[]THE LIFE OF JOHN WICLIFF.

ABOUT the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries the uſurpations of the church of Rome had ariſen to their greateſt height. That amazing ſyſtem of ſpiritual tyranny had drawn within its influence, in a manner, the whole government of England. The haughty legate, ſtriding over law, made even the miniſters of juſtice tremble at his tribunal: parliaments were over-awed; and ſovereigns obliged to temporize: while the lawleſs eccleſiaſtic, intrenched behind the authority of councils and decrees, ſet at naught the civil power; and opened an aſy⯑lum to any, the moſt profligate, diſturbers of ſociety.

[2]In the mean time the taxes gathered, under various pretences, by the agents of the conclave, exceeded, by above two thirds, the produce of the royal treaſury: and when men conſidered how one claim after another had ariſen, and from ſlender pretences had taken the forms of legal eſtabliſhments, they could not but be alarmed at an evil teeming with ſuch ruin; and ſaw deluſion even through the gloom of ignorance. The peo⯑ple, in ſpite of ſuperſtition, cried out againſt ſuch ſcandalous exactions; and the legiſla⯑ture began to think ſeriouſly of checking theſe enormities by reſolute laws.

The rapacity of the court of Rome firſt ſet the ſuſpicions of men afloat. The vota⯑ries of the church bore with temper to ſee the extenſion of its power; and its advo⯑cates had always to obtrude upon the people the divine ſanctions of its dominion; and could on that topic deſcant plauſibly enough. But when this holy church, the ſacred ob⯑ject of veneration, became immerſed in temporal things; when it plainly appeared to be fully inſtructed in all the arts of graſp⯑ing and ſquandering, which were found among mere human beings, its mercenary [3] views were evident; and ſerious men were led to queſtion opinions, which came ac⯑companied by ſuch unwarrantable practice.

The firſt perſon of any eminence, who eſpouſed the cauſe of religious liberty, was John Wicliff. This reformer was born about the year 1324, in the reign of Edward II. Of his extraction we have no certain account. His parents deſigning him for the church, ſent him to Queen's-college in Oxford, then juſt founded by Robert Eaglesfield, confeſſor to queen Philippa. But not meeting with the advantages for ſtudy in that new-eſtabliſhed houſe, which he expected, he re⯑moved to Merton-college; which was then eſteemed one of the moſt learned ſocieties in Europe.

Here he applied with ſuch induſtry, that he is ſaid to have gotten by heart the moſt abſtruſe parts of the works of Ariſtotle. The logic of that acute philoſopher ſeems chiefly to have engaged his attention; in which he was ſo converſant, that he became a moſt ſubtile diſputant, and reigned in the ſchools without a rival.

Thus prepared, he began next with divi⯑nity. The divinity of thoſe times correſ⯑ponded [4] with the logic. What was fartheſt from reaſon, appeared moſt like truth: at leaſt moſt worth a ſcholar's purſuit. In that age flouriſhed thoſe eminent doctors, who mutually complimenting each other with ſounding titles, the profound, the angelic, and the ſeraphic, drew upon themſelves the reverence of their own times, and the con⯑tempt of all poſterity. Wicliff's attention was a while engaged in this faſhionable ſtudy; in which he became ſo thorough a proficient, that he was maſter of all the niceties of that ſtrange jargon, which is commonly called ſchool-divinity.

His good ſenſe, however, ſeems to have freed him early from the ſhackles of autho⯑rity and faſhion. He ſaw the unprofitable⯑neſs of ſuch ſtudies; and having been miſled, rather than bewildered, he diſengaged him⯑ſelf from them without much difficulty.

From this time he ſeems to have chalked out for himſelf a ſimpler path. He took the naked text of ſcripture into his hands, and became his own annotator. The writ⯑ings of the ſchoolmen, he ſoon found, were calculated only to make ſectaries; the bible alone to make a rational chriſtian. Hence [5] he attained that noble freedom of thought, which was afterwards ſo conſpicuous in all his writings; and among his contemporaries was rewarded, after the faſhion of the times, with the title of the evangelic doctor.

To theſe ſtudies he added that of the civil and canon law; and is ſaid alſo to have been well verſed in the municipal laws of his country.

In the mean time his reputation increaſed with his knowledge: and he was reſpected not only as an able ſcholar, but eſteemed as a ſerious and pious man; a ſincere en⯑quirer after truth; and a ſteady maintainer of it when diſcovered.

The firſt thing, which drew upon him the public eye, was his defence of the uni⯑verſity againſt the begging friars. The affair was this.

Theſe religious, from the time of their firſt ſettlement in Oxford, which was in the year 1230, had been very troubleſome neighbours to the univerſity. They ſet up a different intereſt, aimed at a diſtinct juriſ⯑diction, fomented feuds between the ſcholars and their ſuperiors, and in many other reſ⯑pects became ſuch offenſive inmates, that [6] the univerſity was obliged to curb their li⯑centiouſneſs by ſevere ſtatutes. This inſo⯑lent behaviour on one ſide, and the oppoſi⯑tion it met with on the other, laid the foun⯑dation of an endleſs quarrel. The friars appealed to the pope; the ſcholars to the civil power: and ſometimes one party, and ſometimes the other prevailed. Thus the cauſe became general; and an oppoſition to the friars was looked upon as the teſt of a young fellow's affection to the univerſity.

It happened, while things were in this ſituation, that the friars had gotten among them a notion, of which they were exceed⯑ingly fond; that Chriſt was a common beg⯑gar; that his diſciples were beggars alſo; and that begging, by their example, was of goſpel-inſtitution. This notion they pro⯑pagated with great zeal from all the pulpits, both in Oxford, and the neighbourhood, to which they had acceſs.

Wicliff, who had long held theſe religi⯑ous in great contempt, on account of the lazineſs of their lives, thought he had now found a fair occaſion to expoſe them. He drew up therefore, and preſently publiſhed, a treatiſe Againſt able beggary; in which he [7] firſt ſhewed the difference between the po⯑verty of Chriſt and that of the friars, and the obligations which all chriſtians lay un⯑der to labour in ſome way for the good of ſociety. He then laſhed the friars with great acrimony, proving them to be an in⯑famous and uſeleſs ſet of men, wallowing in luxury; and ſo far from being objects of charity, that they were a reproach not only to religion, but even to human ſociety. This piece was calculated for the many, on whom it made a great impreſſion. At the ſame time it increaſed his reputation with the learned; all men of ſenſe and freedom admiring the work, and applauding the ſpirit of the author.

From this time the univerſity began to conſider him as one of her firſt champions; and in conſequence of the reputation he had gained, he was ſoon afterwards promoted to the maſterſhip of Baliol-college.

About this time, archbiſhop Iſlip, founded Canterbury-hall in Oxford, where he eſta⯑bliſhed a warden, and eleven ſcholars. The warden's name was Wodehall; who with three of his ſcholars were monks; the reſt were ſecular. The prudent archbiſhop, un⯑willing [8] to irritate either ſide, choſe in this way to divide his favours. Wodehall, though brought from a diſtant monaſtery, ruſhed immediately into the quarrel, which he found ſubſiſting at Oxford; and having vexed the unhappy ſeculars incorporated with him, by every method in his power, he became next a public diſturber; and made it his particular employment to raiſe and foment animoſities in colleges, and diſ⯑putes in the convocation. The archbiſhop, hearing of his behaviour, and finding the report well-grounded, apologized to the univerſity for placing among them ſo trouble⯑ſome a man; and immediately ejected both him, and the three regulars, his aſſociates. The primate's next care was to appoint a proper ſucceſſor: and in this view he applied to Wicliff, whom he was greatly deſirous of placing at the head of his new founda⯑tion. Wicliff, whether through an inclina⯑tion to cultivate the archbiſhop's acquain⯑tance, or to put in order a new-eſtabliſhed houſe, accepted the propoſal, and was im⯑mediately choſen warden of Canterbury-hall.

[9]But his new dignity ſoon involved him in difficulties. He was ſcarce eſtabliſhed in it, when the archbiſhop died, and was ſuc⯑ceeded by Simon Langham, biſhop of Ely. This prelate had ſpent his life in a cloyſter, having been firſt a monk, and afterwards an abbot. The ejected regulars failed not to take advantage of ſo favourable an oppor⯑tunity; and made inſtant application to the new archbiſhop, expecting every thing from a man whom they imagined ſo well inclined to their order. Their expectations were juſtly founded. Langham eſpouſed their cauſe with great readineſs; ejected Wicliff, and the regulars his companions; and ſequeſtered their revenues.

So flagrant a piece of injuſtice, raiſed a general out-cry. ‘If the very act of a founder might be thus ſet aſide by a pri⯑vate perſon, how precarious was college-preferment!’ In ſhort, Wicliff was ad⯑viſed by his friends to appeal to the pope; who durſt not, they told him, countenance ſo injurious a proceeding. Urban foreſeeing ſome difficulty in the affair, prudently ſtep⯑ed behind the curtain, and commiſſioned a cardinal to examine it. The archbiſhop be⯑ing [10] cited put in his plea; and each ſide accuſed and anſwered by turns, protracting the buſineſs into great length.

While this matter was in agitation, an affair happened, which brought it to a ſpeedy concluſion. Edward the III. who was now king of England, had for ſome time withdrawn the tribute, which his pre⯑deceſſors, from the time of king John, had paid to the pope. The pope menaced in his uſual language: but he had a prince to deal with of too high a ſpirit to be ſo intimi⯑dated. Edward called a parliament, laid the affair before them, and deſired their advice. The parliament without much de⯑bating reſolved, that king John had done an illegal thing, and had given up the rights of the nation: at the ſame time they adviſed the king by no means to ſubmit to the pope; and promiſed to aſſiſt him to the utmoſt of their power, if the affair ſhould bring on conſequences.

While the parliament was thus calling in queſtion the pope's authority, the clergy, eſpecially the regulars, ſhewed their zeal by ſpeaking and writing in his defence. His undoubted right to his revenue was their [11] ſubject; which they proved by a variety of arguments, drawn from the divinity, and adapted to the genius of thoſe times.

Among others who liſted themſelves in this cauſe, a monk, of more learning, and of a more liberal turn of thought than com⯑mon, publiſhed a treatiſe, written in a very ſpirited and plauſible manner. His argu⯑ments met with many advocates, and help⯑ed to keep the minds of the people in ſuſ⯑pence. Wicliff, whoſe indignation was raiſ⯑ed at ſeeing ſo bad a cauſe ſo well defended, undertook to oppoſe the monk, and did it in ſo maſterly a way, that he was no longer conſidered as unanſwerable.

Soon after this book was publiſhed, the ſuit at Rome was determined againſt him: and when men ſaw an effect correſponding ſo exactly with a probable cauſe, they could not avoid aſſigning that probable cauſe, as a real one. In a word, nobody doubted but his oppoſition to the pope, at ſo critical a time, was the true cauſe of his being non-ſuited at Rome.

Notwithſtanding his diſappointment, Wic⯑liff ſtill continued at Oxford; where his friends, about this time, procured him a [12] benefice. Soon after, the divinity profeſſor's chair falling vacant, he took a doctor's de⯑gree, and was elected into it, the univerſity paying him this compliment, not only as the reward of his merit, but as a compenſa⯑tion for his loſs.

Dr. Wicliff had now attained the ſummit of his hopes. His ſtation afforded him that opportunity, which he wanted, of throw⯑ing ſome new lights, as he imagined, upon religious ſubjects. A long courſe of reaſon⯑ing had now fully convinced him, that the Romiſh religion was a ſyſtem of errors. The ſcandalous lives of the monaſtic clergy firſt led him into this train of thinking; and an inquiry into antiquity had confirmed him in it. But it was a bold undertaking to encounter errors of ſo long a ſtanding; errors, which had taken ſo deep a root, and had ſpread themſelves ſo wide. The un⯑dertaking at leaſt required the greateſt cau⯑tion. He reſolved therefore at firſt to go on with the popular argument, which he had begun, and continue his attack upon the monaſtic clergy.

It was a circumſtance in his favour, that the begging friars were at this time in the [13] higheſt diſcredit at Oxford. The occaſional oppoſition he had already given them, had by no means hurt his reputation; and as he really thought the monaſtic clergy, the prin⯑cipal inſtruments of the prevailing corrup⯑tion, he was fully determined not to ſpare them. In his public lectures therefore he repreſented them as a ſet of men, who pro⯑feſſed indeed to live under the rule of holy ſaints, but had now ſo far degenerated from their firſt inſtitution, that they were become a ſcandal to their founders. Men might well cry out, he ſaid, againſt the decay of religion; but he could ſhew them from whence this decay proceeded. While the preachers of religion never inculcated religi⯑ous duties, but entertained the people with idle ſtories, and lying miracles; while they never inforced the neceſſity of a good life, but taught their hearers to put their truſt in a bit of ſealed parchment, and the prayers of hypocrites, it was impoſſible, he ſaid, but religion muſt decay. Such treacherous friends did more hurt than open enemies.— But a regard for religion, he added, was not to be expected from them: they had nothing in view but the advancement of [14] their order. In every age they had made it their practice to invent, and multiply ſuch new opinions and doctrines as ſuited their avaritious views: nay they had, in a manner, ſet aſide chriſtianity, by binding men with their traditions in preference to the rule of Chriſt, who, it might well be ſuppoſed, left nothing uſeful out of his ſcheme.

In ſuch language did Dr. Wicliff inveigh againſt the monaſtic clergy; and opened the eyes of men to a variety of abuſes, which were before hidden in the darkneſs of ſuper⯑ſtition.

He had not, however, yet avowedly queſti⯑oned any doctrine of the church. All he had hitherto attempted was to looſen the pre⯑judices of the vulgar. His ſucceſs in this, warranted a further progreſs; and he began next to think of attacking ſome of the fun⯑damentals of popery.

In this deſign he ſtill proceeded with his uſual caution. At firſt, he thought it ſuffi⯑cient to lead his adverſaries into logical and metaphyſical diſputations; accuſtoming them to hear novelties, and to bear contradiction. Nothing paſſed in the ſchools but learned arguments on the form of things, on the [15] increaſe of time, on ſpace, ſubſtance, and identity. In theſe diſputations he artfully intermixed, and puſhed as far as he durſt, new opinions in divinity; ſounding, as it were, the minds of his hearers. At length, finding he had a great party in the ſchools, and that he was liſtened to with attention, he ven⯑tured to be more explicit, and by degrees opened himſelf at large.

He began by invalidating all the writings of the fathers after the tenth century. At that time, he ſaid, an age of darkneſs and error commenced; and the honeſt enquirer after truth could never ſatisfy himſelf among the opinions and doctrines, which then took their birth.

The ſpeculative corruptions, which had crept into religion were the firſt ſubject of his enquiry. Many of theſe he traced out, from their earlieſt origin; and with egrat accuracy and acuteneſs ſhewed the progreſs they had made, as they deſcended through the ages of ſuperſtition. He proceeded next to the uſurpations of the court of Rome. On this ſubject he was very copious: it was his favourite topic; and ſeldom failed, however coolly he might begin, to give him [16] warmth and ſpirit as he proceeded. On theſe, and many other ſubjects of the ſame kind, he inſiſted with great freedom, and a ſtrength of reaſoning far ſuperior to the learn⯑ing of thoſe times.

This ſpirited attack upon the church of Rome hath been attributed by his enemies to motives of reſentment. His deprivation, it is ſaid, was the unlucky cauſe of all this heat and bitterneſs. And indeed his con⯑duct, in this inſtance, hath unqueſtionably the appearance of being influenced by his paſſions. But the candid of all parties will be very cautions in aſſigning motives; and the friends of Wicliff may with truth re⯑monſtrate, that he began his attack upon the church of Rome, before he had been injured by the pope. They may add too, that he never before had ſo proper an occa⯑ſion to queſtion publickly the erroneous tenets of religion.

From whatever motives however, this ſpirited attack proceeded, we are not ſur⯑priſed to find a violent clamour raiſed againſt him by the romiſh clergy. The archbiſhop of Canterbury, taking the lead, reſolved to proſecute him with the utmoſt vigour. But [17] hereſy was a new crime: the church had ſlept in its errors through ſo many ages, that it was unprepared for an attack. Records however were ſearched, and precedents ex⯑amined; till, with ſome difficulty, at length Dr. Wicliff was deprived and ſilenced.

Edward III. after a glorious, and active reign, was, at this time, too much impaired both in body and mind, to bear the fatigues of government. The whole adminiſtration of affairs was in the hands of his ſon the duke of Lancaſter, commonly known by the name of John of Ghent.

This prince had a ſpirit anſwerable to his birth, and preſerved the forms of royalty as much as any monarch of his time. He had violent paſſions, of which his enemies and friends were equally ſenſible. In reli⯑gion he had free notions; and whether his creed gave offence to the popiſh clergy; or whether he had made ſome efforts to curb the exorbitance of their power, it is certain they were vehemently incenſed againſt him; and ſome of ^* the leading churchmen, it [18] is ſaid, had uſed very baſe arts to blacken his character. With equal fire the duke retort⯑ed their ill-treatment; and having long deſ⯑piſed them, and being now ſo exceedingly provoked, he conceived a ſettled prejudice againſt the whole order; and endeavoured by all the means in his power to bring them into the ſame contempt with others, in which he held them himſelf.

This quarrel between the duke of Lan⯑caſter and the clergy, was the occaſion of introducing Dr. Wicliff into public life; and this introduction afforded him afterwards an opportunity of ſignalizing himſelf ſtill more in the great cauſe of religious liberty. The duke, it ſeems, had heard with pleaſure, of the attack he had made upon the church of Rome; and had waited the conſequences of it with great attention: and when he now found, that Dr. Wicliff was likely to be the ſufferer, he interpoſed, reſcued him out of the hands of his enemies, who were perſu⯑ing their advantage, and brought him to court; where, through a paſſionate vibration of temper, from one extreme to another, he took him into his confidence, and treated [19] him with a kindneſs proportioned to the en⯑mity which he bore the clergy.

The oppreſſions of the court of Rome were, at this time, ſeverely felt in England. Many things were complained of; but nothing more than the ſtate of church-preferments; almoſt all of which, and even rectories, and vicarages of any value, in whomſoever origi⯑nally veſted, were now, through one fiction or another, claimed by the pope. With theſe he penſioned his friends and favourites; moſt of whom, being foreigners, reſided a⯑broad; and left their benefices in the hands of ill-paid, and negligent curates. By theſe means religion decayed; the country was drained of money; and what was looked upon as moſt vexatious, a body of inſolent tythe-gatherers were ſet over the people, who had their own fortunes to make out of the ſurplus of their exactions.

Theſe hardſhips, notwithſtanding the blind obedience paid at that time to the ſee of Rome, created great unquietneſs. The na⯑tion ſaw itſelf wronged; and parliamentary petitions, in very warm language, were pre⯑ferred to the conclave: but to little purpoſe; the pope lending a very negligent ear to any [20] motion which ſo nearly affected his re⯑venue.

The duke of Lancaſter, however, at this time, though the nation had now complain⯑ed in vain during more than 30 years, was determined, if poſſible, to obtain redreſs. And, in the firſt place, to open the eyes of the people in the moſt effectual manner, he obliged all biſhops to ſend in liſts of the num⯑ber and value of ſuch preferments and bene⯑fices in each of their dioceſſes, as were in the hands of foreigners. From theſe liſts it appeared what immenſe ſums, in that one way, were conveyed every year out of the kingdom.

The next ſtep taken was to ſend an em⯑baſſy to the pope to treat of the liberties of the church of England; at the head of which embaſſy were the biſhop of Bangor, and Dr. Wicliff. They were met at Bruges, on the part of Rome, by the biſhops of Pampelone and Semigaglia, and the provoſt of Valenza. Theſe agents, practiſed in the policy of their court, ſpun out the negotiation with great dexterity; ſome hiſtorians mention the con⯑tinuance of it during the ſpace of two years. The romiſh ambaſſadors however, finding [21] themſelves hard preſſed by their antagoniſts; and prudently conſidering, that it would be eaſier to evade a treaty when made, than in the preſent circumſtances not to make one, determined at laſt to bring matters to a con⯑cluſion. Accordingly it was agreed, that the pope ſhould no longer diſpoſe of any be⯑nefices belonging to the church of England. No mention was made of biſhopricks: this was thought a voluntary omiſſion in the biſhop of Bangor; and men the rather be⯑lieved ſo, when they ſaw him twice after⯑wards tranſlated by the pope's authority.

But though Dr. Wicliff failed in his en⯑deavours to ſerve his country by this treaty, (for indeed it was never obſerved) he made his journey however of ſome ſervice to him⯑ſelf. It was his great care to uſe the oppor⯑tunity it afforded him of ſifting out the real deſigns of the court of Rome, not only in this affair, but in all its other negotiations: he inquired into the ends it had in view, and the means it employed: and by frequent converſations with the ambaſſadors upon theſe ſubjects, he penetrated ſo far into the conſtitution and policy of that corrupt court, that he began to think of it in a much harſher [22] manner than he had ever yet done, and to be more convinced of its avarice and ambi⯑tion. Prejudiced as he had long been againſt its doctrines and miniſtry, he had never yet thought ſo ill of its deſigns.

Thus influenced, when he came home, we find him inveighing in his lectures againſt the church of Rome, in warmer language than he had hitherto uſed. The exemp⯑tion of the clergy from the juriſdiction of the civil power was one of his topics of in⯑vective: the uſe of ſanctuaries was another: indulgences a third: in ſhort there has ſcarce been a corrupt principle or practice in the Roman church, detected by later ages, which his penetration had not at that early day diſ⯑covered; and though his reaſonings want much of that acuteneſs and ſtrength, with which the beſt writers of theſe times have diſcuſſed thoſe ſubjects; yet when we conſi⯑der the uninlightened age in which he lived, we rather ſtand aſtoniſhed at that force of genius, which carried him ſo far, than in any degree wonder at his not going farther.

The pope himſelf was often the ſubject of his invective: his infallibility, his uſurpati⯑ons, his pride, his avarice, and his tyranny, [23] were his frequent theme; and indeed his lan⯑guage was never warmer than when on theſe topics. The celebrated epithet of antichriſt, which in after ages, was ſo liberally beſtow⯑ed upon the pope, ſeems to have been firſt given him by this reformer.

The pomp and luxury of biſhops he would frequently laſh; and would aſk the people, when they ſaw their prelates riding abroad accompanied with fourſcore horſemen in ſilver trappings, whether they perceived any reſemblance between ſuch ſplendor, and the ſimplicity of primitive biſhops?

Where theſe lectures were read, does not certainly appear. It is moſt probable how⯑ever, that they were read in Oxford; where Dr. Wicliff ſeems by this time to have reco⯑vered his former ſtation, and where he had ſtill a conſiderable party in his favour.

In the mean time he was frequently at court, where he continued in great credit with the duke of Lancaſter. Many indeed expected, ſome high preferment in the church was intended for him; but we meet with no account of his having had the offer of any ſuch, whether he himſelf declined it, or the duke thought an eminent ſtation in the [24] church would only the more expoſe him to the malice of his enemies. The duke how⯑ever took care to make him independent by conferring a good benefice upon him, the rectory of Lutterworth in Leiceſterſhire; whither he immediately repaired, and ſet himſelf faithfully to diſcharge the duties of it. We hear nothing more of his other bene⯑fice, ſo that it is probable he gave it up when he accepted Lutterworth.

Dr. Wicliff was ſcarce ſettled in his pariſh, when his enemies, taking the advantage of his retirement, began to perſecute him again with freſh vigour. At the head of this per⯑ſecution were Sudbury, archbiſhop of Can⯑terbury, and Courtney, biſhop of London. The former was a man of uncommon mo⯑deration for the times in which he lived; the latter was an inflamed bigot. The arch⯑biſhop indeed ſeems to have been preſſed in⯑to this ſervice; to which he afforded only the countenance of his name. Courtney, took upon himſelf the management of it; and having procured proper letters from Rome, Dr. Wicliff was cited to appear be⯑fore him on a day fixed, at St. Paul's in London.

[25]This was an unexpected ſummons to Dr. Wicliff; who imagined probably that the obſcurity of his retreat would have ſcreened him from his enemies. He repaired how⯑ever, immediately to the duke of Lancaſter, to conſult with him on a buſineſs of ſuch im⯑portance. The duke did what he could to avert the proſecution; but finding himſelf unable to oppoſe a force compoſed of little leſs than the whole eccleſiaſtical order, he thought it more probable that he ſhould be able to protect his friend from the future conſequences of the clergy's malice, than to ſcreen him from the preſent effects of it. Determined however, to give him what countenance he could, he attended him in perſon to his trial; and engaged alſo the lord Piercy, earl-marſhal of England, to accom⯑pany them.

When they came to St. Paul's, they found the court ſitting, and a very great croud aſ⯑ſembled, through which the earl-marſhal made uſe of his authority to gain an entrance.

The arrival of ſuch perſonages, with their attendants, occaſioned no little diſturbance in the church; and the biſhop of London, piqued to ſee Dr. Wicliff ſo attended, told [26] the earl with a peeviſh air, that if he had known before what diſturbance he would have made, he ſhould have been ſtopped at the door. He was greatly offended alſo at the duke for inſiſting that Dr. Wicliff ſhould ſit during his trial; and let fall ſome expreſſi⯑ons, which that haughty prince was ill able to bear. He immediately fired; and re⯑proached the biſhop with great bitterneſs. Warm language enſued. The prelate how⯑ever, had the advantage; of which the duke ſeeming conſcious, from railing began to threaten; and looking diſdainfully at the biſhop, told him, that he would bring down the pride, not only of him, but of all the prelacy of England: and turning to a perſon near him, he ſaid in a half whiſper, that rather than take ſuch uſage from the biſhop, he would pull him by the hair of his head out of the church. Theſe words being caught up by ſome, who ſtood near, were ſpread among the croud, and in an inſtant threw the whole aſſembly into a ferment; voices from every part being heard, united in one general cry, that their biſhop ſhould not be ſo uſed, and that they would ſtand by him to their laſt breath. In ſhort, the confuſion [27] aroſe to ſuch an height, that all buſineſs was at an end, the whole was diſorder, and the court broke up without having taken any ſtep of conſequence in the affair.

The tumult however did not ſo end. The duke, agitated by his paſſions, went di⯑rectly to the houſe of peers; where inveigh⯑ing againſt the riotous diſpoſition of the Lon⯑doners, he preferred a bill, that very day, to deprive the city of London of its privileges, and to alter the juriſdiction of it.

The city of London was never more moved than on this occaſion. The heads of it met in conſultation; while the populace aſſembled in a riot, and aſſaulted the houſes of the duke, and the earl marſhal, who both left the city with precipitation.

Theſe tumults, which continued ſome time, put a ſtop to all proceedings againſt Wicliff; nor indeed do we find him in any farther trouble, during the remainder of king Edward's reign.

In the year 1377 that prince died, and was ſucceeded by his grandſon Richard II. Rich⯑ard being only eleven years of age, the firſt buſineſs of the parliament was to ſettle a re⯑gency. The duke of Lancaſter aſpired to [28] be ſole regent; but the parliament thought otherwiſe: much was apprehended from the violence of his temper; and more from his unpopular maxims of government. The re⯑gency therefore was put into commiſſion, and he had only one voice in the manage⯑ment of affairs.

The duke of Lancaſter's fall from his for⯑mer height of power was a ſignal to the bi⯑ſhops to begin anew their perſecution againſt Wicliff. Articles of accuſation were imme⯑diately drawn up, and diſpatched to Rome. How very heartily the pope engaged in this buſineſs may be imagined, from his ſending upon this occaſion not fewer than five bulls into England: of theſe, three were directed to the archbiſhop of Canterbury and the bi⯑ſhop of London; a fourth to the univerſity of Oxford; and a fifth to the king.

Together with his bulls to the biſhops, he ſent a copy of the heretical articles; requi⯑ring thoſe prelates to inform themſeives, whe⯑ther Wicliff really held the doctrines there⯑in contained; and, if he did, forthwith to impriſon him; or if they failed in that, to cite him to make his perſonal appearance at Rome within three months.

[29]In his bull to the chancellor, and other heads of the univerſiy, he expoſtulates with ſome warmth upon their ſuffering tares to ſpring up with the wheat, and even to grow ripe without rooting them out. It gives him great uneaſineſs, he ſays, that this evil was publicly ſpoken of at Rome, before any re⯑medy had been applied in England. He bids them conſider the conſequences of Wic⯑liff's doctrines; that they tended to nothing leſs than the ſubverſion both of church and ſtate: and injoins them laſtly, to forbid the preaching of ſuch tenets for the future with⯑in their diſtricts; and to aſſiſt the biſhops in bringing Wicliff to condign puniſhment.

To the king he addreſſed himſelf in very obliging language; and exhorted him to ſhew his zeal for the faith, and the holy ſee, by giving his countenance to the proſecution commencing againſt Wicliff.

Of the ſucceſs of theſe bulls the pope had little doubt. The court of Rome had never been accuſtomed to contradiction. Deſpotic in all its commands, it had only to dictate, and the proudeſt monarch was ready to obey. But a new ſcene of things was now open⯑ing; and a more liberal ſpirit taking poſſeſ⯑ſion [30] of the minds of men. It muſt have been a ſenſible mortification to the haughty pontiff, to ſee the neglect with which he was treated on this occaſion. Oppoſition to his exactions he had ſometimes found before; but this was the firſt occaſion, on which he had ever been treated with contempt. The univerſity deliberated, whether it ſhould even receive his bull; and by what appears it did not. And the regency were ſo little diſpoſed to ſhew him any reverence, that they joined with the parliament at this very time, in giving a ſignal inſtance of their confidence in Dr. Wicliff, as if on purpoſe to make their contempt as notorious as poſſible. The inſtance was this.

A truce with France at this juncture ex⯑piring, that nation took the advantage of a minority, and was making mighty prepara⯑tions to invade England. As the country was far from being in a poſture of defence, all the money that could be raiſed was want⯑ed. The parliament deliberating about the means, it was debated in the houſe, whe⯑ther, upon an emergency, the money col⯑lected in England for the uſe of the pope, might not be applyed to the ſervice of the [31] nation. The expediency of the meaſure was acknowledged by all, but the legality of it was doubted. At laſt it was agreed both by the regency and the parliament, to put the queſtion to Dr. Wicliff. It appears as if they only wanted the authority of an able caſuiſt to give a ſanction to a reſolution already made; a ſanction very eaſily obtain⯑ed from the caſuiſt they conſulted.

But whatever diſreſpect was paid to the pope's bulls by the king and the univerſity of Oxford, the zeal of the biſhops made ample amends. The biſhop of London eſpecially complyed not only with the letter, but en⯑tered into the ſpirit of the pontiff's mandate.

He had taken however only the firſt ſtep in this buſineſs, when he received a peremp⯑tory order from the duke of Lancaſter, not to proceed to impriſonment. To impriſon a man for holding an opinion, the duke told him, could not be juſtified by the laws of England; he took the liberty therefore to inform him, that if he proceeded to any ſuch extremity, he muſt abide the conſequences.

This menace alarmed the biſhop: he dropt the deſign of an impriſonment; and con⯑tented himſelf with citing Wicliff to make [32] his appearance, on ſuch a day, before a pro⯑vincial ſynod in the chapel at Lambeth; ſending him at the ſame time a copy of the articles, which had been objected to, and de⯑ſiring his explanation of them.

On the day appointed Dr. Wicliff appear⯑ed; and being queſtioned about the articles, he delivered in a paper, which explained the ſenſe, in which he held them.

It would be tedious to tranſcribe this col⯑lection of antiquated opinions; many of which, at this day, would ſeem of very lit⯑tle importance. The curious reader may ſee them at large in the firſt volume of Fox's acts and monuments. We cannot however avoid obſerving, that Dr. Wicliff by no means ap⯑pears in the moſt favourable light on this oc⯑caſion ^*. He explains many of the articles [33] in a forced, unnatural manner, with much art, and in a very unmanly ſtrain of com⯑pliment. On the other hand, it muſt not be concealed, that his advocates call in queſtion the authenticity of this explanation; and have at leaſt to ſay for themſelves, that it is ſolely conveyed down through the channel of popiſh writers.

While the biſhops were deliberating upon Wicliff's confeſſion, which (however cauti⯑ouſly worded) was far, it ſeems, from being ſatisfactory, (an argument, by the way, a⯑gainſt the authenticity of that confeſſion, which is handed down to us) the people both within doors, and without, grew very tu⯑multuous, crying aloud, that they would ſuffer no violence to be done to Wicliff.

At this juncture Sir Lewis Clifford, a gen⯑tleman about the court, entered the chapel, and in an authoritative manner forbidding the biſhops to proceed to any definitive ſentence, retired. Sir Lewis was very well known to many there preſent; and the biſhops taking it for granted, that he came properly autho⯑rized, (which yet does not appear) were in ſome confuſion at the meſſage. The tumult at the door, in the mean time increaſing, [34] and adding to their perplexity, at length they diſſolved the aſſembly; having forbidden Dr. Wicliff to preach any more thoſe doctrines which had been objected to him. To this prohibition, it ſeems, he paid little reſpect; going about barefooted, as we are informed, in a long frieze-gown, preaching every where occaſionally to the people, and without any reſerve in his own pariſh. His zeal, it is probable, might now break out with the greater warmth, as he might tax his late be⯑haviour, if the account we have is genuine, with the want of proper freedom.

In the year 1378, pope Gregory the XIth died, and was ſucceeded by the archbiſhop of Barri, a Neapolitan, who took upon him the name of Urban VI. This pontiff, a man of an haughty temper, began his reign in ſo arbitrary a manner, that he alienated from him the affections of his ſubjects. The car⯑dinals in particular ſo highly reſented his be⯑haviour, that a majority of them reſolved to run any lengths rather than bear it longer. They found therefore, or pretended to find, ſome flaw in his election; and aſſembling at Avignon, where the popes had often reſided, they declared the election of Urban void, and [35] choſe Clement VII. This was a paſſionate meaſure; and produced, as paſſionate mea⯑ſures generally do, deſtructive conſequences. The two popes, laying an equal claim to St. Peter's chair, began to ſtrengthen their re⯑ſpective parties; their quarrel immediately became the cauſe of God, found adherents in all parts of Europe, occaſioned deluges of blood, and gave a more fatal blow to popery than any thing had yet done.

Dr. Wicliff, it may eaſily be ſuppoſed, was among thoſe, who took moſt offence at this unchriſtian ſchiſm. He conſidered it as a new argument againſt popery; and as ſuch he failed not to uſe it. A tract ſoon appear⯑ed in his name againſt the ſchiſm of the Roman pontiffs, in which he ſhewed what little credit was due to either of the contend⯑ing parties. This tract was eagerly read by all ſorts of people, and tended not a little to open the eyes of the vulgar.

About the end of the year, Dr. Wicliff was ſeized with a violent diſtemper, which, it was feared, might have proved fatal. Upon this occaſion, we are told, he was waited upon by a very extraordinary deputation. The begging friars, it ſeems, whom he [36] had heretofore ſo ſeverely treated, ſent four of their order, accompanied with four of the moſt eminent citizens of Oxford, to attend him; who having gained admittance to his bed-chamber, acquainted him, that hearing he lay at the point of death, they were come in the name of their order, to put him in mind of the many injuries he had done them; and hoped for his ſoul's ſake, that he would do them all the juſtice now in his power, by retracting, in the preſence of thoſe reſpecta⯑ble perſons, the many ſevere and unjuſt things he had ſaid of them. Wicliff ſurpriſ⯑ed at this ſolemn meſſage, raiſed himſelf in his bed; and we are informed, with a ſtern countenance cried out, ‘I ſhall not die, but live to declare the evil deeds of the friars.’ The unexpected force of his expreſſion, together with the ſternneſs of his manner, the ſtory adds, drove away the friars in confuſion.

Soon after his recovery, Dr. Wicliff ſet about a great work, which he had often in⯑tended, the tranſlation of the ſcriptures into Engliſh. It had long given him great of⯑fence, and indeed he always conſidered it as one of the capital errors of popery, that the [37] bible ſhould be locked up from the peo⯑ple. He reſolved therefore to free it from this bondage. But before his great work ap⯑peared, he publiſhed a tract, in which, with great ſtrength of argument, he ſhewed the neceſſity of engaging in it. The bible, he affirmed, contained the whole of God's will. Chriſt's law, he ſaid, was ſufficient to guide his church; and every chriſtian might there gather knowledge enough to make him ac⯑ceptable to God: and as to comments, he ſaid, a good life was the beſt guide to the knowledge of ſcripture; or, in his own lan⯑guage: ‘He that keepeth righteouſneſs hath the true underſtanding of holy writ.’

When he thought theſe arguments were ſufficiently digeſted, his great work came a⯑broad, much to the ſatisfaction of all ſober men.

Some have contended, that Dr. Wicliff was not the firſt tranſlator of the bible into Engliſh. The truth ſeems to be, that he was the firſt, who tranſlated the whole together; of which, it is probable, others might have given detached parts. It does not however appear, that Dr. Wicliff un⯑derſtood the Hebrew language. His method was, to collect what Latin bibles he could find: [38] from theſe he made one correct copy; and from this tranſlated. He afterwards examin⯑ed the beſt commentators then extant, parti⯑cularly Nicolas Lyra; and from them inſerted in his margin thoſe paſſages, in which the Latin differed from the Hebrew.

In his tranſlation of the bible, he ſeems to have been literally exact. In his other works, his language was wonderfully elegant for the times in which he lived: but here he was ſtudious only of the plain ſenſe; which led him often, through the confuſion of idioms, within the limits of nonſenſe. Quid nobis & tibi, Jeſu fili dei, we find tranſlated thus, What to us, and to thee, Jeſus the Son of God.

This work, it may eaſily be imagined, had no tendency to reinſtate him in the good opi⯑nion of the clergy. An univerſal clamour was immediately raiſed. Knighton, a canon of Leiceſter, and a contemporary with Wicliff, hath left us, upon record, the language of the times. "Chriſt intruſted his goſpel," ſays that eccleſiaſtic, ‘to the clergy, and doctors of the church, to miniſter it to the laity, and weaker ſort, according to their exigences, and ſeveral occaſions. But this maſter John Wicliff, by tranſlating it, has made [39] it vulgar; and has laid it more open to the laity, and even to women, who can read, than it uſed to be to the moſt learned of the clergy, and thoſe of the beſt under⯑ſtanding: and thus the goſpel jewel, the evangelical pearl, is thrown about, and trodden under foot of ſwine.’ Such lan⯑guage was looked upon as good reaſoning by the clergy of that day, who ſaw not with what ſatyr it was edged againſt themſelves.

The biſhops, in the mean time, and mi⯑tred abbots, not content with railing, took more effectual pains to ſtop this growing evil. After much conſultation, they brought a bill into parliament to ſuppreſs Wicliff's bible. The advocates for it, ſet forth in their uſual manner, the alarming proſpect of here⯑ſy, which this verſion of the ſcriptures open⯑ed; and the ruin of all religion, which muſt inevitably enſue.

Theſe zealots, were anſwered by the prin⯑cipal reformers, who judiciouſly encountered them with their own weapons. It appears, ſaid the Wiclivites, from the decretals, that more than ſixty different ſpecies of hereſy ſprang up in the church, after the tranſlation of the bible into Latin. But the utility of that [40] tranſlation, notwithſtanding its bad conſe⯑quences, all parties acknowledge. With what face therefore, they aſked, could the biſhops pretend to diſcountenance an Eng⯑liſh tranſlation, when they could not produce one argument againſt it, which did not equally conclude againſt the Latin one? This rea⯑ſoning ſilenced all oppoſition; and the bill was thrown out by a great majority.

The zeal of the biſhops to ſuppreſs Wicliff's bible only made it, as is generally the caſe, the more ſought after. They who were able, among the reformers, purchaſed copies; and they who were not able, procured at leaſt tranſcripts of particular goſpels, or epiſtles, as their inclinations led. In after times, when lol⯑lardy increaſed, and the flames were kindled, it was a common practice, to faſten about the neck of the condemned heretic, ſuch of theſe ſcraps of ſcripture as were found in his poſſeſſion, which generally ſhared his fate.

Before the clamour, which was raiſed a⯑gainſt Dr. Wicliff, on the account of his bi⯑ble, was in any degree ſilenced, he ventured a ſtep farther; and attacked that favourite doctrine of the Roman church, the doctrine of tranſubſtantiation.

[41]About the year 820 this ſtrange opinion was firſt heard of. It owed its birth to Paſ⯑chaſe Radbert, a wild enthuſiaſt, who pub⯑liſhed it, not as falſhood generally gains ground, by little and little; but at once glar⯑ing in its full abſurdity. He informed the world, in plain language, that in the ſacra⯑ment of the Lord's ſupper, the elements af⯑ter conſecration, are entirely changed into the body and blood of Chriſt; that very body, which was born of Mary, ſuffered upon the croſs, and roſe from the dead. It is amazing, that an opinion ſo big with abſurdity, and yet unaided by prejudice, could faſten upon the minds of men, however rude of ſcience. Yet the improbable tale, we find, went down, as if the greater the improbability, the more venerable the myſtery. It was found a doc⯑trine well adapted to impreſs the people with that awful and ſuperſtitious horror, which is the neceſſary foundation of falſe religion: as ſuch therefore the church of Rome with great zeal upheld it; and if any were ſtag⯑gered by the appearance of an impoſſibility, they were preſently told, that, ‘The acci⯑dents, or forms of bread and wine, it was true, ſtill remained after conſecration; but [42] by the omnipotence of God they remain⯑ed without a ſubject.’ This was the argu⯑ment of the clergy; and it was thought con⯑cluſive, for who could doubt the omnipo⯑tence of God?

Dr. Wicliff, after a thorough examination of this doctrine, was entirely ſatisfied, that it had no ſcriptural foundation. In his lec⯑tures therefore before the univerſity of Ox⯑ford, in the year 1381, which he ſeems ſtill to have continued every ſummer, as pro⯑feſſor of divinity, he took upon him to con⯑fute this error; and to explain the real deſign of the Lord's ſupper. He principally en⯑deavoured to eſtabliſh, that the ſubſtance of the bread and wine in the Lord's ſupper re⯑mained the ſame after conſecration; and that the body and blood of Chriſt were not ſub⯑ſtantially in them, but only figuratively. Theſe concluſions he offered to defend pub⯑licly in the ſchools. But the religious, who were now, it ſeems, getting ground in the univerſity, would not ſuffer any queſtion of this kind to be moved: upon which Dr. Wicliff, without further ceremony, publiſh⯑ed a treatiſe upon that ſubject; in which he went great lengths, and attacked the doctrine [43] of tranſubſtantiation with all the freedom of a man, not heſitating, but fully convinced of the truth of what he maintained.

Dr. Barton was, at that time, vice-chan⯑cellor of Oxford. He was a perſon of great zeal againſt innovations in religion; which he conſidered as the ſymptoms of its ruin; and had always uſed a bitterneſs of expreſſion in ſpeaking of Dr. Wicliff; which eaſily ſhewed with how much pleaſure he would take hold of any fair occaſion againſt him. An occaſion now offered. He called together therefore the heads of the univerſity; and, finding he could influence a majority, ob⯑tained a decree, by which Wicliff's doctrine was condemned as heretical, and himſelf and his hearers threatened, if they perſiſted in their errors, with impriſonment, and excommunication.

Dr. Wicliff, we are told, was greatly mor⯑tified on finding himſelf thus treated at Ox⯑ford, which had till now been his ſanctuary. He had one reſource however ſtill left, his generous patron the duke of Lancaſter; to whom he reſolved to fly for protection, and through the hopes of whoſe intereſt he ap⯑pealed [44] to the king from the vice-chancellor's ſentence.

While Dr. Wicliff and his followers, who were now very numerous, were thus cen⯑ſured at Oxford, a calumny was raiſed againſt them, which might have proved of more dangerous conſequence. It took its riſe from an inſurrection, which at this time alarmed the whole kingdom.

Vexed by the ſevere exaction of a ſevere impoſt, the counties of Kent and Suſſex took arms. Their body increaſed as it moved; and under the conduct of one Tiler, ap⯑proached London with a force greatly ſu⯑perior to any tumultuary troops that could be brought againſt it. Here the rebels, having done infinite miſchief, and brought even the government to a treaty, were diſperſed by the mere addreſs and reſolution of the young king. The behaviour of Richard, on this occaſion, ought never to be omitted even in a ſlight account of theſe things, as it is the only part of his behaviour, through his whole life, that deſerves recording.

When all danger was over, and the thoughts of the miniſtry were now turned [45] upon puniſhing the guilty, great pains were taken by the enemies of Wicliff, to fix the odium of this inſurrection upon him; but with very little effect: for after the ſtricteſt ſcrutiny, nothing was produced to prove their accuſation, but that one Ball, a prieſt, was ſeized among the rebels, whom the arch⯑biſhop of Canterbury had formerly thrown into priſon for preaching Wicliff's doctrines. But it appeared, that Ball was a conceited, empty fellow, who through motives of va⯑nity was ready to adopt any ſingularity. And indeed the whole tenor of hiſtory has ex⯑culpated Wicliff, and his diſciples on this head, by aſſigning other and more probable cauſes of this rebellion.

We left Dr. Wicliff, in the midſt of his diſtreſſes, carrying up an appeal from the univerſity to the king. But his appeal, it ſeems, met with no countenance. The duke of Lancaſter finding his credit declining, ſuppoſed probably that the protection he af⯑forded Wicliff might be the principal cauſe of its decline; perhaps too he might think this bold reformer, by attacking tranſubſtan⯑tiation, had gone greater lengths than could well be warranted; it is certain however, [46] that he now for the firſt time deſerted him; and when Dr. Wicliff preſſed his highneſs in the affair, and urged him with religious mo⯑tives, he was anſwered coolly, that of theſe things the church was the moſt proper judge, and that the beſt advice he could give him was to quit theſe novelties, and ſubmit quietly to his ordinary. Wicliff finding him⯑ſelf thus expoſed, had only to wrap himſelf in his own integrity, and puſh through the ſtorm as he was able.

It was a circumſtance greatly againſt him, that William Courtney was at this time pro⯑moted to the ſee of Canterbury; Simon of Sudbury, his predeceſſor, having been mur⯑dered by the rebels in the late inſurrection. Courtney, when biſhop of London, had been Wicliff's moſt active adverſary; and was now glad to find his hands ſtrengthened by the addition of ſo much power, were it only for the ability it gave him to cruſh the Wiclivites. He highly approved therefore of what the vice-chancellor of Oxford had done, and reſolved to go vigorouſly on with the proſecution.

His piety however allowed Wicliff ſome reſpite. So ſcrupulous was the primate, even [47] in matters of form, that he forbore any pub⯑lic exerciſe of his office, till he ſhould receive the conſecrated pall from Rome; which did not arrive till the May of the next year, 1382.

Being thus duly inveſted, Dr. Wicliff was cited to appear before him in the monaſtery of the grey friers, on the 17th day of the ſame month: ſo eager was the archbiſhop to enter upon this buſineſs!

But before we proceed in the relation, it may not be improper to inform the reader, that we find great obſcurity in the accounts of this part of Wicliff's life, many of theſe accounts differing from each other; and many being plainly contradictory. All there⯑fore, which in ſuch a caſe can be done, is to ſelect, from a variety of circumſtances, ſuch as ſeem moſt probable, and beſt founded.

Dr. Wicliff being thus cited before the archbiſhop, refuſed to appear; alledging that as he was a member of the univerſity, and held an office in it, he was exempt from epiſcopal juriſdiction. The univerſity was now, it ſeems, under different influence; the vice-chancellor was changed; and the determination of the majority was to ſupport [48] their member. With this plea therefore the archbiſhop remained ſatisfied.

But though he could not proceed againſt the perſon of Wicliff, he reſolved however to proceed againſt his opinions. When the court therefore met on the appointed day, a large collection of articles, extracted from his books and ſermons, was produced.

In the inſtant, as the biſhops and divines, of which this court conſiſted, were about to enter upon buſineſs, a violent earthquake ſhook the monaſtery. The affrighted biſhops threw down their papers; cryed out, the bu⯑ſineſs was diſpleaſing to God; and came to a haſty reſolution to proceed no farther.

The archbiſhop alone remained unmoved. With equal ſpirit and addreſs he chid their ſuperſtitious fears; and told them, that if the earthquake portended any thing, it portended the downfall of hereſy; that as noxious va⯑pours are lodged in the bowels of the earth, and are expelled by theſe violent concuſſions, ſo by their ſtrenuous endeavours, the king⯑dom ſhould be purified from the peſtilential taint of hereſy, which had infected it in every part.

[49]This ſpeech, together with the news, that the earthquake had been general through the city, as it was afterwards indeed found to have been through the iſland, diſpelled their fears. Dr. Wicliff would often merrily ſpeak of this accident; and would call this aſſem⯑bly, the council of the herydene; herydene being the old Engliſh word for earthquake.

The court, again compoſed, entred warm⯑ly into the buſineſs; and went through the examination of all the articles. In fine, they came to a determination, that ſome of them were erroneous; and ſome plainly heretical.

This determination was publiſhed, and afterwards anſwered by Dr. Wicliff, who ſhewed how much his enemies had miſre⯑preſented him in ſeveral points; and defend⯑ed his opinions with a ſpirit of truth and freedom, which brought over many to his party.

The primate took new offence at this au⯑dacity, as he called it, of Wicliff; and be⯑ing determined at all events to cruſh him, preferred a bill in parliament to enable ſhe⯑riffs (upon proper information from biſhops) to proceed as far as impriſonment againſt the preachers of hereſy. This bill paſſed the [50] lords, but was rejected by the commons; who, being already jealous of the power of the clergy, were in no degree inclined to make any addition to it.

The archbiſhop, notwithſtanding this check, applied to the king for his licence, which he imagined would be full as effectu⯑al, though not ſo plauſible, as an act of par⯑liament. The king, immerſed in pleaſures, thought only of tenths and ſubſidies, and could refuſe nothing to the clergy, who were ſo ready on all occaſions to comply with him. Letters patent therefore were immediately made out, granting the full powers, which the archbiſhop required.

The practice heretofore had been, in caſes of this kind, for the king to grant ſpecial li⯑cences on particular occaſions. This unli⯑mited power therefore, before unheard of, was very diſagreeable to the whole nation. Accordingly, when the parliament met, which it did ſoon after, heavy complaints came from every county to their repreſentatives, ſetting forth, how much the people thought them⯑ſelves aggrieved.

The alarm ſpread through the houſe, where the affair was taken up with a becom⯑ing [51] zeal. ‘Theſe new powers, it was ſaid, were dangerous encroachments.—If the liberties of the people were thus put into the hands of the clergy, the nation be⯑came ſubject to a new kind of deſpotiſm. —Hereſy was an unlimited word, and might bear as wide a conſtruction as a biſhop might chuſe to give it: nor could it be doubted, but it would often be made to ſignify whatever the pride, or avarice of the clergy might think expedient.’

This language was carried in a petition from the commons to the king. The king, as was uſual, being in want of money, and afraid at this time of diſobliging the com⯑mons, revoked the licence through the hope of a ſubſidy from the laity, which he had juſt before granted through the hope of an aid from the clergy.—Such were the weak politics of Richard; and thus was the arch⯑biſhop's zeal baffled a ſecond time.

In one point however the primate ſucceed⯑ed better. He obtained letters from the king, directed to the vice-chancellor and proctors of the univerſity of Oxford, by which they were required to make diligent ſearch in their colleges and halls for all who maintained he⯑retical [52] opinions; particularly thoſe condemn⯑ed by the arch-biſhop of Canterbury; and for all, who had in their poſſeſſion the books of John Wicliff. Such delinquents were or⯑dered to be expelled the univerſity; and the ſheriff and mayor of Oxford were command⯑ed to aſſiſt the academical magiſtrates in the execution of this order. The arch-biſhop alſo, himſelf wrote to the vice-chancellor, injoining him to publiſh in St. Mary's church the king's letter, and alſo thoſe articles of Wicliff's doctrine, which had been condemn⯑ed. The vice-chancellor modeſtly anſwered, that party at this time ran ſo high in Oxford, where the ſeculars, who generally favoured Dr. Wicliff, bore a principal ſway, that ſuch a publication would not only be very danger⯑ous to himſelf, but would greatly endanger alſo the peace of the univerſity.

In anſwer to this, the violent primate call⯑ed him before the council, where he was vexed and queſtioned with all the inhuma⯑nity of inſolent authority. This brought him to a compliance; and every thing was pub⯑liſhed, and in what manner, the arch-biſhop required.

[53]The vice-chancellor's fears however, were well grounded. The ſecular clergy were ſo exceedingly incenſed againſt the religious, that the univerſity became a ſcene of the ut⯑moſt tumult: all ſtudy was at an end: and to ſuch an height were the animoſities of the two parties carried, that they diſtinguiſhed themſelves by badges, and were ſcarce con⯑trouled from breaking out into the moſt vi⯑olent effects of rage.

Whether Dr. Wicliff was ever brought to any public queſtion in conſequence of theſe proceedings, we meet with no account. It is moſt probable he was adviſed by his friends to retire from the ſtorm. It is certain how⯑ever, that at this time he quitted the pro⯑feſſor's chair, and took his final leave of the univerſity of Oxford; which till now he ſeems to have viſited generally once every year. —Thus the unwearied perſecution of the archbiſhop prevailed; and that prelate had the ſatisfaction of ſeeing the man whom he hated, and whom, for ſo many years he had in vain purſued, retreating at length before his power into an obſcure part of the king⯑dom.—The ſeeds however were ſcattered, though the root was drawn. Wicliff's opi⯑nions [54] began now to be propagated ſo uni⯑verſally over the nation, that as a writer of thoſe times tells us, if you met two perſons upon the road, you might be ſure that one of them was a lollard.

While theſe things were doing in England, the diſſention between the two popes conti⯑nued. Thus far they had fought with ſpi⯑ritual weapons only, bulls, anathemas, and excommunications; and thus far their con⯑tention had excited only contempt. But Ur⯑ban perceiving how little the thunders of the church availed, had recourſe to more ſub⯑ſtantial arms. With this view he publiſhed a bull, in which he called upon all, who had any regard for religion, to exert themſelves at this time in its cauſe; and take up arms againſt Clement, and his adherents, in defence of the holy ſee. The times, he ſaid, required vio⯑lent meaſures; and for the encouragement of the faithful he promiſed the ſame pardons and indulgences, which had been always granted to thoſe, who loſt their lives in the holy wars. This bull met with great en⯑couragement in England, eſpecially as the pope choſe an eccleſiaſtic of that nation for his general, Henry Spencer, biſhop of Nor⯑wich; [55] ‘a young and ſtout prelate, ſays Fox, fitter for the camping cure, than for the peace⯑able church of Chriſt.’ This officer hav⯑ing obtained a parliamentary aſſiſtance, and made his levies, ſet out with great eagerneſs upon his expedition.

A war, in which the name of religion was ſo vilely proſtituted, rouſed Dr. Wicliff's indignation, even in the decline of years. He took up his pen once more, and wrote againſt it with great acrimony. He expoſtu⯑lates with the pope in a very free manner, and aſks him boldly, ‘How he durſt make the token of Chriſt on the croſs (which is a token of peace, mercy, and charity) a banner to lead on to ſlay chriſtian men, for the love of two falſe prieſts; and to oppreſs chriſtendom worſe than Chriſt and his apoſtles were oppreſſed by the Jews. When, ſays he, will the proud prieſt of Rome grant indulgences to man⯑kind to live in peace and charity, as he now does to fight and ſlay one another?’

This ſevere piece drew upon him the re⯑ſentment of Urban, and was likely to have involved him in greater troubles than he had yet experienced: but God himſelf delivered [56] his faithful ſervant. He was ſtruck with a palſy, ſoon after the publication of this trea⯑tiſe; and though he lived ſome time, yet he lived in ſuch a way, that his enemies conſi⯑dered him as a perſon below their reſentment. To the laſt he attended divine worſhip; and received the fatal ſtroke of his diſorder in his church at Lutterworth, in the year 1384.

The papiſts of thoſe times gloried much in the circumſtances of his death. ‘It was reported, one of them tells us, that he had prepared accuſations, and blaſphemies, which he intended, on the day he was taken ill, to have uttered in his pulpit, a⯑gainſt Thomas a Becket, the ſaint and martyr of the day; but by the judgment of God he was ſuddenly ſtruck, and the palſy ſeized all his limbs; and that mouth which was to have ſpoken huge things againſt God, and his ſaints, and holy church was miſerably drawn aſide, and afforded a frightful ſpectacle to the beholders: His tongue was ſpeechleſs, and his head ſhook, ſhewing plainly that the curſe of God was upon him.’

Thus did his enemies, in the true ſpirit of ſuperſtition, turn the moſt common ſymp⯑toms [57] of a common malady into divine judg⯑ments; and diſcover, by calling in ſuch fee⯑ble aids, how much in earneſt their cauſe wanted a ſupport.

Such was the life of John Wicliff; whom we heſitate not to admire as one of the great⯑eſt ornaments of his country; and as one of thoſe prodigies, whom providence raiſes up, and directs as its inſtruments to enlighten mankind. His amazing penetration; his rational manner of thinking; and the noble freedom of his ſpirit, are equally the objects of our admiration. Wicliff was in religion, what Bacon was afterwards in ſcience; the great detecter of thoſe arts and gloſſes, which the barbariſm of ages had drawn together to obſcure the mind of man.

To this intuitive genius Chriſtendom was unqueſtionably more obliged than to any name in the liſt of reformers. He opened the gates of darkneſs, and let in not a fee⯑ble and glimmering ray; but ſuch an efful⯑gence of light, as was never afterwards ob⯑ſcured. He not only looſened prejudices; but advanced ſuch clear inconteſtible truths, as, having once obtained footing, ſtill kept their ground, and even in an age of refor⯑mation [58] wanted little amendment. How nearly his ſentiments, almoſt on every topic, agreed with thoſe of the reformers of the ſucceeding century, hath been made the ſub⯑ject of ſet enquiries, and will eaſily appear from a general view of his opinions.

As the opinions of Wicliff make a very material part of his life, I have thought it proper to give a fuller account of them, in a ſeparate view, than could well be intro⯑duced in the body of the work. The fol⯑lowing therefore, which are all either col⯑lected from his own words, or by a fair de⯑duction from them, are the principal opini⯑ons which this reformer held.

With regard to the church, he was not fond of applying the words church and church⯑men, merely to the clergy, as theſe were of⯑ten men of bad lives, he thought ſuch ap⯑plication a vile proſtitution of thoſe ſacred names. Beſides, it had bad influence, he thought, upon the laity; ſeeming to exclude them from the pale of Chriſt's church, and to give them a diſpenſation for licentious practice. If they were not of Chriſt's church, they were not under Chriſt's laws. He would never therefore have any idea fixed to the [59] word church, but that of the whole body of Chriſtians. In ſome of his writings he makes a diſtinction between the true church of Chriſt, and the nominal. By the true church he means ſuch perſons only as God ſhall pleaſe to ſave. Chriſt's nominal church he calls a net, yet undrawn to land, full of every kind, which muſt afterwards be picked and ſepa⯑rated.

He was a warm aſſertor of the king's ſu⯑premacy; to prove which he reaſoned thus. Under the old law, we read that Solomon depoſed one high prieſt, and ordained ano⯑ther, by his own proper authority, without the concurrence of any eccleſiaſtical ſynod: and in the new teſtament, though we meet with no expreſs command on the point of the king's ſupremacy; yet in general we are told, that magiſtrates are ordained of God to puniſh evil doers, and that without any limitation. If then they are ordained to pu⯑niſh evil doers, certainly they are, in the higheſt degree bound to puniſh thoſe, who do the moſt evil: and who will contend, that the wicked prieſt is not a worſe citizen, than the wicked layman? Chriſt, ſays he, and his apoſtles were obedient to the temporal [60] powers then exiſting: and not to mention the many precepts of the goſpel writers on this ſubject, which ſeem to be generally di⯑rected to all Chriſtians; we ſee in one place our Saviour himſelf paying tribute to the emperor; and in another, anſwering before Pilate without claiming any exemption. — Againſt thoſe who maintained the pope's ſu⯑premacy to be an article of faith he was very warm. The ſaving faith of a chriſtian, ſays he, conſiſts in believing, that Chriſt was the Meſſiah: but the Roman church has mul⯑tiplied articles of faith without number. It is not enough now to believe in Chriſt; we muſt believe in the pope of Rome. The holy apoſtles never aſcribed to themſelves any ſuch honour: how then can a ſinful wretch require it, who knows not whether he ſhall be damned or ſaved? If the pope, ſays he, ſhould happen to be a wicked man, we pro⯑feſs it as an article of our belief, that a devil of hell is head of the church — that he is the moſt holy father, infallible, and without ſin, who poiſons the principles of the church, and corrupts its practice, who contributes what he is able to baniſh out of it faith, [61] meekneſs, patience, charity, humility, and every other virtue of a chriſtian.

The authority likewiſe claimed by the church Dr. Wicliff ſtrenuoſly oppoſed. It was a ſcandal, he would ſay, to the chriſtian church, that any of its members ſhould ſet up their own authority againſt that of their Saviour. The great argument of that day (which was indeed a ſubtle one) for the au⯑thority of the church, was this. Many per⯑ſons, beſides Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, wrote goſpels; but the church reject⯑ed them all, excepting theſe four: and this it did by its own proper authority. It might by the ſame authority have rejected thoſe four goſpels, and have received others. It fol⯑lows therefore, that the authority of the church is above that of any goſpel.—To this Dr. Wicliff replied, that the evidence for the received goſpels was ſo ſtrong, and that for the rejected ones ſo weak, that the church could not have done otherwiſe than it did, without doing violence to reaſon. But the beſt argument, he ſaid, if it were proper to avow it, for ſupporting the autho⯑rity of the church, was the neceſſity of that doctrine to ſupport the tyranny of the pope. [62] This was what made it worth defending at the expence of truth.—In another place, ſpeaking on the ſame ſubject, he ſays, that the pope would not ſubmit his actions to the ſame criterion, by which Chriſt was content⯑ed to have his actions tried. if I do not, ſays Chriſt, the works of my father which is in heaven, believe me not. But the pope's authority, it ſeems, muſt be acknowledged, though he manifeſtly does the works of the devil. Thus, ſays he, Chriſtians are in greater thraldom than the Jews under the old law; and that liberty, by which Chriſt hath made us free, is by the wickedneſs of deſigning men, changed into the moſt ab⯑ſolute ſpiritual bondage. The days, ſays he, I hope, will come, when men ſhall be wiſe enough to ſhake from their necks the do⯑minion of theſe human ordinances; and diſdain ſubmiſſion to any eccleſiaſtical in⯑junctions, but ſuch as are plainly authorized by the word of God.

Having thus ſhewn Dr. Wicliff's opinions about the church, I ſhall now give the reader ſome of his opinions upon church doctrines.

He acknowledged ſeven ſacraments; but is very inaccurate in his definition of a ſacra⯑ment; [63] which he calls, A token that may be ſeen of a thing that may not be ſeen. This inaccuracy however, is not peculiar to Wic⯑liff. We meet with it univerſally amongſt the old writers in divinity, both before and after his time; whoſe idea of a ſacrament ſeems to have been extremely vague: from Wicliff's logical exactneſs we might have expected a more accurate definition.

But though he thus acknowledges ſeven ſacraments, he expreſly ſays, he does not eſteem them all neceſſary to ſalvation; and inveighs warmly againſt the many idle cere⯑monies uſed by the church of Rome in the adminiſtration of them all; ceremonies, he ſays, which have no uſe in themſelves, nor any foundation in ſcripture. When ceremonies are few and expreſſive, he thinks, they may be of uſe; and enumerates, among others, kneeling, and beating the breaſt in prayer.

With regard to baptiſm, he thought it neceſſary to ſalvation. This he grounded on the expreſſion, Except a man be born of wa⯑ter and of the ſpirit, he cannot enter into the kingdom of God; which he underſtood of material water. But he oppoſed the ſuper⯑ſtition [64] of three immerſions. In caſe of neceſ⯑ſity, he thought, any one preſent might bap⯑tize. The prieſt, he ſaid, in baptiſm (as indeed in all the other ſacraments) admi⯑niſtered only the token or ſign; but God, who is the prieſt, and biſhop of our ſouls, adminiſters the ſpiritual grace. This gave occaſion to his enemies to repreſent him (which they did with great falſhood) as denying any uſe of material water. When he ſpeaks of water, ſay they, he means only figuratively the water, which flowed from the ſide of Chriſt.—With regard to the queſtion, whether unbaptized infants could be ſaved, he waves it, adding, that he thinks it probable, Chriſt may ſpiritually baptize ſuch infants, and conſequently ſave them. This opinion too might afford ſome founda⯑tion to the ſlander above-mentioned; though he guards againſt it by ſaying, that we muſt not neglect baptiſm by water, on a ſuppoſi⯑tion, that we are baptized by the ſpirit.

Of the ſacrament of the Lord's ſupper, we have ^* already ſeen his opinion. But though it appears from the account given [65] of his creed in this point, that he thought bread and wine only ſigns of Chriſt's body; yet in other parts of his writings we find him ſpeaking of them in a much higher ſtrain. The truth ſeems to be, that he was late in ſettling his notions of the Lord's ſupper: whence it is, that in different parts of his writings he contradicts himſelf. This appears to be the foundation of Melancthon's complaint. ‘I have looked, ſays he, into Wicliff; and find him very confuſed in this controverſy of the Lord's ſupper.’

With regard to confirmation, he thought the oil, and the veil made uſe of by the biſhop, had no foundation in ſcripture, and were better omitted; and that the other ceremonies, together with all the parade and pomp, which accompany this ſacrament were ſtill worſe, tending only to fix the minds of the people upon trifles, and to impreſs on them a ſuperſtitious veneration for the clergy. He could ſee no reaſon, why the prieſt might not confirm, as well as baptize; baptiſm, he ſaid, muſt be ac⯑knowledged to be the ſacrament of greater dignity, inaſmuch as it is of more authentic goſpel-inſtitution.

[66]Speaking of matrimony, he inveighs warmly againſt granting divorces on ſlight occaſions, as was cuſtomary in the church of Rome; and ſays, that a divorce can be juſtified on no cauſe, but that of adultery.

In extreme unction he ſees nothing un⯑ſcriptural: at leaſt I meet with nothing of objection to it, in any part of his writings which I have ſeen. Only indeed, he blames the exorbitant fees, which the avarice of the prieſts of thoſe times exacted for the performance of it.

Speaking likewiſe of orders, he inveighs againſt the ſame avarice; and jocularly ſays, a man might have a barber to attend him a whole year for what he pays to have his crown ſhaven once.

With regard to confeſſion, his opinion was, that if a man be really contrite, exter⯑nal confeſſion is by no means of abſolute neceſſity; yet as it may be a means to bring on repentance, he would not reject it, if a proper choice be made of a confeſſor. But as confeſſion was practiſed in the church of Rome, he thought it a vile and ſcandalous method of getting into the ſecrets of fami⯑lies, [67] and tended only to advance the power of the church.

Pennance, he ſays, hath no ſort of merit in God's ſight, unleſs followed by a reformed life.

Of abſolution, as practiſed in the church of Rome, he was a warm oppoſer. It was the height of blaſphemy, he ſaid, to aſcribe to man the power of God. Who can forgive ſins, but God alone? Inſtead of acting as God's miniſters, the Romiſh clergy, he ſaid, took upon them, in their own names, to forgive ſins. Nay in the plenitude of their power they will do, ſays he, what God himſelf (if there is truth in ſcripture) would not do—pardon unrepented ſin. Expreſs paſſages of ſcripture in favour of the contrite heart are nothing: God's abſolution is of no effect, unleſs confirmed by theirs. Pre⯑ſumptuous guides, ſays he, they ought to urge the neceſſity of repentance, inſtead of abſolution; and preach a future ſtate of re⯑wards and puniſhments, the deformity of ſin, and the mercy of God, inſtead of de⯑ceiving mankind by their ridiculous im⯑poſtures.

[68]Againſt indulgences, he was very ſevere. A mere trick, he called them, to rob men of their money. The pope, ſays he, has the ſurplus of the merits of pious ſaints to diſpoſe of. A profitable doctrine this; but where found? Certainly not in ſcripture. For my own part, ſays he, I meet not, in the whole new-teſtament with one ſaint who had more merit than was neceſſary for his own ſalvation. And if Chriſt, who taught all that was needful and profitable, taught not this doctrine, it may be fairly preſumed, that this doctrine is neither needful nor pro⯑fitable. All men, as far as the merits of another can avail, are partakers of the merits of Chriſt: and no man can expect more. How abſurd then is it to ſee men ſquander away their money upon indulgences, inſtead of laying it out properly in charitable uſes: as if it were a more acceptable ſervice to God, to add ſuperfluous wealth to a mo⯑naſtery, than to diſtribute alms among ne⯑ceſſitous chriſtians.—Beſides, in how un⯑charitable a light doth the pope appear, if there be one ſoul left in purgatory. A turn of his pen would deliver the ſinner, and if he deny that, it can only be thought ava⯑rice, [69] and want of a good heart.—If he have not power to deliver all men, he is a de⯑ceiver; for he declares, that he has ſuch power. But his pardons, it ſeems, are only to be had for ready money, and granted too, not for the good of mankind, but to pro⯑mote diſſention and war. Were this boaſted power of pardoning an heavenly gift, like God's other favours, it would certainly be diſpenſed in an impartial manner. Wealth could not command it: and the pope, like the apoſtles, would cry out, ‘Thy money periſh with thee.’ Whether the pope's pardons be diſpenſed in this impartial man⯑ner, let the papiſt ſay. They will tell you perhaps, he adds, that the pardons them⯑ſelves are a free gift; but that the bull oc⯑caſions the expence. Such prevarication puts one in mind of the hoſt, who profeſſed to treat his gueſts with a gooſe for nothing; but charged them without conſcience for the ſauce.—Thus by the vile trade of indul⯑gences are men deceived. Any one, who can pay for a pardon, may laugh at ſin. He has found an eaſy way to heaven; much eaſier than by contrition, repentance, and works of charity. May we not then, ſays [70] he, ſafely conclude, that indulgences were an invention of anti-chriſt to magnify the ſacerdotal power; and to bring in wealth to the church, at the expence of religion, and the ſouls of men?

With regard to purgatory, he believed in ſuch a ſtate; and, as it appears from ſome parts of his works, was once of opinion that pious prayers might be ſerviceable to ſouls impriſoned there: but in his later writings, he wholly renounces this opinion, and calls it a pernicious error; eſpecially to pray for one perſon more than another, which he looks upon as a moſt unchriſtian practice; though he ſtill ſeems to think we may pray in general for all thoſe, whom God in his mercy intends for happineſs. In ſhort, upon this ſubject he does not ſeem to have abſo⯑lutely fixed his opinion. He ſaw ſomething extremely plauſible in the Romiſh doctrine of purgatory; he likewiſe ſaw the abſurdity of ſuppoſing, that God intruſted any man with a power to releaſe ſinners from ſuch a ſtate; but whether the ſouls of the dead might be profited by the prayers of the living, he ſeems to have been in doubt.

[71]He was a great enemy to the endowments of chauntry-prieſts. They led the people, he thought, to put their truſt in ſuch en⯑dowments, rather than in a good life: whereas no prayers, even of the holieſt ſaints, he thought, could benefit a bad man. That man, ſaith he excellently, who liveth beſt, prayeth beſt. A ſimple pater-noſter from a religious plowman, is of more value in the ſight of God, than a thouſand maſſes from a wicked prelate.

He had a great diſlike to chaunting in di⯑vine worſhip, which was then commonly uſed in cathedrals and religious houſes; and was known by the name of the new ſong. This ſort of worſhip, he ſays, was originally introduced to impoſe on the underſtanding, by ſubſtituting ſound in the room of ſenſe; and ſo to be one mean of keeping the peo⯑ple in ignorance. He owns it is a merry way of ſerving God; and therefore, he ſuppoſes, it meets with ſo much encourage⯑ment. But he would have men be of St. Auſtin's opinion, who ſays, that as often as ſound drew his attention from ſenſe, ſo often he worſhipped God improperly. If, ſays he, the temple-muſic of the old law be [72] alledged as a ſufficient warrant for cathe⯑dral worſhip, it may eaſily be anſwered, that Chriſt, who was the beſt commentator upon the old law, gives us no inſtruction on this head; but tells his diſciples, that he requires no recommendation of prayer, but the devotion of the heart. Others again will perhaps ſay, that the angels praiſe God, in heaven: to which, it may as eaſily be anſwered, that we know nothing of hea⯑venly muſick. Only this we know, that the angels are in a triumphant ſtate, and we in a militant one; in a ſtate of trial and af⯑fliction, where muſick diverts us from better things. It is grievous, ſays he, to ſee what ſums of money are yearly expended upon theſe ſinging prieſts, and how little upon the education of children. Beſides, he adds, how abſurd is it to hear, in a large congre⯑gation, only two or three chaunting a piece of devotion, while all the reſt, not only cannot join with them; but even do not underſtand what they ſay.

He often inveighs againſt prayers to ſaints, and the uſe of any mediator except Chriſt. He even goes ſo far as to wiſh that all feſti⯑vals in the church were aboliſhed, except [73] Chriſtmas-day, and eaſter. For the devo⯑tion of the people, ſays he, being undivided, would be more fervent upon thoſe ſolemn days. As to modern canonizations, he ſays, they owe their birth to nothing but exceſſive bigotry on one ſide, or exceſſive avarice on the other.

With regard to images, he thought, that if they were exact repreſentations of the truth, they might be very ſerviceable to give the vulgar ſtrong impreſſions of the poverty, and ſufferings, of Chriſt, his apoſtles, and martyrs. But this uſe, he ſays, could not be expected from them in the Roman church. Thoſe gay repreſentations, decked in coſtly apparel, inſtead of giving us the idea of ſuf⯑fering ſaints, exhibit to us perſons of pomp and expence; and ſhould be conſidered as heretical books, full of falſe doctrines; and as ſuch ſhould be condemned to the fire. — Beſides, ſays he, how ſhocking is it to ſee thoſe dumb idols covered with gold and ſil⯑ver; while Chriſt's poor members are ſtarving in the ſtreets. — But of all the bad effects which attend images, the worſt, he ſays, is their leading the people into idolatry. If Hezechiah broke in pieces the brazen ſer⯑pent, [74] which God commanded to be made, becauſe it attracted the veneration of the people; how much more ought a chriſtian king to break in pieces thoſe images, which God is ſo far from having commanded to be made, that we have in ſcripture the moſt expreſs commands againſt making them.

He greatly diſliked the ceremonies of conſecration ſo frequent in the church of Rome. Theſe conſecrations, ſays he, and benedictions, in which the Roman church is ſo profuſe upon water, oil, ſalt, wax, veſtments, walls, pilgrims-ſtaves, and a va⯑riety of other things, have more the appear⯑ance of necromancy, than of true religion. They are abſurd, becauſe theſe things are juſt the ſame after conſecration as before: and they are idolatrous, becauſe they tend to make people pay a divine honour to them.

No man could be more ſtrenuous than Dr. Wicliff againſt reſting upon the externals of religion; or ſaid more to convince men of the folly of expecting, that building and ornamenting churches, frequenting public worſhip, or any outward expreſſion of reli⯑gion, would ſatisfy God without the heart, or make any atonement for a bad life. Holy [75] water, ſays he, and the bleſſing of a biſhop are mere impoſitions, tending only to blind the people, and make them reſt in thoſe ex⯑ternals, rather than in God's mercy, and their own repentance.

He aſſerted the neceſſity of being aſſiſted by divine grace. Without this, he ſaw not how a human being could make himſelf acceptable to God.

With regard to pilgrimages, he ſays, that although viſiting the ſhrines of ſaints might be ſuffered with a view to impreſs us ſtrongly with a ſenſe of their virtues, yet pilgrimages, as commonly uſed, are of moſt pernicious conſequence. If idol-worſhip be bad, pil⯑grimages are equally ſo, leading the people into idolatry, and a miſapplication of their charity.

Againſt ſanctuaries he is ſtill warmer. That the groſſeſt crimes ſhould be ſheltered, under the ſafeguard of religion, was, in his opinion, ſuch a perverſion of all the princi⯑ples of reaſon and Chriſtianity, as could not be ſufficiently exclaimed againſt.

He was a great advocate for the marriage of the clergy, and thought the celibacy pre⯑ſcribed [76] by the Roman church one of the principal cauſes of its corruption.

He denied the power of excommunica⯑tion to the church; and ſtiles ſuch eccleſi⯑aſtical cenſures, puniſhments inflicted by anti-chriſt's juriſdiction. No man, ſays he, can be excommunicated, unleſs he firſt ex⯑communicate himſelf.

Peter-pence, he calls an iniquitous im⯑poſition, without any foundation in ſcripture.

Theſe are his principal opinions, with regard to church doctrines. The following are his opinions on ſeveral miſcellaneous ſubjects.

He was a great enemy to the ſuperfluous wealth of the clergy. He allowed the la⯑bourer to live by his labour; but he aſſerted, that he had a right to his hire from nothing elſe. Tythes, he ſaid, were only a ſort of alms, no where of goſpel inſtitution, which the people might either give or withdraw, as they found their paſtor deſerved. This opinion drew upon him the reſentment both of papiſts and proteſtants. Melancthon, in particular, is very warm with him on this head; ſays, he raved, and declares him plainly mad. But it is no wonder, if Wic⯑liff's [77] diſlike to the prevailing luxury of the clergy, which was then ſo exorbitant, led him into an extreme. His conſtant advice to his brethren was, to exact their tythes by the holineſs of their lives. If thou be a prieſt, ſays he, contend with others, not in pomp, but in piety. Ill befits it a man, who lives on the labours of the poor, to ſquan⯑der away the dear-bought fruits of their in⯑duſtry upon his own extravagancies.

Church-endowments, he thought, were the root of all the corruption among the clergy. He often lamented the luxury they occaſioned; and uſed to wiſh the church was again reduced to its primitive poverty, and innocence.

With ſtill greater warmth he expreſſed himſelf againſt the ſecular employments of the clergy. This he ſeemed to think an unpardonable deſertion of their profeſſion.

In ſome parts of his writings, he appears to have held, that ſtrange doctrine, That dominion is founded on grace. His argu⯑ment, if I underſtand it all, ſeems to be, that as all things belong to God, and as good men alone are the children of God, they are of courſe the only true inheritors. [78] But in other parts of his writings, it appears, as if he only ſpoke figuratively on this ſub⯑ject, and of ideal perfection. That he did not hold the doctrine in its literal ſenſe, ſeems plain from many paſſages of his works. In his Trialogue particularly, he ſays, ‘Duplici titulo ſtat hominem habere temporalia, ſcilicet titulo originalis juſti⯑tiae, & titulo mundanae juſtitiae. Titulo autem originalis juſtitiae habuit Chriſtus omnia bona mundi. Illo titulo, vel titulo gratiae, juſtorum ſunt omnia: ſed longe ab illo titulo civilis poſſeſſio.’ Upon the whole, however, what he ſays on this ſub⯑ject may be called whimſical.

He held faſting to be enjoined only for the ſake of virtuous habits; and calls it therefore highly phariſaical to place a greater value upon bodily abſtinence from food, than ſpi⯑ritual abſtinence from ſin.

It was a conjecture of his, that this world was created to ſupply the loſs in heaven occaſioned by the fallen angels; and that when that loſs ſhould be ſupplied, the end of things ſhould ſucceed.

Upon a text in the revelations he founded an opinion, that the devil was let looſe about [79] a thouſand years after Chriſt; from which period he dates the riſe of the principal corruptions of the church.

With regard to oaths, he conſidered it as plain idolatry to ſwear by any creature. In this ſenſe he underſtood the prohibition of our Saviour againſt ſwearing by heaven and earth. It is not found, ſaith he, in the old law, that God at any time granted his per⯑miſſion to ſwear by any creature.

He ſeems to have thought it wrong, upon the principles of the goſpel, to take away the life of man upon any occaſion. The whole trade of war he thought utterly unlawful: nor did he think the execution of a criminal a more allowed practice.

In ſome parts of his writings he ſpeaks ſo ſtrongly of fate, that he appears an abſolute predeſtinarian. In other parts he expreſſes himſelf in ſo cautious a manner, that we are apt to think he had no fixed principles on this ſubject.

All arts, which adminiſtred to the luxuries of life, he thought were prohibited by the goſpel. The ſcriptures, ſays he, tell us, that having food and raiment, we ſhould be therewith content.

[80]Hereſy, according to Wicliff, conſiſted in a bad life, as well as in falſe opinions. No good man, he thought, could be an heretic.

His opinion, on this laſt point, agrees with that of a prelate of later times, who gene⯑rally ſpeaks the language of true Chriſtian freedom and charity. I ſhall quote ſome paſſages at large from this celebrated writer not only as they tend to ſhew the juſtneſs of Wicliff's own manner of thinking; but as they may ſerve as a concluſion to this review of his opinions, in being a proper anſwer to all his adverſaries.

‘No hereſies, (ſays biſhop Taylor, in his liberty of propheſying) are noted in ſcrip⯑ture; but ſuch as are errors practical. In all the animadverſions againſt errors in the new teſtament, no pious perſon was con⯑demned. Something was amiſs in genere morum. Hereſy is not an error of the underſtanding, but an error of the will. And indeed, if we remember that St. Paul reckons hereſy among the works of the fleſh, and ranks it with all manner of practical impieties, we ſhall eaſily perceive, that if a man mingles not a vice with his opinions, if he be innocent in his life, [81] though deceived in his doctrine, his error is his miſery, not his crime: he may be an object of pity, but by no means a perſon conſigned to ruin.—There are as many innocent cauſes of error, as there are weakneſſes, and unavoidable prejudices. — In queſtions practical, the doctrine itſelf, and the perſon too, may be reproved; but in other things, which end in notion, where neither the doctrine is malicious, nor the perſon apparently criminal, he is to be left to the judgment of God. Opi⯑nions and perſons are to be judged like other things. It muſt be a crime, and it muſt be open, of which any cognizance can be taken. — Let me farther obſerve, that ſince there are ſuch great differences of apprehenſion concerning the conſe⯑quences of an action, no man is to be charged with the odious conſequences of his opinion. Indeed his doctrine may be, but the man is not, if he underſtand not ſuch things to be conſequent to his doctrine. For if he did, and then avows them, they are his direct opinions; and he ſtands as chargeable with them, as with his firſt propoſition. — No error then, nor its con⯑ſequent, [82] is to be charged as criminal upon a pious perſon, ſince no ſimple error is ſin, nor does condemn us before the throne of God.’ ^*

[83]Of the Writings of Dr. Wicliff.

Having thus taken a view of Dr. Wicliff's opinions, let us conſider him next as a writer. [84] His works are amazingly voluminous: yet he ſeems not to have engaged in any very large work: his pieces in general may properly be called tracts. Of theſe many were written in Latin, and many in Engliſh: ſome on ſchool queſtions; others on ſubjects of more general knowledge; but the greateſt part on divinity. It may be ſome amuſement to the reader to ſee what ſubjects he hath choſen. I ſhall give a liſt therefore of the more re⯑markable of them, from the various col⯑lections which have been made.

• Trialagorum lib. 4.
• De religione perfectorum.
• De eccleſia & membris.
• De diabolo & membris.
• De Chriſto & Antichriſto.
• De Antichriſto & membris.
• Sermones in epiſtolas.
• De veritate ſcripturae.
• De ſtatu innocentiae.
• De dotatione eccleſiae.
• De ſtipendiis miniſtrorum.
• De epiſcoporum erroribus.
• De curatorum erroribus.
• De perfectione evangelicâ
• [85]De officio paſtorali.
• De ſimonia ſacerdotum.
• Super paenitentiis injungendis.
• De ſeductione ſimplicium.
• Daemonum aſtus in ſubvertenda religione.
• De pontificum Romanorum ſchiſmate.
• De ultima aetate eccleſiae.
• Of temptation.
• The chartre of hevene.
• Of ghoſtly battel.
• Of ghoſtly and fleſhly love.
• The confeſſion of St. Brandoun.
• Active life, and contemplative life.
• Virtuous patience.
• Of pride.
• Obſervationes piae in X praecepta.
• De impedimentis orationis.
• De cardinalibus virtutibus.
• De actubus animae.
• Expoſitio orationis dominicae.
• De 7 ſacramentis.
• De natura fidei.
• De diverſis gradibus charitatis.
• De defectione a Chriſto.
• De veritate & mendacio.
• De ſacerdotio Levitico.
• De ſacerdotio Chriſti.
• [86]De dotatione Caeſareâ.
• De verſutiis pſeudocleri.
• De immortalitate animae.
• De paupertate Chriſti.
• De phyſica naturali.
• De eſſentia accidentium.
• De neceſſitate Inturorum.
• De temporis quidditate.
• De temporis ampliatione.
• De operibus corporalibus.
• De operibus ſpiritualibus.
• De fide & perfidia.
• De ſermone domini in monte.
• Abſtractiones logicales.
• A ſhort rule of life.
• The great ſentence of the curſe expounded.
• Of good prieſts,
• De contrarietate duorum dominorum.
• Wicliff's wicket.
• De miniſtrorum conjugio.
• De religioſis privatis.
• Conciones de morte.
• De vita ſacerdotum.
• De ablatis reſtituendis.
• De arte ſophiſtica.
• De fonte errorum.
• De incarnatione verbi.
• [87]Super impoſitis articulis.
• De humanitate Chriſti.
• Contra concilium terrae-motus.
• De ſolutione Satanae.
• De ſpiritu quolibet.
• De Chriſtianorum baptiſmo.
• De clavium poteſtate.
• De blaſphemia.
• De paupertate Chriſti.
• De raritate & denſitate.
• De materia & forma.
• De anima.
• Octo beatitudines.
• De trinitate.
• Commentarii in pſalterium.
• De abominatione deſolationis.
• De civili dominio.
• De eccleſiae dominio.
• De divino dominio.
• De origine ſectarum.
• De perfidia ſectarum.
• Speculum de antichriſto.
• De virtute orandi.
• De remiſſione fraterna.
• De cenſuris eccleſiae.
• De charitate fraterna.
• [88]De purgatorio piorum.
• De Phariſaeo & Publicano.

I might have greatly enlarged this cata⯑logue of the works of Wicliff, but the titles I have inſerted, will be ſufficient to give the reader an idea in general of the ſubjects, on which he wrote. To give him an idea of his manner of writing, I have thought proper to inſert the following ſhort treatiſe; in which the reader will have a ſpecimen of that maſterly ſtyle, that clearneſs, conciſeneſs, and elegance, (conſidering the times) with which he treated every ſubject. If the reader com⯑pare it with the original, he will find, that a few ſentences have been left out, but none added.

[]The Life of Lord COBHAM.

WHEN we conſider the circumſtances of the times, in which Wicliff lived, the boundleſs uſurpations of the court of Rome, the additional power and glory of England, from its ſucceſſes againſt the French; and the more liberal ſpirit, which was daily get⯑ting ground in its national councils, we need not wonder, that a genius, like Wicliff, de⯑tecting errors, and holding up truths, of ſuch infinite importance, ſhould engage the at⯑tention of mankind. Though few had the courage or abilities to inveſtigate theſe truths themſelves; yet many were ingenuous enough to cloſe with them, when they were offered to their underſtanding.

It is a common obſervation, that the vul⯑gar are generally the moſt open to conviction. The great are attached to eſtabliſhments, in which their intereſts are concerned: the [102] learned to ſyſtems, on which their time hath been ſpent. We need not wonder there⯑fore, if we find few of any conſiderable eminence among the diſciples of Wicliff.

Among his own countrymen, Sir John Oldcaſtle, lord Cobham, is the moſt re⯑markable. We meet indeed with greater names; as Joan dowager to the Black-prince, and Ann, queen to Richard II. But theſe, and ſome others, were rather his favourers, than profeſſed diſciples.

Sir John Oldcaſtle was born in the reign of Edward III. He obtained his peerage by marrying the heireſs of that lord Cobham, who with ſo much virtue and patriotiſm op⯑poſed the tyranny of Richard II; with which nobleman he has been ſometimes con⯑founded.

With the eſtate and title of his father in law, he ſeems alſo to have taken poſſeſſion of his virtue and independent ſpirit. In the early part of his life we find him warmly diſtin⯑guiſhing himſelf in the cauſe of religious liberty. The famous ſtatute againſt provi⯑ſors, which had been enacted in the late reign, was now become, during the languid govern⯑ment [103] of Richard, a mere dead letter. The lord Cobham with great ſpirit undertook the revival of it; and through his perſuaſion it was confirmed by parliament, and guarded by ſeverer penalties.

The news of what the Engliſh parliament was doing in this buſineſs gave a great alarm at Rome; and Boniface IX, who was then pope, diſpatched a nuncio immediately to check their proceedings. This miniſter at firſt cajoled; and afterwards threatned; but the ſpirit, which had been raiſed in the par⯑liament, ſupported itſelf, againſt both his artifices and his menaces.—This is the firſt inſtance we meet with of lord Cobham's avowed diſlike to the church of Rome.

Four years after he made a farther effort. A rebellion having diſcovered itſelf in Ireland, the king paſſed over with an army. He had made one campaign, and was preparing to take the field early in the ſpring of the year, 1395, when the arch-biſhop of Canterbury arriving at his camp, intreated his return into England, to put a ſtop to the ruin of the church. By the ruin of the church the good primate meant the reformation of the clergy; which had been attempted, during the king's [104] abſence, by the lord Cobham, Sir Richard Story, Sir Thomas Latimer, and others of the reforming party. Theſe leaders having collected their ſtrength, had drawn up a num⯑ber of articles againſt the corruptions, which then prevailed among churchmen, and pre⯑ſented them, in the form of a remonſtrance, to the commons. As they had many friends in the houſe, and as their principal opponents were then abroad with the king, they thought it more than probable, that ſomething might be done by the parliament, in conſequence of their petition. But the zeal of the clergy prevailed; and the king, who came inſtantly from Ireland, put an entire ſtop to the affair.

The partiality, which the lord Cobham thus diſcovered on all occaſions for the re⯑formers, eaſily pointed him out to the clergy as the head of that party. Nor indeed did he make any ſecret of his opinions. It was publickly known, that he had been at great expence in collecting and tranſcribing the works of Wicliff, which he diſperſed among the common people without any reſerve. It was publickly known alſo, that he maintained a great number of the diſciples of Wicliff, [105] as itinerant preachers in many parts of the country, particularly in the dioceſſes of Can⯑terbury, Rocheſter, London, and Hereford. Theſe things drew upon him the reſentment of the whole eccleſiaſtical order, and made him more obnoxious to that body of men, than any other perſon at that time in Eng⯑land.

Nine years had now elapſed, ſince Rich⯑ard II. had taken the government into his own hands. This entire interval he had con⯑ſumed in one ſteady incroachment (the only inſtance of ſteadineſs he gave) upon the laws of his country. So many indeed, and ſo groſs were his indiſcretions, that it was commonly ſaid by the people, their king was under ſome preternatural infatuation. But as old Speed very well remarks (a remark too which might equally have fallen, where that cautious wri⯑ter in matters of kingſhip, would leaſt have choſen it) ‘when princes are wilful and ſlothful, and their favourites flatterers, there needs no other enchantment to infatuate, yea to ruinate the greateſt monarchs.’ After repeated ſtrokes upon the expiring li⯑berties of the nation, a concluſive blow was ſtruck. The whole legiſlative power was in⯑truſted, [106] by the act of a venal parliament, to the king, ſix peers, and three commoners. An iron ſceptre being thus forged, was im⯑mediately ſhaken over the people. It were triffing to mention inſtances of private op⯑preſſion: towns and counties were ſeized at once. ‘For a while, (ſays the judicious Rapin, reaſoning upon Richard's actions) five or fix hundred perſons, who compoſe a parliament, and as many magiſtrates of towns and counties, may ſeem to an im⯑prudent prince the body of a nation; but a time will come, when every ſingle per⯑ſon muſt be taken into the account.’

That time was now come. The nation exaſperated beyond ſufferance, caſt their eyes upon the duke of Lancaſter, who was now in exile. The archbiſhop of Canterbury, who ſhared the ſame fate, undertook to in⯑form him of the deſigns of the malecontents in England. Henry, who had private, as well as public wrongs to revenge, put him⯑ſelf without delay at the head of the enter⯑prize. His party ſoon became numerous, and was in general attended by the good wiſhes of the nation.

[107]Lord Cobham had always ſhewn himſelf equally a friend to the civil and religious li⯑berties of his country. He had followed the ſteps of his father in law in oppoſing the tyrannical encroachments of Richard; whoſe reſentment he had felt oftner than once. Convinced therefore of the feebleneſs and wickedneſs of thoſe hands, by which the ſceptre was ſwayed, he was among the firſt who attached themſelves to the fortunes of Henry, and was received by that prince with thoſe marks of favour, which a perſon of his conſequence might naturally expect.

When Henry IV. came to the crown, it was imagined by all men, that in his heart he inclined to the opinions of the reformers. But Henry was a prudent prince; and max⯑ims of policy were ever the rules of his con⯑ſcience. He found, upon examining the ſtate of parties in England, that the eccle⯑ſiaſtical intereſt was the moſt able to ſupport his pretenſions; and without farther heſita⯑tion attached himſelf to it. The clergy were high in their demands. Their friendſhip was not to be purchaſed but at the price of blood. Lollardy ſpread apace. The laws in being were unable to check its progreſs: and the [108] king was given to underſtand, that his pro⯑tection would ſecure their loyalty. This lan⯑guage was intelligible enough; and it was eaſily interpreted, that by the protection of the king, was meant a law to burn heretics.

The king diſcovered no great reluctance; but the commons, among whom many thought favourably of Wicliff, were very averſe from theſe ſanguinary proceedings. At length however an act paſſed, impower⯑ing the clergy to the extent of their deſires: yet it paſſed not but with the utmoſt ſtretch of the king's authority. By this act the civil power was obliged to aſſiſt in the execution of eccleſiaſtical ſentences. Mr. Fox indeed tells us, that he cannot find, it ever did paſs the commons; but ſuppoſes, that as parlia⯑mentary affairs were then managed with lit⯑tle regularity, it was huddled in among other acts, and ſigned by the king without further notice.

That wicked and ambitious men ſhould wade through blood to ſupport either civil or eccleſiaſtical tyranny, is too common a ſight to be matter of ſurprize. But that any ſet of men ſhould ſo far pervert their notions of right and wrong, as calmly to believe, that [109] a few erroneous opinions could make a man in the higheſt degree criminal, however ex⯑cellent his life might be, is a thing altogether amazing. And yet charity obligeth us to believe, that many of the popiſh perſecutors of thoſe times were thus perſuaded. ‘The diſciples of Wicliff, (ſays Reinher, a popiſh writer, are men of a ſerious, modeſt de⯑portment, avoiding all oſtentation in dreſs, mixing little with the buſy world, and com⯑plaining of the debauchery of mankind. They maintain themſelves wholly, (ſays he,) by their own labour, and utterly deſpiſe wealth: being fully content with bare neceſſaries. They are chaſte, and temperate; are never ſeen in taverns, or amuſed by the trifling gaieties of life. Yet you find them always employed, either learning, or teaching. They are conciſe, and devout in their prayers, blaming an unanimated prolixity. They never ſwear; ſpeak little; and in their public preaching lay the chief ſtreſs on charity.’ All theſe things this writer mentions, with great ſimplicity, not as the marks of a virtuous conduct, but as the ſigns of hereſy.—A ſtriking inſtance this, [110] among many others that might be produced from thoſe times, of the little regard paid to morals, in compariſon of opinions and outward obſervances.

Notwithſtanding Henry's determination, at any rate, to keep the clergy in good hu⯑mour, he does not ſeem to have diſcovered any change towards lord Cobham, who was indeed one of the principal ornaments of his court.

In the year 1407, the king had an op⯑portunity of giving him a publick teſtimony of his regard.

France was at this time a ſcene of great diſorder, through the competition of the Orlean and Burgundian factions. Henry remembring that the French had more than once inſulted him, while he was in no con⯑dition to oppoſe them, reſolved, in the ſpi⯑rit of retaliation, to avail himſelf of theſe troubles by aſſiſting one of the contending parties. After balancing ſome time, he thought it beſt to join the duke of Burgundy. He raiſed an army therefore with all ſpeed, and giving the command of it to the earl of Arundel, and lord Cobham, tranſported it into France. Lord Cobham, it ſeems, was [111] not ſo thorough a diſciple of Wicliff, as to imbibe his opinions without reſerve. He had been bred to the profeſſion of arms, and could not entirely reconcile himſelf to the peaceable tenets of his maſter. Perhaps, like many other caſuiſts, he indulged a fa⯑vourite point, and found arguments to make that indulgence lawful.

The Engliſh army found the duke of Orleans beſieging Paris, which was attached to the Burgundian intereſt. The relief there⯑fore of this city the Burgundian had greatly at heart. He communicated his views to the Engliſh generals, who readily came into them. A bold puſh was accordingly made: the enemies lines were pierced; and the duke entered Paris at the head of his victorious army. This gallant action, in which the Engliſh had a principal ſhare, put an end to the conteſt for this time. Orleans drew off his men; and waited for a more favourable opportunity of renewing the war.

Henry IV. died in the year 1413; in whom the clergy loſt all their hopes. His ſucceſſor was a diſſolute prince, careleſs even of appearances — without queſtion therefore unconcerned about religion. Had heaven [112] granted a few years more to his father's life, the church had been eſtabliſhed on a ſolid baſis. But now all was at an end. — Such were the fears and deſponding murmurs of the clergy. But their hopes immediately re⯑vived. Henry V. was a perſon wholly dif⯑ferent from the prince of Wales. He diſ⯑miſſed the companions of his looſer hours; and with them his debauchery. No ſenti⯑ments, but what were noble, great, and ge⯑nerous had any ſway with him. And what was very remarkable, among his virtues, piety was conſpicuous. This the clergy pre⯑ſently obſerved; and reſolved to turn it to their own advantage.

Thomas Arundel was, at this time, arch⯑biſhop of Canterbury; and preſided over the church of England with as much zeal, and bigotry, as any of his predeceſſors. By his councils the convocation, which aſſembled in the firſt year of the new king, were di⯑rected. The growth of hereſy was the ſub⯑ject of their debate, and the deſtruction of the lord Cobham the chief object which the archbiſhop had in view. It was an under⯑taking however, which required caution. The lord Cobham was a perſon in favour [113] with the people; and, what was more, in favour with his prince. At preſent there⯑fore the primate ſatisfied himſelf with ſound⯑ing the king's ſentiments, by requeſting an order from his majeſty to ſend commiſſioners to Oxford, to enquire into the growth of hereſy. To this requeſt the king made no objection.

Oxford was the ſeat of hereſy. Here the memory of Wicliff was ſtill gratefully pre⯑ſerved. His learning, his eloquence, his la⯑bours, and noble fortitude were yet the ob⯑jects of admiration. His tenets had ſpread widely among the junior ſtudents, whoſe in⯑genuity rendered them more open to con⯑viction. Nor indeed was it an uncommon thing to hear his opinions publicly maintained even in the ſchools. The governing part of the univerſity were however ſtill firmly at⯑tached to the eſtabliſhed religion.

The commiſſioners were reſpectfully re⯑ceived; and having made their enquiry, re⯑turned with the particulars of it to the arch⯑biſhop, who laid them before the convoca⯑tion. Long debates enſued — the reſult was, that the increaſe of hereſy was particularly owing to the influence of the lord Cobham, [114] who not only avowedly held heretical opi⯑nions himſelf; but encouraged ſcholars from Oxford, and other places, by bountiful ſti⯑pends, to propagate thoſe opinions in the country. In the end, it was determined, that without delay a proſecution ſhould be commenced againſt him.

Into this haſty meaſure the convocation had certainly run, had not a cool head among them ſuggeſted, that as the lord Cobham was not only a favourite, but even a domeſtic at court, it would be highly improper to proceed farther in this buſineſs, till application had been made to the king. This advice pre⯑vailed: the archbiſhop, at the head of a large proceſſion of dignified eccleſiaſtics, waited upon Henry; and with as much acrimony as decency would admit, laid before him the offence of his ſervant the lord Cobham, and begged his majeſty would ſuffer them, for Chriſt's ſake, to put him to death.

Some hiſtorians have charged this prince with cruelty. In this inſtance at leaſt he ſhewed lenity. He told the archbiſhop, he had ever been averſe from ſhedding blood in the cauſe of religion; ſuch violence he thought more deſtructive of truth than error. [115] He enjoined the convocation therefore, to poſtpone the affair a few days; in which time he would himſelf reaſon with the lord Cob⯑ham, whoſe behaviour he by no means ap⯑proved; and if this were ineffectual, he would then leave him to the cenſure of the church.

With this anſwer the primate was ſatisfied; and the king ſending for the lord Cobham, endeavoured by all the arguments in his power, to ſet before him the high offence of ſeparating from the church; and pathe⯑tically exhorted him to retract his errors. Lord Cobham's anſwer is upon record. ‘I ever was, (ſaid he,) a dutiful ſubject to your majeſty, and I hope ever will be. Next to God, I profeſs obedience to my king. But as for the ſpiritual dominion of the pope, I never could ſee on what foun⯑dation it is claimed, nor can I pay him any obedience. As ſure as God's word is true, to me it is fully evident, that he is the great antichriſt foretold in holy writ.’

This anſwer of the lord Cobham ſo ex⯑ceedingly ſhocked the king, that turning away in viſible diſpleaſure, he withdrew from [116] that time, every mark of his favour from him.

The archbiſhop, thus triumphant, im⯑mediately cited the lord Cobham to appear before him on a fixed day: but that high-ſpirited nobleman, expreſſing great contempt for the archbiſhop's citation, would not even ſuffer his ſummoner (as he is called) to enter his gate. Upon this the archbiſhop fixed the citation upon the doors of the cathedral of Rocheſter, which was only three miles from Cowling-caſtle, the lord Cobham's ſeat; but it was immediately torn away by unknown hands.

The day appointed for his appearance was the 11th of September, on which day the primate, and his aſſociates, ſat in conſiſtory. The accuſed party not appearing, the arch⯑biſhop pronounced him contumacious; and after receiving a very exaggerated charge againſt him, which he did not examine, he excommunicated him without further cere⯑mony. Having proceeded thus far, he armed himſelf with the terrors of the new law, and threatning direful anathemas, called in the civil power to aſſiſt him.

[117]Now firſt the lord Cobham thought him⯑ſelf in danger. He ſaw the ſtorm approach⯑ing in all its horrors; and in vain looked round for ſhelter. Aided as the clergy were by the civil power, he knew it would be ſcarce poſſible to ward off the meditated blow. Still however he had hope that the king's favour was not wholly alienated from him. At leaſt he thought it of importance to make the trial. He put in writing there⯑fore a confeſſion of his faith; and with this in his hand, waited upon the king; begging his majeſty to be the judge himſelf, whether he had deſerved the rough treatment he had found.

In this confeſſion he firſt recites the apoſtles creed; then, by way of explanation, he pro⯑feſſes his belief in the trinity, and acknow⯑ledges Chriſt as the only head of the church, which he divides into the bleſſed in heaven, thoſe who are tormented in purgatory, (if, ſays he, there is foundation in ſcripture for any ſuch place) and the righteous on earth. He then profeſſes to believe, that in the ſa⯑crament of the Lord's ſupper are contained Chriſt's body and blood under the ſimilitude of bread and wine. ‘Finally, (ſays he,) [118] my faith is, that God will aſk no more of a Chriſtian in this life, than to obey the precepts of his bleſſed law. If any pre⯑late of the church requireth more, or any other kind of obedience, he contemneth Chriſt, exalteth himſelf above God, and becometh plainly antichriſt.’

This confeſſion the lord Cobham offered to the king in the manner as hath been men⯑tioned. The king coldly ordered it to be given to the archbiſhop. Lord Cobham then offered to bring an hundred knights, who would bear teſtimony to the innocence of his life, and of his opinions. The king be⯑ing ſilent, he aſſumed a higher ſtrain, and begged his majeſty would permit him, as was uſual in leſs matters, to vindicate his innocence by the law of arms. The king continued ſilent.

At this inſtant a perſon entered the cham⯑ber, and in the king's preſence cited lord Cobham to appear before the archbiſhop. It is probable this was a concerted buſineſs. Startled at the ſuddenneſs of the thing, the lord Cobham made his laſt effort. ‘Since I can have, (ſaid he) no other juſtice, I appeal to the pope at Rome.’ The king [119] firing at this, cried out with vehemence, "Thou ſhalt never proſecute thy appeal." and lord Cobham refuſing to ſubmit im⯑plicitly to the cenſure of the church, was immediately hurried to the tower by the king's expreſs order.

There is ſomething uncommonly ſtrange in the account here given us of lord Cob⯑ham's appeal to the pope, whoſe ſupremacy he had ever denyed. No conſiſtent reaſon can be aſſigned for it. As to the fact how⯑ever, we have only its improbability to al⯑ledge againſt it.

On the 23d of September the primate, ſitting in the chapter-houſe of Paul's, aſſiſted by the biſhops of London and Wincheſter, lord Cobham was brought before him by Sir Robert Morley, lieutenant of the tower.

The archbiſhop firſt broke ſilence. ‘Sir, (ſaid he,) it was ſufficiently proved in a late ſeſſion of convocation, that you held many heretical opinions; upon which, agreeable to our forms, you were cited to appear before us; and refuſing, you have been, for contumacy, excommunicated. Had you made proper ſubmiſſions, I was then ready to have abſolved you, and am now.’

[120]Lord Cobham, taking no notice of the offer of abſolution, only ſaid in anſwer, that if his lordſhip would give him leave, he would juſt read his opinion on thoſe articles, about which he ſuppoſed he was called in queſtion; that any farther examination on thoſe points was needleſs, for he was en⯑tirely fixed, and ſhould not be found to waver.

Leave being given, he read a paper, which contained his opinion on four points, the ſacrament of the Lord's ſupper, penance, images, and pilgrimages.

With regard to the firſt point, he held, as hath been already mentioned, that Chriſt's body was really contained under the form of bread. — With regard to the ſecond, he thought penance for ſin, as a ſign of con⯑trition, was uſeful and proper. — With re⯑gard to images, he thought them only allow⯑able to remind men of heavenly things; and that he who really paid divine worſhip to them, was an idolater. — With regard to the laſt point, he ſaid that all men were pilgrims upon earth towards happineſs or miſery; but that as to pilgrimages undertaken to the [121] ſhrines of ſaints, they were frivolous, he thought, and ridiculous.

Having read this paper, he delivered it to the archbiſhop; who having examined it, told him, that what it contained was in part truly orthodox; but that in other parts he was not ſufficiently explicit. There were other points, the primate ſaid, on which it was expected he ſhould give his opinion.

Lord Cobham refuſed to make any other anſwer; telling the archbiſhop, he was fixed in his opinions. ‘You ſee me, (added he,) in your hands; and may do with me what you pleaſe.’

This reſolution, which he perſiſted in, diſconcerted the biſhops. After a conſulta⯑tion among themſelves, the primate told him, that on all theſe points holy church had determined; by which determination all Chriſtians ought to abide. He added, that for the preſent he would diſmiſs him, but ſhould expect a more explicit anſwer on the monday following; and that in the mean time he would ſend him, as a direction to his faith, the determination of the church upon thoſe points, on which his opinion would be particularly required.

[122]The next day he ſent the following paper; which, as it will ſhew the groſſneſs of ſome of the opinions of the church at that time, the reader ſhall have in its own language.

On the day appointed the archbiſhop ap⯑peared in court, attended by three biſhops, and four heads of religious houſes. As if he had been apprehenſive of popular tumult, he removed his judicial chair from the cathe⯑dral of Paul's, to a more private place in a dominican convent; and had the area croud⯑ed with a numerous throng of friars and monks, as well as ſeculars.

Amidſt the contemptuous looks of theſe fiery zealots, lord Cobham, attended by the lieutenant of the tower, walked up un⯑daunted to the place of hearing.

[124]With an appearance of great mildneſs the archbiſhop accoſted him; and having, cur⯑ſorily run over what had hitherto paſſed in the proceſs, told him, he expected, at their laſt meeting, to have found him ſuing for abſolution; but that the door of reconcilia⯑tion was ſtill open, if reflection had yet brought him to himſelf.

‘I have treſpaſſed againſt you in nothing, ſaid the high-ſpirited nobleman: I have no need of your abſolution.’

Then kneeling down, and lifting up his hands to heaven, he broke out into this pa⯑thetic exclamation.

‘I confeſs myſelf here before thee, O almighty God, to have been a grievous ſinner. How often have ungoverned paſſions miſled my youth! How often have I been drawn into ſin by the tempta⯑tions of the world.—Here abſolution is wanted. — O my God, I humbly aſk thy mercy.’

Then riſing up, with tears in his eyes, and ſtrongly affected with what he had juſt uttered, he turned to the aſſembly, and ſtretching out his arm, cryed out with a [125] loud voice; ‘Lo! theſe are your guides, good people. For the moſt flagrant tranſgreſſions of God's moral law was I never once called in queſtion by them. I have expreſſed ſome diſlike to their arbi⯑trary appointments and traditions, and I am treated with unparallel'd ſeverity. But let them remember the denunciations of Chriſt againſt the Phariſees; all ſhall be fulfilled.’

The grandeur and dignity of his manner, and the vehemence with which he ſpoke, threw the court into ſome confuſion The archbiſhop however attempted an awkward apology for his treatment of him: and then turning ſuddenly to him, aſked, what he thought of the paper, that had been ſent to him the day before? and particularly, what he thought of the firſt article, with regard to the holy ſacrament?

‘With regard to the holy ſacrament, (anſwered lord Cobham,) my faith is, that Chriſt ſitting with his diſciples, the night before he ſuffered, took bread; and bleſ⯑ſing it, brake it, and gave it to them, ſaying, Take, eat, this is my body, which was given for you: do this in remem⯑brance [126] of me. — This is my faith, ſir, with regard to the holy ſacrament. I am taught this faith by Matthew, Mark, Luke, and Paul.’

The archbiſhop then aſked him, "Whe⯑ther, after the words of conſecration, he believed there remained any material bread?"

The ſcriptures, ſaid he, make no mention of the word material. I believe, as was ex⯑preſſed in the paper I gave in, that, after conſecration, Chriſt's body remains in the form of bread.

Upon this a loud murmur aroſe in the aſſembly; and the words "Hereſy, hereſy," were heard from every part. One of the biſhops eſpecially crying out with more than ordinary vehemence, ‘That it was a foul hereſy to call it bread;’ lord Cobham, who ſtood near, interrupting him, ſaid, ‘St. Paul, the apoſtle, was as wiſe a man as you are, and perhaps as good a Chriſtian; and yet he, after the words of conſecra⯑tion, plainly calls it bread. The bread, ſaith he, that we break, is it not the com⯑munion of the body of Chriſt? St. Paul, he was anſwered, muſt be otherwiſe un⯑derſtood; for it was ſurely hereſy to ſay [127] ſo.’—Lord Cobham aſked, ‘How that appeared?’—‘Why, ſaid the other, it is againſt the determination of holy church.’—‘You know, ſir, interrupted the arch⯑biſhop, we ſent you the true faith on this point, clearly determined by the church, and holy doctors.’—‘I know none holier, replied lord Cobham, than Chriſt and his apoſtles; and this determination is ſurely none of theirs. It is plainly againſt ſcrip⯑ture.’—‘Do you not then believe in the determination of the church?’—‘I do not. I believe the ſcriptures; and all that is founded upon them: but in your idle determinations I have no belief. To be ſhort with you, I cannot conſider the church of Rome as any part of the Chriſtian church. Its endeavour is to oppoſe the purity of the goſpel, and to ſet up, in its room, I know not what ab⯑ſurd conſtitutions of its own.’

This free declaration threw the whole aſſembly into great diſorder. Every one exclaimed againſt the audacious heretic. Among others, the prior of the Carmelites, lifting up his eyes to heaven, cried out, [128] ‘What deſperate wretches are theſe ſcholars of Wicliff?’

‘Before God and man, (anſwered lord Cobham, with vehemence,) I here profeſs, that before I knew Wicliff, I never ab⯑ſtained from ſin; but after I was acquainted with that virtuous man, I ſaw my errors, and I hope reformed them.’

‘It were an hard thing, replied the prior, if in an age ſo liberally ſupplied with pious and learned men, I ſhould not be able to amend my life, till I heard the devil preach.’

‘Go on, go on, (anſwered lord Cobham with ſome warmth;) follow the ſteps of your fathers, the old Phariſees. Aſcribe, like them, every thing good to the devil, that oppoſes your own iniquities. Pro⯑nounce them heretics, who rebuke your crimes: and if you cannot prove them ſuch by ſcripture, call in the fathers. — Am I too ſevere? Let your own actions ſpeak. What warrant have you from ſcripture for this very act you are now about? Where do you find it written in all God's law, that you may thus ſit in judgment upon [129] the life of man? — Hold — Annas and Caiphas may perhaps be quoted in your ſavour.’

‘Ay, (ſaid one of the doctors,) and Chriſt too, for he judged Judas.’

‘I never heard that he did, (ſaid lord Cobham.). He pronounced indeed a woe againſt him, as he doth ſtill againſt you, who have followed Judas's ſteps: for ſince his venom hath been ſhed in the church, you have vilely betrayed the cauſe of real Chriſtianity.’

The archbiſhop deſired him to explain what he meant by venom?

‘I mean by it, (ſaid lord Cobham,) the wealth of the church. When the church was firſt endowed, (as an author of your own pathetically expreſſes it) an angel in the air, cryed out, woe, woe, woe: This day is venom ſhed into the church of God. Since that time, inſtead of laying down their lives for religion, as was common in the early ages, the biſhops of Rome have been engaged in a conſtant ſcene of per⯑ſecution, or in curſing, murdering, poiſon⯑ing, or fighting with each other. — Where is now the meekneſs of Chriſt, his ten⯑derneſs, [130] and indulgent gentleneſs? not in Rome certainly.’

Then raiſing his voice, he cried out, ‘Thus ſaith Chriſt in his goſpel, woe unto you, ſcribes, and phariſees, hypocrites, you ſhut up the kingdom of heaven againſt men: you neither enter in yourſelves, neither will you ſuffer thoſe to enter, who otherwiſe would. You ſtop the way by your traditions: you hinder God's true miniſters from ſetting the truth before the people. But let the prieſt be ever ſo wicked, if he defend your tyranny, he is ſuffered.’

Then looking ſtedfaſtly upon the arch⯑biſhop, after a ſhort pauſe, he ſaid, ‘Both Daniel, and Chriſt have propheſied, that troubleſome times ſhould come, ſuch as had not been from the foundation of the world. — This propheſy ſeems in a great meaſure fulfilled in the preſent ſtate of the church. — You have greatly troubled the people of God: you have already dipped your hands in blood; and, if I foreſee aright, will ſtill farther embrue them. But there is a threat on record againſt you: therefore look to it: your days ſhall be [131] ſhortened.—For the elects ſake your days ſhall be ſhortened.’

The very great ſpirit, and reſolution with which lord Cobham behaved on this occaſion, together with the quickneſs and pertinence of his anſwers, Mr. Fox tells us, ſo amazed his adverſaries, that they had nothing to re⯑ply. The archbiſhop was ſilent. The whole court was at a ſtand.

At laſt one of the doctors, taking a copy of the paper which had been ſent to the tower, and turning to lord Cobham, told him, That the deſign of their preſent meet⯑ing was not to ſpend the time in idle alterca⯑tion; but to come to ſome concluſion. ‘We only, (ſaid he,) deſire to know your, opi⯑nion upon the points contained in this paper.’ He then deſired a direct anſwer, whether, after the words of conſecration, there remained any material bread.?

‘I have told you, (anſwered lord Cob⯑ham,) my belief is, that Chriſt's body is contained under the form of bread.’

He was again aſked, whether he thought confeſſion to a prieſt of abſolute neceſſity?

He ſaid, he thought it might be in many caſes uſeful to aſk the opinion of a prieſt, if [132] he were a learned and pious man; but he thought it by no means neceſſary to ſalva⯑tion.

He was then queſtioned about the pope's right to St. Peter's chair.

‘He that followeth Peter the nigheſt in good living, (he anſwered,) is next him in ſucceſſion. You talk, ſaid he, of Peter; but I ſee none of you that followeth his lowly manners; nor indeed the manners of his ſucceſſors, till the time of Syl⯑veſter.’

"But what do you affirm of the pope?"

‘That he and you together, (replied lord Cobham,) make whole the great antichriſt. He is the head, you biſhops and prieſts are the body, and the begging friers are the tail, that covers the filthineſs of you both with lies and ſophiſtry.’

He was laſtly aſked, what he thought of the worſhip of images and holy relicts?

‘I pay them, (anſwered lord Cobham,) no manner of regard. — Is it not, ſaid he, a wonderful thing, that theſe ſaints, ſo diſ⯑intereſted upon earth, ſhould after death become ſuddenly ſo covetous?—It would [133] indeed be wonderful, did not the pleaſure⯑able lives of prieſts account for it.’

Having thus anſwered the four articles, the archbiſhop told him, that, he found lenity was indulged to no purpoſe. ‘The day, (ſays he) is wearing apace: we muſt come to ſome concluſion. Take your choice of this alternative; ſubmit obediently to the orders of the church, or endure the con⯑ſequence.’

‘My faith is fixed, (anſwered lord Cob⯑ham aloud) do with me what you pleaſe.’

The archbiſhop then ſtanding up, and taking off his cap, pronounced aloud the cenſure of the church.

Lord Cobham, with great chearfulneſs, anſwered, ‘You may condemn my body: my ſoul, I am well aſſured, you cannot hurt.’—Then turning to the people, and ſtretching out his hands, he cryed out with a loud voice, ‘Good Chriſtian people, for God's ſake be well aware of theſe men; they will otherwiſe beguile you, and lead you to deſtruction.’ Having ſaid this, he fell on his knees, and, raiſing his hands, and eyes, begged God to forgive his enemies.

[134]He was then delivered to Sir Robert Morley, and ſent back to the tower.

Theſe proceedings of the clergy were very unpopular. Few men were generally more eſteemed than lord Cobham. His great virtues would have gained him reſpect, had his opinions been diſreputable. But the tenets of Wicliff had, at this time, many advocates. The clergy therefore were in ſome degree perplexed. They ſaw the bad conſequences of going farther, but ſaw worſe conſequences in receding. What ſeemed beſt, and was indeed moſt agreeable to the genius of popery, was, to endeavour to leſſen his credit among the people. With this view many ſcandalous aſperſions were ſpread abroad by their emiſſaries. Mr. Fox tells us, they ſcrupled not even to publiſh a recantation in his name; and gives us a copy of it. Lord Cobham, in his own defence, had the following paper poſted up in ſome of the moſt public places in London.

‘Foraſmuch as ſir John Oldcaſtle, lord Cobham, is untruly convicted, and im⯑priſoned, falſely reported of, and ſlandered among the common people by his adver⯑ſaries, [135] that he ſhould otherwiſe ſpeak of the ſacraments of the church, and eſpe⯑cially of the bleſſed ſacrament of the altar, than was written in the confeſſion of his belief; known be it here to all the world, that he hath never ſince varied in any point therefrom, but this is plainly his belief, that all the ſacraments of the church be profitable, and expedient alſo to all, taking them after the intent that Chriſt and his true church hath ordained. Furthermore he believeth, that the bleſſed ſacrament of the altar, is verily and truly Chriſt's body in the form of bread.’

Some months had now elapſed, ſince lord Cobham had been condemned: nor did the primate and his clergy ſeem to have come to any reſolution. They thought it imprudent yet to proceed to extremities.

Out of this perplexity, their priſoner him⯑ſelf extricated them. By unknown means he eſcaped out of the tower, and taking the advantage of a dark night, evaded purſuit, and arrived ſafe in Wales; where, under the protection of ſome of the chiefs of the country, he ſecured himſelf againſt the at⯑tempts of his enemies.

[136]This, it may eaſily be imagined, was a ſenſible mortification to the clergy; and great pains were taken to perſuade the king to iſſue a proclamation againſt him. But the king, who probably thought, that enough had been done already, paid only little at⯑tention to what was urged; and ſhewed no inclination to afford his countenance in ap⯑prehending him.

This was ſtill a greater mortification. They remembred the wicked attempts made againſt them by the commons in the laſt reign; and dreaded the revival of them. The leaſt coolneſs in the king, they knew, would be a ſignal to their enemies: and it was the part of prudence, to ſpare no pains in alienating him from the Lollards.

Jealouſy, the natural companion of uſurp⯑ed power, was the ruling foible of the houſe of Lancaſter. This the clergy had obſerved; and thought they could not do better than to repreſent the Lollards as ill-inclined to the government. The king lent an ear to their whiſpers, and began to eye theſe unfortunate men with that caution, with which he guard⯑ed againſt his greateſt enemies.

[137]Among other inſtances of the zeal of the clergy in propagating calumny, the follow⯑ing ſtory, attended by very extraordinary circumſtances, is related.

The biſhops had lately obtained a procla⯑mation, forbidding the Lollards to aſſemble in companies; which they had commonly done for the ſake of devotion. The pro⯑clamation had in part only its effect: they ſtill continued to aſſemble; but in leſs com⯑panies, more privately; and often in the dead of night. St. Giles's fields, then a thicket, was a place of frequent reſort on theſe occa⯑ſions. Here about an hundred of them had met one evening, with an intention, as was uſual, to continue their meeting to a very late hour. Emiſſaries, mixing with them under the diſguiſe of friends, ſoon gave in⯑telligence of their deſign.

The king was then at Eltham, a few miles from London. As he was ſitting down to ſupper, advice was brought him, that the lord Cobham, at the head of 20,000 men, had taken poſt in St. Giles's fields, breath⯑ing revenge, and threatening to murder the king, the princes of the blood, and all the [138] lords, ſpiritual, and temporal, who ſhould oppoſe him.

The king, not conſidering how impro⯑bable it was, that ſuch an army could have been gotten together without earlier notice; and having few about him to adviſe with, conſulted only the gallantry of his own tem⯑per, and took a ſudden reſolution to arm what men he could readily muſter, and put himſelf at their head; hoping to ſurprize the rebels before they had concerted their ſchemes. Soon after midnight he arrived upon the place, and fell with great ſpirit upon what he ſuppoſed the advanced guard of the enemy. They were ſoon thrown into confuſion, and yielded an eaſy victory. About twenty were killed, and ſixty taken; the chief leader of whom was one Beverly, a preacher. Fluſhed with this ſucceſs, the king marched on towards the main body. But no main body was found; and this for⯑midable army was diſperſed as eaſily as it had been raiſed.

This ſtrange affair, we may imagine, is differently related by different party-writers. The popiſh hiſtorians talk of it, as of a real [139] conſpiracy; and exclaim loudly againſt tenets, which could encourage ſuch crimes. Among theſe the ingenious Mr. Hume has choſen to liſt himſelf; and on no better authority than Walſingham, a mere bigot, hath without any heſitation charged lord Cobam with high-treaſon.

On the other hand, the proteſtant writers, in general, treat the whole as a fiction, and cenſure their adverſaries with great acrimony for ſo malicious an aſperſion.

The papiſts, put to proof, alledge, that arms were found upon the field; and that many of the priſoners made open confeſſion of the wickedneſs of their intentions.

As to arms, reply the proteſtants, it is a ſtale trick to hide them on purpoſe to ſerve an occaſion by finding them: and as to con⯑feſſions, nothing is more common, than to extort them from innocent perſons. Beſides, they might have been drawn from popiſh emiſſaries, mixing among the Wiclivites, with the very intention of being brought to confeſſion. ‘In truth, (ſays the judicious Rapin, reaſoning upon this fact) it is hardly to be conceived, that a prince ſo wiſe as Henry, could ſuffer himſelf to be impoſed [140] upon by ſo groſs a fiction. Had he found indeed, as he was made to believe, 20,000 men in arms in St. Giles's field, it might have created ſuſpicion; but that fourſcore, or an hundred men, among whom there was not a ſingle perſon of rank, ſhould have formed ſuch a project, is extremely improbable. Beſides, he himſelf knew ſir John Oldcaſtle to be a man of ſenſe; and yet nothing could be more wild than the project fathered upon him; a project, which it was ſuppoſed he was to execute with a handful of men, and yet he him⯑ſelf abſent, and no leader in his room. Beſides, notwithſtanding the ſtricteſt ſearch made through the kingdom, to diſcover the accomplices of this pretended conſpi⯑racy, not a ſingle perſon could be found, beſides thoſe taken at St. Giles's. Laſtly, the principles of the Lollards were very far from allowing ſuch barbarities. It is therefore more than probable, that the accuſation was forged to render the Lollards odious to the king, with a view to obtain his licence for their proſecution.’

It would be tedious to ſay all that might be ſaid in defence of Lord Cobham on this [141] occaſion. Mr. Fox, in the firſt volume of his acts and monuments, hath given us a very laboured, and ſatisfactory vindication of him. He examines firſt the ſtatutes and authentic records, and afterwards the earlieſt hiſtorians, from all which he draws a very concluſive argument, that there was no con⯑ſpiracy intended. The title of Mr Fox's tract is, A defence of lord Cobham againſt Alanus Copus.

As improbable however as this conſpiracy was, it was, for a time at leaſt, entirely cre⯑dited by the king, and fully anſwered the deſigns of the clergy. It thoroughly incenſed Henry againſt the Lollards; and gave a very ſevere check to the whole party. As for lord Cobham himſelf, the king was ſo perſuaded of his guilt, that through his influence, a bill of attainder againſt him paſſed the com⯑mons, as appears from an old parliamentary record, preſerved in the Britiſh Muſeum. And not ſatisfied with this, Henry ſet a price of a thouſand marks upon his head; and promiſed a perpetual exemption from taxes to any town, that ſhould ſecure him.—This affair happened in the year 1414.

[142]In a few months after, a parliament was called at Leiceſter. Hither the zeal of the clergy followed the king. In purſuance of their old ſcheme of rendering the Lollards ſuſpected as enemies to the ſtate, they had a bill brought in, by which hereſy ſhould in⯑cur the forfeitures of treaſon. This bill like⯑wiſe made thoſe liable to the ſame penalties, who had broken priſon, after having been convicted of hereſy, unleſs they rendered themſelves again. This clauſe was evidently aimed at the lord Cobham.

To this bill the clergy foreſaw a furious oppoſition from the Lollards, who bore no inconſiderable ſway in the houſe. Great there⯑fore was their ſurprize, when they found their bill paſſed without any obſtacle. Their pulpits rang with the praiſes of the parlia⯑ment; and they congratulated each other upon the glorious proſpect of the church, when every branch of the legiſlature united in their endeavours to extirpate hereſy. — But the clergy were much deceived in their opinion of the commons, who acted in this buſineſs with great addreſs.

It had long been the favourite ſcheme of a majority in the houſe, to ſtrip the clergy of [143] their poſſeſſions; and in this majority many were found, who were by no means inclined to the opinions of Wicliff. Theſe men were too much patriots to wiſh their country en⯑ſlaved by an oppreſſive hierarchy; and ſaw no way of eſcaping ſuch bondage, but by wringing from the church that wealth, which was the ſource of its power. Friends to its ſpiritual juriſdiction, they cavilled only at its temporal.

Full of theſe ſentiments, the commons, though twice foiled in the late reign, were not diſcouraged. Their diſappointment put them only upon a change of meaſures. The zeal which the reformers had ſhewn in par⯑liament againſt the unbounded wealth of re⯑ligious houſes, had heretofore furniſhed the clergy with a pretence for clamouring, "That all was virulence againſt the church." To this clamour the late king paid great re⯑gard. The leading members therefore of this parliament reſolved firſt to exculpate themſelves of the charge of hereſy; and having done this, they imagined they might with much greater facility, put their deſigns in execution: and on this principle they gave way to the clergy in their late act.

[144]Their intention was not long a myſtery In the midſt of the praiſes beſtowed upon them; while the clergy were every where extolling them as the wiſeſt, and moſt re⯑ſpectable body of men that ever met toge⯑ther, how were they thunderſtruck, when they heard, that theſe wiſe and reſpectable men, had almoſt unanimouſly preſented a petition to the king to ſeize the revenues of the clergy? This was an unexpected blow. Something however was to be done, and that inſtantly. The king had diſcovered no marks of diſpleaſure at the petition; which was a dreadful omen.

It was matter of joy to all good catholics, that Henry Chicheley was now archbiſhop of Canterbury. This prelate had ſucceeded Arundel; and to the zeal of his predeceſſor, added a more artful addreſs in the manage⯑ment of affairs. Such addreſs was the prin⯑cipal thing, at that time, required in an arch⯑biſhop of Canterbury.

Undaunted at the ſtorm, this able pilot ſtepped to the helm; and judging it adviſe⯑able to give up a part rather than hazard the whole, he went to the king; and with all humility hoped, "His majeſty did not mean [145] ſo raſh a thing, as to put it out of the power of his old friends to ſerve him as they had ever done: the clergy were his ſure refuge upon all occaſions; and as a proof of their zeal, they begged his majeſty would accept at their hands, a ſurrender of all the alien priories; which being not fewer than an hun⯑dred and ten, would very conſiderably aug⯑ment his revenues." Henry pauſed, — and conſidering the noble ſacrifice they had offer⯑ed, and reflecting upon the old maxim of prudence, that a ſecurity, though of leſs va⯑lue, is better than a contingence; — and withal, dreading the conſequences of irri⯑tating ſo powerful a body, he accepted their offer; and the clergy had once more the pleaſure to ſee their arts counterbalance the deſigns of their enemies.

The archbiſhop, however, not yet ſuffici⯑ently ſecure, proceeded a ſtep farther. He obſerved, from the times, a general inclina⯑tion to a French war, and wanted thoroughly to embark his ſovereign in ſuch an enterprize; rightly judging, that ſchemes abroad would divert him from ſchemes at home; and that a war upon the continent would greatly in⯑duce [146] him to leave all quiet in his own dominions.

Thus reſolved, he took an early opportu⯑nity to addreſs the king in full parliament. In a ſtudied harangue he proved the claim, which England had upon France, ſince the time of Edward III. The neglect of that claim, he ſaid, ſince that period, had by no means injured the right. He then launched out into a florid encomium upon the virtues of the king; and ſaid, the thunder of the Engliſh nation, which had ſlept through two reigns, was reſerved ſolely for his arm; and God would proſper the noble undertaking. He concluded with ſaying, that if his ma⯑jeſty ſhould engage in this gallant enterprize, he would undertake, that the clergy ſhould grant him a larger ſubſidy than had been ever granted to an Engliſh king; and he doubted not but the laity would follow their exam⯑ple.

Many hiſtorians have attributed the con⯑queſt of France to this ſpeech. It is certain however, it greatly tended to reconcile the minds of men to this enterprize, and effectually put a ſtop to the king's deſigns [147] againſt the church — Such were the vile po⯑litics of the clergy of thoſe times!

In the mean time lord Cobham, whoſe ſpirit in parliament had given birth to all this ferment, remained an exile in Wales, ſhift⯑ing frequently the ſcene of his retreat. In the ſimple manners of that mountainous country he found an aſylum, which he judg⯑ed it imprudent to exchange for one, which might probably prove more hazardous be⯑yond ſea.

But the zeal of his enemies was not eaſily baffled. After many fruitleſs attempts, they engaged the lord Powis in their intereſt, a very powerful perſon in thoſe parts; and in whoſe lands the lord Cobham was ſuppoſed to lie concealed.

This nobleman working upon his tenants by ſuch motives, as the great have ever in reſerve, had numbers ſoon upon the watch. This vigilance the lord Cobham could not eſcape. In the midſt of his fancied ſecurity, he was taken, carried to London in triumph, and put into the hands of the archbiſhop of Canterbury.

Lord Cobham had now been four years in Wales, but found his ſufferings had in no [148] degree diminiſhed the malice of his enemies. On the contrary, it ſhewed itſelf in ſtronger colours. Thoſe reſtraints, under which the clergy acted before, were now removed. The ſuperiority which they had obtained, both in the parliament, and in the cabinet, laid every murmur aſleep; and they would boaſt, in the prophet's language, that not a dog durſt move his tongue againſt them.

Things being thus circumſtanced, lord Cobham, without any divination, foreſaw his fate. His fate indeed remained not long in ſuſpence. With every inſtance of bar⯑barous inſult, which enraged ſuperſtition could invent, he was dragged to execution. St. Giles's fields was the place appointed; where both as a traitor, and a heretic, he was hung up in chains alive upon a gallows; and, fire being put under him, was burnt to death.

Such was the unworthy fate of this no⯑bleman; who, though every way qualified to be the ornament of his country, fell a ſacrifice to unfeeling rage, and barbarous ſuperſtition.

Lord Cobham had been much converſant in the world; and had probably been en⯑gaged, [149] in the early part of his life, in the licence of it. His religion however put a thorough reſtraint upon a diſpoſition, natu⯑rally inclined to the allurements of pleaſure. He was a man of a very high ſpirit, and warm temper; neither of which his ſuffer⯑ings could ſubdue. With very little tempo⯑rizing he might have eſcaped the indignities he received from the clergy, who always conſidered him as an object beyond them: but the greatneſs of his ſoul could not brook conceſſion. In all his examinations, and through the whole of his behaviour, we ſee an authority and dignity in his manner, which ſpeak him the great man in all his afflictions.

He was a perſon of uncommon parts, and very extenſive talents; well qualified either for the cabinet or the field. In converſation he was remarkable for his ready and poignant wit.

His acquirements were equal to his parts. No ſpecies of learning, which was at that time in eſteem, had eſcaped his attention. It was his thirſt of knowledge indeed, which firſt brought him acquainted with the opini⯑ons of Wicliff. The novelty of them en⯑gaged [150] his curioſity. He examined them as a philoſopher, and in the courſe of his ex⯑amination became a Chriſtian.

In a word, we cannot but conſider lord Cobham as having had a principal hand in giving ſtability to the opinions he embraced. He ſhewed the world, that religion was not merely calculated for a cloiſter, but might be introduced into faſhionable life; and that it was not below a gentleman to run the laſt hazard in its defence.

[151]The life of John Huſs.

HAVING given ſome account of the opinions of Wicliff in England; let us follow the courſe of them abroad. In Bohemia particularly, we ſhall find they ob⯑tained great credit; where they were propa⯑gated by John Huſs, Jerome of Prague, and others of leſs note.

It muſt be confeſſed indeed, thoſe Bohe⯑mian reformers made little change in the opinions they found prevailing in their own church. Every ſtep they took was taken with extreme caution; and many of the Romiſh writers have been led from hence to queſtion the propriety of ranking them in a catalogue of reformers. To rail at the po⯑piſh clergy, we are told, hath ever been thought enough to give a man a place in this liſt. But this is making outcaſts indeed of theſe celebrated enquirers after truth. The papiſts burnt their bodies, and damned their ſouls for being proteſtants, and would have [152] proteſtants damn their memory for being papiſts.

Unconcerned at the reproach, the pro⯑teſtants receive them with open arms, and conſider them as thoſe noble leaders, who made the firſt inroads into the regions of darkneſs; as thoſe who held up lights, tho' only faint and glimmering, which encouraged others to purſue their paths.

If we conſider ſuch only as proteſtant, whoſe opinions were thoroughly reformed, it is hard to ſay where the reformation began. Our Saviour conſiders thoſe as for him, who were not againſt him: much more reaſon have the proteſtants to conſider theſe Bohe⯑mians of their party, who, for the ſake of opinions, which have been ſince adopted by proteſtants, ſuffered the extremes of malice from papiſts; and who maintained principles, which would have led them, if they had not been cut off by their enemies, to a full diſ⯑covery of that truth they aimed at.

John Huſs was born near Prague, in Bo⯑hemia, about the year 1376, at a village called Huſſinez, upon the borders of the black foreſt; from which village he had his name.

[153]His father was a perſon in low circum⯑ſtances; but took more care than is uſually taken among ſuch perſons, in the education of his ſon. He lived not however to ſee the fruit of his pains. After his death, his widow purſued his intention; and found means to ſend her ſon, though with diffi⯑culty enough even in the loweſt ſtation, to the univerſity of Prague.

Here a very extraordinary piety began to diſtinguiſh him. Among other inſtances of it, a ſtory is recorded, the truth of which is the rather to be ſuſpected, as we meet with frequent relations of the ſame kind in mar⯑tyrologies. As he was reading the life of St. Lawrence, we are told, he was ſo ſtrong⯑ly affected with the conſtancy of that pious man in the midſt of his ſufferings, that he thruſt his hand into the flame of a fire, by which he ſat, and held it there, till his fel⯑low diſciple, who was ſitting by him, in great terror interfered. ‘I had only, (ſaid Huſs,) an inclination to try, whether I had con⯑ſtancy to bear an inconſiderable part of what this martyr underwent.’

In the year 1396 he took the degree of maſter of arts; and, ſoon after, that of [154] batchelor of divinity. In 1400 his abilities and piety had ſo far recommended him, that he was choſen confeſſor to the queen: and eight years after he was elected rector of the univerſity.

During the courſe of theſe honours, he obtained a benefice likewiſe. John Mulheym, a perſon of large fortune in Prague, built a chapel, which he called Bethelem; and having endowed it in a very ample manner, appointed Huſs the miniſter of it.

Whatever religious ſcruples he might at this time have had, he had thus far kept them to himſelf. It is more than probable he had none of conſequence. The ſuper⯑ſtitions of popery reigned ſtill, in all tran⯑quillity, in Bohemia; where the opinions of Wicliff, which had long been fermenting in England, were yet unknown.

In the year 1381, Richard II of England married Ann, ſiſter of the king of Bohemia. This alliance opened a commerce between the two nations; and many perſons, during an interval of ſeveral years, paſſed over from Bohemia into England, on the account either of expectances, curioſity, or buſineſs: ſome on the account of ſtudy. With a view of [155] this latter kind, a young Bohemian noble⯑man, who had finiſhed his ſtudies in the univerſity of Prague, ſpent ſome time at Oxford. Here he became acquainted with the opinions of Wicliff, read his books, and admired both him and them. At his return to Prague he renewed an acquaintance, which grew into an entire familiarity, with John Huſs; and put into his hands the writings of Wicliff, which he had brought over with him. They conſiſted chiefly of thoſe warm pieces of that reformer, in which he inveighs againſt the corruptions of the clergy.

Theſe writings ſtruck Huſs with the force of revelation. He was a man of great ſanctity of manners himſelf, and had the higheſt notions of the paſtoral care. With concern he had long ſeen, or thought he ſaw, abuſes among the clergy of his time, which were truly deplorable. But his diffidence kept pace with his piety; and he could not per⯑ſuade himſelf to caſt the firſt ſtone. He now found that he had not been ſingular. He ſaw theſe abuſes and corruptions dragged into open light; and it even mortified him to ſee that freedom in another, which he had [156] been withheld, by a mere ſcruple, from exerting himſelf.

As to the more alarming opinions of Wicliff, though it is probable Huſs became at this time acquainted with ſome of them, yet it doth not appear they made any im⯑preſſion upon his mind; they were leſs ob⯑vious, and required more examination. From the language however, in which he always ſpoke of this reformer, we cannot imagine he had taken offence at any thing he had heard of him. He would call him an angel ſent from heaven to enlighten man⯑kind. He would mention among his friends his meeting with the works of Wicliff, as the moſt fortunate circumſtance of his life; and would often ſay, he wiſhed for no better eternity, than to exiſt hereafter with that excellent man.

From this time, both in the ſchools, and in the pulpit, as he had opportunity, he would inveigh, with great warmth, againſt eccleſiaſtical abuſes. He would point out the bad adminiſtration of the church, and the bad lives of the clergy; and would patheti⯑cally lament the miſerable ſtate of the peo⯑ple, [157] who were under the government of the one, and the influence of the other.

Indeed the ſtate of the Bohemian clergy, as all their hiſtorians teſtify, was at this time exceedingly corrupt. Religion was not only converted into a trade; but this trade was carried on with the utmoſt knavery, and ra⯑pacity. Avarice was their predominant vice. One of their biſhops, we are told, was ſo ſordidly addicted to it, that, being aſked, What was the moſt diſagreeable noiſe in na⯑ture? he anſwered, That of mouths feeding at his own table. Stories of this kind are unqueſtionably exaggerated by the zeal of proteſtant writers. We may venture how⯑ever to make large deductions, and yet ſtill leave a very ſufficient charge againſt the morals of the Bohemian clergy.

It is no wonder therefore if Huſs was heard with attention on ſuch an argument. Indeed, all ſober and ingenuous men began to think favourably of him; and to ſee the neceſſity of expoſing the clergy, were it only to open the eyes of the people, and pre⯑vent their being ſeduced by vile examples.

There were, at this time, in Prague, among the followers of Huſs, two ingeni⯑ous [158] foreigners; who, being unacquainted with the language of the country, invented a method of expoſing the pride of the Romiſh clergy, which fully anſwered their end, and was well ſuited to the ſimplicity of the times. They hung up, in the pub⯑lic hall of the univerſity, two large pictures, in one of which were repreſented Chriſt and his apoſtles, in that humility, and modeſty of attire, with which they appeared upon earth; in the other, the pope and his car⯑dinals, in all that flow of garment, gold, and embroidery, in which their dignity ſo much conſiſteth. Theſe pictures, it is pro⯑bable, as pieces of art, were of no value; but the contraſt they exhibited was ſo ex⯑ceedingly glaring, that among the common people they had more than the force of argument.

The ſchiſm between the two popes, which hath already been mentioned, ſtill continued. This religious quarrel, having raged with ſufficient animoſity during the reigns of the two pontiffs, who gave it birth, was be⯑queathed to their ſucceſſors. It had now maintained itſelf above thirty years, and had [159] been the common firebrand of Europe, through that whole tract of time.

The cardinals had made many attempts to put an end to this confuſion; but without effect: the ambition of the reigning prelates interfered. To ſtrengthen their hands, the ſacred college at length applyed to ſome of the leading princes of Europe. Henry IV. of England ſeems to have intereſted himſelf as much as any in this affair. He wrote with great ſpirit to Gregory the XIIth; told him, that, at a moderate computation, 230,000 men had loſt their lives in this quarrel; ex⯑poſtulated with him for upholding it; and adviſed him to ſubmit to the deciſion of the council, which was then aſſembling at Piſa.

The intention of the council, it ſeems, was to elect a new pope, and to make the two other popes give up their claims; which, at the time of their election, they had agreed in ſuch circumſtances to do. Accordingly, in the year 1410 the cardinals of each party met at Piſa, where a new election was made in favour of Alexander V. This pontiff, to ſhew his gratitude to his good friend the king of England, granted his ſubjects a full re⯑miſſion of all manner of ſins, which was to [160] be diſpenſed on three ſet days, at St. Bartho⯑lomew's in Smithfield. This was not done entirely gratis; but the indulgent pope had made the expence ſo very eaſy, that, except indeed the moſt indigent, all might enjoy the benefit of his abſolution.

At the time of this pope's election, Huſs, and his followers, began to make a noiſe in the world. They had now gotten ſome of the works of Wicliff tranſlated into the Sclavonian tongue; which were read with great attention in every part of Bohemia; and though it doth not appear, that any of the more offenſive doctrines of that reformer had even yet obtained footing there; yet it is certain the eſtabliſhed clergy had in a great meaſure loſt that reverence, which had been hitherto paid them.

To check the growth of hereſy, was the firſt work in which Alexander engaged. He was ſcarce ſeated in his chair, when he thun⯑dered out a very ſevere bull, directed to the archbiſhop of Prague, and it is probable, di⯑rected by him likewiſe; in which he orders that prelate to make ſtrict enquiry after the followers of Wicliff; to apprehend, and [161] impriſon them; and, if neceſſary, to call in the ſecular arm.

Nor was private cauſe of pique wanting to engage the clergy in the ſevereſt meaſures. Beſides the ſpirited language, in which Huſs had always treated them, he had, on the following occaſion, made himſelf particularly obnoxious to the whole order.

Learning having been for many years very little the taſte of the Bohemian gentry, the Germans, who in great numbers frequented the univerſity of Prague, and enjoyed, by the ſtatutes of the founder, a fourth part of the authority in it, had, by degrees, gotten poſſeſſion of the whole. This, when letters began to revive under the influence of Huſs, became inconvenient. The Germans ſtuck together; and a Bohemian, even in a uni⯑verſity of his own country, could meet with little encouragement in literary purſuits. Huſs ſaw with regret theſe difficulties; and endeavoured with all his attention to remove them. Having put himſelf at the head of a conſiderable party, he made an application at court; and by his intereſt there, which with the queen eſpecially was very great, obtained a deciſion, by which the authority [162] of theſe ſtrangers was abridged, and the government of the univerſity thrown into its natural channel. The Germans, piqued at this, left Prague in a body, (hiſtorians rate the numbers of theſe diſcontented ſtudents at 3000) and ſettled themſelves in other houſes of learning.

This temporary evil opened the mouths of Huſs's enemies. The clergy in particular took the alarm; and immediately ſhewed their diſguſt at ſeeing more weight thrown into a ſcale, which they had ever been de⯑ſirous of rendering as light as poſſible. It is worth remarking, that this is the ^* ſecond inſtance, in the courſe of a few pages, in which the herd of the Romiſh clergy have conſidered a ſeat of learning as an intereſt oppoſite to their own. Indeed in this caſe, they had more to ſay. Huſs, who was now ſole leader of the univerſity, had long ſhewn himſelf their avowed opponent; and if ſin⯑gle, he had given them ſo much cauſe of alarm, he became an object of double terror ſupported by a multitude. They reſolved therefore to make a handle of the affair of [163] the univerſity; and though it was purely of a literary nature, it was plauſibly converted into a buſineſs of religion.

Among thoſe who took offence at theſe proceedings, none took more than the arch⯑biſhop of Prague. Having publiſhed the bull he had received from Rome, he ſoon after publiſhed a reſcript of his own; which ordered all, who were poſſeſſed of any of the works of Wicliff, to bring them to him. Accordingly, many copies of different parts of his writings, (we are told above 200) were brought; which the archbiſhop im⯑mediately condemned to the flames. In this buſineſs, it was generally ſuppoſed, he acted at the ſame time a diſingenuous, an illegal, and an unjuſt part. In the firſt place, thro' the ambiguity of the reſcript, it was ima⯑gined, he meant only to examine the books; to which the honeſt poſſeſſors of them had no objection; not doubting but ſuch an ex⯑amination would redound to the honour of their maſter: Huſs himſelf tells us, that he ſent in his books merely on this ſuppoſition.— Beſides, they thought the primate had no authority for what he had done. They knew he had none from the pope; and if the [164] action was his own, they could not but eſteem it as a very illegal ſtretch of power.— And if it was illegal, as it appeared to be, they thought it farther a very conſiderable injury. For in thoſe days, before printing was invented, books had their value: and many of theſe likewiſe were ornamented with ſilver in a very expenſive manner. It was an unlucky circumſtance too, in preju⯑dice to the archbiſhop, that he was a moſt illiterate man: we are told he was ſo to ſuch a degree, that, by way of ridicule, he was commonly called alphabetarius, or the A, B, C doctor. As it was well known therefore he could not read theſe books himſelf, and as no examination of them had been heard of, what he had done ſeemed rather an at⯑tack upon learning itſelf, than upon the doctrines of Wicliff.

This action of the archbiſhop gave great offence; and Huſs remonſtrated againſt it with as much warmth, as the candour and native modeſty of his temper would admit. But notwithſtanding the propriety of his own behaviour, it is allowed, his followers acted with great indecency. Irritated by the loſs of their books, they reſolved to retaliate a [165] little of that ſpirit, in which the injury had been done. Having procured a copy there⯑fore of the archbiſhop's reſcript, they burnt it with great pomp and ceremony in the public ſtreet.

Kindled at this treatment, the archbiſhop's zeal flamed out in all its violence; and eager to do more than he had the power to do himſelf, he hurried to the king, and laid his complaints at the foot of the throne.

Winceſlaus, king of Bohemia, whom we ſhall have frequent occaſion to mention, was a prince, who looked for nothing in royalty, but the free indulgence of his paſſions. Matters of government were little his con⯑cern: and matters of religion ſtill leſs. He had been educated in the beſt ſchool for im⯑provement, the ſchool of affliction; yet he had profited little by the leſſons he had there received. He had good natural parts, and great talents for buſineſs; but diſſimulation was the only talent which he employed. Temporibus inſidiari was his great maxim. If he had one fixed principle of government, it was never to encourage the zealots of any party. He cajoled the archbiſhop therefore with that art, which was natural to him; [166] and endeavouring to convince him of the impropriety of his own interpoſition, left him to manage the ſectaries, as he was able.

The archbiſhop was thoroughly mortified at the king's indifference for religion; and, as he found no redreſs from him, he deter⯑mined to try the force of his own authority. After mature deliberation, he prohibited Huſs, by an interdict, from preaching in his chapel of Bethelem. Huſs, as a member of the univerſity, which held immediately of the Roman ſee, appealed to the pope.

Alexander V. was now dead; poiſoned, as was commonly ſuppoſed, by an ambitious cardinal, who found the means to ſucceed him. This was Balthaſar Coſſa, who after⯑wards aſſumed the name of John XXIII. a man, whoſe vicious life was probably the only foundation of the ſuſpicion. In his youth he had exerciſed piracy: but finding this profeſſion dangerous, he retired to Bo⯑lognia, where he applied himſelf to ſtudy. His abilities, for he was maſter of many uſe⯑ful talents, ſoon found a patron in Benedict IX; under whom he was initiated into all the myſteries of the conclave.

[167]John was preſently made acquainted with the ſituation of affairs in Bohemia. Huſs had preached a ſermon at Prague, in which, it was thought, he had ſpoken lightly of oral tradition. This was immediately caught by the orthodox clergy; and carried, among other things, in the form of an accuſation to Rome. The appeal therefore, and the ac⯑cuſation accompanied each other.

John ſeems to have had ſomething elſe in his head at this time, beſides religion. With⯑out examining the affair himſelf, he left it to his delegate, the cardinal de Columna; who appointed Huſs a day for his appearance.

The report of this commiſſion ſpread a general alarm through Bohemia; where the whole party trembled for their chief. A powerful interceſſion, headed by the queen herſelf, was made to the king, requeſting his interpoſition in the affair. Winceſlaus com⯑plied; and diſpatched ambaſſadors to the pope, who in very preſſing terms requeſted his holineſs to diſpenſe with Huſs's perſonal appearance; alledging his innocence, and the dangers he would run in paſſing through Germany, where he had many enemies.

[168]With theſe ambaſſadors, Huſs ſent his Proctors; who were treated with great ſeve⯑rity, and in the end impriſoned. This was enough to give him a warning of his fate. The irritated pope excommunicated him, as it ſeems, on the mere accuſation of his enemies.

This treatment had no tendency to leſſen the popularity of Huſs. His ſufferings in⯑deed gave him only the greater influence. The people conſidered him as ſtanding ſingle in a common cauſe; as having paid their forfeiture as well as his own. Gratitude and compaſſion therefore were added to their eſteem; and he never was ſo much the idol of popular favour, as he was now. He had his adherents too among the higher ranks. The nobility were in general diſpoſed to ſerve him; and he wanted not friends even among the clergy.

As he was thus ſupported, we need not wonder that the diſgrace he ſuffered ſat light upon him. We find him indeed no longer in the character of a public preacher; and ſome authors write that he retired from Prague. It is certain however, that, except preaching, he continued ſtill to diſcharge [169] every branch of the paſtoral care. One me⯑thod he uſed was to give out queſtions, which he encouraged the people to diſcuſs in pri⯑vate, and to come to him with their difficul⯑ties. Many of theſe queſtions had a ten⯑dency to invalidate the pope's authority.

Every day made it now plainer, that the goſpellers, as the followers of Huſs were, at this time, called, had ſcarce received any check. The primate was wretched to the laſt degree. The pope's authority had ap⯑peared to be of little weight; his own of leſs: the king was wholly indifferent: the em⯑peror alone remained, to whom application could be made. To him therefore he re⯑ſolved to apply; but upon his journey he fell ſick, and died; fretted, as was commonly ſuppoſed, beyond ſufferance, at the perplex⯑ity of the affair.—The archbiſhop of Prague was a well intentioned, weak man; under the influence of violent paſſions: a moſt unhappy compoſition to be intruſted with power.

The new archbiſhop, notwithſtanding his predeceſſor had failed in his deſign of cruſh⯑ing this riſing hereſy, had the courage to make a farther attempt. He called a coun⯑cil [170] of doctors; by whom, after much de⯑bating, ſome articles againſt Huſs, and his adherents were drawn up, and publiſhed in form. They were intended to leſſen his cre⯑dit with the people; but they produced only a ſpirited anſwer, in which Huſs recapitulated what the late archbiſhop had done, and ſhewed that he had never been able to prove any hereſy againſt him: he concluded with begging, that he might be ſuffered to meet, face to face, any one, who pretended to bring ſuch a charge againſt him, and doubt⯑ed not but he ſhould be able to purge him⯑ſelf, to the ſatisfaction of the whole king⯑dom of Bohemia.

Soon afterwards Huſs publiſhed another piece againſt the uſurpations of the court of Rome. To this the archbiſhop and his council replied; but in a manner ſo futile, that they did more injury to their cauſe, (eſpecially where prejudice ran high againſt them) than even their adverſaries themſelves had done. They applyed to the pope too for aſſiſtance; but the pope ſatisfied himſelf with exhorting the king to ſuppreſs the peſti⯑lent doctrines of Wicliff; and, if poſſible, [171] to curb the inſolence of Huſs and his fol⯑lowers.

Indeed the pope had not leiſure at this time to attend to controverſy. His ambition had incited him to quarrel with his neighbour the king of Naples, into whoſe dominions he was meditating an irruption. But he fell into his own ſnare. He declared himſelf before he was well prepared; and the wary Neapolitan taking the advantage of his igno⯑rance in matters of war, invaded the patri⯑mony, and dividing his forces, ſat down be⯑fore ſeveral of the papal towns at once. In this perplexity John had recourſe to the eſta⯑bliſhed manner of levying troops. He diſ⯑patched legates into various parts of Chriſten⯑dom, who were largely commiſſioned to grant pardons and indulgencies to all, who would inliſt under his banners.

Among other places, one of theſe recruit⯑ing officers came to Prague. Winceſlaus had his reaſons for favouring the pope; and foreſeeing that the legate would be oppoſed by Huſs and the goſpellers, forbad them by proclamation to interfere.

But the zeal of theſe ſectaries was of too high a temper to bear controul. They [172] thought their conſciences concerned; and would have looked upon themſelves as guilty, had they ſtood aloof, and ſeen the people deluded. They took every opportunity there⯑fore of expoſing the legate and his buſineſs; and of ſhewing the folly of truſting to the pardon of a ſinful man. Huſs in particular exerted himſelf with great ſpirit, and diſ⯑perſed among his friends many little tracts, which aſſiſted them with proper arguments. His activity put an entire ſtop to the levy.

This behaviour was greatly reſented by the king; and the magiſtrates, who acted by his direction, ventured to ſeize three of the moſt zealous. The perſon of Huſs was too ſacred to be touched.

The impriſonment of theſe men threw the whole city into an uproar. The more for⯑ward of the goſpellers took arms, and ſur⯑rounded the town-hall, where the magiſtrates were then ſitting. With loud cries they de⯑manded to have their companions ſet at li⯑berty. The magiſtrates alarmed, came for⯑ward to the ſtairs, ſoothed them with gentle language, and promiſed that their com⯑panions ſhould be immediately releaſed. The people went quietly home; and the un⯑fortunate [173] priſoners were inſtantly put to death.

Huſs diſcovered, on this occaſion, a true Chriſtian ſpirit. The late riot had given him great concern; and he had now ſo much weight with the people, as to reſtrain them from attempting any farther violence; though ſo notorious a breach of faith might almoſt have juſtified any meaſures.

This moderation was conſtrued by the oppoſite party into fear. The clergy, and magiſtrates, who acted in concert, well knew on which ſide the balance of power lay: they knew that, even at the ſound of a bell, Huſs could have been ſurrounded by thouſands of zealots, who might have laugh⯑ed at the police of the city. When they ſaw them therefore, notwithſtanding this force, act in ſo tame a manner, they eaſily concluded they were under the influence of fear; — that the death of their friends had ſtruck a terror into them, — and that this was the time entirely to ſubdue them.

Full of theſe miſtaken notions, the arch⯑biſhop waited upon the king; aſſuring him, that if he choſe to cruſh the goſpellers, and [174] give peace to his kingdom, this was the time.

Winceſlaus, whatever appearances he might think it prudent to aſſume, was in his heart no friend to the novelties of theſe re⯑formers. He conſidered the goſpellers as a neſt of hornets, which he durſt not moleſt. While he ſeemed to favour, he deteſted them; and would have ventured a conſi⯑derable ſtake to have freed his kingdom from what he eſteemed ſo great a nuiſance.

He heard the archbiſhop therefore with attention: He entered into his ſcheme, and in his ſpirit, but with ſomewhat more of temper. He knew the inveteracy of the diſeaſe would admit of palliatives only: vio⯑lent medicines at leaſt he thought improper. He reſolved therefore to take ſome ſtep, though not ſo vigorous as that the clergy dictated. After much heſitation he at laſt baniſhed Huſs from Prague. The late tu⯑mults were his pretence. This was the firſt public inſtance he had given of his diſlike to the goſpellers.

Huſs immediately retired to his native place, where the principal perſon of the [175] country being his friend, he lived unmo⯑leſted; and was greatly reſorted to by all men of a ſerious turn in thoſe parts; which contributed not a little to ſpread his opinions, and eſtabliſh his ſect.

Some hiſtorians give a different account of his leaving Prague; and make it a voluntary act. It is poſſible there may be ſome truth in both theſe accounts. The king might expreſs his pleaſure, which Huſs might willingly comply with.

During his retreat at Huſſinez, he ſpent much of his time in writing. Here he compoſed his celebrated treatiſe, Upon the church; out of which his adverſaries drew moſt of thoſe objections, which were after⯑wards ſo fatally brought againſt him at Conſtance.

From this place likewiſe he dated a paper, intitled, The ſix errors; which he fixed on the gate of the chapel of Bethelem. It was levelled againſt indulgencies; — againſt the abuſe of excommunication; — againſt believing in the pope; — againſt the unlimited obedience required by the ſee of Rome; — againſt ſimony; with which he charged the whole [176] church; and againſt making the body o [...] Chriſt in the maſs.

This paper was greedily received in Bohe⯑mia; and increaſed that odium which had been raiſed againſt the clergy. Many anec⯑dotes alſo againſt the dignified eccleſiaſtics had found their way among the people; by whom they were dreſſed out in the moſt unfavourable colours. So many open mouths, and ſuch an abundance of matter to fill them, rendered the clergy, in a ſhort time ſo infa⯑mous, that few of them durſt appear in public.

The politic king ſaw an advantage. Pa⯑piſt and goſpeller were alike to him: he had already made an engine of one party; and he now ſaw a favourable opportunity of working with the other. In ſhort, he thought he had the means before him of re⯑pleniſhing his coffers.

He told the clergy, ‘He was ſorry to hear ſuch complaints againſt them;—that he was determined to put a ſtop to theſe enormities; — that Bohemia would be the ſcandal of Chriſtendom; — that he had already done juſtice upon the ſectaries; — [177] and that an eſtabliſhment ſhould be no ſe⯑curity to them.’ His language was eaſily underſtood; and large commutations were offered, and accepted.

One thing is too remarkable to eſcape no⯑tice. ‘That tythes were mere temporal endowments, and might be reſumed by the temporal lord, when the prieſt was undeſerving,’ was that doctrine of Wicliff, which gave moſt offence in England; and, as it ſeems, in Bohemia likewiſe. It was conſidered by the churchmen of both king⯑doms as an hereſy of the moſt peſtilent kind. On this occaſion however, the king inſiſting upon it, the Bohemian clergy were glad to redeem their tythes by owning the doctrine orthodox.—Thus the king played one party againſt the other; and left neither any cauſe to triumph. No man underſtood better the balance of parties, nor the advantages, which might accrue from adjuſting it properly.

About the time of this conteſt with the clergy, we find Huſs again in Prague, though it does not appear, whether the king per⯑mitted, or connived at him.

Alexander V. the predeceſſor of John XXIII. had been choſen pope, we have ſeen, [178] to put an end to the ſchiſm, which raged in the Roman church; on which event it had been expected the other two popes would relinquiſh their claims. So they had pro⯑miſed at their election. But reſtleſs am⯑bition intervened. Neither of them would give up his power; and from that time the church was governed (if ſuch anarchy can be called government) by three popes at once. Their names were now John, Gre⯑gory, and Benedict.

With a view to cloſe this fatal ſchiſm; to remove ſuch diſorders in the church, as had ſprung up during the continuance of it; and to bring about a thorough reformation of the clergy, the emperor Sigiſmond, in the year 1414, convened a general council.

Sigiſmond, the brother of Winceſlaus, was the moſt accompliſhed prince of the age in which he lived. To the virtues of a patriot he added a greatneſs of mind, and dignity of manner, which adorned a throne. It might perhaps be ſaid, that he excelled too in the princely art of diſſimulation: that indeed was the great foible in his character. He was himſelf a man of letters; and glo⯑ried in being thought the patron of learning. [179] He had enobled, on the occaſion of ſome ſolemnity, a learned doctor, who had ſpoken an eloquent oration. In the proceſſion, which followed, the doctor choſe rather to walk among the nobility, than among his learned brethren. ‘Sir, (ſaid the emperor obſerving it,) diminiſh not a body, which it is not in my power to repleniſh: the corps you have joined I can augment when I pleaſe.’ This prince was more ſucceſs⯑ful in his negotiations than in his wars; and yet he was eſteemed a better ſoldier, than a ſtateſman. In his cabinet he often blun⯑dered; but rarely in his camp. His political errors were yet generally retrieved by a noble air of ingenuity, and an addreſs which no⯑thing could withſtand. His manners were the moſt humane and gentle. He would often ſay, ‘When I forgive an injury, I ac⯑quire a friend.’ But what is very ſur⯑priſing in a character of this liberal caſt, he was a bigot.

Beſides the reaſons already mentioned for calling a general council at this time, Sigiſ⯑mond had other motives. The Ottoman arms having lately given a ſevere blow to the empire, and growing daily more formidable, [180] he was very ſollicitous to oppoſe them; and he could not ſo effectually do it, while Eu⯑rope continued in a divided ſtate. This fa⯑mous council was convened at Conſtance, one of the moſt ſouthern towns in Germany, ſituate on the confines of Switzerland, as nearly as might be, in the middle of Chriſt⯑endom. Hither from all parts of Europe princes and prelates, clergy and laity, regu⯑lars and ſeculars, flocked together. Mr. Fox hath given us an humourous catalogue of them. ‘There were, (ſays he) archbiſhops and biſhops 346, abbots and doctors 564, princes, dukes, earls, knights and ſquires 16000, common-women 450, barbers 600, muſicians, cooks and jeſters 320.’—Four preſidents were choſen from four nations, Germany, France, England and Italy,

Ceremonies and punctilios being ſettled, the conſultation opened. That a reformation of the clergy was neceſſary, was agreed on all hands; but a debate aroſe, in what part of the clerical ſcale it ſhould begin? While ſome contended it ſhould begin a minoritis, at the inferior clergy, the emperor replied briſkly, "Non a minoritis, ſed a majoritis." They began therefore with pope John. This [181] unhappy pontiff, being convicted of many crimes, was deprived, and impriſoned. Gregory was prudent enough to give in a reſignation; and eſcaped on eaſier terms. But Benedict continued long obſtinate. The king of Navarre eſpouſed his cauſe for ſome time; but that prince forſaking him, he was deprived and excommunicated. In the room of theſe three Martin was choſen. — Thus at length was cloſed the great ſchiſm of the Roman church; and here too ended the reformation of the clergy; a work be⯑gun indeed with ſpirit; but unhappily left unfiniſhed. — But this is anticipating the affairs of the council; for the depoſition of the three popes was in fact conducted lei⯑ſurely with the other buſineſs of it.

The next grand deſign of the fathers in this council was to apply remedies to the diſ⯑orders of the church. By the diſorders of the church nothing more was meant than Wicliff's hereſy; the extirpation of which took up a full moiety of the council's time. Wicliff was now dead: their rage therefore againſt him wanted its full ſcope. What was in their power however they did: they re⯑viled his memory: they condemned his te⯑nets: [182] they burnt his books: nay they order⯑ed his very bones to be dug out of the grave, and conſumed to aſhes.

Their rage however, unavailing againſt him, fell with double weight upon his fol⯑lowers. Of theſe Huſs was the principal. Some time before the council was opened, application had been made to the emperor to bring him to Conſtance. The emperor en⯑gaged in the buſineſs, and ſent two gentle⯑men into Bohemia to communicate the affair to Huſs himſelf. Huſs directly anſwered, "That he deſired nothing more than to purge himſelf publicly of the imputation of hereſy; and that he eſteemed himſelf happy in ſo fair an opportunity of doing it, as the approaching council afforded."

Before he began his journey, he thought it proper to give notice, (which he did by putting up papers in the moſt public parts of Prague) that he was going to Conſtance; and that whoever had objections againſt him or his doctrine, might make them there. He provided himſelf likewiſe with proper teſti⯑monials; and what is very remarkable, he obtained one from the biſhop of Nazareth, inquiſitor general of hereſy in Bohemia; [183] which is ſtill extant. In this the biſhop de⯑clares, that as far as he had any opportunity to know, (and he had had many opportuni⯑ties) Huſs had never ſhewn the leaſt inclina⯑tion to impugn any article of the Chriſtian faith. He provided himſelf likewiſe with a paſſport from the emperor.

In october 1414, he ſet out for Conſtance, accompanied by two Bohemian noblemen, the barons of Clum, and Latzenbock; who were among the moſt eminent of his diſci⯑ples, and followed their maſter merely thro' reſpect and love. Some writers ſay, they were required by the emperor to attend him.

Through whatever towns of any conſe⯑quence he paſſed, he had the following paper poſted up: ‘John Huſs, B. D. is now upon his journey to Conſtance, there to defend his faith; which by God's help he will defend unto death. Willing therefore to ſatisfy every man, who hath ought to ob⯑ject againſt him, he publiſhed in Bohemia, and now doth publiſh in this noble and imperial city his ſaid intention. Whoever therefore hath any error or hereſy to lay to the charge of the ſaid John Huſs, be it known unto him, that the ſaid John is [184] ready to anſwer the ſame at the approach⯑ing council.’

The civilities, and even reverence, which he met with every where, exceeded his ima⯑gination. The ſtreets, and ſometimes the very roads were lined with people, whom reſpect, rather than curioſity drew together. He was uſhered into towns with acclama⯑tions; and indeed paſſed through Germany in a kind of triumph. He could not help expreſſing his ſurprize at the reception he met with. ‘I thought, (ſaid he,) I had been an outcaſt; I now ſee my worſt ene⯑mies are in Bohemia.’ At Nuremburgh he was received with particular diſtinction; the magiſtrates and clergy waited upon him in form; and being convinced of his inno⯑cence and integrity, aſſured him they had no doubt but the council would diſmiſs him with honour.—Theſe inſtances of the reſpect he met with are worth mentioning, not only as they ſhew the veneration in which Huſs was generally held; but as they ſhew like⯑wiſe how well-diſpoſed the Germans were, even at that early day, to a reformation. This ſcene was acted about an hundred years before the time of Luther.—In three weeks [185] Huſs arrived at Conſtance; where, no one moleſting him, he took private lodgings. One of his hiſtorians tells us, with an air of triumph, that his hoſteſs's name was Faith.

Soon after Huſs left Prague, Stephen Paletz left it likewiſe; a perſon employed by the clergy there to manage the intended proſecution againſt him at Conſtance. Paletz was a man of good parts, plauſible morals, and more learning than was commonly found among the churchmen of thoſe days. He had contracted an early intimacy with Huſs: their ſtudies had been nearly the ſame: their opinions ſeldom oppoſite. When John XXIII. ſent his legate to Prague, to levy forces againſt the king of Naples, his bulls were conſidered as a party-teſt in Bohemia;— a kind of ſhiboleth, which diſtinguiſhed the papiſt from the goſpeller. Paletz having re⯑ceived favours from the pope, and expecting more, deliberated what he ſhould do. In a queſtion of right and wrong, he ſhould have taken the firſt ſuggeſtion, which is ge⯑nerally that of conſcience: in a cool delibe⯑ration intereſt is apt to interfere. He was guilty therefore of a common piece of ſelf-deceit; and miſtook a point of conſcience [186] for a matter of prudence. His deliberations therefore ended as ſuch deliberations gene⯑rally do: he made a matter of prudence of it. Having thus paſſed the barrier, every thing elſe was eaſy. The ſame prudence ſuggeſted to him, that what he had already done was inſufficient;—that his offence in having at all communicated with the enemies of religion was great;—and that his atone⯑ment muſt be great likewiſe. He made his atonement, and with abundant zeal; and continued from that time the moſt forward of Huſs's perſecutors.

On the ſame errand came to Conſtance, on the part of the court of Rome, Michael de Caſſis; a perſon of a leſs ſolemn appear⯑ance, but of more dextrous talents. He had been bred a churchman, and was bene⯑ficed in Bohemia, which was his native country. But his abilities had been groſly miſtaken. Formed by nature for buſineſs, he had an utter averſion to ſtudy, and the confined employment of a parochial cure. He was a ſubtle enterpriſing man, verſed in the world, of courtly manners, and a moſt inſinuating addreſs. Finding his profeſſion a curb upon his genius, he recommended [187] himſelf to his ſovereign under the title of a projector. The king of Bohemia had a gold mine in his poſſeſſion; which had been long neglected, as having coſt more than its pro⯑duce. This mine de Caſſis pretended to work at an eaſier expence; and dreſſed his tale in ſo many plauſible circumſtances, that Winceſlaus was thoroughly impoſed upon; and intruſted him with what money he de⯑ſired, to the amount of a large ſum, for the execution of his project. Whether the artiſt at firſt meant honeſtly, may be doubted; his project however miſcarried: on which find⯑ing himſelf in a perplexity, he embezzled what was left of the money, and eſcaped out of Bohemia. Rome was the aſylum he choſe. Here by an artful diſplay of ſome new talents, of which he had a great variety, he obtained not only the pope's protection, but his favour; and became a very uſeful perſon in the capacity of one, who was ready for any employment, which nobody elſe would undertake. When it was reſolved in the conclave to have Huſs brought before the council of Conſtance, this man was tamper'd with. He made large promiſes: "He had formerly been acquainted with [188] Huſs at Prague, and knew ſuch things of him, as perhaps nobody elſe did." In ſhort, being thought an excellent inſtrument for the purpoſe, and being well penſioned, and inſtructed, he ſet out among the pope's retinue.

When Huſs arrived at Conſtance, he found the council almoſt full: the more conſiderable members of it were either al⯑ready arrived, or arriving every day: the pope had been there ſome days; and held his reſidence in a caſtle near the city.

Immediately after Huſs's arrival, his friend the baron de Clum notified it to the pope; whom he informed at the ſame time, that Huſs had obtained the emperor's ſafe con⯑duct, to which he begged his holineſs would add his own. ‘If he had killed my bro⯑ther, (anſwered John vehemently,) he ſhould have it.’

Huſs depending upon his innocence, and ſtill more upon the emperor's honour, uſed the ſame freedom of ſpeech at Conſtance, which he had ever uſed at Prague. He ſup⯑poſed he ſhould have been called upon to preach before the council; and had provided two ſermons for that purpoſe; in one of [189] which he made a confeſſion of his faith; and in the other ſhewed the neceſſity of a reformation of the clergy. But the council did not put him upon preaching; which ſhews, as Leufant ſeems to inſinuate, that they were predetermined to deſtroy him. They were unwilling to give him an oppor⯑tunity of ſpeaking, without interruption, to the people; knowing that his noble ſimpli⯑city, his doctrine far from heretical, and the engaging ſweetneſs of his manner, would have greatly conciliated the minds of men in his favour.

In the mean time his adverſaries, particu⯑larly the two already mentioned, were inde⯑fatigable. They were continually with the leading members of the council, plotting, contriving, and concerting in what way their ſchemes might run the leaſt riſk of a miſ⯑carriage. Paletz took upon himſelf the taſk of drawing up articles, which he did with ſuch acrimony, as left no room for the amendment of others.—The effect of theſe ſecret negotiations ſoon appeared.

About the beginning of december, the biſhops of Auſburgh and Trent came to Huſs's lodgings, informing him they were [190] ſent by the pope and the college of cardinals, who were now diſpoſed to hear what he had to urge in his defence. Huſs excuſed his attendance. "I came voluntarily hither, ſaid he, to be examined before the whole council; and to them only I will render myſelf accountable." The biſhops aſſuming a friendly air, began to preſs him: and after many aſſurances, on their part, of the pu⯑rity of their intentions, and ſome farther oppoſition on his, he at length complied.

His examination before the pope and car⯑dinals was a mere farce. They wanted him in their power; and even ſtill ſeemed irre⯑ſolute how to act. Paletz preſſed to have him impriſoned; and aſſured the cardinals, he was daily increaſing his party by that un⯑bridled liberty of ſpeech, in which he was indulged.

While this point was debating, Huſs was engaged in the following ſcene. As he waited in a gallery, a Franciſcan came up to him; and, after many croſſings, and geſticulations common among that ſort of men, accoſted him thus. "Reverend fa⯑ther, of whom the world ſpeaketh ſo loudly, excuſe a poor friar's impertinence. All my [191] life long have I been enquiring after truth. Many difficulties have ariſen in the courſe of my enquiries: ſome I have conquered; others have been above my abilities. Among the reſt, none hath occaſioned me ſo much per⯑plexity, as the doctrine of the ſacrament. How kindly ſhould I take it, would you rectify my errors. I am informed, you hold, that the bread ſtill remains material, after the words of the conſecration?" Huſs told him, he had been miſinformed. Upon which the Franciſcan ſeeming ſurprized, re⯑peated his queſtion, and received the ſame anſwer. Aſking the ſame queſtion a third time, the baron de Clum, who attended Huſs, turned to the friar, and ſaid with ſome aſperity, "Why, doſt thou believe this re⯑verend father would lie to thee? How many anſwers doſt thou expect?" "Gentle ſir, (ſaid the Franciſcan,) be not wroth with your poor ſervant.—I aſked but in mere ſimpli⯑city, and through a deſire of knowledge.— May I then, (ſaid he, addreſſing himſelf to Huſs) preſume to aſk, what kind of union of the godhead and manhood ſubſiſted in the perſon of Chriſt?" Huſs ſurprized at this queſtion, ſaid to the baron in the Sclavonian [192] tongue, "This is one of the moſt difficult queſtions in divinity:" And then turning to the Franciſcan, told him, he did not be⯑lieve him to be that uninformed perſon whom he pretended to be. The Franciſcan finding himſelf ſuſpected, went off with the ſame ſanctified grimaces, with which he had approached; and the baron aſking a ſoldier of the pope's guard, who ſtood near him, if he knew the Franciſcan, the ſoldier told him, that his name was Didace; and that he was eſteemed the moſt ſubtil divine in Lombardy. It afterwards appeared, that the whole was a formed ſcheme of the car⯑dinals, who had ſent this perſon to endeavour to draw ſome new matter of accuſation againſt Huſs from his own mouth. The ſtory may give an idea of the unmanly artifices which were practiſed againſt him.

The friar was ſcarce gone, when an offi⯑cer appeared with a party of guards; and ſeizing Huſs, ſhewed his warrant to appre⯑hend him. Aſtoniſhed at ſuch perfidy, the baron ran inſtantly to the pope, and de⯑manded an audience, or rather indeed puſh⯑ed rudely into his preſence; where with great heat of language, (for he was naturally a [193] warm man) he remonſtrated againſt ſo no⯑torious a breach of faith. "Can your holi⯑neſs, (ſaid he) deny, that with your own mouth, you made me a formal promiſe, that Huſs ſhould remain unmoleſted at Con⯑ſtance?" The pope was confounded: he ſat ſpeechleſs for ſome time; at laſt, he brought out by ſyllables, — that it was the act of the cardinals; — that he had no hand in the matter; — that he could not help it.

In truth, the pope was an object of pity as well as blame. Foreſeeing the ſtorm, which was already gathering againſt him, he was looking round for ſhelter; and was be⯑come at this time ſo diſpirited, ſo timid, ſo fearful of giving offence, among the cardi⯑nals particularly, from whom he had ſo much both to hope and fear, that he neither did, nor ſaid any thing but what he knew would be agreeable. The baron perceiving the pope would not interfere, left him with indignation, reſolving to try his influence with the other members of the council.

In the mean time Huſs was conveyed pri⯑vately to Conſtance, where he was confined in the chapter-houſe of the cathedral, till a more proper place could be found.

[194]Upon the banks of the Rhine, where that river leaves the lake of Conſtance, ſtood a lonely monaſtery, belonging to the Fran⯑ciſcans, the whole intereſt of which order was bent againſt Huſs. Thither he was conveyed, and lodged in a noiſome dun⯑geon.

Yet even here his active ſpirit could not reſt unemployed. By the help of a ſingle ray of light, which ſhone through an aper⯑ture in his cavern, he compoſed many little tracts; which afterwards found their way into Bohemia, and were in great eſteem among his followers. Of theſe one was a comment upon the commandments; a ſecond upon the Lord's prayer: a third was an eſſay upon the knowledge and love of God; and a fourth upon the three great enemies of mankind. Beſides theſe, were ſome others.

Whilſt Huſs was thus employed, the baron, and many of his other friends, were labouring for his liberty. They applied ſe⯑parately to the leading members of the council; and addreſſed themſelves particu⯑larly to the four preſidents. All was in vain: effectual pains had been taken to fruſtrate their endeavours; every ear was [195] ſtopped, and every avenue barred. Baffled, and diſconcerted, the baron was obliged to deſiſt, full of reflections upon the horrors of eccleſiaſtical tyranny.

In the midſt of theſe endeavours for the recovery of his liberty, Huſs was ſeized with a violent diſorder, probably brought on by unwholſome air, and want of exerciſe. His diſeaſe increaſing, his life was in queſtion. The pope alarmed, ſent his own phyſicians to attend him. A grand council was called. "What ſhould be done? Should the heretic dye, himſelf and his doctrine yet uncon⯑demned, what diſcredit would ariſe to the church of Chriſt?" They reſolved there⯑fore to draw up articles againſt him, and condemn him in priſon. Articles accord⯑ingly were drawn up, and a formal citation ſent.

The meſſengers found him extended upon what ſerved him for a bed. He raiſed him⯑ſelf upon his arm. His eyes ſunk and lan⯑guid, his viſage pale, and emaciated. "You ſee, (ſaid he) friends, my condition. Do I ſeem like a man fit to defend a cauſe in a public aſſembly? — Go — tell your maſters what you have ſeen.— But ſtay; tell [196] them likewiſe, that if they will only allow me an advocate, I will not fail, even in this condition, to join iſſue with them."

This requeſt occaſioned a new debate. All were againſt cloſing with it; but they wanted a pretext. Fortunately an old canon was produced, which forbad any one to de⯑fend the cauſe of an heretic. Though this was begging the queſtion; yet it was the faireſt pretence which could be found. Huſs was accordingly informed, that his requeſt ſhould have been complied with, but the orders of holy church forbad. — While this affair was in agitation, the following event checked its progreſs.

John XXIII. from many ſymptoms at this time, foreſeeing his fate, reſolved, if poſſible, to avoid it. He left Conſtance therefore in diſguiſe, and made towards Italy; flattering himſelf, that if he ſhould be able to reach Rome, he might ſtill contrive to baffle the council. But his hopes were too ſanguine. The emperor, having early notice of his flight, with a ſpeedy arm arreſted him near the alps. He was brought back to Conſtance; and from that time every appearance of power fell from him.—This event put a ſtop to the [197] proſecution againſt Huſs; and his health afterwards growing better, it was for ſome time wholly laid aſide.

The Bohemian nobility having in vain made an application to the council, applied next to the emperor. That prince, when firſt informed of the impriſonment of Huſs, was greatly diſguſted at it. So notorious a breach of faith ſhocked the honeſty of his nature; and he ſent immediate orders to Conſtance, where he himſelf was not yet arrived, to have him inſtantly releaſed. But the fathers of the council ſoon removed his ſcruples; and he was, at the time of the pope's flight, ſo entirely devoted to their ſentiments, that he delivered Huſs into their hands. By them that unfortunate man was ſent to the caſtle of Gotleben, beyond the Rhine, where he was laden with fetters, and at night even chained to the floor:—to ſuch a determined height was the malice of his enemies at this time raiſed!

Nor was Huſs the ſingle object of their reſentment. Whoever in Conſtance was known to be of his party became immedi⯑ately obnoxious. The populace were even mad with the prejudices of their leaders; [198] had thoroughly imbibed their ſpirit, and turned it into fury: ſo that it became dan⯑gerous not only for Huſs's followers, but even for his favourers to appear in public. Seeing their preſence therefore ſerved only to exaſperate, the greater part of them with⯑drew from Conſtance, leaving their unfor⯑tunate leader to abide his fate.

In the mean time, his friends in Bohemia were ſufficiently active. The whole king⯑dom was in motion. Meſſengers were con⯑tinually poſting from one province to ano⯑ther. It appeared as if ſome great revolu⯑tion was approaching. At length a petition was ſent through the kingdom, and ſub⯑ſcribed by almoſt the whole body of the Bohemian nobility, and gentry. It was dated in May 1415, and was addreſſed to the council of Conſtance. In this petition, having put the council in mind of the ſafe conduct, which had been granted to Huſs; and of their having, in an unprecedented manner, impriſoned him, before they had heard his defence; they begged a ſpeedy end might be put to his ſufferings, by allowing him an audience as ſoon as poſſible. The barons, who preſented this petition, were [199] anſwered in brief, that no injury had been done to their countryman; and that he ſhould very ſpeedily be examined.

Finding however that delays were ſtill made, they preſented a ſecond, and more explicit petition to the preſidents of the four nations: and not receiving an immediate anſwer, they preſented a third, in which they begged the releaſe of Huſs in very preſſing terms, and offered any ſecurity for his appearance.

The Bohemian nobility were too much in earneſt, and too inſtant to be wholly ne⯑glected. As careleſs an ear as poſſible had been thus far lent to their petitions. But their ardour was now too great to be eaſily checked. The patriarch of Antioch there⯑fore, in anſwer to this laſt petition, made them a handſome ſpeech; and in civil lan⯑guage informed them, that no ſecurity could be taken; but that Huſs ſhould certainly be brought to a hearing in leſs than a week.

When they preſented this laſt petition to the council, they preſented another to the emperor; in which they preſſed upon him, with great earneſtneſs, his honour ſolemnly engaged for the ſecurity of Huſs; and im⯑plored [200] his protection, and his intereſt with the council.

As the affair of the ſafe conduct, in which the aggravation of the injuries done to Huſs ſo greatly depends, is placed in different lights by proteſtant and popiſh writers, it may not be improper to enquire into the merits of it; and to lay before the reader the principal topics of the argument on both ſides of the queſtion.

In anſwer to the proteſtants exclamations againſt ſo notorious a breach of faith, the papiſt thus apologizes.

‘We allow, (ſays Mainburgh,) that Huſs obtained a ſafe conduct from the emperor: but for what end did he obtain it? Why, to defend his doctrine. If his doctrine was indefenſible, his paſs was invalid. It was always, (ſays Roſweide, a jeſuit,) ſup⯑poſed, in the ſafe conduct, that juſtice ſhould have its courſe. — Beſides, (cry a number of apologizers) the emperor plainly exceeded his powers. By the canon-law he could not grant a paſs to an heretic; and by the decretals the council might annul any imperial act. — Nay far⯑ther, (ſays Morery,) if we examine the [201] paſs, we ſhall find it, at beſt, a promiſe of ſecurity only till his arrival at Conſtance; or indeed rather a mere recommendation of him to the cities, through which he paſſed: ſo that, in fact, it was righteouſly fulfilled.’

To all this the proteſtant thus replies. ‘Be it granted, (which is, in truth, grant⯑ing too much,) that the ſafe conduct im⯑plied a liberty only of defending his doc⯑trine; yet it was violated, we find, before that liberty was given, — before that doc⯑trine was condemned, or even examined.— And though the emperor might exceed his power in granting a paſs to an heretic, yet Huſs was, at this time, only ſuſpected of hereſy. Nor was the imperial act an⯑nulled by the council, till after the paſs was violated. Huſs was condemned in the fifteenth ſeſſion, and the ſafe-conduct decreed invalid in the nineteenth.—With regard to the deficiency of the ſafe-con⯑duct, which is Morery's apology, it doth not appear, that it was ever an apology of ancient date. Huſs, it is certain, conſi⯑dered the ſafe-conduct as a ſufficient ſecu⯑rity for his return home: and indeed ſo [202] much is implied in the very nature of a ſafe-conduct. What title would that ge⯑neral deſerve, who ſhould invite his ene⯑my into his quarters by a paſs, and then ſeize him? Reaſoning however apart, let us call in fact. Omni prorſus impedi⯑mento remoto, tranſire, ſtare, morari, & REDIRE, liberè permittatis ſibique et ſuis, are the very words of the ſafe-conduct.’

In concluſion therefore we cannot but judge the emperor to have been guilty of a moſt notorious breach of faith. The blame however is generally laid, and with ſome reaſon, upon the council, who directed his conſcience. What true ſon of the church would dare to oppoſe his private opinion againſt the unanimous voice of a general council?

On the firſt of June, the council had pro⯑miſed the Bohemian deputies, that Huſs ſhould be examined within the week. They ſaid examined; but they meant condemned. In the mean time, as if they had been ſuſ⯑picious of their cauſe, all probable means were uſed to ſhake his reſolution, and make him retract: but his unaltered firmneſs gave them no hope of effecting their purpoſe.

[203]On the 5th of June it was reſolved, that the articles objected to him, ſhould be pro⯑duced, and in his abſence examined: when, after what they called a fair hearing, he ſhould be ſent for, and condemned.

There was attending the council, at that time, a public notary, whoſe name was Madonwitz. This man, whether ſtruck with the iniquity of their proceedings, or in his heart a favourer of Huſs, went im⯑mediately to the Bohemian deputies; and gave them a full information of the deſigns of the council. The deputies had no time to loſe. They demanded an inſtant audience of the emperor; and laid their complaints before him.

Sigiſmond was at leaſt a decent adverſary. The manners of a court had poliſhed away thoſe rough edges of bigotry in him, which appeared ſo harſh in the cloyſtered church-man. He was greatly offended at the groſs proceedings of the council; and ſent them a very arbitrary meſſage to deſiſt. He would have nothing done, he told them, but with the defendant face to face. This meſſage had its effect; and Huſs was ſummoned to appear before them the next day.

[204]The aſſembly was held in a large cloyſter belonging to the Franciſcans. Here a new ſcene, and of a very extraordinary kind, was preſented. The firſt article of the charge was ſcarce read, and a few witneſſes in a curſory manner examined, when, Huſs preparing to make his defence, the tumult began. Loud voices were heard from every quarter; a multitude of queſtions at the ſame inſtant aſked, every one ſpeaking, and no one heard, or heard but in one univerſal din of confuſion. From many parts even re⯑proaches, and the moſt opprobrious language broke out. — Such, on this occaſion, was the behaviour of the famous council of Conſtance. No forum could produce more licentious inſtances of popular tumult. If an interval of leſs diſorder ſucceeded, and Huſs was about to offer any thing in his de⯑fence, he was immediately interrupted: ‘What avails this? What is that to the purpoſe?’ No appearance of argument was brought againſt him.

Such aſtoniſhing licence moved, in ſome degree, the moſt diſpaſſionate of men. "In this place, (ſaid Huſs,) looking round him, I hoped to have found a different treatment." [205] His rebuke increaſed the clamour; ſo that finding it vain to attempt any farther defence, he held his peace. This was matter of new triumph: "He was now confounded, ſilenced, by confeſſion guilty." Luther hath given us a ſtrong picture of this unruly aſſembly. "Ibi omnes, (ſaith he) aprorum more, fremere, ſetas à tergo erigere, frontem corrugare, denteſque acuere caeperunt."

There were ſome in that council, men of cooler temper, who foreſeeing the ill effects of ſuch violence, uſed what credit they had to check it. To divert the furious ſpirit, which had ſpread among thoſe zealots, and to throw in ſo much moderation among them, as to bring them to debate calmly, was at this time impoſſible. All that could be done, was, to get the buſineſs poſtponed till another opportunity: which was at length, and with the utmoſt difficulty, effected.

The next morning they met again. They were hardly ſeated, when the emperor en⯑tered the council-chamber, and took his ſeat at the upper end of it. The diſorder of the aſſembly, the day before, had greatly diſ⯑guſted Sigiſmond; and he came now pre⯑pared [206] to awe them into a more decent be⯑haviour. His end was in part obtained. Mere decency was at leaſt obſerved. — It would be tedious to enter into a full detail of what paſſed upon this occaſion: what fol⯑lows is a ſummary of it.

The examination was opened by Du Caſſis; the firſt article of which exhibited a charge againſt Huſs for denying the real pre⯑ſence. This was proved by a Dominican, from a ſermon which Huſs had preached at Bethelem. He had only to anſwer, that he had always held the true catholic doctrine; which was a known truth among his friends; for he had ever believed tranſubſtantiation.

He was next charged in general with maintaining the pernicious errors of Wicliff. To this he anſwered, that he never had held any error, which he knew to be ſuch; and that he deſired nothing more than to be con⯑vinced of what errors he might inadvertently have fallen into.—Wicliff's doctrine of tythes was objected to him; which, he owned, he knew not how to refute. — It was farther proved, that he had expreſſed himſelf againſt burning the books of Wicliff. To this he anſwered, that he had ſpoken againſt burn⯑ing [207] them in the manner practiſed by the late archbiſhop of Prague, who condemned them to the flames without examining them. — He was farther charged with ſaying, that he wiſhed his ſoul in the ſame place, where Wicliff's was. This expreſſion, he owned, he had made uſe of; which afforded matter of great mirth to his hearers.

The next article charged him with ſedi⯑tion, in exciting the people to take arms againſt their ſovereign. But of this charge he entirely exculpated himſelf. Nothing indeed could be proved againſt him, but that in a ſermon, by no means temporizing, he had exhorted his hearers, in the apoſtle's language, to put on the whole armour of God. This very frivolous charge gives us the moſt adequate idea of the malice of his enemies.

The next article accuſed him of forming diſſentions between the church and the ſtate; and of ruining the univerſity of Prague. The former part of the accuſation alluded to a diſpute between the pope and the king of Bohemia, which Huſs was ſaid, though un⯑juſtly, to have fomented: the latter part to the affair of the Germans, which hath al⯑ready been placed in its proper light. — An [208] examination of Huſs on theſe few articles employed the firſt day.

The council riſing, he was carried back to priſon. As he paſſed by the cardinal of Cambray, who ſat near the emperor, the cardinal ſtopping him, ſaid, "I have been informed, you have heretofore boaſted, that unleſs you had choſen it yourſelf, neither the king of Bohemia, nor the emperor could have forced you to Conſtance." "My lord cardinal, (anſwered Huſs,) if I ſaid any thing of this kind, I ſaid it not in the ſtrong terms, in which it hath been repreſented to you. I might poſſibly ſpeak gratefully of the kind⯑neſs of my friends in Bohemia." Upon this the baron de Clum, who never left him, with a noble firmneſs, told the cardinal, that if what he had heard had been ſaid, it was only the truth. "I am far from being, (ſaid he,) a perſon of the greateſt conſequence in my own country: others have ſtronger caſtles, and more power than I have; yet even I would have ventured to have defend⯑ed this reverend father a whole year againſt the utmoſt efforts of both the princes you have mentioned."

[209]The emperor then turning to Huſs, told him, that he had given him his ſafe-conduct, which he found was more than was well in his power, that he might have an opportu⯑nity to vindicate his character: "But depend upon it, (ſaid he) if you continue obſtinate, I will make a fire with my own hands, to burn you, rather than you ſhall eſcape."

To this zealous ſpeech Huſs anſwered, in few words, that he could not charge himſelf with holding any opinions obſtinately; — that he came thither with joy rather than reluctance; that if any better doctrine than his own could be laid before him in that learned aſſembly, he might ſee his error, and embrace the truth. — Having ſaid this, he was carried back to priſon.

His examination did not end here. He was called before the council again; and many articles, not fewer than 40, were brought againſt him. The chief of them were extracted from his books; and ſome of them by very unfair deduction.

The following opinions, among many others, which gave offence, were eſteemed moſt criminal. —"That there was no abſo⯑lute neceſſity for a viſible head of the church— [210] that the church was better governed in apoſ⯑tolic times without one — that the title of holineſs was improperly given to man—that a wicked pope could not poſſibly be the vicar of Chriſt, and he denied the very authority on which he pretended to act — that liberty of conſcience was every ones natural right— that eccleſiaſtical cenſures, eſpecially ſuch as touched the life of man, had no foundation in ſcripture — that eccleſiaſtical obedience ſhould have its limits—that no excommuni⯑cation ſhould deter the prieſt from his duty— that preaching was as much required from the miniſter of religion, as alms-giving from the man of ability; and that neither of them could hide his talent in the earth without in⯑curring the divine diſpleaſure."—Paletz and the cardinal of Cambray were the chief ma⯑nagers of this examination.

To theſe opinions, moſt of which were proved and acknowledged, he added many things in the courſe of his examination, which were eagerly laid hold on; particularly againſt the ſcandalous lives of the clergy of every denomination; the open ſymony practiſed among them, their luxury, lewdneſs, and ignorance.

[211]Huſs having now been examined on all thoſe articles, which the niceſt ſcrutiny into his books, and the moſt exact remembrance of his words, could furniſh, the cardinal of Cambray thus accoſted him. ‘Your guilt hath now been laid before this auguſt aſſembly with its full force of evidence. I am obliged therefore to take upon me the diſagreeable taſk of informing you, that only this alternative is offered to you: either to abjure theſe damnable errors, and ſubmit yourſelf to the council; in which caſe theſe reverend fathers will deal as gently with you as poſſible: or to abide the ſevere conſequence of an obſtinate adherence to them.’ To which Huſs anſwered, that he had nothing to ſay, but what he had often ſaid before; that he came there not to defend any opinion obſtinately; but with an earneſt deſire to ſee his errors, and amend them; — that many opinions had been laid to his charge, ſome of which he had never maintained, and others, which he had maintained, were not yet confuted;— that as in the firſt caſe, he thought it abſurd to abjure opinions which were never his; ſo [212] in the ſecond, he was determined to ſubſcribe nothing againſt his conſcience."

The emperor told him, he ſaw no diffi⯑culty in his renouncing errors, which he had never held. "For myſelf, ſaid he, I am, at this moment, ready to renounce every hereſy, that hath exiſted in the Chriſtian church: does it therefore follow that I have been an heretic?"

Huſs reſpectfully made a diſtinction be⯑tween abjuring errors in general; and abjuring errors which had been falſely imputed: the latter he could not abjure; but he prayed the council to hear him upon theſe points, which to them appeared erroneous; were it only to convince them that he had ſomething to ſay for the opinions he maintained. To this requeſt however the council paid no atten⯑tion.

Here Paletz and De Caſſis took an oppor⯑tunity to exculpate themſelves of any appear⯑ance of malice in this diſagreeable proſecu⯑tion. They both had entered upon the taſk with great unwillingneſs; and had done no⯑thing but what their duty required. To which the cardinal of Cambray added, that he could ſufficiently exculpate them on that [213] head. They had behaved; he ſaid, through the whole of this tedious buſineſs, with great humanity; and to his knowledge might have acted a much ſeverer part.

The emperor obſerving, that every thing, which the cauſe would bear, had now been offered, aroſe from his ſeat, and thus ad⯑dreſſed himſelf to the council.

‘You have now heard, reverend fathers, an ample detail of hereſies, not only proved, but confeſſed; each of which unqueſtion⯑ably, in my judgment, deſerveth death. If therefore the heretic continueth obſtinate in the maintenance of his opinions, he muſt certainly die. And if he ſhould even abjure them, I ſhould by no means think it proper to ſend him again into Bohemia; where new opportunities would give him new ſpirits, and raiſe a ſecond commotion worſe than the firſt.—As to the fate how⯑ever of this unhappy man, be that as it may hereafter be determined; at preſent, let me only add, that an authentic copy of the condemned articles ſhould be ſent into Bohemia, as a ground-work for the clergy there to proceed on; that hereſy may at [214] length be rooted up, and peace reſtored to that diſtracted country.’

The emperor having finiſhed his ſpeech, it was agreed in the council to allow Huſs a month longer to give in his final anſwer. With the utmoſt difficulty he had ſupported himſelf through this ſevere trial. Beſides the malice of his enemies, he had upon him the paroxiſm of a very violent diſorder. On this laſt day he was ſcarce able to walk, when he was led from the council. His conſolation in theſe circumſtances was a cold and hungry dungeon, into which he was inhumanly thruſt.

His friend, the baron, attended him even hither, and with every inſtance of endearing tenderneſs, endeavoured to ſupport him. The ſuffering martyr wrung his hand; and looking round the horrid ſcene, earneſtly cried out, ‘Good God! this is friendſhip indeed!’ His keepers ſoon after put him in irons; and none, but ſuch as were licenced by the council, were allowed to ſee him.

The generous nature of Sigiſmond, tho' he was not unverſed in the artifices of the cabinet, abhorred a practiſed fraud. The affair of Huſs, amidſt all the caſuiſtry of the [215] council, gave him keen diſtreſs; and he wiſhed for nothing more ardently, than to rid his hands of it with honour.—On the other ſide, his vanity and his intereſt engaged him to appear the defender of the catholic cauſe in Germany. If he ſuffered Huſs to be put to death, one part of the world would queſtion his honour; if he interfered with a high hand in preſerving him, the other part would queſtion his religion. The perplexity was great; from which he thought nothing could relieve him, but the recantation of Huſs.

To obtain this, he tried every mean in his power, he had already endeavoured to inti⯑midate him with high language, which he had uſed, both in the council, and in other places. But this was ineffectual. He had now recourſe to ſoothing arts. The form of a recantation was offered; in which Huſs was required only to renounce thoſe hereſies, which had been fairly proved. But that undaunted man ſtill continued inflexible. Several deputations were afterwards ſent to him in priſon; and biſhops, cardinals, and princes in vain tried their eloquence to per⯑ſuade him.

[216]Sigiſmond ſeeing the concluſion to which this fatal affair was approaching, might pro⯑bably have intereſted himſelf thus far, as thinking he had been too condeſcending to the council. The flame too, which he ſaw kindling in Bohemia, where he had high expectations, and was willing to preſerve an intereſt, might alarm him greatly. He had gone too far however to recede; and knew not how to take Huſs out of the hands of the council; into which he had given him with ſo much zeal and devotion.

In the mean time Huſs remained maſter of his ſate; and ſhewed a conſtancy which ſcarce any age hath excelled. He amuſed himſelf, while it was permitted, with writing letters to his friends, which were privately conveyed by the Bohemian lords, who viſit⯑ed him in priſon. Many of theſe letters are ſtill extant. The following may be a teſt of that compoſed piety and rational frame of mind, which ſupported him in all his ſuffer⯑ings.

"My dear friends, let me take this laſt opportunity of exhorting you to truſt in nothing here, but to give yourſelves up en⯑tirely to the ſervice of God. Well am I [217] authorized to warn you not to truſt in princes, nor in any child of man, for there is no help in them. God only remaineth ſtedfaſt. What he promiſeth, he will undoubtedly perform. For myſelf, on his gracious pro⯑miſe I reſt. Having endeavoured to be his faithful ſervant, I fear not being deſerted by him. Where I am, ſays the gracious pro⯑miſer, there ſhall my ſervant be. May the God of heaven preſerve you!—This is pro⯑bably the laſt letter I ſhall be enabled to write. I have reaſon to believe I ſhall be called upon to morrow to anſwer with my life. — Sigiſmond hath in all things acted deceitfully.—I pray God forgive him! You have heard in what ſevere language he hath ſpoken of me."

The month, which had been allowed by the council, being now expired, a deputation of four biſhops came to receive his laſt an⯑ſwer, which was given in the ſame language as before.

The ſixth of July was appointed for his condemnation; the ſcene of which was opened with extraordinary pomp. In the morning of that day, the biſhops and tem⯑poral lords of the council, each in his robes, [218] aſſembled in the great church at Conſtance The emperor preſided in a chair of ſtate When all were ſeated, Huſs was brought in by a guard. In the middle of the church, a ſcaffold had been erected; near which a table was placed, covered with the veſtments of a Romiſh prieſt.

After a ſermon, in which the preacher earneſtly exhorted his hearers to cut off the man of ſin, the proceedings began. The articles alledged againſt him were read aloud; as well thoſe, which he had, as thoſe which he had not allowed. This treatment Huſs oppoſed greatly; and would gladly, for his character's ſake, have made a diſtinction: but finding all endeavours of this kind in⯑effectual, and being indeed plainly told by the cardinal of Cambray, that no farther op⯑portunity of anſwering for himſelf ſhould be allowed, he deſiſted; and falling on his knees, in a pathetic ejaculation, commend⯑ed his cauſe to Chriſt.

The articles againſt him, as form required, having been recited, the ſentence of his con⯑demnation was read. The inſtrument is tedious: in ſubſtance it runs, "That John Huſs, being a diſciple of Wicliff of damna⯑ble [219] memory, whoſe life he had defended, and whoſe doctrines he had maintained, is adjudged by the council of Conſtance (his tenets having been firſt condemned) to be an obſtinate heretic; and as ſuch, to be de⯑graded from the office of a prieſt; and cut off from the holy church."

His ſentence having been thus pronounced, he was ordered to put on the prieſt's veſt⯑ments, and aſcend the ſcaffold, according to form, where he might ſpeak to the peo⯑ple; and, it was hoped, might ſtill have the grace to retract his errors. But Huſs con⯑tented himſelf with ſaying once more, that he knew of no errors, which he had to re⯑tract; that none had been proved upon him; and that he would not injure the doctrine he had taught, nor the conſciences of thoſe who had heard him, by aſcribing to him⯑ſelf errors, of which he had never been convinced.

When he came down from the ſcaffold, he was received by ſeven biſhops, who were commiſſioned to degrade him. The cere⯑monies of this buſineſs exhibited a very un⯑chriſtian ſcene. The biſhops forming a cir⯑cle round him, each adding a curſe took off [220] a part of his attire. When they had thus ſtripped him of his ſacerdotal veſtments, they proceeded to eraſe his tonſure, which they did by clipping it into the form of a croſs. Some writers ſay, that in doing this, they even tore and mangled his head; but ſuch ſtories are unqueſtionably the exagge⯑ration of zeal. The laſt act of their zeal was to adorn him with a large paper cap; on which, various, and horrid forms of devils were painted. This cap one of the biſhops put upon his head; with this unchriſtian ſpeech, ‘Hereby we commit thy ſoul to the devil.’ Huſs ſmiling, obſerved, ‘It was leſs painful than a crown of thorns.’

The ceremony of his degradation being thus over, the biſhops preſented him to the emperor. They had now done, they told him, all the church allowed. What re⯑mained was of civil authority. Sigiſmond ordered the duke of Bavaria to receive him, who immediately gave him into the hands of an officer. This perſon had orders to ſee him burned, with every thing he had about him.

At the gate of the church a guard of 800 men waited to conduct him to the place of [221] execution. He was carried firſt to the gate of the epiſcopal palace; where a pile of wood being kindled, his books were burned before his face. Huſs ſmiled at the indignity.

When he came to the ſtake, he was allowed ſome time for devotion; which he performed in ſo animated a manner, that many of the ſpectators, who came there ſufficiently prejudiced againſt him, cried out, ‘What this man hath ſaid within doors we know not, but ſurely he prayeth like a Chriſtian.’

As he was preparing for the ſtake, he was aſked whether he choſe a confeſſor? He anſwered in the affirmative; and a prieſt was called. The deſign was to draw from him a retractation, without which, the prieſt ſaid, he durſt not confeſs him. "If that be your reſolution, ſaid Huſs, I muſt die without confeſſion: I truſt in God, I have no mor⯑tal ſin to anſwer for."

He was then tied to the ſtake with wet cords, and faſtened by a chain round his body. As the executioners were begining to pile the faggots around him, a voice from the crowd was heard, ‘Turn him from the eaſt; turn him from the eaſt.’ It ſeemed [222] like a voice from heaven. They who con⯑ducted the execution, ſtruck at once with the impropriety, or rather prophaneneſs o [...] what they had done, gave immediate order [...] to have him turned due weſt.

Before fire was brought, the duke of Bavaria rode up, and exhorted him once more to retract his errors. But he ſtill con⯑tinued firm. "I have no errors, ſaid he, to retract: I endeavoured to preach Chriſt with apoſtolic plainneſs; and I am now pre⯑pared to ſeal my doctrine with my blood."

The faggots being lighted, he recom⯑mended himſelf into the hands of God, and began a hymn, which he continued ſinging, till the wind drove the flame and ſmoke into his face. For ſome time he was inviſible. When the rage of the fire abated, his body half conſumed appeared hanging over the chain; which, together with the poſt, were thrown down, and a new pile heaped over them. The malice of his ene⯑mies purſued his very remains. His aſhes were gathered up, and ſcattered in the Rhine; that the very earth might not feel the load of ſuch enormous guilt.

[223]From this view of the life and ſufferings of Huſs, it is hard to ſay what were the real grounds of the animoſity he had raiſed. His creed unqueſtionably was far from being exactly orthodox; yet it is plain how very ill able his adverſaries were to gather from it offenſive matter enough for an accuſation. He believed tranſubſtantiation; he allowed the adoration of ſaints; he practiſed con⯑feſſion; he ſpoke cautiouſly of tradition, and reverently of the ſeven ſacraments; and whatever latitude he might give himſelf on any of theſe articles, it was not more than had been often taken, inoffenſively taken, by Gerſon, Zabarelle, and other ſpirited divines of the Roman church.

Beſides, the great pains the council took to avoid a public queſtion, and the great confidence with which Huſs deſired one, are preſumptions very ſtrong in his favour.

It is the opinion of Lenfant, that the great cauſe of his condemnation was his in⯑troducing Wicliff's doctrine into Bohemia; and chiefly perhaps that offenſive part of it, which ſtruck at the temporalities of the clergy. And indeed this is extremely pro⯑bable from the whole conduct of the coun⯑cil; [224] for though it is apparent, that he never adopted the entire ſyſtem of that reformer; yet his principles, it is certain, would have led him much farther, than they had hitherto done: and the fathers of the council being aware of this, ſeem to have determined, though at the expence of juſtice, to cruſh an evil in its origin, which appeared teeming with ſo much miſchief.

Beſides this, there ſeems to have been another cauſe for that unabated prejudice, which ran ſo high againſt him. The warmth, with which he treated the corruptions of the clergy, and the uſurpations of the church of Rome, was a crime never to be forgiven by the eccleſiaſtics of thoſe times; and added the keeneſt edge to their reſentment. — But as this was an unpopular cauſe to appear in, it is plain they wanted to have it believed their reſentment aroſe upon another account. This ſeems to have been the foundation of a ſpeech, attributed by Varillas to cardinal Perron; "My learned friends, (he would ſay,) you cannot employ your time worſe, than in giving the world any account of the affairs of Huſs."

[225]His LIFE however was the ſevereſt ſatyr upon the clergy. It was a mirror, which reflected their diſtorted features. In him they ſaw the true eccleſiaſtic, and the real chriſtian,—characters ſo different from their own. Gentle and condeſcending to the ſen⯑timents of others, this amiable pattern of virtue was ſtrict only in his own principles. The opinions indeed of men were leſs his concern than their practice. His great con⯑teſt was with vice; and he treated the mini⯑ſters of religion with freedom, only as he thought their example encouraged, rather than checked, that licence, which prevailed. The great lines in his character were piety, and fortitude. His piety was calm, rational, and manly: his fortitude nothing human could daunt. The former was free from the leaſt tincture of enthuſiaſm; the latter from the leaſt degree of weakneſs. He was in every reſpect an apoſtolical man. "From his infancy, (ſays the univerſity of Prague, in a voluntary teſtimonial,) he was of ſuch excellent morals, that during his ſtay here, we may venture to challenge any one to pro⯑duce a ſingle fault againſt him."

[226]As to his parts and acquirements, he ſeems to have been above mediocrity; and yet not in the higheſt form, in reſpect of either. A vein of good ſenſe runs through all his writings; but their diſtinguiſhing characteriſtics are ſimplicity and piety. In one of Luther's pieces we have the follow⯑ing teſtimony in their favour. "In a mo⯑naſtic library, (ſays that reformer,) a volume of Huſs's writings fell in my way; which I ſeized with great eagerneſs, ſurprized that ſuch a book had eſcaped the flames, and de⯑ſirous to know ſomething of the opinions of that hereſiarch. But who can expreſs my aſtoniſhment, when I found him by many degrees the moſt rational expounder of ſcrip⯑ture I had ever met with. I could not help crying out, What could occaſion the ſeverity with which this man was treated! yet as the name of Huſs was ſo deteſtable; and as a favourable opinion of him was ſo ut⯑terly inconſiſtent with a Chriſtian's faith, I ſhut the book, and could find comfort only in this thought, that perhaps he wrote theſe things before his fall; for I was yet ignorant of what had paſſed at the council of Con⯑ſtance."

[227]To preſerve the memory of this excellent man, the 6th of July was, for many years, held ſacred among the Bohemians. A ſer⯑vice, adapted to the day, was appointed to be read in all churches; and inſtead of a ſermon, an oration was ſpoken in commen⯑dation of their martyr, in which the noble ſtand he made againſt eccleſiaſtical tyranny was commemorated; and his example pro⯑poſed as a pattern to all Chriſtians.

In ſome places large fires were lighted in the evening, upon the mountains, to preſerve the memory of his ſufferings; round which the country-people would aſſemble, and ſing hymns in his praiſe.

A very remarkable medal was ſtruck in honour of him, on which was repreſented his effigies, with this inſcription, CENTUM REVOLUTIS ANNIS DEO RESPONDEBITIS ET MIHI. Theſe words are ſaid to have been ſpoken by him to his adverſaries, a little be⯑fore his execution; and were afterwards applied, by the zealots of his ſect, as pro⯑phetic of Luther; who lived about an hun⯑dred years after him. The ſtory carries with it an air of irrational zeal; and ſeems calculated only for the credulous.

[229]The life of JEROME of PRAGUE.

WE find very little relating to the early part of the life of this reformer. As he was a zealous follower of Huſs, and united with him in all his ſchemes; the actions, in which they were jointly engaged, are aſcribed by hiſtorians to Huſs, as the more eminent leader. In general however, we find his youth ſpent in an eager purſuit of knowledge; which he ſought after in all the more conſiderable univerſities of Europe; particularly in thoſe of Prague, Paris, Hei⯑delburgh, Cologn, and Oxford.

At Oxford, which ſeems to have been the laſt ſeat of learning, which he viſited, he became acquainted with the works of Wicliff; and being a perſon of uncommon application, he tranſlated many of them into his native language; having with great pains made himſelf maſter of the Engliſh.

[230]It is probable he had conceived an eſteem for Wicliff, before he went to Oxford. At his return to Prague, he profeſſed himſelf an open favourer of him; and finding his doctrines had made a conſiderable progreſs in Bohemia, and that Huſs was at the head of that party, which had eſpouſed them, he attached himſelf to that leader.

Huſs was glad of ſo able an aſſiſtant in his great work of reforming the clergy: for Jerome was inferior to none of his time, in point either of abilities, or learning;—ſupe⯑rior certainly to his maſter in both. Huſs was however better qualified as the leader of a party; his gentleneſs, and very perſuaſive manner conciliating the minds of men in his favour: whereas Jerome, with all his great and good qualities, wanted temper.

Of this we have ſome inſtances; one in⯑deed very flagrant. He was diſputing with two monks about reliques, whom he acci⯑dentally met on the banks of the Muldaw; and finding himſelf more warmly oppoſed than he expected, he ſeized one of them by the middle, and threw him into the river. The monk recovered the ſhore; but was in no condition to purſue his argument. So [231] Jerome triumphed by the ſtrength of his arm. Whether this ſtory be a fact, as in⯑deed Lenfant ſpeaks very dubiouſly of the truth of it, we have however no reaſon to doubt, that Jerome was principally concern⯑ed in thoſe paſſionate doings, which have been mentioned in the life of Huſs.

We find little more recorded of Jerome, till the time of the council of Conſtance. When Huſs went thither, Jerome, we are told, very pathetically exhorted him to bear up firmly in this great trial; and in parti⯑cular to inſiſt ſtrenuouſly upon the corrupt ſtate of the clergy; and the neceſſity of a reformation. He added, that if he ſhould hear in Bohemia, that Huſs was overpower⯑ed by his adverſaries, he would immediately repair to Conſtance; and lend him what aſſiſtance he was able.

He promiſed only what he fully intended. He no ſooner heard of the difficulties, in which his maſter was engaged, than he ſet out for Conſtance; notwithſtanding Huſs wrote very preſſing letters, inſiſting upon his putting off the deſign, as dangerous, and unprofitable.

[232]He arrived at Conſtance, on the 4th of April, 1415; about three months before the death of Huſs. He entered the town pri⯑vately; and conſulting with ſome of the leaders of his party; whom he found there, he was eaſily convinced, that he could be of no ſervice to his friend: he found the coun⯑cil would not ſo much as give him an hear⯑ing; and that open violence was the only argument they uſed. He heard likewiſe, that his arrival at Conſtance had taken air; and that the council intended to ſeize him.

As this was the ſituation of things, he thought it prudent to retire. Accordingly the next day he went to Iberling, an impe⯑rial town about a mile from Conſtance; whither he fled, ſays Reichenthal, with ſuch precipitation, that he left his ſword behind him. Reichenthal was an officer, em⯑ployed by the council, to give an account of all ſtrangers, who came to Conſtance.

From Iberling Jerome wrote to the em⯑peror, and profeſſed his readineſs to appear before the council, if that prince would give him a ſafe-conduct. But Sigiſmond had the honeſty to refuſe. Jerome then [233] tried the council; but could not obtain a favourable anſwer.

In this perplexity he put up papers in all the public places of Conſtance, particularly upon the doors of the cardinals houſes, in which he profeſſed his readineſs to appear at Conſtance, in the defence of his character, and doctrine, both which he heard had been exceedingly defamed; and declared, that if any error ſhould be proved againſt him, he would with great readineſs retract it; begg⯑ing only that the faith of the council might be given for his ſecurity.

Theſe papers obtaining no anſwer, he ſet out upon his return to Bohemia. He had the precaution to carry with him a certificate ſigned by ſeveral of the Bohemian nobility then at Conſtance, teſtifying, that he had uſed all prudent means in his power to ob⯑tain a hearing.

But he did not thus eſcape. At Hirſaw he was ſeized by an officer of the duke of Sultzbach; who, though he acted un⯑authorized, made little doubt of the coun⯑cil's thanks for ſo acceptable a ſervice.

Reichanthal hath given us a more parti⯑cular account of this matter. "At a village [234] upon the borders of the black foreſt, (ſaith that ſtrenuous defender of the council,) Jerome fell accidentally in company with ſome prieſts. The converſation turning upon the council of Conſtance, Jerome grew warm; and among other ſevere things, called that aſſembly the ſchool of the devil, and a ſynagogue of iniquity. The prieſts, ſcandal⯑ized at this language, gave immediate in⯑formation of it to the chief magiſtrates of the place, who arreſted Jerome, and put him into the hands of the duke of Sultz⯑bach.—This ſtory hath by no means an im⯑probable air; as it is rather characteriſtic; though Lenfant treats it as a fable.

The duke of Sultzbach, having gotten Jerome in his power, wrote to the council for directions. The council, expreſſing their obligations to the duke, deſired him to ſend his priſoner immediately to Con⯑ſtance. The elector-palatine met him, and conducted him in triumph into the town; himſelf riding on horſe-back, with a nu⯑merous retinue, who led Jerome, in fetters, by a long chain, after him.

He was brought immediately before the council. Here a citation was read to him; [235] which, it was ſaid, had been poſted up in Conſtance, in anſwer to the papers, which he had ſent from Iberling; and he was queſtioned about his precipitate flight from that town. To this he anſwered, that he had waited a reaſonable time for an anſwer to his paper; but had never heard of any ſuch anſwer till that moment. He added, that if he had heard of it, he would have returned to Conſtance, though he had been upon the confines of Bohemia.

Great was the clamour which enſued on this declaration. So eager was every mouth to open upon him, that the impartial ſpecta⯑tor ſaw rather the repreſentation of the bait⯑ing of a wild beaſt, than a wiſe aſſembly enquiring after truth. Nothing indeed more diſgraceth the popiſh cauſe, than the groſs indecency, which, in a manner, was au⯑thorized on theſe ſolemn occaſions. A good cauſe hath never recourſe to tumult.

Among thoſe, who clamoured loudeſt againſt Jerome, we find a perſon, whom we are unwilling to ſee mixing in ſuch a ſcene of diſorder; — John Gerſon, chancellor of the univerſity of Paris, one of the moſt learned, as well as the moſt knowing men [236] of his time, but without that candour which uſually attends knowledge. With great acrimony he reproached Jerome for the novel opinions he had introduced in Paris, while he ſtudied there. Jerome anſwered with equal ſpirit, that it was hard to object opi⯑nions of ſo long a date; — that it was well known the diſputations of young ſtudents were meant rather as the exerciſe of genius, than as ſtrict diſquiſitions of truth; — that no exceptions, at this time, had been made to the opinions, which he had maintained; — ſo far from it, that he had been honoured with a degree; — but that however, if the chancellor would make his objections, he would be ready either to defend, or retract what he had ſaid.

As the chancellor was about to reply, an inundation of furious language broke in upon their diſcourſe. The rectors particu⯑larly of the univerſities of Cologn, and Heidelburgh, following the track of Gerſon, made lamentable complaints of the peſtilent hereſies which Jerome had maintained in thoſe places; one of them in particular dwelt much upon an impious idea he had given of the Trinity, comparing it to water, ſnow, [237] and ice. Jerome had no opportunity of anſwering. A thouſand voices burſt out from every quarter, ‘Away with him: burn him: burn him.’

This confuſion continued nearly the ſpace of half an hour. Jerome ſtood amazed at the groſs indecency of the ſcene. As ſoon as he had collected himſelf, and could in any degree be heard, he looked round the aſſem⯑bly with a noble air, and cried out aloud, ‘Since nothing can ſatisfy you but my blood, God's will be done!’

Thus ended his firſt hearing. He was carried from the aſſembly into a dungeon, under the cuſtody of a guard, till it could be determined how to diſpoſe of him.

As he was ſitting here, ruminating upon his approaching fate, a voice ſtruck him, calling out in theſe words, ‘Fear not, Jerome, to die in the cauſe of that truth, which, during thy life, thou haſt defend⯑ed.’ Jerome looking up to a dark win⯑dow, from whence the voice ſeemed to come, cried out, ‘Whoever thou art, who deigneſt to comfort an abject man, I give thee thanks for thy kind office. I have indeed lived defending what I thought the [238] truth: the harder taſk yet remains, to die for its ſake: but God, I hope, will ſup⯑port me againſt fleſh and blood.’

This converſation alarmed the guard, who ruſhing in diſcovered the offender. He ap⯑peared to be that Maddonwitz, whoſe ſer⯑vices to Huſs have already been mentioned.

The affair was uſed as a pretence for more ſeverity againſt Jerome, who was immedi⯑ately conveyed to a ſtrong tower, where his hands being tied behind his neck, he was left to languiſh in that painful poſture, during the ſpace of two days, without any aliment, but bread and water.

Theſe ſeverities, and others, which were inflicted upon him, were intended to force a recantation from him; a point which the council exceedingly laboured. Nothing, in the way either of promiſing or threatening, was omitted, which, it was thought, might be effectual to that end.

His confinement brought upon him a dangerous illneſs; in the courſe of which he ſent preſſing inſtances to the council for a confeſſor. This afforded a proper occaſion to work upon him; and he was given to [239] underſtand, upon what terms he might be gratified. But he remained immoveable.

The next attempt upon him, was imme⯑diately after the death of Huſs. The cir⯑cumſtances of that affair were laid before him, and the fatal example preſſed home in the moſt affecting manner. Jerome liſtened without emotion; and anſwered in ſuch re⯑ſolute language, as afforded little hopes of his ſudden converſion.

His conſtancy, however, at length gave way. Fleſh and blood could not ſupport him longer. The ſimple fear of death he withſtood; but to endure impriſonment, chains, hunger, ſickneſs, and even torture, through a ſucceſſion of many months, was too great a trial for human nature. But though he fell in this conflict, yet he fell not, till he had made a noble ſtand. He was three times brought before the council; and having as often withſtood the fury of intemperate zeal, retired, maſter of himſelf, to the horrors of his dungeon.

On the 11th of September his judges firſt had hopes of his recantation. He began to waver; and talked obſcurely of his having miſunderſtood the tendency of ſome of the [240] tenets of Huſs. Promiſes and threatenings were now redoubled upon him; and the 20th was appointed for a more ample con⯑feſſion of his hereſies. He was ſounded the night before; but not being yet brought to a proper flexibility, another day was appoint⯑ed. That fatal day was the 23d of Sep⯑tember; when he read aloud an ample re⯑cantation, of all the opinions he had main⯑tained, couched in words directed by the council. In this paper he acknowledged the errors of Wicliff, and of Huſs, entirely aſſented to the condemnation of the latter, and declared himſelf, in every article, a firm believer with the church of Rome.

Having thus acted againſt his conſcience, with a heavy heart he retired from the coun⯑cil. His chains indeed were taken from him; but the load was only transferred from his body to his mind. Vain were the careſſes of thoſe about him: they only mocked his ſorrow. His priſon was now indeed a gloomy ſolitude. The anguiſh of his own thoughts had made it ſuch.

Paletz, and Du Caſſis, who were the chief managers againſt him, as they had been againſt Huſs, ſoon obſerved this change. [241] His recantation, they ſaid publicly, came only from his lips; and they determined, to bring him to a ſecond hearing. It is proba⯑ble indeed they acted in this buſineſs only an under-part. The pretence for a new trial was a new accuſation. Some Carmelite friars, juſt arrived from Bohemia, laid before the council many ſtrong articles againſt Je⯑rome, which had not yet appeared. Paletz taking up the affair, ſeconded the Carmelites with great zeal: others again, as the ſcheme had been laid, harangued on different arti⯑cles.

The managers however of this buſineſs ſoon found, they were likely to meet with a warmer oppoſition than they had imagined. The cardinals particularly of Cambray and Florence, and others, who had been ap⯑pointed judges by the council in the cauſe of Jerome, loudly exclaimed againſt a ſecond trial. ‘He hath ſubmitted, (ſaid they,) to the council; — he hath acknowledged his errors in particular, as well as in general, what can we expect more? Hitherto we have acted with credit: let us ſtop here, and not ſuffer an intemperate zeal for truth to carry us beyond the bounds of juſtice.’

[242]Whether the love of juſtice was the only motive with theſe cardinals may be queſtion⯑ed. It is probable they were influenced by motives of policy alſo. The death of Huſs had occaſioned a greater commotion in Bo⯑hemia than had been foreſeen. Nothing was heard in the ſtreets of Prague, but cla⯑mour againſt the council, which was every where repreſented as an aſſembly of perſe⯑cutors. The council, it ſeems, had written a letter, in very ſmooth language, to palliate what had been done in the caſe of Huſs: but it had little effect. On the contrary, the principal Huſſites, (for by that name the party became now diſtinguiſhed,) aſſembled in the church of Bethelem, where they de⯑creed the honour of martyrdom to their maſter. They went farther: they ſent a letter to Conſtance; in which, having given ample teſtimony to the merits of Huſs, they reproached the council with his death; ex⯑preſſing at the ſame time their devotion to the ſee of Rome, when the confuſion, with which it was diſtracted, ſhould be at an end. This letter was ſigned by 54 of the firſt nobility in Bohemia, and Moravia: ſome Poliſh lords too ſubſcribed it. Nor was it [243] thought that Winceſlaus himſelf, though no way attached to the cauſe of Huſs, had in⯑terfered in checking the diſturbance occa⯑ſioned by his death. It is certain, he had taken great offence at the council for the affront, which he thought they had put upon him; and wanted only an opportunity of ſhewing them how much he was offended.

From the determined ſpirit of this letter, it was eaſy to obſerve the ſeeds of fire ſcat⯑tered in Bohemia, which a ſingle breath might excite into flame; and how general this flame might afterwards become, it was impoſſible to foreſee. All well-wiſhers there⯑fore to the peace of Chriſtendom, thought it prudent to refrain from counſels of an inflammatory kind.

Among theſe, it is probable, were the cardinals juſt mentioned; who laboured, with what addreſs they were able, to prevent a ſecond trial. But their endeavours were ineffectual. A torrent of zeal and bigotry bore down all oppoſition. Even the learned Gerſon joined in this unmanly clamour; and with great indecency employed his pen, as well as his tongue, upon the occaſion. A treatiſe of his was made public, in which he [244] ſhewed how little ſtreſs could be laid upon the recantation of heretics. To ſuch an height ran diſſention on this occaſion, that the cardinal of Cambray was even reproach⯑ed in public, on a ſuppoſition of having taken money from the king of Bohemia.

He, and his colleagues, finding them⯑ſelves unable to ſtem ſo furious a tide, at length gave way to it. They entered their proteſt however againſt theſe violent proceed⯑ings, and laid down the commiſſion, with which the council had intruſted them. It was immediately taken up, with the general approbation of all the zealot-party, by the patriarch of Conſtantinople; who having ſufficiently ſhewn his ſpirit in the affair of Huſs, was conſidered as a man prepared to go any lengths.

While theſe things were in agitation, a full half-year elapſed; during which time Jerome's enemies had influence enough to continue his confinement, till ſome end ſhould be put to the affair.

It was not till the May of the year 1416, that Jerome was called again before the council. He had long been apprized of the deſign of bringing him to a ſecond trial [245] upon ſome new evidence which had appear⯑ed. This, amidſt all his diſtreſſes, was his great conſolation; and he rejoiced at an op⯑portunity of acknowledging publickly that ſhameful defection, which hung ſo heavy upon him.

A little before the day of trial, he was in⯑formed, that proctors were appointed, by whom he might urge his defence. But he inſiſted poſitively upon making no defence in any form, unleſs the council would give him an audience; and let him anſwer for himſelf. This, after much difficulty, and long debatings, was at length allowed.

When he was brought to an audience, he was charged with various articles; the chief of which were,—His adherence to the errors of Wicliff,—his having had a picture of that heretic in his chamber, arrayed in the com⯑mon ornaments of a ſaint,—his counterfeit⯑ing the ſeal of the univerſity of Oxford in favour of Wicliff,—His deſpiſing the autho⯑rity of the church after excommunication,— and his denial of tranſubſtantiation.

On all theſe articles of accuſation, and what others of leſs moment were objected to him, he anſwered with great ſpirit. [246] "That he thought well of Wicliff, and of his doctrine, he ſaid, he ſcrupled not to own; but that he thought him infallible, as ſeemed to be inſinuated, was falſe; — that many of his books he had never ſeen; and that he could not ſubſcribe in all points to thoſe he had: but that in general he believed many errors had been laid to his charge, of which he was innocent; for he was too wiſe a man, he ſaid, to be the author of groſs abſurdities, many of which his enemies had inſerted in his creed. — With regard to his having had a picture of Wicliff in his poſſeſ⯑ſion, he ſaid, it was very true; and that he had the pictures likewiſe of many other learned men; but he remembred not, he ſaid, that Wicliff's portrait was dreſſed in any ſaint-like ornaments; — that as to the charge of his having counterfeited the ſeal of the univerſity of Oxford, he had ſeen, he ſaid, a teſtimonial under that ſeal, in favour of Wicliff, which he had been made to be⯑lieve was authentic: he owned too, that he had read it publickly; but that as to his having counterfeited either the ſeal, or the inſtrument, he was totally innocent of the charge; and it reſted upon his opponents to [247] prove the allegation. This affair of a falſe teſtimonial made much noiſe, it ſeems, at that time. But from the general temper of the univerſity it is probable, the inſtrument was authentic; and the evidence of hiſtory confirms its authenticity.—Finally, Jerome declared ſolemnly, that he had never deſpiſed the authority of the church: he could prove, he ſaid, that he had uſed every probable method in his power to be reconciled to it;— and that laſtly, he had never, either in con⯑verſation, or writing, oppoſed the doctrine of tranſubſtantiation.

Having thus proteſted his innocence, he gave the council a circumſtantial detail of his coming to Conſtance; and of all that had ſince befallen him. Then raiſing his voice, and expreſſing himſelf firſt with ſome aſperity againſt his accuſers, he told them, he was now going to lay himſelf more open to them, than he had yet done. He then, with great emotion, declared before the whole aſſembly, that the fear of death only had induced him to retract opinions, which from his heart he maintained; — that he had done injuſtice to the memory of thoſe two excellent men, John Wicliff, and John [248] Huſs; whoſe examples he revered; and in whoſe doctrine he was determined to die. He concluded with a ſevere invective againſt the clergy; the depravity of whoſe manners, he ſaid, was now every where notorious.

It may truly be lamented, that the whole of his ſpeech, upon this occaſion, hath not been preſerved. It is ſaid to have been a model of true eloquence. The minds of his hearers were ſo captivated with it, that, in ſpite of themſelves, they were attentive. Once or twice he was interrupted; but the interrupters paid ſeverely for their imperti⯑nence: they were ſoon laſhed into confuſion by the acrimony of his language, and the ſpirit, with which he ſpoke. So collected was he, ſo entirely maſter of himſelf; and of every topic, on which he diſcourſed, that it ſeemed as if heaven had indulged him, on this ſolemn occaſion, in the exertion of more than natural powers. It is ſaid, that many in the council, while he was ſpeaking, became ſo prejudiced in his favour, that they ſat with a dread upon them, leſt he ſhould utter ſomething, which might throw him beyond a poſſibility of obtaining mercy.

[249]His ſpeech however was not calculated to move pity. On the ſame day, or a few days after, ſentence paſſed upon him, by which he was condemned for having held the errors of Wicliff; and for apoſtatizing. He was immediately, in the uſual ſtile of popiſh affectation, delivered over to the civil power. As he was a layman, he had no ceremony of degradation to undergo. The ſame ſort of cap was put upon his head, with which Huſs had been adorned; and ſo attired he was led to execution.

When he came to the place, he could not but ſmile to ſee the malice of his enemies appearing in a ſhape too groteſque for ſo ſerious an occaſion. The poſt, to which he was chained, was hewn, it ſeems, into a monſtrous, and uncouth figure of Huſs, and ornamented into a ridiculous likeneſs of him.

A little before the fire was kindled, he told the people, that he believed the eſta⯑bliſhed creed, and that he knew not for what he ſuffered death, unleſs becauſe he had not ſubſcribed to the condemnation of Wicliff, and of Huſs; which he could not do with [250] a ſafe conſcience; becauſe he firmly believed them both to be pious men.

The wood beginning to blaze, he ſang an hymn, which he continued with great fer⯑vency, till the fury of the fire ſcorching him, he was heard to cry out, ‘O Lord God! have mercy upon me! have mercy upon me!’ And a little afterwards, ‘Thou knoweſt how I have loved thy truth.’ The wind parting the flames, his body, full of large bliſters, exhibited a dreadful ſpecta⯑cle to the beholders; his lips continued ſtill moving, as if actuated by intenſe devotion. During a full quarter of an hour, he diſ⯑covered the ſigns not only of life, but of intellect. — Even his enemies thought the rage of his judges purſued him too far, when they ſaw his wretched coverlet, and the other miſerable garniture of his priſon, by their order, conſumed in the fire after him; and his aſhes, as thoſe of Huſs had been, thrown into the Rhine.

From this account of the trial, and death of Jerome, it ſeems as if the leading mem⯑bers of the council were determined, at any rate, to put him to death. We cannot other⯑wiſe ſee the reaſon of their bringing him to [251] a ſecond hearing. They had already obtain⯑ed a triumph over him. A ſecond trial made that again doubtful, which his recanta⯑tion had decided in their favour. But it hath been the notorious practice of the church of Rome, in her dealings with ca⯑pital offenders, to put them firſt to ſhame, and afterwards to death.

Among thoſe, who have treated of the death of Jerome, none hath done him more honour than Poggè the Florentine. The anecdotes of him preſerved by this writer have not yet been laid before the reader. As Poggè was not only a man of ſome eminence, but an adverſary likewiſe to the cauſe of Je⯑rome, his teſtimony is of too much conſe⯑quence to be kneaded with the maſs of other authorities; and will appear to moſt advan⯑tage by itſelf.

This eminent perſon had been bred in the court of Rome; and having been ſecretary under two popes, was well inſtructed in its deſigns. Here too he had every opportunity of gratifying his inclination for ſtudy; and was verſed alike in buſineſs, and in letters. He had a taſte for poetry likewiſe; and gain⯑ed great credit by ſome ſatyrical compoſitions, [252] which he publiſhed in the early part of his life. To his other praiſes he added that of an hiſtorian. His hiſtory of Florence is eſteemed an elegant at leaſt, though a par⯑tial compoſition. But the world is moſt in⯑debted to him as an antiquarian. To his in⯑duſtry we owe many noble remains of an⯑tiquity, which he redeemed from that ob⯑ſcurity, in which barbariſm had involved them; particularly the works of Quinctilian; which he had the happineſs to find compleat in a ruined monaſtery.

In what capacity he attended the council, we have no account. As he relates matter of fact only, it is of little conſequence. The examination, and death of Jerome, of which he was an eye-witneſs, affected him in ſo ſtrong a manner, that he gave a full account of both to his friend Aretin at Rome, as the moſt extraordinary events he had met with, during his reſidence at Conſtance. The reader will conſider his letter on this occa⯑ſion, as a portrait warm from the life; and, if not a finiſhed picture, at leaſt a very ſpirited ſketch. It was written originally in Latin. The following is not meant as a literal tran⯑ſlation. Thoſe circumſtances, with which [253] the reader hath been already made ac⯑quainted, in the courſe of the narrative, are omitted.

Such was the teſtimony born to an adver⯑ſary by this ingenuous papiſt. His friend Aretin was leſs candid. ‘You attribute more, ſays he, to this man, than I could wiſh. You ought at leaſt to write more cautiouſly of theſe things.’ And indeed, [263] it is probable, Poggè would have written more cautiouſly, had he written a few days afterwards. But his letter is dated on the very day, on which Jerome ſuffered, and came warm from the writer's heart. It is ſufficiently plain, what Poggè himſelf thought of the council, and its proceedings. His encomium on Jerome, is certainly a tacit cenſure of them.

[265]The Life of ZISCA.

IN the lives of John Huſs, and Jerome of Prague, we have ſeen great inſtances of the violence and injuſtice of the council of Conſtance. That bigotted aſſembly ap⯑peared ready to embrace any meaſures, and to run any lengths, to eſtabliſh the tyranny of the church of Rome. The life of Ziſca exhibits thoſe ſcenes of diſorder and ruin, which might be expected as the natural conſequences of ſuch furious zeal.

The real name of this eminent perſon was John de Troeznow. The epithet Ziſca was given him from his having loſt an eye; that word, in the Bohemian language, ſignifying one-eyed. He was a native of Bohemia; born of a good family, remarkable rather for its credit, than its wealth.

In the early part of his life Ziſca was in⯑troduced to Winceſlaus, whom he ſerved in [266] the capacity of a page: but being tired of a ſubjection to the capricious and trifling hu⯑mours of that prince, he gave up all ex⯑pectations from royal favour, and left his country, with a reſolution to ſeek his fortune abroad. His intention was to enter into ſome military ſervice; having from his earlieſt youth diſcovered a ſtrong inclination to the profeſſion of arms.

He lived ſome time in Denmark, and afterwards in lower Saxony; but we find him not in any employment, till the break⯑ing out of the wars in Poland, againſt the knights of the Teutonic order.

The Poles embracing Chriſtianity earlier than their neighbours, ſuffered from ſome of them a ſort of national perſecution. The irruptions of the Pruſſians were particularly formidable; with which hardy people they waged a long and unſucceſsful war. At length finding themſelves reduced, they called to their aſſiſtance the knights of the Teutonic order; by whoſe alliance being ſtrengthened, they ſoon brought their ene⯑mies to terms.

To recompence theſe foreigners, or more probably to fulfil a previous engagement, [267] they allowed them to ſettle in Poland, and diſtributed lands among them. But the Poles had ſoon reaſon to repent of their civility. Theſe inſolent inmates made early incroachments upon their benefactors; and matters proceeding to extremity, a bloody war broke out. Neither ſide had much reaſon to boaſt, till the year 1410; when the knights ſuffered a total defeat: their grand-maſter was killed, and their whole army very ſeverely handled.

Ziſca, who had entered, at the begining of the war, into the ſervice of the king of Poland, diſtinguiſhed himſelf greatly in this battle. He led a battalion in that wing, which firſt turned the fortune of the day. The king preſented him with a purſe of ducats for his ſervices; and accompanied his liberality with a badge of honour.

The Poliſh generals however not purſuing their victory as they ought, the knights ſo far collected themſelves, as to enter with a good face into negotiation. A treaty was ſoon afterwards concluded; and Ziſca find⯑ing his ſword of no farther uſe in Poland, returned into Bohemia; where we meet him again, notwithſtanding his former prejudices, [268] in the court of Winceſlaus; and in office about his perſon.

Upon the tragical fate of Huſs, which threw all Bohemia into confuſion, no one felt more acutely than Ziſca. He did not however vent his indignation, like others, in clamour and threatening language; it ſat in a melancholy gloom upon his brows, and ſunk into his heart. The king, we are told, ſeeing him, from a window of the palace, walking in a thoughtful poſture, aſked him, upon what ſerious ſubject he was meditating? "Upon the bloody affront, anſwered Ziſca, which your majeſty's ſubjects have ſuffered at Conſtance." "It is true, replied Win⯑ceſlaus; but, I fear, it is neither in your power, nor in mine, to revenge it." This circumſtance, we are told, firſt inſpired Ziſca with a reſolution to aſſert the religious liber⯑ties of his country.

Beſides the affair of Conſtance, he wanted not other motives to incite him to this enter⯑prize. Though a man of no great know⯑ledge in matters of divinity, he had ſagacity enough to ſee the neceſſity of a thorough reformation in the diſcipline of the church. He had conceived likewiſe a ſteady diſlike [269] to the clergy; founded more upon the cor⯑ruption of their lives, than of their doctrine. We are told too, he had perſonal cauſe of reſentment; a favourite ſiſter having been debauched by a monk.

But with whatever zeal Ziſca and his friends were animated in private, in public they obſerved a commendable temper. While the council ſtill ſat, they had hope that ſome healing expedient might be found. Were the fathers there aſſembled in earneſt, it was impoſſible, they imagined, but ſome⯑thing would be done to remove abuſes, and allay diſtempers, become now ſo flagrant, and alarming. They reſolved however to wait the event.

With theſe vain hopes they were deluded, till the diſſolution of the council, in the beginning of the year 1418. Their eyes were now fully opened. That great aſſem⯑bly of Chriſtian biſhops, from the reſult of whoſe counſels, a full reformation of all abuſes was expected, were ſo far from an⯑ſwering thoſe ſanguine hopes, that they left things very little better than they found them; many things worſe, as ſanctifyed by a new authority. ‘Thus ended, (ſays the [270] impartial Lenfant, in the concluſion of his hiſtory,) the famous council of Conſtance; in which it cannot be denyed, but that ſome things were done truly commend⯑able, though that aſſembly by no means anſwered the general expectation of the world. It condemned men, who at worſt were only ſomewhat too forward in their zeal againſt abuſes, which all ſerious men acknowledged, and which even the coun⯑cil itſelf diſapproved. It ſpared errors likewiſe, which certainly tended to the deſtruction of all true religion. But what placed it in the worſt light, were the feeble efforts it made towards a reformation of the clergy; though it is evident, from the teſtimony of all writers, that the refor⯑mation of the clergy was the avowed, and principal end it had in view.’

The council being diſſolved, the heads of the reforming party in Bohemia knew what they had now to expect. They knew they had nothing to depend upon for the pre⯑ſervation of their religious liberties, but their own ſtrength, and ſpirit.

If any hope of favour from the court or Rome ſtill remained, it was wholly diſſipated [271] by a letter, which the new pope, Martin V. ſent into Bohemia, ſoon after his election. This letter was directed to the Huſſites, whom he charges with many and great he⯑reſies. In particular, he tells them, they had trampled upon the ſtatues of the ſaints, and the ceremonies of the church; — that they had celebrated the feaſts of John Huſs, and Jerome of Prague;—that the ſacrament under both ſpecies had been adminiſtred among them;—and, in one word, that the church was never worſe treated under Nero, than it had been by them. He ſtill however gives them hopes of favour, if they would return again within their ancient pale; but threatens, if they continued obſtinate, to cut them off entirely from the church, and give them as a prey to their enemies.

Martin not reſting his cauſe entirely upon this letter, ſent the cardinal Dominictis, as his legate, into Bohemia. This miniſter ſoon informed himſelf of the temper of the country; and, after a ſhort and fruitleſs ne⯑gotiation, wrote letters to the pope, and to the emperor Sigiſmond, (who claimed the crown after Winceſlaus, and was of courſe greatly intereſted in the affair,) acquainting [272] them, it was in vain to expect any ſubmiſſion from that country, through means leſs effectual than open force.

During this negotiation, the heads of the reforming party, foreſeeing the evil at a diſtance, concerted meaſures for their ſafety. In the ſummer of the year 1418 they had a general meeting at the caſtle of Wiſgrade; the deſign of which was, to deliberate on the beſt means of preſerving the liberties of the church of Bohemia. They had no re⯑verence for the pope; and very little for the emperor: with their own ſovereign they were deſirous of keeping terms. Their firſt reſolution therefore was to ſound the incli⯑nations of Winceſlaus; that capricious prince having yet given them no certain evidence either of his favour, or averſion. With this view, they ſent deputies to the king; who, in the name of the aſſembly, acquainting him with the increaſing numbers of their ſect, requeſted the uſe of more churches.

Winceſlaus was ſurprized rather at the ſpirit in which the requeſt was made, than at the requeſt itſelf. He was diſſatisfied, as much as they were, with the affair of Con⯑ſtance; but he choſe to have the reſentment [273] due upon that occaſion to appear as coming from himſelf; and he had no inclination, at this time, to ſhew it. On the other hand, here was a violent party, which would take no denial; whoſe ſtrength he knew as well as his own comparative weakneſs; and tho' it was hard for a monarch to receive law from his ſubjects, (for he could not but conſider their requeſt as a demand,) yet the remem⯑brance of paſt misfortunes had taught him to put many reſtraints upon himſelf.

Agreeable to this perplexity, and to the darkneſs of his own character, he anſwered the deputies evaſively. He was greatly in⯑clined, he ſaid, to favour them; but diſap⯑proved paſſion and tumult. He required them therefore to rely upon his honour; and, as a pledge of their good intentions, to depoſit their arms with him.

With this anſwer the deputies returned. It was by no means ſatisfactory; and the more violent were for breaking all meaſures forthwith. The debates of theſe fierce ſpirits becoming tumultuous, Ziſca ſuddenly ſtart⯑ing up, cried out, Gentlemen, ‘I have long known the king, and am thoroughly ac⯑quainted with his temper: arm yourſelves, [274] and follow me.’ Thus attended he ſtood before Winceſlaus: ‘Behold, (ſaid he,) a body of your majeſty's faithful ſubjects: we have brought our arms, as you com⯑manded: ſhew us your enemies; and you ſhall have reaſon to acknowledge, that our weapons can be in no hands more faithful to you, than in thoſe, which hold them.’ In a capricious, unprincipled mind, a ſudden evaſion hath often the weight of argument. It had on this occaſion. Struck with the heroic language, and appearance of theſe brave men, the king cried out, ‘Take your arms, gentlemen, and uſe them proper⯑ly.’—This action firſt recommended Ziſca to the confidence of his party; and gave an earneſt of thoſe ſtrokes of policy, which his mind, fruitful of expedients, was afterwards found ſo capable of diſplaying.

The reſtraint however, which Winceſlaus put upon the reformers was ſoon removed. Tired with the paſt, and dreading the future, which he ſaw approaching in a ſtorm, that unhappy prince at length gave way to the anguiſh of his ſpirit, and ſunk under a weight of grief. His death was accelerated by a violent fit of paſſion, in the agony of [275] which he expired; leaving it a conteſt among hiſtorians, whether the man, or the prince was more contemptible in his character.

Upon the death of Winceſlaus, the crown of Bohemia was claimed, as hath been ſaid, by his brother, the emperor Sigiſmond. This claim made an entire change in the ſyſtem of the reformers. They now ſaw their civil, as well as religious liberties in danger; and came to an unanimous reſolu⯑tion to oppoſe the emperor at the hazard of their lives. They were perſuaded they had a conſtitutional right to elect their own prince; and againſt Sigiſmond they had many objections. The ſhare he had in the buſineſs of Conſtance had rendered him odious to the whole reforming party. But his avowed principles in favour of the court of Rome, were the grand obſtacle.

On the other hand, the friends of the emperor, at the head of whom was the queen dowager, who had been appointed regent, took meaſures to ſupport his title. They proclaimed him at Prague; adminiſtred oaths to thoſe in office about the court; and re⯑moved ſuch as were thought ill-affected to his government.

[276]The reformers, unwilling to give the queen any advantage by their delay, took arms without farther heſitation; and choſing Ziſca their general, declared war againſt all the adherents of the emperor, and upholders of the tyranny of the church of Rome.

The regular clergy felt the firſt effects of this commotion. Theſe, wherever found, Ziſca treated with ſufficient ſeverity. ‘Let us, ſaid he, encouraging his men, drive theſe fatted hogs from their ſties.’

The queen regent alarmed at theſe pro⯑ceedings, wrote an account of them to the emperor; intreating ſpeedy aid, and aſſuring him, that the inſurrection was by no means trivial.

Sigiſmond was, at that time, engaged in an expedition againſt the Turks; and could not immediately, without ſome diſcredit, turn his arms towards Bohemia. The queen, thus left to herſelf, exerted a ſpirit pro⯑portioned to the emergence; and drawing together what troops ſhe was able, ſtrength⯑ened the works of Prague, and ſhut herſelf up in it with a good garriſon. She was well aſſured however the city was not wholly hers, the new town being chiefly inhabited by re⯑formers. [277] With great ſkill therefore ſhe for⯑tified all the avenues, which led from one town to the other; and in particular the bridge over the Muldaw.

The ſtandard of the reformers having been erected only a few weeks, Ziſca found himſelf at the head of 40,000 men; a body of troops leſs formidable for their numbers, than for their martial ardour. Well know⯑ing that action is the life of a tumultuary army, he took the field without delay; and finding himſelf in want of garriſons, for al⯑moſt every fortreſs in the kingdom was in the hands of the Imperialiſts, he reſolved to open the campaign by the ſiege of Pilſen. This town lay conveniently for him, as it was in the midſt of a country greatly devoted to his intereſt. Here his troops firſt ſignal⯑ized their courage. Though few of them had ſeen action before, they mounted the wall like veterans; and after a ſhort diſpute became maſters of the fortreſs. Ziſca hav⯑ing added to its works, put a garriſon into it, and made it a place of arms.

From hence he ſent out parties, and took in the caſtles, and ſtrong holds in the neigh⯑bourhood: ſo that in a little time he found [278] all the ſouth-weſt part of Bohemia in his hands; and his army greatly increaſed by theſe conqueſts.

While Ziſca was thus employed, his friends in Prague were endeavouring their utmoſt to make themſelves maſters of that city. Notwithſtanding the watchful eye, which was continually upon them, they had their private meetings; and having formed a ſcheme, they made a deſperate attempt to paſs the Muldaw, where that river divides, at the iſle of St. Benedict. The encounter was ſharp, and bloody: the imperialiſts however maintained their poſt.

The reformers, not diſcouraged, made their next attempt upon the bridge. Here they fought with incredible firmneſs, and with more ſucceſs. Five days, and five nights, with little intermiſſion, the diſpute laſted: during which time, both parties, as may be imagined, ſuffered greatly; and ſome of the faireſt buildings of the town, particularly the great council-chamber, were deſtroyed. The reformers at length carried their point; and the imperialiſts took ſhelter in the caſtle.

[279]The emperor was now alarmed in earneſt, He withdrew his troops ſuddenly from the confines of Turkey, and making haſty marches towards Bohemia with part of his cavalry, appointed his army to follow his rout.

At Brin in Moravia he halted; and being greatly deſirous of bringing matters to a fair accommodation, he ſent deputies to Prague to treat of peace.

At the head of theſe deputies was Gaſpar Selic, one of the moſt accompliſhed ſtateſ⯑men of his time. His father was a German, and his mother an Italian. From theſe he inherited the good qualities of each people; the ſolidity of the one; the inſinuating man⯑ners of the other; and the characteriſtic foibles of neither.

This artful miniſter ſoon put the emperor's affairs into a hopeful train. He managed all parties with ſuch dexterity, convincing them how much it was their intereſt to coaleſce; that he ſoon brought on a treaty. As a pre⯑liminary, Ziſca gave up Pilſen, and all the other fortreſſes he had taken. He ſeems indeed to have been influenced by the citi⯑zens of Prague; who, having ſeen their [280] town miſerably harraſſed in the late com⯑motions, were already weary of the diſpute.

In this hopeful way were the affairs of the emperor, when an unhappy letter, which he wrote to the magiſtrates of Prague, ruined all. In this letter, after congratulating them on the proſpect of a ſpeedy peace, which he mentions as an event equally advantage⯑ous to all parties, he tells them, he hopes, they ſhall never have occaſion to repent the confidence they had placed in him; and promiſes to govern, after the model of his father, the emperor Charles. Whether by governing after the model of his father, Sigiſmond meant only in civil matters, which is moſt probable; or whether he inſinuated his intention with regard to religion, it is certain he expreſſed himſelf either negli⯑gently or imprudently. It was preſently caught up, and propagated among the re⯑formers, that the emperor had at laſt dealt honeſtly with them; — that he had now ſhewn his full intention;—that he could not even keep on the diſguiſe, till he had them fairly in his power; — but, they thanked God, they had yet time to take other mea⯑ſures.

[281]If any thing was wanting, after this im⯑prudent letter, to ruin the intereſts of Sigiſ⯑mond in Bohemia, his impolite behaviour afterwards compleated the work. Having put the treaty of Prague, as he hoped, on a good footing, he went to Breſlaw; where, it ſeems, the ſpirit of Ziſca had diffuſed it⯑ſelf; and the citizens had ſhewn ſome zeal in his cauſe. They opened their gates how⯑ever to the emperor; and received him with great appearance of devotion. Sigiſmond, inſtead of taking theſe half-formed ſubjects under his protection, and careſſing them with tenderneſs, began with a ſtrict enquiry into the authors of the late diſturbances, many of whom he treated with ſeverity enough. The impolitic monarch was yet unacquainted with the ſpirit of theſe men: he had not yet learned, that perſecution in no ſhape could ſubdue them; and that no⯑thing could work upon them, but gentle treatment, and great toleration.

The conduct of Sigiſmond at Breſlaw was an alarm-bell from one end of Bohemia to the other. Not a man but was ready to take arms. ‘What! ſhall we ſee ourſelves tame⯑ly ſlaughtered like ſheep? Let us ſhew this [282] haughty tyrant, that we are not yet victims deſtin'd to his knife.’

The high ſpirit, which was thus raiſed among the reformers, ſoon ſhewed itelf in action. Their firſt attempt was on the caſtle of Prague; of the town they were already in poſſeſſion. This ſtrong fortreſs was maintained for the emperor by Zincho, a German officer, in whom the queen had great confidence. But he deceived her ex⯑pectation. Ziſca, who knew the governor's foible, bad ſo high for his virtue, that he became maſter of the caſtle without ſtriking a blow.

Sigiſmond by this time ſaw his errors; and had only left, if poſſible, to retrieve them. The hopes of peace, he obſerved, had great⯑ly diſſipated the tumultuary army of the re⯑formers. He reſolved therefore to attack them with what troops he had about him, which conſiſted only of a few regiments of horſe, the groſs of his army not being yet arrived; and, if poſſible, to cruſh them, before they could well aſſociate.

But Ziſca, ſufficiently upon his guard, retreated before his unſkilful enemies into a mountainous and rocky country, where he [283] knew their horſe would only be an incum⯑brance to them. Having thus choſen his ground, he drew up his ſmall army, which was compoſed entirely of infantry, in a very advantageous manner; and, on the 19th of Auguſt, 1420, preſented himſelf to the enemy.

The imperial generals ſaw their danger, but knew not how to avoid it. To fight on horſeback was impracticable: to retreat, barely poſſible. Diſmounting they formed on foot. But Ziſca ſeconding his conduct with his bravery, fell on them with ſuch irreſiſtible fury, that the imperialiſts were immediately thrown into confuſion; and were all either cut to pieces on the ſpot, or ſlaughtered in the defiles.

The fabulous writers of thoſe times attri⯑bute this victory to a very improbable device of Ziſca. He ordered the women, we are informed, who attended his camp, to ſtrew their handkerchiefs and aprons in the front of the army, in which the ſpurs of the imperialiſts being intangled, the reformers had an eaſy victory.

Ziſca, whoſe army daily increaſed, pur⯑ſuing his conqueſt, appeared ſuddenly before [284] Auſca. This town had little favour to expect, having always treated the reformers with more than uſual ſeverity; at the inſti⯑gation chiefly of Ulric, the governor, a man of a ſavage diſpoſition. The formality of a ſiege not ſuiting the circumſtances of Ziſca, he made a general aſſault; and after a ſharp diſpute carried the town. He gave orders, the ſame day, to ſet it on fire, and level it with the ground; leaving behind him a monument of his vengeance, ill-becoming the cauſe in which he fought. The un⯑happy Ulric, falling into his hands, was put to an ignominious death.

Ziſca employed the ſhort reſpite, which his enemies, at this time, allowed him, in fortifying a camp. Though the ſummer was wearing apace, yet he had reaſon to expect the emperor would lie quiet only till he had collected his troops. The puſh, he doubted not, would be vigorous; and if any ſiniſter event ſhould await him, he foreſaw, that all would be ruined, if he had no re⯑treat. Pilſen he had given up: Prague in⯑deed was in his hands; but Prague was a divided town; too extenſive for a garriſon, and too populous.

[285]Near Bechin, the provincial town of its circle, about 40 miles ſouth of Prague, an arm of the Muldaw, winding round a crag⯑gy hill, forms a peninſula, the neck of which is ſcarce 30 feet broad. The hill itſelf is acceſſible on one ſide only. This was the place which Ziſca choſe for his camp; a place, which nature had nobly fortified to his hand. The declivity he aſſigned to his companions, on which they pitched their tents; at [...] ſummit he erected his own; incloſing the whole with a good rampart; and fortifying the neck of the peninſula with a broad ditch, and two ſtrong towers. In time their tents became houſes, his own pavilion a caſtle, and the ramparts and ditches, impregnable walls. To this fortreſs he gave the name of Tabor, alluding to the hill on which it ſtood. It makes, at this day, an appearance in the maps of Bo⯑hemia.

While Ziſca was employed in this buſi⯑neſs, he had intelligence, that a body of imperial horſe lay in the neighbourhood, obſerving his motions. He took his oppor⯑tunity, and ſurprizing them at midnight, ſurrounded the village in which they were [286] quartered; and made the whole party, conſiſting of a thouſand men, priſoners of war.

The action was trifling, but had conſe⯑quences, which Ziſca did not foreſee. He had long wanted a body of horſe, which, in the neceſſity of his affairs, he had never been able to raiſe; and thought the ſuits of armour and horſes, which, on this occaſion, fell into his hands, were a very valuable prize, as they might become a good foun⯑dation for a body of Cavalry; without which he never afterwards took the field. He was himſelf an excellent horſeman, fond of horſes, and of the management of them; and if in any one part of the general's duty he laid himſelf more particularly out, it ſeems to have been in that of forming his cavalry.

The attention of Ziſca was, at this time, for a few days, engaged in a very extraor⯑dinary manner. An enthuſiaſtic Picard; or, as others call him, a Fleming of the name of Picard, leaving his own country, and paſſing the Rhine, wandered into Bo⯑hemia. On his journey, he had drawn many followers of both ſexes after him; [287] whom he deceived by a ſtrange volubility of rhapſody; and pretences to a power little leſs than almighty; of which he ſeemed to give many very ſurprizing inſtances. What⯑ever his impoſtures were, they were ſuffici⯑ently adapted to the credulity of his follow⯑ers; with whom, and ſuch proſelytes as he gained in the country, he ſeized an iſland upon the Muldaw, not far from Tabor, where he ſettled in the form of a ſociety.

Here he began to unfold his doctrines; which differed little from thoſe of the old Adamites, and were in a high degree impi⯑ous and deteſtable. He declared himſelf the ſon of God, called himſelf Adam; and pro⯑feſſing he was ſent to revive the law of na⯑ture, made his religion to conſiſt chiefly in the entire diſuſe of cloaths, and in the free indulgence of promiſcuous luſt. The chil⯑dren, thus born, were accounted free; all mankind beſides were conſidered as ſlaves.

Theſe vile ſectaries ſoon became a general peſt. Among their other horrid extrava⯑gancies, they made an excurſion into the country, and put to the ſword not fewer than 200 of the peaſants: ‘They were [288] ſlaves, and did not deſerve the breath of God.’

Ziſca being now at leiſure, was eaſily wrought on by the deſires of the country, to extirpate theſe execrable wretches. The peaſants furniſhing boats, he invaded the iſland; and the Adamites, except a few, who died in arms, were all taken. They were equally involved in guilt, and, after a very ſummary form of juſtice, were all put to death.

While Ziſca was thus engaged, the em⯑peror was making preparations for a more formidable attempt than he had yet made. Rouſed by the late ſucceſſes of his antago⯑niſt, he began now to think the affair grew ſerious; and having drawn together his whole force, and preſſed into his ſervice a body of Sileſians, he entered Bohemia, on the ſide of Glatz; which town, with many other places, ſubmitted. In a few days, he arrived before Prague, and encamped with⯑in half a league of the city. As he had many friends in the place, he choſe to make his firſt effort in the way of negotiation.

Upon the earlieſt news of the emperor's march, Ziſca, with an equal army, was in [289] motion. He was ſecretly glad to hear, that Sigiſmond had made an attempt on Prague; not doubting but he would be obliged to waſte the remaining part of the ſummer in a fruitleſs ſiege. It was matter therefore of equal concern and aſtoniſhment to him, to ſee from the heights, as he approached the town, the emperor's ſtandard erected on the caſtle. He was ſoon informed, that Sigiſ⯑mond had followed the example, which himſelf had ſet; and, upon a good under⯑ſtanding with the governor, had found the means of introducing 4000 men into that fortreſs, the evening before. He was in⯑formed too, that the Imperialiſts had made an attempt upon the town that morning, and were in hopes of maſtering it, before relief ſhould arrive.

Ziſca had now an opportunity of diſplay⯑ing his great talents. Upon reflection he began to hope, that if the town only could hold out, he might yet, by an after-game, recover all. Being acquainted with every defile, and ſpot of ground in the neighbour⯑hood, he harraſſed the Imperialiſts with continual alarms, beat them from their works, ſeized every poſt as they deſerted it, [290] and allowing them only a very diſadvantage⯑ous field of battle, which it had been ruin to accept, obliged the whole body of them at length to retire into the caſtle. He had now compleated half his work: what re⯑mained was as expeditiouſly performed. With great art and induſtry he ſo entirely blockaded the place, that the emperor in the ſame inſtant ſaw the neceſſity, and the impracticability of a retreat.

Sigiſmond was now in great perplexity. Pent up in ſtraitened quarters, with a nume⯑rous garriſon, no magazines provided, and no proſpect of relief, he had nothing before him, but famine and peſtilence; or, what he dreaded as much as either, the vengeance of Ziſca, who would certainly make him pay the utmoſt price of the advantage he had gained. Full of theſe racking thoughts, he put on however an air of compoſed dig⯑nity, which no man could better aſſume: and to divert the melancholy of thoſe about him, and intoxicate the imaginations of the ſoldiery, he ordered himſelf to be crowned king of Bohemia. This vain piece of pageantry was performed by the archbiſhop of Prague, who had thrown himſelf under [291] his protection. The marquiſs of Branden⯑burgh, the elector of Saxony, and the arch⯑duke of Auſtria, who ſerved under Sigiſ⯑mond, aſſiſted at the ceremony.

Ziſca's joy, upon this happy criſis of his affairs, paſſed the bounds of his uſual mo⯑deration. "Now, my friends, he would ſay to his officers, it is ours to give law. From this glorious day, let Bohemia boaſt the eſtabliſhment of her liberties." In the mean time he remitted nothing of his ac⯑cuſtomed vigour. His works were carried on with unabated ardour; he viſited every poſt himſelf; and hourly expected, as the reward of his labours, that his prey would fall into his hands.

But Ziſca's conduct, able as it was, was ineffectual. Sigiſmond ſummoned all his fortitude; and knowing he had nothing to depend on but the edge of his ſword, in circumſtances, which would have added ſtrength to the feeble, he determined to ha⯑zard all upon one deſperate puſh. He had the beſt intelligence, from his friends in the city, of all that paſſed in Ziſca's quarters; which he ſuddenly attacked at midnight, with all his forces, where he was well in⯑formed [292] the poſt was weakeſt. The Tabor⯑ites, by which name Ziſca's adherents began now to be diſtinguiſhed, were not ſurprized. Each ſide fought, like men, who had their religion, and liberty at ſtake. The imperi⯑aliſts in the end prevailed by mere ſuperiority of numbers; and opened the paſs, before any reinforcement could arrive.

The riſing ſun diſcovered the ſlaughter, and horrible confuſion of the night; and did full credit to the bravery of the Tabor⯑ites, who with a handful of men had reſiſt⯑ed an army: and Ziſca, though unfortu⯑nate, made ſuch an impreſſion upon his ene⯑mies, by the firmneſs of his troops, as was never afterwards forgotten.

Some authors relate, that Sigiſmond eſcaped by means of a very extraordinary ſtratagem. He got together a quantity of combuſtibles, in which he mixed a drug of ſuch a nature, that when fired, it emitted a moſt peſtilential ſtench. The ſmoke of this, ſay theſe writers, being driven in the faces of the enemy, occaſioned them imme⯑diately to abandon their poſt. This impro⯑bable tale ſeems to have ariſen, from the emperor's making his attack under the cover [293] of ſmoke; or invented from a belief, that Ziſca could not be conquered by any ordi⯑nary means.

The poſt, which the imperialiſts had thus forced, was not far from the camp of the Taborites, which was the head quarters of Ziſca. Prompted by his ſucceſs, the em⯑peror came to a ſpeedy reſolution, at day⯑break, to endeavour to force this likewiſe. Not ſatisfied with an eſcape, he now ſtrove for maſtery; and encouraging his men ſtill covered with duſt, and blood, he led them to the aſcent, on which Ziſca lay encamped. "Yonder, cryed he, lye your proviſions." The hungry veteran preſſed on; the camp, thinned by numerous out-poſts, was inſtant⯑ly entered; and the Taborites could only die in its defence. As we are not informed that Ziſca was in the action, it is probable he was in ſome other quarter at the time of the attack.

This was a cruel ſtroke upon him. His hopes were now entirely blaſted. A favour⯑able opportunity had been wreſted from him; his camp had been deſtroyed, and his bag⯑gage plundered. But theſe were trivial loſſes. Another opportunity might offer; his tents [294] and baggage might eaſily be replaced. But the loſs of his credit in arms he dreaded as an irreparable loſs. His being thought in⯑vincible, he well knew, could only ſupport his cauſe; and he had ſufficient reaſon to fear, that if his troops eſteemed him leſs the favourite of heaven, than they had hitherto done, they would inſtantly deſert.— Theſe were the mortifying reflections, which accompanied his retreat.

In the mean time Sigiſmond made the utmoſt of his advantage. The principal of Ziſca's poſts he ſeized; and returning to his old enterprize, he blocked up the city. Here diviſion reigned. The emperor's party was ſtrong; but Ziſca's prevailed to keep the gates ſhut: and ſuch was the extreme diſ⯑order of the place, and the rancour, which appeared on both ſides, that ſober men had juſt grounds to fear the worſt from the ſuc⯑ceſs of either.

While Sigiſmond was thus engaged in the ſiege of Prague, Ziſca was employed in re⯑cruiting his army; in which he had better ſucceſs than he expected. The ſpirit of his adherents was of too high a temper to be cooled by one ſiniſter event. The quarrel [295] was important. Their intereſts were deeply embarked; and there was no reaſon yet to give up all for loſt. They fully confided in their general; and ſeemed to make it a point to ſhew that confidence by their activity in raiſing troops. So that in fact before Ziſca could feel his loſs, it was repaired.

Sigiſmond had now lain ſix weeks before Prague, harraſſed daily by the army of Ziſca, which ſeemed to have recovered freſh ſpirits from its defeat. The poſts of the imperial⯑iſts were attacked; their foraging ſtraitened; and their proviſions cut off. Once Sigiſmond had the mortification to ſee a conſiderable part of his troops defeated, and very roughly handled. His ſupplies too from Germany came in more leiſurely than he expected. Theſe things abated greatly that eagerneſs, with which he began his deſign. But an event ſoon afterwards totally diſcouraged him.

Near Prague ſtood a craggy hill, which Ziſca, thinking it a poſt of advantage, had ſeized; and fortifyed. From this eminence he greatly annoyed the emperor; ſo that Sigiſmond at length found, he muſt either give up all hopes of taking the city, or make [296] himſelf maſter of this poſt. His efforts were ineffectual: the poſt was ſtronger than he ſuppoſed, when he attempted force; better guarded, when he attempted ſurprize. One effort more he was determined to make. With this view he ſent the marquiſs of Miſnia with a large body of men, ſufficient, as he thought, to force it. The marquiſs met with little to oppoſe him in his march. The Taborites. except a few cautious ſkir⯑miſhers, lay cloſe in their Trenches. The Imperialiſts, misjudging this the effect of fear, aſcended with the more preſumption. They now approached the craggy part of the top, overcome with toil; when on a ſudden the Taborites leaping out, with loud ſhouts, from every part of the intrenchments, fell on them with all the fury of impatient ar⯑dour. Amazement checked the Imperialiſts, and the firſt ſhock obliged them to give ground. They would have retreated, but their able adverſary had made ſure work,— their retreat was intercepted. They had only to chuſe the manner of their death. On one hand were the ſwords of an enraged foe; on the other a precipice. The whole affair was inſtantly decided; and before mercy [297] could take place, ſcarce an object of mercy remained. The marquiſs himſelf, with a few of his followers, eſcaped.

This terrible diſaſter, by which the em⯑peror loſt near one third of his army, re⯑duced him to the neceſſity of raiſing the ſiege. He gave all neceſſary orders by ſun⯑ſet; and, at the cloſe of the evening, drew off his troops in ſilence, without drum or trumpet, accompanied with all thoſe ſigns of mute dejection, and terrors of alarm, which commonly attend diſgraced armies. Ziſca purſued his rear; but with little advan⯑tage, the emperor conducting his retreat in a very maſterly manner.

Thus ended this momentous affair; in which great military ſkill, and great courage had been ſhewn on both ſides. So equal indeed the contention had been, that it is hard to ſay, whether Sigiſmond deſerved more praiſe by obliging Ziſca to raiſe the ſiege of the caſtle; or Ziſca by obliging him to raiſe the ſiege of the town. Undiſtin⯑guiſhing fame however blew her trumpet over the banners of the ſucceſsful hero; and gave Ziſca that full glory, which his noble adverſary ſhould have divided with him.

[298]Such was the firſt ſummer of the war; in which Ziſca ſufficiently tried his ſtrength, and found the courage of his men propor⯑tioned to any ſervice. He had the ſatisfaction likewiſe of finding himſelf, notwithſtanding his many loſſes, at the head of a greater army when he cloſed, than when he opened the campaign.

Early in the ſpring, of the next year, 1421. Ziſca took the field; and began this campaign, as he had begun the laſt, by de⯑ſtroying all the monaſteries, which he met with in his march. His deſign was upon the caſtle of Wiſgrade, a ſtrong fortreſs near Prague, where Sigiſmond had placed a nu⯑merous garriſon. He endeavoured firſt to take it by ſtorm; but loſing many men in the attempt, and ſeeing little likelihood of ſucceeding in that way, he turned the ſiege into a blockade. The magazines of the be⯑ſieged growing ſcanty, and their very horſes being now conſumed, they began to think of a capitulation; and propoſed to deliver up the caſtle within ſuch a time, if the em⯑peror did not relieve it. The condition was accepted, and the time being nearly elapſed, Ziſca had intelligence, that Sigiſmond was [299] approaching with his army. He put himſelf immediately in a poſture to receive him; and ſent advice of his march to Prague. The Taborite party there inſtantly taking arms, poſted themſelves according to Ziſca's di⯑rection, in ſome defiles, through which the Imperialiſts were obliged to paſs. Sigiſmond, not expecting hoſtilities from that quarter, and having his eye fixed on Ziſca, fell into the ſnare. It was a maſſacre, rather than a battle; and the emperor eſcaped with a re⯑mainder of his army, only becauſe his ene⯑mier were too much fatigued to urge the ſlaughter farther. The ſeverity of this action fell chiefly upon the Hungarian, and Mora⯑vian troops; whoſe officers, the prime no⯑bility of their reſpective countries, diſtin⯑guiſhing themſelves with great ſpirit, if any diſtinction could be made in ſuch confuſion, were almoſt entirely cut off. Some writers give the credit of this action to Ziſca in per⯑ſon. He retreated, we are told, at the em⯑peror's approach; and in the ſecurity of the night returning, attacked his camp with ſuch fury, as ſoon ended the conteſt.

The emperor, thus maimed, was in no condition to keep his appointment with the [300] caſtle of Wiſgrade; which immediately ſur⯑rendered upon the news of his defeat. This was the moſt valuable acquiſition which Ziſca had made, no garriſon in thoſe parts holding a larger territory in devotion.

Ziſca was now at leiſure to attend a little to the work of reformation; a work which he had exceedingly at heart. For himſelf, tho' he was more a ſoldier than a divine; yet he had in general an utter deteſtation of the ſupremacy of the court of Rome, and a high eſteem for the memory of Huſs. What he aimed at therefore was to give a form, and ſettlement, to the opinions of that reformer. With this view he conſulted thoſe eſpecially, for whom he knew Huſs had ever had the higheſt regard; and ſhewed he could, on this occaſion, exert as much pru⯑dent caution, as on other occaſions he had exerted vigour, and activity.

While Ziſca was thus employed in eſta⯑bliſhing a church, like the Jews in Ezra's time, he kept his ſword continually drawn. Sigiſmond, tho' he durſt not fairly meet him, would harraſs him with conſtant alarms. Nor was Ziſca, in his heart, diſpleaſed at theſe frequent viſits. ‘It is friendly, ſaid [301] he, in the emperor, to keep our ſwords from ruſting in their ſcabbards.’

Indeed Ziſca had leſs to fear from the enemy than from inaction. Danger was the great central force, which drew men to him; and his authority roſe in proportion to the fears of the multitude. Of courſe, he dreaded no artifice like a falſe peace. He well knew how eaſily the minds of the peo⯑ple were deluded; and he wanted thoſe ne⯑ceſſary means of keeping a body of men together, which his adverſary poſſeſſed; a military law, and a military cheſt. Mere native authority ſtood in lieu of both.

He had an evil too of another kind to contend with. The Bohemian clergy were in general, beyond conception, ignorant: and too many of thoſe, who came over to the reformed opinions, brought nothing with them, in ſupport of the new cauſe they had adopted, but an inflamed zeal againſt the pope, and the emperor. Not a few of theſe bigots followed the camp of Ziſca; and having great influence upon the people, which they were forward, on all occaſions, to ſhew, they frequently interfered with his ſchemes, and oppoſed his meaſures. A [302] feſtival, or a faſt-day, was improper for action; the eaſt-ſide of a town was never to be attacked; an encampment was to be formed, and an army drawn up, as nearly as could be, in the form of a croſs. Theſe were, in general, points not only of moment, but of indiſpenſible neceſſity.

Indeed Ziſca had never more occaſion for his addreſs, nor, upon any occaſion, more ſhewed it, than in the management of theſe miſguided zealots. In trifles he conformed, with great deference, to their humours, that he might with a better grace remonſtrate in matters of importance. The influence how⯑ever which he had from the firſt over the ſoldiery, ſettled by degrees into a confirmed authority; and in proportion as more weight was thrown into his ſcale, the other aſcend⯑ed. The clergy had beſides made themſelves ſo contemptible in many inſtances, that even the common ſoldiers began to detect their folly. Hiſtory takes notice of a ridiculous accident, which contributed not a little to deſtroy their credit. They had expreſſed their diſlike to a piece of ground, where Ziſca lay encamped; and with great haugh⯑tineſs had ordered the intrenchments to be [303] razed. Ziſca, unwilling to relinquiſh a ſitu⯑ation, which was very advantageous, with equal firmneſs perſevered. But he was given to underſtand, that all remonſtrance was to no purpoſe; — that fire would certainly the next day deſcend from heaven upon that accurſed ſpot; — and that he muſt inſtantly decamp, unleſs he choſe to ſee his men burnt alive before his face. This dreadful pre⯑diction of divine wrath ſpread an alarm through the camp, which Ziſca had not in⯑fluence to withſtand: the ſoldiers ſcarce wait⯑ed for orders: the tents were inſtantly torn up, and the ground entirely deſerted. In the morning, when every one expected to ſee the devoted ſpot overwhelmed with a tempeſt of fire, ſuch a deluge of rain fell, as if ſent on purpoſe to turn the prophecy into ridicule. The troops were aſhamed of their folly in liſtening to ſuch teachers; and it became a common jeſt in the army, that the prophecies of their clergy, and the com⯑pletion, were as oppoſite to each other, as fire and water. — In the infancy however of his affairs, theſe people had given great diſ⯑turbance to Ziſca; whoſe uſual method was, when he obſerved any ſymptoms of uneaſi⯑neſs [304] in his camp, to ſpread alarms and draw his men into action. He thought it impru⯑dent to ſuffer the quarrel to languiſh, till the full eſtabliſhment of peace; and when the enemy did not find him employment, he found it for himſelf; making expeditions into the country, and deſtroying the caſtles, and ſtrong holds, wherever he became maſter.

One of theſe expeditions almoſt proved fatal to him. He was incamped before the town of Rubi, which he had almoſt reduced to extremities. As he was viewing a part of the works, where he intended an aſſault, an arrow, ſhot from the wall, ſtruck him in the eye. The wound being thought dan⯑gerous, the ſurgeons of the army propoſed his being carried to Prague, where he might have the beſt advice. In reality they were afraid of being cut to pieces by the troops, if he ſhould die under their hands. When his removal to the capital was reſolved on, it was difficult to check the conteſt among the ſoldiers, who ſtrove for the honour of carry⯑ing their wounded general. At Prague the arrow was extracted; which being barbed, tore out the eye with it; and it was feared, [305] the fever which ſucceeded, might prove fatal to him. His life however, though with difficulty, was ſaved.

He was now totally blind: his friends therefore were ſurprized to hear him talk of ſetting out for the army; and did what was in their power to diſſuade him from it. But he continued reſolute: ‘I have yet, ſaid he, my blood to ſhed; let me be gone.’ He ſuffered himſelf however to undergo the affected formality of being intreated by a deputation from the army; and enjoyed the pleaſure of hearing the ſoldiers, in tumults around his quarters, cry aloud, "They would throw down their arms, unleſs their general were reſtored."

In the mean time Sigiſmond had lain quiet: at leaſt his army, ſince its defeat before Wiſgrade, had appeared in no ſhape in Bohemia, but in that of ſcouting parties. This calm in the emperor's quarters was only that lowring ſtillneſs, which is the prelude of a ſtorm. Sigiſmond had been making preparations during the ſummer. At Nu⯑remburgh he convened the ſtates of the em⯑pire. Here, in full convention, (for, it ſeems, no prince except the elector of Treves [306] was abſent,) he opened to them his embar⯑raſſed circumſtances; and intreated them for the ſake of their ſovereign, for the hon⯑our of the empire, and in the cauſe of their religion, to put themſelves in arms. His harangue had its effect. Proper meaſures were concerted; and the aſſembly broke up, with a unanimous reſolution to make this audacious rebel feel the full weight of the empire: and that the blow might fall the more unexpected, it was reſolved to defer it till the end of the year; when, it was hoped, that Ziſca might the more eaſily be ſurprized, as great part of his troops left him in the winter, and returned again in the ſpring.

The campaign, as that chief imagined, was now over, when he was ſuddenly alarmed with the report of theſe vaſt preparations; and ſoon after with the march of two powerful armies againſt him; one of which was compoſed of confederate Germans, under the marquiſs of Brandenburgh, the archbiſhop of Mentz, the count-palatine of the Rhine, and other princes of the empire; the other of Hungarians and Sileſians, under the emperor himſelf. The former were to invade Bohemia on the weſt; the latter on [307] the eaſt. They were to meet in the mid⯑dle; and, as they affected to give out, would cruſh this handful of vexatious ſectaries be⯑tween them. At the head of ſuch a force, the emperor could not avoid being ſanguine.

They, who are acquainted with the nature of armies intended to march in concert, know the difficulty of making ſuch unweildy bo⯑dies obſerve thoſe exact laws of motion, which prudent generals trace out in councils of war. Some unforeſeen event generally creates ſome unavoidable difficulty.

It happened thus on the preſent occaſion. Sigiſmond, diſappointed in a contract for forage, was obliged to defer his march. He was retarded too by the Auſtrian and Hun⯑garian nobility, who entring as volunteers into his ſervice, and being ſuddenly called upon, had not gotten their equipages and dependants, without which their dignity could not take the field, in ſuch readineſs as it was thought they might have had them.

The confederate princes, in the mean time, began their march; and were already advanced a conſiderable way into Bohemia, before they heard of the emperor's diſap⯑pointment. Sigiſmond gave them hopes, [308] that he would preſently join them; and ad⯑viſed them to form the ſiege of Soiſin. They intrenched themſelves accordingly, and began an attack, for which they were not in the beſt manner provided, againſt what was then eſteemed one of the ſtrongeſt fortreſſes in Bohemia. The beſieged laughed at their vain efforts, and kept their uſual guard; while wet trenches, a hungry camp, the ſevereties of an inclement winter, and above all, the emperor's delay, introduced mutiny into the tents of the beſiegers, and diſſention into their councils.

In this ſituation were they, ready to catch any alarm, when Ziſca approached with his army. The very ſight of his banners float⯑ing at a diſtance, was ſufficient. They ſtruck their tents, and retreated with precipitation; burning the country as they fled; and curſing the emperor's breach of faith.

About the end of December, a full month after his appointed time, the emperor began his march. As he entered Bohemia, he re⯑ceived the firſt account of the retreat of the confederates; yet he determined to proceed. He was at the head of a gallant army, the flower of which were 15,000 Hungarian [309] horſe, eſteemed, at that time, the beſt cavalry in Europe, led by a Florentine officer of great experience. The infantry, which con⯑ſiſted of 25,000 men, were provided, as well as the cavalry, with every thing proper for a winter's campaign.

This army ſpread terror through all the eaſt of Bohemia; Ziſca being ſtill in the weſt purſuing the Germans. Wherever Sigiſmond marched, the magiſtrates laid their keys at his feet; and were treated with ſeve⯑rity, or favour, according to their merits in his cauſe.

His career however was preſently checked. Ziſca with ſpeedy marches approached; and threw a damp upon him in the midſt of his ſucceſs. He choſe his ground however as well as he was able; and reſolved to try his fortune, once more, with that invincible chief.

No general paid leſs regard to the circum⯑ſtances of time and place than Ziſca. He ſeldom deſired more than to come up with his adverſary: the enthuſiaſtic fury of his ſoldiers ſupplied the reſt. There was not a man in his army, who did not meet his ene⯑my with that ſame invincible ſpirit, with [310] which the martyr meets death; who did not in a manner preſs to be the foremoſt in that glorious band of heroes, whom the Almighty ſhould deſtine to the noble act of dying for their religion.—Such were the troops, which the ill-fate of Sigiſmond brought him now to encounter.

On the 13th of January, 1422, the two armies met, on a ſpacious plain, near Kam⯑nitz. Ziſca appeared in the centre of his front line; guarded, or rather conducted by a horſeman on each ſide, armed with a poll⯑ax. His troops having ſung an hymn, with a determined coolneſs drew their ſwords, and waited for the ſignal.

Ziſca ſtood not long in view of the ene⯑my. When his officers had informed him, that the ranks were all well cloſed, he waved his ſabre round his head, which was the ſign of battle.

Hiſtorians ſpeak of the onſet of Ziſca's troops, as a ſhock beyond credibility; and it appears to have been ſuch on this occaſion. The imperial infantry hardly made a ſtand. In the ſpace of a few minutes they were diſordered beyond a poſſibility of being ral⯑lied. The cavalry made a feeble effort; but [311] ſeeing themſelves unſupported, they wheeled round, and fled upon the ſpur.—Thus ſud⯑denly was the extent of the plain, as far as the eye could reach, ſpread with diſorder; the purſuers and the purſued mixed together, the whole one indiſtinct maſs of moving con⯑fuſion. Here and there might be ſeen, in⯑terſperſed, a few parties endeavouring to unite; but they were broken as ſoon as formed.

The routed army fled towards the con⯑fines of Moravia; the Taborites, with [...] intermiſſion, galling their rear. The river Igla, which was then frozen, oppoſed their flight. Here new diſaſters befel them. The bridge being immediately choked, and the enemy preſſing furiouſly on, many of the infantry, and in a manner the whole body of the cavalry, attempted the river. The ice gave way; and not fewer than 2000 were ſwallowed up in the water.

Here Ziſca ſheathed his ſword, which had been ſufficiently glutted with blood; and returned in triumph to Tabor, laden with all the ſpoils, and all the trophies, which the moſt compleat victory could give.

[312]The battle of Kamnitz having put Ziſca in peaceable poſſeſſion of the whole kingdom of Bohemia, he had now leiſure to pay a little more attention to his deſigned eſtabliſh⯑ment of a church.

He began now to aboliſh, in all places, the ceremonies of the popiſh worſhip. Prayers for the dead, images, holy-water, auricular confeſſion, holy-oil, ſacerdotal veſt⯑ments, faſts, and feſtivals, all theſe things he totally forbad. The pope's name he raſed out of all public inſtruments; and denied his ſupremacy. Merit alone, he ſaid, ſhould give diſtinction among the prieſts of Bohe⯑mia; and they ſhould gain the reverence of the people by the ſanctity of their lives, not by their luxurious manner of living. Church⯑yards were forbidden alſo; as they had been brought into uſe, he thought, only to enrich the clergy. Purgatory too was expunged from the articles of belief.

From theſe things we may judge how much farther Huſs would, in all probability, have carried reformation; if he had had it in his power: for we may conſider Ziſca, as acting by his authority, and doing nothing, [313] but what was conſonant to his expreſs doc⯑trine; or might by fair inference be deduced from it.

We have no grounds to ſuppoſe this mili⯑tary reformer had any bigotry in his temper: he ſeems not to have ſhewn any inclination to force the conſciences of any differing ſect; but to have left men at liberty to like or diſ⯑like, to unite with him, or leave him, as they thought beſt. Nor was he by any means arbitrary in his impoſitions; but con⯑ſulted his friends, and fixed on nothing, but what found at leaſt a general concurrence.— He had the misfortune, notwithſtanding this moderation, to give great offence to many of the Bohemian reformers.

A variety of ſects is the natural conſe⯑quence of religious liberty; and mutual ani⯑moſity is too often the conſequence of a variety of ſects. The miſchief is not, that men think differently, which is unavoidable; it is, their refuſing others, that liberty, which they take themſelves. To reſtrain therefore the bad effects of bigotry, the pru⯑dent legiſlator protects an eſtabliſhment; and whatever toleration he may allow to ſecta⯑ries, (and the wiſeſt hath generally allowed [314] the moſt,) he will however keep ſuch a re⯑ſtraint upon them, as may preſerve the tran⯑quility of the whole.

Among the ſeveral ſects, for there were ſeveral, which the reformation produced in Bohemia, one only was able to diſpute the point of ſuperiority with the Taborites. It was that of the Calixtins, ſo called from the word calix, a cup. They adminiſtred the Lord's ſupper in both kinds; but in other points receded leſs from the church of Rome, than any other Bohemian reformers.

The ſeeds of animoſity had long been ſown between this ſect, and the Taborites; but each was reſtrained by its fears of ex⯑ternal danger. When an appearance of greater tranquillity ſucceeded; and Ziſca, taking the opportunity, began to innovate, and form the ſcheme of an eſtabliſhment, he ſoon found how warm an oppoſition he was likely to meet with from the Calixtins, whoſe party was by no means contemptible. Theſe ſectaries, who were chiefly confined to Prague, and its diſtrict, (and being the more embodied, could act with the greater force,) were highly offended at being leſs taken notice of, than ſo conſiderable a party, [315] in their own eyes, ſhould have been. Their clamour ſoon began, and in language ſuffi⯑ciently warm: ‘Here, ſaid they, is a re⯑formation indeed! inſtead of weeding and pruning the Lord's vineyard, as ought to have been done, the fence is totally taken away, and the wild boar of the wood is ſuffered to root it up. The church of Rome, however culpable in many reſ⯑pects, is at leaſt decent in its worſhip: but the preſent ſyſtem of reformation hath not even decency to boaſt of.’ — From violent language, they proceeded, in the uſual progreſſion, to violent actions.

John the Premonſtratenſian, (ſo called from an order of monkery, in which he had ſpent a novitiate,) was the principal abettor of the Taborite party in Prague. He was a man of family, fortune, and character; all which conſpired to give him influence. This perſon, conſidering Ziſca, during the preſent unſettled ſtate of Bohemia, as the leader, from whom he was properly to look for inſtructions, employed his whole intereſt in favour of that chief; and endeavoured to introduce the ſame regulations at Prague, [316] which Ziſca had eſtabliſhed in other parts of the kingdom.

The principal magiſtrates of Prague were Calixtins; and unhappily men of little tem⯑per. It doth not appear, that John had diſ⯑covered any unbecoming zeal; yet he ſoon found, that he had given great offence; and had ſufficient reaſon to fear, that if he brought himſelf within the ſhadow of a law, that law would be made to cruſh him.

Late one evening, he and nine others, all chiefs of the Taborite party, were ſent for, by the magiſtrates, to the council-chamber, upon a pretence of ſettling ſomething with regard to public peace. They came without ſcruple; but found, on their entrance, an aſſembly, which they little expected; — a court ſitting in form; before which they were immediately arraigned. The chief magiſtrate, without further ceremony, ac⯑quainted them, that in all ſtates it had been the practice, upon emergent occaſions, to diſpenſe with the formalities of law; — that their behaviour had been ſuch, as very great⯑ly endangered the tranquillity of the city; — that ſufficient matter for the moſt public trial [317] could be brought againſt them;—but that it was rather choſen, for the ſake of peace, to proceed againſt them in this more private way.

Vain were all remonſtrances againſt theſe lawleſs proceedings: witneſſes were imme⯑diately called; and, the facts alledged being proved, ſentence of death was haſtily paſſed upon them; and they were as haſtily hurried into an inner court of the building; where, without any of the uſual circumſtances of decency, they were put to death.

It was impoſſible, that ſo horrid a maſſa⯑cre, however privately tranſacted, ſhould eſcape the public knowledge. By noon the next day it was known in all parts of the city. Some authors mention its being diſ⯑covered in a very extraordinary manner. The blood, which ran in ſtreams from the headleſs trunks of theſe unfortunate men, having been forgotten in the confuſion of the action, made its way through the drains into the ſtreet, and plainly diſcovered the horrid deed. The populace, by what⯑ever means acquainted with the affair, were immediately in an uproar: all parties were ſcandalized: even the Calixtins were too [318] much confounded to make reſiſtance; while the Taborites took an ample revenge. They were not now actuated by thoſe mild virtues, which Huſs had diſcovered on a like occa⯑ſion. The ſpirit of the times was changed. They aſſembled with loud clamours before the houſes of the magiſtrates; forced open the doors; dragged them from their con⯑cealments; and haled them into the ſtreets; where, having expoſed them as ſpectacles, and reproached them with their crimes, they put them to a cruel death.

When the tumult of this affair was over, and men began to think coolly upon the matter, the Calixtins plainly ſaw how much injury their cauſe had ſuffered. It was true, that outrages had been committed on both ſides. But the ſcale was by no means equal. The world would certainly be moſt forward to condemn the aggreſſor; and a manifeſt diſtinction would be made between an act of magiſtracy, and an act of mere popular ſury. They concluded therefore, that the breach between them and the Taborites was irre⯑parable; and that it was impoſſible for them to live happily under any government, in which Ziſca preſided.

[319]Theſe were the ſentiments of the ſenate of Prague; in which aſſembly, after long deliberation, it was reſolved to ſend deputies to the grand duke of Lithuania, and to offer him, in the name of the capital of Bohemia, the crown of that kingdom. The duke accepted their offer; and immediately ſent troops to ſupport his title.

This fatal diſſention was looked upon as the expiring pang of the liberties of Bohe⯑mia. It was not doubted but the emperor would ſeize this favourable opportunity; and, having ſuffered the two parties tho⯑roughly to weaken themſelves, would ſud⯑denly cruſh them both. It happened other⯑wiſe. Animated as theſe ſectaries were againſt each other, they were ſtill more ſo againſt the common enemy. Ziſca indeed ſatisfied himſelf with proteſting againſt the reſolutions of the ſenate of Prague; and, bearing, with his accuſtomed firmneſs, the ingratitude of his country, lay quiet in his camp at Tabor: while the Calixtins, in concert with the Lithuanians, ſeeing them⯑ſelves unmoleſted by him, began immedi⯑ately to act againſt the emperor.

[320]This party affected now to take the lead in all public affairs. But their ſucceſs was not anſwerable to their preſumption. The firſt enterprize they attempted was the ſiege of Charles-ſtone, a fortifyed poſt, where the emperor had found an opportunity to intro⯑duce a garriſon of 400 men. Before this place, which was by no means conſiderable, they conſumed full ſix months; and at length gave up the affair. The garriſon, during the whole ſiege, held them in the utmoſt contempt. Having taken ſome pri⯑ſoners, in a ſally, they hung one of them over the wall, where the aſſault was fierceſt, with a fly-flapper in his hand, intimating, that this was ſufficient to baffle the utmoſt efforts of the beſiegers. Ziſca, in the mean time, ſat by, a calm ſpectator of what paſſed. There were ſome diſtempers, which, he thought, beſt cured themſelves; and he conſidered this diſorder as one of them. He knew the Calixtins had among them no leader of any capacity, in military affairs eſpecially; and he doubted not but they would ſoon feel the bad effects of ill-con⯑certed meaſures.

[321]Indeed the Calixtins were not a little chagrined at the diſgrace they had ſuffered before Charles-ſtone. The ſucceſs of the invincible Ziſca, from whoſe auſpices they had now withdrawn themſelves, was, on this occaſion, an unpleaſing retroſpect: but they had ſoon ſeverer cauſe for reflection.

On the frontiers of Hungary Sigiſmond had a conference with the king of Poland; the ſubject of which was the ill-uſage he had received from the duke of Lithuania. Sigiſ⯑mond puſhed the affair with ſo much force of argument, and inſinuating addreſs, that upon a proper application from his ſovereign, the duke gave up his title to the crown of Bohemia, and withdrew his forces. It is probable he had now leiſure to ſee things in a different light; and could diſcern more thorns than flowers ſcattered in the path-way to a throne; which he had not before ob⯑ſerved, while dazzled with the glare of royalty. The Calixtins thus deprived of foreign aid, immediately ſunk into their for⯑mer inſignificance. They became the ob⯑jects alſo of that contempt, of which the world is commonly ſo liberal upon the baffled ſchemes of imprudence, and folly.

[322]Ziſca, in the mean time, was in full cre⯑dit with his party, and was earneſtly requeſt⯑ed to aſſume the crown of Bohemia himſelf, as a reparation for the inſult he had received. No one in the kingdom, they aſſured him, had the power, if he had the inclination, to make the leaſt oppoſition; and as for the emperor, they hoped he would ſoon be in⯑duced to drop his claim. But Ziſca, whom even his enemies neither tax with avarice, nor ambition, ſteadily refuſed. ‘While you find me of ſervice to your deſigns, ſaid the diſintereſted chief, you may freely command both my counſels, and my ſword; but I will never accept any eſta⯑bliſhed authority. On the contrary, my moſt earneſt advice to you is, when the perverſeneſs of our enemies ſhall allow us peace, to truſt yourſelves no longer in the hands of kings; but to form yourſelves into a republic; which ſpecies of govern⯑ment only can ſecure your liberties.’

It was near Chriſtmas 1422, when the Lithuanian army evacuated Bohemia. Sigiſ⯑mond was ſolicitous to have this impediment removed before the ſpring, when he pro⯑poſed to open a very active campaign. He [323] had made, as uſual, great preparations; and intended once more to enter Bohemia with two ſeparate armies. With this view, he ſet the marquiſs of Miſnia at the head of a conſiderable body of Saxons, which were to penetrate by the way of Upper Saxony; while himſelf, at the head of another army, ſhould enter Moravia, on the ſide of Hun⯑gary. His deſign was, when he had over⯑run that country, which, upon the matter, was wholly in the intereſt of Ziſca, to join the marquiſs in the centre of Bohemia. This was Sigiſmond's laſt effort; upon which he had exhauſted his whole ſtrength. It is ſurprizing indeed, how he had thus far found reſources in this ruinous and deſtructive war; conſidering him already in ſome degree im⯑poveriſhed by an expenſive expedition againſt the Turks. But the amiable Sigiſmond could do what the authority of the emperor could not have done. So inſinuating were his manners, ſo gentle and affable his beha⯑viour, that he won the hearts of men, and drew them as he pleaſed. Had not religion oppoſed, nothing could have withſtood the claim of this accompliſhed prince to the crown of Bohemia.

[324]On the other ſide, Ziſca was not back⯑ward in his preparations. He had ſome time before ſent Procop, an excellent young offi⯑cer, to command in Moravia; in whom he had entire confidence, and to whoſe ma⯑nagement he wholly intruſted the military affairs of that country; recommending to him particularly a cautious behaviour, and meaſures merely defenſive.

Procop was a citizen of Prague, of ordi⯑nary parentage; but his ſprightlineſs and beauty recommending him in his childhood to an affluent family, he had been adopted into it. His new father ſpared no expence in his education; and having given him the beſt, which his own country afforded, ſent him to travel into Spain, Italy, and other parts of Europe. After a conſiderable ſtay abroad, he returned home, a very accom⯑pliſhed perſon. The religious war ſoon after breaking out, he attached himſelf, as his inclination led him, to the fortunes of Ziſca, under whom, he not only expected to learn the rudiments of war, his favourite ſtudy; but reſolved to practiſe them likewiſe, in the ſervice of his country. From the moment he entered a camp, he gave himſelf up en⯑tirely [325] to his profeſſion; in the knowledge of which he made a rapid progreſs. Ziſca ſoon diſcovered the uncommon talents of his young pupil; employed him frequently in matters, which required courage and punctu⯑ality; and, at an age when men ſeldom ar⯑rive at the command of a regiment, ſet him over a province. His abilities indeed were ſuch, that Ziſca was in little pain about Mo⯑ravia; at leaſt he hoped, that Procop would be able to keep the emperor employed, till he himſelf ſhould return from the frontiers of Saxony; whither he marched, with all his force, upon the firſt notice of the ene⯑my's preparations.

The marquiſs had not yet taken the field. Ziſca, to ſtrike a terror into his troops, ra⯑vaged his borders; and boldly, in the face of his army, ſat down before Auſig.

Auſig is a ſtrong town ſituate upon the Elbe, nearly where that river leaves Bohemia. It had always ſhewn a particular attachment to the emperor; and was recommended by him in ſtrong terms, together with the bridge in its neighbourhood, to the protection of the marquiſs. It was a ſenſible mortification therefore to that general to ſee an enemy [326] already at its gates; and he determined to riſk all, rather than leave it a prey.

Ziſca, who carried on his works with his uſual vigour, had brought the ſiege to its laſt ſtage, when the marquiſs appeared at the head of a great army, and offered him bat⯑tle. Ziſca, whoſe maxim it was, never to decline fighting, accepted the challenge, though he had many difficulties to encoun⯑ter. The marquiſs had a ſuperior army, and Ziſca was obliged ſtill more to thin his troops by leaving a large detachment to obſerve the town. The Saxons beſides were advanta⯑geouſly poſted, having taken poſſeſſion of a riſing ground, which ſecured their flanks. A ſtrong wind alſo blew in the faces of the Taborites; which greatly weakened the flight of their arrows, while it added new force to thoſe of the enemy.

But Ziſca had little confidence in miſſive weapons. His whole line, with their poll⯑axes and ſabres, in their accuſtomed manner, made an impetuous attack upon the enemy. The Saxons, receiving them in good order, ſtood firm, and gave them a very ſevere check. This was a reception wholly unkown to the Taborites; who had ever been uſed [327] to bear down all before them; and in theſe new circumſtances were at a loſs how to act. They retreated ſome paces, as if aſtoniſhed at the novelty of the thing. — This critical moment the Saxons ſhould have ſeized, while the blaſt, yet fluttering in the ſails, ſeemed to heſitate, on which ſide to give the ſwell. Had they moved forward at this inſtant, it is probable the Taborites had never recovered from their ſurprize. But inſtead of a gene⯑ral charge, they ſtood motionleſs; looking upon the enemy, as if they had done enough by not ſuffering themſelves to be beaten.— Ziſca, little leſs than inſpired, had a com⯑pleat idea of the whole affair; and being conducted to the front line, which ſtood yet unbroken, he cried out, as he rode along, ‘I thank you, my fellow-ſoldiers, for all your paſt ſervices,—if you have now done your utmoſt, let us retire.’ This noble rebuke ſtung them to the ſoul. Every vete⯑ran gnaſhed his teeth with indignation, graſped his ſword, and preſſed forward; cloſing, hand to hand, with the enemy, in the true temper of determined courage.

The combat, thus renewed, became ſoon unequal. For ſome time the Saxons ſtill [328] maintained a feeble fight. Four of their principal officers, endeavouring to reſtore the battle, were cut to pieces at the head of their diſmayed battalions. The whole army ſoon after, in every part, gave ground: a retreat, a rout, a maſſacre ſucceeded. The carnage of the field was terrible. Not fewer than 9000 Saxons were left dead upon the ſpot. Ziſca is taxed, however juſtly, with great cruelty, after all reſiſtance was over. It is certain he never bought a victory ſo dear,

From this ſcene of blood he recalled his troops to new fields of glory. ‘We muſt ſleep to night, cryed he, within the walls of Auſig.’ Thither the triumphant army carried the news of their victory. Ziſca would grant no conditions: the governor was allowed half an hour to deliberate, whether he would ſurrender at diſcretion, or take the conſequence. He choſe the ſafer mea⯑ſure; and the Taborites were quietly in their quarters in Auſig before the cloſe of the evening. — Theſe two great events conſe⯑crated the 22d of April, for many years, in Bohemia.

[329]The next day Ziſca ordered the town to be diſmantled; that it might no longer be a receptacle to his enemies: he broke down likewiſe the ſtately bridge over the Elbe; to cut off, as much as poſſible, all communi⯑cation with Saxony.

Having thus ſettled every thing in the eaſt of Bohemia, where he had been kept longer than he expected, and having freed that country even from the apprehenſion of dan⯑ger, he returned with his victorious army to the aſſiſtance of Procop.

That general had ſufficient buſineſs upon his hands. The emperor appeared early upon the frontiers of Moravia; and after ſome irregular motions, ſat down before Pernitz.

Procop with his little army attended all his movements; and practiſed with admirable ſkill thoſe leſſons, which he had juſt receiv⯑ed. He was confined however to the minutiae of war: he could not hurt, he could only teize, his unweildy adverſary. If the em⯑peror offered him battle, his Parthian bri⯑gades, unincumbered with baggage, retreat⯑ed ſuddenly to the mountains. If the em⯑peror returned to his former enterprize, Pro⯑cop was inſtantly in his rear; and, being [330] acquainted with the country, beſet every avenue to his camp with ſo much judgment, that Sigiſmond was obliged to ſend large de⯑tachments, and often to run great hazard in procuring proviſions. In a word, Procop ſhewed himſelf, during the whole campaign, a compleat maſter of defenſive war; and gave the emperor ſuch a check, as he little expected from ſo inferior a force.

In the mean time the town behaved with equal ſpirit. Sigiſmond had now lain eight weeks before it, and had not yet made the leaſt impreſſion either upon the walls, or the garriſon; though he had endeavoured his utmoſt, by his engines and his menaces, to ſhake both. He was obliged therefore to ſubmit to his ill-fortune; and, drawing lines round the place, contented himſelf with ſtraitening its quarters, and ſhutting it up by a blockade.

In this deſign he was again unfortunate. He had reduced the town to great extremity, when, by one of thoſe maſterly ſtrokes, which may deceive the greateſt captain, Procop drawing his attention to another quarter, forced his lines in an unſuſpected part, and threw ſuccours into the place.

[331]This was a ſevere blow to Sigiſmond. His work was entirely to begin anew; the ſum⯑mer was wearing apace; the Saxons were totally defeated; and Ziſca was returning with a victorious army. — Agitated by theſe reflections; and having nothing in proſpect but new diſaſters, he gave up his deſign, and retreated.—Thus was Bohemia delivered once more from the fear of her enemies; and her champion, after a ſhort but active campaign, was allowed to ſheath his ſword.

The news of Sigiſmond's retreat met Ziſca near Prague. As the troops, having made forced marches from Auſig, had been harraſſed with intolerable fatigue, he thought it proper to give them a few days reſt. He incamped therefore within three leagues of Prague; and attended by a ſmall body of horſe, took up his own reſidence in the city. He had not been at Prague, ſince the late diſturbances, and hoped, by his preſence, to diſſipate what might ſtill remain of ill-humour in the minds of the inhabitants. He was however miſtaken. His preſence, inſtead of reſtoring harmony, appeared plainly to give new offence. He ſoon had flagrant inſtances of the diſtaſte of the peo⯑ple; [332] which he had the magnanimity to diſ⯑regard, ſtill expecting it would wear off. On the contrary, it increaſed daily, diſcover⯑ing itſelf in the moſt groſs affronts, and at length in the moſt violent outrages.

At a very unſeaſonable hour, ſomewhat after midnight, he was alarmed by an officer of his guard; who entering his chamber, with a diſturbed countenance, acquainted him, that he had no time to loſe,— that the perfidious townſmen were preparing to ſeize him. Ziſca aſking a few queſtions, and re⯑ceiving ſuch anſwers as left him little room to doubt, immediately got on horſe-back; ordering, at the ſame time, a haſty trumpet to ſound to horſe, through the quarters. The troops, which conſiſted of about 400 men, repaired directly, with ſuch circumſtances of diſorder, as may be imagined, to the great ſquare. Not a man knew the cauſe of this ſudden alarm. While they ſtood enquiring one of another, and each forming ſuch con⯑jectures, as his imagination ſuggeſted, their ears were ſuddenly ſtruck with the ſound of bells, which burſt inſtantaneouſly from every tower of the city, in one general peal. Im⯑mediately on this ſignal, they were attacked [333] by multitudes of people, crouding through every avenue and ſtreet; but in that tumul⯑tuary manner, which plainly diſcovered a diſconcerted ſcheme. The Taborites, placing their father, as they commonly called Ziſca, in the centre, formed round him, as the exigence would allow; and defended them⯑ſelves with great firmneſs. Indeed the ene⯑my made no extraordinary efforts; they ſeem⯑ed contented with blocking up the avenues of the ſquare, and throwing a few weapons, which did little execution. If any approach⯑ed nearer, and attempted a ruder aſſault, a few horſemen were ordered to ride in among them; who generally drove them back ſome paces. But this was only the reflux of a tide, which preſently returned.

In the mean time day-light appeared; and ſhewed the Taborites the deſperate circum⯑ſtances of their ſituation. Ziſca, who was exactly informed of every thing, having called his officers about him, reſolved (as the only expedient in the preſent exigence,) to endeavour to force a way through the high ſtreet, which led to the camp.

In conſequence of this reſolution a vigo⯑rous attack was made. The citizens were [334] preſently beaten off; and the Taborites gal⯑lantly fought their way through all oppo⯑ſition.

In the middle of the ſtreet their impetu⯑oſity received a check. There a barricado had been begun, the haſty work of that tu⯑multuous morning. The materials indeed had been rather brought together, than put into form. It ſerved however to retard the violence of Ziſca. Many of his ſoldiers were obliged to diſmount, to clear the paſ⯑ſage; and could not afterwards recover their horſes: all order was broken; and, the enemy cloſing on every ſide, a ſcene of great confuſion enſued.

At length the fortune of Ziſca prevailed, with the loſs of ſome men, though of fewer than might have been expected, he forced the barricado, and made his way to the gate.

Here the enemy endeavoured to form a ſecond time; and a new ſcene of tumult followed. But the gate was at length burſt open; and Ziſca, at the head of his little troop, ſallied out in triumph. He was pur⯑ſued by all the force, that could be brought out againſt him; which conſiſted of ſome [335] thouſands; againſt whom he maintained a flying fight with ſuch intrepidity, as made none of them very forward to cloſe in upon him. His diſmounted troopers, who had been of ſo much ſervice in opening a paſſage, were now of equal diſadvantage in retarding his march: notwithſtanding which, the order of it continued unbroken.

In the midſt of this victorious retreat, an unforeſeen accident almoſt proved fatal to him. The enemy were making one of their boldeſt efforts, when Ziſca being ſeparated from his company in the confuſion of the attack, his horſe, undirected, plunged into a moraſs. His perſon being conſpicuous, he was preſently ſurrounded; and a furious conteſt enſued; in which the Taborites were victorious; and had the good fortune to re⯑cover their fainting general.

The route, which the Taborites took, led acroſs a fair plain, or rather valley, environ⯑ed with riſing grounds, which, approaching each other, at the farther end, formed a narrow paſs. Here Ziſca, who had been miſerably harraſſed along the plain, and had more open country beyond the defile, de⯑termined to make a ſtand; thinking his deſ⯑perate [336] circumſtances a ſufficient apology for the appearance of raſhneſs. Having drawn up his little troop therefore with all the ad⯑vantage, which accrued from his ſituation, he preſented himſelf to the enemy; who did not decline an engagement.

Hiſtorians relate this battle with very im⯑probable circumſtances. We are told, that Ziſca not only gained the victory, but that he put to the ſword above 3000 of the ene⯑my. It is not unlikely, that if the ſlaughter from the beginning be taken into the ac⯑count, the Calixtin party might loſe that number. — It is certain however, that Ziſca made good his retreat; and arrived in ſafety at his camp.

Great was the conſternation in Prague, when the fugitives from this unfortunate attack returned without their prey. The Calixtin-party at firſt intended to have cruſh⯑ed Ziſca without diſturbance; not doubting but the diſſipation of his ſect would follow. When that was found impracticable, they determined, at any rate, to cruſh him. Their fraud and force being equally in⯑effectual, they ſaw themſeves in deſperate circumſtances. They had provoked a very [337] powerful enemy, whom they could not withſtand; and from whom they had every thing to fear.—The die however was thrown; and they muſt accommodate their game, as they were able.

In the mean time Ziſca, calling his troops together, acquainted them in form with the whole tranſaction; and having raiſed in them ſuch ſentiments of indignation as he wiſhed to inſpire, he immediately ſtruck his tents, and like the injured Roman of old, marched directly to the city, and incamped under its walls.

Before he attempted force, he ſent in a trumpet, requiring, in very ſtern language, that the adviſers, and chief inſtruments of the late villainous aſſault ſhould be put into his hands. But the guilt of that action was ſo univerſal, that it was impoſſible to ſay, who was involved the deepeſt. Inſtead of complying therefore with the order of Ziſca, the miſerable inhabitants choſe rather to try perſuaſive arts; endeavouring by every me⯑thod to ſoften the chief, and move the com⯑paſſion of the troops. Intreaties, promiſes, and prayers were addreſſed by the magiſtrates to Ziſca; while the populace, from the [338] walls, made the ſame earneſt application to the ſoldiers. Some pleaded kindred, or al⯑liances, or the rites of hoſpitality affection⯑ately performed. Many with tears deplored their wretched fate; proteſting before God and man, that they had no hand in the late commotion: while numbers, who had a right to the protection of Ziſca, from their adherence to his cauſe, were deſcribing their doors, and houſes, or agreeing upon ſecret marks, and pledges, by which they might eſcape the impending vengeance; intreating, at the ſame time, one for a friend, another for a ſon, or near relation, whom his un⯑happy fate had involved in the general guilt.

But Ziſca continued ſtern and immove⯑able. He was perſuaded the Calixtin-party could, by no means, be depended on; and that they would never unite in any friendly league. He determined therefore to take this opportunity of leiſure from his other enemies, to ſubdue them thoroughly; aſſuring himſelf, that till this ſhould be effected, the accompliſhment of his great deſigns would remain uncompleat.

The troops were more flexible. They conſidered not the affair with the foreſight [339] of their chief; and having only before their eyes the preſent ſcene of diſtreſs, began to murmur at the work, in which they were engaged; and at the ſeverity of him, who had engaged them in it. ‘They would not be the inſtruments of the deſtruction of a city, which was the glory of their country.—Their general might ſeek other miniſters of his vengeance.—They would offer their lives a willing ſacrifice againſt the unjuſt attempts of their enemies; but no one ſhould oblige them to take up arms againſt their brethren.’

Theſe whiſpers ſoon reached the ears of Ziſca,—the firſt ſeditious whiſpers he had ever heard. His orders he found hourly leſs punctually obeyed; he was accoſted with inſolent ſpeeches, as he paſſed along the lines; and mutinous tumults gathered about his tent. In a word, he ſaw the contagion ſpreading apace; and the immediate need of a remedy. Calling his troops therefore together, he endeavoured to aſſuage the riſing mutiny, by ſhewing them the neceſſity of ſevere meaſures. The Calixtins had now twice, he told them, almoſt ruined the com⯑mon cauſe; and would be ready to ruin it [340] again on any future occaſion. The emperor, he ſaid, was always on the watch; and would be glad to widen their miſunderſtand⯑ings, and take the advantage of them for himſelf; he had no intention, he told them, to lay the city in blood and deſolation. All he propoſed was to make himſelf entire maſter of it; and when he had it in his power, he would liſten to the ſuggeſtions of pity, and would temper ſeverity with mercy.

‘This, my fellow-ſoldiers, ſaid he, con⯑cluding his ſpeech, is my intention: but if it ſhall ſeem more agreeable to you to act with greater lenity; if you ſhall chuſe to reach out to theſe bloody men even an unlimited mercy, I ſhall conſider myſelf only as your miniſter: and whether you chuſe war, or peace, I am ready with my utmoſt power to ſecond that choice. — One thing only let me requeſt, for the ſake of all our mutual labours, and mutual glories, let me requeſt, that theſe unhappy diviſions amongſt us may ceaſe; and that whether we ſheath our ſwords, or keep them drawn, the world may know, that we are united in our councils, as well as [341] our arms; and that Ziſca, and his com⯑panions, have only one common cauſe.’

In ſuch ſoothing language did the prudent chief addreſs himſelf to the prejudices of his ſoldiers. His ſpeech had the deſired effect. They who did not hear it, caught the fire from thoſe who did. The whole army was inſtantly animated with a new ſpirit; and the camp rang with profeſſions of obedience, and acclamations of praiſe.

It was now near ſunſet; too late to take the full advantage of the ardour of the troops. Orders therefore were given for an aſſault early the next morning. Every thing was prepared. The regiments, in their ſe⯑veral ſtations, reſted upon their arms; and Ziſca retired to his tent, big with the thoughts of the ſucceeding day.—Many were the re⯑flections he made; and many the compuncti⯑ons he felt, when he thus found himſelf upon the point of laying waſte the capital of his country. — But the liberties of Bohemia urged him upon this harſh ſervice.

As he was ruminating on theſe things, it being now paſt midnight, a perſon was in⯑troduced to him by the officer of his guard, who earneſtly deſired a private audience. [342] Ziſca preſently knew him to be the cele⯑brated Roqueſan; an eccleſiaſtic, who, from the meaneſt circumſtances of birth and for⯑tune, had raiſed himſelf, by his great talents, to have the moſt perſonal conſequence of any man in Prague. Roqueſan came a deputy from his fellow-citizens, now reduced to the loweſt deſpair. They had good intelligence from Ziſca's camp; and well knew the fatal reſolution of the preceding evening.

Of what paſſed between theſe two chiefs, on this occaſion, we have no particulars. Roqueſan however inſiſted on ſuch argu⯑ments, as over-powered the reſolution of Ziſca; and a thorough reconciliation took place. An anonymous French hiſtorian, who wrote the life of Ziſca, mentions terms of agreement; but as theſe are unlikely, and, as far as appears, unauthorized, it is of little moment to inſert them. It is probable, that Ziſca would not ſo eaſily have been brought to a reconciliation, had not the late mutiny among his troops given a new turn to his counſels.

While theſe things were acting at Prague, the diſtreſſed Sigiſmond was in great per⯑plexity. The battle of Auſig had greatly [343] ſhaken that conſtancy, which had thus far ſupported him. Six times, in three cam⯑paigns, he had been vanquiſhed in the open field: his towns had been raviſhed from him, and his provinces laid waſte. He acknow⯑ledged the ſuperior talents of his adverſary; and was quitted by that noble and uncon⯑quered ſpirit, which animated the cauſe of liberty. The late diſſention had, in ſome degree, revived his hopes: but he was ſcarce informed of the circumſtances of the quar⯑rel, when he was informed of the reconci⯑liation likewiſe. Every ray of hope there⯑fore being now excluded, he ſubmitted to his hard fate; and reſolving on any terms, to give peace to his bleeding country, ſent deputies to Ziſca, requeſting him to ſheath his ſword, and name his conditions; offer⯑ing him, at the ſame time, for himſelf, what might have ſatisfyed the moſt graſping am⯑bition.

Ziſca was equally deſirous of a reconcili⯑ation. He had taken up arms with a view only to obtain peace, and was heartily glad of an occaſion to lay them down. He re⯑turned a meſſage to the emperor, full of that reſpectful language, with which the great [344] can eaſily cover enmity; tho' at the ſame time breathing that ſpirit, which became a chief in the cauſe of liberty.

After a few couriers had paſſed, a place of congreſs was appointed; and Ziſca ſet out to meet the emperor, attended by the principal officers of his army. It gave Europe a ſub⯑ject for various converſation, when this great man, whom one unfortunate battle would have reduced to the condition of a rebel, was ſeen paſſing through the midſt of Bo⯑hemia, to treat with his ſovereign, like a ſo⯑vereign, upon equal terms.

But Ziſca lived not to put a finiſhing hand to this treaty. His affairs obliged him to take his route through a part of the country, in which the plague at that time raged. At the caſtle of Priſcow, where he had en⯑gaged to hold an aſſembly of the ſtates of that diſtrict, the fatal contagion ſeized him, and put an end to his life, on the 6th of October 1424, — at a time, when, all his labours being ended, and his great purpoſes almoſt compleated, (ſuch was the courſe of providence) he had only to enjoy thoſe li⯑berties, and that tranquillity, which his vir⯑tue had ſo nobly purchaſed.

[345]Some authors write, that, being aſked by thoſe around him, a little before his death, where he would have his remains depoſited? he anſwered, Where they pleaſed — that it was indifferent to him, whether they were thrown out to the vultures, or conſigned to the tomb.

We are informed too, that upon his death⯑bed he ordered his ſkin to be made into a drum; ‘The very ſound of which, added he, will diſperſe your enemies.’ It is probable this ſpeech is a mere fiction: ſuch vaunting, agreeing ill with that reſerved cha⯑racter, which Ziſca had ever maintained. Morery indeed tells us, that the drum was actually made; that it was uſed in battle by the Taborites; and that it had the full effect expected from it; though at the ſame time, with a ridiculous gravity, he informs us, that he doth not ſuppoſe it was owing to any ſu⯑pernatural power, with which that inſtru⯑ment was endowed.—The whole ſeems an idle tale. It may even be queſtioned, whe⯑ther the ſkin of a body, in that morbid ſtate, which the plague occaſions, is capable of being cured; or if it were, we can hardly imagine, that any people could be ſo infa⯑tuated, [346] as firſt to manufacture, and after⯑wards to carry about with them the remains of an infected carcaſe.

The beſt accounts inform us, that he was buried in the great church at Czaſlow in Bohemia; where a monument was erected to his memory, with an inſcription to this purpoſe; ‘HERE LIES JOHN ZISCA; WHO HAVING DEFENDED HIS COUNTRY AGAINST THE ENCROACHMENTS OF PAPAL TYRANNY, RESTS IN THIS HALLOWED PLACE IN DESPITE OF THE POPE.’ The greateſt, indeed the only ſtain on the character of Ziſca, is his cruelty. Of this his enemies make loud complaints; and his friends, it muſt be confeſſed, are very ill able to clear him. Againſt the popiſh clergy, it is certain, he acted with great ſeverity Many of them he put to death, and more he ba⯑niſhed; plundering and confiſcating [...] poſſeſſions, without any reſerve.

[347]They who are the moſt inclined to excul⯑pate this rigour, perſuade us, that he conſi⯑dered theſe eccleſiaſtics not as heretics, but as civil offenders; — as men, who were ac⯑countable for all the blood, which had been ſpilt in Bohemia; and on whoſe heads the juſtice of an injured nation ought deſervedly to fall.

But the beſt apology perhaps may be taken from the manners of the age, in which he lived. In thoſe barbarous times, and among thoſe barbarous nations, rough nature ap⯑peared in its rudeſt form. Friends and ene⯑mies were treated from the heart, without that gloſs of decency, which arts, and civility have introduced.

Some allowance alſo may be made for the peculiar violence, which naturally attends civil diſſentions; in which every injury is greatly heightened, and every paſſion im⯑moderately moved.

Upon the whole, Ziſca was by no means animated with that true ſpirit of Chriſtianity, which his amiable maſter, Huſs, had diſco⯑vered on all occaſions. His fierce temper ſeems to have been modelled rather upon the old Teſtament, than the new; and the [348] genius of that religion in a great degree to have taken hold of him, which in its ani⯑moſities called down fire from heaven.

His capacity was vaſt; his plans of action extenſive; and the vigour of his mind in executing thoſe plans aſtoniſhing. Difficul⯑ties with him were motives. They rouſed up latent powers, proportioned to the emer⯑gence. Even blindneſs could not check the ardour of his ſoul; and what was ſaid of the Grecian Timoleon, under the ſame miſ⯑fortune, (whoſe character indeed he reſem⯑bled in many inſtances) may with equal juſtice be applyed to him; hanc calamitatem ita moderate tulit, ut ne (que) eum querentem quiſ⯑quam audierit, ne (que) eo minus privatis, publi⯑ciſ (que) rebus interfuerit. His military abilities were equal to what any age hath produced; and as ſuch they are acknowledged by all hiſtorians. Nor do we admire him leſs as a politician. If the great man was ſeen in the conduct, and courage, which he diſcovered in the field; he was equally ſeen in govern⯑ing, by his own native authority, a land of anarchy; and in drawing to one point the force of a divided nation.

[349]Nor was the end, which he propoſed, unworthy of his great actions. Utterly de⯑void both of ambition and avarice, he had no aim but to eſtabliſh, upon the ruins of eccleſiaſtical tyranny, the civil and religious liberties of his country.