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