CHAPTER VIII

The Labours of Zuinglius—The Baths of Pfeffers—God’s time—The Great Death—Zuinglius seized with the Plague—His Enemies—His Friends—Convalescence—General Joy—Effect of the Plague—Myconius at Lucerne—Oswald encourages Zuinglius—Zuinglius at Bâle—Capito called to Mentz—Hedio at Bâle—An Unnatural Son—Preparation for Battle.

Zuinglius did not spare himself. His many labours called for some relaxation, and he was ordered to the baths of Pfeffers. “Ah!” said Herus, one of the pupils who lodged with him, and who thus expressed the feeling of all who knew Zuinglius, “had I a hundred tongues, a hundred mouths, a brazen throat, as Virgil expresses it; or rather had I the eloquence of Cicero, how could I express all I owe you, and all that I feel at this separation.” Zuinglius, however, set out and reached Pfeffers through the astonishing gorge formed by the impetuous torrent of the Jamina. He descended into that infernal abyss, as the hermit David called it, and arrived at the baths, which are perpetually agitated by the dashing of the torrent, and bedewed by the spray of its foaming water. Where Zuinglius lodged it was so dark that candles were burnt at mid-day. He was even assured by the inmates, that frightful phantoms sometimes appeared in the darkness.

Even here Zuinglius found opportunity to serve his Master. His affability won the heart of several of the patients, among others a celebrated poet, Philip Ingentinus, professor at Friburg, in Brigau, who thenceforward became a zealous supporter of the Reformation.

God watched over his own work, and was pleased to hasten it. Zuinglius’ defect lay in his strength. Strong in body, strong in character, strong in talents, he was to see all these varieties of strength broken, that he might thereby become such an instrument as God loves to employ. He stood in need of a baptism, that of adversity, infirmity, feebleness, and pain. Such a baptism Luther had received at that period of agony when the cell and long passages of the convent of Erfurt resounded with his cries. Zuinglius was to receive it by being brought into contact with sickness and death. The heroes of this world—the Charles Twelfths and Napoleons—have a moment which is decisive of their career and their glory, and it is when they all at once become conscious of their strength. There is an analogous moment in the life of God’s heroes, but it is in a contrary direction; it is when they recognise their impotence and nothingness; thenceforth they receive strength from on high. Such a work as that of which Zuinglius was to be the instrument is never accomplished by man’s natural strength; it would immediately wither away like a tree transplanted after its full growth, and when in full leaf. A plant must be feeble in order to take root, and a grain of corn must die in the ground before it can yield a full return. God led Zuinglius, and with him the work of which he was the stay, to the gates of the grave. It is from among bones and darkness, and the dust of the dead, that God is pleased to take the instruments, by means of which he illumines, regenerates, and revives the earth.

Zuinglius was hidden among the immense rocks which hem in the furious torrent of the Jamina, when he unexpectedly learned that the plague, or as it was termed “the great death,” was at Zurich. This dreadful scourge broke out in August, on St. Lawrence day, lasted till Candlemas, and carried off two thousand five hundred persons. The young people who lodged with Zuinglius had immediately left, conformably to directions which he had given. His house was empty, but it was to him the very moment to return. He hurriedly quitted Pfeffers, and reappearing in the bosom of his flock, now decimated by the plague, he immediately sent to Wildhaus for his young brother Andrew, who wished to attend him. From that moment he devoted himself entirely to the victims of this dreadful scourge. Every day he preached Christ and his consolations to the sick.³ His friends delighted to see him safe and sound in the midst of so many fatal darts, still felt a secret alarm. Conrad Brunner, who himself died of the plague a few months after, writing him from Bâle said; “Do good, but at the same time remember to take care of your life.” It was too late: Zuinglius was seized with the plague. The great preacher of Switzerland was stretched on a bed from which, perhaps, he was never again to rise. He communed with himself, and turned his eye heavenward. He knew that Christ had given him a sure inheritance, and disclosing the feelings of his heart in a hymn remarkable for unction and simplicity, of which, not being able to give the antique and expressive phraseology, we have endeavoured to preserve the rhythm and literal meaning, he exclaimed:—² My door has opened …

Death appears. My God! my strength!

Dispel all fears!

Oh, Jesus! raise Thy pierced arm, And break the sword That caused alarm But if my soul In life’s mid-day Thy voice recalls,

Then I obey.

Ah! let me die, For I am thine;

Thy mansions wait Such faith as mine.

Meanwhile the disease gains ground, and this man, the hope of the Church and of Switzerland, is beheld by his despairing friends as about to become the prey of the tomb. His senses and strength forsake him. His heart becomes alarmed, but he is still able to turn towards God, and exclaims:— My ills increase;

Haste to console;

Terrors overwhelm My heart and soul.

Death is at hand, My senses fail, My voice is choked, Now, Christ! prevail.

Lo! Satan strains To snatch his prey;

I feel his hand, Must I give way?

He harms me not,

I fear no loss, For here I lie Before thy cross.

Canon Hoffman, sincere in his own belief, could not bear the idea of allowing Zuinglius to die in the errors which he had preached. Accordingly he waited on the provost of the Chapter, and said to him, “Think of the danger of his soul. Does he not give the name of fantastical innovators to all the doctors who have appeared for the last three hundred and eighty years and more—to Alexander Hales, St. Bonaventura, Albert the Great, Thomas Aquinas, and all the canonists? Does he not maintain that their doctrines are the dreams which they dreamed in their cowls within the walls of their cloisters? Better had it been for the town of Zurich that Zuinglius had, for a series of years, destroyed our vintage and harvest! There he lies at the brink of death! Do, I beseech you, save his poor soul!” It would seem that the provost was more enlightened than the canon, and deemed it unnecessary to convert Zuinglius to St. Bonaventura and Albert the Great. He was left at peace. The whole town was in mourning. All the faithful cried to God night and day, beseeching him to restore their faithful pastor. Terror had passed from Zurich to the mountains of the Tockenburg, where also the plague had appeared. Seven or eight persons had perished in the village, among them a servant of Nicolas, a brother of Zuinglius.³ No letter was received from the Reformer, and his young brother Andrew wrote, “Tell me, my dear brother, in what state you are. The abbot and all our brothers desire to be remembered.” As the parents of Zuinglius are not mentioned it would seem that they were now dead. The news of Zuinglius’ illness, and even a rumour of his death, spread in Switzerland and Germany. “Alas!” exclaimed Hedio in tears, “the safety of the country, the gospel trumpet, the magnanimous herald of truth is smitten with death in the flower of his life, and, so to speak, in the spring tide of his days.” When the news reached Bâle the whole town was filled with lamentation and mourning.² The spark of life which remained in Zuinglius was, however, rekindled. Though his body was still feeble, his soul was impressed with the unaltered conviction that God had called him to replace the torch of his Word on the candlestick of the Church. The plague had abandoned its victim, and Zuinglius exclaims with emotion:— My God! my Father!

Healed by thee On earth again

I bend my knee.

Now sin no more Shall mark my days My mouth, henceforth, Shall sing thy praise. The uncertain hour, Come when it may, Perchance may bring Still worse dismay.

But, let it come, With joy I’ll rise, And bear my yoke Straight to the skies.

Zuinglius was no sooner able to hold the pen (this was in the beginning of November) than he wrote to his family. This gave inexpressible delight to them all, especially to his young brother Andrew, who himself died of the plague the following year, and at whose death Ulric, to use his own words, wept and cried like a woman. At Bâle Conrad Brunner, a friend of Zuinglius, and Bruno Amerbach, a famous printer, both young men, were cut off after three days’ illness. The rumour having spread in this town that Fuinglius also had fallen, the whole university was in mourning. “He whom God loves is perfected in the flower of his life,” said they.² How great was their joy when Collinus, a student of Lucerne, and afterwards a merchant in Zurich, brought word that Zuinglius had escaped the jaws of death. John Faber, vicar to the bishop of Constance, long the friend and afterwards the most violent adversary of Zuinglius, wrote to him. “O my dear Ulric, how delighted I am to learn that you have escaped the jaws of cruel death. When you are in danger, the Christian commonwealth is threatened. The design of the Lord in these trials is to urge you forward in the pursuit of eternal life.” This was, indeed, the design, and it was accomplished, though in a different way from what Faber anticipated. The plague of 1519, which made such fearful ravages in the north of Switzerland, was, in the hand of God, a powerful means of converting a great number of persons. But on none had it a greater influence than on Zuinglius. Hitherto he had been too much disposed to regard the gospel as mere doctrine; but now it became a great reality. He returned from the gates of the grave with a new heart. His zeal was more active, his life more holy, his word more free, Christian, and powerful. This was the period of Zuinglius’ complete emancipation. He from this time devoted himself to God. The new life thus given to the Reformer was communicated at the same time to the Swiss Reformation. The Divine rod, the great death, in passing over all their mountains and descending into all their valleys, added to the sacredness of the movement which was then taking place. The Reformation being plunged, like Zuinglius, into the waters of affliction and of grace, came forth purer and more animated. In regard to the regeneration of Switzerland, the gospel sun was now at its height.

Zuinglius, who still strongly felt the want of new strength, received it in intercourse with his friends. His closest intimacy was with Myconius. They walked hand in hand, like Luther and Melancthon. Oswald was happy at Zurich. It is true, his position was cramped; but every thing was softened by the virtues of his modest spouse. It was of her that Glarean said, “Were I to meet a young girl resembling her, I would prefer her to the daughter of a king.” But a faithful voice was often heard disturbing the sweet friendship of Zuinglius and Myconius. It was that of canon Xylotect, who, calling to Oswald from Lucerne, summoned him to return to his country. “Lucerne,” said he to him, “not Zurich, is your country. You say that the Zurichers are your friends: granted; but do you know what the evening star will bring you? Serve your country. This I advise; I implore; and, if I am able, command.” Xylotect, not confining himself to words, procured the appointment of Myconius to the college school of Lucerne. After this Oswald no longer hesitated. He saw the finger of God in the appointment, and determined to make the sacrifice, how great soever it might be. Who could say whether he might not be an instrument in the hand of the Lord to diffuse the doctrine of peace in warlike Lucerne? But how painful the separation between Zuinglius and Myconius! They parted in tears. Ulric shortly after wrote to Oswald, “Your departure has been as serious a loss to the cause which I defend, as that which is sustained by an army in battle array when one of its wings is destroyed.² Ah! I now am aware of all that my Myconius was able to do, and how often, without my knowing it, he maintained the cause of Christ.”

Zuinglius felt the loss of his friend the more, because the plague had left him in a state of great feebleness. Writing on the 30th November, 1519, he says, “It has weakened my memory and wasted my intellect.” When scarcely convalescent, he had resumed all his labours. “But,” said he, “in preaching I often lose the thread of my discourse. I feel languid in all my members, and somewhat as if I were dead.” Moreover, Zuinglius, by his opposition to indulgences, had excited the wrath of their partisans. Oswald strengthened his friend by letters which he wrote him from Lucerne. And did he not also receive pledges of assistance from the Lord in the protection which He gave to the Saxon champion who was gaining such important victories over Rome? “What think you,” said Myconius to Zuinglius, “of the cause of Luther? For my part I have no fear either for the gospel or for him. If God does not protect his truth, who will protect it? All that I ask of the Lord is, not to withdraw his aid from those who hold nothing dearer than his gospel. Continue as you have begun, and an abundant recompence awaits you in heaven.” The visit of an old friend helped to console Zuinglius for the loss of Myconius. Bunzli, who had been his teacher at Bâle, and had succeeded the dean of Wesen, the Reformer’s uncle, arrived at Zurich, in the first week of the year 1520, and Zuinglius and he thereafter resolved to set out together to Bâle to sec their common friends. This visit of Zuinglius bore fruit. “Oh, my dear Zuinglius!” wrote John Glother to him at a later period, “never will I forget you. The thing which binds me to you is the goodness with which, during your stay at Bâle, you came to see me, me, a petty schoolmaster, living in obscurity without learning or merit, and of humble station! What wins me is the elegance of your manners, and that indescribable meekness with which you subdue all hearts, even stones, if I may so speak.”² But Zuinglius’ visit was still more useful to his old friends. Capito, Hedio, and others, were electrified by the power of his eloquence. The former commencing in Bâle the work which Zuinglius was doing at Zurich, began to expound the gospel of St. Matthew before an auditory which continued to increase. The doctrine of Christ penetrated and inflamed all hearts. The people received it joyfully, and with acclamation hailed the revival of Christianity. It was the aurora of the Reformation. Accordingly a conspiracy of monks and priests was soon formed against Capito. It was at this time that Albert, the young cardinal-archbishop of Mentz, who felt desirous of attaching a man of so much learning to his person, called him to his court.⁴ Capito, seeing the difficulties which were thrown in his way, accepted the invitation. The people were moved, and, turning with indignation against the priests, raised a tumult in the town. Hedio was proposed as his successor, but some objected to his youth, while others said, “He is his pupil.” “Truth bites,” said Hedio: it is not advantageous to offend too delicate ears by telling it.⁶ No matter, nothing will turn me from the straight path.” The monks redoubled their efforts. “Believe not those,” exclaimed they from the pulpit, “who say that the sum of Christian doctrine is found in the Gospel and in St. Paul. Scotus has done more for Christianity than St. Paul himself. All the learning that has ever been spoken or printed has been stolen from Scotus. All that has been done since by men eager for fame has been to throw in some Greek and Hebrew terms, which have only darkened the matter. The tumult increased; and there was reason to fear that, on Capito’s departure, it would become still more serious. “I will be almost alone,” thought Hedio, “poor I, to struggle with these formidable monsters.” Accordingly, he invoked the assistance of God, and wrote to Zuinglius. “Inflame my courage by writing often. Learning and Christianity are now placed between the hammer and the anvil. Luther has just been condemned by the universities of Louvain and Cologne. If ever the Church was in imminent danger, it is at this hour.”²

Capito left Bâle for Mentz, 28th April, and Hedio succeeded him. Not content with the public assemblies in the church at which he continued his exposition of St. Matthew, he proposed, in the month of June, as he wrote Luther, to have private meetings in his own house, to give more thorough evangelical instruction to those who might feel the want of it. This powerful method of communicating the truth, and exciting in the faithful an interest and zeal in divine things, could not fail then, as it never does, to awaken opposition in the men of the world and in domineering priests, both of whom, though from different motives, are equally desirous that God should be worshipped only within the precincts of a particular building. But Hedio was invincible. At the same period when he formed this good resolution at Bâle, there arrived at Zurich one of those characters who often emerge, like impure froth, from the vortex of revolutions.

Senator Grebel, a man of great influence in Zurich, had a son named Conrad, a youth of remarkable talents, and a relentless enemy of ignorance and superstition, which he attacked with cutting satire. He was boisterous, violent, sarcastic, and bitter in his expression, without natural affection, given to debauchery, always talking loudly of his own innocence, while he could see nothing but what was wrong in others. We speak of him here because he is afterwards to play a melancholy part. At this period, Vadian married a sister of Conrad, and Conrad, who was studying at Paris where his misconduct had deprived him of the use of his limbs, desiring to be present at the marriage, appeared suddenly about the beginning of June amidst his family. The poor father received the prodigal son with a gentle smile, his fond mother with tears. The tenderness of his parents made no change on his unnatural heart. His kind and unhappy mother having some time after been brought to the gates of death, Conrad wrote his brother-in-law Vadain:—“My mother is recovered; she again rules the house, sleeps, awakes, grumbles, breakfasts, scolds, dines, makes a racket, sups, and is perpetually a burden to us. She runs, cooks, re-cooks, sweeps the house, toils, kills herself with fatigue, and will shortly bring on a relapse.”

Such was the man who, at a later period, pretended to lord it over Zuinglius, and who took the lead among fanatical anabaptists. Divine Providence perhaps allowed such characters to appear at the period of the Reformation that their disorders might the better bring out the wise, Christian, and orderly spirit of the Reformers.

Everything announced that the battle between the gospel and the papacy was about to commence. “Let us stir up the temporisers,” wrote Hedio to Zurich; “the peace is broken, let us arm our hearts: the enemies we shall have to combat are most fierce.” Myconius wrote in the same strain to Ulric, who, however, answered their warlike appeals with admirable meekness. “I should like,” said he, “to gain these obstinate men by kindness and good offices, rather than overcome them by violence and disputation.³ That they call our doctrine, (which however is not ours,) a doctrine of the devil, is nothing more than natural. It proves to me that we are indeed the ambassadors of Christ. The devils cannot be silent in his presence.”