READING HALL

DOORS OF WISDOM

A HISTORY OF THE POPES FROM THE GREAT SCHISM TO THE SACK OF ROME

BOOK VI.

THE GERMAN REVOLT. 1517—1527

CHAPTER I

HUMANISM IN GERMANY

The religious revolt, originated by Luther, fell like a thunder­bolt from a clear sky. Leo X had dismissed the Lateran Council after cleverly shelving all unpleasant questions. There seemed to be less effective demand for ecclesiastical reform than there had been at any time during the last two centuries. The Pope was surrounded by officials who assured him, with some truth, that the decrees of the Lateran Council were of no account; that no one heeded them; and that there was no binding restraint upon the papal power. The Papacy seemed to stand high in the estimation of sovereigns, and to exercise great political influence. Its claims to ecclesiastical authority had been steadily rising, and there was no body of opinion to protest against their further extension. Pope Leo had his difficulties in Italian politics, but he had no fear for his position as Head of the Church.

Yet these hopeful signs did not betoken acquiescence so much as indifference. The question of ecclesiastical reform, which had agitated the men of the beginning of the fifteenth century, was of little consequence to the men of the beginning of the sixteenth. Other problems had arisen; other questions occupied their minds. The failure of the Conciliar movement revealed both the decadence of the ideas of the Middle Ages and the growth of particular interests in their stead. Men had hoped, during a long period of embarrassment, that if only the Church could meet according to its old constitution, its voice would speak with unmistakable authority, and all would be well. The Church met; but its voice wavered amid the clash of national animosities and the jealousies of various classes of the hierarchy. The Conciliar movement failed, and men tacitly accepted the failure. Europe lacked the force for united action; each nation was engaged in solving particular problems which lay nearer home. England was plunged in civil warfare, which left a legacy of social readjustment. France and Spain were busied with internal consolidation under their kings. Germany, divided and distracted, vainly strove to organize its discordant members. The Church was useful as a factor in the political changes which were everywhere going on; and every monarch knew that, as he grew powerful, he could count on the complacency of the Pope. The leading ecclesiastics became increasingly secular, and no one had much interest in criticizing the ecclesiastical action of the papal court. So the principles of papal autocracy were developed apace, and their enunciation awakened little comment. But danger lay in the very ease with which this process was accomplished. Monarchy was strong in Europe because it was the mouthpiece of powerful national interests. The papal monarchy failed to ally itself with any of the universal interests of the Church. It was inevitable that, when its claims came into collision with national tendencies, they should be challenged; and defence was difficult without some sacrifice of dignity.

Moreover, when the challenge came, it would be backed up by new arguments, which would appeal to a wider public than of old. If the political development of Europe had altered men's attitude towards old institutions, the intellectual development had altered their attitude towards old ideas. In no country was this more marked than in Germany, where the new movement of thought produced a class, of men of letters, who were powerful in molding public opinion, and who stood in strong contrast with the corresponding class in Italy.

In Italy, the revival of classical learning had occupied men's minds with the study of human character and the pursuit of beauty. It had produced a temper which was irreligious without being anti-religious, which was curious, observant, and critical without being constructive. Men lived and learned and enjoyed their lives; of course the Church and its services were part of general culture and were accepted as such. Few thought of attacking, and few aspired to reform them. Churchmen in Italy were as much affected by the new movement as were laymen. The New Learning was patronized by Popes, Cardinals, and Bishops, and influenced all classes of society alike. There was everywhere an atmosphere of cultivated toleration; if a man professed old-fashioned piety as a rule of life he was free to pursue it; if not, he might enjoy himself at his ease and think what he liked.

The influence of Italy made itself felt in other countries, as the new literary movement gradually spread beyond the Alps. But what Italy had gained was not so much a system, or a method, as a mental attitude; and it was impossible that a mental attitude should be transplanted and grow up in the same shape as before. Other nations received an impulse from Italy; but they applied that impulse to their own conditions, with the result of producing different types of thought and different views of life. The systematized and logical ideas of the Middle Ages had affected Europe equally, and were current universally. It was otherwise with the subtle suggestiveness of the New Learning, which was capable of many modifications and could be applied in various ways. At a time when the movement of external politics was awakening national consciousness, the movement of thought was supplying that consciousness with new modes of expression.

Germany was the first country which distinctly admitted the influence of Italy; but it did not, in so doing, absorb the Italian spirit. The New Learning won its way gradually through students, teachers, and universities; it was not carried home to the minds of the people by a great outburst of art and architecture, by the pomp and pageantry of princely and municipal life, such as dazzled the eyes of the Italians. It came from above, and won its way by conflict with old institutions and old modes of thought. The result was that it wore from the beginning the appearance of a reforming and progressive system, which proposed new modes of teaching and criticized existing methods. Moreover, in Germany there had been a quiet but steady current of conservative reform in ecclesiastical matters, which had created an amount of seriousness not to be found in Italy, and was too powerful to be neglected by the leaders of a new movement. There had been a continuous attempt to deal by personal perseverance with the acknowledged evils of the times; there had been a succession of men who in their own ways labored to heighten the religious, moral, and social life of the people. The New Learning had to take account of these men, and at first wore the aspect of an aid to their endeavors. If it came as an impulse, it was valued as suggesting a method. What in Italy was frivolous and superficial, was esteemed in Germany for its practical utility. Culture did not remain as an individual possession; it must render its meed of service to social improvement.

Thus there was a breach between the Italian and German point of view, a breach which neither country clearly recognized, but which prevented them from understanding one another when the crisis came. The Germans had drifted farther than they knew from the sentiment of the traditions of the past, and showed themselves singularly open to the pleadings of homely common-sense. The Italians, as soon as they were challenged, abandoned their intellectual indifference and took refuge in the sentiment of the past. The conscientious endeavors of the Germans to amend the old system rendered them, as a matter of fact, more ready to revolt from it than did the contemptuous disregard of the Italians, which rested on moral indifference rather than on intellectual disapproval.

JOHANN WESSEL.

Of the earlier influences which were operative in Germany the most conspicuous was the educational movement which originated from the Brethren of the Common Life who had grown up round Gerhard Groot and his successor, Florenz Radewins, at Deventer. This community of pious and cultivated men, though assailed on the ground that it did not conform to any monastic pattern, was protected by the Council of Constance, and was approved by Eugenius IV and Sixtus IV. Indeed its main objects—care for the education of the young, and the copying and dissemination of devotional books—were such as it was difficult for any authority to condemn. Under the influence of the Brotherhood, schools were established in northern Germany and sent forth a number of distinguished scholars.

Foremost amongst these was Johann Wessel of Groningen (1420-1489), who began his studies in the Brothers’ School at Zwolle. His restless mind was not contented with the simple piety which was there taught. He had a devouring thirst for knowledge; and a spirit of inquiry led him first to Koln, where he was dissatisfied with the prevalent scholasticism, and then to Paris. There he studied for sixteen years and learned something of Plato. He visited Italy in quest of further information about Greek philosophy, and on his return taught for a year or two at Heidelberg. His interest was mainly in theology, and his liberal ideas were not to the mind of the Heidelberg doctors. Wessel was restricted to the less dangerous subject of philosophy, but even then he was conscious that he was looked upon with suspicion. He was too old for conflict and preferred to return to his native land, where he spent the last ten years of his life in the more congenial companionship of the canons of Mount S. Agnes and Adwert. With them he discussed many questions in friendly controversy, and put forward the results of his knowledge and his meditations in theological treatises. He encouraged the young to study Greek and Hebrew, and urged upon them the advantage of a more critical method than that furnished by the teaching of the schools. The temper of his mind is that of a practised dialectician, who brought all his learning to the service of a fervent piety implanted in him by early training. He pursued the truth to the disregard of established forms, and drew a line between the superstitions of the ignorant and the intelligent faith of a man of learning. From this point of view he criticized especially the current view of a purgatory of material fire, and the popular conception of Indulgences, on which subject he expressed his opinions with such force that Luther wrote of him: “If I had read his works before, my enemies might have thought that Luther had borrowed everything from Wessel, so great is the agreement between our spirits. I feel my joy and my strength increase, I have no doubt that I have taught aright, when I find that one who wrote at a different time, in another clime, and with a different meaning, agrees so entirely in my view and expresses it almost in the same words”.

NICOLAS OF CUSA.

Different in temper from Wessel, no less than in the outward circumstances of life, was another pupil of the School of Deventer, Nicolas of Cusa (1401-1464). The son of a fisher on the Mosel, he left Deventer for Padua, joined in the practical life of the times, was one of the theologians of the Council of Basel, was created Cardinal, and died as Bishop of Brixen in 1464. Cusa’s part in ecclesiastical politics has been already described but his influence in Germany extended far beyond his episcopal activity. In the domain of knowledge he was probably the most learned man of his times and had the largest intellectual horizon. He held the balance between the New and the Old Learning, seeing the defects of both and striving to combine their merits. In his treatise 'On Learned Ignorance' he strove to make clear the processes of the understanding, and urged humility as the beginning and the end of knowledge. He was deeply versed in classical authors as well as in the theologians and the mystics of the Middle Ages. Further he was an excellent mathematician and astronomer; he discovered the movement of the earth on its axis, and worked out a reform of the calendar. He collected a large library which was always open for the use of students: at his death he bequeathed it to his native village Cues on the Mosel, where it still remains. In the administration of his diocese he showed himself a steadfast reformer of abuses. Though he abandoned the Council of Basel through dread of its revolutionary procedure, he remained firm in his belief of the necessity of reforms in accordance with the principles which it laid down. He was the highest type of an enlightened and conservative scholar.

AGRICOLA

Another pupil of the School of Deventer, Rudolf Agricola (1442-1485), approaches more nearly to the Italian type of humanists. After exhausting the resources of the University of Louvain, he crossed the Alps and studied Greek at Ferrara under Theodore Gaza. His fame became great in Italy, and Duke Ercole would fain have had him stay at Ferrara; but Agricola's patriotism made him desirous that Germany should outdo Latium in the pureness of its Latinity, and he returned home to do his part in bringing about that result. He was not, however, so steeped in Latin that he could not compose German songs, which his Italian experience enabled him to accompany on the harp; and he built an organ for the town of Groningen. There for a time he stayed and enjoyed many a dispute with John Wessel, till he was invited to succeed him as a teacher at Heidelberg, where his literary polish found more favour than Wessel's liberal theology. He was sent to Rome to deliver a congratulatory harangue on the accession of Innocent VIII, and acquitted himself as well as the most eloquent Italian. Germany rejoiced in the possession of an orator. He produced on his contemporaries an impression which it is hard to justify from his works. It rested upon his personality as a man of varied accomplishments and of cultivated taste, who was probably more stimulating in conversation than conclusive in his writings. He was long regarded as the standard-bearer of the New Learning in Germany, and was renowned as a great educational reformer. Yet his treatise on education, De formando studio, contains little but rhetorical praise of philosophy; and the only practical suggestions which he offers are carefulness in reading, so as to understand what is read, cultivation of the memory, so as to garner results, and assiduous practice, to save them from forgetfulness. Perhaps we find the secret of Agricola’s influence in the genial philosophy of his Horatian odes, which is summed up in an epigram:—

Best rule of living is not far to seek;

With cheerful mind, what’s right both do and speak.

ALEXANDER HEGIUS.

Agricola did much to assert for the classics the chief place as an instrument of education; but it was his friend, Alexander Hegius (1433-1498), who carried out the practical work of educational reform in the School of Deventer, which under his influence became the great centre of education in North Germany, and numbered at one time over 2000 scholars. Hegius abolished the old school books, and substituted for grammatical formularies an intelligent study of great authors. He was a born teacher, whose one interest was his scholars. Himself an example of steadfast piety, he strove not only to inform the mind, but to train the character of his pupils. He was tireless in the pursuit of knowledge, and continued his studies till late at night, holding his candle in his hand that, if he slumbered, its fall might awake him. At the same time he would warn his scholars that “all learning is harmful which is gained at the expense of piety”. The traditions of the Brethren of the Common Life were safe in the hands of such a man; and through him influenced the scholars of the younger and more daring generation which was springing up. In him the School of Deventer reached its highest point; there was no one to take his place, and after his death its glory passed away.

JACOB WIMPHELING.

The School of Deventer, however, sent out off-shoots on many sides. Chief amongst them was the school founded by the town of Schlettstadt in Elsass in 1450, which produced a scholar, Jacob Wimpheling (1450-1528), who was a characteristic representative of the qualities of purely German learning. After leaving Schlettstadt, Wimpheling studied at the universities of Freiburg, Erfurt, and Heidelberg, where he led the loose life of a student of the time, till the inscription on a church, 'Do not sin, for God sees you', recalled him to the pious teaching of his youth. For a time he was a canon of Spier, and afterwards a professor at Heidelberg. Then he thought of entering a monastery, but at last settled down at Strassburg with the intention of reforming education and establishing a university. In the last plan he did not succeed, and had to content himself with becoming the centre of a literary circle. But his work as an educational reformer was important, and he was hailed as the ‘Preceptor of Germany’. What Hegius had done in practice Wimpheling reduced to theory. He insisted that education should be primarily moral, and should affect the character alike of teacher and taught; and at the same time he suggested new methods and better text-books, which should appeal to the intelligence rather than burden the memory of the young. But Wimpheling, though in favor of reform, belonged to the old school of Gerson and Clemanges, and had no sympathy with the revolutionary reformers who troubled his declining years. His temper of mind was polemical; he wrote on many subjects and resented criticism, so that he was engaged in a series of literary conflicts. A poem in honor of the Immaculate Conception of the Virgin drew upon him the wrath of the Dominicans. In a patriotic pamphlet on Germany, directed against a party of the Alsacians who had leanings towards France, he asserted that no Emperor since Julius Caesar had ever been a Gaul; that the Empire belonged to the Germans, and that Elsass was German and not French. A Franciscan, Thomas Murner, mocked at Wimpheling’s history, and asserted that Charles the Great was a Gaul. The contest raged furiously; but neither disputant was clear about the various meanings of the adjective 'Gallus', and Wimpheling’s patriotism was greater than his knowledge of history. Scarcely was he free from this controversy before a treatise De Integritate drew upon him the wrath of the monks. His object was to advocate moral uprightness, and in the course of his argument he attacked monastic corruptions and monastic pretensions. In so doing he asserted that S. Augustin belonged to no monastic order; that S. Gregory the Great, Bede, and Alcuin, had never worn a cowl. So great was the uproar raised by the Augustinians that Wimpheling was summoned to Rome, but was excused on the ground of age and infirmities. These, however, did not prevent him from plunging into another controversy with Jacob Locher, an ardent humanist professor at Ingolstadt, who upheld the claims of poetry to be considered as an equal power with theology itself. Locher’s aesthetic view of life had no place in Wimpheling’s schemes for moral reform, and he defended theology with needless warmth and much personal bitterness. Many others took part in the controversy, which showed the opposition between two schools of scholars and was ominous of a wider breach in the future. In fact Wimpheling lived long enough to see the waves of the revolution surge around him, and sweep away the narrow basis on which he had striven to work out a reform of clerical abuses and heighten the moral and intellectual standard of the people. The arms which he had forged with stubborn courage were used for purposes which he condemned. When Maximilian was engaged in his struggle against Julius II he employed Wimpheling to restate the grievances of the German Church. Before Wimpheling had finished his draft Maximilian had changed his policy, and Wimpheling’s labours were not much regarded till they were used as the basis of the Hundred grievances of the German nation, which were laid before the papal legate in 1522.

SEBASTIAN BRANT

Chief amongst Wimpheling’s friends was Sebastian Brant (1457-1521), a native of Strassburg, who studied and taught at Basel, till in 1500 he returned as town clerk to his native city. Brant was associated with Wimpheling in his controversies in favour of the Immaculate Conception, and against Locher’s estimate of the classical poets. He shared Wimpheling’s stern morality, and sympathized with his aspirations after reform. But he was more of a humanist than Wimpheling, and found a solace from his legal labors in the cultivation of the muse. His Latin poems are of no high merit, save for the patriotic vein which runs through them. He celebrated, with justifiable pride, the German invention of printing, and took it as an omen of the coming time when the muses would desert Italy and make their abode on the banks of the Rhine. But Brant's fame does not rest upon his Latin verses. Humanist as he was, his zeal as a patriotic reformer led him to write for the people a satire which every one could understand. The plan of the Narrenschiff was to apply the teaching of Ecclesiastes, and exhibit sin as folly. The main conception of sending out a fleet manned by fools to sail upon the troubled waters of life, was in itself a happy one. But Brant had neither the imagination nor the humor to carry it out. His fleet dwindles away to a single ship, and he is so busy with the description of his crew that the voyage itself is forgotten. Class after class of fools is brought before us, with appropriate examples; but as the long catalogue rolls on, with an equal meed of reprobation, the sense of humor rapidly disappears, and we find ourselves listening to moral commonplaces set in a rapid, jingling rhyme. Still, the book met with an immediate success. It was published in 1494, beautifully printed by Brant’s friend, Johann Bergmann of Olpe, and adorned with woodcuts which carried its meaning directly to the eye of the most careless reader. It was translated into Latin in 1497 by Locher, and so passed current throughout in Europe. In 1509 it was translated into English by Alexander Barclay, and it further appeared in French and Flemish. This remarkable success was due to the fact that it expressed the prevalent feeling of dissatisfaction. The fifteenth century, despite its advance in knowledge, was barren of ideas and took refuge in the pessimism of satire. Moreover, Brant’s satire was founded upon homely common sense. It was written by a burgher, and appealed to his fellow-burghers, who had a keen sense of abuses both in Church and State, who wished for more directness and simplicity in religion, and better government, but had no suggestions to make for the attainment of these ends. Whereas in Italy Ariosto and Pulci had refined the wit of the market-place, and turned it into laughter at the outworn ideals of feudalism. Brant directed the more serious temper of the northern peoples to a savage recognition of their own helplessness, leading to an inarticulate belief in the power of piety and patriotism.

Another member of Wimpheling’s circle was Johann Geiler of Kaisersberg, a famous preacher at Strassburg, who lashed unsparingly the vices of his age, and did not abstain from open criticism of the conduct of the city magistrates. But this German Savonarola neither inspired as much enthusiasm, nor roused as much opposition as the Florentine prophet. He was heard with respect, and was treated with consideration; but his denunciations were not supported by any definite plan for the future. Still he did much to make preaching simple and popular; and by making Brant’s Narrenschiff the text for one of his courses of sermons popularized the ideas of reform which Brant and Wimpheling expressed. More important than Geiler was Johann of Trittenheim, best known by his Latinised name of Trithemius (1462-1516), for many years abbot of the Benedictine monastery of Sponheim near Kreuznach. Trithemius was a man devoted to study, and possessing a wider range of knowledge than any of his contemporaries. He rarely stirred beyond the limits of his own monastery, and refused an invitation to join the learned society of Nurnberg, saying: “I am born for literature; and its assiduous study abhors the tumult of a court; it loves solitude and detests the publicity of city life. I live here poor and needy, but I have no love for riches, for I cannot find the time both to study and grow rich”. Trithemius, in his intellectual voracity, had penetrated the mysteries of necromancy and boasted of a triumph over Doctor Faust. There was about him something of the intoxication of omniscience, but this did not prevent him from labouring at useful subjects. He gathered a large library, and wrote on many things. His Catalogue of Ecclesiastical Writers is the chief source of information about the authors of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries, and is a monument of patient industry. He is a curious and interesting example of the influence exercised by the New Learning on one who was trained and worked in the old method.

Enough has been said to show the tendencies of the strictly German school of humanists, men who sprung from previous movements of native growth, who held to the old notions of reform, and sought to realize them by working for the spread of education as a means of establishing a higher standard of duty. Though affected by the new ideas which came from classical literature, they kept them subordinate to the old theology. They were not as a rule educated in Italy and owed little to the Italian temper, which indeed they viewed with growing suspicion.

CONRAD PEUTINGER.

Differing from these men alike in origin and in aims was the literary circle that grew up in the great towns of Augsburg and Nurnberg, the centres of German industry and commerce. There the impulse came immediately from Italy, and was directed by the patriotism of municipal life chiefly towards archaeology and history. In Augsburg a wealthy merchant, Sigismund Gossembrot, who was burgomaster in 1458, upheld the New Learning and defended Latin poetry against the objections of theologians. His place was taken by Conrad Peutinger (1465-1547), who returned from Italy to carry on business in Augsburg and serve in the government of his native town. There he attracted the attention of the Emperor Maximilian, by whom he was employed on embassies to England, Italy, Hungary, and the Netherlands. But Peutinger was most successful as a collector of antiquities; and his name is now best known from the chief treasure of his collection, a map of the Roman Empire, the Tabula Peutingeriana. He gathered together documents, coins, inscriptions, all the remains of classical and mediaeval antiquities, which he arranged into a museum. He superintended the publication of several old German chronicles, and was in fact the founder of the critical study of German history.

The literary activity of Nurnberg was inspired by the same secular spirit and took a similar direction towards historical studies. Hartmann Schedel (1440­1514), the nephew of a Nurnberg physician who had learned his art in Italy, wearied of the study of canon law at Leipzig, and preferred to follow his uncle’s steps. He brought back from Padua not only a store of medical knowledge, but a taste for classical literature and antiquities. Schedel condensed his knowledge into a universal history, which appeared in 1493, in Latin and German, adorned with woodcuts, a monument of the beauty of early printing. About the same time the magistrates of Nurnberg commissioned Sigmund Meisterlin, a Benedictine monk, to write a city chronicle, which shows a good deal of research, and is remarkable for the way in which the writer sought to combine the New Learning with theology, by exhibiting the hand of Providence in the disposition of human affairs.

WILIBALD PIRKHEIMER.

But the great figure among the scholars of Nurnberg was Wilibald Pirkheimer (1470-1528), sprung from an old burgher family, with hereditary traditions of culture. His father was employed in politics at the courts of Bavaria and Austria, and took Wilibald, while yet a boy, as his companion on his journeys. He was, further, a patron of the New Learning, and cared for the education of all his children. Two of Wilibald’s sisters, Charitas and Clara, were nuns in the Convent of S. Clara at Nurnberg, and Charitas was famous alike for her piety and her learning. Wilibald himself was sent to learn the manners of courtly life in the house of the Bishop of Eichstadt, whence at the age of twenty he went to Padua. There he showed great devotion to literary pursuits, especially the study of Greek, which his father thought needless, and transferred him from the humanists of Padua to the jurists of Pavia. After seven years spent in Italy he returned home, a true German at heart, and desirous only to serve his country. He was soon chosen a member of the Council of Nurnberg, went on many embassies, and led the troops of Nurnberg in Maximilian's inglorious war against the Swiss Confederacy. His father’s death made him a wealthy man, and Maximilian used him as a trusty counselor.

Pirkheimer lived in scholarly luxury, adorned his house at Nurnberg with the beauty of the rising art of Germany, gathered a large library, and became the host, the friend, and the adviser of almost all the scholars of Germany. His chief influence lay in his dignified personality, his cultivated taste, his easy talk which combined learning and practical wisdom, and his recognized position as a patron of literature. Surrounded by admiring friends, he superintended translations of some of the Greek fathers, of Xenophon, Lucian, and other favorite authors. He wrote a history of Maximilian’s war against the Swiss, a satirical dialogue against Eck, and when the enemy of advancing years and good living attacked him, he wrote in praise of the gout, throwing his philosophic resignation into the form of a pleading made by the gout before its judges, in which it claims acquittal on the ground of services rendered in withdrawing the mind from the toils of the body. But Pirkheimer’s declining years were disturbed by worse evils than the gout. He saw with growing disappointment the discord of his time, and could not be a partisan of either side. As a man of practical sense and political experience, he opposed the stubborn conservatism of the old-fashioned theologians which gave force to Luther's revolt; but when the revolt put forward its own basis, he found its revolutionary violence opposed to the cause of enlightenment, and sadly ranged himself with the defenders of the Church. The joy of his life was gone when he saw the national energy diverted from the quiet paths of intellectual progress; and he spoke with equal bitterness of both extremes which had brought about this result.

THE EMPEROR MAXIMILIAN AS A HUMANIST.

In close connection with this historical school of Augsburg and Nurnberg, stood the Emperor Maximilian, the friend of Peutinger and Pirkheimer, the hero of German humanists. Despite his repeated failures in politics, Maximilian never lost his hold on the affections of his people. Indeed his chivalrous spirit, his aimless energy, his great ideas, his restlessness, his consciousness of a great mission which was never realized, corresponded to the vague aspirations which stirred the Germans of his time. Personally genial, of quick sympathies, and interested in everything, he welcomed the society of learned men and was amply repaid by their praises. They were attracted by his dreams for the restoration of the Empire, and admired his good intentions for the reform of the German Kingdom. It is true that he lost much of the Burgundian possessions of his wife, that he had to retire ingloriously from his expedition against the Swiss, that his imperial intervention in Italy was fruitless, and that he was worsted by France. But when one undertaking failed he was ready with another, and men admired the fullness of life and physical vigor which never deserted him. It is also true that his internal reforms— the establishment of public peace, the division of Germany into circles for the exercise of imperial jurisdiction, the restoration of the administration by the creation of the Imperial Council of Regency—expressed ideal aspirations rather than a workable system. Still they drew Germany together and gave men hopes of a coming time of order; and they were none the less impressive because their realization was far off. Maximilian never lost confidence in himself, and his people never lost confidence in him. It seemed quite natural that such a man should wish to leave to posterity a worthy memorial, and Maximilian equaled any Italian prince in his care for his future fame. Humanists flocked around him; they saw the Augustan age revive, and exclaimed with Virgil, Jam regnat Apollo. The Emperor crowned poets with laurel crowns; but he did not leave to them the task of commemorating his deeds. This he resolved to undertake himself, and he began with a romantic poem, setting forth in allegory the motives that inspired his life. The epic of the adventurous knight Teuerdank tells of his marriage with Mary of Burgundy and of the dangers which beset him on his way, through the opposition of three wicked foes, Furwittig, Unfalo, and Neidelhard, who represent self-confidence, desire of adventure, and envious intrigue. After overcoming the difficulties which beset his quest, and securing his bride, Teuerdank undertakes an expedition against the Turks.

There is not much trace of the influence of humanistic culture in this strained allegory which weaves together the Emperor's outer and inner life; nor is there much poetry in its common-place situations. Maximilian wrote it in the intervals of business, and committed it to his secretary, Melchior Pfinzing, provost of Nurnberg, for revision. It was published in 1517, splendidly printed and adorned with woodcuts, and was received with patriotic acclamations. But this was only an installment of what the Emperor intended to write. He dictated to his secretaries a continuation of Teuerdank which dealt more immediately with his actual achievements. This book, which bore the name of Weisskunig (the White King), began with the marriage of Frederick III, gave an account of Maximilian's youth and education, and then drifted off into an ideal account of his life. As the ideal end was never reached, the book was never finished. It was handed over to another of the imperial secretaries, Marx Treitssauerwein, who employed Hans Burgkmaier to adorn it with woodcuts. But the book and its illustrations remained unpublished till 1775, and Maximilian’s estimate of himself did not immediately affect the judgment of posterity.

Moreover, Maximilian pressed into his service the art of Germany, which was then in its full bloom. Augsburg was the home of the Holbein family, and though Hans Holbein the younger moved to Basel in 1516, yet Augsburg possesses his earliest works. There too Hans Burgkmaier painted, and one of the finest and first of his works was a series of wood-engravings to display the “Triumph of the Emperor Maximilian”. On sheet after sheet the long procession of soldiers, court officials, and admiring people rolls on, while the Emperor, seated on his horse, is treated as the personification of political wisdom. Still more famous than Augsburg was Nurnberg, where Albrecht Durer, leaving the studio of Michael Wohlgemuth, carried German art to its highest point of imaginative expression. Durer was the close friend of Pirkheimer, and was animated by the same patriotic feelings, the same literary inspirations, and the same ideas of reform. He too was called upon to minister to Maximilian's desire for fame. Continually rambling through his dominions, the Emperor had no fixed capital where he could erect an architectural memorial to himself; so he preferred to employ the art of wood-engraving to express his conceptions of what was due to his greatness. The engraving at least could go from place to place, and appeal to the eyes of his subjects wherever he went. So Albrecht Durer devised and engraved a ‘Gate of Honour’, adapting the triumphal arch of the Roman Emperors to the conditions of their medieval successor, and telling the story of Maximilian's ancestry by figures ranged along its piers.

GERMAN ART.

While the arts of painting and engraving thus rapidly developed at Nurnberg, the other arts kept pace with their progress. The metal work of Peter Vischer still adorns the tomb of S. Sebald, at which the master and his five sons labored for eleven years (1508-1519). Vischer’s friend, Adam Krafft, the sculptor, worked in Nurnberg from 1490 to 1507, and left his mark upon the town by his seven reliefs of the Passion in the churchyard of S. John, and by his magnificent tabernacle in S. Lawrence Church. It was the sight of works like these that inspired Maximilian to devise the memorial which still perpetuates his fame, by founding the church at Innsbruck, which is his mortuary chapel. Happier in his design than Julius II, Maximilian found a resting-place for his tomb where it need fear no rivals. Round the walls are ranged twenty-eight bronze statues of the Emperor’s ancestors; in the middle of the church is set the kneeling figure of the Emperor, upon a marble sarcophagus adorned with reliefs in white marble, which commemorate the episodes of his adventurous life. It is true that this work was due to the munificence of Maximilian’s successor, but during his lifetime Maximilian began to collect bronze for the statues, and the general design is his own.

This may suffice to show the fullness of life which prevailed in the great German towns, a life that was eminently national and patriotic, that strove after objects which it could not clearly define, but was full of hope in the vague possibilities of the future. Men were conscious of a widening of their intellectual horizon; the wisest strove to help on this process, and believed in a gradual growth in strength, earnestness and insight. In almost every town in Germany schools were established; the general average of intelligence was raised; books were widely circulated; current questions were discussed, gravely .amongst the learned, with coarse humor amongst the crowd. Men’s minds were restless: they wanted a cause, a cry, and a leader.

Such were the general tendencies of the intellectual awakening of Germany: to trace its influence on the old ideas we must turn to the universities. At the beginning of the fifteenth century Germany could boast of seven universities, all founded within sixty years, Prague, Vienna, Heidelberg, Koln, Erfurt, Leipzig, and Rostock. In the middle of the fifteenth century the impulse given by the New Learning, the spread of education, the invention of printing, and the increasing demand for capable men in every profession led to many new foundations. In 1456 a wealthy burgher endowed at Greifswald a university in which jurists had the largest part. In 1460 Archduke Albert founded a university at Freiburg; and the citizens of Basel, who had been stirred by the presence of the Council within their walls, established a rival close by. In 1472 the Duke of Bavaria set up a university at Ingolstadt, and the Bull for its foundation contained a hitherto unknown stipulation that every graduate should take an oath of fidelity to the Holy See,—an oath which was well observed, for Ingolstadt remained a stronghold of papal orthodoxy. A few years afterwards the two Archbishops of Trier and Mainz followed the example which had been set by their brother of Koln, and the Rhineland was well supplied with seats of learning. These foundations were, for the most part, gatherings together of existing schools; but, in 1470, the Count of Wirtemberg set up an entirely new foundation at Tubingen, and was followed by the Elector of Saxony, who, in 1503, chose Wittenberg as the learned capital of his dominions. The last university which owed its origin to the spread of the New Learning was Frankfort in 1506.

These universities were frequented by students in numbers varying from 200 to 900, youths of all ages from twelve upwards, spending from eight to eighteen years in their studies for the degree of doctor. They lived for the most part a roystering life, and were the terror of the sober citizens. The majority of them were poor, and lived in hostels (called ‘Bursen’) with their teachers. Many of them came to learn what they could in a few years, without any intention of proceeding to a degree, and demanded that they should be taught the new studies and the new methods, disregarding the claim of the university to be the guardian of the traditions of learning and the director of a necessary course of study. There was a constant struggle between the partisans of the Academic New Learning and the old academic party; and where humanist teachers prevailed, the university tended to drift from the old lines. The humanist wished to substitute for the old text-books of the schools the study of the classical poets—whereas the old method had been dialectical, the new method was rhetorical. Above all, under the old system the studies in the faculty of arts had been regarded as preparatory to the study of theology, which was enthroned as the master science. This preeminence of theology was directly attacked by the New Learning, and men like Wimpheling strove to defend its position by drawing a distinction between the spirit and the contents of classical antiquity. In his controversy with Locher he selected certain authors who might be read with profit by the orthodox theologian, while he excluded those whose paganism was too pronounced. The contest, which he waged on general grounds, was reproduced in the universities, where it was aggravated by reference to particular interests. The theological professors saw their supremacy endangered. Not only was the study of arts becoming an object in itself, but the faculty of law deserted canon law for civil law; there was a tendency for each faculty to become independent, and the constitution of the new universities was not so firmly settled as to oppose an impenetrable barrier to the demand for change. The universities contained three parties: the old-fashioned theologians, who viewed the new studies with alarm, and resisted any amendment on the old methods; the literary humanists, who pressed for the study of classical literature and philosophy as the basis of a purely literary culture; and, finally, a body of scholars who held by the old conception of science, but were dissatisfied with the old methods, and welcomed the new studies as enlarging the scope of previous knowledge, and affording means for more intelligent advance. It was the existence of these last that modified the excesses of both the other parties, and gave to German humanism a serious turn which is wanting in the majority of Italian scholars. Their views are expressed in a letter of Abbot Trithemius, who wrote to his brother: “This is indeed the golden age in which literary studies have found new life. But do not be led to absorb more of secular literature than is necessary to obtain a knowledge of Holy Scripture, lest the saying of a wise man about the lover of vanity (of whom there are many at present) be applied to you. They do not know things necessary, because they have learned things superfluous”. True science is that which leads to the knowledge of God, which corrects the character, subdues lusts, purges the emotions, illuminates the intellect in things which pertain to the health of the soul, and influences the heart to love of the Creator. This wholesome science fills the mind with the love of God, does not puff up, does not make men proud, but makes them grieve for their shortcomings.

CONRAD CELTES.

Yet though these were the opinions of Trithemius, we find amongst the guests, whom he entertained at Sponheim, a man who did more than any one else to spread through the universities of Germany a taste for the purely literary side of classical studies, the wandering scholar Conrad Celtes. Celtes (1459-1508) was the son of a peasant born in the village of Wipfeld on the Main. His name was Pickel, which he turned into the Latin form of Celtes, and sometimes into the Greek Protucius. He was taught Latin in his youth by a relative who was a monk, and at the age of eighteen went to the University of Koln, where he lived on alms. Then he went to Heidelberg, Erfurt, Rostock, and Leipzig, maintaining himself by lecturing on the Platonic philosophy, the rhetoric of Cicero, and the versification of Horace. He saved enough money to spend six months in Italy, where he rejoiced in the congenial society of Pomponius Laetus. On his return he was crowned poet of the Emperor Frederick at Nurnberg, and later he prevailed on Maximilian to confer a like dignity on others, whom he strove to gather into a College of Poets, which should become a corporation strong enough to oppose the professors. His wanderings were many, till in 1492 he settled down at Ingolstadt as professor of poetry and rhetoric. But he wearied of Ingolstadt after five years and transferred himself to Vienna, where Maximilian’s favor enabled him to obtain a secure position. There he finally realized his plan of rivaling the Roman Academy, by founding “The Danube Literary Society” for the spread of humanism within the universities. Celtes was indeed an apostle of the New Learning; he preached it everywhere and strove by all means to give it a visible form and make it a popular influence. Everywhere he urged the claims of Latin poetry, and taught the rules of Latin versification. He rejoiced in the title of Poet, and showed considerable skill in imitating the Latin Classics. He wrote odes like those of Horace, a Book of Loves like Ovid, and epigrams like Ausonius, in which he told the story of his transitory amours with more than Horatian or Ovidian frankness. He moralized, with pagan freedom from prejudice, on life, its problems and its destiny : “You wonder”, he exclaims, “that you seldom see my foot press the pavement of the temples of the gods. God is within us: there is no reason why I should strive to behold the Deities in painted shrines”. He asks Phoebus to tell him if his soul after death shall reach the circle of the blessed, or go to the waters of Lethe, or like a spark or vapor be lost in thin air. It may be that passages such as these are not intended to have any serious meaning, but are due to the imitation of approved models. Still the tendency of Celtes’ poetry was undoubtedly frivolous and immoral, and justified the suspicions of the orthodox. There was, however, a more serious side to Celtes’ work: he wrote several patriotic poems, and brought to light the poem of Gunther on the Emperor Frederick I, and also the curious dramas of the ninth century written by Roswitha, a nun of Gundersheim. When he finally settled at Vienna his teaching raised no remonstrance from the theologians, who seem to have pursued their own course and contented themselves with maintaining their own privileges.

HEINRICH BEBEL.

The new University of Tubingen had been founded mainly out of ecclesiastical endowments, and the preeminence of theology seemed secure. Yet here too the faculty of arts showed vigorous life, first under the influence of a humanist of the old school, Conrad Summenhart (1450­1502), a man of sound learning and philosophic mind, a reformer after the manner of Geiler of Kaisersberg; but he was rapidly superseded by the pronounced classicist Heinrich Bebel. Bebel (1472-1516) was the son of a poor peasant, and never forgot his origin. After studying at Krakau and Basel he settled in Tubingen in 1497, and carried all before him. He was a genuine enthusiast, and an excellent teacher through his quick sympathy with his audience and his homely common-sense. In a series of works he established the necessity of learning the Latin tongue, laid down the rules of Latin versification, and considered the limits of classical Latinity. But Bebel was not merely a teacher; he was also a patriot, and, like Wimpheling, allowed his patriotism to overcome his sense of historical truth. He proved to his own satisfaction that the Germans were indigenous in the lands they now inhabit. He praised the greatness of the Germans of old time, and wrote a refutation of an unwary Venetian who had asserted that the title 'Imperator' did not in classical times denote the highest dignity in the state, and that the Roman rulers underwent no imperial coronation. He turned his muse to sing the glories of Germany, “the sole mistress of the earth and ruler of the world”, and celebrated such victories of Maximilian as an ardent patriot could discover. But the work of Bebel which had the longest life was his Facetiae, or jest book, modeled on that of Poggio; but whereas Poggio collected the current stories which beguiled the leisure hours of papal officials, Bebel went out among the people and gathered samples of the life of his times. Poggio and his friends embroidered old stories and played upon old motives for their own amusement; but Bebel has a purpose of exposing the ignorance of the priests, the arrogance of the nobles, the frauds of commercial life, the coarseness of the peasants, and the superstition of the people. He may have convinced himself that his object was moral; but his indecency is outspoken, and he has a delight in blasphemy which we do not find in the pages of Italian writers. Pagan licence has stimulated inborn coarseness to produce the depressing picture of human life and conduct which Bebel's pages put before us. They show us a man full of life and vigour, self-confident and aggressive, with a loud laugh and a cheerful view of life, a man of the people, whose sympathies were with the people, who was admirably fitted to carry his own boisterous love of classical culture to the large class of youths like-minded with himself.

JOHANN ECK

On the other hand, the new University of Ingolstadt held fast to the study of theology under the guidance of Johann Eck, renowned as a youthful prodigy, who had read his Bible through at the age of ten, and had never swerved from a persistent course of diligent study. At fifteen he could discourse for six hours together on philosophy, and at twenty-four became professor of theology. He visited the German universities, and even crossed the Alps to Bologna, for the purpose of holding theological disputations after the manner of the schools. His vast learning, his fluency, above all his remarkable power of memory, generally secured to him an easy victory over his opponents. Eck was eminently a man of whom a university would feel justly proud, and Ingolstadt rested quietly under his influence.

In like manner the University of Koln showed itself impregnable to the humanists. It was strong in the traditions of Albertus Magnus, and its schools could boast of an intimate connection with the University of Paris in olden times. The theological faculty reigned supreme, and the study of the classics was kept within reasonable limits. The wandering teachers of humanism from time to time made settlements at Koln, but they were routed by the theologians if they went too far, and had to retreat. Thus Rhagius Oesticampianus (as Johann Rack of Sommerfeld chose to transform his name) was driven from Koln, and found no rest save at Wittenberg. So too the more famous Hermann von dem Busch brought to Koln the treasures of his wandering years spent in the chief intellectual centres of Italy and Germany. He ventured to attack the theologians for neglecting the intelligent study of the Scriptures, and blamed them for paying more attention to gathering wealth than gathering knowledge. He was answered by Ortwin Gratius, a man of considerable learning, who put himself at the head of the defenders of the old studies, and whose fame has suffered undeservedly through the mockery of his opponents. For a time Busch was silenced, but presently he withdrew and joined a band of ardent humanists who had vowed to support the cause of the New Learning at all hazards.

This brilliant circle had its home at Erfurt, and its leader in Conrad Mutianus Rufus—his name was Muth and he added 'Rufus' because of the color of his hair. Mutian (1471-1526) is the most interesting personality among the German humanists, and approaches most nearly to the Italian type. Brought up first in the school of Hegius at Deventer, he studied at Erfurt, and then went to Italy, where he learned the pantheism of the new teachers of Plato. On his return to Germany he was invited by the Landgraf of Hesse to his court, but soon wearied of a life in which there was no repose, and retired to a poor canonry at Gotha. There he set up over his door the motto Beata tranquillitas, and sought the inexpensive pleasures of a student’s life. He directed his thoughts, he says, to “God and the saints and the study of all antiquity”. He was of opinion that Christianity had existed from eternity, as Christ was the Word of God before His Incarnation, and consequently the Greeks and Romans, as possessors of a portion of God’s truth, could share in the joys of the redeemed. Such ideas, he admitted, were esoteric : historical Christianity must be taught to the multitude, but thinkers might rise to higher spiritual conceptions. Christ was a soul and a spirit; the truth about every man is not what is visible, but the spirit which is within him. The object of life is to have a clean heart and a right spirit, and forms and ceremonies must be judged as they promote this end. The true Eucharist was to fulfill the great commandments, love to God and love to your neighbor. Love was the one great law of life; out of this eternal law of love Popes and Emperors had framed edicts and constitutions, which were good enough in themselves, but were obscured by the perversity of false interpreters.

Such was the basis of Mutian’s philosophy, which he freely confided to his friends and applied in practice. Not till he had been Canon of Gotha for ten years could he bring himself to say Mass to please his brother canons, of whom he wrote, “I am more blameless than they, and yet think myself unworthy of the altar; but they for the sake of gain sacrifice to the god of their belly, and with polluted spirit do not so much consecrate as defile the genius of Christ”. He was opposed to the fasts of the Church, from which his health suffered, to auricular confession, to everything in the system of the Church which created scruples, and disturbed that sovereign serenity which it was his object to achieve. He had a keen sense of the shortcomings of his order, and their willingness to trade on popular superstition, of which he spoke with savage sarcasm, “By faith we mean, not the conformity of what we say with fact, but an opinion about divine things founded on credulity, and persuasion which seeks after profit. Such is its power that it is commonly believed that to us were given the keys of the kingdom of heaven. Whoever therefore despises our keys shall feel our nails and clubs. We have taken from the breast of Serapis a magical stamp, to which Jesus of Galilee has given authority. With that figure we put our foes to flight, we cozen money, we consecrate God, we shake hell, and we work miracles; whether we be heavenly minded or earthly minded makes no matter, provided we sit happily at the banquet of Jupiter”. But though Mutian was thus outspoken about the abuses of religion he deprecated frivolity, and the study of such classical writers as offended against decency. “I will turn”, he wrote, “my studies to piety, and will learn nothing from poets, philosophers, or historians, save what can promote a Christian life. He is impious who wishes to know more than the Church. We bear on our forehead the seal of the Cross, the standard of our King. Let us not be deserters, let nothing unseemly be found in our camp”. In accordance with this opinion Mutian sided with Wimpheling in his controversy with Locher. But it must be admitted that he was not consistent in upholding his own standard of right. He sometimes spoke with cynical indifference about the delinquencies of his friends, and in his own language was not free from the coarseness of his age.

Such a man as Mutian found little sympathy from his clerical brethren at Gotha; so he turned for companionship to young men. At first his chief friends were two Cistercians of a neighboring monastery, Georg Spalatin and Heinrich Fastnacht, who, because he came from Urb, near Gelnhausen, called himself Urbanus. With them he formed a little club, of which the members combined to procure from Italy all the best books, which they read and discussed with eagerness. Soon there gathered round them all the young humanists of Erfurt, where Mutian’s name was still remembered. His attractive character, his wide sympathy, and his suggestiveness rapidly proved most winning, and Mutian became the centre of a band of fearless thinkers. Chief amongst them were Eobanus Hessius, Ulrich von Hutten, and Johann Jager of Dornheim, who called himself Crotus Rubianus. These youths learned from Mutian an earnest desire for the spread of classical literature, a hatred for the pedantry and formalism of the scholastic methods, and a keen critical spirit which felt little reverence for the past. Mutian himself wrote nothing of importance, and preferred that his scholars should be his books: he pointed to a glorious future, but he did not hasten to make it his own. We have nothing to recall him save his letters, which are full of originality, and show us the secret of his influence. He had a student's dislike to anything that would disturb his peace, and preferred to criticize with a smile of genial contempt. But the youths who drank his inspiration had not Mutian’s self-restraint. They longed for the fray, and when the occasion came knew how to use it dexterously.

CHAPTER II.

THE REUCHLING STRUGGLE

The trial of strength between the party of the New Learning in Germany and the theologians took place on an Academic question which lay outside the immediate matters in dispute. But when antagonism exists, the party in possession is ready to find principles at stake and assert its power, without stopping to select its field of operations with due regard to prudence. The theological and academic party was unfortunate in its choice, both of the person whom it attacked, and the cause which it defended. It made its onslaught upon the most serious student in Germany, who was not engaged in any of the conflicts of academic life, and who enjoyed a European reputation. It asserted the authority of ecclesiastical supervision, not against the eccentricities of literary paganism, but against scientific criticism.

Johann Reuchlin (1455-1522) was a man of great learning and high character. Amid the occupations of a long life as a jurist and a man of affairs, he pursued the study of philology with exemplary thoroughness. “When barely twenty he compiled a Latin dictionary, Vocabularius Breviloquus, which showed a noticeable advance in clearness of arrangement. His knowledge of Greek and Hebrew exceeded that of his contemporaries, and he was known as the “Phoenix of Germany”. The younger scholars looked upon him with veneration as standing on a different level from themselves. They were only men of letters; he was a man of science. His scientific pursuit of philology suggested to them the conception of language as an instrument of thought, a patient study of which might furnish new principles for interpreting the ideas of the past. He was a pioneer in the study of Hebrew, by publishing a grammar and lexicon combined, Rudimenta Hebraica, a work not so remarkable for accurate knowledge as for the indications which it gives of the results of a critical method. Reuchlin treated the text of the Hebrew Scriptures as a philologist, not as a theologian. He was concerned with the meaning of words, and the construction of sentences; with the literal meaning of a passage, not with the theological interpretation which had been hitherto put upon it. He went behind patristic exposition and corrected S. Augustin. He pointed out mistakes in the version of S. Jerome, and wrote, “Our text reads so, but the meaning of the Hebrew is otherwise”; “we must more rightly translate”; “I do not know how our version has dreamed such a rendering”. He spoke of other commentators as misled by the authority of holy doctors, and said that truth must be sought above all things. He deplored the “innumerable defects” of the Vulgate, and prayed that God might give him time to correct them all.

This work of Reuchlin revealed for the first time the strength of the New Learning. Knowledge, pursued for its own sake, had brought the dim consciousness of a critical method, of an increasing command of the material of study. It had revealed laws of language, and taught a new sense of accuracy, with which came freedom from previous authority and a belief in the rightness of the conclusions of diligent investigation. Reuchlin was disturbing nothing, attacking nothing, proving nothing: he was merely engaged, to the best of his ability, in using all the knowledge which he possessed to get at the real meaning of the Hebrew text. But he unhesitatingly thought that his own work was capable of correcting errors, which had been made through haste or ignorance centuries ago, and had been repeated without verification ever since. Though he had no doubts about the doctrine of the Church, he pointed out that the Old Testament Scriptures were by no means accurately understood; and by so doing was in a sense the founder of Biblical criticism and of all that followed from it.

Reuchlin was prepared to rest upon his laurels and enjoy his reputation, when suddenly circumstances arose which thrust him into a prominence he by no means wished, and involved him in a bitter controversy, which brought to light the antagonistic tendencies of German thought. The cause of this controversy was trivial in itself, but it involved the difference between the ideas of the Middle Ages and the broader opinion generated by the New Learning. Throughout the Middle Ages the persecution, or conversion, of the Jews had been an object of Christian zeal. The Jews were everywhere influential through their capacity for commerce, their thrift, and their industry. They were tolerated at times through necessity; but tolerance was always regarded as a sign of weakness, and it was considered a duty to rid Christian society of an intrusive element. From time to time measures were devised against the Jews, and their success depended upon popular fanaticism or popular hatred of the accumulation of wealth. In the fifteenth century the Jews had been allowed to rest in tolerable quietness; they were under the imperial protection and paid for the privilege of being allowed to exist. Their bitterest enemies sprung from their own body. Jews who had been converted to Christianity showed a natural anxiety for the conversion of those whom they had deserted, and frequently devoted their lives to that pursuit.

Such an one was Johann Pfefferkorn, who was baptized in Koln, a man of considerable learning but more fanaticism, who began his attack upon his brethren by literary argument. His first book, theJudenspiegel, after exhausting all other inducements to the Christian faith, proposed that the Jews should be weaned from their evil ways by forbidding them to practise usury, compelling them to listen to sermons, and depriving them of their Hebrew books which were the ground of their obduracy. This line of policy was recommended in a series of pamphlets, which do not seem to have drawn on Pfefferkorn so much sympathy from Christians as hatred from the Jews. Pfefferkorn felt that he could do nothing single-handed; so he betook himself to the Dominicans, that he might furbish up the somewhat rusty instruments of the Inquisition. His entire policy of suppression was difficult to carry out. The abolition of usury might be inexpedient; the efficacy of sermons might be doubtful; but the destruction of Jewish books was certainly practicable. So, armed with the approval of the heads of the Dominican order, Pfefferkorn sought the Emperor, and asked for permission to begin his crusade against Jewish literature. He obtained in 1509 an edict bidding the Jews throughout the Empire to deliver up all books written against the Christian religion or contrary to their own law; Pfefferkorn was empowered to confiscate all which seemed to him, after counsel with the priest and two of the municipal authorities of the place, to be objectionable.

Acting on this authority, Pfefferkorn made a visitation of Frankfort, Mainz, and other towns along the Rhine; but his procedure seemed so informal that the Archbishop of Mainz, without pronouncing any opinion about the desirability of the line of action, ordered his clergy to take no part in the matter. When Pfefferkorn remonstrated, the Archbishop objected to so important a decision resting in the hands of one man, and requested that others learned in Hebrew should be called in to advise. Pfefferkorn suggested Reuchlin; and the Archbishop added a converted Jew, Victor of Karben. Then Pfefferkorn again sought the Emperor to obtain his assent in the form of a mandate.

The imperial mandate went further, and gave the control of the matter to the Archbishop of Mainz, who was to consult the Universities of Mainz, Koln, Erfurt and Heidelberg, and the Inquisitor-General, Jakob Hochstraten, a Dominican of Koln, as well as Reuchlin and Victor of Karben. The Archbishop, however, did not summon his counsellors; the confiscated books still remained in the possession of the magistrates of Frankfort; and at last Maximilian, thinking that no great zeal was being manifested, ordered them to be restored to their owners. Pfefferkorn, in despair lest his labours should be wasted owing to the lukewarmness of the Archbishop, again sought the Emperor and obtained a renewal of his late mandate with this difference, that the referees were not required to meet, but to furnish their opinions in writing to Pfefferkorn, who was to submit them to the Emperor.

Reuchlin was the first to produce his opinion, which was ready in October, 1510. In it he treated the question before him with the abstract impartiality of a scholar, apart from any consideration of current controversy. Two Jewish books, he said, were avowedly directed against Christianity; these ought to be destroyed and their owners punished. The rest of the Jewish literature— the Talmud, the Cabbalah, commentaries on the Old Testament, sermons and hymns, philosophical and scientific works— was discussed under its various headings, with the general conclusion that, though it was not Christian, it was not written against Christianity. It had been tolerated for fourteen centuries, why should it now be suppressed? The Jews were German citizens, and as such were under the protection of the State. If they erred in their belief, they were subject to the judgment of God. Persecution would not alter their opinions: if their books were confiscated in Germany they would import them from other countries. The conversion of the Jews would best be achieved by a friendly bearing towards them, and by a careful study of their literature, from which learned men might gather their opinions and in time discover the arguments which would be useful in dealing with their obstinacy.

This wise and enlightened opinion was founded upon learned reasons, and was the result of a temper which had been trained by the discipline of independent study. The utterances of the other referees were founded on far different principles. The University of Mainz considered the Talmud to be the chief hindrance to the conversion of the Jews, and thought that the text of the Hebrew Scriptures had been so falsified in an anti-Christian direction that all Jewish books should be seized and examined. The University of Koln would leave the Jews the Bible, but nothing else. Hochstraten and Victor of Karben agreed with the doctors of Koln. The Archbishop of Mainz, after receiving these opinions, sent them to the Emperor with a statement of his own agreement with the universities. The Emperor resolved to submit the question to the Diet; but he never did so; and the question of confiscating Jewish books dropped out of practical politics.

However, it became a speculative question of supreme importance. The opinions expressed by Reuchlin, though written, as he thought, merely for the Emperor's advice, naturally became known to Pfefferkorn and his friends, and aroused their anger and suspicions. Pfefferkorn felt himself aggrieved at the small regard which Reuchlin had paid to his knowledge of Jewish literature, in which he naturally claimed to rank as a high authority. He carried on his attack upon the Jews in another book, called Handspiegel, in which he refuted Reuchlin’s opinions, asserted that he understood nothing of the Talmud, and said that the books on Hebrew published under Reuchlin's name could not really be the work of a man who stood convicted of such ignorance; he even hinted that Reuchlin had been bribed by the Jews to write in their behalf.

This was more than Reuchlin could endure, and he answered in a book called Augenspiegel, in which he gave an account of actual facts, printed his opinion sent to the Emperor, explained it more fully, and in some points explained away. Then he turned upon Pfefferkorn, accused him of making thirty-four mistakes in Hebrew, and treated him with considerable sharpness. Really, as a statement of the case in favour of the Jews, the Augenspiegel was not so strong as the previous memorandum. It abandoned somewhat of the dispassionate attitude of the scholar, and even opened the door to a reconciliation between Reuchlin's premises and the conclusions of Pfefferkorn and his friends at Koln. But there were many who thought it monstrous that, in a question which concerned religion, the opinion of a jurist should outweigh that of theologians. So long as Reuchlin’s statement was addressed only to the Emperor it was a privileged document. Now that Pfefferkorn’s attack had produced an answer from Reuchlin, he could be held responsible for what he had put into print. An outcry was raised against his heretical views, and a copy of his book was sent to the theological faculty of the University of Koln, that an opinion might be given about its orthodoxy.

Reuchlin tried to deprecate the inevitable condemnation, by pleading that he was not a theologian and had no wish to depart from the doctrine of the Church. But the doctors of Koln were determined to enjoy a complete triumph, and sent him a number of propositions, drawn from his book, which he was required to explain or withdraw. Reuchlin vainly endeavored to avoid unconditional submission. When he saw that nothing less would satisfy his foes, he appealed to public opinion by publishing a German translation of the memorandum which appeared in its original Latin in the Augenspiegel. The theologians of Koln were not yet prepared to proceed judicially against Reuchlin; they thought it wiser first to win popular acceptance for their views. So they also embarked in the sea of controversy. Arnold of Tungern was chosen to put forward the condemned propositions in Reuchlin's book and explain their enormities, while Hermann von dem Busch and Ortwin Gratius furnished an appendix of Latin verses. Gratius especially waxed eloquent over the tears of the Virgin, whom he styled Jovis alma parens, and deplored the reopening of the wounds of Christ by Reuchlin's heresy.

Reuchlin now saw that he must accept the issue of open war. He retorted by a Defence addressed to the Emperor, in which he showed that he was more than a match for his adversaries in vituperation. He ridiculed their pretensions to theological knowledge; he accused them of immoral conduct with Pfefferkorn’s wife; he declared that Gratius’ phrase, Jovis alma parens, was a rank heresy of the worst kind; he roundly denounced Arnold von Tungern as a calumniator, a forger, and a liar. Both parties appealed to the Emperor, who ordered the confiscation of the Defence as likely to create disturbances amongst the people. But the theologians did not so much care about this scurrilous pamphlet as about the suppression of the Augenspiegel, concerning which they collected the opinions of the German universities. It was condemned by Louvain, Mainz, Heidelberg, and Erfurt; but Erfurt, while convicting Reuchlin of error, pronounced him to be a man of profound learning and unquestioned orthodoxy, who had erred, but not of set purpose. To bring the matter to a decisive issue, the theologians of Koln sent the Augenspiegel to the University of Paris, which held the highest place as the home of theological learning; and after a prolonged investigation, Paris also condemned the book.

The matter now seemed ripe for judicial proceedings and Hochstraten as Inquisitor-General summoned Reuchlin to appear before him at Mainz in September, 1513. Reuchlin appealed to the Pope; and Leo X, in the very beginning of his pontificate, was troubled with a theological dispute in Germany—a foretaste of what was to come. He referred the question to the Bishops of Speyer and Worms; but while the matter was still under their consideration, the theologians of Koln, emboldened by the opinions of the other universities and the Emperor's mandate, committed the Augenspiegel to the flames. Their triumph, however, was premature; for in March, 1514, the Bishop of Speyer gave sentence in favour of Reuchlin. He declared that there was no ground for accusing him of heresy if his opinions were rightly understood, and he commanded that the controversy should cease and silence be observed for the future.

It was now Hochstraten’s turn to appeal to the Pope, with a request that the matter should be decided in the Curia; and both parties set to work to besiege the Holy See with letters in their favour. Maximilian, who at first sided with the university, had discovered by this time that the opinion of scholars was with Reuchlin, and accordingly took him under his protection. In fact, the original dispute had now almost disappeared; it had merged into a contest between the New Learning and the upholders of scholasticism. As such it was regarded at Rome, where, after much delay, it was referred to a commission of twenty-two, all of whom, with the noticeable exception of Sylvester Prierias, Master of the Papal Palace, declared the Augenspiegel to be free from heresy. Their decision was communicated to the Pope in July, 1516; but Leo X was true to the papal tradition of doing nothing, and at the earnest entreaties of Hochstraten, prevented judgment being given, and issued a mandate deferring further action in the case.

Long before this, however, the matter had been practically settled by public opinion. When the theological faculties of the chief German universities combined to crush an individual, it was defeat to fail of immediate success. Even when the aid of the powerful University of Paris was called in, Reuchlin was able to hold his own; and a German tribunal acquitted him of the charges brought against him. The longer the contest lasted the more attention it attracted, till it became for a time the great question of the day. The appeal to Paris carried the matter beyond Germany, and gave it a European importance, till it was regarded as a decisive issue between the Old and the New Learning. Men who knew and cared nothing about Hebrew literature, and were incapable of judging of the justice of Reuchlin’s opinions, felt themselves growing interested in the struggle between an independent scholar and a combination of the professional teachers of theology. The subject of the struggle was in itself a happy one, as it did not concern any doctrine of the Church, but only raised the question of the limits of theological interference with the conclusions of learning. The cry that the Church was in danger met with no response. Men saw that it was only the supremacy of theology over all other studies, or rather the right of theology to define at its will the nature of its supremacy, which was menaced.

This, however, was rapidly felt to be an important point, and it divided the scholars of Germany into two camps. Slumbering antagonism awakened into consciousness, and parties were formed of Reuchlinists and anti-Reuchlinists. It was obvious that the upholders of scholasticism and the maintainers of the old university system should draw together on one side; and that the band of wandering scholars, the poets, and the apostles of classical culture, should unite against them. But the asperity of the controversy needlessly widened the gulf between the two parties, and the flow of pamphlets degenerated into personalities which caused bitter animosity. Moreover, as party feeling grew more intense, there was no place for the more thoughtful men of moderate opinions; and they were driven reluctantly to range themselves with partisans whose violence they disapproved, or stand aloof and so lose their influence. There were many curious revelations of character in consequence. Wimpheling, in spite of his love for controversy, kept a complete silence, as did his friend Brant. Hermann von dem Busch threw in his lot at first with the theologians, but deserted them when he found that it was safe to do so. On the other hand, Pirkheimer and Peutinger gave their ready sympathy to Reuchlin, on the ground that it was monstrous that a man of his character and reputation should be annoyed by so insignificant a personage as Pfefferkorn. But Mutian in his quiet study at Gotha saw further into the real importance of the principle at stake. As a freethinker who preserved his freedom of thought by cautiously holding his tongue in public, he saw in Reuchlin's case an opportunity for striking a blow at authority. He first tried to influence the University of Erfurt and obtain from its theologians an opinion in favour of Reuchlin. In this he was so far successful that, though Erfurt pronounced against the rightness of Reuchlin’s opinions, it acquitted him of heresy. “The theologians are raging dogs”, growled Mutianus when he heard of this, “but they can only bark, not bite”.

The man whose aid was most eagerly expected was Desiderius Erasmus, to whom German scholars looked as their future leader. Reuchlin was respected for his learning; but he had nearly reached the end of his career: while Erasmus stood forward in the height of his fame, and added to learning, which was considered equal to Reuchlin’s, elegance, wit, versatility, and culture, to which Reuchlin made no pretensions. Erasmus was not only the foremost scholar but the foremost man of letters in Europe; and the German humanists wished to claim him as the exponent of their ideas, and their chief in the intellectual warfare in which they were engaged. But the temper of Erasmus was not that of a martial leader; he preferred to gather laurels in peace, and believed in the silent progress of ideas as the best solution of the problems of the time. To him, and to others, the strife over Reuchlin’s writings brought the unwelcome tidings that war was declared and that sides must be taken.

The circumstances of Erasmus’ early life and training left his mind at once critical and receptive, and moulded a character which was at once independent and timid. He had pursued his career by himself, and so stood aloof from the exclusive influence of any one of the tendencies of German learning. But this very isolation made him responsive to all the intellectual influences around him. He did not, in his enthusiasm for the classics, forget the majesty of the old theology; nor did his erudition as a philologist lead him to neglect the elegance of a man of letters. He was thoroughly in earnest in the pursuit of knowledge, but he was anxious for fame, for recognition, and for an assured position in the world. Erasmus condensed with curious precision the aims of his predecessors, and gave them a finished expression. His Adages, a collection of proverbs from classical authors, applied the wisdom of antiquity to the problems of the modern world. His Enchiridion Militis Christiani was an exposition of the principles of cultivated piety, which is concerned not with ecclesiastical doctrine, but with the Christianity of common-sense which makes for virtue and loftiness of soul. With this standard before him he unsparingly criticized the defects of popular devotion. He denounced the substitution of outward practices for the struggle of inward self-conquest, the adoration of relics for meditation on the spirit of the saints, the veneration of images for the study of Scripture, the mechanical devotions of monks for saintly lives, offerings at shrines for acts of Christian charity. “I wrote the Enchiridion”, is his own testimony, “not to display my genius, but to remedy the error which makes religion depend on ceremonies, and an observance of bodily acts, while neglecting true piety”. His object, in fact, was to call back religion to the sphere of good sense and practical usefulness.

But the book which won for Erasmus an unrivalled position as a man of letters was The Praise of Folly, which he wrote in England in 1509. It is the result of the knowledge of men, and of the evils of the time, gained by a rambling scholar, who had mixed with all classes and visited every country. The world was peopled with fools, and folly was the real source of happiness; so Folly addresses her votaries and bids them prick up their ears to listen, while she shows all ages of life that their pursuits and objects of endeavour are gifts of her own to struggling mortals. When she comes to speak of religion she claims credit for spreading the superstitious belief in the power of images, in indulgences from periods of purgatory, in the efficacy of a daily repetition of the psalter, and the like. Of all classes of her subjects. Folly is most proud of theologians and monks. The magnificent ingenuity of scholastic discussion affords a fair field for ridicule. “These great theologians exert their powers on such questions as—Did the Divine generation require an instant of time for its completion? Is there more than one filiation in Christ? Could God have taken upon Him the form of a woman, of the devil, of an ass, of a cucumber, or a flint? What could Peter have consecrated, had he celebrated the Eucharist while Christ's body was hanging on the cross?”. In like manner Folly rejoices in the monks who, by roaring out in church their daily tale of psalms, think they are charming the saints with heavenly music; and in the friars who by dirt, ignorance, and vulgarity profess to imitate the Apostles. Cardinals and Popes fare no better: there is a bold description of Julius II as a feeble old man, who is regardless of cost and trouble so long as he can turn the world upside down.

The success of such a book was immediate, for it contained the humour of the market-place refined by the taste of the scholar. Every one laughed to see his own crude thoughts expressed with subtlety and elegance. Instead of the brick­bats which he had been accustomed to hurl, he was presented with a case of poisoned arrows. Erasmus spoke slightingly of a work which owed its origin to a pun on the Greek form of the name of his friend More; the coincidence set him thinking how closely wisdom and folly were connected, and the book was the work of a few days. It summed up, however, the existing tone of thought, and made Erasmus the idol of the young humanists and the great hope of the reforming party. They longed to enlist under his leadership in behalf of Reuchlin; but Erasmus did not wish to be involved in the squabbles of others, and contented himself with writing to two of the Cardinals in Reuchlin's behalf: it was ridiculous, he said, that so great a scholar should be harassed with a suit about a paltry matter. Erasmus claimed to stand aloof from petty controversies. The temper of the scholar was averse from the creation of burning questions, and took refuge in the lofty serenity engendered by the pursuit of principles.

Indeed he was engaged on two great literary works, an Erasmus' edition of S. Jerome, and an edition of the Greek Testament. Both were published in 1516, and formed an enduring memorial of Erasmus' scholarship. But they were much more than this; they were a powerful enunciation of the aims of Biblical criticism. Reuchlin had dealt only partially with the Old Testament; Erasmus revised the text and the received translation of the whole of the New Testament. It is true that his command of manuscripts was small, and his knowledge of their value was slight; but he collated such as he could find and gave the results of his collation. By the side of the Greek was placed a new Latin translation, differing materially from the Vulgate; while notes explained perversions of the true sense, and misconceptions which had gathered round various passages. Though the book was dedicated to Leo X. Erasmus did not hesitate to say that the text “Upon this rock I will build My Church” did not refer only to the Pope, but to all Christians; and his notes abound in sarcastic references to prevailing superstitions. The object of the book was to apply to the New Testament the same standard of scholarship as was applied to the texts of other ancient writings. The very title of the first edition—Novum Instrumentum—was an attempt, afterwards abandoned, to reproduce the exact significance of the word Covenant.

A man occupied in these great objects thought himself absolved from the duty of taking part in the Reuchlin controversy; and his refusal left the leadership of the young scholars to the revolutionary spirit of Ulrich von Hutten. Sprung from a knightly family in Franconia, he had inherited traditions of political independence. Condemned by his father to a monastic life, he escaped by flight, and at the age of sixteen began the career of a penniless and wandering scholar. He gathered large experience of life in Germany and Italy. His pen had been directed against most men, including Pope Julius II, whose unpriestly life he attacked in Latin epigrams, while he satirized with equal severity the splendid corruption of the papal court. A stormy temper, such as his, was naturally attracted to Reuchlin’s contest, when it became a matter of general interest; and in 1514 he showed Erasmus a poem celebrating Reuchlin’s triumph over his ignoble foes. Erasmus cautiously advised him to keep his poem in reserve till the triumph was assured, and Hutten for a time followed the advice. But if he showed his poem to a stranger like Erasmus, there can be no doubt that it circulated widely amongst his friends, and that Hutten suggested, if he did not himself carry out, an onslaught of humanistic raillery upon the pedants of Koln.

When the idea was in the air the occasion was not far to seek. In March, 1514, Reuchlin met an attack of Ortwin Gratius by the publication of a volume of letters addressed to him by various learned friends—Clarorum Virorum Epistolae missae ad Joannem Reuchlin. Its object was to show that the weight of learned opinion was on his side, and that those whose studies had led them in the same direction did not think that anything which he had written exceeded the bounds of permissible criticism. The volume itself was remarkable as an attempt to organize a consensus of independent scholars, and set up a catholic republic of letters against the exclusive claims of the universities to decide on intellectual questions. But this was not the point which interested Hutten and his friends. The book suggested to them an opportunity of letting loose their wit by writing a volume which should profess to be a similar collection of letters addressed to Ortwin Gratius by sympathizing members of his university circle. They resolved to supplement Reuchlin's 'Letters from Illustrious Men' by the Letters of Obscure Men who formed the bulk of the party opposed to him.

The authorship of the Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum cannot be exactly traced. It appeared at the end of 1515 when Hutten was in Italy; and how far he was responsible for the idea cannot be determined. But it seems certain that Crotus Rubianus was principally responsible for the first book. In the middle of 1516 the book was published with additions which bear traces of the hand of Hutten; and a second book which appeared early in 1517 seems to have been mainly his work.

The Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum was an application of popular wit, which had already been adapted by Brant, Bebel, and Erasmus to general satire, to a particular controversy, and to individual men. Its importance lay in the fact that it revealed, more clearly than could serious discussion, the breach between the men of the New Learning and the ideas and systems of the past. It was not the opinions nor the mental attitude of the theologians that was attacked, but their whole life and character; and this, not with serious invective or passionate scorn, but simply with boisterous mirth in the spirit of the broadest farce. It was useless to argue with such men, or even to feel indignant at their ignorance. They were scarcely worthy of contempt, for what else could be expected of those who were only acting according to the law of their nature? Let them tell their own story, wander round the narrow circle of antiquated prejudices which they mistook for ideas, display their grossness, their vulgarity, their absence of aim, their laborious indolence, their lives unrelieved by any touch of nobility. So thought Crotus Rubianus as he created his puppets and pulled their strings with all the heedlessness of rollicking and unchastened drollery.

The humour of the book is not refined and its tone is monotonous. It has few literary merits which can give it life apart from the circumstances in which it was produced. But it takes us into a world of itsown, which is complete, symmetrical, and within the bounds of probability. This world is peopled by good, honest men, who have done all that their forefathers did, have learned what was expected of them, have taken their degrees in their university, and have gone to settle down comfortably in various clerical positions. They have a profound attachment to the Church, and unswerving loyalty to their university; their minds are troubled by no problems, and they are prepared to discharge their conventional duty. But they are dimly conscious that the intellectual and moral standard of the world is being raised, and that neither academic distinction nor clerical office meets with unquestioning respect. Secular poets lay claim to outlandish knowledge and pose them with hard questions : they hear that a certain John Reuchlin has defied even the collective wisdom of the great University of Koln, and is not immediately crushed by the Pope. In befogged bewilderment they bring their perplexities to their old master, Ortwin Gratius, that he, out of his unfathomable learning, may give them an answer which will be beyond the reach of dispute.

So they pour forth their confidences on many points. Sometimes it is a question of casuistry that disturbs a simple mind. Thus Master Henricus Schaffsmulius writes from Rome a melancholy story, how on a Friday he went to breakfast at an inn in the Campo dei Fiori and ordered an egg, which on being opened contained a chicken. His comrade said, “Eat it quickly, or else the host will charge you for the chicken, as it is the rule of the house that everything which is put on the table should be paid for”. To avoid expense he swallowed the chicken without reflection. Then his conscience smote him that he had eaten meat on a fast-day: would Ortwin tell him if he had committed a mortal sin which needed special absolution? In like manner Master John Pellifex, in the market-place at Frankfort, meeting two men clad in black robes, took off his hat to them under the belief that they were Masters of Arts. His comrade in holy horror pointed out that they were Jews, and that he had committed an act of idolatry; he himself had once been guilty of a like act of carelessness, for in a church he had done reverence to the figure of a Jew who was engaged in nailing Christ upon the Cross, mistaking him in his haste for S. Peter, and for this offence had difficulty in procuring absolution. Pellifex wishes to know whether his case is one which can be dealt with by an ordinary priest, or requires episcopal, or even papal, absolution.

As a rule, however, the questions are not about such serious matters as these. Many of them concern points of scholarship; as when Master Thomas Langschneider recounts an argument concerning the proper term to be applied to one who was about to proceed to the degree of Master of Arts: a full-blown Master was called magister noster; should a candidate be called magister nostrandus, or nostre magistrandus? Another raises a profounder question. He had heard one say that he was a member of ten universities: now a body may have many members, but can a member lay claim to many bodies? These, however, were academic questions which lay within the sphere of legitimate discussion. More frequently the Obscure Men were in difficulties how to answer the arguments of the noxious race of secular poets who constantly crossed their path. Master Bernard Plumilegus, in the course of a drunken brawl at a tavern, boasted that he knew all about poetry and thought little of it: would Gratius send him a letter and a poem, which he might show to his antagonist as a proof that he had a poet amongst his friends? Master Peter Hafenmusius was not much troubled by the nonsense which he heard the poets talk, because he knew that 'whatever is founded on sin is not good, but is against God, because God is the enemy of sin. But in poetry there are falsehoods; and therefore those who found their teaching on poetry cannot advance in goodness; for a bad root has bad sprouts, and a bad tree brings forth bad fruit, according to the Gospel. Consequently when he hears the fables of poets he makes the sign of the Cross; "as the other day one said that there is in a certain province a water which has golden sand and is called the Tagus; and I whistled under my breath, because it is impossible". Sometimes, however, the Obscure Men have triumphs to record. A humble licentiate in medicine, being invited to meet Erasmus, primed himself with a question connected with his own science. But the conversation turned on 'Poetry', namely, on the writings and deeds of Julius Caesar. The good physician could no longer contain himself, and said, “I do not believe that Caesar wrote those commentaries; and this is my argument. Whoever is busy with warfare and continued labours cannot learn Latin; but Caesar was always engaged in war and labours; therefore he could not be a man of learning or learn Latin. Therefore I think that Suetonius wrote those commentaries; because I never saw any one who had a style more resembling Caesar than Suetonius”. Erasmus smiled and did not answer, being overcome by so subtle an argument; and the licentiate, being victor in the field of poetry, did not think it worth while to propound his medical problem.

Through all these letters runs an increasing wonder and disquietude about the process against Reuchlin. It seems impossible that the theologians, when they choose to put forth their learning and their influence, should not at once succeed. Who is Reuchlin, they ask, and why does he not make his submission? “Holy Mary”, says Peter Meyer, priest of Mainz, “Doctor Reuchlin is in theology like a boy,and a boy knows more in theology than Doctor Reuchlin. Holy Mary, believe me, because I have experience. Why, he knows nothing in the Books of the Sentences. Holy Mary, that is a subtle matter, and men cannot take it up as they do grammar and poetry. I could be a poet well enough, and I know how to write verses, because in Leipzig I attended lectures on Sulpitius on the quantities of syllables. But how is it? He ought to propound to me a question in theology, and ought to argue for and against. Then it would be seen that no one knows theology perfectly except by the Holy Spirit, while poetry is the devil's food, as Jerome says in his epistles”. All this was so plain to the minds of the Obscure Men that they could not understand why the Pope hesitated about Reuchlin's condemnation. “I would say that the Pope erred”, writes one, “if I did not fear excommunication”. For was it not clear to every one that the poets were no true friends of the Church? Why, one of them said that he did not believe the Holy Coat of Trier to be the coat of our Lord; nor did he believe that there were any of the hairs of the Blessed Virgin left in the world. Another said that the Three Kings in Koln were most likely three Westphalian peasants; and added that he would like to show his contempt for the indulgences sold by the friars, who were mere buffoons deceiving women and country folk.

The Obscure Men were not behind the times: many of them could write verses, and sent to Gratius compositions of the most excruciating doggerel. They also excelled in etymology, and derived the name of Gratius (who was so called from his native place Gracs), either from the supernal grace with which he was endowed, or from the Gracchi whom he equalled in eloquence. Similarly Mavors was so calledquasi mares vorans. The derivation of ars, art, is a marvel of ingenuity: the word may come either from the Greek bread, because those who acquire an art can earn their bread; or from arcus, a bow, because art, especially that of logic, enables you to shoot at your adversary; or from arx, a citadel, because art towers above ignorance; or finally from artus, a limb, because it moves the mind as the limbs move the body.

Further, the Obscure Men are not wicked or vicious; they have their frailties and they fall before the temptations of the flesh; but they do not rejoice in wrong-doing, and they feel remorse for their sins. They tell with brutal frankness the tales of their commonplace amours; but they are not hypocrites, and do not conceal their weakness. “I am not wiser than Solomon, nor stronger than Samson, and ought sometimes to enjoy myself”. “We take care that no one sees; we make our confession and God is merciful: we must hope for pardon”. They sorrowfully admit that it is beyond their power to overcome the flesh; but their ideal of life is comfortable and respectable. “When I come back to Germany”, writes Peter Kalb from Rome, “I will go to my vicarage house and will have good days. For I will have there many ducks, geese, and hens; and I can have in my house five or six cows which will give milk, which I can make into cheese or butter; for I wish to have a cook who can make me such things. But she ought to be old; for if she was young she would cause me temptations of the flesh, so that I might sin. She ought also to be able to spin, for I will buy her flax. And I will have two or three pigs, and will fatten them so that they make me good bacon. For I will have, above all things, good victuals in my house. Also I will once a year kill an ox, and will sell half to the peasants and the other half I will hang in the smoke. And behind my house I will have a garden where I will sow onions, leeks, and parsley; and I will have pot-herbs and turnips and the like. And in the winter I will sit by my fireside and study the sermons which I shall preach to the peasants, and also study the Bible that I may be fit to preach. And in the summer I will go to fish, or work in my garden; and I will not care about wars, because I wish to be by myself and say my prayers and read Mass and not care for those worldly matters which bring destruction to the soul”.

Had this been all, the fun might have been considered fair: but running through the letters are gross personal attacks upon the characters of Gratius, Hochstraten, and Pfefferkorn. Not only is Gratius the confidant of the immoralities of others, but he is made to reply in a similar strain about himself; and the chastity of Pfefferkorn’s wife is impugned with cowardly brutality. Reuchlin’s chief opponents are bespattered with dirt, while their supporters are lampooned as a class. The book was received with roars of laughter on every side; but, when the mirth had subsided, it was seen that while the second part of the attack had succeeded, the first part had not only failed, but was disastrous. The real importance of the Epistolae Obscurorum Virorum lay in its success in popularizing the conception of a stupid party which was opposed to the party of progress. The contents of the existing controversy were entirely ignored; its larger issues were skillfully concealed; the only point put forward was the absurdity of the claim, made by such men as these academic theologians and their friends, to control the opinions of scholars and men of learning. This point the pens of Crotus and Hutten brought forward with all the clearness and force which ridicule lends to views, already strongly felt, but waiting definite expression.

On the other hand, the coarseness of the attack on the personal character and motives of Gratius and Hochstraten could not be approved by any honorable man. Many shook their heads sadly over suchvirulence, and augured ill for the future success of a cause which was supported by such means. Erasmus disapproved of the attack on individuals; humour, he thought, should stop short of abuse. He was also aggrieved because his own name had been dragged into the Letters without his leave; and he thought that the progress of learning would be injured by this foolish controversy. He saw that mockery of Hochstraten was closely connected with mockery of other officers of the Church; and it did not escape him that a lampoon on Pope Julius II had just appeared, in which the warlike Pope was represented as being refused admittance into Paradise by S. Peter. On his side, Hutten had begun to feel that he would not get much help from Erasmus, of whom he wrote in the second part of theEpistolae Obscurorum Virorum— Erasmus is a man for himself. It became clear that there were two parties amongst the humanists, and that those who hoped for progressive reform by the steady advance of enlightenment were alarmed at the rashness of the hot­headed and outspoken party of which Hutten was the leader.

Of course the publication of the Epistolae Obscurorum Vivorum led to more writing on the part of Pfefferkorn and his friends, who induced the Pope to condemn the book and order its suppression as scurrilous and scandalous. On this Gratius celebrated the triumph of his party by turning against the humanists their own weapons. He published the Lamentationes Obscurorum Virorum, the letters of the Reuchlinists, who were dismayed at the storm they had raised, who quailed before the papal censure and the disapproval of Erasmus, and confided to one another their misgivings. Gratius might have something to say in argument; but he was not a humorist, and his book did not succeed in turning the laugh against his foes. A poem of Hutten, TheTriumph of Capnion (such was the Greek form given to Reuchlin’s name), made its meaning clear even to the unlearned, by a frontispiece which embodied the allegory of Hutten's Latin lines. It represented Reuchlin seated in a triumphal car, holding a copy of the Augenspiegel in his hand. He is escorted by a band of poets, crowned with laurel; children strew flowers in his path, and before him goes a band of musicians and singers who celebrate his exploits. In front are the trophies of his victory, the books of his opponents in baskets and chests, their conquered gods, allegorical figures of Barbarism, Superstition, Ignorance and Greed; after which follow the theologians in chains. In the foreground lies Pfefferkorn, with his tongue cut out and his hands tied behind his back, awaiting the fall of the executioner’s axe. The procession is sweeping on to the gate of Reuchlin’s native town of Pforzheim, whence the inhabitants are thronging to greet the victor. One enthusiastic citizen is significantly expressing his joy by throwing a monk out of the window.

While in Germany the matter of Reuchlin had broadened into a general contest between the Old and the New Learning, and the humanists fought for freedom from theological interference, and called to their aid the weapons of ridicule and invective—in Italy on the other hand the question was more calmly discussed on its own merits. The Italian scholars had already won their freedom and had nothing to fear for themselves; but they were interested in a question which concerned the limits of the authority of learning, and they examined the original controversy respecting Jewish literature. Peter Galatin and Georgius Benignus, Archbishop of Nazareth, wrote in defence of Reuchlin, on the ground that the Talmud contained much that was useful in proving and defending Christian truth. This led to an answer by Hochstraten, conceived not in the tone of a disputant, but written with the authoritative spirit of an inquisitor, who had no doubt he was right and was determined to have the question settled in his favour.

Erasmus grew more and more dissatisfied with the long continuance of this profitless quarrel, and in 1519wrote his opinion to Hochstraten : “I had a better opinion of you”, he says, “before I read your book. In many passages I looked in vain for the leniency and moderation which become a Christian, a theologian, or a Dominican. I read also some works of your opponents, Reuchlin, the Count of Neuenaar, Hermann von dem Busch, and Hutten. I could not have endured their bitterness unless I had previously read the writings which had provoked it. You will say that you are only discharging your duty; but remember you are only an inquisitor, not a judge. Yet how often have you pronounced sentence against Reuchlin, whilst his case is under judgment in a court whence there is no appeal? Had you not done enough by causing such a tumult about a book, which would long ago have been forgotten if you had not given it importance? Why continue to do so when the Pope, seeing that the case is of a kind which had better be dropped than kept alive, has ordered silence? Why do you fix your eyes only on the errors of Reuchlin? You speak of his heresies in such a way as to lead the common people to think him a heretic. Your followers denounce philology and literature, studies which illustrate theology and serve it. If theology will honour learning, it will be admired by it: if it calumniates learning, there is a danger that the two will destroy one another”.

Erasmus, however, pleaded in vain. It was true that when he wrote the question of Reuchlin had ceased to be of importance; but Hochstraten and the Dominicans were bent upon enjoying a formal triumph, and their persistency was at last rewarded. In June, 1520, a Papal brief annulled the decision given at Speyer, declared the Augenspiegel to be a book that gave offence to pious Christians, ordered its suppression, and condemned Reuchlin to silence.

This judgment had no practical importance. The theologians were satisfied, and persecuted Reuchlin no longer. He was an old man, and had long ago grown weary of a strife which was entirely uncongenial to him; he died in peace in 1522. But the judgment is important as marking a change of front on the part of the Papacy. In 1516 the matter in dispute between Reuchlin and his opponents was freely discussed in Rome, and was committed to a commission of experts, who with one exception were in Reuchlin’s favour. It was not unreasonable for Leo X to hesitate before he acted upon an opinion which would irritate the Dominicans, and the universities not only of Germany but of France. We may think him wise in deciding to allow the dispute to burn itself out and come to a natural end. But in 1520 there was another question raised in Germany in which the Papacy had a more direct interest. Sylvester Prierias, the one amongst Reuchlin’s judges who had deplored the untimely tolerance which allowed criticism, rather than policy, to decide ecclesiastical questions, had been permitted to direct the well-proved weapons of the Curia against the audacity of an Augustinian friar. Strange to say the friar had not been destroyed by the onslaught. We can only wonder that the Papacy had not learned, by its experience of the temper of Germany, that questions were sure to be raised; that a large public was interested in their discussion; and that discussion was not likely to be checked by the mere demand for unquestioning obedience.

CHAPTER III

THE RISE OF LUTHER

The controversy about Reuchlin, which affected only the learned, was allowed to run its course for a time. But when a question was raised which threatened to derange Papal finance, there was no hesitation in ordering immediate silence. The subject which Luther first brought forward was fairly open to discussion; but the Pope declared himself so satisfied with the practical working of the system, that it was inexpedient to inquire into the exact principle on which it rested. By peremptorily disregarding the right of the individual to exercise his freedom within lawful limits, the Papacy outraged German opinion, and led to a new development of theology which, on the ground of Christian liberty, challenged the current claims of authority.

This great issue was raised by no distinguished scholar, but by a simple professor in the new University of Wittenberg, a man whose fame had not travelled beyond the limits of Saxony. Martin Luther, the son of a peasant, had been led by the promptings of his own nature to seek peace for his soul by entering the order of Augustinian friars at Erfurt. This order had been successfully reformed by the zeal of its Vicar, Andreas Proles, who was succeeded by a no less remarkable man, Johann von Staupitz, a Saxon noble, who had studied at Tubingen and had a distinguished reputation as a learned theologian. In his twofold capacity, as a scholar and as provincial head of the Augustinian order, his services were needed to aid in the organization of a new university in his native land.

The dominions of the old Duchy of Saxony had been divided in 1485 between the two sons of the Elector Frederick II, Ernest and Albert. Albert received the land of Meissen with Dresden and Leipzig. The electoral dignity with the remaining lands and Thuringia fell to the share of Ernest, whose son, Frederick the Wise, a man of culture and a friend of the chief scholars of Germany, was grieved that his dominions possessed no seat of learning. He obtained an imperial decree for the foundation of a new university at Wittenberg; and it is noticeable that the capital of the new theology was the first university which did not seek for Papal sanction. Wittenberg itself was a poor little place, more like a village than a town; but it was chosen for distinction as being the centre of the old electoral domains. It possessed a house of Augustinian friars, with which the new university was connected, and Staupitz was consequently called in to aid the Elector in the business of the new foundation and the choice of its teachers. Staupitz and Luther's former teacher at Erfurt, Jodocus Trutwetter, were the leading spirits in the new university, which rapidly began to justify the expectations of its founder.

In his visitation of the Augustinian houses Staupitz soon discovered Luther, and was drawn to the young man by his obvious sincerity. Luther had embraced a monastic life under a deep impression of his own sinfulness. He longed to learn the secret of holiness and hoped to discover it in the shelter of the cloister. He threw himself heart and soul into the religious life, but was disappointed with the result. He performed a series of observances, which were framed to discipline his soul into holiness; but they brought him no nearer to God. Repeated motions of sin required repeated penance. There was no progress in his spiritual life. God remained in his eyes an inexorable judge demanding obedience to an impossible law. From the despair which followed on this experience Luther was delivered chiefly by the kindly wisdom of Staupitz, who strove to dispel the clouds created by ceaseless introspection, and appealed to common-sense against the delusions of religious sentimentalism. He besought the young man not to regard every blunder as a sin; “a fancied sinner”, he urged, “looks for an unreal Savior”. He led his thoughts from the fear of God to the love of God; from the dread of sin to the desire for righteousness. He recommended a closer study of the Bible, especially of the writings of S. Paul, of S. Augustin among the fathers, and of Tauler amongst more modern writers. Acting on this advice Luther gradually won his way to inward peace. The duty of penitence, which had been a cause of despair when it was extorted from his fear, became natural and spontaneous when it flowed from a sense of the greatness of redeeming love. The influence of Staupitz on Luther brought into his religion something of the sense of freedom and joyousness which the Renaissance had revealed.

The intensity and sincerity of this protracted struggle gave Luther’s character the force and directness which it always retained. His whole being depended on the consciousness of his relationship to a loving God, and his attitude towards life was determined solely by this. Strong in his belief he applied himself to theological study. He was not a scholar; indeed, he never was at home in Greek and knew no Hebrew. But he had a robust intelligence, an eager mind, and that originality which comes from a resolve to turn all knowledge to practical account. More and more he turned from the writings of the schoolmen to the study of S. Augustin and S. Paul. Staupitz kept a watchful eye upon his progress, and in 1508 summoned him to leave his cloister at Erfurt for that of Wittenberg, with the intention of appointing him a teacher at the university. The business of the order required that he should visit Rome in 1510; and Luther felt his devotion to the city of the martyrs pale before the religious indifference which he saw on every side. Soon after his return to Wittenberg he graduated in theology and began to lecture. He quickly gained a reputation as a teacher, more through his power of impressing his pupils than through any depth of scholarship. His teaching was practical and personal, and he was equally forcible in the pulpit and in the lecture-desk. He was a great personality in Wittenberg, where his geniality, frankness, sincerity, and homely common-sense made him universally popular. Like all earnest-minded men he was outspoken about the evils of the time, the cause of which he found in the low standard set up by the representatives of the ecclesiastical system. The past history of the Church showed that there had risen up against Christ's Gospel, first the power of the world, then the wisdom of the world; now it is the goodness of the world that opposes true religion. Men tried to make religion an easy thing; they substituted forms and observances for real penitence and seeking after God. “Such is the reign of slothfulness”, he exclaims, “that though the worship of God abounds, it is in the letter only, without affection and without the spirit, and very few are fervent. And all this happens because we think that we are something and do enough; and so we make no efforts and do no violence to ourselves, and make the way to heaven very easy, by Indulgences, by smooth teaching, so that a single sigh suffices”.

Against this slothfulness, this false peace, Luther exhorted his hearers to strive; for “prosperity is a twofold adversity and security a double danger: where there is no temptation, all is temptation; where there is no persecution, all is persecution. More souls perish through sloth than perish through persecution or heresy: we must train ourselves to war against this sloth, as the confessors and teachers of old warred against the evils of their own time. Our enemy is more difficult to attack because it is not an outward power, which stirs us to good by the necessity of facing it: it is an inward principle which relaxes our courage and lulls us into fancied security”.

Such was the popular side of Luther's teaching, and the ideas on which it was founded were impressed by him on the theological teaching of Wittenberg, so that he wrote in May, 1517: “My theology and Augustin make great way, and reign in our university by God’s help: Aristotle is gradually declining towards perpetual oblivion : lectures on the Sentences are marvelously disregarded, and no one can hope for a class unless he teaches our theology, i.e., the Bible or S. Augustin or some other doctor of weight”. Thus Luther felt proud of his efforts: he was bringing to light doctrinal conceptions which had long been overlooked: he was creating a strong school of theology in a growing university: and he was impressing his own ideas upon the popular mind as a preacher. In his own sphere he regarded himself as a leader of men, and accepted the responsibilities of the position. He was not at liberty to put aside uncomfortable questions when they arose, but felt that he must face them and endeavor to find an answer.

Such a question was raised by the arrival on the confines of Saxony of a commissary of the Archbishop of Mainz, Johann Tetzel, a Dominican, who was entrusted with the power of granting Papal Indulgences in return for a contribution towards the building fund of S. Peter's in Rome. There were many points connected with Tetzel's activity which rendered it exceptionally questionable. First of all, Albert of Brandenburg had succeeded to the dignity of Archbishop of Mainz at the age of twenty-four, and was scarcely commended to his high office by his personal merits. But the succession to the See of Mainz had been rapid, as Albert was the third occupant within ten years. The payment to the Pope of annates, and the heavy fee of 24,000 florins for the pallium on each vacancy, had impoverished the See; and Albert had negotiated with the Pope that he should pay ready money, and be allowed to receive in return half the proceeds of the sale of Indulgences within his province. As he had borrowed the money from the bank of the Fuggers at Augsburg, the receipts of the sale of Indulgences were their security; and one of their clerks accompanied the preachers. Further, Germany was especially given over to Indulgence preachers: other sovereigns had refused them admission to their dominions, but Maximilian raised no objection. Moreover, the extension of Indulgences to such an object as the building of S. Peter's was of recent growth, and tended to make them a permanent and continuous part of ecclesiastical practice. If this was so, it was desirable that their exact meaning and value should be clearly understood. Tetzel had all the qualities of a revivalist preacher, and his eloquence was effective in awakening a sense of sin. Was this awakening to lead to nothing but an assurance of forgiveness in return for a gift of money? Educated men knew that this was not so; but what did the ignorant think? How was the matter put before them? How could it be put before them without exaggeration by one whose interest it was to raise all the money that he could?

Such thoughts rose in many minds, and found frequent expression. Sensible men shrugged their shoulders, and left the superstitious multitude to choose for themselves. But Luther could not pass the matter so lightly by. He did not doubt the lawfulness and usefulness of Indulgences, but he found in their indefinite extension one of the causes of religious sloth. “Popes and priests, like spendthrift heirs, squander the graces and Indulgences gathered by the blood of Christ and the martyrs, and do not try to increase the treasure. Yet no one can share in a common good who does not add his portion. But men think that this treasure is always ready for use at their will. They give themselves to the world, because the world passes away and the treasure of Indulgences remains. As they aim at both, they seek the world first, lest it should escape them, and think that heaven is abundantly secured for them afterwards”. Such thoughts as these grew more vivid and distinct as Tetzel drew nearer to Saxony, as Luther heard the stories of his success,—how the clergy prepared the way before him by preaching on the great benefits to be obtained, how the people flocked from far and near to greet the commissary on his coming, how the Papal Bull was borne in solemn state escorted by the dignitaries of the town.

All this seemed to Luther to give an undue prominence to Indulgences, to confuse the minds of simple folk about their real meaning, and to promote that false sense of security which he regarded as the great enemy of true religion. It is true that he was not called upon to speak. Tetzel was not allowed by the Elector of Saxony to enter his dominions, and he did not advance farther than Jüterbock, which was the nearest spot to Wittenberg outside the Saxon frontier. But Luther was not a man to hold his tongue when he had made up his mind. He wished to have the question of Indulgences discussed, and a clearer understanding arrived at about the real doctrine of the Church on the subject. As a first step towards this end he proposed an academic disputation, and on October 31, 1517, fixed on the usual place for academic notices, the door of the Castle Church of Wittenberg, ninety-five theses on the subject of Indulgences, and announced his readiness to maintain them by argument against all comers. At the same time he wrote to his diocesan, the Bishop of Brandenburg, informing him what he had done, and also to the Archbishop of Mainz, before whom he laid a statement of the practical evils to which the vagueness of the existing system was liable.

Viewed in the light of its after results this step seems bolder than it really was. There was great latitude in academic disputations, and a disputant might argue in behalf of opinions which he was not prepared to maintain in the end. The question which Luther raised was a difficult one, and he was justified in reminding the Archbishop of Mainz that ecclesiastical opinion was doubtful. There had been a gradual development of practice and of teaching concerning Indulgences which had never received any authoritative definition; but of late years opinions had been put forward which were exceedingly repugnant to Luther's mind, and he wished to have the question discussed on its merits.

In the Early Church notorious sin cut off the sinner from the right of communion, until by penitence he had made his peace with God, and by a public display of penitence had made amends to the Christian community for the scandal which he had caused. The element of sin against God, which was forgiven through penitence, was distinguished from the wrong done to man, which required punishment before it could be remitted. The requirements of divine and human justice were both satisfied by the same temper of mind on the part of the penitent. The external signs demanded by the Church were only an exhibition of the requisite temper of mind, and a help towards its attainment. When the Church was satisfied of the reality of penitence, restoration to Church membership was given by the bishop. As the number of professing Christians increased, public confession and humiliation were no longer possible. Private confession to a priest became the sign of penitence; and the priest, as the officer of the Church, discharged the functions which had before been exercised by the community. A sinner proclaimed his penitence by confession; the priest helped him to a penitent mind by his advice and his prayers; then by absolution he restored him to Christian communion. But the outward satisfaction still remained; and a penitential system came into being, which followed the example of legal penalties. Offences were classified, and a definite number of days to be passed in penitential discipline was assigned to each.

Indulgences first arose as a remission of penitential acts due to the Church. As the penitential system became more highly organized, they passed from a remission of outstanding debts to a commutation of them into money payments, following the analogy of the wehrgeld in the Germanic codes of law. The development of an organized belief in Purgatory extended the sphere within which satisfaction could be made. The spread of the Hildebrandine conception of the Papacy enabled the Pope, as the head of the Church, to determine the forms of commutation which were most efficacious; and Urban II recognized an expedition to the Holy Land as a full commutation for all penance.

The theologians of the twelfth century elevated penance to a sacrament, defining it as consisting of contrition, confession, and satisfaction. Confession brought contrition to the test, and judged its reality; the accompanying absolution remitted the eternal guilt of sin and restored the penitent to friendship with God, while the temporal penalty due for sin was reduced to reasonable proportions; satisfaction was the payment of the penalty which still remained, and must be paid here or in Purgatory. It was the compensation for the wrong done to God and man, and must be made by fasting, almsgiving, and prayers. Thus every step in the development of ecclesiastical practice tended to give greater prominence to satisfaction, actually though not in theory. It became disciplinary; it was left to be paid after absolution; it was an embarrassing remnant of a past transaction; until it was cleared off the soul was deprived of merit. It was natural that men should wish to substitute acts of special devotion for the dreariness of long terms of penitential observance. They went on pilgrimages, they thronged to ecclesiastical festivals on great occasions, such as the dedications of churches, till in 1215 Innocent III limited episcopal Indulgences at such times to the period of one year at the most.

Still the actual use of Indulgences went beyond ecclesiastical theory, and it was the work of the great theologians of the thirteenth century to provide a theoretical basis. S. Bonaventura laid down the main lines by an analysis of satisfaction into two parts, one remedial against future sin, another the penalty for the wrong done. The first must be borne by the offender, the second could be paid vicariously. To condone the penalties of sin there are three means: first, the contrition of the sinner, whereby the eternal penalty is changed into a temporal penalty by the remission of guilt; secondly, the merits of Christ working in the sacraments, through which the temporal penalty is commuted by priestly absolution into a measure proportionate to the sinner’s power to pay; thirdly, the merits of the Universal Church whereby this diminished penalty may be still further remitted. The spiritual treasure of the Church, out of which Indulgences might be given, was partly her dower as the bride of Christ, partly works of supererogation of which she was trustee. These could be dispensed by bishops, especially by the Pope, in return for alms, pilgrimages, visiting of relics, and other honors paid to the saints. To this S. Thomas added the logical conclusion that, as Indulgences were given out of the treasure of the Church, they were remissions, and not merely commutations; they did not depend upon the devotion, the work, or the gifts of the receiver.

The starting-point of both these theologians was prevailing practice. Indulgences existed, and therefore were right. It was their business to give a rational explanation of what the Church had thought fit to do. The acceptance of this principle enabled Papal practice to find adequate employment for theological activity. The demand for Indulgences steadily increased. In proportion to the sincerity of his penitence, the sinner, who felt that he had been restored to grace by the sacrament of penance, longed to be released from the burden of satisfaction, and dreaded lest death should cut short his opportunity and leave his soul to the penalties of Purgatory. Men proclaimed their own helplessness and besought the Church to find a means of escape. This was provided by Boniface VIII in the form of a Jubilee Indulgence. Founding his action on ancient tradition, his desire for men’s salvation, and the consent of the Cardinals, he decreed that those who in the year 1300, and every hundredth year following, visited the Churches of S. Peter and S. Paul in Rome, being truly penitent and having made their confession, should have the fullest remission of all their sins. The success of the first Jubilee led Clement VI in 1350 to reduce the period from a hundred to fifty years; and in so doing he defined the source of Indulgences to be the treasure of the Church, acquired by Christ, and by Him committed to S. Peter and his successors, to be dispensed on reasonable grounds to those who were truly penitent and had confessed. It was to be applied for the total or partial remission of the temporal penalty due for sin; and the Pope thought fit to grant a total Indulgence to all who visited the Roman Churches in the year of Jubilee. He further granted to pilgrims the right to choose a confessor on the way, and extended the Indulgence to those who died on the journey.

After this, Urban VI in 1389 reduced the period to thirty-three years; and Nicolas V in 1450 extended to several dioceses in Germany the advantages of the Jubilee, so that those who could not undertake the journey to Rome might substitute pilgrimages to Churches in their own neighborhood.

Paul II reduced the term still further to twenty-five years, and defined the year of Jubilee as the year of plenary remission and grace, and of reconciliation of the human race with our most loving Redeemer.

Sixtus IV gave a great impulse to the growth of privileged altars, by declaring that Indulgences availed, by means of prayer, for souls in Purgatory, provided the Pope expressly extended them to this purpose. Innocent VIII in 1489 sent a commissary to Germany who offered, in return for help against the Turk, the Indulgences attached to a pilgrimage to Rome in the year of Jubilee, and also the privilege of choosing a confessor, who was empowered to grant plenary absolution once in life and at the point of death. The example was readily followed. In 1509 Julius II extended this Indulgence to all who contributed towards the rebuilding of S. Peter's. This was prolonged by Leo X. The Jubilee Indulgence had become a permanent institution.

When the growth of this system is considered, it is easy to see its importance in developing the Papal power. The Pope was sole master of an important part of ecclesiastical discipline, and could lighten the burden of penance to every sinner. He could confer privileges on churches, and could override the parochial system by his letters granting permission to choose a confessor. He was a minister of mercy and pardon. By his help the sacrament of penance could be made complete; he could remit all the temporal penalty that was due; his prayers prevailed in Purgatory; he could restore the penitent, who had received absolution, to his baptismal purity by relieving him of outstanding debts.

But all this system, though it existed and was powerful, was difficult of explanation. Indulgences, granted to those who were contrite and had confessed, had an intelligible meaning. But a grant of plenary Indulgence, accompanied by a permission to choose a confessor, who was commissioned to give plenary absolution when necessary, and then apply the Indulgence so as to clear the score, was somewhat complicated. It certainly raised a presumption that such an Indulgence could do more than merely remit canonical penance. It seemed to imply that the Indulgence extended the scope of priestly absolution, or even availed to help the penitent to contrition. A member of Luther’s order, a German Augustinian, Johann von Palz, who died in 1511, expended much ingenuity in considering the virtue of confession for converting attrition, or imperfect repentance, into contrition. Palz was of opinion that the Jubilee Indulgence availed for the remission of guilt and penalty alike. It extended the virtue of the sacrament of penance, which it included, to all cases, and so provided for the remission of guilt, while the Indulgence itself remitted all penalties. It was on such grounds as these that Indulgence preachers could represent their office to be the exaltation of the Cross, the setting forth of the complete reconciliation of man with God.

Again, Indulgences originally availed only to the contrite. After guilt had been purged by true penitence the Indulgence diminished the load of penalty. But who could be sure of the reality of his contrition? The help given by the priest in confession towards gaining a contrite heart was not a sufficient security. Penance itself was clothed with a sacramental efficacy which could convert attrition into contrition, and so prepare the way for the reception of Indulgence. If faith in God was difficult, faith in the visible Church, as the dispenser of God’s gifts, was more within man’s reach. If he received the sacraments, without interposing any hindrance of disbelief or mortal sin, he might commit the rest to the grace of God dispensed by the Church. From this point of view the grant of Indulgences to souls in Purgatory became possible. It was true that the Pope claimed no jurisdiction over Purgatory, and could only offer his prayers; but there was no doubt that those prayers were effectual. Whatever question there might be about the need of contrition, if the Indulgence was to be gained for oneself, it was clear that the moral condition of one who sought an Indulgence for another was sufficiently shown by the charity which prompted the offering required.

On such points as these theological opinion was not unanimous, and many theologians protested against the undue extension of Indulgences. But their protests did not influence the commissaries who were entrusted with their sale. It was natural that they should magnify their office, and seize upon the highest views of the efficacy of Indulgences which had received any sanction from canonists. Thus Tetzel's instructions came from Arcimboldi, Archbishop of Milan, and laid down the advantages to be obtained as (1) a plenary remission for all sins and a restoration of grace; (2) a confessionale or letter of penitential privilege, which gave the right of choosing a confessor who was empowered to give absolution, even in reserved cases, to commute vows, and to administer the sacrament; (3) a share in all the prayers and blessings of the Church; (4) permission to obtain Indulgences for souls in Purgatory, which availed not by virtue of the spiritual state of the living contributor, but by reference to the condition of the departed soul at the time of its departure.

It is obvious that a complicated system of this kind taxed a trained intelligence to understand and explain it. Doubtless it was capable of being used as a means of quickening in the contrite heart the sense of Divine forgiveness, and a desire to bring forth the fruit of good works. But if it was not properly understood; if its outward import was regarded rather than its inward meaning; if it was used as a substitute for true repentance, or as a means of relieving the soul from the pursuit of contrition, it was undoubtedly dangerous. The dangers attaching to such an elaborate system, built upon such a slender basis, were sure to be apparent to the critical spirit developed by the New Learning; and we are not surprised to find that the restless mind of Johann Wessel had been turned towards this subject.

Wessel criticized the entire conception of penitence, and argued that the beginning of the restoration of the sinner was the renewed sense of love to God, which had been lost by sin. God demanded love, not sorrow, and sorrow was only acceptable as a sign of the love from which it flowed. Hence true contrition was the perfect detestation of sin, which could not precede the reconciliation wrought in the sacrament of penance, but followed it as a fruit of justification. Consequently confession did not operate by increasing contrition; it was not judicial but ministerial; the penitent stood at God's judgment seat; the priest pronounced God's forgiveness; confession was a guarantee of inward penitence, an outward sign of its reality, not a means of obtaining remission which was given by God only to the penitent heart; the priest could help the penitent by the example of his own life, not by the penalties which he inflicted. Further, he lays down that the exaction of satisfaction invalidates the virtue of the sacrament by putting off the time of its full operation. He instances the prodigal son as a proof that the joy of forgiveness is part of the heritage of the restored sinner.

With this view of penitence, Wessel regarded Purgatory not as a place of punishment, but as a place of cleansing from the defilement of sin, and as such necessary for all souls; so that not even apostles and martyrs were entirely exempt from a period of purgation before they enjoyed the Beatific Vision. It is obvious that, with these opinions about contrition and Purgatory, Wessel could find scanty room for Indulgences. If satisfaction could not supplement, but only guarantee, repentance; if the pains of Purgatory were not penal, but only purgative, what was the value of Indulgences? Wessel answered that they were the ministerial token of God's remission of the penalty due to sin, and were dependent on the sincerity and completeness of contrition. They were dangerous if they were a substitute for that inward humiliation which directed the heart towards the perfect love of God as the great end of all spiritual discipline. Wessel implied that Indulgences had much better be abandoned altogether.

His orthodox friends were shocked at such teaching, and asked if he entirely cast aside the authority of the Church and ecclesiastical tradition. Wessel answered by an examination of the historical basis of Indulgences. It is not to be found in Scripture, nor is it a custom that can be traced to apostolic tradition. It cannot claim to be part of the rule of faith; nor are the Bulls of Boniface VIII and Clement VI sufficient to exalt it to that position.

Wessel’s opinions had no immediate influence. They were the speculative views of a thinker who was not satisfied to begin from existing custom, but went back to the nature and origin of ecclesiastical institutions. This was not the point from which Luther started, nor were Wessel’s writings known to him. He was moved by a feeling that ignorant people attached to Indulgences an importance which did not really belong to them; they neglected the real requisites for repentance, and were lulled into a false sense of security. Had he chosen to write a treatise on the subject, he might have raised a theological controversy. But Luther did not approach the question from a theological, but from a practical, point of view. He was not concerned with the theory of Indulgences as a whole; but he had heard and read many opinions which seemed to him unsound. He wished to contradict these opinions, and discuss them with those who chose to maintain them by argument. So he threw together these disputable points in such order as occurred to his mind. His theses are singularly wanting in the characteristics which might have been expected from a theological professor. They are not arranged in logical sequence, nor do they strive to define precisely the theological questions to be discussed. They are the utterances of one who was rather in contact with the popular consciousness than interested in intellectual ideas as such—one who did not pause to weigh exactly his words, but was more eager to express the conclusions of common-sense than to narrow the issue which he raised.

Luther's theses began with an assertion that the penitence required by Christ is a habit of mind, a constant sense of sinfulness, which demands a constant hatred of the old sinful self; and outward acts of penitence are necessary as they confess this inward feeling, and lead to a perpetual mortification of the flesh. Confession is a necessary part of penitence, for God will not forgive one who does not humble himself; but the penitence required by God is different from the satisfaction imposed by a priest in the sacrament of penance. Indulgences deal only with the latter, not with the former. The Pope can only remit penalties which have been imposed according to the canons of the Church; he can remit nothing of the guilt of sin, except so far as he ministerially declares God's forgiveness; and the penitential life which God requires is independent of, and outside, the duty of confession and satisfaction. The penalties imposed by the Church are imposed only on the living, and death dissolves them; canonical penances are not reserved for Purgatory, and all that the Pope can do for souls in Purgatory is done by prayer, not by any power of the keys.

As to the treasure of the Church, from which the Pope grants Indulgences, it has never been defined, nor is it understood by the people. It cannot be the merits of Christ and the Saints, for these without the Pope work grace in the inner man: it would seem that it is the power of the keys, by which the Pope can remit penalties imposed by way of satisfaction. This amount of efficacy Luther leaves to Indulgences, adding that they are not to be despised, for they are a declaration of God's remission of sins. But he is anxious to guard against a misunderstanding of the extent of their efficacy; they are useful if men do not trust in them, most harmful if they lead men to lose the fear of God; they are not to be put before good works proceeding from love. It is most difficult, even for acute theologians, to extol the value of Indulgences and yet keep a true sense of contrition before the people; the teaching of commissaries entrusted with selling them deceives the people through the largeness of the efficacy which it attributes to them, puts contributions to the building of S. Peter’s before needful works of charity, shocks the consciences of many, and exposes the Pope to ridicule.

Luther was careful in these theses to draw a line between the teaching of the schoolmen and the doctrine of the Church. He distinguished between true wheat and tares which had been sown while the bishops slept, between Papal Bulls and vain dreams which were preached to the people. He expressed a reaction in favor of the theology of S. Augustin and S. Bernard against the developments of the thirteenth century. His contention was that much of the current teaching had never been formally accepted, and he wished to have an expression of the mind of the Pope, and an explanation of the definite opinion of the Church.

What Luther proposed in the first instance was an academical disputation on the points which he raised. No one seems to have accepted his challenge in Wittenberg; but his theses were printed, and created an amount of popular interest which was surprising to him. Still Luther had certainly no party in his favor. His former friends at Erfurt accused him of pride; and he answered that without some appearance of pride, some suspicion of contentiousness, no new opinion could be brought forward. His ecclesiastical superior, the Bishop of Brandenburg, sent him a kindly message advising him to be silent for a time, and Luther promised to obey. The Archbishop of Mainz did not communicate with him, but sent his theses to the Pope.

The first answer to Luther came from Tetzel, who adapted Luther's method, and in the end of 1517 published at Frankfort a series of a hundred and six propositions, in which he stated anew all the theories which Luther had attacked. His basis was that the inner penitence of heart, which Luther had taken as the only essential in repentance, did not dispense with the need of satisfaction, for God would leave no sin unavenged. Starting from this, he denounced Luther's theses one by one as erroneous. He did not so much argue as contradict; but it is noticeable that what Luther had said generally about the Pope, Tetzel applied specifically, and inserted the name of ‘Leo’ instead of the generic title ‘the Pope’. To make more clear his meaning that he looked solely to the Papal power for the support of Indulgences, he issued a second series of propositions “in honor of the apostolic seat”, in which he asserted that the Pope alone could determine matters of faith and authoritatively interpret Scripture; that he could not err when pronouncing a judicial decision; that no man, nor even a General Council, could define the faith about Indulgences, but only the Pope; that the Church held many truths which were not to be found in Scripture or in the more ancient doctors; that it was heretical to call in question anything which had been approved by the Roman Church. It was understood at the time that these propositions, though appearing in Tetzel's name, were mainly the work of the Frankfort theologian, Conrad Wimpina. At all events they served to indicate the line of defence which Luther's opponents would adopt.

Meanwhile Leo X had received Luther’s theses from the Archbishop of Mainz, and at first regarded the controversy as a “monk’s quarrel”, a continuation of the strife which raged about Reuchlin. In February, 1518, he referred the matter to the general of the Augustinians, Gabriel Venetus, with orders to act promptly and extinguish the flame before it had time to burn up into a conflagration. Leo’s sympathies were with the New Learning, and he had no wish to face questions of principle; antagonism must be avoided and disputes patched up; it was only a question of skillful management. But the theologians in Rome did not take the matter so easily. The Dominican, Sylvester Mazzolini, called Prierias from his birthplace, Master of the Papal Palace, had already taken a decided part against Reuchlin, and was of opinion that the lenity shown in his case was encouraging ecclesiastical disorder. As a devoted disciple of S. Thomas, he felt bound to lay aside the important work of commenting on the Summa of his great master and devote three days to the refutation of Luther. His attitude towards Luther was one of lofty contempt for one who was at once so obstinate and so ignorant: he wished to see whether Luther had an iron nose or a brazen head, so hard that they could not be smashed in the encounter. In the first place Luther had laid no foundation for his position : Prierias was not going to follow his example, but would make it clear on what grounds his arguments rested.

(1) The Universal Church was in its essence the assembly of all Christians; virtually it was the Roman Church; and the Roman Church was virtually the Pope.

(2) As the Universal Church cannot err about faith and morals, so a Council presided over by the Pope cannot err in the long run, though it may err at first, but if it seeks for the truth is sure to find it at last; in like manner the Pope cannot err when he gives an official decision.

(3) He is a heretic who does not accept the doctrine of the Roman Church and the Pope as the rule of faith.

(4) The Roman Church gives its decisions by acts as well as by words: so custom has the force of law; and anyone who doubts the acts of the Church in faith or morals is a heretic.

These positions obviously assumed the questions which Luther wished to discuss. Luther contended that the people were taught views about penance which had never received the formal sanction of the Church: he was answered that custom was the same as law. He wished to discuss the exact value which the Church attached to Indulgences: he was told that Popes granted them, and that it was heretical to go beyond that fact. Further, so far as the question might be discussed, what the Popes meant by the grant of Indulgences, Prierias contented himself with references to S. Thomas, whose writings have been approved as the rule of faith of the Roman Church. Prierias even praised the goodness of the Pope who was content with the voluntary offerings of his people in return for Indulgences, whereas, as king endowed alike with spiritual and temporal power, he might demand them of right. He was not bound to argue with men calling themselves Christians who were ill-affected; he could leave them to be silenced by the secular arm. Prierias, in fact, refused to discuss the question of Indulgences on its own merits; it was to his mind only a particular case of the use of the Papal power. Indulgences meant what the Pope declared them to mean; what that meaning was might be gathered from the scholastic doctors: in what sense that meaning was explained to the popular mind was apparently not worth considering. Prierias so completely ignored Luther’s object that he called his book A Dialogue about the Power of the Pope; against the Presumptuous Conclusions of Martin Luther.

Before answering the many clamors which Luther knew to be raised against him, he set to work to explain more carefully the contents of his theses, and in May, 1518, finished his Resolutiones Disputationum de Virtute Indulgentiarum. This was for the most part a re-statement of his original positions, with citations of authorities and arguments. He emphasized his central opinion, that the current theories about Indulgences rested upon the teaching of a series of schoolmen, who started from the writings of S. Thomas and S. Bonaventura, and expended their ingenuity in turning into doctrines the speculations and opinions of those great teachers. He spoke out on these subjects, because men had become desperate of any real reform in the Church, and concerted action was impossible: he believed in the uprightness and erudition of Leo X, but what could he do single-handed in the confusion of the present age, coming after such Popes as Alexander VI and Julius II? But Luther felt bound to face the fact that there was ground for thinking that some Popes had showed a disposition to favor the opinion that they had power over Purgatory. “I am not moved”, he said, “by the thought of what pleases or displeases the Pope. He is a man as I am. There have been many Popes who have been guilty not only of errors but vices. I listen to the Pope as Pope—that is, as he speaks in the Canons, or according to the Canons, or determines with a Council—but not as he speaks according to his own head; lest I should be driven to say with some that the horrid bloodshed of Julius II was a benefit conferred on Christ’s sheep”.

The Pope, he continues, has no power to make new articles of faith; even if the greater part of Christendom agreed with the Pope, it would not be heretical to dissent till the matter had been decided by a General Council: thus the greater part of Christendom believed in the immaculate conception of the Virgin, but it was not heretical to gainsay it. The treasure of the Church, out of which it was said that Indulgences were given, could not be the merits of the Saints, for no one had entirely fulfilled the Law of God; nor the merits of Christ, for that was the treasure of the whole Church, not applicable to Indulgences only. In fact, though Luther did not speak out his full mind, and strove to retain Indulgences as a ministerial remission of temporal punishment, it is clear that he found some difficulty in vindicating for them any useful place. He wished to be as submissive as possible, but he had already come to the conclusion that Indulgences were only illusory, and stood in the way of genuine efforts after amendment of life. Still his general attitude was one of a seeker after truth, who was willing to submit to the voice of authority. He sent his book to his diocesan, with a letter in which he asked him to revise or destroy it if he thought fit. “I only dispute”, he said, “I do not assert”. He sent it to Staupitz, as the head of his order in Germany, asking him to forward it to the Pope. He wrote a letter to Leo X, in which he spoke of the scandals caused by the sale of Indulgences; pointed out that the difference between him and his opponents depended on the value attached to the scholastic philosophy and the authority of Aristotle; and ended by declaring himself to be prostrate before the Pope’s feet: “Do with me as you will: I will acknowledge your voice, the voice of Christ presiding and Speaking in you. If I have deserved death, I will not refuse to die”.

He still expressed himself in the language to which he had been accustomed, and spoke with all a monk's humility. He was prepared for a long and stubborn controversy; but there was room for this in the Church: if Thomists were divided against Scotists, if the schoolmen were divided into parties, why should not he dissent from S. Thomas on some points and have his differences discussed? He considered that he had cleared himself from any suspicion of heresy, by prefacing his 'Resolutions' with a statement that he wished to say nothing which was not contained in the Scriptures, the fathers recognized by the Roman Church, the canons, and decretals; as to the opinions of S. Thomas, S. Bonaventura, and the other schoolmen, he considered himself at liberty to criticize them, though he knew that some Thomists maintained that S. Thomas had been in all things approved by the Church.

This rejection of scholastic in favour of biblical theology was still further emphasized in a Reply to Prierias, which followed almost immediately after the publication of the 'Resolutions', and which Luther contemptuously says was the work of two days. In this reply Luther’s controversial temper certainly overshot the mark of modesty. He says, truly enough, that the Dialogue of Prierias was supercilious; but he adds, “and entirely Italian and Thomistic”. Throughout his Reply he jibes at S. Thomas, at Aristotle, and at scholastic learning. He denies the fundamental position of Prierias, that the Church is virtually the Pope. “I hold the Church to be virtually in Christ, and representatively only in a Council. If the virtual Church is the Pope, what horrors shall we have to reckon in the Church! The bloodshed of Julius II, the tyranny of Boniface VIII. You will not persuade us under the name of your virtual and representative Church to revere such things. Our Germans say that your book was not so much written to refute Luther as to flatter the Pope and the Cardinals”.

He was willing to allow that the Pope was the ministerial head of the Church; but the faith of the Church depended on the definitions of General Councils. “You call the Roman Church the rule of faith: I have always believed that the faith was the rule of the Roman Church. The Roman Church has preserved the faith because it has held by the Scriptures and the fathers of the Church”. It appeared to Luther's mind inconceivable that the Pope, if once he faced the position, could accept as beyond dispute the theories of the schoolmen, or should be willing to declare them beyond the reach of challenge.

The theologian with whom Luther had most sympathy was Gerson, and in many of his utterances he approximated to the Conciliar theory of the Church. But even here he did not adopt any absolute view: “both a Pope and a Council may err”, he said. It would seem that he reserved the right of the Christian consciousness, resting on the Scriptures and primitive theology, to go behind modern practice and modern theory, and criticize the basis of ecclesiastical institutions, when they affected the development of the spiritual life of the individual.

LUTHER’S POSITION.

This last point, however, was only in the background. The practical issue raised by Luther was that of the meaning of Indulgences. The replies of Luther’s antagonists had led him to declare that the mere sanction of Papal usage was not enough to bind the Church, or at least was not enough to put the matter beyond discussion. Doubtless the eye of the experienced theologian saw many dangers that might arise from a protracted controversy, and wished in the interests of peace to avoid it. But the question before the Pope was whether or no such a controversy was legitimate. It was one thing to moderate it and keep it within limits; it was another thing to prohibit it altogether.

Luther had said many things which ran counter to the prevalent tendency of theological thought, and had asserted his individual opinions with undue emphasis. But he insisted that he was within a domain which was open for controversy; because there had as yet been no authoritative expression of formulated opinion. He had said nothing that was manifestly contrary to decretals or canons; if sometimes he spoke rashly, his utterances were still capable of explanation.

Germany was in a condition of intellectual ebullience, as had been seen in the quarrel about Reuchlin. Would it not be wise to give Luther considerable latitude, to leave him to the theologians of Germany, and let the controversy die out? Perhaps this would have been Leo X’s inclination, if the matter had not been of practical importance. But if Indulgences were to be questioned, their marketable value would decline; and this was a serious matter.

The Archbishop of Mainz, as a man of business who found his interests menaced, had referred Luther’s theses to the Pope. Leo at first hoped that Luther would be admonished by the superior of his order to behave more discreetly; but it does not seem that any active steps were taken, and Luther's immediate superior in Germany, Staupitz, was too much of Luther's opinion to interfere with any effect. When the theological learning of Prierias only roused Luther’s combative temper, Leo seems to have been persuaded that he must take the matter in hand; and in July a citation was issued ordering Luther to appear within sixty days in Rome, and answer to the charge of heresy.

The commissioners appointed to examine him were Girolamo Ghinucci, Bishop of Asoli, auditor of the Camera, and Sylvester Prierias, whose opinion had been already declared. The appointment of Prierias is strange, and can best be accounted for by the supposition that it was intended to give Luther an opportunity for delay, by enabling him to protest against one of his judges as a literary antagonist. Luther, however, did not take advantage of this point. His desire was that the cause should be decided in Germany; and he suggested that his prince, the Elector of Saxony, should afford him an excuse for not appearing in Rome, by refusing a safe-conduct through his territories. This subterfuge was, however, unnecessary; for Cardinal Rovere had already written to the Elector, who expressed himself neutral about the question in dispute, but demanded for Luther a fair trial. As the reputation of his new university was at stake, this was a reasonable demand; and the Pope agreed that Luther's case should be examined by the Cardinal Legate, who was then in Germany, attending the Diet which was sitting at Augsburg

When Luther set out for Augsburg at the end of September, 1518, he was conscious that he did not stand alone. His cause had been espoused by the students of Wittenberg, who showed a somewhat boisterous loyalty to their teacher, by seizing all the copies of Tetzel's Propositions which were in Wittenberg, and burning them in the market­place. Further, Luther had spoken out in his letters to men like Staupitz, and Spalatin, the chaplain of the Elector Frederick; and he knew that he had their sympathy and support. He dreamed of a strong theological school at Wittenberg, which should war against the schoolmen and their great founder, Aristotle, and should revive the study of strictly Biblical theology. In this hope he was greatly encouraged by the arrival in Wittenberg, on August 25, of Melanchthon, who, though only twenty-one years old, had already won a considerable reputation for learning. Philip Schwarzerd, son of an armorer of Bretton in the Palatinate, was a great-nephew of Reuchlin, who encouraged him in his career. When the Elector Frederick asked Reuchlin’s advice about a professor of Greek for Wittenberg, Reuchlin did not hesitate to commend his nephew as the soundest scholar in Germany after Erasmus. Melanchthon’s first lecture at Wittenberg sufficed to do away with the unfavorable impression produced by his small stature, his physical feebleness, and his nervous manner. Luther was delighted with his new colleague; and when Melanchthon began to lecture on Homer and S. Paul’s Epistle to Titus side by side, Luther’s hopes of the future of Wittenberg rose higher and higher. “We are all learning Greek”, he wrote, “that we may understand the Bible”. German scholarship might yet win new triumphs. As Hutten was striving to beat the Italian humanists in mastery of Latin style, so Luther was ready to do his best to carry on the contest in the region of theology. “The Romans have too long mocked us as thickheads, with their twistings and subtleties”.

Thus Luther felt that he had a cause to maintain—his own honor and freedom, the good name of his university, the future of German theology, and the national aspiration to be rid of foreign influence. He went with many misgivings, but he went resolved to do his best. “I will never be a heretic”, he wrote to Spalatin; “I may err in disputing; but I do not wish to decide anything; at the same time I do not wish to be enslaved by the opinions of men”.

The ostensible cause of the meeting of the Diet of Augsburg in August was to devise means for a crusade against the Turk. Such an expedition was sorely needed in the interests of Christendom, and the Pope was justified in urging it warmly on the attention of all. Maximilian also was in search of adventure, and would gladly have seen himself at the head of a German army. But the German princes were too much engaged in their personal affairs to feel any practical sympathy with their brethren who were menaced on the Eastern borders. They answered the Legate’s appeal by rehearsing the grievances which Germany endured from the Papacy. It was the weakness of the Papal position that no one trusted it; and it was easy to parry its exhortations to patriotic conduct, by showing that German patriotism held the Papacy to be as much its foe as the Turk, and had reforms to make at home before it turned its attention abroad. When the news of this refusal reached the Pope, he sent an angry answer to his Legate. There was no ground for complaints about his dealings with Germany; he did nothing save maintain the reasonable rights enjoyed by his predecessors. Anything that could be proved to be extraordinary he would abolish; but he would not resign the privileges of the Holy See to satisfy the clamor of the thoughtless mob. So wrote Leo, conscious of his political importance to the Emperor, who wished to procure the election of his grandson, Charles, as King of the Romans, and his own coronation as Emperor. The Diet had dispersed, after showing that it could be led by neither Pope nor Emperor, when Luther arrived at Augsburg on October 12.

Maximilian, in a letter to the Pope, had shown his accustomed shrewdness in estimating the gravity of the issue now submitted. He warned him that old principles were being called in question, and that the works of the doctors of the Church were left unread, or were even ridiculed: the Reuchlin controversy had stirred men’s minds; the controversy about Indulgences threatened to be still more dangerous: unless the Pope managed to put an end to these disputes they would lead to a widespread movement against authority. So wrote Maximilian; perhaps with a view of warning the Pope how much he needed the imperial support in Germany; anyhow he threw on Leo the responsibility of quieting the agitation; he did not profess that he himself was able or willing to deal with it.

But Leo and his advisers paid no heed to the Emperor’s hint. They could not plead ignorance of the intellectual temper of Germany; for they had before them the literature of the Reuchlin controversy. They could not refuse to admit the right of theological discussion; for they had condoned the hardy speculations of Pomponazzo. The question raised by Luther did not concern any fundamental doctrine of the Christian faith. It touched upon points of admitted difficulty, about which various opinions had been expressed by learned theologians. But it was a matter in which speculative opinions could not be indulged, without involving some practical changes in the conduct of the business of the Papal Court. Slowly and persistently the ever-increasing number of officials had found employment for their energies, and had built up a system on the basis of Papal autocracy. It was very inconvenient to have any part of this system challenged; it was undignified to explain it. Luther might raise abstract questions at pleasure; he might discuss the meaning of Scripture or the doctrines of the Church; but no man must dispute the plain meaning of a document, which bore the Pope's signature or proceeded from any of the Papal courts. If this were once allowed, there would be no end to the practical difficulties which would ensue. Germany showed an unpleasant tendency towards unprofitable talk, and it was time that this should be checked. It was only necessary to put on a bold front, and state in all its solidity the claim of the Papacy to unlimited obedience. The Lateran Council had accepted it without reserve. What the Church had accepted must be practically enforced. Prierias had stated the position of the Curia, and his principles must be upheld. The Papal policy towards Luther was the result of the triumph of officials over statesmen in the Papal Court.

So the task of dealing with Luther was entrusted to the Cardinal Legate in Germany, Tommaso de Vio, known as Cajetan from his birthplace near Gaeta. Prierias had demolished Luther's arguments; Cajetan must order him to be silent. No man could have been better fitted for the purpose. From his boyhood Tommaso had devoted himself to the study of the writings of S. Thomas, whose name he took on entering the Dominican Order. His fame as a theologian won for him a professorship at Rome, where he made his reputation by organizing the Lateran Council, and forging the weapons whereby the Council of Pisa was overthrown. His speech, delivered at the opening of the Council, enforced with unwonted precision the position that the Papal supremacy was of divine institution, and remained on record as the clearest statement of the actual principles on which the government of the Church was founded. For this signal service he was called by Leo X to the Cardinalate, and was sent to Germany as a man of solid learning and great reputation. No man seemed better fitted to compose a theological dispute, and overawe rebellion by the weight of his authority.

Unfortunately Cajetan’s training had not developed his intellectual sympathies. He had made up his mind that Aristotle was the first among philosophers, by reason of his perception of the divine order of the universe, and that S. Thomas was the first among theologians, by reason of his perception of the divine order in the mind of man. Order was the one object of his pursuit, and order required obedience to authority. In the matter of Indulgences Cajetan was in many points in sympathy with Luther. He had written on the subject, and his opinions were opposed to the current practice of Indulgence preachers. He held that an Indulgence was only valid when granted for a lawful cause, and that it required a penitent condition of mind in the receiver; even after receiving Indulgences penitence was necessary as a medicine to the soul. So careful was Cajetan to clear his mind on the points which Luther had raised, that he spent his leisure moments at Augsburg in resolving questions concerning Indulgences after the approved method employed by his master. It was his duty to tell Luther that he was wrong; so he proved to his own satisfaction that Luther's error lay in the raw, hasty, and unscholarly method which he had adopted, and his absence of respect for the limitations with which all trained intelligences ought to express their conclusions.

Having come to this decision Cajetan, had he been wise, would have seen the necessity of rapid and conciliatory action. Had he approached Luther, immediately on his arrival, as a brother scholar, he might have prepared the way for an agreement. But Cajetan would not descend from the dignity of a Papal Legate, and awaited Luther as a judge awaits a culprit. Luther arrived in Augsburg on October 7, and was advised by his friends not to place himself in Cajetan’s hands till he had received the imperial safe-conduct. So for five days Luther listened to stories about Cajetan with growing suspicion, while officious busy-bodies tendered him their advice. An Italian diplomatist, the envoy of the Marquis of Montserrat, in an off-hand way recommended him to submit to Cajetan, to withdraw all that he had said amiss, and not to expect a discussion. This flippant way of treating religious convictions as though they were matters of temporal expediency was very distasteful to Luther. “If”, he answered, “it can be shown that I have spoken contrary to the Church, I will be my own judge and will sing a palinode. But the difficulty lies here; if the Legate holds to the opinions of S. Thomas beyond the decree and authority of the Church, I cannot yield till the Church has revoked the decree on which I rely”. “Ha”, was the answer, “you wish for a tournament after all”. The talk only ended by leaving Luther disgusted with Italian levity.

When Luther appeared before Cajetan on October 12, Cajetan’s first object was to save his own dignity and maintain his judicial position. He would not hold a disputation, either in public or in private, and he had no notion of a friendly talk. He at once laid before Luther what was expected of him; the Pope demanded a revocation of his errors, and future silence about them and everything which might disturb the peace of the Church. Nothing could have been more ill-advised. Luther had raised a practical question on moral and spiritual grounds; he might have been led to see that he had made some intellectual mistakes, that he had used exaggerated language, and had not fully considered his points in their relations to the rest of the ecclesiastical system. But the first step towards this end was sympathy with his moral aims, an admission of the need of some reform, and a recognition that the system of Indulgences as a whole was beset with difficulties. Cajetan spoke of none of these things. He demanded silence, without a word of sympathy or the faintest promise of reform; and the sole ground for his demand was obedience to the Papal authority as represented by himself. If Cajetan’s method of proceeding was dictated by a desire to avoid anything like discussion, it was singularly ill-adapted to its purpose. Luther naturally asked to be informed what were the errors which he was called upon to revoke. Cajetan brought forward two points:

(1) The proposition that “the merits of Christ were not the treasure of Indulgences” was contrary to the Extravagant of Clement

(2) The proposition that “faith was necessary to one who approached the sacrament of penance, otherwise he approached it to his judgment” was erroneous, as no one knew whether he would obtain grace or not.

These points were carefully chosen so as to cover in an unobtrusive way the central conceptions of Luther's position. After some verbal fencing, Luther said that the Papal decretals sometimes twisted Scripture, and merely repeated the opinion of S. Thomas. Cajetan thereupon asserted that the Pope was above a Council, above Scripture, above all things in the Church; the Council of Basel had been swept away, the opinions of the Gersonists condemned. Opposed to this summary view Luther urged the appeal of the University of Paris against the abrogation of the Pragmatic Sanction, as a proof that the views of the Conciliar party were still alive. An aimless discussion followed in which no progress was made.

Next day Luther began by a protest that he followed the holy Roman Church in all things; that he was seeking after truth, and ought not to be compelled, unheard and unconvicted, to revoke; he was not conscious of having said anything contrary to Scripture, the fathers, the decretals of the Popes, or right reason; still being liable to error he was ready to submit to the lawful judgment of the Church: for this purpose he was ready to give account of his opinions in writing or in disputation, and to be judged by the Universities of Basel, Freiburg, Louvain, and Paris. This was not at all to Cajetan’s mind; his object was not discussion but silence; and he again insisted on recantation without more dispute. Luther offered to put his answer into writing, and at the request of Staupitz this was allowed.

The document which Luther submitted to the Legate showed a strong desire to be conciliatory. It is true that he still maintained that Papal decretals, though they ought to be listened to as the voice of S. Peter, should be tested by Scripture and the consciousness of the faithful; for even S. Peter had erred, and his opinion did not prevail at the Council of Jerusalem till it had met with the consent of the Church. But he urged that the language of the Bull of Clement VI, if carefully interpreted, did not contradict his position. The term, “the merits of Christ”, may be used in two senses; strictly speaking, “the merits of Christ” are imparted by the Holy Spirit only to the faithful soul; but in a secondary sense “the merits of Christ” may signify the results which flowed from them, amongst which is the power of the keys entrusted to His Church. It may therefore be said that the merits of Christ are the treasure of Indulgences, meaning that the power of the keys flows from the merits of Christ, and by the power of the keys the Pope can remit the satisfaction due for sin. A close examination of the words of the decretal shows that it will bear this meaning, for it does not say that the merits of Christ are the treasure of the Church, but that Christ acquired a treasure for the Church, thus distinguishing between the cause and its effects. Though Luther gave this interpretation he expressed himself willing to change it for a better, and submitted himself to the judgment of the Church.

On the second point to which Cajetan had taken exception, the necessity of faith for justification, Luther pleaded that his views were neither new nor erroneous. He brought forward texts of Scripture, and quoted S. Augustin and S. Bernard in his favor; unless it could be shown that he had misinterpreted these authorities, he must adhere to them and obey God rather than man. He ended by imploring Cajetan to intercede for him with the Pope “that he do not cast into darkness a soul which is only seeking the light of truth, and is most ready to give way, to change and revoke everything, when it has been taught how they are to be understood differently”.

Luther handed this document to Cajetan, who looked at it and said that it should be forwarded to the Pope; meanwhile he demanded a full revocation. Luther expected that his pleadings had at least shown cause why he should not be called upon to revoke at once, and was indignant. Further talk led to no result, and finally Cajetan testily exclaimed : “Unless you revoke, begone, and do not come into my sight again”.

Luther resented the attempt to override him without argument. Cajetan was a great theologian; why did he not speak accordingly? Why did he not grapple with the arguments laid before him? “He may be a distinguished Thomist”, wrote Luther, “but as a theologian and a Christian he is incoherent, obscure, and unintelligent, no more fit to judge this matter than a donkey is to play the harp”.

Cajetan made another attempt to influence Luther. He sent to him his old friends Staupitz and Wenzel Link, that they might represent in friendly fashion his duty of obedience. Staupitz frankly admitted that he was not equal to Luther in theological knowledge; he was rent asunder by his intellectual sympathy with Luther's opinions and his sense of monastic discipline. He said what he could, and ended by absolving Luther from his vow of obedience to himself as Vicar of the Augustinian congregation. Next day he left Augsburg, as no longer wishing to have any responsibility. Luther was touched by the obvious disquietude of his oldest friend, and on October 17 wrote again to Cajetan, acknowledging that he had spoken intemperately about the Pope, offering to express publicly his regret, and to keep silence about Indulgences, if silence were also imposed on his antagonists. He could not revoke his opinions until the Church had spoken; he begged that his case might be referred to the Pope.

In the light of the future we see that Luther had yielded a great deal; and had Cajetan been politic he would have accepted this basis of reconciliation. He had seen enough of the temper of Germany to show him that it was unwise to keep open this dangerous controversy, that it was hazardous to risk a conflict between the Papal claims and the spirit of theological inquiry. Maximilian had warned the Pope that he must find some way of quieting the growing excitement. It was clear that Frederick of Saxony had taken up an attitude of neutrality, and would not allow his university to be discredited without reason shown.

Cajetan’s interviews with Luther ought to have taught him that he was dealing with no ordinary man; that Luther had a powerful nature which was bound to find utterance; that he had a genius for the expression of religious sentiment; that he was not an academician defending a thesis, but a teacher with a profound sense of the responsibility of his task.

It is true that a trained theologian might discern in Luther dangerous tendencies of which he himself was not conscious; but that foresight should have impressed him with the need of caution. It was clear that Luther had no wish to rebel, but was not to be reduced to silence by the mere command of authority. Friendly mediation had induced him to admit that in some things he had spoken unadvisedly, and to promise silence for a time. If Cajetan had seized upon this concession, if even now he had expressed any sympathy, if he had given him an assurance of kindly consideration at the Papal Court, if he had tried still further to narrow the issue which had been raised, much might have been averted; for Luther was not a man who had clearly formulated opinions, which were logically bound to lead to certain consequences. He only wished to impart to others the views on which his own soul's life was founded: they might be narrow, they might be too strongly expressed, they might be applied in an exaggerated way, they might be difficult to adjust with the current system. But the times admitted of a display of new enthusiasm : there was nothing absolutely new in Luther's opinions, nothing that might not be directed into a proper channel. The one thing to avoid was disputation in Germany; for Luther was a formidable controversialist, and his views were sure to develop before opposition. If he could have been made to feel that, at the Roman Court, he would meet with something like sympathy, he would have been content to wait.

But Cajetan was an official to whom obedience was the supreme duty. His orders had been to induce Luther to revoke; and when Luther refused to revoke as fully as he had demanded, he would have no further dealings with him. He had an intellectual contempt for novelty and enthusiasm. When Luther left his presence he said, with a smile, to his attendants, “This fellow wants fresher eggs than the market supplies”. Disobedience must be put down; he did not stay to consider by what means. Luther thought that he had gone to the furthest limits of submission, and awaited an answer. When no answer came his melting mood passed away. He knew that he brought an honest soul to the service of the Church; he asked only for fair consideration, and he was treated with disdain. If such was the attitude of the Legate, what was to be expected from the Pope? He could look for nothing but that he would be condemned unheard; that the process already instituted before Prierias and Ghinucci would run its formal course; and that sentence would be pronounced on the simple issue that he had contradicted the language of a Papal decretal.

To Luther such a result seemed intolerable. He knew that there were many thoughtful men in Germany who shared his opinions. He had made many friends in Augsburg. Public sympathy was on his side, feeling that he had not been fairly dealt with. His mind passed through a sudden revulsion. He had done his best for peace, but he was not prepared for unconditional surrender; if there was to be war he must do his best to defend himself. So on October 16 he wrote to the Legate informing him that his friends urged him to lodge an appeal, framed according to precedent, from the Pope ill-informed to the Pope when he was better informed; he was unwilling to adopt this course; but it seemed to his friends to be the only alternative to a revocation, for which he was not prepared without an authoritative expression of the opinion of the Church. Again he gave Cajetan an opportunity of asking him to delay till he had consulted the Pope; but Cajetan had no doubt that Luther’s obstinacy was not to be reasoned with but must be crushed. The Pope had already spoken definitely enough through his Legate; and no question could be raised about the plenitude of the Papal power to decide all matters, even though, as Luther urged, they were “doubtful, full of contrary opinions, undetermined, open to discussion, and not concerned with matters necessary to salvation”. Luther received no answer; and after waiting two days at Augsburg rode off secretly to Wittenberg, leaving his appeal to be lodged by a notary with the Cardinal.

On his way back he received a letter from Spalatin enclosing a Papal brief addressed to Cajetan, and dated August 23, in which Luther was said to have been already pronounced a heretic by the Papal Commissioner, Ghinucci; Cajetan was ordered to take him into custody and bring him to Rome, unless he revoked; if he could not be captured, all his adherents were to be excommunicated. Luther regarded this brief as a forgery of his enemies for the purpose of terrifying him; but the possibility of its genuineness filled him with indignation, and anyhow he saw that he must take all precautions for his personal safety. At Augsburg he had measured the political opposition felt by patriotic Germans against Papal interference, and had learned that he would have considerable support in withstanding the Pope. He returned to Wittenberg “full of joy and peace”, and resolved, if need were, to appeal from the Pope to a Council.

Cajetan was convinced that he had done all that could be done, and thought that he had been ill-used by Staupitz and Luther. In a leisurely way he wrote his complaint to the Elector Frederick, begging him to send Luther to Rome, or at least to exile him from his dominions. Frederick's answer ought to have convinced Cajetan of the gravity of the situation. He did not approve of the attempt to extort from Luther a recantation while his cause was still pending; many learned men in Germany thought that there was nothing heretical in Luther's opinions; he would not expel from his dominions a man who had not been convicted of error; he had sent the Legate’s letter to Luther, and enclosed his answer; it would be seen that Luther was ready to submit to the judgment of universities; finally he begged to be informed of the exact nature of Luther's heresy.

This decision of the Elector secured for the time Luther’s personal safety at Wittenberg; and he continued his teaching with such effect that the study of S. Thomas was entirely abandoned for that of Duns Scotus; and Luther looked forward to the time when that also would disappear, and a “pure philosophy and pure theology would draw all their principles from their own sources”.

The sense of a mission grew still stronger in his mind, and he was determined not to be overborne by the mere voice of Papal authority. He wrote an account of what had occurred at Augsburg, which was published early in December, against the wish of the Elector, who tried when it was too late to stop the publication. This was meant to prepare public opinion for a step which had been already taken, an appeal from the Pope to a future Council. In drawing up this appeal Luther closely followed the form used by the University of Paris against the abrogation of the Pragmatic Sanction; and his immediate object was to identify his cause with theirs, in case the Pope “out of the plenitude, not of his power, but of his tyranny”, should disregard his first appeal.

But Luther had really little in common with the remnants of the Conciliar ideas, which still showed some vitality amongst the Paris doctors. He had no belief in the infallibility of a Council any more than in the infallibility of the Pope. The step was merely taken as a precautionary measure against a hasty condemnation by the Papal judges. He had meant the appeal to be kept secret; he had it printed and intended to keep the copies by him for ready distribution if need arose. But Luther’s matter was now an object of popular interest, and the printer would not lose the chance of gaining a market. The appeal was published soon after the Acta Augustana, to Luther’s great annoyance, though he soon regarded it as God’s will.

Luther’s reason for this step was uneasiness at the news of the approach of an envoy from the Pope to the Elector Frederick, bearing the Golden Rose, which the Pope had bestowed on the Elector as a mark of his special favor. The envoy was Karl von Miltitz, son of a Saxon nobleman, who after being educated at Koln went to Rome, where he was made a Papal chamberlain and acted as representative of the Saxon Court. Miltitz was thus likely to be acceptable to the Elector, and Luther dreaded the possible effects of Papal blandishments. It was rumored that Miltitz was the bearer of Papal briefs, addressed to all who were likely to help him, ordering that Luther should be seized and sent to Rome for trial; and as a matter of fact the Papal letters to the Elector of Saxony and his advisers called Luther “a son of Satan” and requested that his excessive rashness should be checked lest the fair fame of the Elector be tarnished by his protection of a heretic. Whatever might have been the instructions of Miltitz he used his own discretion in discharging them. He had not lived so long in Italy as to have lost the power of understanding his own countrymen. He saw at once that the views current in the Papal Court about Luther were founded upon no knowledge of the facts. He found that Luther was not an elderly professor, but a man in the prime of life, full of vigor, strong in the popular sympathy felt for one who was being unjustly persecuted by Italian priests for speaking out about their greediness, but still stronger in the favor with which his opinions were regarded by the educated classes. Miltitz was so impressed by what he saw and heard in confidential talks with old friends, that he resolved to appear before Frederick in his private capacity, before he presented the Papal letters. He determined to play the part of mediator and devise a means of reconciling Luther with the Pope.

As a first step he summoned Tetzel before him, reprimanded him for several unauthorized acts, and put him to such shame that Luther wrote to comfort him. Early in January, 1519, he had an interview with Luther at Altenburg in Spalatin’s presence. Luther’s friends urged upon him to be prudent and make such concessions as he could. Miltitz was kindly, and did not so much try to argue or prescribe terms as to ascertain how much Luther would yield. One of Luther's chief motives was a desire to spare the Elector further trouble, and he did his utmost to meet Miltitz’ advances. We see the traces of the common-sense of a man of the world, like Miltitz, reflected in Luther's undertaking to keep silence, provided his opponents did the same: so, he writes, “the matter will bleed itself to death, for if my writing had been left unanswered, the song would have been sung out long ago and every one would have been tired of it”. Further, Luther undertook to write an apologetic letter to the Pope, and write an admonition to all men to obey the Roman Church. Miltitz on his part undertook to make a full report to the Pope, and urge him to refer Luther's case to some learned German bishop, who should point out any articles which might be erroneous, and Luther would willingly recant if he was convinced of any error. Luther was so far hopeful of success that he proceeded to discuss the choice of a bishop who should be named as a judge.

Further, at the end of February he published in German An Instruction addressed to the people. In it he said that the invocation of Saints was to be used for spiritual blessings; that Purgatory was to be believed, but its nature and object were not clearly revealed; that Indulgences were useful as a release from satisfaction for sin; that the commands of the Church were to be obeyed, but God’s commands were to be esteemed above them; that God's grace is the one source of holiness, and that good works spring from it; that the Roman Church is honored by God above others; the exact nature of its superiority and power is for learned men to discuss, but all should have regard to unity and not withstand the commands of the Pope.

On March 3 Luther wrote to the Pope and expressed his sorrow that what he had done to protect the honor of the Roman Church had brought upon him suspicion. To revoke his opinions would be of no use; for they had taken root in men’s minds, and a revocation without reason given would only increase men’s discontent. He confessed that the Roman Church was above all things in heaven and earth save only Jesus Christ, the Lord of all. He would say nothing more about Indulgences, and would be silent altogether if his adversaries would keep silence also.

There is no reason to accuse Luther of insincerity in these proposals. It is true that they do not harmonize with the opinions which he soon afterwards expressed; but Luther would never have been the leader of a great rebellion if he had clearly known whither he was tending. His only wish was for liberty to teach what he himself felt; he was conscious that discussion had reached the limits within which it was likely to be useful. If only controversy might cease for a time, knowledge would grow; and any attempt at a fair decision of the questions which had been raised would be fruitful of results. He was not anxious to speak out any further; indeed, he was not certain whither speech in the face of opposition might lead him. But he already felt that he was at the head of a party, that others depended upon him, and that he was not justified in entirely abandoning the ground which he had already occupied. He could not well retire amid the derision of his opponents; he could not allow his protest, whether well-timed or not, to be the means of securing the victory of the opinions which he had challenged. He did violence to himself for the sake of peace; but the first step in the negotiations must be the silence of his opponents; from that he could judge of the hopes of the future.

The Pope was doubtless informed by Miltitz of Luther’s promises; and it was in his power to have so far welcomed them as to impose silence on all in Germany until the question had been further considered. No word, however, was heard from Rome; and Luther while proposing peace was preparing for war. He could not well afford to do otherwise. Eck was determined to keep the matter open, and show how the champion of orthodoxy could dispose of innovators by the weapons of dialectic. Had Leo X been wise the disputation at Leipzig would never have taken place. Had he commanded silence and referred certain definite points to the judgment of a commission of German bishops, he might have obtained evidence of the need of some readjustment of the Papal system to meet the needs of Germany, which was awakening to a new life. It would have required open-mindedness to have achieved the task of reconciliation between the new and the old; but as yet the breach was not hopeless. Luther only asked that certain points should be left open for discussion: he himself admitted that if they were discussed, they might not come to much. It is noticeable that already he attached only slight importance to the question of Indulgences with which the controversy began. In his letter to the Elector of November 19, 1518, he professed his willingness to modify his statements on that point: “If the merits of Christ are the treasure of Indulgences, nothing is thereby added to them; if not, nothing is taken from them; Indulgences remain what they are, however they be puffed and magnified”; but he insisted that the necessity of faith for a right reception of the sacraments was so clearly laid down in Scripture that he could not withdraw from this opinion.

It is obvious that all he wished for was liberty to teach the primary necessity of faith. Hence he was not moved from his conciliatory attitude by the fact that Leo X sided against him on the question of Indulgences. Miltitz was the bearer of a decretal, addressed to Cardinal Cajetan, which defined the teaching of the Roman Church. By the power of the keys, committed to S. Peter and his successors, the guilt of sin could be remitted by the sacrament of penance; its temporal punishment by Indulgences, which proceeded from the superabundant merits of Christ and the Saints; the authority of the Pope could confer an Indulgence by means of absolution, and could transfer it to those in Purgatory by means of intercession. This was an authoritative summary of the broad lines of scholastic teaching, but it was carefully worded; it cited no previous authorities; it made no reference to Luther by name; it did not attack his arguments. Luther was not careful to make himself acquainted with the contents of the decretal. After all, men might please themselves whether or not they purchased Indulgences; and his protest had already done much to check the traffic in them. He was willing to accept the decretal.

If this was so, the Papacy had fairly vindicated its position. Luther had apologized for any disrespectful utterance and had professed obedience; he would submit to the judgment of a learned German bishop. There was an opportunity for reflection, a chance of a time of truce in which personal heat might subside and the points at issue be clearly discerned. Had Leo X commanded silence, and submitted some carefully chosen points for a report from a commission of German bishops, he would certainly have won a great measure of German sympathy to his side. Men did not object to the principle of the Papal supremacy, they had begun to criticize the way in which it was exercised. About the technical questions of theology which Luther raised few felt themselves qualified to judge. But all could see that a man of high character and great religious enthusiasm, whose opinions seemed tenable to many learned men in Germany, was not thought worthy even of a fair trial, but was simply ordered to revoke at the dictation of an Italian bishop. The Papal supremacy was well enough; but this was not the way to exercise it; and Luther knew that he would have many followers in a determined resistance to what he regarded as tyranny.

But the Roman Curia was incapable of taking such a view of the situation. The ingenuity of its canonists had been spent for years in building up a system of Papal omnipotence. Just because the Papacy was secular and no great spiritual movement had agitated men’s minds in Europe, it was the more easy to insert into Bulls and Briefs terms of exaggerated adulation. Just because the rulers of England, France, and Spain knew how to protect themselves from Papal aggression within their own dominions, they had no interest in criticizing the language of Papal documents. So long as the Pope was their political ally, the plenitude of his power might be as large as he pleased: when he was opposed to them, he could be reduced by diplomacy or force, on purely secular grounds. Meanwhile in ecclesiastical matters he was left at liberty; and the expression of his claims to absolute authority grew more and more exalted. The Council of the Lateran had been a recognition of all this industry; it had abolished the last remnants of the Conciliar movement, and in speeches and decrees alike had extolled the Papal power to the skies.

It is true that no one paid much attention to these decrees, that the Council attracted little notice, and that Germany especially took almost no part in its proceedings. Yet official conservatism was not willing to run the risk of an investigation of its labors. It had made the Papal power absolute, that it might supply the necessary basis for a highly centralized government of the Church. It was dangerous even to seem to submit to a challenge—it was wiser to use the weapon which had been so diligently forged, and repress the first threatening of revolt. So the advisers of the Pope had no thought of concession, and were inspired by the temper of Cajetan rather than that of Miltitz. Their object was not to conciliate Luther, but to win over the Elector; their concern was not with the ideas of Germany, but with the rulers of Germany. They would work through the Emperor and the Princes, and would follow the same policy as had proved so successful in rooting out the Conciliar ideas two generations ago.

Everything seemed to favor this policy: for on January 12, 1519, Maximilian died, and an imperial election opened a splendid field for Papal diplomacy. The new Emperor would certainly be under such obligations to the Pope that he might be trusted to deal with Luther's obstinacy in a summary way.

CHAPTER IV.

THE IMPERIAL ELECTION

Leo’s interest was only slight in the theological question which Cajetan tried to settle at Augsburg; but he was keenly interested in another question which was raised there, the election of Charles as King of the Romans. Maximilian was anxious to secure the imperial dignity to the Austrian house; his desire awakened the jealous opposition of Francis I, who saw that the combination in the same hands of the Netherlands, Spain, and the Empire would mean the reduction of France to secondary importance in the affairs of Europe. Maximilian and Francis both turned to the Electors, who found their position suddenly profitable. Francis believed that he had four of the seven on his side; but during the meeting at Augsburg five agreed to elect Charles formally in the following spring. This, however, could scarcely be done without reference to the Pope. First, there was the technical objection that Maximilian, never having been crowned, was only Emperor-elect, and there could not be two Kings of the Romans at the same time. Secondly, Charles held Naples as part of the Spanish dominions, and in accordance with the Bull of Clement IV, Naples as a Papal fief could not be held together with the Empire. Accordingly Maximilian proposed to Leo that he should send the imperial crown to Trent, as a means of removing the first difficulty. Francis also turned to the Pope, and promised him entire devotion if he would refuse Maximilian’s demand and show himself “to be Leo in deed as well as in name”.

The records of Leo’s diplomacy during the period that followed are dark and mysterious. They show a duplicity which so completely disguised any abiding purpose that it is impossible to resolve the Pope's policy into a consistent scheme. His action is like that of a weak animal that tries to baffle his pursuers by involving himself in obscurity. The question of the succession to the Empire raised a point of momentous importance for the future of Italy and of the Papacy. Hitherto Leo had carried on the policy of his predecessors, with Medicean dexterity, in accordance with principles recognized by Italian statesmen. All were agreed to maintain the balance of power in Italy; and the Papacy from time to time might pick up small advantages. But the annexation of the Empire, either to France or Spain, removed one of the elements on which the balance of power rested. Francis was powerful in North Italy; Charles was King of Naples; if either of these could also call himself Emperor how was Italy to escape in the struggle which would ensue? Leo did not deceive himself about the material resources of the Papacy; the war of Urbino had taught him on that point. He was too much of a Florentine and a Medici to think of an Italian combination. It only remained for him to act cautiously, to make himself seem necessary to both parties, to retain as long as possible the friendship of both, and be prepared in the long run to accept the inevitable. So Leo negotiated with both Francis and Charles. He hinted to Francis that, before he could declare himself on his side, he must have substantial proofs of his good-will, and suggested that Lorenzo de’ Medici would be glad to add to his possessions Parma, Piacenza, and Ferrara. Charles took advantage of the death of the Queen Dowager of Naples to promise the Pope an estate of 6000 ducats for one of his relatives. Leo represented to each of the kings the need in which he stood of the strongest assurance of support before he took any decided step. The consequence was that at the beginning of 1519 Leo had made good terms for himself with Charles and Francis alike, and had signed a treaty of alliance with both of them, stipulating only that the treaty with Charles was to be kept secret.

It would seem that Leo felt that he could not withstand Maximilian’s demands, if they were endorsed by the Diet, and was prepared to give way after securing himself against the wrath of Francis. But the news of Maximilian’s death altered the position of affairs, and Leo thanked God that he was delivered from a perilous decision. The Electors were freed from their promises, which only concerned the choice of a King of the Romans; and the election of a new Emperor could be approached afresh. Leo at once displayed a bewildering fertility in issuing contradictory orders to his envoys. Cajetan in Germany was bidden to represent to the Electors that the Pope wished them to elect one of their own number, and hoped that they would unite for that end. Only the Electors of Saxony and Brandenburg were possible; the Pope did not care which was chosen, but thought that the Elector of Saxony was the better candidate. His Holiness did not wish on any account the election of Charles, who would thereby become too powerful; and the jealousy of the King of France would certainly give rise to a war, the end of which could not be foreseen. A second dispatch warned Cajetan that he was to adhere to these instructions, and not depart from them, even if a letter in the Pope's own handwriting commended Charles’ candidature.

It is probable that this represented what Leo would have preferred. A weak Emperor, constantly in need of Papal support, would have given him the means of maintaining in Italy the balance between France and Spain, and would have permitted him to traffic with both in his own interests. But Leo was too cautious to commit himself avowedly to this policy, or take any open steps to strengthen the hands of the Electors in carrying it out. He knew their selfishness and corruption, and did not put much trust in their action. Still if Leo had spoken out decidedly, the expression of his wishes might have afforded a rallying-point round which the public opinion of Germany could gather. But Leo was no believer in candor and straight­forwardness, and he knew nothing of the sentiment of Germany. He did not intend so far to commit himself that he could not make terms with the winner whoever he might be, and he destroyed his possible influence by excessive caution. He ordered his envoy in France, Cardinal Bibbiena, to represent to Francis that the Pope was entirely on his side; but there was great need for circumspection; for if the Electors became afraid of the power of France they would naturally turn to Charles: he therefore besought Francis to consider how, if he could not win, he might at least avoid losing, and for this purpose should be prepared to support a third candidate. In giving this advice the Pope showed considerable dexterity. He hoped that in a little while Francis would discover his own candidature to be impossible, and would then work for some German prince so as to exclude Charles. But it was difficult to use Francis as a tool, to give him just enough encouragement and no more; and Leo had not the boldness nor persistency necessary for the success of this project. At first Francis engaged with ardor in the task of winning the Electors; then he suddenly cooled, and spoke of promoting the candidature of another. Though this was what Leo wished, the result came so soon that it filled him with alarm lest Francis was contemplating a private agreement with Charles. Under the influence of this terror he implored Francis to persevere. He even abandoned the profession of neutrality which he had made to Charles, and declared to the Spanish envoy that he did not consider his master's election to be for the good of Christendom.

Thus Leo was led to declare himself against Charles without finding any one else whom he could oppose to Francis. He was somewhat disturbed by the attitude of England, whose influence was on the side of Charles against Francis. He strove to induce Henry VIII to accept the post which he had first designed for Francis, and induce the Electors to think of a third candidate. As soon as he had recovered from the panic caused by the lukewarmness of Francis, he ordered Campeggi to represent to Wolsey that the dangers which would follow on the election of Charles were greater than those to be dreaded from Francis: could not England bring about the choice of one of the Electors, or some other Prince? Henry VIII was caught by this cautious suggestion that he himself should wrest the prize of the Empire from the other claimants; and it is probable that Henry’s active interposition might have caused a diversion in favor of some one else. But Wolsey was not attracted by the prospect, and pointed out that it was desirable to have a distinct promise of the Pope's help before any practical steps were taken. The letter empowering Gigli to sound the Pope and extract from him a definite promise was not written till March 25, and showed so little zeal that Leo could place no hopes on England, though Henry still cast lingering glances on the Imperial Crown.

Leo, however, remained for a time firm to his conviction that the election of Charles would be the greater evil than the election of Francis. He promised the Cardinalate to the Electors of Trier and Koln, and offered to nominate the Elector of Mainz Legate in Germany, if they would agree to vote against Charles. On March 13 he said to the Venetian envoy: “As for the Catholic king, on no account could we have him. Do you know how many miles distant are the borders of his dominions? Only forty. He cannot be King of the Romans, and I mean to let him know that he is ineligible”. If the Pope had published such a declaration at first, it might have produced an effect on the Electors; but Leo had trusted to his dexterity in the first instance, and the time was now past when he could interfere. The hope of a third candidate dwindled away, and German opinion was forming in favor of Charles. Leo’s attempts to influence the Electors were repulsed, and his envoy was coldly informed that there was no precedent for the Pope giving orders to the Electors. Early in April Leo made up his mind that Francis had no chance, and that the election of Charles was practically certain. Nothing remained for him save to come to terms with Charles; and this was rendered easier by the death on May 4 of his nephew Lorenzo, five days after the death of his wife, who died in giving birth to a daughter, Caterina. The outward bond between France and the Papacy was now removed. There was no legitimate member of his own branch of the Medici family for whom the Pope need scheme. The removal of the worthless Lorenzo was a source of secret joy to the better men in the Papal Court, who hoped to see the Pope renew the fair promise of his early years. Negotiations with Charles were carried on with the utmost secrecy, and on June 17 Leo gave Charles permission to hold Naples together with the Empire; while Charles agreed to pay the Pope 8000 ducats a year, and maintain two galleys for the defence of the Holy See.

It is impossible not to feel how little effect all this busy diplomacy had upon the actual issue of the election. Francis might be able to pay more money to the Electors than Charles, and the Pope might offer in his behalf all the ecclesiastical distinctions which he could bestow; but the very means which Francis used to urge his claims gave the Electors food for thought. Was it wise to set over themselves a ruler who had so much money at his disposal, and was already so powerful that he had contracted habits of command?

The Pope might offer a large bribe to the ecclesiastical Electors in behalf of Francis; what powers over the Church might he not be induced to grant to Francis when the possession of the Empire had still further increased his power? After all Francis was a Frenchman, and the French had long been the enemies of the Germans; while Charles came of a German stock, and knew German ways. The addition of the Empire would increase the power of Francis much more than the power of Charles, whose scattered dominions would be likely to give him ample occupation. Such were the considerations which began to force themselves upon the minds of the Electors, and they were emphasized by the loud expression of popular opinion.

When Pace went on his futile mission to canvass the Electors in behalf of the English king, he soon found the opinion of the people was made up. At Dusseldorf he was refused a guide because he was mistaken for a Frenchman; when he declared that he was English he was told that all the men of the town would go with him, for surely he was come to help Charles. He found the Electors in great perplexity, for the people would have no French Emperor, and hated the Pope’s Legate for his leaning to Francis. The popular feeling had been stirred by the insolence of one of Francis’ German pensioners, Duke Ulrich of Wurtemberg, and the Swabian League took up arms against him. Ulrich's troops, which were paid with French gold, were defeated; and the Swabian leader, Franz von Sickingen, with an army of 24,000 men, drew near to Frankfort, ostensibly to protect it from hostile incursions, but really to make a demonstration against the election of Francis. Pace found that Charles had become the national candidate, and that it was quite useless to work for Henry VIII, especially as he had no money to distribute.

When the Electors met for the election on June 18 the chances of Francis had dwindled away. At the last moment Francis became conscious of this, and sent orders to his agents to set up the Elector of Brandenburg or Saxony against Charles. When it was too late he came round to the plan which Leo X had at first advised, only to find that the Pope had now abandoned it. Already, on June ii, one of the Papal envoys had to flee from Frankfort in disguise through fear of the popular anger at his French partisanship; and Cajetan only stayed with trembling at his post. But his trials were soon to come to an end. As soon as Leo had made his agreement with Charles, he dispatched a courier ordering Cajetan to withdraw his opposition. Cajetan informed the Electors on June 24 that the Pope removed all bar to Charles' election, if the choice of the Electors should fall upon him. After this the election proceeded rapidly. An attempt was made by the Elector of Trier to urge at the last moment the election of a German; but Frederick of Saxony declined the dangerous honor. There was nothing more to be done: and at seven o'clock on the morning of June 28 Charles was elected.

One important result of the Imperial election was that it disclosed unmistakably the practical impotence of the Papacy in European politics. Leo had known this before, and strove to conceal it. It was certainly unpleasant to have it revealed; but he frankly confessed to the Venetian envoy that he had acted as he did because “it was no use to knock his head against a wall”. This, indeed, was the misery of Leo’s position. The Papacy, as a political power, was practically helpless; but Leo could not venture to say so, and could not free himself from the trammels of political complications. The Papacy had a right to exercise influence; it had abandoned its claim to influence and had exercised power. Now its power was gone; but Leo dared not admit the fact. It was impossible for him to revive a claim to influence, because he was steeped in political intrigues. The consequence was that he was placed in the ignominious position of trying to behave as if he was possessed of power, whereas really his power was gone, and he was at the mercy of pressure from outside which he could not resist. There was little satisfaction in thinking that he had done his best, and had escaped without any practical injury. He felt keenly that the Papacy had suffered severely in the eyes of politicians, and was regarded as a puppet, the strings of which would be pulled by the strongest. Leo had never contemplated the possibility of rising above the political entanglements in which he was involved. He did not attempt to gauge the temper of Germany, or work in accordance with national feeling. He worked by means of subtle schemes, which failed because they had no basis of resolute action. Leo was so fearful of knocking his head against a wall that he forgot that walls might be scaled. The consequence of all his double-faced diplomacy was that everyone felt aggrieved. The Germans resented his intervention; Francis thought that he had been basely deserted; Charles owed him no thanks for help which was only given when it could not be refused; even Henry VIII professed to feel aggrieved at having been misled by false hopes. It is true that Henry’s grievance was merely a means of compelling Leo to extend Wolsey’s legatine authority in England; but it was expressed in language which was very galling to the Pope.

But if Wolsey’s letters were arrogant, the speech and actions of the French and Spanish ambassadors were more arrogant still. The Bishop of S. Malo spoke of Leo in such terms that the Pope lost his temper, and declared that he would never see that madman again. The Spaniards behaved as if Rome already belonged to them, and gave Leo an example of that forcible manner of dealing with the Papacy which soon became a part of their political practice. The matter was trivial in itself.

There was in Rome a Spaniard, who had a suit concerning the election to a priory pending before the Papal Court. It would seem that the litigant was striving to dispossess a nominee of the Government, and there was some ground for thinking that judgment might be given in his favor. So on the night of August 27 the Spaniard was dragged by armed men from the house where he was lodging; he was silenced effectually by a pellet of tallow which was forced into his mouth, and was hurried away to the Colonna Castle of Marino, whence he was sent to Gaeta. The Pope was naturally indignant at this outrage, which he discovered had been carried out by the order of the Spanish ambassador, whose son was the leader of the band of kidnappers. Leo ordered him to begone from Rome, and threatened to excommunicate all concerned in the affair, but consented to wait till he received letters from Charles. Charles expressed his regret, and the prisoner was restored to Rome: but probably the lesson had served its purpose both with him and the Pope. He did not prosecute his suit; and Leo learned that he had to do with men whose sense of decorum was defective. It is no wonder that the Pope felt the need of recovering his lost dignity. “We wish to be known for what we are”, he told the Venetian ambassador; “it is not fitting that any one should show himself our superior. All that we do is to preserve our position. We will not be spoken of as we were during the election, when the French went about saying that the Pope would do whatever they wished”.

All that Leo could do to restore his position was to go back again to his old policy of duplicity. He had made a league with Charles; but the investiture of Naples was still to be given, and negotiations might be protracted. Meanwhile, as Charles was now the more powerful, the maintenance of the balance of power required that the Pope should draw nearer to France. But Leo could not afford to break with Charles unless he was assured of a strong alliance; for that, as Cardinal Medici said, would be “putting the mouse before the cat”. He saw that the chief obstacle in his way was the attitude of England, which still acted as mediator and arbiter between the rival kings. So he made a secret league with France in October; ‘a league in the spirit’ as the Venetian envoy Minio called it. At the same time he pursued his negotiations with Charles, but told Minio “They will mean nothing; do you understand me?”. Minio asked for a clearer explanation. “If we were to make promises to Charles”, said the Pope, “they would be lies : we should find some means to resolve them into smoke”.

While Leo thus prevaricated, both Charles and Francis were endeavoring to win the friendship of England. The spring of 1520 saw Charles the guest of the English king; and soon afterwards the splendors of the Field of the Cloth of Gold testified to the good understanding between England and France. In all this Leo had no part, and was terrified lest England might bring about an agreement between the two kings. He complained bitterly that he was not consulted and offered to send a nuncio; for nine months Wolsey sent him no letter, and Leo was sorely disquieted.

There was one outlet, however, possible for the Pope’s Leo and energy, the enlargement of the Papal States. By the death of his nephew Lorenzo, the Duchy of Urbino, together with Pesaro and Sinigaglia, reverted to the Pope. This increased Leo's desire to win Ferrara, on which Julius II had cast hungry eyes. Ferrara was to be the price which Francis I was to pay for the Pope's friendship. But Leo had other friends as well, and did not let slip any opportunity. In December, 1519, he invested 10,000 ducats in an attempt to seize Ferrara by surprise. Alessandro Fregoso, Bishop of Ventimiglia, was an exile from Genoa, living at Bologna, Leo furnished him with money to raise troops, ostensibly to aid him to return to Genoa; but really for a dash on Ferrara, where the duke was lying sick, and his city was ill defended. The plot was discovered by the Marquis of Mantua, and when Fregoso saw that his intention was suspected he disbanded his troops.

In the spring of 1520 Leo was more successful in dealing with Perugia, which the family of the Baglioni had for years rendered infamous by their crimes. It was at that time under the rule of Gian Paolo Baglione, whom Leo summoned to Rome to answer complaints which had been made against him. Baglione sent his son, Malatesta, who was received by the Pope with great kindness and returned with a safe-conduct for his father. As Gian Paolo was allied by marriage with the Orsini, he trusted to their assurance that there was nothing to fear, and came to Rome. When he went to visit the Pope in the Castle of S. Angelo, his followers were disarmed and he was seized and borne off to prison. Leo charged him with stirring up rebellion in the March; and one of his associates, the Lord of Fabriano, was summarily beheaded. It is said that Gian Paolo confessed in prison to many enormities—which may well have been the case; and Leo soothed his conscience with the thought that his treacherous conduct was ridding the world of a monster. Still Leo hesitated, and offered to spare Gian Paolo's life, if he could find good securities who would give substantial bail that he would not return to Perugia. No one was found hardy enough to accept the responsibility; so on June 13 Baglione was beheaded. Perugia was committed to a Papal Legate, and Leo sent troops to capture Fermo from Ludovico Freducci. The lords of other towns in the March, Recanati, Fabriano, and Benevento, came to Rome in terror. They were imprisoned, tortured, and put to death as malefactors. Leo had at least the satisfaction of thinking that he could combine with his higher policy some of the craft and vigor of the Rovere and the Borgia.

This, however, was an interlude. The great question which still perplexed the mind of the Pope was how to escape with safety from the clutches of Charles. Charles was weary of the Pope’s vacillations, and sent a new ambassador, Don Juan Manuel, a man of great political experience, with orders to bring matters to an issue. Manuel, who arrived in Rome in the middle of April, surveyed the situation, and gave his opinion that the Emperor must strike terror into his opponents, and so compel them to cease fencing. There were two ways of terrifying the Pope: one was to support the Genoese exiles by a body of Spanish troops; the other was to strike at the Pope’s spiritual power. “If the Emperor goes to Germany he ought to show a little favor to a friar who is called Friar Martin, who stays with the Duke of Saxony. The Pope is very much afraid of him because he preaches and publishes great things against his power. They say that he is a great scholar and holds his own against the Pope with much mindfulness. I think that through him the Pope might be driven to make an alliance; but I say this in case he refuses or, after making it, strives to break it”.

The question which Don Juan Manuel thus raised was of greater importance than he imagined. The electors at Frankfort do not seem to have troubled themselves to consider the opinions of an insignificant friar; but these opinions had shown themselves capable of unexpected development, and the new Emperor would have to reckon with them as soon as he entered Germany. Both sides hoped much from the young Emperor, whose attitude was not yet declared. It is worth our while to consider how this was determined by his training, his experience, and the necessities of his position.

Charles, who was born on February 24, 1500, scarcely knew his father, after whose death, in 1506, his mother sank into a state of mental imbecility. He was brought up in Flanders by his Aunt Margaret, a woman well versed in the politics of the time. His education was entrusted to Adrian of Utrecht, Dean of Louvain, one of the most learned theologians of the time, a man of high character, deeply impressed with a desire to reform the abuses of the Church, but profoundly attached to its system. From him Charles imbibed a sincere piety and a respect for the Church, which deepened his natural gravity and earnestness of character. When, at the age of fifteen, Charles began to take part in the deliberations of the Council of the Netherlands, he was free from youthful levity and showed himself as serious as the oldest. When, at the age of seventeen, he first visited Spain as its king, his mind was capable of appreciating the meaning of what he saw.

He found a country, which had long been a scene of discord, united into a nation by the lucky marriage of two capable rulers, who had contrived to gather Spanish up the scattered elements of power and put themselves at the head of the most vigorous institutions of the land. The towns were set against the nobles till the royal jurisdiction was asserted against both. The Cortes were used to support the authority of the Crown by allying it with the aspirations of the people. The scanty revenues of the Crown were increased by a cautious resumption of all its forgotten claims. The powerful military orders, a relic of the crusading spirit, were annexed by the skill of Ferdinand in procuring his election as their Grand Master. The royal officials were chosen from the class of jurists and churchmen; and the nobles found that they could only obtain employment in the state by submission to the king. But most useful of all means to bring about this national organization was the Church, which in Spain assumed a character of its own. It would be unjust to say that Ferdinand and Isabella set themselves to use the Church for their own political ends. Isabella's strong character was molded and disciplined by genuine religion, and Ferdinand was a devout son of the Church. But neither of them bowed in unquestioning obedience before the Pope; and the Papacy did not venture seriously to oppose the wishes of sovereigns so powerful and so orthodox. The attempts of Sixtus IV to appoint to Spanish bishoprics was steadfastly withstood, and in 1482 he agreed to grant provisions only to royal nominees. Isabella chose for high places in the Church men of blameless lives and resolute character, who, knowing that their efforts would be supported, set themselves diligently to the task of restoring ecclesiastical discipline. The zeal of these men unfortunately flowed in a narrow channel, and they were more desirous to obtain results than solicitous that their method should be in accordance with the principles of the truth which they professed.

Isabella’s confessor, the Dominican Thomas de Torquemada, urged upon the queen the creation of a stricter form of the Inquisition to deal with the mixed population of Jews and Moors, who accepted Christianity for motives of worldly convenience, without in reality abandoning their own beliefs. It was true that the evil spirit of constraint in matters which affected the inmost being of the soul was of long standing in the Church. But the Dominican Inquisition had well-nigh passed away when Torquemada galvanized the spirit of persecution into renewed life. The great reforming movement of the Spanish Church was stricken with the plague of unbelief in its very origin. It did not trust to the power of the Gospel, the love for righteousness, the appeal to the nobler instincts of man. It took a false view of man’s responsibility, and denied the right and power of conscience, and the work of the Holy Spirit. It forced the Gospel of the love of God into the terribly alien form of human tyranny, demanding not only obedience but acquiescence and belief, under the pain of horrible punishments. The renewed religious life of the Spanish nation was allied with the worst development of the mediaeval system, the desire for external unity at the price of freedom. Nor can we say that this was due merely to old custom or mistaken zeal. The political advantages of the Inquisition to the authority of the crown were obvious. The results of the confiscation of heretics' property were always a welcome addition to the royal revenues; and the procedure of the Inquisition could easily be applied to persons who were suspected on political grounds. It was a mighty arm against discontent of any kind, and the mere fact that it was in accordance with popular prejudice gave it a fatal vitality. Church and State went hand in hand for the maintenance of external order and the suppression of any threatening of revolt.

If the Spanish Inquisition was chiefly the work of Torquemada, the other great churchmen of Spain labored in their several ways to unite the various elements of population into a nation on the basis of the Christian faith. Fernando de Talavera, a friar who was raised to the rank of Archbishop of Granada, gave his attention to the conversion of the Moors, and for this purpose translated the liturgy and parts of the Gospels into Arabic. The Franciscan, Francisco Ximenez de Cisneros, who was made Archbishop of Toledo, proceeded with greater rigour. He burned the Mussulman books and insisted upon the Moors abjuring their old religion. Many complied, but many fled or were expelled from Spain; and the wandering Moriscos carried to Italy a testimony of the resolution of Ximenez. But Ximenez was not only concerned with the conversion of the Moors. A Franciscan devoted to the traditions of his order, he had grown up in the practice of severe asceticism, and regarded with abhorrence the laxity of monastic and clerical life. He carried out a high-handed reform of his diocese. Friars and monks fled like the Moriscos before his visitations. Appeals to the Pope were useless against a man who was supported by the Spanish monarchs. Ximenez overcame all opposition by his iron will and unswerving determination. The worldly clergy were removed and replaced by men of fervent zeal and enthusiastic piety. The system of the Church was displayed in all its dignity and authority.

Side by side with this reformation in religion went a rise of learning and of theological studies. The Universities of Salamanca and Valladolid became famous in Europe; and Ximenez established at Alcala a college with forty-two professors who were to teach the whole circle of the sciences. There he gathered a band of scholars, over whose labors he presided, for the purpose of editing a Polyglot version of the Scriptures. The famous Complutensian Polyglot is a memorial of Ximenez’s zeal for the collection and collation of manuscripts, and gave a great impulse to textual criticism of the Bible. Alcala became the home of exegetical study, while Salamanca pursued dogmatic theology. When the spread of Luther's opinions called for controversial learning, it was the Spanish theologians who came forward to wage the battle of orthodoxy.

When Charles went to Spain he was able at least to comprehend the broad outlines of the situation. He saw a country, with many elements of revolt, skillfully held in check by a system which owed its success to the identification of the monarchy with the chief tendencies of the people. He found the Church a devoted adherent to the Crown; and he found a Church revived and purified, strong in its own organization, and still stronger in its hold on the people. Charles soon found that there were many difficulties in his path, and that Spain with its strong national feeling was hard to rule as a part of widespread dominions. Ximenez, after the death of Ferdinand, held the regency of the Spanish kingdoms, and kept down disorder with a strong hand. After his death, which followed closely on Charles’ arrival in Spain in 1518, there were signs of gathering discontent, and soon the towns of Castile and Valencia rose in rebellion. It was obvious that Charles could not run counter to the ecclesiastical temper of Spain had he wished to do so. But indeed his own personal feelings and beliefs were more in accord with the temper of the Spanish reformation than with the ideas of Luther. He put as the foremost reason of his desire to gain the imperial crown, the hope of winning greater glory against the foes of the Holy Catholic Faith. This was a real aspiration in his mind when he was crowned King of Germany at Aachen on October 23, 1520. In the same spirit he opened the Diet at Worms, where it seemed that the future of Luther would be decided.

CHAPTER V.

THE DIET OF WORMS

We left Luther at the beginning of 1519, willing to submit to the judgment of the Church, and ready to keep silence if his adversaries would be silent also. Though he made this offer he had no hope that it would be accepted, and was prepared to resist all attacks. Hitherto the controversy against him had been conducted by the theologians of the Curia; but unless the Pope commanded silence it was sure to spread. Already the well-known controversialist, Eck of Ingolstadt, had marked suspicious utterances in Luther's theses, and had traced a resemblance between his opinions and those of Hus. Eck’s Obelisci was circulated only in manuscript, but a copy fell into Luther's hands, who promptly answered. The matter was not important, and Luther did not wish to pursue it; but one of his friends at Wittenberg was consumed with desire for a fray. Andreas Bodenstein of Carlstadt, a man of great learning and mental versatility, but deficient in judgment and discretion, had come to lecture at Wittenberg in 1507. When Luther issued his theses Carlstadt was absent in Rome, and on his return found Luther's influence supreme in the university. At first he strove to withstand Luther; then he turned round and tried to outdo him. He published a long array of theses against Tetzel and Eck at once; and he and Eck became involved in a controversy which grew more and more bitter. At Augsburg Luther met Eck and tried to arrange with him the preliminaries of the disputation for which Carlstadt clamored. They agreed on Leipzig as the place of meeting.

Eck at once published his theses; but when they appeared Luther saw that they were directed not against Carlstadt but against himself. The last of them was in answer to Luther's assertion that, before the days of Pope Gregory the Great, the Roman Church was not above other Churches. Against this Eck wrote: “We deny that the Roman Church was not superior to other Churches before the time of Sylvester; we recognize as Peter’s successor and Vicar of Christ him who sits in the chair, and holds the faith, of Peter”. Luther accepted the challenge, which was momentous, and prepared theses in answer to Eck. The last ran: “That the Roman Church is superior to all other Churches is proved only by most frigid decrees of Roman Pontiffs issued during the last four hundred years; against which stands the sure history of eleven hundred years, the text of Scripture, and the decrees of the most holy Council of Nicaea”. Luther’s friends were alarmed at this audacity; and indeed Luther only imperfectly realized the bearing of his position. The fact that he was prepared to uphold this opinion did not prevent him from writing to the Pope that “the power of the Roman Church was above all things, and nothing other in heaven or earth was to be put before it, save only Jesus Christ our Lord”. But Luther’s brain was seething with half-formed ideas, and he yielded easily to contradictory impulses. At one time he longed for peace; at another he breathed forth war. He denied the historical basis of the Papal claims; but he did not wish to meddle with the Pope’s authority. “If only the Roman decrees will leave me the Divine Gospel let them take all else. I have no wish to revolt against the Papacy; let the Pope be called Lord; even the Turk, so long as he is the bearer of power, is to be honored; for no power exists without God’s will”. He scarcely regarded himself as responsible for what he said, and laid all the blame on Eck for provoking him. “God knows what will come out of this tragedy. Neither Eck nor I will do ourselves any good. It seems to me to be God's device. I often said that hitherto I was only playing, now at last the Roman Pope and his arrogance will be seriously dealt with”. The more he read and thought the more he was amazed at his own conclusions. “Let me whisper in your ear; I rather think the Pope is Antichrist or his apostle; so wretchedly is Christ corrupted, aye, crucified, in his decrees”. These are the utterances of a man intoxicated with a sudden rush of ideas which he could not control—a man reeling under their powerful influence, and waiting bewildered till he could express in coherent form the net result of their overwhelming impulse.

He was recalled to a sense of his peril by the alarm of his friend Spalatin, who anxiously asked him to define his position. Luther did not conceal his annoyance at being asked to be definite, and peevishly answered that God did not suffer His counsels to be revealed. He clearly could not endure to face the bearing of the tendencies of his opinions, as apart from the issue of his disputation with Eck. He was going to say as much, or as little, as was necessary; but he had come to the conclusion that the Papal supremacy was not founded on Scripture, and had been introduced into Germany on the strength of Papal decretals collected by Gregory IX, i.e., within four hundred years. He was not prepared to say that the Papal supremacy should not be recognized; but history showed that there were many Christians, especially the Greek Church, that did not recognize it. He counted it amongst indifferent matters, such as health and riches; he did not wish to attack it, but he could not have Scripture perverted to support it. In fact, Luther was engaged in studying with feverish haste and increasing amazement the Papal decretals, and he was not sure what shape his ultimate opinions would take. He looked to the disputation with Eck as a means of clearing up his own mind.

Meanwhile Miltitz saw the unfortunate results which were likely to follow from an empty display of dialectical skill, and summoned Luther to Coblenz to answer for himself before the Archbishop of Koln in the presence of Cajetan. As this step was taken on the sole authority of Miltitz himself Luther declined to obey. He pointed out that the Archbishop was engaged with the imperial election, and would not be present in person; that he had already conferred with Cajetan to no purpose; and that his opinions had now been so fully set forth in his writings that they could be judged without his personal appearance. His writings had set his case before the judgment of the whole world, and the Pope might submit it to the judgment of an assembly of bishops. He showed how little he heeded authority by expressing his doubts if Cajetan was a Catholic Christian. “If I had time”, he added with unpardonable insolence, “I would write to the Pope and Cardinals and show how foully he errs, if he do not entirely amend. I grieve that legates of the Apostolic See are men who strive to make away with Christ”. In fact, Luther had by this time passed beyond all thought of submitting to authority. His mind was wholly set on the coming disputation, in which he hoped to vindicate himself and his teaching, not by reference to authority, but on the grounds of Scriptural truth. To authority itself he had no objection; but authority had its limits which it could not pass, and he was prepared to discuss the nature of these limits. Before going to Leipzig he put his opinions into shape. He admitted the Papal primacy as existing, and therefore allowed by God; not to be resisted without causing a serious breach of unity and charity; resting on universal consent; and deserving obedience even if sometimes, on account of men’s sins, it was wrongly exercised. He denied that the Papal primacy was founded on Scriptural warrant: Christ’s commission of the keys to Peter gave him no authority over the other Apostles, but simply treated him as the representative of the Church, which was built upon the rock of faith. This was the teaching of the early fathers; tried by this standard, Papal decrees, which claimed that the Roman Church had Scriptural warrant for its supremacy, might justly be called ‘frigid’. Luther, in fact, here introduced the criticism of the Papal claims by the standard of Scripture; and his arguments have substantially been repeated ever since.

Luther had now reached a definite consciousness of his position. If the Papal primacy was not of Divine institution, it could not demand implicit obedience; and points of doctrine could not be decisively settled merely by reference to the Papal authority. It is characteristic of Luther’s method of thinking that he began his argument by reserving great power to the Papacy, as existing by God's permission, which declared itself in the organization of the existing order; but he ended with the statement: “Finally, I say that I do not know if the Christian faith can endure that any other head of the Universal Church on earth can be set up save Christ”. It was in vain that he tried to limit his conclusions; the barriers which he strove to erect were sure to be swept away.

The only result of the disputation at Leipzig (June 27 to July 15) was to bring Luther's deviation from current orthodoxy into clear prominence. The first question discussed was the Papal supremacy, and Eck was sufficiently skillful to see the advantage to be gained by bringing Luther's tenets into connection with recent controversy. He pointed out that one of the positions of Wycliffe and Hus, condemned at Constance and Basel, was “That it is not necessary for salvation to believe that the Roman Church is supreme over others”. Luther indignantly disclaimed all sympathy with the Bohemian heretics; he had no wish to create a schism, but held that charity was the supreme law. He tried to turn the question from the Bohemians to the Greeks; he could not admit that the saints and martyrs of the Eastern Church were to be regarded as heretics because they did not admit the Papal supremacy. But he felt that he could not rest on such an answer, and was driven to say: “Amongst the articles of John Hus and the Bohemians it is certain that many are entirely Christian and evangelical, and the Universal Church cannot condemn them”.

There was a movement of surprise amongst the hearers, and Duke George of Saxony exclaimed: “Pest take that!”.

Indeed, theologians might well ask what Luther was prepared to admit if he disposed of decrees of Councils; and the national sentiment of the Germans was shocked at a justification of the Bohemians, whose savage deeds lived in popular recollection while their tenets were forgotten. Eck seized his advantage; Luther vainly protested that he had not spoken against the Council of Constance, and called Eck's assertion that he supported the Hussites “an impudent lie”. He afterwards explained that the decree of Constance said that the condemned articles of Hus were “some heretical, others erroneous, others blasphemous, others rash and seditious, others offensive to pious ears”.

Doubtless the statement that the Papal supremacy did not exist by Divine right was rash and offensive to some tender ears; but it had not been condemned as heretical or erroneous, and was indeed Catholic and true. But really this evasion was unnecessary; for Luther had already declared that Councils could err; and Eck admitted that a Council would not make Scripture other than it was, but pertinently said that he preferred to trust the interpretation of the sense of Scripture given by a Council of learned men, with the help of the Holy Spirit, rather than the interpretation given by Luther.

As is usual in discussion, each disputant made good his own position from his own point of view. Eck maintained that the Scriptures were to be interpreted by the Papal decretals, and the consensus of theological opinion; Luther maintained that the Scriptures were the test of all decrees of Pope or Council, so far that what could not be proved directly out of them was a matter open for discussion on its own merits. Having this fundamental difference the two disputants did not succeed in coming to close quarters. Eck’s substantial gain lay in identifying Luther's opinions with those of the Hussites.

The disputation was continued about Purgatory and Indulgences. Luther believed in Purgatory, but held that Scripture was silent on the subject; he confessed his ignorance, and refused to dogmatize on the condition of souls after death. His only contention against Eck was, that it was impossible to lay down any such definition of the state of departed souls as would justify decided assertions about the way in which they could be aided by the living. On the question of Indulgences, Eck was careful to distinguish between the abuses of them and their rightful use; he admitted that Indulgences could not supersede good works, nor remit guilt, and only maintained that personal satisfaction was a part of penitence, and that the nature of that satisfaction could be determined by the jurisdiction of the Pope which was exercised through Indulgences. Luther himself admitted “on this point we very nearly agree”. He allowed that Indulgences were not to be despised but were not to be entirely trusted in. If the preachers of Indulgences had preached this doctrine the name of Luther would not have been known today.

Luther left Leipzig somewhat disappointed. Hitherto he had supposed that all Germany was like Wittenberg; that he only needed an opportunity for speech to carry conviction. He found that old opinions were not so easily shaken; he felt the difference between addressing a sympathetic audience, which was swayed by his powerful personality, and arguing with an experienced disputant before a coldly critical assembly. Hitherto he had believed that learned opinion would be on his side when he had carefully explained his opinions; he found on the contrary that, so far from clearing himself of heresy, he had been to some extent identified with those whom he had himself denounced as heretics. It was true that the disputation ended in no formal decision. The records of its proceedings were to be submitted to the Universities of Paris and Erfurt; but neither party professed to attach much weight to their opinion. Luther was more and more resolved to appeal to public opinion: Eck was convinced that he had unmasked a dangerous heretic, Luther returned to Wittenberg prepared to trust in the future to the power of his pen. Eck wrote to Hochstraten, asking him to use his influence that the University of Paris might condemn Luther as soon as possible. The net result of the disputation was that Eck’s reputation was staked on crushing Luther; that two parties began to form in Germany; and that the time for conciliation was past.

Luther had to face the fact that his views were contrary to received opinion, and in a published defence of the conclusions discussed at Leipzig gave reasons for his position. If it was objected that he stood against the weight of theological authority, he answered that Duns Scotus and Occam had done so before him; God had once spoken through the mouth of an ass, and had revealed to the boy Samuel what He hid from the aged Eli; in the dangers of the present time let all remember that they I are but men, that it is easy to err, difficult to be wise and do rightly; let them unite in zeal for the discovery of truth, and not attack one another through desire for vainglory or the maintenance of opinions because they are their own. Whatever objections may be urged against him, he goes on to say: “I believe that I am a Christian theologian and live in the kingdom of the truth, and therefore am a debtor to the truth, not only to set it forth, but to defend it even to death. He spoke, not in the spirit of a revolutionist and dogmatist, but as an explorer and discoverer; one who in an age of discontent and inquiry felt that he had the clue to an answer to many problems. The system of the past, laboriously as it had been constructed, strong as it appeared to be, was on its trial, and must be tested by the documents from which it professed to derive its origin. Luther was convinced that the system had been overlaid with the results of human ingenuity till much of its original force had been frittered away by secondary contrivances, which were now used to prevent free discussion. Chief amongst these was the doctrine of the Papal supremacy, which was invoked to support the existing system in all its abuses. If free inquiry was to proceed, the claims of the Papacy to decide all questions must be abated”.

It was indeed this very point of the Papal authority which lay in the way of all Luther’s endeavors. He had raised the question of the meaning of Indulgences, and had been superciliously answered by the theologians of the Curia that he must not go behind Papal decretals. This led him to challenge the appeal to Papal decretals as ultimate; and his assertion that the Papal monarchy was not of Divine institution raised an opposition amongst German theologians. Luther was drawn into controversy, and saw himself menaced as heretic. He felt bound to maintain his title to orthodoxy, to raise up a party in Germany, and seek allies in the Impending struggle. Accordingly he engaged in a controversy with Eck, and another with Hieronymus Emser, a former secretary of Duke George of Saxony who irritated Luther by attacking him in an underhand manner, while professing to clear him of the charge of sympathizing with the Bohemians. In this controversy Luther showed a command of virulent invective, and a power of personal onslaught, which were unbefitting a zealous seeker after truth. Doubtless his skill as a literary gladiator increased his reputation at the time, and strengthened his claims as a party leader. But there is no doubt that his unmeasured language repelled many finer minds, needlessly embittered the inevitable conflict, and permanently lowered the moral dignity of his position. It was the misfortune of Luther that he rarely transcended the limits of his own surroundings. He wrote for immediate effect, and had a ready and conscious sympathy with the weakness, as well as with the strength, of his readers. He was a German, and a man of the people; he expressed the sentiments, and used the language, of his age.

As regards his party, Luther at first wished to identify his cause with that of the humanists. In December, 1518, he wrote to Reuchlin that their enemies were the same; but Reuchlin was weary of conflict, and made no movement to meet Luther’s advances. In March, 1519, he wrote to Erasmus in terms of fulsome flattery; but Erasmus, though civil, gave him little encouragement, and hinted that theological subjects were best discussed by the learned. Luther’s trust was in the benevolent neutrality of the Elector Frederick, and his own personal popularity at Wittenberg. But this was an unsure foundation on which to rest; and in September we find Luther desirous of connecting himself with the national opposition to the oppressive taxation imposed by the Papacy on the German Church. In his dedication to the first edition of his Commentary on the Epistle to Galatians he writes that while his adversaries are boasting of Papal decretals he will betake himself to Scripture. He has no quarrel with Papal decrees provided that they are in accordance with the Gospel. He reverences the Roman Church; but he sees that the Germans have been plundered and laughed at by Italians in the name of the Roman Church; and he sees further that the German Diet, in refusing to pay tithes imposed by the Pope and sanctioned by the Lateran Council, has drawn a distinction between the decrees of the Roman Church and the glosses of the Roman Court. He is ready to follow the example of these lay theologians and submit himself to the Roman Church, while he opposes the Roman Court and commits his cause to the great head of the Church, Jesus Christ.

About the same time he wrote in a similar strain to one of his theological opponents : “You have nothing else in your mouth than : The Church, the Church; heretics, heretics. But when we ask for the Church you show us one man, the Pope, to whom you hand over everything without a ghost of a proof that he is of indefectible faith. We, however, find as many heresies in his decretals as in the works of any heretic. The one point that you have to prove you avoid by a perpetual petitio principii, which you know to be the most vicious form of argument. What you have to prove is that the Church of God is amongst you, and not also in other parts of the world”.

These ideas were not new, nor were they confined to Wittenberg. They were familiar to many ardent spirits in Germany, and they found an echo at Rome. In July, 1519, Crotus Rubianus wrote thence to Hutten: “There are some here who sincerely advise the Pope, first, to abolish the Alvari and Sylvesters with all their Summulae, because by them the world is deceived since they do not thoroughly follow the Gospel of S. Paul; secondly, to publish a decree that for the future no one should trust to Scotus or Thomas or any of the writers of Sentences, unless supported by Scriptural proof; lastly, that the decretals should be compared with the Gospel and the teaching of S. Paul by some good men, who have in their hearts not syllogisms but Christ; for they say that some of the decretals stink of avarice, others of tyranny, others of arrogance”. We cannot suppose that these drastic reforms were really urged on the Pope; but the mention of them shows that the critical spirit of the New Learning had discovered the plain fact that the absolute claims of Papal monarchy rested on a basis which would not bear examination; that its creation was the work of an uncritical age; that it had grown to an unwieldy and intolerable form; and was supported by a host of interested officials who upheld with their pens a system which filled their pockets.

Crotus soon found that, however much his friends at Rome talked of reform, the Italians were not prepared to take any decided steps. In October came letters from Eck giving his own account of the disputation at Leipzig. Luther had been driven to confess himself a Hussite: it was necessary to take speedy measures, for his heresies were spreading round Wittenberg as a centre: let the Pope urge the Universities of Erfurt and Paris to condemn his opinions, and let him commit their further condemnation to the theologians of the Curia. Crotus found that the Italian scholars, who agreed with Luther in their heart, thought it wise to dissent with their tongues. Not a hundred S. Pauls, not all the Scriptures, would move them to withstand the Pope. Luther's arguments would have no weight, unless the Princes and Bishops of Germany judged it more holy to defend the Word of God than spend their money on Pallium, Indulgences, Bulls, and other trifles from the sale of which the members of the Curia gained the means of keeping their harlots. Luther was warned that no appeal to Scripture would help him against the necessity under which the Papacy lay of maintaining the system on which the Curia waxed fat. He must open the eyes of Germany to the enormities of the Roman frauds, and warn it against the poison wherewith Rome had infected the land.

Such utterances were doubtless encouraging to Luther, who saw a body of humanists gather round him, as they had gathered for the defence of Reuchlin. The conduct of Eck rendered this inevitable; for he considered the suppression of Luther a personal duty, and if he were to succeed he would become the supreme arbiter of orthodoxy in Germany. In a pamphlet, which he wrote in support of Emser, he said that all the theologians in Germany were opposed to Luther's views, except a few unlearned canons. This drew forth at the end of 1519, The Answer of an Unlearned Canon, which was really the work of Oecolampadius, but was generally ascribed to Bernard Adelmann, a canon of Augsburg, and a friend of Pirkheimeri This was shortly followed by a gross attack on Eck in a dialogue written by Pirkheimer, Eccius Dedolatus, or The Corner Planed off, a pun upon Eck’s name, which in German signifies ‘corner’. This dialogue held up to ridicule Eck's personal character, and branded him as a drunken and lustful sycophant, seeking only his own advancement, and so ignorant as to uphold the scholastic theologians against 'heretics, Greeks, and poets such as Origen, Chrysostom, and Jerome.

A still more important ally offered himself in the person of Hutten, whose fiery patriotism was eager for any chance of a fray. Since his discovery of Valla’s treatise On the Donation of Constantine, Hutten had pursued his studies in the same direction. He recalled the old glories of Germany when the Empire had been a reality; he meditated on Germany’s downfall before the hostility of the Papacy; he compared it with other nations, and found it divided, distracted, and helpless before Papal extortion. He saw in the Papal power the cause of Germany’s abasement, and attacked the abuses of the Papal Court, not with the sadness of an ecclesiastical reformer, but with the bitterness of a patriot denouncing his country’s foes. He hoped great things from the energy of the young Emperor, and from a combination of the German princes. In the winter of 1519, he wrote his most effective dialogueVadiscus, in which he compressed into stinging epigrams his hatred of the Roman Court. These epigrams took the form of triads on which the dialogue itself was a commentary. Three things maintain the dignity of Rome the authority of the Pope, the relics of saints, the sale of Indulgences. Three things are brought back from Rome: a depressed conscience, a ruined digestion, empty pockets. Three things are laughed at in Rome: the example of the past, the pontificate of Peter, the last judgment. Three things are feared in Rome : a General Council, reform of the Church, the opening of the eyes of the Germans. Three things are excommunicated in Rome: indigence, the primitive Church, preaching of the truth. Three things are despised in Rome : poverty, the fear of God, equity. So the dialogue moves on, from one bitter jibe to another.

But Hutten was not contented merely with literary assaults; he wished to embody his ideas in some substantial form, and call attention to them by deeds as well as words. He was personally interested in German politics; for he had a family feud against the Duke Ulrich of Wurtemberg, who during the interregnum in the Empire carried on his depredations against his neighbors with the help of French gold. The Swabian League took up arms against him and under the leadership of Franz von Sickingen won an easy victory. Franz was the representative of the class of knights who built their castles along the Rhine, and lived a life of lawless adventure, resembling that of the Italian condottieri generals. He had been engaged in war against the city of Worms, and had made raids upon Lorraine. He was laid under the ban of the Empire, was reconciled to Maximilian, and taken into his service. On the Emperor's death he supported the claims of Charles to the Empire, and his overthrow of the Duke of Wurtemberg produced a strong impression upon the action of the Electors. Hutten addressed himself to Sickingen, who felt the need of guidance among the perplexities of the time. A strange alliance was formed between the two adventurers, and Sickingen became the military champion of oppressed scholars. He interposed in behalf of Reuchlin, and Koln was ready enough to leave Hochstraten and the Dominicans to his mercy; but the terms which Sickingen imposed on Reuchlin's adversary were rendered useless by the Papal decision, and he could only secure that the old scholar ended his days in peace. The cause of Luther was still more pressing than that of Reuchlin; and Hutten inspired Sickingen with a new interest in theology. This was important, as Sickingen stood high in the favour of the young Emperor. In January, 1520, Hutten offered Luther Sickingen’s protection, and a refuge in his castle, if he was obliged to flee from Saxony.

These assurances of support naturally gave Luther an increased sense of importance. For various reasons there was a strong party which objected to his suppression by the mere exercise of Papal authority. This was enough to encourage and strengthen him in his appeal to public opinion. Moreover, he had the true insight of a great party leader, and saw that he must never allow his adversaries to seem to have the advantage. In a sermon on the Holy Sacrament he had let fall the remark that it might be well for a General Council to restore to the laity the reception under both kinds. This was at once laid hold of as a proof of his leanings towards the Hussites; and the Bishop of Meissen thought the matter sufficiently important to prohibit the sale of Luther's sermon as contrary to the decree of the Lateran Council. Luther at once replied : the reception under both kinds had been allowed to the Bohemians by the Council of Basel, and this permission might therefore be extended universally by another Council; if all discussion is to be prohibited as scandalous and schismatical, there is an end to any hope of another Council, for free discussion is necessary to prepare subjects for its deliberations. Luther's tone was as confident as usual, and he showed little respect for dignities; but the Elector was alarmed at this summary manner of dealing with ecclesiastical authority. Doubtless he thought that the Bishop of Meissen was in his rights in dealing with his own diocese, and Spalatin urged Luther to moderate his language and sometimes hold his peace. Luther answered that silence was bad policy; his patience in putting up with five or six wagon loads of abuse from Eck and Emser had encouraged the bishop to proceed to his inhibition,

“Do not think”, he went on, “that this matter can be ended without tumult, scandal, and sedition. Out of a sword you cannot make a feather, nor out of war, peace. The Word of God is a sword, is war, is ruin, is scandal, is destruction, is poison”.

After this vision of the future Luther returned to himself: “I cannot deny that I am more vehement than I ought to be; and, as they know that, they ought not to vex the dog. How hard it is to restrain one's heat and moderate one's pen, you may learn in your own case. This is the reason why I have been annoyed at public appearances; but the more annoyed I am, the more I am driven to them against my will. And that, only by the most atrocious accusations leveled at myself and God's Word; whence it happens that, if I were not carried away by my heat and my pen, still even a heart of stone would be moved to arms by the indignity of the thing; how much more I, who am both hot, and have a pen not altogether blunt? These portents carry me beyond the decorum of modesty. Still I wonder whence has sprung this new religion, that anything spoken against an adversary is called abuse. What think you of Christ? Was He abusive when He called the Jews an adulterous and perverse generation, the offspring of vipers, hypocrites, children of the devil?”

We gather from this letter that Luther was by this time fully convinced that his opinions would not receive consideration from the authorities of the Church, and that he was prepared to face the inevitable struggle. He recognized the seriousness of that struggle, and unconsciously fitted himself for it. He saw the advantages of a powerful personality, and was annoyed at any outside criticism of his methods or his language. He firmly identified his own cause with the eternal truth, and did not wish to reflect overmuch upon the form in which it was expedient to clothe his convictions. He instinctively felt the value of violent language in intimidating opponents and winning the popular ear. The time for moderation was past; he must vigorously repel all assaults, must always have the last word, must stir up the prevailing excitement, and must carry the attack into the enemy's country. It was not for him to look too closely into the future : he must do his utmost in the present and leave the result with God.

When such was Luther’s temper of mind he readily found arguments to support him. Hutten's edition of Valla’s On the Donation of Constantine fell into his hands, and left him wondering whether to denounce the darkness, or the villainy, of the Roman Court; he ended by becoming almost sure that the Pope was Antichrist. But this development of his anti-papal opinions went on side by side with the reports that reached him of the proceedings at the Roman Court. In the middle of January Eck set out for Rome, giving out that he was summoned by the Pope; and Luther knew that if Eck was listened to, there was no further hope. Eck did not spare to chronicle the honor with which he was received, and his letters exaggerated his own importance. It was a grievous error of judgment that he should have been allowed to hang about the Papal Court, have interviews with the Pope and Cardinals, and pose as the representative of German opinion. In Luther's eyes this fact alone sufficed to rob the deliberations of the Roman theologians of any semblance of justice.

According to Eck’s own account, it was his prompting that urged the Pope to take action against Luther, and he discussed the matter for five hours with the Pope, two Cardinals, and a Spanish theologian. However that may be, a congregation of the generals of the Franciscan Order was appointed, on February 4, to proceed against Luther, and its presidents were Cardinals Cajetan and Accolti. It was again a mistake to place at the head of this body an avowed opponent of Luther like Cajetan. If the object in view was merely Luther's condemnation, it was a further mistake to have deferred that step so long. Luther was left alone in Germany. No measures tending towards conciliation had been taken for a year. It seemed as if the Papacy was entirely busied with the imperial election, and was only waiting to make sure of the support of the young Emperor before proceeding to extremities. Even when the case was at last taken in hand, there was no settled policy. On February 16, the first congregation was superseded by another on a broader basis, but presided over by the same two Cardinals. In the middle of March it was rumored that Luther’s errors were to be condemned without naming him, but he was to be privately admonished to recant. It does not seem that any attempt was made to gain information about the state of opinion in Germany, or the consequences likely to follow from repressive measures. Yet the attitude of the Elector Frederick might have given reason for speculation. He was himself a devout son of the Church, with a taste for collecting relics; he had not shown any sympathy with Luther’s opinions, but had refused to interfere on the side of repression. He was told that his ambiguous attitude was viewed with disfavor at Rome, and answered his friendly adviser that he neither approved nor disapproved of Luther’s teaching, but he knew that many learned men held it to be eminently Christian. Luther had offered to appear before the Pope's commissioners and submit to correction if he was proved in error; he had been dragged by Eck into controversy which had better been avoided. He had been on the point of leaving Saxony, but Miltitz pointed out that he might take refuge in some place where he would, be less amenable to restraint, and therefore would be more dangerous.

“Germany”, continued Frederick, “is now full of educated and cultivated men; and the laity have begun to be intelligent, to love the Scriptures, and wish to understand them. The teaching of Luther has a great hold over the minds of many; if his conditions are refused and he is put down, without legal investigation, only by the censures and ban of the Church, the existing disturbance will be increased and there will be no hope of a peaceful settlement”.

If Leo X had cared to collect such opinions as these, he would have found food for reflection. Frederick was a man whose election to the Empire had been urged by the Pope; every one respected his uprightness, and every one admired his good sense. Frederick himself was satisfied with the religious ideas of his forefathers; but he saw that many men were not satisfied; and he came to the practical conclusion that differences of opinion must be left to settle themselves. There were, no doubt, dangers on every side: but the dangers of forcible interference seemed to him to be greatest. He came to the conclusion that it was his business to hold the balance straight; and such an opinion, entertained by such a man, ought to have been clearly before the Pope and his advisers. It was certainly a striking instance of the influence exercised by the new ideas upon those who lived within their sphere, and felt their force, without being in sympathy with them.

Meanwhile, as the rumors of Luther’s approaching condemnation were brought to Germany, his adversaries were more outspoken, and the need of defending himself seemed to him more pressing. In the end of 1519, the Universities of Louvain and Koln condemned his doctrine, on the ground that he infamed good works as though they were not meritorious. Their condemnations were published; and, Luther immediately answered by asserting liberty of opinion on such a point. If it was necessary to pronounce any judgment on his teaching, why did they not do so, either charitably admitting the difficulty of the subject and the possibility of error, or according to law, after summoning him to explain and listening to his arguments?

Soon afterwards a Franciscan of Leipzig, Augustin of Alfeld, issued a book on 'The Apostolic Seat,' which Luther answered in a pamphlet On the Papacy at Rome against the renowned Romanists at Leipzig. In this work Luther summarized his opinions in a significant manner. The Church, according to Scripture, was an assembly of all believers on earth—all, that is, who live in right faith, hope, and charity. This invisible Church is recognized by the outward signs of baptism, the sacrament of the altar, and the Gospel. It is a spiritual unity, and stands to any outward expression as the soul does to the body. The Roman Church can at best be but a symbol; for the one head of the Church is Christ. But in the outward Church one bishop may be set over others; and as the Pope holds that position he is to be respected within the limits of his authority and usefulness. He proceeds:

“I struggle for two points. First, I will not endure that men shall establish new articles of faith, and judge all other Christians in the world as heretics, schismatics, and unbelievers, only because they are not under the Pope. It is enough that we leave the Pope to be Pope; it is not necessary that for his sake God and His saints be abused. Secondly, all that the Pope establishes and does I will accept, provided I may first judge it according to the Scriptures; he shall be to me under Christ, and shall submit himself to be judged by Holy Scripture”.

Luther was of opinion that in this work he had restrained himself so as not to be unmindful of the Pope. But scarcely was it published before he received a book issued from Rome which aroused his wildest indignation. It would seem that Sylvester Prierias considered himself in duty bound to carry on the controversy which he had begun, and show the ignorant Germans the extent of their errors. He had projected a complete vindication of the Papal Primacy; but as he had not time to finish it just then, he thought it worthwhile to issue a summary of his arguments. This Epitome was drawn up with all the complacency of a skilled official, who knew the intricacies of his subject, and felt a mixture of scorn and amazement at the clumsy attempts of a well-meaning man to deal with a matter which he did not understand. So Prierias marshaled in order all the most advanced opinions which had been expressed about the Papal power. The Pope, he said, was the source of all jurisdiction in the Church: jurisdiction descended from the Pope to bishops. Amongst men the Pope alone had power immediately from God; not all the world could take it away or limit it. The authority of a Council did not come from God: its decrees were of no force until confirmed by the Pope. An undoubted Pope could not rightfully be deprived or judged by a Council, even if he were so scandalous that he were leading mankind in crowds into hell; all that could be done was to pray to God. The Pope alone could interpret the laws of God and nature, and declare doubtful matters, not only in morals, but in faith. The Pope might err as a private person, but when he acted as Pope he was an infallible judge of truth.

Doubtless Prierias could give copious references to recent authorities for all these statements; and his work was a good sample of the theology which had passed current for the last half-century. But it was most unwise, at a time when the Papacy was known to be considering Luther's opinions, that such a work should have issued from a high official in the Pope’s household. It asserted in the most offensive manner all that Luther claimed to be open to discussion. It supplied him with a dangerous weapon, for he published it at once with mocking comments. It afforded him good ground for justifying a revolt against the Roman system, and he used his opportunity to the full:

“If these opinions and this teaching prevail at Rome, with the knowledge of the Pope and the Cardinals, I pronounce that Antichrist sits in the temple of God, and that the Roman Court is the synagogue of Satan. If the Pope and the Cardinals do not demand a retractation of these opinions, I declare that I dissent from the Roman Church, and cast it off as the abomination standing in the holy place”.

He saw that mere protest was useless, and boldly advocated practical measures against a system which was deliberately framed to make reform impossible, to check free thought, and to fasten for ever on Germany the grievances of which it complained. “When the Romanists see that they cannot prevent a Council, they feign that the Pope is above a Council, is the infallible rule of truth, and the author of all understanding of Scripture. There is no remedy, save that Emperor, Kings, and Princes should attack these pests and settle the matter, not by words but by the sword. If we punish thieves by the gallows, and heretics by fire, why not attack Pope, Cardinals, and the brood of the Roman Sodom with arms, and wash our hands in their blood?”

In this violent utterance Luther abandoned the position, which he had hitherto held, of a simple theologian who was Struggling only for liberty to express his opinions and defend them when attacked. Indeed, he might urge that such a position had been rendered impossible. The sole result of the attempt to submit his opinions to the criticism of the learned had been that his opponent hastened to Rome to procure his official condemnation, and that his services had been welcomed for the purpose of drawing up the indictment There was no hope from any recognized form of ecclesiastical authority, which was everywhere dependent, on the Papacy. If Luther himself did not pay much heed to the future, he had far-sighted friends who urged it upon his consideration. He had followers who were resolved that their master and his teaching should not be swept away. No man could be impervious to the warnings of such a disciple as Crotus Rubianus, who on his return from Rome wrote to Luther: “You have many comrades in your heresy, who would follow you to the stake. Let learned men dispute and condemn as they please, I shall never doubt that any one justified by faith has access to God. Let them glory in their theory of satisfaction; we, when we have done all that was commanded to us, are still unprofitable servants, having nothing save what we freely received. Let them take pleasure in their own deserts, and ask a reward for their deeds; we, who believe in Him who gives life to the sinner through faith, are more amply free both from punishment and guilt. Let who will set up the invention of a Pope : true religion knows only one founder. Let Scripture, according to your friend Sylvester, derive its force from the Church in its representative capacity; let heretics be permitted with uplifted heart to pray for light: Open Thou mine eyes and I will see the wonders of Thy law. Do you, Martin, most upright of theologians, undertake the protection of this light deserted and abandoned, and by the virtue which we venerate in you show the difference between the creation of the Pope and of God”.

The zeal of such men as Crotus provided material for the bold designs of Hutten, who burned with desire to free Germany from the Roman yoke and bring back the glories of the Empire. It was time that Germany under its young Emperor shook off the tyranny of Rome. For this purpose Hutten attempted to win to his side the Emperor's brother Ferdinand, and began a systematic endeavor to raise a party among the German Princes. In June, Cornelius Agrippa wrote: “Those hostile to the Pope are likely to raise sedition, unless God provide; for they exhort the Princes and Potentates of Germany to shake off the Roman yoke, and like the Israelites of old exclaim : What is our part amongst the Romans, or what our lot in the Bishop of Rome? Are there not Primates and Bishops in Germany, that we should be subject to the Bishop of Rome, even to kissing his feet? Let Germany leave the Romans and return to its own Primates, Bishops, and Pastors. You see whither all this tends, and already some Princes and cities lend their ears”.

The policy was not yet very definite; but the prospect of a united and national movement against Rome was alluring, and Luther gave it his sanction. His mind was made up for war before he had seen the Bull against him; and on July 10 he wrote to Spalatin: “The die is cast; I have despised alike the favor and the anger of the Romans. I will not be reconciled to them nor hold communication with them. Let them condemn and burn my writings. I, in my turn, if I can find a fire, will condemn and publicly burn all the Papal law, the mask of all heresies. Henceforth there shall be an end of the humility which I have hitherto shown in vain, for I will no longer puff' up the enemies of the Gospel”.

With this intention Luther set to work to compose a manifesto which should propound the possibilities of future reorganization. There was no hope of action from the ecclesiastical authorities; it was time for the German nation to take the question in hand for itself. So Luther resolved to arouse the Emperor and the German nobility against the tyranny and wickedness of the Roman Court. He did not appeal to the Princes nor to the people, but he addressed those who were likely to be the moving powers in giving practical effect to his suggestions. The pamphlet was finished on June 23, and soon issued from the press; by August 18, 4000 copies had been sold.

Luther’s address To the Christian nobility of the German Nation respecting the reformation of the Christian estate was called by his friends a trumpet blast; and such indeed it was. It shows Luther at his best and bears the marks of those qualities which made him a great leader of men. His fervour is no less striking than his simplicity; his grasp of the situation, his strong common-sense, his directness, and his moral earnestness were well calculated to make his readers forget his audacity. He summed up all the grievances which Germany had long lamented, all the proposals of well-intentioned reformers, and gave them a clear meaning and a definite aim. He pointed out that reform in the past had been made impossible because the Romanists had entrenched themselves behind a triple wall. If reform was pressed by the temporal power, their answer was that the spiritual power was superior to the temporal. If reform was proposed on the basis of Scripture, men were told that the Pope was the only authorized interpreter of Scripture. If a Council was threatened, the threat was met by the assertion that no one could summon a Council save the Pope. It was time that these paper-walls were overthrown. The spiritual power falls before the assertion of the priesthood of all believers; so that the difference between clergy and laity is only a difference of office and function, not of estate. The Scriptures can be interpreted by every pious Christian, who holds the true faith and has the mind of Christ. When there is need of a Council, it is the duty of every member of the Christian community to struggle to bring about its meeting, and the temporal authorities are the natural executors of the general wish. Thus Luther prepares the way for a true and free Council, and has no difficulty in setting forth the business, which it would find to hand, in reforming the condition of the Church.

The striking feature in this document is the light-heartedness with which it contemplates a breach of the historical continuity of the ecclesiastical system. There is no sympathy expressed for old usages, which are treated as though they were stifling the true life of the Christian man. There is no attempt to separate their real meaning from the growths which had gathered round them. Luther shows a decided respect for everything that concerned the civil government— though the reformation of the Empire was as much needed as the reformation of the Church; but for the institutions of the Church he expresses little regard. The Church, as an outward organization, has little value in his eyes; indeed he does not trouble to explain what he conceives its future form to be. His immediate object is purely practical. Let but the holders of temporal power in Germany combine, and they are strong enough to sweep away the rubbish which has gathered round the Church. It had come to this: that the great institution which had fostered the early life of all European nations, and was interwoven with every stage of their history, was now regarded by the awakening aspirations of a new age as a worthless cumberer of the ground. Luther himself, and all those whom he was addressing, had been brought up under its institutions; but he felt, and could boldly ask all Germans to feel with him, that it was a mere hindrance to their true spiritual life. There is not a trace of sentimental attachment; let homely common-sense deal with the matter. If only a free Council can be assembled—and Luther does not stop to inquire how it is to be constituted—general intelligence, if once freed from the absurd prepossessions of the past, will easily bring order into the prevailing confusion.

The great ideal of the Mediaeval Church had disappeared, lost to sight among abuses, frittered away into oblivion before the complexity of details. Luther does not feel the need for any impressive representation of man’s spiritual life, or any anxious care for his soul's welfare. Let men be taught their Bible, and be exhorted to do their duty; let them feel themselves responsible to God, and recognize themselves as members of a great spiritual community of faithful people, strong in communion with God through faith in Christ. He speaks to Germany, in the hope that Germany will be the first nation to take the decisive step. He has no doubt that every other nation will rapidly follow the example, and that a new and healthier Christendom will come into being. He is not concerned with ecclesiastical order; that is a matter of detail which may be left to settle itself. It is true that his principle of the universal priesthood of all baptized Christians, applied by itself, reduces ecclesiastical organization to a matter of expediency. Yet Luther did not seem to contemplate any violent change. The Pope even was to remain, not as the Vicar of Christ in heaven, but only of Christ on earth, to represent Him, “in the form of a servant”, by working, preaching, suffering, and dying; nay, he was still to be referred to, for if we took away ninety-nine parts of the Pope’s Court, it would still be large enough to answer questions on matters of belief. Germany was still to have a primate, archbishops, and bishops; though such officers were not of Scriptural institution, but were founded for convenience of rule. What were to be the functions of the Bishops is not so clear; for every town was to elect a pious and learned man from the congregation and charge him with the office of minister; the congregation was to support him, and he should be at liberty to marry; he was to have assistants, several priests, and deacons. These are but scattered hints. There is no attempt to work out a connected system, or show how it was possible. Luther's purpose was to prove that resistance to the Papacy was not hopeless; there was another and a broader basis of ecclesiastical life, of which he merely sketched the general lines.

Luther was not dissatisfied with the reception of his bold address to the Christian nobility, and was encouraged to advance further. He had spoken as a practical statesman; he soon ventured to speak as a theologian. He had pointed out the means of reforming the Church and had sketched the outlines of a new ecclesiastical organization; he soon advanced to explain more fully the grounds of his objection to the existing Church. Starting from the position of justification by faith only, he had gained a conception of the Christian life which was in opposition to that of the Mediaeval Church. The notion of a mighty institution, founded by Christ and endowed with His gifts, which watched over the individual from the cradle to the grave, and by its observances disciplined him into saintliness,— this splendid ideal of Medieval Christendom dropped entirely away from Luther. If the individual soul was saved by flinging itself through faith into the arms of Christ's mercy, it was clear that the institutions of the Church were to be criticized according as they helped or hindered this process. So Luther was not desirous to reform abuses in the institutions of the Church; he thought that the greater part of those institutions were entirely unnecessary. The system of the priesthood, of the sacraments, and of discipline had grown up to meet the actual wants of the ordinary man. It took human nature, with all its frailties, and set itself the task of training it by gradual processes, of bringing it under regulations, of setting before it a high ideal, of developing characters which impressed the world. It took all men under its care, admitted them into Christ’s earthly kingdom, and held before them an ideal of progressive sanctification, to be continued in Purgatory, over which the Church on earth still exercised some authority.

Reformers before Luther had for the most part contented themselves with lamenting that the authorities of the Church did not do their duty; that its mechanism had fallen out of order; that numerous abuses impaired its efficiency. But Luther questioned the need of the machinery at all. He did not begin from the Church at large but from the individual Christian. If a man believed in Christ he was justified before God by the act of faith; the important thing in God's eyes was the disposition of mind shown by faith in a Redeemer. This in itself made the Christian precious unto God; and his sanctification followed according to the fullness of grace vouchsafed to him. The Church was the collection of believing Christians, and its influence on the world depended on the fervor of the faith which it testified.

When Luther had made this clear to himself, he was free from all respect to the existing system of the Church, its sacraments, and its ordinances. He did not stop to ask how they had grown up, or what effect they had produced; all that he would consider was their Scriptural warrant, and their usefulness to produce, or cherish, a justifying faith. In his book On the Babylonish Captivity of the Church he set himself to sweep away the mediaeval doctrine of the sacraments. Instead of seven he only admitted three, Baptism, Penance, and the Eucharist. All of them had been brought into bondage by the Court of Rome. The cup had been denied to the laity, contrary to the example of the institution of the sacrament. The doctrine of transubstantiation had been needlessly borrowed from Aristotle, whereas the real bread and the real wine may just as well be held to co-exist with the real flesh and the real blood. The notion that the Mass is in itself a good work and a sacrifice destroyed the spiritual meaning of the sacrament. Penance had been perverted from its real use, the restoration of faith in the promise given at baptism. “Neither Pope nor bishop nor any man whatever has the right to make one syllable binding on a Christian save with his own consent. The prayers, almsgivings, fastings, the whole body of Papal ordinances, are contrary to Christian liberty”. Vows ought to be abolished; the whole system of discipline had become a tyranny. The extension of the sacraments beyond the ordinance of Christ was unjustifiable. The Church had no power to establish new promises of God’s grace; for the Church was established by the promises of God—not the promises of God by the Church. The Word of God is incomparably above the Church, and the Church cannot establish the authority by which she exists. So Luther argued. “I hear a report”, he said, “that fresh Bulls are being forged against me: this is part of my recantation”. Luther was now in full revolt. He called on Germany to manage its own Church without the Pope; and he laid down a new conception of the Church and its relations to the individual believer.

Luther prepared with dignity to await the issue of the inevitable conflict. His book 'About the Liberty of a Christian Man' completed the full expression of his ideas. He had denounced the abuses of the Church, and had pointed the way to its reorganization on a basis of freedom; it still remained for him to show what that freedom was. He started with the paradox, “A Christian man is the most free lord of all, and subject to none : a Christian man is the most dutiful servant of all, and servant to every one”. The believer through faith is united to Christ, is sharer of His kingdom, and free from all outward observances; but this inward freedom leads him to self-discipline. Observances have a new meaning when dictated by an inward law; the service of others becomes a necessity of the regenerate nature. Luther in clear and fervent words set forth his conception of the position and duties of the individual Christian; and incidentally defended his system against the obvious objection, that it was founded upon a mere appeal to the intellect, and left the individual a liberty which would degenerate into licence.

Perhaps the gravity of these objections was not immediately apparent. The system of the Church was so decrepit, that it was difficult to detach its principles from the abuses which overlaid them. Decrees of Popes, and quotations from theologians, were not a basis on which could stand a system that was not to be justified by its visible results. It was confronted by a rival system, which appealed alike to spiritual fervor, to mysticism, and to common-sense; which offered to free the individual from thralldom, and make him master of his own spiritual destiny. Luther spoke with all the confidence of one who possessed the future. In the strength of hope he bade his hearers hold experience cheap; and indeed the appeal to experience was not encouraging. Great aspirations after something better, conservative efforts after reform, had come to nothing time after time. Popular sentiment in Germany was ready to leave the old moorings and trust itself to the unknown possibilities of a voyage of discovery.

The treatise On Christian Liberty was sent to the Pope with the letter Luther had promised Miltitz to write. The letter was scarcely intended to reach the Pope; but it shows Luther's attitude to Leo X, and gives his own account of the development of his opinions. He reminds Leo that he has never spoken of him personally otherwise than in honorable terms. He regards him as a lamb in the midst of wolves, and has denounced only the evils of the Roman Court, which a Pope, be he ever so excellent, is unable by himself to reform. Nay, it had never been his intention to attack the Roman Court. He was engaged in the quiet study of the Scriptures, that he might be of use to his neighbors, when against his will he was engaged in controversy. Instead of imposing silence on both sides, Cajetan, as Papal Legate, demanded a complete recantation. When Miltitz tried to make peace, Luther was ready to submit to the decision of German bishops; but Eck interposed, and picking up a passing remark about the Papal Primacy, began a new discussion at Leipzig, and compelled him to speak out about the Roman Court. Again Miltitz interposed, and Luther at his request comes, with all humility, to explain himself to the Pope. Let Leo acquaint himself with facts, and refuse to listen to flatterers; Luther only asks that he should not unreasonably be called upon to recant, and that he should be free to interpret God's Word in Christian liberty. “Therefore, Leo, my father, beware of listening to these sirens, who make you out to be not a mere man, but partly a God, so that you may command what you will. You are the servant of servants, and placed more than any other man in a perilous position. Let not these deceive you, who pretend that you are lord of the world, that no man may be a Christian without your authority, that you have power over heaven, purgatory, and hell. They err who set you above Councils and the Universal Church, who give to you alone the power of interpreting the Scriptures”.

Luther had now laid his case before the audience whom he was addressing, the German people; and he was strong in their sympathy and support. The German national movement found in the cause of Luther a rallying-point for its energies. He had said a great many things that were true; his general principles appealed to men's consciousness of right; his denunciations of abuses were unanswerable. Luther wrote with boldness to save himself; for he knew that he was already condemned at Rome, and that he could only stand by popular support. It was the Pope's misfortune that the condemnation, which he pronounced, was not against Luther as he was then, but against a pre-existing Luther. He condemned Luther the reformer, whom the certainty of condemnation had driven to become Luther the rebel. When the Pope’s Bull, which was issued on June 15, 1520, reached Germany, it dealt with matters which were already ancient history. For this very reason the Bull has an additional interest. It is natural for us, looking back upon events, to assume that Luther’s breach with the Papacy was inevitable, and to discover in his theology from the first the germs of all that was afterwards developed. But, as a matter of fact, Luther’s opinions were evolved by the necessity of a conflict, which was by no means inevitable; and the Papal policy must be judged, not by its opposition to Lutheranism, but by its refusal to allow any discussion on the theological questions contained in the Bull Exsurge Domine.

So far as style was concerned the Bull was not unhappy. After the usual rhetorical address to God, to S. Peter, and S. Paul to defend the Church from the attacks of foes, the Pope went on to express his profound sorrow that the errors of the Greeks and Bohemians were being revived, and that too in Germany, which had hitherto borne such noble testimony against heresy. Forty-one propositions were then condemned as either heretical, or scandalous, or false, or offensive to pious ears, or seducing to simple minds, and standing in the way of the Catholic faith. As these errors, and many more, were contained in the books of Martin Luther, the faithful were ordered to burn all such books. As Luther himself had refused to come to Rome and submit to instruction, and had even appealed to a General Council, contrary to the decrees of Pius II and Julius II, he was inhibited from preaching; he and his followers were ordered to recant within sixty days; otherwise they were to be treated as heretics, were to be imprisoned by the magistrates, and the places in which they took refuge were laid under an interdict.

The propositions condemned in the Bull may be resolved into four heads, according to the subjects of which they treat :

(1) The theory of Indulgences. This might well have been allowed to rest. It was beset with difficulties which theologians found it difficult to decide. In the prevailing temper of Germany the retort was obvious, that the Pope was careful to maintain every source of revenue, even when it was wrongly founded upon the superstition of ignorant people, and condemned any discussion which might open their eyes.

(2) The theory of Purgatory. This also was a point on which freedom of speculation might well have been allowed.

(3) The relation of the sacraments to the spiritual condition of the receiver, the exact definition of penance, and the value of good works, were no doubt questions on which scholastic theology had produced a body of opinion which Luther tended to gainsay. But his opinions were not contrary to an earlier theology, which had never been condemned by the Church; and it was needless to treat them with premature condemnation.

(4) The theory of the Papal monarchy had been laboriously built up after the failure of the Conciliar movement. It was doubtless annoying to have it called in question, just when the Lateran Council seemed to have established it as a practical basis of the administration of the Church. But Luther had been led to question it by the way in which it had been exercised to prevent free inquiry. In a time of great mental activity it was obvious that the use of authority must be carefully considered. The mere assertion of the existence of authority was not a justification of its arbitrary exercise. When authority is challenged, it ought to display its right to rule by its wisdom in ruling.

Leo X did not attempt to show any capacity for meeting the questions which Luther had raised: he only demanded the recognition of his absolute right to judge. He allowed a controversy to become serious; he waited till men had become thoroughly in earnest, and the issue had broadened to the extent of becoming a national question; and then he peremptorily ordered that discussion should cease at his command.

It shows an entire want of statesmanship, that the Pope and his advisers should have been so eager to stake the Papal authority all at once. It was one thing for an official like Cajetan to demand submission to authority, or for a controversialist like Eck to seize upon the Papal power as a useful weapon in a disputation; it was another thing, after they had failed, for the Pope himself to take up a position which had been proved to be untenable, and hope for success from an official proclamation. In fact Leo displayed no sense of his responsibility in the issue of this Bull, but allowed himself to be the mouthpiece of Luther's theological opponents. Cajetan and Eck had the chief part in selecting the propositions to be condemned, and most of them were points which Eck had raised at Leipzig. The Bull, when issued, seemed in its contents to be an echo of Eck's position a year before. Moreover, its language, though explicit in condemning Luther, was not explicit in stating the grounds of his condemnation. The propositions selected from his works were condemned as being respectively heretical, erroneous, scandalous, or offensive to pious ears Luther asked, with some reason, for a clearer statement than this; if a doctrine was heretical, it ought to be proved so; if it was erroneous, the extent of its error ought to be defined; if it was offensive to the pious, or a cause of stumbling to the weak, the limits of expediency ought to be determined. The framers of the Bull had not taken into account the intellectual dexterity of their opponents. They had not aimed at convincing, but only at silencing, them by a command, which gave no reasons why it should be obeyed.

If it was a deplorable mistake to assume such a position, it was a further error to emphasize it in the eyes of the Germans by commissioning Eck to publish the Bull. Luther’s adversary was sufficiently unpopular already through his readiness to drag his own dispute before the tribunal of the Papacy. He was sent back as a conqueror to proclaim his triumph, and wreak his vengeance in the eyes of all people. It may be that he was chosen as a capable person to deal with the German bishops and universities, while two members of the Curia were sent to the Emperor. One, Marino Caraccioli, was deputed to attend the coronation at Aachen; another, Geronimo Aleander, was sent especially to stir up Charles against Luther, reduce his followers to silence, execute the office of inquisitor against all suspected persons, and burn all heretical books. Aleander, born in 1480, in Istria, won a reputation as a humanist in Venice at the age of twenty. He was a friend of Aldus Manutus, and was celebrated for his knowledge of Greek, Hebrew, and Arabic. At the age of twenty-eight he was invited to teach at the University of Paris, whence he was called by the Bishop of Liege to be secretary. An embassy at Rome made him known to Leo, who, in 1519, raised him to the dignity of Vatican Librarian. Such a man, famed for his scholarship, well versed in German affairs, and a friend of the chief scholars of Germany, seemed well fitted for the delicate task of reconciling its rebellious humanists.

There were some at Rome, if we may trust an anonymous correspondent of Pirkheimer, who did not think that opinion in he would find his work very easy. “There is no one in Rome”, says the writer, “who does not know that in many things Martin speaks truly; but all dissemble, the good through fear, the bad through rage at having to hear the truth”.

Many objected to the issue of the Bull, and thought that Martin should have been assailed by reasons rather than by curses, by kindness rather than by tyranny. But rage and fear carried the day. The leaders of the party of the Curia said that the Pope was not bound to reason with every wretched creature, but must use his power to prevent such audacity. The punishment of Hus and Jerome had served to deter other rebels for a century. The upholders of this opinion were Cajetan, angry at his ill success, Prierias, and the Dominicans; especially the old opponents of Reuchlin, who said that if Reuchlin had been promptly suppressed, Luther would never have been heard of. The theologians of Koln and Louvain joined them in pressing for the Bull, which they regarded as a token of their victory. They were helped by some princes of Germany, and were supported by the financial interest of the Fugger bank. Eck’s expenses were paid by the Fuggers. He was not a bad instrument, save for his drunkenness; perhaps it was thought right to treat the drunken Germans with a drunken legate. Aleander was a good match for Eck in impudence and evil living. Many men whispered against the Bull, saying that the Pope dared not submit his false system to the test of reason, but defended it only with the sword. Luther's friends wished that he had shown greater moderation, but they knew how he had been provoked. The Pope was determined to destroy Luther, not in the interests of Christianity, but of the Curia. His means were—first, by flattery and diplomacy, to win over the Emperor; failing that, to depose him, stir up war in Germany, and call in the help of France and England. To gain his ends he will have no care for charity, faith, piety, or honesty, provided only he may maintain his own tyranny.

Whatever doubts we may feel about the truth of this view of the facts, it is clear that this is the way in which they presented themselves to the mind of the average German, and did not dispose him to submission. Many, who had slight sympathy with Luther's opinions, did not approve of his suppression by a mere decree sent from Rome. Their objections were not removed when Eck appeared to publish the Bull, and by virtue of the powers entrusted to him inserted the names of six of his personal antagonists— Carlstadt, for his share in the Leipzig disputation; Pirkheimer, for the Eccius Deodolatus; Bernard Adelmann, for the Canonici Indocti; and three other less renowned adherents of Luther. Eck was surprised to find that he was unpopular. Bishops showed no zeal about publishing the Bull, and even raised technical difficulties. The universities did not welcome him as the champion of orthodoxy, but stood upon their privileges. Doubts were raised about the authenticity of the Bull, and Eck became aware that he was an object of mockery and contempt.

CHAPTER VI.

THE DEATH OF LEO X.

Though the condemnation of Luther at Worms rested upon motives which went deeper than current politics, yet it was the outward sign of the establishment of friendly relationships between Leo and Charles. The new Emperor had a fixed purpose of destroying the French influence in Italy, and needed the Pope’s friendship. His envoy at Rome, Don Juan Manuel, was a man of considerable capacity, and set himself to bring steady pressure to bear on the hesitating Pope. Leo was plied with unwelcome demands which it was hard to resist. Sorely against his will he prolonged the legatine powers of Wolsey for ten years. Then Charles pressed him to nominate as Cardinal, Everard de la Mark, Bishop of Liege. Francis violently opposed the nomination of De la Mark, whom he regarded as a personal enemy. Leo, in September, 1520, thought that he had found a way out of the difficulty, by offering to create the Archbishop of Toulouse, and reserve the publication of the Bishop of Liege till Francis had withdrawn his objection. This compromise only increased the wrath of Francis, and Leo felt deeply hurt. From this time forward he seems to have determined on an alliance with Charles, provided that it contained guarantees for speedy and effective action against France.

He consequently drew nearer to Don Juan Manuel, and gave him some ludicrous assurances of his sincerity. On one occasion he even offered to hide one of Manuel's secretaries under a bed in the room in which he received the French envoy, that he might be assured of his resoluteness in withstanding his demands; and he told Manuel, as a proof of his dexterity, that he had given the French envoy on his departure a large packet of blank paper for the nuncio in Paris, to make him think that he had gained something by his mission. When Leo tried to use his authority in purely spiritual matters against the will of Charles he was reduced to helplessness. The Cortes of Aragon and Castile recognized, that the Spanish Inquisition was one of the most powerful arms of royal despotism, and petitioned the Pope for some reduction of its powers. Leo was willing to listen to their prayers; but with the Lutheran question still unsettled he dared not run counter to the wishes of Charles. On October 21, he was obliged to write to the Inquisitor that he could make no changes without the Emperor’s consent. On December 21, he promised to withdraw all the briefs which he had issued to regulate the proceedings of the Inquisition; and early in January, 1521, he demanded that they should be returned to Rome, where they were annulled.

Ecclesiastical matters, however, of this kind were of little moment. Leo had come to the conclusion that it was impossible any longer to maintain the balance of power in Italy, and that the French were more dangerous than the Spaniards. Charles was doing his utmost to draw England into a triple league with himself and the Pope against France. But Leo feared lest Wolsey might succeed in his efforts as mediator, and pressed for a strict and offensive alliance between himself and Charles. That he might be in readiness, he took into his pay in February, 1521, 6000 Swiss, telling Charles that they were to be employed against the French, and telling Francis that they were to guard the Papal States against the insolence of the Spaniards. The time for hesitation was rapidly passing by. Francis at last was weary of waiting; and in March hostilities began by an attack on Luxemburg by Robert de la Mark, brother of the Bishop of Liege. Charles hastened the Pope's decision by sending from Worms the draft of a treaty, whereby Parma, Piacenza, and Ferrara were promised to the Pope. Francis on his side made a league with the Swiss, including in it the Duke of Ferrara. Still Leo hesitated, and not till May 29 did he sign the treaty with Charles. Having thus secured the Pope, Charles turned with greater vigor to England, for which Wolsey still strove to maintain a position as mediator. Charles and Francis both professed themselves ready to submit their grievances to Wolsey as arbitrator; but the Conference at Calais only ended in convincing Wolsey that the cold resoluteness of Charles was beyond his power to bend. Leo at length had his revenge on Wolsey; for it was his action that rendered England's neutrality impassible. He would hear neither of truce nor armistice; and, sorely against his will, Wolsey saw England dragged from its peaceful position and enter into a league with the Emperor and Pope.

Leo was anxious to reap the fruits of his bravery at once, and strained every nerve to raise money, and procure soldiers from the Swiss cantons. Hostilities began in Italy in an underhand manner. In the middle of July, the Spanish and Papal galleys combined in an attack on Genoa, which failed. The next enterprise was an attempt to surprise Parma; but this only warned the Duke of Ferrara to gather his forces. In the beginning of October the allied army, commanded by Prospero Colonna, crossed the Po into the Milanese. With Colonna went Cardinal Medici as Papal legate. The nearer the field of action was carried to the Alps, the more important was the help of the Swiss, who were enrolled on both sides. But the Swiss received orders not to war against one another. Those in the French army withdrew; while those in the allied army remained to fight against the Venetians and the Duke of Ferrara. The French commander, Lautrec, finding himself deserted by the troops on which he had chiefly relied, retired on Milan and attempted to defend it, but was driven out by the allied army on November 19. The surrender of Parma and Piacenza soon followed.

This was great news for Leo X, who believed that the French would soon be expelled from Italy, and dreamed of winning the Emperor’s consent to an arrangement which would confer the Duchy of Milan on Cardinal Medici. The Pope was at his villa of Magliana when the tidings reached him on November 25, and exclaimed: “This pleases me more than the tiara”. He returned at once to Rome to greet Cardinal Medici on his arrival. Paris de Grassis tells us that he asked the Pope’s orders about a solemn thanksgiving, saying that it was not customary to celebrate the victory of one Christian prince over another, unless the Church had some direct interest at stake. Leo answered with a smile:  “have in my hands great gains”. “Then”, said Paris, “you should give great thanks to God”. Leo referred the arrangements to a consistory and went into his chamber to take a little rest, as he had caught a slight cold while out hunting at Magliana, The cold developed into a fever, which rapidly increased. Not till November 30 did the illness seem serious; and on the evening of December 1 Leo died, to the consternation of all around him.

Leo X died in the forty-sixth year of his age, just when success seemed about to crown his plans for the extension of the Papal States. He flattered himself hat his skillful diplomacy was at last beginning to bear fruit. He had been assailed with difficulties such as had beset few of his predecessors; he had been compelled to bow his head before many storms: but he had waited his time, and the tide at last had turned. The expulsion of the French from Italy seemed tolerably certain, and Leo could boast that he had set the strangers in Italy to destroy one another. The religious troubles in Germany had been put down by the resolute bearing of the Emperor; Luther had disappeared, and in a year or two all traces of his revolutionary movement would have passed away. If Leo had felt any terror lest Luther’s opinions should spread beyond the limits of Germany, and afford a weapon to the enemies of the Church, he was reassured by the determined attitude of the English king. Henry had made common cause with Charles. Both princes had views of their own about the future of the Church; but they objected to have their hands forced by a theological movement resting on an appeal to popular judgment. Charles was of opinion that, if the Pope needed correction, the correction should be undertaken by the Emperor; Henry and Wolsey were of opinion that the royal power could introduce into the English Church such reforms as were necessary, and that the Papacy would be helpless to oppose. It was therefore the interest of all who were in authority to prevent the spread of Lutheran opinions, as merely tending to disturb schemes which required delicate handling. Accordingly the Pope's Bull against Luther was published in England by the king's command on May 12 at S. Paul's. Bishop Fisher preached a sermon to a vast concourse, computed at the incredible number of 30,000; and Wolsey used the opportunity to give a significant indication of the source from which England was to expect redress of ecclesiastical grievances. He was met by the clergy at the door of S. Paul's, with all the pomp and ceremony due to the Pope himself. By­standers understood that the Legate for England was capable of independent action.

But besides ecclesiastical ceremonies and bonfires of Luther’s books, Wolsey discussed with his master the theological aspect of Luther's teaching. Henry showed such knowledge of the subject that Wolsey suggested he should express his views in writing. The result was that the English king entered the lists of theological controversy, and in a treatise, A defence of the Seven Sacraments, showed no little command of the weapons of such warfare. In August the book was printed. Though it was not published till it had been formally presented to the Pope, Aleander received an early copy, and was filled with joy that Henry's views so closely agreed with those which he had striven to impress on Charles. He found the work to be a collection of precious gems. “If kings”, he writes, “are of this strength, farewell to us philosophasters; for if we were little thought of before, now our credit will be still less”.

There was, however, some mixture of personal motive with Henry’s zeal for orthodoxy. Henry had a high opinion of himself and of the dignity of the English crown. If many of his predecessors had been content to hide their light, it was not so with him. He felt aggrieved that, in the numerous documents which the development of diplomacy showered upon him, the English king had no title to set by the side of Catholic, and Most Christian, which were enjoyed by the Kings of Spain and France. Wolsey represented to the Pope that the English king deserved some recognition of his piety; and the claim engaged the serious attention of a consistory on June 10. There was no lack of suggestions: Faithful, Orthodox, Apostolic, Ecclesiastical, Protector, are some out of the number. But the Pope pointed out that care must be taken, that a new title did not trespass on the ground covered by any existing titles; and he promised to circulate the list of those proposed that they might be fully considered. It was while this weighty matter was being pondered that the king's book arrived at Rome; and on September 14 was presented to the Pope, who read it with avidity and extolled it to the skies. But this was not enough to mark the importance of the occasion, and it was formally presented in a consistory. After this the Pope proposed 'Defender of the Faith' as a suitable title; some demurred on the ground that a title ought not to exceed a single word, and still hankered after Orthodox, or Most Faithful; but the Pope decided in favour of Defender of the Faith, and all agreed.

This was a trivial matter in itself, but it denoted that on all general points of policy the Emperor and the English king were, for the time being, in complete agreement with the Pope. Leo on his deathbed felt that he handed on his office with powers unimpaired, and with fair prospects for the future. Posterity adopted his opinion, and looked back upon him as the last of the great Popes before the Schism rent their dominions in sunder. The golden age of Leo X shone with a luster which owed its glow to contrast with the time that followed; and Leo gained a reputation for wisdom, solely because he did not live long enough to reap the fruits of the seed which he had sown. What the days of Edward the Confessor were to our English forefathers when they groaned under the yoke of the Norman Conqueror, was the age of Leo X to the bewildered official who found his revenues dwindling away; to the impoverished citizen of Rome who beheld his city reduced to desolation; and above all to the man of letters who found his occupation gone, he knew not why nor how. The change that came over the fortunes of Italy in politics, in literature, in art, in society, in everything that made up life, was so sudden and so complete that men had no time to analyze its causes. They only looked back with sorrowful regret to the good old times before the crash had come, and treated Leo as the last representative of an age of heroes.

For, after all, Leo’s qualities were those of the epoch to which Italy long looked back as the period of its greatest glory. His father, Lorenzo, had combined the selfish audacity of the condottiere prince with the plausible hypocrisy of the cautious merchant, and had adorned the mixture with daubs of literary and artistic culture. Leo inherited his father's characteristics, somewhat enfeebled by the Orsini strain of his mother. The spirit of adventure was weaker; the open-heartedness of the noble overcame the prudence of the merchant; the duplicity of the trader was reinforced by that of the court intriguer. The baser and more vulgar elements were intensified; the intellectual elements were diminished; but the greater development of the social and sympathetic qualities preserved the balance for practical purposes. Leo was a lower type of man than his father, but he awakened less antagonism; he was far inferior to him in intelligence, yet he seemed to form greater plans and pursue greater undertakings. This was because he always had a ready smile and a genial remark, and behaved with the dignity and assurance of one who was born to rule.

In one point Leo was preeminently successful; he converted Rome for a brief space into the real capital of Italy, and his reputation is chiefly founded on this achievement. Before his pontificate art and letters had been exotics in Rome; under him they were acclimatized. Julius II had been a grim employer of literary and artistic labor; Leo X was a sympathetic friend who provided congenial surroundings.

For Leo as a man wished to enjoy life, and as a states­man saw, like Charles II of England, the advantage to be gained from masking political activity under an appearance of geniality, indolence, and easy good nature. No one who saw the spare figure and preoccupied face of Julius II could doubt that he was absorbed in political projects. No one who saw the bulky form and heavy lethargic expression of Leo X would credit him with being more than he seemed—an accomplished man of society. Leo’s face lit up when any one approached him, and he always had a pleasant remark ready to address to his visitor. He studied his personal appearance; he was proud of his delicately formed hands, and called attention to them by wearing a profusion of splendid rings. He chose to live in public, and surrounded himself with amusing companions; he enjoyed a laugh, and liked to turn the laugh against others, and his mirth was not always refined. He took pleasure in the vulgar witticism of buffoons, and found a cynical amusement in the sight of human nature reduced to the lowest level of animalism. He encouraged by his laughter portentous feats of gluttony, and though habitually temperate himself, he liked to see the eyes of his guests glisten with undisguised enjoyment at the dainty fare which his table set before them. Sometimes he played tricks upon their voracity, and served unclean animals, such as monkeys and crows, dressed with rich sauces which beguiled the palates of his guests, whose confusion was great when they discovered the truth. In the same way he encouraged the vanity of wretched poetasters, who improvised doggerel verses and were rewarded with cups of wine, mixed with water in proportion to the number of slips in versification which they made. One of these, Baraballa, a priest of Gaeta, was audacious enough to demand that he should be crowned poet in the Capitol like a second Petrarch. Leo was so cruel as to humor his folly. The old man—for he was of the age of sixty—dressed in the garb of an old Roman noble, declaimed his ridiculous verses to a mischievous mob of citizens outside the Vatican, and then mounted on the back of an elephant, which had recently been presented to the Pope, that he might ride in triumph to the Capitol. The fun was stopped, on reaching the bridge of S. Angelo, by the terrified elephant refusing to proceed further, and Baraballa had to return home amid the jeers of the crowd. This vulgar delight in practical joking was doubtless popular; but it hardly befitted the Pope to take an active part in gratifying such a taste. Leo, however, took life as it came, and made the best of it. “His chief object”, says a contemporary, “was to lead a cheerful life, and shut out care and grief of mind by every means. He spent all his leisure in sports, and games, and songs, either because he was a lover of pleasure, or he thought that recreation was the best way to prolong his life”. He wished every one to share his amusements, and was not ashamed of being considered frivolous. He would play cards openly with some of the Cardinals, and end by distributing money to the bystanders.

He gave largess daily to those who came to see him dine. Every morning his purse was filled anew with gold pieces to be used for any chance occasion of benevolence. Concerts and comedies were a common amusement for the festive evenings at the Vatican, where the guests frequently numbered two thousand. Moreover, Leo was a keen sports­man, and as soon as the summer heats began to abate, withdrew from Rome, and devoted a couple of months to field sports. He generally began at Viterbo, where the country was well stocked with quails, partridges, and pheasants. When the joy of hawking began to pall, he sought the lake of Bolsena, which abounded with fish. Thence he made his way northwards towards the sea at Civita Vecchia, where an amphitheater of hills gave a splendid opportunity for chasing deer and wild boars. Towards the end of November he returned to Rome, and after a few days' stay set out for his country house at Magliana, where the marshes of the Campagna afforded ample scope for stag hunting, which he pursued with serious enthusiasm. His placid temper was stirred to wrath by any breach of the discipline of the field. Suitors found that the best time to present petitions to the Pope was at the end of a good day’s sport.

Under the rule of such a Pope Rome naturally became the centre of Italian life and society. The Florentines flocked round their Medici patron, while the Romans grumbled over the Florentine invasion. But all parts of Italy sent their contingent of artists and men of letters, and the Pope's example made the office of patron fashionable. The rule of Alexander VI had struck a decisive blow at the power of the Roman nobles, and Julius II had steadily depressed them. Under Leo X a new social order came definitely into existence, an order founded upon wealth, luxury, and art. Society, in fact, was ruled by purely social considerations. They were the foremost men who could afford to live in spacious palaces, give splendid entertainments, and gather round them a court of literary dependents.

Next to the Pope in profusion stood the Sienese banker, Agostino Chigi, who came to Rome in 1485, and amassed a colossal fortune. He had 100 branches to his bank, established not only in Europe but amongst the Turks. He owned a fleet of 100 merchantmen, and had 20,000 workmen in his employ. Chigi had little taste for letters, but in his patronage of decorative art was unequalled; and his villa in Trastevere, now known as the Farnesina, is a memorial of his greatness. We may still admire the grace of Raffaelle’s pencil, nowhere used with greater firmness than in the fresco of The Triumph of Galatea, and the lunettes of Cupid and Psyche which adorn the gallery of Chigi’s villa. But Chigi’s marvelous furniture has disappeared; his bed of ivory, inlaid with gold and silver, and embossed with jewels; his silver fountains, his tapestries, the huge vases of solid silver which he had designed by the most famous artists to adorn his rooms. His stables were planned by Raffaelle. They held 100 horses, whose harness was adorned with gold and silver. Before this magnificent building was dedicated to the object for which it was designed, Chigi used it as a banqueting hall, where he entertained the Pope. The walls were hung with silk, and the floor was covered with a rich carpet. Leo looked round with amazement: “Before this entertainment I was at my ease in your company”. “Do not change your attitude”, replied Chigi, “this place is humbler than you think”; and drawing aside the hangings he pointed to the mangers which they concealed. At another dinner given to the Pope in the loggia of his garden by the Tiber, the silver plates and dishes, as soon as they had been used, were thrown by the attendants into the Tiber. Never since the days of Cleopatra had been such poetry of profusion; but Chigi had some measure of the merchant’s prudence, and did not tell his astonished guests that the plate, so carelessly flung away, was caught in nets stretched beneath the water and could be drawn to land when the banquet was ended. Another dinner given by Chigi to the Pope was of a more intimate character. Its novelty consisted in the fact that each guest was served on plates which bore his own crest. The banquet was given to celebrate the marriage of Chigi, then fifty-four years old, with a concubine who had borne him several children. The Pope himself joined the hands of the contracting parties, and rejoiced to celebrate a tardy reparation to outraged morality. But he had to listen after dinner to the reading of Chigi’s will, which the cautious merchant strove to legalize by this curious process of registration before the chief magistrate of Rome.

Chigi so exhausted all the possibilities of luxury that he left his rival banker, Lorenzo Strozzi, no means of distinguishing himself except by grotesqueness. During the Carnival of 1519, Strozzi entertained four Cardinals, a number of his Florentine friends, two buffoons and three courtesans. They were ushered first into a small room hung with black and dimly lighted by a few candles. Four skeletons hung in the four corners; in the middle of the room was a table, draped with black, on which stood a death’s head and a few wooden cups. The astonished guests were bidden to whet their appetites, and servants showed them some roast pheasants hidden under the skull. When they had recovered their composure, they were led into the dining-room, where stood an empty table. They were bidden to seat themselves, and food suddenly appeared from below. When they began to eat, there was a shock as of an earthquake, and the food disappeared. As they gazed around in terror, they saw two spectral forms, who were doubles of two of the guests. After this series of surprises, appetite was gone, and the Cardinals slunk away in terror.

The combined examples of Leo and Chigi reached all classes of Roman society, ecclesiastical and secular alike, and set the fashion of a cultivation of literature and art. Rome became the home of almost all the distinguished men of the day, and the history of Leo’s Court becomes a history of Italian literature in its most brilliant period. Many scholars were in the Pope's service, and were rewarded for their literary merits by ecclesiastical preferments.

Chief among these was Bernardo Dovizi, known as Bibbiena, from his birthplace (1470-1520), who had been chosen by Lorenzo de' Medici to be his son's tutor in early days. He showed himself faithful to the trust confided to him, and his tact and skill were of great value in securing Giovanni’s election to the Papacy. When his former pupil was established in the Vatican, Bibbiena administered his household and was the general purveyor of his amusements. He was well fitted for this purpose, as his reputation for wit, and for all the gifts of an accomplished man of society, was spread throughout Italy. Castiglione in the Cortegiano, the hand-book of the Italian gentleman, makes Bibbiena one of the speakers in the dialogue which discusses the various branches of the courtier's art. This reputation is largely due to his comedy La Calandra, which was one of the earliest attempts to adapt the method of Plautus to the altered conditions of society, which certainly did not rest upon a higher standard of morality than did the life of imperial Rome. A brother and sister disguise their sexes; the bewilderment of their mistaken lovers, and their dexterity in carrying on their several intrigues, provide a framework for scenes in which considerations of decency have little place. Bibbiena’s private life was lived according to the morality of his play. His house was shared by a concubine who bore him three children. Leo, who witnessed the performance of La Calandra in the Vatican, was not shocked by this breach of ecclesiastical vows, but satisfied his sense of decorum by not creating Bibbiena a Cardinal till after his concubine's death.

More important than Bibbiena were the two men whom Leo, before leaving the conclave after his election, nominated as his secretaries—Pietro Bembo and Jacopo Sadoleto. Bembo (1470-1547) was a Venetian, born in and educated in Florence, who at Ferrara sang the praises of Duchess Lucrezia, and then at Urbino joined with Bibbiena in discussing the ideal courtier whom Castiglione portrayed. Thence he accompanied Giuliano de' Medici to Rome, and Leo rejoiced that he could command the pen of one who was famous as a master of Latin style. Bembo was one of those cultivated men who readily absorb the ideas of their time and reflect the colour of their surroundings. His early life was profligate; he had a beautiful Roman girl for his mistress, and sang her praises in Latin elegies which celebrated the joys of sense. When that line was worked out, he became a populariser of Platonism, and in his dialogue Gli Asolani traced the power of ideal love to bridge the gulf between body and soul, and fit that which was mortal to put on immortality. When Bembo became Leo’s secretary, he aimed at perfecting a Ciceronian style in the Papal correspondence, and his letters were regarded as models of correct composition. In 1520, he withdrew from Rome, taking with him a beautiful concubine. In her society he lived a secluded life in his villa near Padua, where he applied on a small scale what he had learned at the Papal Court. He lived in learned leisure, collected antiquities and manuscripts, and became the dictator of Italian literature. In his later years the current of the time bore all men's minds towards theology, and Bembo returned to Rome as a divine. He was made Cardinal in 1539, and was one of the band of humanistic theologians who vainly hoped that right reason might heal the woes of the Schism.

Of like career, but of nobler character, was the Modenese Jacopo Sadoleto (1477-1547), who, after studying at Ferrara, came to Rome in the days of Alexander VI. His verses on the discovery of the group of Laokoon made him famous, and Leo hastened to attach to himself a man of such eminence. His letters as Papal secretary competed with those of Bembo for elegance of style; and Leo rejoiced to think that his secretaries commanded the respect of all Europe. On Leo’s death, Sadoleto retired with pleasure to his diocese of Carpentras, where he diligently discharged the duties of bishop. He was summoned by Clement VII to resume the post of secretary, but in 1526 again retired to Carpentras. He was made Cardinal by Paul III, and in his later years was suspected for his liberal theology. Indeed, Sadoleto was more of a philosophic theologian than a man of letters, and though he accepted his position at Leo's Court and was dazzled by its splendor, yet he was never in sympathy with its tendencies.

It were long to tell of all the poets who strove by their verses to win the favour of Leo X. Jacopo Sannazaro (1451-1539), the glory of Naples, intended to dedicate to him his poem De Partu Virginis, but Leo’s untimely death caused the transference of that honor to Clement VII. However, Leo wrote to express his sense of the great benefit which the Church, vexed and assaulted by others, would derive from a new David suited to the needs of the time, whose graceful lyre was to reduce the most sacred mysteries of the Christian faith to the measure of Virgil’s Aeneid, and to the mode of representation required by the sentiments of paganism. In like manner Leo was so struck by the Latin poems of the Cremonese, Marco Girolamo Vida, that he invited him to undertake a great Christian epic, theChristias. It may be doubted if Vida’s previous productions, On the Art of Poetry, Bombyx, a poem on the cultivation of silk-worms, and another poetical treatise On the Game of Dice, exactly marked him out as fitted to cope with such a subject. But Leo read with pleasure the first part of Vida’s epic, and richly rewarded him. The poem did not appear till 1535, and it is only fair to say that, if it had not the poetical merits of Sannazaro, it was free from his exuberant paganism.

It is needless to pursue the record of poetic talent within the walls of Rome. One story only may be told to show how impossible it would be to exhaust the subject. Among the foreigners who had been attracted to Rome and felt the charms of its society, was a Luxemburger, Johann of Goritz, whose name was promptly Latinised into Janus Corycius. He held the office of receiver of requests, and following the prevalent taste, gathered a literary circle round him. Wishing to add to the adornment of Rome, he built a chapel to his patron saint, S. Anna, in the church of S. Agostino, and there he placed a group of sculpture by Sansovino, representing the Virgin and Child with S. Ann. The dedication of this chapel afforded the literary friends of Corycius an opportunity of repaying the obligations of hospitality. Each of them brought a votive offering in the shape of a copy of verses. These were laid upon the altar; but so formidable did the pile become that Corycius was driven to shut the doors of the chapel that he might arrest the intolerable flow of poetry. This poetical chaplet was deemed to be of such importance that it was published by Blosius Palladius, afterwards Bishop of Foligno, in 1524. The volume of Corycianareveals to us the names of 120 poets resident in Rome, who were fortunate enough to be in time to make their offerings, and to perpetuate their names. Before such a multitude of bards criticism is reduced to respectful silence.

But poetry was not the only form of literature known in Rome, nor was Leo X regardless of the claims of sound learning. Cardinal Giovanni de' Medici was a member of the Roman Academy, which, after its suppression by Paul II, was revived in the days of Julius II. The leading spirit in this revival was Angelo Colocci of Jesi, whose art-collection was famous, and whose house afforded a pleasant meeting-place. It was only fitting that, when he became Pope, Leo X should recognize Colocci’s merits by appointing him one of his secretaries. One of the first acts of Leo was to provide for education in Rome by restoring the 'Gymnasium', which had been founded by Eugenius IV, but Julius II had diverted its revenues to his military enterprises. Nearly loo professors were provided for the education of students; and Leo could boast that he had brought together from all quarters men of renown in every branch of knowledge, “that so the city of Rome may be the capital of the world in literature, as it is in everything else”. The greatest object of the New Learning was a still more accurate knowledge of Greek; and Leo summoned to Rome the most distinguished Greek scholar in Italy, John Lascaris, whom he commissioned to bring to Rome a number of boys from Greece, who were educated at his expense. By his advice John’s distinguished pupil, Marcus Musurus, whose edition of Plato was just issuing from the press of Aldo Manuzio at Venice, was invited to join his master at Rome. Aldo dedicated the Plato to the Pope, who recognized his services to learning by granting him for fifty years a monopoly of all books which he had printed or should be first to print, and further forbade the imitation of his type by any other printer. For Musurus the Pope provided a spacious building which was to be dedicated to the use of students of Greek; and Musurus did not rest till he had established a Greek printing press of his own, from which issued in 1517 the Scholia on Homer, and in 1518 the Scholia on Sophocles. In this, however, the Papal bounty only followed the example set by the banker Agostino Chigi, who harboured the Cretan, Zaccharia Callergos, in his own house, while Cornelio Benigno of Viterbo passed through the press his editions 'Pindar' and 'Theocritus'. Nor should it be forgotten that Leo went to great expense in obtaining from the monastery of Corvei the unique manuscript of the first six books of theAnnals of Tacitus, which enabled Fillipo Beroaldo to publish in 1518 the first complete edition of the surviving works of that historian.

While such an interest was felt in the publication of books, the formation of great libraries naturally flourished. Leo X was the possessor of the collection formed by his ancestors, Cosimo and Lorenzo, which he bought in 1508 from the friars of S. Marco in Florence, to whom it had been sold after the expulsion of the Medici. This collection reposed in the Vatican, but Leo intended that it should be returned to Florence. The project was carried out by Clement VII, and the Laurentian Library is the result. But although Leo did not think fit to merge this treasure into the Library of the Vatican, he sent emissaries throughout Europe to make purchases for the increase of that collection, which was presided over by Inghirami, Beroaldo, and Aleander, not to mention others of less note. The libraries of Cardinal Grimani, Bembo, Sadoleto, Aleander, Chigi, and many others, were famous; and the monastic libraries kept pace with those of private individuals. Leo could certainly boast that during his pontificate Rome was amply provided with all that was necessary for a scholar's equipment.

Historical writing at this period centred in Florence; and Rome could boast of no one to set beside Machiaell, Nardi, and Guicciardini. The worthy Augustinian General, Egidius Canisius of Viterbo (1470-1532), who was made Cardinal in 1517, wrote a History of Twenty Centuries, in which the historical notices are so mixed with theology that the book has never been published. Egidius was a scholar, well versed in Oriental languages besides Latin and Greek; but he never sank the theologian in the scholar, nor was he deceived by the transient glories of the Renaissance. He was outspoken about the moral corruption of the Papacy, and took a just estimate of the needs of his time, and the urgency of a reform in the discipline of the Church.

But the Roman historian and biographer of Leo was Paolo Giovio of Como (1483-1552), in his younger days a physician, who took to literature and became a prolific writer. He went to Bologna in 1515, bringing with him the first chapters of his History, which was designed to narrate the affairs of Europe from 1494. Leo read what he had written and praised it highly; whereupon Giovio transferred himself to Rome, and continued to write in enjoyment of the Papal patronage. His biographical writings are of more importance than his History, and his Life of Leo X ranks amongst his most fortunate efforts. Though the style is bombastic, and the historical judgments of little value, the personal details are vivid, and the discrimination of character is just. The book was not published till 1550; but it is the only attempt to describe Leo as he appeared to those who lived around him. Though Giovio wrote to please patrons of the Medici family, still the experience of the years that had passed had revealed the weakness of Leo's character, and emphasized defects which could not be passed over in silence. A mere panegyric was impossible, and Giovio’s judgment is valuable for what it omits as well as what it says.

But it is not literary judgments, or his patronage of scholars, which have made posterity lenient towards Leo, so much as the imperishable memorials of art which are still living testimonies to his fame. The age of Leo X was the age of Raffaelle, and the man who was closely associated with the supreme products of a remarkable phase of human culture can never be forgotten. It is true that Leo inherited the designs of Julius II, who laid down a plan for employing the three great artists of his time, and assigned to Michel Angelo the decoration of the Sistine Chapel and the Papal mausoleum, to Bramante the building of S. Peter's, and to Raffaelle the decoration of the Vatican. But Julius II was so eminently a statesman that his patronage of art seems only the result of political calculation; while Leo X enjoys the reputation of being a lover of art for art’s sake. Leo certainly expressed the prevailing sentiment at Rome when he chose Raffaelle as his favorite artist, and allowed full scope to his genius. But against this must be set the fact that Leo condemned Raffaelle’s great rival, Michel Angelo, to waste his precious years in fruitless toil. It would seem that Leo's mind could not admit of two conflicting tendencies, or tolerate anything that suggested artistic antagonism. He sent Michel Angelo to Florence, to build the façade of S. Lorenzo, and erect the monuments of his nephews; but he treated the great sculptor as though he were a craftsman, and bade him superintend the quarrying of his marble at Carrara. The façade of S. Lorenzo was never built, and the tombs of Medici are due to Clement VII, not to Leo X. Rome was left free to Raffaelle, who there developed a marvellous versatility of creative power, though it must be admitted that his noblest and worthiest work was done under the severe dictation of Julius II. For him he painted that great series of designs, which are the fullest expression of the hopes and aspirations of Italian culture. The Sala della Segnatura set forth the glories of religion, philosophy, poetry, and jurisprudence, the four great pursuits by which the human mind had worked out civilized life. Raffaelle’s design embodies the spirit of his time, and shows how Italy had grasped the unity of human thought. In Parnassus the great poets of all ages look down upon their successors. The philosophers of classical antiquity discussed the problems of nature and of man; Christian theologians took up their mission, and asserted that man had an eternal destiny, of which the indwelling presence of the Lord was at once the testimony and the source; on this basis was founded the structure of human law, whereby society was regulated and controlled.

The enthusiasm which greeted this great work led Julius II to command the decoration of another room, in which the subjects were to be adapted to the glorification of the Papacy. It was inevitable that in this field the spirit of the courtier should overcome the aspirations of the poet. If The Miracle of Bolsena displays the overthrow of unbelief, The Expulsion of Heliodorus from the Temple is a transparent allegory of the martial exploits of Julius II. The companion pictures dexterously transfer the artist's flattery to Leo X; and the ‘Deliverance of S. Peter’ commemorates the captivity of Cardinal Medici, while the Repulse of Attila represents Leo’s aspiration to drive the foreigner out of Italy. Leo X. was so charmed with this method of celebrating his own glory, that he ordered Raffaelle to continue in the same strain; and the next room told of the great deeds of previous Popes of the name of Leo—the episodes being chosen in each case with careful reference to the existing Pontiff. But Leo's impatience did not realize the limitations of an artist’s powers, or the conditions under which great work can be produced. He commanded that the Loggia should be taken in hand at the same time as the room; and Raffaelle could do little more than sketch out designs and supervise the work of his pupils, Giovanni da Udine, Giulio Romano, Francesco Penni, and the like. Moreover Leo chose Raffaelle to succeed Bramante as architect for the building of S. Peter's, and further employed him to design a series of tapestries for the Sistine Chapel, representing the history of S. Peter and S. Paul. Nor could the Pope hope to reserve to himself entirely the services of one who was the popular favourite, as no artist had ever been before. Chigi carried him off to his villa, and to his chapel in the church of S. Maria del Popolo; and orders for easel pictures showered in from monasteries and private patrons. The work done by Raffaelle between 1515 and his death in 1520 is prodigious.

Raffaelle’s work as architect of S. Peter's occupied much of his attention without producing much result. He laboured to fit himself for the task, and a translation of Vitruvius’ Treaty on Architecture was made for his use by Fabio Calvo of Ravenna, who lived in Raffaelle’s house while engaged in his labour. Fortified by Vitruvius, Raffaelle studied the principles of Roman architecture, but unfortunately had not much opportunity of applying them to original work. Bramante’s choir was nearly finished, and Raffaelle had to prepare the pillars for the dome, and carry on the transepts. Further, he prepared new plans, as Leo resolved to change Bramante's original design from the shape of a Greek cross to the shape of a Latin cross. His plans were unfavorably criticized by Antonio da San Gallo; and indeed the new design, while adding to the length, destroyed the proportions of the structure. Want of funds prevented the rapid progress of the building, and the appearance of the church was little changed during the period of Raffaelle's presidency. But Raffaelle had not read Vitruvius for nothing. He steeped himself in Roman antiquity, and obtained from the Pope full powers to protect ancient buildings which were daily being destroyed. He embodied the results of his studies in a letter to the Pope, in which he deplored the ravages to which Rome had been exposed, expressed his abhorrence of Gothic architecture, and pointed out the principles on which the various styles of ancient architecture might be determined. Further, he projected a careful survey of the city, and a conjectural restoration of its original conditions, accompanied with drawings of all existing memorials of antiquity. At his death he had completed this work for one of the fourteen regions of Rome, but unfortunately his drawings have disappeared. The project, however, survived and was carried out by Buffalini in 1557.

The life of Raffaelle expresses the best quality of the spirit of the Italian Renaissance, its belief in the power of culture to restore unity to life and implant serenity in the soul. It is clear that Raffaelle did not live for mere enjoyment, but that his time was spent in ceaseless activity, animated by high hopes for the future. But his early death on April 6, 1520, was the end of the reign of art in Rome, and the reign of literature soon ceased as well. The foreboding soul of Michel Angelo was more far-seeing than Raffaelle’s joyous hopefulness. Not the peace of art, but the sword of controversy, was to usher in the new epoch. Italy was no longer to be the teacher of the world; nor was Rome to be the undisputed centre of Christendom, from which religion and learning were alike to radiate forth to other nations. The art of Raffaelle is the idealization of the aims of the Italian Renaissance, which in its highest form strove to improve man’s life by widening it, and was not concerned with the forms of existing institutions, but with the free spirit of the cultivated individual. It is a strange contrast that, as the star of Raffaelle set, that of Luther arose. Both were men Ideals of great ideas; both had a message, which has not Raffaelle ceased to be heard through the ages. Raffaelle Luther. pointed to a future in which human enlightenment should reduce to harmony and proportion all that had been fruitful in the past; Luther claimed a present satisfaction for the imperious demands of conscience awakened to a sense of individual responsibility. Luther lived long enough to know that the power to which he appealed could not be confined within the limits which he had laid down for it, and that the future would be filled with discord. Raffaelle’s dream vanished into thin air, only to form again and float with new meaning before the eyes of coming generations. That Raffaelle’s pencil had just ceased to glorify the Papacy when Luther arose to bespatter it with abuse, is a symbol of the tendencies which long divided the minds of men.

The ideal of Raffaelle was not necessarily opposed to that of Luther. Only the human frailty of impatience, or the base promptings of self-interest, lead men to set futile limitations upon the elements for which they are willing to find a place in their harmony of the universe. Raffaelle took the Church as it was, and recognized its eternal mission to mankind—a mission which was to increase in meaning when interpreted by the increasing capacity of the human mind. The frescoes of the Sala della Segnatura are as much opposed to the exclusive domination, claimed by the Mediaeval Church, as is Luther's assertion of Christian freedom. But Raffaelle spoke in a pagan tongue, with which ecclesiastical authorities were familiar; and he asked for no immediate exertion on their part. Luther arose, like some prophet of old, and sternly demanded that they should set their house in order forthwith. It was inconvenient to do so; it was undesirable that authority should be reminded of its duties by individuals, however excellent. So at a time when liberty of thought and opinion was universally practised, the Church suddenly furbished up weapons which had been long disused, and proceeded to crush the man who refused to unsay his convictions at her bidding. The liberality, the open-mindedness, the cultivated tolerance of Leo X’s Court did not go beyond the surface, and disappeared the instant self-interest was concerned. Men might say and think what they pleased, so long as their thoughts did not affect the Papal revenues.

As Luther’s meditations led to practical suggestions, he was peremptorily ordered to hold his tongue. Many had been treated in like manner before, and had obeyed through hopelessness. Luther showed unexpected courage and skill, and met with an unexpected answer to his appeal to the popular conscience to judge between the Papacy and his right to speak. When once the revolt was declared, many questions were raised, about which opinions may differ. But the central fact remains that the authority which bade Raffaelle speak, bade Luther be silent. The Church which could find room for poets, philosophers and artists as joint exponents of the meaning of life, refused to permit a theologian to discuss the basis of a practice which had obviously degenerated into an abuse. Doubtless Leo X and his advisers saw nothing contradictory in this. The Pope wished to live peaceably and do his duty rather better than his immediate predecessors; the theologians of the Papal Court were willing that the theology of the past should be superseded, but not that it should be directly contradicted. In all the list of men of learning who graced the Papal Court, there was no one found to understand the issue raised by Luther, or suggest a basis for reconciliation.

So Leo, who flattered himself that he was the most liberal-minded and good-natured of men, found himself branded as an obscurantist. He could only bewail Luther’s perversity and listen to commonplace consolations founded on the fate of all heretics. It was indeed a hard fate for Leo to be troubled with theological questions, in which he had little interest. He wished all men to be happy, and did his best to make them so. His own personal character was good; he was chaste and temperate; he had banished violence from the Papal Court; he was careful in the discharge of his priestly duties. It was true that there were some abuses in the proceedings of Papal officials, and his very good nature led him to grant petitions preferred to him on insufficient grounds. The intricacies of canon law were beyond him, and he knew that the chief penitentiary. Cardinal Pucci, held all sources of revenue to be lawful; but Leo refused to traffic in presentations to benefices, and would implore Pucci to be careful about the justice of the dispensations which he brought for him to sign. One day a secretary brought him a dispensation for uniting two benefices, which lay at a considerable distance from one another; Leo asked how much was paid for the dispensation; when he was told 200 ducats, he paid the money out of his own purse and tore up the paper. He was not strong enough to put down abuses, but he tried to discourage them.

It was, however, useless to condemn extortion and yet live splendidly upon its fruits. Kindliness, liberality, Leo’s luxury, and magnificence, are of necessity costly; and though the revenues of the Papal States reached the large sum of 420,000 ducats yearly, this did not suffice for Leo's needs. Indeed, he spent in presents 8000 ducats a month; the expenses of his table amounted to 100,000 ducats a year and he assigned 60,000 ducats a year to the building of S. Peter's. His gifts to his relatives and to Florentine friends were munificent, and no thought of economy ever crossed his mind. The cost of the war of Urbino reduced him to great straits; and it was currently thought that he made use of the conspiracy of Petrucci to extract money from the wealthiest Cardinals. He instituted an Order of Chivalry, with 400 members, who paid for the distinction; he multiplied offices in his Court till he had 60 chamberlains and 140 squires, who paid 80,ooo and 120,000 ducats yearly for the privilege. He made the fortune of the Roman bankers by borrowing money at 20 per cent, for six months. His death spread ruin far and wide. He had borrowed large sums from all the Cardinals who would trust him, and there was none of his favorites or friends to whom he was not indebted for large sums.

This was the weak point of Leo's policy. He was engaged in trying to conceal the real weakness of the Papacy at a crisis when it was dangerous to confess the truth. He outdid his predecessors in magnificence, and Roman society was never so splendid as during his pontificate. He was conscious that his resources were not enough to give him any real influence over external affairs, and he trusted entirely to skillful diplomacy. He staked everything on the chance of ultimate success; but his untimely death, just when his plans had begun to succeed, revealed the fact that he had mortgaged the Papacy to such an extent that a successor would be powerless to continue his projects. His death was felt to be an irretrievable disaster. His friends and relatives gazed on one another with blank dismay. The Pope's debts to them amounted to 850,000 ducats, and the Papal treasury was empty. They laid hands on such things as they could carry away from the Vatican; but that was little to compensate for their loss. There was no money to provide for a magnificent funeral, and Leo was buried without any of the pomp which he loved. Even the wax candles were those which had been used a short time before at the funeral of Cardinal Riario. The tongue of the Roman people was unloosed, and Rome was full of pasquinades against Leo and his Florentine favorites. “Never died Pope in worse repute”, was the opinion of an eye-witness. Moreover, scarce was Leo in his grave before all the results of his political activity were lost. The dispossessed lords returned to their States, Francesco Maria Rovere to Urbino, the Baglioni to Perugia, Varano to Camerino, Malatesta to Rimini. The success of the League against Milan was of little moment, as the combined forces of the French, the Venetians, and the Duke of Ferrara were increasing, and Charles V. was not likely to wage war in Italy at his own cost. The future was on all sides uncertain; and few Popes left a more embarrassing heritage to their successor than did Leo X.

CHAPTER VII

ADRIAN  VI.

The large additions made by Leo to the number of the Cardinals from every State in Europe left the College more amenable to political considerations than it had ever been before. The power of the old Roman families had been steadily put down by Alexander VI and Julius II, so the opinion of Rome itself had little weight. Strong in their numbers, the Cardinals felt themselves a powerful aristocracy; and their main object was to choose a Pope who would respect their privileges, while he secured the political importance of the Papacy. As things stood, the political balance in Italy inclined in favor of the League; and it seemed necessary to elect a Pope who would be acceptable to Charles V and Henry VIII. The most obvious man was Cardinal Giulio de' Medici, who had conducted affairs under Leo, and held in his hands the threads of Leo's plans. But there was a natural objection to the continuance of the Papacy in the same family, and the feeling was strong against Florentine domination. Moreover, Florentine factions were represented in the College. Cardinal Soderini, who had spent his days in honorable exile from Rome, could not forget the downfall of his brother, and headed an opposition to Medici. He pointed out that “he would be no new Pope, for they had had-long experience what manner of man he was”; he attacked him on personal grounds, pointing out that he was by birth a bastard, by character a tyrant, and as a statesman had undone the Church. The determined opposition of Soderini was supported by Cardinal Colonna, who began to make a party for himself. Medici was aggrieved at the defection of one on whom he counted as a friend, and all negotiations to fix upon someone who would be an acceptable compromise entirely failed. The English envoy Clerk could only report to Wolsey: “Here is marvelous division, and we were never likelier to have a schism”.

Never had a Papal election been so publicly discussed, and the machinery exposed to view. Francis I sent a message to the Cardinals telling them that if they elected Medici, who was the cause of all the war, he protested that neither he nor any man in his kingdom would obey the Church of Rome. Henry VIII wished that the Emperor should join with him to procure the election of Wolsey. For this purpose he suggested that they should unite in seeming to favor Medici in the first instance; and when his election was hopeless, propose Wolsey’s, and secure Medici's votes in his favor. The ground for Wolsey’s election was his solemn declaration before the Imperial Ambassador that “he would not accept the dignity unless the Emperor and King deemed it expedient and necessary for their security and glory, and that his object was to exalt their majesties”. Henry added, “Then like father and son we will dispose of the Apostolic seat, its authority and power, as though they were our own, and we will give law to the whole world”. When Charles expressed his willingness to further this plan, Wolsey suggested that the imperial troops should march towards Rome and exercise pressure on the Cardinals; he further expressed his personal readiness to invest 100,000 ducats in his candidature. There was no illusion anywhere about the method or the motives of the coining election. Francis I said that it was not the fashion at Rome for Cardinals to give their voices as the Holy Ghost put into their minds. As we read the records it is hard to escape the conviction that the Catholic King, the Most Christian King, the Defender of the Faith, and a great number of the Cardinals, did not entertain a much higher view of the Papacy than that expressed by Luther. The only reason why, as statesmen, they wished to preserve it was the hope of making it useful for their own schemes; but no one showed any practical belief in its spiritual contents. Its importance lay in its possibilities of usefulness; it had lost all independent power.

The Cardinals, however, thought of none of these things, but prepared for the struggle in the Conclave. Never had there been so many among them who were possible candidates, and each man meant to do the best for himself. First there was the question of the custody of the Conclave; and this gave rise to some difficulty. Cardinal Medici had his rooms in the Vatican, which was guarded by 500 Swiss. It was thought that they would be on Medici's side, so it was proposed to add to them 1000 footmen. When the Conclave actually began, the guards were increased to the portentous number of 3500, for whose pay the Cardinals had to borrow money from the Chigi bank. At first it was proposed by the Imperialists to hasten the election before the French Cardinals had time to arrive; and the Conclave was fixed for December 8. But this plan was thwarted by the excessive zeal of Prospero Colonna, who captured the Cardinal of Ivrea on his way through Lombardy. When this was reported in Rome, the College were obliged to demand his liberation and await his arrival. Finally, on December 27, the thirty-nine Cardinals who were in Rome entered the Conclave, after impressing the Imperial Ambassador with the conviction that “there cannot be so much hatred and so many devils in hell as among these Cardinals”.

Popular opinion thought that the election would lie between Medici, Fiesco, and Jacobazzi. Fiesco was a Genoese, and “it was hard to know what way he would take”; he therefore would represent a political compromise. On the other hand, Jacobazzi was a member of the Colonna party, was seventy-two years old, and was well skilled in the ways of the Curia, as he had long been Auditor of the Rota; but he had, from a former marriage, as many sons as Leo had nephews, and that was saying a good deal. Besides these, Campeggi, De Grassis, and Piccolomini were all spoken of. The first scrutiny, on December 30, resulted in scattered voting among those mentioned. But the Cardinals had other business to do than proceed to the election; side by side with conferences for the purpose of agreeing on a candidate went the preparation of capitulations, which all were to sign, and which were to bind the new Pope. He was to extirpate heresy, reform the Church, establish peace in Christendom, and expel the Turk. What was more to the point, he was to appoint no new Cardinals till the College was reduced below twenty-four, which was to be its normal number, though two additional members of Papal relatives were allowed. New Cardinals were not to be under thirty years of age, and were to receive the assent of two-thirds of the College voting secretly. Each Cardinal who did not enjoy ecclesiastical revenues to the amount of 6000 ducats yearly, was to receive from the Pope a monthly pension of 200 ducats till the Pope had given him benefices to the amount of 6000 ducats. When the Cardinals had thus provided generally for their order, they provided specifically for themselves by dividing the towns in the Papal States, and all the civil dues therefrom accruing, amongst those present in the Conclave. When everyone was thus prospectively enriched he could resume his duties as elector with greater equanimity.

These proceedings were too much for the Venetian Cardinal Grimani, who pleaded ill-health as a ground for withdrawing, and was allowed to depart on December 31. Perhaps he wished to escape from an election towards which the intrigues of the Conclave seemed tending, that of Cardinal Farnese, whom Medici cautiously favored. Farnese owed his Cardinalate, to Alexander VI’s notorious intrigue with his sister Giulia, and had been called in consequence “the petticoat cardinal”. His own life corresponded to these antecedents; he had two sons, one engaged in the war against Milan, another of the age of twelve who was already a bishop, and two married daughters. But this was of little consequence, and he was now considered “a virtuous and well-disposed man, wise, and with a good tongue”, though rather hot-tempered and covetous. His name was on a list of candidates which had been agreed upon between Medici and the Imperial Ambassador; but as he had formerly been on the French side, he was required to send his second son to Naples, as a hostage for his adherence to the Emperor's interests; and he further agreed to pay Manuel 100,000 ducats for his good offices, if they were successful.

The struggle of political parties in the Conclave was complicated by that of the older and younger Cardinals; and Farnese, who was fifty-six years old, was probably put forward as a compromise on both the political and the personal question. But Farnese’s candidature did not make much way; and on January 2, 1522, the Cardinals were bidden to hasten their election by being restricted to one dish of meat only. On January 5 the younger Cardinals, under Medici's guidance, tried a bold device to carry a candidate of their own choice. Cibo, a nephew of Leo X, of the age of twenty-seven, was ill, and sent his voting paper from his chamber. He asked some of the older Cardinals to give him their votes as a consolation. To this they agreed, and Medici, who commanded fifteen votes, was waiting to accede with all his party, if he had an opportunity. Colonna spied the plot, and unmasked it just in time. When this failed, another attempt was made next day in favor of Farnese, who received twelve votes. Thereupon Pucci exclaimed: “We have a Pope”, and several rose to accede to him. Again Colonna raised his voice and implored that nothing should be done rashly. Cesarini withdrew his vote from Farnese, and acceded to Egidius; whereon a discussion arose if accession could withdraw a vote given in writing. The controversy was not decided; but Farnese's chance of election was destroyed, chiefly by Egidius, who denounced his private character.

Parties were now still more sharply divided, and even the rumour of the impending arrival of four French Cardinals produced no effect on the angry combatants. Medici proposed another candidate. Cardinal de Valle, who was accepted by Colonna; but the seniors deliberated for a time and then returned answer that they could not agree in his favor, but would prefer another of the elder Cardinals.

Medici had now tried every candidate on whose gratitude he could reckon, and was driven at last to take a leap in the dark. As they could not agree on any one present, why not, he asked, choose some experienced man out of the absent Cardinals? Every one's thoughts turned to Wolsey; but it seems clear that Charles V played him false, and took care that his formal letter, recommending Wolsey, should not reach his Ambassador till the private arrangement with Medici had been made. Moreover, Wolsey was too strong a man for the Cardinals to set over themselves as master, and he was still young. So Medici passed over Wolsey, and named another Cardinal of political eminence, Adrian of Utrecht, who had been the Emperor’s tutor, and was now acting as his Viceroy in Spain. It seems clear that Adrian’s name was not on the list which Manuel gave to Cardinal Medici, but that, in the improbable case of an election outside those present, his name had been mentioned as acceptable to the Emperor. Adrian was almost unknown in Rome, but was sixty-three years old, and had a reputation for piety. He was known to Carvajal, the head of the reforming party, who hailed his nomination with delight. In the scrutiny Adrian had fifteen votes from Medici's party. Then Cajetan, who belonged to Colonna's party, rose and said that in Germany he had heard much of Adrian as a good and learned man; he acceded to him and urged others to do likewise. Colonna, Jacobazzi, and others followed his example; while Orsini vainly cried out that they were ruining the French cause. Other accessions quickly followed; only De Grassis held back, saying that he did not know Adrian, who had never been in the Curia. The cry was raised: “We have a Pope”; and at length the election was unanimous, and was announced to the people (Jan. 9).

The announcement was heard with universal bewilderment, in which the Cardinals themselves shared. They had no reason to give for the election of an unknown foreigner, who had not even signed the capitulations, and on whose action they could not count. They stood dejected before the Roman mob, who screamed out curses upon their treachery for robbing Rome, nay even Italy, of its Pope, by electing one who would either remain in Spain or air his new-born dignity before his countrymen in Germany. Each slunk home followed by a howling crowd; but Cardinal Gonzaga plucked up his courage, and with a smile thanked his clamorous attendants for being content with abusive words. “We deserve the most rigorous punishment”, he said, “I am glad you do not avenge your wrongs with stones”. For some days the Cardinals dared now leave their houses, and Rome was filled with furious lampoons against them. An inscription was fixed on the Vatican, “To be Let” and a caricature represented Adrian as a schoolmaster, birching the Cardinals, who were hoisted over a horse for the purpose of receiving their chastisement. Never before had the personal motives and private characters of the College of Cardinals been matters of public concern. There was no illusion about the way in which Popes were elected.

However, the Cardinals soon recovered their equanimity and proceeded to make the best of their action. Medici retired to Florence, with the thought that at least he had earned a pension of 10,000 ducats from the Emperor for the service which he had rendered. The others took heart at the thought that it would be at least six months before the new Pope could appear in Rome, and meanwhile they might help themselves. So they took possession of the Vatican and plundered it of its jewels, tapestry, and furniture. The administration of the Papacy was entrusted to a Commission of three Cardinals, Carvajal, Schinner and Cornaro, who after holding office for a month were to be succeeded by the three seniors. It was proposed in the Conclave that Colonna and Cesarini should go as legates to Adrian and urge his speedy journey to Rome: even this nomination could not be agreed to without a wrangle, and Orsini was added to represent the Roman party opposed to Colonna, Meanwhile Rome looked like a city which had suffered a siege. The army of Leo’s officials and servants were thrown out of employment; many of them set off for Spain to curry favor with the new Pope; till the Cardinals, in their terror lest a second Avignon should be set up in some Spanish town, forbade any further departures. The succession of Leo X was at best a hard matter, but the election of one who was absent from Rome increased the difficulties ten-fold.

Adrian, upon whom all eyes were now turned, was a man whose career showed that the Church had not entirely lost its old spirit. He was born at Utrecht on March 2, 1459, the son of a ship carpenter of the name of Floris, and according to Netherlandish custom went by the name of Adrian Floriszoon. His father died when he was a child, but his mother, Gertrud, cared for his education, and his intellectual promise spurred her to make sacrifices for that purpose. He went to school first at Delft, then at Zwolle, and at the age of seventeen entered the University of Louvain, where he became a teacher of philosophy in 1488. His studies were chiefly theological— humanism had not made much impression at Louvain. So Adrian followed the fashion of the time, and wrote a commentary on Peter Lombard, Quaestiones de Sacramentis, and afterwards some Quaestiones Quod libeticae, both of which works show that he was a theologian of the school of Gerson rather than of the Curial party. Margaret of England, Duchess of Burgundy, widow of Charles the Bold, was interested in the fortunes of the University of Louvain, and recognized Adrian’s ability. He was rewarded by several ecclesiastical appointments, and employed their revenues in founding a college; for he shared in the general hope that the spread of learning would be the means of solving the difficulties of the time. It was on the grounds of his merits only that the Emperor Maximilian chose him, in 1507, to be the associate of Chièvres in educating his fatherless grandson, Charles; and though Adrian was perhaps too much of a specialist, and too little of a man of the world for such a post, he conscientiously fulfilled his duties. Charles was not a very apt scholar, but he always respected Adrian's learning and uprightness. Indeed, the pupil was faithful to his tutors. So long as Chièvres lived he directed Charles’ policy; and Adrian was one of the first whom Charles as a ruler employed in his affairs. In 1515 he was sent to Spain to reconcile Ferdinand the Catholic to the prospect of his grandson’s succession to the Spanish kingdoms, and on Ferdinand's death, in January, 1516, was associated with Ximenez as regent of Castile till Charles’ arrival. He was made Bishop of Tortosa, and was one of the batch of thirty-nine Cardinals whom Leo created in 1517. When Charles left Spain in 1520 to receive the crown of Germany, Adrian was appointed Viceroy, and played a somewhat ignominious part during the rising of the Communeros against the financial oppression which Charles' Flemish admirers had introduced.

In ecclesiastical matters Adrian was connected with the party, both in Germany and Spain, which were desirous of disciplinary reform. But he had no sympathy either with the New Learning or the New Theology. In the Reuchlin controversy he had used his influence on the side of Hochstraten. Still more was he opposed to Luther; and when consulted by the theological faculty of Louvain before their condemnation of Luther's writings, he dryly answered that Luther's heresies were so palpable that not even a tyro in theology could make such mistakes, and only added the practical advice to quote Luther's words with scrupulous accuracy in their condemnation. When Luther’s cause was pending at Worms, Adrian wrote to Charles that it would be an act agreeable to God, and necessary for his good repute as Emperor, to send to Rome for condign punishment an heretic who had been condemned by the Holy See. Here Adrian spoke as Inquisitor-General in Spain, an office in which he succeeded Ximenez, and which he exercised with rigur. He was foremost in objecting to a reform of the Inquisition, and sharpened it to prevent the introduction of Lutheran doctrines. He was a zealot of the old school, and to German pedantry added the cold persistency of a Spaniard.

Adrian was at Vitoria when, on January 24, a private messenger, sent by the Bishop of Gerona, made his way with difficulty across the snow-bound mountains, and almost dead with exhaustion thrust a letter into Adrian's hands. Then, with the cry of 'Holy Father', he flung himself on the ground to kiss his feet. At first Adrian was incredulous; but the zeal of the townsmen could not be restrained, and he was compelled to receive their tokens of rejoicing and marks of reverence. More troublesome were the proffers of service and petitions for places which soon followed; but Adrian put them aside, saying that he would do nothing till he had received a letter from the Cardinals. This was long in coming, for, as usual, private enterprise far surpassed official service. Not till February 9 did the Chamberlain of Cardinal Carvajal, Don Antonio de Studillo, arrive with the formal documents necessary to confirm the news. Even then Adrian did nothing more than thank the messenger for his pains. He continued to transact his business as Viceroy and Inquisitor; the only change that he made was to take up his abode in the Franciscan Convent, where he kept aloof from importunate petitions. Men did not know whether he would accept the Papacy or no, and murmured that he made light of so high a dignity. At last on February 16 his secret communing with his own heart came to an end, and summoning three of his attendants he announced to them his decision; much as he shrunk from the responsibilities of the office, the danger that would arise to the Church from his refusal outweighed his personal objections, and trusting in God’s grace he accepted the Papacy. Then he ordered a notarial instrument of his acceptance to be drawn up and witnessed.

But Adrian’s decision had already been taken, and even the lines of his policy already laid down; for on February 2 he wrote to Henry VIII and Wolsey saying that, as one who had always longed for the peace of Christendom, he trusted that peace would be brought about by the firm union of Henry and the Emperor, so that all the world might know that he who broke it would be condignly punished. There is no reason to doubt that this is a sincere expression of Adrian's desire; he would not enter the League for purposes of war against France, but he hoped to convert it into a powerful alliance pledged to maintain European peace. If such was his intention, he was speedily convinced of the difficulties which lay in the way of carrying it out.

Every one wished to use the new Pope for his own purposes; and the first step was to establish a hold upon his gratitude by proving that he had promoted his election to the Papacy. Studillo, as the first authoritative messenger, had the first chance. He came overland through France, where he had an interview with Francis I, who bade him say that it was not the Emperor but the French king who had made Adrian Pope, because he believed him to be a holy man. To this flattering message Studillo added, on behalf of his master Carvajal, that it was he who had refused the tiara for himself that he might place it on the head of Adrian. Neither of these statements was true, but Adrian eagerly caught at them. He had an uneasy consciousness that his election was entirely political and was due to the Emperor; it was a great relief to his mind that the first news he heard contradicted that suspicion, and put down his unexpected elevation to his personal character, and the devotion which it had inspired in those who knew him. Comforted by this reflection he received on February 15 the imperial envoy, Lope de Hurtado de Mendoza, who brought Charles' assurance that he held Adrian as “his true father and protector, and would be always his obedient son ready to share his fortune”. Mendoza was able to assure the Emperor that Adrian spoke of him with the same affection as when he was Dean of Louvain. But Adrian did not show any inclination to enter upon political questions; he wrote to Charles that he would not take upon himself to perform any Papal acts till the three Legates had arrived, and he asked that ships should be sent from Naples to Barcelona to convey him to Rome. Charles hastened to comply with this request, and implored Adrian not to think of making the journey through France, “which would cause a great scandal to all Christendom”.

It soon became evident that Carvajal’s Chamberlain had impressed Adrian’s mind with a sense of his independence of the Emperor, which was highly inconvenient to Charles. Manuel wrote from Rome to Adrian that his election was due to the favor of God and the Emperor, and assumed that he would naturally conform to the will of his two creators, which was really identical. He assumed this as a matter of course, and made suggestions about affairs in Rome as though he was Adrian's natural representative. This was a cruel blow to Adrian’s self-complacency, and had not the merit of exact truth, as Cardinal Medici was the real cause of the election; Adrian was suspicious that he was being deceived, and clung tenaciously to his first belief, in spite of all that Manuel could say. He wearied of waiting for the Cardinal Legates, and at last he sent them a message that if they had not set sail, they need not come. On March 8, he executed a deed accepting the Papacy and sent it to Rome, where it was published on April 9.

This open assumption of authority on the part of the elect Pope, who decided to retain his name of Adrian, did something towards checking the intrigues of the Cardinals in Rome. Manuel was of opinion that “they were inspired by the Holy Ghost when they elected Adrian, but since the election the devil had taken possession of them”. Soderini, though ill in bed, directed the proceedings of the French party, who gave out that the Pope refused to come to Rome, and talked of making a new election. They paid no heed to the Pope’s letters, and he had to ask twice for a signet ring before it was sent him. They quarreled violently amongst themselves, and Rome was full of bloodshed. It was high time that the Pope appeared, to exercise his authority in his capital.

But this was no easy matter, as a Pope could not travel unobserved. The weather was stormy, and the galleys had to sail from Naples. Moreover, when the Pope once reached Rome, he would be less accessible than he was in Spain. Manuel proposed that Adrian should first visit England, and confer with Charles and Henry; then Charles should accompany him to Rome for his coronation as Emperor, and there all Italian questions should be settled. This proposal was impracticable; but Charles was looking forward to an interview with Henry VIII on his way to Spain, and he hoped that the results of that interview would furnish him with material for a conference with the Pope. So after Adrian had given up looking for his Cardinals, he was kept waiting for the arrival of an ambassador from Charles, Poupet de la Chaux, who visited England on his way, and did not land at Bilbao till April 20. Adrian meanwhile had moved to Saragossa, where La Chaux had many matters to discuss. First Adrian showed him a letter from Francis I addressed to the Cardinal of Tortosa, containing very plain language about Leo X, and his hopes of better treatment from his successor. Adrian showed him also his answer, in which he said that, though he was personally attached to the Emperor, there was no reason why he should do anything contrary to justice or prejudicial to the interests of Christendom. La Chaux could take no exception to this sentiment, though it did not augur well for the success of his mission, which was to induce the Pope to join the close alliance which Charles and Henry were at the time negotiating, and which was signed in London in June. Though this was modified to a defensive alliance only, Adrian refused to join it, saying that no treaty could make him more friendly to the Emperor and the English king, but that he ought not to offend the French king, as by doing so he would lose his influence as a mediator. He had already written to Charles : “My intention is to labor to procure peace among Christian princes that we may resist the Turks”; and to this end besought him to accept reasonable conditions of peace, with a view to at least a truce of a year or two in the first instance. From this opinion La Chaux was not able to move him, and Adrian soon reaped the fruits of his pacific attitude in a letter from Francis I, offering to receive him with due respect and escort him through his dominions, if he chose to take that way to Italy. Adrian could now rejoice that he had succeeded in freeing himself from dependence on the Emperor; he had laid the foundation of an attitude of political neutrality.

However, he could not flatter himself that his persuasions were likely to be of much weight. His nuncio to England, the Bishop of Astorga, found Henry VIII in a very bellicose mood: he angrily said that he had received such injuries from the French that he would have neither peace nor truce, but would settle the dispute with the sword. Wolsey echoed his master’s empty boast, declared that the French were the real Turks, the enemies of Christendom, and said that they must be exterminated. Charles V repeated the same opinion in more measured language. Adrian had to content himself with the remark that, though the allies considered peace impossible till the wings of the French king had been clipped, he had to guard the interests of Christendom, to which the most pressing danger was the advance of the Turks. It was this discovery of his political powerlessness which determined Adrian to hasten his journey to Rome. The Emperor landed at Santander on July 16, and wished for an interview before Adrian went away; but Adrian from Tarragona pleaded the news from Italy as a reason for his early departure. He set sail on August 5, taking with him a retinue of 1000 attendants, and followed by as many others who were resolved to seek their fortunes in Rome. Even so it required considerable firmness to reduce the number within those limits. Many returned home in despair at their ill-luck; many others hoped till the last moment, and were left disconsolate on the shore watching the departing galleys.

The voyage was tedious round the north coast of the Mediterranean; and everywhere Adrian met with signs of political unrest. At Livorno he was met by Cardinals Medici, Petrucci, Colonna, Rudolfi, and Piccolomini, who besought him to continue his journey overland; but he declined to enter Rome under Medici's escort, and hurriedly resumed his voyage, landing at Civita Vecchia on the evening of August 27, and reaching Ostia the next morning. At Rome all was in confusion. The city was devastated by the plague. The Cardinals were squabbling amongst themselves, and had made no preparations for the Pope’s reception. The Master of the Ceremonies hastened to do his part; and Adrian advanced to S. Paul's without enters the Walls of Rome, where he was met by the Cardinals, who with some anxiety awaited the coming of their new master. Carvajal, as Dean of the College, addressed him in a speech which expressed the aspirations which filled the minds of the more serious men at Rome, who had long hoped for some measures of reform. He was to free the Church from all evils, reform it according to the canons, follow the good advice of the Cardinals, relieve their poverty, gather money for a crusade, build S. Peter’s, introduce law and order into Rome, and be generally beneficent. Not a word was said about German affairs; perhaps the Cardinals thought that there was enough to do nearer home. Adrian's answer pointedly reminded them that reform must begin among themselves. After excusing his absence from Rome, he said that, for the restoration of order in the city, they must give up the right of sheltering evil-doers in their palaces, and suffer the officers of the law to have free entry for the purpose of making necessary arrests. He spoke in Latin, and as the Cardinals looked upon his austere figure, his red face, and his ambiguous expression, they began to understand the meaning of their election of a barbarian who knew nothing of the traditions of Rome. It dawned upon them that the new Pope contemplated reforms which might not be in the interest of the Cardinals. When the Bishop of Pesaro came forward with one of those petitions which new Popes were in the habit of granting, a request for a canonry in S. Peter’s, and was refused, it became still more clear that a new order of things was likely to begin. Ascanio Colonna, a nephew of the Cardinal, asked pardon for one guilty of homicide: “We cannot pardon”, was the answer, “without hearing both sides. Our intention is that justice be done”. The hangers-on of Leo’s Court felt their hearts sink within them. The traditions of the Papacy of the Renaissance were to be swept away, and a new era was to begin. Sadly and silently the Cardinals followed the procession, which the Roman people did their best to welcome within their walls.

On August 31, Adrian was crowned in S. Peter’s, and entertained the Cardinals and ambassadors at dinner. The Spanish attendants of the Pope wondered at the Roman custom, according to which each Cardinal brought his own butler and his own wine, as a precaution against a possibility of poison. But when the banquet was over, and Adrian settled down to his ordinary life, it was the turn of the Romans to wonder at the foreign habits of the Pope. He was surrounded by Spaniards and Flemings. His house­hold was of the simplest sort; an old Flemish woman presided over his kitchen; he was waited on at table by two Spanish pages. Nor did he lose any time in making clear his intentions. On September 1, he held a Consistory, in which he informed the Cardinals of his wish for the peace of Christendom and a joint undertaking against the Turk. This was a disappointment to all those who were political partisans on either side. But their dismay increased when the Pope went on to speak of measures necessary for the reformation of manners in Rome. He pointed out that the Church needed money and zeal; he told the Cardinals that a revenue of 6000 ducats was sufficient for them, and that they ought not to hoard their money but devote it to the common needs; he bade them remember that many of them were not men of learning, and that they ought to employ their time in fitting themselves for their duties. After thus lecturing the Cardinals, he summoned the ambassadors of all the powers to consult about the defence of Rhodes, which was besieged by the Turks. The other ambassadors cast the obligation on Venice; she had fifty galleys at sea; they were ready and were enough. Venice had made peace with the Turks; and the Venetian envoy replied that Venice was not strong enough to act alone. Adrian, resolved to take some step, ordered Cardinal Medici, as protector of the Order of S. John, to set sail for Rhodes with two galleys and 1000 men. Medici made excuse that the galleys were not ready for the sea, and their crews were wearied with the voyage from Spain. Nothing was done, and Adrian felt his helplessness at every turn.

The position of the new Pope was, indeed, beset by difficulties on every side; and the very fact that Adrian was seriously bent on facing these difficulties only made their pressure more apparent. He wished to reform the Curia, free the Papacy from its political complications, make peace in Europe, and unite Christendom against the Turk. All these things were doubtless necessary; but Adrian had to undertake them single-handed. From the beginning he treated the Cardinals like schoolboys, and insisted on their conformity to trivial regulations. Thus he prescribed their dress, ordered them to shave their beards, and dislodged from the Vatican eight who had taken up their abode there. Similarly, while he reduced his personal expenses to the simplest limits, he showed no sympathy for the crowd of officials who consequently lost their places; and he carried out his domestic reforms in such a way that they seemed to be the economies of a miser, who had no sense of the dignity of his position. Adrian had chosen to live in Rome, and consequently had undertaken the responsibilities of a ruler of the Roman people, who had been accustomed to magnificence on the part of their ruler; he changed everything according to his own sense of the fitness of things, without making any compensation. The ravages of the plague offered him an opportunity for spiritual activity and useful beneficence. He might have impressed the Romans with the power of holiness, and might have substituted for the worldly policy of his predecessors the ideal of a Christian bishop; but he shut himself up in the Vatican and led the retired life of a studious monk. Secure in his good intentions, absorbed in his plans for the future, he lacked that quick sympathy with actual human needs which alone can make abstract plans intelligible. He was content to make his purposes clear, without seeking how he could give them effective expression. He trusted in logic, and did not strive to awaken enthusiasm. He was more anxious to keep clear from doing evil than to do good. His attitude was negative rather than positive. He hoped, by living a life of seclusion, to spare himself the trouble of refusing to hear requests which he was not prepared to grant. He had a small circle of trusty officials, like minded with himself, and too much resembling himself in manner and method. Chief amongst them was an old friend, a Fleming, Peter Enkenvoert, of whom the Pope said that if all goodness and learning were lost in the world, and Enkenvoert alone preserved, everything would be found in him. Another Fleming, Peter of Rome, was made Master of Requests solely on the ground of his crabbed and intractable temper, that he might keep off suitors from the Pope. Besides these men, the Bishops of Feltre, Castellamare, and Burgos, and two Germans, Johann Winkler and Copis, made up the number of the Pope's advisers. There were no men of mark among them. Adrian made no effort to win allies by trustfulness or geniality. His main care was to defend himself and maintain his principles. His answer to all requests was “Videbimus”, “We will see about it”. His carefulness seemed to be feeble procrastination; he was counted to be small-minded and inexperienced in affairs. Instead of impressing men with his resoluteness and raising himself above the level of petty intrigue, he only led them to devise new means for capturing a Pope who had a turn for eccentricity, and was ignorant of the world.

We need only read the dispatches of the Spanish ambassadors to see how completely Adrian failed to put himself beyond the reach of scheming diplomatists, and how incapable he was of putting to shame their political cynicism. Juan Manuel was unable to convince the Pope that he had procured his election, and had no wish to stay in Rome longer than was necessary to take the measure of the man whom he proposed to punish for not swallowing his bait. He wrote to the Emperor that the Pope was so weak and irresolute that it was useless to give him advice; he was ignorant, not only of Italian affairs, but of European politics generally; his weakness and avarice made it impossible to count upon him; and his adviser Enkenvoert was a poor creature, both intellectually and morally. In October, Manuel was replaced by the Duke of Sessa, who at once assumed that Adrian could best be won through his servants, and proceeded to collect gossip about them. Enkenvoert, he reported, rules the Pope, and is himself ruled by Winkler and Peter of Rome, who act as his panders. These are all on the side of France, but may be bought, as they are exceedingly covetous. Other friends of the Pope are good Imperialists, but are feeble, ignorant, and timid. Adrian himself talked about politics with the angry petulance of a child; his only notion of conducting business was to discuss matters endlessly with Enkenvoert, Ghinucci, and the Bishop of Cosenza, without ever coming to any conclusion. For his own part, he declared that he would rather a hundred times expose his life daily on the field of battle than negotiate with such a Pope. From other sources we learn that Adrian was not discreet. Cardinal Carvajal had reason to suspect that he told the Emperor that he advised him to adopt political neutrality, and wrote to Charles to deny it. Further, Adrian had not the knowledge of character necessary to choose trustworthy men for confidential work. His envoy to the French king, the Archbishop of Bari, was secretly in communication with the Emperor's ambassador, and sent him private information of all that passed between himself and the Pope. We have a more sympathetic picture of Adrian from the Venetian envoys, but it leaves the same impression of helplessness. “The Pope leads an exemplary and devout life. Every day he says his hours; rises from bed for matins and then returns to rest; rises at daybreak, says his mass, and then comes to give audience. He dines and sups very temperately, and it is said that he only spends a ducat a day, which he takes from his purse every evening and gives to his steward, saying: For tomorrow's expenses. He is a man of good and holy life, but he is slow in his doings and proceeds with great circumspection. He speaks little and loves solitude; none of the Cardinals is intimate with him, and he takes counsel with none of them, so that little is done and everyone is discontented”.

The fact was that Adrian succeeded in asserting his independence, and having done so found that there was little else which he could definitely do. He freed himself from the Cardinals, only to become dependent on a small circle of officials who were incapable of advising him. He freed himself from the politics of the Emperor, only to find that he became thereby destitute of political influence at all. Charles V and Gattinara, Henry VIII and Wolsey, pursued their own plans, and gave meaningless answers to the Pope’s pacific counsels. Adrian was compelled to act contrary to his principles: he continued Wolsey’s legateship, and sent Bulls to enable him to take possession of the revenues of the See of Durham without discharging the duties of a bishop. He even wished to borrow money from Wolsey; but all these tokens of good-will were useless to modify Wolsey’s political action. The Pope received from both Spain and England the stereotyped answer, that the allied monarchs were ready to make peace, if Francis would agree to reasonable terms. Their only object was to compel the Pope to join the League against France; and Adrian winced under the steady pressure which he felt on every side. He complained bitterly to Charles V that Manuel tried to do all the harm he could to the Church, because he was disappointed of the 100,000 ducats which Cardinal Farnese had promised him if he were elected Pope; now that Manuel had left Rome, the Duke of Sessa was following his example. Manuel on his side was busy in Northern Italy, and wrote that a general League of all the Italian States must be formed without the Pope, who would at last be driven to join it.

In everything that Adrian tried to do he found himself surrounded by the meshes of Spanish diplomacy. With cold courtesy and persistent gravity, Charles V repeated the same advice: the Pope’s attempt at neutrality only encouraged the insolence of the French king, who proposed impossible terms of peace: if the Pope would join the Emperor, he would most effectively prevent bloodshed amongst Christian powers and enable them to combine for the defence of Rhodes. Adrian’s complaints about the Spanish ministers were answered with contemptuous pity: if they really bore him such ill-will as he supposed, he would long ago have been reduced to the position of a “curate of S. Peter’s”. Meanwhile Charles kindly offered to relieve the Pope of some part of his expenses by pensions to his servants. Adrian answered that he would dismiss any of them who received a single ducat. “Nonsense”, is the comment of the Duke of Sessa; “the Pope may shut his eyes, but this kind of marketing goes on briskly at the palace”. Even Enkenvoert gave hostages to the Emperor by succeeding to Adrian’s Bishopric of Tortosa.

Still, though Adrian was disappointed in his attempts to restore European peace, he had good hopes of doing something towards reforming the Church. To support his activity in this direction, Adrian felt that he had a considerable weight of opinion behind him. What was happening in Germany had given force to the views of the party which had been urging disciplinary reform after the Spanish model; and Adrian’s accession had been hailed by them with satisfaction. From the Netherlands came a curious document, written by an Augustinian canon of Hemsdonk, in the form of a dialogue between himself and Apollo, who was sent to reveal the glories of the future. After much outspokenness concerning the abuses in the Church and the evil lives of the clergy, Apollo and the canon agree that the only remedy is a General Council, and the strict enforcement of discipline. More valuable, because less rhetorical, was the advice of the Spanish humanist, Juan Vives, then resident in Louvain. He pointed out to the Pope that States could only be maintained by the same means as those by which they had been established. All previous troubles of the Church were appeased by a General Council, in which diseases were brought to light and proper remedies were applied. Publicity alone dispels misunderstandings. If some Popes had dreaded a Council, Adrian has a clear conscience. Fear is a bad guardian of power; and it is a poor proof of truth to flee from argument. A Council should deliberate about those things only which concern practical piety and morality. Points of doubtful interpretation may be left for discussion in the schools: religion suffers no loss however they are defined; let them be matters of free thought or party opinion. If the opinions of Vives had been held in the Curia of Leo there would have been no Lutheran revolt. But Adrian felt the difficulty of a sudden change of front, and so did other observers of the signs of the times.

Erasmus wrote cautiously to the new Pope that private animosities should not injure public business, and that no vindication of human authority should betray the authority of Jesus Christ. Adrian answered that he desired nothing more than to remove from his native land the evil which affected it, while it was yet curable: he invited Erasmus to Rome that he might profit further from his advice. Erasmus was not sure that he and the Pope meant the same thing, and was not so convinced of his own orthodoxy as to venture himself into the toils of the Roman theologians; but he proceeded to speak out more plainly. First he freed himself from any sympathy with Luther's violent language, and pleaded that his writings were wrongfully interpreted in the light of Luther’s extremest conclusions. He deprecated angry controversy, and warned the Pope not to trust to repressive measures. He recommended reform undertaken in a spirit of unselfishness, without consideration of class interests; meanwhile there should be a promise of amnesty and an end of bickering. The name of liberty is sweet; and the problem is how to give liberty to men’s consciences, and at the same time reserve the just claims of authority. This is only possible if popular liberty, and the claims of authority, be submitted to the same standard of truth and justice. He advised the Pope to call together grave, upright, peace-loving men to inquire: Whence came these troubles What change is necessary? Thus Erasmus was convinced of the need of conciliation, and dwelt upon the temper and attitude which the Pope ought to assume towards the innovators. He agreed with Vives in thinking that the time was past for exercising authority against the rebels.

From the practical side Adrian had the opinion of Aleander, who was not misled about the extent of the Papal victory at Worms. “The time is past”, he wrote, “when God will connive at our faults. The age is changed, and popular opinion no longer thinks that the charges brought against us are partly false, and partly capable of better interpretation. The axe is laid at the root of the tree, unless we choose to return to wisdom. There is no need of issuing new laws, or fulminating Bulls; we have the canons and institutes of the fathers, and if only they are observed, the evil may be arrested. Let the Pope and the Curia do away their errors by which God and man are justly offended; let them bring the clergy once more under discipline. If the Germans see this done, there will be no further talk of Luther. The root and the cure of the evil are alike in ourselves”.

The liberalism of Vives and Erasmus was scarcely likely to be palatable to the Pope. To lay aside authority, and trust to reasonableness; to promise amnesty, and allow free discussion; to minimize differences, and leave all but essentials open to opinion—if Adrian could have given expression to these principles of action he might have changed the fortunes of Christendom. But he reserved the question of principles and turned to practice. Aleander’s advice was just, and reform must begin in the Curia. The Cardinals were nearest to the Pope, and were the first to experience Adrian's reforming zeal. “The Cardinals”, wrote Hannibal to Wolsey, “have now a master that can teach them their lesson, and ordereth them as a good Abbot doth his convent”. Those in the College who had wished for reforms had now an opportunity for raising their voices; and Egidius of Viterbo, General of the Augustinians, a man of genuine piety and much experience, submitted to the Pope a memorial which shows how profoundly the German revolt had influenced the opinions of thoughtful and sincere observers.

Egidius begins from the fact that the Papal authority is of little repute, and unless something is done to preserve it, will soon be of no repute at all. He suggests that a commission be appointed to determine the limits of the power of the keys, which has been applied in the past in an arbitrary way, and must be diminished in the future. Amongst the abuses of the Papal power he enumerates the interference with benefices; the excessive business of the datary, and of the other offices of the Curia, which all need overhauling; the whole body of concordats and concessions to princes, which have removed spiritual matters from the supervision of the Pope while they have given him temporal advantages; the entire system of Indulgences and privileges concerning confession, which Egidius denounces in language as vigorous as that used by Luther. Indulgences were preached with consummate impudence; they were given without investigation; they were an incentive to sin, and a source of danger to souls.

Egidius felt that these measures of reform would reduce the Papal revenue, and he knew that the building of S. Peter's was a favorite shelter for official conservatism. He therefore suggested that the princes of Europe should be asked to relieve the Pope of all necessity for sending his own collectors, by offering yearly contributions till the work was finished. But he was aware that the Papal treasury afforded slight guarantee that the money would be spent on the object for which it was given; and he proposed that it should be paid directly by the ambassadors to the architect, who should render hid accounts to them.

Had Luther been met in the spirit shown by the memorial of Egidius there would have been no German revolt. If the admissions now made by Egidius had been made by Prierias, Luther would have been satisfied. Unfortunately the hard lessons of experience were needed before the views of Egidius could be formulated. In the eyes of Prierias, it was heretical to criticize ecclesiastical practices, because they rested on the unlimited and illimitable power of the keys, committed to the Pope. In the eyes of Egidius, the power of the Pope can only be preserved if it carefully examines into old abuses and makes clear the limits to which it will submit in the future. So complete was the change which the events of the last five years had wrought in the attitude of the Curia. Yet though Luther had given Egidius the opportunity of speaking out his mind, he was not on that account forgiven. Everything must be done to root out the Lutheran pest; the imperial edict must be diligently enforced till, if possible, the very name of such a monster be forgotten.

This was the line of action which commended itself to Adrian's mind. Europe must be convinced of the good intentions of the Pope : some reforms must be begun at once: and meanwhile the Emperor must stamp out Lutheranism. Reform and repression were to go hand in hand; and the Papal office, cleansed from the abuses of the past, would renew its hold upon the reverence of a reunited Christendom. To devise a practical means of procedure, Adrian called to his aid some trustworthy prelates, such as Giovanni Pietro Caraffa, Bishop of Chieti, and Tommaso Gazella, Bishop of Gaeta. The chief difficulty lay in determining the point from which reform was to begin; and Adrian resolved to follow the order of events in Germany and begin with Indulgences. He himself had never held the high doctrine of the Curialist theologians, and could therefore conscientiously endeavor to bring back Indulgences within the limits of the old system of ecclesiastical discipline. He apparently proposed a definition of Indulgences which should emphasize the necessity of a contrite heart in the recipient. Cardinal Cajetan expressed a doubt lest such a definition should, in the existing condition of the controversy, lessen the belief in the authority of the Church, and suggested a revival of the old penitential system in its entirety. The theological difficulties, however, were small compared with the practical difficulties. Cardinal Pucci, as datary, gave his opinion that the revival of the old discipline was impossible without the old zeal: to lay heavier burdens upon men at a time when the hold of the Church was weak, and the claims of free inquiry were strong, would only alienate Italy without recovering Germany; in the diversity of theological opinion it was better to leave the matter alone. Adrian had no answer to these objections, and tried to find another starting-point for reform. In his choice he showed his foresight, for he selected dispensations, especially in matrimonial cases. Had Adrian carried out his plan, his successor might have had some principle on which to decide his action towards Henry VIII, and would have been thankful to shelter himself behind some limitation of the Papal power. But here again the opposition of the officials was fatal. Many of them had bought their posts from Leo X and were dependent on fees for their livelihood; if their gains were taken away, they must be repaid the invested capital; and Adrian had no money for the purpose.

Thus the reforming schemes of Egidius and the desires of Adrian vanished slowly away. One part only of the memorial of Egidius met with unanimous consent—that Luther must be crushed. “Heresy”, said Cardinal Soderini, “has always been put down by force, not by attempts at reformation; such attempts can only be partial, and will seem to be extorted by terror; they will only confirm the heretics in the belief that they are right, and will not satisfy them. The danger of the Holy See is not in Germany but in Italy, where the Pope needs money to defend himself. No source of revenue can be abandoned. The princes of Germany must be taught that it is their own interest to put down the Lutheran heretics”. Such, unhappily, was a plausible summary of Papal policy in the past, and a plausible statement of its visible hope for the future.

Nowhere could Adrian move with safety. The Medicean statecraft of Leo X had involved the Papacy in a labyrinth from which there was no escape. All that Adrian could do was to charge his datary, Enkenvoert, to be careful in granting dispensations, and charge Chieregato, his legate to Germany, to inform the princes that he was resolved to act on his good intentions so soon as circumstances allowed. One practical step only was he able to take. On December 9, 1522, he declared all reservations and expectations granted since the pontificate of Innocent VIII to be invalid. This and his own mode of life were the only guarantees which he could give to the aspirations of Christendom. The Papal absolutism was decidedly limited in its power of working reforms.

When Adrian turned his eyes to Germany he saw little to comfort him. Luther had been condemned at Worms, and had disappeared in consequence. Here and there by the Imperial command his books had affairs, been burned; but the number of his adherents had not diminished, and no vigorous measures were taken against them. Charles had other matters to occupy his attention; it was enough that he had set forth an ideal of the Papacy and the Empire as two coordinate powers ruling Europe; when this conception had clothed itself with reality by the conquest of Italy and the reduction of France, it would be easy to apply its authority to matters of opinion. But in the first place the Netherlands required Charles’ attention, next the English alliance, then Spanish affairs. So the Diet of Worms was scarcely at an end before Charles prepared to leave Germany. His brother, Ferdinand of Austria, was appointed Regent in his absence; but as Ferdinand had enough to do at home and was ignorant of Germany, the Pfalzgraf Frederick was the virtual head of the government of Germany. Such a regency was necessarily weak, and was more adapted for deliberation than for action. The presence of the Turks on the eastern frontier of Germany was a serious matter, and Charles hoped that the Regent might at least be able to make preparations for a military undertaking in the following year. Early in 1522 he issued a summons for a Diet to be held at Nurnberg, which on its meeting concerned itself solely with questions of finance. The Estates besought the Emperor to devote to his war against the Turk the annates which went to Rome, also ten per cent, of the income of Collegiate Churches, a proper sum levied from every monastery, and five gulden from every friary.

The Diet separated at the end of August and was summoned to meet again on September 1. Nothing had been said or done about Luther; indeed the only man who urged the necessity of taking action was Duke George of Saxony. The princes, ecclesiastical as well as temporal, were in no hurry to do more than publish the decree against Luther, and forbid the sale of his books. Germany had questions enough to settle; everything was insecure, and the one thing dreaded above all others was a popular rising. In the existing temper of men's minds any attempt to suppress Luther’s opinions by force would lead to disturbances; it was politic to wait for a more convenient season.

But if the upholders of the old Church were willing to stand still, it was not so with the reformers. Scholars Hocked to Wittenberg, partly from a love of adventure, partly from curiosity, partly attracted by the fame of Melancthon’s teaching. A greed for novelty was in the air, and there was one man at least who had a desire to satisfy it. In Luther's absence, Carlstadt aspired to be the leader of the new movement, and soon showed that Luther was moderate compared to some of his followers. In June,1521, Carlstadt denounced not only the celibacy of the clergy, which had been already called in question, but the validity of monastic vows. When Luther heard of this he expressed his opinion that the clerical order was by God's institution free, and therefore ought not to be trammeled by human ordinances; but the monastic vows were voluntarily undertaken, and were therefore binding. However, after some hesitation Luther's opinions advanced, and he decided that monastic vows were unlawful, because they were generally taken in the belief that the observances of monastic life had a special desert in God's eyes, and further because they were opposed to the principles of Christian freedom. Before Luther's views were finally declared, monks in Wittenberg began to leave their monasteries, and their example was followed in Erfurt.

The question now raised was one much more serious than mere theological speculation. After all, the opinions which a man entertained about the respective value of faith and good works did not immediately affect the outward organization of society. But if monastic vows were null and void, as contrary to the Gospel, if monks were exhorted to leave their monasteries and take up their position as ordinary citizens, a great social change would rapidly ensue. Not only were practical questions to be faced, the use to be made of monasteries and their revenues, the provision for monks and such-like points; but a shock was given to the entire system of the Church. Monasteries had been founded from motives of piety; their endowments had been granted in the expectation that mass would be said in them forever for the repose of the souls of worthy men, whose descendants were still living. There were almost no families of importance which were not connected with monasteries by some foundation, which gave them rights of burial within their walls. Further, the monastic system was an essential part of the current conception of the Christian life, and still appealed to men as the highest ideal. The reformation of the monastic orders, which had been steadily pursued in Germany for the last half century, had been the most powerful means of influencing the secular clergy, who could not afford to fall hopelessly behind the regulars. The abolition of monasteries would remove the agency which in times past had been most powerful for reform, and in which the conservative reformers most trusted for the future. It must lead to an entire reconstruction of the ecclesiastical system.

Indeed changes followed close upon one another. An Augustinian brother, Gabriel Zwilling, stepped into Luther's place as a preacher at Wittenberg, and in proposed a reform of the mass service. He demanded the restoration of the cup to the laity, the abolition of the mass as an offering to God, and its conversion into a communion, in which all took part. In October the Augustinians, under the influence of these opinions, ceased to say the daily mass; and the University petitioned Duke Frederick “as a Christian prince to abolish the misuse of the mass in his dominions”.

If the reforming party hoped that Frederick would ally himself with them they little knew his character, which is indeed still hard to understand. Perhaps it is safest to regard Frederick as a natural result of the general uncertainty of his time. Himself a devout Christian, personally satisfied with the existing ceremonies of the Church, and a diligent collector of relics of saints, he yet felt that there was something in what Luther said, and he saw that many men held with him. His personal pride led him to rejoice in the brilliant success which had attended his new University; his sense of the duties of a ruler made him indisposed to set himself against the wishes of his people. Theologians must settle their own disputes; the Pope must defend himself against Luther; it was his business to see that his subjects were fairly dealt with; into matters of speculative opinion he refused to enter, and he contented himself with advising moderation on all sides. Something might come of the new movement; the future must decide : his best policy was to meddle as little as possible. It is obvious that the longer he held this position, the more difficult it was for him to intervene; and all his efforts were directed to maintain an attitude of neutrality. So Frederick answered the University by reminding them that they were a very small part of Christendom, and had better wait till they had convinced others before they made any changes on their own authority. He himself had no knowledge when the apostolic custom was changed into the existing form of the mass; but as a layman, who was not versed in the Scriptures, he counseled them to do nothing which might create division.

But it soon became clear that Frederick could do little to restrain the zeal of his impetuous subjects. In November, Luther was stirred by the news that the Archbishop of Mainz was again preaching on Indulgence, and he wrote a savage denunciation of The Idol of Halle, which Frederick in the interests of peace tried to prevent being published. "I will not endure such prohibition", wrote Luther to Spalatin, “I will rather lose you, and the prince, and all. For if I have withstood the archbishop's creator, the Pope, why shall I give way to the creature? It is all very well to talk about not disturbing the public peace, but will you endure the eternal peace of God to be disturbed by the impious works of perdition? You must not be moved by our bad repute among moderate men, for you know that Christ and His Apostles did not please men. We are not accused of wrong-doing, but only of despising impiety. The Gospel will not be overthrown if some of our party sin against moderation”. Luther was resolved to avail himself of the feebleness of his adversaries, and the Archbishop of Mainz shrank before the prospect of a chastisement from his pen, and withdrew from the conflict.

In Wittenberg no heed was paid to Frederick's admonition that men should discuss theology but make no outward change. On Christmas Day, 1521, Carlstadt administered the sacrament under both kinds, without requiring confession and absolution. Soon afterwards he married a wife. The Augustinian friars renounced their rule, forsook their cloister, and pulled down the altars in their church. Prophets arose, unlearned zealots, who saw visions, foretold a general outpouring of the Holy Spirit, and declared baptism unnecessary. The scholarly mind of Melanchthon saw no logical reason why this should not be true. The cries of enthusiasm waxed louder: what was the need of human learning when all were taught of God? Schoolmasters dismissed their scholars; the university teaching was neglected; Wittenberg was sinking into an abode of fanatics. Then Luther could no longer endure to see his cause endangered. Leaving the Wartburg in March, 1522, he hastened to Wittenberg, resumed his old place in the pulpit, and for eight days in succession reasoned with the people, who submitted to the spell of his eloquence and the pleadings of his common-sense. He besought them to abstain from asserting their new-found liberty by rashly enacting the opposite to all that had been before. He advised that private masses, the offering of the mass, and the denial of the cup to the laity should be withstood as contrary to the Word of God, and the principle of Christian liberty; other matters must be left to the conscience of the community. No arbitrary changes should be made; let each man do as he thought fit, and the questions would settle themselves. “The sum”, he said, “of all is this: I will preach, I will speak, I will write; but I will not coerce or compel by force, for faith must be nourished willingly, without restraint”.

Luther was still true to his belief that all men would see things as he did, if only they had time for reflection. It was this hopefulness that gave him his power. He was busy on his translation of the Bible; and he was convinced that, when men had in their hands the standard of truth to which he appealed, they would be guided to judge aright. Already the little leaven had showed its germinating force: it would spread everywhere, as it had done in Wittenberg. Germany would be transformed by the quiet working of a natural process. The only danger lay in precipitate enthusiasm, which menaced social order. Luther's strong common-sense showed him the necessity of avoiding a political conflict, and he refused to contemplate the possibility of a collision with civil authority. It was true that he himself was under the ban of the Empire; but the imperial edict had been extorted by misconception, and might be allowed to fall into abeyance. It was natural that there should be some difficulty at first in severing the Empire from the Papacy; but that process might be left to work itself out; it was enough for him to prove that in domestic matters the new teaching contained no menace to existing institutions.

For immediate purposes Luther judged rightly. The Government took no notice of his return to Wittenberg, but were content with the Elector's assurance that it was against his will. They were somewhat disturbed when, in August, Duke George forwarded a copy of Luther's answer to Henry VIII’s Defence of the Seven Sacraments. In that book Luther’s violent character showed itself without moderation. He attacked Henry with unrestrained abuse; called him a fool, an ass, an empty head: said that he had waded to the throne through blood, and flattered the Pope, whose conscience was as bad as his own. Further, his scorn for the English king is only a part of the scorn which he poured on all existing authorities of the Church, and all the doings of the past century, which he denounced as the work of the devil.

Luther’s friends were annoyed and grieved at the violent language, and Luther found it hard to apologize for it. “I have vainly tried moderation hitherto”, he wrote to one, “now I will use abuse"”. To another he quoted all the severe language of our Lord and S. Paul, and said that the false heart of his enemies must be laid bare; time would justify him. A little later he admitted: “I know that my writings are of a kind that, when they are first seen, they seem written by the devil, and men think the heavens will fall; but it soon seems otherwise. But the time has come that high heads should be stricken; and what God intends time will show. Not that I excuse myself as free from human frailty; but I can boast with S. Paul that, though I may have been too hard, I have spoken the truth; and no man can accuse me of having been a hypocrite”. So Luther wrote; and he could doubtless justify himself by appealing to results. The violence of his language accorded with the popular taste. The peasant and the artisan could understand hard hitting, and were glad to follow a leader who was sure of himself and was no respecter of persons.

Luther’s opponents had tried to influence public opinion by calling in the authority of a king, and Henry's book was translated and largely distributed. Luther retorted by a strong assertion that the question was a question for Germans to settle by themselves; and he set to work to show how little he cared for authority of any kind. He abandoned the position of a religious teacher for that of a literary gladiator, and was glad to use a foreign prince as an example of what his adversaries might expect. It was a lesson to the princes of Germany, which was not without its result. No one likes to be held up to ridicule, and Luther had shown himself an unsparing antagonist. The Government expressed to Duke George their sorrow that the Emperor's ally should have been treated with so little respect; but they meddled no further with the matter.

There were others, however, who were not so clear as Luther about the necessity of keeping the peace. Franz von Sickingen combined a zeal for freedom of preaching with a desire for raising the knights at the expense of the ecclesiastical princes, and made war against the Archbishop of Trier. Sickingen was known as Luther’s friend, and Luther was loudly accused as being the cause of his high­handed proceedings. The temper of the Government was strongly against Luther when the Diet opened its proceedings at Nurnberg on November 16.

The Papal nuncio, Francesco Chieregato, Bishop of Teramo, came on a message of conciliation, with instructions to prove to the Germans the willingness of the Pope to remedy abuses, which could no longer be defended. Accordingly, in his first speech to the Diet, on November 19, he avoided the Lutheran question, but detailed the Pope’s efforts for peace, and urged upon the princes the need of rescuing Hungary from the Turk. On December 8 he had an interview with the Elector Frederick's Chancellor, Hans von Planitz, in which he talked over matters quietly. The Pope, he said, was convinced of Frederick's good intentions; Luther had done good service in bringing abuses to light, for many Popes had done much that was ill-advised, and Leo X was not free from his share of blame. But when Luther proceeded to attack the order of the Church, the sacraments, the authority of Fathers and Council, he became absurd and intolerable. Now that there was an upright and pious Pope, every one ought to help him in his good endeavors for the repose of the Church, the peace of Christendom, and the expulsion of the Turk. He expressed his hope that Planitz was of the same opinion.

The answer of Planitz expressed a very prevalent feeling amongst sensible men in Germany. He was no theologian, and did not profess to judge whether Luther's opinions were right or wrong. As for the Elector, he as a layman did not pretend to interfere with ecclesiastical matters; he did not banish Luther, because, if he were gone, less responsible men would take his place; indeed Luther’s return to Wittenberg had prevented worse mischief, and if he were driven elsewhere he would only speak more strongly and spread his influence. One thing was clear, that force would be no remedy. Luther relied on his learning and on the Scriptures, and could only be met on the same grounds. Learned men must confer quietly with Luther, and the results of their conference must be laid before a General Council.

Chieregato listened sympathetically and seemed to agree.

Doubtless the view expressed by Planitz suggested the only possible means of restoring the peace of the Church. New ideas had arisen and had taken root in the minds of the German people. Nothing but peaceful controversy, and free discussion between theologians, could determine the full meaning and bearing of these ideas, and submit them to the judgment of the universal Church. The attempt to put them down by the mere exercise of authority had proved a failure; though condemned by the Pope, and condemned by the Empire, they were more popular than ever. The Hussite wars had shown that opinions could not be put down by arms; the Council of Basel had shown that differences might be minimized by discussion. It was true that a change of front was difficult, and that there was some loss of dignity to the Pope, who exchanged the position of an absolute judge for that of a mediator. But Chieregato knew that Adrian was prepared to make a large sacrifice of dignity for the sake of peace. Had he and Adrian been wiser men, they might have known that the virtue of a sacrifice depended upon the way in which it was made.

Unfortunately Adrian could not forget that he had already pronounced against Luther's theology, nor could he free himself from the traditions of his office. The ideas of the Papal Court were too strong to be resisted; and though he was prepared to conciliate Germany, the conciliation must take the form which he thought fit, and not the form which the facts of the case demanded. He would first put down Luther, and then listen to the grievances of the German Church. Obedience must come first, and then receive its reward from the Papal bounty. Germany must recognize the dangers of the Lutheran reformation, and take instead the reforms which the Pope freely offered. So Chieregato, a few days after his talk with Planitz, received a Papal brief dated November 25, which he was to lay before the Diet. Being thus provided with his cue he made a second speech (January 3, 1523) about the Lutheran question, which put an end to all hopes of conciliation. He had nothing now to say of Luther's services to Christianity, nor of the provocation which might have drawn him into unguarded language. There was nothing but denunciation. Germany was polluted by heresy, and Luther and his followers were worse foes to Christendom than the Turk. Nothing fouler, more disgraceful, and more obscene than Luther’s doctrine had ever been put forward; it overthrew the very basis of religion, and made Germany the laughing­stock of Europe. The Diet of Worms had decreed its suppression: “let them carry out that decree and repress, correct, and punish, that fear might succeed where love of virtue failed”.

After this introduction the Pope’s letter was laid before the Diet. He assured them of his paternal zeal for all his flock: he told them his efforts after peace and their small success : then, turning from the successes of the Turks to troubles in Christendom, he lamented the errors of Luther, whom he grieved no longer to be able to call his son. But with this regret Adrian’s endurance came to an end, and the voice of outraged authority alone was heard. Luther had been condemned but not punished; his partisans were daily increasing, not only amongst the vulgar but amongst the princes. As a simple theologian Adrian had given his voice against Luther's teaching; he consoled himself at the time with the thought that the orthodoxy of his native land would soon assert its power. But tolerance, born of indolence, had allowed the evil seed to grow up. It was intolerable that one wretched friar should lead the whole of Germany astray, as though he alone had received the gift of the Holy Spirit. It was enough to see that his defence of evangelical truth was a mere cloak for robbery; his plea of liberty a summons to licence. Those who mocked at the canons and Councils of the Church would set all law at defiance. Hands stained with sacrilege would destroy all property. The cause of the Church was the cause of civil order and of self-protection. The Pope besought the princes to lay aside all jealousies and strifes, and make the reduction of Luther their chief object. God swallowed up Dathan and Abiram in the gulf; S. Peter denounced death to Ananias and Sapphira; holy Emperors removed by the sword Priscillian and Jovinian; the Fathers of Constance dealt with Hus and Jerome. Let them follow the example of these illustrious deeds, and win a glorious triumph and an eternal reward.

This was the conclusion arrived at by an enlightened Pope, zealous in his own way for the reformation of the Church, profoundly conscious of its deep-seated corruption and of his own powerlessness to remedy the abuses which he acknowledged. A German by birth, with ample opportunity of knowing the sentiments of Germany, Adrian was by training and by position unable to feel any sympathy for German aspirations. He had seen the downfall of a rising in Spain; he had known, as Inquisitor, the influence that could be exercised by coercion; he had experience of the results of a dexterous marshaling of the forces of resistance to change. He was a believer in power and could not brook any appearance of revolt. The very fact that he was desirous of reforms made him anxious to assert his authority in the first place. If the Papacy was to bestir itself for the purpose of checking abuses, its undoubted right must first be recognized. Adrian could only overcome gainsayers in the Curia by showing them the practical advantage which his reforms would bring. The restoration of order in Germany would be a recompense for the losses of the officials of the Curia. The Pope who impressed his will on Rome and Germany alike would hand on to his successors a splendid heritage. So menace and bribes were to go together. The German princes were to see that their real interest could best be secured from the Pope. He would give them lawfully what Luther promised as the result of a dangerous revolt. When this was clear, they would no longer hesitate to put forth their strength, shake themselves free from rebellion, and rest securely under the protection of lawful authority.

So after Chieregato had prepared the way by his own exhortation, and by the Papal brief, he was to lay before the downcast princes the inmost utterances of the Papal mind, which were confided to him in his instructions. In this document Luther was still more unsparingly denounced as a second Mahomet; and the disgrace which he was bringing upon Germany was more strongly emphasized than in the Pope’s letter.

The authority of the Church was also put more prominently forward, in answer to the plea that Luther had been condemned unheard. Matters of faith must be believed, not proved: the question if books and utterances were really Luther’s admitted of judicial investigation; their contents were to be judged by their conformity with the doctrine of the Church. Nothing would be fixed or certain among men, if every presumptuous man were to claim the liberty of going back from what had been established by the assent of so many centuries, so many theologians and saints. The conclusions of the Church must be as readily obeyed as the laws of civil society. Thus Adrian laid down most decidedly principles which, if accepted, would have closed the door for ever to all free examination of current theology. He did not attempt to discriminate the different parts of Luther’s teaching, or give him credit for good intentions. He did not discuss the origin of the controversy, but declared all controversy to be unlawful. His solution for all difficulties was : “The authority of the Church must be obeyed”. He did not define exactly the seat of that authority, but with a magnificent contempt for details asserted that “almost all points in which Luther dissents from others have been condemned by sundry General Councils”. Above all, Adrian took an entirely external view of theological opinion, and treated belief solely as a matter of public order. If men differed they were sure to quarrel: “How can it be but that all will be full of confusion, unless what has been once, nay often, established by mature judgment be unshakenly observed by all?”

But while Adrian thus loftily upheld a standard of infallible authority, to be received with unquestioning obedience, he was driven to confess that its existence was ideal rather than real. With amazing frankness and simplicity he faced the actual facts, and proceeded to bewail the grievous shortcomings of that authority before which he claimed that all men should bow. “We confess that God permits this persecution to fall upon His Church on account of sins, especially the sins of priests and prelates. We know that in this holy seat for some years past there have been many abominations, abuses in spiritual matters, excesses in commands, and that all things have been changed to evil. Nor is it wonderful that the sickness has passed from the head to the members, from Pope to inferior prelates. Wherefore we promise to do all in our power to reform the Curia, whence perchance all this evil has proceeded: that as corruption flowed thence, so health and reformation should in time be derived”.

But Adrian was obliged to add that the process could not be rapid. “No one should wonder if he does not at once see all errors and abuses reformed by us. The disease is chronic, nor is it of one kind only but manifold: we must advance gradually lest we cause confusion”. All that he can definitely promise the Germans is that, during his pontificate, he will strictly observe the concordats, and will examine into complaints about the judgment of appeals, so soon as the auditors of the Rota, who have fled before the plague, shall return to Rome: further, he will use the Papal right of provision in favor of learned men who may be recommended to him by the princes.

Thus Adrian set up an infallible authority on one hand, and on the other hand admitted its practical failure. He called upon the Diet to uphold to the furthest possible extent the claims of that authority, and undertook in return to restore it to such a form that it would be worthy of obedience. But he did not disguise that it would be long before he was able to fulfill his promise; and it was obvious that his promise was only personal and could in no way bind his successor. We may applaud Adrian’s good intentions, but we cannot praise his statesmanship. He refused to conciliate Luther's partisans, or hold out any hopes to the new theology; while his attempt to rally moderate men round the Papacy was scarcely likely to raise enthusiasm through its lack of any substantial guarantee. The only practical step urged by the Pope was the forcible suppression of Luther and his adherents, which could not be attempted without a civil war, in which success was doubtful.

Still the strong measures advocated by the Pope found some support, especially from the Elector of Brandenburg, and Duke George of Saxony. On January 2, 1523, Planitz wrote to the Elector of Saxony that it would be wise to stop the printing of books at Wittenberg, and send Luther elsewhere for a time. Next day the Government discussed whether or not they should at once proceed against Luther, according to the decree of the Diet of Worms; but after a stormy debate it was agreed to refer the matter to the Estates. Chieregato asked leave to address them further, and was heard by the Government and the Diet. Emboldened by the support he now met with, he protested against the dissemination of Luther's heresy in Nurnberg, where the Diet was sitting, and asked that four Lutheran preachers should be imprisoned and sent to Rome for trial. This was supremely unwise, as it called attention to the fact that, however helpless the Pope might be to reform, he was powerful to repress.

The citizens of Nurberg declared that they would resist with arms any attempt to seize their preachers. Chieregato’s charges against them were examined, and declared to be untrue. Chieregato himself, who had been struggling to make himself popular as the champion of enlightenment and the friend of the German scholars, became the object of universal detestation. The Estates were not to be carried by storm, but cautiously appointed a committee to draft an answer to the Pope. Of the members of this committee only two jurists were on Luther’s side; but their dexterity as draftsmen enabled them to exercise considerable influence, and the resolute attitude of the burghers of Nurnberg backed up their suggestion for a compromise, which, while expressing agreement with the Pope's objects, regretted that the condition of Germany did not admit of the rigorous enforcement of the Edict of Worms, and advised the Pope to carry out his projected reform and submit the Lutheran question to the decision of a Council. The drafting of this compromise fell into the hands of the Lutheran jurists, who skillfully managed to give a color in accordance with their own opinions, while they cautiously expressed in vague terms the general purport of the resolutions.

When this document was submitted to the Diet on January 19, it gave great offence to the Pope’s partisans, and caused much discussion both there and in the Council of Government. There was no alternative but to accept it substantially as it was, or to agree to the Pope's request, which the majority thought to be impossible. The draft was amended, and many clauses were omitted; but though each amendment seemed to be a triumph to the Papal party, they did not materially alter the tone of the document, which was at last adopted and given to Chieregato on February 5.

An answer was given in detail to the Pope’s letter. It expressed the joy of Germany in seeing a German Pope, and thanked Adrian for his labours for peace and the defence of Christendom against the Turk. They regretted the confusion caused in Germany by the Lutheran sect, but while admitting the duty of obedience to the Pope and the Emperor, had hitherto refrained from carrying out the sentence against Luther through fear that worse evils might ensue. For the German people had long been persuaded, and now by Luther's books and teaching were convinced, that the German nation was suffering from oppression by the Roman Court; and any attempt to put down Luther by force would seem to be an attack on the freedom of the Gospel, a defence of abuses and impurity, and would lead to civil war. The Pope himself had admitted the existence of evils in the Curia, and had undertaken to amend them; Germany hoped for peace from his success. It was impoverished by the payment of annates: if the sums collected under that name had been applied to the defence of Christendom, the Turk would not now be an object of dread; they trusted that the Pope would grant annates to the imperial treasury, for the purpose of restoring peace and order in Germany. Many matters required discussion beside Luther's opinions. They advised that the Pope, with the consent of the Emperor, should summon a free Christian Council at Strasbourg, Mainz, Koln, Metz, or some other convenient place in Germany, within a year at least; and that at such Council all who ought to be present, clerks and laymen alike, should be charged to speak their opinions freely, and say, not what was pleasant, but what was true. Meanwhile they would order the Elector of Saxony not to allow the publication of Lutheran books, and would command all preachers to refrain from saying anything which might stir the people to rebellion, and preach nothing save the pure Gospel and approved Scripture, according to the doctrine of the Christian Church. They would order all prelates to appoint learned men, who should correct and admonish erring preachers, and would establish a general censorship of the press. By this means quiet would be maintained till the Pope was able to formulate his reforms and summon a Council. Regarding the Pope's complaints that monks had left their monasteries and priests had taken wives, these were not matters which came under the cognizance of the civil laws; but they would order that no one should hinder ordinaries from dealing with such cases according to ecclesiastical law, and where necessary would help in punishing offenders.

Chieregato, on receiving this answer, expressed the dissatisfaction which the Pope and the Emperor would feel that their decrees were not to be executed. If Luther had erred before the Diet of Worms, much more had he erred since; and the suspension of his punishment would prove disastrous. After these general remarks he turned to the specific proposals of the Diet. The request for a grant of annates must be reserved for the Pope's decision. The proposal of a Council would not be displeasing to the Pope; but his hands ought not to be tied by limitations of place, or of the imperial concurrence, or the mode of conducting business. He gave it as his opinion that all preachers should be required to obtain an episcopal licence, that no books should be published unless they had episcopal sanction, and that clerical offenders against the discipline of the Church should be punished only by ecclesiastical, and not by temporal, authorities. The Diet declined to discuss the matter further; and on March 6 an edict was issued which embodied the conclusions expressed in the answer to the Pope.

Luther was satisfied with the proceedings of the Diet, which recognized that it was impossible to carry out the decree of Worms. It was true that the Diet still condemned his opinions, and showed no signs of breaking with the Pope. Its general temper was shown by the fact that the lay Estates brought forward the 'Hundred Grievances of the German Nation' against the Papacy. They thought that the opportunity was ripe for redressing the wrongs which had been long acknowledged, and they sent to the reforming Pope a statement of German grievances. But this was no token of sympathy with Luther’s opinions, which were admitted to be dangerous. The real result of the Diet of Nurnberg was the admission that the Lutheran question had entered into a political stage. It could not be stamped out by authority, or suppressed by force: it must be recognized as a powerful element in the life of Germany, and some solution must be found for the issues which it had raised.

Luther was free from persecution, just because the religious question had ceased to be of prime importance in Germany. National unity scarcely existed in political life. The German kingdom had been dissolved into a confederacy of States and classes, which were each struggling for their separate interests. The Emperor was a mere titular head; and men became increasingly conscious that there was no real reason why the Pope should not share his fate. The German princes had ceased to adventure life or money for the preservation of the imperial rights; why should they trouble themselves to uphold the rights of the Pope? Other matters needed their immediate attention.

Sickingen was in arms, and his success would unite around him the whole body of the knights. The Pfalzgraf, the Elector of Trier, and the Landgraf of Hesse were engaged in planning a campaign against him, which led to his overthrow in May. There were mutterings of discontent amongst the peasantry; and it was clear that the old system of Germany was passing through a crisis. Every one's care was how to guard his own interests, and it was not yet manifest how they were to be protected by close alliance with the Pope. The German bishops were regarded as landholders rather than spiritual personages: who could say what might be gained by a readjustment of their domains?

Everyone was undecided, except the followers of Luther, who eagerly caught at their master's teaching of evangelical freedom, who studied the Scriptures in the translation which he provided for them, and put the clergy to silence by their superior knowledge of the groundwork of the Christian faith. As a practical matter their suppression would be the most difficult task to undertake. It were wisest to leave that to the Pope and wait for the result.

The proposal of a Council to discuss the affairs of Germany was in itself a fair one; and had Adrian lived long enough to disentangle himself from the political web in which he was enclosed, it might have been held, before the religious antagonism had become too pronounced. But Leo X had so hopelessly involved the Papacy in secular politics that Adrian, with the best intentions to apply himself to the religious duties of his office, found them in practice thrust into the second place. It was useless for him to negotiate with Charles about a Council while Charles saw in him only a necessary ally for his war against France, and was using all his energies to force him into a political league.

Adrian vainly hoped that the shock of a great disaster might unite Christendom against its common foe. In the middle of February, 1523, the news reached Rome that Rhodes had fallen before the Turkish arms. Adrian was greatly distressed, renewed his exhortations to peace, and proffered his services as a mediator. Charles V wrote that he would willingly shed his blood to recover Rhodes, but added that, if the Pope had granted him the favors which his predecessors had never refused, the danger might have been averted. This was tantamount to saying that no Christian prince would think of the interests of Christendom, unless the Pope adopted his political plans and allowed him to tax his clergy at his will; if he refused, he must take the consequences and bear all the blame. It was hard for Adrian to withstand his former pupil, to whom he was bound by so many ties; still harder was it for him to feel that his struggle to do his duty was useless, and that his efforts to pacify Christendom were only used as an excuse for all disasters.

Moreover, Adrian suffered much from petty annoyances, due to the hostility of Juan Manuel, who, in violation of a safe-conduct, seized a ship containing the servants and baggage of the Cardinal of Auch, the ambassador of Francis I to the Pope. Still worse was it when Prospero Colonna, at his instigation, captured the Castle of S. Giovanni in the district of Piacenza, which was claimed as a possession of the States of the Church. The Pope sent for the Spanish ambassador, and told him with passionate gestures that he was only withheld from making a league with France by his personal affection for the Emperor: he threatened to excommunicate Manuel and Prospero Colonna. Charles found it necessary to apologize for the excessive zeal of his minister, but blamed the Pope's display of anger, and pleaded the necessity of his political position.

If Adrian hoped more from the pacific intentions of the French king, than of the Emperor, he soon was disappointed. At the end of March, Francis wrote that he could not war against the Turk till he had recovered Milan; war was imminent, and a truce was useless, as it would only give the belligerents time to make greater preparations. This answer to his entreaties plunged the Pope into grief and perplexity. He summoned the Cardinals Soderini, Fiesco, Monte, and Colonna, and asked their advice. Soderini and Fiesco recommended him to continue his policy of neutrality: Monte was doubtful: Colonna gave his vote for an alliance with the Emperor. Everything that passed in the Papal chamber was at once known to the Spanish ambassador, who made use of the opportunity to renew his proposals. But though Adrian might waver about the possibility of maintaining his neutrality, he was true to his principles, till an unexpected discovery showed him his danger. The watchful Spaniards carefully observed the smallest actions of the Pope and his advisers. They disliked the growing influence of Cardinal Soderini, who was known to hope for vengeance on the Medici through the help of France. His doings were spied, and it was discovered that he was carrying on correspondence with some friends in the realm of Naples. In the middle of April, a Sicilian noble was seized, when on the point of leaving Rome, and was found to be the bearer of letters from Soderini to the French king. They contained an account of a plot to raise a rebellion in Sicily; all was ready, if Francis would send some ships to help the insurgents. This rising would necessitate the withdrawal of the Spanish troops from North Italy; and Francis could then send his forces to occupy the unprotected territory of Milan.

When the Pope was informed of this discovery he summoned Cardinal Medici from Florence to aid him with his counsel, Adrian was deeply distressed. He had given his confidence to Soderini, and believed that he sympathized with his desire for peace. Now he found him concocting a scheme which would precipitate war and plunge all Italy into confusion. Medici's advice was soon given. On April 27, Soderini was summoned to the Pope, and was committed to the Castle of S. Angelo. His confederates in Sicily were pursued by the Viceroy, and suffered condign punishment. Charles V, pressed for Soderini’s execution, and could triumphantly point to this discovery of French intrigues as a justification of his own opinion, that European peace was impossible so long as French ambition remained unchecked. Adrian vainly strove to escape from this conclusion. Francis I had grossly deceived him, and strove to cloak the detection of his perfidy by complaints against the Pope's partisanship for Spain. Henry VIII and Charles V made a closer alliance, and drew up the details of a joint attack upon France. Their ambassadors were busy at the Papal Court, There were alarming rumours of an impending invasion of Italy by the French, Francis wrote to the Pope an angry letter in which he recounted all his grievances. He had striven for peace, and was still willing for peace on reasonable terms; but a truce for three years and war against the Turk, as the Pope proposed, was only a pretext for helping his adversaries, to whom the Pope granted tenths of Church goods which he refused to himself. Adrian had no longer any room to doubt that, if Francis were successful in his invasion of Northern Italy, the Papal States would not be safe. There were many grave reasons which had weighed with him hitherto to keep on good terms with Francis—the fear of loss of revenues from France, the dread of driving Francis to make common cause with the Lutherans, and his own poverty. But these motives were not strong enough to withstand the possibility of a victorious army crossing the Papal frontier. Adrian bowed his head before the supposed necessities of his position. On July 29 he held a Consistory, in which a letter of Francis to the Cardinals was read. The French party found it difficult to justify their position; and when the Pope announced his intention to enter the league against France, only four of the twenty-eight Cardinals present voted against the proposal. Emboldened by the fact that Venice had entered the league, the Pope submitted to necessity, and on August 4 signed a defensive league with the Emperor, England, Milan, Florence, Genoa, Siena, and Lucca.

This event was celebrated by a solemn service in the Church of S. Maria Maggiore. Adrian, who was suffering from the oppressive heat of the summer, was much fatigued by the exertion. On his return to the Vatican he complained of feeling ill, and soon was attacked by rheumatism. Other complications followed, and early in September it became clear that his condition was precarious. On September 8, he summoned the Cardinals to his deathbed; but many of them did not even deign to obey the summons of a dying Pope. Adrian asked them to reward with benefices the clerical members of his household, and proposed to confer on his trusted friend, Enkenvoert, a Cardinal's hat; but many voices were raised in opposition.

There was now no reason for disguising the fact that Adrian and his Flemish favorites commanded no one's sympathy. The Pope sadly dismissed the Cardinals; and his last days were embittered with the thought that all his labors would soon be undone. On the 10th he so far rallied as to summon a Consistory, in which he created Enkenvoert a Cardinal, and conferred bishoprics upon a few of his friends. He took such precautions as he could for the future, by ordering the captain of the Castle of S. Angelo not to release Cardinal Soderini from prison. On the 14th it was obvious that his last hour had come. The Cardinals hastened to the dying man, not to receive his last charges about the welfare of the Church, but to demand where he had hidden his treasure. They were so ignorant of the true condition of the Papal finances that they imagined Adrian's simple life to be due to greed; and they urged him to reveal his hoard. It was in vain that he told them that all his possessions were a thousand ducats: with growing anger they returned to their examination, and treated the dying Pope as though he were a criminal on the rack. The Duke of Sessa had to interfere to put an end to this hideous scene. The Cardinals reluctantly withdrew; and at one o'clock in the afternoon Adrian passed away, unlamented save by Enkenvoert and the few servants of his household. The Cardinals did not conceal their satisfaction to be rid of a severe master. The dispossessed officials rejoiced at the thought of the restoration of the good old times. The Roman people were glad to be rid of a morose foreigner, who showed them little sympathy, and with brutal frivolity expressed their feelings by hanging a wreath on the door of Adrian's physician, inscribed: "To the deliverer of his country". All that could be said of Adrian's pontificate was expressed in the inscription on his temporary tomb: “Here lies Adrian VI, who thought nothing in his life more unfortunate than that he became Pope”.

Nor did Adrian's misfortunes cease with his death. Ill-luck pursued his memory by depriving posterity of most of the materials for judging of his aims. One of his Flemish secretaries, Dietrich Hezius, grudged ungrateful Rome the possession of the records of one whom it so little understood. He bore away to Louvain all Adrian’s papers. Clement VII vainly tried to recover them, and even offered Hezius a Cardinal’s hat if he would take up his residence in Rome. But Hezius was not to be won, and Adrian’s papers were lost to the Papal archives. The records that remain give us, for the most part, the testimonies of men who were not sympathetic with Adrian’s aims; and we have not the means of learning from his own pen what were his exact intentions, while the shortness of his pontificate prevented him from giving them very definite expression in practice.

Adrian clearly saw that, if the Papacy was to renew its vigor and grapple with the difficulties that beset its path, it must rise above the political entanglement in which the secular aims of his predecessors for the last half-century had involved it. He strove to free himself of his previous relation to the Emperor, to take up a neutral position, and promote peace. At the same time he saw the absolute necessity for a reform of the Church, if Germany was to be pacified and the Papal allegiance was to be maintained. Either of these objects might have been pursued separately with some measure of success. The difficulty of Adrian’s position lay in the necessity of pursuing them both at once. It was to no purpose that he strove to put reform in the first place; political questions asserted their predominance. It is difficult at the present day to enter into the point of view of Adrian's contemporaries. To us the religious revolution is a matter of supreme importance, round which all else centres. In Adrian's day it was a mere episode; and the European question, which drew all else into its sphere, was the strife of Charles and Francis for supremacy. Adrian had the wisdom to see that contemporary opinion was wrong, that the advantages to be gained by either side in the combat, which both ardently longed for, would not be lasting or important. His only chance of diverting attention from a false issue was to raise in a peremptory way the true issue. This again Adrian decidedly felt; but he lacked the knowledge, the experience, and the sympathy with his time which were necessary for decisive action. His mind had not been influenced by the new ideas; and his course of life had habituated him to the prevalent conceptions of politics. It was something that he was still able to look beyond them, and see that they could not hope to possess the future. But he had not the boldness of a constructive genius; and he did not venture to act up to his beliefs, and put great projects in the first place. There was no way out of the political and religious difficulties which beset him except by a General Council; only by that means was it possible for the Papacy to make a new departure. If Adrian had at the beginning of his pontificate announced his intention to devote his energies entirely to that end, he would have greatly strengthened the moderate party in Germany, would have taken the only practical step to make good his political neutrality, and would have won for the Papacy a position outside the transient changes of current politics. Without this guarantee of sincerity, his interference in Germany, despite his well-meant promises, could only rest on the old claims of authority and the old remedy of repression. Without some such alternative, his attempt at political neutrality could only wear the appearance of timidity and vacillation. Adrian went so far in his boldness, that it would have cost him little to have been bolder. As it was, he irritated and alarmed every interest, while he gained no allies and awakened no enthusiasm. He appealed for confidence on the strength of his good intentions, which he frankly admitted must await a convenient season for their execution. No one paid much heed to him; for it was clear that he was old and was wanting in energy, and that his successor would be animated by a different spirit.

Yet Adrian was undoubtedly sincere in his wish for a genuine reformation on conservative lines; and his pontificate serves to show the hopelessness of such an undertaking through the Papacy. With every desire to proceed, Adrian could not find a starting-point. A personal revival of simplicity of life was of little moment as an answer to complaints. The reduction of the Curia did not impress men's imagination, so much as did the magnificence of Wolsey or Albert of Mainz. No personal action of the Pope was likely to affect the Papal system, unless it was directed against the principles on which that system had been reared into theoretic absolutism and practical impotence. Adrian could only contemplate the powerlessness to which he was condemned by his lofty position; he had not the courage to break through the meshes in which he was entangled. He left the Papal office unchanged, doomed to face greater indignities, and meet with irreparable losses, before it could again gather round it the zeal of a remnant of its former adherents—a zeal inspired by the success of a revolt which menaced the very foundations of the Church.

Thus Adrian is a pathetic figure in the annals of the Papacy. A man whose very virtues were vain, because he had not the force to clothe his ideas with such a form that they appealed to men's imagination. He was incapable alike of a dramatic act and of an incisive utterance. He had no power to arrest attention. He did not know how to combine simplicity with dignity. He carried out his reforms in such a way that they seemed to be due to personal moroseness and avarice, rather than to high principle. He had no impressiveness, no fire, no attractiveness. The cynical diplomatists, and self-seeking ecclesiastics, who were around him were never moved, even for a moment, by any consciousness that they stood before a man whose life was built higher than their own. Nay, they did not show any sense that they were dealing with one who was outside the reach of their calculations. To Juan Manuel and the Duke of Sessa, Adrian was only a tedious irresolute man, who had to be alternately humored and squeezed. They saw that, if he did act at all, he must act according to the wishes of the Emperor. The fatal defect of Adrian was his inability to put forward any positive policy. All that he could do was to raise a barren protest, which created no sympathy on any side.

Indeed the sight of an ailing Pope, who shut himself up in the Vatican with a few menial attendants, who was always immersed in business without ever coming to a definite conclusion, was not calculated to arouse enthusiasm. The Spaniards mocked at the Pope’s Flemish counselors, and believed any stories against their characters. Enkenvoert was accused of secret profligacy, and was said to be in the hands of a Roman chamberlain who acted as his pander. Charles ordered his ambassador to bribe Adrian’s advisers with promises of benefices, to warn them that the Pope was not likely to live long, and that if they displeased the Emperor he would assuredly punish them after the Pope's death. Other ambassadors were irritated at Adrian’s vacilation. Hieronimo Balbo, who came from the Archduke Ferdinand, after listening to Adrian's confused utterances before a Consistory, exclaimed: “Holy Father, Fabius Maximus saved Rome by delaying; but you by delaying will destroy both Rome and Europe”.

Nor was Adrian more fortunate in Rome itself, where he did nothing to mollify the people, who were naturally unable to understand the parsimony which was necessary after Leo's bankruptcy. The statue of Pasquil was covered with lampoons, and Adrian angrily ordered it to be thrown into the Tiber. It was only saved by the wit of an official who shook his head and said: “Pasquil, like a frog, will find his voice even in the water”. “Let him be burned then”, cried Adrian. “Nay”, was the answer, “a burned poet will not want adherents, who will crown the ashes of their patron with malicious songs and hold solemn commemorations on the place of his martyrdom”. Adrian saw that it was useless to contend against established custom. He made no attempt to understand his Roman subjects and remained in their eyes an alien.

Even his efforts to give emphasis to his desire to reform the Curia wore a ludicrous aspect. The dismissed officials of the Papal Court only laughed bitterly when they saw the Pope meting out the same measure to his German friends, many of whom came on foot to Rome, and were rewarded with a woolen cloak and a scanty allowance for their journey back. A young relative of the Pope, who was studying at Siena, received a reproof for interrupting his studies to come to Rome, and was sent back on a hired hackney. Men would have liked Adrian better if he had not seemed so cold and pedantic.

In fact Adrian did not understand the world in which his lot was cast, nor did he grasp the meaning of the problems which he attempted to solve. He thought that it was possible to sweep away the past in a moment, and restore the Papacy merely by his own action. His predecessors had been Italian princes: he would act as became the spiritual head of Christendom. He forgot that the old-fashioned conception of a Pope, which he strove to restore, had entirely faded from men's minds; and his revival was only a caricature. The Papacy had become a factor in European politics; he could not rescue it by asserting his desire for European peace and raising the old cry of a crusade. There was no way of escape except by retracing the steps of his predecessors. Similarly, he found that the assertion of Papal absolutism was no longer sufficient to stamp out the cry of reform. He tried to win back the German rebels by promising reform, without any revision of the system by which the old abuses had been fostered. An old and feeble man without resources, without a party, without a policy, he hoped to convince a stubborn and distracted world by the mere force of an example of primitive piety, to which he could give no other expression than a solitary life within the walls of the Vatican, and the canonization of two German bishops.

CHAPTER VIII.

BEGINNINGS OF CLEMENT VII.

1523-1526.

The election of Adrian’s successor in the Papacy was treated by every one as purely a question of politics. Charles V was prepared for the news of a vacancy, and had ordered the Duke of Sessa to promote the election of Cardinal Medici. It was true that he was pledged to Wolsey, who did not fail to remind him of the fact; but the Duke of Sessa knew how to make a public show of zeal in Wolsey’s behalf, while secretly acting for Medici. Indeed Wolsey's election was out of the question. The Cardinals were only too conscious that they had made a mistake in electing a stranger two years ago, and were not likely to repeat the dangerous experiment; had they wished it, the temper of the Roman people was sufficient to deter them. No one in Rome doubted that the new Pope would be chosen from those present in the Conclave, and would be chosen because every one thought that he would be able to manage him. The French party, though not decided on their candidate, were resolute in opposing Medici; and a trial of strength took place on the question of releasing Soderini from prison, Adrian on his deathbed had ordered him to be kept in confinement; but neither the wishes of the dead Pope, nor the opposition of Medici, weighed with the Cardinals, and Soderini was released on September 21.

On October 1, the thirty-five Cardinals who were in Rome entered the Conclave. Their first business was to provide money for the Swiss guards, and to draw up the usual capitulations. On the 3rd came the news that the Duke of Ferrara had seized Reggio and was proceeding to attack Modena. Something must be done to prevent this loss to the Papal States; so a loan for the payment of troops was negotiated with the Roman bankers, standing on the threshold of the Conclave Chamber. On the 5th came letters announcing that the three French Cardinals had landed at Piombino; next day they arrived in Rome, and hastened to join their brethren, booted and spurred as they were, without changing their travelling dress for ecclesiastical attire. The Cardinals were glad to have these pretenses for delay. It was not till the 9th that the first scrutiny took place.

The state of parties in the Conclave made an election difficult. Nineteen Cardinals, headed by Colonna and Soderini, had bound themselves to oppose Medici; against them were some fourteen Cardinals of Leo's creation who were equally resolute in his favor. As was usual, the political parties were traversed by the strife between juniors and seniors. The younger Cardinals had a definite candidate; while each of the seniors thought that, if Medici were worsted, he himself had a good chance of election. Accordingly at first there was no definite policy, and the Roman people were perturbed at the waste of time. On the 8th the food of the Cardinals was reduced to one dish. On the loth the city magistrates exhorted the Cardinals not to delay. They were answered by Cardinal Armellino that the one wish of the Cardinals was to please the Roman people; if pressure were used, its result might be the election of an absentee. This threat was enough: the magistrates implored that one of those present should be elected, and withdrew. However, their representation had some weight, and on the 12th an attempt was made to agree on Cardinal Monte. Medici promised that, if he obtained eighteen votes, he would give him three accessions from his party. On a scrutiny Monte received sixteen votes, and three others of the seniors immediately acceded to him. He turned to Medici to fulfill his promise; but Medici explained that he meant eighteen votes in the first instance, and could not count the accessions as coming within the bargain. This was regarded as sharp practice, and the seniors were greatly incensed against Medici. For some days no progress was made. Medici proposed a compromise, either that the seniors should elect a junior, or that the juniors should elect a senior; but the seniors refused to have any dealings with the juniors at all.

In this period of mutual irritation, Alberto Pio, Count of Carpi, who had come to Rome as ambassador of Francis I, undertook to mediate. Pio was an old friend of Medici and knew his yielding character; he was of opinion that Medici's election would be as much in the interest of France as that of any other possible candidate, and he advised accordingly. The Conclave was only in name secluded from the outer world. Communications were freely introduced, and Carpi's influence gradually began to tell; on October 29 he had an audience with the Cardinals and besought them to hasten their election.

On November 3 there was an attempt to reach a compromise. Eleven votes were given for Cardinal Fiesco, and ten for Jacobazzi. The imperialists were inclined to unite in favour of Jacobazzi, who received six accessions; but the French party refused to accept him. After this there was another pause; till on November 11 the magistrates threatened to reduce the Cardinals to a diet of bread andwater. Next day the Cardinal of Ivrea, who had been detained by illness, was allowed to enter the Conclave, making the total number of voters thirty-nine.

Cardinal Farnese had been quietly waiting his time, and now made an offer to the Duke of Sessa. Medici, he pointed out, had been accepted by the Count of Carpi, and was not to be trusted; if Sessa would only transfer the imperialists' votes to himself, he offered 200,000 ducats and a Cardinalate for his brother. Some attention seems to have been given to this proposal; for on November 17 Colonna suddenly proposed Farnese, who was objected to by the seniors on moral, as well as on political, grounds. Probably Colonna wished for an occasion of breaking up his party; for he took offence at their decision and retired, exclaiming: “Let each one henceforth act for himself”. This was certainly his own policy; for he made an agreement to support Medici, in return for the office of Vice-Chancellor and the Riario Palace.

The night was spent in conferences with some of the wavering seniors, till twenty-one votes were secured, and a shout was raised: “Cardinal Medici is Pope!”. The final decision was delayed till the morning, when Colonna summoned the seniors to the chapel, while Medici and his party waited in another room. After three hours spent in stormy debate, Cardinal Pisano came out and embraced Medici, saying: “You are Pope; come into the chapel”. When he entered with his friends the senior Cardinals rose to greet him, and Carvajal, as Dean, said: “All these Cardinals are content that you should be Pope, and calling on the name of the Holy Spirit we elect you”. Thus Medici was elected by inspiration, and accepted his election, promising to do his best to satisfy God, the Holy See, and the Cardinals, whom, as universal father, he would regard as his sons. He received the accustomed signs of homage and was placed in the Papal chair. He chose the name of Clement VII and exercised his new office by signing some petitions.

No sooner was the election made than some doubts were raised about its formality, as no mass had been said, and the hour was late. It was agreed that the election was valid, but that the customary formalities should be duly performed next morning, and that the new Pope should secure himself against any change of purpose by a formal protest. Notaries were summoned; the protest was duly drawn out, and read next morning before mass was celebrated. Then a scrutiny was held and Medici was unanimously elected. His first act was to subscribe the capitulations drawn up in the Conclave, with the reservation that, if they were contradictory or inconsistent, they might be interpreted or limited in a Consistory.

The election of Cardinal Medici was unexpected, as everyone thought that the long delay signified his exclusion. In fact the election was entirely due to Colonna's change of attitude, and Medici’s fair promises. He promised before the Cardinals to restore Soderini to all his possessions; and he divided by lot among the members of the College the benefices which he held; it was calculated that this division would yield a thousand ducats to each. The Roman people were delighted at the prospect of a restoration of the good old days of Leo X, “a flourishing Court and a brave pontificate”. Never had there been such a crowd, never such plaudits, as at the coronation of Clement VII.

The disconsolate scholars plucked up fresh courage when it was known that the new Pope had appointed Sadoleto as his principal secretary. The only discordant voices were those of some discerning diplomatists, who thought that his holiness was not of a very resolute character and trusted too much to Giberti. It was natural that they should closely scrutinize the chief advisers of the Pope; and it soon became clear that his counselors reflected only too well the discord of Europe. Clement listened to two men, Giovan Matteo Giberti and Nicolas Schomberg. Giberti was the son of a Genoese ship-captain who had been taken as a boy into Cardinal Medici's household, and was a man of learning and piety. Schomberg was a native of Saxony, who while travelling in Italy had been converted by Savonarola's preaching and entered his convent He became an adherent of the Medici, was brought to Rome as professor of theology by Leo X, and was made Archbishop of Capua. Giberti’s political sympathies were with France, while Schomberg was an imperialist. The Pope's household was divided.

These, however, were the reflections of far-seeing men. At first all seemed bright and hopeful. The election of Clement meant a return to the intelligible procedure of Leo X. Cardinal Medici had been his cousin's chief adviser, and held in his hands the clue to his tortuous policy. He was well known to the statesmen of Europe, and his cleverness might be trusted to extricate the Papacy from its embarrassments. It was clear that Adrian's heroic measures were impossible. The knot could not be cut, and no one was more fitted to untie it than Clement. Already he had shown his dexterity in the circumstances of his election. At first the imperialist candidate, he was supported in the end by the French ambassador; he was favored by Venice; he was the one man whom the English king did not object to see preferred to Wolsey. The course of the election had been such that none of the Powers could claim to have had a decisive influence. Clement was untrammelled by any promises, and everyone was more or less satisfied. The Duke of Sessa wrote to the Emperor that the new Pope was entirely his creature, and that the Emperor’s power was so great that he could turn stones into obedient sons. But these expectations were soon disappointed, and it became clear that Clement was not going to commit himself unreservedly to the Emperor's cause. The Duke of Sessa had made an attempt, while the Conclave was still deliberating, to induce the Cardinals to recognize the league as still in existence by contributing to the imperial forces as protectors of the Holy See. He received answer that the Cardinals were intent solely on the election of a Pope they could not determine how far the political obligations of the late Pope were binding on them, but must leave that for the decision of his successor: it was, however, the duty of all Christian princes to protect the possessions of the Holy See against the attacks of the Duke of Ferrara, and they regretted that had not been done more effectually. The question which had thus been reserved for the Pope's decision was at once urgent, and Clement had to face his relations towards the league. He showed himself, to the disappointment of the Duke of Sessa, a true Medici, who sought every occasion for temporizing. John Clerk, Bishop of Bath and Wells, the English ambassador at Rome, soon gave it as his opinion that “there is as much craft and policy in him as in any man”. Clement VII was not so good an imperialist as had been Cardinal Medici. He had scruples as Pope about ratifying the league which he had furthered as a Cardinal.

Of course Clement did not propose to withdraw from the league; he only pointed out that as Pope he ought not to take up a hostile attitude to any Christian neutrality. Power without good cause; indeed the capitulations which he had signed in the Conclave bound him to promote peace; if he were conciliatory at first towards Francis, he could help the Emperor all the more effectively when he ultimately declared himself in his behalf. At the same time he professed himself willing to act up to Adrian's obligations, and raised the sum of 20,000 ducats, which he contributed, under a pledge of strict secrecy, to the payment of the forces of the league. But these protestations did not deceive any one. Already, in February, 1524, the Duke of Sessa warned the Emperor not to count on Clement’s gratitude: he was weak and irresolute, and was coquetting with France. Really he was striving to forecast the future, and doubted about the success of the league.

The campaign which had been planned for the autumn of 1523 had led to no results. France was to have been curbed by a joint invasion of English and Flemings in the north, of the Spaniards in the south, and by the rising of the Duke of Bourbon in the centre. All these had been tried. Francis had been taken unawares; but none of the expeditions had succeeded, and the French army still maintained itself in the Milanese. Clement feared that Charles' resources would not hold out, that Henry would grow weary of paying for a war which brought neither glory nor profit, and would make peace. He frankly said that he was ready to join the league if he saw a chance of France being ruined; if that was not soon accomplished, it were better to make peace before the resources of the allies were entirely exhausted; and he was willing to use his good offices for that purpose. As a means of gaining time Clement sent Schomberg to treat of peace between Francis, Henry, and Charles. The Duke of Sessa urged that Schomberg should go from France to England, and should report to the Emperor last of all the conclusions to which the other parties were ready to consent. While this lengthy negotiation was being conducted, Clement might plausibly refuse to move from his neutral position, and could watch more carefully the chances of the future. All depended upon England being willing to furnish Charles with money.

But while Clement waited before committing himself in Italian politics, he knew the importance of the German revolt and was desirous to bring it to a speedy issue. The inconclusive Diet of 1523 had parted to meet again the next year, and Clement lost no time in choosing a legate who might plead his cause. His choice fell upon Lorenzo Campeggio, who had been an auditor of the Rota, then nuncio to Maximilian, for which service he had been made Cardinal by Leo X, who afterwards employed him as legate to England, and Clement conferred on him the Bishopric of Bologna. Campeggio was a capable official, but not a man of much character. He stipulated before going that he should receive 2000 ducats for his expenses, and that in case he died on the legation, the Pope should give the Bishopric of Bologna to his son, and provide a husband for his daughter. He set out on February 1, and made his way directly to Nurnberg. On his journey he was painfully reminded of the growth of anti-Papal feeling in the German cities. When he entered Augsburg as legate and gave his benediction to the assembled throng, he was greeted with jeers and insults. On his approach to Nurnberg on March 16 he was met by many of the princes, who advised him, if he did not wish for a repetition of the same scene, to enter the city in his travelling dress, without any show of ecclesiastical pomp. The legate rode past the Church of S. Sebald, where the clergy were assembled, but had not dared to make a procession through the street, and sought refuge disconsolately in his inn. It was indeed a significant fact that the German princes had to acquiesce in laying aside the customary tokens of respect for the Papal authority. Still more significant was it that, on Maundy Thursday, 3000 people communicated under both kinds; amongst them Isabella, Queen of Denmark, the Emperor's sister.

It was no wonder that Campeggio did not find these conditions favourable to his eloquence. In fact his position was difficult; for the last Diet had listened to Adrian's promise of reform and had sent him a hundred grievances which they wished to see redressed. Campeggio might naturally be asked for some answer on the part of the Pope, and was instructed to say that, as the document had not been delivered to the legate, but sent after his departure, the death of Adrian had prevented any steps being taken; Clement, however, had seen some printed copies which had reached Rome, and was desirous of enforcing clerical discipline. Accordingly Campeggio, when he addressed the Diet, repeated his lesson with the greatest suavity; the Pope could not believe that the hundred grievances were really the work of the Estates of Germany, and was not prepared to discuss them; he only asked for the execution of the Edict of Worms, and wondered that it had not been more rigidly carried out already. There was much discussion in the Diet about the answer to be returned to the Pope. The majority were on the Papal side, but they had to consider what effect their utterance was likely to produce in the prevailing temper of the German people. Campeggio pressed for a simple renewal of the Edict of Worms, and was supported by the Archduke Ferdinand and the imperial Chancellor, Hannart. They so far succeeded that the recess of the Diet, drawn up on April 18, ran in the form of an enforcement of the orders brought by Hannart from the Emperor; in consequence of which the Diet concluded to carry out the Edict of Worms “as well as they were able, and as far as was possible”. Especially the part of the edict commanding the suppression of defamatory books was to be vigorously executed. Then the recess went on to say that, “lest the good be rooted up with the bad"”, a General Council should be summoned as soon as possible in a convenient place in Germany. Further, an assembly of the German nation should meet at Speyer on S. Martin's Day to settle matters till such Council met. Meanwhile the Gospel and the Word of God was to be preached according to the interpretations of doctors received by the Church, without tumult or offence. The grievances presented at the last Diet were to be taken into consideration at Speyer and suggestions made for their redress.

How this particular form of compromise was arrived at is unknown; but it certainly was not fortunate. It aimed at pleasing everybody, but it pleased no one. It complied with the wishes of the Emperor and the Pope, for it reaffirmed the Edict of Worms; but admitted that it was impossible to act upon. it. It expressed the wishes of the moderate party by pointing to a General Council; but it set a National Assembly in the Council’s way. It recognized that there was some good in Luther's teaching; but it condemned him till the Assembly at Speyer had separated the wheat from the tares.

Campeggio was the first to express his disapprobation. He made answer to the Diet that he approved their affirmation of the Edict of Worms; to the clause, “that the good be not rooted up with the bad”, he strongly objected, as any good spoken by heretics was to be found free from error in approved writers; a General Council would require a long time to summon and must be left to the discretion of the Pope; the Assembly at Speyer would only lead to greater confusion and would spread heresy: its constitution would be impossible to settle, and it was absurd for Germany alone to discuss questions which concerned the Universal Church : as to the grievances of Germany, they should be laid before the Pope by chosen envoys, or discussed with himself as legate. When the Diet was unmoved by his remonstrances, Campeggio protested that he assented to nothing concerning the Council, or the German Assembly.

Clement was greatly aggrieved when he received an account of this impotent conclusion of the Diet, and wrote to Charles that the decree was a mere evasion, showing little respect to his commands, and the severe remedies should be applied to check the growing evil. The remedies desired in Rome were fourfold: the strict execution of the decree of Worms; the prevention of any examination of religious questions at Speyer, for which purpose the legate was to exhort all Catholic princes to protest against the proposed Assembly and absent themselves from its deliberations; the prevention of a Council, by the promise of reforms of the German grievances through a Congregation sitting at Rome; and the deposition of the Elector of Saxony as a terror to other rebellious princes. Such of these as it was expedient to lay before the Emperor were submitted to his consideration; and the Pope urged activity, not in his own, but in the Emperor’s interest; for a people greedy of novelty would soon throw off the yoke of subjection .

Further, Clement did his utmost to make the condition of Germany an international question. He wrote to Henry VIII, to Wolsey, on whom he had just conferred the English legateship for life, and to Francis I, committing to their consideration the grave dangers which threatened Christendom. He wished to bring the opinion of orthodox Europe to bear on the stubbornness of German heresy, and even suggested that this opinion should be decisively expressed. He advised that a demonstration should be made in London against the German merchants, and that the heads of the Steelyard should be threatened with a suppression of their trading privileges unless heresy were put down in the Hanse towns. At all events, Henry might exhort Charles to prohibit the meeting of the Assembly at Speyer, and in case his remonstrance was unheeded, should be prepared to send theologians who would protest against the claim of Germany alone to deal with matters concerning the Catholic faith.

Charles in the main agreed with the Pope, and was indignant at the little heed paid by the Diet to his commands. On July 15 he issued a decree which commanded strict obedience to the Edict of Worms, reproved the Estates for meddling with the matters of a Council which belonged only to the Pope, but said that he would move the Pope for that purpose, forbade absolutely the Assembly at Speyer, and denounced Luther as worse than Mahomet. At the same time, Charles informed the Pope that he was not sanguine of the success of his exhortation. Only two courses were open: either he must go to Germany and punish the heretics, or a General Council must be summoned. It was impossible for him to go to Germany; he left the other alternative to the Pope. It might be well to anticipate the Assembly at Speyer by summoning a Council to meet at Trent in the next spring. The Germans counted Trent a German city, though it was really Italian. After meeting in Trent the Council might be transferred elsewhere—to Rome if the Pope thought fit.

It would have been well for Clement if he had listened to Charles’ advice. A Council summoned with an honest intention of reform might even yet have reduced the German movement within limits, and might have avoided a revolt. Clement certainly appreciated, better than Leo or Adrian, the gravity of the situation and the importance of the issue. There was no choice save between suppression and conciliation; and Charles told him frankly that he had neither time nor money for suppression. Clement was prepared for some measure of reform, and had commissioned Campeggio, if he found a general agreement among the princes to restrict their demands to a restoration of clerical discipline, to undertake the task and preside as legate over the deliberations of the Diet for that purpose. If, however, there was such disagreement that this proposal would only lead to further discussion, Campeggio was empowered to treat with the princes who were well disposed, and to associate with himself some of the German prelates. In accordance with this instruction Campeggio, on the appearance of the decree of the Diet, devised a scheme which should frustrate the Assembly at Speyer. He arranged a meeting at Regensburg, in the end of June, of those who were the chief opponents of the Lutheran movement, Archduke Ferdinand of Austria, the two Dukes of Bavaria, the Bishops of Trent, Augsburg, Bamberg, Speyer, Strassburg, Constance, Basel, Passau, and Brixen. Hitherto the question had been treated as a national question. This was the first definite step to organize a Papal opposition. It was taken, not as a mere measure of resistance, but as an effort at reform. Sixteen days were spent in deliberation; and Campeggio had to exercise all his tact and skill to reduce within proper bounds the demands even of the orthodox princes and prelates. The results were formulated on July 7. The legate declared that the spread of heresy was due partly to the specious offer of liberty, partly to the profligate life of the clergy, and partly to abuses in the regulations of the Church. As a first step to cutting away the ground from heresy the reform of the clergy was undertaken. Preachers were to be duly licensed by their bishops, and were to expound the Scriptures according to the ancient doctors; it was a great concession to the influence of the new theology that these were enumerated as Cyprian, Chrysostom, Ambrose, Jerome, Augustin, and Gregory. Clerical discipline was strictly enforced in dress and manner of life; all customs were to cease which might cause scandal. The grievances of the people at exactions of dues and fees for clerical services were redressed. The abuses of the preaching of Indulgences were checked. The holidays ordained by the Church were restricted to the great festivals. The use of excommunication and interdict for trivial matters was forbidden. At the same time the reading of Luther's books was prohibited, and students were not to attend the University of Wittenberg under pain of severe penalties. After this Campeggio passed on to Vienna, where he sanctioned Ferdinand’s efforts to put down Lutheranism by the execution of a few heretics.

This constitution was the first fruits of the conservative reformation, the beginning of the process afterwards carried on at the Council of Trent. It was for Clement to decide if that process should continue. Was the Pope prepared to listen to the Emperor, and in concert with him undertake a careful examination of the grievances of Germany?

Clement, however, was not ready to put the German question in the forefront of the Papal policy and make it the primary object of his activity. He even complained that Charles had admitted the possibility of summoning a Council; and Charles answered that he had done so with the best intentions, but left the matter in the Pope’s hands. Clement did not conceal from himself the importance of conciliating Germany; but after all Italy was nearer than Germany, and the maintenance of the temporal power in Italy was more immediate than the restoration of the spiritual power in Germany. At first he hoped to combine the two objects, and his envoy, the Archbishop of Capua, vainly strove to make peace between the contending Princes of Europe. National jealousies were too strong to be appeased by representations of the dangerous advance of the Turk or of Luther. Moreover, the Pope might urge the good of Europe, but every one knew that he was seeking his own benefit as well. Clement was moved not only by the need of preserving the Papal States, but also Florence, where hesent as Governor the young son of his cousin Giuliano de' Medici, Alessandro, a boy of fourteen, under the care of the Cardinal of Cortona. Neither Francis, nor Charles, nor Henry paid much heed to the Pope's exhortations; they only sought for decent reasons to prove that war was inevitable, and that it was his interest to be on their side. Probably Clement had not much hope of preserving an attitude of neutrality, and merely wished to gain time. At all events he discovered beyond doubt that peace could not be restored by negotiations, but by the victory of one or other of the contending Powers. If Clement had wished for peace above all things, he would have seen that the best way to secure it was to throw his influence on the side of Charles. But this was too simple a course for the Medicean Pope. Clement hoped to hold back till he was sure to be on the winning side, or else by his skillful intrigues to bring about, what would have suited him best, a balance of power in Italy between the two. By adopting this policy he put the German question in the second place, and left its solution to the indefinite future. If Germany was to be pacified, it must be either by a Council or by imperial arms. For a Council, peace was necessary; for imperial intervention, Charles must be the victor over France. But Clement only wished for peace on the impossible basis of the existing state of things, and had no desire to see Charles a conqueror in Italy. He deliberately put the territorial interests of the Medici and of the Papal States above the interests of the Universal Church. The Curial party dreaded a Council, but thought that it might safely be proposed and discussed as a means of gaining time. The preliminary discussions would enable the Pope to take the matter into his own hands; and when he had thus made the Roman Court a centre of negotiations, he might escape a Council by illusory concessions.

However much Clement might wish for delay, the march of events dragged him to follow in their train. In April, Lannoy, the Viceroy of Naples, forced the French troops to abandon the Milanese; and Charles, delighted with this success, prevailed on Henry VIII to help him in carrying the war into France. The plan was carefully framed : Charles was to advance through Rousillon; the Duke of Bourbon was to invade France; and Henry was to make an onslaught on Picardy. But Charles delayed, and Henry waited till Bourbon had succeeded. Bourbon was successful in occupying Provence, but undertook in vain the siege of Marseilles; and meanwhile Francis was enabled to raise another army. At the end of September the imperial troops, abandoning the siege of Marseilles, retreated to Italy, whither it was Francis' turn to pursue. Milan welcomed him within its walls; all that the imperialists could do was to take refuge in the fortresses of Lodi and Pavia. On October 26 Francis laid siege to Pavia, and hoped after its capture to drive the Spaniards out of Naples.

In these circumstances it was natural for the Duke of Sessa to urge the Pope to declare himself on the Emperor's side; it would be fatal if the Emperor were to lose confidence in the Pope, at a time when the Church was threatened alike by Luther and the Turks. Clement answered that it would be suicidal for him to declare himself just then, and further, would not help the Emperor. He deplored his poverty, but said that he would try and secretly raise money for the payment of the imperial troops. Again he sent the Archbishop of Capua to Madrid to treat of peace, and also sent Giberti to advise Lannoy to withdraw southwards for the defence of Naples, and to urge Francis to rest content with the conquest of Milan. Giberti was obviously chosen for this mission because he was acceptable to the French; and the imperialists looked on the Pope's proceedings with growing alarm, saying that he would raise no money for them till he had seen if Pavia fell.

Lannoy listened unmoved to Giberti’s exhortations. It was natural that the Pope should wish to exalt himself by arranging that Lombardy should belong to France and Naples to Spain: this was a simple method of securing Central Italy for the Church and the Medici. On November 10 Giberti passed from Lodi to Pavia, and found more scope for his diplomacy with Francis. In deep secrecy the terms of an alliance between France and the Papacy were discussed. The only soldier of the Medici family, Giovanni delle Bande Nere, as he was called, the representative of the younger line, entered the service of Francis. More significant still was the fact that, on November 17, Francis wrote to the Pope and asked permission for some of his troops, under the leadership of the Duke of Albany, to pass through the Papal States on their way to Naples. He explained that this was a tactical movement to draw Lannoy southwards for the protection of the kingdom. Clement seemed to hesitate, but Giberti strongly advised him to give way. The Duke of Sessa was astonished, and made strong representations to the Pope of the need in which he stood of Charles' friendship. He told him, truly enough, that no other Power in Europe could help him against Luther, the Turks, and the cry for a Council; he warned him that he had not much to expect from the friendship of either France or England. Clement gave evasive answers, and was so agitated at the responsibility of a decision that he fell ill. When Clerk, the English envoy, joined his remonstrances to those of the Duke of Sessa, Clement asked: “What would you have me do? The French are strong and I cannot resist them. The imperial army needs money and I have none to give. The Emperor is far off and cannot help me”. Clement tried to get all the advantages of neutrality; but thought that, if the imperialists won the day without his aid, he would have less to fear immediately from their anger than he would have to fear from Francis if, as seemed possible, the victory were to fall to him.

So Clement allowed the French troops to advance through the Papal States, on the ground that he dare not refuse: at the same time he promised to raise money for Charles. Then he sent his Chamberlain, Paolo Vettori, to propose to Lannoy an armistice, on the basis that the Milanese should be handed over to the Pope till negotiation had settled who was to be its master; otherwise he would be compelled to make terms with the French king, stipulating that the Emperor should also be included. Lannoy warned Clement to remember how Kings of France had treated former Popes, and refused to accept the terms offered. Meanwhile Giberti’s activity had already borne fruit in a league between Venice and France, under the Pope's security, which was made on December 12. The prospects of the imperial side suffered from this defection, but still more from the lack of money; and Lannoy began to despair. On December 22, he wrote to the Duke of Sessa that the Emperor had done enough to satisfy his honor in trying to help Italy, which refused his help : he suggested that peace should be made, and Milan be delivered to the Pope as he proposed. At the beginning of January, 1525, Clement no longer disguised from the Duke of Sessa that a treaty with France was being drafted; and Sessa was almost in despair, because the English ambassador assured the Pope that England would lend no help to Charles in his Italian campaign. The Pope was so elated that he even said that, if he did what Francis asked him, he might receive from France Naples and other possessions.

When the league of the Pope with France was known, diplomatists naturally began to speculate on the possible consequences. Clerk, the English envoy, told him that he had been faithless to Henry and Charles : the English and Spanish peoples might resent this deception, and take some action against the Papacy which their princes could not restrain. Clement asked what he should do; and Clerk advised him to limit his treaty to the recognition of France in Milan. Clerk was of opinion that the Spanish Ministers, by their overbearing treatment of the Pope, had driven him into the arms of France. “If Clement succeeds in making a corresponding league with Charles to maintain him in Naples, and so makes a general peace, he will have done a great act; but”, he adds, “the Apostolic See hath ever feared too much friendship and concord between princes”; and he reported to Wolsey that Clement was as studious of his own particular as any living man, without any respect or regard to friend Lannoy wrote to Clement that he was imitating the father in the parable who killed the fatted calf at the return of his prodigal son, and rejoiced that he had gained two sons where before he had only one: he hoped that the Pope would justify his action by showing an equal love to both.

Charles could not restrain his anger when the news reached him. “The Pope”, he said, “knows that I was but a youth, scarce knowing what I did, when I entered on this war for him alone—for him, as he was the ruler of Pope Leo. I have lost money, men, and friends for his sake: I have risked my honor and even my soul. I could never have believed that the Pope would desert me. However, I do not despair, nor will I yield : I will go to Italy to seek my own, and I will take revenge on all who have wronged me, especially that poltroon of a Pope. Perhaps someday Martin Luther will become a man of worth”.

Clement must have quailed if these words were reported to him. It is true that Charles spoke in anger, and that his charge of ingratitude was not well founded; but he showed a temper that did not brook resistance, and a dogged obstinacy of purpose that boded ill for one who crossed his plans. The day was past when Giulio de' Medici could weave his dexterous intrigues without serious dread of a coming reckoning. It was a sad fact that Luther had gone far to show the Emperor that it was possible to dispense with a Pope, if need were.

To the Pope himself Charles wrote in milder terms; but Wolsey spoke out what Charles omitted to say. He wrote to Clerk that the Lutheran heresy made it necessary for the Pope to act wisely, lest Germany be estranged from the Church; and Germany’s example would greatly affect England. “I do not see”, he went on, “how it may stand with God’s will that the head of the Church should involve himself in war by joining with temporal princes. Since these leagues in the Pope’s name began, God hath sent affliction upon the Church and upon Christendom. Contentions to advance particular families have not furthered the Papal dignity”.

It was astonishing how much good advice, founded on lofty principles, the Pope received when he annoyed his confederates. The Curia had no longer the monopoly of statecraft, the sole capacity for wrapping up self-interest in high-sounding phrases. The trick had been found out. Instead of delivering homilies, the Pope had to listen to them. Giberti could only humbly answer that, if the Pope deserved a reproof, he ought not to be threatened with Luther; even if the Pope had erred, that was no reason for taking revenge on the Christian faith.

In fact Clement’s joy at his French alliance was short-lived. Pavia still held out: Charles continued to raise money for Lannoy: German lanzknechts were crossing the Alps to reinforce the imperial army. Again Clement strove to make peace through his legate in Lombardy, Cardinal Salviati. Each day that deferred the expected fall of Pavia increased his terror; so that Giberti wrote on February 19: “I cannot tell you how great has been the Pope’s anxiety and suspense, now that the two armies are near one another. For though he greatly confides in the forces of the French king, still the love which he bears him cannot be without fear of the dangers which war brings with it. The desire which he always had to bring about some peace or truce, rather than risk everything on a battle, has greatly increased; and day and night his holiness hugs this thought”. Clement had thought himself quite safe in making a league with France; now that the prospects of success did not seem so certain, he tried to draw Francis back, after doing all he could to urge him to persevere. He had cast his little stake on the board where two gamesters were playing a high game: it was childish to hope that he could influence their play.

He had not long to await the issue. The imperial army, reinforced by 12,000 Germans, was almost equal to the French; and the generals, destitute of pay for their soldiers, could not afford to wait to spend time on scientific maneuvers for the relief of Pavia. On February 23 they had neither money nor provisions, and must either give battle or see the army disperse. They resolved to attack the next day, animated by the thought that it was the Emperor's birthday. Francis was prepared for the fight, and at first repulsed the assailants; but the Spanish forces under Pescara soon formed again, and were supported by the Germans under Frundsberg. The Swiss mercenaries of Francis were the first to give way. The Captain of Pavia poured his troops out of the city. The French army was hemmed in by its assailants, and the slaughter was terrible. Francis fought bravely, but was at last made prisoner. The victory of the imperialists was complete.

When the news was brought to Rome Clement was overwhelmed with consternation. His first terror was lest any letters, showing the extent of his agreement with Francis, should have fallen into the hands of Lannoy; but he was reassured by the friendly terms in which the victory was announced to him, as though he was still an ally of the Emperor. He soon felt, however, the effect of the shock which Italian politics had received. On all sides there were signs of the revival of old feuds and the rise of parties which had been suppressed. Rome itself was insecure. The Duke of Albany had slowly advanced through the Papal States, and the Colonna raised forces at Marino to protect Naples against his advance. Albany was the guest of the Orsini, and the two great Roman families renewed their ancient rivalry. The news from Pavia emboldened the Colonna to attack a band of the Orsini, who were pursued into Rome, where the fight continued in the Campo dei Fiori; so that Clement in alarm shut himself up in the Vatican. This threatening aspect of affairs was only partially put an end to by Albany’s withdrawal to the coast, whence he embarked for France. Nor was it only Rome that was disturbed. Florence was ready, if occasion offered, to rise against the Medici; and in the Romagna Guicciardini reported that it would need only a very little to bring about a Ghibelline rising.

Clerk was the first to comfort the Pope by offering the mediation of England to check the undue arrogance of the Spaniards. Clerk took a statesman-like view of the situation. England had no interest in the extension of Charles' power in Italy, but wished to gain something from Francis. If Charles pursued his victory in Italy, the Italian powers would be driven to combine against him; and he would be involved in a long and expensive war, which would prevent an attack on France. Clerk therefore told the Duke of Sessa that Henry VIII would not consent to any changes being made in Italy, and urged the renewal of the league between the Emperor, England, and the Pope. On the other hand Venice, and the Dukes of Ferrara and Urbino, offered to enter a league for the defence of Italy, if the Pope would declare himself as its head. If this plan were to succeed immediate action was necessary. But Clement was not a man for quick decision. He told Venice that he did not intend to make a league with Charles; and he sent to raise troops among the Swiss. Meanwhile he dreaded an open breach with the victorious Emperor, and was reassured by Lannoy’s frank admission that he was still without money to pay his forces, and needed the Pope's help for that purpose. So Clement dallied with both parties, and on March 19 took counsel with Clerk, who dissuaded him from the Italian league, on the ground that, even if the league were to succeed, the Papacy would be left one of the weaker Italian States, would have cut itself off from allies outside, and “many mean powers of Italy would plume its feathers”. Clement assented to this view of Papal patriotism, and thanked God who had put it in his mind to hesitate. He was content to trust Clerk's assurance that Henry would see that Charles used his victory with moderation, so far as Italy was concerned; in return he was willing to leave France to their mercy: Francis might be kept in prison and his eldest son declared king in his stead; Henry and Charles might help themselves to French territory, leaving the new king so plucked that his neighbors might live in peace. Clement had by this time come to the conclusion that the safest course for himself to pursue was to make an agreement with the imperialists, which would at least prevent them from plundering the Papal States. Accordingly on April 1 he proposed a treaty of alliance with the Emperor, who was to take under his protection the Pope, the house of Medici, and the city of Florence, and was within twenty days to withdraw his protection from all enemies of the Holy See. By another agreement, made with the Duke of Sessa, he undertook to furnish Lannoy with 100,000 ducats, to be repaid in case the treaty was not ratified within four months; and stipulated in return for the right to import salt from the Papal mines at Cervia into Milan, and for the restitution of the cities of Reggio and Rubiera which the Duke of Ferrara wrongfully occupied. At a great crisis in the fate of Italy Clement behaved like a huckster eager for small gains. The Italians judged him to be a man “of very faint heart and little will”.

The future did not depend upon the Pope, but upon the Emperor. He had met with unexpected success: could he use it so wisely as to escape the nemesis which attends good fortune? The first proceedings of Charles were singularly impressive. The news of the battle of Pavia reached him on March 10, as he was talking with some of his household in his palace at Madrid. For some moments he remained speechless, then he exclaimed: “The King of France is in my power, and we have won the day!”. He withdrew to his chamber, and kneeling before a picture of the virgin which hung at the head of his bed, poured out his heart in prayer. Then he returned and asked to have the story told at length. The ambassadors and a crowd of Spanish nobles entered hastily to offer their congratulations; but Charles’ face was unmoved, and he showed no signs of elation. He gave all the glory to God, and rejoiced only in the thought that now he could assure the peace of Christendom. But he soon showed that he was not so magnanimous as to forget the past. He said to the Venetian ambassador: “I could have wished that the Signory’s forces had joined mine, as was becoming”. He remarked to the Papal nuncio: “They tell me that the Pope gave passage to the Duke of Albany, who marched into the kingdom of Naples”. It was obvious that Charles expected Italy to obey him.

The hope to which Clement clung was that a disagreement would arise between Charles and his ally, Henry VIII; and every one eagerly watched their relations. Already before the news of the battle of Pavia, Henry had begun to weary of an alliance which had cost him large sums of money and had gained nothing. Two invasions of France had been unsuccessful, because Charles had not fulfilled his part in the joint undertaking. Henry grumbled; and Wolsey, who had never been in favor of the imperial alliance, began cautiously to make overtures to France. Perhaps in search of a pretext for a breach, he intercepted on February 11 the letters of the imperial envoy, De Praet, complained of their contents as insulting to the English king, and ordered De Praet to write no more; this violent act was done just before the battle of Pavia; and the news caused Wolsey to pause, while it rendered Charles easily placable. Wolsey did not wish to break with Charles, if anything was to be gained for England out of the victory; Charles did not wish to quarrel with England, which might become the head of an Italian league against him. The diplomatic struggle between Charles and Wolsey was keen, and Charles did his utmost not to commit himself, and so gain time. But it became apparent that his one object was to win from France the Burgundian possessions, and that he did not intend to imperil his chances by pressing the claims of his ally. In June Francis, at his own request, was carried off to Spain; but Charles was not to be moved by the sight of a king in captivity. Wolsey, meanwhile, despairing of any aid from the Emperor, determined at last to win from the helplessness of France a substantial price for an English alliance, and began negotiations for that purpose with Louise of Savoy, who acted as Regent.

Clement was anxiously looking on. At first he seemed Satisfied with the imperial alliance, which was proclaimed on May 1. He even attended mass in the Church of SS. Apostoli, and was entertained at dinner in the Colonna Palace, to the great surprise of those around him, who wondered to see him enter an enemy's house. After dinner he looked through a window into the church, where the mob was engaged in climbing a pole with a pig on the top. It was the last time that such pagan revelry was carried on in a Roman Church, before the eyes of the bishop. Already popular opinion was beginning to be shocked at such profanity. In the Papal Court Giberti retired into the background, and Schomberg was Clement’s chief adviser. But though Clement submitted to what he regarded as inevitable, he groaned over his unhappy lot. On May 14 he confided his sorrows to Clerk; the imperialists had treated him cruelly; though he was driven to pay them 200,000 ducats, they still kept their troops in the lands of Piacenza and Bologna, where they had pillaged to the value of 200,000 ducats more; if he had been their foe, instead of their friend, he could not have fared worse. Clerk asked him to help in a projected invasion of France, which still kept a place in the diplomatic schemes of England. Clement answered that he was the common father of all Christian princes and could attack none of them; moreover his finances were exhausted. When Clerk pressed him further, he said that the continuance of war threatened the ruin of Christendom, as the condition of Germany only too clearly showed. The commons had risen in rebellion, not only against the Christian faith, but against their lawful rulers. Nor was it only the commons who were rebellious. The Grand Master of the German Order, the knights who had conquered Prussia from the heathen and were still bound by their religious vows, had cast off his old allegiance. Albert of Brandenburg had been elected Grand Master in the hope that his family connections would enable him to defend the knights against Poland, which threatened to absorb their lands. But Albert had listened to Luther's teaching, and resolved to turn its lessons to practical account. In April he made an agreement with the King of Poland, by which he surrendered to him the lands of the order, and received them back as a Polish fief, granted to himself as Duke of Prussia, then to his brothers and their heirs. At the same time he married the daughter of the Polish king. The Bishop of Samland also declared himself a Lutheran and took a wife. The Lutheran movement was indeed leading to political and ecclesiastical dangers. Clement exhorted Clerk to use his influence with Henry VIII that he should mediate; for, he added, “if the wars continue, we shall see a new world shortly”.

Clement, as he sat cowering between two attempts to create a new world, was a truer prophet than perhaps he knew. On the one side Luther’s summons to found the life of the soul on freedom from outward authority threatened to overthrow the ecclesiastical system. On the other side Charles V was pursuing with cold persistency a course of territorial aggrandizement which, if successful, would reduce the Pope to the position of imperial chaplain. Whichever way Clement looked, the future was full of danger. The continuance of European war left Germany free to work out its own conclusions; but in his inmost heart Clement knew that he only complained of war when the Emperor was victor, and would welcome war in which the Emperor was defeated. The news from Germany was not altogether unpleasant. Ever since Luther's teaching began to be heard, the Popes had warned the German princes that the disregard for authority in things spiritual would lead to the downfall of authority in things secular as well. Their predictions seemed only too likely to be fulfilled. The discontent of the German peasantry with their hard lot found a justification and a basis for action in the teaching of the Lutheran preachers. Men who were urged to judge the lives and doings of their spiritual rulers naturally applied the same principles to judge their temporal rulers, and found the oppressors of their bodies at least as culpable as the oppressors of their souls. It is true that Luther himself affirmed the need of maintaining civil order, and urged obedience to law as a Christian duty. But many of his followers did not keep within his limits. Carlstadt and Munzer preached the equality of all men, not merely as a religious, but as a social, truth. They approved of force for the destruction of error, and iconoclasm was hard to restrain to the pillage of churches and monasteries. In the autumn of 1524, in various parts of Southern Germany, the peasants began to form in bands, but at first dispersed quietly before a show of authority. When no redress was given to their grievances, the scattered bands of insurgents united and put forth their demands in a connected scheme. The 'Twelve Articles' of the German peasantry were conceived in no revolutionary spirit. They asked for congregations the right of choosing their own ministers, and removing them for misconduct; the abolition of the small tithe, of the game laws and forest laws, of excessive feudal service, unfair rents, and arbitrary punishments; they submitted the justice of their demands to the test of Scripture, and named a number of divines, foremost amongst whom was Luther, to whose interpretation they were ready to submit.

At first the Council of Regency attempted to negotiate with the peasants; but while they negotiated, the Swabian League gathered its forces under Georg Truchsess, and it became clear that the question would be decided by the sword. Truchsess was successful in crushing the Swabian rising in April; but in Franconia the peasants were powerful and stained their cause by a savage massacre at Weinsberg. In Thuringia the fanatic Munzer exhorted his followers to spare none of their opponents and establish the kingdom of God with the sword. In the midst of this tumult, the Elector Frederick of Saxony died, speaking to the last words of peace, and still hopeful that God's will would make itself manifest in the issue of events.

All this was a serious crisis for the fortunes of Luther and for the future of his teaching. On all sides was heard the cry that Germany was reaping the fruits of its revolt against authority, and that the Papal predictions were only too rapidly fulfilled. But Luther had the instincts of a statesman as well as the zeal of a teacher. He saw the paramount importance of the maintenance of order and was not misled by his sympathies. Early in May he issued An Exhortation to Peace in which he first addressed the nobles and pointed out that God’s wrath had declared itself against their pride, their luxury, and their injustice. For himself, he had always inculcated civil obedience, and had striven against confusion; prophets of murder had arisen in spite of his attempts, and none withstood them more diligently than he. But he exhorted the nobles to lay aside their tyranny, to deal reasonably with the peasants, and consider their demands when they were just. To the peasants he spoke with equal force: they took God's name in vain by making Him the author of confusion; He allowed no man to judge and avenge his own cause. He bade them endure, and pray, and trust in God's help. Even as he wrote the issue of events was doubtful, and Luther knew that his words would give dire offence to the insurgents. “I go home”, he wrote, “and with God’s help will prepare for death, and await my new masters, the murderers and robbers. But rather than justify their doings I would lose a hundred necks: God help me with His grace. But”, he added, with an amazing force of purely human passion and human willfulness, “before I die I will take my Catharine to wife”. Luther did not wish to end his life till he had expressed to the full in a definite act all the desires of his individual self, and had left his example to the world

But Luther was not called upon to suffer martyrdom for his moderation. Munzer was slain in battle; Truchsess pursued his career of conquest in Swabia; the rebellion was stamped out in blood. Luther rejoiced in the triumph of authority, and threw himself unreservedly on the side of repression. His denunciations of the “robbing, murdering peasants” lost all sympathy with their grievances. They were guilty of every sin, and clothed their sins with the pretence of God’s law. “Let the nobles take the sword as ministers of God’s wrath. Whosoever has it in his power to punish, and spares, is guilty of all the slaughter which he does not prevent. Let there be no pity: it is the time of wrath, not of mercy. He who dies fighting for authority is a martyr before God. So wondrous are the times that a prince can merit heaven better by bloodshed than by prayers. Therefore, dear lords, ransom, save, help, pity the poor folks: let him who can stab, smite, destroy. If you fall, well is it for you: you could never die a happier death. I pray every one to depart from the peasants as from the devil himself: those who flee not I pray God enlighten: those who will not turn, God grant they have no luck nor success. Let every pious Christian say Amen. For the prayer is righteous and good, and pleases God well: that I know. If any man thinks this too harsh, let him remember that rebellion is irreparable, and the destruction of the world may be expected every hour”.

These are startling words in the mouth of a Christian teacher, who had been fighting the battle of liberty of opinion. Now, as at other times, Luther’s views were stated in exaggerated terms, and were adapted to temporary needs. Luther was too entirely concerned with theology in its relation to the individual to consider the bearings of his new system on civil life. He was quite genuine in his horror of Carlstadt and Munzer, who carried his principles out of the sphere of religion into the sphere of politics. He was entirely convinced that the renewal of the spiritual life of man would work harmoniously from within, and would transform, without rending asunder, the old social order. He interposed to express this belief with his wonted force, in the hope that it would approve itself to all. When his exhortations failed to calm men who were in pursuit of immediate good, he had no scruple in withdrawing entirely from them; and he ranged himself on the side of their assailants. But his impetuous temper carried him beyond all bounds, and he had no pity for his misguided followers. The man who had cast away the bonds of ecclesiastical authority felt himself compelled to assert the binding obligation of civil authority with all the greater vehemence, because he had been himself a rebel. No man is so certain as he who draws a fine distinction because it is practically necessary. Luther, who had exhorted his countrymen to cast off the yoke of their ecclesiastical superiors, could find no punishment too severe for them when they attempted to diminish the burdens wherewith their temporal superiors oppressed them. His utterances caused much disappointment and indignation. He was called a hypocrite and a flatterer of princes. But he only repeated his general principle : “It is better that all the peasants should be slain than the magistrates and princes, because the peasants take the sword without God’s authority”.

The result of the Peasants’ War was a serious blow to the prospects of the Lutheran movement. Germany, conscious of many ills, had caught at a fruitful principle which made reorganization possible. Then, as always, there were many who hailed a new doctrine, not for itself, but for its possibilities of extension. Luther kept his teaching within the limits of the religious life, and asserted the right of the individual to free spiritual communion with God. Many, who were not primarily concerned with religion, looked kindly on an attempt to breathe a new spirit into common life, and were hopeful of its success. Its first result had been a premature rising, which was put down by slaughter. The demands of the rebels had been moderate; but they had naturally committed some excesses. The religious leader of the new movement had shown himself incapable to mediate, and had ranged himself steadfastly on the side of authority. The limits of his principles and of his influence had been painfully manifested. His utterances had been harsh and unsympathetic: he had no better advice to give than patience under old wrongs, and submission to grievances for God's sake. There was nothing that was new, and little that was hopeful, in such a message.

Still Luther’s resolute attitude encouraged the nobles of Germany, and saved the country from disorder, which must have proved fatal to the future of the Reformation. Luther carried with him the good sense of Germany, and proved that his teaching was free from revolutionary fanaticism. But he lost greatly in personal importance, and could no longer claim to command the movement which he had originated. His ideas were clearly capable of other meanings than he was willing to allow. They had been cast upon the world, and the world would deal with them in its own way. There was henceforth a difference between the Lutheran movement and Luther. The simplicity of an ideal had passed away, and the sternness of practical life had been disclosed. Germany was reduced to desolation; on all sides were heard the mutterings of discontent. The new ideas were no more powerful than the old to bring an immediate remedy to the woes of society. With somber resoluteness men ranged themselves on one side or the other, in the conflict which was now inevitable; and both sides felt that the struggle would be long and stubborn.

Luther on his part was determined to show how irreparable was his breach with the past, and how entirely he was free from old traditions. On June 13 he married a runaway nun, Katarina von Bora, whom he had for some time sheltered in his house. It was a bold act, which created a great sensation, and struck dismay even into the hearts of many of Luther’s friends, who thought that such a step was unworthy of a religious leader. It is strange that so much attention should have been given to the breach of vows which had been long since renounced, while another far more significant action awakened little notice at the time. On May 14, amid the tumult of the Peasants' War, Luther laid his hands on the head of his secretary, Georg Roser, and conferred on him the title of deacon. It was needful that some provision should be made for the new society, whose followers could not obtain ordination from the Bishops of Saxony. But Georg von Polenz, Bishop of Samland, had adopted Luther's teaching; and Luther, had he chosen, could have followed ecclesiastical tradition in the call of new ministers. But he was so convinced of his own inherent capacity to reform the Church, that he did not think of recognizing any superior authority.

The state of affairs in Germany might have afforded Clement VII many reasons for changing his policy, and looking away from purely Italian considerations. We have seen that he was not unaware of their importance, and for a moment at all events he showed some desire to face them. On June 7 he wrote to Charles and besought him to employ all his efforts in preventing the spread of heresy: to help him in the laudable attempt he sent him from his poverty a small sum of money. But these amicable intentions did not outlast the disappointment of finding that Charles refused to ratify the addition which Clement had made to the treaty of April 1, by restoring Reggio and Rubiera. Moreover, he shared in the alarm which was aroused in Italy when it was known that Francis had been carried off to Spain. In fact the departure of Francis was a mistake on the part of Lannoy, as much as on the part of Francis himself. Francis hoped that in person he would prevail on Charles to give him his liberty on easy terms; but he little knew the man with whom he had to deal. On the other hand Lannoy, by listening to the request of Francis, threw Italy into a ferment of suspicion and opened the door to the negotiations of Louise of France for a league against the Emperor. Milan and Venice were ready to listen to the French proposals, but looked to the Pope for guidance. Cardinal Canossa wrote to Giberti at the end of June: “All depends upon the Pope, who must often have repented of his previous lack of promptitude. If I see this opportunity also lost, I shall despair of the future; for I shall be certain that God has decreed the slavery of Italy and our ruin”.

Such utterances were hard to be endured by a Pope, an Italian, and a Medici. Again Clement changed his tactics, was deeply immersed in negotiations with England, Venice, and France, and had hopes of serious blow at the Emperor's power in Italy. The Milanese Chancellor, Giroiamo Morone, was a diplomatist of great experience. He conceived a scheme worthy of the ideal politics of Machiavelli. Italy was to be rescued from the barbarians by a league of all its powers; unfortunately, however, Italy possessed no leader of her own, and success was only possible by corrupting one of the imperial generals. The victory of Pavia was chiefly due to the generalship of the Marquis of Pescara, who was annoyed that Lannoy had carried off his royal prisoner to Spain. So Morone suggested to Pescara the probability of an Italian rising against the Emperor, and intimated that, if it succeeded, no one was fitter to receive the Neapolitan kingdom than Pescara himself. Giberti, in the Pope’s name, promised absolution from perjury and investiture of the kingdom: he sent a servant bearing the written approval of the Pope. But Fernando Davalos, Marquis of Pescara, though a Neapolitan by birth, was proud of his Spanish descent and was in heart a Spaniard. He listened, and revealed Morone’s schemes to Charles. Morone was seized by the imperial general De Leyva, and confessed on October 25; Pescara died soon afterwards. The imperialists saddled the Duke of Milan with Morone’s guilt, and proceeded to take possession of his dominions as of a faithless vassal. Clement knew that his double-dealing had been again discovered by Charles.

Still Charles did not change his relations towards the Pope. He knew that Italy regarded him with dread, and did not wish to face another war with an Italian league; he knew that the best means of averting this risk was to humour the Pope’s irresoluteness. Clement sent a useless ambassador to Toledo in the person of Cardinal Salviati, who was delighted with Charles’ suavity. But Charles had no confidence in Clement and did not mean to let go his hold on Italy. On October 31 he wrote to the Duke of Sessa that, if the Pope delayed to ratify his treaty, he was to warn him that the Emperor knew he was watching the progress of events; he was to threaten him with the Emperor's hostility, and the growth of Lutheranism in Germany. Charles proposed that Clement should leave to him the restoration of Reggio and Rubiera; should be content with his promise that, in case of Sforza's death, Milan should pass neither to Charles nor his brother Ferdinand, but a third person, such as the Duke of Bourbon; and should contribute 200,000, or at least 150,000 ducats, to enable Charles to withdraw his troops from North Italy.

Accordingly, after discussing these points with Salviati, Charles sent an envoy to Rome, Don Michiel Herrera, early in December. But Herrera’s instructions were not explicit, and left some ambiguity about the expulsion of the Duke of Milan. So he proposed a delay of two months that he might communicate again with the Emperor; and Clement agreed, though he said: "I know that I am acting against my own interests, for the danger lies in delay; but I prefer to put my trust in the Emperor rather than lose his friendship and alliance altogether". Still more frankly he told the Duke of Sessa: “I know that, if the Emperor makes an agreement with the French, my ruin is certain; but the more I see the danger, the more I wish to show the world my desire for the Emperor’s friendship. I know that I put into his hands a sword with which he may cut my throat; but I trust entirely in his magnanimity and kindness”. This, no doubt, was noble, if it had been true. But no one believed Clement; and those near him only concluded that he wished to be on the safe side, and was not satisfied that France was in a position to do much, unless England openly joined the league. Again Clement was only thinking of himself, and using fine phrases until he was sure on which side his advantage lay. Meanwhile he played into Charles’ hands, by preventing the formation of an Italian league, and so impressing the captive Francis with a feeling of the hopelessness of any succor from outside, and the need of submitting to the Emperor’s terms if he were to obtain his release.

At length Francis grew weary of his captivity and agreed to the terms which Charles demanded. In the treaty signed at Madrid on January 13, 1526, Francis renounced his claims over Milan and Naples, and gave back to Charles the Burgundian possessions. His two sons were to remain as hostages for the fulfillment of these conditions. The Emperor’s triumph now seemed complete; but no one in Italy believed that Francis would keep his word. Clement when the news reached him was rather proud of his dexterity. He had made an offer of alliance to the Emperor; but his terms had not been accepted, and his hands were free for the future. “If”, he said, “the French king, using wise and prudent counsel, has resolved to free himself from prison with the intention of using his freedom for the good of his realm and the interest of Christendom, all that follows from this treaty is that the Emperor has the sons instead of the father; and the father can do more for the liberation of the sons than the sons could do for the liberation of the father. If this be the French king's purpose, I will spare no labour nor expense to bring the matter to a proper end, and promote the peace of Italy and the quiet of Christendom”. The Pope was the first to express frankly the political cynicism of the times. Treaties were only promises which could be kept or broken as was most convenient: Francis was justified in obtaining his liberty by any means; if when he was free he was likely to give the Emperor trouble, the Pope was quite ready to use the opportunity, without considering how it had been obtained.

It is honorable to Charles V that he stood alone among European princes in believing that the word of a king was steadfast. On March 17 Francis was set at liberty, and at once became the centre of European intrigues against the growing power of his rival. Meanwhile Charles pursued his negotiations for a league with the Pope. On February 8 he wrote to the Duke of Sessa that he was willing to have the conduct of the Duke of Milan investigated: if he were innocent, he should continue in his dominions; if he were guilty, his state should be declared forfeited and conferred on the Duke of Bourbon. The Duke of Ferrara must be induced to join the league also, and the question of the restitution to the Pope of Reggio and Rubiera must be treated with caution. Clement on his part was willing to continue the negotiations till he saw what the French king would do. As Francis delayed to publish the treaty in France, Clement began to complain of ill-usage by the Emperor. On April 17 Sessa was convinced that the Pope was only biding his time, and advised Charles that he must either make an agreement with him which restored mutual confidence, or must reduce him to a condition in which he could do no harm. On all sides diplomacy was busy. England, Venice, and the Pope were waiting for Francis to declare himself. All wished for war against Charles, but none wished to take the chief part in it. The Pope especially was anxious that the war should not be fought on Italian soil. None of the Powers trusted each other. The appearance of Lannoy at the League of French Court at Cognac to demand the ratification of the treaty of Madrid compelled Francis to come to a decision; and the result was the League of Cognac, published on May 22. This ‘Holy League’ was made for the purpose of promoting the peace of Christendom by the Pope, the French king, Venice, and the Duke of Milan. The King of England and the Emperor were invited to join; but the Emperor must first release the sons of Francis for a ransom, must not enter Italy to be crowned except with such retinue as the Pope and Venice may approve, must leave the Duke of Milan undisturbed, restore to the other Italian Powers what they possessed before the last war, and finally must pay the English king the money which he owed. An army was to be maintained to preserve the peace of Italy; Francesco Sforza was to be left in possession of Milan; but the country of Asti was to be given to France, and a pension of 50,000 ducats. When North Italy had been pacified, the allies were to drive the Emperor out of Naples, which belonged to the Pope, who, however, undertook to pay Francis 75,000 ducats yearly, to provide a principality for the Duke of Richmond, Henry VIII’s natural son, and to pay 30,000 ducats yearly to the Cardinal of York. All the allies undertook to protect the Medici family. Two private articles provided that, in case Charles yielded and was left in possession of Naples, he should be saddled with a yearly payment of 40,000 ducats to the Pope; further, that Florence should be defended by the league, though it was not mentioned as one of the contracting parties, owing to the financial losses which its citizens would suffer if it declared itself at war with the Emperor.

The decisive step had been taken and defiance proclaimed. Clement VII at last came forward as an Italian patriot; but it was clear that his timidity, or caution, was overcome not by foresight but by circumstance. Charles stood towards Italy in much the same position as he did a year before; but Clement had discovered that nothing was to be won for himself or the Medici from Charles. He had offered Charles his uncertain friendship, but Charles was not prepared to pay his price. The treaty of Madrid awakened universal dread of Spanish domination; and Francis I needed some cloak for his perfidy in breaking his plighted word. Clement had shrunk from an Italian league against Charles; but he plucked up his courage when a European league was projected. He did not stop to think what additional guarantees were thereby provided for the Italian cause. The aim of the Italian Powers was independence from foreign intervention; but though the claims of Spain were disposed of, the claims of France were passed lightly over. There was no solidarity of interest between Francis and his Italian allies. Nothing was demanded on his behalf save the release of his sons, which could only be procured by a revision of the treaty of Madrid. This was a far-off prospect, and Francis was not likely to lend effective help to Italy.

Clement had not even the wisdom to bind to the league the Duke of Ferrara, but demanded the restoration of all that he had won from the Papacy since the days of Leo X, and offered in return to make the duke's son, Ercole, a Cardinal. Giberti, sure of success, induced the Pope to make such exorbitant demands, that Tebaldi, the Ferrarese envoy, wrote, in answer to objections against the duke’s want of patriotism, that he and his subjects “would call in the Turk, and even the devil, rather than be enslaved to priests”.

These considerations weighed little with the Pope. It was enough for the present that Charles was thrown into great embarrassment by the coalition formed against him. His troops were all in Italy. He had no money to pay them, or to raise new forces. Germany was exhausted by the Peasants’ War. An attack on Spain or Flanders would have reduced him to great straits. But Francis was not prepared to take the field; and Henry VIII accepted only the title of Protector of the League, and did not wish to arouse discontent in England by another futile expedition. Charles saw that he had still some time before him, and hastened to use it to the best advantage. He sent a trusty envoy, Don Ugo de Moncada, to try and separate the members of the coalition.

Moncada was an old soldier, who had served under Cesare Borgia, and had no love for the Italians nor any scruples about the sanctity of the Pope. First he went to Cognac, where he found that little could be done with the French king. Thence he went to Milan, where he arrived on June 6, and offered to make terms with the duke, who was besieged in the castle by the imperial troops; but Sforza refused to surrender his position and submit his conduct to judicial inquiry. So far, Moncada’s mission had not been successful. On June 11 he left Milan for Rome, which he saw was the key of the situation. The Duke of Sessa had done his best to prepare the way for Moncada’s overtures. He remonstrated against the Pope's warlike preparations, reminded him of the danger of a breach with the Emperor, and warned him of his duty as Vicar of Christ to keep the peace. When these arguments had little effect he asked the Pope to wait till he had time to communicate with the Emperor. Clement turned to him and said: "If you have powers to treat with me, I am willing to make a treaty; but I will not wait for an hour, as I see that the Emperor does not wish for my friendship, but only wishes to delay". For the first time in his life Clement showed signs of resolution, and hastened his military preparations. When Sessa again besought him to await the coming of Moncada, who would satisfy all his requirements, Clement answered: "I am already engaged, and must keep my engagements"

Giberti, who was now once more the chief adviser of the Pope, used the prospect of Moncada’s arrival, and the compliant attitude of the Emperor, as a means of stirring the zeal of the French king. When Moncada reached Rome on June 16, the Pope was in no mood for yielding. Moncada told Clement that he came with ample powers to treat, and was ready to give full satisfaction about Milan and the restoration of Reggio and Rubiera; the choice of peace or war rested with him. Clement answered that the proposal came too late; he could not treat without the consent of his allies. Moncada asked him to consider his answer till the morrow, and seems to have sent him a draft agreement which dealt with the question of Milan. Next day Clement made his position manifest by consulting with the ambassadors of his allies; then he answered Moncada that nothing could be done until the ambassadors had communicated with their princes. Clement's resoluteness filled those around him with admiration; and Wolsey, who had often complained of the Pope’s inconstancy, was bidden to mark that it had not arisen from want of courage or good-will, but that never before had he been sure of allies.

As Clement refused to treat for peace, Moncada left Rome on June 27, and went to Genanzano: on July 1 Sessa departed for Naples. The house of the Spanish Embassy was closed, and only a secretary, Juan Perez, was left behind. Peace was not likely to be obtained except through war, and Clement was raising troops as fast as his poverty allowed.

CHAPTER IX.

THE SACK OF ROME.

1526-1527

The success of the league largely depended on the vigor of its first undertakings. Clement did his best by appointing as his generals Guido Rangoni and Giovanni dei Medici, while he sent to Lombardy as his lieutenant the experienced statesman, Francesco Guicciardini. Venice was ill-advised in employing as general Francesco Maria della Rovere, whom Leo X had dispossessed of the Duchy of Urbino, and who bore no friendly feelings towards the Pope. The first object of the allies was to prevent Milan from falling into the hands of the imperialists. The town was already taken, but the castle still held out. The besieging army was only 11,000, while the forces of the league numbered 20,000. But the Venetian troops were slow in crossing the Adda; and it was not till June 30 that the army of the league was united at Marignano. Even then Rovere delayed; and the experienced generals of the Emperor used the time to strengthen their lines round Milan. When the allies at last arrived, they found that they could not break through the trenches, and the Castle of Milan was driven to surrender on July 24. Rovere professed to await the arrival of Swiss mercenaries before attacking Milan, and meanwhile diverted his troops to the siege of Cremona.

Thus the allies failed in their first object: and Charles was able to raise money and send it to the Duke of Bourbon, whose arrival filled the imperialists with fresh courage. At the same time another enterprise, which was of great importance to the Pope, ended in ignominious failure. Siena, which lay on the road between Rome and Florence, underwent one of its periodical revolutions after the battle of Pavia. The aristocratic government, which was in alliance with the Pope, was expelled by a popular rising, and the new government looked for help to the Emperor. The Sienese exiles, aided by troops from Rome and Florence, sought to regain their power; but the citizens were prepared for their attack, and there was no discipline amongst the assailants. An unexpected sortie drove them from the city, and they fled, abandoning their artillery, on July 25.

This ill-success filled Clement with alarm. On July 8 he had proclaimed the league in Rome with solemn pomp and pageantry. On August 1 he sat trembling in the Vatican counting the cost of his boldness. “I never saw a man so perplexed”, wrote the French ambassador. “He is almost ill, and said plainly that he never expected to be so treated. His ministers are more dead than alive”. Clement had believed in paper promises, and expected that in numbers was strength. He complained bitterly of the lukewarmness of Francis I and Henry VIII; had he not trusted in their persuasions he would never have committed himself so far; now they had done nothing; and he was plunged into expenses which he could not long endure, and saw nothing but ruin awaiting him.

Clement’s fears were amply justified. He had supposed that Francis and Henry would make some demonstration which would withdraw the imperial troops from Italy; or else that the forces of the league would rapidly disperse the ill-paid army in Lombardy. Neither of these things had happened; nay, the imperial army had been reinforced, and it had won advantages. Clement had gained nothing from his allies; but by his desertion of the Emperor had exposed himself to his personal enemies. Chief amongst these was Cardinal Colonna, to whose adhesion Clement had owed his election to the Papacy, Colonna was a strong imperialist and hoped to influence the policy of the Pope. In this he was disappointed; and his disappointment turned to open hostility, when in May, 1525, Clement refused to send him as ambassador to Spain. Colonna withdrew from Rome to the abbey of Subiaco, and employed himself in organizing his party. The Spanish envoys in March, 1526, proposed to Clement that he should summon Colonna to Rome to help by his advice in the negotiations which were then pending. Clement displayed an unusual amount of indignation for one so gentle, and denounced Colonna in no measured terms. Colonna retaliated by writing to Charles, offering to drive the Pope out of Rome, and turn Siena and Florence against him. When the breach with the Emperor took place, Moncada showed his knowledge of the Pope's vulnerable side by withdrawing to Genanzano. There he raised forces in Naples, and consulted with Cardinal Colonna, who could command the adhesion of almost all his house. It was an obvious plan that the Colonnesi should invade the Campagna, threaten Rome, and compel the Pope to withdraw his forces from Lombardy and Siena, if need were pressing.

The knowledge of such active foes in the immediate neighborhood of Rome was the cause of Clement’s alarm; and Moncada’s first intention was to work on the Pope's fears and induce him to abandon his allies. In fact, it was now obvious that the Pope was the weakest factor in the league; and the opinion of the astute Spanish diplomatists in Italy was, that the Emperor would be wise to make peace with the Pope, taking from him reasonable securities for the future; if he refused to make peace, he must be driven from Rome, and receive such a lesson as would make him harmless for the future.

The conception of this policy arose from a careful survey of actual facts. The Pope's enemies were close to Rome, and the forces of Naples lay behind them. It was intolerable, on military grounds, that an adversary whose basis was so easily assailable, should be allowed to detach his forces for warlike operations elsewhere. At first the Neapolitan barons felt scruples about attacking the lands of the Church. Had the league been successful, these scruples would have had increasing weight. But as the league was wasting time in fruitless undertakings, the advantages to be gained by a dash upon Rome became more and more obvious. On September 5, there was a rumor in Rome that Charles had submitted to his confessor the question, if he could withdraw from obedience to the Pope. One version of the story ran that the answer had been returned that, since the Pope had begun the war, it was lawful in self-defence to take any necessary measures.

The hostile attitude of the Colonnesi made it essential for the Pope to garrison Rome with 6000 foot and 600 horse. The payment of this garrison, when added to the payment of his contingent to an attack on Genoa, which was now the object of the league, was a heavy burden on the Papal finances. When Moncada found that he could do nothing by negotiation to separate Clement from his allies, he retired into the background, and allowed Vespasiano Colonna to discuss conditions which might be advantageous to both parties. The Colonnesi and the Neapolitans professed their unwillingness to make war against the Pope, but they wished to help the Emperor. For this purpose an agreement was made between Vespasiano Colonna and the Pope on August 22, whereby the Pope pardoned the Colonna on condition that they restored the places which they had seized, withdrew their troops into the Neapolitan territory, and undertook not to wage war from the lands which they held of the Church; otherwise they were at liberty to fight for the Emperor, and help in the defence of Naples. Accordingly the Colonna troops were withdrawn over the Neapolitan frontier, and Clement reduced the garrison of Rome to 500 men. He felt more secure now that immediate danger was averted, and could turn his attention to the tardy proceedings of the forces in Lombardy.

The separate interests of the allies were a hopeless hindrance to united action. The Papal forces were still watching Milan; the Venetian troops were besieging Cremona; while French reinforcements were closing around Genoa by land, and the fleet of the league was blockading it by sea. No great success could be expected from these separate undertakings; and Clement soon received a sharp reminder that his present policy lay outside the real interests of Europe and of Christendom. On September 18, the news reached Rome that, on the plain of Mohacs, King Lewis II of Hungary and all the chivalry of his realm had fallen in battle against the Turks, who, under their warrior Sultan Suleiman, were now masters of the Danube valley. Even Clement was for the moment struck by the unseemliness that Pope and Emperor should be contending for the possession of towns in Italy, while the enemies of the Christian Faith were destroying the bulwark of Christendom.

He summoned the Cardinals and ambassadors. With tears in his eyes he besought them to use their efforts for a truce. He proposed a conference with Charles, Francis, and Wolsey, and would go to Narbonne, or Perpignan, for the purpose. He expressed his readiness to go in person on an expedition against the Turks, and would devote his crosses, chalices, everything, to the purpose; if something were not rapidly done, the Turks would soon be in Rome plundering the Vatican. So spoke the Pope on September 19. Next day he found that there were those near at hand who had no scruples about spoiling the Papal palace; and he experienced a shock, which turned his mind away from crusading schemes and reduced him to struggle for his very existence.

The death of the Duke of Sessa on August 18, left the unscrupulous Moncada supreme director of affairs in South Italy; and Moncada had a clear perception of a useful stroke to be struck in the Emperor’s interest. He employed Vespasiano Colonna to lull the Pope into false security. Meanwhile he gathered 2000 men in the Abruzzi, and prevailed on the Council of Naples to send him 2800 more for an expedition against Siena. These, added to the troops of the Colonna, gave him a force of 6000 foot men and 800 horse. On September 16, he informed the Council of Naples that his real intention was to advance on Rome, 'whence all the mischief springs'; he asked them to help him by sending the Neapolitan fleet to Ostia. By a forced march he appeared unexpectedly before Rome on the night of September 19, and took possession of the Lateran Gate without meeting any resistance. He rode through the city with Cardinal Pompeo and his kinsmen, Vespasiano and Ascanio Colonna, and bivouacked in the palace by SS. Apostoli. The Roman people did not rise against them; for they were discontented with the Pope's government, and regarded the Colonna as citizens who were only exercising their rights. In fact the financial straits of Clement had led to oppressive taxation on the part of his minister, Cardinal Armellino. An impost on wine was very unpopular; the tolls on all things sold in the market were excessive; it is even said that he devised a tax on laundresses for washing in the Tiber. Moreover, the temper of the Romans was by no means warlike. Leo X, in the interests of public safety, had forbidden the bearing of arms, and the idea of a citizen militia had entirely disappeared. In vain the Conservators of the city, who were hated as upstarts, summoned the people to arms; they were answered that it was a device of theirs to impose a fine for breach of the law. No one feared the Colonnesi; they had come to settle their private grievances with the Pope. So the Romans looked on unmoved when, as morning dawned, a dash was made across the Ponte Sisto, and the troops captured the Porta di San Spirito, which was feebly defended, and pushed on to the Vatican.

At first Clement declared his resolution to seat himself, clad in full pontificals, in his chair, and face the rebels, as Boniface VIII had faced Sciarra Colonna. The Cardinals had little difficulty in persuading him that it was safer, if less dignified, to shut himself up in the Castle of S. Angelo. Scarcely had he gone before the Spanish troops rushed into the Vatican, and pillaged everything on which they could lay their hands. The sacred vessels of S. Peter’s were carried away. Nothing was respected. “There was no greater respect for religion”, says Guicciardini, “nor horror of sacrilege than if they had been Turks despoiling the churches of Hungary”. The rest of Rome was spared, but so much of the Borgo was pillaged as was out of the range of the guns of the castle. Moncada wished to read the Pope a severe lesson without incurring needless odium. He sought an interview with Clement and proposed terms of peace. Clement’s resolute attitude of resistance was short-lived, and on the evening of the 21st a truce was made for four months. The Pope agreed to withdraw his troops and fleet from the service of the league, while Moncada undertook to withdraw from Rome. The Colonna were to be pardoned, and the Pope gave two of his relations as hostages for the fulfillment of the treaty. When this had been settled Moncada, with many apologies for the damage done by his soldiers, withdrew his troops from Rome.

It was believed at the time that Cardinal Colonna was bitterly disappointed at the little use made of the brilliant opportunity. Men said that he wished Clement to be deposed or made away with, and himself elected in his stead. But it is obvious that the entire scheme was of Moncada’s devising, and that he had carefully considered how much responsibility it was wise for himself to assume. Charles had been informed by Cardinal Colonna of his project to drive the Pope out of Rome, and had commissioned Moncada to help him if need were. But it was to be done by Colonna himself; and if this appearance were to be kept up, the enterprise must necessarily wear the form of an unexpected onslaught for a personal object. The Colonna redressed their own grievances, and Moncada used the opportunity offered by their zeal. The Pope was terrified, and might withdraw from actively helping the league, on the plea that he was unable to send his troops from home. Moncada hoped to render the Pope amenable to reason by a summary process. Beyond this he did not venture to go.

In truth the seizure of Rome was an unwelcome revelation to Clement of his real position. Just as he had plucked up his courage to act as an Italian patriot, the feebleness of his power was ruthlessly manifested. Not only had he been ridiculously outmaneuvered, but he had no hold on Rome itself. His government was unpopular; he inspired no personal loyalty; he had no party in his favor. He could scarcely escape the galling reflection that the Papacy, with all its pretensions, was merely a puppet in the hands of the monarchs of Europe. Clement could only free himself from the power of Charles by the help of France and England. Henry and Francis urged him on to harass Charles, and then left him unsupported. Charles had mockingly reminded him of his impotence; and Clement had to consider whether or not he would regard the reminder as decisive.

Clement’s only policy was to lean on those bruised reeds, the Kings of France and England. At first he must seem to keep the convention made with Moncada and withdraw his troops from Lombardy. He accordingly ordered Guicciardini to return, but to leave as many soldiers as he decently could under the command of Giovanni dei Medici, as forming part of the Florentine contingent, and so not under the Pope’s control. Many of the troops were recalled to Rome, and the city soon wore a military appearance. But Clement talked of peace, and even proposed a journey in person to France and Spain for the purpose of bringing it about. His intention rapidly changed with the news that the army of the league had captured Cremona. He recovered from his fears, and even thought of drilling the Roman people into soldier-like ways. On October 2 the great bell of the Capitol, which had not been heard for sixty years, sent forth its summons in the night; and 4000 citizens assembled under arms only to hear that it was a false alarm. The Papal troops in Rome soon reached the respectable number of 10,000 men; and it became evident that Clement thought of nothing save vengeance on the treacherous house of Colonna.

Early in November the blow fell. The Papal troops stormed the castles of the Colonna, Marino, Frascati, Grotta Ferrata, Genanzano, and others. They fired the houses, pulled down the walls, and scattered ruin on every side. The luckless peasantry fled to Rome in utter destitution, the women bearing their helpless children on their backs. It was said with truth that the Turk had not acted more cruelly to the Hungarians than had this Pope to Christians living in the dominions of the Church. When the Spaniards tried to interfere, Clement answered that the Emperor could not object to his punishing rebellious vassals. When he was told that it was a breach of his agreement, he replied that Cardinal Colonna had been summoned to Rome to answer for his conduct, and that plea could then be discussed. In pursuance of this determination a Consistory was held on November 21, in which Cardinal Colonna, his brothers and nephews, were deprived of all their dignities. Perez was of opinion that the Pope in his severity against the Colonna was providing a means of escape from the Emperor’s wrath; he could offer the restoration of the Colonna as a condition that all else should be forgiven.

The question was still unsettled. What was the Emperor’s attitude towards the Pope? Diplomatic relations were certainly strained since the publication of the league in Rome. Clement had justified that step by a manifesto addressed to Charles, dated June 23. He rehearsed the various services which he had rendered to Charles before and after his accession to the Papal throne; the failure of his hopes of the Emperor’s forbearance in Italy; his endeavors for the peace of Italy and security for the Duke of Milan; the wickedness of the Emperor's agents in Italy; the refusal to make satisfaction to his moderate and necessary complaints; the despair which at last led him to make common cause with the league. When it was too late Moncada arrived with terms which might have been discussed if they had come earlier. As it was, the Pope saw no other way of defending justice and procuring peace save by taking up arms, not to attack the Emperor, but to defend his own, to maintain the cause of his country and the dignity of Christendom. This manifesto was delivered to Charles by a Papal nuncio on August 20, and awakened in him, as he says himself, “boundless astonishment”. Gattinara was charged to draw up an answer, in which the violence of the Pope’s language was loftily reproved. The Pope said that he had not neglected the duties of his high office; the information which the Emperor had received did not agree with that statement. The Pope said that he only wished to defend himself; no one was attacking him. The Emperor then went on to give his account of the matters of which the Pope complained, and declared that his own conduct had given no just ground for mistrust. As for the Pope's statement that Moncada came too late, it was unworthy of the chief pastor of the Church to put any agreement made with other princes before his duty of averting bloodshed. If any evil befalls Christendom, the Emperor is not to blame. If the Pope persists in acting, not as a father but as a partisan, the Emperor will appeal to a General Council, which he asks the Pope to summon at once in some safe place.

So spoke Clement and Charles with simulated dignity. But Clement did not feel equal to the majesty of his first utterance, and two days later sent a second letter, in which he spoke more mildly and expressed his wish for peace. Charles followed his example, and addressed him a second letter of a more pacific kind on the day after his first was sent. Yet he did not abandon the position which he had taken up, and on October 6 wrote to the Cardinals exhorting them to dissuade the Pope from his impious designs. He urged the service which he had rendered to the Church in Germany, the growing hostility to the Papacy, and the necessity of a General Council. If the Cardinals did not provide for the summoning of a Council, it would be the duty of the Emperor so to act as to show his zeal for the welfare of the Church.

All this, however, was merely for public display, Charles was dealing with the Pope by means of Moncada and the Colonna; and Moncada was the first to advise the Emperor to disavow any knowledge of his action in plundering Rome. In a letter written on September 24 he wrote: “It seems to me that your majesty ought to show great regret at what has befallen the Pope, and especially at the sack of his palace. You should give complete satisfaction to the nuncio, and write to the Pope so as to cheer him in his misfortune. It would be well to write to the Cardinals also, and to assure all Christian princes that what has happened was contrary to your will and intentions; and you should do this in such a way as to ensure complete publicity”. Perhaps Charles did not need this advice; but, anyhow, he acted upon it. The invasion of Rome was a deplorable episode, which was not allowed to affect the high political considerations by which the Emperor was moved. Clement might draw from it his own conclusions; but the Emperor would not help him by assuming any responsibility whatever. If the Pope chose to wreak his vengeance on the Colonna, that was his own affair. If the lesson which he had received did not teach him wisdom, he had only himself to blame. The political maxims of Italy were now an open secret; and Moncada was an apt expounder of the principles by which the Borgia had aimed at dominion.

Clement, however, did not long enjoy his triumph over the Colonna. He heard with dread of the unexpected success of the Emperor in raising new forces for reinforces the Italian war. Lannoy sailed from Spain with 10,000 men, and landed at Gaeta on December 1. A body of 12,000 German lanzknechts, mainly Lutherans, under the command of Georg von Frundsberg, made their way across the Alps in November. The general of the league, the Duke of Urbino, was still engaged in blockading the imperial troops under Bourbon in Milan. When he heard of the arrival of Frundsberg’s reinforcements, he saw the necessity of preventing their union with Bourbon, but chose the doubtful plan of dividing his forces, so as to watch both detachments of the enemy at the same time. The result was that he was not strong enough to engage with Frundsberg; and the attempt to impede his march only led to a series of indecisive skirmishes, in one of which Giovanni dei Medici received his death-wound, and Italy lost its one general of eminence. The Duke of Urbino’s plans entirely failed. In the middle of December Frundsberg was at Piacenza waiting for Bourbon, while the army of the league was dispersed, and powerless to prevent their junction.

In addition to these causes of alarm the Emperor gained an important ally in Italy itself. The Duke of Ferrara, who had long hesitated, gave m his adhesion to Charles at the end of November. Clement, by his pertinacious attempts to win back Reggio and Rubiera, drove Alfonso to join the imperial side. In this, as in all else, he could not bring himself to renounce the opportunity for making small gains, even while he embarked on a large policy which was fraught with danger. But the defection of Alfonso was a severe blow; and when the Ferrarese ambassador announced it to the Pope he answered angrily : “If the duke wishes to make the Emperor master of all Italy, let him do so; much good may it bring him”.

Clement’s condition of mind was described by one who saw him. “The holy father is in such a state that he does not know where he is”. He was somewhat comforted by the arrival of an emissary from Lannoy, who brought letters from the Emperor excusing himself from any share in the plundering of Rome by the Colonna. He at once sent envoys to Lannoy, who was warned by Perez that, unless he obtained valid securities, promises were of no avail. “The doctrine is openly professed at Rome that no compulsory act need be valid. This plea has been used to justify the attack on the lands of the Colonna”. Again we see that the political tricks of Italy had been found out, and that the Spaniards knew exactly the principles of the Papal Court. Moreover, they knew that it was well sometimes to make a show of their astuteness. On December 12 Perez entered the Consistory accompanied by a notary and four witnesses. He handed in two letters addressed by the Emperor to the Pope, and one to the College of Cardinals; then he retired and procured an attestation of the delivery of the documents. Clement was very angry at this suspicious treatment; and the rumors which spread among the Roman people made Perez tremble for his personal safety.

Clement was so anxious for an answer from Lannoy that he sent Cardinal Schomberg to hasten matters. The answer came on December 12, proposing a truce for six months, as security for which the Pope was to give up either Parma, Piacenza, or Civita Vecchia and Ostia, and further was to pay a sum of money. Clement thought himself lucky to get such easy terms, but hoped by prolonging negotiations to escape the money payment, and gain time, in case anything should happen to his advantage. Lannoy, who was carefully watching, raised his terms and demanded peace instead of truce. Clement refused to make peace without consulting his allies, but was willing to pay 120,000 or 150,000 ducats for a six months’ truce, and would discuss other matters personally with the Viceroy. Lannoy, seeing that the Pope was only endeavoring to gain time, again raised his terms, demanding Pisa and Livorno from Florence and the restoration of the Colonna at Rome. Clement answered that he was willing to make conditions of peace, but if everything was to be taken from him he would rather be deprived by force than by agreement. To show that he did not mean to be pressed any further, he issued on January 1, 1527, a monitory against Lannoy and the Colonna. Perez sent the news to Lannoy with the remark that it was a foolish step to take while he was negotiating for peace, and that it could be of no use, because if Lannoy meant war he would not be hindered by a monitory. In fact Lannoy joined the Colonna, who with the help of some Neapolitan forces were besieging Frosinone.

Clement had received promises of help from France, and on January 8 arrived Renzo da Ceri, without money, and with little to offer save his name, for he was a capable soldier and had defended Marseilles in 1524. Under his leadership the Papal army assumed a more military appearance, and the defence of Frosinone was gallantly maintained. Clement thought it wise, despite the remonstrances of the Cardinals, to embrace this opportunity of coming to terms with Lannoy; and on January 28 agreed to pay 150,000 ducats, place Parma, Piacenza, and Civita Vecchia in the hands of a third party as pledges, and restore the Colonna. The truce was to be for three years, and Venice might join it on paying a sum of money. A courier was sent to Venice; but before his return the Pope had changed his mind. Some money arrived from France; Lannoy was worsted before Frosinone and was driven to retreat on February 3. Clement’s advisers joyfully assured him that the time was come when he could use his money to exterminate his enemies; and Clement thought that at least he could make better terms. He therefore withdrew his offer to pay money or restore the Colonna, and employed the English envoy, Sir John Russell, who had just come to Rome, as his agent in negotiating with Lannoy. Russell was of opinion that a brief truce would break up the imperial army, and would give England an opportunity for mediating, which was the aim of Wolsey’s policy. He found Lannoy so downcast by his reverses that he was prepared to offer a truce without either money payment, surrender of towns, or restoration of the Colonna. Lannoy had little grasp of the real position of affairs, and believed that the help given to the Pope by France and England was greater than it really was. Perhaps he was jealous of Bourbon, or had no hopes that the northern army would hold together when their pay was not forthcoming. Anyhow he rapidly abandoned the position which he had taken up a month before. Instead of dictating terms to the Pope, he humbly sued for a truce.

Clement had thus improved his position by foreign aid, and in consequence was in the hands of his foreign advisers. Russell, when he returned to Rome, besought the Pope not to make peace for himself, but to consult his allies. The French and Venetians did their utmost to dissuade him. Clement pleaded his poverty, his inability to withstand Lannoy by his own means, his fears for Florence if the northern army marched against it. Words ran high in the Pope's presence, and Clement vaguely tried to keep the peace. Again time was gained by sending to consult the Venetians, while Clement was watching to see if Florence was really in danger. Things seemed so threatening in North Italy that Clement at last judged that the time was come when he must consult his own interests. Without waiting for an answer from Venice he concluded a truce with Lannoy on March 15. The truce was to be for eight months, and Venice and France might make themselves parties if they chose; the places occupied in the kingdom of Naples, and in the Papal States, were to be restored; the northern army was to retire into Lombardy, and, if France and Venice joined the league, was to withdraw from Upper Italy. The Pope further stipulated for the ransom of the two hostages whom he had given to Moncada in September, in return for a payment of 60,000 ducats.

Neither party was satisfied with the result. It was not honorable to Lannoy, who abandoned the Colonna, in return for greater ease at Naples. All that Perez could say in its favour was, that it greatly annoyed France and Venice. Clement could only plead to his allies his poverty and helplessness, as an excuse for abandoning them. At last he was in earnest about peace, and welcomed Lannoy to Rome on March 25 for the negotiation of the treaty.

It was not, however, the fear of Lannoy that had led the Pope into the paths of peace, but anxiety about the doings of the German and Spanish troops in Northern Italy, where on February 19 Bourbon and Frundsberg united their forces. The advantage of the alliance with the Duke of Ferrara was now manifest; for by his help the army rapidly marched to San Giovanni, between Bologna and Ferrara, with the intention of advancing upon Florence. But the imperial generals were at their wits’ end to provide for their soldiers. The country was desolate; the season was exceptionally wet, and the rain fell in torrents upon the soldiers, who were absolutely destitute of supplies. A sum of 15,000 ducats was raised by the Duke of Ferrara and distributed among the Germans, as the Spaniards seemed more patient. On March 13 orders were given to march next morning. But the good temper of the Spanish troops had been overestimated, and before going farther they resolved to present their grievances. At night-fall they rushed to the tent of the Duke of Bourbon, clamoring for pay with such fury that he fled and sought refuge with Frundsberg. The Germans, hearing the noise, made for Bourbon's tent with cries of “Geld, geld”; when they found the general gone, they ate the supper that was prepared for him, carried off his silver plate, and made havoc of all his furniture. The two bodies of mutineers spent the night in consultation. They paid no heed to orders that they were to return to their quarters, but answered by sending deputations to demand their pay. At noon next day an agreement was made by the Marquis of Guasto and Juan de Urbina, who were able by their personal influence to induce the Spaniards to be content with the promise of a crown a piece. Frundsberg was not successful with the lanzknechts, who would not be satisfied with less than half their arrears of pay. The Abbot of Najera and the Marquis of Guasto hastened to Ferrara to raise the money, and returned with 12,000 ducats, which were immediately distributed. But on the following day, March 16, the mutineers made a fresh demand that the Duke of Bourbon should promise more pay when they were arrived at Florence, and should undertake to pay arrears in full, amounting to 150,000 ducats, on April 21. Bourbon refused to make a promise which he could not fulfill, and the storm grew louder. Frundsberg exerted himself to calm his troops, and in his agitation fell down in a fit of apoplexy. He was carried to Ferrara, where he died.

This was the state of things in the camp when on March 19 a messenger arrived from Lannoy with the news of the armistice concluded by the Pope. Lannoy excused himself on the ground of the damage done to Naples by the enemy’s galleys and of his ill-success in the field. He advised Bourbon of the speedy arrival of Cesaro Ferramosca with the articles for his signature, and added that Bourbon must make up his own mind about his answer; if he thought fit to advance, let him do so; if Lannoy felt strong enough, he also, when things had gone far enough, could advance against Rome but great caution was needed. It was natural that such a message should suggest to the imperial generals a way of escape from their pressing difficulties. Why should not they advance, and extract from the Pope’s terror at least the terms which Lannoy had first demanded, the payment of 200,000 or 300,000 ducats which were so sorely needed for their troops? The Duke of Ferrara was consulted and warmly approved of this device; but its execution was left to be determined by events.

On March 23 Cesaro Ferramosca arrived with the articles of the treaty; and on the 25th Bourbon summoned the captains of the army, and ordered Ferramosca to explain to them his commission. They answered that they must lay the matter before their several companies. The Spaniards at once declared their wish to advance, even without pay; they would not turn back till they had been paid in full. The Germans, whom Bourbon had promised to pay on April 20, at first were ready to obey. But the Spaniards told them that the alternative, of invading the Venetian advancing against Rome. Still it does not seem that any of the onlookers saw the gravity of the situation. The English envoy, Casale, and the Spanish secretary, Speron, both thought that, after a hostile demonstration against Rome, the imperialist troops would pass on to Naples, which they would hold in pledge for their arrears of pay. Perez hoped that the Neapolitan troops would advance and keep Bourbon's forces from pillaging Rome. Such was the general uncertainty that the goods of many of the Florentine citizens were being brought into Rome for safe custody, while the Papal troops were marching out to hold Viterbo against the approaching army.

On May 3 came the news that Bourbon had passed Viterbo, and the alarm was great in Rome. Preparations for defence were still carried on by Renzo da Ceri; but Clement doubted the military powers of the Roman citizens. At one time he thought of going forth to address them, but his courage failed. Men were busy packing up their goods to send to Ancona, but were stayed from flight by the Pope's orders, and no one was allowed to quit the city. Clement was still of good courage. He thought that Bourbon could not attack the city till he had brought his artillery from Siena; before that could be done, the army of the league would march southwards, and force him to retire to Naples.

On May 4, Bourbon was at Isola Farnese, six miles from Rome. He expected to receive a messenger from the Pope, proposing terms of peace and offering money. His generals were uneasy at the prospect before them; if they failed to take Rome, they would be lost; if they succeeded, they knew the fearful pillage that would follow, and dreaded its results. Bourbon listened to their representations, and on the morning of May 3 sent a trumpeter with a letter to the Pope. His messenger was not allowed to enter the city, and no answer was returned to the letter. Renzo da Ceri was confident that, with the 3000 men under his command, he could defend the walls against a rabble of famished soldiers, destitute of artillery. Bourbon saw that this was a point for immediate decision, and wished to lead his soldiers to the assault in the evening. But they were wearied with marching and pleaded for rest. The enterprise was put off till the following morning. Then he cheered his troops by pointing out that all things were possible to men of valour. Behind them was the army of the league; around them was hunger and poverty; before them lay Rome and riches; there was no way to cross the Tiber, except by the bridges of Rome.

In the grey dawn of May 5 Bourbon’s forces advanced to the attack, carrying such ladders as they found in the neighboring vineyards. They chose the part where the walls were lowest, on the summit of the Vatican hill, between the gates of San Pancrazio and Santo Spirito. At first the fire of the defenders of the wall played heavily upon the assailants, and the cannon of the Castle of S. Angelo scattered their ranks. But the beams of the rising sun caused a dense fog, under cover of which the imperialists advanced noiselessly, and the fire from the walls was rendered ineffective. The Duke of Bourbon was foremost in the assault, and when he reached the walls seized a ladder and called to his men to follow. Scarcely had he placed his foot upon it before a ball from a musket struck him in the groin, and he fell to the ground. He was borne from the field, and lived long enough to receive the last sacraments, and express his wish that the Prince of Orange should succeed to his command. Then he died, murmuring in his last agony: “To Rome; to Rome”.

The fall of their leader only increased the fury of his followers; and the attack became so fierce in so many places that the defenders grew bewildered. When a few Spanish soldiers appeared unexpectedly on the walls of the Borgo a cry was raised : “The enemy are in the city”, and every one fled to seek safety for himself. The Spaniards pursued with the shout of: “España! España! Ammazza! Ammazza!”. Some of the fugitives made for the Ponte Sisto, hoping to find safety across the Tiber; others fled to the Castle of S. Angelo, where they found the entrance blocked by a struggling crowd of Cardinals, prelates, officials of the Court, merchants and women. Those who came first were lucky in gaining entrance; at last the bewildered guard with difficulty let down the rusty portcullis and closed the gate. Cardinal Pucci was pushed down in the scramble and seriously injured; but some of his household managed to push him in through a window. Cardinal Armellino, who had been left outside, was placed in a basket and drawn up to the top of the castle by a rope. Clement, who was on his knees in his chapel, was warned by the shouts and shrieks of pursuers and pursued that it was time for flight. He just succeeded in escaping from the Vatican; for "had he stayed long enough to say three creeds", wrote an eye-witness, "he would have been taken". Already muskets were being fired outside, when Clement hurried along the gallery which led from the Vatican to the Castle. He wept and moaned that everybody had betrayed him. Paolo Giovio gathered up his train and carried it that he might run faster, throwing over the Pope’s head and shoulders his own violet cloak, lest the white color of the Papal vestments might attract attention. He was followed by thirteen Cardinals and most of the officials of the Court.

At first only the Borgo was taken; and Renzo da Ceri still hoped to save the rest of the city. He went to the Capitol, and proposed to the Council that they should break down the bridges, and defend the southern walls against the Colonna, if they attempted to enter. But the Romans were not prepared for heroic measures. They would not sacrifice their beautiful bridges; and they did not see their way to exclude the Colonna, who were Roman citizens like themselves. They still thought that, by deserting the Pope and placing themselves under the protection of the imperialist party, they would escape more easily than by fighting. In the midst of their hesitation, a trumpeter was dispatched from the Borgo, summoning Trastevere to surrender. Renzo refused to parley, and led such troops as would follow him to the defence of Trastevere, which was the next object of the enemy's attack. But in this condition of divided policy, his troops offered no effective resistance. As soon as they were assailed by a volley of musketry from the vineyards on the Janiculum, they threw away their arms and fled over the Ponte Sisto. Renzo and a few French soldiers made their way to the Castle of S. Angelo. By two o'clock in the afternoon the fighting was over. Shortly afterwards Guido Rangone arrived with 800 trained soldiers to help the Romans, but finding that all resistance had ceased could do nothing save retire.

Clement was now ready to open negotiations; and at first the imperialist captains, uncertain of the difficulties which might still be before them, were inclined to listen. But when they saw that the efforts of the defence had ceased, they moved in military order to the Porta Settimiana, and thence to the Ponte Sisto, slaying all who came in their way. After crossing the bridge, they encamped for the night in the Piazza Navona and the Campo dei Fiori.

Then began a scene of unimaginable horror. A horde of 40,000 ruffians, free from all restraint, gratified their elemental lusts and passions at the expense of the most cultivated population in the world. They were worse than barbarians, for they possessed all the vices of depraved civilization. Brutalized by hardships, by poverty, by suffering; of different nations, Germans, Spaniards, Italians; they were held together by no common bond save that of boundless cupidity and wild desire. Rome was at the mercy, not of a conquering army, but of a host of demons inspired only with avarice, cruelty, and lust. As soon as the soldiers found that resistance was over, they rushed like a pack of wolves upon the defenseless houses, whose trembling masters were standing at the doors, offering quarters and begging for mercy. No heed was paid to their prayers. They were slain, or seized and maltreated, that they might show where their riches were concealed. No age nor sex was spared. The women were violated, till fathers slew their daughters out of compassion, and mothers tore out their own eyes that they might no longer be witnesses of the terrible scenes around them. Each nationality among the soldiers contributed its worst qualities to the utter depravation of the rest. The Germans were the most ferocious at first; and the Lutherans amongst them set an example, which was quickly followed, of disregard of holy places. The Spaniards excelled in deliberate cruelty. The Italians were the most inventive, and hounded on their comrades to new fields of discovery. Those who had taken refuge in churches were dragged out by the Lutherans; vestments, ornaments, and relics were seized by greedy hands. Monasteries were stormed and sacked; nuns were violated in the streets. Those who tried to barricade their houses were besieged and burned out. There was no distinction made between friend or foe. Spaniards, Flemings, and Germans resident in Rome were treated like the rest. The best that could befall them was to be made prisoners and escape with a heavy ransom. The streets were filled with the dying and the dead, amidst whom the soldiers staggered to and fro laden with heavy bundles of spoil. The groans of the dying were only interrupted by the blasphemies of the soldiers, and the shrieks of agonizing women who were being violated or hurled out of the windows.

For three days this indiscriminate butchery and pillage raged unchecked. On the fourth day the quarrels about the division of booty made it possible to re-establish some sort of discipline. Further slaughter was forbidden, and the soldiers were told to enjoy what they possessed. The Germans were ready to obey, and turned to drunkenness and buffoonery. Clad in magnificent vestments and decked with jewels, accompanied by their concubines, who were bedizened with like ornaments, they rode on mules through the streets, and imitated with drunken gravity the processions of the Papal Court. The Spaniards were not so easily contented. They had no pleasure in anti-Papal demonstrations; they were devout sons of the Church and respected holy places, when it was not inconvenient. But they were determined to use to the full the opportunity which was in their power for gathering riches. They had gleaned the field most diligently; but there still remained the discovery of secret hoards of wealth, and the possibility of extracting ransoms from those who had possessions or friends elsewhere. For this purpose they had recourse to every refinement of cruelty. They hung up their prisoners by the arms; they thrust hot irons into their flesh, or pointed sticks beneath their finger nails; they pulled out their teeth one by one, and invented divers means of ingenious mutilation.

The Cardinals of the imperialist party, who had trusted that they would be treated as friends, had reason to regret their confidence. The Cardinal of Siena, in spite of his ancestral devotion to the imperial side, had to pay a ransom to the Spaniards; he was then seized by the Germans, who dragged him naked through the streets, beating him with their fists till he agreed to pay them 5000 ducats. The Cardinal of Araceli met with still more ignominious treatment. The Germans laid him on a bier, and bore him through the streets as dead; they placed the bier in a church and celebrated mock obsequies, singing ribald songs over the pretended corpse, and attributing to him every form of vice. Other Cardinals were taken for enforced rides, mounted behind a trooper, amid the jeers of his comrades. The inferior prelates fared still worse. A lanzknecht was pulling off the episcopal ring from a bishop's finger, when a corporal exclaimed: “I will show you a shorter way”. Drawing his dragger, he hacked off the finger, drew the ring, and flung the finger into the prisoner’s face.

Some refuge was provided for men of position by the arrival in Rome of Cardinal Colonna on May 10. He came full of exultation at the chastisement which had befallen the Pope, who had attacked his house; but when he saw the miserable condition of the city he burst into tears, and did his utmost to mitigate the universal distress. Though his authority was of small avail, yet his palace was a secure refuge; and there the luckless Cardinals found a home when they could contrive to escape from the hands of their persecutors. But the security of the Colonna palace was only due to the troops who accompanied the Cardinal and defended the gates against assailants. No other house was secure. The ambassador of Portugal, nephew of the king, refused to pay a ransom, and trusted in the strength of his palace and the protection of the Portuguese flag. The gates were carried by assault; all who had taken shelter were dragged away; everything was plundered; and the ambassador himself, captured half naked, was only rescued from personal indignity by the intervention of Juan de Urbina, and the promise to pay 14,000 ducats. The Markgraf of Brandenburg, resident in Rome, was made prisoner. The Marchioness of Mantua saved her palace with difficulty by the intervention of her son, who was a captain in the imperial army; but all the Romans who had taken refuge there were held to ransom; and the Marchioness was subject to such threats from the lanzknechts that she thought it prudent to set sail from Ostia as soon as she could. Even the Emperor’s secretary, Perez, had to purchase security by paying 2000 ducats, for which a couple of Spanish soldiers agreed to guard his house. He could only express his thankfulness to heaven that he had escaped so easily.

While such was the miserable fate of the Papal capital, the Pope remained shut up in the Castle of S. Angelo. His conduct throughout this crisis showed the same vacillation which always marked him. He took no personal part in anything that concerned the defence of Rome. He did not venture to summon the citizens, or visit the walls, or exhort his soldiers. He did not even try to save the Papal dignity by timely flight, that by his presence he might hasten the tardy advance of the army of the league. When the enemy was inside the city, he made no effective efforts to come to terms. During the terrible days of pillage he sat waiting for the arrival of the relieving army, and made no effort of his own to intercede. Trusting in the strength of the Castle of S. Angelo, he hoped to gain time by negotiating. On May 7 he requested that someone might be sent to arrange terms. Juan Bartolome de Gattinara arrived for that purpose, and found Clement seated weeping amongst his thirteen Cardinals. He whined out that all his misfortunes had come through his trust in Lannoy; he was no longer in a condition to think of defence, and placed himself and the Cardinals in the hands of the Emperor. Gattinara consoled him with the reflection that his misfortunes arose chiefly from his own fault in not sending money in time to pay the army; now he had no course open except submission, and Gattinara undertook to arrange terms. He did his best; but Clement was only seeking to gain time and still hoped that the Duke of Urbino would come to his relief. For four days Gattinara was employed in running to and fro, while Clement exercised his ingenuity in raising objections to the form in which the capitulation was drawn up. Finally the lanzknechts interfered, and declared that they would not consent to leave Rome till they had received their arrears of pay amounting to 300,000 ducats. They did not see why the Pope, and those who had shut themselves up in the castle, should escape on easier terms than their less fortunate brethren. Clement declared that he had not with him more than 10,000 ducats; and negotiations came to a standstill, while imploring letters were sent to the Duke of Urbino to hasten his advance. But the duke was as dilatory as ever; and his delay gave the imperial leaders time to restore military discipline in their army, which had been demoralized by its rapid success. They pointed out the dangers to be apprehended from a sudden attack, and gathered forces enough to blockade the Castle of S. Angelo. The generals also were anxious to assure themselves of their victory by having the Pope a prisoner in their hands; they were ready to make themselves personally liable for the pay of the lanzknechts and trust to recover from the Pope later. On May 18 Clement was prepared to sign the capitulation; but when Gattinara went for his signature on the next day he found that new difficulties were raised. After much debate Clement at last exclaimed: “I wish to deal fairly with you. I have made a capitulation which is little to my honor, and would willingly escape from the disgrace. I hear that the army of the league is close at hand, and I ask for a term of six days to see if I am succored. When a fortress is summoned to surrender such a condition is generally granted”. Gattinara answered that such a proposal would show the imperial captains that the negotiations had only been a device to gain time; they would break off further dealings, and would assault the castle; if they took it there would be no place for repentance, but the Apostolic See would be ruined forever. This caused great consternation, and the Pope consulted with his advisers what he should do. The French and English ambassadors, Alberto Carpi and Gregory Casale, induced him to adhere to his demand for a delay of six days. The imperialists dug a deep trench round the castle and reduced it to a state of siege; at the same time the sense of approaching danger brought the soldiers increasingly back to their military duties.

The army of the league set out from Florence on May 3; but it was not till the 22nd that the Duke of Urbino reached Isola. He did not venture to attack the of the enemy; for his troops could not be depended on and many of them deserted. The Colonna carried on a series of skirmishes, in which they were generally successful; and the army of the league began to suffer from want of food. The strict blockade of the Castle of S. Angelo prevented the Pope from holding communication with his lukewarm friends. It soon became evident that the siege would not be raised by the efforts of the Duke of Urbino; and Clement was obliged to re-open negotiations for surrender. He made one last attempt to gain better terms by summoning to Rome Lannoy, who arrived on May 28. Clement hoped that Lannoy’s presence might introduce discord amongst the imperialists. Since Bourbon's death no one held the Emperor's commission as general of the army. Juan de Urbina was most popular with the Spanish soldiers; but the Prince of Orange declared that he would serve under no one without the Emperor's orders, and he was allowed to exercise the authority of chief commander. But Lannoy, as Viceroy of Naples, might claim to be supreme; and Clement endeavored to gain time by demanding his ratification as a necessary guarantee. Lannoy, however, was powerless before the army, who looked on him with disfavor, as the man who had already tried to interfere with their plans of dealing with the Pope; so after a few days’ sojourn in Rome Lannoy, fearing for his personal safety, withdrew to Civita Lavigna.

Clement was now at the end of his resources. The army of the league was useless, and on June 2 withdrew to Viterbo. Lannoy was useless. The imperial army did not disband, in spite of pestilence and the difficulty of obtaining food. The siege of the castle was steadily maintained, and the provisions of the besieged began to fail. There was nothing for the Pope save to agree to the terms which he had vainly striven to escape. On June 5 he signed the capitulation, by which he placed himself and his Cardinals in the hands of the imperial generals; agreed to pay in installments 400,000 ducats for the payment of the army; surrendered Ostia, Civita Vecchia, Modena, Parma, and Piacenza; restored the Colonna; and revoked all censures and excommunications incurred by those engaged in war against the Apostolic See. On June 7 the garrison of S. Angelo marched out and was escorted on its way from Rome. A garrison of Spaniards and Germans took its place. The Pope was thus a prisoner in the Emperor's hands.

It was a question how the Emperor had best use his power, and the advice tendered to him by those on the spot is full of interest. It shows that Luther and the German rebels only spoke out what everybody felt, when they maintained that the relation of national Churches to the Papacy was a matter of convenience, to be determined on grounds of expediency. The defenders of the Papacy frankly admitted that they upheld it in their own interests, and that the form in which it should exist depended simply on political considerations. “We are waiting”, wrote Gattinara from Rome on June 8, “to know how your majesty intends the city of Rome to be governed: whether it is to be some sort of Apostolic Seat or no. The opinion of many of your majesty’s servants is that the Apostolic Seat should not be entirely removed from Rome; for then the King of France will set up a patriarch in his kingdom, and deny obedience to the Apostolic Seat; the King of England will do likewise, and so will all other Christian princes. The opinion of your majesty's servants is that it would be best to keep the Apostolic Seat so low that your majesty can always dispose of it and command it. Provision should be made for this purpose at once, lest the officials and members of the Curia leave the city, and so reduce it to nothing by removing all its business. The Pope and Cardinals have asked me to inform your majesty on this point; as they think your majesty does not wish the Apostolic Seat to be entirely ruined”.

This was the opinion of the moderate men amongst the Spaniards in Italy. More advanced opinion was expressed by Lope de Soria, ambassador at Genoa, who regarded the sack of Rome as a judgment of God, and looked forward to the prospect of a real reformation of the Church. Let the Emperor take to himself the lands of the Papacy, and reduce the Pope to the discharge of spiritual functions only.

Charles, however, was not the man to commit himself to any far-reaching scheme without counting the cost. He had been quite willing that Bourbon should inflict some chastisement on the Pope, and wrote to him, before he heard the news of his death: “I do not know what you may have done with the Pope; but what I desire is a good peace. I hope you will take care not to be deceived, and will prevail on the Pope to take the trouble to come here for the purpose of establishing definitely a universal peace”. When the news of what had actually happened first reached him, he doubtless wished that the success of his army had not been quite so complete. But he had an answer ready to the remonstrances which he received —an answer which breathed the old spirit of imperial superiority to the Papacy, and manifested the intention of using the opportunity to the full. He set forth his services to Christendom, and especially to the Papacy; he had defended the Papal power in Germany, and his efforts had been requited by the friendship of Leo X and Adrian VI; Clement had thought fit to break the peace made by the treaty of Madrid, and raise an Italian league for the purpose of attacking the kingdom of Naples. The Emperor's protests were disregarded; the truce made with Moncada was broken; the Emperor was compelled to send troops to succour Naples; those troops, knowing the Papal capacity for deceit, were unwilling to accept the truce made with Lannoy, though the Emperor would have been contented with it; they seized Rome and wrought much damage, though the extent of that damage had been greatly exaggerated. This had happened without the will of any one—a manifest sign that it was the judgment of God—though the Emperor regretted it so much that he would rather have been defeated than win such a victory. However, as such was the pleasure of God, who from great evil works still greater good, Charles was determined to carry on his work for the good of Christendom and the welfare of the Church.

Charles, in fact, did not find his position immediately improved by the capture of the Pope. Already, before his success in Italy, there were negotiations proceeding in England for a close alliance between Henry and Francis; and Wolsey prepared the way by proposing to the Emperor a modification of the treaty of Madrid, which Charles was not inclined to accept. Francis wished to obtain the restoration of his sons, and the commutation of the claim for Burgundy into a money payment. When Charles was stubborn, Francis turned to the English alliance; and the captivity of the Pope gave an additional color to the interests of the contracting parties. In the festivities wherewith the French Court celebrated the alliance in June, “there was a play of shepherds which brought in the ruin of Rome”. Francis showed his earnestness by sending an army of 20,000 men under Lautrec, who entered North Italy in the beginning of August. He did not, however, pay much heed to the exhortations of the Papal nuncio, who implored him to march straight to Naples, where he would find an easy victory, and whence he could march against Lombardy at his pleasure. He preferred the more straightforward course of taking things in the order in which they came, and after capturing Alessandria, Vigevano, and other smaller places, laid siege to Milan, which was driven to surrender early in October.

Thus, in military matters, the position of the Emperor in Italy was by no means strong. Lannoy surveyed the situation with tolerable accuracy in a letter written on August 18. “The imperial forces in Lombardy can scarcely defend Milan. The army in the States of the Church, through want of pay, is so out of discipline that it will be very difficult to bring it into order again. The Pope still hopes that your majesty's affairs will not go well in Italy; and indeed they never stood in greater danger. I have no good account of the Duke of Ferrara: I fear the French king will win him over by great promises. The Pope is glad of any trouble caused to your majesty; because it will be easier for him to settle with your majesty, who have for your enemies all the potentates of the world, and have no money wherewith to sustain so great a war. Therefore, if things could be secured by making peace with the Pope, I should advise to make some honorable agreement with his holiness. There are, however, two reasons against it: one, that his holiness has offended in many ways, and has been grievously offended, and there is no sufficient security by which your majesty can be sure of his friendship; the other is that, whatever his holiness agrees to, he cannot secure that, if the affairs of the league prosper in Lombardy, their forces will not invade Naples. Now that Lombardy is being assailed, I think the safest course is for me to take the Pope into the kingdom; and there I will try to bring his holiness to the necessary point, and will advise your majesty that you may be able to judge how to deal with him finally”.

This was the method of dealing with the Pope that was suggested by the exigencies of Italian politics. But his position as head of the Church opened out other considerations. Francis and Henry were, of course, greatly shocked at the Pope’s captivity, and put his liberation as one of the objects of their league. Henry had a strong motive for wishing to lay the Pope under an obligation. Wolsey was sent to France that he might settle with Francis the future of Europe. Amongst the subjects of deliberation was the prevention of Charles' supposed plan of summoning a General Council, depriving the Pope, and translating the Holy See to Spain or Germany. To prevent this it was proposed that the Cardinals who were at liberty should be summoned to meet Wolsey in France, and there should confer about the government of the Church during the Pope's captivity. Wolsey, on his arrival at Calais in July, proclaimed a fast on behalf of the Pope's liberation, that the Emperor's mind might be moved by a universal display of popular sorrow.

When Wolsey reached Paris he laid his scheme before the Papal nuncio, Cardinal Salviati, who at first was completely carried away by its plausibility. He quite agreed that a convention of Cardinals in France might provide for the preservation of the States of the Church, work for the Pope’s liberation, and arrange such matters as the Pope’s captivity prevented him from attending to. Such a display of energy would be an assertion of the indestructible vitality of the Church, and would show the Emperor that he could not hope, by keeping the Pope a prisoner, to dispose of the spiritual jurisdiction of the Papacy.

Wolsey’s diplomacy was as usual wonderfully successful; he arranged a marriage between Mary of England and the eldest son of Francis; he settled all the details of the treaty which was to unite England and France in a perpetual peace; he received the highest marks of favor from the French king, who revealed to him the proposals of the Emperor, and exchanged ciphers, as a guarantee that neither party would carry on secret negotiations with the imperial Court. When this had been accomplished Wolsey turned to the Papal question in the middle of August, and slowly disclosed his plans to the astonished Cardinals who had come to Compiegne to meet him. Wolsey had a scheme for protecting the Papacy from undue pressure by the Emperor; and his scheme was practically a proposal that the Papacy should place itself in the hands of Henry and Francis. He suggested, purely as a provisional measure, that himself should be appointed Papal Vicar, with full power to grant dispensations and the like. “See”, exclaimed the luckless Salviati, “to what straits we are reduced; but if the Pope be set free there will be a remedy for all”.

However, Salviati did his best to hinder Wolsey’s schemes. He approached the French Chancellor Duprat with an offer of a Cardinal's hat, which he said the Pope had determined to give him on the first occasion possible; he was horrified to receive the answer that Wolsey had already made a similar promise, and that Wolsey’s promise was better than the Pope’s. However much he might trust that the good understanding between France and England would not last long, he saw that Wolsey had taken the curb between his teeth and could not be checked at present. He dreaded lest any opposition should lead to an immediate withdrawal of obedience on the part of France and England; and to avoid this disaster he thought it wise to dissemble for the purpose of gaining time. So the first definite move in Wolsey's game was agreed to by the French Cardinals present at Compiegne, who on September 16 signed a protest, declaring that they would never consent to any alienation of ecclesiastical lands, or to any creation of Cardinals, made while the Pope was in the Emperor's power; in the case of the Pope's death they would not recognize an election made in Rome; they besought the Pope to supply his own absence by entrusting his power and authority to another, who could take steps to meet the pressing necessity of immediate disaster.

It was clear that the imprisonment of the Pope was raising awkward questions, which would be settled on political and personal grounds. Ecclesiastical tradition had no more weight in France and England than in rebellious Germany.

Meanwhile the Pope remained helpless in the Castle of S. Angelo, receiving the news of repeated disaster. The severest blow was the first to fall. Florence wearied of the government of a Cardinal in the name of two illegitimate youths of the Medici house, and smarting under the heavy taxation imposed in the interests of the Pope, welcomed the news of the occupation of Rome, drove out the Medici, and restored its old form of popular government, with Niccolò Capponi as Gonfalonier. This was followed by the occupation of the cautionary towns, Ostia and Civita Vecchia, by the imperial troops. The Duke of Ferrara seized the opportunity of annexing Modena and Reggio, and then, having gained all that he could from the imperial alliance, veered round to the side of the league. The Venetians took Ravenna and Cervia, lest they should fall to the Duke of Ferrara. The Malatesta family again showed signs of life, and possessed themselves of Rimini and Imola. The Papal dominions were being dismembered on every side.

In Rome itself everything was in confusion. Pillage and carnage produced the usual result of famine and plague. Already on June 23, the death rate averaged two hundred a day, and food was hard to get. But the soldiers refused to leave Rome till they had been paid; and there was no man in the position of responsible leader. The first object of the Pope was to raise the money which he had promised; and in this he was helped by Lannoy, who wished to dispatch the troops to succor the army of Lombardy. For this purpose, a proposal was made to the Pope that Cardinal Colonna should be appointed Governor of Rome, and also receive legatine power. Clement answered that the army might do as it pleased, but must not ask for his consent. The difficulty of raising money caused delay; and the plague raged fiercely, till on July 1 the daily tale of deaths reached seven hundred. The soldiers murmured, and again became mutinous, so that the Prince of Orange withdrew from Rome, and such authority as there was ceased to exist. A detachment of the army retired, and encamped at Narni, still clamoring for money. The office of commander was offered to the Duke of Ferrara, who refused it. The captains of the imperial army, wearied with the long delay, summoned Lannoy to Rome, that he might give surety for the Papal payments; otherwise they threatened to advance into the kingdom of Naples. Lannoy, alarmed at this prospect, raised all the money that he could, and brought renewed pressure to bear on the Pope, who wept and entreated that he be put under no new restrictions. “It is disgrace enough”, he said, “that the three bare-footed friars who remain with me can only feed themselves by borrowing. I leave it to you to judge if this be honorable to the Emperor”. Attempts to devise means for satisfying the demands of the soldiers were wearily continued; till in the middle of September there was great fear that the exasperated troops would again take possession of Rome. The Germans threatened to set the city on fire, or sell it to the Venetians, or take the Pope's side, so that the Emperor should have no profit from his victory. To add to the difficulties Lannoy died on September 23, and was replaced by Moncada.

As yet the Emperor had given no sign of his intentions to his representatives in Italy. But on September 19 arrived at Naples Pierre de Veyre, bearing instructions to the Viceroy. He was bidden to induce the Pope, if possible to come to Spain; if not, to reestablish him in the possession of his spiritual functions; in regard to the temporal power, he was to take care that the Emperor was not deceived as he had been in the past; the Pope was to be reduced to a condition in which he would have no power to do harm, if he had the will. The death of Lannoy left the full responsibility of carrying out these instructions to Veyre, who was impressed with the dangers of the existing situation of affairs. There were rumors that the Duke of Ferrara was trying to persuade the Germans to carry off the Pope to Lombardy; the duke was tending towards the league, and had said when he refused the command of the army: “When the Emperor pays his men it will be time enough for me to command them”. On the other hand, there were suspicions that Cardinal Colonna was inciting the Germans to mutiny, in hope that the Pope might be murdered. There was also a possibility that in the existing confusion the Pope might make his escape. Veyre therefore proposed to begin negotiations at once, and bind the Pope by strong guarantees before setting him at liberty. This conclusion was hastened by the action of the Germans, who on September 25 marched back to Rome and demanded of Alarcon, who was in charge of the Castle of S. Angelo, that the hostages given by the Pope should be handed over to their keeping as security for their pay. Alarcon had no means of resisting the demand, and sent word to the Pope, who replied that he would consult the Cardinals. Alarcon saw that delay would inevitably lead to another outburst of pillage. He was ill in bed, but dragged himself into the Pope's council chamber and angrily demanded the hostages at once. In vain Clement pleaded that he had already paid what was due, and had mortgaged the revenues of the States of the Church for the remainder. Alarcon insisted; and the hostages were dragged away amidst the groans and lamentations of the assembled Cardinals. Clement saw torn from him his trusted adviser, Giberti, his relatives, Jacopo Salviati and Lorenzo Ridolfi, besides Mario Montano, Archbishop of Siponto, Onofrio Bartolini, Archbishop of Pisa, and Antonio Pucci, Bishop of Pistoia. They were imprisoned in the palace of Cardinal Colonna.

In this extremity of personal sorrow, Clement made an appeal to the humanity of the man whom he had progress so greatly injured, Cardinal Colonna, saying that only the spear of Achilles could avail to heal the wound which it had made. On October 2 Colonna went to S. Angelo, and was received with every display of affection by the Pope. Next day arrived Veyre and the Emperor's confessor, Fray Alfonso Quinones, who was well known to the Pope. Veyre brought with him 30,000 ducats, but did not think it wise to give it to the soldiers without a promise that they would withdraw. When no further payment was made, the soldiers held a meeting on October 8, after which they rushed to the Colonna palace, seized the hostages, put them in irons two and two together, and dragged them through the streets, threatening to slay them if money were not at once forthcoming. It was with difficulty that Cardinal Colonna could obtain permission to supply them with food. After this demonstration the soldiers announced that, if they did not receive 50,000 ducats in five days, the hostages would be put to death.

This quickened the desire of every one to come to terms, and discover guarantees which would satisfy the army and the Emperor alike. Cardinal Colonna offered to sell or mortgage his office of Chancellor; and messengers were sent on every side to raise money. This, however, was not very fruitful of results; but, luckily for the hostages, a diversion was made by the Abbot of Farfa, Napoleone Orsini, who from his stronghold at Bracciano began to pillage the stragglers of the army. This led to a military expedition, and strengthened the influence of the captains, who on October 21 agreed to furnish as much money as they could, if the Pope would find banks which would give security for its repayment. This proposal also came to nothing; and the month of November was spent in endeavoring to satisfy the claims of the Emperor and of the army. On October 31 the Pope became restive; whereupon he received orders to prepare for a journey to Naples, and to leave behind him three Cardinals as hostages. Clement tried to pluck up his courage and say that he would go; but he broke down, and left the Congregation overcome by tears. While Veyre represented the interests of the Emperor, Alarcon and Cardinal Colonna strove to reduce the demands of the soldiers. There were frequent riots and mutinies, which were quelled by the Marquis of Guasto and Don Juan de Urbina. Urbina was once in imminent peril of his life. As he was addressing his men, one of them leveled his arquebus at him. Luckily the match fell to the ground; and Urbina restored order by killing the mutineer with his own hand.

Clement, true to his shifty character, tried to help himself by spreading discord in the army. He sent a message to the Germans asking their advice; he said that he was powerless against the Spaniards, who had deprived him of all his resources both in Rome and throughout his dominions. His feeble effort failed ignominiously. The German captains informed Cardinal Colonna of the Papal intervention. When Clement was taxed with it, he could not deny his message, but said that its only object was to procure better treatment of the hostages. Clement knew well enough that it was more important for the Emperor to induce the soldiers to march into Lombardy against Lautrec than to keep himself a prisoner in the castle. He still hoped that Lautrec might march to his deliverance; and the imperialists were not without their fears. Hence the imperialists were more desirous to free Rome from military licence than was the Pope, and were fertile in devices for enabling the Pope to raise money. Moncada proposed that five Neapolitan Cardinals should be created for a payment of 20,000 ducats apiece. This source of revenue, together with what could be raised in Rome and Naples, would produce 150,000 ducats, which were immediately necessary. But Moncada found that the Cardinalate was not readily saleable, on the doubtful security which he could offer. Only three prelates would accept it; and they would only deposit 10,000 ducats each, on condition that they were not given to the Pope till he was free and they had received their hats; the remaining 10,000 ducats would be paid when their creations were published. On the strength of this security, Cardinal Colonna offered the Germans 49,000 ducats in ten days; if on the receipt of that sum they would consent to the Pope’s release, he promised 68,000 ducats more in fifteen days from that time. The Germans demanded an additional 17,000 ducats in the first instance, and to this the Pope assented.

There was now a basis for arranging the definite points of the two agreements between the Pope and the Emperor, and the Pope and the army. The latter, as being more immediately pressing, was taken in hand first; but when the provisions were laid before the Pope on November 23 he raised some not unnatural objections. One article provided that the soldiers, who had extorted from their Roman captives houses or lands as part payment of their ransoms, should not be molested in the possession of their ill-gotten gains. Clement declared that he would not accept this; he rose from the table in anger saying: “I will speak no more of my liberation”. But this resolute attitude lasted only for a night, and Clement accepted what he could not avoid. When the agreement with the Emperor was under discussion. Cardinal Colonna wished that the restoration of the Colonna family should be included. But Quiñones objected, on the ground that it would seem as though the Emperor exerted pressure on the Pope for his own political interests. He proposed instead a clause which restored to the Pope all the lands of the Church, save those given in security to the Emperor and the lands held by the Colonna. With this the Cardinal was satisfied.

The general result of this protracted discussion was that the Pope paid 66,000 ducats to obtain his freedom; agreed to pay 300,000 within three months; promised not to oppose the Emperor in Italy; granted him permission to levy a crusade in Spain; gave him the ecclesiastical tithes of Naples, valued at 500,000 ducats, on condition that half of that sum was to go in payment of the Pope's debt; left in his hands Ostia, Civita Vecchia, Civita Castellana and Forli as guarantees; and further handed over five Cardinals as hostages, three of whom were to go to Naples as a pledge to the Emperor, while two were to be left with Cardinal Colonna as a pledge to the army. Clement was so weary of discussion that at last he exclaimed: “Give me the treaty, I will sign it at once without hearing any more”. It was accordingly signed on the evening of November 26.

Clement was not so overwhelmed with shame that he could not see the comic side of the situation. One of the hostages mentioned was Cardinal Trivulzi, who had no ambition for that distinction, but slipped out of the Pope’s chamber with the Marquis de Guasto, put on a civilian's dress, and tried to pass the sentries. He was recognized and was taken to Alarcon, who put him under arrest. When Clement heard of it, he asked that he should be allowed to go free in the castle as before, and laughed heartily at the confusion of the Cardinal when he appeared in his presence.

Next day Veyre set out for Naples to procure Moncada’s signature to the treaty. He carried with him also the three Cardinals' hats which were a necessary portion of the agreement. During his absence the Germans again mutinied, dragged the hostages to the Campo dei Fiori, where they erected a gallows, and threatened to hang them. They were only saved by a promise of payment on the next day. Cardinal Colonna was so moved by their danger that he devised a scheme for their escape from prison. Their keepers were quieted with a copious repast, while the prisoners were drawn up through the chimney with ropes. At first the troops were furious at their escape; but possibly the thought that other hostages were provided by the new treaty assuaged their anger. The Cardinals Trivulzi, Pisani and Gaddi were given to Alarcon, and Orsini and Cesi to Colonna on December 6. The money was paid; the Spanish garrison withdrew from S. Angelo; and the Roman clergy flocked to S. Peter's to sing a Te Deum in thankfulness for the Pope’s release.

When the treaty was signed, it was assumed that the Pope would remain in Rome till the army had marched out. But Clement announced his intention of going to Orvieto, on the ground that there it would be easier for him to raise money : were he to stay in Rome it might be said that he was still under restraint.

Quiñones approved of this determination; the imperial generals agreed, and offered an escort. But Clement was afraid lest the soldiers at the last moment should raise objections to his departure. On the evening of the 6th, disguised as a merchant and followed by a servant, he crept out of the castle, and through a postern in the Vatican garden, where Ludovico Gonzaga was waiting for him with a horse. Rapidly mounting, the Pope rode through the darkness of the night to Capranica, and the next morning to Orvieto. The imperial leaders were glad to be rid of him; but they knew they could not trust him. There was nothing to do save to let him go; if they kept him a prisoner much longer the Papal authority would crumble away. The Italian Cardinals had met at Parma, and through them the league would establish a Papal Vicar for Italy; while Wolsey and the French Cardinals would set up a Vicar of their own. So Clement was allowed to go to Orvieto, helpless, at all events for the present; with only one fixed purpose in his mind, that he would not again run the risk of falling into the hands of the Spaniards. Otherwise, he could only watch the advance of Lautrec, and devise means for gaining back the towns which he had lost.

There was, however, a troublesome piece of business which the English king had laid before him, from which, perhaps, some advantage might be gained. Clement little knew that his attempts to manage that business for the purpose of his political necessities were destined to bring upon the Papacy more irretrievable disaster than the revolt of Germany.

  THE END