Having so far succeeded in his mission, Augustine went to Arles and was consecrated archbishop of the English by the Metropolitan Virgilius. [Baeda says (i., 27): "Archiepiscopus genti Anglorum ordinatus est," the actual see probably being then undetermined.] On his return he despatched Lawrence and Peter to Rome to tell Gregory that the Angli had been converted to the faith, and that he himself (Augustine) had been made a bishop. They were also to bring back the Pope's answers to sundry questions respecting the conduct of the mission which Augustine proposed to him. Both the questions and the answers are highly suggestive. The first question was as to the division of the offerings of the faithful. The second as to differences of "Use" in the celebration of Mass and other divine offices. The answer of Gregory is almost classical, and may well be repeated here: "You know, my brother," he says, "the custom of the Roman Church.... But it pleases me that if you have found anything, whether in the Roman Church, or the church of the Gauls ["Galliarum"], or any church whatever, which may be more pleasing to Almighty God, you carefully make choice of the same and diligently teach the church of the English, which as yet is new in the faith ... whatever you have been able to collect from many churches. For things are not to be loved for the sake of places, but places for the sake of good things." The fourth and fifth questions of Augustine refer to prohibited degrees of marriage, and Gregory replies, as to the marriage of first-cousins, among other objections, "we have learned by experience that no offspring can come of such marriage." To Augustine's inquiry as to his relations with the bishops of Gaul and Britain ["Galliarum Brittaniarumque,"] Gregory replies that Augustine has no authority whatever within the jurisdiction of the metropolitan of Arles; but he adds: "As for all the bishops of Britain ["Brittaniarum"], we commit them to your care, that the unlearned may be taught, the weak strengthened by persuasion, and the perverse corrected by authority." Considering the context—Augustine had been asking whether, under the circumstances, he could consecrate bishops without the presence of any other bishops; and, moreover, he had not as yet come into any kind of contact with the Celtic bishops—it seems probable that "the bishops of Britain" here placed under Augustine's jurisdiction were the bishops to be afterward consecrated by himself, with or without the presence and witness of Gallic or other bishops. Gregory's advice to Augustine, conveyed through the Abbot Mellitus, may well be pondered by the managers of modern missions. He says: "The temples of the idols in that nation [the English] ought not to be destroyed; but let the idols that are in them be destroyed; let holy water be made and sprinkled in the said temples, let altars be erected, and relics placed. For if those temples are well built it is requisite that they be converted from the worship of devils to the service of the true God; that the nation ... adoring the true God, may the more familiarly resort to the places to which they have been accustomed." He even suggests that their sacrifices—which were largely festivals, as much social as religious—should be discontinued, indeed, as sacrifices, but changed into banquets and associated with the day of the dedication of a church, or the "nativity" of a holy martyr. And all this on the perfectly sound principle, too often forgotten, that "he who strives to reach the highest place raises himself by steps and degrees, and not by leaps [gradibus vel passibus non autem saltibus elevatus]."

At last Augustine was brought into contact with the Celtic bishops. It was clear that their assistance would be very valuable in the endeavor to convert the English, and also that their peculiar usages would convey the impression of far greater diversity of doctrine than actually existed. Augustine was willing to make much concession. There were three conditions of union which seemed to him indispensable: agreement as to the time of keeping Easter; agreement as to the mode of administering baptism; and hearty co-operation in mission work among the heathen. We may leave out of consideration alleged miracles; also the curious, or even the ludicrous, test of a divine mission suggested by "the aged hermit" of the story. The Celtic bishops refused any sort of co-operation, and Augustine left them, not without a solemn warning: "If they would not have peace with their brethren, they would have to accept war from their enemies; if they would not preach the way of life to the nation of the Angli, they would have to suffer at their hands the vengeance of death." It is scarcely credible—though in religious controversy almost anything is credible—that a warning so obviously wise, and even charitable, should have been interpreted as a mere threat, and as evidence that Augustine himself was the author of the calamities that afterward befell the Celtic Church.

Such is the simple story of the mission and the life—for we read nothing about his life but his mission—of Augustine, the first archbishop of Canterbury. He was not able to carry out the whole scheme of Gregory. He was not the first to introduce Christianity into Britain. But, apart from Queen Bertha's private chaplain, he was the first to introduce Christianity to the English—those Teutonic tribes which were the ancestors of the English of to-day. Who first brought the gospel to the Roman province of Britain no one knows; nor is it of the slightest importance that anyone should know. But that there should have been two Christian religions in England when the nation was being consolidated, would have been fatal both to nation and church. We conclude this brief notice by a passage from two historians, neither of whom could possibly be suspected of any undue subservience to the modern Church of Rome. The first is from Mr. Green's "The Making of England" (pp. 314, 315); he is speaking of the results of the Synod of Whitby (A.D. 664).

"It is possible that lesser political motives may have partly swayed Oswin in his decision, for the revival of Mercia had left him but the alliance of Kent in the south, and this victory of the Kentish Church would draw tighter the bonds which linked together the two powers. But we may fairly credit him with a larger statesmanship. Trivial in fact as were the actual points of difference which parted the Roman Church from the Irish, the question to which communion Northumbria should belong was, as we have seen, of immense moment to the after-fortunes of England. It was not merely that, as Wilfrid said, to fight against Rome was to fight against the world. Had England, indeed, clung to the Irish Church, it must have remained spiritually isolated from the bulk of Western Christendom. Fallen as Rome might be from its older greatness, it preserved the traditions of civilization, of letters, and art and law. Its faith still served as a bond which held together the nations that sprang from the wreck of the Empire. To repulse Rome was to condemn England to isolation. But grave as such considerations were, they were of little weight beside the influence which Oswin's decision had on the very unity of the English race. The issue of the Synod not only gave England a share in the religious unity of Western Christendom; it gave her a religious unity at home. However dimly such thoughts may have presented themselves to Oswin's mind, it was the instinct of a statesman that led him to set aside the love and gratitude of his youth, and to secure the religious oneness of England in the Synod of Whitby."

The other is from Milman's "History of Latin Christianity" (ii., 198, 199, Amer. Edition): "The effect of Christianity on Anglo-Saxon England was at once to re-establish a connection both between the remoter parts of the island with each other, and of England with the rest of the Christian world. They ceased to dwell apart, a race of warlike, unapproachable barbarians, in constant warfare with the bordering tribes, or occupied in their own petty feuds or inroads, rarely, as in the case of Ethelbert, connected by intermarriage with some neighboring Teutonic state. Though the Britons were still secluded in the mountains, or at extremities of the land, by animosities which even Christianity could not allay, yet the Picts and Scots, and the parts of Ireland which were occupied by Christian monasteries, were now brought into peaceful communication, first with the kingdom of Northumbria, and through Northumbria with the rest of England. The intercourse with Europe was of far higher importance, and tended much more rapidly to introduce the arts and habits of civilization into the land. There was a constant flow of missionaries across the British Channel, who possessed all the knowledge which still remained in Europe. All the earlier metropolitans of Canterbury and the bishops of most of the southern sees, were foreigners; they were commissioned at Rome, if not consecrated there; they travelled backward and forward in person, or were in constant communication with that great city, in which were found all the culture, the letters, the arts, and sciences which had survived the general wreck."

Nobody need disparage the Celtic Church; but it is not too much to say that the Celtic Church could never have preserved Christianity in Britain against the victorious Saxon or English heathen. But from the very beginning the Church of England has retained the traces of her early origin, when Gregory the Great was Pope, when the claim to be universal bishop was deemed untenable, when even the ritual of the Mass was still in unessential details flexible.

[Signature of the author.]



MAHOMET

(571-632)

The Arabian "Prophet" was born at the city of Mecca, some time during the sixth century, but the precise year has, after much discussion, still been left in doubt. Hottinger says, A.D. 571, Reiske, A.D. 572, and Gagnier, A.D. 578. His lineage has also been the subject of great altercation, one party exalting him above most of his countrymen, while the other degraded him to the lowest rank—particularly contemporary Christian writers, who were desirous of rendering him an object of contempt; and in the same degree that the Christians felt themselves called upon to degrade the Arabian prophet, so did the Mahometans think themselves compelled to exalt him. Mahomet successfully vindicated for himself a high lineage among his countrymen; the tribe of Koreish, to which he belonged, laying claim to Ishmael as their progenitor, and this claim, arising from the vanity of the tribe, was eagerly laid hold of and supported by his votaries.

]

Abdallah, the father of Mahomet, was the youngest son of Abd al Motalleb, the son of Hashem. "Hashem," say the authors of the "Modern Universal History," "succeeded his father Abd al Menaf in the principality of the Koreish, and consequently in the government of Mecca, and the custody of the Caaba." So far the genealogy of the prophet is supported by authentic history—that he was descended from the princes of his people cannot be denied. This descent from Ishmael, Gibbon, after Sale, thus disproves: "Abulfeda and Gagnier describe the popular and approved genealogy of the prophet. At Mecca I would not dispute its authenticity; at Lausanne, I will venture to observe, 1st, That, from Ishmael to Mahomet, a period of two thousand five hundred years, they reckon thirty instead of seventy-five generations. 2d. That the modern Bedoweens are ignorant of their history, and careless of their pedigree."

Abdallah, though of high lineage, was possessed of little wealth; and as he died while his son was yet an infant, we may easily suppose that little to have been diminished by the rapacity of his kindred. At the early age of six years Mahomet lost his mother, Amina; and two years after, his grandfather, Abd al Motalleb, who when dying, earnestly confided the helpless orphan to the care of Abu Taleb, the eldest of his sons, and the successor to his authority. From him, though treated with kindness, Mahomet received a scanty education; but whether that education was equal or inferior to that of his countrymen, it is not easy to discover. Tradition states that at the time of Mahomet's first declaration concerning his mission, only one man in Mecca could write. If so, it is nothing wonderful that Mahomet, like the rest of his kindred, should also he unable to write. At thirteen years of age, he is said to have made a journey to Syria, in the caravan of his uncle, and, some years after, to have performed the same journey in the capacity of factor to his mistress, Cadijah.

The next remarkable event in the life of Mahomet, is his appearance in the character of a soldier. At the early age of fourteen, he served under his uncle, who commanded the troops of his tribe, the Koreish, in their wars against the rival tribes of Kenan and Hawazan. The circumstance is worthy of remark, as illustrative of the perfect compatibility between the business of a merchant and that of a soldier, among the Arabian people, and upon the constant and rapid transition from one to the other.

By the assistance of his uncle he became soon after the factor of a rich trading widow in his native city. The animosity of his enemies has degraded the confidential agent into a driver of camels. It has been confidently and constantly asserted that he was a menial servant in the household of his mistress, Cadijah; while, in truth, he was employed to carry on her mercantile transactions, and to superintend her affairs. In this situation of factor, his conduct and integrity gained him the affections of his mistress. Cadijah was not, in the eyes of her people, degraded by an alliance with the grandson of their prince; and in her own estimation, by bestowing her hand and fortune upon Mahomet, she gained a young, handsome, and affectionate husband. Twenty years of constancy, of kind and respectful attention, on the part of Mahomet, fully justified her choice. It may, indeed, be imagined, and we confess the supposition bears the appearance of some plausibility, that the affection of Cadijah was not uninfluenced by the handsome person and insinuating eloquence of her youthful suitor. And we cannot refuse our applause to the conduct of Mahomet, who, whatever might have been her motives, never afterward forgot the benefits he had received from his benefactress, never made her repent having so bestowed her affection, or grieve at having placed her fortune and her person at his absolute disposal. Cadijah, at the time of her marriage, was forty; Mahomet, twenty-five years of age. Till the age of sixty-four years, when she died, did Cadijah enjoy the undivided affection of her husband; "in a country where polygamy was allowed, the pride or tenderness of the venerable matron was never insulted by the society of a rival. After her death he placed her in the rank of the four perfect women: with the sister of Moses, the mother of Jesus, and Fatima, the best beloved of his daughters. 'Was she not old?' said Ayesha, with the insolence of a blooming beauty; 'has not Allah given you a better in her place?' 'No, by Allah!' said Mahomet, with an effusion of honest gratitude, 'there never can be a better! She believed in me, when men despised me: she relieved my wants when I was poor and persecuted by the world.'"

Commerce now occupied his attention, and till the age of forty nothing remarkable happened in the life of the future prophet. His marriage with Cadijah raised him to an equality with the first citizens of Mecca, gave an importance to his opinions, and, combined with the power of his family, probably rendered it impossible to punish or interrupt the first steps he made toward the propagation of his new religion. When relieved from the pressure of indigence, his mind seems almost immediately to have been turned toward religious meditation. The result of this meditation was an opinion exceedingly unfavorable to the religion of his countrymen. The first statement of this conviction was met rather by ridicule than anger, being considered the fantasy of a dreaming enthusiast, who was little to be dreaded, and unworthy of opposition. We are told that he retired to a cave in Mount Hara, near Mecca, where, as he assured his first proselyte, his wife, he regularly received the visits of the angel Gabriel. This tale his wife believed, or affected to believe. The next on the list of true believers were Zeid, the servant of the prophet, and Ali, the son of his uncle, Abu Taleb. The impetuous youth, disdaining his two predecessors in the true faith, proudly styled himself the first of believers. The next and most important convert was Abu Bekr, a powerful citizen of Mecca, by whose influence a number of persons possessing great authority were induced to profess the religion of Islam. Three years were spent in the arduous task of converting six of these men. They were afterward his chief companions, and with a few others, were the only proselytes to the new religion before it became publicly known.

The apostle, who was at first derided, came at length to be feared. The people flocked to hear his doctrines, and as they retired, wondering and believing, general consternation reigned among the governors of Mecca. Frightened by his growing influence, they imprudently endeavored to arrest the evil by punishing the offender. For some time, however, the power of Abu Taleb, the prophet's uncle, defended him against these hostile attacks, which served, by manifesting the alarm and hatred of the nobles, to increase Mahomet's fame and importance. Persecution gave him strength by bringing him before the public. Once known, he gained sympathizing listeners among the benevolent, because a persecuted man; and blindly believing votaries among the ignorant and fearful, because a bold and vehement declaimer against wickedness, as well as an eloquent describer of the horrible torments attached to unbelief. In the seventh year of his mission, the heads of the tribe of Koreish made a solemn league one with another, engaging themselves to have no commerce or connection with the families of Hashem and Al Motalleb. While Abu Taleb lived the league was of no avail; the power of the uncle defended the nephew against the designs of his enemies. At length, at the end of the seventh year, Abu Taleb died; and a few days after his death Mahomet was left a widower, by the decease of Cadijah. In his affliction he termed this fatal year the year of mourning.

The unprotected prophet was now completely exposed to the attacks of his enemies. His only safety was in flight, and had not the city of Medina been friendly to his cause, the religion of Islam would have been crushed in the bud. The fame of Mahomet, however, had extended far beyond the walls of his native town. Distance, by shrouding him in mystery, increased his influence. While he was scorned and derided at Mecca, he was worshipped at Medina. A secret deputation from the city of Medina waited on the apostle, and an alliance was entered into "during two secret and nocturnal interviews, on a hill in the suburbs of Mecca." Seventy-three men and two women having professed the faith of Islam, as well as some yet unbelievers, met the prophet and proffered him assistance. "What recompense," said they, "have we to expect, should we fall in your defence?" "Paradise," exclaimed the confident apostle. They promised him fidelity and allegiance.

From a fugitive Mahomet became a monarch; no sooner had he arrived at Medina than he found himself at the head of an army devoted to his person, obedient to his will, and blind believers in his holy office. The fugitives from Mecca and the auxiliaries of Medina (the two parties into which Mahomet's followers were now divided) gathered round their chief, and with friendly emulation vied with each other in obedience and in valor. To prevent all jealousy between the brethren, Mahomet wisely gave each one a friend and companion from the rival band; each fugitive had for his brother one of the auxiliaries. Their fraternity was continued in peace and in war, and during the life of the prophet their union was undisturbed by the voice of discord.

The commands of the prophet were followed to the letter. The first warlike attempt of the believers was, nevertheless, unsuccessful. Mahomet having learned that a caravan, the property of the hostile Koreish, was on its way from Syria to Mecca, despatched his uncle Hamza, with a party of thirty horse, to capture it. Hamza, however, discovering the caravan to be guarded by 300 men, desisted from his hostile enterprise, and returned without the expected booty. On the plain of Beder, Mahomet, at the head of his troops, effaced the shame of this failure. A rich caravan, proceeding to Mecca, and guarded by Abu Sofian, with between thirty and forty men, occasioned the contest. The spies of Mahomet informed him that this rich and apparently easy prey was within his grasp. He advanced with a few followers in pursuit of it; but before he could overtake the unprotected band, Abu Sofian had sent for a reinforcement from Mecca. A troop consisting of 950 men, among whom were the chief persons of that city, instantly obeyed the summons. Mahomet was posted between the caravan and the coming succor, being able to oppose to this formidable force no more than 313 soldiers, mounted for the most part on camels; some few (according to some authors, not more than two) being mounted on horses.

Undismayed by this disparity of force, Mahomet determined to try the event of a battle, and risk his fortune and perhaps his life upon the contest. The troops were persuaded to engage the superior forces of the enemy, and for the present to abandon the tempting prize of Abu Sofian's rich caravan. Mahomet animated them by his prayers, and in the name of the Most High promised them certain victory. However assured he might have been of divine assistance, he was careful to let slip no human means of securing success. An entrenchment was made to cover the flanks of his troop, and a rivulet flowed past the spot he had chosen for his encampment, and furnished his army with a constant supply of water. When the enemy appeared, descending from the hills, Mahomet ordered his soldiers to the attack; but before the armies could engage, three combatants, Ali, Al Hareth, and Hamza, on the side of the Moslems, and three of the Koreish, joined in single conflict. The Moslem warriors were victorious, and thus gave to both armies a presage of the coming engagement. The prophet, with Abu Bekr, at the commencement of the battle, mounted a pulpit, fervently demanding of God the assistance of Gabriel and three thousand angels; but when his army appeared to waver, he started from his place of prayer, mounted a horse, and flinging a handful of dust into the air, exclaiming, "May their faces be confounded!" rushed upon the enemy. Fanaticism rendered his followers invincible; the numerous forces of the Koreish were unable to break the ranks or resist the furious attacks of his confiding soldiers. They fled, leaving seventy of their principal officers dead upon the field, and seventy prisoners in the hands of the enemy. Of the Moslems, only fourteen were slain. The names of the slaughtered warriors have been handed down to posterity, and enrolled among the list of pious martyrs whom the faithful Mussulman is taught to worship.

Space will not permit us to enumerate the various battles fought by Mahomet; according, however, to the computation of some authors, no less than twenty-seven expeditions were undertaken, in which he personally commanded, and in which nine pitched battles were fought. During the same period, he was besieged in Medina, by the implacable Koreish; but, by his own skill, and the bravery of his troops, he repelled all their attacks. In the sixth year of the Hegira, with 1,400 men, he meditated what he asserted to be a peaceful pilgrimage to the holy temple of Mecca. Entrance into the city being refused by the people, the prophet, in his anger, determined to force his way. At this critical juncture an ambassador was despatched from Mecca to demand a peace. The policy of Mahomet induced him to lay aside his determination of assaulting his native city, and to accept the peaceful offers of his countrymen. A truce of ten years was consequently concluded between the prophet and the Koreish.

Two years had hardly elapsed when Mahomet accused the people of Mecca of a breach of their engagement. When a man is really desirous of quarrelling, a pretext is never wanting. He was now strong, and his enemies were weak. His superstitious reverence for the city of his nativity, and for the temple it contained, served also to influence his determination for war. The time since the concluding of the truce had been skilfully employed in seducing the adherents of the Koreish, and converting to his religion the chief citizens of Mecca. With an army of 10,000 men he marched to besiege it, and no sooner did he appear before the walls than the city surrendered at discretion.



The religion of Mahomet may be considered now to have been permanently settled. The conquest of Mecca and of the Koreish was the signal for the submission of the rest of Arabia. The events of the prophet's after-life cease, therefore, to possess an interest for a Western reader. They were, for the most part, merely expeditions undertaken for the purpose of reducing the petty tribes who still resisted his authority, and were all of them eventually successful. The influence and religion of Mahomet continued rapidly to extend; his difficulties were over; and the hour of his prosperity has nothing to instruct or to amuse the general reader. Between the taking of Mecca and the period of his death, not more than three years elapsed. In that short period he had destroyed the idols of Arabia; had extended his conquests to the borders of the Greek and Persian empires; had rendered his name formidable to those once mighty kingdoms; had tried his arms against the undisciplined troops of the former, and defeated them in a desperate encounter at Muta. His throne was now firmly established, and an impetus given to the Arabian nations that in a few years induced them to invade, and enabled them to subdue, a great portion of the globe. India, Persia, the Greek Empire, the whole of Asia Minor, Egypt, Barbary, and Spain, were reduced by their victorious arms. The Muezzin[10] was heard throughout an empire greater than Alexander's; and though the temporal power of his successors has now faded to a shadow, the religion which he founded still holds sway throughout all that empire, and is even endeavoring to extend itself. Although Mahomet did not live to see such mighty conquests, he laid the first foundations of this wide-spreading dominion, and established over the whole of Arabia, and some part of Syria, the religion he had proclaimed.

[Footnote 10: The Muezzin is the Mahometan official who announces to the faithful the hour of prayer. Three times in the day and twice at night he goes up to the balcony of one of the minarets of the mosque, and chants the call. It is a simple but solemn melody, which floats down from the height of his turret upon the sleeping or bustling city with vast impressiveness, and receives immediate and universal obedience.]



ALFRED THE GREAT

By SIR J. BERNARD BURKE, LL.D.

(849-901)

]

No name in English history is so popular, and so justly popular, as that of Alfred the Great. That he taught his people to defend themselves and defeat their enemies, is the least of his many claims to our grateful admiration; he did much more than this; he gave the first impulse to the spirit of civilization, and taught a horde of wild barbarians that there were other and worthier pursuits than war or the pleasures of the table. In fact, he was one of those highly gifted men that would seem to be raised up especially by Providence to meet certain emergencies, or to advance the career of nations. Such was the hero, so beautifully recorded by the pen of Edmund Burke, and of whose history we now purpose to give a slight sketch for the amusement of those who might turn in weariness from a more ample record.

Alfred the Great was born at Wantage, in Berkshire, in the year 849, one of the most dreary and calamitous periods of English chronicle. He was the youngest son of Ethelwulph, a mild and virtuous prince, but full of a timid piety which utterly disqualified him for the circumstances in which he was placed. According to the historian Asser, young Alfred, being of a more comely person and sweeter disposition than his elder brothers, became the favorite of both his parents, and was sent by them to Rome, while yet a child, in order that he might be anointed king by the Pope himself. But though the feeble piety of Ethelwulph showed this especial instance of regard for his son, he altogether neglected his education, and the young prince in his twelfth year had not yet learned to read or write. Fortunately for himself, and still more so for the kingdom he was afterward to govern, he possessed a mind too active to be entirely subdued by the most unfavorable circumstances. If he could not read for himself, he nevertheless loved to listen to the rude but inspiring strains of Saxon poetry when recited by others, and had he not been a hero and a statesman, he might probably have been a poet. At length, as the old chronicler tells us—"on a certain day, his mother was shewing him and his brothers a Saxon book of poetry, which she held in her hand, and said, 'Whichever of you shall the soonest learn this volume, shall have it for his own.'" Thus stimulated, Alfred bent himself to the task with all that steady ardor which so strongly characterized him in after-life, and easily won the prize from his tardy competitors. This gave a fresh impulse to his natural appetite for learning; even his passion for the chase could not divert him from earnest study; nor was he to be deterred by what might have been a better excuse for indolence, the incessant tortures of the secret malady which had attacked him while yet a child, and which never left him but with life. What this secret disease was, the old chroniclers have forgotten, or for some reasons omitted, to explain.

In 871, Alfred succeeded his brother in the sovereignty of Wessex, at a period when the whole country was suffering under the ravages of the Danes, who burnt, plundered, and destroyed without the least distinction of age, sex, or profession. Being still pagans, the convent was no more sacred to them than the palace or the cottage. They waged war upon all alike, and the general misery was yet farther increased by a raging pestilence, and the internal dissensions of the people.

Alfred now for the first time took the field against these brave, but ruthless, invaders. He was defeated; yet such was his skill and courage, that he was able to maintain the struggle till at length a peace, or rather a truce, was concluded between the combatants, for these intervals of calm seldom lasted beyond a year. Neither was this the worst of the evils that beset the Saxon prince. Any compact he might make with one party of the Danes was considered binding only upon that party, and had no influence whatever upon others of their countrymen, who had different leaders and different interests. Thus, upon the present occasion, Alfred had no sooner made terms with one piratical horde than he was invaded by a fresh body of them under Rollo; and when he had compelled these to abandon Wessex, and seek for an easier conquest on the shores of Normandy, he was attacked by fresh bodies of Danes already settled in the other parts of England. So long, however, as they ventured to meet him in the open field, his skill secured him the victory; till, taught by repeated defeats, they had recourse to another system of tactics. "They used," says Burke, "suddenly to land and ravage a part of the country; when a force opposed them they retired to their ships and passed to some other part, which in a like manner they ravaged, and then retired as before, until the country, entirely harassed, pillaged, and wasted by their incursions, was no longer able to resist them. Then they ventured safely to enter a desolated and disheartened country and to establish themselves in it."

To meet this system of warfare it was necessary to create a navy at a time when the Saxons knew not how to build ships, or to manage them when built. But the genius of Alfred triumphed over every obstacle. He brought shipwrights from the Continent, himself assisted the workmen in their labors, and engaged Frisian seamen, the neighbors of the Danes, and, like them, pirates.

The new armament being completed, Alfred fell upon a Danish fleet which was bringing round a large force from Wareham to the relief of their friends, besieged in Exeter. These he defeated at all points, taking or destroying no less than one hundred and twenty, already damaged by a previous storm, and perhaps, on that account, less capable of defence. The Danes, whom he held cooped up in Exeter, found themselves in consequence compelled to surrender, and, giving hostages not to trouble Wessex any longer, they settled themselves in Mercia, after the example of so many of their countrymen, and became occupants of the land they had before ravaged. Thus Alfred, in the seventh year of his reign, had lost nothing by the war waged under so many difficulties and disadvantages, enough to have overwhelmed a man of less energy and genius; he still retained that portion of the kingdom which lies south of the Thames, the only part ever belonging to him in separate sovereignty, while the Danes possessed all the country on the northern side of the river. The rest of the land was thus divided: Halfdane reigned in Northumberland; his brother in East Anglia; and Guthrum, Osketel, and Amund, governed with their subordinate king, Ceowulph, in Mercia.

There now occurs a difficulty in the life of Alfred, unexplained by the most industrious of his historians from any satisfactory record. We have just seen him triumphant, and at peace with his defeated enemies. Suddenly, without the notice of any lost battle, we find him seeking refuge in the cottage of a herdsman in the Isle of Ethelingeye, or Island of Nobles, now called Athelney. This spot, scarcely comprising two acres of ground, was surrounded on all sides by marshes, so that it could be approached only in a boat, and in it flourished a considerable grove of alders, in which were stags, goats, and other animals. Here it is that the romantic incident of the burnt cake is supposed to have occurred; a story told by many of the old writers, but nowhere so fully as in the Latin life of St. Neot. There we read that "Alfred, a fugitive, and exiled from his people, came by chance and entered the house of a poor herdsman, and there remained some days in poverty, concealed and unknown.

"Now it happened that on the Sabbath day, the herdsman, as usual, led his cattle to their accustomed pastures, and the king remained alone with the man's wife. She, as necessity required, placed a few loaves, which some call loudas, on a pan, with fire underneath, to be baked for her husband's repast on his return, as well as for her own.

"While she was of need busied, peasant-like, upon other affairs, she went anxious to the fire, and found the bread burning on the other side. She immediately assailed the king with reproaches. 'Why, man, do you sit thinking there, and are too proud to turn the bread? Whatever be your family, with such manners and sloth, what trust can be put in you hereafter? If you were a nobleman, you will be glad to eat the bread which you neglect to attend to.' The king, though stung by her upbraidings, yet heard her with patience and mildness, and roused by her scolding, took care to bake her bread as she wished."

This fable has been variously narrated; some accounts making the disguised prince busy in forming for himself a bow with arrows and other instruments of war, while the woman gives vent to her indignation in rhyme:

"To turn the burning cakes you have forgot, Prompt as you are to eat them when they're hot."

In a short time the king's retreat became known to his adherents, who flocking to him in numbers, he soon found himself enabled to carry on a sort of guerilla warfare upon the nearest Danes. Growing bolder from the general success of these sallies, he at length determined upon more decisive measures; but before making the attempt, it was expedient to learn the actual condition of his enemy. With this view he assumed the costume of a Saxon minstrel, and ventured into the Danish camp at Chippenham, about thirty miles distant from his stronghold among the marshes. In this disguise he went from tent to tent, and, as some of the chroniclers tell us, was admitted into the tent of Guthrum himself, the Danish leader, his quality of gleeman assuring safety even to a Saxon. Having obtained the necessary information, he returned to Athelney, which he finally left on the seventh week after Easter, and rode to Egbert's Stone, in the eastern part of Selwood, or the Great Wood. Here he was met by all the neighboring folk of Somersetshire, Wiltshire, and Hampshire, who had not, for fear of the pagans, fled beyond the sea. Once more he encountered his enemies, and with a success almost as marvellous as the vision of St. Neot, which announced it, he routed the Danes at Ethendune with so much slaughter that they were glad to obtain peace on such terms as he chose to dictate. Guthrum embraced Christianity, and became the adopted son of Alfred.

The king's next care was to endeavor at amalgamating the Danes, who had settled in the country, with the victorious Saxons; a wise policy, and as wisely carried out. The result of it was, that when new hordes of invaders poured down upon England, they met with no encouragement from their countrymen already established in the island, and for want of this support were easily put to flight. Nor was it by land only that Alfred proved his superiority, being no less successful by sea against the Danes of East Anglia. These he defeated off their adopted coast, and captured thirteen of their ships, with all the treasure in them.



Fearful as were the ravages committed by the Danes, they were yet, like many others of the evils of life, productive in the end of good. Before their invasion of the country, Wessex, Mercia, East Anglia, and Northumberland existed as four independent kingdoms. The last three they subdued in a little time to their own power, but being in turn defeated by Alfred, the conquered states fell to him, and this led the way to their final consolidation into a single kingdom. It was, however, a work of time, for the turbulent spirit of the Northmen required long and judicious treatment to make them lay down the sword, and take up the spade and sickle.

Peace being at length restored, Alfred, who was a full century in advance of his people, commenced in earnest the arduous task of civilization. He called about him from all parts the most learned men of the day, and, setting the example in his own person, did more in a few years for the general advancement than had been previously effected in as many ages. Deficient himself in cultivation, but a giant in intellect, he devoted himself to study amid care, toil, and disease, mastered the Latin tongue, and—if we may believe William of Malmsbury—translated almost all that was known of Roman literature into Saxon. His clear and capacious mind was pious without bigotry, and while he reverenced the Pope as universal vicar, according to the doctrines of his age, he had yet none of the religious weakness of his father, but governed his kingdom in absolute independence of the Roman see. At the same time, no prince was more earnest in advancing the general interests of religion, which he considered, truly enough, essential to the well-being of the country. He rebuilt the ruined monasteries, added largely to the endowments of those that had escaped the barbarous invaders, and gave every encouragement to the ecclesiastics who came recommended to his favor by ability or virtue.

While thus employed in the arts of peace, Alfred did not for an instant neglect the military defences of his kingdom, without which, indeed, he would have been like an improvident husbandman, who should carefully cultivate his land, but leave it unhedged and unprotected. One of his most efficient measures for this purpose, was the building of a new kind of galleys, which "were twice as long, twice as high, sailed more quickly, and were less unsteady than those of the Danes; some of these ships had sixty oars, some more." In addition to these naval improvements, his genius, which seemed to adapt itself alike to all arts, suggested a complete revolution in the existing state of military tactics, both in the field and in fortifications. He was, however, feebly seconded by his people; they had not yet arrived at that degree of practical wisdom which teaches men to endure a present pain for the sake of a future benefit, and could with difficulty be brought to make preparations against dangers which were still remote from them.

Had Alfred done no more than what has been already mentioned, he would have deserved the lasting gratitude of his countrymen. But, in addition to all this, his services as a legislator must be taken into the account. If we judge of the system established by him, with reference to the age in which, and for which, it was produced, we shall find that in this respect also, the great Alfred stands without a rival. He had no help from the accumulated wisdom of ages; his enactments were to a great extent the result of his own mind and genius; or, at least, we may say of him, that he was the most original of legislators.

Peace had lasted for what in those days must be held a very considerable period. But now the storm burst forth again as violently as ever. In the year 893 a famine visited the coast of France, and of so sweeping a kind, that the Danes, who had settled there under Hastings, determined to relieve themselves by a piratical attack upon Kent. Having landed without opposition, for Hastings had taken the English by surprise, he formed two encampments, the one at Appledore, the other at Milton, only twenty miles apart; there they were joined by many of their countrymen, who poured in from the north and east, notwithstanding their oaths, and that they had given hostages for their good conduct to the king of Wessex. Incredible as it may now seem, the invaders were allowed for a whole year to retain possession of the land thus acquired, without any attempt being made to dislodge them. The chroniclers of the time, however, tell us that this delay was occasioned by the necessity of providing against the faithlessness of their brethren, who, although they had not yet revolted, were hardly to be trusted without some farther security for their loyal adherence to the pledges already given. Having taken the necessary measures, Alfred then attacked Hastings, compelled him to sue for peace, and next turned his arms against a body of these pirates who had established themselves at Farnham. With them, too, he was no less successful; but while he was thus occupied, the East-Anglian and Northumbrian Danes seized the opportunity of revolt, and sailed in two fleets for the coast of Devonshire. These also he defeated, though even then it required no less than three years to drive these new invaders from the country.

And now, in the year 901, having fulfilled his earthly mission as the defender and civilizer of his people, the great and good King Alfred expired, on October 26th, six days before the Mass of All Saints—not less beloved by his contemporaries than admired by after-ages.



JOHN HUSS

By REV. DR. TWEEDIE

(1373-1415)

]

John Huss, a reformer before the Reformation, and the martyr of Constance, was born about the year 1373. His birthplace was Hussinetz, a village of Bohemia. His parentage was humble, and his early toils and privations formed the school in which he was trained for future hardships and sufferings. He studied at the university of Prague; and some of his teachers were men somewhat in advance of their age. In the year 1396 Huss received his master's degree, and began to lecture in his university in 1398. In 1400 he was appointed confessor to the Queen of Bohemia; and in 1401 he became president of the philosophical faculty of Prague. The corruptions of his day, especially among the Romish priesthood, early suggested deep thoughts to this ardent man, and he found a few who were like-minded with himself among those who resided at Prague. Some of these entered into an arrangement for spreading truth as purely as it was then known; Huss was chosen their preacher, and there, in a place appropriately called "Bethlehem," or the House of Bread, he "refreshed the common people with the bread of holy preaching." The impression which he produced was profound. A fervent love, a holy life, glowing appeals, and a gentle manner, all helped to make him a master in grace, but soon brought him into collision with dark, mediaeval minds.

Here, then, is another decided and heroic man who has entered the ranks of the friends of truth. He will have much to do and much to endure—his patron will become his persecutor, and his friends will cast him out—if he is to assail the corruptions of the year 1400. But Huss was not the man to be damped by danger. His only inquiry was, What is duty?—he will do it at all hazards, and let us consider how; for in considering it, we see another example of the need of heroic decision in a world like ours, if man would really benefit his brother man. As early as the year 1391, the Bohemian reformer was studying the works of the great Englishman of that age; and all these things helped to urge him forward in the path in which he resolved to move. An archbishop might thwart him, and try to put him down. A whole university might oppose some of his measures. Wickliff's books might be burned, and loud remonstrances be heard. As a result, students, variously estimated at from 5,000 to 44,000 might forsake the university of Prague. But unmoved by such commotions, Huss went boldly forward.

But, intrepid as he was, Huss needed all his intrepidity. One of his friends was first thrown into prison, and then banished for his boldness; and Huss had to appeal to the archbishop, the chief agent in the persecution. "What is this," he cried "that men stained with innocent blood—men guilty of every crime—shall be found walking abroad with impunity, while humble priests, who spend all their efforts to destroy sin ... are cast into dungeons as heretics, and must suffer banishment for preaching the gospel?"

Matters soon reached a crisis. Huss was summoned to Italy to defend his doctrines, and all Bohemia was roused by that step. The future martyr was not permitted to go—it would have been to sacrifice his life. Meanwhile Queen Sophia used her influence on his behalf. The king wrote to the Pope and the cardinal in his favor. He demanded liberty for Huss to preach, and insisted that all actions against him should cease, so that for a while the persecution was stayed. But at last Huss was pronounced a heretic; and now he is one stage nearer to Constance and the funeral pile. On the way, however, he could exclaim, "Where I see anything at variance with the doctrines of Christ, I will not obey, though the stakes were staring me in the face." That was his maxim all through life; and in such an age such heroism in such a cause was the harbinger of death.

At one stage of these life and death struggles, Huss had to do battle against a whole theological faculty; and that and similar contests trained him to a boldness and decision which was constantly growing. But he had now to separate, for the truth's sake, from friends whom he had prized through life. His pathway, indeed, is gradually becoming more narrow, as well as more rough—he is one of those who must often walk alone.

Indulgences were now attacked by him in public disputations. About this period some of his friends were condemned to death because they objected to indulgences, and Huss took up their cause. He hastened to the Senate House, and pleaded for the three condemned men. He made their danger his own, and declared that he, the teacher, not they, the disciples, should die. In spite of his efforts, and in violation of promises given that no blood should be shed, his three friends were hurried to execution; and what could be the result of that step, but a more intense antagonism, a more resolute decision? On a subsequent occasion, accordingly, Huss appeared before the king and his council, to defend what he reckoned the right. He offered, with characteristic ardor, to be bound to die at the stake if he did not make good his views, provided his eight opponents would do the same. But all other struggles were soon merged in the great conflict with Rome itself. The Pope had determined to put down Huss, and he was excommunicated with the most terrible of papal forms. If he did not submit in twenty days, the ban was to be proclaimed against him in all churches; all who harbored him were to be laid under an interdict, and Huss himself was to be burned according to law.

The King of Bohemia had urged Huss to leave Prague for a time, in the hope that peace might thus be restored. He complied, and, like Luther in the Wartburg, in the Castle of Kozi-hradek wrote some of his most important works. Never was more determined courage displayed by any man in similar circumstances than by Huss in that castle.

From his hiding-place Huss often went abroad and preached to the crowds who flocked to hear him; but the Council of Constance is now at hand, for we are referring to the year 1414, and he is to proceed thither under a safe-conduct from Sigismund, Emperor of Germany, with the assurance that if he could not submit to the decision of the Council, the emperor would send him back unharmed to Bohemia. This was an opportunity for which Huss had longed. He would now, he thought, deliver his message and uphold the truth before assembled potentates, and proceeded to Prague to prepare for the council.[11] He there publicly challenged all his opponents to convict him of error if they could, and proved that he was valiant for the truth as long as he was free.

[Footnote 11: It should be carefully observed here, that the emperor guaranteed to Huss a safe journey both to Constance and from it. The words of the document are: "Ut ei transire, stare, morari, redire libere permittatis."]

Huss set out for Constance on October 11, 1414, with two faithful knights to protect him by the way. Even in Germany he was cordially welcomed by many. He courted opportunities of making known his views, and at Nuremberg, in particular, he enjoyed such an opportunity to the full. He reached Constance on November 3d, where his enemies were busily employed, and he was speedily posted as a vile heretic; indeed, it was soon made plain that if he was a bold, intrepid man, he needed to be so. Officials from the Pope, who was then at Constance, desired him, as an interdicted priest, to abstain from the Church services; but he declined to comply. Had he chosen even to equivocate, he might have escaped; but Huss was not the man to trim. Such a course was formally proposed to him; but though he was far from being buoyed up by false hopes, he resolutely and without hesitation declined all underhand suggestions: he would uphold the truth, but that was all that he would do. "I fear nothing," he said; "for I hope that, after a great conflict, will ensue a great victory, and after the victory a still greater reward to me, and a still greater discomfiture to my enemies."

Huss was not kept long in suspense. He sought various opportunities of proclaiming his views: but these were all denied him, and moreover, on November 28th, he was made a close prisoner. He was removed in chains to the castle of Gottleben. By night and day he was kept chained there, and all was done that was likely to bow down, or to break, the undaunted man. But though one form of disease after another assailed him, no wavering thought was harbored, no wavering word escaped; all his sorrows only led him deeper and deeper into the truth which he prized so well, and, in the face of crowding dangers, his resolution actually became more and more fixed and heroic.

The cruel mockery of justice at Constance was carried on by tribunal after tribunal; but the victim was steadfast and unmovable. Now, gleams of hope broke forth for him and his friends, and then darkness gathered round them once more; but Huss found one thing unchanging, the word of his God—and when the council met in the Franciscan convent, which had become the martyr's prison, formally to try his case, they cruelly attempted to prejudge the matter without hearing him at all. But the emperor interfered, and Huss appeared before them, ready to retract whatever was contrary to Scripture: but whenever he attempted to plead, a savage outcry arose around, till the voice of truth was drowned in the din. On June 7th, he stood forth the second time before the council; but it was a wrangle rather than a solemn trial, for Huss would not abate one jot of his convictions, except as the Scriptures condemned them.

On June 8th, his third examination took place. Huss was told, at the close, that if he would suppliantly submit and retract opinions which he declared he never held, his judges would be lenient—otherwise, his danger was obvious. He was thus asked to confess his errors, to swear that he would never more preach them, and publicly recant; but he constantly refused such terms, unless he were convicted by the word of God. Even the emperor pleaded with him to yield; the judges also urged him, and professed a desire for his escape; but he was not to be moved, and must therefore hasten back to his cell, an outcast heretic in chains. If he would recant, he would be permitted to live—but little more, for imprisonment for life was to be his lot. But little did those judges know either the man whom they held in their grasp, or the principles and the power which bore him up. He could die, but he could not be anything but a true man. An emperor's safe-conduct was found to be a worthless thing, and "Trust not in princes" was a portion of the word of God which Huss learned thoroughly to understand.

]

It was with unruffled self-possession that Huss gave himself to martyrdom. As he had never abandoned the Romish Church, he calmly engaged in its functions preparatory to his death. Indeed, some touching scenes were witnessed in his prison—he unshaken—his friends, his very enemies weeping like womanhood beside him. Deputation after deputation visited him—one of them from the emperor himself—and recantation was constantly the burden of their pleading. But Huss would not recant except upon conviction; and on July 6, 1415, he appeared once more before the council, where the emperor was present on his throne. Many of the judges were Huss's bitter personal enemies, for as he had assailed the measureless corruptions of their order, that was an unpardonable sin. Besides, history is careful to tell that bribery was largely employed to make sure of his destruction—and now the last act of the dark tragedy has arrived. No further defence was permitted to Huss, yet he uttered one solemn appeal. Once and again he prayed for his enemies. Being clothed in his priestly robes, he was stripped of them by seven bishops, while he still persisted in holding fast his convictions, except as the truth of God could be shown to condemn them. The mark of his tonsure was next removed, and that with great cruelty. A cap daubed over with the figures of demons was then placed on his head, and thus the heroic martyr of Bohemia was led forth to be burned in the name of religion.



At the place of execution Huss prayed, and often repeated the words, "Into thy hands, Lord, I commit my spirit." When compelled to rise from his knees, he still appealed to the Saviour, and prayed for "a strong and steadfast soul" to endure that shameful death. Even after he was placed at the stake, and had actually been surrounded by fagots, he declared that he willingly wore his chains for Christ, who wore yet heavier bonds. With his last breath he repelled a temptation to recant, and when the fire was kindled he began to sing with a loud voice, "Jesus, son of the living God, have mercy upon me." When he was repeating the words for the third time, his voice failed; he was stifled by the flames, and soon reduced to ashes. These ashes were cast into the Rhine.

Thus perished one of the noblest men who ever walked our world. His death led to the Hussite war. In his native Bohemia he was so loved that the peasants rose in great bodies, crying for vengeance. Many of the nobles joined them, and for fifteen years battle and bloodshed avenged his execution.



LOUIS XI. OF FRANCE

By E. SPENCER BEESLY, M.A.

(1423-1483.)

]

During the Middle Ages there was a constant struggle in the West between the two elements of the temporal power—the central, or national, and the local, or that of the great vassals. Gradually the local governments all merged in large aggregates, in each of which a single national government gathered to itself all military, civil, and judicial functions. This movement was already in progress before the end of the thirteenth century. By the end of the fifteenth the struggle was substantially decided, though it did not come completely to an end till the latter part of the seventeenth century.

In France, as in most countries, the agent in this organizing and nationalizing movement was the crown. Almost every French monarch did something toward enforcing recognition of the royal authority in all parts of that country which by geographical conditions, as well as by its history, was fitted for political unity. But, either because they did not see their way to undertaking the direct government of so large an area, or because they were themselves under the dominion of feudal ideas, they did not always avail themselves of their frequent opportunities for extinguishing the local governments of the fiefs which fell into their hands. The Valois kings granted many of them as appanages to their younger sons, and so created a new set of great vassals, who revived the struggle for feudal independence. The most dangerous of these, the Duke of Burgundy, openly aided the English invaders. This prince, besides his French fiefs, possessed the yet more important territories now known as Belgium and the Netherlands. Charles VII., the father of Louis XI., having expelled the English, established a permanent force of nine thousand cavalry—the first standing army in modern times.

During the life of his father, Louis was not a dutiful subject. His masterful spirit could brook no superior. He even conspired with the rebel vassals. But as king (1461-1483) he pursued the policy of his greatest predecessors with undaunted courage, patient perseverance, and political genius of the highest order. At first he was too much in a hurry. He tried to clip the wings of all his vassals at once. He irritated the industrial classes by severe taxation. He drove into exile or rebellion his father's ablest generals and councillors. This brought upon him the so-called "League of Public Welfare," headed by Charles the Bold, heir of Burgundy, which aimed at a virtual dismemberment of France. Persevering as Louis was, he had none of the weak obstinacy which cannot distinguish between means and ends. Finding himself overmatched, though he had cut his way through the hosts of rebels at Montlhery, he conceded to them everything they demanded. By the treaty of Conflans (1465) he might seem to have flung up the game in despair, and to have signed the ruin of France. But his high Court of Justice (Parlement), by refusing to register the treaty, gave him an excuse for evading its performance, and by negotiating with the princes separately he broke up their coalition. The peaceful and industrious classes stood by him, and he studiously cared for their interests; mixing familiarly with the citizens of Paris, dining at their houses, standing godfather to their children, putting aside all state and ceremony, and even dressing in humble attire. The precautions of his residence at Plessis belong only to the last months of his life, when he was old and paralytic. Never ashamed to own a mistake and to retrace false steps, he won back the most valuable of his father's servants, whom he had at first driven away. His designs against feudalism were not for a moment suspended. But instead of attacking all his vassals at once he took them in detail; while one was being crushed, others were humored till their turn came.



As a young man he had shown warlike tastes and brilliant personal valor; but as king he always preferred negotiation and policy. It was a too daring confidence in his mastery of these weapons which led him to risk his famous visit to Charles the Bold, at Peronne (1468), so vividly painted by Scott in "Quentin Durward," who, however, omits to mention the safe-conduct which Charles basely violated. At such critical moments Louis's nerve became steadiest and his intellect most acute. The concessions extorted from him at Peronne seemed to undo the work of years; but when once he was free he found means to remedy all the mischief that had been done. "Never," says his Minister Comines, "was there a man so sagacious in adversity; when he drew back it was to make a longer spring." In another war with Burgundy, Edward IV., of England, landed with a large army (1475). To warlike nobles it seemed very base that Louis bought off the invaders instead of rushing upon another Crecy or Agincourt; but he thoroughly despised such criticism. He had an army, and a good one; but if a round sum of money would effect his purpose more cheaply, surely, and speedily, why should he expose his subjects to the horrors and losses of war? Two years later Charles fell at Nancy, fighting against the Swiss, who were in the pay of Louis. It was the death-blow of feudalism. Louis promptly seized the duchy of Burgundy and some other territories of the deceased duke. Altogether, during his reign, he brought eleven provinces under the direct government of the crown—Brittany being the only great fief which at his death remained independent. He had thus assured the unity of France and her preponderance in Europe.

Hardly less important services to his country were his establishment of order and good administration, his financial and judicial reforms, his encouragement of industry and commerce. "He effected," says Lavallee, "attempted, or projected, all the innovations of modern France." Diplomacy, the modern makeshift for the international office of the mediaeval papacy, dates from him. Historians have dwelt on his cruelty, perfidy, and superstition.[12] Turbulent nobles, like St. Pol and Armagnac, were brought to the block; treacherous ministers, like Cardinal La Balue, were kept for years in iron cages; vulgar criminals swung from gibbets on every highroad. But this severity toward ruffians of high and low degree, who had preyed on the country for the best part of the century, wrought peace and prosperity for the law-abiding and industrious. In the decay of feudal manners and Catholic discipline, the sentiment of honor had almost vanished from public life. But, judged relatively to his times, Louis is not to be branded as perfidious. He did not scruple to break treaties contrary to the interests of his country, which had been extorted from him by force; but he was more straightforward than his principal contemporaries. Twice, when he could have got rid of Charles the Bold by acts of treachery, which in those days no one would have blamed, he chose the honorable course. To reproach a man of the fifteenth century with superstition, because he thought there might be some efficacy in images and relics, is an abuse of language. If he clung to life it was because he felt that so much of his projected work remained unfinished. He met death with remarkable fortitude, his thoughts and efforts being to the last moment occupied with the affairs, not of his soul, but of his country. His minister and intimate friend, Comines, has left a faithful and judicious account of his life. Two great poets have dealt unfairly with him: Scott could not forgive the foe of feudalism; Hugo was blinded by democratic prejudices.

[Footnote 12: It is said that Louis was a firm believer in astrology, that he wore a cap set round with leaden images of the saints to which he prayed, but told them falsehoods even in his prayers. His choice of a confidential adviser was perhaps his greatest offence in the eyes of the nobility, for he selected his barber, Olivier le Dain, or Oliver the Devil. This man mocked his master even while he served him. Our engraving, after the painting of Hermann Kaulbach, represents both in characteristic positions.]



ISABELLA OF CASTILE[13]

By SARAH H. KILLIKELLY

(1451-1504)

[Footnote 13: Copyright, 1894, by Selmar Hess.]

]

Isabella, the only daughter of John II., of Castile, and Isabella, of Portugal, his second wife, was born in Madrigal, Spain, in 1451. Upon the death of her father her elder half-brother succeeded to the throne in 1454, as Henry IV. The queen dowager retired from court life with her infant son Alfonso, and her daughter Isabella, then in her fourth year. The royal children were reared by a wise mother in the seclusion of the little town of Arevalo, until Isabella was twelve years old. How carefully the seeds of character were sown in these early years is shown by the after-fruits. Her fervent piety and unwavering faith, her strict integrity and self-abnegation, disarmed the enemies of her crown, as they disarm the unprejudiced historian of to-day. The verdict of four hundred years is still: "Her faults were the faults of her age, her virtues were her own." The quiet home life at Arevalo came suddenly to an end in 1463, when King Henry arbitrarily ordered the infantas, as all royal children are called in Spain, to repair to the palace as members of his court. Thus at the early age of twelve years Isabella entered upon her public career, and from thenceforth the eyes of the civilized world were turned upon her. Shortly after, a revolution deposed Henry and placed Alfonso upon the throne. Both kings had their followers, and the boy-king, eleven years old, rode on horseback at the head of his troops beside his appointed regent. But the crown was too heavy for the young victim, and Alfonso was one morning found dead in his bed. To Isabella, a beautiful girl of sixteen, the fallen crown was offered and urged; but in spite of the fact that the old standard had already been unfurled in her honor, and unmoved by the eloquence of the primate and the arguments of the first nobles of the land, Isabella, with a wisdom beyond her years, resolutely refused to take the throne. Her reasons baffled her advisers: "So long as King Henry lives none other has the right to wear the crown." She advised his reinstatement and promised to help redress the wrongs of which the nation had the unquestioned right to complain. An amnesty was declared and a reconciliation was effected; but not until Henry had consented to divorce his queen and to acknowledge Isabella as the heir-apparent to the throne in place of his reputed daughter, Joanna. The cortes, or parliament, was assembled to ratify the treaty, and at the same time, passed a resolution that the infanta was not to be coerced in her matrimonial alliance. In 1468, with great pomp and ceremony, Isabella was solemnly proclaimed Princess of Asturias, heir-apparent to the throne of Castile and Leon. She is described as of medium height, of fair complexion, regular features, auburn hair, clear blue eyes, and with a sweet but serious expression that told both sides of her character. She inherited from her father a desire for knowledge and a love of literature, and was herself a fine linguist. These graces of mind and person, added to her nearness to the throne, soon brought many ardent suppliants from the principal thrones of Europe for the honor of her hand. Her cousin, Prince Ferdinand of Aragon, was her wise choice, and to him she was married, notwithstanding her brother's opposition, in 1469. The brilliant wedding at Valladolid, in the presence of the nobility and about two thousand persons, closes the second period of her life. Five years intervened before the Princess of Asturias became Queen of Leon and Castile. Stormy years, for the angry brother instituted a fresh rebellion against her succession, and Isabella was again the peace-maker; years of poverty, also, for the heirs-apparent of Castile and Aragon had scarcely a competency for their daily needs. Isabella was residing in Segovia at the time of her brother's death; hence, in Segovia, with more than the usual solemnities which accompany the accession of a new sovereign even in Spain, she took the vows and was crowned Queen of Castile and Leon in 1474. During the first four years and a half of her reign civil war desolated her kingdom, for Joanna, the reputed daughter of Henry IV., again contested her right to the crown, supported by the King of Portugal, to whom she was affianced. But the same people who had said "Isabella shall be the heir-apparent," said now "Isabella shall rule over us," and conquered. The reign of Isabella, therefore, dates from 1479, when she was left in undisputed possession of her throne, rather than from 1474, when she wore her crown for the first time in Segovia. The same year that brought peace to the Queen of Castile elevated Ferdinand to the throne of Aragon.

No more important epoch marks the history of Spain than the union of the crowns of Castile and Aragon; it meant the end of petty principalities and powers, it meant united Spain. But the crowns were only linked together, for Isabella, even in her marriage contract, had maintained the independence of the crown of Castile and her individual right to rule over it. It was this loyalty to her inherited crown that won the love and confidence of her people and made them ready, when the need came, to die for Isabella of Castile. And it was this independence of her crown that enabled her to say at last to Columbus: "I will assume the enterprise for mine own crown of Castile," and "to the crown of Castile" belonged the first discovered territories in the New World.

Had the reign of Isabella been less distinguished for events of such momentous magnitude as to involve the future interests of the world, her personal life would yet furnish data for a series of volumes, so replete was it with stirring incidents and with heart-breaking sorrows. But the same mental strength and moral courage that made her eminent as a queen, made her remarkable also as a friend and mother. Prescott says: "Her heart overflowed with affectionate sensibilities to her family and friends. She watched over the declining years of her aged mother and ministered to her sad infirmities with filial tenderness; we have abundant proofs of how fondly and faithfully she loved her husband to the last; while for her children she lived more than for herself, and for them too she died; for it was their loss and their afflictions which froze the current of her blood before age had had time to chill it."

Five children, four daughters and one son, grew to maturity under her guiding influence. Isabella, the first born, and ever the favorite child of the sovereigns, was born in 1470. She was twice married, first to Alfonso, Prince of Portugal, who was killed by a fall from his horse within five months after their marriage. Seven years later she married his brother, Emanuel, King of Portugal. To the intense grief of her husband, her parents, and her kingdom, she died in 1498, just one hour after the birth of her son, the first and only heir to the kingdoms of Castile, Aragon, and Portugal. The little Prince Miguel did not live to fulfil the hopes that were centred in him, for he died, to the great grief of the nation, before he had completed his second year.

The only son of Ferdinand and Isabella, Juan, Prince of Asturias, was born in 1478. In his twentieth year he married the Princess Margaret, daughter of the Emperor Maximilian; but before the elaborate nuptial rejoicings had ended the young bridegroom died suddenly of a malignant fever.

The Infanta Joanna, born 1479, married Philip I., son of the German emperor, and became the mother of the great Emperor Charles V. of Germany, Charles I. of Spain. Her mental derangement, tending to permanent insanity, was a sore grief to the great queen, who nevertheless made her the heir to her crown, with Ferdinand as regent.

The Infanta Maria, born in 1482, married Emanuel, the King of Portugal, in 1600. Her daughter Isabella married her cousin, Charles V., and was the mother of Philip II.

The fifth and last child of Ferdinand and Isabella, Catalina, was born in 1485. She married, when scarcely sixteen, Arthur, Prince of Wales, son of Henry VII., but was left a widow within a year. By special dispensation from the Pope she married her brother-in-law in 1509, and is better known in history as Catharine of Aragon, first wife of Henry VIII., of England, mother of Mary I., or "bloody Mary." Knowing her Spanish parentage, we can better understand why she was such an ardent Roman Catholic. Strange that one so loyal to the forms of her religion should have been the innocent cause of the English Reformation! The injured queen, divorced, remained in England, a religious recluse, until her death in 1536.

This brief outline of family life, with its joys, disappointments, and heart-breaking sorrows, brings into clearer relief the mental strength and moral courage of Isabella, who, while carrying this burden on her heart never relaxed for a moment her vigilant, vigorous rule over a mighty empire; and this brings us at last to the

GREAT HISTORIC QUEEN.

From the very beginning of the reconquest of Spain from the Arab-Moors in 718, when the brave band of refugees who had not bowed to the Saracen yoke issued from the mountains of Asturias in the extreme northwest corner of Spain, under Pelayo, with vows resting upon them "to rid the land of its infidel invaders and to advance the standard of the cross until it was everywhere victorious over the crescent," the "Expulsion of the Moors" had been the hereditary appanage of the crown of Castile and Leon, the first fruits of the reconquest.

The crown was heavy and the burden was great that descended to Isabella in 1474, for although she came to the throne through Gothic ancestry and in conformity with Gothic law, her father's heir and the chosen of the people, yet the nation had already poured out its blood in defence of her "succession" and the war of her "accession" was pending. No wonder that Isabella never forgot that it was through the people and for the people, and in defence of the cross, that she wore the crown and sat upon the throne of Leon and Castile.

During the preceding reigns the laws of the country had been so constantly defied that they had become of no effect. The one law of barbarism seemed the only law that governed,

"He can take who has the power, And he may keep who can."

The country was infested with lawless banditti, and even the cities were powerless to protect individuals or property. The prisons were overcrowded with suspected criminals who had never been brought to trial; the immorality of the court had spread like a deadly poison through the lower grades of social life; even the priests had become tainted with the general demoralization. The coin of Castile had been debased until the most necessary articles of life were enhanced from three to six times their value; the late civil wars had exhausted the treasury, and the country seemed on the verge of bankruptcy. The Moors had even ceased to pay tribute and were making frequent forays into the surrounding country, taking men, women, and children into Mussulman captivity with the hope of exacting a ransom. Public confidence was dead. No wonder that Isabella felt her crown heavy and the burden of her kingdom great.

But the brave, resolute woman, making choice of wise and able counsellors, entered at once upon a vigorous crusade of reform. The first measure proposed to the cortes, in 1476, was the re-establishment of the celebrated Hermandad, or Holy Brotherhood, which was carried into effect the same year. The new institution differed from the ancient, inasmuch as its power proceeded from the crown and was disbanded by it in 1498. The Hermandad in our day would be called a mounted police, but in the days of Isabella every organization came under the sanction of the Church. The duties of the Holy Brotherhood were to arrest offenders throughout the kingdom and to enforce the law. Every one hundred householders throughout the kingdom maintained one Hermandad. Upon the flight of a criminal tocsins were sounded, and the officers of the Brotherhood stationed within hearing took up a pursuit that left little hope for escape. Thus a body of cavalry, two thousand in number, fully equipped and supported, was at the disposal of the crown to enforce the law and to suppress insurrections. In a few years the country was cleared of banditti and the blessing of personal security under the government was restored.

Isabella revived also another ancient custom of her forefathers, that of presiding in person over courts of justice. From city to city she travelled on horseback, making the circuit of her kingdom, regardless of personal fatigue. Side by side with Ferdinand, when he had leisure from foreign complications to accompany her, she sat (not unmindful of the dignity belonging to the crown) with her courtiers around her, to listen with interest, that she might redress wrongs, punish the wrongdoers, and administer justice even to the lowliest of her subjects. Her personal address, and the unbounded respect which her integrity inspired; her proclamation throughout the kingdom that the interests of her people were her interests, re-established such public confidence that, says a writer of that age, "Those who had long despaired of public justice blessed God for their deliverance, as it were, from deplorable captivity." Nor did the sovereigns relax their personal efforts for the restoration of law and order until the cortes had passed measures for the permanent administration of justice. Thus in a few years, from a state of anarchy and misrule, Castile entered upon her "Golden Age of Justice."

The golden age of literature, developed in the next century, has been justly ascribed to the impetus given by Isabella to liberal education, classical and scientific. Under her patronage schools were established in every city, presided over by learned men. The printing press, lately invented, was introduced; foreign books were imported free of duty, while such precedence was given to native literature as led on to the brilliant achievements of the sixteenth century. In social reform precept was enforced by example. In all that was pure, in all that was true, in all that was noble and magnanimous, Isabella, in private life, was a witness unto her people. No calumny of any kind, even in a depraved age, was ever cast upon Isabella of Castile or upon any one of her royal children. But the strongest characteristic of Isabella, that which colored her whole life and gave force to every public action, was her fervent piety and her unfaltering [perhaps blind] faith in the divine authority of the Roman Catholic Church. For all the evils that grew out of the latter she is still branded, even among the liberal-minded of to-day, regardless of her illiberal age, with that worst of all brands, "a religious bigot." This side of her character we will not discuss, but refer our readers to the history of Christianity during the fifteenth century, when the great flood-tide of religious intolerance reached its height.

It was in the fulness of this tide that the great historic events of her reign occurred, viz., the conquest of Granada, the expulsion of the Jews, the Inquisition, and the discovery of America. After each of these, for honor or dishonor, we interline the name of Isabella. Yet the conquest of Granada, or the reconquest of every foot of land which the Moors had taken from the Goths, was foreordained in Castilian councils centuries before Isabella was born. The expulsion of the Jews, the so-called "enemies of Christ," was but a part of the same effort "to rid the land of unbelieving invaders." The Inquisition, with all its horrors, was re-established by the Church during that age of intolerance to which the reign of Isabella belongs. Yet these are still named to the dishonor of Isabella.

But the discovery of America, with all its lasting benefits to mankind, is the immortal crown which the world has woven out of her proffered "Jewels;" and with this crown it has crowned Isabella of Castile.

In the marriage contract of the youthful prince and princess it was agreed that Ferdinand should lead the armies of Castile against the Moors as soon as the affairs of the kingdom would permit. The opportunity and the provocation came after twelve years, when the sovereigns sent to demand of the Moors the long unpaid tribute, and received only the defiant answer, "Tell your masters that the Moors who paid tribute to Castile are dead. Our mints no longer coin gold, but steel!" And to prove the efficacy of their steel they sallied forth and took Zahara, one of the strongholds which the father of Ferdinand had taken from the Moors. The chivalry of Spain sprang quickly into well-girt saddles, and the ten years' siege of Granada, "the last stronghold of the Moors in Spain," began in 1481. The Iliad of the reconquest of Spain from the Arab-Moors has yet to be written; the Homer of its Iliad has yet to appear. But the closing year of the struggle between Christian knight and turbaned Moor would furnish as stirring incidents, and immortalize the names of its heroes as successfully, as has the Greek Homer the Trojan war.

Those of us who have read the story of the Arab-Moors in Spain, the quick-witted, light-footed, brave-hearted Moors, who coveted the land "flowing with milk and honey" that lay across a narrow strait; who conquered it, redeemed its barren wastes, and made them to blossom as the rose; who, in their quick flight from the Arabian deserts through civilized lands, gathered seeds of knowledge and planted them so freely in the land of their adoption that their planting overspread the earth; who, like the Goths, became enervated when they became stationary, and were no longer able to resist the powerful foe who had from their entrance into Spain sworn their expulsion or their extermination, will be ready to weep when the final retribution comes. Yet come it did, when Ferdinand and Isabella pitched their tents and planted their banners of Castile and Aragon upon the verdant vega, or plain, around Granada.

And yet we as readily accept the inevitable. We have known that it was impossible for Isabella to allow any portion of her dominions to be possessed by a people alien in race, language, customs, and religion; to see the Crescent triumphant over any site that had been hallowed by the Cross. To the Spanish Christian the fall of Granada was only the final victory of a righteous war. It was the triumph of his race, his nation, and his creed. And, looking back over the long march from Asturias to Granada, he claimed to have invaded no man's right; every victory but won back what was his own: every step retraced by the Moors but left him in possession of another portion of his inheritance from his forefathers.

The Arab-Moors claimed also hereditary rights. For nearly eight hundred years the Moors had held possession of that strip of land between the "Snow Mountains" and the blue sea, in Southern Spain. One cannot but feel respect for the brave Moorish king of Granada, who said, when threatened with invasion, "Our mint no longer coins gold, but steel!" In this last great chivalrous war, a war for race and creed and country, all honor is due to the vanquished, who poured out their blood like water for their homes and their religion. The details of this heroic death-struggle belong to history rather than to biography. Yet Isabella was the great animating spirit of the war. Her tent was side by side with that of Ferdinand, and her counsel was ever wise and practical.

And near the royal tents were others which she erected, where the wounded in the fray might have medical aid and tender nursing. Thus our "Warrior Queen," with a woman's heart, provided the first Army Hospital on record. The tents were burned down, but a substantial city arose, as if by magic, to take their place. The knights would have called it "Isabella," but she named it "Santa Fe," the city of Holy Faith. And this city helped to bring the war to a close. The Moors knew by it that Isabella had come to stay until she had added Granada to the crown of Castile.

Another form rises before us as we look back four hundred years across the vega of Granada to the city of Sante Fe. We forget for a time the Christians and the Moors, we see only the great queen and the great discoverer. The man of science, Christoforo Colombo, had been lately dismissed from the court at Sante Fe. The sovereigns had no time for adventurers seeking aid to discover unknown lands when the reconquest of their own was just within their grasp. Cast down, but not discouraged, Columbus, all alone, was retracing his steps across the vega, en route for a port from whence to sail for England, when the queen sent a royal summons for him to return, and he reached Sante Fe just in time to be present at the surrender of Granada. Let me add that while the Moors as a nation fell with Granada, they were not as individuals banished from Spain until the reign of Philip II., the great-grandson of Isabella.



We all know the story of Columbus. At this time he was but a penniless mendicant travelling on foot from court to court, seeking patronage to enable him to prove the truth which his great mind had grasped, the rotundity of the earth. The subject had given him no rest for eighteen years. He had discussed it before wise men in council assembled; he had pleaded with royalty in vain; at the court of Isabella, for the first time, he laid his plans and discussed his projects before a woman. The world to-day pays its tribute of four hundred years to Columbus, the World-finder. All honor to the brave man who, firm of faith and fearless of fate, unfurled his sails upon an unknown sea, and planted the cross and the banner of Castile upon an unknown land. All honor, too, to Queen Isabella of Spain, who, with "faith in things unseen," had the courage to say, "I will undertake the enterprise for mine own crown of Castile," and from whose presence Columbus went forth to discover a land he never dreamed of, and to open a gate for the exodus of nations across the pathless sea. The same pen that signed the capitulation of the Moors and the contract with Columbus, signed also an edict for the expulsion of all unbaptized Jews from Spain between March and July of 1492. This edict condemned to perpetual exile from one to eight hundred thousand of Spain's most wealthy subjects. The coast was lined with vessels of every kind, and size, busy with the transportation of these unhappy victims, when Columbus was seeking for vessels and men to cross the "Sea of Darkness." And now we are beginning to understand the momentous events that culminated in the reign of Isabella. We find that religious enthusiasm, inspired during the long wars with the "Infidel Moors," developed into religious bigotry. In the Jews, Spain expelled the most wealthy portion of her subjects; in the Moors, the most industrious; the wealth and industry of the nation were sacrificed for race and creed. And then within its own race and creed arose a new foe to combat; with equal energy and blind zeal Spain crushed Protestantism within her borders through the terrors of the Inquisition.

But let us not lay the whole blame of such intolerant Christianity upon the unfortunate woman who fell heir to the crown of Castile during the period when the Church of Rome had the power to bind the consciences of men. Let us remember that as a woman Isabella was an honor to her sex; as a Christian she lived devoutly; as a queen she ruled wisely for the uplifting of her nation, and that the only censure the world casts upon her is the fortitude with which she said "Infidelity must be banished from the land."

"Bury me in Granada, the brightest jewel in my crown," she said, when dying, in far-off Castile, November 26, 1504. The way was long and the December winds were cold as the royal cortege, with knightly escort, wended its way across the barren heights of Central Spain into the beautiful valley of Andalusia, across the lovely vega, past Santa Fe, up the rugged slope of the acropolis of Granada into the Chapel Isabella, near the unrivalled Alhambra. Here in the very heart of the last Moorish capital, while the whole nation mourned, they laid all that was mortal of the great queen, whom Lord Bacon has named "the corner-stone of the greatness of Spain."

Twelve years later, January 23, 1516, they laid King Ferdinand beside her, "the wisest king that ever ruled in Spain." (Prescott.) Their grandson, Charles V., now summoned the finest artists in the world to prepare royal mausoleums for Ferdinand and Isabella and for his parents, Joanna of Castile and Philip of Burgundy. The cathedral of Granada is the Spanish temple of victory. It covers the site of an ancient Moorish mosque. Within its royal chapel one may read, in bas-relief, the whole story of the reconquest of Spain. On either side of its high altar kneel the life-size statues of the final conquerors; while in solemn, stately magnificence, the royal mausoleums of purest Carrara marble, with their reclining portrait figures of Ferdinand and Isabella in soft, time-tinted alabaster, tell us that here the nation, "redeemed from bondage," laid their deliverers to rest. And here, at the close of nearly four hundred years, a hand from across the sea lays this tribute, with a garland of white roses and a wreath of olive leaves and immortelles, upon the tomb of ISABELLA OF CASTILE.

[Signature of the author.]



NICHOLAS COPERNICUS

By JOHN STOUGHTON, D.D.

(1473-1543)

]

The life of Nicholas Copernicus furnishes a signal example of the accordance between profound religious sentiment and the utmost inquisitiveness respecting the secrets of nature and the laws of the universe.

The birthplace of genius is sometimes found nestled amid the fairest scenes, and the opening years of life are favored with appeals to curiosity and imagination, such as stimulate the exercise of the intellect; but the lot of Copernicus, as a boy, was cast in one of the flattest, tamest, and most uninteresting parts of Germany. Not far from the banks of the Vistula, on the way to the free city of Dantzic, lies a fortified town named Thorn, where the river is crossed by a wooden bridge, and the place is adorned by a bronze statue of our philosopher—for there he was born. His father was a merchant, and in the municipal records his father's name appears as a freeman admitted to the franchise in 1462. In 1472 or 1473 a son was added to the family, and the parents had a horoscope taken of the child, who appeared at thirty-eight minutes past four on January 19, 1472, according to some; at forty-eight minutes past four in the afternoon of February 19, 1473, according to others; the exact instant of the nativity being an important point in astrological calculations, which, in those days, inspired in fathers and mothers the deepest concern. At all events, Copernicus was deemed to have entered the world under a lucky planet, and it was augured that he would turn out a man of distinguished talent. About ten years before Martin Luther studied at Mansfield, and then at Eisenach, and rambled about the quaint streets, singing Christmas carols in the town where he was born, Nicholas Copernicus passed through a similar course of education. He did so under some old-fashioned pedagogue, who no more dreamed of the scientific fame of his pupil than did Trebonius of the approaching celebrity of young Master Martin. Copernicus would there learn to read, to write, to construe Latin, and to commit to memory hymns, prayers, and catechisms. Whether as a lad he studied Greek is uncertain; but, as his parents seem to have been wealthy, he would enjoy greater advantages than his still more illustrious contemporary; hence at an early period he was sent to Cracow, where he studied philosophy, mathematics, and medicine. Mathematics formed his favorite pursuit, and by the thorough acquisition of its principles and modes of reasoning he laid the basis of his subsequent eminence. But he took a degree as doctor of medicine; and according to the comprehensive methods of culture which obtained in those days, he paid attention to painting, and made some proficiency as an artist. Scholars were at that period accustomed to travel, and Copernicus proceeded from Cracow to Bologna; and in that city of feudal palaces and towers he would find a school of painting to cultivate his artistic taste, as well as a university where he could study astronomy. There he entered upon divers calculations connected with the position of the earth and the plan of the heavenly bodies. Then proceeding to Rome, he became there a mathematical professor, and won vast renown. Soon after the commencement of the sixteenth century he returned to the banks of the Vistula, and having been ordained to the priesthood, had a canonry at Frauenburg, on the Frische-Haeff, bestowed upon him by his uncle. The cathedral is described as a handsome building of brick, erected in 1342, in an elevated part of the town, overlooking the flat sandbanks of the Elbing, as it flows on its way to the Baltic. In connection with his canonry, Copernicus had some contention about his official rights, the nature of which does not appear. All we know is that he settled down in that quiet, out-of-the-way corner of the world, heedless of worldly ambition and indifferent to ecclesiastical honors and emoluments. He was no sceptic, no free-thinker, nor do we find him taking a part in the theological controversies of his age. No mention is made of what he thought and did in relation to the grand quarrel between Luther and Leo, or the Diet of Worms, or the burning of the bull at the gates of Wittenberg, or the other stirring events of the Reformation; only we know he remained a Catholic, a quiet, self-contained, thoughtful, devout man, childlike in his religion, trustful in his piety, and exemplary in the discharge of clerical duties. We can picture him going through the usual routine of canonical services in Frauenburg Cathedral, full of faith and prayer. With this vocation he coupled medical practice. He turned to good charitable account that proficiency in the healing art which he had acquired at Cracow, and visited the sick and the poor, bringing upon himself the blessing of those who were ready to perish. But the nature of his intellect, sharpened by studies at Bologna and Rome, gave him special advantages in the pursuit of astronomical knowledge; and as he had a decided taste in that direction, what time he could spare from the cathedral and the treatment of the sick he devoted to the study of the heavens. "He went very little into the world; he considered all conversation as fruitless except that of a serious and learned cast, so that he formed no intimacies except with grave and learned men." Alone at midnight he would watch the stars; in his study with his books he would inquire of the ancients; and then the profound thoughts passing through his mind he would exchange with the "grave and reverend seigniors" of his acquaintance.