and corn fields which lie on their way, and the poor dwellers in those country places, starting out of their sleep, see before them to their great amazement an army of ten thousand men, and flames shooting up on all sides. They tremble with fright and resign themselves to despair, wondering in themselves how such an army could possibly have advanced so far without their having the faintest suspicion of it. Whence comes it? Whither is it going? Is it come from the abyss of hell?

Everything about this expedition was indeed extraordinary, and even the Scots themselves did not know who was in command. Lord Maxwell, warden of the western marches, was present, and to him that office naturally belonged; but neither he nor the troops knew anything at all about the matter. At ten o’clock an unexpected event occurred. The Scots finding themselves on English ground at Solway, the trumpets were sounded, the army halted, and the royal flag was displayed and floated in the midst of them. The wretched Oliver Sinclair mounted on a kind of shield formed by lances which rested on the shoulders of some of the soldiers. He presented letters which had been sent him by the king. This prince, in the belief that this worthless courtier was a great captain, had named him commander-in-chief. These letters were read to the army, and the[145] favorite had himself proclaimed lieutenant-general, with orders to render obedience to him as to the king himself. By what the courtiers said, to put Sinclair at the head of the army was to make victory certain. James would not rely upon any of his nobles. Not one of them was to have the glory of the expedition; it was to be the achievement of James, to whom the command belonged. Maxwell was present at that ceremony, seeing everything, hearing everything, and he was astounded at it, ‘but he thought more than he spoke.’[254] Other lords who were present did the same. No sooner had the proclamation been read than murmurs, discouragement, and disorder spread through the army. At the same time the English took up arms in all haste, ten in one company, twenty in another. Carlisle closed its gates, and shortly after about five hundred horsemen appeared on the neighboring heights for the purpose of reconnoitring the Scottish force.[255] The Scots took these horsemen for the advance guard of the army of the duke of Norfolk, and being seized with a panic terror, many of them broke from the ranks. Some wanted to fight, others wanted to fly. Everything was disorder and confusion. The troops disbanded and took to flight in all directions. Lord Maxwell, who had foreseen from the first moment the end of this mad business, alighted from his horse and spoke to some friends. ‘To horse and fly,’ they said to him. ‘Nay,’ replied he, ‘I will rather abide here the chance that it shall please God to send me than to go home and then be hanged.’[256] The Scots, both horse and foot, threw away their arms and ran with all their might. A great number of them were taken prisoners by the soldiers of Henry VIII., and some were captured by Scottish adventurers and sold to[146] the English.[257] To such a degree had James’s soldiers lost heart, that those who did not fall into the hands of men rushed into houses and surrendered themselves to women.[258] The water had to be recrossed: the tide was high, the river deep. Many were drowned, and a good number of those who escaped the river perished in the marshes. Oliver Sinclair, who was ‘fleeing full manfully,’[259] was captured without having struck a single blow. The most distinguished among the Scottish nobles, the earls of Cassilis and Glencairn, the Lords Somerville, Grey, and Oliphant, were seen laying down their arms. Maxwell found thus the fate which he had desired. These lords and gentlemen were sent to London and committed to the Tower. Two days after, Henry commanded that they should pass through the streets of London on foot, exposed thus as a spectacle to the populace,[260] like the captives who adorned the triumphs of Roman generals. When they arrived at the palace, they were received there by the Lord Chancellor, who addressed to them severe rebukes, accused them of having violated the faith of treaties, and extolled the goodness and clemency of Henry VIII., who assigned them various houses for their abode.

During the battle, if such a word is to be used, James, who took good care to keep out of it, was concealed in his castle at Lochmaben, northeast of Dumfries.[261] There he was awaiting the issue of that famous expedition which was to be his title to glory. He had made sure of taking at the first blow the town of Carlisle, situated[147] at a distance of some miles from the frontier, and formerly one of the principal military posts of the Romans, at which the wall of Hadrian terminated, and which had been more than once besieged and taken. Thence he hoped to pass on and reach York, and pay an armed visit to his dear uncle there. He was expecting the tidings of his triumph, when some of the fugitives made known to him the total rout of his army. Overwhelmed with sudden fear and astonishment, he could hardly utter a word. It was night when he heard of his defeat, and not daring to venture before daylight into unknown, untrodden ways, he retired to bed, but without finding the least repose. His distress was unbounded. He experienced the most acute pangs, could hardly breathe, and only uttered some vague cries. The manner in which his unworthy favorite had deceived his expectation, his defeat and flight, disturbed him as much as the victory of the English. He got up, paced up and down in his chamber, uttered lamentations, and cried out—‘Oh, fled Oliver? Is Oliver taken? Oh, fled Oliver?’[262] He was attacked with a kind of catalepsy. The constant contemplation of that extraordinary defeat and of the conduct of that despicable man on whom he had rested his hopes had in some degree suspended sensation in him, and he lay as in a long and painful trance until his death, continually repeating, ‘Oh, fled Oliver?’

The next morning, November 25, 1542, the king returned to Edinburgh. He could hardly conceal his disgrace in his splendid palace; and there a new disgrace was reported to him which still further heightened his grief. On November 14, two envoys from the duke of Norfolk had arrived there with a letter addressed to the king. The cardinal had replied that he was gone a-hunting in Fifeshire. Ten days later, on the fatal day of Solway, towards evening, when the English envoys on their return were approaching Dunbar, one of them,[148] J. Ponds, Somerset herald, was attacked by two men and assassinated. James, when he heard of this on his return, was in consternation. It might seriously aggravate the crisis which was already so alarming. Notwithstanding the painful state in which he then was, he wrote immediately to his uncle: ‘Be assured that punishment shall thereafter follow according to the quality of the crime, and that there is no prince now living who could be more afflicted than we are that such an odious crime should remain unpunished.’ He offered to send ambassadors and heralds to explain the criminal deed.[263] That was probably the last letter written by the king.

James had a painful interview with the cardinal, who might now understand to what a condition his hatred of the Reformation and his ambition had reduced the king and the realm. James, who believed himself pursued by a fatal destiny, took account sorrowfully, when left alone, of his treasures and his jewels; and then, full of shame and melancholy, and afraid to show himself to anyone whomsoever in his capital, set out secretly for Fifeshire. He stopped at Hallyards, where he was warmly received by the lady of Grange, a respectable and pious woman, whose husband was absent at the time. This Christian woman, observing at supper that the prince was plunged in melancholy, sought to comfort him, and exhorted him to bow with resignation to the will of God. ‘My portion of this world is short,’ sorrowfully answered James; ‘in fifteen days I shall be with you no more.’ Some time afterwards one of the officers of his court having said to him, ‘Sire, Christmas is nigh; where will your majesty wish to celebrate that festival?’ James replied with a scornful smile, ‘I cannot tell: choose ye the place. But this I can tell you, on Yule day ye will be masterless, and the realm without a king.’

Haunted by these thoughts, the king went thence to Carney castle, and next to his palace at Falkland, where[149] he took to his bed. It would have been natural for him to go to Linlithgow, to his queen, who was on the point of giving birth to a child. He chose rather to be at a distance from her. Loose living is incompatible with domestic happiness. No symptom showed that his death was near. James, however, was always repeating the words, ‘Before such a day I shall be dead.’ His courtiers, astonished and afflicted, said to one another that if the queen gave him a son, the happiness so much desired would restore him; but on December 8, 1542, she gave birth to a girl—the celebrated Mary Stuart. On learning that the newborn infant was a girl, James, wounded afresh in his dearest wish, turned to the wall, away from those who had brought him the sad tidings. ‘The devil go with it,’ he said; ‘it will end as it began; it came with a lass, and it will go with a lass.’[264] He saw his family extinct, his crown lost. Other Stuarts, however, bore it after Mary. Both Scotland and England, unhappily, knew that to their cost. But this circumstance—the hope frustrated of a son to take the place of the two which he had lost—was a fresh and fatal blow for the unfortunate James:

The cardinal presented himself at the castle. His visit was natural at that moment. But the ambitious prelate, supposing the king to be near death, came not to console him, but to secure his own position. As the king in his present dangerous state could only hear with difficulty, the primate cried in his ear—‘Take order, sir, with the realm. Who shall rule during the minority of your daughter? Ye have known my service; what will ye have done? Shall there not be four regents chosen, and shall not I be principal of them?’ The clever prelate succeeded in getting a document prepared which was in his favor. The king was sinking. But the memory of[150] Solway ran continually in his head, and disturbed his last moments. ‘Fie,’ cried he; ‘fled is Oliver? is Oliver taken? All is lost.’ On December 14, 1542, at the age of thirty-two, six days after the birth of Mary Stuart, James V. died. When disrobing him, they found in his pocket the famous proscription list. What was to come of that now?

James was buried at Holyrood January 8, and the cardinal who had driven him along that fatal path in which he was to meet death presided at the ceremony. This prince, thus taken away in the flower of his age, died not so much of disease as of a broken heart.[265] ‘The sorrow of the world worketh death.’ He had understanding, but it was uncultivated; he was moderate in respect to the pleasures of the table, but he had been thrown in his youth into other irregularities, from which he never got free. He might be seen in the bitterest winter weather, on horseback night and day, endeavoring to surprise the freebooters in their retreats; and poor men had always easy access to him. But for want of thoughtfulness and solid principles he was incessantly tossed to and fro between the nobles and the priests, and whichever of these two was the most adroit easily took the upper hand. He sinned much, but perhaps he was still more ‘sinned against.’

CHAPTER XII.

REGENCY OF THE EARL OF ARRAN.—IMPRISONMENT OF BEATOUN.—TREATY OF PEACE WITH ENGLAND.

(1542–March 1543.)

The political and religious events in the midst of which James V. had been taken from Scotland were of so grave a character that the wisest heads felt some alarm, and expected to see a storm break forth such as no one had ever seen the like.[266] An unexpected blow, considering the youthful years of the prince, had fallen on the nation. With eyes fixed on the future, nobles and people talked together of their fears and the faintness of their hopes.[267] In the Lowlands, in the heart of the Highlands, at Edinburgh, at Glasgow, at Stirling, and in other towns of Scotland, men with pale faces and a restless air were questioning one another in distress of mind about the fate in reserve for their country. The shameful defeat at Solway, which had given the king his death-blow, had filled the people with mourning and dread. The most illustrious lords of Scotland, taken prisoners by the English, had been exposed to the gaze of the citizens of London. Those who still remained in Scotland were divided by implacable hatred, and by religious views diametrically opposed to each other; and it was anticipated that[152] dissensions long suppressed by the fear of the king would now burst forth. The cardinal and the bishops, giving themselves up without restraint to their passion for dominion, were going to take advantage of the death of James to bring the people into subjection. Henry VIII., glorying in the unexpected victory which he had just won, did not fail, now that his nephew was no more, to turn to account (and in what a fashion!) his pretensions to Scotland. For maintaining order in the country there was a queen eight days old. The next heir to the crown after her, Hamilton, earl of Arran, was not fitted by his virtues, or his intelligence, or his courage to rule the people. Many destructive agencies were at work in Scotland; loud lamentations were heard. One thing alone could save the country—the Gospel.

The king being dead, it appeared to Beatoun that the public troubles offered him a favorable opportunity for becoming master, for securing the triumph of the French party, for abolishing the Reformation, and establishing the supremacy of the clergy. Since Scotland was abased, he was to be exalted. It was needful to act quickly. The nobles who were recently made prisoners, and those who had for a long time lived in exile in England, were about to return. The cardinal knew well that they detested his subservience to the pope, his ambition, and his arrogance; and he had no doubt that they would vigorously oppose him. The earl of Arran, next heir after Mary to the crown, was it is true in Scotland, and seemed to be called to make head against him; but the haughty cardinal made little account of that. The earl is unambitious, said he; he has no energy, and all his wish is to have nothing to do. Besides, Arran was his near relation, a son of one of his aunts.[268] The king had scarcely breathed his last when the cardinal went boldly to the queen-mother at Linlithgow, fortified with the[153] document on which he assumed to found his pretensions. ‘Welcome, my lord,’ said the queen, who as yet knew nothing more than the serious illness of her husband; ‘is not the king dead?’ Mary of Guise supposed that the first prelate of the kingdom was come solely to announce to her the sovereign’s death. But Beatoun had another end in view in this visit. Without loss of time he produced the king’s testament containing the nomination of a regency composed of the cardinal and the earls of Argyle, Huntley, and Murray, the first-named to be president of the council and guardian to the royal infant. This document was generally considered to have been extorted from the dying king. Many persons even believed that the cardinal’s agent had guided the hand of the dead king, and obtained a signature in blank which the cardinal had afterwards filled up at his own will. Buchanan states that the cardinal, having gained over a certain priest named Balfour, had with his assistance forged a false testament. Knox, Sadler, and Lesley also speak in the same way.[269] At the market-cross at Edinburgh the cardinal had proclamation made, on the Monday after the king’s death, of the alleged deed which made him the first personage in the realm.

Many of the Scots were indignant at this proceeding, and said openly that both the regency and the guardianship of the infant Mary belonged to Hamilton, earl of Arran, who, as next heir to the crown through his grandmother, the daughter of James II., would be king, it was said, if the little princess should chance to die. Had not her two brothers died in their infancy? The general hatred of the cardinal, and the horror felt at the thought of living under the government of a priest, impelled a large number of people to support the cause of Hamilton.[154] ‘Occasion offers herself to you,’ they said to him; ‘do not let her pass.’ The laird of Grange especially urged this noble to maintain his rights. But Arran, for want of spirit, was ready to abandon them. It was at last determined to call together the nobility of the realm, that they might decide to whose hands the government should be intrusted during the minority. The nobles met on the appointed day. The cardinal and his partisans resisted with all their might the proposal to commit the government of the realm to the earl of Arran. ‘The Hamiltons,’ said they, ‘are cruel murderers, oppressors of innocents, proud, avaricious, double and false, and finally, the pestilence in this commonwealth.’ Arran had, indeed, given himself up to the domination of dishonorable men. However, he remained calm, and contemned these insults. ‘Call me what you please,’ replied he, ‘but defraud me not of my right. Whatever my friends have been, yet unto this day has no man cause to complain upon me. Neither yet am I minded to flatter my friends in their evil doing, but by God’s grace shall be forward to correct their enormities. Therefore yet again, my lord, in God’s name I crave that ye do me no wrong, nor defraud me of my just title before ye have experience of my government.’ This appeal touched the hearers, and all cried out that unless the fear of God and his righteousness were trampled under foot, the claim of Arran could not be rejected. He was therefore proclaimed governor of Scotland, in spite of Beatoun; and the king’s palace, his treasures, his jewels, and other chattels of the crown were delivered up to him by the officials who had charge of them. This took place on January 10, a few days after the cardinal’s proclamation.

Arran, it is true, was not distinguished for his virtues nor for his intelligence, but he was very generally liked, as weak men often are. ‘The earl of Arran,’ wrote Lord Lisle to Henry VIII., ‘is himself a good soft God’s man,[155] and loveth well to look on the Scripture, but he hath many that ruleth about him of his kin which be shrewd and evil men.’[270] Never had any regent been received with so much liking and hope, and this was the case especially because people were glad to be delivered from the cardinal. It was thought that he would reform all that went wrong in the church or state, and his first acts corresponded with this hope.[271] That Arran should thus get possession of power was astonishing, for he was as weak as Beatoun was strong, and the weakest, they say, always goes to the wall. In this case the reverse happened. But many people thought that the arrangement would be only temporary. Arran was the earthen pot of the fable, Beatoun the iron pot, and it was not difficult to foresee which of the two would break the other. It was not long before Arran gave a proof of his too easy temper. Instead of adopting measures for withdrawing the realm from the influence of Beatoun, as soon as the latter claimed to be made chancellor of Scotland, Arran committed that office to his hands, in order to alleviate the disgrace to which the assembly of the nobles had just subjected him.[272] The ambitious cardinal, however, did not long keep that post of influence.

Many eminent and pious men supported the cause of the earl of Arran. One of his first acts was to appoint as his chaplains, on the recommendation of those supporters, two ministers who preached the pure Gospel. A former Dominican, Thomas Guillaume (or Williams), who had been very eminent in his order, having been converted by the Word of God, had thrown off his cowl. He was called to preach at Edinburgh. The soundness of his judgment, the purity of his doctrine, the force of his eloquence, and the clearness of his exposition of Scripture, together with a certain moderation in contro[156]versy, attracted a crowd to his preaching. The regent associated with him another evangelical minister, John Rough. He had entered a convent at seventeen years of age, had twice visited Rome, and having been painfully shocked by what he had seen there, he had embraced the Reformation. Less of a scholar than Guillaume, he was more simple-minded, and more ardent against superstition and impiety, and against the authority of the pope. Arran, urged on by his evangelical friends, sent his faithful ministers into various parts of the kingdom. Among their numerous hearers was Knox, and it was while listening to Guillaume that the great reformer began to be acquainted with the beauty of evangelical truth.[273]

But while those who had their hearts opened to the truth received with joy the words of the two chaplains, the monks, the priests, and all the friends of the papacy attacked them vehemently. ‘Heresy! heresy!’ cried a Franciscan named Scot; ‘Guillaume and Rough will carry the governor unto the devil.’ And all the monks and sacristans took up the cry, ‘Heresy!’ A man named Watson, of the household of the bishop of Dunkeld, composed a satirical ballad against the chaplains and the regent which had a great vogue. The cardinal on his part was moving heaven and earth, and worried Arran to silence the two preachers. ‘All these men,’ says Knox, ‘roupit [croaked] as they had been ravens, yea rather they yelled and roared as devils in hell.’ For the moment, these cries were futile. The divine Word prevailed.

While these things were passing in Scotland, Henry VIII. was fully occupied in England. The death of James had startled him, and his first thought had been that the succession must fall to him. He would unite the two kingdoms, and it would be an immense advantage[157] to Great Britain to be all under one government, and that his own. To this end a marriage should be concluded between his son Edward, aged five years, and the young Queen of Scotland, aged a few days. He lost no time in sending for the most notable of the Scottish captives to Hampton Court palace, where he was then residing. The earls of Cassilis and Glencairn, and the Lords Maxwell, Fleming, and Grey, men who only a few days before had been made a spectacle to the populace of London, appeared before him. He stated to them his project. ‘God,’ said he, ‘now offers you a most favorable occasion for establishing agreement and peace in Great Britain. Let a contract be concluded between your queen and my son. I offer to set you at liberty if you will pledge yourselves to do all you can to get the consent of the regent and of the other nobles of Scotland to this marriage.’ The project highly pleased the lords, for they saw in it a certain means of obtaining not only liberty for themselves, but a lasting peace for their country. Agreement was made that the Queen Mary should marry the prince Edward when she was ten years old. After this conference the noble prisoners set out, December 29, on their way to Scotland, to secure the success of their scheme.

Henry, however, did not yet feel himself secure, and he wanted to have the young queen in his own hands and some others with her. He had no confidence in Scotland, knowing how easily she might tack about: and he was afraid of the cardinal’s cleverness. Consequently, on January 9 he wrote to viscount Lisle, then lord warden of the military frontiers of England. ‘It is essential,’ said he, ‘to get the child, the person of the cardinal, and of such as be chief lettes of our purpose, and also of the chief holds and fortresses into our hands.’[274] Henry’s fears were not without foundation. At the moment of James’s death everyone foreboded a[158] war with the powerful King of England. But the Scottish lords whom Henry had set at liberty arrived on January 24. They were accompanied by the earl of Angus and his brother, Sir George Douglas, who had long endured the life of exiles in England. These lords hastened to fulfil the commission of Henry VIII. On their admission to the council, of which the regent was president, they laid before it the proposal of marriage between the heirs of the two crowns. The earl of Arran and the great majority of the members of the council appeared to be favorable to it; but the cardinal, supported by the queen-mother, strenuously opposed it. In their judgment nothing was more dangerous for Scotland, nothing could be more offensive to France and to Rome. Now Mary of Guise and Beatoun were the representatives of these powers. The more chance there seemed to be of the adoption of the proposal by the council, the more Beatoun struggled and the more vehement the resistance he offered to it. He incessantly interrupted the debate: he put questions to other members: he thus hindered them from speaking and made the taking of votes altogether impossible.[275] The majority of the council revolted against conduct so unparliamentary, which did not allow them the free exercise of their right. The other members, and especially the Scots who were just come from England, were indignant. The latter conceived a bold design which did not occur to anyone else. They would turn the cardinal’s insolence to account in getting him wholly set aside. It was proposed that Beatoun should be excluded from the assembly and confined in an apartment of the palace[159] until the votes had been collected. This plan was at once voted and carried out.[276] What a blow for this proud priest! He, primate, cardinal, legate of Rome, the most important personage of the realm, as he thought, to find himself excluded from the council and treated as a prisoner! He was not even to regain his liberty very soon. Never, perhaps, had any assembly struck so unlooked for a blow. The Scottish lords had arrived January 24, and the discussion and exclusion of the cardinal certainly took place on the 25th or 26th. The prelate was removed to the prison at Dalkeith.[277] The earls of Huntley, Murray, and Bothwell demanded his liberation and offered themselves as his bail, but they did not succeed in obtaining it. The voting resulted in a resolution in favor of the marriage and of the union with England; it only remained for parliament to confirm it.

The Scottish lords who had returned from England, above all the earl of Angus and his brother, had learnt during their sojourn in London not to spare the cardinals and other Romish dignitaries. The stormy presumption of the cardinal in the council had been the occasion of the measure adopted against him; but these lords perfectly understood that unless the cardinal were kept in confinement there could be no religious nor even civil liberty in the land. ‘It is not possible,’ says Calvin, ‘to deprive an able and powerful tyrant of his supremacy except by first taking away his arms and bringing against him a force superior to his own. He will never quit his post of his own accord.’[278] Sir George Douglas, brother of Angus, went to Berwick where Lord Lisle was stationed, and pointed out to him that in sending the cardinal to prison they had given him certain proof of their[160] activity. Lisle immediately reported it to the Duke of Suffolk, brother-in-law of Henry VIII.[279] All the friends of the Gospel, and even the Scottish political party, looked on that measure as a great deliverance. Beatoun, however, was not surrendered to Henry VIII., as he had required him to be.

It is hardly possible to imagine the effect produced in Scotland by this bold deed. The bishops and the priests as soon as they heard of the extraordinary proceeding were beside themselves. All the clergy, struck with horror, at once adopted the same course as they would have done if Scotland were laid under an interdict by the pope. The churches were closed, religious services were suspended, and the priests refused to discharge any of their functions. One might have conjectured that some appalling crime had been committed, and that the whole nation was excommunicated. A funereal veil hung over Scotland. The Romish clergy accused those who had laid hands on the cardinal not only of injustice but of sacrilege. The people, submissive in some places to the bidding of their priests, and even many lords, cried out with the others. Argyle left Edinburgh, retired to his estates, and assembled his clan. Lord Lisle wrote to London, February 1, ‘Since the cardinal was seized, no one in Scotland can get a priest to sing masse, to christen or bury.’[280]

The Scottish Parliament was to open at Easter, and the moment was approaching. Instead of one there would be (so to speak) two parliaments. The party of the opposition, the earls of Huntley, Argyle, Murray, and Bothwell, a very great number of barons, knights, bishops, and abbots, met at Perth a week before the day of convocation, and having drawn up certain articles, they sent them to the regent and his council by the hands of the bishop of Orkney and Sir John Campbell, uncle to the earl of Argyle. Let the cardinal, they said,[161] be set at liberty; let the New Testament be interdicted; let the regent confer with us on all affairs of the realm, and let other ambassadors be sent to the King of England, charged with a quite different mission from that which has been determined on. The regent by the advice of his council declined to accede to ‘demands so unreasonable.’ The next step, immediately taken, was to send a herald-at-arms to Perth, to summon the lords who were there to Edinburgh, under penalty of treason, to discharge their duties. This citation took effect. The earl of Murray, the bishops, and abbots arrived on the eve of the opening of parliament. The other lords presented themselves later. Argyle alone remained on his estates. His two uncles, however, offered excuse for him, on the ground of ill health.[281]

Parliament opened on Monday, March 12. The assembly was numerous, for the gravity of the occasion was universally understood. ‘This parliament,’ said the earl of Angus, ‘is the most substantial that was ever seen in Scotland; the three estates are present in great force, and the multitude of on-lookers is so great that no more could find lodging in the two towns of Edinburgh and Leith.’ The first resolution of this important assembly approved the marriage of prince Edward and the little Queen Mary, and empowered ambassadors to negotiate it with England.[282] The second resolution (Tuesday) was the confirmation of the earl of Arran in the office of regent. On Wednesday the earl of Angus and his brother were reinstated in the honors and the estates of which they had been deprived during their fifteen years’ exile. On Thursday the most important of all the resolutions of this body was to be presented and debated.

Lord Maxwell, whom the folly of James V. had deprived of the command in the affair at Solway, was[162] generally known as ‘a man of good intentions with respect to the Word of God.’ He had not openly professed the evangelical doctrine so long as the cardinal was in possession of the supreme power; but his sojourn in England, though short, had induced him to take a more decisive course. He rose and introduced a bill providing ‘that all the subjects of the kingdom might read the Holy Scriptures in their mother-tongue.’ The debate began immediately. Dunbar, archbishop of Glasgow, who since the imprisonment of the cardinal had become chancellor of the realm, declared that he would oppose the motion in his own name and in the name of all the prelates, at least until the period when a provincial council of all the clergy of Scotland should have decided the question. ‘Wherefore,’ answered the friends of the Scriptures, ‘should it not be lawful to men that understood no Latin, to use this word of their salvation in the tongue they understand, as it was for Latin men to have it in Latin, Grecians and Hebrews to have it in their tongues.’ ‘The kirk,’ replied the priests, ‘had forbidden all kind of tongues but these three.’ ‘When was that inhibition given?’ retorted the friends of the Gospel. ‘Christ has commanded his word to be preached to all nations. Now if it ought to be preached to all nations, it must be preached in the tongue they understand. Now if it be lawful to preach it in all tongues, why shall it not be lawful to read it and to hear it read in all tongues? To the end that the people may try the spirits according to the commandment of the apostle.’[283]

The prelates finding themselves beaten admitted that the Holy Scripture might indeed be read in the vulgar tongue, provided that the translation were true. Some of the members of the assembly then handed to the priests some copies of the Holy Scriptures which they drew from their pockets, and begged them to point out any faults they could find in them. The prelates, in[163] great embarrassment, began to make search, turned over the leaves of the book, opening it at the beginning, at the end, and in all parts, taking infinite pains to find some mistake. But nothing could be found. At last, ‘Here,’ said one of them, ‘here is a passage to be reprehended; love is put in the place of charity.’ ‘What difference is there,’ it was replied, ‘betwixt the one and the other? It seems you do not understand the Greek term ἀγάπη.’ Before the Greek word the priests stood dumb.[284]

The deputies of the burgesses and a part of the nobles then required that the reading asked for should be permitted; as well as the reading of Christian treatises, until such time as the clergy should give a better translation of the Bible. The prelates still stood out; but at length, reduced to silence, they submitted, and it was enacted by Act of Parliament that ‘all men and women should be free to read the Holy Scriptures in their own tongue or in the English tongue, and that all acts passed to the contrary should be abolished.’ This bill, which passed on March 15, was promulgated on the 19th, and sent into all parts of the kingdom by order of the regent. The priests immediately began to cry out with one voice against him as the promoter of heresy.[285]

This was the first public Act passed in Scotland in favor of religious liberty. The victory, says Knox, which Christ Jesus then won over the enemies of his truth was of no little importance. The trumpet of the Gospel gave at once a certain sound, from Wigton to Inverness, from south to north. No small comfort was given to the souls, to the families, who till then durst not read the Lord’s Prayer or the Ten Commandments in English through fear of being accused of heresy. The Bible, which had long lain hidden in some out-of-the-way corner, was now openly placed on the tables of pious and[164] well-informed men. The New Testament was indeed already widely circulated, but many of those who possessed it had shown themselves unworthy of it, never having read ten sentences in it through fear of men.

Now they brought out their New Testaments, and ‘they would chop their familiars on the cheek with it.’[286] ‘Here,’ said they, ‘this book has lain hid under my bed feet these ten years.’ Others, on the contrary, exclaimed with joy, ‘Oh, how often have I been in danger for this book! how secretly have I stolen away from my wife at midnight to read upon it in that lonely silent hour!’ Some, who were minded to turn everything to account, made a great parade of their joy, on purpose to pay court to the regent, who was then esteemed the most fervent Protestant in all Europe. ‘But in general,’ add the historians, ‘the knowledge of God was wonderfully increased by the perusal of the sacred writings, and the Holy Spirit was given in great abundance to simple men.’ Many works were also published at the same time in Scotland, which were intended to disclose the abuses of the Romish Church, and others of the same character were brought from England. That important Act of the Scottish parliament was never repealed.

While these wholesome measures were being adopted, the alliance of the country with England appeared to be growing stronger; and even if a purely evangelical reformation was not to be looked for, the ties which bound Scotland to Rome must certainly be broken. On Sunday afternoon, March 18, the day after the closing of the session of parliament, arrived Sir Ralph Sadler, an envoy from Henry VIII. He betook himself that very evening to Holyrood, and there learnt from the regent the resolutions which had just been taken. Sadler was charged with the duty of concluding the marriage contract between Edward and Mary, as well as the project[165] of a perpetual alliance between the two countries.[287] Sadler, who acted in the business with his utmost energy, soon found that the Scots were not prepared to go to the same length as his master. ‘In my opinion,’ he wrote (March 27), ‘they had lever suffer extremity than come to the obedience and subjection of England: they will have their realm free and live within themselves after their own laws and customs.... I think assuredly all the nobles and the whole temporality of this realm desire the marriage and to join with us in perfect friendship: in which case I think also they will utterly abandon France.’ This was not what Henry was aiming at. After the death of the young princess, the Tudors, in his view, were to inherit her kingdom.

The alliance, nevertheless, was concluded. On July 1 the earl of Glencairn, Sir George Douglas, Learmont, and Balnaves, the Scottish envoys, signed at Greenwich the treaty of marriage and of peace. This treaty was solemnly read, August 25, in Holyrood abbey, and was there signed, sealed, and approved by the regent and the nobles. The queen was to remain in Scotland until she should be ten years old, and then be taken into England to be educated. Three Scottish lords should be given as hostages to Henry; and in confirmation of the alliance a consecrated wafer, according to a Romish usage, was broken between the regent and Sir R. Sadler, the representative of Henry VIII. Each of them received and ate half of it, in token of their unity and as a pledge of their fidelity,—a strange method of cementing an alliance which had for its end the destruction of Romish superstitions. The treaty was published everywhere as a basis of perpetual agreement; but the union of the two nations had still many a storm to encounter.

CHAPTER XIII.

BEATOUN IS LIBERATED AND RECOVERS HIS POWER.—BREACH OF THE TREATY.—FRESH PERSECUTION.

(March, 1543.–Summer of 1544.)

At present everything was getting on well in Scotland, and the continuance of this well-being was all that was desired. The severest eye could find nothing to censure in the court of the regent; and he acted with so much moderation in the government that not a single complaint was heard of his administration. Arran was as much respected and obeyed as any king could have been. All men were promising themselves a quiet life, when a sudden gust upset everything.

There was one party which was full of wrath at the recent changes. The alliance of Scotland with England, the imprisonment of the cardinal, the regency of Arran, the freedom conferred on the Holy Scriptures,—all these things filled the friends of the papacy with excitement and horror, whether at Rome, in France, or in Scotland. The earl of Lennox had arrived from Paris for the purpose of giving his support to the French party in Scotland; and he flattered himself that he should be appointed regent, and even that he should marry the queen dowager. The pope had sent the legate Marco Grimani into Scotland, with orders to join the cardinal, the earl of Lennox, and all the other adversaries of Arran; to fulminate anathemas, and to use all other means which he could devise for effecting the fall of the regent and the elevation of the cardinal.[288] Gri[167]mani and Lennox expected to find the material all ready, so that it would be an easy task for them to set fire to it. They were not entirely mistaken. The ultramontanes of Scotland were in a rage with the regent and with the lords who were on his side.[289] Their scheme was to liberate the cardinal, who should then go with his adherents to Linlithgow, get possession of the young queen and depose the regent.

Lennox and Grimani had not come from the continent alone. Two Scottish priests, who had lived for a long time in France and had there become imbued with Roman Catholicism of the deepest dye, landed in Scotland in the month of April. These men were likely to do, perhaps, more than all others towards the restoration of ultramontanism. They were John Hamilton, abbot of Paisley, a natural brother of the regent, and Master David Panter,[290] who was afterwards bishop of Ross. Their learning, their lowliness, and their religion were much talked of, and people thought that their coming would prove a great comfort to the Church of God.[291] ‘They will soon,’ it was said, ‘go into the pulpit and truly preach Jesus Christ.’

The abbot of Paisley was admitted to intimacy with the regent. He might converse with him at any time, and he undertook to break down bit by bit the evangelical views of Arran and to sunder his connexion with England. First of all, it was necessary to get rid of the two evangelical chaplains. The two priests therefore began, immediately after their arrival, to disparage the preaching of Williams and Rough. The abbot of Paisley had always some fault to find. ‘Their sermons,’[168] said he to his brother, ‘are heretical and scandalous.’ The latter, naturally weakminded,let himself be caught. Williams was ordered to put an end to his preaching, and he set out for England. Rough was sent to preach in Kyle, where for some time there had been lovers of the Bible. This was not enough. The men of sound judgment and genuine piety who were about the regent, and who had contributed to the general prosperity and peace, must also be removed out of the way. What terrors, what promises, ‘what boxes full of enchantments,’ says Knox, these two priests had brought with them from France, no one could tell. Be it as it may, some were got rid of by crafty expedients, others by false insinuations. ‘If you remain, your life is at stake,’ they said to them. At the same time the partisans of the clergy, who had till then held themselves aloof from the court, winged their way thither like ravens to the carrion.[292] One day when there was a great gathering at Holyrood, and the regent saw around him at the same moment both the faithful attendants who had deserved well of their country and the fanatical supporters of the cardinal, one of the latter cried out in a voice loud enough for Arran and all present to hear him, ‘My lord governor and his friends will never be at ease nor quietness till that a dozen of these knaves that abuse his grace be hanged.’[293] After that, people saw the men whose labors had been so useful to Scotland,—Durham, Borthwick, Bothwell, the laird of Grange, Balnaves, Ballanden[294] and Sir David Lyndsay,—withdraw from the court, while he who had threatened them with the gallows received a pension for his insolent speech.

The liberation of the cardinal could be no longer deferred. He was imprisoned at Dalkeith on January 26, was removed thence to Seaton, next to Blackness[169] castle on the Forth, and finally to St. Andrews, the seat of his archbishopric. There he was set at liberty at the request, especially, of the queen-mother, who had never ceased her intercession for him.[295] Once free, this arrogant man, exasperated by the affront which had been offered him, thought only of recovering his own power and of reëstablishing the cause of the papacy.

He now had frequent communication with Mary of Guise, and shared her indignation at the favors granted to the Scottish nobles just returned from England, who had passed from exile to the most influential positions. They resolved to do their utmost to reëstablish the alliance with Francis I. and the pope. The cardinal completely won over the earl of Bothwell, and the Lords Home, Buccleugh, and others. He induced such of them as were on the frontier to make inroads on the English territory. He assembled at St. Andrews, on July 6, the earls of Lennox, Argyle, Huntley, and Bothwell, Lord Home, and the other noblemen and gentlemen who were favorable to the pope; and at this conference they determined to oppose the regent, who instead of executing their designs was only bent on promoting heretical opinions.[296]

Meanwhile Beatoun found opportunities for secret interviews with the regent’s brother, who had everything in his own hands; for this bastard was as remarkable for force of character as his legitimate brother was for the want of it. The cardinal did not confine himself to intrigues in high places, but he had it at heart to win the multitude, and he tried all imaginable schemes in[170] order to succeed.[297] When he thought that he had at last secured his position, both above and below, he convoked the clergy at St. Andrews. The bishop, abbot, and primate unfolded before this assembly all the dangers which were then impending over Scotland. ‘In order to avert them,’ said he, ‘contribute generously from your purses, and urge all your friends to do the same. Tell them that their property and their lives are at stake. Nay, more than that,’ he exclaimed, ‘our task is to prevent the ruin which is threatening the universal church of the pope.’[298] The clergy declared that they would place all their resources at his disposal, and determined to set on foot a general subscription. ‘The cardinal,’ wrote the ambassador Sadler to Lord Parr, brother of the Queen of England, ‘the cardinal here hath not only stirred almost this whole realm against the governor, but also hath procured the earl Bothwell [and others] to stir all the mischief and trouble they can on the Borders, and to make roads and incursions into England, only of intent to break the peace and to breed contention and breach between both realms.’[299] At the same time the monks were preaching passionately against the union with England; and the population, excited by them, was in agitation and ready to revolt, threatening those who were opposed to the Church of Rome, and even insulting the English ambassador. Jesters used to assail both him and his suite with insolent speeches. But the envoy of Henry VIII., knowing that the one matter of moment for his master was to succeed, took these indignities patiently, through fear of hastening a rupture.

As Scotland was under obligation to give hostages to[171] England as security for the execution of the treaties, the cardinal set himself strenuously against the measure, not only with those of his own faction, but also with those of the other side. He was prodigal of promises to the relations and the friends of the intended hostages, in the hope of inducing them to oppose their delivery to England. The same influences were brought to bear on the regent. On the day fixed for giving up the lords to the English ambassador, the latter went to the regent, and after making complaint of the insults to which he was exposed, demanded the hostages. The regent promised that the perpetrators of the outrages of which Sadler complained should be punished. ‘As for the hostages,’ he added, ‘the authority with which I am invested is of such a nature that, while I have rights as against the queen’s subjects, they also have their rights as against me. You are yourself a witness of the immense agitation stirred up by the cardinal.[300] All my plans are upset, and, carried away by the force of popular passion, I can no longer answer for anything.’[301] Arran was indeed wanting in the strength to stand against such a storm as was conjured up by the cardinal. Weakminded himself, he bent before the violence of those who had powerful convictions. Sadler, indignant at his refusal, called upon the Scots who had been captives in England to return to their confinement, as they had pledged themselves to do in case the treaty should be violated. Kennedy, earl of Cassilis, was the only one who kept his word. He set out for London, in spite of the pressing entreaties of his own circle.[302] Henry, touched by this act of good faith, generously sent him back to Scotland with his two brothers who had remained as hostages.

[172]

The clerical reaction was steadily gathering fresh force. In pursuance of the colloquy of July 6, the nobles hostile to the regent assembled some troops; and on July 21 they arrived, at the head of ten thousand men, at Leith, the port of Edinburgh. At the same moment Arran, the earl of Angus, Lord Maxwell, and their friends were at Edinburgh, at the head of their armed force. There was equal animation on both sides. They might have been likened to two electric clouds, whose lightning was ready to burst forth with violence. However, the two opposed bodies of troops remained motionless for five or six days. ‘What will be the end of this,’ wrote Sadler to Lord Parr, ‘I cannot tell; but my opinion is that they will not fight for all their bragges.’[303] In fact, they did not fight.

The two queens were at Linlithgow palace, in which the young Mary was born. The regent and the cardinal each gave out that the queens were on his side, but all the sympathies of the queen-mother were with the cardinal. The latter, accompanied by the earls of Argyle, Huntley, and Bothwell, and by many bishops, went to Linlithgow. Supposing that the princesses were not safe there, he persuaded them to go with him to Stirling, which they did. These lords talked without reserve among themselves, and with the queen, of deposing the regent, on the ground of disobedience to their holy mother the Church. This greatly alarmed Arran, who at that same time was persecuted by the abbot of Paisley, his natural brother. ‘Consider,’ said the latter, ‘the danger to which you expose yourself by allowing the authority of the pope to be impaired. It is the authority on which your own rests.’ As Arran was in dread of the anger of Henry VIII., the abbot exalted to the utmost the power of the King of France, and the great advantages of an alliance with him. But above everything else he insisted on the obligation of making peace with[173] the Church, ‘out of whose pale,’ he repeated, ‘there is no salvation.’ The poor regent, weak, inconstant, and not at all grounded in the faith of the Gospel, halted between the wish to follow the advice of his brother and the shame involved in abandoning his party and giving the precedence to the cardinal. He wavered between the pope and the Gospel, between France and England. His irresolution was torture to him; he endured bitter pangs. The abbot never wearied of repeating the question, ‘What will ye do? will you then destroy yourself and your house for ever?’[304] He hesitated no longer. Beaten on all sides by contending waves; conscious that his forces were inferior to those of his adversaries; hemmed in by the snares of the cardinal, who chose rather to gain him by terror than to subdue him by arms; abandoned by many of the nobles; no longer in favor with the people, who were offended by his weakness; lowered in the esteem of his own friends, and disgraced in the eyes of the English, the unhappy man at last took the fatal leap. Nine days after the ratification of the alliance with England, and only six days after he had published a proclamation against the cardinal, Arran secretly stole away from Holyrood palace, betook himself to Stirling on September 3, and threw himself into the arms of his cousin Beatoun.

This was not all. He was resolved also to throw himself into the arms of the pope; desirous only of doing so without too much ostentation, and fancying, says Buchanan, that he could thus lessen the infamy of this base deed. For this purpose the convent of the Franciscans was chosen.[305] The queen-mother attended. For a Guise the scene was one of exquisite enjoyment such as Mary[174] would not willingly lose. Some of the courtiers who were devoted to Rome were also present. There, in the dim light of the chapel, that weak man, to whom people had been looking for the triumph of the Reformation in Scotland, fondly fancying that he was performing a secret action, knelt down before the altar, humbly confessed his errors, trampled under foot the oaths which he had taken to his own country and to England, renounced the evangelical profession of Jesus Christ, submitted to the pope, and received absolution of the cardinal.[306] The spectators exulted in Arran’s humiliation. The wretched man continued indeed to be regent in name, but from that hour he possessed nothing more than the phantom of authority, having for his own governor the lord cardinal. He therefore fell into contempt, and those even for whom he had sacrificed everything had no respect for him. ‘He who will save his life shall lose it.’

The report of his perjury spread rapidly abroad. Few were surprised to hear it, but a great many were angry. The English ambassador wrote to him as follows: ‘Forasmuch as I do hear sundry reports of your sudden departure to Stirling, which if they were true in part ... might highly touch your honor: ... I cannot well satisfy myself without the address of these my letters unto your lordship, only to require of your goodness to signify unto me how you do remain towards the king’s majesty and the accomplishment of your oath and promise afore expressed. I beseech your lordship to let me know the truth by your own advertisement, to the intent that I may undelayedly write the same to the king’s majesty before he shall receive any sinister or wrong informations in that behalf, which might percase alter his highness’ affection and good opinion conceived towards you. Whereof for my part I would be right loath.’[307]

[175]

Another ceremony followed that of the abjuration. It was the coronation of the little queen, which took place on September 9, with great pomp. The alliance between Scotland and France was renewed, and fresh promises were made to Francis I. The cardinal thus brilliantly opened his reign, and by placing the crown on the head of a little girl, he said to himself that at least he had no need to fear that the child would take it into her head to thwart his schemes.[308]

Henry VIII. was in consternation. The abjuration of the regent and the political revolution which accompanied it upset his most cherished plans. But the ratification of the treaty with him was so recent that the question might be raised whether the whole of this Stirling business was anything more than a transient mistake, the fruit of Arran’s weakness. He therefore enjoined his ambassador to use his utmost endeavors to recall the regent to his first intentions. It appeared to Henry impossible that Arran should act in a manner so foolish, so dishonorable, so cruel, so pitiless for Scotland, as not only to throw away all the advantages offered to himself, but still more to give up his country to fire and sword and to all the calamities of a terrible war. All these considerations urged by Sadler were fruitless. At length, indignant at the perjury and the insult, Henry recalled his ambassador, declared war on Scotland, ordered the seizure of the numerous Scottish ships which lay in his ports, threw into prison the seamen and the merchants, and sent a herald to announce to the Scots ‘that they had covenanted with a prince of honor that would not suffer their disloyalty unpunished and unrevenged, whose power and puissance, by God’s grace, is and shall be sufficient against them to make them know and feel their own faults and offences. Fear,’ said he, ‘the hand of God over you.’ It was war, war with all its horrors of fire and sword, that Henry in[176] his wrath had determined to wage with Scotland. ‘You shall beat down and overthrow the castle of Edinburgh, burn and sack the capital, with Holyrood and Leith and the villages around, putting man, woman, and child to the sword without exception. To overthrow St. Andrews so as the upper stone may be the nether, and not one stick stand by another.’[309] The wrath of Henry was terrible; but nothing could alarm the presumptuous cardinal. When he heard of the imprisonment of the Scottish merchants and seamen, he smiled and said jestingly, ‘When we have conquered England we will make compensation to the merchants.’

When the cardinal came out of prison, his eyes had fallen on two men who stood in his way. One of these was the regent, and he had got rid of him by becoming his master. The other was the earl of Lennox, a man formidable by his rank and his pretensions, who had even supposed it possible that he might marry the queen-mother. But Mary of Guise, like all her kindred, was a fanatical devotee of Rome, and at the instance of the cardinal she prayed the King of France to recall Lennox on any specious pretext, adding that his residence in Scotland might lead to a disturbance of peace. Lennox saw that they were trifling with him. He was quite as versatile as Arran but more capable, and seeing that he had lost the favor of France, he offered his services to the King of England, who eagerly accepted them. Lennox was then looked upon as the head of Scottish Protestantism. The two foremost lords of Scotland had performed a feat of what is vulgarly called chassé-croisée. The leader of the Protestants had become a papist, and the man of the court of Francis I. had turned Protestant. Instead of the daughter of the Guises, he married Lady Margaret Douglas, a niece of Henry VIII. That is how men of the world manage matters. Evangelical religion[177] had not lost much in losing Arran. Neither had it gained more by acquiring Lennox. These men were only moved by political interests, and Scottish Protestantism more than any other was to reject these shameful combinations of Christ and Baal, and was to have one king alone, Jesus Christ.

The cardinal, victorious along the whole line, set himself immediately to the work which he had most at heart,—to crush the Reformation. The law which authorized the reading of Holy Scripture had borne its fruit, and ‘in sundry parts of Scotland,’ says the chronicler, ‘thereby were opened the eyes of the elect of God to see the truth and abhor the papistical abominations.’[310] This abhorrence might possibly drive them to deplorable excesses, an instance of which we are soon to see.

There were at Perth, on the left bank of the pleasant river Tay, some friends of the Reformation. Endowed for the most part with genuine piety, they held meetings, read the Holy Scriptures together, searched out their meaning, and gave or listened to the exposition of them.[311]

They had also at times simple social meals together. Certain priests of the town, with whom they were connected, and whose character they esteemed without sharing their opinions, were invited to these gatherings. The churchmen ate, drank, and talked with them, and thought themselves fortunate to be invited to these honest men’s houses.[312] This circumstance shows a large-heartedness among these Christian folk of Perth, which could see and appreciate whatever good qualities their adversaries possessed. They did not, however, tie themselves down to the Roman rules about meat-days and fish-days, rules from which exemption may be had for a[178] little money: and one Friday it happened that a goose appeared on their table.

Three of these people, Robert Lamb, William Anderson, and James Raveleson, daring characters and given to raillery, were among those who were taken up with Reform on its negative side. They were disgusted at the abuses of the monastic life, and the Franciscans most of all offended them. The sight of one of these mendicant friars in the street, with his brown frock, his girdle of cord, his cowl, and his bare feet, excited in them the keenest aversion. ‘These monks,’ as has been said by a very distinguished Catholic priest, ‘feign chastity, but they know what voluptuousness is, and they often outdo men of the world in luxurious indulgence.’[313] And yet these monks pretend that all that is needed for salvation is to put on a frock of their order at the moment of death. In the judgment of Anderson and of his two friends, the founder of that order, who was nevertheless a better man than most of his successors, must have been the devil himself. They took therefore an image of Francis of Assisi, nailed rams’ horns on the head and hung a cow’s tail behind, and having thus given to it the semblance of a demon, they hung it. The Scots are not jesters by nature. They are on the contrary earnest and energetic towards those whom they oppose; and this blameworthy execution was carried out by these three men with imperturbable gravity.[314]

Among these reformed Christians of Perth there were some manifestations of opinion characterized by simplicity and decision, which however occasionally took a strange shape. One of the women who frequented the evangelical meetings, Hellen Stirke, was near her confinement, and in her hour of travail, when surrounded by female friends and neighbors, all of them fervent[179] worshippers of the Virgin Mary, she called upon God and upon God alone in the name of Jesus Christ. The women said to her—‘You ought to call upon the Virgin. Is not Mary immaculate as Christ is, and even above him as first source of redemption? Is she not the queen of heaven, the head of the church?’ The Franciscan friars were continually impressing on the minds of these good women the notion that no one could obtain a blessing from God ‘except by the dispensation of his pious mother.’[315] Hellen revered Mary as a holy and blessed woman, but she held her to be of the same nature as other women, and she told her neighbors so. It was of his mercy, as Mary herself said, that God had looked upon the low estate of his servant. That her friends might better understand her meaning, she boldly added, ‘If I had lived in the days of the Virgin, God might have looked likewise to my humility and base estate, as he did to the Virgin’s, and might have made me the mother of Christ.’[316] The women about her could not believe their own ears, and her words, reported in the town by her neighbors, were counted execrable in the judgment of the clergy and of the multitude.

If St. Francis was Anderson’s nightmare, the pope was Raveleson’s. But the latter gave expression to his sentiments in a less insulting fashion. When he had built a house of four stories, he placed at the top of his staircase, by way of ornament, over the last baluster and the supporting tablet which masked it, the triple diadem of the pope, carved in wood. This was not a very criminal act: a good papist might have done the like. But Raveleson, doubtless, meant to show thereby that in his house the pope was consigned to the top story. Be that as it may, he paid dear for it.

These Protestants of Perth were certainly originals,[180] of which not many copies were to be found. There were some of them, however, who were free from these eccentricities while displaying no less courage. On one occasion, when a monk named Spence very loudly asserted in the church that ‘prayer made to saints is so necessary that without it there could be no hope of salvation to man,’ Robert Lamb rose and accused him before the whole assembly of teaching false doctrines. ‘In the name of God,’ said he, ‘I adjure you to speak the truth.’ The friar, stricken with fear, promised to do so; but there was so much excitement and tumult in the church that the monk could not make himself heard, and Robert, at the peril of his life, barely escaped the violence of the people. The women, above all, uttered piercing screams, and urged on the multitude to the most cruel actions.[317]

The cardinal, in January, 1544, seeing that his authority was firmly established, thought that the time was come for suppressing the Reformation and glorifying the pope. Having heard of what was going on at Perth, he set out for that place, taking with him the regent, some of the chief lords, bishops, and judges. When he reached Perth on St. Paul’s day, January 19, he ordered the seizure of Robert Lamb, William Anderson, James Hunter, James Raveleson, James Finlason, and Hellen Stirke his wife,[318] and had them imprisoned the same evening in the Spay Tower.

On the following morning the prisoners appeared before their judge. They were accused on several grounds, and particularly of having met together to hear the Holy Scriptures read. A special charge was made against Lamb of having interrupted a friar. ‘It is the duty of no man,’ he answered, ‘who understands and knows the truth to hear the same impugned without[181] contradiction. There are sundry here present in judgment who, while they know what is true, are consenting to what is false; but they will have to bear the burden in God’s presence.’[319] The six prisoners were condemned to death, and were cruelly treated. Many of the inhabitants of Perth were deeply interested in their case, and appealed to the regent to save their lives. But when Arran spoke a word to the cardinal in their behalf, the latter replied, ‘If you refuse to take part in the execution of this sentence, I will depose you.’ Arran trembled, and held his peace.

The friends of the victims, then, remembering that certain priests in the town had frequently sat at the tables of the accused, entreated them to bear in mind their old friends who were then in misfortune, and to intercede with the cardinal in their behalf. But these poor priests were terrified at the thought that the cardinal might hear of their former relations with the condemned, and they answered that they would much rather see them dead than living. That was their way of showing their gratitude. So the chronicler, whose phrase is not always elegant, adds, ‘So cruel are these beasts, from the lowest to the highest.’

Agitation was increasing in the town. The cardinal had ready a great band of armed men, who were charged to conduct the victims to the place of execution. Robert Lamb, standing at the foot of the gallows, said to the people, ‘Fear God, and forsake the pope.’ Then he announced that calamity and ruin would not be slow to light upon the cardinal.[320] The five Christians comforted one another with the hope ‘that they should sup together in the kingdom of heaven that night.’

Hellen desired earnestly to die with her husband, but this was not permitted her. At the moment of their[182] parting she gave him a kiss and said, ‘Husband, rejoice, for we have lived together many joyful days; but this day in which we must die ought to be most joyful unto us both, because we must have joy forever. Therefore I will not bid you good-night, for we shall suddenly meet with joy in the kingdom of heaven.’ She was then taken to a pond to be drowned. She was holding her infant in her arms and giving it suck for the last time. But this pathetic incident did not touch the pitiless hearts of her executioners. She had entreated her neighbors to take care of her children. She took the ‘sucking bairn’ from her breast and gave it to the nurse, and was then flung into the water. The cardinal was satisfied.[321]

From Perth the cardinal passed into Forfarshire, always dragging along with him the unhappy regent. Many inhabitants of that region appeared before him for having committed the hateful crime of reading the New Testament. Among them was a Dominican named John Rogers, a man of piety and learning, who, by preaching Christ in Forfarshire, had led many souls into peace. He was confined with others in the castle of St. Andrews, and a few days later his dead body was found at the foot of the walls. It was very generally believed that the cardinal had ordered him to be put to death in his dungeon, and to be thrown over the walls. A report was then circulated that the prisoner, in attempting to escape, had fallen on the rocks and been killed. A considerable number of Scots, among them Sir Henry Elder, John Elder, Walter Piper, Lawrence Pullar, and others were banished, merely on suspicion of having read the Gospel.[322]

The cardinal now returned to Edinburgh, and took the regent with him. He was perfectly satisfied with his campaign, and was meditating fresh exploits of the[183] same kind, when, at the very moment of his saying ‘Peace and security,’ a fleet appeared at sea. Messengers came suddenly to announce to the regent and the cardinal that a multitude of vessels were entering the Firth of Forth, and were making for Leith and Edinburgh. ‘It is the English,’ said most people, ‘and it is greatly to be feared that they will land.’ The cardinal dissembled his anxiety, affected to smile and to jest, and said, with a contemptuous air, ‘It is but the island fleet; they are come to make us a show and to put us in fear. I shall lodge the men-of-war in my eye that shall land in Scotland.’[323] Then he went to his dinner-table, and talked with every one as though no danger were threatening. All Edinburgh was eager to gaze on the wonderful vessels, and great crowds assembled for that purpose on the castle hill and on the heights near the town. ‘But what then can it all mean?’ people said to one another. By a little after six o’clock in the evening more than two hundred ships had cast anchor in Leith roads. The admiral had a ship’s boat launched, which began carefully to take soundings from Granton craigs to East Leith. All sensible men understood what it meant, but if any one of them uttered what he thought, the clerics shrugged their shoulders. All men went to bed, just as if those ships had brought their broadsides to bear for the defence of the sleepers.

At daybreak on Sunday, May 4, Lord Lisle, who was in command of the fleet, ordered the disembarkation. The pinnaces and other small vessels approached as near as they could to the shore, while the larger vessels discharged their men into the long-boats, and so they got to land. By ten o’clock the operation was completed, and the spectators from Edinburgh beheld, to their great astonishment, more than ten thousand men under arms. The cardinal and the regent, dropping their false show of calmness, appeared now very much alarmed,[184] and, forgetting their ridiculous bluster and bragging, jumped into a carriage and fled as fast as their horses could carry them. They did not halt till they had put twenty miles of country between them and the danger which frightened them. Before starting they had given orders, for the purpose of pacifying the English, that the earl of Angus, Sir George Douglas, and two other lords, advocates of the English alliance, who had been cast into prison at Blackness, should be set at liberty. This was done that night, and Sir George said, merrily, ‘I thank King Henry and my gentle masters of England.’[324]

The troops which had landed entered Leith, under the command of the earl of Hertford, between twelve and one o’clock, after having dispersed a small body of men which resisted them. As they found dinner ready in all the houses, and the tables loaded with wines and victuals, they sat down and refreshed themselves. On Monday, May 5, two thousand English horsemen came from Berwick to reinforce the infantry, and the whole army, after taking one day’s rest, forced the gates of Edinburgh on Wednesday and entered the town. People called to mind the terrible threats of Henry VIII. The town was first pillaged and then burnt. The palace of Holyrood, Leith and the environs shared the same fate. The English were not able to take the castle, and after having satiated themselves with pillage, burning, and eating, they carried off their plunder to the ships. The English army returned to their own country by way of Berwick, sacking and burning Haddington and Dunbar, castles, country seats, and all the districts through which they passed. The army had lost only forty men.[325]

Henry VIII. had entertained the vastest projects. His aims were that Scotland should renounce the French[185] alliance; that the queen should be placed in his own household; that the title of elector of the kingdom should be given to him; that Lennox should be named regent in the place of Arran; and that the Word of God should be preached, of course in his own way. This appears from the instructions given by himself to the governors of the marches.[326] But he felt it necessary to postpone his scheme, and to content himself with the chastisement inflicted on the capital. We have to encounter facts such as these in the history of every people and of all ages. It is impossible to narrate or to read them without horror. Happily, Scotland at this epoch offers to our notice facts of a quite different kind, which are within the province of Christian civilization.

In the summer of 1544, shortly after the events of which we have just spoken, a pious man, George Wishart, returned from England to Scotland. He was a brother of the laird of Pittarow, in the county of Mearns. While at Montrose, in 1538, he had read the Greek New Testament with several youths whom he was educating, and had been cited by the bishop of Brechin to appear before him. Wishart had then retired to Cambridge, and there he devoted himself to study for six years. In 1544, the Scottish commissioners who came into England respecting the treaty with Henry VIII. took him back with them, to Scotland. He went first to Montrose, his old abode, and thence to Dundee, where he wished[186] to preach the Word of God. His personal appearance was entirely prepossessing. He was amiable, unassuming, polite. His chief delight was to learn and to teach. He was tall; his black hair was cut short, his beard was long. His physiognomy was indicative of a somewhat melancholy temperament. He wore a French cap of the best material, a gown which fell to his heels, and a black doublet. There was about his whole person an air of decorum and grace. He spoke with modesty and with great seriousness. He slept on straw, and his charity had no end, night nor day. He loved all men. He gave gifts, consolation, assistance: he was studious of all means of doing good to all and hurt to none. He distributed periodically among the poor various articles of clothing, always ‘saving his French cap, which he kept the whole year of my being with him,’ says the Cambridge student who drew this portrait of Wishart just before the latter set out for Scotland.[327]

Wishart’s reputation having preceded him, a multitude of hearers gathered about him at Dundee. He expounded in a connected series of discourses the doctrine of salvation, according to the Epistle to the Romans, and his knowledge and eloquence excited general admiration. But the priests declared everywhere that if he were allowed to go on, the Roman system must inevitably fall to the ground. They therefore sought the assistance of an influential layman, Robert Mill, who had once professed the truth, but had since forsaken it. One day, just as Wishart was finishing his discourse, Mill rose in the church and forbade him in the queen’s name and the regent’s to trouble them any more. Wishart was silent for awhile, with his eyes turned heavenward, and then looking sorrowfully on the assembly he said—‘God is witness that I never minded [intended] your trouble, but your comfort. But I am assured that to refuse God’s Word and to chase from you his messen[187]ger shall not preserve you from trouble, but shall bring you into it. I have offered unto you the word of salvation, and with the hazard of my life I have remained among you. But and [if] trouble unlooked for apprehend you, turn to God, for He is merciful. But if ye turn not at the first he will visit you with fire and sword.’ When he had thus spoken, he came down from the pulpit and went away at once into the western part of Scotland.[328]

Having arrived at Ayr, he preached there to large numbers of people who gladly received his words. Dunbar, bishop of Glasgow, as soon as he was informed of it, hastened to the town with a body of men and took possession of the church in order to prevent Wishart from preaching. The reformer’s friends were indignant at this step. The earl of Glencairn, the laird of Loch Norris,[329] and several gentlemen of Kyle went to Wishart and offered to get possession of the church and to place him in the pulpit. ‘No,’ said the evangelist, wisely, ‘the bishop’s sermon will not much hurt: let us go to the market-cross.’ They did so, and he there preached with so much energy and animation that some of his hearers, who were enemies of the truth till that day, received it gladly. Meanwhile the bishop was in the church with a very small audience. There was hardly anyone to hear him but some vestry attendants and some poor dependents. They were expecting a sermon, but he had forgotten to put one in his pocket. He made them the best excuse he could. ‘Hold us still for your bishop,’ he said, ‘and we shall provide better the next time.’ He then with haste departed from the town, not a little ashamed of his enterprise.[330]

Wishart persevered in his work, and his reputation spread all around. The men of Mauchlin came and[188] asked him to preach the Gospel to them on the following Sunday. But the sheriff of Ayr heard of it, and sent a body of men in the night to post themselves about the church. ‘We will enter by force,’ said Hugh Campbell to Wishart. ‘Brother,’ replied the evangelist, ‘it is the word of peace which God sends by me; the blood of no man shall be shed this day for the preaching of it. I find that Christ Jesus oftener preached in the desert, at the seaside, and other places judged profane, than he did in the temple of Jerusalem.’ He then withdrew to the country, saying to the people who followed him that the Saviour was ‘as potent upon the fields as in the kirk.’ He climbed up a dike raised on the edge of the moorland, and there, in the fair warm day, preached for more than three hours. One man present, Lawrence Ranken, laird of Shield, who had previously led a wicked life, was impressed by what he heard. ‘The tears ran from his eyes in such abundance that all men wondered.’[331] Converted by that discourse, the laird of Shield gave evidence in his whole after-life that his conversion was genuine. Wishart preached with like success in the whole district. The harvest was great, says one historian.

The reformer heard on a sudden that the plague had broken out at Dundee four days after he left the town, and that it was raging cruelly. He resolved instantly to go there. ‘They are now in trouble and they need comfort,’ he said to those who would fain hold him back: ‘perchance this hand of God will make them now to magnify and reverence that word which before, for the fear of men, they set at light part.’

He reached Dundee in August, 1544, and announced the same morning that he would preach. It was necessary to keep apart the plague-stricken from those who were in health, and for that purpose he took his station at the east gate of the town. Those who were in health[189] had their place within the city, and those who were sick remained without. Such a distribution of an audience was surely never seen before! Wishart opened the Bible and read these words—‘He sent his word and healed them.’ (Ps. cvii. 20.) ‘The mercy of God,’ said he, ‘is prompt to fall on all such as truly turn to Him, and the malice of men can neither eik nor pair [add to nor diminish] his gentle visitation.’[332]—‘We do not fear death,’ said some of his hearers; ‘nay, we judge them more happy that should depart, than such as should remain behind.’ That east gate of Dundee (Cowgate) was left standing in memory of Wishart when the town walls were taken down at the close of the eighteenth century, and it is still carefully preserved.

Wishart was not satisfied with speech alone, he personally visited the sick, fearlessly exposing himself to infection in the most extreme cases. He took care that the sick should have what they needed, and the poor were as well provided for as the rich.

The town was in great distress lest the mouth from which so much sweetness flowed should be closed.

Nevertheless, at the cardinal’s instigation, says Knox, a priest named Wighton took a sword, and concealing it under his gown mixed with the crowd as if he were a mere hearer, and stood waiting at the foot of the steps by which Wishart must come down. The discourse was finished, the people dispersed. Wishart, whose glance was keen and whose judgment was swift, noticed as he came down the steps a priest who kept his hand under his gown, and as soon as he came near him he said, ‘My friend, what would ye do?’ At the same moment he laid hold of the priest’s hand and snatched the weapon from him. The assassin fell at his feet and confessed his fault. Swiftly ran the report that a priest had attempted to kill the reformer, and the sick who heard it turned back and cried, ‘Deliver the traitor to[190] us, or else we will take him by force.’ And so indeed they rushed on him. But Wishart put his arms round the assassin. ‘Whosoever troubles him,’ said he, ‘shall trouble me, for he has hurt me in nothing.’ His friends however insisted that for the future one of them, in arms, should accompany him whithersoever he went.[333]

When the plague had ceased at Dundee, Wishart thought that, as God had put an end to that battle, he called him to another. It was indeed proposed that he should hold a public disputation. He inquired of the bishops where he should be heard. But first he went to Montrose ‘to salute the kirk there,’ and although sometimes preaching the Gospel, he was ‘most part in secret meditation, in the which he was so earnest that night and day he would continue in it.’[334]

While there he received a letter purporting to be written by his friend the laird of Kynneir, who being sick desired him to come to him.[335] It was a trick of the cardinal. Sixty armed horsemen were lying in wait behind a hill to take him prisoner. He set out unsuspecting, but when he had gone some distance, he suddenly stopped in the midst of the friends who were accompanying him and seemed absorbed in deep musing. Then he turned and went back. What mean you?’ said his friends, wondering. ‘I will go no further,’ he replied: ‘I am forbidden of God. I am assured there is treason.’ Pointing to the hill he added, ‘Let some of you go to yon place, and tell me what they find.’ These brave men reported with all speed what they saw. ‘I know,’ said he, ‘that I shall end my life in that bloodthirsty man’s hands, but it will not be of this manner.’ Shortly after, he set out for Edinburgh in spite of the entreaties of the laird of Dundee, and went to lodge at Innergowrie at the house of a Christian man named James Watson. A little after midnight two men of[191] good credit who were in the house, William Spalding and John Watson, heard him open his door and go down stairs. They followed him secretly, and saw him go into the garden and walk for some time up and down an alley. Wishart, persuaded that he was drawing near to his end, and thinking of the horrors of martyrdom and of his own weakness, was greatly agitated and felt the need of calling upon God that he might not fail in the midst of the conflict. He was heard sighing and groaning, and just as day began to dawn, he was seen to fall on his knees and afterwards on his face. For a whole hour his two friends heard confused sounds of his prayer, interrupted now and then by his tears. At length he seemed to grow quiet and to have found rest for his soul. He rose and went quietly back to his chamber. In the morning his anxious friends began to ask him where he had been. He evaded the question. ‘Be plain with us,’ they said, ‘for we heard your groans, yea, we heard your mourning, and saw you both upon your knees and upon your face.’—‘I had rather ye had been in your beds,’ said he, ‘for I was scarce well occupied.’ And as they urged him, he spoke to them of his approaching death and of his need of God’s help. They were much saddened and wept. Wishart said to them—‘God shall send you comfort after me. This realm shall be illuminated with the light of Christ’s Evangel as clearly as ever was any realm since the days of the apostles. The house of God shall be built into it: yea, it shall not want, whatsoever the enemy imagine to the contrary, the very cape-stone’ [top-stone].[336] Meaning, adds Knox, that the house of God should there be brought to full perfection. Wishart went on—‘Neither shall this be long to; there shall not many suffer after me, till that the glory of God shall evidently appear and shall once triumph in despite of Satan. But alas! if[192] the people shall be afterwards unthankful, then fearful and terrible shall the plagues be that after shall follow.’ Wishart soon after went into the Lothians, i. e. into the shires of Linlithgow, Edinburgh, and Haddington.

A man like Wishart assuredly belongs to the history of the Reformation. But there is another motive leading us to narrate these circumstances. The great reformer of Scotland was trained in the school of Wishart. Among those who followed the latter from place to place as he preached the Gospel was John Knox. He had left St. Andrews because he could not endure either the superstition of the Romish system or the cardinal’s despotism, and having betaken himself to the south of Scotland he had been for some time tutor in the family of Douglas of Langniddrie. He had openly professed the evangelical doctrine, and the clergy in their wrath had declared him a heretic and deprived him of the priesthood. Knox, attracted by the preaching and the life of Wishart, attached himself to him and became his beloved disciple. In addition to his public discourses, to which he listened with eager attention, he received also instructions in private. He undertook for Wishart a duty which was full of danger, but which he discharged joyfully. During Wishart’s evangelical excursions he kept watch for the safety of his person, and bore the sword which his friends had provided after the attempt of the Dundee priest to assassinate him. Knox was soon to bear another sword, the sword of the Spirit, like his master.

The earl of Cassilis and some other friends of Wishart had appointed to meet him at Leith, and as that town is very near Edinburgh, they had advised him not to show himself until their arrival. After awaiting them for a day or two he fell into a deep melancholy. ‘What differ I from a dead man,’ said he, ‘except that I eat and drink? To this time God has used my labors to the disclosing of darkness, and now I lurk as a man that was ashamed and durst not show himself before men.’—‘You[193] know,’ said his friends, ‘the danger wherein ye stand.’ ‘Let my God,’ he replied, ‘provide for me as best pleases him.’ On the following Sunday, fifteen days before Christmas, he preached on the parable of the sower.[337] From Leith he went to Brownston, Langniddrie and Ormiston, and preached on the Sunday both morning and afternoon at Inveresk to a large concourse of people. Two Franciscan friars came and stood by the church door, and whispered something to those who were going in to turn them back. Wishart observing this said to some who were near the pulpit, ‘I heartily pray you to make room to these two men; it may be that they be come to learn.’ Then addressing the monks he said, ‘Come near, for I assure you ye shall hear the word of verity, which shall either seal unto you this same day your salvation or your condemnation.’ He continued his discourse, but the two friars, who had taken up their places, did not cease whispering right and left, and troubling all that stood near them. Wishart turned sharply to them and said—‘O sergeants of Satan, and deceivers of the souls of men, will ye neither hear God’s truth nor suffer others to hear it? Depart, and take this for your portion; God shall shortly confound and disclose your hypocrisy within this realm; ye shall be abominable unto men, and your places and habitations shall be desolate.’ He then resumed his sermon, and preached with so much power that Sir George Douglas, brother of the earl of Angus, who was present at the meeting, said publicly after the sermon, ‘I know that my lord governor and my lord cardinal shall hear that I have been at this preaching (for they were then in Edinburgh). Say unto them that I will avow it, and will not only maintain the doctrine that I have heard, but also the person of the teacher to the uttermost of my power.’ Those who were present greatly rejoiced at these words, spoken by so influential a man. As for Wishart, it was[194] enough for him to know that God keeps his own people for the end to which he calls them.[338] He preached in other places to large numbers, and with all the more fervor for his persuasion and assertion that the day of his death was at hand.

After Christmas he passed into Haddingtonshire. The cardinal, hearing of his purpose, had informed the earl of Bothwell, who immediately let it be known, both in the town and in the country, that no one was to go and hear that heretic under pain of his displeasure. The prohibition of this powerful lord had its effect. The first day there was a large gathering to hear Wishart, but the next day his audience was very small. A new trial now came to afflict him. His friends in western Scotland had promised to come to Edinburgh to discuss with him the means of advancing the cause of the Gospel. Now on the third day after his arrival in Haddingtonshire, when he had already entered the church and was about to go into the pulpit, a messenger approached and handed him a letter. He opened it. His friends at Ayr and other places wrote to tell him that certain obstacles prevented them from fulfilling their promises. Struck with sorrow, ‘he called for John Knox, who had waited upon him carefully from the time he came to Lothian.’[339] ‘I am wearied of the world,’ said he, ‘for I perceive that men begin to be weary of God.’ Knox wondered that Wishart should enter into conversation with him before sermon, which he was never accustomed to do, and said to him, ‘Sir, the time of sermon approaches, I will leave you for the present to your meditations.’ He then took the letter and withdrew.

Wishart, left to himself, began to walk about slowly at the back of the high altar. He paced to and fro, sad[195]ness depicted on his countenance, and everything about him revealing the deep grief that was in his soul. This lasted about half an hour. At length he passed into the pulpit. The audience was small, as it had been the day before. He had not power to treat the subject which he had proposed: his heart was too full, and he must needs unburden it before God. ‘O Lord,’ said he, ‘how long shall it be that thy holy Word shall be despised and men shall not regard their own salvation? I have heard of thee, Haddington, that in thee would have been at a vain clerk-play two or three thousand people, and now to hear the messenger of the eternal God, of all the town or parish cannot be numbered one hundred persons. Sore and fearful shall the plagues be that shall ensue this thy contempt, with fire and sword shalt thou be plagued. And that because ye have not known nor will not know the time of God’s merciful visitation.’ After saying these words he made a short paraphrase of the second table of the law. He exhorted to patience, to the fear of God, and to works of mercy; and impressed by the presentiment that this was the last time he should publicly preach, he made (so to speak) his last testament, declaring that the spirit of truth and judgment were both in his heart and on his lips.[340]

He quitted the church, bade farewell to his friends, and then prepared to leave the town. ‘I will not leave you alone,’ said Knox to him. But Wishart, who had his approaching end constantly before his eyes, said—‘Nay, return to your bairns [his pupils], and God bless you. One is sufficient for a sacrifice.’ He then compelled Knox to give up the sword, and parted with him. The laird of Ormiston, who was at the time with Wishart, had invited him to his house in the country. They set out on their journey with several gentlemen of the neighborhood. The cold was severe, and they therefore[196] travelled on foot. While at supper Wishart spoke of the death of God’s children. Then he said with a cheerful smile—‘Methinks that I desire earnestly to sleep. We’ll sing a psalm.’ He chose Psalm li., and struck up the tune himself:—‘Have mercy upon me, O God, according to thy loving kindness.’ As soon as the psalm was ended, he went to his chamber and to bed.

A little before midnight a troop of armed men silently approached, surrounded the house that no one might escape, and demanded Wishart. But neither promises nor threats could induce Ormiston to deliver up his guest. They then went for the earl of Bothwell, the most powerful lord of that region. Bothwell came, and said to the laird—‘It is but vain to make him to hold his house, for the governor and the cardinal with all their power are coming. But and if you will deliver the man unto me, I will promise upon my honor that he shall be safe and sound, and that it shall pass the power of the cardinal to do him any harm or scathe.’ Ormiston, confiding in this promise, told Wishart what had occurred. ‘Open the gates,’ replied he, immediately; ‘the blessed will of my God be done.’ Bothwell entered, with several gentlemen who accompanied him. Wishart said to him, ‘I praise my God that so honorable a man as you, my lord, receives me this night in the presence of these noblemen; for now I am assured that, for your honor’s sake, ye will suffer nothing to be done unto me besides the order of law.’ The earl replied—‘I shall preserve your body from all violence, neither shall the governor nor cardinal have their will over you: but I shall retain you in my own hands till that either I shall make you free or else restore you in the same place where I receive you.’ Immediately after giving this promise, the earl set out with Wishart for Elphinston. The cardinal, bent on getting possession of Wishart’s friends, sent five hundred horsemen to Ormiston to seize the laird, together with the lairds of Brownston and[197] Calder. Brownston fled through the woods, but the other two were carried off to Edinburgh castle. Wishart was removed to the strong castle of Hailes on the banks of the Tyne, the principal mansion of Bothwell in the Lothians.[341]

That did not satisfy the cardinal, who wanted Wishart more than all. The queen-mother, Mary of Guise, who was not on friendly terms with Bothwell, promised him her support if he would give up the evangelist. The cardinal, on his part, ‘gave gold, and that largely.’ ‘Gold and women have corrupted all worldly and fleshly men from the beginning,’ says Knox.[342] The earl raised some objections: ‘but an effeminate man,’adds Knox, ‘cannot long withstand the assaults of a gracious queen.’ Wishart was first taken to Edinburgh castle, and at the end of January, 1546, the regent gave him up to the cardinal, who confined him at St. Andrews, in the sea tower. The assistance of a civil judge was, it seems, necessary to give validity to the judgment. The cardinal requested one of Arran, but one of the regent’s councillors, Hamilton of Preston, said to him—‘What, will you deliver up to wicked men those whose uprightness is acknowledged even by their enemies? Will you put to death those who are guilty of no more crime than that of preaching the Gospel of Christ? What ingratitude towards God!’

The regent consequently wrote to the cardinal that he would not consent that any hurt should be done to that man without a careful investigation of his cause. The cardinal, on receiving this letter, flew into a violent passion. ‘It was only for civility’s sake,’ said he, ‘that I made the request. I and my clergy have the power in ourselves to inflict on Wishart the chastisement which he deserves.’ He invited the archbishop of Glasgow,[198] and all bishops and other dignitaries of the Church, to assemble at St. Andrews on February 27 to consult on the matter, although it was already decided in his own mind.’[343]

The next day the dean of St. Andrews went to the prison where Wishart was confined, and summoned him in the cardinal’s name to appear before the judges on the morrow. ‘What needed,’ replied the prisoner, ‘my lord cardinal to summon me to answer for my doctrine openly before him, under whose power and dominion I am thus straitly bound in irons? May not my lord compel me to answer to his extorted power?’ On March 1 the cardinal ordered all the household servants of his palace to put themselves under arms. The civil power, it is remembered, had refused to take part in the proceedings, and therefore Beatoun took its place. His men at once equipped themselves with lances, swords, axes, knapsacks, and other warlike array. It might have been thought that some military action was in hand, rather than a gathering of priests who assumed to busy themselves about God’s Church. These armed champions, putting themselves in marching order, first escorted the bishops with great ceremony to the abbey church, and then went for Wishart. The governor of the castle put himself at the head of the band, and so they led the prisoner ‘like a lamb to sacrifice.’ As he entered the door of the abbey church he threw his purse to a poor infirm man lying there, and at length he stood in the presence of the numerous and brilliant assembly. To invest the proceedings with due formality, Beatoun had caused two platforms to be erected, facing each other. Wishart was set on one of them, and the accuser, Lauder, took his place on the other. The dean, Winryme,[344] then appeared in the pulpit. This worthy church[199]man, who was charged to deliver the customary sermon, was secretly a friend to the Gospel. He read the parable of the ‘good seed’ and the tares (Matt. xiii. 24-30), and set forth various pious considerations which told more against the judges than against the accused, and which the latter heard with pleasure. Winryme concluded, however, by saying that the tares were heresy, and that heretics ought to be put down in this life by the civil magistrate; yet in the passage he was treating stood the words, ‘Let both grow together until the harvest.’ It remained to ascertain which were heretics, the judges or the accused.[345]

When the sermon was ended, the bishops ordered Wishart to stand up on his platform to hear the accusation. Then rose the accuser, John Lauder, a priest whom the chronicler calls a monster, and, facing Wishart, unrolled a long paper full of threatenings and devilish maledictions, and, addressing the guiltless evangelist in cruel words, hurled pitilessly at him all the thunders of the papacy. The ignorant crowd who heard him, expected to see the earth open and swallow the unhappy reformer; but he remained quiet, and listened with great patience and without a change of countenance to the violent accusations of his adversary. When Lauder had finished reading at the top of his voice the threatening indictment, he turned to Wishart, his face ‘all running down with sweat,’ says the chronicler, ‘and frothing at the mouth like a boar, he spat at Mr. George’s face, saying, What answerest thou to these sayings, thou renegade, traitor, and thief, which we have duly proved by sufficient witness against thee?’[346]

Wishart knelt down and prayed for the help of God. Then rising, he made answer with all sweetness—‘My lords, I pray you quietly to hear me, so that instead of condemning me unjustly, to the great peril of your souls,[200] you may know that I have taught the pure Word of God, and that you may receive it yourselves as the source from which health and life shall spring forth for you. In Dundee I taught the Epistle of St. Paul to the Romans, and shall show your discretions faithfully what fashion and manner I used when I taught, without any human dread....’

At these words the accuser interrupted him, and cried with all his might, ‘Thou heretic, renegade, traitor, and thief, it was not lawful for thee to preach, ... and we forethink that thou hast been a preacher too long.’ Then all the prelates, terrified at the thought that he was going to set before that vast audience the very substance and pith of his teaching, said one to another, ‘He is so crafty, and in Holy Scriptures so exercised, that he will persuade the people to his own opinion and raise them against us.’ Wishart, perceiving that he had no chance of a fair hearing before that ecclesiastical court, said, ‘I appeal from my lord cardinal to my lord the governor.’ ‘What,’ replied Lauder, ‘is not my lord cardinal the second person within this realm, chancellor of Scotland, archbishop of St. Andrews, bishop of Mirepoix [in Languedoc], commendator of Arbroath, legatus natus, legatus a latere ...?’ He recited so many titles, says the chronicler, that you might have laden a ship with them, much sooner an ass.[347] ‘Whom desirest thou to be thy judge?’ cried Lauder.

Wishart replied with meekness, ‘I refuse not my lord cardinal, but I desire the Word of God to be my judge, and the temporal estate, with some of your lordships mine auditory; because I am here my lord governor’s prisoner.’ But the priests mocked him, saying, ‘Such man, such judge!’ According to them, the laymen who might have been appointed his judges were heretics also, like him.

The cardinal, without further delay, was going to[201] have sentence of condemnation passed; but some who stood by counselled him to read the articles of accusation, and to permit Wishart to answer to them, in order that the people might not be able to say that he was condemned without a hearing.

Lauder therefore began—‘Thou, false heretic, renegade, traitor, and thief, deceiver of the people, despisest the holy Church’s, and in like case contemnest my lord governor’s authority; for when thou preachedst in Dundee, and wert charged by my lord governor’s authority to desist, thou wouldst not obey, but perseveredst in the same. Therefore the bishop of Brechin cursed thee, and delivered thee into the hands of the devil, and gave thee in commandment that thou shouldst preach no more; yet notwithstanding thou didst continue obstinately.’

Wishart: ‘My lords, I have read in the Acts of the Apostles that it is not lawful for the threatenings and menaces of men to desist from the preaching of the Evangel.’

Lauder: ‘Thou, false heretic, didst say that a priest standing at the altar saying mass was like a fox wagging his tail in July.’[348]

Wishart: ‘My lords, I said not so. These were my sayings: the moving of the body outward, without the inward moving of the heart, is nought else but the playing of an ape, and not the true serving of God.’

Lauder: ‘Thou false heretic, traitor, and thief, thou saidst that the sacrament of the altar was but a piece of bread baken upon the ashes.’

Wishart: ‘I once chanced to meet with a Jew when I was sailing upon the water of the Rhine. By prophecies and many other testimonies of the Scriptures I approved that the Messiah was come, the which they called Jesus of Nazareth. He answered, You adore and worship a piece of bread baken upon the ashes,[202] and say that is your God. I have rehearsed here but the sayings of the Jew, which I never affirmed to be true.’ At these words the bishops shook their heads, spitting on the ground and crying out, and showed in all ways that they would not hear him.

Lauder: ‘Thou, false heretic and renegade, hast said that every layman is a priest, and that the pope hath no more power than another man.’

Wishart: ‘I have read in some places of St. John and St. Peter, of the which one sayeth, He hath made us kings and priests; the other sayeth, He hath made us the kingly priesthood. Wherefore I have affirmed any man, being cunning and perfect in the Word of God and the true faith of Jesus Christ, to have his power given him of God. And again I say, any unlearned man, and not exercised in the Word of God, nor yet constant in his faith, whatsoever estate or order he be of, hath no power to bind nor to loose.’[349]

These words greatly amused the assembly; the reverends and the most reverends burst out laughing, mocking Wishart, and calling him an imbecile. The notion that a layman should have a power which the holy father had not seemed to them the very height of madness. ‘Laugh ye, my lords?’ said the messenger of Christ. ‘Though that these my sayings appear scornful and worthy of derision to your lordships, nevertheless they are very weighty unto me and of great value, because they stand not only upon my life but also the honor and glory of God.’

Some pious men who were in the assembly were indignant at the madness of the prelates and affected by the invincible patience of Wishart. But others cried aloud, ‘Wherefore let we him speak any further?’ A man named John Scot, who stood behind Lauder, said to him. ‘Tarry not upon his witty and godly answers, for[203] we may not abide them, no more nor the devil may abide the sign of the cross when it is named.’[350] There was no due form of trial, nor any freedom of discussion, says Buchanan, but a great din of voices, shouts of disapprobation, and hateful speeches. The accuser thundered from his platform, but that was all.[351] The bishops unanimously pronounced that the pious Wishart must be burnt. Falling on his knees, Wishart prayed and said—‘O immortal God, how long shalt thou suffer the wodness [madness] and great cruelty of the ungodly to exercise their fury upon thy servants which do further thy Word in this world. O Lord, we know surely that thy true servants must needs suffer persecution for thy name’s sake, affliction and troubles in this present life which is but a shadow; but yet we desire thee, merciful Father, that thou defend thy congregation which thou hast chosen before the beginning of the world.’

The sentence must be pronounced, but the bishops were afraid to pronounce it before the people. They therefore gave orders to have the church cleared, and this could only be done slowly, as many of the people who had a wish to hear Wishart were removed with difficulty. At length, when the prelates and their colleagues found themselves almost alone, sentence of death was passed on Wishart, and the cardinal ordered his guards to take him back to the castle. Confined in the governor’s room, he spent the greater part of the night in prayer. The next morning the bishops sent to him two friars who asked him if he did not want a confessor. ‘I will make no confession unto you,’ he answered; ‘go and fetch me yonder man that preached yesterday, and I will make my confession unto him.’ When Winryme was come, they talked together for some time. Then[204] the dean said, ‘Have you a wish to receive the sacrament of the supper?’ ‘Assuredly,’ replied Wishart, ‘if it be administered according to the institution of the Lord, with the bread and the wine.’ Winryme then went to the cardinal and declared to him that the man was innocent. Beatoun, inflamed with anger, said, ‘And you, we have long known what you are!’ Winryme having inquired if he might give the sacrament to the prisoner. ‘No,’ replied the cardinal, ‘it is not fitting to grant any of the benefits of the Church to a heretic.’[352]

The next morning at nine o’clock the governor of the castle informed Wishart that the communion was refused him. Then, as he was going to breakfast with his dependents and servants, he invited Wishart to join them at the meal. ‘Right willingly,’ he answered, ‘especially because I know that you and yours are good men and are united with me in the same body of Christ.’[353]

When the table was spread and the members of the household had taken their places, Wishart said to the governor, ‘Give me leave, for the Saviour’s sake, to make a brief exhortation.’ It was to him an opportunity of celebrating the true Supper. He reminded his hearers of the institution of the sacred feast, and of the Lord’s death. He exhorted those who sat at table with him to lay aside all hatred, to love one another and to lead a holy life. After this he gave thanks, and then took the bread and brake it, and gave of it to such as he knew were willing to communicate, and bade them feed spiritually on Christ. Taking a cup, he spoke of the blood shed for the remission of sins, drank of it and gave them to drink. ‘I shall no more drink of this cup,’[205] said he, ‘no more eat of this bread in this life; a bitterer draught is reserved for me, because I have preached Christ. Pray that I may take that cup with patience, as the Lord’s appointment.’ He concluded with further giving of thanks and then retired to his chamber.

On a plot of ground to the west of the castle and not far from the priory, men were already busily engaged, some in preparing the pile, others erecting the gallows. The place of execution was surrounded by soldiers, and the gunners had their cannon in position and stood beside them ready to fire. One would have thought that preparations were making for a siege. The cardinal had ordered these measures fearing lest Wishart’s many friends should take him away, and perhaps still more for the sake of making a display of his own power. Meanwhile the windows in the castle-yard were adorned with hangings, silken draperies, and velvet cushions, that the cardinal and the prelates might enjoy at their ease the spectacle of the pile and of the tortures which they were going to inflict on that righteous man.[354]

When all was ready, two of the deathsmen entered Wishart’s prison. One of them brought and put on him a coat of black cloth, the other tied small bags of powder to various parts of his body. Next they bound his hands firmly behind him, put a rope round his neck and a chain about his waist, and led him forth in the midst of a party of soldiers. When he came to the pile he knelt down and prayed. Then he rose and said to the people—‘Christian brethren and sisters, be not offended in the Word of God for the affliction and torments which ye see already prepared for me; but I exhort you that you love the Word of God, and suffer patiently and with a comfortable heart, for the Word’s sake which is your undoubted salvation and everlasting comfort. My doctrine was no old wives’ fable after the[206] constitutions made by men. But for the true evangely, which was given to me by the grace of God, I suffer this day by men, not sorrowfully, but with a glad heart and mind. For this cause I was sent: that I should suffer this fire, for Christ’s sake. This grim fire I fear not. Some have said of me that I taught that the soul of man should sleep until the last day. But I know surely and my faith is such that my soul shall sup with my Saviour Christ this night (ere it be six hours), for whom I suffer this.’[355] Then he prayed—‘I beseech thee, Father of heaven! to forgive them that have of any ignorance or else have of any evil mind forged any lies upon me: I forgive them with all my heart. I beseech Christ to forgive them that have condemned me to death this day ignorantly.’ The hangman fell on his knees before him and said, ‘I pray you forgive me.’ ‘Come hither to me,’ replied Wishart; and he kissed him, and added, ‘Lo, here is a token that I forgive thee. My heart, do thine office.’ He was then bound with ropes to the stake, and said, ‘Saviour of the world, have mercy on me! Father of heaven, into thy hands I commit my spirit.’ The executioner lighted the fire. The cardinal and his accomplices beheld from the windows the martyr and the fire which was consuming him. The governor of the castle watching the flames exclaimed, ‘Take courage.’ Wishart answered, ‘This fire torments my body, but noways abates my spirit.’ Then catching sight of the cardinal at the window with his courtiers, he added, ‘He who in such state, from that high place, feedeth his eyes with my torments, within few days shall be hanged out at the same window to be seen with as much ignominy as he now leaneth there in pride.’[356] Some authors consider these words, reported by Bu[207]chanan, to be an instance of that second sight with which they allege the Scots to be endowed. Wishart, however, did not need an extraordinary revelation to teach him that ‘the wicked goeth away in his wickedness.’ He had hardly uttered those words when the rope was tightened about his neck, so that he lost the power of speaking. The fire reduced his body to ashes; and the bishops, full of steadfast hatred of this servant of God, caused an order to be published that same evening through all the town, that no one should pray for their victim under the severest penalties. They knew what respect was felt for him by many even of the Catholics themselves.

There are people who say that religion is a fable. A life and a death such as those of Wishart show that it is a great reality.

The death of Wishart excited in Scotland feelings of very diverse character. The bishops and their adherents extolled to the skies the cardinal who, without troubling himself about the regent’s authority, and suppressing the insolence of the people, had constituted himself the defender of Rome and of the priesthood. ‘Ah,’ said they, ‘if the Church had formerly had such champions, she would keep all things under her dominion by the very force and weight of her majesty.’

Simple-hearted Christians lamented the martyrdom without a thought of revenge. But one part of the people, and with them several of the most eminent men,[208] condemned aloud at table and everywhere the cardinal’s cruelty, and declared that the blood which had been shed called for vengeance. Even those who, without sharing Wishart’s views, were actuated by just and generous sentiments, asked themselves what hope they could have of preserving their liberties under the most cruel of tyrants; under a prelate who made war alike on men and on God; who pursued with his enmity every one that possessed wealth or was animated by piety, and sacrificed them to his caprice like beasts taken from the stall;[357] who gave his sanction to connections with worthless mistresses, and dissolved lawful marriages at his pleasure; who in his own house wallowed in debauchery with prostitutes, and out of doors, in his wrath, revelled in the slaughter of innocent men and in the blood of heretics.[358] Such is the portrait of Beatoun drawn by Buchanan.

The cardinal, who could not remain ignorant of these speeches, was desirous of strengthening his power by means of new alliances. He therefore gave one of his daughters, Margaret Beatoun—whose mother was Mary, daughter of Sir James Ogilvy—in marriage to David Lindsay, son of the earl of Crawford, with a portion of four thousand marks. The nuptials were celebrated with a magnificence almost royal. That a priest could celebrate with so much parade the nuptials of his daughter showed that he was destitute even of that honorable shame which is excited by the dread of anything that violates decency. He believed himself to be stronger than all Scotland, and by his despotic measures he was constantly adding to the number of his enemies.

Among those who had served him with the utmost devotion was Norman Lesley, brother of the earl of[209] Rothes. On occasion of Lesley’s reminding the cardinal of certain promises which he had made to him, they got to high words and parted bitter foes.[359] Thenceforth Lesley was head of the disaffected, and by setting before his friends the intolerable pride of the cardinal he induced them to join in a conspiracy against his life.[360] His uncle, John Lesley, did not shrink from saying before them all, clapping his right hand at the same time on his sword, ‘This hand shall draw this old sword, and they two shall be the cardinal’s confessors,’ meaning thereby that they should dismiss him into the other world. The saying was reported to Beatoun, but he made light of it, fancying himself perfectly safe in the blockhouse—a kind of fortress—which he had built. ‘I laugh at all that noise,’ said he, ‘and I would not give a button for such bragging. Is not my lord governor mine? Witness his eldest son their pledge at my table. Have I not the queen at my own devotion? Is not France my friend, and am not I friend to France? What danger should I fear?’ Nevertheless Beatoun, for the purpose of cutting off those who troubled him, ordered all his creatures, gentlemen of Fifeshire, to meet him at Falkland on Monday, May 31. The Lesleys and a certain number of their friends were to be taken prisoners and put to death. On the other side, Lesley and his accomplices had no embarrassing scruples at all. The right of the strongest was still frequently appealed to in that half barbarian age. A coup d’état, with deeds of violence, was a quite familiar occurrence. These nobles looked on Wishart’s death, without the concurrence of the civil judges, which the lawful government had refused, as a murder; and they considered that as Beatoun was a murderer he[210] ought to be himself put to death. They did not reflect that they were making themselves guilty of the very crime which Beatoun had committed, that of putting themselves in the place of the regular judges. The right of war between feudal lords, which had not yet ceased to be recognized, sufficed to justify them in their own eyes. It was arranged that Norman Lesley, with his brother and four of his friends, should go to St. Andrews, where the cardinal was residing, and that they should take up their lodging in the hostelry at which they were accustomed to stay, so as not to awaken any suspicion. They entered the town accordingly, and without fear, although the place swarmed with the friends, dependents, and creatures of the mighty primate. Some of the inhabitants who shared their views held themselves in readiness at the first signal to give them assistance. They agreed to seize the castle at early morning, before the household were up.

On Friday, May 28, in the evening, Norman Lesley arrived at St. Andrews, where he found William Kirkaldy of Grange awaiting him. John Lesley, on whom the cardinal’s suspicions chiefly fell, came last. The conspirators took counsel in the night, and on Saturday, May 29, at three o’clock in the morning, started on their enterprise, the capture of a strong castle which was held by more than a hundred men prepared for resistance. They came by various ways, and met in the churchyard of the abbey, not far from the castle. Beatoun, well knowing the feelings of indignation which his proceedings had aroused in the country, even amongst his own flatterers, had determined to turn his place of abode into a citadel fit to stand a siege.[361] The works were in progress, and this circumstance facilitated the daring attempt now to be made by his enemies. The primate pressed the work on so urgently that it hardly[211] ceased by day or by night. Consequently the gates were open early in the morning, and the drawbridge was let down for the workmen to bring in stone, mortar, and other necessary building materials. The Lesleys, who with some of their companions were concealed in a small house near the gates, had sent thence William Kirkaldy and six others. These having passed the gates hailed the porter, and said to him, ‘Is my lord cardinal waking?’ ‘No,’ replied he. Mary Ogilvy, the mother of Margaret and of two sons, David and Alexander Beatoun, had spent the night at the castle. She was seen going away early in the morning by the private postern.[362] The cardinal, at the moment of the arrival of the Lesleys and their friends, was in a sound sleep. While William Kirkaldy was talking to the porter, and the latter was about to show him the way, Norman and John Lesley came up one after the other with arms. The porter, in alarm, would have put himself on the defensive; but one of the conspirators broke his head, got possession of his keys, and threw his body into the fosse. At that moment the workmen, numbering more than a hundred, fled through the wicket-gate at full speed, and William Kirkaldy took possession of the private postern, ‘fearing that the fox should have escaped.’ As the assailants were only sixteen, they felt the need of proceeding with great caution. The leaders sent four of their company, among whom were Peter Carmichael, a tall, stout-hearted gentleman, and James Melville of Cumbec, to guard the cardinal’s door and see that no one gave him warning of his danger. Others of the company, who had some acquaintance with the place and the people, were set to watch the bedrooms of the officers and servants of the cardinal. Distributing themselves in small groups, they entered the rooms successively, found the occupants half asleep, and said to them, ‘If you utter the faintest cry you are dead[212] men!’[363] Those men therefore, in their fright, dressed themselves hastily and were led out of the castle, no violence being done to any of them and no noise made. The only person whom they left in the castle was the regent’s eldest son. John Lesley, alone in this vast abode, knocked loudly at the cardinal’s door. ‘What means that noise?’ said he. ‘That Norman Lesley has taken the castle,’ was the reply; ‘open.’ At these words Beatoun ran towards the postern, but seeing that it was guarded, he returned straightway into his room, seized his two-handed sword, and bade his valet barricade the door. ‘Open,’ they cried again. The cardinal answered, ‘Who calls?’—‘My name is Lesley.’—‘Is that Norman?’—‘Nay, my name is John.’ The cardinal, remembering John’s words, cried, ‘I will have Norman, for he is my friend.’—‘Content yourself with such as are here, for other shall ye get none,’ replied John. While the knocks at the door grew louder, the cardinal seized a box of gold and hid it in a corner. Then he said, ‘Will ye save my life?’—‘It may be that we will,’—said John.—‘Nay,’ replied Beatoun, ‘swear unto me by God’s wounds, and I shall open to you.’

Then John Lesley cried out, ‘Fire! fire!’ The door was too strong to burst open, and they brought a grate full of burning coals. Just as it was ready the cardinal ordered the door to be opened. Lesley and his companions rushed into the chamber and found Beatoun seated on a chair. Lesley threw himself violently upon him. ‘I am a priest! I am a priest!’ exclaimed the cardinal. ‘Ye will not slay me!’

But Lesley struck him with his sword, and Carmichael, full of wrath, did the same. Melville, a man of gentle and serious character, says Knox,[364] seeing his comrades in so great a rage, checked them. He said, ‘This work[213] and judgment of God, although it be secret, yet ought to be done with greater gravity.’ Melville and others, by reason of the ignorance and the prejudices of the age, sincerely believed in the legal virtue of the Mosaic system, abolished by the Gospel, which conferred on certain persons the right of killing a murderer, but which founded at the same time the cities of refuge in which the guilty man should be safe from the vengeance of the pursuer.[365]

Melville forgot that there was no city of refuge for Beatoun. Regarding him as a murderer, and not supposing that by killing him he did himself incur the guilt of murder, he presented to him the point of his sword, and said gravely to him, ‘Repent thee of thine former wicked life, but especially of the shedding of the blood of that notable instrument of God, Mr. George Wishart; which albeit the flame of fire consumed before men, yet cries it a vengeance upon thee, and we from God are sent to revenge it. Here before my God I protest that neither the hatred of thy person, the love of thy riches, or the fear of any trouble thou couldst have done to me in particular, moved or moveth me to strike thee.’ And he struck him with his sword.

The cardinal fell under repeated blows, without a word heard out of his mouth except these, ‘I am a priest! I am a Priest! Fie, fie! All is gone!’[366]

It was very soon known all over the city that the castle had been taken. The friends and the creatures of the cardinal rose very quietly from their beds, says Buchanan, armed themselves, and presently appeared in a crowd about the fosse. They shouted with all their might, uttered threats and insults, and demanded shells and all the necessary means for making the assault. ‘You are making much noise to little purpose,’ said those in the castle to them; ‘the best it were to you to return to your own houses.’

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The crowd answered, ‘What have ye done with my lord cardinal? Let us see my lord cardinal!’—‘The man that you call the cardinal,’ it was replied, ‘has received his reward, and in his own person will trouble the world no more.’ But his partisans only cried the louder, ‘We shall never depart till we see him,’ still persuaded that he was alive. Then one or two men took up the body, and bearing it to the very window at which a little while before Beatoun had sat to contemplate with gladness, and as if in triumph, the execution of the pious Wishart, exposed it there to the gaze of all.[367] Beatoun’s friends and the populace, struck with amazement and terror by the unexpected sight, and remembering Wishart’s prediction, dispersed in gloom and consternation.

The tidings of this murder were speedily spread over all the land, and, while some angrily denounced it, others welcomed it as an event which restored their country to liberty. There were indeed some who, like James Melville, reckoned it a lawful act. But even among the enemies of the cardinal there were men wise and moderate, who looked on the murder with horror. It is remarked by one historian that of those who took part in it few escaped the judgment of God, who punishes transgressors by smiting them with the same stroke with which they have smitten others.[368]

The Lesleys and their friends remained masters of the castle, and they kept with them James, Lord Hamilton, afterwards earl of Arran, the regent’s eldest son, whom Beatoun had detained as his hostage, and who now became theirs. One of the conspirators, who believed that in delivering Scotland from the tyrant they had done a praiseworthy deed, William Kirkaldy,[215] went to London. He obtained from Henry VIII., who considered the taking of the castle and the events which had accompanied it to be a lawful revolution, a declaration that he was prepared to take the party under his protection, on condition, however, that the marriage contract between Edward and Mary should be carried out. As communication by sea was easy between the castle and London, English ships conveyed thither all supplies that were needful.

Hamilton, a bastard brother of the regent, was named by him archbishop of St. Andrews, and was confirmed by Pope Paul III. This energetic prelate immediately pressed on his brother the duty of besieging the castle and of punishing all those who had taken it. He was strongly supported by others. On August 23, 1546, the main body of the army set out from Edinburgh to form the siege; but at the end of July, 1547,[369] the capture of the fortress being evidently hopeless, terms were made with the besieged advantageous to them, but which neither side had any intention of observing. This period forms an important epoch, and we must suspend for a while the course of our narrative.

We have now traced the history of the ministry and the martyrdom of Patrick Hamilton and George Wishart. We shall have by-and-by to trace, Deo adjuvante, the mighty action of the third and greatest of the Scottish reformers, John Knox.

The period, the history of which we have just gone over, was one of active persecution. It remains for us to recount the events of the contest with the papacy, into which the Scottish nobility energetically entered, and the victory of the Reformation. Without entering at present upon the narrative of facts, we shall cast a[216] glance forward in order to point out what was to give the victory to evangelical Christianity. Assuredly it was not such actions as the capture of the castle and the violent death of the persecutor. Such things are more likely to ruin a cause than to save it. The Christian life and death of Wishart contributed far more powerfully than the death of Beatoun to the advancement of the kingdom of God. The history of the Scottish Reformation serves to show the untruth of one assertion frequently made by the enemies of the Reform.

According to them, the Reform could triumph only in those countries in which it had the protection of princes. This is a serious error. It was not the bloodthirsty Philip II. who established the Reformation in the United Provinces of the Netherlands. It was neither the feeble James V. nor the popish Mary Stuart who secured its triumph in Scotland. That worthy niece of the Guises sought only to crush it. A stronger arm than theirs fought against those mighty ones and gave the victory to the weak. The enemies of the Reformation made use in Scotland of the very weapons which in Italy, in Spain, and elsewhere arrested the movement of regeneration. The reformers were burnt also in Scotland, but the Reform arose out of their ashes. It was neither to their character nor to their strength that the Scots attributed the triumph. They knew that Jesus is the king of the Church, and that it is he who saves it. This is the feature which more than any other, as we shall see, characterized the Scottish Reformation. Andrew Melville said to James VI., ‘Sire, there are two kings and two kingdoms in Scotland. There is King James, the head of the state, and there is Jesus Christ who is head of the Church.’[370] To the king enthroned at Rome, the Scottish Reformation opposed the king enthroned in heaven, and to him it attributed the victory.

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But in proclaiming this supreme authority, the reformation in Scotland also established the duties and the rights of Christians. The charge of leading the Church in conformity with the law of God was there intrusted to general assemblies elected by the free choice of a Christian people.[371] The clergy had ruled in Scotland throughout the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and during the first part of the sixteenth. The Reformation rescued the country from that clerical domination, and gave to it the first of all liberties, the freedom of faith. For centuries three powers had existed there,—the king, the nobles, and the priests, and the last had kept the upper hand. After the Reformation, two of these still remained, the king and the nobles; but the people took the place of the clergy. It was under a popular form, that of Presbyterianism, that the Church of Scotland constituted itself. The feudal castles had for some time still a marked influence on the destinies of the country; but the tide of national and Christian life was steadily rising all round their walls and soon overflowed the ancient battlements which crowned the summits of those old fortresses. Laymen, the deputies of the people, obtained a voice in the presbytery, in the synod, and in the general assembly. Thus, by successive steps, the voice of the people became, through the influence of Reform, the expression of the main force of the country.

It is a grave error to attribute, as some have done, to the Protestant pastors of Scotland an incomprehensible domination, ‘an authority nowise inferior to that which they had exercised as Catholic priests,’ and to represent them as ‘the most effectual obstacle to popular progress.’[372] Nothing has in fact been less like the haughty Catholic prelates of St. Andrews, Glasgow, and other dioceses, than a Scottish minister. The Reformation gave to Scotland not only Christian truth, but religious and[218] political liberty besides. There, as everywhere, it took from the priesthood its magic and its supremacy, which had been its two main attributes in the Middle Ages. The ministers, whom it substituted for the priests, having no longer the marvellous power of transforming a bit of bread into God the Creator,—these disciples of Jesus, no longer seated on the despotic throne of the confessional to give pardon for sins, became simple heralds of the divine Word. This holy Word has its place in every family and reigns supreme in the Church. Thus, ministers have ceased to be masters and have become servants. The real offence of these Scottish pastors, in the sight of their detractors, is that they have always been a great obstacle, not to the progress of the people and of civilization, as some have said, but to the progress of unbelief and materialism. Now these mischievous doctrines are mortal enemies to the freedom and prosperity of nations.

BOOK XI.

CALVIN, AND THE PRINCIPLES OF HIS REFORM.

CHAPTER I.
CALVIN AT GENEVA AND IN THE PAYS DE VAUD.
(1536.)

For years, and even for centuries, persistent and perilous endeavors had been made at Geneva for a firm establishment of freedom. We have already described some of the impressive scenes which marked the successful close of these efforts at the beginning of the sixteenth century, the noble principles and the mighty words of the energetic laborers in this great enterprise.[373] It would certainly be going too far to consider their labors and the truths which they announced as the source whence our modern liberties have sprung. But it is impossible to study the events of that epoch without emotion, or without recognizing aspirations, principles, sacrifices, and actions worthy of admiration, which were in fact the first great burst of light, the first noteworthy manifestation of the politics and the virtues which must determine the existence and make the prosperity of nations.[374]

That small town was, however, to give to the world a higher lesson still. It was to do for religion what it[220] had first done for politics, and to render to faith the service which it had rendered to freedom. These two achievements are closely related to each other; and it is one of the characteristics of this history, that while it attributes transcendent importance to Christian truth and life, it recognizes at the same time all that is great and salutary in freedom. If the author, as some have thought, had erred in assigning too high a place to the heroic struggles to which Geneva owed her independence, he would assuredly regret that he had not more skilfully handled the pen of the historian for the purpose of immortalizing the great men and the heroic actions of which the smallest and humblest of states afforded the spectacle. But he would count himself fortunate if he should, nevertheless, have contributed to bring into clear light the great maxim, that political freedom and Christian truth must advance hand in hand for the salvation of nations and the salvation of souls. Of course, a blind demagogy, the formidable rock of our age, is at once contrary to freedom and hostile to religion.

Geneva was fitted by various concurring conditions to play a part from which the small extent of her territory seemed inevitably to shut her out. Situated as this town was between Italy, France, and Germany, its position formed the central point of the three great nations who were distinguished in the first half of the sixteenth century for their new or newly awakened love of letters, philosophy, and the arts. On several occasions Frenchmen, Italians, and Germans came in large numbers to settle at Geneva. By the reception of these three diverse elements into her bosom she seemed to be called to blend them with each other and to harmonize their opposing qualities. If any spark from the evangelical fire which was then kindled should chance to escape from either of those countries and to fall on the materials thus prepared at the foot of the Alps, it might[221] kindle a great fire, and might make Geneva a hearth from which light, radiating far and wide, should contribute to scatter the humiliating darkness which Rome and those princes whose power was at her service then made to weigh heavily on the nations.

This is what actually came to pass. To convert the spark into a pure, vivid, dazzling light, there was need of an intellect of vast depth, a will of vast energy, and a faith of vast power.

God sent the man that was needed.

A young stranger, a native of Picardie, had lately arrived at Geneva. It had not occurred to him nor to his friends that he could be the organ by whose agency and means God would bring about such great ends. After his arrival Farel still continued to hold the first place in the city. This young man, John Calvin, was naturally timid, and was possessed by a dread of publicity which had already shown itself at Basel and which led him to shun every occasion that would draw public attention to himself. He was fond of study and of writing: and in that path he believed that it was appointed for him to contribute to the diffusion in the world of a truth which was already dearer to him than life. He purposed to turn to account that one talent in retirement, without quitting his study. That is what he was then doing at Geneva. He was steadily engaged in translating into French his ‘little book,’ the Institution Chrétienne, which he hoped ere long to send to his friends in France.[375] The letter mentioned in the note shows clearly that the Institution Chrétienne was first written in Latin.

Farel wished for more: he desired Calvin to become,[222] at Geneva, pastor, preacher, and doctor. The young man refused this threefold function. The office of pastor would have required him to take part in the government of the Church, and he was not willing to do so. As to the office of preacher, we have the most positive testimony of his contemporaries and of his most intimate friends that, in the fresh glow of his faith, he had simply undertaken the task of an evangelist in some districts of France. But the post which was offered to him at Geneva would have compelled him to mix more or less in public affairs and in the debates of the councils. He trembled at the thought, and wished rather to confine himself strictly within the bounds of that literary and theological life which he loved so well. He consented therefore to dwell in the city, not for the purpose of preaching, but to read in theology.[376] He went even further. ‘I would not,’ he said, ‘bind myself to undertake an official charge.’[377] He consented to make trial of teaching, but without any title or any engagement, and thus reserved to himself perfect liberty. Probably no one ever entered as he did on a career at once painful and brilliant without suspecting its results, and even rejecting it with his utmost energy.

Calvin commenced his work as Reader in the Holy Scriptures at Geneva, or, as he styles himself, Professor of Sacred Literature in the Genevese Church. His lectures were delivered not in any house or in any academic hall, but in the cathedral itself, a circumstance which invested his teaching with an importance of which Calvin had certainly not dreamed. The doors were opened for this novel service in the afternoon, and the Genevese, who felt the need of substantial teaching, crowded to hear the young doctor. He expounded several books[223] of the New Testament, particularly the Epistles. One characteristic of his manner of teaching at Geneva from the first was the combination of simplicity and solidity. A new light was then rising. It was not, to be sure, the sun in its brightness. The timidity and the shyness which Calvin attributes to himself may well have shown themselves in his first attempts. The Commentaries on the New Testament, which he published at a later period, have a completeness which his earliest expositions could not attain. But they are a sufficiently faithful representation of the kind of teaching which he adopted at St. Peter’s church. It was not grammatical and etymological explanation of the text; nor was it, on the other hand, a pathetic discourse. Calvin set forth in clear light everything in the Scriptures which characterizes the Christian doctrine and life. He first meditated on his subject, then delivered his lectures extempore; and the animated and powerful individuality of the master imparted to them an influence which carried away and multiplied his hearers. It was not in his nature to do a merely intellectual task. He consoled, he exhorted, he censured. But his chief aim was to illustrate the labor of love which Jesus Christ had accomplished, and to make known its necessity and grandeur. Two points in the Christian doctrine especially struck him, the one dark and mournful, the other bright like sunshine. ‘Our souls,’ said he, ‘are an abyss of iniquity, so that we are compelled to have recourse to the fountain of all good, which is Jesus Christ.’[378]

The exposition, defence, and application of the great facts of Christianity formed the substance of Calvin’s work at Geneva and in Christendom. It is a mistake to suppose that his principal business was the introduction and the maintenance of discipline in the Church. It is not to be doubted that he wished for order: that he[224] wished absolutely for a Christian way of life; but it was not he who, as some believe, first introduced measures of discipline, nor was the maintenance of those measures the task of his life. Speaking of them,[379] he defends himself from the charge of being their author. ‘I observe and do whatsoever I have found,’ said he, ‘as one who takes no pleasure in making any innovation.’ It was the magistrate, who, being in Geneva head both of the Church and of the state, prescribed and enforced the laws of discipline. Before Calvin’s arrival at Geneva, we have seen how De la Rive was sentenced to banishment for having his child baptized by a priest. The year before some men, women, and magistrates had been condemned to the crotton (black hole) for immorality. At the moment at which this stranger, whose name even was hardly known, had just crossed the threshold of the city—on the eve of the day on which Farel was to introduce him to the magistrate (Monday, September 4, 1536)—a remarkable scene was taking place in the Council of the Two Hundred, which seems placed at that epoch as if on purpose to resolve distinctly the question which engages our attention. ‘Gentlemen,’ said the syndics, ‘we have all pledged ourselves in public council to live according to the Gospel, and nevertheless there are some here who do not go to preaching.’ At these words the councillor and former syndic Richardet, a fine, tall, and powerful man, but very passionate, rose in wrath and exclaimed with loud voice, ‘Nobody shall lord it over my conscience; and I will not go to sermon at the bidding of a Syndic Porral.’[380] Porral, a man of highly cultivated mind and a very active magistrate, had declared himself decisively for the Reform, and he was even charged to prosecute certain classes of delinquents. It had been enacted, on July 24, that those who refused to go to the preaching must quit the city[225] in ten days. Richardet was not alone in his resolution. The question having been put to J. Philippe and two other councillors whether they would attend the preaching of the Word of God, ‘We will not be compelled,’ they said, ‘but will live in our liberty.’ These citizens were right in maintaining their liberty, and the magistrates were in the wrong. Calvin was far away from Geneva on July 24; and, generally speaking, he was not of so peremptory a temper as some imagine. There was a certain sphere in which he maintained liberty, and maintained it even against powerful adversaries. ‘Touching ceremonies,’ thus he wrote to the formidable lords of Berne, ‘they are things indifferent, and the churches are free to adopt a diversity of them.’[381] Still, we cannot deny it, Calvin thought—and these are his own words—that since there is no house, however small it be, which can be maintained in its proper state without discipline, it is much more requisite in the Church, which ought to be better ordered than any house. He went further. He asserted that the state has the right and is bound to take notice of matters of discipline, and to punish transgressors. It is to be regretted that the fine genius of Calvin did not make an exception in this case to the rule adopted ten centuries earlier by all Christendom, and that he did not convince the state that its heavy hand must not intervene in matters of religion. It is however fair to ask ourselves whether, in the sixteenth century, such an effort would not have been a superhuman task.

Calvin himself made known to us his own thought when he said, ‘The doctrine of our Lord Jesus Christ is the soul of the Church.’[382] He set forth that doctrine in the church of St. Peter just as it is found in Scripture, and so diffused it in the world. Certainly it was not by discipline that he made his con[226]quests. He bore the torch of truth. Devoid of ambition, having no designs reaching beyond Geneva, without any secret policy such as the Jesuits are skilled in, and armed with one weapon only, the truth, he triumphed over the greatest difficulties. Farel, Viret, Beza would not have sufficed. In this man of feeble constitution and humble aspect there were an unquenchable resolution, an energetic will. He held fast, as seeing him who is invisible. Established in this small town, he became God’s instrument, first for the spread of the Reformation in the West, then for defending it against the attacks of Rome and Loyola and Philip II. A new time was born for the world.

Nevertheless it was not Calvin alone, as some appear to believe, who effected this great revolution. Had he come into the midst of a people indolent and effeminate, such victories would not have been won. But the Genevese had been preparing for centuries, by means of the struggles which they had gone through, for the maintenance of their liberty. A life of toil, incessant industry, and rude combats had inured them to blows. Their souls had been elevated. They were naturally keen and decisive; but that iron, already brilliant, had acquired by tempering an inflexible hardness. The heroism of the Huguenots of Geneva became one of the elements which contributed to the triumph of the Reformation. The character of those strong men was as essential to the work as coal is for the conversion of iron into steel. It was not Calvin the individual, it was Geneva in its entirety, that vanquished Rome. The energy of the Bertheliers, the Lévriers, and of many others, was one of the ingredients of the moral energy of which Geneva became the hearth, and which had almost disappeared from history. The most earnest of the Genevese Huguenots joined the reformer; the masses supported him; and some Frenchmen who had passed through the sieve of persecution, worthy also to be called Huguenots, gave[227] the hand to the sons of Geneva. And when, after achieving its triumph, the Reformation found itself attacked by a numerous and powerful army, assembled under the banners of kings, of Ignatius Loyola, and the pope, Geneva and the men of her school, who were found in all parts of Christendom, were able to resist the hostile force, and to say to it, ‘No further shalt thou go!’

There was, indeed, in the struggle for the renewal of Christendom, one will which conceived, one personality which acted, one voice which resounded with a force till then almost unknown, and in a thousand directions: it was, next to Luther’s, that of Calvin. But while a great general is indispensable in the day of battle, so also is an army trained by him for energetic conflict. The part which Geneva played in the sixteenth century is not explained by the character of one man alone, but by many concurrent circumstances both moral and political. That army, created by a vivifying breath from on high, was soon in action wherever a struggle became necessary. Those soldiers went forth into the world, braved danger, displayed their colors, and proclaimed salvation, until at length Rome gave them the martyr’s death, and God gave them the crown of immortality. Calvin and the Huguenots, that is the great motto of the sixteenth century.

Farel, as we have seen, had taken on himself the responsibility of enrolling the young doctor and of opening to him the church of St. Peter. Charmed with Calvin’s method of exposition of the Holy Scriptures, that veteran champion of the Reformation expressed his opinion on the subject to the magistrates. On Tuesday, September 5, 1536, the day after the famous altercation respecting religious liberty had taken place in the Council of the Two Hundred, William Farel appeared before the council and gave an account of the teaching of the young foreigner, which some of the[228] members of that body had probably attended, and added—‘The lectures which this Frenchman[383] has begun at St. Peter’s are very necessary. I therefore entreat you to retain him and to make provision for his maintenance.’ The council determined to advise that the stranger, whose name was not even uttered, should be retained. Many had seen him. The pale countenance, the spare form, the modest bearing, the timorous air of this refugee of twenty-seven, had not given the impression of his being a person of note. The council did not even make him a present of a dress or anything of the kind, as it was customary to do. It waited, no doubt, to see whether it was worth while. The man whose name was shortly to fill the city and the whole Christian world, entered almost incognito into Geneva. Every one was at that time thinking of Farel. On September 8 that reformer, ‘having addressed a remonstrance to the council,’ it was resolved ‘that since the writings of the aforesaid Guillaume are so divine, he should preach at six o’clock in the morning in the church of St. Germain, and that the councillors should be bound to attend there, and pass thence, at seven, into the council.’[384]

Calvin’s lectures were soon interrupted. At the end of September, Farel with his young friend as his assistant quitted Geneva to go to Lausanne, whither an urgent duty called them. An important assembly was going to be held in the chief city of the Pays de Vaud.

Farel, Viret, and other evangelists, as already related, had introduced the Reformation into such parts of that country as were subject to the Swiss cantons; but the other parishes of that fair land had still remained subject to the pope. Meanwhile Luther’s writings were everywhere circulated, the eyes of the people began to be opened, and several evangelists, particularly Jean[229] Lecomte, a gentleman of Picardie, had preached the Gospel in various places. The occupation of the country by the Bernese, on occasion of the expedition which delivered Geneva in 1536, hastened the fall of Roman Catholicism. When the Bernese had taken Yverdon with the sword, they transformed the church of that town in a somewhat soldierly fashion. They bluntly put an end to the exercise of the Romish religion; appointed Malingre to be minister; on March 15 had their religious ordinances published; burnt, March 17, the images out of the churches in the market-place, and ordered the ministers to preach in temples cleared of those abominations. Lecomte, Tissot, Meige, and other evangelists introduced the Reform, but by the spiritual means of preaching, at Cossonay, Montagny, Yvonand, Sainte-Croix, and other places. Avenches and Lutry showed themselves decidedly Catholic, and they determined that if by any chance a minister should go there, they would not go to hear him.

In March 1536, as Viret and Fabry were passing near Yverdon during the siege of that town by the Bernese army, some Lausannese officers who were serving in it and who were acquainted with Viret, stopped him and said, ‘When Yverdon is taken, we shall go to Lausanne: come with us and preach the Gospel there in spite of the bishop.’ They did so. The amiable and discreet Viret would have been ill pleased to see Lausanne reformed by the military method, like Yverdon. He preferred the sword of the Spirit to that of the Bernese soldiery. He would choose that, in the sloping streets of that city and within its beautiful cathedral, the still small voice should be heard, and not the hissing of the tempest and the crash of thunder. He preached therefore the ‘glad tidings of great joy,’ and preached them with success, in the church of the convent of St. Francis. The Canons complained bitterly to the council. ‘A strange thing this,’ they said, ‘to see in Lausanne two preachers at a time![230] A whole multitude of do-nothing monks, well and good! But two preachers of Jesus Christ, what useless waste!’ ‘The less preaching there is the better,’ said the friends of Rome. ‘The more preaching the better,’ said the friends of the Gospel. If the Canons did their duty, remarked some one, instead of two preachers we should have thirty.[385] The burgesses, as usual, took a middle course which must fail to satisfy either one party or the other. They resolved that the evangelists should preach in the church of Mary Magdalene, but without removing the altars, the fonts, the organs, the images, and other decorations, ‘which did no harm to anybody,’ said the burgesses; and that the friars of the Dominican order should also celebrate in the same church the Roman Catholic service in the usual way.[386] That is what the great Saxon reformer called ‘trying to bring together Luther and the pope.’

Viret therefore preached in that church. But when Lent was come, the Dominican Monbouson began to discourse in the cathedral, and maintained their Romish traditions with violence and plenty of lying. Viret was informed of it, and as he thought that the best way to refute the papal doctrine was to make it distinctly known, he put in writing the assertions of the friar and called upon him publicly to defend them, announcing that he was prepared to reply to him. Monbouson felt strong enough to maintain his thesis when he stood surrounded by a whole phalanx of scholastic doctors and had nobody to contradict him, but he grew pale in the presence of the young Viret. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘I would gladly do what you propose at Avignon, at Paris, or at Dôle; but at Lausanne there is nobody capable of judging of the matter.’—‘You ought then to preach only at Dôle, Paris, or Avignon,’ replied Viret; ‘but since you have lied at Lausanne, it is at Lausanne that satisfaction is[231] due.’ Then the friar, anxious to get out of his embarrassment, withdrew in the quietest manner and disappeared.[387] The reformed Christians did not think, with those gentlemen of Lausanne, that images, altars, etc., did nobody any harm. They believed that the paintings did harm. They believed that the people, thanks to the images, made for themselves many minor gods before which they bent their knees in order to obtain this or that favor, or the healing of this or that malady: that the visible made them forget the invisible: that it was frightful to think that, every time some simple soul came to worship God in his temple, those figures of saints became occasions of falling or of scandal. ‘Alas!’ they said, ‘how many poor creatures called to be children of God have been made by those images children of the devil!’ Those, therefore, of the reformed of Lausanne, in whose judgment the pictures of saints and angels seduced and almost inevitably led astray the weak, began to stir in the matter. Commencing with the church of the Magdalene, they removed the images and the altars and broke or burnt them. Then betaking themselves to the church of St. Francis, they did the same there, and counted themselves happy in thus keeping the commandment, Thou shalt have no other gods before me. The old folk of Lausanne, who were already disconsolate at being left without a bishop, were still more distressed when they found themselves deprived of their images and their masses; and they sent deputies to Berne to complain of it. The Bernese council listened to them with all politeness, and dismissed them with good words. Lausanne then sent another deputation, consisting of twelve persons of distinction. At Berne they were asked, ‘What is it that you want?’ ‘Two masses weekly,’ they replied, according to a Lausannese manuscript.[388] If the statement is true, the request was certainly very moderate for zealous Catholics. The con[232]cession was made to them, but it was coupled with the condition that they should provide ministers for all the churches that asked for them. At the same time they gave them to understand that it would be well to hold at Lausanne a great disputation on religion, in order to decide between Rome and Reform. That was a good deal to ask for the two masses which were granted them.

The Bernese, indeed, were anxious that the Vaudois, whose country they had recently conquered, should attach themselves to the Reformation. It was no doubt partly from a regard to political interests that they wished this, but they did not overlook the interest of religion. Be that as it may, the reformation of religion in that country was a source of great prosperity both temporal and spiritual. The Pays de Vaud was to offer the stranger, at a later time, not only those beauties of nature which excite our admiration, but still more, numerous examples of sincere and vital piety, which is far sweeter and pleasanter than its lakes, and more sublime than its peaks and glaciers. The seed which was scattered at the epoch of the Reformation, in its valleys and on its mountains, was truly the Word of God; and one cannot but see there the fulfilment of that ancient oracle, He that soweth to the Spirit shall of the Spirit reap everlasting life.

The conversion of Yverdon had been somewhat checked by the siege which the town had sustained. The lords of Berne wished in general to employ, like Viret, evangelical means; to reveal to their new subjects the grosser superstitions under whose yoke they had been held, and to give them the knowledge of the truth. For that end they resolved to appoint first a public disputation such as had been held at Zurich, Berne, and Geneva. As soon as the report was circulated in the country that a great assembly for discussion on matters of faith was to be held at Lausanne, the priests and their[233] friends were alarmed. The excitement extended to all the villages. The friends of the papacy expected to see black clouds gathering on the horizon, and a violent storm presently burst on the old ship which had carried their fathers, and make it founder, thus engulfing in the depths of the sea all the traditions of their doctrine and all the pomps of their worship. They determined to do everything in their power to oppose such an assembly, and they wrote to the bishop and to the council at Friburg, to the pope and to the emperor.

The cry of distress which they uttered was heard. The council of Friburg sent a deputation to Berne to oppose the projected meeting. Charles V., who was then in Italy, addressed a letter to the council of his imperial city, requiring it ‘to prevent that disputation as well as any change in matters of faith, to restore everything to its former state, to allow nothing contrary to the tenor of his edicts, and to await quietly the council.’ This missive was dated from Savigliano, July 3, 1536.[389]

It was evident that the country had arrived at a critical pass, and that it was necessary to find some way of escape. The remedy proposed by the priests and the monks was,—to draw back. They assailed the Reformation from the pulpit, and they hurried from house to house and circulated in the streets the most outrageous reports against the reformed and the Reformation. Some of them opposed the disputation by asserting that ‘the ministers are magicians who have in their service a multitude of demons by means of which they bewitch their hearers.’ Other priests made up their mind to put a good face on the matter. They blustered a good deal; they bragged of having already won many a victory over their adversaries. ‘Let them only give us permission to contend with them in a regular discussion,’ they said, ‘and we are strong enough to beat them.’[390]

[234]

The council of Berne no longer hesitated. Without awaiting the possible decision of the emperor, they issued, July 16, an edict in opposition to the orders of Charles. ‘We desire,’ the edict ran, ‘that the people of our territories, (which by the grace of God we have justly acquired by conquest,) should walk with all their hearts in the way which our Lord has commanded. Nevertheless that has not been done, and even gross insults have been offered to the preachers and to those who wished to follow the Gospel. Desirous of putting in order all these confused affairs, we enjoin all priests and monks, as well as the preachers, to present themselves at Lausanne, on October 1 next, for the purpose of proving what they believe, freely and frankly, by argument on the grounds of Holy Scripture. We address this appeal not only to those of our own territories, but to all comers and goers, of whatsoever nation they be, and we promise them safe-keeping. We further order that our priests and preachers attend the assembly from its opening to its close, without default, and under pain of our indignation.’[391]

A few days after the edict of Berne, some Savoyard ambassadors, on their way to the diet of Berne, delivered the emperor’s letter to the council of Lausanne. That body having laid on the table side by side the epistle of his Catholic majesty and the edict of the lords of Berne, found themselves, to their great dismay, placed between the anvil and the hammer. Pressed thus by the two conflicting parties, they foresaw nothing but calamity whether they resisted the one or the other. The imperial document was read to the general council July 23. Its members, the majority of whom were attached to the Romish Church, thought that the wisest plan was to obey the most powerful, and therefore, sheltering themselves under the order of the great poten[235]tate, they enacted that the parties should live peaceably together, but that no innovation should be made until after the decision of the council. At the same time a deputation set out for Berne in order to prevent the disputation. But all was useless. Berne was stronger than the Emperor Charles V. That prince was in Italy, and the absent are in the wrong.

The disputation of Lausanne inaugurates with a certain grandeur the Reformation of the Vaudois. Some look upon it as merely a Bernese project. But that imposing assembly, among whose speakers were all or nearly all the reformers of western Switzerland; at which the great evangelical questions were discussed; and by means of which some of those who were present were converted; is evidence that the Reform was truly the work of God. The Reformation had begun in that country, obscurely and modestly, in some districts on the banks of the Rhone, on the shores of the lake of Neuchâtel, and in others besides. It now announced itself with power, and the mass of the people were going to embrace it. Men discourse much in books about the beautiful. We find true beauty, Christian beauty, evangelical, inward, more veiled perhaps than that of the world, but more pure and more solid, in the doctrine then proclaimed at Lausanne, and often in the manner in which it was set forth, although we have to make allowance for the time. We find it in the Farels, the Calvins, the Virets and other heroic men of that epoch, who lived[236] with God, who were unwearied in their work, and were always ready to give their lives for the truth which they proclaimed. That synod was a beautiful portico erected to lead men into a temple of divine beauty.

Farel was preparing for the disputation; and on the Roman Catholic side there was much ado to find valiant champions. At Lausanne there was no canon, no priest, no monk who came forward to defend the doctrine by which till that day they had lived. It was necessary to beat to arms elsewhere. They did so; and at the end of September the Dominican Monbouson, Michod dean of Vevey, the vicars Drogy and Berrilly, and others besides, arrived, in the town. Two laymen alone represented Lausanne, the captain of the youth,[392] Fernand de Loys, and the French physician Blancherose. The latter was ‘un homme tenant de la lune’ (something of a lunatic), said the Catholic Pierrefleur, ‘who blends in his discussions medicine and theology, and excites boundless merriment.’ Viret, Marcourt, and Lecomte appeared for the reformed. From Geneva came Chapuis, a former Dominican, then pastor at Compesières, and Jacques Bernard, formerly superior of the Cordeliers. But the man who chiefly attracted attention was Farel, who was accompanied by a young man pale and modest, unknown by sight to most, and who appeared to be his assistant. It was John Calvin. Farel had urged him to come to Lausanne, but Calvin shrank from the thought of speaking in that great assembly. Still he was deeply interested in its proceedings. ‘The Senate of Berne,’ said he, ‘has declared that everyone is at liberty to state his objections freely, without need to fear being disturbed in consequence of it. That is the fittest means of exposing the ignorance of those who set themselves against the Gospel.’[393] These two men had set out in com[237]pany with the Syndic Porral, and they arrived with many others at the cathedral, in which the disputation was to be held. An amphitheatre had been constructed. The altars, pictures, statues, and rich ornaments of the Romish worship still displayed their magnificence; and even the canons, who were determined to keep silence, but nevertheless wished to do something, had brought out of their hiding-places the image of the holy Virgin and all those of the saints, trusting more, it would seem, to the eloquence of those dumb figures than to their own.

On the side of the Reformation there was no other preparation but some simple evangelical theses drawn up by Farel, and affixed to the doors of all the churches. They were entitled, ‘Conclusions which are to be discussed at Lausanne, a new province of Berne.’ In the form of ten articles it was declared,—that Holy Scripture teaches no other justification than that which is by faith in Jesus Christ, once for all offered in sacrifice—that it acknowledges no other head, priest, saviour, or mediator of the Church than Jesus Christ, seated at the right hand of God;—that it gives the name ‘Church of God’ only to the assembly of those who believe in their redemption by Jesus Christ alone. The other seven articles established the sacraments of baptism and the Lord’s supper—the ministry of the Word of God—confession made to God—absolution coming from God—spiritual service rendered to God, such as is ordained by the Word, and without the infinite mockeries which pervert religion—the civil magistrate ordained of God to maintain the peace of the Republic—marriage a divine institution for any class whatsoever—and the free use, so it be with charity, of things indifferent.[394]

On Sunday, October 1, all the bells were set a-going, and a great crowd filled the cathedral. But the lords[238] of Berne, in whose presence the disputation was to take place, had not yet arrived. It was a great disappointment. However, the opening took place on Sunday, although the discussion only began on Monday. It was Farel, the senior of the French reformers, the great champion of the Gospel in the district of Geneva, Vaud, and Neuchâtel, that Christian man, at once so learned and so pious, so devout and so active, who made the first speech, in which his design was to prepare the minds of those present for a becoming and Christian conference.[395] He said,—‘While Satan leads the sheep astray in order to destroy them, our Lord seeks to bring them back to his holy flock in order to save them. We shall never attain real unity except by means of the truth. A safe-conduct has therefore been given to all, to go and come, to speak and to hear, as shall seem good to them, for the truth must not be hidden. May it be the truth that wins the day! If I myself were wholly vanquished and put to confusion, while the truth had its triumph, I should count that the greatest gain and the best possible victory. Let all therefore, whether priests or preachers, have respect to the great shepherd Jesus Christ, who gave his body and his blood for the poor people. Let us prefer to be nothing, if only the poor sheep, gone so far astray, may find the right way, may come to Jesus and give themselves to God. That will be better than if we should gain all the world and lose those for whom Jesus died. If any man will exalt himself against Jesus, if any man will light against the faith, it would be better for him if he had never been born. Let us not despise our neighbor. Let us not[239] mock him. Let us not shut the door of the kingdom of heaven and take away the key of knowledge. Let us be free from all hatred and rancor. Let us love all men, pray for all men, do good to all men. Let us visit the poor and the afflicted, that is the true pilgrimage. Those little ones are the images of God, and it is to those images that we ought to resort, to them that we should carry food and candles.... My dear brethren, when you hear the bell ring, present yourselves here in God’s name, in peace and unity, without disturbance or murmuring.’ This was indeed a good and Christian address, and after hearing it the assembly dispersed.

On Monday, October 2, at seven o’clock in the morning, the cathedral was again filled, and ‘as soon as the shrill sound of the bell had ceased, there appeared on the platform the ambassadors of Berne,’ J. J. de Watteville, formerly avoyer,[396] J. de Diesbach, and the baillifs of Yverdon and Lausanne. They were easily recognized by their red and black doublets, skirts, and hose. The council of Geneva had sent as its representative the Syndic A. Porral, a warm friend of Reform. Presidents were chosen from among the men of Berne and Lausanne. Then Farel rose and read his first thesis, which treated of man’s justification before God, developed and proved it.

When he had finished, the vice-bailiff of Lausanne said aloud, ‘If any man has aught to say against these first conclusions, let him come forward and we shall willingly listen to him.’ The canons of the cathedral then rose, who were determined not to carry on but to prevent the discussion, and one of them, Perrini, said, ‘When doubts arise respecting the faith, they must be resolved according to the true sense of the Scriptures. Now, that is lawful only to the Church universal, which is not liable to error. Therefore, we, the provost and[240] canons of this church, do solemnly protest against this controversy, and refer it to the next council.’[397]

This proposal not to proceed was inadmissible. The courageous Farel opposed it. ‘It is nowhere asserted in the Scripture,’ said he, ‘that any particular Church is liable to error and that the universal Church is exempt from it. On the contrary, it is to a particular Church that Jesus Christ addresses the words, Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them. This promise cannot fail. The Canons refrained from accusing by their protest all the early doctors and the holy fathers, for whom they make pretence of so much reverence. We find in fact, in the writings of those ancients, only particular disputations, held for the purpose of examining articles at that time controverted. There are ten such articles in Cyprian, and twenty or thereabouts, in Augustine. If they accuse us, who are now assembled here, how shall they defend their own provincial councils, their monks’ chapters, all their schools and Sorbonnes, in which they hold conferences for the research of truth? Most of those whom they have condemned as heretics were not condemned in a general council, but in some particular assembly. Paul, speaking with reference to churches as they were, scattered in towns or villages, said, Let the prophets speak two or three, and let the other judge. (1 Cor. xiv. 29.)

‘And how do these reverend gentlemen prove that the Church general cannot err? This is their pretty assertion, invented too by them, according to their excellent custom. They say that our Lord prayed for St. Peter that his faith might not fail. Who then has revealed to them the fact, either asleep or awake, that Peter is the Church universal? If it were indeed represented by St. Peter, then it would follow that the Church universal may, in one single day, three times deny Jesus Christ, as Peter did so after that word had been spoken to him.[241] If an assembly of the Church universal were the only body capable of resolving doubts, then all the martyrs of Jesus Christ, who in the first three centuries set the seal with their blood to the truth of the Gospel, would have suffered death for things doubtful, for the Church universal had not yet been assembled in general council.

‘If there be now a universal council which pretends to infallibility, let it then show us that it assembles in the name of Jesus! A holy company indeed is that of the pope and his cardinals! Fair pillars of the church are bishops and prelates! Great zealots for the faith are the monks! It is greatly to be doubted whether, if all that multitude were thoroughly sifted, one man among them would be found deserving to be called a true member of the Church of Christ! It is of men who are all trying to get the benefices and the dignities of the Church that a general council consists, and this calls itself the Church universal. Ah! to secure their wealth, their honor, and their gain, they would be ready not only to trample in the dust the word of Jesus Christ, but they would go further and put himself to death, if he were present in his own person. Such is the fine band with whom, if we take their word, the Holy Spirit dwells! If any man offer to contend with them on reasonable grounds, proceedings will be taken against him to punish him for his audacity, and, as was the case at the council of Constance, he will be condemned and burnt.’[398]

Thus spake Farel. We may perhaps think some of his remarks severe, but if we take into account the time, the form of his speech is certainly not amiss, and the substance of it is unanswerable. After that discourse, the Dominican Monbouson and the reformer Viret argued on the same subject till eleven o’clock. Then the call was heard, ‘Retire for dinner,’ and the meeting broke up. In the afternoon the old priests and monks of Thonon, who had bragged that they would[242] put the ministers to confusion, were in the assembly. Fabry, who was well acquainted with Thonon and its clergy, invited them to speak. Not one of them did so. Two of them declared that they believed the theses to be true, and most of the others contented themselves with giving their adhesion to the protest of the canons.

On Tuesday, October 3, Dr. Blancherose (of whom it was said il tenait de la lune) addressed the assembly. Even if the clergy were silent he thought himself quite competent to maintain his cause. ‘Magnificent and mighty lords,’ he began, ‘I am a physician; my profession is that of medicine, not that of theology.’ To which Farel politely answered, ‘To be a physician does not at all clash with true theology. St. Luke was a physician likewise.’—‘I have taught,’ said Blancherose, ‘in many cities and universities of France; moreover, I was once physician to the king, and afterwards to the princess of Orange.’ He then began to set forth strange theories on what he called the monarchies of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. Caroli was present. It is known that this inconsistent and whimsical man was sometimes a Papist and sometimes a Protestant. For the moment he was Protestant. So he raised the cry, just as if he were with a hunting party, ‘A hare started out of the Donatist warren!’ The priests themselves were not particularly pleased with their lay companion in arms. Mimard, therefore, schoolmaster of Vevey, and Jacques Drogy, vicar of Morges, hastened to the rescue, hoping to retake from the enemy what he had carried off. But their attempt had no great success.

Drogy renewed his speech on Wednesday, October 4. He must have known well what kind of life was led by many priests, monks, and laymen, who at the same time that they were doing everything to save themselves by legal works, found therein a support, and, so to say, an indulgence, for giving themselves up unscrupulously to an impure life. Nevertheless, he showed that he was[243] greatly alarmed, and no doubt sincerely, at the dangers to which the doctrine of justification by faith alone would expose the work of sanctification. He therefore said, ‘If you say that a man is justified by faith and not by works, people will not take the trouble to live well.’ Drogy was seeking light. The sayings of the reformers had disturbed him, and all that he desired was to see the truth clearly.

Caroli, once Romanist and now Protestant, whose inconsistencies we have seen and shall again see, spoke on this occasion with fairness. As doctor of the Sorbonne and a man of intelligence, he was well acquainted with the doctrine; only he did not walk according to its teaching. He rose and said, ‘To allege that works must be partners in justification is to enervate Jesus Christ; that is, to say that he alone is not sufficient to justify us. If a man be absolved through faith, it is certainly not in order that he may again begin doing evil. Just as when a king grants a pardon, it is not that the man may repeat his offence. God forgives all my offences only in order that I may do good works. Are you not yourselves in the habit of saying to a dying man, God is a greater pardoner than man is an offender? The death of Jesus is more effectual in the punishment of sin than the death of all mankind.’[399]

The laity were ashamed to see their cause so ill defended by their priests. The captain of the youth of Lausanne, Fernand de Loys, therefore entered the lists. He was a clear-headed man; he had learnt carefully some theses of the Romish theology, and had a little of that presumption which is frequently seen in the young men of whom he was one of the chiefs. He came forward, with his baton raised, speaking bluntly and without palliation. ‘The Church is before the Scripture, worthier than the Scripture, and invested with higher authority. Now the Church teaches justification by[244] works.’ Farel, roused by hearing such assertions, exclaimed, ‘Which is first, the Church or the Scripture?... Certainly, the Scripture is before the Church. The Church has its existence through the Word of God; and Jesus himself proved what he said by reference to the Scriptures.’ Upon this the physician Blancherose thought he must come to the aid of the captain of the young men, and said to Farel, ‘In saying so much of faith, and in making it the cause of all good, you are very much like the sorcerers and enchanters, who, through the faith which they have in certain words, pretend to do so many great and wonderful things.’ Farel, taking little heed to these jests, said, ‘Jesus was beaten and wounded; he bore the discipline for our sakes; for us he died.’ The master of the Catholic school of Vevey, who was present, seems to have had a truer Christian feeling than his colleagues, and, profiting by Farel’s words, he said, ‘Precisely so; it is Jesus who justifies us, and not faith.’ This was more serious. Farel therefore supported the first part of the proposition. In opposing the second part, he said—‘Yes, it is Jesus alone who justifies; but he justifies only those who receive him by faith, and he dwells in those who believe. But as for those who do not believe in him, he is for them only a stone of stumbling and of ruin.’

The truth began to be pursued more closely. The reverend Jean Michod, of Vevey, who had studied at Paris and was acquainted with the interpretations of Romish theology, rose and said—‘St. Peter tells us that there are unlearned persons who pervert the Holy Scriptures to their own destruction. I have often listened to wise doctors at Paris, and they all declared that that passage of the Epistle to the Romans—A man is justified by faith without the works of the law—had reference exclusively to the Jewish ceremonies, such as circumcision.’ Then turning to Caroli, ‘You, sir, our master,’ said he, ‘I have heard you at Paris, at the[245] College of Cambrai, expound that passage in the same way.’ That was an argumentum ad hominem, and Michod believed that the circumstances peculiar to the person himself to whom he addressed it rendered it unanswerable. But Caroli, who was not deficient in presence of mind, replied, ‘The fact is that I was at that time one of those unlearned persons of whom St. Peter speaks in the passage which you have just cited, who pervert the Holy Scriptures. But God has now given me the true understanding of the matter. I have changed, and it will be well for you to do the same.’[400]

In the afternoon of the third day they passed to the second thesis, affirming that Jesus is the only pontiff. As no one raised an objection, even in favor of the pope, which was a very significant fact, they went on to the third proposition, respecting the true Church. That Church, it was said, Christ, who in his corporal presence has been taken away from us, fills, governs, and vivifies by his Holy Spirit. The Roman Catholics took advantage of the thesis to turn the discussion on the corporal presence. Blancherose, who was always confident that he could answer everything, rose first, and began to speak of the sun and of all sorts of things. He undertook to prove the doctrine of transubstantiation by the example of an egg, which is converted into a chick, which chick is afterwards eaten by a man. Viret did not think that strange argument deserving of a very grave answer. ‘That proof,’ he said, ‘reverses the order of things. To make it applicable, it would be necessary for the priests to sit on the object transformed, as hens sit on their eggs.’ Blancherose, having offered other instances of the same kind, was invited to carry on the discussion by the Scripture, and not by proofs taken from the sun, which is everywhere at once, from hens, from their eggs changed into chicks, and from chickens which are eaten, and from other natural transformations.

[246]

On Thursday, October 5, in the morning, the presidents, offended by the extravagances of the doctors, and perceiving that the method till then pursued would entail digressions and interminable prolixity, announced that, instead of resuming the debate, and with the hope of shortening the proceedings, the following alternative would be offered to all canons, abbots, priors, monks, curés, and vicars in the whole country, as well as to the ministers: ‘Argue, get some one to argue for you, or subscribe the theses.’ All were then called by name, and those who declared themselves willing to subscribe passed into the choir. Megander, a minister of Berne, exhorted them to preach nothing but the pure Word of God, and after that they were allowed to withdraw if they wished. But those who declined to adhere to the theses were ordered to remain to the close of the disputation.

In the afternoon, Mimard appeared with a long manuscript of his own composition, intended to vindicate the mass. The subject was treated under thirteen heads, which did not seem to promise much for shortening the business. Mimard was, at any rate, a serious speaker, although a little dull and rather prolix. ‘Do you pretend,’ he said, ‘to be wiser and more enlightened by the Holy Spirit than the holy doctors, St. Augustine, St. Jerome, St. Ambrose, and St. Gregory, who all believed in the real presence? If you reject them as unlearned, it is merely because they are opposed to you.’ Farel replied on the thirteen heads, without omitting one of them. What was said by each of the two champions may easily be imagined. The subject has already been so frequently brought forward that it is needless to spend more time over it now. But there was present in the assembly one young theologian, who rejoiced to hear his friends defending the true doctrine, and who by reason of his youth and his modesty had been kept silent till that time. It was Calvin. For four days he[247] had sat there without speaking, contenting himself with the part of a hearer. But he had a brave heart. That Ambrose, that Augustine, those other doctors, he was well acquainted with them. He knew their words by heart. They were his friends, and he could not stand by and see them insulted by being ranked with the pope’s army. He could not be silent any longer; his heart burnt within him, and he felt impelled to defend the principles which were brought to light by the Reformation. But he wished also to restore to those great men of Christian antiquity, and above all to his beloved Augustine, the honor which was due to them. This was the first occasion on which Calvin took part in any of the great discussions of the time, and it is worth while to listen to him.

‘I have abstained from speaking till this moment,’ he said, ‘and it was my intention to abstain to the end, perceiving that any speech of mine was unnecessary, because my brethren Farel and Viret have made sufficient reply. But the reproach which you have uttered against us with regard to the ancient doctors compels me to show again briefly how grievously you err in accusing us on this point.

‘We despise them and reject them altogether, you say, and that because we find them opposed to our cause. Verily, all the world, we own, might esteem us not only rash men, but arrogant beyond measure, if we held in derision such servants of God, and considered them asses, as you say we do. Those who make pretence of holding them in great reverence, frequently honor them less than we do, and would not deign to employ in reading their works the time which we gladly devote to it. But we do not exalt their authority to such a height as to allow it to lessen the dignity of the Word of the Lord, to which, exclusively, entire obedience ought to be given in the Church of Christ. We should fear being found rebels against that Word of the Lord which asks whether[248] his people ought not to be content with his voice, and which adds, without hearing either the living or the dead. Yes, we do rest in his sacred Word, and we fasten on it our hearts, our understandings, our eyes, our ears, without turning aside to the right hand or to the left. If any one speak, says Peter, let him speak as the oracles of God; we therefore teach the people of Jesus not human doctrines, but heavenly wisdom. With the ancient doctors, we seek for God’s truth, with them we listen to it and keep it with all reverence, reserving to the Lord this glory, that his mouth alone be opened in the Church, to speak with authority. Let every ear then hear him, and let every soul be ready to obey him!

‘As to your assertion that we despise the fathers because they are not on our side, it would be easy for me to show that whatever matters are in controversy between us, that assertion is no more true than your reproach. But, to confine myself to the subject before us, I will lay before you only a small number of passages of such a character that there will be nothing left for you to reply to.’

Calvin had not with him the voluminous works of the fathers; but his memory was a library abridged. Tertullian, Chrysostom, and the writers of his time, especially Augustine, came immediately to his aid. ‘Tertullian,’ said he, ‘when refuting Marcion, speaks thus, “Christ in the supper has left us the figure of his body.” The author of the commentary on St. Matthew, contained in the works of Chrysostom, says, “It is a far greater offence to defile ourselves, who are the true vessels in which God dwells, than to profane the vessels in which the supper is administered, since that the real body of Jesus Christ is not contained in them, but only the mystery of his body.” St. Augustine, in his twenty-third Epistle,[401] says, “The bread and the wine, which are sacraments of the body and blood of Christ, we call them[249] in a certain sense (quodammodo) his body and his blood.” And in his book against Adimantus, he adds, “The Lord did not hesitate to say, This is my body, when he gave the sign of his body.” Weigh all these words, every syllable of them if you will, and see whether these declarations in any way favor your error. When you taunt us with the charge that the ancients are against us, everybody sees your rashness. Assuredly, if you had read only a few pages you would not have been so bold; but you have not even seen the covering of the book. The foregoing testimonies, which may easily be pointed out, prove it.’

At this point, Calvin, wishing to show fully how chimerical the Romish opinion is, offered one or two considerations which, while they display his fine intelligence, are not lacking in solidity. ‘It is not without reason,’ he said, ‘that we reject the foolish opinion which the craft of Satan introduced into the world. In the supper we certainly eat the same body of Christ as the apostles ate at its institution, and it must be either his mortal body or his glorified body. If it be his mortal body, Jesus is then at this hour mortal and passible, while the Scripture declares to us that he has laid aside all infirmity. If it be his immortal and glorified body, Jesus, at the first supper, was in a certain place (seated at the table) in his mortal and passible body, and he was in another place (in the hands and mouths of his disciples) in his immortal and glorified body. The dreams of Marcion were never so fantastic!...’

Calvin, however, went further and, knowing the importance which Rome attached to the letter, felt bound to show to what that method leads. He has explained his own doctrine elsewhere in a more complete manner, but we must not suppress what he said on this solemn occasion. ‘If you tie yourselves to words,’ said he, ‘if you so rigorously insist on these words, Hoc est corpus meum, you are compelled by such verbal strict[250]ness to separate the body of the Lord from his blood. For he said, This is my body, pointing to the bread, and when pointing to the wine, This is my blood. Now, to imagine that the body of Christ was separated from his blood is an abominable thing. I know that you evade this by what you call the concomitance. But do not allege it, for it is mere mockery. If the real body is in the cup, as you affirm it to be, the Lord of truth then spoke falsely when he said, This is my blood.

‘No, it is neither the natural body nor the natural blood of our Lord Jesus which is given to us in the holy supper. But there is a spiritual communication, by virtue of which he gives to us all the grace that we can receive from his body and his blood. Christ makes us truly participants, but altogether in a spiritual way, by the bond of his Holy Spirit. St. Luke and St. Paul write that Jesus said, This is the new testament in my blood; that is to say, the new alliance which the Father has made with us, blotting out our iniquities by his mercy, receiving us into his favor that we may be his children, and writing his law in our hearts by his Spirit; an alliance really new, and ratified and confirmed by the body and the blood of Jesus Christ.

‘Constrained by reasons so forcible, we interpret the Scripture according to the true analogy of faith. We do not put glosses on it out of our own heads, and we give no explanation which is not expressed in itself.’

Calvin was silent. The young man, whose face was unknown but full of expression, had been listened to with astonishment, and people recognized in him a master. Everyone felt the force of his words, and no one raised an objection. ‘At this point,’ say the Acts of the Disputation, ‘both the Mimards and the Blancheroses remained without making any attempt to reply.’ The minds of the hearers seemed to be enlightened by fresh knowledge. This was soon evident.

A monk of the order of Cordeliers, the Franciscan[251] Jean Tandy,[402] who had been present at the disputation from its opening, listened with eager interest to Calvin’s speech, and felt that its truth reached him. His heart was affected, his understanding was satisfied. He embraced by faith the sacrifice of the Saviour; and, according to the expression of the Evangelist, he ate of his flesh and drank his blood. For awhile he sat silent, awaiting the objections which might be offered. But ‘when he saw that those who had taken part in discussion till that hour had their lips closed,’ he took courage, rose and said, the assembly listening to him attentively—‘Holy Scripture teaches that there is no remission for the sin against the Holy Ghost. Now this sin is that of men who, through unbelief, willing to contend against the clearest truth, choose rather to exalt themselves against God and his Word than to humble themselves and obey him. As I desire now not to resist the truth, but to receive it and confess it openly, I acknowledge before you all that I have long been mistaken. While I thought that I was living in a state of perfection, as they had given me to understand, I have been, on the contrary, only the servant of men, submitting myself to their traditions and commandments. Nothing is good but that which God commands. I have heard the truth. I see that I must hold fast to Jesus alone, must stand to his Word, and must have no other head, leader, or Saviour, but him who by his sacrifice has made us acceptable to the Father. I will henceforth live and die according to his Gospel. I ask forgiveness of God for all that I have done and said against his honor. I ask pardon of you and of all the people, so far as by my preaching or by my life I have taught you amiss, or have given you a bad example. And since, by following the rule of the Cordeliers and assuming this garb of dissimulation, I have been led out of the right way, at[252] this moment in which I renounce all superstition, I abandon also this garb full of all hypocrisy and trumpery.’ As he uttered these words, Jean Tandy cast off his monastic dress, and then added—

‘Let no one be offended, but let each examine himself and confess that if the state in which he has lived be contrary to the will of God, he ought not to persevere in it, nor to reënter after quitting it. I will live as a Christian, and not as a Cordelier; according to the Gospel of Jesus, and not according to the rule of the monks; in true and living faith in Christ, and united with all true Christians. To this God calls us all, to the intent that, instead of being divided into so many rules, we may be all one in Jesus Christ.’

This frank, noble, and affecting conversion gave great joy to those who loved the Gospel, and Farel, as their spokesman, said, ‘How great God is! how good and how wise! How he smites and heals, how he casts down to hell and brings up again to heaven, we see with our own eyes. What superstition is there equal to that of the Cordeliers, in which the enemy has with so much skill colored his work that even the elect are deceived! Let us rejoice, therefore, that the poor sheep which was straying on the mountains and in the deserts, in the midst of wolves and wild beasts, now, by the grace of the Lord, abandoning the barren deserts, the vexatious thorns of human traditions, is entering into his fold, and finds now his pasture in God’s holy Word.’

‘This done,’ add the Acts, ‘because it was late, everyone retired.’[403]

The last theses were discussed during the remaining two or three days, and for the most part by the same combatants, each of the champions expressing himself well or ill, according to his character and the spirit which actuated him. ‘The Lord,’ said the intelligent and spiritual Viret, ‘commands Peter to feed his sheep,[253] but according to the well-known by-word, the Romish court want no sheep without wool.[404] The true key of the kingdom of heaven is the Gospel of the Lord, but the pope and his priests have devised others which close the door instead of opening it. If the pope be willing to imitate Jesus and Peter, let him then go about hither and thither in every place, seeking and saving souls. The apostles had no holy see like the Romish pontiff. They were not often even seated, except, indeed, it were in a prison. And instead of a triple crown and a chain of gold, they had chains of iron on their hands and their feet.’[405]

Dr. Blancherose, who unhesitatingly considered himself the most valiant of the defenders of Rome, began now to lose heart. His only consolation was in the thought that if he were beaten it was not for want of talent, but because he stood alone; and quoting a word of the ancients, he said, ‘The opponents (reformers) are too strong, and as some one said, Hercules himself could do nothing against two.’[406] The two, in his case, were doubtless Farel and Calvin.

He continued to complain of his comrades in the fight. ‘Instead of aiding me,’ he said, ‘the priests have begged me to begone. There are six score of us, they added, who will be compelled, if the disputation is to last much longer, to sell our gowns and hoods to pay our hosts.’ Then, after this trifling, returning to his grand theses, the fantastical doctor said, ‘The holy Trinity represents three monarchies. The father represents the emperor; the Son represents the pope; and the third monarchy, which is only now beginning, is that of the Holy Spirit, and belongs to physicians.’ Thus he claimed a great part for himself. This recalled him to his duty, and he applied himself to matters within his grasp. ‘The[254] time of Lent, in which people fast,’ he said, ‘has been well regulated, because in the spring nature is awakening, the blood is warm and impels to pleasure, and, moreover, people have eaten a good deal during the winter.’ The energetic Farel, who knew as well as the doctor how to be popular and sarcastic, met him on his own ground, and replied in his medical language, ‘that, on the contrary, the least fitting season had been fixed for Lent; for in the spring the poor people work in the fields and the vineyards, and after having crammed themselves with flesh in the winter, they give them well-salted, fish, hot spices, etc. This method gives origin to legions of maladies, so that the priests make their harvest of them and the doctors their vintage. The sicknesses put money into the purses of these two classes of men, especially into those of the Romish priests, according to the anagram of Roma. If each letter of that word be taken as the initial of another word, we get the sentence, Radix Omnium Malorum Avaritia: Rome is avarice, the root of all evil. She shows this in all kinds of ways, but above all in granting for a money payment the liberty to eat flesh, which otherwise she prohibits and declares to be a sin.’[407] It is clear that Farel knew how to profit by that precept, Answer a fool according to his folly.

The vicar of Morges, Drogy, a man more enlightened than the others, and who saw clearly the weakness of the Romish teaching, apologized in the best way he could for his comrades, and made excuse for their defeat. ‘The poor priests are ignorant,’ he said, ‘and they deserve to be pitied. It is no great glory for the ministers to have beaten them. What they want is time given them for study, and a long time too; but instead of that they have been pitilessly bantered.’ ‘Do not take as insults,’ said the amiable Viret, ‘the charitable admonitions which we have given them. So far from[255] wishing them any harm, we are ready to shed our blood for their salvation.’ ‘No doubt,’ added the reformer Marcourt, who had not hitherto spoken, a man of much good sense, but somewhat more severe than Viret, ‘no doubt the poor priests deserve to be pitied, but still more the poor people. No man would intrust a flock of sheep to a shepherd who was blind and dumb; why then are the churches placed under leaders who are blind and unable to explain the Word of God?’[408]

Calvin then rose to speak again, and without stopping to argue with the feeble apologists of Rome, who were sufficiently refuted, he selected for his adversary the most illustrious and the most valiant of the champions of the papacy, the man who was indeed its chief founder, Hildebrand, made pope under the name of Gregory VII. These two men were well fitted to contend with equal strength in the lists. It is a pity that five centuries stood in the way of their measuring their forces hand to hand. It was Hildebrand who had launched over Christendom these stupendous assertions, ‘that the name of the pope is sole in the world,—that the Romish Church never did err and never will err,—that the pope may depose the emperor, and that all princes must kiss his feet.’[409] Calvin frequently contended against these presumptuous lies,[410] and he had done so before this time, at least to some extent. On this occasion he made use of a document written by a cardinal, a contemporary of Hildebrand, which relates, among other things, that that pope, wanting for once to get through his incantations, took the bread which he affirmed to be God, and threw it into the fire.[411] An occasion for the natural exclamation, ‘Say now that the bread is your God!’ This story,[256] told by a cardinal at the expense of a pope, appears to us to be apocryphal. But it is quite true, as we know from the relations which existed between Gregory VII. and Berenger, that the famous pontiff had doubts about the doctrine of transubstantiation, and that he did not pronounce himself in support of it until he perceived that his enemies would take advantage of his doubts on the subject to strike a blow at his hierarchical rights and supreme authority.

When the debate on the ten theses had been brought to a close, Farel entered the pulpit, in the afternoon of Sunday, October 8, and delivered the closing discourse. We shall allow the orator to speak his own language, although it be not always that of our age, for it is essential that the Reformation should be set before us just as it actually appeared. Farel was struck with the fact that a band of ministers, feeble men and few in number, had been capable, in that conflict of eight days, of filling mighty Catholicism with alarm and vanquishing it. He remembered, too, how when he arrived at Aigle, at Neuchâtel, at Geneva, poor, weak, and contemptible in the eyes of many, he had seen the papacy reel and fall down before the Word of God. ‘What is it then,’ said he, ‘which makes you tremble, you who are a great multitude covering the whole land? What! a poor prophet makes his appearance, alone in the face of so many rich men; unknown and friendless before so many people who have powerful allies; he knows not whither to go, has no one to speak to, while you are all comfortably lodged, you all know one another, and fill the whole world with terror. Of what then are you afraid? The prophet will not strike you, for he is unarmed. When, for one reason or another, a whole city or even a whole people revolts against you, you have no fear at all, and you act even worse than usual.... Whence is this difference? Is one then more than a multitude? The fact is this: With that poor prophet comes the[257] truth, the wonderful truth of God, which is mightier than all men, and which, whenever it encounters enemies, pursues them, confounds them and puts them to flight, while they are unable to make any resistance.’[412]

Farel did not confine himself to giving the solution of the enigma. He desired above all to teach consciences and to lead souls to Jesus Christ, while he rescued them from the pope. This was the great aim of his long life. That is the reason why, in addressing a vast audience, he cried out, ‘Come then to Jesus, to Jesus who hath borne our sorrows, and trust wholly in him that you may be saved. Abandon the perverse doctrines which the pope and his servants teach, the masses and the confessions, the absolutions, indulgences, and pardons for life. Run no more hither and thither to the broken cisterns. Trust no longer in persons so impotent and so cruel; receive neither the pope nor Mohammed, nor anyone who assumes to govern you by his own ordinances. Hold fast to the sole head, Jesus, who when he entered into the great sanctuary, offered to his Father his own blood, thus making peace between God and us, so that Christians are made immortal. If you trust in the pope you will be put to shame when you hear from the mouth of God these words: Who commanded what you have done? You have had the popes for your gods.... Go then, and let them save you if they can. Then will come upon you great desolation. It is greatly to deceive yourselves to seek Jesus Christ in the wafers of the priests, in bread, in wine, in flesh, in tears, thorns, nails, wood, shrouds, cloths, and all the other mockeries which Rome offers you, which lay low everything that is of God. It is in another way, it is in his Spirit, it is by faith, that you must seek the Saviour. A church of Jesus, governed by its spouse, does not receive all these papal errors; it directs poor sinners to God, that he may open their hearts, and that they may implore his mercy.

[258]

‘Then do not send your wives nor your daughters to those whom you know so well. Do not give your souls up to the guidance of men to whom you would hardly like to intrust your sheep. Let all go to God, go to him with the heart, for it is the heart he asks for and not our money. To sing a mass, to mutter prayers and Ave Marias before a piece of wood, to make so many journeys hither and thither; these are not what he wants of us. He wants us to cling wholly to him alone, and he will save us.’

Farel then turning to the priests, of whom there was a large number present, said to them, ‘Leave off then, you poor priests, who till now have been deceived, and have deceived others, leave off teaching that without your confessions, your penances, your satisfactions and absolutions, whether made in this world or in the world to come, it is not possible to enter into paradise. Lead your sheep to the shepherd who gave his life for them. The church of Jesus gets nothing out of all your trash. God does not care how you muffle yourselves up, what sort of shirts you wear under your gowns, whether your cloaks are bordered in the proper way, or whether you keep in good condition the ornaments and furnishings of your chapels and altars. To place salvation in these outward things is to reverse the doctrine of Jesus, for the kingdom of God is within you.’

Farel, as he closed his discourse, raised a song of triumph, and pointed out that the Reformation did not adopt the weapons of its adversaries, but that its method formed the most striking contrast to theirs. ‘Many,’ said he, ‘have tried to assail my propositions, but the truth has been the strongest. Yet the priests and the monks have been subjected to no secret interrogatories; they have not been forbidden to speak; they have not been threatened with prison or with death; no deathsmen have appeared on the scene to settle the questions before us by fire or sword. All have been[259] kindly invited. All those who wished to dispute have been listened to, and no one has taken offence even at their frequent repetitions. Receive then the holy doctrine of Jesus which has been set before you, and let him alone suffice you. One better, wiser, or more powerful, we cannot find. Be Christians; be no longer papists.

‘O priests, canons, and monks, if henceforth you have no more the honors which you have previously enjoyed, if you should not be so well treated and fed, do not on that account destroy yourselves and the poor people. Better is it to enter into life eternal with the poor Lazarus than go with the rich bad man to hell. Leave, then, your songs and your masses, and follow Jesus. Instead of chanting Latin before the people, preach to them the sacred Gospel. When some came like brigands to kill us, we did not demand vengeance, but grace and forgiveness for them. And now we ask that you may be joyfully and tenderly received, as wandering sheep returning to the fold.

‘And you, my lords,’ said Farel, addressing the delegates from Berne, ‘since God has led you to the conquest of this country, and has committed its people to you as a child is committed to its father, see to it that God be holily honored in the lands which are intrusted to your rule. Let not Jesus be to you of less estimation than the poorest man in the land. May God touch the hearts of all kings and lords, to the end that the poor people may live according to God’s will, without war and in peace; that human blood may not be shed; that a man who is made in God’s image may not kill his fellow who is made in the same image; but that each may love and aid his neighbor as he would that his neighbor should aid him. And may all those who have suffered for the faith in Jesus be strengthened to persevere even to the end, and declare the goodness and the power of God, so that all the earth may worship him.’[413]

CHAPTER III.
EXTENSION OF THE REFORM IN THE PAYS DE VAUD.
(End of 1536.)

The assembly of Lausanne was a great event for the Vaudois; it was talked of in every village. Berne, by her ordinance, ‘that all priests, monks, and other people of the Church, whatever they might be, should appear,’ had awakened universal attention. While there was one great disputation at Lausanne, there were many little ones in the towns and villages. They discussed the pros and the cons, and they wondered whether the priests on their return would be converted to the new faith or not. At Lausanne itself, hardly had a session closed, and the crowd passed out of the doors of the beautiful cathedral, than the debates were renewed in the streets and in private houses.

The results of the conference were not long in showing themselves. Some, like the Cordelier Tandy, owned themselves convinced, took the side of the Reformation, and became in their turn its missionaries. Ministers and laymen were seen traversing all the land, reporting the discussions, showing that the evangelical religion is indeed the true, and intensifying the universal excitement. The two deputies sent by the parish of Villette, Sordet and Clavel, were so much impressed by the truths expounded by Farel and his friends, that they took Viret back with them to Cully, that he might preach there. The whole country, indeed, was not converted, but the light was penetrating from place to place,[261] even into the remotest corners. Not only was there the bright flame in those fair regions, but there was also the warmth, which was further diffused than the light, quickening and transforming hearts.

At Lausanne itself the first effect of the disputation was remarkable, and showed clearly that morals were quite as much as doctrine the business of the Reformation, and that they were possibly its most distinctive characteristic. Only two days after the close of the disputation, on October 10, the council, very much engrossed by the great event which had just taken place, resolved ‘to destroy once for all the houses of ill-fame which existed in the town,’ to drive away the foul women who lived in them, as well as all others who were known to be leading an evil life. On Thursday, October 12, the order given to those ‘unfortunates’ to quit the city and the bailiwick was published with sound of trumpet in all the streets.[414] It has been said that morals are the science of man.[415] The Lausannese edileship thought that they were especially the science of the magistrate. Those discussions, in which justification by faith had been the chief subject in question, had for their first consequence works of Christian morality. This proceeding of the magistrates gave great joy to those who had taken part in the disputation. They saw in it the apology for their doctrine. ‘When justification by faith is spoken of,’ remarks one of them,[416] ‘the mind of man takes the matter the wrong way, and is shocked, like a ship which, instead of keeping to the right course marked out for it, drives on to strike first on one rock then on another. The death of Christ is efficacious for extinguishing the evil of our flesh, and his resurrection for originating in us a new condition of better nature.’

The people drew from the disputation another consequence. The most ardent even of the reformers had,[262] while the debates lasted, tolerated the images in the cathedral. Viret had shown that God prohibited them, and that they turn men away from the true service of God. ‘The priests,’ he had said, ‘for their convenience set in their own place preachers of wood and of stone, the images, arraying them in rich garments at the cost of the poor. And as for themselves, they sleep, they make good cheer, and are free from care. These images are their vicars, they do their work, and they cost nothing to feed. And the poor people are stupefied and kiss the wood and the stone.’[417] No one had answered Viret. It was in vain that the defenders of images had been invited to come forward; not one appeared. For the reformed it seemed therefore a legitimate course to remove them from the cathedral. A sinister rumor of this project alarmed the canons, and they resolved to do their utmost to resist the impious proceeding. They took the keys of the cathedral and, running to the sacred edifice, closed the doors that no one might be able to carry off the objects of their veneration. In spite of all their precautions one of the images was removed. The fact was immediately noised over the town. The most grievous blow had just fallen on our great Lady of Lausanne! The reformed honored the mother of the Saviour as a blessed woman, but they refused to make a goddess of her. The clamor and threats of the priests recalled to mind the cries of the worshippers of Diana at Ephesus, spoken of in the Acts of the Apostles, who said, ‘The temple of the great goddess Diana is in danger of being despised and her magnificence of being destroyed, whom all Asia and the world worshippeth.’[418] The canons not feeling themselves strong enough for the occasion, betook themselves to the council, gave up to them the keys of the cathedral, and implored them to[263] protect the building and what it contained.[419] But the reformed, who earnestly longed to see worship given to God alone, turned their back on those figures of wood and stone:

It was the intention of the authorities to oppose the arbitrary removal of images by private persons. But these same authorities lost no time in suppressing them by their own act throughout the country. A few days later, Thursday, October 19, the chief magistrate and the councillors of Berne addressed all their trusty subjects of Vaud, and announced to them by proclamation that being bound to govern them not only by means of ‘corporal and outward ordinances, but also by exercising all diligence to see that they walked according to the will of God, in the true and living faith which brings forth good works; considering that the ten conclusions which had been discussed at Lausanne were based on Holy Scripture, they enjoined everyone to abstain from all papistical ceremonies, sacrifices, and institutions; to cast down all images and idols, as well as the altars, and this in an orderly manner without disturbance; to hear the Word of God, to receive the preachers with kindness, and not to molest and worry them, so that all may dwell together in true peace, brotherly love and union.’[420] These ordinances in the matter of religion and worship would seem strange in our day; and we might wonder whether such would be tolerated even in Japan. But they were in accordance with the spirit of that time, and the rulers of Berne were doing their best.

The Reformation achieved greater triumphs still than the abolition of images. It could count souls won to the Gospel, not only among the general population[264] of the country, but also among the very champions of Rome who had encountered Farel. The amiable captain of the youth, Ferdinand de Loys, embraced the glorious promises of the Gospel, and subsequently exerted himself with great earnestness to maintain Protestantism in France. Moreover, a brilliant testimony to his zeal was given him. Soubise sent him grateful acknowledgment, as well on his own behalf as on behalf of the prince of Condé, the Admiral (Coligny) and other princes and lords.[421] By arrangement with the lords of Berne, Valais, and Neuchâtel, he had sent to him some men; these men (gens), however, we must add, appear to have been not evangelists but soldiers. A priest who had taken part in the defence of the papacy, but who had been convinced by the powerful words of the reformers, Dom Jean Drogy, also embraced the evangelical faith. He became afterwards pastor at Bevay in the territory of Neuchâtel. Megander, too, wrote on October 19, to the ministers of Zurich, ‘The disputation of Lausanne has had the happiest results.’

These successes encouraged the friends of the Reform, and the Bernese government demanded of the authorities of Lausanne the definitive establishment of the evangelical faith and worship. The canons opposed the measure with all their energy, alleging that reverence is due to all old customs and religions; they conjured the rulers of Lausanne not to allow their city to be faithless to Rome. At the same time they sent deputies to Berne. But the council was already treating with the lords of Berne, partly swayed by conviction and partly by prudence. The Bernese were disposed to grant various rights, advantages, and privileges to their new subjects, on condition of their renouncing the foreign authority of the pope, with which they well knew that it was impossible to be on good terms, and of their receiving the[265] Gospel, which enlightens the mind, gives peace to the soul, and promotes the prosperity of nations. They knew also that in order to persuade men, it is necessary to act kindly towards them. Consequently, on November 1, a contract was concluded at Berne, by virtue of which their excellencies conceded to the burgesses of Lausanne the higher, middle, and lower jurisdiction in civil and criminal causes, various convents and abbeys, the châlet and the mill of Gobet, and certain vineyards. With these gifts the Bernese coupled the promise that, as soon as ‘popery and its mummery should be abolished,’ their excellencies would exercise generosity towards the priests. This grande largition was read on the 5th of the same month in grand council at Lausanne, and was solemnly ratified. Meanwhile the chiefs of Berne presented, November 5, to the chiefs of Lausanne, as first pastor, Caroli, who was a doctor of the Sorbonne, and whose fluent talk and engaging manners prepossessed men in his favor. At this choice the friends of the Gospel were indignant. Viret, who had for so many years labored for the diffusion of the light in his own country, and had done so with perfect earnestness, wisdom, and self-renunciation, at the risk of his life—Viret, the true Vaudois reformer—saw this new man, unfit as he was for the work to be done, preferred to himself. The pastors of Geneva wrote to Lausanne—‘Everyone knows the labors, the faith, the zeal of Viret, and we are astonished to learn that they are treating him in that way. We cannot endure it without complaining. If ever it becomes us to be indignant, surely it is on this occasion.’[422] The Bernese lords settled Caroli comfortably in the house of the canon Benoît de Pontareuse, which had beautiful gardens in which he might philosophize and entertain himself as Epicurus did of old. They assigned him, besides, an annual salary of five hundred florins. His wife displayed a degree of luxury which[266] was offensive. Viret was joined with him as second pastor, but no tithe was assigned to him, nor any means of living. De Watteville contented himself with requesting him to show respect for the great merit of his colleague. The Bernese, however, very soon discovered that they had been mistaken in this matter. They therefore wrote to Viret, December 1, that since he was already well acquainted with the country, and Caroli was a sort of novice, they advised him to give Caroli a gratuity, ‘advancement and service, and this by way of charity.’[423] This was not giving Viret a sort of guardianship of Caroli, as has been said. On the contrary, Farel complained a few days later that it was difficult to say whether the Bernese or the Lausannese cared least for Viret.[424] The Bernese merely admitted that the Vaudois reformer, being a native of the country, had more experience of its customs, ‘of the popular way of doing things.’ Viret subsequently received a lodging in the Franciscan convent, with a salary of thirty florins and a certain allowance of wine and wheat. It was not one-third of the pay of Caroli. Some of the reformed lent furniture to the humble minister for his room, because he had no means of buying any.[425]

Of all the districts of the Pays de Vaud, Vevey, a town situated in that lovely region which, at the extremity of the lake of Geneva, is so rich both in grace and in brilliancy, appears to have been the most inclined to embrace the Reform. For eight years past Aigle and the surrounding villages had heard the Gospel by the ministry of Farel. The ministers who came and went from Berne to Aigle, and from Aigle to Berne, passed through Vevey, and left light behind them in their[267] passage. Moreover, there was frequent intercourse between the people of the government of Aigle and the people of Vevey. One historian worthy of credit is even led to believe that the dean Michod and the regent J. Mimard returned from Lausanne to their own town convinced of the truth of the theses which they had at first attacked.[426] Even if they were not themselves much troubled, they might by their narrations awaken in the people the desire to become acquainted with the Gospel which had been proclaimed with so much life by Farel, Viret, and Calvin. At that epoch of the Reformation there was no other public disputation at which so large a number of the champions of papal dogmas passed over to the banner of the Gospel. The men of Vevey spontaneously asked for a pastor; and one was sent them, November 24, whose name was Daillé. This name became distinguished in the seventeenth century as that of one of the most learned ministers of the Reformed Churches.

The Gospel met with opposition in the district of La Vaux, which lies between Vevey and Lausanne. At a consultative meeting, held October 15, the deputies of La Vaux had demanded a general assembly, and had declared that they would oppose ‘any innovation in the churches.’ Those of Lutry, a small town bordering on Lausanne, were of the same mind. But when the bailiff of Lausanne came three days after to dine there, the wind began to change. The magistrates, flattered with this visit, offered him with high compliments the wine of honor (vin d’honneur); and all their zeal was limited to getting the papacy buried in the most decorous manner possible. When the bailiff presented himself, November 2, to burn the images and destroy the altars, the municipal officers demanded permission to remove them themselves, desiring to do it with more delicacy. They caused the Corpus Domini to be carried into the Grotto,[268] where they gave it an honorable position, and lighted lamps just as if it were in the church. They also put there the vessel of holy water, covering it up carefully. Some weeks later, January 16, 1537, there appeared, on the part of Berne, one Matthieu de la Croix, a converted monk, a man of discretion and benevolence. He said to the council, ‘I offer to preach, if you approve it, and even to preach every day if you will assent to it; and further, when any one dies I will deliver a sermon for the consolation of the family.’ Anxious still more powerfully to work upon their hearts, he added, ‘I propose that a request be addressed to the lords of Berne in favor of the poor.’ One might fancy that De la Croix did nothing more than put in practice the proverb, More flies are to be caught with honey than with vinegar. But there is nothing to show that his gracious way did not proceed from a sincere charity. This zeal for their commune touched the hearts of the Lutry people, and they accepted the ministry of this man of goodwill, and at the same time added to their acceptance the express request to Berne to maintain the poor. On February 8, 1537, the church was cleansed, and the stones of the altar were removed to a place apart.[427]

The great transformation was being effected in the whole country. The lords of Berne, understanding, doubtless, that their hands were not the right ones for the task, had wisely intrusted to Farel the care of providing for the spiritual wants of the people. Unfortunately it was not a very easy matter. ‘He looked round on all sides for faithful ministers, but could hardly find any.’ The nomination of Caroli by the Bernese magistrates had annoyed him. He was afraid that men who preached in its purity the cross of Christ would not be accepted. ‘They do not care much for those who preach Jesus Christ purely, and they praise to the skies braggarts and hypocrites.’ However, he was not disheart[269]ened. ‘Write,’ said he to his friend Fabri, ‘beseech, come to our aid; send us competent men.’ One circumstance, unhappy in itself, facilitated Farel’s work. Persecution was driving many evangelical Christians out of France; and these men, full of love for the faith which they had confessed in their native land, rejoiced in the opportunity of preaching it in the beautiful valley of the Leman. Farel, who was at that time the real bishop of these churches, was indefatigable in his inquiries. As soon as he had found any pious ministers, he recommended them to the lords of Berne, and the bailiffs settled them in the various parishes. But as there were not ministers enough for all, the same pastor had frequently to preach in three different churches. A few priests were called to the ministry, who did not seem to be mere deserters, with Christ on the lips only. These were, in addition to those already mentioned, Tissot, Gredat, Goudot, Meige, Malingre de la Molière, Motin, and Jacques d’Yverdon. Some others also took charge of souls. Dubois was sent to Payerne, Du Rivier to Moudon, Le Coq to Morges, J. Vallier to Aubonne, Melchior d’Yvonant to Rolle, Morand to Nyon, Furet to Coppet, Colomb to Concise, Masuyer to Cossonay, Epilon to Yvonant, and Eustache André (also named Fortunat), to Cully.[428] For the most part they were foreigners. Some of them had attended the disputation, and had been gained over by the Christian eloquence of Farel, Viret, and Calvin. But whether they came from the battle of Lausanne or from the ruder battles of France, they all desired to publish the good news of the Gospel; and some of them were inflamed with a zeal so ardent that ‘that one passion swallowed up all others.’ They were well aware that they would have to face a keen opposition; but ‘they were going willingly to offer their heads, to receive all the obloquy which evil-minded men cast on God.’ The following is the formula, somewhat free in[270] character, which the lords of Berne usually employed in their letters to these evangelists:—‘Have ordered that thou, forthwith on receiving these presents, go to our bailiff of——, who will present thee to our subjects of ——, and then thou wilt exercise the office of minister of the Gospel, according to the grace which God has given thee.’ The bailiffs, for the purpose of preparing people’s minds, went frequently beforehand with Viret and other ministers into parishes that were to be provided for. They preached and endeavored to make evident the great benefits of the Reformation. But there was many a village in which the curé endeavored to keep the people away from the sermon, excited his friends, who threw stones at those who were hearers, and did the worst they could.[429]

Farel persevered in his exertions, exhorting and consoling. Fabri, pastor at Thonon, in the Chablais, had to pass through trials of special severity. He wrote to Farel, ‘I cannot tell you how cruel are the crosses which so violent an opposition lays upon me.’ Farel was prompt to offer him consolation, and he shows in his answer how well he had himself learnt to profit by the blows struck at him by the enemies of the Gospel. ‘There is no ground for dejection,’ said he, ‘although so many distresses weigh on you. It is in this way that the Lord teaches us to depend entirely on him, and to call down by our sighing the favor of our heavenly Father, which we are so backward to do.’ At the same time Farel communicated to his friend his own experiences, and made fresh allusion to the case of Caroli and Viret, which appears to have greatly troubled him. ‘I am bidden,’ he said, ‘to call ministers from all quarters, but where to find them I cannot tell. People slight those who are the fittest, and who always breathe Jesus Christ; but they exalt to the skies those who are mere masks,[271] and breathe nothing but arrogance. Some ministers, of too fastidious taste, are unwilling to come into this country; they would rather bury themselves in the tombs of Egypt than eat manna in the desert and be led by the pillar of fire.’[430] At the same time that Farel wrote to Fabri at the foot of the Alps, he wrote also to Hugues, pastor of Gex, at the foot of the Jura. ‘Act with firmness,’ he said to him, ‘but with wisdom and without passion. Put forward weighty proofs drawn from Scripture, and let your words always be accompanied with the moderation of Christ.’[431] He wrote likewise to many others. Calvin began at this time to exercise the functions pertaining to the government of the Church. A minister, Denis Lambert, formerly a monk, but who having been since 1534 pastor in the country of Neuchâtel, had been chosen almoner to the little army which marched in 1534 to the aid of Geneva, and fought the battle of Gingins, had been settled by the Bernese as pastor in the neighborhood of that town. He had remained full of monkery (moinerie), and he had a wife of sorry reputation; so that their life and their manners might ruin, but could not build up the Church. Some better ministers, particularly Henry de la Mare, having been preferred to him, he flew into a great rage at a colloquy held at the beginning of December, 1536. ‘Everybody persecutes me,’ he exclaimed; ‘it is not on the part of men that I am sent!’ And he loaded his colleagues with insults, threats, and innumerable calumnies. ‘Truly,’ said Farel, ‘the man speaks like a Mars or a Bacchus.’[432] ‘It is not I,’ Farel said to him, ‘that made you a[272] preacher; I always suspected you too much.’ ‘No,’ replied Denis, ‘I was sent by the Bernese, and we shall see whether you dare resist them.’ Calvin then rose to speak, and we must notice it as the first occasion of his taking part in the government of the Church. He entreated Denis in the name of them all to resign the holy ministry, promised that he should be provided for. Denis cared nothing for this young doctor, and refused to comply with his request. Farel desired to separate him from the population to which his life was a scandal. The Bernese bailiff of Thonon thought that Denis was monk from head to foot, and that he ought to be relegated to the convent of the Augustinians of that town.

Although they were influenced quite as much by political as by religious motives, and made some mistakes, as in the case of Caroli, the lords of Berne neglected no means of enlightening the Vaudois, and of leading them to accept with their heart the evangelical doctrines. They enjoined on all fathers and mothers, all pastors and bailiffs, the duty of seeing that children were well instructed according to the Gospel. Without going so far as to say, as some have alleged, that education is everything, the Bernese did believe that if a child be trained up in the way he should go, he will not depart from it.[433]

To crown its work, the council of Berne made, on Christmas eve, December 24, 1536, a complete edict of reformation for its new territories; and at the beginning of 1537 it caused proclamation to be made in all the country that the ministers were to preach purely the Word of God; that they were to celebrate only two sacraments, baptism and the supper; that it was lawful to eat flesh at any time; that ecclesiastics were not forbidden to marry; that all popish ceremonies, masses, processions, lustrations, pilgrimages, and ringing of bells for the dead and for bad weather, were abolished.[273] These were followed by many ordinances against gluttony, drunkenness, impurity, adultery, blasphemy, gaming, military service abroad, and dancing. Three modest dances for marriage festivals were, however, conceded.[434] Priests and monks were at liberty to remain in the country, where they received fitting allowances, or if they preferred it, to withdraw into a Catholic country. The canons of Lausanne having no wish to be witnesses of such a reform, took the latter course. They crossed the lake and settled at Evian. The sisters of Sainte-Claire of Vevey did the same.[435]

Calvin and the other ministers of Geneva and its neighborhood watched with interest the changes which were taking place in the Pays de Vaud. But they did not conceal from themselves how much there still remained to do. On October 13, Calvin, before he started for Berne, whither he was summoned, wrote from Lausanne to one of his friends—‘Already in many places the idols and the altars of the papacy have begun to totter, and I hope that ere long all the superstitions that still prevail will be abolished. The Lord grant that idolatry may be altogether uprooted in all hearts.’[436] These words characterize the condition of the Pays de Vaud at that epoch.

On November 21, 1536, a conference was held at Geneva, at which the pastors of the surrounding districts appear to have been present. Those of the Pays de Gex and of the Chablais undoubtedly attended.[437] A letter addressed by the conference to their brethren of Lausanne and of Vaud sufficiently refutes the calumnies[274] cast upon the Reformation, and shows to what extent the reformers took heed of the purity of the Church. ‘The pontifical tyranny has been overthrown,’ they said; ‘silence has been imposed upon the monks, because of their doctrines and their unchaste lives. Brethren, take heed lest another tyranny erect itself in place of the former. See that order and discipline be maintained among you, and everything that becomes a holy assembly. To that end seek your directions, not from any pontiff, nor in the rites of the pope, but from Jesus Christ and in his Word.... Examine with the utmost care the brethren whom you accept as pastors; see that their doctrine be pure and their lives spotless. Inform yourselves even of their family and the family of their wives, as St. Paul enjoins. Without such care you will prepare your own ruin and that of your people. As for ceremonies, let them be wholesome. Exercise your Christian liberty, but in such a way as to cause offence to no one.’ The pastors of Geneva, they said, had received two letters in which they found no Christian charity or moderation at all, but which savored of pontifical authority. This passage doubtless refers to Caroli.

THE REFORM AT GENEVA.—FORMULARY OF FAITH AND OF DISCIPLINE.

(End of 1536–1537.)

Calvin had displayed at Lausanne a steadfastness in the faith, and a faculty of unfolding his views, which attracted more and more attention to him. Bucer and Capito, in reading his Institution, had already recognized the lofty reach of his intellect, and they eagerly[275] desired to have a conference with him on the evangelical doctrine. They both wrote to him on December 1. ‘We acknowledge,’ said Bucer, ‘that it is the Lord’s will to make use of you abundantly for the good of our churches, and to make your ministry greatly useful. We desire to be in agreement with you in all things, and we will go to meet you wherever you please.’[438] Thus, then, the Strasburgers acknowledged in Calvin a vocation for all the churches. They saw in him the reformer. The author of the Institution had in fact conceived an ideal of a Church which was to take the place of the papacy—an ideal difficult, perhaps impossible of realization in this world, but to which he desired that Geneva should make as near an approach as possible. Luther had announced with power the doctrine of remission of sins, without concerning himself much about the constitution of the Church. That doctrine, by penetrating the hearts of men, was to form the congregation of the Lord. The great aim of Calvin was certainly to proclaim before everything, like Luther, the redemption accomplished by Jesus Christ, and the salvation which it gives; but he sought also, more than the German reformer, to found a faithful Church, which, being quickened and sanctified by the virtue of God’s word and the grace of the Holy Spirit, should truly be the body of the Lord. Zwingli had also busied himself with this subject; but there is an important difference between the labors of the reformers of Zurich and Geneva. At Zurich, Zwingli had looked downward: it was the people, so far as they believed in the Scriptures, who were the foundation of the Church. Calvin, on the other hand, looked upward, and placed the origin and the subsistence of the Church in God himself. At Zurich, the Church existed by the will of the reformed majority of the nation; at Geneva, it was the will and the Word of God that formed it. At Zurich, the fulcrum was in[276] liberty; at Geneva, in authority. Both of these are salutary; but each has its own danger. The best system is that in which authority and liberty are combined; but this is not always easy to realize.

After Calvin’s return from the disputation of Lausanne, he resumed his lectures and expositions of St. Paul’s Epistles in the church of St. Peter. These lectures were well attended, and created an interest which continually increased. Ere long, the superiority of the young doctor and of his teaching, at once so profound and so animated, excited in the Genevese the desire that he should definitely settle among them. Towards the close of the year 1536, the office of pastor was added to that of doctor. ‘He was elected and declared such in that church by regular election and approbation.’[439] Calvin, at a later period, felt bound to insist, in his letter to Cardinal Sadoleto, on the regularity of that call. ‘In the first place,’ said he, ‘I discharged in that church the office of reader, and afterwards that of minister and pastor. And as far as regards my undertaking the second charge, I maintain for my right that I did so lawfully and by a regular call.’[440]

Calvin had not forgotten France, and he never did forget her. He had himself just instigated an intervention[277] of several German and Swiss towns in favor of the French Protestants. It was doubtless on this subject that he wrote from Lausanne to his friend François Daniel, October 13, 1536: ‘To-morrow, if the Lord will, I am going to Berne, respecting a business of which I will speak to you another time. I am afraid that it may even be necessary for me to go as far as Basel, notwithstanding the state of my health and the present ungenial season.’[441] But nevertheless, without forgetting his old country, he attached himself to his new one. That republic appeared to suit his taste. Having become pastor at Geneva, he gave his attention to what he had to do in order to substitute for the Church of the pope a real evangelical Church.

Farel, Viret, and Froment had begun the work at the right end. In building a temple the first process is the cutting of the stones one by one. Science has sometimes disparaged the individual. She has said, ‘An individual, of whatsoever species it be, is nothing to the universe; a hundred individuals, or a thousand, they are still nothing.’[442] It is not so with individuals that have souls. Christ anticipated and refuted these audacious assertions when he said, ‘What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and lose his own soul?’ It was by the conversion of individuals (Cornelius, Lydia, &c.) that the Apostles established the Christian religion in the world; and it was by proceeding in the same way that Farel and his friends laid the foundations of Reform. Calvin, while appreciating this work, felt nevertheless that another was necessary. After analysis must come synthesis; and after the individual, society. Catholicism neglected the individual, and concerned[278] itself almost exclusively with society. The Gospel proceeds otherwise. Farel had been everywhere, enlightening minds one by one with the torch of the Word. It was now needful to bind together the souls thus enlightened. The Christian individual must first be created, afterwards the Christian Church. The Reformation had begun in Geneva with the law of life. Another law, the law of unity, must now be fulfilled. Calvin was alarmed when he considered the state of Geneva. ‘When I first came into this town,’ said he, ‘there was as it were nothing—no morals, no discipline, no life. Preaching went on, and that was all. To be sure they burnt the idols, but there was no reformation at all.’[443] This judgment is perhaps too severe. It was twenty-eight years after the time referred to that Calvin thus expressed himself; and the ‘wonderful conflicts’ which he had been engaged in may possibly have led him to depict in too dark colors the church which Farel had left to him. Be that as it may, Calvin, while attaching the utmost importance to individual conversion, was profoundly convinced that a task of another kind remained to be achieved. We find that the same conviction possessed Luther when he returned to Wittenberg after his confinement in the Wartburg. It is the conviction that upon the revolutionary principle (and the revolution, we must admit, had been necessary and admirable) the conservative principle must erect itself.

When a brilliant victory is won, we usually find, both in the world and in the Church, that a number of men gather around the victor who have indeed something in common with him, but who have at the same time characters and propensities opposed to his own. All who muster and fight under the same flag, however, have not always the same thoughts and the same affections as the brave warrior who hoists the flag. The[279] Genevese, who were designated by the name of Huguenots, had declared for the Reformation because it attacked the abuses and the superstitions of popery, and because, in bidding them prove all things, it restored to them those privileges of free men of which Rome had robbed them; many had also been attracted by the love of novelty, others by the prospect of a new career opened to their ambition. There were doubtless a certain number of citizens who sincerely agreed with the Reformation, with the faith which it professed, and with the morals which it prescribed; but they did not form the most numerous class. In any expedition of great daring, and which exposes to many toils and privations, we know that many of the soldiers quit the standard under which they first ranked themselves; so it was inevitable that a large number of the Genevese would abandon the flag around which they had rallied, and would place themselves in opposition to the leaders whom at first they had followed. Calvin was not long in observing this. ‘The abomination of papistry,’ said he, ‘is now cut down by the power of the Word.[444] The senate has decreed that its superstitions, with all their paraphernalia, shall be suppressed, and that religion shall be regulated in the city according to the purity of the Gospel. However, the form of the Church does not appear to us to be such as the legitimate exercise of our office requires. Whatever others may think, we for our part cannot imagine that our ministry ought to be anything so slight as that when once we have preached our sermon, we have nothing to do but to fold our arms, like people that have done their task.’

Calvin’s first thought for insuring a prosperous state of things in Geneva—and this deserves to be noticed—was that it was essential to pay great attention to Christian instruction. He had no sooner returned from his[280] journey than he began to draw up a catechism, to which he added a confession of faith.[445] Although his own word was full of force and authority, it was to the understanding, to the conscience, and to conviction that he appealed. The Holy Scriptures possessed in his eyes an infallible authority to which every soul of man is bound to submit. Nevertheless, he did not mean that men were to submit in a slavish manner, as Rome required; He would have them understand the Holy Scriptures in order that they might grasp their truth and beauty. ‘It is mere nothing,’ said he, ‘that words are thrown out, until our minds are enlightened by the gift of intelligence. If we cannot comprehend with our own understanding and know what is right, how should our will suffice to obey?’[446]

It was not difficult for the author of the Institution Chrétienne to compose, according to the same notions, a book designed for religious instruction. Calvin therefore prepared a catechism in French, which was not divided into question and answer. It seemed, from the way in which it was drawn up, less fitted to be placed in the hands of children than of masters, as a clue; or rather in the hands of adults, to aid their attempts after self-instruction. It appears, nevertheless, that the book was also used by children. It has hitherto been found impossible to discover a single copy of it. It is conjectured that the leaves of the book were used up, being torn out with the wear and tear of daily lessons, as frequently happens still with school-books.[447]

A Latin translation of the catechism appeared at Basel in 1538.[448] This catechism reveals in its first lines the true thought, the real mind of Calvin. We say[281] the real mind, because it is very different from that attributed to Calvin by so many men who are filled with prejudices, and for whom the word Calvinism is like a scarecrow set up on the top of a pole in the fields to frighten timid birds. ‘There is not a man in existence,’ said he, ‘no matter how uncivilized he be, no matter though his heart be altogether savage, that is destitute of the religious sentiment. It is certain that the end for which we were created is to know the majesty of our Creator, and to embrace him when known, and to adore him with all fear, love, and reverence.’[449] Of course this declaration does not show that Calvin was blind to the evil that is in humanity. It does not prevent his declaring that ‘the heart of man, which the poison of sin has penetrated to its inmost depths, sins, not because it is constrained by necessity, but because the will impels him to it.’ Calvin afterwards expounds, with the hand of a master, the three great articles of the Christian Church—the Decalogue, the Apostles’ Creed, and the Lord’s Prayer. But this is not the place for a copy of his exposition.

Calvin, at the same time that he provided instruction for the young, interested himself warmly in the character of the men and women who were called to become members of the Church of God. As he longed for a pure Church, his first care was to ascertain the purity of faith and life of those who composed it. The great diversity of religious opinions which then prevailed in Geneva troubled him, for he knew that every house divided against itself shall not stand. ‘How,’ said he, ‘can we receive into a Church of the Gospel people who, for all we know, may not have renounced papistical idolatries and superstitions?’[450] The members composing a Church ought, in his judgment, to be united by a bond both holy and strong. As Geneva had to contend against the Goliath of the papacy, her strength must be[282] found in faith and union. Sound doctrine must be imprinted on the hearts of the Genevese, in order that neither mysticism, nor infidelity, nor a fanatical enthusiasm might approach to enfeeble and lead them astray. Christians must ‘lean upon the promises of God with trust and certainty, that they may stand firm against all the artillery which might threaten the destruction of their confidence.’[451]

Before Calvin’s arrival, Farel had spoken to the council about the necessity of preparing the edicts for establishing unity in matters of religion at Geneva, but nothing had been done. Now that Calvin was come, he conversed with his old colleague on the means of making the people live in the faith of God. The two friends agreed to prepare a confession of evangelical faith, and the author of the Institution chrétienne was in reality charged with the task of drawing it up; not however without consulting Farel, who was better acquainted with Geneva, and more clearly understood what was expedient, than the newly arrived teacher. The biographers of Calvin, who were also his friends and knew his labors better than any one, speak of this matter. ‘When he was named pastor,’ says one of them, ‘he prepared a brief formulary of doctrine and discipline.’[452] ‘Then (after the Lausanne disputation),’ says another, ‘a formula of Christian faith was published by Calvin.’[453] It has been asserted that Calvin’s formula is lost, but that Farel had at the same time prepared another, and that the latter is preserved. In this assertion there are two statements highly improbable: first, that separate confessions of faith were drawn up at the same time by Calvin and Farel, for the same purpose: second, that it is Calvin’s which is lost, and Farel’s that is preserved.

[283]

Whatever the fact may be, Farel, on November 10, presented the Confession to the council; and that was quite natural. He had stood for years in close relation with that body, and was recognized by it as the chief leader in the Church: while Calvin, a new-comer, and somewhat shy, was not fond of showing himself, and least of all of appearing before the Council of the Two Hundred. Farel, therefore, having been introduced into the hall of the great council, communicated the document to them. He stood in the presence of the deputies of the people of Geneva, who were invested with large powers and whom it was dangerous to offend. But, although he took into consideration the religious state of those whom he addressed, he laid before them the purport of the Christian dispensation with that freedom, clearness, and courage which were characteristic of the epoch of the Reformation, and which appear strange to a generation more enervated, more unbelieving, and more timid. ‘The rule of our faith and our religion,’ said he, ‘is Holy Scripture alone, without admixture of anything invented by the wit of man. We worship one God only, not putting our trust in any creature, whether angel or saint, or men still living on the earth. Man, who is by nature full of corruption, stands in need of enlightenment from God that he may attain to the true knowledge of his salvation; and all that is lacking in ourselves we receive from Christ. By his righteousness we obtain remission of our sins. By the shedding of his blood we are cleansed from all our stains. By his Holy Spirit we are born again in a new spiritual nature. By our communion with him, the works which we do are made acceptable to God.’[454]

It has been observed that this confession of faith, in twenty-one articles, does not set forth the Christian[284] doctrines in so complete and didactic a manner as Calvin subsequently did. From this circumstance it has been inferred that it was composed by Farel. A reply to this reasoning is furnished in the statement of Theodore Beza,—that the confession was adapted to the wants of the Genevese Church, which had then hardly escaped from the corruptions of the papacy. Calvin and Farel had given especial prominence to those truths which stood in opposition to papal errors, and had not felt it necessary to establish the doctrines which the Romish Church had retained: for example, the doctrine of the Trinity. At a later period, when these doctrines were controverted by men who professedly adhered to the Reformation, Calvin felt the need of formally avowing them; and this he did in his Sommaire de la doctrine chrétienne. Further, we would willingly admit that there may have been, as some competent judges suppose, a confession of faith prepared by Farel, and that it was that which was presented to the people, if the two contemporary writers whom we have cited were not silent about such a document, and did not insist on that of which Calvin was author. But there is stronger evidence still. Calvin himself, when speaking of the publication of his catechism, says, ‘that he annexed to it a confession which was sanctioned (editam, published) by the solemn oath of all the people.’[455] To us this appears to be decisive. We shall presently see that the spirit pervading that confession is exactly the spirit which at that time animated Calvin. If anyone asserts the contrary, he must have forgotten the dispute which took place between Calvin and Caroli. The best reception was given to the work from the moment of its presentation to the government. The council resolved, say the registers, that the articles proposed by Farel should all be adopted.[456]

[285]

If the rule of faith were Christian, the rule of morals must be pure. At the beginning of the year 1537, Calvin, doubtless in conjunction with Farel, prepared a memoir on the subject of order in the Church. On January 15 Farel stated the fact to the council; and the next day the articles ‘presented by Master Guillaume Farel and the other preachers’ were read before the Two Hundred.[457] The ministers said,[458]—‘Considering what trouble and confusion prevailed in our city before the Gospel was received by common consent, it has been found impossible to bring everything into good order at once. But now that it hath pleased the Lord to establish his rule here somewhat more perfectly, we have thought it good and profitable to confer on these matters; and we have decided to lay before you these articles.’

There was no ground of objection to this introduction.

‘It would be desirable,’ continued Calvin and his friends, ‘that the holy supper of Jesus Christ should be celebrated every Sunday at the least, since we are made, in it, partakers of the body, the blood, the life, the spirit, and all the benefits of Jesus Christ, and because it is an admonition to us to live as Christians in brotherly unity. It was not instituted for commemoration two or three times in a year, but for frequent observance. Such was the practice of the ancient Church, until the abomination of masses was introduced, the effect of which was the entire abolition of the Lord’s supper. However, as we foresee that by reason of the infirmity of men, there might be some danger of that sacred mystery falling into contempt through so frequent a celebration, we have judged it well that the holy supper should be observed once a month.’

[286]

It was natural that such good Christians as these reformers should desire frequent communion. But the lesser council was of opinion that, for the majority, the supper would be more solemn and more beneficial if it were less frequent. It was therefore resolved to propose to the Council of the Two Hundred that it should be celebrated not more than four times in the year.[459] The reading of the memoir of the pastors was continued.

‘But the main point is that the supper, which was instituted for the purpose of uniting Christians in one spirit with their head and with each other, should not be defiled and contaminated by any persons whose evil life shows plainly that they do not belong to Jesus Christ. We must not associate, says St. Paul, with those who are notoriously profligate, covetous, idolatrous, railers, drunkards, or thieves. Care must therefore be taken that only those come to the supper who are approved members of Jesus Christ. To this end, our Lord established in his Church the correction and discipline of excommunication. This discipline existed in the Church until wicked bishops, or rather say brigands assuming the title of bishops, converted it to an instrument of tyranny, and abused it for the gratification of their own evil lusts, to such a degree that, at the present day, excommunication is one of the most cursed things to be seen in the realm of the pope. It has therefore seemed to us expedient that this discipline should be restored in the Church, according to the rule laid down in Scripture.

‘Choose ye therefore certain persons of good report, belonging to all quarters of the city, who may have an eye on each man’s life, in order that, if they discover open vice in any one, the latter may be exhorted by one of the ministers in a brotherly way to amend his life. If he will not listen to the exhortation, then let the minister report to the assembly what he has done for the reclamation of the sinner. If he still persist in evil, then[287] the time will be come to excommunicate him; that is, to treat him as cast out of the society of Christians. Should there be any who only laugh at your excommunication, it will be for you to consider whether, in the long run, that contempt for God and his Gospel is to be suffered.’ After thus insisting on a moral life, the reformers required that the confession of faith which they had presented should be put in force. ‘It is much to be suspected,’ said the ministers, ‘if it be not even plainly apparent, that there are many of the inhabitants of this city who have not by any means submitted to the Gospel, but still cherish in their hearts all manner of superstitions. It would be a highly expedient course to begin in the first place to ascertain who are willing to avow themselves of the Church of Jesus Christ, and who are not. If those who are in agreement with us in respect to the faith are to be excommunicated solely because of their vices, much more ought those to be excommunicated who are wholly opposed to us in religion; for there is no division greater than that which is made by the faith. As yet it has not been ascertained what doctrine each man holds; but this is the real beginning of a church (le droit commencement d’une Église). The remedy which has occurred to us is that all the inhabitants of this city should be bound to make confession and give a reason for their faith. And you, Gentlemen of the Council, make you confession in your council, and thus, by example show what each man will have to do.’

We have said that before Calvin’s arrival at Geneva, rules of discipline were in existence and in force. There is here however something new, as is evident from the language of the pastors. It is excommunication. This is a point of great importance, for it was on this subject that violent conflicts soon after began in Geneva. It does not however appear, from the official records, that the articles met with any opposition in the council. Surely a Christian life and a Christian faith ought to charac[288]terize a Christian society. If profligates and drunkards ought not to be admitted to what the world calls good society, much more, they thought, ought they to be excluded from a religious society. Moreover, they were laymen of good report who were to watch over moral order, and even those laymen were appointed by other laymen, members themselves of the council. This fact made a great difference between the Romish discipline and that which the reformers desired. In this case there was no suggestion of a reign of clericalism; and this doubtless contributed to the adoption of the rules. Calvin was convinced that morality ought to distinguish the reformed Church from the deformed (l’église réformée de l’église déformée). Was it not dissolute living, both on the part of the laity, and still more on the part of the monks and the priests, which had called forth in the Church the sharpest rebukes? It was not possible to purify the faith without purifying the life. That would have been a flagrant contradiction. If the Reformation made light of morality, it would destroy itself as Rome had done. With regard to doctrine, no one supposed that the reformed Church could hold in its bosom either Roman Catholics or pantheists who believed neither in God nor in the immortality of the soul. Why then should it tolerate impure persons or robbers? All this is true: but nevertheless there is something in the system that does not work smoothly. Calvin was right, and he was wrong too. We shall have to say wherein lay his truth and wherein his error.

The articles presented to the senate dealt also with the spiritual songs of the Church. If only the minister speak, worship remains cold: but the singing ‘has power to raise our hearts to God,’ said Calvin, ‘and to stimulate us to exalt his name.’ He urged the education of children, ‘in order to correct the wonderful rudeness and ignorance in which they were left through the negligence of their parents, and which is not by any means[289] allowable in the Church of God.’ Then he treated of the order of marriage, ‘a subject involved in much confusion by the pope, who undertook to establish degrees at his own pleasure.’ Calvin closed his articles with an eloquent exhortation to the council. ‘Take not these admonitions,’ said he, ‘as coming from us, but from Him who gives them in his Word. And should any one allege the difficulty of putting them in practice, let it not trouble you; for we must cherish the hope that whenever we are willing to do what God has commanded, His goodness will prosper our enterprise and bring it to a good end, as you yourselves have found by experience to this day.’

Calvin thus set about his task like a great master. A catechism which bore at once the impress of genius and of piety: a confession of faith, pure and living: a Church order which had for its aim the removal of vice and the quickening of piety:—these formed the threefold labor with which the illustrious reformer began his work.

The articles, after being sanctioned by the lower council, were carried the same day before the Council of the Two Hundred, and were allowed. The council further decreed that no shops should be open on Sundays during the time of divine service: that all persons who had images and idols in their houses should destroy them or bring them to be burnt: that no one should sing foolish songs nor play at games of chance: and finally that the syndic Porral and Jean Goulaz should be commissioned to see to the maintenance of good morals in the city, and that people led lives conformed to the will of God.[460] The choice of Porral was very good: that of Goulaz, who was personally no enemy to play or to taverns, was not so good. The council showed by these measures with what seriousness it meant to proceed in the accomplishment of the Reformation. Soon[290] after it adopted another resolution. Many children of Geneva were sent away to various places and intrusted to foreign governors. The council decreed, January 30, that those persons who had children at schools not in Geneva, should have them brought into that town or placed in other Christian schools; that otherwise the said children would be deprived of citizenship.[461] This was a rigorous measure; but it shows what spirit actuated the council, and its zeal in the cause of sound education.

These important acts met with no opposition even from the citizens who subsequently so sturdily resisted the rules of discipline. There was however a certain show of opposition, but it was in mere sport. The high-spirited youth of the town, easily excited, indulged in laughter and sarcasm. They were especially annoyed at the zeal of the syndic Porral, which crossed them in their pastimes; and when new syndics had been elected, February 4, and Porral went out of office, these youngsters began the next day to play at Picca-Porral. They wore in the hat, as a badge, a leek (porreau), and served at their feasts a dish of leeks. Each of them would prick the porral with abundance of jests. ‘Légier Beschaut and some other young men of the town’ were imprisoned, February 5, for this sport.[462] Porral requested Farel to accompany him to the prison, for the purpose of admonishing them. But the young folk did not profit by it. Some have called them frolicsome, others dissolute. We think that the former term is the most fitting. As the council saw in the proceedings of the young culprits, says a contemporary,[463] more of youth and foolishness than of malicious intention, they set them at liberty four days after their[291] arrest, under promise to appear again when required. It is very likely that Porral had acted with a little too much rigor in this affair.

The Genevese people testified their hearty acceptance of this Christian constitution by electing, February 5, syndics devoted to the Reformation. Other candidates of note were rejected. It was acknowledged that the equality of the citizens was established by this constitution, the rules applying to all alike, ‘and families of the highest distinction being bound to submit like other people.’ This gratified the commonalty. Calvin, however, did not indulge in illusions. He was afraid that a certain number of citizens, and even some of the highest eminence, would oppose the Reform; and he urgently required that all should be called upon to profess it. ‘In default of this,’ he said, ‘he would stay no longer at Geneva.’[464] What he had presented was for the benefit of all. If all would not accept it, he would go away, for he had no intention of invading or usurping by force or by fraud. On March 13, the council resolved to see to the Lord’s Supper, and to the observance of the other articles.[465] On April 17 it was decreed that a syndic, the captain of the quarter, and the tithing men (dizeniers) should visit all the houses of the tithings (dizaines) to propose the articles respecting the faith. On the 27th of the same month it was resolved to print the confession of faith, and to furnish a sufficient number of copies to the tithing men for the inhabitants of their tithings, in order that when the people should be visited they might be better instructed and well informed.[466] Each man should know what he was going to do; there must be no surprise. Calvin, indeed, was not content with the mere instruction of the Genevese in accordance with the confession. It[292] would have sufficed Saunier, who saw with regret, at least at this time, that adhesion to the formula of the confession was required of every Genevese.[467] But it was not enough for Calvin that the document should be officially recognized by the council as an expression of the faith of the Genevese, a course which had been deemed satisfactory in other places. He demanded that each individual should accept it. He did not believe that the state was in this case responsible for the people. Every Genevese was responsible before God. He did not want religion in the mass. Does not Christ say, Whosoever shall confess me before men? Whosoever—that is, each individual. This is perfectly true; but the mistake is to suppose that, in order to confess Christ, it is necessary to sign a theological confession. ‘If thou believest in thy heart, thou shalt be saved,’ says Paul. We are reminded of a poor woman who desired participation at the supper, and whose pastor subjected her to an examination on the three offices of Christ, as prophet, priest, and king. ‘Ah, sir,’ she replied, ‘I know nothing of those things, but I am ready to die for him.’ ‘That will do,’ said the minister, with some sense of shame. Theology is necessary to theologians; it must not be demanded of simple folk. The three leading ministers, Farel, Calvin, and Courault, the latter blind and old, being of the same mind on the subject, appeared before the Two Hundred, presented their formula, and earnestly pressed the council to give glory to God by confessing His truth. ‘It is right,’ said Calvin, ‘that in so sacred a duty you, who are bound to set an example of all virtue, should go before the people.’ But that was not enough for him. ‘Then,’ he added, ‘assemble the country by tithings, and let every man swear to this confession.’[468] The council[293] adopted the views of the reformer, which Saunier himself had embraced. All the tithing men were summoned to give first their own adhesion; and the council charged them to exhort those over whom they were set to follow the commandments of God, and to bring their men (leurs gens) to St. Peter’s, tithing by tithing (there were twenty-eight of them), to adhere to the confession. The adhesion was given through the medium of the tithing men, successively, and not simultaneously. A principle, from which there was no deviation, excluded women from the general council. But in this instance the assembly was of a religious rather than a political character. It was well known how great the influence of woman is in the family as regards religion. It is therefore possible that both men and women were summoned together to St. Peter’s, distributed in groups by their tithing men. The decree which we have just cited directs them to bring their gens, a word which may include both sexes. However, we have found no positive evidence on this point. One single fact appears to indicate that women were present. On September 28, 1537, the council dealt with the case of Jeanne la Gibescière, who would not swear to the new reformation, and banished her on that account. But more than a month earlier, on August 21, this same Jeanne, belonging to a particular sect (the Spirituals), on its being proposed to her to swear to the new reformation, had refused to do so, and had consequently been placed under arrest. That case, therefore, cannot be alleged as an absolute proof that women also swore to the confession at St. Peter’s.

Accordingly, on Sunday, July 29, the council assembled in the cathedral, and the tithings passed in successively. Young people who had attained their majority, and old men with white hair, perhaps women as well as men, came forward. Rozet, secretary to the council, read the confession of faith. Next came the oath of fidelity and[294] obedience, which each in his turn took by lifting up his hand.[469] ‘The people,’ says Calvin, ‘show no less alacrity in taking the oath than the senate had shown diligence in publishing it.’[470] A large number of the Genevese professed with all their heart the evangelical doctrines.

Nevertheless, the opinion of Saunier might be supported by weighty reasons. If he was opposed to the imposition of a personal engagement, it was because he knew that the confession was not the exact expression of the faith of each individual; that some of those who would swear to it did not understand it either wholly or in part; and that others, while understanding it better, had only an intellectual belief, which might fail when assailed by captious objections. Individuality did not appear to be at that time adequately respected. But the public profession of faith of July 29 had been so solemn a proceeding that many rejoiced at it. There were however many people who abstained from joining in it, because they were still attached to Roman Catholicism. There were also a certain number who were unwilling to submit to moral discipline. George Lesclefs and his servant said that they could not bring their minds to swear to keep the ten commandments, because they were so difficult.[471] Others refused to take the oath from a spirit of political independence.

Nevertheless, we may assert in a general way that the people gave their adhesion to the confession; and that was a glorious day for the Reformation on which those hands were lifted up for the Gospel in the old cathedral of St. Peter. The sky, indeed, was afterwards clouded, but that day was clear and serene.

Calvin might well rejoice in having obtained results[295] so large in so short a time; and his colleagues rejoiced with him. The aged Courault, persecuted in France, had been compelled to take refuge in Basel; and Calvin, knowing that although deprived of sight, ‘he was clear-sighted with the eyes of the mind,’ had called him to Geneva. Courault was happy to find himself a witness in that city of the triumph of the Reformation, which had been so rudely assailed in his native country. Farel, on his part, saw that God was crowning the work that had cost him so much labor. He displayed at all times unwearied zeal and heroic courage; and his continual prayers in behalf of the Reformation were so fervent, that those who heard them felt themselves lifted up to heaven, says Beza. Farel had cast the seed into the ground, and had seen the stalk spring up. Now, to the time of sowing succeeded the time of harvest. The ear had appeared, the grain was formed in the ear, and another laborer, a robust harvestman, had come to cut the wheat and bind the sheaves. But this excited no envy in him. On the contrary, his Christian soul acknowledged with thanksgiving the precious gifts bestowed on Calvin. The superiority of his intellect, the extent of his acquirements, the accuracy of his judgment, and his faculty for organization, filled the old pioneer with admiration and respect. He was delighted to see a constantly increasing auditory thronging into the cathedral to hear Calvin expound the Holy Scriptures. Thenceforth the old man sat almost a disciple at the feet of the young doctor. On all subjects he desired Calvin’s opinion, and he looked on him as the man chosen of God to complete the Reformation. Calvin on his part gave to Farel the honor which was due to him. ‘After you had begun to build up this Church of Geneva, with great labor and danger,’ he said, ‘I came in unexpectedly in the first instance as conductor, and afterwards I remained as your successor, to carry on the work which you had well and happily begun.’[296] This cordial relation between Calvin and Farel, in spite of the difference of their ages, is among the most beautiful instances of the kind in history. Calvin subsequently extolled what he called their sacred friendship and union, and said affectionately, ‘You and I are one.’[472] There was between them, says Calvin on another occasion, a good understanding and a friendship which, consecrated by the name of Christ, was profitable to his Church.

The school, placed under the direction of Saunier, likewise flourished. Lessons began at five o’clock in the morning.[473] The pupils were instructed ‘in the three most excellent languages, Greek, Hebrew, and Latin, in addition to the French, which, in the opinion of the learned, is by no means to be despised.’ Mathurin Cordier, formerly Calvin’s teacher, soon devoted himself to this task. Numerous scholars, attracted to Geneva by the great work which was being achieved there, came from Basel, Berne, Bienne, Zurich, and other places, to study there. These messmates lived at the College, with Saunier, whose house was ordered in a Christian manner. ‘Daily, before they sat down to meat, one of them read aloud a chapter of the Bible and all the rest listened. While seated at the table, they each repeated a sentence of Holy Scripture.’[474] Thus were fashioned the strong men of the sixteenth century. The system which excludes from the school the Bible and even religion, that is to say, the regenerative and training element, will never form the like.

The reformers, whose intercourse with each other was pleasant and refreshing, enjoyed in addition the approval of the majority of the people, and particularly of the magistrates. Receiving so much encouragement in their[297] ministry, they were brave, active, and unwearied in their calling. Far from being weighed down with their great task, they appeared rather to grow stronger under the burden; and this is a distinctive mark of great men. If any difficulty arose, if any village were in need of a preacher, Farel and Calvin applied with confidence to the council, which usually acceded to their request, and acted even with generosity.[475] When a good citizen pointed out, February 13, that Calvin had not yet received anything, the council decreed to present him with six écus.[476] The next day, Farel, with his brother and Saunier, applied for the grant of citizenship; it was resolved that they should receive it free of charge. Calvin did not become a citizen of Geneva till a later period. Nor was he the only one who deferred that matter. Other celebrated Frenchmen declined the citizenship of Geneva, their city of refuge, on the ground that they could not renounce France. That love for the old country was probably one of the motives which led Calvin to put off for three-and-twenty years becoming a citizen of the city of which he was the very soul. On February 27 they presented to Saunier thirty measures of wheat; and, on June 6, six écus to Courault. The gifts were not large, but every age has its own measure.

The council, which concerned itself about the wants of the ministers, watched likewise, in conformity with the constitution, over the wants of the Church and the purity of morals. Letters were written, February 7, at the request of Farel, to Besançon and to Neuchâtel, respecting Olivétan’s Bible.[477] The lay magistrates were severe. On the 23d of the same month, a player and[298] sharper, who was cheating the people out of their money, was sentenced to be exposed for an hour, with his fraudulent cards hung round his neck. The ‘grand Francois,’ guilty of impurity, had to give as a fine a halter, eighteen feet long, such as is used for tying up cattle. A man and woman guilty of adultery, were banished, June 1, for a year. On March 13 the council, intruding even into the spiritual domain, determined to make arrangements about the Lord’s Supper and other things.[478]

Thus Geneva took an important place both as a Church and a school. Foreigners resorted to it, or sent their children there. The beauty of its situation formed also a powerful attraction. Of all descriptions of Geneva, the following is doubtless one of the most ancient. ‘Do not imagine,’ said Saunier, ‘that Geneva is some frightful, almost uninhabitable town, in the midst of barren and solitary rocks. The streets, with a few exceptions, are broad and in good condition, and there are several large public places. Encircled by a continuous chain of mountains, it has nevertheless on all sides a tract of level country extending round it in the form of a great theatre. As for the lake, it is difficult to say in what respect it is of most value to the city, whether for profit, for defence (parement), or for beauty. The water is not at all muddy or turbid, but to the very bottom is clear as fine glass, so that people take a wonderful pleasure in looking at it. To sum up, the said town is situated on the frontiers of three great countries, to wit, Gaul, Germany, and Italy, as it were a place marked out (députée) for gatherings of merchants.’[479] Geneva was going to be marked out for other gatherings. ‘Already Mathurin Cordier,’ says a contemporary, ‘a man more[299] skilful in training schools in the French tongue than any man of our time has been, brought with him a large number of learned men.’[480] We have already spoken elsewhere of the arrival of young Englishmen at the foot of the Alps, for the sake of enjoying intercourse with Calvin. Saunier’s description shows that the reformers were not unobservant of the beauties of nature. They loved them, and contemplated them at Geneva in the height and perfection of their majesty.

CALVIN CONTENDS WITH FOREIGN DOCTORS, AND IS ACCUSED OF ARIANISM.

(March to June, 1537.)

The peace and satisfaction which were the fruit of the settled order, and even of the beauty of the places in which these great changes had been effected, did not long remain undisturbed. Some foreign doctors came to Geneva, Herman of Liége and Andrew Benoît, the latter also a native of the Netherlands, both of them belonging to that enthusiastic sect, some of whose leaders Calvin had previously encountered in France, and who called themselves the Spirituals.[481] These sectaries had found their way into western Europe, but Germany and the Netherlands were, above all, their proper countries. The German mind has a philosophical and even mystical tendency, which gives rise to a longing to penetrate deeper than the Bible itself into the knowledge of divine things. The central position of Geneva, the important revolution in politics and reli[300]gion which had just been accomplished there, excited in those sectaries the hope of establishing themselves in the city for the purpose of spreading themselves afterwards over France, Italy, and other countries. These new doctors, from the time of their arrival, had labored to diffuse their opinions, and had gained partisans. Among these were some members of the council.[482] Proud of this first success, they expected to substitute in Geneva their dreams for the Gospel. The claim set up by these Spirituals, of penetrating further into the truth than the reformers did, gave them a certain attractiveness for minds eager for novelties. They boldly announced that they were willing to dispute with the preachers. As early as March 9 they were called before the council, and were invited to communicate in writing the articles which they intended to maintain.[483] Herman and Benoît complied with this request, and delivered their theses to the council. The council took them into consideration on March 13. In calling themselves the Spirituals, these men meant to assert that the spirit alone acted in them. Their doctrine was a more or less gross kind of Pantheism. They did not think, in general, ‘that the soul was a substance, a creature having essence; it was merely, in their view, the property which a man has of breathing, of moving, and of performing other vital actions.[484] They said that in place of our souls it is God who lives in us, and does in us all the actions pertaining to life. God became the creature,’ adds Calvin, ‘and the latter was no longer anything.’[485] An assassination having been committed at Paris, Quintin, a leader among the Spirituals, replied to some who asked him who committed it, ’Tis thou, ’tis I, ’tis God, for what thou and I do, ’tis God that does it.’ They had also peculiar ideas respecting Jesus Christ. They did not hold that he had been very[301] man, but made him a kind of phantom, as to his body. They held similar errors about baptism, excommunication, the magistrate, oaths, and other matters. We are not in possession of the articles which they presented to the council, and it is probable that they did not put forward the most offensive points of their system. But the majority of the council ‘believed that it would be dangerous to discuss those articles in public, on account of the weakness (tendrité) of men’s minds. They therefore determined to give them a hearing on the following day, March 14, but only in the Council of the Two Hundred.’[486]

The sensation created in the city by the presence of Herman and Benoît, and the eagerness with which certain citizens were pleased to listen to them, had not escaped the notice of the reformers. If these doctors were not refuted, Geneva, withdrawn from the errors of the papacy, might fall into the dreams of Pantheism. The reformers therefore asked permission to attend the sitting. Herman and Benoît expounded their system. The council wished to hush up the affair; but Farel, confident in the force of truth, requested that it might be publicly discussed. His entreaties were complied with, and the debate was fixed for the next day, March 15.[487]

The disputation took place in the grand auditory of Rive, on March 15, 16, and 17, and on each occasion lasted the whole day. No report of these debates has come down to us. But some notion may be formed of them from the two tractates which Calvin devoted to the exposition and refutation of the system.[488] The discussion was very animated. The reformers so forcibly[302] confuted, by the Word of God alone, the doctrines advanced by the two Spirituals in the public disputation, that the whole tribe thenceforth disappeared from that Church.[489] The Council of the Two Hundred having assembled, March 18, declared that the assailant was not sufficient, that is to say, that his opinions were erroneous. But they remarked that this disputation might beget differences, and that the faith might be imperilled. The reformers were therefore forbidden for the future to engage in such discussions. Then Herman and Benoît being called in, the syndics said to them, ‘We have been quite willing to hear you, for we listen to everybody, but seeing that you are not able to prove the truth of your propositions by Holy Scripture, we have pronounced them to be contrary to the truth. Are you willing to retract, and to return to God and ask his forgiveness?’ ‘We submit to the will of God,’ they replied, ‘but we will not by any means retract our words.’

Those of the Genevese who had taken them from the time of their coming for good evangelical Christians had called them brethren. But these foreigners had shown themselves very quarrelsome; and having refused even to pray with the Christians of Geneva—an offensive sign of their sectarian spirit—they were no longer called by the name of brethren. However, no penalty was at that time imposed on them, in the hope that they might be brought to more Christian sentiments. But that was indulging in a mere illusion. It was therefore decreed, according to the custom of the age, that these doctors, and every member of their sect, should be banished for ever from Geneva, under pain of death. ‘The most admirable feature of this business,’ said the early biographers of Calvin, ‘is, that if some churches of Germany have been delivered from[303] these doctors, they were so by mere rigor of justice; while at Geneva the magistrate had no hand in it.’[490] Certainly, he did not employ against them either imprisonment or torture; Calvin endeavored only to convince them by argument. But banishment, under pain of death, is nevertheless a very palpable act of the magistrate. On the other hand, it is also a mistake to say that the Registers knew nothing of Calvin’s victory.[491] On the contrary, the decree of the council was expressly based on the fact that the doctors had been unable to prove the truth of their propositions by Holy Scripture.

These were not the only attacks which the reformers had to sustain at the outset of their career. There were certain restless spirits who saw with vexation Calvin, Farel, and Viret at the head of the Reformation in French-speaking lands, and who wished to deprive them of their position, that they might occupy it themselves. These new troubles, caused by jealousy and ambition, were of a sharper kind, and lasted longer.[492] Their originator was that doctor of the Sorbonne, Caroli, whom we saw arrive from France at Geneva at the time of the great disputation of 1535.[493] Caroli was a sort of theological adventurer. He did not at heart care for the sacred end which the Reformation had in view. An incurable levity, which would not allow him to adhere to any party, a liking for anything which seemed to him new and fashionable, a burning thirst for glory and for fortune, a craving for liberty to satisfy his vicious inclinations, these were the feelings which actuated him, and threw him into a camp which he soon abandoned to seek in another the gratification of[304] the same evil desires. Vain, proud, cringing, and inconsistent, he appeared as an assailant of the monks when a sort of reformation was in vogue in France. Next, when the era of persecution had begun, he made his escape to Geneva. The object of his dreams was to become a sort of bishop, to govern the reformed churches in French Switzerland; and he proposed to establish a doctrine which should hold a middle place between the Gospel and the pope. He had made acquaintance with the principal cities of his future diocese. From Geneva he had gone to Neuchâtel, and there he had become pastor, and had married. We have seen him appointed first pastor at Lausanne. ‘In every place that he visited he left some traces of his baseness.’[494] He tacked before every breeze. In a little while he passed from the Romish camp into the Protestant; then, because the reformers remonstrated with him, he returned to his vomit, according to the Scripture phrase; quitted the papal hierarchy a second time, to associate with the evangelicals; and finally ended his roving and wretched life at Rome. Caroli is one of the most despicable characters of that epoch—one of those ecclesiastical Don Quixotes who boast of smiting all their enemies. Besides vainglory, he had another passion quite as intense—hatred. He detested Farel, who had known him at Paris and had rebuked him for his vices. He detested Viret, who had once preached on impurity before him; a sermon which Caroli, convicted by his own conscience, thought was meant for him. In vain Viret assured him that he had preached for everybody: Caroli never forgave him. And lastly, the high esteem in which Calvin was held filled this Parisian doctor with envy and jealousy. He was hardly settled at Lausanne when, eager to realize his dreams, he demanded at Berne the oversight of a certain number of[305] pastors and of churches. The Bernese refused this, and at the same time begged Viret to aid with his advice a foreigner who did not perfectly know the country, and decreed that no innovation should be introduced among the people by any pastor without a preliminary deliberation of all the brethren.[495]

Caroli was not at all inclined to submit to this rule. A fantastic schoolman, he was fond of putting forward strange paradoxes, and of raising discussions which irritated men’s minds and gave him an opportunity of showing off his cleverness. That sort of thing was a remnant of the Middle Ages; but the age of the Reformation demanded a different method. Caroli was an anachronism. His rank as doctor of the Sorbonne ought, in his view, to set him at the top of the ecclesiastical hierarchy, before which the rude herdsmen of Helvetia must bend. He meant to make a reformation sui generis, to advance views peculiar to himself, and to set up doctrines to which no one had before attained. An opportunity soon presented itself. Viret, his young colleague, having gone to pay a visit to his friends at Geneva, Caroli took advantage of his absence, and, ascending the pulpit, read a series of theses tending to prove that prayers ought to be made for the dead. ‘I have no intention,’ he said as he closed, ‘of taking lessons from a young man,’ thus pointing to Viret. It was plain, from his gestures, his voice, his words so arrogant and so full of tartness, that he was over-excited.[496] Viret, being informed by one of his friends, soon returned, and rebuked him for his freak. But Caroli, proud of what he impudently called his discovery, replied—‘I do not believe in purgatory, nor do I suppose that the dead can be comforted by the prayers of the living; those things are mere fictions. But I[306] believe that we ought to ask God to hasten his judgment for the happiness of his saints and of all the members of the Church, the Virgin, the prophets, and the apostles, who will be the first to profit thereby.’[497] Caroli thus pitched his tent between Rome and the Gospel, being neither with the one nor with the other, but being merely himself. That was his wish. Had he only urged the Church to say to the Lord, ‘Come quickly,’ he would have spoken in conformity with Holy Scripture. But his intention was that the prayer should be offered in favor of the dead, a pretence which finds no justification in the Bible. Viret replied to him—‘You know that we ought not to preach any merely private views without having first communicated them to one another. If you have found in Scripture any instruction which is unknown to me, I will freely embrace it; but if you preach some erroneous doctrine, allow me, as your colleague, to make some observations on it.’[498] That was just what Caroli did not want. He answered Viret haughtily, and proudly maintained his doctrine.

Many friends of the Gospel looked to Calvin, who enjoyed their entire confidence, and begged him to go immediately to Lausanne. This he did. Farel would have liked to accompany him; but the Bernese requested him to look after his own church and not after theirs. Delegates from Berne were sent to Lausanne, and a kind of consistory was thus formed, in which Calvin, it appears, stated the case. But the proud Caroli, who thought it beneath his dignity to make any defence, refused in the haughtiest manner to give the least explanation of his conduct. He was greatly annoyed to find himself accused by Calvin, whose supe[307]riority was so troublesome to him. He immediately formed his plan. He resolved to turn against the reformer the sword with which the latter had threatened him, and to plunge it into him up to the hilt. ‘If the minister of Geneva,’ he exclaimed, ‘has shown so much zeal in bringing this business before your assembly, it is a shameful conspiracy, the only object of which is to ruin me completely.’ Viret then spoke, and so clearly set forth the subterfuges and calumnies of Caroli, that the assembly condemned him to make a retractation, regardless of his amour propre. Astounded by a sentence so severe, this man, who so easily passed from one extreme to another, humbled himself, and with lamentings and tears asked for pardon. Calvin was touched by this demeanor, and in the abundance of his moderation prayed the assembly to spare Caroli the act which wounded his pride. Viret did the same. Their request was granted. The doctor of the Sorbonne had then nothing better to do than to retire quietly to his own house, with a grateful feeling towards his two noble adversaries. But their well-meant interposition had not really softened him; his humility was a mere feint. He was determined at all cost to reach his end and become the foremost man in the Church. Jealous of the influence exercised by Calvin, Farel, and Viret in Switzerland, he said to himself that in order to get firmly seated in the saddle, the man already riding must first be dismounted. The ruin of these three doctors was the task which he had to undertake. He felt sure of the secret support, at least at Geneva, of some of the leading men; and he flattered himself that he should be able to involve Calvin in hopeless embarrassment.[499] He resolved therefore to assume the character of accuser, and to reduce his enemies to play the part of the guilty and the accused.

People thought that they had done with this man,[308] and the assembly was on the point of breaking up, when he suddenly rose, with a preoccupied look, as if he had some burden on his conscience of which he was anxious to be rid. ‘For the glory of God,’ said he, speaking in a declamatory tone, ‘for the honor of the lords of Berne, for the purity of the faith, for the safety of the Church, for the public peace, and for the relief of my own conscience, I have now to set before you, my honorable lords, a matter on which I have long kept silence. The silence must now be broken. I must speak. There are in the city of Geneva, as well as in your country, many ministers who are tainted with the Arian heresy.’ Putting himself forward like a second Athanasius, he named a great number of ministers, good men, whom he declared guilty of the error of Arius, but without giving any evidence at all.[500] Calvin was among the first in this catalogue of heretics. To accuse him of being an Arian required an audacity and a passion carried to the pitch of madness. It appears that he was even accused, in common with his friends, of maintaining the errors of the Spaniard Servetus.[501] The Genevese theologians had very recently encountered and defeated an Arian at Geneva, Claude of Savoy. There was something more than passion in this attack; there was absurdity. Calvin leaning towards Deism, indeed! The Reformation was not a beginning of Deism, with which stupid enemies have charged it: it was a reëstablishing of Christianity.

The reformer was struck with astonishment. ‘It had never entered into my imagination,’ he wrote, ‘that we had to fear being accused on this point.’[502] Calvin per[309]ceived the scope of the attack which Caroli had just made. If he were to remain under this charge, his ministry would be compromised, his zeal suspected, his labors fruitless. Discord would be thrown into the evangelical camp, and Rome exult to see the most devoted champions of the Reformation accused of denying the divinity of the Saviour. The reformer immediately rose; and without any exhibition of violence, with which his enemies are always ready to reproach him, he pointed out with much spirit the inconsistency of his opponent. ‘Only a few days ago,’ he said, ‘Caroli invited me to his table. I was at that time a very dear brother. He bade me present his compliments to Farel; he treated as Christians all those whom he looks on to-day as heretics, and protested that he wished to maintain for ever a brotherly union with us. Where, at that time, was the glory of God, where the purity of the faith and the unity of the Church?’ Then, turning towards the doctor of the Sorbonne—‘How could you,’ he said, ‘conscientiously celebrate the holy supper on two occasions with an Arian associate? From what source have you learnt that I am tainted with that heresy? Tell me, for I will clear myself of that infamy.’ As Caroli brought forward no evidence, the reformer appealed to the catechism which he had recently published. ‘This is the faith,’ said he, ‘which I have but lately professed. We confess that we believe in the Father, in the Son, and in the Holy Spirit; and when we name the Father, the Son, and the Spirit, we do not imagine to ourselves three gods. But we believe that Scripture and the experience of piety show us the Father, the Son, and the Spirit in simplest divine unity.’[503]

Caroli was not by any means satisfied. The words[310] in his view essential were missing. Calvin thought it advisable, in works of a practical and popular character, to avoid the use of expressions which are not found in holy Scripture. Therefore he had avoided the use, in the passage cited, of the terms Trinity, substance, or persons. Luther had done the same. ‘This term, Trinity,’ said he, ‘is nowhere to be found in holy Scripture; it was invented by men. Moreover the word is frigid, and it is far better to say God than Trinity.’[504] Calvin, who was full of spirit and life, was afraid that by the use of these theological terms Christianity should be placed solely in the understanding of the man and of the child, and not in his conscience, his heart, his will, and his works. He had employed them the year before in the first edition of his Institution, which was intended for professed theologians:[505] but he had excluded them both from his Confession, prepared chiefly for the laity, and from his Catechism, composed for children. All this did not pacify Caroli, who, if he was orthodox, was only orthodox in the head. He alleged that if Calvin was innocent of Arianism, he was guilty of Sabellianism. ‘You will be under suspicion on that matter,’ said he, ‘until you have subscribed the Athanasian creed.’ ‘My practice,’ replied Calvin, ‘is not to approve of anything as in conformity with the Word of God until after due consideration.’ Caroli, thinking that the Athanasian creed was compromised by this reserve, flew into a passion and cried out, ‘that this avowal was unworthy of a Christian.’[506]

[311]

Up to this moment Calvin had restrained himself; but he felt deeply the injustice of the doctor’s accusations. When he had received an unmerited blow, he not seldom replied by striking another himself. The blow was just, but sometimes rather sharp. ‘You will not find any one,’ he said to Caroli, ‘more earnest than I am in maintaining the divinity of Jesus Christ. I think that I have given a sufficiently clear account of my faith. My works are in everybody’s hands, and all the orthodox churches approve my doctrine. But as for you, what evidence have you ever given of your faith, except possibly in public-houses and the haunts of vice? For it is in such places that you have hitherto practised.’

Caroli, knowing all that could be told of his abandoned life, and as cowardly as he was rash, trembled when he found that Calvin was approaching that subject. In order to break the force of the blow, he retracted his charge, and declared that the writings of his opponent were good; that he had always spoken well of the Holy Trinity; and that no accusation could be drawn up against him, ‘provided that he did not support the cause of Farel.’ Caroli feared Farel less than Calvin, and hated him more. Viret then spoke, and compelled the presumptuous doctor to retract what concerned himself (Viret). ‘These retractations are not sufficient,’ said the two reformers; ‘we mean to defend likewise the cause of Farel and of our other absent brothers, whom you have unjustly accused.’ The delegates of Berne, when they saw what an important character the debate was assuming, declared that it was necessary to carry it before a general assembly, and undertook to get one held. The meeting then broke up.[507]

These circumstances occurred in February. Calvin, on his return to Geneva, fearing that the Bernese delegates might be slow to fulfil their promise, and per[312]ceiving moreover that this affair concerned the Church rather than the state, persuaded the ministers of Geneva to write to the ministers of Berne, pressing them to take the matter in hand.[508] He wrote himself to Megander, the chief among the Bernese pastors. ‘I cannot find words,’ he said, ‘adequately to express the imminent peril to which the Church will be exposed if this business be indefinitely postponed. The influence which your position gives you lays on you more than any one else the obligation to use all your efforts to promote an early meeting of the assembly. You cannot imagine how severely the blow struck by Caroli has shaken the foundation which we have laid. People are saying, especially, even in country places, that we ought to begin by agreeing among ourselves before we think of converting others. Let us not allow the coat of the Gospel, woven in one piece, to be rent by wicked men. Do all that is possible to secure the meeting, before Easter, of all the French-speaking ministers who live under the government of your republic.’[509] Easter fell in that year on April 1.

As the reformer received no satisfactory reply, he set out for Berne in the first fortnight in March, and implored the magistrates, the councillors, and the pastors to convoke the synod immediately. This was refused him, probably on account of the business which accumulates during the weeks preceding the feast of Easter; but they promised him that the assembly should be convoked immediately after Easter.[510] We see what courage and activity Calvin displayed; this was one of the signs of his genius. Farel, on the contrary, was worn out by the distress of mind which this affair had occasioned him. His condition was afflicting to his[313] friends. ‘I should never have believed,’ said Calvin to Viret, ‘that with his iron constitution he could have been so pulled down.’ Farel’s age and his immense labors, however, accounted for his state. Calvin, alarmed at the prospect of losing so invaluable a fellow-laborer, wrote to Viret: ‘It is indispensable that you should return to us, unless we are prepared to see Farel die of grief. If we allow a breach to be made in the Genevese Church, I am afraid that schism will tear it to pieces.’[511] Instead of diminishing, the energy of Calvin appeared to increase, for he felt the justice of his cause. ‘I am ready,’ he said, ‘to maintain the contest with the utmost energy. The charges, first of Arianism, and then of Sabellianism, have not greatly disturbed us; our ears have been long accustomed to such calumnies, and we are confident that they will all end in smoke.’[512] The valiant champion therefore awaited fearlessly the convocation of the synod. The council of Geneva, on receiving the letters from the lords of Berne respecting this gathering, invited the preachers to go thither; and on May 11 the treasurer placed in Farel’s hands fifty florins, to cover the expenses of the journey.[513]

The assembly met at Lausanne. On May 13[514] there were seen entering the church of St. Francis the banderet Rodolph de Graffenried, Nicholas Zerkinden, secretary of state, the pastor Grosmann, commonly called Megander, and another deputy from Berne. From Geneva came Calvin, Farel, and Courault; about twenty ministers from Neuchâtel, and a hundred pastors from the Pays de Vaud, among the latter, Viret. Caroli, it seems, came with a bag such as barristers are accus[314]tomed to carry, containing the brief of his proceedings.[515] Megander was president. He stated that the assembly had met in consequence of the charge brought by Caroli against several ministers, of not believing in the Trinity, nor in the divinity of Jesus Christ. Then addressing Viret, a subject of Berne, he inquired what was his opinion on that doctrine. ‘When we confess one only God,’ replied the pastor of Lausanne, ‘we comprehend the Father, with his eternal Word, and his Spirit, in one single and divine essence. Nevertheless we do not confound the Father with the Word, nor the Word with the Spirit.’ Caroli rose and said with bitterness, ‘This profession is too short, too dry, too obscure. No mention is made in it of the Trinity, nor of substance, nor of person.’ Then taking a declamatory tone, he began to recite the Nicene creed, afterwards the Athanasian creed, making undignified gestures with his hands and arms, and moving his head and his body about in such an extraordinary way that the grave assembly could not refrain from laughter. In closing his speech, he said to his adversary, ‘Nothing can clear you from the charge of heresy except your signing the three œcumenical creeds.’[516]

Calvin listened to him without interrupting him; but he could no longer keep silence. A justification on his part was almost superfluous. He had fully professed the doctrine in his popular writings; he had even, as we have seen, employed the terms of the school in his theological Institution. But the point of importance for the safety of the Church was to make his adversary known, to tear the mask from his face. That man, of dissolute life, destitute of convictions, destitute of faith, whose only thought was how to get possession of the highest[315] place, and who was endeavoring to conceal the licentiousness of his evil life under the pretence of religion, dared to accuse, with hypocritical lips, the faithful servants of God. A course so revolting roused Calvin’s indignation; and from his lips fell such earnest words as were inspired by the fraud, the vices, and the shamelessness of his adversary. He completely stripped the man. ‘What wickedness this is,’ said he, ‘without any cause but mere lawless passions, to disturb the Church and to check the progress of the Gospel by bringing atrocious accusations against persons entirely innocent, who have rendered the most conspicuous services to the truth! Caroli sets up a quarrel with us about the distinction of the persons in God. I am going to examine him in turn, but I take up the subject at a higher point, and I ask him if only he believes in God. I declare before God and before men, that he has no more faith in the divine Word than the dog and the swine that trample under foot holy things.’ Some will perhaps exclaim against this language, but it must be remembered that Calvin took these two words from holy Scripture, where they are used to mark two different characters, of both of which we must equally beware.[517] ‘Give not that which is holy unto the dogs,’ said Jesus, ‘neither cast ye your pearls before swine.’ The swine represent men defiled by debauchery, and the dog is the beast that barks, pursues, and bites. These two kinds of excess precisely characterized Caroli.

But Calvin did not stop there. He did not mean that people should be able to say that the ministers were not cleared of the charges brought against them. He therefore made a confession which had been beforehand approved by his colleagues. ‘When we distinguish the Father, his eternal Word, and his Spirit,’ said he, ‘we believe, in common with ecclesiastical writers, that in the simple unity of God there are three hypostases or[316] substances, which, although they be one sole and identical essence, are nevertheless not confounded with each other. With respect to Jesus Christ,’ he added, ‘before taking on himself our flesh, he was the eternal Word, begotten of the Father before time was, very God, of one same essence, power, and majesty with the Father, Jehovah himself, who has ever existed of himself, and gives to others the property of existing.’[518]

This declaration baffled Caroli; and now, after having very strongly asserted that Calvin was not orthodox enough, he began to cry out that he was too much so. ‘What,’ said he, ‘you attribute to Jesus Christ the name and the nature of Jehovah; you say that he has of himself the divine essence!’ Calvin replied, ‘If we attentively consider the difference between the Father and the Word, we must acknowledge that the Word proceeds from the Father. But if we concern ourselves with the essence itself of the Word, so far as the Word is God with the Father, all that is said of the one must likewise be said of the other.’[519] Caroli, giving up the matter, took refuge in the words. ‘In your confession,’ said he, ‘there is not the word Trinity, there is not the word person.’ Then, wishing to compel Calvin and the other ministers to adopt the confessions made by men,—‘I demand,’ said he, ‘that you sign the three ancient creeds.’ Calvin and the ministers who were with him would have given their signature under other circumstances, but they now refused it for very wise reasons. ‘Caroli,’ they said, ‘by compelling us to sign, wishes to throw suspicion on our faith. We do not consider it fitting to show him so much deference. Moreover, we will not, by our example, promote the introduction into the Church of a tyranny which would brand every man as a heretic who will not express himself in terms dic[317]tated by another.’[520] Herein Calvin gave proof at the same time of a magnanimity and a fidelity which do him honor. Every Church, in his opinion, ought to confess its doctrine, but he would rather that the confession should be the product of the life and the faith of those who make it; and not a mere return to ten or twelve centuries back, in order to seek the truth in the antiquated phrases of another age. He professed with all his heart the doctrine enunciated in the early creeds, the Nicene and the so-called Athanasian, which set forth, perhaps with superfluity of words, but nevertheless with much force, a faith which is dear to Christian men. But he felt that these writings were wanting in evangelical simplicity. The phrases ‘God of God, Light of Light’ (Θεὸς ἐκ Θεοῦ, Φῶς ἐκ Φωτὸς), used in the Nicene creed, appeared to him less apostolic than Oriental in their character. It shocked him that the Quicunque, better known under the name of the Athanasian creed, just at the time when it is going to make subtle distinctions, such as the faith of a simple Christian man cannot comprehend, should begin by asserting—‘Whosoever will be saved, before all things it is necessary that he hold the Catholic faith (that of the creed). Which faith, except every one do keep whole and undefiled, without doubt he shall perish everlastingly.’ Caroli’s ignorance as to this profession of faith was so great that he believed it was drawn up at Nicæa in A.D. 325, and by Athanasius. This was startling to Calvin. The creed appears, in fact, to have been formed gradually in the African church, some of its formulæ being met with towards the close of the seventh century; but it did not exist as a whole until the age of Charlemagne, nearly five centuries after the council of Nicæa. That was an age in which, if the doctrine of the divine nature was truly stated, the doctrines of jus[318]tification by grace and of the new birth by the Spirit were obscured. Semi-Pelagianism was more and more invading the Church; literary and scientific culture, decried by the monks as belonging to paganism, was becoming rare; the state, not content with deciding on the exterior relations of the Church, published edicts on the articles of faith or of doctrine; miracles were alleged to be wrought by relics; the bishops of Rome assumed the title of universal bishop, a title branded by Gregory the Great as antichristian; the controversy about images was especially agitating men’s minds; both the Church and the state were in the utmost confusion; the bishops took up arms against the lords; the clergy, both regular and secular, were without culture and without discipline; and, in one word, Christianity had lost the life which was peculiarly its own. It was, doubtless, the existence of this melancholy condition of society at the period in which the Quicunque was formed that induced Calvin to make reservations, and to declare that it was to the belief in one only God that he made oath, and not to the belief of Athanasius, whose creed no genuine Church would have accepted.[521]

The synod, having heard both parties and maturely considered the matter, acknowledged the confession of the Genevese ministers to be good and orthodox; and they condemned Caroli, and declared him henceforth unworthy to fulfil the functions of the ministry. ‘We have, by our refutation,’ said Calvin, ‘exhausted all that bag of Caroli’s;[522] with regard to ourselves there now remains not the slightest suspicion.’ Caroli appealed from the sentence of the synod to the lords of Berne.[319] Who was right? Who was wrong? Calvin or Caroli? Judgments have differed on the point. Some have said, ‘The denunciation by Caroli was not altogether unfounded; it is no wonder that he declared himself dissatisfied and maintained his charge.’ Others have added that Calvin fell on his adversary with a violence which made the assembly tremble, and which afforded the first instance of that fearful anger with which so often afterwards he struck down those who were against him.[523] This is not our opinion. As to his expressions, Calvin’s defence is not so terrible, so passionate, if we call to mind the sort of man with whom he had to deal; and as for the hardest words of the reformer, they are, as we have seen, two which he adopted from the Saviour himself. As to the substance of the defence, he would not bring forward, as Roman Catholics do, human authorities; he preferred to hold fast to the Word of God. That is his chief glory, and therein does he show himself a genuine reformer, as Luther did. His adversary was an immoral character, and the Reformation would make no covenant with immorality. Who would blame him for that? Calvin could not consent that a dissolute man, whose hand was stained with the blood of the saints, should pass for an Athanasius, one of the noblest of the ancient doctors of the Church. He was, above all, profoundly afflicted by the thought that the blow struck by that man was shaking the foundations of the spiritual building which was being erected to the glory of God.

These debates made a great noise in other lands. All kinds of rumors were current at a distance, and evil reports were circulated about the Genevese reformers. People were asking one another what this contest between Caroli and Calvin was about, and they waited impatiently for the issue of it. French vivacity had been offensive to some theologians of German Switzer[320]land. Megander himself complained to Bullinger of the annoyance which those turbulent Frenchmen had caused him.[524] People, however, were as easily agitated in German Switzerland, and even in the land of Luther. Some Catholics began to attach importance to these struggles, and to take advantage of them. Letters were exchanged on the subject. Bucer and Capito wrote from Strasburg, the former to Melanchthon, the latter to Farel; and Myconius wrote from Basel to the assembly itself. This must needs invest with more solemnity the judgment on the appeal which was about to be heard at Berne.

‘On May 24, Guillaume Farel requested of the council of Geneva to send to that city Master Cauvin (Calvin) for any battle (journée) there was to be, to take part in the disputation. Upon which it was resolved that he should go.’[525] Berne had shown a certain favor towards Caroli. It might therefore be feared that the judgment pronounced at Lausanne would not be confirmed. We cannot tell what the sentence would have been if it had been pronounced by the state authorities. But the council, finding that it was a question of doctrine, had convoked at Berne the synod of the Bernese Church for the end of May. The debate was opened in the presence of the great council, which doubtless took part so far in the cause. The would-be Athanasius supported his charge with confidence and a haughty spirit, assuming to play in the sixteenth century the part which the great bishop of Alexandria had played in the fourth. Calvin completely justified both himself and his colleagues. Consequently the reformer was once more entirely acquitted, and declared free not only from all fault but also from all suspicion. As for Caroli, he was pronounced a slanderer, and as such condemned.

[321]

When that was over, the lords of Berne inquired of Calvin, Farel, and Viret whether Caroli was, so far as they knew, guilty in any respect, either in his private life or especially in his ministry. As soon as he heard these words, the doctor of the Sorbonne, seeing that his own turn was come, was terror-struck, and vehemently opposed the inquiry. ‘Those whom I have just accused of great crimes,’ said he, ‘cannot be allowed to bring formal charges against me.’ ‘You have indeed accused them,’ replied the Bernese, ‘and without being able to substantiate your charges. Why then should they not be allowed to accuse you?’ And the doctors were enjoined to communicate anything they knew with regard to him. Thereupon this man, who had no heart, no moral sentiment, was disconcerted; and as he dreaded above all the revelations of his adversaries, he fancied that the best way to avert them was to accuse himself. He began therefore to confess the faults with which he knew that Farel and his friends were well acquainted—the debaucheries to which he had addicted himself in France, the meanness with which he had dissembled his sentiments in matters of religion, and the cruel perfidy which had prompted him to deliver to death two young Christians whose way of thinking he himself approved. It was a strange sight! Here was a singular penitent, without repentance and without scruple, assuming a contrite air and confessing his faults solely because he hoped in that way to secure exemption from punishment. ‘A devil’s penitent!’ said Tertullian in such cases.

Farel had let him speak; nevertheless he did not think that he was thereby discharged from the injunction which had been given him. He was acquainted with certain traits of Caroli’s life which might give the lords of Berne the intelligence of which they were in need. He narrated the shameful licentiousness of the man, who had lived at Paris with women of the vilest[322] reputation, and had actually been accused of keeping five or six at a time. He showed how two young men, carried away by their zeal against images, had taken it into their heads to hang some of them; and how that same Caroli, who at that time professed that the worship of images diverts men from the knowledge of the true God, had caused these youths to be kept in the prison into which they had been cast until two judges arrived, who had them delivered over to the executioners. Viret related the discussion which he had held with Caroli on the subject of prayers for the dead; and, at the request of the Bernese, reported various details of his conduct, among others his drunkenness, which had more than once exposed him to the derision of the public.

In consequence of these debates, Caroli was deprived of his functions by the synod. The great council of Berne confirmed this sentence; pronounced Farel, Calvin, and Viret innocent of the charges brought against them; condemned Caroli to banishment as guilty of slander and other excesses; and remitted the cause to the consistory to be formally terminated. As the presumptuous doctor was unwilling to submit to that authority, the parties were summoned before the civil magistrates (avoyers) and the councils. Calvin, Farel, and Viret accordingly presented themselves, June 6, but Caroli did not appear. An usher, sent by the lords of Berne to seek him, brought word that he had disappeared.[526] He had in fact fled early in the morning, and had taken the road to Soleure. From that place he withdrew into France, to the cardinal of Tournon, the great enemy of the Reformation. The latter obtained absolution for Caroli from the pope. The wretched man had hoped that, by returning into the Roman Church, he should get a good benefice; but[323] he found that he was held in equal contempt by Catholics and Protestants. To close the affair, it was agreed to approve the terms Trinity, substance, and persons (Calvin himself had made use of them); but at the same time that if any pious man declined to employ them, ‘he should not be cast out of the Church, nor should be looked on as one who thought wrongly as to the faith.’[527]

This episode in Calvin’s life shows us not only his firm attachment to the truth, which everyone acknowledges, but likewise a spirit of freedom which is ordinarily denied to him. It is clear that with him the Word of God stood before all, and that the faith, the life, and essence of Christianity had more value in his eyes than mere traditional terms, which are not to be found in the Scriptures.

This was not the only triumph which Calvin achieved, nor the only synod of Berne in which he took part. Keen debates were at that time going on in the evangelical Churches of Switzerland. They had gradually arisen after the disaster of Cappel in 1531. In the canton of Soleure the Reformation had indeed been crushed by the intervention of the Catholics, although the majority in the country and a minority in the town were Protestants. But other cantons had remained faithful to the Reform. In Bullinger, Zurich had found a worthy successor to Zwingli; and Oswald Myconius[324] happily filled the place of the amiable Œcolampadius at Basel. Berne, not satisfied with having adopted the Reformation herself, eagerly promoted its establishment everywhere. The great question which was then under discussion was this—Should the Swiss Churches unite themselves with the Lutheran Churches or not? Bucer, at Strasburg, warmly advocated the union; and the magistrates, above all those of Berne, were not at all opposed to it. They had political skill enough to perceive that the Church of the Reformation, then so formidably threatened, had need to combine its whole forces. The pastors of Berne, Haller, Megander, and Kolb, were desirous of extending a friendly hand to Luther; but those free Swiss, disciples and friends of Zwingli, disliked the equivocal formulæ of Bucer. The Zuricher Megander, in particular, a learned professor and an eloquent preacher, but of rash character, violent and somewhat domineering, designated by his opponents the ape of Zwingli,[528] had set himself the task of maintaining at Berne the theology of the Zurich reformer. As Haller and Kolb were then enfeebled by age and ill-health, Megander exercised a powerful influence over the country pastors; and the magistrates themselves, aware of his abilities, committed to his hands the most important affairs. The Zurichers had drawn up a confession on the Lord’s supper in conformity with Bucer’s wishes. Basel, St. Gall, and Schaffhausen had approved it; but Megander induced his colleagues to reject it. The French diplomatists also, who were anxious to obtain the assistance of the Swiss and German Protestants against Charles V., said—‘All the Swiss towns agree with Luther except these Bernese blockheads, who walk backwards like crabs, and stick[325] obstinately to an opinion which they cannot possibly defend.’[529]

The Bernese magistrates, however, were not willing to break with their allies. The war against Savoy, which they had undertaken in 1536, for the defence of Geneva and the occupation of the Pays de Vaud, had convinced them of the need of their support. Consequently, they sent delegates to the four colloquies which were held that same year at Basel, to take into consideration the agreement with the doctors of Wittenberg. But the council, so far from breaking with Megander, put him at the head of these theologians. So the confession which was prepared at the first of these colloquies, in January 1536 (the second conference of Basel and the first of Switzerland,) when speaking of eating the body and drinking the blood of Christ, added that this took place only in a spiritual sense. This displeased Bucer. The Zwinglians, in turn, called him ‘a doubled-faced man,’ and said that this pretended peacemaker brought division into the Helvetic Churches. It was to no purpose that his defence was undertaken by Myconius, who, since 1532, had presided as overseer of the Church at Basel, and the learned professor Grynæus. The Zwinglian party would not hear a word about an agreement with the Strasburg trimmer. Various circumstances occurred to bring about a change in this state of things. The Swiss and the Bernese themselves were touched by the beautiful letter which Luther had written to the burgomaster of Basel, in which he spoke approvingly of the confession drawn up in that city. The aged Kolb, pastor of Berne, had died at the end of 1535; and on February 25, 1536, Haller also had passed into the unseen world. A great change then took place in Berne. Kunz, a man of a very different spirit from Zwingli and Haller, became pastor in the place of Kolb. Having studied at Wittenberg, he was[326] a passionate admirer of Luther and of his doctrine. Of ardent temperament, Kunz longed to promote the triumph of his master’s doctrine, and so much the more as he was his inferior in respect to the living faith of the Gospel. Sebastian Meyer, a former Franciscan, who from the beginning of his ministry had been remarkable for the violence of his discourses, and who was a friend of Bucer, had taken the place of Haller. The council had probably been influenced in the election of these men by the Strasburg doctors, with whose projects the members were more and more pleased. Thus it seemed likely that in Berne the Lutheran party would succeed the Zwinglian. The new pastors, however, did not immediately set up their claim; they rather applied themselves to the preparation of men’s minds, and their conquests were very numerous, especially among politicians. But Megander, the inflexible Zwinglian, still kept the upper hand; and it was he who spoke in the name of Berne in the Swiss assemblies. Bucer, doubtless, had him in mind when he complained to Luther ‘of those untractable heads which are found in Switzerland, which for every trifle make so much ado.’[530]

The new pastors of Berne, encouraged by their friends abroad, threw off the restraint which they had at first imposed on their speech. Sebastian Meyer, in particular, giving way to his natural disposition, thoroughly headlong and incautious, taught publicly that in the supper the body of Christ is truly eaten and his blood truly drunk, but took care to add, by faith. Kunz supported him. The conflict thus began. Megander and Erasmus Ritter started up to oppose this doctrine; and Meyer did not hesitate to say in the colloquies that the doctrine of the supper had never been rightly taught in the canton of Berne. The Bernese council convoked a[327] synod, at which three hundred ministers of the German and French cantons of Switzerland were present. Meyer, together with Kunz, vividly depicted the evils which would be involved in a rejection of the agreement. Erasmus Ritter, with Megander, replied that an agreement was certainly very much to be desired, but that the truth must not be sacrificed to it. The Zwinglian party had the best of it. They agreed to stand by the second confession of Basel, and to avoid the use of terms which gave origin to the disputes; such as, corporal, real, natural, supernatural, invisible, carnal, miraculous, inexpressible presence. But this patched-up peace was of short duration. The secret correspondence between Bucer and Luther having been published, the Zwinglians were scandalized, people’s minds were thrown into agitation, and the edifice of concord, which they had toiled to rear, threatened to crumble away. Bucer then applied to the council of Berne, and requested it to convoke a synod at which he might be allowed to vindicate himself. ‘This whole business of the supper,’ said he, ‘is a mere dispute about words, but it is of the utmost importance to put an end to it; and I appeal to the justice of the Bernese magistrates, who cannot allow a man, whoever he may be, to be condemned before he is heard.’ Another synod was consequently convoked at Berne, for the month of September.[531]

Everybody was aware of the importance of this assembly. Bucer and Capito arrived in the city, provided with a letter of introduction from the magistrates of Strasburg, and accompanied by two theologians from Basel, Myconius and Grynæus, who though sincerely adhering to the reformed party, earnestly desired the union. Almost at the same time, three ministers from the French cantons, who had been specially invited, entered Berne; they were Calvin, Farel, and[328] Viret. Those who knew that at Geneva they allowed neither unleavened bread nor baptismal fonts, nor the feasts and rites to which the Lutherans were strongly attached, could entertain no doubt that these bold champions would take the side of the Zwinglians. The pastors of the canton of Berne were represented only by delegates of classes. The government, fearing lest the spirit of discord should mar the meeting, requested Bucer and Capito to confine themselves to their own justification, and not to meddle with other matters. They were not even permitted to preach, except on condition that they did not introduce disputed topics in the pulpit. The assembly met at the Town Hall, in the presence of the two councils of the republic, and under the presidency of the mayor (Schultheiss) de Watteville. After the customary formalities, this magistrate invited the Strasburgers to begin. ‘Union in matters which concern the glory of God and the benefit of the Church,’ said Bucer, ‘is already established in a great number of kingdoms, duchies, and principalities; and the churches of the Swiss confederation form almost the only exception, it is thus that Satan opposes the kingdom of God. Yes, it is to Satan that are owing those suspicions which are prevalent respecting the agreement which we are striving to bring about. We demand that passion should be silenced, and that God should be regarded rather than men. You have lent one ear to calumny, lend the other now to the voice of truth. If you condemn us, you will condemn many other Churches, and particularly that Church whose representatives met at Smalcalde, and which includes within its pale many learned and pious men.’ Bucer next, desirous of clearing himself from the reproaches which had been addressed to him, pointed out that Zwingli and Luther had set out from two different points of view; Zwingli striving to keep as far away as possible from the Roman dogma of transubstantiation,[329] and Luther endeavoring to maintain that there is nevertheless some kind of real presence in the bread. In making afterwards his own confession of faith, he said, ‘No, the bread and the wine are not mere signs; the presence of Christ by faith is not a mere logical presence, not imaginary, such as that which I have when I say, for instance, that I now see my wife at Strasburg.[532] Faith requires something higher than that. When I say with you, Christ is present in a celestial manner, and with Luther, Christ is present in an essential manner, I express fundamentally one and the same faith.’ On the following day, Capito coming to the support of his colleague, preached a sermon in which he endeavored to show that Zwingli and Œcolampadius were in agreement with Luther. They were so on the essential point of seeking and finding in the supper a true communion with the Saviour.

Megander had been charged with the duty of speaking on behalf of the synod. Brevity and moderation had been recommended, lest any imprudent word should give rise to a dispute. For him this task was not an easy one. In fact, the next day he attacked Bucer and Capito with some vehemence, upbraiding them for being with Luther rather than with the Swiss, and with having, in other places, signed certain acts which the Swiss could not sign. ‘I have,’ said he, in drawing to a close, ‘some letters in which Bucer is spoken of. However, I think better of him than those letters, and I should be pleased if we could agree with him.’ Unhappily, they were far enough from such agreement. The discussion grew warm. ‘You teach children in your catechism,’ said Bucer, ‘to receive a sign in the supper, without reminding them of the thing signified.’ ‘How then,’ exclaimed some of the Bernese ministers, ‘can you pretend that we hold the[330] same faith?’ ‘Let Bucer speak,’ said Megander; ‘we will reply to him in the afternoon.’ But, in that afternoon sitting, Bucer began anew to discourse to the Swiss about the sacrament. ‘Enough of these homilies,’ said Megander, impatiently. ‘You shut our mouths,’ said Bucer. ‘Let all those,’ said Megander, ‘who have anything to say speak freely.’ But not one of the Bernese pastors rose.

A good understanding seemed impossible. The leaders on both sides were angry and provoked each other. The vessel of concord, built by the careful toil of the pastors of Strasburg, was violently tossed and was going to founder in the Helvetic waters. Disagreeing in doctrine, said one of those who were present on this occasion, there was nothing between them but debate, a deadly plague in a Church. Where were they to find the last plank, the desperate resource for escape from shipwreck? They must founder, or be saved as if by miracle. A young man, of only eight-and-twenty, but known for his love of the Holy Scriptures and his slight respect for tradition, was sorrowfully contemplating these discussions. It was John Calvin, he who called the discussions ‘a deadly plague’ for the Church. His convictions were free and spontaneous. They did not proceed, as with others, from a desire for compromise, but from a perception of what is the essence of the faith. He would not at any price have sought some expedient for the union of minds by a sacrifice of truth. But he knew by experience the power of the Holy Spirit; and he was the man called to stand between the two armies, to get the sword returned to its sheath, and to found unity and peace.

We almost hesitate to report his words, because they will be difficult to comprehend. He spoke, for the faithful, of a complete union with Christ, even with his flesh and his blood, and nevertheless of a union which is effected only by the Spirit. Calvin’s speech was of so[331] much importance that we cannot think of suppressing it. Vulgar minds insist on comprehending everything as they do the working of a steam-engine; but the greatest minds have acknowledged the reality of the incomprehensible. Descartes said that ‘in order to attain a true idea of the infinite, it is not in any sense to be comprehended, inasmuch as incomprehensibility itself is contained in the formal definition of the infinite.’ ‘Infinity is everywhere, and consequently incomprehensibility likewise,’ said Nicole.[533] The Christian however comprehends to a certain extent the mystery which we are now considering, and above all he experiences its reality. ‘If, as the Scriptures clearly testify,’ said Calvin at the synod of Berne (1537), ‘the flesh of Christ is meat indeed, and his blood is drink indeed, it follows that if we seek life in Christ, we must be thereby veritably fed. The spiritual life which Christ gives us consists not only in his making us alive by his Spirit, but in his rendering us, by the power of his Spirit, partakers of his life-giving flesh, and by means of this participation, nourishing us for eternal life.[534] Therefore, when we speak of the communion which the faithful have with Christ, we teach that they receive the communication of his body and his blood, no less than that of his Spirit, so that they possess Christ wholly.

‘It is true that our Lord has gone up on high, and that his local presence has thus been withdrawn from us. But this fact does not invalidate our assertion, and that local presence is by no means necessary here. So long as we are pilgrims on the earth, we are not contained in the same place with him. But there is no obstacle to the efficacy of the Spirit; he can collect and[332] unite elements existing in far separated places. The Spirit is the means by which we are partakers of Christ. That Spirit nourishes us with the flesh and the blood of the Lord, and thus quickens us for immortality. Christ offers this communion under the symbols of bread and wine to all those who celebrate the supper aright and in accordance with his institution.’

Such was Calvin’s speech. ‘I embrace as orthodox,’ said Bucer, ‘this view of our excellent brothers Calvin, Farel, and Viret. I never held that Christ was locally present in the holy supper.[535] He has a real finite body, and that body remains in the celestial glory. But in raising us by faith to heaven, the bread which we eat and the cup which we drink are for us the communication of his body and his blood.’

Calvin wrote down his view. Bucer appended to it the words last reported. Capito signed them. Bucer even succeeded, by dint of moderation and kindliness, in taming Kunz; and the latter showed in this instance some goodwill. ‘But,’ said Calvin at a later time, ‘that single moment was soon past, and he became worse than himself.’ The synod acknowledged the Strasburgers as justified, as faithful, as Christians, and their confession of faith as not in any respect contrary to the Helvetic confessions. Megander was invited to modify his catechism to a small extent so far as it treated of the doctrine of the supper, and this he agreed to do. The deputies of the pastors of the canton went to the hostelry where Bucer and Capito lodged, and requested their co-operation in putting an end to the difficulties which existed between the ministers of the city. The council itself exhorted these pastors to concord and peace. Such was the force of the speech of a single man, that at the moment when the waves were in stormiest agitation, there was suddenly a great calm.

[333]

God was in the midst of us, said one of the attendants. The divine power had employed the speech of the reformer to appease the tumult and establish agreement and unity.[536]

GENEVA.—THE CONFESSION OF FAITH SWORN AT ST. PETER’S.

(End of 1537.)

It was not only in his relations with those Christian men, Megander and Bucer, or with the wretched Caroli, that Calvin’s efforts were crowned with success. Happy presages seemed to announce to him a blessed and powerful ministry at Geneva. His reformation, as we have seen, was not only doctrinal but moral, a fact of the highest importance for the Church and for the people. But, as happens in all human affairs, a few spots sullied this beautiful aspect of his work. Rules were introduced which were too circumstantial, and a mode of repression which was too legal. Calvin found at the time a sympathy on the part of the magistrates which was pleasant to him, but which at the same time intruded the civil power into matters for which the moral influence of the Church ought to have sufficed. All his requests were complied with. He asked, together with Farel, for four preachers and two deacons, and they were granted. He represented that there was a preacher, a good man from Provence, who would fain retire to Geneva; and they gave him a place.[537] One of the most violent politicians, Janin, surnamed Colony, a great lover of novel[334]ties, after ardently embracing the Reformation, had thrown himself with his natural impetuosity into the notions of the Spirituals or Anabaptists, and was uttering everywhere audacious speeches on matters of faith. The council requested him ‘not to grieve the preachers,’ and added grave menaces in case he should refuse to be corrected.[538] Another citizen, a hosier, who was suspected of holding the same views, having been exhorted by the pastors and the magistrates, declared that his doubts about baptism had vanished, and took an oath, says the Register, ‘to live as we do.’[539] On October 5, Farel and Calvin announced that they would administer the supper, but ‘that there were some who kept aloof, holding the opinions of Benoît and Herman; and others who still kept their beads, which are implements of idolatry.’ Thereupon the council determined ‘to take away all the beads.’ That was far easier than to take away the faith of which the beads were a sign.

Nothing could check the zeal of Calvin. On October 30 he presented himself to the council, and set forth various grievances. ‘The hospital,’ he said, ‘is very poorly furnished, and the sick are suffering in consequence. Geneva has a Christian school, and nevertheless some children go to the school of the papacy. Lastly it is to be feared that dissensions will arise between the citizens, for while some have taken the oath as to the manner of living, others have not done so.’ The sick, the young, and peace among the citizens, these were the matters which occupied the mind of the reformer, subjects well worthy of his attention. The council decreed—‘The hospital shall be supplied; all children shall be bound to go to the Christian school, and not to the papistical; and the confession shall be required of all who have not yet made it.’ This last point must inevitably be the most difficult. A conflict was about to begin, and what would be its result? We have just[335] seen that there were in Geneva two parties, more or less considerable, who set themselves in opposition to the evangelical Reformation—the Roman Catholics and the Spirituals or Anabaptists. But there was yet a third party, more respectable and therefore more formidable. The Genevese people were naturally restless, and delighted in freedom and in pleasure. At first they had warmly embraced the Reformation, merely thinking that they should thereby be delivered from their bishop and from the practices which they disliked. But as soon as the Reformation demanded a Christian faith and life, the ardor of the Genevese rapidly diminished. The severity of Calvin and his colleagues chilled the violent ebullition of their zeal. They felt the ordinances imposed on them to be troublesome and exorbitant. Moreover, it was not only the jolly fellows, the lovers of pleasure and the libertines as they are called, who were refractory. It would be a great mistake not to acknowledge that in the ranks of the opposition there were other motives and other men.

We have already related the heroic struggles which had restored to Geneva her freedom and her independence.[540] We did so, less on account of their intrinsic interest than because they exercised a powerful influence, whether for good or for evil, on the Reformation. We have seen how political emancipation permitted and was favorable to religious emancipation. We have now to observe the obstacles raised up by those who, while they rejected popery, did not embrace the Gospel. The Huguenots (that is, as our readers will recollect, the name which was given to the partisans of the alliance with the Swiss Confederation) were divided after Calvin’s arrival. Some of them were friendly to and supported the Reformation; others pronounced themselves against him, and opposed his work. The opposition did not consist[336] merely of men of the lowest rank, vulgar and dissolute. There were on both sides, in the great national party, some generous characters, some honorable citizens. Unfortunately, as the State and the Church were at that time not only united but blended with each other, these two parties were at the same time both right and wrong. The political Huguenots were right with respect to the State, and in error respecting the Church; and the evangelical Christians were right with respect to the Church, and in error with respect to the State. To make the confusion greater still, the true principles of Church and State were at that period very little understood. Many of the eminent citizens who had exposed themselves to famine, pillage, and death for the sake of being free, who had resolved not to have for their master either their bishop, or the Duke of Savoy, or the King of France, or even Berne; who had marched in the van for the political emancipation of Geneva; now asserted their right to enjoy in peace the liberty for which they had so long fought. We have admired them in their heroical struggles. We will not brand them in this new opposition. Politically they were right. In a certain sense they were also right religiously. The religion of Jesus Christ will not be imposed by force, and it rejects all compulsion. In the attempt to establish itself in any town, it refuses alike the intervention of the martyr-fires of the Holy Office and the decrees of a council of state. Jesus Christ said, Wilt thou be made whole? This is not the place for an inquiry into the aids which this will of man receives from on high: we hold simply to the declarations of the Saviour, and we say that man ought to feel the want of the Gospel, and if he does not want it, no one has any right to impose it on him. To act as the syndics then did was to ignore the divine spirituality of the kingdom of God, and to make of it a human institution. Another motive may possibly have contributed to arouse opposition. Farel, Calvin, Courault, Saunier, Froment,[337] and Mathurin Cordier were foreigners, Frenchmen. They had drawn around them their brothers, their cousins, and some of their friends. These foreigners appeared to be taking the upper hand in Geneva, and this hurt the feelings of the old citizens. They wished that Geneva should belong to the Genevese, as France did to the French and Germany to the Germans.

Calvin having pointed out to the council, October 30, the danger to which the republic was exposed by the existence within it of two opposing parties, it was decreed that those citizens who had abstained, on July 29, from swearing to the evangelical confession, should be called upon to do so without delay; and November 12 was appointed for that purpose. Calvin, Farel, and their friends, who assuredly knew the worth of a voluntary adhesion, did what they could to induce opponents to receive the Gospel with all their heart, and not to separate themselves from their fellow-citizens in a matter of such moment. They urged them with kindness to listen to the good tidings of salvation, and affectionately exhorted them to peace and union.[541] There were indeed some vexatious proceedings. A tithing man (dizenier) having in his district two young lads who refused obstinately to answer to the summons, gave them legal notice of the order of the council, and cited them to obey it. Thereupon these two opponents flew into a rage and assaulted him, and for this they were imprisoned. But this was the only case of the kind. Kindliness, however, had little more effect than violence. In vain mild persuasion flowed from the lips of the ministers and their friends; it repelled instead of attracting.

At length November 12 arrived. Each tithing man having called together those of his quarter who had not yet taken the oath, they were conducted to St. Peter’s in groups, tithing by tithing. The looks of the people were fixed on these late comers. They were counted,[338] but the whole number was not large. Many did not come at all; ‘and likewise, of those who lived in the Rue des Allemands, not one came.’[542] This was a blow for the friends of the Reformation. The Rue des Allemands (of the German Swiss) was chiefly inhabited by those who had early declared themselves for liberty, and afterwards for the Reformation, and who had adhered to the Helvetic confessions. When the Genevese Catholics, March 28, 1533, had attacked this party by force of arms, it was in the Rue des Allemands that the reformed were drawn up in order of battle, five in a row. It was there that the most pious had said, ‘There is not one single drop of comfort assured to us except in God alone.’ It was there that all had exclaimed, ‘Rather die than give way a single step.’[543] And now, of all those who inhabited that street, not a single man came! Doubtless some of them had already sworn to the confession. But there were probably some also who objected to the doctrine, and others who, like Desclefs, felt the divine commandments too hard for them to pledge themselves to keep them. But what chiefly repelled these Huguenots was the fact that an act was commanded which they knew they were free to do or not to do. They were determined not to bend under that yoke. After having dared all kinds of hardship for the sake of winning their freedom, they did not intend that, when they had gained it in the state, it should be snatched away from them in the Church. They were more in the right perhaps than they imagined; for it is hardly likely that they fully understood this great principle, ‘The power of the magistrate ends at the point at which that of conscience begins.’ The difficulty was still more increased by the circumstance that ‘those who had refused to swear to the confession, whether Catholics or Huguenots, were among the most influential persons in the city.’ Such is the testimony[339] of Rozet, the secretary of state, who is assuredly a witness above suspicion. But the syndics and their council were no more disposed to give way than their adversaries. They thought that they had as much right to impose that act as to order a military review. On the same day the council decreed ‘that those who will not take the oath to the Reformation must go and dwell in some other place, where they may live according to their fancy.’ Two days later the Two Hundred confirmed the decree, expressing themselves somewhat bluntly, ‘that they must quit the city, since they will not obey.’[544] The bow was tightly bent, and no one was willing to unbend it. The crisis became more violent; a shock and a catastrophe were inevitable. The only question was, who would be the victims.

The citizens thus lightly banished from their native land by the council could hardly believe their own ears. What! they had delivered Geneva, ‘and will Geneva drive them away?’ Is it resolved that they must forsake their homes, their families, their friends, to go and eat the bread of the stranger? They murmured aloud and stoutly stood out against this strange edict, confident in their strength and their number. ‘There was no obedience at all;’ no one thought of packing up. ‘The hostile band was of such a character that the lords dared not execute their own decree.’ Complaints and threats grew louder from day to day. The most influential men exclaimed—‘The present syndics were elected by means of underhand dealings and intrigues. They have violated our franchises and made an attack on our liberties. There are three or four among them who do just as they will with the ordinary council, and even with the great council. We must take the government of the republic out of the hands of these two councils, and henceforth everything must be managed[340] by a general council. These gentlemen want to reign over us as princes; but it is the people, it is we ourselves, who are princes.’ These powerful malcontents, among whom De Chapeaurouge distinguished himself, sought even to gain over those of their friends who had already taken the oath, and addressed to them the most vehement reproaches. Many of the latter were shaken, and sought to excuse themselves. They laid the blame on the secretary of the town. They reprimanded him (l’impropéraient) and blamed him for getting them to swear without knowing what they were doing. Some even of those who had sworn ‘adhered to the rebels.’ All these malcontents excited one another more and more, and they thought of nothing but of securing for themselves at the next election the place of the syndics. The authoritative act of the council was to bring about the revolution.

Ambassadors of Berne were at Geneva at the time on some question of jurisdiction, and the opposition party endeavored to gain them over to their cause. This was not difficult. Calvin and Farel had adhered to the confession of Basel, which was likewise received at Berne. Now adherence to another confession was in their eyes a violation of the first oath. One day, at an entertainment at which the Bernese deputies were present with the magistrates and the notabilities of Geneva, one of the ambassadors said with a loud voice that all those who had taken the oath to the confession of Calvin and Farel were perjured persons. One of the leaders of the opposition, Jean Lullin, who was there, was delighted to hear it and did not fail to publish the rash remark. It seemed to be a giving up of the cause to the opposition, which, proud of finding the Bernese on its side, believed its victory secured. The people began to be restless; and many, whom the council registers call the mutineers cried out in the streets that ‘everything was to be settled in a general council.’ These signs of resist[341]ance greatly afflicted the reformers and, says a chronicler, ‘put Calvin about (pourmenait) in a strange way.’ Within the walls of Geneva the agitation increased. The day grew dark, and a storm appeared ready to burst forth.[545]

The council was deeply moved. Its members were accused of having obtained their seats by illegal practices, and appeal was made to the people. It seemed indeed as if it would be needful for the general council to decide between them and their adversaries. The syndics therefore, on November 23, convoked the Two Hundred to deliberate on the matter. The latter showed themselves determined to support the government. The magistrates in office must not think of resigning, they said, nor attach so much importance to these clamors. ‘All this noise is made by certain people who have no mind to amend their ways and who want to take the place of the syndics.’ Nevertheless, everyone perceived that it was impossible to refuse the convocation of a general council. It was necessary, besides, to name a deputation to Berne to treat of important business. The day fixed was Sunday, November 25. It was agreed to prepare some fair ordinances to be read to the assembled people. The opposition were aiming at getting rid not only of the magistrates but of the reformers. What took place in the council is therefore of great importance. It was the beginning of the counter-reformation.

On the day appointed, the Two Hundred, in order to impart more solemnity to their proceedings, assembled at the Town Hall and thence accompanied the syndics and the council to St. Peter’s church. These magistrates felt keenly the accusations which were spread abroad against them by the opposition; and having a good conscience they wished the people to decide between[342] them and their calumniators. Consequently, when the assembly had been formed, the following remonstrance was addressed to the people in the name of the syndics and the councils.

‘Magnificent, discreet, most dear and honored lords,—

‘The lords syndics whom you have elected according to your custom, as likewise their ordinary council, that of the Sixty and that of the Two Hundred, feel hurt by the talk of some private persons, who speak as if they had charge of the general council, alleging that the said councils were elected by intrigues and have violated the franchises; that it is they (the opponents) who are princes, and that they wish that for the future everything should be transacted in a general council. The syndics and councils desire to learn from you, gentlemen, before they proceed further in the investigation of the matter, whether you allow that. You know whether or not your magistrates were elected by the intrigues of three or four citizens, as they are alleged to have been. You know that the four syndics were chosen by you in general council; and while in time past the ordinary council was chosen by the four syndics, this election, since 1530, has been made by the Council of the Two Hundred.

‘Elected thus, the councils ask you whether you will not acknowledge them as your magistrates, that they may continue to exercise the power which God has given them by your general election. They are prepared to submit to punishment with all legal rigor, if it be found that they are in fault; but if it be otherwise, they demand that those who defame them should suffer chastisement, so that God may not be angry with us, nor take away the spiritual lordship and liberty which he has given us by his Son Jesus Christ. Assuredly he has shown us more favor than he ever did to the children of Israel. But it might happen to us as it did to the Romans, who by civil discords of this sort lost little by little the empire which they had acquired over the[343] world, and fell into the bondage in which they still remain.

‘We ought to pray God to send us well-instructed and Godfearing men to administer justice. But if we will treat them with contempt, we shall by-and-by find no one to serve us. Well may the heart of a citizen ache when, after laying aside his private affairs to serve the community, he gets for his reward the censure of those who dread correction and will not obey the lawful authorities.

‘Come then, gentlemen, one after the other, peaceably to give your opinion, yes or no, in order that all things may be done well and orderly, to the glory of God and our own great benefit.’[546]

One might have expected that, after this declaration, the leaders of the opposition, De Chapeaurouge and his adherents, would state in due form their alleged grievances. They remained silent. This was an acknowledgment that their accusation was unfounded. They would have found it difficult to assert that the election of the magistrates had been due to the intrigues of a few individuals, in the presence of the people who had themselves made that election freely and honorably. Moreover, ten weeks only had to elapse before the regular renewal of the council; and the opposition did not think that they ought to unmask their batteries so long beforehand. It would be better to employ the time in preparing the change which they wished to bring about. Thus, therefore, after the address of the syndics there was a long silence. After some time De Chapeaurouge rose; but instead of speaking as a tribune who seeks to draw the people after him, he made a remark on acoustics; ‘We cannot hear well,’ said he, ‘the place gives a dull sound.’ There are none so deaf as those who will not hear. In fact, the chief of the opposition pretended that the challenge and invitation of the council had not[344] reached his ears, and that this excused his making a reply. ‘Is a second reading desired?’ said the first syndic; no one demanded it. As the leaders were silent, the youngest and most blustering of their followers began to speak. The opportunity was too tempting not to cry out, and instead of the great piece which was looked for, a little one was produced. Men destitute of culture and acquirements attacked the chief magistrates. One man, who had just come out of prison, flung in the face of the reformers the most absurd accusations. There was an ebullition in the assembly; a tempest in a teacup. The young people caused this first outbreak of excitement, which they show in their pursuit of pleasure and which they easily transfer to public affairs. Claude Sérais, a tailor, one of those who in February had played at Picca-Porral, came forward and laid a complaint against Ami Perrin, who enjoyed great respect. It was he who had accompanied Farel the first time that he preached (in 1534) in the convent of Rive. He had not heartily embraced the Reformation, but he was still associated with the reformers. ‘Perrin,’ said Sérais, ‘said that there are traitors at Geneva, people who speak ill of the preachers. He said that Porral was a good man.’ As Porral was a great friend of the Reformation, he was at least as hateful to these people as Farel and Calvin. ‘I replied to him,’ said Sérais, ‘that if he were so, he had no occasion to bring Farel to the prison, to preach to us as if we were thieves who were to be prepared for death.’ ‘Yes,’ cried one of those who had been in prison with Sérais, Jacques Pattu, ‘yes, they brought Farel to prison and he told us that he would sooner drink a glass of blood than drink with us.’ Scarcely had he let fall these strange words, when Pierre Butini mounted on a bench and cried out, ‘The franchise has been taken from us by the Porrets (Porral’s friends), for we were seized, many good men, without informations and without plaintiffs.’—‘I complain,’ resumed[345] Pattu, ‘that they gave me the halter without cause,’—‘I complain,’ said Sérais, further, ‘that Claude Bernard told me that I would not go to hear Farel preach.’—‘Let the others speak now!’ cried Baudichon de la Maisonneuve, annoyed at Sérais beginning over again. But the friends of Sérais cried, ‘And we, we will have Baudichon hold his tongue.’ Then Etienne Dadaz, resuming the series of grievances, said, ‘I complain that I have been sent to prison and accused of meaning to sell the town.’—‘Thou oughtest to be silent,’ said the syndic Goutaz, ‘for thou hast brought from France articles designed to make us subjects of the king.’ On which Dadaz replied, ‘It is not I who made them, it is M. de Langey who gave them me.’ This was certainly not justifying himself, for Langey was a minister to the king.[547]

The most reasonable of the leaders saw that they must put a stop to these turbulent complainings, which were ruining their interests. The former syndic, Jean Philippe, a friend of freedom and courageous, but also rash and leading a loose life, began to speak, and, addressing the secretary of the council, Rozet, accused him of having caused the confession to be sworn which he declared he had not sworn. This was not escaping from the question, but plunging into it. This was the master grievance of the opposition, and the matter to be investigated. ‘We did ill to swear it,’ said Jean Lullin. ‘The ambassadors of Berne have told us that we were perjured.’ De Chapeaurouge himself, who at first had kept silence, getting enraged with the secretary of the council, Rozet, who had caused the confession to be sworn, accused him of being ‘a witness of Susanna’ (that is to say, a false witness). ‘Gentlemen,’ said the respectable Rozet, with much feeling, ‘I have served you long, and I have neither done wickedly nor borne false witness; and here is De Chapeaurouge making me out to be a witness of Susanna!’ Chapeaurouge replied, ‘You told me,[346] before the syndic Curtet, that you had no conscience at all.’ Curtet answered, ‘I never heard that;’ and everyone began to laugh. Jean Philippe, a clever man, then made a proposition which he thought likely to satisfy the opponents. He wished to place the syndics under guardianship. ‘Gentlemen,’ he said, ‘it would be a long task to listen in this place to all these plaintiffs and to provide for them. It seems to me better that we should choose, in general council, twenty-five men.’ These were twenty-five superintendents whom he wished to set over the syndics and the council, as representatives of the people. ‘That done,’ continued Philippe, ‘these gentlemen will hold their Little and Great Councils, and the plaintiffs shall be heard before all.’ Naturally, Philippe wished these twenty-five to be of his party. The syndics understood and were indignant. ‘Do you mean, then,’ said they, ‘to have men set over us?’ The crafty Philippe did not lose the thread. ‘Not men over you,’ he said, ‘but the general council is over all.’ Then, like a very tribune, he turned boldly to the people. ‘Gentlemen,’ said he, ‘do you not intend that the general council should be supreme over all?’ Instantly the cry was heard from all sides, ‘Yes, yes!’ The opposition succeeding thus in getting the people on their side, the days of the party in power were numbered. The syndics hastened to cut short. ‘Now then,’ said the syndic Curtet, let us talk of business.’[548]

It then occurred to them that the general council had to appoint deputies to go to Berne. The three leaders of the opposition, Jean Philippe, Ami de Chapeaurouge and Jean Lullin, were proposed by the council itself, which would much rather see them at Berne, where they might support the cause of the republic, than at Geneva, where they were making war on the government. But the three opponents saw through the trick. ‘For my part,’[347] said Lullin, ‘I have an excuse which prevents my going.’ ‘I hold to what was decreed,’ said Philippe, ‘that those who have begun the business should go thither to complete it.’—‘I say the same,’ added De Chapeaurouge. The three conspirators (if we may give them such a name) will therefore spend the winter at Geneva, and they will not be idle there.

The angry recriminations, the rash charges, and the turbulent movements of this council came to the ears of the reformers, and the report gave them much pain. The next day therefore, November 26, when the Council of the Two Hundred assembled, Farel and Calvin appeared before them. The former said, ‘Sérais accuses me of having said that rather than drink with him, I would drink a glass of his blood. Now what really passed was this. One of them having said to me, You wish us no good, I answered, I wish you so much harm that I would willingly shed my blood for you.’ Then coming to the essential point; ‘I have heard,’ continued Farel, ‘that they call those perjurers who have sworn the confession. If you examine carefully its contents, you will find that it is made in conformity with God’s Word, and is adapted to unite the people. You have not sworn to anything else than to hold fast faith in God, and to believe in his commandments.’ One of the members said, ‘It is not we, it is the deputies from Berne who spoke of perjury.’—‘We should very much like to know when they did so,’ replied Farel, astonished. ‘They spoke of it at table, in the presence of people,’ said the syndics Curtet and Lullin. ‘We offer to maintain this confession at the cost of our lives,’ replied the reformers. The syndics, beginning to fear lest the murmurs of the people should be excited, entreated the preachers to be careful that this business might end well.

The discovery that the lords of Berne blamed them in the affair of the confession was a very heavy blow to the reformers. If that powerful city should unite with the[348] party of the opposition, the Reformation would be in great danger. They were not long in finding that their fears were not unfounded. The Bernese, who intended to act as if they had the superintendence of the Church of Geneva, wrote to Farel and Calvin—‘It has come to our knowledge that you, Calvin, have written to certain Frenchmen at Basel that your confession has been approved by our congregation, and that our preachers have ratified it, which will not be proven (ne constera pas). On the contrary, it is you and Farel who have been consenting parties to sign our confession made at Basel, and to hold to it. We are amazed that you should attempt to contravene it. We pray you to desist from the attempt, otherwise we shall be compelled to have resource to other remedies.’[549]

It was supposed at Berne that the two confessions differed, while in fact they were fundamentally the same; and the lords of that city believed that if Geneva had a confession of her own, their ascendancy would be risked. That young Frenchman, who had arrived only the year before, had a soul, as they thought, too independent. He was ready to break the ties which bound Geneva to the Swiss Churches. Calvin saw how matters stood. He felt that it was necessary to enlighten the Bernese about the confession of Geneva, and therefore set out immediately with Farel for Berne. The two reformers represented to the council that the confession which they had prepared, so far from making them perjurers, confirmed the confession of Basel. At the same time they presented it to the Bernese senate. That body had it examined, and it was pronounced to be very good. ‘We are going to send ambassadors,’ said the Bernese lords, ‘and they will declare to your general council that the words spoken by our deputies were not uttered in our name.’ The satisfaction made was brilliant.[349] The reformers had gained their cause.[550] They returned to Geneva without delay; and having been received, December 10, in the ordinary council, they communicated to it the happy issue of their journey.[551] But there were at Berne certain persons who desired to see the Church of Geneva placed in subordination to that of Berne. The projected embassy might baffle their schemes, and they resolved to prevent it. For that purpose they did not shrink even from blackening the reformers. They asserted that the Genevese preachers had said in their sermons that all the mischief came from Germany! (that is to say, from German Switzerland, from Berne). The Bernese changed their mind, and wrote to Geneva, ‘that they would not send ambassadors.’[552]

Calvin and Farel were struck with astonishment. The letter from Berne had arrived on December 13. On the morning of the 14th they went to the council and asked that the Two Hundred might be convoked for the afternoon. Before that assembly they repeated that after having heard them, the Bernese magistrates had declared that ‘the thing (the confession) had been well done.’ As to the charge of having said that all the mischief came from Germany, they pointed out, that as ambassadors were about to be sent to Berne, they ought to be instructed to ascertain who it was that had reported such things. The council determined that Farel himself should go to Berne with the ambassadors, and should make inquiry.[553]

The deputies of Geneva, charged with the defence before the Bernese government, of certain interests of state, were Claude Savoye, Michel Sept, Claude Rozet, secretary of the council and father of the chronicler; all of them true friends of the reformers and the magis[350]trates; and Jean Lullin, who had at last consented to form part of the embassy, and who was the only member of the opposition.[554] They went to Berne with Farel; and the latter having given satisfactory explanations, the Bernese magistrates wrote, December 22, to Geneva, ‘that they and their preachers had found the Genevese confession to be according to God’s will and the Holy Scriptures, and thereby in conformity with their own religion.’ They added, ‘Set then these matters in good order. May dissensions cease, and may the sinister intrigues of the wicked be confounded.’[555]

Would the passions which actuated one part of the Genevese people allow them to follow such good counsel? They were not to wait long for an answer to this question.

Six days later, December 28, Farel and Calvin appeared before the council, and stated that they were about soon to celebrate the Lord’s supper, and requested to be sustained in their admonition to those who were leading evil lives.[556] An exhortation to live well had nothing revolting about it. If a man is living ill, it becomes a duty to entreat him to live well. That is most of all the duty of faithful pastors, especially on the approach of the supper. But what need had the ministers of[351] being sustained by the magistrate? This request transformed a religious act into a matter of civil business, and thus totally altered its nature. The answer to be made to the reformers was put off until the return of the delegates sent to Berne. This step of the reformers was irritating to those who supposed they would be among the subjects of the admonition. Claude Sérais, who had a free tongue, that source of all debate, said daringly in the presence of a numerous company, ‘Farel is a bad man.’[557] Others took part with him in censuring the ministers. They indulged in detraction, in aspersions, in cutting speeches; they cast about in all directions for anything which might be taken amiss. It was but a small fire at first, but little by little it spread far and wide. On January 1 and 2 (1538) the council was occupied with the affair, and resolved that ‘those who had circulated insults against the preachers about the town should be taken before the lieutenant, at the instance of the attorney-general.’ ‘We shall see,’ they said, ‘who is bad, and the bad shall be punished.’[558] The preachers made no complaint; but it was their unfortunate application to the council which had given occasion to these insults. This agitation would certainly not have arisen had each pastor, in conformity with the precept of Jesus Christ—‘Go and tell him his fault between thee and him alone’—addressed those who were blameworthy kindly and privately. One fact, however, exonerates the preachers: they were not at liberty to act otherwise than they did. The state had resolutely placed itself above the Church, and was intermeddling with matters which pertained only to the pastors. If the latter had rebuked some citizens without the consent of the council, they would certainly have been liable to rebuke themselves. The fault was above all with the magistrate. Geneva sailed for some years[352] on a high tide of Cesaropapia (government of the Church by the state).[559]

On January 3 the reformers presented themselves again before the council. They did not come to complain of the insults to which they had been subjected. They proposed a nobler object, the union of all the members of the Church in the same faith and the same charity. They drew a vivid picture of the discord which was increasing day after day, and of the divisions which were fomented in the republic by restless and factious spirits; and they represented that one of the best methods of applying a remedy would be to keep the disturbers away from the supper. ‘As it is determined to celebrate it on Sunday next,’ they said, ‘we are of opinion that, those persons should not be admitted. On this point we desire the opinion of the council.’[560]

This exclusion proposed to the senate is one of the gravest facts in the reformation of Geneva, and it kept up excitement in the city for nearly a whole generation. Wherein then were the reformers right, and wherein were they wrong? A society is a collection of men who, while differing on some matters, are in agreement on the subject which is the very essence of their union. A society of financiers is not composed of people who know nothing of money matters. It is not the unlearned who are admitted to a learned faculty. A regiment is not recruited with one-armed men. Men who know nothing of French are not elected to form the Forty of the Academy. It is just the same with Christian society. Its members may differ in many respects—political, literary, social, etc.—but Christian faith must actuate them all. A Jew or a Mohammedan does not belong to the Church of Jesus Christ; and a man who rejects the facts, the doctrines, and the duties of Christianity is not a Christian. ‘Birds of a feather flock together,’ says a common[353] proverb. Ought the reformers to ignore such an elementary truth? There were still some Roman Catholics at Geneva; there were the so-called Spirituals, many of whom did not believe even in the immateriality of the soul; there were also a great number of citizens who did not consent to the faith as set forth in the confession made at St. Peter’s. Should such a confused mass, in which it would be impossible to know where one was, form the Church of Geneva? Should that Church be

Would it not in such a case remind one of certain monsters, which are spoken of by the ancients, possessing a conformation which was against nature? The reformers were with the truth when they answered No. But where they were wrong was in requiring all the citizens to take an oath to their confession. Was it possible for them to fancy that the act by which Geneva had broken with the pope had transformed, as by the stroke of the enchanter’s wand, all the Genevese, so that from that moment they all believed heartily, and ought all to make confession with their lips? Nascitur homo, fit Christianus, said Tertullian in the second century. One is born a man, but one becomes a Christian. To pretend that all those who belonged to the state belonged at the same time to the Church was irrational. To decree that those who would not take the oath to the confession should depart from the city and go elsewhither was iniquitous. What, drive from Geneva the men to whom Geneva owed her independence! Such an enormity could not fail to lead to a revolution. The fusion of the Church and the state in a single society is the origin of those blemishes which in some instances disfigured the otherwise glorious work of the Reformation. But how to settle the dilemma? how admit two contradictory propositions? How to exclude and to keep at the same time?

[354]

The early Church accomplished this. It had its ἀκροώμενοι, audientes, hearers. Instead of excluding those whose faith was not yet formed, it invited them lovingly to hear the preaching of the Word. They attended the service and joined in the prayers, without taking part in the mysteries of the Lord’s supper, which they shrank timidly from approaching. And when in their experience that great process of the Christian life was accomplished of which St. Paul speaks—Faith cometh by hearing—they shared the communion at the sacred feast. Perhaps Geneva was not yet ripe for this order of things.[562]

The council assembled the Two Hundred to consider what answer should be made to the reformers. Since the scenes which had taken place in the council of November 25, the syndics had become more timid. They dreaded whatever might provoke the people and drive them on to any rash proceeding, and they felt less inclined to support the reformers. A letter was read from Berne which bore approving testimony to the confession, and exhorted to concord. Three of the members who had not sworn the confession—De Lesclefs, Manlich, and Ameaux—were urged to do as others had done. The first two took the oath required; Ameaux alone refused. The council then believing that they had gone far enough, recoiled from a measure which might have grave consequences, and determined ‘not to refuse the supper to any one.’[563]

Thus did the magistrates give a flat refusal to the[355] ministers. It was a lesson for Calvin and his friends. This decision was contrary to their convictions; but as they knew that the council was at heart friendly to the Reformation, they did not feel bound to oppose its will. They gave proof of moderation, conciliation, and patience. Some will perhaps say that they pushed these virtues too far. They yielded. That is not the crime of which they are commonly accused. The supper was celebrated, and there was no disturbance.

But although the communion passed off in an orderly manner, troubles arose afterwards. The opposition party looked on this general admission as a triumph for them; and as they saw that the representations of the ministers were no longer listened to by the councils, their audacity increased. Again were seen bands of men, consisting of the least respectable classes of the people, parading the city with green flowers in their hats. They indulged in acts of violence; they annoyed those who had sworn to the Reformation; ‘they drew their swords and terrified others into flight.’ The taverns were thronged with these people, who ate and drank to excess. Puns and sarcasms were showered on all sides. Even holy things were turned into ridicule. Just as St. Paul addressed his Epistles to his brethren in Christ, so the evangelical Christians of the Reformation gave each other that title. The wags had noticed it, and did not fail to laugh at it. ‘A party of drunken men,’ say the Registers of January 16, ‘went in the night through the town and to the wine-shops, mocking the preachers and saying to each other, ‘Thou art one of the brethren in Christ,’ and other things of the like kind. These mockers having come to the Lord’s supper, to which all were admitted by order of the Council, gave themselves in jest the name of brethren. Jean d’Orbe said to Claude Jaccard, ‘Art thou of the brethren in Christ?’ and swearing a great oath, he added, ‘Thou wilt repent of it.’ Many persons, alarmed at these dis[356]orderly proceedings, trembled for the general council which was to be held fifteen days later. ‘Many a sword-thrust will be given there,’ they said, ‘so that we shall not wish to go.’ The discord which prevailed in Geneva agitated also the neighboring country districts. The Council of the Two Hundred was deeply affected by all these reports, and determined to have inquiry made and to punish the guilty. The measure which the council adopted in order to prevent disturbances was precisely that which actually gave rise to them.[564]

All these things greatly afflicted Calvin, and he had at the same time other sorrows to bear. A man of mild disposition, with a spirit given to contemplation, on which the incessantly renewed struggles to which the reformer was called made a most painful impression, was at that time living in intimate friendship with him. Louis du Tillet, canon and archdeacon of Angoulême, had been first won to the Gospel by the lively piety of Calvin, whom he had followed to Switzerland, to Italy, and to Geneva. But by slow degrees a perceptible difference grew up between the master and the disciple. In Du Tillet’s view the doctrine of the Church was the essential matter, and the re-establishment of the apostolic Church ought to be the aim of the Reformation. ‘Let us protest,’ said he, ‘against the abuses of the Roman Church, but let us re-establish the Catholicism of the first centuries. It is there that lies hidden the Christian germ; let us beware of arresting its developments. The Reformation, unless it is to disappoint the fair hopes which it has excited, must re-establish in the world the one holy, universal Church. The only way open to us for accomplishing the work which the state of Christendom claims at our hands, is to go back to the beginning, and to re-establish the Church of the first ages. Alas! fatal discords are already threatening to make division in the new Church. May the hand of[357] God recall her from this error, and establish her on the foundation of the apostles and the fathers. The Reformation must not, while highly exalting Jesus Christ, too much abase the Church. Let us take care that the torrent which we turn into the stables to cleanse them do not carry away the walls and the foundation. The reform of the Church must not become its annihilation. Assuredly the Catholic Church is the pillar of the truth, and the consent of this Church is the infallible support and the full assurance of the truth.’[565]

Calvin was at no loss for an answer to his friend, the Old Catholic. He pointed out to him that where falsehood reigns there can be no Church; that the state of the papacy, although it might still hold some remains of truth, was such that those who abandoned it did not create a schism. He added, that we could not wait until the papacy reformed itself; that the councils assembled in the fifteenth century, and even earlier, for the purpose of working out that the reform, had all failed. He insisted that it was not to Catholicism of the first five or six centuries that we must return, but to the Gospel—to the sacred writings of the apostles—in which the truth was taught in its purity. Calvin maintained his thesis with energy, nay, as he said, with rudeness.[566] Driven from point to point, hesitating between the doctrine of the Holy Scriptures and that of the councils and the fathers, melancholy and pining, Du Tillet secretly quitted Geneva, adopted the resolution of re-entering the Catholic Church, and told Calvin so.

The reformer wrote to him, January 31, 1538, with moderation and humility, but at the same time firmly. ‘What afflicts me most of all,’ he said to him, ‘is the fear of having hurt your mind by my imprudence, for I confess that I have not exhibited in my intercourse with[358] you the modesty which I owed to you. I cannot, however, conceal from you that I was greatly astonished on learning your intention and the reason which you assign in your letters to me. This change, so suddenly made, seemed very strange, considering the constancy and the decision which you displayed. It is separation from the Church to join ourselves to that which is contrary to it.’[567] This did not prevent Du Tillet from again becoming and remaining a Roman Catholic.

However, Calvin’s attention was at this time attracted and absorbed by other objects. The disturbances which were agitating Geneva did not arise exclusively from religious doctrines. The opposition wanted to get into power; and if it succeeded, the days of the Reformation were apparently numbered. The leaders acted prudently, but they could not restrain the restlessness of their adherents. There were two entirely distinct parties in the republic. The one aimed at any cost to take the government out of the hands of the syndics and councillors who favored the reformers, and to occupy their place; the other wished to appoint magistrates who would persevere in the course on which the council had entered. The two parties were now face to face. The attacking party marched to the assault with decision and much noise, determined to come to blows if necessary. ‘Insults and outcries were multiplied throughout the town, both by night and by day.’[568] Excitement was daily becoming more intense. ‘Next Sunday syndics are to be appointed,’ it was said; ‘there will be strife; we must go to the election in arms.’ One of the most furious of the opponents, who carried leeks in his hat, cried out, ‘To-day we are wearing green gillyflowers, but the day will make plenty of red heads.’[569] These symptoms alarmed not only the aged and the sick, but[359] also moderate men, who are sometimes a little timid. To make use of menaces in order to keep citizens of the opposite party from voting, is commonly enough the practice of a blind demagogy. It gained its end. These violent speeches greatly grieved the pastors. Fearing that blood would be shed, they appeared, February 1, two days before the election, before the Council of the Two Hundred, and made a wise (belle) remonstrance. The lieutenant of police, Henriod Dumolard, one of the champions of freedom, who enjoyed general respect, confirmed these fears ‘from good information.’ The council determined to imprison those who had threatened to shed blood, and to take other measures for the purpose of preventing on the appointed day either tumult or conflict.

But if the violent members of the opposition injured their influence, the abler men dealt effective blows at the order of things established by the reformers and the magistrates. They called to mind the ancient franchises of Geneva and the battles fought in their defence. They showed that the bishop himself had not required of them so positive an adhesion to doctrine, nor imposed on them ordinances so harassing in respect to morality. Under the pretext of aiming at the maintenance of freedom, these men acquired high esteem among the people.[570] They wished, nevertheless, so they said, for reform. Doubtless they did. But if we may judge by their opposition to the confession and to discipline, they wanted a reform without either faith or law. Such was not that of Calvin; and this alone, in the grand crisis of the sixteenth century, and in the midst of attacks so numerous and so varied, could make Geneva a strong and invincible city. The vital doctrines of Christianity, which are the salvation of the individual, are likewise necessary to the prosperity of nations. This is proved by great examples. Geneva without the Gospel, without Calvin, would not[360] have won the sympathy of the evangelical nations, nor would she have possessed the moral force to surmount great perils. Weakened, enervated, and corrupted, this city would soon have lost her independence, as all those free cities of the Middle Ages in Italy and elsewhere did. These were one after another compelled to stoop under the sword of their neighbors and under the yoke of Rome. A free people must have a religion of high quality (de bon aloi). To invite the nations to cast Christianity out of their bosom, as some rash or criminal voices did, is to invite them to put to death liberty, morality, and prosperity. It is to preach suicide to them.

Was Geneva, then, going to make trial of it? February 3, the day of election, at length arrived. The opposition, which was at the outset a minority, but a minority of the inflexible kind which generally wins, had succeeded in persuading the people that if they wished to keep their liberties they must change the government. The council general assembled in the cloisters of St. Peter’s, and the first syndic said, after the customary formalities—‘The election of syndics is a matter of so great importance, that it will be enough to occupy us to-day without any other business. Let everyone give his vote peaceably, and let no one be so rash as to stir up disorders, either by word or by sword. Any man who does so will be sent to prison, and will afterwards be punished according to his desert.’ The Two Hundred, according to custom, presented eight names, and the council general was to retain four of them. Two secretaries were at hand to enter the votes; and presently the citizens, coming forward group by group, gave their votes. Of the eight candidates the people chose three who had put themselves at the head of the opposition, and whom the impartiality of the Two Hundred had led them to present with the others. These three were Claude Richardet, who, with[361] furious gesture, had declared that they would not get him to go to prison; Jean Philippe, who had proposed in the council general to name twenty-five citizens to watch the syndics; and Jean Lullin, who had accused the council of violating the franchises. These three enemies of the new order of things were named syndics. But there must be four of them. The opposition intended that the fourth should likewise be one of their party, but it did not find another set down in the list of the council. Regardless of the rule on that point, they chose a citizen who had not been proposed by the Two Hundred—De Chapeaurouge—who had greatly compromised himself by the vehemence of his speeches against the reformers. On February 4 and 5 the election of councillors as assistants to the syndics was conducted in almost the same spirit.

The victory of the opposition was complete. A great revolution had been wrought in this small city. The citizens had come to a decision of such a character as must excite disturbances and prepare the way to their ruin. This soon became apparent among the lower classes. The election was followed, especially at night, by noisy promenades, licentious songs in the taverns, insults and blasphemies. At Geneva, as in France, the song was one form of opposition. The people feasted, drank, and made songs on their enemies. Thus these lawless subjects had their triumph after their own fashion. But Calvin and Farel did not hesitate to present themselves before the council in which their antagonists sat, and to demand the suppression of these disorders. The new syndics were the most decided of the citizens in the sense opposed to the reformers; but they were intelligent men, and they had no wish that the mischief should run to an extreme. History, moreover, gives us many examples of a change effected in individuals by accession to power. Sometimes an ecclesiastic vehemently opposed to the encroachments of the Roman[362] see has been made pope, and he has thereupon become the most thoroughgoing papist. The magistrates had no wish to compromise themselves at the outset by making common cause with the libertines; they therefore ordered that justice should be done at the demand of the pastors. The sound of the trumpet was heard in the streets, and the officer of the council cried, ‘No one shall sing indecent songs containing the names of the inhabitants of Geneva; no one shall go into the city without a candle after nine o’clock at night; no one shall create excitement or strife, under pain of being imprisoned on bread and water, for three days for the first offence, six days for the second, and nine for the third.’[571] Immediately after its election the new council had given a proof of moderation and impartiality. Jean Jacques Farel, a brother of the reformer, having replied to the threats of the opposition that he would go armed to the council general, had been sent to prison by the council formed of his own party. After the new election Farel interceded for his brother, and the new council, in its session of February 5, released him, because he had, according to the Registers, already remained three or four days in prison. The blustering fellows thought it very strange that the magistrates, who set Farel’s brother at liberty, should reward them, the men who had placed them in office, by prohibiting songs at their tables, in the midst of their cups, which were so delightful to them. But notwithstanding these appearances, the revolution was none the less profound and decisive; and it is doubtful whether, even after the trumpet-blast, the disorders ceased.

The conduct of the syndics with regard to those who had preceded them showed immediately that they did not lose sight of one of the chief objects of their election. A Frenchman, the Seigneur de Montchenu, being at Geneva, caused letters to be sent to three Genevese[363] councillors, Claude Richardet, Claude Savoye, and Michel Sept, in which it was stated that if the Genevese would become subjects of the King of France, he would leave to them their usages and liberties, would fortify their city, and answer for them when attacked. Berne took alarm on hearing this, and cautioned the Genevese to be on their guard. When the councils met they ordered answer to be made to the French agent that Geneva would no more entertain such projects, and decreed that every Frenchman found wandering on the territory of the republic should be expelled. It was not easy to treat the letter which had been written to them as a crime on the part of the three Genevese, especially as the first to whom it was addressed was Claude Richardet, then syndic, the fierce enemy of the ministers and the priests. Nevertheless they found means of employing these letters without taking Richardet into account. He, however, was not only compromised, like the other two, in having received a letter, but there was one grave fact against him. Montchenu having presented himself by night, with some horsemen, at the gates of Geneva, Richardet, syndic at the time, went to them at their request, ordered the great gate to be opened, and introduced the Frenchmen into the city. Montchenu having proposed to Richardet to go to supper with him at the Tête-Noire, he declined. When he was subsequently called upon by Claude Savoye to explain this circumstance in the council, Richardet stated that he had thought that Montchenu was going on an embassy into Germany to bring soldiers for the king. If this adventure had happened to either of the other Genevese who had received the letter, Claude Savoye, for instance, what would not have been said? But Richardet was as innocent as his compatriots. A Genevese does not betray his country. For the rest, he assured the council that he had had no intention but to please it.

[364]

Whatever the fact may have been, on the proposition of Monathier, one of the most violent members of the party then in power, the council suspended Claude Savoye and Michel Sept from their functions until this business should be cleared up. It has been remarked that, to take advantage of their ascendency in order to get up any bad case against their antagonists, was a traditional propensity which Genevese parties had too long indulged.[572] Similarly, three of the former syndics and a councillor were suspended on account of charges brought by people of doubtful respectability. In this way the new government secured a majority in the Council of the Two Hundred.[573] A pitiful victory of party spirit! Everyone was eagerly hunting up grievances against the fallen magistrates.

It appears that Calvin blamed this proceeding, and, holding it to be contrary to justice and to truth, called it the work of him whom the Scriptures name the father of lies. Hereupon it was determined to warn the preachers that they must not intermeddle with the business of the magistrate, but preach the Gospel.[574] Calvin felt this deeply. Is not justice also in the Gospel? Ought not a minister to demand it? So much hostility was at that time exhibited against the reformers by the majority of the Genevese, that the Bernese themselves, when they came to Geneva to oppose Montchenu, undertook their defence. Farel was accused of having said at Berne, ‘There is strife at Geneva because one party wants the mass and another the Gospel.’—‘Farel never said such a thing,’ said the Bernese to the general council; ‘we beg you to treat him with favor, for he has freely made known the Gospel.’ Certainly Calvin, Farel, and all the pastors ought to set an example of respect for the authorities. But the state and the Church were[365] then so closely united that they were almost confounded with one another; and as the magistrates themselves dealt with religion in their councils, it is not to be wondered at that the ministers should speak of the proceedings of the councils in their sermons. The independence of the temporal and the spiritual was as yet far off. It must not be forgotten that it was for Geneva a creative epoch. Magistrates and reformers were working at the organization of the State and the Church. Moreover, in this business morality was in question, and no wonder that the ministers of God thought that morality was within their province. But the magistrates looked on the matter in another light, and did not intend that anyone should give them a lecture. Calvin was fettered not only in his preaching but still more in the discharge of his pastoral duties. ‘In general,’ he wrote to Bullinger, February 21, ‘we are looked on here as preachers rather than pastors. We cannot have a Church that will stand unless the discipline of the apostles be restored.’ However, he had not lost hope. ‘There is much alteration which we earnestly desire,’ he further wrote to his friend at Zurich, ‘but which can be effected only by our applying ourselves to it with faith, diligence, and perseverance. Oh, that a pure and sincere agreement might at length be established among us! Would there be any obstacle in the way of the meeting of a synod, at which everyone might propose what he believed to be useful to the Churches?’[575]

Having lost all hope in the institutions of the state, the reformer turned his attention to those of the Church. So long as sincere friends of the Reformation had been in power, Farel and Calvin had displayed a spirit of concession even on important points. When the council, for instance, had determined that the supper should not be refused to anyone, they had yielded. But now, when[366] they saw at the head of affairs men who were opposed to order in the Church, they no longer felt it their duty to yield. They will not allow the state authorities to organize the spiritual body at their will. They will contend against notions contrary, as they think, to the Word of God. They will contend against them by their prayers and efforts, and by their resistance. The moment is come for them to say with Luther, I can do no otherwise (Ich kann nicht anders). There was enough in such a resolution to arouse a storm. But other blasts, not less impetuous, and blowing from other quarters, were soon to assail the reformers.

CHAPTER IX.
STRUGGLES AT BERNE.—SYNOD OF LAUSANNE.
(1538.)

The state of affairs at Berne had changed since the synod of September 1537, at which Calvin, appearing on the scene as the messenger of peace, had brought in concord after strife. Megander, Erasmus Ritter, and Rhellican complained of the progress of Bucerism, and their adversaries complained of them as disturbers. Megander, it may be recollected, had agreed at the time of the synod to amend his catechism to a small extent. Now Bucer himself had in his zeal undertaken the task, and the council, without consulting Megander, had printed the revised and amended catechism. This was an act at once imprudent and wanting in respect. The lords of Berne were accustomed to play to some extent the part of autocrats. Megander was deeply wounded; and presenting himself before the council with Erasmus Ritter, he declared that he was fully determined not to[367] become a Lutheran, and that consequently he could not allow the corrections of Bucer. Kunz and Sebastian Meyer on the other hand stoutly defended the catechism as revised by the Strasburg doctor.

The State, when it intrudes into theological discussions, is wanting in the necessary tact, and is too often influenced by considerations foreign to religion. The council replied magisterially that the catechism was in conformity with Scripture; and it added despotically that Megander and Ritter must accept it as it is, or they would be immediately deprived of their offices. Ritter, who did not find in the catechism anything which at bottom imperilled the Christian faith, submitted. But Megander raised objections more or less well founded. He was wounded in his amour-propre as author, and observing the eagerness of his adversaries to annoy him, he perceived that his position at Berne had become untenable. Therefore he held his ground and received his congé: a measure in which, however, they showed a certain consideration. It was the end of the year 1537. He then withdrew to Zurich, which received him with open arms.[576]

This proceeding of the Bernese government excited a great sensation. Zurich addressed to Berne a sharp remonstrance. The country pastors of the canton of Berne complained loudly of the government and of the ecclesiastical councillors, and inquired whether these gentlemen meant to abjure the Reformation. A meeting was held at Aarau, January 22, 1538, at which it was resolved to make representations to the council; and the dean of Aarau, Zehnder, named chief of the deputation, presented the complaint. February 1 was fixed for the hearing of the two opposing parties. But while Kunz and his colleagues were admitted into the council chamber and took their places by the side of the president, the dean and the country ministers waited at[368] the door. No sooner were they admitted than Kunz addressed them with a haughty air, and rebuked them in a loud and stern voice. The country deans replied that they did not mean to be ruled by the city ministers as boys are by their schoolmaster. The discussion grew warm,[577] and even the members of the council took part in the quarrel.

Theological motives, as we may see, were not the only cause of the opposition raised by the country ministers. There were, besides, the rule which the city ministers assumed to exercise, and the power which the council arrogated to itself in the Church, and by virtue of which it had despotically deprived Megander. The country party did not want an aristocracy of the city clergy; the city party, lay and clerical, understood this. Little by little, therefore, they both lowered their tone, and instead of quarrelling they sought reconciliation. The city members assented to two alterations in the catechism revised by Bucer, and they declared that the country deputies had acted honorably. The latter on their part acknowledged that their colleagues of Berne had not become faithless to the Reformation. Apologies were made for the sharpness which had been imparted to the discussion. The city ministers paid visits to those from the country; they conducted them to the house of the provost, the first ecclesiastic of the canton, who gave them the warmest reception; they ate and drank together; and at last these good Swiss parted on the best terms with each other.[578] The cordial letter which Luther had written to the Swiss, December 1, 1537,[579] soothed their minds still more. The doctrine set forth by Calvin at the synod of September, to which Bucer[369] and Capito had given their adhesion, was recognized at Berne as the true doctrine. Erasmus Ritter, above all, was heartily devoted to it. There was some hope of finding in it a basis of union; and by its means the petty divisions of Protestantism were to disappear.

Unfortunately, Luther has always had some disciples who were more Lutheran than himself. Kunz and Sebastian Meyer were of that number. Dissatisfied with Calvin’s confession, which to them was an irksome yoke, they were eager to shake it off. A new minister, just then called to Berne, joined them; but as he was endowed with a quiet, prudent, and tractable disposition, he constantly sought, although a decided follower of Luther, to moderate his two violent colleagues. This was Simon Sulzer. He was an illegitimate son of the Catholic provost of Interlaken, and had spent his earliest youth in the châlets and on the magnificent Alps of the Hasli. Haller had afterwards found him in a barber’s shop where he was earning a living in a humble way; and discovering his great abilities, he had recommended him to the council. In 1531 Sulzer became Master of Arts at Strasburg. The council of Berne had then intrusted to him the task of directing the establishment of schools in all the places of the canton which had none. He had afterwards applied himself to theology; had gone to Saxony for the purpose of holding intercourse with Luther, and on his return had been named professor of theology at Berne, as successor of Megander. Step by step he became the most influential representative in Switzerland of the system which aimed at union with the German reformer.[580]

Kunz, whose aim was the same, was not only a votary of tradition, in opposition to the Scriptural spirit of the Genevese minister, but he was also a man actuated by[370] strong personal enmities. Calvin, although he did not wholly approve of Megander, had emphatically signified the pain which he had felt at his deprivation. ‘What a loss to the Church,’ he wrote to Bucer, January 12, 1538, ‘and how the enemies of the Gospel will exult when they see that we begin to banish our pastors; and that instead of considering how to overcome the powerful adversaries in whose presence we stand, we are inflicting mortal wounds on one another. This news of the deprivation of Megander has struck us as sharp a blow as if we had been told that great part of the Church of Berne had fallen down.[581] I admit that there was a mixture of what is human in his cause. But would it not be better to retain such a man and forgive him that trifling weakness, than to deprive him of his ministry, to the dishonor of God and of his Word, to the great injury of the Church, and with serious risk for the future? True, Sebastian Meyer and Kunz remain; but what can the former do except ruin the cause of the Gospel by his extravagances,[582] and by the violent outbreaks in which, when he is no longer master of himself, he indulges? As for Kunz, I can hardly trust myself to say what he is. Farel tells me that when he had lately to do with him, he never saw any beast more furious. His countenance, his gestures, his words, and his very complexion, said he, reminded him of the Furies.’[583] It is true that Calvin wrote thus to a friend, to Bucer. He said to him, ‘If I speak so freely to you, it is because I know to whom I am writing.’ But it was hardly possibly that Kunz should not hear from some[371] one what Calvin thought of him. He became his mortal enemy, and he cherished the like hatred towards the other ministers of Geneva.[584] He let no opportunity escape him of opposing them. It was to no purpose that the Genevese sought to show him that they were not his enemies, and to appease him by their moderation. It was gratifying to him to appoint ministers in the Bernese territories about whom Calvin had expressed himself in the severest manner;[585] and when competent men had been examined and approved at Geneva, he would not receive them until after they had been re-examined by the Bernese classes.[586] Calvin however knew better than Kunz. ‘What do such beginnings forebode?’ exclaims Calvin; ‘while he fancies that he is inflicting lashes on us he is in fact preparing his own ruin. Assuredly, if that be the will of God, he will fall into the pit which he has digged, rather than continue to be the cause of so great troubles to the Church of Christ.’[587]

In addition to the question of Lutheranism, there was also that of the relations between the Church and the State, which was a subject of difference between Berne and the Genevese reformers. At Berne the magistrate was considered, according to the views of Zwingli, the representative of the members of the flock; he was the bishop; the Church was a State Church. Calvin on the contrary, who had seen in France how the state treated the Reformation, wished for the autonomy of the Church. He did not indeed demand the complete separation of Church and State, but he desired that each of these two societies should have its own government. This was the[372] end for which he was striving, and Kunz, when once aware of it, was still more enraged. To these two questions was added that of worship. On this matter, as on others, Kunz was the ape of Luther, as Megander was of Zwingli. Calvin was no imitator of either the one or the other, but adopted generally a middle course. With respect to worship he wished for great simplicity. Berne had retained certain Catholic usages. They baptized as formerly in a baptistery; at Geneva they put away the font and made use of a simple vessel. Berne, at the supper, used wafers and unleavened bread; Geneva used common bread. Berne had retained several festivals, even that of the Annunciation of the Virgin; Geneva celebrated none but the Lord’s day, the Sunday.[588] Farel having found these usages, at least in part, among the Vaudois, in the visit which he made to those valleys in 1532, had introduced them at Geneva, and Calvin, finding them there, had made no change.

Kunz detested these practices, and directed attention to them at Berne. The Lords of Berne saw these differences with regret, either because they intended to exercise a certain supremacy over the Church of Geneva, which they thought was indebted to them to a great extent for its reformation, and because they desired to see it in all respects like their own: or because they were afraid that these diversities would furnish the Catholics with weapons: or because the Churches of the canton of Vaud seemed inclined to adopt the order of Geneva and not that of Berne, which in the eyes of those gentlemen was almost an act of rebellion. The Bernese bailiffs forbade the Vaudois pastors of their department to receive Calvin and Farel at their colloquies, or to attend themselves those which were held at Geneva.[589][373] Farel, who had rendered signal services to Berne and to Vaud, was now forbidden to appear in the canton, into which, nevertheless, the fanatic ‘Spirituals’ had free admission. The reformer was indignant. ‘The Lord reward Kunz according to his deserts,’ he wrote to Fabri. ‘Yes, the Lord destroy those who go on destroying the Church.’[590] These expressions are, as we think, more in the spirit of the Old Testament than of the New.

The Bernese magistrates, in order to establish an outward unity, to which they attached great importance, as politicians generally do, determined to convoke a synod at Lausanne, and they wrote on the subject, March 10, to the magistrates of Geneva. The Council of the Two Hundred were quite inclined to adopt the usages of Berne as far as regarded ceremonies. Calvin and Farel having expressed to the council a desire to attend the proposed assembly, it was decided to send them, but at the same time to associate with them the councillor Jean Philippe.

The synod met at Lausanne, March 31. The temper of the Bernese was more dictatorial than conciliatory. The lords of Berne had indeed requested that Calvin and Farel should go to Lausanne; but instead of expecting of the assembly a work of conciliation, they had positively stipulated, in a letter to the council of Geneva, that the Genevese preachers must pledge themselves beforehand to adopt the order of worship established at Berne; and that on this condition only would they be allowed to take part in the deliberations of the synod. If their adhesion were not given before the meeting, they should be heard afterwards and should be separately treated with. The Genevese reformers, therefore, were invited neither to a free assembly nor a free discussion. No other right was conceded to them but that of sub[374]mission. The Bernese added that the motive of this strange proceeding was to avoid giving their neighbors an opportunity of slandering the reformed religion, and to promote the union of the Churches. But the latter object, and through it the former, too, would probably have been more promptly attained by treating the ministers of Geneva in a brotherly and not in a despotic spirit. ‘The Bernese,’ according to Rozet, ‘inquired in a friendly way of Farel and Calvin on their arrival, whether they accepted their ceremonial.’ The reformers replied ‘that the subject was well deserving of discussion.’ Discussion was refused to them.[591]

The Bernese senate had named Kunz one of the presidents of the synod. Associated with him were the ministers of Erasmus Ritter, and two members of the great council, Huber and Amman. Kunz was one of those overbearing characters which inspire awe in other men, and whose influence is almost irresistible. His colleagues, moreover, were in agreement with him. The affair did not encounter any difficulty. The synod, which opened on March 31, unanimously accepted the usages of Berne,—the baptisteries, the unleavened bread at the supper, and the festivals, including that of the Annunciation of the Virgin.

Did Calvin and Farel attend the synod or not? It seems hardly probable that they would be willing by their presence to give a kind of sanction to an assembly from which they were virtually excluded. The letter of Berne to Geneva seems, moreover, to indicate clearly that unless they humbly received the ecclesiastical decisions of the magistrates and councils of Berne, they would only have a hearing apart. A highly partial biographer[592] states that they were seen in the town and even that they ‘went outside of it for pleasure.’ There[375] would have been no great harm in their taking walks on the surrounding hills and on the banks of the Aar, enjoying the beauties of Swiss scenery, while they waited till it should please the lords of Berne to permit them to speak. But they would have been open to blame for not attending the synod if the order of Berne had not absolutely prohibited them. History therefore has been guilty of an error in that, while she mentions their absence from the synod, she has not reported the fact which justifies it; that is to say, the strange requirement of Berne,—a grave omission, which we would fain think was unintentional.[593]

The conference between Calvin and Farel and the delegates of Berne took place. The ministers of Geneva, while they objected to the use of baptisteries and unleavened bread, had no intention of causing division on account of such things. They adhered more firmly to their views respecting festivals. ‘On what ground,’ said Calvin, ‘will you honor the day of the circumcision more than that of the death of the Redeemer?’ In fact, Good Friday was not celebrated at Berne. Kunz was silent.[594] Calvin and Farel wished that questions of this kind should be settled, not by delegates of the government but by the Church in its assemblies. They demanded therefore that the decision should be referred to a synod of the whole Reformed Church of Switzerland, which was to be held without delay at Zurich. All appearance of compulsion would thus be avoided; liberty and order would be equally respected, and the Church would be spared much grievous dissension. ‘There was an excellent remedy,’ Calvin wrote afterwards to the Zurichers, ‘by means of which danger might[376] have been obviated; it was that we should be invited to your synod. But this we could not obtain.’[595]

When the lords of Berne found that their delegates had failed in their conference with the Genevese ministers, they resolved to write, on the same day, April 15, two letters: one to Calvin and Farel, the other to the council of Geneva, having no doubt that this clever contrivance would succeed. Their two missives were very nearly alike. They urged the ministers to accept the decision of the synod, without waiting for the assembly at Zurich, in order that the two Churches, united in the fundamentals of the faith, might likewise be in conformity in matters of ceremonial. And to the council they addressed entreaties to accept the same decision, ‘in the hope that Masters Farel and Calvin, although they had raised some difficulties, would advise for the best.’[596]

THE COUNTER-REFORMATION PREVAILS.—CALVIN AND FAREL REFUSE TO GIVE THE LORD’S SUPPER.—THE PULPIT IS CLOSED TO THEM.

(April 15 to 20, 1538.)

The very circumstances which inspired the confidence of Berne were exactly those which roused the resistance of Calvin. Those powerful and magnificent lords could not believe that so dignified an intervention would fail to secure submission; and Calvin could not consent that the interests of the Church of Christ should be regulated[377] by the magistrate, like those of the highways and the soldiery. Besides, in the present case, the question was about foreign magistrates. To their intervention the citizen and the Christian could not but be equally opposed. Calvin wished to maintain the principle of religious liberty, and he requested that time should be allowed him to come to an understanding with the other Churches. However, if the letter to the ministers was unsuccessful, that sent to the council had a success so abundant that it not only surpassed the hopes of the Bernese, but crossed their desires and threw an obstacle in the way of their projects. The syndics who had been named in a spirit hostile to the reformers, and all the citizens who had placed them in office, were delighted to see variance between Berne and Calvin and Farel. For them it was a piece of real good fortune, although for the ministers it was a grievous event. The two states, Berne and Geneva, acting in unison, would soon get the better of two poor ministers. Further, the council was at this time in a bad humor. The third preacher, the aged and energetic Courault, who had remained at Geneva, had blamed the syndics in one of his sermons, and it was resolved to reprimand him. It is safe to rely, in this matter, on what the Registers state. It is not right to receive, as some have done, the burlesque and lying imputations of the notorious slanderer Bolsec, who, ‘after the example of Herostratos, chose to pass down to posterity branded with infamy.’[597] The council forbade Courault to preach. This was the state of things when the letters from Berne arrived. The council immediately gave orders that Calvin and Farel should appear before them on Friday, April 19. It was the Holy week, and that day was the day of the Passion. This consideration caused no hesitation on the part of the enemies of the Reformation. As the holy supper was to be celebrated two days later on Easter[378] Sunday, they were anxious to hurry forward the business. The ministers then found themselves between the anvil and the hammer; they must submit or fall, and do which they would, they would be weakened and lowered. The secretary having read the letter from Berne, the first syndic declared to the reformers that the council was determined to accede to the demand of that city, and to conform to the usages there established with respect to ceremonies. Then he asked them if they would themselves observe them, and requested them to answer Yes or No. Calvin and Farel demanded the time necessary, not merely, as has been asserted, for reflection on the subject, but also and especially, that the question might be settled by the competent authorities, the Swiss synod, which in ten days (April 29) was to be held at Zurich. Meanwhile they begged that no innovation should be made until the next supper. In making this request Calvin pledged himself to accept whatever should be decreed by that legitimate authority. This was on his part a large concession. To his Scriptural and just judgment it did not appear consistent, after separating from Roman Catholicism, still to retain any part of the system, even were it only a trifle, such as unleavened bread, baptisteries, and festivals. To one of the latter, especially, he felt great objection. He knew that small concessions lead on to large ones, and he feared that Rome would act according to the proverb, and if you gave an inch would take an ell. It is needless to repeat how decided and firm Calvin was, and yet, out of love for peace and for unity, he conceded to his adversaries what he might justly have refused them. All he asked was that they would wait for ten days the decision of the synodal authority. This, assuredly, was not saying No in an absolute manner.[598] It was quite the reverse; and the adversaries of Calvin ought rather to have wondered at his compliance than have blamed him for his inflexible[379] obstinacy. His request was fair, and it ought to have been granted. But they would not listen to it. It was ordered that the supper should be celebrated conformably to the Bernese usage; and the council appointed the magistrates who were to take care that it was thus celebrated in the churches of St. Peter, St. Gervais, and Rive. It may be asked how it was that men who were by no means remarkable for their attachment to traditional observances should be so obstinate in sacrificing the ritual of Geneva to the ritual of Berne. Impartial judges have said, ‘The Council had taken this resolution in order to win over the Bernese and to implicate them in the opposition to the reformers.’[599] We confess that this explanation appears to us very probable.

This decision was despotic, and in that very quality was in accordance with the order which the councils intended to establish at Geneva, that of Césaropapia, in which the prince and the magistrate, taking the place of the pope, settle everything in the Church. The inflexibility of the council on the one side and the firmness of the reformers on the other came into collision, and the result was a shock to the people which troubled their everyday life and could not, but lead to a conflict. Those who formed the lowest section of the opposition, excited and agitated, began to cry out against the resistance of the ministers, and they thought that if the latter would not obey with a good grace, they must be compelled to yield by terror and by force. If the people were to express their will with energy, if they took up arms, and filled the streets and massed themselves like roaring waves in front of the houses of Farel, Calvin, and Courault, those men, no matter what their strength might be, would have no choice but to give way before that impetuous torrent. ‘Thereupon,’ says[380] the chronicler Rozet, ‘great excesses and blasphemies were committed. Dissolute men went about the town by night in dozens, armed with arquebuses, which they discharged in front of the ministers’ houses. They shouted, The Word of God! and after that, The word of Andrew! They threatened to throw them into the Rhone if they did not come to some agreement with the magistrates respecting the ceremonies in question; and these proceedings, all open and notorious, went unpunished.’[600] It is not easy to ascertain what the cry, The word of Andrew, meant.[601] The cry, To the Rhone! was invariably heard at Geneva when popular risings took place. Froment was greeted with it when he began to preach the Gospel there; and some women would have thrown him over the bridge (du pont en bas) if a party of men had not rescued him. They did not, indeed, fling every one into the Rhone whom they threatened; but these cries could not but seem to Farel and Calvin a mournful return for their great and severe labors.

These disorderly deeds had lamentable consequences. Neither Farel nor Calvin complained of them. They had now at heart interests more important than their own, more precious even than their lives. They did not return evil for evil. But the former preacher to the Queen of Navarre, the blind and aged Courault, was not so forbearing. He likewise had heard these insults. A man of integrity and devoted to duty, he had at the same time a heart easily wounded, and he knew how to speak hard words. The night between Friday and Saturday, during which these cries had resounded in the city, was not a pleasant or a peaceful one for him. He was more irritated, perhaps, on account of the indignities which were heaped upon Calvin and Farel than[381] for what concerned himself. Chagrin, disquietude, and anger kept him sleepless. His blood was heated, his heart was incensed, his imagination inflamed.

The state of poor old Courault seems to be described in these lines. To him these disorders were intolerable, and he said that if men should hold their peace the very stones would cry aloud. He would cry out, and cry out in the pulpit. True, that was forbidden him; but no matter, in spite of the prohibition of men he would preach. He rose very early and went to St. Peter’s church to perform the service of six o’clock A.M., with no other preparation, alas! than the distress and bitterness which had preyed on his mind through the night. The character of his preaching was not such as was wanted for a people so sensitive as the Genevese. His eloquence somewhat resembled that of the monks to whose order he had belonged, which consisted, for the most part, in making a noise and in shouting.[603] His mind was not cultivated, but he had a glowing imagination, which animated his discourse and enabled him to hit hard blows. Although he was of a more serious turn, he shared, to some extent, the faults of the most illustrious orators of the preceding period, Barletta, Maillard, and Menot; and he sometimes attacked, as they did, the vices of his hearers by satire occasionally delicate and occasionally coarse, but always prompted by a good and grave intention. He would now discharge his conscience. Let them put him in prison, banish him, or beat him soundly; his soul, wearied with grief, must burst its bonds. He uttered, doubtless, some excellent things, some true and pious words;[382] but, agitated as he was, he allowed himself to indulge in that intemperate mode of speech which was then so common. With his spirit still disturbed by those noisy and tumultuous crowds collected under the windows of the reformers, from the midst of which came redoubled shouts, jesting songs, insults, accusations, and menaces, he likened them to the ‘kingdom of the frogs,’ that from the bosom of the marshes croak and make a loud noise. Then recalling a vulgar phrase, the old Frenchman, hardly escaped from the rough life of persecution, inquired of the Genevese what they complained of,—they who were ‘like rats in straw,’ that is to say, were folk greatly at their ease, possessing everything they could wish and in want of nothing.[604] In another passage, rising to a higher strain, and recalling the image of Nebuchadnezzar, with its head of gold and its feet part of iron and part of clay, fragile and broken by a little stone, he predicted to the syndics and councils that as intrigue had placed them in office they would not long retain their power. ‘You, gentlemen of the government,’ said he, ‘you have feet of wax.’ These feet, in his opinion, would soon melt in the sunshine of their victory and prosperity. This comparison, imitative of Biblical style, was not unbefitting to a preacher, and the prophecy which it contained did not fail of accomplishment. At the news of this minister preaching in defiance of the prohibition, and at the report of his sayings, which were most likely misrepresented, the government felt that they were insulted, and determined to act rigorously. Officers of state went to the old man’s house, arrested and took him to prison. It was the eve of Easter Day. It was customary to make presents at that period; and this was the present which was bestowed on the aged, noble, but free-spoken minister[383] and confessor of Christ, who had already experienced treatment too rough at the hands of the adherents of the pope in the kingdom of France.[605]

The news of the imprisonment of Courault rapidly spread through Geneva, and deeply affected the friends of the Reformation. A pastor in prison! Yes, and justly, if he were guilty of any common offence. But he had done what he believed to be his duty. From the Christian pulpit he had rebuked scandalous excesses, and on that account he was committed to prison, while those who were really guilty of them were let alone and went unpunished.[606] It appears from the protocol of the 19th, that two men, forming part of the band which had gone about singing by night and had made disturbances at Rive, had been themselves placed in confinement. But the place and the date of that affair prove that it was on a quite different charge. The incarceration of Courault filled Calvin and Farel with sorrow, for they esteemed their old and venerable colleague, and they knew how much he had already suffered for the truth’s sake. Some of the councillors and citizens friendly to the Reformation resolved to protest against the imprisonment of their pastor. Claude Savoye, Michel Sept, Lambert, Chautemps, Domaine d’Arlod, Claude and Louis Bernard, Deserts, Claude Pertemps, and many others joined Calvin and Farel, and they all went together in a long procession to the Hôtel de Ville. They entered the hall of the council, and found there two out of the four syndics, and these the men who were most against them, Richardet and de Chapeaurouge.

Farel spoke first. He complained that they had acted ‘ill, wickedly, and unjustly in putting Courault in prison,’ and demanded that the Council of the Two Hundred should be assembled. The laymen thought it strange[384] that their adversaries should not be satisfied with announcing, like Richardet, that they would not go to the preaching, but should seem to intend also to deprive their fellow-citizens of it by committing the preachers to prison. The notion that a syndic should presume to hinder him from hearing the Word of God especially irritated Michel Sept. ‘They shall preach!’ he said, vehemently. Farel, remembering all that he had done and borne through long years for this city of Geneva, to the emancipation of which he had probably contributed more than any other man by his teaching, his courage, his prayers, and his deeds, said to the magistrates, ‘Without me you would not be what you are.’

The syndics replied that, as the pulpit had been interdicted to Courault, and he had nevertheless preached that very morning, and had announced that he should continue to do so, they would not set him at liberty. The magistrates wished to see if this incident would furnish them with an opportunity of attaining the end which they had set before them. ‘Will you,’ they said to Farel and Calvin, ‘submit to the letters and ordinances of the lords of Berne? In that case we might restore to you your colleague.’ This bargain, which consisted in the release to them of an innocent prisoner if they on their part would do what they held to be wrong, appeared to the ministers a piece of shameful trafficking. ‘We will do, in such matters, what God commands,’ they replied. However, they were not willing to abandon their colleague. They offered to give bail, that he might under that guarantee be set at liberty. This proposition was a usual one in such cases, but the magistrates declined to accept it, and the reason which they gave for their refusal aggravated the harshness of the act. ‘Courault,’ they said, ‘is not a citizen of Geneva, and he is imprisoned for contempt of justice.’ The members of the council were thoroughly bent on getting rid of Courault, who was less prudent than his[385] colleagues. It appears from authentic documents, that they even offered Calvin to wait, as to the question of ritual, for the decision of the synod of Zurich, if he would consent that Courault should be deprived of his office of preacher. This Calvin refused.[607] The petitioners withdrew, much pained by the severity of the council towards their friend, and some of the laymen, especially Lambert, complained aloud as they quitted the Hôtel de Ville. They spoke of ‘false witnesses who had been examined; of traitors in the general council; and it is well known,’ they said, ‘who they are.’[608]

The council met after the departure of the reformers and their friends, and again decided that the Lord’s supper should be celebrated the next day, Easter Sunday, according to the rites established at Berne, and not according to those of Geneva; and it decreed that, if the ministers still refused to celebrate it, they should be forbidden to preach. One cannot but be astonished at this decision, and at the mean spirit which it displays on the part of the council. Simple and evangelical usages had been established in Geneva: the citizens had been called upon to take an oath in St. Peter’s church to a confession of faith which in its spirit is entirely in agreement with those practices; and now, in a matter which but little concerns it, in order to gratify the lords of Berne, whom it could easily resist when it chose to do so, the council determined to compel the ministers to observe a ceremony essentially Judaic,[609] even at the risk of seeing worship suspended and the Church overthrown. This looks very much like a pretext, good or bad, which they laid hold of for the purpose of getting rid of the reformers. The chief-usher went in the afternoon to the pastors to communicate the decree to them. He did[386] not find Farel, but Calvin, learning from the officer that the civil magistrate, without waiting for the resolution of the synod of Zurich, was himself deciding this ecclesiastical question, just as if it were an affair of military orders to give to an officer, refused to accept the order. Thereupon the chief-usher, in the name of the council, prohibited his preaching.[610]

What to do? This was the question which Calvin put to himself. He longed for unity and peace in Geneva. He appealed afterwards to the Genevese themselves. ‘We take God to witness,’ said he, ‘and your own consciences, in the light of his countenance, that while we have been among you all our exertions have been directed towards preserving you in happy union and pleasing concord. But those who had a mind to form a party by themselves have separated from us, and have introduced division in your Church and in your city.’[611] Lambert’s exclamation, when he spoke aloud of traitors and false witnesses, is sufficient to show us what was the state of Geneva at that time. Concord was nothing more than a lovely dream. The most violent passions were called into play. One would have said that God was giving up the inhabitants of the city to the unruly motions of their own hearts; and that is the most terrible chastisement which he ever employs in the punishment of men. Not, indeed, that these motions showed themselves violent alike in all. The lower classes were agitated, like their lake when the north wind, blowing impetuously, lifts up the waves and dashes them furiously on the rocks, the walls, and the banks. But among other classes appearances were better kept up. Nevertheless, if any reason were still left, it was too often only passion that made use of it for its own ends.

[387]

The confusion that prevailed in Geneva at this period is attested by contemporaries. ‘Popery had indeed been forsworn,’ says Theodore Beza,[612] ‘but many had not cast away with it those numerous and disgraceful disorders which had for a long time flourished in the city, given up as it was for so many years to canons and impure priests. Some of the families which stood in the highest rank still kept alive those old enmities which grew up at the period of the wars with Savoy.’[613] ‘The mischief had gone to such a length that the city, owing to the factious temper of some of the citizens, was divided into various parties.’[614] ‘Nothing was to be heard,’ says Michel Rozet, ‘but informations (dénonces) and quarrels between the former and the present lords (the former and the new councils), some being the ringleaders, others following in their steps; the whole mingled with reproaches about the booty taken in the war, or the spoils carried off from the churches.’[615]

‘There was nothing but confusion.’[616]

Neither the mild admonitions which were at first tried, nor the more rigorous reprimands to which recourse was afterwards had, produced any effect on the disturbers of the peace, and they failed to put an end to their disorderly proceedings.[617]

‘I have lived here,’ says Calvin himself, when speaking of this period, ‘engaged in strange contests. I have been saluted in mockery, of an evening, before my own[388] door, with fifty or sixty shots of arquebuses. You may imagine how that must astound a poor scholar, timid as I am, and as I confess I always was.’[618]

Such was the melancholy condition of Geneva according to men who, on questions of fact and of public fact, are the most respectable authorities that history can produce. She has but few witnesses endowed with the moral courage of Michel Rozet, Theodore Beza, and Calvin.[619]

The reformers were in great perplexity. The synod of Lausanne, at which the Bernese had opposed the hearing of the representatives of the Genevese Church, could not bind the latter. Their resistance to the introduction of new usages, which was ordered by the council without awaiting the decision of the synod of Zurich, was legitimate. If matters of that kind are left to the decision of the civil power, the natural order of things is inverted, the autonomy of the Church is disowned; and who knows whether, in a turbulent democracy, religion[389] may not fall into the hands of an excited people who will, according to the saying of a celebrated but scoffing writer, take it up ‘to play at ball with it, and make it bound upwards as readily with the foot as with the fist.’[620] However, Calvin could not help asking himself whether the actual question, the acceptance of unleavened bread which the Jews used to eat at the time of the Passover, was of a sufficiently weighty kind to put an end to his ministry at Geneva. He did not think it was. ‘If we have at heart,’ he said, ‘union and peace, let us seek after a unity of minds in doctrine, rather than insist in a too scrupulous manner on a conformity of the most exact kind to this or that ceremony. There are some points on which the Lord leaves us freedom, in order that our edification may be the greater. Not to be careful about this edification, and to seek instead of it a slavish conformity, is unworthy of a Christian.’[621] Such were Calvin’s views on the question about leavened or unleavened bread.

But the question was about a quite different matter. The reformer had before him a town in agitation and division, its parties, quarrels, hatreds, scoffings, cries, disorders, and scandals. Is this the temple in which the festival of peace is to be celebrated? ‘No,’ said he, ‘the aspect of the Church is not at present such as the legitimate administration of our office requires.[622] What[390]ever people may say, we do not believe that our ministry ought to be confined within such narrow limits that when once we have delivered our sermon we have nothing more to do except to rest as if we had accomplished our task. It is more than that; it is that we must with greater vigilance take care of those whose blood will be demanded at our hands if they should perish through our negligence. This solicitude fills us with distress of mind at all times, but when we have to distribute the Lord’s supper, then it fiercely consumes and cruelly torments us.[623] While the faith of many of those who wish to take part in it is in our opinion doubtful and even open to suspicion, we see them all rushing headlong and pell-mell to the sacred table. And one would say that they are eating greedily the wrath of God rather than partaking of the sacrament of life.’[624] Calvin, as these words show, had still before his eyes that riotous communion of January, previous to which the council had decreed ‘that the supper should not be refused to anyone.’ He recollected the disposition, the look, the deportment, with which many had taken part in it; he still felt the heaviness of heart which he had experienced when giving the bread of life to such men. Now all had grown worse. The evil which had then shown itself, bursting the few chains which kept it down, now broke forth with violence. The population was excited, angry, rebellious. It was no longer merely the profligacy of some individuals; there was general perplexity, disturbance, and confusion. The agitation was not confined to the coarser minds; some of the most cultivated were going beyond all bounds. The saying of a celebrated writer with respect to another city might be applied to Geneva, ‘The[391] devil is let loose on this town: within the memory of man so frightful a time has not been seen.’

Was this the moment for celebrating the feast of peace? In the judgment of every sensible man it would have been an absurdity. If a feast is to be held on board ship, is it to be just when the whirlwind of the tempest strikes the vessel, when the sea-waves lift themselves up, when those on board shake and totter like a drunken man, while they go up to the heavens and down to the abysses? Is that the time for the dance to begin, and for the passengers gracefully to execute measured paces, to the sound of musical instruments? Or would anyone choose for attendance at a sweet and harmonious concert the moment when the hall is on fire? And yet it was proposed, in the midst of burning lawless passions, to have by force, by the decree of the magistrate, a display of holy things which would be nothing but a profanation.

It cannot even be said, as is usually said, that the subject of excommunication was in question here. Not to give the supper at present did not mean that it should not be given afterwards. Calvin had given it. But it was not the time for it. Non erat hic locus. The reformer acted with the wisdom of a physician who will not give leave to impatient sick folk to take a mountain journey; he will do so afterwards, when they have regained their strength, but not now. Perhaps there may be individuals among them who will never scale the rocks because they will never have the power to do so. But that has nothing to do with those who are whole. For the physician there will be no more lovely day than that on which, at the head of his party, he shall be able to breathe with his friends the keen and healthful air of the heights, which at an earlier period would have killed them. That joy, we say again, Calvin had once tasted.

Calvin and Farel, having considered everything, took such a resolution as circumstances demanded; they[392] would not give the supper on the following day, which was Easter Day. Having adopted this resolution, they communicated it to the authorities. ‘Farel and Calvin,’ says Rozet, ‘informed the council that they could not administer the supper in the midst of these divisions, gangs, and blasphemies, and with profligacies multiplying around them.’[625] Such was their motive clearly expressed. But they would do more than that. They had been prohibited from preaching. What! on this Easter Day should the doors of the churches be closed and the pulpit be dumb! Moreover, since they had refused to celebrate the supper, they owed to those whom God had confided to their ministry to give them their reasons. That was not for their harm but for their good, and they were bound to do it. Nevertheless, to occupy the pulpit on that day in defiance of the prohibition of the government, which was supported by the majority of the people, would be a grave affair for these two men, both feeble in body, the one in consequence of his labors, and the other by constitution. ‘But,’ said Calvin one day, recalling a saying of David, ‘though a camp, an army, that is to say, everything which is terrible and appalling in the world, should rise up against us, though all men should conspire to destroy us, we have no fear of all their might, for the power of God is far greater. We shall not be entirely free from fear; if we were, it would rather be from stupidity than from courage. But we shall hold before us the shield of faith, lest our hearts should faint or fail through the terrors which beset us.’[626] A victory which the court of Turin, with the aid of Spain and of the pope, failed to gain over the senate and people of Geneva, these two feeble men attempt and win. Here was one of the most beautiful triumphs of which the cause of religious liberty engaged in a conflict with the despotism of the state can boast. It was more than that.[393] It was Christian heroism which prefers the fulfilment of the will of God, with exile, to a comfortable abode in one of the fairest countries in the world, with a conscience sacrificed and a slavish submission to Cæsar in things pertaining to God. It was in this character that the two principal witnesses to Calvin’s life regarded it. ‘Thenceforth Calvin,’ says one of them, ‘as he was of a spirit essentially heroic, stoutly and steadily resisted the seditious, together with the aforesaid Farel.’[627]—‘Farel and Calvin,’ says the other, ‘each endowed with a noble and heroic spirit, openly declared that they could not celebrate in a religious manner the Lord’s supper, among citizens who were so miserably at variance with each other, and so opposed to all discipline in the church.’[628] The decay of Christian principle is the only possible explanation of the fact that some should have ventured a judgment on them, contrary to that which was pronounced by contemporaries.

CALVIN AND FAREL PREACH IN SPITE OF THE PROHIBITION BY THE COUNCIL.—THEY ARE BANISHED FROM GENEVA.

(Easter, 1538.)

The crisis was approaching. The danger was increasing. Geneva was in one of those perilous but decisive moments in which some sudden change takes place, whether for better or for worse. The population was getting more and more excited. The news that the ministers would not celebrate the supper in Geneva raised[394] irritation to the highest pitch. All explanations were useless; many people would not listen to anything; anger had stopped their ears. It is said that in the evening the streets were in an uproar, and that bands of factious men were shouting against the ministers. It is even added that a masquerade had been organized for the purpose of presenting a parody of scenes from the Gospel. We are not sure that the libertines went to that length; but there was during the evening a great agitation in the town, as the next day too plainly showed. These scenes of tumult greatly grieved Calvin. If he turned his thoughts to the past, the great sorrows which he had already borne in Geneva appeared to him again; and he foresaw that those which were approaching would be more bitter still. Interfered with in the preaching of the Word, in the administration of the sacraments, in the maintenance of apostolical discipline and in the organization of the Church (the council refused its consent to the division of the town into parishes, a measure which would have greatly facilitated the discharge of pastoral duties, and have promoted the good of families), what was he to do? ‘I confess,’ he wrote, ‘that the first letters by which the senate endeavored to turn aside my will from the right path struck me a heavy blow.[629] I saw that I was thus again plunged into the distresses from which I had hoped that I was delivered by the great goodness of God. When I accepted the government of this Church, in conjunction with my excellent and most faithful colleague Farel, I applied myself in all good conscience to seeking out the means by which it might be maintained; and although it was for me a very laborious charge, I never thought of abandoning the place. I considered myself as set by the hand of God at a post from which I could not withdraw. And nevertheless, if I were to tell the least part of the[395] cares, or rather of the miseries, which we were forced to endure throughout a whole year, I am sure that you would think it incredible.[630] I can assure you that not a day has passed in which I did not ten times wish for death.’[631] This Easter eve, when he was on the point of exposing himself to the greatest griefs, while giving unto God the honor which is due to him, was doubtless one of those days. He must drink the cup of the people’s wrath. He, the timid scholar, as he declares that he always had been, must now face these furious men. But one thought gave him strength; it is the will of God, and his will must be done.

Easter Sunday dawned. From early morning great agitation prevailed in the town. The adversaries and friends of the reformers were both troubled, but in different ways. The former were impatient to see if they would really preach notwithstanding the prohibition of the council, and to hear what they might have to say. The latter also were eager to go to divine service, either from a sentiment of piety or in order to defend the ministers in case, as some expected, there should be any disturbance in the churches. The movements of the multitude, the groups which were forming at various points, the violent speeches which were uttered from time to time, all were calculated to inspire fear. In timid souls there was also an inward trouble, an anxiety, and a heart-ache, inevitable under circumstances so grave. Men, women, and children, the roar of the crowd, and the confused voices of the people, filled the streets. Strange things were fancied, evil reports were circulated. One would almost have said, seeing the general stir, that some one was going to be led to execu[396]tion. The crowd was drifting towards the places of execution. The inhabitants of the right bank betook themselves to the church of St. Gervais, in which Farel was to preach; those of the left bank and of the upper part of the town to the cathedral of St. Peter, where Calvin would preach. They entered the doors and filled the churches. The friends of the reformers took their places in general about the pulpit. Their adversaries, distributed over all parts of the building, and exchanging bold words with each other, asked themselves whether it was not their duty to aid the magistrate and prevent the ministers from speaking. The district on the right bank was that in which most of the opponents of the ministers lived. Probably some of their most violent enemies had come from other quarters to hear Farel, whose presence was less imposing than Calvin’s, and with whom they were more familiarly acquainted. The brave evangelist had not ceased for some years lavishing his powers for the good of Geneva, and for this they meant to pay him on this day. Farel appeared, entered the pulpit, and at the sight of him considerable excitement was manifested by the audience. No attempt, however, was made to close his mouth. The preaching of this popular orator at the present moment was a spectacle which interested them as much as or even more than any other. The prayer and the hymns being over, the discourse began. Farel, with his intrepid heart, his fervent spirit, his strong convictions, and his power of impressing and carrying away his hearers, did not conceal the truth. Without dwelling on the question of bread, which he declared was a secondary matter, he spoke of the holiness of the supper. He remonstrated with the people, as if they intended, in his opinion, to defile the holy sacrament,’[632] and he declared that,[397] to prevent such a profanation, the holy supper would not be celebrated. These words moved the whole assembly, and roused a great part of them to indignation. Adversaries became disorderly, friends were in alarm. Imaginations were heated, anger burst forth, and outcries were heard. In the morning a disturbance was got up against Farel in the church of St. Gervais.[633] But the preacher’s habit was to brave danger; and, above all, he knew no fear when unworthy men

He therefore went on. His popular eloquence, his animated movements, his imagery so well adapted to make his ideas more lively and more obvious, his energetic gestures, his voice like thunder, the resounding of which, according to Theodore Beza, made his hearers tremble, made him the most captivating of the orators of France and Switzerland. Farel, who generally spoke extempore, could not but be struck at the spectacle which presented itself to him, for the congregation in such circumstances always reacts on the preacher. He was standing in the presence of a stormy sea, the surging waves of which appeared about to engulf him. But he felt that he stood on a rock, and he had learnt long ago to brave the tempest. He then courageously unfolded the act of accusation. He set forth those things which would profane the supper. He enumerated ‘those divisions, those bands, those blasphemies, those profligacies which were multiplying, and which made it impossible for the ministers to administer it.’[634] For a long time people could not listen to him without being charmed, but it was quite otherwise at this moment. Men’s minds were more and more agitated, hearts were rebellious, the opposition burst forth, voices changed by passion were heard, and the disturbance of which the chronicler tells filled the church of St. Gervais. Farel, however, kept[398] the upper hand. His character and his action awed the rebels. His friends protected his departure, and he succeeded in reaching his own house unharmed.

Meanwhile Calvin was preaching at St. Peter’s. What was passing there?

The worship appears to have been quiet and dignified; the scenes of St. Gervais, at any rate, were not repeated here. The quarter in which the cathedral stood, its imposing and solemn aspect, the composition of the congregation, the magistrates, who doubtless were present in large numbers, the grave countenance of the reformer, partly explain this decorum. But the character of his speech, calm, simple, rich in thought, luminous, and illuminating all the subjects of which he treated, concise, awe-inspiring, and convincing, without the vivid and popular flashes of Farel, doubtless contributed thereto to a great extent. Nevertheless Calvin kept back nothing. ‘We protest before you all,’ he said, ‘that we are not obstinate on the question about bread, leavened or unleavened; that is a matter of indifference which is left to the discretion of the Church. If we decline to administer the supper, it is because we are in a great difficulty which prompts us to this course.’ Then he spoke of the divisions, the bands of men, the blasphemies, the profligacies, disorders, abominations, mockery of God and his Gospel, the troubles and the sects which prevailed in the town. ‘For,’ he said, ‘in public, and without any kind of punishment being inflicted for it, a thousand derisive speeches have been uttered against the Word of God and likewise against the supper.’[635] He then stated unreservedly the motives which deterred him from celebrating the communion. But he does not appear to have gone further. He had doubtless more than once in his discourses transgressed the limits of moderation; but it seems that the solemnity of the[399] occasion and the dignity of the pulpit led him to suppress those violent phrases with which his speech sometimes bristled. He had a difficult task to accomplish. He was bound to make these people understand the obligations imposed on them by the profession of Christianity. Every member of a society has, in fact, certain duties to discharge, which are essential to the very existence of the community; in the same way, every member of the Church owes to it an edifying and blameless life. Christians form but one body, and it is a matter of concern to each of its members that God should be honored in them all. Evident hypocrisy and shameless depravity, in any man making profession of being a Christian, are an injury to the whole Christian society. Union with God is incompatible with a state of sin; vice and virtue are two things which never go together. To regard as a trifle and a matter of indifference the implacable opposition which exists between truth and falsehood, between holiness and licentiousness, so that the one or the other may be pursued without any ground for preference, is the degradation of humanity and the scandal of scandals. If this mode of thought prevail, the Christian Church is in a state of suffering; it must be defended, it must be saved; and a Church unwilling to be defended would be in a very unhealthy condition. More than that, and Calvin frequently called it to mind, to maintain the necessity of a life conformed to the Word of God is of importance even to the man whose conduct is in opposition to his commandments. This necessity is insisted on not to destroy but to save him. ‘It is maintained in such a manner,’ said Calvin, ‘as to bring him back into the way of salvation, and the Church is quite ready to receive him as a friend. She must not exercise a too rigorous severity; she must not proceed strictly to extremities and show herself inexorable, but must rather come forward with gentleness. If this moderation be not carefully adhered to,[400] there is danger that from correctors we should become executioners.’[636]

These were Calvin’s principles. His discourse has not been handed down to us, but it is impossible to suppose that he did not speak according to his deepest convictions; and if he did so, that would partly account for the calmness with which he was listened to. He was, however, mistaken on one point, and this we cannot too fully acknowledge. At that time the Church and the state were everywhere almost confounded, so that ‘the state did not hesitate to intermeddle in many subjects which were within the province of the Church.’[637] This was particularly the case at Geneva. Of all the reformers, Calvin was the one who had it most at heart to establish the autonomy of the Church, and thereby a certain independence of the two societies. But, like his contemporaries, he adhered to the opinions of his own age and of those which had preceded it. The elements of Judaic discipline had, from the first century, trenched on the ground of Christian discipline. The Reformation doubtless effected everywhere a great change in this state of things; but still the state was seen, even at Geneva, thrusting its iron arm into the midst of the Christian societies for the purpose of striking the guilty. That is a coarse and fatal error, one which every true Christian must energetically cast from him. Fortunately there could be no question on this point in the great conflict of Easter 1538. The state was then for the moment separated from the Church, and the reformers did not and would not make use of any other weapons than those of the Spirit.

If the reformer had been able to preach with tranquillity in the morning, it was to be otherwise in the evening. The most furious of his adversaries thought that they[401] owed him something, and in their wrath meant to discharge the debt. So long as they had had to do only with the good-natured Farel, matters had gone on pretty well, notwithstanding his lively sallies; but this young man from Noyon was a spirit of a different stamp, and since he came to Geneva everything had changed. He had a methodical intellect and the faculty for organization. Had he not prepared a fundamental law of the Church, to which they had been obliged to take the oath at St. Peter’s? He wanted to regulate everything, and this was not convenient. Since Farel had been attacked, it was not fair to let Calvin escape. An uproar had been made in the morning at St. Gervais; another shall be made in the evening at the church of St. Francis at Rive. It was in that convent that Farel had for the first time appeared in the pulpit, March 1, 1534; and there Calvin was to preach, April 21, 1538. The quarter in which this convent stood was situated in the lower part of the town, not far from the shores of the lake, and it was probably less quiet than the neighborhood of the cathedral. The church was speedily filled, and Calvin arrived. He began his sermon. Knowing that Farel had been treated worse than himself, it is possible that, to leave no ground for reproaching himself, he might think it his duty to put a stronger emphasis on his words, and to lay stress on certain things, in order to make them observed and felt. For the rest, had he spoken like an angel, he would not have escaped the tumult. Men’s minds were irritated; the thought of resisting this inflexible man had seized on many, and made them frantic; they had even taken their swords, and had come to church as to a military parade. Violence often remains at first smouldering, silent, and makes no sign. It appears to have been so in this case; but at some word uttered by the preacher, it revealed itself in a sudden explosion. One would have said that a stormy wind passed over that crowd, and impressed[402] on it a passionate movement. In the church of Rive there were violent speeches and threatening gestures. This was not all. In sight of that orator, whose dignity and power irritated them, the most furious drew their swords, and the flash of steel was seen in the sanctuary of peace. No one, it is true, directed the fatal edge at the throat of the orator. It appears, however, that a struggle took place between the friends and the enemies of the Reformation, and that arms were crossed; for the great magistrate of Geneva in the sixteenth century, Michel Rozet, felt bound to say in his chronicle that the affair passed off without bloodshed.[638] The syndic Gautier, too, looks on this fortunate circumstance as a kind of miracle. Thus, after having heard the firing of arquebuses, fifty or sixty times in the course of the evening, against his own house, the reformer at this hour saw glittering swords brandished against him in the very house of God. Luther and other reformers were also tried by such tribulations, but in their case they came from the pope and his adherents, not from people of their own Church. Was Calvin agitated, or did he remain calm in the presence of this outbreak? We do not know. It is probable that, while inwardly agitated, he preserved an outward calmness. While some of his friends gathered around the pulpit to defend him, there were happily found a few moderate men, belonging to both sides, who exerted themselves to restore peace, to check the outbursts of passion, and to bring to reason those excited men who were dishonoring by their violence the temple of the Lord. Gradually feeling calmed down, speech became less violent, swords were returned to their scabbards, and the storm was laid. The friends of Calvin accompanied and conducted him safe and sound to his abode, which was not far off. ‘And in the evening, at Rive,’ says the[403] syndic Rozet, ‘a disturbance broke out against Calvin. Swords were drawn; but it was all quelled.’

The same day, after the services, the council met to deliberate on the occurrences of the day. Twelve members were present, and these were fully determined to punish, not the factious, but the reformers. Desirous that their resolutions should be passed by the highest authorities of the state, they decreed that the Council of the Two Hundred should assemble the next day, and the general council on the following day. They could hardly proceed more speedily.

On April 22 the syndics set forth the facts before the Two Hundred, dwelling particularly on the subject of the bread, although the ministers had stated that that question had nothing to do with their resolution. The bread seemed, therefore, to be merely used as a pretext. The syndics inquired of the Two Hundred whether they wished to adopt the ritual used at Berne. They replied in the affirmative. We have seen that the dominant party had obtained a majority in this council, and by what means they did so. The syndics next complained that the ministers had preached on Easter Day, although the magistrate had forbidden it, and they inquired whether they ought not to be committed to prison. The Two Hundred would not hear of imprisonment; but, with no less severity, they resolved to interdict the three ministers, Calvin, Farel, and Courault, from occupying the pulpit in the churches of the republic, and to order them to leave the city immediately upon the appointment of their successors. It is remarkable that, according to the Registers of the council, no mention was made either of the charges of licentiousness and blasphemy which Farel and Calvin had made in the pulpit, or of the refusal to celebrate the supper which had been the consequence. It is easy, however, to understand this silence. Those charges, were, undoubtedly, the most important fact in the conflict, and the magis[404]trates, in omitting them, were straining at the gnat and swallowing the camel. Calvin said subsequently, but not with reference to this special instance, ‘Hypocrites, while they do not hesitate to give themselves up to indulgence in the grossest vices, are all the more austere and rigorous in matters which are of comparatively slight importance; and while they make pretence in that way of humbling themselves before God, they proudly insult him to his face.’[639] Licentiousness and blasphemy were very unpleasant topics, and on them the council was not at all inclined to dwell. Besides, had these grievances been spoken of, there must have been an investigation, evidence must have been taken, and witnesses called; and all this would have been very troublesome, and have taken a long time. Even if the government had commenced proceedings against the pastors, to punish them for making those charges, it is very doubtful whether they would have gained their cause, at least in the judgment of impartial men. It was a far more simple and expeditious plan to insist on this single fact, that preaching had been prohibited to the ministers, and that nevertheless they had preached. This required no proof, for all the town had seen and heard them. It is quite evident that it was on this ground they were punished. The council stood on its right, but it was assuredly a case to which the saying applies, Summum jus summa injuria.[640]

After these disorders, these stormy scenes, and the banishment of the reformers, what was likely to happen? The bond of religion, so powerful to keep in check criminal desires and actions, being once broken, would not confusion, already so great, overrun the unhappy city? Would not the evangelical faith be trampled under foot? Should we not find Protestants themselves willing to[405] join the mass with the Gospel? Would not Rome conspire to reintroduce in Geneva ‘the old religion’? Would not political independence itself be endangered? Would not the enemies of the Reformation attempt to make some compact with Savoy, and would not Berne itself, to whose influence Calvin seemed to be sacrificed, imperil the Genevese liberties? These fears, alas, were only too well founded! Calvin, who had so rigorously resisted Farel when the latter pressed him to settle at Geneva, could not now make up his mind to abandon the place. He wished to remain there to contend with all his might against the dangers which he saw besetting the city. ‘We perceived very clearly,’ he said, ‘that in this extremity, the safety of the Church required that she should not be deprived of her leaders. We therefore labored to retain our ministry as if it had been a struggle for our own existence.’[641] Calvin was anxious at all cost to prevent any overturn or convulsion in the Church and in the State. He felt the necessity of enlightening the people, of making them understand the importance of moral conduct, Christian faith, and cordial union. ‘It appeared to him,’ said he, ‘far easier to uphold the Church at the moment when she was ready to fall, than to re-establish her when once she had fallen, and was as good as lost.’[642] He therefore claimed, and claimed instantly, to be allowed to give an account of his reasons to the general council. He would explain everything, and the right side would win. It is unjust to deny a man accused the opportunity of setting forth the reasons of his conduct. But all was fruitless. Were the syndics afraid that Calvin would convince the people, or that the people would insult Calvin? We can[406]not decide the point. However it might be, they refused him what was due to him. It was a denial of justice. They preferred to condemn him without a hearing. Neither his own representations nor those of his colleagues were of any avail. Party spirit went so far as to close the mouth of the most eloquent, the most profound, the most learned, the most sincere, and the most able man of the age.[643]

The next day, April 23, the general council met in the cloisters of St. Peter’s to decide the fate of the reformers without having heard them.

said great men of the seventeenth century.[644] We think otherwise in the nineteenth. It is nevertheless true that the people frequently disappoint the expectation formed of them, and deceive themselves. Every age has presented terrible examples of this. The people allow themselves to be easily influenced, and they rush headlong in the footsteps of those whom they have chosen for guides. This was what took place at Geneva. The syndics inquired of the people whether they wished to make use of unleavened bread at the supper, as was done at Berne, ‘without further dispute.’ The majority was in favor of unleavened bread, although they probably did not very clearly know what it meant. The syndics then informed the general council ‘that Farel, Calvin, and their colleagues had refused to obey the command of the magistrate; and inquired whether they would dismiss them or not.’ The ‘greatest voice,’ that of the majority of the people, in accordance with the resolution of the Little and the Great Councils, determined that they must leave the city within the next three days.[407] ‘Thus was it ordered, the greater number in the council overcoming the better part.’[645] Such a course adopted against the most eminent men at that time in Geneva, the only ones whose names have come down to posterity, and carried out without giving them a hearing, was one of those violent measures to which bad governments sometimes have recourse—a coup d’état.

Further, this same council deposed the secretary who had read the articles of reformation. This secretary was Claude Rozet, who had received the oath to the confession of faith on the famous day of July 29, 1537. While banishing the three ministers, they wished to inflict a blow on at least one layman, and they made choice of the man who, in his official capacity, had established in Geneva the articles of reformation.[646]

Orders were given to make known to the reformers without delay the decree of the people, and the head usher was appointed, without further ceremony, to discharge that office. This man, having reached Calvin’s house, told him that he was enjoined by decree of the general council ‘to preach no more in the town, and to take his departure within the next three days.’[647] The reformer calmly made answer, ‘If we had served men, we should certainly be ill repaid; but happily for us we serve a greater master, who pays servants even what he does not owe them.’[648] The usher went next to Farel’s house. His reply to the announcement was, ‘Well and good; it is well, it is from God.’ In these words of the reformers there is a peace, firmness, and grandeur of soul which immediately strike those who read them,[408] which some historians have called heroic,[649] and which no one has a right to call feigned.[650] Meanwhile the council was busied with other matters.

The sorrow of Calvin, however, was deep. Feeling how great had been the goodness of God to him, he desired to be grateful for it. ‘Assuredly,’ he said, ‘no small honor has been conferred on us, in that a leader so mighty—Jesus Christ—has placed us in the ranks of his servants. We are therefore the most unthankful of men if we do not devote ourselves entirely to his service.’[651] He had devoted himself to that work, and the voice of conscience told him that he must give account of every soul lost. Successes had from time to time gladdened his soul. ‘Nevertheless,’ he said with sadness and alarm after his banishment, ‘seditions occurred in the town, one after another, which caused us grief and agitation of no light order. And however timid, weak, and spiritless I confess myself to be by nature, I had, nevertheless, from the first beginnings to bear up against those impetuous waves.[652] I cannot express what trouble and distress filled my heart night and day; and every time that I think of it I still inwardly tremble.’ It was not only the recollection of the past that was grievous, but still more the prospect of the future; of the evils which might fall on Geneva, and of the great injury which might be done to the Reformation if the torch, which ought to cast its rays all around on France, on Italy, and on other lands, should be miserably extinguished. This was burden enough to weigh down the strongest soul.

On April 25th Courault was set at liberty, and on the[409] following day, probably, the three pastors quitted Geneva.

Thus was fulfilled a prophecy of Bonivard, uttered ten years before. It will be remembered that in 1528 some of the Genevese, who were desirous of the Reformation only that they might get rid of the priests, with their vices and their superstitions, having declared to the prior of the depraved ecclesiastics of St. Victor that they wished to put in their place ministers of the Gospel who would introduce a true Christian Reformation, Bonivard replied to them, ‘If you wish to reform others, ought you not in the first place to reform yourselves? Animals that live on the same meat naturally hate one another. It is just the same with us. We are unchaste; so are you. We are drunkards; you are the same. We are swearers, blasphemers; so are you. You want to drive us away, you say, to put Lutheran ministers in our place.... Gentlemen, take great care what you undertake to do. According to their doctrine, a man will be prohibited from gaming and from giving himself up to debauchery, and that under a heavy penalty. How that will vex you! You will not have had them for two years before you will regret us.’[653] Bonivard spoke candidly and even rudely, but his words fully confirm the testimony and the complaints of Calvin, of Farel, and of Rozet. It is all true, even to the time fixed by the prior—not two years. Farel and Calvin undoubtedly showed themselves in this business subject to human weaknesses. As they were both men of strong character, they easily stimulated each other to an inflexibility to which they were naturally inclined. Calvin himself tells us that the prudent Bucer, at a later period, wished that they should not live together, lest the influence which they had over each other should be hurtful to[410] them.[654] They have said themselves that they might have displayed more gentleness. But it is impossible not to acknowledge that they did what fidelity to the Gospel demanded of them. The question about the bread was a little pennant raised by the councils, in opposition to the great evangelical banner courageously borne by Calvin and Farel. The two classes of combatants in this warm affair were representatives of two systems which not only bore no resemblance to each other but were diametrically opposed. If the reformers had given way, the great cause of religion and of morals would have been injured, the dignity of their ministry lowered, and their activity for the extension of the kingdom of God in Geneva fettered, perhaps rendered impossible. Their compliance in such a case would have been not only blameworthy, it would have been blamed. It was for them the question of ‘To be or not to be.’ They were bound to strive to win the victory; and if they failed to conquer, then they were bound to suffer as witnesses to the rejected truth. They had neglected no means of scaling the citadel, and of planting on it their noble flag. They had failed, and it only remained for them to retreat, conquered and yet in reality conquerors; for they had not drawn back one step in the battle, and had thus prepared the day of triumph. Leaving behind them the city, with its tumult, its menaces, insults, and deeds of violence, Farel and Calvin set out for Berne. It was at the end of April. As they passed along the shores of the lake in the midst of the beautiful and peaceful scenes of nature, they felt greatly relieved. Escaped from those narrow walls within which their hearts had been torn with grief and broken with sadness, they once more breathed freely. A pure and keen air was around them instead of that heavy and thick atmosphere, and it gave them new life. ‘When,[411] on occasion of certain troubles, I was driven away,’ said Calvin, ‘I did not find in myself such magnanimity as not to rejoice more than was meet—that then and by that means I was at liberty.’[655] There was in him, however, no murmuring, no bitterness. He had learnt many lessons in the midst of that agitation, especially that of self-renunciation. ‘As soon as one becomes a self-seeker,’ he said at that period, ‘contests begin: the true principle of action for a soldier is to lay aside all pride, and to depend entirely on the will of his chief.’[656] The will of his chief was that he should quit Geneva, and he quitted it; in this very dependence realizing the highest independence. Stripped and wounded, like the man who went down to Jericho, he felt the Lord near him, who bound up his wounds and poured in oil and wine. ‘Let us remember,’ said he further, ‘that declaration of Jesus Christ, that no one can inflict a wound on one of his little ones but he regards it as inflicted on himself.’[657] Then glancing towards the friends to whom they were going, ‘We have turned towards you, brethren,’ said he, ‘towards you who have been set to feed the churches of Christ, under the influence of the Holy Spirit. Ah! if it be under the guidance of the same prince, against the same enemy, in the same war, and in the same camp that we fight, shall we not be greatly stimulated in our endeavor after agreement and harmony?’[658] He did not lose courage even with respect to the Reformation. ‘The Church,’ he said, ‘is not wearied, distressed, or overthrown by these struggles and fightings; on the contrary, she derives strength from them, she begins to flourish, she is consolidated[412] by new developments.’[659] Such, indeed, was the fruit borne by this great trial. ‘Events have shown,’ said Theodore Beza, ‘that the providence of God appointed these dispensations, to the end that his servant, by means of various experience, might be fitted for greater things; and that while seditious men destroy themselves by their own violence, the Church of Geneva might be purified from all stains.’[660]

Poor blind Courault did not feel strong enough to follow his two colleagues, and therefore took refuge with Fabri, who was pastor at Thonon, on the lake of Geneva.

GREAT CONFUSION IN GENEVA.—THE COUNCIL OF BERNE MAKES A FRUITLESS INTERVENTION.

(End of April, 1538.)

Meanwhile, the friends of the Gospel in Geneva had received a very severe blow, which had fallen on them in an unexpected way. Many were plunged into excessive grief; some lost all hope of ever seeing the Gospel honored in that turbulent city. Some mourned silently, others spoke their grief aloud. The most pious of them undoubtedly expected from the faithfulness of God that restoration of faith, order, and prosperity for which they longed so ardently. But ‘all good men,’ says Beza, ‘saw with great pain their three pastors, in obedience to the edict of banishment,’[661] depart from that town to[413] which they had desired to do so much good; and with regretful eyes, or with tender thoughts, they followed them as if they could not part with them.

The vulgar and mischievous demonstrations by which the most lawless part of the population celebrated its triumph still further aggravated the grief of serious men. The discomfiture of the pastors was laughed at and turned into ridicule. Professional jesters have almost all a false and superficial wit, and in every country it rains insects of this kind.[662] They were not wanting at Geneva. We do not know whether they went on the stage, but they played in masquerades. Large bodies of these jesters were seen parading the streets, laughing, brawling, and making disturbances. One of them, and he was the principal personage, was holding a fryingpan by its long handle; and in the fryingpan were lamp-wicks, which were called in the patois of the country farets. Those who surrounded this standard-bearer exclaimed that they had fricasseed Farel (and his colleagues with him) like chickens or turnips which are cut in pieces and then cooked in a stewpan. These poor wretches were at bottom right: the ministers had in fact been burned over a slow fire. Bons mots and sarcasms gave a relish to this strange dish; and there were persons in those days who would have been glad to see the ministers who left Geneva ‘fall out of the fryingpan into the fire’—from one state of vexation into another still worse. Insults and derision were showered from all quarters. ‘Processions of this sort usually end in debauchery. The citizens took license,’ says Rozet, ‘for impurity, dancing, games, and drunkenness.’ ‘Nothing was talked of but masquerades, gallantries, and excesses in wine and good cheer.’[663] Thus did the mass of the population celebrate the departure of the[414] pastors. ‘The wicked travaileth with iniquity, and hath conceived mischief, and brought forth falsehood.’

As for the members of the councils, they let things take their course. If they did issue any proclamation for the purpose of repressing these disorders, little attention was paid to it. Besides, they did not insist on its being obeyed. They attempted, however, to establish a Church of some kind. The minister, Henri de la Mare, had not dared, in spite of the order which he had received, to preach and administer the supper on Easter Day, for fear of offending Farel and Calvin. But, like the former superior of the Franciscans Jacques Bernard, he had abstained from joining in their protest. These two men were intrusted by the council with the functions of the three banished ministers. At the same time the lords of Berne were requested to send the ministers Marcourt and Morand, who did not come till afterwards. The magistrates also ordered the restoration of the baptismal fonts which had been taken down, and which were thenceforth to be used at the baptism of children. Then they had proclamation made, with sound of trumpet, that everyone would have to conform to what had been decreed touching the supper, baptism, festivals, etc. But De la Mare and Bernard were not men powerful enough to fill the place of Farel and Calvin. They were far from enjoying high consideration, and were frequently exposed to the criticism and even to the rebukes of their hearers. Porral especially made loud complaint of their preaching. The council took their part; and one Groli having accused Bernard of not preaching according to the Word of God, the critic was condemned ‘to beg for mercy at the hands of God and of the law, with both knees on the ground.’ Had this happened in the time of Calvin, it would have been a very godsend for those who delight in slandering that great man; but the punishment was inflicted by his adversaries on one of his partisans. The question, however, remains ever the same; and this act of compul[415]sion in the sphere of religious opinion was even more censurable because it was the act of the very men who had driven away the reformers for having attempted to infringe on their liberty. There were, however, some cases more quietly settled. An influential citizen, the former syndic Porral, having also criticised the preachers, the council did nothing more than threaten him with its indignation; he had not to go down on his knees and beg for mercy.

The exile of the two great reformers and this lamentable state of things, which rejoiced the men of the Romish party, everywhere filled the friends of the Reformation with sorrow. They wept over ‘the great joy of the Pharisees and of the enemies of God’s holy name.’ There were groans, prayers, and exclamations. ‘How is it that this town, which the Son of God had chosen as his abode and his sanctuary, was nevertheless as deeply sunk in its pollutions as before, just as if no single drop of God’s grace had ever fallen upon it?’[664] People thought of Capernaum, which was at first lifted up to heaven and then cast down to hell! Calvin perceived that the causes which had led to his exile endangered not only the progress but the very existence of the Reformation. Terrified at the peril, he was resolved to do his utmost to prevent such a calamity.

Will not the Churches and even the States of Switzerland sympathize in their trials? Will they not help them to save Geneva? If Roman Catholicism were reëstablished there and if by that means Savoy should become predominant, the Reformation in Berne and the other cantons would be more or less menaced, and the Pays de Vaud might return to its former lords. Calvin, assuredly, might have elsewhere a more peaceful and[416] comfortable life than at Geneva; but he had decided to ‘lose his life,’ and had given it up for God and his kingdom. This town, in which he hoped to raise the standard of the Gospel, might have become one day a fortress whose formidable front would have repelled the combined attacks of the enemy. And now he has to abandon it. He hastened to Berne, where he expected to obtain assistance, as formerly the Bertheliers and the Besançon Hugh had done, when threatened by the forces of Savoy.

The arrival of the two reformers created a sensation in that town. At the sight of that Farel whose labors in French Switzerland had been for ten years crowned with such signal success; of that Calvin who was already hailed as a master-spirit; of those two men banished, driven away, having no refuge, men’s minds were struck and their hearts touched. The Bernese magistrates themselves had not anticipated measures so extreme. Admitted to the council April 27, the reformers said,—‘We have been falsely accused. The Genevese (Messieurs de Genève) have brought forward two charges: the one that we have rebelled against their commands, and the other that we have refused to conform to the ceremonies in use at Berne. These accusations are both false; for we have done all that we could to obey them, and never did we directly refuse such conformity, but on the other hand we have rather protested our willingness to consider in what manner it could best be arranged for the edification of the church. Further, it is evident that these accusations are a mere cloak, for these gentlemen were prepared to consent that this affair of ritual should be postponed till the assembly at Zurich, on condition that we would consent to our colleague Courault being deprived of his office as preacher. But to this, as contrary to the express word of Scripture, we refused to agree. On Easter Day we protested that if we did not administer the supper it was not on account of the unleavened bread, the use of which is in itself a matter of indifference, but for[417] fear of profaning a mystery so holy,—unless the people were better disposed. The reason we gave was this,—the disorders and abominations prevailing at this time in the town, as well execrable blasphemies and mockings of God and of his Gospel, as disturbances, sects, and divisions. In public, and unrepressed, a thousand derisive speeches are uttered against the Word of God and even against the supper. And, more than that, the members of the council have all along refused us leave to state our reasons; and, without hearing us, they have stirred up against us both the Two Hundred and the people, making charges against us which are not true either in God’s sight or in the sight of men. By acting thus they show plainly that they are only seeking for slanders and scandals to defame the Gospel. And it is a fact that, six months ago, there was a rumor at Lyons and at other places in France of such a nature that some merchants were desirous of selling goods for large sums payable when we should be expelled!... From this it appears that there are secret intrigues of long standing. Likewise they are not content with loading us with ignominy, but they have several times exclaimed that we should be thrown into the Rhone.’ The reformers having thus spoken handed in a memoir in which the same grievances were set forth.[665]

This discourse was severe; but the evil was great. It is useless to deny it; the evidence is too positive. All the people, indeed, were not guilty of these disorders and mockeries; but it happened then, as it too often happens, that the agitators took the upper hand and good men held their peace. We must also observe what Calvin said, that he feared a profanation of the mystery of the supper, unless the people were better disposed. He allows, therefore, a better disposition of the people; he desires it; and then, he is certainly ready to celebrate the sacred[418] feast. As to his assertion that his colleagues and he had done all that in them lay to obey the magistrates, he indicates clearly thereby that something did not lie in their power; to wit, to act against their conscience and the command of God. Many in their own time blamed them for this; but who now will make it a matter of reproach? The most strenuous upholders of the union of church and state say themselves, ‘That no state authority ought to interfere with any man’s religious belief. If such a principle were really involved in the maintenance of an established church, I should probably have been found on the other side.’[666] No man, in our days, will censure the reformers. In maintaining the independence of the faith, they did what they were bound to do.

The council of Berne, which was not swayed by passion, like that of Geneva, saw clearly into these matters, and was impressed with a sense of the danger which was impending over their allies. Without loss of time, they wrote the same day to their ‘singular good friends and loyal fellow-citizens’: ‘Masters G. Farel and Calvin have this day appeared before us and made the complaints comprised in the enclosed schedule. We heard them with much sorrow of heart, for if these things have actually taken place, they cause great offence and will turn to the dishonor of the Christian religion. For this cause we earnestly beg you, and in brotherly affection admonish and require you, to abate the severity with which you deal with Farel and Calvin, for the love of us and to avoid scandal. What we wrote touching conformity in matters of ceremonial, we wrote from affection and not by any means to constrain you. But you must know that the troubles which exist at the present time in your town, and the rigorous treatment which you[419] adopt towards your preachers, have been very offensive to us, and that our enemies are greatly rejoiced at it. Herein you will do us a most welcome favor.’[667] This was the view of the lords of Berne, themselves opponents of Calvin; and they might have a grudge against him, particularly in this business, on the subject of unleavened bread. But their views were loftier, wiser, and more profoundly religious and politic than those of Richardet and his friends.

On receiving this letter the council of Geneva was still more excited than that of Berne had been. The angry feelings which actuated its members and which had led them to banish the reformers were not yet soothed; and, as it has been remarked, their reply was of such a nature as was to be expected from men dominated by passion.[668] They wrote to Berne that they considered ‘very strange’ the complaints which were sent to them; that they ‘could not imagine how Farel and Calvin were so bold as to make untrue statements to their Excellencies; that there was no great discord in their town, for on the previous Sunday the supper had been observed, according to their own ceremonial, by a great number of people, all of one mind.’ Which amounted to this—that the pastors having been driven away without a hearing, their hearers being intimidated, and the party opposed to the Gospel triumphant, uniformity prevailed by means of violence and of fear. This is, indeed, the usual result of a coup d’état.

CHAPTER XIII.

SYNOD OF ZURICH.—THE BERNESE AMBASSADORS CONDUCT CALVIN BACK TO GENEVA.—HE CANNOT ENTER THE TOWN.

(End of April to end of May, 1538.)

Farel and Calvin did not allow themselves to hesitate by reason of the obduracy of their enemies. They were determined to do all they could to save the Church and likewise the town of Geneva from the calamities which, in the opinion of good men in Switzerland, must certainly fall upon them. The synod of the reformed Churches of this country, to the decision of which they had appealed, was now sitting at Zurich. They went thither without delay, to inform the assembly of the important events which had taken place at Geneva, and to claim its mediation. The deputies of Basel, Berne, Schaffhausen, St. Gall, Glaris, Mulhausen, and Bienne, in conjunction with the doctors of Zurich, constituted the assembly, which sat from April 29 to May 3. Bucer and Capito had also come from Strasburg to be present at it. The principal business of the synod was the union with Luther, who at that time showed a conciliatory disposition. All the members, except Kunz, the Bernese deputy, received the two exiles with true Christian cordiality. It appears that Farel and Calvin found relief and relaxation in this meeting of brethren. From their life at Geneva, constantly in the presence of violent adversaries, they had probably experienced a kind of moral tension. But the loyal affection of the Swiss allowed their minds to unbend, and their souls expanded in the sunshine of charity. After being[421] engaged on matters relating to the Concordia of Wittenberg, the synod passed on to the subject of rites, and decided that with respect to them the Churches ought to retain full liberty—a resolution favorable to Calvin and Farel. After settling this point, the synod took into consideration the state of Geneva. Calvin laid before it the divisions and troubles which afflicted the Church, the forlorn condition to which the good Christians were reduced, and the dangers to which the Reformation was there exposed. He displayed no obstinacy with respect to subordinate points, but immovable firmness on those which he believed to be indispensable to the prosperity of Geneva. He readily assented to the use of baptismal fonts; and also, he added, the introduction ‘into our Church of unleavened bread; but,’ said he, ‘we desire to request of the Bernese that this bread should be broken.’[669] The act of breaking bread, according to the institution and the practice of the apostles, appeared to him essential to the symbol which was intended to commemorate the body of the Lord offered in sacrifice. He felt somewhat perplexed about the question of the festivals; but he gave his consent to four of them, on condition that any persons who might desire it should be at liberty to work after the service. He was anxious not to open the door to the uproar and licentiousness which characterize the Roman populations during the latter part of those festival days.[670] He continued: ‘If there be any thought of reëstablishing us at Geneva, we demand first of all that we should be allowed to clear ourselves of the calumnies which have been heaped on us. We have been condemned unheard, and that,’ said he, ‘is an inhuman, a barbarous proceeding,[422] not to be tolerated.[671] Next, it will be essential to establish discipline, for want of which all that we may restore would soon be overthrown. We demand that the town should be divided into parishes, for no order is possible in the church unless the flock be near its pastor, and the pastor near his flock. We demand that a seasonable use of excommunication should be allowed; and that, for this purpose, the council should select in the several quarters of the town upright and wise men to whom, by common consent, its control should be intrusted. We demand that in the institution of pastors legitimate order should be maintained, and that the authority of the magistrate should not supersede the laying-on of hands, which ministers ought to receive. We demand a more frequent administration of the supper; that it should be celebrated, if not according to the custom of the early Church,[672] at least once a month. We demand that with the public preaching should be joined the singing of psalms. Finally, we demand that, as our own townsmen bring forward the example of the countries which are subject to Berne in justification of lascivious songs and dances,[673] the Bernese should be entreated to put an end to such profligacy in their own states, in order that our people may not take advantage of it to justify themselves in similar excesses.’

The above articles, fourteen in number, were in Calvin’s handwriting, but they were read to the synod by Bucer.[674] Calvin and Farel were probably unwilling to put themselves too forward, and preferred to have the[423] question settled on its merits, independently of their personal leaning; and they selected the most moderate of the theologians of the period to be its exponent. Calvin was not a man to exalt himself in the feeling of his own righteousness; he knew by experience that ‘in many ways we offend all.’ ‘We know,’ he said afterwards to Farel, when speaking to him of what had just taken place, ‘we know that our adversaries cannot calumniate us to any further extent than God permits, and we know the end which He has in view in permitting it at all. Let us therefore humble ourselves; unless we choose to contend with God because He humbles us;[675] but let us not cease to wait on Him. “The crown of pride, the drunkards of Ephraim, shall be trodden under foot,” said the prophet (Isaiah xxviii. 3). Let us acknowledge before God, and before his people, that it is to some extent owing to our incompetency, indolence, carelessness, and mistakes that the Church committed to our care has fallen into so lamentable a condition. But let us also maintain, as it is our duty to do, our own innocence and purity against those who by their fraud, malignity and wickedness have certainly caused this ruin.’[676] Calvin, in charging himself with indolence, assuredly went too far. But it was not to his colleague only that he spoke in this way; he did not hesitate to express the same views before the synod. While depicting the dangers of Geneva, ‘the destruction which seemed to threaten’ the edifice reared by Farel and himself, ‘We openly acknowledge,’ he said to the deputies of the Swiss Churches assembled at Zurich, ‘that in some things we have perhaps been too severe, and on those points we are ready to listen to reason.’[677]

[424]

The synod did not censure the reformers. It advised them, indeed, to use ‘moderation and Christian gentleness, necessary with that uncultivated people;’[678] but it acknowledged that, far from displaying obstinacy in unimportant matters, the reformers in their fourteen articles demanded only what is just, legitimate and important. It is true that a Christian ought not to be appointed minister by the mere decree of a council of state, but, after examination, by the laying-on of hands of the elders or pastors. It is true that a more frequent celebration of the Lord’s Supper was according to the Word of God. The subject of greatest delicacy was excommunication. But could not the Genevese commit the management of it to upright and discreet laymen, elected by the councils, themselves an elected body? The good sense of the Swiss told them that men entirely destitute of Christian character ought not to form part of a Christian society.

Not one of the theologians present at the synod seems to have taken the cause of Calvin more to heart than the man who, with Melanchthon, was perhaps the most cautious of the reformers, Capito. A man of naturally gentle spirit, he had nevertheless displayed courage in recalling Luther to moderation, and in doing the same afterwards with respect to his colleague of Strasburg, Mathias Zell. He approved of the course of Farel and Calvin; he even set himself to console them. ‘There is nothing disgraceful,’ he said to them, ‘in your banishment, and we have no fear that it will prove hurtful to the Church. Your enemies themselves only reproach you with too much warmth of zeal. Unhappily, there are not wanting ministers who teach the Gospel without discipline; who prefer to hold an office which they treat[425] as nothing more than an office that yields profit. This leads to license instead of the liberty of Christ.[679] Discipline is necessary to the Churches. Some persons fancy that what each man may do is no concern of ours; as if Christ had not said that if a man has a hundred sheep, and only one of them go astray he must go in search of it. What! because the authority of the papacy has been cast off, must the power of the Word and of the ministry be treated as likewise abolished? Some one may say, I know enough of the Gospel; I can read; what do I want with you? Preach to those who wish to hear you! Ah! discipline is a thing to which our Churches are not accustomed, a thing which flesh and blood detest. Ought we then to wonder that you have not been able, you two alone, to reform at once a town so large?’[680]

The assembly therefore approved the fourteen articles presented by Calvin and Farel, and then ‘declared the causes of their banishment from Geneva to be not legitimate.’[681] In the eyes of these Swiss Christians assembled at Zurich, these two exiles were the glory of the Reformation; doctors whose praise was in all the Churches; two of the prime movers in the great transformation which was being effected in Christendom. The honor, the duty of the Christians of Switzerland, demanded that these pious and illustrious men, victims of passions hostile to the Gospel, should be restored to the position in which God had set them. The synod, therefore, wrote to Geneva, and earnestly requested measures adapted to raise the Church up again, and particularly the recall of the pastors. At the same time, it recommended the Bernese, and especially Kunz, to support[426] this request; and Kunz accepted the charge. Zurich being desirous likewise of doing something, Bullinger wrote on the subject, May 4, to the provost de Watteville. Farel and Calvin then returned to Berne, disposed to endure with patience and meekness, but at the same time full of hope.[682]

A man of whose ill-will they had already had experience was soon to disturb their joy. Kunz, who had been first a pastor at Erlenbach, had contributed to the Reformation in the lower Siebenthal. He was, so far as we can learn, born of a well-to-do family of peasants of those parts,[683] and had retained a certain rusticity and coarseness. A partisan, of energetic character, passionately earnest for everything that concerned the cause which he had embraced, blind and unjust towards the opposite opinions, with no kindly feeling for his adversaries, he fell easily into the indulgence of animosities, jealousies, and quarrels; and had sometimes as much trouble to get on with those of his own party as to endure those who belonged to the other side. With reference to the matter in hand, his hostility had to his mind an excuse. If he warmly opposed Calvin and Farel, it was because the slight interest which they felt in the question about unleavened bread and in other analogous questions might, in his opinion, annoy the Germans, whose indefatigable champion in Switzerland he had constituted himself. He had appeared to share the sentiments expressed to Calvin and Farel by the synod of Zurich, which was unanimous in their favor. He had no wish, in the presence of so considerable an assembly, to give way to his personal hatred. But the reformers were to lose nothing by this reserve. He awaited them at Berne. There Kunz would be on his own ground, and let the adversaries of human traditions beware!

[427]

Calvin and Farel, when they reached Berne, did not find Kunz there. They had to wait for him eight days.[684] He was at Nidau, at a meeting of pastors before whom, forgetting the solemn promise which he had made at Zurich,[685] he had said, ‘I have been requested to go to Geneva to restore those exiles; but I would much rather renounce my ministry and quit my country than assist those men who, I know, have treated me frightfully.’ This delay, considering the present position of the two reformers, put their patience to the proof. They waited, however, convinced that the blame would be thrown on them if the business failed in consequence of their departure. When at length they heard of the arrival of Kunz, they went to his house, and found him in company with Sebastian Meyer and Erasmus Ritter. There, in his own house, he let himself out at his ease. He began with long complaints and finished with violent insults.[686] Calvin and Farel, who had not anticipated this outburst, received it, however, quietly; for they knew that if they answered him with any sharpness, the only effect would be to throw the hotheaded Kunz into a great fit of rage.[687] Ritter and Meyer joined with them in the endeavor to pacify him. When he was a little calm, he said to them, ‘I wish to know whether you ask me to interfere in your business; for I foresee that if it should end otherwise than as you desire, you will blame me for it.’ They assured him three times over that they had no intention of changing anything in the mission with which the synod had charged him and[428] which he had accepted. But they talked to no purpose. Kunz, who was very desirous to be freed from that duty, went on incessantly harping on the same string. At last, exhausted with his passion and wearied with the noise that he had made, ‘I will do,’ said he, ‘what I ought to do.’ They then parted, agreeing to discuss the subject on the following day.

The next day, then, at the hour appointed, Calvin and Farel went to the Hôtel de Ville. They had to wait two hours. Then word was brought to them that the ministers had too much business in the Consistory to be able to attend to them. After dinner the two Genevese reformers again presented themselves; and, the assembly having taken up the matter, they were very much surprised to hear that the first thing to do was to examine carefully the fourteen articles already approved by the synod of Zurich. They suppressed the feelings which this indignity excited in them and consented. There was hardly a syllable in the articles to which objection was not taken;[688] and when they came to the question of unleavened bread, Kunz lifted up his voice, and apostrophizing the two reformers, said, ‘You have disturbed all the Churches of Germany, which were till then at peace, by your unseasonable and passionate innovations.’ Calvin replied that it was not they who had introduced the use of leavened bread; that the practice existed in the early Church, and that traces of it were found even in the papacy. But Kunz would listen to nothing, and grew more and more violent.[689] His colleagues, wishing to put an end to this dispute, begged that they would pass on to the third article, which related to festivals. Thereupon matters became much worse. Kunz did not confine himself to loud talking;[429] he rose violently from the table, and his whole body shook with rage, so that his colleagues attempted in vain to restrain him.[690] ‘It is false,’ said he, ‘that the articles have been approved at Zurich.’ ‘On that point we appeal,’ replied Calvin, with firmness, ‘to the testimony of all who were present at the Synod.’ When Kunz had come a little to himself, he accused the two doctors of intolerable craft; the articles, he said, being full of exceptions. ‘We thought, on the contrary,’ Calvin very justly replied, ‘that we gave evidence of sincerity in thus plainly and openly making exceptions where they ought to be made.’ The two reformers withdrew with deep feeling from the strange scene which they had just witnessed. Two years afterwards, Farel still wrote to his friend, ‘Every time that the recollection of Kunz returns to my mind, I am filled with horror at that Fury who had no consideration for the Church, but whom the devil made beside himself with hatred against me.’[691] Kunz pretended that the two reformers wished to withdraw, and not to keep the promise made at Zurich. Calvin, on the contrary, said, ‘We are ready to do anything sooner than not try all means of providing for the wants of religion, and of acquitting ourselves of our duty towards the Church.’[692] As Kunz and his friends declined their mission, there was no one else to take the matter in hand but the senate of Berne.

A few days later, Farel and Calvin were received by that body. The representations which the Bernese were to make at Geneva, in conformity with the decisions of the synod of Zurich, could not but be very disagreeable to those who wished to introduce the Bernese[430] rites into that town. Must Berne plead against Berne? Did ever any one hear of such a thing? No state whatever voluntarily undertakes to discharge such a duty; and least of all a state which, like Berne, had the reputation of being positive and inflexible in its views. The council therefore attempted to induce Calvin and Farel to renounce their fourteen articles, but this they refused to do. They were then asked to retire. When they were recalled the same attempt was again made, three times over, within an hour.[693] ‘It belongs to the Church,’ they replied, ‘to establish uniformity in a lawful manner.’ It has already been established, said the council. ‘Yes,’ they answered, ‘but by a handful of seditious men, who at the same time cried that we should be thrown into the Rhone.[694] We are resolved to endure everything rather than seem to approve the measures adopted for securing uniformity.’ Farel and Calvin could not answer otherwise: one cannot yield to evil. The Bernese council gave way; thus displaying on this occasion an independence and a sense of justice that were most honorable.

Having once more called in the reformers, the council announced to them that two envoys from the senate should accompany them, and that when they came within four miles of Geneva, Calvin and Farel should stop, while the Bernese lords go on their way. The place named by the Bernese was below the village of Genthod; this was perhaps at that time on the frontier. The deputies of Berne were to require of the council of Geneva the return of Farel and Calvin; and in case they obtained it they were to conduct them into the town, and to see to it that they were reinstated in their ministry. Farel and Calvin represented that if this course were taken they[431] would seem to be restored only because they acknowledged themselves to be in the wrong, which they could not do. They complained also that no minister formed part of the embassy. The council, consequently, adopted a new resolution, according to which the two reformers should immediately enter the town, and the Bernese envoys should present to the people the fourteen articles of Zurich, in the presence of Farel and Calvin, in order that, if any objection should be raised, the latter might reply to it without delay. The reformers should then set forth their cause, and, if their justification were accepted, they should be restored to their offices. Two ministers, Erasmus Ritter and Viret, were to accompany them. ‘We are now setting out on our journey,’ wrote Calvin to Bullinger; ‘may it please the Lord to prosper it. To him we look to guide us in our goings, and it is from his wise disposal that we expect success.’[695] The delegation set out, and was joined by Viret at Lausanne.

Meanwhile it had become known at Geneva that Calvin and Farel were returning, under the conduct and the patronage of delegates from the state of Berne. This news created much astonishment. What! these two ministers were banished for having refused to adopt the ritual of Berne, and now Berne takes them into her favor and brings them back! Berne appreciated the grandeur of the Reformation and the worth of the reformers. But there were some of the Genevese who could not see beyond their own walls, and who seemed to have no apprehension whatever of the great change which was renewing all Christendom, and of which Calvin and Farel were two of the most illustrious agents. The confirmation of the tidings caused a great stir in men’s minds. The council determined to refuse the reformers permission to enter the town, and the most violent of their adversaries resolved to oppose their return by force. An ambush was laid at some distance from the[432] ramparts, and twenty gladiators, as Calvin calls them, were posted in arms at the very gate of the city, as if the repulse of a hostile force were intended.[696] The deputation was not more than a mile from Geneva when a messenger of the council met them.[697] He handed to the Bernese ambassadors a dispatch from the council, in which it was written, ‘To prevent a scandal, do not bring back Farel and Calvin, for it would be in violation of the decree passed by the community, and of the will of the same.’[698] But their conscience bore them witness that their cause was good, and they desired to get this acknowledged on the part of those whom God had committed to their care. They were therefore willing to pursue their journey, not suspecting what awaited them. But the Bernese delegates, who had doubtless been informed by the messenger of the excited state of the people, strongly urged them to give it up. ‘We should have gone on our way calmly,’ said Calvin to his friends, when he had heard of the violent measures taken to stop them, ‘if the delegates had not forcibly resisted our intention; and this saved our lives.’ The fact that their lives were in danger, attested by Calvin in a letter addressed to Bullinger a few days after the event, cannot be called in question. True, it is easy to invent, more[433] than three centuries later, contrary hypotheses; but the state of agitation prevailing in Geneva, far from invalidating the testimony of the reformers, confirms it.

The two Bernese ambassadors, accompanied by Viret and Ritter, entered Geneva alone, and were immediately received (May 23) by the council. They stated that the deputies of the cantons who met recently at Zurich had been unanimously of opinion that it was just to allow Farel, Calvin, and Courault to re-enter the town in order to explain and defend themselves from the accusations made against them; and that if their justification were accepted, their restoration to their offices could not be refused. ‘Do you not owe this mark of gratitude to them,’ they said, ‘and especially to Farel, who has undergone so much labor and suffering for the good of this people? In short is it not essential to deprive the enemies of the Reformation of an occasion for rejoicing, as they would rejoice at the banishment without hope of returning of the men who established it in Geneva?’ The council replied that it could not accede to this demand, because the ministers had been sent away by the decision of the Council of the Two Hundred and of the general council; the Little Council having only required that they should be committed to prison. In consequence of this the Council of the Two Hundred was convoked for the next day, May 24. The attendance was not at all numerous, only fourteen members being present, doubtless because the meeting appeared to be a mere formality, and because the battle had to be fought and decided in the general council. The members present, among whom were the most thoroughgoing enemies of the reformers, decreed that the resolutions previously taken must be maintained; and for the rest, they referred the deputies of Berne to the assembly of the people.[699]

On Sunday, May 26, the general council of the citizens[434] met. Louis Amman and his colleague, Viret and Erasmus Ritter, appeared as advocates for the two banished ministers. Amman spoke first. He showed the great injustice involved in the banishment of these excellent men. They had to do with Farel, who was justly designated the apostle of French Switzerland, and with Calvin, the greatest theologian of the age. He earnestly requested that they should be recalled, and that, according to the rules of equity, their justification should be heard, for it was not usual for any man to be condemned unheard. He reminded them of the distinguished services of Farel, of the labors and hardships which he had undergone for the good of that people. Was it not Farel who, in 1532, standing in the midst of the council of priests, had seen them rush at him and knock him down with their blows, crying, ‘Kill him! kill him!’ One of their attendants had discharged his arquebuse at him, and he had been driven from the town with threats of being thrown into the Rhone. Since that time to what tribulations had he not been exposed! Was it not incumbent on the people of Geneva to testify their gratitude to him in some other way than by exile? Then Amman spoke of the joy which the adversaries of the Reformation, the subjects of the pope, would feel, and did already feel, to see Geneva banishing her reformers, and he conjured the citizens not to give them such an occasion of triumph and exultation. Next Viret spoke, in his own name and in the name of his colleague Ritter; and we know how well adapted the mild eloquence of this pious pastor was to soothe exasperated spirits. The union of the pastors and the seriousness of the ambassador in pleading the cause of the reformers did not fail to make an impression. A large assembly is always susceptible of wholesome impressions: there is in it a contagion of good. Hearts were moved, and the disposition of many was changed. It was possible for the deputies to suppose that the battle was won. As[435] they were not to attend the deliberations of the general council, they went out full of hope.[700]

But Kunz had spared no pains that this hope might be disappointed. It appears that Pierre Vandel, one of the leaders of the party hostile to the reformers, had been at Berne. Kunz had possession of the fourteen articles proposed by Calvin and approved at Zurich, which doubtless had been intrusted to him because the conduct of the business was especially placed in his hands. Some expressions made use of in them had seemed likely to irritate the people of Geneva. Kunz had placed the articles in the hands of Vandel without the knowledge of the council.[701] Vandel was a man of good family, and one of the most violent opponents of the reformers. ‘I believe,’ said Bonivard, ‘that he was possessed with a demon while yet in his mother’s womb; as is said of St. John with regard to the Holy Spirit. He was not so tall as a spindle when he committed homicide, not with his own hand, but through malice. He and another man killed likewise the bastard son of a canon. He was a great rake, a glutton and a drunkard, talking and acting rashly in his drunken fits. His father, a highly respectable man, had said a hundred times, “Pierre! Pierre! he will never be worth anything; and would God that immediately after his baptism he had been dashed against a wall, for he will bring disgrace on our house.” He was very vainglorious, dressed himself like a nobleman, and was fond of bragging (usait de braveries); for this reason his companions[436] called him Bobereau.’[702] Vandel was very proud of possessing the fourteen articles; and when he met on his way anyone who took an interest in the exile of the reformers, and who asked him what was likely to happen to them, he answered boastfully, according to his wont, but without entering further into details, ‘I have in my pocket a poison which will be the death of them.’[703] The ambassadors of Berne were themselves the bearers of these articles, but they had been instructed not to read them to the people except in the presence of Calvin and Farel, that they might have the opportunity of at once setting aside the mischievous inferences which would be drawn from them.[704] Vandel was at his post in the general council. Hardly had the deputies of Berne gone out, when he rose, drew the paper from his pocket, and began to read the articles of Zurich,[705] as an important piece of evidence which must cause the rejection of the demand of Berne. When he had read the document he began to comment on it, putting forward ill-natured interpretations, and fastening especially on three points fitted to excite hatred against the two reformers.[706] ‘See,’ said he, ‘how, in speaking of the Church of Geneva, they dare to speak of our Church, as if it were their property. See how, in speaking of the lords of Berne, they call them simply the Bernese, without the honorary formula,[707] thus with the utmost arrogance putting contempt on princes themselves. See how they aspire to tyranny,[437] for what else is excommunication but a tyrannical domination?’ The first two charges were baseless and almost childish; and as to excommunication, Calvin remarks that the general council of Geneva had allowed it, July 29, 1537, as ‘a holy and salutary proceeding among the faithful;’ and now they were horrified at the very word. The question was constantly arising for discussion whether the Church is not, like any other society, a union of persons possessing certain common characteristics, aiming at a certain object and under certain conditions, a communion of persons united by a like Christian faith,[708] or whether it is a receptacle for everything (un tout y va); which of all definitions would be by far the most opposed to the word of its founder.

It had been arranged between Vandel and his friends that, when he read or commented on the articles, they should support him with their acclamations, in order to inflame the minds of those present.[709] This plan succeeded. Cries of displeasure, furious and redoubled, were soon heard; one might have thought that the harmless articles were a statement of the blackest conspiracy. The irritation displayed by these partisans infected the whole assembly. It is well known how easily the crowd passes from any mood to its opposite. The lungs of a few passionate men played the part of bellows in setting all hearts on fire.[710] A spark was enough to kindle a conflagration. The flames spread from place to place; nothing stood against them, at least in appearance; and presently the assembly was in a blaze. ‘Bet[438]ter die,’ they shouted, ‘than hear them give us an account of the motives which have actuated them!’[711]

As soon as order was partially restored, the first syndic, Richardet, a hot-tempered man, as we know, put to the vote the demand made by the ambassadors of Berne; or rather, taking a less regular but more artful course, proposed the rejection of the demand. ‘Let all those,’ he said, ‘who wish that Farel, Calvin, and Courault should not enter the town, hold up their hands.’ The secretary of the council said that almost all hands were held up. This secretary was Ruffi, who had been elected in the place of Claude Rozet on the very day of the banishment of the reformers. His partiality was manifest in the fact that he wrote at the same time that the fourteen articles contained some untruths; untruths which the passionate Vandel himself had not been able to detect. It was a piece of gratuitous falsehood, and imputations of that kind do not inspire much confidence in anything that Ruffi might report. After the voting, the first syndic requested that those who wished the preachers to be readmitted to the town and to be heard should hold up their hands. ‘A few were raised,’ said Michel Rozet, ‘to signify that they wished for the ministers.’ The secretary named two or three of them, amongst others Chautemps, in whose house Olivétan, a kinsman of Calvin, had lived; but he added, ‘and certain others, few in number.’ Timid men, in the presence of the storm which threatened to break out, thought it prudent to be silent; some courage was required to face it. In fact, at the mere sight of these few hands raised, a transport of spite and wrath broke out; they could not endure an act of independence, which was at the same time, with many there, an act of respect for the reformers and the Reformation. The rage was so great, says Rozet, that the first two were compelled to fly. Many[439] pursued them; some drew their swords; others, ‘glancing at them fiercely,’ cried out, Kill them! kill them! ‘The majority of votes,’ say the Registers, ‘decided that the preachers should not again be admitted into the town.’ The people of Geneva thus adopted a resolution which, if they had not repented of it, would have prevented light going forth from that city, and would have thrown an obstacle in the way of its greatness.[712]

Thus was the matter decided. Alea jacta est. The powerful party which, in their contest with the pope, the bishop, and the princes of Savoy, had taken for their flag liberty and the truth, and had transformed Geneva into an evangelical republic, had quarrelled after their victory, as very commonly happens, and those who did not wish for the Gospel had remained conquerors. But the citizens, few in number, who had made their voice heard in the general council, were not the only ones who longed for a Christian republic. This minority gradually increased, or rather dared to show itself. It continued united, fervent, determined, active; and to it ultimately the victory was to be given.

The reformers set out on their journey to Berne. Calvin at length breathed freely, but not without sadness; for while he felt himself free, as if standing on an invigorating height, he looked on Geneva sunk in the flats. It was in fulfilment of a sacred duty that he had made a last effort. He had not, succeeded. ‘It is evi[440]dent now from the experiment that we have just made,’ said he, ‘that it was no mere groundless fear that influenced us when, although pressed (at Zurich) by the authority of the Church, we could, nevertheless, only with great reluctance consent to reënter that labyrinth. Now we have got clear of it. We have complied with the desire of all pious men, although with no result, except perhaps to render the evil twofold or threefold worse than it was before.[713] Satan exulted at Geneva and in the whole of France on occasion of our first banishment; but this refusal to receive us has added not a little to his presumption and to that of his members. It is incredible with what recklessness and insolence wicked men now give themselves up to all manner of vice; with what effrontery they insult the servants of Christ; with what violence they make a mock at the Gospel. This is a calamity which to us is very painful indeed....’ Afterwards, addressing Bullinger and all the ministers of Zurich, he said to them, ‘Entreat the Lord with us, dearly beloved brethren, with earnest prayer, that very soon he may arise.’[714] It is possible that the reports which reached Calvin may have been a little exaggerated and that his own phrases may be a little sharp; but there is no doubt that the condition of Geneva was at this time extremely critical. ‘There was nothing but confusion,’ says Rozet; ‘the citizens abandoned themselves to licentiousness, dancing, gaming, and drinking. The finger was pointed at those who mourned over these things; they were men marked and hated. No preaching could be fruitful in the midst of such confusion.’[715] The syndic Gautier, a man who was[441] above all a champion of government, and who censured Calvin for not acknowledging that the very foundation of every society is subordination and obedience, duties to the civil magistrate which are as obligatory on pastors as on other men, after examining whether Calvin’s complaints were just, pronounced the following sentence: ‘Calvin was right so far as he had reference to the licentious lives of his adversaries, and to their love for libertinism and independence; but he was certainly mistaken if he considered them as enemies of God for wishing to observe the four principal festivals, and to introduce the use of unleavened bread.’[716] This is likewise our own opinion.

When they reached Berne, Calvin and Farel found their friends in great astonishment at what had taken place. The latter told them that if they were not wanted at Geneva, they should stay at Berne. ‘It would be unpardonable in you,’ they added, ‘to refuse such a call.’[717] To be at Berne with Kunz would have been to abandon their lives to perpetual dissension. They were in haste to be gone. However, they were anxious to express their gratitude to the senate for its conduct towards them, and for that purpose they requested an audience. They were put off to the following day. Remembering all the delays of their recent sojourn, fearing lest they should find themselves beset by claims to which they could not yield, and believing that they had discharged their duty to the council by the request which they had made, they departed for Basel. They did not reach the city without encountering danger on the way. They had to cross a river, believed to be the Aar, and one of them was almost carried away by the swift current, which was swollen by the rain. ‘However,’ wrote Calvin to Viret, ‘the[442] river was more merciful to us than men. The latter had determined, contrary to all right and reason, to compel us to undertake this journey, even were it on foot; but the Lord, in his compassion, preserved us from all evil.’ From the postscript to the same letter it appears that Farel and Calvin crossed the river on horseback. It is not known which of the two narrowly escaped drowning. They arrived at Basel, wet through with the rain, and half dead with fatigue.

At Basel Calvin found a valued friend, Grynæus. Already during the stay of the two reformers at Berne he had written to them—‘I hope that by your Christian meekness and your humility you will overcome all your adversaries, and take away from the enemies of the Gospel every occasion of calumniating you. Oh, that the eyes now sparkling with the fire of Satan may be cast down, and that the passion with which men are inflamed against your ministry may be quenched![718] Work on, work on, my well-beloved brethren, hearts most noble and most holy (optima ac sanctissima pectora); be ready for the conflict, arrayed in the whole armor of Christian warfare, ready and willing, especially at this time, when iniquity prevails, to lead us on with heroic fidelity. Let us apply ourselves to the work of the Lord with unconquerable hearts. The hatred of those who in this proceeding show themselves so worthy of hatred will not win the day. For our part, we are of those who can pray for our enemies, much more support and embrace them. Let not the senseless judgment of the people, let not the foolish and futile dread of popular opinion, disturb you in the least. Rule and protect this Church, which threatens to fall, by your courage and your persistency. How glorious is the function you will discharge! How solid and real the praise which you[443] will deserve if, completely forgetting yourselves in this cause, you think of Jesus Christ alone!’

We can imagine how affectionately Grynæus and his friends received the two brethren banished on account of the noble fidelity which they had displayed. Grynæus had already invited the reformer, while he was still at Geneva, to go to his house rather than bend under the yoke which his enemies wished to put on him. ‘We welcome thee joyfully,’ he said to Calvin afterwards, ‘as our brother in the Lord, and we embrace thee as a distinguished ornament of our Church.’[719] Calvin therefore abode with Grynæus at Basel, where the most brotherly hospitality was shown him. Farel took up his abode in the house of the famous printer, Oporin.

Calvin and Farel bore their great trial with much patience and meekness, forgiving their enemies and praying for them, and endeavoring to avoid everything which might become an occasion of grief to their brethren. Viret was very anxious to see them and to share their tribulations. ‘Thou knowest well,’ replied Calvin to him, ‘that no greater happiness could befall us at this moment than to talk with thee for a short time. But the danger to which the journey would expose thee checks our desire: thou wouldst reap more hatred from it than we should joy.’ Thus did Calvin think of his friends before thinking of himself. It appears, however, that Viret did see him at Basel.[720] This was doubtless at a later period. Calvin was anxious to avoid everything which might lead to any useless dispute. ‘I beg of thee, my dear brother,’ he said to Farel, ‘take pains in these evil times to preserve whatever can be tolerated. Our brethren must not so obstinately dispute about mere[444] ceremonies. Let us be free; but let us be the slaves of concord and of peace.’[721] ‘What I have above all at heart,’ he said further to him, ‘is that we may not cause new quarrels, nor be the occasion of any strife.’

At the same time, nevertheless, one of the first things which the reformers had done after their arrival at Basel was to give an account of what had befallen them to their brethren of Zurich and Strasburg. Their enemies did not cease, indeed, to pursue them with their accusations; and those who had forced them to leave Geneva cried out that they were schismatics, forgetting that they themselves had compelled the two reformers to separate from their Church. Such is party logic. Calvin, Farel, and their friends, therefore, thought it advisable to hold a meeting at which delegates from the towns of Zurich, Berne, Basel, Strasburg, and one of that place (un dudit lieu) (probably Geneva), should attend, and at which it should be ‘declared that they had duly and faithfully administered their office.’[722] They did not, however, eagerly press for this. They knew that their judge was in heaven. ‘I can do nothing,’ said Calvin, ‘but commend the issue to the great physician, who alone can provide for it and give it shape.’[723]

If Calvin committed himself to God as to his past, he did the same as to his future. ‘I withdraw to Basel,’ he says, in the same letter, ‘awaiting what the Lord will do with me.’ Calls were not wanting. They wished to retain him at Basel. Toussaint desired that he should settle at Lausanne, or in the canton of Berne, that he might there be an example of decision and devotion. Others thought it their duty to recommend him to the Duke of Würtemburg.[724] But Strasburg appeared[445] to be the place to choose. Already in November, 1536, Bucer, delighted with the Institution, which had just appeared, had asked for an interview with Calvin. ‘We will go wherever you wish for the purpose of conferring with you on the whole doctrine of Christ.’[725] They saw each other subsequently at Berne and at Zurich. Bucer and Capito, now that they knew he was at liberty and staying at Basel, did not fail to press him to come to them. At the beginning of July he went to Strasburg. ‘I have been so earnestly entreated to come by the two chief ministers of this town,’ he wrote on the 10th of that month, ‘that to satisfy them I have made a journey hither.’[726] It did not at that time appear likely to him that he was to settle there. The terrible conflicts through which he had passed at Geneva made him view with alarm the proposal to accept a new ministry. He recurred to his studious projects. ‘I shrink, above all things,’ said he, ‘from reëntering on the office from which I am delivered, considering in what perplexities I was involved from the time when I was first engaged in it.’ He adds, ‘there are other reasons which I can explain only by word of mouth.’ What were these? Doubtless the too accommodating theology of the doctors of that town. Basel was his favorite city. He returned thither, saying, ‘It is not the fault of the Strasburgers that I am not their guest, but they have burden enough without me.’ He might, however, have found good reasons for accepting their invitation, for his poverty was so great that he found it necessary to sell ‘a part of his books’ for his maintenance.[727]

The entreaties of the Strasburgers, nevertheless, became more urgent. They wrote to Grynæus to do all he could to induce Calvin to settle at Strasburg: only they would rather that he should come without Farel,[446] because they were afraid that, if the two Frenchmen were together, the Germans would have too great difficulty in bending them to their views. This was also the opinion of Grynæus. To give up Farel entirely was too great a sacrifice for Calvin to make. He again declined the offer, giving as his reason the condition which was imposed on him not to take Farel with him.[728] ‘I await thy counsel,’ wrote Calvin to his friend; and impelled by the warmest affection for this man of God, he adds, ‘O that I could now fly to thee! I am only held back by the strongest motives.’

Farel was not at Basel at that moment, and was not to return thither. The tidings of the persecutions which had fallen upon him, of his exile and his sufferings, had grieved the people of Neuchâtel, and revived in their hearts their old love for the man from whom they had learned the elements of the faith. The Council of the Sixty, representatives of the city, after calling upon the Lord, communicated to the class of ministers the desire which they felt of inviting Farel to become their pastor.[729] The post was, as we shall see, actually vacant. Two councillors and two members of the class went to Basel. ‘Come,’ they said to him, ‘and complete the building of which you laid the foundation.’ Farel, like Calvin, could not make up his mind to accept a pastoral charge, but preferred to devote himself to study.[730] At length, encouraged by his friends, entreated in the name of the Lord, and ‘persuaded to it with great earnestness by the German Churches,’ he consented; but it was on condition that he should introduce in the Church the order prescribed in the Holy Scriptures. Having once decided, he set out suddenly for Neuchâtel, about the[447] end of July, ‘with his customary promptitude,’ says Calvin.[731] Thenceforth Farel and Calvin were separated; but this removal from each other did not in any degree impair the union of their hearts nor the firmness of their characters, whatever the moderates of Strasburg might think.

The latter once more renewed their call. Would not the ministerial office conferred on Calvin by a Church of such high standing as that of Strasburg be a brilliant justification which would silence evil tongues? What good service might he not render there! The empire had need of able theologians, and perhaps the Strasburgers desired to have him settled among them by way of counterpoise to the powerful personality and authority of Luther. Be that as it may, his friends on the banks of the Rhine could not bear the thought that so powerful a servant of God ‘should be satisfied to live in retirement without undertaking any public office;’[732] and as he still refused, they took steps towards inducing the Genevese to recall the reformer. If he will not come to Strasburg, let him go to Geneva. This proceeding appears to have had some effect on Calvin. He would go anywhere rather than return to the city of his sorrows. The Strasburgers, finding that he was somewhat giving way, made a fresh advance. ‘That excellent servant of Christ, Martin Bucer,’ says Calvin, ‘addressing to me a remonstrance and protest similar to that which Farel had previously made, called me to another place. Alarmed by the case of Jonah, which he set before me, I persevered still in the office of teacher.’[733] Calvin therefore went to Strasburg in September, and began to preach in the choir of the church of the Dominicans to the French refugees in the town, with whom[448] were associated other persons, some of whom understood and others did not understand the tongue, but all of them were desirous of seeing the face and hearing the voice of the famous exile. These refugees, it is said, were fifteen hundred in number.

Calvin was no sooner settled at Strasburg than he heard that his colleague, the blind old Courault, who, ‘after having fought valiantly at Paris for the truth,’[734] had first retired to Thonon, and then had been called as pastor to Orbe, had departed this life on October 4, and gone to God. This was a terrible blow for his loving heart. He wrote to Farel—‘I am so dismayed at the death of Courault, that my grief overpasses all bounds. Not one of my daily occupations is any longer able to fix my attention, and I am incessantly returning to the same thought. To the lamentations and pains of the day succeed the more terrible torments of the night.’[735] This death, so unexpected, was attributed to poison. Suspicions of that kind were very common, and were in those unhappy times too often justified. Calvin rejected this thought, but in spite of himself it was continually presenting itself to his imagination.[736] He endeavored, nevertheless, to console himself and to revive his own courage and that of Farel. ‘All testify,’ he said to him, ‘by their grief and their regrets how highly they esteemed his courage and his uprightness, and this is a great consolation. For us whom the Lord leaves for a time in this world, let us hold on in the path which he pursued until we have finished our course. Whatever difficulties we may have to encounter, they will not prevent us from entering into that rest which is even now his portion.’ ‘When we get there,’ said he on another occasion, ‘it[449] will be known on which side rashness or error was. To that court I appeal from the sentence of all the wise. There the angels of God will bear witness which are the schismatics.’[737] He adds, ‘Only let us stand firm on the height we have reached, which commands the field of battle, until the kingdom of Christ, at present hidden, shall appear.’

Thus the three pastors expelled from Geneva had each found his place; and that of the old blind minister was the best.

It was not long before the Genevese established the institutions to which the reformers had objected. It was decreed to reërect the baptismal fonts which had been cast down, and to baptize children in them, to celebrate the four festivals, and to conform to the ceremonies agreed upon. On Whit-Sunday, which this year fell at the beginning of June, there were only two pastors at Geneva, Henri de la Mare and Jacques Bernard, both Genevese. The Lord’s supper was to be celebrated, and for that purpose two ministers were needed in each church. The council deputed two of its members to act instead of them, one at St. Peter’s, the other at St. Gervais’.

The government exerted itself to find substitutes for the two exiles. The states of Berne and Neuchâtel gave up to it Jean Morand, pastor at Cully,[738] on the shores of the lake of Geneva, and Antoine Marcourt, of Lyons, pastor of Neuchâtel, who were installed about the end of June. The council determined to give them, considering their age and their large families, three hundred Genevese florins;[739] the two Genevese each had two hundred and fifty florins. We became[450] acquainted with Marcourt at the synod of Lausanne. He had published several treatises on the Eucharist, on the mass; to him likewise were attributed the famous placards of 1534, which Florimond Raemond believes to have been the work of Farel. The governor and councils of Neuchâtel, in resigning Marcourt to Geneva, declared, June 18, ‘that they had always found him a man of peace, one who desired, and to the utmost of his power maintained, peace and public tranquillity.’ This character seems hardly like that of the author of the Placards, one of the most violent writings of the sixteenth century, which were pronounced by the Roman Catholics[740] to be filled with ‘execrable blasphemies and horrible threats against the king,’ and which gave rise to that bloody persecution by the Valois and the Bourbons of which the reformed Christians were the victims for more than two centuries. However, we must confess that pacific men are not always consistent. It would seem that Marcourt was not so much a man of peace as the people of Neuchâtel had said; at least if we take literally what Calvin says. ‘How our successors will demean themselves,’ he wrote on August 4 to Farel, ‘is a point on which we can form an opinion from their first proceedings. They break off by their irritable temper every promise of peace, and they seem to suppose that the best thing they have to do is to tear to pieces both in public and in private the reputation which we enjoyed, and to make us as hateful as possible.’[741] Calvin is especially severe, perhaps too much so, with regard to the two Genevese ministers. There was, however, some truth in the last touch in the picture which he drew of them for Bullinger: ‘Both of them are very ignorant, and when they open their mouths, it is to rave. This does not prevent them from assuming an insolent pride.’[742]

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These words of Calvin are rather sharp. This is doubtless explained by his recent sorrow. Subsequently he expressed himself with more moderation. His partisans at Geneva did the same. While the wisest men still held their peace, the most violent did not spare their adversaries. The two parties were very ill-disposed towards one another, and some of those who belonged to them threw off all restraint both in their deeds and in their words. Licentious men among the enemies of the reformers ‘triumphed over the banished ministers, insulted the servants of God, laughed at the Gospel, and abandoned themselves to impurity, dancing, gaming, and drunkenness. Nothing was talked of but masquerades, gallantries and excesses, and the services of the church turned to the disgrace of the Reformation.’ On the other side, the most vehement partisans of Calvin and Farel had no mercy on the lay and ecclesiastical chiefs under whose administration these things took place. They called the new pastors wolves, and the magistrates the unrighteous. They murmured as they went out from sermon, and their ill-humor was not sparing of criticism. ‘The Gospel which is preached at present,’ said Richard after one of the services, ‘is only the Gospel for twenty days.’ He had no doubt that, when that time had elapsed, the new preachers would be dismissed. For this they sent him to prison. ‘The syndics of to-day,’ said another, ‘are of no use but to bring back lascivious men and women into the town.’ For this saying he was expelled from the town for a year.[743] ‘The mass is sung in Geneva,’ said many, ‘and the people who love the Gospel are expelled the town.’ These charges were circulated in Switzerland, and greatly alarmed the friends of reform.

None felt these reproaches more keenly than the pastors, for they knew that they all recoiled on themselves.[452] On September 17 they all appeared, the two Genevese and the two foreigners, before the council. ‘Calumniators,’ they said, ‘are spreading reports in the cantons which are doing serious injury to the Gospel.’ They requested that two of their number might have leave of absence to go and refute the slanders, which inflicted a blow on the honor of the town. The request was granted. Marcourt and Morand set out for Berne, and presented themselves before the assembly of the pastors, in which Kunz could not fail to support them. In fact it was resolved at this meeting ‘that those who rose against the persons in office at Geneva were worse than wicked men, traitors, and Jews.’ The Bernese pastors communicated this declaration to the council, which contented itself with deciding that if any defamers of Geneva appeared at Berne, information should be given to the magistrates of that town. The lay authorities were obviously less under the influence of passion than the ecclesiastics. It appears even that the council of Berne did not place implicit confidence in the report of the Genevese ministers, for one of their own number was immediately after sent to Geneva to see with his own eyes what was the real state of the Genevese Church.

The complaints made both at Geneva and in other places were well grounded. This is proved by the proceedings of the magistrates, who, although they were hostile to the reformers, perceived that their own honor required them not to authorize licentiousness. It is quite certain that people ‘went about the streets at night, uttering cries and singing indecent songs;’ that ‘gaming, lewdness, haunting of taverns, and drunkenness,’ were common offences; for a decree of July 19 prohibited them under a penalty of sixty sous for the first time; and, as the evil continued, other decisions of a similar character were taken on August 20 and October 22. It is certain that, as was said in Switzerland, some citizens went to mass, for according to the intolerant customs of[453] the age, they were ordered ‘to leave the town.’ The councils were seen to be as much opposed to religious liberty as Calvin had been. Perhaps they went even further than he would have gone; for, on August 20, they ordered the priests who were still on Genevese soil to go to sermon if they wished to remain there.

Calvin, at Strasburg, was watching attentively what was passing at Geneva. He heard that a certain number of Genevese kept faithfully to the path which they had taken under his direction. Some of his adherents cried out rather loudly, but the majority led a quiet life, and the most decided of the latter displayed their opposition in no other way than by absenting themselves from a form of worship which they did not consider to be in conformity with the principles of the Gospel. Calvin had not written to them during the first months of his exile. He was not willing to lay himself open to the charge of attempting to draw them over to himself. But he felt keenly that the trials of his friends at Geneva proceeded from their supineness in adhering to the Word of God, and that the remedy for them was in humbling themselves before God and waiting upon Him for the remedy. ‘However the affection which he always cherished for them’ did not permit him to remain longer silent, and on October 1 he wrote to them a letter remarkable for the pacific, discreet, charitable, and elevated spirit which it breathed. He addressed it, not to all the Genevese, but to those who had received into their hearts the seed of the divine Word, and who were still deeply affected by the blow which had struck them in the punishment of their pastor. He named them his brethren, the relics of the dispersion of the Genevese church. He spoke of the love which he bore them. ‘I cannot refrain from writing to you,’ said he, ‘to assure you of the affection which I always cherish for you. Our conscience is fully persuaded before God that it is by his call that we were at one time associated with you,[454] and it ought not to be in the power of men to break such a bond.’ He begs them to forget themselves and their sufferings, to forget even the hostility of their adversaries. ‘If we lose our time in fighting against men,’ he said, ‘thinking only of taking vengeance and getting indemnified for the injuries which they have done us, it is doubtful whether we can overcome them, but it is certain that we shall be overcome by the devil. If on the contrary we resist the devices of that spiritual enemy, there is no fear then of our not coming off conquerors. Cast away every evil affection, be led only by zeal for God, controlled by his Spirit and the rule of his Word.’ Calvin went further. He showed himself severe to his friends. ‘It is easy for you to justify yourselves before men, but your conscience will feel burdened before God.’ He did himself what he required of others. ‘I doubt not,’ he said, ‘that God has humbled us in order to make us acquainted with our ignorance, our imprudence, and our other infirmities, of which I for my part have been fully conscious, and which I have no hesitation in confessing before the Church. However,’ he adds, ‘we did faithfully administer our office. The Lord will cause our innocence to come forth like the morning-star, and our righteousness to shine like the sun.’ But he endeavors chiefly to console the believers of Geneva. ‘Be not cast down because it hath pleased the Lord to humble you for a time, for he lifts up the humble out of the dust and takes the poor from the dunghill. He gives the manna of joy to those who are in tears; he gives back light to them that sit in darkness, and he restores to life them that walk in the shadow of death. Be of good courage then, and endure with patience the chastening of his hand, until the time that he reveal his grace to you.’[744] It is impossible not to recognize the wisdom and the Christian charity which have left their[455] impress on this letter. It is indeed a pastor that speaks. Calvin was so far from the excessive strictness imputed to him that he wrote at the same time to Farel—‘If we find in any Church the ministry of the Word and the sacraments, it is better not to separate from it. It is not right even to do so on the ground that some doctrines are not purely taught in it; for there is hardly a Church in existence which does not retain some traces of its former ignorance. It is sufficient for us if the doctrine on which the Church is founded has its place there and keeps it.’[745] Calvin held that there are some doctrines fundamental and vital, essential to salvation; but he acknowledged that there are others on which difference is permissible.

Farel likewise wrote to the Christians of Geneva. He did so even before Calvin, in June, in August, and again in November. He expressed to them his deep sadness. He would fain be ‘so far away that he could hear nothing of the miserable breaking-up and dispersion of the Church.’ He strives ‘to banish from his heart the pains, the labors that he undertook for that town; for nothing pierces the heart like ingratitude; to see evil rendered for good, hate for love, death and shame in place of the life and the honor which were procured.’ He contents himself with praying for the town and commending it to all who are able to give it any assistance. Meanwhile he cannot help seeing the unhappy condition in which his own friends and all the faithful of Geneva are, deprived of their pastors, and witnessing the triumph of their enemies. He shares largely in their troubles; they are his only trial. ‘I should be too happy,’ he wrote to them, ‘if you were not so unhappy.’ But at the same time he exhorts them to Christian charity and gives evidence of it himself. ‘Cherish in your hearts no rancor,’ he said to his former flock, ‘no root of bitterness, no anger. Do not reproach this man nor that man,[456] but let each one reproach himself: lay all the blame on yourselves and say nothing but good of others. Let God’s holy will be your rule, and not poor man (the natural man), and what is in him.’ He does not hesitate to rebuke his friends. ‘You have not obeyed God wholly, but have halted and swerved to one side and the other.’ Then he earnestly exhorts them to repentance. ‘You, great and small, men and women, cast yourselves humbly before God, with all earnestness and love, beseeching his grace, and praying him to turn away his anger from you. Yes, cast yourselves before him with sobs and tears, with fasting and prayer, like the king of Nineveh and his people. Cry, weep, lift up your voices; that your cry going forth from the depths of this terrible calamity may reach the ear of God.’[746] Thus spoke Farel and Calvin.

Calvin, meanwhile, notwithstanding the melancholy which sprang from the remembrance of his recent struggles, was happy at Strasburg. This town, in which, as in a common centre, met the influences of Germany, Switzerland, and France, was esteemed, next to Wittenberg, the most important seat of the Reformation. It was called the Antioch of that epoch, in remembrance of what Antioch was in the apostolic age. Some named it subsequently the New Jerusalem, and this partly because it was ‘the hostess of the man who gave his name to Calvinism.’[747] At the period of Calvin’s arrival, Strasburg[457] was already the home of several distinguished men—Capito, Bucer, Hedio, Niger, Mathias Zell, and others besides, who shone in its Church like precious and transparent jewels.[748] ‘What gratitude we owe you,’ they wrote to Farel, ‘for resigning Calvin to us!’ He was a treasure for them. He very much enjoyed their society, and this sojourn was to be beneficial to him. Not only did the affection of Strasburg for him heal the wounds inflicted by the hostility of Geneva, but his mind was to receive still further development. The small city on the shores of the Leman lake was a narrow platform on which it was not easy to move about. But on reaching Strasburg Calvin set foot on the vast Germanic realm which contained so many illustrious men, in which so many profound thoughts were stirring, and in which the Reformation had already fought so many battles and won so many victories. There were, it is true, some opposite teachings, but it was necessary to be acquainted with them. Strasburg, moreover, was the place in which doctrines were weighed one against the other, and where the labor destined to conciliate them was undertaken. At Geneva Calvin might have occupied the post of a spectator who attempts to distinguish by means of a telescope an action fought at a great distance. But now he was in the thick of the battle, learnt to recognize the feeble and the strong, and became one of the combatants, or at least one of the negotiators. His horizon was widened, his intelligence in this vast sphere would be enlarged, his ideas would be developed, would grow, ripen, and move with greater freedom. He would be brought under influences to which he was not exposed at Geneva, and which would contribute to form the great theologian. Embracing at a glance the whole extent of the kingdom of God, he would become familiar with its various provinces. Winds blowing from so many and[458] adverse regions would bring to him new reports. There would doubtless be sometimes stormy blasts, powerful enough to overthrow the strongest, but often also a pure and life-giving air fitted to sanctify his Christian energy.

The theological and Christian circle which he entered at Strasburg was in more than one way in sympathy with him. He was convinced, as the doctors of this town were, that it was necessary not to stick at trifling differences, but to consider Christianity in its great facts, its great doctrines, the new life which it creates, in the great whole on which all the reformers were agreed. All those who took their stand on the same rock, Jesus Christ, no matter whether a little higher up or a little lower down, ought in his view to join hand in hand. Calvin and the theologians of Strasburg were disgusted with the theological subtilties and the scholastic nomenclature beneath which the living doctrine of the Gospel, especially as to the supper, was stifled. ‘Can I in very deed believe that I receive in the holy supper the body and the blood of the Lord, substantialiter, essentialiter, realiter, naturaliter, præsentialiter, localiter, corporaliter, quantitative, qualitative, ubiqualiter, carnaliter? The devil has brought us all these terms from the abyss of hell. Christ said simply, This is my body. If all these fantastic expressions had been necessary, he would certainly have employed them.’ Calvin, like Zell, the author of the above passage, found in that heap of qualifying terms a mass of rubbish and confusion. There was, however, one difference between the doctors of Strasburg and the doctor of Geneva. Bucer and Capito were willing to bring union by the way of accommodation, perhaps by the use of phrases in a double sense. The eagle of Geneva, soaring in the higher regions, called on Christians to have but one thought in contemplating one and the same sun, and in attaching themselves to one and the same truth.[749]

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Another happiness awaited Calvin at Strasburg. His greatest sufferings at Geneva had their source in that state-church, that people-church, that shapeless community which comprised the whole nation, believers and unbelievers, righteous men and profligates. In its place at Strasburg he found some Christians exiled on account of their faith, purified by their trial like gold, who had given up all for Christ, their righteousness and their life. The mass of professing Christians at Geneva had as it were suffocated him. Now at Strasburg he was in the midst of brethren and sisters, and almost all of them belonged to his own country, France. He breathed freely. The evangelical order intended by the apostles prevailed in his Church.[750] He preached four times a week. He met his elders and deacons once a week for the study of the Holy Scriptures and for prayer; and some of those lay friends well endowed by God were soon qualified to take the place of their pastor in case of his absence, and to edify their brethren. The first supper was celebrated in September, and it was repeated every month. How wide the difference for Calvin between that repast at Geneva, to which men came who drank, gamed, quarrelled, and sang indecent songs, and whom, for all that, he had to admit to the communion of the body and the blood of the Redeemer, and this brotherly supper at Strasburg, celebrated in company with pious Christians, persecuted for righteousness’ sake, whose names were written in heaven, and who drew nigh to the Lord with devotion, as members of his family! Calvin gave all his attention to the cure of souls. If there were any Christians who had not an adequate acquaintance with the doctrine of salvation, he instructed them; if any were reproached by their own conscience, cast down and in distress, he consoled and lifted them up; if any had gone astray from the path of righteousness, he re[460]buked them. He certainly met with some opposition, especially on the part of the younger folk; but he held his ground. While he required a pure faith and life, he protested against the tyranny exercised by the priests in auricular confession, and declared that no man had the right to bind the conscience of his brethren. Thus he saw his flock thriving from day to day under his direction.[751] ‘It was at Strasburg that the first Church was organized to serve as a model to others,’ says Raemond. A remarkable conversion distinguished its early days. Herman of Liége, who had engaged in discussion with Calvin at Geneva, was converted by him and joined his Church. He embraced the doctrines which Calvin found in the Holy Scriptures, on free will, the divinity and humanity of Christ, regeneration, and baptism. He was in doubt only as to predestination. Calvin gained other victories besides.

He was now not only a pastor, but also a teacher. At the beginning of the year 1539, Capito, struck with his gifts for theological teaching, entreated him to join that office with his pastorate. Although he felt reluctant to do so, from his sense of the difficulty of that ministry, he at length consented. Every day he preached in the church of St. Nicholas, in which he taught the students of the academy. The interpretation of the Scriptures was for him the basis of theological science, and for his exposition he selected two of the richest books of the New Testament—the Gospel of St. John and the Epistle to the Romans. His plan was to search out the meaning of the sacred writer, and to set it forth with an easy ‘brevity which did not entail obscurity;’ and for that purpose ‘he took pains to regulate and proportion his style.[752]’ In his view the Epistle to the Romans was ‘a[461] path to the understanding of the whole Scripture.’ Some doctors attended these lectures, and expressed their high admiration.[753] He did not content himself with being at the same time pastor and professor, he also worked diligently in his study. He revised his Institution, and prepared a second edition; he recast his Catechism; he composed a treatise on the Supper, of which he sent a copy to Luther. Calvin, like Zwingli, regarded the bread and the wine as signs, as pledges that Christ gives to the believer his crucified body and his shed blood; that is to say, communicates to him the expiatory virtue of his death. He taught that the believer receives the body and the blood by faith, which is the mouth of the soul, and not by the bodily mouth. But he differed from the reformer of Zurich in that he saw in the supper a mysterious union with the glorified person of Christ. ‘With good reason,’ he said, ‘the bread is called body, since it not only represents him, but also presents him to us. We must therefore really receive in the supper the body and the blood of Jesus Christ, since the Lord sets forth to us therein the communion of both. If God gave us only bread and wine, leaving behind the spiritual truth, would it not be the case that he had instituted this mystery on fictitious grounds?[754] This alliance is effected on our part by faith, and on the part of God by his secret and miraculous virtue. The Spirit of God is the bond of this participation; that is why it is called spiritual. When Luther began his course, he appeared to say that the bread was the body of Christ. Œcolampadius and Zwingli appeared to leave in the supper nothing but the bare signs without their spiritual substance. Thus Luther failed on his side, Zwingli and Œcolampadius on their side. Nevertheless, let us not forget the grace which the Lord gave to all of them, and the[462] benefits which he has conferred on us by their instrumentality.’[755]

Luther acknowledged that Calvin’s doctrine went beyond that of Zwingli, and expressed the delight which it gave him. As early as October, 1539, the Saxon reformer wrote to Bucer—‘Greet John Calvin respectfully, whose book I have read with singular enjoyment.’[756] As the treatise on the Supper appeared only in 1541, the Institution must be the book spoken of, in which the doctrine of the Eucharist was already set forth. When the reformer of Germany read the little treatise to which we have just referred, he said, ‘Ah, if the Swiss did the same, we should now be at peace instead of quarrelling.’[757]

In addition to his other labors, Calvin attended the theological debates in the universities, sometimes even presiding at them. He held conferences with the Roman Catholic doctors, at which he defended the evangelical theology; thereby acquiring so high a renown that a great number of students and even of learned men came from France to Strasburg to hear him.[758]

This man, who already occupied so important a position, was at the same time in the most humble circumstances. Poverty was added to his other trials. He received from the publishers of his works only very low remuneration. He did not think that he had any right to ask remuneration from the state or even from the Church; but he would not have refused it if it had been[463] spontaneously offered to him. He was living at this time on a small sum derived partly from his paternal inheritance and partly from the sale of his library and other property of various kinds. But this was far short of his need, and sometimes the payment for his lodging was a great embarrassment. He wrote to Farel—‘I am obliged to live at my own expense, unless I were willing to become a burden to my brethren; and my destitution is now so great that I do not possess a farthing.[759] It is not, you see, so easy for me to take care of my health as you with so much kind care counsel me to do.’ Calvin afterwards received a salary, but too small to suffice even for his modest wants.

Just at the time when Calvin was gaining new friends at Strasburg, he lost some of his oldest and most beloved ones. We have seen his grief on hearing of the death of Courault. At the beginning of January 1539, he received a letter from Francesca Bucyronia, wife of the physician Sinapi, tutor to the children of the Duchess of Ferrara, informing him that his cousin Olivétan, one of the first evangelists of Geneva, and translator of the French version of the Bible, had just died in that town. Calvin’s pain at this news was increased by the report that his friend, while at Rome, had taken poison, and that of this he died. This was a conjecture at that period commonly put forward to account for unexpected deaths. There is little probability of its truth. Calvin does not speak of it. He contents himself with calling Olivétan our friend, and adds that the natural sorrow which he feels must be his apology to his correspondents for his short and disjointed letters.[760] Few men have had so many friends as Calvin. His was no ordinary friendship; it was always felt to be deep and unchangeable.

But Calvin’s thought was at this time occupied with[464] affection of another kind. He believed that those who have received a new life from Christ are called to love all those who have received the same grace; ‘to love them with that simple affection, that natural proneness, with which relations love each other.’ It was, however, no exclusive love that he required. ‘In bidding us begin by loving the faithful, the Lord leads us on, by a kind of apprenticeship, to the loving of all men without exception.’[761] But union and agreement between the children of God was the great need of his heart. When writing to Bullinger (March 12, 1539) he said—‘Satan, who plots the ruin of the kingdom of Christ, sows discord between us. Let us all then have a cordial agreement with one another, and may it be the same with all the Churches. I clasp you in my arms, wishing you all good.’[762]

With this cordial charity Calvin maintained an indomitable courage. Capito was given to looking at the dark sides of things: black thoughts often hovered around him and took possession of his imagination. In vain his faith strove to lighten the darkness; mournful forebodings overwhelmed him, and a dull distress was often read in his countenance. One day he protested before God and men that the Church was lost unless prompt aid should arrive. Afterwards, when he found that the state of things did not improve, he prayed God that he might die.[763] It was not so with Calvin. ‘Ah,’ said he, ‘the Lord will bless us although everything should be against us. Let us therefore try all remedies; and if we do not find any to be efficacious, let us nevertheless persevere as long as we have any breath of life.’[764] It is this uncon[465]querable steadfastness which made Calvin the great reformer.

The faith of Calvin was not to deceive him. But few voices had been raised in his favor at Geneva in the general council of May 26, 1538. The minority which adhered to the Reformation had at first shrunk away into retirement and silence. The most active men, who are not always the wisest, alone had spoken. But gradually the more competent influential men appeared, recognized and united with each other, and took combined action. The government party made little account of them; and as Master Guillaume, as they called Farel, was in the popular judgment the chief of the Evangelicals, they used to call these, with a shrug of the shoulders, the Guillemins, nor had they a suspicion that these people would ever recover themselves. The council, which was little disposed to respect individual freedom, less so perhaps than Calvin and Farel, ordered all heads of families to attend sermon on the Sunday. This order was especially aimed at the friends of the reformers and their refusal to hear the ministers who had taken the place of the latter, and who, to make themselves agreeable to the magistrate, openly censured their predecessors.

Farel and Calvin had established in Geneva not only the Church but also the school; and some of their best friends, Saunier and Mathurin Cordier were among the most eminent masters. This institution naturally remained faithful to its founders, and the conduct of the government towards it showed that they looked on it as decidedly opposed to their views and opinions. The council did not intend to allow its subordinates to show themselves hostile to its scheme for the direction of ecclesiastical affairs. However, while they shrank perhaps from disorganizing the school, they resolved, sparing at the outset the leading men, to give them a lesson by energetically prosecuting one or two of their under-masters.

[466]

Eynard and Gaspard were consequently cited, September 10, before the council, which made complaint of their publicly censuring the preachers, and inquired of them where they had received the supper at Easter and Whitsuntide. They replied that they had not joined in the communion anywhere, because St. Paul enjoined that every man should examine himself, and that they had not felt in the right frame of mind. They had no doubt been unwilling to receive the bread and the wine, which are the communion of the body and the blood of the Saviour, from the hands of pastors whom they judged unworthy. The council ordered them to leave the town in three days. After having thus inflicted disciplinary penalties on the humble under-masters, they awaited Christmas.

Matters were by that time far worse. Many foreigners, chiefly refugees, did not take the supper. They were condemned to leave the town, ten days only being allowed to them to set their affairs in order. The councillors and other Genevese who had been guilty of the same offence were obliged to apologize and to promise ‘to live from this time forth according to the way of the town.’ These things did not pass without lively altercations; and in consequence of a dispute which took place in the street on the night of December 30, 1538, one man was killed and many were wounded.[765] The most enraged of the refractory party, thinking to justify their conduct in attacking the settled ministers, called them infidels, corrupters of Scripture, and papists, who tried to deceive the people. The pastors, who were certainly not possessed of ability enough to fill the place of the eminent doctors banished by the council, but who endeavored for the most part to do as much good as their[467] moral and intellectual qualities permitted, were greatly annoyed, complained to the council, and desired to withdraw and make room for others better qualified than themselves. ‘These reproaches,’ they said, ‘we find it very hard to bear.’ The council assured them that it meant to keep them, and to reconcile them with their accusers.

After this second act of discipline, or rather, at the same time, the council undertook a third, of graver character still. In their eyes the college was still a fortress in which Calvinism had entrenched itself, with the intention of resisting the attacks of its adversaries. The magistrate resolved to give the regents an opportunity of declaring themselves, and if they offered resistance, to expel them. To join the ministers who had succeeded Farel and Calvin, to administer the supper with them, to do an act which those great doctors had refused to do,—this was the requirement addressed by the magistrate to Saunier, rector of the college, and to the three regents, Mathurin Cordier, Vautier, and Vindos. It would have been straining a point for them to take the supper; but to be in the number of those who administered it, after all the controversies which had taken place, was not this ‘to be an occasion of stumbling’ for many, and a taking part against those venerated men whose absence they deplored? These four professors therefore stated to the council that their conscience did not allow them to do what was required. The magistrates ought to have considered that this act is not within the province of the regents, and that they ought not to do anything which might, by depriving the college of the able men who directed it, possibly lead to its ruin. But Richardet and his friends were despots who did not intend to allow any resistance to their will. On the day after Christmas, they ordered the rector and the three regents to quit Geneva in the space of three days. Saunier was dismayed. He had a very numerous household. Many boys of good family from Basel,[468] Berne, Zurich, Bienne, and other towns, lived in his house; and he had a young daughter, in delicate health, whom he would be obliged to take with him in the depth of winter. The next day, December 27, he appeared before the Council of the Two Hundred, stated the circumstances which we have just related, reminded them that he was a citizen of the town, and showed them that the resolution which they had adopted might be the ruin of the college, which was indispensable to the youth of Geneva. In fine, he could not possibly make the necessary arrangements in so short a time. This last point was the only one to which the Great Council took any heed. It confirmed the resolution of the Little Council, but granted to the regents fifteen days to act upon it. He must therefore depart. Saunier and his colleagues took the same road as Calvin and Farel had taken. Mathurin Cordier, who had received the knowledge of the Gospel from the celebrated Robert Etienne, had devoted his life to the task ‘of training youth in piety and in good morals, cultivating in them a pure and elegant style, and the love of literature;’ had composed some important works;[766] and was one of those antique souls, it has been said, who always prefer the public good to their own interest. The loss of such a man was irreparable, but it was not final. The council sought for substitutes for these men; but they were forced to acknowledge that to find them was no easy matter. The first candidate who offered himself was rejected because he was a German. The second, Claude Viguier, beat one of his pupils so severely as to draw blood. The republican magistrates of 1538 placed submission to their arbitrary orders before the real interests of the schools and the people.[767] Calvin seemed to regret the course taken by Saunier. He entreated Farel to do[469] everything in his power to prevent division and confusion from extending, and to induce the brethren no longer to refuse the rites adopted by the council.

When this matter was settled, the council undertook another campaign. Among the partisans of Calvin and of the Reformation were several eminent men whose submission was much desired. The severity which had just been displayed towards the learned might induce these citizens to yield to the conquerors. Two former syndics especially, Porral and Pertemps, looking more at the lamentable occurrences which had attended the government appointment of the supper than at the supper itself, had not yet been able to bring themselves to sanction blameworthy proceedings (the banishment of their well-beloved pastors) by taking part in the ceremonies condemned by their friends. They had, it is true, received the letter from Calvin which urged them ‘to have only a zeal for God moderated by his Spirit and ruled by his Word.’ But when Christmas drew near, and the supper was to be given with unleavened bread, they had hesitated as to what they should do; and as they doubted, they had abstained. The council was not inclined to decide this case of conscience in an accommodating way. On January 9, 1539, Porral having appeared and being asked by the council whether he would conform to the ordinances respecting the supper, made answer at first in a rather vague way; and on being requested to answer more distinctly, he said, without entering into the question of the ordinances, ‘If it please God, I am ready to take the supper, after having examined myself.’ Pertemps spoke to the same effect.[768]

The friends of Calvin knew that the reformer was distressed at the disorders which prevailed in Geneva, and which reduced the town to the saddest state. ‘Nothing causes me more sorrow,’ he wrote to his friends, ‘than[470] the quarrels and the debates which you have with the ministers who have succeeded us. There is hardly a hope of amelioration while altercation and discord exist. Turn away, then, your minds and your hearts from men, and cling solely to the Redeemer.’ Calvin did not approve the renunciation of the communion by his friends on the ground of its celebration with unleavened bread, and he gave them a serious admonition not to disturb the peace on this immaterial question.[769]

The council did not stop here. There were still some principal citizens of whom they had a wish to be rid. Claude Savoye, formerly first syndic, who had shown so much love for Geneva and even so much heroism, was a friend of the reformers and had censured the council. He was put in prison, September 6, 1538, on merely frivolous charges. He refused to answer magistrates whom he regarded as his personal enemies. The council deliberated whether it should not cause torture to be applied to this great citizen. But honorable men revolted against this notion; and the council, having nothing against him but presumptions without any foundation, contented themselves with taking from him all his offices, depriving him of all his rights, and making the town his prison. Savoye escaped, went to Berne, and from that city announced to the syndics that he resigned the citizenship of Geneva. Jean Goulaz, who in 1532 had posted on the walls of the town the great pardon of Jesus Christ in opposition to the indulgences of the pope,[770] informed the council that he likewise renounced the citizenship, requested them to release him from his oath, and withdrew. While the council were deliberating on his request, he felt it prudent to quit the territory. The council, receiving information of this,[471] ordered pursuit to be made. He was overtaken on the bridge of Arve and was sent to prison. Michel Rozet says with reference to these various prosecutions, ‘Those, in a word, who had banished the ministers, omitted no occasion of entirely dislodging their adherents.’[771]

An improvement, however, had just been made in the government. On February 9, 1539, the general assembly of the people having to elect the syndics of the year, not one of the citizens who had played a part in the expulsion of Calvin and his friends was chosen. The new magistrates were taken from the moderate party, and one of them, Antoine Chiccand, was attached to the reformer. The less respectable class of the people did not seem to be aware of the change, and they celebrated the accession of the new magistrates after a strange fashion. It was the time of Carnival, Easter falling that year on April 6; and although Geneva had no longer any wish for the religion of the papacy, this class of the inhabitants still kept up its festivals and its amusements. Their pastimes were numerous, burlesque, and even indecent. ‘There were mummeries, lewdness, indecent songs, dances, and blasphemies. Some went naked about the town with timbrels and pipes,’ says a contemporary.[772] Did these disorderly doings form part of the Roman Catholic reaction that was then attracting attention? We do not assert this. However it might be, the pastors complained to the council, and the latter ordered an inquiry, especially against those who went about the streets at night without their clothes. It appeared from the inquiry that ‘those who had done so were all young, and had intended nothing more than a freak of youthful folly.’ The council ‘remonstrated’ with the delinquents; and some women who had ‘danced to the songs’ were put in prison for a day, and afterwards were severely censured by the syndic. Three[472] days later the council issued a decree which enjoined the people ‘devoutly to listen to the Word of God on Sundays, and to govern themselves according to it; not to swear nor blaspheme, nor play for gold or silver;’ and forbade them ‘to go about the town after nine o’clock without candles, to dance at any dances except at weddings, to sing any indecent songs, to disguise themselves, or to indulge in masks or mummeries.’

At the time when magistrates who were better disposed towards Calvin were called to the government of the republic, a door was opened on another side which revealed to the reformer a new world, Germany with her doctors and her princes. Calvin was living on the banks of the Rhine at the period when the emperor was convoking frequent and important assemblies, which were attended by the princes either in person or by their delegates, and in which they discussed the deepest questions of theology with as much eagerness as diplomatists in congress discuss the interests of their respective governments. From the year 1535 to 1539 Protestantism had been gaining in strength; it had made many conquests in North Germany, and appeared to be on the point of winning the decisive victory. The Catholics were beginning to lose heart, and the successive congresses at which they required the Protestants to come to terms with them might well lead one to call them a weakened army which desired only favorable conditions for lowering its flag. Calvin watched with his keen eye this astonishing process. He continually asserted in his letters that it was not the existence of one Church (that of Geneva), but of all Churches, that was at stake. There were moments when he thought that he had a glimpse of the triumph of the Gospel in Europe; at other times he was seized with great despondency. There was a conflict within him. His natural timidity led him to shrink from appearing in the Germanic assem[473]blies; but his faith and his zeal for the kingdom of God made him long to take part in them.

Charles V., after making peace with Francis I., had convoked, at Frankfort, for the month of February 1539, a conference of evangelical and Roman Catholic theologians, who were to endeavor to find a basis of agreement. We have not to devote our attention to all the work done at the German assemblies which Calvin attended, but only to that which concerns him personally. Deputies from Strasburg went to Frankfort, but the young French doctor did not accompany them. He contented himself with earnestly commending to Bucer the cause of the persecuted Protestants. But shortly after, having received a letter from Bucer, informing him that he found it was impossible for him to do anything for his co-religionists, and hearing at the same time that Melanchthon was present at the conferences, his spiritual earnestness overcame the timidity of his nature. He was seized with a strong desire to go to Frankfort and to converse with the friend of Luther on religion and the affairs of the Church. He set out in great haste the next day. At Frankfort he met some of the most prominent characters of the Reformation. Here were the pious John Frederick, elector of Saxony; young Maurice of Saxony, who was one day to prove so formidable to Charles V.; the famous landgrave Philip of Hesse, the Duke of Luneburg, and many other princes, whose acquaintance could not be a matter of indifference to the young reformer. Several of these young princes were accompanied by a great number of knights and soldiers, and all appeared to be full of courage for the defence of the Gospel. Calvin, in long letters to Farel, gave an account of all that he saw and thought. He formed a most just conception of the Protestant question in Germany, of the disposition of the princes, of the policy of Charles V., and of the various matters under discussion. But one man was there whose society he coveted more[474] than that of all the princes. Calvin’s sojourn at Frankfort is especially marked by the conversations which he had with Melanchthon ‘on many subjects.’[773] Several of the most influential men of the Reformation, in Switzerland and in France, were not well informed as to the opinions of this celebrated doctor. Calvin wished to be able to bear testimony to them with certitude. The great idea of the French doctor was agreement between all evangelical Christians. He was convinced that it was necessary, not only for the sake of obedience to the commandments of Jesus Christ, but further to promote the triumph of the evangelical cause. He wished for union, not only of the various parties in Germany, but of Germany and Switzerland. Now Melanchthon appeared to him the fittest man to bring about agreement among the Protestants. No sooner had these two great doctors met and exchanged the most kindly greetings, than Calvin opened the question. He had communicated to Melanchthon some articles in which his view of the supper was set forth in a way to terminate dissension. ‘There is no room for controversy between you and me,’ said Melanchthon, immediately; ‘I accept your articles.’[774] This was a great pleasure to Calvin. It was however soon disturbed. ‘But,’ continued the friend of Luther, ‘I must confess to you that we have some among us who demand something more material, and this so obstinately, not to say so despotically,[775] that I have found myself for a long time exposed to danger because they know that I differ from them on this subject. I do not believe that a solid agreement is attainable. But I desire that we should abide by the present agreement, such as it is, until the Lord lead us by one way or[475] another into union in the truth.’ Calvin perfectly satisfied, hastened to write to Farel—‘Entertain no more any doubt about him, but consider him as holding altogether the same views as we do.’ Farel and Calvin found in Melanchthon an important ally.

There was another question on which Calvin desired to ascertain the opinion of Melanchthon; it was that of discipline. On this subject he was not fully satisfied. Hardly had he mentioned it when his companion began, like others, says Calvin, to lament its absence in the Church. ‘Ah,’ said Calvin, ‘it is easier to mourn over the miserable state of the Church in this respect than to change it. And meanwhile how many examples are there which ought to animate us in seeking a remedy for this evil! Not long ago a good and learned man, who could not take on himself to tolerate vice, was driven from Ulm in disgrace, while his colleagues gave him the most honorable references. The news received from Augsburg is no better. Some day people will make a sport of deposing their pastors and sending them into exile.’ ‘We are in the midst of such a storm,’ said Melanchthon, ‘that we can do nothing better than give way for a short time to adverse winds.[776] We may hope that when external foes give us more repose, we shall be able to apply ourselves to remedying the evils that are within.’

These conversations of Calvin and Melanchthon possessed a great attraction for both of them. We can imagine how interesting was this exchange of views between two of the most distinguished minds of the age. Their speech was simple, profound, and natural. They listened well and replied well. Calvin spoke with great freedom, although without dogmatism. The ceremonies of worship in the Lutheran churches, the singing in Latin, the images and other things quite as much to be[476] censured, were among the subjects which he had at heart. ‘I must confess to you frankly,’ he said to Melanchthon, ‘that this superfluity of ceremonies pains me; it seems to me that the forms which you have kept are not far removed from Judaism.’[777] Calvin having given his reasons, ‘I will not dispute with you on this subject,’ said Melanchthon; ‘I own that we have among us too many of these senseless, or at any rate certainly superfluous rites.[778] But it was necessary to concede this to the canonists, who show themselves very obstinate with respect to it. For the rest, there is no place in Saxony which is less overloaded with them than Wittenberg, and even there much of this farrago will be thrown overboard. Luther disapproves just as much the ceremonies which he has been compelled to keep as he does your parsimony in regard to them.’ Calvin when relating this conversation to Farel adds, ‘Bucer cannot endure that for the sake of these paltry outward observances we should separate from Luther; and I too believe that they are not legitimate causes of division.’[779] From all these conversations Calvin derived the conviction of the complete sincerity of Melanchthon, and this he was anxious to communicate to those who doubted it.

Henry VIII. was at this time requesting that a new embassy should be sent to him, and that Melanchthon should be a member of it. The princes were not inclined to intrust the mission to this doctor, as they feared that he might, for want of firmness of character, make imprudent concessions to the king.[780] Calvin opened his mind freely to Melanchthon on the subject. ‘I swear most[477] solemnly to you,’ replied the latter, ‘that there is no ground for this fear.’ ‘I rely on him no less than on Bucer,’ wrote Calvin to Farel. ‘When the business is to treat with those who require to be treated with some indulgence, Bucer is animated with so much zeal for the propagation of the Gospel that, content with having obtained the most important things, he is perhaps sometimes rather too ready to give up those which he looks on as very subordinate, and which for all that have their weight.’ Further, Calvin’s opinion of Henry VIII. was formed, and he did not conceal it. ‘This prince,’ said he, ‘is scarcely half wise.[781] He prohibits the marriage of priests and bishops, not only under the penalty of deprivation of their offices, but by severe punishments besides. He maintains the daily masses and the seven sacraments. He has thus a mutilated Gospel, half of it torn off, and a Church still full of many absurdities.[782] He has recently published a new edict, by which he endeavors to keep the people from the reading of the Bible; and to show you that it is not mere thoughtlessness, but that he takes up the matter in earnest, he has lately had a good and wise man burnt because he denied the carnal presence of Christ in the bread.’[783] Calvin afterwards says, ‘The worst of it is that the king tolerates nothing but what he has sanctioned with his own authority. Thus it will come to pass that Christ shall profit them nothing, except the king should be willing to permit him. The Lord will punish such arrogance by some notable chastisement.’[784]

It was determined at Frankfort that another assembly should be held in the course of the summer. Melanchthon, soon after his arrival in that town, had seen in a[478] dream a large picture in which was represented the figure of Christ on the cross, and around him souls clothed in white. The electors of the empire, bearing the ensigns of their dignity, were approaching it in regular order. Next after them came an ass, covered with a linen cope and dragging after him with a rope the emperor and the pope, as if he were going to conduct them to that assembly of the blessed.[785] ‘I think,’ said Myconius, who was then at Frankfort, ‘that it is the Germanic ass which the emperor and the pope have hitherto ridden so hard and miserably treated.’ The good Melanchthon was very much taken up with the thought of leading to Christ all the German princes, and even the emperor and the pope; and it appears that in his great humility he had represented himself in his dream under the figure of an ass. Luther in his reply thinks decidedly that it was a two-footed ass.[786] Be that as it may, the assembly at Frankfort does not appear to have led anybody to the crucified, and especially neither pope nor emperor. It would have taken more than one rope to draw them thither. Calvin did not wait for the close of the colloquy to return to Strasburg.

Rome, meanwhile, was not indifferent to what was taking place at Geneva. Between the papacy and the Reformation there were action and reaction, which kept both in constant agitation. When once the Catholic reaction began, not content with mere resistance, it as[479]sumed the offensive. The partisans of the pope, still pretty numerous in Geneva, informed the Bishop de la Baume of what occurred in the town; and he, who like all dispossessed princes was always expecting to be restored to his episcopal see, the sweets of which he remembered better than the bitterness, communicated with the pope. The latter gave to La Baume the cardinal’s hat, in the hope that this dignity might be a bait to draw the Genevese to place themselves once more under the crook of their bishop. Then he invited the prelates who were nearest neighbors to Geneva to take in hand the cause of their colleague. The Bishops of Lyons, Besançon, Lausanne, Vienne, Turin, Langres and Carpentras, met the Bishop of Geneva in the first of these towns. ‘The flock,’ they said, ‘being now deprived of its pastors, men so eminent, we must seize the opportunity to rescue it from the Reformation.’[787] Many Genevese Catholics had emigrated to Lyons, and they spared no pains to bring about the restoration of the prelate. Pierre de la Baume asked of his colleagues ‘the recovery of his diocese.’ The Cardinal of Tournon, the notorious persecutor of the Vaudois, and the introducer of the Jesuits into France, who was at this time archbishop of Lyons, was president of the meeting. He had thus an opportunity of satisfying his inextinguishable passion against the Calvinists. Jean Philippe, chief author of the banishment of Calvin, met with Tournon in the church at Lyons, and carried on intrigues with him.[788] The affair might perhaps have had a violent ending, but that a man was there present of a different stamp from the archbishop. This was Cardinal Sadoleto, who, as bishop Carpentras, a town in Dauphiné bordering on Savoy, seemed by his neighboring position bound to concern[480] himself more particularly with Geneva. He was connected with Bembo, secretary to Leo X., was a great lover of the classics, of philosophy and the arts, and was a man of great eloquence, says Beza, but used it for extinguishing the true light.[789] He very much regretted that the Reformation appeared to be taking precedence of the Renaissance. He was, however, of more liberal mind than adherents of the pope usually were. He loved Melanchthon. He thought that it was not right to address the Genevese in the imperious tone of a master, with dogmatic arguments of the school, or with the intolerance of inquisitors, but rather in a polite style. Sadoleto was therefore instructed to write a letter to the Genevese in which he was to invite them mildly to return to the bosom of the Church. That the contrivances and efforts of the pope, of the Bishop de la Baume, of the Cardinal of Tournon and his colleagues, should issue only in a letter, was rather a feeble conclusion.

But they probably saw that they were powerless to do more. The cardinal-bishop hoped to gain over the Genevese ‘by wheedling them with fine words to turn them away from Jesus Christ,’ says a contemporary, ‘and by blaming the ministers of whom God had made use for reforming the town.’[790] On March 26 his messenger, Jean Durand, of Carpentras, was admitted into the hall of the council, and delivered the missive addressed by his bishop to his well-beloved brethren the syndics, councils, and citizens of Geneva. There was not a word about the conference at Lyons. ‘It has seemed good to the Holy Spirit and to me to write to you. The reason is that while at Carpentras I have heard reports concern[481]ing you which partly make me sad and partly give me hope.’ Knowing how seductive flattery is, he writes the most beautiful eulogy of Geneva. ‘I love the noble aspect of your town, the order and form of your republic, the excellence of the citizens, and, above all, the exquisite humanity which you display towards all foreign people and nations.’ But by the side of this flattering picture he hastens to place a portrait not so pleasing of the reformers. ‘Certain crafty men, enemies of Christian union and peace, have cast into your town the seeds of discord. I hear on one side the weeping, sighing, and groaning of our holy Church. On the other side I perceive that these innovators are not only pestilential to souls, but also pernicious in a high degree to public and private affairs.’ Next he himself makes an almost evangelical profession. He exalts the Word of God which, says he, ‘does not entangle minds in difficult processes of reasoning; but, a heavenly affection of the heart coming to its aid, offers itself with clearness to our understandings.’ He exalts the work of Christ, ‘who was willing to be our salvation, by suffering death in the flesh and afterwards resuming an immortal life.’ He even exalts justification by faith, faith alone, which all Roman controversialists curse. ‘This everlasting salvation comes to us,’ said he, ‘by faith alone in God and in Jesus Christ. When I say by faith alone, I do not mean that charity and the duty of a Christian are dispensed with.’ Sadoleto was undoubtedly sincere in these professions. He belonged, as is known, to a small body of men feebly inclined towards the Gospel, who were at that time supported by the papacy in the hope that they would be the means of bringing back the Protestants. But he must have known well that the doctrine of the reformers, far from dispensing with duty and charity, asserted them, made them possible, and at the same time necessary.

Having thus gained his hearers, as he thought, the[482] cardinal-bishop began the contest. ‘The loss of the soul,’ said he, ‘being the greatest ill possible to a man, our duty is, to the utmost of our power, to take care. Amidst the waves of our life we are in need of some means of escape from striking on the rocks and losing the vessel. This is what the Catholic Church has provided for fifteen hundred years; while these crafty men only began their innovations against the perpetual authority of the Church five-and-twenty years ago.’ Then follows a fine rhetorical burst which lacks nothing but truth and solidity. ‘Here is the point,’ said he; ‘here is the parting of the ways, the one road leading unto life, the other unto everlasting death. Every man arrives by his own road before the judgment-seat of the supreme Judge, Catholic and Protestant alike, there to have his cause investigated.’

The Catholics get off wonderfully, but when the turn of the Evangelicals comes it is quite otherwise with them. Sadoleto takes good care not to let the simple faithful ones appear, and brings before the tribunal only ‘one of the promoters of these divisions.’ He does not name either Luther or Calvin, but it is evident that it is one of them that he brings on the scene, probably the latter. Having leave to speak, the reformer begins thus: ‘O sovereign God! when I considered how all but universally corrupt are the morals of ecclesiastics, I was justly moved to anger against them; and when I thought also how much time I had spent in the study of theology and of human science, and that nevertheless I had not attained in the Church the rank which my labors deserved, while other men, my inferiors, were raised to honors and to benefices, I induced the greater part of the people to despise the decrees of the Church. I asserted that the bishops of Rome had falsely usurped the title of vicars of Christ; and having by this reputation of learning and wisdom obtained renown among the nations, I caused many seditions and divisions in the Church.’

[483]

Sadoleto having made the reformer speak in this fashion, again addresses the men of Geneva, and says to them, ‘How will it turn out, then, brethren, whom I wish to be united with me?’ The result of this double appearance is inevitable, and the promoter of all this evil, ‘taking his stand upon his works, holding in contempt the general assemblies of bishops, dismembering the one spouse of Christ, and tearing to pieces the Lord’s robe, can only weep for ever over his misery, gnashing his teeth even at himself.’ Consequently, the cardinal-bishop exhorts his brethren of Geneva, after having removed all the mists of error, to abide in union with our holy mother Church.[791]

The reasoning of Sadoleto failed in its basis. He had confounded the Reformation of the sixteenth century with the so-called reforms of the preceding centuries. Those attempts, numerous enough, aimed at the morals of the clergy and the abuses of the Church without attacking the doctrine, and they miscarried. But the true Reformation directed its efforts against the false doctrines of Rome, in order to put the doctrine of the Gospel in its place. ‘It took the bull by the horns,’ as Luther says, and had him down. Liberal Catholics have imagined, that if from the first such a course as Sadoleto’s had been adopted, the course of the Reformation would have been entirely different.[792] But they are mistaken, as the Bishop of Carpentras was, who, aiming his blows at an enemy in the air, hit nothing but the air.

The council having heard the letter, very gladly accepted the compliments paid to Geneva, sincerely thanked the cardinal’s messenger, and charged him to say that a full reply should be sent in due course. This was necessary, for the partisans of the pope in Geneva praised the cardinal’s letter to the skies, and eagerly circulated it in[484] all directions. But there was no one able to answer it. The pastors established by the government were not strong enough to venture a struggle with Sadoleto. Morand himself, who was requested by the council to undertake it, was incompetent. All those who in any degree adhered to the Reformation were in a state of alarm, for they understood that silence in this state of things would inevitably be a great calamity to Geneva.[793]

It was on March 26 that the letter in which Sadoleto urged the Genevese to forsake the Reformation had been delivered to the council, and on the 27th this body resolved to reply to it in due time and place. On the 28th several citizens appeared before the council; one of them, François Chamois, demanding on their behalf that the confession of faith of the Reformation which had been sworn at St. Peter’s, July 29, 1537, should be withdrawn from the possession of the former official secretary, as contrary to their liberties; and that they themselves should be released from the oath which they had taken to that confession.[794] There is so intimate and evident a relation between the proposal of Sadoleto and this proceeding of the citizens, the one so punctually followed upon the other, that it is very difficult not to suppose that the letter of the bishop had much to do in promoting the requisition of Chamois and his friends. The audience given by the council to the deputy of a cardinal, and the proposal of which he was the bearer, were a matter so considerable and of such exciting interest that the rumor of it could not fail to spread immediately in this town, where people so habitually used to say, ‘What is the news? What is talked of? What is going on?’

Among the citizens who accompanied Chamois there[485] might be some who did not belong to the Catholic party, and who merely took advantage of the opportunity for getting rid of a confession of faith which was burdensome to them. But it is not to be wondered at that some Roman writers have looked on the demand of Chamois as the consequence of the letter of Sadoleto. Michael Rozet, the son of Claude, says, not undesignedly, in his Chronicles, that it was one day after the reception at Geneva of the cardinal’s despatch, that the citizens protested against the articles. He even adds, ‘There was warning from neighbors of a body of armed men in preparation by the enemy, and that these had an understanding with a party in the town.’ This measure was not unsuccessful. Claude Rozet had received the oaths of the citizens on July 29, and in his hands the original of the famous articles was still deposited. The council gave him orders to deliver them up. However grave a step this might be, it cannot be said that the faith was given up with the articles of faith. Many had never held this faith, and those who had held it, held it still. Nevertheless, the surrender of the fundamental document of the evangelical reformation was certainly an important step towards Rome.[795]

It was soon apparent what was to be thought of the Christian charity, and the affection touched with double pity and compassion, of which Sadoleto had given assurance. In the very month which followed the delivery of his letter, an eminent Genevese, Curtet, castellan of Chaumont on the Mount du Vuache, went to Annecy, which was not far distant; and during his stay, April 17, in his hostelry, talked with the country people of God and his Gospel.[796] Among those present was Montchenu, who, annoyed at having failed in his scheme for giving up Geneva to Francis I., continued to feel much[486] bitterness about it; and, quite as much out of pique as from hatred of the Reformation, denounced the Genevese citizen and inflamed the clergy against him. Curtet was seized and burnt alive.

Another Genevese, Jean Lambert, brother of the councillor, had been for some time a prisoner in Savoy, on a like charge. A week after the execution of Curtet, the public place of Chambery was filled with such a crowd as always runs after the terrible spectacle of a violent death. Lambert was brought there about three o’clock. He was a ruddy and strong young man, and they led him up and down to show him to the people. ‘This is one of the bigots of Geneva,’ people said as he passed, with other speeches of the like kind. He was taken to the front of the castle, where a pile was erected. The provost wanted him to make some confession, but Lambert did not open his mouth. ‘Slit his tongue if he will not speak,’ barbarously cried the enraged provost to the executioner. The priests who stood round their victim would fain have compelled him to recite the Ave Maria, but the martyr refused to do it. Then addressing the Father who is in heaven, he uttered aloud the Lord’s prayer. This provoked the priests and the monks, who cried to the spectators, ‘Do not pray for this cursed dog, for he is damned to all the devils.’ ‘Lambert died,’ says one of the narratives, ‘for his faith in God and without any trial.’ If the words of Sadoleto were tender, the deeds of his fellow religionists were harsh.[797]

The letter of the Bishop of Carpentras could not remain unknown to Calvin; in fact it was communicated to him in April by Sulzer, a pastor of Berne. The reformer read it, and his first impulse was to consider whether it was worth while to reply to it. But apprehending the evil which the letter might bring on Geneva, ‘forgetting all the wrongs that he had received,’[798] and[487] yielding to the entreaties of his Strasburg friends, he undertook the task. ‘It will occupy me for six days,’ he wrote to Farel. Calvin’s letter bears date September 1, 1539.[799] It is an important document, both for the light which it throws on the character and the work of Calvin, and because it is necessary to know in what manner the blow then struck by Rome at the Reformation was parried. This letter, we may say, was the mighty voice which led back Geneva to the true Gospel.[800] Two feelings are conspicuous in it with regard to Sadoleto. Calvin, in addressing one of the most distinguished and most enlightened men in the Catholic Church, will speak to him with respect and even with praise, but at the same time he will not hide from him the indignation aroused by his attacks.

‘Thy surpassing learning,’ says he in beginning his letter, ‘thine admirable elegance of speech, have deservedly caused thee to be held in high esteem and admiration by the true votaries of polite literature, and it is exceedingly painful to me to be obliged by this complaint to sully thy fair renown. I should never have undertaken the task if I had not been compelled to do so.... No one can suppose that I could have abandoned the cause without great cowardice and contempt of my ministry.

‘Thou hast very recently written a letter to the council and people of Geneva, and having no wish to display harshness towards those of whom thou hadst need in order to gain thy cause, thou hast attempted by soft words to circumvent them. Next, thou hast come up impetuously, and so to speak, at full speed to discharge thy force against those who, according to thy saying, have involved that poor town in trouble by their sophis[488]tries. I would have thee know, Sadoleto, that I am one of those against whom thou speakest; and although I am at the present time relieved of the administration of the Genevese Church, this does not prevent my cherishing towards it a fatherly love.

‘But for thyself, Sadoleto, a foreigner, who hast hitherto had no acquaintance at all with the people of Geneva, thou professest on a sudden to feel for them singular love and goodwill, of which, nevertheless, no fruit ever appeared. Thou who didst serve thine apprenticeship at the Court of Rome, that shop of all artifice and cunning, who wert not only brought up as it were in the arms of Pope Clement, but what is more, made a cardinal, thou hast certainly many spots which render thee suspected. The duty of pastors is to lead obedient souls straight to Christ; but thy chief aim is to deliver them over to the power of the pope.

‘With a view to cast suspicion on us thou taxest us, unjustly (for thou well knowest the contrary), with having wished only to gratify our ambition and avarice. Certain it is that if I had paid regard to my personal advantage, I should never have separated from your faction. And who would dare to cast such charges at Farel, who, born of a noble house, had no need to ask assistance from others? Was not our shortest way of attaining to wealth and honors to accept from the first the conditions which you have offered us? For what price would your pope then have purchased the silence of many, and for how much would he still purchase it to-day? Did we not require that, after having assigned to the ministers so much as was fitting for their condition, the wealth of the Church, swallowed up by those gulfs, should be distributed to the poor as in the primitive Church? Our only thought has been the extension of the kingdom of God by means of our littleness and lowliness; and to attempt to persuade men of the contrary is a thing most unbecoming to Sadoleto, a man of[489] such high reputation for knowledge, prudence, and seriousness.

‘The men of Geneva, extricating themselves from the slough of error in which they were sunk, have returned to the doctrine of the Gospel, and this thou callest abandoning the truth of God! They have retired from papal subjection and tyranny in order to have a better ecclesiastical government, and this, sayest thou, is a real separation from the Church! Surely, Sadoleto, I shall stop thee on the way. Where is, on your side, the Word of God, which is the mark of the true Church? If a man belongs to God’s army he must be prepared for the battle. See, the enemy is quite near; he approaches, he fights, and he is indeed an enemy so well-conditioned that no earthly power can resist him. What armor will this poor Christian be able to put on, to save him from being overwhelmed? It is the Word of God. The soul deprived of the Word of God is delivered over to the devil, quite defenceless, to be slain. The first attempt of the enemy, therefore, will be to take from the combatant the sword of Jesus Christ. The pope, like the “illuminés,” arrogantly boasts of possessing the Spirit. But it is to insult the Holy Spirit to separate him from the Word.

‘We are more nearly in agreement with antiquity than you our opponents, as thou knowest, Sadoleto, and we ask for nothing else than to see restored that ancient face of the Church which has been torn to pieces and almost destroyed by the pope and his faction. And, not to speak of the condition of the Church as constituted by the apostles (which, however, we are bound to accept), consider what it was among the Greeks in the days of Chrysostom and Basil, and among the Latins in the days of Cyprian, Ambrose, and Augustin, and afterwards contemplate the ruins which are all that now remain to you. Thou wilt find as much difference between the two as between the Church as it flourished under David,[490] and the Church as fallen into all kinds of superstitions under Zedekiah. Wilt thou call that man an enemy of antiquity, who, full of zeal for ancient piety, longs to restore in their first splendor the things which are now corrupted? With what right are we accused of having subverted the ancient discipline, by the very party that has abolished them?

‘Dost thou not recollect that at the time when our people began to appear, nothing was taught in the schools but pure sophistries, so tangled and twisted that scholastic theology might well be called a kind of secret magic? There were no sermons from which foolish old women did not learn more dreams than they could relate in a month by their own fireside. The first portion was devoted to obscure questions of the schools, to excite the wonder of the poor people, and the second portion to merry tales or amusing speculations, to rouse their hearts to mirth. But no sooner had our preachers raised their banner than the shadows were dispersed, and your preachers, taught by them and compelled by shame and the murmurs of the people, were obliged to follow their example, although they have still traces of these old follies.

‘Thou touchest on justification by faith. But this article, which stands supreme in our religion, has been effaced by you from the memory of men. Thou allegest that we take no account of good works. If thou lookest into my catechism, at the first word thou wilt be silent as if overcome. We deny, it is true, that they are of any avail in the justification of man, not even so much as a hair, for the Scripture gives us no hope except in the goodness of God alone. But while we deny the virtue of works in the justification of man, we attribute worth to them in the life of the just, for Christ came to create a people zealous of good works.’

We pass over the beautiful passages in which Calvin speaks of the supper, confession, the invocation of saints,[491] purgatory, the ministry, and the Church, and we come to the moment at which he remembers that Sadoleto had cited him and his brethren ‘as criminals before the judgment-seat of God.’ He accepts that summons.

‘We prick up our ears,’ said he, ‘at this sound of the trumpet which the very ashes of the dead will hear in the depths of their graves.’ And then, not only in his own name but in that of all the reformers, Calvin says to God:—

‘I have ever appealed to thy tribunal, Lord, from the accusations with which I have been harassed on the earth, and it is with the same confidence that I now appear before thee, knowing that in thy judgments truth prevails. They have accused me of very grievous crimes and of heresy. But in the first place, what have I done? Seeing that, with no regard to thy Word, they abused the common people, and made a mock at them by I know not what sort of drivelling, I dared to contradict their constitutions. Thy Christ was indeed adored as God, but he was virtually without honor; for deprived of his virtue and of his power, he was lost sight of in the crowd of saints, as if merely one of the common mass. There were none who rested in his righteousness alone; and if any one, enjoying thy loving kindness and the righteousness of thy Son, conceived a sure hope of salvation, this was, they said, rash presumption and foolish arrogance. Then, O Lord, thou didst set before me thy Word, like a torch, to make me know how pernicious these things are; and thou hast touched my heart, to the end that I may hold them in abhorrence.

‘They have accused me of schism. But is that man to be reputed a traitor who, when he sees the soldiers quitting the ranks, forgetting their captain, the battle, and the oath which they have taken, scattered, wandering to and fro, raises the standard, calls them back, and sets them again in order? To recall them from such wanderings I have not given to the wind a strange flag,[492] but that noble standard which it is necessary we should follow, if we would be enrolled in the number of thy people. But those whose duty it was to keep the soldiers in good order and who have on the contrary cast them into error, have laid hands on me, and the conflict has been so furious as to break up union. But on which side is the fault? It is for thee, Lord, now to say and to decide.

‘If I had desired to maintain peace with those who boast of being the foremost in the Church, I could have purchased it only by the renunciation of the truth. I have felt it my duty to risk all the dangers of the world rather than stoop to a compact so abominable. But I do not think that by being at war with those great ones I am at variance with thy Church. Thy Son, and thine apostles, had foretold that there would be ravening wolves even amongst those who gave themselves out for pastors. Was I bound then to give them my hand? The prophets were not schismatics by reason of their contending against the priests. For my part, confirmed by their example, I have so persisted in my course that neither their threats nor their denunciations have in the least degree amazed me.

‘Commotions have followed; but as they were not caused by me, they ought not to be imputed to me. Thou knowest well, Lord, that I have had no other object in view except this, that by thy Word all controversy might be terminated. Thou knowest that I have not objected, even at the peril of my life, that peace should be restored in the Church. But what did our adversaries do? Did they not run off suddenly and furiously to the fire, to the gallows, to the sword? Did they not stir up people of all ranks to the same rage?... Hence it has come to pass that such a war has been kindled. And whatever may be thought, I am freed from all fear, since we are before thy judgment-seat where justice and truth meet together.’

[493]

At this point Calvin narrates his conversion. It is an important part of his defence, and we cannot omit it. He still addresses the Supreme Judge:—

‘As for me,[801] Lord, I confessed the Christian faith as I had learnt it from my youth.

‘At that time there were but few people to whom was committed the pursuit of that divine and secret philosophy, and it was with them that the oracles had to be sought. But they had not instructed me well respecting either the adoration of thy divinity, or an assured hope of salvation, or the obligation of a Christian life. To obtain thy mercy they showed no other means than making satisfaction for our sins, and blotting out thy remembrance of them by our good works. They said that thou wast a rigorous judge, severely avenging iniquity; they pointed out how terrible thy look must be, and commanded us to address the saints, to the end that through their intercession thou mightest be made propitious to us. But when I had done all these things, and although to some extent I relied on them, I was very far from having a quiet and trustful conscience. Every time that I descended into myself, or lifted up my heart to thee, a horror so extreme seized upon me that there were neither purifications nor satisfactions that could heal me. The more closely I considered my case, the sharper became the stings with which my conscience was tormented: there was neither solace nor comfort left me.

‘As nothing better was offered me, I pursued the course which I had begun, when there arose an entirely different form of doctrine, not intended to turn us away[494] from the Christian profession, but to trace it back to its real source, and to restore it in its purity, cleansed from all defilement. Offended with this novelty, I would not listen to it; and I confess that at the outset I did courageously resist it. One thing especially kept me from believing those people; this was reverence for the Church.

‘But after I had consented sometimes to be instructed, I perceived that the fear of seeing the majesty of the Church lessened was idle. These people showed that there was a wide difference between forsaking the Church and correcting the vices with which she was defiled; and that if they spoke freely against the Pope of Rome, held to be the vicar of Christ and head of the Church, they did so because these titles were only idle terrors which ought not to dazzle the eyes of the faithful; that the pope had risen to such magnificence only when ignorance oppressed the world like deep sleep; that it was by his own authority and sole will that he had elected himself, and that we were under no obligation to endure the tyranny with which he oppressed the nations, if we desired that the kingdom of Christ should remain in its fulness amongst us; that when this principality was erected, the genuine order of the Church was wholly lost, the keys (ecclesiastical order) wickedly falsified, Christian liberty suppressed, and the kingdom of Christ totally overthrown.

‘When I began to discover in what a slough of errors I had wallowed and with how many stains I was disgraced, desperately alarmed and distracted at the sight of the misery into which I had fallen, and by the knowledge of the eternal death which was at hand, I condemned with tears and groans my former way of life, and esteemed nothing more needful for me than to betake myself to thine. What then is left for me to do, for me poor and miserable, but to offer to thee, as all my vindication, a humble supplication not to impute to me[495] the so horrible forsaking and estrangement from thy Word, from which thou hast once rescued me by thy marvellous kindness?’

Having finished his pleading before the Judge, Calvin returns to Sadoleto and says: ‘Now, if it seem good to thee, compare this address with that which thou hast put into the mouth of thy man, whose defence turns only on this hinge, to wit, that he constantly kept the religion which had been handed down to him by his forefathers and predecessors. His salvation is in great peril, without a shadow of doubt; for on the same ground Jews, Turks, and Saracens would escape the judgment of God. The tribunal will not then be prepared to accept the authority of men, but to maintain the truth of God. Your doctors will not then have a stage at hand for the sale, without risk, of their imitation gems, and for the abuse of consciences by their trumpery and inventions. They will remain what they are, and they will fall by the judgment of God, which depends not on popular favor, but on his unchangeable justice.

‘Although thou treatest us with too little humanity in the whole of thy letter, it is nevertheless in the last clause, in the plainest terms, that thou imputest to us the most enormous of all crimes, to wit, that we disperse and tear to pieces the spouse of Jesus Christ. What! would the spouse of Jesus Christ be torn in pieces by those who desire to present her as a chaste virgin to Christ, and who, finding her polluted with many stains, recall her to her plighted faith? Was not the purity of the Church destroyed by strange doctrines, disgraced by innumerable superstitions, tainted by the worship of images? Indeed, because we did not endure that the sacred resting place and nuptial chamber of Christ should be thus defiled by you, we are accused of having dismembered his spouse. It is you that have been guilty of this laceration, and not with regard to the Church only, but with regard to Jesus Christ himself, whom you have[496] miserably cut in pieces. Where is the wholeness of Christ, when the glory of his righteousness, of his holiness, of his wisdom, is transferred to others?

‘I acknowledge that since the Gospel has appeared anew, great conflicts have been occasioned. But it is not at our door that the guilt of this is to be laid. We ask for a peace with which the kingdom of Christ shall flourish; but you judge that all that is gained for Christ is lost to you. Pray the Lord, Sadoleto, that thou and thy people may once for all understand that there is no other bond in the church but Christ our Lord, who withdraws us from the dissipations of the world to place us in the society of his body, to the end that by his only Word and by his Spirit, we may be united in one heart and one thought!

‘Strasburg, the 1st day of September, 1539.’

This letter found its way wherever the great question of the age was discussed, and made a deep impression. There were in it an impulse, a strength, a freedom, and a life which people were not accustomed to find in the writings of the Roman doctors. Luther greatly rejoiced in it, and soon after its publication sent a ‘respectful’ greeting to Calvin. At the same time, struck by the Romish presumption of Sadoleto, he added, with a touch of malice, ‘I wish that Sadoleto could believe that God is the Creator of men even beyond the borders of Italy.’[802] He expressed his joy that God raised up men like Calvin, and, far from looking on him as an antagonist, he saw in him a doctor who would continue what he had himself begun against Antichrist, and with God’s help would complete it.

But it was especially at Geneva that Calvin’s letter made a deep impression. The respect which he had shown to Sadoleto prepossessed people in his favor; and[497] the eloquence of his discourse, that gift of the soul which he possessed, made him master of men’s minds. In his thought and in his expressions there was a close correspondence with the disposition of a large number of his readers. Moreover, it was impossible to read the two letters without seeing that the young evangelical doctor had beaten the Roman cardinal. And then, was not the cause in behalf of which Calvin had given battle that of Geneva? Was not the defeat of Sadoleto, and thereby also that of his constituents, the pope and the conference of Lyons, the greatest service that could be rendered to the republic? And finally had not this man whom they had driven away spoken of the town which had expelled him with fatherly love? Did he not say in his letter, ‘I cannot divert my attention from the Church of Geneva; I cannot love it less nor hold it less dear than my own soul.... Consider what folly it would be not to lay to heart the ruin of those for whose protection I am bound to watch day and night.’

Sadoleto could not conceal from himself the force of the blow which he had received, nor did he venture to reply. The general himself being beaten, the staff dispersed. There was nothing more said about the conference of Lyons, and the Bishop de la Baume was not long before he disappeared from the scenes of this world. At the same time that Calvin replied to Sadoleto, he wrote to Neuchâtel, Lausanne, and Geneva. He called the inhabitants of the latter town to repentance towards God, to patient bearing with the wicked, and to peace with their pastors; and above all he exhorted them to call upon God.[803] Geneva was confirmed in her love for a cause which had been so well defended against the attacks of one of the most distinguished orators of the age, and the gates of the city, lately closed against the reformer, began to open again.

[498]

Calvin had at this time to do with another Catholic doctor of much less worth than Sadoleto, Caroli. This man is not worth the trouble of dwelling long on anything that concerns him. As he had not succeeded in gaining the good graces of the pope or of the Cardinal Tournon, he made one more change and turned anew towards the reformers. Farel received him with much kindness, believed in his promises and made peace with him. Caroli came to Strasburg. Bucer, as kind by nature as Farel, nevertheless requested Calvin to make known all the faults of the adventurer. This the reformer declined to do, believing that it would have no good result; but he invited the haughty doctor to confess cordially and sincerely that he had sinned. Instead of this a writing was handed to Calvin in which Caroli said, ‘that he left to the judgment of the Lord the offences which had been committed against himself, and which had induced him to quit the Evangelical Church.’ The reformer was indignant. ‘This stirred my bile so much,’ said he, ‘that I discharged it with bitterness. I declared that I would sooner die than sign such a paper as that.’ He yielded, however, a little to his friends, and said that he would consider the matter with more care before giving a decisive answer. Hardly had he returned to his own house when he was seized with an extraordinary paroxysm. ‘I could find no consolation,’ said he to Farel, ‘but in sighs and tears; and what afflicted me most was the circumstance that you were the cause of all this mischief. You ought not to have received him anew into our communion until he solemnly confessed his offence and declared that he repented of it. But now that you have received him, prevent at least your people from insulting him.’[804] Ere long, however, Calvin’s friends at Strasburg and Farel himself acknowledged that they had been too indulgent. Caroli, finding[499] that the churches of Neuchâtel and Strasburg refused to comply with the requests that he addressed to them, retired to Metz. From that place he wrote to Calvin a letter in which he offered to be reconciled with him if he would get a benefice for him. He seemed to wish to overawe him by reproaches and idle bravado. Calvin asked him how it came to pass that he had made a boast before the adversaries of Christ at Metz that he was prepared to convict of heresy the reformer and his friends. He added that he was not able to procure for him the church which he asked for, in the first place because he had none at his disposal, and further because he could not do so while they were not in agreement about doctrines. ‘Turn you seriously to the Lord,’ he said to him, ‘and then you will be able to return to us with that friendship and brotherly concord which Farel and I are prepared, in that case, to show you.’ Caroli did not adopt this friendly council. He returned to Rome, and died in a hospital there of want and, it is said, of foul diseases.[805]

CATHOLICISM AT GENEVA.—MARRIAGE OF CALVIN AT STRASBURG.

(End of 1539–1540.)

The results of Calvin’s letter to Cardinal Sadoleto, and perhaps to some extent of his relations with Caroli, were not slow to appear. Henceforward the Catholics had little hope of regaining the ascendency at Geneva. Some of them had previously dreamed of this. ‘At this time,’ says the chronicler Rozet, ‘the priests lifted up the horn, talking about the mass.’[806] It was believed that some[500] priests who had retired to the convents of Savoy had received orders to return into the territory of the republic, for the purpose of re-establishing the Romish worship. It may have been so; but all that appears from the statement of Rozet is that certain priests, who had dwelt either in the town or in the country, began at this time to defy the prohibitions of the council and to say mass. The magistrate resolved to oppose this recrudescence of Catholicism, and it is probable that this was partly in consequence of Calvin’s letter. The priests who were really taking active steps were doubtless few in number; but the council adopted a general measure, and ordered that all the Catholic ecclesiastics who were on their territory should appear before them on December 23 (1539). It was further ordered that all those who alleged that the mass is good, and should not be able to maintain this assertion after conference with the pastors, should be sent away to the place where mass is sung (là où on la chante). ‘The tranquillity and security of the state,’ says an historian, ‘did not permit them to tolerate any other religion than that which had been established by the evangelical Reformation.’[807] Thirty-three priests made their appearance, in great alarm, at the Hôtel de Ville, and they did little honor to their doctrine. The thought that if they declared that the mass was good they would be banished, doubtless contributed to disincline them to it. Each of them was interrogated, and the following are their answers. ‘Thomas Genoud!’ cried the secretary. The priest replied, ‘The mass is wicked.’ Eight of his associates made the same answer pure and simple. Others declared themselves likewise against this act of worship, but added a few words. Ami Messier being called, said, ‘I wish to live and die with Messieurs’[501] (members of the council); ‘I have not studied, but I believe the mass to be wicked.’ Jean Cottand: ‘It is of no value.’ Guillaume Vellès: ‘I never believed in it.’ Don Propositi (Prevost): ‘It is good if Messieurs think it good; bad if Messieurs think it bad. For the rest I am not a clerk, and finally ... it is wicked.’ Higher respect for the magistrate it was not possible to show. Don Amici and his brother: ‘At the good pleasure of Messieurs.’ The spirit of accommodation could go no further. The priest Ramel: ‘It is wicked; otherwise I should not have married.’ Claude de Lolme: ‘Wicked.’ Jean Hugonier: ‘I should not have married if I believed it good.’ Guillaume Marchand and Maurice de la Rue: ‘The mass is nothing worth, nor those who wish to uphold it.’ Louis Bernard and Th. Collier: ‘Wicked.’ Some of them emphasized their condemnation more strongly. Jacques l’Hoste: ‘The devil take it, for that’s all it’s fit for.’ Jean Louis Nicolas: ‘It is abominable.’ Jean Sorel: ‘It is the abhorrence of all the world, and wicked.’

Others were not so flippant, nor so ready to denounce their former faith without embarrassment or constraint. Guillaume Maniglier said, ‘Neither good nor bad.’ Rodet Villanel said, ‘On my conscience, I could not swear; but I esteem it as Messieurs do.’ Jean Volland: ‘I am an inexperienced person, and ignorant of the matter. Since the learned are at variance about it, I can not judge.’ Thomas Vandel: ‘I do not know.’ Pierre Bothy: ‘Alas! I could not say whether it is good or wicked; but I have not said mass since it was prohibited.’ Antoine Alliod made his reservations, and they were not bad: ‘I renounce it, saving the Pater and the Credo, the Epistle and the Gospel.’ Etienne de la Maisonneuve alone uttered a Christian sentiment: ‘The mass must be wicked, for Jesus Christ has made the true redemption.’ Only one of them entirely declined to con[502]demn the mass, and still he did it prudently. Pierre Papaz said, ‘I never called it wicked.’[808]

These were strange declarations, and the council, who expected to find the clerks refractory, were extraordinarily surprised to hear them. It was a complete breakdown. Compare all these priests, without faith and without principle, with the reformers, men so noble and so courageous, and it is easy to see to which side victory ought to belong. There was barely one of the clerks, Papaz, who could be suspected of having a wish to re-establish Catholicism. It is true that ten of those who had been summoned did not present themselves; probably those who had been the cause of the summons by the council. These men doubtless quitted the territory without delay, and without waiting for an order to do so.

There was, however, one man who exhibited a character rather more honorable, but he was a layman. On the very benches of the council, of which he was a member, sat at that time ‘a papist of great influence and reputation,’ says Rozet. This was the former syndic Balard. The president, wishing to show no respect of persons, invited him likewise to declare whether the mass was good or bad. ‘If I, Balard,’ replied he, ‘knew certainly that the mass was good or bad, I should need no pressing to say so, but as I do not know with certainty I ought not to judge rashly, and you ought not to advise me to do so. I am resolved heartily to believe all the articles of our faith, just as the town believes them. I wish my body to be united with the body of the city,[809] as becomes a loyal citizen. You ask me whether the mass is good or bad; I reply that I believe[503] in the Holy Spirit, in the holy universal Church, and as they believe it I believe it.’

This answer, which Balard gave in writing, did not satisfy the council, which requested him again to say if the mass was bad, yes or no. ‘I mean to live according to the gospel,’ replied he, ‘and to believe in the Holy Spirit and the Church universal, and I cannot answer as to what I do not know.’ This reply caused a great commotion. The councillors were shocked and indignant that one of their members should obstinately refuse to make the declaration which some priests themselves had made, and should doubt of that which the council asserted. It was resolved that Balard should be expelled the council, and that he and his family should be compelled to leave the town and its territories in ten days. The usher carried this decree to him. Balard appeared the next day before the Council of the Two Hundred, the decree needing confirmation by this body. The sentence had produced some effect on him. He said, ‘Since it is the wish of the two councils that I should say that the mass is bad, I say that the mass is bad.’ Then, as if to satisfy his conscience, he added, ‘And as for me, I am worse still to judge rashly of that which I do not know. So I cry to God for mercy, and I renounce Satan and all his works.’ At bottom the second speech of Balard was a retractation of the first, since he added that he did not know what he had just asserted. The reply was somewhat ambiguous. But who could hear without emotion the cry ‘God have mercy on me!’ which the honest syndic immediately uttered?

The next day (December 26) Balard had to appear once more. He now laid down his arms, and said simply and categorically that the mass was bad. After this he resumed his seat in the council. He did therefore as the priests had done, only after having several times repeated previously that he could not assert what he did now assert. The excuse offered for him is doubt[504]less that political interests demanded this declaration. But the truth is too precious to be made a sacrifice to political interests.

If the cause of Catholicism was declining, that of the reformer was rising. In the course of March 1540 his friends wrote to him that he might now return to Geneva. But he trembled at the thought of again embarking on that troubled sea. ‘I had rather die a hundred times elsewhere,’ he wrote to Farel, ‘than place myself on that cross on which I should have to bear death a thousand times a day.[810] Oppose with all your power the projects of those who will strive to get me back to Geneva.’ Two months later, Viret, who ardently desired to see Calvin resume a task of which he felt the importance, put forward a pretext to draw him back to Geneva, and, expressing anxiety about the health of his friend, who was really suffering from severe pains in the head, conjured him to come to Geneva, as the air of the place would be likely to strengthen him. ‘I could not refrain from smiling,’ Calvin replied to him, ‘on reading that passage of thy letter. Thou wishest me to go to Geneva for the sake of being in good health; why not rather say, Hang thyself on the gallows? Better perish once for all than be again in that place where I should be put to the torture without ceasing.[811] If thou wishest well to me, my dear Viret, pray do not make this proposal again.’

It must be told that at this period Calvin was taken up with a quite different matter. He was now nine-and-twenty, and was thinking of marriage. His home left much to be wished for. His servant was a foolish, hotheaded woman, quick to utter insults, and sparing neither[505] her master nor those who came to see him. One day she spoke to Calvin’s brother with so much impertinence that Anthony, unable to endure it, went quietly out of the house, without anger; but declared that he would not enter it again so long as that woman was in it. Calvin was much grieved about it, and the servant-mistress, observing him, said, ‘Well, I’m going too,’ and quitted him.[812] It has been supposed that Calvin’s nature drew him rather towards relations of friendship with the brethren, the learned, and colleagues such as Farel, Viret, Grynæus, Beza, and others, than to married life. If he had contended against celibacy, he had not been in a hurry to escape from it; nay, he even made a boast of it, saying, ‘People will not charge me with having assailed Rome, as the Greeks besieged Troy, for the sake of a woman.’ Doubtless, in wishing to marry he had above all before him these words of the first pages of the Bible: It is not good for the man to be alone; I will make him an help meet for him. He wished, as he said himself, to be freed from the petty worries of life, to the end that he might be able the better to apply himself to the service of the Lord.[813] His friends seem to have been at this time busying themselves more than he did about finding him a partner, and their object seems to have been to rid him thus of the irksomeness of housekeeping, for which he had little relish. But all that we know of Calvin’s sentiments, and of his life with his wife, makes it plain that he saw in marriage something far higher than the management of a household. ‘It is a thing against nature,’ he said, ‘that anyone should not love his wife, for God has ordained marriage in order that of two there may be made one, one person; a result which, certainly, no other alliance can bring about. When Moses says that a man shall leave father and mother and cleave unto[506] his wife, he shows that a man ought to prefer marriage to every other union, as being the holiest of all.’[814] It has been said that Calvin made a mariage de raison. This seems to me doubtful, and every thing indicates at least that when once married he had a genuine affection for his wife. There was in him a lofty intellect, a sublime genius, but also that love of kindred, those affections of the heart, which complete the great man.

As early as February 1539, Calvin’s friends at Strasburg wished him to marry. He wrote himself to Farel that the lady would arrive shortly after Easter, and expressed a wish to see him present to bless the union. This marriage did not take place. Could it be because Calvin did not find in that unknown lady the qualities which he sought for? This appears probable from the circumstance that two or three months later the ardent and energetic Farel, still unmarried though much older than his friend, having made him another overture, the young doctor stated to him what virtues he wished to find in a wife. ‘I am not,’ said he, ‘one of that mad kind of lovers who, when once they are smitten with the beauty of a woman, are ready at the same time to dote foolishly on her faults.[815] The only beauty which charms me in a woman is chastity, modesty, submission, economy, patience, and the inclination to be careful for the health of her husband. If then thou thinkest that she of whom thou speakest possesses these qualities, follow up the matter; but if thou dost not think so, say no more of it.’ In fact, nothing more was said of it. Farel had not been fortunate.

Among the connections of Calvin at Strasburg there was a German patrician or noble, a very pious man, who felt the warmest affection for Calvin and recognized him as a great man. The thought occurred to him of marry[507]ing Calvin to his sister; and his wife, who likewise had the highest opinion of the reformer, supported her husband with all her influence. The young lady, Calvin said himself, was above him in rank, and few men would have rejected so flattering a proposal. But the rich dower did not allure the reformer, poor as he was. It was indeed the very brilliancy of the match that made him hesitate. The young maiden, who was probably not pious like her brother, was more struck with Calvin’s mean appearance than with his high qualities, and was by no means eager to yield to her brother’s wishes. Calvin perceived this. He was afraid that the noble maiden would not easily forget her rank and her education. He was also very sensitive on another point. The wealthy young lady did not understand French. In this circumstance he saw a way of escape without offence to the brother and sister-in-law, and he told her brother, who appeared inclined to press him unduly in the matter, that he required above all that the young lady should undertake to learn the French language. She asked for time to consider of it. The scheme failed, and Calvin, anxious to put an end to the solicitations of the brother, thought of another person who was highly spoken of, but whose qualifications seem not to have answered to her high reputation. Calvin certainly wished to marry, but it must be with a Christian woman. He thought of it frequently. During one of the journeys which he made into Germany on religious affairs, sitting one day at table with a few friends, one of whom was Melanchthon, the young French doctor was dreamy and absent. ‘Our theologian,’ said the friend of Luther, ‘is evidently thinking of marrying.’[816] The difficulty that he experienced in finding such a wife as he wished for speaks in his favor, and shows how much he thought of moral qualities. He was, however, saddened and[508] distressed about it. He questioned with himself whether it would not be better to give up all thought of marrying. This man, to whom it is the fashion to attribute a heart so dry, so hard, shows us by his very sufferings, which were soon succeeded by great joy, what wealth of true feeling and of tender affection lay in his heart. But it was precisely at the time when he nearly despaired that he found what he was longing for.

There was at that time at Strasburg a pious, grave, and virtuous woman, living in retirement, esteemed by all who knew her, and particularly by Bucer; a most choice woman, says Theodore Beza.[817] She came from Liége and her name was Idelette de Bure. Lambert de Bure, probably one of her kinsfolk, had been banished from Liége in 1533, with six other citizens, because they professed the Gospel.[818] It is known that Liége was among those cities of the Netherlands in which the awakening had been most remarkable. Idelette was a widow. Her husband, Jean Storder, had been amongst the number of those who called themselves Spirituals. Bucer, it appears, had introduced Calvin to the family, in the hope, doubtless, of enlightening Storder. Calvin had held private conversations with him, and the Belgian had been converted to the true Gospel by the ministry of the reformer. Idelette had probably also been converted at the same period. The like change was wrought in many of their fellow-religionists. ‘He had the happiness of bringing to the faith a very large number who were directed to him from all quarters,’[819] and amongst others an ex-abbé named Paul Volse, to whom Erasmus had dedicated, in 1518, his Chevalier Chrétien, and who was a minister at Strasburg. Idelette paid to her children all the attention of the tenderest mother, and at the same time administered consolation to those who were[509] in affliction. Calvin had observed in her a deep-seated faith, an affection full of devotedness, and a Christian courage which enabled her to face all the perils to which the confession of Jesus Christ at that time exposed her. This distinguished woman, as Theodore Beza calls her, was exactly such a one as Calvin wanted. Unfortunately there was one thing which was wanting to her, as also to Calvin—good health. But the soul of Idelette was prospering; and the reformer asked for her hand.

The nuptials were celebrated about the end of August 1540, with a certain solemnity. Calvin’s friends, and they were many, testified their sympathy with him. Some deputies even came from Neuchâtel to attend the marriage. The friends of the bridegroom in France likewise took part on the occasion. ‘The tidings of thy marriage,’ wrote one of his old fellow students at the university of Bourges, ‘was very pleasant to us. As thou hast found according to thy wish an upright and faithful wife, endowed with the virtues to which thou attachest so much value, we hope that this union will be a source of happiness to thee.’ It was so. From the beginning of his married life Calvin felt happy in having a faithful companion who served the Lord with him, who loved her husband, and sought to make life peaceful and sweet to him. The happiness which Calvin enjoyed at this time Idelette gave him to the last. He prized ever more and more highly the treasure which God had intrusted to him. He called Idelette ‘the excellent companion of my life,[820] the ever-faithful assistant of my ministry.’ ‘Never,’ adds he, ‘did she throw the least hindrance in my way.’ Her greatness of soul filled him with admiration.[821] He understood well that saying of[510] the Bible, that a wise woman is a crown to her husband, and that whoso findeth a wife findeth a good thing and obtaineth favor of the Lord.

Catherine von Bora and Idelette de Bure, the wives of the two great reformers, eminent women, whose surnames are nearly alike, were not alike in person or in character. There was also a marked difference in the way in which their husbands spoke of them. Catherine is frequently mentioned in Luther’s letters to his friends, often, it is true, with a touch of archness. Sometimes he calls her Herr Kathe. Calvin, on the contrary, seldom speaks of Idelette. We may say indeed that Calvin in his letters, as in his life, was always swayed by one sovereign thought, to which all others had to yield: the work of God, the glory of Jesus Christ, this was the aim of his life. All that concerned his mere personal existence and his domestic circumstances was eclipsed by Jesus Christ, that sun of righteousness which he delighted to contemplate and exalt. There is however another explanation of the fact. What Calvin most highly prized in Idelette was ‘the hidden man of the heart, the incorruptibility of a meek and quiet spirit,’ her modesty. ‘Nothing is more becoming to women than a meek and peaceful spirit,’ he said; ‘we know what kind of creature a bold and obstinate woman is, who, from pride, vanity, and wantonness, is fond of showing herself off. Happy is the woman whose style of dress is modest, who does not go gadding about the streets, but keeps the house because of her love to her husband and her children.’ Calvin being happy, and feeling respect for the modesty and humility that he found in Idelette, no more thought of speaking of her in his letters than of seeing her gadding about the streets.

Happy both in this Christian union and in the sphere of action which opened before him at Strasburg and in Germany, Calvin thought less than ever of returning to Geneva. In fact his intercourse with Germany became[511] more frequent. In June 1540, in accordance with the decision come to at Frankfort, a new assembly was held at Hagenau in Alsace, at which the doctors of the two parties were to seek a good basis of agreement. The Protestant princes, summoned too late, were not present, but their envoys and theologians came. Calvin went, ‘by way of rest,’ he says, as if for relaxation. He was rejoiced to see the Protestant doctors ‘thoroughly united together.’ They held several consultations among themselves on the way to establish discipline in the Church. This was doubtless at Calvin’s instigation. ‘This will be,’ said he, ‘the most weighty subject for our consideration.’ As Luther, Melanchthon, and other doctors were absent as well as the princes, nothing was done; ‘but each one promised to exert himself to the end that at some meeting attention should be paid to it.’ Cruciger, a colleague of Luther and Melanchthon, who was present at Hagenau, was astonished at the knowledge and activity of Calvin. In fact, nothing that concerned the evangelical cause escaped him. He perceived distinctly the contrivances of politicians. ‘Our adversaries,’ he said, ‘wish to extend their league and to weaken ours, but God will avert that misfortune. Our friends seek the enlargement of the kingdom of Christ, and will not give way. Some Catholics desire nothing but war, and the pope has caused 300,000 ducats to be offered to begin it. The emperor,’ he thinks, ‘would like nothing better than to crush the forces of Germany, in order to subdue it with greater ease. But on the one side the emperor is so involved that he dare not undertake a war, and on the other all the electors wish to have things quietly settled.’ If Calvin were not particularly pleased with the pope, he was pleased with the archbishops. The following passage is striking enough for quotation: ‘The Archbishops of Mayence and Treves love peace and the liberties of the country, and they think that they would be lost if the emperor had subdued us.’ This shows in Calvin[512] a fair temper, a man free from prejudice.[822] ‘The Archbishop of Cologne is not among the worst,’ says he, ‘for he knows that the Church ought to be reformed, and sees clearly that we are superior in respect of truth.’

At the same time that Calvin’s reputation was rising in other countries, the judgment formed at Geneva of the men who had compelled him to quit the town was daily becoming more unfavorable, and ere long opinion was altogether opposed to them. ‘The time was come,’ says Theodore Beza, ‘when the Lord had determined to have pity on the Church of Geneva.’[823]

When, in 1536, the Bernese had repulsed the troops of Savoy and insured the independence of Geneva, an arrangement was effected between these two states respecting five or six villages belonging to the priory of St. Victor, of which Bonivard had been the last prior. Geneva had claimed the sovereignty, and had conceded to Berne the rights of ancient custom which had belonged to Savoy. The treaty not being sufficiently clear, the Bernese claimed prerogatives which the Genevese disputed with them. Consequently, on March 6, 1539, the council of Geneva sent to Berne Ami de Chapeaurouge, Jean Lullin and Monathon, all three of them opponents of Calvin. The first two had indeed been syndics in 1538, and as such had taken the lead in the banishment of the reformers. They were to settle the matters in[513] dispute, but ‘without infringing on the franchises of the town or on the treaty of 1536.’ These delegates signed at Berne, on March 30, a treaty comprising twenty-one articles, ‘the most part of which,’ says the syndic Gautier, who is moderate in his account, ‘were humiliating to the Genevese, and deprived them of their rights over those territories.’ The first article of the treaty said in fact, ‘To us of Berne the chief lordship, that is to say, the sovereignty over men and goods, is entirely to belong.’ The three Genevese were far less clever as politicians than the Bernese, and we prefer to attribute their error to their inferior diplomatic skill rather than to treason. On their return to Geneva they merely reported to the council ‘that they had done their work well (avaient bien besogné), and that the contract entered into would shortly be brought to Berne.’ It was strange that these plenipotentiaries not only should not present the treaty, but still more should not state viva voce what it contained. ‘As they had trifled with the orders which they had received,’ says Gautier, ‘they were afraid of being completely ruined if they gave an exact account of their management, and they hoped by delaying the matter to obliterate the recollections of what might be criminal in their proceedings.’[824] They reckoned among the members of the council many of their kinsfolk and friends. Their word was taken. These three councillors, the signatories of the articles, were consequently called the Articulants; and the people, adopting a word almost the same in sound and more familiar to them, called them the Artichauts (Artichokes). This designation was extended to the whole party opposed to Calvin, which was at this time in the ascendency.[825]

About two months later a Bernese bailli (De Thiez) having caused a man belonging to the estates of St.[514] Victor to be put to the torture, the council of Geneva complained of it, and the bailli immediately justified himself by appealing from them to the treaty concluded at Berne. The Genevese magistrates, who were not acquainted with it, sent Monathon to procure it. He brought it back, but it was in German! The document was returned, in order to be translated into French; and when the articles were at last read in the council many murmured, and said that most of those points were contrary to the rights and the prerogatives of the town. The three deputies justified themselves by asserting that this document was not the one which they had signed. This statement was credited. The council declared that it did not accept the paper, and decreed that the three articulants should return to Berne to demand explanations. But in vain did the two councils implore and even command Lullin to go; he declared that he would sooner quit the town than consent to be a delegate to Berne. He had private reasons for not having a mind to this mission. Three other notables were associated with De Chapeaurouge and Monathon. The two articulants represented to the Bernese that they had not heard the articles couched in such terms. But the Bernese replied that it was the genuine treaty, and that they would have the council of Geneva cited before judges charged to investigate the difficulties existing between the two towns, in order to get it condemned to sign and seal the treaty. Lambert, one of the deputies who had accompanied Monathon and De Chapeaurouge to Berne, heard, in a conversation with some people of the town, that at the time of drawing them up, Jean Lullin had consented to the articles in German, and had got them passed by his colleagues without telling them in French what they contained. From this one must infer that Jean Lullin, the only one of the three who knew German, remained responsible. The other two, however, still lay under the imputation, it must be confessed, of incred[515]ible thoughtlessness. On April 6 the deputies made their report to the council.

The Bernese, sure of their case, continued to enforce their rights of sovereignty, and took pleasure in annoying the Genevese in various ways. They even carried their ill-will to the length of cruelty. Two murderers, subjects of St. Victor, having been condemned by the Genevese magistrates to be beheaded, the Bernese bailli substituted the rack, and sent to Geneva the executioner’s bill to be paid. Discontent with the government party was increasing from day to day. People said that the treaty made at Berne was an act of treason. Was it possible that after having ruined religion by expelling Farel and Calvin, the same party should ruin the state as well, by sacrificing its most precious rights? Some went farther still. Bonnet, a member of the Two Hundred, exclaimed, ‘The council mean to deliver up the town to the lords of Berne.’ For this rash speech he was put in prison.[826] But it served to increase the prevailing irritation. Many members of the Two Hundred, among whom was Claude Bonna, declared to that council that they would never allow the articles drawn up at Berne to receive the seal of the republic. The matter at stake was the maintenance of the honor of Geneva, her pre-eminence and the justice of her cause, perhaps of her very existence. The friends of Calvin declared that the powerful town of Berne should not trample their country under foot. The opposition to the government had become so strong that, in the sitting of August 25, all the members of the Two Hundred cried unanimously, ‘We will not submit to these articles, considering that they are opposed to our liberties, our franchises, and our good customs.’[827]

The Bernese, annoyed and irritated by the constant[516] refusals of Geneva, announced at the beginning of January 1540 that, having an authentic document, they summoned their allies of Geneva to Lausanne, for the 29th of the month, in order that the cause might be decided by judges, two from each town. Geneva, on the 21st, named De la Rive and Gerbel to go to Lausanne with five assistants. On the 25th the general council rejected the treaty, prohibited the deputies from accepting a judicial decision, and ordered them to say to the Bernese that the people would set fire to the city rather than accept the articles. Matters got worse and worse. Berne was inflexible. On the 26th, at nine o’clock in the evening, a Genevese, Béguin, arrived at full speed from Lausanne with important despatches. The general council, assembled on the following day, was greatly excited by them. They caused the three articulants to be arrested, and Béguin was instructed to inform the Bernese. But the latter commanded their judges to proceed, and the Genevese were condemned for contumacy to seal the treaty and to pay the costs. The gravity of the situation was at length understood at Geneva. The very day, January 27, on which the judgment was delivered at Lausanne, the general council, suddenly convoked by the tones of the great bell at one o’clock in the morning, had decreed that the deputies should sit as judges. But when this news arrived sentence was already given. They had dispensed with the Genevese.

Great was the consternation at Geneva. On Sunday, February 1, it was resolved to close all dissension at home by a general reconciliation, in token of which the citizens took each other by the hand. Chapeaurouge, Lullin, and Monathon were set at liberty on giving bail, and Jean Philippe was named captain-general. This internal peace, brought about by the war with which they were menaced from without, was solemnized by a procession of the people to the sound of the drum through the whole town. The ministers urged the[517] appointment of a day of prayer to celebrate and confirm the reconciliation. But this peace was not rooted in the depth of their hearts. ‘Nevertheless,’ says Rozet, ‘people still heard talk of several fights in the town,’ and the son of the captain-general killed a citizen. The more violent men, when they saw the dangers to which the treason or the thoughtlessness of the articulants exposed them, exclaimed, ‘Cut off their heads, pack them all three in one trunk, and send them to Berne.’[828]

‘Meanwhile,’ says a contemporary biographer, ‘the Lord was about to execute his judgments at Geneva in expressly punishing those who while they were syndics had been the cause of driving away Farel and Calvin.’[829] The councillor De Watteville, De Diesbach, and De Graffenried, deputies of Berne, on April 16, declared to the Two Hundred that the Bernese wished nothing so much as to give pleasure to Geneva, and that, without taking advantage of the sentence pronounced at Lausanne, they offered to discuss the affair anew. The general council having been convoked on April 25 to decide the matter, no way was found of coming to an understanding. These interminable disputes with Berne (it took years to settle the question) had aroused the anger of the Genevese against the articulants who were the cause of them. They believed these men to be more culpable than they really were. The assembly was in violent agitation. Groups were formed, and transports of wrath burst forth. ‘Justice! justice on the traitors!’ they cried. They demanded that, before any deliberation, these deputies should be again committed to prison. The three culprits were themselves present in the council. The captain-general, Jean Philippe, going up to them advised them in a whisper to go out instantly and make their escape. The Little Council ordered their immediate incarceration. They had signed the under[518]taking to appear when called for; but overcome with fright, they disguised themselves and quitted the town in great haste, thus violating the pledge which they had given. When the lieutenant went to their homes to arrest them, they had disappeared. The tidings were at once carried to the general council. ‘Let them be summoned to appear by sound of trumpet,’ said a citizen, ‘and let seals be affixed on their houses.’ ‘Yes! yes!’ cried the people; ‘so be it!’ The assembly of the people being dissolved, a great concourse of citizens surrounded the town hall and demanded justice with loud voices. The public crier, traversing the streets, summoned the three deputies to appear in three hours, in default of which they would be immediately brought to trial. The Bernese having expressed to the council their astonishment that this citation had been made without a word said to them about it; ‘Ah!’ was the reply, ‘if we are slow to execute the decision of the general council, the people will fall on us!’ The general irritation extended at the same time to the pastors who had taken the place of Farel and Calvin. These men were alarmed at it, and, on April 30, presenting themselves before the council, they made a statement of the reproaches which were heaped on them, and requested their discharge. After turning away from the reformers, people were now turning to them again. ‘At this time,’ says Rozet, a poor woman, a foreigner, went about the town crying, What God keeps is well kept.’[830]

The three fugitives having been summoned with sound of trumpet, for three days in succession, and failing to appear, the solicitor-general presented their indictment in seventy-four counts. Thirty-two witnesses made their depositions; and on June 5 De Chapeaurouge, Lullin, and Monathon, were condemned by default to be beheaded, as forgers and rebels, who had been the cause[519] and might again be the cause of great evils to the state. Capital punishment was readily inflicted in the sixteenth century; but the accused had fled, and it was a long way from the sentence to the execution.

The party which was favorable to the three articulants and hostile to the reformers continued to exist in Geneva, and had for its chief a capable man, the captain-general Jean Philippe, who was syndic in 1538, with Jean Lullin and Ami de Chapeaurouge. These three men, with the violent Richardet, had, as we have seen, got Farel and Calvin banished, and after having done much harm to the Church, had not hesitated to involve the state in the most cruel perplexities. Jean Philippe, by his violence, was on the point of still further increasing the troubles of the city. ‘A rich man, and not niggardly,’ says Bonivard, ‘he was very liberal to his comrades, especially those of the sword; and this made him beloved of all. A man of courage for action, he was not prudent in his projects, and he no more hesitated to risk his person than his purse. Imprudent and impudent, hasty to believe, slow to disbelieve, as soon as any hectoring fellow, among those whom he thought fit for the battle, made a report to him, he believed it. And he was hard to be undeceived because he had not capacity for appreciating a sound reason; and this caused him to do many rash things.’ Such was the man who had at his beck the party which, after having been supreme in Geneva, had just received so severe a check. Jean Philippe could not, without annoyance, see the sentence carried out against his colleagues; and he understood that the result of it must be the ruin of his whole party, unless he succeeded in arresting the course of the popular torrent which was now rushing in a direction opposed to them. Discontented and murmuring against those who had obliged Lullin and De Chapeaurouge to take flight, he was a prey to the bitterest apprehensions. After the sentence, Philippe and his adher[520]ents ‘banded themselves together,’ says Bonivard, ‘and waited for an opportunity of vengeance and of reinstating the three in their former honors. Their party, in defiance of their opponents, held banquets in the public places. After all this thunder there must needs be rain, hail, and fall of thunderbolts, to clear the sky.’ The storm indeed did not fail to burst forth.

A phenomenon was at this time visible at Geneva which has been produced in almost all nations; the conquerors were divided amongst themselves. The party which in 1538 had banished the reformers was divided into two. The more fiery minds were for pushing their victory to an extreme, the more discreet, on the other hand, slackened their pace and restrained their passions. The impetuous young men of Geneva were irritated at seeing the leaders under whom they had fought condemned to death and fugitives. On the day after their condemnation, Sunday, June 16, many Genevese, according to custom, were assembled on the plain of Plainpalais, situated at the gates of the town, and were practising archery. Some of them meeting Jean Philippe and his friends, shouted at them, ‘Artichokes!’ It will not be forgotten that this was the popular nickname given to the articulants. This little word did a great deal of mischief. ‘The tongue,’ says Calvin, ‘carries a man away and sweeps him along like a flood, just as wild unbroken horses whirl along a chariot with such force and swiftness that nothing can stop it.’ This is what now occurred at Geneva. The nickname greatly annoyed the captain-general, and he swore to take vengeance. ‘There are three hundred of us who will one day arise and hamstring so many of these evangelists and Lutherans that it shall be a thing never to be forgotten.’ This saying was attributed to him, but he afterwards denied it. The captain-general, on returning from Plainpalais, went to sup with some of his friends at the hotel de l’Ange; while other adherents of his were eating and[521] drinking at his expense at the hotel du Brochet. Some of them, after leaving the table, met some citizens of the opposite party on the bridge over the Rhone. ‘Nothing more than hard words passed between them,’ says Bonivard, ‘with the exception of Jean Philippe, who seized a halberd, and, as though he were out of his mind, without distinguishing friend from foe, struck blows right and left, and wounded two or three persons.’ Then this fierce partisan crossed the Rhone to go to St. Gervais, where most of his familiar associates lived. He summoned and got them together, a grave proceeding for a captain-general, and passing the bridge with them, reached the square of La Fusterie. There he found a large body of his adversaries. A conflict began. Jean Philippe struck other blows. ‘With the point of his halberd he wounded one Jean d’Abères in the breast,’ says Bonivard, ‘so seriously that he had to be carried to his house.’ One Jean de Lesclefs gave with his partisan a blow on the head to Ami Perrin, ‘a citizen,’ says Bonivard, ‘who was fond of being splendidly attired and of good living, and who at this time belonged to the party of honest men.’ Claude of Geneva, a friend of Perrin, discharged a pistol at Lesclefs, and the shot entering near the heart killed him. The captain-general, repulsed, withdrew to his own house with his adherents, who kept firing their arquebuses from within. The syndic Philippin, wishing to allay the disturbance, was wounded by these men, and a servant of one of their own number, putting his head out at the window, was also struck. It was very generally believed that the captain-general had formed a conspiracy to upset the government which had just condemned his friends. It is difficult to decide. We may, however, suppose that it was a riot rather than a conspiracy.[831]

At nine o’clock in the evening of the same day the[522] council convoked the Two Hundred, and gave orders to guard the town-gates to prevent the flight of the culprits. The next day, at five in the morning, the Council of the Two Hundred held a sitting, gave orders that the citizens should assemble in arms before the town-house to support their decisions, and commanded the officers of justice to go to the house of the captain-general to arrest him and all who should be with him. But Jean Philippe, well aware that the position of a commander-in-chief of the Genevese militia, who placed himself in open and armed revolt against the government, was a very grave one, had quitted his house, escaped by the roofs, and thus reached the hostelry of the Tour Perce, which belonged to a brother of Lullin. As the agents of the council did not find him either at home or elsewhere, proclamation was made in the town with sound of trumpet, that whosoever might know where he was, was to disclose it. The magistrate was informed, it is not known by whom, that the captain-general was concealed in the Tour Perce. ‘At once everybody was off thither,’ says Bonivard; ‘then they searched for Philippe from cellar to garret, and he was at last found lying in the stable under the hay.’ They led him immediately to the syndics, who were waiting for him at the door. They had him seized by the guards and taken to the Evêché (a prison). But it was effected with great difficulty, for it was all that the guards with their halberds and the syndics with their bâtons could do to prevent the people from killing him in their hands. ‘Here we may see an instance,’ adds the prisoner of Chillon, ‘of the trust we should place in a people.’[832]

The witnesses were heard, and Jean Philippe underwent an examination on the criminal acts with which he stood charged. These acts were proved and he confessed them. The whole town was stirred. The people[523] cried aloud for justice and said ‘that they would do execution on the murderers if the tribunals failed to do it. The preachers themselves exhorted to pray and to execute justice.’[833] A scene at once pathetic and terrible occurred to raise still higher the general excitement. Jean d’Abères having sunk under his wounds, ‘his wife caused the body of her husband to be carried on a bench to the front of the town-house, and accompanied it crying incessantly, Justice! justice! justice! weeping and smiting herself.’[834] Her children were round her, weeping and crying out as she did. A dead body, and especially the body of a husband and father, surrounded by those who loved him, has always great power to touch the heart. The solicitor-general presented his bill of indictment. It set forth that Jean Philippe ‘had always been esteemed a seditious man, who had been accustomed to gather round him all the restless spirits; that he had assembled them on the previous Sunday, taking up arms against the city of Geneva; that in order to accomplish his murderous intentions he had placed armed men in his house; that he was a murderer and voluntary homicide, his hands dyed with blood; that out of the fulness of his heart he had uttered these words or the like of them, ‘I will kill so many people that I shall be surfeited.’ The solicitor-general moved in conclusion that the council should execute justice immediately, ‘as shameless and tumultuous proceedings and horrid enterprises, and in the same manner as in cases of high treason.’ Sentence was pronounced by the syndic Etienne de Chapeaurouge, nephew of one of the fugitives. Philippe was condemned ‘to have his head severed from shoulders till the soul was separated from the body.’ The execution took place the same day. De Chapeaurouge, after having pronounced sentence, absented him[524]self from the council, and one or two others likewise withdrew.

Thus, of the four syndics who had decreed the banishment of Farel and Calvin, two had been condemned as forgers and rebels, and a third had just been executed as a mover of sedition and a homicide. There remained the fourth of them, Richardet. He had united force with ridicule, and had said ironically to Calvin when expelling him, ‘The gates of the town are wide enough for you to go out.’ As he had taken part in the sedition of Jean Philippe, he took fright and wished to make his escape. Unwilling to go out by the gates of the town, however wide they were, for fear of being recognized and arrested, ‘he let himself down through a window in the town walls,’ says Rozet, ‘burst (se creva) because he was heavy, and did not live long after.’ ‘As he was very fat,’ says Gautier, ‘the rope broke, and the fall caused him a contusion of which he shortly after died.’[835]

It is hardly possible to avoid being struck with the fate of these four men. The Greeks conceived the idea of a goddess, Nemesis, charged with the duty of overthrowing an insolent prosperity and of avenging crimes, who winged her way through the air, encompassed by serpents, provided with torches and inflicting terrible vengeance. ‘We cannot pass over,’ says Rozet, ‘the remarkable judgment of God on the four syndics of the year 1538, who being elected by the people as adversaries of the religion of the reformation sworn to, had banished the ministers and routed their friends. Two years later, in one and the same year, in the month of June, all four of them, at the instigation of the people themselves, came to confusion and ruin by their crimes.’[836] History can hardly furnish a more striking illustration of[525] the truth proclaimed by the great poet, ‘Punishment, though lame, seldom fails to overtake the guilty.’

However, in our opinion, the articulants, though chargeable with carelessness and incompetency, were not guilty of treachery. On the other hand, it is not fair to attribute to the friends of Farel and Calvin some odious acts of which they were completely innocent. It has been alleged that on the third day after the execution of Jean Philippe, the most religious persons ‘publicly celebrated their victory by a feast at the town hall.’ Strong evidence would be necessary to establish a fact so adapted to arouse in honorable men aversion and indignation; but not a single document is known in which it is mentioned.[837] We are bound to say, however, that the verdict of contemporaries was more severe than our own. ‘These men,’ says Theodore Beza, ‘having been cast away like vile dregs, the city began to ask again for its Calvin and Farel.’[838] All was in course of preparation for their return to it. Some vacancies having been made in the council by the blows which had just been struck, men were appointed who were friendly to the Reformation, and from that time their party formed the majority. The far-seeing intelligence of Calvin had foretold that the ascendency of his adversaries would be of short duration; and his word was fulfilled.

The ways of God are deep and mysterious. Two years previously the work of the reformer appeared to be brought to a stand in Geneva. His victorious enemies held up their heads in the general council; their power seemed invincible; and the few citizens who dared to declare themselves on the side of the banished[526] ministers found themselves threatened and prosecuted, and were compelled to retire into silence or to flee their country. The reformers were wandering about as exiles in the cantons of Switzerland, not knowing where to seek refuge. But time passed on, and the state of things was altered. The authors of the proscription sank beneath the weight of their faults, and were proscribed in their turn. Geneva was weary of leaders without intelligence, and rejected them. No longer able to face the perils gathering around it, the city will soon recall and receive as liberators the men whom she has driven away as enemies of her freedom. Calvin, on his part, had found in exile not weakness but strength. God had removed him to a vaster scene, where his horizon was widened. His thought had been elevated, his soul strengthened and purified. He had seen Germany, and had played a part, not one of the least, in her great assemblies; he had held communication with Melanchthon, and established a connection between the German Reformation and that of the Swiss cantons and of France. The differences between the two great movements had grown less; the communion of spirit had been strengthened. On both sides a reciprocal influence had been felt. In the next volume we shall see Calvin return to his post a greater and stronger man, more master of himself, no less firm and no less determined, once more to undertake his task and to conduct it to a happy end.

END OF THE SIXTH VOLUME.

530 BROADWAY, NEW YORK,

November, 1876.

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