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necessarily, to humanize the spirit of all secular government, and to give more equality and fairness to the working of the social system. In common with every great event, it had its incidental evils; but it had also its incidental good. While it conferred on some states their first independent existence, it raised others much above their former level. At the same time, it placed all the European powers in such new relations to each other, that a sort of national confederation sprang up, such as at once put an end to those tendencies toward a degrading universal monarchy, which had been long at work. The struggle between the Old and the New, forced the frame-work of European society into the semblance of two grand republics, and rendered the maxims of a more liberal policy imperative, as the means of self-preservation.

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The light shed by the Reformation on all the objects which come within the circle of our knowledge, is apparent in every page of history, from the age of Luther to our own. On this point, however, we shall allow a writer to speak, who will not be suspected of a disposition to overrate the good effects of the Christian religion. The middle of the sixteenth century,' says D'Alembert, saw a rapid change in the religion and the system of a great part of Europe. The new doctrines of the reformers, supported on the one hand, and opposed on the other, with that 'warmth which the interests of God, well or ill understood, can alone inspire, equally compelled their partisans and their adversaries to seek instruction. The emulation excited by this great motive, multiplied knowledge of every kind; and the light produced in the bosom of error and trouble spread itself to those objects also which seemed most foreign to those disputes." (Elemens de Philosophie, 1.) To this it might with fairness have been added, that these effects of reformed Christianity were naturally followed by a kind of re-action in its favour; so that it has derived the means of its still advancing purification, from that general emulation which no strength inferior to its own could have produced.

Could the extent of the change which was to result from the labours of the Reformers have been foreseen, there were facts which seemed to point towards France as a country that would be affected by the new order of things, almost beyond any other. The very fickleness of the Gallic character,-a charge chronicled against them since the days of Cæsar,-seemed to favour this conclusion; and still more their long boasted stand against the despotic pretensions of the papacy, and in behalf of, what they were pleased to call, the liberties of the Gallican Church.' But these circumstances, and others of the same description, were to be counteracted; and after a struggle, hardly less determined or protracted than was maintained in our own country, the French people were to find themselves thrown upon the mercies of a pure

despotism, and had to choose between embracing a Christianity as corrupt, upon the whole, as any thing existing in the age before Luther, or an abandonment of religious faith altogether. It is well known, that the Author of the "Decline and Fall," recommended Dr. Robertson to give the story of the French Protestants a place among his works. But if it be true, as Mr. Hallam has somewhere said, that history is the sworn slave of success,' it was not with such a theme that even the genius of Robertson could have made any great impression. It is, indeed, a remarkable fact in the history of the French people, that, as a nation, they should always appear as though incapable of choosing a middle course. The extremes of despotism or anarchy, of the worst religion or no religion, are the connexions in which history is generally presenting them ;-the minority, capable of wiser and better things, being always borne down by an overwhelming majority, impelled as by the force of intoxication.

We would hope, however, that the time past may be sufficient for our neighbours to have wrought thus extravagantly. As to the volume before us, though relating, as we have intimated, to a theme which, both in its progress and its end, draws somewhat too largely on our painful sympathies, we can readily bear our testimony to the care, the candour, and the general ability with which it is executed. It must be admitted, that its subject furnishes some of the most valuable lessons to be derived from modern history; and to most of these the Author is capable of doing ample justice. The work, if completed as begun, will be the most interesting and valuable, on the subject, with which we are acquainted. The present volume commences with the first appearance of the Reformed Doctrine in France, and conducts the reader through all the perils to which it was exposed, down to the eve of the memorable St. Bartholomew. The persons

occurring most frequently in the narrative are, Francis I., Henry II., Francis II., Charles IX., Catharine de Medicis, the Duke of Guise, Admiral Coligny, the King of Navarre, the Prince of Condè, the Cardinal Lorraine, De l'Hôpital, Calvin, Beza, and some other names less familiar to general readers, but fitted to awaken an equal, and, in some instances, a stronger interest. Mr. Smedley has made a skilful use of his materials; and has prudently consulted the taste of some of his readers, by the introduction of seasonable and illustrative anecdotes. The first chapter describes a theatrical performance in the palace of Francis I.; shewing that the parties who were in the practice of committing the unhappy Lutherans to the flames with studied barbarity, could convert the excitement occasioned by their doctrine into a source of amusement.

In 1524, the king himself did not refuse to smile at a light interlude, represented in one of the saloons of his own palace, the plot

of which, as it has been handed down to us, could scarcely be agree able to any very zealous Romanist. In this Tragedy, as it is strangely termed, when the curtain draws up, the Pope appeared seated on a lofty throne, crowned with his tiara, and encircled with a throng of cardinals, bishops, and mendicant friars. In the middle of the hall was a huge pile of charcoal smouldering, and scarcely betraying any sign of the flame that lurked beneath, till it was approached by a venerable grey-haired man with a mask imitating the features of Reuchlin. At first he appeared as if alarmed at the unexpected sight of the large and brilliant company of ecclesiastics; but speedily recovering himself, he addressed them on church abuses, and the necessity of reform; and then approaching the embers, he roused them with his staff, and revealed the glowing charcoal underneath. As Reuchlin withdrew, Erasmus entered, and was immediately recognized by the cardinals, with whom he seemed on terms of old acquaintance. In his speech on the diseased condition of the Church, he did not probe the wound to its core, but soothed and mitigated its virulence by mild and lenitive applications, not declaring himself avowedly a foe to either party, deprecating any sudden change in matters of so deep a moment, and strenuously recommending time as the most able physician. When he sat down behind the cardinals, they paid him distinguished attention, evidently dreading his opposition no less than they coveted his support. Next appeared a true counterpart of the Talus of Spencer, a man all iron, both in soul and body. He was intended for Ĥutten, and bursting out into a furious declamation, he taxed the conclave, which he set at nought, as the authors of all corruption in religion, and openly denounced the Pope as Antichrist, the ravager and destroyer of Christendom. Seizing a pair of bellows, he hurried to the embers, and blew them violently into a flame, so fierce as to terrify the Holy College. While, however, he was still blowing and fuming, he fell down dead on the spot, and the cardinals, suppressing all marks either of joy or grief, carried him away without any funeral service. Lastly entered one in motley, whose monkish garb declared him to be Luther. Like a second Isaac, he bore a pile of logs upon his shoulder, and cried out, "I will make this little fire shine through the whole world, so that Christ, who has well nigh perished by your devices, shall be restored to life in spite of you!" Then, tossing the logs upon the charcoal, he kindled them into a blaze, which illuminated the whole chamber, and seemed to shine to the very uttermost ends of the earth. Thereat the monster of a monk broke hastily away, and the Pope and cardinals, quaking with fear, thronged together in close deliberation. Then the Pope, with many tears, demanded assistance and advice in a short and piteous speech. When he had concluded, up rose one of the mendicants, a round big-bellied and sleek-headed little brother, who proffered ready aid to the Pontiff. The holy father's diploma, heretofore, he said, had constituted the members of his order defenders of the true faith, and inquisitors into heretical pravity. If St. Peter would a second time rely upon them, and place all the burden on their shoulders, they would pledge themselves to carry the matter through to his entire satisfaction. The cardinals hailed this proposal with acclamations, and urged upon his Holiness, that those men who had dealt

so well with John Huss at Constance, were, of all other, the most fit agents whom he could select for the present dangerous crisis. Brethren, said the Pope, addressing the mendicants, if indeed you will repeat your great work as at Constance, boundless are the rewards that you may expect. Your four-fold order shall no longer wear rags, but be richly dressed, ride on horses and in litters, throw purple robes on their shoulders, carry mitres on their brows, and be fed, moreover, with the fattest bishopricks. Go and prosper; stay our falling dominion, and, for the safety of us all, first extinguish this fire, kindled the Lord knows how. The friars at the word hurried to the flames, and pouring on them a vast quantity of neat wine, raised them at once to so fearful a height, that the whole conclave was stupified, and the mendicants themselves fled with terror.

When the cardinals had recovered a little, they addressed a supplication to the Pope. "Most Holy Father, to thee is given authority both in heaven and on earth; quench the fire with thy malediction, that it may not overpower us. We know that there is not any element in the creation which must not subside by thy word. Heaven and earth obey thee; at thy bidding, even purgatory absolves or retains the souls of the departed. Wherefore, by thy saintly office, attack this fire with sound anathemas, lest we become a by-word and a reproach." "Cursed be he," was the Pope's apostrophe in consequence, to the fire, "who lighted thee! Darkness overcome thee, night surround thee, that thou mayest no longer burn. May he who piled thee with fuel be stricken with the sores of Egypt, incurable, in his lower bowels. May God strike him with darkness and blindness, and madness, so that he may fumble in noon day, even as a blind man fumbles in the night!" When the hapless Pope discovered that the fire was insensible to his curses, and that he was powerless against the elements, he expired in a paroxysm of rage; and at the sight, the whole assembly broke up, convulsed with laughter.' pp. 13-17.

This characteristic scene is taken from a document attached to the second volume of the Historia Reformationis, by Gerdesius; -an author, we may observe, whose valuable labours have not been sufficiently attended to by our writers on ecclesiastical affairs. Dr. M'Crie has shewn the use that may be made of his researches; and we are pleased to see Mr. Smedley following his example. In the original, the more racy and amusing points in the above description are given in italics, which add much to its force, though hardly comporting with the gravity of history. following account of heroic suffering in the cause of truth, derived from the testimony of the great Erasmus, is truly interesting. It relates to a period before any reformed church existed in France.

The

Louis Berquin, a gentleman of Picardy, employed in the honourable office of King's Advocate, had been convicted some time back of having translated into French certain writings of Luther; and as he obstinately declined to retract his adherence to the obnoxious doctrines, he would even then have been led to the stake, but for the intercession

of powerful friends. Arrested a second time, about the season of the disturbance at Meaux, it seemed as if he must encounter certain destruction. Nevertheless, so energetic were the representations offered in his behalf by Queen Margaret of Navarre to her brother, Francis I., at that moment prisoner at Madrid, that the king exercised from his distant confinement the length of arm for which royalty is proverbial, and commanded a suspension of the process. It was not, however, till the return of the monarch from confinement, and even then with a sullen and reluctant obedience, that the parliament allowed Berquin to be discharged from the Conciergerie. When Francis sent the provost of Paris to demand his release, and in case of refusal to force the gates of his dungeon, the magistrate was denied all positive answer, and coldly informed that he might execute his commission. A few years later, when the king was closely occupied by the troubles of Italy and the ambitious schemes projected in the League of Cambrai, he forgot or abandoned his former client, and the long protracted and persevering vengeance of the parliament was then fully gratified.

Of the charges upon which Berquin was condemned, few particulars have reached us; for Erasmus, from whom we derive a minute account of his behaviour at the stake, professes his own unacquaintance with them, and on one point alone declares his confidence that, whatever might be his imputed errors, Berquin was convinced in his heart that he maintained the truth. The victim was above forty years of age; so pure and blameless in his life, that scandal had never rested on his name; towards his friends, he exhibited singular gentleness of affection, towards the poor and needy, unbounded charity. To the external ordinances of the Church he paid all due observance, attending regularly to days of fasting or of festival, to mass and sermons, and to whatever else might contribute to edification. Free from guile, liberal in disposition, upright in principles, he never inflicted or provoked injury, neither was there any thing in his whole life unbecoming of true Christian piety. His friends were probably mistaken, when they declared him to be most alien from the doctrines of Luther; they were right, doubtless, when they added, that his chief crime was the ingenuous avowal of dislike to certain troublesome divines and monks, not less savage than stupid. Some of the heterodox propositions noted in one of his publications were, that the Scriptures ought to be read to the people at large in the vernacular tongue; a remonstrance against the invocation of the Virgin Mary, often substituted in sermons in lieu of that of the Holy Ghost; a denial that she was the fountain of all grace; and a wish that certain expressions, which, in the Vesper service, contrary to the unvarying tenor of Scripture, designated her as our life and hope, should be restricted to the Son, to whom they properly appertained.

The process against Berquin was submitted to the decision of twelve judges, who, as the day of sentence approached, committed him to prison, an evil omen of their intended severity. He was condemned in the first instance, after public abjuration of his heresy and the burning of his books by the executioner, to be bored through the tongue, and committed to perpetual imprisonment. Astonished at a sentence thus harsh and unmerited, he spoke of an appeal to the king

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