The religious condition of Friesland at this period was very sad. The Reformation had penetrated into the country as early as 1520. Count Edzard having read some of the writings of Luther, had favored it; and Aportanus, preceptor to the young count, had publicly preached the Gospel. But afterwards the work had been thrown back by the disputations on the sacrament and by the pressure by force of arms of the Duke of Guelderland, who was a very earnest Catholic. The adherents of the pope, the zeal of the sects, and the indolence of the pastors, had all contributed to ruin the Evangelical Church in Friesland. The little country had become a battlefield on which the Roman Catholics, the reformed Zwinglians of Holland, the Mennonites of Friesland, and the Lutherans of Germany waged war. It seemed to be a place where all the religious denominations of the age encountered each other, tried their strength and struggled against one another. Many pious souls sighed for peace, and wondered who could restore it to this distressed land. A way was at length revealed to them as by a sudden flash of light. Some of the nobles and magistrates, who bewailed the religious disorders, having heard that Alasco was in the country, and being acquainted with his piety, his attainments in knowledge, and his noble character, requested Count Enno to call him to Embden as preacher and superintendent of the Church in their country. Alasco had promised his brother Yaroslav not to lose sight of Poland, and never to settle in a foreign land so long as Yaroslav was living. Moreover, the language, which he only imperfectly understood, and his uncertain health were serious obstacles
in the way. His main point, however, was not to engage himself in any work which might detain him at a time when he should receive a call to evangelize his native land. He therefore declined to go, and proposed his friend Hardenberg. But the latter also raised objections; and the count gave up the attempt.
Story Of Yaroslav.
Mournful events were to be the occasion of Alasco’s entrance upon the active duties of the ministry. He received one day a letter from Poland, announcing that his brother Yaroslav was dying, and wished him to go to him immediately. Alasco set out at the end of winter, 1542, and reached the bedside of his dying brother. Yaroslav had been a clever, active man, but withal ambitious, and one that would hesitate at nothing that was necessary for success in his projects, or for avenging himself of his enemies. Here Alasco learnt things which were before partly unknown to him. Zapolya, king of Hungary, after the first successes of his antagonist, King Ferdinand, had fled into Poland. There he had been received at court and had formed a friendship with Yaroslav. ‘Conclude an alliance with the Turks,’ said the latter to Zapolya, ‘and they will restore you your crown. I undertake the negotiation.’ ‘If you recover me Hungary,’ said Zapolya, ‘I will give you Transylvania.’
Solyman did, in fact, arrive at the gates of Vienna, and restored the Hungarian crown to Zapolya. But Yaroslav had dealt with an unthankful man. The king felt uneasy in the presence of one to whom he owed his crown; and instead of giving him Transylvania he threw him into prison. Yaroslav, having soon after obtained his release by legal intervention, swore that he would hurl Zapolya from the throne on which he had re-established him. He then passed over to Ferdinand’s side, fought under his flag in several battles, and next went to Constantinople for the purpose of inducing the sultan to declare against Zapolya. But the party of this prince was still influential in that city. The vindictive Yaroslav was imprisoned, and was only liberated after a long confinement. Disgusted with Hungary and Austria, he returned to his native land; but ere long he fell sick there. It is asserted that the partisans of Zapolya, bent on putting an end to a life so restless and so dangerous for their master, had poisoned him at Constantinople. His brother now closed his eyes; and, thus witnessing the sad end of one who had aimed at wearing a crown, he was anew impressed with the lesson that we ought to avoid, as a deadly poison, every thing which we cannot get without sinning against God; and that even in the case of such advantages of the earthly life as may be enjoyed with a good conscience, we must before all things learn, like Moses, to esteem ‘the reproach of Christ greater riches than the treasures of Egypt.’[[681]]
Alasco And Hardenberg.
During his sojourn in Poland, Alasco was on good terms with his fellow-countrymen, and stood also in intimate relations with the bishop. He appears to have had some thought of getting his friend Hardenberg called into Poland. ‘You would smile,’ he wrote to him on May 12, 1542, ‘if you knew what I have been doing with our bishops while in my native country.’[[682]] As for himself, he went modestly back to Friesland; and soon after his return his health improved. The journey seemed to have done him good. He was animated with fresh zeal. Hardenberg was at this time in the cloisters of the Bernardines at Aduwert, in the province of Groningen, where he seemed to wish to shut himself up. Alasco, cherishing the highest esteem for his friend, did every thing that was in his power to draw him out of the monastery; convinced that this Christian man, endowed with a most amiable disposition, a most excellent understanding, and the most profound knowledge—a kinsman, according to common report, of Pope Adrian—was called to play an important part in the religious renovation of the age. This was in fact the case at a later day. But the Cistercian monk, although awakened by the quickening spirit which then breathed in the Church, remained still tied to his institution and to the rites of which he acknowledged the abuse. He was one of those timid souls who can not make up their minds to break their chains. He had, however, received some emphatic lessons which ought to have made him understand the impossibility of living with Rome. When in 1530 he made a stay at Louvain, the theologians of the university denounced him at the court of Brussels as infected with heresy. He was even on the point of being seized and taken to the capital, when the students and the townsmen rescued him from the hands of the inquisitors, and he escaped. They confined themselves to rigorous treatment of his writings. Hardenberg, instead of retiring to Wittenberg or some other Protestant city, took refuge in his convent of Aduwert, where the tolerant abbot placed him in the rank of a professor in the school. His conscience admonished him that he ought to quit the monastic life; but he was enveloped in the powerful bonds with which Rome holds souls in captivity. He tried very hard to convince himself that he need not go forth from the Roman community. He believed that it was possible for him to cease to be a superstitious papist and yet remain a pious Catholic. But sharp pangs of distress tortured him, and he had to sustain terrible conflicts. ‘I am overwhelmed with shame,’ he wrote to Alasco, ‘with grief and sadness; and the wretchedness which I experience keeps me in a state of perpetual torture.’[[683]] Afterwards he recovered himself and wrote to Alasco: ‘But I can, I am sure, justify before Christ the motives of my conduct.’ ‘What!’ replied his friend, ‘thou art at peace with Christ, and yet with me thou art full of shame and distress.... Am I then greater than He? No, he who has his rest sanctified in Jesus Christ will not find it disturbed by men.[[684]] Since thou art tossed to and fro by so many conflicting thoughts, I am very much afraid, my dear Albert, that thou art farther off from the peace of God than thou seemest to be. What! thou art in doubt whether the life which thou art leading in the cloister is a blasphemy; but as for those absurd errors which thou perceivest in the worship in which thou takest part and which are dishonoring to the merits of Christ, are they not blasphemies?... Thou sayest that one Babylon is as good as another, and that thou mayest as well stay in thy convent as come to us. This comparison is unjust. We have among us no idols; but as for you, you venerate, by offering public worship to it as if it were God, that abomination whose minister you are.[[685]] ... If there be still any idols with us, they are laid aside in contempt and neglect. Thou art waiting, sayest thou, for a leading of the Spirit. But what kind of leading? I do not know. Is it not the Spirit of God who says—“Come out from among them and be ye separate.” My dear Albert, I love thee, but I do not like thy indecision.’
It was in vain that Alasco thus earnestly appealed to Hardenberg. The monk clung to the bars of his cloister, and seemed, by the aid of his monks, to defy every effort. But Christ at length set him free. His advance in the knowledge of the Gospel did what the persuasions of his friend had failed to do. In 1543 he quitted the monastery, and betook himself to Wittenberg, where the reformers gave him the most brotherly welcome.
Count Enno was now dead. His wife, Countess Anna of Oldenburg, became regent of Friesland. She was a woman of noble character, pious but rather feeble. She called Alasco to undertake the direction of the churches of the country. The Pole had by this time got accustomed to the climate and had learned the language; and, as his brother was dead, he was set free from the promise which he had made to him. In reply to the countess he therefore said, ‘I accept your proposal, but on this condition—that if ever I am called into Poland for the cause of the Gospel, I shall be at liberty to go there.’[[686]] The countess agreed to this condition; and all those who had at heart the prosperity of religion and of the country were filled with joy. Alasco lost no time in writing to his friends of the whole affair. ‘Explain to the king,’ said he, ‘that although I have accepted a ministerial office here, I am free at any time, if he should recall me, to return to my native land.’ In Poland people fancied that he was inclined to come back whatever might be the nature of the work to which he was called. He therefore received royal letters inviting him to return, and holding out to him the hope of some great bishopric.[[687]] These letters deeply grieved him. His heart was greatly pained. It was not the king alone who thus misunderstood him; his relations and friends did the same. ‘What,’ said he, ‘they would fain have me again enter upon my old way of life, the pharisaic way. It is asking me to return to my vomit.’ He immediately replied: ‘I will have no apostleship invested with the bishop’s tiara or the monk’s cowl.[[688]] My return is not to be thought of, except it be for some legitimate vocation.’ Language so decided cooled his friends; nor did they write to him again for some time.
Accusations.