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A History of the Moravian Church

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Title: A History of the Moravian Church

Author: J. E. Hutton


        
Release date: March 1, 2000 [eBook #2099]
                Most recently updated: July 19, 2012

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/2099

Credits: Produced by John Bechard and David Widger


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A HISTORY OF THE MORAVIAN CHURCH ***




Produced by John Bechard





HISTORY OF THE MORAVIAN CHURCH

by J. E. Hutton


(Second Edition, Revised and Enlarged.)

1909


Transcriber's Note: I have inserted a few notes of my own regarding
spelling (one Greek word) and the rearranging of dates that were
originally shown in the margins of the book; any of my own adjustments
or notes have been enclosed in these brackets: {} to separate them from
the original text. As well, I have renumbered all the footnotes from
their corresponding pages and set them at the end of this document.



     BOOK ONE.

     The Bohemian Brethren. 1457-1673

     CHAPTER I.--The Rising Storm
        "   II.--The Burning of Hus. July 6th, 1415
        "  III.--The Welter. 1415-1434
        "   IV.--Peter of Chelcic. 1419-1450
        "    V.--Gregory the Patriarch and the Society at Kunwald.
                 1457-1472
        "   VI.--Luke of Prague and the High Church Reaction. 1473-1530
        "  VII.--The Brethren at Home.
        " VIII.--John Augusta and His Policy. 1531-1548
        "   IX.--The Brethren in Poland. 1548-1570
        "    X.--The Martyr Bishop. 1548-1560
        "   XI.--The Last Days of Augusta. 1560-1572
        "  XII.--The Golden Age. 1572-1603
        " XIII.--The Letter of Majesty. 1603-1609
        "  XIV.--The Downfall. 1609-1621
        "   XV.--The Day of Blood at Prague. June 21st, 1621
        "  XVI.--Comenius and the Hidden Seed. 1621-1673


     BOOK TWO.

     The Revival under Zinzendorf. 1700-1760.

     CHAPTER I.--The Youth of Count Zinzendorf. 1700-1722
        "   II.--Christian David. 1690-1722
        "  III.--The Founding of Herrnhut. 1722-1727
        "   IV.--Life at Herrnhut
        "    V.--The Edict of Banishment. 1727-1736
        "   VI.--The Foreign Missions and their Influence. 1732-1760
        "  VII.--The Pilgrim Band. 1736-1743
        " VIII.--The Sifting Time. 1743-1750
        "   IX.--Moravians and Methodists. 1735-1742
        "    X.--Yorkshire and the Settlement System. 1742-1755
        "   XI.--The Labours of John Cennick. 1739-1755
        "  XII.--The Appeal to Parliament. 1742-1749
        " XIII.--The Battle of the Books. 1749-1755
        "  XIV.--The American Experiments. 1734-1762
        "   XV.--The Last Days of Zinzendorf. 1755-1760


     BOOK THREE.

     The Rule of the Germans. 1760-1857.

     CHAPTER I.--The Church and Her Mission; or The Three Constitutional
                 Synods. 1760-1775
        "   II.--The Fight for the Gospel; or, Moravians and
                 Rationalists. 1775-1800
        "  III.--A Fall and a Recovery. 1800-1857
        "   IV.--The British Collapse. 1760-1800
        "    V.--The British Advance. 1800-1857
        "   VI.--The Struggle in America. 1762-1857
        "  VII.--The Separation of the Provinces 1857-1899


     BOOK FOUR.

     The Modern Moravians. 1857-1908.

     CHAPTER I.--Moravian Principles
        "   II.--The Moravians in Germany
        "  III.--The Moravians in Great Britain
        "   IV.--The Moravians in North America
        "    V.--Bonds of Union




PREFACE.

For assistance in the preparation of this second edition, I desire
herewith to express my obligations to several friends:--To the late Rev.
L. G. Hassé, B.D., whose knowledge of Moravian history was profound, and
who guided me safely in many matters of detail; to the Rev. N. Libbey,
M.A., Principal of the Moravian Theological College, Fairfield, for the
loan of valuable books; to the Rev. J. T. Müller, D.D., Archivist
at Herrnhut, for revising part of the MS., and for many helpful
suggestions; to Mr. W. T. Waugh, M.A., for assistance in correcting the
proof-sheets, and for much valuable criticism; to the members of the
Moravian Governing Board, not only for the loan of books and documents
from the Fetter Lane archives, but also for carefully reading through
the MS.; to the ministers who kindly supplied my pulpit for three
months; and last, but not least, to the members of my own congregation,
who relieved me from some pastoral duties to enable me to make good
speed with my task.

MORAVIAN MANSE,

HECKMONDWIKE.




BOOK ONE. THE BOHEMIAN BRETHREN.




CHAPTER I -- THE RISING STORM.

When an ordinary Englishman, in the course of his reading, sees mention
made of Moravians, he thinks forthwith of a foreign land, a foreign
people and a foreign Church. He wonders who these Moravians may be,
and wonders, as a rule, in vain. We have all heard of the Protestant
Reformation; we know its principles and admire its heroes; and the
famous names of Luther, Calvin, Melancthon, Latimer, Cranmer, Knox and
other great men are familiar in our ears as household words. But few
people in this country are aware of the fact that long before Luther had
burned the Pope's bull, and long before Cranmer died at the stake, there
had begun an earlier Reformation, and flourished a Reforming Church. It
is to tell the story of that Church--the Church of the Brethren--that
this little book is written.

For her cradle and her earliest home we turn to the distressful land
of Bohemia, and the people called Bohemians, or Czechs. To us English
readers Bohemia has many charms. As we call to mind our days at school,
we remember, in a dim and hazy way, how famous Bohemians in days of yore
have played some part in our national story. We have sung the praises at
Christmas time of the Bohemian Monarch, "Good King Wenceslaus." We have
read how John, the blind King of Bohemia, fell mortally wounded at the
Battle of Crecy, how he died in the tent of King Edward III., and how
his generous conqueror exclaimed: "The crown of chivalry has fallen
today; never was the like of this King of Bohemia." We have all read,
too, how Richard II. married Princess Anne of Bohemia; how the Princess,
so the story goes, brought a Bohemian Bible to England; how Bohemian
scholars, a few years later, came to study at Oxford; how there they
read the writings of Wycliffe, the "Morning Star of the Reformation";
and how, finally, copies of Wycliffe's books were carried to Bohemia,
and there gave rise to a religious revival of world-wide importance.
We have struck the trail of our journey. For one person that Wycliffe
stirred in England, he stirred hundreds in Bohemia. In England his
influence was fleeting; in Bohemia it was deep and abiding. In England
his followers were speedily suppressed by law; in Bohemia they became
a great national force, and prepared the way for the foundation of the
Church of the Brethren.

For this startling fact there was a very powerful reason. In many ways
the history of Bohemia is very like the history of Ireland, and the best
way to understand the character of the people is to think of our Irish
friends as we know them to-day. They sprang from the old Slavonic stock,
and the Slavonic is very like the Keltic in nature. They had fiery
Slavonic blood in their veins, and Slavonic hearts beat high with hope
in their bosoms. They had all the delightful Slavonic zeal, the Slavonic
dash, the Slavonic imagination. They were easy to stir, they were swift
in action, they were witty in speech, they were mystic and poetic in
soul, and, like the Irish of the present day, they revelled in the joy
of party politics, and discussed religious questions with the keenest
zest. With them religion came first and foremost. All their poetry was
religious; all their legends were religious; and thus the message of
Wycliffe fell on hearts prepared to give it a kindly welcome.

Again, Bohemia, like Ireland, was the home of two rival populations. The
one was the native Czech, the other was the intruding German; and the
two had not yet learned to love each other. From all sides except one
these German invaders had come. If the reader will consult a map of
Europe he will see that, except on the south-east frontier, where the
sister country, Moravia, lies, Bohemia is surrounded by German-speaking
States. On the north-east is Silesia, on the north-west Saxony, on the
west Bavaria and the Upper Palatinate, and thus Bohemia was flooded
with Germans from three sides at once. For years these Germans had
been increasing in power, and the whole early history of Bohemia is
one dreary succession of bloody wars against German Emperors and Kings.
Sometimes the land had been ravaged by German soldiers, sometimes a
German King had sat on the Bohemian throne. But now the German settlers
in Bohemia had become more powerful than ever. They had settled in large
numbers in the city of Prague, and had there obtained special privileges
for themselves. They had introduced hundreds of German clergymen, who
preached in the German language. They had married their daughters into
noble Bohemian families. They had tried to make German the language of
the court, had spoken with contempt of the Bohemian language, and had
said that it was only fit for slaves. They had introduced German laws
into many a town, and German customs into family life; and, worse than
all, they had overwhelming power in that pride of the country, the
University of Prague. For these Germans the hatred of the people was
intense. "It is better," said one of their popular writers, "for the
land to be a desert than to be held by Germans; it is better to marry a
Bohemian peasant girl than to marry a German queen." And Judas Iscariot
himself, said a popular poet, was in all probability a German.

Again, as in Ireland, these national feuds were mixed up with religious
differences. The seeds of future strife were early sown. Christianity
came from two opposite sources. On the one hand, two preachers, Cyril
and Methodius, had come from the Greek Church in Constantinople, had
received the blessing of the Pope, and had preached to the people in the
Bohemian language; on the other, the German Archbishop of Salzburg had
brought in hosts of German priests, and had tried in vain to persuade
the Pope to condemn the two preachers as heretics. And the people loved
the Bohemian preachers, and hated the German priests. The old feud was
raging still. If the preacher spoke in German, he was hated; if he spoke
in Bohemian, he was beloved; and Gregory VII. had made matters worse by
forbidding preaching in the language of the people.

The result can be imagined. It is admitted now by all
historians--Catholic and Protestant alike--that about the time when our
story opens the Church in Bohemia had lost her hold upon the affections
of the people. It is admitted that sermons the people could understand
were rare. It is admitted that the Bible was known to few, that the
services held in the parish churches had become mere senseless shows,
and that most of the clergy never preached at all. No longer were
the clergy examples to their flocks. They hunted, they gambled, they
caroused, they committed adultery, and the suggestion was actually
solemnly made that they should be provided with concubines.

For some years a number of pious teachers had made gallant but vain
attempts to cleanse the stables. The first was Conrad of Waldhausen,
an Augustinian Friar (1364-9). As this man was a German and spoke in
German, it is not likely that he had much effect on the common people,
but he created quite a sensation in Prague, denounced alike the vices of
the clergy and the idle habits of the rich, persuaded the ladies of high
degree to give up their fine dresses and jewels, and even caused certain
well-known sinners to come and do penance in public.

The next was Milic of Kremsir (1363-74). He was a Bohemian, and
preached in the Bohemian language. His whole life was one of noble
self-sacrifice. For the sake of the poor he renounced his position as
Canon, and devoted himself entirely to good works. He rescued thousands
of fallen women, and built them a number of homes. He was so disgusted
with the evils of his days that he thought the end of the world was
close at hand, declared that the Emperor, Charles IV., was Anti-Christ,
went to Rome to expound his views to the Pope, and posted up a notice on
the door of St. Peter's, declaring that Anti-Christ had come.

The next was that beautiful writer, Thomas of Stitny (1370-1401). He
exalted the Holy Scriptures as the standard of faith, wrote several
beautiful devotional books, and denounced the immorality of the monks.
"They have fallen away from love," he said; "they have not the peace of
God in their hearts; they quarrel, condemn and fight each other; they
have forsaken God for money."

In some ways these three Reformers were all alike. They were all men
of lofty character; they all attacked the vices of the clergy and the
luxury of the rich; and they were all loyal to the Church of Rome, and
looked to the Pope to carry out the needed reform.

But the next Reformer, Matthew of Janow, carried the movement further
(1381-93). The cause was the famous schism in the Papacy. For the long
period of nearly forty years (1378-1415) the whole Catholic world was
shocked by the scandal of two, and sometimes three, rival Popes, who
spent their time abusing and fighting each other. As long as this schism
lasted it was hard for men to look up to the Pope as a true spiritual
guide. How could men call the Pope the Head of the Church when no one
knew which was the true Pope? How could men respect the Popes when
some of the Popes were men of bad moral character? Pope Urban VI. was
a ferocious brute, who had five of his enemies secretly murdered; Pope
Clement VII., his clever rival, was a scheming politician; and Pope John
XXIII. was a man whose character will scarcely bear describing in print.
Of all the scandals in the Catholic Church, this disgraceful quarrel
between rival Popes did most to upset the minds of good men and to
prepare the way for the Reformation. It aroused the scorn of John
Wycliffe in England, and of Matthew of Janow in Bohemia. "This schism,"
he wrote, "has not arisen because the priests loved Jesus Christ and His
Church, but rather because they loved themselves and the world."

But Matthew went even further than this. As he did not attack any
Catholic dogma--except the worship of pictures and images--it has been
contended by some writers that he was not so very radical in his views
after all; but the whole tone of his writings shows that he had lost
his confidence in the Catholic Church, and desired to revive the simple
Christianity of Christ and the Apostles. "I consider it essential," he
wrote, "to root out all weeds, to restore the word of God on earth,
to bring back the Church of Christ to its original, healthy, condensed
condition, and to keep only such regulations as date from the time of
the Apostles." "All the works of men," he added, "their ceremonies and
traditions, shall soon be totally destroyed; the Lord Jesus shall alone
be exalted, and His Word shall stand for ever." Back to Christ! Back to
the Apostles! Such was the message of Matthew of Janow.

At this point, when the minds of men were stirred, the writings of
Wycliffe were brought to Bohemia, and added fuel to the fire. He had
asserted that the Pope was capable of committing a sin. He had
declared that the Pope was not to be obeyed unless his commands were
in accordance with Scripture, and thus had placed the authority of the
Bible above the authority of the Pope. He had attacked the Doctrine of
Transubstantiation, and had thus denied the power of the priests "to
make the Body of Christ." Above all, in his volume, "De Ecclesia," he
had denounced the whole Catholic sacerdotal system, and had laid down
the Protestant doctrine that men could come into contact with God
without the aid of priests. Thus step by step the way was prepared for
the coming revolution in Bohemia. There was strong patriotic national
feeling; there was hatred of the German priests; there was a growing
love for the Bible; there was lack of respect for the immoral clergy,
and lack of belief in the Popes; there was a vague desire to return to
Primitive Christianity; and all that was needed now was a man to gather
these straggling beams together, and focus them all in one white burning
light.




CHAPTER II. -- THE BURNING OF HUS.

On Saturday, July 6th, 1415, there was great excitement in the city of
Constance. For the last half-year the city had presented a brilliant and
gorgeous scene. The great Catholic Council of Constance had met at last.
From all parts of the Western World distinguished men had come. The
streets were a blaze of colour. The Cardinals rode by in their scarlet
hats; the monks in their cowls were telling their beads; the revellers
sipped their wine and sang; and the rumbling carts from the country-side
bore bottles of wine, cheeses, butter, honey, venison, cakes and fine
confections. King Sigismund was there in all his pride, his flaxen hair
falling in curls about his shoulders; there were a thousand Bishops,
over two thousand Doctors and Masters, about two thousand Counts, Barons
and Knights, vast hosts of Dukes, Princes and Ambassadors--in all over
50,000 strangers.

And now, after months of hot debate, the Council met in the great
Cathedral to settle once for all the question, What to do with John Hus?
King Sigismund sat on the throne, Princes flanking him on either side.
In the middle of the Cathedral floor was a scaffold; on the scaffold a
table and a block of wood; on the block of wood some priestly robes. The
Mass was said. John Hus was led in. He mounted the scaffold. He breathed
a prayer. The awful proceedings began.

But why was John Hus there? What had he done to offend both Pope
and Emperor? For the last twelve years John Hus had been the boldest
reformer, the finest preacher, the most fiery patriot, the most powerful
writer, and the most popular hero in Bohemia. At first he was nothing
more than a child of his times. He was born on July 6th, 1369, in a
humble cottage at Husinec, in South Bohemia; earned coppers in his
youth, like Luther, by chanting hymns; studied at Prague University; and
entered the ministry, not because he wanted to do good, but because
he wanted to enjoy a comfortable living. He began, of course, as an
orthodox Catholic. He was Rector first of Prague University, and then
of the Bethlehem Chapel, which had been built by John of Milheim for
services in the Bohemian language. For some years he confined himself
almost entirely, like Milic and Stitny before him, to preaching of an
almost purely moral character. He attacked the sins and vices of all
classes; he spoke in the Bohemian language, and the Bethlehem Chapel was
packed. He began by attacking the vices of the idle rich. A noble lady
complained to the King. The King told the Archbishop of Prague that he
must warn Hus to be more cautious in his language.

"No, your Majesty," replied the Archbishop, "Hus is bound by his
ordination oath to speak the truth without respect of persons."

John Hus went on to attack the vices of the clergy. The Archbishop now
complained to the King. He admitted that the clergy were in need of
improvement, but he thought that Hus's language was rash, and would do
more harm than good. "Nay," said the King, "that will not do. Hus is
bound by his ordination oath to speak the truth without respect of
persons."

And Hus continued his attacks. His preaching had two results. It fanned
the people's desire for reform, and it taught them to despise the clergy
more than ever.

At the same time, when opportunity offered, John Hus made a practice of
preaching on the burning topics of the day; and the most popular topic
then was the detested power of Germans in Bohemia. German soldiers
ravaged the land; German nobles held offices of state; and German
scholars, in Prague University, had three-fourths of the voting power.
The Bohemian people were furious. John Hus fanned the flame. "We
Bohemians," he declared in a fiery sermon, "are more wretched than dogs
or snakes. A dog defends the couch on which he lies. If another dog
tries to drive him off, he fights him. A snake does the same. But us the
Germans oppress. They seize the offices of state, and we are dumb. In
France the French are foremost. In Germany the Germans are foremost.
What use would a Bohemian bishop or priest, who did not know the German
language, be in Germany? He would be as useful as a dumb dog, who cannot
bark, to a flock of sheep. Of exactly the same use are German priests
to us. It is against the law of God! I pronounce it illegal." At last a
regulation was made by King Wenceslaus that the Bohemians should be more
fairly represented at Prague University. They had now three votes out
of four. John Hus was credited by the people with bringing about the
change. He became more popular than ever.

If Hus had only halted here, it is probable that he would have been
allowed to die in peace in his bed in a good old age, and his name would
be found enrolled to-day in the long list of Catholic saints. However
wicked the clergy may have been, they could hardly call a man a heretic
for telling them plainly about the blots in their lives. But Hus soon
stepped outside these narrow bounds. The more closely he studied the
works of Wycliffe, the more convinced he became that, on the whole,
the great English Reformer was right; and before long, in the boldest
possible way, he began to preach Wycliffe's doctrines in his sermons,
and to publish them in his books. He knew precisely what he was doing.
He knew that Wycliffe's doctrines had been condemned by the English
Church Council at Black-Friars. He knew that these very same doctrines
had been condemned at a meeting of the Prague University Masters. He
knew that no fewer than two hundred volumes of Wycliffe's works had been
publicly burned at Prague, in the courtyard of the Archbishop's Palace.
He knew, in a word, that Wycliffe was regarded as a heretic; and yet he
deliberately defended Wycliffe's teaching. It is this that justifies us
in calling him a Protestant, and this that caused the Catholics to call
him a heretic.

John Hus, moreover, knew what the end would be. If he stood to his guns
they would burn him, and burned he longed to be. The Archbishop forbade
him to preach in the Bethlehem Chapel. John Hus, defiant, went on
preaching. At one service he actually read to the people a letter he had
received from Richard Wyche, one of Wycliffe's followers. As the years
rolled on he became more "heterodox" than ever. At this period there
were still two rival Popes, and the great question arose in Bohemia
which Pope the clergy there were to recognise. John Hus refused to
recognise either. At last one of the rival Popes, the immoral John
XXIII., sent a number of preachers to Prague on a very remarkable
errand. He wanted money to raise an army to go to war with the King of
Naples; the King of Naples had supported the other Pope, Gregory XII.,
and now Pope John sent his preachers to Prague to sell indulgences at
popular prices. They entered the city preceded by drummers, and posted
themselves in the market place. They had a curious message to deliver.
If the good people, said they, would buy these indulgences, they would
be doing two good things: they would obtain the full forgiveness of
their sins, and support the one lawful Pope in his holy campaign. John
Hus was hot with anger. What vulgar traffic in holy things was this? He
believed neither in Pope John nor in his indulgences.

"Let who will," he thundered, "proclaim the contrary; let the Pope, or a
Bishop, or a Priest say, 'I forgive thee thy sins; I free thee from the
pains of Hell.' It is all vain, and helps thee nothing. God alone, I
repeat, can forgive sins through Christ."

The excitement in Prague was furious. From this moment onwards Hus
became the leader of a national religious movement. The preachers went
on selling indulgences {1409.}. At one and the same time, in three
different churches, three young artisans sang out: "Priest, thou liest!
The indulgences are a fraud." For this crime the three young men were
beheaded in a corner near Green Street. Fond women--sentimental, as
usual--dipped their handkerchiefs in the blood of the martyrs, and a
noble lady spread fine linen over their corpses. The University students
picked up the gauntlet. They seized the bodies of the three young men,
and carried them to be buried in the Bethlehem Chapel. At the head of
the procession was Hus himself, and Hus conducted the funeral. The whole
city was in an uproar.

As the life of Hus was now in danger, and his presence in the city
might lead to riots, he retired for a while from Prague to the castle of
Kradonec, in the country; and there, besides preaching to vast crowds
in the fields, he wrote the two books which did the most to bring him to
the stake. The first was his treatise "On Traffic in Holy Things";
the second his great, elaborate work, "The Church."[1] In the first he
denounced the sale of indulgences, and declared that even the Pope
himself could be guilty of the sin of simony. In the second, following
Wycliffe's lead, he criticised the whole orthodox conception of the day
of the "Holy Catholic Church." What was, asked Hus, the true Church of
Christ? According to the popular ideas of the day, the true Church of
Christ was a visible body of men on this earth. Its head was the Pope;
its officers were the cardinals, the bishops, the priests, and other
ecclesiastics; and its members were those who had been baptized and
who kept true to the orthodox faith. The idea of Hus was different. His
conception of the nature of the true Church was very similar to that
held by many Non-conformists of to-day. He was a great believer in
predestination. All men, he said, from Adam onwards, were divided into
two classes: first, those predestined by God to eternal bliss; second,
those fore-doomed to eternal damnation. The true Church of Christ
consisted of those predestined to eternal bliss, and no one but God
Himself knew to which class any man belonged. From this position a
remarkable consequence followed. For anything the Pope knew to the
contrary, he might belong himself to the number of the damned. He could
not, therefore, be the true Head of the Church; he could not be the
Vicar of Christ; and the only Head of the Church was Christ Himself. The
same argument applied to Cardinals, Bishops and Priests. For anything he
knew to the contrary, any Cardinal, Bishop or Priest in the Church
might belong to the number of the damned; he might be a servant, not
of Christ, but of Anti-Christ; and, therefore, said Hus, it was utterly
absurd to look to men of such doubtful character as infallible spiritual
guides. What right, asked Hus, had the Pope to claim the "power of
the keys?" What right had the Pope to say who might be admitted to
the Church? He had no right, as Pope, at all. Some of the Popes were
heretics; some of the clergy were villains, foredoomed to torment in
Hell; and, therefore, all in search of the truth must turn, not to the
Pope and the clergy, but to the Bible and the law of Christ. God alone
had the power of the keys; God alone must be obeyed; and the Holy
Catholic Church consisted, not of the Pope, the Cardinals, the Priests,
and so many baptized members, but "of all those that had been chosen
by God." It is hard to imagine a doctrine more Protestant than this.
It struck at the root of the whole Papal conception. It undermined the
authority of the Catholic Church, and no one could say to what, ere
long, it might lead. It was time, said many, to take decisive action.

For this purpose Sigismund, King of the Romans and of Hungary, persuaded
Pope John XXIII. to summon a general Church Council at Constance; and at
the same time he invited Hus to attend the Council in person, and there
expound his views. John Hus set out for Constance. As soon as he arrived
in the city, he received from Sigismund that famous letter of "safe
conduct" on which whole volumes have been written. The King's promise
was as clear as day. He promised Hus, in the plainest terms, three
things: first, that he should come unharmed to the city; second, that he
should have a free hearing; and third, that if he did not submit to
the decision of the Council he should be allowed to go home. Of those
promises only the first was ever fulfilled. John Hus soon found himself
caught in a trap. He was imprisoned by order of the Pope. He was placed
in a dungeon on an island in the Rhine, and lay next to a sewer; and
Sigismund either would not or could not lift a finger to help him. For
three and a-half mouths he lay in his dungeon; and then he was removed
to the draughty tower of a castle on Lake Geneva. His opinions were
examined and condemned by the Council; and at last, when he was called
to appear in person, he found that he had been condemned as a heretic
already. As soon as he opened his month to speak he was interrupted; and
when he closed it they roared, "He has admitted his guilt." He had
one chance of life, and one chance only. He must recant his heretical
Wycliffite opinions, especially those set forth in his treatise on the
"Church." What need, said the Council, could there be of any further
trial? The man was a heretic. His own books convicted him, and justice
must be done.

And now, on the last day of the trial, John Hus stood before the great
Council. The scene was appalling. For some weeks this gallant son of the
morning had been tormented by neuralgia. The marks of suffering were on
his brow. His face was pale; his cheeks were sunken; his limbs were weak
and trembling. But his eye flashed with a holy fire, and his words rang
clear and true. Around him gleamed the purple and gold and the scarlet
robes. Before him sat King Sigismund on the throne. The two men looked
each other in the face. As the articles were rapidly read out against
him, John Hus endeavoured to speak in his own defence. He was told to
hold his tongue. Let him answer the charges all at once at the close.

"How can I do that," said Hus, "when I cannot even bear them all in
mind?"

He made another attempt.

"Hold your tongue," said Cardinal Zabarella; "we have already given you
a sufficient hearing."

With clasped hands, and in ringing tones, Hus begged in vain for a
hearing. Again he was told to hold his peace, and silently he raised
his eyes to heaven in prayer. He was accused of denying the Catholic
doctrine of transubstantiation. He sprang to his feet in anger.
Zabarella tried to shout him down. The voice of Hus rang out above the
babel.

"I have never held, taught or preached," he cried, "that in the
sacrament of the altar material bread remains after consecration."

The trial was short and sharp. The verdict had been given beforehand.
He was now accused of another horrible crime. He had actually described
himself as the fourth person in the Godhead! The charge was monstrous.

"Let that doctor be named," said Hus, "who has given this evidence
against me."

But the name of his false accuser was never given. He was now accused
of a still more dangerous error. He had appealed to God instead of
appealing to the Church.

"O Lord God," he exclaimed, "this Council now condemns Thy action and
law as an error! I affirm that there is no safer appeal than that to the
Lord Jesus Christ."

With those brave words he signed his own death warrant. For all his
orthodoxy on certain points, he made it clearer now than ever that
he set the authority of his own conscience above the authority of the
Council; and, therefore, according to the standard of the day, he had to
be treated as a heretic.

"Moreover," he said, with his eye on the King, "I came here freely to
this Council, with a safe-conduct from my Lord the King here present,
with the desire to prove my innocence and to explain my beliefs."

At those words, said the story in later years, King Sigismund blushed.
If he did, the blush is the most famous in the annals of history; if he
did not, some think he ought to have done. For Hus the last ordeal had
now arrived; and the Bishop of Concordia, in solemn tones, read out the
dreadful articles of condemnation. For heretics the Church had then but
little mercy. His books were all to be burned; his priestly office must
be taken from him; and he himself, expelled from the Church, must be
handed over to the civil power. In vain, with a last appeal for justice,
he protested that he had never been obstinate in error. In vain he
contended that his proud accusers had not even taken the trouble to read
some of his books. As the sentence against himself was read, and the
vision of death rose up before him, he fell once more on his knees and
prayed, not for himself, but for his enemies.

"Lord Jesus Christ," he said, "pardon all my enemies, I pray thee, for
the sake of Thy great mercy! Thou knowest that they have falsely accused
me, brought forward false witnesses and false articles against me. O!
pardon them for Thine infinite mercies' sake."

At this beautiful prayer the priests and bishops jeered. He was ordered
now to mount the scaffold, to put on the priestly garments, and to
recant his heretical opinions. The first two commands he obeyed; the
third he treated with scorn. As he drew the alb over his shoulders, he
appealed once more to Christ.

"My Lord Jesus Christ," he said, "was mocked in a white robe, when led
from Herod to Pilate."

There on the scaffold he stood, with his long white robe upon him and
the Communion Cup in his hand; and there, in immortal burning words, he
refused to recant a single word that he had written.

"Behold," he cried, "these Bishops demand that I recant and abjure. I
dare not do it. If I did, I should be false to God, and sin against my
conscience and Divine truth."

The Bishops were furious. They swarmed around him. They snatched the Cup
from his hand.

"Thou cursed Judas!" they roared. "Thou hast forsaken the council of
peace. Thou hast become one of the Jews. We take from thee this Cup of
Salvation."

"But I trust," replied Hus, "in God Almighty, and shall drink this Cup
this day in His Kingdom."

The ceremony of degradation now took place. As soon as his robes had
been taken from him, the Bishops began a hot discussion about the proper
way of cutting his hair. Some clamoured for a razor, others were all for
scissors.

"See," said Hus to the King, "these Bishops cannot agree in their
blasphemy."

At last the scissors won the victory. His tonsure was cut in four
directions, and a fool's cap, a yard high, with a picture of devils
tearing his soul, was placed upon that hero's head.

"So," said the Bishops, "we deliver your soul to the devil."

"Most joyfully," said Hus, "will I wear this crown of shame for thy
sake, O Jesus! who for me didst wear a crown of thorns."

"Go, take him," said the King. And Hus was led to his death. As he
passed along he saw the bonfire in which his books were being burned. He
smiled. Along the streets of the city he strode, with fetters clanking
on his feet, a thousand soldiers for his escort, and crowds of admirers
surging on every hand. Full soon the fatal spot was reached. It was a
quiet meadow among the gardens, outside the city gates. At the stake he
knelt once more in prayer, and the fool's cap fell from his head. Again
he smiled. It ought to be burned along with him, said a watcher, that he
and the devils might be together. He was bound to the stake with seven
moist thongs and an old rusty chain, and faggots of wood and straw were
piled round him to the chin. For the last time the Marshal approached to
give him a fair chance of abjuring.

"What errors," he retorted, "shall I renounce? I know myself guilty of
none. I call God to witness that all that I have written and preached
has been with the view of rescuing souls from sin and perdition, and
therefore most joyfully will I confirm with my blood the truth I have
written and preached."

As the flame arose and the wood crackled, he chanted the Catholic burial
prayer, "Jesu, Son of David, have mercy upon me." From the west a gentle
breeze was blowing, and a gust dashed the smoke and sparks in his face.
At the words "Who was born of the Virgin Mary" he ceased; his lips moved
faintly in silent prayer; and a few moments later the martyr breathed
no more. At last the cruel fire died down, and the soldiers wrenched his
remains from the post, hacked his skull in pieces, and ground his bones
to powder. As they prodded about among the glowing embers to see how
much of Hus was left, they found, to their surprise, that his heart was
still unburned. One fixed it on the point of his spear, thrust it
back into the fire, and watched it frizzle away; and finally, by the
Marshal's orders, they gathered all the ashes together, and tossed them
into the Rhine.

He had died, says a Catholic writer, for the noblest of all causes. He
had died for the faith which he believed to be true.




CHAPTER III. -- THE WELTER, 1415-1434.

The excitement in Bohemia was intense. As the ashes of Hus floated down
the Rhine, the news of his death spread over the civilized world, and in
every Bohemian town and hamlet the people felt that their greatest man
had been unjustly murdered. He had become the national hero and the
national saint, and now the people swore to avenge his death. A Hussite
League was formed by his followers, a Catholic League was formed by his
enemies. The Hussite Wars began. It is important to note with exactness
what took place. As we study the history of men and nations, we are apt
to fancy that the rank and file of a country can easily be united in
one by common adherence to a common cause. It is not so. For one man who
will steadily follow a principle, there are hundreds who would rather
follow a leader. As long as Hus was alive in the flesh, he was able to
command the loyalty of the people; but now that his tongue was silent
for ever, his followers split into many contending factions. For all his
eloquence he had never been able to strike one clear commanding note. In
some of his views he was a Catholic, in others a Protestant. To some he
was merely the fiery patriot, to others the champion of Church Reform,
to others the high-souled moral teacher, to others the enemy of the
Pope. If the people had only been united they might now have gained
their long-lost freedom. But unity was the very quality they lacked the
most. They had no clear notion of what they wanted; they had no definite
scheme of church reform; they had no great leader to show them the way
through the jungle, and thus, instead of closing their ranks against the
common foe, they split up into jangling sects and parties, and made the
confusion worse confounded.

First in rank and first in power came the Utraquists or Calixtines.[2] For
some reason these men laid all the stress on a doctrine taught by Hus in
his later years. As he lay in his gloomy dungeon near Constance, he had
written letters contending that laymen should be permitted to take the
wine at the Communion. For this doctrine the Utraquists now fought
tooth and nail. They emblazoned the Cup on their banners. They were the
aristocrats of the movement; they were led by the University dons; they
were political rather than religious in their aims; they regarded Hus
as a patriot; and, on the whole, they did not care much for moral and
spiritual reforms.

Next came the Taborites, the red-hot Radicals, with Socialist ideas of
property and loose ideals of morals. They built themselves a fort on
Mount Tabor, and held great open-air meetings. They rejected purgatory,
masses and the worship of saints. They condemned incense, images, bells,
relics and fasting. They declared that priests were an unnecessary
nuisance. They celebrated the Holy Communion in barns, and baptized
their babies in ponds and brooks. They held that every man had the right
to his own interpretation of the Bible; they despised learning and art;
and they revelled in pulling churches down and burning monks to death.

Next came the Chiliasts, who fondly believed that the end of all things
was at hand, that the millennial reign of Christ would soon begin, and
that all the righteous--that is, they themselves--would have to hold the
world at bay in Five Cities of Refuge. For some years these mad fanatics
regarded themselves as the chosen instruments of the Divine displeasure,
and only awaited a signal from heaven to commence a general massacre
of their fellow men. As that signal never came, however, they were
grievously disappointed.

Next in folly came the Adamites, so called because, in shameless
wise, they dressed like Adam and Eve before the fall. They made their
head-quarters on an island on the River Nesarka, and survived even after
Ziska had destroyed their camp.

But of all the heretical bodies in Bohemia the most influential were the
Waldenses. As the history of the Waldenses is still obscure, we cannot
say for certain what views they held when they first came from Italy
some fifty or sixty years before. At first they seem to have been almost
Catholics, but as the Hussite Wars went on they fell, it is said,
under the influence of the Taborites, and adopted many radical Taborite
opinions. They held that prayer should be addressed, not to the Virgin
Mary and the Saints, but to God alone, and spoke with scorn of the
popular doctrine that the Virgin in heaven showed her breast when
interceding for sinners. As they did not wish to create a disturbance,
they attended the public services of the Church of Rome; but they did
not believe in those services themselves, and are said to have employed
their time at Church in picking holes in the logic of the speaker. They
believed neither in building churches, nor in saying masses, nor in the
adoration of pictures, nor in the singing of hymns at public worship.
For all practical intents and purposes they rejected entirely the
orthodox Catholic distinction between things secular and things sacred,
and held that a man could worship God just as well in a field as in a
church, and that it did not matter in the least whether a man's body
was buried in consecrated or unconsecrated ground. What use, they asked,
were holy water, holy oil, holy palms, roots, crosses, holy splinters
from the Cross of Christ? They rejected the doctrine of purgatory, and
said that all men must go either to heaven or to hell. They rejected
the doctrine of Transubstantiation, and said that the wine and bread
remained wine and bread. For us, however, the chief point of interest
lies in the attitude they adopted towards the priests of the Church of
Rome. At that time there was spread all over Europe a legend that the
Emperor, Constantine the Great, had made a so-called "Donation" to
Pope Sylvester; and the Waldenses held that the Church of Rome, by thus
consenting to be endowed by the State, had become morally corrupt, and
no longer possessed the keys of the Kingdom of Heaven. For this reason
they utterly despised the Roman priests; and contended that, being
worldly men of bad character, they were qualified neither to administer
the sacraments nor to hear confessions. At this point we lay our finger
on the principle which led to the foundation of the Moravian Church.
What ideal, we ask, did the Waldenses now set before them? We can answer
the question in a sentence. The whole object the Waldenses had now in
view was to return to the simple teaching of Christ and the Apostles.
They wished to revive what they regarded as true primitive Christianity.
For this reason they brushed aside with scorn the bulls of Popes and the
decrees of Councils, and appealed to the command of the New Testament
Scriptures. For them the law of Christ was supreme and final; and,
appealing to His teaching in the Sermon on the Mount, they declared that
oaths were wicked, and that war was no better than murder. If the law of
Christ were obeyed, said they, what need would there be of government?
How long they had held these views we do not know. Some think they had
held them for centuries; some think they had learned them recently from
the Taborites. If scholars insist on this latter view, we are forced
back on the further question: Where did the Taborites get their
advanced opinions? If the Taborites taught the Waldenses, who taught the
Taborites? We do not know. For the present all we call say is that
the Waldenses in a quiet way were fast becoming a mighty force in the
country. They addressed each other as brother and sister; they are said
to have had their own translations of the Bible; they claimed a descent
from the Apostles; and they are even held by some (though here we tread
on very thin ice) to have possessed their own episcopal succession.

But the method of the Taborites was different. If the Kingdom of God
was to come at all, it must come, they held, by force, by fire, by
the sword, by pillage and by famine. What need to tell here the
blood-curdling story of the Hussite Wars? What need to tell here how
Pope Martin V. summoned the whole Catholic world to a grand crusade
against the Bohemian people? What need to tell how the people of Prague
attacked the Town Hall, and pitched the burgomaster and several aldermen
out of the windows? For twenty years the whole land was one boiling
welter of confusion; and John Ziska, the famous blind general, took the
lead of the Taborite army, and, standing on a wagon, with the banner
above him emblazoned with the Hussite Cup, he swept the country from end
to end like a devouring prairie fire. It is held now by military experts
that Ziska was the greatest military genius of the age. If military
genius could have saved Bohemia, Bohemia would now have been saved. For
some years he managed to hold at bay the finest chivalry of Europe; and
he certainly saved the Hussite cause from being crushed in its birth.
For faith and freedom he fought--the faith of Hus and the freedom of
Bohemia. He formed the rough Bohemian peasantry into a disciplined army.
He armed his men with lances, slings, iron-pointed flails and clubs. He
formed his barricades of iron-clad wagons, and whirled them in murderous
mazes round the field. He made a special study of gunpowder, and taught
his men the art of shooting straight. He has often been compared to
Oliver Cromwell, and like our Oliver he was in many ways. He was stern
in dealing with his enemies, and once had fifty Adamites burned to
death. He was sure that God was on his side in the war. "Be it known,"
he wrote to his supporters, "that we are collecting men from all parts
of the country against these enemies of God and devastators of our
Bohemian land." He composed a stirring battle song, and taught his men
to sing it in chorus when they marched to meet the foe.

   Therefore, manfully cry out:
   "At them! rush at them."
   Wield bravely your arms!
   Pray to your Lord God.
   Strike and kill! spare none!

What a combination of piety and fury! It was all in vain. The great
general died of a fever. The thunderbolt fell. At a meeting in Prague
the Utraquists and Catholics at last came to terms, and drew up a
compromise known as the "Compactata of Basle" (1433). For nearly two
hundred years after this these "Compactata" were regarded as the law
of the land; and the Utraquist Church was recognised by the Pope as the
national self-governing Church of Bohemia. The terms of the Compactata
were four in number. The Communion was to be given to laymen in both
kinds; all mortal sins were to be punished by the proper authorities;
the Word of God was to be freely preached by faithful priests and
deacons; and no priests were to have any worldly possessions. For
practical purposes this agreement meant the defeat of the advanced
reforming movement. One point the Utraquists had gained, and one alone;
they were allowed to take the wine at the Communion. For the rest these
Utraquist followers of Hus were as Catholic as the Pope himself. They
adored the Host, read the masses, kept the fasts, and said the prayers
as their fathers had done before them. From that moment the fate of the
Taborite party was sealed. At the battle of Lipan they were defeated,
routed, crushed out of existence. {1434}. The battle became a massacre.
The slaughter continued all the night and part of the following day, and
hundreds were burned to death in their huts.

Was this to be the end of Hus's strivings? What was it in Hus that was
destined to survive? What was it that worked like a silent leaven amid
the clamours of war? We shall see. Amid these charred and smoking ruins
the Moravian Church arose.




CHAPTER IV. -- PETER OF CHELCIC, 1419-1450.

Meanwhile a mighty prophet had arisen, with a clear and startling
message. His name was Peter, and he lived down south, in the little
village of Chelcic.[3] As the historian rummages among the ancient
records, he discovers to his sorrow that scarcely anything is known of
the life of this great man; but, on the other hand, it is a joy to
know that while his story is wrapped in mystery, his teaching has been
preserved, and that some of the wonderful books he wrote are treasured
still in his native land as gems of Bohemian literature. In later years
it was commonly said that he began life as a cobbler; but that story,
at least, may be dismissed as a legend. He enlisted, we are told, in
the army. He then discovered that a soldier's life was wicked; he then
thought of entering a monastery, but was shocked by what he heard of the
immoralities committed within the holy walls; and finally, having some
means of his own, retired to his little estate at Chelcic, and spent
his time in writing pamphlets about the troubles of his country. He
had picked up a smattering of education in Prague. He had studied the
writings of Wycliffe and of Hus, and often appealed to Wycliffe in his
works. He could quote, when he liked, from the great Church Fathers. He
had a fair working knowledge of the Bible; and, above all, he had the
teaching of Christ and the Apostles engraved upon his conscience and his
heart. As he was not a priest, he could afford to be independent; as he
knew but little Latin, he wrote in Bohemian; and thus, like Stitny and
Hus before him, he appealed to the people in language they could all
understand. Of all the leaders of men in Bohemia, this Peter was the
most original and daring. As he pondered on the woes of his native land,
he came to the firm but sad conclusion that the whole system of religion
and politics was rotten to the core. Not one of the jangling sects was
in the right. Not one was true to the spirit of Christ. Not one was
free from the dark red stain of murder. His chief works were his Net
of Faith, his Reply to Nicholas of Pilgram, his Reply to Rockycana, his
Image of the Beast, his theological treatise On the Body of Christ,
his tract The Foundation of Worldly Laws, his devotional commentary,
Exposition of the Passion according to St. John, and, last, though not
least, his volume of discourses on the Gospel lessons for the year,
entitled Postillia. Of these works the most famous was his masterly Net
of Faith. He explained the title himself. "Through His disciples," said
Peter, "Christ caught the world in the net of His faith, but the bigger
fishes, breaking the net, escaped. Then others followed through these
same holes made by the big fishes, and the net was left almost empty."
His meaning was clear to all. The net was the true Church of Christ; the
two whales who broke it were the Emperor and the Pope; the big fishes
were the mighty "learned persons, heretics and offenders"; and the
little fishes were the true followers of Christ.

He opened his bold campaign in dramatic style. When John Ziska and
Nicholas of Husinec declared at Prague that the time had come for the
faithful to take up arms in their own defence, Peter was present at the
debate, and contended that for Christians war was a crime. {1419.}

"What is war?" he asked. "It is a breach of the laws of God! All
soldiers are violent men, murderers, a godless mob!"

He hated war like a Quaker, and soldiers like Tolstoy himself. He
regarded the terrible Hussite Wars as a disgrace to both sides. As the
fiery Ziska swept the land with his waggons, this Apostle of peace was
sick with horror. "Where," he asked, in his Reply to Rockycana, "has God
recalled His commands, 'Thou shalt not kill,' 'Thou shalt not steal,'
'Thou shalt not take thy neighbour's goods'? If God has not repealed
these commands, they ought still to be obeyed to-day in Prague and
Tabor. I have learned from Christ, and by Christ I stand; and if the
Apostle Peter himself were to come down from Heaven and say that it was
right for us to take up arms to defend the truth, I should not believe
him."

For Peter the teaching of Christ and the Apostles was enough. It was
supreme, final, perfect. If a king made a new law, he was spoiling
the teaching of Christ. If the Pope issued a bull, he was spoiling the
teaching of Christ. If a Council of Bishops drew up a decree, they were
spoiling the teaching of Christ. As God, said Peter, had revealed His
will to full perfection in Jesus Christ, there was no need for laws made
by men. "Is the law of God sufficient, without worldly laws, to
guide and direct us in the path of the true Christian religion? With
trembling, I answer, it is. It was sufficient for Christ Himself, and it
was sufficient for His disciples." And, therefore, the duty of all
true Christians was as clear as the noon-day sun. He never said that
Christian people should break the law of the land. He admitted that
God might use the law for good purposes; and therefore, as Christ had
submitted to Pilate, so Christians must submit to Government. But there
their connection with Government must end. For heathens the State was
a necessary evil; for Christians it was an unclean thing, and the less
they had to do with it the better. They must never allow the State to
interfere in matters within the Church. They must never drag each other
before the law courts. They must never act as judges or magistrates.
They must never take any part whatever in municipal or national
government. They must never, if possible, live in a town at all. If
Christians, said Peter, lived in a town, and paid the usual rates and
taxes, they were simply helping to support a system which existed for
the protection of robbers. He regarded towns as the abodes of vice, and
citizens as rogues and knaves. The first town, he said, was built by the
murderer, Cain. He first murdered his brother Abel; he then gathered his
followers together; he then built a city, surrounded by walls; and thus,
by robbery and violence, he became a well-to-do man. And modern towns,
said Peter, were no whit better. At that time the citizens of some towns
in Bohemia enjoyed certain special rights and privileges; and this, to
Peter, seemed grossly unfair. He condemned those citizens as thieves.
"They are," he said, "the strength of Anti-Christ; they are adversaries
to Christ; they are an evil rabble; they are bold in wickedness; and
though they pretend to follow the truth, they will sit at tables with
wicked people and knavish followers of Judas." For true Christians,
therefore, there was only one course open. Instead of living in godless
towns, they should try to settle in country places, earn their living as
farmers or gardeners, and thus keep as clear of the State as possible.
They were not to try to support the law at all. If they did, they were
supporting a wicked thing, which never tried to make men better, but
only crushed them with cruel and useless punishments. They must never
try to make big profits in business. If they did, they were simply
robbing and cheating their neighbours. They must never take an oath, for
oaths were invented by the devil. They must never, in a word, have any
connection with that unchristian institution called the State.

And here Peter waxed vigorous and eloquent. He objected, like Wycliffe,
to the union of Church and State. Of all the bargains ever struck,
the most wicked, ruinous and pernicious was the bargain struck between
Church and State, when Constantine the Great first took the Christians
under the shadow of his wing. For three hundred years, said Peter,
the Church of Christ had remained true to her Master; and then this
disgusting heathen Emperor, who had not repented of a single sin, came
in with his vile "Donation," and poisoned all the springs of her life.
If the Emperor, said Peter, wanted to be a Christian, he ought first to
have laid down his crown. He was a ravenous beast; he was a wolf in the
fold; he was a lion squatting at the table; and at that fatal moment in
history, when he gave his "Donation" to the Pope, an angel in heaven
had spoken the words: "This day has poison entered the blood of the
Church."[4]
"Since that time," said Peter, "these two powers, Imperial and Papal,
have clung together. They have turned everything to account in Church
and in Christendom for their own impious purposes. Theologians,
professors, and priests are the satraps of the Emperor. They ask the
Emperor to protect them, so that they may sleep as long as possible, and
they create war so that they may have everything under their thumb."

If Peter lashed the Church with whips, he lashed her priests with
scorpions. He accused them of various vices. They were immoral; they
were superstitious; they were vain, ignorant and empty-headed; and,
instead of feeding the Church of God, they had almost starved her to
death. He loathed these "honourable men, who sit in great houses, these
purple men, with their beautiful mantles, their high caps, their fat
stomachs." He accused them of fawning on the rich and despising the
poor. "As for love of pleasure," he said, "immorality, laziness,
greediness, uncharitableness and cruelty--as for these things, the
priests do not hold them as sins when committed by princes, nobles and
rich commoners. They do not tell them plainly, "You will go to hell if
you live on the fat of the poor, and live a bestial life," although they
know that the rich are condemned to eternal death by such behaviour.
Oh, no! They prefer to give them a grand funeral. A crowd of priests,
clergy, and other folk make a long procession. The bells are rung. There
are masses, singings, candles and offerings. The virtues of the dead
man are proclaimed from the pulpit. They enter his soul in the books of
their cloisters and churches to be continually prayed for, and if what
they say be true, that soul cannot possibly perish, for he has been so
kind to the Church, and must, indeed, be well cared for."

He accused them, further, of laziness and gluttony. "They pretend to
follow Christ," he said, "and have plenty to eat every day. They have
fish, spices, brawn, herrings, figs, almonds, Greek wine and other
luxuries. They generally drink good wine and rich beer in large
quantities, and so they go to sleep. When they cannot get luxuries they
fill themselves with vulgar puddings till they nearly burst. And this is
the way the priests fast." He wrote in a similar strain of the mendicant
friars. He had no belief in their profession of poverty, and accused
them of gathering as much money as they could. They pocketed more money
by begging, he declared, than honest folk could earn by working; they
despised plain beef, fat bacon and peas, and they wagged their tails
with joy when they sat down to game and other luxuries. "Many citizens,"
said Peter, "would readily welcome this kind of poverty."

He accused the priests of loose teaching and shameless winking at sin.
"They prepare Jesus," he said, "as a sweet sauce for the world, so that
the world may not have to shape its course after Jesus and His heavy
Cross, but that Jesus may conform to the world; and they make Him softer
than oil, so that every wound may be soothed, and the violent, thieves,
murderers and adulterers may have an easy entrance into heaven."

He accused them of degrading the Seven Sacraments. They baptized
sinners, young and old, without demanding repentance. They sold the
Communion to rascals and rogues, like a huckstress offering her wares.
They abused Confession by pardoning men who never intended to amend
their evil ways. They allowed men of the vilest character to be ordained
as priests. They degraded marriage by preaching the doctrine that it was
less holy than celibacy. They distorted the original design of Extreme
Unction, for instead of using it to heal the sick they used it to line
their own pockets. And all these blasphemies, sins and follies were the
offspring of that adulterous union between the Church and the State,
which began in the days of Constantine the Great. For of all the evils
under Heaven, the greatest, said Peter, was that contradiction in
terms--a State Church.

He attacked the great theologians and scholars. Instead of using their
mental powers in the search for truth, these college men, said Peter,
had done their best to suppress the truth; and at the two great Councils
of Constance and Basle, they had actually obtained the help of the
temporal power to crush all who dared to hold different views from
theirs. What use, asked Peter, were these learned pundits? They were no
use at all. They never instructed anybody. "I do not know," he said,
"a single person whom they have helped with their learning." Had they
instructed Hus? No. Hus had the faith in himself; Hus was instructed by
God; and all that these ravens did for Hus was to flock together against
him.

Again, Peter denounced the Bohemian nobles. As we read his biting,
satirical phrases we can see that he was no respecter of persons and
no believer in artificial distinctions of rank. For him the only
distinction worth anything was the moral distinction between those who
followed the crucified Jesus and those who rioted in selfish pleasures.

He had no belief in blue blood and noble birth. He was almost, though
not quite, a Socialist. He had no definite, constructive social policy.
He was rather a champion of the rights of the poor, and an apostle of
the simple life. "The whole value of noble birth," he said, "is founded
on a wicked invention of the heathen, who obtained coats of arms from
emperors or kings as a reward for some deed of valour." If a man could
only buy a coat of arms--a stag, a gate, a wolf's head, or a sausage--he
became thereby a nobleman, boasted of his high descent, and was regarded
by the public as a saint. For such "nobility" Peter had a withering
contempt. He declared that nobles of this stamp had no right to belong
to the Christian Church. They lived, he said, in flat opposition to the
spirit of Jesus Christ. They devoured the poor. They were a burden to
the country. They did harm to all men. They set their minds on worldly
glory, and spent their money on extravagant dress. "The men," said he,
"wear capes reaching down to the ground, and their long hair falls down
to their shoulders; and the women wear so many petticoats that they
can hardly drag themselves along, and strut about like the Pope's
courtezans, to the surprise and disgust of the whole world." What right
had these selfish fops to call themselves Christians? They did more harm
to the cause of Christ than all the Turks and heathens in the world.

Thus Peter, belonging to none of the sects, found grievous faults in
them all. As he always mentions the Waldenses with respect, it has been
suggested that he was a Waldensian himself. But of that there is no real
proof. He had, apparently, no organizing skill; he never attempted to
form a new sect or party, and his mission in the world was to throw
out hints and leave it to others to carry these hints into practice.
He condemned the Utraquists because they used the sword. "If a man," he
said, "eats a black pudding on Friday, you blame him; but if he sheds
his brother's blood on the scaffold or on the field of battle you
praise him." He condemned the Taborites because they made light of the
Sacraments. "You have called the Holy Bread," he said, "a butterfly, a
bat, an idol. You have even told the people that it is better to kneel
to the devil than to kneel at the altar; and thus you have taught them
to despise religion and wallow in unholy lusts." He condemned the King
for being a King at all; for no intelligent man, said Peter, could
possibly be a King and a Christian at the same time. And finally he
condemned the Pope as Antichrist and the enemy of God.

Yet Peter was something more than a caustic critic. For the terrible
ills of his age and country he had one plain and homely remedy, and that
for all true Christians to leave the Church of Rome and return to the
simple teaching of Christ and His Apostles. If the reader goes to Peter
for systematic theology, he will be grievously disappointed; but if he
goes for moral vigour, he will find a well-spread table.

He did not reason his positions out like Wycliffe; he was a suggestive
essayist rather than a constructive philosopher; and, radical though
he was in some of his views, he held firm to what he regarded as
the fundamental articles of the Christian faith. He believed in the
redemptive value of the death of Christ. He believed that man must build
his hopes, not so much on his own good works, but rather on the grace
of God. He believed, all the same, that good works were needed and
would receive their due reward. He believed, further, in the real
bodily presence of Christ in the Sacrament; and on this topic he held
a doctrine very similar to Luther's doctrine of Consubstantiation. But,
over and above all these beliefs, he insisted, in season and out of
season, that men could partake of spiritual blessings without the aid
of Roman priests. Some fruit of his labours he saw. As the fire of
the Hussite Wars died down, a few men in different parts of the
country--especially at Chelcic, Wilenow and Divischau--began to take
Peter as their spiritual guide. They read his pamphlets with delight,
became known as the "Brethren of Chelcic," and wore a distinctive dress,
a grey cloak with a cord tied round the waist. The movement spread, the
societies multiplied, and thus, in a way no records tell, were laid the
foundations of the Church of the Brethren. Did Peter see that Church? We
do not know. No one knows when Peter was born, and no one knows when
he died. He delivered his message; he showed the way; he flashed his
lantern in the darkness; and thus, whether he knew it or not, he was the
literary founder of the Brethren's Church. He fired the hope. He drew
the plans. It was left to another man to erect the building.




CHAPTER V. -- GREGORY THE PATRIARCH AND THE SOCIETY AT KUNWALD, 1457-1473.

A brilliant idea is an excellent thing. A man to work it out is still
better. At the very time when Peter's followers were marshalling their
forces, John Rockycana,[5] Archbishop-elect of Prague (since 1448), was
making a mighty stir in that drunken city. What Peter had done with his
pen, Rockycana was doing with his tongue. He preached Peter's doctrines
in the great Thein Church; he corresponded with him on the burning
topics of the day; he went to see him at his estate; he recommended his
works to his hearers; and week by week, in fiery language, he denounced
the Church of Rome as Babylon, and the Pope as Antichrist himself. His
style was vivid and picturesque, his language cutting and clear. One day
he compared the Church of Rome to a burned and ruined city, wherein the
beasts of the forests made their lairs; and, again, he compared her to
a storm-tossed ship, which sank beneath the howling waves because the
sailors were fighting each other. "It is better," he said, "to tie a dog
to a pulpit than allow a priest to defile it. It is better, oh, women!
for your sons to be hangmen than to be priests; for the hangman only
kills the body, while the priest kills the soul. Look there," he
suddenly exclaimed one Sunday, pointing to a picture of St. Peter on the
wall, "there is as much difference between the priests of to-day and the
twelve apostles as there is between that old painting and the living St.
Peter in heaven.[6] For the priests have put the devil into the sacraments
themselves, and are leading you straight to the fires of Hell."

If an eloquent speaker attacks the clergy, he is sure to draw a crowd.
No wonder the Thein Church was crammed. No wonder the people listened
with delight as he backed up his hot attack with texts from the prophet
Jeremiah. No wonder they cried in their simple zeal: "Behold, a second
John Hus has arisen."

But John Rockycana was no second John Hus. For all his fire in the
pulpit, he was only a craven at heart. "If a true Christian," said he
to a friend, "were to turn up now in Prague, he would be gaped at like
a stag with golden horns." But he was not a stag with golden horns
himself. As he thundered against the Church of Rome, he was seeking,
not the Kingdom of God, but his own fame and glory. His followers soon
discovered his weakness. Among those who thronged to hear his sermons
were certain quiet men of action, who were not content to paw the ground
for ever. They were followers of Peter of Chelcic; they passed
his pamphlets in secret from hand to hand; they took down notes of
Rockycana's sermons; and now they resolved to practise what they heard.
If Peter had taught them nothing else, he had at least convinced them
all that the first duty of Christian men was to quit the Church of Rome.
Again and again they appealed to Rockycana to be their head, to act
up to his words, and to lead them out to the promised land. The great
orator hemmed and hawed, put them off with excuses, and told them, after
the manner of cowards, that they were too hasty and reckless. "I know
you are right," said he, "but if I joined your ranks I should be reviled
on every hand."[7] But these listeners were not to be cowed. The more
they studied Peter's writings, the more they lost faith in Rockycana.
As Rockycana refused to lead them, they left his church in a body, and
found a braver leader among themselves. His name was Gregory; he was
known as Gregory the Patriarch; and in due time, as we shall see, he
became the founder of the Church of the Brethren. He was already a
middle-aged man. He was the son of a Bohemian knight, and was nephew
to Rockycana himself. He had spent his youth in the Slaven cloister at
Prague as a bare-footed monk, had found the cloister not so moral as he
had expected, had left it in disgust, and was now well known in Bohemia
as a man of sterling character, pious and sensible, humble and strict,
active and spirited, a good writer and a good speaker. He was a personal
friend of Peter, had studied his works with care, and is said to have
been particularly fond of a little essay entitled "The Image of the
Beast," which he had borrowed from a blacksmith in Wachovia. As time
went on he lost patience with Rockycana, came into touch with the little
societies at Wilenow and Divischau, visited Peter on his estate, and
gradually formed the plan of founding an independent society, and thus
doing himself what Rockycana was afraid to do. As soldiers desert a
cowardly general and rally round the standard of a brave one, so these
listeners in the old Thein Church fell away from halting Rockycana, and
rallied round Gregory the Patriarch. From all parts of Bohemia, from all
ranks of society, from all whom Peter's writings had touched, from all
who were disgusted with the Church of Rome, and who wished to see the
True Church of the Apostles bloom in purity and beauty again, from
all especially who desired the ministration of priests of moral
character--from all these was his little band recruited. How it all
happened we know not; but slowly the numbers swelled. At last the
terrible question arose: How and where must they live? The question
was one of life and death. Not always could they worship in secret; not
always be scattered in little groups. It was time, they said, to close
their ranks and form an army that should last. "After us," Rockycana had
said in a sermon, "shall a people come well-pleasing unto God and right
healthy for men; they shall follow the Scriptures, and the example of
Christ and the footsteps of the Apostles." And these stern men felt
called to the holy task.

In the year 1457, Uladislaus Postumus, King of Bohemia, died, and George
Podiebrad reigned in his stead; and about the same time it came to the
ears of Gregory the Patriarch that in the barony of Senftenberg, on the
north-east border of Bohemia, there lay a village that would serve as
a home for him and his trusty followers. And the village was called
Kunwald, and the old castle hard by was called Lititz. The village
was almost deserted, and only a few simple folk, of the same mind as
Gregory, lived there now. What better refuge could be found? Gregory
the Patriarch laid the scheme before his uncle Rockycana; Rockycana, who
sympathized with their views and wished to help them, brought the matter
before King George; the King, who owned the estate, gave his gracious
permission; and Gregory and his faithful friends wended their way to
Kunwald, and there began to form the first settlement of the Church of
the Brethren. And now many others from far and wide came to make Kunwald
their home. Some came from the Thein Church in Prague, some across the
Glatz Hills from Moravia, some from Wilenow, Divischau and Chelcic, some
from the Utraquist Church at Königgratz,[8] some, clothed and in their
right minds, from those queer folk, the Adamites, and some from little
Waldensian groups that lay dotted here and there about the land. There
were citizens from Prague and other cities. There were bachelors and
masters from the great University. There were peasants and nobles,
learned and simple, rich and poor, with their wives and children; and
thus did many, who longed to be pure and follow the Master and Him
alone, find a Bethany of Peace in the smiling little valley of Kunwald.

Here, then, in the valley of Kunwald, did these pioneers lay the
foundation stones of the Moravian Church {1457 or 1458.}.[9] They were
all of one heart and one mind. They honoured Christ alone as King;
they confessed His laws alone as binding. They were not driven from the
Church of Rome; they left of their own free will. They were men of deep
religious experience. As they mustered their forces in that quiet dale,
they knew that they were parting company from Church and State alike.
They had sought the guidance of God in prayer, and declared that their
prayers were answered. They had met to seek the truth of God, not from
priests, but from God Himself. "As we knew not where to turn," they
wrote to Rockycana, "we turned in prayer to God Himself, and besought
Him to reveal to us His gracious will in all things. We wanted to walk
in His ways; we wanted instruction in His wisdom; and in His mercy He
answered our prayers." They would rather, they said, spend weeks in gaol
than take the oath as councillors. They built cottages, tilled the land,
opened workshops, and passed their time in peace and quietness. For
a law and a testimony they had the Bible and the writings of Peter of
Chelcic. In Michael Bradacius, a Utraquist priest, they found a faithful
pastor. They made their own laws and appointed a body of twenty-eight
elders to enforce them. They divided themselves into three classes, the
Beginners, the Learners and the Perfect;[10] and the Perfect gave up their
private property for the good of the common cause. They had overseers to
care for the poor. They had priests to administer the sacraments, They
had godly laymen to teach the Scriptures. They had visitors to see to
the purity of family life. They were shut off from the madding crowd by
a narrow gorge, with the Glatz Mountains towering on the one side and
the hoary old castle of Lititz, a few miles off, on the other; and there
in that fruitful valley, where orchards smiled and gardens bloomed,
and neat little cottages peeped out from the woodland, they plied their
trades and read their Bibles, and kept themselves pure and unspotted
from the world under the eye of God Almighty.[11]
But it was not long before these Brethren had to show of what metal they
were made. With each other they were at peace, but in Bohemia the sea
still rolled from the storm. It is curious how people reasoned in those
days. As the Brethren used bread instead of wafer at the Holy Communion,
a rumour reached the ears of the King that they were dangerous
conspirators, and held secret meetings of a mysterious and unholy
nature. And King George held himself an orthodox King, and had sworn to
allow no heretics in his kingdom. As soon therefore, as he heard that
Gregory the Patriarch had come on a visit to Prague, and was actually
holding a meeting of University students in the New Town, he came down
upon them like a wolf on the fold, and gave orders to arrest them on the
spot. He was sure they were hatching a villainous plot of some kind. In
vain some friends sent warning to the students. They resolved, with a
few exceptions, to await their fate and stand to their guns. "Come what
may," said they, in their fiery zeal, "let the rack be our breakfast
and the funeral pile our dinner!" The door of the room flew open. The
magistrate and his bailiffs appeared. "All," said the magistrate, as
he stood at the threshold, "who wish to live godly in Christ Jesus must
suffer persecution. Follow me to prison." They followed him, and were at
once stretched upon the rack. As soon as the students felt the pain of
torture their courage melted like April snow. After they had tasted the
breakfast they had no appetite for the dinner. They went in a body to
the Thein Church, mounted the pulpit one by one, pleaded guilty to the
charges brought against them, and confessed, before an admiring crowd,
their full belief in all the dogmas of the Holy Church of Rome. But for
Gregory the Patriarch, who was now growing old, the pain was too severe.
His wrists cracked; he swooned, and was thought to be dead, and in his
swoon he dreamed a dream which seemed to him like the dreams of the
prophets of old. He saw, in a lovely meadow, a tree laden with fruit;
the fruit was being plucked by birds; the flights of the birds were
guided by a youth of heavenly beauty, and the tree was guarded by three
men whose faces he seemed to know. What meant that dream to Gregory and
his Brethren? It was a vision of the good time coming. The tree was the
Church of the Brethren. The fruit was her Bible teaching. The birds were
her ministers and helpers. The youth of radiant beauty was the Divine
Master Himself. And the three men who stood on guard were the three men
who were afterwards chosen as the first three Elders of the Brethren's
Church.

While Gregory lay in his swoon, his old teacher, his uncle, his sometime
friend, John Rockycana, hearing that he was dying, came to see him.
His conscience was stricken, his heart bled, and, wringing his hands in
agony, he moaned: "Oh, my Gregory, my Gregory, would I were where thou
art." When Gregory recovered, Rockycana pleaded for him, and the King
allowed the good old Patriarch to return in peace to Kunwald.

Meanwhile, the first persecution of the Brethren had begun in deadly
earnest {1461.}. King George Podiebrad was furious. He issued an order
that all his subjects were to join either the Utraquist or the Roman
Catholic Church. He issued another order that all priests who conducted
the Communion in the blasphemous manner of the Brethren should forthwith
be put to death. The priest, old Michael, was cast into a dungeon; four
leading Brethren were burned alive; the peaceful home in Kunwald was
broken; and the Brethren fled to the woods and mountains. For two full
years they lived the life of hunted deer in the forest. As they durst
not light a fire by day, they cooked their meals by night; and then,
while the enemy dreamed and slept, they read their Bibles by the
watch-fires' glare, and prayed till the blood was dripping from their
knees. If provisions ran short, they formed a procession, and marched in
single file to the nearest village; and when the snow lay on the ground
they trailed behind them a pine-tree branch, so that folk would think a
wild beast had been prowling around. We can see them gathering in those
Bohemian glades. As the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky, and
the night wind kissed the pine trees, they read to each other the golden
promise that where two or three were gathered together in His name He
would be in the midst of them;[12] and rejoiced that they, the chosen of
God, had been called to suffer for the truth and the Church that was yet
to be.

In vain they appealed to Rockycana; he had done with them for ever.
"Thou art of the world," they wrote, "and wilt perish with the world."
They were said to have made a covenant with the devil, and were commonly
dubbed "Pitmen" because they lived in pits and caves. Yet not for a
moment did they lose hope. At the very time when the king in his
folly thought they were crushed beneath his foot, they were in reality
increasing in numbers every day. As their watch-fires shone in the
darkness of the forests, so their pure lives shone among a darkened
people. No weapon did they use except the pen. They never retaliated,
never rebelled, never took up arms in their own defence, never even
appealed to the arm of justice. When smitten on one cheek, they turned
the other; and from ill-report they went to good report, till the King
for very shame had to let them be. Well aware was he that brutal force
could never stamp out spiritual life. "I advise you," said a
certain Bishop, "to shed no more blood. Martyrdom is somewhat like a
half-roasted joint of meat, apt to breed maggots."

And now the time drew near for Gregory's dream to come true. When the
Brethren settled in the valley of Kunwald they had only done half their
work. They had quitted the "benighted" Church of Rome; they had not
yet put a better Church in her place. They had settled on a Utraquist
estate; they were under the protection of a Utraquist King;
they attended services conducted by Utraquist priests. But this
black-and-white policy could not last for ever. If they wished to be
godly men themselves, they must have godly men in the pulpits. What
right had they, the chosen of God (as they called themselves) to listen
to sermons from men in league with the State? What right had they
to take the Holy Bread and Wine from the tainted hands of Utraquist
priests? What right had they to confess their sins to men with the brand
of Rome upon their foreheads? If they were to have any priests at all,
those priests, like Caesar's wife, must be above suspicion. They must be
pastors after God's own heart, who should feed the people with knowledge
and understanding (Jer. iii. 15). They must be clear of any connection
with the State. They must be descended from the twelve Apostles. They
must be innocent of the crime of simony. They must work with their hands
for their living, and be willing to spend their money on the poor. But
where could such clean vessels of the Lord be found? For a while
the Brethren were almost in despair; for a while they were even half
inclined to do without priests at all. In vain they searched the country
round; in vain they inquired about priests in foreign lands. When they
asked about the pure Nestorian Church supposed to exist in India, they
received the answer that that Church was now as corrupt as the Romish.
When they asked about the Greek Church in Russia, they received the
answer that the Russian Bishops were willing to consecrate any man, good
or bad, so long as he paid the fees. The question was pressing. If they
did without good priests much longer, they would lose their standing in
the country. "You must," said Brother Martin Lupac, a Utraquist priest,
who had joined their ranks, "you must establish a proper order of
priests from among yourselves. If you don't, the whole cause will be
ruined. To do without priests is no sin against God; but it is a sin
against your fellow-men." As they pondered on the fateful question, the
very light of Heaven itself seemed to flash upon their souls. It was
they who possessed the unity of the spirit; and therefore it was they
who were called to renew the Church of the Apostles. They had now become
a powerful body; they were founding settlements all over the land; they
stood, they said, for the truth as it was in Jesus; they had all one
faith, one hope, one aim, one sense of the Spirit leading them onward;
and they perceived that if they were to weather the gale in those stormy
times they must cut the chains that bound them to Rome, and fly their
own colours in the breeze.

And so, in 1467, about ten years after the foundation of Kunwald, there
met at Lhota a Synod of the Brethren to settle the momentous question
{1467.}, "Is it God's will that we separate entirely from the power
of the Papacy, and hence from its priesthood? Is it God's will that we
institute, according to the model of the Primitive Church, a ministerial
order of our own?" For weeks they had prayed and fasted day and night.
About sixty Brethren arrived. The Synod was held in a tanner's cottage,
under a cedar tree; and the guiding spirit Gregory the Patriarch, for
his dream was haunting him still. The cottage has long since gone; but
the tree is living yet.

The fateful day arrived. As the morning broke, those sixty men were
all on their knees in prayer. If that prayer had been omitted the whole
proceedings would have been invalid. As the Master, said they, had
prayed on the Mount before he chose His twelve disciples, so they must
spend the night in prayer before they chose the elders of the Church.
And strange, indeed, their manner of choosing was. First the Synod
nominated by ballot nine men of blameless life, from whom were to be
chosen, should God so will, the first Pastors of the New Church. Next
twelve slips of paper were folded and put into a vase. Of these slips
nine were blank, and three were marked "Jest," the Bohemian for "is."
Then a boy named Procop entered the room, drew out nine slips, and
handed them round to the nine nominated Brethren.

There was a hush, a deep hush, in that humble room. All waited for God
to speak. The fate of the infant Church seemed to hang in the balance.
For the moment the whole great issue at stake depended on the three
papers left in the vase. It had been agreed that the three Brethren who
received the three inscribed papers should be ordained to the ministry.
The situation was curious. As the Brethren rose from their knees that
morning they were all as sure as men could be that God desired them to
have Pastors of their own; and yet they deliberately ran the risk that
the lot might decide against them.[13] What slips were those now lying in
the vase? Perhaps the three inscribed ones. But it turned out otherwise.
All three were drawn, and Matthias of Kunwald, Thomas of Prelouic, and
Elias of Chrenouic, are known to history as the first three ministers of
the Brethren's Church. And then Gregory the Patriarch stepped forward,
and announced with trembling voice that these three men were the very
three that he had seen in his trance in the torture-chamber at Prague.
Not a man in the room was surprised; not a man doubted that here again
their prayers had been plainly answered. Together the members of the
Synod arose and saluted the chosen three. Together, next day, they sang
in a hymn written for the occasion:--

   We needed faithful men, and He
   Granted us such.  Most earnestly,
   We Pray, Lord, let Thy gifts descend,
   That blessing may Thy work attend.[14]
But the battle was not won even yet. If these three good men, now chosen
by Christ, were to be acknowledged as priests in Bohemia, they must
be ordained in the orthodox way by a Bishop of pure descent from the
Apostles. For this purpose they applied to Stephen, a Bishop of the
Waldenses. He was just the man they needed. He was a man of noble
character. He was a man whose word could be trusted. He had often given
them information about the Waldensian line of Bishops. He had told them
how that line ran back to the days of the early Church. He had told them
how the Waldensian Bishops had kept the ancient faith unsullied, and had
never broken the law of Christ by uniting with the wicked State. To
that line of Bishops he himself belonged. He had no connection with the
Church of Rome, and no connection with the State. What purer orders,
thought the Brethren, could they desire? They believed his statements;
they trusted his honour; they admired his personal character; and now
they sent old Michael Bradacius to see him in South Moravia and to lay
their case before him. The old Bishop shed tears of joy. "He laid his
hand on my head," says Michael, "and consecrated me a Bishop." Forthwith
the new Bishop returned to Lhota, ordained the chosen three as Priests,
and consecrated Matthias of Kunwald a Bishop. And thus arose those
Episcopal Orders which have been maintained in the Church of the
Brethren down to the present day.

The goal was reached; the Church was founded; the work of Gregory was
done. For twenty years he had taught his Brethren to study the mind
of Christ in the Scriptures and to seek the guidance of God in united
prayer, and now he saw them joined as one to face the rising storm.

"Henceforth," he wrote gladly to King George Podiebrad, "we have done
with the Church of Rome." As he saw the evening of life draw near, he
urged his Brethren more and more to hold fast the teaching of Peter of
Chelcic, and to regulate their daily conduct by the law of Christ; and
by that law of Christ he probably meant the "Six Commandments" of
the Sermon on the Mount.[15] He took these Commandments literally,
and enforced them with a rod of iron. No Brother could be a judge or
magistrate or councillor. No Brother could take an oath or keep an inn,
or trade beyond the barest needs of life. No noble, unless he laid
down his rank, could become a Brother at all. No peasant could render
military service or act as a bailiff on a farm. No Brother could ever
divorce his wife or take an action at law. As long as Gregory remained
in their midst, the Brethren held true to him as their leader. He had
not, says Gindely, a single trace of personal ambition in his nature;
and, though he might have become a Bishop, he remained a layman to the
end. Full of years he died, and his bones repose in a cleft where tufts
of forget-me-not grow, at Brandeis-on-the-Adler, hard by the Moravian
frontier {Sept.13th, 1473.}.




CHAPTER VI. -- LUKE OF PRAGUE AND THE HIGH CHURCH REACTION. 1473-1530.

Of the Brethren who settled in the valley of Kunwald the greater number
were country peasants and tradesmen of humble rank. But already the
noble and mighty were pressing in. As the eyes of Gregory closed in
death, a new party was rising to power. Already the Brethren were strong
in numbers, and already they were longing to snap the fetters that
Gregory had placed upon their feet. From Neustadt in the North to Skutch
in the South, and from Chlumec in the West to Kunwald in the East,
they now lay thickly sprinkled; and in all the principal towns of that
district, an area of nine hundred square miles, they were winning
rich and influential members. In came the University dons; in came the
aldermen and knights. In came, above all, a large colony of Waldenses,
who had immigrated from the Margravate of Brandenburg {1480.}. Some
settled at Fulneck, in Moravia, others at Landskron, in Bohemia;
and now, by their own request, they were admitted to the Brethren's
Church.[16] For a while the Brethren held to the rule that if a nobleman
joined their Church he must first lay down his rank. But now that rule
was beginning to gall and chafe. They were winning golden opinions on
every hand; they were becoming known as the best men for positions of
trust in the State; they were just the men to make the best magistrates
and aldermen; and thus they felt forced by their very virtues to
renounce the narrow ideas of Peter and to play their part in national
and city life.

At this moment, when new ideas were budding, there entered the service
of the Church a young man who is known as Luke of Prague. He was
born about 1460, was a Bachelor of Prague University, was a well-read
theological scholar, and for fifty years was the trusted leader of the
Brethren. Forthwith he read the signs of the times, and took the tide
at the flood. In Procop of Neuhaus, another graduate, he found a
warm supporter. The two scholars led the van of the new movement. The
struggle was fierce. On the one side was the "great party" of culture,
led by Luke of Prague and Procop of Neuhaus; on the other the so-called
"little party," the old-fashioned rigid Radicals, led by two farmers,
Amos and Jacob. "Ah, Matthias," said Gregory the Patriarch, on his
death-bed, "beware of the educated Brethren!" But, despite this warning,
the educated Brethren won the day. For once and for ever the Brethren
resolved that the writings of Peter and Gregory should no longer be
regarded as binding. At a Synod held at Reichenau they rejected the
authority of Peter entirely {1494.}. They agreed that nobles might join
the Church without laying down their rank; they agreed that if a man's
business were honest he might make profits therein; they agreed that
Brethren might enter the service of the State; and they even agreed that
oaths might be taken in cases of special need.[17] And then, next year,
they made their position still clearer {1495.}. Instead of taking Peter
as their guide, they now took the Bible and the Bible alone. "We content
ourselves," they solemnly declared, at another Synod held at Reichenau,
"with those sacred books which have been accepted from of old by all
Christians, and are found in the Bible"; and thus, forty years before
John Calvin, and eighty years before the Lutherans, they declared that
the words of Holy Scripture, apart from any disputed interpretation,
should be their only standard of faith and practice. No longer did they
honour the memory of Peter; no longer did they appeal to him in their
writings; no longer, in a word, can we call the Brethren the true
followers of Peter of Chelcic. Instead, henceforward, of regarding Peter
as the founder of their Church, they began now to regard themselves
as the disciples of Hus. In days gone by they had spoken of Hus as a
"causer of war." Now they held his name and memory sacred; and from this
time onward the real followers of Peter were, not the Brethren, but the
"little party" led by Amos and Jacob.[18]
But the scholars led the Brethren further still. If the reader will
kindly refer to the chapter on Peter, he will see that that racy
pamphleteer had far more to say about good works than about the merits
of saving faith; but now, after years of keen discussion, Procop of
Neuhaus put to the Council of Elders the momentous question: "By what
is a man justified?" The answer given was clear: "By the merits of Jesus
Christ." The great doctrine of justification by grace was taught;
the old doctrine of justification by works was modified; and thus the
Brethren's Church became the first organized Evangelical Church in
Europe.[19]
And Luke designed to make her the strongest, too. His energy never
seemed to flag. As he wished to establish the ministry more firmly,
he had the number of Bishops enlarged, and became a Bishop himself. He
enlarged the governing Council, with his friend Procop of Neuhaus as
Ecclesiastical Judge. He beautified the Church Services, and made the
ritual more ornate. He introduced golden communion cups and delicately
embroidered corporals, and some of the Brethren actually thought that
he was leading them back to Rome. He gave an impulse to Church music,
encouraged reading both in Priests and in people, and made a use of the
printing press which in those days was astounding. Of the five printing
presses in all Bohemia, three belonged to the Brethren; of sixty printed
works that appeared between 1500 and 1510, no fewer than fifty were
published by the Brethren; and of all the scribes of the sixteenth
century, Luke was the most prolific. He wrote a "Catechism for
Children." He edited the first Brethren's hymn book (1501), the first
Church hymnal in history. He published a commentary on the Psalms,
another on the Gospel of St. John, and another on the eleventh chapter
of 1 Corinthians; he drew up "Confessions of Faith," and sent them to
the King; and thus, for the first time in the history of Bohemia, he
made the newly invented press a mighty power in the land.

And even with this the good Bishop was not content {1491.}. If the
Brethren, thought he, were true to their name, they must surely long for
fellowship with others of like mind with themselves. For this purpose
Luke and his friends set off to search for Brethren in other lands. Away
went one to find the pure Nestorian Church that was said to exist in
India, got as far as Antioch, Jerusalem and Egypt, and, being misled
somehow by a Jew, returned home with the wonderful notion that the River
Nile flowed from the Garden of Eden, but with no more knowledge of the
Church in India than when he first set out. Another explored the South
of Russia, and the third sought Christians in Turkey. And Luke himself
had little more success. He explored a number of Monasteries in Greece,
came on to Rome {1498.}, saw the streets of the city littered with
corpses of men murdered by Cæsar Borgia, picked up some useful
information about the private character of the Pope, saw Savonarola put
to death in Florence, fell in with a few Waldenses in the Savoy, and
then, having sought for pearls in vain, returned home in a state of
disgust, and convinced that, besides the Brethren, there was not to be
found a true Christian Church on the face of God's fair earth. He even
found fault with the Waldenses.

It was time, indeed, for Luke to return, for trouble was brewing
at home. For some years there dwelt in the town of Jungbunzlau, the
headquarters of the Brethren's Church, a smart young man, by name John
Lezek. He began life as a brewer's apprentice; he then entered the
service of a Brother, and learned a good deal of the Brethren's manners
and customs; and now he saw the chance of turning his knowledge to good
account. If only he told a good tale against the Brethren, he would
be sure to be a popular hero. For this purpose he visited the parish
priest, and confessed to a number of abominations committed by him while
among the wicked Brethren. The parish priest was delighted; the penitent
was taken to the Church; and there he told the assembled crowd the story
of his guilty past. Of all the bad men in the country, he said, these
Brethren were the worst. He had even robbed his own father with their
consent and approval. They blasphemed. They took the Communion bread to
their houses, and there hacked it in pieces. They were thieves, and he
himself had committed many a burglary for them. They murdered men and
kidnapped their wives. They had tried to blow up Rockycana in the Thein
Church with gunpowder. They swarmed naked up pillars like Adam and Eve,
and handed each other apples. They prepared poisonous drinks, and
put poisonous smelling powders in their letters. They were skilled in
witchcraft, worshipped Beelzebub, and were wont irreverently to say that
the way to Hell was paved with the bald heads of priests. As this story
was both alarming and lively, the parish priest had it taken down,
sealed and signed by witnesses, copied out, and scattered broadcast
through the land. In vain John Lezek confessed soon after, when brought
by the Brethren before a Magistrate, that his whole story was a vile
invention. If a man tells a falsehood and then denies it, he does not
thereby prevent the falsehood from spreading.

For now a more powerful foe than Lezek made himself felt in the land. Of
all the Popes that ever donned the tiara, Alexander VI. is said to have
presented the most successful image of the devil.[20] He was the father of
the prince of poisoners, Caesar Borgia; he was greedy, immoral, fond
of ease and pleasure; he was even said to be a poisoner himself. If
a well-known man died suddenly in Rome, the common people took it for
granted that the Pope had poisoned his supper. For all that he was pious
enough in a way of his own; and now, in his zeal for the Catholic cause,
he took stern measures against the Church of the Brethren. He had heard
some terrible tales about them. He heard that Peter's pamphlet, "The
Antichrist,"[21] was read all over the country. He heard that the number
of the Brethren now was over 100,000. He resolved to crush them to
powder {Papal Bull, Feb. 4th, 1500.}. He sent an agent, the Dominican,
Dr. Henry Institoris, as censor of the press. As soon as Institoris
arrived on the scene, he heard, to his horror, that most of the Brethren
could read; and thereupon he informed the Pope that they had learned
this art from the devil. He revived the stories of Lezek, the popular
feeling was fanned to fury, and wire-pullers worked on the tender heart
of the King.

"Hunt out and destroy these shameless vagabonds," wrote Dr. Augustin
Käsebrot to King Uladislaus, "they are not even good enough to be burnt
at the stake. They ought to have their bodies torn by wild beasts and
their blood licked up by dogs." For the last five years there had grown
in the land a small sect known as Amosites. They were followers of old
Farmer Amos; they had once belonged to the Brethren; they had broken off
when the scholars had won the day, and now they sent word to the King
to say that the Brethren were planning to defend their cause with the
sword. "What!" said the King, "do they mean to play Ziska? Well, well!
We know how to stop that!" They were worse than Turks, he declared; they
believed neither in God nor in the Communion; they were a set of lazy
vagabonds. He would soon pay them out for their devilish craft, and
sweep them off the face of the earth. And to this end he summoned the
Diet, and, by the consent of all three Estates, issued the famous Edict
of St. James {July 25th, 1508.}.[22] The decree was sweeping and thorough.
The meetings of the Brethren, public and private, were forbidden. The
books and writings of the Brethren must be burnt. All in Bohemia who
refused to join the Utraquist or Roman Catholic Church were to be
expelled from the country; all nobles harbouring Brethren were to be
fined, and all their priests and teachers were to be imprisoned.

The persecution began. In the village of Kuttenburg lived a brother, by
name Andrew Poliwka. As Kuttenburg was a Romanist village, he fled
for refuge to the Brethren's settlement at Leitomischl. But his wife
betrayed him. He returned to the village, and, desiring to please her,
he attended the parish Church.

The occasion was an installation service. As the sermon ended and the
host was raised, he could hold his tongue no longer. "Silence, Parson
Jacob," he cried to the priest, "you have babbled enough! Mine hour is
come; I will speak. Dear friends," he continued, turning to the people,
"what are you doing? What are you adoring? An idol made of bread! Oh!
Adore the living God in heaven! He is blessed for evermore!" The priest
ordered him to hold his peace. He only shrieked the louder. He was
seized, his head was dashed against the pillar, and he was dragged
bleeding to prison. Next day he was tried, and asked to explain why he
had interrupted the service.

"Who caused Abram," he answered, "to forsake his idolatry and adore
the living God? Who induced Daniel to flee from idols?" In vain was he
stretched upon the rack. No further answer would he give. He was burnt
to death at the stake. As the flames began to lick his face, he prayed
aloud: "Jesus, Thou Son of the living God, have mercy upon me, miserable
sinner."

At Strakonic dwelt the Brother George Wolinsky, a dependent of Baron
John of Rosenberg {1509.}. The Baron was a mighty man. He was Grand
Prior of the Knights of Malta; he was an orthodox subject of the King,
and he determined that on his estate no villainous Picards[23] should
live. "See," he said one day to George, "I have made you a servant in
the Church. You must go to Church. You are a Picard, and I have received
instructions from Prague that all men on my estate must be either
Utraquists or Catholics."

The Brother refused; the Baron insisted; and the Prior of Strakonic was
brought to convert the heretic. "No one," said the Prior, "should ever
be tortured into faith. The right method is reasonable instruction,
and innocent blood always cries to Heaven, 'Lord, Lord, when wilt Thou
avenge me.'"

But this common sense was lost on the furious Baron. As Brother George
refused to yield, the Baron cast him into the deepest dungeon of his
castle. The bread and meat he had secreted in his pockets were removed.
The door of the dungeon was barred, and all that was left for the
comfort of his soul was a heap of straw whereon to die and a comb to do
his hair. For five days he lay in the dark, and then the Baron came to
see him. The prisoner was almost dead. His teeth were closed; his mouth
was rigid; the last spark of life was feebly glimmering. The Baron was
aghast. The mouth was forced open, hot soup was poured in, the prisoner
revived, and the Baron burst into tears.

"Ah," he exclaimed, "I am glad he is living"; and allowed George to
return to his Brethren.

Amid scenes like this, Bishop Luke was a tower of strength to his
Brethren. For six years the manses were closed, the Churches empty, the
Pastors homeless, the people scattered; and the Bishop hurried from
glen to glen, held services in the woods and gorges, sent letters to the
parishes he could not visit, and pleaded the cause of his Brethren in
woe in letter after letter to the King. As the storm of persecution
raged, he found time to write a stirring treatise, entitled, "The
Renewal of the Church," and thus by pen and by cheery word he revived
the flagging hope of all.

For a while the Brethren were robbed of this morsel of comfort. As the
Bishop was hastening on a pastoral visit, he was captured by Peter von
Suda, the brigand, "the prince and master of all thieves," was loaded
with chains, cast into a dungeon, and threatened with torture and the
stake. At that moment destruction complete and final seemed to threaten
the Brethren. Never had the billows rolled so high; never had the
breakers roared so loud; and bitterly the hiding Brethren complained
that their leaders had steered them on the rocks.

Yet sunshine gleamed amid the gathering clouds. For some time there had
been spreading among the common people a conviction that the Brethren
were under the special protection of God, and that any man who tried
to harm them would come to a tragic end. It was just while the Brethren
were sunk in despair that several of their enemies suddenly died,
and people said that God Himself had struck a blow for the persecuted
"Pitmen." The great Dr. Augustin, their fiercest foe, fell dead from his
chair at dinner. Baron Colditz, the Chancellor, fell ill of a carbuncle
in his foot, and died. Baron Henry von Neuhaus, who had boasted to the
King how many Brethren he had starved to death, went driving in his
sleigh, was upset, and was skewered on his own hunting knife. Baron Puta
von Swihow was found dead in his cellar. Bishop John of Grosswardein
fell from his carriage, was caught on a sharp nail, had his bowels torn
out, and miserably perished. And the people, struck with awe, exclaimed:
"Let him that is tired of life persecute the Brethren, for he is sure
not to live another year."

Thus the Brethren possessed their souls in patience till the persecution
ended. The King of Bohemia, Uladislaus II., died {March 13th, 1516.}.
His successor was only a boy. The Utraquists and Catholics began to
quarrel with each other. The robber, von Suda, set Luke at liberty. The
great Bishop became chief Elder of the Church. The whole land was soon
in a state of disorder. The barons and knights were fighting each other,
and, in the general stress and storm, the quiet Brethren were almost
forgotten and allowed to live in peace.

And just at this juncture came news from afar that seemed to the
Brethren like glad tidings from Heaven {1517.}. No longer were the
Brethren to be alone, no longer to be a solitary voice crying in the
wilderness. As the Brethren returned from the woods and mountains, and
worshipped once again by the light of day, they heard, with amazement
and joy, how Martin Luther, on Hallows Eve, had pinned his famous
ninety-five Theses to the Church door at Wittenberg. The excitement in
Bohemia was intense. For a while it seemed as though Martin Luther would
wield as great an influence there as ever he had in Germany. For a while
the Utraquist priests themselves, like Rockycana of yore, thundered in
a hundred pulpits against the Church of Rome; and Luther, taking the
keenest interest in the growing movement, wrote a letter to the Bohemian
Diet, and urged the ecclesiastical leaders in Prague to break the last
fetters that bound them to Rome.

For a while his agent, Gallus Cahera, a butcher's son, who had studied
at Wittenberg, was actually pastor of the Thein Church {1523-9.},
referred in his sermons to the "celebrated Dr. Martin Luther," and
openly urged the people to pray for that "great man of God." For a while
even a preacher of the Brethren, named Martin, was allowed to stand
where Hus had stood, and preach in the Bethlehem Church. For a while, in
a word, it seemed to the Brethren that the Reformation now spreading in
Germany would conquer Bohemia at a rush. The great Luther was loved by
many classes. He was loved by the Utraquists because he had burned the
Pope's Bull. He was loved by the young because he favoured learning. He
was loved by the Brethren because he upheld the Bible as the standard
of faith {1522.}. As soon as Luther had left the Wartburg, the Brethren
boldly held out to him the right hand of fellowship; sent two German
Brethren, John Horn and Michael Weiss, to see him; presented him with a
copy of their Confession and Catechism; began a friendly correspondence
on various points of doctrine and discipline, and thus opened their
hearts to hear with respect what the great Reformer had to say.

Amid these bright prospects Luke of Prague breathed his last {Dec. 11th,
1528.}. As Gregory the Patriarch had gone to his rest when a new party
was rising among the Brethren, so Luke of Prague crossed the cold river
of death when new ideas from Germany were stirring the hearts of his
friends. He was never quite easy in his mind about Martin Luther.
He still believed in the Seven Sacraments. He still believed in the
Brethren's system of stern moral discipline. He still believed, for
practical reasons, in the celibacy of the clergy. "This eating," he
wrote, "this drinking, this self-indulgence, this marrying, this living
to the world--what a poor preparation it is for men who are leaving
Babylon. If a man does this he is yoking himself with strangers.
Marriage never made anyone holy yet. It is a hindrance to the higher
life, and causes endless trouble." Above all, he objected to Luther's
way of teaching the great doctrine of justification by faith.

"Never, never," he said, in a letter to Luther, "can you ascribe a man's
salvation to faith alone. The Scriptures are against you. You think that
in this you are doing a good work, but you are really fighting against
Christ Himself and clinging to an error." He regarded Luther's teaching
as extreme and one-sided. He was shocked by what he heard of the jovial
life led by Luther's students at Wittenberg, and could never understand
how a rollicking youth could be a preparation for a holy ministry.
As Gregory the Patriarch had warned Matthias against "the learned
Brethren," so Luke, in his turn, now warned the Brethren against
the loose lives of Luther's merry-hearted students; and, in order
to preserve the Brethren's discipline, he now issued a comprehensive
treatise, divided into two parts--the first entitled "Instructions
for Priests," and the second "Instructions and Admonitions for all
occupations, all ages in life, all ranks and all sorts of characters."
As he lay on his death-bed at Jungbunzlau, his heart was stirred by
mingled feelings. There was land in sight--ah, yes!--but what grew upon
the enchanting island? He would rather see his Church alone and pure
than swept away in the Protestant current. Happy was he in the day of
his death. So far he had steered the Church safely. He must now resign
his post to another pilot who knew well the coming waters.




CHAPTER VII. -- THE BRETHREN AT HOME.

As we have now arrived at that bend in the lane, when the Brethren, no
longer marching alone, became a regiment in the conquering Protestant
army, it will be convenient to halt in our story and look at the
Brethren a little more closely--at their homes, their trades, their
principles, their doctrines, their forms of service, and their life from
day to day. After all, what were these Brethren, and how did they live?

They called themselves Jednota Bratrska--i.e., the Church of the
Brethren. As this word "Jednota" means union, and is used in this sense
in Bohemia at the present day, it is possible that the reader may think
that instead of calling the Brethren a Church, we ought rather to call
them the Union or Unity of the Brethren. If he does, however, he will
be mistaken. We have no right to call the Brethren a mere Brotherhood
or Unity. They regarded themselves as a true apostolic Church. They
believed that their episcopal orders were valid. They called the Church
of Rome a Jednota;[24] they called the Lutheran Church a Jednota;[25] they
called themselves a Jednota; and, therefore, if the word Jednota means
Church when applied to Lutherans and Roman Catholics, it must also mean
Church when applied to the Bohemian Brethren. It is not correct to
call them the Unitas Fratrum. The term is misleading. It suggests a
Brotherhood rather than an organized Church. We have no right to call
them a sect; the term is a needless insult to their memory.[26] As the
Brethren settled in the Valley of Kunwald, the great object which they
set before them was to recall to vigorous life the true Catholic Church
of the Apostles; and as soon as they were challenged by their enemies to
justify their existence, they replied in good set terms.

"Above all things," declared the Brethren, at a Synod held in 1464, "we
are one in this purpose. We hold fast the faith of the Lord Christ. We
will abide in the righteousness and love of God. We will trust in the
living God. We will do good works. We will serve each other in the
spirit of love. We will lead a virtuous, humble, gentle, sober, patient
and pure life; and thereby shall we know that we hold the faith in
truth, and that a home is prepared for us in heaven. We will show
obedience to one another, as the Holy Scriptures command. We will take
from each other instruction, reproof and punishment, and thus shall we
keep the covenant established by God through the Lord Christ."[27] To
this purpose the Brethren held firm. In every detail of their lives--in
business, in pleasure, in civil duties--they took the Sermon on the
Mount as the lamp unto their feet. From the child to the old man, from
the serf to the lord, from the acoluth to the bishop, the same strict
law held good. What made the Brethren's Church shine so brightly in
Bohemia before Luther's days was not their doctrine, but their lives;
not their theory, but their practice; not their opinions, but their
discipline. Without that discipline they would have been a shell without
a kernel. It called forth the admiration of Calvin, and drove Luther to
despair. It was, in truth, the jewel of the Church, her charm against
foes within and without; and so great a part did it play in their lives
that in later years they were known to some as "Brethren of the Law of
Christ."

No portion of the Church was more carefully watched than the ministers.
As the chief object which the Brethren set before them was obedience
to the Law of Christ, it followed, as the night the day, that the
chief quality required in a minister was not theological learning,
but personal character. When a man came forward as a candidate for
the ministry he knew that he would have to stand a most searching
examination. His character and conduct were thoroughly sifted. He must
have a working knowledge of the Bible, a blameless record, and a
living faith in God. For classical learning the Brethren had an honest
contempt. It smacked too much of Rome and monkery. As long as the
candidate was a holy man, and could teach the people the plain truths of
the Christian faith, they felt that nothing more was required, and did
not expect him to know Greek and Hebrew. In vain Luther, in a friendly
letter, urged them to cultivate more knowledge. "We have no need," they
replied, "of teachers who understand other tongues, such as Greek and
Hebrew. It is not our custom to appoint ministers who have been trained
at advanced schools in languages and fine arts. We prefer Bohemians
and Germans who have come to a knowledge of the truth through personal
experience and practical service, and who are therefore qualified to
impart to others the piety they have first acquired themselves. And here
we are true to the law of God and the practice of the early Church."[28] Instead of regarding learning as an aid to faith, they regarded it as
an hindrance and a snare. It led, they declared, to wordy battles, to
quarrels, to splits, to uncertainties, to doubts, to corruptions. As
long, they said, as the ministers of the Church of Christ were simple
and unlettered men, so long was the Church a united body of believers;
but as soon as the parsons began to be scholars, all sorts of evils
arose. What good, they argued, had learning done in the past? It had
caused the translation of the Bible into Latin, and had thus hidden
its truths from the common people. "And therefore," they insisted, "we
despise the learning of tongues."

For this narrow attitude they had also another reason. In order to be
true to the practice of the early Christian Church, they laid down
the strict rule that all ministers should earn their living by manual
labour; and the result was that even if a minister wished to study
he could not find time to do so. For his work as a minister he never
received a penny. If a man among the Brethren entered the ministry, he
did so for the pure love of the work. He had no chance of becoming
rich. He was not allowed to engage in a business that brought in large
profits. If he earned any more in the sweat of his brow than he needed
to make ends meet, he was compelled to hand the surplus over to the
general funds of the Church; and if some one kindly left him some money,
that money was treated in the same way. He was to be as moderate as
possible in eating and drinking; he was to avoid all gaudy show in dress
and house; he was not to go to fairs and banquets; and, above all, he
was not to marry except with the consent and approval of the Elders. Of
marriage the Brethren had rather a poor opinion. They clung still to
the old Catholic view that it was less holy than celibacy. "It is," they
said, "a good thing if two people find that they cannot live continent
without it." If a minister married he was not regarded with favour; he
was supposed to have been guilty of a fleshly weakness; and it is rather
sarcastically recorded in the old "Book of the Dead" that in every
case in which a minister failed in his duties, or was convicted of
immorality, the culprit was a married man.

And yet, for all his humble style, the minister was held in honour.
As the solemn time of ordination drew near there were consultations of
ministers with closed doors, and days set apart for fasting and prayer
throughout the whole Church. His duties were many and various. He was
commonly spoken of, not as a priest, but as the "servant" of the
Church. He was not a priest in the Romish sense of the word. He had no
distinctive sacerdotal powers. He had no more power to consecrate the
Sacrament than any godly layman. Of priests as a separate class the
Brethren knew nothing. All true believers in Christ, said they, were
priests. We can see this from one of their regulations. As the times
were stormy, and persecution might break out at any moment, the Brethren
(at a Synod in 1504) laid down the rule that when their meetings at
Church were forbidden they should be held in private houses, and then,
if a minister was not available, any godly layman was authorised to
conduct the Holy Communion.[29] And thus the minister was simply a
useful "servant." He gave instruction in Christian doctrine. He heard
confessions. He expelled sinners. He welcomed penitents. He administered
the Sacraments. He trained theological students. If he had the needful
gift, he preached; if not, he read printed sermons. He was not a ruler
lording it over the flock; he was rather a "servant" bound by rigid
rules. He was not allowed to select his own topics for sermons; he had
to preach from the Scripture lesson appointed for the day. He was bound
to visit every member of his congregation at least once a quarter; he
was bound to undertake any journey or mission, however dangerous, at the
command of the Elders; and he was bound, for a fairly obvious reason, to
take a companion with him when he called at the houses of the sick. If
he went alone he might practise as a doctor, and give dangerous medical
advice; and that, said the Brethren, was not his proper business. He was
not allowed to visit single women or widows. If he did, there might be
scandals about him, as there were about the Catholic priests. For
the spiritual needs of all unmarried women the Brethren made special
provision. They were visited by a special "Committee of Women," and the
minister was not allowed to interfere.

The good man did not even possess a home of his own. Instead of living
in a private manse he occupied a set of rooms in a large building known
as the Brethren's House; and the minister, as the name implies, was
not the only Brother in it. "As Eli had trained Samuel, as Elijah had
trained Elisha, as Christ had trained His disciples, as St. Paul trained
Timothy and Titus," so a minister of the Brethren had young men under
his charge. There, under the minister's eye, the candidates for service
in the Church were trained. Neither now nor at any period of their
history had the Bohemian Brethren any theological colleges. If a boy
desired to become a minister he entered the Brethren's House at an early
age, and was there taught a useful trade. Let us look at the inmates of
the House.

First in order, next to the Priest himself, were the Deacons. They
occupied a double position. They were in the first stage of priesthood,
and in the last stage of preparation for it. Their duties were manifold.
They supplied the out-preaching places. They repeated the pastor's
sermon to those who had not been able to attend the Sunday service.
They assisted at the Holy Communion in the distribution of the bread
and wine. They preached now and then in the village Church to give their
superior an opportunity for criticism and correction. They managed
the domestic affairs of the house. They acted as sacristans or
churchwardens. They assisted in the distribution of alms, and took their
share with the minister in manual labour; and then, in the intervals
between these trifling duties, they devoted their time to Bible study
and preparation for the ministry proper. No wonder they never became
very scholarly pundits; and no wonder that when they went off to preach
their sermons had first to be submitted to the head of the house for
approval.

Next to the Deacons came the Acoluths, young men or boys living in the
same building and preparing to be Deacons. They were trained by the
minister, very often from childhood upwards. They rang the bell and
lighted the candles in the Church, helped the Deacons in household
arrangements, and took turns in conducting the household worship.
Occasionally they were allowed to deliver a short address in the Church,
and the congregation "listened with kindly forbearance." When they were
accepted by the Synod as Acoluths they generally received some Biblical
name, which was intended to express some feature in the character. It is
thus that we account for such names as Jacob Bilek and Amos Comenius.

Inside this busy industrial hive the rules were rigid. The whole place
was like a boarding-school or college. At the sound of a bell all rose,
and then came united prayer and Scripture reading; an hour later a
service, and then morning study. As the afternoon was not considered
a good time for brain work, the Brethren employed it in manual labour,
such as weaving, gardening and tailoring. In the evening there was
sacred music and singing. At meal times the Acoluths recited passages of
Scripture, or read discourses, or took part in theological discussions.

No one could leave the house without the pastor's permission, and
the pastor himself could not leave his parish without the Bishop's
permission. If he travelled at all he did so on official business, and
then he lodged at other Brethren's Houses, when the Acoluths washed his
feet and attended to his personal comforts.

The Brethren's rules struck deeper still. As the Brethren despised
University education, it is natural to draw the plain conclusion that
among them the common people were the most benighted and ignorant in the
land. The very opposite was the case. Among them the common people were
the most enlightened in the country. Of the Bohemian people, in those
days, there were few who could read or write; of the Brethren there was
scarcely one who could not. If the Brethren taught the people nothing
else, they at least taught them to read their native tongue; and their
object in this was to spread the knowledge of the Bible, and thus make
the people good Protestants. But in those days a man who could read was
regarded as a prodigy of learning. The result was widespread alarm. As
the report gained ground that among the Brethren the humblest people
could read as well as the priest, the good folk in Bohemia felt
compelled to concoct some explanation, and the only explanation they
could imagine was that the Brethren had the special assistance of the
devil.[30] If a man, said they, joined the ranks of the Brethren, the
devil immediately taught him the art of reading, and if, on the other
hand, he deserted the Brethren, the devil promptly robbed him of the
power, and reduced him again to a wholesome benighted condition. "Is
it really true," said Baron Rosenberg to his dependant George Wolinsky,
"that the devil teaches all who become Picards to read, and that if a
peasant leaves the Brethren he is able to read no longer?"

In this instance, however, the devil was innocent. The real culprit was
Bishop Luke of Prague. Of all the services rendered by Luke to the cause
of popular education and moral and spiritual instruction, the greatest
was his publication of his "Catechism for Children," commonly known
as "The Children's Questions." It was a masterly and comprehensive
treatise. It was published first, of course, in the Bohemian language
{1502.}. It was published again in a German edition for the benefit of
the German members of the Church {1522.}. It was published again, with
some alterations, by a Lutheran at Magdeburg {1524.}. It was published
again, with more alterations, by another Lutheran, at Wittenberg
{1525.}. It was published again, in abridged form, at Zürich, and was
recommended as a manual of instruction for the children at St. Gallen
{1527.}. And thus it exercised a profound influence on the whole course
of the Reformation, both in Germany and in Switzerland. For us, however,
the point of interest is its influence in Bohemia and Moravia. It was
not a book for the priests. It was a book for the fathers of families.
It was a book found in every Brother's home. It was the children's
"Reader." As the boys and girls grew up in the Brethren's Church, they
learned to read, not in national schools, but in their own homes; and
thus the Brethren did for the children what ought to have been done by
the State. Among them the duties of a father were clearly defined. He
was both a schoolmaster and a religious instructor. He was the priest in
his own family. He was to bring his children up in the Christian faith.
He was not to allow them to roam at pleasure, or play with the wicked
children of the world. He was to see that they were devout at prayers,
respectful in speech, and noble and upright in conduct. He was not to
allow brothers and sisters to sleep in the same room, or boys and girls
to roam the daisied fields together. He was not to strike his children
with a stick or with his fists. If he struck them at all, he must do so
with a cane. Above all, he had to teach his children the Catechism. They
were taught by their parents until they were twelve years old; they were
then taken in hand by their sponsors; and thus they were prepared for
Confirmation, not as in the Anglican Church, by a clergyman only, but
partly by their own parents and friends.

The Brethren's rules struck deeper still. For law and order the Brethren
had a passion. Each congregation was divided into three classes:
the Beginners, those who were learning the "Questions" and the first
elements of religion; the Proficients, the steady members of the Church;
and the Perfect, those so established in faith, hope and love as to
be able to enlighten others. For each class a separate Catechism was
prepared. At the head, too, of each congregation was a body of civil
Elders. They were elected by the congregation from the Perfect. They
assisted the pastor in his parochial duties. They looked after his
support in case he were in special need. They acted as poor-law
guardians, lawyers, magistrates and umpires, and thus they tried to
keep the people at peace and prevent them from going to law. Every three
months they visited the houses of the Brethren, and inquired whether
business were honestly conducted, whether family worship were held,
whether the children were properly trained. For example, it was one
of the duties of a father to talk with his children at the Sunday
dinner-table on what they had heard at the morning service; and when
the Elder paid his quarterly visit he soon discovered, by examining the
children, how far this duty had been fulfilled.

The Brethren's rules struck deeper still. For the labourer in the field,
for the artizan in the workshop, for the tradesman with his wares, for
the baron and his tenants, for the master and his servants, there were
laws and codes to suit each case, and make every trade and walk in life
serve in some way to the glory of God. Among the Brethren all work was
sacred. If a man was not able to show that his trade was according to
the law of Christ and of direct service to His holy cause, he was not
allowed to carry it on at all. He must either change his calling or
leave the Church. In the Brethren's Church there were no dice makers, no
actors, no painters, no professional musicians, no wizards or seers, no
alchemists, no astrologers, no courtezans or panderers. The whole
tone was stern and puritanic. For art, for music, for letters and for
pleasure the Brethren had only contempt, and the fathers were warned
against staying out at night and frequenting the card-room and the
liquor-saloon. And yet, withal, these stern Brethren were kind and
tender-hearted. If the accounts handed down are to be believed, the
villages where the Brethren settled were the homes of happiness and
peace. As the Brethren had no definite social policy, they did not, of
course, make any attempt to break down the distinctions of rank; and
yet, in their own way, they endeavoured to teach all classes to respect
each other. They enjoined the barons to allow their servants to worship
with them round the family altar. They urged the rich to spend their
money on the poor instead of on dainties and fine clothes. They
forbade the poor to wear silk, urged them to be patient, cheerful and
industrious, and reminded them that in the better land their troubles
would vanish like dew before the rising sun. For the poorest of all,
those in actual need, they had special collections several times a year.
The fund was called the Korbona, and was managed by three officials. The
first kept the box, the second the key, the third the accounts. And the
rich and poor had all to bow to the same system of discipline. There
were three degrees of punishment. For the first offence the sinner was
privately admonished. For the second he was rebuked before the Elders,
and excluded from the Holy Communion until he repented. For the third he
was denounced in the Church before the whole congregation, and the
loud "Amen" of the assembled members proclaimed his banishment from the
Brethren's Church.

The system of government was Presbyterian. At the head of the whole
Brethren's Church was a board, called the "Inner Council," elected by
the Synod. Next came the Bishops, elected also by the Synod. The supreme
authority was this General Synod. It consisted of all the ministers. As
long as the Inner Council held office they were, of course, empowered to
enforce their will; but the final court of appeal was the Synod, and by
the Synod all questions of doctrine and policy were settled.

The doctrine was simple and broad. As the Brethren never had a formal
creed, and never used their "Confessions of Faith" as tests, it may seem
a rather vain endeavour to inquire too closely into their theological
beliefs. And yet, on the other hand, we know enough to enable the
historian to paint a life-like picture. For us the important question
is, what did the Brethren teach their children? If we know what the
Brethren taught their children we know what they valued most; and this
we have set before us in the Catechism drawn up by Luke of Prague and
used as an authorised manual of instruction in the private homes of the
Brethren. It contained no fewer than seventy-six questions. The answers
are remarkably full, and therefore we may safely conclude that, though
it was not an exhaustive treatise, it gives us a wonderfully clear idea
of the doctrines which the Brethren prized most highly. It is remarkable
both for what it contains and for what it does not contain. It has no
distinct and definite reference to St. Paul's doctrine of justification
by faith. It is Johannine rather than Pauline in its tone. It contains
a great deal of the teaching of Christ and a very little of the teaching
of St. Paul. It has more to say about the Sermon on the Mount than about
any system of dogmatic theology. For one sentence out of St. Paul's
Epistles it has ten out of the Gospel of St. Matthew. As we read the
answers in this popular treatise, we are able to see in what way
the Brethren differed from the Lutheran Protestants in Germany. They
approached the whole subject of Christian life from a different point
of view. They were less dogmatic, less theological, less concerned about
accurate definition, and they used their theological terms in a broader
and freer way. For example, take their definition of faith. We all know
the definition given by Luther. "There are," said Luther, "two kinds of
believing: first, a believing about God which means that I believe that
what is said of God is true. This faith is rather a form of knowledge
than a faith. There is, secondly, a believing in God which means that I
put my trust in Him, give myself up to thinking that I can have dealings
with Him, and believe without any doubt that He will be and do to me
according to the things said of Him. Such faith, which throws itself
upon God, whether in life or in death, alone makes a Christian man." But
the Brethren gave the word faith a richer meaning. They made it signify
more than trust in God. They made it include both hope and love. They
made it include obedience to the Law of Christ.

"What is faith in the Lord God?" was one question in the Catechism.

"It is to know God, to know His word; above all, to love Him, to do His
commandments, and to submit to His will."

"What is faith in Christ?"

"It is to listen to His word, to know Him, to honour Him, to love Him
and to join the company of His followers."[31]
And this is the tone all through the Catechism and in all the early
writings of the Brethren. As a ship, said Luke, is not made of one
plank, so a Christian cannot live on one religious doctrine. The
Brethren had no pet doctrines whatever. They had none of the distinctive
marks of a sect. They taught their children the Apostles' Creed, the
Ten Commandments, the Lord's Prayer, the Eight Beatitudes, and the
"Six Commandments" of the Sermon on the Mount. They taught the orthodox
Catholic doctrines of the Holy Trinity and the Virgin Birth. They held,
they said, the universal Christian faith. They enjoined the children to
honour, but not worship, the Virgin Mary and the Saints, and they
warned them against the adoration of pictures. If the Brethren had any
peculiarity at all, it was not any distinctive doctrine, but rather
their insistence on the practical duties of the believer. With Luther,
St. Paul's theology was foremost; with the Brethren (though not denied)
it fell into the background. With Luther the favourite court of appeal
was St. Paul's Epistle to the Galatians; with the Brethren it was rather
the Sermon on the Mount and the tender Epistles of St. John.

Again the Brethren differed from Luther in their doctrine of the Lord's
Supper. As this subject was then the fruitful source of much discussion
and bloodshed, the Brethren at first endeavoured to avoid the issue at
stake by siding with neither of the two great parties and falling back
on the simple words of Scripture. "Some say," they said, "it is only a
memorial feast, that Christ simply gave the bread as a memorial. Others
say that the bread is really the body of Christ, who is seated at the
right hand of God. We reject both these views; they were not taught
by Christ Himself. And if anyone asks us to say in what way Christ is
present in the sacrament, we reply that we have nothing to say on the
subject. We simply believe what He Himself said, and enjoy what He has
given."[32]
But this attitude could not last for ever. As the storms of persecution
raged against them, the Brethren grew more and more radical in their
views. They denied the doctrine of Transubstantiation; they denied also
the Lutheran doctrine of Consubstantiation; they denied that the words
in St. John's Gospel about eating the flesh and drinking the blood
of Christ had any reference to the Lord's Supper. They took the whole
passage in a purely spiritual sense. If those words, said Bishop Luke,
referred to the Sacrament, then all Catholics, except the priests, would
be lost; for Catholics only ate the flesh and did not drink the blood,
and could, therefore, not possess eternal life. They denied, in a
word, that the Holy Communion had any value apart from the faith of the
believer; they denounced the adoration of the host as idolatry; and thus
they adopted much the same position as Wycliffe in England nearly two
hundred years before. The Lord Christ, they said, had three modes
of existence. He was present bodily at the right hand of God; He was
present spiritually in the heart of every believer; He was present
sacramentally, but not personally, in the bread and wine; and,
therefore, when the believer knelt in prayer, he must kneel, not to the
bread and wine, but only to the exalted Lord in Heaven.

Again, the Brethren differed from Luther in their doctrine of Infant
Baptism. If a child, said Luther, was prayed for by the Church, he was
thereby cleansed from his unbelief, delivered from the power of the
devil, and endowed with faith; and therefore the child was baptised as a
believer.[33] The Brethren rejected this teaching. They called it Romish.
They held that no child could be a believer until he had been instructed
in the faith. They had no belief in baptismal regeneration. With them
Infant Baptism had quite a different meaning. It was simply the outward
and visible sign of admission to the Church. As soon as the child had
been baptised, he belonged to the class of the Beginners, and then, when
he was twelve years old, he was taken by his godfather to the minister,
examined in his "Questions," and asked if he would hold true to the
faith he had been taught. If he said "Yes!" the minister struck him
in the face, to teach him that he would have to suffer for Christ;
and then, after further instruction, he was confirmed by the minister,
admitted to the communion, and entered the ranks of the Proficient.

Such, then, was the life, and such were the views, of the Bohemian
Brethren. What sort of picture does all this bring before us? It is the
picture of a body of earnest men, united, not by a common creed, but
rather by a common devotion to Christ, a common reverence for Holy
Scripture, and a common desire to revive the customs of the early
Christian Church.[34] In some of their views they were narrow, in others
remarkably broad. In some points they had still much to learn; in others
they were far in advance of their times, and anticipated the charitable
teaching of the present day.




CHAPTER VIII. -- JOHN AUGUSTA AND HIS POLICY, 1531-1548.

As the great Bishop Luke lay dying at Jungbunzlau, there was rising to
fame among the Brethren the most brilliant and powerful leader they had
ever known. Again we turn to the old Thein Church; again the preacher is
denouncing the priests; and again in the pew is an eager listener with
soul aflame with zeal. His name was John Augusta. He was born, in 1500,
at Prague. His father was a hatter, and in all probability he learned
the trade himself. He was brought up in the Utraquist Faith; he took
the sacrament every Sunday in the famous old Thein Church; and there he
heard the preacher declare that the priests in Prague cared for nothing
but comfort, and that the average Christians of the day were no better
than crack-brained heathen sprinkled with holy water. The young man was
staggered; he consulted other priests, and the others told him the same
dismal tale. One lent him a pamphlet, entitled "The Antichrist"; another
lent him a treatise by Hus; and a third said solemnly: "My son, I see
that God has more in store for you than I can understand." But the
strangest event of all was still to come. As he rode one day in a
covered waggon with two priests of high rank, it so happened that one of
them turned to Augusta and urged him to leave the Utraquist Church and
join the ranks of the Brethren at Jungbunzlau. Augusta was horrified.

Again he consulted the learned priest; again he received the same
strange counsel; and one day the priest ran after him, called him back,
and said: "Listen, dear brother! I beseech you, leave us. You will get
no good among us. Go to the Brethren at Bunzlau, and there your soul
will find rest." Augusta was shocked beyond measure. He hated the
Brethren, regarded them as beasts, and had often warned others against
them. But now he went to see them himself, and found to his joy that
they followed the Scriptures, obeyed the Gospel and enforced their
rules without respect of persons. For a while he was in a quandary.
His conscience drew him to the Brethren, his honour held him to the
Utraquists, and finally his own father confessor settled the question
for him.

"Dear friend," said the holy man, "entrust your soul to the Brethren.
Never mind if some of them are hypocrites, who do not obey their own
rules. It is your business to obey the rules yourself. What more do you
want? If you return to us in Prague, you will meet with none but sinners
and sodomites."

And so, by the advice of Utraquist priests, this ardent young man joined
the ranks of the Brethren, was probably trained in the Brethren's House
at Jungbunzlau, and was soon ordained as a minister. Forthwith he rose
to fame and power in the pulpit. His manner was dignified and noble.
His brow was lofty, his eye flashing, his bearing the bearing of a
commanding king. He was a splendid speaker, a ready debater, a ruler
of men, an inspirer of action; he was known ere long as the Bohemian
Luther; and he spread the fame of the Brethren's Church throughout the
Protestant world. Full soon, in truth, he began his great campaign. As
he entered on his work as a preacher of the Gospel, he found that among
the younger Brethren there were quite a number who did not feel at all
disposed to be bound by the warning words of Luke of Prague. They had
been to the great Wittenberg University; they had mingled with Luther's
students; they had listened to the talk of Michael Weiss, who had been
a monk at Breslau, and had brought Lutheran opinions with him; they
admired both Luther and Melancthon; and they now resolved, with one
consent, that if the candlestick of the Brethren's Church was not to
be moved from out its place, they must step shoulder to shoulder with
Luther, become a regiment in the conquering Protestant army, and march
with him to the goodly land where the flower of the glad free Gospel
bloomed in purity and sweet perfume. At the first opportunity
Augusta, their leader, brought forward their views. At a Synod held
at Brandeis-on-the-Adler, summoned by Augusta's friend, John Horn,
the senior Bishop of the Church, for the purpose of electing some new
Bishops, Augusta rose to address the assembly. He spoke in the name of
the younger clergy, and immediately commenced an attack upon the old
Executive Council. He accused them of listlessness and sloth; he said
that they could not understand the spirit of the age, and he ended his
speech by proposing himself and four other broad-minded men as members
of the Council. The old men were shocked; the young were entranced; and
Augusta was elected and consecrated a Bishop, and thus, at the age of
thirty-two, became the leader of the Brethren's Church. He had three
great schemes in view; first, friendly relations with Protestants in
other countries; second, legal recognition of the Brethren in Bohemia;
third, the union of all Bohemian Protestants.

First, then, with Augusta to lead them on, the Brethren enlisted in the
Protestant army, and held the banner of their faith aloft that all the
world might see. As the Protestants in Germany had issued the Confession
of Augsburg, and had it read in solemn style before the face of
the Emperor, Charles V., so now the Brethren issued a new and full
"Confession of Faith," to be sent first to George, Margrave of
Brandenburg, and then laid in due time before Ferdinand, King of
Bohemia. It was a characteristic Brethren's production.[35] It is
perfectly clear from this Confession that the Brethren had separated
from Rome for practical rather than dogmatic reasons. It is true
the Brethren realised the value of faith; it is true the Confession
contained the sentence, "He is the Lamb that taketh away the sins of the
world; and whosoever believeth in Him and calleth on His name shall be
saved"; but even now the Brethren did not, like Luther, lay stress on
the doctrine of justification by faith alone. And yet Luther had no
fault to find with this Confession. It was addressed to him, was printed
at Wittenberg, was issued with his consent and approval, and was praised
by him in a preface. It was read and approved by John Calvin, by
Martin Bucer, by Philip Melancthon, by pious old George, Margrave of
Brandenburg, and by John Frederick, Elector of Saxony. Again and again
the Brethren sent deputies to see the great Protestant leaders. At
Wittenberg, Augusta discussed good morals with Luther and Melancthon;
and at Strasburg, Cerwenka, the Brethren's historian, held friendly
counsel with Martin Bucer and Calvin. Never had the Brethren been so
widely known, and never had they received so many compliments. Formerly
Luther, who liked plain speech, had called the Brethren "sour-looking
hypocrites and self-grown saints, who believe in nothing but what they
themselves teach." But now he was all good humour. "There never have
been any Christians," he said, in a lecture to his students, "so like
the apostles in doctrine and constitution as these Bohemian Brethren."

"Tell your Brethren," he said to their deputies, "to hold fast what God
has given them, and never give up their constitution and discipline. Let
them take no heed of revilements. The world will behave foolishly. If
you in Bohemia were to live as we do, what is said of us would be said
of you, and if we were to live as you do, what is said of you would be
said of us." "We have never," he added, in a letter to the Brethren,
"attained to such a discipline and holy life as is found among you, but
in the future we shall make it our aim to attain it."

The other great Reformers were just as enthusiastic. "How shall I," said
Bucer, "instruct those whom God Himself has instructed! You alone, in
all the world, combine a wholesome discipline with a pure faith." "We,"
said Calvin, "have long since recognised the value of such a system,
but cannot, in any way, attain to it." "I am pleased," said Melancthon,
"with the strict discipline enforced in your congregations. I wish we
could have a stricter discipline in ours." It is clear what all this
means. It means that the Brethren, in their humble way, had taught the
famous Protestant leaders the value of a system of Church discipline and
the need of good works as the proper fruit of faith.

Meanwhile Augusta pushed his second plan. The task before him was
gigantic. A great event had taken place in Bohemia. At the battle of
Mohacz, in a war with the Turks, Louis, King of Bohemia, fell from his
horse when crossing a stream, and was drowned {1526.}. The old line of
Bohemian Kings had come to an end. The crown fell into the hands of the
Hapsburgs; the Hapsburgs were the mightiest supporters of the Church
of Rome; and the King of Bohemia, Ferdinand I., was likewise King of
Hungary, Archduke of Austria, King of the Romans, and brother of the
Emperor Charles V., the head of the Holy Roman Empire.

For the Brethren the situation was momentous. As Augusta scanned the
widening view, he saw that the time was coming fast when the Brethren,
whether they would or no, would be called to play their part like men in
a vast European conflict. Already the Emperor Charles V. had threatened
to crush the Reformation by force; already (1530) the Protestant princes
in Germany had formed the Smalkald League; and Augusta, scenting the
battle from afar, resolved to build a fortress for the Brethren. His
policy was clear and simple. If the King of Bohemia joined forces with
the Emperor, the days of the Brethren's Church would soon be over. He
would make the King of Bohemia their friend, and thus save the Brethren
from the horrors of war. For this purpose Augusta now instructed the
powerful Baron, Conrad Krajek, the richest member of the Brethren's
Church, to present the Brethren's Confession of Faith to King Ferdinand.
The Baron undertook the task. He was the leader of a group of Barons
who had recently joined the Church; he had built the great Zbor of the
Brethren in Jungbunzlau, known as "Mount Carmel"; he had been the first
to suggest a Confession of Faith, and now, having signed the Confession
himself, he sought out the King at Vienna, and was admitted to a private
interview {Nov. 11th, 1535.}. The scene was stormy. "We would like to
know," said the King, "how you Brethren came to adopt this faith. The
devil has persuaded you."

"Not the devil, gracious liege," replied the Baron, "but Christ the Lord
through the Holy Scriptures. If Christ was a Picard, then I am one too."

The King was beside himself with rage.

"What business," he shouted, "have you to meddle with such things? You
are neither Pope, nor Emperor, nor King. Believe what you will! We shall
not prevent you! If you really want to go to hell, go by all means!"

The Baron was silent. The King paused.

"Yes, yes," he continued, "you may believe what you like and we shall
not prevent you; but all the same, I give you warning that we shall put
a stop to your meetings, where you carry on your hocus-pocus."

The Baron was almost weeping.

"Your Majesty," he protested, "should not be so hard on me and my noble
friends. We are the most loyal subjects in your kingdom."

The King softened, spoke more gently, but still held to his point.

"I swore," he said, "at my coronation to give justice to the Utraquists
and Catholics, and I know what the statute says."

As the King spoke those ominous words, he was referring, as the Baron
knew full well, to the terrible Edict of St. James. The interview ended;
the Baron withdrew; the issue still hung doubtful.

And yet the Baron had not spoken in vain. For three days the King was
left undisturbed; and then two other Barons appeared and presented the
Confession, signed by twelve nobles and thirty-three knights, in due
form {Nov. 14th}.

"Do you really think," they humbly said, "that it helps the unity of the
kingdom when priests are allowed to say in the pulpit that it is less
sinful to kill a Picard than it is to kill a dog."

The King was touched; his anger was gone, and a week later he promised
the Barons that as long as the Brethren were loyal subjects he would
allow them to worship as they pleased. For some years the new policy
worked very well, and the King kept his promise. The Brethren were
extending on every hand. They had now at least four hundred churches and
two hundred thousand members. They printed and published translations
of Luther's works. They had a church in the city of Prague itself. They
enjoyed the favour of the leading nobles in the land; and Augusta, in a
famous sermon, expressed the hope that before very long the Brethren and
Utraquists would be united and form one National Protestant Church.[36]
At this point a beautiful incident occurred. As the Brethren were now so
friendly with Luther, there was a danger that they would abandon their
discipline, become ashamed of their own little Church, and try to
imitate the teaching and practice of their powerful Protestant friends.
For some years after Luke's death they actually gave way to this
temptation, and Luke's last treatise, "Regulations for Priests," was
scornfully cast aside. But the Brethren soon returned to their senses.
As John Augusta and John Horn travelled in Germany, they made the
strange and startling discovery that, after all, the Brethren's Church
was the best Church they knew. For a while they were dazzled by the
brilliance of the Lutheran preachers; but in the end they came to the
conclusion that though these preachers were clever men they had not
so firm a grip on Divine truth as the Brethren. At last, in 1546, the
Brethren met in a Synod at Jungbunzlau to discuss the whole situation.
With tears in his eyes John Horn addressed the assembly. "I have never
understood till now," he said, "what a costly treasure our Church is. I
have been blinded by the reading of German books! I have never found any
thing so good in those books as we have in the books of the Brethren.
You have no need, beloved Brethren, to seek for instruction from others.
You have enough at home. I exhort you to study what you have already;
you will find there all you need." Again the discipline was revived in
all its vigour; again, by Augusta's advice, the Catechism of Luke was
put into common use, and the Brethren began to open schools and teach
their principles to others.

But now their fondest hopes were doomed to be blasted. For the last
time Augusta went to Wittenberg to discuss the value of discipline with
Luther, and as his stay drew to a close he warned the great man that if
the German theologians spent so much time in spinning doctrines and
so little time in teaching morals, there was danger brewing ahead.
The warning soon came true. The Reformer died. The gathering clouds in
Germany burst, and the Smalkald War broke out. The storm swept on to
Bohemia. As the Emperor gathered his forces in Germany to crush the
Protestant Princes to powder, so Ferdinand in Bohemia summoned his
subjects to rally round his standard at Leitmeritz and defend the
kingdom and the throne against the Protestant rebels. For the first time
in their history the Bohemian Brethren were ordered to take sides in a
civil war. The situation was delicate. If they fought for Ferdinand they
would be untrue to their faith; if they fought against him they would be
disloyal to their country. In this dilemma they did the best they could.

As soon as they could possibly do so, the Elders issued a form of prayer
to be used in all their churches. It was a prayer for the kingdom
and the throne.[37] But meanwhile others were taking definite sides. At
Leitmeritz the Catholics and old-fashioned Utraquists mustered to fight
for the King; and at Prague the Protestant nobles met to defend the
cause of religious liberty. They met in secret at a Brother's House;
they formed a Committee of Safety of eight, and of those eight four were
Brethren; and they passed a resolution to defy the King, and send help
to the German Protestant leader, John Frederick, Elector of Saxony.

And then the retribution fell like a bolt from the blue. The great
battle of Mühlberg was fought {April 24th, 1547.}; the Protestant troops
were routed; the Elector of Saxony was captured; the Emperor was master
of Germany, and Ferdinand returned to Prague with vengeance written on
his brow. He called a council at Prague Castle, summoned the nobles and
knights before him, ordered them to deliver up their treasonable papers,
came down on many with heavy fines, and condemned the ringleaders to
death.

At eight in the morning, August 22nd, four Barons were led out to
execution in Prague, and the scaffold was erected in a public place that
all the people might see and learn a lesson. Among the Barons was Wenzel
Petipesky, a member of the Brethren's Church. He was to be the first to
die. As he was led from his cell by the executioner, he called out in a
loud voice, which could be heard far and wide: "My dear Brethren, we go
happy in the name of the Lord, for we go in the narrow way." He walked
to the scaffold with his hands bound before him, and two boys played his
dead march on drums. As he reached the scaffold the drums ceased, and
the executioner announced that the prisoner was dying because he had
tried to dethrone King Ferdinand and put another King in his place.

"That," said Petipesky, "was never the case."

"Never mind, my Lord," roared the executioner, "it will not help you
now."

"My God," said Petipesky, "I leave all to Thee;" and his head rolled on
the ground.

But the worst was still to come. As Ferdinand came out of the castle
church on Sunday morning, September 18th, he was met by a deputation of
Utraquists and Catholics, who besought him to protect them against the
cruelties inflicted on them by the Picards. The King soon eased their
minds. He had heard a rumour that John Augusta was the real leader of
the revolt; he regarded the Brethren as traitors; he no longer felt
bound by his promise to spare them; and, therefore, reviving the Edict
of St. James, he issued an order that all their meetings should be
suppressed, all their property be confiscated, all their churches be
purified and transformed into Romanist Chapels, and all their priests
be captured and brought to the castle in Prague {Oct. 8th, 1547.}. The
Brethren pleaded not guilty.[38] They had not, as a body, taken any part
in the conspiracy against the King. Instead of plotting against him, in
fact, they had prayed and fasted in every parish for the kingdom and the
throne. If the King, they protested, desired to punish the few guilty
Brethren, by all means let him do so; but let him not crush the innocent
many for the sake of a guilty few. "My word," replied the King, "is
final." The Brethren continued to protest. And the King retorted by
issuing an order that all Brethren who lived on Royal estates must
either accept the Catholic Faith or leave the country before six weeks
were over {May, 1548.}.

And never was King more astounded and staggered than Ferdinand at the
result of this decree.




CHAPTER IX. -- THE BRETHREN IN POLAND, 1548-1570.

It is easy to see what Ferdinand expected. He had no desire to shed more
blood; he wished to see Bohemia at peace; he knew that the Brethren,
with all their skill, could never sell out in six weeks; and therefore
he hoped that, like sensible men, they would abandon their Satanic
follies, consider the comfort of their wives and children, and nestle
snugly in the bosom of the Church of Rome. But the Brethren had never
learned the art of dancing to Ferdinand's piping. As the King would not
extend the time, they took him at his word. The rich came to the help
of the poor,[39] and before the six weeks had flown away a large band
of Brethren had bidden a sad farewell to their old familiar haunts and
homes, and started on their journey north across the pine-clad hills.
From Leitomischl, Chlumitz and Solnic, by way of Frankenstein and
Breslau, and from Turnau and Brandeis-on-the-Adler across the Giant
Mountains, they marched in two main bodies from Bohemia to Poland. The
time was the leafy month of June, and the first part of the journey was
pleasant. "We were borne," says one, "on eagles' wings." As they
tramped along the country roads, with wagons for the women, old men
and children, they made the air ring with the gladsome music of old
Brethren's hymns and their march was more like a triumphal procession
than the flight of persecuted refugees. They were nearly two thousand
in number. They had hundreds with them, both Catholic and Protestant, to
protect them against the mountain brigands. They had guards of infantry
and cavalry. They were freed from toll at the turn-pikes. They were
supplied with meat, bread, milk and eggs by the simple country peasants.
They were publicly welcomed and entertained by the Mayor and Council of
Glatz. As the news of their approach ran on before, the good folk in the
various towns and villages would sweep the streets and clear the road to
let them pass with speed and safety to their desired haven far away.
For two months they enjoyed themselves at Posen, and the Polish nobles
welcomed them as Brothers; but the Bishop regarded them as wolves in
the flock, and had them ordered away. From Posen they marched to Polish
Prussia, and were ordered away again; and not till the autumn leaves
had fallen and the dark long nights had come did they find a home in the
town of Königsberg, in the Lutheran Duchy of East Prussia.

And even there they were almost worried to death. As they settled down
as peaceful citizens in this Protestant land of light and liberty, they
found, to their horror and dismay, that Lutherans, when it suited their
purpose, could be as bigoted as Catholics. They were forced to accept
the Confession of Augsburg. They were forbidden to ordain their own
priests or practise their own peculiar customs. They were treated,
not as Protestant brothers, but as highly suspicious foreigners; and a
priest of the Brethren was not allowed to visit a member of his flock
unless he took a Lutheran pastor with him. "If you stay with us," said
Speratus, the Superintendent of the East Prussian Lutheran Church, "you
must accommodate yourselves to our ways. Nobody sent for you; nobody
asked you to come." If the Brethren, in a word, were to stay in East
Prussia, they must cease to be Brethren at all, and allow themselves to
be absorbed by the conquering Lutherans of the land.

Meanwhile, however, they had a Moses to lead them out of the desert.
George Israel is a type of the ancient Brethren. He was the son of
a blacksmith, was a close friend of Augusta, had been with him at
Wittenberg, and was now the second great leader of the Brethren.
When Ferdinand issued his decree, Israel, like many of the Brethren's
Ministers, was summoned to Prague to answer for his faith and conduct
on pain of a fine of one thousand ducats; and when some of his friends
advised him to disobey the summons, and even offered to pay the money,
he gave one of those sublime answers which light up the gloom of the
time. "No," he replied, "I have been purchased once and for all with the
blood of Christ, and will not consent to be ransomed with the gold and
silver of my people. Keep what you have, for you will need it in your
flight, and pray for me that I may be steadfast in suffering for Jesus."
He went to Prague, confessed his faith, and was thrown into the White
Tower. But he was loosely guarded, and one day, disguised as a clerk,
with a pen behind his ear, and paper and ink-horn in his hand, he walked
out of the Tower in broad daylight through the midst of his guards,
and joined the Brethren in Prussia. He was just the man to guide the
wandering band, and the Council appointed him leader of the emigrants.
He was energetic and brave. He could speak the Polish tongue. He had a
clear head and strong limbs. For him a cold lodging in Prussia was
not enough. He would lead his Brethren to a better land, and give them
nobler work to do.

As the Brethren had already been driven from Poland, the task which
Israel now undertook appeared an act of folly. But George Israel knew
better. For a hundred years the people of Poland had sympathised to some
extent with the reforming movement in Bohemia. There Jerome of Prague
had taught. There the teaching of Hus had spread. There the people hated
the Church of Rome. There the nobles sent their sons to study under
Luther at Wittenberg. There the works of Luther and Calvin had been
printed and spread in secret. There, above all, the Queen herself had
been privately taught the Protestant faith by her own father-confessor.
And there, thought Israel, the Brethren in time would find a hearty
welcome. And so, while still retaining the oversight of a few parishes
in East Prussia, George Israel, by commission of the Council, set out
to conduct a mission in Poland {1551.}. Alone and on horseback, by bad
roads and swollen streams, he went on his dangerous journey; and on the
fourth Sunday in Lent arrived at the town of Thorn, and rested for the
day. Here occurred the famous incident on the ice which made his name
remembered in Thorn for many a year to come. As he was walking on the
frozen river to try whether the ice was strong enough to bear his horse,
the ice broke up with a crash. George Israel was left on a solitary
lump, and was swept whirling down the river; and then, as the ice blocks
cracked and banged and splintered into thousands of fragments, he sprang
like a deer from block to block, and sang with loud exulting voice:
"Praise the Lord from the earth, ye dragons and all deeps; fire and
hail, snow and vapour, stormy wind fulfilling his word." There was a
great crowd on the bank. The people watched the thrilling sight with
awe, and when at last he reached firm ground they welcomed him with
shouts of joy. We marvel not that such a man was like the sword of
Gideon in the conflict. He rode on to Posen, the capital of Great
Poland, began holding secret meetings, and established the first
evangelical church in the country. The Roman Catholic Bishop heard of
his arrival, and put forty assassins on his track. But Israel was a man
of many wiles as well as a man of God. He assumed disguises, and changed
his clothes so as to baffle pursuit, appearing now as an officer, now
as a coachman, now as a cook. He presented himself at the castle of the
noble family of the Ostrorogs, was warmly welcomed by the Countess, and
held a service in her rooms. The Count was absent, heard the news, and
came in a state of fury. He seized a whip. "I will drag my wife out
of this conventicle," he exclaimed; and burst into the room while the
service was proceeding, his eyes flashing fire and the whip swinging in
his hand. The preacher, Cerwenka, calmly went on preaching. "Sir," said
George Israel, pointing to an empty seat "sit down there." The Count
of Ostrorog meekly obeyed, listened quietly to the discourse, became
a convert that very day, turned out his own Lutheran Court Chaplain,
installed George Israel in his place, and made a present to the Brethren
of his great estate on the outskirts of the town.

For the Brethren the gain was enormous. As the news of the Count's
conversion spread, other nobles quickly followed suit. The town of
Ostrorog became the centre of a swiftly growing movement; the poor
Brethren in Prussia returned to Poland, and found churches ready for
their use; and before seven years had passed away the Brethren had
founded forty congregations in this their first land of exile.

They had, however, another great mission to fulfil. As the Brethren
spread from town to town, they discovered that the other Protestant
bodies--the Lutherans, Zwinglians and Calvinists--were almost as fond
of fighting with each other as of denouncing the Church of Rome; and
therefore the people, longing for peace, were disgusted more or less
with them all. But the Brethren stood on a rather different footing.
They were cousins to the Poles in blood; they had no fixed and definite
creed; they thought far more of brotherly love than of orthodoxy in
doctrine; and therefore the idea was early broached that the Church of
the Brethren should be established as the National Church of Poland.
The idea grew. The Lutherans, Zwinglians, Calvinists and Brethren drew
closer and closer together. They exchanged confessions, discussed each
other's doctrines, met in learned consultations, and held united synods
again and again. For fifteen years the glorious vision of a union of all
the Protestants in Poland hung like glittering fruit just out of reach.
There were many walls in the way. Each church wanted to be the leading
church in Poland; each wanted its own confession to be the bond of
union; each wanted its own form of service, its own form of government,
to be accepted by all. But soon one and all began to see that the time
had come for wranglings to cease. The Jesuits were gaining ground in
Poland. The Protestant Kingdom must no longer be divided against itself.

At last the Brethren, the real movers of the scheme, persuaded all to
assemble in the great United Synod of Sendomir, and all Protestants in
Poland felt that the fate of the country depended on the issue of the
meeting {1570.}. It was the greatest Synod that had ever been held in
Poland. It was an attempt to start a new movement in the history of the
Reformation, an attempt to fling out the apple of discord and unite all
Protestants in one grand army which should carry the enemy's forts by
storm. At first the goal seemed further off than ever. As the Calvinists
were the strongest body, they confidently demanded that their Confession
should be accepted, and put forward the telling argument that it was
already in use in the country. As the Lutherans were the next strongest
body, they offered the Augsburg Confession, and both parties turned
round upon the Brethren, and accused them of having so many Confessions
that no one knew which to take. And then young Turnovius, the
representative of the Brethren, rose to speak. The Brethren, he said,
had only one Confession in Poland. They had presented that Confession to
the King; they believed that it was suited best to the special needs
of the country, and yet they would accept the Calvinists' Confession as
long as they might keep their own as well.

There was a deadlock. What was to be done? The Brethren's work seemed
about to come to nought. Debates and speeches were in vain. Each party
remained firm as a rock. And then, in wondrous mystic wise, the tone of
the gathering softened.

"For God's sake, for God's sake," said the Palatine of Sendomir in his
speech, "remember what depends upon the result of our deliberations,
and incline your hearts to that harmony and love which the Lord has
commanded us to follow above all things."

As the Palatine ended his speech he burst into tears. His friend, the
Palatine of Cracow, sobbed aloud. Forthwith the angry clouds disparted
and revealed the bow of peace, the obstacles to union vanished, and the
members of the Synod agreed to draw up a new Confession, which should
give expression to the united faith of all. The Confession was prepared
{April 14th.}. It is needless to trouble about the doctrinal details.
For us the important point to notice is the spirit of union displayed.
For the first, but not for the last, time in the history of Poland the
Evangelical Protestants agreed to sink their differences on points of
dispute, and unite their forces in common action against alike the power
of Rome and the Unitarian[40] sects of the day. The joy was universal. The
scene in the hall at Sendomir was inspiring. When the Committee laid the
Confession before the Synod all the members arose and sang the Ambrosian
Te Deum. With outstretched hands the Lutherans advanced to meet the
Brethren, and with outstretched hands the Brethren advanced to meet the
Lutherans. The next step was to make the union public. For this purpose
the Brethren, a few weeks later, formed a procession one Sunday morning
and attended service at the Lutheran Church; and then, in the afternoon,
the Lutherans attended service in the Church of the Brethren {May 28th,
1570.}. It is hard to believe that all this was empty show. And yet the
truth must be confessed that this "Union of Sendomir" was by no means
the beautiful thing that some writers have imagined. It was the result,
to a very large extent, not of any true desire for unity, but rather of
an attempt on the part of the Polish nobles to undermine the influence
and power of the clergy. It led to no permanent union of the Protestants
in Poland. Its interest is sentimental rather than historic. For the
time--but for a very short time only--the Brethren had succeeded in
teaching others a little charity of spirit, and had thus shown their
desire to hasten the day when the Churches of Christ, no longer asunder,
shall know "how good and how pleasant it is for Brethren to dwell
together in unity."

And all this--this attempt at unity, this second home for the Brethren,
this new Evangelical movement in Poland--was the strange result of the
edict issued by Ferdinand, King of Bohemia.




CHAPTER X. -- THE MARTYR-BISHOP, 1548-1560.

Meanwhile, John Augusta, the great leader of the Brethren, was passing
through the furnace of affliction.

Of all the tools employed by Ferdinand, the most crafty, active and
ambitious was a certain officer named Sebastian Schöneich, who, in the
words of the great historian, Gindely, was one of those men fitted by
nature for the post of hangman.

For some months this man had distinguished himself by his zeal in the
cause of the King. He had seized sixteen heads of families for singing
hymns at a baker's funeral, had thrown them into the drain-vaults of the
White Tower at Prague, and had left them there to mend their ways in
the midst of filth and horrible stenches. And now he occupied the proud
position of town-captain of Leitomischl. Never yet had he known such a
golden chance of covering himself with glory. For some time Augusta, who
was now First Senior of the Church, had been hiding in the neighbouring
woods, and only two or three Brethren knew his exact abode. But already
persecution had done her work, and treachery now did hers.

Among the inhabitants of Leitomischl were certain renegade Brethren,
and these now said to the Royal Commissioners: "If the King could only
capture and torture Augusta, he could unearth the whole conspiracy."

"Where is Augusta?" asked the Commissioners.

"He is not at home," replied the traitors, "but if you will ask his
friend, Jacob Bilek, he will tell you all you want to know."

The wily Schöneich laid his plot. If only he could capture Augusta, he
would win the favour of the King and fill his own pockets with money. As
he strolled one day through the streets of Leitomischl he met a certain
innocent Brother Henry, and there and then began his deadly work.

"If you know," he said, "where Augusta is, tell him I desire an
interview with him. I will meet him wherever he likes. I have something
special to say to him, something good, not only for him, but for the
whole Brethren's Church. But breathe not a word of this to anyone else.
Not a soul--not even yourself--must know about the matter."

The message to Augusta was sent. He replied that he would grant the
interview on condition that Schöneich would guarantee his personal
safety.

"That," replied Schöneich, "is quite impossible. I cannot give any
security whatever. The whole business must be perfectly secret. Not a
soul must be present but Augusta and myself. I wouldn't have the King
know about this for a thousand groschen. Tell Augusta not to be afraid
of me. I have no instructions concerning him. He can come with an easy
mind to Leitomischl. If he will not trust me as far as that, let him
name the place himself, and I will go though it be a dozen miles away."

But Augusta still returned the same answer, and Schöneich had to
strengthen his plea. Again he met the guileless Brother Henry, and again
he stormed him with his eloquent tongue.

"Have you no better answer from Augusta?" he asked.

"No," replied Brother Henry.

"My dear, my only Henry," pleaded Schöneich, "I do so long for a little
chat with Augusta. My heart bleeds with sympathy for you. I am expecting
the King's Commissioners. They may be here any moment. It will go hard
with you poor folk when they come. If only I could have a talk with
Augusta, it would be so much better for you all. But do tell him not to
be afraid of me. I have no instructions concerning him. I will wager my
neck for that," he said, putting his finger to his throat. "I am willing
to give my life for you poor Brethren."

The shot went home. As Augusta lay in his safe retreat he had written
stirring letters to the Brethren urging them to be true to their
colours; and now, he heard from his friends in Leitomischl that
Schöneich was an evangelical saint, and that if he would only confer
with the saint he might render his Brethren signal service, and deliver
them from their distresses. He responded nobly to the appeal. For the
sake of the Church he had led so long, he would risk his liberty and his
life. In vain the voice of prudence said "Stay!"; the voice of love said
"Go!"; and Augusta agreed to meet the Captain in a wood three miles
from the town. The Captain chuckled. The time was fixed, and, the night
before, the artful plotter sent three of his trusty friends to lie
in wait. As the morning broke of the fateful day {April 25th, 1548.},
Augusta, still suspecting a trap, sent his secretary, Jacob Bilek, in
advance to spy the land; and the three brave men sprang out upon him and
carried him off to Schöneich. And then, at the appointed hour, came John
Augusta himself. He had dressed himself as a country peasant, carried a
hoe in is hand, and strolled in the woodland whistling a merry tune. For
the moment the hirelings were baffled. They seized him and let him go;
they seized him again and let him go again; they seized him, for the
third time, searched him, and found a fine handkerchief in his bosom.

"Ah," said one of them, "a country peasant does not use a handkerchief
like this."

The game was up. Augusta stood revealed, and Schöneich, hearing the
glorious news, came prancing up on his horse.

"My lord," said Augusta, "is this what you call faith?"

"Did you never hear," said Schöneich, "that promises made in the night
are never binding? Did you never hear of a certain Jew with his red
beard and yellow bag? Did you never hear of the mighty power of money?
And where have you come from this morning? I hear you have plenty of
money in your possession. Where is that money now?"

As they rode next day in a covered waggon on their way to the city of
Prague, the Captain pestered Augusta with many questions.

"My dear Johannes," said the jovial wag, "where have you been? With
whom? Where are your letters and your clothes? Whose is this cap? Where
did you get it? Who lent it to you? What do they call him? Where does
he live? Where is your horse? Where is your money? Where are your
companions?"

"Why do you ask so many questions?" asked Augusta.

"Because," replied Schöneich, letting out the murder, "I want to be able
to give information about you. I don't want to be called a donkey or a
calf."

And now began for John Augusta a time of terrible testing. As the
Captain rapped his questions out he was playing his part in a deadly
game that involved the fate, not only of the Brethren's Church, but of
all evangelicals in the land.

For months King Ferdinand had longed to capture Augusta. He regarded him
as the author of the Smalkald League; he regarded him as the deadliest
foe of the Catholic faith in Europe; he regarded the peaceful Brethren
as rebels of the vilest kind; and now that he had Augusta in his power
he determined to make him confess the plot, and then, with the proof he
desired in his hands, he would stamp out the Brethren's Church for once
and all.

For this purpose Augusta was now imprisoned in the White Tower at
Prague. He was placed in the wine vaults below the castle, had heavy
fetters on his hands and feet, and sat for days in a crunched position.
The historic contest began. For two hours at a stretch the King's
examiners riddled Augusta with questions. "Who sent the letter to the
King?"[41] they asked. "Where do the Brethren keep their papers and money?
To whom did the Brethren turn for help when the King called on his
subjects to support him? Who went with you to Wittenberg? For what and
for whom did the Brethren pray."

"They prayed," said Augusta, "that God would incline the heart of the
King to be gracious to us."

"By what means did the Brethren defend themselves?"

"By patience," replied Augusta.

"To whom did they apply for help?"

Augusta pointed to heaven.

As Augusta's answers to all these questions were not considered
satisfactory, they next endeavoured to sharpen his wits by torturing a
German coiner in his presence; and when this mode of persuasion failed,
they tortured Augusta himself. They stripped him naked. They stretched
him face downwards on a ladder. They smeared his hips with boiling
pitch. They set the spluttering mess on fire, and drew it off, skin and
all, with a pair of tongs. They screwed him tightly in the stocks. They
hung him up to the ceiling by a hook, with the point run through his
flesh. They laid him flat upon his back and pressed great stones on his
stomach. It was all in vain. Again they urged him to confess the part
that he and the Brethren had played in the great revolt, and again
Augusta bravely replied that the Brethren had taken no such part at all.

At this the King himself intervened. For some months he had been busy
enough at Augsburg, assisting the Emperor in his work; but now he sent
a letter to Prague, with full instructions how to deal with Augusta. If
gentle measures did not succeed, then sterner measures, said he, must
be employed. He had three new tortures to suggest. First, he said, let
Augusta be watched and deprived of sleep for five or six days. Next, he
must be strapped to a shutter, with his head hanging over one end;
he must have vinegar rubbed into his nostrils; he must have a beetle
fastened on to his stomach; and in this position, with his neck aching,
his nostrils smarting, and the beetle working its way to his vitals, he
must be kept for two days and two nights. And, third, if these measures
did not act, he must be fed with highly seasoned food and allowed
nothing to drink.

But these suggestions were never carried out. As the messenger hastened
with the King's billet-doux, and the Brethren on the northern frontier
were setting out for Poland, Augusta and Bilek were on their way to the
famous old castle of Pürglitz. For ages that castle, built on a rock,
and hidden away in darkling woods, had been renowned in Bohemian lore.
There the mother of Charles IV. had heard the nightingales sing; there
the faithful, ran the story, had held John Ziska at bay; there had many
a rebel suffered in the terrible "torture-tower"; and there Augusta and
his faithful friend were to lie for many a long and weary day.

They were taken to Pürglitz in two separate waggons. They travelled by
night and arrived about mid-day; they were placed in two separate
cells, and for sixteen years the fortunes of the Brethren centred round
Pürglitz Castle.

If the Bishop had been the vilest criminal, he could not have been more
grossly insulted. For two years he had to share his cell with a vulgar
German coiner; and the coiner, in facetious pastime, often smote him on
the head.

His cell was almost pitch-dark. The window was shuttered within and
without, and the merest glimmer from the cell next door struggled in
through a chink four inches broad. At meals alone he was permitted half
a candle. For bedding he had a leather bolster, a coverlet and what
Germans call a "bed-sack." For food he was allowed two rations of meat,
two hunches of bread, and two jugs of barley-beer a day. His shirt was
washed about once a fortnight, his face and hands twice a week, his head
twice a year, and the rest of his body never. He was not allowed the
use of a knife and fork. He was not allowed to speak to the prison
attendants. He had no books, no papers, no ink, no news of the world
without; and there for three years he sat in the dark, as lonely as
the famous prisoner of Chillon. Again, by the King's command, he was
tortured, with a gag in his mouth to stifle his screams and a threat
that if he would not confess he should have an interview with the
hangman; and again he refused to deny his Brethren, and was flung back
into his corner.

The delivering angel came in humble guise. Among the warders who guarded
his cell was a daring youth who had lived at Leitomischl. He had been
brought up among the Brethren. He regarded the Bishop as a martyr. His
wife lived in a cottage near the castle; and now, drunken rascal though
he was, he risked his life for Augusta's sake, used his cottage as
a secret post office, and handed in to the suffering Bishop letters,
books, ink, paper, pens, money and candles.

The Brethren stationed a priest in Pürglitz village. The great Bishop
was soon as bright and active as ever. By day he buried his tools in the
ground; by night he plugged every chink and cranny, and applied himself
to his labours. Not yet was his spirit broken; not yet was his mind
unhinged. As his candle burned in that gloomy dungeon in the silent
watches of the night, so the fire of his genius shone anew in those
darksome days of trial and persecution; and still he urged his afflicted
Brethren to be true to the faith of their fathers, to hold fast the
Apostles' Creed, and to look onward to the brighter day when once again
their pathway would shine as the wings of a dove that are covered with
silver and her feathers with yellow gold. He comforted Bilek in his
affliction; he published a volume of sermons for the elders to read in
secret; he composed a number of stirring and triumphant hymns; and there
he penned the noble words still sung in the Brethren's Church:--

   Praise God for ever.
   Boundless is his favour,
   To his Church and chosen flock,
   Founded on Christ the Rock.

As he lay in his cell he pondered much on the sad fate of his Brethren.
At one time he heard a rumour that the Church was almost extinct. Some,
he knew, had fled to Poland. Some had settled in Moravia. Some, robbed
of lands and houses, were roaming the country as pedlars or earning a
scanty living as farm labourers. And some, alas! had lowered the flag
and joined the Church of Rome.

And yet Augusta had never abandoned hope. For ten years, despite a few
interruptions, he kept in almost constant touch, not only with his own
Brethren, but also with the Protestant world at large. He was still,
he thought, the loved and honoured leader; he was still the mightiest
religious force in the land; and now, in his dungeon, he sketched a plan
to heal his country's woes and form the true disciples of Christ into
one grand national Protestant army against which both Pope and Emperor
would for ever contend in vain.




CHAPTER XI. -- THE LAST DAYS OF AUGUSTA, 1560-1572.

To Augusta the prospect seemed hopeful. Great changes had taken place
in the Protestant world. The Lutherans in Germany had triumphed. The
religious peace of Augsburg had been consummated, The German Protestants
had now a legal standing. The great Emperor, Charles V., had resigned
his throne. His successor was his brother Ferdinand, the late King of
Bohemia. The new King of Bohemia was Ferdinand's eldest son, Maximilian
I. Maximilian was well disposed towards Protestants, and persecution in
Bohemia died away.

And now the Brethren plucked up heart again. They rebuilt their chapel
at their headquarters, Jungbunzlau. They presented a copy of
their Hymn-book to the King. They divided the Church into three
provinces--Bohemia, Moravia and Poland. They appointed George Israel
First Senior in Poland, John Czerny First Senior in Bohemia and Moravia,
and Cerwenka secretary to the whole Church.

But the Brethren had gone further still. As Augusta was the sole
surviving Bishop in the Church, the Brethren were in a difficulty. They
must not be without Bishops. But what were they to do? Were they to
wait till Augusta was set at liberty, or were they to elect new Bishops
without his authority? They chose the latter course, and Augusta was
deeply offended. They elected Czerny and Cerwenka to the office of
Bishops; they had them consecrated as Bishops by two Brethren in
priests' orders; and they actually allowed the two new Bishops to
consecrate two further Bishops, George Israel and Blahoslaw, the Church
Historian.

And even this was not the worst of the story. As he lay in his dungeon
forming plans for the Church he loved so well, it slowly dawned upon
Augusta that his Brethren were ceasing to trust him, and that the sun
of his power, which had shone so brightly, was now sloping slowly to its
setting. He heard of one change after another taking place without his
consent. He heard that the Council had condemned his sermons as too
learned and dry for the common people, and that they had altered them to
suit their own opinions. He heard that his hymns, which he had desired
to see in the new Hymn-book, had been mangled in a similar manner. His
Brethren did not even tell him what they were doing. They simply left
him out in the cold. What he himself heard he heard by chance, and that
was the "most unkind cut of all." His authority was gone; his
position was lost; his hopes were blasted; and his early guidance, his
entreaties, his services, his sufferings were all, he thought, forgotten
by an ungrateful Church.

As Augusta heard of all these changes, a glorious vision rose before
his mind. At first he was offended, quarrelled with the Brethren, and
declared the new Bishops invalid. But at last his better feelings gained
the mastery. He would not sulk like a petted child; he would render his
Brethren the greatest service in his power. He would fight his way to
liberty; he would resume his place on the bridge, and before long he
would make the Church the national Church of Bohemia.

The door was opened by a duke. The Archduke Ferdinand, brother of the
King, came to reside at Pürglitz {1560.}. Augusta appealed for liberty
to Ferdinand; the Archduke referred the matter to the King; the King
referred the matter to the clergy; and the clergy drew up for Augusta's
benefit a form of recantation. The issue before him was now perfectly
clear. There was one road to freedom and one only. He must sign the form
of recantation in full. The form was drastic. He must renounce all
his previous religious opinions. He must acknowledge the Holy Catholic
Church and submit to her in all things. He must eschew the gatherings of
Waldenses, Picards and all other apostates, denounce their teaching as
depraved, and recognise the Church of Rome as the one true Church of
Christ. He must labour for the unity of the Church and endeavour to
bring his Brethren into the fold. He must never again interpret the
Scriptures according to his own understanding, but submit rather to the
exposition and authority of the Holy Roman Church, which alone was fit
to decide on questions of doctrine. He must do his duty by the King,
obey him and serve him with zeal as a loyal subject. And finally he must
write out the whole recantation with his own hand, take a public oath
to keep it, and have it signed and sealed by witnesses. Augusta refused
point blank. His hopes of liberty vanished. His heart sank in despair.
"They might as well," said Bilek, his friend, "have asked him to walk on
his head."

But here Lord Sternberg, Governor of the Castle, suggested another path.
If Augusta, said he, would not join the Church of Rome, perhaps he would
at least join the Utraquists. He had been a Utraquist in his youth; the
Brethren were Utraquists under another name; and all that Augusta had to
do was to give himself his proper name, and his dungeon door would fly
open. Of all the devices to entrap Augusta, this well-meant trick was
the most enticing. The argument was a shameless logical juggle.
The Utraquists celebrated the communion in both kinds; the Brethren
celebrated the communion in both kinds; therefore the Brethren were
Utraquists.[42] At first Augusta himself appeared to be caught.

"I, John Augusta," he wrote, "confess myself a member of the whole
Evangelical Church, which, wherever it may be, receives the body and
blood of the Lord Jesus Christ in both kinds. I swear that, along with
the Holy Catholic Church, I will maintain true submission and obedience
to her chief Head, Jesus Christ. I will order my life according to God's
holy word and the truth of his pure Gospel. I will be led by Him, obey
Him alone, and by no other human thoughts and inventions. I renounce
all erroneous and wicked opinions against the holy universal Christian
apostolic faith. I will never take any part in the meetings of Picards
or other heretics."

If Augusta thought that by language like this he would catch his
examiners napping, he was falling into a very grievous error. He
had chosen his words with care. He never said what he meant by the
Utraquists. He never said whether he would include the Brethren among
the Utraquists or among the Picards and heretics. And he had never made
any reference to the Pope.

His examiners were far too clever to be deceived. Instead of
recommending that Augusta be now set at liberty, they contended that his
recantation was no recantation at all. He had shown no inclination, they
said, towards either Rome or Utraquism. His principles were remarkably
like those of Martin Luther. He had not acknowledged the supremacy of
the Pope, and when he said he would not be led by any human inventions
he was plainly repudiating the Church of Rome. What is the good, they
asked, of Augusta's promising to resist heretics when he does not
acknowledge the Brethren to be heretics? "It is," they said, "as
clear as day that John Augusta has no real intention of renouncing his
errors." Let the man say straight out to which party he belonged.

Again Augusta tried to fence, and again he met his match. Instead of
saying in plain language to which party he belonged, he persisted in
his first assertion that he belonged to the Catholic Evangelical Church,
which was now split into various sects. But as the old man warmed to his
work he threw caution aside.

"I have never," he said, "had anything to do with Waldenses or Picards.
I belong to the general Evangelical Church, which enjoys the Communion
in both kinds. I renounce entirely the Popish sect known as the Holy
Roman Church. I deny that the Pope is the Vicar of Christ. I deny that
the Church of Rome alone has authority to interpret the Scriptures. If
the Church of Rome claims such authority, she must first show that
she is free from the spirit of the world, and possesses the spirit of
charity, and until that is done I refuse to bow to her decrees."

He defended the Church of the Brethren with all his might. It was,
he said, truly evangelical. It was Catholic. It was apostolic. It was
recognised and praised by Luther, Calvin, Melancthon, Bucer, Bullinger
and other saints. As long as the moral life of the Church of Rome
remained at such a low ebb, so long would there be need for the
Brethren's Church.

"If the Church of Rome will mend her ways, the Brethren," said he, "will
return to her fold; but till that blessed change takes place they will
remain where they are."

He denied being a traitor. "If any one says that I have been disloyal to
the Emperor, I denounce that person as a liar. If his Majesty knew how
loyal I have been, he would not keep me here another hour. I know why I
am suffering. I am suffering, not as an evil-doer, but as a Christian."

The first skirmish was over. The clergy were firm, and Augusta sank back
exhausted in his cell. But the kindly Governor was still resolved to
smooth the way for his prisoners. "I will not rest," he said, "till I
see them at liberty." He suggested that Augusta should have an interview
with the Jesuits!

"What would be the good of that?" said Augusta. "I should be like
a little dog in the midst of a pack of lions. I pray you, let these
negotiations cease. I would rather stay where I am. It is clear there
is no escape for me unless I am false to my honour and my conscience. I
will never recant nor act against my conscience. May God help me to keep
true till death."

At last, however, Augusta gave way, attended Mass, with Bilek, in
the castle chapel, and consented to an interview with the Jesuits, on
condition that Bilek should go with him, and that he should also be
allowed another interview with the Utraquists {1561.}. The day for the
duel arrived. The chosen spot was the new Jesuit College at Prague. As
they drove to the city both Augusta and Bilek were allowed to stretch
their limbs and even get out of sight of their guards. At Prague they
were allowed a dip in the Royal Bath. It was the first bath they had had
for fourteen years, and the people came from far and near to gaze upon
their scars.

And now, being fresh and clean in body, Augusta, the stubborn heretical
Picard, was to be made clean in soul. As the Jesuits were determined to
do their work well, they laid down the strict condition that no one but
themselves must be allowed to speak with the prisoners. For the rest the
prisoners were treated kindly. The bedroom was neat; the food was
good; the large, bright dining-room had seven windows. They had wine to
dinner, and were waited on by a discreet and silent butler. Not a word
did that solemn functionary utter. If the Brethren made a remark to him,
he laid his fingers on his lips like the witches in Macbeth.

The great debate began. The Jesuit 

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