CHAPTER II

The Franciscan Confessor—The Soul in the Burying-Ground—The Shoemaker of Hagenau—The Students—Myconius—Conversation with Tezel—Stratagem by a Gentleman—Conversation of the Wise and of the People—A Miner of Schneeberg. But let us look at some of the scenes which then took place in Germany during this sale of the pardon of sins; for we here meet with anecdotes which, by themselves alone, give a picture of the times. As we proceed with our narrative we deem it best to let men speak for themselves. At Magdebourg Tezel refused to absolve a wealthy female, unless she would pay him one hundred florins in advance. She consulted her ordinary confessor, who was a Franciscan. “God,” replied he, “gives the remission of sins freely, and does not sell it.” However, he begged her not to tell Tezel what advice he had given her. But the merchant having somehow or other heard of words so injurious to his interest, exclaimed, “Such an adviser deserves to be banished or burned.”

Tezel rarely found men enlightened enough, and still more rarely men bold enough, to resist him. For the most part he had a good market from the superstitious crowd. He had erected the red cross of indulgences at Zwickau, and the good parishioners had hastened to make the money which was to deliver them chink on the bottom of the chest. He was going away with a well-filled purse. The evening before his departure the chaplains and their attendants applied to him for a farewell entertainment. The request was reasonable; but how was it possible to comply with it? the money was already counted and sealed up. The next morning he orders the large bell to be rung. Crowds hastened to the church, every one thinking that something extraordinary must have happened, as the station was closed. “I had resolved,” said he, “to depart this morning, but last night was awoke by groans. On listening I found they came from the burying-ground. Alas! it was a poor soul calling and entreating me instantly to deliver it from the torment by which it was consumed. I have, therefore, remained one day more, in order to stir up the compassion of Christian hearts in favour of this unhappy soul. I am willing myself to be the first to give, and whosoever does not follow my example will deserve damnation.” What heart would not have responded to such an appeal? Who knew, moreover, whose soul it was that was crying in the burying-ground? The people contributed freely, and Tezel gave the chaplains and their attendants a jovial entertainment, defraying the expence by the offerings which he had received in favour of the soul of Zwickau. The indulgence merchants had fixed their station at Hagenau in 1517. A shoemaker’s wife, taking advantage of the authority of the instruction of the commissary-general, had, contrary to the will of her husband, procured a letter of indulgence, and paid a gold florin for it. She died shortly after. The husband not having caused mass to be said for the repose of her soul, the curate charged him with contempt of religion, and the judge of Hagenau summoned him to appear. The shoemaker put his wife’s indulgence in his pocket and repaired to the court. “Is your wife dead?” asked the judge. “Yes,” replied he. “What have you done for her?” “I have buried her body, and commended her soul to God.” “But have you caused a mass to be said for the salvation of her soul?” I have not; it was unnecessary. She entered heaven the moment of her death.” “How do you know that?” “Here is the proof.” So saying, he takes the indulgence out of his pocket, and the judge, in presence of the curate, reads in as many words that the woman who received it would not enter purgatory, but go straight to heaven. “If the reverend curate maintains that a mass is still necessary, my wife has been cheated by our most holy father the pope. If she was not cheated, then it is the reverend curate who is cheating me.” This was unanswerable, and the accused was acquitted. Thus the good sense of the people did justice to these pious frauds.

One day when Tezel was preaching at Leipsic, and introducing into his sermons some of those stories of which we have given a sample, two students feeling quite indignant, rose up and left the church, exclaiming, “It is impossible for us to listen longer to the drolleries and puerilities of this monk.” One of them, it is said, was young Camerarius, afterwards the intimate friend of Melancthon, and his biographer. But of all the young men of the period, he on whom Tezel made the strongest impression unquestionably was Myconius, afterwards celebrated as a Reformer, and historian of the Reformation. He had received a Christian education. His father, a pious man of Franconia, was wont to say to him, “My son, pray frequently, for all things are freely given to us by God alone. The blood of Christ,” added he, “is the only ransom for the sins of the whole world. O, my son! were there only three men that could be saved by the blood of Christ, believe, and believe with confidence, that thou art one of the three. It is an insult to the blood of the Saviour to doubt if it saves.” Then cautioning his son against the traffic which was beginning to be established in Germany—“The Roman indulgences,” said he to him, “are nets which fish for money, and deceive the simple. The forgiveness of sins and of eternal life are not things for sale.” At the age of thirteen Frederick Myconius was sent to the school of Annaberg to finish his studies. Shortly after, Tezel arrived in the town, and remained in it for two years. The people flocked in crowds to his sermon. “There is no other method,” exclaimed Tezel in his voice of thunder; “there is no other method of obtaining eternal life than the satisfaction of works; but this satisfaction is impossible for man, and, therefore, all he can do is to purchase it from the Roman pontiff.” When Tezel was about to quit Annaberg, his addresses became more urgent. “Soon,” exclaimed he, in a threatening tone, “soon will I take down the cross, shut the gate of heaven,² and quench the lustre of that sun of grace which is now shining in your eyes.” Then resuming the gentle accent of persuasion, “Now,” said he, “is the accepted time, now is the day of salvation.” Then raising his voice anew, the pontifical Stentor, who was addressing the inhabitants of a rich mineral district, loudly exclaimed, “Bring your money, burghers of Annaberg, contribute largely in behalf of the indulgences, and your mines and your mountains will be filled with pure silver.” In conclusion, he declared that at Pentecost he would distribute his letters to the poor gratuitously, and for the love of God.

Young Myconius being among the number of Tezel’s hearers, felt an eager desire to avail himself of this offer. Going up to the commissaries, he said to them in Latin, “I am a poor sinner, and need a gratuitous pardon!” The merchants replied, “Those alone can have part in the merits of Jesus Christ who lend a helping hand to the Church, in other words, who give money.” “What is the meaning then,” said Myconius, “of those promises of free gift, which are posted up on the walls and doors of the churches?” “Give at least a shilling,” said Tezel’s people who had gone to their master, and interceded with him for the young man, but without effect. “I am not able.” “Only Sixpence.” “I have not even so much.” The dominicans then began to fear that he wished to entrap them. “Listen,” said they to him, “we will make you a present of the sixpence.” The young man, raising his voice in indignation, answered, “I want no indulgences that are purchased. If I wished to purchase, I would only have to sell one of my school-books. I want a free pardon, given purely for the love of God, and you will have to give account to God for having allowed the salvation of a soul to be lost for a sixpence.” “Who sent you to entrap us?” exclaimed the merchants. “Nothing but the desire of receiving the grace of God could have tempted me to appear before such mighty lords,” replied the young man, and withdrew.

“I was much grieved,” said he, “at being sent thus pitilessly away; but I still felt within myself a Comforter, who told me that there was a God in heaven, who, without money and without price, pardons repenting sinners for the love of his Son Jesus Christ. As I was taking leave of those people, I melted into tears, and, sobbing, prayed, ‘O God! since these men have refused me the forgiveness of my sins, because I had no money to pay for it, do thou, O Lord, have pity on me, and forgive my sins in pure mercy! I went to my lodging, and taking up my crucifix, which was lying on my desk, laid it on my chair, and prostrated myself before it. I cannot describe what I felt. I asked God to be my Father, and to do with me whatsoever he pleased. I felt my nature changed, converted, and transformed. What formerly delighted me now excited my disgust. To live with God, and please him, was my strongest, my only desire.” Thus Tezel himself contributed to the Reformation. By crying abuses he paved the way for a purer doctrine, and the indignation which he excited in a generous youth was one day to break forth mightily. We may judge of this by the following anecdote. A Saxon gentleman, who had heard Tezel at Leipsic, felt his indignation aroused by his falsehoods, and going up to the monk, asked him whether he had power to pardon the sins which were intended to be committed? “Assuredly,” replied Tezel. “I have full power from the pope to do so.” “Well then,” resumed the knight, “there is one of my enemies on whom I should like to take a slight revenge without doing him any deadly injury, and I will give you ten crowns in return for a letter of indulgence, which will completely acquit me.” Tezel made some objections; at last, however, they came to an agreement for thirty crowns. Soon after the monk quits Leipsic. The gentleman accompanied by his servants, waited for him in a wood between Jüterboch and Treblin, and rushing out upon him, and giving him some blows with a stick, carried off the rich indulgence chest, which the inquisitor had with him. Tezel cries out robbery, and carries his complaint before the judges, but the gentleman shows the letter with Tezel’s own signature, exempting him beforehand from all punishment. Duke George, who had at first been very angry, on seeing the document ordered the accused to be acquitted. This traffic everywhere occupied men’s thoughts, and was everywhere talked of. It was the subject of conversation in castles, in academies, and at the firesides of the citizens, as well as in inns and taverns, and all places of public resort. Opinions were divided, some believing, and others expressing indignation. The sensible portion of the community rejected the whole system of indulgences with disgust. It was so contrary to Scripture and to morality, that all who had any knowledge of the Bible, or any natural light, condemned it in their hearts, and only waited for a signal to declare their opposition to it. On the other hand, scoffers found ample materials for raillery. The people, who had for many years been irritated by the misconduct of the priests, and whom nothing but the fear of punishment induced to keep up a certain show of respect, gave free vent to their hatred. Complaints and sarcasms were everywhere heard on the avarice of the clergy. Nor did they stop here. They even attacked the power of the keys, and the authority of the sovereign pontiff. “Why,” said they, “does not the pope deliver all souls from purgatory at once from a holy charity, and in consideration of the sad misery of these souls, seeing he delivers so great a number for the love of perishable money, and of the cathedral of St. Peter? Why do feasts and anniversaries of the dead continue to be celebrated? Why does not the pope restore or allow others to resume the benefices and prebends which have been founded in favour of the dead, since it is now useless, and even reprehensible, to pray for those whom indulgences have for ever delivered?” “What kind of new holiness in God and the pope is this—from a love of money to enable a wicked profane man to deliver a pious soul beloved of the Lord from purgatory, rather than deliver it themselves gratuitously from love, and because of its great wretchedness.” The gross and immoral conduct of the traffickers in indulgences was much talked of. “In paying carriers for transporting them with their goods, the innkeepers with whom they lodge, or any one who does any piece of work for them, they give a letter of indulgence for four, five, or any number of souls, as the case may be.” In this way, the diplomas of salvation were current in inns and in markets like bank bills or paper money. “Bring! Bring!” said the common people, “is the head, the belly, the tail, and the whole body of the sermon.” A miner of Schneeberg, meeting a seller of indulgences, asked, “Must we indeed give credit to what you have often said of the power of the indulgence, and of the authority of the pope, and believe it possible, by throwing a penny into the box, to ransom a soul from purgatory?” The merchant assured him it was true. “Ah!” resumed the miner, “what an unmerciful man the pope must be, for a paltry penny to leave a miserable soul so long crying in the flames. If he has no ready money, let him borrow some hundred thousand crowns, and deliver all these people at once. We poor folks will willingly pay him both the interest and the capital.” Thus Germany was weary of the shameful traffic which was going on in the midst of her, and could no longer tolerate the impostures of these master-swindlers of Rome, as Luther calls them. Yet no bishop, no theologian, durst oppose their quackery and their fraud. The minds of men were in suspense, and asked whether God would not raise up some mighty man for the work which required to be done? This man nowhere appeared.