The Helvetic cantons having taken different sides, some that of Rome, others that of the Reformation, a war of religion, the worst of all wars, broke out among them. It was an ancient custom for the chief pastor of Zurich to accompany the army. Zwinglius conformed to the practice. The historian Ruchat relates that he marched as if he were conducted to death, and that those who watched his demeanour observed that he ceased not to pray to God to guard in safe-keeping his soul and the church.
On the 11th of October, 1531, he was struck down on the battle-field of Cappel. He regained his feet, but, pressed by the crowd of fugitives, he thrice fell. “Alas, what misfortune is this?” he cried. “Well! they may kill the body, but they cannot slay the soul.” These were the last words he could articulate. Stretched upon his back, with joined hands, and eyes bent on heaven, the motion of his lips alone showed that he prayed. Some soldiers having lifted him up without knowing who he was, asked if he wished to confess, and invoke the Virgin and the saints. He indicated his dissent by a sign of the head, and upraising his eyes, continued his silent prayers. “It is an obstinate heretic!” shouted the soldiers, and an officer stabbing him in the throat with a pike, put an end to his existence. According to some, Ulrich Zwinglius was forty-four years of age; according to others, forty-seven.
Many different judgments have been passed upon this tragic end, and we may still see in them the change of opinions. Our times would, at least, deplore the death of a minister of the Gospel in the midst of a scene of carnage: such was not the manner of thinking three centuries ago. “Discharging the duties of his ministry in the army, Zwinglius,” says Theodore de Bèze, “was slain in battle, and his body was burnt by the enemy: God thus honouring his servant with a double crown, seeing that a man could not die after a more honourable and more holy fashion, than by losing this corruptible life for the safety of his country, and for the glory of God.”[6]
In spite of checks of more than one kind, the Reformation spread rapidly throughout a great part of Europe, and took root.
In Germany, Saxony, Hesse, Brandenburg, the Palatinate, Pomerania, many secondary states, and nearly all the free towns; in the east, the majority of the population of Hungary; in the north, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, and a part of Poland, burst asunder the chains of Roman Catholicism.
In England and Scotland, two distinct movements led the people to the Protestant faith: one guided by King Henry VIII., the other by the pastor John Knox. Hence, the diversity of principles and organization subsisting at the present day.
The Reformation penetrated into the heart of Europe, but could not establish itself. In Spain, the long struggle with the Moors had identified Catholicism with the national mind, and the Inquisition stood firm, supported by popular fanaticism. In Italy, the scepticism of the learned, the countless ramifications of the clergy, the interests of a multitude of families engaged in the maintenance of the old ecclesiastical order, the passion of the masses for the fine arts, and the pomp of the Romish worship, hindered the progress of Protestantism.
At the gates of France, Switzerland, on one side, with a few small bordering states, Alsace, Lorraine, the country of Montbéliard, which have since become French provinces; and on the other side, Flanders and Holland, listened with sympathy to the preaching of the new ideas. Thus the Reformation spread around all the frontiers of France, while it strove to penetrate and overrun it within.
We reach at length the history, which forms the subject of this book. It will place before our eyes great triumphs followed by great catastrophes, and fearful persecutions, only to be surpassed by the constancy of the victims. It is, altogether, one of the most important chapters in the annals of the French nation, and one of the most interesting pages of the Reformation.