DUTY
CHAPTER FIVE
COURAGE - ENDURANCE
Courage is the quality which all men delight to honour. It is the energy which rises to all the emergencies of life. It is the perfect will, which no errors can shake. It will enable one to die, if need be, in the performance of duty.
Who has a word to say in praise of cowardice? Does not the universal conscience condemn it? The coward is mean and unmanly. He has not the courage to stand by his opinions. He is ready to become a slave. "Half of our virtue," says Homer, "is torn away when a man becomes a slave"; and "the other half," added Dr. Arnold. "goes when he becomes a slave broken loose."
Yet it requires courage to deal with the coward. A foolish young man, who quarelled with Sir Philip Sidney, and tried to provoke him to fight, went so far as to spit in his face. "Young man," said Sir Philip, "if I could as easily wipe your blood from my conscience as I can wipe this insult from my face, I would this moment take your life." This was noble courage. It is a lesson for everyone; how to bear and how to forbear.
The courageous man is an example to the intrepid. His influence is magnetic. He creates an epidemic of nobleness. Men follow him, even to death. It is not the men who succeed that are always worthy of estimation. The men who fail for a time, continue to exercise a potent influence on their race. The leader of the forlorn hope may fall in the breach, but his body furnishes the bridge over which the victors enter the citadel.
The martyr may perish at the stake, but the truth for which he dies may gather new lustre from his sacrifice. The patriot may lay his upon the block, and hasten the triumph of the cause for which he suffers. The memory of a great life does not perish with the life itself, but lives in other minds. The ardent and enthusiastic may seem to throw their lives away; but the enduring men continue the fight, and enter in and take possession of the ground on which their predecessors sleep. Thus the triumph of a just cause may come late, but when it does come, it is due to the men who have failed as well as to the men who have eventually succeeded.
All the great work of the world has been accomplished by courage. Every blessing that we enjoy - personal security, individual liberty, and constitutional freedom - has been obtained through long apprenticeships of evil. The right of existing as a nation has only been accomplished through ages of wars and horrors. It required four centuries of martydom to established Christianity, and a century of civil wars to introduce the Reformation.
It is the simple fidelity to truth that gives to martyrdom its eternal value. In the progress of freedom of thought, no matter what the truth adhered to is, all martyrs are our martyrs. They died that we might be free. Roman Catholics and Protestants, Christians and Pagans, orthodox and heretic, may share in this glorious heritage of the past. "The angels of martyrdom and victory," says Mazzini, "are brothers : both extend their wings over the cradle of future life."
A story of the noble army of martyrs has come down to us from the beginning of the Christian era. It is that of Pancratius, or Pancras. He was born in Phrygia, a district visited by the Apostle Paul at the time when he confirmed the churches in Galatia. Pancratius was brought up to worship Jupiter, but his father having died, he was placed under the guardianship of his uncle Dionysius. The uncle removed to Rome in the year 305, that the orphan, heir to a vast fortune, might be near the Imperial Court. Under the care and tuition of the aged and holy Marcellinus, Bishop of Rome, he was converted to Christianity. His uncle soon after died, and the youth, then only fourteen years old, was left with his wealth and his religion in a world without a friend.
Diocletian was then persecuting the Christians. It was reported to him that Pancratius had been converted. He was immediately ordered to attend at the palace of Diocletian. The Emperor threatened him with instant death unless he sacrifice to Jupiter. The boy replied that he was a Christian, and ready to die; "for Christ," he said "our Master, inspires the souls of His servants, even young as I am, with courage to suffer for His sake." The Emperor made no reply, but ordered him to be led out of the city, and put to death by the sword on the Aurelian Way. There he sealed his testimony with his blood. He lay until the light of early dawn, when a Christian Roman lady wrapped the body in fine linen, and bore it to a catacomb near by, where she covered it with fresh flowers, embalming it with her tear. His name is still remembered by the churches erected after his memory.*
(* It is said of Saint John Lateran at Rome, "This is the head and mother of all Christian churches, if you except that of St. Pancras, under Highgate, near London." The common seal of St. Pancras parish represents a youthful saint trampling upon heathen superstition. There are seven St. Pancras churches in England, and many others in Italy and France.)
The early Christians were torn to pieces by wild beasts in the Roman arenas, down to the end of the third century. They were "butchered to make a Roman holiday." Nothing gave the Roman people greater sport than the fights of the wild beasts, the tearing to pieces of the Christians, and the deadly combats of the gladiators. The same pleasures - so to speak - prevailed all over the Empire. Wherever the Romans settled, an amphitheatre was founded. Almost the only remnants in England are at Richborough and Dorchester. At Treves, the capital of the Empire north of the Alps, a great many Roman remains are found. Among others is an amphitheatre cut out of the rock, capable of accommodating thousands of spectators. In the year 306, Constantine entertained his subjects with an exhibition of "Frankish sports." It consisted in exposing many thousand unarmed captive Franks to be torn to pieces by wild beasts. The animals were glutted with slaughter, and of their own accord desisted from their work of destruction. Those who survived were made to fight as gladiators against one another. But instead of doing this, they disappointed the ferocity of the spectators by voluntarily falling on each other's swords, instead of contending for life. In the same year, thousands of the Bructeri were barbarously sacrificed for the amusement of the people. The ruined amphitheatre, as well as the vaulted dens of the wild beasts, are still to be seen.
In France, many of the Roman amphitheatres still exist, though several of them have been used as quarries. Those at Nismes and Arles are the largest, the latter being so extensive that the Moors built four castles on the outer wall while defending the place against the Franks. The one at Verona is almost perfect, and is kept up from year to year. But the greatest amphitheatre is the Coliseum at Rome, which was able to afford accommodation for about 87,000 spectators. Church tradition tells us that it was designed by Gaudentius, a Christian architect and martyr; and it is also said that many thousand captive Jews, brought by Titus from Jerusalem, were employed in its construction. At the dedication of the building by Titus, 5000 beasts were slaughtered in the arena. Only recently, the bones of wild beasts, lions and tigers, have been found in the vaults underneath the circus.
On the days of the great spectacles at the Coliseum, all Rome held holiday. Men, women, and children assembled to see the bloody sports. The magistrates and senators, the functionaries of state, the nobles and the common people, even the Vestal Virgins, were there, presided over by the Emperor. The gladiators marched in front of the Emperor, crying, "Ave, Caesar! morituri te salutant." The wild beasts began the warfare, and the gladiators followed. The sports continued until night, when the spectators became drunk with carnage.
These sports continued until Rome was nominally Christian. But at length, about the year 400, an old hermit, lamenting these bloody carnivals, determined to interfere, though at the cost of his poor body. What was his life compared with the commission of these horrible crimes? The very name of this martyr is unknown. Some say it was Alymachus, and others that it was Telemachus. No matter, his couraged proved his worth. He had come from the far east. He knew nobody and nobody knew him. The news went forth that there was to be a gladiatorial combat in the arena. All Rome flocked to it. He went in with the crowd, his heart intent upon his object. The gladiators entered the arena with sharp spears and swords. It was to be a fight to the death. As they approached, the old man sprang over the wall, and threw himself between the gladiators about to engage. He called upon them to cease from shedding innocent blood. Loud cries, shrieks, howls, arose on every side. "Back, back, old man!" No, he would not go back. The gladiators thrust him aside, and advanced to the attack. The old man still stood between the sharp swords, and forbade them to commit bloodshed. "Down with him!" was the general cry. The Perfect gave his consent. The gladiators cut him down, and advanced over his dead body.
His death was not vain. The people began to think of what they had done. They had destroyed a holy man, who had given his life as a protest against their blood-thirstiness. They were shocked at their own cruelty. From the day on which the self-sacrificing old man was cut down, there were no more fights in the Coliseum. The hermit's death was victory. The gladiatorial combats were abolished by Honorius in 402. Not long ago, the remains of this nameless man were carried in triumph round the arena, and afterwards deposted, with all religious honours, in the church of San Clemente, near at hand.
Rome fell from its ancient glory by means of corruption, profligacy, and cruelty. Immorality in high places never fails to exert a pernicious influence upon all classes of society. Profligacy of manners results in profligacy of principles. The baser influences of human nature obtain the ascendency, and crush out the moral vitality of character. Greece and Rome fell, because of the moral inferiority of their rulers, and the consequent corruption of the people. Rome, the ancient mistress of the world , fell before the onset of the savage tribes which issued from the forests of central Europe. The rich were steeped in voluptuousness; the poor were wretched and dependent upon charity. They had no heart to defend their country. In fact, it was better that it should not exist.
Then Christianity came, and revealed to men the true foundation of religion. St. Paul carried it to Rome, as adequate to regenerate the world. It first took root against the enlightened poor. And why? Because religion is the explanation of human destiny, the poetry of our earthly existence, and the consoling promise of a better futurity. It also embraced women. In Rome, the lives of wives were at the disposal of their husbands. They were merely slaves. Christianity restored them to justice. They had now, for the first time, hope. They secured the reverence and love of men. "All virtues lies in a woman," said an ancient knight; "they impart worthiness, and make men worthy."
Intemperance, profanity, and immorality were subdued by the power of religious motives working in the hearts of individual men and women. The desire to do evil was thus lessened or removed. Religion satisfied the noble wants of human nature. The day of rest was consecrated, and relieved the workman's toil. The Church convened its members to the solemnities, and under its splendid roofs the whole Christien population, without distinction of class, assembled to worship; for were they not all, in the presence of God, men and brethren? What a happy picture! Would that it had continued!
Alas! the old Adam had not been effaced. There is no Eden in nature. The priesthood became the instruments of oppression, the defenders of the interests of the few against the legitimate interests of all, and shared the fate of those whom they had supported. There were differences of opinion respecting religious dogmas. What the pagans had done to the early Christians, the Christians did to their opponents. The fires of persecution were relighted, and martyrs were burnt as before. Courage and endurance were again required for those who fought for the truth; and nobly did they die.
Persecution begain in Italy; it extended to Spain, France, and the Netherlands. Germany resisted it. "God's design," said Luther, "is to have sons who eternally and perfectly are fearless, calm, and generous, who fear absolutely nothing, but triumph over and despise all things through confidence in His grace, and who mock at punishments and deaths; He hates all the cowards, who are confounded with the fear of everything, even with the sound of a rustling leaf."
"Strange," said F.W. Newman, "how religion, in any form, should have generated cruelty. The Inquisition, established after Christianity had supplanted paganism, was a system of deliberate cruelty. It was continued for centuries as a pious institution, and will ever be branded as infamous and execrable. Yet its pretensions were based on the name of a gentle and loving religion.
The priesthood of Spain, aided by the secular power, stamped out the Reformation by sheer physical force. In one night eight hundred Protestants were thrown into the prisons of Seville. They were everywhere seized and burnt. Fires blazed in the chief Spanish cities. A short time ago a drain was cut through a field, near Madrid, where the Protestants were burnt. The workmen laid open a deep layer of black shining dust, mixed with calcined bones and charcoal. It was the remains of those who had perished at the bidding of the Church.
And what did Spain gain by its terrible cruelty? Its wealth has left it; and the country is almost bankrupt. The people are uneducated and uncared for. Only one out of eight can read or write. They regard the priests as their natural enemies. The greater number are professed unbelievers. Even the priests are poor. "It is a strange thing to think of," says Dr. Lees, "that Spain was more prosperous under the Moors than she has been under Christian rulers. The government was more liberal, more tolerant, more cultured; her people were better educated; her lands better cultivated. SInce the Moors were driven away, Spain has almost continually retrograded."
Philip II. of Spain was perhaps the greatest miscreant that ever sat upon a throne. He is only worthy of being compared to Nero and Caligula. In his edict of 1568, he sentenced every Protestant in the Netherlands to be put to death. The edict failed, because there were not means enough to carry out his diabolical decree. But his minister, Alva, did what he could. By the aid of his Councilof Blood, and the sheriffs and executioners of the Most Holy Inquisition, he was sometimes able to put to death by torture eight hundred beings in a week. The first crime was Protestantism; the second was wealth. For the latter reason, Catholics as well as Protestants were plundered and destroyed. The possession of property made the proof of orthodoxy almost impossible. At the end of half a dozen years, Alva boasted of having strangled, drowned, burnt, or beheaded, more than eighteen thousand of his fellow-creatures. This was independent of the tens of thousands who had perished in sieges and battles during Alva's administration. His robberies, like his murders, were colossal.
But France was as bad as Spain. From the beginning of her adherence to Rome, she plundered, burnt, beheaded, or banished all who were opposed to the opinions of the great Roman Hierarch. The Albigenses were massacred or driven into the Pyrenees. The Vaudois, with the help of Savoy, were hanged and burnt all through the south-east of France, and the north-west of Italy. Persecution and burning went on throughout the whole of France. Half a dozen Lutheran counsellors were burnt at Paris to give pleasure to the grandees of Spain.
There were many noble exceptions to this mad riot of persecution. The Chancellor de I'Hopital urged his co-religionists to adorn themselves with virtues and a good life, and to attack their adversaries with the arms of charity, prayer, and persuasion. "Let us put away," he said, "these diabolical words, the names of parties, of factions, and seditions; Lutherans, Huguenots, Papists; change them to the name of Christians." For this, the Chancellor was called an atheist.
When Viscount Dorte, Governor of Bayonne, received an order from Charles IX. for the massacre of the Protestants there, he replied that he had communicated his majesty's letter to the garrison and inhabitants of the town; but that he had been able to find among them only brave soldiers and good subjects, and not a single executioner.
Then came the massacres of Voissy and St. Bartholomew, which were repeated all over France. Present for ever, like a skeleton at a feast, was the massacre of St. Bartholomew in the thoughts of all the Protestants in Europe. That and the attempted invasion of England by the Spanish Armada of Philip II., were the two great features in history of the latter half of the sixteenth century.
Nor was the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes by Louis XIV. more merciful. By that decree, every Protestants was expelled from France under ppenalty of "conversion" or death. Protestant nobles, gentles, merchants, peasants, and artisans, refused to become hypocrites. They would not conform to what they did not believe. The nobles and proprietors abandoned their estates, renounced their titles, and gave up everything to their enemies. The merchants fled with the artisans, and sought other lands where they were free to worship God according to their conscience, and enjoy the fruits of their industry in peace.
It was not death they feared. The Duke de Mayeme hit the secret of the Huguenot character, when he said, "Ces gens etaient de pere en fils apprivoises a la mort." They perished by thousands, by the axe, by the wheel, and by tortures inconceivable. They could not be conquered by death. They yielded up their lives as a sacrifice to duty. The noble stamp of life and conduct which we find in the great Huguenot leaders has never been reproduced in France. In fact, the nobility and breadth of soul, and the profound conviction of the French Protestants, generated this lofty type of character - the finest which the whole range of French history has to show. But history for the most part deals with the reigns of kings and queens. Victories and defeats are remembered; but the persecuted are forgotten.
Louis XIV. and all his armies could not prevail against the impenetrable rampart of conscience. His relentless policy maintained a perpetual St. Bartholomew in France for more than sixty years. And with what result? He was baffled and defeated. He left France ruined and laden with taxes. He destroyed commerce and agriculture by his banishment of the Huguenots; and left France a prey to anarchy, which developed itself in the Revolution of 1789.*
(*"The prisons in the Pope's palace at Avignon," says Dr. Arnold, "were one of the most striking things I ever saw in my life. In the self-same dungeon, the roof was still black with the smoke of the Inquisition fires, in which men were tortured or burnt; and as you looked down a trap-door into an apartment below, the walls were still marked with the blood of the victims whom Jourdan Coup Tete threw down there into the ice-house below, in the famous massacre of 1791. It was very awful to see such traces of two great opposite forms of human wickedness.)
'History of France,' "was a noble act of loyalty and sincerity. It was horror of falsehood. It was respect for thought. It is glorious for human nature that so great a number of men and women should, for truth's sake, have sacrificed everything; passed from riches to poverty; risked life, family, and all, in the perilous enterprise of a flight so difficult. Some see it these people only obstinate sectaries: I see in them people of lofty ideas of honour who, over all the earth, have proved themselves to have been the elite of France. The stoical device which free-thinkers have popularized is precisely the idea which lies at the root of the Protestant emigration, braving death and the galleys to remain noble and true: Vitam impendere vero; Life sacrificed for the truth."
Before this, the fires of persecution had extended to England and Scotland. Smithfield, in London, was often ablaze with the burning of Protestants and witches. But the Catholics have their book of martyrs as well as the Protestants. Forest, and Observant Friar, was burnt for denying the supremacy of Henry VIII. Fire was used on both sides. In Queen Mary's time the executions for religion became ten times more frequent than before. John Rogers, vicar of St. Sepulchre's, was burnt at the stake, in sight of his church tower. John Bradford died embracing the stake and comforting his fellow-sufferer. John Philpot, archdeacon of Winchester, was burnt at the same time. It is not necessary to mention the names of Latimer, Cranmer, and Ridley. The great spirits of that time were not of the same temper as the men of to-day. We, who shrink at a scalded finger, wonder at the men who were not only burnt for their faith, but who gloried in it. "Shall I disdain to suffer at this stake," said John Philpot, "seeing my Redeemer did not refuse to suffer a most vile death upon the cross for me?"
The persecution for conscience' sake extended to the reign of Charles II. William Penn said, "There have been ruined since the late king's restoration about 15,000 families, and more than 5,000 persons died under bonds for matters of mere conscience to God." Charles II., and after him James II., extended these persecutions to Scotland. In the old Catholic times, the only method of dealing with Protestants was fire. Cardinal Beaton burnt George Wishart before his castle of St. Andrews, and, looking out of the window, saw him shrivelled up with his own eyes. In the Protestant times of Charles and James, Protestants persecuted Protestants, because of their differences of opinion. The myrmidons of the Stewarts hunted the Presbyterians, shot them, murdered them, and hanged them. The effect was to drive their special form of religion into their very hearts and souls. The boot and thumbscrews were horrible to endure, but the sufferers were brave and enduring.
"I treasure," says Robert Collyer of New York," a small drawing by Millais. It is the figure of a woman bound fast to a pillar far within tide-mark. The sea is curling its waves about her doom. A ship is passing in full sail, but not heeding her or her doom. Birds of prey are hovering about her; but she heeds not the birds, or the ship, or the sea. Her eyes look right on, and her feet stand firm, and you see that she is looking directly into heaven, and telling her soul how the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory that shall be revealed. Under the picture is this legend, copied from the stone set up to her memory in an old Scottish kirkyard:-
"'Murdered for owning Christ supreme
Head of His Church, and no more crime.
But for not owning Prelacy,
And not abjuring Presbyt'ry,
Within the sea, tied to a stake,
She suffered for Christ Jesus' sake.'
"I treasure it because, when I look at it, it seems a type of a great host of women who watch and wait, tied fast to their fate, while the tide creeps up about them, but who rise as the waves rise, and on the crest of the last and the loftiest, are borne into the quiet haven, and hear the 'Well-done.'"
"For what a length of years," say Sydney Smith, "was it attempted to compel the Scotch to change their religion. Horse, foot, and artillery, and armed Prebendaries, were sent out after the Presbyterian ministers and congregations. Much blood was shed, but, to the astonishment of the Prelatists, they could not introduce the Book of Common Prayer, nor prevent that metaphysical people from going to heaven their true way, instead of our true way. The true and the only remedy was applied. The Scotch were suffered to worship God after their own tiresome manner, without pain, penalty, and privation. No lightning descended from heaven; the country was not ruined; the world is not yet come to an end; the dignitaries who foretold all these consequences are utterly forgotten; and Scotland has ever since been an increasing source of strength to Great Britain."
Toleration is only a recent discovery. We have ceased to burn men, it is not necessary to presuade them. The age of martyrdom, like that of miracles, is past. We are not shot, or pinned to a stake, or broken alive on the wheel, as in bygone days; and yet we suffer by isolation, by misrepresentation, by ridicule, and by blame. Courage is as necessary as ever for those who would hold by the innate consciousness of the truth. It is even more difficult, in these days of indifferentism, to keep true to higher laws and purer instincts, than it was in the times of martyrdom. "Active persecution and fierce chastisements," says a well known writer, "are tonics to the nerves; but the mere weary conviction that no one cares, that no one notices, that there is no humanity that honours, and no Deity that pities, is more destructive of all higher effort than any conflict with tyranny of with barbarism."
But have we really abandoned our ideas as to the worthlessness of persecution? In these days printing and publishing are free; and men express their thoughts in the public press. What are we to think of this sentence, which recently appeared in a London newspaper? "Considering robbery are light crimes, and the spread of epidemic disease of no consequence, in comparison with the crime which Luther and Calvin perpetrated when they revolted from the Church." The sentence would have been approved by the perpetrators of the Massacre of St. Bartholomew; and by all those who have burnt and beheaded the thousands of men who have held to their own religious belief. But it will not do now. Our forefathers have handed down to us the priceless heritage of a free state - won by the lives of some of the noblest men who ever lived; and it will be our own fault if we encourage this revolting appeal to intolerance on the part of those who differ from us. Even Jesuits, like the Huguenots, have been banished from France; and they are free, like all persecuted people, to live under the protection of English laws. But they must have respect for these laws, and for the religious toleration of the country that protects them.
William Penn was of opinion that there was no greater mistake than to suppose that a country or a people were strengthened by all the people holding one opinion, whether upon religious doctrine or religious practice; and that a variety of opinions, of professions, and of practice, was a strength to a people and to a government, if all were alike tolerated. Individuality must be upheld: for without individuality there can be no liberty. Individuality is everywhere to be spared and respected, as the root of everything good. "Even despotism does not produce its worst effects," says John Stuart Mill, "so long as individuality exists under it; and whatever crushes individuality is despotism, by whatever name it may be called, and whether it professes to be enforcing the Will of God or the injunctions of men."
Jeremy Taylor concludes his Apology for Christian toleration with an Eastern apologue. Abraham was sitting at his tent door, when an old man, stooping and leaning on his staff, appeared before him. Abraham invited him into his tent, set before him meat, and abserving that he did not invoke a blessing, asked him why he did not worship the God of Heaven. "I worship the fire only, and acknowledge no other god." Abraham became angry, and drove the old man out of his tent. Then God called to Abraham, and asked him where the stranger was. "I thrust him away, because he did not worship Thee!" God answered him, "I have suffered him these hundred years, though he dishonoured me, and wouldest thou not endure him one single night?" Upon which, saith the story, Abraham fetched him back again, and gave him hospitable entertainment and wise instruction.
Even the great men who have laboured to advance the cause of science have endured the perils of martyrdom. In former times there was scarcely a great discovery in astronomy, in natural history, or in physical science, which was not denounced as leading to infidelity. Bruno was burnt alive at Rome for exposing the fashionable but false philosophy of his time. The followers of Copernicus were branded as misbelievers. After Lippersley of Middleburgh, in Holland, had invented the telescope, Galileo took up the idea, and constructed a telescope of his own, with which he ascended the tower of St. Mark, at Venice, to view the heavenly bodies. He directed it to the planets and fixed stars, which he observed with "incredible delight." He discovered the satellites and belts of Jupiter, the phases of Venus, and the spots on the sun. He faithfully recorded the revelations that came down to him direct from the skies. He proceeded with his observations, and discovered perhaps more during his lifetime than any future astronomer.
But all this was at variance with the received ideas of the time. The Inquisition undertook to regulate astronomical science. Galileo was called to Rome, and summoned before the Inquisitors to answer for the heretical doctrines he had published. He was compelled to renounce his opinions; he declared that he abandoned the doctrine of the earth's motion round the sun. The Inquisitors inserted in the prohibited Index the works of Galileo, Kepler, and Copernicus. Galileo plucked up heart again, and published a new work, in the form of a dialogue, defending his doctrines. He was summoned before the Inquisition, and was compelled, on bended knees, to renounce and abjure his glorious discovery. Galileo wanted the courage of his opinions. But he was an old man of seventy when he denied his faith. Galileo would not have been persecuted, could he have been answered. Yet the truth lived, and men were set on the right track of observation for all ages to come.
Pascal said of his condemnation,"It is in vain that you (the Jesuits) have procured against Galileo a decree from Rome condemning his opinion of the earth's motion.Assuredly that will never prove it to be at rest; and if we have unerring observations proving that it turns round, not all mankind together can keep it from turning, nor themselves from turning with it." Truth may run for a long time underground, but it is sure to work its way to the surface at last; and in proportion to the obstacles it encounters, and the length of its struggle, are the extent and the certainty of its triumph.
The life of Kepler was as sad as that of Galileo. Originally a poor boy, he was admitted to the school at the monastery of Maulbroom, and eventually became a learned man. He accepted the astronomical chair at Gratz in Styria, and devoted himself to the study of the planets. He was afterwards appointed Imperial mathematician to the Emperor; though his salary was insufficient to maintain himself and his family. At Lintz he was excommunicated by the Roman Catholics because of some opinions he had expressed respecting transubstantiation. "Jude," he says to Hoffman, "how far I can assist you, in a place where the priest and school inspector have combined to brand me with the public stigma of heresy, because in every question I take that side which seems to me consonant with the will of God."
Kepler was then offered the professorship of mathematics at Bologna, but having the recantation and condemnation of Galileo before him, he declined the chair. "I might," he said, "notably increase my fortune; but, living a German among Germans, I am accustomed to a freedom of speech and manners, which, if persevered in at Bologna, would draw upon me, if not danger, at least notoriety, and might expose me to suspicion and party malice."
In 1619 Kepler discovered the celebrated law which will be ever memorable in the history of science, "that the squares of the periodic times of the planets are to one another as the cubes of their distances." He recognized with transport the absolute truth of a prinsiple which, for seventeen years, had been the object of his incessant labours. "The die is cast," he said;"the book is written, to be read either now or by posterity - I care not which. It may well wait a century for a reader, as God has waited six thousand years for an observer."
The next book Kepler published, 'The Epitome of the Copernican Astronomy,' was condemned at Rome, and placed in the prohibited Index. In the meantime, his mind was distracted by a far greater trouble. His mother, seventy-nine years old, was thrown into prison, condemned to the torture, and was about to be burnt as a witch. Kepler immediately flew to her relief; and arrived at his Swabian home in time to save her from further punishment. But more troubles followed. The States of Styria ordered all the copies of his 'Kalendar' for 1624 to be publicly burnt. His library was sealed up by order of the Jesuits; and he was compelled to leave Lintz by the popular insurrection which then prevailed. He went to Sagan in Silesia, under the protection of Albert Wallenstein, Duke of Friedland; and he shortly after died there of disease of the brain, the result of too much study.
Even Columbus may be regarded in the light of a martyr. He sacrificed his life to the discovery of a new world. The poor woolcarder's son of Genoa had long to struggle unsuccessfully with the petty conditions necessary for the realization of his idea. He dared to believe, on grounds sufficing to his reason, that which the world disbelieved, and scoffed and scorned at. He believed that the earth was round, while the world believed that it was flat as a plate. He believed that the whole circle of the earth, outside the known world, could not be wholly occupied by sea; but that the probability was that continents of land might be contained within it. It was certainly a probability; but the noblest qualities of the soul are often brought forth by the strength of probabilities that appear slight to less daring spirits. In the eyes of his countrymen, few things were more improbable than that Columbus should survive the dangers of unknown seas and land on the shores of a new hemisphere.
Columbus was a practical as well as an intellectual hero. He went from one state to another, urging kings and emperors to undertake the first visiting of a world which his instructed spirit already discerned in the far-off seas. He first tried his own countrymen at Genoa, but found none ready to help him. He then went to Portugal, and submitted his project to John II., who laid it before his council. It was scouted as extravagant and chimerical. Nevertheless, the king endeavoured to steal Columbus's idea. A fleet was sent forth in the direction indicated by the navigator, but, being frustrated by storms and winds, it returned to Lisbon after four days' voyaging.
Columbus returned to Genoa, and again renewed his propositions to the Republic, but without success. Nothing discouraged him. The finding of the New World was the irrevocable object of his life. He went to Spain, and landed at the town of Palos, in Andalusia. He went by chance to a convent of Franciscans, knocked at the door, and asked for a little bread and water. The prior gratefully received the stranger, entertained him, and learned from him the story of his life. He encouraged him in his hopes, and furnished him with an admission to the Court of Spain, then at Cordova. King Ferdinand received him graciously, but before coming to a decision he desired to lay the project before a council of his wisest men at Salamanca. Columbus had to reply, not only to the scientific arguments laid before him, but to citations from the Bible. The Spanish clergy declared that the theory of an antipodes was hostile the faith. The earth, they said, was an immense flat disc; and if there was a new earth beyond the ocean, then all men could not be descended from Adam. Columbus was dismissed as a fool.
Still bent on his idea, he wrote to the King of England, then to the King of France, without effect. At last, in 1492, Columbus was introduced by Louis de Saint Angel to Queen Isabella of Spain. The friends who accompanied him pleaded his cause with so much force and conviction, that the queen acceded to their wishes, and promised to take charge of the proposed enterprise. A fleet of three small caravelles, only one of which was decked, was got ready; and Columbus sailed from the port of Palos on the 3rd of August 1492. After his long fight against the ignorance of men, he had now to strive against the superstitions of seamen. He had a long and arduous struggle. The unknown seas, the perils of the deep, the fear lest hunger should befall them, the weary disappointment on the silent main, the repeated disappointment of their hope of seeing land, sometimes rose to mutiny, which Columbus, always full of hope, had to courage to suppress. At last, after seventy days' sail, land was discovered, and Columbus set foot on the island of San Salvador. Then Cuba and Hispaniola were discovered. They were taken possession of in the nake of the King and Queen of Spain. At the latter island, a fort was built. A commandant and some men were left in it; and Columbus then returned to Spain to give an account of his discovery.
The enthusiasm with which he was received was immense; his fame was great, not only in Spain, but throughout the world. He did not remain long in Spain. He set out again for America, this time in command of fourteen caravelles and three large vessels, containing in all about 1200 men. A number of nobles took part in the expedition. On this occasion Guadaloupe and Jamaica were discovered; and San Domingo and Cuba were explored. But the fabulous gold which the nobles expected was not forthcoming. Factions began, and ended in blood. Columbus vainly endeavoured to reanimate their enthusiasm. But they regarded him with disdain, and as the author of their misery.
Columbus returned to Spain a second time, but he was not received with the same plaudits as before. The Spainish sovereigns received him with interest, though not without a little coolness. He found that a base and envious jealousy was springing up against him among the courtiers. Another expedition was however undertaken. Six large ships again carried Columbus and his followers to the New World. On this occasion, the mainland of America was discovered, and other islands in the Caribbean Sea. In the meantime, the natives of San Domingo rebelled against the Spaniards, who treated them with great cruelty. The Spanish colonists also fell out among themselves, and waged incessant war against each other. Columbus, in great sorrow at these events, despatched messages to the King of Spain, desiring him to send out to San Domingo a magistrate and a judge.
At the instigation of some jealous and hostile members of the court, the king sent out Don Francisco de Bobadillo, furnished with absolute powers, and designated Governor of the New World. He was not a judge, but an executioner. The first thing he did after landing was to throw Columbus and his two brothers into prison. He commissioned Alonzo de Villego to convey the brothers to Spain. Columbus was laden with chains like a malefactor, and put on board ship. While on the way, Villego, compassionating the great navigator's lot, offered to relieve him of his irons. "No!" said Columbus; "I will preserve them as a memorial of the recompense due to my services." "These irons," said his son Fernand,"I have often seen suspended on the cabinet of my father; and he ordered that at his death they should be buried with him in his grave."
On the return of the ship to Spain, the king and the Queen, ashamed of the conduct of Bobadillo, ordered that the prisoners should be set at liberty. Columbus was the disgusted with his treatment. "The world," he said, "has delivered me to a thousand conflicts, and I have resisted them all unto this day; I could not defend myself, neither with arms nor with prudence. With what barbarism have they treated me throughout!"
Yet his eager and mysteriously informed spirit was still brooding over the wide ocean. He obtained the means of making a fourth voyage, which, he thought, would eventually enrich Spain, a country which he had as yet so thanklessly served. This time he discovered the island of Guanaja. He coasted round Honduras, Nicaragua, and Panama. He landed at Veraguas, and found the rich mines of gold in these regions; he endeavoured to found a colony on the river Belen; but a tempest arising, his ships were blown hither and thither, and he was obliged to set sail for San Domingo to repair his ships. He was growing old and worn out with fatigues and sufferings. He was sick and ill when his seamen mitinied, and threatened to take his life. He could not resist, for he had no one to help him. But suddenly the land came in sight, and he entered San Dominga in safety.
Shortly after, he set sail for Spain. It was his last voyage. He was now about seventy. After his "long wandering woe," he was glad to reach Spain at last. He hoped for some reward - at least for as much as would keep soul and body together. But his appeals were fruitless. He lived for a few months after his return, poor, lonely, and stricken with a mortal disease. Even towards his death he was a scarcely tolerated beggar. He had to complain that his frock had been taken and sold, that he had not a roof of his own, and lacked wherewithal to pay his tavern bill. It was then that, with failing breath, he uttered the words, sublime in their touching simplicity, "I, a native of Genoa, discovered in the distant West the continent and isles of India." He expired at Valladolid, on the 20th of May 1506, his last words being, "Lord, I deliver my soul into Thy hands." Thus died the great martyr of discovery. His defeat was victory. He struggled nobly, and died faithfuly.
Some men are willing to throw themselves away in the pursuit of a great object. The early martyrs, the early discoverers, the early inventors, the pioneers of civilization - all who work for truth, for religion, for patriotism - are the forlorn hope of humanity. They live and labour and die without any hope of personal reward. It is enough for them to know their work, and by the exercise of moral power to do it. The man of energy and genius is guided by his apprehension of the widest and highest tendencies. He may be thwarted and discouraged. Difficulties may surround him. But he is borne up by invincible courage; and if he dies, he leaves behind him a name which every man venerates. Death has fructified his life, and made it more fruitful to others. "When God permits His ministers to dies for the gospel," said Brousson, "they preach louder from their graves than they did during their lives." "What we sow," said Jeremy Taylor, "in the minutes and spare portions of a few years, grows up to crowns and sceptres in a happy and glorious eternity."
Are not difficulty and suffering necessary to evoke the highest forms of character, energy, and genius? Effort and endurance, striving and submitting, energy and patience, enter into every destiny. There is a virtue in passive endurance which is often greater than the glory of success. It bears, it suffers, it endures, and still it hopes. It meets difficulties with a smile, and strives to stand erect beneath the heaviest burdens. Suffering, patiently and enduringly borne, is one of the noblest attributes of man. There is something so noble in the quality, as to lift it into the highest regions of heroism. It was a saying of Milton, "Who best can suffer, best can do."
It is a mistake to suppose that there is ever an age when there is not a demand for the heroic virtue, or that the martyr-ages, or the ages of death-struggle with tyranny, alone call the practice of this virtue. To withstand the everyday course of a generation which has lost the sense of man's high destiny, and allowed pleasure to usurp the place of duty, may demand as much real heroism as to confront tyrant power, or to face the axe of the executioner.
Even in war itself, endurance is as high a virtue as courage; and now that war has become scientific, endurance has taken the higher position. The well-disciplined soldier must stand erect in the place that has been assigned to him. "Be steady, men!" is the order. He braves danger without moving, while bullets are dealing death around him. When he advances, he has still to endure. He must not fire until the word of command is given. And then the charge comes. But it is not merely in action that endurance is highest. It is in retreat rendered necessary by defeat. Viewed in this light, the retreat of Xenophon's Ten Thousand outshines the conquests of Alexander; and the retreat of Sir John Moore to Corunna was as great as the victories of Wellington.
There are numerous en who have been martyred in defense of their country. There is an old story in France - indeed it is an old story everywhere. "It is a shame," said Clovis, looking on the rich fields across the Garonne, "that such territories should belong to villains who have a different creed from ours. Onward! let us take possession of their land!"
When Xerxes endeavoured to conquer Greece, Leonidas, with three hundred men, marched to the Pass of Thermopylae, to resist the immense Persian army. A fierce combat ensued; great numbers of the invaders were killed. Leonidas and the little band of heroes were destroyed, but Greece was saved.
Not less brave than Leonidas was Judas Maccabeus, "the hammerer." With his forlorn hope of eight hundred men he resisted the attack of twenty thousand Syrians, who were overrunning the Holy Land. Judas took his last stand at Eleasah. His followers would fain have persuaded him to retreat. "God forbid," he answered, 'that I should flee away before them. If our time be come, let us die manfully for our brethren; let us not stain our honour." The battle was heavy and fierce; Judas and his men fought valiantly, and were killed to the last men, with their faces to the foe. They did not die in vain. The Jews took heart; they beat back the invaders; the Temple was rebuilt; and Judea again became the most prosperous country in the East.
The Romans also knew the value of heroism and devotion on behalf of their country. But let us come to more modern times. Little countries, of comparatively small populations, have contrived to maintain and preserve their liberties in spite of enormous difficulties. It is not the size of a country, but the character of its people, that gives it sterling value. We find men constantly calling for liberty, but who do nothing to deserve it. They remain inert, lazy, and selfish. There is a so-called patriotism that has no more dignity in it than the howling of wolves. True patriotism is of another sort. It is based on honesty, truthfulness, generosity, self-sacrifice, and genuine love of freedom.
Look, for instance, at the little Republic of Switzerland, which has been hemmed in by tyrannical governments for hundreds of years. But the people are brave and frugal, honest and self-helping. They would have no master, but governed themselves. They elected their representatives, as at Apenzell, by show of hands in the public market-places. They proclaimed liberty of conscience; and Switzerland, like England, has always been the refuge of the persecuted for conscience sake.
It was not without severe struggles that Switzerland conquered its independence. The leaders of these brave men have often sacrificed themselves for the good of their country. Take for instance, the example of Arnold von Winkelried. In 1481 the Austrians invaded Switzerland, and a comparatively small number of men determined to resist them. Near the little town of Sempach the Austrians were observed advancing in a solid compact body, presenting an unbroken lne of spears. The Swiss met them, but their spears were shorter, and being much fewer in number, they were compelled to give way. Observing this, Arnold von Winkelried, seeing that all the efforts of the Swiss to break the ranks of their enemies had failed, exclaimed to his countryman, "I will open a path to freedom! Protect, dear comrades, my wife and children!" He rushed forward, and, gathering in his arms as many spears as he could grasp, he buried them in his bossom. He fell, but a gap was made, and the Swiss rushed in, and achieved and exceeding great victory. Arnold von Winkelried died, but saved his country. The little mountain republic preserved its liberty. The battle took place on the 9th of July, and to this day the people of the country assemble to celebrate their deliverance from the Austrians, through the self-sacrifice of their leader.
But Swiss women can be as brave as Swiss men. Women pass through moral and physical danger with a courage that is equal to that of the bravest. They are pre-eminent in steady endurance; and they are sometimes equal to men in a becoming valour to meet the peril which is sudden and sharp. The saying is, that the brave are the sons and daughters of the brave; simply because they are brought up by the brave, and are infected by their example.
In 1622, nearly two hundred years after the battle of Sempach, the Emperor of Austria desired to make himself master of the Grisons, in order to extinguish the Protestant religion and banish it ministers. His army first appeared in the valley of the Pratigau. The valley is shut in by high mountains. It is rich in pasturage, and is still famous for its large cattle. The men were high up on the hills, driving and watching their herds. Only the women remained; and so soon as they heard of the approach of the Austrians, between Klosters and Landquart, they took up their husbands' arms - pikes and scythes and pitchforks - and rushed out to meet them. There are passes in Switzerland where a few well-armed men or women can beat back a thousand. With the help of stones showered down from the hills upon the enemy, the women prevailed. The Austrians were driven back. Of course the men were as brave as the women. Not long after, the castle of Castel. apposite Fideris, was stormed and taken by the peasants, armed only with sticks! On account of the gallant defence of the women, it continues to be a standing rule in the valley, that the women go first to the Communion, and the men follow.
Such are the heroic men and women whom the Swiss venerate :- Tell, the dauntless crossbowman, and Winkelried, the spearman. Though the former is probably traditional,* the latter is a man of history. The house in which he lived is still pointed out at Stanz, in Unter-walden; his coat of mail is still in the Rathhaus; and a statue is erected to him in the market-place, with the sheaf of spears in his arms.
(*There are several Tells - a Danish Tell, a Finland Tell, and a Swiss Tell. There is a Tell in the East. It is probable that the story of Tell is an Indian myth.)
Some five centuries ago, England suffered a grievous defeat in the North, which afterwards proved to be one of her greatest blessings. Scotland was poor, consisting principally of mountains and moors. It did not contain a fourth of the present population of London.* The people were widely scattered. The country lay close to England, and was always open to invasion. It was not, like Ireland, protected by a wide and deep sea-moat. Besides, it was not a united nation, nor were its people of the same race. On the north and west were the Celts of Highlanders; on the south and east were the descendants of the Saxons, Anglians, and Northmen. The Highland clans warred against each other. They gave no help to the Lowlanders in their wars for freedom. Robert Bruce was nearly killed by the Macdougals in his flight through Lorne.
(* The population of Scotland at the time of the Union, in 1707, was only one million.)
Wallace preceded Bruce. The Lowland country was conquered by Edward I. All its strong places were in the hands of the English. Wallace endeavoured to rouse the spirit of patriotism throughout the western counties. Though a man of great personal prowess, he was not a great warrior. He was never able to raise a sufficient number of men to fight a pitched battle. He was defeated at Falkirk. Indeed, he was a man who failed. He was the forlorn hope of Scotland at that time. Yet his faith in the future of his country nourished the national spirit more than even the victories of his successor, Robert Bruce. At last Wallace was betrayed, and delivered over to the English. He was taken to London, and, on the eve of St. Bartholomew, 1305, he was dragged on a sledge from the Tower to Smithfield, where he was hanged, and quartered while still living. Thus died the martyr for freedom. He did not live in vain. He inspired his countrymen with the love of liberty; and the time came when they could follow his example with success.
Robert Bruce was the descendant of a Norman. He was half an Englishman and half a Scotchman; and, by his maternal line of ancestry, he claimed the Scottish crown. After many daring adventures and rude perils - borne up throughout by strong persevering conscience and an ardent love of liberty - Bruce was able to get together a patriotic army, to meet the English at Bannockburn in 1314. Before the battle began, the Scottish army knelt down in prayer. Edward II. was looking on. He turned to his favourite knight, and said, "Argentine, the rebels yield! They beg for mercy!" "They do, my liege," was the reply; "but not from you." The battle ended, not only in a victory, but in a rout.
The English ambassadors at the Papal Court induced John XXII. to excommunicate Robert Bruce, and to lay his kingdom under an ecclesiastical ban. The interdict was met by a heroic Parliament held at Arbroath in 1320. Eight earls and twenty-one nobles appended their names to a letter from the Parliament to the Pope, which, for the principle it asserted, was worth any document in European history. It asked the Pope to require the English king to respect the independence of Scotland, and to mind his own affairs. "So long as a hundred of us are left alive," say the signatories, "we will never in any degree be subjected to the English. It is not for glory, riches, or honours that we fight, but for liberty alone which no good man loses but with his life."*
(* Professor Veitch's 'Border History and Poetry,' page 277.)
Although numerous wars followed, and although attempts were made by the stronger nation to force new forms of religion upon the weaker nation, the result was always the same. The history of Scotland has been a perpetual protest against despotism. Its lesson is - first, the power of individualism; and latterly, that of the rights of conscience.
There was another great defeat which England sustained about the same time, which, though regarded as deplorable, yet turned out to be as great a blessing as that of Bannockburn. It was at the siege of Orleans, which, Dr. Arnold says, was "one of the turning points in the history of nations."* The English were overrunning France. They had won many battles; they had entered Paris, and were besieging Orleans. France was in a dismal condition. The principal nobles abandoned the king (Charles VII.), and each endeqvoured to set up a petty sovereignty of his own. The towns gave themselves up without making any resistance. The taxes were levied by force, and even the king had scarcely the means to live upon, still less to maintain his army. The people lost faith in both king and nobles, and longed that God might work some means of deliverance for their country.
(* The following are Dr. Arnold's words ('Life and Letters' by Dean Stanley) :- "The siege of Orleans is one of the turning points in the history of nations. Had the English dominion in France been established, no man can tell what might have been the consequence to England, which would probably have become an appendage to France. So little does the prosperity of the people depend upon success in war, that two of the greatest defeats we ever had have been two of our greatest blessings - Orleans and Bannockburn. It is curious, too, that in Edward II.'s reign, the victory over the Irish at Athunree proved our curse, as our defeat by the Scots turned out a blessing. Had the Irish remained independent, they might afterwards have been united to us, as Scotland was; and had Scotland been reduced to subjection, it would have been another curse to us like Ireland."
Strange! how small a circumstance may alter the destiny of a nation. It was a woman - a country girl, who spinned the knitted at home, and looked after the cattle out of doors - who came to help of France. Joan d' Arc was born at the village of Domremy, in Lorraine. She was simple, virtuous, and religious. Being of a nervours temperament, in her exalted state she dreamt dreams, and heard solemn words spoken to her. She was told to "go to the help of the King of France," and was assured " that she would restore his kingdom to him." Captain Baudricourt, who was informed of her wishes, thought at first that she was mad. At last he was so touched by her earnestness, that he offered to furnish her with an equipment of armed men, and to conduct her to the king. She travelled through the 150 miles of country occupied by the English; and at length reached the king and court at Chinon in safety.
The king was only too glad to have any means of help, no matter from what quarter it came. The bishops and priests thought her a witch and inspired by the devil. Nevertheless the king sent her on to Orleans, and she reached the besieged city. The English were already beginning to be distressed. They had sat down before Orleans during the winter, and their forces were fast melting away. After the death of the Earl of Salisbury many of the men-at-arms whom he had enlisted separated from the camp. The Burgendians, who were in league with the English, were recalled by their duke. Only about 2,000 or 3,000 English troops remained, and these were distributed amongst a dozen bastilles, between which there was no connexion. "On reading," says Michelet, "the formidable list of captains who threw themselves into the city with their forces, the deliverance of Orleans does not seem so miraculous after all."
Joan d'Arc headed the attack upon the English in the bastilles. They were driven out, though in storming the last (theTournelles) the Maid was wounded. But she was not satisfied with raising the siege of Orleans. The English must be driven out of the country. The army, under her direction, followed the enemy to Patay, where they were again defeated. Then followed the crowning of Charles VII. at Rheims, as she had predicted. "The originality of La Pucelle," says Michelet, "the secret of her success, was not her courage or her visions, but her good sense. By taking Charles VII. straight to Rheims, and having him crowned, she gained over the English the decision of his coronation."
She had done and finished what she had intended to do; she now desired to return home to her parents, and to her flocks and herds. But the king refused his consent. He had seen how Joan had brought back success to the ranks of the French army. He therefore desired her presence among the soldiers. From this time she had not the same confidence in herself; she felt irresolute and restless, and though she continued fighting, it was without any decisive results.
The English and Burgundians, having again coalesced, laid siege to Compiegne, on the river Oise. The citizens had already declared themselves in favour of Charles VII., and La Pucelle at once threw herself into the place. On the same day she headed a sortie, and had nearly surprised the besiegers, but she was driven back to the city gates, where she was surrounded by the French (Burgundians), dragged from her horse, and made prisoner. She was given by her countrymen to the English, who handed her over to the Inquisition at Rouen to be judged. The Vicar presided, and was assisted by the Bishop of Beauvais, the Bishop of Lisieux, and other French priests. Estevet, one of the Canons of Beauvais, was appointed the promoter of the prosecution.
The sovereign, Charles VII., who owed his throne to the bravery of the young enthusiast, took no steps whatever for her deliverance. The Sorbonne, the great theological tribunal, was appealed to, and decided that "this girl was wholly the devil's," and ought to be treated accordingly. The French Burgundians did not protest against the hideous punishment she was about to receive. The usual process in those days was to burn all witches and sorcerers possessed by the devil; and Joan d'Arc was accordingly condemned to be burnt alive. Her martyrdom took place at Rouen, on the site now known as the Place de la Pucelle, not far from the Quai de Havre, where a statue has been erected to her memory.
"There have been martyrs," says Michelet; "history shows us numberless ones, more or less pure, more or less glorious. Pride has had its martyrs, so have hate and the spirit of controversy. No age has been without martyrs militant, who, no doubt, died with a good grace when they could no longer kill....Such fancies are irrelevant to our subject. The sainted girl is not of them; she had a sign of her own - goodness, charity, sweetness of soul. She had the sweetness of the ancient martyrs, but with a difference. The first Christians remained pure only by shunning action, by sparing themselves the struggles and trials of the world. Joan was gentle in the roughest struggle; good amongst the bad; pacific in war itself; she bore into war the Spirit of God."*
(*Michelet's 'Histoire de France,' liv. vii. ch.4.)
The French people have not forgotten Joan d'Arc. Many statues have been erected to her memory. She has been an object of veneration to generation after generation of French soldiers. When a regiment marches through Domremy the soldiers always halt and present arms in honour of her birthplace. It is touching to hear of the custom having survived so long, and the memory of the maiden heroine being still kept green by the country she served so faithfully.