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Title: The Great Events by Famous Historians, Volume 9


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THE GREAT EVENTS BY FAMOUS HISTORIANS

VOLUME IX

A COMPREHENSIVE AND READABLE ACCOUNT OF THE WORLD'S HISTORY. EMPHASIZING
THE MORE IMPORTANT EVENTS. AND PRESENTING THESE AS COMPLETE NARRATIVES
IN THE MASTER-WORDS OF THE MOST EMINENT HISTORIANS

NON-SECTARIAN            NON-PARTISAN            NON-SECTIONAL

ON THE PLAN EVOLVED FROM A CONSENSUS OF OPINIONS GATHERED FROM THE MOST
DISTINGUISHED SCHOLARS OF AMERICA AND EUROPE. INCLUDING BRIEF
INTRODUCTIONS BY SPECIALISTS TO CONNECT AND EXPLAIN THE CELEBRATED
NARRATIVES. ARRANGED CHRONOLOGICALLY. WITH THOROUGH INDICES,
BIBLIOGRAPHIES, CHRONOLOGIES, AND COURSES OF READING

EDITOR-IN-CHIEF

ROSSITER JOHNSON, LL.D.

ASSOCIATE EDITORS

CHARLES F. HORNE, Ph.D. JOHN RUDD, LL.D.

With a staff of specialists

VOLUME IX







[Illustration: Henry VIII, during the festivities at Guines--"The Field
of the Cloth of Gold"--in courtly dance with one of the French Queen's
ladies-in-waiting

Painting by Adolph Menzel]



The National Alumni

Copyright, 1905,
by The National Alumni




CONTENTS

VOLUME IX


                                                             PAGE
_An Outline Narrative of the Great Events_,                  xiii
  CHARLES F. HORNE

_Luther Begins the Reformation in Germany (A.D. 1517)_,         1
  JULIUS KOESTLIN
  JEAN M. V. AUDIN

_Negro Slavery in America_
_Its Introduction by Law (A.D. 1517)_,                         36
   SIR ARTHUR HELPS

_First Circumnavigation of the Globe (A.D. 1519)_
_Magellan Reaches the Ladrones and Philippines_,               41
  JOAN BAUTISTA
  ANTONIO PIGAFETTA

_The Field of the Cloth of Gold (A.D. 1520)_,                  59
  J. S. BREWER

_Cortés Captures the City of Mexico (A.D. 1521)_,              72
  WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT

_Liberation of Sweden (A.D. 1523)_,                            79
  ERIC GUSTAVE GEIJER

_The Peasants' War in Germany (A.D. 1524)_,                    93
  J. H. MERLE D'AUBIGNÉ

_France Loses Italy (A.D. 1525)_
_Battle of Pavia_,                                            111
  WILLIAM ROBERTSON

_Sack of Rome by the Imperial Troops (A.D. 1527)_,            124
  BENVENUTO CELLINI
  T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE

_Great Religious Movement in England_
_Fall of Wolsey (A.D. 1529)_,                                 137
  JOHN RICHARD GREEN

_Pizarro Conquers Peru (A.D. 1532)_,                          156
  HERNANDO PIZARRO
  WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT

_Calvin is Driven from Paris (A.D. 1533)_
_He Makes Geneva the Stronghold of Protestantism_,            176
  A. M. FAIRBAIRN
  JEAN M. V. AUDIN

_England Breaks with the Roman Church (A.D. 1534)_
_Destruction of Monasteries_,                                 203
  JOHN RICHARD GREEN

_Cartier Explores Canada (A.D. 1534)_,                        236
  H. H. MILES

_Mendoza Settles Buenos Aires (A.D. 1535)_,                   254
  ROBERT SOUTHEY

_Founding of the Jesuits (A.D. 1540)_,                        261
  ISAAC TAYLOR

_De Soto Discovers the Mississippi (A.D. 1541)_,              277
  JOHN S. C. ABBOTT

_Revolution of Astronomy by Copernicus (A.D. 1543)_,          285
  SIR ROBERT STAWELL BALL

_Council of Trent and the Counter-reformation (A.D. 1545)_    293
  ADOLPHUS W. WARD

_Protestant Struggle against Charles V_
_The Smalkaldic War (A.D. 1546)_,                             313
  EDWARD ARMSTRONG

_Introduction of Christianity into Japan (A.D. 1549)_,        325
  JOHN H. GUBBINS

_Collapse of the Power of Charles V (A.D. 1552)_
_France Seizes German Bishoprics_,                            337
  LADY C. C. JACKSON

_The Religious Peace of Augsburg (A.D. 1555)_
_Abdication of Charles V_                                     348
  WILLIAM ROBERTSON

_Akbar Establishes the Mogul Empire in India (A.D. 1556)_,    366
  J. TALBOYS WHEELER

_Universal Chronology (A.D. 1517-1557)_                       385
  JOHN RUDD




LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

VOLUME IX

                                                                  PAGE
_Henry VIII during the festivities at Guines_--"_The Field
of the Cloth of Gold_"--_in courtly dance with one of
the French Queen's ladies-in-waiting_ (_page 63_),        Frontispiece
  Painting by Adolph Menzel.

_Gustavus I (Vasa) addressing his last meeting of the Estates_,     79
  Painting by L. Hersent.




AN OUTLINE NARRATIVE

TRACING BRIEFLY THE CAUSES, CONNECTIONS, AND CONSEQUENCES OF

THE GREAT EVENTS

(THE REFORMATION: REIGN OF CHARLES V)

CHARLES F. HORNE


Our modern world begins with the Protestant Reformation. The term itself
is objected to by Catholics, who claim that there was little real
reform. But the importance of the event, whether we call it reform or
revolution, is undenied. Previous to 1517 the nations of Europe had
formed a single spiritual family under the acknowledged leadership of
the Pope. The extent of the Holy Father's authority might be disputed,
especially when he interfered in affairs of state. Kings had fought
against his troops on the field of battle. But in spiritual matters he
was still supreme, and when reformers like Huss and Savonarola refused
him obedience on questions of doctrine, the very men who had been
fighting papal soldiers were shocked by this heretical wickedness. The
heretics were burned and the wars resumed. When Alexander Borgia sat
upon the papal throne for eleven years, there were even philosophers who
drew from his very wickedness an argument for the divine nature of his
office. It must be indeed divine, said they, since despite such
pollution as his, it had survived and retained its influence.

Some modern critics have even gone so far as to assert that for at least
two generations before the Reformation the great majority of the
educated classes had ceased to care whether the Christian religion were
true or not. The Renaissance had so awakened their interest in the
affairs of this world, its artistic beauties and intellectual advance,
that they gave no thought to the beyond. But we approach controversial
matters scarce within our scope. Suffice it to say that the Reformation
brought religion once more into intensest prominence in all men's eyes,
and that a large portion of the civilized world broke away from the
domination of the Pope. Men insisted on judging for themselves in
spiritual matters. Only after three centuries of strife was the
privilege granted them. Only within the past century has thought been
made everywhere free--at least from direct physical coercion. The last
execution by the Spanish Inquisition was in 1826, and the institution
was formally abolished in 1835.

The era of open warfare and actual bodily torture between various sects
all calling themselves Christian, thus extended over three centuries.
These may be divided into four periods. The first is one of fierce
dispute but little actual warfare, during which the revolt spread over
Europe with Germany as its centre. An agreement between the contestants
was still hoped for; the break was not recognized as final until 1555,
when, by the Peace of Augsburg, the two German factions definitely
agreed to separate and to refrain from interference with each other. Or
perhaps it would be better to end the first period with 1556, when the
mighty Emperor, Charles V, resigned all his authority, giving Germany to
his brother, Ferdinand, who maintained peace there, while Spain passed
to Charles' son, Philip II, most resolute and fanatic of Catholics.

The second period began in 1558, when the Protestant queen, Elizabeth,
ascended the throne of England. She and Philip of Spain became the
champions of their respective faiths; the strife extended over Europe,
and soon developed into bitter war. This spread from land to land, and
finally returned to Germany as the awful Thirty Years' War.

Then came the third period, during which the religious question was less
prominent; but Catholic sovereigns like Louis XIV of France and James II
of England still hoped by persecutions to force their subjects to
reaccept the ancient faith. These aims were only abandoned with the
downfall of Louis' military power before the armies of Marlborough and
Eugene, early in the eighteenth century.

During the final hundred years the stubborn contest was confined to the
lands still Catholic, in which intellect, under such leaders as
Voltaire, struggled with the superstition and prejudice of the masses,
and demanded everywhere the freedom it at last attained.

For the present we need look only to the first of these periods, that in
which Germany holds the centre of the view.[1] It is an odd coincidence
that at the outbreak of the Reformation all the chief states of Europe
were ruled by sovereigns of unusual ability, but each one of them a man
who obviously thought more of his ambitions, his pleasures, and his
political plans than of his religion. Moreover, each of these rulers
came to the throne before he was of age, and thus lacked the salutary
training of a subordinate position; while, on the other hand, each of
them, through varying causes, wielded a power much greater than that of
any of his recent predecessors.


RULERS OF EUROPE IN 1517

Henry VIII of England was the first of these young despots to assume
authority. Nine years older than the century, he became king in 1509 at
the age of eighteen. His father, Henry VII, had, as we have seen,
snatched power from an exhausted aristocracy. He had been what men
sneeringly called a "tradesman" king, caring little for the show and
splendor of his office, but using it to amass enormous sums of money by
means not over-scrupulous. Young Henry VIII, handsome, dashing, and
debonair, at once repudiated his father's policy, executed the ministers
who had directed it, and was hailed as a liberator by his delighted
people. They quite overlooked the fact that he neglected to restore the
ill-gotten funds, and soon used them in establishing a far more vigorous
tyranny than his father would have dared. Much is forgiven a youthful
king if he be but brave and jovial and hearty in his manner. His
blunders, his excesses of fury, are put down to his inexperience.
Nations are ever yearning for a hero-ruler.

In France a monarch of twenty years, Francis I, ascended the throne in
1515, five years older then than the century. Henry of England had
descended from a family of simple Welsh gentlemen, far indeed at one
time from the crown; Francis I was also of a new line of kings, only a
distant cousin of the childless Louis XII, whom he succeeded. "That
great boy of Angoulême will ruin all," groaned Louis on his death-bed.
Ruin the prosperity of France, he meant, for Louis had been a good and
thoughtful king, cherishing his land and enabling it to rise to the
height of wealth and power, justified by its natural resources and the
ingenuity of its people.

Francis, the "great boy," even more than his rival Henry, proved bent on
being a hero. Like Maximilian of Germany, he sought to be known as the
flower of knighthood. To win his ambition he also was possessed of youth
and wealth, a gallant bearing, and a devoted people. He had intellect,
too, and a love of art. He became the great patron of the later
Renaissance. The famous artist Da Vinci died at his court, in his arms,
legend says. Artists, literary men, flocked to his service. Paris became
the intellectual centre of Europe. France snatched from Italy the
supremacy of thought, of genius.

Alas for the fickleness of untried youth! Henry seemed to promise his
country freedom and he gave it tyranny. Francis promised his people
glory--that is, honor and splendor. In the end he brought them shame and
suffering. Charles V of Germany, youngest of this mighty trio, seemed by
his wisdom to promise his subjects at least protection; and his reign
produced anarchy.

Charles, unlike his rivals, was almost born into power. His father died
in the lad's babyhood; his mother went insane. His two grandfathers were
the two mightiest potentates of Europe, Ferdinand the Wise of Spain, and
Maximilian, head of the great Hapsburg house and Emperor of Germany.
Neither had any nearer heir than little Charles. His father's position
as ruler of the Netherlands was given him as a child, so that he was
really a Fleming by education, a silent, thoughtful, secretive youth,
far different from the jovial Henry or the brilliant Francis, but
ambitious as either and more conscientious perhaps, a dangerous rival in
the race for fame.

Ferdinand died in 1515, and Charles became King of Spain, with all that
the title included of power over the Mediterranean and Southern Italy,
and all the vast new world of America. Charles was then fifteen, just
the age of the century, nine years younger than Henry, five years
younger than Francis. Amid the tumult of the opening Reformation in
1519, the aged Maximilian also died, departed not unwillingly, one
fancies, from an age whose intricacies had grown too many for his simple
soul. The young King of Spain thus became lord of all the vast Hapsburg
possessions of Austria, Bohemia, the Netherlands and so on.

He sought to be elected Emperor of Germany also, but here the matter was
less easy. Already his rule extended over more of Europe than any
sovereign had held since Charlemagne, and Europe took alarm. Henry and
Francis both thrust in, each of them suggesting to the German electorial
princes that he had claims of his own, and would make an emperor far
more suitable than Charles. Henry polished up his German ancestry;
Francis recalled that Germans and Frenchmen were both Franks, had been
one mighty race under Charlemagne, and surely might become so once
again--under his leadership, of course.

The matter was really decided by a fourth party. The Turks had once more
become a serious menace to Europe. During the brief reign of Sultan
Selim the Ferocious (1512-1520) they crushed Persia and conquered Syria
and Egypt. They seized the caliph, spiritual ruler of the Mahometan
faith, and declared themselves heads of the Mahometan world. Triumphant
over Asia, they were turning upon Europe with renewed energy. Hungary
was at its last expiring gasp. Selim's death in 1520 did not stop the
invaders, for his son Solyman, a youth of twenty-five, soon proved
himself a fourth giant, fitted to be ranked with the three young rulers
of the West. He also was a seeker after glory. History calls him the
"magnificent," and holds him greatest among the Turkish rulers. It was
certainly under him that the Turks advanced farthest into Europe, if
that is to be established as the chief measure of Mahometan greatness.
In 1526 Solyman utterly crushed the Hungarians at Mohacs. In 1529 he
besieged Vienna; and though he failed to capture the Hapsburg capital,
yet at a still later period he exacted from the German Emperor
Ferdinand a money tribute. His fleets swept the Mediterranean.

This increasing menace of the Turks was much considered by the German
electors. At first they refused to add to the power of either of the
three monarchs who so assiduously courted them. They chose instead the
ablest of their own number, Frederick the Wise, Duke of Saxony. But
Frederick proved his wisdom by refusing the task of steering Germany
through the troublous seas ahead. He insisted on their electing some
ruler strong enough to command obedience, and to gather all Europe
against the Turks. So as Charles was after all a German, and of the
Hapsburg race which had so long ruled them, they named him Emperor. He
was Charles I of Spain, but Charles V of Germany. His rule extended over
a wider realm than any monarch has since held.

This success of their younger rival was very differently received by
Henry and by Francis. The English King accepted the rebuff
good-naturedly; perhaps he had never felt any real hope of success. But
Francis was enraged. It was the first check he had met in a career of
spectacular success. He invited Henry to their celebrated meeting at the
Field of the Cloth of Gold[2] to plan an alliance and revenge. Henry
came, but the silent Charles had already managed to enlist his interests
by quieter ways; while Francis, by his ostentation and splendor,
offended the bluff Englishman. So Henry kept out of the quarrel; but to
Charles and Francis it became the main business of their lives. Their
reigns thereafter are the story of one long strife between them, rising
to such bitterness that at one time they passed the lie and challenged
each other to personal combat, over which there was much bustling and
bluster, but no result.

To get a full view of this Europe of young men, that beheld the
Reformation, we must note one other ruler farther north. Ever since the
union of Colmar in 1397, Sweden had been more or less bound to Denmark,
the strongest of the northern kingdoms. By the year 1520 the Danish
monarch Christian had reduced the Swedes to a state of most cruel
vassalage and misery. Only one young noble, Gustavus Vasa, a lad of
twenty-three, still held out, and by adventures wild as those of Robin
Hood evaded his enemies and at last roused his countrymen to one more
revolt. It was successful, and in 1523 Gustavus, by the unanimous
election of the Swedes, became the first of a new line of monarchs.[3]
He proved as able as a king as he had been daring as an adventurer, and
his long reign laid the foundation of Sweden's greatness in the
following century. He early accepted the reformed religion, and thus it
spread through the Far North almost without a check.


THE REFORMATION

The Reformation began in Germany in 1517, when the Saxon monk
Luther--himself then only thirty-four years a sojourner upon our
planet--protested against the Church's sale of indulgences. He was not
alone in his protest, but only stood forth as the mouthpiece of many
earnest men. His prince, that Frederick the Wise who afterward refused
to be emperor, upheld him. Maximilian, dying in the early days of the
dispute, had kind words of regard for the hero-monk. Even the Pope, Leo
X, treated the matter amicably at first. He also was still in early
life, having been made pope at thirty-six, an age quite as juvenile for
the leadership of the spiritual world as that of the various temporal
monarchs for theirs. Leo, being a member of the famous Medici family,
was apparently more interested in art than in religion. He wanted to
rebuild the gorgeous cathedral of St. Peter, and he did not want to
quarrel with Germany. So also Charles V, desiring to be emperor, could
scarce antagonize Frederick of Saxony, who could and did secure him his
ambition.

Thus in its earliest days Luther's revolt was handled very gently, and
it spread with speed. Then Charles, secure upon his throne and gravely
Catholic, resolved on firmer methods of stamping out the heresy. He
summoned Luther to that famous interview at Worms (1521), where the
reformer, threatened with outlawry and all the terror of the empire's
power, refused to unsay his preaching, crying out in agony: "Here I
stand! I can no other! God help me! Amen!"

Charles in his shrewd, silent way saw that the matter was not to be
settled so easily as he had hoped. Already half Germany was on
Luther's side. Several leading nobles accompanied him as he left the
Emperor's presence. Charles wanted their help against the Turks. So
there was more temporizing. Then came war with Francis no tune this for
quarrelling with obstinate Teutonic princes and their obstinate
_protege_.

The peasants of Germany did Luther's cause more harm than Charles had
done. These ignorant and bitterly oppressed unfortunates, constituting
everywhere, remember, the vast majority of the human race, heard
impassioned preachings of reform, revolt. To them Rome seemed not the
oppressor, but their immediate lords; and, thinking they were obeying
Luther's behest, they rose in arms. Some of the more violent reformers
joined them. Luther preached against the uprising, but it was not to be
checked. Terrible were the excesses of the mobs of brutal peasantry, and
all the upper classes of the land were forced in self-defence to turn
against them and crush them. Many a noble who had once thought well of
the reform, abandoned it in fear and horror at its consequences.[4]

Meanwhile the war with France became more serious. The claims of both
Charles and Francis to Italian lands made that unlucky country the
theatre of their battles. Francis, with his compact domain and readily
gathered resources, proved at first more than a match for the scattered
forces and insecure authority of the Emperor. Never had the French
monarch's fame stood higher than when in 1525, with an army made
confident by repeated victories, he besieged Pavia. The city was the
last important stronghold of Charles in Italy; it was reduced almost to
surrender.

Then came a fatal blunder. Francis confused the old ways with the new.
The German generals had been hopeless of raising the siege, the imperial
armies were on the point of disbanding, but as a last resort their
leaders advanced and defied the enemy to fight on equal terms. Instead
of laughing at the proposal as any modern leader would, Francis, in face
of the protest of all his generals, accepted and in true chivalrous
fashion fought the wholly unnecessary battle of Pavia. His forces were
completely defeated, he himself made prisoner. "All is lost," he wrote
home to France, "but honor." Even that too was lost, had he but
known. Charles, unchivalrous, determined to make the most of his
good-luck, and, for the release of his royal prisoner, demanded such
terms as would make France little more than a subject state.[5]

King Francis refused, threatened heroic suicide to save his country; but
he wearied of captivity at last and descended to his rival's level. It
was the tragic turning-point of the French monarch's life, the not
wholly untragic turning-point of larger destinies, ancient chivalry
being admitted unsuccessful and wholly out of date. The two monarchs
dickered over the terms of release. Charles abated somewhat of his
demands, and Francis was made free, having sworn to a treaty which he
never meant to keep. He repudiated it on various pleas, and having thus
sacrificed honor to regain something of all it had lost him, recommenced
the strife with Charles on more equal terms.

The Pope, not the Leo of earlier years, but Clement VII, another Medici,
absolved Francis from his treaty oath. This benevolence can scarce be
ascribed to religious grounds, for Charles was assuredly a better
Catholic than Francis. But as a temporal ruler Clement feared to have in
Italy a neighbor so powerful and unchecked as the Emperor was becoming.
Charles had his revenge. A German army of "Lutheran heretics" marched
into Italy swearing to hang the Pope to the dome of St. Peter's. They
stormed Rome, sacked it with such cruelty as rivalled the barbarian
plunderings of over a thousand years before; and if they did not hang
Clement, it was only because his castle of St. Angelo proved too strong
for their assaults. The marvellous art treasures which had been slowly
garnered in Rome since the days of Nicholas V, were almost wholly
destroyed.[6] Charles hastened to disclaim responsibility for this
direct assault upon the head of his Church; but he did not relinquish
any of the advantages it gave. He and the Pope arranged an alliance and
the Imperial army turned from Rome against Florence, where Pope
Clement's family, the Medici, had recently been expelled as rulers. The
siege and capture of Florence (1529) mark almost the last fluttering of
real independence in Italy. From that time the country remained in the
grasp of the Hapsburgs or their heirs and allies. Petty tyrants, minions
of Austria or Spain, ruled over the various cities. Their intellectual
supremacy passed over to France. Only within the last half-century has a
brighter day redawned for Italy, has she ceased to be what she was so
long called, "the battle-ground" of other nations.

Meanwhile since neither Pope nor Emperor had found time to offer any
vigorous opposition to the German Reformation, it had grown unchecked.
In its inception it had unquestionably been a pure and noble movement:
but as the "protesting" princes moved further in the matter, it dawned
on them that the suppression of the Roman Church meant the suppression
of all the bishoprics and abbeys, to which at least half the lands of
the empire belonged. Such an opportunity for plunder, and such easy
plunder, had never been before. Luther and the other preachers urged
that the church property should be used to erect schools and support
Protestant divines; but only a small fraction of it was ever surrendered
by the princes for these purposes. The Reformation had ceased to be a
purely religious movement.

In no country was this new aspect of the revolt so marked as in England.
There Henry VIII had grown ever more secure in his power by holding
aloof from the jangling that weakened Charles and Francis. He had sunk
into a tyrant and a voluptuary. Yet England herself, profiting by almost
half a century of peace, was progressing rapidly in culture. She was no
longer behind her neighbors. The Renaissance movement can scarce be said
to have begun in England before 1500, yet by 1516 her famous chancellor,
Sir Thomas More, was writing histories and philosophies. In 1522 the
King himself sighed for literary fame and gave opportunity for many
future satirists by writing a Latin book against the Lutherans. The Pope
conferred upon his royal champion a title, "Defender of the Faith."

As Henry, however, devoted himself more and more to pleasure, the real
power in England passed into the hands of his great minister Cardinal
Wolsey, who had risen from humble station to be for a time the most
influential man in Europe.[7] He even aspired to be pope, with what
seemed assured chances of success. But destiny willed otherwise. Henry
chanced to fall in love with a lady who insisted on his marrying her. To
do this he had to secure from the Pope a divorce from his former Queen,
who chanced to be an aunt of the Emperor Charles. What was poor Pope
Clement to do? Offend Charles who was just helping him crush the
Florentines, or refuse his "Defender of the Faith"? Real reason for the
divorce there was none. Clement temporized: and Wolsey with one eye on
his own future, helped him.

The result was tempestuous. Wolsey was hurried to his tragic downfall.
Henry took matters in his own hands and had his own English bishops
divorce him. England joined the ranks of the nations denying the
authority of Rome. Sir Thomas More and other nobles who refused to
follow Henry's bidding were beheaded. Thomas Cromwell, a new minister,
abler perhaps than even Wolsey, and risen from a yet lower sphere of
life, directed England's counsel. By one act after another the break
with Rome was made complete. A thousand monasteries were suppressed and
their wealth added to the crown. Cromwell earned his name, "the hammer
of the monks." In 1534 was passed the final "Act of Supremacy,"
declaring that the King of England and he alone was head of the English
Church.[8]

In France, too, was heresy beginning to appear. The young scholar, Jean
Calvin, wrote so vigorously against Rome that he was driven to flee from
Paris, though King Francis was himself suspected of favoring the free
thought of the reformers. Calvin, after many vicissitudes, settled in
Geneva and built up there a religious republic, that became intolerant
on its own account, and burned heretics who departed from its heresy.
But at least Geneva was in earnest. Calvinism spread fast over France;
it began crowding Lutheranism from parts of Germany. Geneva became the
"Protestant Rome," the centre of the opposition from which ministers
went forth to preach the faith.[9]

Science also began to raise its head against the ancient Church. The
Polish astronomer Copernicus had long since conceived his idea that the
earth was not the centre of the universe. He even pointed out the
proofs of his theory to a few brother-scientists; but the Church taught
otherwise, so Copernicus kept silent till, on his death-bed, he let his
doctrines be published in a book. Then he passed away, bequeathing to
posterity the wonderful foundation upon which modern science has so
built as to make impossible many of the over-literal teachings of the
mediæval Church.[10]


THE COUNTER-REFORMATION

Nothing but a miracle, it seemed, could save the falling cause of Rome,
and there have been men to assert that a miracle occurred. The order of
the Jesuits was founded in 1540 by Ignatius Loyola.[11] His followers
with intense fanaticism and self-abnegation devoted themselves
absolutely to upholding the ancient faith, to trampling out heresy
wherever it appeared. They sent out missionaries too, to the New World,
to Asia, Africa, and even distant Japan. As Catholicism lost ground in
Europe it extended over other continents.[12]

Partly at least under Jesuit influence began the great
"Counter-reformation," as it is called, the reform within the Church
itself. Even the most faithful Catholics had admitted the need of this.
Charles V had long urged the calling of a general council, and one
finally assembled in 1545 at Trent. It even tried to win the Lutherans
back peaceably into the fold, and, though this hope was soon abandoned,
a very marked reform was established within the Church. This Council of
Trent held sessions extending over nearly twenty years, and when its
labors were completed the entire body of laws and doctrines of the Roman
Catholic Church were fully established and defined.[13]

The refusal of the Protestants to join the Council of Trent brought
matters to a crisis. It placed them definitely outside the pale of the
Church, and Charles V could no longer find excuse in his not
over-troublous conscience, to avoid taking measures against them. They
themselves realized this, and formed a league for mutual support, the
Smalkald League; but it was never very harmonious. Thought, made
suddenly free, could not be expected to run all in the same channel. The
Protestants had divided into Lutherans, Calvinists, Anglicans, and a
dozen minor sects, some of which opposed one another more bitterly than
they did the Catholics. Toleration was as yet a thing unknown.[14]

The state of affairs was thus one peculiarly fitted for the genius of
Charles, who managed so to divide the members of the league that only
one of them, the Elector of Saxony, successor to Frederick the Wise, met
the Emperor's forces in battle. He was easily overthrown. The league
dissolved, and Charles, supported by his Spanish forces, was undisputed
master of Germany. He used his power mildly, insisting indeed on the
Protestants returning to the Church, but promising them many of the
reforms they demanded.

This was the moment of Charles' greatest power (1547). His ancient
rivals Henry and Francis both died in this year, the one sunk in sensual
sloth, the other in shame and gloom and savage cruelty. In his hatred of
Charles, Francis had even in his latter years allied himself with
Solyman the Magnificent, and encouraged the Turks in their assault on
Germany. Henry's crown fell to a child, Edward VI; that of Francis, to
his son, another Henry, the second of France, a young man apparently
immersed in sports and pleasures. The Turks had been defeated by
Charles' fleets in the Mediterranean. The Council of Trent, at first
refractory, seemed yielding to his wishes. Spain, where at one time he
had faced a violent revolt against his absolutism, was now wholly
submissive. Germany seemed equally overcome. The Emperor was at the
summit of his ambitions. Europe lay at his feet.

In 1552, with the suddenness of an earthquake, the Protestant princes of
Germany burst into a carefully planned revolt.[15] Maurice, another
member of the Saxon house, was their leader. Charles, caught unprepared,
had to flee from Germany, crossing the Alps in a litter, while he
groaned with gout. Henry of France, in alliance with the rebels,
proclaimed himself "Defender of the Liberties of Germany," and invading
the land, began seizing what cities and strong places he could. The
princes, amazed at their own complete success, sent Henry word that
their liberties were now fully secured, and he might desist. But he
concluded to keep what he had won. So began the series of aggressions by
which France gradually advanced her frontier to the Rhine.

Charles returned with an army the next year, and made peace with his
Germans, that he might turn all his fury against Henry, who had thus
assumed his father's unforgotten quarrel. A mighty German army laid
siege to Henry's most valuable bit of spoils, the strong city of Metz.
But the young French nobles, under Francis, Duke of Guise, a new, great
general who had risen to the help of France, threw themselves gallantly
into the fortress for its defence. Cold, hunger, and pestilence wasted
the imperial troops until--one can scarce say they raised the siege,
they disappeared, those who did not die had slunk away in fear before
the grisly death. Charles accepted his fate with bitter calm, commenting
that he saw Fortune was indeed a woman, she deserted an aged emperor for
a young king.

The Emperor's life had failed. He had not the heart to begin his plots
again. In 1555 he consented to the Peace of Augsburg,[16] which granted
complete liberty of faith to the German princes, and so ended the first
period of the Reformation. Religion, in this celebrated treaty, was
still regarded as a matter in which only monarchs were to be considered.
By a peculiar obliquity of vision, the princes denied to their subjects
the very thing they demanded for themselves. Each ruler was allowed to
establish what creed he chose within his own domains, and then to compel
his subjects to accept it.

The following year (1556) Charles with solemn ceremony resigned all his
kingdoms--Austria and the Empire to his brother, Spain to his son the
celebrated Philip II. Charles himself retired to a Spanish monastery,
where two years later he died. He had found life a vanity, indeed.


THE OTHER CONTINENTS

Of the world of Asia during this time it scarce seems necessary to
speak. The Tartars or Mongols, driven back from the borders of the
Turkish empire, invaded India and there founded the Mongol or Mogul
empire which Akbar pushed to its greatest extent.[17] These Moguls
remained emperors of India until its conquest by the English, over two
centuries later. Even to our own days their title has come down as a
symbol of power, "the Great Mogul."

Portuguese adventurers continued and expanded the trade with Asia, which
Vasco da Gama had opened. The Spaniards also sought a share in it, and
Jesuit missionaries preached the Christian faith. Magellan, a Portuguese
but sailing in the service of Spain, was the first to fulfil the vision
of Columbus and find the Indies by sailing westward.[18] He crossed the
entire Atlantic and Pacific oceans, discovered the Philippine Islands,
and was slain there by the natives. One of his ships completed the first
circumnavigation of the globe.

Look also to Spain's achievements in America, a new continent, but one
already vastly important because of the broad empires Spaniards were
winning there, the enormous wealth that was beginning to pour into the
mother-country. Settlement had begun immediately on the discovery. Rich
mines were opened and the Indians forced to work in them as slaves. As
the unhappy aborigines perished by thousands under the unaccustomed
toil, negroes were brought from Africa to supply their places, were
driven like wild beasts to the labor.[19] The New World became more like
a hell than like the paradise for which Isabella and Columbus planned.
Cortés conquered Mexico,[20] rich with gold beyond all that Europe had
even dreamed. Pizarro found in Peru[21] a civilization whose remarkable
advance we are only lately beginning to realize. And he annihilated
it--for gold. Lima was founded, and Buenos Aires, to be twice destroyed
by Indians and yet become the metropolis of South America.[22] Even here
extended the rivalry of the great European monarchs, Charles and
Francis. Cartier, in the service of the latter, refused to acknowledge
the claims of Spain to America, and exploring the St. Lawrence planned
for France a colonial empire to match that of her enemy.[23] De Leon
discovered Florida, and died while seeking there to emulate the
successes of Cortés. De Soto discovered the Mississippi[24] and he also
perished, lured on in the same knight-errant search for another golden
empire to conquer. Who, having read the lives of such adventurers as
these, shall ridicule the wildest extravagance in all the romances of
chivalry? Wonderland grew real around these men. They achieved
impossibilities. The maddest imaginings of the poets, the most fantastic
tales of knightly wanderings and successes, seem slight beside the
exploits of these daring, dauntless, heartless cavaliers of Spain.


[FOR THE NEXT SECTION OF THIS GENERAL SURVEY SEE VOLUME X]

FOOTNOTES:

[1] See _Luther Begins the Reformation in Germany_, page 1.

[2] See _The Field of the Cloth of Gold_, page 59.

[3] See _Liberation of Sweden_, page 79.

[4] See The Peasants' War in Germany, page 93.

[5] See _France Loses Italy_, page 111.

[6] See _Sack of Rome by the Imperial Troops_, page 124.

[7] See _Great Religious Movement in England_, page 137.

[8] See _England Breaks with the Roman Church_, page 203.

[9] See _Calvin is Driven from Paris_, page 176.

[10] See _Revolution of Astronomy by Copernicus_, page 285.

[11] See _Founding of the Jesuits_, page 261.

[12] See _Introduction of Christianity into Japan_, page 325.

[13] See _Council of Trent_, page 293.

[14] See _Protestant Struggle against Charles V_, page 313.

[15] See _Collapse of the Power of Charles V_, page 337.

[16] See _The Religious Peace of Augsburg_, page 348.

[17] See _Akbar Establishes the Mogul Empire in India_, page 366.

[18] See _First Circumnavigation of the Globe_, page 41.

[19] See _Negro Slavery in America_, page 36.

[20] See _Cortés Captures the City of Mexico_, page 72.

[21] See _Pizarro Conquers Peru_, page 156.

[22] See _Mendoza Settles Buenos Aires_, page 254.

[23] See _Cartier Explores Canada_, page 236.

[24] See _De Soto Discovers the Mississippi_, page 277.




LUTHER BEGINS THE REFORMATION IN GERMANY

A.D. 1517

JULIUS KOESTLIN    JEAN M. V. AUDIN

     It has seldom happened that the story of one man was
     essentially the history of a great movement and of an epoch
     in human progress. In the case of Luther, a large part of
     the world regards his name as a historic epitome. The monk
     whose "words were half-battles," and whom Carlyle chose for
     his hero-priest, was chief among the reformers, and in the
     general view stands for the Reformation itself.

     But recognition of Luther's dominating position and
     representative character should not leave us blind to other
     factors in the religious revolution which was also an
     evolution, the achievement not of one man, but of advancing
     generations with many leaders. Luther had great helpers in
     his own time and great successors. He also had great
     predecessors. The Reformation was the religious development
     of the Renaissance; it had been heralded by Wycliffe, Huss,
     and Savonarola, and there were many minor prophets of a
     reformed church before the great German was born.

     Luther's Reformation was a revolt against the power and
     abuses of the Roman Catholic Church. It was directed against
     certain doctrines as well as certain practices, and
     especially against evils in the spiritual and temporal
     government of the Church.

     All the reformers aimed at freeing themselves from
     oppressive rule at Rome, and endeavored to establish a purer
     faith. The appeal to private judgment as against
     unquestioning belief was a natural result of the revival of
     learning as well as of spiritual quickening.

     Before Luther's time, however, such revolts against church
     authority had been quickly suppressed. It is also true that
     many abuses had been done away by reformation within the
     Church itself; and that, indeed, was what Luther at first
     intended. His movement became "too powerful to be put down,
     and its leaders soon passed beyond the point at which they
     were willing to reform the Church from within. Finding that
     the Church would not respond as quickly and as fully to
     their demands as they wished, they left the Church and
     attacked it from without." In Germany the administration of
     the Church had long caused discontent. Through Martin Luther
     this feeling found powerful utterance, and in him the demand
     for reforms became irresistibly urgent.

     Luther, the son of a poor miner, was born at Eisleben,
     Saxony, November 10, 1483. He became an Augustinian monk,
     in 1507 was consecrated a priest, and the next year was made
     professor of philosophy in the University of Wittenberg. In
     1511 he visited Rome, and on his return to Wittenberg was
     made doctor of theology. He had already become known through
     the power and independence of his preaching. Although he
     went to Rome "an insane papist," as he said, and while he
     was still intensely devoted to the Church and its leaders,
     he made known his belief in what became the fundamental
     doctrines of Protestantism, exclusive authority of the
     Bible--implying the right of private judgment--and
     justification by faith.

     The immediate occasion of Luther's first great protest was
     the sale of indulgences by the Dominican monk John Tetzel.
     From early times the church authorities had granted
     indulgences or remissions of penances imposed on persons
     guilty of mortal sins, the condition being true penitence.
     At length the Church began to accept money, not in lieu of
     penitence, but of the customary penances which usually
     accompanied it. Before 1517 Luther had given warnings
     against the abuse of indulgences, without blaming the
     administration of the Church. But when in that year Tetzel
     approached the borders of Saxony selling indulgences in the
     name of the Pope, Leo X, who wanted money for the building
     of St. Peter's Church in Rome, Luther, with many of the
     better minds of Germany, was greatly offended by the
     vender's methods. Against the course of Tetzel Luther took a
     firm stand, and when the reformer posted his theses
     (summarized by Koestlin) on the church door at Wittenberg
     the first great movement of the Reformation in the sixteenth
     century was inaugurated.

     In accordance with the impartial plan of the present work
     regarding the treatment of controverted matters, it is here
     sought to satisfy the historic sense, which includes the
     sense of justice, by giving a presentation of each view of
     the story--the Protestant by Koestlin, the Catholic by Jean
     M. V. Audin, whose _Life of Luther_ has been called the
     "tribunal" before which the great reformer must be summoned
     for his answer.


JULIUS KOESTLIN

Luther longed now to make known to theologians and ecclesiastics
generally his thoughts about indulgences, his own principles, his own
opinions and doubts, to excite public discussion on the subject, and to
awake and maintain the fray. This he did by the ninety-five Latin theses
or propositions which he posted on the doors of the Castle Church at
Wittenberg on October 31, 1517, the eve of All Saints' Day and of the
anniversary of the consecration of the church.

These theses were intended as a challenge for disputation. Such public
disputations were then very common at the universities and among
theologians, and they were meant to serve as means not only of
exercising learned thought, but of elucidating the truth. Luther headed
his theses as follows:

"_Disputation to Explain the Virtue of Indulgences._--In charity, and in
the endeavor to bring the truth to light, a disputation on the following
propositions will be held at Wittenberg, presided over by the Reverend
Father Martin Luther. Those who are unable to attend personally may
discuss the question with us by letter. In the name of our Lord Jesus
Christ. Amen."

It was in accordance with the general custom of that time that, on the
occasion of a high festival, particular acts and announcements, and
likewise disputations at a university, were arranged, and the doors of a
collegiate church were used for posting such notices.

The contents of these theses show that their author really had such a
disputation in view. He was resolved to defend with all his might
certain fundamental truths to which he firmly adhered. Some points he
considered still within the region of dispute; it was his wish and
object to make these clear to himself by arguing about them with others.

Recognizing the connection between the system of indulgences and the
view of penance entertained by the Church, he starts with considering
the nature of true Christian repentance; but he would have this
understood in the sense and spirit taught by Christ and the Scriptures.
He begins with the thesis: "Our Lord and Master Jesus Christ, when he
says repent, desires that the whole life of the believer should be one
of repentance." He means, as the subsequent theses express it, that true
inward repentance, that sorrow for sin and hatred of one's own sinful
self, from which must proceed good works and mortification of the sinful
flesh. The pope could only remit his sin to the penitent so far as to
declare that God had forgiven it.

Thus then the theses expressly declare that God forgives no man his sin
without making him submit himself in humility to the priest who
represents him, and that he recognizes the punishments enjoined by the
Church in her outward sacrament of penance. But Luther's leading
principles are consistently opposed to the customary announcements of
indulgences by the Church. The pope, he holds, can only grant
indulgences for what the pope and the law of the Church have imposed;
nay, the pope himself means absolution from these obligations only, when
he promises absolution from all punishment. And it is only the living
against whom those punishments are directed which the Church's
discipline of penance enjoins; nothing, according to her own laws, can
be imposed upon those in another world.

Further on Luther declares: "When true repentance is awakened in a man,
full absolution from punishment and sin comes to him without any letters
of indulgence." At the same time he says that such a man would willingly
undergo self-imposed chastisement, nay, he would even seek and love it.

Still, it is not the indulgences themselves, if understood in the right
sense, that he wishes to be attacked, but the loose babble of those who
sold them. Blessed, he says, be he who protests against this, but cursed
be he who speaks against the truth of apostolic indulgences. He finds it
difficult, however, to praise these to the people, and at the same time
to teach them the true repentance of the heart. He would have them even
taught that a Christian would do better by giving money to the poor than
by spending it in buying indulgences, and that he who allows a poor man
near him to starve draws down on himself, not indulgences, but the wrath
of God. In sharp and scornful language he denounces the iniquitous
trader in indulgences, and gives the Pope credit for the same abhorrence
for the traffic that he felt himself. Christians must be told, he says,
that, if the Pope only knew of it, he would rather see St. Peter's
Church in ashes than have it built with the flesh and bones of his
sheep.

Agreeably with what the preceding theses had said about the true
penitent's earnestness and willingness to suffer, and the temptation
offered to a mere carnal sense of security, Luther concludes as follows:
"Away therefore with all those prophets who say to Christ's people
'Peace, peace!' when there is no peace, but welcome to all those who bid
them seek the Cross of Christ, not the cross which bears the papal arms.
Christians must be admonished to follow Christ their Master through
torture, death, and hell, and thus through much tribulation, rather
than, by a carnal feeling of false security, hope to enter the kingdom
of heaven."

The Catholics objected to this doctrine of salvation advanced by Luther
that, by trusting to God's free mercy, and by undervaluing good works,
it led to moral indolence. But, on the contrary, it was to the very
unbending moral earnestness of a Christian conscience, which, indignant
at the temptations offered to moral frivolity, to a deceitful feeling of
ease in respect to sin and guilt, and to a contempt of the fruits of
true morality, rebelled against the false value attached to this
indulgence money, that these theses, the germ, so to speak, of the
Reformation, owed their origin and prosecution. With the same
earnestness he now for the first time publicly attacked the
ecclesiastical power of the papacy, in so far namely as, in his
conviction, it invaded the territory reserved to himself by the heavenly
Lord and Judge. This was what the Pope and his theologians and
ecclesiastics could least of all endure.

On the same day that these theses were published, Luther sent a copy of
them with a letter to the archbishop Albert, his "revered and gracious
lord and shepherd in Christ." After a humble introduction, he begged him
most earnestly to prevent the scandalizing and iniquitous harangues with
which his agents hawked about their indulgences, and reminded him that
he would have to give an account of the souls intrusted to his episcopal
care.

The next day he addressed himself to the people from the pulpit in a
sermon he had to preach on the festival of All Saints. After exhorting
them to seek their salvation in God and Christ alone, and to let the
consecration by the Church become a real consecration of the heart, he
went on to tell them plainly, with regard to indulgences, that he could
only absolve from duties imposed by the Church, and that they dare not
rely on him for more, nor delay on his account the duties of true
repentance.

Theologians before Luther, and with far more acuteness and penetration
than he showed in his theses, had already assailed the whole system of
indulgences. And, in regard to any idea on Luther's part of the effects
of his theses extending widely in Germany, it may be noticed that not
only were they composed in Latin, but that they dealt largely with
scholastic expressions and ideas, which a layman would find it difficult
to understand.

Nevertheless the theses created a sensation which far surpassed Luther's
expectations. In fourteen days, as he tells us, they ran through the
whole of Germany, and were immediately translated and circulated in
German. They found, indeed, the soil already prepared for them, through
the indignation long since and generally aroused by the shameless doings
they attacked; though till then nobody, as Luther expresses it, had
liked to bell the cat, nobody had dared to expose himself to the
blasphemous clamor of the indulgence-mongers and the monks who were in
league with them, still less to the threatened charge of heresy. On the
other hand, the very impunity with which this traffic in indulgences had
been maintained throughout German Christendom had served to increase
from day to day the audacity of its promoters.

The task that Luther had now undertaken lay heavy upon his soul. He was
sincerely anxious, while fighting for the truth, to remain at peace with
his Church, and to serve her by the struggle. Pope Leo, on the contrary,
as was consistent with his whole character, treated the matter at first
very lightly, and, when it threatened to become dangerous, thought only
how, by means of his papal power, to make the restless German monk
harmless.

Two expressions of his in these early days of the contest are recorded.
"Brother Martin," he said, "is a man of a very fine genius, and this
outbreak the mere squabble of envious monks;" and again, "It is a
drunken German who has written the theses; he will think differently
about them when sober." Three months after the theses had appeared, he
ordered the vicar-general of the Augustinians to "quiet down the man,"
hoping still to extinguish easily the flame. The next step was to
institute a tribunal for heretics at Rome for Luther's trial; what its
judgment would be was patent from the fact that the single theologian of
learning among the judges was Sylvester Prierias. Before this tribunal
Luther was cited on August 7th; within sixty days he was to appear there
at Rome. Friend and foe could well feel certain that they would look in
vain for his return.

Papal influence, meanwhile, had been brought to bear on the elector
Frederick[25] to induce him not to take the part of Luther, and the
chief agent chosen for working on the Elector and the emperor Maximilian
was the papal legate, Cardinal Thomas Vio of Gaeta, called Cajetan, who
had made his appearance in Germany. The University of Wittenberg, on the
other hand, interposed on behalf of their member, whose theology was
popular there, and whose biblical lectures attracted crowds of
enthusiastic hearers. He had just been joined at Wittenberg by his
fellow-professor Philip Melanchthon, then only twenty-one years old, but
already in the first rank of Greek scholars, and the bond of friendship
was now formed which lasted through their lives. The university claimed
that Luther should at least be tried in Germany. Luther expressed the
same wish through Spalatin[26] to his sovereign.

The Pope meanwhile had passed from his previous state of haughty
complacency to one of violent haste. Already, on August 23d, thus long
before the sixty days had expired, he demanded the Elector to deliver up
this "child of the devil," who boasted of his protection, to the legate,
to bring away with him. This is clearly shown by two private briefs from
the Pope, of August 23d and 25th, the one addressed to the legate, the
other to the head of all the Augustinian convents in Saxony, as
distinguished from the vicar of those congregations, Staupitz, who
already was looked on with suspicion at Rome. These briefs instructed
both men to hasten the arrest of the heretic; his adherents were to be
secured with him, and every place where he was tolerated laid under the
interdict.

In the summer of 1518 a diet was held at Augsburg at which the papal
legate attended. The Pope was anxious to obtain its consent to the
imposition of a heavy tax throughout the empire, to be applied
ostensibly for the war against the Turks, but alleged to be wanted in
reality for entirely other objects. The demand for a tax, however, was
received with the utmost disfavor both by the diet and the empire; and a
long-cherished bitterness of feeling now found expression. An anonymous
pamphlet was circulated, from the pen of one Fischer, a prebendary of
Wuerzburg, which bluntly declared that the avaricious lords of Rome only
wished to cheat the "drunken Germans," and that the real Turks were to
be looked for in Italy. This pamphlet reached Wittenberg and fell into
the hands of Luther, whom now for the first time we hear denouncing
"Roman cunning," though he only charged the Pope himself with allowing
his grasping Florentine relations to deceive him.

The diet seized the opportunity offered by this demand for a tax, to
bring up a whole list of old grievances; the large sums drawn from
German benefices by the Pope under the name of annates, or extorted
under other pretexts; the illegal usurpation of ecclesiastical patronage
in Germany; the constant infringement of concordats, and so on. The
demand itself was refused; and in addition to this, an address was
presented to the diet from the bishop and clergy of Liège, inveighing
against the lying, thieving, avaricious conduct of the Romish minions,
in such sharp and violent tones that Luther, on reading it afterward
when printed, thought it only a hoax, and not really an episcopal
remonstrance.

This was reason enough why Cajetan, to avoid increasing the excitement,
should not attempt to lay hands on the Wittenberg opponent of
indulgences. The elector Frederick, from whose hands Cajetan would have
to demand Luther, was one of the most powerful and personally respected
princes of the empire, and his influence was especially important in
view of the election of a new emperor. This Prince went now in person to
Cajetan on Luther's behalf, and Cajetan promised him, at the very time
that the brief was on its way to him from Rome, that he would hear
Luther at Augsburg, treat him with fatherly kindness, and let him depart
in safety.

Luther accordingly was sent to Augsburg. It was an anxious time for
himself and his friends when he had to leave for that distant place,
where the Elector, with all his care, could not employ any physical
means for his protection, and to stand accused as a heretic before that
papal legate who, from his own theological principles, was bound to
condemn him. "My thoughts on the way," said Luther afterward, "were now
I must die; and I often lamented the disgrace I should be to my dear
parents."

He went thither in humble garb and manner. He made his way on foot till
within a short distance of Augsburg, when illness and weakness overcame
him, and he was forced to proceed by carriage. Another younger monk of
Wittenberg accompanied him, his pupil Leonard Baier. At Nuremberg he was
joined by his friend Link, who held an appointment there as preacher.
From him he borrowed a monk's frock, his own being too bad for Augsburg.
He arrived here on October 7th.

The surroundings he now entered, and the proceedings impending over him,
were wholly novel and unaccustomed. But he met with men who received him
with kindness and consideration; several of them were gentlemen of
Augsburg favorable to him, especially the respected patrician, Dr.
Conrad Peutinger, and two counsellors of the Elector. They advised him
to behave with prudence, and to observe carefully all the necessary
forms to which as yet he was a stranger.

Luther at once announced his arrival to Cajetan, who was anxious to
receive him without delay. His friends, however, kept him back until
they had obtained a written safe-conduct from the Emperor, who was then
hunting in the environs. In the mean time a distinguished friend of
Cajetan, one Urbanus of Serralonga, tried to persuade him, in a flippant
and, as Luther thought, a downright Italian manner, to come forward and
simply pronounce six letters--"_Revoco_" ("I retract"). Urbanus asked
him with a smile if he thought his sovereign would risk his country for
his sake. "God forbid!" answered Luther. "Where then do you mean to take
refuge?" he went on to ask him. "Under heaven," was Luther's reply.

On October 11th Luther received the letter of safe-conduct, and the next
day he appeared before Cajetan. Humbly, as he had been advised, he
prostrated himself before the representative of the Pope, who received
him graciously and bade him rise.

The Cardinal addressed him civilly and with a courtesy Luther was not
accustomed to meet with from his opponents; but he immediately demanded
him, in the name and by command of the Pope, to retract his errors, and
promise in future to abstain from them and from everything that might
disturb the peace of the Church. He pointed out, in particular, two
errors in his theses; namely, that the Church's treasure of indulgences
did not consist of the merits of Christ, and that faith on the part of
the recipient was necessary for the efficacy of the sacrament. With
respect to the second point, the religious principles upon which Luther
based his doctrine were altogether strange and unintelligible to the
scholastic standpoint of Cajetan; mere tittering and laughter followed
Luther's observations, and he was required to retract this thesis
unconditionally. The first point settled the question of papal
authority. The Cardinal-legate could not believe that Luther would
venture to resist a papal bull, and thought he had probably not read it.
He read him a vigorous lecture of his own on the paramount authority of
the pope over council, Church, and Scripture. As to any argument,
however, about the theses to be retracted, Cajetan refused from the
first to engage in it, and undoubtedly he went further in that direction
than he originally desired or intended. His sole wish was, as he said,
to give fatherly correction, and with fatherly friendliness to arrange
the matter. But in reality, says Luther, it was a blunt, naked,
unyielding display of power. Luther could only beg from him further time
for consideration.

Luther's friends at Augsburg, and Staupitz, who had just arrived there,
now attempted to divert the course of these proceedings, to collect
other decisions of importance bearing on the subject, and to give him
the opportunity of a public vindication. Accompanied therefore by
several jurists friendly to his cause, and by a notary and Staupitz, he
laid before the legate next day a short and formal statement of defence.
He could not retract unless convicted of error, and to all that he had
said he must hold as being Catholic truth. Nevertheless he was only
human, and therefore fallible, and he was willing to submit to a
legitimate decision of the Church. He offered, at the same time,
publicly to justify his theses, and he was ready to hear the judgment of
the learned doctors of Basel, Freiburg, Louvain, and even Paris upon
them. Cajetan with a smile dismissed Luther and his proposals, but
consented to receive a more detailed reply in writing to the principal
points discussed the previous day.

On the morrow, October 14th, Luther brought his reply to the legate. But
in this document also he insisted clearly and resolutely from the
commencement on those very principles which his opponents regarded as
destructive of all ecclesiastical authority and of the foundations of
Christian belief. Still he entreated Cajetan to intercede with Leo X,
that the latter might not harshly thrust out into darkness his soul,
which was seeking for the light. But he repeated that he could do
nothing against his conscience: one must obey God rather than man, and
he had the fullest confidence that he had Scripture on his side.
Cajetan, to whom he delivered this reply in person, once more tried to
persuade him. They fell into a lively and vehement argument; but Cajetan
cut it short with the exclamation, "Revoke." In the event of Luther not
revoking or submitting to judgment at Rome, he threatened him and all
his friends with excommunication, and whatever place he might go to with
an interdict; he had a mandate from the Pope to that effect already in
his hands. He then dismissed him with the words, "Revoke, or do not come
again into my presence." Nevertheless he spoke in quite a friendly
manner after this to Staupitz, urging him to try his best to convert
Luther, whom he wished well. Luther, however, wrote the same day to his
friend Spalatin, who was with the Elector, and to his friends at
Wittenberg, telling them he had refused to yield. Luther added further
that an appeal would be drawn up for him in the form best fitted to the
occasion. He further hinted to his Wittenberg friends at the possibility
of his having to go elsewhere in exile; indeed, his friends already
thought of taking him to Paris, where the university still rejected the
doctrine of papal absolutism. He concluded this letter by saying that he
refused to become a heretic by denying that which had made him a
Christian; sooner than do that, he would be burned, exiled, or cursed.
The appeal, of which Luther here spoke, was "from the Pope ill-informed
to the same when better informed." On October 16th he submitted it,
formally prepared, to a public notary.

Luther even addressed, on October 17th, a letter to Cajetan, conceding
to him the utmost he thought possible. Moved, as he said, by the
persuasions of his dear father Staupitz and his brother Link, he offered
to let the whole question of indulgences rest, if only that which drove
him to this tragedy were put a stop to; he confessed also to having been
too violent and disrespectful in dispute. In after-years he said to his
friends, when referring to this concession, that God had never allowed
him to sink deeper than when he had yielded so much. The next day,
however, he gave notice of his appeal to the legate, and told him he did
not wish longer to waste his time in Augsburg. To this letter he
received no answer.

Luther waited, however, till the 20th. He and his Augsburg patrons began
to suspect whether measures had not already been taken to detain him.
They therefore had a small gate in the city wall opened in the night,
and sent with him an escort well acquainted with the road. Thus he
hastened away, as he himself described it, on a hard-trotting hack, in a
simple monk's frock, with only knee-breeches, without boots or spurs,
and unarmed. On the first day he rode eight miles, as far as the little
town of Monheim. As he entered in the evening an inn and dismounted in
the stable, he was unable to stand from fatigue and fell down instantly
among the straw. He travelled thus on horseback to Wittenberg, where he
arrived, well and joyful, on the anniversary of his ninety-five theses.
He had heard on the way of the Pope's brief to Cajetan, but he refused
to think it could be genuine. His appeal, meanwhile, was delivered to
the Cardinal at Augsburg, who had it posted by his notary on the doors
of the cathedral.

Without waiting for an answer direct from Rome, Luther now abandoned all
thoughts of success with Leo X. On November 28th he formally and
solemnly appealed from the Pope to a general Christian council. By so
doing he anticipated the sentence of excommunication which he was daily
expecting. With Rome he had broken forever, unless she were to surrender
her claims and acquisitions of more than a thousand years.

After once the first restraints of awe were removed with which Luther
had regarded the papacy, behind and beyond the matter of the
indulgences, and he had learned to know the papal representative at
Augsburg, and made a stand against his demands and menaces, and escaped
from his dangerous clutches, he enjoyed for the first time the fearless
consciousness of freedom. He took a wider survey around him, and saw
plainly the deep corruption and ungodliness of the powers arrayed
against him. His mind was impelled forward with more energy as his
spirit for the fight was stirred within him. Even the prospect that he
might have to fly, and the uncertainty whither his flight could be, did
not daunt or deter him.

He was really prepared for exile or flight at any moment. At Wittenberg
his friends were alarmed by rumors of designs on the part of the Pope
against his life and liberty, and insisted on his being placed in
safety. Flight to France was continually talked of; had he not followed
in his appeal a precedent set by the University of Paris? We certainly
cannot see how he could safely have been conveyed thither, or where,
indeed, any other and safer place could have been found for him. Some
urged that the Elector himself should take him into custody and keep him
in a place of safety, and then write to the legate that he held him
securely in confinement and was in future responsible for him. Luther
proposed this to Spalatin, and added: "I leave the decision of this
matter to your discretion; I am in the hands of God and of my friends."
The Elector himself, anxious also in this respect, arranged early in
December a confidential interview between Luther and Spalatin at the
castle of Lichtenberg. He also, as Luther reported to Staupitz, wished
that Luther had some other place to be in, but he advised him against
going away so hastily to France. His own wish and counsel, however, he
refrained as yet from making known. Luther declared that at all events,
if a ban of excommunication were to come from Rome, he would not remain
longer at Wittenberg. On this point also the Prince kept secret his
resolve.

At Rome the bull of excommunication was published as early as June 16th.
It had been considered very carefully in the papal consistory. The
jurists there were of opinion that Luther should be cited once more, but
their views did not prevail. The bull begins with the words, "Arise, O
Lord, and avenge thy cause." It proceeds to invoke St. Peter, St. Paul,
the whole body of the saints, and the Church. A wild boar had broken
into the vineyard of the Lord, a wild beast was there seeking to devour,
etc. Of the heresy against which it was directed, the Pope, as he
states, had additional reason to complain, since the Germans, among whom
it had broken out, had always been regarded by him with such tender
affection: he gives them to understand that they owed the empire to the
Roman Church. Forty-one propositions from Luther's writings are then
rejected and condemned as heretical, or at least scandalous and
corrupting, and his works collectively are sentenced to be burned. As to
Luther himself, the Pope calls God to witness that he has neglected no
means of fatherly love to bring him into the right way. Even now he is
ready to follow toward him the example of divine mercy which wills not
the death of a sinner, but that he should be converted and live; and so
once more he calls upon him to repent, in which case he will receive him
graciously like the prodigal son. Sixty days are given him to recant.
But if he and his adherents will not repent, they are to be regarded as
obstinate heretics and withered branches of the vine of Christ, and must
be punished according to law. No doubt the punishment of burning was
meant; the bull in fact expressly condemns the proposition of Luther
which denounces the burning of heretics. All this was called then at
Rome, and has been called even latterly by the papal party, "the tone
rather of fatherly sorrow than of penal severity."

The emperor Charles V, before leaving the Netherlands on his journey to
Aix-la-Chapelle to be crowned (1520),[27] had already been induced to
take his first step against Luther. He had consented to the execution of
the sentence in the bull condemning Luther's works to be burned, and had
issued orders to that effect throughout the Netherlands. They were
burned in public at Louvain, Cologne, and Mainz. At Cologne this was
done while he was staying there. It was in this town that the two
legates approached the elector Frederick with the demand to have the
same done in his territory, and to execute due punishment on the heretic
himself, or at least to keep him close prisoner or to deliver him over
to the Pope. Frederick, however, refused, saying that Luther must first
be heard by impartial judges. Erasmus also, who was then staying at
Cologne, expressed himself to the same effect, in an opinion obtained
from him by Frederick through Spalatin. At an interview with the
Elector he said to him: "Luther has committed two great faults: he has
touched the Pope on his crown and the monks on their bellies." The
burning of Luther's books at Mainz was effected without hinderance, and
the legates in triumph proceeded to carry out their mission elsewhere.

Luther, however, lost no time in following up their execution of the
bull with his reply. On December 10th he posted a public announcement
that the next morning, at nine o'clock, the anti-Christian decretals,
that is, the papal law-books, would be burned, and he invited all the
Wittenberg students to attend. He chose for this purpose a spot in front
of the Elster gate, to the east of the town, near the Augustinian
convent. A multitude poured forth to the scene. With Luther appeared a
number of other doctors and masters, and among them Melanchthon and
Carlstadt. After one of the masters of art had built up a pile, Luther
laid the decretals upon it, and the former applied the fire. Luther then
threw the papal bull into the flames, with the words, "Because thou hast
vexed the Holy One of the Lord,[28] let the everlasting fire consume
thee." While Luther with the other teachers returned to the town, some
hundreds of students remained upon the scene and sang a _Te Deum_, and a
Dirge for the decretals. After the ten o'clock meal, some of the young
students, grotesquely attired, drove through the town in a large
carriage, with a banner, emblazoned with a bull, four yards in length,
amid the blowing of brass trumpets and other absurdities. They collected
from all quarters a mass of scholastic and papal writings, and hastened
with them and the bull to the pile, which their companions had meanwhile
kept alight. Another _Te Deum_ was then sung, with a requiem, and the
hymn, "_O du armer Judas_."

Luther at his lecture the next day told his hearers with great
earnestness and emotion what he had done. The papal chair, he said,
would yet have to be burned. Unless with all their hearts they abjured
the kingdom of the pope, they could not obtain salvation.

By this bold act, Luther consummated his final rupture with the papal
system, which for centuries had dominated the Christian world and had
identified itself with Christianity. The news of it must also have made
the fire which his words had kindled throughout Germany blaze out in all
its violence. He saw now, as he wrote to Staupitz, a storm raging, such
as only the last day could allay, so fiercely were passions aroused on
both sides. Germany was then, in fact, in a state of excitement and
tension more critical than at any other period of her history.

The announcement of the retractation required from Luther by the bull
was to have been sent to Rome within one hundred twenty days. Luther had
given his answer. The Pope declared that the time of grace had expired;
and on January 3d Leo X finally pronounced the ban against Luther and
his followers, and an interdict on the places where they were harbored.

Never did the most momentous issue in the fortunes of the German nation
and church rest so entirely with one man as they did now with the
Emperor. Everything depended on this whether he, as head of the empire,
should take the great work in hand, or should fling his authority and
might into the opposite scale. Charles had been welcomed in Germany as
one whose youthful heart seemed likely to respond to the newly awakened
life and aspirations, as the son of an old German princely family, who
by his election as emperor had won a triumph over the foreign king
Francis, supported though the latter was by the Pope. Rumor now alleged
that he was in the hands of the Mendicant friars; the Franciscan Glapio
was his confessor and influential adviser, the very man who had
instigated the burning of Luther's works.

He was, however, by no means so dependent on those about him as might
have been supposed. His counsellors, in the general interests of his
government, pursued an independent line of policy, and Charles himself,
even in these his youthful days, knew to assert his independence as a
monarch and display his cleverness as a statesman. He saw the prudence
of cultivating friendship and contracting if possible an alliance with
the Pope. The pressure desirable for this purpose could now be supplied
by means of the very danger with which the papacy was threatened by the
great German heresy, and against which Rome so sorely needed the aid of
a temporal power. At the same time, Charles was far too astute to allow
his regard for the Pope, and his desire for the unity of the Church, to
entangle his policy in measures for which his own power was inadequate,
or by which his authority might be shaken and possibly destroyed.
Strengthened as was his monarchical power in Spain, in Germany he found
it hemmed in and fettered by the estates of the empire and the whole
contexture of political relations.

Such were the main points of view which determined for Charles V his
conduct toward Luther and his cause. Luther thus was at least a passive
sharer in the game of high policy, ecclesiastical and temporal, now
being played, and had to pursue his own course accordingly.

The imperial court was quickly enough acquainted with the state of
feeling in Germany. The Emperor showed himself prudent at this juncture,
and accessible to opinions differing from his own, however small cause
his proclamations gave to the friends of Luther to hope for any positive
act of favor on his part.

While Charles was on his way up the Rhine to hold, at the beginning of
the new year, a diet at Worms, the elector Frederick approached him with
the request that Luther should at least be heard before the Emperor took
any proceedings against him. The Emperor informed him in reply that he
might bring Luther for this purpose to Worms, promising that the monk
should not be molested.

The Emperor, on March 6th, issued a citation to Luther, summoning him to
Worms to give "information concerning his doctrines and books." An
imperial herald was sent to conduct him. In the event of his disobeying
the citation, or refusing to retract, the estates declared their consent
to treat him as an open heretic. Luther, therefore, had to renounce at
once all hope of having the truth touching his articles of faith tested
fairly at Worms by the standard of God's word in Scripture. Spalatin
indicated to him the points on which he would in any case be expected to
make a public recantation.

Luther formed his resolve at once on the two points required of him. He
determined to obey the summons to the diet, and, if there unconvicted of
error, to refuse the recantation demanded. The Emperor's citation was
delivered to him on March 26th by the imperial herald, Kaspar Sturm, who
was to accompany him to Worms. Within twenty-one days after its receipt,
Luther was to appear before the Emperor; he was due therefore at Worms
on April 16th at the latest.

On April 2d, the Tuesday after Easter, he set out on his way to Worms.
His friend Amsdorf and the Pomeranian nobleman Peter Swaven, who was
then studying at Wittenberg, accompanied him. He took with him also,
according to the rules of the order, a brother of the order, John
Pezensteiner. The Wittenberg magistracy provided carriages and horses.

The way led past Leipzig, through Thuringia from Naumburg to Eisenach,
southward past Berka, Hersfeld, Gruenberg, Friedberg, Frankfort, and
Oppenheim. The herald rode on before in his coat-of-arms, and announced
the man whose word had everywhere so mightily stirred the minds of
people, and for whose future behavior and fate friend and foe were alike
anxious. Everywhere people collected to catch a glimpse of him. On April
6th he was very solemnly received at Erfurt. The large majority of the
university there were by this time full of enthusiasm for his cause.

Meanwhile at Worms disquietude and suspense prevailed on both sides.
Hutten[29] from the castle of Ebernburg sent threatening and angry
letters to the papal legates, who became really anxious lest a blow
might be struck from that quarter. Some anxious friends of Luther's were
afraid that, according to papal law, the safe-conduct would not be
observed in the case of a condemned heretic. Spalatin himself sent from
Worms a second warning to Luther after he had left Frankfort, intimating
that he would suffer the fate of Huss.

But Luther continued on his way. To Spalatin he replied, though Huss
were burned, yet the truth was not burned; he would go to Worms though
there were as many devils there as there were tiles on the roofs of the
houses.

On April 16th, at ten o'clock in the morning, Luther entered Worms. He
sat in an open carriage with his three companions from Wittenberg,
clothed in his monk's habit. He was accompanied by a large number of men
on horseback, some of whom, like Jonas, had joined him earlier in his
journey; others, like some gentlemen belonging to the Elector's court,
had ridden out from Worms to receive him. The imperial herald rode on
before. The watchman blew a horn from the tower of the cathedral on
seeing the procession approach the gate. Thousands streamed hither to
see Luther. The gentlemen of the court escorted him into the house of
the Knights of St. John, where he lodged with two counsellors of the
Elector. As he stepped from his carriage he said, "God will be with me."
Aleander, writing to Rome, said that he looked around with the eyes of a
demon. Crowds of distinguished men, ecclesiastics and laymen, who were
anxious to know him personally, flocked daily to see him.

On the evening of the following day he had to appear before the diet,
which was assembled in the Bishop's palace, the residence of the
Emperor, not far from where Luther was lodging. He was conducted thither
by side streets, it being impossible to get through the crowds assembled
in the main thoroughfare to see him. On his way into the hall where the
diet was assembled, tradition tells us how the famous warrior, George
von Frundsberg, clapped him on the shoulder and said: "My poor monk! my
poor monk! thou art on thy way to make such a stand as I and many of my
knights have never done in our toughest battles. If thou art sure of the
justice of thy cause, then forward in the name of God, and be of good
courage--God will not forsake thee." The Elector had given Luther as his
advocate the lawyer Jerome Schurf, his Wittenberg colleague and friend.

When at length, after waiting two hours, Luther was admitted to the
diet, Eck, the official of the Archbishop of Treves, put to him simply,
in the name of the Emperor, two questions, whether he acknowledged the
books--pointing to them on a bench beside him--to be his own, and next,
whether he would retract their contents or persist in them. Schurf here
exclaimed, "Let the titles of the books be named." Eck then read them
out. Among them there were some merely edifying writings, such as _A
Commentary on the Lord's Prayer_, which had never been made the subject
of complaint.

Luther was not prepared for this proceeding, and possibly the first
sight of the august assembly made him nervous. He answered in a low
voice, and as if frightened, that the books were his, but that since the
question as to their contents concerned the highest of all things, the
Word of God and the salvation of souls, he must beware of giving a rash
answer, and must therefore humbly entreat further time for
consideration. After a short deliberation the Emperor instructed Eck to
reply that he would, out of his clemency, grant him a respite till the
next day.

So Luther had again, on April 18th, a Thursday, to appear before the
diet. Again he had to wait two hours till six o'clock. He stood there in
the hall among the dense crowd, talking unconstrained and cheerfully
with the ambassador of the diet, Peutinger, his patron at Augsburg.
After he was called in, Eck began by reproaching him for having wanted
time for consideration. He then put the second question to him in a form
more befitting and more conformable with the wishes of the members of
the diet: "Wilt thou defend _all_ the books acknowledged by thee to be
thine, or recant some part?" Luther now answered with firmness and
modesty, in a well-considered speech. He divided his works into three
classes. In some of them he had set forth simple evangelical truths,
professed alike by friend and foe. Those he could on no account retract.
In others he had attacked corrupt laws and doctrines of the papacy,
which no one could deny had miserably vexed and martyred the consciences
of Christians, and had tyrannically devoured the property of the German
nation: if he were to retract these books, he would make himself a cloak
for wickedness and tyranny.

In the third class of his books he had written against individuals who
endeavored to shield that tyranny and to subvert godly doctrine. Against
these he freely confessed that he had been more violent than was
befitting. Yet even these writings it was impossible for him to retract
without lending a hand to tyranny and godlessness. But in defence of his
books he could only say in the words of the Lord Jesus Christ: "If I
have spoken evil, bear witness of the evil; but if well, why smitest
thou me?" If anyone could do so, let him produce his evidence and
confute him from the sacred writings, the Old Testament and the Gospel,
and he would be the first to throw his books into the fire. And now, as
in the course of his speech he had sounded a new challenge to the
papacy, so he concluded by an earnest warning to Emperor and empire,
lest, by endeavoring to promote peace by a condemnation of the divine
Word, they might rather bring a dreadful deluge of evils, and thus give
an unhappy and inauspicious beginning to the reign of the noble young
Emperor. He said not these things as if the great personages who heard
him stood in any need of his admonitions, but because it was a duty that
he owed to his native Germany, and he could not neglect to discharge it.

Luther, like Eck, spoke in Latin, and then, by desire, repeated his
speech with equal firmness in German. Schurf, who was standing by his
side, declared afterward with pride, "how Martin had made this answer
with such bravery and modest candor, with eyes upraised to heaven, that
he and everyone were astonished."

The princes held a short consultation after this harangue. Then Eck,
commissioned by the Emperor, sharply reproved him for having spoken
impertinently and not really answered the question put to him. He
rejected his demand that evidence from Scripture might be brought
against him by declaring that his heresies had already been condemned by
the Church, and in particular by the Council of Constance, and such
judgments must suffice if anything were to be held settled in
Christianity. He promised him, however, if he would retract the
offensive articles, that his other writings should be fairly dealt with,
and finally demanded a plain answer "without horns" to the question
whether he intended to adhere to all he had written or would retract any
part of it?

To this Luther replied he would give an answer "with neither horns nor
teeth." Unless he were refuted by proofs from Scripture, or by evident
reason, his conscience bound him to adhere to the Word of God which he
had quoted in his defence. Popes and councils, as was clear, had often
erred and contradicted themselves. He could not, therefore, and he would
not, retreat anything, for it was neither safe nor honest to act against
one's conscience.

Eck exchanged only a few more words with him in reply to his assertion
that councils had erred. "You cannot prove that," said Eck. "I will
pledge myself to do it," was Luther's answer. Pressed and threatened by
his enemy, he concluded with the famous words: "Here I stand, I can do
no otherwise. God help me. Amen."

The Emperor reluctantly broke up the diet at about eight o'clock in the
evening. Darkness had meanwhile come on; the hall was lighted with
torches, and the audience were in a state of general excitement and
agitation. Luther was led out; whereupon an uproar arose among the
Germans, who thought that he had been taken prisoner. As he stood among
the heated crowd, Duke Erich of Brunswick sent him a silver tankard of
Eimbeck beer, after having first drunk of it himself.

On reaching his lodging, "Luther," to use the words of a Nuremberger
present there, "stretched out his hands, and with a joyful countenance
exclaimed, 'I am through! I am through!'" Spalatin says: "He entered the
lodging so courageous, comforted, and joyful in the Lord that he said
before others and myself, 'if he had a thousand heads, he would rather
have them all cut off than make one recantation.'" He relates also how
the elector Frederick, before his supper, sent for him from Luther's
dwelling, took him into his room and expressed to him his astonishment
and delight at Luther's speech. "How excellently did Father Martin speak
both in Latin and German before the Emperor and the orders! He was bold
enough, if not too much so." The Emperor, on the contrary, had been so
little impressed by Luther's personality, and had understood so little
of it, that he fancied the writings ascribed to him must have been
written by someone else. Many of his Spaniards had pursued Luther, as he
left the diet, with hisses and shouts of scorn.

Luther, by refusing thus point-blank to retract, effectually destroyed
whatever hopes of mediation or reconciliation had been entertained by
the milder and more moderate adherents of the Church who still wished
for reform. Nor was any union possible with those who, while looking to
a truly representative council as the best safeguard against the tyranny
of a pope, were anxious also to obtain at such a council a secure and
final settlement of all questions of Christian faith and morals. It was
these very councils about which Eck purposely called on Luther for a
declaration; and Luther's words on this point might well have been
considered by the Elector as "too bold."

Luther remained faithful to himself. True it was that he had often
formerly spoken of yielding in mere externals, and of the duty of living
in love and harmony, and respecting the weaknesses of others; and his
conduct during the elaboration of his own church system will show us how
well he knew to accommodate himself to the time, and, where perfection
was impossible, to be content with what was imperfect. But the question
here was not about externals, or whether a given proceeding were
judicious or not for the attainment of an object admittedly good. It was
a question of confessing or denying the truth--the highest and holiest
truths, as he expressed it--relating to God and the salvation of man. In
this matter his conscience was bound.

And the trial thus offered for his endurance was not yet over. On the
morning of the 19th the Emperor sent word to the estates that he would
now send Luther back in safety to Wittenberg, but treat him as a
heretic. The majority insisted on attempting further negotiations with
him through a committee specially appointed. These were conducted
accordingly by the Elector of Treves. The friendliness and the visible
interest in his cause with which Luther now was urged were more
calculated to move him than Eck's behavior at the diet. He himself bore
witness afterward how the Archbishop had shown himself more than
gracious to him and would willingly have arranged matters peaceably.
Instead of being urged simply to retract all his propositions condemned
by the Pope, or his writings directed against the papacy, he was
referred in particular to those articles in which he rejected the
decisions of the Council of Constance. He was desired to submit in
confidence to a verdict of the Emperor and the empire when his books
should be submitted to judges beyond suspicion. After that he should at
least accept the decision of a future council, unfettered by any
acknowledgment of the previous sentence of the Pope.

So freely and independently of the Pope did this committee of the German
Diet, including several bishops and Duke George of Saxony, proceed in
negotiating with a papal heretic. But everything was shipwrecked on
Luther's firm reservation that the decision must not be contrary to the
Word of God; and on that question his conscience would not allow him to
renounce the right of judging for himself. After two days'
negotiations, he thus, on April 25th, according to Spalatin, declared
himself to the Archbishop: "Most gracious Lord, I cannot yield; it must
happen with me as God wills," and continued: "I beg of your grace that
you will obtain for me the gracious permission of his imperial majesty
that I may go home again, for I have now been here for ten days and
nothing yet has been effected." Three hours later the Emperor sent word
to Luther that he might return to the place he came from, and should be
given a safe-conduct for twenty-one days, but would not be allowed to
preach on the way.

Free residence, however, and protection at Wittenberg, in case Luther
were condemned by the empire, was more than even Frederick the Wise
would be able to assure him. But he had already laid his plan for the
emergency. Spalatin refers to it in these words: "Now was my most
gracious Lord somewhat disheartened; he was certainly fond of Dr.
Martin, and was also most unwilling to act against the Word of God or to
bring upon himself the displeasure of the Emperor. Accordingly, he
devised means how to get Dr. Martin out of the way for a time, until
matters might be quietly settled, and caused Luther also to be informed,
the evening before he left Worms, of his scheme for getting him out of
the way. At this Dr. Martin, out of deference to his Elector, was
submissively content, though certainly, then and at all times, he would
much rather have gone courageously to the attack."

The very next morning, Friday, the 26th, Luther departed. The imperial
herald went behind him, so as not to attract notice. They took the usual
road to Eisenach. At Friedberg Luther dismissed the herald, giving him a
letter to the Emperor and the estates, in which he defended his conduct
at Worms, and his refusal to trust in the decision of men, by saying
that when God's Word and things eternal were at stake, one's trust and
dependence should be placed, not on one man or many men, but on God
alone. At Hersfeld, where Abbot Crato, in spite of the ban, received him
with all marks of honor, and again at Eisenach, he preached,
notwithstanding the Emperor's prohibition, not daring to let the Word of
God be bound.

From Eisenach, while Swaven, Schurf, and several other of his companions
went straight on, he struck southward, together with Amsdorf and
Brother Pezensteiner, in order to go and see his relations at Moehra.
Here, after spending the night at the house of his uncle Heinz, he
preached the next morning, Saturday, May 4th. Then, accompanied by some
of his relations, he took the road through Schweina, past the castle of
Altenstein, and then across the back of the Thuringian Forest to
Waltershausen and Gotha. Toward evening, when near Altenstein, he bade
leave of his relations. About half an hour farther on, at a spot where
the road enters the wooded heights, and, ascending between hills along a
brook, leads to an old chapel, which even then was in ruins and has now
quite disappeared, armed horsemen attacked the carriage, ordered it to
stop with threats and curses, pulled Luther out of it, and then hurried
him away at full speed. Pezensteiner had run away as soon as he saw them
approach. Amsdorf and the coachman were allowed to pass on; the former
was in the secret, and pretended to be terrified, to avoid any suspicion
on the part of his companion.

The Wartburg[30] lay to the north, about eight miles distant, and had
been the starting-point of the horsemen, as it now was their goal; but
precaution made them ride first in an eastern direction with Luther. The
coachman afterward related how Luther in the haste of the flight dropped
a gray hat he had worn. And now Luther was given a horse to ride. The
night was dark, and at about eleven o'clock they arrived at the stately
castle, situated above Eisenach. Here he was to be kept as a
knight-prisoner. The secret was kept as strictly as possible toward
friend and foe. For many weeks afterward even Frederick's brother John
had no idea of it. Among his friends and followers the terrible news had
spread, immediately upon his capture, that he had been made away with by
his enemies.

At Worms, however, while the Pope was concluding an alliance with
Charles against France, the papal legate Aleander, by commission of the
Emperor, prepared the edict against Luther on the 8th of May. It was
not, however, until the 25th, after Frederick the Elector of the
Palatinate and a great part of the other members of the diet had already
left, that it was deemed advisable to have it communicated to the rest
of the estates; nevertheless it was antedated the 8th, and issued "by
the unanimous advice of the electors and estates." It pronounced upon
Luther, applying the customary strong expressions of papal bulls, the
ban and reban; no one was to receive him any longer, or feed him, etc.,
but wherever he was found he was to be seized and handed over to the
Emperor.


JEAN M. V. AUDIN

The Reformation was a revolution, and they who rebelled against the
authority of the Church were revolutionists. However slightly you look
into the constitution of the Church, you will be convinced that the
Reformation possessed the character of an insurrection. What is the
meaning of this fine word, Reformation? Amelioration, doubtless. Well,
then, with history before us, it is easy to show that it was only a
prostration of the human mind. Glutted with the wealth of which it
robbed the Catholics, and the blood which it shed, it gives us, instead
of the harmony and Christian love of which it deprived our ancestors,
nothing but dissensions, resentments, and discords. No, the Reformation
was not an era of happiness and peace; it was only established by
confusion and anarchy. Do you feel your heart beat at the mention of
justice and truth? Acknowledge, then, what it is impossible to deny,
that Luther must not be compared with the apostles. The apostles came
teaching in the name of Jesus Christ their master, and the Catholics are
entitled to ask us from whom Luther had his mission. We cannot prove
that he had a mission direct or indirect. Luther perverted Christianity;
he withdrew himself criminally from the communion in which regeneration
alone was possible.

It has been said that all Christendom demanded a reformation--who
disputes it? But long before the time of Luther the papacy had listened
to the complaints of the faithful. The Council of Lateran had been
convened to put an end to the scandals which afflicted the Church. The
papacy labored to restore the discipline of the early ages, in
proportion as Europe, freed from the yoke of brute force, became
politically organized and advanced with slow but sure step to
civilization. Was it not at that time that the source of all religious
truth was made accessible to scientific study, since, by means of the
watchful protection of the papacy, the holy Scriptures were translated
into every language? The New Testament of Erasmus, dedicated to Leo X,
had preceded the quarrel about indulgences.

A reformer should take care that, in his zeal to get rid of manifest
abuses, he does not at the same time shake the faith and its wholesome
institutions to the foundation. When the reformers violently separated
themselves from the Church of Rome, they thought it necessary to reject
every doctrine taught by her. Luther, that spirit of evil, who scattered
gold with dirt, declared war against the institutions without which the
Church could not exist; he destroyed unity. Who does not remember that
exclamation of Melanchthon, "We have committed many errors, and have
made good of evil without any necessity for it"?

In justification of the brutal rupture of Germany with Rome, the
scandals of the clergy are alleged. But if at the period of the
Reformation there were priests and monks in Germany whose conduct was
the cause of regret to Christians, their number was not larger than it
had been previously. When Luther appeared, there was in Germany a great
number of Catholic prelates whose piety the reformers themselves have
not hesitated to admire.

What pains they take to deceive us! In books of every size they teach
us, even at the present day, that the beast, the man of sin, the
creature of Babylon, are the names which God has given in his Scriptures
to the pope and the papacy! Can it be imagined that Christ, who died for
our sins, and saved us by his blood, would have suffered that for ten or
twelve centuries his church should be guided by such an abominable
wretch? that he would have allowed millions of his creatures to walk in
the shadow of death? and that so many generations should have had no
other pastor but Antichrist?

Luther mistook the genius of Christianity in introducing a new principle
into the world--the immediate authority of the Bible as the sole
criterion of the truth. If tradition is to be rejected, it follows that
the Bible cannot be authoritatively explained by acquired knowledge; in
a word, human interpretation based upon its comprehensions of the Greek
and Hebrew languages. So, by this theory, the palladium of orthodoxy is
to be found in a knowledge of foreign tongues, and living authority is
replaced by a dead letter; a slavery a thousand times more oppressive
than the yoke of tradition. Has any dogmatist succeeded in drawing up a
confession of faith by means of the Bible which could not be attacked by
means of reason? This formula, that the Bible must be the "_unicum
principium theologiæ_," is the source of contradictory doctrines in
Protestant theology; hence this question arises: "What Protestant
theology is there in which there are not errors more or less?" It was
the Bible that inspired all the neologists of the sixteenth century; the
Bible that they made use of to persecute and condemn themselves as
heretics. When Luther maintained that the Bible contains the enunciation
of all the truths of which a knowledge is necessary to salvation, and
that no doctrine which is not distinctly laid down in the Bible can be
regarded as an article of faith, he did not imagine that the time was at
hand when everybody, from this very volume, would form a confession for
himself, and reject all others which contradicted his individual creed.
This necessity for inquiry so occupies the minds of men at the present
day that the principal articles of the original creed are rejected by
those who call themselves the disciples of Jesus.

But what are we to understand by the Bible? The question was a difficult
one to solve even at the beginning of the Reformation, when Luther, in
his preface to the translation of the Bible, laid down a difference
between the canonical books by preferring the gospel of St. John to the
three other evangelists; by depreciating the Epistle of St. James as an
epistle of straw, that contained nothing of the Gospel in it, and which
an apostle could not have written, since it attributes to works a merit
which they did not possess. It was in the Bible that Luther discovered
these two great truths of salvation, which he revealed to the world at
the beginning of his apostleship--_the slavery of man's will, and the
impeccability of the believer_.

It is said in Exodus, chapter ix, that God hardened the heart of
Pharaoh. It was questioned whether these words were to be construed
literally. This Erasmus rightly denied, and it roused the doctor's
wrath. Luther, in his reply, furiously attacks the fools who, calling
reason to their aid, dare call for an account from God why he condemns
or predestines to damnation innocent beings before they have even seen
the light. Truly, Luther, in the eyes of all God's creatures, must
appear a prodigy of daring when he ventures to maintain that no one can
reach heaven unless he adopts the slavery of the human will. And it is
not merely by the spirit of disputation, but by settled conviction, that
he defends this most odious of all ideas. He lived and died teaching
that horrible doctrine, which the most illustrious of his
disciples--among others, Melanchthon and Matthew Albert of
Reutlingen--condemned. "How rich is the Christian!" repeated Luther;
"even though he wished it, he cannot forfeit heaven by any stain;
believe, then, and be assured of your salvation: God in eternity cannot
escape you. Believe, and you shall be saved: repentance, confession,
satisfaction, good works, all these are useless for salvation; it is
sufficient to have faith."

Is not this a fearful error--a desolating doctrine? If you demonstrate
to Luther its danger or absurdity, he replies that you blaspheme the
Spirit of light. Neither attempt to prove to him that he is mistaken; he
will tell you that you offend God. No, no, my brother, you will never
convince me that the Holy Spirit is confined to Wittenberg any more than
to your person.

Not content with maledictions, Luther then turns himself to prophecy; he
announces that his doctrine, which proceeds from heaven, will gain, one
by one, all the kingdoms of the world. He says of Zwingli's explanation
of the eucharist, "I am not afraid of this fanatical interpretation
lasting long." On the other hand Zwingli predicted that the Swiss creed
would be handed down from generation to generation, crossing the Elbe
and the Rhine. Prophet against prophet, if success be the test of truth,
Luther will inevitably have to yield in this point.

The Reformation, which at first was entirely a religious phenomenon,
soon assumed a political character; it could not fail to do so. When
people began to exclaim, like Luther, on the house-tops: "The Emperor
Charles V ought not to be supported longer; let him and the Pope be
knocked on the head;" that "he is an excited madman, a bloodhound, who
must be killed with pikes and clubs," how could civil society continue
subject to authority? It was natural that the monk's virulent writings
against the bishops' spiritual power should be reduced by the subjects
of the ecclesiastical superiors into a political theory. When he
proclaimed that the yoke of priests and monks must be shaken off, we
might expect that this wild appeal would be directed against the tithes
which the people paid to the prelates and the abbots. The Saxon's
doctrine being based wholly on the holy Scriptures, the peasant
considered himself authorized in virtue of their text to break violently
with his lord; hence that long war between the cottage and the castle.
This it was that made Erasmus write sorrowfully to Luther: "You see that
we are now reaping the fruits of what you sowed. You will not
acknowledge the rebels; but they acknowledge you, and they know only too
well that many of your disciples, who clothed themselves in the mantle
of the Gospel, have been the instigators of this bloody rebellion. In
your pamphlet against the peasants, you in vain endeavor to justify
yourself. It is you who have raised the storm by your publications
against the monks and the prelates, and you say that you fight for
gospel liberty, and against the tyranny of the great! From the moment
that you began your tragedy I foresaw the end of it."

That civil war, in which Germany had to mourn the loss of more than a
hundred thousand of her children, was the consequence of Luther's
preaching. It is fortunate that, through the efforts of a Catholic
prince, Duke George of Saxony, it was speedily brought to an end. Had it
lasted but a few years longer, of all the ancient monuments with which
Germany was filled, not a single vestige would have remained. Karlstadt
might then have sat upon their ruins, and sung, with his Bible in his
hand, the downfall of the images. The iconoclast's theories, all drawn
from the Word of God, held their ground in spite of Luther, and dealt a
fatal blow to the arts.

When a gorgeous worship requires magnificent temples, imposing
ceremonies, and striking solemnities; when religion presents to the eye
sensible images as objects of public veneration; when earth and heaven
are peopled with supernatural beings, to whom imagination can lend a
sensible form--then it is that the arts, encouraged and ennobled, reach
the zenith of their splendor and perfection. The architect, raised to
honors and fortune, conceives the plans of those basilicas and
cathedrals whose aspect strikes us with religious awe, and whose richly
adorned walls are ornamented with the finest efforts of art. Those
temples and altars are decorated with marbles and precious metals, which
sculpture has fashioned into the similitude of angels, saints, and the
images of illustrious men. The choirs, the jubes, the chapels, and
sacristies are hung with pictures on all sides. Here Jesus expires on
the cross; there he is transfigured on Mount Tabor. Art, the friend of
imagination, which delights only in heaven, finds there the most sublime
creations--a St. John, a Cecilia, above all a Mary, that patroness of
tender hearts, that virgin model to all mothers, that mediatrix of
graces, placed between man and his God, that august and amiable being,
of whom no other religion presents either the resemblance or the model.
During the solemnities, the most costly stuffs, precious stones, and
embroidery cover the altars, vessels, priests, and even the very walls
of the sanctuary. Music completes the charm by the most exquisite
strains, by the harmony of the choir. These powerful incentives are
repeated in a hundred different places; the metropolises, parishes, the
numerous religious houses, the simple oratories, sparkle with emulation
to captivate all the powers of the religious and devout mind. Thus a
taste for the arts becomes general by means of so potent a lever, and
artists increase in number and rivalry. Under this influence the
celebrated schools of Italy and Flanders flourished; and the finest
works which now remain to us testify the splendid encouragement which
the Catholic religion lavished upon them.

After this natural progress of events, it cannot be doubted that the
Reformation has been unfavorable to the fine arts, and has very much
restrained the exercise of them. It has severed the bonds which united
them to religion, which sanctified them, and secured for them a place in
the veneration of the people. The Protestant worship tends to disenchant
the material imagination; it makes fine churches and statues and
paintings unnecessary; it renders them unpopular, and takes from them
one of their most active springs.

The peasants' war was soon succeeded by the spoliation of the
monasteries; "an invasion of the most sacred of all rights, more
important, in certain respects, than liberty itself--property." From
that time not a day passed without Luther preaching up the robbery of
the religious houses. To excite the greed of the princes whom he wished
to secure to his views, he loved to direct their attention to the
treasures which the abbeys, cloisters, sacristies, and sanctuaries
contained. "Take them," he said; "all these are your own--all belong to
you." Luther was convinced that to the value of the golden remonstrances
which shone on the Catholic altars he was indebted for more than one
conversion. In a moment of humor he said: "The gentry and princes are
the best Lutherans; they willingly accept both monasteries and chapters,
and appropriate their treasures."

The Landgrave of Hesse, to obtain authority for giving his arm to two
lawful wives, took care to make the wealth of the monasteries glitter in
the eyes of the Church of Wittenberg, so that as the price of their
permission he was willing to give it to the Saxon ministers. The plunder
of church property, preached by Luther, will be the eternal condemnation
of the Protestants. Though Naboth's vineyard may serve as a bait or
reward for apostasy, it cannot justify crime.

A laureate of the Institute of France has discovered grounds for
palliating this blow to property. He congratulates the princes who
embraced the Reformation for having, by means of the ecclesiastical
property, filled their coffers, paid their debts, applied the
confiscated wealth to useful establishments, clubs, universities,
hospitals, orphanages, retreats, and rewards for the old servants of the
state. But Luther himself took care, on more than one occasion, to
denounce the avarice of the princes who, when once masters of the
monastic property, employed its revenues for the support of mistresses
and packs of hounds. We remember the eloquent complaints which he
uttered in his old age against these carnal men, who left the Protestant
clergy in destitution, and did not even pay the schoolmasters their
salaries. He mourned them, but it was too late. Sometimes the
chastisement of heaven fell, even in this life, on the spoiler; and
Luther has mentioned instances of several of those iron hands, who,
after having enriched themselves by the plunder of a monastery, church,
or abbey, fell into abject poverty. Besides, we will admit that Luther
never thought of consoling the plundered monks by asserting, like
Charles Villers, that "one of the finest effects of these terrible
commotions which unsettle all properties, the fruits of social
institutions, is to substitute for them greatness of mind, virtues, and
talents, the fruits of nature exclusively."

If the triumph of the peasants in the fields of Thuringia might have
been an irreparable misfortune to Germany and to Christianity, we cannot
deny that Luther's appeal to the secular arm, to suppress the rebellion,
may have thoroughly altered the character of the first Reformation. Till
then it had been established by preaching; but from the moment of that
bloody episode it required the civil authority to move it. The sword,
therefore, took the place of the Word; and to perpetuate itself the
Reformation was bound to exaggerate the theory of passive obedience. One
of the distinguished historians of Heidelberg, Carl Hagen, has recently
favored us with some portions of the political code in which
Protestantism commands subjects to be obedient to the civil power, even
when it commands them to commit sin.

Thus the democratic element, first developed by the Reformation, was
effaced to become absorbed in the despotic. It was no longer the people,
but the prince, who chose or rejected the Protestant minister. When the
Landgrave of Hesse consulted Melanchthon, in 1525, as to the line he
should pursue in the appointment of a pastor, the doctor told him that
he had the right to interfere in the election of the ministers, and
that, if he surmounted the struggles in which the Word of God had
involved him, he ought not to commit that sacred Word but to such
preacher as seemed best to him; in other terms, observes the historian,
to him whom the civil power thinks competent. And Martin Bucer contrived
to extend Melanchthon's theory by constituting the civil power supreme
judge of religious orthodoxy, by conferring on it the right of ultimate
decision in questions of heresy, and of punishing, if necessary by fire
and sword innovators, who are a thousand times more culpable, he says,
than the robber or murderer, who only steal the material bread and slay
the body, while the heretic steals the bread of life and kills the soul.

Intolerance then entered into the councils of the Reformation. It was no
longer with the peasants that Luther declared war. Whoever did not
believe in his doctrines was denounced as a rebel; in the Saxon's eyes,
the peasant was only an enemy to be despised; the real Satan was
Karlstadt, Zwingli, and Krautwald.

His disciples were no longer satisfied with plundering the
monasteries--they desired to live in ease; they must have servants, a
fine house, a well-supplied table, and plenty of money. The struggle
then was no longer with piety and knowledge, but with power and
influence. Every city and town had its own Lutheran pope. At Nuremberg,
Osiander was a regular pacha. Those who among the Protestants endeavored
to reprove his scandalous ostentation were abused and maligned. When he
ascended the pulpit, his fingers were adorned with diamonds which
dazzled the eyes of his hearers.

The religious disputes which disturbed men's minds in Germany retarded,
rather than advanced, the march of intellect. Blind people who fought
furiously with each other could not find the road to truth. These
quarrels were only another disease of the human mind. Although printing
served to disseminate the principles of the reformers, the sudden
progress of Lutheranism, and the zeal with which it was embraced, prove
that reason and reflection had no part in their development.

Villers has drawn a brilliant sketch of the influence which the
Reformation exercised over biblical criticism. "It may be said that
criticism of the Scripture text was unknown previous to the time of
Luther; and if by this is meant that captious, whimsical, and shuffling
criticism which DeWette has so justly condemned--certainly so. But that
which relates to languages, antiquities, the knowledge of times, places,
authors--in a word, hermeneutics--was known and practised in our schools
before the Reformation, as is proved by the works of Cajetan and
Sadoletus, and a multitude of learned men whom Leo X had encouraged and
rewarded. We have seen besides, in the history of the Reformation, what
that vain science has produced. It was by means of his critical
researches that, from the time of Luther, Karlstadt found such a meaning
of '_Semen immolare Moloch_,' as made his disciples shrug their
shoulders; that Muenzer preached community of goods and wives; that
Melanchthon taught that the dogma of the Trinity deprives our mind of
all liberty; that at a later period Ammon asserted that the
resurrection of the dead could not be deduced from the New Testament;
Veter, that the Pentateuch was not written by Moses; that the history of
the Jews to the time of the Judges is only a popular tradition;
Bretschneider, that the Psalms cannot be looked upon as inspired;
Augusti, that the true doctrine of Jesus Christ has not been preserved
intact in the New Testament; and Geisse, that not one of the four
gospels was written by the evangelist whose name it bears.

"Since the days of Semler, Germany presents a singular spectacle: every
ten years, or nearly so, its theological literature undergoes a complete
revolution. What was admired during the one decennial period is rejected
in the next, and the image which they adored is burned to make way for
new divinities; the dogmas which were held in honor fall into discredit;
the classical treatise of morality is banished among the old books out
of date; criticism overturns criticism; and the commentary of yesterday
ridicules that of the previous day."

FOOTNOTES:

[25] Frederick the Wise, Elector of Saxony, was Luther's friend and
protector.

[26] Georg Spalatin, a friend and fellow-reformer of Luther's, was in
the diplomatic service of Elector Frederick.

[27] Charles, the grandson of Maximilian I, Emperor of the Holy Roman
Empire, succeeded him 1519. At the time of his coronation Charles was
but twenty years old. He was also King of Spain.--ED.

[28] It is obvious that he refers to Christ, who is spoken of in
Scripture as the Holy One of God (St. Mark i. 24; Acts ii. 27), not, as
ignorance and malice have suggested, to himself.

[29] Ulrich von Hutten was a friend and supporter of Luther.

[30] In 1521-1522 Frederick the Wise gave Luther asylum in the Wartburg,
where for ten months the reformer remained in disguise as "Junker
Georg." His room, with its furniture, is still preserved.




NEGRO SLAVERY IN AMERICA

ITS INTRODUCTION BY LAW

A.D. 1517

SIR ARTHUR HELPS

     In 1442 the first negro slaves were imported into Europe.
     They were taken from Africa to Portugal in ships of Prince
     Henry, the "Navigator." From that time there was little
     traffic in negroes until after the discovery of America.
     Then there was great destruction of American Indians by war,
     disease, and killing work, and the importation of negroes
     into Spanish America was begun in order to fill the void in
     the labor market.

     Influenced by the spirit of Bartolome de las Casas, a
     Spanish monk, celebrated as the defender of the Indians
     against his own countrymen who conquered them, the monarchs
     of Spain prohibited Indian slavery. "It is a very
     significant fact that the great 'Protector of the Indians,'
     Las Casas, should, however innocently, have been concerned
     with the first large grant of licenses to import negroes
     into the West India Islands."

     We first hear of the introduction of negro slaves in those
     islands through the instructions given in 1501 to Nicolas de
     Ovando, who in the following year succeeded Columbus as
     governor. During the nine years of his governorship negro
     slavery in the Spanish possessions of the New World was
     greatly extended. A few years later, as shown by Helps,
     official license gave it a legal sanction. Helps' account
     begins with an abstract of Las Casas' memorials to the King
     of Spain looking to a remedy for the bad government of the
     West Indies.


The outline of Las Casas' scheme was as follows: The King was to give to
every laborer willing to emigrate to Española his living during the
journey from his place of abode to Seville, at the rate of half a real a
day throughout the journey, for great and small, child and parent. At
Seville the emigrants were to be lodged in the Casa de la Contratacion
(the India House), and were to have from eleven to thirteen maravedis a
day. From thence they were to have a free passage to Española, and to be
provided with food for a year. And if the climate "should try them so
much" that at the expiration of this year they should not be able to
work for themselves, the King was to continue to maintain them; but
this extra maintenance was to be put down to the account of the
emigrants, as a loan which they were to repay. The King was to give them
lands--his own lands--furnish them with ploughshares and spades, and
provide medicines for them. Lastly, whatever rights and profits accrued
from their holdings were to become hereditary. This was certainly a most
liberal plan of emigration. And, in addition, there were other
privileges held out as inducements to these laborers.

In connection with the above scheme, Las Casas, unfortunately for his
reputation in after-ages, added another provision, namely, that each
Spanish resident in the island should have license to import a dozen
negro slaves.

The origin of this suggestion was, as he informs us, that the colonists
had told him that, if license were given them to import a dozen negro
slaves each, they, the colonists, would then set free the Indians. And
so, recollecting that statement of the colonists, he added this
provision. Las Casas, writing his history in his old age, thus frankly
owns his error: "This advice, that license should be given to bring
negro slaves to these lands, the _clerigo_ Casas first gave, not
considering the injustice with which the Portuguese take them and make
them slaves; which advice, after he had apprehended the nature of the
thing, he would not have given for all he had in the world. For he
always held that they had been made slaves unjustly and tyrannically;
for the same reason holds good of them as of the Indians." The above
confession is delicately and truthfully worded--"not considering"; he
does not say, not being aware of; but though it was a matter known to
him, his moral sense was not watchful, as it were, about it. We must be
careful not to press the admissions of a generous mind too far, or to
exaggerate the importance of the suggestion of Las Casas.

It would be quite erroneous to look upon this suggestion as being the
introduction of negro slavery. From the earliest times of the discovery
of America, negroes had been sent there. But what is of more
significance, and what it is strange that Las Casas was not aware of, or
did not mention, the Hieronymite Fathers[31] had also come to the
conclusion that negroes must be introduced into the West Indies.
Writing in January, 1518, when the fathers could not have known what was
passing in Spain in relation to this subject, they recommended licenses
to be given to the inhabitants of Española, or to other persons, to
bring negroes there. From the tenor of their letter it appears that they
had before recommended the same thing. Zuazo, the judge of residencia,
and the legal colleague of Las Casas, wrote to the same effect. He,
however, suggested that the negroes should be placed in settlements and
married. Fray Bernardino de Manzanedo, the Hieronymite father, sent over
to counteract Las Casas, gave the same advice as his brethren about the
introduction of negroes. He added a proviso, which does not appear in
their letter--perhaps it did exist in one of the earlier ones--that
there should be as many women as men sent over, or more.

The suggestion of Las Casas was approved of by the Chancellor; and,
indeed, it is probable there was hardly a man of that time who would
have seen further than the excellent clerigo did. Las Casas was asked
what number of negroes would suffice? He replied that he did not know;
upon which a letter was sent to the officers of the India House at
Seville to ascertain the fit number in their opinion. They said that
four thousand at present would suffice, being one thousand for each of
the islands, Española, Porto Rico, Cuba, and Jamaica. Somebody now
suggested to the Governor, De Bresa, a Fleming of much influence and a
member of the council, that he should ask for this license to be given
to him. De Bresa accordingly asked the King for it, who granted his
request; and the Fleming sold this license to certain Genoese merchants
for twenty-five thousand ducats, having obtained from the King a pledge
that for eight years he should give no other license of this kind.

The consequence of this monopoly enjoyed by the Genoese merchants was
that negroes were sold at a great price, of which there are frequent
complaints. Both Las Casas and Pasamonte--rarely found in
accord--suggested to the King that it would be better to pay the
twenty-five thousand ducats and resume the license, or to abridge its
term. Figueroa, writing to the Emperor from Santo Domingo in July, 1500,
says: "Negroes are very much in request; none have come for about a
year. It would have been better to have given De Bresa the customs
duties--_i.e._, the duties that had been usually paid on the importation
of slaves--than to have placed a prohibition." I have scarcely a doubt
that the immediate effect of the measure adopted in consequence of the
clerigo's suggestion was greatly to check that importation of negro
slaves which otherwise, had the license been general, would have been
very abundant.

Before quitting this part of the subject, something must be said for Las
Casas which he does not allege for himself. This suggestion of his about
the negroes was not an isolated one. Had all his suggestions been
carried out, and the Indians thereby been preserved, as I firmly believe
they might have been, these negroes might have remained a very
insignificant number in the general population. By the destruction of
Indians a void in the laborious part of the community was being
constantly created, which had to be filled up by the labor of negroes.
The negroes could bear the labor in the mines much better than the
Indians; and any man who perceived that a race, of whose Christian
virtues and capabilities he thought highly, were fading away by reason
of being subjected to labor which their natures were incompetent to
endure, and which they were most unjustly condemned to, might prefer the
misery of the smaller number of another race treated with equal
injustice, but more capable of enduring it. I do not say that Las Casas
considered all these things; but, at any rate, in estimating his
conduct, we must recollect that we look at the matter centuries after it
occurred, and see all the extent of the evil arising from circumstances
which no man could then be expected to foresee, and which were
inconsistent with the rest of the clerigo's plans for the preservation
of the Indians.

I suspect that the wisest among us would very likely have erred with
him; and I am not sure that, taking all his plans together, and taking
for granted, as he did then, that his influence at court was to last,
his suggestion about the negroes was an impolitic one.

One more piece of advice Las Casas gave at this time, which, if it had
been adopted, would have been most serviceable. He proposed that forts
for mercantile purposes, containing about thirty persons, should be
erected at intervals along the coast of the _terra firma_, to traffic
with merchandise of Spain for gold, silver, and precious stones; and in
each of these ports ecclesiastics were to be placed, to undertake the
superintendence of spiritual matters. In this scheme may be seen an
anticipation of subsequent plans for commercial intercourse with Africa.
And, indeed, one is constantly reminded by the proceedings in those
times of what has occurred much later and under the auspices of other
nations.

Of all these suggestions, some of them certainly excellent, the only
questionable one was at once adopted. Such is the irony of life. If we
may imagine superior beings looking on at the affairs of men, and
bearing some unperceived part of the great contest in the world, this
was a thing to have gladdened all the hosts of hell.

FOOTNOTES:

[31] Spanish monks, followers of St. Jerome (Hieronymus).




FIRST CIRCUMNAVIGATION OF THE GLOBE

MAGELLAN REACHES THE LADRONES AND PHILIPPINES

A.D. 1519

JOAN BAUTISTA    ANTONIO PIGAFETTA[32]

     Ferdinand Magellan, whose name in Portuguese was Fernao de
     Magalhaes, was born in Portugal about 1480. After serving
     with the Portuguese in the East Indies, 1505-1512, and in
     Morocco, 1514, where during an action he was lamed for life,
     he became disaffected toward his country, and in 1517
     renounced his allegiance and turned to Spain in hope of
     better reward for his services. In conjunction with a
     fellow-countryman, Ruy Faleiro, a geographer and astronomer,
     he offered to find for Spain the Moluccas, in the Malay
     Archipelago, and to prove that they were within the Spanish
     and not the Portuguese lines of demarcation. The acceptance
     of this proposal by the Emperor, Charles V, who was also
     King of Spain, gave Magellan the opportunity, which he so
     well improved, to immortalize his name in the annals of
     maritime discovery.

     While the specific object of the expedition failed on
     account of the leader's death, his performance made him
     worthy, as some historians think, to be considered "the most
     undaunted and in many respects the most extraordinary man
     that ever traversed an unknown sea."

     A squadron of five ships with two hundred sixty-five men was
     fitted out by the Emperor, and the two friends were named as
     joint commanders, but Faleiro was afterward detached from
     the expedition, leaving full command to Magellan, who sailed
     from San Lucar, Spain, September 20, 1519, first touching at
     Madeira.

     Magellan passed through the straits that bear his name and
     so penetrated to the Pacific, that ocean being first so
     called by him. He was the first European to reach it from
     the Atlantic. Magellan was killed by natives in the
     Philippines, April 27, 1521; but his ships continued their
     course. One by one they were lost from the expedition,
     except the Victoria, on which was Pigafetta, who wrote for
     Charles V an account of the voyage. The Victoria returned to
     Spain in September, 1522, completing the first
     circumnavigation of the earth. Bautista was pilot and
     afterward captain of the Trinidad, one of the lost vessels.

     In 1898 the Philippines and Guam, one of the Ladrones, were
     acquired by the United States as a result of the
     Spanish-American War.



JOAN BAUTISTA

Magellan steered to the southwest to make the island of Teneriffe, and
they reached the said island on the day of St. Michael, which was
September 29th. Thence he made his course to fetch the Cape Verd
Islands, and they passed between the islands and the cape without
sighting either the one or the other. Having to make for Brazil, and as
soon as they sighted the other coast of Brazil, he steered to the
southeast along the coast of Cape Frio, which is in 23° south latitude;
and from this cape he steered to the west, a matter of thirty leagues,
to make the Rio Janeiro, which is in the same latitude as Cape Frio, and
they entered the said river on the day of St. Lucy, which was December
13th, in which place they took in wood, and they remained there until
the first octave of Christmas, which was December 26th of the same year.

They sailed from this Rio de Janeiro on December 26th, and navigated
along the coast to make Cape of St. Mary, which is only 35°; as soon as
they sighted it, they made their course west-northwest, thinking they
would find a passage for their voyage, and they found that they had got
into a great river of fresh water, to which they gave the name of River
St. Christopher, and it is in 34°, and they remained in it till February
2, 1520.

He sailed from this river of St. Christopher on the 2d of the said month
of February; they navigated along the said coast, and farther on to the
south they discovered a point, which is in the same river more to the
south, to which they gave the name of Point St. Anthony; it is in 36°;
hence they ran to the southwest a matter of twenty-five leagues, and
made another cape, which they named Cape St. Apelonia, which is in 36°;
thence they navigated to the west-southwest to some shoals, which they
named Shoals of the Currents, which are in 39°; and thence they
navigated out to the sea, and lost sight of land for a matter of two or
three days, when they again made for the land, and they came to a bay,
which they entered, and ran within it the whole day, thinking that there
was an outlet for Molucca; and when night came they found that it was
quite closed up, and in the same night they again stood out by the way
which they had come in. This bay is in 34°; they named it the island of
St. Matthew. They navigated from this island of St. Matthew along the
coast until they reached another bay, where they caught many sea-wolves
and birds; to this they gave the name of Bay of Labors; it is in 37°;
here they came near losing the flag-ship in a storm. Thence they
navigated along the said coast, and arrived on the last day of March of
the year 1520 at the port of St. Julian, which is in 49°. Here they
wintered, and found the day a little more or less than seven hours.

In this port three of the ships rose up against the captain-major, their
captains saying that they intended to take him to Castile in arrest, as
he was taking them all to destruction. Here, through the exertions of
the said captain-major, and the assistance and favor of the foreigners
whom he carried with him, the captain-major went to the said three ships
which were already mentioned, and there the captain of one of them was
killed, who was the treasurer of the whole fleet, and named Luis de
Mendoza; he was killed in his own ship by stabs with a dagger by the
chief constable of the fleet, who was sent to do this by Ferdinand
Magellan in a boat with certain men. The said three ships having thus
been recovered, five days later Ferdinand Magellan ordered Gaspar de
Quexixada to be decapitated and quartered; he was captain of one of the
ships and was one of those who had mutinied.

In this port they refitted the ship. Here the captain-major made Alvaro
de Mesquita, a Portuguese, a captain of one of the ships the captain of
which had been killed. There sailed from this port on August 24th four
ships, for the smallest of the ships had been already lost; he had sent
it to reconnoitre, and the weather had been heavy and had cast it
ashore, where all the crew had been recovered along with the
merchandise, artillery, and fittings of the ship. They remained in this
port, in which they wintered, five months and twenty-four days, and they
were 70° less ten minutes to the southward.

They sailed on August 24th of the said year from this port of St.
Julian, and navigated a matter of twenty leagues along the coast, and so
they entered a river which was called Santa Cruz, which is in 50°, where
they took in goods and as much as they could obtain. The crew of the
lost ship were already distributed among the other ships, for they had
returned by land to where Ferdinand Magellan was, and they continued
collecting goods which had remained there during August and up to
September 18th, and there they took in water and much fish which they
caught in this river; and in the other, where they wintered, there were
people like savages, and the men are from nine to ten spans in height,
very well made; they have not got houses, they only go about from one
place to another with their flocks, and eat meat nearly raw. They are
all of them archers, and kill many animals with arrows, and with the
skins they make clothes, that is to say, they make the skins very
supple, and fashion them after the shape of the body, as well as they
can, then they cover themselves with them, and fasten them by a belt
round the waist. When they do not wish to be clothed from the waist
upward, they let that half fall which is above the waist, and the
garment remains hanging down from the belt which they have girt around
them.

They wear shoes which cover them four inches above the ankle, full of
straw inside to keep their feet warm. They do not possess any iron, nor
any other ingenuity of weapons, only they make the points of their
arrows with flints, and so also the knives with which they cut, and the
adze and awls with which they cut and stitch their shoes and clothes.
They are very agile people and do no harm, and thus follow their flocks;
wherever night finds them, there they sleep; they carry their wives
along with them, with all the chattels they possess. The women are very
small and carry heavy burdens on their backs. They wear shoes and
clothes just like the men. Of these men they obtained three or four and
brought them in the ships, and they all died except one, who went to
Castile in a ship which went thither.

They sailed from this river of Santa Cruz on October 18th: they
continued navigating along the coast until the 21st day of the same
month, October, when they discovered a cape, to which they gave the name
of Cape of the Virgins, because they sighted it on the day of the eleven
thousand virgins; it is in 52°, a little more or less, and from this
cape, a matter of two or three leagues' distance, we found ourselves at
the mouth of a strait. We sailed along the said coast within that
strait, which they had reached the mouth of: they entered in it a little
and anchored. Ferdinand Magellan sent to discover what there was
farther in, and they found three channels; that is to say, two more in a
southerly direction, and one traversing the country in the direction of
Molucca, but at that time this was not yet known, only the three mouths
were seen.

The boats went thither, and brought back word, and they set sail and
anchored at these mouths of the channels, and Ferdinand Magellan sent
two ships to learn what there was within, and these ships went; one
returned to the captain-major, and the other, of which Alvaro de
Mesquita was captain, entered into one of the bays which was to the
south, and did not return any more. Ferdinand Magellan, seeing that it
did not come back, set sail, and the next day he did not choose to make
for the bays, and went to the south and took another which runs
northwest and southeast and a quarter west and east. He left letters in
the place from which he sailed, so that, if the other ship returned, it
might make the course which he left prescribed.

After this they entered into the channel, which at some places had a
width of three leagues, and two, and one, and in some places half a
league, and he went through it as long as it was daylight, and anchored
when it was night: and he sent the boats, and the ships went after the
boats, and they brought news that there was an outlet, for they already
saw the great sea on the other side; on which account Ferdinand Magellan
ordered artillery to be fired for rejoicing; and before they set forth
from this strait they found two islands, the first one larger, and the
other, nearer toward the outlet, is the smaller one; and they went out
between these islands and the coast on the southern side, as it was
deeper than on the other side.

This strait is a hundred leagues in length to the outlet; that outlet
and the entrance are in 52° latitude. They made a stay in this strait
from October 21st to November 26th, which makes thirty-six days of the
said year of 1520, and as soon as they went out from the strait to the
sea they made their course, for the most part, to west-northwest, when
they found that their needles varied to the northwest almost one-half;
and after they had navigated thus for many days they found an island in
a little more or less than 18° or 19°, and also another, which was in
from 13° to 14°, and this in south latitude; they are uninhabited.

They ran on until they reached the line, when Ferdinand Magellan said
that now they were in the neighborhood of Molucca, and that he would go
in a northerly direction as far as 10° or 12°, and they reached to as
far as 13° north, and in this latitude they navigated to the west and a
quarter southwest a matter of a hundred leagues, where on March 6, 1521,
they fetched two islands inhabited by many people of little truth; and
they did not take precautions against them until they saw that they were
taking away the skiff of the flag-ship, and they cut the rope with which
it was made fast, and took it ashore without their being able to prevent
it. They gave this island the name of Thieves' Island (_dos Ladroes_).

Ferdinand Magellan, seeing that the skiff was lost, set sail, it being
already night, tacking about until the next day; as soon as it was
morning they anchored at the place where they had seen the skiff carried
to, and he ordered two boats to be got ready with a matter of fifty or
sixty men, and he went ashore in person and burned the whole village,
and they killed seven or eight persons, between men and women, and
recovered the skiff, and returned to the ships; and while they were
there they saw forty or fifty _paraos_ come from the same land, and
which brought much refreshments.

Ferdinand Magellan would not make any further stay, and at once set
sail, and ordered the course to be steered west and a quarter southwest,
and so they made land, which is in barely 11°. This land is an island,
but he would not touch at this one, and they went to touch at another
farther on which appeared first. Ferdinand Magellan sent a boat ashore
to observe the nature of the island; when the boat reached land, they
saw, from the ships, paraos come out from behind the point; then they
called back their boat. The people of the paraos, seeing that the boat
was returning to the ships, turned back the paraos, and the boat reached
the ships, which at once set sail for another island very near to this
island, which is 10°, and they gave it the name of the Island of Good
Signs, because they observed some gold in it.

While they were thus anchored at this island there came to them two
paraos, and brought them fowls and cocoanuts, and told them they had
already seen there other men like them, from which they presumed that
these might be Lequios or Mogores, a nation of people who have this
name, or Chiis; and thence they set sail, and navigated farther on among
many islands, to which they gave the name of Valley without Peril, and
also St. Lazarus; and they ran on to another island twenty leagues from
that from which they sailed, which is in 10°, and came to anchor at
another island, which is named Macangor, which is in 9°; and in this
island they were very well received, and they placed a cross in it. This
King conducted them thence a matter of thirty leagues to another island,
named Cabo, which is in 10°, and in this island Ferdinand Magellan did
what he pleased with the consent of the country, and in one day eight
hundred people became Christian, on which account Ferdinand Magellan
desired that the other kings, neighbors to this one, should become
subject to this one, who had become Christian; and these did not choose
to yield to such obedience. Ferdinand Magellan, seeing that, got ready
one night with his boats, and burned the villages of those who would not
yield the said obedience; and a matter of ten or twelve days after this
was done he sent to a village about half a league from that which he had
burned, which is named Matam, and which is also an island, and ordered
them to send him at once three goats, three pigs, three loads of rice,
and three loads of millet for provisions for the ship. They replied
that, of each article which he sent to ask them three of, they would
send him by twos, and if he was satisfied with this they would at once
comply; if not, it might be as he pleased, but that they would not give
it. Because they did not choose to grant what he demanded of them,
Ferdinand Magellan ordered three boats to be equipped with a matter of
fifty or sixty men, and went against the said place, which was on April
28th in the morning; there they found many people, who might well be as
many as three thousand or four thousand men, who fought with such will
that the said Ferdinand Magellan was killed there, with six of his men,
in the year 1521.

When Ferdinand Magellan was dead the Christians got back to the ships,
where they thought fit to make two captains and governors whom they
should obey; and, having done this, they took counsel (and decided)
that the captains should go ashore where the people had turned
Christians, to ask for pilots to take them to Borneo, and this was on
May 1st of the said year. When the two captains went, being agreed upon
what had been said, the same people of the country who had become
Christians armed themselves against them, and killed the two captains
and twenty-six gentlemen; and the other people who remained got back to
the boats and returned to the ships, and, finding themselves again
without captains, they agreed, inasmuch as the principal persons were
killed, that one Joan Lopez, who was the chief treasurer, should be
captain-major of the fleet, and the chief constable of the fleet should
be captain of one of the ships. He was named Gonzalo Vas Despinosa.

Having done this, they set sail, and ran about twenty-five leagues with
three ships, which they still possessed; they then mustered, and found
that they were altogether one hundred eight men in all these three
ships, and many of them were wounded and sick, on which account they did
not venture to navigate the three ships and thought it would be well to
burn one of them--the one that should be most suitable for that
purpose--and to take into the two ships those that remained: this they
did out at sea, out of sight of any land. While they did this many
paraos came to speak to them, and navigating among the islands, for in
that neighborhood there are a great many. They did not understand one
another, for they had no interpreter, for he had been killed with
Ferdinand Magellan. Sailing farther on among islets, they came to anchor
at an island which is named Carpyam, where there is gold enough, and
this island is in fully 8°.

While at anchor in this port of Carpyam they had speech with the
inhabitants of the island, and made peace with them, and Carvalho, who
was captain-major, gave them the boat of the ship which had been burned:
this island has three islets in the offing. Here they took in
refreshments, and sailed farther on to the west-southwest, and fell in
with another island, which is named Caram, and is in 11°; from this they
went on farther to west-southwest, and fell in with a large island, and
ran along the coast of this island to the northeast, and reached as far
as 9°, where they went ashore one day, with the boats equipped to seek
for provisions, for in the ships there was now not more than eight days'
food. On reaching shore the inhabitants would not suffer them to land,
and shot at them with arrows of cane hardened in fire, so that they
returned to the ships.

Seeing this, they agreed to go to another island, where they had had
some dealings, to see if they could get some provisions. Then they met
with a contrary wind, and, going about in the direction in which they
wished to go, they anchored, and while at anchor they saw people on
shore hailing them to go thither; they went there with the boats, and as
they were speaking to those people by signs, for they did not understand
each other otherwise, a man-at-arms, named Joan de Campos, told them to
let him go on shore, since there were no provisions in the ships, and it
might be that they would obtain some means of getting provisions, and
that, if the people killed him, they would not lose much with him, for
God would take thought of his soul; and also if he found provisions, and
if they did not kill him, he would find means for bringing them to the
ships: and they thought well of this. So he went on shore, and as soon
as he reached it the inhabitants received him and took him into the
interior the distance of a league, and when he was in the village all
the people came to see him, and they gave him food and entertained him
well, especially when they saw that he ate pigs' flesh, because in this
island they had dealings with the Moors of Borneo, and because the
country people were greedy they made them neither eat pigs nor bring
them up in the country. The country is called Dyguacam and is in 9°.

The said Christian, seeing that he was favored and well treated by the
inhabitants, gave them to understand by his signs that they should carry
provisions to the ships, which would be well paid for. In the country
there was nothing except rice not pounded. Then the people set to
pounding rice all the night, and when it was morning they took the rice
and the said Christian and came to the ships, where they did them great
honor, and took in the rice and paid them, and they returned on shore.
This man being already set on shore, inhabitants of another village a
little farther on came to the ships and told them they would give them
much provisions for their money; and as soon as the said man whom they
had sent arrived, they set sail and went to anchor at the village of
those who had come to call them, which was named Vay Palay Cucar a
Canbam, where Carvalho made peace with the King of the country, and they
settled the price of rice, and they gave them two measures of rice,
which weighed one hundred fourteen pounds, for three fathoms of linen
stuff of Britanny; they took there as much rice as they wanted, and
goats and pigs; and while they were at this place there came a Moor, who
had been in the village of Dyguacam, which belongs to the Moors of
Borneo, as had been said above, and after that he went to his country.

While they were at anchor at this village of Dyguacam, there came to
them a parao in which there was a negro named Bastiam, who asked for a
flag and a passport for the Governor of Dyguacam, and they gave him all
this and other things for a present. They asked the said Bastiam, who
spoke Portuguese sufficiently well, since he had been in Molucca, where
he had become a Christian, if he would go with them and show them
Borneo; he said he would be very willing, and when the departure arrived
he hid himself, and, seeing that he did not come, they set sail from
this port of Dyguacam on July 21st to seek for Borneo. As they set sail
there came to them a parao, which was coming to the port of Dyguacam,
and they took it, and in it they took three Moors, who said they were
pilots and that they would take them to Borneo.

Having got these Moors, they steered along this island to the southwest,
and fell in with two islands at its extremity, and passed between them;
that on the north side is named Bolyna, and that on the south Bamdym.
Sailing to the west-southwest a matter of fourteen leagues, they fell in
with a white bottom, which was a shoal below the water; and the black
men they carried with them told them to draw near to the coast of the
island, as it was deeper there, and that was more in the direction of
Borneo, for from that neighborhood the island of Borneo could already be
sighted. This same day they reached and anchored at some islands, to
which they gave the name of islets of St. Paul, which was a matter of
two and a half or three leagues from the great island of Borneo, and
they were in about 7° at the south side of these islands. In the island
of Borneo there is an exceedingly big mountain to which they gave the
name of Mount St. Paul; and from thence they navigated along the coast
of Borneo to the southwest, between an island and the island of Borneo
itself; and they went forward on the same course and reached the
neighborhood of Borneo, and the Moors they had with them told them that
there was no Borneo, and the wind did not suffer them to arrive thither,
as it was contrary. They anchored at an island which is there, and which
may be eight leagues from Borneo.

Close to this island is another which has many Myrobalans, and the next
day they set sail for the other island, which is nearer to the port of
Borneo; and going along thus they saw so many shoals that they anchored
and sent the boats ashore in Borneo, and they took the aforesaid Moorish
pilots on shore, and there went a Christian with them; and the boats
went to set them on land, from whence they had to go to the city of
Borneo, which was three leagues off, and there they were taken before
the Shahbender of Borneo, and he asked what people they were, and for
what they came in the ships; and they were presented to the King of
Borneo with the Christian. As soon as the boats had set the said men on
shore, they sounded, in order to see if the ships should come in closer;
and during this they saw three junks which were coming from the port of
Borneo--from the said city--out to sea, and as soon as they saw the
ships they returned inshore; continuing to sound, they found the channel
by which the port is entered; then they set sail, and entered this
channel, and being within the channel they anchored, and would not go
farther in until they received a message from the shore, which arrived
next day with two paraos: these carried certain swivel guns of metal,
and a hundred men in each parao, and they brought goats and fowls and
two cows, and figs and other fruit, and told them to enter farther in
opposite the islands which were near there, which was the true berth;
and from this position to the city there might be three or four leagues.
While thus at anchor they established peace, and settled that they
should trade in what there was in the country, especially wax, to which
they answered that they would be willing to sell all that there was in
the country for their money. This port of Borneo is in 8°.

For the answer thus received from the King they sent him a present by
Gonzalo Mendes Despinosa, captain of the ship Victoria, and the King
accepted the present, and gave to all of them China stuffs; and when
there had passed twenty or twenty-three days that they were there
trading with the people on the island, and had got five men on shore in
the city itself, there came to anchor at the bar, close to them, five
junks, at the hour of vespers, and they remained there that evening and
the night until next day in the morning, when they saw coming from the
city two hundred paraos, some under sail, others rowing. Seeing in this
manner the five junks and the paraos, it seemed to them that there might
be treachery, and they set sail for the junks, and as soon as the crews
of the junks saw them under sail, they also set sail and made off where
the wind best served them; and they overhauled one of the junks with
boats, and took it with twenty-seven men; and the ships went and
anchored abreast off the Island of the Myrobalans, with the junk made
fast to the poop of the flag-ship, and the paraos returned to the shore,
and when night came there came a squall from the west in which the said
junk went to the bottom alongside the flag-ship, without being able to
receive any assistance from it whatever.

Next day, in the morning, they saw a sail, and went to it and took it.
This was a great junk in which the son of the King of Lucam came as
captain, and had with him ninety men; and as soon as they took them they
sent some of them to the King of Borneo; and they sent him word by these
men to send the Christians whom they had got there, who were seven men,
and they would give him all the people they had taken in the junk; on
which account the King sent two men of seven whom he had got there in a
parao, and they again sent him word to send the five men who still
remained, and they would send all the people they had got from the junk.
They waited two days for the answer, and there came no message; and they
took thirty men from the junk, and sent them to the King of Borneo, and
set sail with fourteen men of those they had taken and three women; and
they steered along the coast of the said island to the northeast,
returning backward, and they again passed between the islands and the
great island of Borneo, where the flag-ship grounded on a point of the
island, and so remained more than four hours, and the tide turned and
it got off, by which it was seen clearly that the tide was of
twenty-four hours.

While making the aforesaid course the wind shifted to northeast, and
they stood out to sea, and they saw a sail coming, and the ships
anchored and the boats went to it and took it. It was a small junk and
carried nothing but cocoanuts; and they took in water and wood, and set
sail along the coast of the island to the northeast, until they reached
the extremity of the said island, and met with another small island,
where they overhauled the ships, and they gave it the name of Port St.
Mary of August, and it is in fully 7°.

As soon as they had taken these precautions they set sail and steered to
the southwest until they sighted the island, which is called Fagajam,
and this is a course of thirty-eight to forty leagues; and as soon as
they sighted this island they steered to the southwest, and again made
an island which is called Seloque, and they had information that there
were many pearls there; and when they had already sighted the island the
wind shifted to a head wind, and they could not fetch it by the course
they were sailing, and it seemed to them that it might be in 6°. This
same night they arrived at the island of Quipe, and ran along it to the
southeast, and passed between it and another island called Tamgym; and
always running along the coast of the said island, and going thus, they
fell in with a parao laden with sago leaves (which is of a tree which is
named _cajare_), which the people of that country eat as bread. The
parao carried twenty-one men, and the chief of them had been in Molucca,
in the house of Francisco Semrryn; this was in 5°, a little more or
less. The inhabitants of this land came to see the ships, and so they
had speech of one another, and an old man of these people said he would
conduct them to Molucca.

In this manner, having fixed a time with the old man, an agreement was
made with him, and they gave him a certain price for this; and when the
next day came, and they were to depart, the old man intended to escape,
and they understood it, and took him and others who were with him, and
who also said that they knew pilots' work, and they set sail; and as
soon as the inhabitants saw them go, they fitted out to go after them;
and of the paraos, there did not reach the ships more than two, and
these reached so near that they shot arrows into the ships, and the wind
was fresh and they could not come up with them. At midnight of that day
they sighted some islands, and they steered more toward them; and next
day they saw land, which was an island; and at night following that day
they found themselves very close to it, and when night fell the wind
calmed and the currents drew them very much inshore; there the old pilot
cast himself into the sea and betook himself to land.

Sailing thus forward, after one of the pilots had fled, they sighted
another island and arrived close to it, and another Moorish pilot said
that Molucca was still farther on; and navigating thus, the next day in
the morning they sighted three high mountains, which belonged to a
nation of people whom they called Salabos; and then they saw a small
island and they anchored to take in some water, because they feared that
in Molucca they would not be allowed to take it in; and they omitted
doing so because the Moorish pilot told them that there were some four
hundred in that island, and that they were all very bad, and might do
them some injury, as they were men of little faith; and that he would
give them no such advice as to go to that island; and also because
Molucca, which they were seeking, was now near, and that its kings were
good men, who gave a good reception to all sorts of men in their
country; and while still in this neighborhood they saw the islands
themselves of Molucca, and for rejoicing they fired all the artillery,
and they arrived at the island on November 8, 1521, so that they spent
from Spain to Molucca two years and two months.

As soon as they arrived at the island of Tydor, which is in 30', the
King thereof did them great honor, which could not be exceeded. There
they treated with the King for their cargo, and the King engaged to give
them whatever there was in the country for their money, and they settled
to give for the bahar of cloves fourteen ells of yellow cloth of
seventy-seven tem, which are worth in Castile a ducat the ell; of red
cloth of the same kind ten ells; they also gave thirty ells of Britanny
linen cloth, and for each of these quantities they received a bahar of
cloves; likewise for thirty knives, eight bahars. Having thus settled
all the above mentioned prices, the inhabitants of the country gave them
information that farther on, in another island near, there was a
Portuguese man. This island might be two leagues distant, and it was
named Targatell. This man was the chief person of Molucca; there we now
have got a fortress. They then wrote letters to the said Portuguese to
come and speak with them, to which he answered that he did not dare,
because the King of the country forbade it; that if they obtained
permission from the King he would come at once. This permission they
soon got, and the Portuguese came to speak with them.

They gave him an account of the prices which they had settled, at which
he was amazed, and said on that account the King had ordered him not to
come, as they did not know the truth about the prices of the country;
and while they were thus taking in cargo there arrived the King of
Baraham, which is near there, and said that he wished to be a vassal of
the King of Castile, and also that he had got four hundred bahars of
cloves, and that he had sold them to the King of Portugal, and that they
had bought it, but that he had not yet delivered it; and if they wished
for it, he would give it all to them; to which the captains answered
that if he brought it to them, and came with it, they would buy it, but
not otherwise. The King, seeing that they did not wish to take the
cloves, asked them for a flag and a letter of safe-conduct, which they
gave him, signed by the captains of the ships.

While they were thus waiting for the cargo, it seemed to them, from the
delay in delivery, that the King was preparing some treachery against
them, and the greater part of the ships' crews made an uproar and told
the captains to go, as the delays which the King made were for nothing
else than treachery: as it seemed to them all that it might be so, they
were abandoning everything and were intending to depart; and being about
to unfurl the sails, the King, who had made the agreement with them,
came to the flag-ship and asked the captain why he wanted to go, because
that which he had agreed upon with him he intended to fulfil it as had
been settled. The captain replied that the ships' crews said they should
go and not remain any longer, as it was only treachery that was being
prepared against them. To this the King answered that it was not so, and
on that account he at once sent for his _Koran_, upon which he wished
to make oath that nothing should be done to them. They at once brought
him his _Koran_, and upon it he made oath, and told them to rest at ease
with that. At this the crews were set at rest, and he promised them that
he would give them their cargo by December 15, 1521, which he fulfilled
within the said time, without being wanting in anything.

When the two ships were already laden and about to unfurl their sails,
the flag-ship sprung a large leak, and, the King of the country learning
this, he sent them twenty-five divers to stop the leak, which they were
unable to do. They settled that the other ship should depart, and that
this one should again discharge all its cargo and unload it; and as they
could not stop the leak, the King promised that they, the people of the
country, should give them all that they might be in need of. This was
done, and they discharged the cargo of the flag-ship; and when the said
ship was repaired, they took in her cargo, and decided on making for the
country of the Antilles, and the course from Molucca to it was two
thousand leagues, a little more or less. The other ship, which set sail
first, left on December of the said year, and went out to sea for the
Timor, and made its course behind Java, two thousand fifty-five leagues,
to the Cape of Good Hope.


ANTONIO PIGAFETTA

In order to double the Cape of Good Hope, we went as far as 42° south
latitude, and we remained off that cape for nine weeks, with the sails
struck, on account of the western and northwestern gales, which beat
against our bows with fierce squalls. The Cape of Good Hope is in 34°
30' south latitude, sixteen hundred leagues distant from Cape of
Molucca, and it is the largest and most dangerous cape in the world.

Some of our men, and among them the sick, would have liked to land at a
place belonging to the Portuguese called Mozambique, both because the
ship made much water and because of the great cold which we suffered;
and much more because we had nothing but rice-water for food and drink,
all the meat of which we had made provision having putrefied, for the
want of salt had not permitted us to salt it. But the greater number of
us, prizing honor more than life itself, decided on attempting at any
risk to return to Spain.

At length, by the aid of God, on the 6th of May, we passed the terrible
cape, but we were obliged to approach it within only five leagues'
distance, or else we should never have passed it. We then sailed toward
the northwest for two whole months without ever taking rest; and in this
short time we lost twenty-one men, between Christians and Indians. We
made then a curious observation on throwing them into the sea; that was
that the Christian remained with the face turned to the sky, and the
Indians with the face turned to the sea. If God had not granted us
favorable weather, we should all have perished of hunger.

Constrained by extreme necessity, we decided on touching at the Cape
Verd island named St. James. Knowing that we were in an enemy's country
and among suspicious persons, on sending the boat ashore to get
provision of victuals, we charged the seamen to say to the Portuguese
that we had sprung our foremast under the equinoctial line--although
this misfortune had happened at the Cape of Good Hope--and that our ship
was alone, because while we tried to repair it our captain-general had
gone with the other two ships to Spain. With these good words, and
giving our merchandise in exchange, we obtained two boat-loads of rice.

In order to see whether we had kept an exact account of the days, we
charged those who went ashore to ask what day of the week it was, and
they were told by the Portuguese inhabitants of the island that it was
Thursday, which was a great cause of wondering to us, since with us it
was only Wednesday. We could not persuade ourselves that we were
mistaken; and I was more surprised than the others, since, having always
been in good health, I had every day, without intermission, written down
the day that was current. But we were afterward advised that there was
no error on our part, since, as we had always sailed toward the west,
following the course of the sun, and had returned to the same place, we
must have gained twenty-four hours, as it is clear to anyone who
reflects upon it.

The boat, having returned for rice a second time to the shore, was
detained with thirteen men who were in it. As we saw that, and, from the
movement in certain caravels, suspected that they might wish to capture
us and our ship, we at once set sail. We afterward learned, some time
after our return, that our boat and men had been arrested, because one
of our men had discovered the deception and said that the
captain-general was dead, and that our ship was the only one remaining
of Magellan's fleet.

At last, when it pleased heaven, on Saturday, September 6, 1522, we
entered the Bay of San Lucar; and of sixty men who composed our crew
when we left Molucca, we were reduced to only eighteen, and these for
the most part sick. Of the others, some died of hunger, some had run
away at the island of Timor, and some had been condemned to death for
their crimes.

From the day when we left this Bay of San Lucar until our return
thither, we reckoned that we had run more than fourteen thousand four
hundred sixty leagues, and we had completed going round the earth from
east to west.

Monday, September 8th, we cast anchor near the mole of Seville, and
discharged all the artillery.

Tuesday we all went in shirts and barefoot, with a taper in our hands,
to visit the shrine of Santa Maria de Antigua.

Then leaving Seville, I went to Valladolid, where I presented to his
sacred majesty Don Carlos neither gold nor silver, but things more
precious in the eyes of so great a sovereign. I presented to him, among
other things, a book written by my hand of all the things that occurred
day by day in our voyage. I departed thence as I was best able and went
to Portugal, and related to King John the things which I had seen.

FOOTNOTES:

[32] Translated by Lord Stanley of Alderley.




THE FIELD OF THE CLOTH OF GOLD

A.D. 1520

J. S. BREWER

     From the magnificence of the preparations made for the
     famous meeting described in the following pages, the plain
     on which it took place, between Guines and Ardres, France,
     received the name of the "Field of the Cloth of Gold."

     The meeting of the two kings, Henry VIII of England and
     Francis I of France, was brought about by circumstances
     connected with the rivalry between Francis and the emperor
     Charles V. The enmity of the two latter and their repeated
     wars form a principal subject of European history during
     many years.

     Francis came to the throne in 1515, and the first four years
     of his reign were marked by brilliant successes, which
     brought him fame as a ruler and a warrior. But in 1519 he
     was an unsuccessful candidate for the imperial dignity, and
     Charles, being preferred before him, became emperor of the
     Holy Roman Empire.

     Great was the mortification of Francis and he soon after
     declared war against his rival. Both sought the alliance of
     Henry VIII, and in hopes of securing his friendship, and
     thereby preventing a union of the Emperor and the English
     King against himself, Francis arranged the meeting so
     brilliantly pictured by Brewer. But Francis, by overdoing
     this gorgeous reception, gave offence to Henry, whom he
     seemed to eclipse in magnificence. Meanwhile Charles,
     anticipating the interview, had visited Henry in England,
     and by his more politic address he secured the favor both of
     the English monarch and his great minister, Cardinal Wolsey.


Situated in a flat and uninviting plain--poor and barren, as the
uncultivated border-land of the two kingdoms--Guines and its castle
offered little attraction, and if possible less accommodation, to the
gay throng now to be gathered within its walls. Its weedy moat and
dismantled battlements, "its keep too ruinous to mend," defied the
efforts of carpenters and bricklayers, as the English commissioners
pathetically complained; and could not by any artifice or contrivance be
made to assume the appearance of a formidable, or even a respectable,
fortress to friend or enemy. But on the castle green, within the limits
of a few weeks, and in the face of great difficulties, the English
artists of that day contrived a summer palace, more like a vision of
romance, the creation of some fairy dream--if the accounts of
eye-witnesses of all classes may be trusted--than the dull, every-day
reality of clay-born bricks and mortar.

No "palace of art" in these beclouded climates of the West ever so truly
deserved its name. As if the imagination of the age, pent up in wretched
alleys and narrow dwelling-houses, had resolved for once to throw off
its ordinary trammels and recompense itself for its long restraint, it
prepared to realize those visions of enchanted bowers and ancient
pageantry on which it had fed so long in the fictions and romances of
the Middle Ages. I have thought it worth while to notice so much of the
details as will enable the reader to form some slight conception for
himself of this scene of enchantment which the genius of the age had
contrived for its own amusement.

The palace was an exact square of three hundred twenty-eight feet. It
was pierced on every side with oriel windows and clear-stories curiously
glazed, the mullions and posts of which were overlaid with gold. An
embattled gate, ornamented on both sides with statues representing men
in various attitudes of war, and flanked by an embattled tower, guarded
the entrance. From this gate to the entrance of the palace arose in long
ascent a sloping dais or half pace, along which were grouped "images of
sore and terrible countenances," in armor of argentine or bright metal.
At the entrance, under an embowed landing-place, facing the great doors,
stood "antique" (classical) figures girt with olive branches. The
passages, the roofs of the galleries from place to place and from
chamber to chamber, were ceiled and covered with white silk, fluted and
embowed with silken hanging of divers colors and braided cloths, "which
showed like bullions of fine burnished gold." The roofs of the chambers
were studded with roses, set in lozenges, and diapered on a ground of
fine gold. Panels enriched with antique carving and gilt bosses covered
the spaces between the windows; while along all the corridors and from
every window hung tapestry of silk and gold, embroidered with figures.
Chairs covered with cushions of turkey-work, cloths of estate, of
various shapes and sizes, overlaid with golden tissue and rich
embroidery, ornamented the state apartments. The square on every side
was decorated with equal richness, and blazed with the same profusion of
glass, gold, and ornamental hangings; and "every quarter of it, even the
least, was a habitation fit for a prince," says Fleuranges, who had
examined it with the critical eye of a rival and a Frenchman.

To the palace was attached a spacious chapel, still more sumptuously
adorned. Its altars were hung with cloth of gold tissue embroidered with
pearls; cloth of gold covered the walls and desks. Basins, censers,
cruets, and other vessels, of the same precious materials, lent their
lustre to its services. On the high altar, shaded by a magnificent
canopy of immense proportions, stood enormous candlesticks and other
ornaments of gold. Twelve golden images of the apostles, as large as
children of four years old, astonished the eyes of the spectator. The
copes and vestments of the officiating clergy were cloth of tissue
powdered with red roses, brought from the looms of Florence, and woven
in one piece, thickly studded with gold and jewelry. No less profusion
might be seen in the two closets left apart for the King and the Queen.
Images and sacred vessels of solid gold, in gold cloth, cumbrous with
pearls and precious stones, attested the rank, the magnificence, and
devotion of the occupants. The ceilings of these closets were gilded and
painted; the hangings were of tapestry embroidered with fretwork of
pearls and gems. The chapel was served by thirty-five priests and a
proportionate number of singing-boys.

From the palace a secret gallery led into a private apartment in Guines
castle, along which the royal visitors could pass and repass at
pleasure.

The King was attended by squires of the body, sewers, gentlemen-ushers,
grooms and pages of the chamber, for all of whom suitable accommodation
had to be provided. The lord chamberlain, the lord steward, the lord
treasurer of the household, the comptroller, with their numerous staffs,
had to be lodged in apartments adapted to their rank and services. As it
was one great object of the interview to entertain all comers with
masques and banquetings of the most sumptuous kind, the mere rank and
file of inferior officers and servants formed a colony of themselves.
The bakehouse, pantry, cellar, buttery, kitchen, larder, accatry, were
amply provided with ovens, ranges, and culinary requirements, to say
nothing of the stables, the troops of grooms, farriers, saddlers,
stirrup-makers, furbishers, and footmen. Upward of two hundred
attendants were employed in and about the kitchen alone.

Outside the palace gate, on the greensward, stood a quiet fountain, of
antique workmanship, with a statue of Bacchus "birlyng the wine." Three
runlets, fed by secret conduits hid beneath the earth, spouted claret,
hypocras, and water into as many silver cups, to quench the thirst of
all comers. On the opposite side was a pillar wreathed in gold, and
supported by four gilt lions; and on the top stood an image of blind
Cupid, armed with bow and arrows. The gate itself, built in massive
style, was pierced with loop-holes. Its windows and recesses were filled
with images of Hercules, Alexander, and other ancient worthies, richly
gilt and painted. In long array, in the plain beyond, twenty-eight
hundred tents stretched their white canvas before the eyes of the
spectator, gay with the pennons, badges, and devices of the various
occupants; while miscellaneous followers, in tens of thousands,
attracted by profit or the novelty of the scene, camped on the grass and
filled the surrounding slopes, in spite of the severity of
provost-marshal and reiterated threats of mutilation and chastisement.
Multitudes from the French frontiers, or the populous cities of
Flanders, indifferent to the political significance of the scene,
swarmed from their dingy homes to gaze on kings, queens, knights, and
ladies dressed in their utmost splendor. Beggars, itinerant minstrels,
venders of provisions and small luxuries, mixed with wagoners,
ploughmen, laborers, and the motley troop of camp-followers, crowded
round, or stretched themselves beneath the summer's sun on bundles of
straw and grass, in drunken idleness. No better lodging awaited many a
gay knight and lady who had travelled far to be present at the
spectacle, and were obliged to content themselves with such open-air
accommodation. Backward and forward surged the excited and unwieldy
crowd, as every hour brought its fresh contingent of curiosity or
criticism in the shape of some new-comer conspicuous for his fantastic
bearing or the quaint fashion of his armor. Each new candidate for the
love and honor of the ladies, for popular applause, or less noble
objects, was greeted with shouts and acclamations as he succeeded in
distinguishing himself from the throng by the strangeness or splendor of
his appointments. Christendom had never witnessed such a scene. The
fantastic usages of the courts of Love and Beauty were revived once
more. The Mediæval Age had gathered up its departing energies for this
last display of its favorite pastime--henceforth to be consigned,
without regret, to "the mouldered lodges of the past."

At the time that Henry set sail for Calais, Francis started from
Montreuil for Ardres. It was a meagre old town, long since in ruins, the
fosses and castle of which had been hastily repaired. He was attended on
his route by a vast and motley multitude. No less than ten thousand of
this poor vagrant crew were compelled to turn back, by a proclamation
ordering that no person, without special permission, should approach
within two leagues of the King's train, "on pain of the halter." As the
French had proposed that both parties should lodge in tents erected on
the field, they had prepared numerous pavilions, fitted up with halls,
galleries, and chambers, ornamented within and without with gold and
silver tissue. Amid golden balls and quaint devices glittering in the
sun, rose a gilt figure of St. Michael, conspicuous for his blue mantle
powdered with golden _fleurs-de-lis_, and crowning a royal pavilion, of
vast dimensions, supported by a single mast. In his right hand he held a
dart, in his left a shield emblazoned with the arms of France. Inside,
the roof of the pavilion represented the canopy of heaven, ornamented
with stars and figures of the zodiac. The lodgings of the Queen, of the
Duchess of Alençon, the King's favorite sister, and of other ladies and
princes of the blood were covered with cloth of gold. The rest of the
tents, to the number of three hundred or four hundred, emblazoned with
the arms of the owners, were pitched on the banks of a small river
outside the city walls. A large house in the town, built for the
occasion, served as a place of reception for royal visitors.

From June 4, 1520, when Henry first entered Guines, the festivities
continued with unabated splendor for twenty days. They were opened by a
visit of Wolsey to the French King, and gave the Cardinal an opportunity
for displaying his love of magnificence, not unaptly reckoned by poets
and philosophers as the nearest virtue to magnanimity. A hundred
archers of the guard, followed by fifty gentlemen of his household,
clothed in crimson velvet with chains of gold, bareheaded, bonnet in
hand, and mounted on magnificent horses richly caparisoned, led the way.
After them came fifty gentlemen ushers, also bareheaded, carrying gold
maces with knobs as big as a man's head; next a cross-bearer in scarlet,
supporting a crucifix adorned with precious stones. Then four lackeys
followed, with gilt bâtons and pole-axes, in paletots of crimson velvet,
their bonnets in hand adorned with plumes, their coats ornamented before
and behind with the Cardinal's badge in goldsmith's work. Lastly came
the Legate himself, mounted on a barded mule trapped in crimson velvet,
with gold front-stalls, studs, buckles, and stirrups. Over a chimere of
figured crimson velvet he wore a fine linen rochet. Bishops and other
ecclesiastics succeeded, and the whole procession was brought up by
fifty archers of the King's guard, their bows bent, their quivers at
their sides, their jackets of red cloth adorned with a gold rose before
and behind.

In this state the procession approached the town of Ardres. Arrived at
the King's lodgings Wolsey dismounted, amid the roar of artillery and
the sound of drums, trumpets, fifes, and other instruments of music. He
was received by the King of France, bonnet in hand, with the greatest
demonstrations of affection. The visit was returned next day by the
French. These ceremonies were preliminary to the meeting of the two
sovereigns on Thursday, June 7th. On that day, the King of England,
apparelled in cloth of silver damask, thickly ribbed with cloth of gold,
and mounted on a charger arrayed in the most dazzling trappings overlaid
with fine gold and curiously wrought in mosaic, advanced toward the
valley of Ardres. No man, from personal inclinations or personal
qualities, was better calculated to sustain his part in a brilliant
ceremonial such as then struck the eyes of the spectators. An admirable
horseman, tall and muscular, slightly inclined to corpulence, with a red
beard and ruddy countenance, Henry VIII was at this time, by the
admission of his rivals, the most comely and commanding prince of his
age. Closely attending on the King was Sir Henry Guilford, the master of
the horse, leading a spare charger, not less splendidly arrayed in
trappings of fine gold wrought in ciphers, with headstall, reins, and
saddle of the same material. Nine henchmen followed in cloth of tissue,
the harness of their horses covered with gold scales. In front rode the
old Marquis of Dorset, bearing the sword of estate before the King;
behind came the Cardinal, the Dukes of Buckingham and Suffolk, with the
Earl of Shrewsbury and others.

A shot fired from the castle of Guines, and responded to by a shot from
the castle of Ardre, gave warning that the two princes were ready to set
forward. As Henry advanced toward the valley with all his company in
military array, the French King might be descried on the opposite hill
with his dazzling company, in dress, deportment, and the splendor of his
retinue not less glorious or conspicuous than his rival. Over a short
cassock of gold frieze he wore a mantle of cloth of gold covered with
jewels. The front and the sleeves were studded with diamonds, rubies,
emeralds, and large loose-hanging pearls; on his head he wore a velvet
bonnet adorned with plumes and precious stones. Far in advance rode the
provost-marshal with his archers to clear the ground. Then followed the
marshals of the army in cloth of gold, their orders about their necks,
mounted on horses covered with gold trappings; next the grand master,
the princes of the blood, and the King of Navarre. After them came the
Swiss guard on foot, in new liveries, with their drums, flutes,
trumpets, clarions, and hautboys; then the gentlemen of the household;
and immediately preceding the King was the grand constable, Bourbon,
bearing the sword naked, and the _grand ecuyer_, with the sword of
France, powdered with gold fleurs-de-lis.

As the two companies approached each other, there was a momentary pause.
The French watched with some jealousy the close array of the English
footmen, who, stretched in a long line on the King's left, marched step
for step with all the solemn gravity of their nation, as if they were
rather preparing for battle than pastime, while, on the other side, the
superior numbers of the French awakened the national jealousy of the
Englishmen. "Sir, ye be my king and sovereign," broke in the lord
Abergavenny in breathless haste; "wherefore, above all I am bound to
show you truth, and not to let [stop] for none. I have been in the
French party, and they may be more in number; double so many as ye be."
Then spoke up the Earl of Shrewsbury, "Sire, whatever my lord of
Abergavenny sayeth, I myself have been there, and the Frenchmen be more
in fear of you and your subjects than your subjects be of them.
Wherefore," said the Earl, "if I were worthy to give counsel, your grace
should march forward." "So we intend, my lord," replied the King. "On
afore, my masters!" shouted the officers of arms; and the whole company
halted, face foremost, close by the valley of Ardres.

A minute's pause--a breathless silence, followed by a slight stir on
both sides. Then from the dense array of cloth of gold, silver, and
jewelry, of white plumes and waving pennons, amid the acclamations of
myriads of spectators on the surrounding hills, and the shrill burst of
pipes, trumpets, and clarions, two horsemen were seen to emerge, and, in
the sight of both nations, slowly descend into the valley from opposite
sides. These were the two sovereigns. As they approached nearer they
spurred their horses to a gallop; then, uncovering, embraced each other
on horseback, and, after dismounting, embraced again. While the two
sovereigns proceeded arm in arm to a rich pavilion--which no one else
was allowed to enter, except Wolsey on one side and the Admiral of
France on the other--the officers on both sides, intermingling their
ranks, made good cheer, and toasted each other in broken French and
English, "Bons amys, French and English!"

Friday and Saturday were occupied in preparing the field for the
tournament. The lists, nine hundred feet in length and three hundred
twenty feet broad, were pitched on a rising ground in the territory of
Guines, about half way between Guines and Ardres. Galleries hung with
tapestry surrounded the enclosure, and on the right side, in the place
of honor, were two glazed chambers for the two Queens. A deep foss
served to keep off the crowd. The entrances were guarded by twelve
French and twelve English archers; and at the foot of the lists, under a
triumphal arch, stood the _perron_, or tree of nobility, from which the
shields of the two Kings were suspended on a higher line than those of
the other challengers and answerers. The perron for Henry VIII was
formed of a hawthorn; and for Francis I a raspberry (_framboisier_), in
supposed allusion to his name. Cloth of gold served for the trunk and
dried leaves; the foliage was of green silk; the flowers and fruits of
silver and Venetian gold. Under the tree, which measured in compass not
less than one hundred twenty-nine feet, the heralds took their stand on
an artificial mound, surrounded by railings of green damask.

On Sunday, while the French King dined at Guines with the Queen of
England, the English King dined with the French Queen and the Duchess of
Alençon at Ardres. On arriving at the Queen's lodgings, Henry was
received by Louis of Savoy and a bevy of ladies magnificently dressed.
Passing slowly through their ranks, in leisurely admiration of their
charms, he reached the apartment where the Queen attended his coming. As
he made his reverence to the Queen, she rose from her chair of state to
meet him. Kneeling with one knee on the ground, his bonnet in his hand,
he first kissed the Queen, next Madame, then the Duchess of Alençon, and
finally all the princesses and ladies of the company. This done, dinner
was announced. At the third service, Mountjoy's herald entered with a
great golden goblet, crying in the name of the King of England, "Largess
to the most high, mighty, and excellent prince, Henry, King of England,
etc. Largess, largess!" The banquet ended at five in the evening, when
the King took his leave. To display his skill before the ladies, he set
spurs to his horse, making it bound and curvet "as valiantly as any man
could do."

The jousts commenced on Monday, the 11th. The rules adopted to secure
fair play and guard against accidents may be read by those curious in
such matters in the original black-letter _Ordonnance_, printed at the
time.

On the first day the Kings of England and France, with their aids, held
the lists against all comers; and, with the exception of Wednesday, when
the wind was too high, the jousts continued without interruption
throughout the week. On Sunday, the two Kings exchanged hospitality as
before. On this occasion, Francis, dropping all reserve, visited the
King of England before eight in the morning, attended by four companions
only, and, entering his apartment without ceremony, embraced him as he
was seated at breakfast. The jousts were concluded in the following
week, with a solemn mass sung by the Cardinal in a chapel erected on the
field. The arrangements observed on this occasion, not less elaborate
than those by which the feats of arms were regulated, may be read in the
same volume as the _Ordonnance_. Here, as in the ceremonial of the
lists, the spirit of chivalry reigned triumphant. When the Cardinal of
Bourbon, according to the usages of the time, presented the Gospel to
the French King to kiss, Francis, declining, commanded it to be offered
to the King of England, who was too well bred to accept the honor. When
the _Pax_ was presented at the _Agnus Dei_, the two sovereigns repeated
the same mannerly breeding. The two Queens were equally ceremonious.
After a polite altercation of some minutes, when neither would decide
who should be the first to kiss the _Pax_, woman-like they kissed each
other instead. A sermon in Latin, enlarging on the blessings of peace,
was delivered by Pace at the close of the service; and a salamander was
sent up in the air in the direction of Guines, to the astonishment and
terror of the beholders. The whole was concluded with a banquet, at
which the royal ladies, too polite to eat, spent their time in
conversation; but the legates, cardinals, and prelates dined, drank, and
ate _sans fiction_ in another room by themselves.

On Sunday, June 24th, the Kings met in the lists to interchange gifts
and bid each other farewell. Henry and his court left for Calais;
Francis returned to Abbeville.

The two Kings parted on the best of terms, as the world thought, and
with mutual feelings of regret. Yet Henry had already arranged to meet
the Emperor at Gravelines, there settle the terms of a new convention,
to the disadvantage of the French King. The imperial envoy, the Marquis
d'Arschot, arrived at Calais on July 4th, and was received by the Duke
of Buckingham. On the 5th the King visited Gravelines, and returned with
the Emperor to Calais three days after. The interview, graced by the
presence of Charles, his brother Ferdinand, Herman, the Archbishop of
Cologne, and the Lord Chièvres, though less splendid, was more cordial
than the interview with the French King, and was meant for business.

Frugal and reserved, the Emperor contrived, by his simple and
unostentatious habits, to render himself more agreeable to his English
guests than even Francis had been able to do with all his profuse and
expensive civilities. Not, as some may condemn us, in consequence of
our national fickleness; nor, as others may excuse us, because
Englishmen preferred the plainer manners of the German or the Fleming;
but because in the interview with Francis, in spite of appearances,
there was no real cordiality. A tournament, in fact, was the least
eligible method of promoting friendly feeling; it was more likely to
engender unpleasant disputes and jealousies. To enforce the rules laid
down for preserving order and fair play among the combatants was not an
easy or a popular task. National rivalry was apt to break out, and it
was hard for the judges to escape the imputation of partiality. Nor did
the English, it must be admitted, return from the field in much good
humor. With a feeling of complacency engendered by their insular
position and their long isolation from the Continent, they had been wont
to consider themselves as far superior to the French in all exercises of
strength and agility. The French knights had shown themselves fully
equal to their English opponents; the French King was not inferior in
personal courage and activity to his English rival. Then rumors, such as
spring up like the dragon's teeth in vast and motley multitudes,
evidently fanned and fostered by Flemish emissaries, continually
represented the French as engaged in contriving some act of treachery
against the English King and nation. Among the nobles, also, the Dukes
of Suffolk and Buckingham, the lord Abergavenny, and others were glad of
any pretext for maligning a pageant of which Wolsey had the prime
direction.

Francis still hovered on the frontier in the fruitless hope of being
invited to take part in this interview with the Emperor. The day before
Charles left Ghent, the Lady Vendôme and the Duchess her daughter-in-law
contrived to have business in that town, but their artifice was not
successful. Francis was obliged to content himself with the assurance
that the visage and countenance of his English ally appeared "not to be
so replenished with joy" as at the valley of Ardres, and that he had
given proofs of undiminished affection by riding a courser that Francis
had given him. With an impressiveness intended to be candid, he told Sir
Richard Wingfield, who had succeeded as English resident at the French
court, that "if the King Catholic were a prince of like faith unto the
King his brother [Henry], and that he might perceive from Wolsey that
his coming thither [to Calais] might be the cause of any good conclusion
between them" (that is, between himself and the Emperor), "he would not
fail to come in post, and not to have looked for rank and place to him
belonging, but would have put him into the King's chamber as one of the
number of the same." But neither his extreme humility nor his flattering
proposal that Henry and himself, "the chief pillars of Christendom,"
should handle the Pope, whom Francis knew "to be at some season the
fearfulest creature of the world, and at some other to be as brave," nor
the schemes and blandishments of the ladies, availed. He chafed under
disappointment; still more at his ill-success in counteracting the
growing intimacy of Henry and the Emperor. He had exhausted, to little
purpose, "that liberal and unsuspicious confidence" which too credulous
historians are apt to think characterized his proceedings at the Field
of the Cloth of Gold, to the disadvantage of his less attractive and
engaging contemporary. He could neither prevent the meetings of his two
rivals nor penetrate their secrets. He was utterly foiled, yet dared not
show his resentment. While the Pope and the Spaniards, unable to
penetrate beneath the surface or read the signs of the times, were
puzzled and scandalized at the Emperor's condescension, the world looked
on with astonishment, as well it might, to see the two monarchs of the
West thus anxiously soliciting the Cardinal's good graces. What could
there be in the son of a butcher to command such deference?

Of the projects discussed at this interview we are not precisely
informed. The English version, intended for the meridian of the French
court, and to lull the suspicions of Francis, is the only account we
possess. If any credit be due to a statement prepared under such
circumstances and calculated to alienate the French King irrecoverably
from the Emperor, we are to believe that the imperial ambassadors had
already proposed to Henry to break off his matrimonial engagement with
France, and transfer the hand of the princess Mary to the Emperor. As an
inducement for the King to coincide in this arrangement, the Emperor
undertook to make war on France by sea and land, and not desist until
Henry "had recovered his right and title in the same." The King,
according to the same document, rejected such a treacherous overture
with the utmost horror, vehemently protesting against its immorality and
perfidiousness. That such a proposal was made, though probably not by
Chièvres, to whom it is attributed--that it was accepted by England, but
with none of the indignation described in the document--is clear beyond
dispute. Long before any interruption had occurred in the amicable
relations between the two countries, before even the landing of Charles
at Canterbury, or in the interview in the valley of Ardres, it had been
secretly proposed that the French engagement should be set aside, and
the hand of Mary be transferred to the Emperor. The King's horror at
this act of faithlessness--if it had any existence beyond the paper on
which it was written--must have been tardy and gratuitous, seeing that
the chief purpose of the meeting at Calais was to settle the basis of
this matrimonial alliance, and obtain the solemn ratification of the
Emperor.




CORTÉS CAPTURES THE CITY OF MEXICO

A.D. 1521

WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT

     Spain had already begun to conquer and colonize the New
     World when in 1519 Hernando Cortés, with about 700 men,
     landed in Mexico, having previously served in Española
     (Haiti) and Cuba. He was born in Medellin, Estremadura,
     Spain, in 1485, and was therefore now about thirty-four
     years of age. To make the retreat of his force impossible,
     he destroyed his ships and marched into the interior and
     established himself in the capital city, Tenochtitlan, on
     the site of the present city of Mexico.

     Cortés found Southern Mexico under the rule of the Aztecs
     (more correctly Aztecas), a partly civilized and powerful
     branch of Nahuatl Indians of Central Mexico. They had formed
     a confederacy with other tribes, and now maintained a
     formidable empire in the Mexican valley plateau. Their
     emperor was Montezuma II, who sent messengers to remonstrate
     against the advance of Cortés. The Spaniard continued his
     march, entered the city, and soon made Montezuma his
     prisoner, holding him as a hostage. In June, 1520, the
     Spaniards were besieged in the city; during a parley
     Montezuma was killed; on the night of the 30th the
     Spaniards, while trying to leave the city, lost half their
     men in a severe fight, and only after another battle (July
     7th) escaped into Tlascala.

     Reorganizing his force, strengthened by Indian allies and by
     ships which he built on the lakes, Cortés, in May, 1521,
     began the siege of Mexico, as historians call the Aztec
     capital. Guatemotzin, the last of the Aztec emperors, made a
     desperate defence, and before its capture the city was
     almost destroyed. On August 12th the Spaniards made a strong
     assault, which so weakened the defenders that the following
     day was to be the last of the once flourishing empire.
     Cortés' chief lieutenants were Pedro de Alvarado, Gonzalo de
     Sandoval, and Olid, famous Spanish soldiers.

     After taking the capital city, Cortes, being empowered by
     Guatemotzin, conquered the whole of Mexico, which was called
     New Spain, and in 1523 he was appointed governor.


On the morning of August 13, 1521, the Spanish commander again mustered
his forces, having decided to follow up the blow of the preceding day
before the enemy should have time to rally, and at once to put an end to
the war. He had arranged with Alvarado, on the evening previous, to
occupy the market-place of Tlatelolco; and the discharge of an arquebuse
was to be the signal for a simultaneous assault. Sandoval was to hold
the northern causeway, and, with the fleet, to watch the movements of
the Indian Emperor and to intercept the flight to the mainland, which
Cortés knew he meditated. To allow him to effect this would be to leave
a formidable enemy in his own neighborhood, who might at any time kindle
the flame of insurrection throughout the country. He ordered Sandoval,
however, to do no harm to the royal person, and not to fire on the enemy
at all except in self-defence.

It was the day of St. Hippolytus--from this circumstance selected as the
patron saint of modern Mexico--that Cortés led his warlike array for the
last time across the black and blasted environs which lay around the
Indian capital. On entering the Aztec precincts he paused, willing to
afford its wretched inmates one more chance of escape before striking
the fatal blow. He obtained an interview with some of the principal
chiefs, and expostulated with them on the conduct of their Prince. "He
surely will not," said the general, "see you all perish, when he can
easily save you." He then urged them to prevail on Guatemotzin to hold a
conference with him, repeating the assurances of his personal safety.

The messengers went on their mission, and soon returned with the
Cihuacoatl at their head, a magistrate of high authority among the
Mexicans. He said, with a melancholy air, in which his own
disappointment was visible, that "Guatemotzin was ready to die where he
was, but would hold no interview with the Spanish commander"; adding in
a tone of resignation, "It is for you to work your pleasure." "Go,
then," replied the stern conqueror, "and prepare your countrymen for
death. Their hour is come."

He still postponed the assault for several hours. But the impatience of
his troops at this delay was heightened by the rumor that Guatemotzin
and his nobles were preparing to escape with their effects in the
periaguas and canoes which were moored on the margin of the lake.
Convinced of the fruitlessness and impolicy of further procrastination,
Cortés made his final dispositions for the attack, and took his own
station on an azotea which commanded the theatre of operations.

When the assailants came into the presence of the enemy, they found them
huddled together in the utmost confusion, all ages and both sexes, in
masses so dense that they nearly forced one another over the brink of
the causeways into the water below. Some had climbed on the terraces,
others feebly supported themselves against the walls of the buildings.
Their squalid and tattered garments gave a wildness to their appearance
which still further heightened the ferocity of their expression, as they
glared on their enemy with eyes in which hate was mingled with despair.
When the Spaniards had approached within bow-shot, the Aztecs let off a
flight of impotent missiles, showing to the last the resolute spirit,
though they had lost the strength, of their better days. The fatal
signal was then given by the discharge of an arquebuse--speedily
followed by peals of heavy ordnance, the rattle of fire-arms, and the
hellish shouts of the confederates as they sprang upon their victims.

It is unnecessary to stain the page with a repetition of the horrors of
the preceding day. Some of the wretched Aztecs threw themselves into the
water and were picked up by the canoes. Others sank and were suffocated
in the canals. The number of these became so great that a bridge was
made of their dead bodies, over which the assailants could climb to the
opposite banks. Others again, especially the women, begged for mercy,
which, as the chroniclers assure us, was everywhere granted by the
Spaniards, and, contrary to the instructions and entreaties of Cortés,
everywhere refused by the confederates.

While this work of butchery was going on, numbers were observed pushing
off in the barks that lined the shore, and making the best of their way
across the lake. They were constantly intercepted by the brigantines,
which broke the flimsy array of boats, sending off their volleys to the
right and left as the crews of the latter hotly assailed them. The
battle raged as fiercely on the lake as on the land. Many of the Indian
vessels were shattered and overturned. Some few, however, under cover of
smoke, which rolled darkly over the waters, succeeded in clearing
themselves of the turmoil, and were fast nearing the opposite shore.
Sandoval had particularly charged his captains to keep an eye on the
movements of any vessel in which it was at all probable that Guatemotzin
might be concealed. At this crisis, three or four of the largest
periaguas were seen skimming over the water and making their way rapidly
across the lake. A captain, named Garci Holguin, who had command of one
of the best sailors in the fleet, instantly gave them chase. The wind
was favorable, and every moment he gained on the fugitives, who pulled
their oars with a vigor that despair alone could have given. But it was
in vain; and after a short race, Holguin, coming alongside of one of the
periaguas, which, whether from its appearance or from information he had
received, he conjectured might bear the Indian Emperor, ordered his men
to level their cross-bows at the boat. But, before they could discharge
them a cry arose from those in it that their lord was on board. At the
same moment a young warrior, armed with buckler and _maquahuitl_, rose
up, as if to beat off the assailants. But, as the Spanish captain
ordered his men not to shoot, he dropped his weapons and exclaimed: "I
am Guatemotzin. Lead me to Malintzin;[33] I am his prisoner, but let no
harm come to my wife and my followers."

Holguin assured him that his wishes should be respected, and assisted
him to get on board the brigantine, followed by his wife and attendants.
These were twenty in number, consisting of Coanaco, the deposed Lord of
Tlacopan, the Lord of Tlacopan, and several other caciques and
dignitaries, whose rank, probably, had secured them some exemption from
the general calamities of the siege. When the captives were seated on
the deck of the vessel Holguin requested the Aztec Prince to put an end
to the combat by commanding his people in the other canoes to surrender.
But with a dejected air he replied: "It is not necessary. They will
fight no longer when they see their Prince is taken." He spoke the
truth. The news of Guatemotzin's capture spread rapidly through the
fleet and on shore, where the Mexicans were still engaged in conflict
with their enemies. It ceased, however, at once. They made no further
resistance; and those on the water quickly followed the brigantines,
which conveyed their captive monarch to land. It seemed as if the fight
had been maintained thus long the better to divert the enemy's attention
and cover their master's retreat.

Meanwhile, Sandoval, on receiving tidings of the capture, brought his
own brigantine alongside of Holguin's and demanded the royal prisoner to
be surrendered to him. But the captain claimed him as his prize. A
dispute arose between the parties, each anxious to have the glory of the
deed, and perhaps the privilege of commemorating it on his escutcheon.
The controversy continued so long that it reached the ears of Cortés,
who, in his station on the azotea, had learned with no little
satisfaction the capture of his enemy. He instantly sent orders to his
wrangling officers to bring Guatemotzin before him, that he might adjust
the difference between them. He charged them, at the same time, to treat
their prisoner with respect. He then made preparations for the
interview, caused the terrace to be carpeted with crimson cloth and
matting, and a table to be spread with provisions, of which the unhappy
Aztecs stood so much in need. His lovely Indian mistress, Doña Marina,
was present to act as interpreter. She stood by his side through all the
troubled scenes of the conquest, and she was there now to witness its
triumphant termination.

Guatemotzin, on landing, was escorted by a company of infantry to the
presence of the Spanish commander. He mounted the azotea with a calm and
steady step, and was easily to be distinguished from his attendant
nobles, though his full, dark eye was no longer lighted up with its
accustomed fire, and his features wore an expression of passive
resignation, that told little of the fierce and fiery spirit that burned
within. His head was large, his limbs well proportioned, his complexion
fairer than that of his bronze-colored nation, and his whole deportment
singularly mild and engaging.

Cortés came forward with a dignified and studied courtesy to receive
him. The Aztec monarch probably knew the person of his conqueror, for he
first broke silence by saying: "I have done all that I could to defend
myself and my people. I am now reduced to this state. You will deal with
me, Malintzin, as you list." Then, laying his hand on the hilt of a
poniard stuck in the General's belt, he added with vehemence, "Better
despatch me with this, and rid me of life at once." Cortés was filled
with admiration at the proud bearing of the young barbarian, showing in
his reverses a spirit worthy of an ancient Roman. "Fear not," he
replied; "you shall be treated with all honor. You have defended your
capital like a brave warrior. A Spaniard knows how to respect valor even
in an enemy." He then inquired of him where he had left the Princess his
wife; and, being informed that she still remained under protection of a
Spanish guard on board the brigantine, the General sent to have her
escorted to his presence.

She was the youngest daughter of Montezuma, and was hardly yet on the
verge of womanhood. On the accession of her cousin Guatemotzin to the
throne, she had been wedded to him as his lawful wife. She is celebrated
by her contemporaries for her personal charms; and the beautiful
Princess Tecuichpo is still commemorated by the Spaniards, since from
her by a subsequent marriage are descended some of the illustrious
families of their own nation. She was kindly received by Cortés, who
showed her the respectful attentions suited to her rank. Her birth, no
doubt, gave her an additional interest in his eyes, and he may have felt
some touch of compunction as he gazed on the daughter of the unfortunate
Montezuma. He invited his royal captives to partake of the refreshments
which their exhausted condition rendered so necessary. Meanwhile the
Spanish commander made his dispositions for the night, ordering Sandoval
to escort the prisoners to Cojohuacan, whither he proposed himself
immediately to follow. The other captains, Olid and Alvarado, were to
draw off their forces to their respective quarters.

It was impossible for them to continue in the capital, where the
poisonous effluvia from the unburied carcasses loaded the air with
infection. A small guard only was stationed to keep order in the wasted
suburbs. It was the hour of vespers when Guatemotzin surrendered, and
the siege might be considered as then concluded. The evening set in
dark, and the rain began to fall before the several parties had
evacuated the city.

During the night a tremendous tempest, such as the Spaniards had rarely
witnessed, and such as is known only within the tropics, burst over the
Mexican valley. The thunder, reverberating from the rocky amphitheatre
of hills, bellowed over the waste of waters, and shook the _teocallis_
and crazy tenements of Tenochtitlan--the few that yet survived--to their
foundations. The lightning seemed to cleave asunder the vault of heaven,
as its vivid flashes wrapped the whole scene in a ghastly glare for a
moment, to be again swallowed up in darkness. The war of elements was in
unison with the fortunes of the ruined city. It seemed as if the deities
of Anahuac,[34] scared from their ancient bodies, were borne along
shrieking and howling in the blast, as they abandoned the fallen capital
to its fate.

FOOTNOTES:

[33] A name given by the Indians to Cortés.

[34] The low water-bordered coastal region of Mexico. The name is now
applied to a part of the table-land near the city of Mexico.--ED.




LIBERATION OF SWEDEN

A.D. 1523

ERIC GUSTAVE GEIJER[35]

     Gustavus Vasa, son of Eric Johanson, and hence called
     Gustavus Ericson, was descended from the house of Vasa, and
     before the beginning of his long reign (1523-1560) as king
     of Sweden had served his country against the Danes, who were
     the controlling power in the union with Sweden and Norway.
     In a battle fought at the Brennkirk, July 22, 1518,
     Gustavus, then twenty-two years old, bore the Swedish
     banner. This battle resulted in the defeat of Christian II
     of Denmark. Gustavus was given as a hostage to Christian
     during his interview with the Swedish administrator, and the
     Dane treacherously carried the young patriot off to Denmark.
     In the following year he escaped in the disguise of a
     peasant.

     Sweden was conquered by Christian in 1520, and in the same
     year, having taken Stockholm, he ordered there the massacre
     of the nobility, known as the "Blood-bath." Ninety of the
     leading men of Sweden, including the father of Gustavus,
     were put to death. This outrage provoked an uprising, in
     which the province of Dalecarlia bore the leading part, and
     its people followed Gustavus in a movement for independence.
     He soon gathered an army of his adherents, called
     "Dalesmen"--men of the dales--strong enough to meet the
     enemy.

     Gustavus Vasa is not only famed as the deliverer of Sweden,
     but also as the promoter of popular education in his
     country, and for the support which he gave to the
     Reformation, he himself having early embraced the doctrines
     of Luther.

     The heroic aspects of this Scandinavian patriot and King
     have alike endeared his memory to his own people and made
     his fame to endure in the world annals of mankind. His last
     appearance and address before the estates of his kingdom, in
     the closing year of his life, have been finely commemorated
     in art, with a commingling of power and pathos, the aged
     monarch taking leave of his people and his throne. "He took
     his place in the hall of assemblage, accompanied by all his
     sons. The King having saluted the estates, they listened for
     the last time to the accents of that eloquence so well liked
     by the people."


[Illustration: Gustavus I (Vasa) addressing his last meeting of the
Estates

Painting by L. Hersent]

The most influential yeomen of all the parishes in the eastern and
western dales elected Gustavus to be "lord and chieftain over them and
the commons of the realm of Sweden." Some scholars who had arrived from
Westeras brought with them new accounts of the tyranny of Christian.
Gustavus placed them amid a ring of peasants to tell their story and
answer the questions of the crowd. Old men represented it as a
comfortable sign for the people, that as often as Gustavus discoursed to
them the north wind always blew, "which was an old token to them that
God would grant them good success." Sixteen active peasants were
appointed to be his bodyguard; and two hundred more youths who joined
him were called his foot-goers. The chronicles reckon his reign from
this small beginning; while the Danes and their abettors in Stockholm
long continued to speak of him and his party as a band of robbers in the
woods.

Thus the Dalesmen swore fidelity to Gustavus--the inhabitants, namely,
of the upper parishes on both arms of the Dal-elf, where a numerous
people, living amid wild yet grand natural scenery and hardened by
privations, is still known by that name. Gustavus came to the Kopparberg
with several hundred men in the early part of February, 1521, there took
prisoner his enemy Christopher Olson, the powerful warden of the mines,
made himself master of the money collected for the crown dues, and of
the wares of the Danish traders on the spot, distributed both the money
and goods among his men--who made their first standard from the silk
stuffs there taken--and then returned to the Dales. Not long afterward,
on a Sunday, when the people of the Kopparberg were at church, Gustavus
again appeared at the head of fifteen hundred Dalesmen. He spoke to the
people after divine service, and now the miners likewise swore fidelity
to his cause. Thereupon the commonalty of the mining districts and the
Dalesmen wrote to the commons of Helsingland, requesting that the
Helsingers might bear themselves like true Swedish men against the
overbearing violence and tyranny of the Danes. Those cruelties which
King Christian had already exercised on the best in the land, they said,
would soon reach every man's door and fill all the houses of Sweden with
the tears and shrieks of widows and orphans; if they would take up arms
and show themselves to be stout-hearted men, there was now good hope for
victory and triumph under a praiseworthy captain, the lord Gustavus
Ericson, whom God had preserved "as a drop of the knightly blood of
Sweden"; wherefore they begged them to give their help for the sake of
the brotherly league by which, since early times, the commonalty of both
countries had been united.

Ten years afterward, the Dalecarlians recall the fact that they had
received a friendly answer to the request which their accredited
messengers had preferred on that occasion, and that their neighbors the
Helsingers had promised to stand by them as one man, "whatever evils
might befall them from the oppression of foreign or native masters."
When Gustavus had begun the siege of Stockholm, every third man of the
Helsingers in fact marched thither to strengthen his army. Yet at first
they hesitated to embrace the cause, although Gustavus himself went
among them, and spoke to the assembled people from the barrow on the
royal domain of Norrala. Thence he proceeded to Gestricland, where
fugitives from Stockholm had already prepared men's minds. The burghers
of Gefle, and commissioners from several parishes, swore fidelity to him
in the name of the whole province. Here the rumor reached him that the
Dalecarlians had already suffered a defeat; he hastened back, and soon
received an account of the first victory of his followers.

Letters of the magistracy of Stockholm, which were sent over the whole
kingdom, warned the people to avoid all participation in the revolt.
Relief was supplicated from the King; additions were made to the
fortifications of the capital, sloops and barks were equipped, in order,
as it was said, to deprive "Gustavus Ericson and his company of
malefactors of all opportunity of quitting the country," but really to
keep the approaches on the side of the sea open, which were obstructed
by the fishers and peasants of the islets, who had begun to take arms
for Gustavus. Special admonitory letters were despatched to Helsingland
and Dalecarlia, signed by Gustavus Trolle, his father Eric Trolle, and
Canute Bennetson (Sparre) of Engsoe, styling themselves the council of
the realm of Sweden, by which, however, say the chronicles, the royal
cause was rather damaged than strengthened. "For when the Dalesmen and
miners heard the letter, they said it was manifest to them that the
council at this time was but small and thin, since it consisted of only
three men, and these of little weight." Gustavus Trolle, the Danish
bishops, Canute Bennetson, above named, and Henry of Mellen, the King's
lieutenant at Westeras--where they had recently been assembled with
commissioners from the magistracy of Stockholm by Bishop Otho--now
marched with six thousand men of horse and foot toward the Dal River,
and encamped at the ferry of Brunback. On the other side the
Dalecarlians guarded this frontier of their country, under the command
of Peter Swenson of Viderboda, a powerful miner, whom Gustavus had
appointed their captain in his absence. When those in the Danish camp
observed how the Dalesmen shot their arrows across the stream, Bishop
Beldenacke is said to have inquired of the Swedish lords present--to use
the words of the chronicles--"how great a force the tract above the Long
Wood (the forest on the boundary between Westmanland and Dalecarlia)
could furnish at the utmost?" Answer was made to him, full twenty
thousand men. Yet further he asked where so many mouths might obtain
sustenance? To this it was replied that the people were not used to
dainty meats; they drunk for the most part nothing but water, and, if
need were, could be satisfied with bark-bread. Then Beldenacke declared:
"Men who eat wood and drink water the devil himself could not overcome,
much less anyone else. Brethren, let us leave this place!" The story
makes the Danes hereupon prepare for breaking up their encampment.
However this may be, it is certain that Peter Swenson, with the
Dalesmen, crossed the Dal secretly, by a circuit, at Utsund's Ferry,
surprised the camp, and put the foe to rout.

Gustavus had himself dealt with the inhabitants of Helsingland and
Gestricland, in order to insure himself against leaving foes in the
rear, and, after his return to the Dales, he prepared for an expedition
into the lower country. He assembled his troops at Hedemora, and sought
to inure them to habits of order and obedience by military exercises.
The dale peasant had no fire-arms and knew little of discipline; his
weapons were the axe, the bow, the pike, and the sling, the latter
sometimes throwing pieces of red-hot iron. Gustavus instructed his men
to fashion their arrows in a more effective shape, and increased the
length of the spear by four or five feet, with a view to repel the
attacks of cavalry. He caused monetary tokens to be struck--an expedient
which seems to have been not uncommon in Sweden, since, from a remote
period, even leather money is mentioned. The coins now struck at
Hedemora were of copper, with a small admixture of silver, similar to
those introduced by the King, and called "Christian's klippings;" on one
side was the impress of an armed man; on the other, arrows laid
crosswise, with three crowns.

Gustavus broke from his quarters, and marched across the Long Wood into
Westmanland. His course lay through districts which bore traces yet
fresh of the enemy's passage. The peasantry rose as he advanced. On St.
George's Day, April 23d, he mustered his army at the church of
Romfertuna. The number is stated by the chronicles at from fifteen to
twenty thousand men, yet on the correctness of this little reliance can
be placed, even if we did not absolutely class this account with those
which compare the multitude of Dalesmen in the fight of Brunneback to
the sands of the sea-shore and the leaves of the forest, and their
arrows to the hail of the storm-cloud. The liberation of Sweden by
Gustavus Vasa is a history written by the people, and they counted
neither themselves nor their foes. The army was now divided under two
generals, Lawrence Olaveson and Lawrence Ericson, both practised
warriors. Gustavus next issued his declaration of war against Christian,
and marched to Westeras. He expected here to be met by the peasants of
the western mining district from Lindesberg and Nora, who had already
taken the oath of fidelity to him through his deputies; but instead of
this he was informed that Peter Ugla, one of those intrusted with the
performance of this duty, had allowed himself to be surprised at Koping,
and cut to pieces with his whole force. On the other hand, tidings
arrived that the peasants on Wermd Isle had revolted, slain a band of
Christian's men in the church itself, and made themselves masters of two
of his ships. The letters conveying the news, and magnifying the
advantages gained, Gustavus caused to be read aloud to his followers.

Theodore Slagheck, exercising power with barbarous cruelty and outrage,
had himself taken the command of the castle of Westeras. He caused all
the fences of the neighborhood to be broken down, in order to be able to
use his cavalry without impediment against the insurgent peasants, who,
on April 29th, approached the town. Both horsemen and foot, with
field-pieces, marched against them; and Gustavus, who had interdicted
his men from engaging in a contest with the enemy, intending to defer
the attack till the following day, was still at Balundsas, half a mile
from the town, when news reached him that his young soldiers were
already at blows with their adversaries, and he hastened to their
assistance. The Dalecarlians opposed their long pikes to the onset of
the cavalry with such effect that, more than four hundred horses having
perished in the assault, they were driven back on the infantry, who were
posted in their rear, and compelled to flee along with them, while
Lawrence Ericson pushed into the town by a circuitous road and possessed
himself of the enemy's artillery in the market-place. When the garrison
of the castle observed this, they set fire to the houses by shooting
their combustibles, and burned the greatest part of the town. The miners
and peasants dispersed to extinguish the flames or to plunder, bartered
with one another the goods of the traders in the booths, possessed
themselves of the stock of wine in the cathedral and the council-house,
seated themselves round the vats, drank and sang. The Danes, reënforced
from the castle, rallied anew, and the victory would undoubtedly have
been changed into an overthrow had not Gustavus sent Lawrence Olaveson,
with the followers he had kept about him, again into the town, where,
after a renewal of the conflict, the foe was put to an utter rout. Many
cast away their arms, and threw themselves, between fire and sword, into
the waters. Gustavus caused all the stores of spirituous liquors to be
destroyed, and beat in the wine casks with his own hand.

The fight of Westeras, from its influence on public opinion, acquired
greater importance than of itself it would have possessed. Little was
gained by the conquest of the town, so long as the castle held out; and
how unserviceable a force of peasants was for a siege, Gustavus was
often subsequently to experience. Wherever the tidings of his victory
came, the people revolted, and he was already enabled to divide his
power, and to invest the castles of several provinces. Siege was
accordingly laid to Stegborg, Nykoping, and Orebro. A division of the
Vermelanders, with the peasants of Rekarne, in Sudermania, was employed
in beleaguering the castle of Westeras; of whose exploits, however,
nothing else is told than that they shot the councillor Canute Bennetson
(Sparre), to whom Slagheck transferred the command, so that he tumbled
in his wolfskin coat from the wall into the stream. Howbeit, another
detachment reduced Horningsholm in Sudermania; Christian's governors in
Vermeland and Dalsland were slain; the people of the former province,
under the command of their justiciary, prepared for an attack upon the
councillor Thure Jonson, the King's lieutenant in West-Gothland, and,
crossing Lake Vener, entered that district.

In Dalsland, fifteen hundred men took up arms; several thousand peasants
from Nerike marched across the Tiwed with the same object. Gustavus had
been obliged to grant a furlough to his Dalesmen about seed-time; and to
supply their place he caused the people of several districts of Upland
to be summoned to assemble in the forest of Rymningen, at
Oeresundsbro; from which point his two captains essayed an attack upon
the Archbishop of Upsala. It was St. Eric's Day (May 18th), and a great
confluence of people was present at the fair. An assault was expected;
for a deputation of four priests and two burgesses, sent from Upsala to
the forest, had received from the leaders the answer that it must be
Swedes, not outlandish men, who should bear the shrine of holy Eric, and
that they would come to take their part in the festival. Bennet Bjugg
(Barley), the Archbishop's bailiff, to show his contempt of such foes,
caused a banquet to be set out in the open space between the larger and
smaller episcopal manor houses of that day, where, before the eyes of
the people, he made himself and his fellows merry till late in the night
with drinking, dancing, and singing. Roused from a late sleep by an
assault on the gates of the fortified house, and finding it beset by the
enemy, they attempted to escape by a concealed passage, which then
connected the Bishop's house with the cathedral. But the peasants set
fire to this passage, which was of wood, and shot fire arrows at the
roof of the episcopal residence, in which the flames soon burst forth.
The building was laid in ashes, and next day the females of the
household, with some burghers of Upsala, crept out of its cellars, in
which they had taken refuge. Great part of the garrison perished. The
bailiff escaped with a wound from an arrow, of which he died after
rejoining his master at Stockholm.

This prelate, Archbishop Gustavus Trolle, had lately returned from a
journey to Helsingland, undertaken in order to retain this part of his
diocese in its allegiance to the King. Shortly afterward he received, by
a messenger from Gustavus, who had himself come to Upsala at
Whitsuntide, a letter exhorting him to embrace the cause of his country,
to which his chapter had been persuaded to annex a memorial to the same
effect. The Archbishop detained the messenger, saying that he would
carry the answer himself. He broke up immediately with five hundred
German horse and three thousand foot of the garrison of Stockholm, and
had come within half a mile of Upsala before Gustavus received
intelligence of his approach. This the latter did not at first credit,
but remained, expecting an answer to his overture of negotiation, until,
about six in the morning, being on horseback upon the sand-hill near
Upsala, the spot where he afterward built a royal castle, he saw the
Archbishop marching across the King's Mead (Kungsang) toward the town.
Gustavus had but two hundred of his so-called foot-goers and a small
number of horse with him, for the peasants had returned to their homes.
He made a hasty retreat, but was overtaken by Trolle's horsemen at the
Ford of Laby. Here a young Finnish noble, who was next to him, in the
confusion rode down his horse in the midst of the stream; and he would
have been lost had not the rest of his followers turned upon the enemy
with such effect as to make them desist from the pursuit.

Gustavus now betook himself to the forest of Rymningen, raised the
peasantry of the adjoining districts, and sent out young men under his
best captains to surprise the Archbishop on his return. The remains of
cattle slaughtered on the road betrayed the ambush to the prelate, who
drew off in another direction. He was nevertheless overtaken and
attacked, escaping the spear of Lawrence Olaveson only by bending
downward on his horse, so that the weapon pierced his neighbor; and he
brought back to Stockholm hardly a sixth part of his army. Gustavus
followed close after with his collected force, and encamped under the
Brunkeberg. Four gibbets on this eminence, stocked with corpses of
Swedish inhabitants, attested the character of the government in the
capital.

Thus began, at the midsummer of 1521, the siege of Stockholm, which was
to last full two years, amid difficulties little thought of nowadays,
after the lapse of ages; and the admiration which men so willingly
render to the exertions in the cause of freedom have deprived events of
their original colors. The path of Gustavus was not in general one of
glittering feats, although his life is in itself one grand achievement.
What he accomplished was the effect of strong endurance and great
sagacity; and though he wanted not for intrepidity, it was of a kind
before which the mere warrior must vail his crest. All the remaining
movements of the war of liberation consist in sieges of the various
castles and fortresses of the country, undertaken as opportunity
offered, with levies of the peasantry, whose detachments relieved each
other, though sometimes neglecting this duty when pressed by the cares
or necessities of their own families. Hence the object of these
investments, which was to deprive the besieged of provisions, could only
be imperfectly attained, and there were many fortified mansions of which
the proprietors adhered to the Danish party, as that of Wik in Upland,
which remained blockaded throughout the whole year. These difficulties
were the most formidable where, as at Stockholm, access was open by the
sea, of which Severin Norby, with the Danish squadron, was master. The
scantiness of the means of attack may be discovered from the
circumstance that sixty German spearmen, whom Clement Rensel, a burgher
of Stockholm, himself a narrator of these events, brought from Dantzic
in July for the service of Gustavus, were regarded as a reënforcement of
the highest importance. "At this time," says the chronicle, "Lord
Gustave enjoyed not much repose or many pleasant days, when he kept his
people in so many campaigns and investments, since he bore for them all
great anxiety, fear, and peril, how he might lend them help in their
need, so that they might not be surprised through heedlessness and
laches. So likewise his pain was not small when he had but little in his
money chest, and it was grievous to give this answer when the folk cried
for stipend. Therefore he stayed not many days in the same place, but
travelled day and night between the camps."

In the month of August he arrived at Stegeborg, which was now besieged
by his general, Arwid the West-Goth, who had recently repulsed with
great bravery Severin Norby's attempt to relieve the castle, and had
even begun to take homage for Gustavus from the people of his province,
although in this he experienced difficulties. The East-Goths declared
that they had been so chastised for their attack on the Bishop's castle
at Linkoping the preceding year that they no longer dared to provoke
either King Christian or Bishop Hans Brask. The personal presence of
Gustavus decided the waverers, and even the Bishop received him as a
friend, because he would otherwise have stood in danger of a hostile
visitation. Gustavus now convoked a diet of barons at Vadstena, which
was attended by seventy Swedish gentlemen of noble family and by many
other persons of all classes in Gothland. These made him a tender of the
crown, which he refused to accept. On August 24th, therefore, they swore
fealty and obedience to him as administrator of the kingdom--"in like
manner," add the chronicles, "as had formerly been done in Upland";
whence they seem to have assumed that he had already been acknowledged
as such in Upper Sweden, here called Upland, as we often find it in the
chronicles of the Middle Age. This was the first public declaration of
the nobility in favor of Gustavus and his cause; although the greatest
barons in this division of the kingdom, such as Nils Boson (Grip),
Holger Carlson (Gere), and Thure Jenson (Roos) in West-Gothland, all
three councillors of state, were still in arms for Christian. That the
first-named nobleman joined the party of Gustavus before the end of the
year we know from his letter of thanks for a fief of which he received
the investure. Both the latter were proclaimed in 1523 to be enemies of
the realm, as also was the archbishop Gustavus Trolle. He had repaired
to Denmark two years before, in order to obtain, by his personal
instances with the King, the often-promised relief for the besieged
garrison of Stockholm, but was received with coldness and reproaches.

After the baronial diet of Vadstena, the Gothlanders acknowledged the
authority of the administrator, and, the Danes having been driven out
West-Gothland and Smaland, the seat of the war was removed to Finland.
By the commencement of the next year the principal castles of the
interior had fallen into the hands of Gustavus, and some, as those of
Westeras and Orebo, were razed to the ground by the now exasperated
peasantry. Stockholm and Kalmar, as well as Abo in Finland, yet stood
out, and by help of reënforcement which they received at the beginning
of 1522, through the Danish admiral Severin Norby, the enemy were again
able to resume the offensive. By sallies from the beleaguered capital on
April 7th, 8th, and 13th, the camp of Gustavus was set on fire and
destroyed, and for a whole month afterward no Swedish force was seen
before the walls of Stockholm. The besiegers of Abo were likewise driven
off, and the chief adherents of Gustavus, being obliged to flee from
Finland, Arvid, Bishop of Abo, with many noble persons of both sexes,
perished at sea.

Christian himself by new cruelties added to the detestation with which
he was regarded in Sweden. The wives and children, of the most
distinguished among the barons beheaded in Stockholm, had been conveyed
to Denmark, and among them the mother and two sisters of Gustavus, whom
the King, in spite of the entreaties of his consort, threw into a
dungeon. Here they died, either by violence, as Gustavus himself
complains in a letter of 1522 concerning the cruel oppression of King
Christian, directed to the Pope, the Emperor, and all Christian princes,
or, as others assert, of the plague. An order had also been recently
issued by the King to commanders in Sweden to put to death all the
Swedes of distinction who had fallen into their hands. The chronicles
say that Severin Norby had received this order so early as the summer of
1521, but, instead of complying with it, permitted the escape of many
noblemen, who afterward did homage to Gustavus at Vadstena, in order, as
he expressed it, that they might rather guard their necks like warriors
than be slaughtered like chickens. But in Abo a new massacre was
perpetrated at the beginning of the next year by Lord Thomas, the
royalist commander there, who afterward, in an attempt to relieve
Stockholm, fell, with all his ships, into the hands of Gustavus, and was
hanged upon an oak in Tynnels Island.

After Severin Norby had relieved the capital, the secretary, master
Gotschalk Ericson, wrote thence to Christian that there were but eighty
of the burghers, for the most part Germans, who could be counted on for
the King's service, but of footmen and gunners in the castle there were
now eight hundred fifty men, well furnished with all; the peasants were,
indeed, weary of the war, but were still more fearful of the King's
vengeance, and put faith in no assurances, whence the country could only
be reduced to obedience by violent methods; if a sufficient force were
sent, East-Gothland, Sodermanland, and Upland would submit to the King,
and his grace could then punish the Dalecarlians and Helsingers, who
first stirred up these troubles.

The governor of the castle of Stockholm informs the King, in a report on
military occurrences of the winter, "that his men had compelled him to
consent to an increase of pay on account of the successes they had
gained; that he had expelled from the town, or imprisoned, the suspected
Swedish burghers; that the peasants would rather be hanged on their own
hearths than longer endure the burden of war; that Gustavus, who had in
vain tempted his fidelity, had already sent his plate and the chief part
of his own movable property to a priest in Helsingland; he (the
governor) also transmitted an inventory of the goods of the decapitated
nobles."

But by the end of one month Gustavus, who in this letter is styled "a
forest thief and robber," had again filled three camps around Stockholm
with Dalesmen and Norrlanders; and when, pursuant to a convention with
Lubeck, he received thence in the month of June an auxiliary force of
ten ships, a number that was afterward augmented, he was enabled to
dispense with the greatest portion of his peasants, and retained about
him only those who were young and unmarried. The assistance of the
Lubeckers, it was true, was given only by halves, and from selfish
motives; they did not forget their profit on the arms, purchased Swedish
iron and copper for klippings, with which worthless coins they came
well provided, and exacted a dear price for their men, ships, and
military stores, refusing even, it is said, to supply Gustavus with two
pieces of cannon at a decisive moment, although upon the proffered
security of two of the royal castles.

This occurred on occasion of a second, and this time unsuccessful,
attempt made by Norby to relieve Stockholm; in which he was only saved
from ruin by the refusal of the admiral of Lubeck to attack. Meanwhile
Gustavus, despite the losses which he sustained by sallies, pushed his
three camps by degrees close to the town, then covering little more than
the island still contains, the town properly so called. At length, after
Kingsholm, Langholm, Sodermalm, Waldemar's Island, now the Zoölogical
Gardens, had been connected by block-houses and chains, the place was
invested on all sides. Yet it held out through the winter, until the
news of Christian's fate, joined to the pangs of hunger, deprived the
garrison of all spirit for further resistance.

He did not dare to trust either his subjects or his soldiers, collected
twenty ships, in which he embarked the public records, with the treasure
and crown jewels, his consort and child, and his adviser Sigbert, who
was concealed in his chest. Deserting his kingdom, he sailed away in the
face of the whole population of Copenhagen, April 20, 1523.

Thus ended the reign of Christian II, a king in whom one knows not which
rivets the attention, the multiplied undertakings he commenced and
abandoned in a career so often stained with blood, his audacity, his
feebleness, or that misery of many years by which he was to expiate a
short and ill-used tenure of power. There are men who, like the storm
birds before the tempest, appear in history as foretokens of the
approaching outburst of great convulsions. Of such a nature was
Christian, who, tossed hither and thither between all the various
currents of his time without central consistence, awakened alternately
the fear or pity of the beholders.

Frederick I, who was chosen to succeed him in Denmark, wrote to the
estates of Sweden, demanding that in accordance with the stipulations of
the Union of Kalmar he might also be acknowledged king in Sweden. They
replied "that they had elected Gustavus Ericson to be Sweden's king."
That event came to pass at the Diet of Strengess, June 7, 1523. Thus was
the union dissolved, after enduring one hundred twenty-six years. Norway
wavered at this critical moment. The inhabitants of the southern portion
declared, when the Swedes under Thure Jenson (Roos) and Lawrence
Siggeson (Sparre) had penetrated into their country as far as Opslo,
that they would unite with Sweden if they might rely upon its support.
Bohusland was subdued, Bleking likewise on another side, and Gustavus
sought, both by negotiation and arms, to enforce the old claims of
Sweden to Scania and Halland. The town of Kalmar was taken on May 27th,
and the castle on July 7th. Stockholm having surrendered on June 20th,
on condition of the free departure of the garrison with their property
and arms, and of every other person who adhered to the cause of
Christian, Gustavus made his public entry on Midsummer's Eve; before the
end of the year Finland also was reduced to obedience. The kingdom was
freed from foreign enemies, but internal foes still remained; and Lubeck
was an ally whose demands made it more troublesome than it would have
been as an enemy.

A town wasted in the civil war had been the scene of the election of
Gustavus Vasa to the throne. In the capital, when he made his public
entry, one-half of the houses were empty, and of population scarcely a
fourth part remained. To fill up the gap, he issued an invitation to the
burghers in other towns to settle there, a summons which he was obliged
twelve years afterward to renew, "seeing that Stockholm had not yet
revived from the days of King Christian." The spectacle which here met
his eyes was a type of the condition of the whole kingdom, and never was
it said of any sovereign with more justice that the throne to which he
had been elevated was more difficult to preserve than to win.

FOOTNOTES:

[35] Translated by J. H. Turner, M.A.




THE PEASANTS' WAR IN GERMANY

A.D. 1524

J. H. MERLE D'AUBIGNE

     The Peasants' War was the most widespread and most bloody of
     the mediæval forerunners of the French Revolution. Like the
     rebellion of the Jacquerie and many another ferocious,
     desperate outburst of the downtrodden common folk, it
     foretold a day of vengeance to come. These early uprisings
     were all hopeless from their start, because the untrained
     and naked bodies of the people, however numerous, could not
     possibly hold an open battlefield against skilled and armed
     men of war. Each revolt terminated in the butchery of the
     unhappy rebels.

     The Peasants' War has acquired special notoriety because of
     its connection with the Reformation. The people rose in the
     name of religion, and, as their ignorance and ferocity led
     them into hideous excesses of revenge upon their oppressors,
     the new religion was blamed for all the evil thus done in
     its name. This revolt, because of the fear and disgust it
     roused, became the most severe set-back Protestantism
     received in all its struggle with the more ancient and
     conservative Church.

     The following account of the outbreak and its consequences
     is by a standard Protestant historian, president of the
     College of Geneva, a student who can see justice on both
     sides of the great controversy.


A political ferment, very different from that produced by the Gospel,
had long been at work in the empire. The people, bowed down by civil and
ecclesiastical oppression, bound in many countries to the seigniorial
estates, and transferred from hand to hand along with them, threatened
to rise with fury and at last to break their chains. This agitation had
showed itself long before the Reformation by many symptoms, and even
then the religious element was blended with the political; in the
sixteenth century it was impossible to separate these two principles, so
closely associated in the existence of nations. In Holland, at the close
of the preceding century, the peasants had revolted, placing on their
banners, by way of arms, a loaf and a cheese, the two great blessings of
these poor people. The "Alliance of the Shoes" had shown itself in the
neighborhood of Spires in 1502. In 1513 it appeared again in Breisgau,
being encouraged by the priests. In 1514 Wuertemberg had seen the
"League of Poor Conrad," whose aim was to maintain by rebellion "the
right of God." In 1515 Carinthia and Hungary had been the theatres of
terrible agitations. These seditions had been quenched in torrents of
blood, but no relief had been accorded to the people. A political
reform, therefore, was not less necessary than a religious reform. The
people were entitled to this; but we must acknowledge that they were not
ripe for its enjoyment.

Since the commencement of the Reformation, these popular disturbances
had not been renewed; men's minds were occupied by other thoughts.
Luther, whose piercing glance had discerned the condition of the people,
had already from the summit of the Wartburg addressed them in serious
exhortations calculated to restrain their agitated minds:

"Rebellion," he had said, "never produces the amelioration we desire,
and God condemns it. What is it to rebel, if it be not to avenge one's
self? The devil is striving to excite to revolt those who embrace the
Gospel, in order to cover it with opprobrium; but those who have rightly
understood my doctrine do not revolt."

Everything gave cause to fear that the popular agitation could not be
restrained much longer. The government that Frederick of Saxony had
taken such pains to form, and which possessed the confidence of the
nation, was dissolved. The Emperor, whose energy might have been an
efficient substitute for the influence of this national administration,
was absent; the princes whose union had always constituted the strength
of Germany were divided; and the new declaration of Charles V against
Luther, by removing every hope of future harmony, deprived the reformer
of part of the moral influence by which in 1522 he had succeeded in
calming the storm. The chief barriers that hitherto had confined the
torrent being broken, nothing could any longer restrain its fury.

It was not the religious movement that gave birth to political
agitations; but in many places it was carried away by their impetuous
waves. Perhaps we should even go further, and acknowledge that the
movement communicated to the people by the Reformation gave fresh
strength to the discontent fermenting in the nation. The violence of
Luther's writings, the intrepidity of his actions and language, the
harsh truths that he spoke, not only to the Pope and prelates, but also
to the princes themselves, must all have contributed to inflame minds
that were already in a state of excitement. Accordingly, Erasmus did not
fail to tell him, "We are now reaping the fruits that you have sown."
And further, the cheering truths of the Gospel, at last brought to
light, stirred all hearts and filled them with anticipation and hope.
But many unregenerated souls were not prepared by repentance for the
faith and liberty of Christians. They were very willing to throw off the
papal yoke, but they would not take up the yoke of Christ. And hence,
when princes devoted to the cause of Rome endeavored in their wrath to
stifle the Reformation, real Christians patiently endured these cruel
persecutions; but the multitude resisted and broke out, and, seeing
their desires checked in one direction, gave vent to them in another.
"Why," said they, "should slavery be perpetuated in the state while the
Church invites all men to a glorious liberty? Why should governments
rule only by force, when the Gospel preaches nothing but gentleness?"
Unhappily, at a time when the religious reform was received with equal
joy both by princes and people, the political reform, on the contrary,
had the most powerful part of the nation against it; and while the
former had the Gospel for its rule and support, the latter had soon no
other principles than violence and despotism. Accordingly, while the one
was confined within the bounds of truth, the other rapidly, like an
impetuous torrent, overstepped all limits of justice. But to shut one's
eyes against the indirect influence of the Reformation on the troubles
that broke out in the empire would betoken partiality. A fire had been
kindled in Germany by religious discussions from which it was impossible
to prevent a few sparks escaping, which were calculated to inflame the
passions of the people.

The claims of a few fanatics to divine inspiration increased the evil.
While the Reformation had continually appealed from the pretended
authority of the Church to the real authority of the holy Scriptures,
these enthusiasts not only rejected the authority of the Church, but of
the Scriptures also; they spoke only of an inner word, of an internal
revelation from God; and, overlooking the natural corruption of their
hearts, they gave way to all the intoxication of spiritual pride, and
fancied they were saints.

"To them the holy Scriptures were but a dead letter," said Luther, "and
they all began to cry, 'The Spirit! the Spirit!' But most assuredly I
will not follow where their spirit leads them. May God of his mercy
preserve me from a church in which there are none but saints. I desire
to dwell with the humble, the feeble, the sick, who know and feel their
sins, and who groan and cry continually to God from the bottom of their
hearts to obtain his consolation and support." These words of Luther
have great depth of meaning, and point out the change that was taking
place in his views as to the nature of the Church. They indicate at the
same time how contrary were the religious opinions of the rebels to
those of the Reformation.

The most notorious of these enthusiasts was Thomas Munzer; he was not
devoid of talent, had read his Bible, was zealous, and might have done
good if he had been able to collect his agitated thoughts and find peace
of heart. But as he did not know himself, and was wanting in true
humility, he was possessed with a desire of reforming the world, and
forgot, as all enthusiasts do, that the reformation should begin with
himself. Some mystical writings that he had read in his youth had given
a false direction to his mind. He first appeared at Zwickau, quitted
Wittenberg after Luther's return, dissatisfied with the inferior part he
was playing, and became pastor of the small town of Alstadt in
Thuringia. He could not long remain quiet, and accused the reformers of
founding, by their adherence to the letter, a new popery, and of forming
churches which were not pure and holy.

"Luther," said he, "has delivered men's consciences from the yoke of the
Pope, but he has left them in a carnal liberty, and not led them in
spirit toward God."

He considered himself as called of God to remedy this great evil. The
revelations of the Spirit were in his eyes the means by which his reform
was to be effected. "He who possesses this spirit," said he, "possesses
the true faith, although he should never see the Scriptures in his life.
Heathens and Turks are better fitted to receive it than many Christians
who style us enthusiasts." It was Luther whom he here had in view. "To
receive this Spirit we must mortify the flesh," said he at another time,
"wear tattered clothing, let the beard grow, be of sad countenance, keep
silence, retire into desert places, and supplicate God to give us a sign
of his favor. Then God will come and speak with us, as formerly he spoke
with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. If he were not to do so, he would not
deserve our attention. I have received from God the commission to gather
together his elect into a holy and eternal alliance."

The agitation and ferment which were at work in men's minds were but too
favorable to the dissemination of these enthusiastic ideas. Man loves
the marvellous and whatever flatters his pride. Munzer, having persuaded
a part of his flock to adopt his views, abolished ecclesiastical singing
and all other ceremonies. He maintained that obedience to princes, "void
of understanding," was at once to serve God and Belial. Then, marching
out at the head of his parishioners to a chapel in the vicinity of
Alstadt, whither pilgrims from all quarters were accustomed to resort,
he pulled it down. After the exploit, being compelled to leave that
neighborhood, he wandered about Germany, and went as far as Switzerland,
carrying with him, and communicating to all who would listen to him, the
plan of a general revolution. Everywhere he found men's minds prepared;
he threw gunpowder on the burning coals, and the explosion forthwith
took place.

Luther, who had rejected the warlike enterprises of Sickengen, could not
be led away by the tumultuous movements of the peasantry. He wrote to
the Elector: "It causes me especial joy that these enthusiasts
themselves boast, to all who are willing to listen to them, that they do
not belong to us. The Spirit urges them on, say they; and I reply, it is
an evil spirit, for he bears no other fruit than the pillage of convents
and churches; the greatest highway robbers upon earth might do as much."

At the same time, Luther, who desired that others should enjoy the
liberty he claimed for himself, dissuaded the Prince from all measures
of severity: "Let them preach what they please, and against whom they
please," said he; "for it is the Word of God that must march in front
of the battle and fight against them. If their spirit be the true
spirit, he will not fear our severity; if ours is the true one, he will
not fear their violence. Let us leave the spirits to struggle and
contend with one another. Perhaps some persons may be led astray; there
is no battle without wounds; but he who fighteth faithfully shall be
crowned. Nevertheless, if they desire to take up the sword, let your
highness forbid it, and order them to quit the country."

The insurrection began in the Black Forest, and near the sources of the
Danube, so frequently the theatre of popular commotions. On the 19th of
July, 1524, some Thurgovian peasants rose against the Abbot of
Reichenau, who would not accord them an evangelical preacher. Ere long
thousands were collected round the small town of Tengen to liberate an
ecclesiastic who was there imprisoned. The revolt spread with
inconceivable rapidity from Swabia as far as the Rhenish provinces,
Franconia, Thuringia, and Saxony. In the month of January, 1525, all
these countries were in a state of rebellion.

About the end of this month the peasants published a declaration in
twelve articles, in which they claimed the liberty of choosing their own
pastors; the abolition of small tithes, of slavery, and of fines on
inheritance; the right to hunt, fish, and cut wood, etc. Each demand was
backed by a passage from holy writ, and they said in conclusion, "If we
are deceived, let Luther correct us by Scripture."

The opinions of the Wittenberg divines were consulted. Luther and
Melanchthon delivered theirs separately, and they both gave evidence of
the difference of their characters. Melanchthon, who thought every kind
of disturbance a crime, oversteps the limits of his usual gentleness,
and cannot find language strong enough to express his indignation. The
peasants are criminals against whom he invokes all laws human and
divine. If friendly negotiation is unavailing, the magistrates should
hunt them down as if they were robbers and assassins. "And yet," adds
he--and we require at least one feature to remind us of
Melanchthon--"let them take pity on the orphans when having recourse to
the penalty of death!"

Luther's opinion of the revolt was the same as Melanchthon's, but he had
a heart that beat for the miseries of the people. On this occasion he
manifested a dignified impartiality, and spoke the truth frankly to both
parties. He first addressed the princes, and more especially the
bishops:

"It is you," said he, "who are the cause of this revolt; it is your
clamors against the Gospel, your guilty oppressions of the poor, that
have driven the people to despair. It is not the peasants, my dear
lords, that rise up against you--it is God himself who opposes your
madness. The peasants are but the instruments he employs to humble you.
Do not imagine you can escape the punishment he is preparing for you.
Even should you have succeeded in destroying all these peasants, God is
able from the very stones to raise up others to chastise your pride. If
I desired revenge, I might laugh in my sleeve, and look on while the
peasants were carrying on their work, or even increase their fury; but
may God preserve me from such thoughts! My dear lords, put away your
indignation, treat those poor peasants as a man of sense treats people
who are drunk or insane. Quiet these commotions by mildness, lest a
conflagration should arise and burn all Germany. Among these twelve
articles there are certain demands which are just and equitable."

This prologue was calculated to conciliate the peasants' confidence in
Luther, and to make them listen patiently to the truths he had to tell
them. He represented to them that the greater number of their demands
were well founded, but that to revolt was to act like heathens; that the
duty of a Christian is to be patient, not to fight; that if they
persisted in revolting against the Gospel in the name of the Gospel, he
should look upon them as more dangerous enemies than the Pope. "The Pope
and the Emperor," continued he, "combined against me; but the more they
blustered, the more did the Gospel gain ground. And why was this?
Because I have never drawn the sword or called for vengeance; because I
never had recourse to tumult or insurrection: I relied wholly on God,
and placed everything in his almighty hands. Christians fight not with
swords or arquebuses, but with sufferings and with the Cross. Christ,
their captain, handled not the sword. He was hung upon a tree."

But to no purpose did Luther employ this Christian language. The people
were too much excited by the fanatical speeches of the leaders of the
insurrection to listen, as of old, to the words of the reformer. "He is
playing the hypocrite," said they; "he flatters the nobles. He has
declared war against the Pope, and yet wishes us to submit to our
oppressors."

The revolt, instead of dying away, became more formidable. At Weinsberg,
Count Louis of Helfenstein and the seventy men under his orders were
condemned to death by the rebels. A body of peasants drew up with their
pikes lowered, while others drove the count and his soldiers against
this wall of steel. The wife of the wretched Helfenstein, a natural
daughter of the emperor Maximilian, holding an infant two years old in
her arms, knelt before them, and with loud cries begged for her
husband's life, and vainly endeavored to arrest this march of murder; a
boy, who had been in the count's service and had joined the rebels,
capered gayly before him, and played the dead march upon his fife, as if
he had been leading his victims in a dance. All perished; the child was
wounded in its mother's arms, and she herself thrown upon a dung-cart
and thus conveyed to Heilbronn.

At the news of these cruelties, a cry of horror was heard from the
friends of the Reformation, and Luther's feeling heart underwent a
terrible conflict. On the one hand the peasants, ridiculing his advice,
pretended to receive revelations from heaven, made an impious use of the
threatenings of the Old Testament, proclaimed an equality of rank and a
community of goods, defended their cause with fire and sword, and
indulged in barbarous atrocities. On the other hand, the enemies of the
Reformation asked the reformer, with a malicious sneer, if he did not
know that it was easier to kindle a fire than to extinguish it. Shocked
at these excesses, alarmed at the thought that they might check the
progress of the Gospel, Luther hesitated no longer, no longer
temporized; he inveighed against the insurgents with all the energy of
his character, and perhaps overstepped the just bounds within which he
should have contained himself.

"The peasants," said he, "commit three horrible sins against God and
man, and thus deserve the death of body and soul. First, they revolt
against their magistrates, to whom they have sworn fidelity; next, they
rob and plunder convents and castles; and lastly, they veil their crimes
with the cloak of the Gospel. If you do not put a mad dog to death, you
will perish, and all the country with you. Whoever is killed fighting
for the magistrates will be a true martyr, if he has fought with a good
conscience." Luther then gives a powerful description of the guilty
violence of the peasants who force peaceful and simple men to join their
alliance and thus drag them to the same condemnation. He then adds: "For
this reason, my dear lords, help, save, deliver, have pity on these poor
people. Let everyone strike, pierce, and kill who is able. If thou
diest, thou canst not meet a happier death; for thou diest in the
service of God, and to save thy neighbor from hell."

Neither gentleness nor violence could arrest the popular torrent. The
church-bells were no longer rung for divine service; whenever their deep
and prolonged sounds were heard in the fields, it was the tocsin, and
all ran to arms. The people of the Black Forest had rallied round John
Muller of Bulgenbach. With an imposing aspect, covered with a red cloak
and wearing a red cap, this leader boldly advanced from village to
village followed by the peasantry. Behind him, on a wagon decorated with
ribands and branches of trees, was raised the tricolor flag--black, red,
and white--the signal of revolt. A herald dressed in the same colors
read the twelve articles, and invited the people to join in the
rebellion. Whoever refused was banished from the community.

Ere long this march, which at first was peaceful, became more
disquieting. "We must compel the lords to submit to our alliance,"
exclaimed they. And to induce them to do so, they plundered the
granaries, emptied the cellars, drew the seigniorial fish-ponds,
demolished the castles of the nobles who resisted, and burned the
convents. Opposition had inflamed the passions of these rude men;
equality no longer satisfied them; they thirsted for blood, and swore to
put to death every man who wore a spur.

At the approach of the peasants, the cities that were unable to resist
them opened their gates and joined them. In whatever place they entered,
they pulled down the images and broke the crucifixes; armed women
paraded the streets and threatened the monks. If they were defeated in
one quarter, they assembled in another, and braved the most formidable
forces. A committee of peasants was established at Heilbrunn. The counts
of Lowenstein were taken prisoners, dressed in a smock-frock, and then,
a white staff having been placed in their hands, they were compelled to
swear to the twelve articles. "Brother George, and thou, brother
Albert," said a tinker of Ohringen to the counts of Hohenlohe who had
gone to their camp, "swear to conduct yourselves as our brethren, for
you also are now peasants; you are no longer lords." Equality of rank,
the dream of many democrats, was established in aristocratic Germany.

Many nobles, some through fear, others from ambition, then joined the
insurgents. The famous Goetz von Berlichingen, finding his vassals
refuse to obey him, desired to flee to the Elector of Saxony; but his
wife, who was lying-in, wishing to keep him near her, concealed the
Elector's answer. Goetz, being closely pursued, was compelled to put
himself at the head of the rebel army. On the 7th of May the peasants
entered Wuerzburg, where the citizens received them with acclamations.
The forces of the princes and knights of Swabia and Franconia, which had
assembled in this city, evacuated it, and retired in confusion to the
citadel, the last bulwark of the nobility.

But the movement had already extended to other parts of Germany. Spires,
the Palatinate, Alsace, and Hesse accepted the twelve articles, and the
peasants threatened Bavaria, Westphalia, the Tyrol, Saxony, and
Lorraine. The Margrave of Baden, having rejected the articles, was
compelled to flee. The coadjutor of Fulda acceded to them with a smile.
The smaller towns said they had no lances with which to oppose the
insurgents. Mentz, Treves, and Frankfort obtained the liberties they had
claimed.

An immense revolution was preparing in all the empire. The
ecclesiastical and secular privileges, that bore so heavily on the
peasants, were to be suppressed; the possessions of the clergy were to
be secularized, to indemnify the princes and provide for the wants of
the empire; taxes were to be abolished, with the exception of a tribute
payable every ten years; the imperial power was to subsist alone, as
being recognized by the New Testament; all the other princes were to
cease to reign; sixty-four free tribunals were to be established, in
which men of all classes should have a seat; all ranks were to return to
their primitive condition; the clergy were to be henceforward merely the
pastors of the churches; princes and knights were to be simply the
defenders of the weak; uniformity in weights and measures was to be
introduced, and only one kind of money was to be coined throughout the
empire.

Meanwhile the princes had shaken off their first lethargy, and George
von Truchsess, commander-in-chief of the imperial army, was advancing on
the side of the Lake of Constance. On the 2d of May he defeated the
peasants at Beblingen; then marched on the town of Weinsberg, where the
unhappy Count of Helfenstein had perished, burned and razed it to the
ground, giving orders that the ruins should be left as an eternal
monument of the treason of its inhabitants. At Fairfeld he united with
the Elector Palatine and the Elector of Treves, and all three moved
toward Franconia.

The Frauenburg, the citadel of Wuerzburg, held out for the princes, and
the main army of the peasants still lay before its walls. As soon as
they heard of the Truchsess' march, they resolved on an assault, and at
nine o'clock at night on the 15th of May the trumpets sounded, the
tricolor flag was unfurled, and the peasants rushed to the attack with
horrible shouts. Sebastian von Rotenhan, one of the warmest partisans of
the Reformation, was governor of the castle. He had put the fortress in
a formidable state of defence, and, having exhorted the garrison to
repel the assault with courage, the soldiers, holding up three fingers,
had all sworn to do so. A most terrible conflict took place. To the
vigor and despair of the insurgents, the fortress replied from its walls
and towers by petards, showers of sulphur and boiling pitch and the
discharges of artillery. The peasants, thus struck by their unseen
enemies, were staggered for a moment; but in an instant their fury grew
more violent. The struggle was prolonged as the night advanced. The
fortress, lit up by a thousand battle-fires, appeared in the darkness
like a towering giant, who, vomiting flames, struggled alone amid the
roar of thunder, for the salvation of the empire against the ferocious
valor of these furious hordes. Two hours after midnight the peasants
withdrew, having failed in all their efforts.

They now tried to enter into negotiations, either with the garrison or
with Truchsess, who was advancing at the head of his army. But this was
going out of their path; violence and victory alone could save them.
After some little hesitation they resolved to march against the imperial
forces, but the cavalry and artillery made terrible havoc in their
ranks. At Koenigshofen, and afterward at Engelstadt, those unfortunate
creatures were totally defeated. The princes, the nobles, and bishops,
abusing their victory, indulged in the most unprecedented cruelties. The
prisoners were hanged on the trees by the wayside. The Bishop of
Wuerzburg, who had run away, now returned, traversed his diocese
accompanied by executioners, and watered it alike with the blood of the
rebels and of the peaceful friends of the Word of God. Goetz von
Berlichingen was sentenced to imprisonment for life. The margrave
Casimir of Anspach put out the eyes of eighty-five insurgents who had
sworn that their eyes should never look upon that Prince again; and he
cast this troop of blinded individuals upon the world, to wander up and
down, holding each other by the hand, groping along, tottering, and
begging their bread. The wretched boy who had played the dead-march on
his fife at the murder of Helfenstein, was chained to a post, a fire was
kindled around him, and the knights looked on, laughing at his horrible
contortions.

Public worship was now everywhere restored in its ancient forms. The
most flourishing and populous districts of the empire exhibited to those
who travelled through them nothing but heaps of dead bodies and smoking
ruins. Fifty thousand men had perished, and the people lost nearly
everywhere the little liberty they had hitherto enjoyed. Such was the
horrible termination of this revolt in the south of Germany.

But the evil was not confined to the south and west of Germany. Munzer,
after having traversed a part of Switzerland, Alsace, and Swabia, had
again directed his steps toward Saxony. A few citizens of Muelhausen, in
Thuringia, had invited him to their city and elected him their pastor.
The town council having resisted, Munzer deposed it and nominated
another, consisting of his friends, with himself at their head. Full of
contempt for that Christ, "sweet as honey," whom Luther preached, and
being resolved to employ the most energetic measures, he exclaimed,
"Like Joshua, we must put all the Canaanites to the sword." He
established a community of goods and pillaged the convents. "Munzer,"
wrote Luther to Ansdorff on the 11th of April, 1525, "Munzer is not only
pastor, but king and emperor of Muelhausen." The poor no longer worked;
if anyone needed corn or cloth, he went and demanded it of some rich
man; if the latter refused, the poor man took it by force; if the owner
resisted, he was hanged. As Muelhausen was an independent city, Munzer
was able to exercise his power for nearly a year without opposition. The
revolt in the south of Germany led him to imagine that it was time to
extend his new kingdom. He had a number of heavy guns cast in the
Franciscan convent, and endeavored to raise the peasantry and miners of
Mansfeld. "How long will you sleep?" said he to them in a fanatical
proclamation: "Arise and fight the battle of the Lord! The time is come.
France, Germany, and Italy are moving. On, on, on! (_Dran, Dran, Dran!_)
Heed not the groans of the impious ones. They will implore you like
children, but be pitiless. _Dran, Dran, Dran!_ The fire is burning: let
your sword be ever warm with blood. _Dran, Dran, Dran!_ Work while it is
yet day." The letter was signed, "Munzer, servant of God against the
wicked."

The country people, thirsting for plunder, flocked round his standard.
Throughout all the districts of Mansfeld, of Stolberg, and Schwarzburg
in Hesse, and the duchy of Brunswick the peasantry rose in insurrection.
The convents of Michelstein, Ilsenburg, Walkenfied, Rossleben, and many
others in the neighborhood of the Hartz, or in the plains of Thuringia,
were devastated. At Reinhardsbrunn, which Luther had visited, the tombs
of the ancient landgraves were profaned and the library destroyed.

Terror spread far and wide. Even at Wittenberg some anxiety was felt.
Those doctors, who had feared neither the Emperor nor the Pope, trembled
in the presence of a madman. They were always on the watch for news;
every step of the rebels was counted. "We are here in great danger,"
said Melanchthon. "If Munzer succeeds, it is all over with us, unless
Christ should rescue us. Munzer advances with a worse than Scythian
cruelty, and it is impossible to repeat his dreadful threats."

The pious Elector had long hesitated what he should do. Munzer had
exhorted him and all the princes to be converted, because, said he,
their hour was come; and he had signed these letters: "Munzer, armed
with the sword of Gudeon." Frederick would have desired to reclaim these
misguided men by gentle measures. On the 14th of April, when he was
dangerously ill, he had written to his brother John: "We may have given
these wretched people more than one cause for insurrection. Alas! the
poor are oppressed in many ways by their spiritual and temporal lords."
And when his attention was directed to the humiliation, the revolutions,
the dangers to which he would expose himself unless he promptly stifled
the rebellion, he replied: "Hitherto I have been a mighty elector,
having chariots and horses in abundance; if it be God's pleasure to take
them from me now, I will go on foot."

The youthful Philip, Landgrave of Hesse, was the first of the princes
who took up arms. His knights and soldiers swore to live and die with
him. After pacifying his own states, he directed his march toward
Saxony. On their side, Duke John, the Elector's brother, Duke George of
Saxony, and Duke Henry of Brunswick advanced and united their troops
with those of Hesse. The peasants, terrified at the sight of this army,
fled to a small hill, where, without any discipline, without arms, and
for the most part without courage, they formed a rampart with their
wagons. Munzer had not even prepared ammunition for his large guns. No
succors appeared; the rebels were hemmed in by the army; they lost all
confidence. The princes, taking pity on them, offered them propositions
which they appeared willing to accept. Upon this Munzer had recourse to
the most powerful lever that enthusiasm can put in motion. "To-day we
shall behold the arm of the Lord," said he, "and all our enemies shall
be destroyed." At this moment a rainbow appeared over their heads; the
fanatical host, who carried a rainbow on their flags, beheld in it a
sure prognostic of the divine protection. Munzer took advantage of it:
"Fear nothing," said he to the citizens and peasants: "I will catch all
their balls in my sleeve." At the same time he cruelly put to death a
young gentleman, Maternus von Geholfen, an envoy from the princes, in
order to deprive the insurgents of all hope of pardon.

The Landgrave, having assembled his horsemen, said to them: "I well know
that we princes are often in fault, for we are but men; but God commands
all men to honor the powers that be. Let us save our wives and children
from the fury of these murderers. The Lord will give us the victory, for
he has said, 'Whosoever resisteth the power, resisteth the ordinance of
God.'" Philip then gave the signal of attack. It was the 15th of May,
1525. The army was put in motion; but the peasant host stood immovable,
singing the hymn, "Come, Holy Ghost," and waiting for heaven to declare
in their favor. The artillery soon broke down their rude rampart,
carrying dismay and death into the midst of the insurgents. Their
fanaticism and courage at once forsook them; they were seized with a
panic-terror, and ran away in disorder. Five thousand perished in the
flight.

After the battle the princes and their victorious troops entered
Frankenhausen. A soldier who had gone into a loft in the house where he
was quartered, found a man in bed. "Who art thou?" said he; "art thou
one of the rebels?" Then, observing a pocket-book, he took it up, and
found several letters addressed to Thomas Munzer, "Art thou Munzer?"
demanded the trooper. The sick man answered, "No." But as the soldier
uttered dreadful threats, Munzer, for it was really he, confessed who he
was. "Thou art my prisoner," said the horseman. When Munzer was taken
before Duke George and the Landgrave, he persevered in saying that he
was right to chastise the princes, since they opposed the Gospel.
"Wretched man!" replied they, "think of all those of whose death you
have been the cause." But he answered, smiling in the midst of his
anguish, "They would have it so!" He took the sacrament, and was
beheaded at the same time with Pfeiffer, his lieutenant. Mulhausen was
taken, and the peasants were loaded with chains.

A nobleman having observed among the crowd of prisoners a peasant of
favorable appearance, went up and said to him: "Well, my man, which
government do you like best--that of the peasants or of the princes?"
The poor fellow made answer with a deep sigh, "Ah, my lord, no knife
cuts so deep as the rule of the peasant over his fellows."

The remnants of the insurrection were quenched in blood; Duke George, in
particular, acted with the greatest severity. In the states of the
Elector, there were neither executions nor punishment. The Word of God,
preached in all its purity, had shown its power to restrain the
tumultuous passions of the people.

From the very beginning, indeed, Luther had not ceased to struggle
against the rebellion, which was, in his opinion, the forerunner of the
Judgment-day. Advice, prayers, and even irony had not been spared. At
the end of the articles drawn up at Erfurth by the rebels he had
subjoined, as a supplementary article: "_Item._ The following article
has been omitted. Henceforward the honorable council shall have no
power; it shall do nothing; it shall sit like an idol or a log of wood;
the commonalty shall chew its food, and it shall govern with its hands
and feet tied; henceforth the wagon shall guide the horses, the horses
shall hold the reins, and we shall go on admirably, in conformity with
the glorious system set forth in these articles."

Luther did not confine himself to writing. While the disturbance was
still at its height, he quitted Wittenberg and went through some of the
districts where the agitation was greatest. He preached, he labored to
soften his hearers' hearts, and his hand, to which God had given power,
turned aside, quieted, and brought back the impetuous and overflowing
torrents into their natural channels.

In every quarter the doctors of the Reformation exerted a similar
influence. At Halle, Brentz had revived the drooping spirits of the
citizens by the promise of God's Word, and four thousand peasants had
fled before six hundred citizens. At Ichterhausen, a mob of peasants
having assembled with an intent to demolish several castles and put
their lords to death, Frederick Myconius went out to them alone, and
such was the power of his words that they immediately abandoned their
design.

Such was the part taken by the reformers and the Reformation in the
midst of this revolt; they contended against it with all their might,
with the sword of the Word, and boldly maintained those principles which
alone, in every age, can preserve order and subjection among the
nations. Accordingly, Luther asserted that, if the power of sound
doctrine had not checked the fury of the people, the revolt would have
extended its ravages far more widely, and have overthrown both church
and state. If the reformers thus contended against sedition, it was not
without receiving grievous wounds. That moral agony which Luther had
first suffered, in his cell at Erfurth, became still more serious after
the insurrection of the peasants. No great change takes place among men
without suffering on the part of those who are its instruments. The
birth of Christianity was effected by the agony of the Cross; but He who
hung upon that cross addressed these words to each of his disciples,
"Are ye able to drink of the cup that I shall drink of, and to be
baptized with the same baptism that I am baptized with?"

On the side of the princes, it was continually repeated that Luther and
his doctrine were the cause of the revolt, and, however absurd this idea
may be, the reformer could not see it so generally entertained without
experiencing the deepest grief. On the side of the people, Munzer and
all the leaders of the insurrection represented him as a vile hypocrite,
a flatterer of the great, and these calumnies easily obtained belief.
The violence with which Luther had declared against the rebels had
displeased even moderate men. The friends of Rome exulted; all were
against him, and he bore the heavy anger of his times. But his greatest
affliction was to behold the work of heaven thus dragged in the mire and
classed with the most fanatical projects. Here he felt was his
Gethsemane: he saw the bitter cup that was presented to him; and,
foreboding that he would be forsaken by all, he exclaimed: "Soon,
perhaps, I shall also be able to say, 'All ye shall be offended because
of me this night.'"

Yet in the midst of this deep bitterness he preserved his faith: "He who
has given me power to trample the enemy under foot," said he, "when he
rose up against me like a cruel dragon or a furious lion, will not
permit this enemy to crush me, now that he appears before me with the
treacherous glance of the basilisk. I groan as I contemplate those
calamities. Often have I asked myself whether it would not have been
better to have allowed the papacy to go on quietly, rather than witness
the occurrence of so many troubles and seditions in the world. But no!
it is better to have snatched a few souls from the jaws of the devil
than to have left them all between his murderous fangs."

Now terminated the revolution in Luther's mind that had begun at the
period of his return from the Wartburg. The inner life no longer
satisfied him: the Church and her institutions now became most important
in his eyes. The boldness with which he had thrown down everything was
checked at the sight of still more sweeping destructions; he felt it his
duty to preserve, govern, and build up; and from the midst of the
blood-stained ruins with which the peasant war had covered all Germany,
the edifice of the new Church began slowly to arise.

These disturbances left a lasting and deep impression on men's minds.
The nations had been struck with dismay. The masses, who had sought in
the Reformation nothing but political reform, withdrew from it of their
own accord, when they saw it offered them spiritual liberty only.
Luther's opposition to the peasants was his renunciation of the
ephemeral favor of the people. A seeming tranquillity was soon
established, and the noise of enthusiasm and sedition was followed in
all Germany by a silence inspired by terror.

Thus the popular passions, the cause of revolution, the interests of a
radical equality, were quelled in the empire; but the Reformation did
not yield. These two movements, which many have confounded with each
other, were clearly marked out by the difference of their results. The
insurrection was from below; the Reformation, from above. A few horsemen
and cannon were sufficient to put down the one; but the other never
ceased to rise in strength and vigor, in despite of the reiterated
assaults of the empire and the Church.




FRANCE LOSES ITALY

BATTLE OF PAVIA

A.D. 1525

WILLIAM ROBERTSON

     Close upon the election of Charles V as emperor of the Holy
     Roman Empire came the first of a series of wars between that
     sovereign and Francis I, King of France, who had been
     Charles's rival for the imperial crown. The Emperor was at
     this time, 1521, favored by Henry VIII of England, and a
     secret treaty with Charles was finally concluded by Pope Leo
     X, who from the first had hesitated between the two young
     rivals, and who had already treated with Francis. The papal
     support proved the foundation of future power for Charles in
     Italy. The Pope and the Emperor agreed to unite their forces
     for expulsion of the French from their seat in the duchy of
     Milan.

     In 1521 hostilities broke out in Navarre and in the
     Netherlands, and finally in the Milanese, where the people
     were tired of French government. The various allies drove
     the French completely out of Italy, and Charles invaded
     France, but was there repulsed. King Francis, elated by this
     last success, determined upon another invasion of the
     Milanese. He went in person to Italy, leaving his mother as
     regent in France. With largely superior forces, he drove the
     imperialists before him.

     Instead, however, of pursuing the enemy, whom he might have
     overtaken at an untenable position, Francis, against the
     almost unanimous advice of his generals, laid siege to the
     strongly fortified city of Pavia, only to meet before it the
     crushing defeat which for centuries settled the fate of
     Italy. Pavia was held by a strong imperialist force under
     Lannoy.


Francis prosecuted the siege with obstinacy equal to the rashness with
which he had undertaken it. During three months everything known to the
engineers of that age, or that could be effected by the valor of his
troops, was attempted, in order to reduce the place; while Lannoy and
Pescara, unable to obstruct his operations, were obliged to remain in
such an ignominious state of inaction that a pasquinade was published at
Rome offering a reward to any person who could find the imperial army,
lost in the month of October in the mountains between France and
Lombardy, and which had not been heard of since that time.

Leyva, well acquainted with the difficulties under which his countrymen
labored, and the impossibility of their facing, in the field, such a
powerful army as formed the siege of Pavia, placed his only hopes of
safety in his own vigilance and valor. The efforts of both were
extraordinary, and in proportion to the importance of the place with the
defence of which he was intrusted. He interrupted the approaches of the
French by frequent and furious sallies. Behind the breaches made by
their artillery he erected new works, which appeared to be scarcely
inferior in strength to the original fortifications. He repulsed the
besiegers in all their assaults, and by his own example brought not only
the garrison, but the inhabitants, to bear the most severe fatigues, and
to encounter the greatest dangers, without murmuring. The rigor of the
season conspired with his endeavors in retarding the progress of the
French. Francis, attempting to become master of the town by diverting
the course of the Tessino, which is its chief defence on one side, a
sudden inundation of the river destroyed, in one day, the labor of many
weeks, and swept away all the mounds which his army had raised with
infinite toil as well as at great expense.

Notwithstanding the slow progress of the besiegers, and the glory which
Leyva acquired by his gallant defence, it was not doubted but that the
town would at last be obliged to surrender. Pope Clement, who already
considered the French arms as superior in Italy, became impatient to
disengage himself from his connections with the Emperor, of whose
designs he was extremely jealous, and to enter into terms of friendship
with Francis. As Clement's timid and cautious temper rendered him
incapable of following the bold plan which Leo had formed of delivering
Italy from the yoke of both the rivals, he returned to the more obvious
and practicable scheme of employing the power of the one to balance and
to restrain that of the other.

For this reason he did not dissemble his satisfaction at seeing the
French King recover Milan, as he hoped that the dread of such a neighbor
would be some check upon the Emperor's ambition, which no power in Italy
was now able to control. He labored hard to bring about a peace that
would secure Francis in the possession of his new conquests; and as
Charles, who was always inflexible in the prosecution of his schemes,
rejected the proposition with disdain, and with bitter exclamations
against the Pope, by whose persuasions, while Cardinal di Medici, he had
been induced to invade the Milanese, Clement immediately concluded a
treaty of neutrality with the King of France, in which the republic of
Florence was included.

Francis having, by this transaction, deprived the Emperor of his two
most powerful allies, and at the same time having secured a passage for
his own troops through their territories, formed a scheme of attacking
the kingdom of Naples, hoping either to overrun that country, which was
left altogether without defence, or that at least such an unexpected
invasion would oblige the viceroy to recall part of the imperial army
out of the Milanese. For this purpose he ordered six thousand men to
march under the command of John Stuart, Duke of Albany. But Pescara,
foreseeing that the effect of this diversion would depend entirely upon
the operations of the armies in the Milanese, persuaded Lannoy to
disregard Albany's motions, and to bend his whole force against the King
himself; so that Francis not only weakened his army very unseasonably by
this great detachment, but incurred the reproach of engaging too rashly
in chimerical and extravagant projects.

By this time the garrison of Pavia was reduced to extremity; their
ammunition and provisions began to fail; the Germans, of whom it was
chiefly composed, having received no pay for seven months, threatened to
deliver the town into the enemy's hands, and could hardly be restrained
from mutiny by all Leyva's address and authority. The imperial generals,
who were no strangers to his situation, saw the necessity of marching
without loss of time to his relief. This they had now in their power.
Twelve thousand Germans, whom the zeal and activity of Bourbon taught to
move with unusual rapidity, had entered Lombardy under his command, and
rendered the imperial army nearly equal to that of the French, greatly
diminished by the absence of the body under Albany, as well as by the
fatigues of the siege and the rigor of the season.

But the more their troops increased in number, the more sensibly did
the imperialists feel the distress arising from want of money. Far from
having funds for paying a powerful army, they had scarcely what was
sufficient for defraying the charges of conducting their artillery and
of carrying their ammunition and provisions. The abilities of the
generals, however, supplied every defect. By their own example, as well
as by magnificent promises in name of the Emperor, they prevailed on the
troops of all the different nations which composed their army to take
the field without pay; they engaged to lead them directly toward the
enemy, and flattered them with the certain prospect of victory, which
would at once enrich them with such royal spoils as would be an ample
reward for all their services. The soldiers, sensible that, by quitting
the army, they would forfeit the great arrears due to them, and eager to
get possession of the promised treasures, demanded a battle with all the
impatience of adventurers who fight only for plunder.

The imperial generals, without suffering the ardor of their troops to
cool, advanced immediately toward the French camp. On the first
intelligence of their approach, Francis called a council of war to
deliberate what course he ought to take. All his officers of greatest
experience were unanimous in advising him to retire, and to decline a
battle with an enemy who courted it from despair. The imperialists, they
observed, would either be obliged in a few weeks to disband an army
which they were unable to pay, and which they kept together only by the
hope of plunder, or the soldiers, enraged at the nonperformance of the
promises to which they had trusted, would rise in some furious mutiny,
which would allow their generals to think of nothing but their own
safety; that meanwhile he might encamp in some strong post, and, waiting
in safety the arrival of fresh troops from France and Switzerland, might
before the end of spring take possession of all the Milanese without
danger or bloodshed. But in opposition to them, Bonnivet, whose destiny
it was to give counsels fatal to France during the whole campaign,
represented the ignominy that it would reflect on their sovereign if he
should abandon a siege which he had prosecuted so long, or turn his back
before an enemy to whom he was still superior in number, and insisted on
the necessity of fighting the imperialists rather than relinquish an
undertaking on the success of which the King's future fame depended.
Unfortunately, Francis' notions of honor were delicate to an excess that
bordered on what was romantic. Having often said that he would take
Pavia or perish in the attempt, he thought himself bound not to depart
from that resolution; and, rather than expose himself to the slightest
imputation, he chose to forego all the advantages which were the certain
consequences of a retreat, and determined to wait for the imperialists
before the walls of Pavia.

The imperial generals found the French so strongly intrenched that,
notwithstanding the powerful motives which urged them on, they hesitated
long before they ventured to attack them; but at last the necessities of
the besieged and the murmurs of their own soldiers obliged them to put
everything to hazard. Never did armies engage with greater ardor or with
a higher opinion of the importance of the battle which they were going
to fight; never were troops more strongly animated with emulation,
national antipathy, mutual resentment, and all the passions which
inspire obstinate bravery. On the one hand, a gallant young monarch,
seconded by a generous nobility and followed by subjects to whose
natural impetuosity indignation at the opposition which they had
encountered added new force, contended for victory and honor. On the
other side, troops more completely disciplined, and conducted by
generals of greater abilities, fought from necessity, with courage
heightened by despair. The imperialists, however, were unable to resist
the first efforts of the French valor, and their firmest battalions
began to give way. But the fortune of the day was quickly changed. The
Swiss in the service of France, unmindful of the reputation of their
country for fidelity and martial glory, abandoned their post in a
cowardly manner. Leyva, with his garrison, sallied out and attacked the
rear of the French, during the heat of the action, with such fury as
threw it into confusion; and Pescara, falling on their cavalry with the
imperial horse, among whom he had prudently intermingled a considerable
number of Spanish foot armed with the heavy muskets then in use, broke
this formidable body by an unusual method of attack, against which they
were wholly unprovided. The rout became universal; and resistance ceased
in almost every part but where the King was in person, who fought now,
not for fame or victory, but for safety. Though wounded in several
places, and thrown from his horse, which was killed under him, Francis
defended himself on foot with a heroic courage.

Many of his bravest officers, gathering round him, and endeavoring to
save his life at the expense of their own, fell at his feet. Among these
was Bonnivet, the author of this great calamity, who alone died
unlamented. The King, exhausted with fatigue, and scarcely capable of
further resistance, was left almost alone, exposed to the fury of some
Spanish soldiers, strangers to his rank and enraged at his obstinacy. At
that moment came up Pomperant, a French gentleman, who had entered
together with Bourbon into the Emperor's service, and, placing himself
by the side of the monarch against whom he had rebelled, assisted in
protecting him from the violence of the soldiers, at the same time
beseeching him to surrender to Bourbon, who was not far distant.
Imminent as the danger was which now surrounded Francis, he rejected
with indignation the thoughts of an action which would have afforded
such matter of triumph to his traitorous subject, and calling for
Lannoy, who happened likewise to be near at hand, gave up his sword to
him; which he, kneeling to kiss the King's hand, received with profound
respect; and taking his own sword from his side, presented it to him,
saying that it did not become so great a monarch to remain disarmed in
the presence of one of the Emperor's subjects.

Ten thousand men fell on this day, one of the most fatal France had ever
seen. Among these were many noblemen of the highest distinction, who
chose rather to perish than to turn their backs with dishonor. Not a few
were taken prisoners, of whom the most illustrious was Henry d'Albret,
the unfortunate King of Navarre. A small body of the rear-guard made its
escape under the command of the Duke of Alençon; the feeble garrison of
Milan, on the first news of the defeat, retired, without being pursued,
by another road; and, in two weeks after the battle, not a Frenchman
remained in Italy.

Lannoy, though he treated Francis with all the outward marks of honor
due to his rank and character, guarded him with the utmost attention. He
was solicitous, not only to prevent any possibility of his escaping,
but afraid that his own troops might seize his person and detain it as
the best security for the payment of their arrears. In order to provide
against both these dangers, he conducted Francis, the day after the
battle, to the strong castle of Pizzichitone, near Cremona, committing
him to the custody of Don Ferdinand Alarcon, general of the Spanish
infantry, an officer of great bravery and of strict honor, but
remarkable for that severe and scrupulous vigilance which such a trust
required.

Francis, who formed a judgment of the Emperor's dispositions by his own,
was extremely desirous that Charles should be informed of his situation,
fondly hoping that from his generosity or sympathy he should obtain
speedy relief. The imperial generals were no less impatient to give
their sovereign an early account of the decisive victory which they had
gained, and to receive his instructions with regard to their future
conduct. As the most certain and expeditious method of conveying
intelligence to Spain at that season of the year was by land, Francis
gave the _commendador_ Pennalosa, who was charged with Lannoy's
despatches, a passport to travel through France.

Charles received the account of this signal and unexpected success that
had crowned his arms with a moderation which, if it had been real, would
have done him more honor than the greatest victory. Without uttering one
word expressive of exultation or of intemperate joy, he retired
immediately into his chapel, and, having spent an hour in offering up
his thanksgivings to heaven, returned to the presence-chamber, which by
that time was filled with grandees and foreign ambassadors assembled in
order to congratulate him. He accepted of their compliments with a
modest deportment; he lamented the misfortune of the captive King, as a
striking example of the sad reverse of fortune to which the most
powerful monarchs are subject; he forbade any public rejoicings, as
indecent in a war carried on among Christians, reserving them until he
should obtain a victory equally illustrious over the infidels; and
seemed to take pleasure, in the advantage which he had gained, only as
it would prove the occasion of restoring peace to Christendom.

Charles, however, had already begun to form schemes in his own mind
which little suited such external appearances. Ambition, not
generosity, was the ruling passion in his mind; and the victory at Pavia
opened such new and unbounded prospects of gratifying it as allured him
with irresistible force. But it being no easy matter to execute the vast
designs which he meditated, he thought it necessary, while proper
measures were taking for that purpose, to affect the greatest
moderation, hoping under that veil to conceal his real intentions from
the other princes of Europe.

Meanwhile France was filled with consternation. The King himself had
early transmitted an account of the rout at Pavia in a letter to his
mother, delivered by Pennalosa, which contained only these words:
"Madam, all is lost except our honor." The officers who made their
escape, when they arrived from Italy, brought such a melancholy detail
of particulars as made all ranks of men sensibly feel the greatness and
extent of the calamity. France, without its sovereign, without money in
her treasury, without an army and without generals to command it, and
encompassed on all sides by a victorious and active enemy, seemed to be
on the very brink of destruction. But on that occasion the great
abilities of Louise, the regent, saved the kingdom which the violence of
her passions had more than once exposed to the greatest danger. Instead
of giving herself up to such lamentations as were natural to a woman so
remarkable for her maternal tenderness, she discovered all the foresight
and exerted all the activity of a consummate politician. She assembled
the nobles at Lyons, and animated them, by her example no less than by
her words, with such zeal in defence of their country as its present
situation required. She collected the remains of the army which had
served in Italy, ransomed the prisoners, paid the arrears, and put them
in a condition to take the field. She levied new troops, provided for
the security of the frontiers, and raised sums sufficient for defraying
these extraordinary expenses. Her chief care, however, was to appease
the resentment or to gain the friendship of the King of England; and
from that quarter the first ray of comfort broke in upon the French.

Though Henry, in entering into alliances with Charles or Francis, seldom
followed any regular or concerted plan of policy, but was influenced
chiefly by the caprice of temporary passions, such occurrences often
happened as recalled his attention toward that equal balance of power
which it was necessary to keep between the two contending potentates,
the preservation of which he always boasted to be his peculiar office.
He had expected that his union with the Emperor might afford him an
opportunity of recovering some part of those territories in France which
had belonged to his ancestors, and for the sake of such an acquisition
he did not scruple to give his assistance toward raising Charles to a
considerable preëminence above Francis. He had never dreamed, however,
of any event so decisive and so fatal as the victory at Pavia, which
seemed not only to have broken, but to have annihilated, the power of
one of the rivals; so that the prospect of the sudden and entire
revolution which this would occasion in the political system filled him
with the most disquieting apprehensions. He saw all Europe in danger of
being overrun by an ambitious prince, to whose power there now remained
no counterpoise; and though he himself might at first be admitted, in
quality of an ally, to some share in the spoils of the captive monarch,
it was easy to discern that with regard to the manner of making the
partition, as well as his security for keeping possession of what should
be allotted him, he must absolutely depend upon the will of a
confederate, to whose forces his own bore no proportion.

He was sensible that if Charles were permitted to add any considerable
part of France to the vast dominions of which he was already master, his
neighborhood would be much more formidable to England than that of the
ancient French kings; while at the same time the proper balance on the
Continent, to which England owed both its safety and importance, would
be entirely lost. Concern for the situation of the unhappy monarch
coöperated with these political considerations; his gallant behavior in
the battle of Pavia had excited a high degree of admiration, which never
fails of augmenting sympathy; and Henry, naturally susceptible of
generous sentiments, was fond of appearing as the deliverer of a
vanquished enemy from a state of captivity. The passions of the English
minister seconded the inclinations of the monarch. Wolsey, who had not
forgotten the disappointment of his hopes in two successive conclaves,
which he imputed chiefly to the Emperor, thought this a proper
opportunity of taking revenge; and, Louise courting the friendship of
England with such flattering submissions as were no less agreeable to
the King than to the Cardinal, Henry gave her secret assurances that he
would not lend his aid toward oppressing France in its present helpless
state, and obliged her to promise that she would not consent to
dismember the kingdom even in order to procure her son's liberty.

During these transactions, Charles, whose pretensions to moderation and
disinterestedness were soon forgotten, deliberated, with the utmost
solicitude, how he might derive the greatest advantages from the
misfortunes of his adversary. Some of his counsellors advised him to
treat Francis with the magnanimity that became a victorious prince, and,
instead of taking advantage of his situation to impose rigorous
conditions, to dismiss him on such equal terms as would bind him forever
to his interest by the ties of gratitude and affection, more forcible as
well as more permanent than any which could be formed by extorted oaths
and involuntary stipulations.

Such an exertion of generosity is not, perhaps, to be expected in the
conduct of political affairs, and it was far too refined for that prince
to whom it was proposed. The more obvious but less splendid scheme, of
endeavoring to make the utmost of Francis' calamity, had a greater
number in the council to recommend it, and suited better with the
Emperor's genius. But though Charles adopted this plan, he seems not to
have executed it in the most proper manner. Instead of making one great
effort to penetrate into France with all the forces of Spain and the Low
Countries; instead of crushing the Italian states before they recovered
from the consternation which the success of his arms had occasioned, he
had recourse to the artifices of intrigue and negotiation. This
proceeded partly from necessity, partly from the natural disposition of
his mind. The situation of his finances at that time rendered it
extremely difficult to carry on any extraordinary armament; and he
himself, having never appeared at the head of his armies, the command of
which he had hitherto committed to his generals, was averse to bold and
martial counsels, and trusted more to the arts with which he was
acquainted. He laid, besides, too much stress upon the victory of
Pavia, as if by that event the strength of France had been annihilated,
its resources exhausted, and the kingdom itself, no less than the person
of its monarch, had been subjected to his power.

Full of this opinion, he determined to set the highest price upon
Francis' freedom; and, having ordered the Count de Roeux to visit the
captive King in his name, he instructed him to propose the following
articles as the conditions on which he would grant him his liberty: That
he should restore Burgundy to the Emperor, from whose ancestors it had
been unjustly wrested; that he should surrender Provence and Dauphiné,
that they might be erected into an independent kingdom for the constable
Bourbon; that he should make full satisfaction to the King of England
for all his claims, and finally renounce the pretensions of France to
Naples, Milan, or any other territory in Italy. When Francis, who had
hitherto flattered himself that he should be treated by the Emperor with
the generosity becoming one great prince toward another, heard these
rigorous conditions, he was so transported with indignation that,
drawing his dagger hastily, he cried out, "'Twere better that a king
should die thus." Alarcon, alarmed at his vehemence, laid hold on his
hand; but though he soon recovered greater composure, he still declared
in the most solemn manner that he would rather remain a prisoner during
life than purchase liberty by such ignominious concessions.

The chief obstacle that stood in the way of Francis' liberty was the
Emperor's continuing to insist so peremptorily on the restitution of
Burgundy as a preliminary to that event. Francis often declared that he
would never consent to dismember his kingdom; and that, even if he
should so far forget the duties of a monarch as to come to such a
resolution, the fundamental laws of the nation would prevent its taking
effect. On his part he was willing to make an absolute cession to the
Emperor of all his pretensions in Italy and the Low Countries; he
promised to restore to Bourbon all his lands which had been confiscated;
he renewed his proposal of marrying the Emperor's sister, the
queen-dowager of Portugal; and engaged to pay a great sum by way of
ransom for his own person.

But all mutual esteem and confidence between the two monarchs were now
entirely lost; there appeared, on the one hand, a rapacious ambition,
laboring to avail itself of every favorable circumstance; on the other,
suspicion and resentment, standing perpetually on their guard; so that
the prospect of bringing their negotiations to an issure seemed to be
far distant. The Duchess of Alençon, the French King's sister, whom
Charles permitted to visit her brother in his confinement, employed all
her address in order to procure his liberty on more reasonable terms.
Henry of England interposed his good offices to the same purpose; but
both with so little success that Francis, in despair, took suddenly the
resolution of resigning his crown, with all its rights and prerogatives,
to his son, the Dauphin, determining rather to end his days in prison
than to purchase his freedom by concessions unworthy of a king. The deed
for this purpose he signed with legal formality in Madrid, empowering
his sister to carry it into France, that it might be registered in all
the parliaments of the kingdom; and, at the same time, intimating his
intention to the Emperor, he desired him to name the place of his
confinement, and to assign him a proper number of attendants during the
remainder of his days.

This resolution of the French King had great effect; Charles began to be
sensible that, by pushing rigor to excess, he might defeat his own
measures; and instead of the vast advantages which he hoped to draw from
ransoming a powerful monarch, he might at last find in his hands a
prince without dominions or revenues. About the same time one of the
King of Navarre's domestics happened, by an extraordinary exertion of
fidelity, courage, and address, to procure his master an opportunity of
escaping from the prison in which he had been confined ever since the
battle of Pavia. This convinced the Emperor that the most vigilant
attention of his officers might be eluded by the ingenuity or boldness
of Francis or his attendants, and one unlucky hour might deprive him of
all the advantages which he had been so solicitous to obtain. By these
considerations he was induced to abate somewhat of his former demands.
On the other hand, Francis' impatience under confinement daily
increased; and having received certain intelligence of a powerful league
forming against his rival in Italy, he grew more compliant with regard
to his concessions, trusting that, if he could once obtain his liberty,
he would soon be in a condition to resume whatever he had yielded.

Such being the views and sentiments of the two monarchs, the treaty
which procured Francis his liberty was signed at Madrid on January 14,
1526.




SACK OF ROME BY THE IMPERIAL TROOPS

A.D. 1527

BENVENUTO CELLINI    T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE

     Charles, Duc de Bourbon, known as the Constable de Bourbon,
     became famous in the wars of the emperor Charles V with
     Francis I, King of France. The vast estates of both branches
     of the Bourbon family were united in the possession of the
     Constable, making him a person of importance independently
     of his military career. He was born in 1490, and was made
     Constable of France for his services at the battle of
     Melegnano (1515), in which Francis gained a brilliant
     victory over the Swiss.

     The attempt of powerful enemies to undermine Bourbon in the
     favor of the King led to the threatened loss of the
     Constable's dignities and lands, and provoked him to
     renounce the French service. After making a secret treaty
     with Charles V and with his ally, Henry VIII of England,
     Bourbon led a force of German mercenaries into Lombardy,
     where in 1523 he joined Charles' Spanish army, and next year
     aided in driving the French from Italy. Invading France, he
     marched under the Emperor's orders to Marseilles and laid
     siege to the city, but failed to take it.

     Bourbon contributed materially to the Emperor's great
     victory at Pavia, and was rewarded by being made Duke of
     Milan and commander in Northern Italy. But although Charles
     thus honored Bourbon he did not trust him, and was not
     really desirous of advancing a person of such great resource
     and consequence. In the peace between Spain and France in
     1526 Bourbon's great interests were neglected.
     Notwithstanding these things, when Charles V wished to
     punish Pope Clement VII, who had joined a league against
     him, Bourbon, with George of Frundsberg, led an army of
     Spanish and German mercenaries to Rome.

     The description of the sack which followed, written by
     Benvenuto Cellini, the celebrated Italian artist, shows him
     as an effective participant in the defence. This account of
     a combatant is of course only fragmentary, and is
     supplemented by Trollope's critical narrative.


BENVENUTO CELLINI

The whole world was now in warfare. Pope Clement had sent to get some
troops from Giovanni de' Medici, and when they came they made such
disturbances in Rome that it was ill living in open shops.[36] On this
account I retired to a good snug house behind the Banchi, where I
worked for all the friends I had acquired. Since I produced few things
of much importance at that period, I need not waste time in talking
about them. I took much pleasure in music and amusements of the kind.

On the death of Giovanni de' Medici in Lombardy, the Pope, at the advice
of Messer Jacopo Salviati, dismissed the five bands he had engaged; and
when the Constable of Bourbon knew there were no troops in Rome, he
pushed his army with the utmost energy up to the city. The whole of Rome
upon this flew to arms. I happened to be intimate with Alessandro, the
son of Piero del Bene, who, at the time when the Colonnesi entered Rome,
had requested me to guard his palace.[37] On this more serious occasion,
therefore, he prayed me to enlist fifty comrades for the protection of
the said house, appointing me their captain, as I had been when the
Colonnesi came. So I selected fifty young men of the highest courage,
and we took up quarters in his palace, with good pay and excellent
appointments.

Bourbon's army had now arrived before the walls of Rome, and Alessandro
begged me to go with him to reconnoitre. So we went with one of the
stoutest fellows in our company; and on the way a youth called Cecchino
della Casa joined himself to us. On reaching the walls by the Campo
Santo, we could see that famous army, which was making every effort to
enter the town. Upon the ramparts where we took our station, several
young men were lying, killed by the besiegers; the battle raged there
desperately, and there was the densest fog imaginable. I turned to
Alessandro and said: "Let us go home as soon as we can, for there is
nothing to be done here; you see the enemies are mounting, and our men
are in flight." Alessandro, in a panic, cried, "Would God that we had
never come here!" and turned in maddest haste to fly. I took him up
somewhat sharply with these words: "Since you have brought me here, I
must perform some action worthy of a man"; and, directing my arquebuse
where I saw the thickest and most serried troop of fighting men, I aimed
exactly at one whom I remarked to be higher than the rest: the fog
prevented me from being certain whether he was on horseback or on foot.
Then I turned to Alessandro and Cecchino, and bade them discharge their
arquebuses, showing them how to avoid being hit by the besiegers. When
we had fired two rounds apiece I crept cautiously up to the wall, and,
observing among the enemy a most extraordinary confusion, I discovered
afterward that one of our shots had killed the Constable of Bourbon;
and, from what I subsequently learned, he was the man whom I had first
noticed above the heads of the rest.[38]

Quitting our position on the ramparts, we crossed the Campo Santo, and
entered the city by St. Peter's; then, coming out exactly at the Church
of Santo Agnolo, we got with the greatest difficulty to the great gate
of the castle; for the generals, Renzo di Ceri and Orazio Baglioni, were
wounding and slaughtering everybody who abandoned the defence of the
walls.[39]

By the time we had reached the great gate, part of the foemen had
already entered Rome, and we had them in our rear. The castellan had
ordered the portcullis to be lowered, in order to do which they cleared
a little space, and this enabled us four to get inside. On the instant
that I entered, the captain Palone de' Medici claimed me as being of the
papal household and forced me to abandon Alessandro, which I had to do
much against my will. I ascended to the keep, and at the same instant
Pope Clement came in through the corridors into the castle; he had
refused to leave the palace of St. Peter earlier, being unable to
believe that his enemies would effect their entrance into Rome.[40]

Having got into the castle in this way, I attached myself to certain
pieces of artillery, which were under the command of a bombardier called
Giuliano Fiorentino. Leaning there against the battlements, the unhappy
man could see his poor house being sacked, and his wife and children
outraged; fearing to strike his own folk, he dared not discharge the
cannon, and, flinging the burning fuse upon the ground, he wept as
though his heart would break, and tore his cheeks with both his
hands.[41]

Some of the other bombardiers were behaving in like manner; seeing
which, I took one of the matches, and got the assistance of a few men
who were not overcome by their emotions. I aimed some swivels and
falconets at points where I saw it would be useful, and killed with them
a good number of the enemy. Had it not been for this, the troops who
poured into Rome that morning and were marching straight upon the castle
might possibly have entered it with ease, because the artillery was
doing them no damage. I went on firing under the eyes of several
cardinals and lords, who kept blessing me and giving me the heartiest
encouragement. In my enthusiasm I strove to achieve the impossible; let
it suffice that it was I who saved the castle that morning, and brought
the other bombardiers back to their duty.[42] I worked hard the whole of
that day, and when the evening came--while the army was marching into
Rome through Trastevere--Pope Clement appointed a great Roman nobleman
named Antonio Santacroce to be a captain of all the gunners. The first
thing this man did was to come to me, and, having greeted me with the
utmost kindness, he stationed me with five fine pieces of artillery on
the highest point of the castle, to which the name of the "Angel"
specially belongs.

This circular eminence goes round the castle and surveys both Prati and
the town of Rome. The captain put under my orders enough men to help in
managing my guns, and, having seen me paid in advance, he gave me
rations of bread and a little wine, and begged me to go forward as I had
begun. I was perhaps more inclined by nature to the profession of arms
than to the one I had adopted, and I took such pleasure in its duties
that I discharged them better than those of my own art.

Night came, the enemy had entered Rome, and we who were in the
castle--especially myself, who have always taken pleasure in
extraordinary sights--stayed gazing on the indescribable scene of tumult
and conflagration in the streets below. People who were anywhere else
but where we were could not have formed the least imagination of what it
was.


T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE

The combined force of Bourbon and Frundsberg was in all respects more
like a rabble-rout of brigands and bandits than an army, and was
assuredly such as must, even in those days, have been felt to be a
disgrace to any sovereign permitting them to call themselves his
soldiers. Their pay was, as was often the case with the troops of
Charles V, hopelessly in arrear, and discipline was of course
proportionably weak among them. Indeed, it seemed every now and then on
the point of coming to an end altogether. The two generals had the
greatest difficulty in preventing their army from becoming an entirely
anarchical and disorganized mob of freebooters as dangerous to its
masters as to everybody else. Of course food, raiment, and shelter were
the first absolute essentials for keeping this dangerous mass of armed
men in any degree of order and organization, and in fact the present
march of Frundsberg and Bourbon had the obtaining of these necessaries
for its principal and true object.

The progress southward of this bandit army unchecked by any opposing
force--for Giovanni delle Bande Nere had lost his life in the attempt to
prevent them from passing the Po; and after the death of that great
captain, the army of the league did not muster courage to attack or
impede the invaders in any way--filled the cities exposed to their
inroad with terror and dismay. They had passed like a destroying locust
swarm over Bologna and Imola, and crossing the Apennines, which separate
Umbria from Tuscany, had descended into the valley of the Arno not far
from Arezzo. Florence and Rome both trembled. On which would the storm
burst? That was the all-absorbing question.

Pope Clement, with his usual avarice-blinded imbecility, had,
immediately on concluding a treaty with the Neapolitan viceroy,
discharged all his troops except a bodyguard of about six hundred men.
Florence was nearly in as defenceless a position. She had, says Varchi,
"two great armies on her territory; one that under Bourbon, which came
as an enemy to sack and plunder her; and the other, that of a league,
which came as a friend to protect her, but sacked and plundered her none
the less." It was, however, probably the presence of this army, little
as it had hitherto done to impede the progress of the enemy, which
decided Bourbon eventually to determine on marching toward Rome.

It seems doubtful how far they were, in so doing, executing the orders
or carrying out the wishes of the Emperor. Clement, though he had played
the traitor to Charles, as he did to everyone else, and had been at war
with him recently, had now entered into a treaty with the Emperor's
viceroy. And apart from this there was a degree of odium and scandal
attaching to the sight of the "most Catholic" Emperor sending a Lutheran
army in his pay to attack the head of the Church, and ravage the
venerated capital of Christendom, which so decorous a sovereign as
Charles would hardly have liked to incur. Still, it may be assumed that
if the Emperor wished his army kept together, and provided no sums for
the purpose, he was not unwilling that they should live by plunder. And
perhaps his real intention was to extort from Rome the means of paying
his troops by the mere exhibition of the danger arising from their
propinquity while they remained unpaid. Upon the whole we are warranted
in supposing that Bourbon and Frundsberg would hardly have ventured on
the course they took if they had not had reason to believe that it would
not much displease their master. And Charles was exactly the sort of
man who would like to have the profit of an evil deed without the loss
of reputation arising from the commission of it, and who would consider
himself best served by agents who could commit a profitable atrocity
without being guilty of the annoying want of tact of waiting for his
direct orders to commit it.

For the especial business in hand, it was impossible, moreover, to have
had two more fitting agents than Bourbon and Frundsberg. It was not
every knightly general in those days who would have accepted the task,
even with direct orders, of marching to the sack of Rome, and the open
defiance of its sacred ruler. A Florentine or a Neapolitan soldier might
have had small scruple in doing so; and a Roman baron--a Colonna or an
Orsini--none at all. But there would have been found few men of such
mark as Bourbon, in either France or Spain, willing to undertake the
enterprise he was now engaged in. The unfortunate Constable, however,
was a disgraced and desperate man. He was disgraced in the face of
Europe by unknightly breach of fealty to his sovereign, despite the
intensity of the provocation which had driven him to that step. For all
the sanctions which held European society together, in the universal
bondage which alone then constituted social order, were involved in
maintaining the superstition that so branded him. And he was a desperate
man in his fortunes; for though no name in all Europe was at that day as
great a military power at the head of a host as that of Bourbon, and
though the miserable bearer of it had so shortly before been one of the
wealthiest and largest territorial nobles of France, yet the Constable
had now his sword for his fortune as barely as the rawest lad in the
rabble-rout that followed him, sent out from some landless tower of an
impoverished knight, in half-starved Galicia or poverty-stricken
Navarre, to carve his way in the world.

Even among those whose ranks he had joined, Bourbon was a disgraced and
ruined man beyond redemption. Although his well-known military capacity
had easily induced Charles to welcome and make use of him, he must have
felt that the step he had taken in breaking his allegiance and
abandoning his country had rendered him an outcast and almost a pariah
in the estimation of the chivalry of Europe. The feeling he had awakened
against himself throughout Christendom is strikingly illustrated by an
anecdote recorded of his reception at Madrid. When, shortly after
winning the battle of Pavia, Bourbon went thither to meet Charles, and
the Marquis of Villane was requested to lodge the victorious general in
his palace, the haughty Spaniard told the Emperor that his house and all
that he possessed were at his sovereign's disposition, but that he
should assuredly burn it down as soon as Bourbon was out of it; since,
having been sullied by the presence of a renegade, it could no longer be
a fitting residence for a man of honor.

So low had Bourbon fallen! Every man's hand was raised against him, and
his hand was against every man. And it is easy to conceive what must
have been his tone of mind and feeling, as he led on his mutinous
robber-rout to Rome, while men of all parties looked on in
panic-stricken horror. Thus Bourbon led his unpaid and mutinous hordes
to a deed which, none knew better than he, would shock and scandalize
all Europe, as a man who, having fallen already so low as to have lost
all self-respect, cares not in his reckless despair to what depth he
plunges.

As for Frundsberg, he was a mere soldier of fortune, whose world was his
camp, whose opinions and feelings had been formed in quite another
school from those of his fellow-general; whose code of honor and of
morals was an entirely different one, and whose conscience was not only
perfectly at rest respecting the business he was bound on, but approved
of it as a good and meritorious work for the advancement of true
religion. He carried round his neck a halter of golden tissue, we are
told, with which he loudly boasted that he would hang the Pope as soon
as he got to Rome; and had others of crimson silk at his saddle-bow,
which he said were destined for the cardinals!

Too late Clement became aware of the imminence and magnitude of the
danger that threatened him and the capital of Christendom. He besought
the Neapolitan viceroy, who had already signed a treaty with him, as has
been seen, to exert himself and use his authority to arrest the
southward march of Bourbon's army. And it is remarkable that this
representative of the Emperor in the government of Naples did, as it
would seem, endeavor earnestly to avert the coming avalanche from the
Eternal City. But, while the Emperor's viceroy used all his authority
and endeavors to arrest the advance of the Emperor's army, the Emperor's
generals advanced and sacked Rome in spite of him. Which of them most
really acted according to the secret wishes of that profound dissembler,
and most false and crafty monarch, it is impossible to know. It may have
been that Bourbon himself had no power to stay the plundering,
bandit-like march of his hungry and unpaid troops. And the facts
recorded of the state of discipline of the army are perfectly consistent
with such a supposition.

The Viceroy sent a messenger to Bourbon, while he was yet in Bologna,
informing him of the treaty signed with Clement, and desiring him
therefore to come no farther southward. Bourbon, bent, as Varchi says,
on deceiving both the Pope and the Viceroy, replied that, if the Pope
would send him two hundred thousand florins for distribution to the
army, he would stay his march. But, while this answer was carried back
to Rome, the tumultuous host continued its fearfully menacing advance;
and the alarm in Rome was rapidly growing to desperate terror. At the
Pope's earnest request, the Viceroy, "who knew well," says Varchi, "that
his holiness had not a farthing," himself took post and rode hard for
Florence with letters from Clement, hoping to obtain the money there.

The departure of the Viceroy in person, and the breathless haste of his
ride to Florence, speak vividly of this Spanish officer's personal
anxiety respecting the dreadful fate which threatened Rome. But the
Florentines do not seem to have been equally impressed with the
necessity of losing no time in making an effort to avert the calamity
from a rival city. It was after "much talking," we are told, that they
at last consented to advance a hundred fifty thousand florins, eighty
thousand in cash down, and the remainder by the end of October. It was
now April; and Bourbon had by this time crossed the Apennines, and was
with his army on the western slopes of the mountains, not far from the
celebrated monastery of Lavernia. Thither the Viceroy hurried with all
speed, accompanied by only two servants and a trumpeter; and having
"with much difficulty," says Varchi, come to speech with the general,
proffered him the eighty thousand florins. Upon which he was set upon by
the tumultuous troops, and "narrowly escaped being torn in pieces by
them." In endeavoring to get away from them and make his way back to
Florence, he fell into the hands of certain peasants near Camaldoli, and
was here again in danger of his life, and was wounded in the head. He
was, however, rescued by a monk of Vallombrosa, and by him conducted to
the neighboring little town of Poppi in the Casentino, or upper valley
of the Arno, whence he made his way to Siena, and so back to Rome, with
no pleasant tidings of what might be expected from Bourbon and his
brigand army.

The Vallombrosan monk, who thus bestead the Viceroy at his need, was, as
Varchi records, rewarded by the bishopric of Muro, in the kingdom of
Naples, which, adds the historian, "he still holds."

The fate of Rome was no longer doubtful. Clement, who by his pennywise
parsimony had left himself defenceless, made a feeble and wholly vain
attempt to put the city in a state of defence. The corrupt and cowardly
citizens could not have opposed any valid resistance to the ruffian
hordes who were slowly but surely, like an advancing conflagration,
coming upon them, even if they had been willing to do their best. But
the trembling Pope's appeal to them to defend the walls fell on the ears
of as sorely trembling men, each thinking only of the possible chances
of saving his own individual person. Yet it seems clear that means of
defence might have been found had not the Pope been thus paralyzed by
terror.

Clement, however, was as one fascinated. Martin du Bellay tells us that
he himself, then in Italy as ambassador from Francis I, hurried to Rome,
and warned the Pope of his danger in abundant time for him to have
prepared for the protection of the city by the troops he had at his
disposal. But no persuasion availed to induce Clement to take any step
for that purpose. Neither would he seek safety by flight, nor permit his
unfortunate subjects to do so. John da Casale, ambassador of Henry VIII
at Venice, writes thence to Wolsey on May 16th--the fatal tidings of the
sack of the city having just reached Venice--as follows:
"He"--Clement--"refused to quit the city for some safer place. He even
forbade by edict that anyone should carry anything out of the gates on
pain of death, though many were anxious to depart and carry their
fortunes elsewhere." Meantime Florence, for her own protection, had
hastily induced Francesco Maria, Duke of Urbino, to place himself at the
head of the remaining forces of the Italian league, and to take up a
position at Incisa, a small town in the Upper Valdarno, about twenty
miles from the city, on the road to Arezzo. Thus the torrent was turned
off from the capital of the commonwealth. Probably as soon as the
invading army once found itself to the south of Florence, that wealthy
city was in no immediate danger. Rome was metal more attractive to the
invaders, even had there not been an army between them and Florence.

And now it became frightfully clear that the doom of the Eternal City
was at hand. On came the strangely heterogeneous rout of lawless
soldiery, leaving behind them a trail of burned and ruined cities,
devastated fields, and populations plague-stricken from the
contamination engendered by the multitude of their unburied dead.

On May 5th Bourbon arrived beneath the walls of Rome. During the last
few days the unhappy Pope had endeavored to arm what men he could get
together under Renzo di Ceri and one Horatius--not Cocles,
unhappily--but Baglioni. "Rome contained within her walls," says Ranke,
"some thirty thousand inhabitants capable of bearing arms. Many of these
men had seen service. They wore swords by their sides, which they had
used freely in their broils among each other, and then boasted of their
exploits. But to oppose the enemy, who brought with him certain
destruction, five hundred men were the utmost that could be mustered
within the city. At the first onset the Pope and his forces were
overthrown." On the evening of May 6th the city was stormed and given
over to the unbridled cupidity and brutality of the soldiers, who during
many a long day of want and hardship had been looking forward to the
hour that was to repay them amply for all past sufferings by the
boundless gratification of every sense, and every caprice of lawless
passion. Bourbon himself had fallen in the first moments of the attack,
as he was leading his men to scale the walls, and any small influence
that he might have exerted in moderating the excesses of the conquerors
was thus at an end.

It does not fall within the scope of the present narrative to attempt
any detailed account of the days and scenes that followed. They have
been described by many writers; and the reader who bears in mind what
Rome was--her vileness, her cowardice, her imbecility, her wealth, her
arts, her monuments, her memories, her helpless population of religious
communities of both sexes, and the sacred character of her high places
and splendors, which served to give an additional zest to the violence
of triumphant heretics--he that bears in mind all these things may
safely give the reign to his imagination without any fear of
overcharging the picture. Frundsberg had been wont to boast that if ever
he reached Rome he would hang the Pope. He never did reach it, having
been carried off by a fit of apoplexy while striving to quell a mutiny
among his troops shortly after leaving Bologna on his southward march.
But the threat is sufficiently indicative of the spirit that animated
his army, to show that Clement owed his personal safety only to the
strength of the castle of St. Angelo, in which he sought refuge.

The sensation produced throughout Europe by the dreadful misfortune
which had fallen on the Eternal City was immense. John da Casale, in the
letter cited above, says that it would have been better for Rome to have
been taken by the Turks, when they were in Hungary, as the infidels
would have perpetrated less odious outrages and less horrible sacrilege.
Clerk, Bishop of Bath, writes to Wolsey from Paris on May 28th
following: "Please it, your Grace, after my most humble recommendation,
to understand that about the fifteenth of this moneth, by letters sent
from Venyce, it was spoken, that the Duke of Burbon with the armye
imperyall by vyolence shold enter Rome as the 6th of this moneth; and
that in the same entree the said Duke should be slayne; and that the
Pope had savyd Himself with the Cardynalls in Castell Angell; whiche
tydinges bycause they ware not written unto Venyce, but upon relation of
a souldier, that came from Rome to Viterbe, and bycause ther cam hither
no maner of confirmation thereof unto this day, thay war not belevyd.
This day ther is come letters from Venyce confyrming the same tydinges
to be true. They write also that they have sackyd and spoylyd the town,
and slayne to the nombre of 45,000, _non parcentes nec etati nec sexui
nec ordini_; amongst other that they have murdyrd a marveillous sorte of
fryars, and agaynst pristes and churchis they have behavyd thymselfes
as it doth become Murranys and Lutherans to do."

How deeply Wolsey himself was moved by the news is seen by a letter from
him to Henry VIII, written on June 2d following. He forwards to the King
the letters "nowe arryved, as wel out of Fraunce as out of Italy,
confirming the piteous and lamentable spoiles, pilages, with most cruel
murdres, committed by the Emperialls in the citie of Rome, _non
parcentes sacris, etati, sexui, aut relioni_; and the extreme daungier
that the Poopes Holines and Cardinalles, who fled into the Castel Angel,
wer in, if by meane of the armye of the liege, they should not be
shortly socoured and releved. Which, sire, is matier that must nedes
commove and stire the hartes of al good christen princes and people to
helpe and put their handes with effecte to reformacion thereof, and the
repressing of such tirannous demenour."

Even Charles himself affected at least to mourn the success of his own
army. Nowhere did this terrible Italian misfortune fail to awaken
sympathy and compassion save in a rival Italian city. Florence heard the
tidings, says Varchi, with the utmost delight. The same historian
expresses his own opinion, that the sack of Rome was at once the most
cruel and the most merited chastisement ever inflicted by heaven. And
another Florentine writer piously accounts for the failure of all means
adopted to avert the calamity, by supposing that it was God's eternal
purpose then and thus to chastise the crimes of the Roman prelates--a
theory, it may occur to some minds, somewhat damaged by the unfortunate
fact that the greater part of the miseries suffered in those awful days
were inflicted on the unhappy flocks of those purple shepherds.

FOOTNOTES:

[36] These troops entered Rome in October, 1526. They were disbanded in
March, 1527.

[37] Cellini here refers to the attack made upon Rome by the great
Ghibelline house of Colonna, led by their chief captain, Pompeo, in
September, 1526. They took possession of the city and drove Clement into
the castle of St. Angelo, where they forced him to agree to terms
favoring the Imperial cause. It was customary for Roman gentlemen to
hire bravoes for the defence of their palaces when any extraordinary
disturbance was expected, as, for example, upon the vacation of the
papal chair.

[38] All historians of the sack of Rome agree in saying that Bourbon was
shot dead while placing ladders against the outworks near the shop
Cellini mentions. But the honor of firing the arquebuse which brought
him down cannot be assigned to anyone in particular. Very different
stories were current on the subject.

[39] Renzo di Ceri was a captain of adventurers, who had conquered
Urbino for the Pope in 1515, and afterward fought for the French in the
Italian wars. Orazio Baglioni, of the semiprincely Perugian family, was
a distinguished _condottiere_. He subsequently obtained the captaincy of
the Bande Nere, and died fighting near Naples in 1528. Orazio murdered
several of his cousins in order to acquire the lordship of Perugia. His
brother Malatesta undertook to defend Florence in the siege of 1530, and
sold the city by treason to Clement.

[40] Giovio, in his _Life of the Cardinal Prospero Colonna_, relates how
he accompanied Clement in his flight from the Vatican to the castle.
While passing some open portions of the gallery, he threw his violet
mantle and cap of a monseigneur over the white stole of the Pontiff, for
fear he might be shot at by the soldiers in the streets below.

[41] The short autobiography of Raffaello da Montelupo, a man in many
respects resembling Cellini, confirms this part of our author's
narrative. It is one of the most interesting pieces of evidence
regarding what went on inside the castle during the sack of Rome.
Montelupo was also a gunner and commanded two pieces.

[42] This is an instance of Cellini's exaggeration. He did more than
yeoman's service, no doubt, but we cannot believe that, without him, the
castle would have been taken.




GREAT RELIGIOUS MOVEMENT IN ENGLAND

FALL OF WOLSEY

A.D. 1529

JOHN RICHARD GREEN

     The "New Learning" which had been slowly spreading from
     Italy over all Europe, did not markedly affect England until
     the sixteenth century. There the long Wars of the Roses had
     not only gone nigh to exterminating the old nobility, but
     had so distracted men's minds from more peaceful pursuits
     that little note was taken of the intellectual movement
     abroad. Under Henry VII and Henry VIII all this changed.
     These Tudor monarchs were indeed tyrants over England, but
     they brought her peace--and time for thought. Under the
     leadership of the celebrated Dutch scholar Erasmus, and the
     almost equally renowned Englishmen, Sir Thomas More and Dean
     Colet, the land awakened about 1500 to a new life of study
     and of culture, whose principles spread rapidly among the
     upper classes.

     When news of Luther's religious revolt reached England, the
     leaders of the New Learning were at first inclined to favor
     his ideas. But the two movements, one scholarly and calm,
     the other impassioned and intense, soon parted company, as
     Green shows in his justly famous account.

     The true ruler of England at the time was the "great
     cardinal," Wolsey, whose brain long enabled him to play upon
     King Henry as a toreador does upon a bull, guiding at will
     the frenzied rushes of the mighty brute. In 1521, the period
     when the following account begins, Wolsey was fifty years
     old. He had risen from being the studious son of a grazier
     and wool merchant to be a dean of the Church under Henry
     VII, and a bishop, cardinal and lord chancellor, of England
     under Henry VIII. His ambition to be pope was thwarted by
     the emperor Charles V, but he was "cardinal legate," having
     control of the Catholic Church throughout England; and it
     was said of him that in all European affairs he was "seven
     times more powerful than the Pope."


In England Luther's protest seemed at first to find no echo. King Henry
VIII was, both on political and on religious grounds, firm on the papal
side. England and Rome were drawn to a close alliance by the identity of
their political position. Each was hard pressed between the same great
powers; Rome had to hold its own between the masters of Southern and the
masters of Northern Italy, as England had to hold her own between the
rulers of France and of the Netherlands. From the outset of his reign to
the actual break with Clement VII the policy of Henry is always at one
with that of the papacy. Nor were the King's religious tendencies
hostile to it. He was a trained theologian and proud of his theological
knowledge, but to the end his convictions remained firmly on the side of
the doctrines which Luther denied. In 1521, therefore, he entered the
lists against Luther with an "Assertion of the Seven Sacraments," for
which he was rewarded by Leo with the title of "Defender of the Faith."
The insolent abuse of the reformer's answer called More and Fisher into
the field.

The influence of the "New Learning" was now strong at the English court.
Colet and Grocyn were among its foremost preachers; Linacre was Henry's
physician; More was a privy councillor; Pace was one of the secretaries
of state; Tunstall was master of the rolls. And as yet the New Learning,
though scared by Luther's intemperate language, had steadily backed him
in his struggle. Erasmus pleaded for him with the Emperor. Ulrich von
Hutten attacked the friars in satires and invectives as violent as his
own. But the temper of the Renaissance was even more antagonistic to the
temper of Luther than that of Rome itself.

From the golden dream of a new age wrought peaceably and purely by the
slow progress of intelligence, the growth of letters, the development of
human virtue, the reformer of Wittenberg turned away with horror. He had
little or no sympathy with the new cult. He despised reason as heartily
as any papal dogmatist could despise it. He hated the very thought of
toleration or comprehension. He had been driven by a moral and
intellectual compulsion to declare the Roman system a false one, but it
was only to replace it by another system of doctrine just as elaborate
and claiming precisely the same infallibility. To degrade human nature
was to attack the very base of the New Learning; and his attack on it
called the foremost of its teachers to the field. But Erasmus no sooner
advanced to its defence than Luther declared man to be utterly enslaved
by original sin and incapable, through any efforts of his own, of
discovering truth or of arriving, at goodness.

Such a doctrine not only annihilated the piety and wisdom of the classic
past, from which the New Learning had drawn its larger views of life and
of the world; it trampled in the dust reason itself, the very instrument
by which More and Erasmus hoped to regenerate both knowledge and
religion. To More especially, with his keener perception of its future
effect, this sudden revival of a purely theological and dogmatic spirit,
severing Christendom into warring camps and ruining all hopes of union
and tolerance, was especially hateful. The temper which hitherto had
seemed so "endearing, gentle, and happy," suddenly gave way. His reply
to Luther's attack upon the King sank to the level of the work it
answered; and though that of Bishop Fisher was calmer and more
argumentative, the divorce of the New Learning from the Reformation
seemed complete.

But if the world of scholars and thinkers stood aloof from the new
movement it found a warmer welcome in the larger world where men are
stirred rather by emotion than by thought. There was an England of which
even More and Colet knew little, in which Luther's words kindled a fire
that was never to die. As a great social and political movement
Lollardry had ceased to exist, and little remained of the directly
religious impulse given by Wycliffe beyond a vague restlessness and
discontent with the system of the Church. But weak and fitful as was the
life of Lollardry the prosecutions whose records lie scattered over the
bishops' registers failed wholly to kill it. We see groups meeting here
and there to read "in a great book of heresy all one night certain
chapters of the Evangelists in English," while transcripts of Wycliffe's
tracts passed from hand to hand.

The smouldering embers needed but a breath to fan them into flame, and
the breath came from William Tyndale. Born among the Cotswolds when
Bosworth Field gave England to the Tudors, Tyndale passed from Oxford to
Cambridge to feel the full impulse given by the appearance there of the
New Testament of Erasmus. From that moment one thought was at his heart.
He "perceived by experience how that it was impossible to establish the
lay people in any truth except the Scripture were plainly laid before
their eyes in their mother tongue."

"If God spare my life," he said to a learned controversialist, "ere many
years I will cause a boy that driveth the plough shall know more of the
Scripture than thou dost." But he was a man of forty before his dream
became fact. Drawn from his retirement in Gloucestershire by the news of
Luther's protest at Wittenberg, he found shelter for a year with a
London alderman, Humfrey Monmouth. "He studied most part of the day at
his book," said his host afterward, "and would eat but sodden meat by
his good-will and drink but small single beer." The book at which he
studied was the Bible. But it was soon needful to quit England if his
purpose was to hold. "I understood at the last not only that there was
no room in my lord of London's palace to translate the New Testament,
but also that there was no place to do it in all England."

From Hamburg, where he took refuge in 1524, he probably soon found his
way to the little town which had suddenly become the sacred city of the
Reformation. Students of all nations were flocking there with an
enthusiasm which resembled that of the crusades. "As they came in sight
of the town," a contemporary tells us, "they returned thanks to God with
clasped hands, for from Wittenberg, as heretofore from Jerusalem, the
light of evangelical truth had spread to the utmost parts of the earth."

Such a visit could only fire Tyndale to face the "poverty, exile, bitter
absence from friends, hunger and thirst and cold, great dangers, and
innumerable other hard and sharp fightings," which the work he had set
himself was to bring with it. In 1525 his version of the New Testament
was completed, and means were furnished by English merchants for
printing it at Cologne. But Tyndale had soon to fly with his sheets to
Worms, a city whose Lutheran tendencies made it a safer refuge, and it
was from Worms that six thousand copies of the New Testament were sent
in 1526 to English shores. The King was keenly opposed to a book which
he looked on as made "at the solicitation and instance of Luther"; and
even the men of the New Learning from whom it might have hoped for
welcome were estranged from it by its Lutheran origin. We can only
fairly judge their action by viewing it in the light of the time. What
Warham and More saw over sea might well have turned them from a
movement which seemed breaking down the very foundations of religion
and society. Not only was the fabric of the Church rent asunder and the
centre of Christian unity denounced as "Babylon," but the reform itself
seemed passing into anarchy.

Luther was steadily moving onward from the denial of one Catholic dogma
to that of another; and what Luther still clung to, his followers were
ready to fling away. Carlstadt was denouncing the reformer of Wittenberg
as fiercely as Luther himself had denounced the Pope, and meanwhile the
religious excitement was kindling wild dreams of social revolution, and
men stood aghast at the horrors of a peasant war which broke out in
Southern Germany. It was not therefore as a mere translation of the
Bible that Tyndale's work reached England. It came as a part of the
Lutheran movement, and it bore the Lutheran stamp in its version of
ecclesiastical words. "Church" became "congregation," "priest" was
changed into "elder." It came too in company with Luther's bitter
invectives and reprints of the tracts of Wycliffe, which the German
traders of the Steelyard were importing in large numbers. We can hardly
wonder that More denounced the book as heretical, or that Warham ordered
it to be given up by all who possessed it.

Wolsey took little heed of religious matters, but his policy was one of
political adhesion to Rome, and he presided over a solemn penance to
which some Steelyard men submitted in St. Paul's. "With six-and-thirty
abbots, mitred priors, and bishops, and he in his whole pomp mitred,"
the Cardinal looked on while "great baskets full of books were
commanded; after the great fire was made before the Rood of Northen (the
crucifix by the great north door of the cathedral), thus to be burned,
and those heretics to go thrice about the fire and to cast in their
fagots."

But scenes and denunciations such as these were vain in the presence of
an enthusiasm which grew every hour. "Englishmen," says a scholar of the
time, "were so eager for the Gospel as to affirm that they would buy a
New Testament even if they had to give a hundred thousand pieces of
money for it." Bibles and pamphlets were smuggled over to England and
circulated among the poorer and trading classes through the agency of an
association of "Christian Brethren," consisting principally of London
tradesmen and citizens, but whose missionaries spread over the country
at large. They found their way at once to the universities, where the
intellectual impulse given by the New Learning was quickening religious
speculation.

Cambridge had already won a name for heresy; Barnes, one of its foremost
scholars, had to carry his fagot before Wolsey at St. Paul's; two other
Cambridge teachers, Bilney and Latimer, were already known as
"Lutherans." The Cambridge scholars whom Wolsey introduced into Cardinal
College, which he was founding, spread the contagion through Oxford. A
group of "brethren" was formed in Cardinal College for the secret
reading and discussion of the Epistles; and this soon included the more
intelligent and learned scholars of the university. It was in vain that
Clark, the centre of this group, strove to dissuade fresh members from
joining it by warnings of the impending dangers. "I fell down on my
knees at his feet," says one of them, Anthony Dalaber, "and with tears
and sighs besought him that for the tender mercy of God he should not
refuse me, saying that I trusted verily that he who had begun this on me
would not forsake me, but would give me grace to continue therein to the
end. When he heard me say so, he came to me, took me in his arms, and
kissed me, saying, 'The Lord God Almighty grant you so to do, and from
henceforth ever take me for your father, and I will take you for my son
in Christ.'"

In 1528 the excitement which followed on this rapid diffusion of
Tyndale's works forced Wolsey to more vigorous action; many of the
Oxford Brethren were thrown into prison and their books seized. But in
spite of the panic of the Protestants, some of whom fled over sea,
little severity was really exercised. Henry's chief anxiety, indeed, was
lest in the outburst against heresy the interest of the New Learning
should suffer harm. This was remarkably shown in the protection he
extended to one who was destined to eclipse even the fame of Colet as a
popular preacher. Hugh Latimer was the son of a Leicestershire yeoman,
whose armor the boy had buckled on in the days of Henry VII, ere he set
out to meet the Cornish insurgents at Blackheath Field. Latimer has
himself described the soldierly training of his youth.

"My father was delighted to teach me to shoot with the bow. He taught
me how to draw, how to lay my body to the bow, not to draw with strength
of arm as other nations do, but with the strength of the body."

At fourteen he was at Cambridge, flinging himself into the New Learning
which was winning its way there with a zeal that at last told on his
physical strength. The ardor of his mental efforts left its mark on him
in ailments and enfeebled health from which, vigorous as he was, his
frame never wholly freed itself. But he was destined to be known, not as
a scholar, but as a preacher. In his addresses from the pulpit the
sturdy good-sense of the man shook off the pedantry of the schools as
well as the subtlety of the theologian. He had little turn for
speculation, and in the religious changes of the day we find him
constantly lagging behind his brother-reformers. But he had the moral
earnestness of a Jewish prophet, and his denunciations of wrong had a
prophetic directness and fire. "Have pity on your soul," he cried to
Henry, "and think that the day is even at hand when you shall give an
account of your office, and of the blood that hath been shed by your
sword."

His irony was yet more telling than his invective. "I would ask you a
strange question," he said once at Paul's Cross to a ring of bishops;
"who is the most diligent prelate in all England, that passeth all the
rest in doing of his office? I will tell you. It is the Devil! Of all
the pack of them that have cure, the Devil shall go for my money; for he
ordereth his business. Therefore, you unpreaching prelates, learn of the
Devil to be diligent in your office. If you will not learn of God, for
shame learn of the Devil." But Latimer was far from limiting himself to
invective. His homely humor breaks in with story and apologue; his
earnestness is always tempered with good-sense; his plain and simple
style quickens with a shrewd mother-wit. He talks to his hearers as a
man talks to his friends, telling stories such as we have given of his
own life at home, or chatting about the changes and chances of the day
with a transparent simplicity and truth that raise even his chat into
grandeur. His theme is always the actual world about him, and in his
simple lessons of loyalty, of industry, of pity for the poor, he touches
upon almost every subject from the plough to the throne. No such
preaching had been heard in England before his day, and with the growth
of his fame grew the danger of persecution. There were moments when,
bold as he was, Latimer's heart failed him. "If I had not trust that God
will help me," he wrote once, "I think the ocean sea would have divided
my lord of London and me by this day."

A citation for heresy at last brought the danger home. "I intend," he
wrote with his peculiar medley of humor and pathos, to "make merry with
my parishioners this Christmas, for all the sorrow, lest perchance I may
never return to them again." But he was saved throughout by the steady
protection of the court. Wolsey upheld him against the threats of the
Bishop of Ely; Henry made him his own chaplain; and the King's
interposition at this critical moment forced Latimer's judges to content
themselves with a few vague words of submission.

What really sheltered the reforming movement was Wolsey's indifference
to all but political matters. In spite of the foundation of Cardinal
College in which he was now engaged, and of the suppression of some
lesser monasteries for its endowment, the men of the New Learning looked
on him as really devoid of any interest in the revival of letters or in
their hopes of a general enlightenment. He took hardly more heed of the
new Lutheranism. His mind had no religious turn, and the quarrel of
faiths was with him simply one factor in the political game which he was
carrying on and which at this moment became more complex and absorbing
than ever. The victory of Pavia had ruined that system of balance which
Henry VII, and, in his earlier days, Henry VIII, had striven to
preserve. But the ruin had not been to England's profit, but to the
profit of its ally. While the Emperor stood supreme in Europe, Henry had
won nothing from the war, and it was plain that Charles meant him to win
nothing. He set aside all projects of a joint invasion; he broke his
pledge to wed Mary Tudor and married a princess of Portugal; he pressed
for a peace with France which would give him Burgundy. It was time for
Henry and his minister to change their course. They resolved to withdraw
from all active part in the rivalry of the two powers.

In June, 1525, a treaty was secretly concluded with France. But Henry
remained on fair terms with the Emperor; and though England joined the
Holy League for the deliverance of Italy from the Spaniards which was
formed between France, the Pope, and the lesser Italian states on the
release of Francis in the spring of 1526 by virtue of a treaty which he
at once repudiated, she took no part in the lingering war which went on
across the Alps. Charles was too prudent to resent Henry's alliance with
his foes, and from this moment the country remained virtually at peace.
No longer spurred by the interest of great events, the King ceased to
take a busy part in foreign politics, and gave himself to hunting and
sport. Among the fairest and gayest ladies of his court stood Anne
Boleyn. She was sprung of a merchant family which had but lately risen
to distinction through two great marriages, that of her grandfather with
the heiress of the earls of Ormond, and that of her father, Sir Thomas
Boleyn, with a sister of the Duke of Norfolk.

It was probably through his kinship with the Duke, who was now lord
treasurer and high in the King's confidence, that Boleyn was employed
throughout Henry's reign in state business, and his diplomatic abilities
had secured his appointment as envoy both to France and to the Emperor.
His son, George Boleyn, a man of culture and a poet, was among the group
of young courtiers in whose society Henry took most pleasure. Anne was
his youngest daughter; born in 1507, she was still but a girl of sixteen
when the outbreak of war drew her from a stay in France to the English
court. Her beauty was small, but her bright eyes, her flowing hair, her
gayety and wit soon won favor with the King, and only a month after her
return in 1522 the grant of honors to her father marked her influence
over Henry.

Fresh gifts in the following years showed that the favor continued; but
in 1524 a new color was given to this intimacy by a resolve on the
King's part to break his marriage with the Queen. Catharine had now
reached middle age; her personal charms had departed. The death of every
child save Mary may have woke scruples as to the lawfulness of a
marriage on which a curse seemed to rest; the need of a male heir for
public security may have deepened this impression. But whatever were the
grounds of his action we find Henry from this moment pressing the Roman
see to grant him a divorce.

It is probable that the matter was already mooted in 1525, a year which
saw new proof of Anne's influence in the elevation of Sir Thomas Boleyn
to the baronage as Lord Rochford. It is certain that it was the object
of secret negotiation with the Pope in 1526. No sovereign stood higher
in the favor of Rome than Henry, whose alliance had ever been ready in
its distress and who was even now prompt with aid in money. But
Clement's consent to his wish meant a break with the Emperor,
Catharine's nephew; and the exhaustion of France, the weakness of the
league in which the lesser Italian states strove to maintain their
independence against Charles after the battle of Pavia, left the Pope at
the Emperor's mercy. While the English envoy was mooting the question of
divorce in 1526 the surprise of Rome by an imperial force brought home
to Clement his utter helplessness.

It is hard to discover what part Wolsey had as yet taken in the matter,
or whether as in other cases Henry had till now been acting alone,
though the Cardinal himself tells us that on Catharine's first discovery
of the intrigue she attributed the proposal of divorce to "my
procurement and setting forth." But from this point his intervention is
clear. As legate he took cognizance of all matrimonial causes, and in
May, 1527, a collusive action was brought in his court against Henry for
cohabiting with his brother's wife. The King appeared by proctor; but
the suit was suddenly dropped. Secret as were the proceedings, they had
now reached Catharine's ear; and as she refused to admit the facts on
which Henry rested his case her appeal would have carried the matter to
the tribunal of the Pope, and Clement's decision could hardly be a
favorable one.

The Pope was now in fact a prisoner in the Emperor's hands. At the very
moment of the suit Rome was stormed and sacked by the army of the Duke
of Bourbon. "If the Pope's holiness fortune either to be slain or
taken," Wolsey wrote to the King when the news of this event reached
England, "it shall not a little hinder your grace's affairs." But it was
needful for the Cardinal to find some expedient to carry out the King's
will, for the group around Anne were using her skilfully for their
purposes. A great party had now gathered to her support. Her uncle, the
Duke of Norfolk, an able and ambitious man, counted on her rise to set
him at the head of the council board; the brilliant group of young
courtiers to which her brother belonged saw in her success their own
elevation; and the Duke of Suffolk with the bulk of the nobles hoped
through her means to bring about the ruin of the statesman before whom
they trembled.

What most served their plans was the growth of Henry's passion. "If it
please you," the King wrote at this time to Anne Boleyn, "to do the
office of a true, loyal mistress, and give yourself body and heart to
me, who have been and mean to be your loyal servant, I promise you not
only the name but that I shall make you my sole mistress, remove all
others from my affection, and serve you only." What stirred Henry's
wrath most was Catharine's "stiff and obstinate" refusal to bow to his
will. Wolsey's advice that "your Grace should handle her both gently and
doulcely" only goaded Henry's impatience. He lent an ear to the rivals
who charged his minister with slackness in the cause, and danger drove
the Cardinal to a bolder and yet more unscrupulous device.

The entire subjection of Italy to the Emperor was drawing closer the
French alliance, and a new treaty had been concluded in April. But this
had hardly been signed when the sack of Rome and the danger of the Pope
called for bolder measures. Wolsey was despatched on a solemn embassy to
Francis to promise an English subsidy on the despatch of a French army
across the Alps. But he aimed at turning the Pope's situation to the
profit of the divorce. Clement was virtually a prisoner in the castle of
St. Angelo; and as it was impossible for him to fulfil freely the
function of a Pope, Wolsey proposed, in conjunction with Francis, to
call a meeting of the college of cardinals at Avignon which should
exercise the papal powers till Clement's liberation. As Wolsey was to
preside over this assembly, it would be easy to win from it a favorable
answer to Henry's request.

But Clement had no mind to surrender his power, and secret orders from
the Pope prevented the Italian cardinals from attending such an
assembly. Nor was Wolsey more fortunate in another plan for bringing
about the same end by inducing Clement to delegate to him his full
powers westward of the Alps. Henry's trust in him was fast waning before
these failures and the steady pressure of his rivals at court, and the
coldness of the King on his return in September was an omen of his
minister's fall. Henry was in fact resolved to take his own course; and
while Wolsey sought from the Pope a commission enabling him to try the
case in his legatine court and pronounce the marriage null and void by
sentence of law, Henry had determined at the suggestion of the Boleyns
and apparently of Thomas Cranmer, a Cambridge scholar who was serving as
their chaplain, to seek, without Wolsey's knowledge, from Clement either
his approval of a divorce or, if a divorce could not be obtained, a
dispensation to remarry without any divorce at all.

For some months his envoys could find no admission to the Pope; and
though in December Clement succeeded in escaping to Orvieto and drew
some courage from the entry of the French army into Italy, his temper
was still too timid to venture on any decided course. He refused the
dispensation altogether. Wolsey's proposal for leaving the matter to a
legatine court found better favor; but when the commission reached
England it was found to be "of no effect or authority." What Henry
wanted was not merely a divorce but the express sanction of the Pope to
his divorce, and this Clement steadily evaded. A fresh embassy, with
Wolsey's favorite and secretary, Stephen Gardiner, at its head, reached
Orvieto in March, 1528, to find, in spite of Gardiner's threats, hardly
better success; but Clement at last consented to a legatine commission
for the trial of the case in England. In this commission Cardinal
Campeggio, who was looked upon as a partisan of the English King, was
joined with Wolsey.

Great as the concession seemed, this gleam of success failed to hide
from the minister the dangers which gathered round him. The great nobles
whom he had practically shut out from the King's counsels were longing
for his fall. The Boleyns and the young courtiers looked on him as cool
in Anne's cause. He was hated alike by men of the old doctrine and men
of the new. The clergy had never forgotten his extortions, the monks saw
him suppressing small monasteries. The foundation of Cardinal College
failed to reconcile to him the scholars of the New Learning; their poet,
Skelton, was among his bitterest assailants.

The Protestants, goaded by the persecution of this very year, hated him
with a deadly hatred. His French alliances, his declaration of war with
the Emperor, hindered the trade with Flanders and secured the hostility
of the merchant class. The country at large, galled with murrain and
famine and panic-struck by an outbreak of the sweating sickness which
carried off two thousand in London alone, laid all its suffering at the
door of the Cardinal. And now that Henry's mood itself became uncertain
Wolsey knew his hour was come. Were the marriage once made, he told the
French ambassador, and a male heir born to the realm, he would withdraw
from state affairs and serve God for the rest of his life. But the
divorce had still to be brought about ere marriage could be made or heir
be born. Henry indeed had seized on the grant of a commission as if the
matter were at an end. Anne Boleyn was installed in the royal palace and
honored with the state of a wife. The new legate, Campeggio, held the
bishopric of Salisbury, and had been asked for as judge from the belief
that he would favor the King's cause. But he bore secret instructions
from the Pope to bring about if possible a reconciliation between Henry
and the Queen, and in no case to pronounce sentence without reference to
Rome. The slowness of his journey presaged ill; he did not reach England
till the end of September, and a month was wasted in vain efforts to
bring Henry to a reconciliation or Catharine to retirement into a
monastery.

A new difficulty disclosed itself in the supposed existence of a brief
issued by Pope Julius and now in the possession of the Emperor, which
overruled all the objections to the earlier dispensation on which Henry
relied. The hearing of the cause was delayed through the winter, while
new embassies strove to induce Clement to declare this brief also
invalid. Not only was such a demand glaringly unjust, but the progress
of the imperial arms brought vividly home to the Pope its injustice. The
danger which he feared was not merely a danger to his temporal domain in
Italy--it was a danger to the papacy itself. It was in vain that new
embassies threatened Clement with the loss of his spiritual power over
England. To break with the Emperor was to risk the loss of his spiritual
power over a far larger world.

Charles had already consented to the suspension of the judgment of his
diet at Worms, a consent which gave security to the new Protestantism in
North Germany. If he burned heretics in the Netherlands, he employed
them in his armies. Lutheran soldiers had played their part in the sack
of Rome. Lutheranism had spread from North Germany along the Rhine, it
was now pushing fast into the hereditary possessions of the Austrian
house, it had all but mastered the Low Countries. France itself was
mined with heresy; and were Charles once to give way, the whole
Continent would be lost to Rome.

Amid difficulties such as these the papal court saw no course open save
one of delay. But the long delay told fatally for Wolsey's fortunes.
Even Clement blamed him for having hindered Henry from judging the
matter in his own realm and marrying on the sentence of his own courts,
and the Boleyns naturally looked upon his policy as dictated by hatred
to Anne. Norfolk and the great peers took courage from the bitter tone
of the girl; and Henry himself charged the Cardinal with a failure in
fulfilling the promises he had made him. King and minister still clung
indeed passionately to their hopes from Rome. But in 1529 Charles met
their pressure with a pressure of his own; and the progress of his arms
decided Clement to avoke the cause to Rome. Wolsey could only hope to
anticipate this decision by pushing the trial hastily forward, and at
the end of May the two legates opened their court in the great hall of
the Blackfriars.

King and Queen were cited to appear before them when the court again met
on June 18th. Henry briefly announced his resolve to live no longer in
mortal sin. The Queen offered an appeal to Clement, and on the refusal
of the legates to admit it flung herself at Henry's feet. "Sire," said
Catharine, "I beseech you to pity me, a woman and a stranger, without an
assured friend and without an indifferent counsellor. I take God to
witness that I have always been to you a true and loyal wife, that I
have made it my constant duty to seek your pleasure, that I have loved
all whom you loved, whether I have reason or not, whether they are
friends to me or foes. I have been your wife for years; I have brought
you many children. God knows that when I came to your bed I was a
virgin, and I put it to your own conscience to say whether it was not
so. If there be any offence which can be alleged against me I consent to
depart with infamy; if not, then I pray you to do me justice."

The piteous appeal was wasted on a king who was already entertaining
Anne Boleyn with royal state in his own palace; the trial proceeded, and
on July 23d the court assembled to pronounce sentence. Henry's hopes
were at their highest when they were suddenly dashed to the ground. At
the opening of the proceedings Campeggio rose to declare the court
adjourned to the following October. The adjournment was a mere evasion.
The pressure of the imperialists had at last forced Clement to summon
the cause to his own tribunal at Rome, and the jurisdiction of the
legates was at an end.

"Now see I," cried the Duke of Suffolk as he dashed his hand on the
table, "that the old saw is true, that there was never legate or
cardinal that did good to England!" The Duke only echoed his master's
wrath. Through the twenty years of his reign Henry had known nothing of
opposition to his will. His imperious temper had chafed at the weary
negotiations, the subterfuges and perfidies of the Pope. Though the
commission was his own device, his pride must have been sorely galled by
the summons to the legates' court. The warmest adherents of the older
faith revolted against the degradation of the Crown. "It was the
strangest and newest sight and device," says Cavendish, "that ever we
read or heard of in any history or chronicle in any region that a king
and queen should be convented and constrained by process compellatory to
appear in any court as common persons, within their own realm and
dominion, to abide the judgment and decree of their own subjects, having
the royal diadem and prerogative thereof."

Even this degradation had been borne in vain. Foreign and papal tribunal
as that of the legates really was, it lay within Henry's kingdom and had
the air of an English court. But the citation to Rome was a summons to
the King to plead in a court without his realm. Wolsey had himself
warned Clement of the hopelessness of expecting Henry to submit to such
humiliation as this. "If the King be cited to appear in person or by
proxy and his prerogative be interfered with, none of his subjects will
tolerate the insult. To cite the King to Rome, to threaten him with
excommunication, is no more tolerable than to deprive him of his royal
dignity. If he were to appear in Italy it would be at the head of a
formidable army." But Clement had been deaf to the warning, and the case
had been avoked out of the realm.

Henry's wrath fell at once on Wolsey. Whatever furtherance or hinderance
the Cardinal had given to his remarriage, it was Wolsey who had
dissuaded him from acting, at the first, independently; from conducting
the cause in his own courts and acting on the sentence of his own
judges. Whether to secure the succession by a more indisputable decision
or to preserve uninjured the prerogatives of the papal see, it was
Wolsey who had counselled him to seek a divorce from Rome and promised
him success in his suit. And in this counsel Wolsey stood alone. Even
Clement had urged the King to carry out his original purpose when it was
too late. All that the Pope sought was to be freed from the necessity of
meddling in the matter at all. It was Wolsey who had forced papal
intervention on him, as he had forced it on Henry, and the failure of
his plans was fatal to him. From the close of the legatine court Henry
would see him no more, and his favorite, Stephen Gardiner, who had
become chief secretary of state, succeeded him in the King's confidence.

If Wolsey still remained minister for a while, it was because the thread
of the complex foreign negotiations which he was conducting could not be
roughly broken. Here too, however, failure awaited him. His diplomacy
sought to bring fresh pressure on the Pope and to provide a fresh check
on the Emperor by a closer alliance with France. But Francis was anxious
to recover his children who had remained as hostages for his return; he
was weary of the long struggle, and hopeless of aid from his Italian
allies. At this crisis of his fate therefore Wolsey saw himself deceived
and outwitted by the conclusion of peace between France and the Emperor
in a new treaty at Cambray. Not only was his French policy no longer
possible, but a reconciliation with Charles was absolutely needful, and
such a reconciliation could only be brought about by Wolsey's fall. In
October, on the very day that the Cardinal took his place with a haughty
countenance and all his former pomp in the court of chancery an
indictment was preferred against him by the King's attorney for
receiving bulls from Rome in violation of the Statute of Provisors.

A few days later he was deprived of the seals. Wolsey was prostrated by
the blow. In a series of abject appeals he offered to give up everything
that he possessed if the King would but cease from his displeasure. "His
face," wrote the French ambassador, "is dwindled to half its natural
size. In truth his misery is such that his enemies, Englishmen as they
are, cannot help pitying him." For the moment Henry seemed contented
with his disgrace. A thousand boats full of Londoners covered the Thames
to see the Cardinal's barge pass to the Tower, but he was permitted to
retire to Esher.

Although judgment of forfeiture and imprisonment was given against him
in the king's bench at the close of October, in the following February
he received a pardon on surrender of his vast possessions to the crown
and was permitted to withdraw to his diocese of York, the one dignity he
had been suffered to retain.

Not less significant was the attitude of the New Learning. On Wolsey's
fall the seals had been offered to Warham, and it was probably at his
counsel that they were finally given to Sir Thomas More. The
Chancellor's dream, if we may judge it from the acts of his brief
ministry, seems to have been that of carrying out the religious
reformation which had been demanded by Colet and Erasmus while checking
the spirit of revolt against the unity of the Church. His severities
against the Protestants, exaggerated as they have been by polemic
rancor, remain the one stain on a memory that knows no other. But it was
only by a rigid severance of the cause of reform from what seemed to him
the cause of revolution that More could hope for a successful issue to
the projects of reform which the council laid before parliament.

The "Petition of the Commons" sounded like an echo of Colet's famous
address to the convocation. It attributed the growth of heresy not more
to "frantic and seditious books published in the English tongue contrary
to the very true Catholic and Christian faith" than to "the extreme and
uncharitable behavior of divers ordinaries." It remonstrated against the
legislation of the clergy in convocation without the King's assent or
that of his subjects, the oppressive procedure of the church courts, the
abuses of ecclesiastical patronage, and the excessive number of holy
days. Henry referred the petition to the bishops, but they could devise
no means of redress, and the ministry persisted in pushing through the
houses their bills for ecclesiastical reform. The importance of the new
measures lay really in the action of parliament. They were an explicit
announcement that church reform was now to be undertaken, not by the
clergy, but by the people at large. On the other hand it was clear that
it would be carried out in a spirit of loyalty to the Church. The
commons forced from Bishop Fisher an apology for words which were taken
as a doubt thrown on their orthodoxy.

Henry forbade the circulation of Tyndale's translation of the Bible as
executed in a Protestant spirit. The reforming measures, however, were
pushed resolutely on. Though the questions of convocation and the
bishops' courts were adjourned for further consideration, the fees of
the courts were curtailed, the clergy restricted from lay employments,
pluralities restrained, and residence enforced. In spite of a dogged
opposition from the bishops the bills received the assent of the House
of Lords, "to the great rejoicing of lay people, and the great
displeasure of spiritual persons."

Not less characteristic of the New Learning was the intellectual
pressure it strove to bring to bear on the wavering Pope. Cranmer was
still active in the cause of Anne Boleyn; he had just published a book
in favor of the divorce; and he now urged on the ministry an appeal to
the learned opinion of Christendom by calling for the judgment of the
chief universities of Europe. His counsel was adopted; but Norfolk
trusted to coarser means of attaining his end. Like most of the English
nobles and the whole of the merchant class, his sympathies were with the
house of Burgundy. He looked upon Wolsey as the real hinderance to the
divorce through the French policy which had driven Charles into a
hostile attitude; and he counted on the Cardinal's fall to bring about a
renewal of friendship with the Emperor and to insure his support.

The father of Anne Boleyn, now created Earl of Wiltshire, was sent in
1530 on this errand to the imperial court. But Charles remained firm to
Catharine's cause, and Clement would do nothing in defiance of the
Emperor. Nor was the appeal to the learned world more successful. In
France the profuse bribery of the English agents would have failed with
the University of Paris but for the interference of Francis himself,
eager to regain Henry's good-will by this office of friendship. As
shameless an exercise of the King's own authority was needed to wring an
approval of his cause from Oxford and Cambridge. In Germany the very
Protestants, then in the fervor of their moral revival and hoping little
from a proclaimed opponent of Luther, were dead against the King. So far
as could be seen from Cranmer's test every learned man in Christendom,
but for bribery and threats, would have condemned the royal cause.

Henry was embittered by failures which he attributed to the unskilful
diplomacy of his new counsellors; and it was rumored that he had been
heard to regret the loss of the more dexterous statesman whom they had
overthrown. Wolsey, who since the beginning of the year had remained at
York, though busy in appearance with the duties of his see, was hoping
more and more as the months passed by for his recall. But the jealousy
of his political enemies was roused by the King's regrets, and the
pitiless hand of Norfolk was seen in the quick and deadly blow which he
dealt at his fallen rival.

On November 4th, the eve of his installation feast, the Cardinal was
arrested on a charge of high treason and conducted by the lieutenant of
the Tower toward London. Already broken by his enormous labors, by
internal disease, and the sense of his fall, Wolsey accepted the arrest
as a sentence of death. An attack of dysentery forced him to rest at the
Abbey of Leicester, and as he reached the gate he said feebly to the
brethren who met him, "I am come to lay my bones among you."

On his death-bed his thoughts still clung to the Prince whom he had
served. "Had I but served God as diligently as I have served the King,"
murmured the dying man, "he would not have given me over in my gray
hairs. But this is my due reward for my pains and study, not regarding
my service to God, but only my duty to my Prince."




PIZARRO CONQUERS PERU

A.D. 1532

HERNANDO PIZARRO    WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT

     Before Europeans visited Peru, a highly developed
     civilization existed there under the native Indian empire of
     the Incas, as the chiefs were called who ruled from the
     thirteenth to the sixteenth century. These sovereigns
     constituted a hereditary aristocratic order, and had long
     been the masters of prodigious wealth taken from the gold
     and silver mines of the country. It was the rich treasure
     which they expected to find there that first led the
     Spaniards to look for conquests in that quarter of the
     world.

     When the "South Sea," as the Spaniards called the Pacific
     Ocean, had been discovered by Balboa, and the first
     conquests on the mainland secured, another Spanish soldier,
     Francisco Pizarro, who had accompanied Balboa, settled in
     the new city of Panama. While living there in repose, he
     longed to perform further and greater services for the
     Spanish sovereign. He therefore obtained permission from the
     colonial governor to explore the Pacific coast toward the
     south. After an unsuccessful voyage in 1524-1526, he set out
     again in the latter year, and sailed for Peru, reaching that
     country through many hardships, the surmounting of which
     places him fairly among the great discoverers.

     Having collected much information concerning the empire of
     the Incas, Pizarro went to Spain and received authority to
     conquer Peru. Returning to Panama, he sailed from there in
     December, 1531, with three ships, one hundred eighty-three
     men, and thirty-seven horses. He first landed at the island
     of Puna, where he was joined by Hernando de Soto, and then,
     crossing to Tumbez, marched inland and reached Cajamarca,
     the city of the Incas, in November, 1532.

     The circumstantial account of what followed, written by
     Hernando Pizarro, half-brother and companion of Francisco,
     is fitly supplemented by the narrative of Prescott, whose
     story of the last of the Incas is so widely known.


HERNANDO PIZARRO

_To the Magnificent Lords, the Judges of the Royal Audience of his
Majesty, who reside in the city of Santo Domingo._

MAGNIFICENT LORDS: I arrived in this port of Yaguana on my way to Spain,
by order of the governor Francisco Pizarro, to inform his majesty of
what has happened in that government of Peru, to give an account of the
country and of its present condition; and, as I believe that those who
come to this city give your worships inconsistent accounts, it has
seemed well to me to write a summary of what has taken place, that you
may be informed of the truth.

The Governor, in the name of his majesty, founded a town near the
sea-coast, which was called San Miguel. It is twenty-five leagues from
that point of Tumbez. Having left citizens there, and assigned the
Indians in the district to them, he set out, with sixty horse and ninety
foot, in search of the town of Cajamarca, at which place he was informed
that Atahualpa then was brother of him who is now lord of that land.
Between the two brothers there had been a very fierce war, and this
Atahualpa had conquered the land as far as he then was, which, from the
point whence he started, was a hundred fifty leagues. After seven or
eight marches, a captain of Atahualpa came to the Governor and said that
his lord had heard of his arrival and rejoiced greatly at it, having a
strong desire to see the Christians; and when he had been two days with
the Governor he said that he wished to go forward and tell the news to
his lord, and that another would soon be on the road with a present as a
token of peace.

The Governor continued his march until he came to a town called La
Ramada. Up to that point all the land was flat, while all beyond was
very rugged and obstructed by very difficult passes. When he saw that
the messenger from Atahualpa did not return, he wished to obtain
intelligence from some Indians who had come from Cajamarca; so they were
tortured, and they then said that they had heard that Atahualpa was
waiting for the Governor in the mountains to give him battle. The
Governor then ordered the troops to advance, leaving the rear-guard in
the plain. The rest ascended, and the road was so bad that, in truth, if
they had been waiting for us, either in this pass or in another that we
came to on the road to Cajamarca, they could very easily have stopped
us; for, even by exerting all our skill, we could not have taken our
horses by the roads; and neither horse nor foot can cross those
mountains except by the roads. The distance across them to Cajamarca is
full twenty leagues. When we were half-way, messengers arrived from
Atahualpa and brought provisions to the Governor. They said that
Atahualpa was waiting for him at Cajamarca, wishing to be his friend;
and that he wished the Governor to know that his captains had taken his
brother prisoner, that they would reach Cajamarca within two days, and
that all the territory of his father now belonged to him. The Governor
sent back to say that he rejoiced greatly at this news, and that, if
there was any lord who refused to submit, he would give assistance and
subjugate him. Two days afterward the Governor came in sight of
Cajamarca, and he met Indians with food. He put the troops in order and
marched to the town. Atahualpa was not there, but was encamped on the
plain, at a distance of a league, with all his people in tents. When the
Governor saw that Atahualpa did not come, he sent a captain, with
fifteen horsemen, to speak to Atahualpa, saying that he would not assign
quarters to the Christians until he knew where it was the pleasure of
Atahualpa that they should lodge, and he desired him to come that they
might be friends. Just then I went to speak to the Governor, touching
the orders in case the Indians made a night attack. He told me that he
had sent men to seek an interview with Atahualpa. I told him that, out
of the sixty cavalry we had, there might be some men who were not
dexterous on horseback, and some unsound horses, and that it seemed a
mistake to pick out fifteen of the best; for, if Atahualpa should attack
them, their numbers were insufficient for defence, and any reverse might
lead to a great disaster. He therefore ordered me to follow with other
twenty horsemen, and to act according to circumstances.

When I arrived I found the other horsemen near the camp of Atahualpa,
and that their officer had gone to speak with him. I left my men there
also, and advanced with two horsemen to the lodging of Atahualpa, and
the captain announced my approach and who I was. I then told Atahualpa
that the Governor had sent me to visit him and to ask him to come, that
they might be friends. He replied that a cacique of the town of San
Miguel had sent to tell him that we were bad people and not good for
war, and that he himself had killed some of us, both men and horses. I
answered that those people of San Miguel were like women, and that one
horse was enough for the whole of them; that, when he saw us fight, he
would know what we were like; that the Governor had a great regard for
him; that if he had any enemy he had only to say so, and that the
Governor would send to conquer him. He said that, four marches from that
spot, there were some very rebellious Indians who would not submit to
him, and that the Christians might go there to help his troops. I said
that the Governor would send ten horsemen, who would suffice for the
whole country, and that his Indians were unnecessary, except to search
for those who concealed themselves. He smiled like a man who did not
think so much of us. The captain told me that, until I came, he had not
been able to get him to speak, but that one of his chiefs had answered
for him, while he always kept his head down. He was seated in all the
majesty of command, surrounded by all his women, and with many chiefs
near him. Before coming to his presence there was another group of
chiefs, each standing according to his rank. At sunset I said that I
wished to go, and asked him to tell me what to say to the Governor. He
replied that he would come to see him on the following morning, that he
would lodge in three great chambers in the court-yard, and that the
centre one should be set apart for himself.

That night a good lookout was kept. In the morning he sent messengers to
put off his visit until the afternoon; and these messengers, in
conversing with some Indian girls in the service of the Christians, who
were their relations, told them to run away because Atahualpa was coming
that afternoon to attack the Christians and kill them. Among the
messengers there came that captain who had already met the Governor on
the road. He told the Governor that his lord Atahualpa said that, as the
Christians had come armed to his camp, he also would come armed. The
Governor replied that he might come as he liked. Atahualpa set out from
his camp at noon, and when he came to a place which was about half a
quarter of a league from Cajamarca he stopped until late in the
afternoon. There he pitched his tents, and formed his men in three
divisions. The whole road was full of men, and they had not yet left off
marching out of the camp.

The Governor had ordered his troops to be distributed in the three
halls which were in the open court-yard, in form of a triangle; and he
ordered them to be mounted and armed until the intentions of Atahualpa
were known. Having pitched his tents, Atahualpa sent a messenger to the
Governor to say that as it was now late he wished to sleep where he was,
and that he would come in the morning. The Governor sent back to beg him
to come at once, because he was waiting for supper, and that he should
not sup until Atahualpa should come. The messengers came back to ask the
Governor to send a Christian to Atahualpa, that he intended to come at
once, and that he would come unarmed. The Governor sent a Christian, and
presently Atahualpa moved, leaving the armed men behind him. He took
with him about five or six thousand Indians without arms, except that,
under their shirts, they had small darts and slings with stones.

He came in a litter, and before him went three or four hundred Indians
in liveries, cleaning the straws from the road and singing. Then came
Atahualpa in the midst of his chiefs and principal men, the greatest
among them being also borne on men's shoulders. When they entered the
open space, twelve or fifteen Indians went up to the little fortress
that was there and occupied it, taking possession with a banner fixed on
a lance. When Atahualpa had advanced to the centre of an open space, he
stopped, and a Dominican friar, who was with the Governor, came forward
to tell him, on the part of the Governor, that he waited for him in his
lodging, and that he was sent to speak with him. The friar then told
Atahualpa that he was a priest, and that he was sent there to teach the
things of the faith if they should desire to be Christians. He showed
Atahualpa a book which he carried in his hands, and told him that that
book contained the things of God. Atahualpa asked for the book, and
threw it on the ground, saying: "I will not leave this place until you
have restored all that you have taken in my land. I know well who you
are and what you have come for." Then he rose up in his litter and
addressed his men, and there were murmurs among them and calls to those
who were armed. The friar went to the Governor and reported what was
being done and that no time was to be lost. The Governor sent to me; and
I had arranged with the captain of the artillery that, when a sign was
given, he should discharge his pieces, and that, on hearing the reports,
all the troops should come forth at once. This was done, and as the
Indians were unarmed they were defeated without danger to any Christian.
Those who carried the litter and the chiefs who surrounded Atahualpa
were all killed, falling round him. The Governor came out and seized
Atahualpa, and in protecting him he received a knife-cut from a
Christian in the hand. The troops continued the pursuit as far as the
place where the armed Indians were stationed, who made no resistance
whatever, because it was now night. All were brought into the town where
the Governor was quartered.

Next morning the Governor ordered us to go to the camp of Atahualpa,
where we found forty thousand castellanos and four or five thousand
marcos of silver. The camp was as full of people as if none were
wanting. All the people were assembled, and the Governor desired them to
go to their homes, and told them that he had not come to do them harm;
that what he had done was by reason of the pride of Atahualpa, and that
he himself ordered it. On asking Atahualpa why he had thrown away the
book and shown so much pride, he answered that his captain, who had been
sent to speak with the Governor, had told him that the Christians were
not warriors, that the horses were unsaddled at night, and that with two
hundred Indians he could defeat them all. He added that this captain and
the chief of San Miguel had deceived him. The Governor then inquired
concerning his brother the Cuzco, and he answered that he would arrive
next day, that he was being brought as a prisoner, and that his captain
remained with the troops in the town of Cuzco. It afterward turned out
that in all this he had spoken the truth, except that he had sent orders
for his brother to be killed, lest the Governor should restore him to
his lordship. The Governor said that he had not come to make war on the
Indians, but that our lord the Emperor, who was lord of the whole world,
had ordered him to come that he might see the land, and let Atahualpa
know the things of our faith, in case he should wish to become a
Christian. The Governor also told him that that land and all other lands
belonged to the Emperor, and that he must acknowledge him as his lord.
He replied that he was content, and, observing that the Christians had
collected some gold, Atahualpa said to the Governor that they need not
take such care of it, as if there was so little; for that he could give
them ten thousand plates, and that he could fill the room in which he
was up to a white line, which was the height of a man and a half from
the floor. The room was seventeen or eighteen feet wide and thirty-five
feet long. He said that he could do this in two months.

Two months passed away and the gold did not arrive, but the Governor
received tidings that every day parties of men were advancing against
him. In order both to ascertain the truth of these reports, and to hurry
the arrival of the gold, the Governor ordered me to set out with twenty
horsemen and ten or twelve foot-soldiers for a place called Guamachuco,
which is twenty leagues from Cajamarca. This was the place where it was
reported that armed men were collecting together. I advanced to that
town, and found a quantity of gold and silver, which I sent thence to
Cajamarca. Some Indians, who were tortured, told us that the captains
and armed men were at a place six leagues from Guamachuco; and, though I
had no instructions from the Governor to advance beyond that point, I
resolved to push forward with fourteen horsemen and nine foot-soldiers,
in order that the Indians might not take heart at the notion that we had
retreated. The rest of my party were sent to guard the gold, because
their horses were lame. Next morning I arrived at that town, and did not
find any armed men there, and it turned out that the Indians had told
lies, perhaps to frighten us and induce us to return.

At this village I received permission from the Governor to go to a
mosque of which we had intelligence, which was a hundred leagues away on
the sea-coast, in a town called Pachacamac. It took us twenty-two days
to reach it. The road over the mountains is a thing worth seeing,
because, though the ground is so rugged, such beautiful roads could not
in truth be found throughout Christendom. The greater part of them is
paved. There is a bridge of stone or wood over every stream. We found
bridges of network over a very large and powerful river, which we
crossed twice, which was a marvellous thing to see. The horses crossed
over by them. At each passage they have two bridges, the one by which
the common people go over, and the other for the lords of the land and
their captains. The approaches are always kept closed, with Indians to
guard them. These Indians exact transit dues from all passengers. The
chiefs and people of the mountains are more intelligent than those of
the coast. The country is populous. There are mines in many parts of it.
It is a cold climate, it snows, and there is much rain. There are no
swamps. Fuel is scarce. Atahualpa has placed governors in all the
principal towns, and his predecessors had also appointed governors. In
all these towns there were houses of imprisoned women, with guards at
the doors, and these women preserve their virginity. If any Indian has
any connection with them his punishment is death. Of these houses, some
are for the worship of the sun, others for that of old Cuzco, the father
of Atahualpa. Their sacrifices consist of sheep and _chica_, which they
pour out on the ground. They have another house of women in each of the
principal towns, also guarded. These women are assembled by the chiefs
of the neighboring districts, and when the lord of the land passes by
they select the best to present to him, and when they are taken others
are chosen to fill up their places. These women also have the duty of
making chica for the soldiers when they pass that way. They took Indian
girls out of these houses and presented them to us. All the surrounding
chiefs come to these towns on the roads to perform service when the army
passes. They have stores of fuel and maize and of all other necessaries.
They count by certain knots on cords, and so record what each chief has
brought. When they had to bring us loads of fuel, maize, chica, or meat,
they took off knots or made them on some other part; so that those who
have charge of the stores keep an exact account. In all these towns they
received us with great festivities, dancing, and rejoicing.

When we arrived on the plain of the sea-coast we met with a people who
were less civilized, but the country was populous. They also have houses
of women, and all the other arrangements as in the towns of the
mountains. They never wished to speak to us of the mosque, for there was
an order that all who should speak to us of it should be put to death.
But as we had intelligence that it was on the coast, we followed the
high road until we came to it. The road is very wide, with an earthen
wall on either side, and houses for resting at intervals, which were
prepared to receive the Cuzco when he travelled that way. There are very
large villages, the houses of the Indians being built of canes, and
those of the chiefs are of earth with roofs of branches of trees; for in
that land it never rains. From the city of San Miguel to this mosque the
distance is one hundred sixty or one hundred eighty leagues, the road
passing near the sea-shore through a very populous country. The road,
with a wall on each side, traverses the whole of this country; and,
neither in that part nor in the part farther on, of which we had notice
for two hundred leagues, does it ever rain.

They live by irrigation, for the rainfall is so great in the mountains
that many rivers flow from them, so that throughout the land there is
not three leagues without a river. The distance from the sea to the
mountains is in some parts ten leagues, in others twelve. It is not
cold. Throughout the whole of this coast-land, and beyond it, tribute is
not paid to Cuzco, but to the mosque. The bishop of it was in Cajamarca
with the Governor. He had ordered another room of gold, such as
Atahualpa had ordered, and the Governor ordered me to go on this
business, and to hurry those who were collecting it. When I arrived at
the mosque I asked for the gold, and they denied it to me, saying that
they had none. I made some search, but could not find it. The
neighboring chiefs came to see me, and brought presents, and in the
mosque there was found some gold-dust, which was left behind when the
rest was concealed. Altogether I collected eighty-five thousand
castellanos and three thousand marcos of silver.

This town of the mosque is very large, and contains grand edifices and
courts. Outside, there is another great space surrounded by a wall, with
a door opening on the mosque. In this space there are the houses of the
women, who, they say, are the women of the devil. Here, also, are the
storerooms, where the stores of gold are kept. There is no one in the
place where these women are kept. Their sacrifices are the same as those
to the sun, which I have already described. Before entering the first
court of the mosque, a man must fast for twenty days; before ascending
to the court above, he must fast for a year. In this upper court the
bishop used to be. When messengers of the chiefs, who had fasted for a
year, went up to pray to God that he would give them a good harvest,
they found the bishop seated, with his head covered. There are other
Indians whom they call pages of the sun. When these messengers of the
chief delivered their messages to the bishop, the pages of the devil
went into a chamber, where they said that he speaks to them; and that
devil said that he was enraged with the chiefs, with the sacrifices they
had to offer, and with the presents they wished to bring. I believe that
they do not speak with the devil, but that these his servants deceive
the chiefs. For I took pains to investigate the matter, and an old page,
who was one of the chief and most confidential servants of their god,
told a chief, who repeated it to me, that the devil said they were not
to fear the horses, as they could do no harm. I caused the page to be
tortured, and he was so stubborn in his evil creed that I could never
gather anything from him, but that they really held their devil to be a
god. This mosque is so feared by all the Indians that they believe that,
if any of those servants of the devil asked them for anything and they
refused it, they would presently die. It would seem that the Indians do
not worship this devil from any feelings of devotion, but from fear. For
the chiefs told me that, up to that time, they had served that mosque
because they feared it, but that now they had no fear but of us; and
that, therefore, they wished to serve us. The cave in which the devil
was placed was very dark, so that one could not enter it without a
light, and within it was very dirty. I made all the caciques, who came
to see me, enter the place, that they might lose their fear; and, for
want of a preacher, I made my sermon, explaining to them the errors in
which they lived.

In this town I learned that the principal captain of Atahualpa was at a
distance of twenty leagues from us, in a town called Jauja. I sent to
tell him to come and see me, and he replied that I should take the road
to Cajamarca, and that he would take another road and meet me. The
Governor, on hearing that the captain was for peace and that he was
ready to come with me, wrote to me to tell me to return; and he sent
three Christians to Cuzco, which is fifty leagues beyond Jauja, to take
possession and to see the country. I returned by the road of Cajamarca,
and by another road, where the captain of Atahualpa was to join me. But
he had not started; and I learned from certain chiefs that he had not
moved, and that he had taken me in. So I went back to the place where he
was, and the road was very rugged, and so obstructed with snow that it
cost us much labor to get there. Having reached the royal road, and come
to a place called Bombon, I met a captain of Atahualpa with five
thousand armed Indians whom Atahualpa had sent on pretence of conquering
a rebel chief; but, as it afterward appeared, they were assembled to
kill the Christians. Here we found five hundred thousand pesos of gold
that they were taking to Cajamarca. This captain told me that the
captain-general remained in Jauja, that he knew of our approach, and was
much afraid. I sent a messenger to him to tell him to remain where he
was and to fear nothing. I also found a negro here who had gone with the
Christians to Cuzco, and he told me that these fears were feigned; for
that the captain-general had many well-armed men with him, that he
counted them by his knots in presence of the Christians, and that they
numbered thirty-five thousand Indians. So we went to Jauja, and, when we
were half a league from the town, and found that the captain did not
come out to receive us, a chief of Atahualpa, whom I had with me and
whom I had treated well, advised me to advance in order of battle,
because he believed that the captain intended to fight. We went up a
small hill overlooking Jauja, and saw a large black mass in the plaza,
which appeared to be something that had been burned. I asked what it
was, and they told me it was a crowd of Indians. The plaza is large, and
has a length of a quarter of a league. As no one came to receive us on
reaching the town, our people advanced in the expectation of having to
fight the Indians. But, at the entrance of the square, some principal
men came out to meet us with offers of peace, and told us that the
captain was not there, as he had gone to reduce certain chiefs to
submission. It would seem that he had gone out of fear, with some of his
troops, and had crossed a river near the town by a bridge of network. I
sent to tell him to come to me peaceably or else the Christians would
destroy him. Next morning the people came who were in the square. They
were Indian servants, and it is true that they numbered over a hundred
thousand souls. We remained here five days, and during all that time
they did nothing but dance and sing and hold great drinking-feasts. The
captain did not wish to come with me, but when he saw that I was
determined to make him he came of his own accord. I left the chief who
came with me as captain there. This town of Jauja is very fine and
picturesque, with very good level approaches, and it has an excellent
river-bank. In all my travels I did not see a better site for a
Christian settlement, and I believe that the Governor intends to form
one there, though some think that it would be more convenient to select
a position near the sea, and are, therefore, of an opposite opinion. All
the country, from Jauja to Cajamarca, by the road we returned, is like
that of which I have already given a description.

After returning to Cajamarca and reporting my proceedings to the
Governor, he ordered me to go to Spain and to give an account to his
majesty of this and other things which appertain to his service. I took,
from the heap of gold, one hundred thousand castellanos for his majesty,
being the amount of his fifth. The day after I left Cajamarca, the
Christians, who had gone to Cuzco, returned, and brought one million
five hundred thousand of gold. After I arrived at Panama, another ship
came in, with some knights. They say that a distribution of the gold was
made; and that the share of his majesty, besides the one hundred
thousand pesos and the five thousand marcos of silver that I bring, was
another one hundred sixty-five thousand castellanos and seven thousand
or eight thousand marcos of silver; while to all those of us who had
gone, a further share of gold was sent.

After my departure, according to what the Governor writes to me, it
became known that Atahualpa had assembled troops to make war on the
Christians, and justice was done upon him. The Governor made his
brother, who was an enemy, lord in his place. Molina comes to this city,
and from him your worships may learn anything else that you may desire
to know. The shares of the troops were, to the horsemen nine thousand
castellanos, to the Governor six thousand, to me three thousand. The
Governor has derived no other profit from that land, nor has there been
deceit or fraud in the account. I say this to your worships because, if
any other statement is made, this is the truth. May our lord long guard
and prosper the magnificent persons of your worships.

Done in this city, November, 1533. At the service of your worships,

HERNANDO PIZARRO.


WILLIAM H. PRESCOTT

The clouds of the evening had passed away, and the sun rose bright on
the following morning, the most remarkable epoch in the annals of Peru.
It was Saturday, November 16, 1532. The loud cry of the trumpet called
the Spaniards to arms with the first streak of dawn; and Pizarro,
briefly acquainting them with the plan of the assault, made the
necessary dispositions.

The plaza was defended on its three sides by low ranges of buildings,
consisting of spacious halls with wide doors or vomitories opening into
the square. In these halls he stationed his cavalry in two divisions,
one under his brother Hernando, the other under De Soto. The infantry he
placed in another of the buildings, reserving twenty chosen men to act
with himself as occasion might require. Pedro de Candia, with a few
soldiers and the artillery, comprehending under this imposing name two
small pieces of ordnance called falconets, he established in the
fortress. All received orders to wait at their posts till the arrival of
the Inca. After his entrance into the great square, they were still to
remain under cover, withdrawn from observation, till the signal was
given by the discharge of a gun, when they were to cry their war-cries,
to rush out in a body from their covert, and, putting the Peruvians to
the sword, bear off the person of the Inca. The arrangements of the
immense halls, opening on a level with the plaza, seemed to be contrived
on purpose for a _coup de théâtre_. Pizarro particularly inculcated
order and implicit obedience, that in the hurry of the moment there
should be no confusion. Everything depended on their acting with
concert, coolness, and celerity.

The chief next saw that their arms were in good order, and that the
breastplates of their horses were garnished with bells, to add by their
noise to the consternation of the Indians. Refreshments were also
liberally provided, that the troops should be in condition for the
conflict. These arrangements being completed, mass was performed with
great solemnity by the ecclesiastics who attended the expedition; the
God of battles was invoked to spread his shield over the soldiers who
were fighting to extend the empire of the cross; and all joined with
enthusiasm in the chant, "_Exsurge, Domine_" ("Rise, O Lord! and judge
thine own cause"). One might have supposed them a company of martyrs
about to lay down their lives in defence of their faith, instead of a
licentious band of adventurers, meditating one of the most atrocious
acts of perfidy on the record of history; yet, whatever were the vices
of the Castilian cavalier, hypocrisy was not among the number. He felt
that he was battling for the Cross, and under this conviction, exalted
as it was at such a moment as this into the predominant impulse, he was
blind to the baser motives which mingled with the enterprise. With
feelings thus kindled to a flame of religious ardor, the soldiers of
Pizarro looked forward with renovated spirits to the coming conflict;
and the chieftain saw with satisfaction that in the hour of trial his
men would be true to their leader and themselves.

It was late in the day before any movement was visible in the Peruvian
camp, where much preparation was making to approach the Christian
quarters with due state and ceremony. A message was received from
Atahualpa, informing the Spanish commander that he should come with his
warriors fully armed, in the same manner as the Spaniards had come to
his quarters the night preceding. This was not an agreeable intimation
to Pizarro, though he had no reason, probably, to expect the contrary.
But to object might imply distrust, or perhaps disclose, in some
measure, his own designs. He expressed his satisfaction, therefore, at
the intelligence, assuring the Inca that, come as he would, he would be
received by him as a friend and brother.

It was noon before the Indian procession was on its march, when it was
seen occupying the great causeway for a long extent. In front came a
large body of attendants, whose office seemed to be to sweep away every
particle of rubbish from the road. High above the crowd appeared the
Inca, borne on the shoulders of his principal nobles, while others of
the same rank marched by the sides of his litter, displaying such a
dazzling show of ornaments on their persons that, in the language of one
of the conquerors, "they blazed like the sun." But the greater part of
the Inca's forces mustered along the fields that lined the road, and
were spread over the broad meadows as far as the eye could reach.

When the royal procession had arrived within half a mile of the city, it
came to a halt; and Pizarro saw, with surprise, that Atahualpa was
preparing to pitch his tents as if to encamp there. A messenger soon
after arrived, informing the Spaniards that the Inca would occupy his
present station the ensuing night and enter the city on the following
morning.

This intelligence greatly disturbed Pizarro, who had shared in the
general impatience of his men at the tardy movements of the Peruvians.
The troops had been under arms since daylight, the cavalry mounted, and
the infantry at their post, waiting in silence the coming of the Inca. A
profound stillness reigned throughout the town, broken only at intervals
by the cry of the sentinel from the summit of the fortress, as he
proclaimed the movements of the Indian army. Nothing, Pizarro well knew,
was so trying to the soldiers as prolonged suspense in a critical
situation like the present; and he feared lest his ardor might
evaporate, and be succeeded by that nervous feeling natural to the
bravest soul at such a crisis, and which, if not fear, is near akin to
it. He returned an answer, therefore, to Atahualpa, deprecating his
change of purpose, and adding that he had provided everything for his
entertainment, and expected him that night to sup with him.

This message turned the Inca from his purpose; and, striking his tents
again, he resumed his march, first advising the general that he should
leave the greater part of his warriors behind, and enter the place with
only a few of them, and without arms, as he preferred to pass the night
at Cajamarca. At the same time he ordered accommodations to be provided
for himself and his retinue in one of the large stone buildings, called,
from a serpent sculptured on the walls, the "House of the Serpent". No
tidings could have been more grateful to the Spaniards. It seemed as if
the Indian monarch was eager to rush into the snare that had been spread
for him! The fanatical cavalier could not fail to discern in it the
immediate finger of Providence.

It is difficult to account for this wavering conduct of Atahualpa, so
different from the bold and decided character which history ascribes to
him. There is no doubt that he made his visit to the white men in
perfect good faith, though Pizarro was probably right in conjecturing
that this amiable disposition stood on a very precarious footing. There
is as little reason to suppose that he distrusted the sincerity of the
strangers, or he would not thus unnecessarily have proposed to visit
them unarmed. His original purpose of coming with all his force was
doubtless to display his royal state, and perhaps, also, to show greater
respect for the Spaniards; but when he consented to accept their
hospitality and pass the night in their quarters, he was willing to
dispense with a great part of his armed soldiery, and visit them in a
manner that implied entire confidence in their good faith. He was too
absolute in his own empire easily to suspect; and he probably could not
comprehend the audacity with which a few men, like those now assembled
in Cajamarca, meditated an assault on a powerful monarch in the midst of
his victorious army. He did not know the character of the Spaniard.

It was not long before sunset when the van of the royal procession
entered the gates of the city. First came some hundreds of the menials,
employed to clear the path from every obstacle, and singing songs of
triumph as they came, "which, in our ears," says one of the conquerors,
"sounded like the songs of hell!" Then followed other bodies of
different ranks and dressed in different liveries. Some wore a showy
stuff, checkered white and red, like the squares of a chess-board.
Others were clad in pure white, bearing hammers or maces of silver or
copper; and the guards, together with those in immediate attendance on
the Prince, were distinguished by a rich azure livery, and a profusion
of gay ornaments, while the large pendants attached to the ears
indicated the Peruvian noble.

Elevated high above his vassals came the Inca Atahualpa, borne on a
sedan or open litter, on which was a sort of throne made of massive gold
of inestimable value. The palanquin was lined with the richly colored
plumes of tropical birds, and studded with shining plates of gold and
silver. The monarch's attire was much richer than on the preceding
evening. Round his neck was suspended a collar of emeralds of uncommon
size and brilliancy. His short hair was decorated with golden ornaments,
and the imperial _borla_ encircled his temples. The bearing of the Inca
was sedate and dignified; and from his lofty station he looked down on
the multitudes below with an air of composure, like one accustomed to
command.

As the leading lines of the procession entered the great square--larger,
says an old chronicler, than any square in Spain--they opened to the
right and left for the royal retinue to pass. Everything was conducted
with admirable order. The monarch was permitted to traverse the plaza in
silence, and not a Spaniard was to be seen. When some five or six
thousand of his people had entered the place, Atahualpa halted, and,
turning round with an inquiring look, demanded, "Where are the
strangers?"

At this moment Fray Vicente de Valverde, a Dominican friar, Pizarro's
chaplain, and afterward Bishop of Cuzco, came forward with his breviary,
or, as other accounts say, a Bible, in one hand and a crucifix in the
other, and, approaching the Inca, told him that he came by order of his
commander to expound to him the doctrines of the true faith, for which
purpose the Spaniards had come from a great distance to his country. The
friar then explained, as clearly as he could, the mysterious doctrine of
the Trinity, and, ascending high in his account, began with the creation
of man, thence passed to his fall, to his subsequent redemption by Jesus
Christ, to the Crucifixion, and the Ascension, when the Saviour left the
apostle Peter as his vicegerent upon earth.

This power had been transmitted to the successors of the apostle, good
and wise men, who, under the title of popes, held authority over all
powers and potentates on earth. One of the last of these popes had
commissioned the Spanish Emperor, the most mighty monarch in the world,
to conquer and convert the natives in this western hemisphere; and his
general, Francisco Pizarro, had now come to execute this important
mission. The friar concluded with beseeching the Peruvian monarch to
receive him kindly, to abjure the errors of his own faith and embrace
that of the Christians now proffered to him, the only one by which he
could hope for salvation; and, furthermore, to acknowledge himself a
tributary of the emperor Charles, who, in that event, would aid and
protect him as his loyal vassal.

Whether Atahualpa possessed himself of every link in the curious chain
of argument by which the monk connected Pizarro with St. Peter, may be
doubted. It is certain, however, that he must have had very incorrect
notions of the Trinity if, as Garcilasso states, the interpreter,
Felipillo, explained it by saying that "the Christians believed in three
gods and one God, and that made four." But there is no doubt he
perfectly comprehended that the drift of the discourse was to persuade
him to resign his sceptre and acknowledge the supremacy of another.

The eyes of the Indian monarch flashed fire and his dark brow grew
darker as he replied: "I will be no man's tributary! I am greater than
any prince upon earth. Your Emperor may be a great prince; I do not
doubt it when I see that he has sent his subjects so far across the
waters; and I am willing to hold him as a brother. As for the Pope of
whom you speak, he must be crazy to talk of giving away countries which
do not belong to him. For my faith," he continued, "I will not change
it. Your own God, as you say, was put to death by the very men whom he
created. But mine," he concluded, pointing to his deity--then, alas!
sinking in glory behind the mountains--"my God still lives in the
heavens and looks down on his children."

He then demanded of Valverde by what authority he had said these things.
The friar pointed to the book which he held as his authority. Atahualpa,
taking it, turned over the pages a moment; then, as the insult he had
received probably flashed across his mind, he threw it down with
vehemence and exclaimed: "Tell your comrades that they shall give me an
account of their doings in my land. I will not go from here till they
have made me full satisfaction for all the wrongs they have committed."

The friar, greatly scandalized by the indignity offered to the sacred
volume, stayed only to pick it up, and, hastening to Pizarro, informed
him of what had been done, exclaiming at the same time: "Do you not see
that, while we stand here wasting our breath in talking with this dog,
full of pride as he is, the fields are filling with Indians? Set on at
once! I absolve you." Pizarro saw that the hour had come. He waved a
white scarf in the air, the appointed signal. The fatal gun was fired
from the fortress. Then, springing into the square, the Spanish captain
and his followers shouted the old war-cry of "St. Iago and at them!"

It was answered by the battle-cry of every Spaniard in the city, as,
rushing from the avenues of the great halls in which they were
concealed, they poured into the plaza, horse and foot, each in his own
dark column, and threw themselves into the midst of the Indian crowd.
The latter, taken by surprise, stunned by the report of artillery and
muskets, the echoes of which reverberated like thunder from the
surrounding buildings, and blinded by the smoke which rolled in
sulphurous volumes along the square, were seized with a panic. They knew
not whither to fly for refuge from the coming ruin. Nobles and
commoners, all were trampled down under the fierce charge of the
cavalry, who dealt their blows right and left without sparing; while
their swords, flashing through the thick gloom, carried dismay into the
hearts of the wretched natives, who now, for the first time, saw the
horse and his rider in all their terrors.

They made no resistance, as, indeed, they had no weapons with which to
make it. Every avenue to escape was closed, for the entrance to the
square was choked up with the dead bodies of men who had perished in
vain efforts to fly; and such was the agony of the survivors under the
terrible pressure of their assailants that a large body of Indians, by
their convulsive struggles, burst through the wall of stone and dried
clay which formed part of the boundary of the plaza! It fell, leaving an
opening of more than a hundred paces, through which multitudes now found
their way into the country, still hotly pursued by the cavalry, who,
leaping the fallen rubbish, hung on the rear of the fugitives, striking
them down in all directions.

Meanwhile the fight, or rather massacre, continued hot around the Inca,
whose person was the great object of the assault. His faithful nobles,
rallying about him, threw themselves in the way of the assailants, and
strove, by tearing them from their saddles, or, at least, by offering
their own bosoms as a mark for their vengeance, to shield their beloved
master. It is said by some authorities that they carried weapons
concealed under their clothes. If so, it availed them little, as it is
not pretended that they used them. But the most timid animal will defend
itself when at bay. That they did not so in the present instance is
proof that they had no weapons to use. Yet they still continued to force
back the cavaliers, clinging to their horses with dying grasp, and, as
one was cut down, another taking the place of his fallen comrade with a
loyalty truly affecting.

The Indian monarch, stunned and bewildered, saw his faithful subjects
falling round him without hardly comprehending his situation. The litter
on which he rode heaved to and fro as the mighty press swayed backward
and forward; and he gazed on the overwhelming ruin, like some forlorn
mariner, who, tossed about in his bark by the furious elements, sees the
lightning's flash and hears the thunder bursting around him, with the
consciousness that he can do nothing to avert his fate. At length, weary
with the work of destruction, the Spaniards, as the shades of evening
grew deeper, felt afraid that the royal prize might, after all, elude
them; and some of the cavaliers made a desperate effort to end the
affray at once by taking Atahualpa's life. But Pizarro, who was nearest
his person, called out with stentorian voice, "Let no one who values his
life strike at the Inca"; and, stretching out his arm to shield him,
received a wound on the hand from one of his own men--the only wound
received by a Spaniard in the action.

The struggle now became fiercer than ever round the royal litter. It
reeled more and more, and at length, several of the nobles who supported
it having been slain, it was overturned, and the Indian prince would
have come with violence to the ground, had not his fall been broken by
the efforts of Pizarro and some other of the cavaliers, who caught him
in their arms. The imperial borla was instantly snatched from his
temples by a soldier named Estete, and the unhappy monarch, strongly
secured, was removed to a neighboring building, where he was carefully
guarded.

All attempt at resistance now ceased. The fate of the Inca soon spread
over town and country. The charm which might have held the Peruvians
together was dissolved. Every man thought only of his own safety. Even
the soldiery encamped on the adjacent fields took alarm, and, learning
the fatal tidings, were seen flying in every direction before their
pursuers, who, in the heat of triumph, showed no touch of mercy. At
length night, more pitiful than man, threw her friendly mantle over the
fugitives, and the scattered troops of Pizarro rallied once more to the
sound of the trumpet in the bloody square of Cajamarca.




CALVIN IS DRIVEN FROM PARIS

HE MAKES GENEVA THE STRONGHOLD OF PROTESTANTISM

A.D. 1533

A. M. FAIRBAIRN

JEAN M. V. AUDIN

     Among what may be called the second generation of Protestant
     reformers, the great leader was John Calvin. By his
     writings, and by his directive and administrative work, he
     exerted a strong influence upon the reformed churches in his
     own day and upon the theology and polity of later times. He
     was born in France in 1509, and while still in early
     manhood, having become familiar with classical learning,
     with law, and especially with theology, he ardently embraced
     the Protestant faith and began to preach the reformed
     doctrines.

     Calvin spent some time in Paris, then a centre of the "New
     Learning" and of religious ferment, and there he felt the
     effects of raging persecution. The publication of his great
     work, the _Institutes of the Christian Religion_, marked an
     epoch in the history of Protestantism. Though differing on
     certain points from the teachings of Luther, it was a
     powerful exposition of the Protestant faith as Calvin
     understood it, severely logical in form, and especially
     distinguished by its stern doctrines relating to divine
     sovereignty.

     When in 1536 Calvin went to live in Geneva, it was already a
     Protestant city. He became virtually its ruler and made it a
     kind of theocracy, or rather a "religious republic," which
     he administered with vigorous laws enforced with the
     greatest strictness. Zealous Protestants from many countries
     gathered at Geneva, and from there the influence of Calvin,
     somewhat modified by that of his Swiss predecessor Zwingli,
     spread rapidly into France, England, Scotland, and Germany.
     At the time of Calvin's death (1564) there were three types
     of Protestantism established in the world--his own, and
     those of Luther and Zwingli. In Great Britain, and afterward
     in America, the Calvinistic type came to play a most
     important part in religious and national development.

     Two estimates of Calvin, the first from a Protestant point
     of view, the second that of a Roman Catholic writer, are
     here presented.


A. M. FAIRBAIRN

In 1528 Calvin's father, perhaps illuminated by the disputes in his
cathedral chapter, discovered that the law was a surer road to wealth
and honor than the church, and decided that his son should leave
theology for jurisprudence. The son, nothing loath, obeyed, and left
Paris for Orleans, possibly, as he descended the steps of the Collège de
Montaigu, brushing shoulders with a Spanish freshman named Ignatius
Loyola. In Orleans Calvin studied law under Pierre de l'Estoile, who is
described as _jurisconsultorum Gallorum facile princeps_, and as
eclipsing in classical knowledge Reuchlin, Aleander, and Erasmus; and
Greek under Wolmar, in whose house he met for the first time Theodore
Beza, then a boy about ten years of age.

After a year in Orleans he went to Bourges, attracted by the fame of the
Italian jurist Alciati, whose ungainliness of body and speech and vanity
of mind his students loved to satirize and even by occasional rebellion
to chasten. In 1531 Gérard Calvin died and his son, in 1532, published
his first work, a commentary on Seneca's _de Clementia_. His purpose has
been construed by the light of his late career; and some have seen in
the book a veiled defence of the Huguenot martyrs, others a cryptic
censure of Francis I, and yet others a prophetic dissociation of himself
from Stoicism. But there is no mystery in the matter; the work is that
of a scholar who has no special interest in either theology or the
Bible. This may be statistically illustrated: Calvin cites twenty-two
Greek authors and fifty-five Latin, the quotations being most abundant
and from many books; but in his whole treatise there are only three
Biblical texts expressly cited, and those from the Vulgate.

The man is cultivated and learned, writes elegant Latin, is a good judge
of Latinity, criticises like any modern the mind and style, the
knowledge and philosophy, the manner, the purpose, and the ethical ideas
of Seneca; but the passion for religion has not as yet penetrated as it
did later into his very bones. Erasmus is in Calvin's eyes the ornament
of letters, though his large edition of Seneca is not all it ought to
have been; but even Erasmus could not at twenty-three have produced a
work so finished in its scholarship, so real in its learning, or so wide
in its outlook.

The events of the next few months are obscure, but we know enough to see
how forces, internal and external, were working toward change. In the
second half of 1532 and the earlier half of 1533 Calvin was in Orleans,
studying, teaching, practising the law, and acting in the university as
proctor for the Picard nation; then he went to Noyon, and in October he
was once more in Paris. The capital was agitated; Francis was absent,
and his sister, Margaret of Navarre, held her court there, favoring the
new doctrines, encouraging the preachers, the chief among them being her
own almoner, Gérard Roussel.

Two letters of Calvin to Francis Daniel belong to this date and place;
and in them we find a changed note. One speaks of "the troublous times,"
and the other narrates two events: first, it describes a play "pungent
with gall and vinegar," which the students had performed in the College
of Navarre to satirize the Queen; and secondly, the action of certain
factious theologians who had prohibited Margaret's _Mirror of a Sinful
Soul_. She had complained to the King, and he had intervened. The matter
came before the university, and Nicolas Cop, the rector, had spoken
strongly against the arrogant doctors and in defence of the Queen,
"mother of all the virtues and of all good learning." Le Clerc, a parish
priest, the author of the mischief, defended his performance as a task
to which he had been formally appointed, praising the King, the Queen as
woman and as author, contrasting her book with "such an obscene
production" as _Pantagruel_, and finally saying that the book had been
published without the approval of the faculty and was set aside only as
"liable to suspicion."

Two or three days later, on November 1, 1533, came the famous rectorial
address which Calvin wrote, and Cop revised and delivered, and which
shows how far the humanist had travelled since April 4, 1532, the date
of the _de Clementia_. He is now alive to the religious question, though
he has not carried it to its logical and practical conclusion. Two fresh
influences have evidently come into his life, the New Testament of
Erasmus and certain sermons by Luther. The exordium of the address
reproduces, almost literally, some sentences from Erasmus' _Paraclesis_,
including those which unfold his idea of the _philosophia Christiana_;
while the body of it repeats Luther's exposition of the beatitudes and
his distinction between law and gospel, with the involved doctrines of
grace and faith. Yet "_Ave gratia plena_" is retained in the exordium;
and at the end the peace-makers are praised, who follow the example of
Christ and contend not with the sword, but with the word of truth.

This address enables us to seize Calvin in the very act and article of
change; he has come under a double influence. Erasmus has compelled him
to compare the ideal of Christ with the church of his own day; and
Luther has given him a notion of grace which has convinced his reason
and taken possession of his imagination. He has thus ceased to be a
humanist and a papist, but has not yet become a reformer. And a reformer
was precisely what his conscience, his country, and his reason compelled
him to become. Francis was flagrantly immoral, but a fanatic in
religion; and mercy was not a virtue congenial to either church or
state. Calvin had seen the Protestants from within; he knew their
honesty, their honor, the purity of their motives, and the integrity of
their lives; and he judged, as a jurist would, that a man who had all
the virtues of citizenship ought not to be oppressed and treated as
unfit for civil office or even as a criminal by the state. This is no
conjecture, for it is confirmed by the testimony he bears to the
influence exercised over him by the martyred Étienne de la Forge. He
thus saw that a changed mind meant a changed religion, and a changed
religion a change of abode. Cop had to flee from Paris, and so had
Calvin.

In the May of 1534 he went to Noyon, laid down his offices, was
imprisoned, liberated, and while there he seems to have finally
renounced Catholicism. But he feared the forces of disorder which lurked
in Protestantism, and which seemed embodied in the Anabaptists. Hence at
Orleans he composed a treatise against one of their favorite beliefs,
the sleep of the soul between death and judgment. Conscious personal
being was in itself too precious, and in the sight of God too sacred, to
be allowed to suffer even a temporary lapse. But to serve the cause he
loved was impossible with the stake waiting for him, its fires scorching
his face, and kindly friends endangered by his presence. And so, in the
winter of 1534, he retired from France and settled at Basel.

Now a city where Protestantism reigned, where learning flourished, and
where men so unlike as Erasmus and Farel--the fervid preacher of
reform--could do their work unhindered, was certain to make a deep
impression on a fugitive harassed and expatriated on account of
religion; and the impression it made can be read in the _Christianæ
Religionis Institutio_, and especially in the prefatory _Letter to
Francis I_. The _Institutio_ is Calvin's positive interpretation of the
Christian religion: the _Letter_ is learned, eloquent, elegant,
dignified, the address of a subject to his sovereign, yet of a subject
who knows that his place in the state is as legal, though not as
authoritative, as the sovereign's. It throbs with a noble indignation
against injustice, and with a noble enthusiasm for freedom and truth. It
is one of the great epistles of the world, a splendid apology for the
oppressed and arraignment of the oppressors. It does not implore
toleration as a concession, but claims freedom as a right.

Its author is a young man of but twenty-six, yet he speaks with the
gravity of age. He tells the King that his first duty is to be just;
that to punish unheard is but to inflict violence and perpetrate fraud.
Those for whom he speaks are, though simple and godly men, yet charged
with crimes that, were they true, ought to condemn them to a thousand
fires and gibbets. These charges the King is bound to investigate, for
he is a minister of God, and if he fails to serve the God whose minister
he is, then he is a robber and no king.

Then he asks, "Who are our accusers?" and he turns on the priests like a
new Erasmus, who does not, like the old, delight in satire for its own
sake or in a literature which scourges men by holding up the mirror to
vice, but who feels the sublimity of virtue so deeply that witticisms at
the expense of vice are abhorrent to him. He takes up the charges in
detail: it is said that the doctrine is new, doubtful, and uncertain,
unconfirmed by miracles, opposed to the fathers and ancient custom,
schismatical and productive of schism, and that its fruits are sects,
seditions, license. On no point is he so emphatic as the repudiation of
the personal charges: the people he pleads for have never raised their
voice in faction or sought to subvert law and order; they fear God
sincerely and worship him in truth, praying even in exile for the royal
person and house.

The book which this address to the King introduces is a sketch or
programme of reform in religion. The first edition of the _Institutio_
is distinguished from all later editions by the emphasis it lays, not on
dogma, but on morals, on worship, and on polity. Calvin conceives the
Gospel as a new law which ought to be embodied in a new life, individual
and social. What came later to be known as Calvinism may be stated in an
occasional sentence or implied in a paragraph, but it is not the
substance or determinative idea of the book. The problem discussed has
been set by the studies and the experience of the author; he has read
the New Testament as a humanist learned in the law, and he has been
startled by the contrast between its ideal and the reality which
confronts him. And he proceeds in a thoroughly juridical fashion, just
as Tertullian before him, and as Grotius and Selden after him. Without a
document he can decide nothing; he needs a written law or actual custom;
and his book falls into divisions which these suggest.

Hence his first chapter is concerned with duty or conduct as prescribed
by the Ten Commandments; his second with faith as contained in the
apostolic symbol; his third with prayer as fixed by the words of Christ;
his fourth with the sacrament as given in the Scriptures; his fifth with
the false sacraments as defined by tradition and enforced by Catholic
custom; and his sixth with Christian liberty or the relation of the
ecclesiastical and civil authorities. But though the book is, as
compared with what it became later, limited in scope and contents--the
last edition which left the author's hand in 1559 had grown from a work
in six chapters to one in four books and eighty chapters--yet its
constructive power, its critical force, its large outlook impress the
student. We have here none of Luther's scholasticism, or of
Melanchthon's deft manipulation of incompatible elements; but we have
the first thoughts on religion of a mind trained by ancient literature
to the criticism of life.

The _Institutio_ bears the date "_Mense Martio; Anno_ 1536"; but Calvin,
without waiting till his book was on the market, made a hurried journey
to Ferrara, whose Duchess, Renée, a daughter of Louis XII, stood in
active sympathy with the reformers. The reasons for this brief visit are
very obscure; but it may have been undertaken in the hope of mitigating,
by the help of Renée, the severity of the persecutions in France. On his
return Calvin ventured, tradition says, to Noyon, probably for the sake
of family affairs; but he certainly reached Paris; and, while in the
second half of July making his way into Germany, he arrived at Geneva.
An old friend, possibly Louis du Tillet, discovered him, and told Farel;
and Farel, in sore straits for a helper, besought him, and indeed in the
name of the Almighty commanded him, to stay. Calvin was reluctant, for
he was reserved and shy, and conceived his vocation to be the scholar's
rather than the preacher's; but the entreaties of Farel, half tearful,
half minatory, prevailed. And thus Calvin's connection with Geneva
began.

Calvin's life from this point onward falls into three parts: his first
stay in Geneva from July, 1536, to March, 1538; his residence in
Strasburg from September, 1538, to September, 1541; and his second stay
in Geneva from the last date till his death, May 27, 1564. In the first
period, he, in company with Farel, made an attempt to organize the
church and reform the mind and manners of Geneva, and failed; his exile,
formally voted by the council, was the penalty of his failure. In the
second period he was professor of theology and French preacher at
Strasburg, a trusted divine and adviser, a delegate to the Protestant
churches of Germany, which he learned to know better, making the
acquaintance of Melanchthon, and becoming more appreciative of Luther.

At Strasburg some of his best literary work was done--his _Letter to
Cardinal Sadoleto_ (in its way his most perfect production), his
_Commentary on the Romans_, a _Treatise on the Lord's Supper_, the
second Latin and the first French edition of his _Institutio_. In the
third period he introduced and completed his legislation at Geneva,
taught, preached, and published there, watched the churches everywhere,
and conducted the most extensive correspondence of his day. In these
twenty-eight years he did a work which changed the face of Christendom.

We come then to Calvin's legislative achievements as his main title to
name and fame. But two points must here be noted. In the first place,
while his theology was less original and effective than his legislation
or polity, yet he so construed the former as to make the latter its
logical and indeed inevitable outcome. The polity was a deduction from
the theology, which may be defined as a science of the divine will as a
moral will, aiming at the complete moralization of man, whether as a
unit or as a society. The two were thus so organically connected that
each lent strength to the other, the system to the church and the church
to the system, while other and more potently reasonable theologies
either died or lived a feeble and struggling life.

Secondly, the legislation was made possible and practicable by Geneva,
probably the only place in Europe where it could have been enacted and
enforced. We have learned enough concerning Genevan history and
institutions to understand why this should have been the case. The city
was small, free, homogeneous, distinguished by a strong local
patriotism, a stalwart communal life. In obedience to these instincts it
had just emancipated itself from the ecclesiastical Prince and its
ancient religious system; and the change thus accomplished was, though
disguised in a religious habit, yet essentially political. For the
council which abolished the bishop had made itself heir to his faculties
and functions; it could only dismiss him as civil lord by dismissing him
as the ecclesiastical head of Geneva, and in so doing it assumed the
right to succeed as well as to supersede him in both capacities.

This, however, involved a notable inversion of old ideas; before the
change the ecclesiastical authority had been civil, but because of the
change the civil authority became ecclesiastical. If theocracy means the
rule of the church or the sovereignty of the clergy in the state, then
the ancient constitution of Geneva was theocratic; if democracy means
the sovereignty of the people in church as well as in state, then the
change had made it democratic. And it was just after the change had been
effected that Calvin's connection with the city began.

Its chief pastor had persuaded him to stay as a colleague, and the
council appointed him professor and preacher. He was young, exactly
twenty-seven years of age, full of high ideals, but inexperienced,
unacquainted with men, without any knowledge of Geneva and the state of
things there. He could therefore make no terms, could only stay to do
his duty. What that duty was soon became apparent. Geneva had not become
any more moral in character because it had changed its mind in religion.
It had two months before Calvin's arrival sworn to live according to the
holy evangelical law and Word of God; but it did not seem to understand
its own oath. And the man whom his intellectual sincerity and moral
integrity had driven out of Catholicism could not hold office in any
church which made light of conviction and conduct; and so he at once set
himself to organize a church that should be efficaciously moral.

He built on the ancient Genevan idea, that the city is a church; only he
wished to make the church to be primary and real. The theocracy, which
had been construed as the reign of the clergy, he would interpret as
ideal and realize as a reign of God. The citizens, who had assumed
control of their own spiritual destinies and ecclesiastical affairs, he
wanted to instruct in their responsibilities and discipline into
obedience. And he would do it in the way of a jurist who believes in the
harmony of law and custom; he would by positive enactments train the
city, which conceived itself to be a church, to be and behave as if it
were indeed a church, living according to the gospel which it had sworn
to obey.

Thus a confession of faith was drawn up which the people were to adopt
as their own, and so attain clarity and concordance of mind concerning
God and his Word; and a catechism was composed which was to be made the
basis of religious instruction in both the school and the family, for
the citizen as well as the child. Worship was to be carefully regulated,
psalm-books prepared, psalm-singing cultivated; the preacher was to
interpret the Word, and the pastor to supervise the flock.

The Lord's Supper was to be celebrated monthly, but only those who were
morally fit or worthy were to be allowed to communicate. The church, in
order that it might fulfil its functions and guard the holy table, must
have the right of excommunication. It was not enough that a man should
be a citizen or a councillor to be admitted to the Lord's Supper; his
mind must be Christian and his conduct Christlike. Without faith the
rite was profaned, the presence of Christ was not realized. Moreover,
since matrimonial cases were many and infelicity sprang both from
differences of faith and impurity of conduct, a board, composed partly
of magistrates and partly of ministers, was to be appointed to deal with
them; and it was to have the power to exclude from the church those who
either did not believe its doctrines or did not obey its commandments.

These were drastic proposals to be made to a city which had just
dismissed its bishop, attained political freedom, and proclaimed a
reformation of religion; and Calvin was not the man to leave them
inoperative. A card-player was pilloried; a tire-woman, a mother, and
two bridesmaids were arrested because they had adorned the bride too
gayly; an adulterer was driven with the partner of his guilt through the
streets by the common hangman, and then banished. These things taxed the
temper of the city sorely; it was not unfamiliar with legislation of the
kind, but it had not been accustomed to see it enforced. Hence, men who
came to be known as "libertines," though they were both patriotic and
moral and only craved freedom, rose and said: "This is an intolerable
tyranny; we will not allow any man to be lord over our consciences." And
about the same time Calvin's orthodoxy was challenged. Two Anabaptists
arrived and demanded liberty to prophesy; and Peter Caroli charged him
with heresy as to the Trinity. He would not use the Athanasian creed;
and he defended himself by reasons that the scholar who knows its
history will respect. The end soon came. When he heard that he had been
sentenced to banishment he said, "If I had served men this would have
been a poor reward, but I have served Him who never fails to perform
what he has promised."

In 1541 Geneva recalled Calvin, and he obeyed as one who goes to fulfil
an imperative but unwelcome duty. There is nothing more pathetic in the
literature of the period than his hesitancies and fears. He tells Farel
that he would rather die a hundred times than again take up that cross
"_in qua millies quotidie pereundum esset_." And he writes to Viret that
it were better to perish once for all than "_in illa carnificina iterum
torqueri_." But he loved Geneva, and it was in evil case. Rome was
plotting to reclaim it; Savoy was watching her opportunity, the patriots
feared to go forward, and even the timid dared not go back. So the
necessities of the city, divided between its factions and its foes,
constituted an appeal which Calvin could not resist; but he did not
yield unconditionally. He went back as the legislator who was to frame
laws for its church; and he so adapted them to the civil constitution
and the constitution to them, that he raised the little city of Geneva
to be the Protestant Rome.

The _Ordonnances ecclésiastiques_ may be described as Calvin's programme
of Genevan reform, or his method for applying to the local and external
church the government which our Lord had instituted and the Apostles had
realized. These ordinances expressed his historical sense and gratified
his religious temper, while adapting the church to the city, so that the
city might become a better church. To explain in detail how he proposed
to do this is impossible within our limits; and we shall therefore
confine ourselves to the most important of the factors he created, the
ministry.

The ministerial ideal embodied in these ecclesiastical ordinances may be
said to have had certain indirect but international results; it
compelled Calvin to develop his system of education; it supplied the
reformed church, especially in France, with the men which it needed to
fight its battles and to form the iron in its blood; it presented the
reformed church everywhere with an intellectual and educational ideal,
which must be realized if its work was to be done; and it created the
modern preacher, defining the sphere of his activity and setting up for
his imitation a noble and lofty example.

Calvin soon found that the reformed faith could live in a democratic
city only by an enlightened pulpit speaking to enlightened citizens, and
that an educated ministry was helpless without an educated people. His
method for creating both entitles him to rank among the foremost makers
of modern education. As a humanist he believed in the classical
languages and literatures--there is a tradition which says that he read
through Cicero once a year--and so "he built his system on the solid
rock of Græco-Roman antiquity." Yet he did not neglect religion; he so
trained the boys of Geneva through his catechism that each was said to
be able to give a reason for his faith "like a doctor of the Sorbonne."
He believed in the unity of knowledge and the community of learning,
placing the magistrate and the minister, the citizen and the pastor, in
the hands of the same teacher, and binding the school and the university
together. The boy learned in the one and the man studied in the other,
but the school was the way to the university, the university was the
goal of the school.

In nothing does the pedagogic genius of Calvin more appear than in his
fine jealousy as to the character and competence whether of masters or
professors, and in his unwearied quest after qualified men. His letters
teem with references to the men in various lands and many universities
whom he was seeking to bring to Geneva. The first rector, Antoine
Saunier, was a notable man; and he never rested till he had secured his
dear old teacher, Mathurin Cordier. Castellio was a schoolmaster;
Theodore Beza was head of college and academy, or school and university,
together; and Calvin himself was a professor of theology. The success of
the college was great; the success of the academy was greater. Men came
from all quarters--English, Italians, Spanish, Germans, Russians,
ministers, jurists, old men, young men, all with the passion to learn in
their blood--to jostle each other among the thousand hearers who met to
listen to the great reformer. But France was the main feeder of the
academy; Frenchmen filled its chairs, occupied its benches, learned in
it the courage to live and the will to die. From Geneva books poured
into France; and the French church was ever appealing for ministers, yet
never appealed in vain.

Within eleven years, 1555-1566--Calvin died in 1564--it is known that
Geneva sent one hundred sixty-one pastors into France; how many more may
have gone unrecorded we cannot tell. And they were learned men,
strenuous, fearless, praised by a French bishop as modest, grave,
saintly, with the name of Jesus Christ ever on their lips. Charles IX
implored the magistrates of Geneva to stop the supply and withdraw the
men already sent; but the magistrates replied that the preachers had
been sent not by them, but by their ministers, who believed that the
sovereign duty of all princes and kings was to do homage to Him who had
given to them their dominion. It was small wonder that the Venetian
Suriano should describe Geneva as "the mine whence came the ore of
heresy"; or that the Protestants should gather courage as they heard the
men from Geneva sing psalms in the face of torture and death.

It was indeed a very different France which the eyes of the dying Calvin
saw from that which the young man had seen thirty years before.
Religious hate was even more bitter and vindictive; war had come and
made persecution more ferocious; but the Huguenots had grown numerous,
potent, respected, feared, and disputed with Catholicism the supremacy
of the kingdom. And Calvin had done it, not by arms nor by threats, nor
by encouragement of sedition or insurrection--to such action he was ever
resolutely opposed--but by the agency of the men whom he formed in
Geneva, and by their persuasive speech. The reformed minister was
essentially a preacher, intellectual, exegetical, argumentative,
seriously concerned with the subjects that most appealed to the
serious-minded.

Modern oratory may be said to begin with him, and indeed to be his
creation. He helped to make the vernacular tongues of Western Europe
literary. He accustomed the people to hear the gravest and most sacred
themes discussed in the language which they knew; and the themes
ennobled the language, the language was never allowed to degrade the
themes. And there was no tongue and no people that he influenced more
than the French. Calvin made Bossuet and Massillon possible; as a
preacher he found his successor in Bourdaloue; and a literary critic who
does not love him has expressed a doubt as to whether Pascal could be
more eloquent or was so profound. And the ideal then realized in Geneva
exercised an influence far beyond France. It extended into Holland,
which in the strength of the reformed faith resisted Charles V and his
son, achieved independence, and created the freest and best educated
state on the continent of Europe.

John Knox breathed for a while the atmosphere of Geneva, was subdued
into the likeness of the man who had made it, and when he went home he
copied its education and tried to repeat its reformation. English
reformers, fleeing from martyrdom, found a refuge within its hospitable
walls, and, returning to England, attempted to establish a Genevan
discipline, and failed, but succeeded in forming the Puritan character.
If the author of the _Ordonnances ecclésiastiques_ accomplished, whether
directly or indirectly, so much, we need not hesitate to term him a
notable friend to civilization.


JEAN M. V. AUDIN

When the sword of the law fell upon one of his followers, the voice of
Luther was magnificent; it exclaimed, in the ears of emperors, kings,
and dukes, "You have shed the blood of the just," and then the Saxon, in
honor of the martyr, extemporized a hymn which was chanted in the very
face of the civil power:

    "In the Low Countries, at Brussels,
    The Lord his greatness hath displayed,
    In the death of two of his loved children
    On whom grand gifts he had bestowed."

Calvin had not the courage to imitate Luther. He has told us that he
wanted courage; he again repeats it: he says that he, a plebeian,
trifling as a man, and having but little learning, has nothing in him
which could deserve celebrity. And yet he essayed a timid protest in
favor of certain Huguenots who had been burned on the public square.
"The work," says Prince Masson, "of a double-faced writer, a Catholic in
his writings and a Lutheran in his bedchamber."

This is his first book. It is entitled _de Clementia_ (or _Treatise on
Clemency_), and is a paraphrase of some Latin writer of the decline.
Moreover, this is the first time that a commentator is ignorant of the
life of him whose work he publishes. Calvin has confounded the two
Senecas, the father and the son; the rhetorician and the philosopher, of
both of whom he makes but one literary personage, living the very
patriarchal life of more than one hundred fifteen years.

We must pardon Varillas for having, with sufficient acrimony, brought
into relief this mistake of the biographer of Seneca the philosopher,
and not, like the historians of the Reformation, become vexed at the
proud tone of the French historian. Had the fault been committed by a
Catholic, where is the Protestant who would not have done the same thing
as Varillas?

The literary work which Calvin, in the shape of a commentary, has
interwoven with the treatise of Seneca is a production not unworthy a
literator of the revival; it is an amplification, which one would have
supposed to have been written in the cell of a Benedictine monk, so
numerous are the citations, so great is the display of erudition, so
replete is it with the names, Greek and Latin, of poets, historians,
moralists, rhetoricians, philosophers, and philologists.

Calvin is a coquettish student, who loves to parade his reading and his
memory. His work is a gallery, open to all the modern and ancient
glories of literature, whom the commentator calls to his aid, often for
the elucidation of a doubtful passage. The young rhetorician glorifies
his country, and when upon his march he encounters some historic name,
by which his idea can be illustrated, he hastens to proclaim it, with
all its titles to admiration. He there salutes Budé in magnificent
terms: "Budé, the glory and pillar of human learning, thanks to whom,
at this day, France can claim the palm of erudition." The portrait
which he draws of Seneca is the production of a practised pen: "Seneca,
whose pure and polished phrase savors, in some sort, of his age; his
diction florid and elegant; his style, without labor or restraint, moves
on, free and unembarrassed." It may be seen that the student had the
honor to study under Mathurin Cordier and to attend the lectures of
Alciati; but, after all, his book is but a defective allegory; for what
reader could have divined that the writer designed to represent Francis
I, under the name of Nero, as addressed by the Cordovan? The treatise
could produce no sensation, and, like the work of Seneca, must be
shipwrecked in that sea of the passions which, at the two epochs, raged
around both writers.

Calvin experienced much trouble in having his Latin commentary printed;
he was in need of funds, and the revenues of his benefice of Pont
l'Evêque were insufficient to defray the expense of printing. How could
he apply to the Mommor family? Moreover, he was in dread that his book
should prove a failure and thereby injure his budding reputation. All
these alarms of a maiden author are set forth in various letters which
he addressed on this subject to the dear friends of his bosom.

"Behold my books of Seneca concerning clemency, printed at my own
expense and labor! They must now be sold, in order that I may again
obtain the money which I have expended. I must also watch that my
reputation does not suffer. You will oblige me, then, by informing me
how the work has been received, whether with favor or indifference." The
whole anxiety of the poor author is to lose nothing by the enterprise;
his purse is empty; it needs replenishing; and he urges the professors
to give circulation to the treatise; he solicits one of his friends at
Bourges, a member of the university, to bring it forward in his
lectures; and appeals to the aid of Daniel, to whom he sent a hundred
copies. Papire Masson was mistaken: the commentary on clemency did not
first appear, as he supposes, under the title of _Lucius Calvinus, civis
Romanus_, but under that of _Calvinus_, a name ever after retained by
the reformer.

This treatise introduced Calvin to the notice of the learned world:
Bucer, Capito, Padius, sent congratulations to the writer; Calvin, in
September, 1532, had sent a copy of his work to Bucer, who was then at
Strasburg. The person commissioned to present it was a poor young man,
suspected of Anabaptism, and a refugee from France. Calvin's letter of
recommendation is replete with tender compassion for the miseries of the
sinner. "My dear Bucer," he writes, "you will not be deaf to my
entreaties, you will not disregard my tears; I implore you, to come to
the aid of the proscribed, be a father to the orphan."

This was sending the sick man to a sad physician. Bucer, by turns
Catholic, Lutheran, Anabaptist, Zwinglian! Besides, why this proselytism
of a moral _curé_? The exile was Anabaptist by the same title as Calvin
was predestinarian, in virtue of a text of Scripture: "Go; whoever shall
believe and be baptized will be saved." The Anabaptist believed in the
inefficacy of baptism without faith manifested by an external act; but
is not Calvin, at this very hour, as much to be pitied as the
Anabaptist? He also doubted, searched, and interrogated his Bible, and
imagined that he had caught the meaning of a letter which no
intelligence before him had been able to seize. And what was this truth,
the conquest of which infused such fear into his soul that, before he
could announce it to the world, he sold his charge of Pont l'Evêque and
even his paternal inheritance?

In the year 1531 John Calvin presented himself before Simon Legendre and
Peter le Roy, royal notaries at Paris, to invest his brothers with
powers of attorney to sell what had been left him by his father and
mother.

"To all to whom these present letters shall come; John de la Barre,
Chevalier Count d'Estampes, Governor of Paris and chief of the judicial
tribunal of said city, greeting: We make known that before Simon
Legendre and Peter le Roy, notaries of our lord the King, at Paris, came
in person Master John Calvin, licentiate at law, and Anthony Cauvin, his
brother, clerk, living at Paris, and sons of Gérard Cauvin--while yet
alive, secretary of M. the Bishop of Noyon--and of Jeanne le Franc, his
wife; who jointly and severally make, name, ordain, appoint, and
establish as their general agent and special attorney Master Charles
Cauvin, their brother, to whom bearing these present letters they grant,
and by these presents do give, full power and right to sell, concede,
and alienate, to whatever person or persons the two undivided thirds
belonging to the aforesaid constituents, coming to them in proper right
of succession by the demise of the aforesaid deceased Jeanne le Franc,
their mother; also the fourth undivided part of a piece of meadow,
containing fourteen acres or thereabouts, situated in the territory of
Noyon, and pertaining on one part to the wood of Chastelain; on another,
to the monks and sisters of the Hôtel-Dieu of St. John, at Noyon; on
another, to the nuns and abbess of the French convent, the Abbey aux
Bois, and to the chapter of the church of Notre Dame, of the said city,
and running up to the highway passing from Noyon to Genury; to make sale
and alienation of the same, for such price and at such costs as the
aforesaid Master Charles Cauvin, their brother, shall judge for the
better; to collect the money and give security, with lien upon all their
future possessions.

"Done, and passed, on Wednesday, the fifteenth day of February, in the
year 1531."

Some short time after this, Calvin resigned his charge of the Chapel de
la Gesine to Anthony de la Marlière, _Mediante pretio conventionis_, for
the sum agreed on, says the act of transfer, and also surrendered his
benefice of Pont l'Evêque for a similar consideration.

The storm was gathering. Calvin wished to expose to its fury some other
head than his own, and chose that of Nicolas Cop, rector of the
Sorbonne, at Paris. Cop was a German of Basel, who was captivated with
the student because of his ready speech, his airs of virtue, his
scriptural knowledge, his railleries against the monks, and his ridicule
of the university. As to the rest, he was a man of a dull, heavy mind,
understood nothing of theological subjects, and would have been much
better placed in a refectory than in a learned body; at table than in
the professor's chair. Cop had to pronounce his usual discourse on All
Saints' Day, in presence of the Sorbonne and the university. He had
recourse to Calvin, who set to work and "built him up a discourse," says
Beza--"an oration quite different from those which were customary." The
Sorbonne and university did not assist at the discourse, but only some
Franciscans, who appeared to be scandalized at certain propositions of
the orator, and among others at one concerning justification by faith
alone in Christ--an old error, which, for many ages, has been trailed
along in all the writings of heretics; often dead and resuscitated--and
which Calvin, in Cop's discourse, dressed out in tinsel in order to give
it some appearance of novelty. But our Franciscans had sight and hearing
equally as good; they detected the heresy easily, and denounced to the
parliament the evil-sounding propositions, which they had taken pains to
note down in writing. Cop was greatly embarrassed by his new glory; he
had not expected so much fame. He, however, held up well and convoked
the university at the Mathurins. The university assembled in a body in
order to judge the cause. The rector there commenced a discourse, drawn
up by Calvin, in which he formally denied having preached the
propositions denounced, with the exception of one only, precisely the
worst, that concerning justification. Imagine the tumult which the
orator excited! Scarcely could he make himself heard, and ask mercy. The
old Sorbonnists shuddered on their benches. The unfortunate Cop would
have been seized had he not made his escape, to return no more.

The student kept himself concealed at the Collège du Forbet, which was
already surrounded by a body of archers headed by John Morin. Calvin was
warned of their approach. "He escaped through a window, concealed
himself in the suburb St. Victor, at the house of a vine-dresser,
changed his clothes, assumed the long gown of the vine-dresser, and,
placing a wallet of white linen and a rake on his shoulders, he took the
road to Noyon." A canon of that city, who was on his way to Paris, met
the _curé_ of Pont l'Evêque and recognized him.

"Where are you going, Master John," he demanded, "in this fine
disguise?"

"Where God shall please," answered Calvin, who then began to explain the
motive and reasons of his disguise. "And would you not do better to
return to Noyon and to God?" asked the canon, looking at him sadly.
Calvin was a moment silent, then, taking the priest's hand--"Thank you,"
said he, "but it is too late."

During this colloquy the lieutenant was searching Calvin's papers, and
secured those which might have compromised the friends of the fugitive.

Calvin found a refuge with the Queen of Navarre, who was fortunate
enough to reconcile her _protégé_ with the court and the university. The
person whom she employed to effect this was an adroit man who had
succeeded in deceiving the government. Francis I based his glory upon
the patronage and encouragement which he accorded to learning, and
Calvin, as a man of letters, merited consideration. The King needed some
forgiveness for serious political faults, and, with reason, he believed
that the humanists would redeem his character before the people. He was
at once the protector and the slave of the _literati_.

At that period the little court of Nérac was the asylum of writers, who,
like Desperriers, there prepared their _Cymbalum Mundi_; of gallant
ladies, who composed love-tales, of which they were often the heroines
themselves; of poets, who extemporized odes after Beza's model; of
clerics and other gentry of the Church, who entertained packs of
hunting-dogs, and courtesans; of Italian play-actors, who, in the
Queen's theatre, presented comedies taken from the New Testament, in
which Jesus was made to utter horrible things against monks and nuns; or
of princes, who, like the Queen's husband, scarcely knew how to read,
and yet discoursed, like doctors, about doctrine and discipline.

It was against Roussel, the confessor of Margaret, that Calvin, at a
later date, composed his _Adversus Nicodemitas_. At Nérac he found Le
Fevre d'Etaples, who had fled the wrath of the Sorbonne, and who
"regarded the young man with a benignant eye, predicting that he was to
become the author of the restoration of the Church in France." Le Fevre
recalls to our mind that priest about whom Mathesius tells us, who said
to Luther, when sick: "My child, you will not die; God has great designs
in your regard." As to the rest, James le Fevre d'Etaples was a
sufficiently charitable and honest man. He died a Catholic, and very
probably without ever having prophesied in the terms mentioned by Beza.

It does not appear that Margaret enjoined the law of silence upon her
guest of Noyon, for we find him disseminating his errors in Saintonge,
where many laborers flocked to hear him and abandoned Catholicism to
embrace the Reformation. It was while on one of his excursions that the
missionary encountered Louis du Tillet, clerk of the Parliament of
Paris and secretary of Du Tillet, Bishop of Meaux. Louis possessed a
beautiful dwelling at Claix, a sort of Thebais, retired and pleasant,
where Calvin commenced his most serious work, _Institutes of the
Christian Religion_. The time he could spare from this literary
occupation he devoted to preaching in the neighboring cities, and
especially at Angoulême. A vine, beneath which he loved to recline and
muse, may still be seen; it was for a long time called "Calvin's vine."
He was still living on the last bounties of a church which he had
renounced, and which he called "a stepmother and a prostitute"; and on
the presents of a queen gallant, whose morals and piety he lauded,
continuing to assist at the Catholic service, and composing Latin
orations, which were delivered out of the assembly of the synod, at the
temple of St. Peter. He left the court of Margaret and reappeared at
Orleans.

The Reformation in France, as in Germany, wherever it showed itself,
produced, on all sides, disorder and trouble. In place of a uniform
symbol, it brought contradictory confessions, which gave rise to
interminable disputes. In Germany the Lutheran word caused a thousand
sects to spring up--each of which wished to establish a Christian
republic on the ruins of Catholicism. Carlstadt, Schwenkfield,
Oecolampadius, Zwingli, Munzer, Boskold, begotten by Luther, had
denied their father, and taught heterogeneous dogmas, of which every one
passed for the production of the Holy Ghost. Luther, who no longer
concealed himself beneath a monk's robe, but borrowed the ducal sword,
drove before him all these rebel angels, and, at the gate of Wittenberg,
stationed an executioner to prohibit their entrance; driven back into
the provinces, the dissenters appealed to open force. Germany was then
inundated with the blood of her noble intelligences, who had been born
for her glory.

Munzer died on the scaffold, and the Anabaptists marched to punishment,
denying and cursing the Saxon who did violence to their faith.
Everything was perishing--painting, sculpture, poesy, letters. The
Reformation imitated Nero, and sang its triumphs amid ruins and blood.

In France it was destined soon to excite similar tempests. It had
already troubled the Church. It no longer, as before, sheltered itself
beneath the shades of night to propagate its doctrines. It erected, by
the side of the Catholic pulpit, another pulpit, from which its dogmas
were defended by its disciples; it led its partisans at court, among the
clergy, in the universities and in the parliaments. Calvin's book, _de
Clementia_, gained him a large number of proselytes: his disciples had
an austere air, downcast eyes, pale faces, emaciated cheeks--all the
signs of labor and sufferings. They mingled little with the world,
avoided female conversation, the court, and shows; the Bible was their
book of predilection; they spoke, like the Saviour, in apologues. They
were termed Christians of the primitive Church. To resemble these, they
only needed the very essence of Christianity; namely, faith, hope, and
charity.

To be convinced that their symbol was as diversified as their faces, it
was only necessary to hear them speak; some taught the sleep of the
soul, after this life, till the day of the last judgment; others, the
necessity of a second baptism. Among them there were Lutherans, who
believed in the real presence, and Zwinglians, who rejected it; apostles
of free-will, and defenders of fatalism; Melanchthonians, who admitted
an ecclesiastical hierarchy; Carlstadians, who maintained that every
Christian is a priest; realists, chained to the letter; idealists, who
bent the letter to the thought; rationalists, who rejected every
mystery; mystics, who lost themselves in the clouds; and
Antitrinitarians, who, like Servetus, admitted but two persons in God.
These doctors all carried with them the same book--the Bible.

Servetus,[43] a Spanish physician, had left his own country, and
established himself, in 1531, at Hagenau, where he had published
different treatises against the Trinity. He had disputed at Basel with
Oecolampadius, some time before this renegade from the Lutheran faith
"was strangled by the devil," if we are to believe the account given by
Doctor Martin Luther. Servetus boasted that he triumphed over the
theologian. Having left Basel in 1532, and crossed the Rhine, he came
to hurl a solemn defiance at Calvin; the gauntlet was taken up by the
_curé_ of Pont l'Evêque, the place of combat indicated, the day for the
tournament named, but at the appointed hour "the heart of this unhappy
wretch failed," says Beza, "who having agreed to dispute, did not dare
appear." Calvin, on his part--in his refutations of the errors of
Servetus, published in 1554--boasts of having in vain offered the
Spanish physician remedies suitable to cure his malady. Servetus
pretends that his adversary was laying snares for him, which he had the
good-fortune to avoid. At a later period he forgot his part, and came to
throw himself into the ambuscade of his enemy.

The parliaments redoubled their severity: Calvin was narrowly watched,
his liberty might be compromised, and even his life put in peril. He
resolved to abandon France, either from fear or spite--if we are to
credit an ecclesiastical historian--not being able to forgive Francis I
for the preference manifested by this Prince toward a relation of the
Constable, "of moderate circumstances," who was promoted to a benefice,
for which the author of the _Commentary on Seneca_ had condescended to
make solicitation. The testimony of the historian is weighty. Soulier
knows neither hatred, passion, nor anger; he seeks after the truth, and
he believes that he has found it in the recital which we are about to
peruse.

"We, the undersigned--Louis Charreton, counsellor of the King, dean of
the presidents of the parliaments of Paris, son of the late Andrew
Charreton, who was first Baron of Champagne, and counsellor to the high
chamber of the Parliament of Paris; Madam Antoinette Charreton, widow of
Noel Renouard, former master in the chamber of the courts of Paris, and
daughter of the late Hugh Charreton, Lord of Montauzon; and John
Charreton, Sieur de la Terrière; all three cousins, and grandchildren of
Hugh Charreton--certify that we have frequently heard from our fathers
that the aforesaid Sieur Hugh Charreton had several times told them that
under the reign of Francis I, while the court was at Fontainebleau,
Calvin, who had a benefice at Noyon, came there and took lodgings in the
hotel where the aforesaid Sieur Charreton was lodging, who,
understanding that Calvin was a man of letters and of great erudition,
and being very fond of the society of learned men, informed him that he
would be delighted to have some interviews with him; to this Calvin the
more willingly consented under the belief that the aforesaid Sieur de
Charreton might be able to assist him in the affair which had brought
him to Fontainebleau; that after several interviews the aforesaid Sieur
de Charreton demanded from Calvin the object of his journey, to which he
answered that he had come to solicit a priory from the King, for which
there was but one rival, who was a relative of the Constable.

"The Sieur de Charreton asked him if he thought this nothing. He replied
that he was aware of the high consideration enjoyed by the Constable,
but he also knew that the King, in disposing of benefices, was wont to
choose the most proper persons, and that the relative of the Constable
was of very poor capacity. To which the aforesaid Sieur de Charreton
rejoined that this was no obstacle, since no great capacity was needed
to hold a simple benefice; whereupon Calvin exclaimed and cried out that
if such wrong was done him he would find means to make them speak of him
for five hundred years; and the aforesaid Sieur de Charreton having
urged him strongly to tell him how he would do this, Calvin conducted
him to his room and showed him the commencement of his _Institutes_; and
after having read a portion of them, Calvin demanded his opinion; he
answered _that it was poison well put in sugar_, and advised him not to
continue a work which was only a false interpretation of the Scriptures
and of everything which the holy fathers had written; and as he
perceived that Calvin remained firm in his wicked purpose, he gave
notice thereof to the Constable, who declared that Calvin was a fool and
should soon be brought to his senses. But two days after, the benefice
having been bestowed on the relative of the Constable, Calvin departed
and began to propagate his sect, which, being very convenient, was
embraced by many persons, some through libertinism, others from weakness
of mind.

"That some time after, the Constable was going to his government of
Languedoc, and passed through Lyons, where the aforesaid Sieur de
Charreton paid him a visit, and was asked if he did not belong to the
sect of Calvin, with whom he had lodged. He answered that he would be
very sorry to embrace a religion the father and founder of which he had
seen born.

"In testimony whereof we have given our signatures, at Paris, this 20th
of September, 1682.

"Signed: Charreton, President; A. Charreton, Widow Renouard; and
Charreton de la Terrière."

After having published his _Psychopannychia_, in 1534, at Orleans,
Calvin left that city. He felt a desire to visit Basel, at that time the
Athens of Switzerland, a city of renown, so long the abode of Erasmus,
famous for its _literati_, its celebrated printers, and its theologians
amorous of novelties; where Froben had published his fine edition of the
works of St. Jerome; where Holbein had painted his picture of Christ
ready for the sepulchre, where Capito taught Hebrew, and Oecolampadius
commented on the Psalms.

He set out from Orleans in company with his friend Du Tillet; near Metz
their domestic robbed them and fled with their sacks and valises, and
they were forced to seek Strasburg on foot, nearly destitute of
clothing, and with but ten crowns in their pockets. Calvin spent some
time in Strasburg, studying the different transformations which the
reformed gospel had undergone during the brief space of fifteen years.
He entered into intimate relations with some of the most celebrated
representatives of Protestantism. Anyone else, who had arrived there
free from prejudices against Catholicism, would have found salutary
instruction in the ceaseless agitations of that city, which knew not
where to poise itself in order to find repose, and which, since 1521,
had become Lutheran, Anabaptist, Zwinglian, and, at that very moment,
was dreaming of a new transfiguration, to be accomplished by the aid of
Bucer, one of its new guests.

At Basel, Calvin found Simon Grynæus and Erasmus. Calvin could not
neglect this opportunity of visiting the Batavian philologist, whose
fame was European. After a short interview they separated. Bucer, who
had assisted at the meeting, was solicitous to know the opinion of the
caustic old man. "Master," said he, "what think you of the new-comer?"
Erasmus smiled, without answering. Bucer insisted. "I behold," said the
author of the _Colloquies_, "a great pest, which is springing up in the
Church, against the Church."

On the next day Du Tillet, clerk of the Parliament of Paris, arrived at
Basel and, by dint of tears and entreaties, brought with him his
brother Louis, who repented, made his abjuration, and was shortly after
elected archdeacon, a dignity disputed with him by Renaudie, who was to
be used by the Reformation for the execution of the plot of Amboise.

The _Psychopannychia_, the first controversial work of Calvin, is a
pamphlet directed against the sect of Anabaptists, whom the bloody day
of Frankenhausen had conquered, but not subdued. The spirit of Munzer
lived again in his disciples, who were parading their mystic reveries
through Holland, Flanders, and France. Luther had essayed his powers
against Munzer, imagining that by his fiery language, his Pindaric
wrath, his flames and thunders, he would soon overwhelm the chief of the
miners, as he had defeated, it is said, those theological dwarfs who
were unable to stand before him. From the summit of the mountain he had
appeared to Munzer in the midst of lightnings, but those lightnings did
not alarm his adversary, who was bold enough to face him with unquailing
eye.

Munzer also possessed a fiery tongue, which he used with admirable
skill, to inflame and arouse the peasants; this time victory remained
with the man of the sledge-hammer. And Luther, who wished to terminate
the affair at any cost, was reduced, as is well known, to avail himself
of the sword of one of his electors. The wrecks which escaped from the
funeral obsequies of Thuringia took refuge in a new land. France
received and listened to the prophets of Anabaptism.

These Anabaptists maintained seducing doctrines. They dreamed of a sort
of Jerusalem, very different from the Jewish Jerusalem; a Jerusalem
quite spiritual, without swords, soldiers, or civil magistracy: the true
city of the elect. Their speech was infected with Pelagianism and
Arianism; on several points of dogma they agreed with Catholics--on
predestination, for example, and on the merit of works. Some of them
taught the sleep of the soul till the day of judgment. It was against
these "sleepers" that Calvin determined to measure himself.

The _Commentary on Seneca_ is a philological work, a book of the
revival, a rhetorical declamation, in which Calvin is evidently aspiring
to a place among the humanists, and making his court, in sufficiently
fine Latin, to all the Ciceronians of the age: this was bringing himself
forward with skill and tact. The Latin language was the idiom of the
Church, of the convents, colleges, universities, and parliaments. The
_Psychopannychia_ is a religious pamphlet, and now Calvin must expect a
rival in the first pamphleteer of Germany, Luther himself. It is certain
that Calvin was acquainted with the writings of the Saxon monk against
Eck, Tetzel, Prierias, Latomus, and the Sorbonnists. He must be praised
for not having dreamed of entering the lists against a spirit of such a
temper as his rival. Had he desired, after Luther's manner, to deal in
caricature, he would certainly have failed. Sallies, play upon words,
and conceits did not suit a mind like his, whose forte was finesse. By
nature sober, he could not, like the Saxon monk, fertilize his brain in
enormous pots of beer; moreover, beer was not as yet in use beyond the
Rhine.

Nor had he at his service those German smoking-houses, where, of an
evening, among the companions of gay science, his weary mind might have
revived its energies. In France the monks did not resort to taverns.
Calvin was, therefore, everything he was destined to become: an adroit,
biting disputant, ready at retort, but without warmth or enthusiasm. He
loves to bear testimony in his own behalf, that "he did not indulge his
wrath, except modestly; that he always made it a rule to set aside
outrageous or biting expressions; that he almost always moderated his
style, which was better adapted to instruct than to drive forcibly, in
such sort, however, that it may ever attract those who would not be
led." One must see that, with such humor and style, Calvin might have
died forgotten, in some little benefice of Swabia, and that he was never
formed for raising storms, but only for using them.

At this epoch the grand agitator of society was first, society itself,
and then Luther, that great pamphleteer, "whose books are quite full of
demons," who drove humanity into the paths of a revolution, for which
all the elements had been prepared years before. Luther had sown the
wind, Calvin came to reap the whirlwind. Not that the latter does not
sometimes rise even to wrath, but it is a wrath which savors of labor
and which he pursues as a rhymester would a rebellious epithet. Besides,
he is good enough to repent for it, as if this wrath burned the face
over which it glowed. "I have presented some things," he murmurs, "a
little sharply, even roughly said, which, peradventure, may offend the
delicate ears of some. But, as I am aware there are some good persons
who have conceived such affection for this dream of the sleep of souls,
I would not have them offended with me." Where Calvin is concerned we
must not allow our admiration to be too easily awaked; we must note that
he is speaking of an Anabaptist, that is, of a soul which has thrown off
the "papism." But let a Catholic appear--a priest unknown to fame, who,
as editor, shall have reprinted a new edition of the work of Henry VIII,
"_Assertio Septem Sacramentorum_"--for instance, Gabriel de Sacconay,
precentor of Lyons, and you shall then behold Calvin, under the form of
a dithyrambic or congratulatory epistle, without the least regard for
delicate ears, throw into the face of the Catholic the most filthy
expressions of offence.

Calvin has himself given a correct estimate of the value of his
_Psychopannychia_, and of his treatise against the Anabaptists, which
one of his historians desires to have reprinted in our time, purged of
all its bitterness of style. He was right in saying, "I have reproved
the foolish curiosity of those who were debating these questions, which,
in fact, are but vexations of mind."

One day this question, about the sleep of souls--one that in the ancient
Church had long since been examined, by Metito--was presented to Luther,
who disposed of it in few words. "These," said he, "are picked
nutshells."

FOOTNOTES:

[43] Michael Servetus was a controversialist in matters of philosophy
and religion. For many years he was the object of attack by the
different orthodox schools on account of his heretical speeches and
writings. In 1553 he published a work which led to his arrest by order
of the inquisitor-general at Lyons. Servetus escaped, but was again
taken, at the instance of Calvin, and was burned at Geneva, October 27,
1553.--ED.




ENGLAND BREAKS WITH THE ROMAN CHURCH

DESTRUCTION OF THE MONASTERIES

A.D. 1534

JOHN RICHARD GREEN

     Following the fall of Wolsey, Sir Thomas More became lord
     chancellor of England, but the real power of Wolsey passed
     to another and perhaps even more able minister, Thomas
     Cromwell. Henry VIII needed always some strong, able, crafty
     guide to show him a path through the intricacies of European
     politics, and enable him at the same time to follow the
     savage dictates of his passion and his whims.

     Such a helper he found now in Cromwell. Few men have ever
     been so daring or so ruthless as this great statesman. He
     helped Henry in all his evil schemes, though Green and other
     critics as well have thought to discern a larger, wiser
     policy in the impenetrable mind of the subtle minister. As
     secretary of state he drove England at his own pace through
     the vast religious changes of the period. For the ruin he
     brought upon Catholicism, and more especially for his
     destruction of the thousand monasteries that dotted England,
     he has been called the "hammer of the monks." Of even lower
     birth than Wolsey, and rising to almost equal power,
     Cromwell began life as a son of a blacksmith.

     He wandered over Europe and especially Italy as a soldier,
     merchant, and general adventurer of the lower and wilder
     type. He became Wolsey's right-hand man, and held loyally by
     his chief even after the latter's overthrow.

     It had been Henry's passion for Anne Boleyn, and the
     resulting necessity for divorce from his wife Catherine,
     that caused Wolsey's fall. On the same passion did Cromwell
     build his rise. He secretly urged the King to break with
     Rome entirely and declare himself sole head of the English
     Church. Thus he could divorce himself. Henry first tried a
     last negotiation with the Pope; that failing, he turned to
     his new adviser.


Cromwell was again ready with his suggestion that the King should
disavow the papal jurisdiction, declare himself head of the Church
within its realm, and obtain a divorce from his own ecclesiastical
courts. But the new minister looked on the divorce as simply the prelude
to a series of changes which he was bent upon accomplishing. In all his
checkered life, that had left its deepest stamp on him in Italy. Not
only in the rapidity and ruthlessness of his designs, but in their
larger scope, their admirable combination, the Italian statecraft
entered with Cromwell into English politics. He is in fact the first
English minister in whom we can trace through the whole period of his
rule the steady working out of a great and definite aim, that of raising
the King to absolute authority on the ruins of every rival power within
his realm.

It was not that Cromwell was a mere slave of tyranny. Whether we may
trust the tale that carries him in his youth to Florence or not, his
statesmanship was closely modelled on the ideal of the Florentine
thinker whose book was constantly in his hand. Even as a servant of
Wolsey he startled the future Cardinal, Reginald Pole, by bidding him
take for his manual in politics the _Prince_ of Machiavelli. Machiavelli
hoped to find in Cæsar Borgia or in the later Lorenzo de' Medici a
tyrant who, after crushing all rival tyrannies, might unite and
regenerate Italy; and, terrible and ruthless as his policy was, the
final aim of Cromwell seems to have been that of Machiavelli, an aim of
securing enlightenment and order for England by the concentration of all
authority in the Crown.

The first step toward such an end was the freeing the monarchy from its
spiritual obedience to Rome. What the first of the Tudors had done for
the political independence of the kingdom, the second was to do for its
ecclesiastical independence. Henry VII had freed England from the
interference of France or the house of Burgundy; and in the question of
the divorce Cromwell saw the means of bringing Henry VIII to free it
from the interference of the papacy. In such an effort resistance could
be looked for only from the clergy. But their resistance was what
Cromwell desired. The last check on royal absolutism which had survived
the Wars of the Roses lay in the wealth, the independent synods and
jurisdiction, and the religious claims of the Church; and for the
success of the new policy it was necessary to reduce the great
ecclesiastical body to a mere department of the state in which all
authority should flow from the sovereign alone, his will be the only
law, his decision the only test of truth.

Such a change, however, was hardly to be wrought without a struggle;
and the question of national independence in all ecclesiastical matters
furnished ground on which the Crown could conduct this struggle to the
best advantage. The secretary's first blow showed how unscrupulously the
struggle was to be waged. A year had passed since Wolsey had been
convicted of a breach of the Statute of Provisors. The pedantry of the
judges declared the whole nation to have been formally involved in the
same charge by its acceptance of his authority. The legal absurdity was
now redressed by a general pardon, but from this pardon the clergy found
themselves omitted. In the spring of 1531 a convocation was assembled to
be told that forgiveness could be bought at no less a price than the
payment of a fine amounting to a million of our present money, and the
acknowledgment of the King as "the chief protector, the only and supreme
lord, and head of the Church and clergy of England."

Unjust as was the first demand, they at once submitted to it; against
the second they struggled hard. But their appeals to Henry and Cromwell
met only with demands for instant obedience. A compromise was at last
arrived at by the insertion of a qualifying phrase, "So far as the law
of Christ will allow"; and with this addition the words were again
submitted by Warham to the convocation. There was a general silence.
"Whoever is silent seems to consent," said the Archbishop. "Then are we
all silent," replied a voice from among the crowd.

There is no ground for thinking that the "headship of the Church" which
Henry claimed in this submission was more than a warning addressed to
the independent spirit of the clergy, or that it bore as yet the meaning
which was afterward attached to it. It certainly implied no independence
of Rome, for negotiations were still being carried on with the papal
court. But it told Clement plainly that in any strife that might come
between himself and Henry the clergy were in the King's hand, and that
he must look for no aid from them in any struggle with the Crown. The
warning was backed by an address to the Pope from the lords and some of
the commons who assembled after a fresh prorogation of the houses in the
spring.

"The cause of his majesty," the peers were made to say, "is the cause of
each of ourselves." They laid before the Pope what they represented as
the judgment of the universities in favor of the divorce; but they
faced boldly the event of its rejection. "Our condition," they ended,
"will not be wholly irremediable. Extreme remedies are ever harsh of
application; but he that is sick will by all means be rid of his
distemper." In the summer the banishment of Catherine from the King's
palace to a house at Ampthill showed the firmness of Henry's resolve.
Each of these acts was no doubt intended to tell on the Pope's decision,
for Henry still clung to the hope of extorting from Clement a favorable
answer; and at the close of the year a fresh embassy, with Gardiner, now
Bishop of Winchester, at its head, was despatched to the papal court.
But the embassy failed like its predecessors, and at the opening of 1532
Cromwell was free to take more decisive steps in the course on which he
had entered.

What the nature of his policy was to be, had already been detected by
eyes as keen as his own. More had seen in Wolsey's fall an opening for
the realization of those schemes of religious and even of political
reform on which the scholars of the New Learning had long been brooding.
The substitution of the lords of the council for the autocratic rule of
the cardinal-minister, the break-up of the great mass of powers which
had been gathered into a single hand, the summons of a parliament, the
ecclesiastical reforms which it at once sanctioned, were measures which
promised a more legal and constitutional system of government. The
question of the divorce presented to More no serious difficulty.
Untenable as Henry's claim seemed to the new Chancellor, his faith in
the omnipotence of parliament would have enabled him to submit to any
statute which named a new spouse as queen and her children as heirs to
the crown. But as Cromwell's policy unfolded itself he saw that more
than this was impending.

The Catholic instinct of his mind, the dread of a rent Christendom and
of the wars and bigotry that must come of its rending, united with
More's theological convictions to resist any spiritual severance of
England from the papacy. His love for freedom, his revolt against the
growing autocracy of the Crown, the very height and grandeur of his own
spiritual convictions, all bent him to withstand a system which would
concentrate in the king the whole power of church as of state, would
leave him without the one check that remained on his despotism, and
make him arbiter of the religious faith of his subjects. The later
revolt of the Puritans against the king-worship which Cromwell
established proved the justice of the provision which forced More in the
spring of 1532 to resign the post of chancellor.

But the revolution from which he shrank was an inevitable one. Till now
every Englishman had practically owned a double life and a double
allegiance. As citizen of a temporal state his life was bounded by
English shores, and his loyalty due exclusively to his English King. But
as citizen of the state spiritual, he belonged not to England, but to
Christendom. The law which governed him was not a national law, but a
law that embraced every European nation, and the ordinary course of
judicial appeals in ecclesiastical cases proved to him that the
sovereignty in all matters of conscience or religion lay, not at
Westminster, but at Rome.

Such a distinction could scarcely fail to bring embarrassment with it as
the sense of national life and national pride waxed stronger; and from
the reign of the Edwards the problem of reconciling the spiritual and
temporal relations of the realm grew daily more difficult. Parliament
had hardly risen into life when it became the organ of the national
jealousy, whether of any papal jurisdiction without the realm or of the
separate life and separate jurisdiction of the clergy within it. The
movement was long arrested by religious reaction and civil war. But the
fresh sense of national greatness which sprang from the policy of Henry
VIII, the fresh sense of national unity as the monarchy gathered all
power into its single hand, would have itself revived the contest even
without the spur of the divorce.

What the question of the divorce really did was to stimulate the
movement by bringing into clearer view the wreck of the great Christian
commonwealth of which England had till now formed a part, and the
impossibility of any real exercise of a spiritual sovereignty over it by
the weakened papacy, as well as by outraging the national pride through
the summons of the King to a foreign bar and the submission of English
interests to the will of a foreign emperor.

With such a spur as this the movement, which More dreaded, moved forward
as quickly as Cromwell desired. The time had come when England was to
claim for herself the fulness of power, ecclesiastical as well as
temporal, within her bounds; and, in the concentration of all authority
within the hands of the sovereign which was the political characteristic
of the time, to claim this power for the nation was to claim it for the
king. The import of that headship of the Church which Henry had assumed
in the preceding year was brought fully out in one of the propositions
laid before the convocation of 1532.

"The King's majesty," runs this memorable clause, "hath as well the care
of the souls of his subjects as their bodies; and may by the law of God
by his parliament make laws touching and concerning as well the one as
the other." The principle embodied in these words was carried out in a
series of decisive measures. Under strong pressure the convocation was
brought to pray that the power of independent legislation till now
exercised by the church should come to an end, and to promise "that from
henceforth we shall forbear to enact, promulge, or put into execution
any such constitutions and ordinances so by us to be made in time
coming, unless your highness by your royal assent shall license us to
make, promulge, and execute them, and the same so made be approved by
your highness' authority."

Rome was dealt with in the same unsparing fashion. The parliament
forbade by statute any further appeals to the papal court; and on a
petition from the clergy in convocation the houses granted power to the
King to suspend the payments of first-fruits, or the year's revenue
which each bishop paid to Rome on his election to a see. All judicial,
all financial connection with the papacy was broken by these two
measures. The last, indeed, was as yet but a menace which Henry might
use in his negotiations with Clement. The hope which had been
entertained of aid from Charles was now abandoned; and the overthrow of
Norfolk and his policy of alliance with the Empire was seen at the
midsummer of 1532 in the conclusion of a league with France. Cromwell
had fallen back on Wolsey's system; and the divorce was now to be looked
for from the united pressure of the French and English kings on the
papal court.

But the pressure was as unsuccessful as before. In November Clement
threatened the King with excommunication if he did not restore Catherine
to her place as queen and abstain from all intercourse with Anne Boleyn
till the case was tried. But Henry still refused to submit to the
judgment of any court outside his realm; and the Pope, ready as he was
with evasion and delay, dared not alienate Charles by consenting to a
trial within it. The lavish pledges which Francis had given in an
interview during the preceding summer may have aided to spur the King to
a decisive step which closed the long debate. At the opening of 1533
Henry was privately married to Anne Boleyn. The match, however, was
carefully kept secret while the papal sanction was being gained for the
appointment of Cranmer to