The History of Christianity - John S. C. Abbott (bookstand for reading .txt) 📗

dungeons and flame of the Papal Inquisition more than they did the cimeter of the Turk. They knew full well, that, as soon as the Turks were repelled, the emperor would turn the energies of his sword against them. Still Germany, Protestant and Catholic, had every thing to fear from the ravages and outrages of the barbarian Turk.

After long negotiations, the Protestants consented to co-operate with the emperor in repelling the invasion, upon receiving his solemn pledge to grant them freedom of conscience and of worship. Charles was astonished at the energy with which the Protestants came forward to the war. They even tripled the contingents which they had promised, and fell upon the invaders with such intrepidity as to drive them back pell-mell to the banks of the Bosphorus. Charles then, in violation of his pledge, began to proceed against the Protestants. But they, armed, organized, and flushed with victory, were in no mood to submit to this perfidy. Some of the more considerate of the Papal party, foreseeing the torrents of blood that must flow, and the uncertain issue of the conflict, succeeded in promoting a compromise.

Still Charles was merely temporizing. He at once entered into vigorous efforts to marshal a force sufficiently powerful to crush the Protestants. He concluded a truce with the Turks for five years; he formed a league with Francis King of France, who promised him the whole military force of his kingdom. In the mean time, the Protestants were busy wielding those moral powers more potent than sabres or artillery, than chains or flames. Eloquent preachers were everywhere proclaiming the corruptions of the Papacy. The new doctrines of the Protestants involved the principles of civil as well as religious liberty. The most intelligent and conscientious all over Europe were rapidly embracing the new doctrine. Several of the ablest of the Catholic bishops espoused the Protestant cause. The emperor was quite appalled when he learned that the Archbishop of Cologne, who was one of the electors of the empire, had joined the Protestants. So many of the German princes had adopted the principles of the Reformation, that they had a majority in the electoral diet. In Switzerland, also, Protestantism had won the majority of the people. Still, throughout Europe, Catholicism was in the vast ascendency.

Charles resolved to attempt by stratagem that which he recoiled from undertaking by force. He proposed to the Protestants that a general council should be convened at Trent, and that each party should pledge itself to abide by the decision of a majority of votes. The council, however, was to be summoned by the pope; and Charles, by co-operation with the pope, had made arrangements that the overwhelming majority of the council should be opposed to the reformers. The Protestants, of course, rejected so silly a proposition.

Still the emperor and the pope resolved to hold the council, and to enforce its decrees by their armies. The pope furnished the emperor with thirteen thousand troops and over a million of dollars. Charles raised two large armies of his own subjects,—one in the Low Countries, and one in the States of Austria. His brother Ferdinand, King of Hungary and of Bohemia, also raised two armies of co-operation, one from each of those countries. The King of France mustered his confederate legions, and loudly proclaimed that the day of vengeance had come, in which the Protestants were to be annihilated. The pope issued a decree, in which he offered the pardon of all their sins to those who should engage in this war of extermination of the Protestants.

The reformers were in consternation: the forces marshalled against them seemed to be resistless. But Providence does not always side with the heavy battalions. With energy which surprised both themselves and their foes, they raised an army of eighty thousand men, nearly every individual of whom was a hero, fully comprehending the cause for which he had drawn the sword, and ready to lay down his life in its defence. Battles ensued, blood flowed, and a wail of misery spread over the unhappy realms, which we have no space here to describe. Charles was apparently triumphant. He crushed the Protestant league, subjected the pope to his will, and was about to convene a council to confirm all he had done, when wide-spread disaffection, which had long been slumbering, blazed forth all over the German empire.

The intolerance of the haughty monarch caused a general burst of indignation against him. Maurice, King of Saxony, which was the most powerful State of the Germanic confederacy, headed the insurrection. France, annoyed by the arrogance of the emperor, readily joined the standard of Maurice. The Protestants in crowds flocked to his ranks; for he had issued a declaration that he had taken up arms to prevent the destruction of the Protestant religion, to defend the liberties of Germany, and to rescue from the dungeon innocent men imprisoned for their faith alone. Nominal Catholics were found shoulder to shoulder in co-operation with the Protestants. Whole provinces rushed to join this army. Maurice was regarded as the advocate of civil and religious liberty. Imperial towns threw open their gates joyfully to Maurice. In one month, the aspect of every thing was changed.

The Catholic ecclesiastics, who were assembling at Trent, alarmed at this new attitude of affairs, dissolved the assembly, and fled precipitately to their homes. The emperor was at Innspruck—seated in his arm-chair, with his limbs bandaged in flannel, enfeebled, and suffering from a severe attack of the gout—when the intelligence of this sudden and overwhelming reverse reached him. He was astonished, and utterly confounded. In weakness and pain, unable to leave his couch, with his treasury exhausted, his army widely scattered, and so pressed by their foes that they could not be concentrated, there was nothing left for him but to endeavor to beguile Maurice into a truce. But Maurice was as much at home in all the arts of cunning as was the emperor, and, instead of being beguiled, contrived to entrap his antagonist. This was a new and very salutary experience for Charles. It is a very novel sensation for a successful rogue to be the dupe of roguery.

Maurice pressed on, his army gathering force at every step. He entered the Tyrol, swept through all its valleys, and took possession of all its castles and sublime fastnesses; and the blasts of his bugles reverberated through the cliffs of the mountains, ever sounding the charge and announcing victory, never signalling a defeat. The emperor was reduced to the terrible humiliation of saving himself from capture only by flight. He could scarcely credit the statement when he received the appalling tidings that his foes were within a day’s march of Innspruck, and that a squadron of horse might at any hour cut off his retreat.

It was night when this communication was made to him,—a dark and stormy night,—the 20th of May, 1552. The rain fell in torrents, and the wind howled through the fir-trees and through the crags of the Alps. The tortures of the gout would not allow him to mount his horse, neither could he bear the jolting in a carriage over the rough roads. Some attendants wrapped the monarch in blankets, took him into the courtyard of the palace, and placed him upon a litter. Servants led the way with lanterns; and thus, through the inundated and storm-swept defiles, they fled with their helpless sovereign through the long hours of the tempestuous night, not daring to stop one moment, lest they should hear behind them the iron hoofs of their pursuers.

What a change for one short month to produce! What a comment upon earthly grandeur! It is well for man, in the hour of exultant prosperity, to be humble: he knows not how soon he may fall. Instructive, indeed, is the apostrophe of Cardinal Wolsey, illustrated as the truth he uttered is by almost every page of history:—