"I was not long with him, for just at that time my cousin came, who had been to the schools at Ulm and Munich, in Bavaria; the name of this student was Paulus of Summermatten. My relations had told him of me, and he promised that he would take me with him to the schools in Germany. When I heard this I fell on my knees, and prayed G.o.d Almighty that He would preserve me from the 'Pfaffs,'[17] who taught me almost nothing and beat me lamentably, for I had learned only to sing a little of the Salve, and to beg for eggs with the other scholars, who were with the Pfaff in the village.

"When Paulus was to begin his wanderings again, I was to go to him at Stalden. Simon, my mother's brother, dwelt at Summermatten, on the road to Stalden: he gave me a gold florin, which I carried in my little hand to Stalden. I looked often on the way to see that I still had it, and gave it to Paulus. Then we departed into the country, and I had to beg for myself, and to give of what I got to my Bacchant Paulus: on account of my simplicity and countrified language, much was given to me. At night going over the Grimsel Mountain we came to an inn; I had never seen a _kachelofen_,[18] and as the moon shone on the tiles, I imagined it was a great calf: I saw only two tiles shining, which were, I imagined, the eyes. In the morning I saw geese. I had never seen any before, and when they hissed at me I thought they were devils, and would eat me; so I cried out and ran away. At Lucerne I saw the first tiled roofs.

"Afterwards we went to Meissen: it was a long journey for me, as I was not accustomed to travel so far and to obtain food on the road. There were eight or nine of us travelling together; three small Schutzen, the others great Bacchanten, as they are called; amongst all these I was the smallest and youngest. When I could not keep up well, my cousin Paulus came behind me with a rod, or little stick, and switched me on my bare legs, for I had no stockings, and bad shoes. I do not remember all that happened to us on the road. Once when we were talking together on the journey, the Bacchanten said it was the custom in Meissen and Silesia for the scholars to steal geese and ducks, and other such food; and nothing was done to them on that account, if they could escape from those to whom the things belonged. One day, when not far from a village, we saw a large flock of geese, and the herdsman was not with them; then I inquired of my fellow-Schutzen when we should be in Meissen; as then I thought I might venture to kill the geese; they answered, 'Now we are there.' So I took a stone, threw it at one of the geese, and hit it on the leg; the others flew away, but the lamed one could not rise. I took another stone, and hit it on the head, so that it fell down. I ran up and caught the goose by the neck, carried it under my coat, and went along the road through the village. Then came the gooseherd running after me, and called aloud in the village, 'The boy has stolen my goose!' I and my fellow-Schutzen fled away, and the feet of the goose hung out behind my coat. The peasants came out with spears to throw at us, and ran after us. When I saw that I could not escape with the goose, I let it fall, and sprang out of the road into the bushes; but two of my fellows ran along the street, and were overtaken by two peasants. Then they fell down on their knees, and asked for mercy, as they had done them no harm; and when the peasants saw that it was not they who had killed the goose, they returned to the village, taking the goose with them. But when I saw how they hastened after my fellows, I was in great trouble, and said to myself: 'Ah, my G.o.d! I think I have not blessed myself this day.' (For I had been taught to bless myself every morning.) When the peasants returned to the village, they found our Bacchanten in the public-house, for these had gone forward; and the peasants desired that they would pay for the goose: it would have been about two batzen; but I know not whether or no they paid. When they joined us again, they laughed, and asked how it had happened. I excused myself, as I had imagined it was the custom of the country; to which they said it was not yet the right moment.

"Another time a murderer came to us in the wood, eleven miles on this side of Nuremberg, who wished to play with our Bacchanten, that he might delay us till his fellows joined him; but we had an honest fellow amongst us called Anthony Schallbether, who warned the murderer to leave us, which he did. Now it was so late that we could hardly get to the village; there were very few houses, but there were two taverns.

When we came to one of these the murderer was there before us, and others besides, without doubt his comrades; so we would not remain there, and went to the other public-house. As they themselves had already that night had their food, every one was so busy in the house, they would not give anything to us little lads; for we never sat at table to our meals; neither would they take us to a bedroom; but we were obliged to lie in the stable. But when they were taking the bigger ones to their bedroom, Anthony said to the host: 'Host, methinks you have strange guests, and are not much better yourself. I tell you what, place us in safety, or we will treat you in such a way that you will find your house too narrow for you.' When they had taken them to rest (I and the other little boys were lying in the stable without supper), some persons came in the night to their room, perhaps among them the host himself, and would have opened the door; but Anthony had put a screw before the lock inside, placed his bed before the door and struck a light; for he had always wax tapers and a tinder-box by him, and he quickly woke up the other fellows. When the rogues heard that, they made off. In the morning we found neither host nor servants. When they told us boys about it, we were all glad that nothing had happened to us in the stable. After we had gone from thence about a mile, we met with people, who when they heard where we had pa.s.sed the night, were surprised that we had not all been murdered; for almost all the villagers were suspected of being murderers.

"Our Bacchanten treated us so badly that some of us told my cousin Paulus we should escape from them; so we went to Dresden; but here there was no good school, and the sleeping apartments for strange scholars were full of lice, so that we heard them at night crawl on the straw. We then left and went on to Breslau: we suffered much from hunger on the road, having nothing for some days to eat but raw onions and salt, or roasted acorns and crabs. Many nights we lay in the open air; for no one would receive us into their houses or at the inns, and often they set the dogs upon us. But when we arrived at Breslau, everything was in abundance; indeed so cheap that we poor scholars overate ourselves, and frequently made ourselves ill. We went at first to the chapter school of the Holy Cross, but when we found that there were some Swiss in the parsonage house at St. Elizabeth, we went there.

The city of Breslau has seven parishes, and each its separate school: no scholar ventured to sing in another parish; if he did the cry of 'Ad idem, ad idem,' was raised, and the Schutzen collected together and fought. It is said that there were at one time some thousands of Bacchanten and Schutzen who all lived on alms; it is also said that some of them who were twenty or thirty years old, or even more, had their Schutzen who supported them. I have often of an evening carried home to the school where they lived, for my Bacchanten, five or six meals. People gave to me willingly because I was little, and a Swiss, for they loved the Swiss.

"There I remained for some time, as I was very ill that winter, and they were obliged to take me to the hospital; the scholars had their own especial hospital and doctors, and sixteen h.e.l.lers a week are given at the town hall for the use of the sick, which provided for us well.

We were well nursed and had good beds, but there were lice therein, beyond belief, as big as hempseed, so that I and others would much rather have lain on the floor than in the beds. It is hardly possible to believe how the scholars and Bacchanten were covered with lice. I have ofttimes, especially in the summer, gone to wash my shirt in the water of the Oder, and hung it on a bush to dry; and in the mean time cleared my coat of the lice, buried the heap, and placed a cross over the spot. In the winter the Schutzen used to lie on the hearth in the school; but the Bacchanten lived in small rooms, of which there were some hundreds at St. Elizabeth; but during the summer, when it was hot, we lay in the churchyard, like pigs in straw, on gra.s.s which we collected from before the houses of the princ.i.p.al streets, where it was spread on Sundays; but when it rained we ran into the school, and if there was a storm we chanted almost all night the responsoria and other things with the succentor. We often went in summer after supper to the beerhouses to beg for beer: they gave us the strong Polish peasant beer, which, before I was aware of it, made me so drunk that even when within a stone's throw from the school I could not find my way to it.

In short, we got sufficient nourishment, but little study.

"In the school of St. Elizabeth, nine bachelors always read together at the same hour in one room, for there were no printed Greek books in the country at that time; the preceptor alone had a printed Terence: what was read, therefore, had first to be dictated, then pa.r.s.ed and construed, and lastly explained; so that the Bacchanten when they went away carried with them large sheets of writing.

"From thence our eight went off again to Dresden, and fell into great want. We determined therefore one day to divide ourselves; some were to look out for geese, some for turnips and onions, and one for a kitchen pot; but we little ones went to the town of Neumarkt, to get bread and salt, and we were to meet together in the evening outside the town, where we were to camp out, and then cook what we had. There was a well about a stone's throw from the town, near which we wished to pa.s.s the night; but when they saw our fire in the town, they began to shoot at us, yet did not hit us. Then we retired behind a bank to a little stream and grove; the big fellows lopped off branches and made a kind of hut, some plucked the geese, of which we had two; others put the heads and feet and the giblets into the pot, in which they had shred the turnips, others made two wooden spits and roasted the meat; when it had become a little brown, we ate it with the turnips. In the night we heard a kind of flapping: we found there was a pond near us which had been drained in the day, and the fish were struggling in the mud; then we took as many of them as we could, in a shirt fastened on a stick, and went away to a village, where we gave some of them to a peasant, that he might cook the others for us in beer.

"Soon after we went again from thence to Ulm, there Paulus took with him another lad called Hildebrand Kalbermatter, son of a Pfaff: he was quite young, and had some cloth given to him, such as is made in that country, for a little coat. When we came to Ulm, Paul desired me to go about with the cloth begging for money to pay for its making up; in this way I got much money, for I was well accustomed to begging in G.o.d's name, for the Bacchanten had constantly employed me in this, so that I had hardly ever been taken to school, and not once taught to read. Going thus seldom to the school, and having to give up to the Bacchanten all I got by going round with the cloth, I suffered much from hunger.

"But I must not omit to mention that there was at Ulm a pious widow, who had two grown-up daughters; this widow had often, when I came in the winter, wrapped up my feet in a warm fur, which she had laid behind the stove on purpose to warm them, and gave me a dish of porridge and sent me home. I was sometimes so hungry that I drove the dogs in the streets away from their bones, and gnawed them; item, searched for the crumbs out of the bag, which I ate. After that we returned again to Munich: there also I had to beg for money to make up the cloth, which nevertheless was not mine. The year following we went once more to Ulm, and I brought the cloth with me, and again begged on account of it; and I remember well that some one said to me, 'Botz Marter! is not the coat made yet? I believe you are employed in knavish work.' We went from thence, and I know not what happened to the cloth, or whether or no the coat was ever made up. One Sunday, when we came to Munich, the Bacchanten had got a lodging, but we three little Schutzen had none; we intended therefore to go at night to the corn market, in order to lie on the corn sacks; and certain women were sitting in the street by the salt magazine, who inquired where we were going. When they heard that we had no lodging, a butcher's wife who was near, when she saw that we were Swiss, said to her maid, 'Run and hang up the boiler with the remains of the soup and meat; they shall stay with me over the night; I like all Swiss. I served once at an inn in Innspruck, when the Emperor Maximilian held his court there: the Swiss had much business to arrange with him; and they were so friendly that I shall always be kind to them as long as I live.' The woman gave us good lodging, and plenty to eat and drink. In the morning she said to us, 'If one of you would like to remain with me, I would give him food and lodging.' We were all willing to do so, and inquired which she wished to have: when she had inspected us, as I looked more bold than the others, she took me, and I had nothing to do but to get the beer, to fetch the meat from the shambles, and to go with her sometimes to the field; but still I had to provide for the Bacchant. This the woman did not like, and said to me, 'Botz Marter! let the Bacchant go, and remain with me; you shall not beg any more.' So for a whole week I did not return to my Bacchant, nor the school; then he came to the house of the butcher's wife, and knocked at the door; and she said to me, 'Your Bacchant is there; say that you are ill.' She let him in, and said to him, 'You are truly a fine gentleman; you should have looked after Thomas, for he has been ill, and is so still.' Then he said to me, 'I am sorry for it, lad: when you can go out again, come to me.' Some time after, one Sunday, I went to vespers, and when they were over, my Bacchant came up to me and said, 'You Schutz, if you do not come to me, I will trample you under foot.' This I determined he should not do, and made up my mind to run away. That Sunday I said to the butcher's wife, 'I will go to the school and wash my shirt.' I dared not tell her of my intention, for I feared she would speak of it. So I left Munich with a sorrowful heart, partly because I was leaving my cousin, with whom I had gone so far (though he had been so hard and unmerciful to me), and also on account of the butcher's wife, who had treated me so kindly. I journeyed on over the river Isar, for I feared if I went to Switzerland, Paulus would follow me, and beat me, as he had often threatened. On the other side of the Isar there is a hill. I seated myself on the top, looked upon the town, and wept bitterly, because I had no longer any one to take an interest in me, and I thought of going to Saltzburg, or Vienna, in Austria. Whilst I was sitting there a peasant came with a waggon, which had carried salt to Munich: he was already drunk, though the sun had only just risen. I begged him to let me sit in it, and I went with him till he unharnessed the horses in order to give them and himself food; meanwhile I begged through the village, and waiting for him not far from it, fell asleep.

When I awoke I again wept bitterly, for I thought the peasant had gone on, and it appeared to me as if I had lost a father. Soon, however, he came, and was still drunk, but called to me to sit in the cart, and asked me where I wished to go; I replied, 'To Saltzburg.' When it was evening, he turned off from the road, and said, 'Get down, there is the road to Saltzburg.' We had gone eight miles that day. I came to a village, and when I got up in the morning everything was white with rime, as if it had snowed, and I had no shoes, only torn stockings, no cap, and a scanty jacket. Thus I travelled to Pa.s.sau, and intended to get on the Danube and go to Vienna, but when I came to Pa.s.sau they would not admit me. Then I thought of going to Switzerland, and I asked the guard at the gate the nearest way to Switzerland: he answered by Munich. I said, 'I will not go by Munich, I had rather travel ten miles, or even more, out of the way to avoid it.' Then he pointed out the way by Friesingen. There was a high school there, and I found some Swiss, who inquired of me from whence I came? In the course of a few days Paulus arrived: the Schutzen told me that the Bacchant from Munich was looking for me. I ran out of the gate as if he had been behind me, and travelled to Ulm, where I went to the widow's house, who had so kindly warmed my feet, and she received me, and I was to guard the turnips in the field, and did not go to school. Some weeks after, a companion of Paul's came to me, and said, 'Your cousin is here, and is seeking for you.' He had followed me for eighteen miles, as he had lost in me a good provider, I having supported him for some years. When I heard this, although it was night, I ran out of the gate towards Constance. I again wept bitterly, for I was sorry to leave the kind widow.

"I crossed the lake, and arrived at Constance; and as I went over the bridge I saw some of the Swiss peasant girls with their white petticoats. Oh my G.o.d, how glad I was! I thought I was in heaven. When I came to Zurich I saw there some people from the Valais, big Bacchanten, to whom I offered my services for getting food, if they in return would teach me; but I learned no more with them than with the others. After some months Paulus sent his Schutz Hildebrand from Munich, to desire me to return to him, and said he would forgive me; but I would not go back, and remained at Zurich, where however I studied little.

"One Antonius Venetz from Visp in the Valais persuaded me to go with him to Strasburg. When we arrived there we found many poor scholars, but no good school; there was however a very good one at Schlettstadt, so we went there. In the city we took a lodging with an old couple, one of whom was stone blind; then we went to my dear preceptor, the late Johannes Sapidus, and begged him to receive us. He asked from whence we came, and when we said out of Switzerland, from the Valais, he answered, 'The peasants there are bad, for they drive all their Bishops out of the country; if, however, you study industriously, I will take little from you, if not, you must pay me, or I will take the coat off your back.' That was the first school in which it appeared to me that things went on well. At that time learning, especially that of languages, was gaining ground--it was the year of the Diet at Worms.

Sapidus had once nine hundred students, some of them fine scholars, who afterwards became doctors and men of renown.

"When I came to this school I knew little, could not even read the Donat. Though I was eighteen years old, I was placed among the little children, and looked like a hen amidst her small chickens. One day when Sapidus called over the list of the scholars, he said, 'I find many barbarous names, I must try to Latinize them.' He then called over the new names: he had turned me into Thomas Platterus, and my fellow, Anthony Venetz into Antonius Venetus, and said, 'Which are the two?' We stood up and he exclaimed, 'Poof! what measly Schutzen to have such fine names!' this was partly true, especially of my companion, for I was more accustomed to the change of air and food.

"When we had stayed there from autumn to the following Whitsuntide, a great many fresh scholars arrived, so that there was not sufficient to support us all; and we went off to Solothurn, where there was a tolerably good school, and more food; but we were obliged to be so constantly in church that we lost all our time; therefore we returned home.

"The following spring I went off again with my two brothers. When we took leave of our mother, she wept and said, 'Am I not to be pitied, to have three sons going to lead this miserable life?' It was the only time I ever saw my mother cry, for she was a brave, strong-minded woman, respected by every one as honourable, upright, and pious.

"I came to Zurich, and went to the school of the monastery of our Lady.

About this time it was reported that a thoroughly good and learned but severe schoolmaster was coming from Einsiedeln. I seated myself in a corner not far from the schoolmaster's chair, and I thought to myself, in this corner will I study or die. When he (Father Myconius) entered, he said, 'This is a fine school (it had only just been built); but methinks you are a set of ignorant boys: but I will have patience with you, if you will only be industrious.' I knew that if it had cost me my life I could not have declined a word, even of the first declension; but I could repeat the Donat by heart from beginning to end, for when I was in Schlettstadt, Sapidus had a bachelor who plagued the Bacchanten so grievously with the Donat, that I thought it must be such a good book, I had better learn it by heart. I got on well with Father Myconius: he read Terence to us, and we had to conjugate and decline every word of a whole play; and it often happened that my shirt became quite wet, and my sight seemed to fail me with fear; and yet he had never given me a blow, except once with the back of his hand on my cheek. He read also the Holy Scriptures, and to these readings many of the laity came, for it was the time when the light of the holy Gospel was beginning to dawn. If at any time he was severe with me, he would take me home and give me something to eat, and he liked to hear me relate how I had gone all through Germany, and how it had fared with me.

"Myconius was obliged to go with his pupils to church at the monastery of our Lady, to sing at vespers, matins, and ma.s.s, and conduct the chanting. He said to me once, 'Custos (for I was his custos), I would rather hold four lectures than sing one ma.s.s. Dear son, if you would sometimes chant the easy ma.s.ses for me, requiems, and the like, I will requite it to you.' I was well content with this, for I had been accustomed to it, and everything was still regulated in the popish manner. As custos, I had often not enough wood to burn in the school, so I observed which of the laymen who came to it had piles of wood in front of their houses: there I went about midnight and secretly carried off wood to the school. One morning I had no wood; Zwinglius was to preach at the monastery early that morning, and when they were ringing the bells, I said to myself, 'Thou hast no wood, and there are so many images in the church that no one cares about them.' So I went to the nearest altar in the church, and carried off a St. John, and took him to the stove in the school, and said to him, '_Jogli_, now thou must bend and go into the stove.' When he began to burn, the paint made a great hissing and crackling, and I told him to keep quiet, and said, 'If thou movest, which however thou wilt not do, I will close the door of the stove: thou shalt not get out unless the devil carry thee away.'

In the mean time came Myconius' wife; she was going to hear the sermon in the church, and in pa.s.sing by the door, said, 'G.o.d be with you, my child, have you heated the stove?' I closed the door of the stove, and answered, 'Yes, mother, I have already warmed it;' but I would not tell her how, for she might have tattled about it, and had it been known, it would have cost me my life. Myconius said to me in the course of the lesson, 'Custos, you have had good wood to-day.' When we were beginning to chant the ma.s.s, two Pfaffs were disputing together in the church; the one to whom the St. John belonged said to the other, 'You rogue, you have stolen my St. John;' and this dispute they carried on for some time.

"Although it appeared to me that there was something not quite right about Popery, I still intended to become a priest. I wished to be pious, to administer my office faithfully, and to ornament my altar. I prayed much, and fasted more than was good for me. I had also my saints and patrons, and prayed to each for something especial; to our Lady, that she would be my intercessor with her child; to St. Catherine, that she would help me to learning; to St. Barbara, that I might not die without the sacrament; and to St. Peter, that he would open the door of heaven to me; and I wrote down in a little book what prayers I had neglected. When I had leave of absence from the school on Thursdays or Sat.u.r.days, I went into a confessional chair in the monastery, and wrote the omitted prayers on a chair, and counted out every sin one after another; then rubbed them out, and thought I had done my duty. I went six times from Zurich with processions to Einsiedeln, and was diligent in confession. I often contended with my a.s.sociates for the Papacy, till one day M. Ulrich Zwinglius preached on this text from the gospel of St. John:--'I am the good shepherd.' He explained it so forcibly, that I felt as if my hair stood on end; and he showed how G.o.d will demand the souls of the lost sheep at the hands of those shepherds who caused their perdition. I thought, if that is the true meaning, then adieu to priestcraft, I will never be a Pfaff. I continued my studies, began to dispute with my companions, listened a.s.siduously to the sermons and to my preceptor Myconius. There still continued to be ma.s.s and images at Zurich."

Thus far Thomas Platter. His struggle in life lasted some time longer: he had to learn rope-making in order to support himself; he studied at night, and when Andreas Kratander, the printer at Basle, had sent him a Plautus, he fastened the separate sheets on the rope by means of a wooden p.r.o.ng, and read whilst he was working. Later he became a corrector of the press, then citizen and printer, and lastly rector of the Latin school at Basle. The unsettled life of his childhood was not without its influence on the character of the man; for however great his capacities, he displayed neither energy nor perseverance in his undertakings.

It was among the thousands who, like the boy Thomas, thronged to the Latin schools, that the new movement won its most zealous followers.

These children of the people carried from house to house with unwearied activity their new ideas and information. Many of them never arrived at the university; they endeavoured to support themselves by private tuition, or as correctors of the press. Most of the city, and in later times the village schools were occupied by those who could read Virgil, and understand the bitter humour of the Klagebriefes, _de miseria plebenorum_. So great were their numbers that the reformers soon urged them to learn, however late, some trade, in order to maintain themselves honestly. Many members of guilds in the German cities were qualified to furnish commentaries to the papal bulls, and translate them to their fellow-citizens; and subtle theological questions were eagerly discussed in the drinking-rooms. Great was the influence exercised by these men on the small circles around them. Some years afterwards they, together with the poor students of divinity who spread themselves as preachers over all Germany, became a great society; and it was these democrats of the new teaching who represented the Pope as antichrist in the popular plays, harangued the armed mult.i.tudes of insurgent peasants, and made war on the old Church in printed discourses, popular songs, and coa.r.s.e dialogues.

In this way they made preparation for what was coming. But however clearly it had been shown by the Humanitarians that the Church had in many places falsified the Holy Scriptures, however humorously they had derided the tool of the Inquisition--the baptized Jew Pfefferkorn, with his pretty little wife--and however zealously the small school teachers had carried among the people the colloquies of Erasmus on fasting, &c., and his work on the education of children, yet it was not their new learning alone that gave birth to the Reformation and the spiritual freedom of Germany. Deeper lay the sources of this mighty stream; it sprang from the foundation of the German mind, and was brought to light by the secret longings of the heart, that it might, by the work of destruction and renovation, transform the life of the nation.

CHAPTER IV.

THE MENTAL STRUGGLES OF A YOUTH, AND HIS ENTRANCE INTO A MONASTERY.

(1510.)

Great was the wickedness of the world, heavy the oppression under which the poor suffered, coa.r.s.e the greed after enjoyment, boundless the covetousness both of ecclesiastics and laymen. Who was there to punish the young n.o.bleman who maltreated the peasants? who to defend the poor citizen against the powerful family unions of the rich counsellors?

Hard was the labour of the German peasant from morning till evening, through summer and winter; pestilence was quickly followed by famine and hunger: the whole system of the world seemed in confusion, and earthly life devoid of love. The only hope of deliverance from misery, was in G.o.d; before Him all earthly power, whether of Emperor or Pope, was weak and insignificant, and the wisdom of man was transitory as the flower of the field. By his mercy men might be delivered from the miseries of this life, and compensated by eternal happiness for what they had suffered here; but how were they to obtain this mercy? by what virtues could weak men hope to gain the endless treasure of G.o.d's favour? Man had been doomed from the time of Adam to will the good and do the evil. Vain were his highest virtues; inherited sin was his curse; and if he obtained mercy from G.o.d, it was not by his own merits.[19]

These were the questions that then struggled within the agonized hearts of men. But from the holy records of Scripture, which had only been a dark tradition to the people, went forth the words; Christ is love. The ruling Church knew little of this love; in it G.o.d was kept far from the hearts of men: the image of the Crucified One was concealed behind countless saints, who were all made necessary as intercessors with a wrathful G.o.d. But the great craving of the German nature was to find itself in close connection with the Almighty, and the longing for the love of G.o.d was unquenchable. But the Pope maintained that he was the only administrator of the inexhaustible merits of Christ; and the Church also taught, that by the intercession of saints for the sins of men, an endless treasure of good works, prayers, fasts, and penances were made available for the blessing of others; and all these treasures were at the disposition of the Pope, who could dispense them to whom he chose, as a deliverance from their sins. Thus, when believers united together in a pious community, the Pope was able to confer on such a brotherhood the privilege of pa.s.sing over from one to the other, the merits of the saints, the surplus of prayers and ma.s.ses, as well as of good works done for the Church.

In the year 1530, Luther complained that the number of these communities was countless.[20] An example will show how rough and miserable their mechanism was, and the "Brotherhood of the Eleven Thousand Virgins," called "St. Ursula's Schifflein," is selected, because the Elector, Frederick the Wise, was one of the founders and brothers. The collection of spiritual treasures given by statute to enable the brotherhood to obtain eternal happiness, amounted to 6,455 ma.s.ses, 3,550 entire psalters, 200,000 rosaries, 200,000 _Te Deum Laudamus_, 1,600 _Gloria in excelsis Deo_. Besides this, 11,000 prayers for the patroness St. Ursula, and 630 times 11,000 Paternosters and Ave Marias; also 50 times 10,000 Paternosters and Ave Marias for 10,000 knights, &c.; and the whole redeeming power of these treasures was for the benefit of the members of the brotherhood. Many spiritual foundations and private persons had gained to themselves especial merit by their great contributions to the prayer treasures. At the revival of the society, the Elector Frederick had presented a beautiful silver Ursula. A layman was ent.i.tled to become a member of the brotherhood if he once in his life had repeated 11,000 Paternosters and Ave Marias: if he repeated daily thirty-two, he gained it in a year, if sixteen, in two, and if eight, in four years: if any one was hindered by marriage, sickness, or business, from completing this number of prayers, he was enabled to enter by having eleven ma.s.ses read for him; and so on. Yet this brotherhood was one of the best, for the members had not to pay money; it was to be a brotherhood of poor people who wished only to a.s.sist each other to heaven by mutual prayer; and we maintain that these brotherhoods were the most spiritual part of the declining Church of the middle ages.

The indulgences, on the other hand, were the foulest spot in its diseased body. The Pope, as administrator of the inexhaustible treasure of the merits of Christ, sold to believers, drafts on this store in exchange for money. It is true that the Church itself had not entirely lost the idea that the Pope could not himself forgive sins, but only remit the penances the Church prescribed; those, however, who held these views, individuals of the university and worthy village priests, were obliged to be careful that their teaching should not come into open collision with the business of the seller of indulgences. For what did the right teaching of their own Church signify to the papists of the sixteenth century? It was money that they craved for their women and children, their relatives, and princely houses. There was a fearful community of interests between the bishops and the fanatical members of the mendicant orders. Nothing had made Huss and his tenets so insupportable to them as the struggle against the sale of indulgences: the great Wessel had been driven out of Paris into misery for teaching repentance and grace; and it was the sellers of indulgences who caused the venerable Johannes Vesalia to die in the prison of a monastery at Mayence, he who first spoke the n.o.ble words, "Why should I believe what I know?"

It is known how prevalent the traffic in indulgences became in Germany in the beginning of the sixteenth century, and how impudently the reckless cheating was carried on. When Tetzel, a well-fed haughty Dominican, rode into a city with his box of indulgences, he was accompanied by a large body of monks and priests: the bells were rung; ecclesiastics and laymen met him, and reverentially conducted him to the church; his great crucifix, with the holes of the nails, and the crown of thorns, was erected in the nave, and sometimes the believers were allowed to see the blood of the Crucified One trickling down the cross. Church banners, on which were the arms of the Pope with the triple crown, were placed by the cross; in front of it the cursed box, strongly clamped with iron, and near these on one side, a pulpit from which the monk set forth with rough eloquence the wonderful powers of his indulgences, and showed a large parchment of the Pope's with many seals appended to it. On the other side was the pay table, with indulgence tickets, writing materials, and money baskets; there the ecclesiastical coadjutors sold to the thronging people everlasting salvation.[21]

Countless were the crimes of the Church, against which all the wounded moral feelings of the Germans were roused. The opposition spread all over Germany; but the man had not yet appeared, who, by a fearful inward struggle, discerning all the griefs and longings of the people, was preparing to become the leader of his nation, which would in his determined character, see with enthusiasm its own mind embodied. For two years he had been teacher of natural philosophy and dialects in the new university of Wittenberg, and was still lying in the dust of the Roman plains, looking with pious enthusiasm at the towers of the holy city appearing on the verge of the horizon. In the mean while we may learn from the experiences of a Latin scholar, what was working in the souls of the people.

Frederick Mec.u.m (Latinized into Myconius[22]) was the son of honest citizens of Lichtenfelds, in Upper Franconia, and was born in 1491.

When thirteen years of age, he went to the Latin school of the then flourishing city of Annaberg, where he experienced what we propose giving in his own words. In 1510 he went into a monastery, and as a Franciscan he was one of the first, most zealous, and faithful followers of the Wittenberg professors. He left his order, became a preacher at the new church in Thuringia, and finally pastor and superintendent at Gotha, where he established the Reformation, and died in 1546. The connecting link between him and Luther was of a very peculiar nature; he was not only his most intimate friend in many relations of private life, but there was a poetry in his connection with him which spread a halo round his whole life. Seven years before Luther began the Reformation, Myconius saw in a dream the vision of that great man, who calmed the doubts of his excited heart; enlightened by his dream, the faithful, pious German discovered in him the great friend of every future hour. But another circ.u.mstance gives us an interest in the narrator. However unlike, this gentle, delicately organized man may appear to his daring friend, there was a striking similarity in the youthful life of both, and much which is unknown to us of Luther's youth may be explained in what Myconius relates of his own. Both were poor scholars from a Latin school; both were driven by their inward struggles and youthful enthusiasm into a monastery, and found there only new doubts, greater struggles, and years of torment and anxious uncertainty instead of that peace for which they so pa.s.sionately longed. To both was the shameless Tetzel the rock of offence, which stirred up their minds, and determined the whole course of their future life: finally, both died in the same year,--Myconius seven weeks after Luther, having five years before, been restored to life from a mortal illness by Luther's letter of invocation.[23] Few of Frederick Myconius' works have been printed: besides theological essays, he wrote a chronicle of his own time in German, in which he describes with the greatest detail his own labours and the state of Gotha. "The dream" which he had the first night after he entered the monastery is well known, and has often been printed. In the dream the Apostle Paul presents himself to him as his leader, and, as Myconius in after years fancied, had the form, face, and voice of Luther. This long dream was written in Latin, but we find a German translation of the introduction, in a ma.n.u.script of the same date, in the Duke's library at Gotha, from which we give the following extracts:--

"Johannis Tetzel of Pyrna in Meissen, a Dominican monk, was a powerful preacher of the papal indulgences. He tarried two years in the then new city of Annaberg for this object, and so deluded the people that they all believed there was no other way to obtain forgiveness of sins and eternal life, than by the sufficiency of our own works, which sufficiency he added was impossible. But there was one way remaining, namely, to obtain it by money from the Pope: so we bought the papal indulgence, which he called forgiveness of sins and a certain entrance into eternal life. Here I could relate wonder upon wonder, and many incredible things which I heard preached by Tetzel for two years at Annaberg, for he preached every day, and I listened to him a.s.siduously.

I even repeated his sermons by heart to others; imitating his delivery and gestures; not that I did it to ridicule him, but from my great earnestness, for I considered it all as _oracular_, and the word of G.o.d, which ought to be believed; and what ever came from the Pope I considered as if it were from Christ himself.

"At last, about Whitsuntide, 1510, he threatened to take down the red cross, close the door of heaven, and extinguish the sun, adding, that we should never more have the opportunity of obtaining remissions of sins and eternal life for so little money, as it could not be hoped that this benevolent mission from the Pope would return again as long as the world lasted. He admonished every one to take care of his soul, and those of his friends, both living and dead, for that now was the accepted time, now was the day of salvation. And he said, 'Let no one neglect his own eternal happiness, for if ye have not the papal letter, ye cannot be absolved from many sins, nor, _casibus reservatis_, by any man.' Printed letters were publicly affixed to the walls and doors of the church, in which it was promised that, as a token of thanks to the German people for their piety, from henceforth till the close of the sale, the indulgence letters and the full power of remission should be sold at a less price; at the end of the letter, underneath, was written, _pauperibus dentur gratis_,--to the poor who have nothing, the letters of indulgence shall be given without money, for G.o.d's sake.

"Then I began to deal with this commissary of indulgence wares; but in truth I was led and encouraged hereto by the Holy Spirit, although I myself knew not at the time what I did.

"My dear father had taught me in my childhood the Ten Commandments, the Lord's Prayer, and the Creed, and insisted upon my continually praying; for, said he, all that we have is from G.o.d alone, and He gives it us gratis, and He will lead and direct us if we pray to Him diligently. Of the papal indulgences, he said, they were only nets with which money was fished out of the pockets of the simple, and one could not a.s.suredly obtain for money the forgiveness of sins and eternal life.

But the priests became angry when such things were said. When, therefore, I daily heard in the sermons nothing but praise of the indulgences, I doubted whom I should most believe, my dear father, or the priests as teachers of the Church. But though I had doubts, I believed more the instructions of the priests than those of my father.

The only thing I could not, however, allow, was, that the forgiveness of sins could only be obtained by money, especially when it was question of the poor. Therefore, the _clausula_ at the end of the papal letter, _pauperibus gratis dentur propter Deum_, pleased me wonderfully.

"As at the end of three days, the cross, together with the steps and ladder to heaven, were to be taken down with extraordinary solemnity, the spirit led me to go to the commissary, and beg of him letters of remission out of charity to the poor. I declared that I was a sinner, and poor, and needed forgiveness of my sins, which I ought to receive gratis. The second day, at the time of vespers, I entered the house of Hans Pflock, where Tetzel with the confessors and crowd of priests were a.s.sembled together. I accosted them in the Latin language, and entreated that they would, according to the command in the Pope's letter, allow me, a poor lad, to obtain the absolution of all my sins gratis, and for G.o.d's sake, '_Etiam nullo casu reservato_,'--without reserve, and thereupon they should give me the '_literas testimoniales_,'--written testimony, of the Pope. The priests were much astonished at my Latin speech, for it was at this time a rare thing, especially with young boys; and they went speedily out of the room into the next apartment, where was Herr Commissary Tetzel. They laid before him my request, and begged of him to give me gratis the letter of indulgence. At last, after holding long counsel, they came again, and brought me this answer: 'Dear son, we have carefully laid your pet.i.tion before the Herr Commissary, and he bids us say he would gladly grant it, but he cannot; and if he were to do so, this concession would become powerless, and of no avail. For he has shown us that it is clear from the Pope's letter, it is those only _qui porrigent manum adjutricem_,--those who help with the hand, that is, those who give money, that will certainly partake of the merciful indulgences and treasures of the Church, and of the merits of Christ.' And this they told me all in German, for there was not one among them who could speak three words of Latin rightly.

"But I again renewed my pet.i.tion, and showed them, how in the papal letter the holy father had commanded that these indulgences should be freely given to the poor, for G.o.d's sake, more especially as it was therein written: _ad mandatum Domini papae proprium_, that is, by his highness the Pope's own commands.

"Then they went again to the proud, haughty monk, and begged him to grant my pet.i.tion, for I was a deep-thinking and eloquent youth, who deserved that more should be bestowed upon him than upon others. But they brought back the same answer. I remained firm, however, and said that they did great injustice to me, a poor boy whom neither G.o.d nor the Pope would shut out from grace, and whom they wanted to discard for the sake of a few pence, which I had not. Then followed a dispute. They said I must give something, however little, if it was only a few groschen, that the helping hand might not be wanting. I answered, 'I have it not, I am poor.' At last it came to this, I was to give six _pfennige_, to which I replied again, 'I have not a single _pfennig_.'

They tried to persuade me, and conferred together. At last I heard them say that they were in anxiety on two points; first, they must on no account let me go without the indulgence, as this might be a concerted plan, and lead to mischief hereafter, for it was clearly written in the Pope's letter that indulgences were to be given free to the poor; but on the other hand, it was necessary to take something from me, that others might not hear that they were given away gratis, in which case a whole crowd of poor scholars and beggars would come and demand them.

They need not have had any anxiety on this account, for the poor beggars would rather seek for bread to drive away their hunger.

"After they had taken counsel they came again to me, and offered me six _pfennige_, that I might give it to the commissary; by this contribution they said that I should become one of the builders of the church of St. Peters at Rome, a slayer of the Turks, and partaker of the indulgence and grace of Christ. But I spoke out freely, stirred by the Holy Spirit, and said that if I was to buy indulgence and remission of sins, I could sell one of my books, and obtain it with my own money; but I wished to have it given me freely for G.o.d's sake, or they would have to answer before G.o.d, for having trifled with the happiness of my soul for the sake of six _pfennige_, when both G.o.d and the Pope desired that I should be partaker of the forgiveness of sins for charity sake.

I said this, but truly did not know how it stood with the letters of indulgence.

"After this speech the priests inquired of me from whence I had been sent, and who had instructed me to deal with them about this matter.

Then I told them the simple truth, how it was that I had not been told or sent by any one, or induced to come by other men's counsel, but had of myself made this request, in full trust and confidence in the free and charitable gift of forgiveness of sins; and I had never before in my life spoken to, or dealt with such great people, for I was by nature modest; and if I had not been constrained by my great thirst for the mercy of G.o.d, I should not have ventured on so high an undertaking.