Chapter XVIII

THE GOSPEL IN THE NORTH OF ITALY.
(1519 TO 1536.)

[Sidenote: Condition Of Italy.]

The Reformation had also commenced in Italy.

As the knowledge of the ancient languages, literary pursuits, and cultivation of the intellect flourished more in that country than elsewhere, it seemed natural that it should be among the first to open itself to the light of the Gospel. In the midst of superstition, many elevated minds were to be found whom the formalism of the Roman Church could not satisfy. The corruption of the clergy and of religion had sunk deeper in Italy than in the rest of Christendom, so that the magnitude of the evil made the necessity of a remedy more keenly felt. Accordingly, although many obstacles appeared to close the peninsula against the entrance of evangelical doctrine; although national pride, the interest which the Italians of every class seemed to have in the continuance of the papacy, the hostility of the governments, and above all the overwhelming power of the pontifical hierarchy, erected barriers everywhere, which seemed more insurmountable than the Alps, there was at that time an electric current between Italy and the reformed countries that nothing could stop. The Reformation had hardly sent forth its first beams of light, the flame had hardly risen over Germany and Switzerland, when, in the regions beyond the mountains, from Venice and Turin to Naples, isolated spots of light gleamed out amidst the darkness. The evangelical doctrine, in general not much appreciated by the people, found an easy access to the hearts of many cultivated men. Italy was a vast plain, in which were numerous uncultivated fields and barren heaths: but a liberal hand having been opened over it, the seeds of life which fell from it found here and there good soil, and, at the breath of spring, the blade and the ear sprang forth. A fierce storm, mingled with thunder and lightning, afterwards burst upon those fields; the light of day was hidden, and the obscurity of darkness once more covered the country. But the light had been beautiful, and its appearance, although fugitive, deserves to be remembered, if only as a pledge to make us hope for better days. The positive results of the Italian Reformation seem to escape us entirely; and yet it possesses quite as many of those characteristics which charm the mind, captivate the imagination, and touch the heart, as other Reformations do. The new and varied plants which that ancient land began to produce, the brilliant flames which for a moment shed such beautiful light, the men of God at that time scattered all over Italy, deserve to be known, and we must now turn to them.

At Pavia, on the Ticino, there lived a bookseller named Calvi, ‘who cultivated the muses.’ Frobenius, the celebrated printer of Basle, having as early as 1519 sent him Erasmus’s Testament and the early writings of Luther, he began to study the Gospel more than the poets. Wishing to help, in proportion to his ability, in ‘the revival of piety,’[792] he undertook to circulate the writings of the reformers not only in his immediate neighborhood, but through all the cities of Italy.[793] Pavia possessed a celebrated university, and the precious volumes were first distributed among its professors and their pupils. The students might often be seen reading these absorbing pages under the porticos of the university and beneath the walls of the cathedral or of the old castle. Other printers and booksellers joined with Calvi in the work of dissemination, and before long a book entitled _Il principii della Theologia di Ippolito di Terranigra_ was read all over Italy, even in Rome. _Terranigra_ was Melancthon, and these _Principles of Divinity_ were his _Theological Commonplaces_. This admirable book was to be found even in the Vatican, along with the works of _Coricius Cogelius_ (Zwingle) and _Aretius Felinus_ (Bucer). Bishops and cardinals pompously extolled them; none of them suspecting that the breath of evangelical piety which animated those writings must necessarily dissipate the false piety of the confessional. _Terranigra’s_ book was read with such eagerness at Rome, that it soon became necessary to ask for a fresh supply. A learned Franciscan of the metropolis, who possessed the Latin edition, struck with the unknown name _Terranigra_,[794] desired to procure the Italian work so much talked of. It soon began to call up certain recollections: he fancied he had seen the work before. He rose from his seat, took down his Latin _Melancthon_, compared it with the Italian, and to his great horror found the two works were the same. Without delay he made known the stratagem of the booksellers, and the volume, which the cardinals had extolled to the skies one day, was condemned to the flames on the next.

[Sidenote: Enthusiasm For Luther.]

But the propaganda did not cease. The young Germans who came to study law and medicine at Bologna, Padua, and other universities of the peninsula, the young Italians who began to frequent the schools of Germany and Switzerland, helped alike to diffuse evangelical faith beyond the Alps. Many of the Lutheran lansquenets whom Charles V. marched into Italy, and of the Swiss soldiers whom Francis I. drew thither, professed in the houses where they lodged the doctrines of the Reformation, and did so with thorough military frankness. Some praised Luther, others Zwingle, and all contrasted the purity of the reformers’ lives and the simplicity of their manners with the irregularities, luxury, and pride of the Roman prelates.

The Italians have an open and quick understanding, precision in their ideas, clearness of expression, an instinct of the beautiful, and great independence of character; and hence they were tired of living in ignoble subjection to ignorant, lazy, and dissolute priests. Conscientious men of eminent mind joyfully welcomed a doctrine which put God’s Word in the place of papal bulls, briefs, and decretals, and substituted the spirit and the life for the ecclesiastical mechanism of the Latin ritual. Italy was charmed with Luther’s character and work. In 1521 a voice from Milan exclaimed: ‘O mighty Luther! who can paint thy features so full of animation, the godlike qualities of thy mind, thy soul inspired with a will so pure? Thy voice, which rings through the universe and utters unaccustomed sounds, terrifies the vile hearts of the wicked,[795] and bears an unexpected balm to diseases which appeared beyond remedy. Take courage, then, venerable father, whose mouth makes salvation known to all, and whose word destroys more monsters than ever Hercules rent in pieces.’

The dignitaries of Rome were alarmed at this enthusiasm. At the diet of Nuremberg in 1524, Cardinal Campeggi exclaimed: ‘The Germans take up a new opinion quickly, but they soon abandon it; while the Italians obstinately persist in what they have once adopted.’[796] It was rather the contrary that was to take place. The Italians showed themselves still more prompt than the Germans: the number of Lutherans increased every day.[797] The converted catholics began by degrees to explain the Gospel and to refute the errors of the Roman Church in private houses: this was done even in the Papal States. Before long, several priests and monks were enlightened, and the Reformation took a new step: its principles were taught in the churches. Clement VII. felt great alarm, when all of a sudden the doctrine, attacked by him and his legates in distant countries, broke out all over his dear Italy and threatened the walls of the papacy. He uttered a cry of terror: ‘To our exceeding sorrow,’ he said, ‘Luther’s pestilential heresy has been spread among us, not only among the laity, but also among the priests and monks.[798] Heresy is increasing, and in every place the catholic faith has to suffer the cruellest assaults.’ The cry was useless. In that very year (1530) the New Testament was translated by Bruccioli, printed at Venice, and the much dreaded contagion thenceforward made still more rapid progress.

[Sidenote: Rosselli To Melancthon.]

It was in this latter city, on the hundred islets and amid the lagunes of the queen of the Adriatic, that the doctrine of the Gospel first raised its standard. There was no power in Europe more jealous of its independence and authority than Venice; the winged lion of St. Mark braved the priest of Rome; the senate rejected the Inquisition, practised freedom of inquiry, and did not license the pope’s edicts until after serious study and strict examination. Protestants were soon to be found at Venice who, strange to say, were more protestant than those of Augsburg. ‘I am delighted,’ said Luther, on the 7th of March, 1528, ‘to hear that they have received the Word of God at Venice.’[799] A report having got abroad that Melancthon appeared inclined, at the diet of 1530, to recognize the primacy of the Bishop of Rome, the new evangelicals of Venice were troubled and alarmed: one of them, Lucio Paolo Rosselli, although only a beginner in the Christian doctrine, determined to write, respectfully but frankly, to the illustrious doctor of Germany: ‘There are no books by any author,’ he said to Melancthon, ‘which please me more than those you have published. But if the reports which the papists circulate about you are true, the cause of the Gospel and those who, taught by the writings of yourself and Luther, have embraced it, are in great danger. All Italy awaits the result of your meeting at Augsburg.[800] O Melancthon! let neither threats, nor fears, nor prayers, nor promises make you desert the standard of Jesus Christ! Even if you must suffer death to maintain his glory, do not hesitate. It is better to die with honor than to live with ignominy.’

It was much worse when the Venetian ambassador at the court of Charles V. forwarded to the senate the letter which Melancthon had written on the 6th of July to Cardinal Campeggi, and in which he went so far as to say that the protestants did not differ from the Roman Church in any important dogma, and were disposed to acknowledge the papal jurisdiction.[801] The evangelical Christians of Venice, who wanted a decided position, were dismayed. Most of them denied that the letter was Melancthon’s; Rosselli, in particular, with generous enthusiasm, took up the doctor’s defence, and on the 1st of August sent him a copy of the letter, ‘to the end that he might carefully scrutinize the wickedness of those who ascribed to him words calculated to disgrace the true defenders of the cause of Christ and Christ himself.[802] Now that we have discovered their malice,’ added the Venetian, ‘resist their iniquity with greater zeal, and let the emperor and all Christian princes know the shameless practices of the enemy.’

What seemed impossible to the Italians was but too true: Melancthon had carried his concessions too far. When he declared, however, that he would not recognize the Bishop of Rome until he became evangelical, he had put a stipulation to his compact which rendered it impossible.

From Venice we pass to Turin. The Italian revival did not present that simple historical and continuous advance which we meet with in other European countries. It was not like a single river whose deep and mighty waters, as they flowed along, ran calmly in the same channel; but like little streams, issuing from the earth in various places, whose bright and limpid waters glittered in the sunbeam and fertilized the soil around them. They disappeared; they were lost in the ground, oftentimes, alas! imparting to it a sanguine hue, and the earth returned to its former barrenness. Yet many a plant had been revived by them, and their sweet remembrance may still cause joy to others.

[Sidenote: Celio Curione.]

The works of the reformers had reached Turin. Piedmont, from its vicinity to Switzerland, France, and Germany, was among the first to receive a glimpse of the sun which had just risen beyond the Alps. The Reformation had already appeared in one of its cities,—at Aosta,—and most of its doctrines had for ages been current among the Waldensian valleys. Monks of the Augustine convent at Turin, Hieronimo Nigro Foscianeo in particular, were among the number of those who first became familiar with the evangelical writings. Celio Secundo Curione, a young man still at college, received them from their hands in 1520.

About three leagues and a half from Turin, and at the foot of the Alps, was situated the town of Cirié, with its two parochial churches and an Augustine monastery. Higher up there stood an old castle named Cuori, and the family to which it belonged was called from it Curione or Curioni.[803] One of its members, Giacomino Curione, who lived at Cirié, had married Charlotte de Montrotier, lady of honor to Blanche, Duchess of Savoy, and sister to the chief equerry of the reigning duke. On the 1st of May, 1503, a son was born to them at Cirié; he was named Celio Secundo,[804] and was their twenty-third child.[805] He lost his mother as he came into the world, and his father, who had removed to Turin, and afterwards to Moncaglieri, where he had property, died when Celio was only nine years old.

The elder Curione possessed a Bible, which in the hour of death he put into his son’s hands. That act was perhaps the cause of the love for Scripture by which the heir of the Curiones was afterwards distinguished: the depth of his filial piety made him look upon the book as a treasure before he knew the value of its contents. Celio having begun his education at Moncaglieri, went to Turin, where his maternal grandmother, Maddalena, lived. She received him into her house, where the anxious love of the venerable lady surrounded him with the tenderest care.[806] He is said to have dwelt on that pleasant hill which overlooks Turin, whence the summits of the Alps are visible, and whose base is washed by the slow and majestic waters of the Po.[807] Celio had applied with his whole heart to the study of the classical orators, poets, historians, and philosophers; when he reached his twentieth year he felt deeper longings, which literature was incapable of satisfying. The old Bible of his father could do this: a new world, superior to that of letters and philosophy,—the world of the spirit,—opened before his soul.

There was much talk just then, both in university and city, of the Reformation and the reformers. Curione had often heard certain priests and their partisans bitterly complaining of the ‘false doctrines’ of those _heretics_, and making use of the harshest language against Luther and Zwingle. He listened to their abuse, but was not convinced. He possessed a nobler soul than the majority of the people around him, and his generous independent spirit was more disposed in favor of the accused than of the accusers. Instead of joining in this almost unanimous censure, Celio said to himself: ‘I will not condemn those doctors before I have read their works.’[808] It would appear that he was already known in the Augustine convent, in which, as in that of Wittemberg, some truly pious men were to be found. The grace of his person, the quickness of his intellect, and his ardent thirst for religious knowledge, interested the monks. Knowing that they possessed some of the writings of the reformers, Curione asked for them, and Father Hieronimo lent him Luther’s _Babylonian Captivity_, translated into Italian under a different title. The young man carried it away eagerly to his study. He read those vigorous pages in which the Saxon doctor speaks of the lively faith with which the Christian ought to cling to the promises of God’s Word; and those in which he asserts that neither bishop nor pope has any right to command despotically the believer who has received Christian liberty from God. But Celio had not yet obtained light enough; he carried the book back to the convent, and asked for another. Melancthon’s _Principles of Theology_ and Zwingle’s _True and False Religion_ were devoured by him in turn.

[Sidenote: Curione’s Spiritual Wants.]

A work was then going on in his soul. The truths he had read in his Bible grew clearer and sank deeper into his mind; his spirit thrilled with joy when he found his faith confirmed by that of these great doctors, and his heart was filled with love for Luther and Melancthon. ‘When I was still young,’ he said to the latter afterwards, ‘when first I read your writings, I felt such love for you that it seemed hardly capable of increase.’[809]

Curione was not satisfied with the writings merely of these men of God: his admiration for them was such that he longed to hear them: an ardent desire to start immediately for Germany was kindled in his heart.[810] He talked about it with his friends, especially with Giovanni and Francesco Guarino, whom the Gospel had also touched, and who declared their readiness to depart with him.

The three young Italians, enthusiastic admirers of Luther and Melancthon, quitted Turin and started for Wittemberg. They turned their steps towards the valley of Aosta, intending to cross the St. Bernard,[811] where for more than five centuries a house of the Augustine order had existed for the reception of the travellers who made use of that then very frequented pass. They conversed about their journey, their feelings, and their hopes; and not content with this, they spoke of the truth with simple-hearted earnestness to the people they met with on the road or at the inns. In the ardor of their youthful zeal, they even allowed themselves to enter into imprudent discussions upon the Romish doctrines.[812] They were ‘bursting to speak’—they could not wait until they had crossed the Alps: the spirit with which they were filled carried them away. They had been cautioned, and had resolved to be circumspect; but ‘however deep the hiding-places in the hearts of men,’ said a reformer, ‘their tongues betray their hidden affections.’[813] One of those with whom these Piedmontese youths had debated went and denounced them to Boniface, Cardinal-bishop of Ivrea, and pointed out the road they were to take. The prelate gave the necessary orders, and just as the three students were entering the valley of Aosta,[814] the cardinal’s satellites, who were waiting for them, laid hold of them and carried them to prison.

What a disappointment! At the very time they were anticipating the delights of an unrestrained intercourse with Melancthon and Luther, they found themselves in chains and solitary imprisonment. Curione possessed friends in that district who belonged to the higher nobility; and contriving to inform them of his fate, they exerted themselves in his behalf. The cardinal having sent for him, soon discovered that his prisoner was not an ordinary man. Struck with the extent of his knowledge and the elegance of his mind, he resolved to do all he could to attach him to the Roman Church. He loaded him with attentions, promised to bear the necessary expenses for the continuation of his studies, and with that intent placed him in the priory of St. Benignus. It is probable that Cornelio and Guarino were soon released: although less celebrated than their fellow-traveller, they afterwards became distinguished by their evangelical zeal.

[Sidenote: Relics And The Bible.]

Although shut up in a monastery, Curione’s soul burnt with zeal for the Word of God. He regretted that Germany on which he had so much reckoned, and unable to increase his light at the altar of Wittemberg, he wished at least to make use of what he had for the benefit of the monks commissioned to convert him. He was grieved at the superstitious practices of their worship, and would have desired to enfranchise those about him. A shrine, put in a prominent place on the altar, enclosed a skull and other bones reported to be those of St. Agapetus and St. Tibur the martyr, and which during certain solemnities were presented to the adoration of the people. Why set dry bones in the place which should be occupied by the living Word of God? Are not their writings the only authentic remains of the apostles and prophets? Curione refused to pay the slightest honor to these relics, and in his private conversation he went so far as to speak to some of the monks against such idolatrous worship, instructing them in the true faith.[815] He resolved to do something more. In the convent library he had found a Bible, to which no one paid any attention; he had, moreover, noticed the place where the monks kept the key of the shrine they held so dear.[816] One day—probably in 1530—taking advantage of a favorable opportunity when the monks were occupied elsewhere,[817] he went into the library, took down the holy Word of which David said it was _more to be desired than gold_, carried it into the church, opened the mysterious coffer, removed the relics, put the Bible in their place, and laid this inscription upon it: ‘_This is the ark of the covenant, wherein a man can inquire of the true oracles of God, and in which are contained the true relics of the saints_.’ Curione, with emotion and joy, closed the shrine and left the church without being observed. The act, rash as it was, had a deep and evangelical meaning: it expressed the greatest principles of the Reformation. Some time after, at one of the festivals when the relics were to be presented to the adoration of the worshippers, the monks opened the shrine. Their surprise, emotion, and rage were boundless, and they at once accused their young companion of sacrilege. Being on the watch, he made his escape, and, quitting Piedmont, took refuge at Milan.

In that city Curione zealously devoted himself to lecturing; but, being at the same time disgusted with the unmeaning practices of the monks, he gave himself with his whole heart to works of Christian charity. As famine and pestilence were wasting the country, he soon after occupied himself wholly in succoring the poor and the sick; he solicited the donations of the nobility, prevailed on the priests to sell for the relief of the wretched the precious objects which adorned their churches, consoled the dying, and even buried the dead.[818] In the convent, he had appeared to be struggling for faith only; in the midst of the pestilence, he seemed to be living for works only. He remembered that Jesus had come _to serve_, and following his Master’s example, he was eager to console every misery. ‘Christ having become the living root of his soul, had made it a fruitful tree.’ As soon as the scourge abated, every one was eager to testify a proper gratitude to Celio, and the Isacios, one of the best families in the province, gave him the hand of one of their daughters, Margarita Bianca, a young woman of great beauty, who became the faithful and brave companion of his life.[819]

[Sidenote: Papal Preachers.]

Some time after this, Curione, believing that he had nothing more to fear, and desiring to receive his patrimony, to revisit his native country, and to devote his strength and faith to her service, returned to Piedmont. His hopes were disappointed. Cruel family vexations and clerical persecutions assailed a life that was never free from agitation. He had lost all but one sister, whose husband, learning that he intended claiming his inheritance, determined to ruin him. A Dominican monk was making a great noise by his sermons in a neighboring city.[820] Celio took a book from his library, and went with some friends to hear him. He expected that the monk, according to the custom of his class, would draw a frightful picture of the reformers. Curione knew that the essence of the preaching of the evangelical ministry was Christ, justification by faith in his atoning work, the new life which He imparts, and the new commandments which He gives. According to him, the task of the servant of God, now that all things were made new, was to exalt, not the Church, but the Saviour; and to make known all the preciousness of Christ rather than to stun his hearers by furious declamations against their adversaries. Such were not the opinions entertained at that time—we will not say by the great doctors of the Romish Church, but by the vulgar preachers of the papacy. Laying down as a fundamental principle that _there was no salvation out of the Church_, they naturally believed themselves called to urge the necessity of union—not with Christ, but—with Rome; to extol the beauties of its hierarchy, its worship, and its devout institutions. Instead of feeding the sheep, by giving them the spiritual nourishment of faith, they thought only of pronouncing declamatory eulogies of the fold and drawing horrible pictures of the devouring wolves that were prowling about it. If there had been no protestants to combat, no Luther or Calvin to calumniate, many popish preachers would have found the sermon a superfluous part of the service, as had been the case in the Middle Ages.

The _good monk_, whom Curione and his friends had gone to hear, preached according to the oratorical rules of vulgar preachers. ‘Do you know,’ he exclaimed, ‘why Luther pleases the Germans?... Because, under the name of Christian liberty, he permits them to indulge in all kinds of excess.[821] He teaches, moreover, that Christ is not God, and that He was not born of a virgin.’ And continuing this monkish philippic with great vehemence, he inflamed the animosity of his hearers.

When the sermon was over, Curione asked the prelate who was present for permission to say a few words. Having obtained it, and the congregation being silent and expectant, he said: ‘Reverend father, you have brought serious charges against Luther: can you tell me the book or the place in which he teaches the things with which you reproach him?’ The monk replied that he could not do so then, but if Curione would accompany him to Turin, he would show him the passages. The young man rejoined with indignation: ‘Then I will tell you at once the page and book where the Wittemberg doctor has said the very contrary.’ And opening Luther’s _Commentary on the Galatians_, he read aloud several passages which completely demonstrated the falseness of the monk’s calumnies. The persons of rank present at the service were disgusted; the people went still further; some violent men, exasperated by the Dominican’s having told them such impudent lies, rushed upon him and struck him. The more reasonable had some trouble to rescue him and send him home safe and sound.[822]

[Sidenote: Curione Again Imprisoned.]

This scene made a great noise. The bishop and the inquisitors looked upon it as a revolt against the papacy. Curione was a firebrand flung by Satan into the midst of the Church, and they felt that if they did not quench it instantly, the impetuous wind which, crossing the Alps, was beginning to blow in the peninsula, would scatter the sparks far and wide, and spread the conflagration everywhere. The valiant evangelist was seized, taken to Turin, thrown into prison, and in a moment, as soon as the news circulated, all his old enemies set to work. His covetous brother, and even his sister, as it would appear, made common cause with the priests to destroy him.[823] Fanaticism and avarice joined together; one party wished to deprive him of his property only, but the others wanted his life. It was not the first time Curione had been in prison for speaking according to the truth: he did not lose courage, he preserved all the serenity of his mind, and remained master of himself. The ecclesiastic charged with the examination overwhelmed him with questions.[824] He was reminded of the relics taken away from the monastery of St. Benignus, the journey he had wished to take to Germany, and the conversations he had held on the road, and was threatened with the stake.[825]

The bishop, knowing that Curione had protectors among the first people in the city, started for Rome, in order to obtain from the pope in person his condemnation to death. Before leaving, he transferred the prisoner to his coadjutor David, brother of the influential cardinal Cibo. David, wishing to make sure of his man, and to prevent its being known where he was detained, removed him by night from the prison in which he had been placed, took him to one of those mansions, not very unlike castles, that are often to be found in Italy, and locked him up in a room enclosed by very thick walls.[826] His officers attached heavy chains to poor Celio’s feet, riveted them roughly, and fastened them into the wall; and finally, two sentries were placed inside the door of the house. When that was done, David felt at ease, sure of being able to produce his prisoner when the condemnation arrived from Rome. There was no hope left the wretched man of being saved. Curione felt that his death could not be far off; but though in great distress he still remained full of courage.

The different operations by which David had secured his prisoner had been carried on during the night; when the day came, Curione looked round him: the place seemed to bring to his memory certain half-effaced recollections. He began to examine everything about him more carefully, and by degrees remembered that once upon a time, when a boy, he had been in that house, in that very room—it had probably been the house of some friend. He called to remembrance exactly the arrangement of the building, the galleries, the staircase, the door, and the windows.[827] But ere long he was recalled from these thoughts by a feeling of pain: his jailers had riveted the fetters so tightly that his feet began to swell and the anguish became intolerable. When his keeper came as usual to bring him food, Curione spoke to him of his pain, and begged him to leave one of his feet at liberty, adding that, when that was healed, the jailer could chain it up again and set the other free. The man consented, and some days passed in this way, during which the prisoner experienced by turns severe pain and occasional relief.

This circumstance did not prevent him from making the most serious reflections. He should never see his wife, his children, or his friends again; he could no longer take part in that great work of revival which God was then carrying on in the Church. He knew what sentence would be delivered at Rome. When St. John saw the woman seated on the seven hills, he exclaimed: ‘_Babylon! ... drunken with the blood of the saints and martyrs of Jesus_.’ Death awaited Curione on the bishop’s return: of that he had not a doubt. But was it not lawful to defend one’s life against the violence of murderers? An idea suddenly crossed his inventive mind; the hope of escaping, of seeing his dear ones again, of again serving the cause of the Gospel, flashed upon him. He reflected and planned; the expedient which occurred to his mind was singular: possibly it might not succeed, but it might also be the means of saving him from the hands of his persecutors. When Peter was in prison the angel of the Lord opened the door and led him out. Celio did not expect a miracle; but he thought it was man’s duty to do all in his power to thwart the counsels of the ungodly. He was not, however, very sanguine of success. God holds the lives of his children in his hand; the Lord will restore him to liberty or send him to the scaffold, as He shall judge best.

[Sidenote: Curione’s Escape.]

Curione delayed no longer: he proceeded at once to carry out the curious and yet simple expedient which had occurred to his lively imagination. He took the boot off his free leg and stuffed it with rags;[828] he then broke off the leg of a stool that was within his reach, fastened the sham foot to it, and contrived a wooden leg which he fixed to his knee, in such a way that he could move it as if it were a real leg. His Spanish robe, reaching down to his heels, covered everything, and made the matter easier. Presently he heard the footsteps of his jailers: luckily, everything was ready. They entered, did what they were accustomed to do every day, loosed the chained foot, and then, without examining too closely—for they had no suspicions—they put the fetters on the sham leg, and went away.

Celio was free; he rose, he walked; surprised at a deliverance so little expected, he was almost beside himself ... he was rescued from death. But all was not over; he had still to get out of that strong mansion, where so close a watch was kept over him. He waited until night, and when darkness brooded over the city and his keepers were sunk in sleep, he approached the door of the chamber. The jailers, knowing that the prisoner was chained to the wall, and that sentinels were posted at the outer gate, had only pushed it to without locking it. Curione opened it, and moved along with slow and cautious steps, avoiding the slightest noise for fear of giving the alarm. Although it was quite dark, he easily found his way by the help of his memory: he groped his course along the galleries, descended the stairs; but on reaching the door of the house, he found it closely shut. What was to be done now? The _sbirri_ were asleep, but he dared not make any noise lest he should wake them. Recollecting that there was a window placed rather high on one side of the door, he contrived to reach it, leapt into the court-yard, scaled the outer wall, fell into the street, and began to seek for a hiding-place as fast as his wounded feet would permit him.[829] When the morning came, there was great surprise and agitation in the house. The fidelity of the jailers was not suspected: and as no one could explain the prisoner’s flight, his enemies circulated the report that he had had recourse to magic to save himself from death.

Curione himself was surprised. The thought that he had escaped not only from the hands of his guards, but also from the terrible condemnation of the sovereign pontiff, whose support the bishop had gone to solicit, still further magnified in his eyes the greatness of his deliverance. He had felt, and severely too, the power of his enemies; but he saw that however keen the hatred of the world, a breath of heaven was sufficient to frustrate its plots. He hastened to leave Turin, and took refuge in a secluded village in the duchy of Milan, where his family joined him. His reputation as a man of letters had spread through that country, and certain Milanese gentlemen who came to pass the summer in the villas near the lonely house which he inhabited, entertained a high opinion of him. One of them, happening to meet him, recognized him; he spoke of him to others of his friends, who made his acquaintance, and all of them, delighted with his amiable character and cultivated mind, were unwilling that such fine talents should remain buried in a sequestered village. They got him invited to the university of Pavia, where he was soon surrounded by an admiring audience. The inquisition, for a time at fault, discovered at last that the daring heretic who had escaped from his prison at Turin was teaching quietly at Pavia; it issued an arrest against him, being determined to put an end to the harassing warfare which this independent man was waging against the darkness of the Middle Ages. The familiars of the Holy Office lay in ambush with the intention of seizing the Piedmontese professor as he was leaving his house to go to the lecture-room. But the plot got wind; the students, who were very numerous, supported by some of the chief people of the town, formed a battalion which surrounded Curione as he left his house, conducted him to the Academy, and when the lecture was over, escorted him home again.[830] Public opinion declared itself so strongly in favor of liberty of teaching and against Romish tyranny, that three years elapsed without the inquisitors being able to seize the professor, which caused great joy all over the city. The pope, irritated at such resistance, threatened to excommunicate the senate of Pavia; and Curione, unwilling to imperil his friends, quitted that town for Venice, whence he proceeded to Ferrara to live under that enlightened protection which the Duchess Renée extended to all who loved the Gospel.

[Sidenote: Renée Of France.]

Ferrara was in truth a centre where the Gospel found a firm support. Renée, who was daughter of Louis XII., and would have succeeded him if (as she used to say) ‘she had had a beard on her chin,’ had inherited, not the catholic ardor of her mother, Anne of Brittany, but the reforming and anti-popish spirit of her father, who had taken for his device: _Perdam Babylonis nomen_. Deprived of the throne by ‘that accursed Salic law’—to use her own words—but brought up at the court of Francis I., she was closely attached to her cousin Margaret, and although her junior by eighteen years, had eagerly embraced the Gospel which that ‘elder sister’ had preached to her with so much earnestness. Renée was not one of those people who are simply the disciples of others. Less beautiful than Margaret, she resembled her in possessing a great soul, a generous heart, and, more than that, a sound judgment and firm will. While clouds gathered round the mild and brilliant luminary which presided over the destinies of Navarre and obscured the end of its course, hardly a passing vapor dimmed for an instant the pure star of Ferrara and Montargis.

There had been a talk of marrying Renée, as there had been of marrying Margaret, to Charles V., and also to Henry VIII.; but the politic Francis had preferred giving his predecessor’s daughter to a prince who would cause him no umbrage. She was therefore married to Hercules of Este, Duke of Ferrara, grandson of pope Alexander VI. by Lucrezia Borgia, and vassal of the Holy See. Such gloomy antecedents did not promise a sympathetic union to the friend of Margaret of Valois.

Although surrounded at Ferrara with all the splendors of a court, Renée delighted in the associations of literature and art, and loved above everything to retire to her closet and seek ‘the one thing needful.’ There was in her piety at this period of her life a slight trace of Margaret’s mystical spirit. A contemplative life, however, was not in keeping with her active character; she had rather a practical turn; she loved to attract to her small court the learned men of Italy, and particularly welcomed the evangelicals who had been driven out of France. She was thus beginning to be the object of the most opposite remarks. All were agreed as to her extreme beneficence; but the adherents of the papacy complained that her intellect, which enabled her to excel in philosophy, inclined her, unfortunately, to investigate religious questions; they added, however, that if she came to the aid of certain persons in bad odor among Roman catholics, it was because her inexhaustible goodness filled her with compassion for those whom she thought unjustly treated.[831] ‘She desires to do good to everybody,’ it was said; ‘in one year she assisted ten thousand of her fellow-countrymen. And when the stewards of her household represented to her the excessive expense of this, she only answered: “What would you have?—they are poor people of my own country, all of whom would be my subjects but for that wicked Salic law!”’[832] She was at once a Mæcenas and a Dorcas.

[Sidenote: Resurrection Of Christianity.]

The time had gone by in Italy when the fanaticism of pagan antiquity had misled the mind, and preachers were to be heard speaking from the pulpit of Minerva, Christ, and Jupiter in the same breath. At the very moment when celebrated professors, commissioned to teach philosophy even at the university of Ferrara, were exclaiming, as Voltaire and others did after him: ‘Christianity is dying out, and its end is near!’ Christianity on the contrary was reviving at Wittemberg, Zurich, Cambridge, and even in France, and the cry which it uttered as it issued from the tomb, re-echoed through Italy and awoke many souls there. In 1528, and perhaps earlier, the evangelical doctrines had been professed at Ferrara. In 1530, the inquisition of that city wrote to the pope, that there were many Lutherans, both laymen and ecclesiastics, within its walls.[833] In fact, the duchess was calling round her, either for the education of her children, or simply for love of learning and the Gospel, professors skilled in the study of the classics, among whom were men enlightened about the superstitions of the Roman Church, and often sincerely attached to the Gospel. Of their number were Celio Calcagnini, Lilio Giraldi Bartholomeo Riccio, Marzello Palingenio, and the two brothers Sinapi. Giovanni Sinapi in particular was full of zeal to spread around him the doctrine of the Scriptures. Many of the most eminent men of Italy, such as Curione, Occhino, Peter Martyr, and the famous poet Flaminio, lived for a time at Ferrara. From that centre evangelical doctrines were propagated in the neighbouring cities; and particularly in Modena, where they spread so widely in the university and among the townspeople, that it was soon called _the Lutheran city_.[834]

Footnote 792:

‘Cupit renascenti pietati suppetias ferre.’—Frobenius to Luther,
February 14, 1519.

Footnote 793:

‘Per omnes civitates sparsum.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 794:

Gerdesius, _Specimen Ital. Ref._ ii. p. 11. The words _Schwarzerd_,
_Melancthon_, and _Terranigra_ have the same meaning in German, Greek,
and Italian, namely, _black earth_.

Footnote 795:

‘Vocis, quæ totum penitus diffusa per orbem,
Terruit insolito pectora tetra sono.’

These verses have been preserved by Schelhorn in his _Amœnitates
Eccl._ ii. p. 624.

Footnote 796:

Seckendorf, _Hist. du Luthéranisme_, p. 613.

Footnote 797:

Sarpi, _Hist. du Concile de Trente_, i. p. 85.

Footnote 798:

‘Pestifera hæresis Lutheri non tantum apud sæculares personas, sed
etiam ecclesiasticas et regulares, tam mendicantes quam non
mendicantes.’ _Brief to the Inquisitors_, Raynald _ad annum_.

Footnote 799:

‘Læte audio de Venetis quod Verbum Dei receperint.’—Luther, _Ep._ iii.
p. 289.

Footnote 800:

‘Scias igitur Italos omnes expectare Augustensis hujus vestri
decreta.’ Venetiis, 3 calend. Aug. anno 1530. _Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 227.

Footnote 801:

_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 170.

Footnote 802:

‘Tibi ea adscribent, quæ Christo, verisque Christi defensoribus,
dedecori sunt.’—_Corp. Ref._ ii. p. 243.

Footnote 803:

Celio Secundo writes his name both ways, but more frequently
_Curioni_.

Footnote 804:

‘Natus anno MDIII. calendis Maii, Cyriaci Taurinorum.’—_Curionis
Historia_ a Professore Stupano, 1570, in Schelhorn, _Amœnitates
Litterariæ_, xiii. p. 330.

Footnote 805:

‘Vicenos ternosque liberos suscepit, ex quibus Cœlius ultimus natus
fuit.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 329.

Footnote 806:

‘Taurinum se contulit, ubi per aliquos annos apud Magdalenam proavam
suam agens.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 330.

Footnote 807:

Bonnet, _Récits du seizième Siècle_, p. 248.

Footnote 808:

‘Non esse sibi damnandos hosce, priusquam illorum horos
legisset.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 331.

Footnote 809:

‘Adolescens adhuc, cum prima tua monimenta legissem, te ita amavi ut
vix ulterius progredi meus in te amor posse videretur.’—_C. S.
Curionis, Epist._ i. p. 71.

Footnote 810:

‘Ita est illa (opera) admiratus ut statim decreverit in Germaniam
transire.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 331.

Footnote 811:

‘Institutum iter per Salassorum regionem ingreditur.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 812:

‘Cum juvenes in itinere, minus caute, de rebus ad religionem
pertinentibus disputarent.’—_Ibid._ p. 332.

Footnote 813:

Calvin.

Footnote 814:

‘Cum essent vallem prætoriam ingressuri.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 332.

Footnote 815:

‘Privatim multos contraria hisce docebat et in vera fide
erudiebat.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 332.

Footnote 816:

‘Itaque, observato clavium loco, capsam aperit.’—_Ibid._ p. 333.

Footnote 817:

‘Cum cæteri aliis rebus intenti essent.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 818:

‘Ipse omnibus aderat, consolabatur, atque etiam mortuos ipsos
sepeliebat.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 335.

Footnote 819:

‘Ei uxorem dederunt Margaritam Biancam, puellam
elegantissimam.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 335.

Footnote 820:

‘In vicinum locum, Castelleviolonem nomine.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 821:

‘Lutherum Germanis placere, quod sub libertate christiana omnis
generis libidines concederet.’—_Curionis Historia._

Footnote 822:

‘Ut vix intercedente Præfecto, vivus Taurinum redire
potuerit.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 339.

Footnote 823:

‘In causa propemodum ipsi fuerunt (soror et maritus) quod captus
fuerit, vitam quoque fere amiserit.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 336.

Footnote 824:

‘Hic examinatur, quæstiones adhibentur.’—_Ibid._ p. 339.

Footnote 825:

‘Ignem flammasque minantur.’—_Ibid._ p. 339.

Footnote 826:

‘Ex prioribus carceribus noctu deducit, et in conclavi quodam
fortissimis parietibus munito ... asservari curat.’—_Ibid._

Footnote 827:

‘Recreatque in memoriam singularum domus partium situm.’—_Curionis
Historia._

Footnote 828:

‘Extrahit caligam pedis liberi, eamdem lineis quibusdam pannis
infarcit.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 341.

Footnote 829:

His feet never recovered their strength.

Footnote 830:

‘Magna studiosorum caterva, eum a sua domo in auditorium deducebat, et
ex eo iterum domum comitabatur.’—_Curionis Historia_, p. 343.

Footnote 831:

Maimbourg, _Histoire du Calvinisme_, liv. i. p. 61.

Footnote 832:

Varillas, _Histoire des Hérésies_, ii. p. 499. Brantôme, _Dames
Illustres_.

Footnote 833:

_P. Martyr Vermigli_, par C. Schmidt, p. 11.

Footnote 834:

‘Città lutherana.’—Poli, _Epist._ iii. p. 84.