'Nor Pity, no nor Peace can he descry, Nor Love, nor Rest, nor Meekness, all are fled- Pride, Hate, Sloth, Lust, Rage, Avarice, in their stead, To seek her, where he thought she lived-in hell. Orland. Fur. xxiv. 79. Some time after, it appeared that this malicious lady had deserted the task assigned her, so that the angel had to fetch her back. Accordingly, another opportunity is afforded the poet of a fling at the monks, of which he does not fail to avail himself: 'Down to the abbey Michael winged his way, Where Discord might be, such was his reflection, High mirth she took in witnessing the fray, But Michael of her hair seized tight possession, Orland. Fur. xxvii 37. Berni treats the regular clergy with as little ceremony as Ariosto. Banter is the weapon which he also generally uses, and with nearly as great effect. Now and then, however, he is serious and severe : 'Another tale my verse must now express, 'Nay! though with crucifix in hand they pace, And And though as fed on horsebeans frowns their face, Not in the saintly tongue or face or weeds: Orland. Innamor. b. i. c. xx. § 1. We do not scruple to bring forward Ariosto and Berni, as witnesses of the temper which was abroad before Luther. Both died before him, the one ten, the other thirteen years; but so familiar had the times long been with writings of this kind, and so little danger was apprehended from them, that they were licensed, read, and even encouraged by pope and prelate, whilst they were uncovering their nakedness before Italy and Europe. Even Erasmus himself does not appear to have been aware of the effect his Colloquies would have upon the temporal interests of the church. That admirable scholar delighted in exercising a talent for humour, which he possessed above any man of his time; and the monks and friars chanced to furnish him, as they did the poets of Italy, with excellent materials on which to employ it. This circumstance, probably, in some measure decided him in the choice of his subject: for Erasmus was too timidtoo fond of literary ease-too ambitious of the favour of the great-too undecided in his own notions, both as to the doctrines and government of the church, to embark with spirit in such a sea of troubles as the reformation. Accordingly, like a faint-hearted recruit, he shuts his eyes when he pulls the trigger, and recoils from the report of his own piece. Indeed, when we now look back, and calmly consider the many sad presages, which for generations had been warning the church of its danger, nothing seems more remarkable than its apparent security and unconcern. Even the clergy themselves, some as poets, and more as novelists, ventured ventured to act the part of ill birds, as if nothing was further from their thoughts than the evil that was in store for them. The fact, however, seems to have been, that before the discovery of the art of printing, manuscripts were chiefly in possession of the monks, who bought them up with avidity, and purposely stood in the way of all private purchasers. Whatever exposures, therefore, these manuscripts might make, were looked upon as esoteric doctrines, which might serve to enliven the listless seclusion of the cloister. And even after this noble invention had been perfected, it was some time before the world (or which was the same thing, the church) was aware of its powers. It was like the ac quisition of a new sense-its functions were to be learned by experiment alone their nature and wonderful extent could not be conjectured with any certainty. The pope, who had so long governed with despotic authority all the springs of human action, might have well supposed that such an engine as the press would not be beyond his control; there was now, indeed, no chance of letters becoming the private property of the priests, like the hieroglyphics of Egypt, but he might still flatter himself that types would be innocently employed in giving more ample circulation to his bulls, and propagating the gainful impostures of his office. Certain it is, that, even after the press had been laid under restrictions, works, the most adverse to the church in her then condition, were sanctioned, not from indifference to her present interests, not from ignorance of the contents of such publications, but simply because safety long enjoyed had begot a notion that there could be no danger, and authority long undisputed the flattering dream that it was indisputable. But, in truth, the vitals of religion, vigilance and earnestness about it, were gone. The religious world was a stage, and men and women merely players. If God was to be praised, it was not to be done with the heart, but with the very best organs and choristers that could be got together for love or money. The robe of righteousness might not be put on; but if lace, brocade, embroidery could be of any service, there they were at heaven's command. The prayers which were said might not be a very sweet-smelling savour, but then there was the choicest incense from Arabia to make up for it. The light within was not so bright as might be wished, but if candles could do any good, candles were abundant. The soul was not literally humbled with fasting, but the body undertook to dine upon ten or a dozen sorts of choice fish, with soups, vegetables, and fruits, dressed after the most cunning fashion, and what in reason could be required more? Nay, when the crisis was at hand, when the rams'-horns had already sounded round the city walls to tell them they should fall, fall, we find the pope of the day expressing his admiration of thefine genius of brother Martin,' as though he judged him by himself to be a mere religious adventurer endeavouring to make a fortune by his wits-we see him disencumbering himself of his robes, with the prayer, perhaps, (none was more likely,) that for a season, at least, heaven would send him no need of them'striding in his leathern boots through the Ostian woods after wild boars, and returning to meet a company of buffoons at his table, and laughing at the dexterity with which they defended and impugned the soul's immortality. In short, it was the fashion of the day to do the work of God after the zealous manner of that patriarch of Constantinople, of whom Jeremy Taylor reminds us, who ran from the altar in St. Sophia to his stable, in all his pontificals, and in the midst of his office, to see a colt newly fallen from his beloved and much-valued mare Phorbante.' It was in the midst of this scene of lukewarmness and selfindulgence, even whilst the clergy were eating and drinking, (not indeed, marrying and giving in marriage,-it would have been better for them if they had,) that Luther arose, like an Ajax Mastigophoros among the sheep. Luther must, under any circumstances, have made a noise in the world; but had the church been wise enough to reform her practice in time, it is probable that her mere errors in faith, gross as we now think them, and as he very soon learned to think them himself, would not have provoked his scrutiny; that his zeal, like that of many other good men before him, would have found a vent in establishing a new order; and that St. Martin by this time might have figured in the Roman catholic calendar, by the side of St. Benedict, or St. Francis. It is evident that the doctrine of the church, which we are accustomed to reckon the most repugnant to common sense, would have been no stumbling-block in his way (for he who could teach the doctrine of consubstantiation was not the man to be shocked by the doctrine of transubstantiation); and if not this doctrine, why should any other be thought likely to have opened his eyes? The great and leading doctrine, indeed, of the Reformation, both in Germany and England, justification by faith alone, appears to have been lurking in Luther's mind some years before he gave it utterance; and no doubt this principle once established, might, in the end, have undermined his allegiance to a church of which the very foundations were laid in the opposite doctrine of merit: still this was not the rock upon which his submission to the pope first split. Milner (whose history of Luther is an admirable corrective to the unworthy insinuations and philosophical indifference of Hume on the the same subject) is evidently disposed to think otherwise; but some allowance must be made, on the one hand, for the theological views of the church historian; and, on the other, the scandals which Luther had witnessed in a visit to Rome, and the shameless sale of indulgences, which had troubled him in Germany, may be thought enough to account for the beginning of that new light which, by degrees, broke upon him. The necessity of a reform, indeed, had been admitted, and the council of Pisa had been recently called for the express purpose of examining into ecclesiastical abuses. But the examination was not undertaken and pursued in an honest and good heart, otherwise it is possible the church of Rome might have continued unscathed for some years longer, at least till a better knowledge of the scriptures should have exposed (as it always must) its unsoundness and error. For it is not to be disputed that much there was in it to attach its members, and engage their best sympathies in its behalf. Evil as the system was, it was far from a system of unmixed evil. Many of its incentives to devotion were admirably contrived to answer their end; and some, which were congenial to the habits and feelings of the people, have (unfortunately, we think) in our own land been suffered to expire. They survived the shock of the reformation itself, but could not struggle through the fury of the fanatics, who hated all that had been popish; and still less through the profligacy of the succeeding generation, who laughed to scorn all that was godly. We confess that we look back with some pleasure, though not without drawing some mortifying comparisons, on those good old usages of our fathers, which were in existence almost a century after the times of popery, when they wrote upon windows and doors some appropriate text, and made even the furniture of their houses to speak parables; when they ushered in the candles at night, with "God send us light from heaven;' when they bestowed a father's blessing on their children, as they knelt before them ere they retired to rest; when they walked their parish boundaries, giving thanks for the harvest, relieving the needy, reconciling the contentious; when the parson blessed aloud those whom he met, or overtook, by the way; when the church-doors stood open most of the day, and the ploughman, as he heard the sound of the saint's bell, left for a moment his laboured ox,' that he might join his prayers with those of a Herbert, and beg the favour of heaven on the works of his hands. But this age of simplicity is gone by, and a new order of things has arisen in its stead. Perhaps even what we have written will be read with a supercilious smile at the darkness of men, who, in the nineteenth century, are not convinced that England is becoming more happy or more moral by F 2 the |