[204] Pp. 832-33.
[205] P. 837.
[206] A case in point was the finding of the celebrated statue of the Laocöon on January 14, 1506. This discovery was accidentally made in a vineyard, near Santa Maria Maggiore, and no statue ever produced so general and so profound an emotion as the uncovering of this work of art did upon the learned world of Rome. The whole city flocked out to see it, and the road to the vineyard was blocked day and night by the crowds of cardinals and people waiting to look at it. “One would have said,” writes a contemporary, “that it was a Jubilee.” And even to-day the visitor to the Ara Cœli may read on the tomb of Felice de Fredis, the happy owner of the vineyard, the promise of “immortality,” ob proprias virtutes et repertum Laocohontis divinum simulachrum (I. Klaczki, Jules II., p. 115). It is not at all improbable that in the above passage Erasmus was actually thinking of the delirium caused by the finding of this statue.
[207] Ibid., p. 838.
[208] For example, the Rev. W. H. Hutton states in the Guardian, January 25, 1899, as the result of his mature studies upon the Reformation period, that “the so-called divorce question had very little indeed to do with the Reformation.” Mr. James Gairdner, who speaks with all the authority of a full and complete knowledge of the State papers of this period, in a letter to a subsequent number of the Guardian, says, “When a gentleman of Mr. Hutton’s attainments is able seriously to tell us this, I think it is really time to ask people to put two and two together, and say whether the sum can be anything but four. It may be disagreeable to trace the Reformation to such a very ignoble origin, but facts, as the Scottish poet says, are fellows you can’t coerce … and won’t bear to be disputed.” What “we call the Reformation in England … was the result of Henry VIII.’s quarrel with the Court of Rome on the subject of his divorce, and the same results could not possibly have come about in any other way.” When “Henry VIII. found himself disappointed in the expectation, which he had ardently cherished for a while, that he could manage, by hook or by crook, to obtain from the See of Rome something like an ecclesiastical licence for bigamy,” he took matters into his own hands, “and self-willed as he was, never did self-will lead him into such a tremendous and dangerous undertaking as in throwing off the Pope. How much this was resented among the people, what secret communications there were between leading noblemen with the imperial ambassador, strongly urging the emperor to invade England, and deliver the people from a tyranny from which they were unable to free themselves, we know in these days as we did not know before.”
[209] Camden Society, p. 163.
[210] The same high authority, in a letter to the Guardian, March 1, 1899, says, “People will tell you, of course, that the seeds of the Reformation were sown before Henry VIII.’s days, and particularly that it was Wycliffe who brought the great movement on. I should be sorry to depreciate Wycliffe, who did undoubtedly bring about a great movement in his day, though a careful estimate of that movement is still a desideratum. Even in theology the cardinal doctrine of the Reformation—justification by faith—is in Wycliffe, I should say, conspicuous by its absence. But, whatever may be the theological debt of England to Wycliffe at the present day, twenty Wycliffes, all highly popular, in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries would not have brought about a Reformation like that under which we have lived during the last centuries. That was a thing which could only have been effected by royal power—as in England, or by a subversion of royal authority through the medium of successful rebellion—as in Scotland.”
[211] Henry VIII., i. p. 51.
[212] Roger Edgworth, Sermons (London: Robert Caly, 1557), preface.
[213] English Works, p. 339.