These men, most of whom were called to play important parts, were not the only persons who felt the influence of the revival; many a monk shut up in his convent shared in it. These were to be found particularly in the Benedictine monasteries, and among their number was Marco of Padua, who appears to have been the monk from whom Pole says he had drawn the spiritual milk of the Word. But the most striking example of this semi-evangelical, semi-monastic life was Giovanni-Battista Folengo. In his cell in the cloister of St. Benedict, he passed days and nights in the study of Scripture, and plainly ascribed the justification of the sinner to grace alone. The good Benedictine was punctual in attending matins, in fasting, in singing mass, and in confessing; but he earnestly exhorted the faithful not to put their trust in fasts, or in the mechanical repetition of the prayers prescribed by the church, or in confession, or in the mass. He was a monk and a priest, in subjection to the dignities of the Church; but, like a prophet, he hurled the flashes of his burning eloquence against the priesthood, the tonsure, and the mitre. He called for the reform of the Church; he loved evangelical Christians; he would have wished, in his profound charity, to reunite them with the flock. He published commentaries on the Epistles of St. Peter, St. James, and St. John; and his noble style, as well as the elevation of his Christian thoughts, caused them to be read with eagerness; but the Court of Rome, irritated by the liberty with which he expressed his faith, put his book in the Index Expurgatorius. The truth of the Latin saying—habent sua fata libelli was then manifested. Folengo having written a commentary on the Psalms, expressed in it his evangelical views with great decision, especially in his remarks on the sixty-eighth Psalm. Strange to say, while his first work had been put in the Index by one pope, the second was reprinted by another pope (Gregory XIII.), with some corrections indeed, but with nothing that changed the general spirit of the work. More than one infallible pontiff has condemned what another infallible pontiff has approved of. The pious Folengo died at the age of sixty, in the same convent where he had taken the vows in his youth.[[943]] A man of piety less lively than Folengo’s was destined to play a more important part in the affairs of the Church at the epoch of the Reformation.
Contarini, The Venetian.
At that famous sitting of the Diet of Worms in 1521, before which Martin Luther appeared, there was present among the ambassadors from the different states of Europe, who had come to congratulate the young emperor, a senator of Venice, by name Gasper Contarini. Eldest son of one of the noble families of the republic, possessing an elevated mind formed by the study of philosophy and literature, delicate taste, exquisite judgment, elegant in his life and manners, Contarini was not favorably impressed with the celebrated reformer. These two men, who held many principles of religion and morality in common, were widely separated from each other as regards cultivation, character, and mode of life. Luther was displeasing to Contarini, and the Reformation of Germany itself, stamped with the character of the nation, did not suit the Venetian’s taste. Noble impulses acted on the reformer, order prevailed with the diplomatist. Contarini devoted three hours every day to study, never more, never less, and each time began by repeating what he had done the day before. He never abandoned the study of a science until he had mastered it.[[944]] One of his first writings was directed against his master the celebrated Pomponatius, who passed for an atheist. That philosopher having affirmed the impossibility of proving the immortality of the soul by reason, Contarini established it by philosophical arguments. His birth called him to the first offices of the republic, and while still young he became a member of the Venetian senate. At first he sat and listened to the deliberations of his colleagues: his modesty, and perhaps his timidity, prevented him from speaking. At length he took courage, and though he did not speak with much wit, grace, or animation, he expressed himself with such simplicity and showed such thorough knowledge of the questions under discussion, that he soon acquired great consideration. His mission to Charles V. was not limited to the embassy of Worms; he accompanied the emperor to Spain, and was there when the ship Vittoria returned from the first voyage ever made round the world. People were surprised that the hardy sailors arrived a day later than the one marked in their log; it was Contarini, as it would appear, who discovered the cause. Being sent as ambassador to the pope, after the sack of Rome, he effected a reconciliation between the pontiff and Charles V., and officiated at the coronation of the emperor by Clement VII.[[945]]
Every one present at these pomps took notice of the Venetian ambassador, and a brilliant career seemed to lie before him. Men admired the rich gifts of his mind, the firmness and mildness of his character, the moral dignity and gravity which challenged respect. This was not all: a deep religious feeling had been developed early in his soul. At Rome he had joined the pious men who assembled at the Oratory of Divine Love on the Trastevere: he was fond of the meetings which so reminded him of those held by the disciples at Jerusalem in Mary’s house.
One day, in the year 1535, when the senate of Venice had assembled for the elections, Contarini, at that time invested with one of the most important offices of the republic, was sitting near the balloting urn. On a sudden he was told that the pope had appointed him cardinal. The news surprised him exceedingly, and at first he would not believe it: he, a layman, the magistrate of a republic, and not known to the sovereign pontiff ... to be nominated a cardinal, a prince of the Church! It appeared like a dream, and yet it was a reality. Paul III., having undertaken the task of bringing the protestants back to the Church, saw that he must employ for that purpose, not worldly prelates of the school of Leo X., but men of sincere piety; besides, Contarini had rendered services to the papacy, and hence he was invited to Rome. The report of his nomination circulated in a moment through the assembly, and his colleagues, leaving their places, gathered round to congratulate him. Even the senator who was at the head of the party opposed to him, his every-day antagonist, exclaimed, ‘The republic has lost her best citizen.’
But in the midst of these congratulations Contarini remained undecided and silent. There was a struggle in his soul. He felt it difficult to leave his friends, the country of his fathers, a free city, where he was among equals, and where he might aspire to the highest dignity, that of doge—an honor enjoyed by seven of his family; he shrank from putting himself at the service of an autocrat, often the slave of passion, of living in the midst of a corrupt clergy, in a world of simony and intrigue. However, he believed he could see the finger of God in his appointment. The Church was exposed to unprecedented danger. Could he, in such a critical hour, refuse his services and his life to that militant assembly which then claimed the support of all the servants of God? He accepted the offer.[[946]] Such catholics as desired to see the Church animated by a new spirit were filled with joy, which they expressed to Contarini: ‘I congratulate you,’ wrote Sadolet, ‘because you can now employ your genius and wisdom more profitably for the necessities and advantage of the Christian republic.’[[947]]
In becoming a cardinal, he did not intend that the golden chain should bind him to the foot of the pontifical throne: he desired to preserve his independence. Ready to devote to the catholic Church all the powers he had hitherto employed in the service of his country, he was determined to remain himself; to obey the voice of God in his conscience more than the varying caprices of the Vatican. He desired to be faithful to that internal truth which gave him sweet and constant peace. One day, when he opposed the nomination of a certain ecclesiastic to the cardinalate, the pope, who was of a contrary opinion, exclaimed: ‘Yes, yes! we know how men sail in these waters; the cardinals do not like to see another made equal to them in dignity.’ Contarini turned to the pontiff, and observed calmly: ‘I do not think the cardinal’s hat constitutes my highest honor.’[[948]]
Contarini’s Principles.
Opposed to the deplorable elections which were customary at Rome, the Venetian ardently desired to bring men of sound morals, learning, and piety into the sacred college. The pope, therefore, following his advice, gave the purple in succession to Sadolet, Caraffa, Giberto Bishop of Verona, Fregoso Archbishop of Salerno, and Reginald Pole. These new and strange elections seemed as if they would be favorable to the Gospel, but, on the contrary, they became the principle of a restoration of Romanism, and of a serious and ere long cruel resistance to the Reformation.
Contarini, the Melancthon of the papacy, set to work at once: he sincerely wished to reform the doctrines and morals of the Church, but to maintain it still under a sole chief. Like the reformers he laid great stress in religious matters on the positive side, but remained faithful to Roman-catholicism, by extenuating the negative side. ‘Assuredly, the sinner is justified by grace through faith,’ he would say to the evangelicals. ‘But why pronounce so harshly against meritorious works?’—‘A frank opposition to those practices,’ they replied, ‘can alone destroy the numberless abuses of popular superstition.’—‘Predestination,’ said the cardinal again, ‘belongs undoubtedly to God’s mercy; by his grace He prevents all our movements, but at the same time the will must oppose no resistance. God has known from all eternity the predestined and the reprobate, but that knowledge does not take away either contingency or liberty.’[[949]]—‘We recognize man’s responsibility,’ answered the reformers; ‘we believe that man must will to be saved, and yet we say with St. Paul: God worketh in us both to will and to do.’[[950]]