History

The Trial, John Huss, part 2

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Sigismund, the son of Holy Roman Emperor Charles IV, was born in 1368. Through marriage to Mary, Queen of Hungary, in 1387, he became king of Hungary two years later. In 1396 he led an army of Crusaders against the Turks and received a crushing defeat at what is now Nikopol, Bulgaria. Upon the death of Holy Roman Emperor Rupert in 1410, Sigismund was elected to succeed him. Wherever he looked, the situation in Europe was most distressing. There were three popes, each of whose personal profligacy’s and official crimes were the scandal of Christianity, who yet claimed to be the supreme pastor and chief teacher of the Church. The most sacred things were bought and sold. Everywhere was strife and bloodshed as nation contended with nation. Many of the major nations of Europe were convulsed with internal problems; and to complete the confusion, the Moslem hordes, encouraged by these dissensions, were threatening to break through and subject all Christianity to Mohammed.

The spectacle of Christianity, disgraced and fractured by three popes while the Church was being corrupted by heretics, greatly concerned Sigismund. In considering how to deal with the situation, he hit upon the expedient of calling a General Council. He determined to assemble the whole Church, with all its patriarchs, cardinals, bishops, and princes, and to summon before this august body the three rival popes. He believed that a council of this nature would have sufficient authority, especially when supported by the imperial power, to force the rival popes to adjust their claims and at the same time silence heretics.

In 1414, Sigismund sought to persuade Pope John XXIII to convoke a council. Such a proposition was alarming beyond measure to him. Nor can we wonder at this if he were guilty of half the crimes which have been attributed to him by church historians. John was accused of having cleared his way to the papal chair by the murder of his predecessor, Alexander V; and he lived in continual fear of himself being removed by the same dreadful means by which he had ascended it. He was in the position, however, of having but little choice. He was at war with Ladislaus, against whose armies he had not fared well and from whom he had been forced to flee to Bologna. Rather than offend the emperor, whose assistance he desperately needed, he determined to face the council. A General Council was finally agreed upon, to be convoked at Constance, November 1, 1414.

Amid all of the many dignitaries to attend the Council were three who took precedence of all others: Sigismund, Pope John XXIII, and John Huss. The two anti-popes had been summoned to the Council, but they chose to appear by representation, rather than in person.

Sigismund appeared, professing John XXIII to be the only valid contender to the tiara. Nevertheless, it was his secret purpose to force John to renounce his claim. John, on the other hand, pretended to be quite cordial in calling the Council, while secretly he was determined to dissolve it as quickly as possible should he find it unfriendly to himself. He left Bologna with a substantial store of jewels and money, hoping to be able to use them to corrupt those he could not dazzle with their splendor. All along the way he took care to make arrangements to leave the way clear should he have to leave Constance in haste. As he passed through Tyrol, he made a secret treaty with Frederick, Duke of Austria, to the effect that one of his strong castles would be at his disposal should it become necessary. When he arrived with the league of Constance, he sought to bind the Abbot of St. Ulric to himself by bestowing on him the miter.

“Meanwhile, another traveler was approaching Constance. Huss was conscious of the dangers which threatened him. He parted from his friends as if he were never to meet them again, and went on his journey feeling that it was leading him to the stake. Notwithstanding he had obtained a safe-conduct from the king of Bohemia and received one also from the emperor Sigismund while on his journey, he made all his arrangements in view of the probability of his death.” The Great Controversy, 104, 105. Though he expected to find more enemies in Constance than Christ had at Jerusalem, he was determined not to betray the gospel by cowardice.

Through every town and village on his route, there were indications of the spread of his doctrines and the favor with which they were held. The inhabitants turned out to welcome him in large numbers. At Nuremberg, as well as at other town through which he passed, the magistrates formed a guard of honor and escorted him through the streets that were thronged with spectators, eager for a glimpse of the man who was changing the face of Christianity. Thus, his journey was, of a sort, a triumphal procession.

Soon after his arrival, Huss met with John XXIII, who added his safe conduct to that of the emperor. A short time later, in violation of these solemn promises, Huss was arrested on orders of the pope and cardinals and thrust into a loathsome dungeon.

The imprisonment of Huss excited great indignation in Bohemia. A number of the barons united in remonstrating with the emperor, reminding him of his safe conduct. Sigismund’s first impulse was to set the Reformer free, but Huss’ enemies were determined and malignant in their designs against him. Playing upon the emperor’s zeal for the Church, they brought forward arguments that sought to convince him that he had had no right to issue such a safe conduct in the circumstances without the consent of the counsel and that the greater good of the Church must overrule his promise. In the voice of the assembled Church, Sigismund believed that he heard the voice of God and allowed the enemies of Huss to have their will with him.

Emperor Sigismund was 47 years of age at the time of the Council. Noble in bearing and tall in stature, he was graceful in manners. His understanding had been improved by study, and he spoke with ability several languages. Had it not been for one grave error, the name that has come down to posterity with an eternal blot upon it might have been fair, if not illustrious. Sigismund committed the grave error common to almost all the princes of his age in believing that in order to reign, it was necessary to dissemble and that craft was an indispensable part of policy.

One of the first matters to be taken up by the Council was that of the trial of John XXIII. John, faced with the charges that were drawn up against him, promised to abdicate; but recovering, he was more determined than ever to maintain his cause and, in stealth, fled the city.

In contrast with the pomp with which he arrived in Constance, John left in the disguise of a peasant. His departure had been arranged beforehand with the Duke of Austria, a friend and staunch protector. The duke, on a given day, was to give a tournament. The spectacle was to take place late in the afternoon; and while the whole city was engrossed in the proceedings, oblivious to all else, the pope would make good his escape.

When the pope’s flight became known, the city was thrown into confusion. Everyone thought that the Council was at an end and the merchants shut their shops and packed up their wares, fearful of pillage from the lawless mob into whose hands they feared the city had been thrown. As soon as the initial excitement had somewhat abated, the emperor rode around the city, openly declaring that he would protect the Council and maintain order.

Sigismund hastily assembled the princes and deputies and indignantly declared that it was his purpose to bring the pope back, and if necessary, reduce the duke of Austria by force of arms in the process. When the pope leaned that a storm was gathering that threatened to follow him, he wrote in conciliatory terms to the emperor, excusing his hasty departure by saying that “he had gone to Schaffhausen to enjoy its sweeter air, that of Constance not agreeing with him; moreover, in this quiet retreat, and at liberty, he would be able to show the world how freely he acted in fulfilling his promise of renouncing the Pontificate.” Wiley, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 152.

John, however, appeared to be in no haste to lay aside the tiara, and every few days he moved farther and farther away in his quest for still sweeter air. He had believed that his flight would be the signal for the Council to break up, and in this he hoped to block Sigismund’s plans and avoid the humiliation of deposition.

The emperor was determined not to be put off in his plans, and the Council proceeded. The charges against John were sustained and he was stripped of the pontificate. When the news arrived, John was as abject as he had before been arrogant. He acknowledged the justice of the sentence and asked only that his life might be spared—which no one at that time had thought to deprive him of.

The cases of the other two popes were more easily dispensed with; and by election of the cardinals, Otta de Colonna was unanimously elected to rule the church as Martin V.

Having condemned John for crimes far more grievous than the charges Huss had made and for which he was called to trial, the Council turned its attention to the Reformer.

Called before the Council, Huss naturally wished to reply to the charges, pointing out those which were false. He had uttered but a few words when there arose such a clamor as to completely drown out his voice. Huss stood motionless, viewing the excited assembly with pity rather than visible anger. As the tumult subsided, he again attempted to proceed with his defense. He had gone but a little ways when he had cause to appeal to the Scriptures, and immediately the storm was renewed with even greater violence.

Some Bohemian noblemen who had witnessed the scene informed Sigismund of what had transpired, urging him to be present at the next hearing.

At the next meeting Sigismund and Huss were brought face to face. The chains that bound Huss were a silent but eloquent commentary on the imperial safe conduct. The emperor, however, consoled himself with the thought that while he had been willing to deprive the Reformer of his freedom, he would at the last extremity save his life. There were two things, however, that Sigismund had failed to take into consideration. The first was the firm and unyielding resolve of the Reformer; the other was the awe in which he, himself, held the Council. Too late, he found, as did Pilate, that having once compromised his conscience, there was no room to change. “And so, despite his better intentions, he suffered himself to be dragged along on the road of perfidy and dishonour, which he had meanly entered, till he came to its tragic end, and the imperial safe conduct and the martyr’s stake had taken their place, side by side, ineffaceable, on history’s eternal pages.” Ibid., 158.

While Huss differed from the Church of Rome, it was not so much on dogmas as on great points of jurisdiction and policy. While these differences directly attacked certain of the principles of the papacy, they tended indirectly to the subversion of the whole system. This was perhaps a far greater revolution than Huss perceived, or perhaps intended; for until the last, he did not abandon the communion of the Roman Church. He admitted to the Divine institution and office of the pope, though he made the effacy of their official acts dependent on their spiritual character. “He held that the supreme rule of faith and practice was the Holy Scriptures; that Christ was the Rock on which our Lord said He would build His church; that ‘the assembly of the Predestinate is the Holy Church, which has neither spot nor wrinkle, but is holy and undefiled; that which Jesus Christ calleth His own;’ that the Church need no one visible head on earth, that it had none such in the days of the apostles; that nevertheless it was then well governed, and might be so still although it should lose its earthly head; and that the Church was not confined to the clergy, but included all the faithful.” Ibid., 158, 159.

Already enfeebled by illness and by his long confinement, he was exhausted and worn out by the length of the appearance and the attention demanded to rebut the attacks and reasonings of his attackers. At length, the Council rose, and Huss was led back to prison.

During the interval between Huss’ second and third appearance, the emperor tried ineffectually to induce the Reformer to retract. Not only was he motivated by a genuine desire to save Huss’ life, but doubtless also out of a regard for his honor which was deeply at stake in the issue. The Reformer, while most willing to abjure those things of which he was falsely accused, refused to be moved regarding those truths he had taught. “‘He would rather,’ he said, ‘be cast into the sea with a millstone about his neck, than offend those little ones to whom he had preached the Gospel, by abjuring it.’” Ibid., 160.

At last the matter was brought to the point of whether or not he would submit implicitly to the Council. “‘If the Council should even tell you,’ said a doctor, whose name has not been preserved, ‘that you have but one eye, you would be obliged to agree with the Council.’ ‘But,’ said Huss, ‘as long as God keeps me in my senses, I would not say such a thing, even though the whole world should require it, because I could not say it without wounding my conscience.’ What an obstinate self-opinionated, arrogant man! Said the Fathers.” Ibid. Even the emperor became irritated at what he regarded as obstinacy.

This was the great crisis in the Reformer ‘s life. It was as if the Council had laid aside all charges of heresy and asked only that he give assent to its divine authority as an infallible council. From that moment, Huss had greater peace of mind than at any time since his ordeal had begun, and he calmly began to prepare for his death.

During his imprisonment before his third and final hearing, Huss was cheered by a prophetic glimpse of the dawn of the better days that awaited the church of God.

While awaiting his final hearing and sentencing, Huss’ thoughts often turned to the chapel of Bethlehem in which he had proclaimed the gospel. One night he “saw in imagination, from the depths of his dungeon, the pictures of Christ that he had painted on the walls of his oratory, effaced by the pope and his bishops. This vision distressed him: but on the next day he saw many painters occupied in restoring these figures in greater number and in brighter colours. As soon as their task was ended, the painters, who were surrounded by an immense crowd, exclaimed: “Now let the popes and bishops come! They shall never efface them more!” D’Aubigne, History of the Reformation, Book 1, chapter 6, 30.

As the Reformer related his dream to his faithful friend, John de Chlum, he was advised to occupy his thoughts with his defense, rather than with visions. “’I am no dreamer,’ replied Huss, ‘but I maintain this for certain, that the image of Christ will never be effaced. They have wished to destroy it, but it shall be painted afresh in all hearts by much better preachers than myself.’” Ibid.

Thirty days elapsed and the Council again called for Huss. The charges against him were again read, following which Huss refused to abjure. This he accompanied with a brief recapitulation of the events that had led up to that moment. He ended by saying that he had come to this Council of his own free will, “‘confiding in the safe conduct of the emperor here present.’ As he uttered these last words, he looked full at Sigismund, on whose brow the crimson of a deep blush was seen by the whole assembly, whose gaze was at the instant turned towards his majesty.’” Wiley, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 161.

Sentence of condemnation was now passed upon Huss. There then followed the ceremony of degradation. One after another of the garments of a priest were brought forward and placed upon him. They next placed in his hand the chalice, as if he were about to celebrate mass. He was then asked if he were willing to adjure. “‘With what face, then,’ he replied, ‘should I behold the heavens? How should I look on those multitudes of men to whom I have preached the pure Gospel? No; I esteem their salvation more than this poor body, now appointed unto death.’” Ibid.

“The vestments were removed one by one, each bishop pronouncing a curse as he performed his part of the ceremony. Finally “they put on his head a cap or pyramidal-shaped miter of paper, on which were painted frightful figures of demons, with the word ‘Archheretic’ conspicuous in front. ‘Most joyfully,’ said Huss, ‘will I wear this crown of shame for Thy sake, O Jesus, who for me didst wear a crown of thorns.’” The Great Controversy, 109.

As the fire began to burn, Huss began to loudly sing, “Jesus, thou Son of David, have mercy on me.” Even his enemies were struck with his heroic bearing. One of the observers, AEneas Sylvius, who afterwards became pope and whose testimony is not liable to suspicion, commented on the heroic demeanor of both Huss and Jerome at their executions. It was said that the vehemence of the fire could scarcely stop their singing.

When Huss bowed at the stake, it was the infallible Council that was vanquished, not the martyr. “Heap together all the trophies of Alexander and of Caesar, what are they all when weighed in the balance against this one glorious achievement? . . . From the moment he expired amid the flames, his name became a power, which will continue to speed on the great cause of truth and light, till the last shackle shall be rent from the intellect, and the conscience emancipated for from every usurpation, shall be free to obey the authority of its rightful Lord.” Wiley, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 164, 165.

Already Bohemia was awakening; and within a hundred years, Germany and all Christendom would arise from their slumber to the awakening prophetically seen in the martyr’s dream.

John Huss and the Reformation in Prague

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The Reformation that began in England as the result of the teachings of John Wycliffe was not restricted to England. Though the work appeared to have stopped with the translation of the English Bible, such was not the case. Though Wycliffe had passed from the field of action, the seed he had sown remained and was yet to emerge in a distant land. Oceans could not stop the spread of truth, nor could national boundaries prevent its triumph. In the year 1400, Jerome of Prague returned to his homeland from England, bringing with him the writings of Wycliffe. It was this seed of truth that opened the eyes of John Huss.

Bohemia and Moravia correspond to what is now the western most part of the Czech Republic. It is believed that Christianity first entered this area in the wake of the armies of Charlemagne (742–814), who established his rule over most of western and central Europe. These Western missionaries, ignorant of the Slavonic tongue, could really effect little conversion of the Bohemian people beyond a nominal acceptance of Christianity. “Accordingly we find the King of Moravia, a country whose religious condition was precisely similar to that of Bohemia, sending to the Greek Emperor, about the year 863, and saying: ‘Our land is baptized, but we have no teachers to instruct us, and translate for us the Holy Scriptures. Send us teachers who may explain to us the Bible.’” Wylie, History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 131.

As a result, the Bohemian church, though adopting Eastern ritual, remained under the jurisdiction of Rome. Later, as the schism between the Eastern and the Western Churches fully developed, the Greek liturgy was discouraged by Rome and the Latin rite was introduced. At length, in 1079, Pope Gregory VII issued a bull forbidding the Oriental ritual to be used any longer, or for public worship to be celebrated in the common language. This order effectively closed every church and Bible in Bohemia. So far as instruction in truth was concerned, total night had set in.

At this dark hour, when it appeared that the Christianity of the nation would completely disappear, the arrival of the Waldenses and Albigenses, fleeing from persecution in Italy and France, breathed new life into the movement. They spread themselves in small colonies all over the Slavonic countries, making their headquarters in Prague. Thought they did not dare to preach publicly, they were zealous evangelists and carried the truth from door to door, keeping the truth alive for two centuries before John Huss appeared.

Because Bohemia was so far removed, it was difficult for Rome to enforce its commands. In many places worship continued to be celebrated in the tongue of the people. Powerful nobles were, in many cases, the protectors of the Waldenses and native Christians who brought prosperity to their lands. All through the fourteenth century these Waldensian exiles continued to sow the seed of pure Christianity in Bohemia.

There were three pioneers of truth who preceded Huss in Bohemia. The first, John Milicius, or Militz, was a man of learning and an eloquent preacher. Whenever he appeared to speak, he addressed the people in the common tongue; and the cathedral was thronged. In hope of finding rest for his soul by fasting, he made a trip to Rome. Upon his arrival, he was shocked to find that the scandals he had spoken out against in Prague paled in comparison to the enormities that were practiced in Rome. In departing, he wrote over the door of one of the cardinals, “Antichrist is now come, and sitteth in the Church.” Ibid., 132.

No sooner had he returned home than the archbishop of Prague, under orders of the pope, placed him in prison. Soon, however, murmurs began to be heard among the citizens; and fearing an uprising, the archbishop released him after a short incarceration. He lived to die in peace at eighty years of age in 1374.

With the passage of time, papal persecution was instigated against the confessors in Bohemia. They no longer dared to celebrate communion using the cup openly but sought retreat in private homes or the yet greater concealment of woods and caves. Finally, in 1376, the stake was decreed against all who dissented from the established rites.

John Huss was born in 1373 in the village of Hussinetz on the edge of the Bohemian Forest. He took his name from his birthplace. His father died while he was yet young. Having completed his education at the provincial school, his mother took him to Prague. There at the university he received his Bachelor of Arts in 1393, Bachelor of Theology in 1394, and Master of the Arts in 1396. Two years later, he entered the church and rose rapidly to distinction until the queen, Sophia of Bavaria, selected him as her confessor.

It was in 1402 that Huss’ career really began when he was appointed the preacher at the Chapel of Bethlehem. At this time, the level of morality had sunken to an extremely low level. In addressing these abuses, Huss aroused opposition, but the queen and archbishop acted as his protectors, and he continued to preach.

The Bethlehem Chapel was founded by a certain citizen of Prague in 1392 with the stipulation that the preaching of the Word of God was to be in the mother tongue. In presenting the Bible truth to his listeners, Huss himself grew in faith and understanding. When he began to study the works of Wycliffe, he found himself not altogether opposed to the reforms Wycliffe proposed.

In preaching from the Bible, Huss had begun a movement the significance of which he little realized. Having placed the Bible above the authority of pope or council, he had, without realizing it, entered upon the road of Protestantism, though at the time he had not thought of breaking with the Church of Rome.

One of the events that took place and which helped to encourage the intercourse between England and Bohemia was the marriage of Richard II of England, to Anne, sister of the king of Bohemia. On the death of the princess, the ladies of her court, on their return to their native land, brought with them the writings of Wycliffe, whose follower their mistress had been.

About this time (1404), two theologians from England, graduates of Oxford and disciples of the gospel, arrived in Prague. They came planning to hold public disputations, and they chose as their opening wedge the primacy of the pope. The country was scarcely prepared to be open to such a message and the authorities promptly put a stop to their efforts in that direction. As they considered what avenue they might take to pursue their purpose, an idea presented itself. Both of these would-be missionaries had studied art as well as theology and they proceeded to demonstrate their skill in drawing in the corridor of the house in which they were staying. On one wall they portrayed the humble entrance of Jesus into Jerusalem. On the other they displayed the more royal magnificence of a pontifical procession. There was seen the pope, dressed in his pontifical robes, the Triple Crown on his head, with trumpeters proclaiming his approach. Many were drawn to gaze upon the contrasting pictures. Such excitement was stirred that the artists deemed it prudent to withdraw for a time.

Among those who came to gaze at this antithesis of Christ and Antichrist was John Huss. The effect that it had upon him led him to a more careful study than ever of the writings of Wycliffe. He could not, however, accept the sweeping measure of reform that was advocated by him. The idea of overturning the hierarchy and replacing it with the simple ministry of the Word was an idea so revolutionary as to make him draw back.

One of the things that helped to open Huss’ eyes was the presentation of relics and the lying wonders that were attributed to them. Many doubts were expressed regarding the cures, and the archbishop ordered an investigation into the truth of the matter. As a result, it was discovered that all of the miracles were impostures. In the summer of 1405, under threat of excommunication, all preachers were enjoined to publish to their congregations the episcopal prohibition of pilgrimages.

The events that were transpiring in Prague could not long escape the notice of Rome. In response, Pope Alexander V issued a bull commanding the archbishop of Prague to burn all the books written by Wycliffe. Upwards of 200 volumes, beautifully written and elegantly bound, some of which were ornamented with precious stones, were burned to the tolling of bells. Their beauty and costliness showed that their owners were men of high standing, and their number reflected on how widely the writings of the English Reformer had been circulated in Prague alone.

This act further inflamed the zeal of Huss, and his sermons now attacked indulgences as well as the abuses of the hierarchy. A summons now arrived from Rome demanding that Huss appear in person to defend his doctrines. To obey was certain death. The king, the queen, the university, and many other persons of rank and influence united in sending an embassy requesting the pope to dispense with Huss’ personal appearance, allowing him to be heard by legal counsel. The pope refused to listen and went on to condemn him in absentia, laying the city of Prague under interdict.

On every side there were tokens of doom. The church doors were locked; corpses lay by the wayside awaiting burial. The images which stood at the street corners were covered with sackcloth or laid prostrate on the ground.

A tumult was beginning to disturb the peace; and Huss, following the command of Jesus, when persecuted in one place, fled to another. Leaving Prague, he retired to his native village where he enjoyed the protection of the territorial lord, who was his friend. From there he traveled to the surrounding towns and villages, preaching the gospel as he went.

“The mind of Huss, at this stage of his career, would seem to have been the scene of a painful conflict. Although the Church was seeking to overwhelm him by her thunderbolts, he had not renounced her authority. The Roman Church was still to him the spouse of Christ, and the Pope was the representative and vicar of God. What Huss was warring against was the abuse of authority, not the principle inself. This brought on a terrible conflict between the convictions of his understanding the claims of his conscience. . . . This was the problem he could not solve; this was the doubt that tortured him hour by hour. The nearest approximation to a solution, which he was able to make, was that it had happened again, as once before in the days of the Saviour, that the priest of the Church had become wicked persons, and were using their lawful authority for unlawful ends.” Ibid. 139. It is doubtful that even as he stood at the stake that Huss had the clearness of sight that Wycliffe had developed. He was unable to separate in his mind the true church from the organized structure that represented to him the ship in which all were to obtain safety.

Gradually things quieted in Prague and an uneasy calm settled in. Huss longed to return to his post in the Chapel of Bethlehem. Upon his return, he spoke even more boldly against the tyranny of the priesthood in forbidding the preaching of the gospel.

About this time, the Lord brought Jerome into Huss’ life. Jerome, a Bohemian knight, had returned from having spent some time at Oxford where he had imbibed of Wycliffe’s teachings. As he passed through Paris and Vienna, he challenged the learned men of these universities to dispute him in the matter of faith. As a result, he was thrown into prison but made his escape and returned to Bohemia to spread the doctrines of the English Reformer.

Though much alike in their great qualities and aims, Huss and Jerome differed in minor points to be sufficiently diverse to compliment each other. Huss was the more powerful character while Jerome was the more powerful orator. Their friendship and affection for each other grew and continued unbroken until they were united in death.

About this time, three popes were all contending for supremacy, filling Christendom with strife and tumult. Each, casting about to find means with which to raise armies to support his claim to St. Peter’s chair, offered for sale the blessings of the church. The bishops and lower levels of the clergy, quick to learn from the example set them by the popes, enriched themselves by simony. Of the practices of piety, nothing remained but a few superstitious rites. The words of the prophet certainly applied. “And judgment is turned away backward, and justice standeth afar off: for truth is fallen in the street, and equity cannot enter.” Isaiah 59:14.

While this is truly a distressing and melancholy spectacle, perhaps it was necessary that the evil should more fully develop and manifest itself that the eyes of men might be opened and they might see that, “It was indeed a ‘bitter thin’ that they had forsaken the ‘easy yoke’ of the Gospel, and submitted to a power that set no limits to its usurpations, and which, clothing itself with the prerogatives of God, was waging a war of extermination against all the rights of men.” Ibid., 141. As long as men believed that the church was the ship of salvation by which all must stand—the ark of God, which would weather every storm to arrive at last at the heavenly shore—the supremacy of Rome was assured. As long as this delusion was systematically taught and fondly received, reformation was impossible.

As Huss contemplated the frightful condition of society and the church, he was led to study more deeply the Bible and the writings of the early church fathers. He began to see more clearly how far the church had digressed from the purity of doctrine that had once been delivered to the saints. It was at this time that he wrote his treatise On the Church, a work that revealed the extent of his emancipation from the shackles of church authority.

This tract was soon followed by another entitled The Six Errors. In this tract, he set forth a list of errors of the Roman Church, which included: 1) the error of transubstantiation; 2) the confession required of all church members as to their belief in the saints and the pope; 3) the pretension of the priests to remit the guilt and punishment for sin; 4) the implicit obedience required of all to their ecclesiastical superiors; 5) the failure to make a distinction between a valid excommunication and one that is not; and 6) simony.

About this time, the war between the popes reached such a level that it threatened to engulf a divided Bohemia. The king and priesthood of the nation supported John XXIII, while the common people and many of the leading citizens sided with Ladislaus, King of Hungary, who supported Gregory XII. As Huss viewed the contending factions, he spoke plainer and more boldly with every passing day. The scandals which multiplied around him no doubt aroused his indignation, and the persecutions he endured no doubt strengthened him in purpose. In the midst of this turmoil, the archbishop placed Prague under interdict and threatened to continue the sentence so long as Huss remained in the city. He was persuaded that if Huss should retire, the movement would go down and the war of factions would subside in peace. In this, however, he was deceived. Two ages were struggling together, and movement was now beyond the power of any man to control.

Huss, fearing that his presence in Prague might embarrass his friends, again withdrew to his native village. It was from there that he wrote for the first time the prophetic words that were later to be repeated, each time taking a more exact and definite form. “’If the goose’ (his name in the Bohemian language signifies goose), ‘which is but a timid bird, and cannot fly high, has been able to burst its bonds, there will come afterwards an eagle, which will soar high into the air and draw to it all the other birds.’” Ibid., 143.

It was pleasant to lave the strife of Prague for the quietude of his birthplace. Here he could devote himself to study and communion with God and reflect on the result of the work that he had begun. He had been able to partially emancipate his country from the darkness of error. One more act remained for him to perform—the greatest and most enduring of all. As the preacher of Bethlehem Chapel, he had largely contributed to the emancipation of Bohemia; but as the martyr of Constance, he was to largely contribute to the emancipation of Christendom.

 

The Gun Powder Plot And The Vatican

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The destruction of the Armada drew England together. The nation seemed to realize that if it did not draw together in the work of the Reformation, all of the various factions would fall prey to a common enemy. The years that followed were years of prosperity and added to the glory of England. Unfortunately, however, Elizabeth appreciated the Reformation less for the freedom it gave to the conscience than for freeing her throne. One of her chief aims was to reconcile the English Catholics leading her to dread the complete separation of the Church of England from Rome. She loved splendor in worship and finding the Puritans to be an intolerable nuisance, exercised great intolerance toward them.

Elizabeth has been called great, but her greatness lay largely in the greatness of those she surrounded herself with. The Reformation had set England on the road to greatness; and as the head of state, Elizabeth was lifted up along with it.

Elizabeth died in March of 1603. When it became apparent that she would soon breathe her last, the Catholic interests took steps to see that none would take her place who were not deeply attached to Roman Catholicism. James VI, the king of Scotland, whose Protestantism was open to question, was anxious to obtain the throne. He received warnings from Elizabeth and her counselors that unless his Protestant interests were above suspicion, he would never be accepted by England. In 1600 he gave strong assurances that he would maintain the profession of the gospel. This strong assurance doubtless quieted the fears of the English statesmen; but at the same time, it awakened the fears of the Roman Catholics.

The conspirators who had seen their hopes dashed by such a strong statement, appealed to Pope Clement VIII to use his influence to bar Jame’s ascent to the throne. Clement was not hard to be persuaded in the matter and sent two bulls—one addressed to the Roman clergy, the other to the nobility and laity. Both bulls were of similar tenor and urged that no one should be allowed to ascend the throne who had not only sworn to tolerate the Roman Catholic faith but who would, to the utmost of his power, uphold and advance it.

When Elizabeth died, the Catholic faction immediately dispatched a messenger to the court of Spain, seeking Philip’s interposition on their behalf. The memory of the Armada was still fresh in Philip’s mind. The loss that he had sustained, as well as the blow that the national spirit had received, was too great to allow him to do anything but wish them well.

“The Order of Jesus is never more formidable than when it appears to be least so. It is when the Jesuits are stripped of all external means of doing harm that They devise the vastest schemes, and execute them with the most daring courage….The Jesuits in England now began to meditate a great blow. They had delivered an astounding stroke at sea but a few years before; they would signalize the present emergency by a nearly as astounding stroke on land. They would prepare an Armada in the heart of the kingdom, which would have inflicted had not the ‘winds become Lutheran,’ as Medina Sidonia said with an oath, and in their sectarian fury sent his ships to the bottom.” J.A. Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 3, 527

Catesby, a gentleman of an ancient family, proposed in one sweeping blow to destroy the king and Parliament. In short, he proposed to blow up the House of Parliament with the gunpowder when the king and the Estates of the Realm were all assembled. The plot was entrusted to about twenty persons. They were able to hire a coal-cellar under the Parliament building in which they placed thirty-six barrels of gunpowder. Over these they placed stones and iron bars.

In order to more deeply conceal their real feelings of the conspirators, there was a petition that was published in which they begged the king’s toleration, professing great fidelity and unfeigned love for his Majesty and attesting to their loyal behavior. Shortly before the time for the plot to be executed, Guy Fawkes, one of the ringleaders in the plot, was sent to Rome with a letter to Clement requesting an order from his Holiness, or else the head of the Jesuits, ordering a cessation of all disturbances among the Catholics of England. The Protestants were deceived by these pretensions, not realizing that the very men who were loudest in their protestations of loyalty and brotherly concern were all the while storing gunpowder under the House of lords, counting the hours until they could wreck ruin on England.

All that prevented the horrible crime from being executed was the failure on the part of one of the conspirators. Losing heart, one of the men involved wrote a letter to Lord Monteagle. A search was made and the plot was discovered.

Instead of learning from these events, James later sent the Earl of Bristol to Spain to negotiate the marriage of his son Prince Charles to the daughter of Philip. Though it eventually came to nothing, he gave fresh life to Romanism and laid the foundation for the miseries which would later overtake his house and England. Believing that the religion of his subjects was a weakness rather than the strength of his throne, he labored to destroy it; and in so doing, he alienated the nation.

James VI sank to his grave in 1625 and Charles I replaced him as reigning monarch of England. The year of James’ death was rendered memorable by the birth of a spiritual revival in Scotland. Even men of the world were impressed by the evidence of the working of a supernatural influence. The moral character of whole towns, villages, and parishes was suddenly changed.

The first error of Charles was his marriage to the French princess, a member of the Roman Catholic faith. His second was his dismissal of Parliament because they refused to vote him a supply of money until they had been given a redress of grievances. His second parliament was dismissed for the same reason. Then deciding that he could do as well without a parliament, Charles ruled by prerogative alone. Under this arrangement he could tax his subjects whenever and to whatever extent that he chose. Many unjust and severe taxes were levied.

History confirms that civil tyranny cannot maintain itself along side of religious liberty. Whenever it is confronted by liberty of conscience, it must either extinguish that freedom or suffer itself to be extinguished by it. So was the case in the days of Charles.

The bishop who was over the diocese of London, Bishop Laud, was a man of remarkable character. Becoming one of Charles’s leading counselors, Laud bent his whole energies to molding the religion of England in the direction of the Roman Church. Candlesticks, tapers, and crucifixes began to appear in the churches. Those clergymen who questioned his policies were subject to fines and imprisonment. He made use of forms of prayer that were taken directly from the Mass Book. In his diary, Laud reveals that the pope twice made him the offer of a red hat.

Alarm and discontent, along with the smoldering spirit of insurrection, pervaded all of England. Superstitious rites replaced the pure scriptural forms of the Reformation, and civil and ecclesiastical tyranny were the rule of the land; but before it resulted in open rebellion, events in Scotland took such a turn as to bring deliverance to both Scotland and England.

The Scottish bishops, in a letter to Laud, expressed their desire to maintain a nearer conformity with the Church of England, confirming that this was also the wish of the people. With Charles, however, the wishes of the people mattered nothing. Rather than condescend to the wishes of the Scottish church, Laud imposed upon them the Liturgy, which upon examination was found to be alarmingly popish in nature. The 23rd of July, 1637, was fixed as the day on which the new services were to be implemented.

On that Sunday morning, the reader appeared in the desk of St. Giles’ and went over the usual prayers. Having ended, with tears in his eyes he turned to bid the people good-by, informing them that this was likely the last time he would ever read prayers in the church. At the stated hour, he was followed by the Dean of Edinburgh who appeared to institute the new services. As the dean, Liturgy in hand, worked his way to the desk, the scene became more animated. Scarcely had he begun to read when his composure was shaken by the whiz of a missile passing dangerously close to his ear. Tradition tells us that Jane Geddes, who kept a stall on the High Street, finding nothing more convenient, flung her stool at the dean, with the rebuke, “Villian, dost thou say mass at my lug?” Ibid., 542. The dean hastily shut the obnoxious book and fled with all speed. Thinking that perhaps his greater dignity would effect to gain the reverence of the people, the Bishop of Edinburgh ascended to the desk. His appearance, however, was the signal for a renewed tempest which was more fierce than the first. He managed to escape, the magistrates escorting him home to protect him from the fury of the mob.

If the hatred of the Scottish people had been limited to the unpremeditated outbreaks of the lower classes, the king would have triumphed in the end; but along with these surface demonstrations, there was the strong determined resistance that pervaded all ranks of society. The Privy Council of Scotland, sensing the firm attitude of the nation, sent a representation to the king stating the true feelings of the people. Charles insolently responded by issuing another proclamation, insisting that the Liturgy be used and branding with treason any who opposed it. This expression of tyranny was sufficient to thoroughly arouse the slumbering spirit of the Scots and served to unite them in their opposition.

In the opinion of Charles, nothing remained for him to do but to resort to force. In April 1640, the king summoned Parliament to vote him supplies for a war with the Scots, but they refused to do so. The king then turned to the clergy to raise the necessary funds. The queen addressed a letter to the Roman Catholics who, far from being indifferent spectators, raised a considerable amount of money. As a result, Charles raised an army and marched to the Scottish border.

The Scots were not unaware of what was taking place and had prepared to meet the invasion. Thirty thousand able-bodied men answered the call to service for their country. Hardly had their preparations been completed when the announcement was made that the English forces were approaching.

The Scots were overall victorious as they represented the flower of Scotland, whereas the English soldiers had little heart for fighting. Negotiations were soon opened and a treaty of peace was concluded. Though the terms were vague, the Scots still had a great deal of loyalty to their king and willingly agreed to terms that would never have been acceptable with a foreign enemy. This devotion was repaid by Charles’ perfidy, and the next year he again prepared to invade Scotland. Not waiting for the English armies to reach their boarders, the Scots entered England and completely discomfited the king’s forces at Newburn, almost without striking a blow. With his army dispirited and his nobles lukewarm, the king was forced to again open negotiations with the Scots.

In November, 1640, Parliament met at Westminster. This parliament, known as the Long Parliament, boldly discussed the grievances under which the nation groaned. The king’s two favorites, Strafford and Laud, were impeached and brought to the block. Other reforms were instituted, and many of the effects of the recent years of despotism were swept away by the spirit of reform. It seemed for a time that even the king was converted to the changes. The dark clouds of war seemed to be diminishing; and the king, who had betrayed the faith of his subjects a score of times, was almost trusted by a rejoicing nation.

At this critical moment, terrible tidings arrived from Ireland. A slaughter of Protestants by the Roman Catholics began on October 23, 1641, that rivaled that of the slaughter of St. Bartholomew in France. The butcheries were similar to those imposed on the Waldenses, and the estimates of the total number killed ranged from the low of 50,000 upwards to 300,000. The northern parts of Ireland were nearly depopulated. The persons involved in this atrocity pleaded the king’’ authority and produced Charles’s commission with is broad seal attached to it, reviving the former suspicions of the king’s sincerity and hurrying the king and the nation to a terrible catastrophe.

After the breakdown of a series of exchanges between the king and Parliament, Charles marched to Nottingham where he set up his standard on August 22, 1642.
The first battle between the forces loyal to the king and those recruited by Parliament was at Edgehill, Warwickshire. Both sides claimed the victory over the hard-contested field. From there the tide of battle shifted from one side to the other with the Royalists initially holding the upper hand. The Royalists had the superiority of arms and their soldiers were well discipline, led by commanders who had learned the art of war on the battlefields of the Continent. In contrast, the armies of Parliament were new recruits. As time passed, however, and the new recruits gained skill and experience, the fortunes of war began to shift. Brave from principle and with the consciousness of a noble cause, the army of Parliament was inspired with ardor and courage. The longer the war lasted, the greater became the disparity between the two opposing armies. Finally, on July 1, 1644, at Marston Moor, the virtual fate of the war was decided. From this day on, the king’s fortunes steadily declined.

When the king eventually became a prisoner, England came under a dual directorate, one half of which was a body of debating civilians and the other a conquering army. Parliament soon lost control of the situation and ceased to be master of itself. Cromwell, the virtual head of the army, put himself at the head of affairs and brought the debating to an end. Colonel Joyce was sent to Holmby House, where Charles was confined, and showed such good authority—namely and armed force—that Charles was immediately turned over to him. Colonel Pride was next sent to the House of Commons; and taking his stand at the door with a regiment of soldiers, he admitted only those who could be relied upon. The number to which Parliament was reduced to by this action was no more than fifty or sixty members. This body, known as the Rump Parliament, drew up papers accusing Charles Stuart of high treason. Brought before this tribunal, Charles declined to accept its jurisdiction and was quickly condemned as a traitor and sentenced to be beheaded.

The scaffold was erected before Whitehall on January 30, 1649. An immense crowd filled the street, along which shotted cannon were turned assuring that no tumult would interrupt the unfolding events. A scaffold receiving their sovereign’s blood was a spectacle that England had never before witnessed, and it was a drama they could scarcely believe would go to its end. At the appointed hour, the king stepped to the scaffold, bearing himself with dignity.

For thirty years the popish powers had attempted to overthrow the Protestant movement. Massacres and devastation had overtaken the cities and villages of Bohemia and Hungary. These nations, Protestant when the war began, were forced back and trodden into popish superstition and then into slavery by its end. This period, known as the Thirty Years’ War, continued to sweep over the forces of the Protestant kingdoms of Germany until Gustavaeus Adolphus of Sweden had rolled it back. After his death, Romanism seemed to gain a fresh force; but by this time, England and Scotland had become even more important theaters than Germany was. Knowing that without the overthrow of Protestantism in these two countries their triumphs in other parts of Europe would by to no avail, the Jesuits with their intrigue, sought to corrupt Great Britain and thereby recover both England and Scotland. Their design seemed to be on the very threshold of success when it all ended at the scaffold at Whitehall.

“So sudden a collapse had overtaken the schemings and plotting of thirty years! The sky of Europe changed in almost a single day; and the great wave of popish reaction which had rolled over all Germany, and dashed itself against the shores of Britain, threatening at one time to submerge all the Protestant States of Christendom, felt the check of an unseen Hand, and subsided and retired at the scaffold of Charles I.” Ibid., 556
In the overthrow of the popish plans, Protestantism ascended to a higher platform than it had ever before attained.

The fall of the monarchy in England was soon followed by a military dictatorship, headed by Oliver Cromwell. If Cromwell was a tyrant, he was so in a very different way than Charles had been. Under his government, England suddenly broke forth from a position of weakness to one of great prestige. She again became a force to be reckoned with in Christendom. The massacres were brought to an end in the Waldensian valleys, and even the pope trembled in the Vatican when Oliver threatened to make his fleet visit the Eternal City. For the remainder of his rule, as Lord Protector, until his death in 1658, the people of England experienced the spirit of liberty; and her people could breathe more freely.

The End

Thanksgiving – A Time to Give Thanks

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In the United States and Canada, a day is set aside each year as Thanksgiving Day. On this day, people give thanks with feasting and prayer for the blessings they may have received during the year. The first Thanksgiving Days were harvest festivals, or days for thanking God for plentiful crops. For this reason the holiday still takes place late in the fall, after the crops have been gathered. For thousands of years people in many lands have held harvest festivals. The American Thanksgiving Day probably grew out of the harvest-home celebrations of England.

In the United States, Thanksgiving is usually a family day, celebrated with big dinners and joyous reunions. The very mention of Thanksgiving often calls up memories of kitchens and pantries crowded with good things to eat. Thanksgiving is also time for serious religious thinking, church services, and prayer.

One of the first Thanksgiving observances in America was entirely religious and did not involve feasting. On December 4, 1619, 39 English settlers arrived at Berkeley Plantation, on the James River near what is now Charles City, Virginia. The group’s charter required that the day of arrival be observed yearly as a day of thanksgiving to God.

The First New England Thanksgiving was celebrated less than a year after the Plymouth colonists had settled in the new land. The first dreadful winter in Massachusetts had killed nearly half of the members of the colony. But new hope grew up in the summer of 1621. The corn harvest brought rejoicing. Governor William Bradford decreed that a three-day feast be held.

The first Thanksgiving Day, set aside for the special purpose of prayer as well as celebration, was decreed by Governor Bradford for July 30, 1623.

The women of the colony spent many days preparing for the feast. The children helped by turning roasts on spits in front of open fires. Indians brought wild turkeys and venison (deer meat). The men of the colony brought geese, ducks, and fish. The women served the meat and fish with journey cake, corn meal bread with nuts, and succotash. Everyone ate outdoors at big tables.

Later Thanksgiving Days in the United States. The custom of Thanksgiving Day spread from Plymouth to other New England colonies. During the Revolutionary War, eight special days of thanks were observed for victories and for being saved from dangers. On November 26, 1789, President George Washington issued a general proclamation for a day of thanks. In the same year the Protestant Episcopal church announced that the first Thursday in November would be a regular yearly day for giving thanks, “unless another day be appointed by the civil authorities.”

For many years there was no regular national Thanksgiving Day in the United States. Some states had a yearly Thanksgiving holiday, and others did not. But by 1830 New York had an official state Thanksgiving Day, and other northern states soon followed its example. Virginia was the first southern state to adopt the custom. It proclaimed a Thanksgiving Day in 1855.

Mrs. Sarah Josepha Hale, the editor of Godey’s Lady’s Book, worked many years to promote the idea of a national Thanksgiving Day. Then President Lincoln proclaimed the last Thursday in November, 1863, as “a day of thanksgiving and praise to our beneficent Father.”

Each year afterward, for 75 years, the President of the United States formally proclaimed that Thanksgiving Day should be celebrated on the last Thursday of November. But in 1939 President Roosevelt set it one week earlier. He wanted to help business by lengthening the shopping period before Christmas. Congress finally ruled that after 1941 the fourth Thursday of November would be observed as Thanksgiving Day and would be a legal federal holiday.

Thanksgiving Day in Canada is celebrated in much the same way as in the United States. It was formerly celebrated on the last Monday in October. But, in 1957, the Canadian government proclaimed the second Monday in October for the holiday.

The World Book Encyclopedia, volume 18, 1971, by Field Enterprises Educational Corporation, 180, 181.

The Armada, part 2

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Sunday, morning, July 31, witnessed the first encounter between the great navy of Spain and the little fleet of England. Medina Sidonia gave the signal for an engagement; but to his surprise, he found that the ability of accepting or declining battle lay entirely with the English. Howard’s ships were stationed to the windward and the sluggish Spanish galleons could not close with them. The English vessels, however, which were light and skillfully handled, would run up to the Armada, pour a broadside into it, and then as swiftly retreat beyond the reach of the Spanish guns. Sailing right into the wind, they defied pursuit. This was a method of fighting most frustrating to the Spanish, but they were unable to change it. All day the Armada moved slowly up-channel before the westerly breeze; and the English fleet hanging upon its rear, continued to fire into it, now a single shot, and again, a whole broadside. This action was repeated over and over again. The Spanish guns, seeking to return the fire, found that their shots, fired from lofty decks, passed over the English ships, falling harmlessly into the sea beyond them. It was in vain that the Spanish admiral raised the flag of battle, for the wind and the sea would not permit him to lie to. His nimble foe would not come within reach, unless it might be for a moment to send a cannonball through the side of some of his galleons and then make off, laughing to scorn the ungainly efforts of this bulky pursuer to overtake him. As yet there had been no loss of either ship or man on the part of the English.

In addition to the damage inflicted on them by the English guns, the Armada sustained other damage. As night fell, its ships huddled together to prevent dispersion. The galleon of Pedro di Valdez, fouling with the Santa Catalina, was damaged and fell behind, becoming the booty of the English. This galleon had onboard a large amount of treasure and, what was of even greater importance to the captors, whose scanty stock of ammunition was already becoming exhausted, many tons of gunpowder. A loss of even greater significance to the Spanish than the money and the ammunition was that of her commander. Pedro di Valdez was the only navel officer of the fleet who was acquainted with the Channel.

Later the same evening a yet greater calamity befell the Armada. The captain of the rear admiral’s galleon, much out of humor for the day’s adventures and quarreling with all who approached him, accused the master gunner of careless firing. Greatly offended, the man went straight to the powder magazine, thrust a burning match into it, and threw himself out of one of the portholes into the sea. Within seconds, in a momentary burst of splendor, the explosion lit the surrounding ocean. The deck was upheaved; the turrets at stern and stem rose into the air, carrying with them the paymaster of the fleet and 200 soldiers. The strong hulk, though torn by the explosion, continued to float and was seized in the morning by the English who found in it a great amount of treasure and supply of ammunition which had not ignited.

On the very first day of conflict, the Armada had lost two flagships, 450 officers and men, the paymaster of the fleet, and 100,000 ducats of Spanish gold, a sum equal to about 50,000 of English money. This was not a favorable start of an expedition which Spain had exhausted herself to outfit.

The following day the Armada continued its way slowly up-channel, followed by the fleet under Howard, who hovered upon its rear but did not attack it. On Tuesday the first really serious encounter took place. As the morning rose, the wind changed to the east, which exactly reversed the position of the two fleets, giving the weather advantage to the Armada. Howard attempted to sail around it and get to the windward side, but Medina Sidonia intercepted him by coming between him and the shore and compelled him to accept battle at close quarters. The combat was long and confused. In the evening the Spanish ships gathered themselves up and forming into a compact group, went on their way. It was believed that they were obeying Philip’s instructions to meet the duke of Parma and then, with his army, strike the decisive blow. The shores of the English Channel were crowded with anxious spectators, breathlessly watching their brave little fleet battling against the mighty ships of the Spanish invader. From every port of the realm, English merchant vessels were hastening to the spot where England’s very existence hung on the outcome of the battle. While the many small additions added greatly to the appearance, they did very little to the effectiveness of the queen’s navy.

On Wednesday a few shots were exchanged, but no general action took place. By the following day, the wind had once again changed to the east, giving the Armada once more the advantage. The sharpest action yet to be fought began. The ships of the two fleets engaged yardarm to yardarm, and broadside after broadside was exchanged at a distance of about 100 yards. The English admiral, Lord Howard, in his ship the Ark, and by the shock unshipped her rudder and rendered her unmanageable. Six Spanish galleons closed around her, never doubting that she was their prize. In an instant the Ark’s own boats had her in tow; and passing out of the hostile circle she was off, to the amazement of the Spaniards. The fight continued several hours longer. When evening fell, it found the English fleet, who had all through the conflict seen the Spanish shot pass harmlessly over it, burying itself in the sea, showing no sign of battle, with scarcely a cord torn and its crews intact. The sides of the galleons, however, were pierced and riddled with the English shot, and their masts were cut or splintered.

The following day the procession up-channel was resumed in the same order as before, the mighty Armada leading the van and the nimble English fleet following. By Saturday afternoon the Spaniards were approaching the point at which they were to be joined by the Duke of Parma. As he had not arrived yet, Medina Sidonia decided to cast anchor and wait.

The critical hour had arrived when it was to be determined whether England should remain an independent kingdom or become one of Philip’s numerous satrapies; whether it was to retain the light of the Protestant faith or to fall back into the darkness and serfdom of a medieval superstition. In the skirmishes that had preceded this moment, the English ships had fared well; but now the moment had come for a death struggle between Spain and England. The Armada had arrived on the battleground comparatively intact. It had experienced rough handling from the tempests of the Atlantic and had received some heavy blows from the English fleet; several of the galleons which had glided so proudly out of the harbor at Lisbon were now at the bottom of the ocean, but these losses were hardly felt by the great Armada. It only awaited the arrival of the Duke of Parma to be perhaps the mightiest combination of navel and military power which the world had seen.

As evening drew on, low, rapidly moving clouds gave evidence of an approaching storm. The waves of the Atlantic, forcing their way up the Channel, uneasily rocked the huge Spanish galleons. The night wore away and with the return of light, Medina Sidonia could be seen scrutinizing the eastern ocean, looking for the approach of the Duke of Parma.

Meanwhile, Parma was himself as anxious to join the Armada as they were to have him. A fleet of flat-bottomed vessels was ready to carry this powerful host; but one thing was wanting, and its absence rendered all of these vast preparations fruitless. In order to join the Spanish fleet, Parma needed an open door from his harbors to the ocean, and the Dutch saw to it that he had none. They drew a line of warships along the Netherland coast; and Parma, with his sailors and soldiers, was imprisoned in his own ports. It was strange that these circumstances had not been foreseen and provided for. In this oversight is revealed the working of a Hand powerful enough by its slightest touches to defeat the wisest schemes and crush the mightiest combinations of man when directed against a people who were leaning on Him for help.

Parma repeatedly wrote to both Philip and Medina Sidonia telling them of his predicament, but Philip either would not or could not understand.

In the meantime, anxious consultations were being held onboard the English fleet. The brave and patriotic men who led it recognized the gravity of the situation. If the Armada was joined by Parma, it would be so overwhelmingly powerful that it seemed nothing could hinder its crossing over to England. The men of the English fleet feared that before another dawn had come, Parman’s fleet would anchor alongside that of Medina Sidonia and the opportunity for striking a preemptive blow would be past.

A bold and somewhat novel idea was decided upon. Eight of the volunteer ships were selected, their masts smeared with pitch, and their hulls filled with powder, all kinds of explosives, and combustible materials. Once prepared they were set adrift in the direction of the Armada. The night favored the execution of this design. Dark clouds hid the stars while the muttering of distant thunder reverberated in the sky. The deep, heavy swell of the ocean that precedes the tempest was rocking the galleons, rendering their positions every moment more unpleasant. On the one side they found themselves close to the shallows of Calais, with the quicksand of Flanders behind them.

Suddenly, about the hour past midnight, the watch discerned dark objects emerging out of the blackness and advancing toward them. They had scarcely given the alarm when suddenly these dark shapes burst into flame, lighting up sea and sky in gloomy grandeur. Steadily these pillars of fire continued to move over the waters straight toward the Armada. The Spaniards gazed for one terrified moment upon the dreadful apparition; and then, divining its nature and mission, they instantly cut their cables, and, with the loss of some of their galleons and the damage of others, fled in confusion and panic.

With the first light, the English admiral weighed anchor and set sail in pursuit of the fleeing Spanish. At eight o’clock on Monday morning, Drake caught up with the Armada; and giving it no time to collect and form, began the most important of all the battles which had yet been fought.

The English ships drew close to the galleons, pouring broadside after broadside into them. From morning to night the rain of shot continued. The galleons, falling back before the fierce onslaught, huddled together. The English fire, pouring into the mass of hulls and masts, was doing fearful work, converting the ships into shambles. Rivulets of blood poured form their scuttles into the sea. By this time, many of the Spanish guns were dismounted; those that remained active fired but slowly, while the heavy rolling of the vessels threw the shot into the air. Several of the galleons were seen to go down in the action, others reeled away toward Ostend.

When evening fell the fighting was still going on. But with the shifting of the breeze to the northwest and the increasing rise of the sea, a new calamity threatened the disabled and helpless Armada; it was being forced upon the Flanders coast. If the English had had strength and ammunition to pursue them, the galleons would have that night found common burial on the shoals and quicksand of the Netherlands.

The power of the Armada had been broken; most of its vessels were in sinking condition. Between 4,000 and 5,000 of its soldiers had been killed and received burial in the ocean, and at least as many more lay wounded and dying onboard their shattered galleons. Of the English, not more than 100 had fallen.

Thankful was the terrified Medina Sidonia when night fell, giving him a few hours respite; but with morning his dangers and anxieties returned as he found himself between two great perils. On the windward of him was the English fleet. Behind him was that belt of muddy water of the Dutch coast, which, if he struck was lost. With every passing moment the helpless Armada was drawing nearer to those terrible shoals. Suddenly the wind shifted to the east, and the change rescued, at least for the moment, the Spanish galleons on the very brink of destruction.

The English fleet, having lost the advantage of the wind, stood off; and the Spanish admiral, relieved of their presence, assembled his officers to deliberate on the course to be taken. The question to be decided was: Should they return to their anchorage off Calais or go back to Spain by way of the Orkneys? To return to Calais involved a second battle with the English; and were this to take place, the officers were of the opinion that for the Armada, there would be no tomorrow. The alternative of returning to Spain in battered ships, passing without pilots through unknown and dangerous seas, was a solution nearly as formidable; nevertheless, it was the lesser of the two evils to which their choice was limited, and it was the one adopted.

No sooner had the change of wind rescued the Spanish from the destruction which seemed to await them than it shifted once more and, settling in the southwest, blew with ever increasing intensity. The mostly rudderless ships could do nothing but drift before the rising storm into the northern seas. Drake followed them for a day or two without firing a gun, having spent his supply of ammunition; but just the sight of his ships was enough for the terrified Spaniards and they fled.

Spreading the sail to the rising gale, the Armada bore northward. Drake had been uneasy, fearing that the Spaniards might seek refuge in Scotland; but when he saw this danger pass and the Armada speed away toward the shore of Norway, he resolved to return before famine should set in among his crews.

No sooner did Drake turn back from the fleeing foe than the tempest took up the pursuit. Suddenly a furious gale burst out, and the last the English saw of the Armada was the vanishing forms of their retreating galleons as they entered the cloud of storm and became lost in the blackness of the northern night.

Carried on the tempest’s wings around Cape Wrath, they were next launched amid the perils of the Hebrides. The rollers of the Atlantic hoisted them, dashing them against the cliffs or flinging them on the shelving shore. Their crews, too worn with toil and want to swim ashore, were drowned in the surf and littered the beaches with their corpses. The winds drove the survivors farther south until they reached the west coast of Ireland.

There came a day’s calm; hunger and thirst were raging on board the ships; their store of water was entirely spent. Seeking to relieve their desperate situation, the Spaniards sent some boats on shore to beg supplies. They prayed piteously, willing to pay any amount of money but were unable to obtain any. The natives knew that the Spaniards had lost the day and should they comfort and assist the enemies of Elizabeth, they would be held answerable.

The storm then returned in all its former violence and raged for eleven days. During that time, galleon after galleon came on shore, scattering its drowned crews by hundreds upon the beach.

The sea was not the only enemy these wretched men had to dread. The Irish, though of the same religion as the Spaniards, were more pitiless than the waves. As the Spaniards crawled through the surf up the beaches, the Irish slaughtered them for the sake of their velvets, their gold brocades, and their rich chains. In addition, prompted by the fear that the Spaniards might be joined by the Irish and lead them in revolt, the English garrisons in Ireland had received orders to execute all who fell into their hands. It was calculated that in the month of September alone, 8,000Spaniards perished between the Giant’s Causeway and Blosket Sound, 1,100 were executed by the government officers, and 3,000 were murdered by the Irish. The rest were drowned. The tragedy, witnessed of old on the shores of the Red Sea, had repeated itself, with wider horrors, on the coast of Ireland.

The few galleons that escaped the waves and rocks crept back home, one by one. The terrible tragedy was too great to be disclosed all at once. When the terrible facts became fully known, the nation was shocked. There was scarcely a noble family in all of Spain which had not lost one or more of its members. Of the 30,000 who had sailed in the Armada, scarcely 10,000 ever returned; and these returned, in almost every instance, to pine and die. The Duke of Medina Sidonia, the commander in chief, was almost the only one of the nobles who outlived the catastrophe; but his head was bowed in shame. Envying the fate of those who had perished, he buried himself from the eyes of his countrymen in his countryseat.

The sorrowful Philip was deeply wounded from a quarter from which he looked for sympathy and help. Pope Sixtus had promised a contribution of a million crowns toward the expenses of the Armada; but when he saw the outcome, he refused to pay a single ducat. In vain Philip urged that the Pope had instigated him to the attempt, the expedition had been undertaken in the sacred cause of the Church, and that the loss ought to be borne mutually. To his entreaties, Sixtus was deaf.

The Armada was the mightiest effort, by force of arms, ever put forth by the Roman Catholic powers against Protestantism; and it proved the turning point in the great war between Rome and the Reformation. Spain was never after what she had been before the failure of that expedition. It said in effect to her, “Remove the diadem; put off the crown.”

Almost all of the military genius and the naval skill enrolled in the service of Spain were lost in that ill-fated expedition. The financial loss could not be reckoned at less than six million ducats, but that was nothing compared with the loss of Spain’s prestige. The catastrophe stripped her naked. Her position and that of the Protestant powers were to a large extent reversed—England and the Netherlands rose, and Spain fell.

The tragedy of the Armada was a great sermon, the text of which was that the ordinary course of events had been interrupted; the heavens had been bowed, and the Great Judge had descended upon the scene, working out a marvelous deliverance for England. While dismay reined within the popish kingdoms, the Protestant states joined in a chorus of thanksgiving.

The End

The Armada, part 1

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While Mary Stuart, the Roman Catholic Queen of Scots, lived, Rome’s hope of bringing England back under the control of the Catholic Church centered in her. Their death, however, effectively put an end to all of these hopes. The papal decree ordering all Christian princes to actively work for the destruction of Protestantism still remained as one of the infallible canons of the Council of Trent and was still acknowledged by the kings of the Catholic world. The plot to bring about the overthrow of Protestant England now took a new shape in the form of the invincible Armada.

It required no supernatural insight to recognize the approaching storm. Sixtus V, who even among popes was outstanding for his craft and daring, was just beginning his reign. Cold, selfish, hungry for power, and dedicated to the overthrow of Protestantism, Phillip II was on the throne of Spain. No Jesuit could be more dedicated in purpose, nor shrewd in disguising his purposes. His great ambition was that after-generations should be able to say of him that in his days and by his arms, heresy had been exterminated.

The Jesuits were operating throughout Europe, working to inflame the minds of kings and statesmen against the Reformation, seeking to organize them into armed combinations to put it down. Protestantism had been effectively purged from Spain and Italy. Worst of all, even among the friends of Protestantism there was fragmentation and disagreement. The spiritual influence, which like a mighty wave had rolled across all Christendom in the first half of the century, bearing on its swelling crest scholars, statesmen, and nations, was now on the ebb, and Catholicism was struggling to gain back that which it had lost. Luther, Calvin, Knox, Cranmer, and Coligny were all off the stage of action; and their successors, though men of faith and ability, were not of the same stature as those who had laid the foundation of the Reformation. In terms of facilities that generally determine the strength of a nation, there was little to compare between those who favored the Reformation and those who opposed it. To all human appearances, it seemed that the flame of the Reformation, which but a few years earlier had burned so brightly, must soon flicker and die.

Before her powerful enemies, England, with her little population of four million, and Holland, with even less, appeared completely vulnerable before the mighty armies of the Catholic world, enriched with their gold plundered from the New World. While the friends of the Reformation were divided, irresolute, cherishing illusions of peace, and making little or no preparations, there were omens that only too clearly betokened the coming conflict.

In 1584, two years before the execution of Mary Stuart, Phillip began preparations for building a fleet, the likes of which the world had never seen. For such an effort and for such a glorious cause, money and effort were now object. Stretching along nearly two thousand miles of coast line there was not a harbor or river’s mouth that could be utilized which was not taken advantage of for the building of ships that were to bear the Spanish soldiers of the Inquisition to the shores of heretical England.

The completed fleet had provisions for six months, as well as quantities of power, shot, all of the other materials that would be needed for an invasion. The Armada numbered 130 vessels, great and small. On board were 8,000 sailors in addition to 20,000 soldiers. This group was augmented by many noblemen and gentlemen who had volunteered to serve. The armor consisted of 2,650 pieces of ordnance; its burden was 60,000 tons. This was an immense tonnage at the time when the English navy consisted of twenty-eight ships and an aggregate weight that did not exceed the tonnage of a single, modern seagoing vessel.

The Spanish ships were of great capacity and amazing strength. Their strong ribs were lined with planks four feet in thickness, through which it was thought impossible that a cannon ball could pierce. Cables smeared with pitch were wound around the masts to enable them to withstand the fire of the enemy. Sixty-four of the total number of ships were galleons. Armed with heavy brass, they towered above the waves like castles.

During the time that the vast fleet was being built, Spain did everything that could possibly be done to conceal the knowledge of it from England. With poor, if any, postal communications, secrecy was more easily attainable than today. It was impossible however, to keep a complete secret. In order to ease the concerns of the English, Philip resorted to dissimulation. It was said at one time that the new fleet’s purpose was to sweep from the seas certain pirates that gave annoyance to Spain and had captured some of her ships. Later, it was said that Philip meant to punish certain unknown enemies on the far side of the Atlantic. All that craft and lying could do was done to allay the suspicions of the people of England. Even Walsingham, one of the most discerning and clear sighted of the queen’s ministers, expressed belief—just fifteen days before the Armada sailed—that it never would invade England and that Philip’s hands were too full at home to leave him leisure to conquer kingdoms abroad.

In reality, there were two Armadas being prepared to attack an unsuspecting England. In the Netherlands, at that time in the possession of Philip, there was a scene of activity nearly as great as that which was taking place in Spain. Philip’s governor in Belgium, the duke of Parma, was perhaps the most able general of his age. His instructions were to prepare an army and fleet to cooperate with the Spanish force as soon as it arrived in the English Channel.

The whole of the Spanish Netherlands suddenly burst into activity. Assembling 28 warships, along with several hundred smaller vessels, the duke gathered regiments of soldiers from every Catholic nation in Europe. There was scarcely a noble house of Spain that was not represented within the camp of Parma. Believing that the last hour of England had come, they assembled to witness her fall.

During this time of preparation, every imaginable deception was practiced toward Elizabeth and the statesmen who served her to hide from them their great danger until it should overtake them. She sent her commissioners to the Low Countries, but Parma protested, with tears in his eyes, that there lived not on earth anyone who more sincerely desired peace than himself. Did not his prayers morning and night ascend for its continuance? And as regarding the wise and magnanimous sovereign of England, there was not one of her servants that cherished a higher admiration for her than did he. This monumental hypocrisy was not without effect. The English commissioners returned, after three month’s absence, in the belief that Parma’s intentions were peaceful and confirmed Elizabeth and her ministers in dreams of peace. England did not fully awaken from this illusion of peace until just days before the guns of the Spanish Armada were heard in the English Channel.

To aid in the war effort, Sixtus V issued a bull against Elizabeth in which he confirmed the previous one by Pius V, absolving her subjects of their allegiance and conferring her kingdom upon Philip II, to have and to hold as tributary and feudatory of the papal chair. While the pope with one hand took away the crown from Elizabeth, he conferred with the other the red hat upon Father Allen. Already the archbishop of Canterbury, Allen was at once both the archbishop of Canterbury and, by order of the pope, papal legate. Allen now had the pope’s bull translated into English, intending that upon arrival of the Spanish fleet, it should be published in England.

Suddenly, as if from a deep sleep, England awoke to her great danger just before the Spanish ships were to arrive. How was the invasion to be met? England had but a handful of soldiers and a few ships to oppose the host that was coming against her.

The total English force was just over 150,000. This force was split into three groups with one group stationed for the defense of the capital, one for the personal defense of the queen, and the third was to guard the south and east as the place most likely to be selected by the enemy for landing. Beacons were prepared to be lighted at the first landing of the of the enemy on English soil, notifying the rest of the troops at what point to converge.

The English fleet that sailed to oppose the Armada consisted of thirty-four ships of small tonnage carrying 6,000 men. Besides these, the city of London provided thirty ships. In all the port towns, merchant vessels were converted into warships, bringing the total to possibly as many as 150 vessels, with a crew of 14,000. Though the total number of vessels nearly matched that of the Spanish, the figures on paper give a far more favorable appearance than is warranted. The English fleet was, in comparison to the Spanish fleet, but a collection of six or eight oared boats along with a few slightly larger vessels.

This force was divided into two squadrons: one, under Lord Howard, high admiral of England, consisting of seventeen ships which were to cruise the Channel and there wait for the arrival of the Armada. The second squadron, under Hawkins, consisting of fifteen ships, was stationed at Dunkirk to intercept Parma should he attempt to cross with his fleet from Flanders. Sir Francis Drake, in his ship the Revenge , had a following of about thirty privateers. After the war broke out, the fleet was further increased by ships belonging to the nobility and the merchants, hastily armed and sent to sea; though the brunt of the fight, it was foreseen, must fall on the queen’s ships.

England’s inferior army was simply militia, insufficiently drilled, poorly armed, and, except in spirit, could not compare in any way with the soldiers of Spain who had been seasoned on the field of battle. The Spanish army alone was deemed more than sufficient to conquer England; and how easy would the conquest become when that Armada should be joined by the mighty force under Parma, the flower of the Spanish army! England, with her long lone of coast, her unfortified town, and her four millions of population, including many thousands of Roman Catholics ready to rise in insurrection as soon as the invader had made good his landing, was at that hour in supreme peril. It was not England alone whose existence was in question. Its success or failure was the standing or falling of Protestantism. Should Philip succeed in his enterprise, Spain would replace England as the teacher and guide of the nations, some idea of the consequence of such an outcome may be seen by contrasting the political, religious, social, and moral conditions today of Latin America with those of Protestant North America.

For some time after the ships of the Armada had been collected in Lisbon, ready to sail, they were unable to move, waiting for favorable weather. When the wind finally shifted, the proud galleons spread their canvas and began their voyage toward England. For three days—May 28-30, 1588—galleon followed galleon, till it seemed the ocean must surely be filled with them. It was a breathtaking sight, as with sails spread to the breeze and banners and streamers gaily unfurled, it made its way along the coast of Spain. The twelve principal ships of the Armada bound on this holy enterprise had been baptized with the names of the twelve apostles. On board the St. Peter was Don Martin Allacon, administrator and vicar-general of the holy office of the Inquisition; and along with him were 200 barefooted friars and Dominicans. Though the guns of the Armada were to begin the conquest of heretical England, the spiritual arms of the Fathers were to complete it.

Just as the Armada was about to sail, the Marquis Santa Cruz, who had been appointed to the chief command, died. He had been thirty years in Philip’s service and was beyond doubt the most capable sea captian Spain had. Another had to be found to fill the place of the “Iron-Marquis,” and the duke of Medina Sidonia was selected for the job. The main recommendation of Medina Sidonia was his vast wealth. The “Golden Duke” was there simply to provide the armament; the real head of the expedition was to be the duke of Parma, Philip’s commander in the Netherlands and the ablest of his generals. As soon as the Armada should arrive off Calais, the duke was to cross from Flanders and, uniting his numerous army with the vast fleet, to descend like a cloud upon the shore of England.

The Armada was three weeks at sea. The huge ships, so disproportioned to the small sails, made windward progress wearisomely slow. They floated well enough upon a calm sea, but as they were about to open the Bay of Biscay, the sky began to be overcast, and dark clouds came rolling up from the southwest. The swell of the Atlantic grew into mountainous billows, tumbling around those towering structures whose bulk only exposed them all the more to the buffeting of the great waves and furious winds. The Armada was scattered by the gale. As the weather moderated, the ships reassembled and again began to move toward England. A second and more severe storm soon burst upon them. The waves, dashing against the lofty turrets at stem and stern, sent a spout of white water up their sides and high into midair, while the racing waves, coursing across the low bulwarks amidships, threatened every moment to engulf the galleons. One of the greatest of them went down with all on board, and another two were driven to the coast of France.

The storm subsiding, the Armada once more gathered itself together, and on July 29, it entered the Channel. The next day England had her first sight of the long expected enemy. Instantly the beacon fires were kindled, announcing that the Spanish had arrived. On the afternoon of July 30, the Armada could be seen from the high ground above Plymouth Harbor, advancing slowly from the southwest in the form of a crescent, the two horns of which were seven miles apart. As one massive hull after another came out of the blue distance, it was seen that rumor of its size had not been exaggerated in the least. On his great galleon, the St. Martin, in his shot-proof fortress stood Medina Sidonia, casting proud glances around him.

The night that followed was a night long to be remembered in England, as another and yet another hilltop lighted its fires in the darkness and the ever-extending line of light flashed the news of the Armada’s arrival from the shores of the Channel across all of England and Scotland. In this moment of destiny, the hearts of men were drawn together by the sense of a common terror. All controversies were forgotten in one absorbing interest; and the cry of the nation went up to God that He would place His protection over England and not suffer her to be destroyed.

Meanwhile, the harbor of Plymouth was in a fever of excitement. The moment the news arrived that the Armada had been sighted, Howard, Drake, and Hawkins began their preparations; and the rest of the night was spent in preparing the ships for sea. By morning, sixty ships had been towed out of the harbor. Their numbers were little more than a third of those of the Armada, and their inferiority in size was even greater; but manned by patriotic crews, they hoisted sail and went forth to meet the enemy. On the afternoon of the same day, the two fleets came in sight of each other. The wind was blowing from the southwest, bringing with it a drizzling rain and choppy seas. The waves of the Atlantic came tumbling into the Channel; and the galleons of Spain, with their heavy ordnance and their numerous squadrons, rolled uneasily and clumsily. The English ships, of smaller size and handled by expert seamen, bore finely up before the breeze, taking a close survey of the Spanish fleet, and then, standing off to windward, became invisible in the haze. The Spaniards knew that the English fleet was in the vicinity, but the darkness did not permit battle to be joined that night.

The End

Persecution Revived: Enter in Through the Right Gate

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After Henry died in 1547, young and reforming Edward succeeded him to the throne. The Popish faction was still powerful. Had Edward VI lived, it is probable that many things in the worship of the Church of England, borrowed from the Roman Church, would have been removed.

It was a great work that was accomplished in England during Edward’s reign, especially when we consider that it was all accomplished in six short years. Before the Reformation was to be firmly established in England, however, it would yet pass through another severe trial and test.

Following the death of Edward, July 17, 1553, Mary daughter of Henry VIII, began to reign at thirty-seven years of age. Her accession was met with satisfaction, if not with enthusiasm, by the great majority of the nation. It was the general belief that the throne was rightfully hers, though an earlier parliament had annulled her right of succession on the grounds of the unlawfulness of Henry’s marriage to Catherine. Later, another parliament had restored it to her, which was in keeping with Henry’s last will and testament. Under this arrangement, she placed next after Edward, Prince of Wales, and heir to the crown. Few indeed anticipated the terrible changes that would soon sweep the nation. Mary’s education had been conducted mainly by her mother, who had taught her little besides a strong attachment to the Roman Catholic faith. No sooner had the way to the throne been cleared for her than she sent a message to the pope to the effect that she was his faithful daughter and England had returned to Rome. The knowledge of the joy of this would bring to the Eternal City enabled the messenger to make the trip in nine days, something that had taken Campeggio three months to accomplish when he came to pronounce Henry’s divorce.

Realizing that these same tidings would be far from welcome in England, Mary hid her true feelings. To the Reformers of Suffolk, who before espousing her cause sought a commitment from her as to the course she intended to pursue, she bade them put their minds at rest; no man would be molested on the grounds of his religion. Upon entering London, she sent the Lord Mayor the message that she meant not to compel other people’s consciences otherwise than God should persuade their hearts of truth. By these words, her right to the throne was confirmed. No sooner, however, was she firmly established than she threw off all disguise and left no one in doubt that it was her settled purpose to suppress the Protestant faith.

All of the circumstances that had made progress of the Reformation so difficult in England worked in Mary’s favor as she sought to restore the Catholic religion. Large numbers of the people were still attached to the ancient beliefs, as there had not been sufficient time for the light to fully dispel the darkness. A large portion of the clergy, though professing the Protestant faith because of the pressure that had been applied to them as a result of the laws passed during Henry’s reign, were still papal at heart.

Throughout all of England, all men who held any position of influence and who were known to be favorable to the Reformation were removed. During the months of August and September, Ridley, Bishop of London; Rogers; Latimer, the most eloquent preacher in all of England; Hooper of Gloucester; Coverdale; Bradford; Saunders; and others were deprived of their liberty. In addition, some noblemen and gentlemen were deprived of their lands which the king had given them. Many churches were changed, altars were set up, and masses said, even before a law had been passed making it legal.

All of the foreign Protestants were given passports, with orders to leave the country. Nearly 1,000 Englishmen under various guises left with them. Providence had arranged that just as the storm was about to break in England, it had begun to abate on the Continent.

Soon after being confirmed to the throne, Mary considered a marriage to the emperor’s son, Philip of Spain. Parliament begged the queen not to marry a stranger; and the queen, not liking to have her matrimonial interests interfered with, dismissed the members and sent them to their homes. Gardiner, Bishop of Winchester and Lord Chancellor of England, learning that a galleon loaded with gold had just returned to Spain from South America, wrote the emperor, suggesting that for the price of a few millions of his wealth he might be able to buy sufficient votes of influential men, thereby assuring that England would be rescued from heresy. At the same time, it was suggested that it would be an opportunity to add another to the many kingdoms that were already under the Spanish scepter. The idea was agreed to and plans for a wedding moved ahead.

With the year 1555, the stake returned to England. Secret informers were appointed in each district to report on all who did not attend the mass or who otherwise failed to conduct themselves as good Catholics. Among the first victims to suffer for their faith were Rogers and Hooper. The men who were burned during Mary’s reign died mainly because of their denial in the belief of transubstantiation—the actual presence of the body of Christ in the Lord’s Supper. The question was direct and there was no reasoning the matter. “What sayest thou?” was the question put to each of them. If in answer they said “flesh,” they were acquitted; if in reply they said “bread,” they were condemned to be burned.

Rogers had been an associate of Tyndale and Coverdale in translating the Scriptures. On the morning of February 4, he was awakened and led to Smithfield. In the crowd he saw his wife with their eleven children, the smallest still an infant. His persecutors thought that his fatherly instincts might prevail where they had failed, but in this they were mistaken. Refusing the pardon that was offered him, he replied; “That which I have preached will I seal with my blood.” Accused of being a heretic, he calmly replied that this would be determined at the last day.

After this beginning, the work moved ahead rapidly. In order to strike terror to the populace as a whole, stakes were raised all over England. The clergy, thinking that seeing their pastors burned would terrorize the flock, arranged to have the Reformers burned in various places throughout England. Little did they realize that the people might be moved to pity by the sight and, admiring their heroism, would come to despise the tyranny that doomed them to such an awful death. A thrill of horror swept the nation.

Hooper, who had been a companion of Rogers at his initial trial, had expected to accompany him to the stake. Instead, however, he was told that he was to be transported back to Gloucester where he had been bishop. Though he welcomed the privilege of dying anywhere for Christ, to seal his testimony before the flock to which had preached filled him with joy. Arriving in Gloucester, he was met by a crowd of tearful people. Three days were allowed him before his execution. On February 9, he was led out. It was market day and not less than 7,000 people assembled to watch. He did not address those assembled, as he had been forced to give his promise to remain silent by the threat of having his tongue cut out. His courage and the serenity of his countenance, however, preached a more eloquent sermon than any words he might have framed.

Men were able to contrast the leniency with which the Romanists had been treated under Edward VI with the fierce cruelty of Mary. When Protestantism was in the ascendancy, not a single papist had died for his religion. A few priests had been deprived of their offices and revenue, but the vast majority had saved their livelihood by conforming. Now that popery had revived, no one could be a Protestant but at the peril of his life. All over England fires raged. From the child, to the elderly, without regard to sex, the victims were brought, sometimes singly, at other times by the dozens. An England that till now had placed a small price on the Reformation, awoke to a better idea of the value what Edward VI and Cranmer had given it.

The gloomiest year in the history of England was the last year of Mary. Drought and tempests had brought about a scarcity of food. Famine brought plague in its wake. Strange maladies attacked the population and a full half of the inhabitants fell sick. Many towns and villages were almost depopulated, and a sufficient number of laborers could not be found to even reap the fields. In many places the grain, instead of being carried to the barn, stood rotting in the fields. The kingdom was rapidly becoming a satrapy of Spain, and its prestige was year by year sinking in the eyes of foreign powers.

Between February 4, 1555, when Rogers was burned at Smithfield, and November 15, 1558, when five martyrs were burned in one fire at Canterbury just two days before Mary died, no less than 288 persons were burned alive at the stake.

Mary breathed her last on the morning of November 17, 1558. On the same day, but a few hours later, Cardinal Pole died. He along with Carranza, the Spanish priest who had been Mary’s confessor, had been chief counselor in carrying out the deeds that were to crown her reign with such infamy in England. The news of Mary’s death spreading rapidly through London caused general rejoicing. Wherever the news was told, it was heralded with great joy. The nation awoke as from a horrible nightmare.

Elizabeth ascended the throne with the sincere purpose of restoring the Protestant religion. She was faced, however, with a work that was as difficult as it was great. The learned and eloquent preachers who had been the strength of Protestantism in the reign of her brother Edward had perished at the stake or been driven into exile, leaving the pulpits in the possession of the Roman Catholic clergy. On all sides she was surrounded by great dangers. The clergy of her realm were mostly of the Catholic faith. As the daughter of one of those wives of Henry that they disputed, in the eyes of these bishops her claim to the throne was more than doubtful. Abroad, the dangers were equally great.

During the first year of Elizabeth’s reign, the qualified Protestant clergy in England were few indeed, but their numbers rapidly increased as the news reached the cities to which they had been driven by persecution. Their arrivals in England greatly strengthened the work of restoring the Reformation.

As long as Scotland was Catholic in faith, it was a threat to Protestant England. The establishment of its Reformation in 1560 under John Knox, however, made it one in policy, as in faith, with England. At the time when Elizabeth was weakest, this sudden conversion of an ancient foe into a firm ally brought her unexpected help.

The Reformer, John Knox, landed in Scotland on May 2, 1559. A messenger immediately set off to bear the unwelcome news to the Scottish queen. A few days later, by royal proclamation, he was declared a rebel and an outlaw. If the proclamation accomplished nothing else, it succeeded in electrifying all of Scotland with the news.

Until the coming of Knox, a close alliance had existed between Scotland and France, a union of the gravest concern to Elizabeth. Francis II, upon ascending the throne of France, had openly assumed the title and arms of England. He made no secret of his purpose to invade the country and place his wife, Mary Stuart, heiress of the Scottish kingdom, upon its throne. The most obvious way to achieve his purpose, as it appeared to him, was to pour his soldiers into his wife’s hereditary kingdom of Scotland and then descend on England from the North. The scheme was proceeding with every promise of success, when the progress of the Reformation in Scotland and the consequent expulsion of the French from that country of France and converted that very country, in which the Papists trusted to be the instrument of Elizabeth’s overthrow, into her firmest ally.

It now became clear to Pope Pius V that the Reformation was centering itself in England, and, from there, influencing all of Europe. In the throne of England, Protestant forces were finding a focus and developing into a more consolidated and effective Protestantism than had ever before existed in Christendom. It was here, therefore, that the great battle must come which would determine whether the Reformation of the sixteenth century was to establish itself or to end in failure.

On May 3, 1570, Pius V issued his bull excommunicating Queen Elizabeth. Nearly three years before, the Jesuits had begun to infiltrate England. Professing themselves to be Protestant clergymen, they worked to widen the differences and create animosities between the various Protestant groups, eventually breaking the union and peace that had so largely prevailed in England during the first ten years of Elizabeth’s reign. The Massacre of St. Bartholomew, which occurred soon after, in 1572, sent a thrill of terror through the nation. The doom of the Huguenots taught Elizabeth and the English Protestants that Roman Catholic pledges and promises of peace were no security whatever against sudden and wholesale destruction.

To counter the influence of the Reformation movement in England, the Catholic Church founded a university at Douay in the northeast of France. To this school a small group of English youth came to be educated as seminary priests and later were employed in undermining the Reformation in their native land. The Pope so completely approved of the entire plan that he created a similar institution in Rome—the English College.

Before these foreign seminaries had had sufficient time to complete the work of training qualified agents, two students of Oxford, Edward Campion and Robert Parsons, traveled to Rome. While there, they arranged with the Jesuits to carry out the execution of the Pope’s bull against Queen Elizabeth. Returning to England in 1580, they began operations. Assuming new names and different dress each day of the week, they began to traverse England. In their travels, they lodged in the houses of Catholic nobles, seeking to arouse Roman Catholic zeal and the spirit of mutiny. At length, Campion addressed a letter to the Privy Council, boldly avowing to revive in England “the faith that was first planted, and must be restored,” and boasting that the Jesuits of all countries were leagued together for this object. He concluded by demanding a disputation at which the queen and members of the Privy Council should be present. A warrant was issued for his arrest, and he was seized while in the disguise of a soldier and taken to the Tower. According to the act already passed, he was found guilty and, along with Sherwin, Kirby, and Briant, his accomplices, was executed for high treason.

Rome recognized that any hope of reestablishing the faith of Rome in England was hopeless as long as Elizabeth reigned. Finding themselves unwilling to wait for natural causes to make vacant her throne, they watched their opportunity to accomplish her removal. The record of England during the years following 1580 is a continuous record of these murderous attempts, all springing out of and justifying themselves by the bull of excommunication. Not a year passed, after the arrival in England of the Jesuits Campion and Parsons, that there was not a plot to insurrection in some part of the queen’s dominions.

In 1586 came the Babington conspiracy. It originated with John Ballard, a priest who had been educated in the seminary at Rheims. Respecting the bull of excommunication as the product of infallibility, he held that as Elizabeth had been excommunicated by the Pope, for him to deprive her of both her life and throne would be the most acceptable service he could do to God and the surest way of earning a crown in Paradise. The affair was to begin with the assassination of Elizabeth. The Catholics in England were then to be summoned to arms; and while the flames of insurrection were raging within the kingdom, a foreign army was to land upon the coast, besiege and sack the cities that opposed them, raise Mary Stuart of Scotland to the throne, and establish the Catholic religion in England.

By means of intercepted letters and the information of spies, Walsingham, one of Elizabeth’s leading secretaries, early learned of the secret. Soon he was in possession of as clear and exact a knowledge of the plot as the conspirators themselves. Quietly he stood by, watching the conspiracy develop until all was ready. He then stepped in and crushed it. The Englishmen who had plotted to extinguish the religion and liberties of their native land in the blood of civil war and the fury of foreign invasion paid for their crimes on the scaffold. The life of Mary, Queen of Scots, ended for her, not on the throne of England but with a headsman’s ax.

An attempt has been made to present the men executed for their share in this, and similar conspiracies, as martyrs for religion. The fact is, however, that it is impossible to show that a single individual was put to death under Elizabeth simply because he believed in or professed the Roman Catholic faith. In every case, the charges were for promoting or practicing treason. Surely had the Protestant government of Elizabeth thought to put to death Catholics for their faith, those others who had acted such prominent parts in the bloody tragedies under Mary would have been the first to fall. But these men who had murdered hundreds were never called to account for the deeds they had done. Instead, they lived out their lives in ease and peace amid the relations and contemporaries of the men they had dragged to the stake.

As the Bible began to freely circulate in Britain, it soon changed the character of the people, putting an end to the barbaric and bloodthirsty methods that had been the tools long employed by the Church of Rome to suppress all who were in opposition to her authority. In some instances it might be argued that Roman Catholics were treated with unnecessary cruelty, but it must be remembered that England was in a period of transition. The nation was just emerging from the Romish school of blood after centuries of training. Britain and North America are today what the Bible made them; Spain and Latin America are what Romanism made them.

The End

Reformation in England

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Descending on England like soft dew and advancing noiselessly as the light of the rising sun, the Word of God, given to the common people by Tyndale, began to work, laying the foundation for the Reformation. While there were many martyrs who would yet lay down their lives before England would fully accept the reformed faith, there were signs that popular feeling was turning against the old faith. From time to time there was destruction of public symbols. Many of the crucifixes that stood along the roadways were pulled down. Images of saints were found destroyed. Though there were a few arrests made and the perpetrators of the act hanged, in most cases they remained unknown.

As the years passed and Catherine gave Henry VIII no sons, the kings affection for his queen began to wane.

Cardinal Wolsey, archenemy of the Protestant faith, had twice been promised the Roman tiara by Charles V, the emperor and nephew of Catherine. Twice Charles broke his promise and Wolsey saw another become pope in his place. A man as proud and powerful as Wolsey could scarcely pardon such an affront. A plan to avenge himself began to form in Wolsey’s mind, though it might convulse all of Europe in the process.

The cardinal knew that Henry had harbored secret doubts about the lawfulness of his marriage to Catherine and that the king was less favorably disposed towards her than he had been in the early years of their marriage. Taking advantage of the king’s intense fear of having no heir to the throne and the apparent hopelessness of obtaining one by Catherine, Wolsey saw the means of breaking the alliance between Henry and Spain and at the same time humiliating the emperor by having removed his aunt in disgrace from being the queen. In all of his planning, Wolsey did not see that his scheme would result in his own downfall and the fall of popedom in England.

Going to the king in private, he pointed out to him that the salvation of his soul and the welfare of his kingdom were in jeopardy. Three days later, he again approached the king and told him: “Most mighty prince, you cannot like Herod, have your brother’s wife. Submit the matter to proper judges.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 3, 375. The fact that Charles V had previously objected to an alliance with Princess Mary, the daughter of Catherine, on the grounds that she was the issue of a forbidden marriage helped to influence the king; and the pope was approached and asked for his blessing in granting Henry a divorce. The divorce would not have cost Clement VII so much as a second thought, had it not been that he greatly feared the emperor, Charles V, whose armies surrounded him.

Wolsey, made it clear to Clement and his cardinals that if the divorce were not granted, England was lost to the papacy. The fact that Charles’ armies were at that minute in retreat before the French armies gave courage to Clement, and he allowed himself to be persuaded that Charles was as good as driven out of Italy. On June 8, 1528, the pope issued a commission empowering his nuncio Campeggio and Wolsey to declare the marriage between Henry and Catherine null and void. A few days later he signed a decretal by which he himself annulled the marriage. This document he entrusted to Campeggio, instructing him to travel by slow stages, delaying as long as possible his arrival in England. If the emperor were finally beaten, the decretal was to be made public and acted upon; but should Charles recover, it was to be burned.

At last, to the great joy of the king, Campeggio arrived in England with the bull dissolving the marriage. His conscience at rest, the way was opened for Henry to contract another marriage. And so, while the newly acquired Scriptures were separating England from the bondage of the papacy, the papal decretal was serving to bind the realm even more tightly. “But like the stars in the vast circuit of their appointed path, God’s purposes know no haste and no delay.” Desire of Ages, 31

Eight months passed before Campeggio opened his commission to consider the propriety of Henry’s proposed divorce of Catherine. On the way to England he had been overtaken with messengers from the pope with new instructions. The tide of war had changed and the armies of the emperor had triumphed. Campeggio’s instructions, therefore, were to try to persuade Catherine to enter a nunnery. Should he fail in this, he was not to decide the case but to refer it back to Rome.

Campeggio approached Catherine, but she refused to cooperate. He was left with the unhappy task of trying to convince Henry to abandon his plans for a divorce. The king became irate and asked if this was how the pope kept his word, repaying his faithful service of the past. Campeggio responded by showing the king the bull annulling the marriage, but nothing the king could say could prevail upon the legate to part with it.

After a series of delays, on June 18, 1529, a commission was opened and both the king and queen were cited to appear. The hearings lasted for about a month. It was believed by everyone that on July 23 a verdict would be announced. On the appointed day, the hall was crowded. The king himself slipped into a gallery adjoining the hall so that unobserved he might watch the proceedings. Slowly Campeggio arose. The silence grew intense. The moment was great; the fate of the papacy in England was at stake. Speaking, the nuncio adjourned the hearings until the 1st of October. The words fell on the crowded room with a stunning effect, but none were more shocked than was Henry. Clearly he saw that he was being played for a fool by the pope and that Clement cared nothing for his welfare or for the peace of his kingdom.

Of the two men who had incurred his anger—Clement and Wolsey—Wolsey was the first to feel the king’s wrath. The cardinal’s fall from favor was quickly apparent to the courtiers who were not slow to hasten to the king with additional proofs of Wolsey’s willingness to sacrifice England for the papacy. There was scarcely a nobleman at court whom Wolsey had not offended; and wherever he looked, he saw only hostility. The prospects abroad were no better for he had used both Charles the emperor and Francis, king of France, for his own purposes, plunging Europe into war. Rarely has a career climbed to such splendid heights, to end so quickly in such utter defeat.

The king was completely disgusted. Two years had been worse than wasted in dealing with Clement, for which he now had nothing to show. Charles and Clement were now fast friends, and Henry was left without a single ally on the Continent. More than that, he had been bitterly humiliated at home. The realization came to him that he had but two courses to choose from. He must either abandon the idea of a divorce or withdraw his case from the jurisdiction of Rome. The first he would not do, but the second was a course that required much consideration.

“In the annals of human history the growth of nations, the rise and fall of empires, appear as dependent on the will and prowess of man. The shaping of events seems, to a great degree, to be determined by his power, ambition, or caprice. But in the Word of God the curtain is drawn aside, and we behold, behind, above, and through all the play and counterplay of human interests and power and passions, the agencies of the all-merciful One, silently, patiently working out the counsels of His own will.” Education, 173

Just as with the stars, an overruling hand of Providence brings men upon the stage of action at just the time they are needed to fulfill His divine purpose. Just as the most ardent foe of Protestantism was removed from the stage, two more men, each destined to play an important part in the events that were to shape the future of the nation, made their entrance.

The king, on his way to London from Grafton where he had retired to escape the vexations of mind that had resulted from the duplicity of the pope stopped to enjoy a chase in the forest. As there were too many courtiers to all be entertained in the abbey, two of his servants were entertained in the house of a citizen named Cressy. At the evening meal, they unexpectedly met a former acquaintance, Thomas Cranmer.

Cranmer, born in 1489 near Nottingham, was then a professor at Cambridge. As the teachings of Luther were stirring much controversy in England just then, Cranmer set himself to know the truth of the matter. Setting aside all other material, Cranmer was determined to know the truth from the Bible. After three years of study, without commentaries or the assistance of other humans, the darkness of scholasticism which had until now obscured his vision, cleared; and for the first time, he saw the beauty of the plan of salvation.

His two friends, knowing his eminence as a scholar and theologian, directed the conversation so as to draw from him an opinion as to the matter of the royal divorce. Speaking frankly, little dreaming that his comments would be heard outside of the room in which he spoke them, he asked, “Why go to Rome? Why take so long a road when by a shorter you may arrive at a more certain conclusion?” His friends inquired as to what approach he spoke of, and he replied: “The Scriptures. If God has made this marriage sinful, the pope cannot make it lawful.” His friends asked how one might know what the Scriptures said on this point, and the doctor replied: “Ask the universities; they will return a sounder verdict than the pope.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 3, 392

Two days later, the words of Cranmer were related to the king. On an earlier occasion he had approached the universities, but the question he had asked was not that which Cranmer proposed. Earlier he had asked both Oxford and Cambridge what they thought of his marriage, but Cranmer was suggesting that they tell him what the Bible said of the marriage. In this proposal, Henry thought that he saw a possible solution to his dilemma, little realizing that in doing so he was accepting the formal, fundamental principle of Protestantism—appealing the case from the pope to God, from the Church to the Scriptures. Cranmer was immediately summoned to court and commanded to begin gathering the opinions of the scholars as to what the Bible taught about his marriage. Clement VII had summoned the king of England to his bar; but instead, Henry would summon the pope to the tribunal of God’s Word.

At this point, we must introduce a second man who was to play a significant role in the emancipation of England from the Roman yoke. Thomas Cromwell, after returning to England as a military adventure, became connected with Wolsey, whom he served faithfully. In Wolsey’s overthrow, which was largely the result of Wolsey’s subservience to the pope, he saw a new course set for himself. Going to Henry, with great courage and clearness, he pointed out to the king the great humiliation and embarrassment that both he and his kingdom had suffered because of their dependency on the pope. Who was the pope, he asked, that he should be monarch of England? And, who were the priests, that they should be above the law? He pointed out that for Henry to submit his case to an Italian court was to be but half a king. He raised the question as to why the king should not declare himself head of the church in his own realm. If the king were to declare himself head of the church, it would put the clergy on the same level with all the rest of his subjects. As things then stood, the clergy did, indeed, swear allegiance to the king, but they then took a second oath to the pope that virtually annulled the first and made them more the pope’s subjects than the king’s.

During the few minutes that Henry listened to these courageous words, a revolution took place in his thinking. Fixing his eyes on the speaker, he asked him if he could prove the things he had said. Anticipating such a question, Cromwell pulled from his pocket a copy of the oath every bishop was required to take. This was enough for Henry. As he listened with mingled astonishment and delight, a new future seemed to be opening to Henry.

In the days and weeks that followed, sweeping changes were instituted. The laws were changed, making the clergy amenable to the laws of the land, curbing to a large extent the abuses that had existed. An end was made to many of the payments to Rome, by which an enormous amount of wealth had been drained from the country. The law was repealed by which heretics might be burned on the sentence and by the authority of the bishop, and without writ from the king. Though this did not fully abolish the stake as a punishment for heresy, it was restricted to a less arbitrary, possibly more merciful tribunal.

It was foreseen that the new policy might eventually lead to the nation being placed under interdict; but this threat had lost much of the terrors it once had, even though it might yet cause considerable inconvenience. In order to help avoid a crisis should this take place, a law was passed that the English bishops were to have power to consecrate new bishops without license from the pope. It was forbidden from that time on for the archbishop or bishops to be nominated or confirmed by the pope.

Henry found himself in the position of fighting Rome on the one hand and Lutheranism on the other. Many crimes stained Henry’s hands, and he has been severely blamed by both Protestants and Catholics. When however, Henry’s record is compared with that of his contemporaries, Francis I and Charles V, he contrasts very favorably. Though at times cruel, he did not spill nearly as much blood as did Charles V; and he was never guilty of some of the barbarities practiced in both France and Spain. In giving to England the Bible, breaking the chains of foreign tyranny, and in destroying the monastic system, though he did these things form very mixed motives, Henry’s policies laid the groundwork for making England a Protestant nation and foremost among the nations of Europe.

On January 28, 1547, Henry VIII died, and Edward VI ascended the throne at ten years of age. During his reign, Protestantism prospered; but six short years later, when Edward died at the age of sixteen, Mary, the daughter of Catherine, became the ruling monarch of England. Without losing a day, she proceeded to undo all that had been accomplished under the reigns of her father and brother, and the night again closed around the Reformation.

 

The Last Crusade

by

The apostasy that darkened Europe was never universal. There never was a time when God left His truth without a witness. When one group of faithful would yield to the darkness, or was cut off by violence, another group would arise in another land. In every age in some country or another of Christendom, there were those who cried out against the errors of Rome and in behalf of the gospel which it sought to destroy.

From the fifth to the fifteenth century, the Lamp of Truth burned dimly. At times, its dim light appeared as if about to go out, yet it never did. There were times it burned most brightly in the cities of northern Italy and again on the plains of southern France. At other times, its beauty shone from along the Danube in Germany or sent its beams of light across Europe from the shores of England. As early as the ninth century, like the breaking of day across the land, its light shone gently across the landscape of Europe from the valleys high in the Alps.

Just as light shines more brightly in contrast with darkness, so error necessitates a fuller development and a clearer definition of truth. As the darkness of superstition and error deepened over Europe, the seed of truth found congenial soil in which to grow in the mountains of northern Italy. From the very country where the darkness was spreading over the world, the truth shone forth, shedding the light of truth amidst the dark apostasy that gripped Europe. It was in the fertile valleys of the mountains of northern Italy that the Waldenses, one of the most ancient groups to oppose the errors and superstitions of Rome, made their home. No group more stoutly defended the truth nor suffered more for the truth’s sake than these simple people of the valleys.

Satan realized that it was impossible to maintain his control of the people while they had the Holy Scriptures, because they would be able to discern his deceptions and withstand his power. He therefore urged the papal bishops and prelates to take the Bible from the world. For hundreds of years the circulation of the Bible was prohibited, and what copies were available were locked up in a language that was not understood by any but the highly educated.

The Waldenses were the first people in all of Europe to obtain a translation of the Scriptures in their native tongue. In their valleys, protected by the surrounding mountains, the Waldenses witnessed the truth for centuries before the light of the Reformation broke forth. Because they had the truth unmixed with error, they were the special object of hatred by the Church of Rome.

The Church of the Alps, in its simplicity of organization, was much like that of the early Christian church. The entire territory of the Waldenses was divided into parishes. Over each parish was a pastor who was helped by laymen. Once a year a conference, or synod, met, which all the pastors and an equal number of lay members attended. Sometimes as many as a hundred and fifty barbs, or pastors, were present.

The barbs were the young people’s teachers. Not only was the Bible their textbook, but they were required to commit to memory and be able to recite accurately whole Gospels and Epistles. This was necessary because before the age of printing, copies of the Bible were very rare. Besides memorizing, they spent part of their time transcribing the Bible by small sections that they would later distribute when they went forth as missionaries.

It was not uncommon for the Waldensian youth, after having completed all the education they could gain in their native land, to go to one of the universities in the surrounding countries. In these institutions of higher education, their purpose was twofold. Not only were they able to extend their field of study but they quietly and with great care opened the truth to the other students as they showed an interest. Converts to the true faith were won, and from these centers of education, they took the seeds of truth back to their native lands. At times the principles of truth were found permeating the entire school, but try as they might, the papal leaders were unable to trace the teaching to its source.

Not content to merely practice the truth, keeping the precious light to themselves, the Waldenses sent out missionaries over the greater part of Europe. Every young person who expected to enter the ministry was required to first gain experience as an evangelist, serving three years as a missionary. Of course, had these men gone out as preachers of the gospel, their purpose would have been defeated. Instead, they traveled as merchants, carrying with them many valuable articles, such as jewelry and silks, not easily obtainable except at far away marts of business. While they would have been despised as missionaries, as peddlers they found entrance. From the humble peasant’s cottage to the baron’s castle, they found a ready welcome.

In preparing for their mission, they took care to conceal among their wares and in their clothing, copies of the Word of God, usually portions they had written themselves. Wherever they found an interest in spiritual truth, they would call the attention of their customers to these portions of Scripture. When means were not available to purchase these portions of Scripture, they gladly left them as a gift to those who were interested in having them.

Their travels took these itinerant missionaries to the west as far as Spain and to Germany, Bohemia and Poland in the north and east. To the south, they successfully penetrated even the city of Rome. During the years that the Church of Rome was expanding its borders, seeking to engulf the whole of Europe, in southern France the simple gospel was taking a hold of the minds of the people. The people who accepted the gospel in this area became known as Albigenses. Disciples multiplied and congregations were formed. In some areas, cities and even whole provinces joined in the movement. For a short time it appeared that all of southern France might become truly Christian, throwing off the superstitions of the Roman Church a full three-hundred years before the Reformation began. Mercifully, providence veiled the future from these devout followers of Christ.

Meanwhile, in Rome the Church suddenly awakened to the fact that while her attention had been directed to far away conquests, right within the dominions that she had considered secure, a new threat was arising. For a number of years the popes had viewed with comparative indifference the small and seemingly insignificant sects that were springing up across Europe and particularly in southern France. For a time the Church even hoped that eventually they could be blended into the larger Catholic Church. After years of fighting the Moslems in the East with little to show for all the blood shed and expense, Rome began to see that the zeal and blood which she so freely shed on distant shores might be turned to a better account nearer to home.

With the ascension of Innocent III to the papal throne, a new policy was adopted. He recognized that the principles of these communities were completely foreign in their nature to those of the papacy and that they would never fit into the Roman Church. More than that, left to themselves these new principles would most certainly result in Rome’s eventual overthrow. The very existence of this people, holding the faith of the ancient church, testified to Rome’s apostasy and therefore excited her most bitter hatred. Accordingly, she set out to destroy them.

In those days, France, rather than forming an entire monarchy, was divided into four great divisions. It was the southern most of these territories that had proved to be most receptive to the preaching of the true gospel. It was a fertile land, plentifully watered by the Rhone River and bordering on the Mediterranean Sea. The people were intelligent and industrious, and under their care the whole area blossomed like a garden.

To stamp out the rival religion, the pope called for a crusade. In exchange for forty days of service, the soldiers were promised that all who engaged in the battle against these enemies of God and the Church would receive forgiveness of all their sins—and atonement for a lifetime of vice and crime. In addition, as a part of the reward, all of the homes and property of the hated sect were to be given to those who helped to destroy them. Going beyond these immediate rewards they had the word of the pope that at death they would find angels prepared to carry them directly through the gates of Paradise where crowns and rich rewards awaited them. Never had heaven been so cheap!

Throughout the years of 1207 and 1208 the preparations for war went on. Like the mutterings of distant thunder, the dreadful sound echoed throughout Europe, reaching the doomed provinces where they were heard with terror.

In the spring of 1909, the armed host was ready to move. Simon de Montfort, Earl of Leicester, a French nobleman who had returned from the crusades, was the chief military officer. The army of over 50,000 soldiers was followed by an even larger host of ignorant and fanatical rabble, bringing the total closer to half a million men. The multitude that followed the soldiers, though ill prepared to do battle with knights, were armed with scythes and clubs, prepared to murder the women and children.

It is never safe to compromise with wrong, but Raymond VI, the Count of Toulouse, seeing the dreadful storm approaching, was overcome with terror. Quickly he wrote a letter to the pope, offering to come to his terms, whatever they might be. As the price of his reconciliation, he was required to give over to the pope seven of his strongest towns. In addition, he was to appear at the town where a papal legate lay, who had been murdered in his dominions. He was there beaten with rods. Next a rope was placed around his neck and he was dragged by the legate, in the presence of several bishops and an immense multitude of spectators, to the tomb of the friar. After all of this, he was obliged to take the cross and join with those who were plundering his cities, massacreing his subjects, and by fire and sword, turning his territories into a desert waste. Stung by the humiliation, he again changed sides, but it was too late to save himself. In the end, he lost all of his possessions, which were given to Simon de Montfort.

The person next in rank and prestige to the Count of Toulouse to oppose the invading force was young Raymond Roger, Viscount of Beziers. As he watched the horde of murderers draw closer, he realized that submission would only invite destruction. Working quickly, he placed his kingdom in a position of strong defense. Given the number of subjects he had, and their defenses, he had reason to hope that they might succeed in defeating the undisciplined mob that threatened them. A Catholic himself, he called together his knights and told them of his purpose. Though many of them were also papists, they willingly supported him in his determination to resist. The castles were garrisoned and provisions gathered. From the surrounding villages the peasants were brought into the fortified cities, there to await the advancing host.

In the middle of July, 1209, the crusaders arrived before the walls of Beziers. To the defenders it appeared as if the whole world was gathered against them. Deciding that the best defense would be an early attack before the invaders had an opportunity to fortify their encampment, they immediately attacked.

The assault was repelled, and the crusaders, mingling with the citizens as they retreated to the town, entered the gates along with them. Before they had even formulated a plan of attack, the papal army had the city in their hands. The knights, realizing that there were many faithful Catholics in the town, asked the papal legate, the Abbot of Citeaux, how they might distinguish the Catholics from the heretics. In reply, he cried: “Kill all! Kill all! The Lord will know His own.” Wylie, The History of Protestantism, vol. 1, 42

The city that normally had a population of 15,000 was now filled with more than 60,000 people. As soon as they realized the city was taken, the multitude fled to the churches and began to toll the bells by way of supplication. Instead of gaining mercy for them, the sound only attracted the invaders, and soon the dead bodies of innocent victims covered the floors of the churches. The bodies of the helpless victims were heaped in piles around the altar while their blood flowed out the doors in torrents. In one church alone, 7,000 bodies were counted. When the last living creature in all Beziers had been killed and every home pillaged of anything that was worth carrying off, the city was burned to ashes. Not one house remained inside; not one human was left alive.

In the terrible fate of Beziers, the other towns and villages read the fate that awaited them. Many smaller towns and villages were entirely vacated as the people fled to the caves and forests for refuge. The advancing host burned and destroyed everything in their path.

Finally, on the first of August, the crusaders advanced to Carcassonne. This city stood on the bank of the Aude, and its fortifications were strong. The young count, Raymond Roger, was the leader. There were many defenders inside, and as the multitude advanced, they were met with a stout defense. From inside the walls the defenders poured streams of boiling water and oil on the crusaders and crushed them with great stones and other heavy projectiles. As often as they attacked, they were repulsed. Meanwhile, the forty days’ service for which most of the men had signed up was expiring, and in the face of continued resistance, the army was beginning to melt away. Arnold, the papal legate, seeing that if there was not a sudden change of things all might yet be lost, decided to resort to craft.

In all ages, the righteous have obtained help from God. The enemies of His people can never put down those whom God would lift up, as long as they remain faithful to principle. Time and again Satan has tried to destroy those whom God is leading and guiding, but if the followers of Jesus are faithful, they need not be terrified by the rulers of darkness of this world. The power of the enemy is limited; God has set limits that he cannot go beyond. When unable to destroy God’s people by an open frontal attack, Satan often resorts to policy and deceit, seeking to lead them to concede to a compromise. Our great fear should not, therefore, be the enemies who come against us, but that we will fail to maintain our integrity. There can never be agreement between those who have aligned themselves with error and those who have chosen to defend the truth, but Satan seeks to persuade God’s people to listen to his agents. He knows well that the road to compromise is entered upon as soon as God’s people agree to discuss their differences with those who have shown themselves to be enemies of truth.

The papal legate offered Roger the hope of an honorable surrender and promised to respect his liberty if he would only come out of the city. Listening to God’s enemies is always dangerous, and on coming out, Roger was immediately arrested, along with the 300 knights who had accompanied him. On the inside of the city, the garrison, seeing what had happened to their leader, determined, along with the citizens of the town to make their escape by a secret passage known only to themselves.

The next morning, upon entering the city without meeting any resistance, the papal legate was amazed to find it completely deserted. Though deprived of the full victory he had anticipated, he was determined not to be wholly deprived. He might not have the greater satisfaction he had anticipated, but he could certainly have a measure of triumph. Casting about, he was able to gather together 450 persons, a group made up partly of fugitives whom he had earlier captured and partly of the 300 knights who had accompanied the viscount. Of these, he burned 400 persons alive, and the remaining 50 he hanged.
Though this was the last of the crusades, the next twenty years were dedicated to rooting out any seeds of heresy that remained. In the place of the crusades, Rome introduced a new and more to be dreaded engine of terror—the Inquisition. The rich plains of southern France which had once yielded bountiful harvests were turned into a desert wasteland. The once flourishing towns and villages were swept away, leaving only blood and ashes.

But Rome, with all her violence, was unable to fully arrest the progress of truth. In seeking to crush the flame of truth, she only managed to scatter the sparks that were to later spring up over an even wider area. And though she had succeeded in slowing the movement that would become the Reformation, new instruments of power, unknown to that age, were being prepared to spread the gospel more quickly and over a wider field than had yet been dreamed possible. The divine principles upon which the Reformation was to build, though seemingly extinguished, were yet to burn ever more brightly, filling the whole earth with their light.

The End